Space Tales (Seven For Space) Read online

  "I wanted to try out my new materializer — so that I could dematerialize in Old Chicago and materialize here, using your body coordinates to home in on."

  "Okay, fine. But how come you —"

  "I discovered that the machine had a few glitches in it. When I materialized the first time I found myself next to a freckled Zubu on Pluto. I had to send myself back to Old Chicago and start over."

  "Well, at least you finally got it right, I said. "What about the helmet and gloves? How'd you know they'd be needed?"

  "My meter reading on the heat factor was so high I assumed I'd need them."

  "Okay, let's cut the gab, I said. "Got us a warper to catch."

  The rest of this is anticlimax, if you'll pardon the pun. I caught Geever before he reached Venus and blew him out of the sky. Then I sent Nate home, went back to my office in Bubble City, and got out a bottle of Old Turkey. Sitting behind my desk, eased back in my swivchair, I raised the bottle. I was thinking of Roberta Sashonon.

  "Here's looking at you, kid, I said softly.

  And took a deep swig.

  Outside, in the thick Martian darkness, the red sand continued to blow.

  Moonjob

  · · · · · · · · · · ·

  a story

  I was bushed, beat, racked out.

  I'd just wrapped up an exhausting and dangerous caper on the Marble, or the Mouse Planet, which is what I sometimes called it. I'd worked Jupiter on past occasions with one of their best mouse cops, Police Inspector McFarlin. Crusty, and hot-tempered, but a straight rodent who has some brains behind his whiskers.

  This time, with Mac's help, I'd managed to shut down a nasty mousenapping operation, saving the lives of a half-dozen rich mice who were being held for a hefty ransom by a gang of scumbag mouse-grabbers. I'd taken an economy warper back to Mars, and by the time we touched down the tension had caught up with me. My eyes felt gummy, and my hands were shaking. I needed a shot of juice and a good night's sleep.

  "You look like week-old cat shit, my hovercar told me as I eased inside.

  "It's none of your business how I look, I told the car. "Just shut up and get me to the office."

  The grumpy machine locked into the traffic grid and positioned itself for the heart of Bubble City.

  I closed my eyes on the way.

  When I got to the office I felt a wee tad better, but I guess it didn't show. Edna, my battery-powered office secretary, looked up at me as I shuffled through the slidedoor. "You look bashed, boss. Tough caper?"

  "Yeah, I nodded, going straight for the office bottle in the flowcab next to my desk. "But aren't they all?"

  "Aren't they all what?" asked Edna.

  "All tough, I snapped. "Aren't all capers tough?" Edna was a little slow on the uptake, and her electroids were shot. But since I'd lost Hildy I was stuck with her.

  "Any slotmail or vidcalls while I was gone?" I asked her, taking a long pull on the bottle. Already I was feeling better.

  "You drink too much," Edna said.

  "That's what my car keeps telling me, but I come from a long line of macho drunks."

  "Nothing to brag about, she sniffed.

  "I asked about messages."

  "Bills mostly."

  "It figures," I said.

  "There was one call. From a Mister Scratch. Over at the Dancing Lady."

  I knew Arnie Scratch and I knew his crummy dive. The Lady was all low raunch and high prices. A prime tourist rip-off. None of the locals went near the joint.

  "What'd he want?"

  "Said he had to see you when you got back in town. Something about a time machine. I didn't get it all. My chest recepts shorted out."

  "I'll have your boobs rewired next week when I get the rest of my mouse payment, I told her.

  "Swell," she said, flashing me a big smile. "And my buttocks could use some refurbishing. The interior flexpadding is all —"

  "No can do, I cut in. "I can handle the boobs but your ass will have to wait."

  "I read you, boss, she sighed. "First things first."

  I put on my classic hat, smoothing the brim.

  "You going over to the Lady?"

  "Right," I said. "What I should do is go home and grab some sack-time, but I'd better check in with Arnie. He just might want to hire me."

  At the door, I gave Edna a pat on her pneumatic rear. "If he does, it means you get a new ass."

  For that she gave me another big smile.

  The Dancing Lady was locked and tomb-quiet when I palmed the bellbuzz at the stage entrance. Mid-afternoons the joint was closed, but I knew Arnie was inside. He slept upstairs and seldom left the place. Which figured, him being a major crip. Lost both legs and one arm fighting a Zeeb war in the Dogstars. Arnie had been a mercenary, a galactic soldier of fortune, and after he got Zeeb-blasted on Antar V he settled down here in Bubble City and opened the Lady.

  The door hissed back and Arnie Scratch grunted and waved me inside with his real arm. He was in his wheelie, wrapped in a checked flowrobe, and hadn't bothered to attach his neararm or protolegs. We took a zipramp to his upstairs den, and I told him he was looking good.

  "You're full of it, Space, he growled. "I look like week-old cat shit."

  "Odd, I mused. "That is precisely what my hovercar told me I looked like when I got back from Jupe this morning. It's strange how the same phrase can be —"

  "Can it, snapped Arnie. "You wanta earn some of my bread you button up and listen."

  Scratch was one mean piece of goods. Face like a sour Earthtoad. Never smiled. Didn't like chit-chat. Always got right to the point.

  "Okay," I said. "What have you got for me?"

  "This," Arnie said, nodding toward a corner of his den. "A frigging time machine."

  I know quite a bit about time machines, having been zapped back and forth between centuries by Nate Oliver's various contraptions, but I'd never seen one to match this. Looked like a motorbike from the James Dean Earth era, circa the 1950s, with a big leather seat and chrome handlebars.

  "It materialized onstage while one of my buxom robostrippers was peeling down to her glowstring," Arnie said. "Scared the piss outta my customers."

  "I can imagine."

  "There was nobody riding the thing, Scratch told me. "But a note from Matilda was pinned to the seat. "And he handed me a foilslip. It read:

  Dear Pop: I'm sending this machine back to you in Bubble City in the hope that you can rescue me. I'm trapped here in 3590 on Magna V and I need to get back home. The Meekluks, who are really very icky and not meek at all, tried to force me to work on a negative scientific project and when I refused they locked me up here in their dungeon. I managed to bribe a guard to send back my timebike with this note. I really need your help. The conditions here are lousy. Being locked in a dungeon is a real bummer. Come fast!

  It was signed: Love, Matilda.

  "Well, growled, Arnie. "What about it, Space? You willing to go get her? Obviously, I'm in no shape to do the job."

  "I just got back from Jupiter, and I'm bushed out. I need some rest."

  "You can rest after you bring Matilda back to me, he said. "Here! Is this enough to keep you awake? "And he shoved a thick roll of solarcredits into my hand. I did a quick count, whistled. "Jeez," I said. "This is too much. You're giving me —"

  "I know what I'm giving you, he snapped. "But I don't put a price tag on my daughter's life. Now, is it yes or no?"

  "It's yes," I said, slipping the credits into my rollcoat. "I can always sleep when I get back."

  "That's the ticket!" exclaimed Arnie, and he almost smiled. "Now climb aboard that damn thing and go fetch Matilda."

  "I need a picture of her, and I also need the exact time-space coordinates for the planet. "Scratch rolled over to a desk, took out an album, removed a tri-dim body shot of his daughter, gave it to me. Young, stacked, and beautiful. Just the kind of female that I go for. This trip might have a double payoff. "What about the coordinates?"

  "They're on the ba
ck of the note, Arnie told me.

  I turned over the foilslip, scanned the stamped data. "I'm going to leave my classic hat here with you," I said. "I don't want to risk losing it on Magna V."

  "Fair enough."

  Then I keyed the timebike's control panel to the proper numbers, hopped onto the leather seat, gripped the big chrome handlebars — and zinged off for 3590.

  Looked as if Edna was going to get her buttocks refurbished after all.

  Well, I can't tell you all about how the world of 3590 looks because I didn't see a lot of it. For one thing, the timebike materialized inside a public toilet, and all public toilets look pretty much the same. I guess Matilda Scratch figured it would be safe for me to turn up in a public toilet. That way I wouldn't attract attention and could get on with the job of breaking her out of the dungeon and getting her back to her Daddy in Bubble City.

  Trouble was, I didn't know where to find the right dungeon, or any dungeon for that matter. They aren't easy to find no matter what era you happen to be in.

  I didn't even know the name of this city. A startled gent stepped out of one of the booths, zipping his breech, and I asked, "What city is this?"

  He blinked at me. "Uh … Meeklukville."

  "Would you happen to know where their major dungeon is located?"

  "Dungeon?" He stared at me. "Uh … no. No, I don't"

  "Just thought I'd ask." I grinned at him. "Have a happy day."

  He walked away fast.

  Outside, I hid the timebike in some heavy fibrobushes before leaving the area. The guy in the public toilet looked like an Earthling, so maybe the Meekluks looked that way, too. You never know how anyone's going to look in the future. Especially in another solar system, and Magna V was a long way from home.

  I didn't have a plan, and that bugged me. How could I find Matilda without a plan?

  I stepped onto a moving pedwalk and rode it for a while, hoping to reach a more populated area.

  No luck. The landscape around me was bare and raw-looking, like uncooked meat. Then a building popped into view, with a large sign on it written in two dozen galactic languages. One was English. The sign said, TOURIST INFORMATION.

  I stepped off the belt and went inside. A bored-looking, unpolished metalloid robo sat on a high stool in the middle of a circular chamber.

  "Hi," I said, walking up to him. "Are you the one who gives out information to tourists?"

  "Yo," said the robot. "I can tell you anything you need to know. Where you from?"

  "I was born on Earth, but I live on Mars now."

  "Ummm … I had a nephew who was built on Earth. He always had a screw loose." The robot chuckled. "Little joke of mine," he said.

  I smiled. "Actually, I need to locate the dungeon where Meekluk prisoners are housed."

  "That's real easy," said the big robot, pressing a button on his stool. "I'll have you taken there."

  "Hey, great!" I said. This caper was proving a lot easier than I'd figured.

  Two squishy-looking, toad-shaped figures emerged from a slotdoor in the wall and came up behind me, grabbing my elbows and twisting my arms.

  "Ouch!" I complained. "That hurts. Who the freeb are you people?"

  "They are Meekluk law enforcement officers," said the big robot. "They'll be happy to throw you into their dungeon."

  "Whoa! Wait a half-sec. I didn't say I wanted to be —"

  Too late. One of the Meekluks whapped me over the head with a club and I woke up in their dungeon. Dank and damp and smelling putrid. Universal dungeon smells. My cell was about the size of a Martian vidbooth, with dirty straw (imported?) on the nearfloor and what looked like a dead Earthrat floating in the bucket I was supposed to use for elimination.

  A really depressing place.

  I thumped on the walls, yelling, "Anyone next door? Can anyone hear me?"

  "I can hear you, a female voice answered from the adjoining cell. "Who are you?"

  "I'm Samuel Space, a private investigator from Mars here to rescue Matilda Scratch."

  "Then you're a real foul-up," she said. "I'm Matilda."

  There was a small barred window between our cells. I emptied out the dead rat, upended the bucket, and stood on it. The extra elevation allowed me to peer at Matilda Scratch. And (as her bodshot had indicated) she was definitely worth peering at. A lush blonde with prime thrusters, a wasp waist, and long dancer's legs. And her face was gorgeous. Matilda's hair was a mess, but it couldn't dim her beauty.

  "How did you get here?" she asked me.

  "Your Daddy hired me to take that timebike you sent him and come here to bring you back to Bubble City. But I was arrested by some Meekluk cops for no reason, and I ended up in this cell."

  "There's a reason for everything a Meekluk does," she said. "Did you tell them you were a tourist?"

  "Yeah," I said.

  "Well, it's against the law to be a tourist on weekends, and this is a weekend."

  "That's an insane law," I said.

  "Meekluks have their own ideas about things," she told me. "A lot of their ideas are what we'd call ‘irrational.' But that's just how the cookies crumble in Meeklukland."

  "Weird place," I muttered.

  "I don't give a frog's fart about your opinion of the local customs. You're supposed to get me out of here!"

  "Don't be so testy," I said. "I'll figure a way. I've escaped from prisons on almost every planet in our System."

  "I'm not impressed," she said tartly. "You strike me as ineffectual."

  She'd nailed me. That's exactly how I felt. Ineffectual.

  "Don't worry," I said. "I'll think of something."

  "Well, you'd better think fast, because they execute weekend tourists. The Death Squad should be coming for you any minute now."

  Which proved to be correct. Within sixty seconds, my cell door swung open and I was marched out of the building into a courtyard — where they stood me against a nearwall.

  There were six Meekluks in the Death Squad, armed with laser-weapons. All of them squishy and toad-like. Their leader said, "Are you prepared to die?"

  "Absolutely not," I told him. "You boys are making a big mistake. I'm an officially-licensed private detective from Bubble City, and when my employer finds out what —"

  "Talk is a waste," cut in the toady leader. "Prepare to die."

  "I need a smoke. Last request." I was stalling for time, not sure of just what to do.

  "Smoke?" The leader's squishy face was contorted.

  "Sure, I said, taking out my lighter and flicking it. Flame shot up from the wick.

  The Meekluk leader screamed and ran. All of the others did the same. Screamed and ran.

  I picked up one of their fallen weapons, walked back into the dungeon, and blasted open Matilda's cell door. She ran out into my arms, the softness of her full lips crushing mine. It was a sublime moment.

  "How did you manage it?"

  "Easy," I said, flicking my lighter. A tongue of yellow flame jumped from the wick. "When I did this they split."

  "Now I understand." She nodded. "Meekluks are terrified of fire. They are extremely combustible."

  "Guess I lucked out." I stowed the lighter. "Let's get going. We can catch a pedwalk back to where I stashed the timebike and head for home."

  "Nix," she said, shaking her blonde head. "First we have to get rid of Turg and his scientific doohickey."

  "Who's Turg?"

  "The big cheese in Meeklukville, she told me. "When I stopped off here in 3590 to change a tire on my timebike he took a sexual fancy to me and I ended up at his heavily-guarded castle in the Ulps."

  I raised an eyebrow.

  "The Meekluk Mountains," she explained. "Anyhow, Turg was super icky so I resisted his squishy advances."

  "Did he try to rape you?"

  "No. Meekluks aren't set up for it. Their sexual equipment is awkwardly placed."

  "Go ahead."

  "When he found out I had a degree in microscience, Turg demanded that I help him with the
final stages of his latest invention. When I refused, he tossed me into the dungeon. He's a prize scuzzbag."

  "Then just forget him." I snapped. "My job is to get you back to Daddy."

  "After we destroy Turg and his cruddy invention."

  "You use a sizable number of Twentieth Century slang expressions in your conversation," I noted.

  "Yeah, I do. It's my top fave era. I just dig it."

  "Tell me about Turg's invention."

  Her green eyes flashed. "Look, Samuel, we can't just stand here gabbing. Time is of the essence. I found out from one of the dungeon guards that Turg has perfected his doohickey and intends to use it this weekend."

  "So how do we stop the guy?"

  "We need a flame thrower," she declared. "They used them back in the 1940s in the second World Earth War."

  "Yes, but —"

  "We must get one."

  Which is precisely what we did. I took Matilda to the timebike and she zapped us back to the 1940s — to an unshaven, battle-weary GI on Iwo Jima who freaked out when Matilda grabbed his portable flame thrower.

  "Sorry, bud," she said, "but we need this more than you do."

  And with a "puff" of energy we were gone, back to the public toilet in Meeklukville.

  "So far so good," nodded Matilda. "Now, let's hide the bike and head for Turg's castle."

  "How do we get there?"

  "An express pedwalk will take us into the Ulps," she declared. "Practically to his drawbridge."

  "Okay," I said, "but I don't see how we're going to be able to force our way inside a heavily-guarded castle full of laser-bearing Meekluks — even with a flame thrower."

  "Oh, we won't need to use it on the guards," she assured me. "I'm hot enough to get us inside. Meekluks love Martian blondes."

  Matilda knew her Meekluks. When we appeared at the drawbridge she had the portable flame thrower slung over her right shoulder with the barrel against my ribs.

  "He's a Neebish spy," she told the two guards at the bridge. "I caught him trying to infiltrate." She nudged me with the barrel. "I'm taking him to your master. Turg will want to torture him personally."

  When they hesitated she flashed a wide smile and exposed her left thruster. "Maybe after I turn this Neeb over to your boss we can all hinkle."