Space For Hire (Seven For Space) (16 page)

"What does that mean?"

"Simply that everything was hunky-dory when we left next week. It was when we got here into last week that my machine kinked up."

"And turned us into birds?"

"Not birds, exactly. From what I can determine we are fishbirds, or Zubus. And we are on Pluto."

"But that's where I hunted Zubu eggs when the cop-mice brainwashed me."

"We will now, no doubt, be laying our own," said Oliver. His voice had a rather hollow tone, due to his having to talk through his beak.

"How can we do what we came here to do if we're a couple of Zububirds?"

"The Zubu is not, strictly speaking, a bird — although it looks like one. It has fishy components."

I ruffled my neck feathers."I don't give a damn about any of that crap! I'm a seventy-one-year-old-private detective from another universe stuck in the middle of last week inside the featherbrained body of a dumb bird who's really a fish and I —"

"Not
really
a fish," explained Oliver. "As I have attempted to point out to you —"

"All right," I said calmly. "Can we get back to Nicole?"

"At the proper pickup time," said Nate. "I don't think our being Zubus will affect the pickup. But that's at least two Earth-days away. We have plenty of time to hire your other self and transport him back with us, as planned."

"Who's going to listen to a big dumb featherheaded fishbird?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be able to explain things to Sam when we find him."

"And just how do we get from Pluto to Mars?"

"The way all other creatures of or universe do it, of course. We take a rocket."

I was upset with Nate's cool acceptance of our condition. He actually didn't seem to mind being a Zubu. But I let that pass. "Rockets cost," I told him. "And we don't have any credits to pay for a trip. And aren't we supposed to stay right here on Pluto and lay eggs and hide them?"

"You seem determined to approach our situation from a pessimistic viewpoint," scolded Oliver. He paddled back and forth in front of me on his flat web feet, wings thoughtfully folded behind his back.

The black was thinning — or else I was becoming accustomed to it. At least I could see the landscape around us. No egg-hunting robots seemed to be in the area, which was a distinct relief. They'd be expecting us to bury some eggs for them to hunt and I didn't feel like getting into that whole depressing cycle if it could possibly be avoided.

Oliver was right. I was feeling very pessimistic about the whole case. I was a long way from Dr. Umani and Esma back in my own universe and there was no telling what had happened to them by now.

F. could have murdered them both and destroyed the lab. Which could mean the end of the solar system.

"We'll never get aboard a Mars rocket," I said dejectedly, pecking at an interesting pebble on the ground. The pebble looked tasty so I swallowed it.

Being inside a fishbird was frustrating. Not that I was an unattractive Zubu; my feathers were neat and well oiled and my beak was long and graceful. It was losing my hands and arms that bugged me. Now I could see why Umani got so annoyed being inside a giraffe head.

Which reminded me of the old Venusian saying: unless you wear the rags of a Gork you cannot truly savor the soup of poverty.

"Why so negative?" Oliver asked. "We are intelligent individuals. We shall simply outsmart the rather slow-witted robot Zubu-keepers and stow our feathered bodies away on board a Mars rocket. With the proper team spirit we shall be successful. Have a little more faith in yourself, Sam."

"I'd have more faith in a loaded .38 right now," I said.

"Wit is a weapon far superior to a loaded gun," intoned Oliver through his beak.

I raised a wing. "Shhhh!" I said softly. "Here comes a night robot."

He clanked resolutely toward us, a big square iron fellow with blinking red bulb eyes and shiny brass arms.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said metallically, "you two Zubus shouldn't be out here in the middle of the dark talking. You should either be asleep with your beaks nestled in your downy feathers or you should be secretly burying your eggs. Which will it be?"

"Uh — we'll go to sleep," I told the blinking robot. "We've no eggs to bury."

"My feathered friend is correct," said Nate. "Sleep it will be."

The robot put his brass hands on his hips. "I'm waiting," he said.

I folded my thin stalk legs and flopped down. Then, taking my cue from what the robot had said, I bent my neck into a kind of S shape and buried my beak inside my under-wing feathers. It was suffocating and my beak tickled. I felt like sneezing.

Oliver was doing the same bit, folding down next to me.

"Sleep tight you two," said the robot, and he clanked heavily away, his red eyes fading in the darkness.

"Is he gone?" asked Oliver, who was afraid to lift his beak to find out.

"Yeah," I said, sneezing. "He's gone."

"Then let's sneak. Keep your beak down and sneak softly away."

We did that.

Reaching the edge of the Zubu grounds we encountered a robot gate guard.

"Now what?" I whispered.

"Get ready to waddle when I give the word," said Nate.

He scooped up a pebble in his beak and tossed it into the guard-shack.

"Hah! The slow-witted fool is going inside to see what caused the noise," said Nate. "Now —
waddle!
"

When it has to, a Zubu can cover a lot of fast ground. I'd heard that it could waddle up to fifty miles an hour, Earthspeed, which is fast waddling any way you cut it.

Waddling furiously, web feet pumping, we were out the gate and down the road before the robot left his guardshack.

"You know this terrain better than I do," panted Oliver as he waddled briskly beside me. "You've worked the area. How far to the rocketport?"

"About seven Earth miles from this point," I said.

"We'll easily make it before daylight."

"How the hell do you know what time it is here on Pluto?" I asked him.

"By mentally checking one time phase against another." He paused in the road. "When does the next rocket leave for Bubble City?"

"One leaves every sixth Pluto period," I said.

"Then all we do is find out a good place to secrete ourselves until the next launch. Then we sneak craftily abroad with the baggage and sneak off again when we hit Bubble City."

"You make it sound dirt simple."

"It is. Just wait and see if it isn't."

* * *

It was. Easy. No one expected two feathery Zubus to smuggle themselves from Pluto to Mars so we had no problems. Besides, we were very crafty about the whole thing.

In Bubble City we did a fast waddle out to my office, Sam's office, and found me there behind the desk working a stack of case papers.

"Hello, Sam," I said.

"Hi there, Sam," Nate said.

Sam looked up and scowled. Here were two ragtag Zubus with ruffled feathers and bloodshot eyes standing in front of his desk. I knew he hated Zubu eggs (all the Sams did) and figured that Zubus were something less than stupid.

"Don't judge us by our appearance," warned Oliver. "We've had scant sleep and have been subjected to much bouncing and tossing amid the baggage of two planets."

"Right," I put in. "And, in fact, we are not Zubus at all."

Sam arched an eyebrow. "Then who are you?"

Nate spread his wings. "I'm Nathan Oliver, your inventor friend from Chicago, and this — well, this is you, Sam, from another universe. At the moment we are forced to wear these bodies due to a scientific maladjustment in my time machine."

I came in behind Nate, talking fast to convince Sam we were legit."Once we take you back to next week, where we started from, we'll be ourselves again." I dipped my beak into my chestfeathers and nibbled at an itch, then declared. "I'll be seventy-one next week."

"Happy birthday," Sam said coldly. "Now — will you two batty birds kindly get your tails out of my office. I'm busy."

Oliver gave me a sad look from his bloodshot left eye. "He doesn't believe us."

I paddled forward to face Sam. "Look, I know this is all a little tough to swallow but stick with me until I fill you in on the whole story. You won't regret it."

"What's in it for me?"

"A chance to earn some heavy gelt and a chance to save the System."

Sam pushed his stack of papers to one side and tented this hands on the desk. "Okay, bird, I'm listening."

"He really isn't a bird," Oliver said. "Not in a strict sense. The Zubu is actually a fascinating combination of —"

"Will you can that crap!" I snapped. "I've got to convince Sam we're on the level and you're not helping."

"Sorry," mumbled Oliver, scuffing a webfoot against the office floor. "You go ahead. I'll keep my beak shut."

"Good!" I turned back to Sam and was about to begin my explanation when I was seized with an overwhelming urge. I tried to resist but the urge got stronger by the second. "First, before I continue, I'm afraid I am going to have to lay an egg." I told Sam. "That's just the way it is."

"Okay, but lay it fast."

"Egg-laying is not a matter of speed," I informed him. "A Zubu lays when the urge is upon him. As soon as my urge builds to its completion my egg will be laid."

"How long?"

I raised my beak. "Can't say."

We all waited. Sam rocked back in his chair, tapping the desktop nervously with an index finger. Nate watched me, frankly curious, since he'd probably be laying an egg of his own before we left the office.

I waddled over to Sam's couch, sat down on it, carefully arranging my feathers.

"Snap it up," Sam ordered.

"Stand by," I said. "Get ready. Now!" The freckled egg magically appeared beneath me on the couch. I was proud of it. I'd never laid one before and it was a real accomplishment. Not every private eye gets to lay his own egg.

"It's good looking, isn't it?" I asked Nate.

He lowered his downy head to inspect it. "Sure is, Sam. That's a real beaut."

"Forget the damn egg and tell me what you came to tell me," growled Sam.

"First I've got to hide it," I said. "After a Zubu lays he feels a real need to hide his egg. I've got to fulfill that need."

Sam had lost patience. "You two birds better just breeze out. I don't have any more time to waste on Zubu eggs. I
hate
Zubu eggs to begin with."

"We hate what we don't understand," said Nate. "That is man's eternal curse."

"Breeze!"

Oliver spread his wings in supplication. "We cannot leave, Mr. Space. Please give my friend a chance to convince you."

"Close your eyes." I said to Sam.

"You must be kidding."

"No. I can't let you watch me hide it. If you close your eyes I can hide it quickly and then get on with my story."

Sam, snorting angrily, closed his eyes.

I hid the egg under the couch. "Okay, you can open up," I said.

"Now talk," Sam said.

I talked.

Sam emptied the Scotch bottle, wiped his lips, and put the bottle on the desk. "All rightie," he said. "Let's see if I've got it all straight. You want to hire me to come with you into next week so that I can run down myself as a kidnapped six-month-old brat. Is that it?"

"That's it," I said, rapidly nodding my beak. "Once you've brought back your future self — along with the age machine and our transporter hats — we'll have the basic situation under control."

"Then we'll return you here, to your proper universe," added Oliver.

"And how do you pay me? In Zubu eggs?"

I shook my downy head. "Not at all. We'll pay you in normal solar-credits once we get back into our bodies."

"And what if I get stuck in next week?"

"You won't," Oliver assured him. "We have faith in your ability to recapture yourself."

"It is absolutely the nuttiest case I've ever taken," Sam said. "It's me hiring me to find me. When I show up with you characters we'll have three of me in next week!"

Oliver web-paddled close to the desk. "Are we to understand you are taking the case?"

"Yeah, you are to understand that," Sam growled. "Hell, I've got a personal stake in the thing. If I don't find myself I'm in trouble. It's like sending my left foot after my right foot."

"A perfectly logical way to regard the case," agreed Oliver.

"When can we make our pickup?" I asked Nate. "The longer we stay here the worse things get."

"Not in the sense you mean," said Oliver. "Since the future hasn't happened yet it can't get any worse while we remain here in the past."

"I still want to know when we can leave. I hate wearing feathers and laying eggs."

Oliver did some rapid calculation in his head. "We are now in the tenth time phase and we need to be in the eleventh, at the very earliest, for a pickup."

"When does the next phase start?"

"If we take a rocket to Neptune we should just about hit it square on."

I shook my beak. "No more baggage holds for me. That's out. They make me sneeze."

"There's a Zubu base on Neptune. Sam can take us there as escaped Zubus, claiming that he was hired by the company to turn us in as fugitive fishbirds. We'll go aboard the rocket with our wings shackled, as his prisoners. Once on Neptune we phase in and bingo! we pop back into the middle of next week."

"Sounds ok to me," said Sam.

"I'll buy it," I said. Actually, I didn't fancy having my wings shackled but it sure beat playing stowaway.

Oliver ruffled his tail feathers. "Then we'll leave momentarily."

"Why not now?" Sam asked.

"First, I have to lay a speckled egg. Second, I have to hide my egg.
Then
we can leave." He gave us both a long look along his beak. "And no peeking!"

* * *

What with the cold temp, the poisonous gases and the hostile treatment we were getting as runaways, it was pleasant to pop off of Neptune on Nicole's time-phase pickup beam. She worked it like a pro, and we got back into next week without a hitch. And as ourselves. I was still seventy-one but we'd fix that later.