The First Reginald Bretnor MEGAPACK ®. Reginald Bretnor
can’t live without it!” screeched Cousin Aurelia. “We’re millions of miles from Boston! We’re marooned with that monster!”
* * * *
Burgee’s long, low house was indecently plain, without even so much as a gimcrack or bit of gingerbread decoration. Its many wide windows looked out over a lake set with islands. Its living room had broad, cushioned couches and indolent chairs—all suspiciously comfortable.
In exactly such houses, Charles knew, in the wicked old days, a fate worse than death had been practically part of the fixtures.
“We shouldn’t have let him persuade us,” he worriedly told Betty. “Perhaps we’d have starved, but at least Cousin Aurelia wouldn’t have locked herself alone into a strange pirate’s bedroom!”
“We’ve been here all afternoon,” Betty pointed out, “and he hasn’t tried anything yet. Besides, he helped carry those cases of hers and he gave her the keys himself. It’s peculiar. Oh, Charles, do you suppose that—that it’s me he’s after?”
Before he could answer, a robot came in, a practical, old-fashioned model with four arms for waiting at table.
“Dinner is served.” It snapped its aluminum jaws. “Come to the dining room, please.”
Reluctantly, they obeyed.
“Whatever you do,” whispered Charles warningly at the door, “don’t let him ply you with liquor.”
The captain stood at the head of the table. He was in full evening dress, with a heavy gold-nugget watch chain across his muscular middle. He smelled faintly of mothballs and looked very respectable.
The Buttons examined the table. There wasn’t a sign of absinthe or brandy or even champagne. There was nothing but water.
“It’s too bad your cousin won’t join us,” said the captain, seating them courteously. “I hope those cartons of hers have something tasty inside them.”
“They contain Dr. Stringfellow’s Vegetable Remedy and Tonic for Gentlewomen,” replied Betty primly. “It is said to be very nourishing.”
Their host shuddered. Recovering, he clapped his hands sharply. “Oh, steward!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” said the robot, appearing with a big silver tureen and setting it down on the table.
The Buttons drew back.
“I can see you don’t trust me,” laughed the captain. “So we’ll serve everything out in plain sight. You can shuffle the plates if you want to.” He proceeded to ladle out a clear, fragrant soup. “There. Take whichever you want.”
The Buttons selected their plates. They picked up their spoons, dippedthem nervously, made rowing motions.
The captain ate heartily, talking away between spoonfuls. He told them that Sugar Plum was surrounded by an ionized layer impervious to DoItAll waves. He said he had no use for such gadgets, or for the Age which produced them.
“And why,” he demanded, “did we become fake Victorians? Why are we worse than the real ones? I’ll tell you. Because space was too big. It made people feel puny. They wanted a hole to crawl into—something small, safe and stuffy.”
As course followed course, he told them how he had retired from piracy after homesteading Sugar Plum. Alone with his robots, he had dismantled his vessel, using its engines for heating and lighting. He had done a good deal of exploring.
The robot served something like lobster, and something like grouse, and a roast which might have been venison. It served vegetables in pink, pear-like clusters and long, golden pods. It served a crisp, succulent salad.
Charles picked at his food, watching Betty with growing uneasiness. First, her appetite seemed to improve. Then her eyes started to sparkle, and the severe little corners of her mouth began to relax. Leaning forward intently, she became more and more absorbed in the captain.
“—and so here I’ve been ever since,” he said, as he finished his salad, “and Sugar Plum’s just about perfect. Of course, it gets lonely at times, but—”
Abruptly, Betty’s hand darted out, grabbed the captain’s beard.
“Beaver!” she shouted, laughing and pulling. Then she settled back, blushing. “I’ve wanted to do that for years.”
Charles reeled. Here was a crisis! He started to rise; hesitated. Of course, he was shocked to the core, but, “Great Scott, she’s pretty!” he thought; and at once he felt guilty.
He stood up, trying hard to look angry.
“Elizabeth,” he announced, “you will leave this room—er—instantly.”
“Why?” giggled Betty.
“Because ladies do not pull gentlemen’s beards.”
The captain was holding his sides and rocking with laughter.
“Now, now,” he protested. “Let her get it out of her system. ‘Beaver’s’ a splendid old custom. It’s almost Victorian.”
Betty dimpled, resting her chin on the backs of her interlaced hands. “Don’t pay any attention, Captain Burgee. Charlie’s a horrid old fuss-pot. Why shouldn’t I yank at your beard? I like you.”
“Betty, the man is a pirate!”
“Not any more. He’s retired. You heard him say so yourself. Anyhow, I like him. I think he’d make an awfully nice husband for Cousin Aurelia.”
Charles reached for the water, and drained his glass in a spluttering gulp.
“I think so, too,” the captain agreed, looking pleased. “I thought so as soon as I saw her. She’s exactly my type.” He sighed. “But she does seem a little unfriendly. Do you suppose a guitar and some old-fashioned songs at her window might—well, make her want to get better acquainted?”
Charles thought, “Not that sour old prune!” Surprised at himself, he swallowed the words just in time.
Betty snickered. “Poor Cousin Aurelia! I simply can’t get over her staying locked in with nothing but Vegetable Remedy. Why, it tastes just like shoe polish. And it’s all because she’s scared to death to eat or drink anything here. She believes that Sugar Plum’s really an—an uninhibited planet!”
She stopped. She stared at the captain. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m afraid,” he said, looking very serious, “that you don’t understand. Your Cousin Aurelia is right.”
Betty wilted. “You can’t mean it!”
“I don’t know exactly what does it. Maybe it’s something in the water and air and food—”
Charles stared at the plates on the table in horror.
“It’s nothing you need be afraid of,” the captain went on. “You see, its effect just depends on the kind of person you are way inside.”
Betty began to perk up. She eyed Charles appraisingly.
“Is Charles the right kind of person?” she asked.
“I’m sure he is, and your cousin is, too, though she keeps it pretty well hidden. If they weren’t, Sugar Plum would soon let us know it, believe me.” He grinned. “And now let’s all go a-courtin’. I’ll get my guitar and call Herman.”
He went to the door and whistled, and instantly a large reddish creature came lolloping in. It saw the guitar and blinked eagerly.
Betty linked her arm in the captain’s. “Come along, Charlie.”
Charles fumbled around. He was scared.
Then Betty looked over her shoulder and smiled. It was a completely new smile. He had never seen it before. It made him tremble with apprehension.