Visit To A Weirdly Accented Planet Revisited

by

Caroline Miniscule

The lights glinted off the spikily cut hair of Michael Praed, setting it agleam as if he wore a silver helmet. Romantic, practically a Hurrell shot, but it would never do for the scene. ��Paul,�� she called out, ��Fix the spots on Michael.��

As he snapped his fingers, thinking, ��of course, that old Star Trek episode, Mirror, Mirror,�� he heard a sudden cracking sound, as sharp as the crack of a bullet, and then he had only seconds to realized that one of the huge lights had snapped loose from its moorings and was swinging towards him on a single guy wire. It was like a great, burning ball of fire, and he jerked his head out of the way�but not quite in time. The side of the light grazed his head and sent him spinning off the platform and down into a pool of liquid darkness.

Voices surrounded him, helping hands clutched at him from all sides until he felt as if an attempt was being made to draw and quarter him.

��I�m all right,�� he murmured, ��I�m all right.��

Michael sat up, attempting a grin to calm everyone down. He raised a hand to his cheek and brought it away with his fingers streaked with blood. ��Oh, jolly good.�� Another two hours in makeup to cover this up!

��Phileas! By god, Phileas, that was close! Get up! Get up!��

��Francesca, what�.?��

Michael Praed gazed up at the faces of Francesca, Michel and Chris�and beyond them. The lights of the studios�.gone. The cameras�.gone�All of the crew people�gone�.his wife and children, and the friends and family of all the other cast members who had been huddled on one side of the stage to watch the filming..gone�but�he wasn�t in a hospital room�he was in the open air, the sun was blazing down on him, and he could still hear the sound of pistol shots�

��What the hell is going on?��

Francesca�Francesca�s? face transformed from concern to pure fury. ��Phileas, you know demned well what is going on! We - are � be-ing shot -at! For the last time, get up or we�ll leave you behind!��

The strong hands of Michel practically plucked him from the ground and sent him flying through the air. Michael gave up trying to make sense of it all and just ran like hell, trusting the pushing hands all around him to guide him in the right direction. His eyes saw nothing but smears of color, rushing footsteps clattering over the cobblestones echoed in his ears like machine gun fire, but not loud enough to block out the sound of his own breath gasping in his ears, the entire left side of his face felt aflame, and he wasn�t too sure about the top of his head, either.

Into a dark doorway, up a flight of stairs, into a room, rushing towards a bookcase, through the bookcase and into another room. Francesca, Jules and Michel flung themselves into overstuffed chairs. In another second Michel jumped up again. ��Master, master, sit down, quickly, quickly. I will get bandages���

Michael collapsed into the chair vacated by the French actor. In seconds he was back. Gently he wiped the blood away from Michael�s cheek with a damp cloth, and then applied a strip of adhesive to the cut. Michael submitted to these ministrations in stunned silence. Because something was wrong. He could see�everything�.he wasn�t wearing his contacts and everything should be a blur but he could see�.everything�as clear as crystal��and Francesca kept calling him Phileas and Michel treated him like Passpartout treated Phileas Fogg and Chris�well, Chris huddled in his chair with his arms wrapped around himself, his eyes averted, his teeth clenched.

��That damned Fantomas!�� exclaimed�.Michael stared at her�exclaimed Rebecca Fogg? ��How did he know? How did he know! They were waiting for us and he�s the one who set us up! Well, Phileas? Haven�t you had enough yet? This is the third time he�s foiled us. The third time! We�ve got to take care of him once and for all!��

Michael slouched lower in his chair, crossed one leg over the other with precision, and tenderly rested his injured cheek in one hand. ��I have a headache,�� he said quietly. Rebecca flung up both of her hands.

��Master Fogg needs time to rest, Miss Rebecca,�� Passpartout said stoutly. ��But he lives for us to fight again another day.��

Through all this, Jules Verne said nothing.

�I�ve had a knock on the head,� Michael told himself, �and I�m hallucinating. I�m dreaming that the world of this television program has come to life and we�re all real in it. But it�s just a dream and as soon as I take a nap I�ll wake up and all will be well.��

��Fantomas�Fantomas�Fantomas���

Fran�Rebecca�s voice droned on his ears, like a broken record, but Michael�s lids were heavy and he was already almost half asleep�..who the hell was this Fantomas, anyway? Oh, that was right, he was the arch-villain in the episode they were supposed to be filming�he and Fantomas would be having a climactic fencing duel at the end of the episode�yes, of course Fantomas would be the villain in his hallucination as well�.well�it didn�t matter�.he�d wake up in a few minutes and be back under those hot lights where he belonged.

Michael opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He closed them�.and opened them again. The same ceiling. He was still in Jules Verne-land. ��Damn,�� he said quietly.

��Nothing�s occurred to you yet, Fogg?�� It was Chris�Jules Verne�s American-accented voice�but his tone�tense, tired�just very slightly�insolent?

Well, a role was a role�and if he was here�.

Michael sat up and gazed at Chris with his best Fogg-ishtercratic gaze. ��Not yet, Verne, no.�� calmly.

What in the world was wrong with the man? He was as tense and strung out and frightened-looking as in the first scene of that episode so long ago, when Phileas Fogg had beaten him up a little in order to instill a little respect in him for the British Secret Service.

��The British empire on which the sun never sets��� Verne continued, ��you�ve got your boot on us, but France will never give in. Never! This Fantomas, he�s a sign, you know. He�s a hero to the people with his exploits. You�ll never find him. You�ll never be able to destroy him.��

Michael stared at Verne�s face, carefully keeping his own expressionless. Something had been wrong with his world, but now he was beginning to realize that something was wrong with the world, as well.

Michael�s unwavering and expressionless gaze seemed to make Verne nervous. ��Don�t worry, Fogg,�� he choked� ��you�ve got me� I can�t escape�I have to help you�.but even with my help, France will throw off your yoke.�� The cold, crisp, self-confident voice of Rebecca Fogg cut through the tension like a knife.

��Jules,�� she barked, ��shut up!��

Verne subsided, with a glance at her, and then another defiant glance at Michael.

��Phileas, pay no attention to his rantings,�� Rebecca continued, continuing her entrance into the room with a tray full of drinks. ��Don�t give them a second thought. He�s just overwrought.��

She stopped in front of Michael with the tray, and held it out to him, but their eyes met, and there was some kind of meaningful look in those lovely liquid brown eyes that he couldn't quite decipher. God, Francesca was good�Francesca�Rebecca�think, man, think! Michael shrugged, took one of the glasses, and downed the amber liquid at a single gulp. ��Have no fear, Rebecca. You can trust me.��

Rebecca smiled at her cousin, turned and presented the tray to Verne, who also took a glass and tossed it down without hesitation. Poor fellow certainly needed it!

��Where�s, um, where�s Passpartout?�� Michael asked.

��He�s gone to the Aurora. Some equipment he wanted to fetch.��

��Ah. Jolly good.��

��Yes. Well��� she glanced at Verne. ��Come on, Jules. We�ve got work to do as well.��

They left the room through the revolving bookcase, Rebecca sketching a farewell wave, and then Michael was alone. He remained unmoving in the chair, trying to think. England�.the empire on which the sun never sets�.France will throw off your yoke�.surely�.surely this couldn�t mean that England had conquered France, in this �.well, in this universe? And this Fantomas character was some type of French Zorro, or Robin Hood, intent on fighting the invading English�and he and Rebecca were part of the British Secret Service charged with hunting the man down? It couldn�t be true.

Michael got up, grabbed the decanter from the tray and refilled his glass. He downed it in a single gulp again. Michael was actually not a drinking man, but he felt the need.

��It can�t be true,�� he said aloud, ��but it probably is.�� And he poured himself another drink.