Milky Way Marmalade

by Mike DiCerto

  It was frigging claustrophobic.

  Poe 33 recited from his own experience records. “A cosmic box, indeed. Cold storage. A closet, of sorts, carved into a hyper-dimension and used for the safekeeping of a planet."

  Or as a prison was Caffrey's more sobering thought.

  Yin needed information. “How did we wind up here? What happened to following Haptiwoo into the dimension of Nefarious?"

  "We weren't allowed in,” Caffrey sighed. “He refused our entry. So, he spun the wheel, so to speak, and sent us on our way."

  "Nefarious Wretch spoke to you?” Poe 33 asked with a tinge of both envy and disgust.

  "He did."

  "Master,” Yin piped, taking Caffrey aside, “do you see why Violet and I had to recruit you on this quest?"

  "No,” Caffrey snapped tersely. “And drop the cute tail-wagging and whimpering from now on. I would never have pegged you as such an underhanded mutt."

  Yin wasn't easily discouraged. “They speak to you. The L'Orange. Nefarious. Both have communicated directly with your mind. A mind they obviously either fear or admire."

  But Caffrey wasn't easily influenced. “Yin, if my mind impresses or scares the wisest and most powerful beings in the galaxy, then creation is certainly doomed."

  "Don't underestimate yourself, Caffrey,” Violet advised softly.

  A heavy sigh sounded, and all heads turned to Poe 33, who sat at the dining table wearing a soft expression of inner sadness. A smile found its way out of the dark jungle of his emotions as he lifted the peppermill from the spice slot. He began addressing the chrome container with warmth and sincerity.

  "I feel as I am sure you have felt when the last of your tiny but pungent black spheres have been ground and drifted from your body like a charcoal snow. Empty. Detached. I had hopes that the discovery of the scrambler would explain my loss. Then, I was certain the replacement of my lost chip would provide an instant linking back to my grand Master. It hasn't. I feel as though I am alone forever. Perhaps we can leave, together, and seek fame and fortune amongst the stars."

  "For the love of shoes,” Yin mumbled.

  "Nonsense, Poe!” roared Greppledick, pounding his hand on the table. “It is a mere bump in the road!"

  Poe 33 sent an evil, fish-eyed glare to his maker. “You don't care. Stop pretending you do!"

  "Don't shout at your father, you blue-assed, melodramatic egophile!"

  "Would you two mind holding your therapy session elsewhere? We've an entire galaxy falling apart out there,” Caffrey reminded them. “Angie, run a scan on the atmosphere of this planet. Do a general surface inspection as well."

  In a matter of a small part of a second Angie reported her findings. “The atmosphere is close enough to your home world, minus, of course, the fluorocarbons, factory-spouted filth and other assorted breathable pornography, for you to breathe. There is a small population of what can be categorized as the hybrid species Homosapianus termitidae odobenus rosarus."

  "In Plethorian standard, Angie,” requested Greppledick.

  "Termite Walrus People,” Caffrey translated.

  "...And there are huge sculptures. Forests of gigantic faces peering into the sky, some a kilometer long, dotting the surface. Like giant, exotic sand castles,” Angie concluded her report.

  "Interesting,” said Caffrey, taking a seat in the cockpit, “We'll land and have a look around. And, Angie—Hendrix. ‘Castles Made of Sand,’ in keeping with the mood."

  Greppledick yawned. “I'll stay here with Poe. See if I can adjust some sense into him."

  In moments, The Moby Dick was streaking five kilometers above the surface. Greppledick and Poe argued, rather vehemently, whether the planet below was mocha caramel brown in color or, as Poe felt, a more potato russet in hue. Violet was trying to contact someone, anyone, on the G.S.; and Angie hovered near, dropping little critiques of the effort's futility. Yin scratched incessantly at the same spot behind his ear, mumbling how he swore his left tympanic membrane had not been re-inverted during the last Moebius trip.

  Caffrey ignored it all, lost in the work of James Marshall Hendrix, which filled the cabin like liquid, breathable sex. As he rode the song across barren landscapes, the undulating hills and dales fell past his field of vision on the waves of music. The world below became more atypical as the bland stretches of dirt and sand made way for stone roadways, wide, walled-in courts of brown and red brick and mounds of sand and soil. Huge mounds.

  Caffrey, deciding he was coming closer to the inhabited regions, took The Moby Dick down to what was known by spacecraft pilots galaxy-wide as rubber redneck altitude1.

  Huge faces came into view suddenly, and he slowed the ship down to fully appreciate the spectacle. Molded from the very material of the planet, they stared skywards. Although all were variations of the same theme (quasi-humanoid), each countenance's eye expression, mouth, ears, nose or chin had a distinct personality. Face after face passed beneath the craft, each a minimum of half a kilometer wide and a kilometer from tip of head to tip of chin. The Moby Dick passed hundreds upon hundreds, until finally the craft came to hover above a partially carved mound of fresh soil. Figures, worm-like and elephant-sized, scattered in slow motion, taking shelter in holes dotted about the area.

  "I suppose those are the Termite Walrus People. I'm going to land here."

  "Preparing landing sequence!"

  Caffrey looked up. “Preparing what?"

  "The landing sequence,” Angie repeated, as if Caffrey were hard of hearing.

  "Since when? You never said that before. What landing sequence?"

  "I have numerous electronic tasks to perform to ensure a safe and efficient landing. I just never actually announced it before,” responded Angie primly.

  "I'll be ... I always assumed I just took the old girl down,” Caffrey confided, maneuvering the craft to the surface.

  "Trust me, my solo delusional spring roll, you don't."

  The Moby Dick descended, arriving with a gentle bump.

  "Nice landing, Caffrey,” Violet said, loud enough to be interpreted as petty.

  "Nice outfit,” Angie complimented sickening-sweetly to Violet. “What happened, they run out of material when they got to your maternal input port?"

  "You must mean my belly button,” Violet smirked and sauntered to the exit, adjusting her holster so as to reveal a little more skin. “I forgot—you're not very familiar with female anatomy."

  "Nice landing assist, Angie,” offered Poe 33 softly.

  "Thank you, Poe. Somebody is a gentleman,” Angie replied, attention firmly locked on her infuriation variable. She whispered to herself, “We'll see how familiar I am."

  * * * *

  The Moby Dick rested on a stretch of road coated in thick dried mud. Caffrey, Violet and Yin walked silently for a few minutes, circling the base of the gigantic mound of soil, trying to peer into the dark holes dotted around the perimeter. On the western side of the hill, the early stages of detailing had begun, as the cheekbone and corner of a mouth were clearly evident.

  "They are apparently a race of shy buggers,” Yin said as he watched a relatively brave native peek out from one of the holes.

  "We'll be patient. Give them a few moments to sniff us out.” Caffrey suggested, taking a seat on a rock and folding his arms in a relaxed fashion. He took a long gander at the carved structure. “What do you think this is about?"

  "They're humanoid faces,” Violet noted, rather obviously. “Looks like the same design style as that one near your home planet, Quark."

  "Which one's that?"

  Violet's fingers smoothed over her navel while she searched her memory. Caffrey watched carefully.

  "The red planet. I forget its name."

  "Mars. I've never been there."

  "I've been there,” said Yin, giving one of the holes a good sniff. “I was researching yodeling shrubbery. Mars is covered with it. Took a few excellent samples back to the university. Made quite a name for myself."

 
"That was in your pre-epaulet days, Yin,” reminded Caffrey.

  The little Bopple sighed. “My life held such promise."

  "You never did explain, Yin, my boy. How did you survive the fall into the zedfish-infested moat on Regal 9? And how in bloody hell did you end up on the shoulder of one of the galaxy's top gangsters?"

  "Long story, my good master. Long story."

  "Do tell,” Violet insisted.

  Yin cleared his throat and told the story.

  * * * *

  As feared, Yin had been swallowed whole by the giant zedfish mere seconds after falling into the moat. Having studied that particular species of fish during his days at university, the little Bopple was well aware of the internal layout of the giant fish. He recalled, as he slid down the digestive tract, that zedfish had an internal pocket called the tidiclorius sac, utilized in the wild to store feces until a proper place is found to dispose of the waste—zedfish are the neat freaks of the order Schindleria praematurus. Yin found the sac empty—zedfish living in a controlled environment tend to grow lazy and just dump where they eat—and filled with a rather generous supply of, relatively speaking, fresh air. He curled himself into the sac and pondered his fate.

  As the world of Regal 9 was sucked into the realm of Nefarious Wretch, serendipity patted both pooch and fish on their heads. A good-hearted but troubled escaped convict from the world of Shepedora had been making his way to freedom when he was witness to the disintegration of Regal 9. Concerned for possible survivors, the considerate Samaritan scanned the spiraling rubble and discovered three lifeforms—three zedfish still swimming in the grungy green water of the castle of Queen Kinkskin's moat, which was floating whole, like some oddly adorned asteroid, towards the event horizon. Working fast, he locked in on the fish and beamed them aboard his craft. He kept them alive in a makeshift aquarium made from a wire frame wrapped with a large sheet of latex—Shepedorians are big into latex2—and the fish swam in the cramped, but safe, environment for the next two weeks. Yin fed on undigested food and fish urine, his body held in the sac by a suction force he hadn't anticipated.

  Eventually, the escaped prisoner made it to his secret location on the lush subtropical beach on Oohn, far, far away in the Wequiri System. The fish were let out to swim free in the warm and lovely waters, where two would spawn and live happily for many a year. The third, the zedfish containing the little Bopple in its gut, would suffer a very different fate.

  The planet Hhhi is noted for Lake Prior, which is much like Loch Ness on Earth. Lake Prior is home to a monster—a monster with the capacity to reach into other temporal branches and feed upon whatever happens by. Breaking through the walls of time and space and temporally trolling around on planet Oohn, the monster of Lake Prior drooled on detecting the scent of the giant zedfish. In a single gobble, the monster violated the peaceful ocean of Oohn and had the meal of its lifetime.

  Meanwhile, a group of passionate cryptozoologists on Hhhi, tired of being mocked by their scientific peers for believing in such rubbish as trans-temporal monsters, set out on an expedition. They were armed, equipped and overflowing with determination. They were going to capture the monster and become rich and famous beyond their wildest dreams. In the next weird flicking of the fickle finger of fate, the expedition leader fell overboard seconds before the monster swam beneath their boat.

  The monster, being of an advanced age, was so startled it suffered cardiac arrest in all three of its hearts—and died. The leader survived, the team brought the dead monster aboard their boat and went on to great fame, fortune and, ultimately, substance abuse, debt and divorce. The monster was put on display in the Hhhi Museum of Science and Aquatic Anomalies, where it was to remain for centuries.

  But first it was presented to the Premier of Hhhi.

  In what was the most media-covered event in Hhhian history, the monster was rolled atop a golden table and presented before the Ruling Court, which blessed it with special oils and spices. As the Prime Justice of Science and Seafood laid her hands upon the beast in a sacrosanct gesture, a perfect silence fell upon the planet. A small, indistinct sound was heard! It was a sound that would forever change the attitudes, mores, laws and spiritual beliefs of the folk of Hhhi.

  A form moved within the monster, a bulge that made its way from the stomach to the neck of the scaly beast. As the crowd watched aghast, the body of the zedfish, swallowed whole and exhibiting not a single toothmark, emerged from the mouth. There were cries of horror, and it is believed someone fainted.

  Then a second bulge appeared and convulsed, this time in the zedfish. The audience surged and muttered at the sound of a whimper and a yip! Abruptly, the flesh of the zedfish split and tore, and like some sick and twisted Russian Matreshka a moist, black nose peeped out. Screams rent the air. Several citizens ran from the building and into the night. The entire head of the tired and bloodied Bopple emerged. Yin filled his lungs with the clear fresh air.

  "God, that feels good!” he cried out to the stunned assemblage.

  It would be months before the citizens of Hhhi would get over the events of that cool, exalted night. Yin was hailed as the fulfillment of a terribly misinterpreted prophecy and showered with gifts, continuous adoration and a spacious suite in the palace of the gubernatorial mansion.

  Hhhi, a high level-O world, had no space program, nor much interest in what lay beyond the perpetual clouds of the pink skies. Yin was unable to communicate his dilemma and, after a year of private research, surrendered to the fact he would spend the remainder of his days as a celebrity of the folks of Hhhi. He deduced he'd emerged on an alternate time branch and the world of Caffrey, Poe 33 and The Moby Dick held no reality. He wasn't even certain what galaxy he was in. Unable to recognize the myriad of stars that glistened, on rare occasion, in the night skies, he settled his mind and decided to enjoy his new home.

  The Bopple grew quite close to the premiere and his family and spent warm spring afternoons romping on the perfectly manicured lawns of the estate, and cold winter nights snuggled on overstuffed sofas before roaring fires telling tales, discussing politics, sipping fine brandies and puffing exotic leaves in elegant pipes. He studied and became quite adept in Hhhi history, language and lore. He began teaching at the top universities, offering the first courses in basic astronomy and physics. He grew to love his new world and performed many, many hours of community service, trying to diminish his image as some furry gift of providence.

  Yin's life went smoothly for thirty years—until he began growing bored and in need of a change. Through his studies, he learned of the Guyrophin Monks and their mystical monasteries hidden deep in the Singing Jungles of the West. Bidding a fond farewell to his adopted family, Yin set off for ten years of intense meditation, temperance, yoga-like practices and trans-psyche traversing. He met and fell in love with a three-legged red-backed ridgewalker, and they lived in marital bliss in a secluded and simple home on the outskirts of the monastery proper. They were married for twenty-five years (one hundred seventy-five in canine years) before Yin's wife fell ill. He held her in his paws until she breathed her last breath and, three weeks after the simple cremation ceremony, knew he could not stay amidst the trees so overflowing with memories.

  Yin wandered for the next five years, living off the land and spending most of his time alone and pensive. Finding himself on a lonely beach, he felt the age in his lungs and the final beats of his heart. He sat upon the sand, the warm sun on his face, waiting to be taken to the levels beyond the physical.

  Then he saw it. A red light on the horizon. A ship! It was not a sailing ship but rather it hovered over the sea. Moving closer. Growing brighter.

  "A spacecraft!” Yin cried aloud, the strength returning to his blood and bones. Waving his paws frantically he ran in circles, hoping the occupants of the mysterious ship would see him.

  And see him they did. In a flash, as the ship cruised overhead, a beam of silver light washed over him and the beach vanished from around him. For a brief mom
ent, he felt he was heading to the paradise realm of the hereafter.

  Not quite.

  Hours later, Yin awoke. He was strapped to one of the four shoulders of a giant. Ba Ba Banaki was exploring, seeking additional sources for the extremely rare crystal erosilite, a vital component for the Harmonic Love Teasing devices that had made him a fortune. While he was tracking and scouring the galaxy on multiple temporal branches, Hhhi was isolated as one of the prime sources of the crystal.

  Following a week of collecting erosilite, Ba Ba Banaki and his crew (and four fuzzy epaulets) headed back to the time and space where Yin had began his adventure. Ba Ba didn't want to be late for his meeting with the rest of the heads of the five galactic sectors and Spydersloth Blaust aboard the Crystal Guise.

  * * * *

  "That's ridiculous,” scoffed Caffrey, still trying to imagine Yin in some exotic yoga pose.

  "Perhaps,” Yin agreed. “But completely true. I shall miss Hhhi and will treasure my many memories until the second end of my days. And I am so happy to see you again, Caffrey. You haven't changed a bit."

  "Neither have you,” observed Violet, studying his face.

  "The beauty of temporal travel,” Yin winked.

  Violet's eyes caught a movement across the field. “I think we have a brave Termite Walrus Person. Two o'clock."

  Sure enough, the globular form of a Termite Walrus Person emerged from a hole. It moved along the ground on hundreds of tiny feet, each protected from the elements by white but muddy booties. It raised its front like a hound dog catching a sniff of bacon then stopped suddenly ten meters from the trio. The being's entire body rippled from the inertial effects of halting.

  "Hello!” Caffrey called out with a friendly nod and wave.

  "Are you here to mock our work?” the Termite Walrus Person asked in a tediously slow, moist drawl.

  "Mock? No, no, of course not."

  "Face after face we build with the sweat of our limbs and the saliva of our mouths, and face after face our work is mocked—deemed sacrilegious to the form He was after."

  "Who?” asked Violet.