Sour Notes

by Todd C Wilson

  The two proceeded to swap hospital war stories while I kept my mouth shut and stared at my cards. The doctors said wrapping Bob in my coat had made all the difference, but from what I gathered it had been touch and go there for a while. Everyone kept calling me a hero, but the simple fact was if it wasn’t for me, Bob would’ve never been there in the first place. A fact I was continually reminded of each time I saw Bob in her tank being pushed around the hospital corridors.

  Dh’oug, on the other hand, wasn’t being pushed around anywhere. He wasn’t doing much of anything to be honest, other than screaming randomly and twitching. The docs couldn’t get a handle on how to stop it, and I wasn’t giving them any hints. Araimer had a good idea what I had done, but as far as I knew he was keeping it to himself, anonymous tip line and all that. He did let me know the investigation into Wicked Yellow production was ongoing, the drugs found with Dh’oug the last of batch fifty-one. A bigger mystery was where Dh’oug’s money had gone, the disgraced reporter found surrounded by plastic envelopes and not much else. All I can say is that I had a new piece of luggage and both Bob’s and Araimer’s hospital bills were paid in full.

  Professor Chiezis seemed certain that Holmium Oxide would no longer be a problem, the element not naturally occurring in our section of the galaxy. Whatever that meant. I’m not a geochemist. Space, I can barely spell the word. I was just glad whatever was left was under lock and key in the police Impound Unit, labeled biohazard and triple-sealed behind vault doors.

  Channel 99 for all intents and purposes had ceased to exist, employees jumping ship the first chance they got. Viphres Nechun was no longer an up-and coming-ace reporter. Instead, she was now working the talk show circuit and speaking out about clandestine government operations, the so-called Special Branch that everyone kept denying existed. Agent Gopher, by contrast, had started a podcast about the life and times of an undercover intern. Last I heard he had a book deal forthcoming, along with a possible holovid series. Good for him. Maybe he wasn’t so useless after all.

  As for the nightly news, well, they were making it up as they went along like they always do. I finally stopped watching after three days of ice cream and synthale therapy, figuring my body had endured enough punishment. Instead, I took up visiting the hospital and hanging out with Araimer and Uavoo, spending time with Bob and generally making a nuisance of myself.

  The nurse returned with a bag of something clear, hooking it up a hose connected to Bob’s tank and starting a pump. The room filled with the smell of salted fish and mango.

  “Stars above, are they giving you caff?” I said in shock, almost dropping my cards.

  “Oh, is that what it is?” Bob said in a fake surprised voice. “It was supposed to be banyam pudding. I wonder how that happened.” The nurse unhooked the bag and took off in a huff, muttering something about incompetent doctors and unreadable handwriting.

  “Uavoo is a bad influence on you,” I said.

  “He’s not the only one,” Araimer shrilled, giving me a pointed look. I took the high ground and ignored him.

  Another nurse came in, this time with a bag for Araimer. He shifted around and complained as he was plugged into it. “I hate this stuff, makes my outside nostrils all itchy.”

  “Which implies you have inside nostrils?” I asked, fascinated despite myself.

  “Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”

  I was spared answering by Uavoo returning, the shucked turtle not alone.

  “Look hooz I found!” he said proudly, ushering in a green blob with a porn star mustache and questionable taste in shirts.

  “Huboberplaph!” I exclaimed, standing up and dumping my cards on the floor. “When did you get here?” I grabbed the green blob in a hug and squeezed, Huboberplaph going all squishy on me.

  “They dug me out this morning. I think I scared the workers. One of them turned purple and fainted. Is this a typical human greeting? Is there a set protocol? Am I supposed to squeeze back?”

  I let go and sniffed, and then sniffed again. “Why do you smell like kimchi?” I said suspiciously, giving him the stink eye.

  “I was hungry,” Huboberplaph said apologetically. “I was down there a long time.”

  I let it go. Too much had happened in the last three weeks for me to get upset over peanuts, kimchi flavored or not. I turned to Bob and said, “Bob, this is Huboberplaph. Huboberplaph, Bob. I think you two might know each other.”

  The two blobs looked each other over, pseudopods gently touching. “Oh my. Mother will be pleased,” Huboberplaph said.

  “We have a mother?” Bob squealed, sloshing in her tank. “I didn’t know! Jazz, I have a mother!” She looked at Huboberplaph. “And a brother! A whole family!”

  I picked up my cards and sat back down. Of course, Bob would be excited. Who wouldn’t be? I idly flicked through the plastic-coated squares, looking at the images but not really. In my mind’s eye I could picture the last time I saw Mom, bag in one hand and boarding ticket in the other. Would I be happy if she came back into my life, disrupting what I had built up? Mom with all her goofy stories and wild ideas, always looking for the next easy con. I hadn’t heard from her in years, both of us just sort of ignoring each other. I had always assumed that she’d just show up one day, knocking on my door and looking for a place to stay. Pretending the intervening years never happened, asking where I kept the hooch. Thanks to The Event and Dh’oug killing everyone capable of fixing it, I wondered if I’d ever see her again. The upside was that I didn’t have to worry about local law enforcement asking uncomfortable questions.

  I shook myself and looked around. Huboberplaph and Bob were burbling away at each other in blob-speak, Uavoo and Araimer discussing which kind of lock was best. I smiled to myself. Just a little. Don’t want to make it a habit, of course.

  I grabbed the rest of the deck from off Araimer’s bed and shuffled the moons, stars and galaxies in my hands. “Okay, enough chitchat. Who wants to play cards?” I said, patting a pocket containing some of the credit chips from my new-found luggage. They jingled together nicely.

  “I feel... Lucky.”

  ###

  Thank you for reading Sour Notes by Todd C. Wilson. If you liked the story, please leave a review. Would you like to know when the next book in the Xeno City series comes out? Sign up here

  About The Author

  TODD WILSON IS A WRITER and lover of science fiction, especially when mixed with a bit of science fact. When not researching the latest in scientific breakthroughs and how they can be used to get his characters into trouble, he likes to spend time in his Columbus, Ohio, workshop turning perfectly good pieces of wood into sawdust and occasionally a nice box. Face the Music was his debut novella, set within the Jazz Singer and Xeno City universe.

  Books by The Author

  XENO CITY BLUES NOVELLA SERIES

  Face the Music

  Sour Notes

  Even the Score

  Chamber Music