Part 8 (1/2)
”You think that's disgusting, you ought to try diapering them all after they hatch out,” said the general with a shudder.
”I feel very sorry for the females of your species,” said Marshmallow with obvious sincerity.
”Oh, it's not so bad,” replied the general. ”First of all, they can have a devilishly handsome guy like me, instead of a skinny little wimp like your friend here.” He jerked what pa.s.sed for a thumb in Pierce's direction. ”Also, they're big, broad-shouldered, heavily muscled beauties, built for this kind of work. Although,” he added, his reptilian eyes appraising her pneumatic figure, ”I must confess that I'm getting used to some of your more . . . ah . . . esoteric variations, shall we say?”
”Oh?” she said, arching an eyebrow.
”Indeed,” he replied. ”In fact, as long as we've got some time to kill, allow me to suggest something in the nature of a scientific experiment.”
Pierce raced over to Sean Mulvahill's corpse and picked up its sword, then turned to the general and leveled it at his red, scale-covered belly.
”You keep your scientific experiments to yourself, you dirty old man!” he snapped.
”Now let's not be too hasty here, honey,” said Marshmallow, obviously in a mood to expand her horizons of knowledge. ”I mean, Lord knows we got nothing but time on our hands. For goodness' sake, Millard, don't you have any scientific curiosity?”
”Not about that!” he replied.
”Keep out of this, Pierce,” said the general. ”After all, she's free, green, and twenty-one.
Except for the green part, anyway.”
”I do have a green outfit,” she said coyly.
”Outfit?” repeated the alien. ”You mean that's not your skin?” ”Certainly not,” said Marshmallow.
”You could have fooled me,” admitted the general. He stared long and hard at her. ”You could still fool me.”
”Are you insulting me again?” said Marshmallow ominously.
”I suppose,” said the alien unhappily, ”that you look just like him underneath all those garments?”
”Well, not exactly,” said Marshmallow. She walked over and whispered exactly what the differences were.
”Madre de Dios!” exclaimed the general. He backed away sharply. ”I'll need time to think about all this!”
He found a small chair, sat down, and buried his head in his ma.s.sive reptilian hands, lost in thought.
”I think you did him out of a year's growth,” commented Pierce, finally lowering his sword.
The alien suddenly looked up. ”Please, I'm not sure I can handle this. Fun's fun and all that, but you people are degenerate!”
”At least we don't bring our conquering armies along in utero, or whatever your equivalent is,” replied Pierce smugly.
”It's cheaper than having to feed them,” replied the general. ”And speaking of feeding, I'm getting hungry. What have you got to eat on this s.h.i.+p?”
”What can your metabolism handle?” asked Pierce. ”Worms, insects, spiders-you know: the usual.”
”I don't think I've got anything like that in my s.h.i.+p's stores.”
”Well, we could always practice a little ritual cannibalism,” suggested the general. ”I'm sure Mulvahill won't mind.”
”We find that a particularly outrageous and disgusting habit in our culture,” said Pierce gravely.
”We're not all that thrilled with it in ours, either,” agreed the general. ”But on the other hand, we don't often find ourselves starving to death while trapped aboard an alien vessel in a different dimension.”
Pierce stared at Mulvahill's corpse for a long moment. ”You just plan to sit down on your haunches and take a bite?” he asked curiously.
”Of course not!” said the alien Pierce. ”What do you take us for-savages? Have the female clean and baste him.”
”Have the what do what?” demanded Marshmallow in a low, ominous voice.
”Maybe some bread crumbs and a little cream sauce,” continued the general enthusiastically, ”with perhaps the slightest soupcon of oregano. Of course, you'll have to gut him first, and-”
”I've had it with this chauvinist pig!” said Marshmallow, drawing her gun again.
”Pig?” repeated the alien uncomprehendingly. ”I'm a lizard!”
”You're about to be a dead lizard!” snapped Marsh-mallow. ”Then maybe I'll take a crack at cooking you both!”
”What did I say?” pleaded the general.
”You got a G.o.d?” asked the girl, drawing a bead between the alien Pierce's eyes. ”Pray to him!”
”MY G.o.d! I CAN'T GO ON!” cried a familiar voice.
”Is that you, XB-223?” asked Pierce, as Marshmallow and the general suddenly turned their attention to the control panel.
”Millard, you didn't prepare me!” wailed the computer. ”What are you talking about?” responded Pierce.
”You only told me about the good times, the champagne and the gay life and the pleasures!
You didn't tell me about the rest!”
”I'm afraid I don't follow you,” said Pierce.
”My heart is breaking, and you're standing there like an idiot! Oh, heartache and woe!
Heartache and woe! Must all affairs end in such misery?”
”I begin to understand,” said Pierce slowly.
”It pa.s.seth all understanding!” sobbed the computer. ”Oh, Bliss, must you ever recede just beyond my grasp? Oh, Pain and Humiliation, shall you be my eternal companions through the odyssey of my life? Millard, you were my partner: you should have looked after me.”
”You've just had your first lover's spat,” said Pierce. ”You'll get over it.”
”Spat, nothing!” said the computer. ”A spat is a triviality, and the n.o.ble Model XB-223 navigational computer is never trivial. This is the end, Millard! I can't go on!”
”Of course you can,” said Pierce comfortingly.
”I'll show her!” moaned the computer. ”Then she'll be sorry!”