A Toaster on Mars (9 page)

‘What do I have to do?'

Blake leant forward. ‘Do you still have your old scarmish gear?' he asked.

13

Milton Xanthrob was surprised when the doorbell tinkled and three people walked into his shop. Perkins Antiques was located on the 336th level of Neo City's south side, far away from most foot traffic, and customers were rare.

It was early and the street outside was dark. There was only artificial lighting down here, and mostly it didn't work too well. An odd fungus had started to grow in the crevices of the buildings. Milton had lived here for so long he half expected it to start growing on him, but he didn't mind. His life was simple, and if he had to contend with a little mould, well, so be it.

During the day, he would sit behind the counter, reading and watching TV, whiling away the hours till
closing time. Dying here was a very real possibility—and that was fine, too. Everything had a time and a place, and he'd had an exceptionally happy life.

How Milton had ended up owning the shop was a story in itself. He had gone to Perkins Antiques to get a clock valued. It was an unusual Art Deco piece, still working, with the face showing the correct time and date, but the switches on the back were stuck in place.

The previous owner of the shop had been an elderly man by the name of Bruce Perkins. The clock looked unusual to him too. He thought if he could get the switches working he might be able to work out their function. Perkins sat at his counter, applied some oil to them, struggled to move one—and abruptly broke the universe.

Or so it seemed to Milton at the time.

A fuzzy hole appeared on the countertop. Perkins opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word both he and his counter started to
bleed
into the hole. Milton leapt back in horror.

Sprot!

The hole shrank. Milton Xanthrob stared open-mouthed into the diminishing gap. It was like looking into a tunnel. Beyond it was a tube of inky blackness ending in a smaller circle of light.

Peering at that faraway glow, Milton thought he could see patches of green vegetation and the distant counter. Behind it, Perkins was yelling. Milton made out the words ‘dinosaur' and ‘tyrannosaurus' before the hole disappeared.

The shop, smelling of ozone, was otherwise unchanged, barring the missing owner and counter. Milton stood there, alone and afraid, expecting to be arrested at any moment. He had, after all, been partially responsible for the disappearance of Bruce Perkins.

But nothing happened. The police did not appear. Nobody dragged Milton away to jail. Finally, he sat down on Mr Perkins' chair until his legs stopped shaking.

An hour later a customer walked in, picked out an old vase and insisted on giving money to Milton. After some hesitation, he accepted the cash and the customer walked away a happy man.

It took him a few days, but Milton discovered both he and Perkins had a lot in common: they both loved antiques and had no family. By the end of the week Milton had purchased a new counter and hung a sign in the window for anyone who happened to be passing.

Under New Management.

That was twenty years ago. He still had in his possession an article he'd found in a magazine called
Strange But True
. In it was a story about a fossilised human skull wearing a pair of glasses that had been found in Arizona. Readers were invited to write in with theories regarding the bizarre discovery.

Milton, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, did not contribute.

The people who walked into Milton's shop on this particular day were an odd trio. The man, wearing an old trench coat, was so dishevelled Milton assumed he
was a hobo. The robot woman was stunning, and could have passed for human except for the gold skin. The other woman was also good-looking, but her face had creased into a worried frown. They all wore backpacks.

After spending some time perusing the shop, they finally approached the counter. The hobo cleared his throat. ‘We'd like to dig a hole through the back of your shop,' he said. ‘Not a big hole. Just large enough for us to fit through.'

Milton Xanthrob stared at him.

‘My ex-husband phrased that rather badly,' the woman said, clearly embarrassed. ‘We'd like to give you some money to leave the shop for the day.'

‘Think of it as a holiday,' the robot added.

‘Yes, that's it,' the ex-wife said. ‘A holiday. Somewhere you haven't been before.'

‘We'll look after your shop while you're away,' the hobo said.

Silence.

‘This doesn't have anything to do with Mr Perkins?' Milton asked.

The strangers exchanged glances.

‘Who?'

‘Never mind,' Milton said. ‘Uh, where do you suggest I go?'

‘Oh, anywhere,' the man said airily. ‘The moon is rather pleasant this time of year.'

‘Or Mars,' the robot suggested. ‘Mars is nice.'

‘Here's some money.' The ex-wife reached into her pocket and pulled out a plastic card. ‘Spend some.'

Milton Xanthrob nervously made his way to the door.

‘We'll look after the store,' the robot promised.

‘Everything's priced,' Milton said. ‘Just hand out a receipt.' He appeared thoughtful. ‘I might go to the moon.'

‘That was easier than I expected,' Blake said, breathing a sigh of relief after Milton left.

‘Poor man,' Astrid said. ‘Mustn't get out much.'

‘We're probably doing him a favour,' Nicki said.

‘Except for the hole in his wall,' Blake said.

They went to a storage room in the back where they found a kitchenette and rows of shelves stacked with antiques.

‘This looks pretty organised,' Astrid said.

‘It does,' Nicki agreed, grabbing a shelf, pulling it over and destroying a thousand years of history.

‘Nicki!' Blake yelled. ‘What the sprot are you doing?'

‘Was that stuff valuable?'

‘That little man is going to hate us,' Astrid said.

‘I've been hated before,' Nicki said. ‘I survived.'

Blake rapped on the wall. ‘You're sure this is where we go through?' he asked Nicki.

‘Definitely. Beyond this wall lies a disused elevator that'll take us down to a tunnel. We can follow that all the way to a cavern under the GADO complex.'

‘I wonder how we should break through.'

Nicki pushed back her hair. ‘Fortunately,' she said, ‘I'm trained in twenty-two different forms of martial arts.'

‘So?' Astrid frowned.

‘I can generate a one-inch punch that will easily knock a hole in the wall.'

‘We could also just use our blasters,' Blake said. ‘A single shot at high intensity—'

‘And rob me of the opportunity to show off?' Nicki said. ‘No way.'

She drew her right arm back, focused, took a deep breath and slammed her fist into the wall. A torrent of water burst through the gap, knocking Nicki over and demolishing another shelf.

‘Hmm,' Nicki said, pushing debris aside. ‘I wasn't expecting that.'

‘Nicki!' Blake yelled as more water spurted through the hole. ‘I thought you said the tunnel was behind here?'

‘I did,' she replied. ‘I don't think this is the right wall.' She spent the next few minutes pulling over shelves and punching holes in walls before turning to the others and yelling, ‘I've found it! The elevator shaft is here!'

‘Great,' Astrid said nervously.

While Nicki made the hole bigger so they could climb through, Astrid glanced back to the shop behind them. It did not look very much like the organised little storeroom they had entered only a few minutes earlier. Most of what had been on the shelves was now swimming in a foot of water.

They climbed through the hole onto the top of an elevator and lowered themselves through a roof hatch into the compartment.

‘There's only two buttons,' Astrid said. ‘Up and down.'

‘Down it is,' Blake said.

He hit the button. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then they dropped like a rock.

14

Blake had always heard about people's lives flashing before their eyes when faced with death.

This did not happen.

What he did see was a close-up of Astrid's ankle because, with the three of them plastered against the ceiling, her foot was in his face. He wanted to say something prophetic or heroic to her, but nothing came to mind. He was busy screaming along with the others as the elevator plummeted faster than a spaceship caught in the gravity pull of a black hole.

Finally they slowed, crashing in an untidy heap on the floor.

‘That was rougher than I expected,' Astrid said,
dusting herself off. ‘Almost as bad as Blake's driving.'

‘My driving's not so bad,' Blake said. ‘Once you get used to it.'

‘If you survive long enough.'

The elevator doors slid open to reveal two astonished men on the other side.

‘You're here!' one cried. ‘Finally!'

‘We've waited so long,' the other gasped, tears in his eyes. ‘I'll get Gastanon.'

‘Where are we?' Blake asked.

As the second man disappeared down the corridor, the first gave them a gentle smile. ‘Ah, we know the prophets have a sense of humour,' he said. ‘It is only that sense of humour that has kept us going all these years. Welcome to—Perfection.'

‘Really?' Blake peered down the corridor. It didn't look like perfection. It looked like a rather dank and gloomy corridor. ‘And who do you think we are?'

‘Another joke,' the man said, laughing. ‘It makes the waiting more worthwhile.'

They followed him down the tunnel to a cavern the size of several football fields. It was packed with trees and plants, growing everything from apples to pumpkins to oranges. Hydroponic lights hung from the ceiling, bathing the crops in a bright, clean glow. Men and women dressed in plain grey shirts and pants toiled in the fields.

Painted in huge letters across one wall were the words:
They will return
.

‘What is this place?' Astrid whispered to Blake.

‘It's…Perfection, whatever that is.'

‘Whoever they are,' Nicki said, ‘they've been here a long time.' She pointed. ‘Those lights are Eterno bulbs, designed more than two hundred years ago. They never burn out, which is why the company went out of business.'

They were led to a house where people gazed at them in reverence and amazement. A lean man wearing a goatee cautiously approached.

‘I am Gastanon,' he introduced himself. ‘And who is Hysteronomous? And Pythergonius and Slyvanathium?'

‘Huh?' Blake said.

‘Which of you is which?' Gastanon asked.

Blake, Nicki and Astrid stared at him.

‘I think you've got us mixed up with someone else,' Blake finally said. ‘We're not any kind of prophets. We're from above.'

‘From the Promised Land,' Gastanon said, nodding with satisfaction. ‘We know. It lies beyond the world of ultimate devastation.'

‘Which world of ultimate devastation are you referring to?' Astrid asked. ‘Devastation is a bit rough, even for Detroit.'

Gastanon laughed. ‘You are testing us,' he said. ‘Stories have been passed down to us about the tests.'

‘That's right,' Astrid said, deciding it was easier to play along. ‘We're testing you. Now tell us what all this is about.'

‘Of course. But first we must go to the place of speaking so that all may know the truth.'

They followed Gastanon to a citadel in the middle of the fields, and climbed steps to a podium. Crowds had gathered. There had to be over ten thousand people here.