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with something that must've generated incredible heat, because the metal
had melted and then solidified. With the kids' noses practically in the hole,
I lifted the door.
What in the name of Gary Larson was that?
Sitting atop intertwined strands of thick, multicolored cables was one
weird little beastie! Picture a cross between a gerbil and an Ewok about a
foot tall, with a long, razor-sharp tusk protruding down at a severe angle,
and you got it. Cute little guy, actually. It was sitting on its haunches, and
had already cut through nearly a third of the top cable.
"Why& it's a Deltanian Sawtooth!" Robert exclaimed. "I wouldn't touch
it if I were you. Jack."
Hey, sound advice. At least it wasn't something nuclear&
"You under there!" a voice shouted. "Stop whatever it is you're doing!"
A dung beetle attendant with a baseball cap was crawling toward us;
skillfully, I might add. He was flashing a badge. So this was one of Galaxy
land's hidden storm troopers.
"Hold on to your carapace," I told him, "we're only trying to help out."
He could see down into the floor now. "Well, I'll be dipped in dung, it's
a Deltanian Sawtooth!" he exclaimed.
"That's right," I said, "and you'd better zap it quick, or the lights are
going out."
"No need to harm the creature," Robert said. "Vadera and Krill can
take care of it."
The little girl butterball said, "Yes, all Deltanian life forms are in
harmony with one another, which is why our planet is the most peaceful in
this quadrant of the galaxy. Watch."
She held out a hand to the creature, and at the same time I felt, rather
than heard, this soft hum. The animal pulled its tusk out of the cable,
looked at the hand, sniffed it. Then the little guy's face lit up in a weird
sort of smile, and it nuzzled Vadera's fingers with the top of its fuzzy head.
The girl picked the thing up gently and sat it on her palm.
"A Deltanian Sawtooth is the most inoffensive of creatures," Krill said.
"See that brown, sticky stuff on the cable? It's spice syrup, the one thing
they have a weakness for. Those people must have saturated it."
"I still don't know what to make of this," the bemused dung beetle said,
"but I want all of you out of here, right now."
Lots more stuff was going on when we crawled out from under the
carousel. Jillian was there, and she waved vigorously when she saw us.
Spinach leaf and dung beetle attendants were in abundance, four of the
latter holding the fat, multichinned guy and his female accomplice in tow.
Those two nearly dropped their gums when they saw the creature in
Vadera's hand.
Jillian ran over to meet us and said, "On our way to look for you, I
spotted those two and pointed them out. It didn't take the police long to
persuade them to tell where they'd hidden whatever-it-was."
A human in a black jumpsuit and a wide-brimmed hat similar to Don
Quixote's golden helmet of Mambrino had followed Jillian.
He was smiling broadly. Something familiar about this guy, I thought,
but couldn't put a finger on it.
"I'm Melvin Butterwood, Administrator of Galaxyland," he said,
shaking our hands. "Looks like all of you did a good piece of detective
work. I'll send my technicians in, but I'm sure patching the cable will be a
simple matter."
Indicating the fat guy and the woman, I asked, "What's going on here?
Who are those two?"
"That's Otto Frump, and his secretary. Miss Diode."
"Otto Frump!" I exclaimed.
"Yes; he owns a theme park called Space World."
"I've heard of that," Robert said. "Everyone says it's an awful, run-down
place."
Butterwood nodded. "It is; but it's only a few light-years from here.
Frump thought that by shutting down Galaxyland and doing some heavy
advertising, he could divert people there."
"It would've worked too," Frump said sourly, "if it weren't for that guy
and these kids."
Butterwood motioned for his "men" to take the pair away. Otto Frump
scowled at me; Miss Diode didn't.
Let me tell you about Miss Diode. About her long auburn hair and full
red lips and legs that spanned the galaxy and eyes that flashed messages
all healthy heterosexual males longed to hear. If only Miss Diode weren't
on her way to being incarcerated&
As the pair was being loaded into something that looked like a
helicopter without rotor blades, Butterwood said, "Well, Mr& "
"Miller, Jack Miller," I told him.
"Yes, Mr. Miller. Needless to say, Galaxyland owes you and your young
friends a cosmic debt of gratitude. The rest of your visit here is
complimentary. Anything you want is& "He eyed me curiously, banging a
knuckle on the golden helmet of Mambrino. "Did you say& Jack Miller!"
And that's when I knew why Melvin Butterwood was familiar. It was
because he looked a hell of a lot like me!
"That's right," I said.
"I don't believe it!" he exclaimed. "We have pictures of you in an
ancient family album. Jack, I'm your great-great "
"Excuse me," I interrupted, "but I don't want to hear this!"
I really didn't want to know; I really really didn't. I mean, think about
it: This guy was my great-great-grandson, or maybe my great-times-eight
grandson. Whatever the case, he had pictures of me, maybe like I am now,
or maybe as an old fart. He knew who I married, and what my kids' names
were, and when I died, and how, and everything like that. He might even
own a rare copy of a book I'd written in the early twenty-first century that [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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