Too Small For Tall

by Rosenberg, Aaron

  “He talks funny, doesn’t he?” Heidi asks Tall.

  “You have no idea.” Gee, thanks. Nice to know you’ve got my back, big guy.

  To change the subject—and because it just occurs to me that it’s been awfully quiet and drama-free for a few seconds, which is definitely out of the norm given recent events—I say, “Hey, weren’t there five missiles out there?”

  “There sure were.” Heidi’s gaze swivels around to the monitor—it’s scary that I can tell that—and I look over there too, just in time to see the last globe swallow the last missile, contain its detonation, and go spotlight bright. “Looks like more dinner for Papa!” It’s like getting shot at’s the best things that’s happened to him all week.

  “Glad you could get something for your trouble,” Tall tells him, and he doesn’t even sound grudging about it, which really shouldn’t surprise me. He’s actually pretty good about wanting to see people get rewarded for their work. He’s super-conscientious about tipping delivery guys, too. So am I, actually, but that’s because I’ve done that job and I know how much it sucks to truck a whole bunch of food up a fifth-floor walk-up in the pouring rain, only to have the guy stiff you or, worse, give you like five cents or something. Those’re the people you really hope order again, because then they’re probably getting some kind of surprise along with their food. “Can we pinpoint where those missiles came from?” He cracks his knuckles ominously. And no, that’s not a given—I’ve seen him crack his knuckles humorously, angrily, resignedly, and even ironically a few times. It’s a talent. “I think it’s time I had a little chat with whoever sent them.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Earthworms are easy

  Heidi has no problem tracking the missiles—also known as “lunch,” for him—back to their launch point. He brings his ship right over that spot, and offers to beam Tall down to the surface.

  “I’m gonna stay up here, if’n it’s all the same to you,” he says as he parks the ship over Joribau—even from here the planet looks like just a big, dull rock. “I’d hate to get in your way, and this way I can have the ship ready to go when you’ve got what you needed. ’Sides”—he pats one of the blinding spheres nestled beside him—“I want to get better acquainted with my new supplies.” The way he says that is totally smarmy, and I have this sudden, horrible image of him cozying up to the sphere in question, a wine glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other, telling her how pretty she is and not to worry and what a big, scary universe it is out there and how he’ll protect her from all those bad people, she just has to stay close to him and keep him happy. Wow, I think I just creeped myself out.

  “That’s fine,” Tall replies, and I have no idea if he got the same mental image I did—probably not, he’s told me before I’ve got a knack for conjuring the most twisted images possible, and for once I haven’t shared—but if so you can’t tell at all from his voice. It’s full-on brusque—he’s definitely in get-in-and-get-it-done mode.

  “Here.” Heidi whistles, and a little thing pops out of the console. It looks like a button or a sticker, small and round and mostly flat, but the surface is the same iridescent swirl as his shell. I try not to think about that too closely. Ugh. “It’s a short-range communicator—good enough for here to surface, and a little below, but if’n you’re going deep down you’ll need to climb again afore it can reach me. Just tap it and talk and if you’re still in range I’ll hear you and beam you back up.” He strobes blue and green and a little orange. “Good luck!”

  “Thanks.” Tall slaps the sticker on his shirt cuff, where his jacket’ll hide it from view, and nods. Then Heidi flickers and suddenly everything turns blue and grey and white before vanishing into a haze. That fades back out a second later, and we’re definitely not on his ship anymore.

  I was right, I think, looking around—Joribau’s a dump. There’s nothing but rock here, all around. Rock, rock, and more rock. And it’s all brown, or orangey-brown, or reddish brown, or reddish-orangey brown. I feel like I’ve finally found where all those unwanted Burnt Sienna and Burnt Umber crayons go to die. Joy.

  There’s lots of nooks and crannies and valley and peaks, at least. This place’d be ten times worse if it was that much brown and perfectly flat. Instead I feel like I’m back in Arizona, on my way to the Grand Canyon and already admiring all the mesas and plateaus and weirdly carved rocks. Only the sky here’s not a nice, cheery blue. It’s not anything, really. There’s just space and the stars out beyond. Which is weird.

  “Where’s the sky?” I ask Tall. “And if there isn’t one, how’re you breathing?”

  “Same way you would be if you were here,” he replies absently as he scans the area. “Those nanites.”

  Oh, right. I forgot that, when we first met up, Mary injected us both with nanites. They let our bodies convert elemental particles into oxygen so we can breathe anywhere, even in outer space. Turns out there’s lots of space dust and stuff out there for the micro-machines to latch onto. It’s the Space Dust Diet! And doesn’t that sound all kinds of unappealing.

  “Okay, where’s this guy we need?” This limited color palette’s starting to get to me already. I need more variety in my life. That’s also why I have eight different types of mustard in the fridge—you just never know whether you’re gonna be in a plain-yellow or spiced-brown or flower-infused mauve sort of mood. Of course I can’t see that last one anymore, but I can still taste it. Figuring out when to order a new jar’s a bitch, though.

  There’s no sign of anyone but us here—nobody coming over to say hi, nobody running at us with guns blazing, not even anyone yelling at us to cut out all the racket—and Tall hits the same realization I do, because he says “He must be underground—it’s a mine, after all,” a half-second after I think it. Hey, maybe I’m somehow pushing my thoughts at him through the camera mic? I try thinking “I want to dance the watusi right now!” at him as hard as I can, but when he turns and starts walking toward one cluster of rocks and a dark opening in their midst there’s no hint of dance to his steps. Would it kill him to do one little twirl? For me?

  But no, he’s walking as solidly and soldierly as usual as he heads into what proves to be a cave or a cavern—I can never remember the difference, and I learned years back that my original guess of “it’s a cave with an urn in it!” wasn’t right—or maybe just the mouth to a tunnel. There’s no light, of course, but Tall, always prepared, pulls a tiny flashlight out of his pocket and we’re good to go.

  “So, who do you think is down here?” I ask him as he tromps along. The flashlight’s only providing enough light to see a few paces in front of him, really, which is good for not stubbing your toe or falling into a pit but not so great for figuring out what’s around the next bend or just how far this rough corridor—because it’s starting to look more like that than a simple cave—goes.

  “No idea,” he answers, going for as few words as possible, as always. “But I aim to find out.”

  ‘Aim to find out’? What’s next, ‘you’re darned tootin’? I think Heidi’s starting to rub off on him. Which might not be a bad thing—Tall’d probably benefit from a more colorful vocabulary. Though I’m pretty sure they’d fine him or something if he used phrases like that at work.

  He walks on for a bit, with me trying to stay quiet so we can both listen for any noises up ahead, and it’s definitely a tunnel now—the walls are mostly straight up and down, the floor is reasonably level, and there’re thick beams supporting the ceiling. Small globes perch in the corners of those beams, and for a second I think Heidi’s sent his drones down to check on us, or maybe we’ve found his old storage locker, but as we get close to one I see it’s just a floodlight, the kind you’d mount on a garage door. Or in a long, dark tunnel.

  “I don’t suppose we can switch the lights on?” I ask quietly. Not that I’m afraid of the dark or anything, and I’m not even there, really, but this whole “can’t see ahead of you” thing is really bugging me.

  “Maybe,
” Tall admits after a second, “but then whoever’s here would know we’re coming.”

  Oh, right. That’d be bad. I resign myself to staring at Tall’s feet and the ground right ahead of them.

  More trudging. The tunnel twists a little here and there, and I think it’s going down—I remember what Heidi said about that, and hope we aren’t going to need to be picked up in a hurry. Not much we can do about it, though. It’s not like Tall’s gonna stop until he finds who he’s looking for.

  Finally, after more than two hours—for once it not only feels like hours, it’s actually been hours, according to my watch—the floor levels out a bit. And maybe it’s just wishful thinking but the area up ahead doesn’t look quite as dark. Like there’s a light somewhere a little farther out—the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

  I just hope it’s not a train.

  Tall must see it too, because he switches off his flashlight, tucks it back away—and draws one of his pistols instead. “Don’t make a sound,” he warns under his breath, and he creeps forward, gun up and held in both hands.

  And for once, I do what he says. Just to prove I can. And because I’ve already had Heidi be able to hear me. If whoever’s down here can too, I don’t want to be the one that gives away where Tall is.

  Yeah yeah, I’m a soft touch when it comes to my friends. As long as they don’t want to borrow money. Or my car. Or my girlfriend. Or split a beer—somehow, you’re always the one that gets stuck with nothing but backwash. But I’d give a friend the shirt off my back, if he really wanted it—though usually they’re just as happy to have a clean one out of the drawer.

  I do draw the line at my boxers, though.

  Anyway, Tall edges ahead, and now there’s definitely a light there. Enough so I can see there’s a bend in the tunnel, and the light’s coming from around the corner. Tall pauses right before it, back against the wall, gun at chest level, breathing a little heavy, and I know he’s prepping himself for the classic heroic dash-around-the-corner moment. Better him than me. I’m more of an ellipses fan, really.

  Sure enough, he bursts into action, leaping around the corner and leveling his gun immediately at—

  —a Jacuzzi.

  Okay, not what I expected.

  Nor is the guy soaking in it, who looks up in surprise, gulps, and slumps down so he disappears under the water.

  Yes, it’s a Jacuzzi. Or at least a knockoff brand, but it’s the classic big round standing tub, with wood paneling around the sides and what really looks like a fiberglass shell within, filled almost to the brim with steaming-hot water.

  Though, admittedly, most of the people you see in those things?

  Don’t look like earthworms.

  I mean, really look like them—the glimpse I had of this guy before he submerged showed a bald, pink head, completely cylindrical and then tapering at the top, with rings around it like it’s segmented. When Tall marches over to the tub and hauls him back up, I see I was right. Yep, he looks like an earthworm. With eyes, admittedly, imbedded deep in the folds, though it looks like the mouth’s still a circular ring up top. Arms, too, long and almost tentacular—which creates some really interesting results if you type it in and use AutoCorrect, you should try it sometime but probably not while texting your old biology teacher—but no legs, just the body continuing down. He’s like a snake-man, but earthworm instead. Weird.

  Though I suppose it makes a certain amount of sense for somebody who lives in an underground mine. I wonder if he can tunnel his way through solid rock?

  Not that Tall’s taking a chance on that. He’s got the guy out of the tub and up against a wall before I can say “Holy bathing earthworm, Batman!”, with one hand firmly around the guy’s . . . neck?

  “Talk,” he snaps, and Mr. Wriggly just cringes. And drips.

  Then the whining starts.

  “Please,” he gasps, and it takes me a second to realize he’s talking out of that enlarged blowhole, too. “Please don’t hurt me! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “This mine was decommissioned years ago,” Tall points out harshly, “and you just shot at our ship!”

  “Oh.” Wormy deflates a little. “Well, except for that.”

  “And you’ve been supplying mind-control powder to take over Earth,” I supply, and I’m both relieved and a little hurt when he doesn’t react. Guess he doesn’t have Heidi’s . . . whatever lets him hear me directly. “Pump him for info, big guy,” I urge Tall instead.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” he mutters back, then shakes Earthworm Man. “Who do you work for?”

  Cringe, cringe. Whine, whine: “Please, I just do what I’m told!”

  “And what were you told?” Tall tries. Ooh, good one! Especially since Bio Experiment One actually answers—guess he wasn’t told not to:

  “I prep the powder, ship it, and scare off anybody who gets too close.” I’ve got to admit, I’ve had jobs that were a lot less well-defined. I wonder what kind of benefits he gets?

  “And who told you do that?” Tall asks next.

  “I—can’t say,” Long and Bendy whimpers.

  Tall shakes him a bit. “You can, and you will,” he snarls. “It’s just a question of what happens to you between now and then.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen an earthworm turn pale before. Which makes sense, since it’s not like I study them a lot. Usually I only see them on fishing hooks, and if they quake and quail right before they’re pierced, I’ve never noticed. This guy, though, it’s hard to miss. Not that I blame him, entirely. Tall’s really good at the intimidation thing.

  But why am I hearing bubbling?

  I look around, but of course my field of vision’s limited by the way Tall’s facing. “Hey, Tall, look around for a sec, would you?” I ask. He does, and I scan the area. Ah, it’s just the Jacuzzi—I guess El Wormo Supremo had the temperature set to scalding, and now it’s boiling over a bit. I prefer mine a little less like a crockpot, personally, but to each his own. “Okay, thanks—back to the interrogation.”

  He nods and zones back in on his captive, who’s now even paler and wriggling just like the aforementioned worms on hooks. “No, please,” he’s saying, but he doesn’t seem to be looking at Tall anymore. Instead I think he’s gazing over the big guy’s shoulder. “You’ve got to let me go! It’s not safe!”

  “What’s not safe?” Tall demands. “Is somebody coming to save you? I’d like to see them try!”

  “No,” The Wormster replies, still looking past Tall. “We’re all going to die unless you let me go right now!”

  Something in his voice tells me the guy’s not kidding. “Let him go, man,” I tell Tall quietly. He doesn’t budge. “Seriously, let him go. If it’s nothing, you can just thrash him again.” That works, and he drops the dude on the ground, where he only lays for a second before bursting past us—right toward the Jacuzzi.

  And then he starts to panic.

  “No, oh no!” He’s wailing and carrying on like it’s the end of the world. Maybe his soap’s melted away or something? “We’re all doomed!”

  “What do you mean?” Tall asks. No answer, so he grabs The Worm’s arm and yanks him around. “Talk!”

  “It’s the humidity,” Mr. Worm moans. “Jorbinate can’t take high humidity. It gets unstable. If that happens—”

  “—the whole place could blow,” I finish for him.

  Tall gets the picture, and his grip on the guy tightens. “Then why in the nine hells do you have a Jacuzzi in here?” he asks in a deadly soft voice.

  Worm-boy goes completely still. Blinks. Then whispers, “It’s my skin. I’ve got eczema. I need to soak or I itch like crazy.”

  “And for that you’ve killed us?” I wonder aloud. “What, you’ve never heard of lotion?”

  Tall’s still got Sir Worm by the arm, only now he’s hauling him back the way we came. “Come on,” he says. “We’re getting out of here. How long before it blows?”

  The earthworm’s trembling in
his grip but trying to keep up, and I actually feel for the guy. Eczema’s no joke, really. “An hour, maybe two,” he gasps. “Could be a little more.”

  And we’re about two hours below the surface. Swell.

  Tall picks up his pace.

  There’s not a lot of talking on the way back. Though, after a few minutes of stumbling, I do ask whether our unplanned companion knows how to turn on the lights—Tall relays that, the guy nods and stops long enough to open a panel built into one of the beams, types in a code and pushes a button, and now we can see. That helps, and Tall breaks into a controlled jog, pretty much dragging Señor Worm behind him.

  About an hour in, I tell him to start calling up to Heidi.

  He tries at ten-minute intervals after that. It takes another three tries before he gets a response.

  “Yeah, I hear you, keep your shirt on!” Oh great, we must have interrupted his mid-day meal. “You need me to pull you out?”

  “Me and one other,” Tall agrees. “He’s right next to me, a foot to my right.” He’s let go of the guy, I notice, which is probably for the best—I’m getting flashbacks to The Fly, and I don’t really want to see Tall and the earthworm-dude merged together. Especially since there’s no telling where my camera would end up if that happened. Uck.

  There’s that flash of blue and gray and white again, and then we’re back on Heidi’s ship.

  “Get us out of here!” Tall snaps, dropping onto one of the chairs. The earthworm just kinda curls up in the corner. At least he’s dry now, and he’s right, his skin does look really flaky and irritated.

  “What’s going on?” Heidi asks, but he’s already warming the ship up.

  “The whole planet’s going to explode, that’s what’s going on!” I shout. “Like, any second now!”

  Heidi freezes, and he flashes pure white. “The whole planet? All the Jorbinate?”

  “It’s unstable at high humidity,” Tall explains. Heidi hasn’t budged. “What?”

  Our bowling-ball buddy answers slowly. “That much Jorbinate,” he says finally, “all that energy, the chain reaction . . . we’d never be able to get far enough away in time. Sorry, buckos.” He’s gone yellow, a pale dandelion yellow that runs down in sheets through him. I can’t help but think he’s crying.