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Authors: Robert Paul Weston

BOOK: Zorgamazoo
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The crowd moved aside. It was parted in two,
and the stranger came forward.
He pushed himself through.
He stood on his toes, to better be heard.
“I'm
 
Dullbert,” he said,
“Hohummer, the Third. . .”
Chapter 13
an
insidious
plan
Dullbert,
hello,” the Prime Minster said,
“so what's this idea that you've got in your head?”
 
“Well, now,” said Dullbert, “here's what I thought:
Maybe Tedium Steam can be borrowed or bought.
We could trade with some place
where the people are bored.
Then our energy needs might all be restored!”
 
The Prime Minister nodded. He was stroking his chin.
His lips wrinkled up in a sinister grin.
 
“Dullbert,” he said, with a gleam in his eye,
“I think we might give your proposal a try.
The idea, I can see, has a certain appeal.
We could borrow, or beg, or maybe—
just steal
.”
 
The Prime Minister smiled. “Now, here is
my
scheme:
We will first find a planet with Tedium Steam.
We will send someone there, with equipment and gear,
to steal it!
You see? We have nothing to fear!”
 
So telescopes fitted with lenses of glass,
were built to seek out this intangible gas.
They incessantly gazed at the gray of the skies,
with the glint of their massive, monocular eyes.
 
They scanned every comet and planet and sun,
Every orb in the sky—every single last one!
Every nebula, galaxy, near and afar,
every planet and moon, every wandering star,
every current of ether and heavenly gust,
and every last speckle of meteor dust!
 
For years, all the Graylians peered at the sky,
in search of a surrogate power supply;
and after so long, they were set to collapse.
They were ready to quit, to throw in their caps.
 
They were fully convinced that their planet was doomed.
We're done for,
they thought. (Or so they assumed.)
 
It was Dullbert, at last, who found a surprise:
a greeny-blue planet of limited size.
What he found in this place, it would certainly seem,
was the tiniest whisper of Tedium Steam!
“Kalloo and kallay,” the Prime Minister said,
giving Dullbert a pat on the top of his head.
“Let's have a look closer. How much have they got?
Because Dullbert,” he muttered, “we need quite a lot.”
But the problem was this: There wasn't enough.
There was barely a trace, just a puff of the stuff.
You see, these were the days (and the evenings) of yore,
when the Earth was exciting and less of a bore.
Back then it was brimming with creatures and things,
like dragons and ogres and griffins with wings.
 
Our planet, back then, was a wondrous affair,
and boredom itself was exceedingly rare!
 
The Prime Minister frowned. He threw up his hands.
“Curses!” he cried. “They're foiling our plans!
Just look at it, Dullbert! Of course that's the case.
It's lively, exciting!
Blegh
—what a terrible place!”
 
The Prime Minister paused. “Wait a moment,” he said.
“What if this place were a little more…
dead ?
“If the planet were drabber, I think we would find
that the people, as well, would be rather inclined
to get splendidly sick with the drearies and dulls,
so that Tedium Steam would come out of their skulls!
But how can we keep them all jaded and bored,
so our energy needs can be fully restored?”
“Well, now,” said Dullbert, “between you and me?
It's all of those CREATURES.
They're the problem, you see.
They live in the rivers, the woodlands and peaks,
these astonishing BEASTIES and lovable freaks
!
 
So whenever those ‘humans' go out for a stroll,
they encounter a yeti, a gorgon, a troll,
which makes them all bubbly with wonder and awe,
and enchanted, you see, from whatever they saw.
 
 
This
enchantment
, it lingers,
bit like a dream,
and it blocks their production of Tedium Steam.
So what if those creatures were taken away?
This Earth would be duller, now wouldn't you say?”
 
The Prime Minster blinked. He nodded his head.
“Dullbert, you're brilliant!” he finally said.
“We'll start off with all the most fanciful ones.
This planet, regretfully, has them in tons!
Creatures with features so eerily weird,
it would surely be
best
if they all…disappeared.
 
Once they're all gone, our plan will succeed!
We'll have Tedium Steam—
we'll have all that we need,
once this planet is colorless, boring, bereft…
once there aren't any creatures or animals left!
 
We'll
KIDNAP
them all! We'll pilfer and steal,
'til humans forget that they
even are real!”
 
So together, the Graylian people began
to contrive and devise an insidious plan.
 
Kidnapping robots were hastily made
to pirate and pilfer, to pillage and raid;
and these robots, these monsters, these
Octomabots
,
they were only the start of the sinister plots…
 
The following phase of the devious scheme
was something to gather up Tedium Steam.
They called it a
Hoarder of Boredom Machine
.
It would search any place with a weary routine.
It would seek out the Steam, and no matter where,
it would siphon the boredom right out of the air.
It would vacuum it up, from the Earth to the moon,
inflating its core like a massive balloon.
 
The contraptions were packaged and carefully stored.
They were taken to rockets and loaded aboard.
 
Then came the time for selecting the one
who would finish the job that now had begun:
a Graylian hero to lead the attack,
who would travel to Earth…and might never come back.
 
So the Graylian people were put to a vote.
Each of them wrote on a balloting note;
and the one they selected, the one they preferred,
was none other than Dullbert Hohummer, the Third.
 
Upon hearing the news of the Graylian's choice,
Dullbert wasn't upset, though he didn't rejoice.
He merely stood calmly, somber, and still.
“I'll do it,” he said. “Yes, I imagine I will.”
 
He climbed into one of those Octomabots,
and although he was nauseous, his stomach in knots,
he said not a word, just uttered a sigh,
as he watched all the Graylians, waving goodbye.
 
Then the countdown began. It went backward from ten.
The rockets ignited, they rumbled, and then:
blew cindering billows all over the place,
as Dullbert Hohummer was launched into
Chapter 14
the
hero
himself
When
Dullbert arrived
at the end of his tale, he seemed hollow and breathless, pallid and pale. His eyes, they were fixed on the dark of the night. “I'm sorry,” he said. Then he switched off the light.
“Come back!” called Katrina. She clutched at her bars.
She rattled her cage, by the light of the stars.
But there was no answer, just silence and gloom,
as phantomlike shadows rose up in the room.
 
 
“We're done for,”
said Winnie, who started to cry.
“We'll languish in here 'til the day that we die!”
 
Morty, meanwhile, uttered nothing at all.
He was hunched in the corner, curled up in a ball.
 
He was trying his utmost to whistle a tune,
to cheer himself up, with his usual croon.
But all of his music was caught in his throat,
so that nothing came out, not one single note.
 
“I say!” said a voice. “Yes, haven't we met?
I'm certain we have. I would never forget!”
It came from a creature, half-eagle, half-cat,
in a cage near the one in which Mortimer sat.
This was a griffin—part-lion, part-bird.
He grinned in his cage. He chirped. Then he purred.
He was staring at Morty with wonder and awe.
And for whatever reason, he liked what he saw.
 
“You've come!” he exclaimed. “I knew it was you!
And take it from me—you're
way
overdue.
But one thing's for sure, you look pretty good,
younger, I'd say, than I figured you would.
A bit chubby, perhaps, but perfectly fit.
You hardly have changed, not even a bit!”
 
It took Morty a moment to figure it out:
that
he
was the one being spoken about.
“I'm sorry,” he said. He was rather bemused.
“I don't think we've met. You must be confused.”
 
“No-no,” said the griffin, “you misunderstand!
I know that old face like the back of my hand!”
He called to the others. He summoned the troops.
They gawked from their cages in curious groups.
“Over here!” called the griffin. “Look who it is!
It's that valiant explorer! That wandering whiz!
They told us this guy was incurably sick,
but that was just drivel, just some sort of trick!
 
“Because here he is now, no longer at large!
He'll help us escape! He'll be leading the charge!
I know you all know him, from ogre to elf:
It's Bortlebee Yorgle,
the hero himself!”
 
The words of the griffin were taken as cause
for whooping and cheering and joyous applause!
 
Morty, however, was sort of ashamed.
It wasn't his fault; he couldn't be blamed.
“Folks. . .” he said quietly, shifting his weight.
“I'm sorry to have to set all of you straight.
 
I wish I could help. I mean, we're in a jam!
But I'm not the zorgle you think that I am.
So my news isn't good, but rather it's bad.
You've got me mixed up, I think, with my dad.”
The griffin stepped backward, clicking his tongue.
“I suppose that your right. You're just a bit young.
 
But wait!” he went on, that magical beast.
“You're a
Yorgle
, remember? That's something, at least.
That's a name we admire, a name we revere.
It means something special to everyone here!”
 
The others agreed. They knew Bortlebee well.
And all of them there had a story to tell…
 
 
The
mermaids
, for instance,
recounted a time,
when Bortlebee Yorgle was still in his prime,
exploring the sea that lay under the waves,
the channels and currents, the coral and caves;
in a green submarine, through bubble and brine,
to depths where the water was darker than wine.
 
 
 
It was there he discovered a mystical town,
glowing like jewels in the crest of a crown:
a silver metropolis, gleaming and sleek.
But the town called “Atlantis” was springing a leak!
 
So he made the repairs, with the help of his sub,
like plugging the drain when you hop in the tub.
And for saving their home in the briny abyss,
the mermaids gave Bortlebee Yorgle…
a kiss!
 
A pixie named Qwixi was next to recall
how her people had learned to play Zorgally Ball.
 
She spoke of her youth, on the Malabar coast,
where the sand was as pale as the soul of a ghost;
where life was idyllic, untroubled and free,
on the fanciful banks of the Indian sea.

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