But he recalled Javik referring to him as useless. This haunted him. Without further ado, Wizzy streaked toward Rebo.
“Look!” Namaba said, pointing at the ball of light speeding across the surface of Bottomless Bog. “It’s Wizzy!”
Javik stood motionless, watching.
Wizzy made a soft landing on top of Rebo’s head, which was the only dry spot he could see. “Stay calm,” Wizzy said. “I’ll try dragging you to shore.”
Wizzy used magic suction to grab hold of Rebo’s fur. “This may hurt a little,” he said, tugging at the fur on top of Rebo’s head.
“That’s all right,” Rebo said, grimacing from the pain. “Go ahead.”
Wizzy pulled hard. Rebo began to move through the muck, but thick patches of dead plant life in the water made the going difficult.
“He’s doing it!” Namaba said.
“Good going, Wizzy!” Javik yelled.
But Rebo thrashed his arms and forepaw, splashing slimy water all over Wizzy. This sapped the little comet’s energy in a matter of seconds. Soon he could not glow orange-hot to dry himself and could not pull any more.
Javik mentoed the Tasnard rope and it plopped in the water, just short of Rebo. “Try to reach it!” Javik yelled.
Rebo thrashed more now, trying to reach the rope. This covered poor Wizzy with more water.
“I can’t . . . hold on!” Wizzy screamed. He let go of the fur on Rebo’s head and rolled down Rebo’s neck into the water. He sank out of sight.
Rebo managed to grab hold of the rope. It was slippery with slime, so he wrapped it around one arm. “I’ve got it!” he said.
Javik mentoed the Tasnard mechanism, ordering it to bring Rebo in. But it only responded weakly, not enough to move the big Moravian. “Too much goo on it,” Javik said. “Help me pull.”
Prince Pineapple, Namaba, and Javik pulled the line in. Moments later, Rebo crawled ashore. On his knees in soft ground and gasping for breath, Rebo looked up at Javik gratefully. “I am your servant now,” Rebo said. “Moravian honor dictates it.”
“Wizzy!” Prince Pineapple bellowed, looking out on Bottomless Bog. “Wizzy!”
Thinking about what Rebo had said, Javik unwrapped the Tasnard rope from him and mentoed it to locate Wizzy. The tip of the rope flew lethargically out to the place where Wizzy had disappeared and sank in the bog. Javik felt it go limp in his hands. Slowly he pulled the rope back. Wizzy was not attached to it. Javik repeated this procedure a number of times. It became apparent that the effort was useless.
“Wizzy’s gone,” Prince Pineapple said. “The water . . . ” His voice trailed off in sadness.
“I know,” Javik said. He felt disheartened too, and this surprised him. He wished Wizzy would pop out of the water and say something annoying. In his mind’s eye, Javik saw Wizzy again in the treetops, chasing streaks of sunlight. And he recalled their angry words. This had occurred only hours before.
Javik turned his back on Bottomless Bog. Ahead stretched a gentle flowered upslope, with jagged white cliffs in the distance. The shadows of approaching night stabbed across the cliff faces.
He heard a rustling noise at his side. Then he felt Namaba’s hand in his. She squeezed him reassuringly. “I love you,” she said.
CHAPTER 13
When you see what it is all about, there will be nothing left to do except to have a good laugh.
Quotation from Judao-Buddhic novel (22nd Century Earth)
Wizzy tumbled through murky green water that was faintly illuminated by daylight above. After several seconds in the water, he became aware of the fact that he was not lung breathing any longer, having discarded that antiquated system of oxygenation in favor of a higher physical state. His papa had told him this would happen. Wizzy was not sure when the transition had occurred, but knew it was a good sign. It meant he was becoming more like Papa Sidney every day. But this was only a tiny bit of cheer in Wizzy’s great chasm of gloom.
The daylight overhead dimmed as he dropped deeper into Bottomless Bog. The water grew cooler. Most of Wizzy’s. strength was gone now, having dissipated soon after the water completely enveloped him. He knew there was no fighting back. He might as well conserve his remaining energy.
But for what? he thought.
A net of vegetation on the bog lake’s false bottom supported him for a second. Then it tore away, and Wizzy resumed his descent.
Wizzy closed his cat’s eye, with the dim hope that this might conserve a small bit of strength that would be useful later. But he knew the bog was too deep. Even with that extra dab of energy, it was foolishness to imagine ever pulling himself out.
The water became pitch black now. He despaired. Wizzy felt the entire universe crushing in around him, forcing him down and pressing him into a deep, permanent sleep.
I’m only seven days old, he thought. It isn’t fair.
Wizzy wondered if he would become a simple, ordinary rock, undistinguishable from any other. Or would he retain his precious consciousness? He knew most if not all of his remaining strength would dissipate in the continued exposure to water. But how fast would it occur? Would it be only seconds from now? Was this his final thought? Perhaps he would become a storehouse of cosmic information, keeping all the data he had accumulated as a growing comet and adding to that all the information from sitting on the bottom of a bog for millions of years. A multitude of questions raced across his brain as he tumbled deeper into Bottomless Bog.
It occurred to him now that the bog might really have no bottom, as its name suggested. Perhaps he would tumble forever, with unanswered thoughts such as these continually cropping up.
It has to have a bottom, he thought. This is a planet. The bog can’t be deeper than . . . but it is a magical planet.
His thoughts warped now, reaching beyond the limit of his young brain’s capacity. He pictured a bog passing through the entire diameter of the planet: two bogs on opposite ends of the globe, connected at their deepest points. He might tumble to the center of the planet—and then? Would he continue up and out the other side?
No, he thought. Gravity would pull me back to the center. I don’t have enough momentum.
If the bog was magical, this line of reasoning had no merit. Magical things did not follow any of the accepted laws of physics.
Wizzy felt a crosscurrent move him. He thudded against a rock wall, then dropped again. The shoreline, he thought. I was close when I slipped and fell. Must be a straight dropoff.
With a distinct plop that sounded clearly in Wizzy’s tympanic sensors, he landed on a soft bed of decaying plant life. He sank slowly. Finally he reached a muddy bottom where his descent stopped.
I’m on the bottom, he thought, feeling an undefined emotion. There is a bottom! He felt mud oozing over him, covering him entirely.
Wizzy returned to the thought of resting for millions of years on the bottom. He pictured it all in his mind: Someday in the far future the bog would dry out. The once muddy bottom would become parched and cracked. Snows would come and go. Seasons would change. Winds would blow across the land, ultimately turning the mud to a fine powder that would blow away. Layer after layer would erode, finally exposing Wizzy.
His mind rolled at such a thought. It was a pleasing thought. Three suns would warm him once again. Stars and harvest moons would grace his evening. Comets and shooting stars would flash overhead.
Would his magical powers of flight return then, once he had dried out? Or had they been lost forever? He assumed the powers would return. After all, a few million years meant nothing in terms of the universe. He knew Papa Sidney would not pull him out, for Wizzy would not learn anything that way. Patience. That was what Wizzy needed. He would wait for the inevitable drying out.
He felt better in his world of thought until a troubling realization struck him: What if his magical flying power never returned?
Now he envisioned Cork shifting on its axis. Heavy rains would come, drenching the once parched soil. Trees and other green plant
s would spring from the ground, spreading their seeds in the wind to form duplicates of themselves. Ultimately a period of decay would return. The water table would rise. Many of the plants would die. Once again the area would become a bog.
If all this occurred, would Wizzy be able to escape before the water descended upon him? Or would he be paralyzed, condemned through all eternity to be buffeted by the elements?
Maybe I’m dying here in obscurity, Wizzy thought. Becoming part of the planet. He knew it was this way with other life forms: In death, their remains became one with the soil, one with the cosmos.
* * *
Namaba scrambled up a little hill to a knoll. Nightfall was approaching fast, with gray light turning to deeper, darker shades.
“We can camp up here,” she said. “The ground is firm, and we can watch for Wizzy.”
When Javik and the others reached the knoll, they agreed that it was a suitable place. A meadow of scarlet flowers extended up a gradual rise above them. In the distance, the hulking shadow of a cliff wall rose. It appeared impregnable to Javik. He searched in the fading light for the crack in the cliff that marked the pass they would have to find. He couldn’t see it.
“What a beautiful meadow!” Namaba exclaimed.
“Quite a contrast to the bog,” Rebo said.
Namaba looked at Rebo and smiled. “Yes,” she said. “Quite a contrast. The bog is how you used to be, Rebo. Dark, murky, and treacherous.”
“And the flowers? That is how you see me now?”
Namaba smiled softly. “No, you macho Moravian,” she said. “But you’re closer to them than the bog.”
Rebo looked perplexed.
Javik took Prince Pineapple aside and said, “Listen, Prince. I’m going to have to ask you to sleep outside the tent tonight. I’ll bring your bed out.” Javik scratched the mosquito bites on his forehead.
“I have seen Earthian fornication rooms,” Prince Pineapple said with a huff. “I know what you and Namaba have in mind.”
“You don’t understand at all,” Javik said. “All you’ve seen is the physical side. It is more than a mere game.”
“I doubt that.”
“I need the time with Namaba,” Javik said. His voice was firm. “We don’t know what will happen tomorrow. That beautiful meadow may be treacherous. And who knows where it leads?”
Prince Pineapple set his jaw and stared up the hill. Two synchronized moons were making their first nightly pass over the cliffs, rising rapidly into the sky. Stars rushed out now, as if switched on by a planetarium master.
“I’ll put your bed out,” Javik said.
Prince Pineapple did not respond.
Javik turned and walked away. The issue was settled. Prince Pineapple would sleep outside, whether he liked it or not.
“Let’s put the tent here,” Namaba said. She cleared away rocks with her forepaw,
Rebo was nearby, clearing a place on the ground to sleep. She saw him look at her sadly. Then he looked away.
As Javik mentoed the tent, he thought of Wizzy’s disappearance Now no one could read the scroll. Things are not going well, he thought.
Then he caught Namaba’s tender gaze and recalled Wizzy’s philosophy of finding happiness in unlikely places. The red glow of her eyes intensified. She smiled, revealing iridescent blue teeth.
“Maybe Wizzy wasn’t such a bad guy,” Javik said, watching the tent stake itself.
“You’re sorry you didn’t get along with him better, aren’t you?” she said, noticing puffy mosquito bites on Javik’s face and neck.
The tent flaps opened.
“In a way,” Javik said. He dragged out a bed for Prince Pineapple, placing it well away from the tent. When Javik returned, he brought his survival pack with him. “I can feel sorry about Wizzy now,” he said, “when he isn’t here. But his blasted personality . . . ”
“We all wish some things could be changed,” Namaba said. “But we can’t dwell on them.”
“I know.” Javik stepped into the tent and mentoed on the overhead lights. As they filled the enclosure with white light, a ceiling heater fan began to whir.
Hesitantly, she followed.
Javik arranged his orange vari-temp coat, gun, and other gear on a pop-up table in one corner. When this was finished, he looked at Namaba. She was just inside the doorway but looking out, apparently not certain what she wanted to do.
“It is pleasant in here,” she said, feeling warm air from the heater fan.
Javik mentoed the tent door. It zipped shut with a noise that startled Namaba.
She moved away from the door.
Looking at Javik uneasily, she removed her yellow vari-temp coat and pants. “There are things I wish could be changed too,” she said. “I didn’t stop Rebo from killing an old man back in Moro City. Rebo feels terrible about it now too. It was senseless.” Moisture glazed over her soft red eyes and filled her eyewells.
“I thought you said not to dwell on unchangeable things,” Javik said, moving close to her.
“That is true,” she said. “But some things should not be forgotten.”
“Let’s live for now,” Javik said. He took her hand and led her to one of the beds, where they sat down.
“I will try,” Namaba said.
“I don’t know how Moravians make love,” Javik said. He half stood to reach her mouth and rubbed her lips with his the way she had shown him. “But I’m willing to learn.”
Namaba kissed Javik in the Earthian way. Then she pulled away. “There has to be a way to do it,” she said. “Maybe your method and mine are not so different.”
“I want you to carry my child,” Javik said. “Don’t laugh at me.” He kicked off his boots.
“I’m not laughing.” She gazed at him tenderly. “Children are the common ground of two souls, however different they may be.”
Javik smiled impishly. “You’re as bad as Wizzy,” he said. “Spouting philosophy.”
She laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”
Javik thought about Namaba’s laugh. It was rich, warm, and honest. A spontaneous thing. He wished he could hear it more, that they might enjoy a lifetime together. There were so many things he wanted for the future. He mentoed off the lights, leaving the heater fan on.
Namaba’s red eyes and iridescent blue teeth formed purple spectrums on the tent walls, reminding Javik of the purple darkness of the Corkian night. He glanced quickly at his digital watch, then pressed his mouth against hers. I couldn’t have timed this more perfectly if I’d tried, he thought. Only five more seconds.
Javik’s clothing disintegrated in a puff of dark smoke, leaving him wearing nothing but his wrist digital and his wardrobe ring.
From his position on the ground outside, Rebo heard them making love.
“I didn’t know there was a position like this,” Namaba said. “Three legs do have an advantage!” Javik exclaimed. Rebo heard Namaba’s steam engine heart chugging loudly. He moved out of hearing range and cleared a new place to sleep.
After Javik and Namaba made love, he donned pajamas and fell asleep on his own bed. He slept for less than an hour, however, before stirring and half opening his eyes. An eerie red glow illuminated the interior of the tent.
Javik sat straight up and snapped open his eyes. The first thought in his sleep-addled brain was fire. Then he saw that the glow came from Namaba’s eyes, which were wide open. She was lying face up on her bed. The heat fan whirred.
“Namaba,” Javik whispered. “Then, a little louder: “Namaba!”
She did not move or say anything.
“You awake?”
Still no response.
Namaba’s breathing sounded deep and regular to Javik. He wondered if that was the way all Moravians slept. But her eyes gave off a glow that disturbed him, preventing him from returning to sleep.
Javik swung his feet off the bed and crept through red light to the door. He mentoed the door, causing a mosquito net to unzip. The outside tent flaps flopped op
en, letting in cool air. He flipped on a penlight and tiptoed barefoot across the campground, intending to see if Rebo slept the same way.
“Ow!” Javik whispered, stubbing his toe on a rock or a twig. Pain surged through his foot, then subsided as he neared Rebo.
Rebo was asleep on his side, snoring deeply. Javik moved around to see his face. Rebo’s eyes were closed.
Perplexed, Javik returned to the tent. He lay awake for a while, finally drifting into troubled slumber. He dreamed of a black widow spider. In his dream the spider’s face was Namaba’s, and it had her same soft voice and pleasant ways. He and the spider made love, after which Javik fell asleep. While he was asleep in the dream, the spider hovered over him. Suddenly, as he lay helpless, the dream spider sprayed paralyzing gas on him. Then the spider’s jaws opened wide. It was going to devour him!
Javik tried to wake up. But he could not move, could not breathe. A great weight was on his chest. He smelled a dull odor.
Javik sat bolt upright for the second time that night. Perspiration stuck to his clothing and poured down his brow. He wiped his face on a sheet and threw all the bedding off.
He swung out of bed, removed his service automatic from the corner table, and placed the gun next to his pillow. He did not sleep again that night.
At dawn Javik dressed and left the tent. He stood looking uphill at the first stretch of meadow they would cross that day. Dew-kissed scarlet flowers sparkled as the first bits of daylight touched them.
Entranced, Javik walked past Prince Pineapple’s bed and selected a rock. There he sat and watched as Cork’s three suns began their daily march across the sky. A wash of red against the distant white cliffs became orange, then gold with streaks of pale blue. The colors reminded him of Sidney’s comet. They were pure and changed in the blink of an eye.
Feeling tired, Javik slid the shovel and nutrient cord out of the belt carrier. Then he set about digging in the soft, loamy soil. The shovel clanged against a rock. This caused Prince Pineapple to stir and turn the other way on his bed.
The Garbage Chronicles Page 27
