by Edward Zajac
“But what about you?” said Zagarat.
There was a loud explosion, shifting the container a few feet. Fletcher glanced back at Dahlia and Rama. “Dahlia and I are getting in an escape pod now. Go!”
“Okay,” said Zagarat. “Okay, okay, okay.”
Fletcher secreted the comm away.
“What are you doing?” said Dahlia. “Get to that ship and get out of here, you idiot.”
“Not without you,” said Fletcher. He wedged the panel into place and then walked to the back of the container. “Besides, we’re not dead yet.”
He braced himself on the wall, calling upon the Universe. He closed his eyes, feeling the energy course through his body. Not as strongly as it once had, but strongly enough. Then he leapt at the makeshift door, striking it like a missile.
For at that moment, Fletcher was Noomani.
There was a flash of light. He was a hole in space, gravitating all to his will. Bones crackled as they split in twain. Time was his to suspend. A shriek of pain sounded off in the distance. Energy was his to control. Voices cried for mercy. Gravity was his to displace.
When the universe faded from his eyes, Fletcher found himself in the center of the hangar, surrounded by five lifeless guards. But the panel in his arms continued to shudder as plasmabolts and laserblasts riddled its deusteel surface.
Fletcher braced himself against the assault. Once he could have done so much more. But not anymore. Not since…
A green light flashed in the corner of his eye. He turned. The semaphore above the escape pod was glowing green.
That meant that the escape pod was active. They could still escape.
Suddenly, the laserfire stopped and a metallic tink sound pierced the air. It was nearly rhythmic, as if bouncing sinusoidally towards him. It rolled and rolled until it struck the edge of Fletcher’s deusteel shield.
Fletcher looked down. There, at his feet, was a round Quoren plated sphere, red lights flashing around its perimeter. He recognized it immediately. It was an Aeroite grenade.
His eyes grew wide, as they had so many times in the last few days. He dropped one end of the cover onto the floor and shut his eyes tight, bracing his shoulder against the deusteel panel as he braced himself for what was about to come.
He reached out towards the Universe, searching for the wave lines he alone could see.
What happened next seemed to happen all at once. There was a loud pop and Fletcher found himself flying through the air as if gravity had suddenly abandoned him, his lifesuit fluttering as he surged backwards. A moment later, a blast of energy struck the deusteel shield, accelerating Fletcher’s impromptu flight out into space. Then there was a great flash of light and another a wave of energy surged towards the privateer, striking the deusteel panel hard.
That was the last thing Fletcher saw before darkness enshrouded his mind.
Fletcher blearily opened his eyes. Everything was fuzzy and distorted as if he was looking at the universe through a fisheye lens. But each blink slowly brought the universe back into focus until he finally recognized the figure standing in front of him.
“So,” said Aurora. “How much do you love me right now?”
Fletcher chuckled once although it sounded more like a sigh. “More than you could possibly imagine.” He grabbed his aching head. “What the hell just happened?”
“You nearly died is what happened,” said Aurora. “But as usual, I came along and saved your worthless behind before it was too late. This is the part where you say thank you.”
“Thank you,” said Fletcher, sitting up. He grimaced as the agony party spread to his eyes. “But how did you know to come?”
“You can thank Zagarat for that,” said Aurora.
The tech stepped forward. “I commed her when I left the ship.”
“And then I came running,” said Aurora. “Or thrusting in this case.”
“But I was on the ship,” said Fletcher, clutching his head. “Then I wasn’t. How did I…”
“That would be Zagarat again,” said Aurora.
“I used Leevee’s PCD to unlock all the escape pods,” said Zagarat, blushing slightly. He then looked away, pensively. “But then-” His voice drifted into silence.
“What?” asked Fletcher.
“Then I saw you,” said Zagarat. “I saw you standing there in the hangar, holding a door like a shield. And I knew you weren’t going to make it to the pod. And so I-I used Leevee’s PCD to vent the hangar. I don’t even know how I did it. I just knew I had to save you.”
Aurora disappeared only to reappear behind Zagarat, her expression vacillating between awe and fear.
Fletcher quickly shook his head, discouraging her. “Well, I’m just glad you have a good intuition,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “Any chance Dahlia and Rama made it, too.”
“Yeah,” said Zagarat absently, as if lost in his own little world. “When I vented the hangar, the container was jettisoned as well. Aurora picked them up and now they’re both on the other ship, tending to the injured Weiylans.” Zag looked up. “Were you somehow in my head?”
“Why? Were you having fantasies about me? Because that happens sometimes.”
“No,” said Zagarat, grimacing at the mere notion. “It’s just… Everything was so vivid in my mind. It was like I could hear your thoughts and see everything you were seeing. It was really weird.”
“Sounds it,” said Fletcher. He waved the notion away. “I’m sure it was just your imagination. I mean, do I really look like a sent who could do something like that?”
“No,” said Zagarat, after a moment’s consideration. “You look more like a bumbling idiot.”
Fletcher narrowed his eyes and Zagarat grinned from ear to ear. But that grin quickly vanished when the privateer walked towards him.
“What are you doing?” asked Zagarat, suspiciously.
“You saved my life back there,” said Fletcher, taking another step forward. “And I want to thank you for that.”
“How?” asked Zagarat, leaning back on his heels as if preparing to flee at a moment’s notice.
“By giving you a hug,” said Fletcher. “Now, come here.”
“That’s okay,” said Zagarat, holding out his hands. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Come on,” said Fletcher, quickening his step.
“No, thank you,” said Zagarat, retreating in step with Fletcher’s advance. “I’m fine.”
“Just a little hug,” said Fletcher. “And then maybe a kiss, with a little bit of tongue.”
“That’s not funny,” said Zagarat.
“Then we’ll spoon a little bit,” said Fletcher. “It’ll be nice.”
“Stop it.”
“And maybe we’ll get Devon involved. He’s got the gentlest hands.”
“Don’t even joke about that.”
“And then we shall commit carnal and unnatural acts together!”
“Aaah!” screamed Zagarat, running down the corridor.
“Come back,” said Fletcher, running after him. “Stop fighting your feelings for me!”
“Stay away from me, you sunning lunatic!”
“All I want to do is love you!”
he UES Intergalactic Conglomerate was a mega-corporation universally renowned for its mass media offerings, from blockbuster movies to interactive books to reality vids.
The list went on and on.
But few knew that ten percent of their annual income actually came from the medical industry. More pointedly, from furnishing and decorating medical offices, hospitals, and care centers throughout the known universe. This was the reason that almost every hospital looked exactly the same. They had the same pastel colored wallpaper, the same pastel colored chairs that looked like they might collapse the minute someone actually used them as chairs. It was the reason every sentient nurse wore the same staid uniforms and doctors wore the same uni-colored scrubs. All because UES cornered the medical market many fiscal years ago and wouldn’t let the market
leave the party until she gave up her name and number. After all, UES couldn’t understand why such a smart and sexy market was hanging around with all those loser corporations. She deserved a real corp. The kind that would treat her right. The kind that would make her feel like a real industry.
And with that, a professional relationship with fringe benefits was formed. The fringe benefits being a special stitching around the hem of the limited edition red scrubs.
The Ferali Institute was a research hospital, orbiting the planet Ferali at just the right distance to be out of the planet’s legal jurisdiction, but close enough to be taxed for merely existing. A hologram in the lobby welcomed all sentients to the hospital, aping the race of each approaching guest. The Lerandan informed Zagarat that his mother was currently on the twelfth floor, in room 1289. He took the maglift up to her room.
The room was a soft pink color, as soporific as any anesthesia. There were three rickety bloodwood chairs inside, each upholstered with a pastel green fabric and the faintest hint of a cushion. A biobed displayed a myriad bioreadings, none of which made any sense to Zagarat.
Zag had failed Lerandan biology as a child, which seemed more like an evolutionary indictment than anything else.
But most importantly, the room had his mother. She looked so happy sitting there on the biobed, flipping through a projected digimag. Actually, three digimags; Lerandan HomeKeeping, Neo Jazz Times, and Hoverbike Helliots from Hell.
Zagarat smirked. His mother had always been an eclectic sentient, to say the least. To say the most would result in her hitting you upside the head.
“Hello, Zag,” said Margarat, swiping away the digimags. “Come in. Come in.”
“Hey, Mommen,” said Zagarat, kissing her on the cheek. “What were you reading?”
“It was a fascinating article about the new Magi Quadbike with Nerron boosters.”
Zagarat sighed. “Ma, we discussed this. You can’t drive one of those in your condition.”
“But I’ve already picked out the assless chaps,” said Margarat. “Their names are Derol, Eritz, and Efful.”
Zag groaned at the joke. Or attempted joke. “Well, it sounds like you’re feeling better.”
“It must be the treatments,” said Margarat. “Although, I am ready to go ho-”
Margarat suddenly collapsed against her pillow, unable to elaborate on her desire “to go ho.”
Panic washed over Zagarat. He ran to his mother’s side, scanning the biodisplay for the slightest indication of what went wrong. But the bleeps and bloops offered no elucidation.
“Don’t take it personally,” said a serene voice from behind. “All of our patients are administered soporific drugs on a regular basis. It helps with the healing process.”
Zagarat turned. A Lilanni in a gray suit stood at the doorway. He was a biped with a long pink face, wide nose, and slicked back ebon hair.
Zag recognized him from the nexus. It was Dr. Je-oh.
“It’s Zagarat, isn’t it?” said Dr. Je-oh in a slightly halting manner.
“Yes,” said Zagarat, sighing with relief. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“And you,” said Dr. Je-oh, walking inside. “I must say your mother is something special. Everyone here loves her.”
“Yeah, she’s something special all right,” said Zagarat, smiling down at his mother. “I can’t wait to take her home.”
“Yes,” said Dr. Je-oh. “About that…”
“Oh, don’t worry,” said Zagarat. “I’ll bring her back for the next round of treatments.”
Dr. Je-oh made a face that Zagarat had only seen in medvids, whenever a physician had to impart some devastating news unto the immediate family.
“Mr. Cole,” said Dr. Je-oh, gesturing towards a chair. “Please have a seat.” The doctor pulled up another chair and sat down opposite Zag, leaning forward on his elbows. “What has your mother told you about the treatments?”
“She told me everything was going well. Why?”
Dr. Je-oh nodded to himself. “I thought as much. Unfortunately, the treatments have not been as successful as I might have hoped.”
“What do you mean?” said Zagarat.
“After the first round of treatments, her P8 count actually increased by fifty percent while her pasal ganglia function decreased nearly thirty-three percent.”
Zagarat frowned. “And what does that mean?”
Dr. Je-oh made that sympathetic face again. “It means the treatments aren’t working. In fact, they’re making things worse.”
“But you were supposed to help her,” said Zagarat, desperately. “That’s why I brought her here. That’s why I stole…” Zag stopped himself mid-confession. “You were supposed to help her.”
“I understand,” said Dr. Je-oh in a perpetual state of empathy. “Sentients believe that we doctors can cure all of life’s woes. But we can’t. Trust me, we truly wish we could, but we can’t. All we can do is what all sentients do: try.” He placed his hand on Zag’s knee. “I truly am sorry. Of course, we will refund all your money, save for the costs of the initial treatment.”
“But there must be something else we can do,” said Zagarat, desperately. “Some other treatments or experimental procedures we can try.”
“There are other procedures,” said Dr. Je-oh. “But to be perfectly honest, they would only be a waste of your credits. She is responding best to Eroxin Delate right now. I would continue with that regiment and hope that something more promising emerges before…”
He stopped before finishing that sentence.
Zagarat glanced over at his mother. She looked so peaceful, her chest slowly rising and falling. It seemed like sleep and death were separated only by those rises and those falls.
“Can I take her home?” asked Zagarat, tears shimmering in his eyes.
“Of course,” said Dr. Je-oh. “Again, I am truly sorry.”
The doctor left sometime afterwards although Zagarat didn’t know exactly when. He was too lost in his own mind to notice or even care.
These treatments were supposed to cure her. They were supposed to make everything better. But they didn’t. He failed her once again, not only as a son but as a provider also.
Oh, Margarat always said she was proud of her son—that he made her laugh and smile like no one else could. But Zagarat knew the truth. He was a failure. An utter, utter failure.
Zagarat looked up at the sound of knocking in the distance.
“May I come in?” said Fletcher, holding a white plasticene cup in each hand.
“Yeah,” said Zagarat, readjusting a chair. “Come on in. She’s just sleeping.”
“Thanks,” said Fletcher, handing Zag a cup as he sat down beside him. “I figured you could probably use some cocoa right about now. So, how’s she doing?”
Zagarat’s eyes drifted back to his mother. “Fine,” he said eventually. “She’s fine.”
“See,” said Fletcher, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “I told ya everything would work out just fine for us.”
“Yeah,” said Zagarat, taking a sip of the cocoa. It had no cocoa flavor whatsoever, which only seemed apropos. “You said it all right.”
“So, did the doctor say when she can leave?”
“Not exactly,” said Zagarat. “But it shouldn’t be too long.”
“Well, don’t hurry on our account,” said Fletcher. “Just enjoy your time together.”
“Thanks,” said Zagarat, his eyes gravitating back to his mother.
“You sure everything’s all right?” asked Fletcher, concern in his voice.
“Hmm?” said Zagarat, the words buffering in his mind. Finally, his mental CPU processed the query. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I was just thinking, that’s all.”
“See, that’s your problem,” said Fletcher. “You gotta be more like me.” He frowned. “Wait. That didn’t come out right.”
Zagarat chuckled. It felt good.
“What were you thinking about?” asked Fletcher.
&nb
sp; “Books,” said Zagarat. “Everything always works out the way it’s supposed to in books. The heroes always win and the bad guys always lose. Good always prevails and everything always ends the way it should. But life is never like that.” Zagarat scoffed. “Look at what happened with us. If I were an editor, I would have thrown that manuscript back at the author and told him to rewrite it. I mean, the whole thing was a complete mess. Suns, what did we even accomplish at the end?”
“We accomplished the most important thing of all,” said Fletcher. “We saved the Weiylans.” He paused. “Correction. You saved the Weiylans. Those beautiful blue giants are alive because of you.” He placed his hand on Zagarat’s knee. “Zag, life isn’t a book. It’s not a puzzle where every piece falls perfectly into place. It’s a journey. A journey you hope you can survive.”
Zagarat frowned. “Did you ever consider working at a suicide hotline? I think you’d be great at it.”
“I did for a while, but then they fired me,” said Fletcher. “Who knew you were supposed to convince them not to jump?”
Zagarat chuckled again. And again, it felt good.
Fletcher rapped Zagarat’s knee twice. “I’ll leave you two alone. Just comm me when you’re ready to leave.”
“Thanks,” said Zagarat, flashing a quick smile. The privateer nodded then made his way towards the door. “Oh, and Fletcher…”
“Yeah?” said Fletcher, turning.
“If you ever need another tech for something, feel free not to comm me.”
Fletcher grinned that infectious grin of his. “You got it,” he said. “If I ever need another tech, you’ll be the first one I won’t comm.”
They shared a brief smile that seemed to speak volumes and then Fletcher Griffin left Zagarat alone with his mother.
Once the privateer was gone, Zagarat pulled his chair closer to the biobed, cupping his mommen’s hand in his hands. And there he stayed until she awoke hours later.
Outside of the hospital room, Fletcher watched Zagarat watch Margarat.
“So, did you ask him?” said Aurora in his ear.
