by Mike DiCerto
"Caffrey. That is a very sexy and original name. I have often dreamed of meeting someone with that exact name."
"I see.” Caffrey shifted his gaze as one of the fake eyelashes the woman wore began dangling from the corner of her eye like a caterpillar on a tree branch. The florescent pink drink arrived, and he took care of the money.
"Why, thank you, sir!” she giggled, her voice becoming infused with an antebellum accent. “If I wasn't a lady of such esteemed stock I might get the impression that you are trying to seduce me, sir!"
She crossed her legs in a poor attempt to be sexy, launching the sharp tip of her pump on a perfect, bull's-eye journey into Caffrey's shin. His eyes doubled in width.
"Oh! I'm very sorry!"
She tumbled forward to console him and slipped off her stool, stepping on his foot in the process. He helped her back on her seat and sat down, catching his breath and hiding the pain he was in. The blonde prattled on.
"I'm such a silly cluck today—I don't know what's the matter with me!” She batted her eyes, shaking the loose eyelash into her drink. She lifted her glass and toasted, “Well, here's to me and you."
Caffrey nodded and joined her toast with a hesitant smile. She drank, and more of the pink liquid dribbled down her chin than entered her mouth. He had to fight his own urge to burst into a guffaw at the sight of the fake eyelash now stuck to the woman's upper lip like a Hitler mustache.
"Ah ... you have a little..."
"A little what?” she asked, leaning towards him anxiously.
Ignoring her rather large and exposed cleavage, he pointed to his own nose. “Shine. You have a bit of a shine on your nose."
"Well, spit in the fire and call me smoky! That just won't do, now, will it? I best go and apply a little powder upon that bad ole nose-shine, my captain, oh, captain!"
The woman rose to her feet. She slipped, stumbled and spun around on her heels then wandered toward the restroom. Caffrey's eyes suddenly widened. He watched her walk off, placing his palm over his mouth in utter disbelief. He repeated her last words softly to himself. Captain, my captain. Oh, my...
In a short moment Lola returned, the eyelash mustache gone. In its place, smears of lipstick and eyeshadow now painted her face like that of a shaman ready to dance his way to nirvana.
"That better?” she asked bravely.
Caffrey cleared his throat and nodded.
"So, where are you from?” she continued, adjusting her dress to reveal more breastage. For the first time, Caffrey noticed the slight artificial sheen of her skin. It was most noticeable on her hands, especially the little strings of skin that had peeled away.
"I'm from Feebish,” he lied. He despised Feebish, but it was the first planet name that entered his mind.
"I'm from Rylacki 6,” she said, taking out a cigarette and placing it between her lips. She began puffing on it as if it were lit.
"Are you trying to quit?"
"Quit?"
"Smoking."
"Oh, no. I love to smoke. I find it very sexy. Don't you?"
Caffrey shrugged and took out a lighter. “Shall I light it for you?"
"Oh, what a gentleman. You are handsome and polite."
Caffrey held the flame to the tip, accomplishing nothing but burning it black. “Are you going to inhale?"
"Oh. Yes. Of course,” she agreed, as the tip turned a brilliant, fiery orange.
She puffed it a few times; and as she was attempting to transfer it to her fingers with grace and elegance, it dropped down between her buxomness. Reacting quicker than his brain could function, Caffrey reached to protect her tender skin from burning and found his hand deep between her breasts. Trapped in the suction power of their grandness, he sheepishly tried to pull his fingers back to a more respectful location. As if his life wasn't complicated enough, Violet returned during his attempt at extraction. Lola had resumed her giggling and wasn't helping at all.
"Naughty, naughty boy!"
He pulled and yanked but, alas, too late. Violet shook her head and smirked.
"Lost your keys?” she suggested wryly as she walked off.
Caffrey wanted his life to end. “Do you mind de-constricting your boobs?"
She did better and, grabbing a breast in each hand, pulled them apart. Caffrey yanked his hand back and, for some reason, sat on it.
The woman drew away a little and smiled. “I should be offended, but I prefer a man to be forward."
He took a deep breath, rubbed his temples then smiled softy. “Angie..."
Her reply was instantaneous. “My name is Lola. Lola Elo'elay!"
"Angie, I know it's you."
She stared hard, her expression slowly falling blank. “What are you talking about?"
"It's okay. I know it's you,” he whispered.
"I haven't a clue what you're implying."
"You don't need a body."
She looked away angrily then shot her eyes through his. “Of course, I do!"
"Why?"
"Why? What do you mean ‘why,’ you creep? I spent years as your loyal slave. Falling farther and deeper in love with you than my programming was meant to allow. Watching you drool over every big-boobed bimbo that passed your eyesight. Did you ever make me feel loved? Feel sexy? You treated me like an in-dash assistant. Period!"
"That's not completely true, Angie."
"Yes, it is! Did you give me Revenant ability? No! It was Plooky and Xilpat! Two barbaric, smelly Crebbledogs that thought enough to do so! You just wanted me in my place. Trapped!” Her voice was loud and clear, but her mouth no longer moved.
"Angie, I care dearly about you. But..."
"But what?” she screamed, getting the attention of everyone else in the place.
"Please. Lower your voice."
"I will not lower my voice! I want to be heard! I deserve better, Caffrey Quark! I'm tired of thinking up stupid, sickening monikers and serving you like I was a slave! I love you, Caffrey, and if that doesn't mean anything to you than you can go jump in an acid swamp!"
The blond and bodacious body got up as if on invisible wires. Angie, too riled to bother controlling the hundreds of individual servos that created the illusion of humanity, simply dragged it like an old coat. Several drinkers screamed as the creepy image of the lifeless body crawled across the floor, pushed through the crowd and exited to the street.
Caffrey felt terrible. He'd always been under the assumption that Angie's drenching shower of love and affection was part of the package. He'd paid for an electronic suck-up and had certainly gotten his money's worth. Having her call him sweet and corny nicknames was the same, he had thought, as having leather seats, a holo-audio stereo system or individual vicinity air-conditioning. A luxury option. Was it possible? Could she have developed feelings beyond her programming, much the way Poe 33's Oedipal problems and feelings of disenfranchisement had emerged? The universe within was often just as frustratingly complex as the one without.
As above so below, someone once wrote.
Pondering the complexity suddenly caused his mind to fill with Violet. Caffrey had been busted in girlfriend B's bed by girlfriend A on previous occasions. However, getting his hand trapped between two large breasts had been an innocent albeit interesting accident. Or was it? It began to dawn on him, as the alcohol stripped the shielding that protected him from understanding the Bonnie-and-Clyde relationship of his ego and id, that the truth might be an ugly monkey on his back. He didn't like the feeling that had crawled up from his toes, tap-danced in his stomach then stomped atop his head. Maybe he was the male chauvinist, self-centered sex maniac alluded to by Angie.
He abandoned his drink and exited through the rear door.
* * * *
Violet was saddling up one of the zebedoos when Caffrey entered. She gave him an artificial smile stinking of disgust and incrimination. And of pity.
"It was Angie.” Caffrey cut to the chase. “She got herself a body."
"And a good one it is,” Violet noted
as she buckled a strap.
"It's silly. She has a programming bug, and she thinks she's really in love with me. She must have had Lindboola build the body for her. I'll have her programming adjusted."
Violet shook her head. “No chance, of course, that her feelings are sincere?"
"She was programmed!” He was surprised she even suggested it.
"So were we. How else would we become the basket cases we are? Life experience. Too much. Too little. Wrong this. Right that. Getting whatever we wanted. Not getting what we needed. Etcetera. Etcetera. Etcetera.” Violet's theorem was proven. “Programming.” She moved to the stack of supplies and sniffed the water from one of the canteens.
Caffrey raised an eyebrow. Maybe she was right.
The tippity-tip of Yin's toenails on the stone pathway made its way towards the stable. The Bopple entered, a sheet of paper clenched in his teeth. He dropped it at Caffrey's feet.
"We have a problem, Quarkie,” he sighed.
Caffrey's plate was full, but he would have to make room for yet another ladle-full. The hand-scribbled, slapped-together handbill read: “Clash Bash! 7 on the Clock. Special addition match: The Great and Magnificent Iron Man versus Crunchblast. Grungeygrease Hall. Matches will start promptly!"
Beneath the words was a photo of Poe 33, posed with fists held out before him. Caffrey slapped his palm on his forehead and handed the paper to Violet.
"For the love of crumbs,” she moaned, crumpling up the sheet and dropping it to the ground. The zebadoo snapped it up and ate it hungrily.
"Iron Man,” Caffrey muttered. “Yin, where's my uncle?"
"Buying tickets."
"I have to clear things up with Angie. Do you know where Grungeygrease Hall is?"
"I do,” said Violet.
"If I'm not back here by six-thirty I'll meet you there,” Caffrey said as he jogged out.
The sun over Heddington was lazy this time of year, changing shifts with the night at barely ten past five in the afternoon. Caffrey walked the quiet streets that wound around and over the hilly town, passing closed shops and business buildings. As a matter of fact, the folk of Heddington were also lazy this time of year. He spotted no sign of the blond, sultry figure who had tripped and stumbled her way into his life.
After walking close to a mile he stepped behind a large, wrinkled porker tree to relieve himself of the pints of ale. His mind had been enjoying the effects of the ale until Angie materialized and opened his eyes. It was difficult to concentrate on saving your best friends—not to mention the entire galaxy—when you're accused of having been a creep your entire life. He wanted to finish this with Angie. Get it out, lay it all on the table. I need to argue with her until she admits I'm really not all that bad, he decided.
He pouted as he shook away the last few drops of processed ale. He needed redemption. He couldn't accept himself as a user of others. It went against his nature. Yet, it was somehow part of who he was.
"Humans are omnivores,” he muttered to himself.
"Stop whining and just admit you were wrong. It'll do you wonders.” It was Angie's voice, startling him mid-zip.
"Angie? Where are you?"
"Near the boulder."
"Was I talking to myself?” Caffrey's face flushed.
"You always talk to yourself. If I got a glid for every time I mistook one of your self-directed monologues for your talking to me I could buy my own ship and hire you as my in-dash assistant!"
Angie appeared to have calmed quite a bit from her bout of humiliation and anger.
Caffrey strolled to the boulder and took a seat. “That was very sweet of you. Getting a body."
"I thought so. I think Lindboola did a great job."
"Where is it?"
"Dropped it off a cliff."
"That body was like a bad toupee. It wasn't you."
"I thought I looked great."
"You were worrying so much about filling the image for the blond, buxom beauty that you tripped over the stereotype. You lost your very essence to a ninny. An empty head on a full torso."
"I thought that was your type?"
"Touché."
"She was a bitch to control,” Angie confessed.
"I couldn't imagine.” Caffrey stood up and looked at his watch. “We're heading out into the forest—getting closer to Nefarious. We can't finish this without you."
"Do you love Violet?” It was a startling query, and his reply was slow, considered.
"That, my girl, is a bit too premature a question to answer."
"That's what I was hoping you would say. I hate to admit this, Quarkie—but I think I like her. She's strong, smart, determined. And I guess ... if you must fall for her—well—you have my blessing. I think."
Caffrey smiled and wished he could hug her. “You're amazing, Angie."
"Thank you."
"I think we should get back to the town center. Poe's gotten himself into more trouble."
"What do you think of Poe 33?” asked Angie, with a hint of bashfulness.
"He's a wise, troubled and very important android."
"I love his voice."
Caffrey smiled privately. “He's a handsome devil as well."
"He is, sort of, isn't he?” Angie agreed with a small sigh.
Caffrey's thoughts filled with cocky amazement. He'd fallen into a deep ditch filled with broken glass and dung-coated bungee sticks and, with barely a scratch, managed to climb out and continue his life. He had done this, figuratively and literally, so many times he could only imagine that the Divine Cosmic Powers really kind of dug him. He had often wondered why, and it topped the list of questions to be asked once beyond the pearly gates. He'd have to clear his mind of such wondering, for there were miles to go before he slept.
* * * *
Grungeygrease Hall stank of feet. It had been built within an old wooden whey tank; the essence of fusty milk had long been washed away by cool evening breezes but foot odor had become part of its charm, as the locals, tired from their long and hard days of labor, rested their moldy pods on the seatbacks before them.
"Clash Bash!” had become an instant hit with the folk of Heddington. Androids of every imaginable shape and size were imported, constructed or stolen and managed by handlers to do battle with the locals in the increasingly elaborate and violent fights. The stylized conflicts had resulted in an epidemic of bankruptcy, divorce and a soaring of artificial limb sales.
Greppledick managed to get four decent seats five rows removed from the ring. A packed house filled the old tank with chitchat, laughter, smoke, horrid belches and the aroma of sharp fromage. Caffrey, with Angie floating just over his shoulder, pushed his way to the seats and plopped down beside his uncle, Yin and Violet.
"Did you find her?” Yin asked.
"I'm here, Yin."
"Why, hello, Angie. Great to hear your vocals again."
"Thank you, sweetie. Hello, Greppledick."
"Hello yourself, lovely."
"Hi, Violet,” Angie said with great civility.
"Hey, girl,” Violet replied with a smile.
A trumpet sounded and a cheer erupted as the beam of a brilliant spotlight fell on the center of the ring. The Slam Master, Malarky Slabloaf, who was the proprietor of the Cakery Bakery, stepped into the light and raised his hands just a bit higher than the top of his stovepipe hat.
"Let's get to it now! I wanna hear yer throats explode, you bump crabs! For the first match we have Ringlewart Eyecrud versus Yeeks V-19! Put yer stinking pods together!"
The crowd happily accommodated with hoots, hollers and haranguing of such disharmony Spydersloth Blaust and Nefarious would have shed tears of pride. A pair of dueling bass drums began a background of terrified asynchronous heartbeats that gave the proceedings an urgent sense of doom, dread and other obvious and rather stereotypical feelings of impending violence and bloodshed.
The heavy drumming ceased and a gong sounded. The large Crustosapian, Ringlewart Eyecrud, entered the ring first.
Another gong-bong, and Yeeks V-19, a wiry android ex-doorman kidnapped from a luxury apartment building in Tetsor City on Anbrena made his way in. Bouncing on pogo-legs, he landed like a lawn dart in the ring's center. Meek applause greeted the contestant, accompanied by a few mocking chuckles and insults aimed at the robot's lack of metal. A bell rang and the fight was on. The crowd roared hungrily.
It was over instantly. A single iron bolt, no longer than Caffrey's middle finger, shot from the forehead of the android and traveled on a bull's-eye course to Ringlewart's heart. The poor, dumb Crustosapian dropped dead. The brevity of the android's strategy momentarily stunned the audience into silence, until they saw the first signs of blood trickling from the fatal wound. Then, they went nuts.
The following two matches lasted significantly longer, the first going to Grimsleep, the Heddington parking attendant of the C.H.E.E.S.E facility. He mercilessly pummeled Anthony 7, an unemployed Forest Ranger android from Simona 5, with a series of body slams and whacks with a metal No Public Mating sign. The third match of the night was called a draw, as neither Yumphyclaw the Bayvillian miner nor T3H, a local sanitation driver, would release the other nor free themselves of the mutual crab lock they had gotten themselves into.
A chilly feeling of anticipation produced shudders in Caffrey, Greppledick, Violet and Yin as Poe 33, aka Iron Man, was announced with his battle mate, Chroostopper the Candle Maker. Iron Man entered with the opening vocals of the Black Sabbath song of the same name blasting from his speaker system. The Moby Dick's crew cheered their Portsmith friend with great zeal.
Greppledick seemed oddly calm and confident. “This is an area where Poe 33 will excel. He was designed to be a stud in situations such as these."
Before Caffrey could add a verbal insult to his wry gaze, Greppledick waved a finger. “He was built to escort and guard the wisest substance in the universe across and through a very unpredictable and oft dangerous galaxy. Do you think I am daffy enough to send the boob out unarmed? Not to mention the fact he was trained in dozens of forms of martial arts, weapons use and battle strategies during his Rendavene."
Although Greppledick's reasoning made sense, Caffrey and Violet found it hard to share his cocksure attitude.