v_knidh8er | (no subject)

(no subject)

The monorail system has two modes of operation. During off-peak hours it functions on a loose timetable, each train being guided remotely by operators based in a central control tower. There is a manual override in the lead carriage of each train however, and during rush hours a driver Loompa is employed to operate the simple; button and large sucker throttle lever. This is a safety precaution set in place to cope with the larger crowds and longer boarding times.

The carriages are the perfect height for their short passengers and have no doors since weather is not an issue in the underworld. Each one holds about thirty standing Loompas safely, forty at a squeeze. But, due to their size, neither an adult human nor a five foot turtle would be able to fit inside with any kind of maneuverability.

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The fleeing group hurry up the steps to the nearest monorail stop, Mike dragging the vision-impaired explorer. Once on the platform, all three look up and down the track. There's no sign of a train.

They exchange worried looks and glance up at the timetable and then the big clock on the nearby wall.

His sight nearly fully restored, Indy sighs. "It's late. The bloody escape train is late, wouldn't you know it? Some things never change."

"And doesn't it just figure that I'm fresh out of cigarettes!"

He feels someone tapping on his arm, and looks down into the orange face of one of the Rogue Loompas, who then unrolls the cuff of his smock revealing a pack of candy cigarettes. The Rogue smiles.

"Can't hurt."
Mike takes the cigarette and proceeds to take a puff. Confectioner's sugar wafts out the paper end.

Turtle frowns at Mike. "This is serious! What are we going to do?" The roar of angry Loompas is getting closer. All of a sudden, a slow moving monorail train rumbles into the station. Turtle looks at Mike with new respect. "How did you do that?"

Indy takes charge, barking at his comrades. "Come on! There's no driver. We're home free!"

He gives the carriages a once over and scratches his head. "Mike and me'll have to ride on the roof. Can you drive this thing, Turtle? Just shift that stick as far forward as it will go and ease off on the curves."

Turtle ducks her head into the lead carriage and eyes the controls skeptically. On the one hand, she's not old enough to drive. On the other, she has a chance to drive a train.

"I think so. It doesn't look that different than those arcade games Theo like to play." She frowns at the sucker throttle. "Other than the fact that it's made out of candy."

Turtle shrugs and steps forward into the car. Taking a deep breath, she presses the button and slowly, oh so slowly, moves the lever forward. The monorail inches along at a crawl. Grinning, she gets the feel of it and steadily increases the speed.

"This is kind of fun!" Turtle decides it probably wouldn't be a good plan to eat the controls.

Once Mike finds his gravity, he stands up and peers back as the hoarde of Security Loompas look on from the platform. He waves at them and takes a picture. After a few minutes they wander off the platform.

"Well, that was easy. Dude, what the heck did you do to them?"

The train glides on silently, leaving the station behind and disappearing down one of the many tunnels that spur off from the central city hub.

"Nothing..." Indy pleads his innocence gruffly as he sits down on the convex roof. "They're just testy little buggers. Guess they didn't want anyone knowing about this little operation they've got going down here."

"What operation? Naptime? I hate to break it to them, but we already know."

Mike eyes the Rogue Loompas who are huddled in the first car.

"What's up with them?"

Indy shrugs. "Just along for the ride?"

"Seriously Mike... I have less idea about this place than you probably do. I woke up in a garbage disposal unit, fell into a slime pool, got sprayed with taffy and then jumped by the entire damn police force when I tried to escape... and then made into a tasty treat."

He pulls at the material of his leggings absently. "So... why did you come? Were you worried about me?"

A dry chuckle follows.

"Well, like you said, you are a tasty treat."
Mike blows his roomie a kiss.

"Seriously though, the house looks like a cleaned up crime scene, I didn't know what to think. Sounds like you had fun though."

"Fun? That was not my idea of fun."

The pom poms on his boots jiggle excitedly as he gives his room mate a glare. It quickly changes to a look of horror as he looks over Mike's shoulder at the approaching light fixture.

"DUCK!"

Without missing a beat, Mike pulls his head into his shell, the top of which just barely clears the light.

"Woah, that was a close one Is it safe yet?"

His voice is muffled.

Turtle seems to have found some extra control buttons and the train emits a cheerful toot—actually the warning horn, but implemented with the Loompas' inimitable trademarks of free world happiness.

Indy looks up from his foetal position. "Yup."

Staying low as the journey continues smoothly, he quizzes Mike a little more. "So how did you know I was down here? And how the hell did you find a way in?"

Mike's head appears with a subtle pop, and he flops back onto the roof of the train.

"Ahh well. Wouldn't you like to know? Actually, I'm sure you wouldn't have asked if you didn't want to know, so I'll just tell you. It wasn't a rough connection to make. I mean, you gone, Everlasting Gobstoppers left behind. Who else does that? Or even has access to the room?

Getting down here? Well, that was one part luck, one part Turtle. There's a really tiny Loompa living with this bald guy. They came in while we were looking for the door to get down here. So we struck a deal and he opened the door for us.

You know? This is how my brothers and I get to the drive in."

If only our three heroes, and their group of tag-a-longs, knew that on the other side of the tunnel wall there were forces aligning against them.

The Security Force has now been seperated into two groups. One will race ahead to the next train platform. The other will commendere another train, and attempt to catch them on the tracks.

The Leader of the Security Patrol stands before both groups with leaflets, each with a rough sketch of Indy on them. Angry gestures and gruff grunts are his main method of communication.

It's the Loompa version of:
Alright, listen up, people. Our fugitive has been on the run for fifteen minutes. Average speed of our monorails is 4 miles-per-hour. That gives us a radius of one mile. What I want from each and every one of you is a hard-target search of every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse and doghouse in that area. Checkpoints go up at quarter mile. Your fugitive's name is Dr. Indiana Jones.

None of the security force moves. They have no idea what he's trying to say.

In frustration he shoos them away.
Go get him.

Meanwhile, atop the roof of the train, Indy laughs. "You did good Mike!"

He gazes at the blurring walls as the train races on, Turtle growing in confidence with the sucker throttle now. The carriages clatter over junctions with little hesitation as to which track to follow.

"Any idea where we're going? And more importantly, does she?"

"Forward?"
He shrugs.
"It's a monorail Indy, it's not like we've got a choice. There's not a whole lot of turning when you're in something that rides a track."

"But... the track keeps splitting." He frowns as the speed over another intersection. "See?"

"I guess the little guys are guiding her."

Mike leans over the edge of the train and look. Golly Gee, he's right.

"Huh, well don't that just beat all. This is what happens when we don't pay attention. OH hey look! It looks like the tunnel is ending."

The Leader of Security is ready and waiting on the platform. He wants to be there to witness the look on the Big Man's face when he's apprehended a second time.

Word of The Incident cannot be allowed to reach the surface. The safty of New Loompaland depends on silence. Total and utter silence.

As the train passes the station, a force of Loompas attack. The Leader of Security aiming for the car that Indy and Mike are in.

Indy's eyes narrow as he picks out the welcome party. "We got company..."

He hangs over the edge of the carriage and yells at their driver. "TURTLE! Put your foot down!"

The first wave of Loompas gamely leap onto the passing carriages as the train zooms by, some missing their handholds and falling back onto the platform in a mess of stumpy legs and flailing arms.

Mike's head whips around just in time to see two orange blobs come flying at him. Reflexes on high alert, he rolls to the side to avoid one, and catches the other by the bib of his overalls.

"Okay little guys...I don't want to hurt you. You're smaller than me, that'd just be mean. Okay. You're going to back down right now...nice and easy....."

They lunge.

"Crap."

Mike grabs one by the head and uses him as a shield to protect him from the other. Looking over the side of the train, he sees that they're coming close to a bin of laundry.

Sweeping the leg of the Loompa he doesn't have control over, Mike knocks him over and then grabs the poor Loompas overalls. He tosses them both over the side of the train and into a laundry bin.

At first his grasp is tenous at best, but he's not giving up that easily. Gravity be damned! His quarry is on the roof and he won't be denied. While the two interlopers wrestle with the rest of his crew, he climbs the side of the train.

"You are under arrest and herby bound by law."

His voice is small and squeaky. SOcial conventions be damned. If this isn't taken care of correctly, there'll be nothing to protect.

Eyes are fixed on Indy, but he sees the Rogues out of the corner of his eye. A mental note is taken.

The Leader strides purposefully towards Indy before he can crawl into a defensive position. "We aren't bound by anything little man!" Indy retorts as he scrambles to regain his footing.

"So be it!" There's a triumphant gleam in the Leader's eye as he launches himself at the strangely clad adventurer.

Indy catches the Loompa by the waist, falling backwards under the momentum of the leap. There they grapple, Indy on his back with the stout trooper slapping fiercely at heavily stubbled cheeks. The attacker bellows as Indy head butts him, albeit with a compassionate lack of force, and redoubles his efforts. How he actually expects to subdue the taller human is unclear, but he's giving Indy a run for his money regardless. They continue to struggle while Mike deals with the other officers.

Just when it looks like the Leader has Indy well and truly pinned, Indy glances helplessly over his assailant's shoulder. A smirk cracks across his lips and he heaves the Loompa as far up and away from his chest as he can.

"GET.OFF.MY.TRAIN!"

The Leader gives him a strange look. The spongy light fixture thuds into the back of his head, knocking the previously determined Loompa off Indy and sending him somersaulting down the carriages. He just keeps on rolling and flies off the back of the careering train.

New Loompaland has no formal ecomonic structure to speak of. The workers receive a nominal fee for completing their assigned duties in the bar and guest rooms. This money goes into a communal fund that is used to purchase supplies back from Bar that cannot be manufactured in the facilities and mills of the underworld. For the most part any trade between Loompas is conducted through a barter system, though the central Loompa bank houses vast quantities of golden butterscotch candies in its vaults, keeping barter in line with the Werthers Standard of the early days.

This is why the four aged Loompas around the streetside poker table are playing for high stakes of extra overall buttons when the fleeing monorail zips past them.

In fact, it seems as if they are totally oblivious to the happenings around them, that is until the Security Leader lands on top of their game.

He gets to his feet brushing himself off. It's unclear what is bruised more his body or his ego. Swatting away at attempts of help from the elder Loompas, he watches the train escape. His eyes glare daggers at the retreating shapes.

This is not over.
Not by a long shot.

Mike very slowly backpedals to Indy, helping him up.

"Um...Indy? I...I think we've got a problem here..and it's not little orange men this time...."

As has already been mentioned, mass transit was almost forced upon the Loompas when their community grew to the point where increasing distances between residences and manufacturing plants meant longer commutes. Travel time became a severe hinderance to efficient production. Paved streets and better signage helped a little, but there was barely enough garbage being produced by the bar to power the critical processes, let alone fuel combustion engines in private vehicles.

Flintstone-style cars were introduced on a trial basis, but their poor design left the car-pooling workers already exhausted by the time they reached their places of employment.

Then one day, an engineer Loompa happened to see a commercial for Disneyworld. The little man in question was a friend of one of the illicit Loompas who receive cable on their stolen closed circuit TV prototypes. He took the idea and ran with it, harnessing the far more efficient power of electricity to run his mode of transport. The rest was history, alebit brief.

And today the rail network touches every home in New Loompaworld, its infrastructure already being laid in the new suburban tunnels that have yet to be reached by housing contractors.

Indy gets to his knees and follows Mike's pointing finger. "Huh?"

In the distance the monorail track seems to just... stop. There's some scaffolding evident around the last few sections, but a blanket of darkness covers the ground where the line terminates. Now checking back over his shoulder, Indy groans a second time. Another monorail train is hurtling down the track after them, angry Loompas hanging out of the doors and clutching onto the roof. Far more than the forty Loompa maximum capacity on each carriage.

Indy remains calm, rubbing the bristles on his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm."

He casts his eyes back over the fast approaching chasm as the train starts to slow down. There seems to be dead ground on the other side, so he bangs on the roof above the driver. "TURTLE. MAX SPEED... DON'T STOP FOR ANYTHING!"

She screams an slightly doubtful affirmative and jerks the sucker forward as far as it can go, throwing Indy back into his green friend's arms.

Mike in turn gives his room mate an expectant look, as if to say are you crazy?

Indy gives an innocent blink. "What? I'm just making this up as we go."

"Now... lover boy... lemme go and grab a-hold of something." He wrestles himself away from the turtle and shimmies to the back of their ride, leaning over and unhooking the pin to release the trailing carriages. Then he returns to Mike's side and lays down on his stomach, seeking good hand holds on the ledge overhanging the front of the train.

Behind them, the chasing vehicle closes the distance between them after it negotiates Indy's obstacle by diverting onto a handy passing lane. Courtesy of some extremely reckless driving, the Loompas' transport leans precariously as it screeches round the last bend, and for a moment it looks like it may tip over. But the Loompas riding on the roof all frantically clamber to the high side and manage to weigh the single carriage back down onto the rail.

Indy yells with masochistic glee as the train reaches the end of the line. "This is it Mikey... thanks for the good times!" Mike's head is firmly sucked into his carapace however, and he probably doesn't hear over the rushing wind.

What you can hear, if you listen closely, is the joyful whooping of a small girl as they careen off the tracks and fly across the gap. The train's horn toots happily as they take to the air.

In the end, there's never any doubt that they won't make it, and the car crashes onto the ledge on the other side. It bounces a few times and skids off into the passage beyond—the deep gravel there helping them grind to a halt. On the other side of the abyss, the Loompa train slams on the brakes and, after a few dodgey moments, it eventually stops just short of the line's end. Enraged orange faces flush red as they watch the fleeing humans disappear into the darkness...

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