by Edward Zajac
“You ever play Universal Galactic Soldier of Kahn?”
“Are you kidding me? I reached Supreme Universal Commander in that game.”
“So, you know how to use a Magi PR-M90?”
“Absolutely,” said Zag. “That was my favorite weapon in the game. Why?”
“No reason,” said Fletcher, taking a right on Fenni Road. “Just making conversation.”
“I loved the ending of UGSK, when you had to navigate the HVT through the forest and kill the BB (big baddy) before all of civilization was destroyed. That was stellar.”
“Mm-hmm,” said Fletcher, his eyes locked on the road ahead.
“Or in the sequel, when you had to choose between destroying the Zirklings or saving your best friend’s life. That was intense.”
“Sounds it,” said Fletcher. “So, how are your shoes? Pretty comfortable?”
“They’re not bad,” said Zagarat, glancing down at his feet. “Why? What’s going on?”
“Welllll,” said Fletcher. “Promise you won’t freak out.”
“Okay,” said Zagarat. “I promise I won’t freak out.” He then added softly, “Probably.”
“Good,” said Fletcher. “Because we’re kind of being followed right now.” He grabbed Zag just as he was about to turn around. “No. We don’t look. If we look, then the sentients following us will know that we know that they’re following us. Do you understand?”
“Uh-huh,” said Zagarat, although he didn’t really hear the question. “Shouldn’t we run? Because I, I really think we should run.”
“No,” said Fletcher, calmly. “The best thing we can do is act normal and…”
As they neared a bustling intersection, a pair of burly Lassens looked up at their approach. One tossed a bottle into a nearby refuse bin, while the other slipped his hand inside his coat.
“Actually,” said Fletcher. “Running seems like a good idea right about now. On three, I want you to follow me as best you can. Ready?” Three sents joined the nonchalant pedestrians at the end of the sidewalk. “Eh, crap. Change of plans. Three! Go!”
With that, Fletcher darted down a nearby alley. Zagarat hesitated for only a moment then tapped into his lifelong experience of fleeing and ran as fast as he could. To Zag’s amazement, Fletcher was already two blocks away, waving him on before turning a far corner.
Zagarat’s mouth gaped open. How the suns did he do that?
But Zagarat didn’t have time to think about that as two more thugs joined the party, gaining ground behind him.
No matter what many athletes said, no one ever really gave one hundred or a hundred and ten percent without some motivation and there was no better motivation than the fear of death. And the sight of five men chasing him brought Zagarat closer to a hundred percent than he had ever been in his life.
He rounded the same corner as Fletcher, taking the turn wide so as not to slow down. But the privateer was nowhere to be seen.
Zagarat’s eyes grew wide. The sunning bastard left him. The sunning bastard left him to die.
Just then, a hand tugged on his coat. Zagarat gasped in shock. Then came a crashing sound, followed by a muffled moan.
“How you holding up?” asked Fletcher casually, running alongside him. He didn’t even seem winded. The sunning bastard.
Zagarat tried to say, “Just peachy,” but it came out as “aaaiiee jo pee shee.”
“You’re doing great, by the way. Just keep running towards the depot. I’ll be right back.”
Fletcher trailed off, both verbally and physically, leaving Zag all alone.
The sunning bastard.
There was another crashing sound followed by another. But Zagarat didn’t care. All he cared about was getting the suns off this planet. He sidestepped a garbage pail, his thighs burning and his calves wailing as he pushed them to their limits. But again, Zagarat didn’t care because just then he caught a glimpse of the bright lights of the Mayoo Depot off in the distance.
He was almost there. All he had to do was keep running and he’d be safe. All he had to do was climb this grassy hillock and he’d be…
A hand suddenly grabbed Zag’s bicep in a vise-like grip. “Not that way,” said Fletcher, turning his arm as if it were a rudder. “That way is bad. We go this way.”
“Bud a bad a badda,” aspirated Zagarat, gasping for air.
“Because they’d shoot us the minute we reached the top, that’s why.”
Zagarat turned his head as he ran. “Soos us?” he asked.
“Oh, did I say shoot?” said Fletcher, leading them in between the Mayoo Prudential Building and the Mayoo Prudent Building. “I meant take vids of us, that’s all.”
The alleyway suddenly narrowed, half of the path littered with garbage cans and trash bags. The only light came from a red Nerron sign, flashing the words “Nude Sentients.”
Zagarat kept to the clear side of the path while Fletcher kept to the right, somersaulting over a deusteel dumpster and then hurdling five plastisheet bags without breaking stride.
The sunning bastard.
As they passed an open doorway, a large Kaylan reached out with one of his many appendages and handed, or in this case, appendaged Zagarat a plastisheet flyer.
“Don’t bother,” said Fletcher, tossing the flyer away. “That place is overrated. You’re better off at Quess-Que-Sao. The sentients there have the most beautiful… Never mind.”
“Es sud goo here,” said Zagarat, gasping for breath.
“The depot is right up ahead,” said Fletcher. “Gate right towards it. I’ll be right back.”
“Wheh you…” Zagarat began to say, but Fletcher, once again, was nowhere to be seen.
The sunning bastard.
Zag looked up and saw the most glorious sight: the brilliant Nerron lights of the Mayoo Depot, shining like the Cosmic Creator’s very own spotlight guiding him home. That sight alone gave him a second wind. He ran, he sprinted, he gated towards the depot as hard and as fast as he possibly could. And for a moment, for a brief shining moment, Zag thought he was going to make it. Make it to the ship. Make it off this planet. Make it back to his mother.
But Clemona, as always, had other things in mind. Two sents emerged from behind a ruddy deusteel dumpster, blocking his hasty retreat.
Zagarat’s loafers actually screeched along the macadam path as he slid to a halt.
Both sents slowly raised their guns, taking aim at Zag.
Zagarat froze. He swallowed hard, his body heaving as he gasped for air. Hopefully, not for the last time.
Just then, there was a blur of movement and a sentient sized projectile slammed into the thugs, tossing them into a deusteel dumpster with a resounding thud, shifting it five feet.
“Come on,” said Fletcher, waving him forward. “We have to go.”
“What the… how did… you just…”
“I’ll explain later,” said Fletcher, grabbing Zag by the hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”
agarat slowly opened his eyes, blinking the universe into focus. That was the weirdest dream he had ever had in his life. It was weirder than that dream where he showed up late for his Universal exam wearing nothing but a pair of black socks and a jester’s hat strategically placed over his Lerandanhood. Things only got worse from there when Mrs. Calu-Calu called him in front of the class for his oral report. Hilarity ensued when the hat disappeared from view.
But this dream had been even stranger.
It all started when he agreed to help a privateer hack into a Deus database, which was totally ridiculous. He would never be dumb enough to do something like that. Then there was a part about food poisoning, which was equally as ridiculous. Then there was another ludicrous part where he was hiding under a bed. And then there was a part where he was running. Running as fast and as hard as his legs would allow. The rest faded into the miasma of his mind.
“Aurora, get us out of here!”
Zagarat looked around. He was in the cockpit of the Aurora May.
Oh, suns. It wasn’t a dream. It was a sunning living nightmare.
Fletcher’s hands danced across the console with the fluidity of a Pianeer master. The Pianeer was a 28,892 key chordophone from the planet Kayla. The Pianeerist sat in what looked and many claimed felt like a cavernous pit, surrounded by keys on all sides. When played by a talented Kaylan with its eight tentacle-like appendages, the music was euphony. When played by a sentient with only two arms, the music was often eutherian.
Or more precisely, like a eutherian beast being tortured.
Once the ship was safely in the air, Fletcher swiveled around in his chair, pointing his finger in the air. “Okay,” he said, as if speaking to some incorporeal being overhead. “This one was not my fault. I was on my best behavior down there. I didn’t even sleep with anyone… Well, that not’s true. I did sleep with one sentient.” He grinned. “Well, there wasn’t much sleeping involved, if you know what I mean.” His face turned more serious. “But it was actually a good thing I slept with her because she put a listening device on me. Well, it might have been a tracking device. It’s tough to tell nowadays.” Fletcher paused. “Oh, you would say that, wouldn’t you? How do you know it wasn’t his fault? Oh, that’s right. It couldn’t have been his fault because he complimented you and now you’re in love with him. You know what your problem is? You don’t trust me.” He paused. “Really? When was the last time I ever…” Fletcher paused. “Well, yeah.” He paused again. “Yeah, that too.” There was another pause. “Okay, okay. Shut up.” Fletcher sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say shut up. I was just a little angry.” He paused. “Oh, come on. Don’t be that way.”
Fletcher sighed again, sagging the sag of sagging married men.
Zagarat’s gaping maw could have served as a docking station for a small ship. “It’s finally happened,” he said, looking around the room. “I’ve gone insane.”
“What?” said Fletcher, as if suddenly realizing he wasn’t alone. “Oh, don’t mind her. She can get pretty moody sometimes. It’s probably just her time of the fiscal quarter.” He looked up at the ceiling. “It was a joke!” he exclaimed, turning his palms skyward. Or ceilingward.
Fletcher placed his hand on Zag’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean any of it. You did great back there. Better than I could have ever dreamed. In fact, I’m gonna make sure Deus gives you a huge raise for this.” He held out his hand. “Can I have the datacrystals now?”
“What?” said Zagarat, utterly confused.
“The datacrystals with the information you gathered. Can I have them now?”
“Oh,” said Zagarat, reaching into his pocket. “Yeah, here you go.”
“Thank you.” Fletcher inserted the datacrystals, one by one, into the console. “It might take some time, but I’m sure we’ll find something useful here. Why don’t you go to your room and get some rest? I’ll let you know when we arrive at the Ferali Institute.”
“The Ferali Institute?” said Zagarat, finding it hard to focus.
“Yep,” said Fletcher, grinning that contagious grin of his. “We’re all done here.” He leaned forward, grasping Zag by the hand. “And believe me when I say this, Zagarat Cole. You were and are utterly amazing. You just have to start believing it. Now, go and get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
“You mean we’re done here?” asked Zagarat, amazed not only at the notion but amazed at the tone of his voice. It almost sounded like disappointment.
“Well, you’re all done here,” said Fletcher. “I still have a lot of work ahead of me.”
Fletcher swiveled his chair around, turning his back to Zagarat.
“Oh,” said Zagarat, pushing himself to his feet. “I guess I’ll go to my room then.”
The magdoors swished open with nary a sound and Zag walked inside.
“I’ll let you know when we arrive,” said Fletcher, never looking up from his work.
The maglift doors closed and for the longest time, Zagarat simply stared at a single point in space.
It was over. Just like that, it was over without a preamble or an epilogue. It was just over.
And was he going to miss it?
Zag shook his head. He was right. It’d finally happened. He’d actually gone insane.
agarat sat in the middle of his bed, rolling a datascrystal back and forth in his hand. If his years as a tech had taught him anything, it was to always backup his information.
And then backup the backup.
He peered at the datacrystal, a rainbow of colors refracting off its crystalline façade. It still amazed him how much information could be stored on such a miniscule device, especially when layered and compressed by a knowledgeable tech.
To the inexperienced, it was magic. To Zagarat, it was quotidian.
Trillions of layers, just sitting there in the palm of his hand.
But what to do with it, that was the question.
A part of him wanted to chuck the datacrystal across the room and forget about the last few days. Forget about the food poisoning and his recent brush with death. But there was another part that wanted to know what was on that datacrystal. To know what he had risked his life for.
And that part won.
Zagarat plugged the datacrystal into his PCD and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited until his prog finally recompiled the trillions of layers.
Suns, this PCD really was a piece of dreck. The new Magi Elentric was so much better. It had twice the processing power and four times the resolution.
And it came in white. Swanky.
Zag perfunctorily scrolled through the trivial stuff like SR complaints and salaries, although he did find it rather irksome that Leevee made twice as much money as he did. Especially, since Holuwala insisted that Zag was the highest paid T-3 tech in the company.
After cursing Holuwala for being such a cheap sunning bastard, Zagarat grouped anything referencing Unicorn into one table, which was easy enough because there was only one vague reference to Unicorn as an outdated financial algorithm Deus hadn’t used for years.
Next, he panned through the accounting department. Again, he didn’t find anything useful there either. Just the creative accounting that could crisscross an auditor’s eyes.
Zag then quickly perused the work histories of Levee, BTW, Astral, Xena Xa, and Augus Bent. Nothing seemed strange or unusual there either. Of course, he didn’t really know what the meteorites he was supposed to be looking for so who knew if the information was unusual or not.
He shut his PCD and leaned back, slamming the bed’s headboard up against the wall.
What was he doing? This wasn’t his fight. Yes, it was tragic what was happening to the Weiylans, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was just Zag, and Zag was all he was ever going to be. This kind of stuff was best left for sentients like Fletcher. The privateer had started this fight and he could be the one to finish it. Alone.
Zagarat pocketed the datacrystal and turned on his newest game, Infuriated Badgers. He definitely needed a good distraction right about now and crushing millions of Infuriated Badgers with a digital mallet seemed like just the thing. (The makers of Infuriated Badgers by no means condone the mutilation of badgers, no matter their furiation.)
He sat on his bed, about to lay waste to a zombie horde of badgers on island of Badgeria, when a faint noise sounded in the distance. It almost sounded like someone clearing their throat.
Zag held the PCD up to his ear, but all he could hear was the annoying Infuriated Badger theme song; a simple ditty that didn’t so much get stuck in your head as bivouacked in your head. After much trial and error, Zagarat found that the only way to get the song out of his head was to actually sing the infuriating chorus aloud. And that’s what Zagarat did now. He sang the theme song.
Infuriated Badgers. Badgers that are mad. Infuriated Badgers. What’s made them so mad? Infuriated Badgers. Time to cull. Infuriated Badgers. Crush their skulls.
And with that, the song broke camp and Zagara
t’s mind was free once more.
He returned to the game, making it all the way to Castle Badgoria when he heard the strange noise again, this time clearer and louder.
Zag squinted down at his PCD. Was there an error in the coding or something?
“AHEM!” said a voice vociferously. The sound reverberated off the walls, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere in particular.
Zagarat jerked back, clutching his PCD to his chest. “Hello?” he asked nervously.
“Hello,” said a female voice, soft and genteel. “May I come in?
“Oh,” said Zag, relaxing. It was just someone at the door. “Sure. Come on in.”
Zagarat nearly fell off the bed when a woman suddenly appeared beside him. But he definitely didn’t yelp. Okay, he might have yelped a little. But it was a manly yelp.
“Hello,” said the woman meekly, wriggling her fingers sheepishly.
It was difficult to determine her exact race or age. She was definitely a biped. She might have been Solian. Or possibly Bylarian because she had the ageless features of Bylarians. Red hair cascaded down her head, all the way to her hips like molten lava. Her skin was white, nearly pearlescent. Her eyes were gold, her lips azure blue. In fact, there was nothing muted about her. Every color on her being was bright and gleaming, nearly iridescent.
“Who are you?” said Zagarat, his voice shrill. But a manly shrill.
“I’m Aurora.”
“Aurora?” said Zagarat. “You mean, like the ship Aurora?”
“Well, yes and no,” said Aurora.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean yes, I am the ship. And no, I’m not the ship.”
“I don’t understand,” said Zagarat.
“I know,” said Aurora. “But you will.”
Zagarat took her in from head to toe. “So, you’re like a hologram or something?”
“Something like that,” she said, shrugging. She gazed around the room as if biding her time.
After a few minutes, Zagarat could abide her biding no longer and asked, “Is there something I can do for you?”