by Edward Zajac
Zagarat chuckled. “Whichever makes you happy.” Suns, it was great to see his mother again. “Well, you’re sounding like your old self again.”
“I do sound better, don’t I?” said Margarat. “It must be the treatments.”
“Ms. Cole,” said a nurse, popping her head into view. The uniform was a dead giveaway. “The doctor is waiting for you.”
“Yes,” said Margarat. “I’ll be there in a little bit. Thank you.”
The nurse did not move. “Ms. Cole, the doctor is on a strict schedule.”
“I understand,” said Margarat. “I promise I’ll be quick. I’m just talking to my son. My single son, if you’re interested.”
Zagarat shook his head. It seemed like his mother’s sole mission in life was to marry him off before she died. And she was probably prepared to haunt him long afterwards until Zag found someone who was desperate and simply did not want to die alone.
“Ms. Cole,” the nurse persisted. “The techs are waiting.”
“I understand,” said Margarat. “I just need a few-”
“Hey, lady!” exclaimed Zagarat. “Give us a moment, would ya?”
The nurse turned towards Zag. “I’m sorry, sir, but we have a tight schedule to kee-”
“I don’t give a sun’s flare what you have. I am talking to my mother. I am also paying you a star’s worth of money for thorough health care. Care being the operative word. Now, I am going to finish my conversation with my mother and once we’re done, you can take her wherever the suns you want. But if you interrupt us one more time, I will make it my personal mission in life to have you fired and never rehired again anywhere in the known universe. Do I make myself clear?”
The nurse stood up primly. “Well, I never.”
“Well, maybe you should,” said Zagarat. “Then maybe you’d be less of a-”
“Zagarat!” exclaimed Margarat. She looked up at the nurse. “I’m sorry for my son. He’s been under a great deal of stress lately. I’ll be done in a little bit. You have my word.”
The nurse eyed Zag ruinously before saying, “Ping when you’re done.”
“Thank you,” said Margarat. “And again, I am so sorry.” Margarat waited until the nurse left then leaned forward in her chair and said, “Zag, that was amazing!”
“What?” said Zagarat, confused.
“I’ve wanted to tell that binta off for days and you did it for me. I knew that handsome man would rub off on you. Whatever you’re doing with him, you keep doing it. You hear me? Oh, that reminds me. Anything new or exciting happen while I was gone?”
Zagarat blew out a puff of air as he considered how much to tell his mother. A teenager’s worth seemed about right. “Not much.”
“You really know how to styllus a picture, you know that?” said Margarat.
“What can I say?” said Zagarat, shrugging. “It was just some boring tech stuff.”
Margarat sagged sullenly. “That’s too bad. I was hoping that handsome man would bring some much needed excitement into your life. How much longer will you be helping him?”
Zagarat considered the question. “That’s yet to be decided,” he said eventually.
“Well, you stay there as long as he needs you,” said Margarat. “And don’t you dare worry about me. I’m doing just fine.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Zagarat, grinning. “I love you, you old crone.”
“Yeah, yeah. Love you too.” Margarat’s face grew enormous as she leaned forward. “Now, how do I turn this damn thing off?”
“It’s the…” Zagarat began to say when the image shimmered and faded away.
Zagarat sat in silence for nearly fifteen minutes, nervously biting his fingernails. It was something he would occasionally do when he was lost in thought. Or extremely nervous. It was one of the reasons Zag had very short fingernails. He might have had short toenails as well if his mother had not put an end to that at a very early age.
What did his mother mean by that? Fletcher hadn’t actually rubbed off on him, had he? He was still the same Zagarat he had always been. He was still neurotic. He was still awkward. He was still him. As for the nurse, she deserved what she got. Suns, she got off lucky. If he had actually said what he wanted to say…
But that was the amazing part. He had said all those things to her, and he never said stuff like that. Oh, he thought them plenty, but he never actually said those things out loud.
Not until he came here. Not until he met…
Huh.
id you find anything yet?” asked Fletcher, strumming his fingers on the console.
“As I said the last ten times you asked me,” said Aurora, clearly annoyed. “I’m still recompiling all the data. Unless, of course, you want to do it yourself.”
“No,” said Fletcher, tapping his feet in time with his strumming fingers. “But it’s just a bunch of databits. Can’t you just write some kind of algorithm or something?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do since we left Mayoo,” said Aurora. “Except some annoying privateer keeps pestering me with silly questions.” Fletcher made a face. “And I’m sure I’d be done by now if you’d let Zagarat help me.”
“The answer is still no,” said Fletcher.
“Why not?” said Aurora. “Why won’t you ask him for help?”
“Because I almost got that man killed, that’s why.”
“But maybe he wants to help,” said Aurora.
“Trust me,” said Fletcher. “He doesn’t.”
Just then, there was a ping overhead. “Um, Mr. Griffin?”
“Hello, Zagarat,” said Fletcher, surprised. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“No, not really,” said Zagarat, in that nervous way of his. “I just wanted to thank you for that comm relay to Ferali. It was nice to see my mother’s face again.”
“Glad I could help,” said Fletcher. “We’ll be docking with Ferali in another hour or so. Was there anything else you wanted?”
“Ummmm,” said Zagarat, holding the note as if meditating. And not successfully. “Well, um, I was just wondering if you needed any, um, help recompiling the information I gathered on Mayoo. You know, before we dock. That is, if you need my help, that is.”
Aurora stuck her tongue out in a “told-ya-so” fashion.
“Thanks for the offer,” said Fletcher. “But I think we have it from here. You just relax until we dock. Fletcher out.”
“What are you doing?” said Aurora, incredulously. “He offered to help.”
“I know he did,” said Fletcher, closing his eyes as he dragged his hand across his forehead. “But the quicker we get rid of him, the better off he’ll be.”
“Why do you keep resisting…”
“Because I don’t want anyone else to die helping me!” exclaimed Fletcher, a rivulet of tears trickling down his right cheek.
Aurora sighed. She reached out to touch him, but stopped inches away from his shoulder. That sight alone nearly made him cry.
“You have to forgive yourself for what happened on Earth,” she said. “I do.”
Fletcher chuckled derisively. “How can I forgive myself? Everywhere I go is a reminder of that damn planet. Most sentients here even look human. Hell, they even speak English here.”
“It’s called Universal,” Aurora corrected. “And you can thank Eruicious for that.”
Fletcher waved his hand dismissively. “Same difference. Now, would you please just recompile the data and help me find the Weiylans?”
“I’m trying,” said Aurora. “But his files are completely scrambled. Without the encryption key, it might take me days, maybe even weeks to work out the metrics.”
“The Weiylans don’t have weeks,” said Fletcher.
“I know,” said Aurora. “If only we had someone who could help us.”
Fletcher squinted, his brow furrowing. “You don’t fight fair, little one.”
Aurora smirked proudly, grinning from ear to ear.
agarat was placing
his Sonic Dissembler in his suitcase when the door mysteriously opened. But when he turned around, there was no one there.
“Hello?” he ventured. “Is somebody there?”
There was some mumbling off in the distance, like two distinct voices arguing.
“Go in.”
“I will.”
“Well, why haven’t you yet?”
“Because I’ll go when I’m good and ready.”
“Well, you look ready now,” the first voice said.
“Would you stop…”
“I will if you’ll stop being such a…”
“Okay, fine!”
A moment later, Fletcher appeared at the door, looking down at his shuffling feet. He looked absolutely wretched, which caused Zagarat to squirm in sympathetic discomfort.
Sympathetic Discomfort, also known as Morzay Syndrome, was a recently diagnosed medical condition wherein a sentient vicariously experiences the social awkwardness of another on a physical level. Some symptoms include stomach pain, constipation, diarrhea, muscle tics, and general squirmitude, sometimes all at the same time. It also includes an inability to watch any type of Bretesh comedy, which was rife with squirm-inducing hijinks. Like that one scene in that Bretesh classic, THE FORTUNATE MISFORTUNES OF BETRUND BEGGLESWORTH, where Bertrund was discussing Mrs. Elowitz’s loose ethics and even looser morals with his shapely new assistant, who accidentally opened a comm to corporate in the middle of their conversation. This led to another awkward situation in Mr. Elowitz’s office involving Mr. Elowitz, his daughter Ginny, and a bra.
But in Bertrund’s defense, his hand had been trembling something fierce from all the stress and that was why he spilt water all over himself. And he didn’t know that Ginny, who had had a massive crush on him since episode one, was currently changing in the bathroom and what he grabbed wasn’t in fact a towel, but rather Ginny’s sizable bra.
Zagarat would often squirm, just thinking about that scene.
“Would you just ask him?” hissed Aurora.
“Let me do it,” said Fletcher curtly, glancing back over his shoulder. He stepped inside and smiled. “Hello, Zag. How are you doing?”
“Much better now that we’re light-years away from Mayoo.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” said Fletcher. “I didn’t know it was going to get that bad. I’ll make sure you’re well compensated for what happened.”
“I appreciate it,” said Zagarat, snapping his suitcase shut.
“Are you gonna ask him or not?” asked Aurora, her voice reverberating off the walls.
“I’m getting to it!” snapped Fletcher, gazing up towards the ceiling.
Zagarat couldn’t help but chuckle. Those two reminded him of his parents, always ribbing each other and cracking wise, but never in a malicious sort of way.
“Actually, now that you mention it,” said Fletcher. “I could use your help recompiling the information you gathered.” He shuffled his feet again. “If the offer is still on the console.”
“Sure,” said Zagarat. He reached inside his pocket, retrieved a datacrystal, and tossed it at Fletcher, who swiped it from the air with ease. “I already recompiled that one. I should be able to recompile the rest by the time we reach Ferali.”
“Wow,” said Fletcher. “That’s stellar. Thanks.” He walked over to the console and slipped the datacrystal into a dataport. “This will make things a whole lot easier. Although, just out of curiosity, why do you have duplicate crystals in your pocket?”
“I made copies just in case the other ones were lost or stolen.”
“I see,” said Fletcher, nodding. “So, you didn’t make copies in order to blackmail me later? Or possibly sell the information for a profit?”
“I can honestly say that thought never crossed my mind,” said Zagarat. “Until now.”
Fletcher smiled that infectious smile of his. “Good.” He wrapped his arm around Zag’s shoulders. “Now, let’s go have some Dorian Cocoa while Aurora finds the Corsican Man.”
Zagarat sighed. Ah, Dorian Cocoa. The sweetest words in the entire Universal Universal language. Zag’s anxieties dwindled away just thinking about that luscious liquid. Yes, he could definitely use a cup of that heavenly libation while Aurora looked for the Corsican Man.
Zag stopped midstride. The name awakened a memory from the deep recesses of his subconscious, alongside a long buried memory of a trip to his uncle’s house…
AAAAAHHH.
Zag quickly reburied that memory, tapping down the mound, resodding the area, and watering it fully until it blended in with the surrounding memories.
“What did you just say?” asked Zagarat.
“Yeah, I thought you’d like that,” said Fletcher, smirking. “I had some cocoa delivered to the ship while we were gone. It’s a proprietary blend by some Master DoCocorista or something. I have the name in the cockpit. It cost me a fortune. But nothing but the best for you, buddy.”
“No,” said Zagarat. “Not that. The other thing.”
“What? The Corsican Man?” Fletcher waved the notion away. “Oh, that’s nothing. He’s just someone I’ve been looking for. I think he might be involved with Galustay. Why?”
“Corsican Man, Corsican Man,” Zag repeated to himself. “Why do I know that name?”
“Wait,” said Fletcher, turning sharply. “You know him?”
“Shut up. Shut up.” Zag dragged his fingers across his eyelids. “Let me think. Let me think. How do I know that name?” He shook his head. “Never mind. That was somebody else.”
“Who?” said Fletcher, anxiously. “Tell me.”
“It was a sent who used to work at the Leranda branch way before I started. His name was Stann Kes-kai-an. He was the go-to guy in the company. The impossible was possible with this guy. It even became a running joke at the company. An exec would ask him something ridiculous like, ‘Can you fly this parcel to Preylor IV in less than two hours?’ And he would say proudly, ‘Course I can. I’m Stann Kes-kai-an.’ In time, he became ‘Course I Can Stann.”
The blood drained from Fletcher’s face. “Is it possible we had it all wrong?”
Aurora appeared before Fletcher, her arms crossed across her chest. “I told you we should have let him in on the details. But would you listen to me? Oh, no. You had to do what you always do, run headlong into danger without thinking the matter through. And this time you not only risked your own life, but his life as well.”
Fletcher threw his arms into the air. “What are you doing? He can see you.”
“So?” said Aurora.
“So,” said Fletcher. “I wanted to show you off when the time was right.” Aurora’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “Which I guess is now. Zag, this is Aurora. Aurora, this is Zag.”
“Hello,” said Aurora and Zag in near unison.
Fletcher’s eyes danced back and forth between Zagarat and Aurora, before finally settling on the avatar. “Aurora, why isn’t he surprised to see you?”
Aurora dropped her head sullenly, which made her look nearly prepubescent.
“Are you kidding me?” said Zag quickly, compelled by some unknown force to defend Aurora’s honor. “After everything I’ve seen on this ship, do you really think a hologram is gonna impress me? Granted, the resolution is amazing and the avatar is stunning.”
“Thank you,” said Aurora, curtsying.
“But it’s just a hologram,” Zagarat continued. “Unless you’re embarrassed of her.”
“Is that it?” said Aurora, reappearing beside Zagarat. “Are you embarrassed of me?”
“Of course not,” said Fletcher. “I’m extremely proud of you.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound it,” said Aurora.
“No, it doesn’t,” Zagarat agreed. “Because if you were really proud of her, you would have showed her off the minute I arrived. Suns, my mom would have loved to have met her.”
“Yeah,” said Aurora. “What is wrong with you?”
Fletcher balled his hands into fists and squeez
ed his eyes shut, turning around on the balls of his feet. “Universe, please give me the strength not to kill them both.”
Aurora rose up on her tippy toes and whispered in Zagarat’s ear, “I love you.”
Zagarat smirked, hiding his mirth quickly when Fletcher turned back around.
“Can we talk about that another time and get back to the matter at hand?” said Fletcher.
“Fine,” said Aurora. “But we will talk about this. You can be sure of that.”
“I can’t wait,” said Fletcher, morosely. He paused. “What were we talking about?”
“The Corsican Man,” said Aurora and Zagarat in unison.
“Oh, yeah, right,” said Fletcher. “Do you know what happened to him?”
“Well, the rumor about the office was that he was forced into early retirement.”
“Okay,” said Fletcher, biting his lower lip. “So, we have to check out all the usual resorts. Ursa Minor. Jalidia. Abis.”
“No, no, no,” said Zagarat. “You don’t understand. When I say he was forced into early retirement, I mean he…” Zag made quotation marks in the air. “Demanded a raise.”
Fletcher blinked, his expression blank. “I don’t understand.”
Zag sighed. “He went on sabbatical,” he said, gesturing quotation marks again.
Fletcher glanced over at Aurora. “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”
“I’m not sure,” said Aurora, carefully, “but I think he means Stann disappeared.”
“Exactly,” said Zagarat, gesturing his arms wide. “Thank you.”
“Well, why didn’t you just say that?” said Fletcher.
“He did,” said Aurora, jumping to Zag’s defense. “Just in his own unique way. It’s probably something they say in the office. Am I right?” Zag nodded. “See? Although, in the future, I’d suggest you dumb things down for the less erudite among us.”
She made an obnoxious face at Fletcher.
“It’s true,” said Fletcher. “Some things just go right over her head. But she keeps trying and that’s all that matters.”
Aurora disappeared only to reappear moments later, hovering inches away from Fletcher’s face, pointing her right index finger directly up Fletcher’s left nostril. “Say one more thing like that and I will turn off the gravity in your bathroom when you least expect it.”