by Mike DiCerto
"So, if you simply want the L'Orange to destroy it, what will become of the Portsmith?"
Spydersloth smiled. Caffrey decided he wouldn't press the issue, for he knew Poe 33 was doomed. They turned a corner; and, quite unexpectedly, Caffrey found himself staring at a bridge of ruby bricks spanning a small river of brilliant green lights.
The Arachnid waved an unused arm. “Beyond this bridge and through that door you will come face to face with your own past. Your own history."
Caffrey didn't know what to do. He had to play along, but time was at a premium. He had to get his hands on the gift. The package had to be his. And now!
"Won't you enter with me?” he offered. “I'm sure my past would love to meet you."
"We've met. I must attend to a meeting with a certain group of beings who possess great delusions of grandeur."
Caffrey took a step toward the bridge. He stopped. He fought off the feelings of panic. He took a deep breath and turned to face Spydersloth.
"Can I at least take that package off your hands? Put it inside for you?"
Spydersloth seemed appreciative. “Thanks. I'll retrieve it later."
With that, Spydersloth handed the black-wrapped gift to Caffrey and nodded. Caffrey returned the nod and walked across the bridge and to the door. It opened on its own accord. He looked back, and Spydersloth nodded again. Caffrey entered, and the door closed.
There had been a number of impossibilities Caffrey had seen come to pass in his life. This was ludicrous. He stood in a small foyer dimly lit by soft yellow lights. He stared at the package. It was beyond ludicrous. It was astronomically farcical. It was as if all the good karma Caffrey had donated to the universe in the way of friendly smiles, donated nickels, patted dogs and ignored shoves on public transportation had finally decided to conspire in the silliest payback in the entire history of instant karmic redemption. He could only smile. It was a silly, out-of-control smile that widened until it could not express the volcano of feelings he wished to communicate.
So, he laughed. The laugh grew quickly into the loudest and least-controlled guffaws of his entire life. He was almost inclined to fall to the ground and roll around on the thick plush carpet but resisted out of fear of damaging his mates inside the package.
A voice, calm but with a hint of restrained annoyance, spoke, ending his cavalcade of jocundity. He wasn't sure what the voice had said, but it sounded as if it was targeted at him. Caffrey stepped from the foyer and into an octagonal room—the walls ruby and engraved—another of the chambers that made up the Deck of Ruby Gilding. A sofa, tilted back at forty-five degrees to allow for a perfect view through the glass ceiling, ran around the entire perimeter. Seated on one segment was Greppledick Quark. He seemed to have been waiting and appeared rather miffed.
"Are you done?” Greppledick asked, not getting up.
"Who the hell are you?” Caffrey asked the old man.
"It's been years. My name is Greppledick Quark—Uncle Greppledick to you, boy."
Caffrey's mouth dropped, and he took a few steps forward to shake the man's hand. The old fellow was unable to get himself upright from the oddly angled sofa. He gave it a valiant effort but, after three tries, waved his hand in frustration and frowned.
"Ever see such a ridiculous sofa? Please, Caffrey, sit."
"Uncle Greppledick, shouldn't you be dead by now? No offense intended."
"None taken. I was and should be! I died twenty years ago. I'm dead, Caffrey. I liked being dead. It's wonderful—trust me. When you die you will have no desire to come back into the body again. Bodies suck. They're cumbersome. They smell,” Greppledick complained, sniffing his armpits.
"So, why are you here?"
"I was brought back by Spydersloth Blaust and his mighty master because they needed to track down one of my androids. Poe 33. Convert him. They need him to help locate the missing L'Orange. They want to help save the universe."
"Save is a subjective term,” Caffrey observed, fondling the package.
Greppledick wasn't impressed. “Look, I just want to get back to the other side. What happens in these dumb dimensions is of no importance to me."
"Excuse me, Mr. Afterlife, but some of us are rather fond of these dumb dimensions!"
"It's not worth the effort."
"Huh?"
"You have—what? Seventy, maybe a hundred years left? Do you realize that on the other side you can take fifty years to have a leisurely pee, should you choose? You slow down. You stop and watch the flowers grow. It's wonderful! Forget the pre-life. It's really overdone."
"Death does make Jack a cavalier boy!” It was Caffrey's turn to be unimpressed.
"What do you want from me? One minute I'm dancing and doing back-flips across fields of ethereal tulips and the next I'm being interrogated by some foul-smelling Arachnid. I just want back."
Caffrey tried to arouse his uncle's interest. “Greppledick, these sewer-soul freaks are stealing worlds. One at a time. Seeking and destroying those who love music. They want to create an all-music-free universe."
"Looks like my favorite nephew has found himself in rather posh circles. Saving the universe?” Greppledick was sardonically impressed.
"I didn't get involved to save the universe. I got involved to save my band-mates. My friends.” Caffrey suddenly remembered the package. He could wait no longer and tore off the black wrapping. The very rotation of the galaxy seemed to come to a screeching halt. He stared at the colorful box.
"'4-D Construction Set. Warp time and impress your friends,'” Caffrey read the claim on the box. “Build Moebius strips, hypercubes, Banchoff-Klien bottles! Romp around Calabi-Yau space and feel the goofy effects of Lorentz contraction! And much, much more! Two quadruple-D Planck watt batteries required, not included."
Caffrey looked at Greppledick who, disinterested, was staring up at the flickering lights beyond the glass ceiling.
"'Batteries not included,’ my 3-D ass,” seethed Caffrey venomously, tossing the box to the floor.
* * * *
The conference room was a perfect circle. The table at its heart was in an arachnid shape, its thorax the flat surface. Its fifteen legs—twice the arachnid number less one—symbolized O.D.O.R's philosophy of non-rhythmic/non-lyric duality. Upon the walls were countless round monitors, like peering spider eyes. The Five Heads of the Five Sectors were seated, impatiently tapping fingers, puffing cigars or mumbling incoherently. Their respective security entourages stood behind, each posing and vogueing in vanity-filled attempts to impress or frighten the others.
Spydersloth entered without his usual fanfare and stepped up a small walkway rising above and over the table. All eyes turned to him.
"Welcome, friends,” the Arachnid said. “I am honored to have you all together."
"Never mind the platitudes, twinkleshite,” Quigmo retorted, adjusting his tremendous girth in his seat and releasing a pocket of foul gases trapped in two of his countless fat layers. “I lose one more world, you eight-legged zealot, and you'll discover Quigmo Digmo has something to say."
Sympathetic agreement sounded from the other four heads. Spydersloth pounded his fist like a judge's gavel.
"Silence! Silence!” he demanded until quiescence returned to the room. “I wouldn't complain, Mr. Digmo, you have done quite well, lining your pockets with fossil fuel profits."
Melagus Winstis, the diminutive but powerful Four-Fanged Vexerine, pushed into the altercation with a wisecrack. “Never mind fossil fuels. Quigmo could power the galaxy with the endless natural gas reserves he stores in his bowels!"
As if illustrating the point, and to everyone's disgust, Quigmo farted.
Ignoring the interruption, Spydersloth continued. “I would like to introduce to you the latest success of Spy-Blau. You will appreciate his efforts. You will understand his mission. You may even decide to cast aside your entrepreneurial garb and don the robes of O.D.O.R."
"Quigmo always dons odor!” quipped Melagus.
"Hilario
us,” Quigmo smirked, taking a certain amount of pride in the insult.
"Please dispense with the jesting until the completion of our meeting. I would like to present to you all the Portsmith to the Great L'Orange—Poe 33!"
The android descended from the ceiling like a hanged man on a rope of silver light.
"For all I care, this android can be the personal butt cleaner for the King of Verexia itself!” grumbled Quigmo.
Poe 33 smiled at the comment but said nothing.
Scorthius Hild, the armor-plated insecto-crustacean from Criyx, was similarly underwhelmed by Poe. “I have lost thirty-three worldsss. Worlds that were producing extremely valuable doreme crystalsss.” The words sighed in sibilant syllables via quivering mandibles.
"Doreme crystals are used for making the tri-ocular flute, am I correct?” Spydersloth asked.
"Yessss..."
"Tri-ocular flutes have been made illegal. They are immoral,” declared Spydersloth.
Scorthius hissed scatalogically and slapped the tabletop as Spy Blau pressed on.
"Gentlemen, the Great Portsmith has returned. This is the day our cause has waited for. This great android will lead us to the Doorange dei Lai msyticarei!” Spydersloth orated, utilizing a rather ancient and folksy term for L'Orange.
"And what percentage of the mystical cube will be given to me?” inquired Quagmo Dagmo.
"You will all share in the great pie,” Spydersloth promised, glancing across the room at a small dark window.
The genuine Angie, who had entered seconds after Spydersloth, was quickly trying to deduce what was going on. She noticed the glance and followed his eye line to the window.
Oh, my! she exclaimed silently at the sight of the large quad-barreled pulse gattler, a wicked and deadly energy weapon, being positioned by two stocky android guards. She made her way swiftly to Poe and messaged directly into his communication circuits. Poe, my dear, something terrible is about to happen. I believe a massacre of galactic proportions. You must get out of here.
Thank you, Angie. But I am following a direct wish of my maker. I cannot leave. I would suggest you inform Quark Caffrey that Violet is imprisoned in a spherical cage somewhere on the Deck of Ruby Gilding. Pass my wish to my maker that I wish her to be free to go.
Poe, are you mad? We have to leave together!
I'm sorry. In a mentally metaphoric manner, Poe put his foot down.
Angie swore at the stubborn android and slipped across the room to Yin.
"Yin!” she whispered directly into the groggy Bopple's ear. “Wake up. We have to get out of here!"
Yin raised a tired eyebrow and yawned. The small Rykonese Puffy tied to the adjacent shoulder also tried with a great strain to lift his head. Ba Ba Banaki was too busy pounding his fist angrily to notice.
"I can nil afford to lose any more of my worlds. In the last three weeks, six of my most profitable planets have gone down the cosmic crapper. Do you realize how much money there is in Harmonic Love Teasing?"
A chorus of complaints and protests erupted, and Angie took advantage of the distraction to implement extreme measures. She sent a perfectly pitched scream, audible only to those creatures with the hearing organs to detect sounds in the higher frequencies, straight into Yin's ear. It was the doggie equivalent of the combined vocal reaction of a dozen teenage girls at a slumber party at finding cockroaches in their sleeping bags.
Yin's eyeballs almost shot out of his head, and any further desire for doggy dozing was melted away like a marshmallow near a supernova. Instant sobriety of the most efficient nature. The three other canines awoke as well.
"Now, Yin! Free yourself!” Angie ordered.
"What is going on?” shouted Melagus. He drew his weapon.
Every bodyguard in the room produced either a firearm or a blade.
Spydersloth smiled, nodded, and all hell broke loose.
Yin used his teeth to tear open the straps holding him to the giant Fizizi. He stood up on his hind legs and howled the ancient war cry of the Bopplian folk. The three other bound poochies, following some timeless instinct upon hearing the cry of their elders-in-spirit, freed themselves and returned the howl. Energy blasts flashed. Fists flew. Tails whipped. Claws scratched. Teeth tore at flesh, bone and sinew. Spydersloth and Poe 33 rose on a platform of light into the ceiling.
Angie cried out to Yin as she fled the room, “Meet us at the Deck of Ruby Gilding!"
Oafy, watching stealthily nearby, laughed and tailed after her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Time
You are young and life is long
And there is time to kill today.
Pink Floyd
Caffrey insisted on reading every word of text on the box of the 4-D construction set three times. He needed an explanation. He was looking for some solace, something that would clarify the cruel joke the universe—the same universe that had tickled, teased and toyed with him as far as back his memory could serve—had played on him.
As he read, Greppledick explained just how his afterlife bliss had been rudely interrupted. He confessed without apology that he would have agreed to anything in order to get back to the enchanted heights of the hereafter. The old, reawakened dead man demonstrated with great gusto the act he played on Poe 33 to convince him to follow Spydersloth. He spun around the room like a religious ecstatic on snake venom, laughing loudly in amusement at his own impressive performance.
"You're a sick individual,” Caffrey concluded. “Why don't you simply kill yourself and return?"
"It's all a bit more complicated than that. Stop asking such foolish questions."
Caffrey stood up and began pacing. “Surely, as Poe's maker, you must have some idea how he became separated from his master? Why he has no connection whatsoever?"
"I haven't a clue. Why don't you ask the L'Orange yourself?” sniggered Greppledick, who thought he was being humorous. Caffrey, rather than laugh, sat back on the sofa and closed his eyes.
Invoking the smell of cardboard and wet, smoldering leaves, he waited for a reply. Nothing. He tried adding the essence of Scotch bonnet peppers and furniture polish. An odd sensation crept up his leg. It wasn't so much a feel as it was a taste. Strange as it sounded, the taste of huckleberry and butter cream tiptoed up his chest and tickled his chin. This bizarre but definite feeling formed a picture in his mind. It was the teal-and-gold room and, centered in the space, sitting upon a black-velvet-covered table, was a cube of orange gelatin.
Hello, Caffrey, a voice sounded in his head.
Hello.
I want you to take your next step. Communicate to me as I did to you. I want you to use the physical sensations of taste.
How?
You know how. Here ... The L'Orange sent a feeling of scalding water across Caffrey's fingertips, but it didn't burn. It tasted like sour apples and yet his mind somehow experienced this felt taste as words: Ride the gift of the gift horse.
Caffrey was confused by the advice and sent out electrical static tickles of fish and chips with brown sauce. He was punched in the stomach as the taste of rotted cabbage, sour milk and molded bricks filled his mouth.
You are wasting time. But, alas, time can be recycled, was what the Wise One advised. Caffrey focused origami birds, barnacle sauce and burnt toast with marmalade—but no answer was returned. Instead, the teal-and-gold room faded; and Caffrey opened his eyes, finding himself back on the couch in the Deck of Ruby Gilding. He gathered his thoughts a moment then turned to his uncle.
"Where's Poe?"
"He is being readied for worship. Spydersloth is feeding the oversensitive ego circuitry I built into Poe."
"I have to get him back quickly.” He smiled as he picked up the 4-D construction set.
Caffrey was about to open the box when a quizzical look filled his countenance. He looked at Greppledick.
"Where's Violet?"
"Who?"
"Violet. The purple-eyed lovely."
"Didn't realize she was with you.”
Greppledick seemed concerned.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I sort of sent Peebo off with her."
"Peebo?"
"My new little android. I built him when I was brought back. Had a few days to kill. He's sort of ... escorting her."
"Where?” Caffrey's stomach tightened.
With great hesitancy and a certain amount of embarrassment, Greppledick explained, “To the Room of Traitor Disposal."
Caffrey burbled air out between his lips in disbelief.
* * * *
Angie, like a lucid dreamer, flew through the twisting corridors of the Crystal Guise. She tried continuously to communicate with its computers; but they simply called her bad names, telling her to go to Hell and other equally distasteful locations. Finally, she came to a flashing sign pointing the way to the docking bays. She followed their directions, unaware of Oafelia stealthily on her tail.
* * * *
No announcements had gone out, but they knew. The beings aboard Spydersloth's ship always knew when and where they were to gather and pay tribute, pray to or bow down before whoever or whatever was to be the recipient of their surrendered soul. Like wind-up sheep they gathered outside the Green Metallic Lair of the Subservient Eggs1, where they would yield their very essence and fall prostrate to the idol of the day. Inside, Poe 33 sat upon a throne, a long green carpet leading to his polished feet.
"Now I am to be hailed, as such an august android should be,” he murmured softly to himself. “They will bow before me."
A large door opened, and the supplicants entered.
* * * *
"Come on, darling, start. Start!” Angie pleaded with the escape pod's engine. After a few more failed attempts, the engines came to life, and the craft rose a few feet off the ground.
"That's the girl. Okay, my love, Angie's coming."
The walls of energy locking the pod in its parking space dissolved, and Angie guided the small craft down the landing tunnel and back into space.
Outside the Crystal Guise, five ships floated towards the refuse vaporizers—the five ships of the Five Heads of the Five Sectors were about to be no more. Angie proceeded to the large main opening and, tossing caution to the wind, launched the pod at full throttle into the entry port. It accelerated through the large reception area, sending confused bodies ducking and diving out of the way. Angie maneuvered the craft down a main hall that forked and split, and forked and split some more, crashing through glass doors, partitions and windows with reckless abandon. Alarms sounded and heavily armed robotic guards emerged from their storage compartments, scattered in regular intervals about the ship.
