10. "He kept fiddling with my hair!"
9. "I took my phone off the hook."
8. "The dog ate my homework."
7. "So, how did I know that Red Cell wasn't a new hot kind of battery?"
6. "I was attacked by a bonsai plant."
5. "Walter substituted play dough for Semtex."
4. "Some idiot told me not to kill the boss's son."
3. "I couldn't read Michael's expression."
2. "Frick fracked me and Frack fricked me."

.... and the #1 excuse for the month....

1. "It's all Nikita's fault!"

(Quokka)

Section One's usual state of controlled uproar was sent into utter chaos last week when rumors began flying about a secret organization known as S.T.U.D.M.A.N. and its supposed membership base of section operatives. An unusual situation, as no one really knows what S.T.U.D.M.A.N. is--or does--but at this writing, operatives are scrambling to disassociate themselves from it. The organization's tag line--"What we do is still secret"--has been illicitly piggybacked onto many official Section communications. This has left many of our operatives reeling with confusion as to *what it all might mean.* (Operations asks that operatives refrain from writing your guesses and remarks about S.T.U.D.M.A.N on the walls of the lavatory. There are many more appropriate venues for this kind of speculation. Besides, it's difficult to read these scribblings in the poor light of the loo and Louise the Cleaning Lady is having a hard time keeping up with the extra work. Not only that, she's being thrown into fits of laughter, which has put a further crimp in her schedule.)

Operations issued a statement on S.T.U.D.M.A.N as soon as the matter was brought to his attention: "I will get to the bottom of this and we will get back to normal. Until the person or persons responsible for this are found, we are on Closed Quarters Standby. Rumors will be ruthlessly squelched, as will this so-called secret organization. It is unseemly to have a secret organization inside the most covert organization in the world!"

We decided to question various Section One personnel to see if they were aware of this group, and if any were willing to admit membership in it. Michael would neither confirm nor deny his knowledge or association with the group. Nikita, however, gave us an emphatic and definite "YES!!!" when asked if she thought he was a member. Walter thought he might have been a member at one time, but the details were hazy. We declined his offer of proof, however. Birkoff, after having the term graphically explained to him turned blue and had to be rushed to MedLab. As this newsletter goes to print, he was in stable but guarded condition.

As we probed deeper into this mysterious conspiracy, we were shocked to find a link between the recent death of an operative and his membership in S.T.U.D.M.A.N. It seems that Special Operative Jurgen was once a member, but resigned for reasons unknown. We had been granted an extensive interview with him for this article when he was sent out on the fateful mission which cost him his life. In the one conversation we had before he died, Jurgen told us "Yes, I was a member of S.T.U.D.M.A.N., but I couldn't live like that. I wanted to live like a human being, on my own terms." He hinted to us that he had the goods on some of the higher-ups in the S.T.U.D.M.A.N. organization. We can only speculate what this means, of course, but would hate to think this information may have cost him his life.

When asked if he was a member of this secret organization, Operations gave an uncategorical denial: "I am not, nor have I ever been, a S.T.U.D.M.A.N." Others have confirmed this statement. Madeline stated with a high degree of confidence, "To the best of my knowledge--and my knowledge is best--Operations has never been a S.T.U.D.M.A.N."

And as everyone knows, it's not nice to disbelieve Madeline. (Nor is it particularly wise.)

We are sorry to report that we do not know any more about this secret organization than we did when we began reporting on it, but we have had an interesting and thought-provoking time collecting data. We appreciate the cooperation male members of Section One have shown in offering proof of their qualifications for possible S.T.U.D.M.A.N. membership. Although some have been a little too cooperative (zip up, Walter), others have not been cooperative enough for the kind of in-depth reporting we had in mind. Michael has yet to respond to our request for a fifth proof, but we know he is a busy man.

Would the Operative who took the vial labeled "SpringFever," please return it to the lab, no questions asked? It seems to have gotten into the water system and is playing havoc with all sorts of our best people.

(Quokka)

As a service to our operatives, we are publishing an excerpt of Michael's latest trip report. It includes some experiences which are not of the usual sort for Section One operatives: driving cross country with children in the back seat. I'm sure you will agree, Michael and Nikita had a bit of a bumpy ride--Nikita *did* get maternal, after all, and Michael *did* go ballistic--but they came through like champions.

After discussing some very run-of-the-mill experiences concerning being stopped at a roadblock, the army trying to commandeer their Range Rover, and having to blow them all away and beat a hasty retreat, Michael writes:

"Next we proceeded to a farmhouse where we had heard Luca may have been. Almost immediately upon arriving, we came under machine gun fire . . ."

It turns out, the gun was wielded by a feisty young fella protecting his wide-eyed adorable waif of a hearing-impaired kid sister. This was not a particularly subtle turn of events, but hey! We didn't write this stuff. If it was fiction, it would have been completely over-the-top, but sometimes real life *is* stranger then fiction. Michael grilled the kids on the whereabouts of Luca (who had captured the parents of these children) and got a vague reply. Nikita insisted on taking the kids with them to protect them. Michael had little choice but to accede to her wishes once he'd looked that wide-eyed adorable waif of a hearing-impaired kid sister in the eyes.

Michael continues:

"We proceeded one kilometer down the road when suddenly I felt a tapping on the back of my head. It was Sascha, looking at me imploringly and signing like mad. 'What is it?' I asked her brother. 'She has to go to the bathroom,' Peter replied. 'Can't she hold it?' I asked. 'No,' said Peter, adding 'She says she'll go in her pants if we don't stop soon.'

"I pulled over to the side of the road. Sascha did not egress from the car, but looked at me plaintively and began signing again in a frenzy. 'What's the matter now?' I asked. 'She says that it's too embarrassing to go here.' 'Why??' 'The land around here is open fields. She needs something to hide behind.' 'You know, Michael,' Nikita interjected calmly, 'I wouldn't want to go out in the open like this either.'

"Only years of Section discipline and training prevented me from rolling my eyes at this point. I drove in a great hurry until we found a cornfield, then pulled over. Sascha leaped from the car and disappeared into the field. Seven minutes later I asked Nikita, 'What's taking her so long in there?' Nikita shrugged. 'Maybe there was a line.' 'It's a cornfield!!' 'I'll go see.'

"Nikita got out of the car. Another seven minutes passed. I was just about to go into the cornfield to investigate--modesty be damned--when Sascha and Nikita returned. 'What took you so long???' Nikita smiled demurely, 'Well, Sascha was having a bit of a problem with her knickers, and then once we got that taken care of, I decided since I was in there, I might as well...' 'All right, all right, can we get on the road now?' I asked in exasperation. But by that time, Peter had decided to visit the cornfield, and I was so aggravated I had to myself by then. Nine minutes later we were finally back on the road. We were 1 hour and 17 minutes behind schedule.

"Another two kilometers down the road, Peter began yelling, 'Ow! Cut it out! Ow! Cut it out!' I yelled, 'What are you doing back there, you kids??' Peter wailed, 'Sascha keeps pinching me.' 'Tell her to stop,' I said (quite reasonably, I thought). 'I did. But she just keeps signing rude things and pinching me again anyway,' Peter moaned. 'Tell her *I* said to stop!' I told him in my most forceful manner. When I looked in the rearview mirror, I needed no translation to know what Sascha's extended middle finger meant. 'Don't make me stop this car, young lady!' I thundered, Peter translating rapidly, while Nikita reminded me, 'You don't have to shout, Michael, she's hearing impaired.' I looked in the rearview mirror. Again with the extended middle finger! I swerved the jeep to the side of the road, but at that moment Nikita turned around in her seat and gave Sascha a lowering look she's often used on me quite effectively. It did the trick. Sascha settled down. We were now 3 hours and 21 minutes behind schedule.

"We got no further then a kilometer and three-quarters when Sascha began signing frantically again. 'What now??" I asked Peter. 'She says she's hungry,' he answered. 'Well, she'll just have to wait. We're too far behind schedule to stop now. Besides, this is a barren, war-torn landscape and there's no place to buy food.' After Peter translated, Sascha opened her mouth wide, tears streaming down her face. 'Michael, you've upset her!' Nikita scolded. 'But we're behind schedule!' I reminded her. 'Well, I'm feeling a bit peckish myself,' Nikita said, 'and wouldn't mind stopping for a bite.' 'But we're in a barren, war-torn landscape,' I said, suddenly feeling as if no one was paying me any attention as they all began to discuss how really, really hungry they were, and how they wished we'd find some place to stop in this barren, war-torn landscape.

"Fortunately, another half-kilometer down the road, we came upon a McDonalds. After eating and after everyone visiting the bathroom (not in a very efficient dispersal pattern, I might add), we were once more on our way. We were now 5 hours and 6 minutes behind schedule."

Michael's report continues in this vein for quite some time, and then he concludes with some rather ordinary stuff about sneaking onto a transport, getting to the train station, completing the mission against Luca, then locating the parents of Sascha and Peter, and etc.

In the "How Could This Mission Have Been Improved?" section of the report, Michael concludes:

"The next time an operative comes in contact with a wide-eyed adorable hearing-impaired waif, run as fast as you can in the opposite direction. Do not turn around, do not look behind you, just run!"

The Egress and Michael hope operatives will find this information useful should similar unusual circumstances occur on one of *their* missions.

(Nobody)

ARIES: Planetary alignment indicates a slight shift in the cosmic forces, causing a significant amount of undue stress in your life. So there you go--watch your back.

TAURUS: Getting cooperation from the ones you work with isn't always an easy task, and frequently demands persuasion on your part (such as a significant amount of blackmail).

GEMINI: Heed the advice of others--you can't go wrong with the basic white tee. With black flats, of course. Unless it is those obnoxious glasses or that hat. You know the one.

CANCER: Trying new things is always a good idea. New explosives, not always such a good idea. Be vigilant. Know where your back up is.

LEO: Your optimism will do you well in the following weeks. And so will that gorgeous singing voice of yours. But Ops hates singing in the halls.

VIRGO: It never hurts to grease the wheels a bit, if you know what I'm saying. Chocolate, flowers, illegal weapons-- whatever it takes. You know.

LIBRA: Hey. Thanks for being that guinea pig. Frick and Frack really needed to test some new stuff.

SCORPIO: Love isn't easy to figure out, which is why Madeline's office is open to you any time you need to talk. And with the mood you've been in lately you need to talk about something, anything. The weather even!

SAGITTARIUS: Try to understand. You're an old-fashioned girl. These city ways are enough to make you want to torture someone. The high ranking men in your life are knocking on your door. Stay cool, you can get a lot from them.

CAPRICORN: It's going to take concentration and coordination to execute your next coup. Step left, around, and together with the right. Look out for the land mines.

AQUARIUS: You're up to something. I don't know what it is, but I'm gonna find out, you little scamp. And that smile is attracting attention around the work place.

PISCES: Steady, now. Forgive yourself and others for what occurs this month. Then think about deportation. Or is that cancellation?

(Tawna)

Fearless Fosdick, field reporter for the Egress, for one scoop too many, RIP
Perelman, Spiegel, Victoria, L.L., by mail bomb, RIP
Reilly, in the line of duty, RIP

Dear Maddy:

My life has taken an interesting turn lately. I have discovered there are some things in life which are much, *much* more stimulating then breaking into computer systems, although previously I would never have believed it. However, I have discovered that everything has a price. Often this other kind of stimulation comes attached to personal feelings. I have found that personal feelings often complicate life and distract my attention away from important matters such as . . . breaking into computer systems. Not only that, when we have to choose between our personal feelings and our job, it can be really, really *hard*! So, what I want to know is, can a person ever find a balance between the two?

Signed,
Torn

Dear Torn:

No. There is absolutely no way to balance the personal and the job. Just stop trying. The job must always come first, no matter what. Even if one is having intimate relations, one must keep in mind that intimacy always leads one to exposing themselves, and you can't expose yourself without risking . . . well, being exposed. So, try your darnedest to get intimate without exposing yourself and take your true solace and stimulation from a job well done.

Maddy

(Nobody)

Dear Maddy:

On a recent mission I was forced by another operative to put up with two young children on a road trip in dangerous territory. The stress this created was enough to distract even the most focused of operatives. Is there anything I can do short of shooting her to get this other operative to understand that the mission *must* come first?

Signed,
Majorly Stressed

Dear Stressed,

Perhaps we should analyze what the real problem is. Was it the children, or was in perhaps the unpleasant glimpse you got of the other operative's maternal instincts? Is it possible you got a disturbing view of some evil alternate universe--just you, her, and the kids? Was this view so horrifying that it temporarily unmanned you? Please don't pretend to *me* that you were forced to do something against your will. I know you better than that. Maybe if you had talked over your concerns with this other operative, she would have been more understanding.

Maddy

Dear Maddy:

I was stressed because this mission was of great importance and we were in the middle of a war torn country, not out for a Sunday picnic. (I don't go on Sunday picnics, either, but you know what I mean.) Carting children with us only put them at greater risk as well as sending us *way* off profile. As to talking with this operative, I tried that a few weeks ago regarding a very personal situation and what good did it do me? She still defies me at every turn. And with the month I have had I would have hoped she would be more supportive.

Signed,
Still Majorly Stressed

Dear Stressed:

We have talked in the past about your living in the past. Yes, the last month was rough--but you weren't the only one who had it hard. This is a new month: get over it! I mean, last month I *died* for a little while, but did I let that stop me? You must learn to face what Section life throws at you. You got the job done. You even rescued the children, and as an added bonus, you did so without being shot. I can't believe *you* are being so whiny! I still think the best approach would be to talk things out with this other operative.

Maddy

Dear Maddy:

I would still rather shoot her than talk to her. Every time I "talk" to her I end up getting...hurt. I am not the insensitive brute some people seem to think I am. Perhaps I'll go to the training floor to blow off some stress.

Signed,
Very Definitely Majorly Stressed

Dear Stressed:

I saw you working out. You really must stop breaking the new recruits! I have you scheduled for a 7:30 a.m. session in my office.

Maddy

Dear Maddy:

This isn't helping me relax. But I'll be there. Whatever the job takes.

Signed,
Not Any Less Stressed

(Tawna)

Dear Maddy:

My name is Peter and I am new to your country. There are a few things I don't understand. Why do people keep calling me "Mr. Bean" and who is he?

Signed,
Peter
(Jeff)

Dear Peter:

First, let me say, "Wilkommen! Bienvenue! Welcome!" As to the "Mr. Bean" thing, I suppose you could say, in a way, that this is a compliment. Mr. Bean is a very, very funny man. Many people love him very much because he makes them laugh and laugh. And who knows, Peter? Maybe some day you'll find *your* true career in comedy. Either that or assassination. Both career paths have many social benefits.

Maddy
(Nobody)

*****

Editor: Nobody
(who makes no claim to know anything about the English language)
Writers: QBee, Tawna, Jeff Barak, Quokka & Nobody
With Special Thanks To: Wildcard
Graphic Artist: Nobody
Layout & Paste up: Nobody
From A Concept By: Nobody
Based On An Idea By: Nobody
In Cooperation With: Nobody
This Has Been a Production of: Nobody
At the Behest of: Nobody
For the Edification of: Nobody
For the Enlightenment of: Nobody
For the Exasperation of: Nobody

Published now and then when Nobody wants it.

Nobody welcomes contributions from Everybody.

This newsletter is a work of fiction and should not be taken to refer to any real Section One operatives either living or dead.

Due to the great kindness and generosity of Regina(aka Kelli), copies of The Egress may be found at
http: www.geocities.com/TelevisionCity/Set/2366/egress.html

*However,* she's an innocent bystander. Any complaints, burps, belches, furor, wrath or other lack of a sense of humor should be directed to Nobody

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