The Garbage Chronicles (21 page)

Prince Pineapple found a way of scaling the wall, stepping in narrow rock chinks with the sides of his shoes. Reaching the top, he removed his beanie and knelt to protect himself from the wind.

Javik followed, then dropped his Tasnard rope over the edge to bring up the water pods. After this, he dropped the rope back, mentoing it to help Namaba and Rebo up. Javik kept his distance from the Moravians, and always held one hand near his holstered pistol.

The howling wind subsided now. Javik looked out on the desert, watching dry, powdery dust and sand swirl in little whirlpools. A number of red, yellow, and blue AmFed garbage cannisters were scattered about, half buried.

Prince Pineapple walked the wall to Javik’s left, searching for a way down to the desert floor. A mottled black and gray rat dashed across the top of one of the prince’s shoes. It paused nearby, staring up at him with beady, bulbous little eyes. Then it scampered down the wall to the desert, disappearing in a mound of dusty soil.

Prince Pineapple knelt and looked over the edge where the rodent had descended. “Here’s a good place,” he said, stuffing his helicopter beanie in his back pocket. Finding a foothold, he lowered the other leg carefully, locating a second chink to support his weight. Soon his leafy headress was below the top of the wall.

The wind picked up again as Javik descended.

When all were gathered at the bottom, Wizzy surveyed the great expanse of Dusty Desert, rolling his cat’s eye gaze around in awe. “We have to cross
that?”
he asked.

“Only an early obstacle,” Prince Pineapple said. “There will be others. Some may not be shown on the scroll.”
Moha,
he thought.
Now, what is that?

They brought forth the Sacred Scroll and studied it.

“No headings shown here,” Javik said. “We’ll have to guess on a course.” Glancing at the map and getting his bearings as best he could, Javik sighted across the desert along his outstretched arm. “Off that way, I’d say.”

While Prince Pineapple put the scroll away, Javik mentoed his wrist digital to activate the land compass feature. “Three-five-two,” Javik said. “That’s our course.”

Prince Pineapple kicked at a clump of sandy dirt.

“I’ll carry your shovel and barbed cord now,” Javik said, touching the prince’s arm.

“Wha-what?” Prince Pineapple’s scaly brown face took on the twisted countenance of surprised rage.

“I’m in charge of this mission, and I’ve just given you an order.”

The prince glared down at Javik.
“You’re
in charge? Wherever did you get that idea?”

“You question my authority?” Javik asked, his tone menacing. He placed one hand on the handle of his automatic pistol and looked up at the prince with his best icy stare. Javik knew the stare was fear-inspiring. Once, someone had called it a “death stare.” It was the sort of thing that could send women and small children scurrying for safety.

Prince Pineapple was no match for the death stare. His gaze flitted away nervously. “But why must you have my nutrient kit?” he asked. “Surely you don’t intend to attempt a charge on yourself?”

“It has occurred to me. But I’m not ready to take that risk. Not until the food’s gone.”

“You feel this will control me in some way, then?” Prince Pineapple stared at the ground as he spoke. He sniffed the warm odor of sun-drenched dust.

Javik smiled stiffly. As Wizzy and the Moravians watched, Javik gripped Prince Pineapple’s arm.

“Ow!” Prince Pineapple said. Angrily, he pulled away and removed the shovel, cord, and sheath.

Javik secured them to his own belt.

They covered their mouths and noses with scarves, then ventured out on the desert, with everyone walking ahead of 3avik. This was at his command, for he was feeling increasingly alienated from everyone in the group. Javik’s feet slipped often in the mixture of sand and dirt. He wondered why. It should be less slippery than sand alone.

Aw, to hell with the answer,
Javik thought.
I’m getting like Wizzy.

Hearing Javik’s thoughts with the red star crystal embedded in his nucleus, Wizzy studied a bit of gritty sand adhering to the agate dome over his eye.
Let me see,
Wizzy thought.
Intermingled face-centered cubic crystals and young, rich latosol . . . an odd combination of old and new geology.

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.”