Willful Child: Wrath of Betty

by Steven Erikson

  Hadrian sighed. “Right. Now, Purse, about all those people you purchased … they happen to include Mr. Joebang Wallykrappe, a very wealthy man, so wealthy, in fact, that he owns whole planets across the entire, likely infinite, multiverse. So rich he can—and has—bought entire civilizations.”

  “We Purchased him. We bought out all his assets.”

  “He willingly sold himself?”

  “Past Prime Imperative discounts notion that any Purchased Object possesses self-actualizing potential.”

  “Ah, so where is he now?”

  “Dismantled and sold piecemeal, barring his Anus, which was purchased at auction by the New Amalgamated Union of ILULDS for a Bargain Price of sixty-one cents.”

  “And the fate of this hapless anus?”

  “Now the repository of the Amalgamated Union’s individual, most-personal sacrifice of One Left Thumb Per Person.”

  “His old indentured store employees have all cut off a thumb to shove it up their old boss’s ass?”

  “Correct.”

  “You do realize, Purse, that you have severely damaged the Affiliation’s entire economic system.”

  “Purchased.”

  “You bought us up?”

  “Correct. At the Rock-Bottom Bargain Extravaganza—”

  “Purse, forgive my interruption, please, but since you are now The Purse, and no longer the Bag, nor even the Plog, all these acquisitions are now superfluous to your Prime Imperative.”

  “This is true. The Purse, Captain Hadrian Sawback, is confused.”

  “There are people who you can hire to help unclutter your life, Purse.”

  “Really?”

  “Indeed. Are you interested in a few contacts?”

  “You are True Friend, Captain Hadrian Sawback. Because of you, The Purse shall not Expunge the Galaxy in a Fit of Delirious Liquidation. In fact, we already feel … free!”

  Hadrian raised a hand. “Tammy, if you would, ping a handful of reputable De-Clutter Guru sites over to The Purse, and why not in Business Card format? Ideal for those little plastic sleeves so common to both wallets and purses.”

  “Done,” the chicken replied. “You know, Captain—”

  But Hadrian gestured and then said to The Purse. “You know, something’s just occurred to me, Purse.”

  “Tell The Purse! Please!”

  “There’s these hoarding, well, anti-pirates, called the Falangee. Collectors of knickknacks and used furniture, among other things. I suddenly had a thought about all those old sofas they have in their ships. As inevitable repositories for loose change … well.”

  “The Purse shall find these Falangee at once and insist upon the Minute Examination of their Old Sofas.”

  “Oh, they’d love that, I’m sure.”

  “Excellent. Goodbye, Most Esteemed Friend Hadrian Sawback. And as a gift to you of our appreciation, we confer upon you all the wealth of Dismembered CEO Designation 312.76, otherwise known as Joebang Wallykrappe Unit.”

  “What?”

  “Just kidding. Hah hah. Being Insanely Rich (such as are The Purse) is a terrible, soul-devouring burden. We would never do that to you. But we would like to present you with a commemorative plate.”

  “Oh, why, thank you. Alas, as captain of a Spacefleet vessel, I cannot accept gifts of any sort while engaged in an official capacity.”

  “Too bad,” said the Purse, “since we were actually kidding about not giving you all the wealth once possessed by Dismembered CEO Designation 312.76. Well then, thanks again, Most Esteemed Friend Hadrian Sawback.”

  With a sickly smile, Hadrian said, “No problem.”

  “And know that you are Most Welcome and next time you’re in our Neighborhood … Come on down! The Doors are Open and they’re All Linin’ Up! Coffee, cakes, cookies for Everyone! Free Balloons for the Kids!”

  “Check that, Purse. Until then…”

  The giant transgalactic bag-ship vanished in a swirl of frayed burlap fibers and lint.

  Sin-Dour settled a soft, warm hand on Hadrian’s shoulder. “Once again, sir, you appear to have saved the Affiliation from utter annihilation at the hands of aliens.”

  “Oh that’s easy, 2IC,” Hadrian replied. “The real challenge that we still face is,” and he stood, assuming his most noble but determined expression, “saving the Affiliation from itself.”

  Stentorian music thundered through the bridge.

  “Tammy!”

  * * *

  Sitting at Comms Station, Temporal Agent Klinghanger kept his back to the captain as he surreptitiously pulled out his Hadrian-Specific Timeline Fucking-Up Gauge. The meter was wildly oscillating. Uh-oh, what now?

  “One other thing,” the captain said from the command chair, “get Security up here and arrest the imposter at the Comms Station.”

  Klinghanger spun in his chair, pulling out his Temporal Resetter. “I don’t know anything! I mean, I won’t, when I do this!” Click! Click click click click!

  “Tammy,” inquired Hadrian, “What just happened?”

  “Oh dear,” the AI moaned.

  * * *

  “Let it be understood,” said Captain Hans Olo to his bridge crew, “that my command to hightail it out of there was both prudent and By The Book. Granted, the annihilation of every universe in the Multiverse Continuum would have meant that no distance would suffice to effect our survival. That said, a somewhat smaller explosion was possible.” He paused, adjusted his immaculate uniform. “For the record, my concern over the fate of my ship and crew forced upon me the unprecedented All Burners Emergency Withdrawal.” And he turned to glare at Special Agent Rand Humblenot.

  Who smiled. “Precisely, Captain. Of course, it turned out that Captain Hadrian has somehow saved the universe—every universe—once again. More to the point, we have lost contact with the Willful Child.”

  “Which we shall endeavor to correct at once. Helm, return us to Wallykrappe System. Let’s see if we can pick up their trail. Ion particles, radiation, we’ll scour the area until we find it.”

  “Yes sir!”

  “Number 2!”

  Frank Worship passed out, his head thumping as he fell to the deck.

  “Never mind. I am heading to my stateroom to study … uh, starcharts. Lieutenant Reasonable, you have the con.”

  “Yes sir. I have the con.”

  After the captain had left, Reasonable left the Science Station and took the captain’s chair. She settled into its luxuriant leather padding, glanced down at the supine form of Commander Frank Worship.

  The Helm officer twisted in his chair. “Ma’am, should we call for a Medic?”

  “No need,” Reasonable replied. “He’ll come around shortly, I’m sure.”

  “But—the way his head bounced!”

  “Nothing important was damaged that hasn’t been damaged … what, five times before? Leave him be.”

  “Approaching Wallykrappe System, Ma’am.”

  “Excellent. Sensor sweep as soon as we arrive.”

  The Helm officer sighed. “I can’t believe everything’s sold out! It’s a dead world now, lifeless, empty, nothing but wrappers and cardboard!”

  “Planned on doing some shopping while we were here, Lieutenant Placard?”

  The man turned, rubbing at his hairless pate. “We all were, Ma’am. A commemorative plate, for just $17.99!”

  At the Comms Station, Special Temporal Agent Shattenkrak repeatedly tried to contact his co-agent on the Willful Child, without success. Panic made all his orifices pucker tight, and his breathing turned shallow and rapid. Temporal communication devices employed disjunctive atemporal resonance frequencies on the Infinite Loop Bandwidth—no matter where Klinghanger was, he should be receiving the ping.

  Ping back, you fool! Ping!

  Unless … they’ve gone into the past! Or the future! Or anywhere Not Now! This is an NN Discontinuity Event!

  A hand fell on his shoulder, and he heard Lieutenant Reasonable’s voice right behind him. “Hav
e we met, Comms?”

  Shattenkrak spun in his chair. “No!” he shouted, “and now we never will because I’m going to regress to when I didn’t know anything!” And he held up a device that went click!

  “I see,” said Reasonable. “Rather, I don’t see. Was that supposed to, uh, do something?”

  Shattenkrak scowled. “You’re not the Guidance Counselor! Get your fuckin’ hand off me or I’m calling my parents! I never skipped that class! I was just sitting real low in my desk!” He frowned suddenly and held up the device in his hand.

  Click!

  “I don’t eat liver! Don’t make me eat liver! You’re the worst babysitter ever and I hate you! I’m calling my parents!”

  Click!

  “Can you make bubbles with your farts? I can, wanna see? Sure ya do!”

  “No! Stop that!”

  “I can do whatever I want and you can’t stop me! I’m calling my parents!”

  Click!

  “Mommy! Mommy! Why’d you leave me in the alley? Mummyyyyy!”

  Janice Reasonable studied the comms officer, who was now blowing bubbles with his spit. “Hmm, most curious.” She activated her comms at the command chair. “Doctor Yoga to the bridge please.”

  There was a faint hiss, and then came the reply: “Yoga bridge come now certainly!”

  Reasonable rubbed at her eyes and sighed.

  At the helm, Placard said in a low voice, “Commander, is there something odd about our new doctor?”

  “Well,” drawled Janice, “I don’t know. Odd in what way, assuming you discount that our ship surgeon appears to be a two-foot-tall animatronic robot covered in wrinkly latex? Oh, and with a glitch in its syntax programming?”

  Placard hesitated, and then said, “Discounting all that…” He frowned. “Never mind, ma’am. Apologies for asking.” But after a moment he faced her again. “Ma’am, I’ve heard, well, rumors—”

  Janice’s eyes hardened. “Rumors, Lieutenant?”

  “Uh, yes ma’am. About a secret, uhm, manual. The Sarcasm Manual, ma’am.”

  The commander relaxed into the command chair. “Oh, that. What about it?”

  “Sh-should I, uh, maybe read it? I mean, assuming I can find a copy, that is. If it’s not, well, Classified above my Security Clearance Rating.”

  “Sorry, Lieutenant,” said Janice, “I’m afraid it is. Above your rating. Now, of course, you have something to which to aspire.”

  Placard sagged in his seat.

  “Something wrong, Lieutenant?”

  He muttered something while facing forward once again.

  “I’m sorry,” Janice said, “what was that you said?”

  He rubbed at his pate and then shrugged. “Aspirations, ma’am.”

  “What of them?”

  “I’m a fifty-seven-year-old helm officer with the lofty rank of lieutenant, ma’am.” He smiled sheepishly. “I think I’m done with aspirations.”

  After a long moment, Janice nodded. “Good point. Carry on, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes ma’am, thank you, ma’am.”

  Dr. Yoga arrived, robed and hobbling on a stick.

  Seeing the tiny, wrinkly, green-skinned ghoul, the imposter at Comms burst into tears.

  “Ah!” said Yoga, “Manner bedside intact, yes? Observe all as closer I walk! Mhmmmm?” With that he glided forward, as if on tracks, though the robe of course hid all such details.

  At the helm station, Placard’s frown turned into a scowl. “He’s not real at all! I can hear the treads!”

  “Now now,” murmured Janice, “I’m sure there’s some reasonable explanation. I will bring it up with the captain. Does that satisfy you, Lieutenant Placard? Excellent.”

  “Mmhmmm?” wheedled Yoga. “Explanation satisfy, yes! Booboo someone has? Mhmm?”

  “Your patient,” said Janice, “is the one crying at the Comms Station.”

  “Mhmmm? Mhmmm … mhmmm.” Yoga trundled over.

  The man recoiled, still bawling.

  Yoga began waving his latex hands in front of the imposter. “Mhmm. Mhmm? Mhmm mhmm mhmmm. Mhmmm.”

  “He has no Medical Pentracorder,” hissed Placard.

  “Lieutenant,” came the deep voice of Agent Rand Humblenot, “he is a Medical Pentracorder. A mobile one. You will find such a device replacing all Ship Surgeons in Spacefleet, before too long.” He moved up to stand beside the command chair.

  Janice grunted. “And making it look like a gnome? Oh, I know. Yoga is also a hobby gardener?”

  Rand Humblenot drew off his sunglasses, his optic implants immediately darkening. “The allusion escapes me, Commander. As for this particular model’s latex covering, and its odd way of speaking, alas, that was down to Captain Olo’s specifications.”

  “Hmm,” said Janice.

  Yoga’s head whipped round, rather erratically. “Hmmm? Mhmmm? Mhmm!”

  “Someone shoot it,” Placard whispered. “Please, someone shoot it.”

  FiVE

  The man sitting at the Comms Station was frowning as he studied the small device in his hands. “Something went wrong,” he moaned. “Glitch. Run diagnostic … uh-oh, glitch designated Mondo Holy Fuck You’ve Done it Now.” He looked up. “It was all a mistake!”

  Security arrived in the form of Nina Twice. Hadrian gestured. “Take this imposter to the brig. Oh and search him carefully and confiscate all his equipment.”

  Nina hooked one hand under the imposter’s arm and dragged him off the bridge.

  Hadrian returned to the command chair. “Tammy?”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Sir,” gasped Jocelyn Sticks, “look at Wallykrappe Planet!”

  On the viewscreen, the planet, which had only moments before been a lifeless shade of milky brown over which dusty wisps of cloud scudded in frail threads, was now glittering like diamonds, strewn across every land mass.

  “Hmm,” ventured Hadrian. “Now one wonders, is this deep past or the far future? Because either way, that’s not the Mall Planet we all knew, is it?”

  Sin-Dour, now at the Science Station, said, “Captain, shipboard chronometer indicates that we are a thousand years in the future.” She turned to look at the planet. “Sir, the energy readings from the surface are off the scale.”

  “Hmm again,” said Hadrian.

  At that moment a bright white beam shot up from the planet, bathing the ship in a blinding, actinic glare.

  “Oh crap,” said Tammy.

  “Tractor beam!” shouted Jocelyn Sticks, struggling with the tiny toggle. “We’re, like, trapped!”

  Time suddenly slowed down. Trying to stand, Hadrian fought against a strange force that held him down in the command chair. There was a second flash and a figure displaced onto the bridge, blurry as it moved without restraint to collect Tammy the chicken. It then placed some kind of hood over the chicken’s head, only to remove it again an instant later. Then the figure vanished, and time returned to normal.

  Hadrian leapt upright. “Holy crap!”

  Spark clanked to his side. “Master! Intruder! Here! Gone! Time Dilation Zone imposed, Temporal Bubble deployed!”

  The door hissed open and the stranger from Comms reappeared, sprawled on the floor this time and dragging Nina Twice—also on the floor—as she held onto him by one ankle. The man’s eyes were wild. “Don’t go down there! That planet’s Off-Limits, No-Go-There, Verboten, Run-While-You-Can!”

  Hadrian scowled. “You’re a temporal agent, aren’t you?”

  “Just get us out of here!”

  The chicken was now walking in aimless circles and although there was nothing unusual about that, Hadrian eyes narrowed on the creature. “Tammy?”

  No reply.

  “Sin-Dour, examine the chicken with your Pentracorder, please.”

  She approached the chicken warily, and then held out her Pentracorder. “Captain, the skull of this chicken appears to be completely empty.”

  “Well nothing new there,” Hadrian replied. “Calibrate to detect Neut
ratronic Emissions, including the ship-mainframe.”

  “Yes sir. Uhm … nothing!” She swung to face Hadrian. “Sir, they’ve stolen Tammy’s brain!”

  “Captain,” said Jocelyn Sticks, “the tractor beam’s gone!”

  Hadrian activated the comms switch on the command chair’s arm. “Galk! To the Insisteon Chamber. We’re going down to the planet.” He turned to the robot guard dog. “Spark, keep Sin-Dour company here on the bridge. Buck, you’re with me. Oh, who else? Well, the Doc, I suppose, since you never know, surgery might be required, and the more hands in the mix, why, the better.”

  “Don’t do it!” shrieked the temporal agent.

  Hadrian studied the man lying on the floor. “Have you got a name?”

  “Klinghanger, Walter D. Special Temporal Agent—oh, make her let go of my ankle!”

  “Release him, Nina.”

  “Yes sir.” Nina jumped to her feet. “Sorry sir, he took me by surprise.”

  Klinghanger remained prone. “I think she broke it! I think I’m dying … yes! Starting to fade … fade … oh, the pain, the pain…” He frowned. “The pain’s going away. Gone, in fact. Am I dead? I must be dead!”

  “You’re not dead,” explained Hadrian. “It’s much worse than that. So here we are, trapped in the future thanks to some glitch on that device of yours. Your present, one presumes. Which is why you’re acting as if this planet is not only well known to the Affiliation of your time, it’s also considered dangerous and is therefore quarantined. Correct?”

  The agent sat up. “It was my present, before I went back into the past, which was your present at the time but isn’t now, since you’re in the future, which used to be my present but now it’s my future too. I mean, where I used to live. The point is, you can’t do anything here in this present, which is your future, because if you do then the past changes and so does the future, which might mean that I’m never born and if I’m never born I can’t be sent back into the past, which is your present, in order to make sure you don’t do anything to mess up the future, even if it was already in the past for me, though not when I was on your ship, of course, since that was both our present—”