“Hello,” said Rags, although Rags had never talked before. “I’ve stopped being a dog. Now I am Cthon from the Andromeda galaxy.” He paused and stared at Darla as if analyzing her appearance. “Most remarkable. I believe I am one of the first personality waves to be decrypted at your node. This is the planet Earth?”
“This is the Moon,” said Darla flatly, not letting the moldie’s bufugu jive distract her. It was clear to Darla that this Silly Putter had fully crashed for true. Welcome to The Twilight Zone. Darla began walking backward step by step. The little dog trotted after her, still erect on his hind legs. “How did you learn to talk all of a sudden, Rags?” said Darla, sweetening her voice as if she didn’t have a care in the world. There was a needler in a drawer in the kitchen.
“Yes, that’s what I mean, Darla,” said Rhizome’s voice from the hollow on the counter. “The way Rags is acting. All my Silly Putters have turned into fucked-up aliens. They’ve been taken over by some kind of rogue software from outer space—I didn’t ask for it, but here it is, and it’s free, whether we want it or not, it’s physical graffiti from dimension Z, the truest freeware there ever was. I locked myself in the bathroom after Clever Hansi started—”
Darla toggled off the uvvy and skipped around behind the kitchen counter. Opened the drawer. Got the needler. The weird little dog-thing was at her feet, looking up at her. “Can you open the front door now?” he asked. “I want to go join the new arrivals at Corey’s. We have to get this node properly installed. It’s for your own good.”
Darla drilled it right between its big intelligent eyes. The imipolex charred, smoked, and burst into flame, writhing and giving off high, horrible screams. Darla needled it again and again, coughing from the smoke. The sprinklers in the ceiling kicked on and doused the flames. Suddenly suspicious of the uvvy that had brought this, Darla ran into the kitchen and chopped it up with a knife, cutting deep grooves into the countertop. Damn Corey Rhizome for bringing this down on her!
Just then Darla heard the zapper curtain make the boinging noise that signaled when it opened. She raced into the living cubby, holding the needler straight before her, with her other hand grasping her wrist for steadiness, but . . .
It was Yoke and Joke.
“What are you doing, Ma?” said Yoke. “It’s just us.”
Darla lowered the needler and the girls swept in. “She shot Rags!” exclaimed Joke. “It’s soaked in here and everything’s ruined!”
“Ma,” wailed Yoke. “Are you twisted on snap again? If you are, we’re leaving.”
Both Yoke and Joke had light olive skin, big bright eyes, and short full-lipped mouths. They had identical faces, but they’d outgrown the phase of wanting to dress the same. Yoke wore her thick dark hair natural in a bob, while Joke had used her hair for a creative zone. She’d started by dying it blonde, then she’d let three inches of black roots grow out, and now she wore her hair gathered into two high ponytails, with the blonde ends of the ponytails dyed purple. It matched the punk look of her clothes: a leather jacket over a T-shirt, with red plaid pants cut off at mid-calf above dull red combat boots. For her part, Yoke wore a long, dark, ribbed-wool dress with low silver boots—modern moonmaid-style.
“Wait,” gasped Darla, flopping down on a chair in the kitchen but still holding on to her needler. “Corey Rhizome sent me some kind of virus, and then Rags was possessed. He started talking. And then, after I shot him, I got the idea the uvvy might be possessed too.”
“You sure nailed them,” said Joke, holding up a ragged scrap of the hacked-up uvvy. “What did Rags say anyway?”
“He—” Darla shook her head in confusion. “I’m completely straight, girls, so unlax. Give me my coffee.” Yoke handed Darla her squeezie of coffee and Darla took a few big slurps. “I think Rags said he was from another galaxy. I, of all people, know better than to trust robots when they act tweaky. So I killed him.”
“And the uvvy?” insisted Joke.
“I was upset, damn it!” yelled Darla. “Do you have to be so fucking logical all the time, Joke? The signal that changed Rags came from the uvvy, so I killed it too. Call Corey Rhizome if you don’t believe me. He’s locked himself in his bathroom.”
“My dear old Bandersnatch?” giggled Joke. “Are his Silly Putters saying they’re from other galaxies too?”
“Something like that,” grumbled Darla. “I didn’t finish talking to him. Xoxxy pervo that he is. Don’t call him, come to think of it. Not that we could anyway, what with the kilpy uvvy broken. I’ll have to get a new one today. What did you two brats come here for, besides making fun of your poor old mother?” Seeing her daughters always cheered Darla up.
“There’s an abductor ship about to land out at the spaceport,” said Joke. “Blaster? He caught about twenty moldies. And—get this—Blaster has a human woman aboard as well. Her name’s Terri Percesepe. Blaster wants to sell her like for a ransom.”
“Sell her to who?”
“Stahn Mooney’s paying. He called Pop to arrange it last week. Didn’t Pop tell you? Yoke and I are supposed to pick Terri up and help her get back to Earth.”
“For free?” snapped Darla.
“Of course not,” said Joke, tapping her head. “We’re getting good money. Berenice made up the contract with Blaster.” For Joke, Emul and Berenice were living beings.
“Anyway,” chimed in Yoke, “we thought you might enjoy going out to the spaceport with us to greet her. Pop will be there too.”
“He could have called me about this,” complained Darla. “Sometimes I think Whitey doesn’t love me anymore.”
“Sure he does, Ma,” said Joke. “Are you gonna come?”
“All right,” said Darla. “I wouldn’t mind getting out a little. I have the creeps from this place, after Rags acting that way.”
“It was probably just a malfunction,” said Yoke soothingly. “Corey’s been known to err.”
“But he said all his Silly Putters had turned into . . . I think he said aliens?” said Darla. “Are your Silly Putters acting weird today? You still have a lot of them, don’t you?”
“Joke took them all back to Corey,” said Yoke sadly. “Even the rath and the Jubjub bird.”
“For a while there, Emul and Berenice had me convinced that Silly Putters are wrong,” said Joke. “Berenice kept asking how I would feel about owning six-inch-tall pet humans programmed to be animals.”
“I doubt if pet humans would ever suddenly decide that they’re from another galaxy,” said Darla. “Cthon—that’s what Rags said his name was. He was walking on his hind legs and he was talking. His eyes were different.”
“Well, maybe we should go out to the isopod and visit Corey,” suggested Joke. “If it’s really true.”
“That child molester?” flared Darla. “Locked in the bathroom is where he belongs! We’re not speaking to him anymore!”
“We’re not children anymore, Ma,” said Joke. “Anyway, I already have seen him again. He’s lonely since Willy moved out of the isopod and into the Nest. We’ve had dinner a couple of times. His studios are totally gogo. And I’ve decided Emul and Berenice were wrong about Silly Putters. Corey’s Silly Putters aren’t sad at all; they’re a great art-form. There’s no reason not to be like animals instead of being like people. Look at tropical fish, for instance. Instead of putting their computational energy into being smart, they put it into being beautiful.”