by David Lubar
Nicholas pointed at the one with the largest pocket.
Clave touched it. A colored sphere appeared, along with a separate display of patterns. Clave touched the solid section below the patterns, then asked, “Color?”
Nicholas shrugged. This felt both amazingly futuristic and embarrassingly similar to going shopping with his mom.
“Let’s stay basic,” Clave said, touching black. “Watch this.”
“I’m not even going to blink,” Nicholas said.
Clave stepped back and said, “Process the order.”
A mist drifted from the nozzles. It took the form of a shirt, though it was still made of mist. Then, the mist started to pull together and drift toward the table. A moment later, a black V-neck T-shirt lay there.
“How…?” Nicholas said.
“It’s complicated,” Clave said.
Nicholas touched the shirt, half afraid it would leave a wet smear on his hands. But it felt like a normal shirt, except a lot nicer than the T-shirts he bought. He pulled his old one off, and put the new one on. “Would it be okay to get some underwear?”
“At this point, I think it would be mandatory,” Clave said. He turned toward the Thinkerator and started to speak.
Nicholas cut him off. “I’ll get it myself. Thanks.” After he ordered the underwear and watched it appear on the table, he said, “Is it just clothing?”
“Hardly,” Clave said. “You can get pretty much anything that’s in stock, anywhere. And pretty much everything is in stock somewhere. Check out the catalog.”
As Clave said that word, a catalog emerged from a slot on the wall and dropped to the table. On the cover, the word SHIRTS shimmered in large letters.
“Paper?” Nicholas asked. His parents still got a few catalogs in the mail, especially around the holidays, but he’d never looked at any of them. “And you call me a barbarian?”
“Paper is wonderful,” Clave said. “Many people don’t like swiping their hands through images in the air. There’s something nice about flipping through a thick catalog. It’s perfect for daydreaming.”
“Or chewing,” Henrietta said. “Paper is the best thing ever for chewing.”
“I’ll take your word for that,” Clave told her. He turned back to Nicholas. “Take a look.”
“I already have a shirt,” Nicholas said.
“What else are you interested in?” Clave asked.
“Cars,” Nicholas said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.
Clave tapped the catalog. “Put your hand here, and say that.”
Nicholas did. The cover image and wording changed. Nicholas realized his hand was now resting on a car catalog.
“Cool!” Nicholas said.
The catalog changed, displaying refrigerators and air conditioners. Nicholas lifted his hand. As much as he wanted to play around with the catalog, he knew he had something more important to take care of. “I should read that contract first.”
He sat down with the tablet and tried his best. But pretty much everything past the opening sentence made little sense. And it seemed to give Morglob all sorts of benefits, including the total, perpetual, and unrestricted right to use Nicholas’s image in any form of recording either now existing or invented in the future. Some of the sentences were so long and convoluted, with all sorts of wherefores and henceforths, they made his English lit assignments seem like nursery rhymes.
“Here, take a look at this. Maybe you can figure it out.” Nicholas slid the tablet toward Henrietta, who had been thumbing—actually nosing—through the Thinkerator catalog.
She didn’t do any better. Some things just aren’t meant to be understood.
“Jeef, do you know anything about law?” Nicholas asked after Henrietta had given up.
It never really came up while I was grazing, Jeef said. I loved grazing. I miss grass. And hay. More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much fine gold.
Nicholas realized he’d been hunched over the tablet the whole time he’d been trying to make sense of the contract. “I need to walk around.” He stretched his back, then went to the door to the corridor. He pushed at it. He pulled. He tried to slide it in every possible direction. Eventually, he concluded it was locked.
“Let’s check out the bedrooms.” Nicholas scooped up Henrietta and headed for the doorway on the left.
Hey! Forget somebody? Jeef said.
“Oh, sorry.” Nicholas turned back. He hadn’t consciously left Jeef behind, but he had to admit he was getting a bit tired of lugging the hunk of beef around. As much as it made him feel guilty, he was starting to wish he’d grabbed something lighter and more portable from the fridge, like a hot dog, or a mozzarella stick.
“Hold on,” Henrietta said. “I’m pretty sure I have a solution. Put me by the catalog.”
Nicholas set her on the table, next to the catalog, which was currently open to exercise wheels, and only slightly chewed at the edges. Henrietta used her snout to flip back several pages. “Here. Check this out.”
“Mind-controlled utility cart,” Nicholas said, reading the description beneath the picture. The cart looked fairly simple. It was mostly just a flat sheet of metal equipped with eight wheels, along with some electrodes that ran from a box attached to the back of the sheet, all powered by some sort of small engine.
Nicholas tapped a red circle that contained the words ORDER ME. The nozzles spurted more mist. “I could get used to this.”
As soon as the cart formed, he placed Jeef in the center platform.
Ahhhhhgggg! It’s hot! Jeef screamed.
“Sorry!” Nicholas snatched Jeef up. That was when he spotted the word DANGER printed on the cart, beneath which was written: Thinkerated metallic objects are hot. Allow to cool before using. Letters will fade when it is safe. Failure to comply with this warning will fry your toddler’s bottom. He checked Jeef’s bottom. The plastic was puckered, but unbroken.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
I guess. Except for learning what it feels like to be cooked. I never expected my best friend would hurt me.
Nicholas simultaneously cringed at the “cooked” part and choked up at the other part. It had been a while since anyone had called him best friend. He waited for Henrietta to say something sarcastic, but she held her tongue for once.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I forgive you.
“Thank you,” Nicholas said.
Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven.
Nicholas waited until the warning faded, then gave the cart’s surface a quick tap with his forefinger. Once he was sure he hadn’t been burned, he put his palm there. The metal was warm, but not dangerously so. “Here. Try it out.” He placed Jeef back in the center of the cart, then attached the sticky ends of a pair of electrodes to either side of Jeef’s package and put the cart down on the floor.
“Okay,” Nicholas said, “give it a—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the cart shot across the room and slammed into a wall. Jeef flew out, splatting against that same wall. She dropped back to the floor, missing the cart, which had bounced away from the wall after the impact. The electrodes stayed in place. The cart shot the other way, dragging Jeef across the floor like a cowgirl who’d slipped from her saddle and gotten her feet stuck in the stirrups.
Nicholas dived on it and lifted it up so the wheels spun harmlessly. “Are you okay?”
I love it! Jeef, who was still dangling, said. Put me down!
Nicholas put Jeef back in the cart, but continued to hold it in the air. “Are you sure?”
Yes!
“Maybe you could stop the wheels first,” Nicholas said.
The wheels stopped.
“Ready?”
Ready.
Nicholas placed the cart down on the floor. It took off slower, but still managed to bang a few more walls before Jeef gained some degree of control over her direction and speed.
“
You did a nice thing,” Nicholas said to Henrietta as he checked out the adjoining rooms, which both had beds and only slightly cryptic bathrooms.
“No, I didn’t. I just wanted to make sure you always have both hands free for rubbing my belly and scratching my back,” she said.
“You can’t fool me,” Nicholas said. “You’ve got a soft spot for Jeef.”
“You’ve got that backward. It’s Jeef who has soft spots.”
* * *
That evening, Spott came back. “We must escape,” he whispered.
“Why?” Nicholas asked.
“He’s a monster,” Spott said. “He has no conscience. He keeps me trapped here as his servant. I have to strain him for bits of bone and gristle after he eats. Do you have any idea how disgusting that is?”
“I can’t begin to imagine,” Nicholas said.
“And let’s not even talk about the back rubs.” Spott shuddered, which means pretty much the same for Beradaxians as it does for humans. “He told me he was going to make me a star. I signed a contract. I should have read it. There were twenty others also serving him when I arrived.”
“What happened to them?” Nicholas asked.
“They threw themselves into space to get away. One by one. That’s how terrible it is here. I’m the only one left,” Spott said. “At least until he decides to lure more captives with false promises. You’re lucky he doesn’t already represent a notorious intergalactic killer, or he’d have put you to work the moment he caught you.”
“I’m not exactly feeling lucky at the moment,” Nicholas said.
“That’s because you have no idea how bad things can get.” Spot took a step toward the door. “I’ve waited forever for a chance to escape. You’re the first people who came on their own spaceship.”
“So how do we get out?” Nicholas asked.
“We need to disable the tractor beams,” Spott said. “Then we can escape on your ship.”
“It’s not his ship. It’s my ship,” Clave said. “And I’m not helping with any escape. This is our big break. I don’t really have any other options at the moment.”
“Look, I’ve stayed too long,” Spott said. “He only sleeps for ten or fifteen minutes each evening. He’ll be calling me at any moment to fry up a snack of gristlebunnies. I’ll give you time to think about this. Just don’t talk too loudly.” He left the room.
“We need to discuss this,” Nicholas said.
“Not now,” Clave said. “I’m tired. We’ll talk in the morning.” He went off to one of the bedrooms.
“Roach brains,” Nicholas muttered as Clave’s door closed.
An hour later, just as Nicholas was settling down to get some sleep, the bedroom door crashed open. Three creatures tumbled through the doorway, howling like they were being sawed in half. Nicholas leaped from the bed and let out his own scream, though his was more like he was being sawed into fifths. The creatures resembled humans who’d been dead for quite a long time.
Nicholas was now as fully awake as he’d ever been, which was unfortunate because he really wished this were all a nightmare.
A WORD ABOUT ZOMBIES
Authentic zombies are far more common throughout the universe than most people would like to believe. As are shape-shifters, vampires, and unicorns. Though none of the unicorn races so far encountered have the ability to excrete rainbows. Which doesn’t mean there aren’t rainbow-pooping creatures out there. But since we seem to be straying far from the story at hand, let’s leave it at that and get back to Nicholas’s rude awakening.
ACTION!
Acting on pure adrenaline, Nicholas grabbed a chair, which morphed into a more comfortable and yet still useful shape as he lifted it. Armed, he rushed at the intruders and started swinging. It hadn’t crossed his mind that it might be futile to try to kill something that appeared to already be extremely dead.
His flailing session drove all three creatures out of the bedroom. Nicholas flung the door shut behind him on the way out, to keep Henrietta from bravely and foolishly joining the battle.
“Clave!” he screamed as he grabbed a sturdier chair.
Swinging and thrusting, he drove the intruders across the main room.
“Clave!” he screamed again. “Help!” A stolen glance over his shoulder showed that the bedroom door remained shut. He was on his own.
Nicholas kept swinging until all three attackers and the chair were reduced significantly from their original form. Finally, panting hard, with all his nerves on fire, and all his sweat glands operating on overdrive, or overdrown, clutching the remains of a chair leg in his hands so hard his fingers went numb, he stopped flailing and looked at the carnage.
Then he blinked and took another look.
Based on the abundance of shiny components spilling from the gaping wounds, and the absence of torn flesh or drippy fluids, his attackers appeared to be electro-mechanical.
“Beautiful! I knew you were an action star.”
Nicholas searched for the source of the familiar burbly voice. Three tiny cameras with large lenses, like the ones on the Craborzi ship, hovered in the corridor, capturing his actions from three angles. The voice came from a speaker mounted beneath the central camera.
“I’m not an actor,” Nicholas said.
“All the better. You’re a natural. We’ll get everything finalized tomorrow. Good night. Pleasant dreams.”
The door closed before Nicholas could step into the hall.
“Did you call me?” Clave asked, opening his bedroom door. He yawned, covering his mouth with one hand and scratching his butt absentmindedly with the other. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Everything is great,” Nicholas said. “Super. Perfect. Terrific!” He dropped the piece of wood and headed for his bedroom.
Henrietta was waiting on the other side of the door. “What happened? I tried to slip under, but there isn’t a gap.”
“Nothing,” Nicholas said. He didn’t want to talk about it right now.
Sleep did not come easily. Eventually, exhaustion won, and Nicholas slept relatively well, except for several brief moments when he sat up suddenly, drenched in sweat, and started screaming.
The next day, soon after Nicholas woke, Spott came in, touched the tip of one paw to his lips to shush them, and took them to see Morglob again.
“I hope you’re ready to sign the contract,” Morglob said. “I’ve already made some calls. You’re hot. People want you. That won’t last forever.”
“No. I’m not ready. I’m not signing. Please let us go,” Nicholas said. “You can’t keep us here against our will. And you’re not going to change my mind by attacking me with mechanical zombies.”
“Zombies?” Clave said. “Are you out of your mind? There weren’t any zombies on this ship. You must have had a bad dream.”
“I was totally awake,” Nicholas said. “You slept through it.”
“Really? I doubt that. I’m a very light sleeper,” Clave said. “Nothing escapes my notice.”
Nicholas turned back to Morglob. “I want to go home.”
“You obviously need more time to think it over,” Morglob said.
“No, I don’t!” Nicholas yelled.
The protest seemed to go unheard. “We can run you through a few more scenes. This one is testing brilliantly.”
A projection appeared above Morglob’s tank. It showed an alien audience of various shapes, all wearing goggles, also of various shapes, equipped with various quantities of lenses from monocular to duodecopular. Superimposed on that was a graph showing enthusiasm, enjoyment, excitement, and a slew of other reactions and emotions, including several that had no human equivalent.
Nicholas stomped his foot. “Let us go.”
“You see? You’re perfect for this. The best stars throw tantrums. We’ll get a romance going. And we’ll stage big fights in public. Wait! I’ve got it! This is perfect. We’ll put you into a relationship with Shleri Meeps. She’s due for some headlines.”
The p
rojection above the tank changed to an octopus in a dress. Actually, an octopus with big, blue eyes, three humanoid legs surrounded by tentacles, twin elephantine trunks for a nose, and huge lips.
“Those Cephaloids drive the paparazzi crazy when they swat someone with a tentacle,” Morglob said. “You are exactly what the universe has been waiting for. Are you in a serious relationship with anyone?”
“No!” Caught off balance by the question, and the stream of babble Morglob was spewing, Nicholas didn’t have time to phrase his answer as an excuse, or as an explanation that he was single by choice. Though it was more by fear, and by an inability to decode the subtle signs that a girl might actually find him attractive in a nerdy sort of way.
Morglob dismissed his guests. “Take some more time, if you need to. Eventually, you’ll realize the wisdom of signing the contract.”
Spott escorted them down the corridor. Without even looking, Nicholas could tell, from the curving path of the mildly stinging pain, that Spott had scratched SEE? in his back. In response, Nicholas nodded.
They reached their quarters, where, based on the dented and overturned furniture, Jeef had either been working hard on her driving skills, or battling another wave of zombies. Nicholas pointed to the bathroom and motioned for Clave to follow him.
Inside, he put a finger to his lips, then turned on the faucet. “I saw this in a movie,” he whispered, once the running water was masking his words. “We have to get out of here.”
“Don’t be rash,” Clave said.
“Please take us away from here,” Nicholas said.
“No.”
“It would make an awesome sfumble,” he said.
“You think?” Clave asked.
“Hey, who’s the guy with all the star potential?” Nicholas said. “Me, right? So, trust me. Walking away from being a star is a much bigger and better story than being a star.”
“He’s right,” Henrietta said.
“I’ll bet nobody has ever turned down an offer from Morglob,” Nicholas said. He flinched. Having that snotpile’s name pass through his mouth made him feel almost as queasy as being in the presence of a heaping helping of ceviche. “You’d have something that’s never been seen before. That has to be pretty rare.”
