The Phantom Jungle Girl and Clarissa sat in the Pinto belonging to Donna Blank, which was parked along a residential neighborhood in Detroit. Fanny wielded a camera with a long telephoto lens propped atop the steering wheel; she had it trained on an apartment house further down the street. Clarissa sat with a comic book-sized brown paper bag on her lap; she was flipping through newly-purchased copies of Megatron Man #3 and #4.

“Thanks for taking me by Len’s Pool Room and Comic Emporium, Donna—I mean, Fanny,” said Clarissa. “For some reason, there isn’t a comic shop near Warren Woodward University that carries a full line of independent titles, and I hate flying up Gratiot Avenue in my costume just to pick up the latest issue of Megatron Man. Besides, by the time I flew home, they wouldn’t be in mint condition anymore.”

“You should consider driving lessons before the summer is over, Ms. Megaton Man,” said Fanny. “Not that I mind chauffeuring you around town. But places like Len’s give me the creeps—they have the desolate man-cave feeling of porn shops.”

“Porn shops are classier than Len’s,” said Clarissa. “I should know—I frequent some authentically gross ones downtown. But why did you wear your skimpy uniform inside? You knew it would be provocative.”

“I wish I had worn civilian clothes,” replied Donna. “On a day like today, my bare thighs keep sticking to the faux-leather upholstery. But I can’t do private detective work as Donna Blank, social worker; I just can’t get into the proper mood. Besides, it becomes an accounting problem when it comes time to write off expenses for taxes. How are those comics you bought?”

“There just as outlandish as you might expect,” replied Clarissa. “My friend Chase is just making stuff up, even though he has access to all kinds of documentary material. He makes you megaheroes out to be misfits and buffoons, with all kinds of sexual hang-ups. And over three issues, my character, Ms. Megatronica, has gone from African-American to almost completely white, without explanation. He doesn’t even show my cape as able to fly by itself.”

“What do you expect from an art school dropout?” said Fanny. “Speaking of costumes, is yours handy?”

Clarissa turned and looked at the garment bag in the back seat. “It’s right here. I wasn’t going to wear it under what I’ve got on; I’m sweating already. Why?”

“Looks like our hotrod visitors are on the move. Are those the people you saw before?”

Fanny handed the telephoto lens to Clarissa, who peered through it.

“The blonde and the black guy with the leather duster. Yep, that’s two out of three of them.”

Fanny and Clarissa watched as Rory Smash and Cody Revell climbed into a sleek Ferrari.

“That guy has a taste for fancy vehicles,” noted Clarissa. “Spaceships and sports cars.”

“He’s awfully familiar for some reason. I know him from somewhere.”

Clarissa handed the camera back to Fanny, who tucked it under the driver’s seat. Fanny turned the keys in the ignition.

***

They followed the Ferrari for half a mile through side streets, then another mile on West McNichol until it changed into Six Mile Road across Telegraph. The Ferrari pulled up in front of the Organic Food Co-Op to let the young blonde woman get out, then sped off.

“What, is he dropping her off to shop, or is this where she works?” said Clarissa.

“Why don’t you find out while I tail the Ferrari,” suggested the Phantom Jungle Girl.

Clarissa hopped out.

“Will you need your costume?” asked Fanny.

“No, I’ll go it commando,” said Clarissa. “What kind of trouble will I get into in a grocery store?”

The Pinto sped off in the direction of the Ferrari, which was already lost to sight.

Clarissa walked into the store and grabbed a stroller. She wound her way through the narrow aisles selecting bread, peanut butter, milk, and other items and dropping them into the cart, all the while looking for the blonde woman. “Too bad my cape couldn’t do much snooping around that apartment house,” she thought to herself. “They had screens in the windows, so it could only overhear bits of conversation.”

Nonetheless, Clarissa was certain the hotrod she’d seen fly overhead in Fanny’s suburban neighborhood, and seen parked on the apartment building rooftop—albeit cloaked in invisibility by virtue of existing in an alternate dimension—were not of this world, at least not of the present world.

Finally, after ordering lunchmeat and a wedge of Pinconning cheese at the deli counter, and acquiring a few other items, Clarissa spotted the blonde woman at the checkout counter ringing up customers. She had on a blue line shirt, weathered jeans, and an apron. Over her eyes were dark-tinted lenses. The name tag on her apron read, “Cody.”

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After the customer in front of her was done, Clarissa placed her items on the checkout belt.

“You must be new here,” said Clarissa. “I shop here all the time. As a well-educated person myself, I appreciate the non-corporate, anti-capitalist ethos here.”

Cody eyed Clarissa blankly through her dark lenses. “I’ve only been working here a couple days,” she said, keying the prices into the manual cash register by hand. “But I know what you mean. It’s laid back. Do you have your membership card?”

“Oh, no, I’m not a member.”

“But you said…”

“Yeah, I don’t believe in joining—I’m not a joiner.”

Cody placed the items in a brown paper bag and announced the tally.

Clarissa pulled out her wallet. Between comics and groceries, she realized, this just about cleaned her out. She handed Cody the last of her paper money.

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here,” said Clarissa. “How do you like the neighborhood?”

“You have a good ear. Me and my brother are from … Wisconsin. We like the neighborhood just fine. People in this epoch are surprisingly friendly, although we haven’t made too many acquaintances yet.”

“My friend’s having a picnic this Sunday,” said Clarissa. “A few friends from work—you know, college types. She only lives a short ways away from here. Maybe you and your brother would like to come over. My name’s Clarissa, by the way.”

“Um, sure,” said Cody. She handed Clarissa a piece of paper and pencil. “Can you write down your friend’s address? I’m sure we’d appreciate that. My name’s Cody, but you probably caught onto that.”

***

Outside the store, the Pinto circled around just as Clarissa emerged with an armful of groceries.

“No luck—I lost the Ferrari in traffic,” said the Phantom Jungle Girl. “Maybe on my jungle vine, I could have followed him.”

“Well, we know where they live,” said Clarissa, who threw the bags onto the back seat and climbed in the front.

“Yes, but I had the feeling he was on his way to meet somebody. I wish I could remember where I’d seen him before.”

“Recently?”

“No, years ago—back in the days of the old Crime Busters,” said Fanny. She snapped her fingers. “That’s it—that’s where I know him from.”

“He was a Crime Buster?”

“Not exactly. More like an associate of an old friend. I never actually met him; I only ever saw him from a distance.”

“Maybe you’ll meet him come Sunday,” said Clarissa. “By the way, you’re having a picnic in your new back yard.”

***

In the Newburgh Motel several miles away, Aryaman Ronith, nicknamed Munro, reclined on one of two beds, still fiddling with the Stratocaster he’d performed on that afternoon.

“There are 24,576 scales possible,” he said as Javier Merino entered the room with a load of goods. “There are so few because frequencies are arranged quite primitively in whole and half-steps. In Aresian music, which employs quarter tones …”

“Aren’t you even going to ask where I’ve been?” asked Merino, who dropped his bags on the bed.

“Not really,” replied Munro. “I assume you were out with that Ernie person, spending our commission on useful goods.”

“The students call him Ernie Pee-Pee,” said Merino. “I have since learned it is a derogatory nickname. He took me to a place called the mall; I bought clothing for us to change into.”

Dallas, Jamaica, Hatori, and Hoskins filed into the room.

“How are your accomodations?” asked Merino.

“Can’t complain,” replied stocky Dallas. “Not as cramped as the Bogdanove. I still think the six of us could fit in one room to economize.”

“Too late. I spent our wages on clothes. In fact, Ernie Penn-Pierson was so delighted we came to his rescue, he charged many of these goods on his own account, on top of our pay.”

“So we can eat dinner across the street at Big Boy,” said Himari Hatori. “He looks well fed, and I’m starved.”

“First, let’s change out of these fleet uniforms so that we aren’t conspicuous among the populace,” said Merino.

“I ruined my uniform,” said Jamaica Jordyn, pointing to the paint stains on her tunic. She had been put in charge of a hallway mural at the school. “That’s what I get for expressing an interest in colors and pigments.”

Hiram Hoskins, a balding male, flopped onto the bed next to Munro, nearly knocking both him and his guitar onto the floor. “I’m beat,” he announced, “after marching with those kids all over the football field all afternoon. I don’t know what’s so hard about forming a spiral galaxy out of human beings while performing such a simple.”

“What was it called again?” asked Munro, recovering. “King of Pain? Who knew law enforcement was so musical in this era.”

“The Police is just the name of a band,” said Hoskins. “I don’t think they can arrest people.”

“I was in charge of a group that pretended we were entirely different people according to pre-programmed lines of dialogue,” said redheaded Jamaica Jordyn. “I was told parents come to watch them on stage. That’s quite a paradox, to seek recognition while not being yourself.”

“Perhaps we can do some sightseeing tomorrow,” said Dallas. “There’s got to be more to this planet than one high school. And I still never saw any aircraft of any sort.”

“Nothing doing,” said Merino. “Ernie Pee-Pee is and his boss, Victoria Bryan, are counting on us to fill in for the educators who canceled at the last minute, especially since we hit it off so well with the kids. We’re booked all this week and next. Besides, is we stick to one place, we won’t run into Pinsen and her search party.”

“But we’re not educators,” said Hatori. “We’re Domain fleet crewman on shore leave. We’re here to relax, rejuvenate, mingle.”

“Apparently, our superior training is the culture of the thirtieth century makes us more than qualified to instruct twentieth-century teenagers in creative self-expression.”

“I don’t have a self to express,” said Hoskins. “I’m just a drone for the domain.”

“These configurations of tones and irregular arrangements of rhythm,” said Munro, looking at his guitar. “In what sense are these algorithms expressive of anything besides sheer mathematics?”

“I dunno,” said Merino. “Apparently, humans beings in this era express rage, jealousy, rivalry, desire with all manner of making noise, throwing paint around, and play acting. Search me.”

“Don’t forget molding clay with your bare hands,” said Hoskins. “That’s what I was doing all day. I still have dirt under my fingernails.”

“As long as they’re perceiving a benefit,” said Jamaica, “I vote we play along. Merino’s right—we’ll be out of Pinsen’s hair and we’re having fun. We haven’t had to resort to using our converters for currency; those things are dangerous anyway. I knew someone on Plortorne who blew their hand off with one of those things. And we are learning about the culture of this lost time period in human history.”

“I’m hungry,” said Dallas. “Let’s change and eat. We’ll discuss our options over dessert.”