“Were you listening in, then?”
“What? No sir.”
“So, a different problem. Tell you what, let’s make a list since things are always easier when you’ve got a list. You start.”
“No krill, sir,” Sin-Dour replied.
Printlip said, “This water is a toxic soup, Captain.” Eyes and arms waved about. “Rife with carcinogens, volatiles, heavy metals—”
“Whoah! All right all right! Doc, what happened there?”
“Outrage, sir! Outrage! I am aghast! Appalled! Repelled! This sea is also full of plastic molecules … and discarded detritus and small filter-like objects packed full of horrible byproducts—”
“Oh, cigarette butts.”
“No, tampons!”
“And cigarette butts.”
“Yes, those too! Your species should never have been allowed off this planet until they cleaned it up first!”
“Like a messy room, and you sternly waving your finger.”
“Yes!”
“Then we’re in agreement, Doc!” Hadrian said, slapping the Belkri on what he hoped was its back. “Blame the Benefactors, dumping on us all those spaceships, which inadvertently allowed our species to remain eternally stuck in protracted adolescence.”
“We need to look elsewhere,” suggested Sin-Dour.
“Right, but let me first add to the list. Lorrin Tighe is now here, hunting me.”
“I told you!” Tammy laughed, doing a little dance on the dock. “And you thought you were winning her over! Hah hah!” the chicken crowed.
“And an unknown Temporal Vessel has arrived in the system.”
“Oh crap,” said Tammy.
“And Spark is in a depressed funk, leaving Lieutenant Sticks in command of the Willful Child.”
Buck lurched forward and grasped Hadrian by the front of his shirt. His eyes were wild. “We’re going to be trapped here for the rest of our lives! Trapped! On a tiny little planet filled with well-armed maniacs!”
“Who drive giant metal cigarettes!” Printlip added, arms waving about. “With babies inside!”
Hadrian pried loose Buck’s hands. “Look at this, Buck, you ripped my shirt.”
Buck stared at the small tear, then howled in grief before flinging himself over the dock and plunging down to the water, which he struck with a great splash, before vanishing beneath the swirling foam.
“I’ll get him, sir,” said Nina Twice.
“Allow me,” Beta cut in. “I am sealed against the incursion of toxins, hydrocarbon waste products, and solvents. And, having no body hair, I am also immune to crab infestation.”
Printlip offered Beta a small pump-gun. “Inject this Quatro-Ox into Buck. This will keep his brain alive. If necessary, we can repair his water-filled lungs later through a prolonged and painful complete transplant.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Beta replied, before stepping over the edge of the dock and plummeting. She vanished with barely a splash, leaving only a few bubbles.
“Hmm,” said Hadrian, looking down. “Do we know how heavy Beta is?”
“Two thousand three hundred and fifteen pounds,” Tammy replied.
Hadrian’s comms beeped. He activated it. “Hadrian here.”
Beta’s muted voice replied, “Hello, Captain. This is Beta. It appears I do not know how to swim. Fortunately, I have found the Chief Engineer, administered the Quatro-Ox, and am carrying him to the shore in the company of gelatinous aliens.”
“Those would be jellyfish,” explained Hadrian.
“No, gelatinous aliens, on a sightseeing tour. While the jellyfish tolerate the tourists, it is also clear that they don’t like them. A classic case, sir, of Low World Exploitation of Indigenous Populations.”
“Thanks for that, Beta. Let us know when you’re back on dry land.”
“Sir,” said Sin-Dour. “Those approaching sirens are associated with the Local Law Enforcers. We may have been spotted.”
“We need somewhere to hide,” Hadrian said, looking around. Then he pointed. “That line of people, there, by those booths.”
“Ah, the Comicon,” said Sin-Dour, nodding.
“I’m sure we’ll blend in just fine,” said Hadrian, collecting one of Printlip’s hands. “Everyone, follow me!”
As he hurried along, he activated his comms again. “Beta? Meet us at the Comicon!”
“Very well, sir, I shall cease my efforts at unionizing the jellyfish.” Beta paused, then added, “They are clearly disappointed.”
As they neared the closest line of people, someone pointed at them and said, “Hey look! It’s Mr. Pine’s Stand-in!”
The line became a mob and the mob rushed toward them.
“Defensive cordon!” Hadrian commanded. Nina Twice leapt out in front, assuming a combat stance. Sin-Dour moved to the right, Galk to the left. Hadrian pushed Printlip behind him and made fists. “Nina! Give me room for a flying drop kick!”
At the last moment, someone wearing florescent badges pushed in between the two groups, halting the mob in its tracks. “Back off, all of you, or he’s never coming back!”
The mob recoiled in sudden horror.
The official then stepped close, “Sorry sir,” he hissed to Hadrian. “We didn’t know you were coming! Listen! We had a last-minute cancellation and I’ve got a huge room full of restless fans—would you step in? Oh! Hah hah! I just asked the Stand-in to stand in! Hah hah oh cripes I’m funny sometimes. Will you? Please?”
“Well of course,” Hadrian replied with a bright smile. “Lead the way for me and my, uh, entourage.”
“Follow me! Follow me! Follow me!” And so saying he ushered Hadrian and the landing party forward, through the press of gawking people, toward a doorway guarded by two large men, one of whom quickly unlocked the door and swung it wide.
They plunged into the confines of the building, hurrying down corridors, up corridors, across corridors.
Sin-Dour moved up alongside Hadrian. “Sir,” she whispered, “according my Pentracorder, a stand-in is a—”
“Oh I know what a stand-in is, 2IC,” Hadrian murmured. “In fact, I’m well versed in this time period, as I mentioned earlier. Don’t worry, I can pull this off with no one the wiser.”
“Even so, sir, I think I should remain at your side, connected to the online resources at our disposal, in case you’re handed a question you can’t answer.”
“Very well,” Hadrian said. “But I assure you, my knowledge is extensive.”
“Who is Mr. Pine?”
“No idea.”
The official led them into a gloomy room with a curtained passage at the far end. “Okay,” he said breathlessly, “we’re here, and can you hear them? They’re waiting. I know they were expecting Ms. Ryan, so—no offense—they might get a bit snarly.” He then glanced down at Printlip and suddenly brightened. “But the roboball is awesome!” He nodded at the Pentracorder in Sin-Dour’s hands. “Is that the controller? Cool. So, is this all a sneak preview of the next film? Those black-on-black—wait, it’s a mirror universe! With a chicken! Oh man, that’s the shit, you know? I mean, a future earth ruled by backstabbing fascists, holy cripes!” He shivered.
“Funny you should say that,” Galk muttered. “By the way, is the Anusian contact official yet?”
“What?”
“Enough of that, Galk,” said Hadrian.
The Combat Specialist shrugged. “Just reminding you, sir, that I haven’t forgotten.”
“All in good time,” Hadrian replied. He adjusted his shirt and smiled again at the official. “We’re ready.”
“Okay, let me go up there first and make the announcement. By the way, what’s your name?”
“Does it matter? I’m the Stand-in.”
“Hmm, good point. Okay, give me a couple minutes.” And off he went.
“I’m not sure this is such a good idea, sir,” said Sin-Dour.
“Nonsense!” Hadrian replied. “We’ve faced down drooling aliens in giant warships, drooli
ng temporal agents, giant drooling insectoid aliens … hmm, that’s a lot of drooling, isn’t it? Never mind. The point is, what we have here is nothing more than a few hundred fans who paid big bucks to see bit players from various televideo productions they all watched on their wristwatches.” He paused, and then turned to Galk. “Keep your weapon cocked, just to be on the safe side.”
The crowd in the auditorium collectively groaned, with one or two shrieks of despair added into the mix.
“It seems Ms. Ryan is very popular,” Sin-Dour commented.
There was then an unruly growl, followed by a smattering of applause, and a moment later the official reappeared, frantically waving Hadrian forward.
“This is it,” Hadrian said, turning back to his landing party as he began ascending the steps. “Stay close and try looking famous.”
He emerged to faint, desultory applause that quickly died as he made his way to the podium.
As Hadrian was about to speak into the antiquated fixed microphone, someone shouted, “That’s the wrong uniform!”
“I’m sorry, what—”
“What kind of alien is that supposed to be!” sneered another.
“Leave this to me,” said Tammy, stepping in front of the podium. The chicken spread its wings. “Mindless escapism rots your brain! Listen to me! Your world is falling apart, and what are any of you doing about it?”
“Animatronic?”
“Hologram!”
“Holofowl!”
“Robot!”
“Talking chicken!”
“Someone throw something at it—see if it fizzes!”
“Flickers.”
“Right, flickers. And fizzes.”
“It wouldn’t fizz, doofus. It’d flicker.”
“You mean like the dim bulb in your skull, buddy?”
“Yeah right, Mr. Fizz!”
A very tall figure in a tawny fur suit, replete with a latex mask, suddenly rose and made an inarticulate bellowing sound.
“What’s he doing here?” someone snarled.
“I stopped using Styrofoam cups,” said a man in the front row.
Tammy pointed a wing at him. “And you think that’s enough?”
“Well, what else am I supposed to do?”
“Tear down modern civilization, that’s what!”
“It’s a revolutionary chicken!”
“No, a rotisserie chicken, hah hah hah!”
“I kicked in a hotel room door, once.”
“Oh,” sighed Tammy, “what’s the point? I mean—”
“That beach-ball alien—what film was that in?”
Sin-Dour leaned close to Hadrian, her eyes darting as she scanned her Pentracorder. “Sir,” she whispered, “I’m accessing a list of obscure classic films … just a moment, ah, this one,” and she showed the holoscreen to Hadrian.
Raising his hands to silence the crowd, Hadrian then smiled. “Why, this beach-ball alien is from a classic film, and frankly, I’m astonished that none of you recognize it. The film, of course, is Gone with the Wind.”
Suddenly a thousand small handheld computers lit up the gloom of the auditorium as people accessed various online reference libraries.
Hadrian spoke to Sin-Dour through his smile. “Are you hacking the digital recordings of that film, 2IC? I certainly hope you are.”
She worked frantically. “Just programming a visual search and replace, sir. Printlip’s fictional name in the film is now Scarlet O’Hara … there, done!” She showed him a screenshot of the film’s poster, showing Printlip in the arms of a debonair, heroic-looking man. Hadrian winced. “Just the poster?” he asked.
“No sir, every digital recording presently available.”
“Good work, 2IC.”
Sin-Dour stepped back, patting the sweat on her brow.
“Holy shit!” someone said in the crowd. “He’s right! And here I thought that was some stupid civil war movie! Instead, it’s like, like, the original Star Wars!”
At that faces swung to the person, hostility ramping up.
“Everyone!” Hadrian said, his voice booming through the speakers. “How about a hand for Scarlet O’Hara from Gone with the Wind!”
Printlip stepped up, lifting all its hands, and then, as the applause started up, he said through his anus, “Yes! Gone Is My Wind! Thank you, thank you!”
The applause abruptly died.
Printlip’s many eyes darted about. And then the doctor drew out a Subdural Diffusionator. “I have LSD.”
The crowd leapt to its feet, rushing toward the stage.
Burly red-shirted guards of some sort stormed in from the wings, flinging the mob back. Galk had drawn his Concatenator. “Sir!” He pointed toward the far end of the auditorium.
Hadrian squinted. “Oh crap.”
Lorrin Tighe stood in the central aisle, struggling to tear the blue vinyl strip away from her fully primed Spazcorps Mark IV Limb-Rend-A-Nater.
Galk aimed the Concatenator and then frowned. “Why am I aiming?”
“Just fire the damned thing!” Hadrian shouted as he and the rest in his landing party quickly stoppered their ears.
The shrill blast sent a shuddering ripple through the maddened crowd, before dropping everyone to the floor in writhing heaps.
Barring Lorrin Tighe, who laughed as she marched down the aisle. “That’s right! Earplugs! Don’t move, Captain! The rest of you, clear out—I’ve got nothing against any of you. In fact, Commander Sin-Dour, you can take over command of the Willful Child, with my official approval. But right now, it’s execution time! Captain! Ready to get torn limb from limb?”
“Well, no, who can ever be ready for something like that, Adjutant?”
Tighe halted and took aim.
Nina Twice leapt in front of Hadrian. “Stand down, Adjutant!”
“Oh, just get out of the way. Or die with your captain. I don’t care which.”
Hadrian tugged his security officer to one side. “Take cover, Lieutenant, and that’s an order.”
“How considerate of you, Captain,” Tighe said.
“Is that it?” Hadrian asked. “No speech?”
“You want a speech? Fine! The Affiliation needs to be in control—”
“Well there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.”
“Order! Stability! Everyone knowing their place! No one ever stepping out of line. We all march in step! There are enemies everywhere!”
Half a dozen Starship Troopers crowded in behind her. “Yeah!” one said muffily through his mask, “what she said!”
“Oh,” said Hadrian, “you’d be the Serious Starship Troopers, right?”
Tighe said, “The only freedom worthy of the word is the kind that’s backed by a blaster and the willingness to shoot everything in sight. But you, Captain, you and those stupid shirts, you had to buck the system. You’re seditious! Subversive! Disrespectful, contemptuous of authority! Dismissive—”
At that moment the Spazcorps Mark IV Limb-Rend-A-Nater vanished from her grip, displaced back to the Willful Child. Tighe stared down at her empty hands. “Aw, fuck, not again.” Then she swung round to her troop. “Get them!”
The half-dozen troopers thumped forward.
Nina Twice raced to meet them.
Seeing her charging up the aisle, the Troopers flung away their fake weapons, spun and fled, pushing Tighe to one side as they made their escape.
Nine Twice slowed. Walking up to Tighe, she said, “I’m afraid you’re under arrest, Adjutant.”
Hadrian stepped round the podium. “Hold off on all that ‘under arrest’ stuff for the moment, Lieutenant. Adjutant, will you come along quietly?”
Tighe slumped. “Sure, why not. I’ll get another chance, sooner or later.”
“Positive thinking! I like that. Now,” and he paused to look around, “before these people come to, we should make our exit. Two tasks await us. Finding Beta and Buck, and, of course, acquiring some krill not yet crushed into pill form.”
Tigh
e meekly accompanied Nina Twice to the stage.
The event official had reappeared, staring in dismay at the now motionless mass of fans. “Did you kill them?” he asked in horror.
“Not at all,” Hadrian replied, “I just gave them my best Hollywood smile.”
“They all swooned?”
“Precisely. Happens all the time, and now, if you’ll excuse me a moment, a colleague needs comforting.” He walked up to Tighe, who had just arrived, and wrapped his arms around her. “There there,” he murmured.
She twisted from his embrace. “And stop hugging me!”
“Don’t you secretly adore me?” Hadrian asked.
“No!”
“Oh dear, I’ve lost my touch.”
“You never had it!”
“My speech was a flop,” muttered Tammy, pacing in circles. “I don’t get it, I really don’t. Weren’t these people the fringe element of modern society?”
“Not anymore,” said Hadrian. “They’re now mainstream, Tammy. On the verge of being co-opted, bought up, eternally trapped into a new conformity of weirdness. That’s right, a terrible fate of crass commercialism awaits them, and there’s not a thing we can do about it.” He turned to the official. “We’ve got to go now. Scheduling and all that. Interviews, poo-casts, FatBook, Twit-Feed, the works. It never ends.” He shook the man’s limp hand.
As they returned to the endless corridors, Hadrian said, “Sin-Dour, get a fix on Beta’s emissions—they’re bound to be unique.”
“Got the signature, sir. The android is in the main lobby, possibly directly ahead—” and she pointed at a door that said: MAIN LOBBY.
Hadrian gave her a long, careful look, then slowly said, “Good work, 2IC. How do you do it?”
She blinked at him. “Do what, sir?”
He sighed. “Never mind. Let’s go!”
They found Beta standing in the center of the lobby, festooned with charging handheld electronic devices and surrounded by a ring of waiting conventioneers. Buck stood nearby, counting green pieces of paper.
When Hadrian made his way through the ring of people, Buck glanced up and said, “Captain! Look, souvenirs!”
“That’s money, Buck. Old form of credits.”
Willful Child: Wrath of Betty Page 21
