Million Mile Road Trip

by Rudy Rucker

  “Don’t be bugging her with every little thing,” says Pinchley. “Here’s the night market! Park your car, Villy. And, Yamp, let’s you and me go sell our powdered chocolate.”

  “And then, hooray, the million mile trip!” says Yampa. “We’ll traverse a candy-box of two hundred bosky basins, Zoe. We’ll be bugs among bonbons. Each sweetmeat a treat!”

  8: Night Market

  ZOE

  Zoe likes the market square—it’s lit by those tall calla lilies with luminous blooms. Just about all the cars at the market seem to be beetles—spiky and curved, crawling around the edges of the square, putting their heads together, buzzing to each other, awaiting their riders. The beetles gleam in the calla lights. They’re pale green and lavender, pink and yellow, orange and red—most of them with six legs, but a few with eight. The only other mechanical car is the one that Villy parks next to, right under that weird tree Pinchley was talking about. The other car is a worn and dusty yellow convertible with huge wheels and quantum shocks, just like the wheels and shocks on Villy’s whale. It bears a red P&Y monogram on the hood.

  “That fume bomb is ours,” says Yampa. “We squired it from Szep City. Can’t use a feeble beetle for a hero haul.”

  “A million miles,” says Villy yet again. Like it’s his mantra. And now, probably to bug Zoe, he switches to a Dutch accent like the one Pinchley had used. “I’m vant go your city vith my vooman.”

  Zoe elbows him as if to say, enough already. But she’s softening. She’s done with her most recent freakout, and glad to be out of Los Perros. Sensing an opening, Villy leans over and kisses her on the mouth, very calm and debonair. Their second kiss ever.

  Scud whoops. Zoe savors the kiss anyway. After she and Villy break their clinch, she turns around, aims a finger at Scud’s face, and raises her thumb like she’s cocking a pistol, wanting him to truly get the picture.

  “It’s not nice to keep telling someone you want to shoot them in the head,” whines Scud. “It makes them feel bad.”

  Zoe isn’t moved by this. She’s learned that Scud likes to state his feelings as loudly and as frequently as possible. He freeloads off other people’s empathy. But that’s not happening now.

  “Can you clamp your freaking crack?” Villy says to Scud, very quiet and menacing. “Can you let us have a life?”

  “Maybe Scud can ride in Yampa’s and Pinchley’s car,” Zoe murmurs to Villy. Batting her eyes at him. Working her wiles.

  Meanwhile Yampa and Pinchley are already standing in the parking lot. The three kids swing to the ground on the bungees. Yampa takes one of her clicking mental pictures of them in action.

  Another one of those pestering little saucers starts buzzing around Zoe, like a horsefly poised to bite. With a smooth, quick motion, Zoe snatches it out of the air and pops it between thumb and forefinger.

  “Good going,” says Yampa. “Keep killing those buzz babies so the saucers sense you’re a tough target.”

  Zoe feels proud of herself. “We’re like the first astronauts with their lander on the moon. Nobody from Earth’s ever been here before.”

  “Oh yes they have,” says Yampa. “Folks like your father, and maid Maisie. They have fab gab with the good saucers.”

  “My father?” goes Zoe. “Maisie?”

  Yampa could say more, but she’s ready to go. “We’ll reunite anon,” she tells Zoe. She links her skinny arm with Pinchley’s. “Time for our chocolate pep party, yes? Whoopee with friends. I’ll parade my Los Perros lounge wear.” She does a rusty-hinge giggle.

  Pinchley waggles the big tin of powdered chocolate, very cheerful. “It’s just as well Scud is holding our caraway seeds. Tonight’s fest is gonna get crazy.”

  Fully comfortable with themselves, the two Szep amble off as if they’re on a date, him with his tool belt, her with her floppy white blouse and rolled skirt.

  The outdoor night market has sixty or maybe a hundred booths, each booth sheltered by a giant mushroom. Some booths sell food, and others sell—well, it’s hard to say. Hovering eggshells, furry spiral tubes, sticks with sparks crackling from their ends, floppy sheets of twitching cloth, pots of ointment, seashells that glow—

  “About that big tree leaning over us,” Scud says to Zoe. It’s like he’s trying to start a normal conversation. The sixteen-year-old doesn’t deliberately mean to be a pain in the ass all of the time. “Pinchley said the branches are like snakes,” Scud continues.

  “I like the dark, rich colors,” responds Zoe, going for a pleasant tone. “I’m glad they’re not moving. It’s starting to seem like everything here is alive. Those glowing yellow fruits in the tree, for instance. They’re bobbling around.”

  “Like balloons,” says Villy. “I don’t think they’re even attached to the tree. I guess they just live there.”

  “They have faces,” observes Zoe. She’s holding her trumpet in her hand, just in case.

  “The balls must be Freeths,” says Scud. “Pinchley mentioned them.” He waves his long, knobby arms and raises his voice. “Hi, Freeths!”

  One of the creatures bobs closer. A jiggly blob, with a pair of eyes that seem painted onto the skin—cartoon black dots inside white circles. The creature has a toothless mouth, and cheeks that are yellow with touches of peach. Zoe notices that the cheeks could equally well be forehead and chin. She thinks of an ambiguous figure drawing that could either be a girl with a necklace or an old woman with a hooked nose.

  The blob is about to say something to Zoe, but now a tall stranger appears from behind the tree. He seems to be a Szep. “Which of you has the unny tunnel?” he asks. He’s lithe and lively, yellow like Pinchley and Yampa—and wearing an ant-leather tool belt.

  “We’re just here for a visit,” says Villy, not answering the question. He gives Scud a sharp glance, lest his brother blab.

  “We’re about to take a walk,” Zoe tells the Szep. “We’re friends with Yampa and Pinchley, by the way.” She hopes this might give them some clout.

  “Know that,” says the Szep dismissively. He stares at Zoe for a few long seconds, swaying his body back and forth, wriggling like a moray eel about to bite. “You’re the one who tunneled across,” he concludes. “Yeah. You’ve got a saucer pearl in your pocket. And you know how to open its gate.” He stares into Zoe’s eyes. “I’m Irav. You’re gonna wanna ditch this crew and let me be your handler. Your pals are in for a run of bad luck.” Irav chuckles and writhes. “Big trouble.”

  Zoe feels a pulse of fear. She has half a mind to play an I’m-outta-here riff on her trumpet right now. Assuming that’ll open up the unny tunnel inside her saucer pearl—and get her back to ballyworld. But she’s very intrigued with this new world she’s in—and curious about Maisie and her father being here.

  Also Villy kissed her just a minute ago. And he’s standing right next to her, all poised and alert. The coolest boy she’s ever seen. So handsome. She loves all the shades of brown and blond in his hair. And how low he wears his pants, and the shape of his butt. No, she’s not leaving yet.

  “Can you lock the car?” Zoe asks Villy.

  “We can try,” says Villy. He caroms up into the purple whale, rolls up the three working windows, and—with considerable effort—manages to close the driver’s side window. Then, before rappelling down, Villy clicks the locks on all four doors. As if the locks are likely to stop the weird aliens.

  “I’ll be waiting,” says the intimidating Irav. Unpleasantly flexible, he worms up onto the hood of the purple whale and lolls there, leaning back against the windshield, with his tool belt turned around to the front.

  Zoe, Villy, and Scud hurry off.

  “So creepy,” says Zoe.

  “Pinchley and Yampa will know how to deal,” says Villy.

  “I think they went this way,” says Scud, leading the others towards a food stand beneath a gigundo red-capped mushroom.

  Zoe likes the look of the stand. Free samples of pineapples, papayas, and oranges are on the soft white counter, which
is the top of a smaller mushroom. The fruits are peeled, cut up, and ready to eat. Reassuringly, the booth is tended by humans—a weathered farmer and his son. They’re both wearing loose skirts like the other men in Van Cott. The son watches them closely.

  Villy reaches for a piece of pineapple. Always cautious, Zoe slaps at his wrist. But Villy wants to show off. He bites into the sweet-smelling lump of fruit and suddenly bends double and spits the food on the ground. He’s moaning and slobbering and huffing air as fast as he can.

  “Burns my mouth,” he says indistinctly. “Like ’ot ’epper. Like acid.”

  The old farmer thinks this is funny, but his son hands Villy a cup of what Zoe hopes is water. Villy swishes out his mouth, and tries to spit, but it seems like he can’t. A giant blob of slime dangles from his lips. The stuff in the cup has reacted with Villy’s saliva.

  “Don’t worry,” says the farmer’s son. “This is what you need.”

  Scud is in paradise, cackling with joy.

  “The water holds a dose of local germs,” says a rough voice just over Zoe’s head. “Probiotic. It’s good for you. Tunes your system for the Van Cott grub.”

  Zoe looks up—it’s that yellow ball creature from the tree. Evidently she’s trailing them.

  “What’s your name?” Zoe asks her.

  “Call me Meatball,” says the cubist blob. Her voice is oiled gravel, with a British accent. “Fit name for a tough cookie. And yes, I’m a Freeth. An elder race, rather down on our luck. I enjoy rollicking, rough-cut laughs. I’d love to be your roadie gal pal.”

  “You call yourself a girl?” says Zoe.

  “Let’s pretend. Actually, we reproduce by fission. When we can get a spare saucer pearl.”

  Meanwhile, with much wheezing and hacking, Villy has cleared the rest of the slime from his mouth.

  “Do you have to spit on the ground?” says Zoe. “It’s crass.”

  “Try my food again,” the farmer boy at the booth tells Villy. He holds out a fresh chunk of pineapple. Villy shakes his head, but the guy insists. “You’ll like it now.”

  Villy’s greed takes over and he pops the food in his mouth. Chews carefully, then smiles. “Tastes good.” He takes a sliver of coconut as well.

  “The germs in that water—are they parasitic or symbiotic?” asks Scud the scholar.

  “These germs are friendly,” says the guy. “The parasites are the flying saucers that Groon controls. They’re getting worse all the time. A big battle’s coming soon. You three just hopped here from ballyworld, right?”

  “Yeah,” says Scud.

  “Perfect,” says the young farmer. His allows himself a slight smile. “My name is Meno. I happen to know Zoe’s sister Maisie. She’s been talking about making this happen. She says you three are the heroes we’ve been waiting for.”

  “Heroes? I like that,” says Scud. “I’m Scud and this is my brother Villy.”

  Ostentatiously chewing his food, Villy offers the gamy cup of water to Scud. “Take your vaccination, bro.”

  “You can stuff your gut proper then,” chimes in Meatball the Freeth, doing her knockabout Brit routine. “This feed’s on yours truly.” She pops a little red pyramid out of her skin. Mappyworld money. The red shape drops into the counter by Meno, the farmer kid.

  Zoe has to laugh. Why not enjoy this madness—why not be reckless? As Villy said, it’s like being in a cartoon. And you never die in a cartoon—not even if a giant safe lands on your head. The pineapples and oranges are very tempting.

  Zoe and Scud look at each other, sharing a rare moment of mutual understanding. They’re in. What the hey. They take sips of the probiotic elixir. The reaction hits, they scrape the slime off their tongues and lips, and then it’s time to feed.

  The three kids chow down on mango, oranges, and baked tofu. Meatball is gumming down the goodies as well, spilling scraps from her loose lips. Zoe munches a yam, using its pointed end to spoon up dollops of fragrant coconut ice cream. Zoe grins at Villy. This is the kind of trip she’d been hoping for.

  “Goob-goob be with you,” says Meno as they move on. “We’re counting on you three to fight in the cosmic beatdown. Coming soon.”

  Zoe doesn’t want to know what Meno means. At least not yet. So many people here, so many aliens, so many competing plans.

  The wide-skirted man in the next booth over is selling sticks and plant tendrils that are woven into cubes, with glittering berries on the strands. The berry patterns appear random, but they somehow activate the cubes, and each of these seemingly primitive gizmos is crowned by a glowing ball that holds a lens-like view of some distant landscape. The views are live, like video, and they change in response to the merchant’s motions.

  Villy is being quiet, but it’s not a sulky silence. He has a way of relaxing and being part of a scene. And when Zoe talks, he’s always willing to listen.

  A young local couple have just finished buying one of the viewers. They’re going to use it for navigating to the next basin. The guy wears a banana-leaf skirt and a blue jersey. The woman has an orange jumpsuit with a lavender ruffle on one shoulder. Purchase in hand, they move to the next booth, where a gingerbread man offers colored—pendants? Objects like oversized teardrops, like jellied gouts of liquid, about an inch long. Straining her ears, Zoe gathers that these so-called food mints serve as a long-term nutrition supply. You suck on one for just a little bit, like on a lozenge, and then you’re full.

  “You can really stock up for an expedition here,” says Villy. “It’s cool that those two are going it alone. Like we were planning to do.”

  “I have to admit I’ll feel safer with Pinchley and Yampa driving in their car right next to us,” says Zoe. “We’d get lost right away.”

  “Well, yeah,” says Villy. “I just mean that you’re right about wanting for us two to be a couple.”

  “Did I say that?” goes Zoe, toying with him. Acting as if maybe Villy’s getting a little too possessive.

  He comes over and puts his arm around her waist. “We’ll put Scud in Yampa and Pinchley’s car. And if anyone crowds in with us, we two can always sleep outside at night.”

  “We’ll nestle,” says Zoe. “Cuddle.” And then, go for it, she gives him a kiss.

  In the back of her mind, Zoe wonders why Scud isn’t hollering about the kiss. Oh, he’s busy eating coconut ice cream. And who knows, maybe he’s getting over her and Villy a little bit. Their kiss tapers into a hug, and they just stand there with their arms around each other. Could they be reaching a new plateau where public displays of affection are normal? Like a girlfriend and a boyfriend? Is Zoe totally setting herself up for heartbreak like her mom with her dad? Why does she always overthink things? Trying not to be too obvious about it, she unwinds her arms from Villy and takes a step away.

  Right about then Zoe notices a sinister open-air butcher shop nearby. It’s run by a pair of gray starfish. Each of the alien echinoderms stands on a pair of its stubby legs—or maybe you’d call them arms. The starfish have saggy, expressionless faces in the centers of their bodies. The joints of meat on their counter bear an unpleasant resemblance to human legs.

  So then, just like that, Zoe flips back to wondering what the hell she’s doing here. Still no sign of Yampa and Pinchley. They’ll be partying with their chocolate powder for a while. Zoe turns in a full circle, peering along the mazy paths of the marketplace, lit by the booths’ multicolored calla-plant lights. She sees a man swathing himself in wiggly cloth. An ant purchasing an urn of honey. Two mini Thudds are carrying a big beetle larva with glistening eyes and a pair of mandibles. They’ll either roast it or grow it into a car. Off in the parking lot, Villy’s purple whale is still visible beneath the Freeth tree, with that same oily Szep lounging on the car’s hood. Alert to Zoe’s gaze, the Szep makes a come-hither gesture. Ugh.

  “Hate that cheeseball,” says Villy, right in tune with Zoe’s thoughts.

  Meatball the Freeth is hovering above them. “Do you know anything about Irav?” Zo
e asks her, surreptitiously pointing at the distant Szep.

  “Well, I heard him talking to you,” says Meatball. “I rather expect he’s a yob who robs whomever he can. I don’t mingle with Szep, generally. It could be that Irav is a cat’s-paw for the less savory class of saucers.”

  “How do you mean?” says Zoe.

  “Slavers. Irav would be wanting to capture you and sell you at Saucer Hall.”

  “What would the saucers want me for?” presses Zoe. She has a general idea from what Pinchley and Yampa have said. But she wants more detail.

  “Are you as green as you are cabbage-looking?” says Meatball.

  “What the hell does that mean?” snaps Zoe.

  “Means I hope you’re not as naïve as you pretend to be,” says Meatball. “The saucers are smeel stealers. Vampires. They’d drain you dry, sassy Zee. Empty you to a husk. And send you home to Mom as a saucer agent.”

  “Where is this Saucer Hall?” asks Zoe, very uneasy by now.

  “Centrally located in bustling Van Cott. Like an elite city club, isn’t it? You’ll find good saucers and bad saucers there. The bad saucers nip over from New Eden and gather in Saucer Hall with an eye to feasting upon the unspeakably toothsome smeel of the Van Cott locals and—even better—the smeel of lost little lambs from ballyworld Earth.”

  “Me no like,” says Scud in a gremlin voice. He turns to Zoe. “Do you actually have a gun? Please say yes.”

  “No gun,” says Zoe absently. She’s thinking about the place name that Meatball just mentioned—New Eden. Back in Los Perros, her father founded a saucer-nut club called the New Eden Space Friends. Crazy Dad was talking about something real. How very—unexpected. “Can you tell me more about New Eden?” Zoe asks Meatball.

  Meatball gets all science class on her ass. “Unless I’m mistaken, the New Eden basin matches up with a ballyworld planet near Proxima Centauri where—”

  “Oh spare me the windblown bullshit,” interrupts Villy. “Do any of the booths in this market sell weapons?”

  “Right enough, they do,” says Meatball. “Not that you’ve any need for guns—if you’ve got a Freeth like me on your side. I can zap people. And I’m a shapeshifter. I’m formidable.”