The Kruton Interface (9 page)

Wanker turned his head. “Oh? What inventions were those?”

“Well, this isn’t the first FTL drive he’s come up with, sir. There was of course the Quantum Drive, which was based on his early work, the application of relativistic quantum mechanics to electrostatic field theory.”

“Well, we know that works. It’s what propels this ship. Though that was a hell of a long time ago. What’s he been doing since?”

“But he’s been trying to devise an improved star drive for years, without much success.”

“What’s he been fiddling with?”

“Well, there was the Uncertainty Drive, which was an attempt to utilize Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle.”

“It didn’t work?”

“That’s just the trouble, sir. No one’s sure whether it did or not.”
 

“I see.”

“Then there was the FTH Drive.”
 

Wanker looked suspicious. “What’s ‘FTH’ stand for?”

“Faster Than Hell.’ Dr. Strangefinger has a sense of humor, sir.”

“He ought to do stand-up.”

“I’m afraid he has a penchant for clever names and whimsical coinages, continuing an old tradition among physicists. ‘Charmed quark’ and that sort of thing.”

“Charming custom. Okay, so this Faster-Than-Hell gizmo didn’t work either?”

“It was a qualified failure, but it led to the development of the FTLCA Drive.”

“I hesitate to ask ...”

“ ‘Faster Than a Lawyer Chasing an Ambulance.’”
 

“Glad I didn’t ask.”

“Which in turn led to the FTCWFUA Drive.”
 

“I couldn’t guess.”

“ ‘Faster Than a Cat With a Firecracker Up its Ass.’ But that showed mixed results.”

Wanker looked depressed again. “Can’t imagine why.”

“There were other projects that were very short-lived.”

“Is there anything I can do to prevent you from telling me about them?”

Rhodes was a bit miffed. “I won’t if you don’t want me to, sir.”

Wanker gave in. “Go ahead.”

“Well, there was the Used Metal Drive. It was scrapped.”

“Oh, no.”

“And the Coitus Drive.”
 

“You’re not going to tell me—?”
 

“Research was interrupted.”
 

“He told me.”

“And of course the infamous Penis Drive.”

Wanker ventured slyly, “Let me guess. It didn’t stand up in tests?”

“It could only be operated manually, sir.”

“I believe I’m getting the hang of this,” Wanker said with satisfaction.

“But his best invention to date was the Rufus Drive. And the one that, up till now, showed the most promise.”

“Rufus Drive. That one worked, did it?”

“Well, sir, the Rufus went up, but the overhead was too high.”

With a groan Wanker said, “Why did I think I was getting the hang of it?”

“And then there was the Subscription Drive. That one—”

“Enough! Please, enough. Thank you, Mr. Rhodes. That was
vastly
more than I wanted to know about the illustrious Dr. Strangefinger.”

At that moment the drop tube whooshed.

“Did somebody call my name?”

CHAPTER 8

Standing on the bounce pad beneath the blow tube was a strange man dressed in formal attire of two centuries ago: dark trousers and tailed coat, white starched shirt and white tie, a white carnation gracing the lapel of the jacket. For all the finery and formality, though, there was a seedy look about him.

He was not a small man, but he stood with his torso slightly forward and his legs bent, and as he moved it was apparent that he maintained this curious posture while walking. His face was comic in itself: a largish beaked nose jutted out between small round spectacles, presiding over a bushy mustache (though there was something odd about it). His hair parted in the middle and flared out into winglike tufts. He brandished a huge cigar that did not appear to be lit. His eyebrows were as thick as hedgerows.

Wanker stood, took one look at this apparition, and groaned again. Thinking that if he ignored the thing it would go away, he barked, “Navigator! Plot a course for the Kruton Interface!”

Warner-Hillary asked, “Where is it?”

Wanker was on the verge of deigning to speak to the intruder, but was brought up short. “What’d you say?”

“I mean, sir, like… where’s the Kruton Interface?”
 

“In Sector Four.”

“Uh, that’s a big area of the galaxy, sir. Uh, any idea, you know, exactly where?”

“Haven’t a clue, honey. What the devil do I know about navigation?”

“Didn’t you learn a little bit in the Academy?”

“Huh? Well, I guess I did. But it wasn’t… matter of fact… you know, I think I actually flunked that course.” The captain thought it over. “No, I dropped it and got an Incomplete, then I retook it and squeaked by with a...” The penny finally dropped. “Wait a minute, what the hell am I saying? Lieutenant, you are the navigator of this ship. You mean to say you don’t know how to plot and lay in a course?”

“Well, yes, sir, but I’ll have to look at a map.”

Wanker whacked the heel of his hand against his temple. “A map! What were the chances? Unbelievable. Is that really how it’s done?”

“Oh, you’re teasing me, sir. No, sir, you see, it’s just that—”

“Lieutenant, this is the twenty-second century. We have amazing devices now called computers. They’re vastly more intelligent than we are. If you want to plot a course to a certain destination, all you have to do is tell the computer, and it’ll do it for you. Does any of this ring a bell?”

“Sir, if you’ll let me explain. It’s like this—most of the automatic mapping functions in the navigational software have been glitching like crazy, sir. The one that does the plotting and stuff is, like, totally grunged.”

“‘Grunged.’ Is that standard Space Forces terminology?”

“Means it’s messed up, sir. I’ll have to locate the coordinates manually, and that means I’ll have to search the maps myself and find out where the Interface is.”

“Sorry to put you to so much trouble.”

“Oh, that’s okay, Captain. It’s my job, after all.”

“I’ve heard a rumor to that effect.”

The strange visitor, who had been standing off to one side listening to all this, nicked nonexistent ash off the end of his cigar. “I don’t know about a navigator, but if anyone needs a doctor, I’m here. Meanwhile, is there a Wanker in the house?”

Wanker took a dim view of this sentiment. “That’s VAHN-ker.”

“That’s ridiculous. Anyway, are you the skipper of this tugboat?”

Wanker’s shoulders fell. “Unfortunately, that burden is in my hands.”

“Well, a burdened hand is worth two in the bush. Speaking of which, I’m pretty bushed myself. I’ve traveled the length and breadth of this galaxy. The length was fine, but I’m here to tell you that the breadth was pretty bad,”

Wanker looked about the bridge. “Did I walk into a night club?”

“You look like you walked into a lamppost.”

“Look, Dr. Strangefinger… I presume you
are
the famed Dr. Rufus T. Strangefinger?”

“Famed? That’s a laugh. I’ve worked and I’ve slaved and look where it’s got me. I can’t get arrested. Except for last night. They nabbed me for frequenting a house of ill repute. I got off, though. Turned out I was on the wrong frequency.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Wanker demanded.

“It will all be made clear in the fullness of time. You say you’re the captain of this garbage scow?”

Wanker folded his arms imperiously. “I did.”

“Well, you ought to be arrested,” Dr. Strangefinger said, jabbing the cigar at the captain. “On second thought, you ought to walk the plank. Or walk the dog.”

“We don’t have a mascot,” Rhodes said.

The cigar jabbed at the captain again. “You have him, don’t you? Somebody should take better care of him. You know how much a veterinarian charges these days? More than a lawyer. There ought to be a law about that. Have my lawyers call your lawyers. Then they can all call my stockbroker and well take a meeting and do lunch.”

“See here—”

“Or do a meeting and take our lunch. Or we could all stay home and have a nice home-cooked meal.” The stranger’s bushy eyebrows went up and down in a suggestive manner.

Wanker was losing patience. “Are you or are you not Dr. Rufus T. Strangefinger?”

“My name is legion. Matter of fact, when I was in the Foreign Legion, I had a number of names. One of them was ‘Filthy Pierre.’”

“Are you or aren’t you Strangefinger?”

“Suh, ah have been called many things in mah time,” the man said in an accent that was a burlesque of Mr. Rhodes’.”

“Yes or no?”

“Suh, it simply is not that simple. Suh.”

“YES OR NO?” Wanker exploded.

“Well, since you put it that way—yes.”

Wanker exhaled. “Thank you. Now, just what the devil is this thing of yours, this new drive—what the hell was the name again?”

“You’re being coy, sir. Coy, very coy.” The eyebrows wiggled again.

“Look, Strangefinger, can we dispense with all this foolishness?”

At a brisk pace, Strangefinger began a spot inspection of the bridge, shoulders hunched forward, cigar pointing the way. “I always try to keep dispenses down. Speaking of money, can you lend me a hundred credits till payday?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then can you spare a coin for a poor orphan?”
 

“You’re an orphan?

“My father died before his time. The hangman showed up early. Hello, my dear.”
 

“Hello,” Darvona said with a smile.
 

“And you
are
dear to me, very dear.” Strangefinger sat in her lap.
 

“You’re very forward, sir.”

“Well, I’ll go forward and you go aft, and ne’er the twain shall meet. Except in the wee hours, at the full of the moon, when the wolfbane blooms.”

“Huh?”

Strangefinger slid off and dropped to his knees. “Oh, can’t you see what I’m trying to say? I
love
you.”

Darvona blushed.
 

“No, don’t say it. We’re from two different worlds. Your parents don’t approve of me. My dear, I’m afraid we’re doomed … doomed!’’
 

“No, we’re not.”

“Sure we are. Got any hemlock?”
 

“You’d die for me?” Darvona asked.
 

“No, but I’m willing to get very ill.”

Darvona suddenly shouted, “I LOVE YOU! TAKE ME NOW, NOW!” She dove on him.

They tussled on the deck before Strangefinger got the upper hand and pinned her.

“Boy, did I get a wrong number!” Strangefinger exclaimed.

“You said ‘I love you’ to the wrong person,” Sven Svensen told him. “Here, I’ll hold her till she calms down.”

“It’s all right, I’m a doctor.”

“No, I am the doctor!” said O’Gandhi, who had dropped out of the blow tube in the middle of the fracas.

“Doctor, you’ll have my complete confidence and none of my money,” Strangefinger said as he relinquished control of the supine and semiconscious Darvona.

Strangefinger rose to meet the withering stare of Captain Wanker.

“Dr. Strangefinger, I have a ship to command.”

“I’m still waiting for my ship to come in. When it does you can ship out.”

“You wouldn’t know a spaceship if one came up and ignored you,” Wanker scoffed.

“Au contraire,” countered Strangefinger, “I’m an old space hand. I used to cook meals on a freighter that hauled raw chocolate.”

Rhodes asked, “You were the cookie?”

Strangefinger’s eyebrows wriggled lewdly. “That’s right, I was the chocolate ship cookie. And a sweet job it was.”

Wanker was horrified. He appealed to everyone on the bridge. “What is
with
this guy?”

Rhodes said, “Sir, I think I can explain… ”

“Sun, ah protest. Ah protest in the most strenuous terms—”

Wanker clapped his hands over his ears. “Shut up! Shut up! Will everyone please for one minute shut the hell up!”

Strangefinger looked at Rhodes. “What’s eating him?”

“Don’t know, Doctor.”

“Well, whatever it is, he’s giving it indigestion.”
 

“QUIET!”

Wanker made a heroic effort to compose himself. “Look, Dr. Strangefinger. We both have jobs to do. Now, about this Proust Drive of yours. What the devil is it?”

“What the hell do you care?” the scientist shot back, then became suddenly conciliatory. “But I’ll tell you. It’s the invention of the century. It’s colossal, it’s stupendous. It cost a pile of money.”