Max and the Snoodlecock
Max and the Multiverse, Volume 2
Zachry Wheeler
Published by Mayhematic Press, 2017.
Table of Contents
COPYRIGHT
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CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ADDITIONAL WORKS
BEFORE YOU GO
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For Evelyn, who suffered through every dumb name before snoodlecock.
COPYRIGHT
© 2017 by Zachry Wheeler
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9982049-5-6
Print: 978-0-9982049-4-9
Edited by Jennifer Amon
Published by Mayhematic Press
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Claim your FREE limited edition copy of The Item of Monumental Importance: a Max and the Multiverse short! Max awakes to a mystic realm and must brave a barrage of fantasy tropes.
zachrywheeler.com/freebook
CHAPTER 1
Given that space wants to kill you dead any chance it gets, space stations stick out as peculiar feats of ingenuity. In simple terms, they are little more than fragile atmo-boxes floating inside a vacuum. They rely on complex systems to stay afloat, where if the tiniest thing goes wrong, death lurks outside like a hungry badger. This is why they embody the function over form methodology, where a potent desire to remain living trumps everything else. Still, one would think that somewhere along the line, space station management would take a long hard look at their homely air tank and think hmm, maybe some drapes.
Despite this hideous baseline, the Durangoni Station of Leo stood out as one of the prettiest ports in the entire Virgo Supercluster. From a distance, it resembled a polished top, the kind children play with for about eight seconds before succumbing to boredom. Its silvery exterior shimmered in the blackness of space like a warped disco ball. Due to its massive girth and gravitation, the station could not orbit a planet. It had to be a planet. Thus, it floated around an orange dwarf star as an artificial sixth in a family of five, lingering on the outskirts like a neighbor child that always showed up for dinner.
As visitors neared the station, many battled an outbreak of zarbopplement (a word unique to the station, denoting a potent mixture of shock, awe, vertigo, and a sudden desire to contemplate the meaning of life). Thin fissures encircled the structure, splitting it into countless horizontal sections. They expanded little by little before revealing themselves as entry points to colossal rings of commerce. The central rings housed an infinite variety of common markets. Venturing to the outer rings required discerning tastes, peculiar interests, or straight up fetishes. The smaller the ring, the smaller the audience. For many creatures, the tiny rings of Durangoni offered a safe haven in which to indulge in life’s stranger things. Known as the Kink Rinks, they provided an endless bounty of freaky fodder.
A constant flow of planetary traffic poured in and out of the central rings. Each level sat a full kilometer away from the next, allowing the passage of every sized vessel, even massive battlecruisers. Every ring attached to the inner core, a fixed pillar that stretched from pole to pole. Inside, a dedicated community of engineers maintained all structural and life support systems. Their talents kept the enormous edifice afloat, so they enjoyed a rock star status wherever they went. Many spent their entire lives aboard the station, content to live out their worry-free careers.
The sheer scale of Durangoni gave it both gravity and atmosphere, allowing most visitors to walk along its surfaces unprotected. An elaborate reclamation system provided an optimal mix of breathable gases. The surfaces of center rings housed artificial lakes, sandy beaches, mountains for winter sports, and a vast array of amusement parks. Their modular frameworks allowed designers to swap and shuffle, drawing a regular influx of cash-laden tourists.
A transparent security barrier enclosed the station in upper orbit, serving as a checkpoint for all planetary traffic. An army of port controllers managed the ceaseless transit. Ships descended in stacked lines through entry gates and redirected once inside, like a deck of cards dealt from the bottom. From there, visiting vessels punched through the atmosphere like any other planet and floated down into the various ring divisions.
The shadow of a central ring swallowed a tiny freighter as it kicked towards a pre-approved landing pad. The boxy ship sailed by the control tower of a lumbering cruiser and zigzagged through a small fleet of maintenance craft. The edge of a landing pad glowed green as the ship neared the ring wall, a titanic pane of viewports, service hatches, and docked vessels. Thrusters ignited, spilling blue flames from the hull and slowing the freighter to a gentle hover. Three clawed legs gripped the smooth metal service, completing an easy arrival. The white glow of twin rear boosters faded into nothing as the main engines spun down for an extended stay.
Inside, two orange Mulgawats, an Earth human, and a cyborg cat prepared for a routine restocking mission. Ross, a curled ball of chubby marmalade, rested upon a guest cabin bed. The landing thump lifted him into the arched stretch of every cat ever. He leapt down from the bed and trotted into the cargo bay. The charcoal walls and metal floor echoed his stride, highlighting the emptiness of dwindling supplies. In the rear of the bay, Max sat upon a cargo crate while staring at the wall. His maroon shirt and scruffy brown hair stood out as lonely pops of color inside a stark gray canvas. Ross pranced over to his longtime companion and gazed up to find a puzzled expression.
“Oi, what’s wrong?” Ross said.
“I can hear colors,” Max said, his bulging eyes darting between the gray wall, a piece of purple fruit in his hand, and his navy blue pants.
“Yes, your synesthesia. What about it?”
“My synes—huh?”
“Your synesthesia?” Ross glanced away and shook his head. “You know, the condition you’ve had your entire life? The one where you hear colors? What’s the problem?”
“This is an actual condition? I thought I had acquired some D-list superpower.”
Ross started to reply, but his brain declined and volleyed back to the mouth. “What?”
“The purple fruit sounds like psychedelic funk, the gray wall sounds like German techno, and my blue pants sound like, well, the blues. I hear Muddy Waters every time I look at my crotch.”
Ross lifted an eyebrow. “Your strange is strong today, my friend.”
“Everything I look at has a background theme, which, it seems, is all based on color.” He glanced down at Ross and snorted. “You sound like elevator music.”
Ross rolled his eyes. “Ugh, not even going to bother with this today. You’re on your own, Nutty McNuisance.”
“Ooo! Green!” Max leapt to his feet and pointed a finger around the cargo bay. “Let’s find something green. I bet it’s Kermit singing It’s Not Easy Being Green.” Max unlatched a large crate and dove insi
de.
Zoey emerged from the cockpit and paused at the sight of Max’s legs dangling from atop an open crate. She hooked a thumb on the waistband of her cargo pants and squinted through a sunburst complexion. The matte blue scales along her neck reflected the overhead light as she tilted her head. They disappeared under a sturdy leather jacket that hung from her shoulders. She took a deep breath and exhaled a heavy sigh, stretching a thin blue tank top across her chest.
“What the hell is he doing?” Zoey said.
“Looking for colors,” Ross said with a flat tone.
“Pink sounds like pop diva garbage,” Max said, his voice muffled inside the crate. “No surprise there.”
Zoey raked a hand through her choppy black hair and glared at Ross.
“Don’t look at me, I’m not his therapist.”
Max popped up from the crate holding a bright green canister. His giddy grin withered to a frown. “Aw, sounds like reggae. Which, I guess makes sense.” Max tossed the canister back into the crate and met eyes with an irritated Zoey. “You also sound like elevator music.”
“Who sounds like what?” Perra said, peeking around the engine room door. A long auburn ponytail swung across her shoulder. She wiped her face with a tattered rag, exposing a toothy smile and creamy orange skin.
Max glanced around the group. “You all sound like ads for antidepressants.”
Perra cocked her jaw and eyed Zoey, who shrugged and shook her head. The buckles of her machinist pants clanked against the doorframe as she stepped into the cargo bay. She slid a wrench into her pocket and wiped her hands on a grease-stained halter top.
“Is he going to be okay outside?” Zoey said to Ross.
“Why are you asking me?”
“He’s your human, isn’t he?”
“What, like I keep a leash in my pocket?”
Zoey huffed. “Just keep an eye on him, would you? We have a lot to do today and little time to do it. I would rather not babysit a neurotic human.”
“Guys,” Max said with a cocky undertone reserved for stockbrokers. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
“Don’t forget,” Perra said to Max. “You and I have some hardcore shopping ahead of us. We have a mess of parts to find. Still have that list I gave you?”
“Yup, right here.” Max fished a piece of paper from his pocket and stared at it like a drunk with a breakfast menu.
“You okay?” Perra said.
“White sounds like country music.” Max scrunched his brow, then grinned. “Oh, I get it. That’s pretty funny. Good one, brain.”
“Okay then,” Zoey said, quelling the room with a firm clap. “We all have shit to do, so let’s get a move on. I want us locked down and ready to depart in 10 marks.”
“Can do,” Perra said.
“Aye aye,” Ross said.
“Yanni,” Max said.
The group responded with puzzled stares.
“That’s what you all sound like. Yanni.”
* * *
Seven shadowy figures in crimson cloaks sat in silence around a large table, its round surface glowing with a faint diffusion of light. They traded glances under sagging hoods, their expressions shrouded in mystery. One member sighed with impatience. Another twiddled her thumbs. The head member, occupying a pointy throne, stared straight ahead with ashy hands resting on the table. Wall sconces flickered behind the group, casting slivers of light along the tarnished metal. The chamber radiated with a solitary purpose, one that spurned decorations or a simple refreshments table.
The crackling static of an incoming transmission broke the dead air. The cloaked ensemble stirred in their seats as the hologram image of a reptilian humanoid pieced itself together above the table. Battered pauldrons rested atop a suit of thick leather, giving the beast a warring demeanor. Red eyes scowled beneath a frayed headband, channeling every villain from every kung fu movie. It held an elaborate polearm by its side, for whatever reason one might need a spear in space. The scaly creature bowed, cleared its throat, and offered a report.
“Master Fio,” it said with the classy tone of a debutante. “We have a confirmed sighting at Durangoni Station. The ship has docked for resupply, however brief.”
“Who do we have in proximity?” Fio said in a squeaky high-pitched voice that caused everyone to wince.
The lizard paused for thought. “Hmm, the Qarakish of Leo would be the closest.”
Fio grunted and stroked his chin. “No, they would never make it in time. I shall summon the Orbed Enforcer.”
Gasps and murmurs lifted from the table.
“Silence!” Fio slammed the table with a pudgy fist, his shrill voice assaulting ears like a valley girl at the beach. “I have made my decision.”
The whispers ceased.
Fio flattened his hand and returned his attention to the reptilian beast. “Thank you, Becky. Stand down and await further instruction.”
“Yes, Master.” The lizard bowed before crumbling into a wash of static.
Fio erupted with a devious laugh, mirroring the shrieks of a terrified rabbit cornered by a hungry puma.
* * *
Max and company tromped down a service gangway towards a vast bazaar, one of the countless market hubs inside Durangoni Station. The interior glistened under a sheen of nonstop care. The occasional maintenance droid weaved in and out of pedestrian traffic, groaning and chirping like an overworked housemaid. Mumbles of conversation filled the tunnel with a dull roar. An intricate filtration system pushed clean, cool air through the complex. Diffused panels along the ceiling blanketed the corridor in sterile light.
Max grinned as he studied the endless variety of alien visitors hiking alongside the group, each with their unique background music. He started to enjoy his mental jukebox, seeking out the most colorful combinations he could find. A striped serpent with reds, yellows, and greens caught his attention.
“Yo, check it,” he said to Ross. “That snake dude sounds like bagpipes.”
“That’s not a dude,” Ross said.
“That’s a—how can you tell?”
The creature tossed a stink eye to Max.
“They also have exceptional hearing,” Ross said.
Max offered a timid wave of apology. “I thought snakes were deaf.”
“That’s racist,” Ross said, cocking an ear back.
Max huffed and stopped in his tracks, halting the group and angering every alien behind them. The sudden obstacle drew grouses and curses from passing patrons. Max shook his head and glared at Ross. “What is it with you and this obsession with political correctness? Furthermore, how can a statement of fact be racist? Snakes are deaf. How is that offensive?”
“Because I’m not a snake,” the serpent said, now standing (in a manner of speaking) behind Max, its tiny T-rex-style arms folded in the universal form of disapproval.
Ross sat in silence while Max fumbled through some life experience.
Max grimaced, then turned to the creature. “Um, well, you do look like a snake.”
“Oh, so we all look alike to you?” The serpent inched closer, bringing them face-to-face.
Max froze, heeding his brain’s demand to STFU.
Zoey applied a vigorous facepalm.
Perra inserted herself between Max and the creature and offered a consoling smile. “I am so sorry, please excuse our ignorant companion. He has only been off his planet for a few pochs. He doesn’t know any better, but we’re trying our best to teach him. Thank you for this growth opportunity and I hope you can forgive us.”
“He’s an asshole,” the serpent said.
“No arguments here,” Ross said.
Max, still paralyzed by ineptitude, shot a glare at Ross.
Zoey rubbed her forehead, trying to massage away the sting of embarrassment.
“We will do our best to educate him on the intricacies of interstellar relations,” Perra said. “I promise.”
The creature sighed. “Very well, a good day to you.”
“And to you.”
The serpent nodded and slithered away.
Zoey punched Max in the shoulder hard enough to leave a temporary bruise of shame.
Max recoiled. “Ow! What the hell?”
“What have we learned?” Ross said, using the mocking tone of a grade school teacher.
Max sighed and shook his head. “Let’s just go.”
The group soldiered down the corridor, melding back into the flow of traffic. The drums of a vibrant marketplace filled the tunnel as they neared the exit. Max jerked his head from side to side, peering over scaly shoulders for a sneak peek. His curious mind recalled the unrestrained chaos of Hollow Hold, its filthy markets echoing the shrieks of shady merchants. Durangoni Station embodied the polar opposite side of commerce, one with sleek designs, clean concepts, and unspoken rules of civility. It reminded him of the mega malls back home, minus the screams of feral children.
Near the exit, a lengthy section of tunnel flickered from light to dark, much like the beginning of too many horror movies. A maintenance humanoid with yellow skin, baggy overalls, and a trucker cap fiddled with a bundle of wires sticking out of a wall panel. His tentacle mustache shifted back and forth as he tested the voltage. Caution cones and a cart full of tools created a bottleneck of foot traffic, pushing everyone to the opposite wall. Visitors shuffled through the faulty segment without a second thought.
Max tucked his shoulders as he and the group entered the glitchy section. He glanced up to the defective lighting strip. It blinked off, hurling him into the wall with a harsh thump. With each flash, Max yelped and slammed himself into the wall. Zoey grabbed him by the collar, yanked him through to the other side, and tossed him to the floor. His back hit with a hard thud, drawing a final yelp.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she said.
“Black is death metal,” Max said, rubbing his neck.
Max and the Snoodlecock Page 1
