Free Jumper Cable by Piers Anthony

“Hello,” Olive said. “I am—”
    “Don’t get too close to me,” the woman said, making a face. “I’m about to— ahh, ahh—”
    “I’m sorry,” Olive said, stepping back. “We don’t mean to intrude.”
    Then the woman sneezed. “CHOO!” It was a hard sneeze. In fact, her whole head flew off, bounced on the ground, and rolled into the brush. Her body was left wandering aimlessly.
    “Here!” the head called. “I’m over here!” But the body had no eyes or ears, so it could neither see nor hear.
    Jumper reached down to pick up the head, carefully. He brought it to the body and set it on the neck.
    “Thank you,” the restored woman said. “I am Miss Gesundheit. It is my curse to sneeze my head off.”
    “We noticed,” Jumper said. “That must be incon ve nient.”
    “It’s awful. That’s what brought me here to see the Good Magician. He’s going to glue my head on more securely, after I complete my Ser vice.”
    This did not seem promising either. They moved on. Then next was another woman, this one older. She looked really down.
    Olive approached her. “Hello. We—”
    “Don’t touch me!” the woman said. “It’s contagious.”
    Again, Olive stepped back, cautioned by their experience with the last woman. “What do you have?”
    “I am Auntie Depressant. Touch me and you will feel better, but then much worse when the effect wears off. It is better simply to stay clear.”
    That seemed like good advice. They moved on, and came to half a crowd of people having a party.
    A man staggered toward them. “Welcome to the Cate Family picnic,” he said. “I am Intoxi Cate, who makes revelers happy. This is my brother Impli, who is a lawyer for the offense, and my other brother Vindi, who is a lawyer for the defense. And here is Recipro, always quick to return a favor. Things are always interesting here.”
    “Thank you,” Olive said smoothly. “But we’re just passing through.”
    The next group was no better. This was the Burr Family, with Tim who could make wood appear from nowhere, but was always falling over. Lim made things limber, but at the moment he was experimenting with cheese, and it stank. Slum made folk sleepy. Num could always make the right number needed. Encum tended to weigh things down. Har made good places for boats. Em made hot coals. Unfortunately these were not the talents the group needed. They moved on, and encountered the Tard Family. Pe Tard knew all about green, black-eyed, and chickpeas. Mus Tard tended to make a hot tasting mess of things. Bus Tard was a big black and yellow bird capable of carry ing 66 passengers.
    That interested them. “Could you carry five winsome maidens and a large spider across the moat?” Olive asked.
    “I could,” Bus agreed.
    Wenda pounced. “Wood you?”
    “I would.”
    They seemed to have solved their problem. They got on Bus’s back, where there were con ve nient seats. “We’re ready,” Olive said. But the big bird didn’t move.
    “What’s the matter?” Olive asked.
    “I will get around to it in due course,” Bus replied. “I never hurry.”
    Uh-oh. “When?”
    “Maybe in three days.”
    “That translates to tardy,” Maeve said. “It figures.”
    “We don’t have three days,” Olive protested.
    “Or longer,” the bird said lackadaisically. “I never arrive on time. It’s a matter of principle.”
    They got off, realizing that this was after all a false lead. They huddled together for a conference. “I suspect all the remaining people will be similarly useless,” Jumper said. “Those that could help us probably won’t.”
    “But then how can we get across?” Phanta asked. “We don’t seem to have a ghost of a chance.”
    The others smiled. Phanta knew about ghosts. But she was right: they were getting nowhere.
    “There must be a way,” Olive said. “Something we have overlooked. But if any who can help won’t, the way Bus Tard won’t, we’re still stuck. Unless . . .” She paused as a