The Garbage Chronicles

by Brian Herbert

  Gradually, all the fleshy places filled in. When Abercrombie landed, his body was entirely flesh again. In an awakening haze, he tried to crawl back in the hole. But unseen hands pushed him away, gently but firmly.

  I’m rejected, Abercrombie thought. The Realm of Magic does not want me!

  Wearing nothing but his wardrobe ring, he stumbled out of the Soil Immersion Chamber into the labyrinth of passageways. The maze had once been second nature to him. But now he walked aimlessly in wrong directions, tripping and falling often. He scraped his knees, shins, and arms on the hard, rocky ground. The pain made his sensation of rejection even more acute. Only fleshcarriers felt such pain.

  Sidney the comet arched heavenward, leaving Cork and all its problems behind. As Sidney left the atmosphere and accelerated in the vacuum of space, he thought about how glad he was to have found his present life. It was a prize far greater than anything offered by Earth’s Bureau of Freeness, an existence never before contemplated by an Earthian.

  Sidney remembered wishing for a Bu-Free prize, and now it struck him as funny. Tragically funny. He wanted to tell millions of Earthians how foolish they were to waste, their lives hoping for such things. He thought of the problems on Cork too, and considered interjecting to set things straight.

  Then he changed his mind. I can’t worry about that stuff, he thought. One comet can only do so much.

  Gracefully, he streaked across the starcloth of space at many times the speed of light.

  “It’s gone,” Javik said, opening his eyes. He rose with the others and squinted to look around. The sky was pastel blue, with three Corkian suns just above the horizon. But there was no warmth from the suns. A chill wind blew dust over the desolate expanse that once had been a pristine meadow.

  “My God!” Namaba exclaimed. “Every flower is gone!”

  Javik shivered, despite having on the vari-temp coat. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “There’s death in the air.”

  The trail at the base of the cliff ran alongside the denuded meadow for a short distance. Occasional broken flower petals, leaves, and stems on the ground were reminders of what once had been. The three-dot markings were clear along the shale cliff here, and appeared more frequently than before—as if to reassure them that they were going in the right direction.

  Walking ahead of the others, Javik harbored deep doubts. Even with the certainty of the markings, he was not at all convinced that this was where they should be. And as he glanced back at Namaba, Rebo, and the prince, he saw it on their faces too: wide-eyed expressions mirroring his own fear.

  They skirted a sizable pile of loose rocks which had fallen across the path. Nervously, Javik looked up at the white cliff before returning to its base. The broken pieces of shale showed evidence of having fallen recently, with flat, unweathered surfaces.

  After they had gone a little farther, Javik thought he heard low, chanting voices. He stopped and raised his hand. “Listen!” he said.

  The others stood still. The only sound was a rattle from Prince Pineapple’s bag of garbage.

  “Shhh!” Javik said.

  Somewhere a rock tumbled down the face of the cliff. Javik’s gaze darted in all directions. “I don’t hear it now,” he said.

  “Maybe it’s the wind,” Namaba suggested, “whistling over the rocks.”

  “Yeah,” Javik said.

  The trail rose up an embankment now, leading them to a high area which was not all that wide. Down a steep incline to their left a deep blue lake began to emerge beneath a curved section of trail. The lake sparkled in the late afternoon suns as if fine jewels had been encrusted just below its surface.

  “I christen thee Jewel Lake,” Javik announced. He made the sign of the cross, touching his forehead, shoulders, and chest.

  “It gets narrower,” Prince Pineapple said, pointing ahead.

  The incline falling off to Jewel Lake became a sheer dropoff less than a kilometer uptrail, leaving them only a narrow trail. Above and to the right a stark white cliff looked out uncaringly.

  That’s a long way down, Javik thought.

  When they reached the beginning of the narrow trail, Prince Pineapple found three black dots on the side of the cliff. There could be no doubt. Ahead the trail wound around a jutting portion of cliff. Javik heard low, chanting voices again, louder this time and unmistakable—voices that seemed to come from somewhere uptrail, or perhaps overhead. He craned his neck to look up, but saw only clouds moving against the sky along the top of the cliff.

  “I hear it now,” Namaba said. “Deep voices.”

  “Magicians,” Prince Pineapple said. “Or their spirits.”

  “The wind, more likely,” Javik said. He sighed and faced the precipitous trail. “Good sense tells me to camp here for the night. We’re losing daylight and there’s a flat spot back a ways.. .just wide enough for the tent. But I want to get away from this place.”

  The others agreed. As they started out with Javik in front, Javik heard Prince Pineapple reminding everyone to avoid rhymes. I ought to wait for the worst dropoff and really lay one on him, Javik thought. Wonder if he’d hit the lake on the fly.

  “I know some good rhymes,” Javik said. “Do you prefer Mother Goose or dirty limericks?”

  “Neither!” Prince Pineapple squealed, plugging his ears with his stubby fingers. In his excitement, he dropped the bag containing his possessions. It clattered over the edge, gone forever. “Now see what you made me do!” he wailed.

  “I’m sorry” Javik said. “I didn’t mean to do that. Maybe we’ll find another cannister ahead. Millions of them were catapulted.”

  “That was a particularly nice selection,” the prince gruffed.

  “Better the bag than you,” Javik said.

  Javik turned his attention to the trail. Footing was becoming more treacherous, with many loose pieces of shale. The wind-chant grew louder as they rounded a bend. Then, inexplicably, the noise died out. The lake had narrowed to no more than the width of a river below them, with portions of it in shade as the suns dropped.

  “It’s too quiet,” Namaba said.

  “I see the pass,” Javik said. His voice was an excited whisper.

  A split in the white cliff was clearly visible only a few kilometers uptrail. With blackened areas on each side of the divide, it appeared to have been cut out of the white shale by a bolt of lightning.

  “We’d better pick up our pace,” Javik said. “I don’t want to be on this trail after dark,” He began to quick-step.

  “And the Moha?” Prince Pineapple said. “The monster of legend? You would rather share an evening with that?”

  “My service automatic packs a hell of a wallop,” Javik said. “It’s a baby cannon.”

  “Maybe we should turn back,” Namaba said. “It seems more sensible to face this Moha in the daylight.”

  “What does your yenta say?” Javik asked, slowing to a walk.

  “It’s been giving me trouble since we left the meadow. I get no indication now at all.”

  “Back a ways, all I could think about was getting the hell out,” Javik said. “Now I’m not so sure I did the right thing.” He paused and looked back.

  Just then a cacophany of angry voices rose from the rear. Javik saw something bright red on the cliff just above Prince Pineapple. A group of tubby little creatures stood on a ledge up there. They shouted in froglike voices and waved their arms angrily.

  Strawberry people? Javik thought

  Prince Pineapple looked up. “Outcasts!” he yelled. He ran uptrail to get away from them. A thrown rock glanced off his back.

  Javik and the others ran until they were out of range of the hurled missiles.

  “They live in caves up there,” Prince Pineapple said, looking back. “I think we interrupted a sacred ceremony. That’s why the chanting stopped. They’re mutants that grow on the ground. His voice became a hiss as he added, “Like Vegetables.”

  “I remember your argument with Wizzy,” Javik said. “Bu
t don’t melons grow on the ground too? I saw several in the royal court.”

  “I’m not going to tell you a melon person is as good as any other Fruit,” Prince Pineapple said. “We’ve all heard of melon-heads. But a melon is much better than a strawberry.”

  “How so?” Javik asked.

  “It just is, that’s all.”

  “I guess we’re not turning back,” Javik said, seeing strawberry people swing down to the trail on ropes. They gathered there, chattering excitedly in throaty, croaky voices that made them sound like a pond full of bullfrogs.

  Prince Pineapple’s mouth curled downward in revulsion as he looked at them. “Mutants,” he snarled.

  The strawberry horde moved closer. They took a few steps, chattered nervously, then took more steps. They appeared to be building up courage.

  “Maybe we could block them off with a rockslide,” Rebo suggested, pointing up the wall. “Aim your thunder piece about there, Captain.”

  “We may have to come back this way,” Javik said. He began to run uptrail. “Let’s go!” he said.

  The quartet took short, quick steps, looking down constantly to keep from taking a misstep on the loose trail. Just centimeters to their left the sheer dropoff waited like a predator toying with its prey.

  They didn’t have to look back to know the strawberry people were in pursuit. Angry grunts and the scuffling of many feet told them this. A small rock glanced off the back of Javik’s head. He heard Prince Pineapple and the others curse as they were pelted. Javik’s implanted mento unit throbbed.

  Javik broke into a full run. His feet skipped over loose slabs of shale. Some pieces fell from the trail toward the ribbon of blue lake far below. The trail began to drop down steeply now, and it was all Javik could do to keep from tumbling forward head over heels.

  They ran down, ever down, in daylight that was fast becoming dusk. Javik’s knees ached. Quick glances back told him the pursuers were slow, and he was relieved at this. The lake was far behind them now, and the trail widened. The sheer dropoff became more of a gradual incline across white granite.

  With the strawberry people out of sight, Javik and his group were nearing the bottom. In shadows ahead, Javik saw the pass between the cliffs. Charred streaks along each side of the pass told a story only the planet knew. Layers of orange covered the sky.

  They slowed to a walk, passing near a cluster of AmFed garbage cannisters. Prince Pineapple gave them a longing look, but did not ask to stop. One was split wide open, with government forms and pamphlets spread around. The other cannisters were basically intact, with only a few bright objects showing.

  As they neared the pass, it became apparent that something on the ground was wedged between the cliffs. It was round and large, but somewhat difficult to see in the waning light.

  “A big boulder?” Javik said, in a low voice.

  “We’d better be careful,” Prince Pineapple said.

  The excited voices of strawberry people behind them caused them to quicken their steps. Javik was just about to bolt when he glanced back and saw that the pursuers were stopped on the trail.

  “Mo-ha!” they chanted. “Mo-ha!”

  “I told you,” Prince Pineapple said, looking around nervously.

  “Mo-ha . . . Mo-ha . . . Mo-ha . . . Mo-ha . . . Mo-ha . . . Mo-ha . . . Moha-Moha-Moha!” Faster and faster they chanted, sounding to Javik like the tape of an old-style train that Sidney Malloy had played for him once. It was one of the illegal things in Sidney’s safe.

  “The Moha is here somewhere,” Prince Pineapple said. “The scroll said where the cliffs meet.”

  Javik started when dozens of long tentacles popped out of the boulderlike mound. “That’s no rock,” he said.

  The quartet approached carefully, with their small complement of weapons drawn. This amounted to no more than Javik’s automatic pistol and Rebo’s switchblade knife. Namaba and Prince Pineapple found heavy stones. The mound was less than fifty meters in front of them now, and in the dim light they saw eyes on the tip of each tentacle. The eyes had black pupils with white corneas. Each tentacle was poised, cobralike, and the eyes stared sullenly at Javik’s group.

  “Why,” Namaba said, leaning forward to get a better look, “it’s a . . . a potato! A giant potato!”

  “Yeccch!” Prince Pineapple exclaimed, feeling disgust. “A Vegetable mutant!”

  “Is there any chance it might be friendly?” Rebo asked.

  “Not this monster!” Prince Pineapple said. “If I remember my epic right, it destroyed an entire Fruit army.”

  Rebo’s dark eyebrows furrowed. “But should we assume . . . ?”

  “You get close enough to find out,” Prince Pineapple said to Rebo. ‘Then we’ll know for sure.”

  “I’m gonna do that,” Rebo said. He dropped his knife. Looking at one of the potato monster’s eyes, Rebo decided it was sad. Rebo felt honor-bound to protect Javik from the monster, and he still felt love for Namaba. But he also felt something else: an inexplicable desire to understand the creature.

  “Wait,” Javik said, catching Rebo’s arm. “One of those tentacles could strangle you. The eyes don’t look friendly at all.”

  “Maybe he’s just afraid,” Rebo said. “A protective posture. I’ve seen it many times in gang combat.” He looked at Namaba.

  “My yenta is not working,” she said. “It’s been out since we passed through the magic barrier in the meadow.” She thought for a moment, then dropped her rock. “I’m going with you.”

  “Don’t,” Javik said.

  “I’m going,” she said simply. It was the female tone of determination Javik had heard from Earth women, the mindset that could not be resisted by mortal man.

  Rebo and Namaba approached the Moha. They walked slowly. “Don’t show fear,” Rebo whispered. From the hill far behind them, Namaba heard the strawberry people’s chant: “Mo-ha! Mo-ha! Mo-ha!” With each step, Namaba’s steam engine heart raced faster, pumping air and water through her system. She felt pressure building. Then it released as steam shot out of her cuplike ears. Show no fear, she thought.

  Rebo extended his arms to the Moha in a friendly gesture. “Friends,” he said in a soothing tone. “We are your friends.”

  The tentacles coiled back and looked to Namaba as if they were about to lash out. The Moha seemed to be waiting for them to get closer.

  Namaba closed her eyes with each step, occasionally opening them narrowly to peer at the potato monster. Its lumpy skin was the rich brown color of the soil.

  “Friends,” Rebo repeated. “We are your friends.”

  Namaba squinted, afraid to see fully what was going to happen next. They were only a few steps from the Moha now, well within reach of its tentacles.

  To Namaba’s surprise, the tentacles relaxed and started swaying gracefully. She opened her eyes all the way.

  Rebo laughed. “That’s a good fellow,” he said. “No one’s going to hurt you.” He stroked the Moha’s side.

  “Thank God,” Namaba said. “I didn’t think you could do it.”

  Rebo looked at her with eyes that burned from hurt. “You didn’t? You came with me out of duty?”

  “Well, you did save my—”

  “You owe me nothing,” Rebo said, still stroking the Moha. “That obligation is to the other Rebo, the one I left on Morovia.”

  Namaba was sorry she had not met Rebo later in her life. They had done too many bad things together. It all seemed so long ago. She had to have someone new, someone untainted by the terrible old memories of Moro City. She looked back at Javik.

  Javik slid his service pistol back into his holster, then retrieved Rebo’s knife. Seeing Prince Pineapple was still holding a large rock, Javik told him to drop it.

  Prince Pineapple knew he had no choice—not if he wanted to reach the Magician’s Chamber. Grudgingly, he complied. As he joined Javik, however, a thought struck him. “I am a Fruit,” Prince Pineapple said. “And that is a potentially ferocious Vegetable. There are
natural hatreds between us.”

  “Just don’t call it any names,” Javik said. “And no quick movements.”

  “If the Moha tries to strangle me,” Prince Pineapple said, “will you use your gun against it?”

  “Maybe,” Javik said. He was not teasing the prince this time. Javik honestly was not sure what he would do if such a thing occurred. “Let’s hope it doesn’t happen,” he said.

  Prince Pineapple said a little prayer as he walked with Javik to the Moha. Rebo was being lifted high by one of the tentacles.

  “Gently,” Rebo said, stroking the suction-cup-covered tentacle. “Up and over.” The tentacle lifted him to the other side, out of view of the others. “That’s it,” Rebo was heard to say.

  Prince Pineapple and Javik were beneath the Moha’s swaying tentacles now. The prince shook with fear. A Moha eye was just centimeters away, looking at him intently.

  “Go with him, Namaba,” Rebo yelled from the other side. “I’m safe on the ground now.”

  Soon all the adventurers, even a perspiration-covered pineapple prince, had been lifted over the top and deposited safely on the other side.

  “He just needed a little love,” Rebo said. “Most folks probably throw rocks at him.”

  They camped nearby for the night.

  CHAPTER 15

  Five magician trainees were discussing the comparative storage capacities of a rock, a grain of sand, and an atom. All knew from their lessons that no correlation existed between size and storage capacity. But then a black-robed magician appeared, asserting that a rock afforded far more storage capacity and ease of data retrieval than its smaller brothers. Through a series of elaborate demonstrations, the magician proceeded to prove his assertion. At the height of his audience’s confusion, he admitted it was all a practical joke, that he was not a magician after all. “Actually,” he said, “I am a droplet of Markesian slime brought in on one of your shoes.”

  One of the Rejected Stories

  As they broke camp the following morning, the suns seemed cheerier to Rebo. He was not certain whether they reflected what lay in store for the group, but felt some part of their brilliance had to emanate from what he had done the previous evening.