Max and the Snoodlecock

by Zachry Wheeler

  * * *

  The tiny freighter ship exited hyperspace just outside of the nebula. Zoey steadied their trajectory as Perra tapped across the control panel, cooling the drives. Moments later, the hailing system went wholesale bonkers. Speakers blared, lights flashed, everything electric barked and buzzed. Zoey shook her head and punched a coms link overhead.

  “Phil, calm the fuck down!”

  The chaos ceased, leaving an awkward silence.

  “Sorry,” Phil said through the intercom, his voice soft and sheepish.

  “It’s okay, buddy,” Perra said. “We’re looking forward to seeing you.”

  Zoey smirked. “We even brought a few new friends.”

  The hailing system resumed its unhinged insanity.

  Perra facepalmed herself. “Helping or hurting, sweetie?”

  “New touchies! New touchies!” Phil gasped between the exclamations. “Intimate touching! Skin pleasure!”

  Zoey glanced back to find a wide-eyed Max gawking at the intercom.

  “It’s okay,” Zoey said with a chuckle. “He’s harmless, I promise.”

  Max lowered a twitching eye to Perra. “Is she for real?” He pointed at the nebula in the viewport. “That clown-faced smog bank may as well have ‘free popsicles in the basement’ painted on the side.”

  “Don’t worry,” Perra said. “We know what we’re doing. You’ll be fine.”

  Zoey snickered.

  Ross sauntered into the cockpit. “Alright alright. We at the grabby blob yet?”

  Max cupped his hands over his face and groaned with clear exacerbation.

  “Hey Phil,” Zoey said in a commanding tone.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you going to behave yourself?”

  Phil thought for a moment. “Yes?” he said, emphasizing the question.

  “Good boy,” Zoey said, then smirked at Max.

  Max rolled his eyes and grumbled back to the cargo bay.

  “Okay then,” Perra said. “Phil, where’s your rock these days? Drop us some digits.”

  “Oh yes, let’s see, um ... 413-743-H3-101.”

  Zoey input the data. “Got it.”

  The console crunched the coordinates and projected a hologram map of the nebula. A glowing orange path angled around a budding star system full of comets and asteroids. Perra tapped the arch, spun the hologram, and zoomed into the detour.

  “The path is clean, but we have to jump around a stellar nursery. We’ll be there in a quarter poch. Sound good?”

  “Mmm, yes,” Phil said in a sultry voice. “Please hurry. My husk aches for embrace.”

  Ross cringed and recoiled. “Wow. That was unsettling, even for me.”

  Perra glanced down at Ross. “No alright?”

  Ross maintained a wary stare out the viewport. “I will not besmirch the great McConaughey name by linking it to a touch-happy beanbag.”

  “Well,” Zoey said, “that beanbag is the smartest being in the universe.”

  “He could be the reconstituted brain matter of Einstein, Sagan, and Clarence the Wonder Llama. I still wouldn’t visit his house on Halloween.”

  “Hallo-what?”

  “It’s an Earth holiday where you dress up in costumes and beg strangers for candy.”

  Perra raised an eyebrow. “And you think Phil is creepy?”

  Ross paused for thought. “Touché.”

  “How long to the next jump?” Zoey said to Perra.

  Perra consulted the console. “About three c-marks. That last one was a doozy, core needs to cool a bit.”

  “Gravy. Good time to grab some grub.”

  “I second that.”

  They unbuckled from their seats and exited the cockpit. Ross, his gaze still affixed to the nebula, shivered the angst from his spine and followed them. Back in the cargo bay, Max munched on a fuzzy yellow veggie and sipped coffee from his favorite mug, a colorful monstrosity he found in a moonbase strip mall. Steve perched on the edge of an open food crate, studying each item with random neck jerks. He leaned forward to peck at a mystery piece, then fell inside.

  “Bacock!”

  “Dumb bird,” Max said with a mouthful of crunch.

  Steve popped his head above the crate. “Ahem, I have only been a snoodlecock for less than a poch. I’d appreciate some latitude.”

  “You’re a chicken, dude. How hard is it to master?”

  Steve fanned his wings. “Who’s got two thumbs and is learning to snoodlecock? I’d point to myself, but I ain’t got no goddamn thumbs.”

  “Says the winged cuisine.”

  Steve gasped and leapt from the crate. He bounded off the ledge and rage-flapped towards Max, clucking at the top of his lungs. Max yelped and scampered around the cargo bay with Steve flailing behind, pecking at anything he dared open to assault. He tripped over a chair and tumbled to the floor, allowing Steve to flutter on top and scratch his way to victory. Shooing arms tried to thwart the attack, but Steve’s nimble beak found ears, cheeks, and clumps of hair.

  “Hey hey hey!” Zoey said as she entered the cargo bay.

  The scuffle came to an abrupt stop with Steve perched atop Max’s head.

  “What the hell are you guys doing?”

  “A friendly fracas among civilized chaps,” Steve said, then pecked Max’s ear one last time, drawing a yelp before flapping to a nearby crate.

  Max glared at Steve and scooped his yellow veggie from the floor.

  Perra nabbed a pre-made sandwich from the crate and tossed another to Zoey, who snatched it out of the air like a seasoned shortstop. Steve jerked his gaze between them as they unwrapped their lunches and munched to satiation. Falling bread crumbs caught his attention. He flapped over to the floor next to Perra, pecked the tiny morsels, then eyed her with the pitiful gaze of a family dog. Perra smirked and broke off a piece of her sandwich.

  “Here,” she said and placed it on the floor.

  “My deepest gratitude, kind miss,” Steve said, then tore the chunk to shreds, like a weed-whacker hitting a plump croissant. Scraps of meat and bread flung through the air. Steve chirped and chased after each wayward bit.

  Max lifted to his feet and dusted himself off with a few hand swipes. Examining his half-eaten veggie, he frowned at the grease stains and tossed it into a nearby waste bin. Steve perked at the sight, hopped over to the bin, flapped inside, and started devouring the veggie with extreme prejudice. The bin clanked upon the floor as Steve ravaged the helpless produce. Max shook his head and returned to the food crate for another item. He grabbed a baggie of trail mix and took a seat on a nearby crate.

  “So why can’t we just jump straight to Phil’s Place?”

  “Too dangerous,” Perra said. “The nebula is very active, hot-charged if you will. Lots of new stars forming, lots of meandering asteroids and such. It’s best to jump to the outer rim and consult with Phil directly. His planet is a rogue rock orbiting a roaming star.”

  “Let me guess,” Max said with a sarcastic tone. “Phil’s Shiny?”

  Perra glanced to Zoey, then back to Max. “Yes, actually.”

  “Hardy har, make fun of the Earthling.”

  Ross sighed.

  The waste bin fell over and clattered, startling the group. Steve spilled onto the floor with trash clinging to his body. He clucked, shook the refuse from his feathers, and waddled over to the group.

  “Hey Phil,” Zoey said, glancing up to the ceiling.

  An overhead speaker broke with static. “Yes?”

  “What do you call your star?”

  “Shiiiiiiny. My precious shiny, bringer of light and skin warmth. Phil’s Shiny.”

  Max lowered to a whisper. “He’s still listening?”

  “He’s a telepath, doofus. Furthermore, whispering isn’t going to hide anything. It’s not like he’s chilling in the next room.”

  “So he can hear everything we say?”

  “Yup.” Zoey finished the last bite of her sandwich. “Can hear most of your thoughts too.”

/>   Stunned into silence, Max glanced around the room in obvious discomfort. “But, what if he overhears, something, um ... unsavory?”

  “Don’t worry,” Perra said with a polite chuckle. “Phil is well aware of his demeanor. You’re not going to hurt his feelings. Just be yourself, think your thoughts, and don’t fret about it.”

  “Hey Phil,” Zoey said.

  “Yes?”

  “You look like a giant scabby scrotum.”

  “An accurate assessment, yes.”

  “And your freaky behavior upsets people.”

  “All the time, yes.”

  “And what is Max thinking right now?”

  “He’s being chased by a giant scrotum with googly eyes and outstretched fingers.”

  Ross and Steve met eyes and burst into laughter.

  Perra finished off her sandwich, crumpled the wrapper, and moseyed over to the toppled waste bin. She righted it, gathered the wayward trash, and added her wrapper to the pile. As she turned away, an intrigued Steve hopped back over to the bin and leapt inside. Perra sighed and shook her head, opting to ignore the thwarted effort. She stepped over to a sullen Max and bumped his shoulder. “Like I said, no need to worry. You’ll be fine, I promise.” She winked, then turned to address the group. “I’ll be in the cockpit prepping for the next jump.”

  “Thank you, sweetie,” Zoey said. She scanned the food crate, plucked a bottle of cloudy liquid, and strolled over to the main cabin. “Gonna grab some shuteye, wake me if you need anything.”

  “Will do,” Perra said as she disappeared up the narrow passage.

  Zoey paused inside the doorway and turned back to the group. “You all should do the same. The nebula can be a bit unsettling once inside.”

  “How so?” Max said.

  Zoey smirked. “Just get some sleep.” She stepped inside and the door slid shut.

  The cockpit console chirped in the distance. The hum of idle engines filled the cargo bay. Steve poked his head from the waste bin and clucked to break the silence. Max and Ross traded restive glances.

  “So,” Phil said. “Do you like Twister?”

  Max groaned and bowed his head.

  CHAPTER 6

  Inside the purple nebula, a black stealth ship blinked out of hyperspace. The round vessel floated through a pocket of dust, swirling ribbons in its wake. Its glowing red viewport bathed nearby clouds in a bloody sheen. From afar, the ship resembled a black hole punched through a magenta sheet. For once, it stuck out as an anomalous presence, but not for long. The exterior flickered and faded as cloaking tech bent light particles around the frame, leaving a sliver of warped space.

  Inside, the Viscid Avenger, a.k.a. Frank, tapped three of his claws across the console. The fourth nabbed a thermos of coffee and tossed a sip down his gullet. Interference from the hyperactive nebula caused circuits to blip and crackle. Frank grumbled some curses and slammed a claw onto the panel. The console belched in response, flashed the exterior, then corrected itself. Random surges and glitches continued to wreak havoc, forcing Frank to abandon the cloaking tech in favor of basic hiding. He pieced together a hologram map of the immediate vicinity. Four of his eight eyes narrowed to inspect the area. After a quick swipe and scan, he selected a small asteroid field nearby as an optimal ambush point. He locked the coordinates, took another sip of coffee, and thrust the round vessel towards the rocks.

  The ship veered around the asteroids like a slalom skier owning a downhill. Frank halted his path in front of a large rock with plenty of open fissures to hide within. He pushed forward at a steady pace and slowed to a stop once inside a cozy cubby. Magnetic grips spun the ship until it faced out into the nebula. Frank killed the drive and powered down to an idle state. The glowing viewport faded into nothingness, leaving the darkened ship tucked inside the asteroid, just a small rock inside a bigger rock.

  Frank sighed, grabbed a frayed book, and unzipped his form-fitting pilot suit. Form-fitting in the sense that Frank had a form and the suit kind of fit. Frank was a Gurbalurb, a species known for its hodgepodge take on evolution. When it came to random mutation, everything was on the table. No eyes, ten eyes, skin, scales, claws, fingers, bucktoothed kneecaps with hairy tongues, whatever. In fact, their only common trait was a taffy-like torso from which everything else sprouted. Furthermore, the species was hermaphroditic, meaning that any individual could be a mother or father. This made copulation a wee bit stressful since mating pairs had no clue how to satisfy each other. For most couples, sexy time meant “giving it a go” and seeing what happens. A rub here, a poke there, licks, punches, whatever tickled a fancy. More often than not, mothers had no idea they were even pregnant (or that they were mothers for that matter) until a random creature sprouted from their torso and ran away.

  Young Frank had enjoyed a quiet life as an only sprout. His mother and father were asexual for the most part and never planned to procreate. He was a happy accident, the likely result of an over-packed elevator. One day, his parents awoke to find a wad of wiggling flesh in their bed that kind of resembled themselves. After closer inspection, they came to the inescapable conclusion that they were new yet slightly baffled parents. Frank traded glances with the two lumpy creatures he now shared a space with. He expelled his first sigh, unimpressed with life from day one. His parents didn’t like kids all that much and he felt the same way about them. But, they got along just fine and lived together as agreeable acquaintances.

  Frank spent most of his childhood in a repurposed bathroom full of bookshelves. Food was portable, but toilets were not, so his logic-driven brain decided that bathrooms were the place to be. He stocked cabinets with basic food stores and drank from the faucet when needed. Most of his waking time involved long reading sessions while pacing around his tiny personal space. He spent months at a time locked away inside his plumbed fortress, only venturing out to verify the world still existed (and to restock snacks). One day, after scratching a mental itch about flora reproduction, Frank discovered the magical realm of interstellar botany. A keen interest morphed into a mild obsession, then exploded into a major psychological bender.

  Frank abandoned the toilet and dove into his newfound fetish. Before long, he amassed an impressive collection of medicinal plants from all around the galaxy. His obsessive analysis and fruitful experiments turned him into a revered botanist, even before his legal drinking age. (He could grow and use hallucinogenic terror blossoms, but a relaxing sip of ethanol was somehow illegal.) His astounding achievements caught the attention of stuffy academics, pharma companies, and eventually, the Suth’ra Society.

  While developing a cross-strain of chocolate and coffee (which he dubbed “choffee”), Frank received a mysterious message from an unknown source. His vast knowledge of taxonomy and Sudoku allowed him to decipher the location of a roaming Suth’ra mega-vessel. At the time, a team of Suth’ra botanists were struggling to perfect a recipe for hot sauce (the never-ending quest to find a perfect heat-flavor ratio). And so, they forwarded Frank an invitation. Frank decoded, accepted, and joined the Suth’ra Society with two lifelong missions. One, solve the heat-flavor ratio once and for all, and two, cure cancer. In that order.

  As of today, he had yet to solve the first. But at least he got to wear a cool space suit and stalk an Earthling through a kick-ass nebula.

  * * *

  A tiny freighter ship exited hyperspace just outside the asteroid field, prompting a beacon scanner to bark inside the stealth vessel. Frank marked a stopping place in his trashy romance novel and set it aside. A slender arm reached across the console and muted the scanner. Seven eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the freighter in the distance.

  “Diagnostic,” he said.

  “M-class freighter,” the ship said, using the robotic voice of an 80’s arcade game. “Heavily armed, four and a half life forms inside.”

  Frank lifted three of his eyebrows. “Half?”

  “Cyborg feline.”

  “Oh.” Frank shifted his lips, then shook it off.
“Establish a comlink to Fio.”

  “Who?”

  He glanced at the intercom. “Fio.”

  “Who?”

  “Oh for Tim’s sake, call Fio!”

  “Who?”

  Frank huffed and rubbed his forehead. “His Impeccable Majesty, Grandmaster Fiolandon, High Lord of the Suth’ra Council, Speaker of Truth, Defender of Reason.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  The hologram projector crackled with static, then pieced together the robed bust of Fio.

  “Silence!” Fio said. “The valiant Viscid Avenger beckons the High Council.”

  Frank blinked five eyes, then rolled the other three.

  “Report.”

  “Target acquired. Shall I engage?”

  Fio stroked his plump chin. “Your Shawl of Invisibility is down. Why is this so?”

  “It’s cloak tech, Fio. No need for the wizard-speak.”

  “Insolence!” Fio slammed a fist onto the table. “You shall rue the day you disrespect the High Lord of the Council!”

  Frank glanced away and shook his head. “Do you hear yourself right now?”

  “Frank has a point,” Kaeli said from afar. “You sound like a douchebag dungeon master.”

  “Insolence!” Fio pointed off-hologram, cropping the tip of his finger.

  A chair squeaked. “I’m getting some coffee,” Kaeli said. “Anybody want some?” Mumbles responded, followed by footsteps and a door slam.

  Fio dropped his arm, folded his fingers, and cleared his throat. “Report.”

  “We just did this,” Frank said, spreading all four arms.

  Fio remained still, clinging to a nonexistent menace.