The Garbage Chronicles (9 page)

“Wait!” a little voice squealed from somewhere behind them.

“It’s your little meckie,” Evans said. “Welcome back, Wizzy.”

Wizzy came out of the woods, moving along the ground in staggering spurts, resting and then scooting for very short distances. He glowed a dim, sickly yellow which appeared on the verge of extinction. When he arrived, Evans reached down and lifted him to her eye level. He felt warm and wet.

“The little guy’s panting!” Evans said. “This is one complex meckie!”

“I have emotions too,” Wizzy said proudly. “I am similar to you in many ways.”

“Sometimes he forgets he’s a meckie,” Javik said, scowling at Wizzy. Javik’s sea blue eyes flashed angrily.

“You take him,” Evans said, handing Wizzy to Javik. “He’s all sweaty.” She wiped her hands on her jumpsuit.

As Javik accepted Wizzy, a strong gust of wind blew, drying the baby comet’s surface. Surprised at how heavy Wizzy was, Javik noticed that his surface felt sandpaper-rough and lumpy. On closer inspection, he noticed little stones, pieces of dirt, and twigs embedded in Wizzy’s stony skin. He brushed Wizzy’s back, but the debris remained.

“A natural process,” Wizzy explained. “I am beginning to accumulate material as my system feels able to assimilate it. That is how I grow in the physical sense.” He glowed orange-hot, forcing Javik to let go quickly. Wizzy hovered in midair where Javik’s hand had left him. His lumpy body became smooth and molten. Then he cooled, returning to dark blue.

Hesitantly, Javik retrieved him.

“We must hurry,” Prince Pineapple said. “The king does not like to be kept waiting.. .waiting . . . waiting . . . ” His voice slowed, and his black button eyes rolled upward. Desperately, he dropped to the ground on the seat of his checkered pants. He unsnapped the small folding shovel from his belt. His motions were painstakingly slow.

Three times Javik reached out with the hand that did not hold Wizzy, offering to help. Each time, Prince Pineapple shook his head negatively.

From his vantage point on Javik’s hand, Wizzy watched the prince unwrap a slender barbed cord from the shovel handle. Then he removed one shoe and sock and wrapped the cord around his bare foot.

Catching Evans’s gaze, Javik shrugged.

By now, Prince Pineapple was quite run down and an unhealthy shade of pale brown. He unfolded the shovel and dug in the soil between his outstretched legs. The ground was hard here, permitting the prince only slow progress.

“Let me help,” Javik said, touching the shovel handle.

Weakly, Prince Pineapple pushed him away
_.

“He is like me,” Wizzy said. “I get awfully tired too.”

The pineapple prince was leaning on the shovel now, breathing very slowly.

“He’s more than just tired,” Javik said. “It’s like he has a run-down battery.”

“My foot,” Prince Pineapple said, looking at Javik. “Help me get it in the hole.”

Javik set Wizzy on the ground and pushed the prince’s stubby leg until his wrapped foot was in the hole. As the foot touched the freshly dug soil, Javik saw sharp barbs spring out from the cord, stabbing into the ground like hungry roots.

Presently, the prince’s breathing became more rapid. The rich golden color returned to his face. “I shouldn’t have tried to go so long on my morning charge,” he said with a deep sigh. “Not on such an active day.”

“You were right, Captain Tom,” Wizzy said, hopping on the palm of Javik s hand.

“We are Fruits of the soil,” Prince Pineapple said with a serene expression. “Children of Lord Abercrombie.”

“That name again,” Evans said.

Minutes later, Prince Pineapple’s expression became angry as he pulled his foot from the ground and unwrapped it. “I hate myself for needing Lord Abercrombie,” he said. “We are his captives, you know, unable to lead our own lives.” He wiped his foot with a moist-pak towelette, then replaced his sock and shoe.

“What do you mean?” Wizzy asked, jumping to Javik’s shoulder.

Prince Pineapple rose and wrapped the barbed cord around the handle of his folding shovel. Then he replaced the items on his belt clip. “Lord Abercrombie does not just give us nutrition,” he said. “With that comes the worst sort of dogma . . . little statements from him to mold our opinions, to make us revere him. He even comes to us in dreams! No rest! He gives us no rest!” The prince grew silent, disturbed with himself for saying too much.

When they resumed their course on the path, Javik noticed that Prince Pineapple’s cadence had improved, having eliminated the wasted motions. One of the three synchronized suns was partially obscured now, having dropped below the horizon formed by the buildings ahead.

Catching up with the prince, Javik held Wizzy out for him to see. “This little lump of stone is Wizzy,” Javik said, revealing only a little derision in his tone. “A mechanical unit.”

Prince Pineapple glanced back at Wizzy only briefly, for he had more important matters on his mind.
King Corker is already unhappy with me,
he thought.
I must try to please him, just for tonight. Can’t have him ordering me into detention. Not when I am so close.

“I’m science officer on the ship,” Wizzy said.

“Oh?” Prince Pineapple said. “That’s very nice.”

Javik smiled as he followed the prince. “Wizzy thinks he fulfills an important role on the ship.”

“Can’t you say anything nice about me?” Wizzy asked.

“Well,” Javik said with a sneer. “I’ll think very hard about that. Maybe I can come up with something, if I take long enough.” He placed Wizzy back on his shoulder.

“Hrrrumph!” Wizzy said.

To their left beyond a small meteor crater Evans saw a throng of carrot men and women being led out of cattle chutes. Fruit guards prodded the carrot people with electric sticks, using the power of blue shocks to herd them toward a ramp. At the top of the ramp was an elongated piece of machinery with what appeared to be conveyor strips.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A power plant,” Prince Pineapple said. “It’s nearly dusk, and extra power is required to run the lights. The Vegetable slaves jog on a treadmill to generate electricity.”

“What about solar power?” Javik asked. “With three suns, I would have thought—”

“No need for that,” Prince Pineapple said. “This keeps the Vegetables busy . . . and in their places.”
It might have been much worse for me,
he thought.
At least I’m a Fruit.

Javik grunted. He heard boisterous crowd noises and the roar of engines clearly now. The sounds came from the vicinity of the towering gray structure, which was perhaps five hundred meters ahead. Seeing colorfully dressed spectators on top, Javik realized it was the back of an immense grandstand. To one side of the grandstand he saw blue and pink streaks and balls of flame, and heard the
pop-pop
of what sounded like gunfire.

“Many Earthians used to arrive in your gar-bahge cannisters, you know,” the prince said.

“I know,” Javik responded. “We ran out of burial space on Earth. I will apologize to your king, of course.”

“No need for that. We have put the Earthians to good use.”

“Oh?”

“I will show you,” Prince Pineapple said. “Just ahead.”

The path turned toward the grandstand. It was a wood frame thing, with horizontal rows of weathered, rough-hewn boards. In sunlight to one side, Javik focused on a group of male Earth humanoids with the same oversized heads as those in the Davis Droids. They wore glossy blue and pink uniforms and were gathered around unusual-looking land vehicles.

“The atmosphere here,” Evans said to Javik, hearing her own words crackle nervously in the air. “Wizzy said it was different.”

“Nurinium did it,” Wizzy said from Javik’s shoulder.

Javik scowled as they walked by. “Looks like they used old Earth parts to assemble these cars,” he said. “That one has a DeMartini front end, but the rest looks like shop work.”

Evans studied one vehicle as they passed close. It was Wind-sea blue and white, covered with dents, with mismatched body parts that had undergone extensive welding. The windshield glassplex was cracked, and none of the other windows had any glassplex at all. A large-caliber gun was turret-mounted on the roof, with smaller machine guns on each fender, two guns at the front and two at the rear. Three humanoids were looking in the engine compartment, speaking to one another in loud monotones.

A
crowd roar drowned put the voices.

The three bulbous-headed humanoids paused to watch Javik and Evans with bloodshot eyes. Javik noticed they had yellow-stained teeth, like the “before” segment of a videodome toothpaste commercial. Grape men guards rushed over and prodded them with electric sticks. Blue lances sprung from the tips of the sticks, jolting the humanoids to return to work.

“Those guards are Corkers,” Prince Pineapple said. “Highest of the Fruit castes.”

Javik counted six legs on each Corker. Grenache purple and rotund, they had plastic containers strapped to their backs.

One humanoid who had just been shocked into action donned a blue and black helmet and strapped it tight around his chin. Then he climbed through the window of the car and slid into the driver’s seat. Seconds later, the vehicle roared to life, sending a huge streak of bright blue flame out of the tail.

This caught an inattentive Corker dead center, sending him rolling away. Singed and angry, he sprang to his feet and ran after the car. Another ball of flame sent him reeling.

“Damn fool Corker,” Prince Pineapple muttered, watching the car speed away, heading for one of the drag strips. “Those fellows haven’t got a lick of sense. Half the time they’re out on their feet, drunk on the grain alcohol they carry in their packs. They’re born tipsy, you know. I hear fermented grape juice runs through their veins.”

“Your king is a Corker too?” Javik asked.

“We call these Earth Games,” Prince Pineapple said, disregarding the query. He hurried along the path, adding, “Conceived in one of Lord Abercrombie’s dream messages.”

They rounded a corner of the grandstand, placing them out of view of the action. On this side the ground was littered with Corker backpacks and other debris. The prince kept looking up nervously at the grandstand. Then he yelled, “Look out!” and pushed Javik and Evans off the path.

A large bottle crashed to-the ground where they had been, followed by two plastic backpacks, partially full. Wizzy scurried away from a big splash of dirty-colored grain alcohol.

“It gets a bit rough back here during the games,” Prince Pineapple said.

An inebriated Corker approached, weaving from side to side on the path. Short and round with a plastic grain alcohol pack strapped to her back, the grenache purple Corker had peculiar, scaly skin with bumps on it like flattened grapes. As she neared, Javik heard odd sucking sounds. Looking closely, he noticed she was sucking at a tube that led from the backpack to her mouth. Black, brackish liquid dripped down her chin.

Prince Pineapple nodded dutifully to the Corker as they passed. She did not acknowledge the gesture, and instead coughed, hawked, and spit a ball of black phlegm on the ground.

Javik wrinkled his face in revulsion as the Corker passed. “Smelly little brute,” he whispered to Wizzy.

Still on Javik’s shoulder, Wizzy went into a discourse on the smelliest, most vile things in the universe. After less than a minute of this, Javik stuffed the little comet in his jumpsuit pocket and zipped it shut. From the pocket, Javik still heard Wizzy’s muffled voice, saying something about the slime in which Esterian pigs liked to root.

“We must go faster,” Prince Pineapple said, seeing shadows lengthen across the path.

They moved more quickly now, crossing a footbridge over a highway of vehicles that were pulled by carrot people. Each vehicle carried a different variety of Fruit person. Javik noticed that some of the carriages were a good deal more extravagant than others, with longer cabs, more silver or gold trim, and longer teams of carrot people.

Wizzy fell silent in Javik’s pocket, realizing just then what had been done to him.

Javik asked about the vehicles.

“They reflect status in the Royal Family,” Prince Pineapple said. “Every Fruit is a member of the Royal Family. The king has a carriage pulled by one hundred carrot men. No one is permitted to have more.”

“I see,” Javik said.
I wonder if they call it carrot power,
he thought.

“Carrot people are strongest of the Vegetables,” the prince said. “Health fanatics. They make ferocious warriors for the enemy, excellent slaves for us.”

“Who are your enemies?” Evans asked.

“The Vegetable Underground,” Prince Pineapple said.

“Fruits against Vegetables?” Javik asked, bemused but trying not to show it.

“Since time immemorial,” came the reply. “But it is not a perfect system. Even drunkard lowlifes such as the Corker we passed at the grandstand have a good deal of status . . . simply by virtue of their close juice relationship to our king.”

They could see the castle now, at the crest of a Vegetable garden terraced hill. “We grow our own slaves,” the prince explained.

The Corker castle was massive, constructed of native charcoal stones in the Earthian medieval manner. Imposing ramparts of dirt and stone surrounded the structure, and Javik counted eight guard towers on this side alone, each flying a triangular purple banner.

“What is your position?” Evans asked of the prince.

“Number One Adviser to King Corker. We Pineapples are extremely intelligent—but not entirely appreciated, I fear.”

“How so?” Evans asked, catching up with the prince and walking at his side.

“Important matters do not require brains here. Decision Coins are flipped. Whenever the king asks me for my opinion, I am expected to flip a coin.”

“That sounds dumb.”

“You think so too?” Prince Pineapple asked, pleased.

“Definitely.”

“We pineapples might have taken control of the planet on the First Day . . . if the blight had not hit us. Things would be different today if only . . . ” He hesitated.

“What happened?” Javik asked, catching up and walking on the prince’s other side.
Planet of the Grapes,
Javik thought, making a play on an ancient, tattered paperback book Sidney once had shown him. It was one of the illegal things Sidney kept hidden in his safe.