"Grand Admiral Lasqui!" The aged elder snake hissed the words with gratitude and admiration. "Thank you for coming at short notice. We require an expeditionary team to retrieve the ancient tome of ant knowledge from Alexandria."

"Alexandria, you say?" Lasqui rubbed his chin thoughtfully with his tail-tip. "The Great Library in Alexandria, buried beneath the silts of the Nile River delta, accessible only via the serpentine hypertunnels?"

"That would be the one, yes."

"Consider it done, elder. For we are the Sigma Six team. We have travelled the world eight times, spelunking the deepest caverns, sailing the widest oceans, and scaling the tallest mountains for Snakekind. It is not danger we seek, but danger seeks us for the excellent company we provide it. There is no challenge we cannot rise and meet. There is no fear in our hearts. Our poetry is pure and delivered with a firm, unquavering voice..."

"What is he doing?" Cliff whispered to Bismarck.

"I believe that is his Speech of Bravado. It is some kind of customary thing snake adventurers do, sort of a preamble, a boast if you will. It whets the appetite for their triumphant return celebration. Think of Evel Kneivel just before his motorcycle jump at Caesar's Palace. It's a ritual they--"

"Shh!" Senescia said. "Do not mar his speech with your prattlings."

"...and after pole-vaulting through Tibet to the magnificent palace of Askagon, where the four demon-giants we slew with our own fangs were forever stricken from the rolls of terror, we did sup with princes and kings. And the tapestries we brought back yet hang in the Hall of Conquests."

"Well done!" and "Bravo!" shouted the elders. Shakes of rattles (snake equivalent of clapping) all around. Someone began to hum, and then all the snakes joined in. It was Lasqui's theme song. He did not shy away, for snakes know no humbleness. He lifted his trunk high and flicked his tongue with elan.

"As per our never-disappointed expectations. You are truly the pride of the Serpent race. Has the Vizier of Plans filled you in on the details of the mission?"

"Yes, Elder. We are to locate the tome in the library. Then we read it. When we find the recipe for the stop-pheremone, we are to mix up the potion and bring it to the Formicarium in Luxembourg. There, the scientists will dispense it on the ants, thereby ceasing their activity once and for all."

He smiled and his fang caught the light, making it shine handsomely.

"Correct in every detail. Now, take these emissaries from the Feline and Avian kingdoms with you. Oh, and the humans too. This is a multi-species mission to save the world. It will be good public relations for you to be seen together with them."

The door slammed open and in stomped Killory cluricaun. Snake guards thought they had restrained him, but they had actually grabbed an illusory double.

"I'm comin' too."

"A fairy here in Elder chambers? Unprecedented! And what makes you, little man, think you can join this stellar team?"

"It's a new age, old-timers. We magic folk deserve a place in history as well. Let me go along, or I promise you I will cause so much trouble you'll be begging to move into a human zoo."

"Eh, how much harm can he be? All right, Grand Admiral Lasqui, if you can tolerate his presence, bring him along too."

"He won't slow us down! We've dragged dragons from Hell, kicking and spitting, over the Ural mountains..."

"Shut up and start the motor," growled Killory. "I ride in the front."

"Er, no you don't."

After a tense moment of stares, Killory relented and sat in the back seat. "I like it in the back, anyway," he averred.

The car was designed for the six snakes to ride comfortably, not for the extra guests, but this was easily remedied. Like the rumble seats of early 20th century cars, a compartment in the back opened for cargo. Noella and Cliff climbed into this space, which was a bit narrow and pinchy. There was no padding - a fact that would distress the humans considerably later - and this was made much worse after the animals and fairy jumped on top of them. Killory wanted to sit in Noella's lap, but she refused, so Cliff had the honor. He soon learned that cluricauns, while being dimunitive in stature, are quite dense and therefore very heavy.

The super sleek Sigma-Six Sedan squealed, spitting stones and smoke as it started out of the snake speaking chamber. It screamed through Serpentopolis snakeways with sublime speed, smoke streaming from its supercharged sparkplugs and searing cylinders. Like a sliver of soap swerving on slick surfaces, it seared the streets and simmered soil, its skin shimmering in the sultry subterranean light. Silver stripes sparkled like silver sewing needles and strings of symbols streaked along on the sides: special spells of a secret sort to instill security and strength of spirit. As they sped by, several snakes on the sidelines shouted and sang satisfied with the sight of the semidivine scions known as Sigma Six.

Inside the car, his tail draped lazily over the steering wheel, Lasqui spent much of the time examining his features in each of the six mirrors arranged around him. To say he was handsome would be like saying liquid magma was warm, or dinosaurs were large. His power to woo was unquestioned. He could stare at a plant until it fell in love with him, draping its leaves over him in an embrace.

Every so often he would turn his attention to the medals and tiny framed photos covering most of the dashboard, and adjust one of them that had moved from the vibrations. The Espy Prize, given to the most productive and sexy spy was his for eight years running. James Bond could take lessons from him. And he had a few Archies too - awards given to Archeologists for amazing finds and, more importantly, amazing stories in acquiring them. Indiana Jones and his giant rolling marble would not stand a chance for a real Snake archeologist like Lasqui.

The driver's egotism did not bother Cliff at all. What did alarm him was the driver's lack of interest in the road. Only rarely did the snake look up, chance to see a streetlamp or other obstacle approaching and jerk the steering wheel to one side, narrowly missing a horrible collision.

The rest of his team seemed not to mind this insane driving style. They were busy examining equipment, or catching up on sleep. These, whom Lasqui called his Agents of Action, were carefully chosen specialists in various aspects of adventure.

Piccardo, the Choreographer, was a master of strategy and problem solving. He had organized brilliant bank heists and infiltrated dangerous gangs. He put misfits on the throne and then toppled their empires with delicately orchestrated coup des tats. He was also a stickler for style. If a member of his team ran through a minefield in any manner less than heroic, he would make them stop, go back, and do it again.

Grusque, the typical grunt, was hulking and robust, first to jest and last to groan. An accomplished Demolition Artist, he knew the fastest and most impressive way to reduce any large object into fine powder. This did not always require explosions, though he was considered a connoseur of things that go "boom". His purview also included corrosive chemicals, tuned waves of sonic destruction, and as you will see later, some very hungry little creatures.

Lilili's role in the team was Perfumologist. This may seam to be an unimportant position until one realizes the many uses of scents in the field of espionage. For example, the smell of burning plastic could cause a panic aboard an airliner, allowing for the swapping of briefcases. With her compact chemistry set, she could quickly whip up almost any smell required by the mission.

Santangelo was the Documentarian. He wore a helmet-mounted camera with several lens types and filters on a revolver. He was a specialist in lighting too, and could set up a collection of gel lights in the time it would take you to blink. His kind are inculcuably important in adventure teams, for without footage of exploits, who would believe them? His role in making Lasqui famous was not to be underestimated.

No one but Lasqui really knew what Mafaranda the Mystic's specialty was, other than being generally mysterious and dark. Some say she was his favorite girlfriend. Others say he kept her along just for luck, as she practically oozed it. She once walked into a casino with a bit of pocket lint and emerged with the deed to the estate of a dutchess. The most probable reason to have her in the team was her considerable psychic power. She could predict large swaths of the future (though rarely the bits that were important to them). And she was very good at guessing people's weight. Most of all, she looked really, really mysterious in her gypsy-styled outfit.

As it took each turn, the amazingly lithe car drifted up the opposite wall of the round hallway, resembling a dark painting sliding over the wood panelling. Cliff's buttocks were incredibly sore from bouncing on the ridged steel floor, and having to support his own weight plus that of the heavy cluricaun whose shoes dug into his belly. There was nothing on which to grab for stability, save a very thin seam between panels in which he could just barely insert his fingertips. A rocket sled would be better than this, he thought.

"Are we going to go like this all the way to the..." he struggled to say as the air forced his mouth into strange shapes.

"What?" cried one of the snakes back to him.

"I said, are we going to go like this all the..."

"I can't hear you!" said the snake.

Cliff summoned his loudest, most shrill voice: "ARE WE GOING TO GO LIKE THIS ALL THE WAY TO THE LIBRARY?"

"Clifford, please! Don't shout," said the snake, who was presently exiting the just-parked vehicle.

The sudden lack of motion and air slapping him in the face almost put Cliff into shock. He breathed heavily and looked around in terror.

"If you haven't heard, and providence help you if you haven't, my name is Grand Admiral Lasqui, winner of the "Espy" Prize eight years running. And with me is my hand-picked team of crack action agents: Piccardo, Santangelo, Mafaranda, Lilili, and Grusque."

Each of the snakes removed their crash helmets in turn and winked.

"And to answer your question: no, we are not taking the Sigma Six all the way to Alexandria. I think you will find our mass transit system more comfortable, and certainly much faster. Please step inside."

Lasqui's tail turned a crank and held open a round doorway just barely large enough for Cliff to squeeze through. Inside was a level of luxury he could never have imagined having seen the harsh riveted titanium alloy exterior. He marvelled at deep, plush velvet cusions, leather upholstered benches, teac panelling, shined brass control panels with enameled levers and stained glass displays. After falling to the mosaic-tiled floor (which rendered a beautiful glazed terra-cotta and lapis map of the world), he pulled himself up to one of the upholstered leather seats. The others poured in and took their positions around the spherical cabin.

Killory fumbled around and knocked a panel with his elbow. It turned to reveal a concealed wet bar with a vast array of alcoholic services. "Whiskey on tap!" cried Killory with joy.

"Yes," said Santangelo brightly. "And those spigots dispense port, vodka, sparkling cider, and soda water. Marachino cherries and lime slices emerge from this dispenser here and... oh dear."

Killory had flopped into the little sink, like a bucket seat, and positioned his head beneath the whiskey spout. He turned it on and let it pour right into his mouth. His eyes rolled back as happy gurgling noices emerged from his fat little belly.

"Well, that's one way to deal with the tedium of travel," mused Santangelo.

As a deep rumbling sound mixed with the squeaking of steel ball bearings emanated from somewhere outside, Lilili served beverages. Cliff sampled a glass of fine serpantine port from an etched crystal goblet. He was about to light his cigar on a glowing coil in his armrest when the transit capsule launched.

In a few thousandths of a second, Cliff had the painful knowledge that few humans, other than those shot up into space, gain from personal experience: sudden acceleration at 30 G's can really hurt. Strangely, there were no seatbelts, and even more strange was the fact that only Cliff found himself sliding down from the far wall, into the puddle of his drink.

"Hold on to something!" said a snake cheerfully.

His advice was not only too late, but also a bit of a joke that caused some jocular tongue-flashing. That's because after the initial crushing acceleration, the rest of the ride was smoother than floating on an air mattress in a swimming pool. Only the slightest vibration registered, making ice cubes tinkle quietly in glasses. As Cliff groaned and massaged his bruises, the animals engaged in pleasant banter about the statistics of this technological marvel.

The transit capsule was propelled initially by a huge gust of geothermally-superheated steam. Thereafter, it simply coasted, riding on a bed of slime milked from giant subterranean snails. The excess heat from the steam burst powered the electric systems inside the craft: lighting, refrigeration in the wetbar, the pleasant music wafting from the speakers.

The needle-shaped craft reduced air resistance with grooves that allowed the high-pressure air to pass around nearly unhindered. Further lowering friction, the tunnel through which the team now hurtled at several times the speed of sound was absolutely straight and smooth, bored and polished by a particle beam more powerful than a coronal mass injection. These tunnels radiated out like a starburst pattern from the snake city.

"Hence the phrase, all roads lead to Serpentopolis," explained Lasqui.

"You mean, all roads lead to Rome," said Cliff with raised finger.

"Rome!" All the snakes laughed. "Rome was our practice city, which we gave over to the servants. All the surface roads go there, but who wants to walk on a silly cobblestone trail?"

Cliff frowned and buried his face in a magazine he couldn't understand. Noella sidled up to him.

CRUCIBLE: characters trapped in a confined space lots of tension animals vs. humanoids cluricaun has been drinking while snakes telling boastful stories he tells snake to shut up, sick of their shallowness you ain't never been on the surface cuz you're so scared of these types (smacks Cliff in the head) well, where's yer bravado now? snakes looking around uncomfortably us fairies you have been bossing for centuries but these humanfolk you've been meddling with their lives for a lot longer and what has it got anybody? wars, pain, confusion. cat: yeah! what he said. surprises everybody by jumping into cliff's lap it's the birds' fault. they are the manipulators. cold, calculating, humorless we mammals have to stick together. bird: what are you talking about, cat? you hunted humans for sport, or at least the australipithecines noella: that's right, and what about the black cats? what about my brother? cluricaun: unfinished business here. I need to get my personal revenge on one of youse snakes snakes huddle together, shaking more afraid of their reputation being tarnished than getting hurt snake: don't make me bite you. my venom is nasty. cluricaun, go ahead and try! cliff: enough! now, I don't know a whole lot, but I do know that we all have more in common than we don't. resolves conflict, establishes team spirit cluricaun, you fairies just have to find a way to vent your anger, but no violence because it doesn't end, turn it into a sport like bowling or something snakes, you have to do something to make it up to the fairies. include them more in your activities. it's gonna take a long time to integrate, but you have to try cat and bird, what the little guy said is correct. you've been meddling. you underestimate us. sooner or later the secret is going to get out (noella: already has) and when that happens you won't be able to contain it. we need to change this situation. the planet is not big enough. noella, we'll find your brother. after this mission we'll go to yucatan. snakes: we saw him!

"They got you good with that sudden start-up" Noella laughed. She nudged him until he smiled. "Anyway, I could use a laugh. Things aren't going so great for me."

"What do you mean?" Cliff asked.

"Well, my brother is the reason I went on this thing. Nobody's heard of him though. Or they just don't care."

Even at the incredible speed at which they hurtled through stone tunnels, the journey was to take 5 hours. To pass the time, Lasqui regaled with guests with stories of their adventures. He was telling the story about the zombie aztec priests and the nuclear reactor of Chichen-Itza.

"So we were charged with a very delicate mission to restart the reactor in Chichen-Itza. That's the second Snake home city known as the Uncle-Land. The security system was a little more complex than we remembered, but Santangelo got us through the walls of fire only slightly crispy. And then of course when we cranked up the cadmium rods and the reactor went back on line, there was a power surge which woke up the priests from their cryogenic suspension. In their brain-damaged state they didn't recognize us as their masters, and you know how hungry you get after a long crygenic sleep..."

Suddenly Noella became very excited.

"Wait! Isn't Chichen-Itza in Yucatan?"

"Well, yeah. Every snake baby knows it."

"Hold on a sec..." She scrambled through her pockets until she fond a photograph. "Did you see him?"

"Him?" Grusque pointed with his nose at the photograph Noella was holding. "Oh yeah! That's whats-his-name..."

"Steven," said Mafaranda from behind her veil.

"Yeah, Steven. He helped us with the reactor. We were having trouble turning the cranks on the fuel rods. It's been a long time since they were greased, and our snake tails aren't so good at grasping... Anyway, he was very helpful. It was sad to see him torn to shreds by the zombies."

"Torn to...?" Tears started to stream from Noella's eyes.

"Tsk!" Lilili batted Grusque in the head with her tail. "Don't listen to him. He is a big idiot. No one actually saw Steven torn to shreds. We were too busy escaping through the ducts to see that. He... might have gotten away."

"In any case," said Lasqui, "the entire Snake Nation is grateful to him. He slowed down the zombie priests long enough for us to make our getaway. If I ever see him again, I'm going to buy him a beer. He earned it."

Cliff tried to comfort Noella who was beside herself with grief. The snakes looked on with pity for a little while before they lost interest and returned to chatting about their historic exploits.

"I just wish I knew something. Anything. If I had some kind of clue that he was alive or dead..."

CRUCIBLE: cat & bird & snakes vs. humans & cluricaun CAT BEHAVING STRANGELY. VERY PARANOID, REFUSING TO GO NEAR THE BIRD. CONFIDES IN CLIFF THAT SOMETHING EXCITING WILL HAPPEN VERY SOON. BE READY TO JOIN ME AND I WILL GUARANTEE YOU A POSITION OF POWER. TWAKE TO CLIFF: SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH THE CAT. DO NOT TRUST HER. I HAVE SENT A SECRET MESSAGE TO THE AUTHORITIES WHO WILL MEET US IN LUXEMBOURG.