The Final Trump
A Whateley Universe Story
By Bek D Corbin
JJ mused that there is something seriously off about the idea of celebrating your own birth by wearing the kind of suit that you’d be buried in. At least he’d talked his mother out of the bow tie. Vic and Bart were also in their ‘you’re going to look good for the pictures’ suits, but they didn’t have to stand on the reception line. Asha was slightly overdressed with her usual frills and bows overload, and still somehow managed to make it work. Viv was on the first of the 15 outfits that she’d brought; she was bound and determined to make a killer impression, no matter what!
Looking around the central area of the lair, JJ took in how the setup for the party was pulling together. The large open space forced a strange ‘indoor garden party’ vibe on the do, which was only helped along by the hot tubs and the attendant changing rooms. Uncle Luke had insisted on a rather awkward arrangement for optimum coverage by the concealed internal defense guns. Like most Criminal Scientists, Luke tended to view internal defense as a weird sort of shooter video game. But most criminal scientists didn’t have to worry about children, that they were responsible for, becoming collateral damage. Mrs. Quillan, the housekeeper, was having an animated discussion with Luke in yet another dustup between Social Function and Security. JJ noted with amusement that there was a small playground being assembled for the toddlers-to-tweens, and another area that looked suspiciously like a refuge for the old folks. He wondered which area would be designated the ‘gawky teenager’ haven, when his cell phone rang. He had to remember which of his cell phones was ringing. It was the one in his rear pocket, crowding out his wallet. That was the one that JD had given him last ni- er, early that morning. Pulling it out, he found that he had a text message that informed him that there was a special package at the loading dock to be picked up. The message ended ‘-JD’.