Chiita received a cryptic message from T’Irs. It read,

“My Husband. Please attend me in the Holodeck, Room 3, after your shift. Suitable attire lies on our bed. I will await your arrival. T’Irs”

Chiita read the message several times, interesting he thought. T’Irs had never done anything remotely similar to this. He checked the time. Lant was due any moment. “Mr. Anderson?”

“Yes, Sir?” the young helmsmen said.

Chiita smiled. “Are we there yet?”

The young ensign paused for a moment. The Captain got him again. He checked his readings. “No, Sir. We have six more weeks until we get there.”

Chiita sat back and nodded. “Very well. I’ll ask again later.” He checked the time again and sighed loudly, then added, “Mr. Anderson?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“How about now? Are we there yet?”

“Ummm, not yet, Sir. I’ll let you know when we get there. Okay, sir?”

Chiita chuckled and said, “Okay, Mr. Anderson, very well.” He swung his chair toward Krunare, the Johnson’s Chief Communications Officer and stared.

Krunare had his attention on space chatter. Earlier he picked up a stray signal from Starbase 412. It was the station-to-ship communiqué. Krunare had to admit that serving on the Johnson had been interesting and educational. He would have never been given the time or the encouragement to pursue any of his interest. His mate, Lant – the first officer, insisted he apply for the Comm position. He did and the Captain welcomed him. Immediately, this particular Vulcan set himself to being different. He smiled, joked, laughed and drank Bloodwine like water. It was strange at first, but Lant told him to trust this one and relax. Then suddenly, Krunare felt as if someone was looking at him. He turned his chair just in time to see the Captain turn away. This one was also strange.

Chiita smiled to himself. He was bored and he was getting on everyone’s nerves. He checked the time again. ‘Blasted,’ he thought. ‘Where the dickens was Lant.’ He had expected her on the bridge 30 seconds ago.

He turned his chair to the sound of the Turbo-lift doors opening. A collective sigh rose up from the Bridge, Lant had arrived.

“Sorry I’m late Captain.”

Chiita slowly got up. “No worries Number One. Forty-five seconds late is borderline. Next time you get flogged.”

Krunare paled. He had a hard time knowing when this one was joking or serious. Since his mate smiled back and saluted he decided it had to be a joke.

Chiita walked to the lift. The doors opened. He stepped inside and said. “Okay, Lant, the Bridge is yours. If you need me I won’t be available.” The doors closed. “Quarter’s deck.” Chiita said. The computer repeated the command and started up. Once the lift arrived and the doors opened Chiita could all but keep himself from jumping out and running down the hall to his and T’Irs’ quarters. He casually walked the distance and entered the room. “Oh, boy oh boy” he said out loud. On the bed lay his attire. He didn’t quite recognize the clothing, at least not immediately. He took off his uniform and stepped in baggy heavy clothed brown trousers. The shirt was a loose fitting pullover made of the same material as the pants. He put on the thick and broad leather belt. The coat was a long oiled skin duster with a split down the back. On the bed, next to a floppy brim heavy clothed hat was a leather holster and belt. The weapon was a six-shooter. Chiita vaguely remembered the name of the weapon as a Colt Model 1873. He placed the belt and holster on and pulled the weapon out. It had a nice weight to it. He spun the weapon on his finger and nearly dropped it twice. He chuckled. “I’m gonna have to practice that, but what does T’Irs have in store for me?” He placed the weapon back in the holster. There were some other items on the bed. A machete, hunting knife, a silver cross on an iron chain, a shotgun, and several boxes of ammo sat in front of him. He picked up the PADD next to the items and looked at the illustration. Leave it up to T’Irs to think of everything. He had the holster on backwards, as well as the hat. After a few minutes of correcting his small mistakes he stumped his feet in the mid shin leather boots. “How do I look computer?”

“Please rephrase that question. I am unable to answer.”

“That’s okay Computer. Take my word that I look good.”

The computer beeped.

Chiita walked out and headed for the Holodeck.

 

GASLIGHT HUNTER: The Adventures of Matt Maverick and Miss Lynn Mei

 

T’Irs was waiting for me at room three. I stopped and let out a whistle. She was pricelessly stunning. In all the time T’Irs and I had been married she never wore pants. Today she did and looked nice. I said, “T’Irs, even if we never enter the Holodeck this is still quite a surprise.” I took a step back. My god she was sexy. I mean I’ve seen her nude and naked countless times. No, this was different. She had on knee high black leather small heeled boots. The bottom of tight black pants were tucked inside the boots. The belt was broad and black with a worn looking brown holster. It looked like a Gasser 1870 was stuffed in the holster. The old pistol would be huge looking in her tiny hands. I looked her over. She wore a man’s stiff white cotton shirt with a black vest buttoned over it. On top of that was a duster similar to mine, worn and tattered. Her hat was smaller and not as floppy. She looked dangerous. I smiled, “What are we hunting?”

She looked up and deadpanned, “A most vile, despicable and vicious murderer.”

T’Irs sounded so cute. It was like she read the line from old style Vid queue cards. I fought the urge to laugh. “Is that so?”

She nodded, and then said, “My Husband. I would hope to re-enact some of the speech patterns of this time period. I find it intriguing that this particular period had a most appalling form of dichoticism. It will be fascinating to see how accurate the computer presents the era to us.”

I smiled. That’s my T’Irs. “Umm, T’Irs?”

“Yes, My Husband?”

“I have to admit that I am very surprised. I would never have imagined you to select a Holodeck . . . um, what is this program anyway?”

“It is a popular Holodeck adventure called Gaslight Hunter.”

I’ve heard of it but never played it. It seemed a bit – trite, maybe even silly. I’ve participated in some other role playing adventures before but they seemed boring. Maybe it was my state of mind at the time. It was just the thought of running around roleplaying had as much appeal as toenail biting. Yes, T’Irs surprised me.

“We are two of a handful of principal characters in the time period 1888. The month is November. The place is on an island called, during that period, Great Britain. I know how you like surprises. Shall I explain everything now or would you like an explanation as the adventure progresses?”

I was tempted to have T’Irs explain everything, but she was right. I liked being surprised and I figured I would enjoy myself more if T’Irs did commentary. “Okay, T’Irs, you can explain as the adventure unfolds.”

"I have one more question, My Husband.”

“Yes?”

“The Gaslight Hunter series provides several different options on game play. Easy, medium and hard.”

“We have to solve something?” And before she answered, “Oh, right, we are to capture a ‘must vile, despicable and vicious murderer,’ correct?”

She nodded.

“The options? Are those safety protocols?”

“They are a combination of protocols, AI reaction, and randomness to the game.”

“Okay, what would a medium setting be like?”

“In the event of hand to hand combat the characters will must often miss any area of the body that could cause pain, this goes for our weapons as well. There would be a one percent chance of being struck by a projectile. Also, most of the time the characters will be cooperative.”

“And the hard option?”

“The probability of physical discomfort and damage increases to 12 percent. Removing the safety protocol is deemed unwise.”

I took a few seconds to think. “And the characters will act how?”

“As realistic as the author of the adventures and the computer can extrapolate.”

“The hard option then.”

T’Irs turned and faced the door. “Already set as the default my Husband. I anticipated your preference.”

I turned and faced the door.

T’Irs asked, “Are you ready, My Husband?”

I nodded and said, “Quite ready.” Oh boy, I was going to roleplay with my wife. What kind of neat fun was that?

“Computer, run program,” she said and the doors opened.

A Scream in the Night

 

They called this place Jolly Ol’ England. They lied.

Actually, I’m exaggerating. What I saw before me was a very diverse group of people. From the ‘dispossessed and ambitious of the countryside and the northern areas, to the poor and politically oppressed from the south and East of Europe.’ London was the world city. I presumed this was London from a sign in a window. “London’s Meal giver.’ Surprisingly, I saw a lot of Asian faces, Indian and Chinese. In a way, this made sense. From what I remember of Earth’s history, steamships delivered cargo holds of migrants from different areas. To work the newly built railroad and steam engine powered factories thousands of Chinese immigrants poured in, Indians a close second. I suppose it wasn’t too different from the 24 th century. People still want to get away and find their fortune and glory. Instead of steamships, trains and horse drawn carriages its now starships, shuttles and transporters.

I looked around and marveled at how well the computer replicated London. We literally stepped out of thin air and right smack in the middle of the street. Not that this concerned the population, it did give T’Irs and myself a few seconds of terror. A horse drawn tram came right at us. Luckily, we had enough time to sidestep off the tracks. The clap-clop of the two horses pulling the tram receded into the street sounds as it moved away from us. It wasn’t too crowded, just busy.

T’Irs walked over to a young boy standing in the streets. He had a newspaper in one hand yelling, “Extry-Extry, Where has Leather Apron gone too?”

T'Irs reached into her jacket pocket and gave the newsboy a small metal coin. I couldn't tell the denomination. His eyes opened wide. From his reaction I figured it mean he gave her a fortune.

She looked down and said, "Keep the change."

He handed her the paper and beamed. He looked at the coin. "A bun penny! Thank you, Mum. Enjoy yar paper right."

T'Irs took the paper and walked away. I reached into my jacket pocket and found a dozen assorted coins. I found the 'bun penny' he was talking about. It had the side profile of a woman on it. Her hair, in the portrait, was done in a style that looked like she had a bun on her head. I decided to ask T'Irs about it. I looked up and she was across the street - headed to what looked like a Pub. I put the coins back into me pocket and went after her. She stopped just outside the door when I caught up to her.

The door swung open and a man wearing a heavy blue peecoat staggered out. He squinted as Sunlight hit him square in the face. The Sun was dropping toward the horizon and several buildings broke the sunlight up into many rays.

The man slurred, "'cuse me, Gov'na, missy." He tipped his hat and staggered away.

We entered the Pub.

The first thing I noticed was the smell of cigarette and cigar smoke, cheap cigar smoke. Then I noticed it. It nearly filled the room. From waist high to the ceiling a thick layer of gray fuzz floated in front of me.

T'Irs walked over to a booth and sat down. The yellow glow from the gaslight against the wall provided barely enough light to read. I took off my hat and sat on the other side. Clearly, T'Irs thoroughly researched this era. I would have to follow her lead. Not that it was a problem. It wasn't. I found it interesting how T'Irs seemed to have been borne to this place.

A hostess walked up. She was chewing gum. "Evenin' folks, what can I ge'
ya?"
T'Irs looked up and dry toned, "Mr. Maverick here will have whiskey, straight. I will have a sarsaparilla, also straight."

The hostess asked, "Would you and the Mister here be needin' any food? Cookie's leavin' early on account of Leather Apron. He be needin' to pick up the misses."

I said, "I'm fine." I looked over to T'Irs.

"I, too, do not require nourishment. Cookie is free to leave."

The Hostess grinned and yelled over her shoulder. "‘Ay Cookie, one of the Hunta's here said you are free to leave!"

Everyone laughed.

A large man poked his head out from a door. "Well, now, that's right kindly of ya missy hunter. “You goin' to nab this Leather Apron fella? He's puttin' a might fright in my misses. It's gotten to the point where a person can't conduct good business these nights."
Someone from the smoke filled room shouted, "Like ya cared about business. The misses got an excuse to keep you away from the fanny!"

The room laughed again.

T'Irs leaned over and whispered, "My Husband, am I to assume the word 'fanny' has something to do with female genitalia?"

I shrugged.

T'Irs surprised me and spoke, "Hahaha." She then deadpanned. "That is funny. We will get this Leather Apron fellow." She nodded.

I looked at her cocked-eyed and was near horrified.

T'Irs leaned forward and whispered. "My Husband, was not that an appropriate thing to say in such a situation as this?"

I whispered back, "Where is my wife? What did you do with her?"

T'Irs blinked, "My Husband, I am just roleplaying the part. Is not that the required thing to do in an adventure like this?"

"I guess." She had a point, but it was beyond odd to hear T'Irs utter 'Hahaha' and roleplay. Scary actually. I leaned forward again. "What is our role?"

The Hostess had brought our drinks and long since gone.

"We are called Hunters. Are role is to find evil doers be they man or beast or spirit of unnatural kind --"

”Wait, T’Irs –“

“Ms. Lynn Mei.”

“What?” I said.

“My name is Miss Lynn Mei. You are Mr. Matt Maverick, renowned Hunter.”

Oh, Man. T’Irs was weirding me out. I was beginning to think that this was not such a good idea. My sweet, darling, and quiet T’Irs was transforming into some Hunter! I took a deep breath and counted to ten. She was absolutely stoic and dead serious. I counted to ten again and slowly said, “Okay, Ms. Lynn Mei. I am Matt Maverick. Hunter.”

She stared at me. “My Husband. Are you not enjoying yourself?”

“I don’t know. You are surprising me by the second. It is a bit overwhelming.”

“I am roleplaying. Did I misunderstand you in wanting to see me roleplay?”

“No, you didn’t misunderstand. Wanting something and actually getting something are two different things.”

“I apologize My Husband. I will end the program. Computer –“

I stopped her. T’Irs was pouting and upset. “T’Irs, I’m sorry. It’s me, and I really really do appreciate this. Really.” I forced a smile. “I want to finish this. With you.”

She was not convinced.

I reached over and collected one of her hands into mine and kissed it. “T’Irs, my beloved wife. I am honored that you have gone to all this trouble. I am glad and there is no place in this entire universe I’d rather be but in here with you.”

I’ve known T’Irs long enough to note the subtle change in her expressions. It softened – a little. I added, “Ms. Lynn Mei, shall we hunt a most despicable and dastardly evil doer?” I kissed her hand again and let go.

For a second she hesitated then placed her hand on the paper. I reached the count of twelve by the time she opened the paper. “From the paper Mr. Matt, Leather Apron has already killed two women. He has a Modus Operandi and with that we could conclude that he will strike again.”

I nodded and kept my mouth shut.

T’Irs turned to the front page. “The last two victims had been killed in the Whitechapel area.” She pulled out a timepiece from her vest. “It is now six pm. I think we should visit the police station and talk to some of the detectives.”

I emptied my glass and stumped it on the table. T’Irs cocked her head to one side.

“It’s usually customary to slam the glass down, without breaking it of course, to show you are done and that you enjoyed the drink.”

Her glass was tall. However, to both my amazement and amusement she lifted the glass up and drained it. Then she thumped the glass down. We got up and she tossed a coin on the table.

The hostess retrieved the coin and yelled out. “Thanks, good huntin!”

“You seem to know your coinage – Ms. Lynn.”

“I studied this era and the customary monetary exchange and gratuity.”

“What type of coin was that?”

“They call it a Schilling. It is equivalent to twelve of their pennies. The paper cost a farthing. One quarter a penny. I gave the young man a penny. In this area everything revolves around the use of the penny. For instance, your whiskey cost two pennies. My drink cost a ha’penny.”

“A very nice gratuity.”

“Yes, we may require cooperation later. I have established that we are very generous. Humans during this time period value that generosity.”

I placed the floppy hat on my head. “Yes, Ms. Lynn, I suppose they do.”

T’Irs flagged down a horse drawn wagon. She said it was the Taxi. I nodded, climbed in and sat in the forward facing seat. She climbed in and took the seat opposing me. I could see the driver, the two horses’ rear ends and the road. The driver sat up high at the front of this thing.

He wheeled around and said, “Evening Governor, Ma’am. Where to?”

“Scotland yard,” T’Irs said.

”From here, that’ll be a ha’penny.”

“Get us to our destination quickly and I will give you a schilling.”

He tipped his hat and snapped the reigns. “Away with you you beasts.”

The Taxi jumped forward. The clip-clop from the horse’s feet echoed as we sped past people and buildings. A few minutes later we stopped in front of an old three-story brick building. It occupied about a quarter block and seemed to comprise about a half dozen individual buildings. The driver jumped down and helped T’Irs out. He let me step down on my own and as promised T’Irs gave him his Schilling. He bowed deeply and asked, “Would you folks be needing a Taxi for hire?”

“T’Irs said, “Yes we would. Another Schilling for your services through the morning.”

The driver smiled. “Done, madam. You may call me Maurice.”

T’Irs nodded. “I am Lynn Mei and this is Mr. Matt Maverick, the renowned Hunter,”

He turned and faced me and clicked his heels. “Sir.”

I smiled, nodded and followed T’Irs through the front entrance.

We stopped at an old worn out looking desk. It was covered with stacks of different colored paper. One of those quail feather pens stuck out from a bulbous squat looking bottle. The blotter was next to it – I presumed that’s what it was. It had a rounded cloth bottom and a small knob as the handle.

 

The desk sergeant, I believe that was his rank, looked up. "Yes, folks -- oh, hunters. We can handle this matter on our own, thank you."

T'Irs said, "I'm sure the Inspector would want to be the one to decide that. May we speak with him, please?"

The desk sergeant huffed, "The 'nspector is busy."

T'Irs' tone was even, "May we see the Inspector, please. I am asking politely."

"See here you two. I told you the Inspector is busy. And we don't need yo' ‘elp." He dropped his head down and acted like he had important paperwork to do. We stood there. He looked up again, angry, and shouted, "Can't you two take a hint and --" I reached over and snatched his pencil neck self over the desk. I had him two feet off the ground. The entire room turned its attention to us. I spoke in a calm manner, "Ms. Lynn Mei asked you nicely. Twice. May we see the Inspector?" The kicked his legs, "Put me down. I'll arrest you myself if I ‘ave to. You're assaulting a peace officer--"

"What the blazes is going on here!" I put him down and turned to the new voice. T'Irs stepped through the short swinging door and said, "Inspector, may we speak with you?"

He said, "As long as you stop roughing up my man there, yes. What kept you?" I stepped over the wooden barricade and gave the desk sergeant a cold stare. To his credit he didn't back down. Or blink. I smiled and followed T'Irs and the Inspector into his office.

The man was a packrat. His entire room was crowded with bookshelves, which were crowded with leather and clothbound books. Lots of decorations and a half dozen photographs spotted his wall. One photo in particular caught me eye. It was the Inspector standing between two men. One was an older robust looking man with a big white mustache, the other man was gaunt looking, hollowed eye but with an intense stare. The captions said, "Holmes and Watson." Funny! I turned my attention back to T'Irs and the Inspector.

"Inspector, what clues have you uncover thus far?"

He reached for a large leather bound battered book. A dozen colored ribbons stuck out along the top. He ran his hand to one of the ribbons and opened the book. He walked it over to the front of his desk and placed the book at the edge of the desk. His face was taunted in grim frustration. “We – we had to let a few suspects go. No real clues. Mr. Pizer, our very public suspect had an alibi, and to top that the Coroner suggests that this bloke knows the human body. I tell you it’s very maddening.”

T’Irs leafed through the book. “There is a name missing.”

The Inspector and I both looked at her. We both said, “Pardon?”

“Mr. Matt, there is a suspect missing. The individuals in this book have alibis or the connections to the first two murders are weak.”

The Inspector said, “First two murders? How would you know that?”

“Inspector, what day is today?”

He pulled out his watch. “Sometimes, I forget me own name. It’s Saturday the 30 th.”

“The time?”

“A quarter to seven.”

“Inspector,” T’Irs began, “It is just a hunch. Nothing more. My conjecture as to there being other murders is just a logical assumption. Two women have been murdered and the killer is still out there. It has been approximately twenty-two days since he last murdered. The urge is undoubtedly becoming increasingly difficult to control. Thus, he will kill again.”

I nodded. “Okay, Ms. Mei, what shall we do now?”

“Inspector. Mr. Maverick and I will stake out the Whitechapel area. Can you increase your patrols in that area? A suggestion would be to have a peeler every ten minutes.”

He nodded. He walked to the door, opened it, and yelled out. “St. Claire, see me for a second.” He sat down.

The desk sergeant we ran into earlier slipped his head through the opened door. He had a pained look on your face. “Yes, Inspector?”

“Gather up the men and have them pair up and be no more then ten minutes to call in.”

“But, Inspector, I’ll have to rally the reserve up – “

“Then do it, man. Leather Apron could be out there.”

St. Clair looked at us, mumbled something under his breath and closed the door. I heard a muffled, “Bloody hell.”

T’Irs stood up, bowed her head, and said, “Thank you Inspector. Mr. Maverick and I will help out with the patrols.”

The Inspector got up. “Thank you both. We’ll get this murderer.”

 

Outside Maurice waited for us as promised. He helped T’Irs in the Taxi. “Everything okay, Ma’am. Anyplace of interest I can take you?”

“Yes, please. The Whitechapel area.”

“Blimey! Oh, pardon mum, but Leather Apron is said to prowl that area.”

“Precisely why we are headed there.”

He nodded and caught my eye.

I shrugged. “You heard the lady.” I gave him a knowing smile.

He jumped up into the rider’s sit and started the horses off.

I just listened to the clip-clops of the hoofs on the cobblestone road. About twenty minutes later Maurice stopped the horses.

“Here we are. I stopped us in front of the Frying Pan.”

I frowned.

T’Irs said, “Near the location of the first murder.”

I nodded. “Okay, what do we do now?”

“We wait.” She turned to Maurice and tossed him a schilling. “Maurice, I thank you for your services tonight. Our wait will take us in the morning. Please pick us up in six hours. Right here.” She leaned close to me and whispered, “I programmed the computer to jump ahead in increments of several hours for every ten minutes we are inside an eating establishment.”

Maurice nodded, “Thank you Mum. Sir, by your leave then, good hunting.” And he was gone.

We walked into the Frying Pan. The place was similar to that of the Pub we left behind. Smoke, merriment noise and alcohol, except some of the ladies of the evening were painfully present. I was embarrassed for the human race. Some were toothless, old, and obviously not fit to peddle, but this area was desperate. They say ‘desperate times bring about desperate measures.’

T’Irs looked at me. “My Husband, you are going to have to explain this place in greater detail at the conclusion of this adventure.

I nodded. I was doing a lot of that lately - nodding, but it was all right. T’Irs had taken to the Adventure and that was a good thing. We sat at a table and watched a game of darts.

T’Irs said, “I would like to learn how to play darts, My Husband. Are you knowledgeable enough to adequately instruct me?”

I nodded.

She nodded back.

We idled twenty minutes away with me shooting whiskey and her shooting sarsaparilla.

She slammed her fifth shot, got up and headed for the door.

I looked at my watch. It was twelve thirty. I got up as well and walked to the door.

We stepped out into the early morning air and watched London fog climb up any and everything vertical. Even at this hour I could see that the fog had a light brown tint. I twisted my face up in disgust. Then I relaxed. This was holographic fog and I had nothing to worry about.

T’Irs faded into the fog and I followed. About thirty feet into this stuff the hair on the back of my neck stood up. A sign posted on a wall read, “Mitre Square”. That must mean something I told myself. We walked for a dozen more minutes and passed two “bobbies.” They nodded and disappeared into the morning dew. Then I got goosepimply and spun around. This was supposed to be a Holodeck program but my senses kicked in like this place was the real McCoy.

T’Irs stopped and looked around. Then we heard a whistle. Both T’Irs and I ran toward the sound. We rounded a corner and saw half a dozen officers over a body. Murder victim number three. We stepped up and St.Claire, who had bent down next to the body, looked up and saw me. He stood up and stumped over toward us. He got in T’Irs face yelling something about how did she know. I think that’s what he was saying. I don’t really know. As far as I was concerned there is no excuse to rush up on my wife. I stepped in between the two and gave him shove.

He stepped back several feet.

He walked back up and hit me in the jaw. That hurt. “You hit me.”

He put his fists up.

“Ummm, we just had a murder and you want to –“

His next punch was harder.

“You hit me again.” I turned to T’Irs. “Is this part of the hard option?”

His fist made contact a third time.

“Now look you. Stop this now. The Ripper is out there.”

Someone said, “The Ripper? Leather Apron?”

“He’s out there and there may be another murder happening.”

St. Claire swung at my head and connected.

“That’s it. You pissed me off.” I stepped into a defensive Aikido stance.

“Mr. Matt,” T’Irs said. “Fisticuffs. You have to use fisticuffs.”

I looked at her and said, “Fisticuffs – “ He decked me a fifth time.

T’Irs stood in the pose and demonstrated. Her fists were up in a boxer’s position, but the knuckles from each hand were pointing away from her.

I mimicked her and St.Claire came up on me again. I decked him back and understood how the phrase “knuckle sandwich” can about. St. Claire staggered back. A second later he collapsed. Actually, I hit him hard enough to cave in his entire face. I looked down and he shook himself awake. “This is silly!” I yelled and walked away. Then we heard the second whistle. “Over here, I see him. Stop!”

T’Irs and a few other officers ran toward the sound. I followed and let T’Irs take the lead. Somebody had to watch her pretty back. We rounded a corner and saw someone dressed in dark clothes freeze. After a moment they turned and ran. T’Irs and I ran after him. Two officers ran in a different direction, hopefully to cut him off. The dark figure ran down an alleyway. T’Irs lengthened her stride and accelerated forward. I was so proud of her. She yelled, “Stop or I will be forced to take deadly measures.”

The figure darted around a corner and I thought about another old phrase. ‘We saw the heels of his feet.’

T’Irs pulled her gun with her left hand and took aim. The thing went off like a cannon and the round struck the corner of a building as the figured swung around it. We rounded the corner and T’Irs took aim again. The round struck a lamp pole this time. He ducked into another alleyway. We entered and came face to face with the two officers. What the? I surveyed the alley. He was gone. A minute later St. Claire and others joined us.

I wheeled around quickly on St. Claire. “You’re an idiot.”

T’Irs and I walked away and headed back to the Frying Pan. When we got there Maurice was waiting for us. He took us back to the Pub, which of course was closed. Anyone else looking at T’Irs would see a bland expression. I saw wheels turning in her head. She was formulating something. I decided it was no longer scary and relaxed.

“T’Irs?”

“Yes, My Husband?”

“Five murders, correct?”

She nodded and then looked at me. “My Husband, I would like to advance the adventure to after the last murder.”

I nodded. I was anxious to know whom the computer picked for the murder. This was exciting.

“Computer, freeze program.”

We heard double beeps.

“Advance program to December 4 th.”

Double beeps.

“Resume program.”

A single beep and the world re-activated. Maurice had trotted his Taxi right up to us. “Were to Ma’am, Sir?”

T’Irs climbed in and said, “239 Derby St.”

Once I had climbed in we were off.

“Where we are going is the murderer?”

“Montague John Druitt.” She nodded and then added, “He has method and reason.”

“And that reason is?”

“He believed he was going insane. He gave in to the urges he was feeling because he thought that was what he should do.”

I remained quiet while we road the distance. I considered several things, none of which washed well. I decided I was going to look up Jack the Ripper later and try and figure this one out for myself. Briefly I wondered how T’Irs might like doing a Holmes and Watson adventure. I smiled at the thought of her as Holmes, hat, pipe, and winter coat. I bet she would look cute. Then we were there. A strangely familiar looking shape was putting stones in his jacket pocket. He heard our Taxi and looked up. He seemed to have hesitated for a spilt second. Then he ran to a nearby horse and buggy, presumably his, and took off.

I yelled out. "Catch that man!"

“Yes, Sir" Maurice said and snapped the reigns.

 

We spotted the Ripper once we hit open area. The Taxi driver had a wild gleam in his eyes and he yelled at his horses to go faster.

T'Irs and I could all but hold on as we were bounced around.

"He-ya! He-yaa!" Maurice yelled. "Faster! Faster, Georgie, Faster Lizzie, faster!"

The Ripper looked back as he saw us close in on him. He reached into a black bag that was next to him and pulled out a small handgun. He fired rapidly - amateur, I thought. All bullets missed us except for one. Maurice grabbed at his arm and fell backward into the front seat. I jumped up and grabbed the reigns. T’Irs tended to our driver. I snapped the reigns the way Maurice did and the Horses galloped faster.

We chased Druitt into the open hills. I yelled out “He-ya! He-ya!” just like Maurice and the horses responded favorably. We were gaining on Druitt. He turned around, aimed his gun and pulled the trigger several times. The gun was empty. Then he threw it at me. I caught it and threw it back. I beaned him hard on the head. It bounced off and landed on the road. “T’Irs,” I yelled. “I need you up here.”

T’Irs moved up and yelled over the thunderous sound of the horses’ gallops. “Yes, My Husband?”

“Have you been watching our Driver operate his horses?”

“Yes.”

“He-yaa, He-yaa, He-yaaa!” We got close enough. “Good!” I said, handed her the reigns and leaped onto Druitt’s buggy.

Druitt turned around and swung his bag at me. I ducked and gave him a kidney punch. He swung at me again. I made sure my head was out of the way. I gave him several more kidney punches. Then I heard, “Chiita!”

T’Irs had called out and ran the Taxi right next to the buggy.

I looked out in front of the horses and saw we were headed toward a drop-off. I ducked again and gave Druitt two kidney punches. I moved to the front of the buggy and spotted the safety pin. I yanked with all my might and torn the pin out. I kicked my foot back and felt something solid. I grabbed the reigns and tossed them to T’Irs. She caught them, bunched them up in her hand and pulled everything to the side. I gave Druitt a kick to the head and leaped out as T’Irs took the horses and our Taxi away. I grabbed on to the back end and hung on. Then I heard the sound of wood, metal, and a scream recede in the distance.

T’Irs slowed the Taxi to a trot and then to a halt.

I got up and spit out holographic dirt and bugs. I dusted myself off and said, “That was fun, T’Irs. We have to do this again.”

T’Irs walked over and touched my arm. I think she enjoyed it too. She said, “Computer end program. Exit please.”

Epilogue

 

T'Irs' Journal:

At first I believed I had made a grave error. My Husband seemed highly disturbed in the first few moments of the Adventure. I deduced that it had been my inability to convincing roleplay. That first assumption was wrong, however. My Husband adjusted accordingly and appeared comfortable enough to continue the adventure.

I have come to several conclusions, two of which are re-enforcements of
past deductive reasoning. The first, My Husband is a brut. However, I must admit I find it intriguing, fascinating. He is a dichotomy and I am no longer surprised by his behavior. In fact, I am quite pleased that I am able to accurately predict certain responses to a fine degree. The second conclusion is that the programmer of the Gaslight Hunter series is not entirely an avid historian of 19th century Earth. I will have to research the background and academic foundations of this programmer. I am certain that I can develop a Gaslight Hunter adventure of equal or superior quality that is both challenging to an inquisitive mind and enjoyable to a thrill-seeker. And lastly, even with some of the programs shortcomings I found it interesting. I would like to further explore adventures of this sort. The adventure Sherlock Holmes comes to the forefront. I will inquire of My Husband how he would feel playing the part of Dr. Watson.

 

End of entry.