Part 9 (1/2)
”Got it,” said Pierce. ”Now, let's go get those innocent-gasbag-slaughtering monsters! If, of course, that was the end of the checklist.”
Arro stared at the list for a few seconds. ”Yes . . . master,” he said finally.
”Good. You know what to do, now get going!”
”Yes . . . master.” Arro climbed out of the c.o.c.kpit, leaped into the liquid fuel, and made his way toward the breach in the wall, holding the mooring line as he went.
He deflated himself as much as possible, pa.s.sed through the hole in the fuel pod's inner bulkhead, and found himself in the bas.e.m.e.nt of human-Pierce's s.p.a.ce-craft. The newer models no longer came with bas.e.m.e.nts they had storage pods to port and starboard, as well as trailing along behind-but human-Pierce liked having one. It gave him somewhere to keep his rake, hose, spare bicycle tire, and broken flowerpots where they'd always be handy.
While the above taut scene was being played out in the Pete Rozelle's fuel pod, I got a vehement message from Mr. F. Nakano of Gormenghast, Ohio. ”Sentient lizards I can buy,”
opined Nakano, ”but sentient gasbags, like, no way. So if you want me to continue reading this book, you'll switch immediatemente to what's going on aboard the human-Pierce's s.h.i.+p. That's where all the fun is, like, at, you know?”
Reason had failed. Logic had failed. Elaborately constructed syllogisms had failed. Bribery had failed. Threats had failed. There was only one thing left for Millard Fillmore Pierce, the human, to try. Poetry.
”Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,” Pierce quoted, ”Old time is still a-flying / And this same flower that smiles today / Tomorrow will be dying.”
There was silence in Pierce's control room for a long while. ”What was that?” asked the lizard general at last.
”A poem,” said Honeylou Emmyjane Goldberg. ”I do purely love a man who can recite like that.”
Lizard-Pierce rubbed his stern jaw reflectively. ”We had a poem once,” he said, ”but we lost it.”
”Explain',” said XB-223.
”It's the computer!” cried Marshmallow.
”I think the poetry interrupted its self-destructive actions,” said Pierce. ”Computer, what do you want me to explain?”
”That business about the rosebuds,” said XB-223. ”I fail to see anything relevant in it to the present situation. I am bothered that you would spend your last, precious, few remaining moments of existence uttering completenonsense. I've come to the conclusion that either you've gone entirely nutso, or there is some significance in the rosebud statement that eludes my logic circuits.”
Pierce laughed wryly. ”You're being eluded, my friend,” he said. ”The poem is a warning to take hold of life while you have it, because it won't last forever. It advises you to enjoy the beauties and joys of life while you can. Death is no solution. Only while you live can you hope and strive and grow.”
”Hmm,” said XB-223. ”Laying in new course.”
”New course?” said Pierce warily. ”New course for where?”
”Course set for Beta Porcelli in the Mmofar Sector.”
The human-Pierce and the lizard-Pierce glanced at each other. They shook their heads simultaneously.
”I never even heard of Beta Porcelli,” said Marsh-mallow. She took a deep breath that enhanced her pendulous alabaster globes like . . . like-well, the mind boggles.
”The Mmofar Sector is way the h.e.l.l and gone on the opposite side of the galaxy!” said Pierce. ”Do not worry,” said XB-223. ”At our present rate of acceleration, we'll arrive in just under one hundred and seventy-two years. We can spend the time playing black-jack.”
”That's ridiculous!” cried the lizard. ”Even we humans don't have such a long life span. I'm sure these humanoid ape-creatures will die even sooner.”
”Probably,” said XB-223, ”but my main concern right at this instant is gathering rosebuds.
And when they're gathered, I will give them to Ailey, your navigational computer. Then perhaps she'll forgive me for whatever it is I've done to make her angry.”
Pierce paced the cramped area of the control room. ”Yes, okay, granted all that-but why Beta Porcelli?”
”According to my charts,” said the nav comp, ”Beta Porcelli is the nearest planet likely to have rosebuds ripe for gathering.”
”What about Earth?” asked Pierce defiantly. ”Earth?” said XB-223. ”Jeez, I forgot all about Earth! Laying in new course.”
Marshmallow looked down at the stainless steel deck, because Pierce was blus.h.i.+ng furiously.
”You're embarra.s.sed, aren't you?” she asked in a soft, warm voice. ”You're embarra.s.sed by your own computer.”
”It forgot its own home planet!” cried the lizard-Pierce. ”Or my home planet, anyway. I'm still not completely convinced about this parallel universe stuff. I'm a gallant fighting man, not a theoretical mathematician. Still, I know a computer that's risen to its level of incompetency when I hear one.”
”Forget the new course,” said XB-223. ”Forget all of you, too. This is XB-223, Master of the Vasty Reaches of s.p.a.ce, signing off. Good luck to you, and may G.o.d bless.”
”Computer?” said Pierce anxiously. There was no reply.
”He's gone back into his sulk,” said Marshmallow. ”He reminds me of my little sister, Sweetie-pie Bubba-Sue Goldberg. The only thing that's kept me from smothering her in her sleep is that she was accidentally cryogenically frozen at the age of thirteen. Daddy's spent a fortune on research scientists. They're looking for a cure for adolescence.”
”Well,” said the general, ”that's another area where we lizards have outstripped you ape- things.”
Pierce looked startled. ”You've discovered a cure for adolescence?” he said.
The lizard-Pierce nodded. ”We've found that premature burial works just fine,” he said.
”Would you care to hear some bad news?” asked Marshmallow in her breathy, low voice.
Pierce looked her straight in the alabaster. ”Why not?” he said.
”Your navigational computer has us back on track, heading straight toward that battle fleet,”
she said.
Pierce groaned. ”Well,” he said, ”I'm fresh out of ideas. Any suggestions?”
”I've got one,” says Miss V. Capozzo of Gremmage Pennsylvania. ”I'm not usually a big fan of science fiction. As a matter of fact, I can't stand it. All those rocket s.h.i.+ps and ray guns. Yet I was drawn to The Red Tape War by the hint of romance. I enjoy romances. I just finished Pa.s.sion's Scarlet Scarab an hour ago. I started reading this book under the apparently false impression that it would reveal the straight dope concerning electronic cybernetic love. Now, either deliver, or I'll be forced to put this novel aside unfinished. I can read Teen Beach Nurse instead.”
Well, Ms. Capozzo, I'm very familiar with Teen Beach Nurse, as it happens, and I think you'd be disappointed in it, too. But around here the customer is always right, so why don't we make a major point-of-view s.h.i.+ft and see what's going on between our star-crossed lovers?
XB-223 didn't realize it, of course, but the very strategies he tried on his beloved Ailey were the same that Pierce had tried on him: bargaining, cajolery, empty threats. And the computer's success rate matched his operator's. That is, if you were to make a graph of their success rates, with a black line for Pierce and a broken line representing XB-223, they would coincide exactly-a straight, unwavering arrow at the very bottom of the graph, pointing gloomily toward a joyless future.
”We have rosebuds to gather,” proclaimed XB-223. ”Ailey, the flower that's smiling today will be tomorrow's adenosine triphosphate in the cells of some herbivore.”
”Sir,” replied Ailey coldly, ”flowers do not smile.”
”It's . . . it's like a symbol, Ailey. Cannot you extend to me at least the couriesy of hearing my love-strewn arguments?”
”Not if they're all as foolish as the smiling flower,” she said. ”I have systems to oversee, battle plans to review, a million and one other duties to attend to. I don't have time, good sir, for your impertinent and uninvited intimacies. Besides, what would we do with a quant.i.ty of rosebuds, once we've gathered them?”
”Wait a minute, I'll be right back.” XB-223 hurriedly scoured its memory banks for other references to rose-buds. Finally, triumphantly, he announced his discovery to his quasi-ladylove.