by Rudy Rucker
The downside of this enlightenment is that Villy doesn’t have any kind of urge to do great things. He hasn’t even managed to put any moves on Zoe Snapp yet, much as he would like to. But now, bam, Zoe had kissed him. He’s glad.
And—yeah, baby, yeah—Villy and Zoe might take off on a giant road trip. Finally leaving Los Perros. The phrase “common-law wife” drifts through Villy’s head. He’s not exactly sure what that means, but for sure it involves sex. Motel sex. With Zoe? Could that actually happen? It’s not that hard, Villy. Zoe was one for talking big. When would they be leaving? Tomorrow? Tonight?
There’s still three hours till the talent show. Villy decides to do some fast work on the purple whale. Like, he has six new spark plugs he’s been meaning to install. And a new oil filter. And maybe he can even fix the left front window so it closes when it’s supposed to. Prime the whale for an epic run.
As soon as Villy pulls his car into their double garage, Scud pops out of the house door that’s in the garage and starts hopping across the garage floor on his old super-high-bouncing smart pogo stick, yelling cowboy yee-haws. Scud’s sixteen, right? And he’s acting like he’s twelve. Typical.
Scud has reddish-blond hair, worn short in a buzz cut. Sharp features. Mouth too big, spit on his teeth. Tall and awkward. It’s like his nervous system hasn’t caught up with his bones.
“Welcome to the Antwerpen ranch, podner!” Scud’s cracking voice echoes in the garage. The pogo stick goes thonk-squeak-thonk.
“Idiot,” says Villy, not without affection. “Is there food?”
“Franks ’n’ farts round the campfahr,” shrieks Scud. “If it warn’t that the cook’s gone zombie.” He means that Pop is fully into his programmer mode, eyes glazed, mind locked into his screen, no inputs accepted, no outputs to be had. A computer-hacking frenzy.
“Stop being so hyper and immature,” Villy tells Scud. “It’s almost scary. Like you’re nuts. If you act normal, I’ll make our supper and I’ll let you help me with the car. We can eat here in the garage. Two grease monkeys. Way hipper than cowhands.”
Thonk-squeak-thonk. Scud is bouncing almost as high as the garage’s rafters. But he won’t hit his head. Scud is in fact very cautious, and despite all appearances, he always knows what he’s doing. He’s totally figured out the pogo stick. He’s been known to bounce on it for up to an hour.
“I’ll fix hamburgers and celery if you stop,” offers Villy. “I’ll rustle our grub right away. I’ll even make a plate for Pop. So his brain doesn’t fall out.”
A trace of human empathy appears in Scud’s eyes. He lets the heavy-duty pogo stick clatter to the floor. Basically, he’s lonely. He hasn’t been the same since Mom died.
“We’re gonna do the spark plugs?” asks Scud, looking up at Villy. Wanting to be loved. “I’ll start on the plugs while you fry the burgers.” Seeing hesitation in Villy’s face, Scud turns hyper again. “I can do it! I know how! I’ll do it from underneath the car, where they’re easier to reach.”
“I trust you,” says Villy quietly. “What’s the worst that can happen? You set my car on fire and our house burns down. Better than dying of cancer, right?”
Scud cocks his head, processing this. “We’re not anywhere near dying, are we? You and me?”
“You got it. See this socket wrench? The plugs are down on the side of the engine block with wires attached to them. Undo a wire from a plug, screw out the old plug, screw in a new plug, replace the wire. One plug at a time, or you scramble the wires. Be careful with your hands. The engine block is hot.”
Just to bug Villy, Scud reverts to his twelve-year-old-kid routine, whooping and waving the socket wrench like it’s a tomahawk. Did Villy ever act this lame when he was sixteen? Probably not. The socket extension tube flies off and rolls under the car. Scud flops onto Villy’s car-mechanic creeper board and rolls under the whale, looking for the part.
Meanwhile Villy goes into the kitchen, makes three burgers, and washes some celery. He’s hungry enough that he eats his burger standing by the stove, wolfing it the hell down, catching the runoff in his free hand, wiping the hand on his jeans. Yaaar. Munching on a stick of celery now, Villy takes Scud’s plate out to him. Scud is under the car, zoning out, counting the parts, whatever it is he does.
“Grease monkey!” cries Scud, sliding his knuckled hand out from under the car. “I’ll eat in my lair.”
Villy goes and carries the other plate of food to Pop’s cottage. It’s like a fairy-tale gnome’s house, with windows and a door and a roof and even a sleeping loft. Villy loves the bizarro African masks, so off-kilter and earnest and full of glee. Like ambassadors from cartoonland.
Pop doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t notice Villy. No frikkin way will Villy ever be a programmer.
“Hey, Pop! Food!”
“Uh, thanks,” says Pop, snapping out of his trance. “Yeah.” As a gesture of politeness, he turns off his monitor. Pop can’t really talk if there’s a live computer screen in his visual field. He takes his plate onto his lap. “This is great. Your day okay, Villy?”
“I’m driving Zoe to the talent show tonight,” Villy says. And then, what the hell, he tells the rest. “We’re thinking maybe—maybe we’ll go on a giant road trip.”
“I like Zoe,” says Pop, wiping his mouth. “She’s smart.”
“She didn’t get into a college,” says Villy. “And—I’ve been meaning to tell you—I’m failing math. So I won’t actually graduate tomorrow. The teacher says I should log on for, like, thirty hours of online remedial math this summer.”
“You don’t have to do that,” says Pop. “Don’t listen to your teacher. Fact is, all you have to do is pass one single standardized math test, they call it a GED test, it’s the same as taking the course. Do you think you could pass a test like that?”
“Maybe,” says Villy. “A written test? Or do I have to go online?”
“It’ll be written,” says Pop, a little exasperated. “With a teacher watching you. They’re not gonna trust slackers who have to sign up for equivalence tests.” Pop is half smiling, half annoyed. “You’ve never, ever used a computer for anything resembling work have you? Is that your roundabout way of telling me that my career sucks?”
“We’re different,” says Villy with a shrug.
“Maybe not,” says Pop. “Maybe I used to be like you. But now I’m stiff. We’ll get you a frikkin high school diploma.” Pop takes another bite of his burger. Swallows the bite. Zooms the hamburger around like an alien aircraft, making a humming noise. Bites the burger yet again.
“Can a person tell when they’re mentally ill?” asks Villy, making his voice all innocent.
Pop takes this in stride. “Can a person tell when their planet is being overrun by flying saucers? Like Zoe’s father used to say?”
“Not me,” says Villy, not giving an inch. “I can’t tell at all. You okay with our road trip or not?”
“Zoe’s mother knows about it?”
“Uh…”
“She better know. Or she’ll put the cops on you. Or, even worse, she’ll come after me. Might not be so bad.” Pop wiggles his eyebrows in a wolf-whistle way.
“Don’t,” says Villy. “Zoe and I are eighteen. We can do what we want.”
Meanwhile, out in the garage, Scud is howling and shouting and making animal noises. Something about a dog.
“I wish I was better with Scud,” says Pop, maybe thinking about how things will be when Villy leaves. “Marie had a special rapport with him.”
“The guy is different,” says Villy, with a shrug. He gives Pop a pat on the shoulder.
All of a sudden Pop gets emotional. “Thanks for telling me your plans,” he tells Villy. “I’m always on your side. You’re my hero, in a way. Take your trip wherever it goes.”
“Thank you,” says Villy, more pleased than he likes to let on. “You’re a good dad.” He hugs Pop and walks back to the garage to see what’s going on.
A huge, crooked, yellow dog is s
tanding there. But—is that really a dog?
Scud is on Villy’s creeper board, out from under the car, lying on his stomach, scooting around like a cockroach, yipping and growling at the dog-thing. As if trying to scare him away. The creature watches Scud and Villy. He has a weird head with almost a human face. His front legs are too long. And—he’s wearing a tool belt.
This isn’t a dog. The moment Villy realizes that, the thing rocks back onto his hind legs and stands erect, shaped approximately like a twenty-five-year-old guy.
“Monster!” shrieks Scud. So weird. After all the crackpot chatter about saucers in Los Perros—here’s a genuine alien.
The creature has big eyes and a mouth with purplish lips. He’s unshaven, with his stubble dark green against his yellow-orange skin.
“Pinchley’s the name,” he says, sounding like a grease monkey from Oklahoma. He shows his teeth in what might be a friendly way. Pats his tool belt with his many-fingered hand. “What say we soup up your wheels?” And then comes the kicker. “We gonna drive a million miles. You and me and our lady friends.”
“You—you already know I’m planning a road trip?” asks Villy, completely thrown off track. “And you know about Zoe too?”
“A run to Szep City with Villy and Zoe,” continues Pinchley, walking over to the purple whale. “My hometown. We’ve got what you need.”
Scud has risen to his feet. “Where are you from, Pinchley?”
“What I said. Szep City. In mappyworld.” Pinchley peers into the whale’s open hood. He’s all set to start tweaking it.
Even amid this rush of weirdness, Villy still cares about his car. He looks under the hood too, checking on the engine, and—oh no! “You pulled all six wires off my plugs at once,” he yells at Scud. “It’s a frikkin rat’s nest.”
“I couldn’t get the first spark plug unscrewed,” mutters Scud. “And then I was mad, and I wanted to teach your car a lesson.”
“Yeah, you taught it what an idiot you are.”
“Stop calling me an idiot! I’m smarter than you. I’m not the one flunking math.” Scud is right in Villy’s face.
“Don’t lose the fun,” advises Pinchley. He smells like cloves and gasoline. “Them wires don’t make no nevermind. Watch me work out, boys. I’ll use crawly slime, a peck bird, and a balloon of zilch.” The alien smiles to himself.
“I’m coming on the road trip too,” says Scud. “Please, Villy? Don’t leave me with Pop. He doesn’t like me.”
“Oh hell,” says Villy. He should have seen this coming. “Pop likes you fine.”
“Does not! I can tell. I want to come! Why don’t you have a flying saucer, Mr. Pinchley?”
“I’m a car guy,” says Pinchley with conviction. He lays his tool belt on the fender. “Cars are what it is. And, yeah, the mappyworld saucers can fly, but you can’t hardly ride inside them. They alive. All meat. They zap and bite.”
“I want to come!” repeats Scud. “All the way to Szep City.”
“Okay by me if Scud tags along,” says Pinchley. “My pal Flipsydaisy said it’d be better to round up three. Cut your bro a break, Villy. We’ll team up. Yampa, me, Scud, you, and foxy Zoe Snapp. Freaks drivin’ fast.”
“Yubba woot!” yells Scud.
“Be quiet or I’ll choke you,” Villy tells his brother. But he smiles as he says this. Deep down he’s glad Scud is coming.
4: Zoe’s Mom
ZOE
What’s going on, really?” says Mom. She perches on Zoe’s bed beside the clothes she’d picked for her daughter. The sharp, tingly odor of Yampa is wafting out from under the bed. Mom is stagily sniffing the air.
The funny thing is that she looks almost exactly like Zoe. Two peas in a pod, but one of the peas has wrinkles. And Mom dyes her hair blonde. Not really a good look with olive skin and big dark eyes. But she’s covering the gray. Also, it’s kind of expected that a woman is blonde if she’s a realtor.
“Are you vaping pot?” asks Mom. “Or is it something worse? I feel dizzy just sitting in here. Please don’t tell me you’re smoking crack! Not every musician has to be a junkie, Zoe.”
Zoe hardly knows where to begin. She’s about to leave home with Villy, she’s met two aliens, and Mom is so totally out of the loop that she’s calling her a junkie?
“Look at me, Mom,” says Zoe. “I’m here. Next to you. Your daughter. You’re not watching a troubled teens TV special.”
“You’re so distant with me,” says Mom, “This whole college thing…”
“I want to leave home,” blurts Zoe. “Go off on my own.”
“You can be an intern at work-study summer charity camp,” begins Mom. “I have the perfect contact. It would be a such great activity to list on your—”
“No more applications, Mom. That’s over. Your daughter Zoe Snapp has been admitted to—the now! With a major in Nothing and a minor in Everything. No more future imperfect. I have some rather amazing activities in mind.” She’s talking fancy to try and sound big.
Zoe hears a rustle and a hiss from beneath the bed. It’s Yampa. The alien is whispering, her voice so faint that only Zoe hears: “Sorry I’m smelly.”
Meanwhile Mom is sighing and shaking her head, fixated on her crumbling fantasies of how her daughter should be.
Outside the open window, the honeyed light dims. Before long Villy will come to pick up Zoe. Maybe he’ll have Pinchley with him. They might as well start their road trip tonight. Zoe is so over this scene. The trip will be rad with the two aliens along. Zoe feels brave and defiant thinking this, but for sure she’s scared. It’s more of a road trip than she was bargaining for.
Basically Yampa and Pinchley want to kidnap her. And sister Maisie sent them? How does that even compute? Maisie’s been in with the aliens all along? Is this her revenge for Zoe’s coldness?
Worse than this, what if Zoe is only imagining that an alien named Yampa is under her bed and saying that she knows Maisie? Creepsville central. Forming the quietest possible whisper, a mere modulation of her breath, Zoe leans towards the edge of the bed and says, “Are you there?” Naturally, just to make things worse, there’s no answer.
If only she could talk things over with someone. But there’s no way to talk about anything real with Mom.
“I don’t know why you’ve changed,” Mom is saying, her voice thin and unsteady. “I only want the best for you.” She’s crying. Oh, this is unbearable. Zoe is being smothered here. Wrapped in layer after layer of itchy, potpourri-scented wool.
“I need space,” says Zoe, getting to her feet, feeling unsteady. “I need to get ready for tonight.”
Mom sniffles, stands, dabs at her eyes with a tissue. Her face is damp and unfocused. Zoe’s haughty pose weakens. What if she really and truly leaves tonight and she never sees her mother again? Oh god. Life is impossible. Zoe puts her arms around Mom and holds her.
“Look at me!” says Mom after a bit, trying to sound pert. She steps back and smiles at Zoe. “I’m completely going to pieces. Silly old woman. We’ll talk about your plans tomorrow.” Mom glances at her watch. “I need to go to the supermarket before I go to your show.” She smiles, her eyes filled with love and concern. “I’ll get some strawberries for you, Zoe. They’re so good right now.”
“Thanks,” says Zoe. “Thanks for everything you’ve done. I hope someday you’ll be proud of me.”
“I’m happy with you right now, Zoe. I am. I can’t lord it over you. I made a mess of my life. I—I just hope you’ll do better.”
Call it a wrap. Zoe kisses Mom on the cheek one last time. “Bye!”
Mom drives off in her vile white max-sized SUV, and Yampa pops out from under the bed. Yampa is real. Not a hallucination. But—
“What exactly are you doing here?” Zoe asks the odd yellow figure.
“Pinchley and I came for kicks,” says Yampa. “A million mile road trip. And, more, we’re on a mighty mission—thanks to the goading of Goob-goob and the machinations of Maisie.”
�
�Why are you talking about my sister Maisie? She lives here in Los Perros. Not in the mappyworld.”
“Your sister shuttles,” says Yampa. “She’s…similar to the saucers? She presented you the saucer pearl. She taught you the toot for the tunnel. She put Pinchley and me in place at your tunnel’s termination. Why? Goob-goob wants to wrangle two or three humans like you—to win the wand for warring with Groon. The trip will be a thrill. If we don’t die.”
“Die?” echoes Zoe, quite unable to process the stuff about Maisie and the saucer pearl and the rest of it. But even so, she’s smiling. This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to her. And Yampa’s spice and ether smell—it’s jazzing her up. Like coffee or candy or—
“I have you high,” says Yampa with a nod. “For happy talk.”
“I don’t want to be high,” protests Zoe. “Despite what you and Mom seem to think.”
Yampa’s smell damps down to a faint whiff of baking brownies. “Sometimes my smells are secret signals,” says the alien in a coy tone.
“I am so far from knowing what you’re talking about,” says Zoe.
“Chocolate,” says Yampa, her voice a low rasp. “We want some.”
“We can look in the kitchen cabinet,” says Zoe. “But hold the glee. Before we get any further into this—why did you say we might die on the million mile road trip to Szep City?”
“Other odd aliens,” says Yampa. “Not all of them friendly. We’ll see Flatsies, giant ants, music cubes, Thudds, bubble-men, Freeths, thinking tsunamis, tottering trees—and the saucers. Some of the saucers are your sworn foes. Intending to invade.”
“For some reason we hear about saucers a lot in Los Perros these days,” answers Zoe. “Who’s riding inside them?”
“They’re not vehicles,” says Yampa. “They’re muscle and meat, with bumbling brains. The problematic ones are parasites who siphon people’s smeel.”