Agent Shield and Spaceman

Dr. Duchampski had quick hands, full eyebrows and a curved, large pored nose that drooped over his upper lip like some sort of proboscis. His small round glasses were balanced about half way down this extraordinary appendage, constantly threatening to spill off his face. “Yes, yes, Section Starfire, I would love to help you,” he said. “Love to help as much as I can. How can I help?” “We have a sample of a liquid that…” “That you want me to identify. Yes, I know that. I knew that from the second you knocked my door.” “Alright then,” Marcus said. “So, what is it?” The old man took the vial Spaceman had not destroyed and held it up to the light, his hand trembling. The amber liquid glittered. He scrunched his impressive eyebrows together and snorted once. “I don’t like this,” he said. “Don’t like this at all.” Spaceman glanced over, nervous, “How so?” Dr. Duchampski gazed curiously at Spaceman, who up to this moment had not made a single sound in the herpetologist’s office. After a...

The two agents walked from their car to the rear entrance of the Smithsonian Natural History Museum. Marcus flashed his badge at the guard moving to intercept them and barely slowed down as the doors swung open. “It’s this way” Spaceman said, leading them between innumerable shelves of biological specimens. The occasional work bench bore the scattered remains of animals or primitive or not-so-primitive hominids. “You’re strangely quiet,” Spaceman observed. “I don’t have anything much to say right at this moment.” “You’re sore about what happened in the meeting.” Shield wheeled around. “I just got chewed out by the chief for no good goddamn reason about a problem you did your best to create! Damn right I’m sore.” An attendant type leaned out from between the next tier of bookshelves and shushed them. Shield almost drew his service pistol right then and there. “Look, I’m not sure why the chief a...