It was Sprockets’ last thought. There was a click as his battery shut off for recharging. His eye lights went out, and he knew nothing more for much too long an interval.
Six hours, fifty-seven minutes, and twelve seconds later, which is the proper time for a robot’s atomic battery to recharge itself—unless he has had too many jellifying jolts, in which case it might take twice as long—there was a sudden click and Sprockets sat up, blinking his eye lights rapidly.
His first thought was that he felt positively super.
His second thought, which came instantly after the first, was that he had no business being in some kind of Martian repair shop, where a small buzzing machine was trying to polish him.
His third thought, which came as he bounced to his feet and whirled away from the polishing machine, was that he must locate Dr. Bailey and Jim immediately.
As he ran through the shop, he turned on his radio button and cried out: “Dr. Bailey! Dr. Bailey! Sprockets calling! Can you hear me, sir?”
“Thank heaven!” came the doctor’s worried voice. “I was afraid the tinkler had done for you. What happened?”
“The tinkler almost did for my battery, sir. I’ve just finished recharging, and now I’m trying to find my way out of a repair shop. Where are you, sir?”
“I’ll be bottled if I know!” The doctor sounded completely flumdiddled and flummoxed, and slightly abbled. “I’m thoroughly and completely flumdiddled and flummoxed by bottles,” he announced, and Sprockets could picture his mop of white hair flopping wildly in all directions. “If I don’t get out of this dumdiddled be-bottled place, I’m going to be worse than abbled. That blankety-blankety bottle-brained Beeper—”
“It nearly scooped us,” Jim interrupted. “But a door opened somewhere just in time, and we got in this crazy bottle place. I never saw so many bottles! Acres and acres of bottles, and nothing to eat or drink for hours, and I’m famished and starving. There’re bottles, bottles, bottles, bottles—”
“Easy,” said Sprockets soothingly, as he dodged past rows of mechanical arms that seemed eager to grab him and do things to him. “Don’t let the bottles rattle you. Think calmly. There’s bound to be a door—”
“There’s no door anywhere!” cried the doctor. “We’ve searched for hours! There’re nothing but bottles, bottles, bottles—”
“Easy, sir,” Sprockets said soothingly again. “There’s bound to be a solution. Have you called Ilium and Leli?”
“How can I?” the doctor fairly screamed. “I’m no mockingbird! And I can’t raise Rivets—”
“I’m sure the Beeper got him,” said Jim, almost on the point of tears. “It’s been bottles and bottles—I mean hours and hours—since we’ve heard him. If we don’t get away from these b-b-bottles—”
“Patience,” said Sprockets, looking in vain for a way out of the shop, which seemed to stretch endlessly without a sign of a door. “I’ll get you out. What color is your bottle place?”
“Color!” the doctor yelled. “What in the tinkling, dinkling difference does the color make? I want out of here!”
“Yes, sir! But the color is important, sir.”
Jim said: “It’s a kind of icky-funny green-oh, I know it! It’s a bottle green, of course!”
“Of course!” said Sprockets. “I’ll get you out as soon as I can find a bottle-green passage. Hold everything.”
Sprockets adjusted his voice button and sang: “Ilium! Ilium! Sprockets calling! Where are you?”
“Riding a blue tinkler, searching for you,” Ilium sang back. “We’ve been riding tinklers of every color, hunting everywhere. We’re most spectrumly happy to hear you. What in the purple pickle happened?”
Sprockets told him, and asked, “Where’s Rivets?”
“We’ve lost him,” Leli’s voice answered miserably. “We left him at the power source to recharge, and when we got back he was gone. I’m awfully afraid that stupid beeping thing got him. It hasn’t much sense—”
“It’s a sort of scavenger,” said Ilium. “It goes around scooping up everything that doesn’t beep back at it. We saw it earlier with a black tinkler in its scoop—”
“A black one!” Sprockets exclaimed.
“Yes. It must have been the one you wrecked. I should have warned you about black. It’s a very bad color, everywhere in the Universe. We never take our saucer through the Black Nebulae. Have you located the doctor?”
“I was just speaking to him. He and Jim are in a bottle-green storage place full of bottles. They’re getting bottle-abbled because they can’t get out. Do you know the secret of the doors?”
“Yes, you knock—the way Rivets did. There are doors everywhere. You simply keep knocking along any wall, and a door will always open. Wait—we’ve reached a bottle-green passage. Leli thinks we should catch a bottle-colored tinkler here and hurry to the doctor.”
“It will save time,” sang Leli. “You should be hunting for Rivets—aren’t you in a shop of some kind? I’m unpurplishly worried about him! If that horrid beeping thing took him to a salvage shop, why—why anything could happen to him!”
“Sizzling smoke!” Sprockets burst out. “Rivets must be in here with me. I’d better find him fast!”
Sprockets was so upset he forgot to call Dr. Bailey and tell him that Ilium and Leli were coming for him. He turned frantically, blinking at the endless rows of automatic machines where thousands of metal arms were buzzing and hissing about, reaching and jerking, and humming greedily as they pried things open and reduced them to pieces. In the distance he glimpsed something black being rapidly taken apart, and realized with a sudden awful tock that it was the black tinkler.
There wasn’t the least doubt that poor Rivets was in here too—what was left of Rivets. Cogs and wires, and bulbs and bolts and buttons. It was only by the skin of his teeth that he, Sprockets Bailey, had been caught by a row of polishing machines, and thoroughly shined instead of dismembered.
Dodging the reaching arms, Sprockets raced madly around, searching. Terrible minutes passed. All at once he stopped, staring at something bright in the area of the polishing machines. As he blinked at it, the bright thing moved, and suddenly sat up.
“Rivets!” Sprockets cried, and ran to him.
Rivets bounced away from the polishing machine, and stood blinking at him in astonishment.
“Sprockets!” he gasped. “What’s happened to you?”
“What’s happened to you?” Sprockets gasped back. “Rivets! You shine!”
“So do you!”
“Yes, but you’ve been silver-plated!”
“But, Sprockets, you’ve been silver-plated too!”
They gaped at each other incredulously. Then they looked down at themselves, blinking ninety to the second. There was no doubt about it. They’d both been silver-plated, every inch of them. Even their overalls had been given some kind of silver treatment, for they shone lustrously.
“What will the doctor think of us now?” they both exclaimed together.
“He ought to love us,” said Rivets, beginning to strut. “We’re so super-gorgeous. Wow! All silver!”
“Stop your strutting,” Sprockets told him. “Being silver doesn’t get us out of a pickle. We don’t even know where we are.” He ran over to the nearest wall and began to knock, searching for a door.
Rivets paid no attention to him. He was digging frantically in his pockets. “My marbles!” he wailed. “My beautiful space marbles—they’re gone!”
“Forget the marbles—we’ve got to get out of here.” A section of the wall had opened into a doorway. Sprockets caught Rivets by the arm and pulled him into the passage beyond.
It was a new passage that Sprockets had not seen before. To the left it had a bright yellow glow. On the right the glow changed to red. He was wondering if he could catch a red tinkler here when he remembered he had not told the doctor that Ilium and Leli were coming.
Instantly he turned up his radio button. “Dr. Bailey! Dr. Bailey! Sprock
ets calling! Come in, please.” When there was no reply he called again, louder: “Dr. Bailey! Jim! Where are you?”
In sudden alarm he adjusted his voice button and sang: “Ilium! Leli! Something’s wrong with the doctor! Ilium! Can you hear me?”
But instead of Ilium replying, the voice that came over his radio was a deep, rumbling, grinding sound, terrible to hear:
“Grullu-grullu-grulluwug! Hiddewoggo-hiddewoggo-buskrozor-r-r!”
10
They Meet the Something
Rivets clutched Sprockets’ arm and huddled closer in the passage. “Oh, goodness me!” Rivets whispered. “He sounded awful near. I—I wish I had my marbles.”
“What for? You wouldn’t want the Something to catch you playing with marbles, would you?”
“But they’re space marbles—and they’re such a comfort when your circuits are jangled. D-didn’t he jangle your circuits too?”
“A—a little,” Sprockets admitted, blinking fearfully around and wishing he had something comforting to hang onto, even if it was only a space marble. Worriedly he called Ilium and Leli again, and was immensely relieved when Leli’s merry singing came over his radio.
“Oh, Sprockets, wasn’t that the most spectrumly wonderful voice you ever heard?” she asked. “I’m sure the Something knows we are looking for him. If we can just find the doctor—”
Ilium sang: “We’re in the bottle place. There’s no sign of anyone here—though they may be hidden somewhere. You found Rivets unharmed?”
“He’s all right-but the doctor—”
“I’m not all right,” Rivets sang plaintively. “I lost my marbles and I’ve got to get them back!”
Leli gave a tinkle of laughter. “Don’t worry about your marbles, dear. I’m sure you’ll find them over at the power source where you were playing with them last. Sprockets, have you any idea what could have happened to Jim and his father?”
Sprockets gave his cerebration button a quick turn, and deduced that only two things could be wrong. “Either they’ve been overcome by something in the bottles, or they’ve taken off their wrist radios and can’t hear us.”
“But why would they take off their wrist radios?”
“To put their hands in water. Earth people wash in it, and even drink it.”
“Water!” Ilium and Leli exclaimed together. “Who ever heard of such a thing?”
Sprockets knew the purple people drank only liquid purple, and bathed only in purple light. He still didn’t know whether they took naps or not, but this was no time to ask.
“I abhor water myself,” he admitted, shuddering at the thought of what a rain had once done to him. “But Earth people need lots of it. If Jim and the doctor are not in the bottle place, I would deduce that they opened a door and went to the nearest water, for they were very hot and thirsty after being bottled up so long. The nearest water is outside in the brook where the plapple trees grow. Shall we come and help you find them?”
“Oh, no!” Leli sang. “Catch a red tinkler and go straight to the power source and wait for us. We mustn’t upset the Something by any more delays. I know he’s wondering why we haven’t come to pay our respects.”
A red tinkler had already appeared in the passageway, and was tinkling invitingly beside them. With some misgivings, Sprockets followed Rivets aboard, and the tinkler shot away into the red glow ahead.
In only seconds the tinkler stopped. They got out. Sprockets stared in front of him, awed.
They were at the entrance to an immense circular place that glowed with the deepest red Sprockets had ever seen. All around it stretched a walkway where a dozen passages opened, each of a different color. In the center of it all shone the power source.
It seemed to be a great humming globe of flame, but as Sprockets blinked at it he realized it was a succession of fiery globes going downward, each a brighter red. He could look right down through them to a glittering white spot that may have been the very heart of Mars.
“Great goodness alive!” Sprockets burst out. “How the doctor would love to see this!”
But Rivets paid no attention to it. “My marbles!” he cried, running along the walkway and pointing. “My beautiful space marbles—they’re floating away!”
And so they were. Sprockets saw them in the air, floating along the edge of the fiery globe. Some invisible current seemed to be drawing them around the circle.
“You follow them to the right,” Sprockets said, “and I’ll go the other way. Maybe we can head them off.”
Sprockets trotted to the left around the walkway. Soon the great globe hid Rivets and the floating marbles on the other side. Sprockets hurried, expecting to see them come into view any moment. But after he had run more than halfway around the circle, he could see neither Rivets nor the marbles.
“Rivets!” he called. “Where’d you go?”
“Down the white passage!” Rivets cried. “Something’s abbled my marbles—they won’t stop!”
Sprockets gave a tock when he saw the white passage. It was brighter than all the others, and he didn’t need an imagination button to know what lay at the other end of it. His circuits began to quiver as he turned into it, and his cogs rattled as he heard Rivets cry out: “Hey—s-stop tickling me! Lemme go! Sprockets! Help! It’s got me!”
Sprockets raced down the passage and stopped short in the entrance to a large dome-shaped room, every inch of which was covered with flashing buttons. In the center of the room gleamed a great oval shape, like a pearly egg, that seemed to pulse and glow as he blinked at it. From the pearly egg stretched a pearly tentacle, which held Rivets off the floor. Poor Rivets was motionless, and his eye lights were out. The space marbles were floating over his head.
In spite of his rattling cogs, Sprockets did not hesitate. As quick as a flash he dashed bravely forward, trying to reach Rivets. But the pearly egg was quicker. It shot forth another tentacle, seized Sprockets securely, and lifted him wiggling into the air.
Sprockets, held ten feet off the floor, and quite helpless, could think of only one thing to say. “Grullu-grullu-grulluwug!” he cried accusingly. “W-what have you done to my brother?”
“Oh, grulluwug yourself,” came an impatient voice from the pearly shape—which had to be the Something because it couldn’t be anything else. “I merely plucked his brain—what there was of it. What’s wrong with that?”
“You—you plucked his brain?” gasped Sprockets. “Oh, how awful! D-don’t tell me you’re going to pluck mine!”
“Certainly I’m going to pluck it,” said the Something. “How else can I learn anything? Besides, it’s quite customary—and I’m a stickler for customs. Stop wiggling, or I’ll turn you off too.”
An eye had formed in the pearly shape. Sprockets stared at it, and saw that the eye was staring back at him curiously. At the same moment another tentacle formed below the eye, and began reaching eagerly forward.
“Oh—no—no—no!” poor Sprockets begged, squirming in the grip that held him securely. “P-please don’t pluck my brain yet! I’m only a little robot belonging to Dr. Bailey, and we came here with the best intentions—”
“Best intentions! Ha—I doubt that. I know all about you—as naturally I would after plucking your brother’s brain. How else do you think I learned this horrid language you call English?”
“I—I wondered,” Sprockets admitted, fearfully eyeing the tentacle that was poised over his head, ready to pluck all he had in it. “But you’ve no right to call it horrid. It’s much better than that awful grulluwug talk you use to frighten us with.”
The tentacle holding him shook him, so that his cogs rattled. “I don’t use it to frighten anyone. I simply try to locate my people with it. It’s the finest language there is—my people spoke it millions of years before English was born.”
“I—I didn’t know, sir,” Sprockets said meekly. “What happened to your people?”
“It’s a sad story,” replied the pearly shape, casually extending another tentacle
and turning on Rivets’ switch. Rivets blinked his eye lights, began to wiggle, and suddenly he saw his precious space marbles floating past his nose. He snatched them up quickly and stuffed them into a pocket.
“Lemme down, you mean ole fing! Lemme down!” Rivets cried.
“I will not!” snapped his captor, giving Rivets a shaking. “That’s no way for an ignorant little robot to talk to the Brain of Mars!”
“Jeepers!” Rivets exclaimed. “Are you a weal bwain?”
“I’m practically real. I’m fully positronic and plus!”
“Then you’re just a robot like us,” said Sprockets.
“I’ll have you know I’m not just a robot,” snapped the Brain, quite miffed. “I’m decidedly super, with nine miles of memory banks. It takes a lot to keep Mars running—but I’ve got it.” The Brain extended a few more tentacles and pressed some of the buttons that covered the circular wall. “There is no telling when my people may come back, so I must keep everything ready for them—the air freshened, the trees growing, the houses shined—Not that I mind the job. It’s quite simple. I do it all by Matics.”
“Matics, sir?” said Sprockets, wondering desperately how he could escape and reach the doctor. “What’s Matics?”
“Super mathematics. Doesn’t take figures or figuring. Matics gives you the answer to anything right now. Stop wiggling—there’s a custom to be observed. We must observe customs. It’s time to pluck—your—brain.”
Before Sprockets could squeal, the hovering tentacle snapped down, and pressed firmly on the top of his head. Sparks buzzed, and Sprockets felt a slight sinking sensation.
“There,” said the Brain. “Was that so bad?”
“You—you plucked it?” Sprockets said weakly. “So quickly?”
“Simple with Matics—and there wasn’t much to pluck. Only nine new languages—and none the equal of mine.”
“Oh, Mr. Bwain,” Rivets begged, squirming, “lemme go, pleath!”
“Absolutely not,” said the Brain, shaking him. “Your intentions are in doubt. I see no evidence of presents.”
“P-presents, sir?” Sprockets was dumfounded.
Rivets and Sprockets Page 7
