Rhubarb (21 page)

Stewart grunted, annoyed, and continued. “It’s satisfying
and stimulating, and then you crave more right away. I’ve never eaten anything
like it. And of course that’s perfect for a snack food and restaurant concern
like ours.”

“So that’s why you figured Linda had some secret,” said
Martin.

“Not me, but yeah. They couldn’t duplicate the pie in the
lab. They brought me in to deal with the abduction.”

“You’d had experience doing it before?”

“Not really. No one had. There’s only a few sentient species
out there, and we’re the only interstellar travelers that I’m aware of. They
brought me in because I’d trained under the last guy who had dealt with
primitive species. He had died a few years prior, so I became the go-to guy.”

“If there’s only a few sentient species, wouldn’t the
enlightened thing be to keep us alive for study or cooperation or something?”

“Perhaps, if anyone knew about you. But when the explorers
and the surveyors, the ones who assembled the network, first came by, your
ancestors still lived in trees. And you’re not on the beaten path. Almost no
one comes out here but independent haulers trying to avoid the tolls on the
primary links. The branch terminus, the off-ramp, isn’t here for you. The
surveyors simply noticed a habitable world in the system that someone might
take an interest in someday. And now someone has. But the company’s more
interested in profits than anthropology.”

“Surely there’s some government, some rules against this
kind of thing,” said Martin.

“There’s a government,” said Stewart. “Run by and for the
corporations. File the right forms, and a corporation can do pretty much
whatever it wants.”

“There’s no recourse? I mean, we travel in space. We’ve sent
probes. We have big-ass radio dishes. Can’t you give us the coordinates and
translate a message for us?”

“You’re aware that light has a speed limit?” said Stewart.

“You seem to get around the galaxy pretty quick, so
obviously that can be circumvented,” said Martin.

“Different principles,” said Stewart.

“You don’t have a clue how the portal works, do you?”

“Not the faintest.”

“But I assume you know how to use it. Help us get up there.
Hey, I almost hijacked one truck; I can do it again. Then we’ll go plead our
case.”

Stewart shook his head. “Anything you do risks them pressing
that button.”

“Maybe we should destroy the portal,” said Martin.

“They’d just wait for the network to sense the damage and
recalibrate itself on a new target location,” said Stewart. “There’s nothing
special on Highway 360 to destroy. It’s just nice and remote. But near the
Corner.”

Martin dripped syrup on his pants and swore. Stewart dug in
a bag and handed Martin a napkin. Martin cleaned himself the best he could,
holding a French Toast Stick in his mouth like a cigar. The syrup left a dark
stain.

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” said Martin.

“I’ve spent every moment of my life as Stewart Campion
trying to figure out how I can stop this. I’m convinced that the only thing we
can do is wait.”

“Can we make a deal with your corporation? The recipe and a
certain amount of land, in exchange for…”

“They would never make any agreement that cut into profits,”
said Stewart. “And who are you to make that deal?”

“I’ve got the secret recipe, and without it they make
nothing,” said Martin.

“Give it to them and they’ll delete whatever pact they might
have signed with your president or secretary-general, release the neurotoxin,
and sleep well that night.

“Your people are jerks,” said Martin.

“Not all of us,” said Stewart.

~ * * * ~

Yahoo! Answers

Ask! What would you like to ask?

Resolved Question

How do I get to sleep in a cheap motel room shared with the
stepfather of the woman I love but haven’t established a relationship with, who
(the stepfather, not the woman) is an aged extraterrestrial with respiratory
problems, while knowing that other aliens might burst in at any moment to at
best kill me and at worst torture me for a secret pie recipe and then kill
every human on the planet, while individually coiled mattress springs poke me
in the back and there’s nothing to stop an intruder but a loose doorknob and a
flimsy safety chain? Also, I drank about 4 gallons of Diet Mountain Dew today
and have to get up early to drive 100 miles for work. And what is that smell?

6 hours ago

Best Answer—chosen by asker

Hahahahahahahaha. Loser. Get a life and stop gunking up teh
internets with your stupidness. Sleepin with your girls dad is sick. Go on
Jerry Springer. Your worse than Hitler.

2 hours ago

Asker’s rating: *****

Other Answers (3)

Are you sure he’s an alien? I mean, have you actually seen
proof that he’s an alien? Pics or it didn’t happen.

4 hours ago

You should probably see a doctor, and a psychiatrist, and a
psychologist. No offense.

43 minutes ago

Um…you need to read this book…
billionbooks.com/title/5738204/Yates
Field Guide to Mushrooms/review/7198277
…I think you’ve been foraging in the
wrong part of the forest, my friend.

3 hours ago

“You look terrible,” said Stewart.

“Shut up,” Martin replied and poured himself another cup of
coffee—the reason he had driven straight to Perkins for breakfast without even
asking what Stewart wanted. They put that pitcher of coffee on the end of the
table and let you pour your own. No waiting for the waitress. Never an empty
cup. And it never seemed to run out. Martin stirred an individual serving of
International Delight Hazelnut Creamer into his coffee. The French Vanilla
would be next. Then the half-and-half. He felt prepared to slap Stewart’s hand
away if he tried to take any of them.

The waitress also looked willing to swat Stewart’s hand away
if necessary.

“Very smooth, Stewart,” said Martin, after she had taken
their order.

“What?”

“Restaurant servers these days do not like to be ogled,
winked at, or called ‘sugar.’ I don’t know how they do things back on your
planet, but can you please maintain a low profile here?” said Martin.

“Just playin’ my part,” said Stewart. “Remember, I’m the guy
who got thrown out of his nursing home for grabbing the nurses.”

“I take it back,” said Martin. “But you’re going to put me
off my breakfast.”

“So I’m required to smile while you leer at my stepdaughter,
but you get to throw up if I wink at a pretty waitress who’s going to bring me
pancakes?”

“I never leered at Cheryl,” said Martin.

“Then tell me, how come all of Brixton knew you were after
her before anyone but Lester knew your name? Don’t tell me to behave myself. At
least I have the guts to talk to ’em and look ’em in the eye while I objectify
them.”

The waitress returned as Stewart spoke, and Martin turned to
apologize. But it wasn’t the waitress.

“Objectify who?” asked Jeffrey. “Oh, close your mouth. And
scoot over, old man.”

As Jeffrey slid into the booth, Martin wanted to pull out
the staple gun Han Solo style, but Jeffrey narrowed his eyes and gave him a
little shake of the head. “Relax. I’m here to talk, and to get some breakfast.
Now where’s that waitress? She’s kind of a perky little thing, isn’t she?”

Jeffrey ordered without a menu, and the waitress left,
unaware of the tinderbox to which she had just agreed to bring an omelet and a
muffin.

“You didn’t ask about their pie,” said Martin.

Jeffrey sniffed a laugh. “A little early in the day for pie,
don’t you think?” He poured himself a cup of coffee and helped himself to the
French Vanilla creamer.

“How’d you find us?” asked Martin.

“You have a cell phone. The Screwmobile has a locator
transmitter. Plus…” He mimed a telephone at his ear. “Hello, random store
manager. Setting up my schedule for next week; what would be a good time? Oh,
and have you seen Martin Wells from FastNCo.? Been trying to get ahold of him.
I owe him some money.” He hung up his thumb and pinky finger. “It’s not rocket
science.”

Stewart slipped his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket, put
them on, and gave Jeffrey a once-over. “I don’t know you,” he said.

“No, you don’t,” said Jeffrey.

“You’re my replacement?”

“I’m the one they brought in to fix your mess,” said
Jeffrey.

“Bang-up job you’ve done,” said Stewart.

“You know, I deserve that,” said Jeffrey. “I really do.”

“What do you want, Jeffrey? Either bring back Cheryl or get
out of here,” said Martin.

“Ah. Cheryl.”

“She never learned how to make the pie,” said Stewart.

“I really want to believe that,” said Jeffrey. “But I don’t
have the luxury to make assumptions.”

“You’ve had her for weeks now,” said Martin. “Don’t you
think she would have told you if she knew?”

“Not necessarily,” said Jeffrey. “Not if she knew the
production plan. Which given Stewart’s apparent willingness to share with just
about anyone…. She’s such a noble girl. Why wouldn’t she resist to save her
pathetic species?”

“You bastard,” said Martin. Stewart put up a hand.

“What have you done to her?” asked Stewart.

“Phase I and II probes and scans. What? Are you squeamish
about that? They weren’t kidding when they said you’d gone native. Oh, and she
bakes. We set her up a nice little kitchen, with gravity and everything. But
we’re going to have to ramp up to Phase III soon, if she doesn’t give us what
we want.”

“Can I call him a bastard now?” asked Martin.

“Why? Why move to Phase III so quickly?”

Jeffrey said a word. It sounded like “Chumpdark,” but with
bits of punctuation and a little squish in it. “I fully intend to hand him the
recipe when he arrives.”

“Who’s this Chumpdark?” asked Martin.

“The CEO,” said Stewart.

“The CEO?”

“You understand the term, don’t you?” asked Jeffrey.

“Why’s he coming here?”

Stewart answered. “Because this project has gone on for too
long.”

“Something like that,” said Jeffrey. “And I don’t intend on
being the scapegoat.”

“Why tell us?” asked Martin.

“What makes you think you’re relevant here? I’m talking to
the old man.”

“Well, out with it then,” said Stewart.

The waitress chose that moment to arrive with a tray of
everything. Plates of eggs. Plates of hash browns and bacon. Plates of sourdough
toast. Plates piled with pancakes. A plate for Jeffrey’s enormous muffin. A
rack of syrup. Heinz ketchup. Tabasco sauce.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asked.

Jeffrey peeled the paper off his muffin. “I can’t say I
won’t miss eating on this godsforsaken planet. Look at this thing. It’s as big
as my head. Thanks, sweetheart.”

The waitress gathered her tray with an eye roll.

“Out with it,” Martin demanded.

“I won’t miss the manners. Relax. Eat,” said Jeffrey.

“I could shoot you,” said Martin.

“Please. Jackie Bauer. This isn’t
24
,” said Jeffrey.

Martin’s glare had no effect, so he unrolled the napkin from
his silverware and ate.

A few minutes later, Jeffrey finished his muffin and wiped
his mouth. “You know,” he said, sucking the chocolate and caramel out of his
teeth. “I should thank you, Martin. If not for you, I never would have gotten
authorization to abduct Cheryl.”

“I’m surprised you needed authorization,” said Martin.

“We’re not savages. We’re doing a job like everyone else,”
said Jeffrey.

“What gives you the right? To take Cheryl? Her mom? To take
our planet? Any of it? I mean we’re sitting right here. Why don’t you just ask?
We could be business partners. We could be customers. Hell, with the
unemployment in the world, we’d happily set up factories for you.”

“Thanks for the offer,” said Jeffrey. “But it’s much harder
to make money with a non-automated labor force.”

“You can’t make a dime if you don’t have a product,” said
Martin.

“Astute,” said Jeffrey.

“Which you don’t have. So why don’t you go home?” said
Martin.

“Pushy creatures, aren’t they?” Jeffrey said to Stewart.

“You have no idea,” said Martin.

“Give me a break,” said Jeffrey. “Okay, old man, here it is:
I’m willing to cut you a deal if you’re willing to come back.”

“I don’t have the recipe,” said Stewart.

“That may be, but you might have some insight now that you
didn’t have then. You might be able to help the lab guys. Or perhaps you can
persuade Cheryl to cooperate,” said Jeffrey.

“Are you making me an offer?” asked Stewart.

“I am. And here’s the fun part: Name your own terms. If I
solve this problem, I can write my own ticket. And if I have to bring you
along, so be it. Imagine it. Reinstatement, your benefits restored, your
pension upgraded, a job in any market you want. We could arrange for Cheryl to
join you, and maybe a few others if you’re feeling generous.” He turned to
Martin. “How’s that sound? You and Cheryl repopulating your species on another
planet. Isn’t that some kind of fantasy for you male mammals?”

“I really wish you would stop talking now,” said Martin.

“What makes you think any of that sounds appealing?” asked
Stewart. “You think this”—he yanked at his oxygen cord—“is part of the
disguise? You think I can leave this planet and have a long, healthy life
anywhere? I’ve been here too long. I’ve breathed too much secondhand smoke and
fossil-fuel exhaust. Do you know how many chemicals they put in their air?
Pesticides. Herbicides. Fungicides. The only thing that’s holding me together
at this point is this infernal dermis.”