Electra Rex

by April C. Griffith

  “You’re Fizan’s niece?” Electra demanded. “Her eleven-year-old grandniece?”

  “You got that right, sugar-tits,” the Gromphra said, tossing aside the sign. “My name is Blix, but with gams like that you can call me whatever you want.”

  “Why did anyone think you could play a child?” Treasure asked.

  “Because I am a child,” Blix said. “Want to be my mommy?”

  “It’s too late to do anything about it now,” Electra said. “Can you at least make good on the promise of swallowing something without digesting it?”

  “The bigger the better,” Blix bragged. “Show me what you got that needs swallowing.”

  “Answer the question,” Treasure growled.

  Blix shook her head wearily and produced a rigid white container, not too dissimilar to a vase with a curved lip around the top. She opened her mandibles and slid the container into place in her throat.

  “This isn’t rocket-surgery, sweet cheeks,” Blix said.

  “How can you talk or breathe with that in your throat?” Treasure asked.

  “We breathe through holes on our sides and talk through a gland between our eyes,” Blix said. “We can do other things with all our holes and glands—amazing things, if you want a demonstration.”

  “Ew, you’re a child.” Treasure recoiled.

  “Gromphra hatch fully grown,” Blix said. “If you wanted an actual grub, you’d have to roll around a slimy egg with one inside. Speaking of rolling and slime…”

  “Good enough,” Electra said. “We’ll just have to hope the Oboidion doesn’t know about Gromphra maturation rates.” Treasure raised a skeptical eyebrow to Electra. “What? I didn’t know all that. Maybe the mark won’t either.”

  “Okay, kid, we brought you a hat to help you play the part.” Treasure sighed and handed Blix a small red-and-blue beanie with a yellow propeller on top.

  “Sweet!” Blix quickly set the hat on top of her head. Surprisingly, the child’s beanie fit perfectly on the Gromphra’s small, torpedo-shaped cranium. “I brought you a chair.”

  “Why would I need a—?” Treasure began.

  Blix pointed at her own face, whispering, “sit on my face.”

  “From here on out, you’re mute,” Electra said. “That’s part of the scam. You’re dying of vocal-gland rot, so you can’t talk.”

  “Hey, don’t even joke about vocal-gland rot,” Blix said, pointing an accusatory antenna at Electra.

  “Is that a real thing? I thought I just made it up.”

  “Nah, I’m pulling your leg, Electra,” Blix said. “Gromphra are pretty much un-killable. I just wanted to see your surprised face.” Blix elbowed Treasure and winked at her knowingly. “Bet it’s close to her orgasm face. Am I right, jugs?”

  “This is going to be a disaster,” Treasure grumbled.

  “Nope, it’s going to be great. It’ll all be great, and if it isn’t great, we’re not out anything because the formula isn’t even on the list,” Electra said. “Plus, look at that shitty view! Can’t get a view that shitty at home.” Electra pointed to the ugly, industrial skyline of the city and the gnarled, metallic mountains beyond, set to the backdrop of red streaks across a muddy sky.

  Treasure shook her head and smiled. “Onward, then.”

  For several hours they rode in a tram across the planet’s grimy surface. Electra and Treasure sat on either side of Blix the entire time, elbowing the Gromphra whenever she began to make a comment about another passenger in the car. The mountains eventually subsided, giving way to urban sprawl. Low, squalid buildings stretched through a valley as far as the eye could see to either side of the tram. Blue and gray palm trees stood on the flat roofs of the dingy structures, slightly bowed in the same direction.

  “Are those Oboidions or statues of them?” Treasure asked.

  “I think they’re the real thing,” Electra said. “I wonder what they’re doing.”

  “So much wood in one place,” Blix said. “Too bad it’s all bent!”

  Electra and Treasure elbowed Blix in unison.

  At the second-to-last stop before the tram turned around for the return trip, they exited the green-zone car into the green-zone station section. Treasure consulted the map on her datapad and guided them to a walkway leading to a green-zone market.

  “I guess Oboidions like breathing methane,” Treasure said, “but methane messes with the taste of soda, so the soda fountain and the collection we’re after are on the edge of the green zone—probably so the owner can step out and catch a breath of fresh methane whenever he needs one. That must be what the ones on the roofs were doing.”

  “Wow, that’s some impressive xenobiology knowledge,” Electra said.

  “I’m a fast learner,” Treasure said. “Plus, it was in the article about the soda collector.” She added a subtle wink that made the back of Electra’s neck warm.

  They made their way down the dirty, litter-strewn street. A fine layer of soot or dust or industrial grime or an amalgam of all of the above had gathered on the glass dome arching over the green-section’s walkway, giving the impression of perpetual dusk. A narrow stairwell led up to the soda fountain and an old, painted wood sign at the top promised cool refreshment and a friendly smile. The sign was a replica of an archaic advertisement for something called Dr. Pepper, although whoever was originally meant to be holding a can of the beverage had been replaced by an Oboidion.

  They pushed open a swinging wood-and glass door, setting a small bell above ringing. The interior of the shop smelled strongly of dust and sugar—lots and lots of sugar. Empty bottles lined the walls on apothecary-style shelves, each to its own alcove. A massive soda fountain counter bisected the back part of the room with several brass fixtures for drawing and mixing drinks.

  “Welcome, welcome, one and all, to the Museum and Fountain of Soda History,” the Oboidion soda jerk said from behind the counter. A small, white paper hat sat atop his fronds while a crisp, white apron dangled from two of his tiny arms, holding it in front of his trunk. “I am Zzyrax, purveyor, vendor and curator of all things fizzy and sweet. What can I pour to wet your whistles?”

  Electra nodded to Treasure and gestured toward the Oboidion. This was Treasure’s con. Electra was backup and Blix was a prop. Hopefully, a silent prop.

  Treasure cleared her throat and began speaking in a nasally, officious voice that Electra had never heard her use before. “I am Miss Scully, and this is my associate Mrs. Mulder from the Make-a-Wish Foundation,” she said. “Have you heard of our wonderful, charitable organization?”

  “Oh, my, I can’t say that I have,” Zzyrax said. “Would you like to put a collection jar on the counter next to the cash register? I have a few already placed for decoration, but a real one would add to the legitimacy of the decor.”

  “I would absolutely love to pass the collection plate, as it were, but our nonprofit status doesn’t allow for commercial enterprise endorsements,” Treasure said. “Let me introduce you to Blix, while I tell you a little more about our charity and how you can help.”

  Electra maneuvered Blix to stand closer to Treasure’s side when she gestured for the Gromphra in the propeller hat to step forward.

  “This is Blix, an adorable eleven-year-old Gromphra girl who is tragically dying of vocal-gland rot,” Treasure said.

  “I didn’t think Gromphra could get diseases,” Zzyrax said.

  Electra’s stomach leaped into her throat. The Oboidion was displaying more Gromphra knowledge than her already.

  “Which makes it all the more tragic.” Treasure choked back some tears. “It is rare, striking only one Gromphra in every dozen generations. And it is fatal, I’m afraid.”

  “My goodness, that is heartbreaking,” Zzyrax agreed. “This organization you represent, the Make-a-Wish Foundation? I assume you’re going to grant her wish to not die of vocal-gland rot.”

  Electra cleared her throat to stifle a giggle.

  “Would that we could, darling,” Treasure s
aid. “Unfortunately, there is no cure, and so we’re doing our best to make the dying wish of such an adorable child come true so she can pass into the great dark beyond fulfilled and happy.”

  “One tiny cup of happiness before her promising life is cut tragically short,” Electra added, feeling the groove of where Treasure was going.

  To her credit, Blix added a few simulated sad sniffing noises and wiped away tears from her eyes, despite not having tear ducts or any need for them.

  “My soda fountain is at your service.” Zzyrax gestured grandly to the brass fixtures ahead of him, even as he nudged the door behind him closed. “You understand that I couldn’t possibly open a bottle from my collection, even for such a noble charity.”

  “We understand completely,” Electra said, “and we wouldn’t dream of defiling a museum for anything as trivial as a dying child’s wish.”

  “Good…excellent even,” Zzyrax said. “Many people don’t appreciate the importance of keeping a collection intact, offering trades and purchase agreements as if money and other items could ever replace the immeasurable joy brought by a collection that only grows ever larger.”

  “It is precisely this understanding of the value of soda over monetary gains that led us to your particular soda fountain,” Treasure said. “Young Blix has only ever wanted to taste a Coca-Cola Classic, served in a frosted glass, by an honest-to-goodness soda jerk.”

  “Ah, now I see where the charity comes in,” Zzyrax exclaimed. “Your foundation can’t afford the price of such a rare and remarkable beverage. I know all too well the hardships endured while trying to collect wealth for the greater good. Say no more. It’s a charitable deduction, and an adorable, worthy recipient of the prized drink.”

  Treasure and Electra collectively guided Blix to the counter to receive her dying wish. Zzyrax removed a frosted Coke glass from beneath the counter and reached for the spigot. “Perhaps, could you three turn around as not to witness my specialized pour technique?” Zzyrax asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Electra agreed.

  The trio turned their backs on the Oboidion while he filled the glass. Electra glanced to Blix, who could see in a three-hundred-sixty-degree field around her head. Blix nodded that it was coming from the same spigot they’d first seen Zzyrax place the glass under, the one clearly labeled with a red-and-white Coca-Cola emblem. They turned back around in unison when they heard the glass settle onto the counter.

  “Enjoy the greatest drink Earth had to offer,” Zzyrax said.

  Blix lifted the fizzing glass to her mouth, paused, sniffed at it a little, then dipped her long, straw-like proboscis into it. “It’s sweet!” she exclaimed.

  “Should she be able to talk with vocal-gland rot?” Zzyrax asked.

  “Only two words a day,” Electra said. “How fitting that she chose to use them to describe your drink!”

  “Now she need only pour it into her mouth,” Treasure added.

  Blix continued to suck more of the soda through her proboscis, dodging Treasure and Electra’s hands, trying to pull the drink away. Electra swatted Blix’s hands that kept trying to reach into her mouth to remove the collection vessel so the soda could be poured directly down her throat. Treasure vaulted off a chair and grabbed onto Blix’s back to get at her head. With great effort, and a well-placed hand on each mandible, Treasure managed to pry Blix’s mouth open and pull her head back. Electra jumped several times to try to swat the bottom of the glass so it would tip into Blix’s mouth, but each time Blix managed to get an arm in the way to push Electra back out of range.

  “Is this normal?” Zzyrax asked. “This seems a bit violent.”

  “The most normal thing in the world, darling,” Treasure said, swinging back and forth on Blix’s shoulders when the giant cockroach tried to shake her free. “The vocal-gland rot makes it exceedingly difficult for her to drink. We are simply assisting in the process.”

  “We have to do this a dozen times a day to ensure she doesn’t die of dehydration.” Electra snagged a standing sign of an Oboidion lying on the beach, drinking some sort of glowing green drink, from beside the soda fountain. After a few attempts, she managed to poke the glass and spill the contents down Blix’s throat. She tossed aside the standee in time and caught the falling, empty Coke glass. Electra set the glass on the counter, righted the stand and straightened her suit jacket before smiling as disarmingly as she could to Zzyrax.

  In the next moment, she was lifted off the ground and thoroughly shaken by the agitated Gromphra. “Give me bubbly sugar water!” Blix demanded.

  Somehow, Treasure managed to scramble up to straddle the back of Blix’s shoulders, plunged her hand down the cockroach’s throat and pulled out the collection vessel. Blix dropped Electra and attempt to reach up for the vessel, but Treasure had already slid down Blix’s back. Electra crouched and spun her leg out to sweep Blix’s feet from the floor. Treasure dodged to the side of the falling cockroach, tied off the top of the collection vessel, and dropped it down the front of her blouse into her cleavage, where it disappeared.

  “Oh, I’ll go in there and get it. Don’t think I won’t,” Blix stammered from the floor. “I’ll go in there and we’ll both enjoy…um…could one of you kick me on the side? I can’t get up after falling directly on my back.”

  “I’m afraid that is quite impossible, darling,” Treasure said, never dropping her fake voice. She beckoned for Electra to follow when she kicked off her heels and ran for the door.

  “Thank you for making a child’s wish come true!” Electra shouted over her shoulder while she and Treasure fled the scene.

  “But I need a verification signature for tax purposes…” Zzyrax called after them, the rest of his complaint being lost when they reached the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner.

  “Not a perfect execution,” Treasure said, slightly out of breath once they slowed to a brisk walk.

  “Are you kidding?” Electra asked. “That’s exactly how we drew it up.”

  Back on the tram to return to the starport, Treasure smiled at Electra and laughed. “You’re a lot of fun, darling,” Treasure said before resting her head on Electra’s shoulder.

  The vague tingle between her legs and the fuzziness in Electra’s head, which she’d started to get used to around Treasure, grew, clarified and, in the case of the tingle between her legs, actually grew a little solid. Lust she knew all too well, but lust tinted with genuine affection wasn’t something she’d felt in years.

  Chapter Nine

  Back on the ship, zipping toward the wormhole spawn, Electra sat in the captain’s chair staring at the brand-new counter tracking the human population. When she’d left the ship, there should have only been three on the list. Ivy was saying the number was actually closer to three hundred. Who the humans were, what they were doing and any other information wasn’t available to the general public. Ivy also couldn’t say for certain that they weren’t a statistical anomaly in the Chamber’s records—a holdover from when Embarkers still existed that hadn’t been updated yet. For a thousand reasons, Electra couldn’t take the news as strictly good. If there were three hundred or so humans, someone had gone to a fair amount of trouble to conceal that fact, and Electra wanted to know why.

  That number could sustain a viable human population without much planning. They’d obviously all have to be in the same area, and there wasn’t any information available to say where any of them were beyond the three Electra already knew about. She’d dismissed the possibility of trying to perpetuate the species with only three people, knowing it would be a doomed inbreeding program at best. With that not necessarily being the case anymore, Electra wondered if Treasure would prefer her or Bort or neither. Truly, Electra didn’t know if she could provide viable genetic material. It hadn’t come up. There was never anyone for it to come up with, so she’d never bothered to check. Now she didn’t want to have a sample analyzed because she was afraid of an answer that would destroy her little fantasy. A fantasy, she had to
admit, that was based on a coupling between her and Treasure that she wasn’t remotely sure if Treasure was interested in. What if she liked Bort more? What if all her talk about bisexuality didn’t include transitioned women? It wasn’t entirely clear from their discussion if transitioned women had existed in Treasure’s time or if she’d encountered any.

  All the concerns and unknowns would only matter if she found the other people. The rest could work itself out in the natural course of time if the debts were paid and Bi-MARP satisfied. There were three hundred eleven humans somewhere. That was a viable population to rebuild humanity. If Electra was being completely honest with herself, restoring Earth and rebuilding humanity weren’t actually her ultimate goal. Earth didn’t mean anything to her, and she was only marginally more interested in keeping her species afloat. She couldn’t quite put her finger on the source of the apathy toward averting extinction. It’d been thrilling to find Bort, magical discovering and getting to know Treasure and reassuring about there being three hundred eight other humans, but she’d lived so long without humanity and never had a home world, meaning neither concept had a firm reference point for importance in her mind.

  “Ivy is processing the sample of Coca-Cola as we speak. I’m super stoked about the success of our first scam together. I think the Spatronic has my pores smaller than they’ve ever been. I found out Tim Hortons is bigger and better than ever. I can have all the kiwi fruit I want from the fabricator. All in all, this was a really good day,” Treasure said. “What has you so enthralled?”

  “Remember what I said about there only being three of us left?”

  “Please tell me Bort didn’t die!”

  “No, at least, I don’t think he did.” Electra pointed to the side display on one of the screens that constantly tracked the same page of a recently uncovered census sheet that Ivy had just gained access to. “That’s the data Ivy pulled from deeply archived official Chamber records for the populations of all spacefaring species. That’s us, at three hundred eleven, and right below that is Om at one.”