McClendon's Syndrome (v1.1)

by Robert Frezza

  “Yes, yes, Cheeves. Stiff upper lip, and all that,” Bucky said impatiently.

  “My cranial anatomy makes h somewhat difficult for me to comply with your wishes, sir.”

  “Do your best, Cheeves, and hurry back. I shall miss you for as long as you are away!”

  “Thank you, sir. I shall miss you as well. I shall endeavour to justify your confidence in me.”

  “I have utmost confidence, Cheeves. You are a veritable wizard at these political things.”

  “I admit to some small study of the habits of my species, and strive to be of service,” Cheeves said modestly. I saw him put his hands up against the sides of his head. I didn’t understand what was going on until I saw Catarina’s eyes gleam.

  “You pull habits out of Rats?” she asked.

  “Where’s the contract? Give me a pen. I’ll sign!” I said quickly.

  Cheeves and Catarina exchanged significant glances. “Pen-itant, are you?” she said.

  Beaver’s whiskers twitched, and he chimed in, “A penetrating analysis. Ink-cisive!”

  Catarina responded, “Merely inst-ink-tive, Doctor. Some of us are born with the write stuff for good punmanship.”

  Piper started grinning and slapped me firmly between the shoulders to clear whatever was causing me to choke.

  “Ah, pardon me, my dear friend Ken,” Beaver said, pulling something that looked like a tablecloth on a chain out of his pocket and mopping his brow. “I was caught up in the rapture of exchanging discourse with another scholar of your language. Friend Catarina, I did not realise you had hidden talents!”

  I groaned very softly.

  “We should discourse on the nature of puns at another time, perhaps,” Catarina suggested diplomatically.

  “If I may, sir,” Cheeves interjected, “I will go pack my things.”

  Beaver nodded contentedly. “Well, now that we’ve settled business, would you three consider staying for lunch? I have some new lines of philosophical inquiry that I would like to try out on friend Ken. As you know, we Rodents normally refrain from eating meat, but I do believe Cheeves could whip up a fricassee of lizard parts.”

  “Perhaps a small salad instead,” Catarina said, studying my face. “We have a funeral service to attend this afternoon for Ken’s shipmate, Frido Kundle, and we are fasting.”

  After we ate, Piper drove us over to the funeral parlour on Esquimaux Street. They do nice cremations, and Harry had gotten us a reduced rate. They had a pretty display set up for Frido, with his urn set up in a niche beside a silk wall hanging and a sprig of white plumeria.

  Annalee, Rosalee, Harry, and Clyde were all waiting when we arrived. I was surprised to see Harry—I wasn’t aware that he even knew Frido. Clyde, of course, had made Frido’s acquaintance after Frido was already dead, which was probably a wise move on his part.

  Clyde spotted us as we walked in and slipped up beside me. “I understand you’re looking for a place to stay. I’ve got room.”

  “Thanks, Clyde. I appreciate that.”

  We couldn’t afford to shuttle Spooner down for the ceremony, so we let Rosalee do the reading. The only religion Frido had was sex, so we’d decided to open things with a passage from the Karma Sutra and a moment of silent reflection.

  Rosalee yawned her way through it—it had apparently been a lively night at the Prancing Pony—but she put some real feeling into it, which was nice.

  Harry started weeping halfway through. For reasons which may or may not have had anything to do with the solemnity of the occasion, nobody made any smart remarks. When Dykstra finished and lapsed into repose, I put an arm over as much of Harry’s shoulder as I could reach. “Hey, big guy. What’s the problem?”

  “It’s just not right,” Harry insisted, wiping his eyes.

  I blinked. “Come again? I missed something.”

  “I mean, Frido died in combat. Well, not really, but I mean, you had a battle on the trip, and he got killed, maybe not in that order, but it was almost like he died in combat. He should have gently slid over the side of the ship sewed up in sailcloth with a grapeshot at his feet, like they used to do during the age of fighting sail,” Harry said dreamily.

  I wasn’t the only one he lost. “Say what? Fighting what?” McHugh rasped.

  “We don’t have any grapeshot,” Rosalee observed. “We don’t even have a cannon.” Rosalee was inputting data faster than she was writing it to disk.

  “You know, wouldn’t it be nice if you could have let Frido float free in space forever, gently resting in the great ethereal void? Instead of locking up his ashes in a coffee can,” Harry persisted.

  “Yeah, we should have made that goddamn Kundle into an orbiting road pizza,” Annalee said succinctly.

  “I don’t know, anything as big as a body would be a navigation hazard,” Rosalee said.

  Catarina jerked her head to signal me.

  “What’s the deal, Harry. You’re not usually this gloomy,” I said slowly.

  “Ah, well, it’s... It’s Frido. He didn’t exactly die in battle, but it’s sort of like the same thing.”

  It was becoming obvious that this discussion had a great deal more to do with Harry’s state of mind than it did with Frido.

  “Harry—” I started to say.

  “Well, damn it, Ken! I got kicked out of the Navy before I ever did anything. What do I do? I tend bar,” Harry moped.

  Clyde gave him a sympathetic look.

  “Noble profession,” Rosalee said without intending- any irony.

  “You don’t know what it’s like,” Harry said gloomily while we all stood around and fidgeted.

  “And we don’t want to find out,” Annalee said under her breath. “Can we get this over with?”

  They’d selected me to do the eulogy because Wyma Jean was in orbit and most everyone else was in jail. There isn’t much you can say about somebody whose ambition in life was to be stunt man in a porno film, but I gave it my best shot.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to mark the passing of our shipmate Frido Kundle. I didn’t know Frido long, or well. None of us did. None of us tried to. He wasn’t particularly intelligent...” I was having trouble reading my notes.

  “He was dumb as a post,” Rosalee said in her sleep.

  “He had children and loved life. He wasn’t particularly nice as a person, but he was ours. He has a family somewhere, and they probably deserved him, and we probably did, too. And if we helped to make him what he was...” I faltered.

  Catarina picked up the thread. “I hope we do better if the opportunity comes along again. Thanks, Ken.”

  And that was it. Clyde nodded again, and Rosalee lifted her chin and opened her eyes. Annalee stood there with her arms folded, defiant to the last. By custom, Frido’s ashes would ride out free aboard the next mailship back to his family.

  I think it was the sort of ceremony Frido would have liked. And when it was over, two cops were waiting there to arrest me.

  The tall one spoke. “Uh, Mr. MacKay?”

  “That’s me,” I replied. “What can I do for you?”

  “Uh, sir. We have orders to take you in.” He let his hands rest on his gun belt, and his partner sucked in his breath.

  “That’s not quite what I had in mind when I asked what I could do for you. You boys want to tell me why?” Although I was learning to take little things like this in stride, I still got that feeling you get when you’re out in a boat and you feel water in your shoes.

  “Well, sir. We have instructions to hold you as a material witness on suspicion of piracy,” the short one explained.

  I shook my head. “That doesn’t even make sense.” Noticing that there was blockage on the line, my shipmates gathered around.

  The tall cop slapped his gloves against his free hand. “That’s what they wrote down, and we got to bring you in. I guess the sheriff thinks you’re a dangerous criminal, like the lady on the news said.”

  For some reason, this all seemed perfectly normal. “Ca
tarina, I think I need help.”

  Catarina lifted her veil. “Piracy is a federal crime. Your local authorities have no jurisdiction,” she observed, for once openly puzzled.

  Annalee was more open in her sentiments. “What a dim bunch of hicks! Ken, maybe they’ll put you in Elaine’s old cell.”

  “If they want me around as a witness, I’m easy to find. It’s not as if I’m going anywhere. Is somebody running for office or something?” I saw a warning light beginning to glow in Harry’s eyes.

  “Well, yes, sir,” the short one admitted. “Both the sheriff and the city attorney are running this time around.” He added eagerly, “It looks like we’re going to have some really tight races, especially the sheriff’s race. The old sheriff—the one who got voted out last election after the papers said he was corrupt— he wants his job back. This time around, he’s the Reform candidate. Sheriff Jamali is running as the incumbent. After we drop you off at the station, we’ve got to go out and start rounding up campaign pledges.”

  “For which side?” I asked.

  “Both sides. We’re career employees.”

  “Look,” I said, rubbing my temples, “I don’t mean to fuss, but I am getting real tired of being pushed around. I have almost been murdered three times this month—”

  “Four times,” Clyde interjected.

  “Thank you, Clyde. I have almost been murdered four times this month, and it’s making me crabby. Now, if you arrest me, I am going to sue everybody I can think of including that reporter for false arrest.”

  I had my eyes on Catarina, not the cop, and she nodded. “And,” I continued, “with a little luck, I’ll collect enough from all of you to fix up my ship and live happily ever after. Now you call your sheriff and tell him what I just said. Okay?”

  “Sorry, sir,” the tall cop said unhappily. “We’ve got our orders.”

  Standing side by side, Harry and Rosalee crossed their arms in unison and stared down at the unfortunate flatfeet.

  I explained, “That’s what they said at Nuremberg. Catarina?”

  Catarina began ticking off points. “I’ll arrange for official protests from Commander Hiro and from Ambassador Beaver as representative of the government whose vessel you allegedly took unlawful action against, Beam can get hold of that lawyer you talked to, and I’ll ask Bunkie to whip up a press statement. If you think it will help, I’ll ask Commander Hiro to accept a voluntary recall to active duty from you. That will give him a little more leverage to spring you.”

  “Catarina, you’re wonderful. You’ve read my mind. Do that.”

  “Ken,” Rosalee said softly, “do you need any help? Like right now?”

  Harry indicated agreement. “I’d be awfully, awfully upset if anybody tried to arrest my buddy here.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I was thinking, we ought to keep this friendly. So if anybody draws a gun, I’ll make him eat it.”

  “Now, wait just one minute,” the taller one said. “We’re police officers.”

  “You know, this carpet’s kind of dirty. We could mop it,” Rosalee observed. I had the warm feeling that she was making the offer only partly because it sounded like fun.

  “You know,” Harry said, tapping his chin and looking the taller cop in the eye, “you’d look real good in a body cast.”

  The two cops looked at each other, obviously not happy with the turn of events.

  Catarina shook her head slightly.

  “No,” I said. “Thanks, Harry. Thanks, Rosalee. I think we’ll try diplomatic means first, but I really appreciate the offer. Well, at least I’m packed for the occasion. All right, kids, if you really want me, I’m yours.” I held my hands out for the bracelets.

  They actually did cuff me. We got my duffel out of Piper’s trunk, and the poor guy whose job it was to inventory my stuff wanted to die when he saw the extent of it.

  I gave them my name, rank, and serial number and asked for my lawyer, Commander Hiro, and Ambassador Beaver, in that order. Somebody must have figured out that the kimchi odour in the air ducts was unusually spicy, because they didn’t take me into the back room where they kept the rubber hoses. Instead, they let me keep my clothes and put me in the cell next to Bobo and Ironsides.

  “MacKay, what are you doing here?” Ironsides demanded.

  “Hoping my stay will be short,” I explained.

  “Then you’re with us,” Davie asked with a peculiar gleam in his eye.

  “I think that we’re going to have to file personal bankruptcy when we get out. I also think that when the banks find out, jail will be the safest place for us,” Bobo explained without enthusiasm. “But Davie wants to try a jailbreak.”

  “It’ll be a cinch,” Ironsides said, holding up a bent spoon.

  “No! Hold it! Time out!” I said. “I expect to get out of here legally, with the aid and approval of the local gendarmerie. If you tell me anything about escape plans, I will reluctantly have to turn you in. Besides”—I glared at Davie Lloyd—”I haven’t forgotten that the two of you tried to decommission me a couple or three times.”

  Bernie hung his head. “I’m sorry, Ken. I really feel bad about that.” He elbowed Davie Lloyd.

  “Yeah, we’re both sorry,” Ironsides said. He shuffled his feet. “We heard you bought the Scupper.”

  “I did. Hopefully, I’ll eventually be able to fix her up and put together a crew.” Somehow.

  “Ken,” Bernie said softly. “About Sasha...”

  Jail had given Boo-Boo a certain nobility. De Profundis, so to speak.

  “A ship always needs a ship’s cat. I’ll make Annalee turn in her barber’s shears.”

  “Thanks, Ken.” Bernie assumed a blissful look.

  “We had a funeral for Frido this afternoon. That’s where they picked me up. It was a pretty nice service,” I said clumsily.

  “He deserved that, didn’t he?” Ironsides said sadly.

  “He did,” Bernie agreed. He looked at Davie Lloyd. “Ken looks like he’s had a hard day. We ought to let him sleep.”

  I must have had a hard day, because I had an awful time falling asleep. I woke up when I felt someone gently shaking my shoulder.

  “What? Is it morning already?” I said groggily. “I’ll skip breakfast. If I’m in jail, I ought to be able to sleep in.”

  “Actually, it’s not even dinnertime yet, and you haven’t been in here more than a couple of hours,” Piper said.

  I tried to bury my head under a pillow full of sawdust. “God, when did I fall asleep?”

  I heard Bernie answer from the adjoining cell. “Oh, about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “I don’t live right,” I groaned.

  “You could be doing worse,” a gravely voice said.

  I looked up. An older guy with a hooked nose was standing there with a coat thrown over a striped nightshirt.

  “This is Sheriff Jamali. You weren’t the only one to get dragged out of bed for this,” Piper explained helpfully. “Okay, Ensign MacKay, on your feet.”

  I crawled out of bed and stood at attention.

  “Here is a copy of the orders recalling you to active duty, and a copy of the official protest from Dr. Beaver,” Piper said briskly, obviously enjoying every minute. “Your duffel bag is packed, I checked the contents against the inventory, and Sheriff Jamali is waiting to release you. You will, of course, release him by signing the legal document he is holding which absolves him of any claim you may have for false imprisonment.” She winked. “Having heard of your plight, Sheriff Jamali’s brother-in-law, the tailor, agreed to make you a complete set of uniforms out of the goodness of his heart. Catarina took measurements from the clothes you have which actually fit.”

  “You are free to go, Ensign,” Jamali said, smiling. He added, “And if you so much as jaywalk, I will put you in jail for the rest of your life.”

  “Uh, thanks.” I scrawled my signature across the document he was holding, waved good-bye to Bernie and Davie, and followed Piper out to the car, where Catarina
was waiting.

  “I ought to do this right,” I said as Piper unlocked the door for me. I straightened. “Ensign MacKay, reporting for duty, ma’am.” I snapped off one of my less sloppy salutes.

  Catarina returned it gravely, and I squeezed in beside her. “Your eyes hurt?”

  She nodded. “It’s still good to see you, Ken.”

  “Good to see you. Thanks for getting me out.”

  “You’re even on the payroll,” Piper commented. “We’re coming up on the end of the fiscal year, and we had some use-or-lose money in the budget.”

  The first thing that they drum into the head of every new ensign is the axiom that money disappears at the end of the fiscal year. If you don’t spend all of the money the budget people gave you this fiscal year, they assume that you will only need half as much next year. Thus do the navy’s auditors reward economy and thrift. It does make running a navy somewhat expensive.

  “How did you ever sell this to Hiro—excuse me, Commander Hiro?” I asked, polishing up my military etiquette.

  “I emphasised the moral and practical reasons for doing so,” Catarina told me.

  “The moral reasons, I understand. Practical?”

  “We’ve managed to keep a surprisingly tight lid over events on the Scupper. Whoever set up the smuggling scheme may not know what happened. He—”

  “Or she—” I interjected.

  “He, she, or it may think that the drugs are still hidden on board,” she amended. “There are rumours flying.”

  “Some of which you glued feathers to. Go on,” I said.

  “With you free—”

  “I may be contacted,” I finished for her. “I shouldn’t ask this, but did you have anything to do with my getting jailed in the first place?”

  I could see Piper shaking her head through the rearview mirror, but she was grinning.

  “Only indirectly,” Catarina said candidly. “Lydia Dare must have fastened on to some of the rumours. She’s not especially discriminating.”

  “Even for a reporter,” I admitted. As we rolled around to the front of the police station, I noticed Lydia standing out in front with a microphone in her hand and a camera on her. “Lieutenant Piper, could you slow up for a minute?”