Hank turned away and walked towards his dirty pickup truck. He exchanged brief pleasantries with Larry, who approached the crumpled car.
“Alrighty, sir, time to get out the car,” said the slender and stubbled mechanic.
Max tried to open his buckled door, but ended up with a sore shoulder. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he lifted himself out of the window like a decrepit Bo Duke. Inept at window exits, he lost his balance and tumbled face-up onto the grass. Worried eyes surveyed the clear blue sky for more winged danger.
“Ha, I recognize those claw marks,” Larry said, pointing at the door. “Looks like you got hit by ol’ Stumpy. I figured he would have ventured south by now. Must be gettin’ on in years.”
“Stumpy?” Max lifted to his feet.
“Yeah, big feller, been around a while. Got his foot nipped when he tried to take a Mack truck, lost some claws. Not the brightest lizard of the bunch.”
“Oh, that one,” Max said, trying to appear normalized.
“This won’t take me but a few minutes to clean up. You need a ride or do you have someone you can call?”
“I can make a few calls.” Max glanced around the park to gauge his whereabouts. “Do I pay you now?”
“Naw, dino-related safety and clean up are covered by county taxes. First-timer I take it?”
“Yeah, first time.” Max lifted his gaze to the sky.
“Ha, ye busted yer dino cherry.” Larry chuckled. “Was Stumpy gentle?”
Max rubbed his shoulder and lowered a flattened face to Larry. “Not particularly.”
“No offense, friend, just pokin’ fun. Welp, step on back and I’ll get on this.” Larry examined the mangled car before returning to his flatbed truck.
Max walked to the nearest curb while texting Megan.
[Max] Got hit by Stumpy. I’m okay. Can I get a ride?
[Megan] What?! Ugh. Address?
[Max] Academy Hills Park, Layton Ave.
[Megan] On my way. 10 mins.
[Max] Thank you.
Max sighed. “Glad you’re okay. Need anything? I love you, or something.”
With a grunt of discomfort, Max lowered himself onto the curb. He wiped the sweat from his face and surveyed the park grounds. Tiny, clawed footprints crisscrossed the dirt patches, each split down the middle by shallow lines. A rush of insight caused him to open a browser on his smartphone and search for “dinosaurs.” The mystery deepened. Page after page he scrolled, uncovering a wide variety of dino-specific services; animal control, pet sitting, home protection, exterminators, groomers, butchers, skin traders, and an impressive number of insurance companies.
Max stared at the pavement and mumbled to himself. “Okay, let’s think about this logically. There has to be a rational explanation. It’s not like they opened a Jurassic Park and didn’t—” Max returned to his phone and searched for “Jurassic Park” in a movie database. No record. “Huh,” he said while gnawing his lower lip.
Megan pulled up to the curb, but Max failed to notice due to a viral video of a baby stegosaurus on a skateboard. She gave him a good long half-second before laying on the car horn, jolting Max to attention.
“You coming, asshole?” Megan said.
Max jumped to his feet, grunted with pain, then jogged over to the passenger door and slipped inside. Megan sped off before he settled, slamming the door on his shoulder. He grimaced and swallowed any verbal complaint.
“Thank you so much for this,” Max said, groveling.
She stared at the road and shook her head, refusing to make eye contact.
Maintaining a reasonable level of abasement, he bowed his head and spoke with a soft tone. “Did I do something wrong?”
Megan erupted with a well-rehearsed rant. “Who the hell gets snatched by Stumpy these days? Do you know how clumsy and stupid that reptile is? What the hell were you doing? Just driving down an empty street?”
“I wasn’t thinking.”
“No, hiking alone in T-rex country is not thinking. This was brain dead.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
“This never happened, by the way. My friends would never let me live it down.”
“Who cares what they think?”
Megan glared at Max before mocking the voices of her friends. “Oh, you’re dating that nitwit who got plucked by Stumpy? What, was he hitchhiking with a blindfold or just skipping naked in the desert?”
Max opened his mouth to respond, but sighed instead.
Not to be outdone, Megan sighed louder.
They shared a few minutes of awkward silence before Megan pulled into the driveway of Max’s house. The car jerked to a stop, causing him to wince in pain. With a grunt of soreness, he stepped outside onto the concrete.
“You’re welcome,” Megan said with a curt tone.
Max shot her a sour glance and resisted slamming the door. He gave her a flaccid wave as she backed out of the driveway. Tires squeaked upon the pavement as she about-faced and sped down the street. Max scowled and rubbed his neck as the car turned a corner and disappeared.
“Meow,” Ross said from an open windowsill, hurling an unsavory insult.
“You said it, buddy.” Max turned and limped towards the front door.
* * *
Zoey and Perra lay in a post-coitus entanglement. Their contrasted orange skins melded into fleshy ribbons atop the dusky bed sheets. Facing each other with legs entwined, Perra ran her fingertips up and down Zoey’s flank. Zoey stroked the matte blue scales on Perra’s shoulders. Perra slid her hand around her lover’s neck and pulled her into a kiss. Their dark blue lips blended as one for a blissful moment. Perra heaved her bare breasts in contentment.
“I can’t believe it,” Perra said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Soon we’ll be sitting at the cluster-famous Astral Tear, sipping on Europa’s finest while sampling the best of Earth’s caviar.” She closed her eyes, placed both hands atop her chest, and expelled a long sigh of gratitude. “Life is good.” Lifting her eyelids, she offered a warm smile to Zoey. “And life with you is truly wonderful.”
“Ditto, my love,” Zoey said, returning the smile.
“Maybe we’ll meet an actual Earthling.”
“Ugh, why would you want to do that? They’re such brash creatures.”
“I don’t know, curiosity I guess. They did invent duct tape after all.”
“Yeah, their one lasting contribution to the ‘verse.”
“Hey now, I use that stuff all the time. It’s magical.”
“I know, it shows.” Zoey pounded a fist on the rear wall, sending hollow echoes around the room.
Perra gasped and poked Zoey in the ribs, prompting an array of playful squeals. They wrestled with each other for a moment before ending with a kiss. Perra reached behind her head and patted the dark gray wall of the inner hull. “Don’t listen to her, baby. You’re a fine vessel. Duct tape is an enhancement, really.”
“Mmhmm.”
Perra flipped onto her stomach and rested her head on folded arms. “So what do you think it’ll be like?”
“I don’t know.” Zoey shrugged and flipped onto her back, bringing a handful of sheets with her. “White and cold I guess.”
“Duh, smartass. You know what I mean. I hope it isn’t too touristy.”
“I doubt it. Europa is an ancillary post and the water feature is very posh. It’s more of a choice destination than a whim port. I think we’ll be fine. Minimal riffraff.”
“Good. I would love a quiet and romantic getaway. It’s been so long.”
“I know. I could really use a warm bath, a fuzzy robe, and some needless pampering.”
“I bet the spa is nice.”
“Yeah, and super expensive.”
“We can afford it.” Perra nuzzled up beside Zoey and interlocked arms. “How often do we get to do something like this?”
Zoey smiled and pulled Perra closer for another kiss. “Good point. I think we have earned the right to indulge in some o
f life’s finer things.”
Perra bit her lower lip and draped an arm across Zoey’s chest. “Thank you, sweetie. You’re too good to me, you know that?”
“You are beyond worth it, my love.”
“And the cargo will be fine?”
“Oh yes. This is a pass-through system, nobody to worry about here.”
CHAPTER 3
Max awoke to a dry mouth and the blank canvas of a dim ceiling. Having fallen asleep in his gaming chair again, he began the morning with a sore neck, and much to his surprise, only a sore neck. He awaited the inevitable onslaught of aches and pains, but nothing came. Shifting in the chair, he groaned and rubbed his eyes. A few lip smacks moistened a parched tongue. A weary arm reached for a cup of stale coffee resting beside the keyboard, but paused just before hooking the handle. He lifted both arms into the air and studied the unblemished skin of an inactive basement dweller. All bumps and bruises from the previous day had disappeared. He felt fine, well-rested even.
Refocusing his attention onto the computer, he bumped the mouse and roused the machine from its slumber. The last thing he remembered was reading an article about the hassles of raptors in your garden. But now, the article concerned rabbits. He re-skimmed the piece with the bewildered stare of a chameleon at a rave, but found no mention of raptors, only rabbits. He checked his phone. No previous alerts. He closed the article and searched for “dinosaurs” again. Links to archaeological websites filled the screen, along with museums and exhibits. Max leaned back in the chair and shook his head.
“What the effing eff ...”
He rubbed his forehead, then returned his attention to the screen. Eyes narrowed as a peculiar idiom emerged. He scooted forward in his chair and studied curious headlines like “Grand Opening Museum Wing Schedules” and “Been Discovered New Species Has.” He clicked on an article and read through the content. Or at least, he tried to. Sentences seemed to follow a new set of grammatical rules. Halfway through the piece, his frustration blurted out the answer. “Why does everything read like Yoda-speak?” He paused, then rolled his eyes and flopped back into the chair. “So this is what I have to deal with today.”
“Meow,” Ross said while rubbing on Max’s leg. Or in cat speak, Attention I need. Scratch you must give.
Max scratched Ross’s head, who returned an appropriate amount of purr payment.
To test his theory, Max searched the web for Star Wars clips. And sure enough, Yoda delivered his famous lines in familiar conversational English. “You will not look as good when you reach 900 years old,” the Jedi said, sounding more bitchy than wise. On the flip side, the other characters tossed around their cryptic word salads.
“Your father I am,” Vader said.
“True that is not,” Luke said.
“Up laugh it fuzzball,” Han said.
“Argh arrrgh argarg,” Chewbacca said, which sounded just fine.
As a result, many scenes lost the majority of their gusto, coming across as more of a space-themed soap opera.
Max’s day involved meeting Megan and her friends for lunch, an obligation he now regretted. He and Megan shared a lot in common, from a general distaste of other people to an ongoing desire to mock said people. They bonded over a mutual misanthropy, despite hailing from opposite ends of the social spectrum. Their relationship persisted as a crude experiment, each using the other to satisfy raw desires and curiosity. On the other hand, they battled over a complete imbalance of priority. Megan, the very definition of shallow, needed a like-minded friend base in which to perpetuate her shallowness. Max hated each and every one of them, but he hated conflict even more, so he tolerated their presence to maintain peace.
Before heading out, Max spent the morning absorbing as much of the new language structure as he could. His mind struggled through clips and articles, deconstructing each line while resisting a potent urge to speak in a Yoda voice. He practiced by narrating activities.
“Dirty this bowl is. In sink I shall place it.”
“Meow,” Ross said. Or in cat speak, Thrown up I have. Clean it you must.
“Smelly this shirt is. In hamper I shall toss it.”
“Meow,” Ross said. Or in cat speak, Stupid you sound.
Max assembled some classier-than-usual geek attire, consisting of a plaid shirt, unsoiled jeans, and black Chucks. Pocketing his wallet and phone, he took one final look in the bathroom mirror and prepared himself for a day of linguistic battle. “Do or do not. There is no try,” he said in his best Yoda voice. A brief chuckle melted into an annoyed sigh. After bidding farewell to his reflection, he swiped his keys from the counter and departed for the mall.
Max established a simple goal for lunch: talk as little as possible to as few people as possible. Gamers, as a reclusive subspecies of society, often found themselves relegated to the sidelines of social circles where discourse remained optional. Thus, the strategy seemed sound. Since the dawn of the Information Age, not a single gamer has expressed a desire for casual public interaction. Gaming has been, and always will be, a protected bastion of the socially awkward.
However, in order to remain in Megan’s good graces, Max knew that he must suffer through some forced interaction. As an ungraceful geek, he understood that even the slightest variation on acceptable conversation stuck out like a sore thumb, like hearing a New York Italian use the term y’all. The brain found it disorienting and chided the ears for mishearing it. Max could only hope for minimal participation, knowing that the combination of gamer-speak and new grammar rules might render him as incoherent as a drunken Scotsman.
Max sat in the parking lot of an upscale mall, of course, and stared at the department store entrance through his car’s windshield. The glare of the afternoon sun warmed his torso, but he failed to notice. His fingers rapped on the steering wheel, matching his galloping heartbeat. “Yoda for a day, you can do this. May the force be with you. Or rather, with you may the force be.” His cheeks puffed with a series of quickened breaths, like a weightlifter preparing for an epic hoist. With a thump of his shoulder, he opened the car door, assumed his usual persona, and shuffled towards the front entrance.
A jittery hand hooked the door handle and swung it open. He made it three steps inside before meeting eyes with a cheerful greeter.
“G’morning, to Nordstrom welcome. Good weekend you have?”
Max froze and stared at her through a blank expression. The swinging door beat the sill over and over, like a metronome counting each second of awkwardness. “Yes,” he said after some uncomfortable deliberation. He grinned, nodded in victory, and moved along. The greeter’s confused gaze followed him as he disappeared behind a sales rack.
Max coughed his way through a cloud of perfume to enter the main corridor where hordes of trendy shoppers swarmed around name-brand boutiques. Due to a complete disinterest in fashion, malls always gave Max a sense of intrusion, like wandering into a private club full of tuxedos and peacocks.
He walked towards the central hub with a stiff posture and pursed face. A few polite nods and empty smiles later, he arrived at a bustling food court. A vast smorgasbord of fast food chains and artisan rubbish lined the walls, filling the cavernous chamber with a potent mixture of baked sugar and fried everything. Max cringed at the sight and squirmed a bit. Crowds made him uncomfortable at a baseline, but the addition of sticky surfaces and offensive aromas sent his angst into overdrive.
A quick scan of the communal eating area uncovered Megan and her support group crowded around a table, each shoveling bites of overcooked mall cuisine into their face holes. Erin, Megan’s super skinny best friend and primary source of self-loathing, tossed around her long blonde hair with every snide comment. Chance, Erin’s meathead boyfriend who owned nothing with sleeves, filled an entire bench by himself. Blake, everyone’s favorite narcissist, radiated asshole from every angle. He spent more money on his hair than most people spent on clothes, a fact he liked to flaunt whenever possible.
“Nice of them to wait,
” Max said to himself. He sighed and stepped forward, accepting an unpleasant fate.
“Finally arrived he has,” Erin said in her usual snarky tone.
“Eat we went ahead,” Megan said while scooching over. “Mind you don’t.”
Max lowered himself onto the bench beside her, taking a mental note that his girlfriend didn’t bother rising for a hug, a kiss, any meaningful acknowledgment of the relationship whatsoever. “Cool it is.”
“Keep you don’t let us,” Chance said with a mouthful of food. “You like get what.”
Max thought for a moment. “Not hungry I am.”
“Yourself suit,” Erin said before reviving the current conversation.
Blake stared at Max like a king would a peasant. The sheen of his perfect hair reflected the harsh light of the food court. Max glanced down at a bold patterned shirt that he knew cost more than his entire wardrobe. A heavy chain necklace and a few garish rings completed the ensemble of a pompous jackass.
Megan and her three cheerleaders gabbed on unabated. Erin’s sharp tongue hijacked every sentence not about her while Chance’s brainless expression struggled to keep up. Max, eager to remove himself, dove into his smartphone for a needed distraction. The group chatted on and on about their tragic lives, from fashion faux pas to the latest school-based drama. The grammatical jargon allowed Max to tune out more than usual, an unexpected benefit. That is, until Erin decided to include him.
“Max, think what you?”
Max froze like a deer in headlights. “Um ...”
Erin huffed and turned to Megan. “See do you? No attention he pays. Boring nerd he is. Better you can do.”
Max’s cheeks flushed with anger, despite needing a few moments to sift through Erin’s word wreckage. Known for her combative tone and attention-seeking behavior, Erin would often berate easy targets in order to elevate her own self-esteem. A cheap and annoying habit for sure, but her popularity rendered her immune to criticism. Maybe it was the caffeine jitters. Maybe it was the rumbling stomach. Maybe it was the defiling of Grand Master Yoda by a lesser human being. Whatever the catalyst, Max had reached his breaking point.
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