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

PART IX: HOW TO RIP OFF THE IRS

Bernrad had just had another idea. A real humdinger. People waited their whole lives for an idea as good as this one. As well they might - it was going to net him a whole two million dollars.
Bernard started in the kitchen. One on shelf he found what he was looking for - two steaming hot jugs of coffee. One jug was marked 'DECAF', and presumably for Aunt Edna; the other fully caffeinated. He took both, just in case. Then he went to the basement.
Doctor Fred, by dint of judicious sipping, had managed to eke several hours of life from his coffee, but stocks were visibly low. So Bernard came forward, with the jug of decaf, and refilled the cup.
"Mmmm. Thanks," said Doctor Fred. "I needed a little pick-me-up." He sipped at the coffee.
Doctor Fred's fingers went lifeless, and the coffee cup smashed on the floor. His head dropped back, staring up at the roof with sightless eyes, and his arms stretched forward, ramrod straight. Then Doctor Fred began to sleepwalk, his voice droning. "Must ... open ... safe ... Must ... sign ... contract ... Must ... provide ... for ... family ..."
He was walking up the stairs to the lobby. Bernard followed, and saw Doctor Fred enter his office, just as he'd hoped. Bernard ducked in behind him.
Doctor Fred stood, his eyes shut, at the safe. His fingers whirled the combination, much too fast for Bernard to read, and pulled the safe door open. Bernard caught a glimpse of an envelope, and a slip of paper. The contract Doctor Fred had forgotten to sign, one that would have made them millions of dollars.
Doctor Fred opened his eyes on the safe, and boggled. One arm jerked, and the safe was slammed shut. Then the whole dreamy routine began again.
Soon, Bernard started to see the problem. The combination was working, but Doctor Fred worked the wheel so hard Bernard couldn't read the numbers. Second, he didn't dare reach in and take the piece of paper because Doctor Fred might slam the safe door on him and break his arm!
This was an unexpected snag. Bernard looked around the office for something useful. His eyes alighted on the security camera.
Now that was a good idea. Bernard went to find Nurse Edna.

She was upstairs in the security office, manning the controls and spying on the patrons. She looked at Bernard in a mildly interested fashion, but let him alone. If Bernard tried to use the security equipment, that'd change pretty quick.
He could see the figure of Doctor Fred, though, a small white blob on one of the smaller camera screens.
Bernard came into the room. He thought a bit. The floor was well polished and smooth, and Nurse Edna seemed to be having no trouble at all getting around on her swivel chair.
He decided to chance it. Bernard came and stood beside Nurse Edna, so that she was between him and the door. He tensed himself, then pushed the chair hard. Giggling, Nurse Edna spun on her chair, headed for the doorway.
She knew this room like the back of her hand. And one of the things she knew was that there was a statue of Jed in the corner, his sword-arm sticking out in front of the doorway like a handle, so that she ever propelled herself toward the doorway on her chair (something she did quite often), the sword-arm was there to grab and pivot on, returning her the full half-revolution back into the room.
But it wasn't Jed there anymore, not since Hoagie's well meaning if misguided intervention. Now it was right-handed Ned, his arm in a completely different position. Nurse Edna grabbed for it and missed. She flew on out the doorway cackling. Bernard heard a distant tumbling noise, then there was silence.
"Well you know what they say," he said. "'If you want to save the world, you got to push a few old ladies down the stairs.'"
The security console was his! Ordinarily Bernard could have spent hours playing with all the gadgets, but there was no telling when Doctor Fred would wake up. So Bernard wasted no time in finding a videotape, slamming it into a slot, then recording.
Played at normal speed, the tape of Doctor Fred's actions would be just as incomprehensible as actually watching them. But at half-speed, or a quarter speed... it'd be slow enough to read the numbers.
Bernard sat and watched Doctor Fred, ready to stop taping when he began repeating himself. He was reaching for the stop button when the office door opened.
Two tall men in dark suits and sunglasses were standing there. One held up a badge. "Dr. Fred Edison?" he asked. "Internal Revenue."
Doctor Fred stood there, arms straight and horizontal.
"Come with us," said the IRS agent. "We'd like to go over some of your records with you... upstairs."
The monitor was suddenly filled with static. And every monitor on the console. Bernard stared around, close to panic. That wasn't in the plan at all!
Finally he got himself under some sort of control, enough to rewind the tape and play it at half speed. On the monitor, Doctor Fred's hand moved comically slow as he spun the wheel. Bernard saw the numbers clearly - 101, 999, 57. Then the office door open and the bizarre events of the last few seconds replayed themselves.
Bernard turned it off. He couldn't bear to watch. The IRS had Doctor Fred! Where had they taken him? One of the agents had mentioned 'upstairs'. Was that the attic.
He had to rescue Doctor Fred! That contract was unsigned, and he needed the signature!
Bernard stood still, torn between two paths. He decided, in the end, to get the contract first.

"Let's see," said Bernard in the now empty office, "it's 101, 999, 57"
All evidence of the kidnapping was gone. It was if nothing had happened. Which was disturbing, but made concentrating on the job of opening the safe much easier. Bernard crossed his fingers, and pulled the handle.
The safe door swung open silently. Bernard reached in, and took the papers. He had a quick read of the document. As Doctor Fred had said, it was a contract guaranteeing the Edisons a large slice of the gross profits - twenty percent. Which was, Bernard made a quick calculation, about two million.
The signature line was blank. And there was a line to the effect that the document had to be signed and at LEC hedquarters by July 1 1988. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was getting the signature.
Bernard put the contract in his pocket and started the journey to the attic. He was tense, and almost stumbled on the steps. What had the IRS done with Doctor Fred?
He found them up in the attic, conducting what's known in the trade as an 'involuntary audit'. The masses of boxes had been shoved to one side, and several of the closest were open. What was presumably their contents now sat heaped on a bare table under a single naked lightbulb, at which sat the two IRS agents. Seen in the flesh, they were almost identical. Same height, build, mannerisms, suit, and, when they spoke, same voices. They were working their way through the pile of paper, one bill at a time, and they did it fast. Talking all the while.
"Is that a W-390/B Frivolous Spending Report?" the agent on the left said.
"No, it's another 561-AB Negative Attention Statement," the other agent rapped back.
"Did you say you have a PP-41 Facilities Paraphernalia Declaration over there?"
"Nope."
Bernard didn't dare move from the stairwell. The IRS had strange powers.
"Say, what's the filing date for a BFD-206/ZZ Insufficient Credit Applications Form?" asked the agent on the right.
"You have until midnight on the twelfth working day past the first full moon after the end of your fiscal year," said the agent on the left. "However, you can extend the date by filing an RPM-78 Waning Interest Extension anytime before the close of business on the second Tuesday after the first Friday in March. And of course, if you're married, you'd also have to file the K-7209 Statement of Joint Intentions and declare any mutual gift expenditures. "
"Oh yeah, that's right."
More shuffling of paper. Then came a snippet of actual conversation, which was somehow much more revealing. "How do you suppose the Dodgers are doing?" asked one of the agents.
"Well, their win/loss ratio is 28 percent below normal... however, the successful slide margin is actually up 3 points since May. I've noticed that they seem to do well with a man on first after a fly ball when the opposing pitcher is left-handed and wearing a green hat."
"Fascinating."
Bernard made a face. Even for a geek like him, that was just too factual. But the next sentence made him listen much closer. "Good thing we've got Dr. Fred under wraps in the next room, eh?" said one of the agents. "All that red tape ought to keep him busy."
Bernard plucked up courage, and stepped out of the staircase and into the light. Looking nonchalant, he crossed the floor to the loft door. There was a tiny viewing portal, currently closed. Bernard reached up to open it, and one of the agents said "Hey. You can't go in there."
He turned round and went over to the agents' table. "What is it?" said one of the agents, looking at the steadily-decreasing mound of paper.
"Are you guys brothers?" asked Bernard.
"At the IRS, we're all brothers," said the agent.
"What have you done with Dr. Fred?"
"We've got him safely locked in the next room while we go over his books," said the agent. "No, you can't go in and see him. And don't even think about staging some kind of rescue."
"I'll just be moseying along," said Bernard.
"Keep your nose clean, kid."
Bernard went downstairs, obediently. The IRS seemed to have all bases covered. There was only one way into that loft, and it was under their eyes. You'd have to clamber all over the roof and then try to pry a window open if you really wanted to get inside.
Then Bernard realised there was a different way.

After minutes of sweaty scrambling, Bernard stuck a soot-covered head out into the fresh night air and shook it firmly.
He'd climbed up the chimney. It wasn't so hard - if you wedged yourself in tight there was no danger of falling, and there was plenty of room for him to maneouver his slender body.
Spluttering a little, Bernard pulled himself out of the chimney and steadied himself on the roof tiles. The loft windows were right in front of him, beside a narrow strip of roof. Two items jutted out into space somewhat - a metal flagpole, minus flag, and a sturdy metal pulley hanging from the upper tip of the loft window overhang.
Bernard didn't have much stomach for heights, so he tiptoed forward toward the loft windows. He was acutely aware of the grip of his shoes on the sloping tiles - fortunately it hadn't rained recently, or he wouldn't have gotten anywhere.
The first loft window he came to was closed. Bernard tried to lift it open, making very small and slight movements, but it didn't budge. Aware of the long fall behind him, he didn't try pressing harder, in case his feet slipped. He tried the second window instead.
This one slid smoothly upward. With considerable relief, Bernard clambered into the loft, wiping a sweaty forehead.
They hadn't been lying. Doctor Fred was here, stretched out on the bare mattress. He was all tied up in masses of sticky red tape, and they'd tied a long length of rope around that just to be sure.
Bernard knelt by him, close to his head. "Doctor Fred?" he whispered. There was no response from Doctor Fred. In fact, he hadn't made a move since Bernard had climbed in. Must still be asleep, Bernard thought.
That would make his job harder. Bernard started by untying the rope. The knot wasn't especially tight, and he could work quietly. Soon he was able to coil the whole length on the floor.
Bernard started to rip the red tape free, but stopped almost immediately. It was making a low tearing noise as he did so. Low, but loud enough for the IRS to hear. In fact, they might have already heard.
Bernard waited, tensely. He heard no motion, and eventually decided he was safe. But he had to get Doctor Fred out of here.
He reached down and tried to lift Doctor Fred off the bed. But he was too heavy; his hands slipped; and Doctor Fred crashed onto the floor.
"Uh-oh," Bernard heard one of the IRS agents say, very clearly. Afraid, Bernard dashed around the bed and hid behind an old dusty chair. He knelt down in the dark.
The door peephole opened, letting some yellow light into this dim room. "Hey! Where'd he go?" said the agent.
The door opened. In came the agent, and he almost immediately spotted Doctor Fred on the floor, by the bed. "Ah, there you are," said the agent. "What are you doing down there?" He picked him up in one hand and deposited him back on the bed. "Oh, by the way," added the agent, "capital gains taxes apply even if you spell your name in lower case on the form." He walked purposefully out.
Bernard wiped his sweaty brow, again. This rescue was turning him into a bundle of nerves. There were too many problems on his plate. a) Doctor Fred was unconscious, which meant Bernard had to lift him out, b) Bernard couldn't lift him out, and c) the IRS would hear him even if he did.
Bernard went to the window. This was the only way out; if he was going to rescue Doctor Fred, it would have to be through here. Looking around, Bernard saw the pulley and got a glimmer of an idea. Maybe he could winch Doctor Fred right down to ground using the rope and pulley.
He gathered up the rope, and climbed out the window. The pulley was at about head height, and Bernard had no trouble looping the rope through it. He trailed one end back through the window, letting the other fall to ground.
The length of the rope was just about perfect. It reached right to the ground, a further two metres or so coiling on the grass. The coils of rope were right next to Dead Cousin Ted.
Bernard got an even better idea. After all, the IRS guys were cautious: they'd probably be checking on Doctor Fred every few minutes or so. But if he could arrange a body double...
The mummified Ted would be perfect. Bernard, leaving Doctor Fred alone for the moment, crossed the roof (with more confidence this time) and climbed onto the chimney.

He half lowered himself, half fell down the chimney, landing flat on his backside in the empty fireplace. In no time at all Bernard was outside, standing next to Ted and the coils of rope and wondering how to accomplish this.
Bernard took the rope and fashioned one end into a sturdy noose. He slung this over Ted's neck, and pulled it tight. That should do.
He dashed back inside, up the chimney, and was sweating good and hard by the time he stood on the roof, one end of the rope in his hands, the pulley only two feet away.
Bernard planted his feet firmly, and pulled.
There was one thing Bernard, normally a master of the principles of leverage, had forgotten. Ted, down below, was holding a stone birdbath in his arms. And stone birdbaths tend to be heavy.
The noose around Ted's neck creaked. He lifted a couple of inches off the ground.
Bernard strained harder. He succeeded in jolting Ted up a few more inches, then he stopped again. Ted's posture had tilted forward, and the birdbath was starting to slip from his bandaged hands.
Bernard heaved, going red in the face.
The stone birdbath slipped from Ted's hands and shattered.
Ted rocketed upward.
Bernard, caught by surprise by the sudden lack of resistance, slipped off the roof and plummeted to earth, still holding the rope.
Ted was pulled even further skyward by the rope and pulley.
Bernard hit the ground almost in a sitting position, jarring every bone in his body. He winced and let go of the rope.
Ted's ascent now slowed, and the pulley pulled him inwards. In a smooth arc calculated to perfection, Ted sailed in through the open loft window, crashing onto the floorboards with a loud clatter.
The door peephole opened. "Hey! What's this?" said one of the IRS agents. He opened the door and saw Ted's stiff, bandaged body jammed up in one corner of the room.
"Who's this, Doc? Relative?" said the agent. "Well, I'm sure we can audit him next." He paused at the door. "This isn't a party."
The loft door shut.

Bernard, back down on the ground, had just gotten himself together. He ached everywhere, but at least he'd done what he'd hoped to - gotten Ted into the loft.
There just remained the matter of disguise. Doctor Fred was wrapped all over in red tape, but Ted was an off-white colour. Bernard didn't think the agents were colour-blind, so he'd have to do something about that.
For what seemed like the fifth time that night, Bernard searched the mansion. Head to bottom. Somewhere down in the basement, he found what he was looking for: a tin of red paint.
Bernard jammed the lid on very tightly then, holding the paint tin and a brush in one hand, climbed up the chimney. With difficulty. But he did it, and for an encore was able to walk along that roof for a third time and climb in the window.
He saw Dead Cousin Ted lying up against the wall, untouched by the agents. Ted's bandages were a lot paler, in this light, than the tape around Doctor Fred.
Bernard spent fifteen minutes painting Dead Cousin Ted red. Ted's bandages were super-dry, and absorbed just about all of the paint Bernard laid on. At the end of it all, Ted was nearly dry to the touch.
Bernard put away the paint tin and brush. He went to Doctor Fred and pushed him gently off the bed. Then Bernard whipped around and seized Ted by the arms, lifting him up into the air.
Ted was heavier than he'd expected. Bernard stumbled backward under the load. His leg brushed the bed and Bernard fell back, Ted right on top of him. He landed on the mattress and nearly bent it double, managing to keep it straight only by straining hard with his feet and legs. And Ted was still above him, staring placidly at the ceiling.
There was the sound of movement outside the door. Bernard was trapped. There was no room to escape. He flatted himself and remained perfectly still.
The peephole opened, and the agent peered in. Doctor Fred was hidden in the shadows beside the bed; Bernard was right under Dead Cousin Ted, and similarly invisible. All the agent saw was a single red figure lying flat on the bed, and he made the obvious conclusion.
"Hmm. Thought I heard something," said the agent. "Everything OK in there?"
Bernard chanced his arm - literally - by raising his right hand into a round OK sign. In the dim light, the agent couldn't see the slightly paler nature of the arm. "Well, try to keep it down, OK?" he said. He shut the peephole.
Bernard slid out from under Dead Cousin Ted and collapsed on the floor beside Doctor Fred. He slapped Fred's cheeks lightly, but got no response. Still out cold.
He got to his feet, and dragged Doctor Fred to the window. Here he paused. He couldn't just bundle Doctor Fred out the window - he'd slip on the tiles and plunge to the ground.
The rope hung down from the pulley, just outside the window. Bernard reached for it and pulled it in. Bernard gathered a good length together, then began looping it around Doctor Fred. A couple of knots later, and Doctor Fred was neatly trussed up.
Bernard climbed out the window. He planted his feet, and was just ready to begin pulling when he remembered his earlier mishap.
"Nah," he said. "I'm not going to make that mistake again." Instead, Bernard went around the other side of the rope, to be standing almost at the edge of the roof. He pulled.
Doctor Fred was yanked off the floor and into the window. But he didn't come through. His head was jammed against the top of the window and the feet below the bottom.
Bernard leant back and pulled, like an overenthusiastic tug-of-war competitor. Doctor Fred's body bulged through the window. Bernard pulled harder. He was now leaning so far back his head was over bare space, and he really should have seen what was coming, but Bernard just wasn't thinking.
Doctor Fred burst through the window. Bernard stumbled backward and fell off the roof for a second time. He fell flat on his back in a patch of extremely soft soil, creating a Bernard shaped hole several feet deep.
The rope uncoiled in a whirl from the pulley. Doctor Fred spun in the air for several seconds, before the last of the rope pulled free and he plunged to earth.
Bernard was just stumbling to his feet when Doctor Fred hit him. They crashed back down into the hole.
"Oof!" said Bernard. He eventually managed to locate Doctor Fred. "Doctor Fred?" said Bernard. "Are you okay? Doctor Fred?" He got no response. "I'd better get him to the lab," he said, worriedly.
Down in the basement laboratory, Bernard laid Doctor Fred flat on his back. Doctor Fred's eyes were shut, and his face was unmoving. But at least the red tape was gone, which was an improvement.
"Well I got him in here, but he's out cold!" said Bernard. He could think of only one thing to do. Bernard found a funnel and fitted the end into Doctor Fred's mouth. Into the funnel he poured a large amount of full strength coffee. Bernard knelt down by Doctor Fred and saw the throat muscles working, swallowing the coffee.
Doctor Fred's body suddenly began vibrating. His limbs jerked spastically, his head rose and fell several inches. Bernard quickly got up and backed away, a little scared. Doctor Fred's body thrummed like a live wire.
Without warning his body suddenly jerked into the air. Doctor Fred's eyes jerked open and a whole range of hideous expressions crossed his face, faster than the eye could see: a thousand dispersed in one second. Steam was coming from his ears.
Then Doctor Fred dropped back to earth, on his feet and steady as a rock. He rubbed his hands together and smiled with satisfaction. "Damn good coffee!" He went to the table and started rubbing the hands together in that nervous fashion.
He seemed to have no memory of the past hour. Which was fine for Bernard, given his role in dispensing the decaf. Now he came forward again, the contract from the safe in his hands.
"I got the contract for you to sign, Doctor!" said Bernard.
Doctor Fred looked at him. "Sorry, I don't like to sign things I haven't read," he said.
Bernard couldn't believe it. "Okay, so read it first!" he said.
"I'm busy trying to think of a way to save humanity!" said Doctor Fred. "I haven't got time to waste on piddling contracts!"
How could Doctor Fred be so stupid? "But the whole human race is at risk!" Bernard blurted.
"Of course! That's why I'm busy trying to think of a way to save it!" said Doctor Fred.
"Sign it or... I'll... get real mad," said Bernard.
Doctor Fred looked at him witheringly. "And do what? Not be my friend anymore? Ha ha ha."
"Oh, forget it. I'll get rid of Purple Tentacle myself!"
Now Doctor Fred looked at him with actual, if amused, interest. "Oh yeah, how?" he said.
"I'm getting Purple Tentacle declared insane and arrested," said Bernard.
"That's a good idea!" said Doctor Fred.
Bernard had a brainwave. "But I need a note signed by a doctor..."
"Oh," said Doctor Fred. He realised something. "Hey, I'm a doctor!"
"We're in luck!"
"Wow! Where do I sign?"
"Right here!" Bernard showed him the contract, folded up so only the signature line was visible. Doctor Fred took a pen from his lab coat and scrawled his name on the paper.
"Well, good luck!" he said.
Bernard went to the Chron-O-John, and was about to flush it to Bernard when two problems struck. First of all, flushing objects through time tended to make them wet. No problem, he'd send it in a plastic bag. But the second problem was tougher. The envelope had no stamp on it. Not only that, but Bernard couldn't use just any old stamp. He needed one that was in use two hundred years ago.
Bernard remembered somebody who had a stamp collection.

As he walked up to Weird Ed's room, he also remembered that Weird Ed loved his pony express stamps - the very stamps he was after - more than life itself. He might not let Bernard take one.
Along the way, Bernard stopped at the now-vacated room of the suicidal novelty goods designer. He had a quick poke around, and soon found something useful.
Weird Ed, about a minute later, looked up sharply at the person standing outlined in his doorway. When he saw it was Bernard, he relaxed and returned his attention to the stamps.
Bernard came in and stood a prudent distance away from the collection. "Pony Express stamps!" he said enthusiastically, looking at Ed's collection.
"Yes," agreed Ed. "Not the most valuable kind, but they have a lot of sentimental value to me."
It was time. Bernard reached a hand into his pocket. "Hey, wanna see a neat trick?" he said to Ed.
"Sure!"
Bernard pulled out a bottle of ink and splashed it on Ed's stamp collection. "Neat, huh?" he said.
Ed's face didn't seem to register anything, at first. But his gentle features hardened, and colour rose in his cheeks, and his eyebrows came together like two angry caterpillars, and now Weird Ed Edison, the paramilitary nut, was back in this room and blowing his nut.
"Uh," said Bernard, backing away.
"My pony express stamps!" screamed Ed. "You ruined my pony express stamps! Not to mention five years of therapy!" He drew in a shuddering, insane breath. "GET OUT OF MY ROOM!!!"
Bernard scurried out into the passageway. "Geeze! What a grump!" said Bernard. "He should really try to find some outlet for those-"
Ed threw the stamp album through the door, striking Bernard on the nose. It fell to the ground, three or four loose stamps fluttering after it.
"...negative feelings," finished Bernard. He knelt down and picked up the stamp album.
Every page was completely clear, as of course Bernard had expected. The ink was disappearing ink. Bernard leafed through the pages, not looking for ink damage but for the right stamp.
He came across one very quickly. A 1778 pony express general delivery stamp, and uncanceled to boot. Bernard put it in his pocket. Then he took the album in his hands and marched bravely back into Ed's room.
Ed had not calmed down. His brawny body looked ready to burst out from behind the table at any moment. "Get out of here!" he yelled.
Bernard set down the stamp album on the table - open, with each and every one of the pages purest white.
Ed's eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped, and all the angry colour drained from his face. "Hey! You fixed it!" he said wonderingly. "I guess I can forgive you now."
"Sometimes I do stupid stuff," said Bernard, "and I don't even know why - as if my body were being controlled by some demented, sadistic puppet-master."
"Well, we all feel that way sometimes," said Ed philosophically.
Bernard returned to the passage. Events seemed to have turned out all right here, but he wouldn't want to be around when Ed found out there was a stamp missing. Bernard licked the stamp and stuck it on the envelope. There. Ready to be posted.

Hoagie had been bored for quite some time now. So it was a relief, in one way, to see that the Chron-O-John had just started glowing again. Hoagie reached in and took out a plastic pocket, with an envelope inside. Written on the plastic pocket were the words 'POST THIS' Even Hoagie could understand that.
There was a mailbox out the front of the Mansion. Hoagie dropped the letter in there. And just a few hours later, a Pony Express mail collector would ride past, pick up the letter, and take it to the general office.
The address on the letter didn't, as yet, exist, so the letter would be kept in storage for one hundred and fifty years, finally being delivered during World War II.
Hoagie didn't know this. And would just have gotten confused if he did.

Back at the present-day Mansion, the office phone was ringing.
After twenty seconds, an irate Doctor Fred entered the office and picked up the receiver. "Yeah, what do you want?" he barked.
"Hi there? Is this Dr. Fred Edison?" said a dweebish male voice on the far end of the phone.
"Who did you think you called? Dr. Spock? Look, I don't have all day."
"This is Farley Krock at LucasArts Games. I just discovered your contract among some very old files. And, well, our lawyers say that we, uh... have to pay you two million dollars in back royalties."
Doctor Fred's jaw dropped. Farley, naturally oblivious to this, continued talking. "Uh, for the use of your family in the Maniac Mansion video game."
Doctor Fred found his voice. "WHAT!"
"This is Farley Kro-"
"No, I heard that, you moron! When do I get my MONEY?!?"
"Oh, right now. It's been credited to your Swiss bank account."
Doctor Fred set the receiver down. He thought for a few seconds. Then he picked it up again. "Operator!" he said urgently. "Get me a travel agent! This is an emergency!"

A few minutes later, Bernard entered the same office and picked up the same phone. He dialled a different number, however.
"Couch Potato Shopping Channel, Wanda speaking," said the receptionist on the far end of the line.
"Uh, I want to buy a diamond," said Bernard.
"That will be two million dollars. Do you have a major credit card?"
Bernard still had Doctor Fred's bank book in his pocket. "Umm, I have a numbered Swiss bank account," he said.
"What's the number, sir?"
"Uh..." Bernard shook the bank book back and forth in front of his eyes, trying to bring the barely legible number into focus. "It's 846-427-35327."
A short pause followed, during which Bernard could feel his heart in his mouth. There would be no funds. Of course. How could such a hare-brained scheme- "Very good, sir. We'll send the diamond by Pronto Post Light-Speed Delivery immediately. Thank you for calling."
Bernard, immensely relieved, set the handset down. The doorbell rang. Bernard turned around.
"Now that's service," he said approvingly.
There was a Fed Ex box on the ground by the front door. Bernard picked it up, and brought it inside. He went to the kitchen (the safest place he could think of) and slit open the box.
The radiant white jewel inside took his breath away. It was almost the size of somebody's head, a flawless octagonal gem with edges so sharp you could cut yourself on them.
Time to visit Doctor Fred.

By the time Doctor Fred set the diamond into the heart of the Chron-O-John's main unit, he was grinning too. "That should do it," he said with satisfaction. He turned to Bernard. "Where did you get this anyway?" he asked curiously.
"Uh..." Bernard made something up. "It was donated by a group of girl scouts who were in the neighbourhood."
"How heartwarming," said Doctor Fred. He peered closely at the instruments and dials on the main unit, and his next sentence was laced with drama.
"According to my instruments, everything is in readiness!" announced Doctor Fred. "Your friends have activated their units, so it's time to THROW THE SWITCH!"
"Great!" enthused Bernard. Doctor Fred threw the main switch and the main unit crackled into life. Bernard suddenly realised he was standing on one of the Chron-O-John supports. He jumped forward. Behind him a Chron-O-John unit unfurled itself out of thin air, crashing to ground directly on the support.
Bernard turned to see Hoagie bounce out of the Chron-O-John and land unflappably on his feet. "Hoagie!" said Bernard. "I'm so happy to-"
The last Chron-O-John crashed to earth. Out came Laverne, leaping forward and grinning inanely. "Hi!" she said.
"Laverne!" said Bernard, overjoyed. Hoagie and Laverne gathered by him. "Wow! I'm so glad you two made it back ok!"
"I hate to interrupt," said Doctor Fred, "but there's no time to lose! Now that you're back, we've got to proceed with the original plan and send you back to yesterday to turn off the Sludge-O-Matic�."
Hoagie looked at Doctor Fred incredulously. "Huh?"
"Say what?!?!" said Laverne, near anger.
"Now, hold on a minute, Dr. Fred," said Bernard. "They just barely made it back to our time alive, and I think-"
A sound, somewhere to their right, cut him off. It was a horribly familiar sound: Ssssslurp-thunk.
Purple Tentacle stood, triumphant, in front of Laverne's Chron-O-John stall. "HaHA!" he laughed maniacally. "You can't turn off the machine if I get there first!" He leapt forward into the stall, slamming the door shut. Before Doctor Fred could react, Purple Tentacle had triggered machinery inside the stall. It leapt into the air, and vanished in a flicker of light.
"Uh-oh," said Laverne.
But, unexpectedly, someone else was leaping forward into the light of the basement. It was Green Tentacle! "Don't worry guys!" he said earnestly. "This time I know I can stop him!" He jumped into another vacant stall, which vanished a second later.
"Uh-oh," said Bernard. "I guess we'd better do something."
"Let's go!" said Laverne.
They all piled into the last stall, oblivious to the cries of Doctor Fred. "NO, WAIT!" he yelled. "You can't all go in the same stall!"
The last stall vanished in a shower of white light.
"Didn't you see 'The Fly'?!?" cried Doctor Fred.

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