Max and the Snoodlecock

by Zachry Wheeler

  Ross shook himself dry while Max clawed his body from the fountain like a swamp creature. Zoey and Perra emerged beside him and vaulted over the rim, flinging arcs of water onto the floor. The crowd had dispersed in the panic, leaving them to the echoes of a cavernous room. Max scanned the level, uncovering winding paths, twisting trees, and banks of curious foliage. Zoey hooked his arm and yanked him to his feet.

  “Keep moving,” she said, then sprinted towards a tunnel overhang.

  The group followed close behind, stamping wet prints on the polished concrete. They rounded a corner and paused to regroup behind an abandoned snack kiosk.

  “What the hell was that?” Max said while trying to catch his breath.

  “The door greeter,” Zoey said, then smacked the back of his head. “Did you really just ask that question?”

  “Oh, pardon me for wondering why a jelly monster was shooting at us.”

  “Shut up.” Zoey hugged the wall and peeked around the corner back towards the garden.

  Perra peeked over her shoulder.

  Max peeked over hers.

  Ross peeked around Max’s calf.

  A colorful chicken-like creature peeked around Ross.

  “Bacock!” it said.

  The entire group flinched in unison.

  Ross re-poofed and skittered against the wall.

  The bird stood its ground while jerking its gaze between startled faces. A cluster of blue snoods jiggled beneath an orange beak. Its feathers spanned the rainbow, everything from shimmering reds to iridescent purples. A thick crest of white fuzzy strands gave the bird an Einstein-like persona. “Bacock!” it said again, this time more agreeable.

  The group traded puzzled glances.

  “Why is a disco chicken yelling at us?” Max said.

  “Beats me,” Perra said.

  “It sounds like RuPaul.”

  “Who’s RuPaul?” Zoey said.

  “A talented dude lady back on Earth with big hair and flashy outfits,” Ross said.

  “That sounds fun,” Perra said.

  The black assassin rounded a far corner, riding a hover scooter about three sizes too small. The poor contraption struggled to keep its occupant afloat, accenting each floor scrape with a shrill error ping. The creature lifted a plasma pistol and squeezed the trigger. The group dove behind the kiosk as purple streaks zipped down the tunnel. Max caught a glimpse of the approaching brute, which sounded like a fusion of speed metal and ukulele.

  “We’re trapped,” Perra said.

  Zoey scanned the area between blasts. “Shit.”

  The kiosk shook with every impact, raining alien snacks upon the group. Out of nowhere, the creature howled and slammed the scooter into the wall. Zoey peered around the booth to find the bird flapping atop the monster’s head, pecking furiously at a pudgy face. The blob bellowed while flailing its noodly arms, trying desperately to rid itself of the pest. The plasma pistol fell from its grasp and clanked upon the floor.

  “Bacock!” the bird said, then chomped down on a finger.

  The beast shrieked and shook its hand in stinging pain. The bird flapped as it soared through the air, attached by beak to the blob’s flesh. A rainbow of feathers floated to the ground around the wrecked scooter.

  “Let’s go,” Zoey said. She leapt to her feet and sprinted down a connecting hallway.

  Perra nabbed Max by the hand and yanked him into a gallop. Ross followed close behind. The group tore through tunnels on their way back to the ship. They sailed around a final corner and into the glitchy gangway. Max cringed as he passed into the blinking section. The sudden pops of death metal drew yelps and stumbles. He staggered through the section, cursed its mother, and resumed a full sprint.

  The group arrived back at the ship gasping and panting. Perra opened the airlock with a remote command, allowing everyone to leap into the cargo bay without breaking stride. Zoey retrieved a plasma pistol from a nearby locker and returned to guard the airlock. Perra darted into the cockpit to begin launch prep. Ross settled into a quiet corner and started grooming his ruffled fur. Max stood in the center of the cargo bay with hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Zoey braced herself behind the airlock with pistol locked onto the landing bay entrance. For once, Durangoni lay silent, and the eerie calm elevated a sense of dread.

  “Launch prep complete,” Perra said.

  “Gravy,” Zoey said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  She holstered her weapon, hurried into the cockpit, and threw herself into the pilot seat. Speedy hands buckled in, seized the yoke, and slapped the thrusters icon. Blue flames spilled from the hull, lifting the ship from the platform and tilting it skyward. Zoey slid a palm up the console, igniting the main engines. The sudden blast warped the landing pad and kicked the freighter towards the sunlight above. Soon after, the flashes of Durangoni patrol ships appeared in the distance. They grew brighter and brighter, then zipped by without interest. Zoey and Perra traded relieved glances as they exited the station rings and sailed into the atmosphere. The viewport faded to black as the vessel slipped through a barrier gate and into open space.

  “We’re clear,” Perra said.

  “Initiating jump sequence,” Zoey said while tapping the console.

  Max climbed into the cockpit and strapped himself into a wall seat behind Zoey. Ross leapt into his lap as the jump indicator pinged green.

  “Everyone hold onto something,” Zoey said and slapped the icon.

  “Roger that,” Max said.

  “Good to go,” Ross said.

  “Bacock!” the bird said as the ship disappeared into a sliver of purple light.

  * * *

  The black blob sat on the floor of Durangoni Station, its puddled mass leaning against the wall next to a smashed scooter. A skinny arm reached above its glowing eyes and grasped a zipper atop its head. With a steady tug, the beast unzipped the glossy suit, exposing pale skin, sunken eyes, and rows of chubby chins. He pulled the zipper down to a sweaty chest, then flopped his arm onto a rotund belly. Exhausted beyond words, the brute gasped for air like a beached whale. A splotchy bald head lifted through a thin mane of sandy brown hair, like a traveling salesman way past his prime. Red bumps peppered his face, the painful remnants of his feathered assailant. He wiped his brow and fished inside a pocket for his comdev. A few taps created a hologram image of a conference table surrounded by robed figures.

  “Silence!” Fio said in a squeaky voice from the head of the table. “The Orbed Enforcer beckons the Council! Speak, brave warrior.”

  “Still not fond of that name,” the beast said in a meek voice.

  Fio huffed. “Oh c’mon, Jerry. We agreed that you needed a cool nickname.”

  “I never agreed to that.”

  “But we voted on it,” said another robed tablemate.

  “No, you voted on it. You also made me wear this stupid getup. It’s way too tight and it makes me sweat something fierce.”

  “We also gave you a nifty weapon,” another figure said.

  “Doesn’t change the fact that I can’t feel my crotch.”

  “Enough!” Fio said. “Report your status.”

  Jerry groused and rolled his eyes. “Found the group, had a battle, they escaped.”

  “The Earthling escaped?!” Fio’s voice elevated to mouse squeal.

  “What did you expect?! I’m a particle physicist, not an assassin!”

  The clomps of Durangoni troops echoed down the hall, hooking Jerry’s attention. They rounded a nearby corner and crouched into assault formation, aiming their plasma rifles at the gelatinous blob leaning against the wall. Their black suits and polished helmets stood out in sharp contrast to the warm market surroundings.

  “Obese intruder,” an officer said. “Put your tentacles on your head and turn ... well, um, just put your tentacles on your head.”

  Jerry ignored them. “Did you hear that? Durangoni just called me fat.”

  “But you are fat,” Fio said.

&nb
sp; “Well yeah, but, why bring that up in a standoff? It’s unprofessional. I shoot this place all to hell and Detective Douchnozzle calls me a fatty.”

  “Durangoni does not discriminate,” the officer said with a hasty delivery that screamed oh shit I’m so fired. “We are a proud and diverse unit that arrests equally.”

  Jerry sighed, then gestured to Fio. “Anytime, dude.”

  “Oh, right. Fiona!”

  “Yes, oh wisest one, knower of all things, sexiest sexpot in the known universe,” said a breathy feminine AI voice.

  “Initiate transfer of Jerry.”

  “At once, Master.”

  Ribbons of blue light swirled around Jerry’s beefy body. Moments later, a glowing cocoon yanked him into the ether, leaving a pool of sweat beside a broken scooter.

  CHAPTER 3

  The tiny freighter floated in the blackness of space under the veil of a silent beacon. Its twin rear engines glowed with an idle hue, blending into a backdrop of stars. Inside the cargo bay, the group stood together in silence. Zoey gnawed at her cheek with arms crossed. Perra shifted her lips under a taut brow with hands tucked inside her pockets. Max scratched his head, perplexed as always. Ross wore a stoic expression, conveying mild concern or total disinterest. (Nobody could ever tell, to be honest.) The flamboyant bird in front of them, however, jerked its gaze around the group as if curious yet apathetic.

  “Why is a snoodlecock chilling in our cargo bay?” Perra said.

  “Wait, you know what that thing is?” Max said.

  “Of course. They’re quite delicious. I can only assume he escaped from one of the restaurants back on Durangoni.”

  The snoodlecock bobbed its head, then pooped.

  “Ugh,” Zoey said, crumpling her face.

  “I’m not cleaning that up,” Ross said.

  Max snorted. “As if you would.”

  Ross shot him a stink eye. “Are you saying I’m lazy?”

  Max responded with a duh arm spread. “Dude, you are the laziest thing I have ever known, human, feline, fictional, or otherwise. And that’s coming from a goddamn gamer.”

  Ross pursed his jowls. “Yeah? Well, you’re a—a wanking wanker.”

  “Nice comeback, Garfield.”

  “That’s racist.”

  Perra sighed. “Are you guys done?”

  Max and Ross traded scornful glares, then returned their attention to the matter at hand. The snoodlecock indulged in a brief flapping fit, freeing some feathers.

  “Bacock!” it said, startling the group.

  “That is going to get really old, really fast,” Perra said.

  “So let’s just eat him,” Zoey said.

  “Eat him?” Max said with a horrified tone. “But the little guy saved our lives.”

  “So? It’s still a tasty treat.”

  Perra raised her hand. “I know a good recipe.”

  “Might I suggest,” the snoodlecock said in a baritone voice well-suited for documentary films, “that we reassess the nature of our relationship.”

  They all turned stunned gazes to the creature.

  “Bacock!” it said, then pooped again.

  * * *

  A restive silence gripped the dim conference room. The door slid open, revealing a massive creature shrouded in a crimson cloak. The Orbed Enforcer loomed as a frightening fiend, at least for a moment. Six shadowy faces turned to greet him, or rather, went to an absolute minimum effort to acknowledge his presence. He pushed his bulk through the frame, resulting in a few squeaks of exertion. The cold stares of the group followed his mass around the table to an empty seat. Floor panels whined under each laborious step. Wall sconces rattled, as if to fat-shame him with jolts of flickering light. Jerry dropped his rotund body into an oversized seat. The impact jostled the table, resulting in irritated mumbles. His crimson hood slipped off his head, unveiling a splotchy scalp and impressive chin collection.

  “Ahem,” his robed neighbor said.

  “Huh?” Jerry turned his giant skull.

  The neighbor tugged on his own hood.

  “Oh, sorry.” He flipped the hood back into its menacing position, then stiffened his posture and clasped his hands in a desperate attempt to regain said menace.

  Six cloaked faces maintained their disapproving stares. One shook its head and another sighed before their gazes slogged back to the center.

  Fio cleared his throat and raised his hand, quelling the room. “Let us begin. Please raise your hands to the ordained position of regard.”

  “Can we just skip this crap?” a hissing voice said.

  “Agreed,” another said. “The commencement is dull and meaningless.”

  Fio stuttered, then slammed a fist onto the table. “How dare you balk at Suth’ra tradition!”

  Jerry sighed. “The Suth’ra have no tradition. That’s, you know, kind of the point.”

  “Jerry’s right,” another said. “The society was founded under the guiding principle that there are no principles. We do, act, and study as we please. This opening ceremony crap is a direct violation of Suth’ra principle.”

  “But if there are no principles,” Fio said with a snarky tone, “then how can we violate a principle?”

  An awkward silence responded.

  “Aha!” Fio slapped the table surface. “Victory is mine! The ceremony shall beg—”

  “Let’s put it to a vote,” Jerry said, removing his hood in defiance.

  “Agreed,” his amphibious neighbor said, removing her hood as well.

  The rest of the group, minus Fio, removed their hoods, exposing a bundle of bizarre faces. Eye stalks traded glances without moving their respective heads. Forked tongues and striped tentacles crawled over rough scales and nappy fur. Despite the compilation of tones and body types, the group still managed to radiate complete nerdom.

  “No vote!” Fio said, leaving his hood untouched.

  “Why not?” Yerba said with one mouth, then switched to the other. “This isn’t a dictatorship.”

  “It ain’t a democracy either,” Fio said.

  “If I had to define it,” Carl said, musing like an arrogant historian, “I would call it a totalitarian version of anarchistic soc—”

  “Shut up, Carl!” Fio said. “Everyone knows that we are a lawless assembly of—”

  “To be fair,” Gorp said with a throaty grunt, “Carl has a valid point. While many of us would define the Suth’ra as an autocratic regime of sorts, there is an essence of chaotic rule that chooses to govern itself.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Frank said, nodding his eight-eyed head. “The organization does have a tyrannical vibe similar to a constitutional monarchy, but minus the unnecessary strains of a parliamentary republic. In my humble opinion, it acts as an untethered oligarchy.”

  The group turned puzzled gazes to Frank.

  Kaeli raised her one hairy eyebrow. “That was, like, a Wikipedia entry entitled All the Governments.”

  Frank sulked. “I just wanted to participate.”

  Jerry raised his hand. “All in favor of deprecating the Ceremony of Pleasantries say aye.”

  “Aye,” said everyone but Fio.

  “Then it’s settled,” Jerry said, thumping the table. “We shall no longer say hello to start the meeting.”

  * * *

  Max and Perra sat atop a pair of cargo crates, their faces drooping with disbelief. Ross leaned back against one of the crates while grooming an outstretched leg. Zoey stood off to the side with her eyes pinched closed, rubbing her forehead as if dealing with the sudden outburst of a bigoted uncle. The snoodlecock pecked at a piece of lint stuck between the cargo bay floor panels, its bright orange feet and dark talons gripping the metal grates. An occasional flap unsettled the group and dispersed colorful feathers around the room.

  “So let me get this straight,” Zoey said. “You swapped bodies with a snoodlecock in order to escape a mob faction who wants you dead for boinking the boss’s daughter.”

  “Yup,” the bird said witho
ut breaking its rigorous study of floor filth.

  “And your previous body, a reptilian thug or whatever, is about to get whacked back on Durangoni Station.”

  “Yup.”

  “And you don’t want it back?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?” Perra said.

  “Escaping was a top priority. I’ll take another body when I need to.”

  Zoey hardened her gaze. Perra lifted to her feet and took a wary step back. Max tumbled off the crate and scrambled up to a karate stance. Ross cocked his ears back and gave the bird a long, hard stare. The snoodlecock shot its head up and traded glances with the apprehensive crew.

  “Oh, yes, I forget that’s a frightful statement. My sincere apologies.” The bird cleared its throat. “I am a Yarnwal of Yankar. We are a semi-clairvoyant race with the ability to inhabit the consciousness of other life forms. However, the target needs to be of lesser cognizance or an unused shell of my original species. To put it another way, unless you have some dim-witted pets, you need not worry.”

  Ross glanced over to Zoey. “Does Max qualify?”

  Max huffed. “Shut up, ass.”

  “No, I’m serious,” Ross said, retaining a soft sincerity.

  Zoey smirked while Perra chuckled.

  The snoodlecock stiffened its posture as if to channel a drill sergeant. “My name is Gerfon Temparstangle Folinster Er Domplefoosh, but you can call me Steve.”

  Perra fished her comdev from her pocket and dove into research.

  “Okay ... Steve,” Zoey said. “I’m Zoey and this is Perra, Max, and Ross.”

  “Huh?” Ross said, lifting his head from his crotch.

  “Nothing,” Zoey said with an eye roll. “Go back to not caring about anything happening.”

  “Roger that,” Ross said and returned to his crotch.