Last gas for a million miles

After the Office job, when Gradie had found his way out of the Dreamworlds (then manifested as maintenance hallways and pedestrian tunnels, which he had later learned were Philip’s route out of the Hardworlds, and exited via trap door that spit him out in some forgotten alley of the Allcity) Philip had been waiting for him. The team was to meet with the clients in the Allclub ASAP, and Gradie had to be instructed in proper Hardworlder etiquette, in about five minutes.

“First of all,” Philip had said, lifting one finger in the dim alley, like an unmade space between two parts of a video game, lit only by the cherry of his smoking cigar.

“Always wear a mask when entering or leaving the Office, unless going from or to a secure location. Don’t put your mask on or take it off outside of your own private realm or the office, and two, change your fucking clothes when you change your mask. If anyone gave a shit who you are, they could easily look for the guy with the same clothes and build as the disco-ball-faced mother fucker they saw flying out of the office earlier. Which reminds me, make sure your mask changes your voice too. Not that you should open your mouth in the meeting, but better safe than sorry.”

So now, as Gradie flew up into the black to meet Philip, he wondered if it mattered that he was maskless. He had hadn’t said anything about it when—

His communicator rang in plastic tones again.

“Hello?”

“I see you. Stop moving and I’ll be there in a second.”

“Do I need to mask up?”

“What? Hell no. Never put on your mask outside of a secured location like the office. Didn’t I tell you that? Anyway, this craft’s clean.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Means I don’t take it to the office or fly any masks in it. No one can seek where we’re going anyway.”

Philip hung up and Gradie got an ear full of dial tone until he snapped off the connection. A moment later, a star slid off a constellation and came toward him. It split into rows of lights, shining over a dark plane of something solid. It rotated as it approached, fast enough to break the sound barrier multiple times over in the Real, and Gradie found something familiar in the emerging shapes. Then it hit him.

It was a gas station, complete with parked cars and an air pump, pulled off of the earth by some mad god, with pipes and wires still sticking out of the inverted cone of topsoil beneath its concrete lot. Fluorescent light flickered in just the right way and blackened the sky as it got closer. According to the signs, it was a Philip’s 66. Of course.

Gradie floated over the edge and its gravity pulled him down to the ground. As he walked to the front doors, he examined the finer points. Oil stains in the parking spots. One pump with a plastic bag over it. Trash in all the cans. If he dumped them out into the black, would the cups and bottles fall down to the Allcity and stick in the crevices of someone's dreamlair? Empty fry boxes drifting in the Allclub? It was tempting.

The doors slid open and he walked into a glaringly bright store that smelled of heavy-handed chemical cleaning. The fridges hummed. Hot dogs and taquitos rolled. Slushy machines spun tanks of red cherry and blue raspberry. Philip was next to the counter, matte steel trenchcoat over a charcoal suit, swearing at the register screen.

Gradie, having found the gravity here was mostly a suggestion, jumped twenty feet over a kiosk of mixed nuts.

“This is exactly how I pictured your craft.” He landed on the countertop, knocking a display of tacky lighters and a dust filled take-a-penny bowl to the ground.

“Watch it!” Philip said, without looking up. “Do I go into your ship and kick all your fucking anime dolls around? And go ahead and get all your best jokes out. I’m sure I’ll be surprised. Ha ha, a gas station, am I right?” He tapped the screen, which was realistically finicky, and kept pulling up the same menu.

“God dammit.” He tapped harder and Gradie looked around to hide his smile. Whatever training he was about to get, it wouldn’t help to have Philip pissed at him the whole time.

“Kinda cool though. Better than another space ship or—”

“It’s not fucking cool, and I didn’t pick it. Michael insisted I get one of these things and the Twins made this one as a joke. Finally!”

A menu came up on the panel, titled “Travel Items”. There was a large square labeled “Allworld”, with buttons inside for the Allclub, the Office, Mem traders. Other icons outside the Allworld box were labeled “Lucy”, “Gunmaze”, “Memulacron-3” (in a red-orange starburst that said “special item!”). Philip tapped a green orb marked “HQ”. The store rumbled and snacks slipped off the shelves. A little receipt came screeching out of the till and Philip snatched it away and crumpled it in his fist. Gradie reached down and picked up a can of pringles that rolled to his feet.

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“I wouldn’t,” said Philip. “Everything in here is stale or flat. Another one of the twin's little jokes.”

“The twins?”

“Our makers. Who we’re going to see.”

“They made this?”

“Yeah.”

“Whats the joke?”

“That I cant stand this fucking place. Said they gave me a ship more like the Hardworlds. Like they would know.”

“Why don’t you like it?”

“The ship?”

“No, the rest of it.”

Philip looked at him for once, and reached in his jacket for a cigar, taking his time to consider his answer, or Gradie, or both.

“You see that girl at Ray’s? The cashier?” He lit the silver foil wrapped cigar on the jet of flame that shot out of his ring, and the cherry glowed with sparks at the edges like it was half firework.

“Yeah.” Gradie glanced out the window and noticed the stars had disappeared.

“Why do you think she's spending her time in this fucking wonderland taking orders?”

“Uh,” Gradie had wondered that himself, but for all he knew she might have been an illusion or something.

“She’s hooked on something. Some simulated life, gameworld tokens, or maybe one of those pure vials of concentrated pleasure these wonderful makers excel at creating.” Philip ashed on the floor, glanced out at the rushing emptiness, then back at Gradie, with a weary hatred in his eyes.

“This world gets its claws in you just like the other one. Seen it a million times.”

“Oh.” Gradie was glad all he tried was a burger.

“Why do you think Michael hired you so fast?”

“Because,” Gradie’s words got left behind by his thoughts. Had it been fast? It had felt like Michael was hesitant to let him on at first, before he had spent some time in the Otherworld. Maybe that’s how it was supposed to feel. Gradie probed the edges of his memory, trying to find the line between what Michael had wanted him to do, and what he had ended up doing, and decided that, although their goals had lined up nicely this time, the big bastard was more conniving than he seemed.

“Cause he saw potential in you and wanted to get you before the Otherworld did,” said Philip.

“Potential?” Gradie asked. Philip ignored him.

“Did you pick a code name yet?”

“Oh, no. I was thinking—”

“Easiest is a noun and a number. Don’t overthink it. Too many assholes try to spell out their whole personality and they all end up sounding the same.”

He chuckled to himself. Gradie decided not to mention any of the names he had come up with so far, and quietly put them in a mental shredder.

“So what do you got?” Philip asked.

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“I said don’t—"

Gradie felt a nudge on his communicator and Philip lifted a finger to his temple.

“Hello?”

“You got him with you?” It was Lindsey.

“Yeah.” Philip's voice dropped a few octaves.

“I’m coming aboard.”

Gradie looked out the windows and saw the stars had returned. An airship floated by in the black. Ebony wood hull, golden sailwings, and a glittering gem-encrusted half-dragon-half-woman figure on the bow, blowing a horn and holding a flaming sword. It was not what Gradie had imagined Lindsey’s craft would look like, and he wondered if she too had gotten it from someone else.

The door to the back room opened and Lindsey walked in, giving Gradie flashbacks to another gas station between worlds. Her clothes killed the déjà vu and made him second guess his assumptions about her craft. Bronze armor over red dragon hide. He had forgotten about her elven get-up after the clubhouse. In this world, it suited her.

“You taking him to the Twins?” she asked.

“Yep. Perks of the Job,” said Philip. Gradie was more shocked that Philip didn’t comment on Lindsey's outfit than he had been by anything since the Hardworlds.

“I’ll go with you,” Lindsey said. “Want to see what I’m gonna be working with.” She smiled at Gradie, and he managed a nod before looking away.

“Don’t be nervous,” she said. “This’ll be fun. You’ll love the twins.” She clapped him on the shoulder. He still remembered the way she had glared at him that first day with Michael, the feeling of her lips, and the way she knocked him to the ground. If she thought about any of it, he couldn’t tell.

A planet rolled into view, its lush green continent encircled by a deep blue.

“Whats this?”

“Our HQ.” Philip tapped on the screen.

“You guys have an entire planet?

“Yeah. It was a gift, apparently.” Philip tapped again and the ship warped to the surface. A massive building of stone, silver, and glass struck up out of the jungle. It looked like a cluster of basalt columns hollowed out into an office tower. They landed on a thin waver of matte silver that fanned out to meet them.

“If this is your HQ, then what’s that building in the city?”

“That’s more like our front office,” said Lindsey. “Where we meet most of our clients. This is more secure.”

“Why didn’t we just use a door?” Gradie said, remembering the ease of getting to Lucy’s realm the first time. Philip tapped another button and the front doors slid open with a ding.

“Mike wanted you to make the trip see it from above and get its layout in your memory. Makes it easier for you to get to it if you ever start flying one of these things.”

Gradie hoped Philip meant a craft in general, and not a floating gas station.

“Where’s Michael?”

“What, you miss him? He’s handling business. I’m Captain now, so I’ll be responsible for your development, such that it will be.”

“Captain?”

“Last job we were all stepping on each other's toes,” said Lindsey. “Philip has been moved to a more hands-off role.”

“A management role,” he corrected.

“A supervisor, even,” Lindsey said, with a grin at the edges.

Philip managed a smile around his cigar and marched out the doors.

“So what will I be doing here?” Gradie asked.

“Getting ready for the Hardworlds, ideally.” Philip flicked his cigar off the side of the mirror ramp.

“Uh, I think I’ve been there already.”

“Don’t get smart.”

A crystal pane in the tower melted away and they walked inside.