by Chris McCoy
“You’re that broke?” said the android, genuinely surprised. “I thought the stories about your finances were just rumors. How could you possibly lose all the money you’ve earned over the years?”
“It would take me a hundred lifetimes to spend my savings,” said Skark. “Now show me to the stage and let’s see if we can make this Foloptopus explode from the vibrations.”
“It says in the contract that if we kill the Foloptopus, we also don’t get paid,” said Driver.
“Then we’ll stun it a bit,” said Skark. “It’ll be dramatic.”
“If you hurt it in any way, you only get half your fee,” said the android. “You can imagine the veterinary costs for providing medical care to a creature like this. Nobody wants to lose this venue.”
“Fine. As an animal lover, I will do my diligence to make sure this noble creature emerges unscathed. Now please, show me to the stage. I burn for my fans.”
I was upset with myself for not even considering using something as basic as a phone to contact Sophie, but back on Earth I wasn’t accustomed to looking at stars as places that could be contacted on a whim. I needed to erase the demarcation line I had drawn in my mind between our planet and space and assume anything that had been figured out in our solar system had been figured out somewhere in the rest of creation a long time ago.
My plan was to call the Ecological Center for the Preservation of Lesser Species and simply explain that the Jyfos took the wrong girl and that I needed her back to go to prom and that they should keep her away from the multitudes trying to kill her in the forced Darwinism of their misguided nature game.
However, there was a problem with my mission to find a phone—even though I now knew that there had to be at least one somewhere in the Foloptopus, since the android had made a call, I couldn’t find it. Cad hadn’t been kidding when he said Skark was trying to make the Perfectly Reasonable seem tougher by booking the band to play inside the Dark Matter Foloptopus. Compared to Berdan Major Arena and its luxurious spread of backstage food, the conditions here were primitive.
The lining of the Foloptopus’s gut was peppered with half-digested chunks of a charcoal-like substance—the dark matter from which the Foloptopus derived its name, I guessed, perhaps reacting with its digestive enzymes—and every few hundred feet I found myself stepping over a skeleton wearing a tattered rock T-shirt or holding a flask embossed with the logo of some alien metal group.
Clearly, only a certain hyperintense kind of band played gigs inside the Foloptopus. It seemed like the Perfectly Reasonable was out of their comfort zone, from what I had seen at the first show. While the band members were talented, I wouldn’t have described them as tough.
The stage on which the Perfectly Reasonable was performing was in the back of the creature’s stomach, and in front of it was an audience that seemed surprisingly large, considering the difficulty in reaching the venue. If I’d had to guess, I would have put the crowd size at two or three thousand fans—enough to make the belly of the Foloptopus look full. In order to create space for the crowd, workers had constructed a wall to hold back the Foloptopus’s stomach acid. Green and yellow bile was lapping against the top of the wall, which looked like it needed to be ten feet higher, in my unprofessional opinion. When the Perfectly Reasonable started their show, I could see the wall shaking every time Driver hit the drums.
I was getting a bad vibe from the Foloptopus. All I wanted to do was locate a phone, make my call, climb back onto the bus, and wait out the gig until we could get the hell out of this place.
I was hustling through the Foloptopus, looking for anything that might resemble a communications center, when I saw what appeared to be a fat-necked ostrich sitting on the same kind of cinder block that had been used to construct the wall, drinking a bottle of brown, brandylike liquid. He was wearing a tool belt and his feathers were soiled. There were burn marks on his thin legs, which I guessed might be from the stomach bile. I walked over to him.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Do you work here?”
“I do work here, as a matter of fact,” he said, shaking his head in disgust and taking another swig from the bottle. “Can you believe this is my job? Humping construction in the gut of an animal like this? I screwed up my life somewhere along the way, man.”
“Don’t say that,” I said, mostly because I didn’t want to listen to a drunk complain about his life when I had something important to do.
“Why wouldn’t I say it?” he said. “Everybody else does—my parents, my friends—so why shouldn’t I? I’m saving up to use one of the time machines in Galaxy MC5-39133, so maybe I’ll be able to solve my problems then, if I can ever manage to get an appointment. It seems like everybody in creation is trying to fix bad decisions they’ve made. I’m Thighbone, by the way. That’s my nickname, because I’ve got these ugly legs. But you don’t care. I don’t see why you would, we just met.”
“I’m sorry about the state of your life, Thighbone,” I said. “We can talk about it more later if you want, but I need to find a phone to make an important call, and there doesn’t seem to be one around.”
“You can use mine if you need it,” said Thighbone. “I bought an unlimited plan so I could talk to my girlfriend every night, but she broke up with me for molting in her apartment. It was just normal shedding, but she thought I was going bald, and it turned her off. Romantically, you know. If that’s a deal breaker for a girl, it’s a deal breaker.”
“Deal breaker. Sure.”
“It’s these stupid superficial problems that you never see coming. We’d always had intimacy issues, but does it look to you like I’m going bald? I don’t see it.”
Thighbone leaned forward so I could look at his scalp. His girlfriend was right, no question about it—a circle of missing feathers on the crest of his head revealed the bare pink skin underneath. He had to have been in heavy denial not to acknowledge it, but if I wanted to use his phone, I didn’t see the advantage in telling him the truth.
“I’m not noticing any baldness,” I said.
“That’s what I’m saying. I don’t get it. Sometimes I think that she wanted out of the relationship and made up an excuse. But I’m glad we broke up. No, I love her. No, I’m glad we broke up. I don’t know. I’m a mess. I’m sorry, I’m distracted. Who are you trying to call?”
“The Ecological Center for the Preservation of Lesser Species.”
“Ah, let me tell you—I’ve been down that road before. I hope you’re not trying to buy a human as a pet, because I gave it a shot when I was attempting to win my girl back. They won’t sell.”
“I’m not trying to buy a human as a pet. I am a human, so that would be a little perverse.”
“That’s what I was thinking, but hey, to each his own. Everybody has weird things that they’re into.”
“They accidentally picked up my prom date and I need her back.”
“Accidentally? No no. The Jyfos don’t pick up anybody accidentally. Did they pass you over or something?”
“They did, as a matter of fact.”
“I wouldn’t take it personally. They probably just found something in your genes that they found alarming. Something in your DNA must be mutated to form that strange body. Do you have a Certified Receipt for the girl?”
“Certified Receipt?”
Thighbone cocked his head at me.
“Oh man, you don’t think you’re going to walk into the Ecological Center for the Preservation of Lesser Species and ask for one of their specimens without proof of ownership, do you? You need a Certified Receipt for your date if you’re going to get her back.”
“But she’s not mine,” I said. “It doesn’t work that way where I’m from.”
“You better pretend she’s yours, if you don’t have a Certified Receipt. I’m telling you right now, it’s going to be almost impossible to bluff your way through this. I’ve tried.”
Thighbone unclipped a phone from his belt. It was a huge piece of equipment, like one
of those enormous hand-cranked field telephones soldiers had hauled around in the Vietnam War. I had noticed it already, but I’d assumed it was used for carrying tools.
“You’d think they’d have streamlined this technology by now, but interplanet calls need a lot of juice,” said Thighbone, dialing a number and handing me the receiver, which was even heavier than it looked. “But I know I need to upgrade. The idea of going back out on the dating scene carrying this phone is embarrassing.”
The ringtone wasn’t like the bring bring bring of Earth—instead, it sounded a bit like rain on a tin roof, which I found soothing. A brief respite from the oddness of my environment.
Somebody picked up.
“The Ecological Center for the Preservation of Lesser Species,” said the Jyfo on the other end, in a singsong female voice.
“Hi. Yes. Great. Listen—I think you have a girl in your park who doesn’t belong there. She’s actually…with me.”
“Wait—the new girl who runs all over the place is with you?” said the voice on the other end. “What does that mean?”
“She’s my…date.”
“Oh jeez. That is terrible news for us. Our ratings have gone through the roof in the last couple of days because of her, and the other members of the enclosure are finally managing to close in. Do you have a Certified Receipt for her?”
“Of course I have a Certified Receipt. I never throw away my Certified Receipts.”
“At least that makes the paperwork easier. You wouldn’t believe how many people call here telling us that we picked up one of their humans, only to have it turn out that they don’t have Certified Receipts. Especially for this girl—the television audience has fallen in love. Everyone wants humans as exotic pets because they don’t bite much and they taste great if you decide you’d rather eat them than have them in your home.”
“None of that is comforting to me.”
“I’ll transfer you to the Ranger, but just to warn you—he’s not going to be happy about this. The new girl has been great for our advertising rates. I almost wish she’d just stay alive forever.”
“Me too.”
I heard the beeps and boops of different buttons being pressed, followed by hold music that was—coincidentally—an old ballad by the Perfectly Reasonable. The song seemed to be Skark singing to himself in the mirror. His voice had a lovely, innocent texture to it, different from the way he sounded now.
I’d already learned what being drunk all the time had done to his mind, but this was the first time I’d realized what it had done to his body. He was still terrifically talented, but the song on the phone was something almost mystical. He needed to stop it with the wine.
The phone clicked back on.
“The Ranger here,” said a deeply annoyed voice. “I hear you have a Certified Receipt for the new girl, but I hope it isn’t true.”
“I do, and I want her back immediately.”
“Not to criticize your decision-making skills, but maybe you should have kept an eye on her instead of letting her run around the New Mexico desert. Everybody knows that’s where we get most of our humans. It’s not like we try to hide it.”
“She can go wherever she feels like going. I want her back.”
“She’s tired from running, and everybody wants to see the end of the hunt. You understand. All we’re doing is applying your theory of survival of the fittest here.”
“Put her on the phone,” I said, losing it. “I have a right to talk to her. I want to make sure she’s okay.”
The Ranger grumbled. “Let me see if I can put you through. We just started filming her for tonight’s episode of her show, so keep the conversation short. Our viewers hate when humans talk on camera. Whiny voices.”
I was put on hold again.
“Is there a television around here?” I asked Thighbone, who was trying to examine his bald spot in the reflection of his brandy bottle.
“I think there’s a TV in the opening band’s trailer,” he said, pointing at a tin shed with antennas poking out of it. “But I’m not sure they’ll want you storming in. Most artists like to unwind after a show.”
Hauling the heavy phone, I sprinted to the shed and barged through the door without knocking.
Inside, three skinny figures wearing suits were on the couch watching television, though I mean that loosely. Their faces were blank—no eyes, no mouths, no eyes as far as I could tell. They were probably terrible. I can’t stand watching instrumental performances, even though I know I should develop an appreciation for jazz and classical compositions. I always need some vocals.
“Would you mind turning on the All-Universe Nature Channel?” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t knock, but it’s important. My prom date is on and I need to make sure she’s okay.”
The faceless guys pointed at the screen—it seemed they were already watching the All-Universe Nature Channel. Sophie’s show was a hit.
The camera was focused on Sophie as she sat on a staircase inside the glass-ceilinged atrium of the mall. Her hair was sweatily matted to her, and her clothing was torn. She only had one shoe, but she seemed composed—no tears, no panic.
Brinnnnngggg
A phone began ringing inside the mall. The sound of it was barely audible through the television’s speakers—this wasn’t a full-wall set like the one I’d seen in Cad’s dressing room at Berdan Major, just a normal flat screen hanging on a metal hook—but the ringing was there, echoing a moment after the rings I heard on my phone.
Brinnnnngggg
It was my call.
“Is someone there?” said Sophie, looking around the atrium. It was strange to hear her voice again. She sounded exhausted.
“Hello?” she said.
The camera tracked her as she made her way through the mall, looking over her shoulder to make sure nobody was following. She walked through a food court—passing Cinnabon, Pizza Hut, Orange Julius—the ringing of the phone increasing in volume with each step.
Sophie stopped in the doorway of a J.Crew and peeked inside. I didn’t blame her for not wanting to enter. Even though the open corridors of the mall left her exposed, I could see how they seemed safer than a store, where anyone could jump out at her from under a table or behind a display case and prevent her from getting away. At least in a corridor she had room to run.
The phone continued to ring until Sophie finally dashed inside the empty store, darting around racks of cardigans and tables of jeans, and grabbed the receiver next to the register.
There was a click and suddenly I heard her on the other end.
“Hello? Hello hello?”
“Sophie. It’s you. Holy crap. It’s Bennett Bardo.”
“Bennett. Oh my God. You need to help me. I’m trapped in this mall with all these sketchy people who are after me. Where am I? What’s going on? Are you here?”
“I’m not there, but I’m watching you on TV right now. Somebody is following you with a camera….”
“I think I’ve seen the guys with cameras, but anytime I try to look at them, they hide themselves. Where am I?”
“You’re in the Ecological Center for the Preserv—Never mind where you are, it’s difficult to explain. You were abducted by Jyfos when we were in the desert, and now you’re being hunted—but don’t freak out.”
“Jyfos? Being hunted? Don’t freak out?”
“I’m going to find a way to get to you.”
“Why haven’t you come yet?”
I knew what I was about to say next wouldn’t sound good.
“I’m kinda on tour with a band….”
“You’re on tour with a band and I’m running for my life? What’s wrong with you?”
“I know it sounds bad, but it was the only way I could get into space. I’m figuring out how to get them to come for you, it’s just been a little difficult. You need to trust me.”
The camera rotated to reveal a group of bearded truckers and thick-armed lunch ladies lumbering into the J.Crew like catatonics. Sophie d
ucked behind the checkout counter.
“When will you come?”
“As soon as I can, I promise.”
By this point, the band members who were sitting in the room with me appeared to be getting excited that I was actually talking to the subject on the screen, though it was hard to tell for sure due to their lack of faces. They were perched on the end of the couch, shaking a little, looking at the phone and back at the television screen every time Sophie and I said something to each other. I turned my back to them in some sort of attempt at privacy.
“Help me,” Sophie whispered. “They’re coming in.”
“I’ll be there right away. I’m going to figure out how—”
From outside the opening band’s trailer came a strange vibration, followed by a series of earthquakes above and below us that shook the room and knocked the television off the wall. Something was wrong with the Dark Matter Foloptopus.
Thighbone ran inside the trailer and snatched the phone away from me.
“The dam is coming apart,” he said.
I ran out of the trailer and stared at the structure. It was crumbling, on fire. I heard the VRUMP sound of the Perfectly Reasonable stopping their set short, followed by Skark speaking to the crowd.
“Okaaaay…everybody stay calm,” said Skark, his voice muffled by the gooey walls of the Foloptopus’s stomach. “Seriously, don’t worry about the dam. I assure you trained technicians are fixing it right now. The band and I are going to take a quick intermission and we’ll be back to finish the set….”
Skark turned to Cad and Driver but didn’t get far enough away from the microphone, which picked up what he said next: “We need to get out of here now. That wall is about to come down. Head for the bus.”
When the crowd saw the band turn and run, there was hysteria. Hordes of concertgoers trampled each other as they sprinted for the lot where their shuttles and spacecraft were parked—a lot located behind where I was standing, which meant the mob was rushing directly at me, howling for me to get out of the way.
On the other side of the stomach, I could see the Interstellar Libertine lift off from behind the stage. The band had made it inside, but I was nowhere near them and they didn’t seem to care. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t push my way against the onrushing swarm, because I’d be knocked to the ground and crushed. But if I ran with the throng, I would just be moving farther from the bus.