E.T. The Book of the Green Planet

by William Kotzwinkle

  C H A P T E R

  1 7

  E.T. lay on the ground, asleep beside his turnip. His dreams were of Elliott, whose dangerous manhood grew nearer with each day. His troubled mind sought to reach Elliott, and a telepathic beam went out.

  The robot saw the thought-beam go, and calculated its course. “Five Zero Five again. He has a fondness for the Blue Planet Earth.”

  Elliott, Michael, and Gertie sat with Mary at the fast food place, to which they’d dragged her for the evening meal. She fixed Gertie’s hamburger and handed it to her.

  “Ugh, ketchup,” said Gertie, and threw the burger in the trash can.

  “Gertie!”

  “Well, I don’t like ketchup.”

  “What a terrible waste,” said Mary, and contemplated rummaging in the garbage to retrieve the burger, but decided it would be bad for her community image. “Well,” she said to Gertie, “you’re not getting another one.”

  “What will I eat?”

  “Your green galoshes,” said Mary, and settled into the enjoyment of her own lovely Big Burger.

  “First game of the season this week, Mom,” said Michael. “I’ll be kicking off.”

  “That’s wonderful, dear, I assume that’s why you need four Big Burgers at a dollar and seventy-five cents each.”

  They ate their fast food and then her little family dragged her onward into the shopping mall, each one pulling in a different direction. By these tactics they’d tire and confuse her and wind up with all her money. “We’re going home, gang,” she said.

  “Look who’s coming, Elliott,” said Michael.

  Elliott looked down the hall of the crowded mall, and felt a strange sensation pass over him as she came into view, her ponytail swinging. “So what,” he said, jamming his hands in his pockets.

  “Elliott’s got a gur-ul friend,” sang Gertie.

  “He has a perfect right to have one, Gertie,” said Mary, as the sudden sinking feeling ran through her, that her baby, her Elliott, was entering the wonderful age of adolescence and would now be unreachable, unmanageable, and unbearable. “She’s very pretty, Elliott.”

  “She’s just somebody in my class,” said Elliott, his legs turning to soft ice cream as she passed and gave him a sly little smile and a little toss of her ponytail. He pivoted like a windup toy, as she walked on down the hall.

  At that moment, E.T.’s little replicant beam came down through the roof of the mall and bonked Elliott right on the conk, and bounced off without touching a single communication nerve—for Elliott was standing still as a statue, staring after the ponytail.

  The little tel-entity spun toward Michael, but Michael had turned toward the sporting goods store, looking at hundred dollar jogging shoes in which he must now protect his kicking foot; E.T.’s thought-form bounced off his head, leaving not so much as a ripple inside.

  The tel-entity, losing energy, made a desperate rush toward Gertie. But Gertie was looking at the Teen Clothing Store, where she felt she should be shopping; she also thought she should have her own apartment. And E.T.’s beam could not get through even to her, and it spun slowly and sadly in the mall, trying to keep up with the family it loved more than any other in the world.

  Mary walked on down the hall ahead of her brood. She stepped out into the cool night air. I feel wonderful after my Big Burger, she told herself. The little E.T. replicant came through the door behind her, its momentum failing. It bumped into a neon sign and sank down to the ground. A carful of crazed shoppers ran over it.

  “Owch,” said Mary, not really knowing why, and assumed it was her system trying to digest the Big Burger, whose texture frequently resembled recycled cardboard and that, she thought, is probably what they do with all those used paper plates after closing time.

  She walked on, and the little replicant sank away, a tiny heart-light flickering weakly in its chest. Then the light went out and the beam dissolved into darkness.

  In the shadows outside the Micro Tech base, Micron struck a single note on his a’lud. A moment later a cloaked individual joined him in the shadows. “You brought it?” asked Micron.

  “You’ll find it in a service vehicle parked in the hills.”

  “A complete command console?”

  “More or less. You’ll have to improvise on a few things, but it’s a functional system.”

  “And where did it come from?”

  “That is for me alone to know,” said the other, who despite his cloak of hiding could only be another Micro Tech, for his stature was diminutive like Micron’s, and in spite of the best work of the Contentment Monitor, he was bearing a grudge.

  “Very well,” said Micron, “then I’m off. And many thanks.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” said the voice within the cloak. “They will learn in Lucidulum not to demote fellows like me.” And with these words he moved quickly off.

  Micron, for his own part, hurried on toward the hills, his a’lud strung across his back and the night air gently stirring its strings. When he reached the hills, he found the old service vehicle, as promised—the kind the launch bases scrap and recycle every few years, and this one was near that point. But a glance at the cargo area showed an array of electronic equipment in very good shape. And someone would be looking for it tomorrow. “But—” Micron climbed in and fired up the engine. “—they won’t find it.” Congratulating himself on his cleverness in obtaining it, he lifted the service vehicle aloft and flew away.

  “Follow him,” said the Micro guard, and a launch security ship entered the air a short distance away.

  Micron, flying without lights, sailed over the vast agricultural realm. “I’m a clever sort,” he remarked as he flew along. “I move silently and leave no tracks.”

  “I’m locked with him, sir,” said the pilot of the security ship.

  “Good,” said the Micro commander. “I wonder where the idiot thinks he’s going?”

  “. . . making no waves, not a ripple . . .” Micron touched his controls and banked left. It was then he noticed twin lights following his trackless track.

  “Uh-oh.” He doubled his thrust, banked again, and went low toward the treetops. The shadows of their branches sped beneath his fuselage. He flipped the aft-scanner on and saw his pursuers dipping with him over the trees. He increased his speed and prayed the old service vehicle wouldn’t fly apart at the seams.

  The ragged top of the forest blurred, and his grip on the controls sensitized, micronic fingers feeling every part of the ship’s performance. Ahead of him, hills leapt into view and he pulled back, soaring over them and then diving back down, into the valley.

  His pursuers dove with him and closed. “We can lock him to our hull in a moment, sir.”

  “Proceed.”

  Micron shot from the valley, planing again over the great black forest, moonlight glinting on his swept wingtips. His mind was in the accelerated mode, his head glowing, whorls of thought-maneuver there, matched by his fleeing ship’s movements.

  His automatic navigator clicked on, code-stimulated from the ground, by one who now guided Micron’s ship.

  “Course two five evader should do nicely,” said the robot, who stood in the forest in a narrow lane of trees, wide enough for one service vehicle. His computer was encoded to match and signal all navigation equipment in the Fleet and most certainly something as simple as an old service vehicle, which was his very own vintage. An electronic beam fired out of his spherical forehead, up the black lane of trees toward the nose of Micron’s ship.

  Micron felt his landing gear click down, heard number one and two aft engines shut off, and the docking and orientation thrusters firing on as the service vehicle dropped down into the trees.

  The pursuit ship tried to drop with it. “Impossible,” said the pilot, “I’ve no room.” The forest lane seemed to be dancing, trees hopping about. He yanked back on his controls and sailed upward again, his velocity carrying him over the next chain of hills before he could bank left or right.

/>   When he returned, the entire forest below had changed shape, the forest lane gone, the trees densely grouped. He looked at his commander and shook his head. “We’ve lost him.”

  “The sky is clear now,” said Micron to E.T. “I’ve got to get this SV out of here and ditch it.”

  The equipment he’d brought had been unloaded. E.T. signaled the Jumpums, and a runway opened up again in the forest, trees dancing apart. Micron closed the capsule of his service vehicle and sped off into the dark sky, leaving E.T. to pace nervously about. Their crimes had multiplied again. He’d stolen classified equipment and—

  He looked at the dancing trees, who, immediately after Micron’s takeoff were forming close-knit camouflage once more.

  —he’d corrupted the Jumpums.

  The Flopglopple and the robot worked with him, grafting the Fusion Blooms to the circumference of the giant turnip; the tough tendrils of the Fusion were soon circling the turnip, clinging tenaciously to its surface. The Flopglopple addressed the network of tendrils. “See,” he said, and tied his two index fingers in a knot. “You must do the same.”

  The sagacious vine pondered, its rootlets waving freely in the air, and then suddenly their ends curled together in knots, gripping each other. All around the turnip, the Fusion vine met itself, forming an interlocking net.

  “Bring the elixir of Tadana,” said E.T., and the robot brought a vial of it. E.T. poured a drop in each of the Fusion Blooms and a moment later vitalizing vigor ran through the entire plant; its grip upon itself intensified in a hundred little handshakes of the vine. It tightened all around the turnip and a faint crunching sound was heard as the pressure of its grip upon the turnip was increased a thousandfold.

  The mouths of the Fusion Plant now covered the turnip, and breathed gently all around its toughened sphere. The robot gazed at it, his head clicking audibly. “I don’t understand, for now it will be all the more difficult to extract the edible center. However, vegetables are not my field.”

  The Flopglopple stood beside him, trying to get his fingers untied, as he’d made too tight a knot.

  At Base Launch, the head of Security punched up an electronic map. “It is here that the stolen SV disappeared. We recovered it later, abandoned, but this area—” He pointed to the place Micron had landed. “—is probably where the equipment was unloaded. It was a complete command module, and it will not be easy to transport or to hide. We’ll fly a recovery mission. And we’ll bring it back. Is that understood?”

  “Will we have assistance from the Lucidulum Fleet, sir?”

  The Micro Tech Security Chief drew himself up to his full height, which was about the level of a small waste basket. “We are perfectly capable of handling this.”

  A large wooden tub now sat in E.T.’s clearing, and into it the Flopglopple was pouring elixir of Tadana, in large quantities. Standing nearby, in a long line, was an entire family of Jumpums, twiddling their roots impatiently as they waited.

  E.T. siphoned a bit of the mixture from the tub, checked its density, and then nodded to the first Jumpum in line. The Jumpum took an enthusiastic jump and landed in the tub, soaking its roots in the vivifying elixir of Tadana.

  “Good,” said E.T., and waved the first Jumpum out and called for the next. In this way, the entire family of some fifty strong young Jumpums absorbed the potent elixir.

  And so it was that the pilot of a low-flying Lucidulum cargo ship was greeted by a Jumpum tree sailing sublimely past his cockpit window, on the arc of a thirty meter jump.

  The pilot watched open-mouthed, as the Jumpum descended gracefully downward, branches umbrellaed out, leaves fluttering.

  Mary picked up the bowling ball. “Goodness,” she said, “it’s awfully heavy, isn’t it . . .”

  The bowling alley echoed with loud crashes. Alex glanced at her as he wiped his hands on a towel. “But you said you’ve always enjoyed bowling, Mary.”

  “Oh, I do. I meant the ball feels heavy tonight, as compared to the thousands of other nights I’ve spent here at the alley.” She staggered toward the lane, cradling the ball in both hands against her stomach. She took several steps, let the ball fly, and watched it bounce into the gutter, where it slowly wended its way along to the end of the alley and then disappeared with a dull clunk. She looked at Alex. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, we all blow one now and then,” said Alex considerately.

  “I’m having an off night.”

  “You’ve just guttered a few.”

  “I’ve guttered them all, Alex.”

  “Take a rest,” he said, and stepped to the lane with his own ball. His shirt was crisp, his manner calm; his form, of course, was perfect. And she had to admit he was terribly attractive, with his dashing black beard and his curly black hair slightly graying at the temples. He’d told her that bowling was important to him, because it was such a complete opposite to computer engineering. “The ball is big, the pins are big, nothing is in miniature.”

  Now he took a few smooth steps and released his ball with easy grace. It went straight down the center, crashed against the pins and sent them flying. She clapped dutifully, but really Alex didn’t expect homage to his masculinity. He just needed to knock things around in a violent way in the evening after a long day in the 5 volt Tranzorbs.

  And so here they were, bowling.

  She found it, in many ways, hard to accept. The last time she’d been bowling was in high school, when one was expected to do such crazy things. The nice part about graduating was that she knew she’d never have to go bowling again. She’d married a man who despised bowling. He’d favored other sports, among them infidelity. So here she was, bowling.

  It didn’t seem fair.

  She turned toward the other part of the alley, where the school kids were playing. Alex came and sat beside her, and followed her gaze. “Isn’t that your boy Elliott over there?”

  “Yes,” said Mary, “a love of bowling runs in our family.”

  She looked at Elliott, whose face expressed the same misery she was feeling, and the same confusion, for standing beside him was Julie, his little ladyfriend, and it was clear—she was athletic, talented, completely at ease, and she’d dragged him here.

  But they were teenagers, doing what teenagers have to do, just as I had to do it.

  I just never thought I’d have to do it again.

  “Ready?” asked Alex, with a patient smile. “You’ll find your form on this one.”

  “Yes,” said Mary, “I’m sure I will.” Once more she lifted the grotesque ball and lugged it toward the lane. How could people ever do a thing like this for pleasure, that’s what she was in the dark about.

  She took her position at the head of the lane.

  We could be at the ballet. Or the movies. Sitting around in McDonald’s would feel so good—she took a painful step forward—compared to this—

  I just felt my pants rip.

  She watched the ball bounce again, with a life of its own. “It’s my—my stride,” she said, holding a hand over the seat of her pants.

  “Did you pull a muscle?”

  “Yes, in my backsi—in my back. A muscle in my back, yes, I think I’d better sit the next one out.”

  “Are you alright?”

  “Of course, it’s just an old hockey wound.” She slumped back down in the chair. Her eyes returned to Elliott, who was now gazing at the ceiling of the alley, a numb sort of expression on his face. She glanced to where he was looking and saw a peculiar red glow, no more than a pinpoint of light, but very intense. It descended in an erratic way, in among the tenpins.

  I’ll be right here.

  She heard the throaty, croaking voice sounding somewhere in her head. And then Elliott released his ball and it careened down the alley, struck the pins and the little red light, and everything went tumbling.

  The voice and the little red light were gone.

  “How’re you doing?” asked Alex.

  “Oh, I’m fine,” said Mary. “Just fine.”

/>   “I think maybe we should call it quits for tonight. You look a little pale. We can go and grab a bite to eat somewhere.”

  “But I don’t want to deprive you, Alex. I know you need to bowl after a long day of microcycling.”

  “I’ll survive. Come on.”

  She casually tied her cardigan around her waist, so that it covered the rip in her pants.

  They walked together along the aisle, and she liked him a great deal all of a sudden, but she knew she had to be careful with her emotions at such a critical moment as exiting a bowling alley. What I’m feeling right now could just be the relief you get after ceasing to hit yourself in the head with a hammer. It doesn’t have to be love or even affection.

  They passed Elliott’s lane, and Elliott waved to her, and she waved back. And what was that strange look on Elliott’s face? Was it Julie’s influence? Or—something else?

  A red light flickered above her. She snapped her head back and found herself staring at the neon EXIT sign.

  C H A P T E R

  1 8

  In the interior of Lucidulum, in the veiled chamber, there was consternation. “Jumpums jumping thirty meters in the air? Something peculiar is going on. Isn’t this in the area of the demoted Doctor of Botany?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Muster your entire staff of Monitors and find out what he’s doing.”

  The robot watched from his lookout post, from which he could see all of the surrounding terrain. His electronic eyes were riveted upon a spot on a high hill, where another friendly lookout had been posted.

  “I sense something is about to happen,” said the robot to himself. “My probability mode is on and blinking in my brain.”

  And in the next second, an agi Jabi Plant appeared on the hilltop, frantically waving its scarecrow arms and giving the warning to E.T.’s camp. The robot read the waving semaphore of the leafy arms and relayed the message to E.T.