“The odd noise I made. Ha-ha-ha! Like that.”
“Laughter,” Javik said with a sneer. “You were laughing, idiot!”
“This laughter—it has a purpose?”
“It makes a person feel good, you little S.O.B.!”
“S.O.B.?”
“Son of a bitch. You’re a son of a bitch!”
‘That would be S.O.A.B. No, S.O.B. must be something entirely different. Like ‘Sweet Old Boy.’ But I’m not old, not at all old.”
Javik fumed.
“You seem very confused. I think I’ll laugh again. A ha-ha-ha! That feels very good, indeed. Ha-ha-ha!”
Javik shook his sore hand. The pain was subsiding. “Damn, but that hurt,” he said. Out of the corner of one eye he looked at the automatic pistol. It lay several centimeters away, just beyond his grasp. Maybe if I lunged . . .
“Don’t even think about it,” Wizzy said.
The pain was almost gone now. Javik shook his hand and flexed the fingers, still eyeing the gun.
“Your weapon probably couldn’t harm me, anyway,” Wizzy said. “I am young, though, and uncertain of my powers.”
Should I go for the gun? Javik wondered. Could be an Atheist trick. Spying on my mission . . .
“You still don’t trust me,” Wizzy said. “Now you think the Atheists sent me.”
Startled, Javik blurted, “How did you . . . ? Oh, my energy waves . . . from my brain?”
“Uh huh,” Wizzy said. “I know all about your mission: You’re to scout Guna One, checking for unusual activity in the landing region of garbage catapulted there by Winston Abercrombie. You’re to bring him back, too, if you can find him.”
Javik felt that his jaw must be scraping the floor.
“It’s the Abercrombie recycling crime you’re investigating. Isn’t that right, Captain Tom?”
Javik stared at the table legs and chewed at his lower lip. “That doesn’t prove anything,” he said. “Atheist operatives are everywhere.”
“What about this? You remember the big reunion at the Sky Ballroom.. .where they discovered Papa Sidney was a cappy? And the time you went to see him in therapy detention?”
Javik’s sea blue eyes opened wide. “I remember those things,” he said. He looked at Wizzy and nodded like an old man, with his chin continuing to bob up and down.
“‘You and me on an important mission together’—that’s what you said to Papa.”
“Sure, I said that. But you could have gotten it from my thoughts.”
“You weren’t thinking about it in my presence, Captain Tom. Not reasoning this out too well, Me you?”
“It’s not up to me whether you can go. You’ll have to be cleared with mission control.”
“Impossible. They’d think you were nuts. Just for checking. It might cost you the mission.”
Javik pursed his lips. “I need this assignment. It’s the comeback trail for me.”
“Then believe what I said. I can help you.”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t believe me, then. I could care less. I’m just here because Papa—” Wizzy saw Javik’s eyes flash angrily.
“All right,” Javik said. “You’re coming along.” I don’t like this creep’s personality, he thought. But something tells me—”
“Maybe I don’t like you either.”
“Huh? Oh.”
“You’ve made a wise decision,” Wizzy said. He yawned, using unseen mouth muscles.
“What did you say your name was?” Javik asked. He opened his hand and extended it.
“Wizzy. Wizzy Malloy.” The little comet hopped on Javik’s open hand.
Javik felt a tingle in his palm and heard a barely audible hum. It resembled the purr of a meckie cat. Wizzy was heavy —far heavier than he appeared to be. “Wizzy, eh?” Javik said with a smile. “Is that because you’re a wise stone?”
“It’s a name. That’s all.”
Javik wondered how the dark blue stone on his palm could be Sidney’s son but not human. And he did not understand where Sidney was at that moment.
“Papa Sidney is flying,” Wizzy said, referring to one of Javik’s unspoken questions.
“He has a ship?” Frustrated at the lack of privacy, Javik felt his heart skip a beat.
“In a sense, yes. A very large ship. But I’m too weary to explain now.” The cat’s eye dimmed and closed. Soon Wizzy was breathing deeply, expanding and contracting on Javik’s hand. The rolling rumble of snores followed;
“Well I’ll be,” Javik said, rubbing an itchy eyelid with his free hand. He placed Wizzy on the couch. Obtaining a hand towel from the linen-closet module, he laid it gently over Wizzy’s clear agate top.
“Concentrate on happiness,” Javik said softly. “That’s the biggy—the emotion that’s eluded me.”
It was an overcast morning at the northeast corner of Robespierre Field, with a thick layer of Bu-Tech-made clouds overhead. Javik stood with his two crewmen beside other clusters of crewmen near their cream-colored, AmFed-marked ships. Gray-uniformed ground crews were making final adjustments to the ships, chattering back and forth as they worked.
Javik felt in the side pocket of his Space Patrol jumpsuit. Wizzy buzzed contentedly in there, and felt warm to his touch. Javik considered the reason for the Bu-Tech clouds: placed there at President Ogg’s orders to conceal the sky writing comet’s embarrassing activity from AmFed citizens. We AmFeds like to think we can control everything, Javik thought, bemused. But here’s something beyond the power of our technology.
Javik felt a chill wind as he removed his hand from his pocket. He mento-zipped his jumpsuit all the way to his neck. Glancing to his left, he focused on the buxom figure of copilot Marta Evans. Clad in a white and gold Space Patrol jumpsuit like his with ribbons across the chest, Evans had short yellow hair with big Venusian curls. She held her helmet with both hands in front of her waist.
He stared at her chest. Amazing, the things surgeons can do, he thought.
She caught his gaze, smiled.
Javik looked away and grimaced. Stinking transsexual, he thought. Why couldn’t they have sent along a real woman, or even a meckie, instead of this . . . thing? Recalling the killer meckie that had been sent with him on the last mission, he shuddered.
Beside Evans stood the other crewman, the freckle-faced, red-haired science officer, Vince Blanquie. Blanquie was fat and soft. He shook noticeably.
Evans whispered in Javik’s ear, “He’s on withdrawal.”
“Huh?”
“Video games. He’s hooked. They made him cold turkey it, I hear.”
“No mention of that in his dossier,” Javik husked.
Evans shrugged. “My source is unimpeachable,” she said. I hope they left the sex-change operation out of my file, she thought.
A meckie buzzed nearby. Javik turned to see it service the cluster of crewmen who stood at the base of an adjacent space cruiser. Rings and necklaces, Javik thought.
Moments later, the meckie stood in front of Javik, fitting a two-jeweled ring on the third finger of his right hand. “These were rush-packed,” the meckie said, showing synthetic nervousness. “Hope they work okay.” The meckie draped a language-mixer pendant around Javik’s neck, then moved on to Evans.
Javik studied the ring. It was tita-gold, bearing two rectangular stones, one white and one turquoise.
“White for shower, turquoise for change of clothes,” the meckie said to Evans. “It’s called a wardrobe ring.”
Evans grunted.
While attending to Blanquie, the meckie said, “Your necklaces are more powerful than older models. They can locate a common language denominator for up to five hundred beings within a fifty-meter radius. Less people, more radius—and vice versa.”
After the meckie moved on to another crew, Javik lifted the necklace pendant. It was octagonal and ruby red, with four rainbow-hue stylized faces on it: one round, one square, one triangular, one rectangular. Javik knew they were representative
of different cultures and races that might be encountered in deep space. He touched a button on one side, causing the faces to spin in a blur. The mechanism beeped and flashed a green light, indicating it was operating properly. Javik shut it off and tucked it beneath his shirt.
“The President!” Evans said excitedly.
Javik glanced quickly at Evans, then followed the gaze of her large olive green eyes to the west. Autocopter One banked over the General Oxygen Factory, then began its descent toward Robespierre Field.
The craft was white, with the red, yellow, and blue markings of the American Federation of Freeness. Javik saw a large presidential seal on the underside and smaller ones on each side of the cabin. The copter descended rapidly and set down in a cloud of dust, As it had dark-tinted windows, Javik could not see the President. Javik smelled dust and rubbed a speck out of one eye.
Presently, President Euripides Ogg short-stepped from the copter to a lift, followed by two aides. The lift dropped slowly.
President Ogg was an immense, hulking black man in a bright yellow leisure suit with green lapels. He brushed his hand through a wave of long, golden hair that he combed straight back from a widow’s peak. The aides spoke to him nervously and constantly, one in each ear. The President and his aides moved quickly to a stage that had been erected for the occasion.
“He looks tired,” Evans said.
Javik heard low tones from the clusters of crewmen nearby.
As President Ogg reached the top of the stage, Javik watched the aides brush dust from the President’s suit. Then Ogg rolled to the microphone.
The crews fell silent.
“I’ll make this short and sweet,” Ogg said, addressing the crewmen. “Get out there and find where our catapulted garbage went!”
“Yes, sir!” the crewmen responded. Javik felt the patriotism of the moment as he spoke in unison with the others.
“And when you find it,” President Ogg continued, “see if the garbage can do us any goddamned harm!” He coughed.
“Yes, sir!”
One of the aides was a tail blond man whom Javik recognized as Chief of Staff Billie Birdbright. Birdbright leaned close to Ogg’s ear and whispered something.
Ogg nodded, looked flustered. “Uh,” Ogg said, returning to the microphone. “I mean, report back any unusual activity.”
“Yes, sir!”
Without warning, a great wind swept across the field. Javik shuddered and closed his eyes as dust blew in his face and filled his nostrils. He smelled grit and sulfur. He tried to open his eyes, but a blinding flash covered the sky.
‘The comet!” someone yelled.
Javik opened his eyes to slits and held his hands over them. Through his fingers, he saw an immense blue and orange fireball streaking horizontally across the sky, disrespectfully shoving aside the Bu-Tech clouds.
“Be careful, Papa!” Wizzy squealed, peeking his head out of Javik’s pocket. “There’s water in those clouds!”
“What are you talking about?” Javik asked.
“Water can be terrible for a comet,” Wizzy said. “Papa is taking a big risk!” After a moment’s thought, he added, “Papa Sidney is very large, however. Perhaps a few clouds are of no concern to him.”
Javik pushed Wizzy back in the pocket and zipped it shut. A muffled cry came from the pocket. Sid’s a comet? Javik thought.
On the stage, President Ogg was very agitated. “Get away!” he screamed at the comet, jumping up and down and waving his arms wildly. “Get away!”
Without Javik noticing it, his pocket zipped open. Little Wizzy leaped out and dashed across the asphalt landing field in the same direction taken by the Great Comet. “Wait, Papa Sidney!” he called out. “Take me with you!”
Javik slapped his hand against his pocket. It was flat empty. “Uh oh,” he muttered. Wizzy’s a comet too? he thought.
Wizzy tried to fly high, but kept falling back to Earth. This made him look like a rock skipping across the landing strip. Soon Javik could not see or hear him.
“What came out of your pocket?” Evans asked, looking at Javik.
Javik did not respond. He watched the tail of the Great Comet disappear, leaving a gaping hole in the cloud cover. The sun appeared, pushing the long shadows of the scout ships across the field. Javik felt warmth on his cheeks.
Wizzy mentioned a Council of Magic, Javik thought. So that’s it? Magic?
President Ogg continued to wave his arms until the Great Comet had gone. Then he turned to face the crewmen, saying angrily, “That will be all, gentlemen.” He turned hastily and left the stage with his aides.
Javik saw Chief of Staff Birdbright break away from the President. Birdbright rolled toward the clusters of crewmen. “Which crew is going to Guna One?” he called out.
“Here, sir!” Javik yelled, raising his hand.
Birdbright was all business as he approached Javik, leaning forward and carrying a very stern expression.
When the Chief of Staff arrived, he and Javik exchanged salutes. Then Javik compared their heights. He’s a bit taller than I am, Javik thought.
Birdbright’s smoke gray eyes met Javik’s gaze. “You are in charge?” Birdbright asked.
Javik straightened. “Yes, sir.”
“As you must be aware, Captain, your mission is unique. The other crews are on random searches, but you . . . ” Bird-bright paused and rubbed his dimpled chin thoughtfully.
“I understand, sir. The arch criminal Abercrombie catapulted garbage to Guna One intentionally—planning to set up a recycling station there.”
“Lower your voice!” Birdbright rasped, “We do not appreciate that word!”
Javik lowered his eyelids in shame, cursing himself inwardly for his faux pas.
“The ‘r’ word!” Birdbright whispered, nearly touching noses with Javik.
It doesn’t seem so horrible to me, Javik thought. I’m tired of being beaten to death with this Job-Support thing!
“ ‘It’s not fair to repair,’” Birdbright intoned. “‘It’s not nice to use twice.’” Javik saw Birdbright’s eyes glaze over from the profound truth of the mantras.
Nodding dutifully, Javik thought, Anyone who thinks ‘Jobs Are Sacred’ never pulled garbage-shuttle duty!
“Abercrombie may be on Guna One,” Birdbright said. “He’s never been apprehended, you know.”
“We’ll be alert, sir.”
Birdbright stared at Javik with the overbearing scrutiny of one knowing he is in a superior position. “Very well, Captain,” he said.
They exchanged salutes again.
Moments later, as Autocopter One lifted and sped away, Javik wondered what lay in store for him. Gawd, he thought. The immensity of his assignment hit him.. This is big stuff!
“What jumped out of your pocket?” Evans asked.
“A meckie toy,” Javik said. “Sent by a friend to amuse me.”
“Well, here it is back,” Blanquie said.
Javik barely had time to cup his hands before Wizzy leaped onto them. Wizzy’s dark blue body felt cool.
“Papa’s gone,” Wizzy said dejectedly. “I’m on my own.”
“Aw Cha-rist,” Javik said, seeing crewmen from other ships approaching.
“I’m sorry,” Wizzy said. “My emotions . . . ”
Javik stuffed Wizzy in his pocket and zipped it shut.
“What you got there, Tom?” one asked.
“Cute little gadget,” another said. “Bring it out, Tom.”
“It talks?”
“Leave me alone, guys,” Javik said. “It’s nothing. Nothing at all.”
Gradually the crewmen dispersed.
Javik looked up at the patch of blue sky. The Great Comet came into sight for a moment, a far-off orange fireball heading out to deep space. Soon it became a tiny dot of orange light.
Javik felt something rustle at his side. Looking down, he saw Wizzy peeking out of the top of the pocket, watching the comet. Wizzy’s cat’s eye was bright orange now, as was the re
st of his lumpy body. Javik felt Wizzy’s warmth against his side.
The same shade of orange as the comet, Javik thought. Wizzy could be a chunk of it. Electrodes flashed wildly in Javik’s brain. Sid? Was that you out there, Sid?
Far across the galaxy, in a cavern beneath the surface of Guna One, a blue female meckie studied symbols and cartoon pictures that had been scratched on a recently discovered limestone wall. This was an unnamed Earth-catapulted meckie, like all others on the planet, with a brass “rebuilt” plaque on her torso. Being rather standard in appearance, she had no head and a flashing blue dome light on top. Numerous dents and abrasions marred her rivet-covered surface.
Lord Abercrombie stood in the doorway of the cavern, looking in. “Anything more?” he asked, his bearded half face wrinkled inquisitively beneath a thistle half crown. “It’s been two weeks now since we found these drawings.” Lord Abercrombie’s half body, split from his forehead to the ground, was draped in a floor-length, rust-colored caftan. The caftan hung oddly at the split, in a straight dropoff due to his left side having disappeared entirely into the Realm of Magic. Abercrombie knew it had not really disappeared. It was there but not there at the same moment. It was chilly in the cavern, and he inserted his only hand in his pocket.
“It’s history,” the meckie said in a voice that sounded like a gargle, evidence of an unsolvable mechanical defect. She half turned toward Abercrombie while pointing at a series of six cartoon squares on the wall. “There were three magicians here before you. One was a giant amoeba, and another a plant creature with wide philodendron leaves. The third was human-like, but with a duck-billed face.”
“Really!” Lord Abercrombie said. His eye flashed intently as he glided to the wall. Rubbing his fingers over the carved pictures and symbols, he asked, “All became soil-immersed?”
“Yes. That is what it means to be a magician here—becoming one with the soil, one with the planet.”
“But they’re all gone. Where did they go?”
“I haven’t been able to figure that out. Most of the symbols are strange.”
“But you were a linguistics assistant,” Lord Abercrombie said. “You, of all meckies, should be able to interpret such things!” He scratched his nearly bald half pate, feeling a few strands of baby soft hair there.
The Garbage Chronicles Page 3