Greegs & Ladders (8 page)

“I thought our
guidance system was irreparably damaged,” said Rip. “Shouldn’t they
actually be better off without us?”

“No. It is
better to have an irreparably damaged guidance system than to have
no guidance system at all.”

“Right.”

Krimshaw
looked out of the window and saw an epic beam of light funnelling
towards a planet.

“Why is that
light there?”

“What
light?”

“Look, there’s
a beam of light connecting with a planet. It looks like you can see
the light moving.”

They both
immediately recognized the description of a planet that was reached
by a road of light. It was, after all, the most famous planet in
the most famous of systems. They raced over to the window and
confirmed their suspicion.

“It’s the road
to Lincra!” shouted Rip happily.

“Indeed!”

“What’s the
road to Lincra?” I asked.

Wilx was
ecstatic. “We’re in Kroonum! Lincra is a planet in the excellent
Kroonum system!”

“What’s so
excellent about it?”

“I’ll answer
that one,” said Rip. “It’s the most bustling solar system within
five trillion universes. Some people spend their whole lives trying
to get to Kroonum, on account of how exciting it is here.”

“Yes,” agreed
Wilx, “however life is short once they arrive, on account of how
dangerous it is here.”

“Why does this
planet have a road of light?”

“Because it is
the most popular planet to visit in the Kroonum system. The light
is coming from the mass amount of constantly arriving ships.”

“Why do the
ships have so many lights?”

“You ever
noticed how dark it is in space? You try finding your way around
this black infinity without a set of 4000 watt Hyclerion
Blinder-Bulbs. You’d end up crashing into the surface of a nearby
planet like the recently lost Obotron ships that we will probably
never mention or think of again.”

“An
interesting fact about the road of light,” said Wilx, “was
discovered the time Lincra closed for renovations. For a few days
no ships were allowed to land anywhere on the planet, yet the road
continued to shine as brilliantly as ever.”

“How is that
possible?” asked Krimshaw.

“It is the
strongest case of Persistence of Vision ever known. Ships have been
nonstop arriving at Lincra for so long that the beam of light seems
to be permanently burned into the ocular fabric of space and
time.”

“Can we
stop?”

“Of
course.”

Wilx
instructed the rest of the fleet to remain motionless in orbit. He
then guided Obotron 1 towards Lincra. It is a poor idea to attempt
manual flight while on the hectic road, so Wilx set the ship
to
Go-With-the-Flow
Mode, allowing the flux of the nearby ships to safely glide
them to the surface. Before too long, Obotron 1 arrived at the
spectacular main parking lot.

The main
parking lot of Lincra is so spectacular that many visitors believe
they are seeing the entire surface of the planet. They hang around
the station for the weekend taking a few photos, then they leave
satisfied, having seen none of the actual world.

Rip, Wilx and
Krimshaw boarded the ship's floating elevator. This drew many
stares from the crowd below, being that Krimshaw was a Greeg and
that Obotron 1 was probably the most expensive spaceship in the
whole lot. It was definitely the only spaceship with its own
floating elevator.

Rip
unnecessarily greeted the crowd.

“Hello!” he
shouted to the bewildered aliens. “I am Dr. Rip T. Brash the
Third!”

There were a
few mutters of slight recognition followed by an unrelated
terrorist explosion.

“Ahem,”
coughed Krimshaw.

“What is
it?”

“Why don’t you
introduce us too?”

“Because you
aren’t famous.”

“How can we
hope to get famous if you don’t mention us in front of large groups
of people?”

“True,” said
Rip as he pointed at Wilx and Krimshaw. “And these are some people
I happen to know!”

“What did you
fly here in?” yelled a random alien.

“I’m glad you
asked. Our ship is a very rare Obotron. It is one of the most
expensive vessels ever made. Feel free to admire it at will! Gaze
your eyes upon its pricey qualities! Feel the stinging pangs of
jealousy when you realize your own ship is a piece of junk in
comparison! If you don’t have eyes, then touch the recently waxed
surface with your antennae and know that the wax job is better than
yours!”

“Hey, don’t
tell them to admire the ship too much,” whispered Wilx. “I’d like
to leave with it still in our possession.”

Rip corrected
his mistake. “Remember everyone, admire the ship only with your
eyes! We have a protective shield designed to immediately set fire
to anyone who puts a single finger or antennae on the waxed
surface!”

“Is that
true?” asked Krimshaw.

“No. But I
dare them to risk finding out.”

The crowd grew
visibly anxious wanting to know if the ship would really set them
on fire if they touched it. For some creatures, finding out the
worthless answer to this mystery was well worth the risk of
death.

The floating
elevator (which was merely a sort of round slab that frighteningly
lacked handrails) touched down on the surface of the docking
station. The trio stepped off. The slab immediately flew back up to
the ship.

“How do we get
the elevator to come back to us when we want to leave?” asked
Krimshaw.

“I don’t
know,” said Wilx. “I forgot the remote control. We’ll worry about
it later. Let’s go look around!”

“Good idea,”
agreed Rip.

The parking
lot existed within a domed structure the size of a small moon.
Inside the dome were many bizarre vendors. Some of the vendors were
boasting the cheapest rates on stolen bottles of Investment Banker,
while most were selling maps of the planet.

“We’d better
grab a map,” suggested Rip. “It is impossible to make sense of the
labyrinthine surface of Lincra without one.”

“
And a
good map, too,” added Wilx. “Some of these are poor quality.” He
picked one up from a nearby table. “Look at this one, it’s just a
white piece of paper that says ‘
You are anywhere you want to be.’
How does such existential
drivel
qualify as a
map?”

The unkempt
vendor selling this object was of the belief that all reality is
artificial, and can therefore shift its appearance according to the
mind's desire. He was also heavily tripping out on the boiled
juices of psychotropic Lincran-leaves.

“Don’t be
harsh,” said the unkempt vendor as he imagined his own hand
transforming into a tentacle. “That map contains valuable advice.
You should never forget that all your surroundings are a fantasy,
and that you can change where you’re at simply by imagining you’re
somewhere else.”

“You know what
else is a fantasy?” asked Rip.

“What?”

“Your income.
Because nobody will ever buy what you’re selling.”

“Oh, these
maps aren’t for sale. I offer everything for free, being that any
apparent value of money is imaginary anyway.”

Rip grabbed a
stack of the maps and tore them up until they were tiny shreds. It
took a long time. The trio then continued walking as if nothing
happened. The unkempt vendor made up some new maps. It was an easy
task considering they were merely a single sentence written on a
white piece of paper.

“Look at this
one!” said Wilx, pointing to a different and infinitely more
exciting map vendor. “I’m gonna get one of these.”

Wilx left the
group for a minute. When he returned he wasn’t really holding a map
(defining a map as something that can be folded and placed in a
glove-box) but rather carried a multi-volume set of 30 pound
hardcover books.

“This should
help us find everything.”

“Look, here
comes one of the parking lot shuttle-sliders,” said Rip. “Let’s
board it while we can.”

They got on
the shuttle before it whizzed off. Shuttle-sliders are dissimilar
to floating elevators in the sense that they only move
horizontally, but are similar in the sense that they also
frighteningly lack handrails.

Obotron 1 had
landed almost directly in the middle of the parking lot, meaning
that reaching the edge of the dome by foot would have entailed a
horrendous, month-long journey with nothing to eat except for maps
and other paper products. By taking the shuttle car they would
reach the edge of the dome in a matter of minutes. The fare was
offensively expensive, but it had to be paid. Most people who
attempt walking across the great parking lot are never heard from
again.

The instant
the shuttle was out of sight, several dozen curious fingers and
antennae placed themselves upon the surface of Obotron 1. The
disgusting creatures in ownership of these fingers and antennae
were happy to learn there was no protective shield setting them on
fire. They celebrated this fact by smashing a few of the windows
and entering the ship. The intruders proceeded to devour what
little remaining food they could find. This was not a great loss as
it was all thoroughly urine-soaked. They then proceeded to syphon
nearly all of the ship's fuel. Upon leaving, the creatures didn’t
even bother to use the same broken windows, but rather found a few
new ones to crash through.

The shuttle
arrived at the edge of the dome. Rip was the first one to walk
through the door and see the surface of Lincra, and was therefore
the first one to suffer a mild heart attack. It was instantly clear
as to why a map is the most valuable item you can own on this
planet. The surface of Lincra is actually a myriad of surfaces
stacked on top of each other, a gradual layering upon layering
created for the purpose of maximizing spacial problems. A planetary
version of a nesting doll, there is the one major outermost planet,
and within that planet lay a smaller planet, and within that
smaller planet lay another smaller planet, and so forth until all
the layers of Lincra together form the equivalent ground space of
the combined, remaining 26 planets in the Kroonum system. Each
layer is known for having its own distinct climate, terrain,
life-forms and atmosphere. Visitors are allowed to freely roam
between the layers, all of which are connected by way of the Master
Ladder.

“I suggest we
read some of these books before we go anywhere,” said Wilx as he
sat down on a bench. Most of the entrances to Lincra are lined with
scores of benches, as needing to sit down is the most typical
reaction of the first-time visitor.

“What books?”
I asked him.

“The
multi-volume map of Lincra, the ones I just bought.”

“I know, but
for a minute I could have sworn you weren't carrying them anymore.
I thought you'd gotten tired and thrown them out, deciding to let
blind chance choose our ultimate location.”

“No,” said
Wilx. “That's more something Rip would do.”

“Not on this
world,” said Rip. “Even I don't feel like braving Lincra without a
map.”

“Where should
we go?” asked Wilx as he passed Rip one of the many 30 pound
hardcover books that he mysteriously managed to carry out of
sight.

“You read it
to us,” said Rip as he struggled to focus on all the creatures
zipping up and down the Master Ladder between the layers of the
world. “I’m far too hypnotized by this insanity to be able to make
out the sentences.”

Wilx
flipped to chapter one in the first volume of the
Map to
Lincra
. “It says we are
right now on Terminal Layer Zero. Below the TLZ are the
Subterranean Layers 1-66, the innermost layer of which is an
observation deck for viewing the fiery planetary core. Looking
directly at the core will fry your optic nerves, so it is suggested
that only blind creatures visit Subterranean Layer 66. Any
creatures allergic to water or other forms of hydrogen-oxygen
combinations are advised to avoid every seventh, even-numbered
subterranean layer, all of which are water based.

'
Above the TLZ
are the Floating Layers 1-79, the topmost layer being the only
place on Lincra where you can see sky or space, aside from when
inside the parking lot dome. All of the lighting for the
Subterranean Layers comes from Terminal Layer Zero, which consists
mainly of Investment Banker Corral Farms and Slaughterhouses. Well,
where should we go first? A Subterranean or Floating
Layer?”

“Are there any
places designed for people who like to make outlandish wagers?”
asked Rip.

Wilx flipped
to the index. “No. It says betting of any kind is prohibited on
Lincra.”

“
No
betting? That means this will be another planet in which I didn’t
place an outlandish wager during my visitation. Pluto will have to
be removed from the next edition of
Very Rare Planets
.”

“Too bad.
Pluto could use the publicity.”

“Maybe I’ll
find a way to make a bet,” said Rip optimistically.

“Even if you
did, what would you wager? You don’t own anything.”

“That’s not
true. I have many fine superfluous organs.”

“You’ve
already lost all your superfluous organs to me, remember?” said
Wilx. “I intend to collect them as soon as we find a mildly decent
surgeon who will perform surgery for all the wrong reasons. In
fact, I think there’s an entire layer of Lincra devoted to exactly
that.”

Wilx
again flipped to the index of the
Map to Lincra.
“Aha! I was right. Subterranean Layer 39 is known
as the Layer of Mildly Decent Surgeons Who Will Perform Surgery For
All the Wrong Reasons. Let's go there first.”