Project Boussh: Hello, Dolly
by Emily Janson

Wes had finally managed to untie the ropes and break open the closet
only to bark his left shin on a large device Emily had referred to as
a guitar amplifier. He cursed to himself, leaning against a nearby
windowsill and avoiding the clutter that was inconveniently
surrounding the closet.

He was supposed to be at a cottage near some place referred to as
Clark's Trading Post, traveling there with Hobbie and Emily to meet up
with as many of the other team members as possible. Instead, he woke
up to someone standing in front of him, got knocked unconscious
with...something, and woke up bound in the small closet.

"Maybe my head got hit a little too hard, but I swear it looked like I
was attacking myself," he spoke outloud to himself, checking and
making sure that everything still functioned properly. Well, not
_everything_.

Janson got outside and went to the field that had been cleared for the
X-wings. Nothing was there. No starfighters, no astromechs, nothing.
Just a whole lot of dead leaves, dried twigs, and saplings scattered
helter skelter.

"This is _not_ good. Not good at all."

*~**~*

Stuffed with cake and exhausted out of her mind, Emily plopped down on
a bunk and suddenly wished to burn the whole place down. _Then we can
roast some marshmellows, sing happy campfire songs, and have a little
more heat! I think it's warmer outside._

She drifted off to sleep, dreaming about those warm fleece blankets
lying on her bed at home. At the back of her mind, Emily wondered why
Wes had started to act really...friendly all of a sudden. Not that she
mattered, and damn did he give a good backrub.

*~**~*

"Why can't we go someplace warm?" Hobbie whined, trying to figure out
how, exactly, to give the place more heat. He was running low on
ideas.

"Quit you're whining. You sound like an old maid," Wes said, behaving
like he wasn't cold at all. Hobbie couldn't clearly determine whether
his friend found the weather unpleasurable or not.

"You'd be complaining right along with me if you haven't been acting
wierd lately. Terra's primitiveness has been getting to your brain or
something."

"What are you talking about?"

Hobbie shrugged. "Yub yub, Wes."

"Whatever," Wes said, indifferently and not even responding in the
slightest way to the jibe. He just got up and left.

"Whatever?!" Hobbie whispered in surprise. "I think he's immaturing
instead of maturing. He's picked up a teenager's attitude and I can
easily guess who it came from." Hobbie grabbed a mug from where it sat
and took a long drink. It was Terra's strongest version of caf, and
the triple espresso or whatever it was called proved to be extremely
helpful in prolonging insomnia and in keeping the cold away.

*~**~*

_There has to be some way to get to that Clark's place._ Janson would
have considered asking Emily's parents, but it didn't help that they
weren't home. Wes sat there staring at a device called a telephone,
speaking to himself with the dog, Lucky, seemingly listening.

Wes had already tried using the telephone, punching in the frequency
to Hobbie's comlink. Instead of Hobbie, a husky voiced woman came on,
claiming that Wes had dialed the number to Desiré's Love Line. The
woman seductively asked what Janson's pleasure was, causing him to
quickly hang up the communications device. Wes would have used him own
comlink, but it wasn't around.

He still couldn't quite put his finger on who the assailant could have
been. The only semi-logical idea at this point was that somewhere
along the line, Wes had been cloned and the creation was being used
against him. The concept still seemed ridiculous, however.

"It can't be a clone of me, right, Lucky?" Wes asked, petting the
dog's head. The Bichon lept into his lap, thinking the attention was a
direct invitation. "Hey, maybe you can help me find Clark's Trading
Post, pup. C'mon, Lucky, find Emily."