Free The Garbage Chronicles by Brian Herbert Page A

you’re correct about the atmosphere,” Javik said, “and it sounds pretty improbable to me, is it breathable?”
    “For some beings.”
    “Be specific,” Javik said. “For humans?”
    “Yes. But be prepared for surprises.” Wizzy glowed faintly orange, and Javik thought he detected a teasing tone in Wizzy’s voice.
    “I’m waiting, Wizzy,” Javik said.
    “As I hinted, odd creatures live down here, Captain.” Wizzy chuckled softly.
    “Specifically?”
    “Let me have a little fun with this. I am only three days, fifteen hours old, after all. Children need their fun.”
    Javik seethed. “Are they dangerous?”
    “Would it matter if they were? You’d land anyway, looking for unusual activities. Could you return to Earth and tell them you were afraid to land?”
    “More humanoids?” Javik asked, his breathing labored from anger. He scratched his forehead.
    “Some are like that. A minority, however.”
    “I’m not going to play Twenty Questions with you. If you want to keep your position . . . ”
    “Be rational, Captain Tom,” Wizzy said calmly. “I have bad points, admittedly. But on the whole, you need me.”
    “Aaargh!” Javik said. Furious, he spun Wizzy’s chair.
    Resting on the spinning chair back, Wizzy glowed bright yellow. Suddenly the chair stopped rotating.
    Javik tried to spin the chair again. It wouldn’t move.
    Wizzy chuckled. Then he became dark blue again.
    “I wonder if Abercrombie is down there,” Evans said. “What a dirty guy. He could have ruined the AmFed economy with his recycling. Think of it! Millions of manufacturing and distribution people in souplines.”
    “Who cares?” Javik said.
    “But isn’t that why you’re here?” Evans asked. “To promote the AmFed Way? The greatest good for the greatest number?”
    “Naw,” Javik said. He popped a red tintette out of a dispenser on the science officer’s console. He lit the tintette and blew a puff of red smoke at Wizzy.
    “I didn’t know you smoked,” Evans said.
    “He’s nervous,” Wizzy said.
    Javik laughed uneasily. He thought about flushing Wizzy into deep space, but knew Wizzy was reading this thought. It was a frustrating situation.
    “Our Captain Tom is here for personal reasons,” Wizzy said. “Promote Number One and to hell with everybody else. Right, sir?”
    “Can it!” Javik said. He tossed the tintette in a wall-mounted disposa-tube. Machinery inside the wall whirred. “Punch down to Guna One, Evans,” he said.
    Evans acknowledged the command and mentoed the blue, T-shaped dive lever. The lever flipped down without being touched.
    The Amanda Marie dropped its nose abruptly toward Guna One and accelerated. As Javik hurried back to his seat, he saw an orange glow in front of the ship. Remembering his mento transmitter headaches, he secured his safety harness manually.
    “Entering the atmosphere,” the mother computer reported.
    Javik monitored the interior and exterior heat gauges. He punched a button to freeze the cooling tiles. A gauge told him that the ship’s outside temperature had dropped.
    Wizzy fluttered in the air during the descent, then landed on Javik’s chair back. Javik heard a buzz in his ears. The buzzing was erratic: first loud, then low, first long, then short.
    Wizzy grew very quiet. Then, suddenly, he shrieked in Javik’s ear: “Wait, Captain Tom!”
    Javik slammed against his shoulder harness trying to get away from the noise. Angrily, he snatched Wizzy off the chair back and held the little fellow in front of his face. The comet was cool but bright red. “Don’t ever yell in my ear again, damn it!” Javik barked, setting his jaw. His ears rang.
    “Sorry, Captain,” Wizzy said. “Stop your descent. I am picking up disturbing/mysterious signals from the planet.”
    “You didn’t care about danger before.”
    “I understood the other danger. Or thought I did. This is an unknown.”
    Mother reported the altitude at twenty-nine thousand, five hundred