. . .

“Jane!” yells Tom. “Come on! I can’t chase down Bertram’s jet without a trusty Doom Team Auxiliary as my copilot!”

“I am not an auxiliary!” Jane shrieks as she scrambles into the amazing Wellington rocket face first and the statue launches.

Tom tries to pacify her. “It’s because you don’t actually have a destiny to destroy the world,” he says.

“I’ll pancake you,” she mutters. She tries to wiggle herself around to get to the auxiliary controls while the plane’s in flight. Tom, in a spirit of high-spirited hijinx, takes a moment to juke and roll Jane this way and that in the rocket ship.

“I. Don’t. Have. My. Seatbelt. On,” Jane grates out.

“Fine,” Tom says. “Oh, hey, there’s his car. Maybe we won’t have to chase his jet after all —”

Bertram has a rocket launcher.

Tom stares down.

“That’s just not cricket,” he says.

Bertram fires.

“Jane!” Tom shouts. “Pump the position indeterminator!”

“Glargh!” yells Jane, in utter frustration, because she’s barely even got her elbow into usable position, much less a finger or a foot, and rams her nose into the position indeterminator button.

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