The Planetoid of Amazement. Mel Gilden
paper,” Waldo said. “It doesn’t cut.”
Rodney started to shake his head but Waldo commanded him to hold still. “I’ll try slicing off a corner.”
There was the tugging again, and suddenly Rodney felt dizzy. The floor opened away from him, and he fell toward the ceiling. He grabbed onto Waldo and held on tight. “Hey, watch it, man,” Waldo said.
They stood like that for a minute while gradually the disorientation went away. The floor and the ceiling rotated back to their proper places. Rodney opened his eyes. “This isn’t going to work,” Rodney said. “That thing has probably welded itself to my nervous system.”
“Maybe so.” Waldo sounded disappointed. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to put on this hat and take the bus home. What about you?”
“Yeah,” Waldo said. “I never claimed that science knew everything.”
* * * * * * *
At home the mail was the usual mix of bills and advertisements. One letter was selling guided trips to Tierra del Fuego. Another was offering him the chance to win five million dollars if he bought some designer luggage featuring the signature of Rocky Smith, Space Commando. A third advertised a foolproof way to survive the coming invasion of killer ants “for fun and profit.”
Then Rodney saw the envelope. It was like the one addressed to his father the day before, like the one in which the pad of stickers had come.
But the interesting thing was, the exciting thing was, the thing that meant adventure was that where yesterday the headline on the envelope had been just so many chicken scratches, today he could read the chicken scratches as if they were English. Whatever else it was doing, Rodney had the suspicion that the sticker was also doing its job. For a moment, the loss of the kazoo seemed a little less important.
The headline said VISIT THE PLANETOID OF AMAZEMENT (RTE. HUTZENKLUTZ STATION).
Rodney knew that he was really reading the writing and not just pretending, because every time he looked at it, it said the same thing. He shook the envelope. Something was inside. Whether it was more stickers or something else Rodney could not tell. He wanted desperately to open the envelope, but it was addressed to his father in that same unsophisticated handwriting. Rodney would have to wait. He sat down on the steps.
After a while, it occurred to him that he was missing an important opportunity to check himself. He pawed through the papers on the telephone table and found the envelope from the day before. He could read these chicken scratches too! They said EXCITING FREE OFFER! YOU MAY HAVE ALREADY WON A TRIP TO THE PLANETOID OF AMAZEMENT! USE YOUR STICKER TODAY!
No doubt about it now. The sticker had taught him how to read this weird language. But unless the Planetoid of Amazement was something really special, not just a video-game arcade or something, it was not much of a trade for playing the kazoo.
Time walked by in no particular hurry. He picked up and shook a gray plastic box that had the Captain Conquer wings stamped on it and a metal antenna you could pull out till it was a few feet long. The communicator box rattled and made a twanging sound. Inside, Rodney knew, were wires and springs and electronic blobs. When he’d shown the inside of the communicator to Rodney, Mr. Congruent had said, “I think it would work even now if it received the right signal.” Rodney had considered this unlikely, but he’d said, “Sure, Dad.” Rodney put down the communicator and picked up a wooden model of the Mitzenmacher 260, which he zoomed through the air.
When the phone rang, Rodney jumped and put down the model. “Hello?”
“How are you, Rodney?”
“Okay, Mom. How are you and Dad and the conference?”
“The new Chocolatron advertising campaign is very exciting.”
“Hmm,” said Rodney.
“Yes,” his mother went on, “I always liked ‘It’s atom powdered,’ but most of the delegates think that slogan is old-fashioned. They like ‘Chocolatron: a blast from the past.’”
“Hmm.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Uh, did Dad tell you about the strange envelope with the stickers inside?”
“He certainly did. It was very exciting. Any adventures to report?”
“Sort of.” Rodney told his mother what had been going on, about the dreams and the problem with the kazoo and all.
“This is very good,” Mrs. Congruent said.
“But what does it all mean?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure. That’s the way adventures work.”
“Dad got another one of those strange envelopes. Only now I can read what it says.”
“The work of the sticker, of course. What does it say?”
“It says: VISIT THE PLANETOID OF AMAZEMENT (RTE. HUTZENKLUTZ STATION).”
“Very interesting.”
“The Planetoid of Amazement is probably a second-rate amusement park or a restaurant where they pay more attention to the video games than to the food.”
“You believe that?”
“No.”
“Have you opened the envelope yet?”
“No,” Rodney said patiently. “It’s addressed to Dad.” That was a good excuse, anyway.
“If you want to, open the envelope, Rodney. I think your father would insist on it.”
Rodney knew his mom was right. He no longer had I reason to avoid the inevitable. He held the receiver of the phone under his arm and sighed. With a mighty effort, he tore open the envelope. Inside was another instruction sheet and a foil packet. He held the packet up to the light and shook it, but still couldn’t tell what was inside.
The instruction sheet showed one side of the packet being torn off, and whatever was inside being poured over the outline of a person. In the drawing, the stuff looked like sand. At the top of the sheet something was written in the funny language that Rodney could now read.
“Mom?” said Rodney into the telephone.
“Yes, Rodney?”
“There’s a packet and some instructions. I don’t know what’s in the packet, but the instructions say GREETINGS, WATSON CONGRUENT. OPEN THE PACKET. THROW THE CONTENTS OVER YOURSELF AND GET A BIG SURPRISE.”
“My husband has obviously been keeping secrets from me.” Mrs. Congruent laughed and went on, “You must immediately do as the instructions suggest.”
“We’re talking adventure here, aren’t we, Mom?” A hot wind rushed through Rodney’s body. He felt as if he had the flu.
“I’m sure of it,” Mrs. Congruent said.
“Okay, then,” said Rodney. “Here I go.”
Rodney put down the phone. He tore open the packet and poured the contents into his hand. Whatever it was looked like the kind of glitter a little kid would glue onto a homemade Mother’s Day card. Judging by the strange properties of the sticker, this glitter probably was not as innocent as it looked.
With a sense that he was jumping off a cliff, he took a deep breath and threw the glitter over his head. As the glitter settled, the edges of each bit seemed to slice through the very fabric of reality. The world seemed to disintegrate around him.
Rodney’s last thought before he was engulfed by darkness was that he’d neglected to hang up the phone.
CHAPTER FOUR
WOMAN FLAGGING DOWN A BUS
Rodney did not move. Bits of