Mikyvis Chronicles

London, 1966, Alpha Prime:
Ye Olde Watering Hole

Off to the left side of the pub, gathered around a table a fair distance from the stage, three men were lightheartedly chatting. A fourth man went to them and shook hands, introducing himself as the main act's leader and front man. The African American man was the reason the three men had come to this particular pub. Rumor had it that the man played guitar like no others ever had, and they were curious; after all, how many ways were there to hold or play a guitar? 

Since the man was relatively soft spoken and seemed rather shy, Dean called over, "Barkeep, another pint here for our friend, please?"

Holding his long arm up to the bartender and shaking his head, Jimi grinned, "I prefer not, and would rather seltzer and lime instead."

Dean nodded at the bartender and pulled a chair out, inviting Jimi to sit with them. To Dean's left, Jan motioned across the table, playfully explaining, "Mister Moondoggie was about to enlighten us, regarding the recent bass guitar sounds heard on their recordings."

"A vast improvement, I think we'll all agree, compared to last year's already prominent bass sound," Dean pleasantly offered.

Lowering his pint glass from his mouth, Mister Moondoggie smirked, "Call me that again and we'll visit the alley where we put the bass amp." 

Jan, Jimi and Dean softly chortled apologies and formally addressed him as John.

"It was lucky happenstance, actually," John replied. "Our engineer moved on to other projects, and in his stead, our new engineer began commenting on the sound heard in the studio compared to what was being captured on tape. To get the sound, young Geoffrey placed microphones only an inch or two away from the speaker cone." Grinning evilly, John chuckled, "The white coats at Abbey Road were frazzled, and ranted endlessly about damaging the mics. George Martin liked the sound and took it up with the studio's execs, reminding them that every mic in the room could be replaced scores of times over again, with the money already made from previous records. Problem solved, and our maybe new engineer is now scheduled for the next series of sessions planned. Everyone's clamoring for a new record, so we're back at it again."

"Geoff's a smart lad," John continued. "He'll wander the room during rehearsals, blankly blinking, but the gears are clearly spinning. There used to be four mics around Richie's kit, but now he's putting mics right up near the drum heads. He had this idea to dampen the toms with tea towels, of all things." He paused and shrugged, "So far it's working out."

"We can do this!" Jan and Dean cheered, causing Jimi to widely smile.

John shrugged, "It's about time we caught up with American R&B bass sounds. Use your ears and listen for what's right for the song."

Turning his attention to Jimi, Dean wondered, "So what's up your sleeve, or hanging off it might be the better question?"

"Just what feels good," Jimi shyly grinned. "I can't explain what it is, other than making what feels and sounds right in the moment."

"G'day, mates!" Mick Jagger greeted the group as he took the table next to them, his companions quickly helping him move it over to make one big table. 

"Looks like we're staging an invasion!" Pete Townsend, Eric Clapton, and Brian Jones chorused.

"Paul's out there with a group of friends; I think he's starting a personal fan club." Eric quipped. "They should be in momentarily.

"Christ!" Lennon softly complained. Almost at once, everyone began warning and teasing John about certain slips of the tongue that had a tendency to get completely out of control.

"His Highness is being escorted in by his subjects as we speak!" Pete quipped dryly as he nodded towards the door.

The group turned to look, finding Paul entering the pub surrounded by a group of kids. Dean's eyebrows shot up as he recognized one of them, and he shouted without thinking "KENETH CASEY McKENSIE! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!"

John sniggered, "Would you like a record album to burn, bloody American? Have some couth, dammit."

Over with Paul, KC glared at Dylan. "You better put in a call to Uncle Galli; as soon as we get home I'm gonna strangle you!"

"We're on a Mandate, Uncle KC." Dylan explained. "It'll work out, I'll help ya explain things."

"You better!" KC grumbled as he led the way to the first-class ass chewing that he knew he was in for.

"No guillotines present, KC," Paul observed, as he nudged the slumping teen forward a step at a time.

"Fortunately, but not for who you think." Dylan muttered, having picked up on something that made him feel unsettled.

Once both groups were together, Jan squinted suspiciously as he began the interrogation. "Does your dad know that you've skipped and surfed clear across a continent and an ocean?" Seeing KC's eyes soften more, Jan wondered what he had said that provoked such a sullen response.

Pulling over another table and some chairs, Pete, Eric, Brian and Mick began singing the funeral march.

Keeping his promise to KC, Dylan quickly placed the entire group into a time bubble, keeping the rest of the occupants of the pub 'in the dark'. "We're not from now; we're from way in the future." Dylan explained quickly. "Uncle Paul knows, and he'll vouch for why we're here. KC can't really explain the details since it's your future, but his Dad passed away ten years ago by our timeline."

"By our timeline?" Jan and Dean chorused.

Noticing other patrons of the pub seemingly frozen in position, Jimi sighed, "Maybe I should've had that pint?"

"Probably best that you hadn't," Paul grinned. Glancing around the large group of men, Paul assured them, "It's true though. These lads are hoping to build a band. I've spent several hours at home with them. When I said that I had plans for this evening, they wanted to come along."

"You went to him?" John angrily spat.

Paul chuckled, sadly shook his head, and then used a recently learned come back; "Bite me!"

"Unca Paul's a lefty like me, so I hadda learn from onna the bestest lefties!" Timmy stated defensively, his hands on his hips.

"Right!" John sneered, "Six going on sixty, are you?" Timmy phased out and back in again, wearing a derby and with an unlit cigar in his mouth. Lennon hollered, "Barkeep!"

Snarling, Timmy ripped the cigar from his mouth and screeched, "Yech! That's NASTY!" Cracking up, eight men rolled laughing at the midget senior citizen's screwed-up expression.

Smiling, Dylan commented "John, that song that you've been playing with that you don't think is ready yet? Give it to the band in the studio as soon as you get there; you'll be putting it on your next release." Suddenly having the attention of everyone, including his cousins due to his flagrant violation of paradox prevention, Dylan continued. "You gotta understand, I'm human, but only by genetics. I'm the first generation of what could be all of humanity in a couple thousand years. My parents were human, and they became what I am when they were eight. I'm able to manipulate Time to my will, and in the process I'm responsible to make sure nothing changes the past in a way that hurts humanity. You're part of one of those times; what happens tonight for you is gonna have a direct impact on some things that happen in the time we are from. I've been assigned to make sure it goes to Plan, and given Authority to intervene if I see fit."

Taking a chair near John, Paul picked up Timmy and parked him on his lap, reminding him, "Righties can't keep time either." Timmy nodded and giggled. Paul told John, "We're in the studio tomorrow."

John muttered, "It doesn't even have a title. It's just meandering lyrics penciled on a page."

"Work on it," Eric and Pete prompted.

Dylan smiled more as he added "You'll all be able to discuss between yourselves your interaction with us, but anyone not involved with our visit you won't be able to mention us to. I'm not doing that; it's a protection from a lot higher than I can get to. All of you here will see us off and on through your life, so you knowing about us is allowed. I'm gonna unfreeze us pretty soon; everyone that was watching thinks they saw KC get a royal butt chewing, but it's settled to all of them now."

"Before you do, I need to do something." Dean stated as he motioned KC over. Still expecting the worst, KC was surprised when Dean pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry, Brat." Dean said softly.

Hearing Dean calling him 'brat' was all it took, as KC let loose the tears he had been holding in since his re-activation. "I miss Dad." KC sobbed repeatedly as he clung to his Uncle Dean.

Jan reached out and rubbed KC's back, helping Dean comfort their favorite nephew as none of the Clan could.

Seeing that KC would need a little time, CD slithered into Eric's side. "Eric? Do you think you could show us how you really play? The pictures ain't as good as the real thing." he stated shyly.

Since Eric seemed a little more than shocked, Brian offered, "They call him 'Slowhand'. Even when you're watching Eric, up close, it seems his hands aren't really moving such that he could possibly play what you're hearing."

"That's what's so kewl; nobody else can do that!" CD giggled.

"There's the musicianship, and then there's the show," Pete explained. "Eric's a minimalist."

Eric smirked, "This coming from the man that busts up guitars thrice per week."

"An expensive hobby," Mick teased.

"Poor Gee-tars!" Timmy giggled. "Were they bad boys?"

Pete sniggered, "They were very bad, not feeding back the tone I wanted, but some other very dissonant tone that annoyed and frustrated the piss out of me. Some day I'll wish I had better control of my temper, but for now, the kids seem to like it."

Paul smiled quietly, fully aware that the innocent questions were teaching the boys things about performing that would never end up in a textbook. He already knew the most deceptive of them all was sitting on his lap; the little fireball knew much more than he let show, and seemed to absorb information like a sponge.

Dean let loose of KC, asking "You better now, munchkin?" as he gave KC one last squeeze.

"Yeah, thanks Uncle Dean." KC replied with a small smile. "I'm lots better now; you always do that."

"Everyone ready?" Dylan asked as he prepared to return them to real time.

"Go for it, Dilly." KC said as he wiped stray tears from his cheeks.

The people around them began moving around again, and Jan turned to KC. "You want to introduce your invasion force, Kenny?"

KC grinned, knowing that Jan called him Kenny just to annoy him. "Yeah Uncle Jan. Everyone, these are my brothers Brandon, CD, Joey, Tanner, Ian, and Timmy. Conner is our nephew, and Dylan is our cousin."

Dean grinned. "And this is our own 'Little Ol' Android from Pasadena', KC!"

Grinning, Eric wondered, "Which came first, the kid or the song?" causing the kids to break into giggling fits.

"The kid," Dean answered, "but we didn't know that at the time."

"The next person who mentions time tonight is going to pay for all the drinks," Lennon warned.

The proprietor of the pub overheard, and hustled over to the table. "This is a family pub, I don't allow their kind in this establishment." the man screamed as he pointed at KC. "He will have to leave, now."

The pub became completely silent as his words registered on the occupants. In that split second, three things happened. The pub door flew open on its own accord, allowing William to fly in screeching angrily. At the same time, Timmy and Joey shifted into warpaint, both growling deeper than either should have been able to. The third was Tanner exclaiming 'Oh SHIT!' as the possible ramifications of the pub owner's statement hit the front of his brain.

At once, Pete Townsend, John Lennon and Mick Jagger stood. Despite wanting to protect Timmy and get him out of the line of fire, McCartney couldn't stop staring at the warpaint on the young lad's face, and similarly, couldn't make his muscles cooperate with what his brain told him to do.

"Ye have problems with certain types of people, eh?" Pete barked loud enough to cause ladies to hurry toward the exit.

"Ye bigoted, fat arse cunt!" John roared, as he landed an unexpected blow on the proprietor's jaw.

Tanner, Ian, and CD all responded at the same time, each spouting profanity that would make JJ proud as all three of their fists converged on the exact same area of the man's body - his groin.

"Take that, you ball-less fat-assed bastard!" Tanner growled.

Doubled-over, the proprietor was lifted off his feet by Lennon, Jagger and Townsend. In moments, the hapless pub owner was used as a projectile to knock over every mug down the length of the bar. 

Dean grinned at KC, "It's the old world, prim and proper manners that I wanted to mention to you."

By this time, the proprietor was being used as a towel to sop up the mess left behind on the bar, being dragged along by three outraged men with the help of Joey, CD, Conner and Ian. 

KC nodded at Dean and sniggered, "I'd like to understand how the word 'cunt' came to be pronounced as 'coont' though."

"Liverpudlians living too near the docks," Clapton playfully offered, and then checked on McCartney, to see if there were a knife pointed at his back.

Sadly shaking his head, Paul helplessly chortled and displayed his empty hands.

"I think you guys missed a spot," Jan and Dean chorused as they dumped their drinks over the passing proprietor's head, 'accidentally' dropping the pints as well from two feet above his head.

"Well," Jimi smirked, "I guess it's pointless to perform before any almost-empty pub. I was looking forward to playing tonight though, especially for this lot of good natured patrons."

Paul was about to reply when Timmy suddenly ordered "HALT!" in an echoing tone that none of them could ignore.

Shoving the semi-conscious proprietor back behind the bar, John, Mick and Pete looked over innocently. "Six going on sixty," John softly sighed.

Timmy's next statement removed the smiles John's statement had caused. In a voice that chilled the spines of all who heard, he ordered "Hand of the Heart, the Shackles of Time are released; your Mandate is activated. The Host is Mobilized, those who are innocent are to leave now, those who are not shall be rooted in place. The Guide has spoken the wishes of the Great Spirit."

"CRAP!" KC, Jan, Dean, Jimi, Paul and Eric shouted as all of them stood to leave.

Placing Timmy on his feet, Paul checked, "I shouldn't be here either?"

Timmy shook his head. "Neither shall I, as my place is protecting you from those who subvert the Great Spirit. The Hand of the Heart holds the tools to restore Time to its proper path."

His eyes wide with fear, Tanner motioned for everyone to follow him. "Timmy ain't never done this shit before; we need to get the hell outta here - like NOW!"

Almost the entire group followed Tanner as he high-tailed it towards the door. The only one not heading for the exit was Jimi Hendrix. He ran to the stage to retrieve his Stratocaster first, and then hurried out the door, where Timmy was waiting. Jimi passed over the threshold, but realized that Timmy wasn't with him. A semi-transparent dark mass blocked Timmy from passing through the exit. Jimi watched as Timmy exclaimed something in a Native American tongue before raising his left arm. The next thing Jimi saw was beams of golden light shooting from Timmy's wrist, beams that seemed to disintegrate the dark mass. Beyond Timmy, still inside the pub, Jimi saw a strange purple mist coming from Dylan, encompassing everything and everyone left in the building. Once the little fireball was also outside, Jimi and Timmy met up with John, Paul, Brian, Mick, Pete, Eric and all the boys except for the purple-eyed Dylan. A pretty, young blond lady was snapping photos of all the scattering patrons.

"There's a pub down the road," Paul told Jimi. "Gather up your band and I'm sure you could play there."

Still shaking, Jimi grunted, "Uh, amps and drums?"

"We'll take care of that, Uncah Jimi," Timmy cheerfully promised. The words barely registered with any of the adults who were noticing the warpaint was fading off the little redhead's face.

---

Inside the pub, there was no cheer. After Jimi saw the haze, Dylan closed the door, aware that what was about to happen was not for the eyes of those who had been told to leave. Once the door was closed, two beings appeared next to Dylan, with golden glowing swords at the ready.

"Fulfill thy Mandate, Child." they ordered softly in unison.

Dylan nodded seriously as he extended his hands. A spiderweb of seemingly random strings appeared in front of him, strings that were pulsing and changing as he watched. He reached into the strings, grabbing one that was slowly disintegrating and shoving it into the side of a second thicker one. As he held the two together with one hand, he forcibly ripped the remainder of the thick string that was growing beyond the splice off of the net, balling it up and throwing it on the ground, where he could grind it into the floor. "It's done, Prince Michael; once you finish Time will be restored." Dylan stated.

The adults left in the pub found themselves being brought to stand in front of the Angels. The Angel that Dylan called Prince Michael addressed the subjects. "In the Names of the Almighty, show thyselves."

All present except the angels, Dylan, and two pre-teen boys still in the room suddenly transformed into ominous dark shadows. Michael's voice echoed as he spoke. "You have attempted to subvert a Mandated Fixed Point in Time, and shall be dealt with as befitting those who defy Our Father. Begone to thy Punishment." With that, His Sword flashed as it passed through all of them, even the two boys. The shadows screamed as they vanished, while the two boys stood there looking confused. "They have been Cleansed, Dylan. You have the knowledge of what needs to be done."

Dylan nodded as he released the string, which now showed no signs of damage. "It shall be done." he replied as he reached out and put a hand on each of the boys. Once touching them both, all three vanished.

To the few who were attuned to the event, there were suddenly two bolts of lightning from a clear sky that destroyed the building they were just in. For the luckier ones of the rest of the world, the pub had never existed, and its former location had always been an empty lot. Time has no mercy on those who tamper with its checkpoints.

---

On Forever World, The Guardian began the task of teaching Dylan the procedure for restoring those who had been ripped from Time back into Time's flow.

---

Outside the former pub, KC decided to take charge. "We need to get to the other pub, Uncle Paul. I'm thinking Dilly'll meet us there, we might even get him to explain what the hell just happened without getting headaches!"

"You'we siwwy, Cwash!" Joey giggled. "Diwwy don' give Mickey Mouse headaches, Bwyce does! Dimmy, why was we in wawpaind?"

"I got called as a Spirit Guardian," Timmy explained without explaining. Reaching up and petting William's head while the young eagle re-arranged Timmy's hair from his shoulder perch, Timmy added "Me an' William hadda do official stuff I didn' know we could do."

Jimi raised his eyebrows as he asked "Spirit Guardian?"

Timmy nodded. "I'm a Seminole Warrior, my name is Tvmketv-Lvmhe."

Jimi thought for a minute, then managed to translate. "Soaring Eagle? Should I assume that your feathered friend isn't a normal eagle?"

Timmy shook his head with a grin. "Nope, he's one of the two Guardians of Camp Little Eagle. It's a place run by my Tribe that Daddy set up to help kids who're bein' abused."

Jimi wanted to be skeptical of the comments by the little six-year-old, but the scene he'd just witnessed seemed to validate Timmy's words. He took a closer look at Timmy, and noticed something that he'd missed earlier; the Eagle talon embedded in Timmy's earlobe. He could tell it had been bound in a way it would never be removed, and the bindings looked suspiciously like some pictures his grandparents had shown him of medicine-man handiwork. Any remaining doubts about the group of boys that had invaded his day vanished in that instant; the things he thought were legends had now just established themselves as fact before his eyes.

"Could I have the honor of carrying you and your feathered friend to the next pub?" Jimi asked.

"Sure!" Timmy replied as his eyes lit up. William took to the air long enough for Timmy to scramble up Jimi's side and get comfortable on his hip, then swooped down and took up guard duty on Jimi's other shoulder.

Paul chuckled, knowing full well that Jimi had just made a friend for life. He glanced around them, noticing that the normal crowd was passing by the former building they had just left as if its destruction wasn't visible. It occurred to him that there should have been police and emergency crews by now, yet there were no indications of response, not even distant sirens. He filed his observations under his 'maybe Dylan will explain it' section, then spoke up. "We probably should be getting along. We're drawing attention."

"It's probably our long-hair surfer nephew." Jan chuckled as he put an arm over KC's shoulder. "If so, they're gonna get a show sooner or later. This little dynamo can't stay out of danger more than an hour or two."

"Cwash is dangewous!" Joey giggled from his new perch on Dean's shoulders.

"And you're a punk." KC shot back with a smile, his love of Joey obvious.

Shaking his head with a smile, Paul led the group up the street. The various storefronts caused quite a few delays, as the 'ancient artifacts' on display grabbed the attention of all of the boys. On more than one occasion, the group detoured into a store because one of the boys spotted something he just HAD to get, which meant that just about everyone was now carrying a shopping bag. The latest stop had been a confectioner; Timmy insisting that they were all suffering from sugar withdrawals. As they were leaving the shop, Tanner spotted a small music supply across the street. "We GOTTA go there!" he exclaimed.

"That's one of the most expensive shoppes in the district." Eric advised.

"Not an issue." Tanner giggled. "Time loops are fun when you have conspirators in high places."

Ignoring the death-glare from John, Tanner impatiently waited for the signal to indicate they had right-of-way to cross the street, then he barreled across the crosswalk and dived into the shop. As soon as he and the rest of the group entered, they could all tell this was a high-end location, with well-lit displays, multiple rooms to try out instruments without disturbing clients, and wide aisles. Slowing to a walk, Tanner approached the till, where an elderly gentleman was watching them warily.

"Good day, Sir." Tanner said politely. "Would you be so kind as to verify the available balance on my credit voucher card? I wish to provide an open tab for any products my companions wish to acquire on this visit."

The visible mood of the gentleman changed considerably as he took the card; potential purchases sounded much better than a mob browsing. While skeptical that this boy had the funds needed, Tanner's method of address calmed his worries about this group. Once he saw the transaction limit, his eyes went wide; obviously this boy could just about buy out his store if he wanted. "You have sufficient balance to do as you suggest, Sir. How may I assist you?"

"My companions are in various stages of the profession, and could benefit from the quality instruments that you furnish. Anything they want to purchase is approved." Tanner replied. He turned his head and locked eyes with Pete. "Pete, if you take ANYTHING that you get today on stage to use in your show, I'm sending my weird cousin after you!"

"Right!" Pete smirked impatiently, "I shall refrain from bartender abuse with any and all purchases made on this night only."

Tanner nodded, sure that Pete would be good at his word. "Even our youngest are musically inclined. If you could assist them, the rest of us will come to you with questions."

"As you wish, Sir." the man nodded as he reached over and placed a sign in the window stating "Temporarily Closed for Private Consultation".

As the door was being locked, Tanner looked at his group. "Start shopping; it's on me. Anything you want is free game."

At the disbelieving looks, the proprietor commented "He has the means to purchase this entire store, gentlemen. The Crown has granted him wide discretion."

Paul and John began singing the little ditty prepared for their MBE awards. "Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl but she doesn't have a lot to say. Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl, but she changes from day to day. I wanna tell her that I love her a lot, but I gotta get a belly full of wine. Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl. Someday I'm going to make her mine, oh yeah. Someday I'm going to make her mine."

Tanner rolled his eyes. "You guys got published HOW?" he prodded with a grin.

The duo retaliated, "He's a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land, making all his nowhere plans for nobody."

Everyone else decided it was safer to begin browsing, so they abandoned Paul and John quickly. The proprietor figured the safest bet would to be starting with helping Timmy. After all, how difficult could it be to find things a six-year-old would want in his store?

He soon realized his mistake within seconds of joining Jimi and Timmy. His face actually paled when Timmy looked up at him with puppy-dog-eyes on overdrive. "Mister, where're the little lefty ge-tars at?"

'Crap, crap, crap!' the shop owner thought. There seemed to always be one lefty in any crowd, but never one quite so young. However, there were a select few of child-sized, lefty guitars - three electrics and one acoustic. "This way, lads," the man said, and began walking to the rear of the shop.

Timmy grabbed Jimi's hand, pulling him along as he followed. The smile on Timmy's face said it all to the rest of his brothers; Timmy had once again charmed his way into getting exactly what he wanted.

As they reached the semi-hidden display, the man lifted a child-sized cherry-red lefty Domino Baron from the display and squatted down so that Timmy could look at it. With his most angelic smile shining brightly, Timmy reached his hand out to take possession of it. The man fell for it, and within seconds Timmy had the guitar in position to play. "Unca Jimi? Doya have any picks onya?" Timmy asked.

Bracing for the worst, Jimi nodded as he fished one out of his pocket. Also expecting torture, the proprietor powered up a small practice amp and wired in the guitar. The first thing that made them take notice was Timmy waiting for the amp to warm up, then seriously running through the strings and tuning the guitar. After a third pass satisfied him, he began running chords to loosen up, taking a full ten minutes to be happy. He then reached over and adjusted the amp volume, before beginning "Hang On Sloopy", keeping time by tapping his foot.

By this time, the shoppe keeper, Mr. Carleton had introduced himself to Jimi and Timmy. Mr. Carleton wandered the store, checking on the others, but Jimi remained close by Timmy, and even helped the little guy get the guitar tuned. When Timmy started playing a song in ernest, all the adults in the room stopped tinkering and took notice. A six year old had tuned a guitar; had warmed up with chords and single note lines, and then began playing a recognizable song. A little too recognizable for Jan and Dean. The duo began singing,

"Sloopy lives in a very bad part of town (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)
And everybody, yeah, tries to put my Sloopy down (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)
Sloopy, I don't care what your daddy do (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)
'Cause you know, Sloopy, girl, I'm in love with you (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)"

Jaws really dropped when Timmy's voice joined in, singing along without missing a beat.

"And so I sing out
Hang on, Sloopy
Sloopy, hang on
Hang on, Sloopy
Sloopy, hang on"

As the song wound down, everyone heard KC as he quipped "That's the best that my little punk's ever played that. He's gonna take a long swim if he don't grab that guitar!"

Knowing just how picky KC could be about the songs his uncles taught him, Tanner grinned at KC's way of complementing Timmy. "He's right, little bro. I think that one's a keeper!"

Timmy grinned as he fluttered his eyes at Mr. Carleton. "Can I have this one, a couple'a practice amps like this, and maybe a couple more guitars?"

Mr. Carleton mutely nodded, and then remembered, "I have four of these Vox amps, this one and three in the back."

"Anything larger, for full band practices?" KC asked.

"Thirty watts and two 12 inch speakers," Carleton nodded. "I've six of those."

"Wrap 'em up," KC grinned.

Pointing at the larger stack, Paul wondered, "How many of these do you have?"

"Just that one display model," Carleton answered, "I can order for you, direct from Vox, if you wish?"

"Three dozen should do it." Tanner stated after quickly running figures in his head. "Tell the factory we'll pay premium for expedited service."

The sixty-something year old Carleton went to pick up the phone to place the order. One could almost make out little British pound signs in his eyes, and the marketing director of Vox was sure to take him out for a very nice dinner very soon.

"Add a dozen of the best bass amps they've got, too!" CD stated loudly as he grinned at Paul.

"All the required cables, too." KC added. "For all the amps; we need complete sets for each."

Mutely nodding and jotting down notes on a pad, Carleton could swear he felt something shift in his pants for the first time in years. His wife would be very surprised, and perhaps even as happy as he. He went and added the stands and covers for each of the amps purchased to the growing order.

Around the store, Clapton was trying out a Les Paul and Townsend was windmilling a Telecaster. Lennon sat quietly behind a new sort of keyboard named a Meletron. McCartney flashed his bandmate a thumbs up, then held two fingers up. Lennon flashed three fingers, one for each of them and the third for Abbey Road studio two. Finished with his order, Mr. Carleton roamed around and checked on his customers.

By this time, Timmy had decided to get all three electrics and the acoustic. In addition, Jimi had noticed a right-handed Rickenbacker that he assured Timmy could be re-strung to provide some unique sounds. Timmy smiled as Mr. Carleton joined them and took stock of the guitars, now in their cases, that Timmy had set aside for his personal collection.

"Mr. Hendrix?" Mr. Carleton asked politely, "Would you be so kind as to escort our young friend to practice room three? I need to retrieve an item from the back room."

Noticing something in the man's tone, Jimi nodded. "We'll meet you there."

Jimi chuckled to himself as Timmy made a beeline to the amp as soon as they entered the room, turning it on to warm up. They waited for five minutes before Mr. Carleton rejoined them, a small leather-covered hard guitar case in his hands.

"Before I display this, you need to know the story behind it." Mr. Carleton explained. At the two nods he received, he continued. "This particular item was ordered by an affluent client as a Christmas present for his seven-year-old nephew. Tragedy struck, and before he could present the gift his nephew suffered a severed spine and fell into a coma. He has tasked me to find a suitable recipient for this guitar. Until today, I had not met anyone I considered refined enough to honor the intent of this gift, for the nephew was a child prodigy. If you will pledge on your honor to care for this, passing it on to another just as deserving when you have outgrown it, I will be honored to report to the original purchaser that his wishes have been followed."

Timmy's seriousness surprised both adults. "By the Gifts of the Great Spirit given to me, I swear on my blood that I shall honor the memory of the one originally destined for this gift."

"I accept your vow." Mr. Carleton replied as he sat the case down on the bench on one wall of the room. When he opened the lid, Jimi audibly hummed in appreciation. Cradled in white silk was a rare masterpiece, even in the U. K.; a left-hand child-scaled Galanti Grand Prix. The highly-polished rich mahogany body just begged to be stared at, while the rosewood fretboard seemed to scream 'PLAY ME!'.

Timmy gently picked it up from the case, and after plugging it in he carefully made sure it was in the best tune he could do before it had its first music played on it. He ran the scales a few times just to make sure he was able to adjust to the new instrument. Once confident, he thought for a second, then began to play 'Do You Believe In Magic', singing softly as he played. Mr. Carleton had neglected to close the door, so the entire store heard Timmy's performance.

Timmy's brothers exchanged knowing glances, the tone of Timmy's voice telling them the little redhead was scheming in the back of his head about something while he sang.

Additional thoughts were disrupted by a knocking at the door. Tanner turned to look, and saw very familiar purple eyes staring at him. "Mr. Carleton, could you please let my cousin in?" Tanner asked.

"Certainly." Mr. Carleton replied as he left Timmy to let Dylan and two other boys in.

Noticing that Dylan and the two boys made a beeline for Timmy, Tanner asked "Mr. Carleton, what were your instructions for compensation for that guitar? I overheard you explaining its significance to Timmy."

"I was instructed to pass it on as a gift if I believed the child was sufficiently talented as to make sufficient use of it in a public arena."

Tanner nodded. "That is something I'm certain that you can count on. When you speak with your customer, remind him that acts of goodwill tend to be paid back in multiples."

Mr. Carleton nodded, "Very well, I will do so," and then went toward the corner of the shoppe where drums and percussion instruments were displayed. He formally asked, "Is there anything I can help you lads with?"

"Yeah," Ian said, "starting with simple hand percussion. We'd like twenty tambourines, twenty pair of maracas, and twenty of the high cowbells and low cowbells. 'Course we'll need some drumsticks to hit the cowbells with. A hundred should do it for a while."

"A mondh or dwo, maybe," Joey giggled.

Nodding at Joey and then turning to Mr. Carleton, Ian grinned, "Our band has two drummers, but anybody can shake tambourines and maracas; which is good for audience interaction."

"We'we gonna need dwumseds doo," Joey told the proprietor. He pointed and smiled, "I wike dhese Hayman and Pwemiew dwums. We don'd see dhese bwands in dhe Sdades, and dhey sound weawwy good."

"Both are made here in the UK," Mr. Carleton smiled. "The Hayman shells are engineered to sound louder. It's a very new company that we're supporting. Only time will tell if percussionists decide they like them. Premier has been around over fifty years. They are well established and purchased by many professionals."

Pete called over, "Keith uses Premier kits on the road, in rehearsal and in the studio."

Joey asked, "Widh doubwe bass dwums, Uncah Pede?"

"Yes," Pete answered.

"Dhad's whad we wand, doubwe bass dwums for bodh dwum kids," Joey told Mr. Carleton.

"What size?" Carleton asked.

"Dwendy-dwo and dwendy-six on dhe Pwemiew seds," Joey replied. "Dwendy-dwo and dwendy-fouw on dhe Hayman seds. Dhen we'ww bodh need dom-doms; dhwee mounded in dwewve, dhirdeen and fifdeen inches, and dhen dhe sixdeen inch fwoow doms."

Mr. Carleton blinked, "You realize that you'll never be seen behind the kits? Reaching everything is another minor issue."

"Platforms and pedal extenders," Ian grinned. "We'll take care of the engineering, no problem."

"Yes, Sir," Mr. Carleton politely responded.

"Now, wed's dawk aboud cymbaws," Joey prompted. "We'ww need a bunch, dwendy-dwo and dwendy-fouw inch wide cymbaws; eighdeen and sixdeen inch cwash cymbaws, and dwo seds of fourdeen inch hi-hads. Oh! And spwash cymbaws doo, den inches and chinas doo, big ones, twendy-six inches. Don't fowged aww dhe hawdwawe. Dhey ain'd much good wayin' on dhe fwoow."

"Yes, Sir," Mr. Carleton smiled.

Ian reminded, "Mix Zildjan and Paiste cymbals, for various tones and rings. Let's add in congas, two sets of three, and two sets of bongos, two sets of chimes, assorted wood blocks, and just in case, let's get two pair of kettle drums." Blinking and thinking, Ian sighed, "Better adjust that previous order of one hundred pairs of drums sticks to five hundred pairs."

Giggling madly, Joey hollered, "Diwwy, we'ww need an eighdeen whewwew or dwo!"

Ian giggled, "Let Dylan handle transportation details, Joey."

"You heawd me," Joey cackled, "I wawned him."

Since Mr. Carleton was scribbling madly, Ian teased Joey softly, "Say Wurlitzer organ, twenty times, real fast."

Inhaling deeply, Joey rambled, "Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan, Wuwwidzew owgan." Joey grinned and panted, "I need a dwink."

Ian grew thoughtful. "You know, it probably would be a good idea to add in five sets of heads for all the drums. You never know when they might come in handy."

---

In the practice room, KC caught up with Dilly, Timmy and the two new boys. Jimi hung around as well, his interest peaked in the strange group invading his reality. As he entered, Timmy was relaying the plight of the intended recipient of his new guitar. KC rolled his eyes as he caught the expression on Dylan's face; obviously the little Mikyvis was running the timelines to see if he could make Timmy happy.

"Okay, I thought we decided no collecting on this trip!" KC quipped, curious as to what the excuse would be this time.

Dylan glanced over and grinned. "It wasn't my fault... this time! Uncle G can't even change it. Ian's got new brothers once I introduce them to him."

"So, are you at least gonna introduce my new in-laws to us?" KC smirked.

"Sure!" Dylan giggled. He motioned for a ten-year-old with shaggy collar-length almost-black hair to step forward. "Alistair Callum York, these are your brother-in-laws; the big goof is KC, and the munchkin here is Timmy. Jimi's a family friend, unless Timmy adopted him when I wasn't looking."

"NO!" KC interjected as he saw the look on Timmy's face. "Uncle okay, brother screws up a lotta history!"

"It's the thought that matters, little one!" Jimi sniggered as he pulled Timmy into a snuggle.

Satisfied that Jimi wasn't about to become a permanent band member, KC refocused on Alistair. "Come on over here to get your 'welcome to the family' hug, squirt!"

Not really sure what to think of KC, Alistair complied quietly. He was surprised to find this rough-seeming American teenager quickly pulled him into a gentle hug.

After being told mentally by Dylan that both boys were inside the mandate loop, KC softly told Alistair "I saw you guys in the pub, and I know something weird kept you there. You ain't gotta discuss it; Dylan will fill all of us in on what we need to know later. Welcome to the family; you're getting an awesome big brother that could use some little-brother prodding to remind him just how special he really is."

"Thanks!" Alistair whispered, still trying to make sense out of recent events. He smiled when KC loosened the hug just long enough to shift him to a spot under his right arm, then re-tightened his grip to signify Alistair was to stay put.

KC turned his head towards Dylan, tilting it as he waited for the other introduction.

Dylan stuck out his tongue, then stated "This is Crispin Hamish York, Ian's new littlest brother."

KC smiled at the little nine-year-old. Obviously the former parents were controlling, as he was dressed conservatively and sported a slightly longer-than-normal 'kid-cut' to his curly dirty blond hair. "Your spots gettin' cold Crispy; get over here!"

"My old parents hated that nickname!" Crispin stated with a smile as he slipped under KC's free arm.

"Good, it's official, you're our first Crispy bro-in-law." KC stated, causing both occupants of his arms to giggle. "Finally, I thought I was going to have to call in emergency services to fix your giggleboxes!"

The statement had its intended effect, as both new boys began to relax. Satisfied that he'd done his duty, KC asked "Dilly, what were you and the fireball plotting?"

Dylan shrugged. "Might be nothing, I dunno yet. I hadta send a request up the line, Timmy's wanting to pay back some goodwill."

"That's our little fireball punkette!" KC giggled. "Fill us all in once you know... BEFORE you do anything!"

"As you wish, Sir Crash-a-lot!" Dylan giggled as he gave KC a sloppy Boy Scout salute.

Jimi laughed at the display, slowly realizing that despite the clowning, these boys were the closest family he'd ever seen. "I believe there are two boys waiting to meet their brother. Timmy, why don't you pack up your new guitar, then we'll go watch the introduction?"

"Kewl, these are always fun!" Timmy giggled as he scrambled down. Despite his haste, the second he touched the new guitar he slowed down, carefully picking it up from the stand before disconnecting it from the amp. Once that was done, he laid it carefully into the case, putting the strap in the little compartment reserved for it before closing the cover. 

As he was watching Timmy, KC's brain started spewing information into his consciousness. "I'm gonna strangle my father! Why'd he put this in my archives!" KC muttered to himself. Giving his two companions a quick squeeze, he quipped "When you guys meet your Uncle Marc, pounce him - repeatedly! Thanks to him, I've got a little trivia for ya. Alistair, if you swap your first and last names it means 'dove defending men'. Crispy, your names mean 'Curly-haired supplanter'."

"My mother swapped the names when I was born!" Alistair giggled. "Dilly taught us American, am I right calling that 'cool'?"

"You got it, squirt!" KC laughed.

"What does 'supplanter' mean?" Crispin asked curiously.

"It means to trip things up or to overthrow." KC explained.

"So I'm a curly-haired kid who overthrows stuff?" Crispin giggled.

"Yep, you'll fit right in!" KC laughed.

"I don't want to know." Jimi stated as he picked up Timmy's guitar case with one hand while Timmy scrambled up his other side. "Shall we go terrorize Ian?"

KC wondered, "Do you think he'd notice, after being with Joey?"

"Only one way to find out!" Jimi sniggered.

---

Ian giggled to himself as he heard twenty organs being ordered. Sure that Tanner would appreciate the gifts, he looked around to see what else seemed interesting. He spotted Dylan, KC, Timmy, and Jimi making their way towards him with two boys that were not part of their group, and felt his stomach tighten. 'Dilly's gonna be strangled by Deej if he's doing rescues!' he thought to himself.

He started to relax when the group stopped at the brass display. When he saw Dilly motioning that he wanted all three trumpets on display, he quickly yelled "Has anyone spotted the hearing protection yet? If so, grab ALL of it!"

Pete Townsend put the first available pair of headphones over his ears. Lennon simply stuck his head in a trash can and imitated an ostrich. Jagger ran into the broom closet and locked himself away.

"Unca Mick, you needta come outta the closet!" Timmy yelled with a giggle.

Since all of his brothers were fully aware that Timmy knew exactly what he'd just said, they had no problem falling to the floor in giggles. Once recovered, KC escorted his little group over to the still-laughing Ian.

"Hey Ian, since Deej and I spend so much time telling you that you're better than you think you are, Dilly drafted some help for us." KC stated with a smirk.

"Who, me?" Ian replied as he tried to stop laughing.

"Yep; now you've got two little brothers to keep you in line. The bigger one's Alistair, the midget is Crispy." KC replied, looking forward to the response.

Ian suddenly had no trouble stopping his laughter. In fact, he suddenly felt like every butterfly in Creation decided to move into his stomach. His brain froze, unable to grasp this sudden news. While he'd been fairly active within the Clan, nobody had ever suggested that his family be expanded beyond him, Crystal and Clint. Now, in a time before he was born, when his parents were still young, suddenly the security of being a little brother was being overturned and he was being thrust into the role of big brother to two boys he'd never met.

"It's a guppy!" Alistair chortled.

"Nope, a large mouthed bass!" Brandon giggled.

"We could sell tickets for this performance," McCartney sniggered. He then nudged Lennon to remove his head from the trash can, suggesting, "There are bigger troubles worth observation, mate." Lennon pulled his head out of the can and glanced around, then broke into evil cackling.

CD and Conner chanted, "Breathe in, breathe out, wax on, wax off!"

"Why me? What did I do to earn the honor?" Ian managed to stutter.

"You'we pewfect big bwothew madewiaw," Joey giggled, and then evilly cackled, "Wuwidzew owgan. Dhad didn'd swip pasd me, ya know." At Ian's deepening shock, KC howled laughing.

Mr. Carleton ordered another Wurlitzer, since he was on a roll and could think of nothing better to do.

Noticing Mr. Carleton's response, Jimi snickered as he chimed in. "It don't take a full horn section blowing to see that you're good, Ian. These guys'll drum you into accepting yourself in no time."

"Or they'll string you up." Dylan added with a smirk. "I'm sure we can orchestrate that."

From the closet, Mick hollered, "The wit in this shoppe flows like molasses in January. By the by, would someone kindly unlock the door?"

"NO!" everyone except Mr. Carleton shouted. 

As CD went to find the key with an evil grin, Carleton simply added more horns, percussion and strings to the order. "Two double basses, two cellos, two violas, and two violins," the elderly shoppe owner muttered.

Picking up on what was happening, Tanner walked over. "Flutes and harmonicas too, please."

As the list was growing, Ian's mind finally re-engaged. "I'm not arguing, but ain't we supposed to go through the whole meeting the entire family thing before declaring it final?"

KC tilted his head towards Dylan. "Your serve, glow-boy!"

Dylan grinned. "This ain't a normal one, cuz. I didn't do this, I'm just the delivery boy. We're not doing an adoption, Uncle Leonard would find them both exact genetic matches to your family. These two are your brothers by blood; I've got no idea how, and I ain't asking!"

Ian silently came over and gathered his two new brothers into his arms. "It's real, you're my real little brothers." he whispered as he tried to squash them into his chest. "I useta pray for a little brother, now I got two."

Dylan leaned over and whispered to all three "I was given a message for you, Ian. Your gift is your heart, and that is why you were chosen to be their brother. Share your gift, and your brothers will thrive."

"Told ya'!" KC snickered.

Ian smiled. "I've been taking stubborn lessons from you, KC. Thanks Dilly; I needed to hear that. I gotta take my little brothers shopping, we'll catch up on the details later."

Overhearing Ian's comment, Tanner got Mr. Carleton's attention. "Add the two new kids to the tab, please. Might as well add our purple-haired cousin too."

As Mr. Carleton nodded, Tanner's pocket made a ringing sound. "Here we go!" Tanner grinned, knowing that the number was only known to a few people.

After fishing the cigarette-pack sized mobile phone out of his pocket, Tanner stared at it for a second. "These things really need voice command!" he muttered as he finally figured out which button answered the call. "Good evening, this is Tanner."

"Good evening, Grandson. It appears that you have found a loyal subject who serves your needs from what I was just told. You do realize that the Bank of England is limited in its resources?"

Tanner giggled. "We'll keep it under the GNP, Grandma. I PROMISE!"

"Barely, I believe. We shall discuss this at a future date. Place the shoppe owner on your phone, I must have a word with him."

"Yes, Grandma." Tanner replied as he pulled the phone back. "Mr. Carleton, Grandma wishes to speak with you."

Mr. Carleton, to give him credit, had politely ignored Tanner's conversation. After taking the phone, he put it to his ear and said "This is Mr. Carleton. How may I assist you, Dearie?"

"Good evening, Mr. Carleton. You may address me as 'Your Royal Dearie', you have obviously survived my grandchildren. By the purchases they are making, I have determined that their decision to designate you as a preferred merchant for musical necessities is appropriate. You shall talk to Dylan; he will provide you the documentation you require to inform your suppliers that you are now selected as a provider to the Royal Family."

"Yes, Your Majesty. I will tend to that post-haste." Mr. Carleton replied, patiently ignoring the innocent look on Tanner's face.

To make matters worse, on the line, the Queen teased, "That's Your Royal Dearie, or you'll serve time in Parliament."

"I hear there's a five drink minimum," Mr. Carleton grinned.

"Only during times of war," the Queen joked, "they're up to ten now."

Looking around and spotting Dylan being mesmerized by a metronome he'd turned on, Mr. Carleton barely managed to keep his composure. "After today, I would be more than happy to enter into Your service, Your Highness."

Seeing Dylan 'keeping time', KC tilted his head and pondered the ramifications. 

Realizing there was something special about Dylan, Mr. Carleton asked, "Shall I pass the phone to your grandson?"

"Yes, thank you," She replied.

Mr. Carleton passed the phone to Tanner, and then went over to Dylan, saying, "If you'd like it, it's yours, free of charge."

"Really?" Dylan exclaimed joyously. He spun around, wrapping his arms around Mr. Carleton. "Thank you, that's the best present EVER!"

"Heavenly Father, please forgive him for whatever he's about to do that he's already done..." Tanner and KC muttered in unison.

Seeing Lennon with an evil smirk, Paul shouted, "No, John! There's a tour planned after we get out of the studio. I don't fancy being burned at the stake."

"Prude," John grinned.

"Toasted Beatles are a delicacy in some parts of the world!" Mick added helpfully from his now-comfortable closet getaway.

"Don't worry," Pete smirked, "I have the closet key. CD gave it to me."

Grinning, Eric suggested, "Unless we plan on purchasing the carpet and empty display cabinets, you think we could leave now?"

"With or without Mick?" KC giggled.

"Mr. Carleton, you got lotsa cameras here." Timmy said in full angel mode. "Can we all have copies of the pictures of Unca Mick comin' outta the closet?"

KC shook his head with a grin, mentally vowing to find Galli and ask him how someone as innocent as Timmy could be so evil.

Hurrying to the front of the store, CD pointed and rambled, "We need lots o' guitar strings, and bass guitar strings. Just dump 'em all in a box or two, 'kay? We'll use 'em all, soon enough."

Dumping the jar of assorted picks into his jacket pockets, Conner smiled, "We'll need these too."

Tilting his head, Brandon added "While Uncle Mick's sorting out his issues, why don't we just get everything at the counter? It's all this little stuff that you don't know you need until you need it."

Still watching Dylan, back to being fully absorbed by his ticking metronome, his tilting head keeping time with the swinging bar, KC began uncontrollably giggling. "WHAT?" Dylan cackled.

"It's an android thing, you wouldn't understand." KC smirked.

Ignoring the paradox of a Mikyvis distracted by something keeping time, Brandon told Mr. Carleton, "Just sweep all them effects boxes and cables into more boxes. We'll try 'em out and make use of 'em, and then let you know what we think."

Standing there with both of his new brothers now under his arms, Ian had recovered enough to ask "Mr. Carleton? How are you going to figure out our final bill?"

"That part is simple, lad." Mr. Carleton replied. "I am using the total from my running inventory, subtracting ten percent, then adding in the special orders. That should be close enough, going by the restocking I need to perform."

Tilting his head to and fro, KC giggled, "Dylan would help, but he'll be very busy."

"Bite me K C." Dylan stated in perfect time with the metronome.

A box truck came to a halt in front of the store. Two burly men came out of the cab, went to the rear and lifted the door. "Part of your stock is here," Dylan told Mr. Carleton. "The rest will be here to-morr-ow."

As his cousins giggled and rolled their eyes, Dylan began vanishing and reappearing in time with the metronome. Each time he returned, something that had been selected was placed in one of the multiple quickly-growing piles for each of the shoppers present. Between CD, Brandon, and Paul, every bass in the store ended up in one of the piles. The guitar stock fared a little better; the American-made guitars made a showing in the piles for the adults, but a few were still left on shelf. The more local ones, however, were all claimed by someone.

As amps, organs, keyboards, and other various instruments were added, the piles became impressive. Dylan completely cleaned out the Watkins and Vox amplifiers, claiming any that were not already spoken for for his own purposes. The drum section fared decently, only because Joey's requests were made into special orders for custom units. Other percussion ended up randomly appearing on piles based on either requests or Mikyvis intuition. Finally, it came down to Dylan placing his three trumpets in his own little pile. The metronome, however, he carefully boxed back up by hand and then personally held it securely in both arms as he grinned at the group. "I think that's all of your stuff, you better check."

Tanner noticed the shocked looks on their adult friend's faces and giggled. "Yeah, that's the stuff you thought about but were trying not to run up the bill with toys. Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday, dudes!"

"I'll step outside to chain smoke, and call Mal to pick this lot up." John groaned.

John had only opened the door when Mal Evans strode up, asking, "Inside then?"

"Inside, outside, upside down, fading in, fading out," John deliriously rambled, and then stuck a cigarette in his mouth. Mal gave his mate a light, and then went to gather the gear in the shoppe.

Still holding his metronome, Dylan joined Mr. Carleton, who was checking in his new stock. "Is everything okay?" he asked politely.

"Fine," Mr. Carleton replied, "now that I understand your family. Some of this merchandise is usually reserved for the factory showrooms. Why is it being sent to my shoppe?"

"Being on Grandma's list has its rewards." Dylan replied with a smile. "Being really nice to my cousins and helping the hurt boy does too. I know about how you've snuck in paying some of his medical bills that National Health can't cover to keep his family from going broke. I'm normally not allowed to do this, but I got permission just this time to pay you back for your kindness. You and your wife have dedicated your lives to helping others, and despite not being able to have children of your own you have a large list that call you 'uncle' or 'grandpa'. While you may look sixty, as of right now both you and your wife are twenty years old inside, and are both able to make babies. I WILL see you in the future, as long as you continue to be the same people that you've been all your lives up to now."

"That answers a lingering question, but how is it that I don't feel any different?"

"It's been a busy day," Dylan grinned. "Guaranteed, you'll both feel different after a good night's sleep."

"Thank you, Lad." Mr. Carleton said sincerely. "If as you say we will 'make babies', my firstborn son shall bear your name."

Dylan blushed cutely. "Aww, man! If you do that, you gotta name his brother Levi. That's my big brother that taught me everything I know."

"Consider it done," Mr. Carleton replied. "Shall we help your cousins and their friends at the till?" he asked as he gathered Dylan under one arm.

Dylan nodded, his chest warm with happiness at doing something for a man who had never before accepted compensation for his goodwill. "Sure!"

---

A few minutes later, outside the music shoppe:

"Time Warp off!" Dylan giggled as he waved his free hand. "You guys squeezed four hours into fifteen minutes. I think that's a new record for speed-shopping! You'll be on time at the pub though."

Paul wondered, "How can we be on time? And what about Jimi? And since we're playing twenty questions, do you know the blond bird that's been following us?" He pointed across the street at the blond young lady he had noticed several times.

Tanner looked over. "Hey, I know her, she's a staff photographer for Rolling Stone, she takes some pretty good shots." He waved at her, "Hey Linda, come on over. We're throwing a party, and your camera and you are invited!"

"Not my fault this time!" Dylan giggled to KC.

Pete came out of the shoppe with Mick, chuckling "It took some serious work, but I finally got Mick to come out of the closet. He insisted he was comfortable there."

Trying very hard to ignore the double meaning, KC said "Uncle Paul, it looks like we're all here now. You wanna lead the way?"

"It's only down a bit and around the corner," Paul offered, and began walking. He turned to Linda, asking, "Where are you from?"

"Upstate New York originally," she answered.

"No wonder you seem lost," Paul noticed.

She giggled, "I could say the same about you and your group; especially Mick."

"He misses his vacuum," Pete cheekily explained.

"If any of you even think of goin' there, I'm goin' home!" CD groaned.

They reached the corner, stopping just long enough for Jan to grab a newspaper from the pavement vendor. Dean looked over at KC and prodded "We're not going to find any articles about insane androids in here, are we?"

"No, Grandpa Danny's swimming right now." KC replied with a smirk.

"There's more like him?" Paul questioned as he suddenly had an urge to repeatedly cross himself.

Approaching the Bag O' Nails club, where McCartney had been many times before for meals or for drinks, Jimi noticed, "They've got posters announcing our act? But..."

"It's where you and your band are supposed to be," Dylan interrupted.

"Don't argue with him!" KC sniggered. "He's got a metronome and he ain't afraid to use it!"

---

To be continued...