It took a few seconds for Fields' fatigued brain to fully process the magnitude and implications of Featherstone's demand.
And a few more of stunned, mindless shock before he realised that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't quite as bad as first impressions might suggest. Basically, Featherstone was still offering to do exactly what Fields wanted—shut the portal down and get them the hell out of there. All Fields had to do was keep his cool, and make sure it happened—along with managing the slightly tricky logistical challenge of somehow resurrecting and producing a certain somewhat-crispy evil scientist. And if nothing else, the whole 'clean slate' thing had a certain appeal.
"So, let me get this straight. Once you enter that code, the portal will be gone?"
"Yes," confirmed Featherstone.
"And if you give it long enough, the giant will be gone, too?"
"Yes."
"The snake-person will be gone?"
Featherstone blinked. "Um. Well, assuming there is one out there, then yes."
"The pancaked ape-man will be gone?"
"The pancaked ape-man? Yes, I suppose so."
"The bear with the bite on his bum will be gone?"
"What on Earth...? Er, yes—that will be gone, too."
"The siren will be gone?"
"I should think...wait—there's a siren out there?" Surreptitiously, the scientist turned just a little, so as to be able to glance out at the hangar floor, while still keeping an eye on Fields.
"Focus, Frank. Besides, you don't wanna go there—she's no princess, trust me. My point is, all those freakazoids will be gone?"
"Yes, Agent Fields, yes. I don't know how much plainer I can be. It will all be gone—including us, if we don't get a move on. So, let's go." He waggled his gun, in what Fields assumed was intended to be a threatening manner. "Otherwise, I'll be forced to blow you."
This time, it was Fields who blinked. "Uh...you'll be forced to do what?"
Getting into the swing of his tough-guy persona, Featherstone added a constipated scowl to the gun-waggle. "To blow you." Narrowing his eyes, he leaned in a little closer. "Don't make me blow you."
Fields swallowed. "Uh...away?"
"What?"
"You'll be forced to blow me away?"
"Huh?" A hint of confusion crept into Featherstone's scowl. "Away where?"
"Frank, the expression is, 'blow you away'."
"Is it? Well, what did I say, then?"
"You said...look, never mind what you said. Just never ever say it to me again, okay? Please?"
The scientist gave him an appraising look. "You know, Agent Fields—you're a strange man."
Despite the situation, Fields couldn't resist a wry grin. "Well, I'm not so sure about that, Frank. But I think I might be getting there."
They both pondered this for a moment, before Featherstone shook his head, as if to clear it. "At any rate, that's enough of this nonsense. Time to go—I want to see Dr Radovic."
Yeah, I really don't think you do, Frankie. I doubt he's currently looking his best. Not that you need to know that. At least, not until we're all safely out of here, and that bloody portal is history, along with all the interdimensional trash. I've just gotta stay frosty and keep you on track. And then deal with the dead doc dilemma. But hey, one drama at a time. "Sure, sure—I'll take you right to him. First I just need to warn Peregrine and the others, so they can clear the area."
Resolutely, Featherstone shook his head. "No. I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Agent Fields. The portal is too unstable—we can't risk going down there. Your partner will just have to fend for herself."
"Fend for herself? But she'll be...she'll get...portalled! All over the place!" He took a deep breath. Cool it, Fields, cool it. Keep things calm.
"I'm not quite sure you've entirely grasped the concept of interdimensional transmission, Agent Fields. Actually, now I think about it, I'm positive you haven't. In any case, while Agent Peregrine may well be engulfed by the portal, you needn't worry about her safety."
Fields stared at him, momentarily speechless. He had been gobsmacked multiple times over the course of the day—more times than he cared to remember, both literally and physically. Just in the recent battle alone he'd copped some truly spectacular smacks to the gob. But for sheer, synapse-jangling, outrage-inducing gobsmackery, Featherstone's last sentence took the cake. In fact, it took the whole damn patisserie.
Eyelid twitching with the effort of keeping calm, he gritted his teeth. Chill, Fields—stay focused. With an enormous effort of will, he forced himself to draw another deep breath, to keep the outrage contained—until abruptly, willpower expiring, it all come pouring out anyway.
"I needn't worry? I needn't worry? You're pointing a freaking gun at me, Embers needs a medevac and could be dead for all we know, there's a potentially world-ending hole in the universe just over there, my girlfriend dumped me, my career's in the toilet, the director hates me, there's who-the-hell-knows how many weird-arse monsters just outside, I'm covered in dried giant-snot, my new partner is quite possibly the weirdest, most infuriating yet strangely awesome person I've ever met, her life is currently in the hands, or should I say claws, of a dragon possessed by the pan-dimensional mind of a quantum-computer-photocopier-repairman hybrid, she's also about to bloody well get the crap portalled out of her, I've still got the taste of bear-butt in my mouth, and you're holding the world to ransom until I take you to see your evil-bastard-of-a-beardy-knob-head boyfriend. And I needn't worry? I needn't worry? You—cannot—be—serious!"
Even though he was the one with the gun, a clearly appalled Featherstone took a hurried step back. "I...I...just meant you needn't worry about Agent Peregrine coming to any physical harm. The portal won't actually injure anybody or anything caught within its radius—it will just transport them to a far-distant, unspecified point, somewhere out there in the multiverse."
Eyes bulging, Fields took a step towards the cowering scientist. "And that's supposed to make me feel BETTER?"
"I...er...um." Defensively, Featherstone raised his gun a little higher. "S-stop right there. Don't make me blow you—"
Expression thunderous, Fields pivoted into a lightning-fast snap-kick, which knocked the gun from the scientist's grasp and sent it spinning across the room, glinting and flashing in the emerald light, while simultaneously drawing his own gun and using the momentum of his kick to spin through a full 360 degrees, before finishing the explosion of movement with a lunge that placed the barrel of his weapon squarely between Featherstone's bulging eyes. "I bloody warned you, didn't I? I told you—don't ever say that again."
"—away!" squeaked the scientist, eyes comically crossed as he attempted to focus on the gun pressed between them. "I was going to say blow you away! I promise!"
"You were?" Fields kept his weapon aimed at Featherstone's head but took a step back. "Oh," he added, feeling a little sheepish. "Well, that's okay then." He sighed. Way to stay frosty, dickhead.
Still, as much as it would have been nice to have a compliant Featherstone to deal with, he didn't really anticipate a recalcitrant one giving him too much trouble—what with the whole incompetent dumb-arse thing, and so on. The situation was still in hand—and now the right person was pointing the gun.
"Okay, Frankie-boy. First, you're going to show me where the button to open the hatch is. Then you're going to get your wounded arse down that ladder."
Featherstone looked appalled. Well, more appalled. "What? Are you insane? We have to take the tunnel! We need to be moving away from the portal, not closer to it. Going down there is madness. Madness of the highest order!"
"Madness?" Fields gave the scientist an encouraging poke with his gun, to get him moving. "Hardly. You see, I've got a totally rock-solid, completely sane plan—you're gonna love it. Remember that dragon I mentioned earlier? The one possessed by the photo-copier repairman? Well, you and me and the princess you propositioned—you know, the one your partner shot—and a witch—you'll like her, she's the one who wasn't afraid of your wand—and Peregrine are all going to climb into an azure-blue 1973 Jaguar XJ12—although I'm tossing up whether you should ride in the boot—and then that dragon is going to grab the car with its big-arse claws and then it's going to fly us all a hell of a long way away from this stinking bloody Dish, and that stupid bloody portal, before we all get seriously portal-faced. Oh yeah, and I forgot to mention—the Jag happens to be nuclear powered. And then, once we're a good safe distance away, and once all of our portal-friends out there have been consigned to the trash-heap of the multiverse, you're going to enter that freaking access code, like a well-behaved little remorseful villain." He gave Featherstone a manic smile. "Sound good?"
Eyes wide, the scientist gave a jerky but emphatic shake of his head. "No."
Fields' smile vanished. "Like I give a shit. Now move."
"No," repeated Featherstone, drawing himself to his full, but not remotely impressive height. "I won't do it. You will take me to Dr Radovic, otherwise you can"—he swallowed—"kill me, if you want to. But if you do, the access code will be gone forever. The world will be doomed; doomed to be overrun by swarms of interdimensional invaders or consumed by the portal—whichever comes first. Is that what you want, Agent Fields?"
Great. Who'd have thought you actually had a pair? Without taking his eyes off the sweating scientist's face, Fields lowered his gun with slow deliberation, until the barrel was resting on the wounded man's kneecap. "Who said anything about killing?"
Eyes wide, Featherstone glanced down at the gun, before returning his gaze to Fields' face. "B-before you do anything h-hasty, you should know I have programmed the device with two codes. One of them activates the process of shutting down the portal."
With a sigh, Fields removed the gun. "Let me guess—the other one deactivates it."
"Very good, Agent Fields. The other code cancels the process irrevocably." Featherstone raised his chin (or at least, the lower part of his face). "So, you may torture me, induce me or compel me as much as you like—but you won't know which code I'm entering, until it's too late."
Fields absorbed this latest complication in his already disturbingly tenuous, seriously flawed and quite frankly borderline non-existent plan to somehow close the portal, rescue the world and save the day. He presented the complication to his brain, for due consideration. His brain responded with on-hold music. He decided perhaps it was time to focus on the basics. The complexities would have to sort themselves out.
"Okay Frank, you've got me. Clearly, you're smarter than me—that's never been in doubt. But here's the thing. I'm not leaving my partner to get beamed off to Tatooine or Gallifrey or whichever other choice spot the portal has in mind. I—am—not. No matter what. No matter if it costs the Earth. So, the way I see it, you've got a choice.
"You can stand there with that ooh-aren't-I-the-smarty-pants face, right up until it turns into an oh-shit-my-arse-is-being-portalled face—and never see Radovic, ever again. Or you can spare us five minutes to warn my friends, and then I'll take you right to him. So, Frankie—what's it gonna be?"