The Amazing Tales of Wildcat Arrows (24 page)

One of his biggest mistakes, for instance, had been in the rescuing of several unruly brothers. Their endearing necks had been spared; but after that everything had begun to hit the proverbial fan.

He was still trying to work out the cause and effect on that one.

What had been their names? So long ago…

Ah, yes.

Cyndreac.

That was it. The Cyndreac brothers. Rescued from the French guillotine in the
nick
of time. Literally.

Sir Percy Cecil-Basil exhaled.

He had so loved the late eighteenth century. But that was another time altogether and that '
rose'
was by another name.

The Cat raised his glass of aged Portuguese port. The kind he used to enjoy drinking. He saluted the sea of space before him.

Times were getting more difficult. Yet he was still here; braced on the deck of his own ship.

Fancy that.

Was there anything stranger than this scalawag's life?

Yo, ho, and a bottle of rum.

Well, there were still plenty of lives to save and treasures yet to be found. And they could all be his for the taking.

Especially that one prize…

More precious than the rest.

If he could but find it.

No worries. He was the one. He had always been the one.

Eyes—
the palest blue of a robin's egg—
gleamed with resolve.

Aye, how they gleamed.

The treasure was his!

And find it, someday he would.

Feet spread apart, he threw back his head and laughed with the hearty, rich sound of a king of pirates.

Hadn't he stolen lifetimes?

In a different part of Wildcat's galaxy there lives a Bonus Story—which is actually quite the comedy according to Heiner, who reads every issue of
JUST-FOR-LAFFS
digi-mag. The establishment hopes you enjoy it.*

*No actual romances were hurt during the writing of this tale.

*reprinted by permission. Written by Wrently Teenietry. This article originally appeared in the professional journal
Normal Today
.

Ordinarily he was insane, but he had lucid moments when he was merely stupid.

—Heinrich Heine

You have to be insane to be a journalist.

Roving the galaxy, parsec after parsec, forsaking home and family in search of the one universal interview that will appeal across the bands.

It's not easy.

The pay is somewhere between meager and insulting. The benefits non-existent. The travel incessant.

And long. Oh, is it long!

I travel alone—as most ink slingers do.

How crazy is that in these restless times?

But it isn't becoming to fret. I have a calling and, therefore, I am duty-bound to flit about the cosmos. Not all of us, I am sorry to say, have such high ideals.

Isn't that the way of things?

In any case, heralds and hacks alike go a'sputtering through space in small, single-carrier, metallic cans. We call them
magic bullets
.

We so like to of think of ourselves as correspondents of enlightenment. As we streak through the heavens in a righteous quest to wring the Salvarsan of 'story' from the heated crucible of interstellar arsenic, our insights are snarkily dispensed to the masses as a heady tincture to cure the 'syphilis' of entropy!

My, that
is
a rather valiant, if convoluted allusion! But I digress…

Like any pen pusher, I must go where my story is. And this often takes me across vast expanses of space.

While travelling the Great Galactic Way, I have learned that a truly stellar—pun may be intended—way to pass the time is to reminisce. I tell myself it is a fine indulgence for the lone traveller as I can relive every moment and every experience of my life for free! Feel the textures of my past. Taste the best stews! Snore without guilt.

A good hobby and certainly better than brooding for untold light years.

To stay the course, I have found that it is best to reminisce about fond assignments. And so I shall share…

My best scutwork occurred in Sector 8 on an atmospheric asteroid called MukLuk.

Both my work and the asteroid seemed to revolve around the brilliant, renowned
psycho-realist
, Dr. Boateh—whose cutting-edge studies on the dichotomy of mental aberration had garnered a bit of attention in the First Strings.

It should be noted that the great Dr. Boateh is Hidoan. For those unfamiliar with this race, Hidoans are much admired throughout the upper and lower middies for their cryptic intellect and harsh compassion. They will often tackle tasks others shun and, thus, are referred to in some circles as 'those Committee Kidz'.
¹¹

I had been granted a coveted interview with this esteemed scientist.

Surprisingly, when I landed on MukLuk, I was able to park my craft quite near the rehab center where his research was being conducted. This may have been due to the fact that the center was the only structure on the planet. Thank goodness there is still some countryside left in the galaxy!

With all of the traffic these days it seems that the only place one can breathe freely is next to an institution. I remember reading that several communities had been planned on MukLuk-but that was before word got out as to what was being built in the Nietche Valley. It didn't take long for land spec prices to dive.

With such stir-fried buzz, potential sales will always dissolve.

Each and every blueprint soon limped its way back into the planner's notebook from whence it had once sprung with the happy, lisping roar of a manifest destiny. In all my travels amongst alien races I've never found the Universal Truth; but I have found the Universal Constant:
Never buy real estate next to an asylum
.

As I approached the center, the sun of MukLuk was setting in the east behind the mountains. Long shadows cast over the building, which rather resembled a giant golf ball resting on a plain.
¹²

It was one of those scenic views you almost never forget.

The sun was gently setting. The giant ball-like institution was bathed in streaks of shadow as it sat upon the plain. As if awaiting the mighty stroke of a divine number two iron.

One swoop to send it hurtling in an arc forever through space!

Ah, the imagery!

Dr. Boateh greeted me at the portal.

For some inexplicable reason, Hidoans have picked up the old Earth affectation of the lorgnette. For those not familiar with this accessory, lorgnettes are eye lenses that are held up to the face with a handle so as to allow the user to squint annoyingly at whatever subject the user deigns to focus upon. (I had heard that Hidoans were very moved by an ancient legend of a dashing galactic hero, known to don many disguises. Revering the tales of this fellow's daring exploits, they decided to don the accessory both as a tribute and as a general political statement.) "It's a pleasure, Doctor!" I stepped forward to greet him.

"Yes, yes. I have been looking forward to it." Boateh's third eye gleamed mischievously while the other two peered inquisitively at me through the lorgnette. "Did you bring any macadamia nuts with you?"

"No, sorry. All out."

"Ah, well, would've liked some." He quickly overcame his disappointment. "Never mind—at least I finally have someone I can brag to!"

"Hidoans never brag." I wagged a finger at him and smiled coyly. "Of course if you were a Flummox…" I let the sentence drift with good humor and we both snickered for it was widely known the Flummox spend 90% of their time extolling their own virtues.
¹³

Dr. Boateh stuck his face close to mine and whispered, "What do you think of our building?"

I gazed up at it, again struck by the same notion of a giant golf ball awaiting the thwack of destiny.

"Ah, unusual architecture, Doctor."

"Functional. All the patients rooms are to the outside."

"Oh, why is that?"

"
CORNERS
!" he boomed.

I attempted to pop my ear against his reverberating voice. "Corners?" I whispered back, perplexed.

"Of course corners! We can't have our patients injuring themselves on the edges of the rooms—the insurance claims would bury us. Besides, corners have a tendency to upset the inmates; they start worrying about convergence and all that rot.
We can't have that
."

The reason was so obvious, I was almost ashamed. "I see; sorry I asked. I actually never considered that aspect."

Boateh stroked his forelock. "There is much that the
layman—
you'll pardon the expression?"

I nodded vigorously, eager for him to continue.

"—doesn't understand about our field. The revolving door of wellness leads to and fro, through the many corridors of the subconscious mind. We, as professionals, must anticipate and cogitate. You see?" He pointed to a plaque above the main portal.

'
Anticipate and Cogitate'
was deeply carved into the plastabrick.
Odd looking font, though. Almost childlike in its—

"Did you know that the asylum is capable of flight?"

This surprised me. The construction costs for flight would be staggering. "You must be joking, Doctor? The building is massive… at least two hundred levels… ?"

"Three hundred—and still not a vacancy! Of course, we can't leave the damn planet; but we can fiddle about." Boateh stroked his forelock again.

"I looked around at the barren landscape and didn't see the need for it. This location seemed as good as any other. "But why would you want to move? For a scenic change of rock formation? I mean, the terrain seems to be pretty much the same all over the asteroid. As B. Banzai so eloquently said 'no matter where you go, there you are'. So what's the point?"

The Doctor's tentacles gesticulated in small half-circles as he indicated our surroundings. "We are in a valley as you can see. Millions of years ago—in this very spot—it once rained. According to the geologists this entire plain was flooded. Our architect—a member of the planning board and a very thorough sort of chap—decided to include the thrusters while we were building. Just-in-case."

My brow furrowed. "Are you saying it rained only once in millions of—"

Boateh leaned in to me as if to include me in some sort of conspiracy. "Much more expensive to add thrusters after the fact; don't you know? Always best to do these things
during
construction." He paused in that heavy way that good doctors do and I wondered how medical professionals all seem to acquire the marvellous habit?

Passed down with the degree, perhaps?
¹⁴

"Tried out the thrusters once," he added, "Tested the system, as they say."

"How did that go?"

"We up and hovered at first; then off we went!"

I tried to get my mind around the image of this enormous golf-ball of a building zipping by in a zigzag of zoom—but I got lost in the alliteration.

"We floated for a full cycle! Oh, it was wonderful!" He stroked his forelock. "Unsettled some of the patients, though."

"But why didn't the architect just move the site to higher ground?"

"Beg pardon?" The Doctor seemed genuinely confused.

"To avoid the enormous expense of the thrusters?" I
emphasized the word
expense
.

He chuckled at my naivety. "The location had already been
agreed
upon."

My cheeks flushed with chagrin. "I see."

"Shall we go in?"

"Of course."

He kindly led me inside the asylum.

The outside of the building had been a calm desert, but the inside was a bustling hive of activity. Nurses, orderlies, and doctors of many species were running back and forth along the corridors.

As I observed these dedicated souls going so steadfastly about their duties, I felt proud to be a member of the Advanced United Race.

I marvelled that they could maintain such a frenetic pace. "So devoted!"