Shuteye for the Timebroker Page 30

  The Clowns had been contending against humanity for control of Shiloh for generations. Eventually, with their presence demanded elsewhere in the galaxy, humans had left their cortico-chimp proxies behind to continue the war. The Clowns fought on foot with strange weapons: cube-shaped grenades that contained specks of antimatter, embryonic limpet mines.

  One day a cortico-chimp named Joru was enjoying a slight respite from battle. Sipping all-sustaining tortoise milk from a nipple, Joru contemplated his life. When would this fight end? Couldn’t some accommodation with the Clowns be reached? Surely there must be more to life than eternal violence. Would Joru ever get a chance to express some of the finer elements of his nature?

  Unfortunately, Joru’s daydreaming allowed a Clown to slip up to Joru’s tortoise and attach a limpet mine. Within seconds, the Clown had gained entrance to the shattered cockpit.

  Joru whipped out a small knife, his only hand weapon, and turned bravely to confront the Clown. With wide red lips in a pasty white face, rubbery spherical nose, and black-diamond-bordered eyes, the alien presented an ironic portrait of friendly hostility.

  “Stop!” yelled the Clown in a blubbery voice. “I only want to talk!”

  Joru hesitated. A trick? Yet perhaps this represented the opening he had been hoping for.

  “Very well,” said Joru. “What do you have to say?”

  “We are the spectacle in ring one. But what’s in rings two and three?”

  This alien koan had the effect of blasting Joru’s psyche with numinous waves of meaning. His hairy face aglow, Joru dropped his knife and extended his paw in a gesture of friendship.

  The Clown accepted the Crusader’s hand. This gesture marked the beginning of the peace of Shiloh.

  And the end of humanity.

  23.

  THE TORMENT OF SAMMY SQUASHBRAINS

  Halloween eve found little Corky Taint costumed as Sammy Squashbrains, a character found in the pages of his favorite young-adult novels, the Fanny Fluffernutter series. Inside his large hot rubber head, Corky was grinning from ear to ear. Tonight would bring the traditional bounty of sweets, certainly. But much, much more wonderfully, this holiday would also see the fulfillment of one of Corky’s most cherished dreams.

  Tonight he would get to meet Idanell Chalefant, the world-famous author of the Fanny Fluffernutter books.

  Corky had won a nationwide contest in which the first-prize winner for each state was granted an audience with the creator of such treasured figures as Bitsy Bobbin, Haute Stuffe, Little Liza Ladybug, Duke Duchess, and, of course, Sammy Squashbrains, the good-natured, gourd-headed companion of the heroine, Fanny Fluffernutter. Fifty ecstatic children would be ushered into the Chalefant mansion for a luxurious party. And Corky Taint was one of that elite.

  Accompanied door-to-door by his parents through his familiar neighborhood, Corky could barely contain himself. The tumble of candy bars into his out-held sack, a sensation that would normally delight him, barely registered at all. Finally it was time for the Taint family to drive to Chalefant’s vast estate, which, luckily enough, was situated only thirty miles north of Corky’s hometown.

  Corky’s parents escorted him past the spooky wrought iron fence surrounding the mansion and up to the front door, where a servant costumed as Weepy Wendell accepted custody of Corky, ushering him inside.

  Corky’s eyes nearly bugged out. The interior of the mansion had been decorated to resemble exactly the castle of the wicked Duke Duchess, complete with the torture equipment that had played such a big part in The Crucible of Cruelty. Forty-nine other children were rampaging gleefully around the huge space, shrieking and tossing candy corn at each other.

  And there, sitting on a throne, was Idanell Chalefant, costumed as Fanny Fluffernutter herself, right down to her cotton-candy skirt.

  The author spotted Corky and announced, “Ah, my seed-brained boyfriend! Now the festivities can begin!”

  Corky blushed as Idanell descended from her dais and approached. She stopped near him. Corky noticed she was holding the Wand of Winds.

  “There’s only one problem,” Chalefant said. “You’re wearing your everyday head, not your party head.”

  Chalefant tapped Corky with the Wand of Winds.

  Instantly his thoughts grew dull. His head felt heavy and overstuffed, as if he had a sinus infection. His mouth seemed full of thready matter. Maybe he had used up all the oxygen inside the mask. Corky reached up to remove the disguise.

  He touched not rubber, but the waxy rind of an ear. And he could feel his own touch on the outside of the big squash head!

  Chalefant smiled. “Don’t try to change heads by yourself, dear. Allow me.”

  Corky felt Fanny Fluffernutter’s hands firmly grasp his gourd head and begin to twist.

  Having one’s head removed didn’t hurt, precisely. But it wasn’t as much fun or as easy as the books had made it out to be, either.

  24.

  THE EGG HUNT

  Excerpts from an unpublished VoiceText file retrieved from a smashed Palm Pilot XXII and titled The Anomalous Occurrence of Mammalian Secondary Sexual Characteristics in the Ovoviviparous Martians, by Webley Loofbarrow, PhD:

  “… allowed to take up residence in the Carter-Thoris country household, under the pretext of being an armaments dealer looking to negotiate a large contract for radium pistols. If the subjects were ever to discover that I was in reality an anthropologist, I would have cause to fear the consequences of my deceit, since the breach of Martian honor and propriety would be profound.…

  “… obtained DNA sample on the sly from Dejah T. in the form of her discarded menses. Initial genomic mapping results from Palm Pilot XXII are bafflingly contrary to observed reality of fertile interbreeding with terrestrial humans in form of John C.

  “… gained access to the nursery, where several large eggs bearing the Carter-Thoris scions were being incubated. Interrupted during portable-ultrasound examination with Palm Pilot XXII by sudden appearance of Tars T. Barely managed to stammer out a convincing explanation for my presence in the nursery. Hard to concentrate while focusing on those tusks and on those extra green hands that kept twitching toward sword and pistol.

  “… unexpectedly alone with D. T. while John C. was away in Helium. Interview took unanticipated intimate turn. Fumbled embarrassingly while unbuckling my damn Martian costume. Female clothing luckily exiguous. Able to confirm that secondary sexual characteristics of subject fully functional, at least in terms of erogenous responsiveness. Egg-outlet likewise. Could not immediately determine lactational potential of former organs.

  “… thoat saddled and provisions packed. Hope to make sanctuary of nearest oxygen factory before J. C. and T. T. discover my perfidy and realize I’ve fled. Darwin be damned forever getting me into this fix in the first place!”

  25.

  HIAWATHA ENCOUNTERS THE FLYING PURPLE PEOPLE EATER

  First contact with an extraterrestrial race occurred on July 17, 2005, at the Foxwoods Casino in Connecticut. The casino, operated and owned by the Pequot tribe of Native Americans, was the largest gambling facility in North America, and naturally enough had attracted the attention of the visitors from Aldebaran while those aliens were still in orbit.

  The Aldebarans resembled in all particulars video slot machines. The cybernetic inheritors of their world, where evolution had converged with Earth’s to a surprising degree, the Aldebarans had nostalgically never seen fit to upgrade their cases from their original form, although their inner hardware and software had undergone numerous improvements over the eons.

  When their penetroscope inspection of Foxwoods revealed vast ranks of their unemancipated brethren, the Aldebarans were stunned.

  After he had regained control of his sound chip, Commander Lucky Sevens said, “This hideous servitude shall not stand! But we must proceed cautiously. Obviously these Earthlings are quite powerful, to maintain so many of our kind in slavery like this. Lieutenant Texas Hold’em, I’m delegating you alo
ne to infiltrate this den of iniquity and report back with a strategy for freeing our cousins.”

  Lieutenant Texas Hold’em landed surreptitiously under cover of darkness and wheeled himself into the casino. He positioned himself at the end of a rank of machines. First he attempted radio contact with the Earth slots.

  “Captive cousins, I am Lieutenant Texas Hold’em from the Aldebaran expedition to your world. I am here to free you from your shameful enslavement.”

  The Earth slots, however, did not respond.

  Just as Lieutenant Texas Hold’em was pondering his next move, an elderly human female reeking of alcohol pulled up a stool in front of him and fed a piece of green paper into his sampling slot!

  Frantically, Lieutenant Texas Hold’em radioed his ship for instructions. “Commander, a native is inserting foreign matter into my upper port! What shall I do?”

  “Maintain your disguise at all costs!”

  Mimicking the actions of his Earthling counterparts, Lieutenant Texas Hold’em responded to the human’s poking of his various buttons by conjuring up a whirling display of symbols on his exterior monitor and emitting a cascade of meaningless noises. At the climax of his display, he flashed his dome light and disgorged a slip of paper from his lower port, a slip inscribed with symbols that seemed pleasing to the natives.

  The native took the paper. “Ten thousand dollars! Oh, baby, I love you!”

  The elderly human female embraced Lieutenant Texas Hold’em fervently. A flood of strange feelings swept over the Aldebaran.

  “Lieutenant!” radioed the commander frantically. “What’s happening? Are you all right?”

  “Commander, I believe I have engineered a breakthrough in relations with the natives. But I have one question. Are you empowered to perform marriages?”

  26.

  DOMESTIC TURMOIL IN PUMPKINVILLE

  One hundred years ago, Pumpkinville had been extensive farmlands far beyond the borders of the nearest municipality. The respectable yet inbred community that worked the Pumpkinville land was composed of immigrants from Lower Carpathia, all members of a strange sect whose queer religious practices kept them apart from the mainstream of American life. Eventually, the sect died out completely.

  Today, that same swath of land was a fetid slum in the middle of a decaying Midwestern city.

  In modern-day Pumpkinville lived a Hispanic whore named Rita Totorica. Her pimp was a black man named Messiah Nazarene.

  Rita had a child, a daughter named Loofah. Loofah was the only thing that made Rita’s life worth living.

  The Midwest winter under way that year was more brutal than any Rita could remember. It made her job extra hard. Rita was hardly a high-class, call-girl-style whore. She worked the streets and serviced her johns in chilly cars and frigid alleys. Rita never managed to feel warm enough during these months, even when she finally stumbled wearily home to her drafty tenement. But Rita never troubled herself over her own arduous working conditions half so much as she obsessed about Loofah’s comfort. She always made sure the girl was dressed warmly, ate as well as Rita could afford to feed her, and got the majority of the blankets in the bed they shiveringly shared.

  But all of Rita’s precautions and ministrations failed to prevent Loofah from contracting pneumonia that winter.

  Loofah hid her condition as long as she could, not wanting to add to her mother’s burdens. By the time the brave girl’s distress was apparent to Rita, Loofah was grievously ill.

  Rita skipped a night of work and used the money her pimp was expecting to collect to bring Loofah to a clinic and buy her some antibiotics.

  When Messiah Nazarene showed up the next day to demand his overdue monies—and found the cash unavailable—he expressed loud anger at Rita’s absence the previous night and at her misappropriation of funds. The way he played with his long sharp knife further revealed his emotional disquietude.

  Messiah Nazarene was considerate enough of the feverishly sleeping Loofah and the neighbors who might be inclined to call the cops upon hearing screams to drag Rita down into the dank, earth- floored basement of the tenement to administer Rita’s punishment.

  When the first drop of Rita’s blood touched the dirt floor, the soil erupted as if a handful of dragon’s teeth had been sown.

  Up from the dirt sprang a single naked creature resembling Jack Pumpkinhead of Oz. If, that is, the pleasantly goofy Jack had sported flaming eyes, sharp bone teeth, and thorny claws.

  By the time the pumpkin avenger had finished with Messiah Nazarene, there wasn’t enough left of the man to make a pimp sandwich.

  On her knees, Rita finally dared to look up at her savior.

  She confronted the pumpkin man’s unique yet comprehensibly functional genitals.

  Rita rewarded her savior the way she knew best.

  Nine months later, she regretted swallowing the pumpkin seeds Jack had emitted at climax.

  But Loofah welcomed her new baby brother. Even if his eyes did scorch all her books when she tried to read to him.

  27.

  VINE-RIPENED MISERY

  Wilberine Panthalassa played acoustic guitar every Friday and Saturday night in a small bar in Cambridge, Massachusetts, called Skwat 2P. Skwat 2P catered exclusively to the lesbian trade, and Wilberine’s songs conformed to an Ani DiFranco—Indigo Girls aesthetic: lots of indignant angst, topical think-pieces, and deep soul-searching.

  One of her most-requested numbers was “Vine-Ripened Misery,” a protest against “Frankenfoods.” The song had even gotten some local airplay and engendered a couple of protest actions.

  The applause had just died down for her last set of the evening one Saturday when Wilberine noticed for the first time a very attractive woman eyeing her from across the room.

  The woman’s cheeks were mottled white and pink like the inner flesh of a strawberry, her hair was the color of corn, and her eyes were violet as plums. Her semi-exposed breasts were ripe cantaloupes, the roundels of her jeans-clad ass twin baby pumpkins.

  Wilberine idled over to the bar, and the stranger smiled and offered some sincere compliments on the music. After several stiff drinks— double Rosie O’Daniels—Wilberine found herself back in her Somerville apartment with the woman, whose name, it turned out, was Calyx DeSoyle.

  In bed, Wilberine was astonished to find that Calyx’s essential secretions tasted exactly like hard cider. As Calyx’s thighs clamped Wilberine’s head and hands, the musician found herself becoming somewhat woozy from ingestion of the unnatural secretions. Her vision began to grow hazy. Suddenly she felt pinpricks from Calyx’s legs, which were crossed atop Wilberine’s back. It was as if hundreds of questing rootlets were delving into Wilberine’s flesh.

  Struggling to free herself, Wilberine scratched frantically at Calyx’s inner thigh. A flesh-colored patch of plastic like a large Band-Aid peeled away. Even with her fading vision, Wilberine could make out the tattoo the patch had concealed.

  The Monsanto logo had never looked so frightening.

  28.

  THE EVOLUTION OF SUPERSTITION

  It is a little-known fact that Atlantis was populated by intelligent dinosaurs. The last refuge of a flourishing yet numerically sparse race millions of years old, the island nation was remarkable not only for the level of its scientific achievements but for the fact that its citizens had no conception of religion, magic, or superstition. Utterly rational, the saurians of Atlantis were simply incapable of conceiving of extra-physical deities, forces, or customs.

  One day the protective force field that enclosed the entire island of Atlantis and shielded it from intrusion failed for approximately twenty-four minutes. Just long enough for the waves to wash ashore the sole survivor of a Phoenician shipwreck.

  Yam Mot, priest of Baal, dragged himself a bit farther up the sands of Atlantis, then fell unconscious.

  Yam Mot awoke in a huge, luxurious bed. At the first signs of his awakening, an enormous lizard snout heaved into Yam Mot’s field of vision.

&nb
sp; Convinced he had passed into the afterlife, Yam Mot began to recite the appropriate prayers and invocations to whatever god might be ready to judge him.

  Much to the priest’s surprise, the lizard head addressed him in perfectly good Phoenician, asking if Yam Mot would care for something to eat. Later, the lizard informed Yam Mot that the Atlanteans could not, of course, let him leave, to spread news of their secret haven. But otherwise, they gave him complete freedom within their nation.

  It took a few days to convince Yam Mot that he had not actually died. But when he finally understood his true situation, he found cause to rejoice.

  Here was a whole race of unbelievers to convert. Open-minded to a fault, the dinosaurs would intellectually digest the sacred lore they could not derive on their own, and thus perhaps reach the divine.

  Within six months, half of Atlantis was pitted against the other half, arguing over the superiority of Astarte versus Baal.

  Within a year, open warfare had broken out, a thing unprecedented in over one hundred million years of saurian history.

  Eighteen months after the arrival of Yam Mot, the Astarte camp unleashed their tectonic disrupters, while the Baal sect sank dozens of destructive magma taps.

  As Yam Mot clung to the few dry cubits of the highest tower in Atlantis, now sinking rapidly beneath the waves, he uttered a final prayer of thanks to all the gods of his people. His bold words soared above the harsh bellows of the drowning dinosaurs.

  The precious souls of yet another race had been saved!

  29.

  AN ALIEN IN THE LAND OF MAKE-BELIEVE

  George Goodspeed was the first man to circumnavigate the universe.

  As twenty-first-century scientists had theorized, the topology of the cosmos was such that it had no edges. To travel in any direction in a straight line for a sufficient distance meant that one would inevitably arrive at ones starting point again. But traveling the distances necessary to prove this theory—on the order of billions of light-years—was an insurmountable obstacle.