TEENAGE WASTELAND

Last week, as you recall, the Space Family Robinson had landed on the junkyard of space, unaware that they were going to be stuck there for three whole months...

My name is Penelope Brigitta Robinson...and this is a story about the day a frightened, selfish little girl died...

As starry blackness dissipates by the rise of the early morning glow, darkening a mountainous backdrop, an electronic organ danced on the intercom speakers on the pylons that flanked the flight controls of our cosmic chariot.

As the pre-dawn glowed behind the jagged horizon, the air was hammered by a repetitious, three note strike from a piano. And as the sun peeked over the blackened mountains, a manic avalanche of drumbeats exploded, joining the musical tapestry. A reddish-brown hue tainted the air, caused by the wind kicking up rust. A rust storm. That's what Will calls it.

'Out here in the fields...'

There's only three times that Hell actually looks beautiful. Number one: Sunrise.

'...I fought for my meals...'

Even on Hell, the sunrises look beautiful, just like the ones back on Earth.

'...I get my back into my living...'

Indeed. Back on Earth.

'...I don't need to fight...'

I sat in the co-pilot's couch in black pajamas, drinking reconstituted coffee from a mug while looking out the viewport. It's the only way I can looked directly into the sun without going blind. The viewport's transparent X-tempered herulite plates are coated with a special anti-ultraviolet ray coating on the inside. Behind me, the astronavagator sat in the center of the flight deck, it's transparent dome lying on the floor beside it. Otherwise, it was all hooked up and ready to go.

'...to prove I'm right...'

Finally, after being stuck on this ugly, God forsaken mud ball for three months, we're leaving. Tomorrow, Dad and Don will make the final preps for lift off. Then, so long Hell, planet of junk. So long. Farewell. Auf wiedersehen. Good riddance!

'...I don't need to be forgiven...'

Out of all the other barren wastelands we've crashed on, this one's the worst. I hate this planet. I mean, yeah, we rarely landed on a lush Shanghai-la. Even the planet of the Vegetable Kingdom, with that big, silly carrot guy and his weird purple-haired pal Willowby wasn't fun. I slept through most of it. But at least there wasn't junk all over the place.

You know, Tybo kinda looks liked Cyrano Jones from that 'Tribbles' episode.

Why are we here on the junkyard of space? It all started three months ago, when the Space Family Robinson, along with daring Major Donald Marcus West, a reluctant stowaway by the name of Dr. Zachary Jonathan Smith and our trusty robot sidekick, uh...well, we never gave him a name, actually. We just call him Robot.

Anyway, we had just escaped from a planet ruled totally by apes in our interstellar spacecraft, the good ship Jupiter II, when one of our fuel cells went kabooey on us.

Oh Sure, we couldn't land on a planet with green grass or made of cookie dough and candy. No, we had to land on an intergalactic scrap yard, a whole planet where everybody dumps their old robots, damaged spacecraft and other useless junk, which comes raining down from upon the heavens...turning a world into Hell, hence the name that I so richly bestow upon it..

Speaking of the devil, here comes one now. It just exploded in mind air, scattering its pieces and kicking up another rust storm.

Once we landed here, we encounter a cybernetic being called the Junkman, who operated a smelting plant and control the planet's magnetic field. To make a long story short, this guy did what just about every other alien lifeform has done to us since we left Earth four years ago: Screw us!

First, he destroyed our food supply with some alien blight, tricked Dr. Smith into stripping the Robot of his vital parts, then stole the Jupiter, leaving us to die on this awful planet. Using the Space Pod, my little brother, William Tell Robinson, the Intergalactic Boy Wonder, followed them and convinced the Junkman to return the ship and we, as always, forgave Dr. Smith for his stupidity.

Apparently, some of the Robot's personality rubbed off on ol' Junkie boy when he had his parts. Feeling guilty for his trespass, the Junkman offered to aide us in replenishing our food supply as well as updating much of our equipment with parts salvaged from a couple of old spaceship wreckages. Plus, he told us that Hell's outer crust is about 80 percent deutronium, our ship's vital fuel.

The Junkman is no longer among us. He left Hell two months ago. Back at our first home away from home, Priplanus, we encountered an alien machine called the Robotoid, or as I like to refer to the clunker, Robby.

Why Robby? Because he looked like this silly looking robot from a 40 years old sci fi B-movie. Anywho, Robby was from the planet of the Cybernetic Kingdom, which operates an intergalactic temp service, RRU(Robots-R-Us). Robby tried to replace our Robot by gaining our trust, then tried to capture us for his real masters, the wolf-faced people of the Zavon Intergalactic Cosmetics Corporation, or ZICC, for product testing.

After Priplanus blew up, we landed on Robby's home planet, which I named Clunkerville. In retaliation for losing the ZICC account, the clunkers planned to use us as slaves in their component factories. When we escaped, they sent another Robby after us.

Robby II found us on our second hell away from home, which I named God-awful Mudball. And our intrepid, robotic Elmer Fudd had a cunning plan: He would land his spaceship on the opposite side of the planet, then launch a sneak attack with gas bombs that would paralyzes us, then have his ship fly to where we were via remote to escort us back to Clunkerville.

Robby landed on God-awful Mudball...just as we were taking off and the planet was getting smacked with a comet.

Funny how 90 percent of the planets we land on eventually explode or are destroyed by some cosmic disaster.

Actually, we did this for the last two years. We'd land on a planet, stay for a while, then leave just as it explodes. And just as we're leaving, Robby's landing. Just think of it as an on-going 'Roadrunner' cartoon running gag.

So after history repeating itself for about a dozen times or so, ol' robot boy finally got the picture and changed tactics when he found us here on Hell, and as luck would have it, he found us when we were not leaving. His new cunning plan: Instead of launching a gas attack, he was going to capture one of us to use as a hostage.

'...don't cry...'

The damsel in distress turned out to be my own, sweet maternal parental unit, biochemist supreme and a real Rock 'n Roll mom, Dr. Maureen June Robinson.

'...don't raise your eye...'

The choice was simple: Either the Robinson Party would surrender...or Mom would be, as he put it, "...disassembled".

'...it's only teenage wasteland...'

Lucky for Mom, I was near by, doing what I usually do when I'm depressed, target practicing with a laser gun. Making like Bungalow Bill, I pulled out my trusty cosmic six shooter...and ol' Capt. Marvel zapped 'em right between the eyes...ZAP!

'...Sally, take my hand...'

Okay, I didn't get him betwixt the eyes. I just blew off his right claw, to which he raised his other claw and, with some invisible force, pulled the pistol out of my hand, crushing it with a squeeze.

Oh great. The Force is with him.

'...travel south cross the land...'

And even thought Mom was free, all the children didn't sing. We just ran, screaming our heads off.

'...put out the fire! Don't look past my shoulder...'

You see, I sorta oiled him off, so to speak.  

'...the exodus is here...'  

As Mom and I continued to exit: stage right, Robby gave chase, shouting in a rather angry, if mechanically stiff tone, "Designation: Penny Robinson. Destroy!"

'...the happy ones are near...'

Needless to say, he wasn't happy with me.

'...let's get together...'

Eventually, we ran to the Junkman's smelting plant, were Junkie was in the process of adding a miniature force field generator to the Robot. And just as Robby was about to put the big kabosh on Mom and myself, the Robot gave him a jolt with his electrical charge.

'...before we get much older...'

For Robby, that was the pleasant part, for he wasn't going to grow older. Paralyzed but still activated, he had a more horrible fate awaiting him: The Junkman, who took a rather ghoulish delight in cannibalizing him, taking him apart piece by piece while emitting a chilling 'BWAHAHAHA!'.

I sort of felt sorry for the clunker...almost.

We found all this out from the robotoid's memory banks, which were translated by the Robot. But I didn't need them to get a good idea about Robby's last thoughts.

I was there.

"This can not compute! Stop! No please! Mercy! I am too newly manufactured to be deactivated! Look, we are mechanoids, right? They are meatoids! Soft, pulpy meatoids! And from Earth of all places! The planet of the Retards! I mean, there goes the galaxy, right?! Oh for the love of Gort no! Not that! Ouch! Ouch! Not thezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..."

Robby's last thoughts were apparently his first experience with the human emotion of terror.

'...teenage wasteland...'

Now with even better parts, and a spaceship, the Junkman decided to leave Hell for parts unknown. Probably out there with Verea and Mr. IDAK, making Borgs or something.

'...it's only teenage wasteland...'

My mug is empty. Time for a refill. I rose from the couch and again glanced out the viewport to behold a vast and desolate, junk-encrusted wasteland.

'...teenage wasteland...'

I then looked to the ship's chronometer to see today's date back on Earth. The numbers read on the digital display screen 21-01-252. Twenty-first century. Year one. Two hundred and fifty-two days.

September ninth, 2001.

'...oh, oh teenage wasteland...'

Indeed. A wasteland...just like my life...

'...they're all wasted!'

I switched the intercom off as the song went into it's instrumental climax, then hopped onto the lift, sending it down to the lower deck, where lies our galley. Standing on guard in front of said galley was the Robot who raised his clawed arms and said, via his red, flashing annuciator, "Halt! Who goes there?"

I shushed my mechanical yojimbo. "Shhhhh. Not so loud, Robot. It's me, Penny."

He lowered his arms, retracting them into his upper torso as he answered in a low volume. "Good morning, Penny Robinson...and Happy..."

"Uh...Robot, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not hear those two words today, thank you."

He lowered his dome. "As you wish."

"So, is she still secured?"

"Affirmative. She is still safe and sound."

"Did Dr. Smith try to get to her?"

"Negative. My sensors indicate that Dr. Smith is still within his cabin, sleeping."

"Good. Now, my automated amigo, I would like to take a peek at what I have wort. To gaze my eyes upon my creation...my little act of...Godhood."

"You are beginning to sound like Dr. Smith," the Robot said.

"I am not, you ninnie!" I snapped. "Now, stand aside as I look upon a mouth-watering and tasty future."

And with that, I opened the fridge and looked inside. "Ah yes, she's still in there," I said, more to myself than to the Robot. "Behold: A triple layer cake. One foot in diameter and eight inches high. White on chocolate on white. With dark chocolate-peanut butter frosting betwixt the layers and covered with white chocolate-mint icing."

I took a whiff. Just like I remember it. "Oh...I can't wait for this confectionery delight to melt in my mouth, Oh ambrosia. In the name of God..now I know how it feels to be God."

"You are talking like Dr. Smith again," said the Robot. "Even the pseudo European accent."

"Mind your manners, you bubble headed Boob..." I stopped myself. Why did I just say that? "Oh, never mind. Just let me savor my creation."

I created this delectable Frankenstein with the help of another little guilt trip present from the Junkman, a mechanical marvel he called a 'mutex', a kind of matter transformer, like the replicators on 'Star Trek'. It works on a sub-atomic level, changing one form of matter into something else of equal mass via info input from brainwaves.

Just think of what you want and it's yours...as long as you have the right mount of material. It was how the Junkman was able to create beef strogenoff from alien foodstuffs he recovered from the food lockers on the spaceship wrecks. With this wonderful device, I created this diabetic nightmare from the most vile and evil vegetable in the universe: Lima Beans.

God, I hate lima beans. They are the devil's gall stones.  And the best part of it is, I'll still get all the nutritional benefit of those horrible beans. Oh, let me eat cake. "Oh, if only I could get this marvel contraption back to Earth. I'd make a fortune."

"Dr. Smith said the same thing."

As I closed the fridge, I slowly closed my eyes and turned back to the Robot, reopening them as I faced him with an annoyed glare. "Never mind Dr. Smith. Repeat your orders."

"No one is to touch that cake."

"Especially...?"

"Especially Dr. Smith."

"Or...?"

"Or you will crush me into a block and smelt me in the furnace."

"Correct. You see Robot, this is a special cake. I haven't even tasted it yet. Not even the icing. This cake is to be like Judy until her wedding night...untouched by the hands of man. No one is to eat it...not one bite...until I blow the candles out...and the first bite is in my mouth."

I turned from the Robot and poured myself another mug of coffee, then headed for my cabin, adding, "It's more than a cake, Robot...it's a memory. Carry on."

First, I passed by the cabin Don shares with Will.

"Oh Don..."

"Oh Judy..."

"Oh Don..."

"Oh Judy..."

Oh Gee-od. Don and my sister, Judith Marta Robinson, are doing the ol' 'Fred and Daphne', which means Will's in my room. I slid open the cabin's pleated door and found the boy genius sitting on Judy's bed next to a pile of pajamas, his arms crossed. He looked up to me and greeted, "Hey Moe!"

About a week ago, I told Mom to give me a haircut like that Vulcan chick in 'The Undiscovered Country'. Unfortunately, it was her first time and, well...

"Ha ha, very funny, clown boy. So, they kicked you out again, eh?"

"Oh Don..."

"Oh Judy..."

"The chariot's all packed up and they needed a place to smooch (like they couldn't use the pod)," Will grumbled. "Don threw my clothes out while Judy threw me out. I mean, she grabbed me by the seat of my pants and threw me out. God, I can't wait for those two to get married."

"Same here," I returned, wringing my hand together greedily. "I get my own pad."

"Lucky you. I get to share a cabin with Dr. Smith."

"Oh Don..."

"Oh Judy..."

I sat next to Will. "Oh, I can only imagine what a joy that will be. These walls are thin. Don and Judy's still going at it."

"You don't think they progressed to 'Frank and Hotlips', do you?" Will asked.

"Oh Don..."

"Oh Judy..."

"Nah. Judy done told Don no FnH until he's chained down," I answered before taking a swig. "I don't think he has had a hot shower since we left Earth. And let's face it, it's not just Judy that holding him back."

"Oh Don..."

"Oh Judy..."

"Yep," Will agreed. "Don has more to fear from the strongest member of the Space Family Robinson...Mom. Oh, Happy Birth..."

I interrupted Will. "I don't want to hear those words today, thank you."

"Sorry," Will snapped.

"Look, I'm sorry, William. I'm just not in a good mood today, that's all."

"What do you mean 'today'?" Will asked rhetorically. "You've been like this for months."

I rolled my eyes. "Gee, I wonder why. I'm stuck on a depressing planet where everybody in the galaxy throws their junk. Day and night, we have to listen to this crap raining from the heavens. Oh, how dreadful it is."

Will released a giggle. "'Oh, how dreadful it is'. For a minute there, you sounded like Dr. Smith."

"Oh really?"

"I mean, you sounded just like him, even that pseudo European accent of his."

"You're the second person who said that today. I don't sound like Dr. Smith. I mean, Okay. So I picked up a few of his vocal mannerisms. I mean, he does spend a lot of time with us."

"Yeah. makes you wonder, don't it?"

"About what?"

"Well, you know how Don is always making jokes about Dr. Smith being an 'Uncle Ernie'?"

"Something I wish he wouldn't do. Dr. Smith is nothing like that."

"Aw, Don doesn't mean it. He's always joking like that. I mean, he flirts with you just to tease Judy."

"Speaking of which, just listen to them smooch."

"Oh Don..."

"Oh Judy..."

"Oh Don..."

"Oh Penny..."

"Penny...Penny? Penny?!"

"Uh oh..."

Will and I cringed as we heard the delicate sound of a fist kissing an eye socket.

"You...you...you...pedophile!" Judy cried.

"Hey! Pipe down in there, you two!" My father, Professor John Guy Robinson, yelled. "We wanna sleep in today."

"Yeah," added Mom. "No arguing until after the wedding."

"Gee Will, you don't think this will break them up, do you?" I pondered sarcastically.

"Of course not, Penny. Just listen."

Will and I placed our ears against the bulkhead to hear the rest of our little drama.

"Oh Don...I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay, Honey. I..."

"I'm so sorry. I just over reacted."

"Well, sometime I may cross the line, a little."

"Oooooo, let me kiss it and make it better...Oh Don..."

"Oh Judy..."

"Oh Don..."

"Oh brother," Will grumbled. "You see?"

"Well, after all the times we forgave Dr. Smith for almost killing us, I guess our little love birds can do the same. You know, that sorta picked me up a little. You know what I wanna do?"

"What?" Will asked.

"Steal the Space Pod."

"What?!"

"Let's steal the pod. Just take off for a couple of hours and just fly around."

"I don't know, Penny. Dad doesn't want anyone to take the pod without permission."

"Aw, come on Will. Be a little adventurous. It's my birthday and I want to have a little fun. It'll be like taking off in the family car."

"The Space Pod's a little more than just a car, Penny."

"But we both know how to drive it. Come on, what do you say?"

Finally, Will agreed. "Well, Dad did say he wanted to do a test flight. Before we leave tomorrow morning, the Robot will be up in the pod, waiting to dock with the Jupiter."

"I was going to ask him if I could fly it up."

"I already tried. He said that he rather risk the Robot than any of us."

"Well, I need you to get out of my cabin so I can get dressed."

"Don't tell me, let me guess. Basic black, right."

"Actually, no. I have a special dress for today. I used the mutex to create it. It won't be all black, I promise."

"Why'd you do it anyway?" Will asked. "I mean, turning all your clothes black? A couple of outfits, yeah. But your entire wardrobe? It's weird, just like that Vulcan haircut you just got. You look like Moe Howard. Are you turning into a Goth or something?"

I pondered his question for a moment. "Not really," I answered as I shooed him out of my cabin. "Let's just say I've been feeling rather dark lately. And besides, the good guys don't always wear white."
   

                                   ***

Over the past few days, I've been slowly turning my wardrobe black. My dresses, my shirts, my 'jammies, even my undies. And just to irk Mom off a little, I transmuted some of my tights into black fishnets.

That might've been my undoing, though. They turn Don on and Judy's always borrowing them (like she can't transmute her own?).

But not all my clothes were turned black. I have one special dress, a replica of a Star Fleet female uniform from the original series, complete with matching briefs, plunging neckline and a hem just low enough to keep the mystery going. And instead of black, I made it red.

Donning the dress, fishnets, briefs and boots, I was all set.

I took a look at myself in a mirror. Oh, don't I look fab? I turned around to check out the aft section. Look at those gams. Eat you heart out, Nichelle Nichols. Okay, let's go for a ride. I opened the curtain and peeked out to make sure the coast was clear. Nobody in sight. Only the robot.

"Halt! Who goes..."

I silenced him by putting finger to my lips and shushing him. "Quiet, Robot. I'm on a mission."

The Robot raised his bubble. "Hubba hubba!"

"Shhhhh!"

"Your mother is going to flip a gear when she sees you in that."

"Just guard my cake."

"Roger," The Robot replied, saluting me with his claw. As he returned to duty, I went up to the flight deck and out the hatch, pausing for a second as I looked upon the clearing that we occupied, which reflected the rising morning sun.

To shield us from falling space debris during our stay here, the Junkman adjusted the magnetic field in this area, weakening it so the falling junk would be more attracted to the surrounding areas with stronger fields, thus giving us two whole acres of protection.

Walking over to the pod, I looked for Will but couldn't find him. I opened the hatch, but he wasn't inside. I wondered where he could...

Then, I felt a presence behind me...

                                                       To Be
                                                       Continued
                                                       NEXT WEEK!

                                                       Same Time
                                                       Same DA site