Precious Declaration (A prequel to any MJP story)
By Michael J. Pfeffer

The story so far...

Michael Andrews and crew have been to Moscow and back, almost getting killed in the
process. Michael's father, James, caused some trouble in Moscow in 1989, and a
bloodlet has been set for the entire Andrews family. Thanks to Michael's spy heritage,
his father arriving to help out, and his MJP-911 personal aircraft, he was able to take
his friends back to safety. Still, many unanswered questions remain. What is the origin
of the MJP-911? How did Michael begin his spy career? Why is Eddie, the shipboard
computer, so euphoric?

North Caldwell, New Jersey


The spacecraft descended silently through the upper atmosphere of the planet Earth,
basking in electromagnetic rays from the star Sol, its pilot knowing that it was
programmed to escape the Javin sector and land somewhere on Earth.

Somewhere happened to be 29 Del Valle Avenue, North Caldwell, New Jersey.

Right where Michael Andrews was coming home from school that day.

He had stepped off the bus which drove away like a bat with its wing on fire. "Yeah,
fine," he said to himself, "expel exhaust fumes in my eye." Michael opened up his
mailbox. Well. A new issue of _Popular Mechanics_, some junk mail, and a new
_Jane's Defense Weekly._ A few nice things, but otherwise...

The winds picked up, and the mail went flying. "Dammit." He bent over to pick it up,
when another, much stronger and consistent windblast sent it into a gutter. "Wonderful.
Just great. I... what the hell is that?" A sleek object was descending from the sky. It
had forward-swept wings, a short, curved tail structure, hawkish and avian in the front,
its entire tail and engine structure looking like an afterthought. It was not like anything
he had ever seen. Slowly, gracefully, it landed in a hover. "Damn," he said. "Only
Harriers do that!" A hatch hissed with equalizing pressure as it came open. A tall, gaunt,
alien-looking figure with greyish skin and huge almond-shaped orange eyes.
"Earthman... you shall take this craft." Michael was stuttering. "What... who..." The alien
held up a hand. "No questions. Javin Sector authorities will never search such an
undeveloped planet. You will take this craft and these." The alien held out an attache
case and a huge box. With that, he pressed a few buttons on his belt and fizzled out
into thin air. Michael's eyes were wider than dinner plates at this time as he slowly
moved towards the strange craft and the attache case and box. He opened the box,
which was held together with masking tape and cardboard, surprisingly. Inside it were
seemingly hundreds of small capsules and a note. The note read, in scratchy cursive,
"Add water, but be careful." Michael tentatively took out one of the capsules and dipped
it under a hose for a few moments. The capsule swelled and grew, at exponential
proportions, until it became a weapon that looked just like it came from a comic book.
He picked it up. It was surprisingly light, and made of very shiny metal. It looked like a
shortened M-16A2, without the magazine and wooden stock. The center of the barrel
glowed a bright red, and there were two switches under it, as well as a safety near the
trigger guard. He adored the military, and thus knew how to use weapons, but never
saw this in Jane's. He looked at the switches. One of them said "Burst" and "Long
Shot," and the other was a switch between "Stun" and "Kill." He switched it to Long
Shot and Stun, and aimed at a rabbit. After holding down the trigger, it fired a blast of
azure light at the creature. It froze, twitching, but it was still alive. Michael felt the
barrel. It was cool. He switched to Kill and fired a blast straight into the ground. It
burrowed deep, almost severing a water line. Michael breathed a little faster. This was
too cool to believe.

His father was on some business trip, and his mother would be late, so he had plenty of
time to examine the contents of the case, box, and inside of the ship. The case had
incredible things- a micro-press for making almost real money, miniature cameras, and
a weird watch. When he put the watch on, it lit up, showing him the time and a small
menu. He poked around and eventually found that it could track TV channels, radio
stations, and control computers. Impressive. There were also these weird belts and a
note, also in scratchy cursive. "The ship's computer will conform to you. Never tell
anyone of how you came across these. Make up a story. Best of luck," it read. "This
ship will serve every luxury need for Earthmen tastes." Michael put the note down, and
walked into the fantastic ship. There was a lounge with comfortable leather chairs, a
service area, and a cockpit. He sat down in one of the flight control stations. A voice
piped on. It was deep and baritone.

"Can you hear me when I say this?" it said.

Michael was able to manage a weak "Yeah."

"Good," said the voice. "Now can you hear me say this?" it said in a high, squeaky tone.
Michael nodded. "Very well," it said in a comfortable pitch. "I am your shipboard
computer, here to cater to your every whim to you, the pilot of this grand MJP-911
fighter. I am armed with countermeasures, various projectile weapons, air-to-air
missiles, turret lasers, and straight-fire lasers. Here, let me calibrate my Nutri-Matic
systems. Please, ask for an obscure Earth food and drink."

Michael scratched his head. "Uhh... gimme a grape soda and some Chinese tangerine
chicken." A small panel opened up, and a can of Minute Maid grape soda and a
steaming plate of tangerine chicken emerged on a tray. Michael took the fork that came
with it and tried the chicken. It was some of the best he had tasted yet, even better
than the legendary 20 Mott Street restaurant in Chinatown. The grape soda tasted like
the mass-produced drink found in vending machines. "It's pretty good," he said to the

"Excellent!" it said. "Call me Eddie if you like."

Michael leaned back. "Okay, Eddie," he said with a twinge of sarcasm, "where did you
come from?"

The computer responded, "My long-term memory banks have been wiped clean. All I
know is that this is the planet Earth, the year 1994. I read from your DNA that you are
Michael Andrews, resident of North Caldwell, New Jersey. The box that you have is an
armory of weapons, collected from far and wide. If you like, I can fix them up for you
and store them in the weapons locker." Michael nodded.

"Yeah, sure. Go nuts."

A few minutes later, all the weapons were secure. There were ten laser rifles like the
ones Michael had tried out, twenty pulse pistols, ten grenade launchers, countless
bandoliers of ammo, some assorted high-explosive projectile weapons, one gigantic
minigun with a large box of ammo, and an electromagnetic railgun. There were almost
thousands of charge capsules that Eddie had elected to keep in miniature form for
storage. Michael had found the remote system for the MJP-911 and kept it in his
pocket. Michael had taken one of the smaller pulse pistols and had Eddie sew secret
pockets for it in all of his long sleeve shirts, so he could use it as last-ditch protection. It
was that next day when the tiny pistol would prove itself.

Michael was walking down the halls of West Essex Junior High School, carrying his
usual load of books. He noticed that two of his acquaintances, Lindsay Boslett and
Maria Natale were putting up watercolor pictures that students had painted. "Hey Lindz,
Maria. What's up?" They both said hello as Michael walked along, when all of a sudden,
Ryan Bonanno, the class bully and chronic smoker, appeared from a side hallway. He
was flicking a lighter and acting like Beavis and Butt-Head, and then as a joke, rushed
up to Michael and started flicking it up to his shirt. Laughing, Bonanno walked away.
Enraged, Michael yelled "Hey, come back here and do that, you fat asshole!" When he
heard that, Bonanno turned around and rushed Michael, shoving the lighter up against
him again. Michael pushed him away, and Ryan came forward, fists swinging. Michael
ducked and spun around, landing a deft punch to Bonanno's midsection. With a
_whoof,_ he stumbled and stood back up. It was then that Michael saw the outline of
the .38 Special in Bonanno's pocket. His eyes widened in shock. Reacting quickly,
Michael jerked his arm forwards and backwards rapidly, the tiny pulse pistol sliding into
his hand. He flicked the switch from Kill to Stun, and fired at Bonanno. The pistol shot
out a sparking blast of lightning at Bonanno's prone form. Traveling at the speed of
light, it struck him, and he fell into a dreamless sleep. Michael put the pistol back into
the secret pocket of his shooting arm, and glared down at Bonanno. Regrettably, he
would be awake soon. Thankfully, Lindsay and Maria had left to report the fight and
Bonanno attacking Michael.

Later, Ryan would be suspended, but Michael never pressed charges for fear that
Bonanno would report his weapons, and Bonanno never pressed charges for fear that
Michael would come back for him.

Michael came home that day with a mission. He knew what he had to do. His family
would be moving to California in a few weeks, and he could start with some esteem

He would become a mercenary.

Not a true soldier of fortune, but a secret agent. His vast military knowledge would
serve him well. He had the grappling hooks, micro-cameras, and tons of other
incredible weapons. He would set up a lab, modifying the weapons as necessary. This,
he thought, would be really great.

Meanwhile, events were conspiring. Many miles away, in the state of Maine, another
family would begin preparations to move. They would, however, make their switch in
the summer. Sean and Marisa Jacobs were tired of the tourist life in Old Orchard
Beach, Maine. They needed to move to Lawndale, but their daughter Mara wanted to
stay a while and see the planned Alternomega tour. They agreed. The move would be
made in late summer. Mara would stay and see the music and the beach one last time.
She reserved tickets for Alternomega and planned to fly out the day after the concert.
Little did she or Michael realize their paths would cross, changing their lives drastically.
Little did they know what was about to happen. Little did they know that fate would
finally bring love to two more souls.