Akiko and the Great Wall of Trudd (7 page)

The design of
the bridge was quite simple. It was about twenty feet wide, with four-foot walls on either side that served as guardrails. It appeared to be built out of the same stone that had been used to build the Great Wall of Trudd, except it looked even older and more weather-beaten.

There was enough space for all of us to walk side by side, though Spuckler tended to be out in front just because he walked so much faster than the rest of us. I kept looking off into the distance, at the spot where the bridge disappeared into the horizon like railroad tracks. I was checking to see if we would come across another one of Throck’s signs, or even Throck himself. Fortunately, there was nothing to see but miles and miles of bridge.

“You know, Akiko,” Mr. Beeba said as we walked along, “you’ve never told us much of anything about your home planet, Orth.”

“Earth,” I quietly corrected, trying not to embarrass him.

“Yes, of course,” he said with a cough. “So what’s it like on, um, Errrth?” The way he said it made it sound like a whole different planet somehow.

“Oh, it’s pretty cool, Mr. Beeba,” I said. “You all ought to come and visit me someday.”

“We’d be delighted to,” Mr. Beeba replied eagerly.

“Are there all kinds of weird
monsters
and stuff?” Spuckler asked, sounding like a schoolboy with an overactive imagination.

“No, Spuckler,” I answered. “Well, at least none that
I
know of.”

“Hmm,” Spuckler replied with a yawn. “Sounds kind of boring.”

“
ARE THERE ROBOTS, MA’ AM?
” Gax asked. “
LIKE ME?
”

“Oh yeah, we’ve got
loads
of robots on Earth,” I told him. “But not like
you
, Gax. Why, I’ll bet there’s no other robot like you in the entire universe!”

“Got
that
right,” Spuckler said, his face glowing with pride.

Gax buzzed and squeaked happily.

Poog made a short gurgly sound, which Mr. Beeba translated as “Do you miss your parents?”

What a question!

I remembered the time my parents had to go to some sort of conference or something in Michigan. It was a school night, so there was no question of my going with them. They ended up having me stay the night at the home of one of my mom’s friends, Mrs. Powell. At first I thought it was pretty cool, but then for some reason all the little stuff started to bother me, like the greasy chicken Mrs. Powell cooked for dinner and the weird collection of ceramic frogs she kept in her bathroom. I think I even cried a little before I went to sleep. All I wanted was to be back home with my parents.

Things were different now, though. For one thing, I was two or three years older. And sure, I still missed my parents a lot, but I also felt very
important
here on Smoo. I knew that Spuckler, Mr. Beeba, Gax, and even Poog . . . I knew they all
needed
me for some reason. It was a slightly uncomfortable feeling sometimes, as if I was having to be a whole lot more responsible than I really wanted to be. But it was also a good feeling, as if I was getting the chance to become a slightly different kind of kid.

“Yeah, Poog,” I finally answered. “I miss them. I miss them a lot.”

Spuckler and Mr. Beeba turned to me with concerned looks on their faces.

“I know I’m going to get to see them again, though,” I continued, “just as soon as we’ve rescued Prince Froptoppit.”

“You betcher boots ya will,” Spuckler said with a smile. “I’ll take ya right back home
myself
if I have to!”

“Good heavens!” Mr. Beeba interrupted with an expression of great surprise. “There’s a
building
up there!”

He was right. It was still just a tiny speck in the distance, but it was clearly visible. A building. Right in the middle of the bridge!

As we got
closer the details of the little building became easier to see. There was a big rotating sign on top, just like you’d see at a gas station, with a strange symbol on it that looked like a word in Arabic or something. The building itself was no more than thirty or forty feet square, with a perfectly flat roof and dark-tinted rectangular windows, some of which were cracked and partially boarded up. The bridge had been specially widened to make space for the structure, and a dozen or so raggedy little flags fluttered from poles that circled the building. There were even a couple of little garbage cans, cylindrical ones with beat-up silvery covers that squeaked noisily in the wind. All in all, I’d say it looked pretty much like a roadside diner you might find somewhere outside of Middleton, an old place that had seen better days.
Much
better days.

“Smudko’s!” Spuckler said, sounding as if he’d died and gone to heaven. “Well, I’ll be dad-
gummed
!”

“Here?”
Mr. Beeba asked, his eyes open wide in disbelief. “Impossible! They never requested a building permit!”

I didn’t have the slightest idea what they were talking about.

“Um . . . what’s Smudko’s?”

“It’s an intergalactic chain of restaurants, Akiko,” Mr. Beeba explained as we continued walking toward the building and its lazily rotating sign. “Atrocious food. Strictly a dining alternative of last resort.”

“Don’t listen to him, ’Kiko.” Spuckler said, licking his lips in anticipation. “There ain’t nothin’ like a Smud Burger. Heck, two or three of ’em would go down pretty
good
right about now!”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Spuckler,” Mr. Beeba said, walking up to one of the windows and wiping away the soot to look inside. “Clearly this place was abandoned
years
ago for want of patrons.”

“Why would they build a restaurant out in the middle of this bridge?” I asked. “There aren’t any customers around for miles. I mean, come on. What did they
expect
?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Akiko,” Mr. Beeba replied, wiping an even larger section of the window clean with his gloves. “I suspect it was some sort of bureaucratic error. The Smudko’s Corporation got so big that at one time they were opening restaurants at the rate of one thousand a day. Mistakes were bound to happen.”

Gax wheeled himself over and joined Mr. Beeba in checking the place out. Spuckler seemed more interested in locating the front door, which he did in a matter of seconds.

“Whatchew guys
waitin’
for?” he called to the rest of us, pulling the door open with a prolonged rattling squeak. “C’mon, let’s go
inside
already!”

One by one
we entered the old restaurant, stepping cautiously across the floor while our eyes adjusted to the darkness. The first thing I noticed was how clean the place was. I mean, it was really old and almost falling apart in certain spots, but there was hardly any dust anywhere. There were about a dozen circular tables, each with six chairs arranged neatly around it and little metallic napkin dispensers set carefully in the center. There was a kind of bar at the back with round padded stools lined up in front of it and a long shiny footrest underneath. The air smelled nice and clean, with just a hint of cooking oil or something like that.

“Well,” Mr. Beeba muttered to himself, “they certainly
left
the place in good condition. I’m rather surprised that they forgot to lock the door, though.”

“I’m not so sure this place is really
abandoned
, Mr. Beeba,” I said, pointing at the smooth, shiny tabletops. “Somebody’s been in here tidying this place up.”

“Let’s hope it’s someone who knows where the
food
is,” Spuckler said, still licking his lips hungrily.

“
MY ACOUSTIC SENSORS ARE DETECTING SOME SORT OF AUDITORY DISTURBANCE,
” Gax reported, turning his head from left to right like a satellite dish.

“I don’t hear anything,” I said.

“Hush, Akiko,” Mr. Beeba whispered, raising a cautious finger in the air. “We need to be absolutely silent in order to catch it.”

A minute or two went by as we all stood there, trying our best to hear what Gax had picked up. Only Poog continued moving, floating noiselessly through the air as he inspected the strangely well-kept room.

Then I heard it. Coming from back behind the bar was a . . .
breathing
sound. It was low and husky and very, very slow.

Spuckler signaled to us that he would go check it out by himself. Mr. Beeba and I nodded vigorously and stayed right where we were. I tried to imagine what would make such a sound and couldn’t decide if it was a human or an animal or something else altogether.

Spuckler stepped as quietly as possible over to the bar and took a peek behind it.

“Hmpf!” he snorted, sounding as if he was more amused than frightened by what he saw. He grinned and motioned for us to come over and join him.

Mr. Beeba, Gax, and I went across to the bar and, looking behind it, saw a middle-aged man with a bushy black mustache and a big potbelly, sound asleep in a comfy armchair. He had his arms draped across his chest with his fingers neatly laced together and his legs propped up on a big tin can placed carefully in front of him. That breathing sound we’d heard was now clearly a quiet, steady snore, and I had to cover my mouth to stop from giggling. He looked like a cross between Santa Claus and a hot dog salesman in a baseball stadium.

“Who is he?” I whispered to Mr. Beeba, still trying hard not to laugh.

“I don’t know,” Mr. Beeba whispered back. “He must be an employee of the Smudko’s Corporation.”

Sure enough, he was wearing a T-shirt and a little paper cap, both of which bore the same curious symbol that I’d seen on the restaurant’s sign outside. His face looked so peaceful, I wondered if we shouldn’t just turn around and tiptoe back outside.

Spuckler would have none of
that
, however.

“Hey, pal!”
he shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice bouncing off the walls and filling the entire room.
“You’re sleepin’ on th’ job!”

Gax gave a little squeak of surprise, and even Poog whirled around to see the man’s reaction. Mr. Beeba glared at Spuckler in irritation.

“You
idiot!
” he said through his teeth.

The restaurant man’s face twitched and his whole body shook from side to side. Slowly his eyes fluttered open and his jaw dropped slightly. As his eyes began to focus on us, his face quickly took on an expression of great surprise. For a second or two I was afraid he’d be angry, but then a gentle gleam appeared in his eyes and he smiled from one ear to the other.

“Customers!”
he said happily.