The Garbage Chronicles

by Brian Herbert

  “Dimensional Tunnels,” Wizzy said, glowing red as he searched his memory banks. “Also known as warples. Synthetic in nature. They crisscross the universe invisibly, permitting rapid travel between certain planets.”

  Prince Pineapple lifted his eyebrows in astonishment. A most peculiar device, this Wizzy. Then: “I need Cork’s scroll,” he said. “Do you suppose you might help me?”

  “I would like to help you. I could check in on Captain Tom afterward, I suppose.”

  “Then row with me to the center of Sacred Pond. Help me pop the magician’s bubble.”

  “That may not be so easy.”

  “We must go tonight. Already the other advisers are whispering against me.”

  “Do you know of anyone else who has tried to pop this bubble? Have you tried?”

  “King Corker has blocked all attempts. He requires so much paperwork that no one has been able to obtain permission. I’m sure he wants the scroll for himself.”

  “I see.” Wizzy settled back on the doily.

  “Legend has it that the bubble can be popped only at night. And only with a dull instrument.”

  “Do you think the king has tried?”

  “Of course. He would like to replace Lord Abercrombie. But I say we don’t need a lord. Cork is a very ancient planet. According to legend, nutrients flowed from the soil before any lord appeared. That means they will continue to flow after the lord is gone.”

  “You want to throw Abercrombie out?”

  “Yes, and then seal the entrance to his chamber, preventing anyone from getting in again.”

  Wizzy glowed red. “You might seal the chamber from the surface,” he said. “But you can never seal the other side, the Dimensional Tunnel side.”

  “That is true. But at least I would accomplish Something.”

  Wizzy flickered. “I’m losing my data base,” he said. “Do you know how to get in?”

  “No,” Prince Pineapple looked away. A saying of unknown origin wafted across his consciousness: “When you see what it is all about, there will be nothing left to do except to have a good laugh.” The thought puzzled him.

  “Why do you expect to succeed when the king has failed?”

  “It is only a feeling I have. That I am chosen, I suppose. Undoubtedly this is a common enough thought. But I must try anyway.”

  “And if you fail?”

  “I will defect. This very night. Brother Carrot’s Vegetable Underground could learn much from me. I hear he treats some Fruits rather well. I know all about Corker defenses.”

  “You have a boat to cross this pond?”

  “Of course. Quite a sturdy little craft.”

  “I just thought of something. It’s a rainy night. That’s not a good time to venture out.”

  “But I have no choice. King Corker will order me into oblivion soon. Perhaps tomorrow.”

  “I do have certain magical powers,” Wizzy said. “Though rather limited and unperfected. I could perish if I ever became very wet.”

  “Then stay in the apartment. It is yours. I have no further need of it.”

  “If I went with you, could you promise to keep me dry?”

  “I would try. I could wrap you in plastic and keep you under my coat.”

  “But in a boat,” Wizzy said, having second thoughts. He heard the wind and looked at the rain slanting against the window. “On a stormy night.”

  Prince Pineapple placed his palms on the couch, preparing to rise. “I should go,” he said. “Make up your mind.”

  “We are alike, you and I,” Wizzy said. “Controlled by others, sent off in circles to do inane things . . . as if we had no brains or wills of our own.”

  “Yes!” Prince Pineapple exclaimed, smiling as he locked gazes with Wizzy’s cat’s eye. “That’s exactly right. Let’s do this together. It will be a marvelous adventure.”

  “But some things confuse me,” Wizzy said. “According to Papa Sidney, I’m supposed to help Captain Tom correct the damage caused by the evil anti-jobs criminal, Abercrombie. But Papa was hurt by Job Support. They sent him to a therapy orbiter because that sustained more jobs than rehabilitation. Shouldn’t my Papa have opposed Job Support? It hurt him terribly. Why did he continue to love the AmFed Way? Will I ever understand why?”

  “That does sound peculiar,” Prince Pineapple said. He settled back on the couch for a moment.

  “Maybe Papa isn’t so bright.”

  “But he has deep feelings. A wonderful sense of devotion. I can tell that from listening to you. He loves Earth and you.”

  “And he loves that idiot Captain Tom!” Wizzy exclaimed. “This love . . . You can help me to understand it?”

  “Love is not something I can explain. It is something which comes over you, causing you to do strange things.”

  “Papa said that too.”

  “It is not a reasoning thing.”

  “Then how am I to know it?”

  “It will affect you when you least expect it.”

  “I’m so confused.”

  “I felt love once,” Prince Pineapple said. “For a lush young pineapple girl.” He sighed. “But that was long ago. So very long ago.”

  Wizzy recalled the words of his papa just before dropping Wizzy to Earth: “You must learn to control your emotions, but do not become callous in the process. Retain some vulnerability. This is perhaps the most important part of being alive.”

  Prince Pineapple moved across the room. He flipped on a lamp. The room’s darkness retreated, hiding in safe corners and under furniture. “I suppose I can wait a while longer,” he said. “It can’t get any worse outside.”

  A tree rubbed against the side of the building, followed by the crack of a branch. The branch thumped as it fell to the roof.

  Wizzy alighted on the pineapple prince’s shoulder. They went together to the couch. “I want to learn everything in the universe!” Wizzy exclaimed. “I want to experience everything in the universe!”

  Prince Pineapple laughed as he made himself comfortable on the couch. “And Iwould settle for the knowledge of Cork.”

  “Maybe all the universe’s secrets are here,” Wizzy said, surprising himself with the statement. “Your goal and my goal may take us to the very same place.”

  “What do you mean?” Prince Pineapple asked, watching rain batter the bay window.

  Wizzy shifted on the prince’s shoulder. “I don’t know,” he said. “The words came out before I had a chance to think about them.”

  “You asked about love,” Prince Pineapple said.

  “I want to understand all my emotions,” Wizzy said. “They seem to exert a great deal of control over me.” His tone became excited. “Maybe that’s what the words meant. Understanding my feelings may be a universal thing. I may not need to look elsewhere.” The words floated across Wizzy’s consciousness as if spoken by someone else.

  “Could be. Be cautious of what you seek, however. Certain things are better left undiscovered.”

  “Such as?

  “Sadness. You won’t want any of that. It’s such a tragic thing. You don’t want the death of a loved one, or loneliness.” Prince Pineapple recalled his lost love. “These are not good feelings.”

  “I want them anyway.”

  “I don’t think so.” Prince Pineapple stroked Wizzy’s back gently.

  “But how will I ever know unless I try them?”

  “Take my word for it. That should be enough.”

  Wizzy thought about this while wind-driven rain beat against the outside of the building.

  They talked for hours like this, a pineapple prince conversing with a lump of stone on his shoulder. When the cracked plastic clock over the fireplace struck three, Prince Pineapple said they had to go.

  “There is a break in the rain,” the prince said. “We must hurry. It may not last.”

  As Prince Pineapple covered Wizzy with plastic wrap, Wizzy thought: Plastic Is Fantastic. The thought came to him involuntarily, a mantra from his father’
s life. “Don’t wrap it too tightly,” Wizzy said. “I need to breathe, yon know.”

  It occurred to Wizzy that he had not actually agreed to accompany Prince Pineapple in pursuit of the Sacred Scroll. Not in so many words. Nevertheless, the decision had been made.

  With guards approaching him from each end of the road, Javik’s choices were limited. He dashed across the road into the woods, stumbling in darkness as the woods tangled him. Branches scratched his arms and face. Roots hooked his feet, sending him crashing to the ground. He closed his eyes and plunged forward, not knowing or caring where he was going. Just as long as he escaped.

  Angry voices followed, calling out warnings and Corker curses. “You will starve, Earthian! Earthians need Earthians!”

  “Death awaits you out there!”

  “May the Lord God Abercrombie swallow you whole!”

  This imprecation stuck in Javik’s brain. Abercrombie’s a god here? he thought. Truly? He pressed on, with more than a few misgivings.

  Gradually the voices receded into the abyss of darkness in his wake. He slowed to a walk, holding his hands out in front of his face to warn of impending obstacles. A root caught his foot, but he pulled free without falling. Shallow scratches stung his face and arms. A shinbone throbbed. Pausing to reach down, he felt a flap of skin there. The pants were torn and wet with blood. It was not raining, but the waterlogged trees overhead dripped overflow on the back of his neck.

  The ground was spongy here. He walked across stretches of clearing that lulled him into false security. Without warning, a branch would slap him rudely, or a root that apparently had life of its own would attempt to throw him down.

  He could see very little, but had the impression that everything was purple: the trees, the ground, the air. Even the sky. He looked up often, occasionally catching a glimpse of a tiny star way out yonder twinkling faintly against a purple universe. He wondered if the color sensation was only in his mind, if it had something to do with the throbbing of his leg.

  Javik felt sleepy. His footsteps grew labored. A hunger pang knawed at his stomach. He envisioned millions of grenache purple Corkers jumping over a fence of exaggerated height. Slowly and gracefully their chubby bodies floated in the stratosphere to clear the fence. He yawned.

  I’ve got to stop somewhere, he thought. Sleep. I need sleep.

  But a misty rain pelted his face, appearing suddenly like a cold slap. Now Javik was really miserable. He could not lie down in the rain. If only he could find an overhanging rock or log for shelter.

  A branch scratched across his face. He cursed. His cheeks and forehead burned.

  Pushing another countless branch out of the way, he stepped up a little incline, unable to see anything but a great wash of purple across his brain. The ground changed. It became smoother underfoot, like compact dirt instead of the mottled forest floor. The misty rain had become a hard drizzle. He rubbed his eyes.

  Off to the right and left, he saw flickering yellow lights. They didn’t look like Corker lanterns. More like trail lights. He was on a trail.

  “Which way?” he asked. These words were the first spoken in quite a while, and seemed to rush out of his stomach like bad food. He tasted acid. Javik had lost his bearings, with no idea which way to turn. It occurred to him that a Decision Coin would be handy. This was no time to have to think. He wanted to lie down.

  A mixture of euphoria and fear struck him at finding the trail. What if he turned the wrong way and it led him back to the Corkers? What if both ways led to the Corkers?

  Following his instincts, he turned right. Presently he walked under the yellow light of a giraffe-necked trail light. Beyond that he passed into purple blackness, with another speck of yellow light visible in the distance ahead. Soon he was past this lamp and in purple blackness again. This pattern continued until he reached an illuminated clearing.

  The clearing seemed to be illuminated by a glow from the sky. The sky here was not purple. It was luminescent and pale white, far less intense than daylight. The faint shadow of his body stretched across tall grass on the ground.

  The clearing grew lighter, and Javik began to distinguish terrain colors: pale green grass stalks dotted with tall-stemmed white flowers that had bright red centers. A powerful gust of wind shoved the flowers over in unison, like rows of cheerleaders. The rain stopped.

  A blinding flash of green light filled the sky. Javik slammed his eyes shut. They ached. He felt his pulse quicken. The wind blew harder and louder, nearly toppling him.

  Then the noise, wind, and light subsided, allowing Javik to open his eyes narrowly. High in the sky, an emerald green fireball veered heavenward, trailing three misty golden plumes. The plumes changed to silver.

  Javik gasped. “A comet!” he husked, feeling the words rasp like sandpaper against his throat.

  The Great Comet flashed high over Javik’s head, staying so far away that he could keep his eyes open narrowly.

  He smelted sulfur, reminding him of the terrible fire the year before on the therapy orbiter of St. Elba. He thought of Sidney Malloy.

  The comet circled and repeated its maneuver. This time Javik noticed it was heading in a ten o’clock direction from the way he was facing.

  A sign? he thought. It went the same direction twice.

  The comet hovered overhead now, just low enough to illuminate the clearing.

  Javik ran across the clearing in the direction the comet seemed to have indicated. Reaching the woods, he found an unlighted trail. As he walked briskly along the trail, he found that it had trail lights but they weren’t operating. The pine tree tops made eerie profiles against green light from the sky.

  The light moved with Javik, keeping his way dimly lit.

  Feeling a rush of strength and excitement, he broke into a full run. Presently, Javik reached another clearing. The comet was still high overhead, hovering there like an emerald green personal sun.

  Squinting to look into the Great Comet’s brightness, Javik thought he saw the faint outline of a round face in the nucleus. The outline was gray, like that of a light charcoal sketch. Then it gained definition. It was a distantly familiar face. Javik was not certain. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. He closed his eyes.

  “Sid!” he yelled before opening his eyes. The realization hit him like a Bu-Tech thunderbolt. “Sid! Sid Malloy!” His eyelids snapped open as if memo-controlled.

  Javik ran out in the clearing with his hands stretched to the heavens. Beyond the face in the comet, the stars seemed to burn brighter now, like reflected bits of silver on a black velvet cloth.

  The face in the nucleus smiled, exposing a row of bright white teeth. It gave Javik the impression of an epic scale videodome toothpaste commercial. He didn’t wonder how a comet could have teeth. He accepted it. This was not a moment to question such things.

  As Javik stood in awe with his face turned to the eerie light above, he thought of Wizzy. He spoke truth to me, Javik thought. Everything Wizzy said was true!

  “Sid!” Javik yelled. “Speak to me, Sid!”

  There was no response. The gray lines of the face became black, and the face took on a kindly, cherubic-cheeked expression.

  “Skywrite something!” Javik pleaded. “Like you did over Earth! Come on, Sid! Say something to me!”

  The Great Comet moved laterally. Javik ran to follow it. He reached the crest of a little hill, giving him a view of the entire clearing. He saw a wide path framed with AmFed garbage cannisters. Several hundred meters from that, a familiar profile jutted into the air.

  “My ship!” he said. ‘The Amanda Marie!”

  Javik watched the comet. It became bright orange, from its flaming nucleus to the tip of its misty tail. The face remained visible in the nucleus, but it was less defined now, a faint circle of cadmium yellow. The comet rose gracefully, then dipped like a hawk diving for its prey.

  My God, Javik thought. So this is where Sid went. He shielded his eyes from the light. The backs of his hands became warm as the
comet neared. Then they grew cooler and the light receded.

  Through his fingers, Javik saw the Great Comet hovering high overhead, still orange but with a scolding expression on its face

  “Sid!” Javik yelled. “What’s the matter, Sid?”

  The face faded. The comet rose steeply in the sky, blowing a great wind across the clearing. It took a lateral course now, moving close to the horizon of the planet. The clearing grew darker.

  Javik shivered.

  Soon the comet was a distant speck. Then it dropped out of sight below the horizon. For several moments, glowing orange particles from its tail remained in the sky. They sparkled like the dying embers of a fireworks rocket. Then it was dark. Purple dark.

  Wizzy was at the window of Prince Pineapple’s apartment. “There!” he exclaimed. “Did you see the comet? Going away fast?”

  “That was your papa?” Prince Pineapple asked, pressing his face against the glassplex. “I can hardly believe it!”

  The Great Comet became a speck of orange light, then disappeared below the horizon.

  Minutes later, Prince Pineapple ran into the Stygian blackness outside, carrying Wizzy under his coat against his belly. Although Wizzy was loosely wrapped in plastic, the prince leaned forward as an extra measure to keep rain from hitting him. In his haste, Prince Pineapple nearly slipped and fell.

  “Careful!” Wizzy squealed as he was jiggled about. “I could fall and roll into the pond!”

  A trail light at Sacred Pond’s edge provided enough illumination for the prince to locate a shelter for Wizzy. Selecting a thick shrub next to the path, he leaned over and placed Wizzy under it.

  A cool, wet breeze blew across Prince Pineapple’s face as he straightened and surveyed the area. Curls of fog shifted on the surface of the water. He felt the wind shift on his face and saw the change in the curls of fog. Water lapped against the shore. The rain’s holding back, he thought. Maybe luck will be with me,

  He stepped off the path into shadows, clearing brush away where he had hidden the pram. It was a small craft, but rather heavy for its size. He dragged it to the shore, then returned for the oars.