The Garbage Chronicles

by Brian Herbert

  When Javik caught up with the others, Rebo and Namaba were zipping up their heavy club jackets and pulling the collars around the lower parts of their long necks. Prince Pineapple stood to one side of the trail, apparently expecting Javik to assume the lead. Wizzy hovered nearby.

  “You lead,” Javik said to the prince. “Then the Moravians.”

  Prince Pineapple frowned and stomped ahead, negotiating a narrow, rocky path that sloped gently downward from the desert plateau. They passed a number of AmFed garbage cannisters here, and at Javik’s suggestion these were given a wide berth.

  “Many are radioactive,” he told them.

  Swirls of fine, light gray mist curled ahead of them like a graceful, supernatural life form that was beckoning to the travelers. What was in the valley beyond? “Come see for yourself,” the mist seemed to say.

  From the rear, Wizzy saw Prince Pineapple disappear into the mist, followed by the others.

  “The ground’s frozen,” Javik said, feeling his footsteps crunch. A dull, aching pain pulled at his belly. Gotta find more food, he thought, glancing at the folding shovel which rode on his hip. Gastric juices filled his mouth as he focused on the nutrient cord wrapped around the shovel handle. He swallowed.

  “Something strange about this mist,” Wizzy said.

  I agree with that, Javik thought. But there’s also something strange about Wizzy . . . and the others. The recurring video-dome commercial flashed across his weary mind. He saw ten pineapple men dancing in a chorus line, then ten Wizzies, then ten three-legged Morovians.

  “Can’t see two meters ahead,” Prince Pineapple said, walking very slowly. His foot slipped on a pebble, causing him to fall against a rock wall he had not noticed in the fog. He stumbled, trying to regain his footing.

  “Watch it!” Rebo said, catching Prince Pineapple by the arm. “There’s a dropoff on your right.”

  Prince Pineapple leaned against the wall, breathing deeply from the sudden fright. “Wonder how far down,” he said.

  “Just be glad you can’t see it,” Javik said, catching up with the others.

  The trail dropped steeply now. Soon the prince slipped again and came very close to going over the edge.

  “I’ll lead,” Javik said. “And if any of you have any funny ideas about hitting me over the head, remember this: I have the nutrient kit, which may be our only hope for food. I’ll fall over the edge.. You can count on it. And in this fog, who knows if you’ll ever find me?”

  “We get the message,” Namaba said.

  Javik used his wardrobe ring to fit himself with a pair of brown ski gloves. Then he did the same for Prince Pineapple and the Morovians.

  “You oughtta toss those jackets over the edge,” Javik said to Rebo and Namaba, seeing that they were shivering. “Let me fit you with something functional.”

  “We’ll manage,” Rebo said.

  “I’ll take you up on that,” Namaba said. She tossed her black club jacket over the edge of the cliff. Rebo glared at her.

  Javik fitted her with a lemon yellow ski outfit. It surprised him more than a little to see the clothing follow her irregular form perfectly, giving her pants, a jacket, and a hooded top.

  Resuming their course, Javik guided a gloved hand along the rock wall and probed ahead with one cautious step at a time, not committing the weight of his body until he was sure of his footing.

  After an hour that seemed much longer, Javik felt run-down. Stopping on the narrow trail, he shared a bio bar and dried apple pieces with Rebo and Namaba. “Maybe we’ll find food after we get out of this valley,” Javik told them.

  “He expects to find a restaurant out here,” Namaba said. “I think we’d better learn to hunt.”

  “I haven’t seen that many wild animals around,” Rebo said.

  “There are very few animals on Cork,” Prince Pineapple said. “This is explained in one of our legends, which says that—”

  “Hang your legends!” Javik snapped.

  “We’d better figure something out soon,” Namaba said, looking at Javik, “or that shovel on your hip will be used to bury us.”

  Javik closed his pack and put his arms through the straps to pull it on his back.

  A short distance down the trail, they dropped underneath the fog. Now, less than thirty meters below, they could see the snow-and ice-covered valley floor, stretching into the distance like a placid white lake.

  “It’s clearing,” Javik said, glancing warily at the others. The trail became less rugged, dropping gradually. As Javik negotiated this section, he looked back often and remained well ahead of the others, fearful that he might catch a heavy rock on the back of the head.

  Reaching the valley floor, Javik saw that the foggy mist formed a rather uniform ceiling all the way across the valley. The terrain was almost perfectly flat, permitting him to see a distant rock wall. It struck him as unusual that snow and ice would be on the valley floor but not on the trail they had just traversed.

  When the balance of the party caught up, Javik scrutinized the scroll again. “We’re here,” he said, pointing to a spot on the parchment. “At the base of the cliff trail. Another trail should be somewhere over there.” He pointed across the valley to his right, approximately along the line of a nearby path formed by small animal tracks. Javik counted four sharp toes on each track. He wondered what sort of an animal it was, and if he had the nerve to kill one and eat it. Looking up, he saw Namaba staring at him.

  Wizzy flew in the direction Javik had designated. “There’s a pretty good trail here,” he called out, hovering over a slight rise in the terrain.

  When Javik and the others reached the trail, Javik found it to be a trough of ice, perhaps a meter below the level of the surrounding terrain. Fresh, powdery snow lay on the ground all around, but there was none in the trough. Here the brown earth was visible beneath a thin layer of ice. As Javik stepped down to the trail, he felt the ice crackle under his feet. He kicked at the ice, lifting a slab and exposing a section of ground.

  “Can you explain this, Wizzy?” Prince Pineapple said, stepping into the trough next to Javik.

  Wizzy glowed red, but came up with no answer. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s a mystery to me.”

  Javik knelt, removing one glove. He dug in the soil with his bare hand. “Ground’s warm,” he said.

  “Magicians have passed this way,” Prince Pineapple said.

  The travelers set out single file on the trough trail, led by Wizzy and Prince Pineapple. “Kinda pretty here,” Wizzy said, tilting his yellow cat’s eye toward the prince.

  Prince Pineapple did not respond.

  “I said—”

  “I heard you,” Prince Pineapple said curtly. “Just keep your distance.”

  “You still sore at me?” Wizzy asked, hovering near the prince’s face.

  Prince Pineapple pushed Wizzy out of the way and trudged past him.

  “I’ll find a friend somewhere else,” Wizzy said.

  “I’m hungry,” Namaba said, looking back at Javik.

  “There isn’t much food left,” Javik said.

  “We’ve got to eat,” she said. “It’s that or die.”

  “I’m hungry too,” Javik said.

  “Then let’s finish off what’s left,” Rebo said, loping along the trail and looking back at Javik.

  “There’s two bio bars left,” Javik said. “And some dried apples. I’ll split it all up now. You can do what you want with yours.”

  This was agreeable with the Moravians, so Javik stopped and opened his pack. The remaining food was divided. Then Javik wrapped his portion and returned it to the pack, while the Moravians gulped theirs.

  “Don’t ask for any of mine,” Javik said.

  Noticing some crumbs on the trail, Namaba fell to her knees and pressed her face against the ice. She scoured the trail with her tongue until all the stray crumbs had been retrieved.

  Javik watched her intently as he pulled on his pack. Glancing up the trail, he saw
Prince Pineapple and Wizzy waiting.

  “Thank you,” Namaba said as she stood up.

  Javik nodded. “Water anyone?” he asked. He held his mouth under the spigot of one of the water pods on Rebo’s back, filling his mouth. He shut off the spigot and straightened, holding some of the water in his mouth.

  He swallowed slowly, watching the Moravians drink. Seeing Rebo take too much, Javik stopped him.

  “But all the snow around,” Rebo said. “We could melt it and drink it.”

  “Might be contaminated,” Javik said.

  Rebo put his mouth to the spigot again, disregarding Javik’s instructions.

  “Enough!” Javik barked, giving Rebo’s large head a stiff shove.

  Rebo straightened and met Javik’s gaze. They stood two meters apart, with their gazes locked, portending mortal combat. Rebo was first to look away. Then he looked back at Javik, saying, “l could take you now, before you had a chance to pull that thunder piece near your hand.”

  “I doubt it,” Javik said. The fingers of his gun hand twitched.

  “I’m very fast for my size,” Rebo said.

  “He’s telling you the truth,” Namaba said.

  Javik’s mouth became a thin, steely line. His lips parted, and terse words crossed them: “We’re in this together, Rebo. You understand that, or you would have tried to take me earlier.”

  Rebo smiled, revealing iridescent blue teeth. He extended his forepaw to Javik. “You’re a pretty tough little guy,” Rebo said as they clasped hands.

  Javik knew he was taking a chance. But he couldn’t keep looking over his shoulder. He would have to sleep sometime. Studying Rebo’s face, he saw deep lines framing the undersides of the eyes, lines formed in the worries and battles of another world.

  “I was a killer once,” Rebo said as their hands separated.

  “That was on a different world,” Namaba said. “And besides, those times are dead.” She looked at Javik. “Rebo is not the same here.”

  Javik looked at Rebo again, noticing a scar on the side of his head and a nick out of one of his wide, cuplike ears. This was not a killer. Not any longer. He was a potential friend. Javik was sure of it.

  “Hurry up!” Prince Pineapple yelled, glowering.

  Javik caught Namaba’s gaze before they resumed their course. “Those morsels of food won’t last us long,” she said.

  Thirty minutes later they reached the rock wall at the opposite side of Icy Valley. A short search produced two trails within a hundred meters of one another, each taking a different route up the rock face.

  Javik studied the Sacred Scroll of Cork. “I only see one trail here,” he said.

  “Maybe it doesn’t matter,” Prince Pineapple said. He took several steps up the nearest trail, then stopped and screamed.

  Javik dropped the scroll and drew his service pistol. “What is it?” he yelled, running toward the prince.

  Prince Pineapple was roaring back down the trail. “Look behind me!” he squealed. “On the trail!”

  “Where?” Javik said. “I don’t see anything!”

  “Paula!” Prince Pineapple said, near hysterics as he reached Javik. He buried his face in his hands.

  “What are you talking about?” Wizzy asked, joining them at the trailhead.

  “Paula Pineapple,” the prince said. “The girl I almost permied. She’s on the trail holding a huge cleaver. She threatened to cut me up into little pineapple squares.”

  “But there’s no one there,” Wizzy said.

  “That’s right,” Javik said. “Take a look for yourself.”

  Prince Pineapple pulled one hand away from his face and looked back up the trail. “I still see her,” he insisted. “She’s going to kill me if I take that trail.”

  “Nonsense!” Javik said. “I’ll show you.” He holstered his gun and hiked up the trail, taking big, confident steps.

  As Prince Pineapple watched in terror the image of the pineapple girl faded. Then the image disappeared in a puff of mist. Suddenly, Javik stopped and drew his gun again. He backed down the trail.

  “What is it?” Prince Pineapple called out. “I don’t see her anymore.”

  As Javik retreated, he kept his eyes glued on a beautiful dark-skinned girl who stood in the center of the trail, holding an automatic rifle. The barrel was pointed directly at Javik. He knew the girl. It was the one he had almost permied—the one from the astro-port so long ago. He had left her because of the uncertainties of war.

  Reaching the trailhead, Javik explained what he saw, stuttering. Then he asked, “How? H-how could she be here? We’re on the opposite side of the universe from Port Saint Clemente.”

  “We don’t see anything,” Namaba said.

  “I’ll try it,” Rebo said. While Javik watched, Rebo loped up the trail, approaching the dark-skinned girl who still stood on the trail holding a rifle. As Rebo neared her, the girl’s image faded and disappeared in a puff of mist.

  When this happened, Rebo stopped in his tracks. Then he turned and loped down the trail.

  “What happened?” Javik asked.

  “I saw Namaba,” Rebo said. “She was blocking the trail, holding a long switchblade in each hand.” He looked back. “She’s still up there.”

  Namaba’s dark eyebrows arched in surprise. “Me?” she asked. “How could that be? I’m here.”

  “Magicians at work,” Prince Pineapple said. “Or Lord Abercrombie.”

  “Do you see the pattern?” Rebo asked, looking at Javik.

  “You love Namaba, don’t you, Rebo?” Javik asked.

  Rebo nodded, catching Namaba’s troubled gaze.

  She looked away.

  “In each case,” Javik said, “we are threatened by the one we love most in the entire universe.”

  “Exactly,” Rebo said. “The image of Namaba on the trail is fading now.”

  “Let’s try the other trail,” Prince Pineapple suggested.

  The others agreed. Prince Pineapple led the way up the second trail, stepping slowly and cautiously at first. The trail became steep and narrow. Soon they were in mist again, on a cliff trail similar to the one that had led them into Icy Valley. With each step, Prince Pineapple expected to confront Paula Pineapple again. But she did not appear. They increased their pace and began to make good progress.

  But then Wizzy flew to the front and squealed, “Wait! I think we’re going the wrong way!”

  “What?” Prince Pineapple said, stopping.

  Javik and the others made similar surprised comments as they stopped.

  “Someone wants us to go this way,” Wizzy said, “It’s too easy.”

  They talked it over. Generally, it was conceded that Wizzy might be right. But Javik was less convinced than the others. “Maybe it’s just the opposite,” he said. “Whoever is orchestrating this knew we would have doubts. Maybe we were expected to stop and turn back.”

  “How do we decide?” Prince Pineapple asked.

  “Your Decision Coin,” Javik said.

  “Don’t be silly. Abercrombie controls that.”

  “I don’t agree,” Javik said. “I’m in charge here, and I say flip it.”

  Prince Pineapple shrugged and produced his large gold coin.

  “The ‘yes’ side and we take this trail,” Javik said. ‘The ‘no’ side and we take the other.”

  Prince Pineapple flipped the coin, being careful to keep it from falling over the cliff. It rolled a little ways and lodged against the rock wall at one side of the trail.

  “It’s ‘no,’” Javik said, retrieving the coin. He handed it to the prince.

  “Then we take the other trail,” Prince Pineapple said.

  Javik smiled. “Wrong,” he said. “We do the opposite. Abercrombie does control that coin. He wants us on the other trail.”

  Prince Pineapple shook his head in confusion. “I don’t know,” he said, stuffing the coin in his pants pocket. “I’m sure of it,” Javik said. “Let’s go.”

  Lord Abercrombi
e was soil-immersed, permitting him to see and hear the activity on the trail. I don’t control Decision Coins, he thought. They’re strictly chance.

  He concentrated on breaking a large rock outcropping just over the heads of the travelers. It was already cracked from natural conditions, and should not require that much effort. But no incantation, prayer, or command could convince even the smallest chunk to break away.

  Two days ago I induced a small rockslide, he thought, frustrated. Now, whenever my enemies are vulnerable, I can do nothing.

  Lord Abercrombie was more dismayed than angry. He had experienced so many failures that the latest installment came as no surprise. He felt this attitude probably contributed to his failings. The magnetic imbalance of Cork could not be responsible for everything. But he was helpless to change, and felt himself falling into the great cosmic crevasse populated by losers. He wondered why attitude suddenly seemed so essential to magical success. Attitude was supposed to be a psyche thing, a concern for super-achiever fleshcarriers. It should not belong in a magical situation. Maybe it had something to do with his being caught between realms: Things were getting muddled from his indecision. Or maybe it was something deeper, an overlapping between the realms of Flesh and Magic.

  Lord Abercrombie’s tympanic sensors picked up a cracking sound. A tiny piece of rock broke free from the outcropping and bounced down the cliff face, falling harmlessly on the trail next to Javik. It was such a small piece that none of the intended victims noticed it.

  Oh, well, Lord Abercrombie thought. It was something, anyway. Helplessly, he watched Prince Pineapple lead the way up the correct trail.

  As the travelers resumed their journey, the ground began to shake. Javik heard a low rumble, which grew louder.

  “Run for it!” Wizzy squealed, looking up the cliff with his cat’s eye. He could not see very far in the thick mist. “I hear a rockslide.”

  “Uptrail,” Javik yelled, seeing a domed rock shelter just ahead. “Under that big rock.”