Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Epilogue

PART II: FOUNDING FATHERS

It was a fine, sunny morning, as we've said. The sky above was a perfect blue, dotted willy-nilly with pale white clouds which, while large and puffy, didn't forebode shade, let alone rain. The lower hemisphere, the ground, was green all over, and all around. Gentle rolling hills surrounded the mansion. Somewhere a brook burbled, with the distinctive sound of clean water rolling over smooth stone. Birds perched and sang.
Hoagie, standing here in front of the Chron-O-John and the outhouses, took it all in. To his right was the rear of the Mansion, its shadow almost reaching his feet. A bank of colonial windows could be seen on the first and second floor, and Hoagie would have been visible from any one of them, but for now the only activity Hoagie saw was on the first floor, behind the nearest window. A few men were in there, standing around and not doing very much. The Mansion itself, seen by Hoagie in its heyday, was far more impressive than the decaying wreck it had become in the twentieth century. The paint didn't flake. The foundations looked strong. Basically, nothing had gone wrong yet.
It was away from the mansion, however, that Hoagie was first drawn. To his right, in a clearing surrounded by sycamore trees, a short balding man who reminded Hoagie of Jason Alexander was flying a kite. He wore bifocals, light brown pants, a tightly-fitted white shirt, and an even more tightly fitted blue vest. It was Hoagie's first encounter with colonial fashion, and he didn't much like it.
But he slouched over anyway, hands in pockets. There was something about this guy, something oddly familiar about his face when seen in profile. It studied the kite with a studious intensity. Or maybe it was the egg-shaped head.
"Hi there, Mister," said Hoagie.
The guy didn't turn around, just kept on flying the kite. "Franklin!" he corrected. "Ben Franklin! Soon to be known as the Inventor of Electricity!" Small droplets of spittle flew from his mouth, which had a tendency to open very wide when he talked his grandiose talk.
"Um, do you know Red Edison?" asked Hoagie. "He's a scientist too."
"Red Edison a scientist?" scoffed Franklin. "He's just an innkeeper who pretends to be a scientist! And he's not very good at doing either one! I can't believe Washington and Jefferson picked his inn, of all places, to write our constitution."
Hoagie could hardly believe it either. "Do you mean Washington, like, President Washington?" asked Hoagie.
"Did he tell you he was president?" said Franklin. "The nerve of that guy! Always trying to run things. But of course, no one will care who's president once I've harnessed the ultimate power! The power of electricity!" He laughed crazily.
"Uh, what was that part just before the crazy laugh?" asked Hoagie. The image of Ben Franklin flying a kite jogged something in his memory, for some reason.
"My experiments are bringing me ever closer to complete mastery over nature! As we speak, I am attempting to lure power out of the Heavens to do my bidding. When I succeed, I shall truly be the most powerful man on Earth!"
"You are truly whacked, Ben," said Hoagie admiringly.
"Ha! That's what they said about the man who invented bifocals!"
"Wasn't that you?" pointed out Hoagie.
Franklin paused. "Good point. Guess they were right!"
Hoagie, meanwhile, was starting to get an idea. "I could use some power for my time machine," he said to Franklin.
"There will be power enough for all, in time," assured Franklin. "There aren't any time machines yet, anyway. That's next summer's project!"
"How exactly are you going to do that power-luring?" asked Hoagie.
"Using one of my newest inventions!" said Franklin, looking up at the kite.
Hoagie followed his gaze. The kite flew steadily about twenty metres above the ground, barely moving around. It was made from white cardboard, in the ordinary diamond kite shape, and looked calm and serene against the clear blue sky. "I like to call it the Frank-O-Copter!" said Franklin.
"That's a kite, Ben," said Hoagie. "They've been around for thousands of years."
"Oh sure," admitted Franklin. "As toys! But this one is a letter to the gods! It says, 'Dear Thor, just one drop of your mighty juice, in the hands of a genius like mine, could illuminate the entire world! -Love, Ben'."
Hoagie shrugged. "I hope you wrote it in Swedish so Thor can read it... Or were those guys Norwegian?"
"I was speaking figuratively," said Franklin. "What actually is happening is that I'm waiting for lightning to strike my kite. Me, Ben Franklin, the Inventor of Electricity!" He seemed to like this title.
"Shouldn't you say, 'The discoverer of electricity?'" asked Hoagie.
Franklin took umbrage at the suggestion. "You think the ultimate power in the Universe is just under some rock, waiting to be discovered? Ha! I, Ben Franklin, am going to summon power from the heavens by sheer force of genius!"
Hoagie had finally remembered his history. Ben Franklin - of course! But some details seemed to be absent. "Aren't you missing a key or something?" he asked.
"The key to discovery is daring intellect, my boy! Daring intellect and rigorous science!"
"No, I mean a real key-key," explained Hoagie.
"You mean, the 'Where the heck did I put my keys' kind of key?" said Franklin. "That's a manual device! It needs no power! Seriously man, what are you thinking?"
Hoagie had to back down in the face of that scientific intellect. He changed the subject. "So, lightning strikes your kite - then what?"
"And then, the electricity charges the kite!" said Franklin.
Hoagie wasn't satisfied. "And then what?"
"Then the electricity travels down the string!"
"And then what?"
"It charges me, of course."
"And then what?"
"I glow with its almighty power!" enthused Franklin.
"And then what?"
"I use its power to make the world a better place!"
"And then what?"
Franklin's vision grew ever grander. "The world kneels before me, asking me to guide it with my mighty benevolence!"
"And then what?"
"I have all annoying pests like you locked up."
"And then what?"
"Shot."
"I see." Hoagie looked around. Not a single dark cloud threatened. "Isn't it a little too sunny for lightning?"
"Shhh!" hushed Franklin. "I know that! I'm just trying to keep my grant going until we get a storm!"
Somewhere, back in the distant depths of time, Hoagie remembered talking about Red Edison. He went back to that topic. "So, where's this Red guy at?" he asked.
"Down in his secret lab, of course," said Franklin, "neglecting his guests!"
"What's so bad about Red?" asked Hoagie.
Franklin smiled, superciliously. "What can you say about a guy who spent the last four years perfecting a left-handed hammer? He's insane! And he steals other people's inventions too, before they can even apply for the patent! Not that I'm bitter, mind you," he added.
"Well, I need Red to help me save humanity," said Hoagie.
Franklin misunderstood. "So he's a missionary now, eh? Well, why not? Can't be any worse at that than he is at inventing!"
Hoagie had had enough of this conversation. "Well, I'll let you get back to your tugging," he said.
"Yes! Back to Science!"
Hoagie walked away, toward the front yard area of the Edison house. A cobblestoned path led from the two outhouses (and the Chron-O-John), around the side of the house and to the front porch, where it widened into a courtyard large enough to hold several carriages.
At the moment, it held just one, a rusty, neglected jalopy that seemed to have been out of commission for several decades. It certainly hadn't been anywhere in a long time. Past it, Hoagie came to the front porch area. There was a mailbox by a lamppost, and stairs leading up to the front door.
Hoagie had a look inside the mail box. Inside was a letter, presumably for Red Edison. 'You're brilliant, what a novel design,' Hoagie read. 'Come to Baltimore at once.' He stuffed it inside his pants and entered the Mansion.
Inside, he had the most astonishing feeling of reja vu (I will be here again). The room he was in was eerily reminiscent of Maniac Mansion's reception area. Oh sure, the decor was a lot different - no garish colours, stag's heads hanging on the walls, flowering writing. But the structure was identical. Two double doors to his left closed off the Main Hall area. On the right, a set of creaky wooden stairs led up to the second floor. In front of them was a grandfather clock. And here, right in front of him, was the reception desk, and standing behind it a mummy wearing a tricorner hat.
"Wassup?" said Hoagie to the mummy. This was Dead Cousin Ted, presumably. Bernard had told them all about Ted.
Ted maintained his silence.
"Don't feel like talking, huh?" said Hoagie. "Vow of silence or something, probably, right? Well, that's cool."
Ted's eyes, shrouded in shadow and swathes of bandages, were invisible to Hoagie.
"I have something for Red Edison," said Hoagie to the immobile Ted.
No response.
"Do you know where I could find him?" asked Hoagie. Ted didn't answer. "Great hat, man," complemented Hoagie. "I know some dudes in a band who'd eat roaches for a hat like that." He considered this. "Of course, they'd probably eat roaches anyway. Maybe with a little chocolate sauce. They're like that. I once saw them play a whole set with grasshoppers in their nostrils."
Ted was still. "Awesome," said Hoagie. "Well, nice talking to you, dude."
Hoagie looked around. The grandfather clock was the most familiar object in here. Did it perhaps lead down to the secret lab of Red Edison? Hoagie went over to it, and sure enough the front panel opened on a set of narrow stairs.
Hoagie squeezed through, and found himself in a tiny basement, much smaller than Doctor Fred's. A short, old guy with white hair was working furiously at a cluttered bench, underneath a vast, crowded wall-mounted cabinet. He looked a lot like Doctor Fred dressed up for a colonial play. Red Edison, no doubt.
"Hey!" said Hoagie. Red stopped working and looked at him.
"What is it?" he said impatiently.
"You look kinda familiar," said Hoagie.
"Of course I do!" said Red. "I'm Red Edison, the inventor; not to mention owner of this inn. Perhaps you've seen my picture in some important scientific journal." Red Edison stopped, and looked up and down at this outlandish oversized long-haired guy wearing a black t-shirt with a flaming skull on it. "Then again, maybe not."
"Do you know Ben Franklin?" asked Hoagie.
Red reacted badly to the name. "Franklin!? I would never associate with that overstuffed goofball! He has the stupidest idea about glasses with one red lens and one blue one. Tchah!"
Hoagie looked down at the bench top, where something wholly unfamiliar to him was being worked on. "Watcha doing?" he asked.
"I'm inventing, you simpleton, what's it look like I'm doing?"
"I know an inventor who looks a bit like you," said Hoagie.
"Well, it's not one of my sons, that's for sure," said Red darkly. He'd started rubbing his hands together nervously - the exact same way as Doctor Fred did. "It appears that I, Red Edison, foremost genius of my day, am to be the last in a long line of gifted inventors. My nearly indistinguishable sons have decided that they want to be artists." Red spat the word out like a filthy vegetable. "I think it was Jed's idea, or was it Ned? Ah well, the left-handed one, at any rate. Must be some sort of bad blood on their mother's side."
"What are you inventing?" asked Hoagie politely.
"It's a new size-independent fastening mechanism based on circular geometry."
Hoagie nodded. Perhaps this guy would be smart enough to fix up the super-battery. He gave the plans to Red.
Red took them and read, eyes moving quickly over the paper. "Hmmm, super-battery, eh? Brilliant design. Sometimes I amaze myself." He put the plans in a spare place on the cabinet. "Now all I need is oil, vinegar and some gold."
That said, he resumed his work on the fastening mechanism, ignoring Hoagie.
Hoagie got the impression that getting oil, vinegar and some gold would be up to him. He walked back up the stairs, and climbed out into the reception area.
Those double doors, and the MAIN HALL beyond, beckoned. Hoagie pulled them open and went through.
The Main Hall of Red's inn was a wide, spacious room of thick, polished floorboards and regal grey-and-dark-brown colour scheme. Light came in from the stacked windowpanes on either side of the hall. There was a fireplace on the opposite wall to Hoagie, in the centre of the room, and this hall was the kind of hall that would look a lot cheerier if a fire was lit.
A fire wasn't lit, at the moment.
Beside the fire, on Hoagie's right, was a long, bare, varnished table, covered in a grey cloth. Clustered around it were three figures straight from the history books. Thomas Jefferson sat behind the table in a high-backed green chair, looking at a grey capsule on the table. Occasionally he would rub a log, sitting there next to the capsule. Thomas was tall and dignified in his yellow shirt, brown coat and spotless cravat.
Next to him, and closer to the empty fireplace, was John Hancock. John looked less dignified. He was curled up in his chair, a bright Indian rug wrapped around his body, and his long, melancholy face was grey and pale. John looked pretty cold. His thin, bony legs shivered, his teeth chattered, his hands rubbed up and down on the rug.
The final figure wasn't at the table at all, but standing a small distance away looking out the window, roughly in the direction of Hoagie's Chron-O-John. His back was turned to Hoagie, and Hoagie didn't immediately recognise him. He was, however, the most smartly dressed of the three.
So Hoagie went and talked to John. "Yo," said Hoagie.
John looked at him. "H-h-h-hello," he stammered.
"Wassup? You cold?"
"C-c-cold! I'm f-f-f-freezing!" said the shivering John Hancock. "What c-clued you in, the sh-sh-shivering, the knocking knees, the d-d-deathly pallor, or the ch-chattering teeth?"
Hoagie was a little perplexed by this - he was wearing a lot less than John Hancock, and he felt just fine. "Why don't you put on a coat?"
"I'm w-wearing a c-coat, you n-nitwit!" said John. "I've even g-got this b-blanket which m-m-makes me itch, and I'm s-still f-f-freezing!"
"Well, why don't you build a fire?" suggested Hoagie.
John looked miserable. "Well, I k-keep asking J-Jefferson to build a f-fire, b-but he won't. Says he n-needs the log for p-posterity, and won't p-part with it." Jefferson, seemingly not taking any interest in the conversation, nonetheless rubbed the log thoughtfully.
"Who'd want a poster of a log?" said Hoagie, confused.
"I don't g-get any respect around here," moaned John. "Why, I bet if G-George 'I spent the winter in Valley Forge' Washington was c-cold we'd get some h-heat in here." So that's who the figure over at the window was - George Washington! Ben Franklin was right.
"What are you guys doing in here, anyway?" asked Hoagie.
"We're writing a c-c-c-c- ... a c-c-c-c- ... writing a c-c-c-c-c-"
Thomas Jefferson came to the rescue. "We're drafting a Constitution for the United States," he said.
"D-Don't say d-d-draft," said John, "you'll only make me c-c-colder."
"Wimp," said Jefferson.
Hoagie looked apologetic. "Gotta motor, dude," he said to John.
"You h-have a what?"
Hoagie came over to Jefferson. "Hey, tall dark and spiffy, my name's Hoagie."
"Well, how quaint," said Jefferson. He had a cultured, statesmanlike voice. "I am, of course, Thomas Jefferson: noted scholar, musician, horseman, student of the sciences, member of the bar-"
"Oh sure, I've heard of you, dude," said Hoagie. "What's in the can, Tommy?"
"Thomas," corrected Jefferson. "My name is Thomas. And this, my chubby friend, is a time capsule. Filled with remembrances of our time to be revealed four hundred years hence."
"So, how's the time capsule going?"
"I'm sorry to say that except for my log, we haven't got a thing!"
Hoagie, looking at the metal capsule and the log, saw something else to the right. A fancy gold fountain pen, and next to it, mounted on a small stand, a scroll of paper.
Hoagie did a double take. "Dude, is that, like, the Constitution?"
Jefferson nodded. "Right now it's just a Constitution, I'm afraid. We hit a slight creative block right after the preamble. That's why we've put up a suggestion box, over there." Hoagie looked around to see a box mounted by the door, with a slit in the top and a lock on the door.
"Has anyone ever told you you're a very snappy dresser?" he said.
"Why yes. I studied at Virginia Coat and Technical, where I majored in collar theory. I was captain of the varsity cravat team."
"Those are impressive credentials, Tom," said Hoagie.
"Thomas," corrected Jefferson.
"Dude, I loved your work on the Declaration of Independence," said Hoagie.
Jefferson looked pleased. "Ah, thank you," he said. "What was your favourite part?"
Hoagie thought. He was having fun talking to all these historical types. "I liked the 'We the People' bit," he said.
"That's not in the Declaration of-" Jefferson stopped, and looked thoughtful. "Say, that's not bad. Maybe we can use it."
Hoagie remembered poor John Hancock. "Could you start a fire, please?" he asked.
"I'd love to oblige you, young man, but I can't. This is the only log, and I'm saving it for posterity."
"How can you let Hancock suffer like that?"
"A real man is warmed by the fires of his spirit. You should listen to Washington relate his experiences at Valley Forge, and take heed!"
"Well, later, dude," said Hoagie.
"What? What's going to happen later?"
Hoagie left and approached George Washington, still standing there at the window staring out. Even Hoagie was a little hesitant about starting up a conversation with this guy. Washington was like royalty.
He looked past Washington. There, through the window, he saw the rolling fields of the countryside. Ben Franklin was somewhere distant, still flying his kite. And the kumquat tree was quite close by, almost directly outside. The Chron-O-John was hidden behind its fresh, fruit-laden branches.
Now Hoagie had heard a lot of the conversation between Doctor Fred and Bernard, and even some of Laverne's cries for help. As far as he knew, then, he was trapped two hundred years in the past, Laverne was trapped two hundred years in the future (four hundred years, from Hoagie's viewpoint), and she was stuck in a tree.
Hoagie had noted the extraordinary coincidence, earlier, that Jefferson's time capsule was also to be opened four hundred years hence. He was starting to wonder - if the kumquat tree got cut down now, would that free Laverne?
He came over to Washington, still staring out the window. "What are you looking at out there?" said Hoagie to Washington, who stood still at the window.
"The future of our nation," said the mellifluous voice of George Washington.
Hoagie didn't think it was that good a view. What was Washington on about? "A system of free enterprise and opportunity?" he hazarded.
"No, no," chided Washington gently, shaking his head. He turned to face Hoagie. "I was just admiring my reflection in the window. Striking, aren't I?"
"Whoa!" said Hoagie involuntarily, at the sight of a face every bit as familiar as the illustrations and monograms he'd seen over the years. "You're like, George Washington!"
"Very much like him, according to my wife, Mrs Washington," said Washington placidly. He stood with his back slightly arched and his hands crossed behind it.
"My name's Hoagie," said Hoagie, a note of abasing respect in his voice.
"Like the sandwich? How quaint."
"Weren't you president or something?" asked Hoagie.
Washington nodded - a slight, carefully judged motion. "Yes, I expect to be chosen president unanimously. I'm very well connected. Do you think I should be the 'ecology president' or the 'education president'?"
Hoagie didn't take long to think. "Depends on how many cherry trees you've chopped down," he said. That was one thing he remembered about Washington - the story about him and the cherry tree.
"Well, I am quite the adept tree-cutter," admitted Washington. "Men still tell tales of my youthful prowess."
"Would you give me a demonstration?" asked Hoagie. He was hoping Washington might solve his problem by cutting down the kumquat tree outside.
"I don't see why I should," said Washington. "Besides-" he looked out the window "-as you can see, there aren't any cherry trees around. I only cut down cherry trees. Family tradition, you understand, cherry trees only. There's nothing out there but cedar and kumquats."
Once again, Hoagie remembered John Hancock. "Cold enough for ya?" he asked.
"Cold!" said Washington, in a strange restrained indignation. "Why, you don't know the meaning of the word! I spent a winter at Valley Forge, now that was cold! Why, my spit would freeze before it hit the ground!"
"Cool," said Hoagie.
"Extremely." Washington turned back to the window.
Hoagie, feeling slightly snubbed, looked back at the table. He wanted that gold feather pen for the super-battery, but it was right under the eyes of Thomas Jefferson. And how was he going to cut that tree down?

Very fortunately for Hoagie, he didn't have to search long to find an answer. In a small food preparation area off the main hall, Hoagie found a bottle of salad oil. He took it. And in a storage room on the far side of the food preparation area, Hoagie found a tin of red paint.
The paint gave him an idea. With the paint tin in one hand and a brush in the other, Hoagie walked outside and returned along the path to the Chron-O-John. He stopped at the kumquat tree. It was fruit season, and many pale orange globes hung down from its branches, but they were all within reach of Hoagie and his brush. And Hoagie painted every single one of them dark red.
It took a while, and Hoagie got his t-shirt even more dirty, but finally the job was done. Hoagie stood back and admired his work. Even from this close distance, you couldn't easily tell it was a put-up.
Quickly, Hoagie re-entered the inn, put away the paint, and found Washington. Washington still stood at the window. If he had seen Hoagie's artwork, he gave no sign of it.
"Excuse me?" said Hoagie.
Washington turned from the window. "Yes?"
"I've been thinking about what you said about cherry trees," said Hoagie.
"Pondering the great truths, eh? Well?"
"I bet you've lost it," said Hoagie disparagingly. "I bet you couldn't cut down a cherry tree to save your grandmother."
Washington's indignation was less restrained this time. "Lost it, have I? Why, I'd show you a thing or two if there were any cherry trees nearby. But, as you can see, there-" Washington stopped speaking. Looking out the window, he caught a sudden glimpse of red. He shifted a little to the left. Yes, there was definitely a cherry tree out there. Strange how he'd never seen it before. "Uh, well what do you know!" he said wonderingly. "There is a cherry tree out there!"
He turned back to Hoagie. "Well let's go chop the sucker down!"
Hoagie and Washington stood outside, underneath the very same window, with Washington holding a sharp axe in his hands, painted red and white on the blade. Washington placed his feet, swung back his arms, and levelled a single horizontal chop at the four-inch thickness of the 'cherry' tree trunk.
The axe bit deep into the wood. The branches of the tree shook violently, and even as Washington pulled the axe back, it fell slowly to the ground.
"Voila," said Washington.
"You're quite a man," agreed Hoagie.
"Yes. I know."

Laverne's cries for help had not gone unheeded. So now, while she was still stranded up in the tree, a purple tentacle with a butterfly net, a safari hat, a broomhandle moustache and other British Explorer imitations, now stood impatiently on the concrete path.
"I said, come down from there at once!" he said irritably (his voice, like the other things listed above, doing its best British Explorer imitation)
"Try to understand," said Laverne. "I'm stuck in this-"
Her words were cut off by a magical sparkling noise. Behind her, the old kumquat tree vanished in a swirl of white points of light. One moment it was there, the next it was gone.
And Laverne was free.
She flailed about violently, hanging motionless in the air in accordance with the laws of Cartoon Physics, but the effort was to no avail. Laverne plunged headlong into the concrete path, which cracked crazily beneath her. Most of her head and shoulders disappeared into the earth. Two skinny legs were left sticking up and kicking around, in a most undignified position. Behind Laverne, the Chron-O-John similarly fell to earth, luckily managing to stay intact.
The tentacle with the net leapt forward.

Back in the present...
Bernard looked up from the Chron-O-John and turned to Doctor Fred. "So, as soon as Hoagie gets that battery working, we're set!" he said hopefully.
"I'm afraid not!" said Doctor Fred. "We still need a diamond for the main unit. And your friend in the future needs power too, if she's still alive." Doctor Fred walked away, heading toward a wooden table, and the mug of hot coffee on it.
"Alive?" said a shocked Bernard.

"Get me out of here!" yelled Laverne. "I haven't done anything!"
The tentacle on guard put away his book. He was purple, sat on a blue spring chair, and wore a black hat with a yellow star on it, the mark of a kennel guard. "Well, you must have done something or you wouldn't be here, now would you?" he said reasonably. "You'd be out in the lobby with your tentacle owner, getting dressed up for the human show."
That's right, kennel guard. Tentacles, in this future world, did have prisons, but they were for other tentacles. Humans, as befitted a lower life form, went in the kennels.
"OWNER!?" shouted Laverne, outraged. "No-one owns me!"
She was not the only human in the kennel. There were three others, sitting down on a bench and wearing striped prison fatigues. Laverne thought one of them looked familiar - if she'd been Bernard, all three would have looked familiar - a wizened old guy sitting on his own, grumbling. The two she didn't recognize in any way were an old aunty-type woman, with big thighs and an even bigger red hairdo, and an enormous, young, unshaven, clumsy-looking fellow. He wore large chunky glasses and had a close crewcut. These two were playing cards listlessly.
"Gosh... no owner, you say? Well, don't worry about it," said the guard sympathetically. "I'm sure someone will come adopt you before we have to put you to sleep." Laverne's mouth was a wide, shocked O.
"Damn that Doctor Fred," she muttered.
"Hey, she knows the Edison family motto," said the wizened old guy.
Doctor Fred's really enjoying his coffee, reflected Bernard as he approached the mad scientist. As if by clockwork (and you could set your watch by it), Doctor Fred took a sip of coffee every fifteen seconds. In the gap between sips, he rubbed his hands together and brooded silently.
"Hey, Doctor Fred!" said Bernard. Doctor Fred looked at him. "We have to do something!"
"What do you suggest, college boy?" said Doctor Fred bitterly. "No diamond for the central unit! No power for the Chron-O-Johns! A mutant monster of my own creation roaming the countryside, taking over the world! It's a dark day for mad science."
"How about catching Purple Tentacle?" said Bernard.
"He's long gone! Probably taking over the world as we speak!"

That night, over the AP wires: RASH OF COW TIPPING BAFFLES POLICE TRIANGULAR MAN SPOTTED AT SCENE

"Soon, we'll all be speaking - well, English, I guess," said Doctor Fred.
Bernard was just itching to do something. "What if we unpollute the river?"
"I could just shut off my Sludge-O-Matic�, but it's too late!"
Bernard interrupted him. "You have a machine whose sole function is producing toxic waste?!?"
Doctor Fred looked at Bernard as if he was insane. "You can't have a high-tech laboratory like this and not spew poisonous filth; all the other mad scientists would laugh!"
"Well, why can't we just fix the time machine?" said Bernard desperately.
"It needs a whole new diamond! Now where am I going to get the money?"
Bernard thought. "Bake sale? Hey, I know! Let's put on a show in the old barn!"
Doctor Fred looked at him angrily. "Do you know how much a diamond costs?"
"Two months of the groom's salary?" guessed Bernard.
"TWO MILLION DOLLARS!!"
Bernard didn't see the problem. "So? You've got money, haven't you?"
A tired expression crossed Doctor Fred's face, one of old, but pressing worries. "Well, I didn't get all the money I expected from that TV show about us. We had to rent out our mansion as a hotel just to make ends meet. We're living mostly on that income - that, and Edna's tips from her exotic dancing." He sighed wearily. "If only I had signed that contract in time!" he bemoaned.
"What contract?" said Bernard, confused. "What TV show about you?"
"Well, after that incident where I was possessed by a meteor from outer space, somebody decided to make a show about us. But they didn't pay us anything! All we got was a cut of the video game."
Bernard whistled. "Wow. That thing made millions!"
"Yes. I forgot to sign the royalty contract in time, though. I still have it in my safe upstairs."
"Let's go get the contract out of the safe and sign it!" exclaimed Bernard.
"I forgot the combination!" said Doctor Fred.
Bernard was stumped for words. "But that's... that's so stupid, Doctor Fred!"
"I know! It gives my enormous brain nightmares. Every time I fall asleep I dream about opening the safe - but I find something horrible inside and slam it shut! Over and over again, night after night."
"Is that why you drink so much coffee?" asked Bernard.
"I haven't slept in two years!" said Doctor Fred.
"You're going to get really chafed hands doing that," said Bernard, referring to Doctor Fred's incessant hand-rubbing.
Doctor Fred stopped rubbing his hands. "Sorry. Coffee jitters."
"Maybe you should switch to decaf," suggested Bernard.
"NO!" shouted Doctor Fred. The word seemed to have been jerked from him. "Then I'd fall asleep and... the dreams would come." Unaware he was even doing it, he'd started rubbing his hands again.
"We have to do something!" said Bernard, reverting to his earlier theme.
"Yes! We have to get a new diamond!"
"Isn't there anything we can do?"
"Go diamond shopping!"
Bernard backed away. "Well, gotta go save the world," he said.
"Good luck!" said Doctor Fred. He returned to his coffee; Bernard was already walking up the stairs to the lobby.

Red Edison took the salad oil from Hoagie's fat hand. "Ah... I need that for my super-battery." He put it on a shelf and went back to work, completely ignoring Hoagie. Truly, this was an inventor dedicated to his work.
Hoagie left the room and walked up the stairs to the second floor.
That queer feeling of reja-vu only intensified. The layout of the passageway before him was identical to that of the latter-day Maniac Mansion - windows along the right wall, three high, closed doors on the left - but as if seen through a historical filter.
The carpet was a clean, stately bottle green. Red curtains draped the windows, giving a faint vermillion tinge to the light. The walls were painted in colonial colours, with rich brown wainscotting, and small portraits hung between the doors.
Hoagie tried the first door. The frame was slightly off-kilter, and the door jammed in. He gave it a push, and it finally swung open.
It was a bedroom. A small bedroom with a bare floor. Ornate, unidentified portraits hung on the walls. On Hoagie's left, taking up half the room, was a single brass bed, its sheets and blankets crisply folded. Hanging on the wall above it was a large wooden sign, on which was engraved, George Sleeps Here.
He was in the homely, yet austere bedroom of America's President. Even Hoagie felt a small tinge of awe. And he began to wonder something he'd first thought when seeing the new, incomplete Constitution. If he were to do something in here, something that pissed George off, for example, would it irrevocably alter the future of the nation? Hoagie had no idea.
Hoagie made a quick search of the bed. No gold, no vinegar. Then he looked up and saw a long cord, hanging by the doorway. Hoagie pulled it, just to see what would happen.
A horn blared somewhere. Seconds later, a maid appeared in the doorway. This was not a slim, young maid. She was older, and built like Hoagie, though even shorter and wider, if that were possible. "Here I am. Don't get your curls in an uproar," she said, coming into the room. It got a little crowded. "Excuse me, Mr. Washington. Boy, what a mess." Then she started dusting.
Hoagie blinked. He was not recognised. Admittedly, the maid was wearing extremely thick horn-rimmed glasses, but Hoagie didn't look a bit like Washington. "Miss, my name's not Washington," said Hoagie.
The maid bustled around the room like a cleaning dynamo. "Well, you've certainly messed it up as though you were. It's no use trying to fool me, Mr. Washington."
"I'll let you get back to your work," said Hoagie.
"Yes, there's a lot to be done," agreed the maid busily.
Hoagie walked away. Outside, by the door, was the maid's cart, and her cleaning supplies. There weren't many - just a lonely bar of soap.
Hoagie came down the hall to the second door. He tried it.
Immediately he heard the clatter of wooden machinery. Hoagie entered, and saw a woman sitting at a table, in front of an enormous sewing machine. She sat in a rocking chair, and rolled back and forth on the pedals. The needles, and her thin hands, worked and pierced like industrial machinery. Her face was set, and annoyed.
Hoagie looked around. The walls were not hung with portraits, here. Instead, various rectangular designs were tacked on. They were all the same size and shape, and all coloured in red, white and blue. None of them looked particularly striking, but their purpose was clear enough. These were prototype flags.
The sewing woman, Betsy Ross, wasn't any happier now she had some company. "I told you guys, I'll get to the flag next!" she said shrilly. "I'm working as fast as I can!"
"Hey, chill. Take your time," said Hoagie.
"Don't tell me you've got another design change for the flag!" said Betsy Ross.
Hoagie's answer was pretty automatic. "I've got another design change for the flag."
"I knew it," muttered Betsy.
Hoagie thought about what would, in his opinion, make a good flag. The ideas flowed from his mouth. "Could it have a chrome-plated bald eagle robot on it?" he said. "How about a skull with, like, scorpions in its mouth? It should have a hologram on it somewhere. No, wait, we need a babe in a leather bikini, swinging a broadaxe."
These outlandish suggestions gave even Betsy pause. She stopped, for a few seconds, and stared into space. Then she started work again. "Oh, what the heck! At this point, I'd do anything, just to have it over with. Put the pattern on the table and I'll look at it when I'm done with this job."
Hoagie suddenly realised he was in control of history. He could change the flag. He could put suggestions in the Constitution. It was an awesome feeling, and Hoagie's mind overflowed with the possibilities.
He ran through some ideas. "The guys downstairs say they want a big family crest... and in the four corners, they want a keg, some babes, a guitar, and some drum sticks... and underneath it all put, 'America rocks!' Or, what if it had the face of the Devil on it, with like red, white and blue flames coming out of his mouth? Let's make it just like the British flag, but upside-down to cheese them off. We could have this babe, like a waitress... and she's carrying this red, white, and blue cherry pie. Wait, I know, how 'bout a big old picture of me?"
A faint grimace crossed Betsy Ross's face.
Hoagie kept on going. "Make it just like you were going to, but put in flying-V guitars instead of stars. Let's just have a picture of a guy carrying a bundle of sticks, and not name the country anything at all. Two words: totally black. Okay, instead of fifty stars, let's have one of those reclining silver babes. Like truckers have on their mud flaps. Why don't we put a crossword puzzle on it, so you have something to do waiting in line at the post office? George downstairs wants the flag to be a pair of boxer shorts covered with little red valentines. And if you embroidered the order of poker hands in the corner, people would forget them less."
He stopped. "Are you finished?" said Betsy.
Hoagie shrugged. "I guess so."
"Well, just put the plans on the table and I'll get to it!" she yelled.
Hoagie looked at the table. One parchment was most prominent, with a familiar design. "Stars and stripes. Dull, dull, dull."
"Hey, don't criticise unless you've got a better idea!" said Betsy.
Hoagie didn't hang around - after all, he didn't have an actual design. So he walked out and tried the third door.
Another bedroom. And Hoagie thought he could guess whose it was too - Ben Franklin's. Mainly he could tell this by the white sheet stuck to the wall, on which were Ben's kite plans. Hoagie looked at them for a little while - he didn't really see how it could fly. The bed was neat and looked well-used. There were ink stains on the sheets. An oval mirror hung on the wall. And perched on a crate by the doorway was a bottle of wine.
Hoagie looked at the label. Chateau de Cheapaux, 1775. Hoagie looked at it a while, holding the suspect wine in his hands.
This was pretty much his speciality, which wouldn't have surprised either Bernard or Laverne. There wasn't a lot Hoagie didn't know about alcohol, and what it could and could not do to an average person. Looking at this particular bottle, he was getting a very good idea, a time-travelling idea, like none he'd ever had before.
Taking the bottle with him, Hoagie walked downstairs to the hall. Jefferson was still sitting behind the desk, Washington still looking out the window, and Hancock still shivering. Hoagie walked over to Jefferson and gave him the bottle.
"Thank you, this is exactly the sort of thing I need for the time capsule," said Jefferson. "I'll bury it tonight, and it won't be seen for hundreds of years. Future generations are in your debt."
"Whoa," said Hoagie. He went outside, toward the Chron-O-John.
Hoagie's plan was this - four hundred years later, the wine would have turned to vinegar. All Laverne had to do was unearth the capsule, flush it back to him, and Hoagie would have another super-battery ingredient.
She'd need something to open the capsule, but fortunately Hoagie had a can opener on him. Now, he put the can opener in the Chron-O-John's toilet, and waited.
And waited. The grey light did not wink out.
Several minutes he waited, until finally Hoagie got tired of waiting and picked the can opener up himself. This was not good. Where was Laverne? Hoagie stood there, unsure.

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