The Garbage Chronicles Page 21

  Wizzy’s thoughts were interrupted when a cloud of gritty sand enveloped the group, blocking out all three suns. Soon they were a struggling column, with Prince Pineapple pushing ahead and the others lagging behind.

  Javik began to fall back more than the others, owing to his hunger-weakened state and to second thoughts he was having concerning the wisdom of what they were doing. Soon he stopped and waved his arms. “We’ll have to go back!” he yelled. “We can’t cross this wasteland on foot.”

  “Press on!” Prince Pineapple screamed over his shoulder.

  Javik tasted dusty dryness through the scarf. His lips were parched,

  Rebo and Namaba fell back, joining Javik. Then, reluctantly, Wizzy abandoned the prince too. “I’m having trouble flying in this stuff,” Wizzy said to Javik.

  Now the pineapple prince turned angrily, glaring back at the others across the top of the dirty scarf covering his nose and mouth. “Leave me my nutrient kit, then,” he demanded.

  “Not a chance,” Javik yelled. He glanced at his wrist compass, turning his body until he faced the return course. The wind blew a flap of his scarf open, exposing his mouth. He resecured it.

  Rebo shifted the water pods on his back. Namaba pulled one of them lower to distribute the weight more evenly.

  They started back, leaving Prince Pineapple alone and angry. The prince remained steadfast, and soon Javik could not see him any longer. Then the prince emerged from a swirling, dark cloud, trudging angrily and kicking up a lot of his own dust. He caught Javik and the others just as they reached the desert edge, at approximately the same place from which they had begun.

  Prince Pineapple’s eyes were aflame with anger. For the first time, he stared Javik down. “Why did you . . . ?” he sputtered.

  “I don’t know if we should go on,” Javik said, reactivating his blue-eyed death stare to win the battle of glares. “I mean, is it really worth it?”

  “How can you ask such a thing? With so much at stake?”

  Rebo set the water pods on the ground thoughtfully. “Prince Pineapple,” he said. “Why do you want this Abercrombie so badly?”

  “Someone has explained the Magician’s Chamber to you?” Prince Pineapple asked, surprised.

  “Yes.” Rebo nodded in Wizzy’s direction.

  “Then you know I must rid Cork of the devil Abercrombie. He is evil.”

  “And replace him with yourself?” Rebo asked.

  “Certainly not! We’ll throw him out together and seal the entrance.”

  “We have no stake in your planet,” Rebo said. “None of us do, except you.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Javik said, recalling his mission. “You’ve got some points, though, Rebo.”

  Rebo motioned Javik to one side and then whispered, “This prince is a bad one. Too haughty. And he has shifty eyes.”

  “He’s not so bad,” Wizzy said, flying up and overhearing the remark.

  Javik remained away from Rebo and kept one hand near his holstered pistol. “What makes you think I trust you?” Javik asked, looking at Rebo.

  “That pineapple guy is just using you,” Rebo said. “He needs you and Wizzy to read his damned scroll. You have no use for him.”

  “You’re a smart one, eh?” Javik said. “Used your brains back in Moro City, did you?”

  “Had to,” Rebo said. “Or I’d have been dead a long time ago.”

  Glaring at Javik and Rebo, Prince Pineapple started to say something. His lips parted. But he decided not to speak. Seeing a shady spot next to a curving protrusion on the rock wall, he retreated to be by himself.

  Namaba moved in to eavesdrop on Javik’s conversation with Rebo. She picked pieces of grit out of Rebo’s fur with her long fingers. After a while she said, “My yenta tells me we should continue. We must cross this desert.”

  “How?” Rebo asked.

  She shrugged.

  “Yenta?” Javik said. “What’s that?”

  “A very powerful form of intuition,” Wizzy said, glowing red to retrieve the answer from his storehouse of knowledge. “Morovia is one of the planets where a more refined form of this phenomenon can be found.”

  “We don’t need a galactic travel commentary,” Javik said.

  “Wizzy is correct,” Namaba said, looking at the little comet. “My mother once explained it to me in much the same words. How did you know?”

  “I too have yenta,” Wizzy said. “A variation on yours.”

  “But aren’t you male?” she asked.

  “That is my hormonal inclination.”

  “The guy can’t even say yes or no,” Javik gruffed. “He’s worse than a New City bureaucrat.”

  “Moravian men have no yenta,” Namaba said.

  “Forget this yenta stuff,” Rebo said. “I think we should go back. Call it common sense. That desert is too much for us.”

  “My yenta tells me there is a way back to Morovia on the other side of the desert.”

  “Do tell,” Rebo said.

  Namaba looked at Wizzy, asking, “Do you know of any basis for my feeling?”

  Wizzy glowed red. “Hmmm,” he said. “Well, here’s a little something. The entrance to the Corkian Magician’s Chamber is adjacent to this end of the Dimensional Tunnel. Offhand, I’d say you got here through the Dimensional Tunnel.”

  “But we landed far from that,” Rebo said. “Near Captain Tom’s ship.”

  “Abercrombie used meckie-dug tunnels and a sacrifice hole to divert you,” Wizzy said. “There’s a labyrinth of passageways beneath us.”

  “I saw his metal men digging the sacrifice hole,” Prince Pineapple said.

  “They’re called meckies,” Javik said.

  “There you have it,” Wizzy said. “The lady with the yenta is correct. The way back to Morovia is across this desert.”

  “I don’t know,” Rebo said. He brushed dirt off the thigh of his foreleg. “Why do you oppose me now, woman? Have you forgotten your obligation to me?”

  “A yenta cannot be denied,” she said softly.

  “You’re ungrateful!”

  “I have repaid you many times over, Rebo. And don’t forget about the reward. I could have turned you in to the police.”

  “You considered that?”

  “Everyone in your precious club did. Don’t kid yourself.”

  Javik looked back across Dusty Desert, thinking how similar it was to a sea—so treacherous and storm-tossed, with ripples of gritty sand like dehydrated, time-frozen waves.

  The argument subsided.

  As if in answer to Javik’s thoughts, a great desert sailing ship emerged from the dust, showing its prow and forward mast. Three gray sails were puffed full with air.

  Namaba yelled something. Javik did not make out the words. Soon all of them, including Prince Pineapple, were standing beside one another, looking out at what they presumed to be an apparition.

  But if it was an apparition, Javik found it to be extremely detailed, with three masts of billowing sails, full rigging, and bright orange banners on top of each mast. Men scurried about on the deck and clung to the rigging.

  Fruit men, Javik thought as the ship neared. Then he saw a massive carrot man in a baseball cap and a number of smaller carrot men.

  Struts on each side of the ship had been fitted with balloon tires to roll the craft along the desert, and Javik counted the struts: eight to a side. As the ship drew closer, Javik heard it creak, and he picked up the wind-tossed shouts of the crew. Dust-encased lettering on the bow spelled out the Corkian equivalent of Freedom One. Javik read this easily, using the language mixer pendant hanging from his neck.

  “A schooner,” Wizzy said, glowing red. “Rather ancient by Earthian standards.”

  The crew released lines to slacken the sails, and the Freedom One slowed, drawing up parallel with the wall. Four apple men dropped a wooden gangway. Unfortunately, they forgot to secure the upper end, and it clattered to the ground.

  “Idiots!” the big carrot man yelled. �
��Can’t find decent slaves anymore!”

  Prince Pineapple stepped back, showing fear on his face. “Brother Carrot!” he husked. “With Fruit slaves!”

  Another gangway was located and let down properly. Brother Carrot loomed at the top of the gangway. “You folks need a ride?” he asked boisterously, tugging at the brim of his cap. Javik saw that it was not a baseball cap after all, but was instead a black captain’s cap with gold braid on the brim. He towered over the surrounding Fruits and Vegetables. An oversized folding shovel and nutrient cord were strapped to his waist.

  Prince Pineapple tried to conceal himself behind Rebo, but was spotted.

  “I see one of you knows me,” Brother Carrot said with a broad smile. “And who are you, Mr. Pineapple?”

  “Prince Peter Pineapple,” the prince answered, showing his face. He straightened and stepped out from behind Rebo.

  “Ah,” Brother Carrot said, walking slowly down the gangway. “So you’re the one. The missing adviser.”

  “News travels fast,” Prince Pineapple said.

  “An army does not progress without intelligence,” Brother Carrot said. The wooden gangway shook under the weight of each step he took.

  “You plan to attack King Corker?” Prince Pineapple asked.

  “I am like you,” Brother Carrot said, reaching the ground. “An enemy of the Fruit king.”

  We are not alike! Prince Pineapple thought, using good judgment to curb his tongue. No Vegetable is the equal of a Fruit! “These are . . . uh . . . my friends,” he said. He introduced Javik and the others to the Vegetable Underground leader, giving a brief summary of their backgrounds. He did not give any details on Wizzy other than his name, being uncertain as to how the Vegetable leader would respond.

  Rebo loped close to Brother Carrot and looked directly into his black button eyes. They were about the same height. “You have a gang, pal?” Rebo asked.

  “A gang? Well, a very large gang, you might say. It’s called an army.”

  “Same thing,” Rebo said. He leaned close to Brother Carrot, speaking in a low tone. “I can be of use to you, pal. And Namaba, too. We know about fighting.”

  “That so?” Brother Carrot said, showing mock interest.

  “We could use a ride across the desert,” Javik said. “Isn’t that right, Prince?” he added, looking at Prince Pineapple with a teasing smile.

  “Uh, yes,” Prince Pineapple said uneasily.

  “You want to be in my army too?” Brother Carrot asked, looking at Javik.

  “Thanks, but no. I’ve had my share of combat.” He rubbed the scar on the bridge of his nose.

  “I don’t need volunteers anyway,” Brother Carrot said. He looked at Rebo. “Thanks for the offer.”

  “Sure,” Rebo said.

  “The ride is yours,” Brother Carrot said. He turned and stepped up the ramp, adding, “Umfira ti-ta.”

  The language mixer on Javik’s pendant beeped. He shook it, scowling at a red trouble light on the device. The light blinked green. “What did you say, Brother Carrot?” Javik asked.

  “Come aboard,” Brother Carrot said, waving expansively with one arm;

  The language mixer was working now.

  As Brother Carrot led them up the gangway, Javik held back and said to Wizzy in a low tone, “What do you read on this carrot guy? Is he a friend?”

  “No signal received,” Wizzy replied. “I tried, but there don’t seem to be any brain waves.”

  “Vegetables have no brains,” Prince Pineapple muttered out of Brother Carrot’s hearing range.

  “There was no signal from you, either, Prince Pineapple,” Wizzy whispered.

  “There’s something wrong with your apparatus, then,” Prince Pineapple huffed.

  Javik suppressed laughter.

  “Enemies of the king!” Brother Carrot said as he reached the deck of the ship. “So many enemies!” He broke into singsong: “A foe of King Corker is a foe of . . . Oops! That didn’t work, did it?”

  In the captain’s cabin, Brother Carrot introduced the group to Captain Cucumber, an amiable dark green chap who didn’t say much. The captain smiled a lot, deferring often to Brother Carrot when questions were asked.

  Javik watched Rebo and Namaba move to a corner at one end of the long cabin. There they rested on their haunches and listened intently while the others talked.

  Brother Carrot was a dominating figure. When he rested his frame on a spindly-legged sea couch, the couch’s legs bent. “We have thirty freedom ships like this,” he said proudly.

  “Imagine that!” Prince Pineapple said.

  Javik thought the prince’s tone was patronizing, but Brother Carrot seemed not to notice.

  “For the past week,” Brother Carrot said, “we have sailed the desert sea, learning its treacherous ways, charting deadheads and the like.” He smiled, and his black button eyes glowed as he looked at Javik. “Quite a few of your Earthian gar-bahge cannisters are buried in the sand out there. They make navigation tricky.”

  “I can imagine,” Javik said humbly. He and Prince Pineapple were seated on oak side chairs.

  “My army of thirty thousand men crosses Dusty Desert tomorrow,” Brother Carrot exclaimed.

  “But King Corker has no idea,” Prince Pineapple said, leaning forward with his eyes open wide in astonishment.

  Brother Carrot laughed, and his laugh filled every corner of the room. It was boisterous and surprisingly good-natured for a man having his extensive responsibilities. “Your King Corker has never had any sort of an idea.” he quipped.

  Prince Pineapple smiled. “True,” he said. “Oh, so true! Decision Coins are his crutch.”

  Brother Carrot removed his cap and brushed dust from it. “Prince Pineapple,” he said. “My sources tell me you have been in disfavor with the king for several months now.”

  Prince Pineapple scowled. “Your sources are correct,” he said. “But should you divulge military secrets to me? The disfavor story might be a ruse.”

  “King Corker can do nothing now, even if he knows. Events have been set in motion. Big events. My carrot men are fierce fighters, you know. Each is better than twenty-five of the king’s royal guardsmen . . . those fat, drunken slobs.”

  “Your brethren are well known for their strength,” Prince Pineapple said. Suddenly he raised his rear end and reached in his back pocket, pulling out a rather mangled helicopter beanie. “Thought I’d lost this for a moment,” he said, noting that the yellow plastic rotor had been broken from his sitting on it.

  “Too bad,” Javik said. “You broke it.”

  “This just adds to its value,” Prince Pineapple said. “Honor prevented me from breaking it intentionally, of course. But the way it happened was quite acceptable.”

  Javik watched the prince don his beanie.

  Brother Carrot’s eyes flashed ferociously in Prince Pineapple’s direction. “You think of my carrot people as good slaves,” he said. “But I’ll free them. I’ll free every last Vegetable in captivity.”

  “Good luck to you, sir,” Javik said.

  Brother Carrot ranted for several minutes now, saying something about a powerful Fruit Doom bomb that he was going to use against King Corker. Javik tried to ask him about the bomb on two occasions, but each time was unable to get in a word. Presently, Brother Carrot looked at Javik and asked, “Where are you folks going?”

  “Can you drop us off at the edge of Icy Valley?” Javik asked.

  “I’d be happy to,” Brother Carrot said. His eyes continued to flash from his anger over the Vegetable enslavement. “But I don’t recommend that way. Go farther west, to the meadow-lands. The way is much easier there, and there are many quaint Vegetable villages.”

  “Uh,” Prince Pineapple said, groping for words. “The Earthian here wants to go a different way. He has been sent to check on the gar-bahge situation.”

  “I see,” Brother Carrot said. “Very well, then. I will take you to Icy Valley.”

  “This Fruit Doom bo
mb,” Javik said. “What is it?”

  Brother Carrot darkened. “A terrible thing,” he said. “But I must use it to prevent further battle casualties, you see. It will shorten the war.”

  “How does it work?” Javik asked.

  “Classified,” Brother Carrot said, smiling thinly. He sat back and focused his eyes on Javik.

  This is not a suitable occasion to use my death stare, Javik thought. He looked away.

  CHAPTER 11

  Nothing worth attaining is ever easy. If it seemed easy to you, you’re not there yet.

  One of the heretic, anti-Job Support thoughts banned by Uncle Rosy

  “Get under way!” Captain Cucumber shouted, speaking into a brass, wall-mounted tube near Javik. The captain read from a chart spread across a dark-stained table: “Heading, forty-eight degrees, twenty-six point seven minutes north latitude, one hundred five degrees, fifteen point four minutes west longitude.”

  Javik heard running feet on the deck overhead, and the voices of mates barking instructions to the crew. Soon the schooner began to move. Then it picked up speed, and wind could be heard howling through the rigging. It was a creaky ship, and it built up a cadence of noises as its balloon tires carried it across the dusty wasteland.

  “Your Fruits call my people the Vegetable Underground,” Brother Carrot said, looking at Prince Pineapple with a bemused smile. “But that’s a misnomer. We are not underground. Nor are we rebels. The Vegetables are a different people, a sovereign nation. We would live in peace with King Corker, but he insists on enslaving my people.”

  Prince Pineapple rose nervously and walked with some difficulty to a porthole, holding on to bolted-down furniture and handrails as the ship pitched. Through a haze of dust and sand he saw that they were riding the face of a dune, rising along the sandy giant at a sharp angle.

  “Hold on!” Captain Cucumber yelled.

  The Freedom One powered over the top of the dune and headed down the other side. Prince Pineapple felt acceleration.