GS Midden

When Rhonda finished gelling her hair, she opened the door of the powder room and heard her Uncle Sid talking to someone.

A tall, dark-skinned woman in a red tunic and short skirt stood in front of a concerned Sid.  The woman had an unbelievable figure and her outfit displayed every curve.  Rhonda decided she must be a fashion-challenged time-traveler.  No woman in today’s Manhattan would ever wear such an outfit.  Red was so last century.

Morning sunlight — filtered by Manhattan’s polluted air and the dirty office window — reflected from the back of Sid’s bald dome.

The woman pointed a weapon at Rhonda.  “You are Rhonda Minestra?”

“Who wants to know?” Rhonda replied with a look of disdain.

Instead of answering, the visitor talked into a wrist device.  “Captain, I have completed my mission.  Please note my efficiency in the ship’s log.” She paused a moment, then continued.  “Affirmative.  I have apprehended Rhonda Minestra and Sidney Glower.”
“Hey!” Rhonda exclaimed.  “What’re you talkin’ about? Apprehended?”

“Silence.   Don’t make me use this blaster.” She sneered at Rhonda.   “By the way, what happened to your hair?”

“Orange-green spikes are in at the moment.  You obviously don’t know that, otherwise you wouldn’t have shown up with those grotesque short braids.”

The woman stiffened and glared at Rhonda.

“Do you have a name?” Sid asked.

“I am Lieutenant Yoo-Hoo.  I am the Communication Officer on the GS Midden.”

“What’s GS stand for?” Rhonda asked.

“Garbage Scow.”

“That fits.” Rhonda placed a hand over her mouth and giggled.  “I can see you shovelin’ garbage.”

Yoo-Hoo glared a Rhonda.

Rhonda glared back.  Until her body started to disintegrate.

Electronic equipment filled the room except for a platform where the three of them materialized.  The ship had a strange smell, a combination of something dead masked by an overdose of flowery scent.

Yoo-Hoo walked over to a control panel, but kept the weapon pointed at them.  Sid took a step off the platform and looked startled when his pants fell to his knees.

“Adjust your belt,” Yoo-Hoo said.  “The matter translocator removed some unnecessary poundage.”

“Hmm.” He patted the top of his head.  “Can it regrow hair?”

“You don’t have a hair problem.” Yoo-Hoo waved the weapon in Rhonda’s direction.  “She does.”

Rhonda ground her teeth and stepped off the platform.  An alarm bell sounded.

“Give me your purse.” Yoo-Hoo held out her left hand.  “Something in it set off the alarm.” She took the bag and rummaged through it.

Rhonda wanted to grab a handful of her hair and yank it.  How dare the woman paw through her handbag.

Yoo-Hoo held up a set of brass knuckles and raised an eyebrow.

“My father gave me those on my twenty-first birthday.”

“And this?” She pulled out a slim knife.

“A present from a nice old man in Sicily.” The nice old man was a gangster chieftain who had hired her father to whack a meddlesome politician.   Rhonda accompanied her father on that trip to meet some of her cousins.

Yoo-hoo opened a drawer and dropped Rhonda’s stuff into it.  “That way.” She waved a hand to an open hatchway to their left while handing Rhonda her purse.

Passing through the hatch brought them to the flight deck.  Display monitors covered the front wall, some showing views of Earth and others showing technical data.  The paint had flaked off much of the walls and ceiling.  Cables ran over and between consoles and equipment racks.  To the right was a long bank of equipment with two chairs.  One was empty, but a humanoid lounged in the other chair.  The creature was tall, angular and had pointy ears.  In the center of the room, a stout human sat in a swivel chair wearing a blue jumpsuit that was a few sizes too small.  He gave Rhonda a friendly grin.  “Ms. Minestra.  How nice of you to agree to help us.  And you brought your assistant.  Even better.”

“I didn’t agree to anything.”  Rhonda frowned as she pointed to Yoo-Hoo.  “She kidnapped us.”

“I’m Captain Korque.” He brushed aside Rhonda’s assertion.  “Lt. Yoo-Hoo is very dedicated and sometimes is a bit difficult.”

“I followed your orders,” Yoo-Hoo said in a sarcastic voice.

“Kidnapping is a Federal offense,” Sid said.  “If you return us immediately, we won’t press charges.  I assure you, the military is already tracking you.”

“Your military doesn’t know we exist,” the alien said.  “Our shields absorb the signals put out by your primitive radar systems.”

“That is Commander Spark, my Science Officer.”

“A very unscientific Science Officer,” Yoo-Hoo said.

Spark made a gesture that Rhonda assumed was obscene on the alien’s home planet.

Korque cleared his throat.  “In case you’re wondering why we chose you – may I call you Rhonda – we found your name and space/time coordinates in the Intergalactic Travelers Guide.  Several references said that you were very helpful to other travelers.  And here you are.”

“I’d like to see that,” Sid said.

Rhonda nodded in agreement.  A number of aliens and time-travelers had shown up in the office because of this guide.

Spark turned to a console and punched some keys.  A monitor changed display and a long string of hyphenated numbers and symbols filled half of the screen.  Underneath, a small organization chart showed Rhonda’s name – as president of the Life-Style Consultant business — and Sid as her assistant.  Beneath the chart, strange words filled the rest of the screen.  The words looked vaguely familiar to Rhonda, like a parody of real writing.

“That chart is wrong,” Sid said.   “I own the business.”

“Not likely,” Spark said.  “Travelers Guide is renown for its accuracy.  It verifies every piece of data.”

“But it’s wrong,” Sid snapped.

“Silence.” Korque scowled at Sid.  “We are not here to debate the accuracy of a chart.  Any more arguments and I’ll have you removed from the bridge.”

Sid made a face but kept silent.
“What’s all the stuff on top and bottom?” Rhonda asked.

“On top are the time/space coordinates of your location,” Spark said.  “The bottom contains particulars about the help you provided to other travelers.”
“As to the reason you’re here, Rhonda,” Korque said, “we need your help.” Korque paused a moment then continued.  “We hope you and your assistant can develop a plan to solve our problem.”

Rhonda raised an eyebrow.

“We need to find a source of fuel on your primitive world.”

Rhonda felt competing sensations of exhilaration and confusion.  Exhilaration because the crew believed that she was the boss, not Sid.  It was an ideal opportunity to practice her management and problem-solving skills.  After all, she had a degree in business from junior college.  The confusion came from the dozen or more questions she had.  Something wasn’t kosher here.   “Wait a minute,” she said.  “Ships never run out of fuel in the movies ‘cause they use atomic power and things like that.  How come you need fuel?”

“We have special needs,” Spark said.

“Like what?” Sid asked.

“Garbage,” Korque said.  “Our propulsion units burn garbage.”

“You can’t extract fuel from an asteroid?” Sid asked.  “Or suck molecules from space?”

“Our propulsion units only consume garbage.” Korque shrugged.

“I don’t get it.” Rhonda’s confusion deepened.  “You guys are from the future, right?”

“A few thousand years,” Korque said.  “We think.”

“Our Science Officer screwed up,” Yoo-Hoo said.  “Again.”

Spark gave her a foul look.

Rhonda half-closed her eyes and stared at Korque.

“I see you don’t believe us.” Korque sighed.  “This type of ship picks up garbage at Space Fleet bases.  Then we cruise to the next base using the garbage as fuel.  At the moment, we’re low on garbage.  So we want you to help us refuel.”

Rhonda tapped her foot.  The explanation didn’t do much to relieve her confusion and now anxiety replaced her exhilaration.  Her father had taught her to listen to the ‘good’ reason people used to explain things and then ferret out the ‘real’ reason, the one people didn’t talk about.  She had the good reason from Korque but she was missing the real reason.  Her instincts told her it was a whopper.  Her instincts also smelled a rich reward if she figured everything out.

“It’s a simple request,” Yoo-Hoo said.  “What part don’t you understand?”

“The part I don’t understand,” Rhonda’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “is why an expensive space ship would do nothin’ but fly around to get rid of garbage.” Perhaps, her question would get them to reveal the real reason.

Korque looked embarrassed as he glanced at his crew.  Spark shrugged and Yoo-Hoo gave a slight nod.

“Some of the garbage is converted to coal.  The rest of it is as burned as fuel.” Korque gave a small smile.  “Coal is carbon-based, you see.”

“No I don’t see.  Give me a break.”  Rhonda smacked her forehead with the palm of her right hand.  “First garbage and now coal?”  Korque bit his lip and Rhonda knew she had them close to spilling the truth.  To get at that truth, she would have to use some tough negotiating techniques.  “I don’t think we can help you.  You need someone else.  Someone who will believe all this garbage you people are shovelin’ at me.”

Sid coughed and gave Rhonda a fish-eyed look.

“I knew she was useless,” Yoo-Hoo said.  “I say throw them into the brig for a while.  I bet they change their tune after that.”

The brig was a pair of rooms at the end of a short corridor secured by a barred entry.  Each room contained a cot, a toilet and an unlocked door.  As soon as Yoo-Hoo left, Sid hissed, “Are you crazy? Go along with these nut cases.  It’s the only way we’ll ever get back home.”

“They’re connin’ us.  Come on, Uncle Sid.  Can’t you see how phony their story is? They travel way back into the past.  Why? They’re obviously part of a military group.  What’s their mission? And why does this ship turn garbage into coal?” Rhonda waved a finger at Sid.  “They’re lyin’ or at least hidin’ somethin’.”

“I don’t think the answers will do us any good.”
“I think the answers will make us rich.” Rich enough for Rhonda to achieve her ambitions.  Her father, an accomplished hit man, was getting too old for field work.  It was only a matter of time before he was arrested or killed while fulfilling a contract.  Since he refused to acknowledge his age problem, Rhonda’s only hope was to get him an alternative job.  For that she needed a big chunk of money: big enough to open a technical institute to train the next generation of hit men.  With her father on the faculty, the school would be a success because every wannabe hit man in the country knew her father’s name; he was a living legend.

She also had timing and opportunity on her side.  Federal agencies, fearful of Congressional investigations, were outsourcing all their dirty work.  Every month, her father got offers from the Feds to whack a disgruntled employee or someone who had leaked secret intelligence.  And then there was the burgeoning new market for contractors who could snatch people and fly them to other countries where the prisoner could be interrogated without worrying about Constitutional or human rights.  The time was ripe for her academy.  This crew would provide her with the wherewithal to get started.

“Why do you think you can get rich from these guys?” Sid paced the small room.
“If I get some answers, I can come up with a plan.  And the plan will involve more than refuelin’ ‘cause these guys are in a lotta other trouble.  They get my plan and we get compensated for our efforts.  And we don’t get paid in coal, either.”

Yoo-Hoo released them a few hours later.  “The Captain says you can eat with us.  I’d have given you bread and water in your cells.”

“That’s why you’re a lowly lieutenant and he’s the captain.” Rhonda smiled at Yoo-Hoo.  “He makes better decisions.”

The crew ate their meals at a folding table in the flight deck.  The food, synthetic according to Spark, had a whiff of turpentine about it.

“You realize that I can keep you in those cells indefinitely, don’t you?” Korque said.  “So I hope you have come to your senses.”

“Sorry.” Rhonda helped herself to a bowl of artificial-looking salad.  “I can’t help you unless I understand the situation, and right now, I’m confused by all the half-truths you’ve dumped on me.”

Sid coughed and grimaced.

Korque and Spark exchanged a brief look.

“All right,” Korque said.  “We haven’t been completely honest with you.  A short time ago, we resigned from the Fleet and became independent contractors.”

“Sounds like mutiny to me,” Sid said.

“Damn right,” Yoo-Hoo snarled.  “Galactic Fleet treats us like trash.  Lousy pay.  No transfers.  No promotions.  We’re not taking it anymore.”

“After we announced our resignation, a battle cruiser chased us and we flew into a wormhole to escape.  That’s how we ended up far into the past and in this seedy part of the galaxy.  We need a plan that will allow us to return to the future and escape punishment, and you two are the only ones close enough to help us.”

“The Captain and I want to rejoin the Fleet,” Spark said.  “If we can avoid court-martial.”

“You see,” Korque continued, “we intended to make a demonstration, nothing more.  But, Yoo-Hoo’s rhetoric got us a bit enflamed and we went too far.”

“This is so typical of the Fleet.” Yoo-Hoo crossed her arms and glared at Korque.  “Instead of accepting responsibility for your actions, you place all the blame on the lowest-ranking member.”

Rhonda’s brain flashed a danger signal.  This was much deeper than she had anticipated.  Refueling wasn’t too difficult.  Absolving them from a mutiny was an entirely different level of complexity.  Her dreams of getting her father out of field work had just crashed and burned.

“So you want to take garbage from Earth so you can continue your travels?” Sid said.  “Is that right?”

“Earth?” Korque looked stunned.

“Did you say Earth?” Spark’s pointy ears wiggled furiously.

“They’re trying to fool us,” Yoo-Hoo said.

Rhonda’s despair evaporated.  There was yet more to the story.  “What’s so surprisin’ about Earth?”

“Earth is a legend,” Korque said.

“It’s a myth,” Yoo-Hoo said.  “An old-wives’ tale.”

“If it does exist,” Spark added, “we don’t know where it is.”

“But the Travelers Guide told you we lived on Earth,” Sid said.  “Didn’t it?”

“Actually,” Spark replied, “all it contains is the time/space coordinates.  It doesn’t give a name which, after all, is a local convention that can change over time.  Besides, different races give different names to the same planets.  To avoid confusion, the Guide ignores place names.”

“How can you not know where Earth is?” Rhonda asked Korque.  “Aren’t you a human?”

“Hold on a second.” Spark left the table and went to his console.  He tapped keys for a few seconds, then said, “Ahh.  Here it is.  The Fleet Central Library was destroyed during the Cola Wars.  Earth’s location was in the Library’s data base.  That was a thousand years before my time, and since then, extensive searches have been made to find Earth.  Without success.” He tapped some more keys.  “The accepted consensus is that Earth is either a myth or, if it ever existed, it was also destroyed in the Cola Wars.”

“The Cola Wars are far into Earth’s present future.” Korque rubbed his chin.  “It’s possible that Earth exists in this time/space, but not in ours.”

Rhonda had trouble sitting still.  She had plan.  A good plan.  She smiled at Korque.

“What?” he said, noticing her smile.

“I can help you.”

“Let’s hear it,” Yoo-Hoo said.

Rhonda ignored Yoo-Hoo and said to Korque, “What’s in it for us? We save you and all we get is a handshake.  I don’t think so.”

“How about we don’t throw you out an airlock?” Yoo-Hoo sneered at Rhonda.

Korque stared at a distant bulkhead.  He cleared his throat and looked at Rhonda.  “Are diamonds valuable on Earth?”

Sid’s mouth dropped open.

Rhonda blinked in surprise.

Yoo-Hoo made a rude noise.

“You see,” Spark said, “coal and diamonds are both made from carbon atoms but they have different crystal structures.  We produce the coal so we can process it into a particular type of diamond.   It has special lattice design for use as quantum chip filters.”

“It’s a military application,” Korque cracked his knuckles, “but we can also make a commercial product.  Tell us your plan.  If we like it, we’ll make you a pile of diamonds.”

“Okay.” Rhonda took a deep breath.  “First the refueling.  Can your monitors get close up on the surface? Like New York City?”

“Sure.” Spark zoomed a monitor on Manhattan.

“Go south, to the largest island in the bay.”

With the monitor showing Staten Island, Rhonda said, “See that big green area inna middle of the island? That’s where you can get fuel.  It’s the biggest garbage dump inna world.  It’s closed now, so all that garbage is covered with soil.  But it isn’t very far beneath the surface.”

“All right.” Korque nodded.  “What about the plan?”
“When you return to your time, don’t mention the mutiny.  You only talk about finding Earth.  You tell everyone that the three of you put together a study on where it must be and you left to find it.”

“That’s the dumbest plan I ever heard.” Yoo-Hoo glared at Rhonda.

“Actually,” Spark said, “it has merit.  But we’d have to come back with incontrovertible proof of Earth’s existence.”

Korque tapped his fingers on the table.  Finally, he said, “We better visit the surface to see what we can find.” Korque looked around the table.  “You,” he pointed to Sid, “will stay here with Yoo-Hoo.”

“As a hostage?” Sid asked.

“Whatever.” Korque shrugged.

The matter translocator sent Rhonda, Korque and Spark to a spot surrounded by trees and shrubs in the southwest corner of Central Park, near Columbus Circle.  Their mission was to find something that could be used as proof of Earth’s existence.

Korque’s jump suit — now a few sizes too large — flapped in the mild breeze.

Rhonda caught the strange look some New Yorkers threw her way.  She checked her hair in a compact mirror and gasped at her six-inch thick Afro hair-do.  It was so old-fashioned! “I’m gonna kill her when I get back on the ship.”

“The captain won’t let me kill Yoo-Hoo,” Spark said.  “Can I watch you do it?”

They left the park and stopped on a corner to wait for the traffic light to change before crossing Central Park West.  Spark placed both hands on a traffic control cabinet.  “Implausible.  This device is self-aware and yearns for more meaningful duties.  This is it, Captain.” Spark grinned at them.  “I’ll write my thesis on this phenomenon.”

“Give it up, Spark,” Korque replied.

“A doctoral thesis?” Rhonda asked.

“High School Equivalency Certificate,” Korque said.  “This will be his seventeenth attempt.  He won his Science Officer rating in a card game.”

Spark took a device from a belt pouch.  He saw Rhonda looking at it.  “It’s a quadri-dimensional receptor.  I’ll use it to record documentation for the thesis.”

“Help!” a woman screamed.  “He’s gotta remote control for a bomb.” She swung a large purse and hit Spark between the shoulder blades.  “He’s gonna blow up the statue of Columbus.”

More people yelled, screamed or waved fists.

Rhonda grabbed Korque’s arm.  “Get us back to the ship.  Quick.” Rhonda wanted no part of a riot.  Not without the brass knuckles that Yoo-Hoo had refused to give back.

Korque pulled out his communicator.

“There’s another one!” A man screamed and pointed to Korque.

Korque keyed the communicator as Rhonda leaned close to hear.

Spark defended himself as best he could against the seething mob.  Many of the people seemed unconcerned about the reason for the uproar and used it to exercise at the expense of the other pedestrians.

Police sirens wailed from somewhere south on Eighth Avenue.

“You have reached Lt. Yoo-Hoo’s message service,” a sexy male voice said.  “She is presently under her hair treatment device and will be unavailable for.  .  .  fifteen minutes and.  .  .  ten seconds.  Please leave a message.”

Rhonda looked around, trying to find an escape route.  A sea of milling, shouting, shoving people surrounded her.  Two police cars pulled up.  The mob parted like the Red Sea for Moses and a squad of NYPD’s finest ran through to tackle the three of them.

Within minutes, they were in the back of a paddy wagon that smelled of mildew and burnt oil.  Rhonda winched at the clank of the door as it slammed shut.  Foreboding filled her mind.  She hadn’t found the proof she needed.  Another thought jarred her already damaged psyche.  Sooner or later, her companions would be exposed as time travelers, and the government would disappear them.  They would be drained of information, but never released, their existence forever a secret.  She glanced at Korque who seemed unconcerned.

Spark, meanwhile, befriended a hitch-hiking cockroach and mind-blended with the creature.    “Astonishing,” he said.  “This cockroach is intelligent and is descended from a long line of warriors who invaded this planet ten thousand years ago.  Their pre-invasion intelligence didn’t warn them how big the inhabitants were.”
“Thanks for sharing that,” Rhonda said, “but I’m more concerned about getting away from the police.”

Spark and Korque ignored her comment.

“What do they call this planet?” Korque asked.

“Their name translates as ‘The place where big feet fall from the sky’.  I’ve changed my mind Captain.  I’ll write my thesis on this bug.”

Rhonda’s body began tingling.  Korque smiled.  Yoo-Hoo must be finished with her hair.

As soon as she re-assembled, Rhonda stepped off the platform and took out her compact mirror to check her hair.  It was back in its rainbow-hued spike mode.  She glared at Yoo-Hoo and snarled, “If you ever mess with my hair again, you’ll regret it.”

Yoo-Hoo raised an eyebrow.  “Whatever are you talking about?” She now wore her hair in a blonde pouf.  “The Translocator needs adjustments.  If you have a complaint, take it up with Spark.  He’s in charge of maintenance.”

“Spark should look at your hair treatment device.  It needs a lot more than maintenance.”

“Ladies, we have a more serious problem than your hair.” Korque led them onto the flight deck.  “Your plan is a failure, so far,” he told Rhonda.

“I can use some help,” Rhonda replied.  “There must be somethin’ about Earth that is common knowledge.  Somethin’ that everyone will agree is ‘Earthy.’ A flower.  A sport.  A custom.  If we have that, we’ll know what to search for instead of wandering around blind.”

“Yukk!” Yoo-Hoo stomped on a cockroach.  “Who brought that back?”

“How dare you kill an innocent creature.” Spark howled in anguish.  “Now I can’t write my thesis.”

Yoo-Hoo made a rude noise.

“It was a simple mistake, Spark,” Korque said.  “I don’t want to hear a tirade about it.”

“I demand that Yoo-Hoo be lynched, and then court-martialed.”

Yoo-Hoo assumed a pugilistic stance and threw air punches in Spark’s direction.

To Rhonda’s astonishment, Korque drew his blaster, flipped a switch and fired.  A blue beam of light leaped from the weapon and attached itself to Spark’s chest.  He fell to the floor and kicked his legs spasmodically.

Rhonda watched in horror.

With the beam still attached to his chest, Spark giggled, guffawed and chuckled while writhing all over the deck.  Tears streamed from his eyes.  After an interval, Korque switched off the beam and Spark rolled into a sitting position.

“What just happened?” Sid asked.

“It’s the only way to shut him up once he gets on a roll.” Korque held up his blaster.  “Tickle setting.”

“My sides hurt,” Spark said, wiping away his tears.  “Let me search the data bases and see if I can find what Rhonda wants.”

Ten minutes later, Spark pounded the surface of his console.  “I found it!”

“What is it?” Korque asked.

“It says here, in a record from a very old data base, that Earth had a legendary meal that tourists raved about.”

Rhonda grinned.  That was what she needed.  No matter what type of cuisine this meal was, it would be found in New York City, the most culturally diverse city in the world.

“Gularch and Goodness.” Spark spun around on his chair.  “It appears to be a sandwich and a drink.”

“That should be easy to verify,” Korque said.

Rhonda groaned out loud.

“It’s a parking garage.” Rhonda indicated the spot on a close-up view of Manhattan.  “Land us on the roof and we won’t be spotted.  I hope.”  The garage was surrounded by the buildings of New York University and close to the Little Italy section where she wanted to search because of the area’s many restaurants.

Korque and Spark accompanied Rhonda.  She had no idea what she was looking for other than food and drink, but if she wasn’t successful, she wouldn’t earn the diamonds and that would mean she couldn’t start a school.  If she didn’t start training some new hit men, the Feds may take to off-shore outsourcing for their dirty work, and that was bad.  In her view, Americans had a right to be whacked by other Americans, not by foreigners here on a work permit.

She walked through Washington Square Park.  It was filled with baby buggies pushed by mothers or fathers out enjoying the mild weather.  The dog run was a frenzy of unleashed canines that wrestled and chased each other while some stood around sniffing to get better acquainted.

Past the poured-concrete chess tables at the entrance to the park, she went east and turned south on Lafayette Street.  As she strolled, her eyes roamed the houses and shops seeking a clue.  A bus roared northward and she read the ads on the side for the same reason.

“Do you have a plan?” Korque’s voice had a hint of annoyance.  “Or are we just exercising?”

“Of course I have a plan, but it’ll take some time to find what we’re lookin’ for.”

“I don’t think she knows what the meal is,” Spark said.

“Is this true?” Korque asked.

“Gularch and Goodness sound familiar.   I think they’re corruptions of the names from this time.  So we have to hunt for somethin’ close to those names.” Rhonda thought her improvisation sounded pretty good.

“That makes sense,” Korque replied.

They left Lafayette to take Mulberry Street into the heart of Little Italy.  Many small shops and restaurants filled the ground floor of the three- and four-story town houses and Rhonda searched the signs and menus.  She sensed that she didn’t have much time before Korque decided the hunt was futile.

As they walked south, the ethnic flavor of the area changed from Italian to Chinese.  Many of the signs were also in Chinese characters, preventing her from reading them.  Street lights came on as dusk settled on the city.

Mulberry Street crossed Canal Street, a heavily-trafficked east-west thoroughfare.  Across Canal — the traditional dividing line between Little Italy and Chinatown — a fast food restaurant stood alongside a mini-market.  Rhonda’s eyes flicked between the two, her mind wrapping around a tenuous idea.

“I think you are about to have a dinin’ experience.” She smiled at Korque.  “Follow me.” She dodged the traffic and crossed the street.  “Wait here.” She pointed to an empty sidewalk table where customers could flavor their food with auto, bus and truck pollution.  She entered the restaurant and returned a few minutes later carrying a paper sack only to go into the mini-market.  When she came out, she carried the paper sack in one hand and a four-pack in the other.

She sat down and showed Korque and Spark the corporate logo on the paper bag.  “‘Gularch’ must be a corruption of a golden arch.”  She held up a black can of stout and pointed to the label.  “Pretty close to ‘Goodness,’ don’t you think?”

Later, they found a partially deserted parking lot and translocated to the ship with five dozen burgers and three cases of stout charged to Rhonda’s credit card.

Back on the Midden, Korque was euphoric as he described events to Yoo-Hoo and Sid.

Rhonda was exhilarated.  She had solved the problem, her first chance to show her determination and resourcefulness.  Her reward would save her father from further field work.  Everything had worked out just as she had hoped they would.  “Can we go home now?” she asked Korque.

“Not yet.  We have some celebrating to do.  We’ll order the cuisine computer to make something special and we’ll open a case of stout.  After all, we really only need a few cans to establish the veracity of our claim.”

“So, when can we leave?” Sid asked.

“In the morning.” He rummaged through a drawer in his command chair and took out a small token.  He handed it to Rhonda.  “Put this where you want the diamonds delivered.  Yoo-Hoo will manufacturer some commercial diamonds after dinner and she’ll send them down to the spot marked by the token.”

Rhonda felt a small itch of irritation.  She didn’t like the idea of being dependent on Yoo-Hoo for anything.  She didn’t trust the woman.

Early in the morning, Rhonda and Sid arrived back in the office.  Sid’s phone display indicated he had a dozen voice messages.  “I wonder what happened while we were gone,” he said as he turned on the TV.  A harried reporter jabbered about a breaking story.  “Officials refuse to discuss the situation, claiming they are still investigating what happened to the three thousand tons of garbage that disappeared from the closed landfill on Staten Island.  Another perplexing question is how that much garbage could vanish overnight.  We have with us in the studio, a rubbish expert –”

“I guess the Midden is on its way.” Sid turned off the TV.

“They better not have left yet.” Rhonda placed Korque’s token on her desk.

A few minutes later, the token disappeared and was replaced by a metallic box.

“Ohhmygawd!” Rhonda screeched.  “Look at the size of it.  We’re rich, Uncle Sid.” She opened the box.  On top were her brass knuckles and her knife.

Sid walked over and removed a sheet of paper.  “Looks like some sort of instructions.”

Rhonda peered into the box and snarled a curse.  “That bitch!” She picked up a lump of coal.

Sid read from the paper.  “Place the coal in a furnace set at a thousand degrees Centigrade at forty kilobars of pressure for seven-and-a-half standard years.  Do not peek.”