Greegs & Ladders Page 7

  “That explains the cluster of planets we saw on the way here, the one connected by an intricate series of ladders,” said Krimshaw.

  “That is the central processing factory of Kroonum ladders and ladder-related products such as the Varnishizer, the only varnish on the market guaranteed to dry in open space. The cluster is known simply as Planet KULMOOG. It is probably one of the dullest and yet most frightening places you could visit. How is it both dull and frightening at the same time you ask? It is dull considering the fact that nothing goes on there besides the churning out of more ladders and ladder-related products. It is frightening because all your words and actions are charted by the ever present eyes and ears of KULMOOG Surveillance. Anyone suspected of being a spy or of being even remotely anti-ladder is tortured for information about the supposed perpetual plot to replace the ladder. KULMOOG has grown so paranoid over losing power that generally most everyone is suspected of being a spy.”

  “Let’s not go to Planet KULMOOG,” suggested Rip.

  “Another place we shouldn’t go is the topmost layer of Lincra. There is nothing but a bunch of ladders going up into the sky, leading nowhere. Endless hoards of tourists climb these ladders, but rather than turn around when the ladder runs out they merely attempt to continue climbing, thus falling to their death. There is never a shortage of new arrivals eager to climb the ladders, despite scattered bones covering the ground as a chilling warning sign. A fine living is made selling maps and provisions at the base of these ladders. It is incredibly easy to make a living there, for when you sell someone a map or a provision you merely wait for them to fall off the ladder, then collect your goods from the body and sell them again to the next hapless wanderer. It is not entirely known why these useless ladders exist, but the fact that people climb them is seen around the universe as a prime example of the height of stupidity. People climb the ladders simply because they are there. Some see it as a side-effect of the intense mental-conditioning that has gone down between the KULMOOG and the residents of Kroonum, as if to say the people of Kroonum have been trained to believe in the necessity of ladders to the point where they are physically incapable of stopping themselves from climbing a ladder when they see one. Other ideas are discussed, some more insane than others, including the usual fanatical religious groups who believe the ladders are God's way of announcing the Resurrection of the Messiah, or He Who Shall Survive the Ladder-Climb. Something like 45% of ladder-deaths are said to be people who think they are some sort of saviour. One thing is known, these dangerous ladders are allowed to remain because of the prodigious bribes being supplied to the KULMOOG by the profiteering merchants who lurk by the bone-riddled ladder's base.”

  “Let us now descend the ladder in silence,” suggested Rip.

  “To commemorate the passing of the ladder climbers?” asked Krimshaw.

  “No, because I’m sick of hearing about them.”

  And so the group finished the remainder of the journey in silence. With each passing layer they could feel the intense heat of the fiery core growing stronger. Krimshaw shed some of his clothing. He seemed to do this purely out of survival instinct, as heat stroke is the most common shared experience amongst tourists who visit Subterranean Layers, yet it was likely that he subconsciously knew if he wore less clothing the Carnival Greegs would be less offended by his presence. After what felt like eternity, the group arrived at Subterranean Layer 53, also known as the Royal Lincran Carnival Zoo.

  The word ‘Royal’ could not have been a more inappropriate word to place in front of ‘Lincran Carnival Zoo.’ The place was a nasty dungeon. Greeg feces caked the stone walls. Whoops of pain emanated from an unknown distance. Chutes descended from the roof into the cages, evidently serving as feeding troughs as they spewed runoff organs from the Layer of Mildly Decent Surgeons Who Will Perform Surgery For All the Wrong Reasons. Dangerous aliens slithered along the edges of the shadowed frames, hoping to make a living by pickpocketing the space-yuppies. The space-yuppies were numerous, dim-witted and slow to the reflex. A fine living was made by the pickpockets.

  Many passersby had noticed Krimshaw.

  “Why do they keep pointing at me and whispering?” he asked Rip.

  “Uh... they’re just admiring your jacket. Isn’t it made from the pelt of a Pelexor Snow-Demon? Those are impossible to kill, and tougher to skin.”

  “I’m not wearing my jacket. It’s boiling hot down here.”

  “They can see you carrying the jacket.”

  “I'm not carrying my jacket, Wilx is.”

  “No he's not,” said Rip.

  “Where'd it go?” asked Krimshaw. “You said you'd watch my jacket!”

  “Your jacket is safe,” said Wilx.

  “We can see that you don't have it! Don't even try to say you're carrying all those books right now because I can see all of your hands!”

  “I assure you everything is fine,” said Wilx. “Exposition is for another time.”

  “He's right,” said Rip, eyeing the sketchy scenery. “Let’s just find the Greegs and get out of here.”

  A largish crowd of shady characters were now following Krimshaw. They looked as if ready to pounce. One of the spider-like creatures spoke to Rip.

  “Interesting Greeg you’ve got there. Wearing clothing, walking upright, speaking full thoughts, not throwing feces. Very interesting indeed. Never seen anything like it.”

  “Shh!” said Rip. “He doesn’t know what he is. I have completely reformed his mind to the point where he doesn’t even know he’s a Greeg. He has no remembrance that he used to be in one of these cages.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said the spider-creature. “Look at how distressed and angry he appears. He remembers these cages, all right. He doesn’t like being here at all. Doesn’t like seeing his brothers and sisters locked up.”

  “Keep your voice down.”

  “None of these savage beasts deserve to be proper members of society,” said the spider. “I think he should be put back into a cage right now. But not before it’s properly explained to him what he is.”

  “Don’t even think about it!”

  The spider-creature started fighting its way through the crowd towards Krimshaw.

  “We have to leave now,” said Rip to Wilx. “They’re gonna ruin everything. It’s still too early for Krimshaw to know the truth about his identity.”

  “How do you plan to get out of here? We’re completely surrounded by things that can walk on the roof.”

  Rip surveyed the area and realized Wilx was right. The space-yuppies had disappeared, having been summoned to a needless seminar regarding how to best hoard money. All that remained was the group of shady creatures bearing down on Krimshaw.

  “Do something!” yelled Rip.

  Wilx did something.

  This was a very characteristic moment for these two well-seasoned travellers of space and time. Rip tended to be the sideline motivation, abstractly yelling for ‘something’ to be done (while actually doing nothing himself), while Wilx tended to be the one who knew what had to be done and did it.

  Wilx looked at the nearest cage. It had a sign reading PECKING GRAPPLER-BIRDS. Below this sign was another sign reading NEVER OPEN. They couldn’t have chosen a better cage to stand in front of while defending themselves from yet another angry and hotly pursuant mob. Wilx did the unthinkable. He opened the cage. Pecking Grappler-Birds swarmed out, quickly filling up the space of Subterranean Layer 53. They pecked. They grappled. They flew.

  “Run!” yelled Wilx.

  Rip and Krimshaw followed Wilx down the corridor towards the Master Ladder.

  “I think those bird things have them distracted. But don’t slow down.”

  “Can you believe how fast they peck through to the brains?” asked Krimshaw.

  “And how effectively they grapple the spinal cord?” added Rip.

  “No time to admire the rapid killing technique of the Pecking Grappler-Bird. Everybody get on this ladder now.” />
  All over again they passed the many Subterranean Layers of Lincra. Despite the urgent rush a break was taken on the Layer of Transcendental Levitation. Everyone agreed some mellowing out was in order. After an hour no one had managed to successfully levitate, but the ambient music was still soothing.

  Finally they reached Terminal Layer Zero.

  “Should we go straight to the parking lot?” asked Rip. “Or check out some of the Floating Layers?”

  “Let’s leave. I’ve had enough of this planet,” gasped Wilx.

  They arrived at the parking lot.

  “I didn't notice before how there isn't a single ladder in here,” said Krimshaw.

  “That's because the parking lot of Lincra is the one shred of property in all of Kroonum that the KULMOOG do not attempt to claim forceful ownership upon,” explained Wilx as they walked down the main strip, attempting to hail one of the many crowded shuttle-sliders.

  “Why is that?”

  “Hundreds of years before the KULMOOG came into fruition, a small group of rebellious Lincran townsfolk (apparently sick and tired of having to walk into the next county in order to legally tie up their horse/horse-like-antiquated-mammal-transportation-thing while they indulged themselves at the tavern/socialization-through-intoxication-establishment) set in motion plans to acquire an eternally binding clause in which they would control ownership of the parking area of downtown Lincra and thus be free to get as intoxicated as possible without having to worry about the long stumble to the horse/horse-like-antiquated-mammal-transportation-thing. Ownership would be passed down through the bloodline of the original rebels, the Parking Lot Lords, until the end of existence. Over time the Lords maximized their ability to get home during warped states of mind by inventing and developing the shuttle-slider. Everyone liked the shuttle-sliders, so the Lords invested all their time and energy into opening up a taxi service. Not really caring about the goings-on of the parking lot other than the revenue-stream of the taxi service, the Lords have given complete freedom to the thousands of resident merchants, squatters, party-monsters, ravers, rockers, bashers and smashers to do whatever they please within the wild confines of the domed-lot, so long as they spend a little cash on a taxi every once in a while. A general pervasive atmosphere of intoxication and immobility rendered the shuttle-slider an unimaginably lucrative business.”

  “Why do the KULMOOG care about some old clause?” asked Krimshaw. “Why don't they storm the lot?”

  “I couldn't say,” said Wilx. “But the story goes the townsfolk had at their disposal the means to place a very real curse on the parking lot. Anyone not a part of the bloodline who attempts to exert control over the goings-on of the parking lot will supposedly have their brain explode after the passing of a fortnight. The KULMOOG seem to believe in the curse enough to stay away from here. It is the only known loophole in the ladder-monopolization of things in Kroonum.”

  Finally they hopped on a shuttle-slider.

  Obotron 1 was right where they left it.

  “We can’t get in the ship,” said Wilx.

  “Why not?” asked Krimshaw.

  “I just remembered I forgot the remote control for the floating elevator.”

  “I wondered when that problem would become relevant.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Rip. “Someone has already foreseen the problem and helped us out by smashing a bunch of windows. We’ll just enter the ship that way.”

  The ship lifted off the surface and flew away from the crowded madness of planet Lincra. The rest of the fleet was waiting motionless in orbit.

  Only now did Wilx notice all the fuel gauges of Obotron 1 were reading empty.

  “Seems we were the victims of fuel-bandits,” he said calmly. “Everybody prepare themselves. The ship is about to crash into the nearest object of dangerous proportions.”

  “Why don’t we just drain the fuel from one of the other fleet ships?” suggested Rip. “Let them crash and burn.”

  “What a great idea! Bless your heartless heart!”

  The fuel from another Obotron was ordered to be switched over to their own ship.

  The process didn’t take long. Afterwards the ship that had been randomly chosen to have all of its fuel drained was destroyed by the nearest object of dangerous proportions, which in this case was the planet Lincra.

  Obotron 1 and the now remaining 15 other fleet ships zoomed off into the vast Kroonum system. The ship was chilly, on account of all the broken windows exposing them to the open vacuum of space. Krimshaw put on his Pelexor Snow-Demon jacket. The one that would have been admired by the angry and hotly and pursuant mob if he had been wearing it at the time.

  CHAPTER 21

  Bureaucracy

  When you go about pompously and recklessly unleashing viciously contained zoo animals on the most populated and famous tourist destination in five trillion universes, you tend to raise alarm bells. This is especially the case when you arrive in a shiny fleet of Obotron 7 space ships and leave 16 of them hovering nonsensically around the planet packed with pointless, idle employees. This is even more the case when you carry with you an inter-universal celebrity like Dr. Rip T. Brash the Third and an upright walking, clothes wearing, intelligent conversation having Greeg.

  However, this being the Kroonum system, and this being the planet Lincra… these events were barely the six thousandth, five hundredth and forty seventh most interesting/bizarre/outlandish/casualty inducing incidents of the hour.

  Nevertheless, hoards of Kroonumite Special Task Force Ranger Pods were immediately sent forth from the Central Kroonum Enforcement & Coercion Department on Persheron 8. They were sent in waves and from different task forces to deal with each assault our trio of travellers had inflicted on the precious foundations of Kroonum Society: Civility, Order and Peace, or COP. Persheron 8 is one of 9 planets and 47 moons in the Kroonum system whose sole purpose is law enforcement, jailing, detainment, execution, rehabilitation, law writing, law re-writing, finding of outdated laws and updating them, finding of updated laws and outdating them, covert undercover operations, and the seemingly never-ending creation, integration and upkeep of more branches of The Upgrading, Expansion, Keeping Up of and Maintenance of Kroonum Civility, Order & Peace Agency. Confused? I hope not. This is, as you say, barely the tip of the Iceberg.

  This fumbling, inefficient schmorgosborg is merely the Solar Enforcement Branch of Kroonum Law Enforcement. There is also of course The Universal Legal Oversight Committee, The Galactic Territorial and Regional Integrated Intelligence Agencies (there are over 976 of these in this particular galaxy, no one is sure which ones are legitimate and which are fronts at this point. None of them are remotely integrated, several are engaged in full out warfare.) These are a mere nuisance, and a cohesive juggernaut of rationality and efficiency compared to the mind bogglingly complicated, freewheeling and unregulated enforcement agencies on individual planets... and let us not even begin to discuss regional law on various sections of those planets. It is far more often that different splinters of legally sanctioned and government orchestrated law enforcement fights among themselves, rightfully believing the other is involved in criminal activity, which they all most certainly are, to a staggering degree.

  All of these corrupt, unchecked, interlocked and mangled factions of law enforcement and bureaucracy has led the hyper oppressed and victimized civilians and visitors of Kroonum to retaliate in violent backlashes in the form of Civilian Organized Militia’s For The Restoration of Peace, Order and Civility to the Kroonum System. They have developed the mildly confrontational slogan “A POCKS on the COPs.” These militia's are inevitably started by once innocent, indifferent travellers or residents who have been chewed up and spat out by various sanctioned policing groups and courts. There is an entire volume of Hypocrisy Inaction: The Plight of the Pointless Protester devoted strictly to the militia's. The true irony here is that there never was, certainly isn’t now, and certainly never will be, anything remotely approaching P
eace, Order and/or Civility in the Kroonum System. This is exactly why it is such an amazingly popular and exciting place.