Max and the Snoodlecock

by Zachry Wheeler

  “Gamon!” Perra said with a toothy smile and threw her arms around him.

  “Hey, fuzzball,” Zoey said, punching his shoulder.

  “Good to see you girls,” Gamon said, adding a wink and grunt. He stomped towards a writhing Frank, lifting waves of mud with broad feet. “Tend to your friend. I’ll take care of this idiot.”

  * * *

  A checkered grid of backlit panels bathed the conference room in a harsh white light. Wall sconces flickered away as if blissfully unaware of their superfluous presence. Silence infected the chamber like an unwelcome guest that refused to leave. Pastry crumbs littered the table, the remnants of a ravaged snack cart topped with crumpled wrappers. Filth and disarray staked permanent claims, due in large part to a pissed off cleanbot. The immense round table continued to emit an ominous glow, but lost any and all menace due to the aptly lit room and foul mood of its occupants.

  Crimson robes draped from chair backs and door hooks. Fio, the only member still cloaked, sat facedown on the table with arms flopped across the surface. His labored breathing clouded the glass every few ticks. Carl slumped in his own chair with eyestalks dangling across the back. He stared at the rear wall while still facing forward, an impressive trick despite the current vibe. Yerba leaned on a yellow-spotted elbow while rapping her talons on the table. She inhaled a deep breath into her left mouth and expelled a sputtering sigh from her right. Kaeli slumped forward in her chair and stared at the table surface through a single dejected eye. Her dangling dreadlocks hid her demoralized expression quite well. Gorp faced a rear wall, his amphibious body rocking back and forth. Each sway knocked his squishy forehead against the surface, leaving a sheen of slime. Jerry puddled atop his oversized chair, adding a few more chins to his collection. He sighed, then climbed to his feet with a wearied body language that radiated failure.

  “Getting some coffee. Hands up for cups.”

  A silent batch of limp hands raised into the air.

  Jerry nodded a count and turned for the door. “Berb.”

  * * *

  Back inside the rear cave, Zoey and Perra stood over a bound Frank. He sat atop a small boulder with all four claws tied behind his back. His lanky legs, also bound, rocked back and forth in anxious boredom. Three eyes maintained their miffed stares at the Mulgawats while the other five surveyed the cavern.

  Max sat atop another small boulder nearby. Dried mud caked his body from head to toe. With hands folded upon his lap, he stared straight ahead at nothing in particular. A stony frown blended into cracks of mud. His pouty attitude had replaced itself with a potent air of so done with this.

  Phil had abandoned his obsessive petting of Ross for a careful examination of Gamon, his new favorite thing in the world. The hairy beast stood tall and strong, donning a thick leather vest with matching trousers. A heavy utility belt with numerous pouches completed the portrait of a buccaneering Bigfoot. With arms crossed and brow taut, he tolerated Phil’s cheek pinches, horn pokes, and fur combing. Gamon batted away any curious attempts to do otherwise.

  Ross and Steve watched from the ship’s airlock, content to participate from afar.

  Zoey turned to Gamon. “So you tracked this creep all the way from Durangoni?”

  Gamon nodded. “Yup.”

  “But how?” Perra said. “Nobody has ever been able to track the Suth’ra. They’re too smart for that.”

  “Well, the other one used a relay frequency to contact the Suth’ra station. My sniffers managed to uncover it. Maybe they cut some corners in order to arrange the hit, which is kind of sloppy if you ask me. But, it allowed me to create a targeted sniffer, which is how I found him.”

  Frank shifted his lips.

  “Which means,” Zoey said, tapping her chin, “that the entire collective is coming after Max, not just one.”

  Max lifted a sullen gaze to Gamon. “What do they want with me?”

  Gamon shrugged. Phil slid a tentacle over his shoulder and hooked a vest pocket. Gamon smacked it away without batting an eye.

  Perra narrowed her eyes and turned to Phil. “Wait a tick, you knew the Suth’ra were after Max.”

  Phil halted his incessant study of Gamon.

  Perra pointed at Frank. “And you knew this bastard was on the planet.”

  Phil sprouted a pair of hands and knocked knuckles.

  “So why in Tim’s name didn’t you warn us?”

  Phil lowered his arms and sank a bit. “I like visitors,” he said in a timid voice.

  Zoey nabbed Perra’s arm. “Phil is impartial, you know that. He has the social skills of a needy toddler.”

  Phil waved at Frank, who stiffened and looked away.

  “Still,” Perra said, yanking her arm back. “Even a blob like Phil should understand the concept of imminent danger. This thing captured Max and crawled away before anyone even noticed.”

  A restless silence fell upon the group, leaving them to the dull roar of the waterfall in the distance. Perra crossed her arms and stepped away, content to stew inside her own head. Zoey sighed and glanced at Gamon, who responded with a half-grin. A fresh tentacle crawled over his shoulder and walked its way down his chest. The beast plucked the invasive noodle and crushed it, drawing a yelp from Phil. He slurped it back into his bloated mass and whimpered like a scolded dog. Moments later, a new tentacle slithered over Gamon’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “So,” Ross said from the airlock. “Just throwing this out there. We captured an active member of the Suth’ra Society, which I’m pretty sure is unprecedented. Ergo ... he would fetch a handsome sum on the black market. Just saying.”

  Perra responded with a stupefied gaze. “You want to sell him?”

  “Nooo, no, no …” Ross paused to read the room, then cocked an ear back. “Yes.”

  Perra tossed her arms into the air and cackled with irony, as if to call it quits on the entire plot. She sauntered over to Frank with hands at her waist. “So there you have it. The brainsack wants to fondle you and the cat wants to sell you into slavery. Would you like to know what’s behind door number three?” Her unhinged demeanor sent chills down Frank’s four spines.

  “Sweetie,” Zoey said. “Maybe we should—”

  “Don’t sweetie me,” Perra said. “Are you not listening? This is dangerous territory, both morally and ethically. Are you seriously considering—”

  “Considering?” Zoey took a firm step forward. “I’m not considering a goddamn thing. This fucker is a kidnapper out to murder your friend. That is worthy of consideration first and foremost.”

  Perra crossed her arms and hardened her gaze. “Do you not think I know that?”

  “Well, considering your colorful outburst, I would hope you—”

  “Stop!” Max said, sending a booming echo around the cavern. “Just, stop.”

  Perra bowed her head and looked away.

  Zoey frowned and grasped her shoulder.

  Max gathered his wits, lifted from the rock, and stomped over to Frank. He loomed over the creature with balled fists, panting with anger. “I haven’t done anything to you! What the hell do you want from me?!”

  All eight eyes focused on the Earthling.

  Max spread his arms. “Well?”

  Frank grinned. “Jerry, do you read?”

  “Loud and clear, buddy.”

  “Now!”

  A forked tongue shot from his mouth and wrapped itself around Max. He yanked the human to his lap as ribbons of light swirled around their bodies. With a blinding flash, they disappeared into nothingness.

  CHAPTER 9

  A wash of static crackled and faded, leaving the cave to the dull roar of the waterfall. Zoey, Perra, and Gamon gawked at the empty boulder Frank had sat upon moments earlier, their taut faces conveying multiple renditions of shock. Ross and Steve glanced at each other in a rare moment of mutual fluster. Phil continued his study of everything Gamon, as if nothing had happened.

  “What the actual fuck?!” Zoey said, adding
open arms for emphasis.

  Everyone spun to Phil, who froze with the sudden influx of attention. He retracted all tentacles and cleared his throat (or whatever constituted a throat).

  Perra whipped her eyes back and forth between Phil and the empty rock. “Where the hell did they go?”

  Phil tilted a bit. “I figured that would be obvious.”

  Perra replied with a puckered expression that screamed bite me, brainsack.

  Gamon returned to his slack-jawed study of the small boulder.

  Ross leapt down from the airlock and trotted towards the group. “The Suth’ra have their prize. The only question now is, what—” Phil snatched Ross from the ground with a fresh tentacle and resumed his multi-handed petting. Ross grimaced and shook his head. “—what are we going to do about it?”

  Zoey cupped her face with both hands and raked them through her choppy black hair. “The whole damn point of the Suth’ra Society is to remain hidden. These wackadoos go to extraordinary lengths to conceal their whereabouts. How can we track the untrackable?”

  Gamon raised his hand. “Leave that to me.”

  * * *

  Max awoke on a filthy sofa inside a discotheque filled with strobe lights, thumping music, and scantily clad aliens. It took him a moment to realize that this particular disco was, in fact, underwater. Or at the very least, the place was submerged in a pinkish liquid that Max could only assume was colored water. Panic set in for a split second, which his brain remedied after noticing it had unrestricted access to a pair of functioning gills. He glanced down at the rest of his body, still human, but all decked out in disco-era attire that made one question the wisdom of humanity. A flashy getup stretched from his feathered hair down to platform shoes. The entire ensemble looked as if a unicorn had puked on a velvet blanket.

  Vibrant humanoids danced, mingled, and shouted over obnoxious music. Bright cocktails swished and swayed as if reacting to the familiar physics of air. A constant fizz of tiny bubbles lifted from every crack in the backlit floor. Max followed random orbs as they zigzagged up to the ceiling and disappeared. Drunken aliens in skimpy outfits danced upon elevated platforms with pulsing lights. They flailed to a synthesized beat supplied by a multi-headed DJ bobbing inside a cage of hologram turntables. One head pumped the crowd while another worked the console. The remaining six reveled in the chaos they created.

  Max turned a waterlogged gaze to find a slender yellow creature standing beside the couch, resembling a stroked-out banana with crabby eyes.

  “Oi!” the creature said at the top of its gills, causing Max to flinch. “Ew muss be that Earthly fella! A bally pleasure to meet ye!” It extended an arm stick with a brushy hand.

  Max gripped the appendage, like squeezing a handful of dry spaghetti, only underwater. “He—hello.”

  The critter plopped onto the couch beside him, rippling the cushions and sending Max floating a few inches off the surface. “M’name Carl. N’you?”

  “Max.”

  “Ye know, my sheila friend said there was an Earthman comin’, but I dinna believe ‘er. But slap me doodle and kick me quibbles, ‘ere ye be!” His face stretched into a wide grin of gummy nubs, layered in rows like a toothless shark.

  Max responded with a puzzled stare as he floated back down to the cushion. “Are you Australian?”

  Carl laughed. “No Aussies here, mate.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing, then I ‘ave a guy who knows a guy.”

  “No, um ...” Max scrunched his face. “What?”

  “Ner’mind, mate, ner’mind.” Carl glanced around the room in embarrassment.

  Max’s brain, having conceded rational thought from the first strobe light, decided enough was enough. “Okay, hold up. How is it even possible that I can hear you? This whole place is submerged underwater, yet I can hear you crisp and clear, like we’re chilling on a park bench.”

  Carl chuckled and smacked Max on the back. “Oh mate, this ain’ water. It’s the liquefied membrane of—”

  “Stop. Just, stop. I don’t want to know.”

  Carl grinned and scooched closer. “Are ye swimmin’ in tha roo tog yet?”

  “The roo—what?”

  Carl fished a green pill from his pocket and handed it to Max. “Oi, drop this ‘ere on ye licker, count to ten, and thank me on the other side.”

  Max hesitated for a just-say-no second, then rolled his eyes, nabbed the pill, and placed it on his tongue. A nubby grin stretched across Carl’s yellow face before melting into rainbows under an onslaught of psychedelic insanity. Hard lines morphed into wavy squiggles. Liquid evaporated into fluffy clouds. Thumping beats transformed into the smooth stylings of Barry Whitefish (rimshot). Max floated away into whatever groovy void would have him.

  * * *

  Max awoke on a dry sofa with his body upright, open palms to either side, feet flat on the floor, and head flopped on the rear cushion (standard frat house pass-out position). Lips smacked to moisten a parched tongue. The cool air, some of the cleanest he had ever tasted, came as a welcome reprieve. No gills or rave music, just a calm oxygen-rich environment. He opened his eyes to a dim pane of tarnished metal a few meters above the couch. Max decided to stare at the ceiling for a little while, a needed mental break before assessing the lunacy of the new predicament. An orb of soft light floated through his peripherals, detached and hovering just below the roof. A handful of orbs wandered the room like glowing soap bubbles. They bounced off walls and each other like a slow-motion pinball machine.

  The creaks and clanks of whatever space he occupied needled a throbbing headache. Max lifted from the cushion and slumped forward, resting elbows on knees. Limp hands rubbed tired eyes and smoothed down a chaotic hairdo. He took time to admire the sofa, a tobacco leather chesterfield with high back and bronze rivets. Roaming eyes surveyed the room, a large metal box with no windows, a single door, and a slender yellow creature sitting in a folding chair. Max recoiled at the sight, then sighed with annoyance.

  The creature stared at him with a composed demeanor. A set of eyestalks lifted from a domed head, rigid yet calm. Its fishy mouth frowned with an almost comical downturn, disposing of any intended menace. Slender arms and legs folded atop each other with the poise of a therapist about to dish out some uncomfortable truths.

  “Greetings, Earthling,” the creature said with a touch of arrogance.

  “Hey, Carl.”

  The creature flinched and shifted his eyes. His rickety chair squeaked upon the floor as he struggled to regain a threatening presence.

  Max glanced around the room again, then back to Carl. “Did you know that your smarty club is an actual club in another universe?”

  Carl opened his mouth to respond, then clamped it shut in total bemusement.

  Max clued into the fact that his body and clothes were clean. All mud had disappeared, leaving his skin nourished and garments fragrant. An armpit sniff, now minty fresh, left him with an uncomfortable sense of personal violation. He turned a miffed gaze to Carl. “Did you—ugh, do I even want to know?”

  Carl shook his head.

  Max fell back into the sofa and crossed his arms.

  “Do you know where you are, Earthman?” Carl said, conjuring a ghoulish baritone.

  “Somewhere on a Suth’ra station, I suppose.”

  Carl flinched and stammered, then recomposed himself. “The Suth’ra are a—”

  “A bunch of super-smart alien nerds,” Max said like a wiseass. “I know who you are, goober. The question is, what do you want from me?”

  Carl huffed as if the human had insulted his wife. (Not that any members had spouses. Wanted? Sure. Had? Not a chance. Their legendary ineptitudes relegated courtship to the elusive realms of social competence.) Carl glared at an insolent Max before throwing in the towel. “Rutherford,” he said with an uptick, as if to summon a snooty butler.

  The door squeaked open, allowing a skinny robot to race inside. It stood a meter high with a large rou
nd head atop a brittle frame. The poor machine struggled with a top-heavy clumsiness, like a grapefruit stuck to a coat hanger. It slid to a stop and stiffened its gate. “Yes, Master Carl?”

  “Please escort our guest to the Chamber of Fear.”

  Max lifted an eyebrow.

  The robot’s big red eye looked Max up and down, then turned back to Carl. “The subject is somewhat attractive, do you think it will work?”

  “Of course it will work,” Carl said. “No one can resist the Chamber’s brain-melting torment. The Earthman needs a proper reduction before the Final Verdict.”

  “As you wish.” The robot turned to Max and gestured to the door, the universal sign for let’s go, asshole.

  Max groaned as if commanded to take out the trash. He slapped the couch with both palms and climbed to his feet with a series of petulant gestures. Rutherford turned for the door with the human trudging behind. Carl smirked as he passed, prompting Max to lunge at him. The creature yipped with fright, jerked away, and tumbled out of his chair. Max chuckled like a pompous prick as Carl scrambled to regain some composure. For a split second, Max saw the appeal of bullying, then felt like a complete dick.

  * * *

  The tiny freighter crept through the waterfall and into a sunlit ravine. Hull thrusters rippled the river as the vessel climbed into the air and kicked towards the landing valley. Zoey and Perra studied the landscape with Ross in Perra’s lap and Steve perched on Zoey’s headrest. Gamon occupied most of the area behind the pilot seats, making one question how he managed to squeeze into the cockpit. They observed in restive silence, as if someone had cracked a tasteless joke without reading the room first. The vessel sailed over a steep hill, approaching the original landing site.

  Gamon pointed to the valley edge. “He landed behind a large outcrop over there.”

  “Got it,” Zoey said and steered the ship in said direction.

  “There it is,” Perra said, pointing off to the side.