Max and the Multiverse, #1

by Zachry Wheeler

  “What’s your name?”

  “Da—Dork.”

  “Dork?” Max said with a hearty chuckle. “Your name is Dork?”

  Everyone, including Dork, turned to Max with mirrored expressions of confusion.

  “I don’t get it,” Ross said with a flat tone.

  “How do you not get it?” Max said.

  “I don’t see the relevance.”

  “What? This is like, Earth insults 101. Dork. You know, whale penis.”

  “Enough!” Zoey said, killing the conversation.

  Ross slapped Max in the back of the head while Perra dropped hers in embarrassment.

  “Anyway, Dork,” Zoey said, returning to the blubber beneath her knee. “I’m going to make a deal with you. Your life, for information. With me so far?”

  Dork nodded like a terrified child.

  “I’m going to ask you a few questions and you are going to answer. If I don’t like the answer, or if one of my associates detects a lie, then I’m going to repaint these walls with that squish ball you call a brain. Understand?”

  Dork nodded.

  “Good. First question. Are you familiar with the Suth’ra Society?”

  Dork nodded.

  “Are you aware that a few of its disgraced members live inside these caves?”

  Dork nodded.

  “Do you know who or where they are?”

  Dork paused for a moment, then shook his head.

  “He’s lying,” Perra said and unlatched her plasma gun.

  “No! No I’m not!” Dork squirmed beneath Zoey’s knee. “I know they are here, but I know not who they are or where they hide. I swear. Please! Please do not kill me!”

  Zoey slapped Dork across the face, silencing his weeping and writhing. She turned an open palm to Perra as if to thwart an impending assault. Perra stopped her approach and heaved, playing the bloodthirsty assassin to perfection.

  “Final question,” Zoey said, piercing Dork’s watering eyes with a menacing gaze. “If you don’t know ... do you know of someone who does?”

  Dork closed his eyes, then nodded.

  CHAPTER 14

  Dork stood outside of the tiny freighter with his eyes lowered to the dusty platform. His plump fingers crawled over one another as jitters continued to erode any remaining composure. Ross stood beside him with claws exposed, staring at him like a hungry predator. Dork, shackled by an obvious cowardice, went out of his way to eschew eye contact. Amused by the palpable anxiety, Ross grunted and smacked his lips in order to prod the nerves of his prisoner.

  Max, on the other hand, could not contain his outright distaste for the pungent air. A potent mixture of exhaust, excretion, and rotting meat assaulted his nose from every direction. Hacks and coughs filled his leathery facemask with every gust of wind. He tried to distract his mind by scouring the massive tunnel for anything interesting. Lifting his eyes to the sun-drenched hole far above, he studied the shadows of spaceships as they sailed across the greenish plane. Beneath the rim, he traced a winding path through tangled mazes of floodlights and flickering neon. Roaring thrusters, rattling pipes, and fervent residents combined to create a harsh atmosphere that made death metal concerts seem tame by comparison. Hollow Hold was alive in every sense of the word, using a caustic voice to spew its acidic breath.

  Back inside the ship, Zoey shoved a final crate aside to reveal the bio-lock safe. She pressed an open palm to the surface, prompting a scanner to glow beneath her skin. The titanium bolts unlocked with muted thunks. She unlatched the door, swung it open, and yanked a plastic box onto the floor. Packing peanuts fell to the ground as she lifted the shift drive core from the container. Its shimmering surface reflected light around the room like a disco ball of doom. Perra kneeled beside her, scooped the wayward peanuts back into the box, and returned it to the safe. Zoey stared at her own reflection in the drive core, her eyes ambivalent as Perra’s reflection merged into hers.

  “You okay, my love?” Perra said.

  Zoey sighed and shook her head. “This damn thing ... ruined our vacation.”

  They both shared a laugh as a much-needed moment of levity.

  “Well, this place does have its charms,” Perra said. “The locals are vibrant and I hear the red algae water is somewhat tolerable.”

  Zoey chuckled. “We will have to acquire a few bottles at the Hollow Hold gift shop.”

  She wrapped the shift drive core inside a greasy towel and lowered it into a frayed sling pack. Wads of tattered cloth and a handful of random machining parts served as cover. She tossed the strap over her shoulder and lifted to her feet. Perra followed her up and adjusted her cloak. A casual kick and slap shuttered the safe. They restacked the cover crates before turning to the airlock.

  “You ready for this?” Zoey said.

  “Nope, but let’s do it anyway.”

  Perra took Zoey’s hand and guided their bodies into a loving embrace. They squeezed each other in the middle of the cargo bay, drawing moans of contentment.

  Perra offered a cheeky smile as she pulled away. “For what it’s worth, this has definitely been the most interesting trip we have ever taken.”

  Zoey smirked. “Smartass.” She hooked her arm around Perra’s neck and kissed her on the forehead.

  Perra wrapped her arm around the small of Zoey’s back as they trudged towards the airlock. Boots clanked in unison atop the metal floor, sounding off a potential death march. They butted heads in a grave moment of companionship.

  “Great job with Dork, by the way,” Perra said. “I’m surprised he didn’t soil his pants, not that we could tell.”

  “Couldn’t have done it without you, my sweet. You play a masterful bad cop.”

  “Thanks, love.” Perra sighed and flipped the cloak hood over her head. “Speaking of which, back into character.”

  Zoey adjusted the sling pack before tapping the control panel, reopening the airlock. A whoosh of rancid air poured into the cargo bay, causing both to flinch with disgust. Dork lifted his gaze to the hooded Mulgawats as they stepped outside the ship and onto the gritty landing pad. The airlock resealed itself with a thump of pressure. The grumbles of passing ships shook the platform, serving to highlight the ever-present danger of their surroundings. Perra paused to consult her comdev while Zoey continued her deliberate stride towards their rotund captive. Dork gulped as she took her final steps, bringing them face-to-face once again. Zoey’s hood and mask fluttered in the noxious wind, amplifying her coldhearted stare. Ross seemed content to groom his forearm while Max continued his rigorous study of anything distracting.

  “Orantha Nifan,” Perra said, reading the output of her comdev. Her voice hiked a few decibels to combat the roaring environment. “Also known as The Dossier. She did multiple stints at the Mavcore Stockade for blackmail. She has a massive rap sheet, no surprise there. Mostly crimes pertaining to information trafficking. She is wanted in ... pretty much everywhere, lots of bounties. She sought refuge at Hollow Hold about nine cycles ago, been here ever since.”

  “And she knows where the Suth’ra are?” Zoey said to Dork.

  “Aye,” Dork said under a waning confidence.

  “And you can take us to her?”

  “Aye.” Dork pointed to a small tunnel entrance about a hundred meters away. “She frequents an establishment just through that corridor.”

  Zoey’s eyes followed the mangled footpath back to their landing platform, passing various dingy outlets along the way. Sleazy merchants guarded the entrances to their respective shops while shady locals manned the various alleyways. As she surveyed the shifty silhouettes, Zoey caught the faint reflections of numerous watching eyes. The occasional ember of tobacco outlined the stony face of its owner. Her eyes remained cold and focused on the task at hand, but her mind recoiled at the thought of proceeding.

  “Lead the way,” she said, nodding to Dork.

  Dork returned her nod and about-faced. With a swing of his flabby arms, he began to waddle off the platform and tow
ards the corridor entrance. Zoey walked close behind, followed by Max and Ross. Perra brought up the rear, scanning the vicinity with vigilant eyes. The clanks of heavy footsteps across the grated metal panes caught the attention of every creature within earshot. Reddened eyes and steely expressions followed their every move, peering through clouds of smoke expelled from lungs and machinery. Walking the winding path meant minding a delicate balance while ducking under steaming pipes and squeezing around narrow, railless corners. Hollow Hold radiated the kind of perilous environment that would give health and safety inspectors heart attacks on sight. A patchwork of function to say the least; more like a jumbled mishmash of nightmare-inducing scaffolding held together by strips of duct tape and slivers of hope.

  Dork paused at the entrance of a long and narrow corridor about a hundred meters in length. Ropes of fiber optics dangled from the ceiling, lighting the passage with slits at random intervals. Gusts of dank air lifted thin clouds of soot that stung eyes and choked lungs. The width of the tunnel allowed for two standard humanoids to pass each other in relative comfort, although a beast the size of Dork made traversing a bit awkward. As the group assembled in front of the entrance, Zoey peered down the tunnel and noticed an array of colors dancing at the end.

  “What is that?” she said.

  “Market,” Dork said.

  “What kind of market?”

  “Every kind.”

  With an abject sigh, Dork ducked his head and began his slow, lumbering plod down the tunnel. The group followed one-by-one with Perra acting as an anchor. She used a cautious sidestep to keep a watchful eye on the rear. The occasional ambler squeezed by Dork, only to pause and stare down the obvious newcomers. Perra maintained eye contact with each curious local until they lost interest and returned to their own shady business. An assortment of colors and sounds brightened as the group neared the exit. Drumming beats and bustling conversation echoed down the corridor, that all-too-familiar buzz of commerce.

  Dork emerged from the tunnel and stepped aside, allowing each member of the group to absorb the onslaught of sight and sound as they entered the vast bazaar. Max’s jaw fell open as his disbelieving eyes struggled to ingest the tidal wave of visuals. An open-air market teeming with activity spread out in every direction. Countless patrons of all races and sizes rumbled along the massive grated walkway. Max glanced to the left, then to the right, then left, then right again, unable to locate an end to the sea of bodies and merchants. An infinite variety of signs and booths filled the craggy walls, some hawking their wares in the open air, others nestled into shallow caves. Numerous food carts rolled through the thick crowds, belching a stew of funky aromas. Max lifted his astounded gaze to the grated ceiling a few meters above, uncovering yet another massive floor of perpetual commerce; then another, and another, on and on without end. While the shadows of feet clanked overhead, the tops of heads passed below in yet another endless expanse, floor after floor of multi-leveled vendors and patrons.

  “This way,” Dork said, motioning towards a cabled platform.

  Ross nudged Max out of a stupefied stare, allowing the group to follow. The whines of stressed metal settled into a dull background roar as untold numbers of local residents trekked along the shoddy promenades. Max’s jaw refused to rejoin his face as his saucer-like eyes drank in the biological diversity. Spotted tentacles dangled from furrowed faces, parched and brittle due to the dry air. Gaping mouths grew yellowed fangs that would make a saber-toothed tiger blush. The slitted eyes of reptilian humanoids came in several non-paired configurations. A plumpish insectoid with a purple belly reminded Max of his brief time as an eggplant. Never in his wildest dreams had he conceived of such a place.

  The group stepped onto an unstable platform, each corner attached to a thick woven cable. A large operating lever rested in the center, with which Dork seemed familiar. He dropped a meaty hand upon the rusty handle and pulled backwards. The platform began to sink at a slow and steady pace while filling the immediate area with needling creaks. It wobbled and pitched as it fell deeper into the cavern. At the fifth floor down, Dork thrust the lever back to a neutral position, stopping the lift with an abrupt thump.

  “This way, almost there,” he said, leading the group off the platform.

  “Where are we going?” Ross said.

  “The Rusty Spigot. A popular place for her kind.”

  “Blackmailers?”

  “No. Well, yes. Politicians.”

  “Nifan is a politician?” Perra said.

  Dork chuckled. “Aye, but not in the sense you might be thinking. It is true that Hollow Hold is one of the purest anarchies in the universe. However, power here is not measured by things like strength or numbers. It is measured by information. Those who have it rule by the invisible fist of influence. Those who don’t, are simply ruled.”

  Zoey glanced back at Perra, who returned a look of concern. Dork continued his bumbling stride towards a dingy alleyway, knocking shoulders with any unfortunate local that got in his way. His broad profile disappeared into the shadow of a jagged tunnel carved into the stone face between two shops. The sharp clanks of feet on metal softened as they transitioned onto solid rock. A dangling strip of pendant lights dropped fuzzy spots along the smooth walkway. Zoey peered over Dork’s shoulder to find a hammered metal sign attached to the rear of the tunnel. A string of alien characters ended with the etched outline of a dripping spigot, confirming the location.

  As the group rounded the corner, the gnashing sounds of commerce faded into the background, replaced by the calming ambience of a chic lounge. Immense columns of polished rock connected floor to ceiling. Elaborate inlays and colorful stonework glistened around the room. An eclectic arrangement of plush couches and lounge chairs filled the space, housing an equally eclectic arrangement of humanoid occupants. A small team of waiters in dainty uniforms glided around the den, serving drinks and refreshments to their esteemed clientele. The dull roars of conversation served as an audible backdrop. A thin haze of smoke snaked its way around the lounge as the collective exhales of relaxed regulars. All shapes, sizes, and colors of eyes turned towards Dork as the only visitor wearing tattered garments. The place radiated class as if unaware of its unclassy location. Despite the distinct awkwardness of Dork’s presence, the jazz band in the corner played on as if nothing were amiss.

  Dork stopped in the middle of the room and surveyed the space through squinting eyes, emitting the occasional grunt of concentration. The group cluttered behind him like a pod of wayward ducklings. Meddling eyes turned away to rejoin their conversations in progress. Zoey scrutinized the chamber with a leery gaze while Perra kept a watchful eye on the entrance. Ross turned his lazy-eyed indifference to Max, who had dropped a stupefied stare for one of childlike glee.

  “Why are you so giddy?” Ross said.

  “Do you know where we are?” Max said.

  Ross glanced away for a moment and returned with one raised eyebrow. “A rocky hellhole of despair?”

  “No.” Max leaned in with a whisper. “We’re in the Star Wars cantina. Just look around at all these crazy aliens. Hell, they even have the creepy band.”

  Ross raised the other eyebrow and took another look around. “Huh, I’ll be damned.”

  “If they play that same tune over and over, I’ll die a happy nerd.”

  Ross put an imaginary flute to his lips. “Do dit, do dit, do dit doooo ...”

  Max delved into his best alien thug impression, then tapped Perra on the shoulder while gesturing to Ross. “He doesn’t like you.”

  Ross snorted in amusement.

  Perra responded with a confused look.

  Max dropped a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t like you either.”

  Ross and Max snickered like preteen boys reacting to a dick joke.

  Zoey spun around with the glare of a perturbed mother. “Will you guys shut up?”

  Perra rolled her eyes as Max and Ross bowed their heads like scolded children.

  “Ther
e,” Dork said, pointing to a dim corner of the lounge. “That’s Nifan, in the green head wrap.”

  The group refocused their collective attention onto the quiet corner in question. Nifan, her face obscured by silky fabric, chatted with a nameless cohort inside a chesterfield booth. The red leather and rounded visage radiated a mafia vibe. She turned to capture the attention of a passing waiter, revealing her ashen skin and cobalt eyes. Perra consulted her comdev for a visual confirmation.

  “That’s her,” Perra said.

  “Good, let’s go,” Zoey said, jabbing Dork in the back.

  “What?” Dork dropped into a harsh whisper and tossed a bulging eye over his shoulder. “No, you go. I’m done. I fulfilled my end of the deal.”

  “No you haven’t,” Zoey said, also in a harsh whisper. “I asked if you knew someone who knew the Suth’ra. You said yes. You said it was Nifan. We don’t know if she knows and I’m not about to trust you on your word. Until we know, you stay.”

  “Do I look like someone who keeps company with politicians?”

  “Do I look like someone who cares?”

  “I have a reputation to consider.”

  “What reputation? You’re a street con.”

  Dork paused for a moment, then grumbled. “Fine, let’s just get this over with.”

  The group followed Dork’s lumbering lead in a single file line, squeezing through a small maze of couches and disgruntled onlookers. Nifan tilted her head to acknowledge her blubbery visitor just before he arrived at the booth. Without so much as a kind glance, she waved her tablemate away with a limp gesture. The seedy humanoid departed with haste as Dork took his final steps. The group followed one by one, emerging from behind his bulky frame. Nifan eyed each new visitor as they crowded around the booth. Her angular brow and sharpened cheekbones sank into layers of shimmering green fabric. Pops of color erupted from several gaudy rings and an ornate necklace. Matted blue sashes offered an icy complement to haunting eyes, a detail Zoey understood as kempt and fashion-conscious. She knew right away that Nifan considered herself a socialite as much as a politician.