Read The Garbage Chronicles Online
Authors: Brian Herbert
Tags: #Humor & Entertainment, #Humor, #Satire, #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #science fiction, #Humor & Satire
The Garbage Chronicles (8 page)
If he chose magic, the planet Cork would be his.
Chief Magician of Cork,
Abercrombie thought, letting the words roll across his pleasure sensors.
Has a nice sound to it. And no fleshcarrier can invade my private place from the surface, not as long as I remain soil-immersed.
Cork was a planet waiting to be taken. But it seemed too easy, and this troubled him.
Why did the other magicians leave?
he wondered. There seemed no answer to such a question. Perhaps he could learn the answer—if he committed himself this time, not returning to flesh.
He wondered if he needed to commit himself entirely to the Realm of Magic before he would be able to use magic efficiently for the creation of disasters. In theory, that made a certain amount of sense. He was only pecking.away at magic now, on the outskirts of something big. But could he return to flesh if he made such a commitment?
What if being the planet is all there is here?
he thought.
A philosophical niche in which I can contemplate my navel .. .vegetating.
Abercrombie stirred angrily.
God, but I hate vegetables!
he thought. He recalled a recurring nightmare in which his Earthian mother forced him to eat brussels sprouts, those horrid little leafy balls. In the nightmare, his mother smiled in that falsely sweet way—the “It’s good for you, dear” smile that he detested.
Cataloguing his enemies, past and present, Lord Abercrombie recalled when the villainous Uncle Rosy had sent six white-robed sayermen to take him back as a recycling criminal. But Abercrombie had stumbled across the Sacred Scroll of Cork, which led him to the Magician’s Chamber: his private place. He was relatively safe here.
But I was powerless to prevent the scroll’s flight back to Sacred Pond,
he thought.
It is vulnerable there. And that makes me vulnerable
—
unless I choose to seal the surface entrance by remaining soil-immersed.
He wondered if there might not be better planets. Why should he settle for a third-rate place?
Lord Abercrombie became aware of hordes of little feet scurrying across his surface. They were pushing something along the ground to the sacrifice hole his meckies had dug —a long, cream-colored cannister with red, yellow, and blue markings—
AmFed markings!
’ he thought. His visual sensors probed the cannister as it tumbled across his planetary crust.
An AmFed ship! But what are those stupid lawyers doing? This is not gar-bahge, you fools!
Lord Abercrombie felt himself returning to the Realm of Flesh as he thought of the ship. Maybe he could commandeer it to escape in his fleshy form, finding a better fleshcarrier life somewhere else, a life without Earthians pursuing him. But where would he go? On the other hand, he might still function as a magician, despite his frustrations to date. He was learning more about magic each day. Only the day before, he had magically induced a small rockslide. That was progress, his first magically created disaster in four years of trying.
But being a planet seemed so boring most of the time, just staring out on an unchanging universe, with occasional novas, comets, and shooting stars. He longed for action, for the excitement of change. This seemed possible only in the Realm of Flesh. And he longed for conversation with a real person. It had been four years.
His reasoning went in circles, touching each side of the argument over and over, and always returning to the starting point. It was frustrating.
As the AmFed ship tumbled into Abercrombie’s maw, he wondered if he could put its computer hardware to use; maybe his meckies could adapt it to improve his outdated Earthian disaster control machinery. He needed to solve the reverse rain problem. At times, the patched-together disaster control equipment seemed to function well, producing nice phenomena, but then the rain would pour from the planet, and everything would short out.
It’s got to be in my equipment,
he thought.
Some misfunction I haven’t discovered yet.
Then Lord Abercrombie worried about the AmFeds sending warships to investigate the disappearance of an AmFed ship. He knew his magic was as undependable as his technology. He would be no match for sophisticated AmFed weaponry. They could destroy the entire planet.
No,
he decided.
I can’t keep the ship.
The
Amanda Marie
hurtled deeper into the sacrifice hole, bouncing off dirt and rocks on the sides. Something fell out of the ship, but Lord Abercrombie did not focus on what it was.
Magnetics,
he thought, recalling the symbols on the history wall. He pictured one of the symbols in his mind now: a circle intertwined with the symbol for magnetics.
Circle,
he thought.
Circle. . . .
Lord Abercrombie recalled that the symbols were beneath the pictures of his magician predecessors.
Circle,
he thought.
Could that represent a planet? Maybe the whole symbol refers to planetary magnetics.
He wanted to consider this further, but began to feel ill, sick to his pleasure sensors. His fleshy hand clutched fitfully out of the dirt, reaching for its survival. He swooned. Suddenly, a monstrous burp echoed through the passageways and caverns of the Magician’s Chamber. Lord Abercrombie jumped out of the hole, throwing dirt everywhere.
In sunlight on the planet’s surface, Wizzy smelled a peculiar, sulfurous gas which nauseated him. He took refuge behind one of the upright garbage cannisters.
Burr.
.
.rupp!
An echoing regurgitation sound came from the hole, followed by the
Amanda Marie.
A deep voice thundered from the hole: “You stupid lawyers! Incompetent fools! Can’t you do anything right?”
The ship was hurled high in the air over Wizzy, along with fragments of dirt and rock. Something white hurtled by too, causing Wizzy’s magical heart to sink.
A body? he
thought.
Whatever it was sped away before he could identify it. The ship itself went so high that Wizzy almost lost sight of it. Then, from a distant, tiny speck, it began to grow larger. It was falling back to Cork.
Most of the Fruit lawyers managed to dodge rocks and other debris that pelted the area, but Wizzy saw one hapless banana man squashed flat by a large stone. It was horrible. Other Fruits nursed wounds and looked for their missing property. Briefcases and business cards lay on the ground in disarray.
“Lord Abercrombie refused our offering!” a bottom-heavy pear woman lamented. “Now the curse will be worse! He is furious with us!”
None could dispute this statement. There was a general condition of extreme unhappiness.
Soon Wizzy saw the
Amanda Marie’s
para-flaps go out.
Someone’s inside,
he thought, recalling that the automatic system had not functioned earlier.
At least one.
The ship drifted down gracefully, landing almost without flaw at one side of the clearing. It was badly dented, with portions of riveted skin hanging loose like bloodless wounds.
“Oh my!” Wizzy exclaimed in a voice drowned out in the surrounding commotion. “I hope everyone’s all right!”
The crowd ran toward the ship, yelling angry and confused epithets. Wizzy followed, scooting in short bursts and stopping frequently to catch his breath.
A tall pineapple man with scaly brown skin ran past Wizzy at one of these rest stops. This fellow looked quite silly to Wizzy in comparison with the others. He wore bright purple and black checkered shorts that were torn on one side and a faded, royal purple tunic. An immense, leafy green headress grew from his head, on top of which he held on a misshapen helicopter beanie with one hand. “Be calm, my friends!” the pineapple man called out as he ran. “Calm yourselves!”
Ahead, Wizzy could see the open hatch on the
Amanda Marie. Pop your head out. Captain Torn,
he thought, staring anxiously at the open hatch. But there was no sign of movement on the ship.
CHAPTER 5
The effects of ultra technology often seem identical to those of magic. This is the point at which the Realm of Flesh approaches a more perfect, magical state. Only a knowledgeable observer can spot the difference.
A Timeless Truth
“We’re down!” Evans said, clinging with both hands to the midships para-flaps wheel. She released her grip. Her palms were moist.
“Ow,” Javik said. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder. He had been holding fast to his command chair. Now he rose to survey the cabin. It was in disarray, with clip files, medical packs, and other items of equipment scattered about. Sunlight slanted through the portholes on one side. Javik rubbed his sore shoulder.
Evans rolled to the open circular hatch and looked out. “Lucky we didn’t fall out,” she said, watching the crowd of oddly dressed natives approach.
Javik was at her side a moment later. “Still no response from the engines,” he said, holding his hand on his holstered service pistol.
“God, it stinks in here!” Evans said. “Some kinda gas in that hole.”
“Sounded like a big burp to me,” Javik said.
As the crowd approached, Evans speculated that they looked like a bunch of costume-party goers. “Maybe they’re drunk,” she said.
“They look like offbeat lawyers,” Javik said. “Look at the three-piece suits, briefcases, and gold watch chains.” He squinted. “Wait a minute,” he said.
“Are those costumes?” Evans asked.
“Exactly what I was wondering. I can’t tell.”
The crowd became excited upon seeing Javik and Evans. They ran faster, pointing and waving white cards. As they neared, Javik realized they were business cards. And he realized something else.
“They’re Fruit people!” Javik exclaimed.
“Frumba hallinon?” an orange woman asked, looking up and extending a business card. She was the first to arrive. Javik noticed a small folding shovel on her hip, secured to her belt.
Others arrived now, an endless variety of Fruit people, all dressed similarly and all waving business cards. “Frumba hallinon?” they asked. “Frumba hallinon?”
“What the . . . ?”
Javik fumbled with his language mixer pendant. It showed a red light. Then it beeped and the light became green.
“Do you want legal advice?” the Fruit creatures asked. They still spoke in their native tongue, but now Javik understood.
“Where are we?” Evans asked. “In Glitterland?”
Soon the Fruits were clamoring to reach the visitors from Earth. Since the open hatch was high off the ground at midships, the Fruits had to pile on top of one another, just as they had done earlier to topple the ship. They fought to be first, pushing and kicking their brethren with complete abandon.
One watermelon man reached the top, where he hung desperately to the hatchway deck. Stretching to reach up, he pressed a business card into Javik’s palm. Javik used his mixer to read it as the fellow was dragged down the heap to the ground. The pile fell now, and the Fruits scrambled to rebuild it.
Wily Watermelon
Attorney at Law,
non compos mentis
Javik flipped the card away, and watched the wind take it. Below, the Fruit people were clearing their ranks, allowing a tall pineapple man through. Obviously, he was someone in authority. Dressed differently from the others but carrying a similar folding shovel on his hip, the pineapple man’s most distinctive article of attire was a red helicopter beanie with a bright yellow plastic rotor that spun as he walked.
A murmuring passed through the crowd. The Fruit lawyers who had been piling up retreated, nursing their wounds.
When he reached the front of the multitude, the pineapple man extended his arms to each side, gazing up at Javik and Evans. “You there!” he called out in a loud, syrupy voice. “Identify yourselves!”
Drat!
he thought.
This had better not interrupt my plans for tonight!
Javik gave names, then said, “We are in the American Federation of Freeness Space Patrol. From Earth.” He wrinkled his brow, recalling the dancing pineapple man he had seen when he was half asleep in the videodome—just before Wizzy’s entrance. Every event after the time Wizzy appeared seemed unreal to Javik. But then he recalled Wizzy slamming into his hand to prove he was awake.
That hurt like hell,
Javik thought.
“I am Prince Peter Pineapple,” the pineapple man announced proudly. “Of the Royal Family of Cork.” He squinted in the light of three suns which were low in the sky to the west.
“This place is called Cork?” Javik asked. He saw Wizzy scoot up at the prince’s feet, panting heavily. Wizzy was dark blue with a thin layer of dust on his body.
“It is our planet’s name,” Prince Pineapple explained. “Sixth planet in the Triad Solar System.”
“We call it the Aluminum Starfield,” Javik said.
Prince Pineapple smoothed his elegant leaf headless with one hand. “We know of Earth, you know,” he said.
“You do?” Javik said. “How?”
“You sent us gar-bahge.”
“I know,” Javik said nervously, taking note of the affected pronunciation. “I have been sent to discuss that with you.”
“We know you by your gar-bahge, Earthian. And I can’t tell you how happy we are to see you.”
“Uh . . . we will straighten everything out. I promise you that.”
“Wonderful!” the pineapple prince said. “Come down now, Earthians. King Corker would hear of your gar-bahge!”
“Why did your people push my ship in a hole?” Javik asked.
“Those foolish lawyers,” Prince Pineapple said, glowering around. “Our lowest social strata. And there are so many of them! They tried to gain favor with Lord Abercrombie by offering you.”
“Offering
us? To what?”
“To our planetary God, Lord Abercrombie. It was a mistake, for which I apologize profusely.”
The Fruit lawyers hung their heads in shame.
Evans leaned close to Javik’s ear and whispered, “Could it be the same Abercrombie, with a new scam?”
“We’ll find but,” Javik whispered. Then: “We’d better do as they say. Too many of them.” He removed the ship’s black and white striped Tasnard rope from its wall hook. At his mento-command, the rope secured itself to the base of the science officer’s console. A small pang of pain struck at the rear of his head, then subsided.
Evans wrapped the Tasnard rope around her chest and under her armpits. At her mento-command, the rope dropped her gently to the ground.
Javik followed.
“Honored to meet you,” Prince Pineapple said, bowing graciously as Javik reached the ground. The prince straightened to face Javik, and his black button eyes wavered nervously. He was a towering Fruit, fully half a head taller than Javik.
“Thank you,” Javik said, bowing in return.
Don’t trust anyone who won’t look you in the eye,
he thought, recalling his commanders’ Psych 101 course.
On the ground at Prince Pineapple’s feet, Wizzy breathed deeply and loudly. Javik noticed this and saw that Wizzy was accumulating more dust from the motion of feet around him.
Prince Pineapple smiled, revealing puffy white teeth which resembled kernels of white corn. Looking past Javik at the
Amanda Marie,
he said, “You must understand our unfortunate lawyers. Since Decision Coins were implemented for virtually all matters, we have little need of legal advice.”
“Seedy-looking bunch,” Javik muttered.
“Lawyers hang-around this clearing looking for clients,” the prince explained. “Rumor has it one attorney found a client here two years ago. It became hallowed ground for them after that.”
“I see,” Javik said, shuffling his feet impatiently.
Prince Pineapple felt obliged to explain further: “The cannister-lined pathway and sacrifice hole are hallowed for all
Fruits,” he said. “It looks like our local dimwits saw your ship and mistook it for a giant gar-bahge cannister. We toss most of our gar-bahge in the sacrifice hole for Lord Abercrombie.”
Javik fingered a pimple on the side of his neck.
“They are desperate to win Lord Abercrombie’s favor. Poor creatures think they’ve been cursed.” After reflecting for a second, Prince Pineapple added, “Maybe it’s true.”
“What an odd place this is,” Evans said.
“Don’t impose Earth standards,” Wizzy said from the ground, using an instructor’s tone. Breathing loudly, Wizzy glowed softly orange. The dust particles on his surface melted and disappeared. He became dark blue again.
“None of us have been ourselves lately,” Prince Pineapple said. “It’s this infernal gar-bahge thing, you know. Tremendous pressure over it. The Planet God has been troubled.”
To hell with Lord Abercrombie!
he thought.
The foolishness he condones!
Javik smiled uneasily. He looked back at his ship, noting many dents, torn pieces of skin, and numerous abrasions. It would require a major overhaul to make it spaceworthy again. “How were we blown back out of the hole?” he asked, turning to face the pineapple prince.
“Don’t step on me!” Wizzy squealed. A prune man stood on him.
Prince Pineapple hesitated as he focused on Fruit people who were pressing in around them, listening to every word. Some took notes on long clip pads or whispered back and forth excitedly, using their Corkian legalese.
“Move along now!” Prince Pineapple commanded. “Make way!” He waved his arms demonstratively.
Javik noticed now that the prince and all the Fruits had four fingers and a thumb on each hand like any human, except the thumb was on the outside of the hand.
Slowly, the throng moved back.
“Come with me,” Prince Pineapple said to Javik and Evans. He guided them toward an opening in the crowd. “It will be dusk soon.”
“I’ll join you later
r
” Wizzy said. “I need a breather.”
Javik held back. “My ship will be safe here?” he asked.
“Your ship is nearly new. New things have no value to our people.”
Javik scratched his head thoughtfully. “Is that so? Well, it’s received quite a bit of damage. Doesn’t look so new to me anymore.”
“Hmmm,” Prince Pineapple said, studying the
Amanda Marie,
“The damage helps a little. Still, I do not find it very appealing. Perhaps with a few more dents and abrasions . . . ”
“I can’t leave my ship with this mob,” Javik said.
The prince shrugged. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll post guards, then. Will that make you feel better?”
“It will.”
Prince Pineapple spoke with a cluster of banana man lawyers, instructing them to stand guard over the craft. Then he drew forth a purple and black checkered wallet, removing several creased pieces of paper which looked to Javik like old Earth candy bar and gum wrappers.
Leaning close, Javik verified this. He recognized wrappers from a Big Hunk, a Hershey’s plain, and a Juicy Fruit.
Solemnly, Prince Pineapple handed a creased wrapper to each of the banana men. They nodded and stuffed the wrappers in their pockets.
“Juicy Fruits are the most valuable,” the prince said to Javik. He slipped the wallet back into his pants pocket.
“I see,” Javik said.
When they were out of earshot of the lawyers, Prince Pineapple said: “Poor devils. Our law schools still pump out so many of them.”
Evans caught Javik’s gaze. She raised her eyebrows.
Prince Pineapple led the way along a rough path which skirted the piney woods: ‘The sacrifice hole appeared several years back,” he said as they reached late afternoon shade. “Lord Abercrombie’s metal men dug it. I saw them.”
“Metal men?” Evans said. “You mean meckies?”
“I don’t know what they’re called,” Prince Pineapple said. The prince’s cadence changed now as they continued along the path. His steps became staccato-quick and inefficient. The big pineapple man was expending a lot of energy but not moving commensurately fast.
Javik and Evans rolled as best as they could on the uneven surface, but tripped several times as their moto-boot wheels encountered stones, twigs, and tufts of dirt. At one point, Javik fell to his knees.
“Hurry now,” the prince said, looking back. “The king is waiting.”
I must act as though I care,
he thought.
Or the king will suspect
. . .
Javik touched a button on his moto-boots to eject the wheels and wheel frames. He tossed them aside.
Evans did the same, leaving both of them wearing unmotorized service boots. “That’s better,” she said, testing them on the ground.
“Unusual shoes you Earthians wear,” Prince Pineapple said. “Hurry now!”
“More suited to Earth, it seems,” Javik said as they resumed their course. He added: “This Planet God, Lord Abercrombie. He is terribly upset at the gar-bahge situation?”
“Oh yes! Indeed he is! And so is King Corker, It is a good thing you arrived now. We could not have survived much longer.”
Odd that Earthians would appear just now,
he thought.
By morning, I will be gone, scroll or no scroll.
“I can imagine,” Javik said, scanning the terrain. “You’ve certainly managed to keep the planet clean,” he added. “In view of our garbage, I mean.”
I expected to see junk strewn all over hell,
he thought.
Prince Pineapple led them over a sturdy wooden bridge which traversed a dry creek bed. “What wonderful gar-bahge you Earthians have!” he exclaimed.
Oh, the foolishness I must endure!
he
thought.
There is more to life than gar-bahge. There must be!
Wonderful?
Javik thought.
Is he being sarcastic?
“They tried landfills on Earth many years ago,” he said. “But we ran out of space and had to catapult the stuff.” A little light went on in Javik’s head now as he put Abercrombie, the sacrifice hole, and the garbage together.
The same guy!
he thought.
What’s’ he up to here?
Facing a fork in the path just after they left the bridge, Prince Pineapple selected the left path, which led them into the forest. This was a narrow neck of woods, and through streaks of sunlight Javik could see a clearing not far ahead. Beyond that loomed a large gray structure. He heard crowd noises and the roar of powerful engines.
Presently they left the woods, stepping into full sunlight. The terrain was flat here, with a town of low buildings visible beyond the gray structure.
