Electra stretched the shirt a little way from her chest to look at the tiny stick-figure man sitting in a driver’s seat. ‘Fahrfel’ was what the fabricator had called the icon when Treasure had added it to the design. “Thousands of years of advancement from this and humans still draw stick-figures,” she said. “If I tried to draw a man, this would be about as good as I could do.”
“That’s nothing,” Treasure said. “Cave paintings from almost twenty thousand years ago showed humans essentially drawing stick-figures right after we discovered fire.” Treasure nervously groomed Electra a little, straightening her hat, smoothing her shirt and generally fussing over placement of locks of hair and other minutiae. “So, what kind of aliens are we dealing with here?”
“Non-spacefaring,” Electra said. “There isn’t much on the galactic net about them. I don’t know how they got their hands on an Earthling car, but they didn’t go find it themselves. The real problem might come from their lack of implants. The Chamber only provides and enforces the translator implant requirement for spacefaring species, so they may or may not understand us.”
“Are they dangerous?”
“Ivy says they’re not very big and never developed advanced weaponry,” Electra said. “Sticks and stones mostly, not that I’m keen on being hit by either if this goes sideways.”
“Let’s hope they aren’t fast if this turns into a smash and grab,” Treasure said. “Volkswagen Beetles aren’t known for their top speed.”
Without a true star port, they’d scanned the surface near the temple containing the sacrosanct Volkswagen for a flat expanse with a high enough density to safely hold a starship. They were going to have a couple-kilometer walk from the landing zone and a longer drive back. Ivy mapped out a second route that wouldn’t leave the car stuck in quicksand, and it wasn’t remotely direct.
Letterman stopped Electra at the top of the gangplank. “Am I escorting you or providing a tether?”
“Tether,” Electra said. “Unless you feel like taking your chances on a sinkhole. I’d be fine with that.”
“If I were rendered incapable of discharging my duties, the cost of replacement would be added to your debt and another enforcement bot would be dispatched,” Letterman said.
“Then you better stay here, since Treasure says you probably weigh more than the car we’re bringing back,” Electra said. “Try growing a sense of humor while we’re gone.”
Letterman clamped a tether on Electra’s wrist and rolled back into the ship. Electra had to remind herself that soon the stupid enforcement bot would be off her ship and out of her life forever. “Never owe,” she muttered to herself. Never again.
The region of New Wolfsburg was actually kind of pleasant, if not a tad warm. They strolled along the wet sand, glancing from time to time at the tide pools and ponds of fresh water containing tiny alien marine life. Electra kept her datapad at the ready, reading the sand density to make sure they wouldn’t stumble into a sinkhole. The destination was obvious on the horizon. The Wolfsburgians had built a replica of a Bavarian castle out of sandstone to house their most sacred relics, including the Volkswagen Beetle.
“Growing up, I thought quicksand would be a much bigger problem than it turned out to be,” Treasure mused. “This is actually the first time I’ve had to watch out for it.”
“Do you have a good plan?” Electra asked. “Because I’ve never even heard of the stuff.”
“Don’t fall in, ropes, tree branches…which, there aren’t any trees on this whole planet,” Treasure said. “Rocket boots, maybe?”
“Not a reassuring list, since we don’t have any of those things.”
“Wait! Are rocket boots not invented yet?” Treasure asked.
“Maybe… I don’t know,” Electra said. From the way Ivy had described quicksand, it sounded terrifying, and Electra was more than a little distracted in her vigilance to make sure they didn’t end up breathing wet sand. “Putting rockets on boots sounds super dangerous and…you’re in an awfully good mood.”
“Well, duh, someone just ate me out for a really long time.”
“It didn’t seem like a long time.”
“I meant a really short time. You should definitely go longer in the future.”
“Then I definitely will!” Electra slid an arm around Treasure’s waist while they walked. It felt promising to walk on a beach—or a planet that was essentially one giant beach—with someone she adored, on a warm day, glowing from mutually given orgasms, heading toward a scam that might score them two billion units. Ahead, several small, dome-topped crustaceans with six legs and four claws, two front and two back, were crawling up out of the sand to head toward the castle. They were only about two feet tall, bright orange and almost perfectly smooth all over.
“I think those are our guys.” Electra nodded in the direction of the crabs, not wanting to pull her hand from around Treasure’s waist or change the scan direction of the datapad in her other hand.
“Huh. They kind of look like little Volkswagens,” Treasure said. “I took a religion class in undergrad that talked about vanity in deity creations. We like a religion more if the gods and goddesses look like us. I guess that’s not exclusively a human thing.”
“There were still human religions in your time?” Electra asked.
“Yep, a few big ones, lots of little ones.”
“Did you follow any of them?” It wasn’t a make-or-break question. Religions and humanity had a checkered past. The specifics weren’t great, since human civilization had lost most of its records when it started its swift decline, but the vast majority of the surviving history agreed that humanity had abandoned use of religion shortly after Earth became uninhabitable. Religious belief had become completely an anathema after the introduction to spacefaring society, since only the lowest, least-advanced species among Chamber worlds believed in divine forces. Humans were nothing if not susceptible to peer pressure. Treasure appeared to be an exceptionally evolved human from an undeveloped time in human history. If she had a faith-based belief system, it would be awkward at best when speaking with other advanced species.
“Nah, some stuff is fun to think about, but most of it seems silly, especially now. None of the major human religions would have any sort of explanation for all this. A few cults talked about spaceships and aliens, but they didn’t get any of it right, as far as I can tell,” Treasure said. “I was raised in a church since my dad was a Kenyan Quaker, which probably doesn’t mean anything to you. Imagine an education-motivated culture meeting a studious, introspective belief system and that’d be where my dad came from. I think mostly he just liked to read, think and discuss, which is all I ended up taking away from the fourteen years of churchgoing. Also, no war… My dad was vehemently against violence. Kenyans weren’t fans of war and Quakers were pacifists, so this new galactic peace thing would have pleased my dad immeasurably.” Treasure stopped for a moment and pulled inward. “Except, he wasn’t my dad. He wasn’t even real.”
“He might have been,” Electra said. “Who knows who you were cloned from or how your simulations were constructed, and your dad is probably every bit as real as any other human’s dad at this point. Real is in the memories, and that’s all either of us has of our parents anymore. So, thank you for sharing.”
“I think my dad would have liked you.” Treasure beamed.
They began walking again, falling in behind the herd of crustaceans swarming toward the castle. The little crabs glanced to the two new visitors with their strange, dark eyes, set in the sides and front of their shell—six in all—but they didn’t say anything. When Electra smiled and waved to one, it scurried even faster to get to the doors.
“Tell me something about your dad, something small, before we go in,” Treasure said, stopping just outside the castle.
“Something small…” Electra pondered. “My dad was easily the most boring person anyone ever met.”
Treasure laughed and gave Electra’s shoulder a push.
“I’m not kidding. It was some weird point of pride with him,” Electra said. “He didn’t have hobbies or interests that anyone shared, and he would drone on and on about nothing in this flat, low voice. I swear he was playing a game by himself whenever he talked to someone to see how quickly he could make their eyes glaze over.”
“It’s a miracle someone so vibrant came from the least interesting man in the galaxy,” Treasure said.
“Oh, my two brothers and I made concerted efforts to be interesting, to the point of being strange,” Electra said. “Anything but boring was our vow. My oldest brother, Rosh, learned to walk on his hands, and he’d do it at random times in the hope someone in the area would find it odd or entertaining.”
“They sound great, even your ultra-boring dad,” Treasure said.
“They were.”
“Okay, that turned sad,” Treasure said, breathing in and blinking to pull back tears. “Let’s get in there and steal a car in the name of our deceased families.”
Electra blotted away a single tear that had escaped from Treasure’s beautiful brown eyes, using her pinkie to stop it before it spoiled her under-eye makeup. Treasure smiled, but only with her lips. Her eyes remained solemn.
They walked into what should have been the main foyer of the castle but was actually just a large hall taking up the entire interior. Apparently, the Wolfsburgians knew what the castle’s exterior was supposed to look like—but nothing else. Rows upon rows upon rows of the orange crustaceans circled around a red Volkswagen Beetle sitting on a small dais, illuminated by a soft shaft of light from a hole in the roof. The collected congregation looked to the new arrivals expectantly.
“We have come from the Father Land!” Treasure announced.
The crustaceans continued to stare.
“We bring tidings of Fahrvergnügen,” Electra added.
“Fahrvergnügen,” the crustaceans chanted. “We welcome the messengers of driving enjoyment!”
“They’re speaking German,” Electra whispered.
“How can you tell?”
“When you get a little more accustomed to your implant and hear more languages, you’ll start getting random thoughts when you hear someone speak or read something that’s translated, telling you what the source language is,” Electra whispered. “Do you speak German?”
“I speak English and some French,” Treasure whispered. “Most Canadians speak at least a little of both. I can say hello in German and maybe thank you.”
“Try hello.”
“Guten Tag?” Treasure announced.
“Good day, miss,” the crustaceans said in unison.
“That’s all I’ve got,” Treasure whispered.
“Okay, I have an idea. It’s not going to be perfect, but let’s see what we can manage.” Electra brought up a tether to Ivy’s galactic net connection and searched for a text-to-speech translator, refined the search to free options, refined again for ancient Earthling languages and selected the one with highest ratings. She tapped out a quick message.
The datapad translated, “Die Götter haben geweckt!”
“What do the Gods of driving enjoyment say, oh great messengers?” A particularly officious crustacean with a hat of pink sea foam asked.
“Um…they say…” Electra typed out another message to translate, “Die heilige Reliquie muss in den Himmel zurückkehren.”
“We have long awaited the day the messengers would return,” the presiding crustacean said. “Do you drive stick?”
“That would be directed at you.” Electra handed the datapad to Treasure.
Treasure quickly tapped in her response. “Ja, fahre ich stick!”
The crustacean congregation erupted in a strange gurgling chortle sound that Electra hoped was cheering or applause. The Wolfsburgians scuttled apart to create a path for Electra and Treasure to approach the holiest of economy cars.
“Cars from back then required keys,” Treasure whispered.
“What do we do if they’re not already inside?”
At the front of the congregation, a few steps down from the dais, a small pedestal held a battered maintenance guide, in German, for the Volkswagen Beetle, and several ancient tools. Treasure scooped up the flathead screwdriver from the end.
“I’ll jam this in the ignition, twist really hard and hope the lock breaks,” Treasure said.
“You’re a genius or a vandal or both,” Electra whispered back. “What would your father say?”
“He’d tell me to stop hanging out with that fast girl from space. She’s clearly up to no good.” Treasure winked.
They walked to opposite sides of the car, opened the doors in unison, and slid in at the same time. The interior smelled of sea air, old rubber and a faint, underlying mildew. Treasure checked the ignition, no keys. Under the floor mat, no luck. In the tiny glove box, three packets of desiccated ketchup but no keys. She lowered the visor and the keys fell into her lap.
“That’s always where the keys are in old movies,” Treasure said with a giggle. “I’m still keeping the screwdriver. It might be on the Bi-MARP list for a few units.”
“You are unbelievably sexy to me right now,” Electra said with a grin and shake of her head.
Treasure rolled down her window. Electra followed her example. After a few mirror adjustments that Treasure admitted were mostly habit, she pressed the clutch, put the car in neutral and tried to turn it over with a tiny goose of the gas pedal. The car rolled once, lethargically, a second time, popped, sputtered, a little more gas, and it came to life, not exactly purring like a kitten.
“It sounds like an oscillating rock hammer engine,” Electra said. “I love it!”
Treasure put the car in gear, let out the clutch slowly, matched with the gas, and the car rolled forward, slow, steady and under expert guidance. The crustaceans parted farther to allow the car through, still making the chortling noise. When she reached the door, which was in no way wide enough to fit the vehicle, the crustaceans rushed over and widened it, using their claws to carve a swift yet ornate new doorway from the sandstone. Treasure eased the Beetle through the portal and out onto the sand.
Electra held up the datapad with the route mapped by Ivy to make use of the densest sand to get back. Surprisingly, the nimble little Beetle had no trouble with the dry sand, chugged through a few puddles, and was well on its way before the back end slipped to one side and the rear right tire began to bog down and sink.
“Shit,” Treasure said as the front left tire came off the sand. “You’re sure rocket boots aren’t a thing?”
“I’m not, but I don’t think they’d help now anyway.” Electra pushed her door to try to open it, but the car had sunk far enough on her side to block it with slurpy, wet sand. She began climbing out of the window when suddenly the car reversed course and rose out of the mire.
Treasure glanced in the side view mirror to find a small army of the crustaceans digging the car out.
“Sorry about that,” one of them said. “This happened a lot when we were moving the car into the chapel. It is the Gods of Driving Enjoyment testing our resolve. But would you listen to me, telling the messengers of Fahrvergnügen what the Gods think. My apologies.”
Treasure snagged the datapad from Electra and typed out a response. “Die Götter bewundere Ihr Engagement! Wait! Why am I using the datapad?” Treasure poked her head back out of the window. “Danke!”
“That’s thank you?” Electra asked.
“Yep, if I said it right.”
After several more close calls and a flurry of dankes whenever the Wolfsburgians had to dig them out, they arrived back at the ship. Electra focused on loading the Beetle into the cargo hold while Treasure bade farewell to the faithful.
They met back at the gangplank to wave one last time to the religious crustaceans, who waved in response, probably without knowing what the motion meant. Treasure handed back the datapad once they were on board.
Electra read Treasure’s final address to the devout
little crab people who had lost their most revered relic to two charlatans with a peculiar set of skills, based on a brief prophecy about driving a stick.
“The return of the messengers takes the idol you’ve worshipped and leaves behind the true spirit of driving enjoyment that will dwell within the believers for the rest of time. Do not look to the stars any longer. Look to each other.”
“This is really beautiful,” Electra told her.
“They deserved something in exchange for what we took,” Treasure said. “Besides, I left out the part about building statues of us.” Treasure looped her fingers inside the waistband of Electra’s shorts. “Want to make out in the back seat of my new car?”
“Will we even fit?”
“Probably not, but we could have fun trying.”
“Ivy, get us underway,” Electra said. “We’ll be in the cargo hold!”
Chapter Thirteen
Deep in the replica den of the early 1970s, where beanbag chairs, lava lamps and mural paneling of birch trees in autumn created a nostalgic mood for the era of key parties and big moustaches, Electra and Treasure did battle on the squared circle of a faded Monopoly board. Treasure had found it while exploring the ship and replaced most of the missing pieces and cards from memory and ancient texts preserved on galactic net message boards.
Letterman interrupted the slow, steady decline of Electra’s resources, drained by a row of Treasure’s little green houses between Kentucky Avenue and Marvin Gardens. Bad rolls had caught her twice already and Electra thoroughly blamed the dice and cursed the Atlantic City zoning commission that allowed such tightly packed residential construction.
“I need to break a five hundred,” Electra groaned.
“You mean your last five-hundred-dollar bill,” Treasure said.
“I’ve still got five yellows, a blue, a couple greens, three pinks and seven whites,” Electra countered.
“Not for long,” Treasure said.
“Here is your change, Miss Electra.” Ivy’s mobile management terminal that they’d set beside the coffee table accepted Electra’s last orange bill and replaced it with five yellows.
Electra Rex Page 13
