Max and the Multiverse, #1

by Zachry Wheeler

  “What has gotten into you?” Perra said, gesturing with open palms.

  “He’s going to get us all killed,” Zoey said from the floor, pointing at Max. “You know it. I know it. Hell, I bet the cat even knows it.”

  “Yeah, sounds about right,” Ross said with a straight face.

  “What the hell, man?” Max said.

  Zoey scrambled to her feet, prompting Perra to harden her stance.

  “Hold on, ladies,” Ross said with a swagger. “Let me handle this one.” He leapt down from his chair, trotted over to Max, and hopped on the nearest cargo crate. With the temperament of a disappointed father, he stared at Max and took a deep breath. “Okay, listen. That safe over there contains the most dangerous thing in the universe. We have it. Bad people want it. Bad people will kill us to get it. The person that was supposed to take it and keep it safe has been killed by the bad people. Now we have to return it to those who created it, a group of unreachable weirdos, in hopes that they can destroy it without destroying the fabric of space and time. In order to do that, we have to infiltrate a hellish place known to harbor a few disgraced members of said group. That’s Hollow Hold, a cave planet full of crazy people.”

  Max stared at Ross through glassy eyes. Perra and Zoey traded uneasy glances, expecting a sudden burst of hysteria. Ross cocked his ears back while maintaining eye contact with the catatonic orbs inside Max’s skull. A tense silence filled the room, broken only by the dull hum of the main engines. Everyone remained still, awaiting the verdict.

  “Thank you!” Max said, throwing his arms up into the air. “Was that so hard?” He lifted to his feet, dusted himself off, and turned his attention to Zoey. “Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to go find a place to throw up.”

  Retiring to the bedchamber, Max stumbled over to a non-bed corner of the room and proceeded to decorate it with a spray of vomit. He spent a solid four seconds trying to locate the hidden sink basin before wiping his mouth on his sleeve and shuffling over to the bed. He slammed face-first onto the mattress and passed out.

  CHAPTER 11

  To the average observer, Hollow Hold embodied a horror show of life’s deepest and darkest secrets. Its planet-wide cave system housed a vast collection of the weirdest and scariest beings that the universe had to offer. Despite its infamous reputation as an anarchistic nightmare, residents considered it a sacred refuge, an extraordinary place where anybody could be anybody without the slightest threat of interference. As a result, tenants guarded the rock as if it still retained material value.

  Hollow Hold’s parent star, a red dwarf nicknamed Boarsh Kem (Final Eye in the local mishmash of dialects), floated along the outer reaches of the Andromeda Galaxy. It served as a hub for three rocky planets and a pair of gas giants. Hollow Hold, the second rocky planet, shared a few similarities with Earth, including size and orbital period. Its rusty red surface and countless black cave entrances gave it a menacing presence, like a bruised golf ball with a bad attitude. The atmosphere, with a comfortable 70/30 mix of nitrogen and oxygen, provided easy habitation for most humanoids. In addition, the planet contained ample fresh water and a myriad of red algae species, both surface and subterranean, hence the brickish hue.

  First discovered by a mining colony, the unnamed planet teemed with precious metals. Over the course of several millennia, generations of miners stripped the planet bare and grew wealthy in the process. The operation created an enormous network of massive caves that stretched for hundreds of thousands of kilometers, many large enough for galactic cruisers to pass through. With excavation complete, the colony abandoned the hollowed husk and moved on to shinier pastures, leaving the planet with less than half of its original mass. For centuries, the planet floated around its tiny star like a gigantic sphere of Swiss cheese.

  Then came the Argovar, one of the most infamous factions of organized crime in the entire supercluster. They stumbled upon the pockmarked planet and decided to use it as a new base of operations. As their organization grew, its members familiarized themselves with the colossal cave network. For decades, the Argovar amplified their nuisance throughout the galaxy, terrorizing every region from the independent outer arms to the peaceful inner core.

  Before long, they caught the attention of the Council of Loken, a powerful peacekeeping conglomerate. Deciding to intervene, the Council devised a militarized plan aimed at eliminating the Argovar. They assembled a formidable assault fleet and descended upon the planet with hundreds of attack ships. However, the Argovar remained hidden inside the caves, refusing to surrender or fight in open space. The assault fleet entered the caverns, leaving a small cohort in orbit to prevent a retreat. The resulting battle devolved into a systematic slaughter in favor of the Argovar. Despite their inferior firepower, the Argovar used their extensive knowledge of the cave system to ambush Council ships at every nook and turn. The ships in orbit came under heavy fire from the cavern depths, rendering their retaliation tactics futile. A near-total loss, only two Council ships managed to escape into hyperspace, both with severe damage. To this day, the Battle of Hollow Hold remained the most devastating defeat for the Council of Loken. And from that day forward, the planet found itself immune to any and all forms of jurisdiction.

  Word of the battle spread far and wide, cementing the planet’s legendary status. The stronghold attracted unscrupulous beings from all over the supercluster, wanting nothing more than the freedom from control. The planet became a haven for countless criminal elements, all working out of its ominous caverns. Even seedy non-violent individuals sought shelter within its rocky walls. A large network of black markets emerged along with primitive housing and crude agriculture. The planet featured all the hallmarks of a budding civilization, but without a single native being. As time progressed, Hollow Hold became synonymous with lawless freedom.

  Few things in the universe were as intimidating as entering the caves of Hollow Hold. Even before the tug of orbit, ships received a hostile barrage of security checks, in a manner of speaking. Should a vessel carry a governance beacon of any kind, missile turrets blew it out of the sky without the courtesy of a hello. Obtaining access depended on a chaotic examination of character (or lack thereof), none of which guaranteed entry. An inbound crew could lose their ship and their lives for something as trivial as an offensive paint color.

  Once cleared for entry, a ship was free to enter and explore any cave they wanted. However, it paid to have a basic understanding of what sects dwelled where, as visiting ships could meet their demise by igniting a petty turf squabble. Most of the larger caves offered safe passage, as they harbored a diverse collection of residents and markets. In other words, they expected a constant flow of traffic, to a reasonable degree.

  A thick spider web of steel support beams lined the tunnel walls from surface to core, creating a fibrous skeleton that kept the planet from imploding under the weight of its own gravity. Crude docking platforms littered the steel framing along with thousands of kilometers of grated metal panels, forming a welded mishmash of interconnected walkways. With no traffic directors of any kind, ships just picked an open dock and locked in manually.

  The patchwork cave floors teemed with life around the clock. Shady merchants peddled their stolen wares from carts or derelict shacks. Rustic bars swelled with thirsty outlaws. Food vendors hawked exotic tastes with nothing forbidden and nothing disclosed, filling the tunnels with enticing yet somewhat offensive aromas. Robed silhouettes shuffled around dim allies, making illicit deals in the open air without fear of repercussion. Dust and dirt adorned every public surface, giving the locale a grimy Old West vibe. A sleazy underlayer of tenacity served as an axiomatic foundation. Hollow Hold did not exist for the pleasure of dainty tourists. It was a reckless underworld where the strong thrived and the clever survived.

  Most residents lived inside the middle core, deep enough to take advantage of predictable temperatures, yet far enough away to maintain privacy. Many tenants never ventured outside of the cave system, c
ontent to live out their lives in the dim recesses of service tunnels. Some dwellings offered a more polished feel with smooth stone surfaces, running water, and electricity. Others lived in the lower core, an area of filth and disrepair, the dark and primitive reaches that even residents dared not explore. The unwritten rule was this: know your knock, because it might be your last.

  * * *

  Max awoke as a six-legged eggplant with tentacle arms and the head of a praying mantis. He yelped (well, more like hiss-spit) and leapt out of his spongy moss bed. The jolt startled Ross, a giant fungal spore with spidery legs and a killer mullet. Max spun around his enclosure, a botanical garden box with bark walls and a grassy floor. He glanced up to find a ceiling of blinking red eyes staring back at him. He tried to scream, but ended up scorching the wall with a raging pillar of fire breath. With that, his brain tapped out. Max fainted and fell backwards onto the moss bed. Amused, Ross barfed up a banana peel.

  * * *

  Max awoke to a chorus of shrieking harpy dragons with baby legs and ...

  * * *

  Max awoke to a throbbing headache. The faint hum of the ship’s engines within the walls soothed his psyche and confirmed his whereabouts; still in space, still on his way to a dreadful destination.

  His troubled mind replayed the conversation from the previous day while tired eyes stared into the abyss. Despite the ongoing stress of the unknown, rousing in the void of space seemed much easier than stirring in his own familiar bed. A near-constant influx of new experience allowed his brain to let go of tedious burdens. In a strange sense, he had found peace among the chaos.

  Lying on his side, he offered a smirk to the darkness while spooning a large, furry blanket. After a hearty sigh, Max decided to greet the new day with a fresh perspective and deal with whatever oddities it threw at him. First on the docket: his blanket’s heartbeat.

  “Oh, are you awake?” the blanket said.

  “What the—” Max shoved his bed companion off the mattress and onto the floor.

  “Denchi,” the flustered floor blanket said, illuminating the room.

  Max pressed his back to the rear wall and tossed an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the sudden burst of light. A tiger-like humanoid with orange stripes lifted to its feet, dusted itself off, and turned to face a horrified Max.

  “What the hell, man?” it said with a charming British accent.

  “Wait ... Ross?”

  Ross narrowed his eyelids. “No, your mum. Who else would I be?”

  Max struggled to inject his sleepy brain with cognizant thought. “But you, uh ... you’re, um ...” He closed his eyes to gather the ridiculous sentence. “You’re a ThunderCat.”

  “A what?” Ross scrunched his furry humanoid brow. “You mean those weirdos in tights with the bat-signal sword?”

  “Nevermind.” Max applied a vigorous facepalm, then remembered his headache. After a grunt and grimace, he swung his legs out of bed and settled his bare feet onto the cold metal floor. Dropping his face into both hands, he proceeded to massage an aching scalp.

  “Want me to get you something for that headache?” Ross said.

  “Yeah, would you?”

  “No. Get up and get it your bloody self.”

  “Dick.”

  “Prat.” Ross hissed at Max and left the room.

  “So that’s my day,” Max said under his breath. “I get to do battle with Lion-O.”

  “That’s racist,” Ross said from just outside the door.

  Max rolled his eyes as he tossed the sheets aside and arose from the bed. His battered body lifted into a long stretch, unleashing an array of aromas that twisted his face in disgust. Realizing that he hadn’t enjoyed a shower since the day before he left Earth, he stepped forward and studied the smooth black access panel on the wall. Pursing his lips to the side, he lifted a finger and placed a random tap upon the surface. A wall panel next to the bed slid open, revealing a compartment full of fresh linens. The panel closed with a subsequent tap. He selected another random location, which filled the room with a throbbing audible invasion that he could only assume was music. He speed-tapped the panel again, killing the vile noise. After a quick shiver, he moved his fingertip to a new position and cringed before tapping another mystery command. A lower drawer shot out into his shin, prompting a yawp of pain. “Bah! Mother of ferrets!” he said, cueing Perra to enter the room.

  “Are you okay?” Perra said with concerned eyes.

  “Obviously not,” Max said, hunched over and rubbing his shin.

  Perra smiled and patted his back. With a few quick taps, she reset the room to its default configuration. Panels slid shut, lights adjusted, and dirty sheets disappeared into a wall slot beside the bed.

  “So what are you trying to do?” Perra said.

  “Take a shower.”

  Perra glanced around the room. “Does it look like we have lavatory facilities on a tiny boat like this?”

  Max shrugged, unsure of what to say.

  “Here.” Perra tapped on the upper right corner of the panel. A large section of the wall slid aside, revealing a moderate washbasin, a backlit mirror, and shelves of what resembled aerosol containers. She plucked a white canister from the shelf and handed it to Max. “This is your shower until we dock again. Just spray it on the problem areas. It’ll do the rest.” Perra winked at Max, then turned and left the room.

  Max studied the container and noticed several lines of black and red symbols. “Well, here’s hoping I don’t do anything in red.” He applied some spray to an armpit and awaited the results. An odd tingling sensation infected his skin and ended with the faint crackle of dissolution. He lowered a leery nose into his pit and raised his eyebrows in surprise. A swift hand wipe confirmed that all noticeable grime and aromas had vanished, leaving his skin smooth and moisturized. “Now that’s just plain cool.”

  “It’s a very effective blend,” Perra said, poking her head around the corner. “It dissolves contaminants, kills bacteria, and seals the skin under a thin layer of antibiotic cream. Trust me, after a few pochs in the black, it becomes your best friend.”

  “I can see why. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Perra offered a chummy smile. “Oh, also, the green canister is for your face and the blue is for your mouth.”

  Perra ducked away, leaving Max to complete his body cleanse. He addressed all problem areas, fumbled his way through facial and dental hygiene, and wrapped up the session by teasing his hair into another lame style, even by Mulgawat standards. A cocky point-and-click at his own reflection completed the process. Spruced and rejuvenated, he slipped into a clean set of casual clothes and joined the group as they toiled in the cargo bay.

  Ross sat upon a stack of cargo boxes with an outstretched leg hooked into cargo netting, providing the perfect lift for inner thigh licking (a startling image with an envious amount of limberness). At the rear of the cabin, Zoey tinkered with a shiny round device resting upon the opened bio-lock safe. An empty plastic box sat at her feet, along with a smattering of packing peanuts. Perra filled the adjacent seat with her hands tucked into her lap, studying Zoey’s every move with an intense curiosity. Max continued his slow walk to the rear of the cabin, drawn by a meddling interest. With a final twist of her wrist, Zoey detached a small metal fixture from the round device.

  “Got it,” she said, holding the curved metal sliver in her hand.

  “That’s it?” Perra said.

  “Yup.” Zoey studied the crescent rod. “When you have this unique of a signature, it doesn’t take much. Looks like a small core encased in aluminum.” She handed the rod over to Perra, who twisted it around in her fingers.

  “So this is the big bad, huh?” Max said, pointing to the silvery basketball.

  “Indeed,” Zoey said, slapping a hand onto its surface. “This is our imminent doom.”

  Max took his final steps forward and slipped his hands into his pockets, as if to avoid an awkward handshake with the device. With a
slight bend of the waist, he caught his own distorted reflection in the metallic surface. His head and shoulders tilted from side to side, trying to get a read on the strange apparatus. Apart from panel lines and a handful of jack ports, the device resembled little more than a smooth silvery sphere, the same orbs that decorate tacky suburban gardens. Max frowned and wrinkled his forehead. “Hmm, I thought it would be more impressive.”

  “The inside is what counts,” Perra said, twisting the device around to reveal several lines of etched lettering. “This is a rare form of Forliac. It says, This device replaces a standard jump drive core and allows its host ship to visit parallel universes. Yes, they exist. Enjoy the great bag of marbles. With regards, Rumac of the Suth’ra Society.”

  “Hell, I could have told you that,” Max said with a cocky tone.

  Zoey and Perra glanced up at him with puzzled faces. An awkward silence fell upon the group, broken only by the sandpaper licks of Ross’s grooming.

  “Kidding. Bad joke.”

  Zoey lifted the shift drive core with both hands and lowered it back into the housing container. She topped it with the wayward peanuts, slid it back into the safe, and returned her gaze to Max. “Make no mistake about it, Earthman, the stakes in this particular game cannot be any higher.” With a practiced motion, she closed the door to the safe and thumped an open palm onto its surface. The metal beneath her hand glowed for a moment before triggering a set of titanium locks. “When your moment comes, I need to know that you are with us to the end, no matter how horrific that end may be.”