My story is on It’s Storytime with Wil Wheaton!

Exciting news! My story, “The Hidden Heart of Brass Attending,” is being read by Wil Wheaton on the latest episode of his podcast, It’s Storytime with Wil Wheaton. I couldn’t be happier. The story was originally published in On Spec Magazine #124. I am so grateful to the editors over there for printing it and to Wil for featuring it. In honor of the occasion, I am posting another short story of mine here. Please enjoy and let me know what you think.

The Six Million Dollar Guest Appearance
by Christopher Scott

January 1, 2000 – The New Millennium

Somehow, my pager resurrected me from dead drunk at six AM. When I switched on the TV, Brokaw, Rather, and Jennings were ad-libbing breaking news about large-scale infrastructure disruptions linked, they said, to computer failures. The news anchors wore their customary suit-and-ties but had eyes that betrayed the same lack of sleep I felt. If they were still a little drunk like me, they hid it well. On ABC, Peter Jennings conversed with Dr. Martin Luther King. The aging civil rights icon, as he often did now, spoke against society’s over-reliance on computers and automation. That dependence, he said, had precipitated the current crisis.

The pager beeped again. My boss, Sean, had called me in to work early. The Georgetown Blockbuster Technology store, and my gig as Electronics Lead, sat two blocks from my place. The walk in fresh air would soothe my buzzing head.

A kick to an empty Budweiser bottle, while stumbling to the bathroom, sent it clinking against several of its companions from the thirty-pack, remnants of my New Year’s party. Me and a handful of friends from the Washington DC Sasquatch Investigator’s Club sat on the hardwood floor of my studio apartment and drank away our memories of nineteen ninety-nine. Had I kissed anyone at midnight? Did it matter?

While waiting for warm water in the shower, I pissed until it defied the laws of physics. When I finally stepped into the steaming spray, my unsettled stomach revolted, and I darted back to the toilet to puke up the previous night’s celebration. Praying so close to the pee-encrusted porcelain god, it became obvious a lot of us had been too sloppy drunk to aim true. I heaved again.

A shit, shower, and shave later, with my Blockbuster polo tucked into my khaki’s, I put the finishing touches on my faux hawk. My chances of living through the morning might have reached fifty-fifty, but the comforting relief of waking up still drunk had given ground to a bulldozer of a headache.

On the TV, Bill Clinton assured me that the Soviets weren’t behind the widespread technical disruptions. Premier Vladimir Putin had assured him the Soviets were getting hit just as hard. Experts claimed computers miscalculated the year two thousand as nineteen hundred and wreaked havoc on automated systems. The news had dubbed the unfolding chaos the “Y2K” disaster. I didn’t really understand how that could be causing so much trouble, but even though I knew a ton about the personal electronics we rented out at Blockbuster, I knew almost nothing about computers. Heavily regulated, and accessible only to governments and large corporations like my employer, most people didn’t.

 I looked out my second story window and saw nothing unusual or unsettling related to the breaking news, so I grabbed my keys, wallet, the change I carried for the pay phone, and headed to work. At least I would get holiday overtime.

A few minutes later, I stepped into Blockbuster Technology. The logo on the door kept the shape of a movie ticket even though video rentals had long ceased to be the primary focus of the corporate behemoth. Most people couldn’t afford electronics beyond a landline, a TV, and a VCR — for example, my work pager cost more than I made in three months — so the eager public rented it from Blockbuster.

Inside, the lights remained off and Sean the only other occupant. More like buddies than boss and employee, we had enough workplace dirt on each other to make employee performance evaluations and three-sixty manager feedback sessions into mutually assured destruction.

“The Missiles are down, Lance” he said, bouncing on his feet with a nervous smile.

“The Missiles” meant the MSLS, or Merchandise Scheduling and Logistics System.

“So, what,” I said, “that just means we get the day off like everyone else.” I knew it was bullshit when I said it. We had nicknamed the system “Missiles” because the corporate brass took it as serious as the government did nukes.

“Yeah, right,” he said, fidgeting with his own faux hawk. “We open in two hours, and if the Missiles aren’t back up again, it’s going to be account binders and phone calls to get people their holiday rentals. We’ll be here until well past midnight.”

Just then, the door opened, and a man and a woman hustled in. The man stood a couple inches over six feet, early-to-mid thirties with a military haircut, and looked like he lettered in every high school sport possible. If that earned him prom king, the woman was his queen. Beautiful, of course, but more than that — confident. Her eyes bore into me like lasers, and she smiled. Simmering beneath that smoldering gaze, I became all too self-conscious of the Ninja Turtle boxers under my Dockers.

“We aren’t open yet,” Sean said.

“Either of you boys live around here?” the woman asked. She had addressed us both, but it felt like she spoke only to me. At twenty-five, I didn’t consider myself a boy, but she made it feel like a compliment. The man kept glancing over his shoulder to look down the cross street outside.

“Summer, we have to get out of sight…fast,” he said. “I can see them a few blocks away.”

“I hear them, Austin” she said.

I couldn’t hear or see anything. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“We’re government agents,” they said together and flashed their identification. Special Directives Agency meant nothing to me, but their badges looked official enough.

“We’re being followed,” Summer said. “We need to get someplace safe. Can you help us?”

Holy shit! Actual goddamned secret agents asking me for help!

“My place is just down the street…maybe there?” I suggested. I heard my voice reflexively deepen to convey my seriousness. I felt like an idiot.

They just smiled their warm, friendly smiles and said, “Let’s go.”

“I’ll be right back,” I told Sean as I left.

When we stepped out the door, Austin looked into the distance before turning to follow me. “We’re in luck,” he said. “They’ve stopped for the moment.”

I still couldn’t see anything.

“They’re arguing about which way we went,” Summer said, one ear turned in the direction Austin was looking.

I heard nothing. They must have been using some government technology. My Sasquatch club friends believed the government had continued to develop digital technology in secret after President Nixon clamped down on computers three decades ago. I had always considered them conspiracy nutsacks, but now I wasn’t so sure.

Soon enough, we arrived at the front door to my place. I only remembered the state of my apartment when the filthy interior came into view. Beer bottles remained splayed all over the floor. Dishes filled the sink and sat all over the place. Worst of all, yesterday’s Ninja Turtle boxers lay wadded up in one corner. My secret revealed for everyone to see.

“I’m sorry, I, uh…” I stammered and started gathering stuff.

“Don’t you worry, Mr.…” Summer paused, inviting me to share my name

“Lance. Just call me Lance,” I said, continuing my blitzkrieg against the clutter.

“Don’t you worry, Lance,” she said, her soothing voice melting my anxiety. “We’ve seen some pretty dire situations. A messy apartment doesn’t make the top ten.”

Austin had pulled a small device from his pocket, a clamshell-like thing that looked like a communicator from Star Trek. He kept pressing it to his ear, looking at it, and then putting it back to his ear. “It’s dead,” he said.

“And I don’t have mine,” Summer added. “We need to get in touch with Wiley.”

“Do you rent mobile phones at Blockbuster?” Austin asked. The question startled me. It implied the tiny thing he had in his hand was some kind of mobile phone. The smallest ones we stocked at Blockbuster were the size of a medium-sized Thermos and weighed just as much.

“We do,” I said, “but not as fancy as the one you…” The little clamshell had disappeared. “…as the one you have,” I finished.

“That wasn’t a mobile phone,” he said, winking. “In fact, forget you ever saw the thing.”

“Saw what?” I asked smugly.

“Atta boy,” Austin said, patting me on the back. “Can you get us a phone?”

I looked around at the disaster I’d be leaving them in, and the dismay must have shown on my face. “We’ll be fine Lance,” Summer assured me. “I spent three weeks in a Russian prison once and Austin got marooned in orbit for thirteen days.”

“What do I do if I encounter…um…who is it I might encounter out there?”

“Soviet KGB,” Austin said. He grabbed the remote from my bed and turned on the TV. Peter Jennings reappeared on screen, still ad-libbing and looking even more tired. He sat with a middle-aged man who sported a wild mop of gray hair. A placard on the news desk identified him as Dr. Laszlo Teeter.

“It’s an absurd notion,” Dr. Teeter proclaimed, “that some kind of programming error has knocked out so many different computer systems. A few, maybe, but thousands? Tens of thousands? Ridiculous! If it’s not the Soviets, then it’s some kind of extraterrestrial attack!”

“Do you think it’s aliens?” I asked Summer and Austin. The day had grown so bizarre, the absurd seemed possible. They shook their heads dismissively.

“The KGB who are after you?”

“Kind of,” Summer answered. “It’s as reported, a computer bug, but Putin anticipated chaos and sent agents to sow even more disruption under the cover of this Y2K disaster. The proof is in this dossier.” She took a manila folder out of her purse and waved it in the air.

“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked. “Isn’t it top secret or something?”

“Because, if something happens to us, you might have to get this information to Wiley Silverton at the headquarters of the Special Directives Agency.”

“Now…the phone,” Austin said and opened my front door.

I turned around for a last look as I stepped out. As the door shut, I heard Summer ask, “Hey, Lance, do you mind if I use your bathroom?” I just nodded stupidly. “Don’t worry,” she added. “It can’t be as bad as a Soviet prison.”

All too soon, she would find out how wrong she was.

When the door closed, tentacles of terror slipped around my chest and squeezed. Austin and Summer made me feel capable and confident. Without them, I transformed back into the hungover, going nowhere loser in a Blockbuster Technology uniform and Ninja Turtle underwear. Nevertheless, I managed to steel myself and descend the concrete stairs to the sidewalk. I stuck out like a sore thumb on the deserted street — emptier than usual even for a holiday. Other than that, the only visible signs of Y2K disruption were a handful of black smoke plumes on the horizon. No sign of Soviets.

I did my best to walk nonchalantly to Blockbuster, so if the KGB did return, they wouldn’t get suspicious. Before I knew it, I had traversed the two blocks and found safety behind the big blue movie ticket on the doors.

“Dude,” Sean said when I entered. “They were here. The Russians chasing those two were here.”

“Are they here now?” I asked, alarmed.

“Nah, I sent them in the wrong direction.” He smirked, self-satisfied.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Now that I thought about it, why hadn’t Austin and Summer just used the phone in my apartment?

“The phones are down,” he said.

Of course.

“Mobile too?” I asked, worried I wouldn’t be able to help after all.

“Nah, just the landlines. But with both the Missiles and the phones down, we might just get that day off you were dreaming about.

“Give me one of the Motorola Five Thousands,” I said.

“What for?”

“For Austin and Summer, dumbass. You know, so they can escape the Russians.”

“Right,” he said while retrieving one of the devices from the display and handing it to me.

“Maybe, you should activate one of these so you can keep in contact.”

He laughed. “That’s a good idea, man. You’re way better at this cloak and dagger stuff than me.”

“Thanks for the loaner,” I said and held my fist up, Sean bumped it with his own, and I headed out the door.

 Right away, I spotted a man and woman about a block in the opposite direction from my apartment. They acted like a tourist couple, canoodling and pointing at stuff, but it seemed unlikely anyone could be so oblivious to the unfolding Y2K disaster. The thought of being in the KGB’s crosshairs juiced my adrenaline and made my hungover head throb. They came steadily closer but didn’t make a direct move toward me. When I reached the entry to my building, I wanted to look back to see where they were, but that might draw their attention. I just stepped in, and when out of sight, sprinted up the stairs.

I proudly held the mobile phone in front of me when I stepped through the front door.

“Good work, Lance,” Austin said. He took the device from my outstretched hand and stepped to the half-wall that separated the tiny kitchen from the rest of the apartment. The tiny clamshell re-emerged, he popped the casing off and began fiddling with the innards of the device using the half-wall as his workbench.

Only then did I notice my apartment had been straightened up. I heard the toilet flush in my bathroom, but the door remained open. I poked my head in to find Summer holding a toilet brush in one hand. Every surface sparkled.

“Since you were getting us the phone, I thought the least I could do was clean up while I waited,” she said. Her mischievous eyes, playful grin, and flirtatious tone (at least it felt flirtatious to me) made my knees buckle a little. How had she done so much, so fast? I had only been gone for five or ten minutes. Was she some kind of superhero like The Flash? My Sasquatch group insisted the government secretly experimented on people to give them special powers.

“Hey, Lance,” Austin called. “Do you know anything about swapping ID keys from one mobile phone to another?”

Shit yeah, I do!

“Sure, Austin, I can help.” My voice did that deepening thing again, and when she thought I couldn’t see, Summer’s head dropped, embarrassed on my behalf.

“We must get the ID key from my phone to the one you brought. The SDA hotlines will only accept calls from approved IDs.”

“You got it,” I said and stepped to the makeshift workbench. The ID key, a small removable card by civilian phone standards, took up a massive amount of the interior of Austin’s tiny clamshell. Notorious for their ill-fitting nature, the card wouldn’t budge as I wiggled it. “Give me a sec,” I said.

A loud banging came from the front door. “Lance, open up. It’s Sean.” He sounded terrified. Why didn’t he just call like I suggested?

I ran to the door to let him in. On my way, Summer said, “Lance, wait…”

Too late. When I opened it, the two KGB I had seen on my way back from Blockbuster pushed the door hard and shoved Sean into me. My buddy and I tumbled to the ground. The Russians charged Austin and Summer.

As my adrenaline surged anew, everything seemed to slip into slow motion. The ubiquitous “Millennial Theme,” composed by John Williams to celebrate the year 2000, blared on the TV. Three more Russians followed the first two into the room. Five to two, I assumed Austin and Summer would be subdued quickly. The pair just exchanged a beleaguered look with each other and assumed ready positions. “Hey, Lance,” Summer said. “Cowabunga!”

My heart surged when she gave the Ninja Turtle catchphrase, until I saw my errant boxers folded neatly on the end of my bed. A near lethal combination of fear and embarrassment made my cheeks burn.

She gave the lead KGB agent a kick to the chest. I didn’t expect much, Summer’s build was slim, and while toned, not particularly muscular, but the Soviet went flying across the room, crashing into the trash can full of beer bottles. The empties went skittering everywhere.

I retreated to the far side of the half-wall, grabbed both phones, and hunkered down. Maybe, if I could get this Wiley person on the phone fast enough, there would be some way he could help. Throwing caution to the wind, I yanked on the ID key of the clamshell. The phone’s internal electronics shattered, but the key came free intact. A quick pop of the Motorola’s access panel, and, thankfully, it slid right in. I hit the power button. The Motorola Five Thousand took about a minute to boot and activate with a new ID key. While I waited, I peered around the end of the wall. Sean had crawled across the room, and I saw him slip into the bathroom and close the door. The fight between Summer, Austin, and the KGB mesmerized me. Both of my allies seemed to possess unnatural strength, and their opponents continued to fly farther and get hit harder than seemed possible. When all five lay unconscious on the floor, Austin and Summer gave each other a quick high-five. Sean peeked out of the bathroom and seeing the dispatched Russians, emerged sheepishly.

The sing-song ring of the Motorola surprised us all. “Hello,” I answered.

“This is Wiley Silverton,” said a deep and commanding voice. “To whom am I speaking?”

“This is Lance…and Austin and Summer are here with me…and we have the dossier on the Russians…and five of them are unconscious in my apartment…and…and…” I babbled.

“Can you pass the phone to Austin?” Silverton asked calmly.

I handed the phone off without saying another word.

“Way to go, Donatello,” Summer said, calling me by the name of the Ninja Turtle gadgeteer.

Holy shit! She knew their catchphrase; she knew their names. Was she a fan? I told myself she thought my boxers were cool.

“Thanks,” I beamed.

“What if more of them show up?” Sean squeaked, his voice pitching higher from fear. It made me feel better about my fake deep voice.

Austin finished his conversation, hung up the phone, and returned to the group. “Wiley is sending a team to get us out of here safely. He has several throughout the city looking for us. One should be here in a few minutes.”

Eventually, I worked up the courage to ask, “Are you guys some kind of super agents?”

The pair smiled. “What makes you ask that?”

“You see and hear things no one else can. You’re both so strong. You’re like something from a comic book.”

“It’s just our government training, Lance,” Austin said, eyes twinkling with amusement, but also betraying the lie. “Nothing super-powered.”

I was such a dumbass. He wouldn’t admit it even if he was.

“Of course,” I said. “Pretty dumb thing to think, huh?”

“There’s nothing dumb about you, Lance,” Summer said. “And you’re braver than you think.” She put her hand on my face and kissed my cheek. “Thanks for your help.”

I…I…uh…um…duh…

Austin peered out the window at the street and then said, “The team is here.”

“You boys know to keep this quiet?” Summer asked Sean and me.

“Of course,” we answered together.

Minutes later, after a flurry of activity, Austin, Summer, their team, and the KGB were gone; my apartment was empty. Like nothing happened. Except for it getting cleaned.

My landline started to ring, and I answered.

“This is Wiley Silverton,” said the same authoritative voice from earlier. “Is this Lance?”

“Yes.”

“I hear some pretty good things about you. Can you come by the SDA headquarters tomorrow? I’d like to talk to you about a position on my tech team.”

Cowabunga!

“Yes, Mr. Silverton, I’d love to,” I said, voice pitching low again. Why did it do that?”

“See you then,” he said.

“Yes, sir.” I said and hung up.

Dr. Laszlo Teeter was back on the TV firing off more outlandish suggestions about what the government might be covering up with what he called the “ludicrously absurd Y2K folk tale.” I already knew the Sasquatch crew would go to town with the conspiracies and I would have to hold my tongue.

“I gotta get back to the store,” Sean said.

“I’ll be there in about half an hour,” I said. We bumped fists and he left.

A few minutes later, I realized my hangover was gone. Now, even alone, I remained confident. A soon-to-be tech guy for an elite government agency and a proud wearer of Ninja Turtle boxers.

I just might be going somewhere.