by Rob Rosen
The minutes ticked by like they were tacked to a snail’s backside, the train bulleting all the while. Were Milo’s parents at home when the blast occurred? Had they somehow survived? Were they taken prisoners? Plus, selfishly, would I ever see my own parents again?
Astoundingly, I had every single one of those answers as soon as we spotted the charbroiled house.
“Mom?” I gasped.
“Dad?” Craig gasped.
“Mom?” Milo gasped. “Dad?” he added.
Because yes, both sets of parents were sitting outside the house, looking none worse the wear and just as surprised to see us as we were to see them. Well, not maybe just, but still.
“Mom!” I shouted as I ran into her arms.
“Dad!” Craig shouted as he ran into Dad’s arms.
“Mom, Dad!” Milo shouted…well, you can figure out the rest.
Suffice it to say, there was a lot of shouting and crying as Tag and Britney wistfully looked on and the sun began its inevitable dip toward the horizon.
“How?” I eventually asked, looking from my mom to my dad and back again.
“You left a note,” she replied.
I scratched my head. “No, I didn’t.”
Craig lifted his hand. “I left the note. It said to not go through the water.” He blinked and glanced my way. “I guess they went through.”
I chuckled. “No shit, Sherlock.”
“Craig,” said Tag. “His name is Craig, not Sherlock.”
It was now my parent’s turn to blink. Evidently, they’d never seen a talking hologram before, at least not a cognizant one. “Um, right,” Dad said. “You two disappeared. There was suddenly a waterfall in Randy’s room. There was a note that said not to go through the water. We figured there was a connection.”
“And so you went through the water,” I said.
Mom shrugged. “What choice did we have?”
I grinned. I looked at Milo. “Do your parents speak English?”
He nodded. “Yep. They learned it from me, from Tag, since we speak it all the time.”
Milo’s mom nodded. “What choice did we have?”
My grin widened. “So, how exactly is everyone alive and standing here when…” I pointed at what remained of the house.
Okay, so there was a bit of a long explanation here, what with two sets of parents chiming in, both sets equally relieved to see us and still pissed at what we’d done—or maybe not equally so much as forty/sixty, but still. I mean, the house was totaled and we had disappeared. Then again, Milo’s parents could pick another house since, I assumed, most of the ones on either side were probably vacant.
In any case, here was the gist:
My mom and dad hopped through the waterfall and into another universe.
Milos’s mom and dad were home at the time and were a.) surprised that their son had vanished and b.) was replaced by two aliens who spoke the same strange language their son had foisted upon them. FYI, they’d been on vacation during Milo’s incarceration, many miles away from home.
Both sets of parents worked out what the ties that bound them together were, though not what had become of us—not until those wanted posters made their rounds, that is. Seems they weren’t made expressly for the likes of us. Sadly, it wasn’t the best picture of me. As for Milo, not surprisingly, he couldn’t take a bad picture if he tried. Oh, and it also appeared we were enemies of the state, wanted for a long list of crimes, all punishable by, gulp, a horribly painful death.
Not knowing where we were, the parents remained in the house, figuring we’d eventually come home. After all, there were plenty of clothes to go around for my mom and dad—you only needed one of everything, after all, and Milo’s parents had more than one—and there was plenty of, blech, paste as well. So, they hunkered down and waited. Thankfully, the Cureans have a card game similar to poker, except with holographic cards. The parents got along famously as they played and bitched about us. Bitching, it also seems, is multi-universal.
Just before the house went KABOOM!, they were tipped off that said KABOOM! was about to occur.
Our parents escaped.
Our parents saw us approaching from a neighboring house, now Milo’s new home—see, I was right about that!—and voila, family reunion.
“But who tipped you off?” I asked.
The shrugs went down the line. “No clue,” said Mom. “But we only had a few minutes before…” She pointed behind us. “Care to explain your involvement in…” Again, she pointed behind us.
Okay, so there was a bit of a long explanation here, what with three young people and a hologram/watch chiming in. And since you already know the long explanation, seeing as I’ve been explaining said explanation all this time, I won’t bore you with the recap. Suffice it to say, the parental units were none too happy with the chiming-in young people, though Mom did seem unusually smitten with Tag.
“Is he, um, alive?” she whispered in my ear as she nodded her head Tag’s way.
“Not a clue,” I whispered back. “I think so, though. Either way, he makes for a really nifty watch.”
After that, we quickly left Milo’s neighborhood, heading back to the city instead, all eight of us, plus Tag, the sky turning a brilliant gay pink as we found a new downtown building to reside in. I was glad we were all together. I was also terrified thinking what might become of us—us being all of us, plus the entire human race. Talk about your ensuing tension headaches.
Still, I knew one way to relieve said tension.
We broke up into teams. Each set of parents got their own apartments. Each set of barely-adults got their own apartments. Craig assured Mom and Dad that Britney was like a sister to him. The fact that they bought that shit meant that they were surely traumatized by the entire universe-hopping experience. Since I, too, was traumatized, I wasn’t that surprised. As for Tag, he stayed with Craig as an interpreter. I tended to doubt they’d need one, since their lips would probably be too busy for, you know, talking.
Minutes later, we were planted on the couch, Milo was planted on my lap, and I was planted deep inside him, our lips also very much planted, until there were enough plants to start a farm with.
He moved his face an inch away from mine, sweat dripping down his nose and into my mouth. It tasted salty, but since it didn’t take like, blech, paste, I was more than happy to imbibe. “Strange turn of events,” he panted.
“Me fucking you this time?”
He grinned. “Our parents.”
I nodded. “But who tipped them off, and why?” He shrugged. “What are we going to do?” He shrugged. “How do we break into that secret facility again?” He shrugged. “How can I blow it up if it’s now my only way to get home again?” I stopped him. “And don’t shrug.”
He shrugged, just the same. “Sorry. I haven’t a clue.” He kissed me. “Did I mention that your dick up my ass makes me not care so much about all that other stuff?”
I nodded. “Same here, but replace all that with your ass on my dick.”
“Maybe we could simply keep fucking until this mess solves itself.”
My nod amped up. “Yes, please.”
“Yes, please,” he purred as he ground his ass into my crotch.
“Yes, please,” I rasped as I spewed a geyser of come up his chute.
“Yes, please,” he moaned loudly as he came on my chest and belly, globs of spunk soon dripping down my sides. Oh, and to quickly calm your nerves, I’d been, until recently, a virgin, so no rubbers needed, and he was a Curean, a race with no STDs, so again, no rubbers needed. Safety first, people. Safety first. Unless you’re saving the entire human race. Then fuck it.
I looked up at him once we were finished with all the geysering and moaning and dripping. “Worry is back.”
He nodded. He sighed. “Yep.”
He rolled off me. The couch turned into a bed. Milo and I were quickly flat on our backs, side by side, hand in hand.
There was the briefest of pauses before he asked,
“Is it too soon to say I love you?”
My chest clenched around my heart. Literally. Clenched. “It does complicate things.”
He laughed. “Because you love me, too?”
I nodded into the couch-turned-bed. “Yes, because I love you, too.” I turned my face his way. “It’s because we’re twenty-two and afraid at the moment, right?”
“Twenty-two and terrified,” he corrected. “But no, it’s not because of that.” He turned his face my way. “I loved you the moment we met.”
I grinned. “Granted, I was rescuing at the time.”
“You were locked up at the time. And, to be fair, Tag did the actual rescuing.”
“My mom asked if he was alive.”
“He’s a machine.”
I sighed. I blinked. I kissed him. “Tag doesn’t seem to think so.”
He sighed. He blinked. He kissed me in return. “Anyway, we have to blow that place up and we can’t blow that place up.”
“Catch twenty-two,” I said.
“Catch twenty-two what?” He looked around. “There aren’t even twenty-two objects in this apartment.”
I smiled. “It means: we’re damned if we do, we’re damned if we don’t.”
He seemed to think about this, then replied, “To quote your kind, we’re screwed.”
“And not the good kind of screwed either.”
He rubbed his butt. “Tell me about it.” I squeezed his hand. I didn’t mention that we hadn’t discussed what would happen to us should I be able to go home. I mean, he had his universe; I had mine. And I did love him. I loved him, like he said, as soon as we met, maybe even before that. And because of that, how could I leave him even if I could?
“Fate brought us together, Randy,” he eventually said.
“Or simply a steel house and a magnetized city.”
He shook his head. “No. Fate. In any case, fate brought us together.” He squeezed my hand. “Let’s have faith that it’s still looking out for us, and then take this all one step at a time.”
I nodded. I rolled over. I fell asleep with my head on his chest.
I had faith in fate.
I had my mommy and daddy with me.
Oh, and I had an entire planet on the lookout for me.
In other words, I didn’t sleep all that peacefully.
§ § § §
We amassed the next morning. We ate breakfast with little delight—which was the only way to eat breakfast on Planet Six.
“So, what’s the plan?” asked Mom.
I shrugged. “I was hoping you’d know. What with you being the adult, and all.”
She smiled, very motherly. “Nice try, Randy.”
Dad patted my hand. “Yeah, nice try, kiddo.”
“Randy,” Tag said. “His name is Randy.”
Dad tilted his head. “Is he kidding?”
I shrugged. “Doubtful.” I looked over at Tag, who was lucky enough not to have to eat the paste. “Our parents were tipped off. We have to find out who tipped them off. That person must be involved with the government. He or she might have a solution for us.”
Tag nodded. “In the English vernacular, you want me to trace the call.”
Ma giggled. “That he knows?”
My shrug returned. “He runs hot and cold when it comes to our lingo.”
“I feel neither heat nor cold, Randy,” Tag said.
I sighed. “See.”
“In any case,” said Tag, “you want me to find the person who tipped your parents off that Milo’s house was about to be blown up.”
I nodded. “Yep.”
He shook his head. “Highly illegal.”
“You keep warning us about that,” I said, “but it never seems to stop you from doing these highly illegal things.”
“I’m programmed to warn you.”
“But not programmed to not do these highly illegal things?”
He smiled. He glowed a bit brighter as he did so. Or maybe that was just my imagination. “I am programmed to not do illegal things,” he informed. “I simply override my programming at such times.”
Milo coughed. “You can do that?”
Tag nodded. “Apparently.”
Mom leaned in and whispered in my ear, “He sure sounds alive to me.”
To which I whispered in return, “Milo’s in denial, but yeah.” Again, I looked at Tag. “So, can you do that? Trace the person?”
“Nope,” he replied.
My shoulders noticeably sagged. “I sense a but coming on.”
He looked over at Britney. “But she can.”
Britney also seemed to glow a bit brighter, no imagination needed. “I can do.”
I sucked in my breath. “Whoa,” I said. “She’s speaking English.”
She pointed at Craig. “Craig teach.”
“In two days?” I asked.
Milo’s mom, who I’d named Cher—I called Milo’s dad Sonny, by the way—piped in with, “Your language is easy. Twenty-six letters. Cureal has forty-nine. English is simple. I could teach our pet English.” Which meant that, yes, these people were far more advanced than mine, even without the Z chromosome, which the women clearly didn’t have and also clearly didn’t need.
“Pet?” I asked.
Tag shot an image on the far wall. The beast had six legs and more eyes than I could count. It didn’t look like anything you’d want to cuddle with, let alone teach English to.
“Two days is plenty. For the basics,” Cher said.
Milo nodded. “Advanced genome,” he said, by way of an explanation. “We pick up languages easy. There are eighty-seven on Planet Six. I speak eighty of them.”
“That’s all?” I asked sarcastically.
He shrugged. “Only fifty people at most still speak the other seven. What would be the point of learning them?”
Milo spoke eighty languages, not including English and family pet; Milo didn’t seem to get sarcasm. I wasn’t about to test that Z chromosome of his, and so I turned to Britney instead. “You mean, you can break into the system and find the person who contacted Milo’s parents?”
She nodded. “Easy. Done before, for practice. Old system. Never updated.”
It was weird hearing her speak English, however haltingly. I mean, two days! Two friggin’ days! It took me six weeks to learn how to drive a car, and I still can’t parallel park. Stupid Y chromosome. You know what it’s good for? Hair on your ears, that’s what. Seriously. I looked it up. Or at least I had Tag look it up. Even he thought it was gross.
Anyway, Britney jumped up and, a moment later, we all watched as she had at it. The wall went from dim to bright, her fingers racing through the air jackrabbit-fast as she easily broke in and retrieved the data. Then, all we had to do was find out who was at the source.
Britney turned. “Don’t know English word. Tag, help.”
Tag looked up at the wall. “Confidential,” he read.
I groaned. “Location of the call’s source?”
Tag replied, “Same as the prison. Same as the connection point. Same address.”
My groan grew louder. “Fuck,” I spat.
My mom slapped my arm. “Language, Randy.”
Tag turned her way. “English. A curse word, I believe it’s called.”
My mom squinted at me. I shrugged. “You get used to it.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” She looked at Milo’s mom. “Did the guy who warned you about the explosion say anything else?”
She seemed to think it over before she replied. “No, nothing but the warning. Still…”
“Still?” I said, eyes growing a tad wider, expectant.
“He said nothing more, but the voice, the voice was…” she looked over at her husband for the word.
“Familiar,” he said. “His voice was familiar.”
“Like a friend?” I asked.
He shook his head. She shook hers. “Just someone we’ve heard before,” she said, then pointed at the wall. “News, you call it. He’s be
en on the news.”
Milo walked over to them. “As a reporter?” They shrugged. “A politician?” They shrugged. “A criminal?” Yep, they shrugged. “Then what?”
The final shrug was the shruggiest. “Don’t know,” said Cher. “We just recognized the voice from the news. Strange voice. Odd accent.”
“Memorable,” added Sonny.
I sighed. “You have eighty-seven languages on your planet; aren’t there eighty-seven accents to go along with them?”
She nodded. He nodded. She responded. “That’s why the accent was odd; it wasn’t one of the eighty-seven.”
“You know all of them?” asked my mom. Their nodding continued. “And how, exactly, did it differ from those eighty-seven then?”
Cher turned to me, and replied. “It sounded like yours. Like someone who had been on your planet too long, his accent tinged with yours.”
“Fuck,” I spat.
Mom didn’t slap my shoulder this time. Instead, she echoed, “Fuck.”
“Yep,” said Dad. “That’s pretty fucked up, alright.”
To which Tag replied, “Confused by the phrasing. This is good news, correct? Now we can trace the source.”
Everyone in the room immediately had their eyes glued to the hologram. “Huh?” I huhed.
“Wall,” said Tag. “Record voice of the one known as Randy.” He turned to me. “Speak.”
I suddenly felt like a beagle. Could’ve been worse, though. I mean, I could’ve felt like one of their pets. Yuck. In any case, I spoke. “The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.” I grinned at my ingenuity.
Tag also grinned. “You used all the letters in your language. Ingenious.”
See! “Now what?” I then asked.
He pointed at the wall. “Wall, compare Randy’s accent to your news database.”
Suddenly, face after face after face filled the wall, hundreds flashing by, until, at last, one image remained.
“Oh…” said Mom.
“My…” said Dad.
“God,” said I, all of us recognizing the face before us. After all, we had a photo of him up in our den back home, though he was much younger when said picture was taken. Still, it was definitely the same man.
