VMR Theory

by Robert Frezza

  There was a slight pause. “This is Civil Servant Grade 10 Ann Guisti, second officer. Civil Servant Grade 12 Peters is suffering from a mild asthma attack and is temporarily incapacitated.” There was a tone of mild reproach in her voice. “In accordance with regulations, I must insist that you stop your ship and prepare to be boarded.”

  I turned to Catarina. “What do you think?”

  “We make a quick seventy-degree course alteration, swing a tight parabola around the star, and double back through our black hole with about a two-hour lead on the Macdonalds.” She began punching a course in to Irvin, who immediately began squawking. “Then we go on to Plixxi to disrupt Mordred’s invasion.”

  “Oh, dear Lord, not Plixxi. Besides, Plixxi is the first place they’d think to look for us.”

  “You have a better idea?”

  “The Macdonalds wouldn’t think that we were crazy enough to go back to Alt Bauemhof—”

  “Neither would I.”

  “All right, second idea. We get off at Schuyler’s World. It seems to me that our best chance to throw a spanner into the works—”

  “Ah, Ken, sir?” Clyde broke in.

  “Yes?”

  “What’s a spanner?”

  I reddened, which is difficult for a vamp to do, but possible. “It’s kind of like a British monkey wrench. You’ve never heard the expression?”

  “Never. What makes you think landing at Schenectady will throw a spanner into the works?”

  “Well, we’ve got to figure out some way to whittle down the Macdonald invasion battalions. The city of Schenectady has at least one dubious drinking establishment on every street corner, so I figure—”

  “Ken,” Catarina interrupted, “I want to get this straight. Are you saying that Schenectady is a bar-spangled spanner?”

  I shut up, and we doubled back and set a course for IPlixxi*, with, of course, Xhia’s squadron right behind us, and Mordred’s invasion fleet set to follow.

  Since we couldn’t land a ship like the Hunting Snark on a planetary surface, and leaving the ship in orbit didn’t appear particularly intelligent, Catarina and I planned to contact Bucky and Cheeves and arrange for them to send a shuttle to pick us up and ferry us down while Irvin took the ship on to parts unknown.

  I gathered my crew and passengers together and borrowed a prybar from Rosalee to explain the situation, as well as our chances, which were somewhere between not good and downright pathetic. A hushed silence fell over all of them, reinforced by my prybar. Then Rosalee, who breaks out in hives at the thought of spending more than a week on a given dirtball, raised her hand. “Ken, do all of us have to get off at Plixxi or can some of us continue on with Irvin?”

  “We’re almost out of food, except for the Macdonalds emergency rations on board, which only the Macdonalds can eat, but if you want to stay, I’ll ask Bucky to have a few cases of stuff waiting.”

  “Thanks, Ken.”

  “Wyma Jean, what about you? No guarantees that staying on the Snark will be any safer than fighting off an invasion from space, but the choice is up to you.”

  “Ken, I’d like to stay on board,” Wyma Jean said in a clear voice. She was looking straight at Harry, apparently drawing a line in the ether.

  A few moments after the gathering broke up, Muffy, Belkasim, and a delegation of feminists wearing crushed velvet pantsuits, lace ruffles, and bunny ears came to see me.

  “Hello.” I looked at them. “Where did the crushed velvet come from and what can I do for you?”

  “Tee velvet and lace came from tee furnishings in tee grand admiral’s cabin.” Muffy stepped forward. “Our goal as dedicated feminists is to ensure t’at females have tee right to live fully and effectively as fulfilled, dedicated single persons not enslaved by t’eir reproductive systems.”

  Her feminists interrupted to slap her high-fives and sing a song of solidarity.

  “Sure,” I said.

  Muffy continued, “In order to defeat tee male power structure and engender an enlightened cultural myt’os and a healt’y lifestyle in tee universe, we must embrace our femaleness and become fully self-actualized feminist warriors.”

  The chorus saw its chance. As the sole innocent bystander, I noticed that the singing of songs of solidarity was beginning to engender feelings of boredom. “Ah, right.”

  “Females are fully capable of taking care of t’emselves as mature adult beings.” Muffy tried a few cheerleader moves. “As dedicated feminists, we will no longer tolerate willful invasions of our personal spaces and have determined t’at we will set up alternative households in harmony wit’ tee environment based on mutual respect and cooperation.”

  I yelled, “Don’t sing!” and shut my eyes. “Okay.”

  “In addition to Rosalee and Wyma Jean, who intend to stay on board tee ship wit’ us, Dr. Blok has seen tee error of his phallocentric ways, while Swervin’ Irvin bums wit’ indignation at how we have been marginalized and economically deprived by our society, as well as forced to enslave our natural body images to male desires.”

  Her feminist legions produced cutlery. Belkasim shifted her infant to her left arm and whipped out a boning knife. “Having, in a mature way, discarded our slavish adherence to rigid, outmoded traditionalist notions of right and wrong, we plan to use tee ship to rob from tee rich and give to tee poor in order to create a differently cultured environment devoid of economic and sexual injustices, and heteropatriarchalist tendencies,” she declared shrilly.

  “Alt’ough we realize t’at your status as an outcast from society has caused you, as a vampire, to develop your own, entirely valid universe-view, we wish to salute you for your struggle against exploitation of females and culturalist bias, and to ask for our submachine guns back,” Muffy concluded.

  “And to ask for deliver of food from Plixxi,” Belkasim added.

  With that, they burst out singing, “For I Am a Pirate Matriarchal Image.” Personally, I’m starting to think that Gilbert and Sullivan have a lot to answer for in the next life.

  “Can you make Blok available to testify if he’s needed?” Clyde and Catarina had debriefed Blok, but we still might need live testimony from him, depending on how long we survived.

  Muffy and Belkasim conferred and nodded.

  It didn’t appear that Catarina and I were going to get the Scupper back, and they had as much right to the Snark as we did. “It’s a deal.”

  When we reached !Plixxi* space, Catarina and I talked to Cheeves and arranged to have a shuttle waiting for us at the space station when we arrived. After waving tearful good-byes, Catarina, Trixie, Clyde, Bunkie, Minnie, Mickey, and I hopped aboard while Muffy’s feminist space buccaneers began loading. Catarina watched the shuttle door close behind us, then turned and quietly said, “Ken, I know that the Hunting Snark isn’t armed, but do you really think it’s safe to turn Rosalee and a band of pirates loose on the universe in a battle cruiser?”

  “They can only go where Swervin’ Irvin takes them,” I said soothingly, “and he’s a government employee down to his fiber-optic fingertips.”

  The Rodent shuttle crew had the communications gear working. Just then we heard a voice say, “Har, me mateys! These oily Spaniards have wronged me, but I will seek what is mine!”

  “Oh, no,” I exclaimed. “You don’t mean—”

  Catarina nodded, tight-lipped. “Irvin must have a copy of Captain Blood in his tapes.”

  I sighed. “There Muffy’s feminists go, then, off to commit random acts of piracy and mayhem with Harry, Rosalee, and Irvin. Wearing their bunny ears. You know, I think that someday, after they’ve seen more of the universe and grown a little more sophisticated, they may come back and look for us.”

  “We’d better not let them find us,” Catarina said tersely.

  Seconds before we pulled away, we heard a loud pounding on the door. “Could it be?” I asked Catarina. She shook her head. “Of course.”

  We opened up, and Harry fell into our arms. “I claim political a
sylum!”

  We mutely agreed that an asylum was the best place for him and sent him off to strap himself in.

  As we found our seats and the shuttle lifted, Catarina chewed on her lip. “Xhia’s right behind us, and I doubt that Mordred is far behind, so we’re not going to have much time. I’ll take Clyde, and see what I can set up in the way of defenses for the spaceport. You tackle Bucky and Cheeves.”

  “Why don’t you tackle Bucky and Cheeves and let me set up space defenses?”

  “I’ll take Harry if you tackle Bucky and Cheeves.” She took a deep breath. “If insanity is transmissible, this will spread the risk.”

  “Okay.”

  Cheeves to the Miscue

  When we disembarked, it was almost dawn. Cheeves was waiting for us, dressed in an evening coat and a red sash, as befit his dignity as Prime Minister for Life. Rodents come in three sizes: short, shorter, and shortest. Although the black top hat he was wearing added considerably to his stature, Cheeves still fell into the “shortest” category.

  He waved at us with restrained dignity. “Ah, friend Ken and friend Catarina! How good it is to see you! Dear me, friend Ken, what did you do to your arm?”

  “I fell down a flight of stairs.”

  “I wish you would be more careful about your health. I worry about you so.”

  A small crowd of relations engulfed Minnie, Mickey, and Bunkie, who seemed to have become an honorary member of the clan. While Catarina and Clyde discreetly disappeared with Harry and Trixie in tow, 1 pulled Cheeves down away from prying eyes and inquisitive noses into the underground passenger terminal. “Cheeves! We’re in deep trouble—”

  “Pardon me, friend Ken, but before you commence, there is a matter which I must address. If I might ask you to bend over slightly.”

  I did so. I was wearing a tie I’d borrowed from Clyde. “Your tie, I fear, will not pass muster.” He began straightening it.

  It occurred to me that Cheeves was the only politician I knew who took that servant-of-the-people stuff seriously. “Uh, Cheeves, we really don’t have time for ties.” “One aims at the perfect butterfly shape, and this you have not achieved. There, we have it!” He gave it a final nudge and added in a low voice, “Although I approve of your effort to convey a sense of urgency, an air of excitement and a disheveled appearance rarely facilitate resolution of serious matters of state.”

  We hopped into a ground vehicle that Cheeves had waiting, and I explained about Xhia’s frigates and Mordred’s invasion fleet on the way to the palace. Cheeves’s whiskers twitched. “How dreadful that Mordred should mix himself up in this. And you say that he proposes using Bucky to upholster a footstool?”

  I nodded vigorously.

  “Indeed. A nefarious plan. Indeed, the word ‘nefarious’ appears to have been coined for this purpose. A hassock or an ottoman perhaps, but a footstool shows an utter want of propriety. I trust you remonstrated with him, friend Ken.”

  “Right up to the moment when he pushed the button to fire me into the sun.”

  “We shall have to bring this to Poobah Bucky’s attention,” Cheeves mused. “And you say that friend Catarina is attempting to organize our defenses? Oh, well, I suppose it won’t hurt for her to try.”

  Bucky’s family palace appeared on the horizon. Bucky’s granddad built the aboveground portions, which bear a remarkable resemblance to Sleeping Beauty’s castle, while Bucky’s father added the underground warrens to house his accountants. Cheeves took me inside, and we found Bucky standing in the main throne room in the middle of a large pile of Build-It Blocks.

  “Ah, friend Ken! How utterly good to see you.” Bucky had added a few kilos to achieve that perfect bowling pin shape that !Plixxi* strive for. A servant handed him a moist towel and discreetly disappeared. “As Bucky says, The unexpected arrival of friends is like a taste of ambrosia.’ Ambrosia must taste like brussels sprouts with honey-mustard dressing. You wouldn’t happen to have tried any, would you?”

  “Ah, no,” I stammered, “the place I shop never carries it.”

  “Pity. Ah, well! Did you do something to your arm?” “I fell down a flight of stairs.”

  “You really should try to be more careful. I worry about you so.” He rubbed his paws together. “I am engaged in designing our new capital, and you are just in time to help.”

  “It is customary for each new Poobah to design his own capital,” Cheeves explained. “Along with frequent spraying, it helps keep down the lobbyists.”

  “We plan on calling the new city Buckystown,” Bucky commented. “What do you think?”

  I thought he needed his pointy little head examined, but lots of people think the same about me. “It sounds nice,” I said without conviction.

  Cheeves interrupted gracefully, “Your dread and august majesty, I am afraid that friend Ken is here on an urgent matter. Klo’klotixag warships are orbiting iPlixxi* as we speak, and it would appear that Mordred is on his way here with an invasion force to depose you.”

  “Dear me, Mordred again! Cheeves, stand by to counsel and advise.”

  That was my cue to repeat my sad story.

  For once, Bucky looked completely nonplussed. “You pilfered a battle cruiser?”

  I nodded.

  “Oh, dear me. Dear, dear me. You must admit, friend Ken, that this smacks of illegality.”

  I kept nodding.

  “And friend Catarina approved of this?”

  “It was her idea.”

  “Dear, dear, dear me. I stand appalled by the lack of morality that females seem to display these days.” Bucky began pacing. “Something has got to be done about morality of females before it causes the total collapse of civilization, and wouldn’t we look silly then? Cheeves, please take a note.”

  “I will bring up the matter again at a more propitious time,” Cheeves agreed, “but I fear we must discuss the impending invasion.”

  “True. True. And Mordred is involved. What a truly distressing state of affairs. Dreadful state of affairs, eh, Cheeves?”

  “Yes, your supreme highness. Most disturbing.”

  “More than dreadful, even. What is that word that always reminds me of cats?”

  “Catastrophic, my liege.”

  “Yes, this is catastrophic!” Bucky paused. “Didn’t Bucky Beaver once face a similar situation?”

  Cheeves nodded solemnly. “I believe that your solemn and high mightiness is referring to the pivotal incident in Bucky Beaver and the Terrible Trouble.”

  “Yes, that’s the one! Now let me think whether the method he used can be adapted to our own problem— excuse me, friend Ken, did you say something?”

  “Was that me moaning? You wouldn’t have anything in the way of space defenses, would you?”

  “Dear me, no. Would you like to be minister of defense? The position is open. In fact, we’ve never had a minister of defense, have we, Cheeves?”

  “No, sir.”

  Bucky patted my wrist. “What do you say, friend Ken?”

  “Well, okay, but—”

  “Good, that’s settled.” Bucky winked. “I’m afraid a title comes with the job, but them’s the breaks. Now, back to my design for Buckystown—”

  Cheeves interrupted smoothly, “I believe that Minister Ken will need to discuss some of the details. I am sure that he will be more than pleased to discuss Buckystown with you at a less pressing moment.”

  “Oh, bother. Well, I’m sure you know best about this, Cheeves.” Bucky pondered for a moment. “Minister Ken, how does this Gregorio Smith strike you?”

  “There was something odd about him. Cold. Completely amoral. I’m not quite sure how to describe it.” Bucky nodded. “A twenty-minute egg, eh, Cheeves.” “Decidedly hard-boiled, your majesty,” Cheeves agreed.

  “Could this perhaps be due to his chosen profession of tobacco lobbyist and freelance terrorist?”

  I shrugged. “For some reason, I don’t think so. There was just something inhuman about him.”

  Bucky
paced himself into a pile of Build-It Blocks, demolishing a kindergarten and a fire station. “Something inhuman, you say. A thought—could this Smith be another vampire?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so, but I can’t say that I’ve ever gone around trying to figure out who is and who isn’t another vamp.”

  Bucky nodded sagely. “Don’t ask, don’t tell, eh, Cheeves?”

  I fingered my tie nervously. “Ah, Bucky, could we go back and talk about weapons and space defenses and stuff like that for a minute?”

  Cheeves hung his head regretfully. “Of weapons we have none, Minister Ken. After the succession crisis was resolved, my sovereign’s first act as Poobah of a United IPlixxi* was to scrap them all. Beating swords into plowshares, although in actual practice, we discovered they make far better pruning hooks.”

  I looked at him. “You mean, like—no missiles, no guns, on the entire planet?”

  “Perhaps the odd pocketknife. Apart from that, no,” Cheeves admitted.

  “We sought them out and destroyed them, every one, to the trill of suitably patriotic anthems. It was a fitting first step in my effort to heal existing divisions in !Plixxi* society.” Bucky waggled a finger at me. “You must remember, friend Ken, if guns are illegal, only criminals will have them.”

  I swallowed hard. “You mean to tell me as minister of defense that when Mordred’s invasion fleet lands, all I have to fight off Macdonald shock troops are pocketknives?” I sat down on a footstool. “Oh, no.”

  I was low enough for Bucky to wrap an arm around my shoulder. “Friend Ken, aren’t you forgetting the moral of Bucky Beaver and the White Weasel of Christmas?”