Pieces of Gax Read online

  “Shhh,” I said. “They're coming back.”

  “Problem solved!” said Mr. Beeba, beaming from (I assumed) several more generous doses of flattery about his status as an academic legend. Behind him was Dr. Gridstump, who had placed Gax's body on a cart and was now wheeling it into the room. To Gridstump's credit, it looked to be in perfect shape.

  “Good old Eckston here tells me he half suspected Gax's body was acquired under dubious circumstances,” said Mr. Beeba, “and that its true owner would be along to retrieve it in the fullness of time.” Dr. Gridstump nodded cheerfully. “The only reason he bought it, in fact, was to prevent Hoffelhiff from selling it to a less scrupulous buyer.”

  “Right,” I said, sounding skeptical in spite of my efforts not to. Still, here was Gax's body, and Gridstump was returning it to us. What was there to be suspicious about?

  “Eckston and I are going for a brief tour of the island,” said Mr. Beeba, his eyes gleaming in anticipation. “It won't take us more than a half hour or so,” he added, waving a hand in the direction of Gax's body and turning to Spuckler. “That'll give you a chance to get Gax's neck properly reattached.”

  “I'm on it, Beebs,” said Spuckler, a wrench already in hand.

  “I'm going with you,” I said to Mr. Beeba. “There's strength in numbers.” Dr. Gridstump gave me a what-is-that-supposed-to-mean look, as did Mr. Beeba. “I mean … this island has a number of strengths …” I fumbled for a way of salvaging the sentence. “… that I would like to, er … witness firsthand.”

  “A number of strengths, eh?” said Mr. Beeba.

  Dr. Gridstump stepped forward, frowning at the prospect of having anyone join them. “You'd really better stay here. We're going to climb to the summit of Mount Vorf. I'm afraid the path is far too rugged for a mere girl.”

  That did it.

  “A mere girl?” I said. “What are you saying? That girls are weak?”

  “Don't twist the man's words, Akiko,” said Mr. Beeba. “I'm sure he only meant to say that girls are dainty, frail, and prone to fainting spells.”

  “Precisely,” said Dr. Gridstump.

  My first instinct was to tell them both off. But then it dawned on me: who was to say either of them had to know I was tagging along?

  “You know what? You're right,” I said, raising my hands in a gesture of acceptance. “I am pretty dainty and frail, come to think of it. I'll just stay behind and”—I smiled as innocently as I knew how—“keep out of trouble.”

  “A sensible choice,” said Mr. Beeba. “Have a rest, dear child. And don't worry,” he added, having sensed my unease with the situation. “We're only hiking to the top of a semiactive volcano. What could possibly go wrong?”

  I saw them out the front door of the laboratory, waving goodbye as they began the hike. Then, after telling Spuckler and Gax what I was up to, I followed Mr. Beeba and Dr. Gridstump from a distance.

  It was a steep and grueling climb. Once or twice I made a bit too much noise scrambling from one outcropping of volcanic rock to another, and Dr. Gridstump nearly caught on. Fortunately, he was so intent on getting Mr. Beeba to the summit of Mount Vorf that he wasn't inclined to delay their ascent by snooping around for me.

  Finally we reached the summit: a hazy, hot region devoid of anything living, apart from a handful of smoke-singed trees. The air reeked of sulfur and smoke. Everything I touched—the rocks, the ground, the sand—gave off heat like an oven.

  I watched from behind a nearby boulder as Grid-stump led Mr. Beeba to the edge of a depression at the top of this “very nearly extinct” volcano. Their faces were bathed from beneath with an orange glow, and I knew at once that they were gazing down into a pit of molten lava.

  “Magnificent, isn't it?” said Dr. Gridstump. “As a man of science, I knew you'd want to have a look at this.”

  ffffFFFFFFRRRRGGHHFFFfffff

  A fiery ball of magma shot over their heads and into the branches of a nearby tree, which promptly exploded into flame.

  “Y-yes,” replied Mr. Beeba, sounding considerably more nervous than he had earlier. “Volc-c-canoes are ever so fascinating. It's a shame the others aren't here to see it.”

  “Ah, but I don't bring just anyone up here,” said Dr. Grids tump, patting Mr. Beeba on the back. “Only those who have crossed me at one time or another.”

  “C-crossed you?” Mr. Beeba was now stumbling backward, away from Dr. Gridstump. “I'm sure I don't know wh-what you mean.” I couldn't see the doctor's face from where I was hiding, but one look at Mr. Beeba's expression told me he was no longer gazing into the eyes of a friend.

  “But of course you don't.” Dr. Gridstump advanced on Mr. Beeba. “Your sort never recall the little people like me. The ones whose lives you've crushed along the way!”

  It was clear that Mr. Beeba was in mortal danger; for all I knew he could be seconds from being tossed down into the lava. Still, I couldn't just jump out at random. If I was to have any success taking on Gridstump, I needed to retain the element of surprise and make the best possible use of it.

  “You couldn't crush me, though.” Gridstump was now well within arm's reach of Mr. Beeba, and getting closer with every sentence he muttered. “I went on to become a great scientist. I did it in spite of you. In spite of what you did to me.”

  Taking a deep breath, I inched my way to the top of a strategically located boulder. From there I would be able to jump down onto the doctor's back at the moment of my choosing.

  “But in those days I was a nobody to you,” said Gridstump to a now thoroughly petrified Mr. Beeba. “Still, that didn't stop you from reporting me to the authorities, did it?”

  “The authorities?” Mr. Beeba had now backed himself into a wall of boulders not far from the pit's edge.“AtM-Malbadoo?”

  “No, not at Malbadoo, you fool!” said Gridstump. “At the SMATDA!” He lunged forward and grabbed Mr. Beeba by the neck. “Do you remember me now?” He shook Mr. Beeba like a bully shaking a child. “Doyou?”

  Gridstump had taken a few crucial steps away from where I was hiding, and it was no longer a given that I would be able to jump all the way from the boulder to his back. But it was too late to worry about that. I had to make my move.

  I rose to my feet and leaped as far as I could from the boulder.

  PPFFTCH

  Disaster! I completely missed Gridstump and instead took a spectacularly clumsy spill into the patch of stone and sand at his feet. Pain shot through my shoulders as I rolled across it.

  Gridstump whirled around, his hands still clamped on to Mr. Beeba's neck. “You!”

  So much for jumping on his back. I had to think fast.

  I dug the fingers of both hands into the burning hot volcanic sand, picked up as much of it as I could, and hurled both fistfuls straight into Grids tump's eyes.

  “Aaarrgghff!”

  Gridstump clawed madly at his eyes with one hand, but he still held Mr. Beeba with the other.

  “Let go of him!” I cried as I tried to pry his fingers away from Mr. Beeba's throat.

  “Never!” growled Gridstump. He now gave up on trying to clear the sand from his eyes and returned to his two-handed grip on Mr. Beeba's neck. “He wrecked my life! Over a piece of chewing gum!”

  There had to be some way of freeing Mr. Beeba. Even without his eyesight, Gridstump would eventually get Mr. Beeba to the edge of the pit and it would all be over. But what could I do? I simply didn't have the strength to take on Gridstump all on my own. I needed some kind of weapon, some kind of…

  The tree!

  I ran to the blackened tree that had been struck moments before by the flying ball of lava. The tips of its branches were red-hot and smoldering. I snapped one off, brandished it like a spear, and, dashing back to the scene of the struggle, jabbed it into Gridstump's rear end with all my might.

  “Aaaauuuurrrggghh!”

  Gridstump was in excruciating pain but had still not let go of Mr. Beeba. To make matters worse, he now had Mr. Beeba teete
ring at the edge of the pit. There was no time to think. Only to act.

  I grabbed Mr. Beeba with one arm, raised the smoldering branch with the other, and jabbed its glowing orange tip as quickly as I could into both of Gridstump's hands.

  “Nnnngggh!”

  He groaned and let go of Mr. Beeba …

  … for a fraction of a second …

  … and a fraction of a second was all I needed.

  I dropped the stick and, using every ounce of strength I had, pulled Mr. Beeba to safety.

  Gridstump dropped to his knees and released an anguished howl as Mr. Beeba and I tore off down the trail as fast as our legs would carry us. I like to think he recovered his eyesight just in time to see Mr. Beeba and me vanish into the distance.

  “My apologies, Akiko,” said Mr. Beeba between hoarsely gasped breaths as we ran nonstop all the way down the mountainside.

  “You …”

  hnnh hnnh

  “… are not…”

  hnnh hnnh

  “… the least bit…”

  hnnh hnnh

  “… dainty.”

  Minutes later we arrived back at the lab. Gax was now almost his old self again, but there was little time to celebrate. Gridstump would recover soon enough and be back down with who-knew-what plan for getting revenge on Mr. Beeba. We left one hundred and fifty gilpots—the amount Gridstump had paid for Gax's robotic body—on one of the worktables and ran back to the fogglienaut at top speed, Spuckler carrying Gax all the way.

  As we piled into the fogglienaut, joined by Poog, who looked very happy to be relieved of his de-hurpleskapping duties, Mount Vorf proved just how unextinct it really was by erupting, sending lava spraying hundreds of feet skyward in slow motion. Balls of liquid fire shot through the air like rockets, pelting the beach and making huge steamy splashes in the Moonguzzit Sea.

  Just before we shut the door of the fogglenaut, I saw Dr. Gridstump arrive on the beach with what looked like an enormous bazooka on his shoulders.

  FffffFFFRROOOOOOOSHHH!

  Spuckler gunned the fogglenaut just in time, and off we went, cutting through the waves at top speed and leaving a very angry Dr. Gridstump on the dock, firing wildly at us with his weapon long after we were no longer in range.

  I watched through the fogglenaut's back window as the island of Vorf receded into the distance, my heartbeat gradually slowing from a rapid pounding to something pretty close to normal. By the time the smoke from Mount Vorf disappeared into the horizon, I was sound asleep.

  * * *

  When I awoke, it was nearly nightfall.

  “Somebody please tell me,” I said, yawning and stretching, “that Gax's wheels will be easier to get hold of than his neck and body were.”

  “As a matter of fact,” said Mr. Beeba, “we've been discussing that very topic while you rested, and we have reached a decision that I expect will come as a great relief to you.”

  “What's that?”

  “We're going to give up on retrieving Gax's wheels and head back to Gollarondo.” Mr. Beeba smiled and patted me on the hand. “You've gone through more than enough trouble already, my dear girl, on my account as well as Gax's.” A tear had come into Mr. Beeba's eye, and he wiped it away with a shaking finger. “Why, you risked your very life to save me, Akiko.”

  “That's right, “Kiko,” said Spuckler, leaving the fogglenaut on autopilot and coming back to join the discussion, “and believe you me, Beebs ain't worth that kind of sacrifice.”

  “Quite right,” said Mr. Beeba.

  “Heck, he ain't even worth breakin' your limbs for, really.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Or even stubbin' your big toe for, come to think of it.”

  “Ahem,” said Mr. Beeba, keeping his eyes focused on mine. “Akiko, I cannot in good conscience allow you to put yourself in harm's way again. Spuckler and I did promise you, after all, no near-death experiences on this trip.”

  “But…” I was stunned for some reason, rather than relieved. “But what about Gax's wheels?”

  “WE'RE GOING TO BUY A SET OF NEW ONES INSTEAD,” said Gax, who—there was no denying it— looked pretty much complete as is. “THE ONES THAT ARE MISSING WERE RATHER SCUFFED AND TIMEWORN ANYWAY. THEY WERE OVERDUE FOR REPLACEMENT, IT MUST BE SAID.”

  Poog floated over to my side and spoke softly in Toogolian.

  “Poog assures you it's for the best, Akiko,” said Mr. Beeba. “There are points in any noble pursuit at which the risks exceed the benefits. We are presently at just such a juncture, and there is no shame in playing it safe.”

  I should have been happy. No, make that ecstatic. My scrape with Dr. Gridstump had left me very rattled (not to mention thoroughly exhausted), and the prospect of spending the rest of my time on Smoo just taking it easy should have struck me as heavenly.

  But something was wrong. Something about it just didn't feel right.

  “Now hang on a second,” I said.

  “Yes?” said Mr. Beeba.

  “Don't I get a say in this decision?”

  Spuckler, Mr. Beeba, Poog, and Gax all exchanged a quick series of embarrassed glances.

  “Course ya do, “Kiko,” said Spuckler, eliciting nods from the others. “Your 'pinion's just as important as anybody's.”

  “Good,” I said. “Because I think I'm the only one here who hasn't completely flipped out.”

  A stunned silence.

  “I mean, listen to yourselves. What was that you said, Spuckler, about Mr. Beeba not being worth the sacrifice? You should be ashamed.” Spuckler rubbed his jaw. “He's a member of this group, and that means he's worth any sacrifice.

  “And you, Gax,” I continued. “Yeah, all right, maybe those wheels had been around the track one too many times … and okay, maybe you didn't have the tires balanced and rotated as often as you could have”—Spuckler nodded, accepting some of the blame—“but you wore them with style. They looked good on you, those tires.” Gax straightened up and raised his head. “Darn good.

  “And you two.” I turned to Mr. Beeba and Poog. “What is all this talk about giving up and playing it safe? I've never heard you guys talk that way before.” I paused and thought about it a bit more. “Well, okay, I've heard Mr. Beeba talk that way before,” I admitted. “A tlot. But Poog,” I added, raising a finger, “never.”

  All eyes were on me.

  “I say we put it to a vote.”

  I unbuckled my seat belt and stood up. I don't know why, exactly. I just did it.

  “All those in favor of throwing in the towel and running away with our tails between our legs, say aye.”

  “Ah—” said Mr. Beeba before realizing that no one was joining him. “Ah … ah …” He then threw both hands over his face and did the most pathetically unconvincing fake sneeze I've ever heard in my life. “… CHOO!” Everyone looked at Mr. Beeba through half-closed eyelids. “Excuse me,” said Mr. Beeba, wiping imaginary runniness from his nose.

  “Gesundheit,” I said, looking heavenward. “Let's try that again: anyone here who is too scared, too weak-kneed, and, yes, too dainty to carry on with this mission, say aye.”

  Silence.

  “All those who say we will not rest…” I looked everyone in the eye, one at a time. “… will not cave … will not so much as flinch in the face of certain death”—a little over the top, I know, but, hey, I was on a roll—“… until we've got Gax's tires fully inflated and back where they belong…” Mouths were already open, waiting for my cue. “… say aye.”

  “AYE!” cried everyone at once, loud and clear (except Poog, who cried the equivalent in Toogolian).

  “All right, then,” I said, strapping myself into my seat and waving Spuckler back to the steering wheel. “Turn this fogglenaut around and step on the gas, already. We've got some wheels to find!”

  As little as we'd known about the buyers of Gax's neck and body, we knew even less about the man or woman or alien or who knows what who'd bought Gax's wheels.

  “Unfortu
nately, the details are rather more sketchy than in the cases of Mrs. Slarf and Dr. Grid-stump,” said Mr. Beeba. “Hoffelhiff said that he sold Gax's wheels to someone representing a mysterious parts dealer in the metropolis of Omega Doy Zarius. The dealer goes by the name Thirgen, and is known to frequent an establishment known as the Stripped Gear. That's all we know, I'm afraid.”

  “Well, it's better than nothing,” I said. “If we can get to the Stripped Gear, chances are someone there will know who we're looking for.”

  “Let's hope so.” But after our brush with Dr. Gridstump, I'll bet Mr. Beeba was more than half hoping we'd never cross paths with Thirgen, whoever he'd turn out to be.

  In the late afternoon we entered a large bay surrounded by a vast cityscape of shimmering futuristic buildings. “Omega Doy Zarius,” said Spuckler, his eyes bugging with excitement. “It ain't changed a bit.”

  It was a city on the scale of Hong Kong—make that several Hong Kongs—and looked to be just as crowded and hectic. Skyscrapers towered like enormous glass and steel steeples, only to be dwarfed by other skyscrapers surrounding them. Roaring rocket ships big and small sped from place to place, coming perilously close to the sides of buildings and one another. Seafaring vessels, most many times larger than our tiny fogglenaut, sounded their horns as they sailed past on all sides, occasionally allowing a glimpse of rusting robots and multicolored aliens manning their controls. Screechings and clankings and oily smells rushed forth to greet me (or drive me away, more accurately), and I found myself hoping our stay in Omega Doy Zarius would be the shortest of our visits.

  Mr. Beeba pulled our fogglenaut up to one of the smaller docks and paid an attendant—who assured us this section of the bay was free of hurpleskaps — to keep an eye on it for us. Then we all climbed out and made our way onto one of Omega Doy Zarius's insanely busy streets. After Mr. Beeba failed to get the attention of any of the black and yellow hover taxis that periodically zoomed past, Spuckler set Gax on the ground and promised to show us “how it's done.” The very next hover taxi that roared along did indeed come to a complete stop, but only after Spuckler had thrown himself onto the windshield, forcing the driver to plow headlong into a nearby newspaper stand. Mr. Beeba angrily compensated the newspaper salesman for his lost copies of the Daily Skraboosh, and off we went.