From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
Subject: Mercury Theater #3
Date: 13 Sep 1993 01:14:51 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
Message-Id: <270hib$t99@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu


Part 3

Terri Librande

"I'd better get back in there." I suggested, heading back to the
window, which had been my 'door' onto the stoop.  It wasn't uncommon
in Brooklyn to use the window as an exit, or so I recalled.  When I
entered, Dottie had dropped the knitting, her arms cuddled around little
Shirley as if to protect her from the electronic demon.

"What are we going to do, Marty?"  I couldn't turn away from those worried
brown eyes.  She wsan't frantic, thank God, or hysterical.  Just begging
me to solve the problem.  "They say they're coming from New Jersey." New
Joisay.  Terrific.  "Poisen gas, Honey.  It's killin' people."  Her hands had
moved up, covering the kid's ears, as if to protect her from imminent death
by muffling her words.  "It's on the radio!"

"The radio?"  I parroted, glancing at Sam for support.  He shrugged.

"Tell her the truth," he said.  "It's only a show, Al."

Sighing, I turned back to the frightened woman.  "It's a play, Dottie. Some
kind of Halloween trick or treat."

Hands dropping to her side, she relesased the kid, sagging limply into the
chair.  "This isn't funny, Marty." Her eyes rolled up to meet mine, a
mixture of relief and exasperation, the voice on the radio building in
tensity with her words.  "Not a darn bit!"

That's when the noise filtered up from the street.  Screaming, and some
guy shouting.  It was sort of coming back to me now, the panic that I'd
been told about by Sam, even some movie I'd seen on the Late Show, documenting
it.  Hell, the whole building must be listening to this nonsense.

"Stay put, Dottie."  I noticed Sam was decidedly edgy, his eyes
alternating between the link and me.  Shirley was a bundle of tears, clinging
to the edge of Dottie's dress and the doll.  "It'll be okay, Sweetie," I
said, giving her a tentative kiss on the cheek.  I liked little girls, and
was only glad that she was too old to see the real man behind her daddy's
facade.  It would probably frighten her worse than the Martians.

"They aren't coming to kill us? With their smoke?"

"Nope.  It's just a play, like..."  Searching my mind for another children's
radio show made me hesitate.  "Like Little Annie Oakley."

"Oh, you mean "Little Orphan Annie"!"  Well, at least I had her grinning
through the parentally caused tears.  Sam was trying very hard to stifel
a laugh of his own.  "Daddy, you're so funny!"

Dottie gave me a look not unlike hero worship.  This was great, but that
screaming and seeming hysteria below us wasn't.  "Lock the door, Dottie,"
I cautioned, as I closed it behind me.  Not for one moment was I going
to leave unless those two were safe.

"All right, Sam."  The narrow hall was clear of people, for the moment.
"Who's in this building?  Am I here to keep marty's family safe?"

"I don't think so, Al."  Frustration crossed his smooth features for 
a moment.  "We're still in the process of feeding Ziggy all the information
on the years that pertain to you.  Well, from the years 1934, to 1954.
Every detail, of everything.  It took us six years to supplement that material
into her the first time, and now it's still going in, as fast as thye
can do it.  Everything from the archives, the Pentagon, FBI files..."

"I know, I know, Sam," I soothed.  He sounded as agitated as he looked.  
Poor kid.  I knew he was a grown man, but there were times he looked and
behaved like a younger person--and I'd known him long enough to be able
to call him that and not have him take offense.  "Is there anything on this
place, this location, the damend city this night?"  the sounds from below
were getting nasty, some that I couldn't comprehend filtering up the open
stairwell below me.

"Panic, pure and simple.  No deaths reported, relating to the broadcast,
just a few fender benders, but no major car accidents."  He squinted at
the tiny display and I made a mental note to tell him sometime to invest
in reading glasses.  "A study was published in 1940, saying that a lot
places, apartment buildings especially, exhibited more panic than normal
because neighbor would go to neighbor, frightened out of their wits.  Maybe
that's what happened here, that guy who left, saying he was getting the
hell out of here."

I tore down the stairway, not knowing what would meet me at the bottom.  
The first floor was also nearly deserted, some doors hanging open.  One 
old man emerging from his apartment, suitcase in hand, gave me a helluva
look, downright hostile.  "Where's your wife?  Those damned Nazi's are
coming!"

Trying to tell him it was just a show seemed to make him angrier. Pushing
past me, he tore to the exit.  Screaming was coming from the outside.

To be continued....
Terri in Cleveland
-- 
"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI