The Garbage Chronicles

by Brian Herbert

  They ran and flew for their lives, taking shelter under the domed rock. An avalanche of jagged rock thundered by them, bouncing off the side of the cliff. From the safety of their shelter, they heard the rocks land angrily on the valley floor.

  When the noise subsided, Javik ventured out cautiously. The mist was becoming dark gray now, and he knew why. “We must hurry,” he said. “It will be nightfall soon.”

  Still soil-immersed, Lord Abercrombie was raging at the latest turn of events. So close! he thought. I almost had them! Then he wondered if he had caused the slide or if the rocks would have fallen anyway. After all, the outcropping had been cracked long before he took notice of it.

  I have to assume I did it, he thought. I can’t give up now.

  Javik led the way up the trail, sidestepping a number of small rocks in the way. “Don’t step on any of this loose stuff,” he said.

  Beyond the slide area, the travelers began to move quickly, trying to reach a suitable campsite before dark. They glanced up often, fearing the mountain would cut loose again.

  We’re moving deeper into Lord Abercrombie’s web, Prince Pineapple thought. He is all around us, ready to swallow us at any moment.

  Night was descending rapidly, spreading its purple-black Corkian mantle across the cliff trail. It took away what little visibility the fog had left for them, forcing them to travel slower and slower. Wizzy’s white glow worked as a fairly decent light for a while, but he had trouble keeping it lit. Perhaps it was due to the full day he had already had, with many occasions to call upon his data banks. Finally he asked to be carried. Grudgingly, Javik placed him in a pocket of his vari-temp coat.

  The intense darkness made the prospect of another rockslide terrifying to Javik. If he heard it coming, where would he flee? Surely such a catastrophe would send some and perhaps all hurtling over the edge.

  It was dark and windy when Prince Pineapple insisted on a break. For some time before that, Javik had noticed that the prince had been dragging his steps. By the time he called out, Prince Pineapple had slipped to last in line.

  “Tell him to be careful with this,” Javik said, passing the folding shovel and nutrient cord to Namaba. As she passed it on down the line, Prince Pineapple said he had heard the command, and that it was an unnecessary thing to say.

  Every muscle in Javik’s body wanted to sleep. But this was no place to pitch a tent. An icy wind cut across his legs. He considered donning a pair of vari-temp pants with the aid of his wardrobe ring, but decided against it. Too much energy required to mento it. He probed with his gloved hands for a place to sit. The ground was cold under his bottom.

  Javik heard Namaba and Rebo find their own places to rest. Their breathing was labored, coming in short, staccato bursts, like steam engines with just enough poop left to go straight to the garbage launch facility.

  The clunk and clang of Prince Pineapple’s shovel rang out from downtrail.

  “Maybe we can sleep here,” Namaba suggested. “Right on the trail.”

  The idea had some appeal to Javik, and even made a certain. amount of sense. It might be safer than stumbling around in the dark. But no one seconded the motion.

  She did not repeat her suggestion.

  Soon they were back at it, straining their muscles nearly to the breaking point. Prince Pineapple was a hot dog now with the fresh charge. Generously, he offered to carry the water pods and the survival pack. These were turned over to him. Even with this added weight, the prince surged far ahead of the others, often going so fast that he had to stop and wait for them to catch up.

  It was a night of nights, the sort of monumental struggle one never forgets. With each step, Javik thought the trail grew steeper and more rocky. The wind bore down on them from uptrail, the worst possible direction, often forcing backward steps. If only it would blow from behind! Such a wind would help them to the top.

  But the wind god, or whoever was in control of such matters, was not on their side.

  Javik did not mention his thoughts. They only brought to mind Lord Abercrombie and the suggestion that he might be working against every move they made. Javik tried to convince himself that Abercrombie did not exist, and that even if he did exist, he could not control the wind or rockslides. But with each attempted step, Javik grew less confident of this.

  Sometime in the early morning hours they stumbled onto a high plateau. The mist disappeared here, and Javik saw two harvest moons dropping below the horizon. A blanket of stars twinkled overhead, a cool blanket which offered welcome psychological warmth. Javik felt physically warmer here as well, as the wind had died down, going to one of the hiding places for such phenomena.

  “You wanna camp here?” Prince Pineapple asked, coming back down the trail. With the moons behind him, Javik could not see his face.

  “Yeah,” Javik said.

  In waning moonlight ahead, Javik saw the ghostlike outlines of treetops, framed majestically against the Corkian sky. Somewhere nearby a river ran, making its night journey with the moons. They were on soft soil now, at the edge of a forest. The moons disappeared below the horizon.

  Javik took Wizzy out of his pocket and awakened htm. “Give me some light,” Javik said.

  Wizzy did not complain, despite being so tired that he could barely keep his peeper open. He glowed bright white.

  Prince Pineapple moved in close to watch. He moved around to stay warm.

  Javik searched in the pack until he found the tent tube, a tiny roll no larger than a package of Lifesaver candies. Locating a flat spot on the ground, he set the tube down. “Stand back,” he warned.

  Everyone moved away from the tube.

  Javik mentoed it. Come on, brain he thought, knowing there was no manual way to pitch the specially packed, lightweight tent. My mento unit had better be operable. He felt no pain around the implanted mento unit.

  The gortex tent popped open like fast-forward photography on an inverted, ugly flower.

  Prince Pineapple gasped and stepped back. “Oh!” he said.

  The tent stood taller than Javik and was at least four meters square. In Wizzy’s flickering light, four curved, interlocking corner poles of expandable titanium appeared and stabbed through eyelets at each corner of the tent fabric. Then eight stakes hammered into the ground all around like a short burst of machine-gun fire. The door flap unzipped and flopped open, a final indication that the unit was ready for occupancy.

  “Amazing^” Prince Pineapple said. A light went on inside as he poked his head in. “It even has beds!” he exclaimed, seeing three single beds, completely made up. He heard a fan whirring.

  “This is nothing,” Javik said, his voice weary. “The Earth-use models have full appliances, even videodome units. That makes for a heavier package, of course—nearly a quarter of a kilo instead of this little one-hecto baby.”

  “Sure looks like magic to me,” Prince Pineapple said.

  A short distance away, Rebo and Namaba found a place on the ground where they cleared away the rocks, twigs, and pinecones. “Do you have enough space?” Rebo asked, selecting a spot for himself. The river was loud here.

  “I’m fine,” she said. Namaba lay on her side, with her head on one arm. In the light cast through the open tent doorway, she watched Javik enter the tent.

  “Where did Rebo and Namaba go?” she heard Javik ask.

  “I think they’re over toward the river,” Prince Pineapple said.

  Rebo lay down on the ground where he could see Namaba’s glowing red eyes. “You said I was different,” he said. “And I agree. There have been great changes in my brain. With this yenta you say you have, Namaba, can you explain it?”

  “Your words are not so harsh,” she said. “And they are slower, evidently spoken from a calm soul! I see it in your eyes, too, Rebo. They are softer and more compassionate.”

  “Softer? You mean I am no longer a man?”

  “No, silly! I just mean that you’re nicer now. More considerate.”

  “Then let�
��s get married,” he said. “When we return to Moro City.”

  “A meteor shower!” Javik yelled, poking his head out of the tent.

  Namaba and Rebo sat up and watched a sky full of burning embers plummet to Cork. One large chunk caught Namaba’s attention. It disappeared below the treetops, and she heard it hit the ground.

  “Only about fifty kilometers off,” Javik said.

  The sky grew dark again, revealing the backdrop of stars.

  “You might return to your old self back home,” Namaba said, lying back down beside Rebo. “Your gang was always first, and I was just a possession.”

  “I’ve given that a lot of thought;” Rebo said. “I’ll be leaving the Southside, finding honest work.”

  “I like the sound of that,” she said. “But I can’t forget the way you were. If only I had met you now.”

  “I can’t forget my other self, either,” he said, showing sorrow in his tone. “The image of that old flower vendor still haunts me.”

  “Yeah. That was a terrible thing.”

  “Rebo! Namaba!” Javik yelled. “You guys okay over there?”

  “We’re fine,” Rebo said. But he did not feel fine. The tank in his steam boiler stomach was in a knot.

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for us,” she said. “I’ve known the other Rebo.”

  “But I won’t ever see the Hawks again! I promise,” Namaba saw his eyes narrow to dim slits. Then they closed, evidently in prayer.

  “No,” she said. “I’m sorry, but no.”

  Presently, Rebo heard rumbling slumber from the other side of the camp. He wished he could fall asleep so easily. But his mind churned. It was the new mind in the new Rebo, carrying thoughts that seemed never to have existed before.

  He heard Namaba turn to her other side. During the next hour, Namaba turned over many more times while Rebo lay awake. But this was no consolation to him. He wanted to share happiness with her, not turmoil.

  CHAPTER 12

  The planet naturally attracts space debris, much of it radioactively and ionically charged. When this is combined with a basic magnetic imbalance, the place becomes inhospitable to the pure energy waves required by a magician. Magic still works there, but only erratically.

  Conclusion of the magicians’ task force assigned to Cork, sixty-seven centuries before Abercrombie’s arrival

  As Javik slept, Lord Abercrombie left his soil-immersion chamber and floated just above the surface to the Disaster Control Room. There he supervised work on the old earthquake and flood machine. This was comprised of a long bank of cracked CRT screens and discolored computer keyboards along one wall, manned by six dented meckies. As he entered the room, he heard squeaking, whirring, and synchronized rattles as the meckies tried to get the equipment going.

  “Anything?” Lord Abercrombie asked, expecting to receive the usual long list of problems.

  “We’re flooding the ancient riverbed on the east edge of Dusty Desert,” a soprano-voiced silver meckie reported.

  “Eh?” Lord Abercrombie said, moving to the meckie’s side. He rubbed his human eye and then studied the water table gauges to one side of the CRT screen. Not believing the readings, he slammed the butt of his hand against them. The needles jumped only a little, returning to their original position. “I don’t believe it,” he mumbled. “How long has this been working?”

  “Three and a half hours, Lord,” the silver meckie said.

  “And no sign of the monopoles?”

  “Not so far. We’re concentrating all the spring waters for thousands of square kilometers—raising them to the level of the desert plateau.”

  “How long before we get a rip-roaring flood?” Lord Abercrombie asked.

  “Just a few hours, if everything holds together.”

  Still not believing his good fortune, Lord Abercrombie said, “Be careful not to get the flood going too soon. We want to catch Brother Carrot’s entire fleet when they’re in the middle of the desert.”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  Lord Abercrombie felt like jumping up and clicking his heels. There had been so many misfortunes, so many dashed hopes. Then he remembered that he only had one heel left. It didn’t matter, anyway. He needed to keep a more even temperament, not becoming too euphoric during good times or too depressed during the bad.

  It’s not a loser’s mentality, he told himself. I’m just being sensible,

  “What about the monopoles?” the silver meckie asked. “They could get in our way if we wait for Brother Carrot. How about a hurricane where the army is now?”

  “We’d have to shut down the flood to do that,” Lord Abercrombie said. “Better not risk it. Let’s keep what we have going.”

  Three midmorning suns cast their rays around the campsite as Javik opened the tent flap and stepped out. His feet and hands were cold. He wiped his nose with one sleeve, then stared at the bio bar in his hand. With gnawing, screaming hunger at his midsection, he lifted the high-energy bar to his lips. Slowly he nibbled at it, tasting the sweetness of honey and feeling the texture of reprocessed oat flakes on his tongue. When he was halfway through the bar, he considered saving a portion for Rebo and Namaba. Then he ate Rebo’s allocation, following that with Namaba’s.

  I warned them, Javik thought, licking the corners of his mouth to retrieve the last molecules of sweetness there. Hearing running water, he walked past the sleeping form of Rebo and looked over the edge of a low embankment.

  A small stream ran below his vantage point, sparkling cheerily in sunlight. On the ground nearby, Rebo stirred and stretched. Javik wondered where Namaba had gone. Then he saw her, in shade at the base of the embankment, leaning over the water. The stream was not as large as Javik had imagined it to be the night before. And it seemed quieter now. Oddly, the banks were wet by each side a good ten meters above the water level.

  Rebo loped to his side, yawning.

  “Look at that water level,” Javik said. “It’s dropped a lot recently. I’d say overnight.”

  “Huh,” Rebo said, not showing interest. “Boy, am I hungry!” he said. “You got anything left in your pack?”

  “No. You finished your share yesterday.” Javik was still hungry, even hungrier than he had been before eating the bio bar. The bit of food had activated his appetite. In a big way.

  Prince Pineapple walked up, asking for his nutrient kit. Javik gave it to him, then watched the prince nudge away sleepily, looking for a spot to recharge.

  “We’ve gotta figure something out,” Rebo said. “Can’t go on without nourishment.”

  “Don’t imagine you have many streams in Moro City,” Javik said, returning to his own subject. “But they aren’t supposed to drop like that. Not in such a short period of time.”

  Rebo was watching Prince Pineapple recharge himself on a patch of dark ground at the edge of the forest. The prince had one foot immersed in a freshly dug hole and his eyes were closed. In ecstasy, he leaned back on both elbows.

  Javik looked too, wondering if the nutrient kit would work for him and the Moravians. To Javik it looked as though Prince Pineapple was receiving a form of sexual gratification. It was the way he leaned back, and the look of sublime pleasure on his pineapple face.

  “Why couldn’t we do that?” Rebo asked.

  “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  They watched Prince Pineapple remove his bare foot from the hole and wipe it with a moist-pak towelette. Glancing at Javik and Rebo nervously, he found his sock and slipped it on.

  “I’m pretty damned hungry,” Javik said.

  “Same here.”

  Without another word, they walked toward Prince Pineapple, reaching him just as he was refilling his hole.

  “We’ll take that,” Javik said, grabbing the shovel and barbed nutrient cord.

  “You first?” Javik asked, extending the items to Rebo.

  “Go ahead,” Rebo said. “I’m not afraid, even if it kills you, I’d have to give it a try. We’re different, you know, and it mi
ght only work for one of us.”

  Javik looked around for a place to dig.

  “It won’t work for either of you,” Prince Pineapple said. He stomped on the loose dirt from his hole, packing it flat.

  Javik dug at a furious pace, clanging the shovel on stones and throwing loose dirt in all directions. Some dirt landed on the prince’s shoes.

  “Watch it,” Prince Pineapple said haughtily. “And don’t damage my shovel.”

  “Get rid of him,” Javik said. “Before I lose my temper.”

  “Beat it,” Rebo said, showing no respect for the prince’s royal status. He gave Prince Pineapple a mighty shove, causing him to stumble backward.

  “Ruffian!” Prince Pineapple said.

  Wizzy flew up just then. “You shouldn’t do that,” he said. “A prince of Cork deserves our respect.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Prince Pineapple huffed. He stalked off in the direction of the tent.

  “Wait!” Wizzy squealed, flying behind the angry prince.

  Prince Pineapple paid no heed to Wizzy.

  “I’d like us to be friends again,” Wizzy said. “We have too much in common to be at one another’s throats.”

  “You have no throat,” Prince Pineapple said coolly.

  “It was a figure of speech.”

  “But I have shifty eyes,” Prince Pineapple snapped, still stalking away. “You can’t be friends with someone like that.”

  “Let’s talk about it,” Wizzy said.

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” the prince said, raging. “And I don’t need any friends.”

  Wizzy stopped following, and let the angry prince go his own way. Prince Pineapple found a log on which to sit and sulk.

  Sadly, Wizzy flew off to be by himself. He missed his friend and thought back upon their wonderful conversation in the prince’s apartment. My first friendship, Wizzy thought, alighting on a tree branch. It didn’t last very long.

  A chubby yellow bird chirped cheerily on a nearby branch.

  “You wanna be my friend?” Wizzy asked.