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Okmar slept, in a barren office/closet for nearly an entire week. He did not eat, he did not rise to relieve himself, nor did he drink a single drop of water. Hanging on the edge of death, his father visited him in a place between sleep and wakefulness, leaving Okmar with a surreal experience that never provided any evidence either way. In his experience his father wore an expression of anger that rarely found its way into his features. His thick uni-brow curled down in the center and whisked away into the hanging wad of tangled hair on his head, above his pointed ears. The shadowy interior of the office/closet lent eerie shades to his jaw line and a strange glow from his dark pitted eyes, making him seem twice as sinister and volatile as he looked. Okmar stared disbelievingly up at his father from where he lay on the floor, covered in his own stinking feces and urine. A sucking sensation ran through his left eye, followed by a bright popping sound. Strands of flesh began to reach from his eye. They intertwined with each other until it resembled a thick chord of wet flesh. A long shadow ran along the wall next to him in a ghastly way. The chord of flesh seemed to be warning the figure of impending danger, much as an animal would when protecting its young. Okmar paid the odd reaction of his left eye with no attention. His complete focus rested solely on the man who raised him with such care and respect only to fall dead to his own son’s stupid, curious nature.
“Father,” Okmar half croaked, half whispered. The noise sounded alien and very loud in the small room. The thick chord of wet flesh seemingly turned to regard Okmar in a questioning way before detracting back into the deformed socket with more wet popping sounds that would have made anyone with a weak stomach consider ejecting earlier nourishment's.
“What are you doing?” Solith shouted, causing Okmars sore muscles to tense and his heart to skip a beat. “This is pathetic Okmar. Is this the young man I had such high hopes for? Lying there in his own shit and piss waiting to die alone, underground?”
Okmar said nothing, but let his attention wander away slightly in embarrassment and shame.
“LOOK AT ME!” Solith boomed. Okmar swore he could feel the vibrations from this demand in the floor below his splayed hands. He looked. “This is no time for feeling sorry for yourself. This is a time to utilize the gifts presented to you through our shared tragedy. Now stand and follow me.”
Okmar pushed himself up on shaky arms but fell back down the first time in an exhausted, defeated way. His left eye squelched again and revisited the air outside Okmar's skull. It once again intertwined until it was a thick chord and as Okmar attempted to rise for the second time it placed its end on the floor and assisted in the push. Okmar made it to his knees as his father’s ghost exited the room. The acrid stench of his excretions attacked his gag reflex but he had nothing to toss. Using the wall for support he rose to his feet and stumbled into the vast study beyond. Hundreds of file cabinets lined the walls on both levels. His father stood next to one of these in an irritated, impatient fashion. Okmar made it next to his fathers ghost with concerted effort, sweat beads pushing through his skin, above his eye brows and upper lip.
“Begin here,” Solith said simply and then faded away into nothing. Okmar stared at the place his father had just been standing for a very long time. And then he pulled open the top drawer of the file cabinet and began to read.
Okmar refilled his glass to the brim and sighed heavily. This was the first time in nearly a thousand years he had taken the time to revisit the most horrible event in his life and the emotional effects were unexpected. He wiped his tear streaked cheek and took another heavy swallow of booze. His left eye squelched loudly, extended and stroked his face lovingly in an attempt to provide comfort. His body was warming and his mind was relaxing from the alcohol. It had been quite a time since he drank this much. The option to stop and try to get some rest was denied by his continuing memories…
Solith had an underground bunker in a small cave about three miles from their home where he stored his most valuable research. He did this to protect it from the wrong hands and from the possibility of its destruction. In a daze, Okmar stumbled across the rough terrain towards this cave, carrying the dead weight of his father over his shoulder, as the dim copper color of dusk gave way to the heavy blanket of darkness. He didn’t seem to have full control of his actions. Even in perfect physical condition, it was a fair bet to believe he wouldn’t have made it half as far with his father’s dead weight; however something pushed him onward and seemed to carry half the weight. His recent loss and the understanding of local opinion closed his mind off. His left eye throbbed and ached, as did other parts of his burnt and scarred body, yet he continued on to this safe place, needing to escape his current situation and avoid confrontation. The wind began to push from behind him in growing gusts. Felled voices decorated the coolness of this breeze, but Okmar wasn’t fooled. He knew where these voices were coming from and at this particular time he had no interest in listening. It seemed he had somehow developed the ability to read thoughts. Although curious, he was still overcome with grief and found the organizing of any thought too much of a chore to bear at this time.
He buried his father in the hard ground outside the cave and left it unmarked. No one else deserved to know where the greatest creature in the universe rested for eternity. Considering the terrible thoughts others seemed to have of he and his father, Okmar figured they didn’t deserve much of anything; maybe death. Following the laborious process of laying his father to rest, (which he preformed methodically languid, sporting a blank expression, devoid of awareness), Okmar stumbled blindly through the pitch darkness of the cave, tripping frequently, falling only twice. Time seemed to slow for him. It felt as though he were walking, knee high, through a pool full of peanut butter, (a wonderful import from Stulgast 101, home of the largest peanut), for the better part of an entire day. Maybe he had. He didn’t know and he cared even less. When he reached the seeming end of the cave, Okmar waved his hand in front of the wall and a small portion of the smooth Bicilite parted and revealed an electronic key pad. Its bright blue glow was shockingly and suddenly bright. Okmar winced against the brightness with his good eye until his vision adjusted. His other eye made a wet popping sound he noticed not at all. He entered his birthday into the key pad. Following a few seconds of silence there began a low rumble inside the walls of the cave. There was a loud crack and then a reverberating low gurgling sound as a much larger portion of the smooth wall slid aside, emanating a much more intense brightness than the key pad had. Okmar entered his father’s secret chamber and the portion of wall closed back up behind him. He did not leave for ten years.
Before Okmar opened the only eye he would ever open again a Bog Worm found its way to his unconscious body and began an agonizingly slow journey up his pant leg, over his burnt, bloody shirt, along the skin of his neck, over his bloody, dirt smeared cheek and into his terribly wounded left eye. Before entering the gash, left by the piece of glass which had come loose sometime during the explosion, it halted and tested the area curiously, bobbing like a mere cat, extending shadows over Okmars face. Confident of a lack of danger the Bog Worm took three final lunges and slowly entered the gash until it disappeared into Okmars head. Okmar could hear voices, but they seemed very far away like an undependable connection experiencing interference. He was still over a full minute until a raggedy consciousness would reveal the horrors before him. During this short period of time he became lost in the steady rise of voices, seemingly coming from every direction and from mostly familiar sources. Although he recognized the Bicilites these voices came from, there was such a mess of overlapping expressions as to make most of it unintelligible. He made out some words and partial phrases however. Bonsworf, the local market owner said something degrading concerning Solith’s state of mind; ‘De Ite be nuts. Don know a pinchet from a fart do ee. I say good riddance to…’ The astrophager, Mortif, who was a highly respected Bicilite and one of Solith’s closest friends; ‘…lost in his own arrogance he is. We be a better race without his insa…’ Topitty, the wife of Storgath, also a friend of Solith’s; ‘…sad for is son I be. Poor tike is messed nough…’
He opened his eye to see. The lid came up slow and shaky, his vision blurred by the wind and sudden brightness. He squeezed away the moisture in his eye, two tears fell away and zig zagged down his dirt and blood streaked cheek. When his vision cleared he stared, unbelievingly, into his fathers open, lifeless eyes for a very long time. As the seconds flowed, the pain in his face and body began to fade into a numb throb and his brain began to piece together the moments leading up to this tragedy. A runner of drool slipped, carelessly from the corner of his mouth and dampened the dry Biciland. As the voices carried on inside his head an enormous cloud of grief began to build around his heart, lightning began to explode from these clouds at the realization that this was his entire fault. The cloud opened up and poured as he came to understand that his father, the oldest and most amazing creature in the universe had died saving him from a disaster created by his own stupid, careless curiosity. Thunder pounded as he listened to the uncaring, dishonest, traitorous words pour from trusted sources. There was a moment where Okmar almost convinced himself he was dreaming. This couldn’t be real. Then the smell of smoke invaded his conscious and a vicious pain ripped through his skull from his wounded, left eye. He grasped at it, ignorant of the pain his sudden, jerking movement created and let loose a jagged, howl. His left eye felt as though it harbored a hot ember. He rolled around in the dusty Biciland, with his hand over his gapping socket, screaming over and over, drowning out the painful voices that continued to hurl hurtful statements. His body grew hot all of a sudden and stilled, as he kneel in the dying light of late evening next to his fathers dead body and a smoldering crater that used to be their home. He wobbled back and forth for a moment and then collapsed back to the ground and into the last state of unconsciousness he would experience until the day he died.
Three weeks prior a comet had crashed on the planets surface near to where Solith and Okmar resided. Always excited at the prospect of testing and operating on something foreign, Solith carefully extracted the rock from the small crater it lye in, separated four small pieces and carted it back to his lab. For the next three weeks he had attempted many tests and experiments on the strange rock. It wasn’t until he had mixed the rock with pieces of Bicilite, (a shale type rock decorating the entire planet), that the real excitement began to brew in his chest. The two rocks reacted in a completely unexpected way; liquefying. The night before his tragic error, he had locked the liquid in an air tight container and set his machine to gradually raise its temperature in specific increments throughout the night.
While he slept in his room upstairs, Okmar woke thirsty. Okmar went to the water pump and got himself some water. As he stood, mostly naked in the warm dining area his ears popped and began to register a noise from his father’s lab downstairs. Still groggy from sleep, Okmar followed his curiosity to the strange sounds and discovered the heated liquid in his father’s machine. Okmar marveled at the color changes within the liquid. There were some colors he had never seen before and they flowed through each other in hypnotizing patterns. His eyes grew wide and these colors bounced off the glossy surface of his face. Before he knew what he was doing or before he could convince himself to do anything but what his body began to do, his arm stretched out towards the liquid. The tips of his fingers began to tingle with electricity and the colors within the capsule began to blend into a darker shape and extend towards Okmar's reaching fingers. He could not resist touching the glass. There was no warning as to the temperature of the container. When Okmar’s single finger touched the transparent surface his skin sizzled and stuck. He screamed. He swung his other hand at the container in an attempt to knock himself away and the container burst. The liquid exploded outward, the majority striking Okmar in the face. A chunk of glass from the container cut into the soft tissue of his left eye and sent shocking pain through his head. He grasped at his face as he fell backwards. Solith bolted from his room and descended the stairs in a panicked fashion nearly losing his balance more than once. He halted at the bottom of the stairs and regarded his screaming son in horror. Okmar held his left eye, blood cascading from what was surely a terrible wound beneath and falling backwards towards the tanks that contained the gasses Solith used to fuel his machinery. Solith raised his hands in a warding off gesture. Okmar’s motion carried him, unknowingly into the valve that contained the gas. He hit the valve hard and toppled to the floor. Solith took one step towards his son before the valve blew off the containment unit and hit him square in the chest driving him against the far wall. There was suffocating pain in Solith’s chest. Something was surely broken and bleeding inside of him. He coughed hard, ejecting a thick wad of blood over his chin. His first attempt to rise from his position was unsuccessful and caused such a rip of pain through his body he nearly passed out. The second time he was prepared for the pain and was able to endure it enough to get to his feet. Gas continued to shoot out of the tank. He could smell its acrid stench. Okmar’s screams had ceased and Solith feared the worst. He shuffled over to his sons crumpled frame and through terrible agony lifted him and began to run for the stairway. Something sizzled from behind him. He did not turn to look. He hobbled to the top of the stairs, through the dining area and burst through the back door just as the house exploded, sending him and his son flying through the air.
Okmar reached out and took a small glass from the circular table next to his oversized chair and brought it to his lips. The smell of alcohol filled his nostrils and encompassed his senses. He closed his good eye and reveled in the hot, bitter aroma. The liquid burned his lips slightly when he tipped the glass and heated his throat as it headed for his belly. After two swallows he opened his eye and leaned back his head. His other eye swam in its socket making wet popping sounds.
The room was empty, as it usually was and as he usually preferred. It allowed his overactive brains to reach out farther and capture a more broad education of matters in the universe.
Okmar was troubled for the first time in eons and the trouble came from his memories. Dark were these memories, full of a grief he preferred to hide in hollow caverns, beneath present issues.
At the age of twelve, nine hundred and ninety nine earth years prior, Okmar was given a guitar by his father. It was a random gift on a day that had never held any importance before. His father claimed to have purchased it from an iconic musician on a planet in the Milky Way galaxy seven hundred years in the future. He went on to say that the musician changed his world with it. Okmar was overjoyed with the gift. For several painful months Okmar would pluck at the strings in nonsensical patterns. He would grow frustrated at times with his lack of understanding at how the instrument worked. The odd time he would work out small arrangements that came off sounding weak and disjointed but his father never complained. He always encouraged Okmar to keep playing, claiming it relaxed him as he worked. Okmar’s father was a great man of great importance on a planet decreasing in population ever since their star began to lose its life. Many claimed Solith to be the oldest being in the entire universe, but to Okmar he was just Dad; the man who comforted him in times of sorrow and encouraged him in times of weakness.
Okmar’s father was known as Solith the Wanderer to most and Solith the insane to some. It was always amazing how fear of the unknown could alter people’s perceptions. He was the first being in the universe to develop time travel and also the first being in the universe to develop space travel. Solith would spend countless hours and days in his laboratories, running tests, mixing compounds, testing equations and so on, yet always seemed to find enough time to paint a smile on Okmar’s face. He had few friends. Most of his closest friends had died long before. The friends who remained had become busy with the business of survival. It was unseasonably warm on planet Bicilite the day Solith made the mistake that would eventually lead to the demise of his entire race. A comfortable breeze blew across the parched ground and through the strange, ageless, skeletal vegetation, kicking up suffocating dust clouds. Bicilite floated in a large empty portion of space, close to the point believed to be the beginning of the universe. The star the planet orbited had rapidly lost its brightness over the past four years leaving a dull shadowy glow to represent day and a dark so thick you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face to represent night. The closest planet to Bicilite, Ogmosh, occupied the edge of the small galaxy and retained simple life. There was no resistance to any activity Solith, or any of the other Bicilites chose to spend time exploring or experimenting. This left plenty of room for error, and yet error had been avoided for multiple centuries, despite their lack of fear. And so it was until this day; the day his son, Okmar was brutally forced into manhood by a design beyond any life’s comprehension. Possibly even beyond any God’s.
The pain was bright and hot. The entire left side of my body felt as though it were in flames. Blood first dampened and then soaked the left sleeve of my shirt. I could feel it running down my arm and into the crook of my elbow. I turned my head and looked at Church’s dead body in the corner and burst into pathetic tears. What the hell was I doing here? Had I thought this were some kind of game? Had I still been convinced I was inside some kind of nightmare where nothing could really hurt me? In some ways I still felt like this was some kind of dream. I would wake up in my bed with Church curled up comfortably on my chest and a day of work ahead. I felt my brain falling into this fantasy; doing everything it could to make it real. I could almost feel the warmth beneath the blanket and the cool morning air on my cheeks.
My eyes snapped open revealing Church’s crumpled body in the corner, collecting its pool of blood. The pain returned but the fire seemed to have reduced to a simmer. The realization of my failure blurred my eyes once again. Z would take me to Okamr and Okmar would rip what was left of body into at least seven pieces in front of thousands of terrified, bewildered feline eyes. I hadn’t the slightest clue of the scope of The Men in Suits ambitions but found myself sure that it would eventually include Earth. They would pour through the universe like a disease, infecting democratic processes with an iron fist. There would be no defense.
My teeth came together hard. My jaw bulged and my brow furrowed. My vision first darkened and then brightened with fierceness. I turned my eyes to Z, standing on his hind legs, sweeping his front paws over the black surface with concentration. The entirety of the front window filled with the surface of the planets strange landscape. I could see the glowing blue rocks that made up the disc surrounding the planet skimming by the fluth shuttle, dangerously close. I could feel something growing inside my mind. It felt as though this something were taking over my ability to conjure rational thought. The fire in my arm abated. I involuntarily lowered my eye lids and marveled at the colors hidden there. I could feel something cool and comforting running through my blood stream. I exhaled in relief and closed my right fist. The dried vomit split into pieces and crumbled from my skin.
“What the fuck?” I heard Z’s voice mumble. It seemed very far away as though I were listening through a poor connection. There was sudden and drastic movement. I could feel my body slide along the floor. There was a crash and a bang from the same place Z’s voice had come from. My body bounced from the floor twice, but I barely noticed. The cooling presence lifted my eyelids and allowed me to observe the situation. The glowing blue rocks making up the disc surrounding, Rock seemed to be moving about, causing Z to manually shift the shuttles direction erratically. The rocks seemed to have purpose. They seemed to be directing Z away from where his intentions were transporting us.
One of the rocks scraped the side of the shuttle. There was a long, teeth shattering grinding sound. I could faintly smell smoke. The shuttle narrowly missed another of the rocks that had moved into its path. Z uttered a sharp curse and almost fell from the seat. I slid along the floor again closer to the chair and the view out the window. My arm hit the edge of the wrap around couch but the pain that would be expected never came. Something hit the side of the shuttle hard all of a sudden. I was thrown sideways and into the corner where Church lie. I could hear Z’s voice in my head all of a sudden; louder than any of this sudden commotion.
“Lost all controls! Losing power. Trajectory drastically altered. Going down!” And then I lost complete consciousness.
Resident of Nowhere
Occupation – Gardener / Ecologist
Age – Unknown
Marital Status – Single
Education – N/A
In a far corner of the Gabba Gabba Nebula there existed a small orange and purple planet. It was so small and unimportant that no starcographer even thought to give it a clever name. Its official, (according to most reputable sources) name was in fact, The Small Orange and Purple Planet in the far corner of the Gabba Gabba Nebula. Although it had been registered as such in most catalogues no one of galactic importance had ever been. The color and size suggested freezing temperatures, gaseous atmosphere and desolation. However, Small Orange and Purple Planet in the far corner of the Gabba Gabbe Nebula, had supported a wonderful and vibrant ecosystem. The large fresh water deposits teamed with the full compliment of life forms befitting large fresh water deposits. No species had ever gone extinct on this planet and every life form had only flourished and evolved into better life forms. The planets surface had boasted an equally diverse and prosperous land population of plants, animals, birds, insects and several extremely intelligent forms of fungus and algae. I’ve never personally met a fungus or an algae (from this planet or any other) that wasn’t extremely clever and generally good at chess but that could just be a stereotype.
Curiously enough, there did not exist a humanoid life form on this planet, according to the catalogues. This small planet was one of the oldest in the known galaxies but had never experienced pollution, war or Justin Beiber. It was a veritable paradise. Oh the tragedy for the one humanoid peacefully and completely anonymously residing within the confines of this heaven when it was decided that his small planet was expendable. A group of impeccably dressed, extremely un-tanned men who spoke in question marks, calling themselves Pyramid Corp, the multiple universes largest distributor of pornography and small arms, needed to remove a few obstacles to develop a hyperspace light speed delivery corridor which would end up saving time and expense delivering these important products to habitable planets in need of peaceful defense and alone time. Galactic officials were somehow convinced that Small Orange and Purple Planet in the Far Corner of the Gabba Gabba Nebula was unimportant enough to not just move out of the way but destroy all together, I suppose it is quite difficult to argue with someone who has the capability of reading your thoughts. Actually, I suppose not at all, fore I know it as fact now; thanks to Bicarbonite, which obviously is the lone reason the Men in Suits required the hyperspace light speed delivery corridor. Impatience and greed breed destruction.
Bor escaped this destruction by mere chance. You see, Bor was not born of the planet, he had travelled there to escape a system he no longer felt comfortable being a part of on his birth planet Alpha Centauri. Having mined the planet hollow, residents and officials of Alpha Centauri came to the agreement that forcefully taking Aqua Mega, the planets closest sister planet, by force was the most logical direction for the better of everyone. They began to train and condition everyone for this seizure when Bor left. He wanted no part of something so selfish and destructive and directed. This resulted in banishment. He left in a one man shuttle and escaped a war his people lost terribly. He only returned to pay his respects to his lost mother and brother. This unfortunate journey turned out to be his saving grace. Less than seven hours after leaving Small Orange and Purple Planet in the Far Corner of Gabba Gabba Nebula to attend his deceased family member’s memorial, it was obliterated by matter retraction.
The love he developed for this victimized planet became his sole purpose for travelling to Rock. He remains on Rock, awaiting your arrival.
The single report was deafening. A small circle of blood splattered, high up against the window and began to darken the translucence in long runners, pooling in a small dimple where the two angles of glass came together. My jaw hung low. The vomit had begun to solidify on my left hand. My head turned in the direction of the two shapes, crumpled in the corner like blankets, slow enough that I could hear the joints creaking in my neck. Barely grasping any of my attention was planet Rock, swelling like a giant balloon in the front window and the spectacle of sparkling rocks seemingly floating in mid space in remarkable unison, zipping by with fatal intention.
My teeth came together quietly but heavily and I could feel the skin on my face pull tight and grow warm. My eyes began to burn with rage. The nausea and dizziness seemed to have abated or been joined by this bloom of rage and become something else. I got to my feet and grasped the back of the bench for support. My eyes never left the shapes in the corner. There was very little light over there. I wasn't able to make out the color of their fur from where I stood. I stumbled to my right and grasped something protruding from the wall. I shook my left leg out as the wall protrusion supported me in an effort to work out some of the bugs when I noticed movement from the corner. One of the shapes had risen to a sitting position. Once the glowing green eyes set on mine I knew who it was. I jetted forward as nimbly as I could but something tightened in my right leg and I fell to the ground. I slid a couple feet on the smooth surface until I was inches from Church’s bleeding body.
“Don’t fucking move,” Z demanded. I could see his two back paws from my peripheral. He was smart enough to stand just out of my reach. I considered rolling over that way so I could look him in the eye but felt a darkened presence in my mind fully convince me that his demand, if not acted upon would definitely result in my demise. A pool of blood began to push away from under Church’s crumpled body. I could not see the rise and fall of his breathing. I could feel salty tears begin to sting the insides of my eye.
“Church,” I whispered.
“Is dead,” Z finished, “I highly advise that you follow my instructions before you wind up the same.”
“Like I’m not ending up just as dead when you get me to wherever we’re going.”
Z laughed. I heard him scuttle over to the pilots chair and took the opportunity to re-position myself. I watched him leap into the chair and look over a few things on the black panel.
“Why?” I asked. My voice cracked at the end of the single word expressing more desperation and weakness than I’d intended.
“Look at you,” Z said without looking himself, “out here in the middle of fucking nowhere doing the bidding of a creature you didn't even know existed two years before. The all high and mighty Phil Murphy has come to save us from the horrible oppressors by playing a bunch of fucking stupid songs for a bunch of equally stupid cats. You’re ego is the size of Bochetz itself. If you can’t beat them you join them. The entire universe is getting its taste of what going against the Men in Suits is like. I’ll tell you, it isn’t pleasant. It’s that swelled head of yours that got all those good men in Revelstoke killed, not the Men in Suits. The same swelled head is to blame for Church lying dead in that corner, not me.”
I couldn't restrain myself any longer. I struggled to my knees and began to crawl towards the cat on the chair. When I got there I would wrap one hand around its throat and squeeze until its brains exploded through its eye sockets. I would hold its headless body by the tail and swing it around; bashing it off anything and everything I could to bash it on.
The bullet hit me in the shoulder and spun me around on the floor like some kind of break dance move. I screamed in pain. Z laughed giddily.
Resident of Ionstipe in NGC 324151
Occupation – Professional musician/Founder of Caoloa Charitable Foundation
Age – Unknown
Marital Status – Unknown
Education – Unknown
Andelad Mott founded the CCF just shy of an earth century ago. The foundation was opened to nurture the talents of less fortunate children while providing temporary housing and counseling. It began small, housing twenty-four children in the small town of IOU on the planet, Ionstipe but quickly exploded to forty two houses on sixteen other planets in the system in only ten earth years. The foundation was one hundred percent non profit which confused many as to how it was able to expand so broadly over such a short period of time. Most passed it off as donations. There were many who wished to help but had no time for the efforts after all. Andelad did receive donations, but these were never used to open a new house or to upgrade current facilities. The donations were used to feed the homeless on ten different planets through different charitable foundations. He always donated anonymously and amounts that never drew any attention. The money used to expand came from Andelad’s own pocket.
Andelad is the drummer in seven of Bohspox’s touring groups, the guitar player in three and the singer in three. He uses the money from these touring efforts to completely fund his foundation. Bohspox is actually a co founder of the CCF but prefers to remain an unnamed party.
Mr. Mott floats under the radar like no other. Some even say that his entire existence is make believe. Not many have ever reported meeting him and those that have have not much to say. It’s as though they remembered meeting him but that was all. Andelad learned of events on our planet through Bohspox and has eagerly involved himself in the efforts to help us overthrow the Men in Suits. He is willing to assist you in any way. He has never encountered the Men in Suits personally but over the past four earth years has heard many stories about them that have turned his cheeks red in anger. He awaits your arrival on Rock.
“…down and shut…”
“…beginning to think you do know what you’re doing…”
Two voices floated in my head, bouncing around the walls of my skull like a racket ball. My eyes fluttered twice. My left hand went to my belly and nausea crept into the back of my throat like an army of insects, eager for fresh air.
“…are you serious?”
“…JUST SIT THE FUCK DOWN!”
My vision was far from clear. I blinked languidly, changing my distorted perception into more distorted perceptions. I could feel sweat beads begin to bloom above my eyebrows. In a final fight for survival, the insects in my throat charged forward and earned their freedom. My sudden physical attack interrupted what seemed to be an argument between Church and Z. I blinked hard, sending tears down my hot cheeks.
Z stood tall on his hind legs on the pilots chair I had last seen him in, facing my direction. He was holding something in his hand. It couldn't be the gun I thought it was. Why would he be pointing it at me? I looked down at Church with a totally bewildered expression decorating my face. He stood about three feet away from Z, also up on his hind legs, but on floor level. He slowly shook his head in what I took as a warning.
“Put the gun down Z. I don’t know what’s going on, or who got to you, but it doesn't have to be like this. We can still forget this happened.”
Out the giant window I watched as we began to enter the field of rocks encircling our destination planet. I had a strong déjà vu. Everything seemed to slow down. This was how Michael Jordan probably felt on a rush to the hoop.
“Wha…” I managed. I reached for the back of the bench and struggled mightily to a sitting position, careful to avoid the puddle of vomit on the floor.
“Sit down,” Z said again. His eyes had narrowed and the arm with the gun thickened. The tone of his voice carried a heavy warning. Church’s shoulders visibly slumped. He fell to all fours and slowly walked over to the bench, jumped up and sat next to me. “Now don’t fucking move unless you want your intestines cut to pieces,” Z snarled and turned back to the black panel before him. He began to touch it in specific ways. I wondered if the fluth shuttle was powered by panel technology all of a sudden.
“Where are you taking us?” Church asked. Z didn’t even give the impression he heard the question. Church looked up at me with a look of desperation. His eyes said so much in that moment. I stared into them and felt my perception suck in and pull out like a deep breath.
‘What happened?’ I mouthed and then flung a sideways glance at the back of Z’s head not realizing that he could read every thought in my head. I had yet to discover a way to hide. “Someone wrote the right amount on a cheque it would seem,” Church replied, much louder. Still nothing from Z. Suddenly and loud enough to make me jump, Church started to sing one of my songs in a terrible monotone. Z turned at this and his eyes narrowed, drilling into Churches equally narrowed glare. During this strange vision battle Church’s voice exploded inside my head.
“I’m going to creep on him from the left. When I get halfway there I want you to fall off the bench and attract his attention. Look at Z and call him an asshole right now.”
The terrible singing stopped. I slowly turned to Z’s narrowed look and called him an asshole. He laughed hard at this, eyes squeezed tight and then turned back to the black panel. As soon as his attention returned to the other direction Church was off the bench and creeping along, low to the floor towards the left side of Z’s chair. I tensed. Church was halfway to the seat in seconds. I fell from the bench and landed on the floor with my hand palm down in my pile of puke. Z looked over. Church exploded from the floor. Z turned to meet the collision head on. Churches attack propelled them off the chair and through the air. The gun went off.