Too Small For Tall

by Rosenberg, Aaron

  “Now, hang on,” I tell him, as much to stop that display as anything else, “there’s got to be a way out of this. We’ve gotten out of impossible scrapes before, right?”

  But Heidi’s still flashing. “We’re just not fast enough,” he says again. “Nothing is. That blast’ll vaporize everything within a light-year.”

  Oh, crap. “Uh . . . how close is that other planet over there?” I ask.

  “You mean Meribau?” Heidi does this bobble thing I’m guessing is a shrug. “Maybe a hundred million miles.”

  Great. So not only are we—well, Tall and Heidi and the Worm That Whines Like a Man—about to die, but so is an entire planet?

  No, I decide. Not on my watch. Which doesn’t make much sense, really, because if all of them could fit on the face of my vintage PacMan watch—it really plays!—I wouldn’t have to worry about where to put them. But whatever, you know what I mean. I can’t let this happen.

  But how do we stop it?

  We can’t stop the planet from blowing up. And we can’t get far enough away in time. So what’s the alternative?

  We’ve gotta find a way to contain the blast.

  “Heidi,” I shout. “Your shells. How many’ve you got stashed away?”

  “Uh . . .” he flickers pink again for a second. “A couple dozen, maybe. Why.”

  “I don’t suppose you can link them together somehow?”

  He gets it right away—I’m really starting to like this guy—and his color goes from yellow to pale blue. “Yeah, I can! I can merge ’em into bigger containers if I want—I could even make ’em all into one big one!”

  Tall’s been following along, which isn’t surprising—stupid he ain’t. “You think it’d hold the full blast?”

  “It’s worth a try!” Heidi whistles, compartments open all around us, and suddenly we’re inundated with his discards. Man, when he said a couple dozen he was definitely downplaying it! There’s gotta be at least fifty here! He starts gathering ’em, and mushing ’em together, and breathing a little life into ’em—literally—and soon we’re looking at one humongous one. It’s so big it’s crowding us up against the black velvet walls, smushing down on the consoles and the displays.

  There’s only one problem.

  How the hell is that thing gonna fit outside?

  But when I ask that out loud, Heidi just laughs. “No problem,” he says. He flickers, and suddenly it’s gone and we can breathe again. And looking at the monitor, I see why—

  —he teleported it outside.

  Right next to the planet.

  We all watch as the sphere floats toward Joribau, looking like the universe’s biggest soap bubble. Toward it, and then around it, swallowing it whole.

  And just in time, because the trailing edge’s only just jiggled up against the planet’s surface when the whole thing goes off like a firecracker.

  Whoomp!

  Even with my eyelids in place, it’s blinding. And enough force leaks out to make the whole ship rock, causing Tall to lose his balance and fall back onto the seat he’d just vacated, and Worm-itude to topple over like a puppet with cut strings. Heidi wobbles but stays afloat.

  The screens all go white and then black, some kind of program cutting in to shield viewers from the intensity, most likely, but as they fade back into view now we can see what looks like a small, fierce sun—

  —only it’s trapped within a big, shiny glass globe.

  It’s like the first-ever sunglobe.

  I wonder if there’s a market for that?

  “I can’t believe that worked!” Heidi’s looping around in circles like a kid with his first remote-control plane—I would’ve gotten the hang of it eventually, too, if not for those electrical wires. And that weathervane. And then the water tower. Anyway, suffice to say he’s clearly thrilled. So am I, and I’m not even really there!

  I can tell Tall’s pleased, too. “Nice one, DuckBob,” he congratulates me. “And thanks.”

  “My pleasure, amigo,” I assure him. A quiver off to one side catches my eye, and I remember why he’s there in the first place. “Say, your new friend might be appreciative, too—and grateful enough to maybe answer a few questions.”

  “Good point.” Tall steps over and crouches beside Live Bait. “Okay, now that we’ve saved your life,” he starts, “how about you answer my question finally? Who do you work for?”

  He quivers for a second, but finally nods. “Sure, sure. His name’s Monsinal Sha’ar. But I don’t know where you can find him. I just get a signal when he wants me to ship out more of the Sublimate, that’s all.” He sighs. “Guess that’s all over and done now.”

  “How long’ve you been doing this job, anyway?” I ask, and Tall relays the question a second later.

  That gets another sigh in response. “Thirty-three of your years, give or take,” he replies. “Though most of that was just the waiting.”

  Wait, what?

  “What do you mean?” Tall asks, and the guy responds right away. Obviously he’s finally realized that cooperating is in his best interest here. The fact that his former home and workplace are practically burning his retinas probably doesn’t hurt.

  “I used to work the mines,” he says, leaning back against the wall as he talks. “Just one of many. Monsinal was there, too, until he took me aside one day to suggest something better than just digging all day for somebody else. He’d figured out, partially by accident, what happened when you turned Jorbinate into a gas—what got left behind was Jorbinate Sublimate, a powder that altered the brain’s nano-receptors, making people do whatever you said. He taught me the process, then took off, taking the first batch with him. A week or so later he got in touch and told me he needed more, and where to send it. So I did.” He shrugs. “They eventually shut the mine down, but I stayed behind—once everybody else was gone it was easy for me to produce more Sublimate and send it off whenever he needed it. That went on for a few years, then suddenly he disappeared. No more messages, and no more money. I’d set some money aside, though, and I don’t really need much, so I just waited.”

  “Then what happened?” Tall asked. I was on the edge of my seat. Not quite literally, though—I’ve toppled off chairs enough times to know better by now. Comes from being so top-heavy, with the bill and all.

  “I got a message a few months back,” the Man-Worm replies. “Another order, after all this time! So I sent it. I’ve been getting them steadily ever since.” He sighed again. “Not anymore, though.”

  I’m glad there won’t be any more zombie powder, but there’s still a bunch of it back on Earth—and plenty of zombie-making cookies already loose in the wild.

  Tall’s been thinking, apparently. “Where were you sending the shipments?” he asks. He doesn’t sound angry anymore, or at least not at the worm. I think the guy’s sob story got to him a little, too. Imagine sitting there all those years, just waiting. No wonder he needed a good soak!

  “Earth,” is the answer, of course. “A place called Westchester, in New York.”

  Tall nods. “What does this Monsinal Sha’ar look like?”

  “Tall,” the Worminator tells him. “Your height, but skinnier. Big poofy black hair slicked back, long sideburns. Dark skin, blue with whorls on it.”

  I can practically see the guy he’s talking about. Wait a second—I have seen him!

  “Tall,” I shout. “The guy in the MiB cell, the one you peeked in on! The John Travolta look-alike! That’s him!”

  Tall nods, and sighs. “Yeah.”

  “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you doing a Happy Snoopy Dance,” I demand. “We found him!” The way Wormy’s staring and shrinking back, it’s obvious Tall’s not looking at him anymore, and he’s trying to figure out what kind of voices this big stern guy in black is hearing and what exactly they’re telling him to do. I can’t bring myself to feel bad about that.

  “We did,” Tall agrees. “There’s just two problems.” He rises to his feet again. “First, he’s in a holding cel
l, which means I’ve got to break into headquarters this time.”

  Oh. Right. “What’s the second problem?”

  He shakes his head. “If I remember right, that guy’s been there the past thirty years.” Which would explain the long silence—I’m guessing the MiBs don’t exactly allow conjugal visits or long-distance calls for their prisoners. Especially not the kind of long distance we’d be talking.

  I can guess what that means. “Somebody else ordered those last few shipments. This Moonshine guy isn’t the one we’re after.”

  Great. This whole situation’s been twistier than a late-night dance party, and it’s just gotten worse.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  In the out door

  “Okay, explain to me again why you’re still planning to break into your own workplace—most people try desperately to break out, you know—and talk to this guy?” I ask as Heidi turns the ship around and points it back toward Earth.

  Our spherical friend is sulking a little, evident by the decidedly unlovely shade of brown he’s currently displaying—I didn’t even know you could glow brown, but he’s managing it—because Tall wouldn’t let him take the Joribau-sun back with him. “It belongs to the people of Meribau,” Tall had explained. “They just lost the second planet in their system, which is going to play havoc with their orbit, their tides, all sorts of things. It’s only fair to give them the miniature star as payment. They can use that energy to stabilize things again.”

  “Yeah, and who’s gonna pay me for those globes?” Heidi had muttered. “Those things ain’t cheap, y’know.” But he didn’t argue further, and I think most of it was for show anyway. I do hope he stops sulking soon, though—the brown is really starting to get to me.

  But back to the topic at hand. “We know Moonshine Whatever-whatever isn’t the one behind all this,” I remind Tall. “Somebody else obviously found out about his little operation and horned in on it. That’s who we need to be going after.”

  “I know that,” Tall says, using that belabored tone parents often take when being forced to explain things for the third or fourth or twelfth time to their kid. He uses this tone with me a lot. “But we have no idea who that is or where they are. Monsinal Sha’ar might. Whoever it is, they obviously got that information from him, so he’s still our best lead.”

  Oh, right. Yeah, that actually does make sense. I hate it when that happens.

  “Okay,” I try again, “but you can’t just walk in there. You escaped, remember? If you go back they’ll just toss you back in that same little cell, and this time they’ll throw away the key.”

  He cracks his knuckles—still ominous, but with a little more anger and a hint of malicious glee this time. It’s like the ragout of knuckle-popping, a little something for everyone. “They’re welcome to try.” Yeah, I would not want to be a MiB right now. Or ever, really. Especially after seeing that office space. I’m still having nightmares. Tall has said that they’ve got really good health insurance, though. And they get in free to all the museums.

  It’s obvious I’m not going to talk him out of this—once Tall’s got an idea in his head, that’s pretty much it. One time he really wanted to watch some cheesy football movie, and while normally I’m totally up for that at the time I was more in the mood for a big action flick. Tall literally sat down, folded his arms over his chest, and glared without speaking until I gave in.

  Okay, yes, that was only five minutes. I just couldn’t take it anymore—the silent treatment has always worked on me, ever since that time my brother went without talking to me for a week. Admittedly, he had laryngitis at the time, but I had no idea what that was so I was both scared and impressed. Point being, Tall tends to lock onto things. He’s kinda like a pit bull that way. Also, in the way he sometimes chases after cars, and how he likes to bark at people. If only he liked milk bones, I’d be set for birthday presents for years.

  “So what’s the plan?” I ask finally. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em—especially from the comfort of your own home.

  “The plan?” I can actually hear him frowning. “We head back to the Core, call Mary, have her get the Grays to beam me back to MiB headquarters, go to the holding cells, speak with Monsinal Sha’ar, find out what he knows, and leave. Simple as that.”

  “Oh-kay.” Hey, it’s obvious even to me by now—nothing around here is ever simple. And nothing ever goes according to plan.

  But Tall’s pleased with himself for coming up with something so clean-cut and by-the-numbers, so I’m not going to say anything. Or sleep much.

  It only takes a few hours for Heidi to ferry us back to the Galactic Core bus stop. “You sure you wouldn’t rather stick around?” he asks as he drops us off in the parking lot across from Red’s. “I wouldn’t mind the company, and you guys’ve proven you’re handy to have around.” He winks. “And it’s not like DuckBob’s an extra mouth to feed.”

  “Thanks.” Tall actually sounds a little disappointed himself, and I suddenly remember his earlier gripes about how his job seemed like mostly paperwork these days. “That’s actually tempting. But I have to take care of this.”

  Heidi nods. “Well, you know how to get hold of me if you change your mind, or if you just need a lift again.” He’s strobing green, yellow, pink, and blue, which I’m guessing means he’s sorry to see us go but pleased to have helped and proud he made a difference. Or he could just have gas.

  “Thanks, Heidi,” I tell him. “You’re all right.” Especially for a glowing bowling ball o’ doom, but I don’t say that part. I really am getting better at this whole tact thing!

  “You too, pal,” he replied. “Keep an eye on the big lug, okay?”

  “You got it.” Hey, I pretty much do have an eye on him, literally, so that’s not a hard promise to make.

  We part ways, and Tall heads into Red’s for a quick bite, which makes me insanely jealous again. I’ve got to talk to Ned about finding some way for me to travel, or at least go out for lunch! Two hours later—and yes, that pretty much is a quick bite at Red’s—Tall’s just stepping back out into the parking lot when his cell phone rings.

  “Yeah?” The MiBs have definitely trained him well, he doesn’t give his name or anything, just demands to know what the caller wants. Me, I usually answer with “DuckBob at your service” when I’m in a good mood, “American Avian Society” when I don’t want to talk, and “Yeah, I’ll have a large pepperoni and an order of garlic knots” when I just want to mess with people. “Got it. Thanks.” He hangs up, straightens his tie, brushes a few final crumbs from his jacket—and disappears in a burst of light.

  When I can see around him again, he’s standing in the big Toys R Us on Times Square. Why am I not surprised the Grays have been to that toy store? They probably love riding that big Ferris wheel in the center—I can imagine them going around and around all day long.

  We’re maybe twenty blocks from MiB headquarters here, which is pretty much dead on-target considering how far we came. Plus Tall asked them not to drop him right at the building. Hell, if it were me I’d have asked if they could put me in the building, but I guess you’d never know who you might materialize in front of. Or where in the building, exactly—showing up smack-dab in the middle of the women’s bathroom would be embarrassing, even though Jones is the only woman there and so the odds against her being in the bathroom at that exact time are really pretty good. Which actually makes me wonder why there’s a women’s bathroom there in the first place. Did they really anticipate letting women join again when they remodeled? Was the building originally something else and they left most of it alone, including the women’s bathroom? Is it a front somehow, like you go in there and turn the knob on the third sink or flush the fourth toilet to open a secret passage somewhere?

  Or am I just reading too much into things again?

  “So how’s this going to work?” I ask as Tall exits the toy store—and without buying anything, which only proves he’s got more willpower than I do—and begins march
ing toward his office. “You just gonna walk in, order anyone you see to spontaneously nap or something, and make your way down to the cells? You got lucky last time,” I point out. “Only three guys, and all of them cookie zombies. I wouldn’t count on that kind of luck again.”

  “I’m not,” Tall promises, but he doesn’t elaborate. I hate that—it’s like when someone says something like “I read the funniest thing today,” and then stops there, waiting for you to say “Oh, really?” or “How fascinating!” or even “Wicked cool!” before continuing. Look, if you’ve got something you want to say, go ahead and say it. Don’t expect me to feed you those lines, because I’m more likely to get stubborn and refuse to say anything at all on general principle. Like now. Let Tall keep his little plan to himself. I just hope it doesn’t blow up in his face. On general principle.

  We’re only three blocks from the building when Tall suddenly slows and swerves toward the curb—and the row of pay phones there. I’m amazed. I didn’t even think there was such a thing as a pay phone anymore. Hell, I’m surprised people even still have landlines! It’s so much easier to just get a cell and be done with it, and they can go pretty much anywhere. Of course, I might just think that because Ned did something to my cell and now I get signal out here, which is hella impressive. It’s not like there’s a radio tower for at least a few hundred light-years. Then again, I am hooked into what’s basically the largest, most powerful emitter array in the universe, so if you can’t find a signal from here the whole shebang’s probably frozen over or something.

  Anyway, there are these three pay phones, each in its own little nook. It’s very quaint. One of the phones, not surprisingly, has gone walkabout—there’s a cord hanging there, two frayed wires sticking out of the end, and that’s it. One of them is still there but looks like the last person to use it may have been a giant slug—it’s coated in something thick and lumpy and greenish with white streaks. I really hope it was a giant slug, actually, because this is New York and we are famous for our pigeons. The third one, though, looks a bit grimy but otherwise okay.