• • •
Lily and the other riff-raff waited for what might have been minutes, but felt like hours, wishing they could think of something to say to break that terrible quiet.
Finally the Big Red Door hissed open, and through a waft of smoke, out waddled a freshly minted Morgonite. To Lily’s horror, she saw that he had one black eye, and a toothpick dangling from his lip. She looked for traces of the ruffian under that droopy scowl, but he was gone, along with the slightest blip of radioactive.
“Did it hurt?” Lily asked him, with a lump in her throat.
“Silence, vermin!” he barked.
Miss Meniscus strode into the room. “Now, who’s next?” As she paced up and down the rows of seated scamps, even the stoutest of them shrank under her ice-cold gaze. “Which of you vermin shall receive His Meanness’s attentions next? Are there any particularly rambunctious rascals among you today?”
She reached Lily, and leaned over her, glaring. Lily was glad the secretary was wearing those cat-eye glasses, because they seemed to be the only thing keeping those bulging eyeballs from rolling right out of their sockets and onto Lily’s lap. “Ah!” said Miss Meniscus. “Here’s a curious specimen, a boy in a dress!”
“I’m not a b—”
“Tch-ch!” Miss Meniscus pinched Lily’s lips shut. “Boy, you will speak only when asked.” She let go of Lily’s lips.
“I said I’m not a—”
The secretary reached again for Lily’s lips, but this time Lily dodged her grip, and bit down.
“Eeee-YOUCH!” shrieked Miss Meniscus, shaking her wounded thumb in the air, to the giggling delight of the boys on the bench. She took a deep breath, took a fresh look at Lily, and hissed, “Ahhh! You’ll do just fine!” She grabbed Lily by the ear, the Black-Eyed Morgonite grabbed the other, and they hauled her through the smoke-filled doorway.
CHAPTER 21
His Meanness
Lily stepped through the red smoke, and on the other side of the Big Red Door, stepped into a room so vast that she wondered if it was a room at all and not the Murky Way itself. It was so lofty that it had its own sky indoors. And if there were walls, they were hiding behind curtains of red smoke that rose from vents in the cement floor. It reminded her of a temple or cathedral in some faraway land she had only seen in pictures. High on the far wall was a circular window—so big that her entire building back in Brooklyn would have fit through it easily—facing the swirling vortex of the Murky Way.
“Sire!” Miss Meniscus called across the room. “Another specimen.”
Ahhhh, welcome, little ankle biter!
At first Lily thought the voice had come from inside her own head, maybe an echo of some forgotten nightmare. Then, the red smoke peeled back and Lily saw, below the big window, a high-backed chair facing a gray slab of a desk, covered in sharp, shiny tools with barbed ends and glinting, keen edges, and teetering stacks of paper. The chair had its back to Lily, but she saw red fingers drumming on the arm of the chair. And sticking out of where a head ought to be, something black and snakelike was wriggling.
The red hand pointed to another chair in the middle of the room, bolted to the floor, the sort of unfriendly- looking chair you’d sit in to get a tooth pulled.
Have a seat.
Lily’s feet obeyed, against her will, shuffling toward the chair. Hanging from a scaffolding, a huge, bulbous laser cannon was pointed right at the chair. The word DEJUVENATOR™ was stamped into the side. Smoke curled from its nozzle, which was still glowing red from its latest use.
Lily thought about making a run for it. If she was quick enough, she could slip straight past Miss Meniscus and the Black-Eyed Morgonite, and back through the Big Red Door. But how far would she get? Who cares! Sure, they’d catch her eventually, and drag her right back here. But so what? Better later than now! Go! Run!
Have a seat.
She sat.
Tell me, vermin, what manner of mischief has brought you before me today, hmmm?
And when that voice hmmmed, it went high like a slide whistle. The high-backed chair turned to face her, and there he was: His Meanness himself, the Mean-Man of Morgo, in a gray uniform with a blocky letter M on the chest, and domed epaulets on the shoulders. His face was the color of hot, flowing blood, under the brim of his tall helmet. And there, curling out from his upper lip, was the most astonishing feat of facial follicles ever achieved in humanoid history, a serpentine black mustache that writhed and danced with a life of its own.
She remembered how brave she felt back in Fort Spacetronaut, reading the words on the card:
NAB THE MENEMANS MOSTASH FRUMUNDR HIS VAIRY NOS.
But here, face-to-face with His Meanness, the idea that any Spacetronaut could ever muster the mettle to nab that mustache from under his very nose seemed like a ridiculous joke. Lily would have laughed, if she wasn’t busy being scared out of her wits.
“Out infecting Outer Outer Space with your infantile tomfoolery, no doubt?” said His Meanness. He stood up, terrifyingly tall, and tied a white apron over his uniform. His mirror-black shoes clicked across the floor, as he walked toward Lily, sliding a pair of white gauntlets up to his elbows.
“What’s the matter, little vermin?” asked the Mean-Man, while Miss Meniscus and the Black-Eyed Morgonite clamped Lily’s wrists and ankles into the chair. “Catamarynth got your tongue?”
Lily thought back through all she had said and done since leaving Brooklyn, but couldn’t think of anything she’d done wrong. In fact, she was pretty sure she had acted like a fine, upstanding space hero.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Untrue, Your Meanness!” barked the Black-Eyed Morgonite. “He bit the Miss!”
“Lout! Was I speaking to you?” shouted the Mean-Man. “For that impertinence, you will now”—His Meanness gave it a moment’s thought—“tie your insolent tongue in a knot.”
“As you wish, sire,” answered the Black-Eyed Morgonite, without hesitating. “Bowline?”
“Hmmm . . . Sheepshank.”
“Very good, sire.” The Black-Eyed Morgonite opened wide, stuck out his tongue, and grabbed it with both hands. . . .
Lily couldn’t bear to look, but she couldn’t avoid hearing a sound like stretching, squeaking rubber. And when she dared to look again, the Morgonite’s tongue was sticking out of his mouth, tied in a sheepshank knot fit for a sailing vessel.
“It’s true, Your Meanness,” said Miss Meniscus. “The specimen did bite me.” She removed her glove, and showed him her swollen thumb. “See?”
“Hmmm . . . Dental incisement of the manual extremities,” said the Mean-Man. “Not a bad little specimen! Perhaps we ought to test out the new prototype, hmmm?”
“But sire, is it ready?” asked the secretary.
His Meanness shrugged. “Isn’t that why they call it a test?”
“As you wish, Your Meanness.” Miss Meniscus walked away, through the curtain of smoke, and the Black-Eyed Morgonite followed her.
Alone with his latest specimen, His Meanness took his first good look at Lily. “Zounds, boy!” he cried. “What are you doing in a dress?”
“I’m not a boy.”
“Oh, what sort of creature are you then?”
“A girl.”
“A girl in space! What’s the matter? Take a wrong turn en route to the tea party, did we?”
“No, I’m an astronaut.”
“A girl astronaut, are you? What a delicious imagination you have, young man.” His Meanness leaned in close, and sniffed Lily. Then he drew back and gasped.
Miss Meniscus returned, wheeling out a steel cart, with a metal case the size of a cigar box.
“Your prototype, sire,” she announced. The Black-Eyed Morgonite followed, rolling out a much larger cart, with a blinking apparatus the size of two refrigerators.
“Never mind,” sighed His Meanness, as his whiskers drooped onto his chest. “It’s a girl,” he sneered.
“A girl? Human?” gasped Miss Meniscu
s. “In space?” She arched an eyebrow at Lily, a little curious, but mostly disgusted.
“And since I’m not in the business of Dejuvenating™ harmless little she-things,” said the Mean-Man, “release the specimen.”
“Very well, sire,” said Miss Meniscus. “My apologies for wasting your time.” She and the Black-Eyed Morgonite unclamped Lily’s wrists and ankles.
His Meanness pulled a pad of pink papers from his pocket, scribbled something, tore off a slip, and handed it to Lily. “You’re free to go. Take this to Level Six, Tele-Transit Depot, and they’ll whisk you home to Mommy and Daddy in time for breakfast.”
Lily was almost to the Big Red Door, when His Meanness called after her, “Oh! And little one, I do apologize for any unpleasantness. My Morgonites must have mistaken you for a real astronaut!”
Lily stopped. There was nothing on the other side of that Big Red Door but Brooklyn, Earth, and Trip Darrow lying torn-up and soggy in the trash. Over there, the [[p134]]only way to get to space was through a radio.
Lily stuffed the pink slip in her mouth, and crunched it in her teeth. She turned around, puffed up her cheeks, and marched straight toward His Meanness.
“Halt!” shouted the Black-Eyed Morgonite.
“Shoo, little lady,” said Miss Meniscus. “Scoot!” But Lily pushed right past her.
Before either of them could shout a word of warning, Lily fired the soggy pink wad out of her puckered lips, nailing His Meanness squarely between the eyes.
The Mean-Man stood, still as stone. He blinked twice, dabbed the spittle from his forehead . . .
PWANG!!! His whiskers sprang out straight.
“Seize the girl!” he hissed. The Black-Eyed Morgonite grabbed Lily. “The vile thing!” raged the Mean-Man. “Perhaps a test run is in order after all. Charge the Actuator!”
“Charging the Actuator, sire!” Miss Meniscus flipped a switch on the huge apparatus. It coughed to life, rattling and humming, nearly shaking itself off the metal cart.
The Mean-Man reached into the metal case and took out a bulbous ray gun; a miniature, handheld version of the monstrosity hanging from the ceiling.
“Behold!” cried His Meanness. “The brand-new Deluxe Dejuvenator™, Sidearm Edition! Compact, convenient, and portable.” Miss Meniscus ran a cable from the huge apparatus and plugged it into the handle of the pistol. “Well, almost portable.” He pushed a button and the pistol glowed, lighting up his face like a stoplight. “Why bother bringing the brat to justice, when you can bring justice to the brat? Soon, there won’t be a single cranny of Outer Outer Space beyond my Dejuvenating™ reach!” He laughed a horrible, wheezing laugh. “Secure the specimen.”
Miss Meniscus held Lily’s left arm, the Black-Eyed Morgonite held her right, and they both leaned as far away from the target as they could.
“Little one,” gloated His Meanness, “this will hurt a great deal. But don’t worry! After it’s over, you won’t mind. In fact, you won’t care about a thing! You’ll finally be free of all those nasty urges and infantile frivolities, a full-grown and productive member of my staff, just like your tongue-tied friend here!”
The Black-Eyed Morgonite might have blushed at the compliment, if his face weren’t permanently gray.
His Meanness closed one eye, took aim, and tensed his finger upon the trigger. . . .
As Lily stared down the glowing nozzle, do you think she regretted her crude and unladylike act? Does a zebra regret its stripes? In a matter of seconds, she would know nothing but Oobly-Eye, Oobly-Oo, and the occasional Silence, Vermin! But until then, she was Lily Lupino, Girl-Astronaut.
Outside the window, a shooting star pierced the red clouds of the Murky Way and rained golden glitter through the gloom. Was it Outer Outer Space’s way of giving her a hero’s send-off, one last glimpse of joy, before she forgot forever what joy was? She closed her eyes, and waited for the big BZZERP!!!
She waited . . .
And waited . . .
But there was no BZZERP!!!, only a dull crash that shook the floor under her feet.
When she opened her eyes, the Mean-Man had set down the Dejuvenator™ pistol, and was running his fingers up and down his twitching whiskers, as if trying to tune in a faint signal. . . .
“Sire?” asked Miss Meniscus.
The Mean-Man tapped a button on his helmet. A tiny microphone slid out, and an antenna poked out of the top.
“Yes, hi. Security? I— . . . Hold?! No, I will not hold! I’m the Mean-Man of Morgo. I hold for no— . . . Is there someone else there I can speak with? . . . All right, hand him the receiver while you go and scour your impudent mouth with floor soap . . . Yes, hi. Mean-Man of Morgo here. I have reason to believe we have a breach, an intruder in our midst. A certain Spacetronaut. Put all sectors on red alert, and inform me the moment you’ve— . . . Wait, say that again? Small, bothersome fellow? Star on his tummy? Hold him there! I’ll be down in—oh—ninety, ninety-five seconds.”
He switched off his helmet-radio and bounded off through the Big Red Door, clicking his heels together and crowing, “Hoo-hoo!”
“Your Meanness!” Miss Meniscus called, running after him. The Black-Eyed Morgonite waddled after her. “No!” she shouted. “Stand right there, and guard that little one.” She sprinted out the Big Red Door, after her master.
CHAPTER 22
A Perfectly Good Speech Wasted
The trip in his private Osmosis Tube, from the top-floor Dejuvenation™ Lab, all the way down to the Juvy Pound at the very bottom of the tower, gave the Mean-Man a chance to think up a good speech to mark the occasion. When the pod reached its destination, he gave his cells a moment to recongeal, then he stepped out into the dim corridor. He had to bend over, because the Juvy Pound’s ceiling was just high enough for its juvenile prisoners.
Miss Meniscus came sprinting around the corner, from the elevator bay down the hall. (Her trip from the lab had taken longer than his; conventional humanoid elevators move at a snail’s pace compared to a state-of-the-art Morgothronian Osmosis Tube.) She bent and followed her master into the Juvy Pound, panting, “Your Meanness! May I ask what—”
“I have him, Vivian!”
“Him whom, sire?”
“Him him! Here, in my grasp! The loathsome varmint has finally crash-landed right in my lap!”
“Him him? Can you be sure?”
“These whiskers never lie, Vivian.”
A stooped Morgonite jailer welcomed them.
“Sire, your Spacetronaut awaits,” he said, leading them past rows of child-size cells to a waist-high door at the end of the tunnel. Miss Meniscus lagged behind. She had learned to keep a safe distance, especially when His Meanness’s emotions were running hot.
The Mean-Man paced outside the cell, savoring the moment.
“So . . . ,” he began, “here you are at last, Spacetronaut. I was beginning to think that latest chastening I gave you, back on Planet Moltar, had scared you off for good. Yet here you are, bless you, shivering like a trapped rat, as the curtain draws back for the final act of our galactic pas de deux! Now, Kosmo Kidd, look on me, ye naughty, and despair. For at long last I shall teach you the meaning of the word . . . OBEY!”
He flung open the cell door. . . .
Tak-tak-tak-tak-tak. Miss Meniscus heard clashing cymbals echoing inside the cell, and a high-pitched giggle. The Mean-Man reeled back, pinching his nose.
“Your Meanness?” asked Miss Meniscus. “What’s—”
“Cretin!” hissed the Mean-Man at the cowering jailer.
“I’m sorry, Your Meanness,” said the jailer. (Apologizing to the Mean-Man was purely a reflex among Morgonites, who never really cared enough to be sorry about anything.) “So very, very, very—”
“Yes, you should be, raising my hopes like that! Just for that, I want you to . . .” He tapped his chin, dreaming up a punishment. “Paddle your fanny.”
“As you command, sire.”
“Hard! If I catch you sitting without difficulty,
I shall be upset.” His Meanness marched back down the hall, and settled back into his Osmosis Tube.
“Sire?” called Miss Meniscus, but her master had already sealed the hatch, crossed his arms over his chest, and let his cells scatter into the jet of vapors, carrying him back toward the Dejuvenation™ Lab.
Miss Meniscus approached the cell, peered through the open door. . . .
The stink of a long-soiled diaper slapped her in her blue face. There, giggling on the floor of the cell, was not Kosmo Kidd, but Alfie Lupino, still wrapped in the oversize Spacetronaut onesie with the star on the tummy, and clutching Colonel Shanks.
Now, as surprising as this was to His Meanness and company, it really shouldn’t come as any surprise to you, who have been reading this book. Because you, no doubt, remember how down and distracted the Spacetronauts were, after sending their beloved Kosmo on his Spaceman’s Holiday—so down and distracted that none of them bothered to reset the Tele-Moleculizer. Therefore, when little Alfie toddled onto the machine, it de-sintegrated and re-sintegrated his molly-cules smack in the middle of the Deep End, just as it had Lily’s and Kosmo’s. In no time, the two-year-old was swallowed by a spiny star eel, which was promptly caught by a Syturnian space poacher. Knowing of the Mean-Man’s taste for Deep End delicacies, the poacher swiftly delivered the creature, on ice, and for a hefty fee, to the Tower of Morgo. There, His Meanness’s personal chef cut open the Star Eel’s belly, and out spilled one small, pudgy, recently re-sintegrated toddler.
• • •
Alfie’s chin quivered at the sight of Miss Meniscus. “Mommy?”
The secretary shivered in disgust, hissed at the foul creature, slammed the cell door, and ran back down the corridor—but not before reminding the jailer, “Get paddling!”
Alone in the Juvy Pound, the jailer started looking for something he could use to carry out his punishment.
CHAPTER 23
A Lousy First Day
Stand right there and guard that little one.
Lily & Kosmo in Outer Outer Space Page 7
