PROLOGUE
Dastardly Mr. Snickers
Life was quite civilized in the year 3002 E.C. (Earth Calendar). War had been outlawed in the Milky Way Galaxy for two hundred years. Violent crime was nearly non-existent; so were homelessness, excessive poverty, and religious intolerance. No species had gone extinct in one hundred and forty-four years. Disease was all but eradicated. And only historians knew the meaning of the word smog.
Best of all, in 2897 humankind rediscovered the secret to creating a no-calorie chocolate that satisfied all but the most persnickety of tastes.
Life was sweet.
For five years in a row, Earth had been voted the second best planet in the galaxy to raise a family, and all the nations of Earth were excessively proud of that title. They were determined to dethrone Glagcha, the current Milky Way Galaxy champion, through a planet-wide campaign labeled “Gotcha Glagcha.” Someday, who knew, they might even be able to place strongly in the inter-galactic survey. If only the Xlexuri Galaxy, which held spots one through sixty-two, would get sucked into a black hole.
But there were still lower members of the human species who remained greedy for more. It wasn’t enough to be healthy and to have the promise of a long, productive life. It wasn’t enough to live in a world of peace, a sphere of beauty. Even no-cal chocolate couldn’t make these individuals happy.
Some people didn’t want to just live in such a paradise; they wanted to own it. For some, power was still prized above all. And virtual currency was power. The more you had, the more you owned.
At times, officers in the Cyborg Police Squad were forced to step in and reprimand the worst of these offenders. For greed could not be tolerated on this world. Not if Earth was going to be voted best planet in the Galaxy any time in this millennium.
On the morning of April 12, 3002, Cyborg Officer Lilituck paid a visit to just such a culprit.
“Sir, it is my grave duty to inform you that your time travel days are over.” The officer folded her arms and narrowed her eyes in displeasure. Half human, half processor, she was perpetually tapped into the Galactic Knowledge Bank and knew down to the virtual penny how much profit this perpetrator had gained through his illegal activities. He had zero chance of escaping her. All of her reflexes had been enhanced and her muscle magnified by a power of ten. No one messed with a cyborg officer of law.
“Is this some kind of Slarmi joke?” asked the troublemaker. The Slarmians were known throughout the universe for their practical jokes. “What about my research?”
Officer Lilituck laughed humorlessly. “Research, pah! You’re nothing but a petty cheat, tampering with the past with no thought to the consequences. How dare you take so lightly the heavy responsibility of time travel? How dare you abuse your privilege? Don’t you realize that your actions could cause the Galactic Council to rethink time travel exploration? Because of you, whole fields of study could be abolished. Worse, this world could lose its status as second best planet in the galaxy. You irresponsible fool.”
She stepped closer, raised her silver hand, pulled back his shirt, and pressed her palm against his bare shoulder. He gasped. Standing back, she watched a colorless, glutinous substance seep into his pores until it disappeared altogether.
“You are now tagged. We will know where and when you go. You cannot escape us,” she flasered him with her sternest look, “so don’t even try. Your plastic scavenging days are over. If I hear so much as a hint of even one unexplained mint condition Barbie showing up on the collectors’ grid, I’ll be on you like slime on a bogdog from Sleztar.”
Backing up even further, she let her gaze drift to the far wall as she spoke to her distant partner, “Officer Gelarg, please remove me and the confiscated time travel vehicle from this vlem’s presence.”
Over four hundred years ago, the Vlemutz humanoid species had unsuccessfully attempted to wipe out all of mankind on Earth. The seventy-five year war had been followed by a two-hundred year long Age of Darkness and Despair, and only in the last two hundred years had Earth managed to flourish again. There were no worse insults in the English language than “vlem” or “vlemutz.”
Without another glance at the man, she and an ancient gray beat-up 1988 Honda Civic that had been converted to a state-of-the-art time travel machine were transported to Cyborg Police headquarters. She only wished she had been granted the authority to take the criminal in, but this was his first proven offense, and the people of Earth prided themselves on being both tolerant and compassionate.
She, however, would be watching him.
Left behind to contemplate his crime, the man in question craned his neck to look at the spot where the cyborg had inserted her tag, then stared thoughtfully at the priceless tapestry hanging on his office wall. He drummed his fingers on the one-of-a-kind, carved wood throne-room chair. Over fifteen hundred years old, the item was still in mint condition. Since wood was protected on planet Earth in the year 3002, wood furniture could no longer be replicated. One was forced to go to the source. And that source was the past.
He’d been lucky up until now, but that luck had dried up.
Now he would have to rely on wit alone. He grinned, revealing a perfect set of pearly white teeth, none of which were those he’d grown as a boy. He’d had them regenerated ten years ago.
The power, prestige, and virtual currency he would derive from his next foray into crime would be that much sweeter now that the stakes had been heightened. He selected and bit into a no-cal chocolate to celebrate, but it wasn’t quite as satisfying as a candy bar, or even better, a dark chocolate truffle from the twenty-first century. For him, it wasn’t because caloric chocolate tasted better—it was just so much more satisfying to eat something forbidden. He should have smuggled more of the real thing in on his last trip to the past.
“System, please locate Mr. Kisses for me. Tell him Mr. Snickers is anxious for a little chat.” He wasn’t worried about the police overhearing his conversation. His crime hadn’t been grave enough for them to be given the authority to violate his privacy to that extent. Cyborg police had an enhanced sense of honor, which could be used to their disadvantage.
On his desk under a soft spotlight, a miniature man suddenly appeared sitting in a tiny nanofiber chair. Mr. Snickers derived much pleasure from configuring Mr. Kisses as small as possible. It gave him such a lovely sense of power. On the slim chance that a cyborg officer of law would one day confiscate Mr. Snickers’ log, the man wore a ceremonial Pallaccii mask to protect his identity. The Pallaccii lived three galaxies away and were known for their extravagant parties. This man was no Pallaccii.
“You rang, Mr. Snickers?”
Mr. Snickers knew that as an extra safety precaution, the voice was disguised as well, as was his.
“I did indeed. Mr. Kisses, it appears that my traveling days are temporarily on hold.”
The man settled more comfortably into his chair, resting the ankle of one leg across the bent knee of the other. “You must be devastated.”
“That I am.” The man, who called himself Mr. Snickers, cracked the knuckles of his left hand, then his right. “I have a list of no fewer than sixty clients anxious to transfer vast sums of virtual currency to me for a rare and whimsical plastic from the twenty-first century. I would be delighted to share my wealth with the right partner. You come highly recommended by our mutual friend, who is unfortunately unable at this time to lend me aid on this particular project.”
“I’ve shown myself to be made of the right stuff in the past.” The man who was known as Mr. Kisses picked up a water vial sitting on the miniature table next to him and sipped. “Of course, since I will be taking all the risks, I’ll expect a generous portion of the profits.”
“I’m a reasonable man,” Mr. Snickers replied, dipping his head. “You may have twenty percent.”
“Fifty-fifty is more what I had in mind.”
Mr. Snickers laughed heartily, then his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “Thirty percent for you, and you’ll be grateful for it.”
“You strike a hard bargain,” Mr. Kisses said amiably, apparently unfazed by the underlying threat in Mr. Snickers’ words, “but I accept your terms. So which Barbie do they want now?”
Mr. Snickers shook his head. “Barbies are rather hot at present. I have something else in mind—something equally rare, equally plastic, and equally desirable. I think your situation will lend itself beautifully to our endeavor.”
Mr. Kisses leaned back with his hands clasped behind his head. “I’m all ears.”
As Mr. Snickers filled him in, Mr. Kisses began to laugh softly. “Nothing could be simpler.”
“I need the items no later than two weeks from now.”
“No problem, Mr. Snickers, no problem at all.”
“There better be no problem. Understand me well. I make a very good friend, Mr. Kisses. But you don’t want me as an enemy.”