-SALOON AT THE EDGE OF EVERYWHERE-

Chapter Twenty Two

Ox tried peeling Asa off the wall, but that only produced a muffled screech.

“Yu tarma kin op,” it sounded like Asa said. Ox didn’t know if his English was up to a translation, but he gave it a try.

“I’m tearing your skin off?” he asked, hazarding a guess.

“Uh huh,” said Asa.

“It is good you are facing away from the wall, otherwise you might have died.” Ox tried to sound cheerful. He had no idea how long the human could hold his breath but it seemed like a reasonable assumption.

Asa thought so too. “Uh huh,” he said again.

Ssseeeet was bobbing his eyes at Frodo. Then Frodo turned to Ox. “We are going to try something,” he said.

Ox took the time to tell Asa, “We thought you got eaten. We couldn’t see you on the screen in the control room because of the angle or something. I’m glad you are not dead.”

Meanwhile Frodo put his two lower hands to Ssseeeet’s mouth and cupped them to form a small basin. Then the Slug proceeded to drool a thick, brown liquid, and Frodo caught it in his cupped hands and then knelt to wipe some onto a portion of the floor that was smeared with the sticky substance from the Whalepede’s tongue. Apparently satisfied with the result, Frodo nodded and turned back to Ssseeeet. The Muccassim produced more of the brown liquid which looked a lot like the juice that tobacco chewers are always spitting out.

Frodo used both sets of hands as bowls, and when each pair was filled, rapidly turned and reached above his head to begin smearing the stuff on Asa. Frodo was applying the stuff to Asa around his edges where he was stuck to the wall, like a police detective making a chalk outline around a dead body without caring how much chalk ended up on the corpse.

Asa slowly began to peel from the wall, and Frodo worked his hands farther behind his body. At last, with a sticky, stretchy, ripping sound, the top of Asa, which at this point happened to be his right side, broke free from the glue. The result was slightly less than perfect. Asa’s body flipped, rolling over sideways, and re-stuck itself to the wall. But now he was face down, or at least on his belly. Fortunately his head was turned and he could still breathe. If you have ever played with one of those sticky toys, you know, the ones you throw at a wall or a window and then watch as they tumble to the floor in jerky, slow-motion, then you can imagine what was happening to the young purser. Asa said something, but I have no idea what it was, because his cheek was stuck to the wall, and his face was covered with the sticky Whalepede secretion. Frodo hurriedly applied more of the liquid, and soon Asa was sitting on the floor, back to the wall, a sticky, brown-smeared mess, but otherwise unharmed.

That was when Beeltee stepped out of the lounge only a short distance away, on the other side of Mainstreet.

Back in the comm room, Gup was multitasking franticly. Rufus had told him to keep an eye on the pirates, the hostages, the warship and her Marines, the small rescue party, the pirate Captain, and Rufus himself. He was to shout a warning over the public address system if he saw anything that Rufus had to be informed of. He was flicking through security monitor images on the screen like a crack head watching TV at three in the morning.

Mr. Toad and the Baron were also keeping him busy, placing a call to the Wasp Whip home world on the long-distance Nexus communication system. Winnse, now having forsaken the pirate life for good, was telling them anything they needed to know.

Candybar was trying to make herself useful. She asked the two Qualm if they could sense what the pirate Captain was up to, but they said nothing, simply moaning and bobbing together in a corner. So many minds so close together and in such a state of tension had simply overwhelmed them. It just felt like one vast ocean of anxiety, like listening to the screaming of a thousand voices.

Rufus had just left by the back door of the comm room. She had a brief glimpse of him as he passed a monitor and showed up on the screen, before the scene flicked and she was watching the Navy ship as it slowed and thrust a docking tube towards the docking ring. It looked slightly pornographic, in a robotic sort of a way. Then she noticed the gun laying on the consol. Rufus had left it behind. He was putting himself at the mercy of the pirate Captain. She was worried, but she still had to smile. There was more to that funny old guy than a person might ever know.

Then the screen flicked to Mainstreet, and there was Asa, propped against the wall but very much alive.

The Baron, using years of bureaucratic experience, had badgered and cajoled his way through levels of planetary bureaucracy, and established a link with the planetary communications system. Winnse didn’t know the exact code to contact Beeltee’s parents, but with their names and hometown and other details he provided, the Baron at last managed to speak to a receptionist at the conglomeration where the father of the pirate Captain was employed. “I will activate his personal channel now,” said the receptionist in that tone of voice that they sometimes use, no matter where they are from.

A new voice came on the line, speaking a language they did not understand. Gup was ready to switch on the translator device, but before he had the chance, the Baron said, “Sir, do you speak English?”

“A leettle bit, maybe, yes, eh?” responded the good-natured voice.

“Sir, I have the honor of being His Eminence, Meen Veel Var Steen, co-vice president of the Intergalactic Council of Federated Planets.” The Baron opened his mouth in the silent laughter of his kind and bobbed his head at Mr. Toad, proud of both his skill at improvisation and his completely fictitious new title. He went on, “Are you the father of a teenage male named Beeltee?”

“Yes, yes,” said the voice, not quite as friendly now. “He not here. He gone.” He searched for a word. “Gone on holiday, yes? Vacation maybe you call it?”

“No, Sir, I do not call it that,” said the Baron gruffly. “Your son, at this moment, is involved in a criminal activity.”

“Ah, boys, what we do with them, eh?” said the so-called father.

“You don’t evidently appreciate the gravity of this crime, my good sir. He and some of his friends have used deadly weapons, and have taken hostages. There are serious repercussions if…” but the Baron was interrupted.

“He always bad boy. Stupid boy. But they grow up. Maybe he work in accounting like me some day, heh?” The father was putting a good spin on things.

Mr. Toad now played his role in this strange little drama. “Sir, I am Mr. Toad, and I am a lawyer representing the Intergalactic Council of Federated Planets. I have been instructed to inform you that in accordance with intergalactic law, we will be holding you liable for all damages sustained during the course of your son’s criminal career. That is to include all damages to private and public property, as well as to the Hub itself. Any injuries or deaths will bring about further lawsuits from the families of the victims for medical expenses, and for pain and suffering. I fear sir, that it is likely that they may also choose to press charges against you personally under intergalactic law, for failure to supervise your son, who is by law a minor. I will be surprised if you do not end up going to prison along with your son, providing of course he survives being taken into custody. I am quite certain that you are going to have, at the least, some very substantial legal bills.”

Way to go, Mr. Toad, thought Candybar.

“Wait, wait, is not my fault,” said the now distinctly nervous voice on the line. He was, after all, an accountant. He knew about substantial bills.

“Oh, but it is, under intergalactic laws. You sent a child out into the universe, a child you already admitted was not that bright, and expected that the rest of us should do the babysitting. I will enjoy seeing you before a judge, sir. At the very least you will be prosecuted for child endangerment and reckless endangerment. And I have never lost a case yet.” Mr. Toad did not join in poker night directly, and maybe that was a good thing for Rufus. Mr. Toad could run a bluff with the best of them.

“I am going to contact the government of your planet, and see what they have to say about all this,” chimed in the Baron.

“Maybe you talk to boy’s mother now, would be best. He never listen to me, anyway.” The father sounded thoroughly beaten.

“Then by all means, get her on the line,” said the scaly little bureaucrat.