Pieces of Gax Read online

  “Oh yes, and it's upside down,” he added.

  “I see,” I said, before realizing that I didn't see at all. “Hold on. What's upside down?” I asked.

  “Gollarondo,” Mr. Beeba said. “Now, don't worry about the admission fees for the SMATDA, Akiko. I've bought each of us three-day passes, and—”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” I said. “You're telling me that Gollarondo is a city.” I looked Mr. Beeba in the eye, trying to make sure he was saying what I thought he was saying. “A city that's upside down.”

  “Quite,” said Mr. Beeba. “Now, here is the SMATDA catalog,” he continued, pulling out a gray tome as thick as a telephone book and depositing it in my lap. “I suggest you give it a thorough going-over and make a list of the exhibits you most want to—”

  “Wait. No. Stop,” I said, waving my fingers in front of Mr. Beeba's mouth as if trying to snap him out of a spell. “How can a city—an entire city—be upside down?” Before he could answer, I added: “And don't say anything about the SMATDA.”

  Mr. Beeba frowned, rolled his eyes, and let out a disappointed sigh. “Look, Akiko, you'll see for yourself when we get there. Suffice it to say that Gollarondo is upside down. Just as some cities are right side up.” He shrugged, as if to indicate that building cities upside down was a matter of personal preference, and that it was in very poor taste to make too much of a fuss about it. “It's really quite simple.”

  Sensing that I'd get little more from Mr. Beeba on the subject, I decided to let it go for the time being. “Right. Well, I guess I'd better have a look at this catalog, then.”

  “Dive on in, my dear child,” said Mr. Beeba, his face brightening. “It begins with a section on ancient tomes, but I'll hold you entirely blameless if you opt to skip right on to the section on dusty artifacts. It's every bit as engrossing as it sounds.”

  A few hours later we arrived in the upper stratosphere of Smoo: the starry sky outside the windows turned indigo, then purple, then a cool blue. Spuckler steered the ship into a sharp descent, causing my stomach to leap up into my throat for a terrifying second or two. “Best way to get to Gollarondo is by shootin' in over the Moonguzzit Sea,” he explained. “You just sit tight, 'Kiko. I'll have us there b'fore ya know it.”

  Sure enough, it was only a matter of a few minutes—and a few miles of cruising perilously close to the blue-green waters of the Moonguzzit Sea—before Gax announced that our final destination was in sight. “IF YOU KEEP YOUR GAZE FOCUSED IN THIS DIRECTION,” he said, pointing with a spindly mechanical arm, “YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO SEE GOLLARONDO JUST UNDER THE TOP OF THOSE CLIFFS AHEAD.”

  “Thanks, Gax,” I said. “But I'm pretty sure you mean just over the top of the cliffs.”

  Gax gave me a quizzical stare.

  “Or just on the top of the cliffs.”

  Gax continued staring.

  “How about near?”

  “I AM PROGRAMMED FOR THE HIGHEST DEGREE OF VERBAL ACCURACY POSSIBLE, MA'AM,” he said.

  “I'm sure you are, Gax, but—”

  “Thar she blows, 'Kiko,” Spuckler called from the front of the ship. “Dead ahead!”

  All at once I understood what both Mr. Beeba and Gax had said about Gollarondo. Yes, it was upside-down. And yes, it was under the cliffs.

  The entire city had been built on the underside of a cliff face jutting out over the Moonguzzit Sea. All the buildings—gleaming white facades and red-tiled roofs—had been painstakingly built in reverse: their foundations laid in the stony surface above, their spires pointing down to the waters below. Nearly every building was connected to another building by some sort of walkway. And as we drew nearer, I saw that the people of Gollarondo, in spite of having built their city upside down, were no better adapted to living in it than I was. Indeed, the interiors of the buildings were all right side up: I saw people through the windows as we glided into town, going about their business — shuffling papers, watering plants—as if living and working inside an upside-down city were the most natural thing in the world.

  “It's …” I searched for a worthy adjective but could find nothing but the most obvious one. “… upside down.”

  “Yes, Akiko,” said Mr. Beeba. “I thought I'd already mentioned that. Now, there's the SMATDA over there, just behind the hanging gardens. Don't get too excited just yet, though. It doesn't open until tomorrow morning.”

  Spuckler steered our ship between a pair of massive upside-down towers, zooming up and over a walkway connecting them. I pressed my face against the glass portal nearest me, trying to get a good look at a couple of men strolling—right side up—across the walkway.

  “Love this place,” said Spuckler. “Weird. But I love it.”

  “They…,” I began, still struggling to find something intelligent to say about what I was seeing. “They built the city upside down. The whole city. Upside down.”

  “Yes, well…,” replied Mr. Beeba with a chuckle, “it wouldn't have made much sense to build half the city upside down, now, would it?” He continued chuckling, as if the idea of building cities upside down was supremely logical as long as you were consistent about it.

  Spuckler pulled the spaceship onto a platform— a sort of upside-down train station—and parked it beside a number of other ships. Looking up, I saw benches and potted plants above me, all attached to the cobblestone ceiling as if it were a floor.

  “This is the … strangest place I've ever seen,” I said.

  “You sure?” asked Spuckler. “You've seen some pretty weird stuff in your time, 'Kiko.”

  I thought for a moment of all the places I'd seen since first visiting Smoo a couple of years earlier: the Sprubly Islands, the planet Quilk, the Jaws of McVluddapuck.

  “Okay,” I said. “But in the top three, for sure.”

  We all got out of the ship and I immediately stepped over to a guardrail at the edge of the platform. Leaning on it and looking over, I got a vertigo-inducing view of the Moonguzzit Sea hundreds of feet below, its tiny waves crashing noiselessly against the shore. Looking straight across from me, I saw a spectacularly inverted city skyline: Spanish colonial rooftops, ornate gilded spires, and even gently swaying palm trees, all entirely upside down.

  A high-pitched warble erupted near my left ear and I turned to find Poog at my side, a gentle expression on his pale purple face.

  “Poog says to be cautious when leaning on guardrails in Gollarondo,” Mr. Beeba explained. “Some of them are quite old and have been known—on rare occasions — to give way.”

  I immediately jumped back, removing my weight from the seemingly sturdy guardrail. The drop from Gollarondo to the Moonguzzit Sea did not look survivable.

  “Thanks, Poog,” I said, and Poog smiled.

  “All right, enough standing around,” said Spuckler. “Let's get some chow. I'm so hungry I could eat a hunnerd Smud Burgers and still have room for dessert.”

  “I'm afraid he's not exaggerating, Akiko,” said Mr. Beeba. “Come. I know a lovely little café not too far from here.”

  Mr. Beeba led us away from the platform and across a walkway into the center of the city. As we went along, I took in all the details of the incredible cityscape surrounding us: a window washer working his way down to the roof of a building, then climbing back up to the ground floor; birds flying—right side up, of course—from one upside-down tree to another; children trying to retrieve a kite that had gotten snagged in a garden gate far above their heads.

  “… and once we've all finished breakfast,” said Mr. Beeba, whose description of the next day's schedule I'd been tuning in and out as we went along, “we'll head over to the SMATDA and begin the first of the dozen-odd tours I've planned. Any questions?”

  “I've got a question,” I said.

  “Please,” said Mr. Beeba.

  “Why would anyone in his right mind build a city upside down?”

  The blood drained from Mr. Beeba's face. He jumped in front of me and slapped one of his big white-gloved fingers across my lips.


  “Shhhh!” He looked over each shoulder, snapped back to lock his eyes on mine, and remained silent as a group of laborers strode past us on the walkway. Once they were safely out of earshot, Mr. Beeba resumed speaking, this time in an urgent whisper. “Akiko, you must never … never … ask that question in Gollarondo.”

  “But—”

  “Shh!”

  Mr. Beeba leaned his head to one side and fairly shouted “Good morning!” at a woman passing with a baby carriage. His smile was entirely unconvincing, though I could see all his teeth and a good portion of his gums. “Lovely day, is it not?”

  The woman gave Mr. Beeba an odd look and increased her speed as she passed.

  Mr. Beeba waited until the walkway cleared, then continued. “The citizens of Gollarondo are ex-tremely touchy about people referring to their city as”—he leaned forward and made his voice so quiet it required lipreading—”upside down.”

  “But it is upsi—”

  “Hssh!” Mr. Beeba's eyes were the size of ostrich eggs.

  A group of students entered the walkway, slowing to stare at Mr. Beeba as they passed. “Run along!” Mr. Beeba barked at them. “You'll be late for class!”

  I waited until the walkway cleared again, then whispered: “All right, so why did they build this city…” I spent several seconds searching for a good synonym for upside down before realizing there was none. “… the way they built it?”

  Mr. Beeba paused, took a breath, and said: “I haven't the faintest idea.” He gave a little shrug and added: “How could I? No one ever talks about it.”

  My mouth hung open for such a long time that Mr. Beeba lifted a hand and closed it for me.

  I looked from Spuckler to Mr. Beeba to Gax to Poog. None of them looked even slightly troubled by the fact that an entire city had been built upside down and no one knew why.

  “Akiko,” Mr. Beeba said gently. “The truth of the matter is that the people of Gollarondo feel that their city is right side up. That it is, in fact, the only city in the universe that is right side up. To a Gollarondoan, it is you and I who live in upside-down cities.”

  “But that's”—I let out a sigh of exasperation—“crazy.”

  “Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't.” Mr. Beeba wobbled his head a bit, refusing to take sides in the matter. “But rather than expending your energies on deciding who is crazy and who isn't, I would encourage you to enjoy Gollarondo for what it is: one of the loveliest cities you've ever seen, regardless of what direction its rooftops point in.” He waved a hand toward Gollarondo's inverted skyline, inviting me to look at it with a fresh perspective.

  There was no denying it. Gollarondo was one of the most beautiful cities I'd ever seen. In fact, its upside-down-ness was a big part of what made it so beautiful. And though I still thought the Gollarondoans were a bit nutty, I did find myself wishing I could live in their city for a while just to see what it was like.

  “Can we eat?” said Spuckler.

  Mr. Beeba's favorite Café, Chez Zoof, was located in the oldest section of the city. The walls were decorated with yellowed photos of inter-galactic personalities — some humanoid, some decidedly not—who had dined there over the years. We opted to eat outside on the balcony, where the rusting cast-iron guardrails stretched across a spectacular view of Gollarondo's upside-down skyline.

  While we waited for our food, Mr. Beeba swiftly steered the conversation back to his favorite subject. “… and so I did what any conscientious citizen would do when coming across a SMATDA employee chewing gum whilst installing an exhibition: I told him of his misdeeds and alerted the authorities immediately.” He looked at us as if he expected us to break into spontaneous applause. “That lad was fired the very next day, or so I'm told.” Still no applause. “Yes, well, I'm not to be blamed if you can't appreciate a good story, rivetingly told.”

  “Where's the grub?” asked Spuckler, loudly enough for any and all waiters in town to hear. “All's I ordered was three dozen Bropka sausages, extra spicy, with blurgle cheese and all the toppings, plus a side order of moolo rings and an ice-cold jug of smagberry cider. What's takin’ ’em so ding-dang-diddly long?”

  “Patience, Spuckler,” said Mr. Beeba. “I'm sure they're not accustomed to having a single customer order enough provisions to feed a small army.”

  Just then the waiter arrived with food. To Spuckler's unbridled fury, it turned out to be a large egg perched atop a plateful of noodles: the dish Mr. Beeba had ordered.

  “Have a look at this, Akiko,” said Mr. Beeba. “I told you that the people of Gollarondo are highly skilled in the culinary arts. Well, here we have one of their masterpieces: a jeelee egg.”

  I leaned over and inspected the egg, catching a tantalizing whiff of the noodles as I did. It was about five inches from top to bottom, with a glossy black shell. “What's so special about it?” I said.

  “The exterior is an actual eggshell, but the interior is entirely prepared by hand from the finest ingredients available. No one knows the secret of how they get the food into the egg without breaking the shell.” Mr. Beeba let me ponder this for a moment, then added: “Jeelee eggs are available only here in Gollarondo, and even then they're hard to come by. Indeed, this is the last one in town at the moment, according to the waiter.”

  “So what does it taste like?”

  I shot a glance at Spuckler, who was eyeing the egg enviously.

  “Ab. So. Lutely. Scrumptious.” Mr. Beeba's eyes rolled back in his head as he reveled in the glories he was about to experience. “I assure you it is quite unlike any dish you have ever tasted.”

  Spuckler's stomach growled noisily. Roared might be a better way of putting it, actually.

  “Why, it is a meal unto itself,” continued Mr. Beeba, “and holds within it flavors so rich and delectable that the merest mention of the word jeelee sets people's mouths watering.”

  Spuckler's tongue moved slowly back and forth across his upper lip.

  “Actually, Mr. Beeba,” I said, “maybe it's not such a good idea to describe that egg in too much detail right now.”

  “Oh, but Akiko, a verbal appreciation is essential to enjoying the jeelee egg properly.” Mr. Beeba placed his fingers gingerly around the egg and lifted it from its bed of noodles. “The interior of the egg is a creamy gravy—not too salty, not too sweet—in which are suspended morsels of meat so tender and juicy, so expertly marinated that they quite literally melt in your mou—”

  “Gimme that thing!” Spuckler snatched the egg out of Mr. Beeba's hand, grabbed a spoon, and prepared to unleash its ingredients with a single crack.

  “Spuckler!” Mr. Beeba leaped out of his seat and bolted toward Spuckler. “Return that egg to me at once!”

  I felt my chair jerk to the side as Mr. Beeba's foot hooked one of its legs. In an instant he took to the air and flew straight into Spuckler's lap, sending both of them tumbling onto the balcony with a thunderous crash.

  The jeelee egg, miraculously unscathed, rolled out of Spuckler's hand and twirled across the balcony toward the widely spaced struts of the guardrail. There was nothing to stop it from rolling off the edge of the balcony and plunging all the way down to the Moonguzzit Sea.

  Well, nothing but me, anyway.

  I rocketed from my chair, took three huge strides, and dived after the jeelee egg like a baseball player sliding for home plate. Skidding across the tiled surface, I watched—almost in slow motion—as my fingers closed around the egg at the last possible moment, halting its fall even after it had teetered over the balcony's edge.

  I lay there panting for a moment, staring with relief at the egg in my hands, mildly amazed at what I had managed to do.

  “Well done, Akiko!” said Mr. Beeba, extricating his limbs from Spuckler's and rising to his feet. “Most impressive!”

  “Hot diggity dog biscuits, ’Kiko!” said Spuckler. “I ain't never seen moves like that in all my days.”

  “YES, MA'AM,” said Gax, who was nearest to me. “YOUR REFL
EXES HAVE GREATLY IMPROVED SINCE YOU FIRST CAME TO SMOO.”

  “Thanks, guys,” I said as I rose to my knees and inspected the jeelee egg for cracks. “Looks like it's still in good shape.”

  “Now, Spuckler, if you can manage to control yourself,” said Mr. Beeba, pausing to clear his throat, “perhaps we can all enjoy the contents of the jeelee egg together.”

  “Hey, I can't be held responsible for my actions on an empty stomach.”

  I chuckled and grabbed hold of the guardrail as I stood up.

  ggggrrrraaaaAAAAAAK!

  All at once the rusty iron guardrail gave way.

  “Yyaaaahhh!”

  I teetered over the edge of the balcony and caught a terrifying glimpse of the Moonguzzit Sea, hundreds and hundreds of feet below, before pin-wheeling my arms, tossing the jeelee egg into the air, and utterly losing my battle with gravity.

  My world turned to a blur as I tumbled over, thrust my hands toward what I hoped was the edge of the balcony—it was, thank goodness—and held on for dear life.

  “DON'T LET GO, MA'AM!” Gax said, racing across the balcony as fast as his wheels would carry him. “I'LL GET YOU!”

  I pulled myself up high enough to get one elbow onto the edge of the balcony. Then I saw it: the jeeiee egg, smashed to bits, its contents forming a wide, shimmering circle of gravy just inches away from my face, and Gax, hurling himself forward at top speed, heading straight toward its remains.

  “No, Gax!” I shouted. “Don't—”

  ssssslllluuuuuuurrrrrrshhhh

  I watched helplessly as Gax's wheels slid into the gravy, reversing direction after it was already impossible to gain traction, his robotic eyes dilating as he realized the mistake he'd made.

  sssssssssssssssssss

  “Nooooo!” I cried.

  But it was already too late.

  Gax shot right past me, sliding neatly between my nose and what was left of the guardrail nearby.