September 9, 1967.
The small twin-engine plane cruised over the Pacific Ocean, heading for a private airstrip in California. The pilot grinned behind his goatee and shades and shook his head in wonder. "I don't believe this," he said, chuckling. "I've ferried Mike before, but I never dreamed I'd be ferrying all four of you! Wow! Me -- ferrying the Monkees!"
Davy Jones grinned at the pilot. "For what it's worth, Jason... thanks." A loud groan erupted from the rear of the plane. "You okay back there, Micky?"
Micky Dolenz lay in the aisle behind Davy's chair. "Just... peachy!" he gasped out, then groaned again.
Peter Tork looked up from where he was holding Micky's head, and smiled at Davy. "He's airsick, Davy! He'll be okay once we touch down."
"Don't...bet...on...it!" Micky groaned. Three men laughed.
Mike Nesmith would have, but he was slumped in his seat. His booted feet were crossed on the back of Micky's empty chair, and his green wool hat was pulled over his eyes.
Jason suddenly frowned. "Hey, Davy. Look at that!"
Davy blinked. "Is that cloud...pink?"
Peter looked out of the window. "Hey, there's an island down there. Jason, where are we?" Jason read off a list of co-ordinates, and Peter gasped, "That's Martini Atoll!"
"Where the atomic test was last week?" Davy asked. At Peter's nod, he yelled, "Jason!"
But Jason hadn't corrected their course. The plane was already sailing through the pink cloud.
Mike woke with a start. I'm still dreamin', he decided. We're glowin'! Five bodies glowed with radiation.
The engines suddenly sputtered and died. "Buckle up!" Jason cried. "We're going down!"
"This is not doin' my stomach any good, guys!" Micky groaned.
The plane hit hard and broke in two. Several minutes later, the five struggled out of the wreckage.
"Where are we?" Davy whispered. "Martini Atoll?"
Peter shook his head. "No. There's too little devastation. I'd say we're on either Jacobs Rock or Canine Atoll."
Davy did a quick head count. "Hey," he gasped, "where's Micky?"
The others began to yell Micky's name. They stopped when Micky yelled, "Cut it out, will ya? I'm right here!"
"Are you all right?" Mike asked.
"Sure... but I'm gonna be deaf if you don't quit screaming!"
"Micky," Mike asked, "Where are you?"
Micky made an exasperated sound. "I'm right here! Right in front of..." Then his voice died off. "Oh, man," he whispered, "you can't see me?" Four heads shook no. Micky screamed. "I can't even see me!! I'm... invisible!" Then he took a deep breath and concentrated.
The very air seemed to thicken as Micky shimmered into view.
Jason, unnoticed, slipped into the jungle.
"Try a force-field," Mike said abruptly.
"What?" Micky asked.
Mike held up a hand. "There's a character in one of Christian's comics that can turn invisible and project invisible force-fields." Micky cocked an eyebrow and Mike grinned. "Yes, I read my son's comic books! So sue me!"
A huge grin split Micky's face. "I did it!" he crowed.
Davy reached for Micky and his hand was stopped by something rock-hard. "He did it!" Davy pushed on the field.
Micky winced. "Hey, man! I felt that!"
Suddenly Mike noticed Jason was gone. He was puzzling about that when Micky called, "Mike! Heads up!" Mike felt a field careen into his stomach.
But then... to his amazement... his body folded around it like a big rubber band! Mike brought his body back to normal proportions, then stretched his fingers out to a foot long. "Elastic!" he gasped. "My whole body... elastic!"
"Like another character in those comics," Peter said.
"That's two," Davy breathed.
Suddenly, the plane exploded. Bits of burning shrapnel sailed toward the four.
Micky stepped forward, grinning confidently. "Don't worry, guys. My shields will..." And a large chunk struck him in the forehead. Micky sank to the ground, dazed.
"Too much talkin', not enough protectin'!" Mike cried. "Maybe I can..." He began to stretch, to make his body thin enough to bounce the shrapnel back to the source. A chunk suddenly hit Mike on the side of the head, knocking him out.
"NO!" Peter screamed. All the bits of shrapnel came to a stop in midair, inches from the two Monkees left standing. "Oh, man..." Peter breathed, "that was close!"
Davy stared at the shrapnel. Then he looked at Peter -- and gasped. Peter's eyes were glowing bright blue. "What is it?" Peter asked, startled.
"My eyes? What about my eyes?"
"They're....GLOWING!" Davy gasped out.
Peter frowned at Davy, and the chunks of shrapnel began to fall. His eyes returned to the shrapnel, and it froze again. "I'm doing that!" Peter gasped. "When I look at it, it freezes! I stopped it!"
"Yeah..." Davy whispered. "You did that...."
Peter shook his head, mumbling to himself. "If I stopped it...I should be able to..." One by one, the chunks of shrapnel floated back to the plane. Peter's eyes stopped glowing. "Telekinesis!" he exclaimed. "I'm... I'm a telekinetic!"
"A tele-what?" Davy asked.
"I can move things with my mind!" Peter gasped, stunned by what he'd just done.
"Hey," Davy grinned at him. "Your eyes changed colour. They glowed blue when you did that, and now they are blue!"
A grin spread across Peter's face, his dimples winking. "I always wanted blue eyes. Come on, let's wake up sleeping uglies here."
Davy frowned. What about me? he thought. I'm the only one still normal! Then
he realised what he'd thought and looked around. The only one? Where's Jason?
Two hours later Micky, protected by a force field, picked amid the rubble of the ruined plane. "Plane's totaled," he groused. "Jason's still missing, and now we've got no way to contact the outside world! Guys... we're marooned!" He sighed, frustrated, and called, "What am I looking for again?"
"Remnants of the radio," Mike replied, rolling his eyes, "or what caused that blast."
Micky shot him a look. "Spilled gas did!---didn't it?"
Mike shook his head. "Sure, there was gas spilled -- but there was no fire. It shouldn't have blown, but it did! Why?"
Micky grinned. "Come over here and tell me why."
"Can't. That field only protects you."
Micky shook his head. "Join me. You can find it yourself." He sighed. "Better yet, you can look. I'll protect you --- I'm tired."
Davy sighed and walked into the jungle. "Bo-ring," he moaned. "Jason!" he called. "Jason, can you hear me?"
"Jones!" Jason called. "Over here!"
"Jason!" Davy cried, breaking into a run toward the sound of the pilot's voice. "Finally!"
When he emerged from the jungle, Davy found himself in a clearing. Jason stood across from him, smiling coldly. "Jason, where have you been? Why'd you wander off like 'at?"
No response from the pilot. Jason's smile turned into a demonic leer.
"Jason?" Davy frowned, taking an involountary step backward. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Jason said nothing. He merely snapped his fingers.
Fire suddenly exploded around Davy. He screamed in shocked terror and raised his hands to shield his face. Above the din of the fire, he heard Jason say coldly, "Pyrokinesis, Jones. The power to create fire. Specifically, a ring as high as you are!"
Davy cried out in sudden realisation, "You... tried to kill us!...You... you flew us through that cloud! What, were you hoping to...to poison us with radiation?!? ....Pyro....pyro... you blew up the plane!!"
"Very good, Sherlock," Jason snarled. "You're dead right. And now that you know all that, I'm afraid I can't let you live to--" Jason's voice died off into a gasp.
Davy noticed the intense heat wasn't near his face anymore. He lowered his hands and looked down... and down... and down ... yelling in surprise.
Davy was suddenly over ten feet tall!
Jason smiled his icy grin. "Well... I guess we just found out your power, Jones! No matter." The flames began to climb toward Davy's face again.
Davy panicked for a second, then realized that he felt... stronger! Instinctively, he took a deep breath and blew hard in a circle around him. The fire went out like a birthday candle.
Jason staggered, a hand going to his head. Davy slammed his palm down on top of Jason's head and the pilot crumpled, unconscious.
Micky emerged into the clearing, grinning. "So... " he cracked, "the shrimp can change size!"
Davy grinned back, returning to his normal five foot three. "Big and small. And I'm really strong both ways!"
"Both ways?" Micky frowned. "How d'you know that?"
"I..." Davy frowned, considering. "I-I'm not sure. I guess I know the same way you can tell whenever you've created a force field."
Micky nodded. "That makes sense. Some things about these ... powers.... we just seem to instinctively know!" He shivered, not wanting to discuss that anymore. "Come on...let's get back to the others."
Night fell. Peter built a fire and the Monkees huddled around it. "That radiation changed us all," Mike said, "but all our powers won't do one whit of good if we don't get off this island!"
"What makes you think we're going to use them for good?" Micky asked. "What's going to stop us from using them to our advantage?"
The drummer found himself on the receiving end of three glares. Peter said, "A philosopher once said, 'With great power comes great responsibility'. Do you really think we can just use these gifts to further our own advantage?"
Micky smiled, his grin sunshine in the darkness. "Of course not, Pete. I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same wavelength here."
"Which raises the same thorny problem we had a few minutes ago," Mike said. "How're we gonna get off this hunk of rock anyway?"
They thought for a second, then Davy suggested, "Maybe Pete's TK?"
Peter grinned at him. "What, can't you say 'telekinesis'?" Davy had to admit he couldn't. Peter chuckled. "No, Davy. It won't work. Micky?"
Micky shook his head as he fed a piece of wood into the fire. "Nope. Davy?"
Davy chuckled. "I can't get that tall!"
Mike shook his head. "I have a limit, too. It's weird -- We all seem to instinctively know the limits of our..." He was interrupted as a brilliant light flared around them.
"Look!" Davy cried, pointing to the sky. "It's Jason!"
"Flying!" Mike gasped.
"How?" Micky gasped as well.
"He must've turned his pyrokinetic power on himself and turned into living flame!" Peter exclaimed.
Mike shot him a Look. "That's pretty fantastic, Pete."
Peter fired a Look back at him. "You got a better explanation?"
Mike sighed, watching the insane pilot soar. "I guess he's lighter than air in that form, and he can fly! Shit ... he's got away!"
"Got away?" Micky cried. "Not yet!" With that, he shot into the air!
"Micky!" Davy gasped, stunned.
Peter's eyes glowed and he shot up after Micky. "Wait for me!"
"Pete!" Mike cried, eyes going huge.
Davy laughed. "Force-fields and tele... tele....TK! We've got a pair of fliers!"
"Jason!" Peter shouted, catching up with Micky.
"You can fly?" Micky gasped.
"Like you!" Peter said, and Micky gasped at the sight of his eyes.
The fire-being turned and smiled evilly. "Well, well. Tork... and Dolenz!"
"Jason," Peter asked, edging closer to Micky and meeting his field, "why did you try to kill us?"
Jason snorted. "Mike! He's always been better than me! Nicer, better singer, always calling people 'Ma'am’ and ‘sir’....so damn polite and so damn good! Then Mister Goody-Two-Shoes goes and gets famous, not me! I hate him for it! I hate all of you!" Jason unleashed a bolt of fire, creating a crackling circle around Micky.
Micky screamed. "My shield!" he yelled. "He set my shield on fire!" Without thinking, he expanded the burning force field in all directions. Peter saw it coming and evaded it, but Jason, still ranting, was struck by it and knocked unconscious. His fire went out and he began to fall.
Peter caught him neatly. The instant Jason passed out, the fire on Micky's shield disappeared. Micky dropped the field around him, leaving only the ones below his feet that kept him in the air.
"You okay?" Peter called to Micky.
Micky grinned shakily. "Yeah... he just scared me half-silly. Let's get back to the others." He flew closer, then edged slightly back from the unconscious pyrokinetic and his bandmate with the glowing eyes --- that gave him the creeps! "Uhm... you bring him, okay?"
Peter chuckled. "Sure. Let's go."
The Monkees spent the rest of the night keeping Jason unconscious. When dawn came, Mike stretched to see above the treeline. "Guys!" he shouted, excited at what he saw. "Guys, I see a ship coming!"
"Get down here, Michael!" Peter snapped. "What if they see you?"
Mike retracted to normal proportions. "Point taken," he chuckled.
The ship sailed right up to the island, and the Monkees met it on the beach. A young woman stepped down the gangplank and gasped. "The Monkees? What are you doing here?"
"Our plane crashed," Davy answered. "Can you get us out of here?"
The woman ignored him. "We saw a battle in the sky a few hours ago -- two men fighting a fire-being! We sailed here to investigate. Do you know anything about that?"
Micky couldn't stifle a grin. "A battle? We didn't see a battle, did we, Pete?"
Peter grinned, too. "No. We didn't see a battle." He was telling the truth. He and Micky couldn't have seen the battle-- they were too busy fighting it!
"Investigate?" Mike asked. "Why would you come to investigate a battle?"
She smiled. "It's what I do. I'm Susan Jacobs."
"The reporter?" all four chorused.
She laughed. "And I smell a story in all this!"
"St..Story?" Micky stammered. "Like I said, we didn't see any battle! Maybe you just had some...some bad chili or something!"
"I don't eat chili," she said. "There was something that happened here last night..." she pointed at them as she spoke, "and I have a feeling you four are at the heart of it!"
Peter followed Mike's example and schooled his face into blankness. But his now-blue eyes were flashing as badly as Mike's chocolate brown ones. Four hands clenched into fists. And though they didn't know it, both thought the exact same thing. Shit. She's gonna be hard to fool...but we have to keep our powers secret somehow. We swore it by the fire...damn, a reporter...why'd it have to be a REPORTER ?
Susan gave the Monkees permission to board her yacht, and she pointed it toward California. She was a sailor as well as a reporter.
Several hours passed. Peter and Davy talked in the cabin the four shared. Peter grew more and more agitated about what had happened to him, to them all, and finally he just took off flying. His parting words were an assurance he'd return once he'd calmed down.
Micky came up on deck to find Mike gazing aft. "Mike?"
Mike turned. Water glistened on his face. "Hey," Micky gasped, walking over and laying his hand on Mike's shoulder. "Sea spray, or tears?"
Mike managed a shaky grin. "Which do you think?" The tremor in his voice told the tale. "I don't like leavin' Jason behind."
Micky sighed. "Mike... Jason is insane. He tried to kill us twice. He'll try again if he ever gets off Jacobs Rock. That's why we voted to leave him there."
"I know... but it still bugs me."
Micky squeezed Mike's shoulder and said, "Come below when you feel like it." He dropped his hand and turned to go.
"Hey, old buddy?" Mike said. When Micky turned back, Mike went on, "Thanks."
"For what?" Micky frowned, confused.
"For not trying to make my problems invisible." Micky smiled and walked below. Mike turned to face the island, which had long since faded from sight. More tears fell, these of regret and memories of good times that could never be again. "Good-bye Jason," he whispered.
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