The Garbage Chronicles

by Brian Herbert

  Javik climbed out of the sleeping compartment and mentoed on the main cabin lights. He saw two of the three-legged creatures standing near the open main hatchway. The creatures froze where they were as Javik leveled his gun on them. Near them,a layer of light brown powder covered the deck.

  Following Javik’s gaze, Namaba glanced down at the powder.

  “What is that stuff ?” Javik asked.

  “Our bodily wastes,” she replied. “Excreted through our pores after we ate.”

  “Powdered shit,” Javik said, angrily. “On my ship!”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I’ll ask the questions here,” Javik said. He touched a deep scratch on his forehead.

  “Very well,” Namaba said.

  “Quiet,” Rebo snapped, turning his jutting head to glare at her.

  “It looks like you ate everything I had,” Javik said, looking at the one he judged to be female. “Two months’ rations!”

  “Our boilers were low,” Rebo said, answering for her.

  Javik motioned aft with his pistol. “Move back there,” he said. “Sit on the floor so I can think.”

  Namaba and Rebo followed the command, loping past Javik warily. Javik noted that the larger creature kept eyeing the open sleeping compartment hatch.

  “Try for that knife and it’ll be the last move you make,” Javik said. “This thing packs a big wallop.”

  “Do as he says,” Namaba said. “Your knife is no match for his thunder piece.”

  Rebo glared at Javik.

  “We are Moravians,” Namaba explained. “I am Namaba, daughter of Heroista the Alchemist.”

  “And I am Rebo, son of Montenegro the Prisoner.” His eyes flashed defiantly.

  “What are your last names?” Javik asked.

  “Last names?” Rebo said. “What is a last name?”

  “Well, my name is Tomas Patrick Javik. That’s a first name, a middle name, and a last name.”

  ‘Three names for one person?” Rebo exclaimed, “How curious!”

  “It helps to distinguish me from everyone else. There are only so many names to go around.”

  “Your people have little imagination,” Namaba said. “We have thirty-two billion inhabitants on the planet of Morovia. Every one with a different name.”

  “Sometimes a duplication occurs,” Rebo said. “By accident. But the Name Bureau always finds it and issues a decision concerning who gets to keep the name.”

  Javik located an empty survival pack and began scouring the cabin for food and survival gear. He found a box of space matches, a half-eaten bio bar, and a penlight. Kneeling, he searched a pile of rubbish on the deck. “Ah,” he said, locating a tiny tube the size of a roll of candy. “The lightweight tent.” He tossed it in the pack. Questioning Namaba and Rebo as he searched, Javik learned of their remarkable journey to Cork.

  Javik stuffed a package of dehydrated apples and two bio bars in his pack. “What were you on Morovia?” he asked.

  “I was a very important leader,” Rebo said, “in charge of an entire territory of inhabitants.”

  “That doesn’t explain much,” Javik said. “What’s the emblem on the backs of your jackets?”

  “The Southside Hawks,” Namaba said. “Our club.”

  “I’m club president,” Rebo said.

  “Punks,” Javik said. “We’ve got punks on Earth, too.”

  “We’re not punks!” Rebo said, bristling.

  Javik swore at each empty food wrapper he found. He kicked the base of the magna-scope console, glaring at the Moravians. They sat motionless. “Did you guys have enough to eat?” Javik asked with a sarcastic whine. “I oughtta kill you.”

  “We’re very sorry,” Namaba said. “We thought your ship was abandoned.”

  “That’s quite correct,” Rebo said. “How were we expected to know? There was equipment all over the place, you know.”

  “Funny,” Javik said. “Both of you speak kinda elegantly —not with big words, but not like gang members either.”

  “Everyone on Morovia speaks this way,” Namaba said. “We are renowned for having large vocabularies. That has no bearing on intelligence, of course. We use many words we don’t understand.”

  Javik located a leaking, smashed container of water capsules. “Shit,” he said. Only two of the clear little capsules were undamaged, so he placed them carefully in his titanium pillbox, returning the box to his pocket.

  “What do you plan to do with us?” Rebo asked.

  “I’m going to try to get this ship going,” Javik said angrily. He eyed a shattered land compass on the floor. “And you’re getting off.” He found two collapsible plastic water pods, ten-liter size, and stuffed them in the pack. I’ll need these, he thought.

  “Take us with you,” Namaba said. “Take us back to Moro City.”

  “Yeah,” Rebo said. “There’s an airfield just outside—”

  Javik laughed boisterously. Seeing a holster on the deck, he retrieved it and strapped it on. “If this ship takes off,” he said, “and that’s a mighty big if with all the hull damage, it’s not going very far. I just want to get it to a safe place where I can work on it.” He bolstered the pistol, gazing at Namaba’s eyes. They burned soft red, with no pupils. He looked away.

  Chee-rist! Javik thought. I’m attracted to her! Why? First a transsexual and now a three-legged beast! I’ve been away too long!

  “Why do you look at me so?” Namaba asked.

  After a moment of silence, Javik’s gaze flitted to Rebo. Rebo was giving him a hard stare, possibly because of Javik’s interest in Namaba. This one could be dangerous, Javik thought. He dropped the survival pack on the science officer’s chair.

  “Can you go to Moro City after repairing your ship?” Namaba asked.

  “This ship isn’t going anywhere near Moro City,” Javik said, rummaging in the pack. The salivary glands in his mouth gushed as he found a bio bar. He tore the cello-wrap off and bit away a corner of the bar. It was honey sweet, and he savored it.

  Four red eyes watched as Javik ate. Rebo licked his lips.

  Sternly, Javik motioned toward the open main hatch. “Get out,” he said in a low, even tone. “And make it fast.”

  Rebo and Namaba scrambled for the circular hatchway. Namaba let herself down the Tasnard rope hand over hand, followed by Rebo.

  As Javik watched, the Morovians lumbered across the clearing. Soon they were out of range of the light cast by the Amanda Marie’s open hatch.

  Javik mento-flipped on a spotlight to watch them. He followed their path by mento-directing the light, dogging their every move. The Morovians glanced back nervously as they ran, continually trying to elude the beam of light. But Javik kept it on them until he saw them enter the woods.

  Javik ate half of the bio bar, then wrapped the rest hurriedly. He knew he should not have eaten even that much, despite the gnawing ache of hunger across his midsection. There was no telling when he would find more food.

  After switching off the spotlight, Javik noticed four red eyes looking toward him from the woods, burning in the darkness like hot embers in a firepit.

  “We should have rushed him,” Rebo said. From his crouched position with Namaba just inside the woods, he glared across the clearing at the Amanda Marie. The ship’s spotlight flashed off. Rebo pushed a small pine tree branch out of his way. It cracked.

  “But the thunder stick,” Namaba said, her voice a nervous, shivering whisper. “We could have been killed!”

  “A bluff,” Rebo said. “It just made noise.”

  “And your yenta tells you that?” Her tone was sarcastic.

  “I have no yenta,” he said, irritably. “And neither do you.”

  “All Morovian women have yenta,” she said. “And mine tells me he would have killed us. He is very intense.”

  “Pshaw!”

  “But I sense goodness in him—a potential friend.”

  “I don’t know . . . ”

  “I’ll tell yo
u something else, Rebo. You’re different here —not the same ruthless gang leader I knew on Morovia. My yenta tells me this, too. You know it to be true.”

  There was no response. Rebo shifted on his haunches.

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” she prodded.

  “Yes,” Rebo said. “I am different, and it confuses me.”

  A giraffe-necked light cast the short shadows of Prince Pineapple and Wizzy as they disembarked from the pram at the edge of Sacred Pond. Prince Pineapple kick-shoved the boat out on the water, clutching the scroll under his coat with one hand.

  From his perch on the prince’s shoulder, Wizzy said, “The rain has stopped. “Let’s have a look at the scroll.”

  As Wizzy glowed white to provide light, Prince Pineapple pulled the scroll out and unfurled it, holding one hand at the bottom edge and the other at the top. This seemed peculiar to the prince; for while he felt the stiff parchment paper between his fingers, he could not see it.

  “Wrong side,” Wizzy said, seeing a heavy “X” across the sheet. “Rather a poor job of Torah fakery on Abercrombie’s part,” he muttered.

  Prince Pineapple flipped the scroll over, pulling it close so that Wizzy could read it more easily. The paper crackled.

  “It’s a map,” Wizzy said. “It says in one corner to look for three-dot trail markers.”

  “Three dots,” Prince Pineapple said. “Magical signs. Yes, I have seen such markings.”

  “We’re to take Baker Road from Sacred Pond, to Avenida Five. Thence to All Souls Hill and across Dusty Desert.”

  “The Badlands,” Prince Pineapple said, his tone reflecting disappointment. “I feared as much.”

  “There’s a Bottomless Bog shown here,” Wizzy said. “And a place called Moha. Are you familiar with those?”

  “Moha sounds familiar. Can’t quite place it. There’s a shortcut to All Souls Hill. We will pass your ship.” He rerolled the scroll and secured it with the cord. Removing his coat, he placed the scroll and the coat on the ground. “I should recharge now,” he said. “A long journey awaits us.”

  Wizzy did not comment on this. I haven’t actually agreed to remain with the prince, he thought. But he does need me to read the scroll, and Captain Tom doesn’t want me around….

  Twenty-five minutes later….

  Prince Pineapple leaned forward with a newfound sense of purpose as he walked, for now he had the Sacred Scroll of Cork. Wizzy was on his shoulder, brightly lit to show the way. They were crossing through the carriage parking lot of the shopping center, passing dimly lit stores whose windows displayed discarded Earth household gadgets. Prince Pineapple-knew the stores would be bare soon. Lord Abercrombie would demand all gar-bahge for himself. It was inevitable.

  Pausing at the corner of the center’s largest building, the prince whispered, “Dim your light. I hear something.”

  Wizzy darkened.

  Prince Pineapple looked around the corner, then scampered back to a dark doorway. “Corker security patrol,” he whispered.

  Two guards walked past, making loud sucking sounds as they worked at their grain alcohol backpack tubes. Had the guards been attentive, they would have seen and apprehended Prince Pineapple. Fortunately, they did not turn their heads.

  Five minutes later, Prince Pineapple and Wizzy had reached the safety of a shortcut path through the woods. It was a little-used way without lighting, so Wizzy glowed brightly again, concentrating his light forward.

  Many roots and stones were embedded in the ground, and in places the path was difficult to locate because of the lack of traffic. Prince Pineapple took the wrong way once, and it was nearly ten minutes before he realized his mistake. He backtracked, finding the correct path.

  “We’re going around Corker Stadium,” the prince said. “Can’t risk going out there. Too many guards.”

  Presently they reached a wider path, with trail lights glowing yellow. Wizzy dimmed to conserve his energy.

  “We were on this trail yesterday,” Prince Pineapple said. “Your ship is just ahead.”

  Wizzy recalled his papa’s instructions concerning remaining with Captain Tom. But Javik had been cruel to him. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, Wizzy thought. Surely Papa will understand.

  Prince Pineapple took a fork in the path, stepping onto a wooden bridge. Wizzy heard the cadence of the prince’s feet on wood boards and the squeal of a raccoon.

  Returning to his thoughts as they left the bridge, Wizzy wondered if he might have been more pleasant, despite Captain Tom’s attitude. He turned this over in his mind several times. No answer leaped out to salvage him from the dilemma. At times, Prince Pineapple would say something to jar Wizzy’s concentration. And Wizzy tried to think of other things. But each time a nagging question returned: Should I go back for Captain Tom?”

  “Light!” Prince Pineapple said. “Give me light!”

  “Huh?” Wizzy said. “Oh.” He glowed brightly.

  They had reached the end of the trail, arriving at a wide clearing. The cool gray light of dawn washed across the sky, showing distant treetops on the other side of the clearing.

  Wizzy recognized this place. The ship was here somewhere. He slanted his cat’s eye, gazing in all directions. The beam of his light moved as he scanned.

  “That way,” Prince Pineapple said, pointing ahead and to the right.

  Now this guy’s giving me orders, Wizzy thought. First, Papa, then everyone else.

  Wizzy was directing the light beam the wrong way, causing Prince Pineapple to trip. “Pay attention!” the prince snapped, stumbling over something.

  Wizzy directed his beam ahead of Prince Pineapple. They made their way to the center of the clearing.

  Suddenly, Prince Pineapple dropped to a prone position on the ground. Wizzy fell from his shoulder, tumbling in cool, damp grass. “Dim it,” Prince Pineapple said.

  Intent on escaping the dampness of the grass, Wizzy did not respond. He found a dry area of dirt on which to sit.

  “Dim it, I said!”

  “Oh,” Wizzy said, darkening. “I thought you said, ‘Damn it!’”

  “Someone’s on your ship,” Prince Pineapple said, pointing across the gray light of the clearing.

  Now Wizzy saw it too—the Amanda Marie with its cabin lights blazing. And someone standing in the lighted hatchway. “One of the guards you posted?” Wizzy asked.

  “I doubt it. They wouldn’t stay all night.”

  “A scavenger, then?”

  “Nothing of value there yet. The ship is far too new.”

  “Maybe it’s Captain Tom!” Wizzy said, surprised at the excitement in his voice.

  “Could be,” Prince Pineapple said, rising to his feet. “We’ll give it a wide berth to play it safe.” He skirted the ship now, angling toward a craggy hill across the clearing with Wizzy dark on his shoulder.

  Wizzy saw the profiles of mountains against the dawn sky. Deep grays in the sky were giving way to pastel pinks and blues, like an artist mixing colors on his palette. “We’re going up there?” he asked.

  “Right. We’ll have to scramble through the woods with no trail for a while. The trailhead’s too close to the ship.

  Wizzy was curious about who was on the ship. “But what if it is Captain Tom?” he asked.

  “And what if it is?” Prince Pineapple said, his tone worried. “Remember how he treated you, Wizzy. He doesn’t want to see you.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  A distant, brilliant flash of orange in the sky caught Wizzy’s attention. A Great Comet swooped down gracefully, then veered up and away. Within seconds it was a far-off speck, no more noticeable than a bright star. “Oh!” Wizzy exclaimed.

  “What’s the matter?” Prince Pineapple asked.

  “There!” Wizzy said, casting his gaze toward the retreating comet. “It’s Papa Sidney!”

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “It’s almost out of sight now. But it was Papa! I know it!” Wizzy thought for a momen
t, then: “He was telling me to stay with Captain Tom.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Wizzy lifted off from the prince’s shoulder, flying in a holding pattern there.

  Prince Pineapple continued on for several steps, then turned. “Come on, Wizzy. We’ve a long way to go.”

  “I have to find Captain Tom;” Wizzy glowed orange. A bright yellow tail flared from his nucleus.

  “But the scroll! I can’t read it without you. I can’t even see the damned thing.”

  “I’m sorry, but I must do as Papa says.”

  Prince Pineapple hung his head dejectedly, sensing there was no way to change the little comet’s mind. Removing his beanie, he gave the helicopter rotor a spin. When he looked up, Wizzy was gone, streaking across the clearing toward the ship.

  Wizzy changed course once to look back at Prince Pineapple. The prince was barely visible in the low light, a solitary, shadowy figure standing there. Then the prince replaced his helicopter beanie on his head, taking a few hesitating steps toward the craggy hills. He picked up his pace and began to walk briskly.

  He’s going anyway, Wizzy thought. The fool!

  Wizzy thought he saw Prince Pineapple wave to him. But the visibility was not good, and Wizzy thought it might even have been an obscene gesture.

  When Wizzy reached the ship, Javik was standing in the circular hatchway with his hands on his hips. Javik’s legs were spread, and the position of his body gave the impression of a person blocking the entrance. His head moved from side to side in negative fashion. He was not glad to see Wizzy. “What do you want?” Javik asked.

  “I came to help.” Wizzy noticed scratches on Javik’s face.

  “You can help by staying the hell out of my way!”

  Wizzy bristled at the remark. Perching on a large rock near the base of the Amanda Marie, Wizzy saw the sky open up with pale blue color as the new day arrived.

  “Even if you were worth a damn,” Javik said, “which you definitely are not, there would be nothing for you to do here. The ship has big problems.”