STRANGER WORLD

by Jack Castle

  The barkeep tilted his head to the side and said politely. “Excuse me, but I believe I have other customers. He threw a dirty towel over one shoulder and moved off to help an oafish drunk wearing a derby and carrying a cane. As the Lamppost Man watched him go, he shook his head after him, cursing under his breath. Turning back toward Barnaby he asked, “Now where were we?” He tapped Barnaby lightly on the arm. “Oh yes, that’s right, the girl,” his eyes narrowed and he leaned in closer, “Maddie.”

  Barnaby shook his head. With a great deal of effort he put down his sixth drink without taking a sip. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the Lamppost Man but he summoned up what little courage he had and breathed, “Maddie’s a good kid. No. A great one. Last time I gave up all my friends where’d it get me? A job working as Lady Wellington’s chambermaid, that’s where.” Angry, he picked up the glass, took another sip, teetered on his chair for a moment, and placed the drink back down on the counter. “What if I don’t turn her over? Not this time.”

  The Lamppost Man leaned even closer so their faces were a scant few inches apart. Lowering his voice he answered, “Oh, I think we both know the answer to that question.”

  Barnaby nodded in acquiescence. It was then that he noticed a brown leather holster slung over the back of the chair next to him. George must’ve left it here, he mused drunkenly.

  “What’ll it be, friend?” The barkeep had returned, his ever present smile unchanged.

  “Now, Barnaby, take it easy…”

  What is he jabbering about now? Barnaby wondered. And then realized at some point he must’ve unholstered George’s flare gun and was now pointing it at Lampy’s head.

  “Be reasonable,” the Lamppost Man began to say, but when he saw Barnaby’s finger tighten on the trigger he let out a small shriek, grabbed the tip of his hat between thumb and forefinger and dropped to the floor.

  The robotic bartender, trying to ease the tension, leaned across the bar and asked, “What’ll it be, friend?”

  The flare missed the Lamppost Man and slammed into the face of the robotic barkeep, thrusting its body backward into the mirror on the back wall, shattering the poor barkeep to pieces. As the broken automaton collapsed behind the bar Barnaby wiped his nose and sniffed heavily. Realizing the gun was now spent, he lowered it to his side and held it loosely.

  The Lamppost Man, uninjured, rose into Barnaby’s view, brushed a few shards of glass off his epaulets and said, “Oh, you’ve done it now, old boy.”

  Barnaby did not hear this because his ears were still ringing from the blast. So much so, he wondered if he would ever hear anything again.

  The Lamppost Man lightly sat in one of the few remaining upright stools next to the bar. Seeing Barnaby’s unfinished drink on the bar he scooped it up and downed it in one gulp. Shoulders slumped and with a defeated tone he said to himself, “They’re not going to like that one bit.”

  Barnaby popped his jaw to try and get his hearing back and then asked in the loud voice of the hearing impaired, “Who? Who isn’t going to like it?”

  The Lamppost Man glanced up at him pitifully and said, “Just give it a few more seconds, they’ll be here shortly.”

  Chapter 37

  “Jerry, from Corporate”

  “Barnaby, what the hell did you do?”

  George, Sophia, and Cheeves had heard the discharged flare gun and bolted inside. I should’ve known not to leave a loaded weapon behind with that idiot.

  Staring at the smoldering wreckage George recognized the ruined automaton from his clothing as the barkeep. Barnaby was still standing over the headless robot with a smoking barrel and dumbfounded expression.

  “Give me that!” George said, angrily snatching the pistol away from the man. He replaced the spent cartridge with a fresh one and growled, “I leave you alone for one second…” but then he lifted his eyes to the broken shards of mirror behind the counter and saw a pencil thin man rising up behind him. George spun.

  Unbeknownst to George, Corporate had arrived.

  A well-dressed man rose up through a square-shaped hole in the floor like a Shakespearean actor rising up through the floorboards of a stage. He took one deliberate step off the elevator platform, brushed a bit of lint from the shoulder and the square-pegged hole sealed as though the trap door had never existed in the first place.

  “Who…is… that?” Sophia asked no one in particular.

  “It’s Corporate,” Cheeves answered solemnly. All the joy and playfulness he normally exuded seemed to have been sucked right out of him.

  “What’s he want?” George asked, and noted Barnaby backpedaled all the way to the bar, and when he couldn’t retreat any further he started scanning for the nearest exit.

  “They only come up to the surface for one reason,” Cheeves continued with a subdued tone, “to take someone below.”

  Cheeves pointed a shaking finger at Barnaby. He told the thin well-dressed man, “It wasn’t me this time. It was him. It was him right here.”

  The man in the suit pushed a slender hand through his thinning red hair. When his strands of bangs didn’t lay over far enough for his liking he gave his head a little jerk to throw them the rest of the way over.

  Smiling, like someone who had just drank sour milk but didn’t want to let anyone know it was distasteful, he asked the butler, “Now Cheeves, are you behaving yourself?”

  Still cowering, Cheeves lowered his head even more and answered solemnly, “Yes sir.”

  “Good. There’s a good…” the man from corporate hesitated unsure how to complete the sentence “…butler.”

  As though the idea had only just occurred to him, Cheeves lifted his head and with a great big smile stated, “I like balloons.” And with that said, he removed a large deflated balloon from his vest pocket and began blowing it up. In less than a few seconds he tied off the end and released an enormous, balloon-shaped T-rex. And further to George’s surprise, the balloon, at least six-feet in height, floated rapidly upward as though filled with a strong dose of helium.

  The man from corporate pursed his lips and said, “Ah, yes. Well. Very good.”

  Ignoring Cheeves’s balloon dinosaur the man in the suit extended one slender, pale hand in the form of a handshake. “Hi…I’m Jerry, from Corporate. I am so sorry about this intrusion, but it seems as though we have a bit of a problem. A little snafu, if you will.”

  George, Barnaby, and Sophia all looked up from where they were standing but no one moved forward to shake the man’s hand.

  Seeing this, Jerry withdrew his hand. “Yes, right.” He then studied a clipboard he was holding.

  Did he even have that before? George wondered. I don’t remember seeing him with it. And even from George’s viewpoint he could see there was nothing written on it, only one sheet of stark white paper. “Ah, here we are,” Jerry said, reading the nonexistent words. “One Lt. Colonel George C. Stapleton.” He stopped, lifted his face toward him and said insincerely, “My, a war hero.” Jerry did a slight bow toward him. “Thank you for your service.”

  George studied the man but said nothing. He couldn’t explain the cause, but for some reason this man was more terrifying than anything they encountered thus far; and that was saying a lot.

  “I do hope you’re having a good time, Colonel.”

  “Do you know where my daughter is?”

  Jerry flashed him a toothy grin. “Now that is the twenty-billion-dollar question, isn’t it? Rest assured, Management has been informed, and we will have her back where she belongs in no time.”

  George noted Jerry didn’t say they would have her back to him.

  Moving his eyes from George to Sophia, Jerry asked, “And Dr. Davenport, how are we feeling today?”

  Sophia clutched her neckline with one hand and appeared about as uncomfortable as he felt. “I can’t seem to remember anything,” she offered meekly.

  George’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t trust Sophia, but he trusted her a whole hec
k of a lot more than this guy.

  Jerry hesitated, studied Sophia for a moment longer, as though trying to decide if she was telling the truth or not and then finally said, “Ah, that’s perfect. As it should be. As… it… should be.” Jerry pushed his hand through his thinning red hair again, finishing off with his little head-flick and added, “Memories are what got you into trouble in the first place, young lady.”

  “Now, Barnaby, let’s talk about you.”

  “What about me,” Barnaby said automatically, but George thought he detected a guilty tone to Barnaby’s response, as if the “accountant from Pennsylvania” knew exactly why this man from Corporate was really here.

  “I’m afraid you’ve been a very bad boy. A very bad boy indeed. Wandering around backstage, imbibing alcohol excessively and, how do I put this?” Jerry lifted a hand to one side of his mouth and talked along the back of it, “Consorting with less-than-desirables. Hhmmm?”

  Stumbling over his words Barnaby responded with, “I… I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  Standing up straighter and glancing at his clipboard with nothing on it, Jerry said, “Nothing to worry about, Barnaby. Nothing to worry about what-so-ever. If you’ll come with me, we can make arrangements for you to be… ah… how to put this.” Jerry gazed out of the corner of his eyes while tapping his chin in thought.

  “Kill me?” Barnaby asked, clearly frightened.

  “Kill you?” Jerry asked surprised, and then tilting his head back he let out a hearty laugh as phony as his clipboard. Lowering his gaze back down, “Now Barnaby, you’ve been with us a long time. You know we would never kill you. We can’t. It’s against the rules.” Then pointing his pen at him, and staring at the accountant evenly, “We only want to repurpose you.”

  “Same thing as far as I’m concerned.”

  As Jerry took a step toward Barnaby, George, against his better judgment, stepped in Jerry’s path and extended a hand protectively in front of his friend. “Look buddy, I don’t know what you think it is Barnaby here did, but he isn’t going anywhere with you.”

  Jerry smiled.

  He backhanded George so hard the blow sent him flying over the nearest table where he crumpled in a broken heap on the other side.

  On the floor, limbs akimbo and surprised his jaw was still attached, George mused, For a pencil neck, that guy sure is strong. He heard Barnaby scream. Trying to blink away the stars before his eyes and with considerable difficulty, George pulled himself up using the table and a nearby chair for support.

  Jerry grabbed Barnaby by the wrist and began dragging him toward the exit. “Honestly, I don’t know why you have to make this so difficult? Every time.”

  Appearing behind Jerry, Sophia raised a wooden chair high above her head and smashed it over the back of Jerry’s skull. The man from corporate released Barnaby and stumbled sideways a few steps, but for the most part, seemed unscathed. Using the moment of distraction, Barnaby quickly retreated but only got as far as the bar.

  Turning toward her the man from corporate sputtered, “Sophia… really?”

  Sophia merely shook her head at him and raised her hands as if to say, ‘What did you expect?’

  With one hand Jerry leaned toward a nearby table, slipped his palm under it and in the blink of an eye flung it at Sophia.

  George tackled her, knocking her to the ground. The table smashed so hard into a wooden post behind them and splintered into a thousand tiny pieces.

  Barnaby grabbed a stool by its legs and held it like a club. “I’m not going anywhere with you. You hear me?”

  In answer, Jerry gave him another insincere smile, flicked his thinning hair over to one side and cracked open his chest to reveal a metallic chamber within.

  Seeing this George breathed, “Jerry’s a robot?”

  Barnaby dropped the barstool and sprinted for the door. There was a loud BA-CHOOSH sound as a net launched out of Jerry’s chest cavity and encapsulated Barnaby in mid-flight like an ensnared animal. George heard a sizzling sound crackle the air as current ran down the length of a thick black cord that connected the Jerry to the net.

  Barnaby screamed. His body convulsed for a few seconds and then went limp. A moment later George heard a loud winding sound as a spool inside Jerry’s chest began reeling in his prize.

  George, still recovering from his earlier attack, rose to his feet, clenched his fists, and got ready to go again. He knew it was a losing battle but that had never stopped him before.

  BOOM!

  Jerry’s head shot to one side. His faux robotic jaw hung by sparking wires, as the flare burned itself off in his face. It took Jerry-the-robot-thing from Corporate a moment to realize Barnaby was not its attacker.

  Sophia was still staring down the smoking flare gun’s sites when Jerry finally turned his ruined head toward her. Before what was left of him could make another move she slammed another cartridge home and fired a second time.

  BOOM!

  The second round hit him square inside his open chest, exploded on impact, and this time it was Jerry who flew backward and crashed into nearby tables.

  George watched the French woman pop out the spent cartridge to the floor and seat in the last round of ammo left to them. He found it curious she seemed to know so much about guns, how to fire them and reload. He decided to let it go for now, but made a mental note to ask her about it in the future. Satisfied the Corporate drone wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, he moved over to Barnaby and began un-wrapping him from the net.

  When Barnaby didn’t stir, George slapped him a few times. “Barnaby, c’mon buddy, wake up.”

  “Where’s the man from Corporate?” Barnaby asked nervously, a look of sheer terror in his eyes.

  George nodded to where the ruined robot was crumpled on its back with one leg propped up comically on an overturned chair. “See, not so tough.”

  “You don’t get it? They don’t give up. They don’t ever give up. They’ll just keep coming.”

  “They’re already here!” Sophia called back over one shoulder. She was at a window near the front of the inn, overlooking the street below.

  When they joined Sophia at the window they saw another person in a suit, this time a middle-aged heavyset woman, rise from below-ground in the middle of the street. A third corporate drone, a thin black man, rose up behind her, and with military precision fell in line. With a hurried walk, both began crossing the street toward the inn.

  George swallowed. They barely survived Jerry; and even that was only because they had caught him off guard. He doubted they could defeat two of these things. Turning to Sophia he said, “Give me the flare gun. I’ll hold them off as long as I can while you two try and find an exit in the back.”

  “Good idea,” Barnaby said immediately, his jowls shaking in agreement.

  Before Barnaby could flee Sophia held him fast by his arm. “No way. We stay together.”

  George grinned over at her. “You know, I think my wife would like you.”

  “Maybe I’ll get to meet her one day,” Sophia replied sadly, both of them knowing she’d never get the chance.

  Checking on the corporate drones’ advance, George could see they had finished crossing the street and were about to step up on the boardwalk. “Here they come.”

  There was a loud blaring horn sound just before the safari truck slammed into both corporate drones. The truck lifted up two times as both of its front and rear tires bounced over them.

  The driver’s side door cracked open and a gargoyle dressed liked a butler hopped out. Shouting up to them he cried, “I LOVE BALLOONS!!!”

  “Son-of-a-gun,” George mused aloud.

  “What are you two lovebirds waiting for,” Barnaby asked them as he waddled quickly toward the door. “There’s more on the way.”

  George was the last one to file out. Before stepping through the exit he saw the dinosaur balloon floating up near the ceiling. How did Cheeves fill up something so big, and so fast? An idea
began forming and he called after Barnaby.

  “Hey Barnaby, we still have those velvet balloons that fell from the hover ship?”

  Chapter 38

  “George Explores the Dauntless”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  George was hanging by one arm and dangling precariously beneath five red velvet balloons fifty feet in the air. It was dark out but a bright moon and sky full of stars made it almost seem like dusk. He yelled back down to Barnaby, “Trust me. I know what I’m doing. I’m Air Force Rescue, remember?”

  Barnaby nodded feebly back up at him and continued to feed out more line. Cheeves was still laid out in the back of the truck recovering from blowing up all the balloons.

  George still wasn’t quite sure what the balloons’ true purpose was, but he suspected their original intent was some sort of messenger service from the hover barges to the masses below. It was a simple matter to join the balloons together with a large cargo net they had found in the pile of junk in the back of their truck, rig counterweights on the sides, and finally affix a lanyard for him to hang from underneath. For additional lighting, they tied off several lanterns, which cast an eerie glow on the ship lowering into view before him. His original plan called for a traditional basket for him to ride up in, but every second they waited was another second Maddie got further away, so he opted for the simple lanyard instead. While they had all worked on the rigging, the strange creature dressed like a butler, Cheeves, filled the balloons with helium. He still hadn’t figured that one out--after dinosaurs, Gatherers, and that robot from Corporate, why not a gargoyle butler filled with helium?

  To keep him from rising all the way up into orbit, a thick-steel cable ran from the balloons down to the utility winch affixed to the front bumper of their safari truck.

  Their safari truck… interesting choice of words. After rescuing Maddie--what’s next? Find a home? A job? George still clung to the hope that once he rescued Maddie they would leave this madhouse far behind. After they walked out the front gates he figured they’d find themselves in the middle of a desert somewhere, or on an island in the Pacific, where some billionaire with too much money built this place and filled it with kidnapped people. Yet this theory didn’t explain all the wondrous things they had seen, or how he got from his doomed helicopter, or even Barnaby, who was doing a fairly convincing job of pretending to be a guy from the seventies. As much as he hated to admit it, Sophia’s theory, however outlandish, made the most sense.