Max and the Snoodlecock

by Zachry Wheeler

  “Good eye,” Gamon said and patted her shoulder.

  Just ahead, a round stealth ship poked out from behind a wall of jagged rock. Zoey slowed her approach and hovered the freighter a few meters off the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris. She lowered the landing gear and floated to a rest, maintaining a comfortable distance. They stared at the floating black ball with a shared uncertainty.

  “Are you sure this will work?” Perra said to Gamon.

  “I don’t see why not. Based on my own analysis, Suth’ra ships are primarily recon vessels, usually unmanned. Once their mission is complete, or in this case, their pilot teleports away, they return to the main station. At least, that’s what I think happened with the other one.”

  “So why is it still here then?” Steve said.

  “I intercepted the linkage signal after Frank left the ship. It still thinks he’s here. In theory, the ship will return home once I drop the signal.”

  “With all of us inside,” Perra said.

  “Exactly.”

  Zoey sighed. “Alright, let’s get to it then.”

  Nobody moved.

  After a brief pause, Zoey turned and eyed Gamon.

  “Oh, right, sorry,” he said, then squirmed around the cockpit like a fat man in a phone booth.

  Gamon squeezed through the narrow passageway and popped into the cargo bay like a cork from a bottle. Perra lowered Ross to the floor, halting a grooming session. She and Zoey lifted from their seats and slipped through the corridor with Ross and Steve trotting behind. Once inside the cargo bay, Ross resumed his disinterested licking while Steve pecked at a strand of frayed netting. Zoey opened a wall locker and nabbed a pair of plasma pistols. She tossed one to Perra and latched the other to her belt.

  A dull rumble infected the air and shook the vessel as it approached. It thundered to a stop and proceeded to bang on the external airlock.

  “Out in a minute,” Perra said to Phil outside.

  “Can I have the kitty?” Phil said in a muffled tone.

  Zoey slapped a wall panel, opening the airlock.

  Ross cocked his ears back. “Oh, you bit—”

  Phil shot out a tentacle and plucked Ross from the ship.

  Steve clucked at the disturbance, then resumed his pecks of random objects.

  “You need a hand cannon?” Zoey said to Gamon.

  “Nah, not going with.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Do you see the size of that ship? It’ll be cramped with you four, let alone with a big hairy beast like me.”

  Perra frowned and hugged his meaty arm.

  “I’m sure you two will be fine. I dare say The Omen on a Suth’ra station will be chaotic enough without me getting in the way.”

  Zoey smirked and joined the group hug.

  Steve flapped up to Gamon’s noggin, clucked in a circle, then pecked at his nubby horns.

  “Aaaany time now,” Ross said from outside the ship.

  “Itty bitty kitty,” Phil said with Ross pressed against his flesh. A dozen hands stroked his fur in a knowing fashion. “Is a good kitty. My kitty. Phil’s kitty.”

  Perra gave Gamon one final squeeze and broke from the embrace. She grabbed a sling bag from a nearby locker and turned for the airlock. “Okay, Philly, that’s enough. Let the kitty go, we have to leave.”

  “Aw,” Phil said and slumped like a pouty toddler.

  Ross scurried out of his limp grasp and sprinted for the stealth ship. The group exited the freighter one by one with Steve bringing up the rear. He flapped to the ground and waddled towards the vessel. Phil snickered and reached for the snoodlecock.

  Perra slapped the tentacle away. “No, you’re done. You have had quite enough interaction this trip. Should last you a while, no?”

  Phil sighed and softened to a whimper. “I guess.”

  Perra patted his leathery hide. “It was great to see you, though. Thank you for the help and wish us luck.”

  Phil perked up a bit. “One more huggy hug?”

  Perra turned to Zoey and grinned.

  Zoey rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

  Phil squeed and clapped a pair of tentacles. He sprouted a dozen more and wrapped them around the Mulgawats. A wandering noodle crept over to Gamon, pinched his cheek, and slithered around his waist.

  Gamon narrowed his eyes. “Don’t even think ab—”

  Phil yanked them all into his bloated mass. He twisted and turned with his interpretation of a goodbye hug, then spat them onto the ground with fresh sheens of mucus. The blob trembled and sank into a pool of contentment.

  Zoey wiped her face and flung slime from her fingertips. She grimaced and turned an annoyed gaze to Perra. “Was it worth it?”

  Perra smirked. “Philly has always been a good friend to us. A little love goo isn’t going to hurt you.”

  Gamon groaned with disgust while climbing to his feet. Slime dripped from a drenched mane, flattening his springy curls. Raising his arms, he recoiled at the sight of clumpy fur hanging like sheets of damp moss. He opened his mouth to voice repulsion, but his stammering brain failed to conjure the appropriate words. Arms flopped to his side, squeezing globs of mucus down his legs. He traded disgust for irk and tossed a glare at Perra.

  She responded with a doe-eyed smile. “Sorry, Gammy.”

  Gamon sighed and squished towards the ship.

  Zoey snickered as she lifted from the dirt. “He is never going to forget that.”

  “Yeah, probably.” Perra grabbed Zoey’s hand, sprung to her feet, and turned to a puddled Phil. “You mind watching the ship while we’re away?”

  “Aye aye,” Phil said, adding a limp salute.

  “Thanks buddy.”

  The pair turned for the stealth ship and pressed forward, leaving gooey tracks with each step. Zoey slung mucus from her pistol while Perra wiped her sling bag. They wrung their hair and clothes along the way.

  Zoey sighed. “This should be an interesting adventure.”

  “Max is family. He would do the same for us.”

  “Not saying he wouldn’t. I’m just worried.”

  “How so?”

  “Hollow Hold may have been a mysterious hellhole, but at least there were bits of information to gather. Nobody in the ‘verse has ever seen a Suth’ra station, let alone been to one. We’re going into this completely blind.”

  “We’ve been through worse, no?”

  Zoey snorted. “We’re about to crash a wandering trash heap full of super-geniuses. I’m fairly certain that we have no comparable.”

  “Point taken.”

  The stealth ship floated a foot above the ground, locked in place by a magnetic anchor. Its smooth hull resembled an unblemished wrecking ball, primed for destruction or a pop diva music video. Gamon poked his way around the vessel, gathering as much insight as he could. He input some nav data into his comdev, compiled a command sequence, and initiated launch prep. The orb responded with a clank and hiss, drawing a grunt of success. The top half unlatched and floated upwards, spilling puffs of steam like an old school locomotive. Ross and Steve fought for shotgun, eager to rid themselves of Phil and his creepy planet.

  “You ladies ready?” Gamon said.

  Perra sighed. “As ready as we’ll ever be.”

  She hoisted herself into the capsule and paused to study the interior. The tiny cockpit sat dormant, as if abandoned years ago. Perra slid her hand across the lifeless console, a narrow plane of murky glass. The flimsy pilot seat teetered as an afterthought, like an office chair bolted to the frame. Not much else greeted the eye, just an empty shell fit for hauling whatever got tossed inside it.

  Zoey crossed her arms and turned to Gamon. “So what can we expect from this thing?”

  Gamon shrugged. “Not a clue, to be honest. Just hold on tight and hope for the best.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “If it were anyone else, I’d be worried.” Gamon grinned and extended a paw.

  Zoey returned the grin and gr
abbed his fuzzy mitt. After a firm shake, she grasped the edge and yanked herself into the ship.

  “Good hunting. I hope you find your friend.”

  “Thank you, Gammy,” Perra said.

  Steve clucked as he searched for a cozy pocket of space to occupy. Ross did the same and groused with every turn. Perra lowered to her knees behind the pilot seat, allowing Zoey to step over and plop into the chair. The group poked and shoved each other, as if learning to fly a bathtub. Zoey tucked her shoulders and tossed Gamon a thumbs-up. He nodded and tapped his comdev. The top half floated down with a magnetic hum and sealed them inside. A sharp clank and latch left them cramped together in complete darkness. Zoey knocked the wall and flicked the console, breaking a needling silence.

  “Now what?” Ross said.

  “Hell if I know,” Zoey said.

  Steve cleared his throat. “I should probably mention that I am severely claustrophobic. We have about eight seconds before I lose control of my faculties.”

  “I know a funny joke,” Ross said. “What came first? The snoodlecock or the broken neck it suffered after freaking out in a broom closet?”

  A nervy silence responded.

  “The punch line needs work,” Steve said.

  “Dibs on the drumsticks,” Zoey said.

  The vessel burst into life, flooding the interior with deep red hues. Blips, pings, and hums filled the tiny space. Alien characters sped across the console as the ship prepped for departure. The viewport flashed and faded, opening a thin gander. The sliver expanded around the group and washed over the interior like a giant sunroof, unveiling a sweeping vista while retaining an opaque hull. The group twisted their gazes around the enclosure, taking their final looks around the pristine landscape.

  Gamon backed away with comdev in hand, studying the launch readings while keeping a safe distance. The vessel released its magnetic grip and floated upwards in complete silence. Gamon eyed the sphere in wonder as it gained a jolt of momentum, sailed into the atmosphere, and disappeared into a sliver of purple light.

  “Wow,” he said, still staring into the sky.

  A pair of tentacles reached up from behind and pinched his cheeks. Gamon groaned and shook his head.

  CHAPTER 10

  Max followed Rutherford through a never-ending maze of pod components. A narrow service tunnel brought them to the hatch of a cramped landing module. The ladder inside crawled through the ventilation shaft of a transport shuttle, which docked to an old spy satellite full of dangling wires, and so on and so forth. Navigating the tangled mess of a Suth’ra station meant crawling, ducking, climbing, tripping, squeezing, and more crawling. The wonky gravity needled the senses, like trying to navigate an M. C. Escher painting. Once inside a normal room, one gained an appreciation of stretching space.

  Rutherford stepped along the inverted wall of a cargo pod and dropped through a sideways airlock into a spacious corridor. Max followed with arms outstretched, opting for a more cautious approach. He palmed the door and dangled from the airlock before releasing his grip. His legs hit the floor at an awkward angle, bending his momentum into the nearest wall. He thumped the unforgiving metal with a stiff shoulder, drawing a grunt of discomfort. A brief pause with mumbled curses allowed his brain enough time to reorient baffled muscles. His eyes wandered the passage, a haunting place full of grimy grates and crawling steam, creating the ideal ambience for an alien horror movie.

  The robot stood in the center of the corridor with arms crossed. A tapping metal foot lifted sharp clinks into the air. His narrowing red eye conveyed a waning patience.

  “I’m coming, jeez, keep your pants on,” Max said.

  Rutherford glanced down at his skinny legs, then around the immediate area, back to Max, then back to his legs.

  Max rolled his eyes. “It’s just a saying. What, you don’t have idioms here?” He lifted his weary body from the wall and slogged towards the robot.

  Rutherford grumbled, about-faced, and continued down the corridor. He turned a corner and stopped in front of a large airlock. The door panel seemed wider and heavier than most, like the entrance to a holding cell. Rutherford stared at it in silence, as if contemplating whether or not he went to the right place. Moments later, the wall panel pinged and glowed with a crimson hue. The door unlatched with a loud thunk, releasing a hiss of pressurized air. It slid open with the sluggish pace of a battle arena revealing the final boss.

  A thin cloud of steam dissipated to reveal a large empty room, about the size of a fast-food restaurant. The chamber radiated sterility with every surface devoid of feature. No fixtures, no panel lines, just a vacuum-like state with every corner rounded to create a seamless void. In the center, a small table and a pair of chairs affixed themselves to the floor. Their drab coloring matched the room, as if sprouted like furniture-shaped flowers.

  Rutherford glanced at Max, then stepped into the room. Max followed him through the door with a peculiar sense of placid fascination. He glanced over to a side wall where a towering one-way mirror filled the space, itself a featureless plane that blended into the wall it occupied. He caught his own reflection and squinted.

  “What the—” Max trotted over to the mirror to discover an array of unfamiliar features. He looked like himself, only with defined lines, a chiseled jaw, and dreamy blue eyes. To put it another way, he was hot, at least by Earth standards. “Holy hell, that is the tweak?” He opened his come-hither lips to reveal perfect teeth. Twisting his head back and forth painted the shadows of prominent cheekbones. He raised a dimpled chin and poked at a manly Adam’s apple. “I mean, I’m not complaining by any stretch, but this would have been very nice to have back home.” He grinned, winked, and click-pointed at his reflection. His complete lack of concern bubbled from a cartoonish level of self-confidence.

  Rutherford, now standing beside the table, expelled the robotic equivalent of an impatient cough. Max stepped away from his enchanting image, adding a playful smirk before spinning towards the table. He stopped, turned back to his reflection, chuckled like an idiot, added a cocky flex, then turned back to the robot. After a few more steps, he spun around again and decided to shuffle backwards in order to admire his handsome image. The robot shook its head as the human approached. With a final strut and twirl, Max added the pompous lean and lazy stare of a suburban cowboy.

  Rutherford pointed to the nearest chair. “Sit.”

  Max plopped into the seat and kicked back with hands hooked in his pockets, channeling every arrogant prick who had ever pricked. He turned back to his distant reflection, again, and up-nodded.

  “Wait here,” the robot said.

  Max opened his palms and smirked, the universal jock mime for whatever, dude.

  Rutherford tossed an irked glare at the one-way mirror, then turned and exited the room. The airlock door rumbled shut, leaving Max to an eerie silence. He glanced around the enclosure while humming a nonsense melody just to break the dead air. Bored fingers rapped upon the table surface.

  Behind the mirror, Fio stared at Max with arms crossed and brow furrowed. A wormy humanoid manned a console nearby, prepping the Chamber of Fear for action. A white lab coat clung to his grubby body like a cape. The garment clearly wished to adorn another species, or at the very least, anything with shoulders. The boneless scientist adjusted his thick glasses, tweaked some final commands, then offered a good-to-go thumbs-up. Fio smirked and returned his gaze to the antsy human drumming on the chamber table.

  A side door slid open, allowing Rutherford to clank into the control room. He settled beside Fio and crossed his arms in echoed disgust. “This isn’t going to work, you know.”

  “Of course it will,” Fio said with a dismissive tone. “No one can resist the Chamber’s brain-melting torment.”

  “Carl said the same thing. Like, the exact same thing. You guys must have flashcards or something.”

  Fio tossed a stink eye to the insolent robot, then nodded to the controller. The wormy creature nodded back, reached besid
e the console, and grabbed a small bag of popcorn. A pudgy tentacle stretched across the console and tapped a large green icon. He settled back in his chair and munched away as the chamber dimmed.

  Max maintained his too-cool-to-care demeanor, unfazed by the sudden veil of darkness. A dull hum filled the room as hologram images started to piece together all around him. The photo-real depictions created the eloquent atmosphere of a posh restaurant, complete with dainty waiters, racks of wine, and sleek lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Muffled conversations imbued the space, interweaving with classical music and the delicate clinks of glasses. The table filled itself with hors d’oeuvres, crusty bread, and an array of cutlery. Max watched the scene unfold in wide-eyed disbelief. He plucked a napkin from the table and examined it. The cloth hung from his grip with actual weight. He rolled the fabric between his fingers and could sense the texture. A complete sensory immersion with gravity, density, and consequence.

  As a final touch, the chamber added an attractive woman in a silky black dress to the seat across the table. She flirted a bit, then launched into a poignant discussion about politics and her mother.

  Fio grinned. “I give him five minutes.”

  The worm creature grunted. “Three, tops.”

  Rutherford shook his head. “You’re both idiots.”

  * * *

  A flash of purple light spat the stealth ship into open space. Zoey, Perra, Ross, and Steve glanced around a vast ocean of nothing. No galaxies, nebulas, or asteroids, just an infinite backdrop of distant stars. The vessel floated in the empty black, infecting everyone with a profound sense of detachment. The console chirped as it established contact with the Suth’ra station somewhere nearby. A linkage icon pinged and turned red, silencing the cabin. The ship tilted downwards and kicked towards a bright star. Tick after tick, the star expanded. It grew into a reflective snowflake, then morphed into the crude outline of a space station. Soon after, the colossal trash heap revealed itself, dropping three jaws and a beak.

  The patchwork vessel resembled a derelict space station that never treated a benign yet aggressive tumor. The tumor, realizing that its host had no interest in treating it, expanded to a point where the host became superfluous. (As a simple illustration, imagine thousands of trucks, trailers, forklifts, mainframe computers, plasma televisions, farm equipment, and discarded pieces of sheet metal plugged into a handful of oil rigs. That might provide a sense of what this horrid monstrosity looked like. Odd would be an understatement. This thing was downright gnarly.)