SEVENTEEN: DETROIT ROCK CITY
I stood slack billed at the massive cavern that spread for miles in front of us. It was a city. A goddamn underground city. And while the three word name on the sign marking the limits was accurate—most of the buildings I could see appeared to be in a state of disrepair and blight that certainly fit word numero uno. And there was no arguing the second word either, seeing as how everything from the residential huts on the outskirts to the glowing entertainment district at the center had been carved out of the very stone beneath my webbed feet. The third word was a given.
“You have got to be shitting me!” I barked as I re-read the sign for the fourth time. “Detroit Rock City? That can’t be right. There’s no way that’s the actual name of this ducking place.”
Okay, so now that I had thought about it, the name was actually a perfect fit.
But it was a little too perfect.
I turn to face the severed chicken head that had led us to this point, eyes narrowed. “You’re ducking with me, right?”
Much as it had on the way there, Dumbass scurried about the entrance into the enormous cavern with its beak pressed close to the ground, its bug legs scratching furrows into the worn path leading into the town ahead. It sniffed like a beagle on amphetamines, each breath kicking up a small storm of dust. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I'm a little busy here, Flap. Trying to pick up the scent again. You could, you know? Come down here and help instead of standing there like Rain Man farting in a phone booth.”
“No way I’m getting down there with you. And speaking of farts, you reek like an old lady that died in the middle of summer. Like you, she was so obnoxious her own neighbors didn’t care to check on her for weeks, allowing her to sit there and swell until she looked like Violet Beauregarde. And you? You're what came out when the Oompa Loompas showed up with their juicer."
"I could argue with you, but that was a good reference." Dumbass shrugged and set back to it.
I tossed a thumb at Weevul, made a face that said, “Can you believe this guy?” and sat down on a rock. My mind drifted as I watched the alien cityscape, lit by an effervescent glow high above. I thought about the name on the sign, Detroit Rock City, and decided it must be a translation issue. When I had first gotten abducted by the Gallics, they had shoved a translation device in my ear. It obviously took whatever I was hearing or seeing in their weird language and turned it into input my brain could understand. Maybe Detroit Rock City was the best translation for this place?
Isn’t that what translation is, anyway? Finding the best word or words for concept?
I had myself convinced that was the case until I starting thinking about other names Dumbass had given things. Like for this moon.
Absolom.
“Hey, Weevul?”
His eye cluster perked up. “Yes, Flap?”
“What’s the name of this moon?”
He raised all his arms and shrugged his carapace. “Weevul not know. Lived most of life on Curculia, until friendly ship take Weevul away to loud, city world, with many zoomy zoomy machines.” He shuddered. “Weevul not know rules on city world… that is why Weevul get in trouble. Friends made him do very bad thing but since we have hive mind technically one being so all get in trouble for it."
"Hmm." I furrowed my brow. "What did you do to get tossed into a place like this?"
"Very bad. Very embarrassed. Not want to talk about it.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “I don’t like to think about my own duck ups, let alone talk about them either.”
With a snort, I picked up a grayish white stone and rubbed my thumb against it. The fine powder crumbled away as I chewed on that name. Absolom. Something about it seemed a little too familiar. Then, I had a vague memory of Ray Liotta firing a futuristic, red tipped rocket from a tower, and I groaned. “Dumbass, is Absolom really the name of this place? Or did you name it after ducking No Escape?”
Dumbass whipped around to look at me, its dead tongue bouncing back and forth in the corners of its beak from the momentum. “Oh, that’s a toughie. Let’s go with yes and no.”
“Yes, and no? Thanks, that explains a lot.” I rolled my eyes and stood to my feet. “You’re being a major dumbass, Dumbass. How about you give me a straight answer once?”
It leaned back, offended. “I am. The answer is no, because the translation chip you have in your ear is doing most of the work. It’s kind of like a Babel fish in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy—only electronic. Yet, like most electronic gizmos, it doesn’t do a perfect job, so I help a little. Yes, I am not perfect either. I admitted I was defective if you remember.”
“So… it’s what?” I said, thinking back to my hypothesis. “Giving me a frame of reference?”
“Uh, yeah,” it considered. “But it’s a pretty lame frame of reference. Take the Clan names of the Gallics that stole you from your beloved pond, for instance. Names like Silkie, Brahma, Leghorn… those are the best comparisons the translation chip could find in Earth words.” Dumbass looked up towards the ceiling, almost as if he were speaking to higher authority. "Yep, just species' names any idiot could up with using a simple Wikipedia search."
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“Okay...” I nodded. “Makes sense. Now where does the yes part come in?”
“Well… I touched on that already, but all that Leghorn stuff was before me. Since—ironically, I might add—I’m involved in the entire translation process for you now, I’ve spiced things up a bit. Like with Absolom. The Gallic name for this moon is Buck-ba-kawk-buck Ba-buck-kaw-kaw which loosely translates to Death Row. That’s depressing, so I went with something way cooler from one of my favorite movies.”
“They're all your favorite movies, Dumbass. And I hate that I’m saying this, but that makes a whole hell of a lot of sense.” I licked my lower bill. “So what the story behind Detroit Rock City then?”
“That’s easy. They named this town after a famous Gallic battle hymn. That's how they name all their capitals. This is only a sector capital, so don't get all excited thinking you're smack dab in the middle of where the Gallics plan all their evil xenocides. Anyway. the lyrics are so unpronounceable in human speech that I won’t even make an attempt at playing it inside your head.”
“Great,” I moaned. “So you are still inside my—”
“Plus, this place is an absolute shit hole, even by Earth standards, so Detroit is about the only word that fits, anyway. But if you want the real Duck in King Chicken’s Court experience, I can change it to the song title: Ba-kawk-buck-buck-kaw-kaw Baw-buck-buck-kaw Ba-kawk-ba-kawk-buck-buck-kaw.”
***
My party strolled through the streets of Detroit Rock City in search of this Toe-Knee character’s sidekick. We had no idea what her name was, but we knew she had a thing for hard seltzer. If it even was hard seltzer now that I knew about my implant’s attempts to add a little spice to my life. Since it was still booze—Dumbass confirmed that—we could at least narrow down our list of establishments to investigate, and nearly all of them were sleazy.
Dumbass was insistent we would find our mark at one of the city's many licensed bars. I wasn’t so sure; that seemed conveniently obvious to me. My money was on a speakeasy, preferably one named The Back of Ratner’s. Weevul, on the other hands, was dead set on checking out a space travel agency called Around the Moon in 80 Rays. A holographic billboard for the business that promised a sightseeing trip to view all of Absolom from orbit by splitting you up into eighty separate wavelengths of light had enthralled him from the moment it popped out like the shark from Jaws 19. According to the less than trustworthy being making the promise, it allowed you to get a view of how all the well-to-do beings lived their lives in luxury on the surface in the areas surrounding the stadiums from eighty separate latitudes.
Since I saw half a dozen beings walk in and zero walk out, I had serious doubts the wavelengths would ever combine back into one, let alone provide anywhere near the experience promised—and not because the man has the face of a cat. It just didn’t seem plausible to me, let alone enjoyable. Still, Weevul was bit by the promise and, even though I was a bit jerk, I didn’t have the heart to tell him his space Santa Claus wasn’t real.
“Later, pal,” I told him. “We’ll stop by and check it out later. Anyway, we're broke. And I don’t know how much 11,999 credits is in relation to what we call a dollar on my world, but it seems like a lot.”
The look of disappointment on his bug face made my heart sink.
I dropped to a knee and went to pull his face up, but ripped my hand back as the teeth inside his mouth spun a half of a turn. I settled for a pat on the exoskeleton. “Chin up, Weevul. Maybe they have a… five wavelength option we can afford. Once we find ourselves some of those credits." I stared at his maw. "And, uh, find an antidote.”
He kicked at the dirt. “Your poisoning is all Weevul’s fault. Could not keep mouth hole closed.”
“It wasn't your fault, man,” I lied. “It ain't the first time I've ducked with a bug that can bite back and I shouldn’t have put my hand there.”
The Curculian cheered up instantly. “Weevul is very grateful you take responsibility for action. You have sawbill. You know. Cannot control it sometimes, ya?”
“Right, and we’ll get you that trip." I held up a finger. "Not now, but eventually.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah, um, yeah." I flashed a broad smile. "I promise.”
He pulled me in for a hug. “Oh, thank you. Thank you, thank you!”
“Uh, don’t mention it.” Then I turned to Dumbass while he was buried in my belly and shook my head as I whispered, “No ducking way.”
Dumbass let out an audible laugh, then spoke inside my head. “Aren’t you the perfect father figure, already making promises you can’t keep?” Then it added out loud, “Let’s get a move on. I spoofed an update to your local map by pretending I was a wandering trader while you two were having your alternate weekend, and the entertainment district is just down this way.”
***
Several minutes, one toddler-esque fit, and a down payment in the form of half my Curculian jelly later, I walked out of Around the World in 80 Rays with an armload of brochures, a receipt, and the unshakable feeling I had just gotten cheated by a cheetah. At least I knew what the jelly was worth now. I made a note to sell the rest once we found one of those wandering traders.
I stared at the Curculian as he walked away, Dumbass perched on top of his round head, wondering if I had made the right choice in tying myself to a creature so immature in the ways of the world—sorry, worlds. But it wasn't his fault, so I slapped the stack of brochures against my palm and tossed them into a garbage bin as I took off after my party.
I missed. Some goat looking lady starting yelling at me but I ran away.
I caught up with the pair a few hundred yards down the main street. They had stopped to gawk at a cavalcade of lights and signs that covered the central district of Detroit Rock City like wallpaper. It was a spectacle to behold. I had never set my eyes on Las Vegas, but since there was no shortage of movies and tv shows set in Sin City, it sure felt like I had. Even so, a very peculiar sign off to my left pulled at my pupils like a magnet—secondhand experience be damned.
It was a simple sign, with only six neon pink letters and a trio of symbols. And while that was the number of letters in total, each one was exactly the same: X. They were split evenly with three on one side and three on the other, and in between sat those three cartoonish characters, yellow and fluffy like avian confectionery treats.
I know what you're thinking, alright? You're thinking that I was a lonely duck in the prime of my life, with nothing but fertilizing a nest of eggs on my mind. And while I certainly wouldn't wear a blindfold in a place like that, you can take that thought and throw it into the gutter where it belongs. To me, it just seemed like a good place to look for an alcoholic space goblin as any, so I took a step towards the door.
Dumbass yelled at me to stop before I even set my foot down.
“What the hell are you doing?!” it said. “This is no time for a peep show!"