The Garbage Chronicles Read Free

trim and would be much worse after the mission.
    “Wonder how much extra weight’s in my hair,” he mused.
    Javik straightened and thrust both hands in his robe pockets. Staring at the floor all the while, he shuffled his way to the videodome in the living-room module.
    The dome was orbit orange plastic, with a sliding black door mat opened at his mento-command. He slid into one of two soft bucket seats inside, mento-flipping on the set.
    The screen lit up all around, giving Javik the illusion that he was seated in a racing car barreling down a straightaway.
    Too hectic, he thought, changing the channel.
    Javik finally settled on The Yippee Hour, a rockem-sockem game show. Javik became a member of the studio audience now, seated between two immense fat ladies.
    Contestants came and went with astonishing speed, all departing with their arms full of bright, shiny consumer products. One man with a stick-on blond mustache became so ecstatic at his winnings that he knocked his mustache off his lip. Undaunted, he left it on the floor.
    A volley of commercials accompanied each new contestant. Javik dozed off and blinked awake several times. Once, with heavy-lidded eyes, he watched seven chubby men in pineapple suits do a modern dance step while singing the virtues of Piney Pops fruit tarts.
    “Cute little fellows,” Javik muttered. “Cute little fellows.” he dozed off again.

    On the skatewalk outside, the little comet righted himself and used the yellow cat’s eye on top of his body to look around. “Gracious!” he said, in a squeaky voice. “Now let me get my bearings.” He felt an unidentifiable emotional rush which made him shake.
    It was shadowy on the skatewalk, illuminated faintly by a street lamp. A midnight moto-shoer whisked by, oblivious to the little coal-shaped visitor who lay below.
    The comet flickered, then whirled around in several complete circles. When the moto-shoer had disappeared into the dark distance, the comet brightened, flickering bright red for a moment to call upon his imprinted data banks.
    “There!” he exclaimed, pulsating light as he focused his cat’s eye on the synthetic marble face of Javik’s building. He scooted partway up the building’s entrance ramp, traveling only a hair’s breadth above the surface. An undersized, barely discernible red tail flashed like sputtering rocket exhaust from his rear end.
    Being young and undeveloped, the little comet had to stop only halfway up the ramp, panting heavily. “Uh oh!” he squealed, out of breath. He tumbled down the ramp, arriving in roughly the same spot from which he had begun.
    After several deep breaths, the neophyte comet was ready to try again. “Up we go!” he said, taking a deep breath. “Up. we go!” He scooted up the ramp, and this time nearly reached the top. But once again he tumbled back to the skatewalk, where he lay for several minutes, wheezing and coughing.
    “Oh dear! Oh my! What a terrible thing!” The little comet was quite upset. “Papa Sidney flies across the heavens, but I’m stymied at the tiniest slope.”
    A brilliant blue light flashed overhead. The little comet focused his gaze upward and saw his papa streak by, alternating his mighty nucleus between blue and white. The Great Comet made a graceful turn, then zipped away, disappearing beyond the building tops. The buildings were silhouetted for a moment in the waning light of the comet. Then it became dark again.
    He really is leaving me here, the little comet thought. All alone.
    On the next try, he struggled to the top of the ramp. Then he scooted along a slick marbleite surface to double sliding doors. Through the glassplex of the doors a faintly illuminated lobby could be seen. The lobby had a red plastic and chrome couch, with a matching side chair and table. Pictures of flesh-carriers and government buildings were arranged on two walls.
    The entrance doors were electric-eye-activated, and this presented no small problem for the comet. He