Most of the other Realitants had left the Grand Canyon complex already, carrying out various orders and missions agreed upon by the larger meeting earlier. That was good. Things would be said here that not everyone should hear.

Mothball sat to his left and Rutger to his right, balanced precariously on his booster seat. To Rutger’s right was Sato, looking as bored as ever, ready to take notes. Then came Nancy Zeppelin, wrapping and rewrapping a long string of her golden hair around a finger; William Schmidt, his ancient face pulled down into a frown that made him look like the Grim Reaper; Katrina Kay, her buzz-cut hair framing a pretty face with eager eyes; Priscilla Persephone, invited only because Master George knew he had offended her enough already (oh, how he hated that snooty smirk on her face; and her hair—it was orange, for heaven’s sake). Finally, next to Mothball on his left, sat Jimmy “The Voice” Porter. His nickname was sadly ironic now because the poor man’s tongue had been ripped out by a slinkbeast in the Mountains of Sorrow in the Twelfth Reality.

“Very well,” Master George said. “I think it’s time we begin.”

“Yes, let’s,” Priscilla said in her annoying, lilting voice. “We’ve only been waiting on you. Wasting valuable time, no doubt.”

Rutger shifted forward in his seat, a slight rolling motion that brought his arms and hands to rest on the table. “Priscilla, why don’t you open up a can of shut the—”

George quickly interrupted his loyal friend. “Yes, Priscilla, I appreciate your patience.” He wanted to add that perhaps she’d like to take on a mission to the icy wastelands of the Third Reality, but refrained. “We have much to talk about, indeed.”

“Wasting time,” Rutger mumbled under his breath. “I’ll show you . . .” The rest was too low to hear, but Master George thought he caught the words rat fink.

“First things first,” Mothball said. “Methinks we best be talkin’ ’bout Master Tick and his friends.”

Master George agreed. “Yes, yes, quite right, Mothball. Based on the evidence, I have no doubt that someone has violated Rule Number 462 and taken hostage the nanolocators implanted in our dear young friends from Reality Prime. We can track their general location, but nothing more—and even that signal is weak. We have tried repeatedly to wink them here, but they have remained out of our reach. This act violates no less than three Articles of Principles established by the First Realitant Symposium of 1972. It is outrageous, despicable, irresponsible, reprehensible—”

“We get the point,” Rutger said.

Master George slammed his hand on the table. “Yes! I hope you do, Master Rutger, because this is very serious indeed. Not only can we not wink in our most important recruits in years, but we have a renegade out there capable of such things as hijacking a nanolocator! The technology for such an act—”