>> (Can't you picture it, though?  Benton Quest as 'Q', Jonny as James
>> Bond... and there's the potential for SO many jokes about Jonny not having
>> a driver's license so he can't drive the Astin Martin (or for the new
>> films, the BMW)...)
>::snicker:  Now there's one with some crossover potential if I've ever
>seen one!
>--
>Debbie Kluge

No.  No... don’t... don’t do it, Eric... You’ve got finals and enough unfinished stories to choke a river...
Fight it... Don’t do it...

Ba-da- ba-daa--

Disclaimer: Characters and associated details are property of Hanna-Barbera and are used for non-profit entertainment purposes only.

Archiving permission granted.

THE REAL ADVENTURES OF JONNY QUEST

Synopsis:  Action.  Suspense.  Gadgets.  Good looking people.

Categories: E, V, ALT(?), JQ/JB HR(?)

“PROPERTY OF A LADY”

by Eric R. Umali

Part 2

Quest shielded Jessica as they hit the floor and rolled out of immediate danger.  He tumbled once more, and was on his feet a moment later, ready to fight.

A first man stormed out of the observation deck, dressed in head-to-toe black military gear and hefting a nasty looking Heckler & Koch assault rifle, which was quickly trained on the young people.

"Freeze!" he shouted.  With a single fast turn, Quest closed the gap between them.  His foot flashed out, knocking the gun out of the way enough for his second kick to connect with the man's midsection.  The soldier was doubled over in pain as Quest cracked the man's head against his knee.

Before the soldier finished crumpling to the deck, another terrorist had entered.  Quest took a step back, ready to face him, when a bright blue-white light struck the man in the lead.  He shook like a rag doll before joining his compatriot on the floor.

Quest turned to find Jessica on her feet, a taser glowing with charge in her hand, and her dress' slit pulled higher, exposing several inches of shapely thigh.

"Surprised, Mr. Quest?" she asked.

"Stunned," he answered dryly.

"I suggest we make our exit as soon as possible."

"Why's that?"

"Because," she said impatiently, "I do believe those men were after me."

"Then you can tell me why while we find out where the rest are."

"How do you know there'll more?"

"There are always more."  The pair began running towards the nearest stairwell, intent on finding the ship's master-at-arms.  As they hit the stairwell, Quest was out of patience.  "So what do they want you for?" he asked from just above her.

He watched her hand reach towards the top of her bodice.  "Well, I must admit they're quite impressive," Quest said with a lopsided smirk, "but don't you think..."

"Very amusing, Mr. Quest, but they were looking for this."  Jessica plucked a large, round sequin from her dress and held it to the light.  "A miniature optical data disk."

"Figures," he sighed.  "Best put that back.  Need any help?"

"No, thank you."

A minute later, they turned down the corridor leading towards the security office, only to find it crowded with more black-suited terrorists.  Immediately, they doubled back and headed out on deck.  Soon, they heard the sounds of pursuit and bolted for the open air.  Soon, they were under the stars, near the top of the conn tower.

"No way out, Mr. Quest."

"There's always a way out, my dear Miss Bannon."  Calmly, he reached towards his shoes, sliding back the hollowed-out heels and producing a few small flat cartridges, which he tossed into the hatch.  A second later, there was a loud crack and a bright light, and acrid smoke began to waft from the hatchway.

"That should keep them busy awhile," he said while unbuckling his cummerbund.

"And what are you doing now?"

Quest grasped a heavy steel cable that secured a radar tower to a lower deck.  He tossed his cummerbund over it and gestured towards Jessica.  "Our way out, mam'selle."

Reluctantly, she wrapped her arms around him tightly.  "Ready?" he asked.  She nodded, and with a rush of air, they began their perilous slide.  They hadn't gotten a few yards before the first bullets started whizzing past them.  The deck was still far below, deserted, thanks to the late hour.

"You're enjoying this far too much, Mr. Quest," Jessica quipped, her calm betraying a familiarity with such unusual situations.

"Please-- Jonathan."  They hit the deck running.

"They've stopped shooting, Jonathan-- now what?"

"They're probably on their way here, that's all."

"Again, now what?" she insisted.

A hail of bullets that shattered the wooden planks nearby answered for him.  A half dozen more of the terrorists stood between them and the railing.  The tallest of them, clearly the leader, stepped forward as his pencil-thin laser sight wavered between Jonathan and Jessica.

"All we want is the disk," the man grunted.  "Give it to us and we might not have to kill you."

"Sorry, gentlemen," replied Quest, as he casually shook one arm.  He felt the comforting weight fall into his palm.  "It's the property of a lady, and I'm afraid if she doesn't feel like handing it over, well..."

With an almost imperceptible flick of his wrist, Quest tossed the last grenade into the air.  There was an another flash, another bang, and more smoke.  It enveloped most of the deck in less than a second.

Jonathan grabbed Jessica by the arm and started running.

"How long will this one stall them?!" she shouted.

"This one's different!" he yelled back.  After a second, they were at the edge of the deck, overlooking the cruise liner's swimming pool.

Jessica's eyes went wide. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"This is no time to argue," he replied, before sweeping her bodily off her feet and tossing her into the air.  Jessica sailed through the air, shouting all the while, until she landed in the cool water with a splash.  Jonathan followed a second later.

Under the water, Jonathan motioned to Jessica to stay under for several seconds.  Finally, they could hold their breath no longer, and they surfaced, standing a little more than waist deep.

"What the hell did you do that for?"

As he smoothed back his hair, Jonathan only motioned casually towards the deck.  Jessica shook her head as she followed his fingers.  There, sprawled on the wooden planks were a couple of ship's hands, unconscious-- felled by the anesthetic gas.

Jonathan sprung lightly up onto the deck, then helped Jessica up as well.  By the time they'd made it back to the higher deck, the ship's security officers had already begun cleaning up the sleeping terrorists.  Others were literally cleaning up-- sweeping up splinters and covering up the bullet holes.

"Ah, here we are," said Jonathan.  Soon, a steward walked up, a pair of towels slung over one shoulder and a tray with two champagne flutes in hand.  Both of them dried up a bit and happily accepted the spirits.

"I have to admit, Jonathan, I'm very impressed.  But don't you think it's about time to get back inside and warm up?"

"I'm confident we can take care of that ourselves."  His arm slipped quickly around her waist and pulled her forward.

Jessica shook her head, and leaned in close.

"Oh, Jonathan..."

THE END.