"I couldn't catch the little
monsters on camera, so I invented a tracking system,” the Maker
continued. “I
flooded the swamp cooler with an ionized compound that attached to the Sprite's flesh so I could trace and capture them. Kind of the same principal behind the Sprite repellant I made for you, Rose." "Which worked very well,” I added.
"What's the compound composed of?” Toby asked. "Trade secret,” the Maker replied, pulling an unmarked silver aerosol can from one of the bigger piles of inventions. Turning, he handed it to me. “I wouldn't necessarily want to get a mouthful of this stuff though. Might prevent you from ever having children.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Or continuing to live."
I quickly passed the can to Toby. “Thanks for the heads up." Toby eyed the can warily.
Slipping his hand into his robe pocket, the Maker retrieved a small white palm pilot. Sliding out the stylus, he activated the device and tapped the screen several times. “I designed a program that tracks the compound and had to modify this PDA to use it. It's almost like Spock's Tricorder now." Oh, Lord ... more sci-fi babble.
"Cool,” Toby said with a twinkle of delight in his eyes. Moving past me, he stopped next to the Maker and peered over his shoulder. “How does it work?" "There are sensors built into the device now,” the Maker said, pointing to the rectangular, translucent piece of plastic on the top. “When used in conjunction with this program I designed,” he tapped the screen again, “it creates a pretty powerful tracking system." Toby studied the PDA. “What's the red dot on the screen?" "The aerosol can,” the Maker replied.
Toby nodded. Moving the aerosol can with his outstretched arm, he watched in delight as the red dot on the screen matched his movements. “What's the range?" "You know,” the Maker clicked off the PDA and handed it to Toby, “I don't know.” He pointed up to the swamp cooler vent in the ceiling. “I didn't need to track the buggers more than ten feet. I'm not sure how far it will go. Best stay close to your target,” he advised. "What happened with your beer-stealing Sprites?” I asked, although I regretted it as soon as the question left my lips.
"They go down good with a little barbecue sauce.” The Maker smiled devilishly. I wasn't sure if he was kidding or not. I don't think I really wanted to know. “Karl?” I shouted into the back hallway. “Can you bring the Sprite?" I watched the little green Goblin wander into the kitchen with the Sprite's ersatz prison in his hands. The
flooded the swamp cooler with an ionized compound that attached to the Sprite's flesh so I could trace and capture them. Kind of the same principal behind the Sprite repellant I made for you, Rose." "Which worked very well,” I added.
"What's the compound composed of?” Toby asked. "Trade secret,” the Maker replied, pulling an unmarked silver aerosol can from one of the bigger piles of inventions. Turning, he handed it to me. “I wouldn't necessarily want to get a mouthful of this stuff though. Might prevent you from ever having children.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Or continuing to live."
I quickly passed the can to Toby. “Thanks for the heads up." Toby eyed the can warily.
Slipping his hand into his robe pocket, the Maker retrieved a small white palm pilot. Sliding out the stylus, he activated the device and tapped the screen several times. “I designed a program that tracks the compound and had to modify this PDA to use it. It's almost like Spock's Tricorder now." Oh, Lord ... more sci-fi babble.
"Cool,” Toby said with a twinkle of delight in his eyes. Moving past me, he stopped next to the Maker and peered over his shoulder. “How does it work?" "There are sensors built into the device now,” the Maker said, pointing to the rectangular, translucent piece of plastic on the top. “When used in conjunction with this program I designed,” he tapped the screen again, “it creates a pretty powerful tracking system." Toby studied the PDA. “What's the red dot on the screen?" "The aerosol can,” the Maker replied.
Toby nodded. Moving the aerosol can with his outstretched arm, he watched in delight as the red dot on the screen matched his movements. “What's the range?" "You know,” the Maker clicked off the PDA and handed it to Toby, “I don't know.” He pointed up to the swamp cooler vent in the ceiling. “I didn't need to track the buggers more than ten feet. I'm not sure how far it will go. Best stay close to your target,” he advised. "What happened with your beer-stealing Sprites?” I asked, although I regretted it as soon as the question left my lips.
"They go down good with a little barbecue sauce.” The Maker smiled devilishly. I wasn't sure if he was kidding or not. I don't think I really wanted to know. “Karl?” I shouted into the back hallway. “Can you bring the Sprite?" I watched the little green Goblin wander into the kitchen with the Sprite's ersatz prison in his hands. The