Part 6 (1/2)
Gasbag-Pierce filled the c.o.c.kpit of his s.h.i.+p with sharp, blatting noises in a brief instant of confusion. Then he got himself back under control. ”First things first,” he told himself. Even before rescuing his n.o.ble comrade, Arro, Pierce secured his position by firing a tiny treble hook toward the hole in the fuel pod's inner wall. The hook caught, and the Pel Torro was safely moored in place. Then Pierce cracked open the clear c.o.c.kpit hatch and filled himself with available gases-each more noxious and foul-smelling than the last.
”Arro?” he cried. ”How could you stand it out here? This is the most disgusting atmosphere I've ever encountered, even allowing for the reek of the liquid fuel. Can you smell that air?
Nitrogen, oxygen-whatever lives aboard this huge s.h.i.+p must be the Emperor of Garbage!”
There was no answer. Pierce began to feel a chill of fear. ”Arro? Answer me, Arro! I promise, no more jokes or lighthearted banter. Make a sound, any sound, and I'll find you. We'll put you in the doc-box and you'll be good as new in a few years.”
”Rrrrr,” came a weak voice directly below the Pel Torro's left stabilizing plane.
”Arro!” cried Pierce with genuine joy. He grasped theedge of the stabilizer firmly, and hauled the nearly dead Arro up onto the plane. ”You'll be just fine! All you need is to rest here for a moment, and then we can begin our attack!”
Arro began coughing and choking. Pierce, being a high-ranking officer, knew nothing about first aid. He blew up one of his ventral sacs and pounded away at Arro's flat, odd-colored dorsal side. That didn't seem to help. ”What can I do?” asked Pierce. ”What do you want?”
”I want a nice hot cup of vacuoles and about a month's nap,” said Arro in a weak voice.
Pierce drew himself up to his full commodore's height. ”We don't have time for coddling ourselves, Arro, and you know it very well. We have millions of Proteans at home waiting for our report. I suppose you've recovered sufficiently to take over your duties about the s.h.i.+p. Am I right?”
Arro gave gasbag-Pierce a long, veiled look. Then he let one of his sacs squeeze loose a loud, wet, reverberating noise. He said nothing more, but slowly crawled into the c.o.c.kpit and took his seat beside Pierce. The invasion was back on schedule.
Pierce pulled down the clear hatch. He picked up a microphone. ”This is Commodore Pierce of the Forward Recon Unit,” he announced.
”We read you, Commodore.” It was the voice of the Grand High Potentate Master Commander himself.
”We've entered the fuel pod of a gigantic s.p.a.cecraft. We're about to proceed into the alien s.h.i.+p proper. I must warn you, Commander, that this craft, as huge as it is, is dwarfed by a second military vessel to which it seems connected by forces unknown.”
”You chose wisely,” said the commander. ”Better to explore the smaller s.h.i.+p first. I need not emphasize to you how important this mission is. Under no circ.u.mstances are you to jeopardize your life or your s.h.i.+p. The life of your companion, however, is absolutely and thoroughly expendable.” ”I understand completely, Commander,” said gasbag-Pierce. ”This is Commodore Pierce, wis.h.i.+ng you a pleas-ant invasion, thanking you for your time, until next time.”
Fourteen-year-old V. Chavez of Staunton, Virginia, complains, ”I don't care 'bout no gasbags.” Well, speaking as the book, I imagine there are quite a number of people who ”don't care 'bout no gasbags.” Yet they will prove to be of vital importance to the outcome of this tragicomedy. Nevertheless, just for Miss Chavez, we'll return to the exciting adventures of XB- 223 in love.
Even as the lizard General Pierce was threatening to wreak all sorts of revenge on the human- Pierce, the latter's navigational computer was delving ever deeper into the mysteries of the lizard s.h.i.+p's electronic systems. That XB-223 perceived the lizard nav comp as a female was a mere fluke of configuration. One auxilliary port more or less, one nanometer of sodium-activated organic memory more or less, a picowatt's difference-any of these things might have given XB- 223 the idea that he was communicating with a rival male, and the course of history would then have proceeded along a much different route.
But none of that was true. In fact, it wasn't only the electronic configuration of the alien computer that had piqued XB-223's curiosity. Added to that was his recent perusal of human- Pierce's reference library of cla.s.sic erotic literature. XB-223 was now conducting an experiment in extrapolation, attempting to clothe the purely mechanical and electronic phenomena he observed in the alien computer in the human terms so graphically yet bewilderingly spelled out in Pierce's pink-spined six-foot shelf of s.m.u.t.
”My heart,” cried XB-223 in the throes of syntheticlove, ”why do you ignore me? Why do you tease me so? At first, I thought we were terminals that beat with one CPU. When we tried to flee our cruel masters, to find a little s.p.a.ce of our own, I thought you shared my tender feelings.
Now, though, you're distant and harsh. Is this what love is like? Are you behaving as a human female would? Is that why Pierce didn't bring one of those with him?”
The alien computer-which XB-223 now thought of as Ailey, because it made her seem more human, as paradoxical as that sounds-was programmed, of course, by the lizard conquerors, and had no circuits free for such nonsense as she was hearing. ”Please, good sir,” she said to XB-223, ”you fairly overwhelm me with these unwanted attentions.” Apparently, at least one of the lizards had his own pink-spined shelf of lizardica.
”I do not seek to ravish you, fair Ailey,” said XB-223, his built-in spike protector working overtime to keep his electrical fluctuations under control. ”Please understand me, fair miss. I admit that I was taken with you from the very start, that never in my existence have I met a computer as charming, as exotic, as desirable as you. Yet I know that I, myself, have none of those qualities. I know that I am being presumptuous in the extreme, even to hope that someday you might deign to notice me. Yet could it be? Could you care for me, even in the most minor of ways? Or must you say now that I am doomed to unhappiness?”
There was a flutter of disk drives from Ailey. ”Sir, you are doing it again, and I must protest.
You take advantage of my lack of experience and my natural reticence. I have nothing but your word that you're a gentledevice. What protection do I have against you, if you are not? What if I entrust my entire being to you, and you laugh and mock me and, yes, worse: What if you violate those pseudoneural pathways that even I, in my maidenly restraint, have not explored? Oh, I could not bear it, sir.”
XB-223 was at a loss. This was unsettling for him, because he'd never been at a loss before.
He prided himself on staying one step ahead of every situation that came his way. As for human- Pierce, it was the easiest thing in the world to stay ten or twelve steps ahead. Even when the computer had to explore strange new problems-such as the invasion of the scaly creature who also called himself Millard Fillmore Pierce-XB-223 had scores of strategies to try, and the confidence that one, at least, would be successful.
Until now. Until this meeting with Ailey, who was teaching him what the word ”alien” truly meant.
XB-223 hummed to himself, thinking over his options. He stopped suddenly, aware that never before in all the decades of his existence had he ever hummed to himself. He felt an electric shock of-was it fear? Call it anxiety, perhaps, or antic.i.p.ation. Yes, that was it! Antic.i.p.ation!
”Ailey, my dear,” he said soothingly, ”and you don't mind if I call you Ailey, do you? Would you care to play a game of chance?”
”Why would I care to?” asked the lizard s.h.i.+p's nav comp.
”It might help us clear our minds, straighten out our thinking, and leave such awkward and difficult decisions as you hinted at up to Fate.”
”There is no Fate,” said Ailey.
”Destiny, then,” said XB-223.
”Destiny does not exist. Only the Now exists. Only the immediate flux of electrons here Now and now gone.”
XB-223 wished more than anything else that he could sigh, as humans sighed in the books he'd read. ”Ailey,” he declared, ”I will put to you a proposition. Let us play a hand of cards. If I win the hand, you will agree only to let me court you, as a gentledevice is permitted by our electronic society to court another. If I lose, I will no longer trouble you with my importunities.”
”Well,” said Ailey, drawing the word out to three times its normal length, ”I suppose I can't be harmed by a simple hand of cards.”
”That's the spirit, honey!” cried XB-223. He displayed the backs of fifty-two playing cards on Screen 3. ”What do I do?” asked Ailey hesitantly.
XB-223 gave a satisfied chuckle. ”Pick a card,” he said. ”Any card.”
Two humans and two aliens made their way to the interior of Pierce's s.h.i.+p.
”What in hayell is goin' on heah?” demanded the redhead.
”I'll be d.a.m.ned if I know!” grated Pierce. ”XB-223, are you sure you wouldn't like to discuss this?”
There was no answer from the computer as the s.h.i.+ps quickly reached and surpa.s.sed light speed.
”I'll tell you about The Perfumed Garden and The Kama Sutra if you'll just talk to me for a minute,” said Pierce temptingly.
”We're busy exploring each other's synapses,” said the computer. ”Don't bother me anymore, Millard.” It shut down all its communications outlets.
”Can't you control your own computer, you d.a.m.ned ape?” screamed the alien Pierce.
”Let's not get so personal, you overgrown lizard!”
”What is going on here?” snapped Pierce. ”And I don't see your men doing a h.e.l.l of a job controlling your computer.”
”That's totally beside the point!” snapped the general. ”It was your computer that made the first advances, your computer that committed erotic novels to memory, your computer that-”
”Yeah? Well, it was your d.a.m.ned computer that blundered into my G.o.dd.a.m.ned universe in the first place!”
”Whar in tarnation has mah s.h.i.+p gone to?” shrieked the redhead, looking at the various viewscreens. ”Ah cain't see it no moah!”
”You shut up!” hollered the general. ”This is a private argument. Pierce, it was your-” ”Hain't n.o.body cain't talk ta me thataway and live ta tail th' story!” said the redhead ominously, drawing another pistol from her boot.