“Just leave your dishes on the table. Do you think the next customer’s gonna mind?” Fender grabbed Max, pulling him out the door. The sky was getting a little too bright. “Hurry, we’ve got a lot to do.”

“Like what? Place our head between our knees and kiss our butts goodbye?”

“Well, first, although we’re scheduled to have three hours, we probably have a little more time. This Gum’Bnd project manager is never on time. But still…”

Max interrupted, “Define a little more. Minutes, hours days?”

“I think we can be confident of a few hours, maybe a day. But let’s try to get things in motion before the scheduled end. We’ll head to Walmart for some supplies.”

“What is the plan?” Max asked, balking. The growing wind carried the taste of hot metal and burning plastic.

Fender snorted. “What is the one thing that the Gum’Bnds want more than anything else in the world – and can’t find on their home planet? I bet it can be made here, from parts available at every Wally World in America.”