Pieces of Gax Read online

  “Noooooooooo!” I shouted again, powerless to stop what was transpiring before my eyes.

  Craning my neck as far back as I could, I watched Gax silently tumble down to the Moonguzzit Sea, gravy shooting off his wheels in all directions, his rotating body blindingly white against the turquoise waters.

  I opened my mouth, but no words came.

  Spuckler, Mr. Beeba, and Poog reached the edge of the balcony just in time to see Gax's body grow smaller …

  … and smaller …

  … and smaller …

  … before finally hitting the water, creating a tiny dot of white in the sea a good half mile from the shore.

  No words were spoken as Mr. Beeba and Spuckler hoisted me onto the balcony. Silently, they poked their heads back out to gaze at the spot where Gax had vanished. You could almost hear the cogs turning in everyone's heads as the reality of what had just happened began to sink in.

  Gax is gone. I knew it, but I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud. He's… gone!

  Just then the waiter emerged from the interior of Chez Zoof, carrying a tray piled high with food.

  “Where's the bottomless pit that ordered all these sausages?”

  Spuckler didn't even turn his head. He just kept staring down into the waters of the Moonguzzit Sea.

  “I ain't hungry anymore.”

  Mr. Beeba hurriedly paid the bill and off we went, speeding back to the spaceship.

  As we dashed from one walkway to another, weaving through crowds of disapproving Gollarondoans, Poog flew over to Spuckler's left shoulder and unleashed a brief torrent of warbly syllables.

  “Quite right, Poog,” Mr. Beeba said between hoarse gasps of air. “I'm sure Gax's buoyancy canisters will function quite adequately.”

  “That ain't what I'm worried about, Poog,” said Spuckler, his pace quickening with each stride. “Gax sinkin' is the least of our problems right now.”

  Mr. Beeba considered Spuckler's words for a moment. Then his eyes widened and his cheeks lost most of their color. Poog's face displayed a similar reaction: shock, followed by mild panic.

  “Now, now, now …,” Mr. Beeba said, “don't assume the worst. If we can get to him before Hoffelhiff does, all will be well.”

  “That's a big if, Beebs,” said Spuckler. “Hoffelhiff’ll have a head start on us. A long head start!”

  “Hoffelhiff?” I asked as we sprinted into a shadowy tunnel in the middle of a towering upside-down cathedral.

  “Nugg von Hoffelhiff,” explained Mr. Beeba, his words echoing crazily off the tunnel walls. “He rules the seas beneath Gollarondo. There is a longstanding agreement whereby anything and everything that falls from Gollarondo”—he raised a finger, signaling that he would need several seconds of violent wheezing before finishing the sentence — “belongs to Hoffelhiff in perpetuity.”

  “No way!” I said. “You mean this guy's gonna be able to keep Gax for, for …”

  “… ever,” said Mr. Beeba, his face now twisted into a grimace of despair.

  “Not if I have anything to say about it!” growled Spuckler. “That 'bot belongs to me, an' I ain't lettin' no two-bit thievin' weasel steal 'im!”

  Soon we arrived back at the ship and piled in as quickly as we could. By the time I strapped myself into my seat, Spuckler had already revved the engine. Seconds later we blasted into the skies of Gollarondo, narrowly missing walls, rooftops, and several wildly flapping clotheslines as Spuckler spun the ship into a nosedive.

  ffffffvvvvvvvvvvvvv

  A low-pitched hum filled the ship as we began to pick up speed.

  “Now, Spuckler,” said Mr. Beeba, “d-d-don't do anything rash. A high-speed entrance into Hoffelhiff's territory could be interpreted as a declaration of hostile intentions.”

  “My intentions are hostile,” said Spuckler, “an' gettin' hostiler by the minute!”

  vvvvvvvvvvvvvVVVVVVVV

  The hum grew steadily louder and higher.

  I leaned forward and peered through the windshield at the surface of the Moonguzzit Sea, which was drawing near at an alarming rate. “Spuckler, um …” I tried to think of a delicate way of putting it. “Remember what happened last time you did stunt piloting over the Moonguzzit Sea?”

  “Don't worry, 'Kiko,” said Spuckler, punching buttons on the dashboard. “We ain't gonna be over the Moonguzzit Sea.”

  Spuckler kept the ship on a near-vertical path of descent, showing no sign at all of changing course.

  VVVVVVVVVVVVVV

  Poog issued a loud gurgly warning, which Mr. Beeba translated as: “If you hit the water at this speed, you could cause severe damage to the navigation system!”

  “I'm the only navigation system we need right now,” bellowed Spuckler, bracing himself for impact. Mr. Beeba and I did likewise.

  VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

  The blue-green surface of the Moonguzzit Sea was now less than a hundred feet below us. It whirled and rushed toward the windshield in a matter of seconds. I closed my eyes just before—

  vvvvvVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

  FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSHHHHH!

  The sound of the ship hitting the water was like a bomb going off. I was thrown forward from my seat, and the restraining belts dug deep into my stomach and shoulders.

  When I opened my eyes, the interior of the ship was bathed in an undulating green glow. Outside the ship's portals I saw nothing but water and silvery bubbles racing past. We were moving much more slowly now but had nevertheless already reached a point far below the water's surface.

  I had no reason to be surprised by the submarine capabilities of Spuckler's ship—I'd seen them in use back at Wacahoota Creek, after all. Still, experiencing the move from air to water as a passenger was a different matter entirely.

  “Awright, Gax,” said Spuckler, activating an octagonal radar screen above his head. “Gimme a sign. That's all I need.”

  toong...............toong...............toong.........

  A quiet note sounded while a single green dot pulsated on the radar screen.

  “Yes!” Spuckler turned the steering wheel three full rotations to the left. “You just stay put, li'l buddy,” he added, his voice hopeful for the first time since Gax had fallen off the balcony.

  “We won't letcha down.”

  Soon we were moving through the water at full speed.

  toong…. toong…. toong….

  The note began to repeat more frequently, the green dot on the radar screen pulsing in time with it.

  “Be cautious, now, Spuckler,” warned Mr. Beeba. “Hoffelhiff’s men may well be in the vicinity.”

  You can betcher fuzzy little head hairs they're in the vissimity,” said Spuckler, and for once Mr. Beeba opted not to correct him. “With all the time it took us t' get down here, Hoffy's thugs could have Gax right where they want ’im by now.”

  I swallowed and cleared my throat. “Are, uh, Hoffy’s thugs armed and dangerous?”

  “They better hope they are, 'Kiko,” said Spuckler. “'Cause I sure am.”

  Poog floated over to the dashboard and uttered several hushed syllables.

  “Poog begs to differ,” said Mr. Beeba. “You may well be dangerous—you generally are—but at present you are not the least bit armed.”

  Spuckler shot Poog an annoyed glance. “He don't know what he's talkin' about. See these suckers over here?” Spuckler pointed at a bank of red buttons to his right. “You're lookin' at three of the most advanced pieces of submersible aqua-techtronic weaponry in the galaxy. Number one: kioxurian torpedoes. Number two: laser-guided phortane missiles. Number three: wog-flurk rockets. Twenny of ’em.”

  Poog floated over to the dashboard for a brief examination. He then issued a prolonged warbly assessment.

  “Oh dear” was all Mr. Beeba could bring himself to say.

  “What?” said Spuckler, turning his head to confront both Poog and Mr. Beeba. “What?”

  “Kloxurian torpedoes?” said Mr. Beeba. “Lethal, but only to us: the launc
h door is jammed.”

  Spuckler turned angrily to the bank of red buttons. “Hmf. Coulda sworn I fixed that last year.” He gripped the steering wheel and made a show of indifference. “Yeah, okay, but we still got two outta thr—”

  “Laser-guided phortane missiles?” said Mr. Beeba. “Most effective. If you had not left them at home in your living room.”

  Spuckler turned again to the bank of buttons. After a very long pause he said: “Dining room.”

  “As for the wog-flurk rockets,” Mr. Beeba said with a sigh, “Poog says that there is no such thing and that you probably made them up simply to impress us.”

  “Awright, that is enough outta you,” said Spuckler, stabbing an angry finger in Poog's direction. “Why don't you just keep your trap shut and … and … be mysterious for a while!”

  toong … toong … toong … toong … toong

  The light on the radar was now blinking at a furious pace.

  “Awright, Gax,” said Spuckler, switching on a pair of bright yellow headlights in the nose of the ship, “show yourself, already.”

  I peered into the blue-green depths outside the windshield. There were bubbles, bits of seaweed, and schools of three-eyed alien fish, but no sign of Gax.

  Then I saw him: a glint of white straight ahead.

  “Good goin', Gax!” Spuckler shouted. “Ya did it! Ya gave 'em the slip!”

  Gax was floating thirty feet or so below the surface, bobbing gently up and down and waving at us with a mechanical arm. As we drew nearer, Spuckler focused the headlights squarely on him and guided the ship forward until we were right next to him.

  “Incredible!” I said. “It looks like he didn't even get a scratch.”

  “Ain't nothin' 'credible 'bout that,” said Spuckler, offended on Gax's behalf. “Gax units are th' toughest little 'bots in the universe. And Gax is tougher’n any of 'em.”

  By now Spuckler had maneuvered some sort of communications tube through the water and hooked it up to Gax's head.

  “That was some mighty fine divin', Gax,” said Spuckler into an intercom dangling from the ceiling. “Whatcha doin’? Trainin' for the 'Bot Olympics?”

  “THANK YOU FOR ARRIVING WITH SUCH SPEED, SIR,” came Gax's tinny voice from a speaker on the dashboard. “SHALL I ATTACH MYSELF TO THE SHIP'S HULL?”

  “Hop to it, little guy,” said Spuckler. “We ain't got all day.”

  “I don't like this,” said Mr. Beeba. “Where are Hoffelhiff's sentries? They should have gotten here before us.”

  “Beebs, sometimes ya jus' get lucky,” said Spuckler. “Try t' enjoy it, 'stead of bein' such a party pooper.”

  TUNK. GLENK. P'CHANK!

  Metallic noises echoed through the ship as Gax attached himself to it from the outside.

  “He's on, he's on, he's on,” said Spuckler, his voice buzzing with excess energy. “Awright, buckaroo bambinos, let's hightail it on outta here!”

  Spuckler banged a few buttons on the dashboard with his fist. The ship shuddered, groaned, and began rising. I peeked out the windows for any sign of Hoffelhiff's men but saw nothing. We were making a clean getaway. It seemed Spuckler was right: sometimes you just get lucky.

  When we reached the surface, Spuckler pulled a lever and the whole top third of the ship peeled back like the roof of a convertible, one section sliding under another, until we had a clear view of the sky, the sea, and Gollarondo above. A fishy, seaside smell filled my nostrils, and a strong breeze tossed my pigtails up against my cheeks. There, attached to the front of the ship by four suction-cup-tipped legs, was Gax, looking none the worse for his recent fall.

  “Gax!” I cried with relief. “Are you okay?”

  “I'M QUITE ALL RIGHT, MA'AM,” replied Gax, bouncing happily as he inched his way up to the top of the ship, “APART FROM HAVING TAKEN ON A BIT OF UNNEEDED BALLAST.” A spout emerged on one side of his body and …

  ffffssssssssshhhhhhhh

  … the water that had seeped into Gax during his undersea tour came spritzing out. Then a door popped open on the opposite side of his body and …

  sssshhhhhhlupp!

  … a good-sized fish was forcibly ejected. It flipped several times through the air before splashing into the sea.

  Spuckler laughed, loud and long. It was partly because of the ejected fish, but mostly, I suspect, it was an expression of the relief he felt at having his longtime robotic sidekick back within arm's reach.

  “C'mon, Gax,” said Spuckler, grabbing Gax with both hands and hoisting him into the interior of the ship. “Now, next time you wanna pull a stunt like that, do me a favor and use a bungee cord or some-thin', will ya?”

  A high-pitched bleating noise blasted my ears as Poog made a sudden, urgent announcement.

  “Spuckler,” said Mr. Beeba before Poog had even finished, “Hoffelhiff's men have spotted us. They'll be here any second. We've got to go. Now!”

  “Done,” said Spuckler, yanking a knob near the steering wheel. “Hold on tight, ever'body. We … are … gone!”

  BRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUMMMMM

  The stench of spent fuel filled the air as the engine roared to life. The whole ship rocked and vibrated from stem to stern and back again. Spuckler punched several buttons on the dashboard and we all braced ourselves for a swift and sudden liftoff.

  RRRRMMMM-KUK-RRRRMMMM-KUK-KUK

  The engine's roar, having built to a crescendo, was now interrupted by unpleasant knocking sounds. Then, more disturbingly, the roar itself began to die down to something more along the lines of a loud hum.

  RRRRRRRrrrrmmm-KUK-KUK-KUK-rrrmmm

  “Spuckler!” shouted Mr. Beeba, his eyes buggy with fear. “Get this ill-equipped bucket of bolts out of the water immediately! Hoffelhiff's men are almost upon us!”

  “I'm tryin', ya idgit, I'm tryin',” shouted Spuckler, hammering wildly at buttons I'll bet had nothing to do with the engine at all.

  rrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

  My heart sank as the engine began to die altogether.

  Then:

  P'KUK!

  P' CHAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwww

  Within seconds the only sounds were the wind, a few seabirds in the distance, and the waves of the Moonguzzit Sea gently lapping against the hull of the ship.

  Spuckler pounded his fist on the dashboard and muttered a long sentence that included the phrases rag-nattered hootly-tootin’ and expired warranty.

  FOOOOOOSSSSHHhhhhh

  Water on the left side of the ship churned and sprayed as a steel gray vehicle emerged and rotated until its nose—decked out in compact but deadly-looking artillery—was pointed straight at us. It was as big as our ship. Maybe bigger.

  “A fogglenaut,” said Mr. Beeba, his voice cracking with anxiety. “Hoffelhiff's most feared sentries.

  A single one of them can s-sink a ship ten times our size.”

  FOOOOOOSSSSHHH

  FOOOOOOOSSSSSHHHH

  Two more fogglenauts emerged on the opposite side of our ship; then …

  FOOSH-FOOSH-FOOSH-FOOSH

  More and more of them surfaced, each filling a spot unused by the others, until finally there were sixteen in all, encircling us as neatly as numbers on a clock face.

  KUNK KUNK KUNK

  Our ship rocked back and forth as I felt something attaching itself to the underside of the hull. The fogglenauts all backed up a bit, enlarging their circle until it was the size of a baseball diamond. Something big—really big—was beneath our ship, and about to surface.

  ffffffOOOOOOOOOSSSSHHHhhhhh

  Mr. Beeba, Poog, Gax, Spuckler, and I all looked on helplessly as our ship was carried up and out of the water. We were now on the deck of what looked to be some sort of submersible aircraft carrier. Water poured off our ship and flowed across the deck into gigantic drains on all sides.

  “Good heavens,” said Mr. Beeba, the only one of us who dared make an assessment of the situation. “We're …”

  He swallowed and shook his head.

  “… doomed.” />
  Soon we were sailing across the Moonguzzit Sea (or rather, flying just above its surface, since the vessel beneath us doubled as a high-speed hovercraft) on our way to a nearby island where Hoffelhiff lived.

  “Don't nobody worry,” said Spuckler, sounding more than slightly worried himself. “I know a fella who cut a deal with Hoffelhiff once. Said he was a pretty reasonable guy, actually.”

  Mr. Beeba snorted, as if the very idea were preposterous. “Reasonable is not the word that comes to mind when I think of Nugg von Hoffelhiff.”

  “Why, is he really mean or something?” I asked.

  “Not exactly, Akiko,” said Mr. Beeba. “Hoffelhiff is a renowned eccentric. His oddball behavior has made him a favorite topic of discussion among psychiatrists, psychologists, and podiatrists.” (I was pretty sure a podiatrist was a foot doctor, but I decided not to call Mr. Beeba on it.)

  “Don'tcha fret none, 'Kiko,” said Spuckler. “Jus' leave the talkin' to me, an' we'll be back in Gol-larondo b'fore ya know it.”

  In a few minutes Hoffelhiff's island came into view. It was little more than a huge rectangular rock jutting out of the sea, with a few pockets of greenery spread across its upper surface. In the center of the island was Hoffelhiff's fortress, a vast structure that changed architectural styles every few hundred feet. It looked as if the architect who'd designed it had kept changing his mind about what kind of place he wanted to build. “See what I mean, Akiko?” said Mr. Beeba. “Even his home is off its rocker.”

  We were jetted into a cavernous opening in the side of the island, large enough to accommodate the hovercraft and all the fogglenauts with plenty of room to spare. Ten of Hoffelhiff's men then escorted us from the ship, all of them toting a variety of weapons, decked out in body armor, and grinning at us like fishermen who'd just hauled in their best catch of the year.

  They took us to a craggy stone wall into which two passageways had been cut. The passage on the left was brightly lit and led upward, presumably connecting with Hoffelhiff's fortress. The one on the right led downward, toward … well, it was really anyone's guess at this stage. The fact that it was damp, dingy, and devoid of lighting wasn't very encouraging, though.