Kaman's World Read online

  Betty’s sudden swing in temperament has not gone unnoticed by Marty, who has been sitting calmly in Kaman Wantanabe’s lap, enjoying a good tummy scratching. But sensing his mistress’s sudden annoyance places him on alert. He rolls himself upright in such a smooth, fluid motion, Kaman doesn’t take notice. Nor is the elderly man even remotely aware that his kind demeanor and gentle touch has somehow granted him the gift of acceptance by Marty…and this acceptance establishes an emotional bond bestowing certain privileges, whose importance Betty and her husband have shared with no one and has, until now, remained known only to them.

  Now Marty tenses ever so slightly, his stealth and determination characteristic of all carnivores whose intensions are masterfully masked until the last moment; Struther, seconds away from finishing his first handful of nuts, most of which he still masticates, prepares to lean forward again, unaware he is now a target; the waiter, tray loaded with several iced drinks and bowls of chips, approaches behind Kaman; and Betty, to her credit, experiences an instinctive glimmer that something is amiss, and suddenly grows alert in response to her emotional tether to her diminutive companion.

  Marty’s eyes narrow to mere slits as he focuses his concentration on the man Betty so dislikes.

  BAD MAN!

  The projected thought is as powerful as it is unquestionable as to the source. Kaman’s hands jerk away from the bristling creature he suddenly realizes is coiled like a spring in his lap, the tiny feet twitching excitedly, the claws extending into his pants, establishing a firmer launch platform. Betty also jerks rigid, her head snapping around, her full attention centering on Marty. The server takes one step closer, and Struther, popping the last of the nuts into his mouth, leans way forward again, one hand reaching for the bowl, the other beckoning to the waiter.

  “What the hell?” cries Kaman.

  “Marty! No!” cries Betty simultaneously.

  “Huh? What—?” mumbles Struther, turning towards Kaman, the partially chewed peanuts in his mouth garbling his words.

  And Marty launches—closing the short gap in a hundredth of a second, a furry missile barely registering as a blur. He aims for the web of flesh between the man’s left thumb and forefinger, connecting with such speed, that for an instant, the needle-sharp teeth stabbing downward and through are completely unfelt, but only for an instant. Then Struther, frozen in shock, feels a burning, stinging sensation shoot up his arm, bringing whole new meanings to the concept of agony.

  Now, like a large boulder dropped into a pond, the action starts at this table and rapidly spreads outward in expanding rings.

  Struther jumps to his feet, eyes wide as he stares in horror at the small animal dangling from his hand; and Marty is fastened to that hand as surely as if he were part of the flesh. The man does not fall backwards only because his center of gravity was placed so far forward as he leaned to grab more nuts from the bowl. He cannot understand the sudden searing pain crawling up his arm…the creature biting his hand is not exactly a tough concept to grasp, but the teeth should only inflict localized pain, not the sensation that rages through his arm like molten magma flashing and flowing within his bones. Through the shock, Struther opens his mouth and suddenly inhales deeply as his body reacts in a reflex that will culminate in an involuntary shriek of surprise and pain—at least, that’s what was supposed to happen. But the partially chewed nuts in his mouth are sucked backwards by this violent inhalation, lodging in various locations within his windpipe, effectively closing off that avenue.

  “Glacik—clokg—chargl—“ The man’s eyes grow even wider as he realizes he cannot breath; his free hand clutching his throat while he begins thrashing the other back and forth in a vain attempt to shake loose Marty.

  Meanwhile, Kaman too leaps to his feet, but his center of gravity shifts backwards and he comes up under the waiter’s tray, his head crashing there, catapulting the tray, and its contents, over the man’s shoulder and onto the occupants at the next table. Chips rain down everywhere and the two children sitting there scream in surprise and alarm. Their mother lets out a loud, startled whoop as several ice cubes and a goodly portion of one of the drinks goes down the neck of her loose blouse, causing her to try to stand, but she gets tangled in her chair’s legs and falls backwards, colliding with the waiter.

  Betty attempts to dive across the table and grab Marty, but she misses when Struther starts to thrash about ever more wildly. But Betty’s dive does cause Kaman to jerk backwards even more, where he and the server fall into, and all over, each other. They wind up on the ground in a thrashing tangle with the mother with the ice cubes down her back.

  “Faikg—glork—gask—“ Struther now staggers frantically about, refusing to go down, his face turning a deep shade of purple, his bulging eyes all but popping from his head. Despite choking, he still manages to swing his arm, and Marty, in even greater arcs, causing startled patrons at other tables to duck, or leap aside to avoid the animal. One older man is not fast enough and receives a slap from Marty’s tail as it goes whipping past. Now Struther begins spinning roughly around in circles in an added effort to dislodge his tormentor.

  Eventually, even as his panicked gyrations began to diminish from lack of oxygen and the effects of the venom to which he has been exposed, Struther at last manages to rid himself of Marty. With a final snap of his arm, born of a desperation bordering on the Herculean, Struther flings the small animal high into the air. However, Marty does not come loose because he is tired of hanging on, or because he decides the poor man has had enough. No, he finally comes free because the rips in the flesh caused by Marty’s teeth as Struther flung him hither and yon have resulted in a crescent shaped chunk of meat tearing loose from his hand. Struther staggers one or two more steps, and as his eyes roll upwards in their sockets, he fall to the ground, face pointed to the artificial sky above, his mouth puckering and convulsing in imitation of a fish out of water, gasping for breath.

  The episode would have been exciting enough even if it ended here. But we mustn’t forget Marty, who reaches the apex of his flight and falls towards one of the tables of customers fortunate to be far enough away to avoid what has so far transpired. Or at least they were until Marty was flung in their direction.

  Here we must pause to introduce Miss Sophia Larsen, native to the Madeira colony and local president of the MCPTA. She has taken a day off from her weighty responsibility in finding fault with every teacher having the unfortunate distinction of having one of Miss Larsen’s children, or a child of her closest friends, to which the woman claims many, as one of their pupils. At her table, she and four members of her inner posse have been fervently discussing the current, complete disregard many of the afore-mentioned teachers have for the latest fashions, both in body sculpting and clothing. For as it so happens, Miss Larsen, in addition to being a self-proclaimed expert in the field of adolescent education, also holds herself in the highest regard as a fashion maven and trendsetter for her friends and others to emulate. Currently, she has joined a fashion-movement which expounds the adoption of excess weight in order to better display a more Rubenesque figure. This, along with a Nuevo-retro hairstyle known, for apparent reasons, as “The Beehive”.

  She had just begun to list the faults of her youngest son’s elementary school teacher when the disturbance across the bar began. However, since it was so far away, they had at last returned to their earnest discussion at about the time Marty was on the downside of his incoming airborne trajectory. He hits the frond-umbrella with such rattling force, the ladies below look upward just in time to witness Marty’s head come poking through the fronds. Marty gives them a wide, apologetic grin…but to Miss Larsen and her friends, that grin appears nothing less than some ferocious showing of red-stained teeth by a wild animal possessed by primal bloodlust. So when the weakened fronds give way, and Marty comes plummeting down, we can well understand the ensuing panic. Especially when Marty falls full into Miss Larsen’s copious hairdo, sinking into the soft layers piled so high
above her brow.

  But, it doesn’t end there…oh, no, not at all. Marty, so completely snarled within the hairdo, well realizes that struggling will only entangle him deeper, not to mention cause who-knows-what kind of distraction to the poor woman below, delicately parts the front of the beehive, peeks outwards and chooses this moment to spit out the bloody, crescent-shaped piece of flesh so recently part of Struther’s left hand. It is indeed unfortunate this ragged slice splats full on the forehead of one of the ladies opposite Miss Larsen. Now, as if on some unseen director’s cue, all present collectively inhale so deeply, it is surprising other nearby patrons do not pass-out from lack of oxygen. At the end of this synchronous intake, the ladies release what they have gathered as a simultaneous shriek. The force and sincerity impacts all present within a fifteen-meter radius, and everyone within this territory covers their ears, cringing at the imagined horror that might precipitate such raw, emotional release. This shriek manifests itself as nothing less than the collective consciousness of over two-dozen frightened souls standing in a crowded theatre yelling, “FIRE!”

  Here we can retrieve the earlier-used analogy and say this is where and when the second large boulder falls into the pond. Although some of the water has been sloshed out by the first such event, there is still enough remaining to start another rippling round of spreading excitement.

  After their first collective scream, the ladies turn in all directions and tear off as if the devil himself were on their heels, still caterwauling, but at least not together. Miss Larsen, looking up into Marty’s down-turned face, leaps to her feet, unbalancing the small creature. His feet futilely scramble for purchase on the lady’s scalp, but he has been shaken too far forward, and slides past her forehead, plunging into the open portion of her dress, into the waiting cleavage between her ample breasts. Now, like the poor bull of legend, Miss Larsen, in full-blown panic, begins to plow through everything in her way…and even though she is not in the proverbial china-shop, she still leaves a wake of considerable destruction through the tables and guests unfortunate enough to be in her path.

  However, her flight is mercifully short. Before she has covered ten-meters, she runs full into one of the palm trees and careens back on the soft sand, having knocked herself stone-cold unconscious. From the folds of her dress, Marty appears between her knees, shakes his head, and sprints back towards Betty’s table.

  Betty has not been idle during this time, for actually less than 60-seconds have passed since this entire escapade began. It was but short moments before that she made her grab for Marty, missing due to Struther’s frantic struggles. During the next dozen or so seconds, she has been kept off-balance by panicked, jostling patrons. But now that she has her senses and balance back, her attention is on Struther, lying on the sand, eyes rolled back and exhibiting but the feeblest of twitches about his lips. Betty jumps to the top of the table, shoving drinks and fruit bowl aside, and without hesitation leaps high into the air towards the downed man. She lands on top of Struther, her elbow slamming with the full weight of her body into his diaphragm, just below the ribs. There is the distinct snapping sound of bones breaking, and Struther convulses, his head and legs lifting off the ground…and with a loud woofing, cough-like bark, expels a wet geyser of spit and partially chewed peanuts high into the air. He coughs raggedly several more times, but at least he is breathing, and that’s all that Betty cares about at the moment.

  She rolls off the convulsing man, sits upright and looks over to Kaman, also sitting on the sand, at last untangled from the waiter and the woman. Betty shakes some sand from her hair and smiles.

  “I can’t believe I was once actually married to this asshole…”

  Suddenly, Marty appears before her, sits on his haunches and regards Betty with a wide grin.

  Fun!

  “Well…I’m sure glad you think so!”

  Chapter Two

  “Holy frijoles!” roared Sam, his laughter coming over the ship-to-ship radio clearly despite being several thousand kilometers distant. “Sounds like total pandemonium!”

  “Yeah,” replied Betty, fighting the giggles. “But without the pandas!” She sits at the controls of her shuttle, the “Puddle Popper”, piloting it back to the Flipper-Doodle, where Sam waited. The Oort ball containing the Madeira colony lay far astern even though she left the docking bay scant minutes before. Betty was anxious to leave the colony as far, and as quickly, behind as feasible—she longed to get back out into deep space…back to the frontier.

  “So let me guess…the Peacekeepers showed up—“

  “Hell, yeah,” she interrupts with a snort. “Must have been twenty of them! That someone hit their panic button doesn’t surprise me; what would is if there was anyone there that didn’t!” Betty referred to the channel on all colony communicators, whether cybernetic or external, that placed an automated distress call to all nearby Peacekeeper offices once activated.

  “Wow, kiddo…you don’t do anything half-way. I’m glad I wasn’t there! How’s Struther?”

  “They thought he was dead! You should have seen him…lying there stiff as a goat’s pecker; eyes wide-open…staring at the holo-cast of the sun! I’ll bet his retinas are scorched.” She joined Sam in renewed, uproarious laughter. “And that bite out of his hand! Like he was bleeding to death! Marty must have mixed some sort of anti-coagulant with that venom!”

  Marty, lying on Betty’s lap, raised his head and opened one eye at the mention of his name. But seeing his assistance wasn’t required, or that there was no food, went back to dozing.

  “Aw jeez, I hope he doesn’t need a tetanus shot…”

  “Who?” cried Betty. “Struther or Marty?” They again howled with laughter.

  “Betty, I have you on radar and visual,” came the soft, feminine voice of the ships’ computer. “I am prepared to bring the Puddle Popper in when you are ready.”

  “Go ahead, Charlie,” she replied. “I have visual on the Doodle.”

  Charlie took control of the shuttle, steering it towards one of the bay-doors opening at the small ship’s approach. Betty grabbed Marty from her lap and headed back towards the hatch.

  “But what the hell did you tell the Pee Kays?” asked Sam. “I mean…Marty’s permits don’t give him the latitude to go around biting people…even if they do deserve it!”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Betty climbed into the airlock and dogged the hatch. “I tried to tell them it did…at least when someone attacks me! Only problem with that…Struther was just sitting there! Good thing the Cranston security team showed up with those lawyers!”

  Once inside the Flipper-Doodle, Betty let Marty leap to the bay’s floor and run beside her as she headed for the control room. She stopped for a moment in one of the side rooms, changing into a clean shirt. In moments, she and her husband were kissing passionately while Marty ran about their feet, chattering excitedly.

  “I still don’t get it,” said Sam, giving Betty one last hug before returning to the main control panels, plugging the cerebral-interface cable into the socket behind his right ear. “How did Claire know you needed help?”

  “That woman thinks of everything,” she said, sitting next to Sam. Marty immediately reclaimed her lap. “Little did I know she had been watching us since I asked her to buy the Oasis for me…no, no, don’t ask, I’ll explain later! The attorneys had papers showing I was untouchable, seeing as how you and I are the sovereign rulers of an entire planet and enjoy full diplomatic immunity!”

  Sam started to speak, but the woman had a hand over his mouth before the first word could be uttered.

  “And said papers gave legal proof that the Peacekeepers had no authority within the Oasis as it had been registered as our defacto embassy!”

  “Incredible, honey…you and Claire are amazing! But what about Marty? Is he perhaps listed as some official political emissary?”

  “Better…since the survey teams have combed Xanadu from pole-to-pole and found no others like him, Marty is one
of the most valuable…and most protected critters alive! He is documented as a “sole survivor” of his species! Neat huh?”

  Sam shook his head in wonder as he and Betty shared a few last chuckles. “All right…enough…so what about Struther? He is going to recover…right?”

  “Yeah…of course he is! But the med-techs there couldn’t snap him out of it! After they’d all stood around for a while scratching their heads, they finally asked me if there wasn’t something I could do. So I asked Marty…and he went over and bit Struther again! Right in front of everyone!”

  “And he woke up?”

  “You got it! Sat right up, looked at Marty and scrambled backwards like a crab in a blind panic. Damnedest thing you ever saw!”

  “What about Wantanabe…why did he want to see you?”

  Betty reached into a pocket and held up a small data-card. “He said this would explain everything!”

  ***

  Sam and Betty leaned excitedly over the control room’s plotting/projection table. A holo-cast of a desiccated planet slowly turned while they studied the details. Beside the globe, a small-scale projection of the solar system displayed the sun and other planets, along with an asteroid belt. The scale was such that nothing was shown beyond the outer-most planet.

  “It’s a main sequence G sun,” said Sam. “Ten planets…normal asteroid belt, nothing really unusual.”

  “You mean other than the fact the planet is almost a billion years older than Old Earth! The sun’s older and brighter than Sol too. That’s probably why there’s no surface water…oceans have all boiled away via upper-atmospheric disassociation.”

  “Yeah...but look at these readings! Atmospheric mixtures are hardly uniform even though the surface-pressure is still about Earth-normal. Notice how the concentrations of oxygen, nitrogen and water vary wildly? There also appears to be a correlation to geology...wonder what that’s all about?”