Ross groaned, sighed, and grumbled in pursuit.
The airlock slid shut after Ross leapt into the cargo bay. Zoey and Perra toweled themselves off before slipping into the cockpit. Ross rubbed his body against rope netting and cargo boxes, spreading around as much of the snotty slime as he could. Max cleaned himself to a reasonable degree and joined the ladies upfront. Steve clucked into the cockpit and flapped up to Zoey’s headrest. Ross joined them a short time later and settled into Perra’s lap.
“Avengers assemble,” Max said with a cheeky grin.
Perra turned a confused gaze to the human.
“Sorry, just a saying from back home.”
“DC for life,” Steve said, fanning his wings.
Max scoffed at the snoodlecock. “Wait, how the hell do you know about Earth comics?”
“Comics are quite popular on Yankar. We import them from all over the Virgo Supercluster. DC, Marvel, Kaiquon, Gorbox, Liplarp, you name it. I favored DC growing up.”
Max huffed and rolled his eyes. “Lemme guess, you’re a Batman bird.”
Steve sputtered. “Fuck that billionaire bitchface.”
“That escalated quickly,” Zoey said under her breath.
Steve spread his wings like a bow and arrow. “I’m an Arrow-Head all the way.”
“What?” Max erupted with a mocking laugh. “Of all the superheroes you could choose from, you pick the archer?”
“Says the Marvel fan.” Steve huffed in disgust. “Oh look, we’ll pair an abducted human with a raccoon and a dumb tree. How utterly captivating.”
“I repeat, you considered all the available superheroes, and picked the archer! You may as well read the gallant tales of Shaquille O’Neal. Oh wait, DC already made that movie. Remember Steel? They should have called it Steal Any Respect for DC Comics.”
“Fuck off, X-boy!”
“Bite me, Condor!”
“Guys!” Ross said, commanding the space. “We just left the nerdiest place in the entire universe. Can we save the geek-off for another time?”
“Second,” Perra said.
“DC sucks,” Zoey said, igniting a Steve tantrum.
The snoodlecock rage-flapped around the cockpit while clucking insults and shedding feathers. Ross hissed as Perra dodged the ruckus. Max cowered behind her pilot chair and swatted the open air as if a wasp had found its way inside.
“Truce! Truce!” Zoey said while laughing.
Steve returned to the headrest and glared at the back of her head.
The group took a quick breather to gather their wits.
“Yankar of Perseus, right?” Zoey said to Steve.
“Affirmative.”
Perra tapped the request into the console, which pinged and lifted a hologram star map. A red line zigzagged from Phil’s Place to Yankar, leaving blinking dots as jump points. Perra studied the readout and ran a quick calculation. “It’s a dozen jumps away, which we can do in just under a poch.”
“Sounds good to me. We should—ouch!” Zoey grabbed the back of her head and spun to Steve, who chewed on a tuft of plucked hairs.
“Or,” Perra said, “we can burn through our reserves and make it in half that time.”
“Or,” Zoey said, “we can just eat Steve and go wherever the hell we want.”
“Or,” Phil said through telepathy, “you can leave him here with me.”
Steve flinched and spat the hairs from his mouth. “Plan A, please.”
“Dumb chicken,” Ross said from Perra’s lap.
Steve jerked his head towards the feline. “Silly puss.”
Ross hissed.
Steve growled.
“Knock it off!” Perra said with a loud clap.
“I’ll gladly take both of them,” Phil said, channeling the voice of a serial killer.
The cabin fell into an uncomfortable silence.
“Soooo, half a poch then?” Max said.
“Sounds good,” Steve said.
“Same here,” Ross said.
Zoey smirked and turned to Perra. “Status?”
“Everything online. Good to go.”
“Gravy.”
Zoey dropped a fist onto the thrusters icon, spilling blue flames from beneath the hull. The ship lifted into a hover, curling ribbons of dust over the viewport. Perra stabilized the vessel as Zoey slid a palm up the console, igniting the main engines. She gripped the yoke gave it a push, jolting the freighter forward. Landing claws retracted as the ship climbed skyward. It punched through the atmosphere and sailed into the blackness of space. Swirling banks of purple gas hung in the emptiness, like sheets of psychedelic steam. The vessel floated by a final red ring and pitched towards the first jump point.
“Locked and loaded?” Zoey said.
“Ready when you are, lover,” Perra said.
“Mistress.”
“Sexpot.”
“Sex-pot is what you are.”
They snickered as Zoey thumped the jump icon.
“Farewell, touchies!” Phil said as the freighter vanished into a sliver of purple light.
CHAPTER 16
For the next several days, the tiny freighter jumped its way towards Steve’s homeworld of Yankar, a large rocky planet on the outskirts of the Perseus-Pisces Supercluster. When visiting Yankar for the first time, it helped to devise an appropriate expectation. The planet was a lush paradise from pole to pole with some of the most fantastic flora and fauna in the universe. Several trees reached as high as an Earth mile with trunks spanning a full city block. Creatures as tall as skyscrapers roamed the landscape, but luckily for locals, few were carnivorous. The meat-eaters that prowled the planet were often puny by comparison and posed little threat. Most were humanoid and spent the majority of their time in elevated cityscapes. These included the Yarnwals, a distinct race known for their ability to shift consciousness with lesser life forms.
The average Yarnwal resembled an armor-plated bear, if it stood on its hind legs and wore pants all day. Their jaws were wide and elongated, giving them a reptilian presence. Colors varied, although most adhered to a reddish-brown hue. While fearsome to the eye, the race enjoyed a peaceful co-existence. Tribes intermingled across the planet and the overabundance of food kept tensions at bay. This allowed the species to progress at an unprecedented rate. In fact, the Yarnwals were one of the first species in the entire universe to achieve space travel and their exploration feats stretched back for billions of years.
Consciousness shifting served as the primary reason for their remarkable expedition streak. Should a planet prove biologically hostile, they could shift into the local life forms and explore at their leisure. The host creature continued to exist in a paused state and reclaimed their body when the Yarnwal completed their mission (or got bored and leapt to another creature). When a Yarnwal shifted, the original shell persisted in a vegetative state until the owner returned. The brain continued to control biological functions, but ceased having any thinky thoughts.
Over millions of years of trial and error, the Yarnwals decided that the best course of action was to shift before leaving Yankar. Ships departed the planet with a diverse payload of creatures, allowing them to shift at their leisure without having to manage a meat sack like a burdensome piece of luggage. This strategy protected the original shell from harm should something happen to the owner. And should an owner fail to return after a designated time, the shell went into the open market for any Yarnwal in need of an upgrade. The exchange proved so effective that many relinquished ownership altogether. They roamed for as long as they wanted, then shifted into a younger shell whenever they returned. But unfortunately for friends and family, it was difficult to tell which Yarnwal occupied which body at any given time (which also gave rise to some truly tasteless practical jokes).
In order to manage all the flagrant body swapping, the Yarnwals constructed storage centers where owners could dump their meat and be on their merry way. The hangars offered long-term, short-term, and donation services based on need. A co
mplex ranking system established desirability should a body become eligible for auction. Some of the most enthralling social activities in Yarnwal culture involved the Auction Shuffle, where residents traded up for reckless fun and erotic role play.
Steve had opted for long-term storage. After a nasty breakup with his girlfriend, he set off to wander the black. He jumped from body to body, planet to planet, and galaxy to galaxy without ever escaping his sorrow. His nomadic jaunt eventually brought him to the Durangoni Station of Leo where he found cheap thrills by inhabiting a humanoid lizard species. While not the most intelligent reptiles in the ‘verse, they did control a powerful mob sect. They partied hard, indulged vices, and ate their food alive and whole (a favorite being snoodlecocks). After one particularly grueling bender, he found himself in bed with the boss’s daughter. Henchmen burst into the bedroom suite and captured Steve while the daughter pleaded for mercy. As they dragged him through the kitchen, he shifted into an uneaten snoodlecock and made a daring escape. On the way out, he bumped into an Earth human, a cyborg cat, and two Mulgawats in the middle of their own hasty exit.
Shenanigans ensued.
After a rousing adventure with blundering nerds and a handsy brainsack, Steve occupied a tiny freighter on his way back to Yankar, having played a minor yet significant role in the rescue of a new friend. For the first time since leaving home, his mind eased with a newfound contentment. The self-pity had waned, leaving him to focus on more relevant things, like pecking at random bits that caught his attention (an involuntary imperative of the body he occupied). After all, there were still several jumps left before arrival and he needed some mindless distraction.
A successful jump meant prepping for the next as the drive cooled, which kept Zoey and Perra busy for the most part. Zoey adjusted course and monitored beacon scanners while Perra maintained systems and tended to the ship as needed. The pair functioned as a well-oiled unit, much to the delight of the Precious Cargo Delivery Service. Despite the recent setbacks, The Omen continued her reign as the single greatest courier to have ever lived.
Max, on the other hand, had several days to deal with shifting misadventures. The first of many anomalies saw his asshole switch to his elbow. As a Tarantino fan, he found this beyond hilarious. That is, until it came time to use it. Pinching a loaf through an arm anus proved less than ideal, especially when considering the proximity to eyes and nose. Holding in a stubborn turd involved stretching a rigid arm overhead (not the most subtle of gestures). Farting faux pas proved somewhat tiresome, as involuntary squeakers could escape with any sudden movement. All things considered, he did appreciate the chest-level toilets.
The next day, Max awoke blue. Not in a sad way mind you, but as the actual color blue. Specifically, a deeper shade of cornflower. Everywhere he looked, all he found was an unbroken plane of cornflower blue. No shapes, no walls, no horizon, just blue. Inhabiting a color may seem like a vexing conundrum, but Max had long grown accustomed to strange occurrences in his uniquely weird life. This shift was more perplexing than anything. He could sense his arms and legs, but when he lifted them to examine, all he saw was a blank canvas of cornflower blue. Force and gravity played no roles either, as he couldn’t feel any hard surfaces. He tried to run, but his legs flailed inside a limitless void, which of course he couldn’t see. He tried to strike himself, but his fist whizzed into one cheek and out the other. He could yell and feel his vocal cords vibrating, but nothing returned to his ears. His body floated inside a soundless vacuum as an incorporeal nothing. He was, for all intents and purposes, blue. And he remained that way until the next bout of sleep took him.
The next day, Max stayed in his guest cabin. While this decision usually involved some sort of anti-social pouting, this instance involved the very real threat of an untimely death. Max had begun his day with a simple hygiene ritual that concluded with a fresh set of duds. When he opened the door to get some breakfast, he stared into the bloodshot eyes of an ostrich-sized Steve. A flap, shriek, and twitching red eyeball confirmed that Max wanted nothing to do with this day. He locked himself inside the guest cabin and satisfied his hunger with a stash of snacks he had collected for just such an occasion.
On the fourth day, the day of arrival, nothing seemed amiss. Max completed his waking routine, this time without the undue threat of a giant fowl beast. He enjoyed a proper breakfast, spent some time reading his hologram ebook, and even managed to tidy up the cargo bay. What he didn’t know was that his new world lacked Bob Dylan, who had met his demise in a tragic lawn mowing accident as a child. The lack of poignant protest music caused the societies of Earth to descend into warring chaos, resulting in a nuclear Armageddon that wiped out most life on the planet. Max was one of a few hundred people to escape when the Milky Way Federation of Planets decided to intervene in order to save the species. He spent most of his childhood hopping between Federation outposts before returning to his home system and settling on Europa.
The tiny freighter blinked out of hyperspace just above Steve’s homeworld of Yankar. Max swallowed and cleared his throat to combat a brief bout of post-jump queasiness. He unbuckled from his guest room seat and kicked the chair back into the wall. It floated into place with a muted latch, restoring a smooth plane of gray. A swift tug straightened the wrinkles from his jacket as he strolled into the cargo bay. Ross lifted into an arched stretch, then dropped from the bed and followed.
“Yo, come check this out,” Zoey said from the cockpit.
Max and Ross pushed through the narrow corridor and into the front cabin where Zoey and Perra leaned forward in their pilot chairs. Steve perched atop the chirping console, gazing out the panoramic viewport. Ross leapt into Perra’s lap and parkoured his way up to her headrest. Max’s jaw slacked open as the vista greeted his eyes.
A massive dome of blues and greens stretched across the viewport. The planet’s jungle canopy reached high into the atmosphere, giving the surface an almost furry appearance. Banks of white clouds peppered the planet, several shaded gray as they dumped their bounties of rain. An enormous river system snaked across the landscape, entwining the orb under a web of cobalt blue. A pair of giant moons, also rich and lush, drifted around their colossal parent. The upper orbit teemed with ships, everything from leisure crafts to battlecruisers, all choreographed by a sophisticated traffic controller. Several stations floated in the black, reflecting sunlight off their silvery exteriors. The system churned with spacefaring activity, despite the contrast of a luscious mural beneath it.
“Wow,” Max said. “It’s like the Amazon on steroids.”
“Before the war,” Ross said with a touch of grief.
Max turned a puzzled gaze to Ross, who appeared dour for once in his life. His curiosity withered in favor of blissful ignorance.
“Now this is a pleasant surprise,” Perra said, reading a hologram panel of info. “Yankar has no official language. Yarnwals are primarily explorers, so they speak whatever language is spoken. In other words, we don’t have to infuse anything. They just know how to talk to everybody.”
“Correct,” Steve said. “We are proud communicators. Our species places a heavy emphasis on—” His undivided attention shifted to a smudge on the viewport. He ogled it with contempt and started pecking the glass, sending sharp tinks around the cabin.
Zoey rolled her eyes, nabbed him from the viewport sill, and dropped him back on her headrest. “The sooner we get you to your body, the better. Your bird-brain attention span is grating on my nerves.”
“Agreed,” Steve said, then flapped for balance.
The comlink crackled with an incoming feed, filling the cockpit with static before softening to the pleasant voice of a cruise ship director. “Greetings, visitors. Please prepare for a holographic transmission.” Soon after, the bust of a spotted gecko bear formed above the console, donning a sharp suit and silky scarf. “Hello, friends. My name is Farina Altonyn, Yankar Ambassador. On behalf of the Yarnwal, let me be the first to welcome you to Yankar.”
> “Holy shit, it’s a woman,” Ross said, cocking his ears.
“That’s sexist,” Max said.
“Bite me, skin job.”
“That’s humanist.”
Ross started to respond, but sighed and shook his head.
“There are numerous ports to choose from, both in orbit and on the surface,” the recording said. A hologram map of planetary traffic replaced Farina, identifying several points of entry. “Our port authority has fed all necessary autopilot data into your navigation system. Yankar is a non-zarking planet, so please slaughter any zarklings before arrival. All stations offer drinks, snacks, and guest services. Should you require further assistance, feel free to consult any uniformed personnel upon landing.” The map switched back to smiling Farina. “We hope you enjoy your stay.”
“My storage facility is located at the northernmost port. Gangan, if I recall correctly.”
“Got it,” Perra said as she scrolled through a list of ports. She tapped the station name, which blinked and expanded into a panel of services. The console pinged and projected a trajectory upon the viewport.
Steve flapped and clucked with excitement.
Zoey smiled and gripped the yoke. “Let’s get you home, buddy.”
The ship kicked forward with a burst of light. As they neared the upper pole, Zoey pitched the nose and punched through the atmosphere, leaving a trail of yellow flame in their wake. The rumbles of entry faded into a gentle hum as the vessel glided down to the surface and sailed above the vibrant junglescape. Ribbons of white exhaust spilled from the rear engines, connecting clouds like a needle through fabric. The group marveled at massive trees with birch-like bark climbing a mile above the surface. Broad leaves the size of buses clung to every branch. Mossy vines hung from the canopy and disappeared into the thick vegetation far below. Massive rivers split the land like watery fissures, reflecting light from a giant blue star shining above the horizon. Flocks of winged creatures soared over open valleys where herds of lumbering beasts drank from river basins.
Max and the Snoodlecock Page 16