V.E.L.O.U.R.
Velvet elves like our underroos? Venetian elements line outer uranus's rings? I scanned the computer listing for more headline matches. Only Gerard Pripkin, the thirteen year old brainiac could figure out what this code was supposed to mean. Right now, he was on vacation with his parents. National Defense caught with its pants down, again.
"Variables even, lines over under radius!" This from Bert, our mathematician, who ran in waving his potato chip bag and shouting his solution.
"And that is...?" It was my watch; I had the power of scorn tonight - at least until midnight brought the shift change. "A description of the set up for the Gaussian Takamashi problem!" Bert could scarcely contain himself; I wondered if he'd ever look at a girl with that much enthusiasm. Venetian Elephants Live On Underripe Radishes? Varnished Eggplants Lack Oxygenated Urethane Retainers? The strangeness of the listings continued unabated.
Bert grabbed for his soda and tipped it up high to finish off the last few drops, when a thought grabbed him from behind and goosed him gently. He set the cup down and giggled once. I glared at him openly now. He maneuvered closer to Winston, and belched richly in his ear. Some of Winston's greasy hair actually fluttered briefly. Sometimes teenage boys were the worst. Shawn said that Winston needed a bath. Harold agreed. Fortinbras wanted to know where the granola bars were.
I announced that we were governement agents, not a pack of prepubescent boy scouts. We had to be better than our President. I prayed for Gerard's GPS coordinates.
