Rating: PG

Pairings: None

Disclaimer: Not ours and never will be (sniff!)

Teaser: What happens when you combine a Mountie, two Chicago cops, and a tundra full of Due South fanatics? Come and see. . . .

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Part 1 by Demeter, Princess of Earth


Demeter sat quietly, for once, watching the Northern Lights over the edge of the tundra.

"Ah, nature's fire," she sighed happily, snuggling deeper into her warm blanket.

"Yo Demi," somebody called from off to the right. Demeter groaned quietly. She hefted herself out of the borrowed Barcolounger and scooped up her Stetson.

"Waddayawant?" she asked as she trooped up to Magna, straightening her tunic as she went.

"Charm and Kat are tearing their hair out looking for you," Magna explained. "Said they can't find the remote for one of the cannons. They told me to find you on my way to the catapult."

"Oi. I stuck the remotes in the same place I always do." Demeter said, rolling her eyes.

"Don't look at me. I gotta go finish my tweaking on the catapult guidance system," Magna said. "You need help, send up a flare." She grinned, waved, and vanished into the dark.

Demeter just sighed and made for the Dance Hall, clicking on a flashlight as she went. Before she reached the doors, she was stopped by a polite voice.

"Excuse me, Miss. Could you tell us where the Dance Hall is?" the polite voice asked around chattering teeth.

Demeter froze and turned very slowly toward the polite, and ridiculously familiar, voice. Sure enough, there stood remarkable, if rather frozen-looking, copies of Ben, Ray, and Stan.

"Oh dear," Demeter mumbled. "I'm hallucinating. Somebody snuck me some blue pemmican. Yeah, that's it."

Three similar expressions of confusion passed over three not-so-similar faces.

"Uh, Miss," said one of the frozen men, who looked waaaay too much like Stan. "Could ya please just tell us where this Dance Hall place is?"

"Oh, right," Demeter said, thinking to humor the hallucinations 'til she could get to the Infirmary. "Right this way gentlemen. By the way, my name's Demeter." She held out her hand.

"I'm Benton Fraser, RCMP," one of the hallucinations said, shaking her hand. He pointed to the other two. "These are my friends, Detectives Ray Vecchio and Stan Kowalski."

"Uh huh," Demeter nodded, shaking hands with the others and pointedly ignoring the very real sensations.

She led them across the tundra to the Dance Hall. The guys stood for a second at the door, apparently warming up a bit after the cold of the tundra.

"Aw man!" Ray cried, looking down at his shoes, "that's another pair ruined! This is the LAST time I wear loafers in knee-deep snow!"

"Ya shouldn't wear Armani either," Stan pointed out, grinning from ear to ear.

"Shut up," Ray said, glaring.

"Ray, Stan, please," Ben said, trying to break up any arguments. "Demeter's waiting for us." He pointed to a large set of double doors where Demeter stood, impatiently tapping a fireplace match against her teeth.

"You guys coming?" she asked. "I got work to do you know."

"Sorry," Ray said. "Lead on."

Demeter turned and headed right into the auditorium, where rehearsals were in full swing. "Careful. We can get kinda dangerous here," she warned.

"Is that a dancing horse?" Ray asked, pointing to a corner.

"Yep," Demeter said, "he's Joe, the Musical Ride mascot. And that would be Vic riding him. Now, what do you guys need?"

"We were told to talk to a Charter about keeperships," Stan said. "Everybody pointed us here."

"You are applying for keeperships?" Demeter asked skeptically. Now she knew she was losing it.

"Yes," Ben said. "All the people we spoke to seemed to think that was unusual for some reason."

"Well it is!" Demeter exclaimed. "You guys aren't even real!! Hallucinations looking for keeperships. Gah, I need to get to the Infirmary."

"Hallucinations?" Ray asked. He turned to Ben. "You feel like an hallucination?"

"No," Ben said. He turned to Stan. "You?"

"Not last time I checked," Stan said.

"You mean...to tell me...you're really..." Demeter seemed to be having trouble breathing. The three men nodded somberly.

Demeter suddenly found herself staring at the auditorium ceiling with three visions leaning over her.

"Oh dear," she mumbled again. "I think I died and went to Heaven."

"Are you okay?" Ben asked. "You fainted."

Demeter managed to nod weakly. "I couldn't be better."

"Good," Ben said. He held out a hand. "Let me help you up."

"Thank you kindly," Demeter said, grasping his hand. Ben chuckled and the others rolled their eyes slightly at the familiar phrase. He stood Demeter up and made sure she wouldn't fall again before releasing her.

"Well, they said you guys were obsessed. We just weren't sure how much," Stan said, grinning that classic grin.

"Huh?" Demeter looked confused. "Did I miss something?"

"Oh, nothing," Ray said, elbowing Stan in the gut. "He didn't say a thing."

"If you say so," Demeter said. "Now, where's Charter?" She scanned the assembled troupe. "Uh, I don't see her. Maybe she's in the pb/sl keeping MaryK and Jeanie company."

"The pb/sl?" Stan asked.

"Oh, that's the penalty box." Demeter explained. "We converted it into a sweat lodge a few weeks ago."

"Why, pray tell, do you have a penalty box in the middle of the tundra?" Ray asked.

"For un-mountie like behavior," Demeter said. "It all started with Charm. She was the first one to put herself on report."

"What happened?" Stan asked.

"Well," Demeter thought for a second. "Charm popped up with a comment on buddy breathing and CPR that was a tad inappropriate. Then Vic, Mel, and Jeanie made similar comments and got sent in."

"What did they say?" Ray asked.

"Never mind that. We don't need to get them started again," Demeter said. "C'mon. I'll take you over there." She started toward the doors.

Just then a cry of "DEMETER!!" came from behind them, followed closely by a loud clang.

"Oi," Demeter said, dropping her head to her hands. "That was my assistant, Charm. I better go see what we lost this time. Scuse." She vanished down the backstage hallway.

"This is a very weird place," Ray said, looking around at the rapidly scattering dancers, musicians, riders, cheerleaders, and choir members. "How did I let you talk me into coming here?"

"Same way I talk you into anything," Ben said. He demonstrated by aiming his Big-Eyed Mountie Look at Ray.

"Oh yeah," Ray said, "Forgot."

"Hey guys!" Demeter called from backstage. "Couldya come here for a sec?"

"Where's here?" Ray shouted back.

"Jus follow that hallway to your left!"

The guys shrugged and headed down the hallway to their left. At the end stood Demeter, Charm, and Kat struggling to lift what looked like a cannon from the floor.

"Ah! More hands!" Demeter said. "Grab an end. We gotta get this baby back up on the brace!"

"Why did you have to make these things so dang big?" Kat asked, straining to lift the heavy thing without toppling her ridiculously high beehive.

"Cause they're cannons," Demeter said. "Now if SOMEone hadn't blown the cranes sky high, we wouldn't have a problem now would we?" She looked up at the guys. "Uh, assistance? C'mon! Grab an end!"

"Right," Ray said. "Like we'll really get that thing up."

At the sound of his voice, Charm and Kat both dropped their sides of the cannon, causing Demeter to screech and jump back before the thing landed on her foot. They gaped at the guys for a second before aiming hard glares at Demeter.

"What?" Demeter asked, looking as innocent as she could.

"Why didn't you tell us you had the Mountie and the Cops here?" Kat asked, dragging Charm and Demeter to the corner for a conference.

"You didn't ask," Demeter said.

"Question," Charm said, "What are they doing here? Last I checked, they were fictional characters."

"Uh, I'm still working on that one," Demeter said. "Thought they were hallucinations for a while there."

"Are you sure they're not?" Kat said. "Maybe we're having a group hallucination. Massive case of blue pemmican overdose or something."

"Too long in the pb/sl and having visions sounds good to me," Charm said. "But I'm willing to run with it, whatever IT is."

"Mayhap we should tell the others," Demeter said.

"HECK NO!!" Charm and Kat screeched.

"Er. Or not," Demeter said, wincing. "They're gonna find out anyway. We're gonna be tearing across the tundra looking for Charter if she's not in the pb/sl. I'm sure SOMEBODY'll notice them eventually."

"True," Charm said. "But we don't have to tell them right away. And why do we have to find Charter?"

"Cause they want keeperships," Demeter said, somehow managing a straight face.

"Three fictional characters want keeperships?" Kat asked, blinking in surprise. "I'd sure love to know what they want!"

"Uh, excuse us," Ben said from behind them. "Could we please find Charter? I have to be back to the Consulate soon."

"Oh right," Demeter said. She turned to Charm and Kat. "You two keep trying to get that thing back up. I'll take them over to the pb/sl."

"Oh no you don't!" Kat said. "No WAY are we letting you head off alone with them. We're coming too."

****************************

The penalty box was warm and blue. There were a few people lounging around, considering and contemplating their various misdemeanours and sucking on some strips of excessively blue pemmican. In the corner on a large stool sat Joe, cross legged and shaping his hooves with an over sized nail file.

Melanie sat in another corner, gently ladling water on to the already steaming coals. No one looked as if they were suffering -- well not much in any case.

The steam had caused some of the carefully chosen wall paper (blue with fine silver specks) to start to peel in the corners. No one seemed to mind. The large tray of chocolate and pemmican seemed to be enough to keep all the occupants quite happy. No one seemed to notice that six people had entered the tiny room. Well ingestion of seven strips of blue pemmican can do that kind of thing to you.

Demeter coughed, causing Vic to look up from her work, she was painting one of the many saddles that lay around the penalty box with neatsfoot oil. It took a second glance to realise who the honoured guests were.

"This is Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police," Demeter started.

"He first came to the news group on the trail of a Keepership and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture he remained attached to the penalty box as umm... why are you attached to the penalty box?" asked Magna, the extraordinary amounts of blue pemmican not to mention the close proximity of a certain Mountie clouding her usually spot on judgement.

"I believe that we are seeking the one you call Charter."

"Oh yeah, Charter..." Magna continued. "Have you seen her?"

There was a general consensus of head shaking. "I think I saw her in the rehearsal hall," Joe piped up, causing everyone to turn and face him with a puzzled look on their faces. Joe simply returned to filing his hooves and said no more on the subject. He is known to be a horse of very few words.

"Speaking of rehearsal," Charm continued after the initial shock that a talking horse causes, "don't you think that it's about time we did some?"

The members of the welcome committee examined their own feet carefully. They seemed to have more than their fair share of left ones and had to admit that a rehearsal at least once in their lives might be a good thing. Reluctantly they climbed of the maple benches and left the safe haven of the pb/ sl and entered the real world of the News Group.

After another liberal spraying of Aquanet, it became obvious that rehearsal was not the only thing that needed working on. Some of the members seemed to be having trouble with their beehives -- finding bees in the Yukon at the best of times is not easy. Getting them to stay put on one's head is quite another matter. Even the fail safe use of Aquanet seemed not to be working. By unanimous decision it was decided that some the best trained bees available by mail order would be purchased as soon as it could be arranged.
For now, rehearsal would continue without them.

The fan kicks by and large seemed to go well. But the step hoppity steps were a little on the ropy side. Someone, and for the life of me I can't remember who, suggested that a reinforced dance floor might be a good idea, but only after Joe disappeared through a large crack in the tiles which appeared after a rather over enthusiastic fan kick on his part. But for the time being they decided to make a feature of the hole and added an extremely interesting arrangement of dried and pressed flowers to mask the fact that the hole was there at all.

After precisely 3 minutes and 22 seconds of continuous practice, discussion and invention of new routines it was decided that over rehearsal would be a mistake and that an adequate consumption of kitkats should be consumed to replenish the calories used by this over exertion. Charm went and phoned through the order for the German Kit Kats and everyone sat back to discuss the miraculous amount they'd achieved in the practice but it was agreed that the 3 minute maximum must be adhered to in future practice sessions to avoid the routine growing stale.

"Are these guys for real?" Stan leaned over and whispered in Ben's ear.

"It would appear so. I managed to acquire by means that are not entirely legal, a piece of this 'blue pemmican'. It would appear to contain a chemical known as Chlorophenosuxamethyloxyeuphonium permanganate which can in extraordinarily small amounts cause hallucinations and a strange phenomenon known as Dueserism -- which causes you to dance, write and sing, and leads to you spending excessive amounts of time considering the whys and wherefores of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and anything else to do with Canada."

"Wow," Ray exclaimed, as he stared at the small group with a worried look on his face. "Is it curable?"

"No, I believe not. I've never seen a case of Dueserism go into remission."

"That's so sad. There's no treatment?" Stan asked.

"Oh yes," Ben replied. "It's easily managed. Give a sufferer a keyboard, a mouse and an ISP and they'll be quite happy. It really can be endured quite satisfactorily."

"Good," Ray replied, "just one question."

"What is it Ray?" Ben asked.

"Where IS Charter?"

****************************

For the moment, the three men standing in the wings of the rehearsal hall had apparently been forgotten. They were free to watch the rather wild array, or rather disarray, of dancers, singers and cheerleaders before them. There were some musicians huddled in a far corner as well, tuning up a rather unique blend of instruments. There was a large upright piano set up on what appeared to be trailer with a tow hitch attached, two complete sets of drums, two flutes, two guitars, two recorders, a kazoo, a dulcimer and -- bagpipes?!

"I guess they're not quite as obsessive as we were told," Ray decided quietly, wincing at the discordant notes that floated across to them.

"I believe that may be another side effect of the blue pemmican," Ben answered. "Their mental processes are greatly speeded up. It makes it rather difficult to concentrate on any one thread of thought at a time. The attention of a victim of Dueserism often jumps from one subject to another. The blue pemmican seems to aggravate this symptom."

"Yeah, well I'd say they've been eating way too much of the stuff then!" the spiky blonde detective offered with a shake of his head, eyeing the rather bizarre uniforms of these fanatics they'd been warned about. Most all of them wore bright red tunics covered in sequins paired with either regulation jodhpurs or tap pants with an extraordinary amount of butt ruffles! This combined with the wildly wobbling three-foot tall beehives, which also seemed to be a preferred style, made for a rather eclectic sight which was nearly hallucinogenic in itself!

Several women suddenly entered via a side door and were warmly greeted as the three men exchanged surprised glances. Apparently the newcomers were cheerleaders, and their attire--"I guess they liked Shelly Litvak and the Kit Kat Corral girls," Ray grined as Ben blushed and ducked his head in memory.

Stan frowned. "Shelly Litvak? The Mob guy?"

"I wouldn't exactly call him Mob," Ray answered quietly, "more like mob wanna be. We crashed his birthday party and saved his life. It was before your time."

One of the girls suddenly broke away from the group, running through an amazing series of fourteen back handsprings and ending up in the splits!

"Not bad," Stan observed quietly and eyed the other scantily clad cheerleaders anxiously. "It ain't contagious, is it?" he asked, unconsciously wiping his hands firmly down the sides of his tight jeans. "This Dueserism stuff I mean?"

"Extremely," Ben answered, "but I don't think we're in any danger of catching it."

"How's that Fraz?"

"Our lives, and the television show that reflects them in this reality, *is* the contagion," Ben explained. "Or, to put it another way, we're the germs that have infected them."

"Oh."

"Yeah, well that's all very interesting, Benny," Ray interjected with a quiet hiss, "but it doesn't help us locate this Charter woman! She could be sitting right in front of us and we don't even know what she looks like!"

"Well, perhaps if we simply ask--"

There was a sudden commotion amongst the cheerleaders who'd risen to practice one of their cheers. The three visitors glanced up to witness hands and legs wheeling vainly in the air as first one, and then several of the women, crashed and bumped into each other, falling to the ground with multiple 'THUDS'. Ben glanced down as he heard something rolling across the hard wood floor and quickly spotted the culprit. He bent and picked it up, discovering a small black marble.

"JANICE!!!" the cheerleaders cried in unison.

A rather inconspicuous little woman suddenly set her dulcimer aside and left the group of musicians to scurry to the center of the large stage. Actually, she was quite conspicuous in that she wore neither the three-foot tall beehive hairdo nor the massive amount of butt ruffles favored by the other women about the area. Her red serge uniform was almost normal looking, except for the sequins. She even wore a Stetson!

"Sorry! Sorry!" she apologized profusely. "Not my fault! Charm tricked me again. She always does that right before TNT shows VS but I've almost got them all back together again. I promise to be more careful. Where is it?"

The cheerleaders pointed in unison to where the three men were standing in the shadows of the catwalk. The woman in question tipped her hat with a polite 'Thank you kindly' and headed in their direction, scanning the floor as she approached.

"Perhaps she can help us," Ben offered quietly as she slowly made her way toward their hiding place.

"Why are we whispering, Fraser?" Stan asked with a frown, but kept his voice down.

"We were warned that these women could be dangerous if confronted en mass," the Mountie reminded his friend softly. "I think it wise if we deal with them only a few at a time."

"Whatever," the younger detective agreed and gave his neck a loud 'crack'.

Ray awarded him a sharp scowl as the noise drew the woman's attention and her head came up to frown at the shadows before her. She continued forward and her eyes quickly adjusted to the change in lighting. She saw them and grinned--then suddenly went quite pale.

Kowalski and Vecchio both lifted fingers to their mouths at the same time in a clear request for silence, and Fraser offered the woman a reassuring smile. He was in fact quite concerned by the sudden ashen tone of her complexion and seriously worried that she just might faint on them. He quickly reached out and steadied her as she started to sway. "Deep breath!" he ordered her softly, glancing to where the other women were starting the break up into little discussion groups or head back out into the tundra of the newsgroup. Kowalski pantomimed slow deep breaths at her side. She ignored him, closing her eyes and forcing several shuddering breaths to calm herself before facing them again.

"Better now, Miss--Janice, was it?" Ben asked solicitously.

She blinked wide hazel eyes up at him and gave a small nod. Her surprised gaze danced over his companions and closed again in disbelief. "Okay," she sighed and swallowed convulsively, "who slipped me the blue pemmican?"

The two Rays chuckled while Ben gave them an admonishing glance. "No blue pemmican, Miss Janice. We're quite real," he assured her quietly, "or as real as anyone in this virtual space. I believe this is yours?"

Janice forced her eyes open again to find that Ben was holding a small, black marble in the palm of his hand. She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Yes," she managed to squeak. "You didn't--trip over it--did you?"

Ben quickly shook his head. "No," he assured her, "though I believe those ladies over there did. You should be more careful with such things. Someone could get hurt."

"I--ah--I will. I'm trying. It's just that Charm put a hex on my bag of marbles, well actually on the marbles themselves. She really hates Victo--" Janice abruptly slapped a hand across her mouth.

Suddenly, from across the room, one of the women stood and let out an incredible blood curdling scream, turning to glare at the shadows were the four of them stood talking.

"I didn't say it Charm!" Janice shouted back, her hand on Ben's arm staying his natural tendency to bolt to the rescue. The woman, who Ben now recognized from earlier, gave the shadows a truly evil grin and chuckled to herself as she turned back to the group of women she'd been sitting with.

"*Vile Vicki*?!" Ray hissed in obvious loathing, keeping his voice to a bare whisper lest he set Charm off again. She must have better ears then Benny!

Ben suddenly realized what Janice had almost said and took a step back, almost reeling as though he'd been hit.

Janice watched him in concern but answered quietly. "Yes," she admitted, watching as Ben struggled with his composure. "I'm one of her few defenders here."

It was Ray's turn to step back.

"Not that I think what she did was right!" Janice hurried to add. "But I do think she deserves a fair trial." She jerked her head to indicate the group of women still lingering in the rehearsal hall. "Most of them would lynch her in a second if they ever found her."

"She's HERE!?" Ray hissed in disbelief.

"No," Janice answered quickly, "at least not at the moment. Not that I'm aware of anyway. The news group is a virtual reality. People come and go at will. There's no way to really imprison someone here, you know?"

"But you protect her when she is here?" Ray surmised, glaring at the small woman before him. "How could you--"

"Ray!" Ben halted the man's aggressive move with a gentle touch on his shoulder. "Janice is right. Victori--"

A small hand was suddenly slapped across his mouth and Janice glanced back toward her friends in obvious concern. When there was no immediate reaction, she removed her hand. "Sorry," she offered contritely.

Ben merely nodded and cleared his throat. "Ah, 'she'," he continued carefully, "does deserve a fair trial, Ray, no matter our personal feelings on the matter. We can't be taking the law into our own hands here."

"If I find her here I'll do a hell of a lot worse then just lynch her, Benny!" the other man promised grimly.

"Given that this is a virtual reality, Ray, you wouldn't be able to catch her anyway," Ben told him. "At least, I don't think you could. Given that we are as fictitious as she is, and that she is real in our world--" He frowned pensively as he contemplated the different ramifications of the virtual world into which they'd stepped.

The older man gave the small woman with them another suspicious glare and then turned away, fighting to subdue his raging emotions.

Stanley leaned toward her. "Not a good name to mention around him," he offered conspiratorially.

"It's not a name I can mention at all," Janice replied and glanced back at Ben, explaining. "That's the nature of hex you see. I mention her name and I lose all my marbles. I can't defend her--if I don't have all my marbles."

Ben frowned, "The virtual marbles directly reflecting your level of intelligence while within the virtual world of the newsgroup?" he surmised.

"Exactly," she nodded. "Not that it causes any great problems, except the occasional trip. There are others here who are a screw loose or cracked, and all of us are unhinged to some extent or other--"

"Hey Fraser!" Kowalski slapped his friend on the back and joked, "sounds like you'd fit right in!"

Ben gave him a long-suffering frown as Ray suddenly spun back around from where he'd been glaring at the bare brick of the rehearsal hall's walls. "Enough chit chat!" he suddenly declared firmly. "We're running out of time here." He gave Janice a demanding stare. "So, you gonna help us or what?"

"Help you?" she asked, confused.

"We're looking for a Miss Charter," Ben supplied. "Someone, a talking horse actually, told us he'd seen her here? We were hoping you could point her out to us."

"She left about a half hour ago with Roxy," Janice answered. "I think they were headed over to the Newbie Welcoming and Staging Area."

There was a sudden commotion amongst the dancers on the stage and Ben clearly heard his name as the group of women began to frantically glance around.

"I think they finally remembered us," Ray observed.

"I think you're right," Ben decided and turned back to Janice. "Would you be so kind as to direct us toward this Newbie Welcoming Area, preferably via a backstage exit or other inconspicuous route?"

Janice glanced over her shoulder at the women as they started to split up into two search groups. "This way!" she hissed, quickly disappearing behind a piece of unused scenery. "Hurry!" She darted around several large props, potted plants and asundry items before opening a heavy metal door and ushering them out into the vastness of the tundra once more. The wind was starting to pick up.

"How can you have a blizzard in a virtual newsgroup?" Stanley wanted to know, hitching his collar about his ears.

"Someone must be talking about a hurricane again," Janice answered over the incessant sound.

The three men blinked in confusion, but shook their heads and dismissed it as unimportant.

"Is the Newbie Welcoming Area far?" Ben asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard. "We're not exactly dressed for this weather!"

"That's easy to correct," she decided and suddenly closed her eyes. A look of intense concentration crossed her features.

In the next instant, the three men suddenly found themselves decked out in full winter parkas and gloves. Even heavy boots. Janice too was now properly attired for the elements that confronted them.

"Of course," Ben sighed. "It's a virtual reality. I should have known such visual projections were possible here."

"You're telling me I ruined my good Armani suit for nothing!?" Ray groused irritably.

"Well, I didn't know, Ray," Ben excused himself. "This is all new to me as well, you know."

Janice offered a sigh and glanced at the closed stage door. "You know they're going to kill me when they find out I hid you from them."

"So if we hurry up maybe they won't find out," Ray suggested and waved at the tundra.

"Right you are," she decided and, picking her direction, headed off in a straight line across the trackless terrain.

"Now, don't worry guys, the Newbie Welcoming Area is right over here," shouted Janice as the four made their way through the blinding snow. "The weather should clear up in a few minutes, just as soon as someone changes the subject away from hurricanes."

"Well I hope they hurry up," whined Ray, "my nose is gonna freeze off at this rate!"

"Quit yer whinin' Vecchio, this ain't nothin' compared to the time we. . . ."

"Now Ray. . .er, Stan. . .this is neither the time nor the place for. . . ."

BOOM!

The Mountie's admonition was lost in the deep rumble of heavy artillery. "What was that?" The three men looked to Janice for an explanation.

"It was either Demeter testing her cannon or Magna playing with the catapults. C'mon, the weather's clearing up now"

As the snow lifted and the sun came out the large outdoor area adjacent to the Dance Hall came into view. In a place of honor, a large gaily patterned piece of canvas shaded what looked like a fancy recliner chair with a harness attached. A large black dog was curled up on the seat ignoring the activity going on all around.

In front of the pavilion was a large wooden stage surrounded by an area of packed dirt. Brightly colored flags flew from the fence and many props were scattered here and there, the whole place had the feel of a carnival. Several buildings were nearby. One was obviously a stable; several horses were visible through the stall doors and more were grazing in the field just behind. Another building stood with its doors open and a couple of sequined mountiettes were rummaging through the batons and pom-poms stored there. Yet another building stood off to one side, its doors chained tightly shut. Yellow signs that said "DANGER" and "FLAMMABLE" were plastered on every wall.

"Janice!"

The call came from the small group clustered around a strange-looking contraption that towered over the shed. To Fraser's analytical eye it looked like a cross between a cannon and a catapult, and very dangerous.

Magna was standing in front of the machine, gesturing wildly at Demeter and Kat, who were consulting a large drawing. "See? If we load that fancy sparker display and send it up a few hundred feet it would be like fireworks, only louder!"

Demeter looked doubtfully at the drawing, then over to the ammo shed, then up at the cannonpult, a small grin spread over her face. "You know, it might work, it wouldn't hurt to try anyway. What could go wrong?"

"Excuse me!" Kat shrieked. "Remember the time you blew up that other newsgroup? Some John Tesh group wasn't it? And remember when the pasture was a hill? I had to go to alt.construction and borrow a bulldozer! Of course, that redheaded guy was kinda cute. Nevermind. Are you sure this'll be OK?"

"Of course I'm sure. JANICE! Where are. . .oh, you're right there. Oh, hi guys. I guess you haven't found Charter yet, I wonder where she's gotten to? Janice, help me put one of those big sparkler shells in this thing. Has anyone seen Jess? No? Good! You know how she gets when we start playing with fire, all safety-conscious and stuff. Geez, just because we appointed her fire marshal."

The shell was eventually loaded into the cannonpult after much huffing and puffing, assists from various other performers, and a near-disaster involving a makeshift crane and a jar of marshmallow fluff. Demeter nervously supervised the packing of the black powder and the placement of the hydrogen tanks while Magna ushered performers and newbies out of harm's way.

"OK everyone, into the bunkers now! HEY YOU! Get away from there! Someone show our guests where to sit and no, you can't all be in the same bunker as the Mountie! Ready now? 5. . .4. . .3. . .2. . .1. . ."

WHUMP!!!

Silence.

"Think we used too much propellant?"

"I wonder where it landed?"

Beehive hairdos began to poke up from the edges of the bunkers as the dancers made their way out of their places of concealment. The pyrotechnic shell had disappeared into cyber-space, leaving no trace if its existence. Fraser, Ray and Stan made their way over to the spent cannonpult where a puzzled group had gathered around a large chalkboard. A horde of sequins and beehives followed them closely. Magna was lecturing, waving her hands at the smudged and incomprehensible symbols on the board.

"See? We should have divided here, not multiplied! We used three times as much propellant as we needed; that thing is probably in orbit by now!"

Before anyone could offer a comment a shadow fell over the entire area. With cries of "Incoming!" everyone dived for the bunkers again. This time Fraser ended up under a pile of enthusiastic women. The object, whatever it was, hit the parade ground with tremendous force, sending a rain of dirt across a wide area.

After the dust settled the beehives began to appear again. Fraser was bright red by the time he crawled out from under all the women, and quickly made his way to the crater to hide his confusion. A surprised murmur rose from the crowd as they spied the contents of the large hole. Fraser climbed down to inspect.

"Interesting. It would appear to be a 12-foot Steinway concert grand piano with a high-gloss baby blue lacquer finish. This attached note seems to have survived the impact. Hmm, whoever they are, they have impeccable penmanship. The note reads:

"Attention all you nasty, mean, inconsiderate pyromaniacs of alt.tv.due-south! You have blown up our newsgroup for the last time! In retaliation we have kidnapped your Keeper of Keeperships and are holding her hostage, without her nobody will be able to keep anything! We will inform you of our demands later, after tea and maybe a nice nap. Do not attempt to rescue her, resistance is futile!

Love,
alt.music.john-tesh"

A small shriek came from one of the watchers at the edge of the crater. It was Alex.

"Ohmygosh! They've got Charter!"

****************************

"Jeez, they seem to be pretty peeved over this one!" Ray was standing at the edge of the smoking crater, looking down at the 12-foot Steinway concert grand piano with a high-gloss baby blue lacquer finish that had fallen from the sky and left a sizeable hole in the Newbie Welcoming Area. Small, fist-sized pieces of smouldering debris surrounded the instrument of terror, and Fraser was, naturally, investigating.

With Ray at the crater's edge were Stanley Kowalski, the slightly soiled Alex along with the equally soiled Kat, Magnes and Demeter, who had been testing their cannonpult, and the very soiled and slightly charred Janice, who had bravely attempted to shield Fraser from the force of the impact, a force which had shaken the whole newsgroup. The first new arrival to the scene was Melanie, on brief sojourn from the penalty box/sweat lodge, who was now being filled in by Janice.

"Well, Ray," replied Fraser, returning from the centre of the crater and raising an eyebrow to his more mature partner, "judging by their note it's not the first time they've been, shall we say, inconvenienced?" He looked around to a choir of sheepish expressions and a chorus of murmurs.

Kowalski felt it was his turn to investigate. "You sayin' there's some kinda conspiracy deal goin' on?" His tone seemed somewhat aggrieved; he was a little upset that, as the musical malevolence hurtled down toward them, he felt someone had tried to push him underneath. He was too preoccupied with impending doom to notice who it was, but from now on, he was gonna be taking names. "What is it? Revenge? Flamewar? Pre-emptive Strike?"

"Um, Failsafe," answered Demeter.

"Excuse me?" Fraser raised his eyebrows and looked at Demeter. She shifted slightly under his gaze.

"It's...we've...there's...Look, there was this consensus thing when we first built the cannonpult, because some members had expressed completely unfounded concerns about safety." There was a barrage of coughs from the assembled duesers. Demeter glared at them before continuing, "I was totally against it, but they made me put in this failsafe device that would hopefully redirect any errant firepower to a 'safety zone'."

"alt.music.john-tesh?"

"We didn't think there'd be anyone there," confirmed Magna.

"A reasonable assumption," agreed Ray, nodding.

"He's totally unknown in Holland," added Melanie. There was a long, awkward pause. "Well, he is..."

The silence was broken by a loud scream from across the Welcoming Area. The assembly all looked to the far side of the crater to the source of the scream, apparently a woman with a fire extinguisher. She sprinted to the edge of the crater and began dousing the smoking embers of debris with foam. "Who...who..." she swallowed, trying to catch her breath, "who...did this...?"

Fraser turned to Janice, their helpful guide through the newsgroup, and sought comfirmation. "This would be the aforementioned Jess, the appointed Fire Marshal?" Janice nodded. "Ah, " the mountie turned to Jess, who with surprising efficiency had managed to extinguish any small fires that had been caused by the arrival of the piano, and answered her. "It appears that this 12-foot Steinway concert grand piano with a high-gloss baby blue lacquer finish was sent as a message from the denizens of alt.music.john-tesh, attached to this note which explains that, owing to the repeated bombardment of their group, they have decided to extract revenge by kidnapping Charter, your Keeper of Keeperships"

Jess looked up at Fraser, her eyes wide with an expression of mixed recognition and disbelief. The extinguisher in her her hands discharged, covering her feet with foam.

"So," said Ray, turning to the trio of cannonpult operators and breaking the silence, "you've been hurling these fireballs into their newsgroup, and you didn't even think to apologise?"

"We figured that after the first couple of times, there wouldn't be anything left but spam," explained Kat.

"Actually," corrected Fraser, "according to certain recent studies they found that the two creatures most likely to survive after a nuclear attack are cockroaches, and afficionados of the music of John Tesh."

"And now they've got Charter." Kowalski shuddered. He'd seen the movies. "She's at their mercy over there, they could be doing anything to her. I've seen the movies. Pouring petrol over her, cutting an ear off...er..."

"Playing music?" assisted Fraser.

"Oh! God, no," wailed Ray, "don't even go there!" His expression was that of unrestrained disgust.

"Then it seems we have no option but to rescue her as soon as possible," stated Fraser. Duty called, and when duty calls for Benton Fraser RCMP, it wouldn't be found wanting. The only question that remained was how...

"Perhaps I can be of assistance?"

They turned to see a figure lurking in the shadows. "And you would be...?" asked Ray.

"The name's Lawley. Carl Lawley." As the shadowy figure stepped into the light, they could see he was a man of action. His powerful physique, his confident stride, he just radiated sexual chemistry. As he moved further from the shadows, the light grew so that they could see his face...

"Wow Fraser," Ray commented, "He looks just like you. Only cuter, somehow."

"That ain't possible," Kowalski opined, open-mouthed.

"I believe he's employing what's commonly known as an Artistic License," observed Fraser.

"Perhaps," replied Carl, "but that's not important right now. What is important is that we affect the rescue Charter as soon as possible."

"He sounds like you too, Fraz," observed Kowalski. "How can that be?"

"I've been talking to Paul Haggis," replied Carl. Fraser and Ray looked stunned.

"He's here?" Ray looked around. "He's here in this newsgroup? I got something I need to know!"

"Oh yeah? And what would that be?" Kowalski asked. He had no idea who this Paul Haggis person was, but he seemed real important.

"Benny was running for this train, and..." Ray stopped. "Why am I talking to you? We should be helping Fraser get Charter back."

Just then, Jaina arrived to find out what had caused the disruptions to the newsgroup. She'd been tickling the ivories on the dance hall piano when the quake hit, throwing the dancers into greater disarray than before. Being one of the few not tangled up in the chorus line, she was sent to investigate. As she approached the crater, she saw the Steinway and squealed. Rushing down to the crater's centre, she immediately began checking for signs of damage.

"That's Jaina," Janice told them. "She plays piano with The Band." As if in confirmation, a discordant strain rose up from the crater, putting everyone's teeth on edge.

"It's still tuned!" Jaina squealed with delight. "A quick lick of paint and some spangly bits, it'll be good as new!" She began fixing the harness attached to Og, a Dog, to the piano.

A dark shadow fell across the assembled duesers, causing them to look skyward in unison. "The ransom demand!" wailed Magna, running for cover.

Fraser looked from the growing shape high in the sky to Jaina, who was oblivious to the situation now unfolding and gleefully attaching the harness to one of the Steinway's legs. "Oh dear," he exclaimed.

****************************

Og, the dog, having a keen canine sense for impending doom, yelped out a warning that only Fraser understood.

The incoming ransom demand whistled as it hurtled groundward. Two unsuspecting newcomers, Lyn and AnnieVox, slid down into the crater to help Jaina hook up the harness, pausing to pet Og. Fraser quickly gauged the speed and trajectory vectors of the descending object. He glanced from the diverse group huddled at the lip of the crater to the innocent four working below.

Without a conscious thought to his safety, as heroes are wont to do, Fraser sprinted a few steps into the crater and flung his body toward the happily oblivious women. The ebony shadow of the incoming object grew rapidly larger, expanding to cover the bottom of the crater. The gathered crowd drew a horrified breath and leapt back.

Simultaneously, Og sprang forward, jerking the harness from Jaina's hands and knocking the newcomers halfway up the slope, as Fraser tackled her, his feet sweeping the area where the newcomers had been. It was a desperate attempt to knock all three to safety.

WHAP!!!

A blue piano smacked the soft dirt beside the first just as Fraser and Jaina tumbled conveniently out of the way, sending a huge dusty shockwave over the assembly. The pair rolled, choking on dust, up the side of the crater. They came to a halt in a tangle of arms and legs. The newcomers' panicked squeals were lost in the hiss of the dust settling.

Catching his breath, Fraser cleared his throat and blinked up at the woman, who straddled him, one of her hands pinned beneath his back and the other quite a bit lower. Oh, dear. He flushed as brightly red as his serge uniform. Her face was so close he could smell the peppermint gum she chewed to cover the pemmican snack she'd had earlier. He licked his lower lip nervously, staring into her startled and bashful eyes. Yes, this was definitely a compromising position.

The two stared for a long moment, uncertain of how to rectify their position. Then Og trotted over, harness tinkling and dragging behind him. His owner, Jill chased after him, trying to grab the wayward end. He lavished drippy wet kisses on their cheeks. They broke out in soft laughter and fell apart, to lie on the soft virtual earth.

Fraser verified the safety of the other women and sprang to his feet, automatically tugging the hem of his tunic to straighten it. With a nod of acknowledgment to Jill, he held out a hand and pulled Jaina easily to her feet.

"Pardon me," he said with a small lopsided smile and a shy duck of his head. "I believe I have a demand to inspect."

She nodded mutely as he scrambled into the huge crater caused by the second impact. The crater within a crater was deeper than the first. A fine coating of brown dust lay over the first piano and all of those assembled. Carl beat him to the new piano, bending to inspect the writing on its top. The others came out of their shock and started forward as Fraser joined him.

"Wait!" Carl bellowed, staving off the flow of duesers with upraised hands. "You really don't want to see this."

Fraser peered at the shining top of the piano. The demands were scrawled across it in crimson lipstick, a garish contrast to the baby blue wood. The words blurred as he focused only on a Polaroid picture taped haphazardly in the center.

Carl met his eyes with an upraised brow. "It's worse than we could have ever imagined," he whispered so that only Fraser could hear.

"I agree." Fraser nodded, turning back to the picture and unable to tear his stricken gaze from it.

It was a photo of Charter, Keeper of Keeperships, bound, spread-eagle on the top of a pink baby Grand surrounded by John Tesh CDs, eyes wide and vacant, head phones over her ears.

Carl rubbed his temples with his fingertips. The two men locked eyes in knowing horror.

"Total mind wipe," they murmured in unison.

Above them, dark clouds gathered quickly and swirled in fury. Lightning cut the sky like a golden serrated blade. In the distance thunder rumbled. They shivered as they heard Og whine.

****************************

The group in the crater scrambled to the top and peered up anxiously. Thunder clapped all around them. Lightning ripped through the sky. Clouds slammed into each other, tumbling away in fury. The rage of the John Tesh newsgroup manifest itself in an angry, frenzied storm. Suddenly without warning, the lightning ceased. The thunder rumbled off into the distance and died. The clouds parted and the sun broke through. The group gazed in wonder at the transformation.

Melanie frowned. "There's something wrong," she said pensively. "The storm couldn't have just died like that." Worry wrinkled her brow.

"The John Tesh newsgroup must be experiencing technical difficulties," Kat reasoned. "We better double our pace if we expect to rescue Charter," she warned. The group of women began jabbering furiously.

Carl, Ben, Ray and Stan moved a few yards away to speak privately.

"Okay, Fraser, what's up now?" Ray demanded in a clipped voice.

"I think you mean down, Detective," Carl interjected. "And it's two pianos." Ray narrowed his eyes at him.

"This," Ben answered, handing Ray the photograph. "Evidence that Charter has indeed been kidnapped by the John Tesh newsgroup," he remarked soberly.

Stan glanced over Ray's shoulder at the picture. He slapped Ray forcefully on the back. "I told you they'd cut off her ears, Vecchio," he muttered. "And now they're trying to cover it up."

Ray grimaced, then glared at Stan. "Those are earphones you moron!" he snapped, advancing toward Stan. "She's listening to music," he growled as he stuck his face in Stan's.

Stan braced himself and glared back at Ray. They were nose to nose. "You wanna fight?" Stan challenged.

A loud gong interrupted their argument. The noise was deafening. The sound bounced off the buildings and reverberated throughout the tundra. Carl straightened to full alert. "Damn!" he swore, his eyes darting around the welcoming area. "They've released the women from the Penalty Box/Sweat Lodge!"

Suddenly the women by the crater made a beeline for Ben. "Hide!" Demeter yelled as she tackled Benny, knocking him to the ground. Magna, Kat, Jaina, and Jill piled on top of Demeter, burying Ben in a sea of butt ruffles.

"They're coming!" Janice shouted as she, Melanie and Jess reached the pile and jumped in.

"Don't forget me!" Lyn yelled as she wormed her way into the mound.

AnnieVox circled the pile trying to find an opening. She backed up to gain a running start, tripping Stan in the process. She launched herself at the pile. It quickly became a mass of squirming, wiggling beehives, butt ruffles and Stetsons. Sequins flew high into the air and drifted down like confetti.

Ray stared at the melee with disgust. He reached down and helped Stan to his feet, their heated exchange already forgotten. "Come on Kowalski. Let's go find a seat. This'll take awhile."

Stan stood and brushed dirt off his jeans. He eyed the pile of women suspiciously and wondered which one had tripped him. *Has to be the same one who tried to push me under the piano,* he thought to himself. Unable to identify the culprit, he finally shrugged and followed Ray to a mound of dirt at the lip of the crater. They plopped down. They watched with indifference as another group of women appeared at the far side of the welcoming area and started racing toward the pile of women atop Ben.

"Looks like a dozen more," Stan muttered, squinting at the stampede.

"Great!" Ray snapped. "That'll make enough for a football game. They can use him as the football." He slid down to the ground and leaned comfortably against the mound of dirt.

Carl hurried over to Stan and Ray. "Aren't you going to do something?" he urged. He glanced at the group of women racing toward the pile. "Those women have just been released from the Penalty Box/Sweat Lodge. They're Mountie Hunters of the worst kind!" He stared at the stampeding group, mentally calculating the distance between them and the pile. He glanced back at Ray and Stan.

"Nope," Ray answered nonchalantly. He picked a piece of lint off his sleeve.

"He's a Mountie," Stan remarked. "He can take care of himself." He slid down beside Ray. "Hey Vecchio, you want to play some cards or something?"

Carl stared at them in disbelief. He looked again at the stampede and the pile and quickly came to a decision. "I'm Lawley, Carl Lawley, and I can assist," he declared. He planted his feet and took in a huge breath. "QUANTRON!!!!!!!!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. Instantly every female in sight came to a complete standstill. Eyelashes stopped fluttering. Legs stopped pumping. Hands stopped groping. Every single member within hearing distance was suspended in time, completely motionless. Carl crossed his arms and looked over the welcoming area with pride.

Ray and Stan's mouths gaped open. "Wow!" Ray exclaimed, jumping up in astonishment. Stan shot up beside him. They looked around the welcoming area. Ray spotted movement in the pile. He watched wide-eyed as Ben moved arms and legs and climbed out.

"How...how'd you do that, Carl?" Stan stammered. He glanced around nervously and caught a glimpse of Ben. He watched Ben untangle a measuring tape from around his thigh.

Ben, seemingly unperturbed by the phenomenon, freed himself and moved to Carl's side. "Thank you, Mr. Lawley," Ben said. He twisted his head and cracked his neck, then tugged down his tunic and straightened his lanyard.

"So Carl, tell us how you did that," Ray muttered as he helped Ben brush sequins off his tunic.

"Well..." Carl grinned. "It all started with a 5/8th thread."

"Is that weight or length?" Ray interrupted brusquely.

Carl laughed out loud. "No, Detective Vecchio, I don't mean sewing thread," Carl answered, fighting back his laughter. "A thread in the newsgroup is a post and all the replies to the post, and the replies to the replies. The topic of this particular thread was the 5/8th rule," he explained, chuckling in amusement.

Ray shot him a quelling glance. "Okay, Mr. Wiseguy," he retorted. "What's that got to do with..." Ray waved his arm in a sweeping motion, "...freeze framing women," he asked sarcastically.

Carl, taken aback by Ray's rudeness, hurried to placate him. "I hypnotized them, Detective Vecchio," he replied. "I lured them to my reply to the 5/8th thread, then expostulated on the metric system versus base ten, comparing that to the use of Esperanto as the first...."

"Okay, okay, Mr. Encyclopedia," Ray interrupted irritably. "Just give us the facts."

"Then I trapped them with the Quantron!" Carl declared. He beamed in triumph. Ray and Stan gave him a blank stare. "When I say 'Quantron', they go into a stupor," he explained simply. He sighed and shook his head, amazed at their inability to grasp the obvious.

"So will they be, uhh...stupid like this forever?" Stan asked, a confused look on his face.

"No, no," Carl assured him. "They'll come out of it when I say..." he glanced around to be certain no member could overhear him, "...chocolate éclair," he whispered conspiratorially.

Ben nodded his understanding. "Good work, Mr. Lawley," Ben praised him. He patted Carl on the back. Ray and Stan looked at each other and rolled their eyes. "Now I think we need to turn our attention to the matter at hand," Ben said briskly. "We need to search for clues to Charter's whereabouts. But first..." he scanned the welcoming area, "...we need to become familiar with these members. Can you identify these women for us, Mr. Lawley?"

"Of course," Carl replied. He motioned them to follow. He stopped at the pile of women who had trapped Ben moments before. "You've already met these ladies," Carl commented as they studied the pile.

"Err, yes," Ben replied with a grimace. "And they are truly unforgettable," he added with deceptive dryness. He hurried away. He stopped by a figure lying face down, caught in a stomach crawl. The figure was dressed in a red tunic underneath a midnight blue kevlar vest, jodhpurs, white running shoes, and a green hard hat. "Is this a girl?" he asked, studying the form thoughtfully.

Carl shook his head in annoyance. "That's Alex," he muttered.

"So it's a guy," Stan decided.

"No, she's a girl," Carl corrected. "Or should I say, she's not a girl, she's a therapist!" he mimicked. "Or a late night newscaster," he grumbled. "Or maybe a psychic." He frowned, then sighed ruefully. "I'm not sure what she is," he finally admitted. "I believe she first came here on the trail of the Pretender newsgroup, and for reasons that defy all logic, has remained, attached as a nuisance," he finished. Ben nodded his understanding and they moved on.

"Yo, Mr. Encyclopedia!" Ray shouted from the opposite side of the welcoming area.

Carl flinched at the greeting, sighed in resignation, and hurried to Ray's side.

"Who are these two?" Ray asked, staring at two women locked in a wrestling hold.

"Tammy and Annie Kietz," Carl replied. "They must be fighting again."

"What...one of 'em got her thread all tied in a knot?" Ray sneered.

Carl groaned inwardly. "Err, no, Detective Vecchio," he answered with a respectful tone. "They fight over whose college team is the best," he explained.

"Wow, get a load of this mean machine!" Stan called out, standing over a turbo-powered sewing machine in the middle of the welcoming area.

Ray, Ben, and Carl moved to Stan's side. "That belongs to Lyn, the official seamstress," Carl informed them. "Lyn's the one with glasses. She was in the first pile," Carl reminded Ben.

"I, I, err...remember her," Ben remarked. "I believe she was trying to measure my..." He stopped abruptly and looked around, clearing his throat. "And this group?" he asked, as he marched quickly to the group that had entered after the gong.

"Let me just take a look," Carl answered as he, Stan and Ray caught up with Ben. He studied the women. "These two in the red long johns with the stripe up the side are Jeanie and MaryK. MaryK's the one with the wet seat. They fight over the..." he cut his eyes at Ben, "...over Hutch," he ad-libbed quickly. Ben stared at him with a blank look. "And this one is LadyShoes," Carl hurried to add, pointing to a woman holding a bottle of massage oil. "She likes shoes."

"Aptly named," Ben remarked. He, Ray, and Stan traded glances, nodding their heads in agreement.

"And this is Charm," Carl continued. "I believe you met her at the dance hall."

"I believe we heard her at the dance hall, you mean," Stan corrected. He looked at Ray. "She's the one who...."

He was interrupted by a soft clearing of the throat. The four men turned around. Two individuals stood before them cloaked in dark robes that covered them from head to toe, their faces concealed by hoods.

"Hello," Ben said politely, studying the two newcomers. "I'm Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I first came to the newsgroup in search of...."

"We know why you're here," the smaller of the two interrupted softly. She pushed back the hood of her robe, exposing her face. Her companion did likewise, revealing a man. "We're lurkers; we see everything," the woman explained. "We watch from behind the bushes so no one can see us."

"Yeah, why's that?" Stan asked. "You got a disease or something?" he asked bluntly. Ben chastised him with a frown.

"Oh don't worry, Constable," the woman quickly assured Ben. "We're not offended." She looked at Stan. "We just prefer to remain anonymous."

"It's safer that way," the man interjected.

"Safer?" Ben asked. "By that you mean the news group is dangerous?" he questioned, seeking clarification.

"Well, yes, actually; it is," the woman answered. She glanced around nervously at the immobilized members.

"Have you seen what they do to newbies?" the man asked, fear lacing his voice.

"Did you look in the ammo shed?" the woman asked in a shaky voice. The pair started backing away as if to flee.

"I understand," Ben said in a calm voice. "I'm sure some of the members can be quite intimidating," he added, allowing them time to control their panic. "So how can we help you?" he asked gently. They both let out a huge breath.

"Well, actually we want to help you," the woman said timidly. "We know something about Charter," she offered, her voice rising in excitement. Ben's brows shot up.

The man piped in. "Another lurker who prefers to remain anonymous also lurks in the John Tesh newsgroup," he said in a rush. "He told us they're not holding her there. They've hidden her at a secret location!" The pair gazed at Ben anxiously, willing him to believe their story.

Ben studied their faces, measuring the pair's credibility. He finally nodded. "Thank you both," he replied with genuine sincerity. "You've been a big help."

"Oh thank YOU, Constable," the woman replied. "For listening to us. We know we're insignificant," she added, bowing her head in self-deprecation.

Ben studied her bowed head for a moment, then lifted her chin so her eyes met his. "It was my pleasure," he replied firmly. He held her gaze for a moment and smiled. She caught her breath and exhaled slowly. Ben turned to his partners.

"I do have one more thing," the woman blurted out. Ben paused. The four of them looked at her expectantly. She glanced at her companion. He hesitated for a moment, then nodded his head reluctantly. She took a deep breath and gazed directly at Carl. "There is a spy among you," she declared gravely. The pair darted across the welcoming area and disappeared into the bushes.

Carl's mouth gaped open.

Ben, Stan and Ray looked at each other soberly. They knew the odds of finding Charter were stacked against them.

****************************

Fraser, Vecchio and Carl Lawley were looking at a rough map sketched in the dirt, talking in low voices. The rest of alt.tv.due-south were still frozen in various compromising and undignified poses, and it was through this maze of motionless womankind that Kowalski now made his way.

"Can't find 'em," he announced, folding his arms irritably. "A whole newsgroup here and I can't find my sunglasses. I paid a hundred fifty bucks for those things. If those John Tesh fans took 'em--"

"We're in a tundra, Kowalski, what do you need sunglasses for?" Vecchio said without looking up.

"Well, actually, Ray," Fraser started, but a strange noise caught everyone's attention.

"Voices," Fraser ascertained immediately. But if the whole newsgroup was frozen... Ray and Ray pulled their guns. Fraser and Lawley slowly rose to look around.

Two odd-looking creatures came into view, the sort of creatures that suggested an over-abundance of blue pemmican in the vicinity. The four humans blinked several times, but the... 'people' were still approaching. One was an intelligent-looking zebra with a large glittery hairpin in her mane. The other was walking backwards to face her companion, talking very animatedly to the zebra. It seemed to be some kind of striped-spotted exuberant kitten, an RCMP naval hat perched, somewhat askew, between her ears.

"...I'm telling you, Zebs, we should take a page from the Trek newsgroups. Due Smut University, that's the way to go. We can have lessons in Italian come-ons, French come-ons, street-lingo come-ons, Mountie-stalking, Stetson repair... Ooh, making pemmican! And anything with whips and leather is a good thing. These people need to liven *up*!"

At that last earnest word, the kitten backed right into the astonished characters - specifically, into Kowalski. She stumbled and landed in a tiny pile of fur on the ground.

"*Ow*. What the--" She looked up... and up... Wide blue kitten eyes widened further at finding herself lying at Kowalski's feet, but she quickly recovered. "I told you, Zeborah, DSU. Check it out, half the characters are already here."

"Are you all right, ma'am?" Fraser asked hesitantly. He assumed these two were newsgroup denizens, but they seemed unsurprised to see fictional characters walking among them. Perhaps it had something to do with this university they were planning; a commendable endeavour.

"I'm Sasscat," she said promptly, picking up her hat and climbing to her feet. "Yeah, I'm-- *ow*." She collapsed again and rubbed a foot. "My ankle... paw... poor ankle! I think I've sprained it."

Zeborah snorted but subsided at a dirty look from the kitten. Kowalski was getting a look too, a pointed look from the Mountie beside him.

"What? Oh, Fraser, c'*mon*. It wasn't my fault. She walked into me, *she* walked into *me*."

"She's injured," Fraser said reprovingly.

"Oh, fine." Kowalski bent down and picked up the tiny bundle of fur. "At least you're easy to carry."

"I'm from New Zealand," she said smugly. "This is Zeborah. We're twins, born five years apart. So, what are you guys doing here?"

"We first came to the newsgroup on the trail of keeperships," Kowalski said, before Fraser could. Vecchio picked up the next phrase: "and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture--"

"Actually, Ray, those reasons *would* be somewhat relevant in this case," Fraser interjected. The two Rays stared at him as he explained to the New Zealanders, "It seems your Keeper of Keeperships has been abducted. She's being held hostage by alt.music.john-tesh--"

"Who?" Sasscat asked, fixing her hat firmly on her head.

"Exactly," Kowalski muttered. He was pretty sure he'd seen Thatcher wearing that hat once. Huh... oh yeah, the pirate thing with the ghost ship.

"The place where Demeter's excess firepower goes," Zeborah explained. "Sass, I told you you should pay more attention to the newsgroup."

"Well, excuse me for having interests beyond Due South." Sasscat snuggled closer into Kowalski's chest. "Mmm, forget I said that. So the Teshies have got her? And you need her back if you're going to get keeperships. All right, we'll help. What do we have?"

Zeborah cleared her throat, glancing sidelong at Vecchio. "Sasscat, aren't you forgetting something?"

"Hmm? Oh, right." Suddenly Vecchio was gone. Fraser, Lawley and Kowalski whirled to stare at the spot where he'd been. "Where's Ray?" Fraser demanded, sounding worried.

"Right next to you," Sasscat said, surprised. "--Oh, you mean Vecchio. I sent him away. Haven't seen seasons one and two in years, can't do the characterisation. Don't worry, someone'll bring him back in the next part."

Fraser and Kowalski exchanged glances, deciding by silent consensus to pretend they understood what the kitten had just said. Her casually authoritative attitude reassured them that she at least *thought* she knew what she was talking about, and in Chicago, that was pretty much all that mattered.

"So, what are you guys getting?" Zeborah asked.

Kowalski frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Keeperships," Sasscat prompted, wriggling out of Kowalski's arms to drape herself over his shoulders. Her ankle-paw seemed to have recovered remarkably quickly. "What Keeperships are you getting?"

Fraser and Kowalski looked at each other. "We hadn't considered that," Fraser said.

"Right," Sasscat said, after a pause. "Hey, I've got an idea--"

"Sasscat," Zeborah said warningly. "No slash, remember?"

"Oh," Sasscat said dismally. Fraser mouthed 'what's slash?' and Kowalski shrugged. Suddenly Sasscat brightened again. "Got it. Ray, you can be Keeper of Fraser's huge p--"

"Sass!" Zeborah exclaimed in horror.

"*Postage* stamp collection," Sasscat finished, giving her five-year-older twin an evil grin.

"Right," Zeborah said in amusement. "And I might believe you if we called them 'postage' stamps in New Zealand."

Sasscat (wisely) didn't dignify that with an answer. Kowalski said, "Why would I want to keep his postage stamps?"

Sasscat grinned. Before Zeborah could stop her, she said, "Slurp."

Kowalski gave Fraser a blank look. New Zealanders were just as weird as Canadians. "Yeah, maybe," he said diplomatically. "What about him?"

Zeborah shook her head and sighed.

Sasscat smirked. "Easy," she told Ray. "Fraser's Keeper of your Great Throbbing--"

"Sass-*cat*," Zeborah said patiently.

"The *car*, Zeborah, the *car*! GTO, Great Throbbing--"

Fraser cleared his throat. "Ah, if I may," he interjected. "I believe we're losing sight of the issue at hand."

Sasscat giggled and was just opening her mouth when Zeborah said firmly, "Keep it PG, Sass."

"Oh, shut up," Sasscat said in disgust. "Well, what about the hairpin, then? Perfect Keepership for Benton buddy over here."

"The hairpin?" Kowalski repeated blankly.

On cue, Zeborah flaunted the large glittery clip on her mane. "The Holy Hairpin," Sasscat expanded. "The one Fraser had to... retrieve from Thatcher's--"

Fraser quickly cleared his throat. "That's not important right now," he said. "What is important is that we rescue Charter."

"And find my sunglasses," Kowalski added. "And get Keeperships."

"Other than the Hairpin," Zeborah cut in. "That one's mine."

Kowalski looked at her in surprise. "And you're not offering to... y'nno, give it up for the sake of the Mountie, all that obsessive stuff?"

"No," Zeborah said firmly. "It's mine. He can't have it."

"Huh." Kowalski was trying to figure out if that made her more or less obsessive than everyone else in this virtuality world when the kitten on his shoulders shivered violently.

"Damn, it's cold up here," Sasscat said.

"Then get down," Kowalski retorted helpfully.

"Mm, snarky, I like that." Sasscat burrowed inside his parka. Way inside. Kowalski yelped and batted futilely at the wriggling lump next to his skin.

"What are ya doing?" he demanded.

Her head re-emerged hatless and settled just below his chin. "Keeping warm. You don't mind, do you?" she added innocently.

Kowalski gave a nervous chuckle. Keeping warm, right. No worries. He was about to point out that he minded very much, but Fraser was giving him the Big-Eyed Mountie Look. "Fine," he said with a sigh, "knock yourself out."

"Don't say it," Zeborah pre-empted her younger twin, causing Fraser and Kowalski to exchange confused looks again. Sheesh, twins. Zeborah continued, "Let's start, shall we? What do we know about Charter's kidnapping?"

"Uh, some lurker guy says she's not being held in the Tesh newsgroup," Kowalski explained, glancing worriedly at the kitten inside his clothes. "She's been hidden at a secret location."

Sasscat rubbed her head against the bottom of Kowalski's chin and purred. "Here's a thought, Zeborah. If you wanted to hide someone, where would you go? Somewhere secret... far away..."

Zeborah's eyes lit up in understanding. "A place half the world hadn't even heard of..."

"New Zealand!" they chorused.

"We'll need reinforcements," Sasscat decided. "But we'd better get a good headstart before waking up the Statue Girls."

"If you hadn't sent Vecchio away--" Zeborah started.

Sasscat made a clicking sound. "Great idea. Let's see, we'll need someone tough... resourceful... and who has way-o chemistry with the boys here. Got it."

Almost instantly there was a voice from behind, a voice Fraser and Kowalski knew very well. The voice of impending doom.

The voice of Meg Thatcher.

"Where the hell am I?"

"Alternate universe, alternate universe," Zeborah whispered, grinning wickedly.

"Oh, please, I've tortured her enough," Sasscat whispered back. "Ray, are you going to turn around?"

"Huh, I kinda thought it was safer to stay facing this direction," Kowalski said, but he and Fraser turned around.

Thatcher folded her arms. "You're a laugh-riot, Detective."

Kowalski would have made a snappy comeback, or at least pulled a face at her, but he was too busy staring at her dress. Fraser seemed to be having some breathing difficulties - perhaps it was the cold air.

It was an impressive dress. High skirt, low neck, long sleeves and *looong* legs. It was a particularly brilliant shade of red, with a line of black triangles that started somewhere over her left breast and
curved down and across the dress to point down her right thigh.

There was a sound, not unlike the thundering of manly footsteps at a dead run. Most of the male contingent of alt.tv.due-south burst into view. Someone (safely out of sight at the back of the group) wolfwhistled.

"People I recognise!" Sasscat said excitedly. "Brent! Longshanks! Gordon! Hi! We're gonna rescue Charter. Meg's here to... give us a hand." She grinned at the well-dressed Mountie.

"I was having dinner with Leftenant Welsh," Thatcher said defensively. Then quickly added, "A working dinner, I mean. A... a professional, working dinner. Regarding work."

"What work?" Kowalski asked incredulously.

"Liaising work. Constable Fraser is the *Deputy* Liaison Officer," Thatcher reminded him. "I *do* have liaising work of my own, oddly enough."

Kowalski raked his eyes over the dress. "Yeah, I'll bet you were liaising."

Thatcher folded her arms, inadvertently pushing up her cleavage, of which there was a copious amount. Several of the men had found places to sit, and were now circumspectly crossing their legs.

Fraser finally recovered his voice. "Ray," he chided uncomfortably.

"I can handle this, Constable," Thatcher snapped, glaring at Kowalski.

"Ohhh yeah," Sasscat purred, a little louder than she'd intended. The three Due South characters looked at her in surprise.

"Say what?" Kowalski said, having to crane his neck at an awkward angle to see her.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything," Sasscat frantically insisted. "Keep going!"

"Give it up, Sass," Zeborah advised. "They'll start sparring again later."

"That's true," Sasscat said, brightening. "Okay, so reinforcements are here. We can get to New Zealand through our modem - better wait til we get there before waking up the girls." She nodded at the frozen Mountie fanatics. "Um, Ray, why don't you... fill the Inspector in, on the way?"

Kowalski hesitated a moment, trying to figure out if that was as dirty as it sounded. Sasscat blinked at him innocently, and he shrugged. Must be imagining things. He briefly summarised the situation for Thatcher, trying not to be too obvious about checking out her dress. Or lack thereof. Nnh, Welsh had all the luck.

Suddenly Fraser said, "Where's Mister Lawley?"

Sasscat looked around, startled. "He's gone."

"The question is, where and when and how come?" said Kowalski.

"Technically, that's three questions," Thatcher commented. "But I imagine counting that high confuses you."

Sasscat began to purr again, and only too late bit it back. "Dammit, stop looking at me and keep fighting," she said in exasperation. "Oh, never *mind*. Zeb, you pay attention to the newsgroup, did you see anything?"

"He went that way," Zeborah said, nodding up at the sky. "Although I can't imagine why. What's up there?"

Fraser stared up at the deceptively peaceful sky, the lurkers' statement about a spy suddenly becoming painfully clear. "alt.music.john-tesh."

There was a grim silence for several seconds. "Oh dear," the New Zealanders said at the same time.

"I think we need to rethink our plan," Zeborah said seriously.

"Uh-huh," Sasscat agreed. "Um, Frase', you know how to wake up the girls?"

Fraser shifted uncomfortably. "Well, ye-es," he admitted reluctantly. "Nevertheless..."

"Nevertheless the less time we waste the better," Kowalski snapped, "because that... *man* just went and leaked our plan to the opposite side. So we need those reinforcements now."

"Very well." Fraser braced himself and raised his voice. "Chocolate eclair!"

Pandemonium was instant. The horde of Fraser-crazed Due South fanatics came to life, Mountie-radar alerting them immediately to Fraser's change in location. They hurtled towards him...

...and stopped. Thatcher stood in front of her subordinate officer, arms folded, emanating frostiness despite--or perhaps because of--the revealing dress.

"Oh, man," someone said in disgust and despair, "who brought *her* here?"

Sasscat giggled. Kowalski let himself grin as well. "Shouldn't she be getting cold?" he asked Sasscat in a low voice, letting Thatcher handle Fraser's groupies. "Cold-*er*," he amended, watching her put her hands on her hips and launch into one of her lengthy, often slightly Freudian tirades.

Sasscat coughed slightly and managed to find something extremely interesting to look at just inside his parka. "Um, no. I... well, I made some... modifications to the dress when I brought her here. She's probably warmer than you are."

Kowalski glanced in her general direction, the closest he could get without hurting his neck. "You suck."

This time Zeborah didn't even need to speak; her quelling look was enough. Sasscat rolled her eyes, and sighed for the lost opportunity. "Well, I can modify your clothes warmer if you want," she said instead.

"Modify," Kowalski repeated thoughtfully. "You think you could modify that dress a little shorter?"

Sasscat's head came all the way out of the parka again. "Abso*lute*ly," she said enthusiastically. "Uh, Zeborah?"

"No."

"But--"

"*No*."

"Killjoy," Sasscat and Kowalski muttered at the same time. Dust rose from the ground and settled again at a collective sigh of disappointment from the newsgroup's male members. They turned their attention back to Thatcher and the Duesers.

"...and nor is he your personal sex slave!" Thatcher finished indignantly. "Constable Fraser is the property of the Canadian Consulate, and he services me alone." She cringed and corrected, "Serves. *Serves* me." She took a breath through clenched teeth and managed, "He serves his *duty*."

"Wonder what she'd be like on a strip of blue pemmican?" Sasscat said thoughtfully. She and Zeborah grinned at each other.

"Yeah, wonder how many strips *you* have a day," Kowalski muttered.

"Me? Nah, never tried the stuff. Annoys Zeborah no end." Sasscat lifted her voice. "Guys! We think the Teshies have taken Charter to New Zealand, so we're all going through mine and Zeborah's modem to take
a look-see. Who volunteers to--"

Everyone stepped forward.

"Help," Sasscat finished vaguely. "Um... great. Okay. Let's get into it!"

"What are you doing in RayK's parka?" someone asked jealously.

Sasscat started to ask Zeborah who, then quickly thought better of it when she realised that Zeborah would only tell her she ought to pay more attention on the newsgroup then she'd *know* who were the RayK fans, and Sasscat would be obliged to knock Zeborah out, or at least pull a nasty face. Instead she said, "Keeping warm."

A large number of heads swivelled in Fraser's direction, eyes lighting up. "I'm cold," Demeter said hopefully.

Thatcher growled.

****************************

The assembled crowd looked round at one another. . . or rather, the cast looked at each other, while the newsgroup members stared longingly at the cast. Then suddenly from nowhere came a loud voice.

"Cold? Who's cold? We're going to have to do something about that. . . ." The accent was odd, but unmistakably English. The ensemble turned around to see what appeared to be a nine-foot high pile of military hardware walking towards them. The pile stopped, and a six-foot Englishman dressed in loud surf fashion, with an odd-looking utility belt around his waist, walked around from behind it. He began to arrange the armaments according to the type of weapon, with pistols in one sub-pile, automatics in another, and so on. When the pile had been sorted out. He took one of the flame-throwers, pointed it at the more damaged piano, he let loose a long jet of flame. The piano caught fire, and started to blaze happily.

Turning, he offered his hand first to Fraser, then to Stan, who both returned his handshake.

"Constable, Detective, good to meet you. The name's Misha Sumra. I first came to the newsgroup in search of a place on Usenet where the people are friendly, and for various reasons, one of which being that I was
pleased to find people madder than myself, I stayed, collecting Keeperships en route. Speaking of which" he said, finally noticing Thatcher "One of my keeperships is right here. How did you escape from the Hotel, Inspector?"

"What?"

"The Chicago Drake Hotel where I store Keepership women. It's right next to the railway siding where I leave my Keepership weapons"

"HOW DARE YOU!!! I'm NOBODY'S Keepership!"

"I'm sorry, Inspector, it says so in black and white right here". He pulled out of the pocket of his belt an official-looking scroll, and unrolled it. "Misha Sumra," he said reading aloud "Keeper of the weapons
Muldoon was supplying in 'Call of the Wild', and of all the women who've ever made passes at Fraser in episodes of Due South. That includes you, Inspector."

"But I never made any sort of pass at Fraser!"

"Yes you did, in the episode. . . . Hang on a moment," Misha turned to Sasscat. "You pulled her out of an earlier episode didn't you?"

"Ah... yes."

"That explains it. To her, it hasn't happened yet."

"So what do we do about it?" asked Stan, somewhat bemused.

"Well, the issue is, can we hold the Inspector accountable for something she is predestined to do? I'll ask some friends on a Red Dwarf mailing list I know. They've been a bit quiet of late, and are always up for a
discussion on the nature of causality." He reached into another belt pocket, removed a pen and sheet of paper, scribbled something down on it, before stuffing the paper down the barrel of a rocket launcher,
aiming apparently at random, and firing. The ball of paper shot out of the launcher and rocketed away. It passed a border line marked at the edge of the tundra and vanished.

"Where did it go?" a voice from behind the crowd asked.

"It crossed the boundary of the newsgroup, and made the jump to CyberSpace. We should get a reply soon. I once clocked a forwarded message doing the Kessel run, from here to the 'Ride Forever' list, in under four parsecs. And welcome back, Detective Vecchio."

An audible cheer went up from various members of the newsgroup crowd.

Ray carefully worked his way around the crowd, back to the little knot the DS characters were standing in. "Frase, you got a spare belt anywhere?"

"Borrow this one," said a woman, appearing suddenly behind them, handing Ray a black Sam Browne belt. "I'll let Fraser thank me later. . . ."

"Courser! Get back here!!!" came the shout from over in the direction of Ride Forever.

"Ooops, looks like I gotta go. . . ." With that, she disappeared, but not without making sure to 'accidentally' brush past Fraser, as she did so.

"Where did lose your belt, Ray?" asked Fraser.

"Some place called 'Ride Forever'. You don't wanna know."

"Ray. . . ."

"No, really, you do NOT want to know."

"Sorry to undercut you there, Sass," Misha apologised, "but the BBC are doing Season 1 reruns, and so I had to bring Ray back. Plus which, if Ray's gone, all his fans are going to join the rush for Fraser, which is
enough of a crush as it is."

Meanwhile, both Ray and Stan had joined various members of the pyrotechnicians in admiring the weaponry Misha had brought in.

"Reinforcements," he explained. "Help yourselves." Several newsgroup members broke off from the crowd around the fire to examine the weapons, followed by more, before a large portion of the group were assessing what was on offer. "We have shotguns, automatic and semi-auto pistols, sniper rifles, loads o'stuff. I even got in these," handing .22 calibre 'number 8' Baker rifles to Fraser and Thatcher , along with a box of ammo, "especially for you two."

"Uh. . . Thank you, Misha, but I prefer not to use guns. . ." began Fraser.

"Hey, you saw what alt.music.john-tesh did with those pianos. If we bump into any of those guys while we're looking for Charter, you're going to want to be locked and loaded."

"Also. . . Uh. . . this ammunition. . . it appears to be a slightly odd design. I'm not sure exactly, but these rounds," Fraser continued, holding one up for everyone to see, "appear to be miniature effigies of
Victo-"

He was suddenly cut short by a hand clamped over his mouth by one of the women.

"Don't mention *her* name! All hell breaks loose if you do!"

"Janice, put the mountie down. I think he gets the idea," interjected Demeter, who joined the conversation having picked up a lethal-looking M-16, several hand-grenades and a large block of plastic explosive from
the weapons pile. "The reason we use effigies is because the traditional newbie welcoming salute is an effigy fired from the main cannon. When Misha acquired the weaponry, he decided to have it converted to
alt.tv.due-south standard ammo."

"But why," asked Thatcher, "can't we say 'Victoria Metcalf'?"

Immediately the sky of the newsgroup tundra turned an ominous black, and a storm began to brew. From the assembled ranks of DueSers, one woman rose into the air, surrounded by an aura of bright yellow light. The transfigured lady spoke in a voice like the thunder that was rolling all around.

"WHO DARES MENTION THE NAME OF THE INFIDEL IN MY PRESENCE??"

"Oooooh dear, now you've done it," said Demeter quietly to Thatcher. "Now you've gotten Charm angry."

A beam of light shot from Charm's hands, and hit Janice in the stomach. Immediately, small black spherical objects began to pour from a hole in a bag tied round her waist, and roll away across the newsgroup.

"What the. . . .??" both Rays said together, looking up from rummaging through the weaponry on offer.

"Janice has just lost her marbles again," explained Melanie, coming over to standing beside them, watching this all-too-familiar light show. "It's the hex in effect. Now the curse has been carried out, Charm'll go
after the source of the blasphemy. Thatcher's in real trouble now."

The illuminated Charm looked straight at the Inspector, eyes blazing a vicious anime-demon-possession red, with a glare that would have burnt a hole clean through planet Earth. Everyone else dived for cover, but Thatcher stood her ground, fixed her expression, and returned the stare with her frostiest, ice-queen stare. The elemental stare-out continued for several seconds, which stretched out like months, then water vapour began to rise from the Inspector's body, as the power of Charm's heat vision began to melt her ice facade. Charm, sensing victory close at hand, raised both arms into the air, without breaking the glare, and started to speak in her thundery voice. As she began, faint auras of white light began to form around the heads of the majority of the assembled female newsgroupers.

"The infidel's name had been mentioned, and penance must be exacted. I call on you, lovers of Fraser, recall her crimes against Our Favourite Mountie. Remember the evil she wrought in his life. Feel the hate. FEED THE HATE!" Her voice began to get louder, and the auras got brighter, eventually reaching a crescendo "I SUMMON THE HATE OF THE MASSES!! FEED ME WITH THE POWER!! AND LET THE BLASPHEMER *DIE*!!!!!!

As she uttered the last syllable, beams of light shot from the halos around the heads of the women, and collected into a ball between Charm's raised hands. The ball grew bigger and bigger, until the beams feeding it died out, leaving a ball of pure energy in the hands of the angry magic user.

"BY THE POWER OF THE AMOUNT THAT WE HATE THE EVIL ONE, LET THOSE WHO USED HER NAME BE INCINERATED!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The ball of energy expanded and expanded, until in enveloped Charm entirely. Then without warning, suddenly began expanding at such a rate that a quarter of a second after the rapid expansion began, the entire newsgroup was whited out, from the aura of the spell.

When the light faded, Charm was lying on the ground, breathing but exhausted. Everybody else was there, except Inspector Thatcher; where she had been standing, there was only a pile of ashes.

Nobody said anything; the shellshock was tangible. Then Demeter broke the silence. ". . .Wow. . ." she said, dazed ". . .I wonder. . . if we can work that one. . . into the newbie welcoming sequence. . ."

". . .What. . . happened?" Ray Vecchio was speaking now. "Where's. . . Thatcher?"

The DS characters all turned to look at where the Inspector had been standing. All they saw there was a pile of ashes. A hushed silence fell over the crowd, until someone on the throng shouted, "Oh my God, they killed Thatcher!!"

Suddenly a massed wail came up from the crowd, and a hefty section of newsgroupers, a mix of lurkers and regulars, broke away. From somewhere, they had obtained black mourning clothes, and began to make preparations for a memorial service. A selection of musicians began rewriting the lyrics to Elton John's 'Candle in the Wind', and a couple of people started work on designing a memorial garden extension to the pb/sl.

Benton Fraser, RCMP, just stood there, unable to take it all in. His two friends beside him were both upset, but they were, he reasoned, so shellshocked that they hadn't quite registered it yet. To him, however, the situation was painfully clear. His superior officer had just been vaporised in front of his eyes. He should have saved her somehow, shouldn't he? Maybe there was something he could have done. As an RCMP officer, he should have been ready to sacrifice himself in order to save her. He'd failed in his duty.

But the sorrow was not just a sense of job loyalty. . . it was different, deeper. A sense that even if it hadn't been part of his job, he would gladly have traded his own life for hers. Its closest relative was the sorrow he had felt lying on the station platform with a bullet wound, as her train pulled away. . . .

Suddenly, he remembered that he was a Mountie, and had a job to do. There and then, he resolved to push through the pain. He shook off his stupour, and addressed the the two detectives. "Gentlemen, we have just
witnessed an act of murder, on a Canadian citizen no less, and much as it may pain us to do so, it is incumbent upon us to bring the perpetrator to justice."

"I say let it slide, the Charm lady did us all a favour; plus which, the lightshow was worth any price." This time it was Kowalski speaking. Benny and Ray both turned to look at him with evil glares. HeyheyheyHEY, guys, I was just kidding. Crazy dizzy talk, that's all."

He turned to Vecchio "You wanna make the bust, or me?"

"I should do it," replied Benton. "The Inspector was my superior, and a fellow Canadian."

The three policemen made their way over to Charm, who was picking herself up off the ground.

"Wait a minute!" They all turned round to where Annie Kietz was standing. "That's impossible. We have two Chicago detectives and an Officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, all police officers of their respective territories. However, we are currently in newsgroup territory, where only official newsgroup police can make an arrest. This is Usenet, where there are no moderators or monitors, and as such we have no police force to make such an arrest. If you wish, you may file a request for Charm to be extradited to Canada for trial, but we have no Government through which you can apply for such a thing." Annie let her words sink in, pleased with the logic which had just saved Charm. Then she began her closing argument.

"Finally, since this reality is currently being controlled by Misha's 'Real Life' counterpart, it is a simple matter for the Inspector to be resurrected without knowledge of the crime taking place; Is that correct, Misha?"

"Indeed it is, Annie." Misha said. "And to illustrate the point. . . ."

Suddenly the ashes reformulated into the Inspector, who looked confused.

"What the??!?!!?!?!?? Last I remember was some woman trying to stare me out. then a big white flash, and now I'm here. . . ."

"You've just been resurrected. You were killed, as punishment for mentioning the name of She-Who-You-Cannot-Mention, and now you're back," explained Annie.

"I don't remember," the Inspector said.

"That's because, for you, it didn't happen." Magna chimed in "Thus, no charges can be brought against anybody, since the crime never took place. It's a bit metaphysical, but the logic works".

"And that means we can kill her as much as we want!!! I suggest stoning!!!" was the shout from somewhere in the crowd. "Leave her alone!!" was another shout. Suddenly the shouting match began to grow, with the Anti-Thatchers on one side, and the Megamaniacs on the other until, retrieving a loudspeaker from somewhere, Misha shouted aloud into the instrument.

"As of now, any attempts to kill the Inspector will be met with confiscation of weaponry and banishment to the penalty box/sweat lodge until the story is over."

In the crowd, someone fired off a shotgun round into the air in acknowledgement.

"What's the penalty box?" Thatcher asked Janice, who was currently searching for her marbles.

"We normally abbreviate it to pb/sl; it's the area of the newsgroup where anybody making innuendoes or double entendres ends up afterwards. Sort of a prison, but more a sort of voluntary quarantine, where suspicious fantasies can be indulged without (hopefully) infecting the rest of the news group."

While this conversation was taking place, the preparation of the weaponry began in earnest for several minutes, before conversation began.

"What about the spy?"

"Was it really Carl?"

"Never!"

"But he vanished. . . ."

"But he wouldn't sell us out. . . ."

"What's that about me?" asked Carl, as he appeared from nowhere. At once, he was set upon by a gang of regulars and lurkers, who held him down.

"Get him!"

"Spy!"

"Traitor!"

"I don't know what you mean!" protested Carl. "I had to go because I'm a double agent!!!"

Shouts of "Liar" came from the assembled lynch mob.

"Well, there's one way to find out for sure," concluded Misha, "Melanie, could you fetch The Box??"

"Are you sure, Misha?? Isn't that a bit cruel on Carl??"

"It's the only way, and you know I can't get it for myself. Only someone immune, like you, can. Please, Melanie."

"Okay, Misha," she said, before entering the pb/sl, and re-emerging with a lead box with many labels warning of 'Danger' slapped on the sides. She approached Carl, who began desperately to try and escape when he saw the box.

"Carl," said Misha, "I'm genuinely sorry to have to do this, but it's necessary to find out the truth. I hope you understand." Carl nodded, petrified, and Misha continued, "Melanie, open the box."

Melanie opened the front of the box, and Carl immediately began writhing in agony, while those holding him down seemed unaffected. All anybody else could see was a green glow emanating from the box, but Misha was wincing to see Carl suffering.

After five seconds, Melanie closed the box, and Misha asked Carl, "Why did you disappear??"

"I was playing double-agent," Carl, weakened from his exposure to the contents of the box, managed to croak "Hoping to get in with the John Tesh crowd and find out where Charter was. They still think I'm on their side."

"He's telling the truth," Melanie said. "That was pure m/m, NC-17, Plot-What-Plot slash we hit him with. No way he'd be able to resist it."

"So he's not our traitor," agreed Magna.

"But who is, then?" asked Misha, administering a testosterone injection to the weakened Carl, which revived him.

"Excuse, me, but......... what happened there?" asked Fraser, joining the group.

"We exposed him to slash-fiction, the one weakness of any male DueSer," Magna explained. "The experience left him so weak, he was unable to muster the strength to lie."

"What is 'slash-fiction'?" asked Benton.

"As I said before," Ray said, arriving and practically dragging Benny away from the group, "You DO NOT WANT TO KNOW."

"Anyone would think," mused Mel, with an evil gleam in her eye, "that he'd spent some time on 'Ride Forever'. . . Anyway, Carl's better now, so let's talk to him."

They turned to Carl. Demeter, Charm, Vic, Janice, Kat, Anna, and Sasscat came over to join them.

"So," asked Demeter, "What have you found out??"

"Charter's being held at the John Tesh fan club website, hosted on a web server in New Zealand. We have to go there to find her."

"Well, the infantry seem to be assembled," said Misha, "And I think the tanks are ready. . . So, let's be off when everybody's prepared for battle. Carl, how did you make your exit back in the last part?"

"Personal teleporter. Takes me straight there."

"If we could borrow it, we'll be able to rig it to take the whole defense force there." Carl removed the device from his pocket, and handed it to Misha, who took out a suspiciously tricorder-like instrument, ran it over the unit a few times, before handing the teleporter to Demeter.

"Take this, and wire it into the control circuitry of your tank. When you activate it, the telemat field will take everything within 50 metres of the tank with you to New Zealand. I'll have a few more fixed up in a second, we'll need one in each tank in order to transport everybody who wants to come along."

"Meanwhile, can we get some food? I'm starving!!" Stan's voice echoed across the tundra.

Roxy was immediately there, offering the Due South characters some chocolate, ignoring shouts from the crowd along the lines of "Hey, that's mine!!!"

Sudenly, a large trout flew over the newsgroup border, landing at Misha's feet. "Ah," he said, "This'll be from that Red Dwarf list." He picked it up, and removed the note attached.

"It appears they've ruled in my favour. Inspector, under the solemn laws of Keepership, you are mine. However, for the purposes of this quest, we'll be needing your leadership skills, so I won't send you back to the Hotel. . . for now."

"How very kind of you," said Thatcher sarcastically.

"Yep, she's back, just the same as ever," whispered Stan to Ray, who nodded in agreement.

*************

A couple of hours later, everything was set. The Alt.Tv.Due-South Charter Rescue Brigade was ready to go. The Pyrotechnicians and the Newsgroup Defence Force were fully kitted out with tanks, guns, bombs, and everything else, while the more level-headed members of the party stood there unarmed. After much fighting about who was sharing a tank with whom, it was agreed that the TV show characters should ride in their own APC (except by Ray, who wanted a Buick Riviera) At a signal from Demeter, the tank squadron activated their teleporters, and beamed everybody off to New Zealand in search of Charter.

****************************

The odd assembly teleported to New Zealand and found themselves staring at an alternating expanse of greenery and rocks.

"Aaah, boring old home sweet home," Sasscat said, Zeborah nodding in agreement.

"Well I've never been here before," Demeter retorted. "I think it's cool."

"Alright," Misha shouted so everyone could hear, "this may take awhile so..."

"Are you kidding?" Sasscat intervened. "Virtual New Zealand is even smaller than the real one. It'll take us an hour, tops to find Charter."

"Okay, then," Misha continued, "let's move out!"

Everyone gave his or her weapons a last check. Janice re-secured her marbles in her Sam Browne, and the lot of them piled into their various vehicles and spread across the countryside. After scouring the islands for over two hours and finding no sign of the Teshies or Charter anywhere, Misha called for a regrouping at the landing site. The group exited their tanks and gathered around for a discussion.

"This is nuts," Stan complained.

"I hate to agree with Kowalski, but, he's right," Ray confessed.

"I think it's time we looked at other options," Ben suggested.

"Hey," a voice rose, "where's Carl?"

"He went back to the Tesh newsgroup to see if he could figure anything out," Jaina remarked.

A loud gasp stabbed the air and a young girl jumped forward, grabbing Jaina by the shoulders and frightening her half to death.

"Tell me he didn't," the girl pleaded.

Jaina just nodded with a puzzled look on her face.

"If there really is a spy, then they know who Carl is. He could be in danger now too," the girl continued. Then sat on the ground mumbling and rubbing her forehead.

"Well now we have two problems," said Kat helplessly. "We don't know where Charter is and we don't know where Carl is."

"All we really know is Charter isn't at alt.music.john-tesh," Charm added.

"Or in New Zealand," finished Melanie.

"Hidden, hidden..." the girl suddenly stopped mumbling and stalked up to Ben.

"I'm Magna," she said bluntly, "I know you heard my name, but I was never formally introduced to you."

She straightened the pleats in her cheerleader skirt, swept her wavy brown hair over her shoulder, and straightened out her Stetson. Ray and Stan started to whisper to each other. Thatcher frowned and stared harder at Magna while listening to them.

"No, I'm not sixteen. I'm twenty," she shot in their direction, "and I have an idea. Constable, do you still have that picture of Charter?"

"Well, yes," Ben pulled off his hat, fished the photo from inside, and gave it to Magna.

She stared at it carefully then began to laugh, "Ah-ha, gotcha. The Teshies are smarter than we gave them credit for, but they made a mistake."

"Whaddaya mean?" asked Charm.

"Right under our noses," she said holding up the picture. "I recognize this place."

"Look out," Demeter said. "When she gets like this, there's no stopping her."

She looked up at Ben with her large brown eyes and handed the picture back to him. With a quick 'thank you kindly' she spun around almost hitting Fraser with her long hair a.k.a. alternate weapon.

Misha stood ready with the teleporter. "Where to?" he asked.

"Alt.tv.due-south.creative," she replied.

Several pairs of eyes went wide. Everyone rushed to the 'launch site' and promptly disappeared. They re-materialized near a massive warehouse. Magna ran to the door closely followed by the rest of the group. Inside, the walls were lined with filing cabinets and doors categorized by slash, gen, or neither, subcategorized by rating, then organized by author.

"Wow," breathed Stan.

"How can we find Charter in this place?" asked Alex. "It's bigger than Cyber-New Zealand."

"I need everyone to be quiet for a sec," Magna ordered.

"Oh, yeah," Demeter interrupted, "she's got radar ears too."

"Shh," Magna hissed.

Demeter shrugged. Magna and Ben stood listening.

"I hear a piano," she finally said.

Ben nodded and pointed to one of the far doors. "That way," he said.

"That's where we keep the oldest stories in the archive," Zeborah whispered.

They crept up to the room and slid the door open. Inside was Charter still tied to the piano, Carl tied to a chair, and an unidentified guardian dressed as a dancer. In the corner a CD player cranked out John Tesh's "Valley of Dreams." Charter and Carl had both glazed over. The third party, on the other hand, sat with her back to the door, head bobbing to the music. Misha jumped in and emptied a round into the CD player. Realizing what had happened, the spy tried to escape only to find the exit blocked by countless duesers. Her beehive fell off exposing short blond hair and an angry, yet slightly familiar face.

"Hey," Stan said, "do we know you?"

"Yeah," Ray realized, "you were one of those lurkers who told us about the spy."

Her head drooped in admission.

"But, why?" asked Thatcher, still not entirely caught up on what was going on.

"To make us look in the wrong direction," Ben answered. "We all assumed the spy was one of the main group. Stirring mistrust among allies, very clever."

By this time several people had rushed forward to free Charter and Carl.

"Are you guys okay?" asked Alex.

Charter nodded, still in a daze.

"I know why they tied me up," Carl said shuddering, "so I couldn't kill myself."

A few others tied up the traitor who glared evilly at them.

"I'll tell you something," she spat. "I'm not just a lurker at alt.music.john-tesh. I'll be missed."

Carl smiled. "Good," he said.

"That's what we're counting on," Melanie added.

"They'll come after you!" the spy shouted.

"Not if we strike first," commented Misha, brandishing his portable arsenal. "Regroup at the newsgroup. Time for the biggest strategy meeting ever. Let's get ready to rumble!"

"Excuse me," Ben said, "but we have found Charter which is, indeed, what we come for. Technically there will soon no longer be a reason for us to be here."

"Are you kidding, Fraser?" Stan burst out, picking up a fallen semi-automatic weapon and staring at it intently. "This is too much fun. It's payback time, and I say we stay and help."

Ray smiled at the realization that he was also enjoying himself. The end of it would mean back to reality. He looked at Fraser and silently pleaded for just a few more hours of fantasy.

Ben sighed in defeat. "I can't fight both of you," he said seeing his two friends staring at him. "After all, it isn't real."

"I can't believe you're going along with this, Constable," Thatcher was fuming. "It's puerile nonsense."

"C'mon," said Stan, "nobody can actually get hurt. I mean, we've seen that."

"Yeah," Ray snickered, "you got blown to ashes and still came back your usual, charming self."

"When I want your input, detectives," Thatcher growled, "I'll ask for it."

Misha rolled his eyes and quickly teleported everyone back to the dance hall. Thatcher was still lecturing about how pointless it was for them to even be there, much less play along. Everyone wandered toward the sheds and all stopped when Demeter let out a blood-curdling scream.

"It's all gone!" she wailed.

"Spare weapons, even," Misha joined her.

"Very clever indeed," Ben remarked. "They sent us after the wild goose and raided your supplies while everyone was gone."

"Benny," Ray prodded, "this is no time to be impressed with the bad guys' tactics."

Demeter was banging her head on the shed door whining, "we didn't leave anyone here to guard the place."

Magna slapped herself in the forehead and grumbled something about protecting the home base.

"Well," Kat said, "we can easily get more. That's the beauty of cyberspace."

"True," Demeter replied, "but now we know they definitely have fire-power too."

Suddenly, the situation was interrupted by the sound of a deflating balloon. Every gaze landed on Carl, who had been transformed back to his normal self.

"What happened?" he asked.

Sasscat, with the look of an experienced writer, stepped forward and asked him, "didn't you know you have to renew your creative license every four months?"

He shook his head sheepishly as all the writers in the newsgroup pulled out their licenses and pointed at the dates.

"Fortunately," Sass purred, "you can renew it here. At the back of the dance hall, there is a machine. Enter your latest story idea and scan your card, pretty easy."

Carl disappeared and the team took inventory. The immobile mega-fire cannon, catapult, and cannonpult seemed untouched.

"At least they didn't touch the REALLY sensitive equipment," sighed Demeter.

"If they had," Jess thought aloud, "we may not have had a newsgroup to come back to."

The pyrotechnics crew checked the list of missing weapons, ammunition, and various explosives, imagined them all back into existence and in proper working order, and made sure everything put back where it belonged.

"Well," commented Misha, "now that all the equipment has been replaced, how do we go about getting the Teshies?"

"I beg your pardon," Ben interjected, "but couldn't you just throw everything you have at them from here?"

"Not as much fun," Misha shook his head, "besides, it hasn't worked so far."

"Point taken," Ben agreed.

Thatcher glared at Fraser and began another tirade, "I can't believe you're encouraging them!"

Carl made his way back to the group with his hero image intact, handing Janice a few extra marbles he found. Janice gladly tossed them into her bag when something caught her eye. She picked up a piece of blue pemmican, smiled wickedly and picked up some purple. Meanwhile, Stan was getting bored listening to Thatcher lecture and began to lean to the side, aiming his elbow directly at the cannonpult. Demeter and Magna both spotted him at the same time.

"Don't touch the red..."

'CLICK'

"Oops," Stan said.

"Not again," wailed Jess.

Everyone dove for the bunkers except Inspector Thatcher who was still ranting. Then came the explosion. When everyone popped out, there was nothing left of the cannonpult but ashes and scrap metal and no sign of Thatcher.

"YESSS!" AnnieVox cried, "she's gone!"

"Is she dead again?" asked Lyn.

"Nope," Demeter replied.

"That explosion blew her right out of the newsgroup," Magna continued.

"Back to the hotel," finished Misha.

"Not dead?" Annie whimpered.

"Close enough," Lyn comforted.

"What was that?" asked Stan.

"The dismantle button," Demeter sighed.

"More like self destruct," Ray sputtered dusting himself off.

"Well it's dismantled isn't it?" Magna huffed.

"Ahem," Janice cleared her throat. " I know how to beat the Teshies." She proudly held out the purple pemmican. Everyone stared in disbelief.

"That stuff never helped anyone," commented Jaina.

"Not for us," Janice laughed, "for them."

"Right, so what are ya gonna do?" asked Demeter skeptically, "force-feed it to them?"

"Not exactly," she replied, "you know what happens when it's eaten. What if it was inhaled?"

Magna's eyes went wide. "You mean purple pemmican powder?" she remarked.

Janice nodded vigorously.

"You're a genius!" Magna cried.

"Who me?" Janice blushed.

They went to work on grinding the pemmican and creating the bombs so they would spread the dust just right. Finally, all was ready. Misha was up in the new lookout tower, telescope in hand with a clear view of alt.music.john-tesh. On the ground, Kat and Charm were loading a pemmican bomb onto the catapult. Magna sat staring at the radar screens, and Demeter stood by with a remote detonator.

"Fire one," Magna called.

The catapult was released and the bomb headed into the sky. Just as it was coming down over the Tesh newsgroup, Magna signaled Demeter who detonated the bomb. Twice more they launched the bombs. Then all eyes turned upward.

"Alt.music.john-tesh is now surrounded by a purple haze," Misha announced and climbed down from the tower. "Now we wait for the dust to settle and make our move."

"Now what should we do with her?" asked Vic yanking forward the spy, who was still glaring at everyone.

"You people have to be stopped!" she yelled. "You're all insane!"

"Gag her and bring her along," suggested Demeter.

"Why don't we just catapult her back to her own newsgroup," Magna chimed in, covering her ears in annoyance.

"We could tie her to one of the cannons," Misha said.

Several people continued to discuss the fate of the unfortunate Teshie in their clutches. They finally decided to tie her up, gag her, and return her personally, but there was a continuing debate as to who would be stuck in a tank with her. Eventually it came down to rock, paper, scissors.

"Aw, man," Demeter whined, "this game is rigged. I swear."

"Let's get ready to go, Demi," Magna said grinning.

Stan pushed his sunglasses higher and sauntered over to Ray.

"Hey," Ray pointed at him, "where'd you find those?"

"I didn't," Stan said grinning, "I imagined 'em, and there they were. This place is cool."

"Yeah," Ray agreed, "I'll be sorry to leave it. Hey, I should try that myself."

He wandered over to the Riv and stared at it as hard as he could. Before their eyes it became armor plated with a cannon mounted on each door and a machine gun attached to the roof. Ray smiled proudly.

"We're moving out," called Misha.

Everyone headed to their tanks. Ray immediately jumped into the Riv-death-machine quickly followed by Fraser.

"Woah," gasped Stan. "Hey, wait for me," he cried and ran to the car.

Every vehicle got the go-ahead signal and the dueser army rumbled across the tundra in the direction of alt.music.john-tesh.

****************************

"Every vehicle got the go-ahead signal, and the dueser army rumbled across the tundra in the direction of alt.music.john-tesh."

Charter, now freed of her bonds, felt the Dueser army's approach as a lung-rattling bass rumble. The tanks pulled up to a halt outside the door; there was a moment of silence, soon broken by a confusion of curt, pseudo-paramilitary shouting.

"I'm going in!"

"Cover me!"

"Go! Go! Go!"

Oh geez, Charter thought, rolling her eyes. Whoever's out there, they've been watching toooo many crappy action movies!

"Fire in the hole!"

Uh oh.

Charter and her rescuer dove behind the overturned piano. She pressed her face into the side of her champion's neck and squeezed her eyes shut. They both flinched as the door of her makeshift prison imploded with a massive roar. Oh no, she thought. I've only just been rescued from the Teshies! NOW what? Charter hugged her new friend tightly; she could feel the tension in his body as he prepared to bravely fend off this latest onslaught of terror.

My hero! Charter thought. She made a mental note to swipe him an extra-special thank-you treat when this ordeal was finally over.

Voices barked, barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

"Fan out!"

"Come on, people! Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

"Oh, after you, ma'am."

What was that? Charter wondered.

"Please, miss, allow me to carry that for you."

Charter peeped hopefully over the edge of the piano. Amidst the chaotic, hastily-equipped team of people who had charged into the room, she saw none other than Constable Benton Fraser cradling a shoulder-mounted surface-to-air missile launcher.

"It's Benton!" Charter whispered to her rescuer. He stared at her blankly.

"CONS-TA-BLE BEN-TON FRA-SER," she enunciated.

Dief yipped happily and scrabbled out from behind the piano. Charter quickly followed suit.

"Hold it, lady!" Ray grabbed Charter's elbow and swung her around. "Okay, where are you keeping

Charter?"

"But..." Charter weakly replied.

"Cut the crap, Teshie!" Stan glared at Charter and pushed up his sleeves. "Tell us where to find Charter, or it's LIGHTS OUT!"

"But, Ray..." Benton interjected.

"Stay out of this, Fraser!" Ray and Stan snapped.

"Guys..." Charter protested.

"Where's Charter? I'm counting!" Stan said, cocking his fist dramatically. "You ready? Okay, here we go!

Five... four... three... two..."

Charter meeped and flinched. When she heard Stan say "Huh" instead of, "One,"she timidly opened an eye.

Stan shrugged and handed Charter's photo back to Magna. "My mistake, sorry." Ray released Charter and clapped her on the shoulder. "Good work, everyone," he called out to the crowd.

Charter breathed a sigh of relief as a cheer filled the room. She leaned back against the wall, half-heartedly batting dust from her clothes.

"Are you alright, miss?" Benton crouched fretfully before her. "I realize that being rescued can be a very traumatic experience. And considering the length of your imprisonment here, you might require counseling for Stockholm Syndrome, as well. It's a common occurrence among hostage victims; a sort of role transference, if you will, when the hostage -- meaning yourself -- begins to empathize..."

Benton's voice trailed off as Charter's eyes narrowed malevolently. He cleared his throat and quickly stood. "Or not," he said, brushing non-existant dust from his sleeve.

Charter exhaustedly pinched the bridge of her nose as the rest of the newsgroup gathered around her. "I'm fine, guys," she said as Charm helped her to her feet. "No, really. That was a lovely rescue, made no less lovely for the fact that I'd already been rescued!"

"But.." Janice stammered, glancing at Demeter. Demeter shrugged.

"Perhaps you should explain," Benton said, somehow making it sound like an apology.

Charter sat down on the edge of the piano with a loud squeak. She jumped up, brushed the yellow rubber duckie onto the floor, then sat down again and began the story.

"Well, I don't really remember being held prisoner. It was... so horrible..." Her voice caught at the memory of the music; the endless, insipid music. Benton kindly offered her a clean handkerchief as she began to weep at the recollection. "Thanks." Charter blew her nose and continued. "Then I heard a bang, and I smelled pemmican. PURPLE pemmican!

All the Teshies started screaming and running around in circles, and then it was quiet for a little while. The next thing I knew, Dief was chewing the ropes the Teshies had used to tie me to the piano!" She glanced through the crowd and found Diefenbaker standing beside Amie, suspiciously sniffing the pocket where she Kept the stolen Milk Duds.

"And then everyone else came to rescue me, as well," Charter hastily added.

"How in the world did you escape the effects of the purple pemmican?" Roxy asked.

"I... um... maybe I built up a tolerance? By accident? I mean... never having eaten any before, of course!"

"Well," Magna said, patting Charter's shoulder comfortingly. "The important thing is, you're safe."

"Right, right," Stan said, stepping forward. "And now that you've been rescued--"

"Twice," Charter murmured.

"Now that you've been rescued twice," Ray said, "we have a favor to ask."

"Sure, name it."

Benton pulled a carefully-folded square of note paper from the inside brim of his Stetson. "We'd like to be Keepers," he said.

"Okay." Charter sniffled and tried to concentrate on her duties as Mistress of the Keepers List. "What would you like to Keep?"

"Well," Benton said, cradling the Stetson against his chest as he consulted the list.

"First of all, Ray would like to be Keeper of the Riv. And Stan wants to be Keeper of his GTO."

"Uh huh," Charter said weakly.

Dief, now seated at Benton's feet, whined peevishly.

"No, I hadn't forgotten," Benton muttered. "Diefenbaker here would like to be Keeper of the knit tam-o-shanter and collar set (although I'm not entirely convinced of his intentions with regards to these items), and I'd like to be Keeper of my Stetson."

Benton nodded with satisfaction and handed the note to Charter.

"I see," she said.

"What's wrong?" Stan whispered to Ray. "Search me," Ray whispered back. Benton merely stood at attention, awaiting Charter's reply.

"Err... the thing is..." Charter fought to compose a tactful reply. "Um..." Charter finally sighed and crumpled the note. "OH for CRYING OUT LOUD," she wailed, "Didn't you guys check the LIST?"

"List?" Benton asked, glancing at Stan and Ray. Detectives Kowalski and Vecchio shrugged simultaneously.

"Oh, wait!" Charter yelped, clapping her hands with glee. "I've got it! Oh, this is perfect! Hang on, fellas!" She hopped off the piano and gestured her newsgroup compatriots into a huddle. After a brief, whispered conference, they all nodded agreement and stepped back.

"Okay," Charter said, cracking her knuckles. She pointed to Stan. "You will be Keeper of Detective Stan Kowalski, better known as New Ray."

Charter then pointed to Ray. "And you will be Keeper of Detective Ray Vecchio, better known as Old Ray."

Finally, Charter turned to Benton. "You and Diefenbaker will be co-Keepers of Diefenbaker, and YOU will be the one and only Keeper of Constable Benton Fraser! Sound good, guys?"

Stan, Ray, and Benton glanced at each other, then nodded uncertainly. Dief made a noise which sounded suspiciously like a grumble of discontent.

"Great!" Charter grinned, relieved that several Keepership questions had been solved at once. "Wow, boy, I don't know about you all, but I'm ready to get back home!"

"But how?" Sasscat asked. "The tanks... they're... slightly... out of commission."

"Well," Charter said, "To properly bring this to a close, the first thing we need is someone who can play the piano."

"Ooo! Ooo! Me!" Jessica leaped forward, waving her hand frantically.

Charter nodded at the piano. "Go for it," she said.

Jessica sat down at the piano, dusted shrapnel from the keys, and began to play the opening bars of a familiar song.

"No, no, no, not the Mahler! The OTHER song!"

Jessica apologized and began to play the opening bars of an entirely different (yet still familiar) song.

"Perfect," Charter said. She turned to Benton. "Your turn!"

Benton tilted his head appreciatively, turned on his heel, and left the room.

"Okay everyone," Charter gestured for everyone to follow Benton. "You too, Jessica."

Jessica left the piano, which somehow continued to play "Western End of the Trail."

Outside, the afternoon sun hung low in the brilliant Arctic sky, casting long shadows against the shimmering white snow. Benton whistled up a string of saddled horses, which appeared as if by magic.

"Come on, guys," Charter said, swinging herself up into the saddle. "Let's go home."

The intrepid members of alt.tv.due-south then mounted up (with varying degrees of success) and rode off into the sunset. They sang as they rode (again, with varying degrees of success). As their figures slowly dwindled into the expanse of the wide, flat tundra (and just before the final credits began to roll,) snippets of conversation could be faintly heard over the rising Due South theme song:

Benton: "No, Ray, I don't think it MEANS anything to be a Keeper, exactly."

Ray: "So tell me this, then: why did we go to all this trouble?"

Stan: "Well, hey, we solved a mystery AND rescued a damsel in distress!"

Dief: <barks>

Benton: "Actually, it was Diefenbaker who rescued the damsel in distress."

Stan: "But WE solved the mystery, didn't we?"

Benton: "Errr... yes, I suppose so. With everyone's help, of course."

Ray: "Details."