The gas began to wear off. One by one, the group from Pigeon City was awakening. Franklyn stretched and yawned and Allen stood over him, his hands on his hips.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he said. Franklyn glared at him and dug in his pockets for a piece of candy before responding.

"Where are we? What time is it?" He mumbled, broadcasting lemon. He sat up and looked around. He was on a cot, in the midst of a large number of cots, all occupied by the people from Pigeon City.

"You know where we are," Allen was deliberately antagonistic. "You want to know what time it is, you want to know how long you've been out. What makes you think I know the answers anyway? I thought you said I'm a fool."

"Just look at you," Franklyn replied. "Check yourself and your buddy over there, and even you can see it's obvious you've been up to something." He nodded toward Curtiss, who stood in the middle counting cots.

"That's right." Allen moved closer to Franklyn. "We've been up to something, we've just been going along with the program to see what happens."

"So? What happens?" Franklyn saw that the room was huge, at least three times the size of a big gym. The floor was plastiwood, and sunlight filtered through a set of municipal-style windows that extended the length of the hall. Under the windows were a set of doors marked 1,2 and 3. The tile walls gave everyone's voice an indoor swimming pool ring.

"Nothing happens," Allen said after waiting for Franklyn to take in their surroundings. "The vans took us here, all automatic and smooth as you please. The gas made everybody kind of doped . . . you all just stood there in the street. Nobody on the vans to see Curtiss and me with our gas masks on. Voice like the ones on eduvision tapes told us to get into the vans, and you all climbed in, nicely. When we got here, the voice told us to get off and we marched in here ... You don't remember?"

"No, I don't remember." Franklyn scratched his head.

"Well, anyway, Curtiss is counting the cots to see how many people we've got here. That's what we were doing when everybody started to come ungassed."

Franklyn rattled his candy against his teeth. "You're really one for the books, you know that brother?" he said.

"Seventy-six, exactly!" Curtiss called from across the floor, and he began to stroll toward Allen and Frank.

"Thanks," Allen said.

"‘Thanks?'" Franklyn shouted, and his voice echoed through the great hollow hall. "Man, you actually believe we're going to cooperate with you? You're the reason we're down here in the first place!" The people began to drift over, attracted by the commotion, ever responsive to the faintest whiff of controversy. Franklyn turned and began to address them.

"Listen up everybody! This is it, we've been reclaimed! We've been taken, and we know who to blame for it . . ."

Allen ran to Frank and spun him around. "What are you trying to do?" he yelled. "We've got to stick together, we can't be fighting anymore." He turned to the people. "Let's be calm, please, just this once, and we can accomplish . . ."

"Why don't you shut up?" a disgusted voice called from the back.

"Yeah," someone added. "Never should have listened to you in the first place."

Allen's light tan face went dark. "I tried to warn you," he cried. "All of you. I said, ‘Get off the streets, get some shelter, stop and listen!' But no,you had to play, you had to have your fun. And now you want to blame me." He focused his attention on Frank. "Don't you see, brother?" He said at last.

Franklyn returned Allen's gaze. "Yeah, I see," he replied. "And I see the reason too."

"You big lemon-eating fool!" Allen screamed. "You may think you see, but you don't see nothin',and you know even less than that."

They began to move toward each other, and the people murmured excitedly. Curtiss intervened.

"That's enough," he said quietly. "This won't get us anywhere. We should be finding a solution not a culprit."

Frank blinked. "But I was perfectly happy before . . ." And he paused, searching for words while his candy clicked and rattled against the back of his teeth.

"Sure you were happy, dufus, that's the whole point," Allen snarled and they moved angrily to close the gap between them. Again Curtiss held them apart, and the crowd grew impatient.

"Let them fight," everyone said.

Curtiss was embarrassed in his role as peacemaker. "I don't want to make any speeches or anything," he said shyly. "I just know we can't waste time arguing and fighting, that's all."

Allen and Franklyn stood glaring at each other, and the people gathered around happily. They would see a fight. Entertainment, variety, conflict. They loved it.

For Allen and Frank, there could be no backing out now. They squared off and put up their hands.

"Go ahead, hit him," the people called. But Raisin Face cleared her throat and the hall grew still. Everyone turned to hear her speak. Her cheeks puffed and inflated like worn dark paper bags. The people strained to catch the sound of her wheezing voice. At last she as ready.

"I don't see any difference between the way you children are acting here and the way you acted back home at Pigeon City." Her cane wobbled as she stretched her rattling chest, taking air before beginning to talk again. The hall was deathly quiet. Franklyn suddenly turned on her.

"What do you mean, ‘You children'?" he roared. "What's supposed to be so different about you? I didn't notice you hanging back or acting any different last night at the fire, and you don't look any different to me now." He paused for breath, and Raisin Face shrugged and walked away.

Franklyn was infuriated. "Don't turn your back on me when I'm trying to talk to you!" he shouted and some of the people looked over their shoulders and at the ceilings as though they were afraid such a disturbance would bring retribution from a higher source.

Raisin Face raised her heavy cane and turned around.

"And don't you holler at me!" she hissed. She began swatting Franklyn with her thick gnarled stick.

Franklyn covered his face and head. Ducking and laughing, he caught most of the blows on his arms or shoulders. "Ow, hey, ouch! Cut it out!" He giggled like a happy child.

But the old lady was surprisingly quick and agile. "Not till you say you're sorry!" she panted, working. The stick whistled and swished, thumping Franklyn across his back and cracking him painfully at his elbows. The crowd laughed joyously. Everyone was happy.

"All right, all right, I'm sorry," he said at last. Raisin Face grinned and relented.

"Won't disrespect me," she muttered as she smoothed her dress.

Click HERE for Part VII