Chance found himself running again. Not out of fear, a quality foreign to his nature. Nor out of confusion. He knew exactly where he was going. After all, he had been here once before.
The Swede was actually an alternate timeline's counterpart of the deceased Kristofer Schanz of this timeline. And in the timeline Chance once called "home," he had done a great deal of good in only a few short months as leader of the team which called themselves the MBL. In his first case with the team -- then under the nickname of the "Revolutionaries" -- Kristofer "Chance" Schanz had helped to bring about the end of a short-lived military coup by one General Colton D'goon. In the course of that case the MBL had the run of the Palace and discovered many secrets, some secrets of which later came out during the trial that had barely begun when he was thrust into the timeline he now lived in. Most of the secrets had to do with D'goon and his concrete ties with so-called "terrorist" groups he used to gain power for himself, but some had to do with somewhat trivial things, such as the security codes for the Palace's computer system.
It was why he was running now. He knew exactly where he was going.
The battle which was raging all around the Palace and even inside it in places echoed loudly in the high walls. Luckily for the man still known as the Luckiest Man Alive (for want of a better candidate for that claim), the room he was seeking was a first-floor study on the opposite side of the Palace from the War Room.
The halls were emptied of all able-bodied men and women. It was to be expected that all military personnel, whether they be of the Honor Guard, the National People's Army, or the Mandelovian Security Agency, were at the scene of the battle as they strove to protect the property and the General himself in the other side of the Palace. However, even the many servants in the Palace were gone as well. Chance knew that they, too, were assisting the Army. After all, every able-bodied man in Mandelovia had Army training and was considered to be in the Reserves until the age of 50. For women it was optional, but most Mandelovian women, he knew, had also undergone the necessary Army training, though those with children were automatically exempt from service. These Mandelovians were a hardy people, a people who after centuries of relative isolation from the world had grown to think of themselves as the best and the brightest the world had to offer. And they were not far off from that claim.
Chance knew that the Strikeforce's troops could only succeed in a quick attack such as they were undergoing now. Already the Mandelovian Army Reserves were mobilizing in record numbers around the country ready to defend their nation and their leader to the death. It wasn't that they had no problems with D'goon or the dictatorship he had erected; it was out of a sense of pride that they fought. If anyone was going to decide the future of their nation, it would be themselves, NOT foreigners, and especially NOT foreign troops.
The small study Chance was looking for was one of several in the Palace, but he was sure this one had what he was looking for. To all appearances it was just a relatively small room (compared to the rest in the Palace) with two walls lined with books and an alcove with three small windows and two large chairs.
Racking his mind and memory for something from almost two years ago, Chance looked over the rack of books in search of the correct title. Finally he succeeded in finding it. It was an original edition of George Barr McCutcheon's 1904 novel, Graustark.
As Chance pulled the book back, the entire book-shelf began to rotate on its axis. It was a cliche straight out of a movie, but like the candlestick which opened up the living metal "iris" into the famed War Room, it was a little-known feature of the Palace nevertheless. Whoever built and/or refurbished this 15th century structure loved puzzles.
A motion-detector switch turned a cold light on from the ceiling. This was a light created by chemical processes rather than electricity and thus was not prone to blacking out. A large computer console hummed to life as well as the muffled sounds of a generator could be barely heard behind another wall. The generator had been activated by pulling mechanisms of the kind which opened this hidden compartment and was likewise an independent source of power not prone to blackouts.
In moments, the large computer screen flashed the seal of the President-Prime Minister upon it. A feminine voice spoke in Mandelovian:
"{{What is the pass phrase?}}"
Chance replied with a phrase in the same language, "{{Like a viper eating its own tail.}}"
"{{Welcome to the mainframe, Mr. President-Prime Minister. How are you today?}}"
A sigh of relief issued from Chance's chest as he exhaled. Luckily for him the code had not been changed and probably had no reason to be. In the off chance that it had been changed and he had given the incorrect pass phrase, however, the doors would have locked behind him and he would have been given two more chances to produce the correct phrase before anesthetizing gas would subdue him even as the security was alerted. He wouldn't have to worry about any of that now.
"{{I am fine, computer,}}" Chance replied as he took a seat at the console. He continued in voice-command mode for the time being. "{{I wish to do a name-search for 'McKenzie, Helen.'}}"
The screen blinked for a moment, and then the photograph of an attractive woman in her twenties with beautiful red hair and eyes exactly like her father's appeared on the screen. "Wow," he muttered under his breath, "I had no idea your daughter was such a knockout, Doc."
The computer voice spoke, "{{Project Kronos files require a Level 12 Security Clearance.}}"
"Level Twelve?!?" Chance repeated incredulously. He had thought there were only nine security levels.
The screen went blank. "{{Unauthorized access. Level 12 Security Clearance pass phrase is required immediately.}}"
The revolving bookshelf behind him swung shut with a *click* even as jets of gas shot down toward him.
"Dammit!" he muttered just as he grabbed his Vanguard jacket and covered the lower half of his face.
"Not so feckin' high-an'-mighty now, are ye, me old son?"
It was the voice of Pete "the Chimp" Glover, the short and homely Newfoundlander hobo who had a face and body not unlike that of a chimpanzee's, hence the nickname. He was also very, very dead.
Chance glared at the hovering spectre before him who had made his return at a most inopportune time. He knew that Pete was trying to goad him into yelling at him and thus lose his last remaining gasps of air. For a ghost, Pete wasn't exactly the easiest guy to get along with.
The Vanguardian tore a strip from his jacket and wrapped it around his face like a mask, then tore the rest of the jacket into strips and bundled them up, then stuffed the strips into the gas-jets. It wasn't exactly much of a solution, as the gas was still filling up the room, and he could only hold his breath so long.
"Oooh, look at me, I'm mister-blonde-and-beautiful! I's a credit te seciety, I's am! Not like poor ol' Pete, that no-good bum! Well, at least I's smart enough when I was alive not te get meself trapped in a room like this'un, ya fairy bastard!"
Chance looked around, his eyes welling up with tears as he tried to find a solution despite the effect of the gas.
"What, is the poor baby lookin' around for 'is milk? Can't find a couple of 32B titties to suckle on?" Pete was doubled over in laughter as he continued to taunt the man inadvertently responsible for his own ghostly condition. "Well, ye'd best prepare yereself, me old son -- ye're about to join me now..."
It was true. Chance couldn't hold his breath any longer, and though he was merely being knocked out by the gas, he would die if he didn't get fresh oxygen, and if he survived he would probably be executed as a spy. He still didn't know if his healing ability could make death elude him.
Chance slumped to the floor, trying to keep his eyes open and trying to keep from blacking out. Pete was cackling before him and dancing a merry jig at his disposition. "Aye, you an' me, we're gonna have ourselves a merry old time! We're..." Pete was suddenly distracted and a disappointed look came over his face. "Shite! Feckin' cavalry to the rescue again. Well, ol' Pete will be back..." The ghost faded away.
A muffled voice could barely be heard from the other side of the bookshelf. Chance couldn't understand the words being spoken, but he heard and saw an explosion which blew the bookshelf/sliding door inwards into the room. Most of the mass smashed against the computer, destroying much of it, though Chance himself was almost untouched as he was huddled in the far corner. It was then that he passed out.
