Rudy Rucker - The Ware Tetralogy

“Oh, I’m not so inordinately acquisitive,” said the King, a cheerful twinkle in his eye.

“Captain Pulu gonna keep an eye on the tonnage,” said Vaana, waving toward the bridge. “And Yoke, child, I want you to make twice as much imipolex as gold.”

“You owe me an apology, Vaana,” interrupted Cobb. He’d been staring fixedly at the sexy green moldie since they’d come aboard the ship. “You almost killed me with that betty the other night.” Yoke recalled that Cobb had also mentioned having sex with Vaana.

“Ain’t my look-out,” said merry Vaana. “You was partyin’ with the best. We do it again sometime, hey? You a lift, old Cobb.”

“A man your age should have the maturity to own the consequences of his self-destructive behavior, Cobb,” said Onar primly.

“You’re a devil, Vaana,” said the King. “Let’s get started with our day’s work, shall we, Yoke? I’d suggest your rhythm be to create a pair of hundred kilogram cylinders of imipolex followed by a single hundred kilogram ingot of gold. One-two-three, one-two-three, and so on. The sailors will load them onto pallets and lower them into the hold.”

“I forget,” said Yoke. “Why am I doing this for you?”

“It’s thanks to HRH and me that you have the alla in the first place,” said Onar.

“I thought it was Shimmer who gave it to me,” said Yoke.

“Yes, but we guided you to her,” said the King. “Be a sport, Yoke. Just one day’s work. And then you’re perfectly free to go.”

“But Cobb and I could leave right now, if I wanted to,” said Yoke. “Right?”

“You should know that HRH’s bodyguards are well-armed,” said Onar. “And this is, after all, a warship, complete with a whip-cannon that can shoot a sea gull out of the sky.”

“No need to take that tone, Onar,” said the King. “As you and I discussed earlier, our policy is persuasion, not force.”

“Speaking of bodyguards, where are Tashtego and Daggoo today?” wondered Cobb.

“They’ll be here in a bit,” said the King. “They flew over to Fiji very early this morning. They’re looking into the imipolex market for me.”

So Yoke grasped her alla and started turning air into gold and imipolex at a rate of one pulse every second or two. The sailors stepped lively, stowing the booty. With each transmutation, a hundred kilograms worth of air would rush into a bright-line alla control mesh, making a big whoosh and thud that caused the ship to bob. Yoke figured out in her head that a hundred kilos of air took up about as much space as an apartment’s living room. The cumulative rocking effect of the repeated gusts became a little sickening after three-quarters of an hour. Yoke took a break and alla-made herself a glass of fresh orange juice.

The King was sitting in a deck chair smoking a cigar. Vaana lolled on the deck beside him, looking like a thick, sexy serpent. Cobb stood behind the pair, discussing something with Onar. Now Onar patted Cobb on the back and took a chair next to the King. Cobb remained stiffly erect, his face gone oddly blank.

“Are you all right, Cobb?” called Yoke.

“Yes,” said Cobb shortly. Perhaps he and Onar had argued?

“Captain Pulu’s estimates make it that you’re one-third done, Yoke,” said the King, squinting up at the man on the ship’s bridge.

“What are you going to do with all this stuff?” asked Yoke.

“Refurbish Tonga’s credit in world banking circles!” said the King happily. “I’m going to ship this load straight to Suva in Fiji and sell it. Tonga will be in the black for the first time this century. Not that our debt is all that large, mind you; it’s well under a hundred million dollars. We’ve been prudent, but we can never quite get onto the good side of the ledger. This will make me a hero to my people.”

“You’re going to give every bit of it away?” asked Vaana. She sounded surprised. “I thought you said half the imipolex would be for the Tongan moldies.”

“Strictly speaking, there are no Tongan moldies,” said the King. “Only a native-born flesh-and-blood Tongan can be a citizen. This isn’t the U.S. with its quixotic Moldie Citizenship Act. I have to take care of my own people first. You moldies are only our guests.” He held up his hand to stave off Vaana’s anger. “You of course can have all the imipolex you require for your personal needs at any time, dear Vaana. And I promise you that once I’ve taken care of the Tongan national debt, I will try and do something for our very honored guest moldies.”

“A promise ain’t enough,” snapped Vaana, standing up in her full womanly form. “My people been counting on me to get us a fair deal.”

The King shook his head. “My local standing is already shaky due to the gossip about our relationship, Vaana. For my own political survival, I can’t be put in a position of seeming to give a too preferential treatment to—”

At this point Yoke lost the thread of their conversation because a night­marish call came in on her uvvy. It was Phil, standing on a beach looking desperate. He’d encountered Shimmer and the aliens in a cave at the end of the island. The powerball was about to eat him.

When Yoke sprang across the deck and pulled Cobb around her, the old man moldie was maddeningly sluggish in his responses. “Faster, Cobb,” urged the frantic Yoke. “You have to fly me to the far end of the island!”

“Why?” drawled Cobb. “You’re not finished filling the ship.”

“The powerball is about to get Phil! Oh, hurry! Maybe we can save him.”

“One certainly hopes not,” said Cobb with unexpected venom. His voice sounded all different. “But, very well, I’ll take you there. It should be amusing.”

“What is wrong with you?” cried Yoke, but Cobb gave no answer. Silently he flew Yoke to the island’s end as directed.

When they landed on the beach, Yoke quickly popped herself out of the moldie. It was too late. A big warped ball of space had slid onto Phil, and his form was swollen up like a balloon. Even though she knew it was hope­less, Yoke ran toward Phil, calling his name, with Cobb trotting along behind her.

The warped sphere of the powerball snapped loose from normal space—and Phil was gone. A nauseating ripple of distortion passed through Yoke’s body. And then nothing. The world going on the same as before. With no Phil. Right at the end he’d said he loved her. Yoke realized that she could have loved him too.

Cobb was standing just behind Yoke, looking sarcastic and unhelpful. And down the beach a ways was a hole in the cliff with some of the aliens watching. Yoke could make out the pale glow of Shimmer and the dark snout of Wubwub.

“We have to get back to HRH and the ship,” said Cobb. “We’re not nearly finished there.”

“Whatever,” said Yoke, striding down the beach toward the aliens. “Shimmer! You have to help bring them back. I want Phil and I want my mother!” On an impulse, Yoke used her alla to create a flaming wooden torch. “Moldie flesh burns, Shimmer!”

Calmly the pale woman and the dark pig stared out at Yoke.

Did she really have any chance against these superhuman? Not likely. But she held her little torch up high. “Help me or else!”

Before the scene could play itself out, Yoke was tackled from behind. By Cobb. The old man moldie knocked the torch from her hand and flowed forward, enveloping and immobilizing her.

“We really must be on our way,” said Cobb. “HRH wants us back immediately.”

And then they were rocketing up from the beach, arcing back across the island to where the roly-poly aluminum Tongan Navy ship waited. Yoke tried to talk to Cobb, but it was no use. It was as if he’d been hypno­tized or turned into a zombie.