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hemorrhoids and such. I pressed #2, because I really did have to go, even
with the accident before. The computer accepted this and asked,
Additional Requirements? What the hell; I told it Yes and got another list
that included Dry-Clean Clothes, which I punched. Then, Wash Body,
Lower Portion. I could've also had Ear Wax Flushed, Toe Jam Extracted,
Armpits Shaved, but I passed.
Now the whole program was entered, and this is where it got good! A
square of green light appeared on the floor, telling me to Place Clothes
Here. I peeled off the bike pants and my soaked jockey shorts, and put
them down. The floor immediately& absorbed them, or something;
happened so fast, I couldn't tell.
Next, two human-shaped footprints appeared. My marks, obviously. As
soon as I was in position, a silver hose snaked up from the floor. The
bulbous end, which sort of looked like Pacman, engulfed my genitals.
Scared the hell out of me; thought my next stop was the Vienna Boys
Choir. But it was fine, so I did my business, and once done the thing let go
gently and retracted to wherever.
Finally, three "arms" that looked more human than robotic gave me
one hell of a stimulating sponge bath with something that smelled like
perfumed alcohol. By the time they were done, my clothes all fresh and
dry were back on the floor. As I pulled them on the screen asked, Any
Further Requirements? This was fun! But I told it No, and it flashed the
standard Galaxyland salutation, Have a Nice Day.
Jesus, of all the sayings to survive the centuries, why did it have to be
that one? George Carlin was probably rolling over in his grave.
I was in such a good mood now that I would've tipped the dung beetle,
if I'd had any idea what the devil to give him. Outside, the Earth kids and
the Deltanian butterballs were admiring my Nishiki.
"Come on, gang," I told them, "let's see Galaxyland!"
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Galaxyland
Since I was about to have the most fun and excitement in the universe,
I really didn't feel like hauling the bike around. Nor did I figure on needing
anything else, until Robert Kirby told me I should bring along some
money.
"Uh, I'm not sure what I have will be any good," I said.
"Don't worry, whatever it is, they'll exchange it."
Okay, he knew best. I slipped my wallet into the elastic rear pocket of
my jersey. About fifty bucks, that's what was in there. Didn't seem like
much, not here. I mean, if this was three or four centuries in the future,
and Disneyland was still down on Earth, an all-day Passport would
probably cost seven thousand dollars.
The lockers I mentioned before were freebies. I put the saddlebag and
helmet in one of them, but left my Padres cap on. (I don't care how far in
the future this is. Down on Earth baseball is still being played, and Harry
Caray is still singing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game," and Jerry Coleman
is still screaming "Oh, Doctor!") You locked it by pushing the door with
the palm of your hand in a designated area. Now, your handprint was the
only thing that could open it again.
"What about the bike?" I asked.
Krill pointed at a blank wall. "You can leave it there, but unlike the
locker it is not free. Do you have one unit?"
Nope, didn't have a single unit, I told him. Okay, I could pay him back
later. He dug into his pocket (or something) and extracted a small, thin
coin. After I propped the bike against the wall, he slipped the coin into a
nearly invisible slot. A "hand" popped out, gave me a counter-coin (Jillian
advised me to keep it separate, since it was the only way I could get the
Nishiki back), then took hold of the frame with an iron grip.
Weird-looking, but secure. For good measure I borrowed another unit,
and soon a second hand held tightly to the removable front wheel. Sorry,
but I didn't want to lose any of it.
Just the other side of Comfort Plaza #4 was Currency Exchange
#7. Nothing that remotely resembled an ATM here, only a little guy in a
circular metallic booth. Did I say guy? He looked like a spinach leaf with
two eyes and a smiling mouth, arms as thin as a garden hose and hands
the size of a first baseman's mitt. Somehow these hands were running
dexterously over a keyboard at the base of a big hexagonal screen.
"Can I help you?" he asked in a voice that was partly a whistle.
"Yes, I wondered if I could exchange this for some, uh, units?"
Not really knowing what to do, I'd removed a ten-dollar bill from my
wallet. Probably worthless. But would you believe, the spinach leaf's tiny
black eyes tripled in size when he saw the picture of Alexander Hamilton.
He took it from me with one of his big mitts and held it up to his face.
"Look at the date!" he exclaimed. "Why, this currency is !"
"He doesn't want to know," Vadera interrupted.
The spinach leaf nodded. "Oh, yes, of course." I was beginning to
suspect that encountering time travelers was nothing new to these people.
"So what is it worth?" I asked.
The leaf punched something into the computer and studied the screen.
"A collector from Darius IX has entered the current high bid of twenty
thousand units for one of these," he said. "Allowing ten percent for our
handling fees and profit margin, I can give you eighteen thousand units."
"Ooo, eighteen thousand!" Jillian exclaimed.
"Is that a lot?" I asked.
"Enough for you to see Galaxyland ten times, maybe more," Krill said.
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