Gremlins, Go Home!

by Ben Bova

  Baneen called to him when they got near enough. “Lugh, me magic-making marvel, I’ve brought you some visitors to help pass away the morning.”

  Turning, Lugh gruffed, “Visitors, is it? I’ll thank you, tricky one, to watch those smelly, water-crawling spalpeens for a while.”

  “Nothing could please me more, Lugh darling,” Baneen said happily, “than to give you a bit of rest from your mighty labors. I’ll take care of the scalawags for you.”

  And Baneen planted himself on the dune’s crest, puffed out his cheeks, squeezed his fists until the knuckles went chartreuse, and put on a glowering scowl just like Lugh’s.

  “Ahhh…” said Lugh. “I feel better already. You’ll be the lass Baneen told me of. You’ve come to help this lad here?”

  “Well,” Rita said, sitting on the sand, “I suppose so…”

  “Hah. And a good thing it is that you have. It’s almost time for us to leave this foulsome planet, and we’ll be needing all the help we can muster.”

  “It’s not a foulsome planet!” Rita snapped. “It’s a beautiful planet.”

  Lugh glared at her. “Is it now? Well, maybe once it was, when we first came here, but not today. Not when you’ve got ugly ones like those down in the boat dirtying up the very air we breathe with their smelly engines and oily garbage.”

  “Well, you’re helping them!” Rita said. “You’re protecting them. Why don’t you use some of your gremlin magic to chase them away?”

  Rolf watched her, goggle-eyed. Any minute now, he knew, Lugh was going to explode and turn her into a tree stump. He reached out for Rita’s arm.

  But Lugh’s answer was strangely soft, quiet, even sad. “Ah, lass, but it’s not our world. It belongs to you humans—it’s the world you made for yourselves, in a manner of speaking. Once we thought that we might help you, if you had the will to handle matters right—but it turned out to be of no use, no use at all.”

  He stalked away, moodily.

  “What does he mean?” Rita demanded of Baneen.

  The little gremlin shook his head, but without taking his eyes off the men he was supposed to be watching.

  “It’s a sad tale, indeed,” he said. “And a specially sad tale in the part of it that concerns Lugh, himself. It was his idea, you see, to disguise the Great Corkscrew and use it as a test to find one human who cared more for others than himself. And when no such human could be found, it was Lugh that took it the hardest of us all—though never a sign would he show of how he felt.”

  “No such human could be found?” Rolf echoed. “Surely there’ve been lots of humans who cared more for others than themselves?”

  “Oh, indeed, there have been—but it was for other humans they cared. Never yet has a human been found who cares more for other creatures than he or she does for himself or herself.”

  “But how would a corkscrew show the difference—” Rita began.

  “Ah, but it’s not just any corkscrew!” said Baneen, swiftly. “It’s the Great Corkscrew of Gremla, that symbol of Gremlin kingship that belonged to Hamrod the Heartless and which Lugh himself stole away from the king when he brought us here—to pay Hamrod back for all his pranks and tricks upon Lugh, himself. You see, in olden days—so far back that your world of Earth was still a steaming mudball, cooling down into a planet—the Great Corkscrew was a test of Gremlin kingship. Only one wielding more power and magic than any other gremlin could pull it from its case. He who could withdraw the Corkscrew was rightwise king of all Gremla. Every thousand years or so, whoever was our Gremlin king must pull forth the Corkscrew to prove his right to rule.”

  Baneen paused and sighed heavily.

  “If at that time he could not pull it out,” he went on, “then all other gremlins who wished to try had their chance—until one succeeded and gained the throne. Ah, but the sad year came, and the sad month and the sad day—the then king of Gremla not having been able to pull out the corkscrew—when every other gremlin on Gremla had tried as well, and none had been able.”

  “None?” said Rolf. “One of them must have had a little stronger magic than any of the rest. It just had to be.”

  Baneen shook his head.

  “No, lad,” he said. “It’s clear you don’t understand the strange and marvelous principles of magic. It’s not how strong your magic is, but how much of it you have. The greater your soul, the more magic you can carry. And over the centuries, unbeknownst to ourselves, our gremlin souls had become smaller and smaller, so that even the largest soul among us could not hold enough magic to let its owner pull the Great Corkscrew from its case.”

  “But,” said Rita, “if nobody could pull the Great Corkscrew out, what happened to the kingship?”

  Baneen shrugged.

  “Indeed, what could happen?” he said. “Since no one could pull the Corkscrew forth, it fell into disuse as a test of king-worthiness. The then king stayed on the throne, and those who came after him were smaller and smaller of soul until at the end, Hamrod the Heartless was rumored to have none at all—and sure his actions seemed to testify to that. But still it was said, that secretly Hamrod would go and pull at the Corkscrew now and then to try and prove himself rightful king. It was to deprive him of that hope of kingship-proof that Lugh stole the Corkscrew away and brought it here.”

  “What’s all this about using the thing as a test, then?” growled Mr. Sheperton. “If no one could pull it out, what was the use of it?”

  “Ah, but it was only no gremlin who could pull it out!” said Baneen. “That did not mean there was no human about with a soul large enough to free it. Indeed, Lugh’s conscience had been troubling him for some time then about our gremlin rights on this world of yours and whether it had not become our world—a second Gremla, as it were—just by our being here so long. He decided that we would change our age-old custom of keeping to ourselves, and follow humans, if only humans could prove themselves worthy of being followed. So, to find out if such proof was possible, he set up a legend and a place, and disguised the Corkscrew itself so that no one could guess its origin, and then waited for what would happen.”

  “What did happen?” asked Rolf.

  “Do you need to ask, Rolf?” demanded Mr. Sheperton. “Isn’t it clear the rascal’s trying to make us believe that the celebrated sword in the stone of Arthurian legend was no other than his gremlin Corkscrew?”

  “And so it was,” Baneen nodded.

  “Stuff and nonsense!” snorted Mr. Sheperton. “Corkscrew indeed! It was a sword!”

  “But—” said Rolf. “King Arthur pulled the sword out of the stone and was crowned king of England because of it—”

  “So he did and was. But it was only with gremlin aid he was able to pull the blade forth—though little he suspected that, himself,” said Baneen. “It happened that by the time young Arthur got his chance to try pulling loose the sword nearly everyone in England who stood a likelihood of being accepted king, if he did pull it forth, had tried and failed. Now, Arthur was very great of soul—but not quite great enough by the width of a dragonfly’s wing, as all we gremlins know. So it happened that a number of us went and pleaded with Lugh, and Lugh consented to our getting invisibly within the stone to push, while Arthur pulled—and so the sword came forth.”

  “Hurrah!” cheered Mr. Sheperton.

  “Ah, but if you remember, it all turned out sadly,” said Baneen. “Arthur prospered for a while, and brought justice to his kingdom. But you remember how his reign ended—the knights of the Round Table all divided against themselves, with Lancelot on one side and Arthur on the other, so that everything fell back to savagery and barbarism again.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “I’d like to try pulling that Corkscrew out,” said Rolf, thoughtfully.

  Baneen had been doing all this talking while keeping his eye on the boat and his fists clenched at his sides. In the process he had gradually drifted upward off the ground. He reached down now with one hand to make a brief pass in the air b
efore Rolf. There was a shimmer and something took shape. It was not easy to see it clearly, but it was something like a massive bone handle attached to something metallic that was wrapped and sheathed in light.

  “Try it, indeed, lad,” said Baneen, heavily. “It can do no harm—though no good, either.”

  Rolf hesitated a second, then took hold of the handle with both hands and pulled. He strained, but the handle did not move.

  “You see?” said Baneen wistfully. He waved his hand and the Great Corkscrew faded once more from sight. “Had you been able to pull it forth, you could have called on the House of Lugh of the Long Hand, and on Lugh himself, for any single thing you wished—for so did Lugh swear, giving his gremlinish word, back before Arthur was crowned king. But as you see, you cannot do it—no human nor gremlin can, these days. And that was why, when Arthur failed, Lugh determined that there was no hope for us in humans, and we must all return to Gremla. So we are, indeed, now, as you know— Gremla save me!”

  The last words came out in a yelp; and from beyond the dune they suddenly heard several men’s voices yelling at once. Rolf looked up at Baneen and saw the little gremlin now floating nearly a dozen feet off the ground, drifting like a soap bubble in the breeze, his tiny arms folded across his chest, his face still scowling mightily.

  “What? What’s all this?” barked Mr. Sheperton.

  The yelling voices were coming from the boat. In the distance, the voice of Lugh bellowed, “Baneen, you wart-toad, get down there!” Rolf sprinted up to the top of the dune. He flattened out on his belly and motioned to Rita to do the same. She did, right beside him, and they both peered carefully through the tall grass.

  The poachers’ boat was a mess. A tall geyser of water was sprouting amidships, and the engine in the stern was boiling off a huge cloud of smoke. The sailors were scampering around the deck, plainly not knowing what to do first.

  The captain was screeching, “She’s sinking! She’s sinking!”

  Two men in business suits and sunglasses were looking pale and frightened. They were up at the prow of the boat, their mouths open.

  “Help!” came Baneen’s voice from high above, as suddenly the geyser of water shifted its angle until it began dousing the businessmen. They spluttered noisily and waved their arms, trying to ward off the liquid showering down on them.

  “I said get down !” Lugh roared. He was back on the scene now, looking up at Baneen.

  Baneen made some twisting motions, paddling his feet in midair. He cried out helplessly: “By the Sacred Stone of Gremla, I’ve used up so much magic on those scalawags that I can’t get down again!”

  Lugh’s face looked like a thundercloud. “Let the spalpeen hang there ’til sundown, then,” he muttered. And he stalked off, heading back for the Gremlin Hollow.

  Rolf lay there in the sand, turning to watch the furious activity in the boat, which was still leaking and smoking. Then he looked up at Baneen again.

  The little gremlin seemed genuinely frightened. “Lugh, me darling, don’t leave me here, please! The wind’s shifting… see, I’m blowing out to sea. You wouldn’t have me land in a watery grave would you, Lugh, oh most handsome and powerful of gremlins… would you, Lugh… would you?” Baneen’s voice got higher with each word. And sure enough, he was starting to drift toward the crest of the sand dune, heading toward the ocean.

  Lugh stopped and looked back up at Baneen. “A watery grave it is for you, trickster. You’ve gotten yourself into this predicament with your tricks; now see if you can get yourself out. I’ll not help you.”

  “Water’s bad for gremlins,” Rolf said to Rita.

  “It could be very bad for Baneen if he falls into the ocean,” Mr. Sheperton admitted grudgingly. “Gremlins are immortal, of course, but still—”

  “Look,” Rolf pointed. “He’s drifting over this way. Maybe we can grab him when he comes up to the top of the dune.”

  “The people from the boat will see us,” Mr. Sheperton said.

  “They’ve got enough troubles right now,” Rolf answered quickly, glancing at the still-frantic action on the boat. “They won’t be looking this way. And besides, we can’t just let Baneen float away without trying to help.”

  Mr. Sheperton gazed for a long moment at Baneen’s flailing form, floating slowly toward them. “He’s too high,” the dog said with a shake of his shaggy head. “I can’t jump that high.”

  Rita nodded. “I’m afraid he’s right, Rolf. We can’t reach him, even from the crest of the dune.”

  Rolf could feel his face settle into a stubborn frown. “Oh, yeah? Well, we’re not going to sit here and let him go out to sea without at least trying to help.”

  He got to his feet and walked slowly down toward the bottom of the dune. About halfway down, Rolf looked up, checked Baneen’s position, then started trotting along the dune’s slope to get exactly under the gremlin. He waited a few moments, letting Baneen drift closer to the top of the dune.

  Then Rolf started running. He sprinted up the slope of the dune, toward the crest, stride, stride, each stride longer than the one before it. Baneen was already at the crest and starting to drift past when Rolf hit the top and leaped!

  His outstretched fingers wrapped around one of Baneen’s feet. Rolf hit the sand with a thud and sprawled over on his face, with the yowling, yelping Baneen safely in one hand.

  “What’s that?” yelled the man in the suit.

  Rolf had landed on the seaward side of the dune. Mr. Sheperton dashed out and picked up Baneen in his teeth, while Rita came over to help Rolf to his feet.

  “It’s that kid and the dog again!” the captain squeaked. “After them, and this time I want them brought back here!”

  All five of them, the two drenched businessmen, the two grimy sailors, and the captain scrambled out of the boat and toward Rolf and his friends.

  Rolf started back for the dune’s crest, holding Rita by one arm. But at the top, he saw Lugh, standing there with his legs straddled wide and his arms folded against his chest.

  “You’re a brave lad,” Lugh said sternly. “Don’t worry about those spalpeens.”

  Lugh gave a fierce glance, then pointed one finger at the advancing five men. “May the Wrath of Gremla strike your heads.”

  Rolf turned to watch.

  Immediately, a rain of bottles, cigarette butts, beer cans, wadded-up paper, plastic cups, a thousand and one items fell out of the empty air onto the heads of the approaching men. They yelled and screamed, flung their arms over their heads, tripped and sprawled on the sand as bottle after bottle, can after can, ashtrays, paper plates, a cloudburst of junk fell upon them.

  Lugh smiled grimly. “They’ve been tossing those things out of their nasty boat for weeks, they have. And I’ve been saving it all for them.”

  Rolf stared, amazed, as the five men staggered and limped back under the safety of their camouflaged bridge. The trash kept pouring down on them until they were all under protection. Magically, none of the trash littered the beach. It was all clean.

  Rolf’s last glimpse of the men, as he and Rita went over behind the sand dune’s shoulder, showed him all five of them cowering under the bridge, trembling and wide-eyed. Even the captain was stained with dirt and sweat, and his beautiful jacket was covered with sand.

  As they walked back to the Gremlin Hollow, with Lugh several paces ahead of the rest, Baneen began to prance around as spryly as ever.

  “Ah, you saved me, lad. Saved me from a fate worse than death… water.” The little gremlin shuddered.

  “It was awfully brave of you,” Rita agreed.

  Rolf fluttered his hands in embarrassment.

  “And such a leap!” Baneen went on. “Like an Olympian the boy jumped. And here I thought you had a bad leg, me bucko. Could it be all healed now?”

  Rolf had forgotten about his bad leg. “Yeah…” he said, feeling a strange glow inside. “I guess it is all healed.”

  “Ah, you see?” Baneen said, turning to Mr. Sheperton. �
�The lad’s dealings with gremlins hasn’t been all that bad for him, now has it? We cured his leg without half trying.”

  Mr. Sheperton huffed, “Typical gremlin chicanery. Don’t take credit, Baneen, for Rolf’s good health. His leg mended on its own. He just hadn’t tested it until today. You had nothing to do with the healing of it.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps. But the lad still thought his leg was weak, until I arranged to show him otherwise.”

  “You arranged?” Rolf said, thunderstruck.

  “Ah, well, it was really nothing… nothing at all,” said the little gremlin, carelessly. “And it did my heart good to see those scalawags running about in the sinking boat. Let’s talk of more interesting things—”

  “No, you don’t!” barked Mr. Sheperton. “We’ve had enough of your sneaky gremlin hint-and-slip-away. Let’s have the matter straight, for once. Rolf, Baneen was only having fun at the expense of the people in the boat. There was never a thought in that tiny brain of his about your leg until after it was all over. Don’t let him try to pretend otherwise.”

  “Oh, to be sure, and it’s the grand, wise dog you are, to be saying what was in my mind and what was not!” cried Baneen. “Had enough of our gremlin ways, you say—and did it ever cross your mind we’d have become a bit tired of your grump, grump, grumping doggish ways, all the time? Sure it’s more than green flesh and blood can take, your everlasting criticism and belittling of our gremlin doings and all things gremlinish!”

  “Wait a minute,” said Rolf hastily. Neither Baneen nor the dog, however, were listening.

  “Want to have it out, do you?” Mr. Sheperton snarled. “Come on, then! Called a spade a spade ever since I was a pup—I’ll call a gremlin a gremlin to my dying day. If you don’t like it—” He bared his teeth.

  Baneen shot up in the air out of the dog’s reach and hung there, vibrating with indignation.

  “You and your great fangs!” he cried. “Thinking you can get away with anything. But beware, dog—we gremlins are not unprotected. Push me but one small push more, and I’ll call forth a dragon to crunch and munch and slay you!”