"Poor Yoke," said Babs. "Fight about what?"
"It's Phil's mother, Eve," said Yoke, frowning. "Maybe you already know about this, Babs. Eve got this idea that we shouldn't have the ceremonies out here in front of your warehouse like we'd been saying we'd do."
"Oh yeah," said Babs. "I know about this. I kind of agree with her."
"Well thanks a lot for letting me know," snapped Yoke, her eyes flashing. "Five minutes ago Phil tells me that Eve and Wendy reserved us a ballroom at the Fairmont Hotel. Like we're sixth-graders in a school pageant. Or no, it's worse than that. It's like we're nobles celebrating while all over the world people are suffering. Especially women. I -- I really unloaded on Phil. I told him I don't want to get married at all." Yoke's chin quivered and she began crying.
"This is turning into a nightmare."
Babs gave Randy a look, and he got to his feet. "Hey, Saint, let's go upstairs and look at Phil's blimp. You too, Willa Jean."
"Yaaar," said Saint. Willa Jean strutted rapidly across the floor and jumped into Randy's arms.
Phil had cantilevered a kind of staircase of mini-trampolines out from the side of Babs's warehouse. You could climb to the roof by hopping from one elastic sheet to the next. And there was a fireman's pole for coming back down. Phil and Yoke had added three more rooms to their original alley-nest; each room was level with one of the layers of the trampolines.
"Feel like one o' them fish," Randy observed to Saint as they bounced upward.
"A salmon," agreed Saint. "Heading upstream to spawn. Hey, Phil, watcha doing? We're here to spawn all over everything."
"Hi, guys," said Phil, looking up from a big flat air bag lying on the roof.
"I'm working on the Phlyte Blimp. Trying to. I can't think. They're fighting in Oakland. Look over across the bay, you can see the fires."
Sure enough, across the water smoke was streaming up from the city of Oakland. Yet high above the smoke it was a pleasant spring day with fluffy white clouds against the pale blue.
"I just checked the news," said Phil. "It started as a gang thing. And now it's turned racial. Everyone getting even for getting even for getting even. How long is it we've had the allas now?"
"Two months," said Randy. "You'd think people would have it together by now." Two months ago had been when he'd realized that he loved Babs. And in another month they'd be married. If only things would calm down. If only people would remember to be kind.
"Oh, shit," said Saint. "Look at Oakland now."
Someone had just done something to make one of Oakland's office buildings collapse. Maybe they'd alla-converted part of its foundation into air. The wind shifted toward them and Randy could smell a whiff of smoke, could hear a faint crackle of gunfire.
"Make them stop," prayed Randy, and just about then a flashing bright saucer appeared in the sky over Oakland. The Metamartians to the rescue, once again. There was a distant rumble; the saucer was talking to the men fighting. And now a series of rays darted down from it; it was said that when a saucer appeared at a battle scene, it would destroy everyone's alla-made weapons.
"The allas have to go," said Randy, really believing this for the first time.
"It's not going to be worth it. Especially after the aliens leave."
"Let's fly to Oakland and help," said Phil. "We can use my blimp."
"Good idea," said Randy. "And while we're at it, maybe we can get close enough to the saucer to talk to the Metamartians."
Phil used the alla to instantly fill his Phlyte Blimp up with helium. The great balloon was covered with something like imipolex Linguini that Phil called
"Smart Hair ®" The blimp bobbed above the rooftop and a sudden breeze threatened to sweep it away. But then the plastic linguini began intensely beating, holding the unwieldy shape in place.
"It has passenger slings for us to sit on," said Phil, indicating a trio of loops that dangled from the blimp's underside.
"Have you actually tested it?" asked Saint.
"Sure," said Phil. "Well, not with three people. But if something goes wrong, we can always alla ourselves some hang-glider wings. Come on. Let's dart over to Oakland and make sure all the injured people have healer machines. We can be there in three or four minutes."
"I'm for it," said Randy. "Be nice to do something good for a change." Once they were settled into the slings, the blimp's Smart Hair began rippling in steady waves. They slid through the air as smoothly as a pumpkin seed. Phil steered them toward the saucer, but before they got close to it, the bright disk darted away, moving too fast for the eye to follow. And then they were above the bloody streets of Oakland.
"Careful," said Saint. "Someone might shoot at us." But the saucer had temporarily disarmed everyone. The weaponless fighters were slinking away, leaving dozens of injured people on the streets and sidewalks. Phil landed the blimp, and the three boys moved among the injured, using their allas to make healer machines. Soon more rescue workers began to appear. And then some builders arrived, using allas to clear away the rubble and repair the shattered buildings.
"Looks like things are under control now," said Saint after a while.
"Let's go back," said Phil. "I have to tell Yoke I'm sorry."
"Shitfire," said Randy, checking the time. "My dad's about to come." The ride back was a little slower, as a strong wind had started blowing from the ocean. But the blimp's Smart Hair kept them on a steady course. The boys were quiet, thinking of what they'd seen. Many people had been too far gone for the healer machines.
Back on the warehouse roof, Phil deflated his blimp and examined its skin, using his fuzzy pocketknife to tweak its little flaps. "I'm glad this worked," he said. "Those poor people."
"Your blimp is good, Phil," said Saint.
"I've been thinking," said Phil. "I don't actually need moldie-quality imipolex to make these things. Which is important, because I want to keep making them even if we get rid of the allas and imipolex is expensive again. I think regular production-quality piezoplastic would work if I used a simple enough algorithm. Your dad could help me with the code, Randy. How soon is he coming, anyway?"
"Could be any taaahm now." Randy peered up at .the sky.
"Good," said Phil, patting his flattened blimp. "Okay, I'm going down to talk with Yoke." He jumped off the edge of the building and slid down the fire pole.
"After seeing Oaktown like that, I'm against the allas too," Saint told Randy.
"I need to think of a career that doesn't depend on them."
"What about your water bicycles?"
"Good idea. Maybe your dad could help me with their DIM chips."
"He knows a lot," said Randy with a proud smile. "Shitfire, my father invented limpware engineering and the uvvy too. When I was growing up, I never realized I had such important relatives. I thought I was just a nobody from nowhere."
"Not anymore," said Saint, looking upward. "And, Yaaar! Here he comes!" A shiny moldie form was descending riding on the sparkling column of an ion jet. It was Cobb with someone inside him. Randy tucked Willa Jean under his arm, and he and Saint slid down off the roof to stand by the patch of gravel Cobb was heading toward. Hearing the hollering, Babs, Phil, and Yoke came out of the warehouse. Randy noticed that Phil and Yoke were smiling and holding hands again.
Cobb plopped gently to the ground and split open, disgorging a gray-haired fifty-year-old man. The man looked happy to be out in the air. He made a little bow. "Hi, everyone, I'm Willy Taze." He sized up the five of them, then stepped forward and shook Randy's hand.