The Planetoid of Amazement. Mel Gilden

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      BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY MEL GILDEN

      Dangerous Hardboiled Magicians: Cronyn & Justice, Book One

      The Planetoid of Amazement: A Science Fiction Novel

      The Return of Captain Conquer: A Science Fiction Novel

      THE PLANETOID OF AMAZEMENT

      A SCIENCE FICTION NOVEL

      MEL GILDEN

      COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

      Copyright © 1991, 2011 by Mel Gilden

      Published by Wildside Press LLC

      www.wildsidebooks.com

      DEDICATION

      For Joe Humbert,

      Because of the adventures.

      INTRODUCTION

      By the time I got around to writing The Planetoid of Amazement my books were no longer quite so much in the Daniel Pinkwater mold. Pinkwater still inspired me and I still enjoyed reading his work, but since writing The Return of Captain Conquer I had developed confidence in my ability to write in my own style as it developed over the years.

      I don’t remember much about the genesis of Planetoid, but I do note that it is another adventure in which our hero is dying of boredom living his placid middle-class life. I hadn’t written one of these since Captain Conquer. In between, the heroes of Harry Newberry and the Raiders of the Red Drink and Outer Space and All That Junk had other problems that needed solving.

      Of course the problems of Rodney, the hero of Planetoid, are somewhat more complex than the problems Watson had in Captain Conquer. After all, Rodney is the son of Watson Congruent (of Captain Conquer fame) and Pennyperfect Leiberman, who had a leading role in Harry Newberry and the Raiders of the Red Drink. Both Watson and Pennyperfect have had their adventures, and Rodney is going crazy waiting for his turn. He gets it, of course. Grubber Young and Drum, his finder, give it to him.

      Apparently, the whole idea of dying of boredom is a powerful one for me—and I’m not surprised. I don’t mean to say that I never had problems. I was after all a kid who lived in a big city of the real world. But most if not all of them were of the domestic variety. I grew up in a classic 1950s home: my father was a reliable self-made man, and my mother was a homemaker in the best sense of the word. I had two younger brothers, but we didn’t have much to do with each other except at mealtimes and around the TV set. I was mad for something interesting to happen.

      I grew older and eventually I left home. When that happened I suffered through more adventures than I could easily handle. Many of these adventure were also domestic, but they involved people I barely knew and a serious lack of money. I didn’t think my friends would actually let me starve, but I felt as if I were living very close to the edge.

      Rodney feels very close to the edge himself, what with the Chocolatron and his weird parents. But I’ve survived so far and so does he.

      —Mel Gilden

      Los Angeles, California

      May 4, 2011

      CHAPTER ONE

      ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN

      Rodney Congruent lived in a big museum and didn’t like it. With his eyes closed, he carefully descended the stairs to breakfast carrying his schoolbooks in one hand and his black pebbled kazoo case in the other. With each step, his kazoo case banged against his leg. His eyes were closed because he didn’t want to look at the stuff around him. Unless he kept his eyes closed, not looking was impossible, because stuff was everywhere. He’d seen all of it hundreds of times.

      On the walls were paintings, enlarged photographs, and framed letters. Some of the pictures were of a man who wore a leather jacket, leather flight hel­met, tall black boots, and pants that flared at the hips. He had a chin like a brick. In most pictures, this guy held a squat brown jar of a breakfast drink called “Chocolatron” as if he’d won it. All the other pic­tures were of some woman who had a paper bag over her head and a pair of milk cartons strapped to her back. She stood with her fists on her hips, a noble tilt to her paper bag. The man in the flight outfit was Captain Conquer, and the woman with the paper bag was the Tuatara. They were both heroes not only of the world at large, but of Rodney’s parents in particular. When his parents had been kids, a series of docudramas about Captain Conquer had been on TV, and the Tuatara had been featured in her own comic book. Both presenta­tions had supposedly been based on truth. Rodney was unsure how much of the stories had been invented, and his parents did not seem very clear on this them­selves.

      Only two things were certain: The first was that Rodney’s father was the famous Watson Congruent, who had helped Captain Conquer save the Earth from the Puddentakers’ plan to turn the atmosphere into cherry Jell-O. The second was that Rodney’s mother was the former Pennyperfect Lieberman, who for years had been the Tuatara’s able assistant. But all that was a long time ago, before Rodney was born.

      The mantel over the fireplace held statues of Cap­tain Conquer and the Tuatara; some of them were solid, others had once held shampoo, bubble bath, or children’s vitamins. End tables acted as landing pads for models of the captain’s ship, the Great Auk, and both of the Tuatara’s ships, the Flying Pterodactyl and the Mitzenmacher 260.

      Scattered among the statues and the models were mementos of the more famous adventures the two heroes had had: replicas of microbrains from the Penguin star, cheese-blight-shooting ray guns that had been prizes in jars of Chocolatron, and even a leather helmet that Mr. Congruent claimed had been worn by the captain himself.

      The framed letters were from mayors and presi­dents, grateful for what Captain Conquer or the Tu­atara had done. Sometimes Rodney’s parents were mentioned by name.

      Rodney was almost at the bottom of the stairs when Mrs. Congruent rushed by him, and against his will he opened his eyes. His mother was a handsome woman who had short silvery hair cut close, like a helmet, against her head. Her gray jumpsuit showed no wrinkles. She called out, “Have you seen my de­coder ring, Rodney?” and didn’t wait for an answer.

      Rodney himself was a hefty kid with a head of brown hair that was more curly than he liked. Just as well his mom had hustled on. He didn’t know where her old decoder ring was. He didn’t want to know. He wished all the decoder rings in the world would disappear.

      When Rodney arrived in the breakfast room, eyes open, and set his books and kazoo on the table, Mrs. Congruent was there, listening to Rodney’s father say, “The decoder was on your dresser last night, next to your hyperspanner.” Mr. Congruent was an older, rounder version of his son, though he had less hair. He was dressed more or less like Captain Conquer. Because of the warm sunlight falling in through the tall windows, his leather flight jacket hung open.

      “Ah,” said Mrs. Congruent. “I must have put them both into the toolbox.” She marched from the room.

      “If she can’t find it,” Mr. Congruent said, “I guess we can share mine.” He tore open a paper packet and poured brown grainy powder into a mug of hot water before him. The smell of hot chocolate bloomed in the round room. “Have some Chocolatron, Rodney?”

      Chocolatron had been Captain Conquer’s favorite drink—he had made it famous. To Mr. and Mrs. Con­gruent it represented their exciting pasts, their mo­ments of noisy fame. Rodney doubted if either of his parents would bother with Chocolatron otherwise. It was basically for kids.

      “No thanks, Dad,” Rodney said. He never drank Chocolatron, but his parents were hopeful he would start. Rodney was honest enough to admit that he was jealous of them. They’d both had adventures, while he had never done anything more exciting than play the kazoo in the Raff Street Junior High School orchestra. He liked playing the kazoo, but it wasn’t the same as saving the planet.

      The problem was that he was untested in the he­roics department. He might be fine. But what if he couldn’t hack it? What if, when the time came for bold action or daring escapes, his nerve failed him, or his cleverness, or his strength? Unthinkable. Yet here he was thinking it. The uncertainty