The VMR Theory (v1.1) (16 page)

“Yes, sir,” they said, looking at each other.

I lifted the ax to examine the blade. “Well? Harry?”

“All right, I’m sorry.”

“Wyma Jean?”

“It was just a little snake!”

“Wyma Jean?”

She put her chin down and pouted. “Well, all right. I forgive him.”

I counted to three. “And you also have to be polite to Muffy.”

“That little tramp?”

I nodded. “We need her help.”

After a long silence she finally said, “Well, all right.”

“Harry, now it’s your turn again. You’ve always said that you bleed navy blue.”

Harry sat up and began to look worried. “Yes sir, captain!”

“And you know what it cost us to keep the navy from kicking you out of the reserves when they found out you lied about your record.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry began to sweat as the little wheels turned in his head.

I eyed him dispassionately. “The mission we’re on is vital to the navy, and you’ve already come close to screwing it up. So from here on out, consider yourself on active service.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry stood and saluted.

I returned his salute. “And in order to ensure the success of this mission, I am ordering you to refrain from fooling around with any of the local women, including Muffy, until and unless I tell you it’s okay.”

The look of horror on Harry’s face was counterbalanced by the look of malicious glee on Wyma Jean’s. “Now both of you get out of here.”

Wyma Jean was out the door first. As Harry followed I stopped him. “Harry?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Ask Muffy again if she’ll go with us. Make sure she understands that if I’m not happy, she’s not happy.”

To get any mission accomplished, there is the right way, the wrong way, and the navy way. With the navy way, the less you have to explain to higher authority, the better off you are.

I went to check on Clyde, who was still under house arrest, with Marines checking on him twice a shift, which was a nuisance because we could have used him to help with the bomb. I found him lounging about in a purple dashiki that could have easily been mistaken for a scrub rag.

Clyde put down the harmonica he was holding and uncoiled from the bed. “I’m really glad you made it back, sir.”

“How much did it cost you?” I asked out of curiosity.

“Twenty bucks. I thought you were a goner for sure.” He shrugged. “Sorry I got caught tapping Bobby’s office.”

“Not your fault. You’ve heard about Dr. Blok. I need you to keep an eye on him for us tonight.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Teach him how to play poker. He can afford it. How are things going?”

“I’ve been writing some poetry and teaching myself how to play harmonica. I know two songs—do you want to hear them?”

“Which songs?”

“One is ‘Lonesome Road.’ The other isn’t.”

“I’ll pass.”

“How about listening to some of my poetry?” Before I could object, he commenced, “ ‘Sun-brown Ophelia / With her Russian last name, eyes dancing / On grass, under a tree.’ What do you think?”

“It reminds me a lot of Robert Frost.” Not the poet, the kid who played half a season in left field for Kansas City and received his unconditional release. Hands of stone and a bat of balsa. “Why poetry?”

Clyde folded his hands. “Well, it’s like, women come up to me and hear the alarm going off on my biological clock.”

“So what do you plan on doing about it? Fast-acting poison or the ol’ .45 slug between the eyes?”

“Well, actually I just wanted to gripe a little,” Clyde admitted sheepishly. “There was this blonde in the lounge—”

“If her name was Gwen, you’re better off with the poison.” I slapped him on the shoulder. “Look, I would take it as a personal favor if you could stay sane at least until next Thursday.”

Clyde blinked. “Bad week?”

“And getting worse.” I consulted my watch. “I’d like to stay, but Catarina and I need to go over our plans for tonight.”

Clyde flipped his harmonica across the room with a sudden motion. It hit the wall and bounced. “Commander Lindquist told me about the bomb. I really wish I were going with you.”

“I wish you were, too, but the first time you’re not here for bed check, all hell breaks loose.”

“Do you think you and Commander Lindquist can pull this off?”

I sighed. “See if you can get double or nothing on your twenty bucks.”

Clyde shook his head. Then he grabbed my hand and shook it firmly. “Break a leg, sir. I’ve got one more poem if you’d like to hear it.”

“Well, you know, Clyde—”

“I wrote it for the woman who brought me into this universe.”

“Clyde, that’s a really nice gesture.”

“I call it ‘Ode to an Obstetrician.’ “

“Good-bye, Clyde.”

I headed back to my room and locked myself in until Catarina arrived with Trixie and planted herself at the end of the bed.

I moved over to make room. “So what’s our plan?”

“I talked Calvin Lorenzo, the embassy bomb disposal technician, into helping. He should be here shortly.”

“What about costumes? Do we have enough cloaks?”

“We cannot wear t’ose,” Trixie inteijected. “Tee police do not like poor people hanging around public buildings. It gives tee wrong impression.”

“Costumes are arranged,” Catarina said.

“How about transportation? We can’t very well ask the Secret Police for a lift.”

Catarina pointed out the window to a long-suffering Battalion Leader Tskhingamsa who was dozing in his car across the street. “Tskhingamsa volunteered to lend us his car.”

“He wouldn’t happen to know anything about pulling charges, would he?” I asked hopefully.

She shook her head. “He doesn’t want to know what we’re up to. He figures it’s political dynamite.”

“An apt simile.” We heard a knock on the door. “That should be Harry.” I opened it, and Harry and Blok entered, followed by Muffy and a female Macdonald with a blanket-wrapped infant in her arms. Blok was wearing a very pained expression.

Catarina raised her eyebrows. I coughed politely. “Uh, Harry, what’s your new friend doing here?”

Harry looked perplexed. “You said we needed someone who knew where the charges were.”

“And where did the baby come from?”

“Gee, Ken.” Harry scratched his head. “I thought you knew where babies came from.”

“Let’s break this down. First question, what’s her name?”

Harry slapped his forehead, epitomizing sensitivity. “I knew there was something I should have asked.”

I shut my eyes and turned to Trixie. “Please find out if she speaks English and ask her about the baby.”

Trixie conferred. She reported, “Her name is Bel-kasim. She understands English, but does not speak it very well. As for tee child, have you ever tried to get a babysitter on short notice?”

Catarina shook her head.

“Hold on, I have an idea.” I walked across the hall and knocked on Wyma Jean’s door. “Wyma Jean? Are you in there?” She opened her door. “I need you to babysit for a few hours.”

Catching a glimpse of Wyma Jean through the open doors, Belkasim stiffened and reflexively curled her arms about her little wriggler.

Wyma Jean smiled at Harry. “Oh, how cute. Is it yours?”

I coughed politely.

She shrugged. “Uh, sure, Ken. How much trouble can a cute little baby be?”

No one cleared up her misconception. After Trixie explained matters, Belkasim handed the baby over. Wyma Jean’s smile disappeared when Belkasim ran to Harry’s room and came back dragging a diaper bag the size of a steamer trunk.

Macdonalds do not lactate. Instead they regurgitate partially digested food for their babies, a process that sounds almost as disgusting as it is in practice. Belkasim pointed out feeding bottles and explained, with help from Trixie and a lot of pantomime, that her little nipper was good for a bottle every half hour.

“What we need to talk about next,” I said after we reassembled, “is getting off this planet.”

Blok produced a cloth and mopped his face nervously. “I cannot get you on board your ship. It is swarming wit’ Special Secret Policemen. All is lost. Tee only ship I am aut’orized to board is our newest battle cruiser which is being built.” He consulted my electronic dictionary for a translation. “It is called tee
Hunting Snark.”
Like most things the government buys, my dictionary was purchased from the lowest bidder.

I looked at Catarina. Maybe this mind-reading stuff starts to rub off after a while. “No. Don’t even think about it.”

Harry looked bewildered. Taking pity on him, Trixie whispered in his ear. He immediately began jumping up and down. “If we steal a battle cruiser, can we keep it, can we keep it? Huh? Huh?”

“Maybe we could borrow it to swap for our ship later on,” Catarina said, grinning.

“Maybe we have other options. Anybody got any ideas?” I asked desperately. Borrowing a battle cruiser seemed a little ostentatious.

Muffy stood up. “Tee battle cruiser, built from money wrung from tee ranks of tee economically disadvantaged, is a symbol of male hierarchical dictatorship and slavish adherence to linear, left-brain modes of t’ought!” I noticed her English was improving. “By seizing it in tee name of revolution, we will strike a blow for esteem-impoverished females everywhere!”

“To tee barricades!” Belkasim announced shrilly.

It reminded me of a logically underenhanced production of
Les Miserables.
“Any other ideas?” I asked.

Catarina shrugged. “If we’re going to steal a ship, we might as well go first-class.”

“We don’t have the
Hunting Snark’s
command code, and I don’t know how to hot-wire one of these things. Did the academy offer a course in Grand Theft Spaceship when you were going through?”

“I programmed tee command code,” Blok admitted. “We’ll still have to figure how to get past security at the spaceport, steal a shuttle, and then get past security at the space station,” Catarina said, ever practical. “Why don’t we deal with one harebrained scheme at a time?”

“Good idea,” I said.

A few minutes later our ordnance expert, Calvin Lorenzo, appeared dragging a satchel and an electronic easel, and Catarina made introductions. Calvin was a short guy with a beaky nose, very short hair, and ears that left his head at a ninety-degree angle. “I hear you need me.” He set up his easel and turned it on. “I took the map of the building’s interior you gave me and turned it into a diagram for easy reference.”

I squinted at it. “I assume Catarina briefed you on the situation.”

“Yes, and it appears to me that the first thing we need is a plan.” He erased the diagram. “Let me show you this chart.”

“Fine.” I studied it. “What is it?”

“It shows the above-average success rate of ventures with above-average leadership contrasted with the below-average success rate of ventures without proper leadership. There you have it—the first thing we need is the right leader. Let me show you another chart here.”

Harry stirred. Harry may not be summa cum laude, but having shipped with us, he knows fertilizer. “Ken?” he rumbled.

“I don’t think we need to see any more charts,” I said tactfully. “Calvin, are you saying you want to be in charge?”

“Only if the people here want me,” he stated piously.

“Fine. May I suggest a solution?”

“I’m all ears.”

“Let’s put it to a vote.” I looked around the room. “All in favor of Lorenzo here running the operation, raise your hands.”

Calvin cautiously raised his hand.

“Now, all in favor of Catarina and me running the operation, raise your hands.”

Five hands went up. Belkasim, who looked somewhat bewildered, declined to cast a ballot. “Would you want a recount?” I asked politely.

Harry folded his arms.

“The people have spoken,” Calvin concluded.

“Calvin, please put the diagram of the building back up. Trixie, I’d like you to translate for Muffy and Belkasim.” I gestured. “There’s a car waiting for us outside. At 1900 we’ll meet in the embassy garage and head out. Harry, can you arrange things with the Marine guards and the cops outside?”

“Sure, Ken.”

“The car holds six, so the people going will be me, Catarina, Calvin, Muffy, Belkasim, and Trixie. Harry, I’m going to need you to stay behind.”

“Aw, Ken! I want to go. Why can’t I go?” Harry pouted.

“There isn’t enough room in the car, and I need you here in case something goes wrong. Tell the ambassador about the bomb if you don’t hear from us by 0500.”

“Aw, Ken!”

“I promise I’ll take you on the next suicide mission.”

“Well, all right.”

“Trixie, you’ll drive.” I pointed to the diagram. “Assuming the place isn’t crawling with cops, we’ll park across the street and try one of the back entrances. Muffy, can you and Belkasim mark where the charges are located on Calvin’s diagram? Good. Here’s what we do. I’ll guard the door while Calvin goes inside to disarm the charges. You two will wait outside with Catarina in case we have trouble locating any of them. When we have all of the charges disarmed, we’ll load them in the trunk, pitch them in the river, and come back here and get some sleep.”

Harry raised his hand. “What about the fertilizer?”

“I doubt that anyone will notice an extra ton of manure in a statehouse,” Catarina said, “but if they do, it’s just too bad.”

Calvin was shaking his head emphatically.

“Calvin?” I asked.

“As I see it, our biggest problem is determining how those charges are gimmicked before we try to disarm them,” he observed forcefully. “Everything else depends on that.”

“Good point. Muffy, do you and Belkasim know?” Muffy and Belkasim didn’t know.

Calvin pondered this. “Well, the simplest way to booby-trap one of those charges would be to run a hair-fine wire to a spring attached to the detonator.” He called up a sketch on his easel. “You just run that wire across a door knee-high, and the little noise you hear going into the room is actually a giant sucking sound from a southerly direction.”

Muffy and Belkasim looked at each other. “No wires.”

“Well, we’ll take along an ultraviolet light, just in case,” Calvin commented. “Now, another thing popular among the home explosives crowd is a tiny cup of mercury mounted inside the charge so that when you lift it, the mercury will spill and complete an electrical connection to trip the detonator, but this is tricky and best left to professionals.”