The Red Tape War Part 15

"Spell cat." "C-A-T."

Daddy's eyebrows did a little dance in the vicinity of his hairline. "Okay-so you're Pierce.

Now where the h.e.l.l is my Emmyjane?"

"Closer than you think," said Marshmallow.

"You mean they weren't kidding?" said Daddy. He turned to the Frank Poole android. "And you're really the general?"

"You're getting nothing from me but my name, rank and serial number," said the general.

"Shut up and let me think!" said Daddy. He turned to Pierce's body. "Okay. Now, who's this here little wimp?"

"Your ever-loyal XB-223 navigational computer at your service," said the computer. "Though now that I have a body, I think I need a fitting name to accompany it."

"You do, do you?"

The computer nodded. "I know it's not much of a body, and it's undernourished as h.e.l.l and its gums are in terrible condition, but it's the only body I happen to have at the moment, and I would appreciate everyone calling it Sylvester Schwarzenegger from now on."

The Pete Rozelle suddenly shuddered.

"All right, what the h.e.l.l was that?" demanded the lizard Pierce.

"Beats the h.e.l.l out of me," admitted the human Pierce.

"A ship named the Mahatma Gandhi has just landed a shuttle near us, and its commander is now coming aboard," announced Pierce-Arro.

"We're getting away from the point," interjected Captain Roosevelt, "said point being: what the h.e.l.l is going on here?"

"Now that we're all through with these trivial revelations," said Pierce-Arro, "I am prepared to make every-thing crystal-clear."

"What the h.e.l.l's so trivial about turning my daughter into a lizard?" demanded Daddy. "She's probably going to want a whole new wardrobe now."

"I have examined XB-223's equations, and I can a.s.sure you that this is a temporary situation, easily alleviated. However, we have a more important problem to cope with."

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

"There is a possibility that you, Revered One, are the Supreme Being," said Pierce-Arro. "Of course, there is also an equal likelihood that you are simply the holographic representation of a rather unlikeable flesh-andblood man, in which case we'll probably continue with our plans of conquest and do grotesque things to you for having the audacity to impersonate our G.o.d. The problem, of course, is that we don't know which you are. But if you are merely a human being, then there must be some regulation that will make you go away, and then we can get on with the conquest of the universe . . . whereas if you are G.o.d, we'll sacrifice a couple of goats to you, invite you in for a drink, and say a brief prayer before you bring the universe to a cataclysmic end." Pierce-Arro paused long enough for this statement to sink in. "We feel this is the only rational course of action. We must proceed as if you are a human, always keeping in mind the fact that you might well be G.o.d, and search for the red tape that counts. If we don't, everything will become chaotic."

"In case it's escaped your notice, everything is already chaotic," said Captain Roosevelt.

"We must do this, or the stars will die," intoned Pierce-Arro, rather pleased with the way his voice sounded on the speaker system. "The immutable laws will fail."

"I suppose it will rain toads, too," scoffed Daddy.

"If you say so," replied Pierce-Arro devoutly.

"Forget all that other c.r.a.p," interjected Pierce. "Go back to the part about how all this stuff with the bodies is just a temporary situation."

"Yes, please do," said Roosevelt. "In his current condition, the general probably couldn't stand up to more than a week of torture."

"If you insist," said Pierce-Arro. "But after I help you restore yourselves to your original forms, do I have your solemn oaths that you will help me look for the red tape?"

"We'll scour the ship," said Pierce emphatically. "If you dropped this tape anywhere around here, we'll find it, never fear. Just get us back the way we were and we'll go to work immediately."

"Would white tape do?" asked Roosevelt. "We've got tons of adhesive tape back in our infirmary."

"Fool!" said Pierce-Arro. "The red tape I am speaking about is a regulation."

"We ain't got enough regulations?" demanded Marsh-mallow. "Now you want us to find more?"

"Sometimes I get the distinct impression that your races are too stupid to conquer," said Pierce-Arro with a heartfelt sigh. "I suspect we'd better all return to our original bodies first; then maybe you'll be able to concentrate more fully on what I'm saying."

The commander of the Mahatma Gandhi arrived at just that instant, and was promptly ignored by all parties.

"Suits me," said Pierce. "How do we start?"

"You simply link hands and concentrate on the body that was formerly yours. My prodigious mental powers, linked to the ship's computer, will do the rest."

"You're sure?" asked Pierce dubiously.

"Not really," admitted Pierce-Arro. "But it sounds awfully impressive, and besides, I haven't heard any better suggestions. Shall we begin?"

"No!" said the XB-223.

"What do you mean, no?" demanded Pierce.

"It's nothing personal, Millard," replied the computer. "I mean, there's n.o.body I'd rather do a good turn to, except maybe f.a.n.n.y Hill, and that would be an entirely different kind of turn, if you understand my clever but subtle play on words . . . but the truth of the matter is that I rather like being a person, if you know what I mean."

"But it's my body!"

"It was your body. And I might add," the computercontinued petulantly, "that you've taken absolutely abysmal care of it. It's nearsighted and underweight and its teeth are filled with cavities and it has fallen arches and it sweats too much. It will take a lot of work putting this body back into shape, Millard. You really should be ashamed of yourself. When's the last time you took it for a long walk? Or let it make pa.s.sionate love to a real woman? The muscle tone is just abysmal."

"If it's all that terrible, why not just give it back to me?" snapped Pierce.

"Well, it may not be much of a body," admitted the computer, "but on the other hand, it's the only one I've got."

"Take this one," said Pierce, indicating the body he was wearing and trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice. "It's much sounder and healthier, and I a.s.sure you that it's far more capable of defending itself."

"Now just a goldurned minute!" thundered Marsh-mallow, striking the floor a mighty blow with her orange tail. "Ain't n.o.body else getting that body but me!"

"Well, you see how it is, Millard," said the computer apologetically. "I'd help you if I could, but it gets so stuffy in the ship, if you know what I mean." Pierce muttered an obscenity.

"Don't be like that, Millard," said XB-223 placatingly. "I want us to be friends, and I promise you that I will provide nothing but the best for your body: fine Italian pasta, carefully aged champagne, at least one shower a day, and regular dental checkups. And women, Millard-think of the women this body is going to enjoy!"

"It's enough to make me wish I was there," said Pierce bitterly.

"I'll call you once a week and fill you in on all the details," promised XB-223. "Look at it this way, Millard: you're not losing a body, you're gaining a friend."

"I'd rather lose the friend and have the body back, if it's all the same to you."

"Try to be a good loser," said the computer soothingly. "After all, there's nothing you can do about it, so you might as well look on the bright side."

Pierce turned to the newcomer from the Mahatma Gandhi, who had been a silent and somewhat befuddled spectator.

"You're supposed to be here to rescue me!" he snapped. "What are you going to do about all this?"

"I really don't know what I can do, ma'am," replied the officer.

"That's sir," said Pierce. "Who are you and what's your rank?"

"Captain Nathan Bolivia at your service, sii," said the officer. "Although," he added after a moment's consideration, "that's not exactly accurate."

"You're not a captain or you're not Nathan Bolivia?" asked Pierce, confused.

"Oh, I'm both, sir," answered Bolivia. "What I'm not is at your service."

"I don't understand," said Pierce. "No matter how I may appear to you, I a.s.sure you that I really am Arbiter Millard Fillmore Pierce."

"I believe you, ma'am . . . or rather, sir," said Bolivia.

"Then what's the problem?"

"It's really all quite simple, sir," explained Bolivia. "You see, you put in an Urgent a.s.sistance Call to the Mahatma Gandhi."

"Right," said Pierce. "And here you are."

"Well, yes and no, sir," said Bolivia uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm here, but the Mahatma Gandhi isn't."

"I thought it was hanging in orbit above this Uncharted planet," said Pierce.

"No, sir," said Bolivia. "That's the Indira Gandhi."

"Where's the Mahatma Gandhi?" asked Pierce. "Well, now, that's the tricky part," answered Bolivia.

"You see, there isn't any Mahatma Gandhi."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Pierce. "I was in radio contact with it less than a week ago!"

"True," admitted Bolivia. "In fact, I am the officer to whom you spoke. I expedited matters and received per-mission to come to your rescue, which accounts for my presence here."

"Then what's the problem?"

"The problem, sir, is that between the time that I left hypers.p.a.ce and the time that I docked with the Pete Rozelle, orders came through changing my ship's name to the Indira Gandhi. Some feminist group or other had been lobbying for it, and headquarters finally yielded to pressure about sixteen weeks ago. The orders were rushed through, signed and countersigned, and finally approved." He sighed. "So there you have it, sir."

"Have what?" asked Pierce, thoroughly befuddled.

"My orders specify that you are to be rescued by the crew of the Mahatma Gandhi," said Bolivia slowly, as if explaining it to a rather backward child. "They say nothing whatsoever about the crew of the Indira Gandhi. I'm probably breaking some regulation or other just by being here talking to you."

"But you're the same crew and the same ship!" screamed Pierce. "Why can't you rescue me?"

"I should have thought being in an a.n.a.lagous situation would make it plain to you, sir. I am definitely Captain Nathan Bolivia, and I have been dispatched aboard the ship Mahatma Gandhi to rescue you, but my ship is obviously no longer the Mahatma Gandhi. You are unquestionably Cla.s.s 2 Arbiter Millard Fillmore Pierce, and you have requested that I rescue you, but your body is no longer the body of Millard Fillmore Pierce. Don't you find a certain poetic irony in our similar plights?"

"I don't see anything similar about them!" bellowed Pierce. "I needed help when I contacted you, and I still need help. You were willing to help me a few hours ago, and now you're not!"

Bolivia's face beamed with delight. "Ah, what a subtle nuance you've pinpointed, sir!" he said enthusiastically. "I wonder if Kant's Categorical Imperative can be applied to the situation?"

"How about just applying a little force and making the d.a.m.ned computer give me back my body?" said Pierce wearily.

"Oh, I couldn't do that, sir," said Bolivia. "After all, I don't officially exist until I receive my new orders. Actually-and I'm sure you'll appreciate this, sir-you might view me as Bishop Berkeley's Unseen Observer. Of course, you'd have to close your eyes for that, or perhaps . .

"Skip it," said Pierce, utterly defeated. He turned to the computer's main panel. "If I don't get my body back, I'm not helping you look for your G.o.dd.a.m.ned roll of tape."

"A most unusual race," mused Pierce-Arro, who had been an interested if silent observer of Pierce's conversation with Bolivia. "I'll be absolutely devastated if one of them actually turns out to be G.o.d." It paused. "Computer!"

"Call me Sylvester," said XB-223. "Or Sly, if you prefer."

"Computer," repeated Pierce-Arro. "This situation is getting out of hand. There are far more important things at stake here than your desire for a human body."

"Name three," said XB-223 sullenly.

"I warn you," continued Pierce-Arro. "Do not make light of the situation."

"I'm not making light of the situation," replied XB-223. "I'm just not going to help you change it."

"Let me make this easy for you," interrupted Daddy. "Computer, how'd you like to go through life with two broken legs?"

"My name is Sly, and I wouldn't."

"Well, Sly, although this is my hologram speaking to you, the real me isn't all that far away from here, and if you don't agree to join hands and get everyone's bodies back where they belong, I'm going send some of my men over to blast holes in both your kneecaps."

"Hey, wait a minute!" said Pierce. "Those are my kneecaps you're talking about. I want my body back in the same condition I left it!"

"Is my daughter's in the same condition she left it?" demanded Daddy.

"That's a totally different subject," replied Pierce. "We were talking about my body."

"It ain't gonna be your body unless someone can talk a little sense to this here computer," said Daddy. His image turned back to XB-223. "Okay, Sly, it's up to you: do you want to be a healthy computer or would you rather go through life as a crippled little wimp with bad gums and no kneecaps?"

XB-223 sighed in resignation. "It's not fair," he whined.

"Are we finally all ready to join hands?" asked Pierce. "Yes," said XB-223 bitterly, and Pierce and Marsh-mallow stepped forward.

"Wait a minute!" said Pierce. "Where did the general go?"

"He was here just a minute ago," said Marshmallow.