The mouth beneath the mustache asked, “So who is it who wants this duel? You should just refuse to fight. Let him call you a coward or whatever.”

It seemed the other man had already guessed much. Joey had things he wasn’t allowed to say, but this wasn’t one of them.

“I think that he and his friends would kill me anyway, and I would have less of a chance. I am thinking of other options, but you don’t want to get involved. I’m only asking you to teach me.”

He didn’t specify exactly what the other man was to teach him. He could not demand he be taught Mario’s secrets.

Able told him, “I’ll ask him a few questions without mentioning you, just like you suggested.”

That was clearly the best he was going to get. He tried to concentrate on the lessons, and urged Emerald to do likewise. He asked Emerald to shut up about the money after the first few comments, his instincts said not to mention it.

Able praised his efforts, but acknowledged that he could not expect to beat someone who had been practicing many years and had truly mastered the weapon. He asked no questions about the remark, but it made his blood run cold.

In the end he took his thoughts, his lessons, and his elder home with him, or at least to the large mansion on the bad side of town. At least the food there was free.

That night he had another dream, if dream it was.

This time he found himself in the body of a young woman, Morgana Pendleton. He could sense her thoughts this time, had to struggle to keep himself from being absorbed in them in fact. She was very worried about her baby, named Arthur. He was undergoing a battery of tests at the hospital, while she was waiting in a room with many chairs, rather fewer newspapers, and a few books. Some of the people there were absorbed in their phones, but she couldn’t concentrate.

At least her baby had fallen in love with the pediatric nurse. Otherwise, Morgana Pendleton would have followed her child around to all the testing rooms, brushing aside protesting doctors, technicians, and security guards. Instead, she was waiting where she had been told.

A blue alien walked up to her, too tall and graceful to be human, and walking slightly awkwardly in Earth gravity. Or so it seemed. Morgana almost smiled. She sometimes played Eightfold Invasion.

There was a tabletop RPG called Eightfold Invasion, but nowadays it seemed that the Augmented Reality version was most popular with the younger set. They had special promotions where people could earn experience points and other rewards from cosplay, by dressing as either Blue or Green aliens and entertaining children at the hospital.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Yet this one was a little too tall and thin to be a costumed human. A thin woman, perhaps a child on stilts with an artificial head over the real human head concealed in the chest cavity. Morgana knew she could tell if she wiped the tears out of her eyes and focused, but she didn’t really care.

The blue thing spoke, and in her sleep deprived shape the distorted voice sounded genuinely alien. “You are Blue Sword Honor.”

She was not especially in the mood to talk, but she almost smiled at the lucky guess. Eightfold Invasion aliens were divided into eight separate factions, and when she played she was usually part of Blue Sword Honor.

She rewarded the speaker with a nod.

The deep gravelly voice continued, “If you dare believe me, your wishes will be granted. Your son will live, and will need no chemotherapy. You need only bring up your son in the ways of Blue Sword Honor, and teach him to do his utmost.”

She looked at it sharply. There was no way a stranger should know that much about her and her baby, and even their future hopes.

It went on, “To accept and show your faith, you need only go to the hospital cafeteria and order a spontaneous remission with a side of fries.”

Suddenly she was filled with rage at this thing toying with her hopes. She almost spoke then, to give it a piece of her mind, or to scream for hospital security. Morgana became acutely conscious that she was alone, and did not knew who the suit might conceal – or what weapons. She strode angrily out of the room and down the hallway.

And past the hospital cafeteria. She hesitated. They had told her it would be at least another hour before they brought her baby back from testing. Someone had even suggested she get something to eat, though she hadn’t felt like it at the time. Now her stomach was still tense, but she was becoming hungry as well. She shrugged and walked in. There was a line, but she had nothing else to do.

When she got to the front, none of the entres in the steam trays inside the glass case looked attractive. She heard herself say, “I’d like a spontaneous remission with a side of fries.”

The lady behind the counter looked sympathetic. She was overweight, between middle aged and old. Her white apron had a few stains on it.

“Oh honey, who wouldn’t? I’d serve one if I could.”

Morgana told her, “Just the fries then.”

She took her tray with the lonely serving of french fries and managed to get a table to herself.

An hour later she was reunited with little Arthur. The nurse told her how good he had been, and he fussed a moment while being separated from her, giving Morgana a flash of jealousy. Then she took her beautiful baby boy home in an Uber.

She forgot the strange incident with the fake alien until a week later. She had brought Arthur back to the hospital for more tests, and a doctor explained to her that he wasn’t recommending chemotherapy because there seemed to be a spontaneous remission. He wasn’t promising anything, they would still have to monitor the baby closely for recurrence.

Morgana was stunned by a wave of joy and relief. The doctor seemed to understand that she wasn’t absorbing everything he was saying, and told her he would put it in writing with her discharge papers, and email her a copy as well.

After she emerged from the hospital, the blue alien walked up to her and handed her a cardboard box of french fries. She smiled at him as she took it.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten my promise.”

Later it occurred to her she hadn’t made one, but she felt like keeping it anyway.

It was a good thing she had agreed to teach her sons to play a computer game, instead of sold her soul, because she wasn’t sure how to package and mail a soul to the devil.