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Marshmallow in the lizard body, but her booming, shrill cry had all the force
of the general's lungs behind it.
The human Pierce in Marshmallow's body gave a ladylike groan and sat up,
holding his aching head. "What is it?"
"Are we alive?" asked the XB-223 in Pierce's body. "I've only been a real boy
for a few minutes, and I haven't even had sex yet! I don't want to die!"
"That gas!" growled General Millard Fillmore Pierce, through the mechanical
speech parts of the mostly deactivated Frank Poole.
"We've all got to learn to cooperate, ya heah?" said the Marshmallow-lizard.
"We got to put aside our differences now."
"She . . . she's right," said the computer-Pierce. "If not, these organic
bodies will be dead soon."
Pierce-Marshmallow rubbed his throbbing temples. "Only if that gas is
poisonous," he said wearily.
"Why don't you go over there and take a big oldfaceful?" demanded the
lizard-gasbag impatiently. "How can you even sit around discussing the
matter?"
"And then we'll demonstrate how our various species can learn to live together
in peace and harmony," said the computer-Pierce.
"And we can stop this intergalactic multidimensional war before we're all
blown to smithereens," said Pierce-Marshmallow thoughtfully. "And then we'll
get rescued. And then we'll all be rewarded by our various governments. And
then "
"Fix the windshield, Pierce!" demanded the general. "Fix the goddamn broken
windshield!"
"Duct tape," said Pierce weakly. "In the toolbox downstairs in the basement. I
can't do it. I
can barely move."
"I can't move a finger," complained the XB-223. "Neither can I," said
Marshmallow.
"Don't look at me," said the general. "I seem to be inhabiting the bodies of
two weird alien creatures simultaneously. They're teeny tiny collections of
flatulent sacs. I'm in some impossibly small spacecraft inside the head of
your android. I don't have the faintest idea how to operate the controls."
"And Frank Poole is a goner anyway," said Pierce thoughtfully. "Well, there's
another
Modular Identity Synthecator downstairs. You could inhabit it, I suppose.
Goodtime Sal I don't get her out very often. She tends to wear me out."
"I don't want to hear about your of silicon slut," said Marshmallow huffily.
Pierce looked toward her. She was lovely, even in the body of the lizard
general. "Sal never meant anything to me, Marshmallow sweetheart. Honest, she
didn't."
"Cough, cough," said the general. "The gas!"
Pierce stretched out on the deck plates and began crawling forward. It was the
most difficult physical thing he'd ever had to do in his life, but his
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continued existence and the lives of his friends and enemies depended on his
getting to the duct tape in time. He pulled himself painfully across the deck,
inch by inch, every muscle in his body well, Marshmallow's body,
actually complaining with each exertion.
"Can you make it, Millard?" asked the computer fearfully.
"I think I can. I think I can."
"Look!" shouted Marshmallow. "Outside! Is that some huge, horrible alien
predator lurking in the shadows?"
"No," said the lizard general, "I'm some huge, horrible alien predator."
"I've almost . . . got it," said the human Pierce. He strained one last time,
lifted himself up into one of the bucket seats, and found the control that
opened the hatch to the basement. "Oh no," he muttered hopelessly.
"What's wrong, honey?" asked Marshmallow.
"The light's burned out down there. I hate going down there in the dark."
"Choke, choke," said the lizard general.
"Okay," said Pierce, "I get the picture." It took all his remaining courage,
but Millard
Fillmore Pierce clambered slowly down the stairs and rummaged around for a few
moments.
When he rejoined his companions on the deck, he had the duct tape and Goodtime
Sal.
"How dare you bring that hussy up here where decent folk are trying not to
die?" cried
Marshmallow in outrage.
Pierce gulped. "I need someone to tear off the duct tape," he explained.
"Hi, fellas!" said Goodtime Sal cheerfully. "Are those molecular imploders in
your pockets, or are you just glad to see me?"
"Sal, listen closely," said Pierce. "Rip the duct tape and patch the
windshield. I can't reach it."
Goodtime Sal leered at Pierce in Marshmallow's body. "I know," she said, "you
just want to look down my blouse when I bend over." Being an MIS, Sal was very
broadminded. She wasn't bad, she was just programmed that way.
"Forget that for now, Sal," Pierce ordered. "Fix the windshield before we all
die of alien crud in our systems."
It took Goodtime Sal a few seconds to sort out Pierce's commands, but soon she
began tearing off strips of duct tape and slapping them over the crack in the
windshield. The green atmosphere of Uncharted stopped seeping into the control
room.
"I think we'll be all right, now," said the XB-223.
"Ah don't know," said Marshmallow. "That mechanical bimbo in the white go-go
boots has put a serious crimp in our relationship, Millard sweetie. I'm gonna
have to think on this some."
"Aw, but Marshmallow "
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