by Mike DiCerto
"Okay. Can't stay too long. I have to move on. Delivering a weather android and a small dog to Blooth."
"Blooth. Love the food, hate the weather. Later."
The com-link fell quiet.
"Pretentious prick,” Caffrey groaned.
Dante Squidreaper gave the title “auteur” new meanings and dimensions with each mega-production he undertook. Known best for Across the Back Forward, the epic story of the Kori Wars of Planet Litu, Dante's productions always managed to set a record for something. On the set of his historical farce Trump Up the Hump, Dante buried an entire city a kilometer deep with fresh whipped cream in what became the largest and, some say, most hysterical cream pie fight in the history of motion pictures. After the first take, it was discovered that one of the fifteen hundred cameras had jammed. Dante insisted that the ten-mile-long island city be cleaned, and the pie fight re-shot from scratch. When asked why he didn't simply use the other fourteen hundred and ninety-nine angles, Dante casually replied with his usual “Shut up, duck-face. I am the master. You are garbage. Please die."
* * * *
As promised, the limo was waiting for them at the end of the ramp; they boarded the huge and ostentatiously decorated purple vehicle. The interior was done up in venderplene wood and hefferbill leather. A circular couch was positioned before an ornate rosette window with bookend waterfalls trickling the obscenely expensive cyan-tinted Mando Corante wine. The walls were adorned with gold-framed posters representing the complete filmography of Dante Squidreaper. A table was set up with all sorts of exotic edibles.
"I smell gorso,” Yin drooled.
"Well,” Caffrey replied moistly, with an equivalent drool, “let's dig in. We've earned a respite from adventure."
"You two just stuffed your faces!” Angie gasped in disbelief.
"Nothing brings on the munchies like an altered state, Angie-girl."
"Or being the cute little poochie of said altered traveler,” Yin appended with a drool-filled smirk as he proceeded to dry his jowls on Caffrey's pant leg.
"We're going to need another ship with you two lovable lard lugs.” Angie's pout, while not visible, was plainly audible.
Poe 33 stood by the window and watched as the huge transport ship fell away.
"Have you ever wondered what food would be like, Poe?” Angie asked the android, seeking a reasonable conversational exchange.
"Actually, I have had the experience of the flavors of quite a number of foods. Tetchi chops. Kiki paté. Deep-fried steppler feet. Yoofis with calamadré sauce. Chicken-fried chicken. Various other meats, fruits, fish, vegetables, legumes, nuts, berries, nightshades, sea weeds, beans, rice, flowers, seeds, herbs, fungi and several species of insects dipped in rich, dark chocolates. Would you like me to be more specific?"
"What about dairy products?"
"I'm lactose intolerant."
If Angie had been possessed of eyes they would have rolled skyward.
The android continued. “Yet, I seem to have lost my yen for food. The desire for such a sensory experience has lost its allure."
There was a touch of melancholy in Poe's voice, backed by solemn viola chords.
"When did you last experience taste?"
"There was a huge feast at the coronation of myself as Portsmith to the great Wise One. The ballroom of the castle of Queen Kinkskin of Regal 9 was laid wall-to-wall with the finest of the galaxy's edible treats. Odd, the events following my introduction at the coronation are a mere fog. The first memory since is waking up in a seedy motel on Yeplu 7 beside a drunken seven-legged whore with green hair who continually repeated the enigmatic pronouncement ‘Lukma Ooo Ponee.’ Over and over. Not having a clue what that meant, I left and wandered the galaxy for the next ten years seeking the bloodline."
"You've lived a strange life, Poe,” Angie concluded.
* * * *
Caffrey and Yin sat like over-inflated balloons as they scoured the table for more to eat. One of the large movie posters across the room flickered, and the image dissipated in a wash of snow. It was replaced by the face of a rather handsome bald man with a suntanned countenance. If not for the seven eyes that ran like a band around his head he would have resembled an aged Southern California beach bum.
Dante Squidreaper smiled.
"Hey, Caffrey. Enough to eat?"
"Yes, yes, Dante. Thank you."
"Good. You can return the favor by bagging me a frizzbanger. I want to hook up an exec friend of mine. Recently divorced."
"Sorry, Dante. I no longer dabble in the dead flesh market."
"Good. I'll have one of my assistants contact you with the details of what I need,” Dante said, obviously involved in six other conversations, “So, relax. Watch the boom. We're gonna be rolling soon."
"When is it scheduled for?"
"As soon as my location manager is done on the surface talking to the leader of the native population,” Dante explained, annoyed at having to answer another question.
"The planet hasn't been evacuated?"
"We don't have the budget,” Dante spat. “It was either two meals for the crew or an evac. It's only a few mil class-O's anyway. Haven't even developed a written language yet. We'll give ‘em all a credit. Et al, of course."
"Ah-hah."
"Freaky creep,” opined Angie.
"We'll talk after the boom."
The screen flickered again and the poster for The Velveteen Apocalypse returned. Caffrey stepped to the window and looked out at the world with a mix of sadness and disbelief.
Poe 33 spoke. “Quark Caffrey? Have you ever had the need to slaughter millions to complete one of your musical works?"
"No, but I did barf on stage once. A wave of nausea permeated the crowd."
Poe 33's face contorted, and the lights behind his eyes fell dim. His mouth quivered, and he went dark and silent.
"There he goes again,” commented Yin, nipping at a small piece of marsupial meat caught in his rump fur.
"We really must have him examined,” Angie determined with concern.
"Poe?” Caffrey called out, slapping the Portsmith's shoulder.
The android came back to life. “I once witnessed a crowd of seven hundred thousand have a ritual, simultaneous retch.” As he recalled, Poe 33 bore a fond smile, as if he'd never blacked out.
Caffrey voiced his concerns. “We need to get you a fifty million-mile check-up."
"Quark Caffrey, I run continuous self-diagnostics."
"We need a second opinion. Angie, please contact our lunatic host and request the use of his electronics department."
"Aye, aye, Captain Spark-Lust."
"Poe,” Caffrey said softly to the android, “tell me everything you can remember about the coronation event on Regal 9."
"As I explained to Angie,” Poe began, “I remember nothing once I was announced to the gathered guests. There is a period of thirteen weeks, one day, nineteen hours, fifteen minutes and fourteen seconds of blank memory until I awoke in a seedy hotel on Yeplu 7."
"Was the purple-eyed woman a guest?"
"Not that I recall."
"Caffrey,” Yin jumped into the conversation, “the purple-eyed woman is a member of O.D.O.R. My contacts are tracing her ship, and your friends, as we breathe."
Caffrey nodded. “This Queen Kinkskin? What's she like?"
Poe drew from his memory banks. “She has a fetish for creatures of the suborder Serpentes. A Medusa complex. She wears a hat adorned with three dozen living redback gad asps. She sleeps with a thirty-foot Quilonese python. She once had an affair with her cousin simply because he arrived for a visit wearing a snakeskin dickey."
"The bigger they are, Poe, the weirder they are."
"I've noticed.” Poe nodded.
"Excuse me, Caffrey,” Yin interrupted, “but something seems to be happening."
All eyes turned to the window. Swirls of gas and mists of light were spewing from Planet Claire.
"Nefarious Wretch!” snapped Yin.
&
nbsp; "I thought Nefarious was only interested in musically inclined worlds?” Caffrey asked.
"Claire is such a world,” Poe 33 informed. “Humming is their prime form of communication. Their linguistic system is based on half-bar syllables. Their alphabet on qua-la-no-ge-hee-yo-ma, their equivalent to your do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-ti-do."
The planet was shrinking as immeasurable quantities of matter swirled past the event horizon and down the cosmic well.
"Selective planetary extraction,” Poe 33 described, with a slight hint of amazement. “Dante Squidreaper is going to have six cows."
"He'll probably marry them,” quipped Yin.
"Caffrey?” Angie said, entering the limo. “I've set up an appointment for Poe to see the head make-up effects master."
"Make-up effects master?"
"She has a degree in androidal-bio hybridology. She'll meet us in the shop in a half-hour."
"Good.” Caffrey nodded.
* * * *
The grip-and-electronics shop was set up in the southernmost bungalow on the production platform. About the size of Caffrey's block back in New York City, the grip warehouse was filled with lights, grip stands, hover dollies, bins filled with tools and expendables, as well as a fleet of life-size replica Starspeed 70 spacecraft. Yin, Caffrey, Angie and Poe 33 followed the signs past busy crewbots and beings of diverse planetary origins.
If nothing else, Dante was an equal opportunity tormentor.
They came upon a metal shack where a female Neptigen awaited them, her sea mist-colored scales shining under the bright halogen lighting.
"Lindboola,” Angie proffered, in the Neptigen language of snaps, crackles and pops, “this is Caffrey, the captain of the ship that is transporting this meteorological android and his dog to Planet Blooth."
Lindboola responded with a friendly series of snaps.
Angie translated. “Lindboola says ‘Hi.’ She asks that we come into the shop so she can dunk."
Standing room was in minimal supply in the greasy and cluttered tool room. Worktables, tool chests and a freestanding Scan-a-Peek unit spent most of the quantity of floor space. A large tank of water sat on the table: and Lindboola, as was necessary for a Neptigen living away from the sea, dunked her head and refilled her lungs with the life-giving liquid. Upon her lifting her round head, the color of her scales appeared deeper in hue and the white bioluminescent shine in her eyes brighter. She popped and crackled, water streaming down her nostrils and into openings at each side of her chin that somehow recycled the liquid back through her body.
"Lindboola would like to know if you would mind stepping into the scanning unit so she can see what's going on inside your body."
Poe 33 stepped toward the Scan-a-Peek unit. “Not a problem. However, I have diagnosed my own circuits and systems every day I have been in existence. I admit I have discovered a growing sense of nihilism in my emotional lattice, but I feel like I have the strength of three Veganese oxen. I am running like a well-hung, well-oiled stallion,” he bragged.
Poe 33 stepped onto the circular platform, and immediately a cone of magenta light engulfed him. The Neptigen studied the figures that ran up and down the light cone's surface with great interest, verbalizing her curiosity with a quick combination of pops and crackles.
"She is confused as to why you do not have a self-identity chip. Not even a slot for one. She has never run across an android without one,” Angie explained.
"I am unique. I had no reason for one as my Master—"
Caffrey interrupted. “Poe 33 was a special experimental model built during the military industrial period on Iquizi 8. His expertise involved weather manipulation for purposes of population control during the Harpilig Wars."
Angie stepped in, throwing her creative circuits into the ring of lies. “Poe 33 was so good, he once created a tornado that spun so fast it resulted in a singularity that spawned a black hole and swallowed half the solar system of the enemy."
A song of pops and snaps hinted at both amazement and disbelief.
"Lindboola has also discovered a vital chip has been removed and replaced by a scrambler.” Angie was suddenly a little disheartened.
"A scrambler?” Caffrey wondered.
"A scrambler,” Poe 33 offered. “A chip that corrupts the function of the replaced chip with random confusion pulses. My diagnostics would have not discovered such a replacement, but the system controlled by the scrambler would suffer moments of confusion. Of amnesia. Of euphoria. Perhaps even uncontrolled paranoia."
"Anyone we know?” mused Yin.
Lindboola took note of the streaming data, looked up and chirped.
"She says she cannot remove the scrambler without risk to the integrity of his other circuits. It is a bit beyond her expertise. Besides, she would fear a lawsuit."
"Angie, please tell Lindboola we're grateful for her help. But I need one more favor."
Angie passed on the word.
"What sort of favor?” was Lindboola's translated reply.
"I need her expertise in special effects makeup,” Caffrey explained.
Angie swapped messages again.
"She would be happy to help, as long as she is not needed by Dante Squidreaper."
"This shoot is wrapped. Planet Claire should be gone as we speak,” Caffrey deduced.
The group walked off as Lindboola dunked once again. Caffrey took Poe 33 aside.
"Poe, we're returning you to Regal 9, but we're gonna have our appearances changed."
"Do you think Queen Kinkskin was offended by my natural appearance during my last visit?"
Caffrey observed Poe knowingly. “No. But she's going to love our new one."
* * * *
The makeup effects station reminded Caffrey of many stellar hubs he'd visited for fuel, food and lodging throughout his life. Masks, bodies and body parts of dozens upon dozens of strange, and sometimes familiar, creatures filled every shelf, closet, floor space and tabletop. A four-foot-tall Oblitkee was hastily packing a makeup case. Lindboola stepped up to the little creature and conversed in its native language. Caffrey watched curiously as she pleaded with the Oblitkee to stay.
"What's going on, Angie?” Caffrey queried in a whisper.
"It seems Dante Squidreaper has blown his top. He is methodically executing his crew. He blames them for the disappearance of Planet Claire."
"Caffrey,” Yin whispered, “why are we wasting time here?"
"Relax, my little poochie. I know what I'm doing."
Lindboola was renowned through the Plethorian Sector for her innovations to the art of motion picture makeup. Having taken the craft beyond mere latex appliances and remote-controlled servos and air bladders, she had invented a method for temporary flesh reshaping. With the ability to remold actual flesh and bone of any living creature, she could to take any form and change it to whatever creature or oddity called for by the script. Using secret methods that involved an exotic combination of matter deception—a method of fooling the way matter itself holds the shape specified in its cosmic blueprint—and reflection juggling—a method of manipulating the way light reflects from the subject to the eyes of the audience—Lindboola had turned Belkibons into slender Ugapods, humans into ten-horned devilbirds and fellow Neptigens into three-inch-tall Mitefolk.
She worked on Caffrey, Poe 33 and Yin for just over three hours, as Angie watched her three friends’ reptilian transformations with both awe and disgust. Poe was given the appearance of thick scales and arms that slithered and moved like cobras. Yin was stretched and morphed until he resembled—to his utter disgust—a ten-legged aspapede. Caffrey's disguise was subtler and was the result of his careful and devious plan to have his way with Queen Kinkskin. Although his face was only slightly altered with the spotted pattern of a Revonese python, the real work was the living and slithering serpent that would live in his trousers for the next few days.
"That's disgusting, Caffrey,” Angie spat.
"One woman's disgust is another woman's fant
asy, Angie,” Caffrey boasted, admiring the moving bulge in the full-length mirror. “Good work, Lindboola. I'll return to normal in eight days as promised?"
Lindboola sounded an affirmative pop, and Caffrey nodded.
"I suggest we hit the wild black. We're gonna be a hit at the Duke of Blooth's costume party,” Caffrey lied. “Thanks again. Wonderful work."
Lindboola nodded, and Caffrey, Poe 33 and Yin exited. Angie, however, waited until the three were out of earshot.
"Lindboola, dear, I need a small favor..."
CHAPTER TEN
Dolly Dagger
Here comes Dolly Dagger.
Her love's so heavy, gonna make you stagger.
Dolly Dagger, she drinks her blood from a jagged edge."
Jimi Hendrix
It took The Moby Dick a full two days to gather enough reserve power to pop a sufficient wormhole into the Sigma Orionis System. Caffrey and Yin took advantage of Angie's piloting ability to indulge in much-needed sleep. Poe 33 sat alone on the window ledge staring like a satisfied hermit out to the cosmic lights.
Their journey offered a lovely view of the Horsehead Nebula as well as the lesser-known Gazelle Spleen Nebula, a striking albeit tiny crimson tube of stellar gas. Two more days and two more systems they would weave and worm through before reaching the cosmic address of Regal 9 and its mother star Torikis.
"Poe,” Angie whispered, not wanting to wake up her two sleeping mates, “can I ask you something?"
"I am sure you can,” was Poe's innocent reply.
"In all of your travels, have you ever seen a successful romance between a body-endowed being and a Revenant?"
Poe 33 pondered that a moment, looking around the ship's interior as if trying to locate a memory.
"I recall once, while I was on the sixty-fifth day of my Rendavene, I was sitting alone at the quiet end of a bar in the city of Yoop on the odd planet Squilk. I noticed a fellow. Tall Humprorian. Dressed in full plate mail armor. Blue silk bow tie. Had bloodstained leather boots. We had been in the same battle. Horrid, brutal test of our masculine sensibilities.
"Anyway, he began reciting a poem. A love poem. He spoke these tender words with such limpid and sincere vocalization I knew for certain they came from deep within the emotional centers of his heart. I listened and began to get the strange sensation that he meant these words for me. I was touched. I assumed that our bonding in battle must have overcome the taboo against Humprorian-android romance. I was ready to accept this when suddenly a disembodied voice spoke from beside him. A soft, sensitive voice that responded to the poem with equal amour. I was both happy and disappointed. I learned later it was the voice of the air conditioning unit of the tavern. They were joined in wedlock and lived happily for a year."
