Sour Notes

by Todd C Wilson

  “There you go, Bob. Now stay there and get warm. We’ll get you fixed up soon enough.” Bob didn’t reply but shifted slightly and then relaxed, the trembling settling down to something almost akin to purring.

  “It’s not a cat, you idiot,” I muttered to myself, more than a little upset at my visceral reaction. “It’s a space-damned sentient being that needs help.” Bob didn’t help my cat analogy by ramping up the purring, annoying me even further by how pleasant it felt. I ignored it the best that I could and set off once again.

  Chapter 2

  F

  ulmar’s Fine Food and Footwear on Fifth was, oddly enough, not located on Fifth Street or anywhere close to it. Instead, the store was wedged in between two concrete pillars holding up an overpass. The mid-century art deco building looked less like a place of business and more like something your mother warned you about when you were a kid. Not my mother, of course – my mother had brought me here several times before she took off for parts unknown. It was also the only place in town you could get Transberian Head Cheese made from real Transberian Heads, not the fake stuff like the chain stores offer. In addition to kimchi yam chips (seven different flavors), they also offered a wide range of shoes, boots, and sandals, some of which could be boiled to create a thrillingly repulsive oolong tea. The rest just tasted nasty and boiling failed to improve the flavor or the fit.

  I banged through the doors, panting and sweaty. I swear I’m in good shape, but you try running a few kilometers, most of it uphill, with an extra thirty kilos of squirmy green blob and see how fresh and perky you are at the end of it. I ignored a display of the latest fashions and followed my nose to the never-ending buffet. I grabbed a plate before I changed my mind and swapped it out for two bowls. I filled one with something that resembled egg-drop soup with bluish sparkles, the other a clear broth. Dropping heavily into an empty booth, I somehow managed to not slop soup all over the table. Struggling out of my coat, I yanked on its long tail that had managed to get caught between me and the seat. I got it figured out just as a server sidled up, its compound eyes blinking as I unwound Bob from my neck and placed the blob on the table between the two bowls.

  “We’ll have the buffet,” I said, anticipating the server’s request. I slipped my shirt back on and gave the server one of my best ‘does that satisfy you’ smile but didn’t get one in return. I followed the server’s gaze to find that Bob had formed two finger-like structures and had stuck each one into a bowl, slurping the contents of both down with gusto. “Separate checks, and can we get some standard distilled water?”

  ✽✽✽

  By the time Zam Ziplose and his manservant, Reet, showed up both Bob and I had managed to knock off a healthy portion of the buffet, all the while getting the stink eye from the staff in the process. Bob seemed partial to soup and anything with gravy, while I sampled everything twice. Pushing aside my empty bowl of onion noodles with a burp I eyed the rack of house slippers on sale and considered buying a pair before dismissing the thought as more than a little frivolous. Instead, I resolved to spend my money on something more worthwhile, such as ammo for Roosevelt, my oversized hand cannon with a big mouth. We needed some range time together, and I hadn’t shot anyone or anything in weeks.

  “Jazz, Jazz, my good friend,” Zam called out as he rolled up, his motorized get-about weaving through the obstacle course of shoes. Reet followed along behind, silent and looking as sour as ever. I ignored him, instead choosing to perform the usual introduction song and dance.

  “Zam, Bob. Bob, Zam,” I said, pointing and speaking, and feeling more than a little foolish. Bob’s eyespots rotated to focus on Zam, and a group of tendrils formed, each one reaching out to shake one of Zam’s offered hands. He had six, so it made for interesting viewing.

  “How splendid!” Zam enthused in pleasure, keeping a grip on one of the tendrils while the others retracted back into Bob’s main body. Zam bent down in his chair to get a closer look, making a clicking noise somewhere in the back of his throat. “Jazz, I think when we are done here, I should examine your eyesight. You said our friend Bob here was green. I hate to inform you, but this color is actually blue.” He wrinkled his nose. “And you might want to consider changing your cologne. Normally I wouldn’t say anything but the one you are currently wearing is, how shall I put this delicately… Rather strong.”

  I blinked and looked at Bob. “What do you mean?” I blinked and looked again. Huh? Zam was right. Bob was no longer pale green but a hazy blue color. Bob was also larger, the soup adding around ten kilos to its mass. It must have happened so slowly while we were stuffing our respective digestive tracts that I hadn’t noticed.

  I shook my head. It didn’t matter. “It’s not cologne,” I corrected Zam, “it’s sweat. I ran all the way here from the Escape Bar, carrying Bob with me. I’ll shower and change when I get back to the apartment. In the meantime, I’ll try to stay downwind of you and your sensitive schnozz.”

  “You... ran? The entire distance?” Zam asked, horrified. “Actually, physically moved about in a continual rapid manner without stopping?” He recoiled a little, pulling Bob away from a bowl of sour umbly and flaked vinenis fish.

  “Yes, I ran,” I said, slightly annoyed by his reaction. “You said I should get here as soon as I could so I got here as soon as I could. Which was a full thirty minutes faster than you, I might add.”

  “I meant that you should take a cab!”

  “There wasn’t any!” I said heatedly. Taking a deep breath, I put a lid on my temper before I said something we’d both regret later. “Look, never mind. We’re all here now, so do your thing with Bob and then we can all be on our merry way.”

  Zam nodded and pulled out a small box from one of the storage bins on the contraption he called his mobile lab. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen Zam on anything that didn’t have wheels attached. In fact, now that I think about it, I don’t think the rotund six-armed Xeno knew how to walk.

  “With your permission, Bob – it is Bob, correct?” Bob the blob gave Zam a wave of sorts. “Very good, thank you,” Zam gripped part of Bob’s rubbery flesh between a pair of oversized tweezers, stuck it with a needle, and gently removed a small sample. Bob didn’t appear to react, apparently more intent on finishing the sour umbly.

  Inserting the sample into some electronic gizmo he had lifted from another bin, Zam hummed to himself as he manipulated the knobs and dials on it. I didn’t recognize the tune and after a few minutes got bored watching him do nothing. “You know anything about what went on tonight? It felt like something big went off,” I asked in an effort to break my tedium.

  “Yes, quite big indeed. First reports indicated that it might be a meteor strike. What with the City’s deflection grid failing, like so many other useful things, a meteor strike was a plausible theory. However, video footage showed the explosion originated from inside the main Science Facility, not outside as first thought. According to the news – not that I ever watch that nonsense, of course – a demonstration near the facility got out of control and turned into a full-scale riot, spilling over and into Event-related research labs. Beyond that is pure speculation, but I believe it is a safe assumption that one or more projects housed there did not enjoy being tampered with in an unsafe manner. The body count is rather high, I’m afraid.”

  I grunted. “Araimer was headed over there about half an hour before the Escape Bar collapsed, and Bob got hurt. I haven’t been able to reach Araimer on the phone since.”

  Zam made a face. He was not a fan of the police in general, or Araimer in particular, but even someone as cold-blooded as Zam could feel a little empathy. Not much. Just a little. “My condolences.” The gizmo in his hand let out a muted ding. “Ah, here we go,” he said. “Hmm, yes. I suspected as much. Well, that’s interesting,” Zam said, reading whatever the gizmo’s screen was telling him. “Congratulations Jazz, it’s a girl.”

  “What!?”

  ✽✽✽

  Once I go
t over my initial shock at Zam’s pronouncement I demanded an explanation, the six-armed gasbag was more than willing to give me one.

  “Bob – interesting name by the way – is of the species Yognum, which hails from the planet Tankra-7 located in the Sepherious Cluster. Known for their mimicking abilities, they can form any shape required and can often fool ID scanners,” Zam said, slipping into full lecture mode, one of his favorite things to do. “Yes, exactly, very clever,” Zam added as Bob performed a demonstration, forming a miniature version of Zam’s face. Reet didn’t like this very much and produced a knife from thin air, advancing on the table where Bob immediately sought shelter behind a stack of empty bowls.

  I jumped to my feet, maneuvering between Reet and Bob. “Hey! Hey! Hey! No need to get all stabby. Back off, Reet! Back off, dammit!” I demanded, keeping my attention on Reet’s knife hand. Up close and personal, bladed weapons can be dangerous, but only if they make contact. I had no idea if Reet’s weapon would be much of a threat to a squishy blob, freshly minted or not, but I wasn’t in the mood to find out.

  “It’s okay, Reet,” Zam said, waving one of his six hands dismissively. His manservant obediently made the knife disappear just quickly as he had produced it, all the while keeping a sour glare on his face. I relaxed and sat down. I picked up a half-empty glass of water, and wished it was something stronger. I’ve seen what Reet can do with his bare hands and a few scraps of paper and harbored no strong desire to find out what his blade work was like. At least, not with people around who would only laugh and point before uploading the video to Gootube. Zam continued as if nothing unusual had happened. For him maybe Reet going all murder-face at the drop of a hat was just business as usual and nothing to get excited about.

  “The Yognum species is also known for their two methods of basic reproduction. The first is where two or more individuals come together, mix in the usual manner, and then bud off a fused individual with the combined traits of all participants. Yognum sexual gender is rather fluid – no pun intended of course – and can switch between male and female chromosomes rather easily more or less at will.”

  “Well that sounds like fun,” I said, trying to imagine how that would work. “What’s the second method?”

  “The second is the one I think you and Bob here may have experienced. In certain extreme circumstances, a Yognum will undergo spontaneous mitosis, cleaving into two distinct individuals. Supposedly each are copies of the original, but over time will take on new aspects, such as Bob here shifting from her original green coloration to blue and adopting a female genetic trait. There is also some evidence of a mental chronological reset, a younger self if you will, which in and of itself is fascinating. Sadly, there is a paucity of scientific research available on Yognum physiology, and I would love to have an opportunity to study Bob further. I believe you mentioned her remaining half was still trapped in the basement of that horrid bar you like to spend time in?” Zam had that glint in his eye he gets when he’s thinking about taking something apart, and I didn’t like what it would mean for Bob or anybody else.

  “The Escape Bar isn’t horrid, and you’re not putting Bob or anyone else on your dissection table,” I said firmly, putting the kibosh on any mad scientist dreams Zam was having. “Hold on.” The cogs in my brain were working a bit slower than usual today. “You’re telling me that there’s another Bob back under all the bricks and junk, and I just left her – him – there to die?” I asked, suddenly feeling like crap. I reached for my coat and hat, intent on leaving. I may be a lot of things, but I’ll be spaced if I’m gonna let someone suffer alone in the dark unless they deserve it. Both Zam and Bob shook their respective heads, the miniature Zam making Reet scowl.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that for the moment, Jazz. Yognums are a hardy species, outside of extreme cold or heat. My guess is that the other half of Bob will be hibernating. Nature’s way of protecting it. Eventually someone will clear out the damage and the other Bob should be fine once revived. Whether or not it is a her or him is open to debate.” Zam’s face took on a puzzled look. “I wonder if there is any memory loss or personality changes? So many questions. Are you sure I can’t entice you into a long-term study?” Zam asked Bob, who responded by collapsing her copy of Zam’s face back into her body. “I guess not. Pity.”

  “What about her lack of speech? The whole Bob – Huboberplaph – had no problem talking,” I asked. This conversation was turning into one of the top ten weirdest ones I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something for someone who’s been around as much as I have.

  “Ah, well, that will come with time, I would think. Now we should discuss my fee.”

  ✽✽✽

  I haggled with Zam while Bob apparently went to sleep, the blob sliding off the table and onto the floor. I got Zam down from an astronomically high amount – “travel expenses,” he said – to something slightly more manageable on my current budget of zip and squat. I was already pushing it as it was with paying for both mine and Bob’s dinner. Eventually Zam left, grudgingly satisfied at the promise of a future favor and a few hundred credits, once I managed to scrape them together, of course.

  Speaking of scraping, I gathered Bob up from where she was laying and brushed off a few paper napkins that had stuck to her rubbery flesh. “C’mon you,” I said, trying to keep the blob from slipping out of my arms. “I can’t carry you all the way home. Wakey, wakey.” This and a couple of less polite verbal commands got nothing, so I finally gave in and purchased the largest shopping bag the shoe store had and poured Bob into it, the Fulmar logo on the side bulging outwards. Not the most elegant solution and certainly not my first choice, but beggars can’t be choosers, etc.

  Given the late – well, early – hour I relented and opted for public transport instead of hoofing it. Along the way, I alternated between Araimer’s and Uavoo’s numbers, trying to get either of them to answer the phone. Araimer’s kept going to the same out-of-service message, while Uavoo was just flat-out not picking up. Both results made me worry for different reasons. I wouldn’t exactly call either one a friend – more like professional acquaintances - but still I worried in a way that made me feel a bit strange. I told myself it was just professional interest and not anything deeper and kept redialing.

  I hoped they were both okay.

  Chapter 3

  “H

  ome sweet home,” I muttered, flopping down onto my bed. I left Bob in her bag on the kitchen table-slash-office desk. I lay there staring at the ceiling, considering if I should at least take my shoes off when the day finally caught up with me, and sleep came crashing down.

  ✽✽✽

  I woke up some undetermined time later, helped along by a weight pressing down on my chest. I blinked and looked up into a blue shimmer that resolved itself into an all-too human mouth.

  “Good morning!” the mouth said. I yelped and swatted it away, rolling off the mattress and onto the floor with a thunk. My arm shot under the bed and my hand scrabbled around for Louie, the baseball bat I kept handy for warding off unwanted visitors and opening loot boxes.

  “Ouch!” a voice said, sounding a lot like my own. I looked around, trying to locate the source. A blue tentacle peeked over the other side of the bed, a dark spot in the middle.

  “Bob?” I asked, relaxing and letting my grip on Louie slacken slightly. The tentacle rose up, the rest of Bob flowing behind it.

  “In the flesh!” Bob said, the mass gathering and shifting to resemble something vaguely humanoid. “Do you always make that noise when you sleep? It sounds funny, like a Kicak farting.” Bob emitted a snorting sound that I didn’t want to admit was a dead ringer for me snoring.

  “No, I think you heard a truck outside. So, you’ve been watching me sleep?” I asked, a little creeped out by the revelation.

  “No… Yes… Sort of?” Bob said, sliding down the bed and humping over to where I was sitting on the floor. I got to my feet and let her pass. “I got bored and went out for a while. You
don’t have any food and I was hungry. Why do you have a refrigerator in the first place, if all you keep in it is cold air?”

  “You went out? When? Never mind, stupid question. I mean how, how did you get out and get back without setting off the door alarm?” I asked, rubbing a hand over my tired face. Getting razzed on by a blue blob was not how I envisioned starting my day. “And can you use a different voice? It’s like I’m hearing an echo in here.” Hearing my own voice coming back at me was making my brain itch.

  “How about this?” Bob said in a slightly higher pitch. “Hmm, no. I like yours better. Are you sure I can’t use it? Oh fine. In any case, I just went under the door, slippy-slidey. Doorknobs are so boring.”