World Watch OnLine: The Buckaroo Banzai Mailing List
#  23
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Contents:
Greetings
Re: World Watch OnLine 22 - 12 Apr. 1997
BB in Star Trek
Team Banzai March
Buckaroo Banzai
Whatever happened to...
Banzai *.wav files
Banzai Stuff Galore!
yoyodyne... we're on it
Goldblum / Weller tidbit
"Help" pt 4

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Hey all,

TABB will be on The Movie Channel on Wednesday the 7th at 5:15pm
(Pacific Time at least, check listings).
Now, a special guest "Greetings" from someone the other 
"old-timers" might recognize.

Salutations, everyone....

Over ten years ago, I was an intern at the Banzai Institute, answering mail
and writing the newsletter at Twentieth Century Fox - with Hollywood, Catnip,
Silver Fox and all the others.  Little did I know that there'd still be a
venue for fans of the film to exchange ideas and information today.

Nowadays, I've got my hands full as a film sound professional... but I'm
delighted to read World Watch Online, and contribute as often as I can.
Perhaps I'll dig into the old files... which are all still safely tucked away
in my archives (don't tell Mrs. Johnson!)... for future contributions.

Regarding Vince Mora's comments...

The "film-to-video transfer" Vince was describing (or telecine as it is
techincally called), sounds like the old HBO version which was done ages ago
when the film first ran on the cable network.  When a television or cable
channel obtains veiwing rights to a film, they usually end up doing their own
telecine from a provided print.  

Yes, more time and thought went into this version of the film's pannning and
scanning, and it was indeed a much better version  - as it was meant to be
enjoyed (as apposed to just being cashed in).  

As for the demise of the founder of Sherwood/Gladden with regard to a new
version of the video, or release of a soundtrack, it still seems impossible
to me.  ...But then I've believed as many as six impossible things before
breakfast.

See you all later -

Clyde von Drake

P.S.:  ...Anyone know whatever happened to THE PARTY COMPANY....?

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Subj:	Re: World Watch OnLine 22 - 12 Apr. 1997
Date:	97-04-12 04:43:18 EDT
From:	mcolville@earthlink.net (Matthew Colville)

Hey, get this:

	I was watching The Larry Sanders Show (on HBO) and one of the guests
was Jeff Goldblum!  Janeane Garafolo's character walked up to him and
said:

	"I love your movies.  The Fly, [mentions a few more movies], Buckaroo
Banzai. . ."

	To which Golblum, playing himself mind you (you know this if you've
seen either the Larry Sanders Show, or its precursor It's The Garry
Shandling Show), interrupted, saying:

	"Ah yes, Buckaroo Banzai.  Rawhide, Reno, Penny Priddy.  Where are they
now, I wonder?  What are they doing?"

	Read that again, 'cause it's important.  I suspect that at least for
one or two of the stars, BB was as cool for them as it was for us! 
Ergo, There's Hope!

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Subj:	BB in Star Trek
Date:	97-04-20 12:38:17 EDT
From:	paris@pond.com (Paris Pierce)

Greetings fellow Irregulars,

Two very cool items of trivia I have stumbled upon.  Buckaroo Banzai is
alive and well in the Star Trek Universe.

1) In the book, "The Art on Star Trek" on page 131, if you look closely at
the door marker from the Enterprise-D to the Optical Data Net Service
Access you will see "Refer Servicing to qualified starfleet technicians.
No user serviceable parts inside. Remember, no matter where you go there
you are."

2) From, "The Star Trek Encyclopedia" on page 71.  The Dedication plaque
from the USS Excelsior has the quote "No matter where you go, there you
are"  This was from the movie Star Trek VI: The undiscovered Country.

That's all for my contribution.  I am waiting for the next installment on
Help!

BB Irregular "Take Down"
Philadelphia, PA USA

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Subj:	Team Banzai March
Date:	97-04-22 19:18:00 EDT
From:	DWD2273@tntech.edu (David Dale)

For those BBI's looking for a copy of the Team Banzai March, it's available
in .WAV format at www.soundamerica.com under the "themes" heading.  It's a
whopping 3 Megs but its there.

BBI Eeyore 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
David Dale                      "I shouldn't be surprised if it hailed a good
dwd2273@tntech.edu       deal tomorrow," Eeyore was saying.
                                      "Blizzards and what-not.  Being fine today doesn't Mean
                                      Anything.  It has no sig - what's that word?
                                      Well, it has none of that.  It's just a
                                      small piece of weather."
                                                               Eeyore

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Subj:	Buckaroo Banzai
Date:	97-04-23 08:06:14 EDT
From:	capefrog@netspace.net.au (Melissa Rogerson and/or Fraser McHarg)

I'd like to join the mailing list.

I first saw Buckaroo Banzai - Advertures accross the 8th dimension at an
all night Science Fiction film festival, here in Melbourne Australia,
many (10+) years ago.

Lots of my friends hated it calling it one of the worst films ever. 
I've always enjoyed it and seen it on the big screen 3 or 4 times. 
Unfortunately that cinema has closed down now, so it probably won't be
shown as much.

Interesting tidbits - A friend of mine who doesn't like the film, claims
there is the "Buckaroo Banzai" syndrome.  Where you think a film is
fantastic becuase it had a good bit and the rest was so bad that you
forget it.

In 1990 a roleplaying convention in Sydney ran a Buckaroo Banzai
tournament which the author based on a poster for the film, he hadn't
actually seen the film.

It was set some years before the film, I was one the few people who
played who had actually seen it.

Regards,

Fraser

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Subj:	Whatever happened to...
Date:	97-04-23 18:17:22 EDT
From:	jchristn@4link.net (Jennifer Christner)

Hi,
Does anyone there know what happened to Lewis Smith (Perfect Tommy)?  I'd
like to see other films that he's been in, and just find out what he's up
to now.  I've searched the net a little for him, but came up pretty dry.  
thanks,
Jennifer

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Subj:	Banzai *.wav files
Date:	97-04-27 16:56:36 EDT
From:	loganpos@fyi.net (Fanatic)

Greetings BBI's
I've put Buckaroo Banzai singing "since I don't hae you" on the Picutre
Page at http://www.geocities.com/Area51/3917/pix.html also I have the
midi version embeded on that page. A special thanks to the nice person I
got it off of Relayer. If you want some of the sound files I made I am
short of space BUT I will send them to you to get them I'm usally on
irc.scifi.com at 11 PM EDT at night and to hear them you need mIRC which
can be found at http://www.mirc.co.uk which is in Version 5.02 I'm
usally am in #seaQuest with the gang chatting and such just ask who has
the TABB sounds and you''ll get some also on that irc server is an BBI
channel it's always there so hop on over. I regret to infrom the readers
that the pages shall be delayed a bit more. I am reconsidering the next
hero. I will keep this hero for a while. And I am reasking this WILL you
toss some names to me for a HERO? I will attempt to get some repairs
done on the web pages ASAP. the URL is
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/3917

LaTeRs
FaNaTiC

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Subj:	Banzai Stuff Galore!
Date:	97-04-28 15:18:55 EDT
From:	DianePlan9

Well, it was a big score at Wondercon this year.  It was worth being a geek
for a day just to be able to find: (1) the press kit for BB; (2) the comic
book; and, most importantly: (3) the CD of the BB soundtrack!!!!  Okay, it
was $85, but that's still cheaper than what I've gathered from other people
who've found it.  I obtained the above from a dealer from: Soundtrack, P.O.
Box 800704, Santa Clarita, CA 91380 (805) 29-MOVIE.  Actually, the comic I
got from somebody else.  Apparently, I arrived just in time.  Someone was
still mulling over whether or not to get the press kit when I showed up.  

And the soundtrack is quite a lot of fun, including lots of sequences that
aren't on the film and some sound bytes from the flick itself.  Now, I
definitely think everyone should have this thing and should not have to pay
an arm and a leg for it.  So if anyone wants a taped copy, I will happily
tape it for y'all for the cost of expenses.  Just e-mail me at
DianePlan9@aol.com for details.  The soundrack itself is about 3-40 minutes
long, just so you've got an idea.  

Now if I could just find a copy of the book....
Incidentally, for you fellow Clancy fans, this Soundtrack guy had a lot of
Highlander stuff (altho the stuff he brought to Wondercon was pretty pricey,
since dealers are charged $700 a DAY for the pleasure of being there, thank
you) as well as a few other Banzai lobbycards ($25 each!!! I think they're
British, tho)  I would add him to the list of dealers likely to have
Banzai/Highlander material.

Thanks for the newsletter------Yours, BBI Red Di

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Subj:	yoyodyne... we're on it
Date:	97-04-30 07:36:01 EDT
From:	relayer@annex.com

CODED: CALLING ALL BLUE BLAZES IN THE GARDEN STATE: BUCKAROO... IN TROUBLE.

It's true that the raid on Yoyodyne succeeded in preventing John Whorfin's
escape into the 8th dimension, but Yoyodyne, being a Defense Industry
player, shopped out work to various sub-contractors...

YOYODYNE.WAD for Doom. Contains graphics and sound from the film. 

You gotta have it.

get it at BBS#23 -
bbs.annex.com/relayer/bbtoys.htm

"Don't embarrass us"

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Subj:	Goldblum / Weller tidbit
Date:	97-05-02 03:39:15 EDT
From:	synth@swcp.com (Vince Mora)

Konnichiwa Blue Blazers!

Just heard Jeff Goldblum on the late night show "Later" say that he
plays in a little jazz band with Peter Weller.  Goldblum is on piano
and Weller plays horn.  Wild!

Didn't sound like it was anything more than a little fun gig they do
on the side ... not like they're about to do an album or anything.  

Just thought I'd pass it along!

----------------------------------------------------------------------
Vince Mora                                       email: synth@swcp.com
http://www.swcp.com/synth/                    voice: USA: 505 332 0139
----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Bother!" said Pooh, as his bat'leth broke in half and fell to the deck.

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"Buckaroo Banzai" and related characters and concepts are copyright
Credit Lyonnaise.
The story itself, however, is copyright 1985 our very own Apache (lf@cais.com), 
and can not be re-distributed or archived anywhere without her express permission.
For those that missed previous parts, email WWatchOne@AOL.COM and 
I'll get it out to you.
**Be aware** There's some language in here that wasn't in the PG rated movie.
Not much, but it's there. Also, a bit of violence. Sorry I missed the warning
in the previous parts.

"Help" pt 4
-- Apache (lf@cais.com)

	Buckaroo and Rawhide invented a reason to sleep in the bunkhouse
that night, both wanting to be free to guard the homestead.  Rawhide had
produced rifles for both of them, to which Buckaroo added his father's
Navy Colts and Rawhide a .38 in a studded leather holster. 

	They climbed the barn roof and stretched themselves out facing
opposite directions along its spine.  The moon was near full, and from the
high point they could see the ground for at least a mile in every
direction. 

	"Buckaroo, one thing."  Cautiously.

	"Yes?"  

	"Why didn't they just shoot us?  Is it against their code?"

	Banzai uttered a caustic laugh.  "Nothing is against that rabble's
code; no atrocity is beneath them.  Perhaps murder was not their goal
today."  His face was a bitter mask.  "It would be uncommon, but not
unheard of." 

	Rawhide scowled.  "What else?"

	Another ferocious laugh.  "Xan practices black arts."

	Rawhide swallowed hard.  Black magic?  Buckaroo's a scientist--
can he really mean black magic?  What the devil have I mixed myself up in? 
He cleared his throat.  "How, uh... how far back does this thing go?" 

	"Xan's ancestors and mine were blooded in the same wars in the
mountains of Mongolia."  Rawhide grimaced.  First Malaysia, now Mongolia? 
"And his many treacheries descend directly from practices his family and
his clan adopted long before this civilization was even thought of." 

	"Yeah, that's a while," Rawhide muttered inaudibly.  He propped
his chin on his forearms and stared west toward the foothills of the
Absaroka Range. 

	When his great-grandfather had come to this land, the menace was
called Shoshone, and it came from the west and the north, from the
mountains.  Now that land belonged to Yellowstone National Park, the
Shoshone were no more than a colorful tourist attraction, and he was
watching over his uncle's house for a menace from so far West it was East. 
If it ain't one thing, it's another. 

	"I'll leave in the morning," Banzai said softly, as if reading his
mind. 

	"The hell you will," said Rawhide.

	"When Xan has acted once, he is likely to act again," said Banzai. 
"Also, I must look to Hikita-san's safety." 

	There was a scritch and a tiny flare as Rawhide struck a match. 
Weeks ago, the doctor's eyes had said Cancer and the cowboy's eyes had
said Forget it.  Banzai twisted around.  This particular cigarette looked
like it might be the occasion for some serious thinking.  He turned back,
looking east over the plains. 

	Rawhide, though he said nothing, was remembering the single most
disagreeable week of his life.  They were dead, they were all dead,
Mohammed, his brothers, his whole family ... 

	Rawhide smoked the cigarette down to a stump, and lit another one
from it.  The murderers had ridden him out, as nice as you please, all the
way to the railway station at Araouane.  Mohammed had died in honor,
fighting -- but if his guest broke guest-law , it would disgrace his
memory.  So Rawhide couldn't lift a hand to avenge Mohammed, couldn't even
say a harsh word...  It was a trail of thoughts he had travelled many,
many times over the past two years.  I just sat there like a seasick sack
of beans on that camel and tried to contemplate the eternal verities... 
There was no other choice... 

	"Look, Buckaroo,"  Rawhide's voice came out slowly, almost reluctantly.

	Banzai said nothing.  Rawhide lit another cigarette and picked up
his narrative. 

	"Had a friend.  He's -- was -- Tuareg.  He was also a quantum
mechanic, abstract mathematician, 'n a wall-eyed lunatic rider.  Met him
at the Rad Lab, 'n he took me home to ride with his clan."  Rawhide rubbed
his forehead.  "Kel A^ir, they were, Clan of the A^ir Mountains."   

	"The veiled riders," Buckaroo murmured.  "The terror of the salt
caravans."  The Tuaregs' name for themselves was Kel Tagilmus, People of
the Veil. 

	"It's hot under that veil, 'n your skin stains blue-- even your
teeth," Rawhide remembered. "Anyway, what happened... He died in a blood
feud." 

	And you were there.  The thought came out of the night and struck
Banzai with absolute certainty. 

	"So I wouldn't mind getting a few licks in on this Xan."

	Buckaroo Banzai was experiencing a rare moment of indecision. 
Just when his life seemed most placid, its underlying turbulence would
break through. 

	Hikita-san had schooled him since childhood not to leave his back
unguarded, to trust nothing and no one.  Growing into manhood, Banzai had
learned for himself the poverty of such a life, and had chosen instead to
gamble on the good, chosen to mix into the world with all its splendors
and dangers. 

	Even so, he'd never abandoned his mentor's teachings so far as to
share his risk, or trust his life to any protection but his own. 
Hikita-san and his father's guns had been his only allies. Indeed,
Hikita-san had taught him to be aware at every moment that he might have
to kill the man next to him, drilling the lesson in until some corner of
Buckaroo's mind was always calculating, almost unconsciously, the best
methods by which to accomplish this. 

	Buckaroo looked over his shoulder.  For example, Rawhide, at this
instant... a head shot, unless silence was required, in which case, a
broken spine.  And that had been his life.  Until now.  A line from the
poet Yeats drifted through his mind:  Let my glory be that I had such
friends as these.  He blinked, and passed across the cusp of a decision. 

	"Okey-doke."

	Rawhide yawned.  Good.  "Shoulda brought some coffee."

	Buckaroo shook his head.  "Last time I drank your coffee, I almost
went skinny dipping off the Enderby Ice Shelf.  Pass." 

	"That you did," Rawhide chuckled.  The moonlight seemed a little
kinder compared with the whiteout of that storm.  "That you did." 

	In the beautiful Wyoming night, Buckaroo Banzai strained his eyes, looking
through the dark lines of trees and fenches toward the dark triangles and curves of
mountains beyond.  What awaited him?  Inwardly, he imagined he could hear Hikita's
voice:  'No,
 Buckaroo, what is there now?' The only reason for time is so everything
doesn't happen all at once.  The thought made him smile, there in the
blackness atop the barn. 

3)	Another routine morning pawing people's luggage at Sea-Tac,
thought the Customs clerk.  She was more concerned about not snagging one
of her beautifully manicured nails than with catching any loose fruit or
contraband pints of sake that might come in with the five men whose
suitcases she was examining now.  Japanese businessmen were basically the
best-behaved people on earth, she thought, and this gang of grey suits was
no different.

	"Destination?" she yawned.  She noticed their passports said
Malaysia, not Japan, but wasn't really interested.  There wasn't so much
as a badly ironed shirt in all five bags put together. 

	"Cody, Wyoming," said one man.  The others nodded. 
	
	Ten feet away, another Customs inspector straightened and twisted
to look over his left shoulder.  Five Asians he couldn't assign to a
particular country, wearing Homburgs and determined expressions.  Just
like last month. 

	He watched as they left the Customs area, then ambled over to his
colleague.  "Ginny, you notice anything about those guys, their ears
maybe. . .?" 

	"Gee, Jack, now that you mention it. .  a couple of them had kinda
chewed-up looking ears, like boxers, maybe.  Why, you know them or
something?" 

	"Or something."  Jack Spicer, Customs inspector and former SEAL,
was pretty sure he was going to come down with the flu in the next hour or
so. 

	That first night, Buckaroo Banzai and Rawhide had climbed off the
barn roof shortly after dawn, stiff, sleepy, and suspicious.  They had
decided to sleep in shifts. 

	They took a week to go "camping," and scoured the ground for signs
of Chinese shoes.  Near the ambush area, they made the interesting
discovery that there had been a third man, who had left the scene alive. 

	But the weeks had passed in complete quiet.  The net result of
their activity was that Aunt Betsy claimed to be getting a case of the
willies from just watching them.  They began to relax, quit sleeping in
shifts, quit riding the perimeter every two days.  Hikita had forbidden
Buckaroo to leave the ranch early, claiming he was more than safe in his
lab.

	Old Joe kept his own counsel, but Rawhide found him cleaning his
gun collection one day.  "Just felt like it," the old man said. 

	Armed with three days of sick leave about which he was only
slightly guilty, Jack Spicer flew into Cody's small airport, rented a
pickup, and began to ask questions.

	  One of the swell things about Federal identification, he told
himself a few hours later, is how everyone just assumes you have all kinds
of jurisdiction. 

	Playing detective in a small Western city was the most fun he'd
had since 'Nam -- now there's a sick thought, Spicer told himself.  But it
was true that he'd lived an entertaining life as a SEAL, especially since
his particular speciality had been O.D., or making things go boom.  They
used to say he could mix a bomb out of toothpaste and monkey piss, and he
thought maybe he could.  The first and most fascinating thing he heard was
that tomorrow a nameless someone was bringing in a private jet from Kuala
Lumpur via Hong Kong and L.A.  Sure that's a coincidence, he thought, sure
it is. 

	In less than four hours, he tracked his mysterious Asians to a
second-story room at Cody's historic hotel, a Western period piece of a
building where a young black man in denim jeans and jacket fit in with the
decor much better than they did.  Spicer took a room down the hall from
the Asians, and watched and listened. 

	Late that night, he heard a short flurry of comings and goings,
and got to the front window in time to see a bent figure get out of a
curtained limousine and walk slowly into the hotel.  Spicer heard him come
up the stairs and pass through the door of their room.  Three of the five
men he'd followed from Seattle climbed out of an old blue panel truck
right behind the limo, flanked the old man in his arrival, and followed
him through the heavy oak door into their room. 

	Behind that door, the air was rich with incense.  Instructions
were being given in a voice so quiet it barely reached the ears of the
team leader, although that worthy, cowering at the feet of his master, was
straining to his utmost to attend. 

	"You will not kill him," said the gentle voice.

	"No, Mystery.  I will die first!"

	"Assuredly you will," agreed the soulless voice from Sabah.

	Sunday morning on the Wyoming plains.  Quiet everywhere; the sky a
dark pink that warmed to yellow dawn.  This summer, Sunday morning meant
flapjacks, and a trip into town to take Aunt Betsy to church, and Buckaroo
to get the Sunday New York Times from the hotel, which was having them
flown in for their upscale clientele.  It provided a good opportunity to
gas up the truck and buy groceries, too.  Rawhide used to go to church
with Aunt Betsy and leave Buckaroo to read his paper at the hotel, but had
altered his habits in the wake of the attack, preferring to stick close
to Buckaroo even though his outraged aunt took to calling him a heathen. 
Most recently, he'd compromised, dropping Buckaroo at the hotel door to
get his paper while he went next door to shop.

	"Gee, I'm real sorry, sir," the hotel's desk clerk, a teenage girl
in an authentic Old West gown, was telling Buckaroo.  "We have an out of
town business group, and they took them all."  She paused, enjoying
Buckaroo's exotic good looks.  "Tell you what, why don't I give them a
ring and see if they might let you have one, 'cause they really did get a
lot." 

	Moments later, the girl was carolling, "Oh, that's so nice of
yo-o-u," into the house phone.  Hanging up, she told Buckaroo, "I just
have to run right up to the second floor, and I'll be right back with your
paper." 

	After a sleepless night of vigilance that produced absolutely
nothing, Spicer allowed himself a half hour for breakfast in the hotel's
restaurant, sitting by a window where he could see both the front door and
the parking area.  He was annoyed to see the limo was gone, since he
hadn't heard its engine in the night, but he didn't think his quarry had
slipped away.  The blue panel truck was still in place, and he'd heard
signs of habitation in the Asians' room as he come down.

	Digging into a luxurious helping of eggs Benedict, Spicer noticed
the hotel's pretty young receptionist going upstairs, followed a few
minutes later by the customer at the front desk, who moved with some
haste.  Minutes after that, out of the corner of one eye, he saw the
panel truck begin to pull out onto the road, without ever having seen one
of the Asian guys come out of the hotel.  Spicer dropped his fork and
napkin, and raced upstairs. 

	At Meyer's Very General Store, Rawhide picked up a week's worth
food and supplies for the ranch, including a healthy supply of Old Joe's
favorite scotch.  He was counting out money when his old friend, the
Simpson ranch foreman, came in and clapped a hand on his back.

	"How's things, boy?"

	"Pretty good," Rawhide allowed.  "How you doin'?"

	"Can't complain.  Say, those Japanese fellers ever find their way
out there?" 

	"Japanese fellers?"

	"Yeah, four-five guys with briefcases.  Thought maybe they was
tryin' to buy out Old Joe." 

	"Nope, never saw 'em," said Rawhide.  His mind was racing. 
"When'd you see them?" 

	"Aw, lemme think, uh, couple days ago."

	That ruled out the threesome he and Buckaroo had already
encountered.  "Nope, never saw 'em," he repeated. 

	"Well, they'll get there.  You tell your aunt I said hello."

	"Yessir, I will," Rawhide said automatically.  Buckaroo had been
headed for -- the hotel, right? 

	Rawhide ran into the hotel, saw no one at the front desk, and
raced up the stairs.  Seeing a room left open on the second floor, he
charged through the door, only to find himself facing a man who was his
age, his build, and his size.  He had a split second in which to think
This is going to be an interesting fight before the other man moved. 

	Rawhide was wrong.  It was no fight at all.  Only a moment passed
before Rawhide was flat on his back on the floor, completely immobilized,
with the other man's hand poised to deliver a killing blow to his throat. 

	"Where's Buckaroo?" Rawhide growled, too angry to feel fear.  The
room behind the stranger held no one but an unconscious teenage girl in a
frontier dress. 

	The other man followed Rawhide's gaze.  "She's OK, just a little
out of it.  They didn't hurt her."  He frowned, working out which side
Rawhide must be on.  "You don't look Malaysian," he finally allowed. 

	"You either," Rawhide said.  He hadn't made his mind up as quickly
as the other man, and was still perfectly willing to beat the bejesus out
of him.  Assuming, of course, that the other man ever let him up off the
floor.  "Where's Buckaroo?" 

	The stranger let him up.  "The target?  They had him here, but
they got out.  It's just been a minute, and I got an idea where they might
go." 

	"Then let's go, huh?  My truck's right here," Rawhide said,
already heading back down the stairs.  The other man fell in behind him,
and Rawhide tossed a question over his shoulder.  "Who in Hades are you,
anyway?" 

	"Jack Spicer.  I'm Federal," said Spicer, hoping it would be
enough.  "Who the hell are you?" 

	"I'm Rawhide.  Buckaroo's my guest.  If you're Federal," Rawhide
said, shooting a glance over his shoulder, "you probably ought to know
that."

	"I came from the Malaysia end of this deal," Spicer said. 
"Followed these guys to Wyoming."  Now seemed like an opportune moment to
remind himself that the penalty for pretending to be a Federal cop was ten
years in Federal stir.

	"Where to?" said Rawhide.    

	"Airport," said Spicer.  Hustling to keep up with the big
cowboy-looking stranger, he ran to the pickup and climbed in.

	Buckaroo Banzai was upside down, contemplating his fate.  How rich
this life was in surprises, he thought, taking him in the course of a
single morning from blueberry pancakes in a ranch kitchen to a bruising
trip in the dark, trussed like a plucked chicken and hung on a meathook
in the back of a truck.  That the swarm of men who'd overpowered him came
from Hanoi Xan he had no doubt, despite the apparent sponteneity of the
hotel clerk's scream and his race to her assistance.  Since he was not
already dead, it appeared that it was his immediate fate to meet not his
Maker, but the villain who had unmade his parents.  He learned that Xan
was near, thrillingly near, since his captors, stupidly assuming Banzai
spoke no Chinese, spoke freely of their master's presence aboard his
private jet. Hikita-san had told him there were rumors of Xan's
experimentation with Haitian zombie techniques; perhaps the evil satrap's
plan that morning was to attempt to enthrall him.  Yet Buckaroo Banzai
simply did not feel concerned.  Every cell of his being was certain that
he would be given at least one opportunity to rid the universe of the
infestation named Hanoi Xan before it was his turn to leave this life. 
And he did not intend to waste that opportunity. 



















































