The full moon rapidly moved up the sky and began to illuminate the ghost-looking rocks scattered along snowy slopes of Dreilanders Pitze. Swiss Hazelnut brought by Victor and Austrian Schnapps liberated from the old farmer house joined the bottle of Limoncello lost on the top of the pass by Italian mountain patrol looking for a stray goat. These threesome long worked zusammen fassen inside Professor's body, damaging his long-suffering liver. All the warmth brought by ethanol-containing beverages made by constantly quarreling Alpine neighbors has long been vanished and it seemed that Herr Professor has been testing his chance to survive staying motionless in the cold at the gateway to a new and unknown world. Victor left him an hour ago, yodeling in the end a strange Tyrolean farewell: Let the field be with you.

He knew Victor's ways of speaking in cryptic Hadamard messages and started to contemplate. The word "field" was a message; it was a contact and opportunity. Herr Professor focused his eyes on one of his Swiss-made aluminium poles and suddenly recalled the Bin.
The Bin was one of his compatriots who recently got a prominent position of hoch-meister in a technical school at Lausanne. Professor has heard that the Bin is a reliable network facilitator in Cis/Trans-Alpian region aiding in interpreting the meaning of life to different scientific folk captured into a complex game of charges, counter-charges, and transfer problems.
The Bin as been rumored was extremely attentive to any minor detail in his outfit including that famous 8 MP CCD camera openly protruding from the top brown button on his white shirt, smart in both association and dissociation methods; inventive in synthesis (he was not the one who could be lost among three amines in a wood of amphipathic amino acids) - very important skills for survival among super-suspicious denizens of cuckoo clock universe. Everything on record - that was his motto.
Those zealous bearers of 400-year old routines constantly measure and re-measure every newcomer translated from abroad, suspecting him in a deviant activity that brings an improper modification (God forbids radical ones) into otherwise lackluster post-translational existence at high altitude and under constant clicking of metronomes.
As Professor himself, the Bin had nothing to say to folk outside his lab, his had no voting rights in any minor law there - even about proper position on the toilet bowl, so he rarely appeared outside his lab. Yet, if he appeared, he was debaically screened by a dense entourage of his close amphipathic followers, so that Abwer snoop dogs never detected his trace.

Professor awoke from his thoughts and looked down the Ricola valley, feeling again electro-magnetism of light radiated from Alpine huts; he dropped his hand into his jacket and found - first a forgotten dill pickle - then a map of Switzerland. The map was cut of from the last issue of Angewandte Chemie, Professor remembered that the front AC cover promoted a "miraculous" ointment synthesized by Hoffmann-La Roche that worked fine for avid skiers protecting their lips from UV radiation (fine print though mentioned a minor side affect of stool softening).
Professor was aware that global cooling profoundly affected the climate changes in a free world, so, naturally, he guessed that with enough push of his aluminium poles he could ski to the very gates of Lausanne. He positioned his body in the direction to the west and filled his lungs with frozen Austrian air for the last time. Then he sprung down the mountain pass vigorously punching the poles into firm iciness of the wintry snow.

Global cooling was not a Goebbels' propaganda trick. When sliding down, Professor passed vast territories covered with deep snow; small towns sunk in snow piles brought by multiple avalanches; he slid miles and miles along motorways covered with thick ice. As calculated, Professor arrived to sleeping French-looking town during early morning hours. He stopped near monument to Prof. Pleischner, locally known inventor of jump ropes, and correctly guessed that the Lausanne technical school must be nearby.

In early morning, the square before Chem-Bio building was lifeless, and while expecting timely appearance of the Bin, Professor made already over 100 figure-eight cycles around the monument. At the cycle number 98, he felt himself very tired and stayed on his feet only by immersing himself into Japanese-style serenity, but, in the end, tired and frozen he almost fall into a huge refuse barrel dug into the ground in front of Municipal Collection Point. He was hair close to losing his life there in the refuse and so the resolution to meet the Bin in time.
Then, when he, hypnotized by the dark wall of the approaching MCP building, already accepted a looming encounter as a last twist of his unhappy adventure, he detected the some noise from chemical building and stopped. The Bin was charging to him in a cloud of dense entourage. Many of his Swiss guardians were frantically gesticulating, seemingly suffering simultaneously from Parkinson and cold arctic chill. The train where the Bin was an Engineer came to stop near Herr Professor. The Bin - this giant of thought - picked up two long-haired associates, set them under his armpits to warm himself up and approached the Professor. Trying to set his frozen tongue into position that allowed him to mimic Swiss accent Herr Doktor started to recollect the opening phrase he deciphered from recent advertising leaflets mailed to him from corporate office of Bell-off Co.

He managed to do both things in time.

Boldly, Professor addressed the Bin:

"Do you need an old German 9T FTMS?"....

"We needed it 5 years ago, and we already got the 12T model", - replied the Bin.

"Alas, but may be I will helpful with something?" - continued Professor.

"Come with me, and I will see whether you can be helpful" - the Bin hurriedly threw his last phrase into cold air, and immediately accelerated towards ice covered metallic door on a far side of the Bio-Chem building.

Professor waited until the crowd of the Bin associates vanished behind the door and entered the building. He was forced to run fast to catch up with the Bin; following the sound of Bin's steps he rapidly moved his aching body down the narrow curvy staircase, entered a spacious hall in a basement, and discovered a humongous metal construction sitting in the hall center. He found nobody in the room. The Bin, the two long-haired amphipathers, and the rest of the clique have been gone. Professor moved closer to the center of the hall and embraced for the first time a huge space-dominating body of 12T.
Then his attention was drawn to a yellow dashed strip painted on the floor, he managed to read a text on the strip indicating field of 50 Gauss. Aha, he thought, here is that mysterious field. His eyes followed further and, at the underbelly of the grey monster, he recognized contours of a service flap. He knew that the flap is hiding not a single but at least four point two deep-chill barriers, but like that villainous serviceman who keeps coming back from the cold after each ugly mission on the off-limit fighting (TOF) he felt that behind this obstruction, behind this ominous stopping disc lies a blessed entry worm hole, a funnel to a free world.

Professor started thinking fast; he recalled one of the last of LeBoda cartoon strips about TOF and mighty threesome: RF, DC, and AC; then he saw a large drawing of a Buntzen furnace on the lightly painted wall and, nearby, a stained old poster. Professor even managed to read mathematical symbols encrypted on a poster describing obscure Tolstoy's method of conducting Papas-Carlo simulations. Watch for the field - Victor's farewell words reverberated in his brain. Some uneasy feeling has risen from extremities of his body and abnormal heaviness in his legs prompted him to look down. All of a sudden, Professor found that he still is wearing his skis. He rapidly took off his left ski and inspected the grey metallic body of 12T in front of him.
Then he took the pencil from the desk, and using it up to the last mm he covered otherwise nonconductive surface of the ski edge with a thick layer of carbon residue. Professor then climbed to the top of the 3m high barrel using a wooden ladder, and there, in a single moment, he shortened with the blackened ski edge the two innocently looking copper rods protruding like bullhorns from the snout of obese monster body. A loud thud blasted across the air and powerful tremor spread over the entire 12T; in a moment a dense mist covered everything. After 12T wicked soul dispersed into helium clusters and came to eternal rest, Professor Schevtchenko took his right ski off and threw it with a full force aiming to the main fuse box. In the ensued darkness, he slowly descended to the floor, opened the flap, and crawled into the guts of the dead Behemoth.

In a few minutes, Professor heard the voices. Due to helium-enriched air the voices were unpleasantly high-pitched. Frequency shift and thick walls of the 12T did not permit a distinct recognition of the heated exchange that evolved in the lab. Interspersing French, German, and English words, the Bin was constantly belittling someone called Blucher, one time lucky Prussian general who started almost two-century tradition of beating the crap out of French regular armies; then a word resembling Eintzets was mentioned many times, often followed by word Berezina pronounced with thick French accent.
The Bin eventually calmed down, switched into English, and started to place phone calls to someone presumably Australian since he constantly repeated: tell all Aussies….tell all Aussies. Professor understood that the Bin is secretly arranging the Professor's escape, and the message he transmitted across the oceans contained the information about Professor's location: Na/pole/on - "he is in the field".

The next day Professor and the pile of malfunctioning metal previously known as model 12T were mounted on a board of a four-engine Focker. After many hours of falling into air ditches caused by turbulence, the plane eventually came to a stop. Professor punched the flap with his swollen head; painfully rebirthed out of the body of 12T heavily covered with dew and gasped a hot and humid air that filled the plane.

It was obviously a late evening in this place and airport technicians speaking in one of Spanish dialects started already to unload the plane's cargo bay.

Tallahassee airport - read Professor through a small port hole. He opened the door in the rear of the Focker and jumped into the darkness. He almost landed on a crocodile corpse flattened by landing airplanes. Donnerwetter - thought Professor - and at this very moment he embraced the fact that he himself just crossed the last gate on the way to freedom.

Is it Australia in the end? They may be not interested in libidomics, he sighed. Then what? Spooky thoughts about polarized grids, ETP, or cancer detection by X-raying the pubic hair started to run across his mind. He approached closer to the remnants of the ugly beast to observe it more carefully. His frequent trips to Zoology department, to the only people in the entire university who stocked authentic 190 proof ethanol, once brought a good luck to him - when waiting for next-in-turn 200 mL delivered to him by a Yugoslavian graduate student in exchange for cash, he "liberated" a 1896-year edition of Broghauz book prepared for burning. Reviving in his brain the drawn images of different reptilians memorized from this old book, Professor unlocked and inspected the beast's jaws and became stunned - it was not a crocodile, it was an alligator.

I cheer you, state of Florida! - cried out loud Professor. "Dale con el jailbreak no mas compadre " - replied the workers unloading 12T from the cargo bay.

He stayed with his arms on his hips looking into the blinking lights of airport building, a big drop of either sweat or may be a single big tear rolled down his chin and splashed over a coarse surface of the landing strip. Due to terrible humidity the wet splash kept reflecting the bright light of southern starts for a few hours more, until it dried with the first rays of approaching down.