Max and the Snoodlecock

by Zachry Wheeler

  “Are you ready to meet your new best friend?” Phil said with the giddiness of a newly adopted puppy.

  The crew screamed as Phil ripped the airlock door off the ship and hurled it into the lake behind him. After a distant splash, everyone quieted to find a pink blob pulsing outside the door. Horrified faces morphed into twisting expressions of confusion, disgust, and total bewilderment. Phil quivered with uncontrollable excitement, like a bowl of gelatin on a rickety rollercoaster. Tentacles shot out of his body, one for each crew member, and stopped in front of their chests. The ends formed hands and assumed the customary handshake position.

  “Intimate touching! Intimate touching!” Phil said. (He recalled television signals where friends greeted each other with cordial handshakes. Having never learned what the gesture was called, he took his best guess.)

  The only crew member not paralyzed with fear reached out and gripped a hand.

  Phil exploded in what could only be described as an atomic orgasm, billions of years of isolation coming to a shattering climax. A violent release of energy rumbled the ground and refried every circuit in the ship. A surge of pops and sparks filled the cabin. The crew covered their heads as tiny embers bounced around the interior. The vessel smoked and dimmed, leaving a parched shell in the dirt. Phil, now a quivering wad of post-pleasure, expelled a fluttering sigh and melted into a fatty pool at the base of the ship. A crude bubbling sound accompanied the dissolution. If he could have lit a cigarette, he would have.

  An enticing new world had opened itself to Phil. Even the smartest beings in the universe needed to connect in some meaningful way. As a rolling brain pillow with infinite capacity, Phil had never considered such a need until it presented itself by chance encounter. At that moment, he understood the power of raw desire. At least, to an extent. Young men understand that there is a biological drive to touch anything that looks soft and seductive. But, a set of unspoken social rules keep hands in pockets. Phil, as the sole inhabitant of his own planet, never benefited from knowing these rules. Ergo, he became every social creature’s worst nightmare, an awkward creep with a complete disregard for personal space.

  This posed several problems for would-be visitors. Once word got out about Phil and his planet, beings from all over the universe wanted to meet the all-powerful knower of all things. Unfortunately, Phil garnered a reputation for being a bit “handsy.” In perhaps the most ironic of twists, Phil had no sexual desires of any kind. All he wanted were hugs, handshakes, and the occasional back rub. But, his teen-like persistence and clumsy approach unnerved every visitor that set foot on the planet. Before long, his visits slowed to a trickle. Most beings viewed extended stays as too high of a mental price.

  Phil slipped back into a mild depression, having no clue why everyone avoided him. He rolled around his planet, mumbling snarky comments like a preteen with popularity troubles. Regardless, he always perked up whenever ships dropped by. Those who continued to visit needed confident personas, fresh towels, and a high tolerance for weirdness. Phil’s favorite guests included Morgok the World Crusher, Toby (an intergalactic chess prodigy with rage issues), and a pair of no-nonsense couriers named Zoey and Perra.

  * * *

  Max awoke as a sentient toothbrush with a pink bowtie. Four wiry limbs ended with white gloves and black booties, much like a vintage cartoon. A fierce desire to weave baskets infected his mind, which made little sense until he glanced around the stark white room. Straw baskets of every shape and size lifted to the ceiling. Even his straw bed featured an intricate weaving pattern, something he paused to admire with loving strokes. A bristly plastic head sat atop a slender body that bent like soft taffy. He lifted to a sitting position, or whatever position constituted sitting for a large flexible toothbrush. Luckily for Max, this particular waking involved little more than a full bladder. He would be fast asleep in a few short minutes, so he wasted no time. He climbed to his polished feet and paused in the middle of the room. Having no idea how or where a toothbrush urinated, he proceeded to relieve himself where he stood. A warm stream crawled down his leg, but no liquid was visible. A curious sight, but not enough to warrant any further examination. His sleepy brain chalked it up to don’t want to know and left it for his brushy alter ego to deal with. He yawned, returned to bed, and drifted back into nothingness.

  * * *

  Max awoke a few hours later in his familiar guest cabin. A quick glance around the room confirmed the gray panels and simple doorframe. The silky sheets fell to his stomach as he lifted onto his elbows. A wad of orange fur stirred at the foot of the bed. Max grinned and swung his feet to the cold metal floor. An eye rub and lip smack greeted the new day.

  “Morning, alright,” Ross said, then lifted into an arched stretch.

  “Morning,” Max said.

  “Fikarek, alright,” Ross said, prompting the far wall to render transparent.

  The tendrils of a fiery nebula crawled across an ocean of stars. The pale dots of a distant asteroid field twinkled like sun-drenched sand.

  Max studied the visage with a cheeky grin. “Never gets old. Goddamn the universe is a beautiful place.”

  “A beautiful place that will ghost you without a second thought, alright alright.”

  Max groaned with the realization that a new question needed answering. He slumped forward, clasped his hands, and debated on whether or not he wanted to know. But his curiosity, always a goading temptress, quelled any chance of blissful ignorance. He sighed and turned to Ross. “Why do you keep saying alright like a sly Texan?”

  Ross lifted an eyebrow. “I was going to ask the opposite, alright. Why did you stop, alright?”

  “You sound like Matthew McConaughey.”

  “You mean President McConaughey, alright. Show some respect, alright alright.”

  Max huff-chuckled and rubbed his forehead. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “I do not joke about the single greatest US President to have ever graced the office, alright. The guy is a legendary hero, alright alright.”

  Max leaned upon his elbows and dropped his face into his hands. “I know I’m going to regret this, but ... why is, President McConaughey, a hero?”

  “What, do I look like a historian, alright? You studied his regime in school, alright alright.”

  “His reg—really?” Max tossed a WTF gaze at Ross, then shook it off. “Just humor me, alright?”

  Ross smirked. “Alright alright alright.”

  Max rolled his eyes.

  “From the McConaupedia,” Ross said, then cleared his throat and switched to a 50’s era documentary tone. “US President Matthew McConaughey presided over the greatest era of peace and prosperity ever achieved on planet Earth. He united all nations under a global treaty of progress and cooperation. His numerous triumphs include curing cancer, eliminating poverty, and increasing overall life expectancy by 30 years. McConaughey was the only President to serve five consecutive terms, made possible by an overwhelming universal demand. While elected to serve a sixth term, he stepped down in order to lead the first manned mission to Mars, where he became the first human being to set foot on the red planet. Before his death in 5-603-114, he led a global initiative to establish the first Moon colony. The MFSSS, i.e. the McConaughey Foundation for Sweet Sweet Science, has pioneered spacefaring initiatives ever since.” Ross switched back to his normal voice and up-nodded. “Alright.”

  “Wow. Just, wow.”

  “Wow, alright.”

  “So what’s with the alright? Is it a decree or something?”

  “Decree, alright? No, it’s just a sign of respect, alright. You know that, alright.”

  “Assume I don’t.”

  Ross glanced over at nothing in particular, as if to say this guy to someone. “One alright follows general statements, alright. Two alrights follow praise or exclamations, alright alright. Use three alrights to honor the great McConaughey directly, alright alright alright.”

  Max chuckled and shook his head, as if trapped
by the latest conspiracy theory. “What about four alrights?” he said in a mocking tone.

  Ross narrowed his eyes. “Never use four alrights. Don’t even mention four alrights, you contemptuous douchebag.”

  “Whoa, my mistake,” Max said, raising his hands.

  Ross jumped down from the bed and trotted out of the room, lobbing a stink eye at Max as he passed. Max lifted from the bed and shuffled over to the opposite wall. A limp tap opened a cubby with a washbasin and various hygiene products. After several minutes of sprucing and grooming, he tapped a series of commands into the control panel. LEDs brightened to a pleasant hue, bed sheets disappeared into a wall slot, and a drawer full of pressed garments slid open at his waist. He slipped into a set of clean clothes, nudged the drawer closed, and turned to leave.

  Max entered a cargo bay filled with belly laughs. Zoey, Perra, Ross, and Steve sat in a circle around some storage crates. Zoey stood with her back to Max, her hand covering a taut and teary face. Perra doubled over atop a cargo crate, wheezing in laughter with her arms crossing her stomach. Ross chuckled as he bounced his gaze around the group. Steve rolled around the floor, cluck-laughing and shedding feathers with each toss. Ross caught Max’s confused gaze and stopped laughing. A quick ahem hooked the attention of everyone else. They traded cackles for sheepish demeanors as they glanced over to Max.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Max said.

  “Oh nothing,” Zoey said. “... crab licker.”

  The group burst into laughter again.

  Ross wiped his watering eyes. “I told them that story of, uh ... you know, alright.”

  Max raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

  Perra slowed to a giggle. “Poor little Earthling.”

  “Great,” Max said under his breath. “Not even privy to my own humiliations.” He shook it off and shuffled towards the group. “So where are we going?”

  Zoey took a needed breath, regaining some composure. “We’re on our way to Phil’s Place.”

  “A bar?” Max said.

  “No, it’s a planet.”

  “Who names a planet Phil’s Place?”

  “I thought that would be obvious.”

  Max opened his mouth to respond, then clamped it shut in frustration.

  “Phil is the only inhabitant,” Perra said. “Suffice to say, it’s his place. He lived there alone for billions of years, then discovered he wasn’t alone. It’s a long story, but let’s just say that he’s incredibly fond of visitors. It takes a certain grace to, um, tolerate his enthusiasm.”

  “He is widely regarded as the most intelligent being in the universe,” Zoey said. “Every now and then, we need his insight.”

  “And he’s cool with that?” Max said, taking a seat.

  “That’s where the tolerance comes in,” Perra said. “Most beings can’t handle him.”

  “What, does he probe you or something?”

  Zoey shifted her grin. “In a way.”

  Max closed his eyes and dropped his head.

  “Don’t worry,” Perra said. “It’s all copacetic. We know how to deal with him. Just don’t be alarmed if he takes a keen interest in your presence.”

  Max responded with a limp nod.

  “We’re about half a poch out,” Zoey said, addressing the group. “Two more jumps should do it.”

  “The drive should be ready for the next,” Perra said.

  “Gravy. Let’s get to it then.”

  Perra lifted from the crate and hooked Zoey’s waistband as they made their way to the cockpit. Steve flapped some feathers loose and pecked at a dangling latch. Ross plopped onto the floor and started grooming his belly. Max sighed, lifted from his seat, and plodded to the rear of the cargo bay for some breakfast.

  CHAPTER 5

  The crimson ensemble munched and slurped around the large conference table. Crumpled napkins and paper cups littered the surface, like a chaotic family outing at a fast-food restaurant. Sconces glowed at peak illumination, replacing the darkened menace with the casual grumblings of snack time. A hologram star map floated above the table with a blue arrow blinking across it. A dotted red line estimated its trajectory.

  “Looks like they’re headed to Phil’s Place,” Jerry said with a half-eaten donut in hand.

  The table erupted with sighs and grumbles.

  “Ugh, that guy,” Carl said, drooping his eyestalks.

  “Can we intercept?” Yerba said with one mouth while slurping her tasty beverage with the other.

  “Perhaps,” Fio said. His pudgy fingers rapped upon the table surface.

  Jerry tapped his third chin, then swiped the hologram away with a noodly arm. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t we just snatch the Earthman with a focused teleport? If you can grab my fat ass, why not him?”

  “Impossible,” Gorp said. His guttural voice and hissing lisp showered saliva onto the table. “We cannot ensnare a moving target. The teleporter needs locked coordinates and time to latch.”

  “Can we just swipe the entire ship?” Yerba said.

  Gorp tilted his head. “And how is that any different?”

  Yerba shrugged tiny shoulders that barely conveyed the act of shrugging.

  “Hmm,” Fio said. “Given the situation, we may need to call upon the Viscid Avenger.”

  Jerry groaned and flopped back into his chair. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Fio. How hard is it to say that it’s Frank’s turn?”

  Frank perked up, or at least five of his eight eyes did. A slender tongue shot out of his mouth and hooked the straw of his drink.

  Fio huffed and tossed his arms into the air. “Dammit, Jerry! What is it with you and all this needless balking? You are part of the Suth’ra High Council! Act like it!”

  Jerry sighed. “We’re all Suth’ra, Fio. That doesn’t mean we have to act like conceited pricks with druid complexes.”

  Yerba nodded.

  Gorp grunted.

  Carl twisted an eyestalk. “What’s a druid?”

  Fio grumbled with aggravation. “Fine! Frank, suit up.”

  The sudden attention caused Frank to topple his drink, spilling a puddle of purple ooze across the table. He righted the cup with one of several clawed appendages and glanced around the room in embarrassment.

  Fio plunked his head on the table.

  “Cleanbot,” Yerba said with a stern voice.

  A small hover droid shot into the room with a dirty rag and spray bottle. Its spidery frame landed upon the table, surveyed the mess, then slumped its body as if to emit a sigh of annoyance. It chirped and groused under its mechanical breath as it spritzed the surface and started wiping the table clean.

  Frank lifted from his seat, allowing his crimson cloak to drape from a shoulderless physique. A pair of scrawny legs supported a lumpy mass, like a wad of gum on toothpicks. Four spindly arms hung from a hairless torso with bat-like claws at the ends. All eight of his eyes focused on Fio and awaited instruction.

  Fio narrowed his eyes and nodded. “You know what to do.”

  Frank stood motionless. Four of his eyes glanced around the room. “Um ... refresh me.”

  Kaeli facepalmed herself.

  Fio grabbed a bagel chunk from the grips of the cleanbot and flung it at Frank. The morsel whizzed by his head and hit the wall, showering Frank with crumbs. The droid’s big red eye shot up to Fio as if to curse his mother. Frank raised three of his eyebrows.

  “You’re the Viscid Avenger for Tim’s sake! You’ve been sitting at this table since the meeting began. What the hell have you been doing?”

  Frank cleared his throat. “To be perfectly honest, I tuned out a while ago. I’ve been musing on a new crepe recipe.”

  Jerry perked up.

  Fio sustained his murder-death-kill stare. “Earthman ... Phil’s Place ... intercept.”

  Frank saluted with a random claw. “Right. On it.” He turned for the door and skittered out of the room.

  Gorp coughed up a loogie that arched through the air and splatted the table ne
ar the cleanbot. The startled droid threw down its rag, flipped a pair of tiny metal birds, waved them around the group, then flew away.

  * * *

  Phil’s Place floated inside a brilliant purple nebula out in open space. The planet orbited a red dwarf star named Phil’s Shiny. Not the most inspired of names, but it’s not like Phil had much choice. The star had departed its original galaxy long before Phil gained self-awareness. The galaxy may have been named Phil’s Swirly had it not collided with another galaxy. Well, “collided” would be a misnomer since galaxies can pass through each other with relative ease. The billions of stars inside zip by one another without so much as a kind hello, like a fly in Texas passing another fly in Texas, with no other flies in Texas. In other words, there is a metric shit-ton of empty space between stars in galaxies.

  Phil’s Shiny was the unfortunate victim of a gravitational tug-of-war. Instead of drifting through unscathed, it passed between two black holes and got slingshotted out into open space. Phil didn’t know that at the time because he was too busy contemplating uses for spurs on his hind fins. The lone star and its single planet floated out into the big empty. As time passed, the dots in the night sky clumped into swirling flowers, then became dots themselves. A million years later, the sky turned a pleasant shade of magenta as the lonely planet plunged into a thick nebula. The dots disappeared, leaving Phil to ponder any existential crisis alone. Not that he minded. At the time, he was slithering onto land to test out some newfound lung capacity.

  The tug of forming stars slowed Phil’s Shiny to a stop, enough to keep it floating around the nebula as a wandering satellite. For the next billion years, Phil continued to evolve under a blanket of purple sky, oblivious to the wonders of a universe out of reach. The churning cloud of gas and dust cloaked the planet from the prying eyes of the cosmos. That is, until Phil started talking.

  These days, most ships traveled around the giant nebula like a middle-class family avoiding the ghetto. Phil always projected his “Free Hugs” invitation, prompting vessels to jump into hyperspace for a destination of anywhere else. Some vessels have unwittingly slammed into asteroid fields in the galactic equivalent of avoiding eye contact. Luckily, Zoey and Perra knew how to handle Phil and actually grew to appreciate his company. They enjoyed their wacky trysts into the purple cloud of questionable advances.