by J. Naomi Ay
Jullee sat down at her desk, opened up her mail, and read through a few company-wide memorandums from the previous week. There was nothing in there about a day off today, nor any all-hands meetings that she might have been missing. In fact, after forty minutes of scanning messages, she was still perplexed, until a man emerged from the lift in a strange spacesuit with a large SdK Medical logo printed across his back.
“Ah!!!” Jullee cried, startling the man as much as she was startled herself.
“What are you doing here?” he responded through his ventilator and mask.
Jullee tried to explain how it was merely Monday morning, and she was at work, unlike the rest of her colleagues, apparently.
“You had better get out of here,” the man replied, and told her about Frances. She was an analyst three cubicles over, who had contracted the Robolo virus over the weekend.
“Oh God,” Jullee gulped, for she had known Frances fairly well. Once or twice, they had shared a table in the cafeteria. Once or twice, Frances had forwarded her vid calls to Jullee during a break, and once or twice, Jullee had reciprocated back at Frances. “Is she going to be alright?”
“Alright?” The man chortled from already half way down the hall. “From what I’ve heard, Robolo is a death sentence for everyone.”
“What about me?” Jullee shrieked, leaping up from her desk and waving her. “Will I be okay?”
“Do I look like a doctor?” the man called. “I’m just a cleaning guy in a spacesuit. If I were you, I’d get out of here just in case.”
Jullee took the man’s advice and raced from the office back to her flat, whereupon she gathered her few belongings and headed out to the street. Not a soul was on the campus. Even the parking lot was completely empty, except for a dozen black pool speedsters lined up in a row.
“I need to go home,” Jullee decided. “Back to Donika-hahr.”
As Donika-hahr was on the other side of the continent, Jullee commandeered a speedster certain that nobody would mind. She had used them often enough, running errands and ferrying people to the spaceports and shopping malls, so it was easy for her to hop in one and enter the startup code. While taxing out of the campus parking lot, Jullee rang her mom to announce she was coming home.
“Don’t!” her mother cried emphatically. “You’ll bring Robolo here.”
“But, I don’t have it,” Jullee insisted, wondering if she did and didn't know it yet. “Where else can I go? What will I do?”
“Not Rehnor. Your aunt Hilda says it’s running rampant there. The Rossorians are the carriers and they have infected practically everyone on the planet. Only Karupatani is safe, but they won’t let any Mishnese move in. I don't know what to tell you, Jullee. Maybe you ought to go to Earth, or some other backward planet.”
Jullee was in a quandary as she trundled down the highway with nowhere to go. She had enough funds to purchase a spaceplane ticket, but other than Rozari and Rehnor, she had never been to any other planets. She could certainly pick someplace, like Earth, for instance, but how would she know if that was even safe?
“I need to do some research,” she decided, and unlocked her rPhone 43. “Miri, tell me which planet isn’t infected with Robolo virus.”
“I’m sorry, Jullee,” Miri’s mechanical voice replied. “All known planets in the Milky Way galaxy have reported cases in the last few weeks. It appears to be a pandemic of galactic proportions. I have found some more information for you on the web.”
“Great,” Jullee mumbled, just as she spied a dead body by the side of the road.
Veering the speedster higher, she assumed it was impossible to catch a virus from someone outside her car. For a moment, Jullee figured she was in the clear. That was until the body moved, frightening the girl out of her gourd, and subsequently, stalling the speedster in mid-air.
It was her own fault for turning so sharply, and jerking the controls in fright, but that was small conciliation as the car plummeted to the ground. It crashed on the side of the road, right in front of the zombie, who was seriously hung-over, but still lucid enough to recognize it as one of his own.
Senya heard the speedster’s engine strain and suck in air as it stalled mid-flight. He also felt the downdraft of wind as it fell back to the planet. As quickly as he could, which was actually rather slow, he dragged himself upright by clutching to his cane. He fumbled on his sensory lenses, which luckily, were still in his cloak’s pocket, and then appraised the wreckage of his former pool car. There was a woman trapped inside, her door smashed into the frame, while she sat stunned, a trickle of red blood oozing from her forehead.
Senya hurried over to the speedster, willing the broken door to swing open and free the girl. However, nothing happened. The door remained as it had been, completely stuck. He pointed his finger and demanded it move again. Alas, not even the finger thing would do, for the door budged not a whit.
"Kari-fa!" he swore. “I’ll have to do this with my hands.”
Reaching for the door handle, Senya began to pull it with all his might, which had once been quite formidable.
"Help!" Jullee gasped. "I can't breathe! I’m going die!"
"Just a minute," Senya replied, catching his own breath.
He pulled and yanked as best as he could, before realizing he simply wasn’t up to the task. He had let his body languish out of shape. His once impressive muscles had diminished until they were far too soft. In addition, he had lost his special super powers because of his apathy.
When Jullee first saw the man stumble to her car, she started screaming, but not for him to help her. Rather, she hoped that someone else might come along to save her from this beast.
Jullee was convinced he was a zombie, for his face was gray and scarred, and his white hair flew out at crazy angles. He was as filthy as if he had just clawed his way to the surface from a shallow earthen grave, solely for the purpose of zombifying whomever was around.
Granted, Jullee was a bit shocked, and possibly even concussed, as she had just crashed from a height of several stories above the ground. However, her air supply was quickly running out, and no one else was anywhere in sight. Her only hope was that this crazed man might somehow save her. She also hoped he wouldn’t eat her after the fact.
Senya took his time about it, stressing Jullee until the end, when he finally opened the door by levering it with his cane. Gratefully, she fell into his outstretched arms, which nearly dropped her. However, she calmed enough to cease her screaming, and let him place a hand upon her head.
"You are hurt," he announced, for his medical diagnostic skills had still remained, as they were independent of the recently foreclosed upon angelic powers.
"A little," Jullee squeaked, her head pounding as if someone was hitting it with a hammer.
“Just a moment,” the man murmured, feeling her skull.
He checked her chin, and neck, and then placed a thumb upon her forehead where the tiny trickle of blood was still weeping. His rough hand was warm and comforting, and oddly, it seemed to make Jullee’s headache go away.
"Thank you," she breathed a tremendous sigh of relief.
"You are welcome," he replied. "At least, I can still do this."
"You don't have Robolo, do you?" Now, Jullee backed away, having regained her senses. "I mean, it's not that I'm not grateful, but now that you’ve rescued me, I don't want to die."
"Everyone dies," Senya murmured under his breath. "Some of us more often than others."
"What?"
"Never mind."
In any case, their conversation was interrupted by a truck which was trundling toward them on the road. It was an old fashion type of lorry, the kind that ran on wheels. It was also white, and read Milk across the side.
"Hey Pops," a man in Rossorian dress called, pulling the vehicle up beside them. He waved at the smashed up speeder, and shook his hooded head. "You and your granddaughter need a ride somewhere?"
"I'm not..." Jullee began to say.
"Yes
," Senya interrupted. "Would you kindly take us to the spaceport in Takira-hahr?"
The milkman waved the couple into the van, pointing for the elder to sit upon a seat, while Jullee was consigned to a carton of milk jugs in the rear.
“Flying out?” the milkman inquired. “Be careful where you go, as the virus is running rampant throughout the galaxy.”
“Virus?” Senya murmured, growing silent, his brow furrowed beneath his hood.
“Robolo,” Jullee breathed. “Remember? I just asked you if you had it?”
“You don’t, do you?” the milkman asked. “I heard you can catch it just by sitting on a plane. If they guy in the seat next to you has it, or the one in front, or in back, you’re doomed. Better get your affairs in order, say your prayers, and have a talk with Lord Rosso just in case your vacation ends up as a one way trip.”
“Oh, I shall have a talk with Lord Rosso,” Senya spat with surprising vehemence, although neither the milkman, nor Jullee couldn’t hear him over the lorry’s noise.
“You are Rossorian, aren’t you?” Congenially, the milkman nudged the old man in the arm. “Even though your robe is black instead of the requisite blue, I figured you’re one of us. Shall we stop for a minute and pray together, brother? I’m only at five times for the day, when by this hour, I should be at twelve or more.”
“Do we have to?” Jullee protested. “I’ve got to catch a flight.”
“Where are you going?” the milkman asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Then, you have all the time in the world, little sister.” The milkman steered the truck to the side of the road, and unbuckling his belt, he began to climb out of his seat. He was about to open the door, when instead, he abruptly fell. "Urg," or something like it was the last thing he uttered.
"What's wrong?" Jullee cried, as blood bubbled up from the milkman's mouth, spilling from his lips, and leaking from his eyes. "It's the virus!"
"Indeed," Senya replied, observing the milkman's death with a detached, and yet scientific curiosity.
In the meantime, Jullee raced to the truck's back door and immediately, leapt outside. She ran down the highway as far and as fast as she could, which was neither fast, nor far, as her fashionable sandals had fashionably high heels.
After a few moments, Senya followed. He had seen enough of the milkman's symptoms to understand what had taken place. He had determined that the virus brought about a hemorrhagic fever, one that he had seen some time before.
This virus was clever, he had to admit. Luka had unearthed an ancient, dormant strain from a planet in the Large Magellanic Galaxy. He had seeded it amongst the vulnerable organisms of the Milky Way, likely using his own Rossorian minions as the carriers. Their heavy robes and hoods retained germs and carrion of all sorts. Once lodged in the fabric, the bugs transmuted to their hair, and from there, spread throughout their bodies before liquefying their organs.
The virus could be passed from one to another by a sneeze or exhalation of breath, or even through a cell of skin, or strand of hair. This made it not only highly contagious for everyone in near proximity, but it was also completely lethal for there was no cure, yet. Senya imagined it decimating the entire galaxy's population, for the time between the onset of symptoms, to the subject’s death, was rarely longer than five minutes, most often less.
As he resumed his trek down the road, once again on foot, his mind set to work, calculating what sort of antidote and vaccine he could develop. At this point, he wasn’t entirely certain how, but once he figured it out, he knew that SdK Medical would be able to produce it quickly. Every race in the entire Milky Way and beyond could be at risk, but no government, no other company was capable of doing the job. SdK Corporation was the galaxy's only hope, and that meant once again, Senya had to lead them to the answer.
In the meantime, he needed to take some action, institute a ban that would stop the virus from spreading. To that end, Senya took out his cell, and rang his Imperial Office.
"Hello?" a hesitant, and somewhat bored, Rozarian voice answered.
"Who the fuck is this?" Senya demanded. “What is your name?”
"Quip. Who the fuck is this?"
"Mik...Senya," Senya replied. "Sehron de Kudisha. I think you know who I am."
The voice chuckled. "Yeah, right. Sure. Very funny. Is this Lork? Dude, I’ve had enough of your prank calls."
If he could still blast things with his thoughts, Senya would have done so to young Quip. As it was, now, he couldn't even charge the battery on his phone.
"Where are Taner and Kinar?" he asked instead.
“Come on, Lork. I told you. Quit joshing around. You're doing a great job at his voice. You've almost got the accent nailed, although I think you sound a little bit more Rozarian than you should."
“Get me Kinar immediately,” Senya roared. “Or, I shall kill you where you stand.” This was an empty threat, but Quip didn’t need to know that.
“Yeah, right,” Quip laughed, until his cell buzzed. Fortunately for the under-under-under-secretary, it was his buddy, Lork ringing just to chat.
“Dude, how can you be on two lines?”
“Where in the fuck is Kinar?!?” Senya practically screamed.
“Yes, Sir,” Quip stammered, realizing the error of his ways. “He’s in prison, Sir, with Lord Taner, just where you sent them."
"Get them out. Now. Tell them to get back to work. Tell Kinar to ring me as soon as he gets to his desk."
Then, Senya hung up the phone and hoped that Quip would do the right thing, for he had no time to turn around and walk back to the estate. His leg was aching so much now, he could barely walk, and he needed to get to the spacebase, and on a plane before it all shut down.
"Uri?" he called, begging the cherub to give him a hand.
"Alright, Mika," the little one agreed. "I'll get on it, even though Communications is not my thing."
Relieved only slightly, Senya continued to limp down the side of the road, his mind racing with plans on how to save all mankind.
Chapter 12
“Is there anything in here to eat?” the little Talasian kid asked Pym, who had finished dusting down the shelves of her mini-mart, and was now sitting by the register watching the vid. The talking heads were in hysterics about the Robolo virus, which was running rampant throughout the galaxy, almost as prevalent as the rats that scurried beneath Pym’s feet.
When it came to one or the other, Pym strongly preferred the rats. This was why she remained on this nearly abandoned spacebase tending to a nearly empty store. Every day, she dusted shelves devoid of any goods, save a box or two. Every day, she sat behind her counter ringing no sales.
“Sorry,” she replied. “All I have is what you see. Did you check aisle six behind that post?”
“Twinkies?” the green kid screeched. “I love Twinkies. I’ll take all three boxes.”
“Yuck.” A teenage girl announced, wandering into the shop to join him.
Pym appraised the girl from her seat behind the counter. She was either human, or possibly Rehnorian, attractive enough, but with a sour frown upon her face.
“Then, I get to eat them all.” The boy piled the boxes in front of Pym before turning back to the girl. “Where’s Mom? I need to use her paycard.”
“Take them.” Pym waved her hand. “They are free for you today.”
“Really?” The boy smiled widely, showing off a mouthful of lime-colored teeth. “Cool! Thank you, blue lady. You’re awesome.”
“Awesome, I am not. They are probably stale, as they have sat here for more than fifty years.”
Pym turned up the volume on her vid, while the kids hurried out of the store. So entranced was she by the shrieking heads on the screen above her, and their dramatic contortions to assign blame, that she failed to notice when another person arrived in her midst.
“It’s not his fault,” a woman cried, pointing at the head who was declaring the Emperor to blame for all. “He didn’t unleash this
virus. He wouldn’t do that. They don't know him, but I do. He's not evil.”
Pym nodded. In her long years of running this interstellar mini-mart, she knew enough not to get into arguments with her clientele. However, in the case, she agreed entirely with the human as she, too, knew the Emperor was a good man at heart.
“He’s had his issues, but who hasn’t?" the human continued, throwing her hands up in the air. "Regardless, he wouldn’t annihilate us. He's not that type."
No, the Emperor wouldn’t purposely annihilate mankind. Pym knew he wasn’t that kind of guy, unlike some of the politicians currently running the galaxy.
Pym, unbeknownst to the human at her counter, was actually an authority on the Emperor. She had an intimate and loving relationship with him.
Shelly, unbeknownst to Pym, was also an authority of sorts. Although she had never been intimate with the man, she had always loved him.
“Are there any beauty salons on this base?” Shelly asked, when she had concluded her tirade at the vid, about the same time the talking heads cut to an advert.
It was a strange one, that commercial, for it showed a man and woman both sitting in bathtubs on a beach, while advertising a product that the man might need. Pym knew about this product, for she had stocked it in her store, and being located near the lobby of the decrepit hotel, it was often requested.
What she could never understand though, was how it was to be used when the man sat in one tub, and the woman in another. Then again, Pym had never married, nor had she ever any real lovers. There was obviously something to the whole process which was still a mystery.
“Kwikie Klips?” Shelly shouted. “Does anybody around here cut hair?”
“Hair?” Pym repeated, recalling the Rehnorian Emperor’s long, curly black tresses, and how her hands would ache to touch them, to entwine them about her fingers.
“Yes. I need a style and set. I figured since we're waiting here for spaceplane parts, I ought to get my hair fixed. Do you know if they do color?"