“Solomon!” Charles called loudly.
“Yassuh, Marse Charles.”
“Set the table for two,” Charles commanded. “I shall dial the dinner myself.”
He felt very adventurous and masterful. Dialing dinner without aid was fine training in self-reliance.
* * * *
Six weeks later, the three of them stood on the bridge of the space freighter Beautiful Joe, watching Sugar Plum as the vessel entered an orbit around it.
But Charles Edward Button didn’t feel at all masterful, or even adventurous.
They stood next to Possett, the skipper, a great, hairy man with gold teeth, a bad squint, and an air of gloomy cunning about him. After her first look at Possett, Cousin Aurelia had locked herself in her cabin, allowing no one but Betty to approach her, and threatening to subsist on the half-dozen cases of Dr. Stringfellow’s Vegetable Remedy she kept under her berth. Charles, however, had been sure that Possett’s heart was both kindly and chivalrous.
“Take those tall stories of his,” he said more than once. “Betty, they don’t mean a thing. Old spacedogs love to kid tenderfeet. Imagine trying to make me believe that it’s dangerous out here! And all that malarkey about Captain Burgee being a pirate or something!”
They stared at Sugar Plum, at its small polar ice caps, its seas, its continents greener than Earth’s, its wandering white clouds. Not many hours before, it had been only a dust mote, a pinpoint of light in the void. Now it filled half the sky. And suddenly Charles understood the immensities, the unspeakable stretches of space in which Boston had vanished.
Shivering, he wished he were home, stiffly safe in a curlicued chair, with Solomon dialing his dinner for him.
“Nice piece of property,” grunted Possett around his cigar. “Too bad about—” He broke off with a shrug.
“About what?” asked Charles, alarmed.
“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if Burgee comes around and finds you’d run off with his planet.”
“Burgee? He was lost out in space!”
“His kind don’t stay lost. Chances are he’s hiding out from the law. But it’s none of my business. Just thought I’d warn you.”
Charles laughed weakly. “You c-can’t frighten me. I’m sure there aren’t any pirates in space any more.”
Possett turned to his weasel-faced mate. “Loopy, call the New Texas spaceport. Get Mac on the screen.”
The mate nodded. He twiddled a dial and punched at a switch. The screen glowed. After some seconds, the face of a red-haired person appeared, looking rather disgusted.
“New Texas, New Texas,” came a voice. “I hear you, Beautiful Joe. What the hell do you want?”
“Dude aboard wants some info,” said Possett. “Wants to know what Burgee did for a living—Alexander Burgee. Also, are the coppers still trying to find him?”
The face frowned. “Possett, you know damn well Burgee was a pirate. You know he’s been listed as lost. Now quit wasting my time. New Texas out.”
The face vanished. The mate snickered nastily. And Charles just stood there gaping.
“A real pirate!” squeaked Cousin Aurelia. “Wh-what would he do? Would he kill us?”
“Might do anything. But—” eying her, Possett leered—“he’s like me. Likes ’em well fattened up. Lady, you needn’t worry.”
Cousin Aurelia paled. She started to sway. Then, perhaps recalling the uncarpeted deck, she recovered and looked haughty instead.
“I am going right back to my cabin,” she proclaimed, and stalked off the bridge.
“Cousin Aurelia is very genteel,” Betty snapped at the captain. “You had no right to insult her. Besides, she’s only twenty pounds overweight.”
“Don’t mind me. I go for her type.” Possett shook his head darkly and turned toward Charles. “Button, man to man, a back-country planet’s no place for the ladies. Look, I’ll take the thing off your hands. I can handle Burgee. Twelve thousand cold cash for your stuff and the deed, and I’ll throw in a lift to New Texas. There’s a liner from there.”
Charles thought of the comfortable Earth and was tempted. “But I paid thirty-five,” he protested uncertainly. “I mean, twelve is—”
“Take it or leave it. I’m trying to do you a favor.”
“No, I guess we’ll leave it,” answered Betty.
Charles looked around in surprise. Her lips were compressed, her blue eyes narrowed with astonishing determination.
“We’ve come all this way,” she declared, “so we might as well keep it. I think it has—well, possibilities. We’ve had the whole house done over and the servants remodeled. And we’ll have all the DoItAll services—teleprojection, medical care, and everything else—from the New Texas substation. I’m sure we’ll get along nicely.”
The skipper of the Beautiful Joe wasn’t pleased. “It’s your necks. Don’t be blaming me for what happens,” he growled. “Well, where do you want to set down?”
“Set down?” gulped Charles. “R-right now?”
“Land and unload, it says in the contract. I ain’t got all day. I’ll dump you at Burgee’s old landing, load up with fresh water, and blast off for New Texas.”
Charles had no other spot in mind.
“Okay,” Possett said to the two robot crewmen at the main controls, “take her down.”
* * * *
At the waterfall’s edge, flowering trees twisted their roots in the cliffside, and a fresh wind scattered plumes of its spray through their leaves. Taller trees, bell-blossomed, fanned out from the pool, gave way to a meadow, and followed the course of the stream down a broadening valley—among faceted boulders of translucent quartz, rose-pink, green, and golden, sheltering small, lustrous spires of fragile fungi.
On the meadow stood the house, the latest in Second Victorian, complete with carved plastic false-front in early Schenectady Gothic. The Buttons themselves, with Cousin Aurelia, stood in front of it. They wore long linen dusters and sun helmets with heavy mosquito veils. They were going exploring.
Cousin Aurelia was sputtering: “Do you know what he said when he left? ‘Kid, you come along with Mike Possett. You don’t want no part of that planet. I’ll show you a ripsnorting time!’ Then he gave me a look that—that was positively lecherous.” She shuddered. “At least we’ll have no more of that nonsense. Your planet is uninhabited.”
Betty looked worried. “I’ve the funniest feeling,” she said. “As if someone was watching.”
“That’s absurd!” snapped Cousin Aurelia. “You must be imagin—” She stopped in her tracks. “Wh-what’s that?”
They looked. A large, soft, fuzzy beast had come out from under the trees. It was reddish and had very big feet. It blinked at them brightly, climbed a transparent green rock, and started to whistle, not too tunefully, through its long Roman nose.
Almost instantly, another emerged, a size smaller. Lowering its eyelids coquettishly, it began clapping its forepaws.
“Charles, they must be the ‘critters’ Burgee mentioned in that catalogue. Remember? I’m sure they’re perfectly harmless.”
Two more animals appeared and made for a rock of their own. And then there were, suddenly, dozens—all around the edge of the meadow. These were petite, creamy, with lavender ears. They came bounding forward in pairs, sat up and regarded the Buttons solemnly.
Charles began to relax. Somehow, Sugar Plum didn’t seem half so enormous any longer, now that they weren’t so alone.
“I wonder if they could be tamed.” Betty was wistful.
“They’re certain to be just full of fleas,” sniffed Cousin Aurelia.
The creatures were playful. As the Buttons walked over the meadow, they frolicked around them—
But they also were very affectionate. As they frolicked, they flirt
ed. Every once in a while, each pair would pause to rub noses, to murmur seductively, to nip one another.
At first, Cousin Aurelia tried to pretend they weren’t there. But finally she halted. “Charles Edward Button, I won’t go a step farther till you drive those nasty things away. It’s disgraceful. They’re apt to do—anything!”
Charles flushed under his netting. “Shoo!” he said ineffectively. “Beat it!”
There was a swift patter of feet straight ahead and a figure flashed into view. She was slim. She was small, with a girdle and headdress of feathers. Her skin was sky-blue, and her ears were pointed, and her eyes were simply enormous. But she looked distressingly human.
In an instant, she vanished. As the Buttons stood there goggling, they heard more running footsteps, somewhat heavier, and a scuffle, a giggle, a clear, tenor laugh, and then silence.
“Why, that was a girl!” Betty gasped.
“She was being pursued!” Charles exclaimed. “He—he caught her!”
“Oooh!” moaned Cousin Aurelia, covering her eyes. “Charles, how could you? Enticing us here, saying it was uninhabited!”
Then, before Charles could find a reply:
“Uninhabited?” chuckled a deep male voice right behind them. “It certainly isn’t. It’s just uninhibited!”
Slowly, the Buttons turned around. There, by an odd square tree, stood a man even bigger than Possett, smoking a pipe. He was middle-aged. He wore a heavy brown beard, khaki shorts, a deep coat of tan, and a self-possessed smile.
He bowed. “Burgee is my name—Space Captain Alexander Burgee. Glad to make your acquaintance.”
“It’s him!” screamed Cousin Aurelia. “And he’s practically naked!” She pointed a cotton-gloved finger, began backing away. “You fiend, don’t you come any nearer. Don’t you touch me!”
The captain looked very surprised. “Why would I want to?”
Her voice reached a new high and clung there. “You—you libertine! You may lead a riotous life with these natives, but you won’t work your will on me. I’ll lock myself in till the police can come from New Texas!”
And, tripping and stumbling over her duster, she fled.
As the door banged behind her, the captain nudged a large beast off a nearby rock, and sat down. “I can see that Earth hasn’t changed,” he remarked. “You tourists still seem to have the daffiest notions.” He sounded quite hurt. “Look, these natives are nice little people. They’re harmless. I call ’em my Sugar Plum pixies, and sometimes we grin at each other. But that’s all. They aren’t much past the animal stage. Besides, they lay eggs. Oh, well—” he shrugged as the Buttons exchanged knowing looks—“I have plenty of room at the house and I guess you’ll be permanent guests, so welcome to Sugar Plum, anyway.”
Betty said angrily, “Sugar Plum’s ours. You didn’t pay taxes and they sold it at auction. Charles has the deed in his pocket.”
“You poor, dumb kids!” The captain seemed really concerned. “You bought some fool bureaucrats error. I’m paid up in advance. Come on down, you can see the receipt.”
“Aren’t you clever?” said Betty scornfully. “Well, you won’t trap us as easily as that. We don’t need you or your house.”
“You just might want something to eat, or a hot, soapy shower, or a tight roof over you when it rains.”
The Buttons smiled triumphantly. They had their own house, with a DoItAll to do everything for them.
“You can leave us alone, Mr. Pirate Burgee. Captain Possett told us your whole horrible story, and Cousin Aurelia is calling the police right this minute.”
“Possett?” The captain’s face twitched. “Mike Possett, of the Beautiful Joe?”
“That’s right.” Charles felt very superior. “Now you beat it before—”
He didn’t finish. From the house came a loud, anguished cry.
They whirled.
Cousin Aurelia, disheveled without helmet or duster, was almost upon them.
“Charles! It won’t work!”
She reached him, threw her arms round his neck and hung on.
“I can’t turn the servants on, or the teleprojection, or even the keys to the closets. Oh, Charles, we’ll have nothing to eat, or to drink, or to wear!”
“That’s impossible. DoItAlls never break down.”
“We can’t live without it!” screeched Cousin Aurelia. “We’re millions of miles from Boston! We’re marooned with that monster!”
* * * *
Burgee’s long, low house was indecently plain, without even so much as a gimcrack or bit of gingerbread decoration. Its many wide windows looked out over a lake set with islands. Its living room had broad, cushioned couches and indolent chairs—all suspiciously comfortable.
In exactly such houses, Charles knew, in the wicked old days, a fate worse than death had been practically part of the fixtures.
“We shouldn’t have let him persuade us,” he worriedly told Betty. “Perhaps we’d have starved, but at least Cousin Aurelia wouldn’t have locked herself alone into a strange pirate’s bedroom!”
“We’ve been here all afternoon,” Betty pointed out, “and he hasn’t tried anything yet. Besides, he helped carry those cases of hers and he gave her the keys himself. It’s peculiar. Oh, Charles, do you suppose that—that it’s me he’s after?”
Before he could answer, a robot came in, a practical, old-fashioned model with four arms for waiting at table.
“Dinner is served.” It snapped its aluminum jaws. “Come to the dining room, please.”
Reluctantly, they obeyed.
“Whatever you do,” whispered Charles warningly at the door, “don’t let him ply you with liquor.”
The captain stood at the head of the table. He was in full evening dress, with a heavy gold-nugget watch chain across his muscular middle. He smelled faintly of mothballs and looked very respectable.
The Buttons examined the table. There wasn’t a sign of absinthe or brandy or even champagne. There was nothing but water.
“It’s too bad your cousin won’t join us,” said the captain, seating them courteously. “I hope those cartons of hers have something tasty inside them.”
“They contain Dr. Stringfellow’s Vegetable Remedy and Tonic for Gentlewomen,” replied Betty primly. “It is said to be very nourishing.”
Their host shuddered. Recovering, he clapped his hands sharply. “Oh, steward!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” said the robot, appearing with a big silver tureen and setting it down on the table.
The Buttons drew back.
“I can see you don’t trust me,” laughed the captain. “So we’ll serve everything out in plain sight. You can shuffle the plates if you want to.” He proceeded to ladle out a clear, fragrant soup. “There. Take whichever you want.”
The Buttons selected their plates. They picked up their spoons, dippedthem nervously, made rowing motions.
The captain ate heartily, talking away between spoonfuls. He told them that Sugar Plum was surrounded by an ionized layer impervious to DoItAll waves. He said he had no use for such gadgets, or for the Age which produced them.
“And why,” he demanded, “did we become fake Victorians? Why are we worse than the real ones? I’ll tell you. Because space was too big. It made people feel puny. They wanted a hole to crawl into—something small, safe and stuffy.”
As course followed course, he told them how he had retired from piracy after homesteading Sugar Plum. Alone with his robots, he had dismantled his vessel, using its engines for heating and lighting. He had done a good deal of exploring.
The robot served something like lobster, and something like grouse, and a roast which might have been venison. It served vegetables in pink, pear-like clusters and long, golden pods. It served a crisp, succulent salad.
&
nbsp; Charles picked at his food, watching Betty with growing uneasiness. First, her appetite seemed to improve. Then her eyes started to sparkle, and the severe little corners of her mouth began to relax. Leaning forward intently, she became more and more absorbed in the captain.
“—and so here I’ve been ever since,” he said, as he finished his salad, “and Sugar Plum’s just about perfect. Of course, it gets lonely at times, but—”
Abruptly, Betty’s hand darted out, grabbed the captain’s beard.
“Beaver!” she shouted, laughing and pulling. Then she settled back, blushing. “I’ve wanted to do that for years.”
Charles reeled. Here was a crisis! He started to rise; hesitated. Of course, he was shocked to the core, but, “Great Scott, she’s pretty!” he thought; and at once he felt guilty.
He stood up, trying hard to look angry.
“Elizabeth,” he announced, “you will leave this room—er—instantly.”
“Why?” giggled Betty.
“Because ladies do not pull gentlemen’s beards.”
The captain was holding his sides and rocking with laughter.
“Now, now,” he protested. “Let her get it out of her system. ‘Beaver’s’ a splendid old custom. It’s almost Victorian.”
Betty dimpled, resting her chin on the backs of her interlaced hands. “Don’t pay any attention, Captain Burgee. Charlie’s a horrid old fuss-pot. Why shouldn’t I yank at your beard? I like you.”
“Betty, the man is a pirate!”
“Not any more. He’s retired. You heard him say so yourself. Anyhow, I like him. I think he’d make an awfully nice husband for Cousin Aurelia.”
Charles reached for the water, and drained his glass in a spluttering gulp.
“I think so, too,” the captain agreed, looking pleased. “I thought so as soon as I saw her. She’s exactly my type.” He sighed. “But she does seem a little unfriendly. Do you suppose a guitar and some old-fashioned songs at her window might—well, make her want to get better acquainted?”
The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack Page 2