Tubular Android Superheroes Read online

  ROC

  Published by the Penguin Group

  First Printing, October, 1991

  Copyright ® 1991

  Cover Illustration Copyright ® 1991

  CONTENTS

  Excerpt

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Chapter 1 Sucking Sidewalk

  Chapter 2 Stormy Weather

  Chapter 3 Iron Will

  Chapter 4 Nuts From Hollywood

  Chapter 5 The Perfect Place

  Chapter 6 Knighten Daise Of The Foreign Legion

  Chapter 7 Anecdotal Evidence

  Chapter 8 Everything But The Girl

  Chapter 9 You Can Fool All of the People Some of the Time

  Chapter 10 Truckers Do It All Night

  Chapter 11 Willville

  Chapter 12 Ur-Clues

  Chapter 13 Progress

  Chapter 14 Private Parts

  Chapter 15 He's Only Human

  Chapter 16 A Lot Of Vacancies

  Chapter 17 Meet Max Toodemax

  Chapter 18 Home Is Where The Murder Is

  Chapter 19 Alone Again Again

  Chapter 20 Not Murder, Incorporated

  Chapter 21 Mondo Condo

  Chapter 22 Clue In A Bun

  Chapter 23 Burning Daylight

  Chapter 24 Come As You Are

  Chapter 25 Room At The Top

  Chapter 26 The Dinosaur Waltz

  Chapter 27 Fully Equipped

  Excerpt

  "WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE SHOW?"

  Zoot looked around, not really seeing anything. He said, "I guess it's all for sale."

  "Everything but the girl," Mr. Iron Will said, and laughed louder than the gag deserved. Still chuckling, Mr. Will said, "I think you could cause me a great deal of trouble. Mister Marlowe. I think now is perhaps a good time to stop you."

  Zoot stiffened, expecting a couple of android goons to grab him. But Mr. Will just waved his hand over his head as if making a playing card appear.

  On stage, Darken Stormy rolled off the Melt-O-Mobile and said, "You'll never have to park again!" She reached into the car and then backed away from it, making a here's-the-big-deal motion with her hands. The car began to evaporate and Zoot smelled credulity gas.

  Mr. Will cried out, "This is Zoot Marlowe. He's a bad man. He deserves to die...."

  All around, people who had been ignoring Zoot looked in his direction with blood in their eyes.

  They began to close in.

  Dedication

  For Ted Pedersen Who is, as far as I'm concerned, The Cat's Meow

  Introduction

  A VACATION was only one of the things I needed, but it was also the only thing on the list that seemed likely. The other items involved having a lot of money or being taller.

  I had a load of chocolate-covered coffee beans to take home to T'toom. I'd paid off my father with the profits from the first load and this time I was hoping to get a little ahead.

  I was not only a little short of money, I was a little short. Period. I'm about average height for a Toomler, which is to say I come up to the average Earth person's navel. We don't have navels on T'toom either. What we do have is very long and sensitive noses. I'm the same un-healthy bone white as a mushroom. Only on T'toom, that's healthy.

  The past few weeks had been educational. In a lot of ways, education was my business as much as trouble. I'd learned exactly how much damage Hawaiian UFO aliens can do if they put their minds, their talents, and their highly developed but unusual senses of humor to it. Like me, they were not of this Earth; but they were a little flashier about it than I am.

  Since I'd solved the case, I'd been a busy guy, oh yes I had. What with eating pizza and drinking brewski and surfing my surf-bot by remote control, I don't know when I found time to think. Actually, I hadn't done much thinking lately.

  I was filling time by sitting on the slouching couch in Whipper Will's living room spooning yoyogurt into my mouth. It was oat-bran flavor, the favorite that week. Whipper Will made the stuff himself in a special clean room at the back of the house.

  The yoyogurt accounted for the halo of rainbows that surrounded everything, including the TV set and the Gino and Darlene movie it was showing. Surfers sprawled around the room, lively as moss. They ate yoyogurt and demonstrated varying degrees of interest in helping me watch the movie. At the moment, Gino was crooning a ballad to Darlene; it was called "Surfing the Stars" and was even sappier than it sounded.

  Next to me on the couch was Bill, a silver robot in the shape of a duck. His legs lay straight out on the cushion—they didn't reach far enough to dangle. He came up only to where my navel would have been if I'd had one. It seemed to be only fair. We should all come up to each other's navels. (That was the yoyogurt talking.) Bill wasn't eating yoyogurt because he didn't eat.

  I put down my bowl. I'd had enough yoyogurt. If the truth were known, I'd had enough of trouble and of surfers and of the wildly entertaining planet Earth. My sneeve was loaded with chocolate-covered coffee beans. For the moment, the only thing keeping me on the couch was inertia. I said, "Come on, Bill. I'd like to see you in my private office."

  "Sure, Boss," he said and leapt to the floor. I stood up, not quite so steady as he because of the yoyogurt, and walked back along the dark hallway to the bedroom that Whipper Will shared with his girlfriend, Bingo. The bedroom smelled of humans and unwashed laundry, neither of which was a surprise. I led Bill around piles of linen in various states of cleanliness and told him to stand in the back of the closet.

  "Right away, Boss." Though Bill was only circuits in a fancy box, I felt sorry for him, he was so eager.

  I said, "I'm going home, Bill."

  "Bay City?" He chuckled.

  "Home," I said, and he nodded. I slapped a piece of flypaper on the top of Bill's head and the lights in his eyes went out. I turned him off every time I left Malibu for longer than a few hours. He didn't mind, and it kept me from worrying too much. I worried anyway. You never knew when one of the surfers might suddenly need something in the back of Whipper Will's closet.

  I took off my brown double-breasted suit, my fedora, the rest of my Earth clothes, and hung them neatly in front of Bill. I put on my short Johns, the rubber making a squeaky noise against my skin. I saluted Bill and walked through the house, not swaying much.

  " 'Bye, dudes," I said to the surfers in the living room.

  "Get down, Zoot!" Thumper cried with enthusiasm. He was the tallest of the surfers and made vague motions of being in charge when Whipper Will wasn't around, but generally he found leadership a bother.

  I waved, then went out through the kitchen door, across the tiny brick yard, across the public walkway, and out onto the sand. The day was hot, and the beach was carpeted from horizon to horizon with blankets and towels. I could feel the heat pulling the effects of the yoyogurt out through my skin. The rainbows were fading.

  Kids ran around, seemingly oblivious to the hot sand. Older folks—some maybe old enough to be in high school—strolled by holding hands or eating, sometimes showing a lot of talent and doing both at once. Most of the humans were lying on the beach, baking. Some were done. Others were only half-baked. That was a joke. If Bill were here, he probably would have made it himself. Or laughed. He was a handy audience.

  Feeling steadier by the moment, I walked along the narrow slits of hot sand that showed between blankets, not attracting much attention. Whiffs of tanning lotion, sweat, and fast food pummeled me. I stopped at the high-tide line and watched the water sparkle as it rose and fell, heaving waves at the beach like a traveling salesman heaving his suitcase onto a motel bed. Near me, a line of surfers ripped their surf-bots pretty hard. Each surfer held a black box in o
ne hand and worked controls with the other. Out on the water, robots—gold, silver, bronze—cranked the waves top to bottom, while their controllers hoped for that dream session, that perfect ride through the crystal room. Few of the surfers got wet any higher than their ankles.

  I walked to a tall, dark human, a little older than most of the other surfers. Near him was a short, compact brunette. They showed a lot of skin and were fairly brown, even by Malibu standards. They were intent on their surf-bots and didn't see me. I waited for the bots to glide up onto the beach and grate to a stop. The bots stood at attention on their boards while we talked.

  "I'm history," I said, surprising both of them. "Coming back?" the man said. The brunette smiled at me but didn't say anything. I nodded and said, "Life gets dull in Bay City." The man laughed as he shook his head at the wet sand. Whipper Will knew the truth about Bay City, and Bingo probably did too. It was kind of like a joke between us.

  Whipper Will said, "Wait a minute, dude. I have something for you." He took a few steps up to where the sand was dry and took something from a canvas bag. He came back and handed me a paperback book wrapped in plastic. A mystery novel by Tony Hillerman.

  "Going-away present," Bingo said.

  I nodded and stuffed the package down into my short Johns. "Bitchen," I said.

  I shook hands with Whipper Will and traded hugs with Bingo. After a nervous moment, I turned to contemplate the ocean, letting waves make wings past my legs. The water was even colder than I imagined it would be.

  I waved one last time to Whipper Will and Bingo, and plunged in and swam out to the saucer-shaped ship on the floor of the bay. It was my sneeve, the Philip Marlowe. Inside, everything was as I had left it. I popped a few chocolate-covered coffee beans into my mouth just for luck and blasted off.

  On the ride back to T'toom I had plenty of time to go through the photographs I'd taken, to read the Hillerman and some of the other mystery novels I'd brought, to wonder if I'd actually return to Earth one more time. If I stayed on T'toom, my life as a detective was over. Trouble would no longer be my business. Perhaps my business would be applying household ooze or fixing slaberingeo spines or even looking for local substitutes for chocolate and coffee. But not trouble. Not the kind of trouble they have on Earth. My musings seemed to be very much like an answer to my question about whether or not I'd return to Earth.

  I landed on T'toom and was met by the family. My parents had gotten a little older since I'd been there last, but Grampa Zamp looked about the same and was as cantankerous as ever. Although everybody had noses the size of mine, they looked too big to me. I'd been on Earth a long time. Because we'd been receiving commercial radio broadcasts from Earth for a while, we all spoke English. Almost everybody on T'toom did. Fans of Little Orphan Annie and The Shadow were everywhere.

  Dad was glad to see more chocolate-covered coffee beans. On my last trip home the demand for them had been huge. He'd used some of the money to pay for re-oozing the house.

  I was not the celebrity I'd been last time. I heard from a few biologists who wanted to learn how the human body worked—things I didn't know, things I doubted most Earth people knew. Mostly I was just Zoot come home again.

  I showed off my photographs after dinner that night. My parents glanced at them and suggested I give them to some local scientists. As usual, Grampa Zamp studied the photos as if they contained winning lottery numbers and asked me a lot of questions I answered in the vaguest way I could.

  Mainly, I stuck with my story that Earth was a terrible place, a nest of monsters, each hungrier than the other. We both knew it wasn't true, because last time I'd been home I'd told him it wasn't true, but I needed the practice and Grampa Zamp seemed to understand. I don't know who I was protecting, but I did know that a lot of extra unidentified flying objects from T'toom would not look good in the skies of Earth.

  After dinner Grampa Zamp and I went for a walk. The abo trees were dripping and far away we could hear a slaberingeo crashing through the forest. Familiar smells enveloped me: nothing quite as pungent as hot grease or chocolate, but pleasant flowery smells that came and went like daydreams. We didn't talk for a long time. I was getting used to being home and I think Grampa Zamp was letting me do it.

  Other folks were out walking too. One of them stopped me cold. I looked after him as he continued on his way.

  "Your mouth is hanging open," Grampa Zamp said.

  I closed my mouth but I continued to stare. What I had seen was a Toomler with a nose like an Earthman's. A short blobby thing barely worth mentioning. It looked like a marshmal-low in the center of the kid's face.

  I said, "I guess I missed a lot while I was gone." Grampa Zamp took my arm and we started to walk again.

  He said, "It started pretty soon after you left. Copies of those pictures you brought back were everywhere. Some of the wilder element decided that if they could talk like an Earth person, they should look like one too."

  "They had their noses bobbed?"

  "I hear tell it's the single most popular operation in the world." He shook his head.

  I wanted to say something clever but nothing occurred to me. I was too horrified. Looking like an Earth person was not the same as talking like one. Whereas the learning of a foreign language was kind of self-improving, self-mutilation had never held much allure for me. "The wilder element has gotten a lot wilder since I went away."

  Grampa Zamp nodded and said, "Earth is a popular place, considering nobody's been there but you." He looked at me kind of sideways, as if waiting for me to disagree with him.

  "The charm of radio," I said, wondering what he was leading up to.

  "Charm," Grampa Zamp said. He pulled some sap off an abo tree, rolled it between his palms for a moment, and pitched it into his mouth. He chewed mightily and went on, "I want to go with you next time you go there."

  "Maybe I won't go again."

  Grampa Zamp snorted.

  "Besides," I said, "one Toomler on Earth is hard to explain away. Two might be impossible."

  "I thought trouble was your business." He handed me some sap.

  I rolled it as he had and sucked on it. It tasted a little like cinnamon. Durf, it tasted exactly like abo sap. Clouds of childhood memories gathered 'round. I said, "Earth people have plenty of trouble. They don't need more. I don't need more."

  He looked at me as if I'd slapped him with a rolled-up newspaper.

  "Look," I said. "You are probably my favorite person in the world. Any world. I am very happy when we are together, just hanging around chewing abo sap. But Earth really isn't the perfect vacation spot."

  "I've been around, Zoot. I don't need to be coddled."

  "No."

  "I see. Greedy, ain't we?"

  "No."

  "I'll get my own sneeve."

  Of course, he could. He didn't need me to take him to Earth. But I didn't think he would. In his mind, Earth had become my property and he would respect that. All that aside, if he'd wanted to go alone, he would have already gone. So I called his bluff. I said, "All right. Go ahead. But remember, Earth really is a dangerous place. Not only for Earth people but for us. If somebody from one of the colleges can convince the government you're not from their planet, you could wind up in a zoo—or worse, on somebody's dissecting table." He had the grace to shudder.

  On the way back to the house, we passed another Toomler with his nose bobbed. Zamp and I just looked at each other and shook our heads.

  I stayed around another few days, relaxing and filling up on home cooking. I would have stayed longer, but Zamp kept picking at me as if I were a scab. When I began wondering why I couldn't take Zamp to Earth, I decided it was time to leave. When I told Zamp he acted as if he didn't care. That was a clue with a searchlight on it. I missed it just the same.

  When I told my mother I was leaving, she said, "Again?" as if I'd astonished her.

  "Unfinished business," I said, hating myself for lying.

  My father asked me if I thought I was do
ing the right thing. When I said I didn't know but had to do it anyway, he said, "Don't forget to bring home more chocolate-covered coffee beans."

  My sneeve was tanked, cranked, and ready to go. I got aboard and sighed, thinking about Zamp. I told the computer my destination and pushed the big button. Seconds later, nothing was around me but nothing.

  I was sleeping and a sound woke me. It wasn't one of the chitters or clanks that the ship occasionally made; it was the squeak of a hatch opening. Raymond Chandler said that if you wanted to perk up your writing, have somebody enter a room with a gun in his hand. I hoped that wasn't happening to me. With my eyes still closed, I stiffened. Then another thought came to me and I relaxed. I said, "Everything all right, Grampa Zamp?"

  "How'd you know it was me?" I opened my eyes. He was smiling shyly at the deck. He said, "You won't take me home, will you?"

  "I'll do worse than that. I'll take you to Earth."

  That brightened him right up.

  I was angry with him for a while, but soon I worked it out. I had to admit that having company on the trip was an improvement, and Zamp and I had always gotten along. I was still certain that taking Zamp to Earth was a bad idea, but short of taking him home I could do nothing about it. Taking him home would be entertaining, but it would be trouble for everybody, mostly for me and Zamp.

  I read to him from the Hillerman novel Whipper Will had given me. He liked the Indian stuff, but he couldn't make it match up with the things he'd heard on westerns like Tom Mix and The Lone Ranger and Gunsmoke. I tried to explain about reality, but he was determined to take the romantic view.

  The sneeve slid into the ocean off Malibu and planed through the water to the bottom. I put my books away and shut everything down. I had only one pair of short Johns and I let Zamp wear them. They would protect him from the cold a little. I, on the other hand, would freeze my big Toomler schnozz off. We stood in the airlock and let it screw us out into the cold salty water, which struck me like a hammer. We couldn't breathe underwater forever; I grabbed Zamp by the wrist and pulled him toward the shore.

  We felt the slope of the beach and walked up it and out of the water. It was late afternoon. The Sun was behind us and cast long shadows. Here and there diehard sunbathers were still staked out, but even as we watched, a few of them got up and headed for their cars. The air cooled rapidly. Grampa Zamp looked around, his nose twitching with excitement. Coming here with him was nearly as exciting as my own first arrival.