The VMR Theory (v1.1)

by Robert Frezza

  We were interrupted by a knock on the door. “I didn’t know we were expecting anyone else,” I said in a deceptively calm voice.

  “That’s not Wyma Jean,” Harry observed, from deep and bitter experience.

  I looked around the room. “Harry, why don’t you answer it while the rest of us disappear.”

  Whoever was outside knocked again. Calvin scooped up his satchel and disappeared into the closet with his charts, and we had an interesting moment figuring out how many Macdonalds could fit in there with him. Catarina and I crouched behind the bed, and I gestured to Harry to see who it was.

  When he opened the door, Mickey, Minnie, and Bunkie walked in. Minnie was towing a large, gaily colored shopping bag mounted on wheels, and she and Mickey bowed. “Mr. Harry, how pleasant it is to see you! We are looking for friend Ken and friend Catarina. Would you perhaps know where we could find them?” Harry pointed.

  “Friend Catarina and friend Ken, why are you hiding behind the bed?” Minnie asked. She and Mickey looked at each other and nodded their pointed little heads. “If it is a game, may we play, too?”

  I looked at Catarina. “When we heard you at the door, we thought that people were coming to take us away. Either the Marines, or people dressed in white.”

  “No, it was us,” Minnie observed. “Friend Ken, may we impose our company upon you?”

  “Well, to be completely truthful, we’re a little busy right now. Can this wait?”

  Bunkie cleared her throat. “Sir, this should only take a moment and it is time-sensitive, otherwise we would not have interrupted.”

  Mickey produced a lengthy document from under his arm. “Friend Ken, would you be adverse to co-signing a loan for us? In place of Uncle Cheeves.”

  “How big a loan?”

  “What is it? One hundred forty-seven million?” Mickey said airily.

  I looked at Catarina. “This is a trick question, isn’t it?”

  “What do you need a hundred forty-seven million for?” Catarina asked.

  “Computer projections indicate that this is an excellent time for us to diversify, and it would take at least two weeks for us to set up a stock offering,” Bunkie said stiffly.

  “Things here are dreadfully bureaucratic!” Minnie expostulated.

  “The law doesn’t recognize limited partnerships, and it would hurt Uncles Cheeves’s feelings if we took in general partners—he worries about us so,” Mickey explained. “So a small loan is the only possible solution.”

  I glanced at the document he was holding. Bunkie deftly grasped it and turned it right side up. Catarina studied it over my shoulder. I sighed. “Just ran me through the high points, Bunkie.”

  “Well, sir,” she said deferentially, “the loan falls due in a little over four months. The agreement provides for four essentially nominal interest payments and for repayment of the principal in gold at current rates. In effect, the investors here are so convinced that the value of gold will increase that they are willing to provide us the money interest-free.”

  “We tried to write in a clause allowing them to request repayment in currency in case gold loses value, but they declined.” Mickey twitched his whiskers. “I really do not understand their attitude.”

  I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Looks great, guys. Now why do I need to sign?”

  “Some of the investment bankers became concerned when they found out that we were minors,” Minnie explained. “It is so unfair.”

  Bunkie looked away. “They, umm, feel that the government may try to restrict future importation of gold from Plixxi, and umm, feel that your signature gives them a certain degree of assurance that we will fulfill our end of the contract.”

  “I wonder if smuggling pays better than espionage.” I turned to Catarina. “What do you think?”

  She smiled. “I think it’s a great idea.”

  I blinked my eyes rapidly to make sure the system was functioning. “Excuse me, could you repeat that? For a minute there I thought you said that it was a great idea.”

  “Ken, if things go sour, the worst that could happen is that your creditors would seize Rustam’s Slipper, which the government isn’t going to return anyway.”

  “Well, yes.” I mulled this over. Up until now I had managed to cherish the touching illusion that as soon as the unpleasantness with Wipo was settled, I could go back to being a ship captain. “Well, what’s the absolute worst that could happen?”

  “They do have debtor’s prisons here,” Bunkie said uneasily.

  “If I get caught, the agency running the debtor’s prison is going to have to stand in line to get me.”

  “I would mention,” Catarina added, “that because we’ve become the Special Secret Police pension fund, we are running a little short on cash.”

  “You need cash?” Minnie looked in her shopping bag. “I’m afraid we didn’t stop. Would a few hundred thousand tide you over until morning?”

  “Thanks, Minnie. That would do just fine.” I looked at Bunkie. “Bunkie, is this legitimate?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh, well.” I signed the thing.

  Minnie and Mickey both bowed. “Thank you, friend Ken. We greatly appreciate your confidence in us,” Mickey added. “As Bucky says, ‘Trust is the superglue of friendship.’ “

  I watched them file out the door. “I wonder why Wipo hasn’t tried to pick them up?”

  Catarina shook her head. “No one could suspect those three of being spies. Also, by now they can buy and sell Wipo out of petty cash.”

  There was another knock on the door. “This place is busier than a subway station. Harry, can you get that?” It turned out to be Rosalee. I searched for the proper euphemism. “Hello, Rosalee. How is the, ah, entertainment business?”

  “I’ve been dirtside so long I’m starting to itch, but the whores in this burg are suffering,” she complained, dropping herself in a chair. “Somebody needs to do something about this planet. I know the males around here can’t do much with their little weed whackers, but they ought to learn to use what they’ve got.”

  “Maybe hookers here ought to push for professional status, like lawyers. They could emphasize the therapy angle—maybe offer courses.”

  “You know, Ken, you may be on to something there.” She looked at me. “Excuse me, I need to find a phone.”

  “I have an awfully big mouth,” I commented to Catarina as the door slammed shut. “We’d better polish up a scheme to get off this planet, because when the Macdonalds do catch up with us, they’re going to want to shoot us on sight.” A muffled thump emanated from the closet. “Did we forget something?”

  Harry ran over, jerked the closet door open, and a stack of bodies spilled out. Calvin emerged from the bottom of the pile sporting a black eye and appearing none too pleased about it.

  “Elbow?” Catarina inquired cheerfully.

  “Easel,” he admitted.

  “All right, everybody.” I glanced around the room. “Catarina has native dress for all of us to wear. If nobody has anything else to add, I’ll see you all in the garage next to the elevator at 1900 hours.”

  “Wait! Hold your horses, Ken!” Calvin reached back into his satchel. “We’re not done yet.”

  “But we will be,” Trixie observed sadly.

  Calvin pulled out a handful of pocket radios. “Now it stands to reason that we’re going to need proper communications and proper communications security. Ken, what would you like for your call sign?”

  Catarina started grinning, but I was drawing a blank. “Call sign?”

  “Sure. Each tactical element gets a call sign. Since you’re the strike force leader, your number would be ‘Six.’ “

  I thought for a moment. “How about ‘Blue’? I can be ‘Blue Six.’ “

  “Blue Six! Ken, you’ve got to get with the program here! When somebody listening in hears a call sign, they’ve got to know the kind of people they’re dealing with! ‘Blue Six’ sounds like a cheap food additive. You
need something strong, a name like—like gunslinger! That’s it! You’ll be ‘Gunslinger Six,’ and I’ll be ‘Gunslinger Five.’ “

  Harry jumped up and down. “It’s not fair. I want to be a gunslinger, too.”

  I shrugged. “All right, you can be ‘Gunslinger Two.’ “ Trixie was providing a running translation, and before Calvin could object, Belkasim broke in to insist that Wyma Jean have a radio.

  “What should her call sign be?” Muffy asked. Catarina’s eyes twinkled. “How about ‘Wild Woman’?”

  Muffy and Belkasim conferred briefly. Apparently they wanted to be “Wild Woman,” too. With considerable ill grace, Calvin acceded to their demand. Then Catarina and I tossed everyone out so we could get some rest.

  I pulled Harry aside as he was about to leave. “Harry, one thing’s been bothering me. How you keep getting all the female Macdonalds past the Marines at the gates.” Harry began studying the tops of his shoes. “Uh…” Catarina sprawled out on the bed and closed her eyes. “Harry, just pretend we didn’t believe your first explanation and skip ahead to your second.”

  Harry took a deep breath. “Well, I gave them a few souvenirs. You know, from the Rats. Like, uh, some Rodent uniforms and a couple of battle flags.”

  I gazed up at him in amazement. “Why, Harry. I’m touched that you would do that to help out. Those souvenirs are some of your most treasured possessions. Wait a minute, you don’t own any Rodent battle flags. In fact, Rodents don’t have battle flags.”

  “Well, no,” he admitted.

  Catarina groaned and rolled over. “You haven’t been palming phony souvenirs off on the Marines, have you?” Harry’s conscience got the better of him. “Ken?”

  “Yes?”

  “When the embassy bills us for bedsheets—go ahead and take it out of my share.”

  After the door closed behind him, I asked Catarina, “What do you think?”

  “If everything goes right, we’ll have the charges and be out in fifteen minutes.” She shrugged. “We can bring along a package of marshmallows in case everything doesn’t go right. Are you sure you want to help Calvin disarm charges?”

  “I feel responsible.”

  “You are responsible.” She reached into her belt purse. “Here, want to split a chocolate bar? You look like you could use one.”

  “You’re right about that.” I accepted half of it from her and began gnawing on it thoughtfully. “You know, we really have to figure out how to get off this planet. When the Marines figure out that Harry has been passing out bogus Rodent war souvenirs, it’ll be unanimous—every being on the planet with a gun will be trying for a piece of us.”

  “Excellent point.”

  “Besides, the laundry here insists on starching my underwear, so I’m running out of clean clothes.” I finished off my chocolate and looked around the room for more. There was a knock at our door. “Now, who could that be?”

  It was Trixie. She looked at us nervously. “I must show you somet’ing. You must come quickly.”

  She led us to Wyma Jean’s room where the video was on. Trixie told her, “Please turn tee channel back.”

  Wyma Jean lifted her head off the sofa. “Do we have to? Soaprah’s on.”

  “Just for a minute, Wyma Jean,” I coaxed.

  Catarina suddenly stiffened. “Ken,” she said in a low voice, “I think we’re in real, deep, deep trouble.”

  As we watched, a cute little animated animal that looked suspiciously like a Rodent poked its head out of what was obviously a beaver lodge with a beaver dam in the background.

  “It is a new show called ‘Tee Adventures of Bucky Beaver.’ Tee narrator said t’is week’s adventure is ‘Bucky Beaver Meets Bun Rabbit,’ “ Trixie explained. “Tee narrator sounds exactly like Mjarlen.”

  We sat through the animated part of the adventure in stony silence. At the end, Mjarlen appeared to explain the story’s moral overtones, including the symbolic significance of the penny that Bun Rabbit picked up, the phrase “And all the day you’ll have good luck,” and the applicability of the seventh commandment.

  “Well, maybe it won’t have much of an impact,” I said with a greater degree of cheer than I felt.

  Catarina silently pointed to Trixie. “It was such a beautiful story,” Trixie sniffled, wiping her eyes.

  “Can we put Soaprah back on now?” Wyma Jean demanded.

  We went back to Catarina’s room and laid down to get some rest. As I say, ours is a strange relationship. I studied her face as she napped. Her flowing hair was of white gold; her forehead the Elysian fields; her eyebrows two celestial arches; her eyes a pair of glorious suns; her cheeks two beds of roses; her neck alabaster; her hands of polished ivory; her bosom whiter than new-fallen snow—all the usual. Some of the Catholic religious orders know a lot more about vamps than they let on, and before Catarina had me to look after, she had seriously contemplated joining one of them. Of course, every time I suggest moving a step forward or sideways in our relationship, she starts dropping hints about the advantages of a contemplative life.

  “Are you awake?” I asked.

  She opened one eye. “No.”

  “I just wanted to apologize for telling Harry he could have the charges. It was a pretty dumb thing to do.” I cocked my head. “Is that somebody out in the hall?”

  She patted me on the arm and turned over. “Go to sleep.”

  “Are you sure nobody knows we’re here? Rizvi struck me as a pretty sharp guy for a career bureaucrat, and the ambassador did leave orders to have us kicked out on sight.” I heard a rattling noise and sat up. “What’s that?”

  “It’s probably just a cartload of chocolate chip cookies,” Catarina said sleepily, curling up next to me. “Take two and call me in the evening. As you say, Rizvi is a pretty sharp guy, for a bureaucrat.”

  Around 1850 hours Catarina and I dressed up as Elvis impersonators and headed down to the garage. As we were climbing into the elevator, a tall Marine captain took me by the guitar. “Mr. MacKay? I’m Captain Kuz-maul, head of the embassy security detachment. May I speak with you?”

  Kuzmaul was tall and athletic-looking, and under the circumstances, he was easily the last person I wanted to see. However, the door wouldn’t close with his arm in the way, so I smiled at him. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  “This will only take a minute.”

  My arm didn’t seem to be going anywhere of its own volition, so I smiled at Catarina. “I’ll meet you in the garage in a minute.”

  Catarina looked at me with concern. “Do you need directions?”

  “Not if they begin with ‘Fourth floor and seven years ago.’ “

  What she meant was, “Did I need help?” to which the proper answer was, “Yes, but only my psychiatrist knows for sure.”

  I followed Kuzmaul down the hall to his office, where I gingerly planted my posterior in an armchair. Kuzmaul locked the door. “Ah, Captain MacKay—”

  “Please, call me Ken.”

  “A few matters have come to my attention.”

  “I’m sure I have an excellent, and possibly even believable explanation for everything.”

  “I’m not quite sure how to broach this subject with you. It seems that one of your crew members—-a Mr. Harry Halsey—sold some of my men artifacts allegedly taken from Prince Genghis’s Rodent warfleet.” He paused. “There seems to be a question as to their authenticity. For example, one of the battle flags examined had ‘Property of the Confederation Foreign Office’ inscribed on the reverse side in the lower right-hand comer.”

  Truth is the first casualty in war, and it looked like I was the second. I shrugged. “Considering the source, I’d say that every souvenir your boys purchased is phonier than a three-term congressman.”

  Kuzmaul ran his fingers through his sandy hair. “This is very difficult for me.”

  “Placing me under arrest? I don’t know. It seems like everyone else has.”

  “Oh, no sir.” He looked down at the desk. “I mea
nt that, well, Mr. Halsey is navy. It’s just that, well, Marines have been selling fake war trophies to swabbies since the dawn of time, and if it ever got out my men bought fake war trophies from a swabbie, well—the Corps would never be the same, sir.”

  He looked me straight in the eye. “I’ve burned the stuff and sworn my men to secrecy.”

  I nodded. “Right. I’ll handle my end. It never happened.”

  He shook my hand solemnly. “Thank you, sir.”

  He walked over and unlocked the door. “The boys all asked me to wish you luck on making it out of here.”

  “That’s really nice of them. Tell them we’ll give it our best shot.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, sir. Some of them may have bet a little more money than they should have.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “I was asked to give you this. Once again, best of luck, sir.”

  “Thanks.”

  Catarina was waiting for me with Muffy, Trixie, and Belkasim. Trixie was wearing a submachine gun, crossed bandoleers, and an Interstellar Rifle Association hat. “How did it go with Kuzmaul?” Catarina asked.

  “He wants us to forget those phony souvenirs of Harry’s ever existed. He also gave me this.” I opened the envelope and began reading. “I’m being audited.”

  Catarina folded her arms. “I told you that you couldn’t accelerate depreciation on a missile launcher.”

  I tossed my audit notice into a corner and looked around. “Where’s Calvin?” My radio beeped and I held it up to my ear. “Hello.”

  “Gunslinger Six, is that you? This is Wild Woman Six. You’re supposed to answer with your call sign!”

  “Uh, sure. What’s up, Wyma Jean?”

  I heard her say, “Oh, my God! Not again.” There was a brief silence. Then she said in a subdued voice, “Ken, this isn’t working. I figured out why the diaper bag is so big.”

  “Sorry. You’ll just have to do the best you can until we get back.”

  “You know, Ken, I’ve been thinking.”