by James Martin
Yezkal’s disposition softened. He was unwilling to relent but realized that he was not in control of the situation—an unheard of development. “An SR-Fighter will cost you dearly.”
Astraos could determine the distance between him and his adversaries based on the amount of heat they generated. He was prepared to leave here with body parts in his wake. He had not calmed down yet. “I don’t believe you heard me. I will take the SR-Fighter and I will execute you if you attempt to signal your men or thwart me.”
Yezkal licked his lips. “Today, you’ve made a powerful enemy. You may walk out of here, but I will find you and you will wish that you died this day.”
Astraos chuckled. “Is that so? Do I look average to you, Yezkal?” It was hard to see anything average about a six-foot-six cheshir crotched on top of a desk with two blades scissoring another’s throat. Criminal kingpin or not, all were diminished in such a presence.
Yezkal made no response. He went through his desk drawers, found the SR-Fighter’s remote panel, and casually placed it on the desk.
“Tell your men to drop their weapons.”
“No.”
“I really don’t want to kill all of you. Please don’t make me.” The sincerity of it and the finality of his voice made Yezkal flinch.
“Stand down.” They did so.
Astraos grabbed the panel with his index and pinky finger, then put it in his mouth. He held his blades outward, coming close to each one of the guard’s throats, stepping side-to-side as he made a hasty exit.
Balbao came back into the room and instinctively drew his weapon. Astraos slashed down, cutting off his hand and kicked him through the door. He gestured with Laverne to Yezkal as to say ‘don’t even think about it’ and scooted backward.
Yezkal only breathed heavily in response.
Astraos rushed out, sprinting back toward The Place. His plan. A plan? Let’s hope Johnny can help.
The pretty little things were missing, and he assumed they found some patrons to rump. Even the tentacle blob? Ew.
He barged through the door. Johnny looked over and Astraos jumped over the counter and crouched behind.
“What are you doing?”
“Got a back door?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go.”
Johnny coughed and projected his voice toward the entrance. “Looking for someone?” Astraos got the hint.
“Where’s the tall, white hair guy that came through here?”
“He kept running to the back.”
The guard looked around, but since the others were engaged with their own tasks, he chose to believe Johnny. He couldn’t afford to come back empty-handed to Yezkal.
“We’ll have to use the employee entrances.”
“We have to get to the SR-Fighter before him.”
“You have the pad?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see.” He looked it over, pressed some buttons and Astraos realized at that moment he had forgotten to ask where the bird was and how to control the pad. Good thing for Johnny or I certainly would’ve caused an incident.
“Dock station 1712-B-SEC85-QDO. I can get us there. Follow me and stay down.”
Johnny hastily walked, trying not to arouse suspicion by going too fast. They took a left through an aisle and down two rows then a right. The kitchen doors were ahead. “You can get up.”
Astraos rose. “Before I forget or things get nasty. . . Here.” He handed over his control pad.
“At least he has more of a reason than usual to try and kill you.”
Astraos smirked, nodding his head.
“I have to ask. Why didn’t you take care of them? I’ve seen what you can do.”
“I made a promise to a friend.” Wooshuda said, I had to rise above. Nate said, I could not rely on strength forever, I’d need brains too. They were both right. Running was not a sign of cowardice, as many cheshirs believe. I could dispose of them, easily, handily. I must remember that life is precious.
Johnny tilted his head to the side in thought but made no comment.
“My ship is in Docking Station 1578-A-SEC38-QDC. Do not fly it from The Station.”
“Why?”
“If a cheshir sees it, they will erase you.”
Johnny nodded. “Let’s say I believe you are a cheshir. What should I do?”
“You can strip it for parts. Or. . . you can sell the whole thing to Yezkal.”
Johnny laughed. “And if he rips me off? My life is protected being a Station XI employee but not from getting screwed on a deal.”
Astraos smirked. “There are two rows of six buttons on the flight panel on the right side. Hit the first and last buttons on the first row then hit the third and fourth buttons on the second row, that initiates the non-tracking mode. And if someone doesn’t do that. . . You get the picture.” There was another tracker, a more difficult one to access and disable, but Astraos had taken care of that one when he first ‘acquired’ the ship.
He nodded. “I think I’ll just sell it for parts.”
“Safe.”
They resumed walking through the kitchen. They went through rows of cooks who were preparing all sorts of food, none of which would be distinguishable as bar food on Earth. Astraos brushed his head on a few of the stainless steel prep counter tops; he had an affinity for steel. They got to the side and in the transporter.
“How convenient.”
Johnny punched the coordinates on the panel to the left. “Twelfth dock on the right.”
“Perfect.”
“It was nice meeting you, Astraos. I hope it works out for you. But I must warn you—”
“What is it now?” Astraos said, exasperated.
Johnny chuckled and scratched his temple. “Don’t be surprised if Yezkal still screwed you.”
“How?”
“Well. . . That kaledio has a knack for ripping people off. I feel like he has prepared to rip off the exact person that walks through his doors long before that person ever conceived of walking through said doors.”
“Huh. . .? I don’t know what that means.”
“I’m saying you should be careful.”
“I’ll try.”
Johnny turned around and grinned to himself, taking out an ancient coin and flipping it. So say the sailors, the trip begins before you navigate the ocean.
Astraos had much on his mind in the form of aggravated pursuit, and so he did not dwell on Johnny’s words. He put what Johnny said out of his mind and concentrated on getting out; unfortunately, once he entered katros space, passed by the vicinity of a katros scout, he was fired upon. It led Astraos to remember Johnny’s pointed remark, and he took a look under the flight console.
That son of a brooder.
Yezkal ordered his group of minions, a few days prior, to gut the SR-Fighter of its cloaking tech and fit it on to one of his shippers, so that he could get more unique and highly profitable contraband into Station XI. Also. . . he would still sell the SR-Fighter as fully equipped.
Win. Win.
August 1, 2015
“Mom, I am not going to have this conversation with you, again.”
“You will have this conversation with me again and again and any conversation I may want to have as long as you live here.”
“Why do you hate it so much that I go out there?”
“Because you are wasting your life away.”
“It’s what dad and I did on the weekend.”
“Some weekends.”
“And?”
“Not all.”
“What about it?”
“I mourned the death of your father for years, long before he went into the ground. Look what its gotten me. Close to defaulting on my mortgage. Dead-end temporary jobs. No one to help me.”
“What are you trying to say, mom? That I will end up like you.”
“Yes. Absolutely. You work jobs you’re overqualified for. I never see you go out with friends. You go look at the stars every weekend. Your
looks, well—”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, sweetie”—Theresa guffawed—“you used to be a knockout. You’ve put on some weight being cooped up in here.”
“Mom!”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Mom. Mom. Mom. . . You know I gave up a career for your father. I dropped everything. I moved to this city of less than ten-thousand people. I trusted him.”
“I’m sorry dad died and ruined your life.”
Theresa shook her head. “Our marriage was a sham—” She cut herself off, the implications of what was not said more dramatic to Lauren than finishing the sentence. Lauren met the remark with silence. She knew her father had been dead long before he died, anyone could see that.
“Oh, bunny. . ." Theresa gestured with her right hand as the wine glass’s contents shook violently and attempted escape. “How could you not see it? You were always daddy’s little girl. He had everything. I had nothing. And it’s more of the same now.”
Tears welled in Lauren’s eyes. “Why? You’re dru—”
“Don’t you say that word. I am enlightened. I see you, Lauren. I see you trudging down a path that leads nowhere. You have to get out of here. You have to go and—and see the world. Love and fuck and find your place on this flying rock, because if you don’t, you will find yourself thirty years later with bills you cannot possibly pay and nothing but a wine bottle to ease your pain. You will regret it all.”
“Mom. . . I can guarantee that I will never become like you. I—” She had hit a level of exasperation and resentment that made her almost blurt out her plans to leave to medical school. . . but was cut off prematurely.
“Good. Fantastic. Why don’t you start now? You’re obsessed with going out there. What are you trying to find?”
“I’m remembering!” She took a deep breath. If she told her about medical school then the conversation would divert to betrayal and the loneliness her mother would feel. It was better to feed her the spoonfuls she desired.
Theresa laughed to herself, turning to the side, she looked beyond the home to a life more glamorous filled with materialistic gains and most importantly, stability—not worrying about the next paycheck or the next bill. “You—You’ve turned me into a monster.”
“Huh?”
“I sit here alone because there is no man to have in this town. And I wonder, I say to myself, ‘what can Lauren possibly be doing?’ And here you are looking everywhere else rather than talking to your mother.”
“I tried—”
“You’ve never tried. You look to your dead father, while I wither away and become a decrepit old lady that no one loves.”
She downed the rest of her glass. “Go. Go remember days and nights with him and forget about me. Leave me to be the villain. Use your degree in Astronomy that we paid for, appropriately.” She ended the sentence with a slight nod and a lift of her glass towards her daughter.
“What have you paid for?”
”Ah, yes. . . Remind the mother that her contributions have always been worthless. Yes. Yes. The money was never mine.” She turned around and gently closed the door behind her. The shock of that gesture more riveting than slamming the door.
Tears fell down Lauren’s cheeks and landed on the hardwood floor of her bedroom, she turned around and opened the blinds, letting the sun bestow its enriching energy upon her. She never meant to end the conversation like that, negating all her perceived ‘rightness’ in the act. She tread the line, but did not stab her mother with how she would be gone next fall because that would only exasperate the situation—turning this waterfall into a deluge.
Lauren bit her lip. It seemed more and more that the appropriate decision may be to withhold her life-altering choice until she packs her bags and leaves.
She sighed. The days have been hard, the nights longer. But she believed that hope was around the corner. And that was why she would never become her mother.
Galactic Calendar - 1258789 - Cheshir - Day 262
Astraos pulled the covers off and stood naked, appreciating the gust of wind coming from his balcony that cooled his hot skin. He looked behind and smiled, the female laying in his bed, a chiman from Begli X. They are prettier than cheshirs—no doubt—but still a far cry from humans. They are descendants of the planet’s chimpanzee-type animal. Very similar to humans in some regards, but their society was wildly different. As far as looks, some appeared to be similar to humans but with tufts of hair on their arms and legs and once in a while around the face, while others seemed to be exact replicas of humans but nearly emaciated versions. In fact over the years, a few have snuck into human society in an attempt to better understand them. Some became models, others television stars, it was quite the conspiracy on Begli X.
This female, Wooshuda, was amazing, intelligent, fierce and powerful; but Astraos always looked towards the stars. . .
Astraos, for all his brashness and youth, realized early—and has been reminded ever since—that he was different from the rest of his species, vastly. He identified himself as a space junkie, one that takes attributes from many species.
His father, seeing his third son as unique, exposed him to many different cultures but his true indulgences were all things human: Television. Music. Renaissance Art (did not care for some of the contemporary stuff, too much like other species). Video games. And the females! Oh the females. . . He drooled and fantasized about the females.
Now, being a young cheshir of sixty-five, one may think that he was foolish, a cry to a youth perishing, a silly young man. But there was wisdom to Astraos beyond his years. He wanted to go to Earth not just to party, have sex, and satisfy the plethora of urges that came with fantasizing about the place for years, but also to rid himself of all these yearnings and expunge them from his system. A final adventure and then he would begrudgingly accept his post, welcome leadership and politics and sacrifice his life for his people.
During his adventures, Astraos saw his interactions versus other cheshirs; the look, the disgust on some species when he entered an establishment. It was obvious, if they were to survive, he would have to be the catalyst. But that was a game of chance, a game of luck, he may sacrifice his life and only prolong the inevitable. The decisions to be made weighed heavily on him, whether shone or not.
But first things first, a fun ride on the planet I’ve daydreamed about, lusted over, envisioned visiting for years. Of course, there was that little-tiny-itsy issue of Earth being in katros space.
He strolled back over to the bed. The emerald floor glistened and surrounded his foot with energy. With each step he took he felt refreshed like a morning shower—an ancient way to revitalize any who walk upon it. No one on Chesh, no cheshirs rather, understood how it worked anymore. A sad time.
He looked toward the crest of his family that hung above his bed. The Gamid symbolized by the two energy blades that were now in Astraos’s possession.
He smirked. “They say someone in my bloodline, tens of thousands of years ago conquered planets with those blades.”
“Those?” Wooshuda asked, playfully twirling her curly hair with a finger. Her olive skin looked dramatic from the sunlight casted by the supergiant red mother star and turquoise bedding.
He laughed. “Mine. . . I guess.”
“I know that look, Astraos.”
His eyes had a special sparkle to them—thinking of humans and Earth—made more dramatic by the amethyst within. “I always loved what we had.”
“You speak of it as gone.”
“I’ve arranged everything. It took longer than expected.”
She laughed, a boisterous one. “Ah. . . It always does. What have you arranged?”
“You know I cannot tell you.”
“One last time. . .?”
Astraos grinned.
∞∞∞∞∞∞
Astraos loomed over Wooshuda, hands placed to each side, the tiger stripes that marked his body and stopped at the collarbone were red and hot to the touch.
&n
bsp; Her voice drifted past the decorated ceiling filled with scenes and battles and rose to the top of the castle that was the size of a small city. “Another time. . . Another place. . . We could have been something—something unbelievable and wondrous.”
He nodded solemnly, losing himself in the amber of her eyes.
She sat up, touching his face. “You have to let someone in.”
“We’ve talked.”
“Sure. You talk to me like anybody else. Top-line full of sarcasm and immaturity. No, you need to open up. Trust me, you’d be surprised.”
“I’m more open than any cheshir.”
“Baaah”—she flicked his ear—“Don’t be silly. I’m not a cheshir. And they can barely stand you. No. . . I mean what you’re looking for, you’ll have to be accessible.”
“You know how this all started.”
She shook her head vehemently. “Not the point. This could’ve been so much more.” She knew he was a lost cause. He had to be free, to learn, to make mistakes. She cursed the gods in her head. Another time. . .
Astraos walked away, which was his resolution to conflicts with females.
He looked around his room, which was the size of a sprawling condo on Earth, and its functionality represented one, as well. One could live the entirety of their life in this room and that would be regarded as a perfectly pleasant existence by any standard, galactic or otherwise. But that was not a pleasant existence by Astraos’s standards, no, that would be dull and borderline torture. A dissident thought did run through his mind, what if I am not everything I think I am?
The galaxy was not getting smaller, but more crowded with more and more strides in evolution and technology. His species, the oldest of them all, could no longer afford to gain influence and scientific pedigree by dominance; no, it would take diplomacy. For the first time in their remembered history, they would need to look to other species, to recognize the value in them and to simply think differently. Or perish.
He snorted thinking of his species ignorance. The cheshirs believed that their ancestors created the technology they use. That was a joke. They had no idea. No clue. No cheshir could reproduce any technology they used, no innovation, no desire besides belittling those below them in station. Something happened. But what?