EXFLIBBERAGUIL GULPED.
It had been so long ago that he had landed one of these ships. Nearly forty years, as Exflibberaguil had gone back in time a couple of times. Unfortunately, his time machine was broken, but he supposed his was outdated anyway. He’ll just buy another one on Driew.
The landing was scheduled in three galactic hours.
“Sir, fuel unit is going into grams.”
“Box—”
“Shut up. Yes, I know.” Box said.
“Good.” Exflibberaguil gripped the handles. “Why didn’t you tell me to land sooner? There’s not enough fuel for auto-land!”
“Sir, I did,” Box whined, “but you forgot.”
“I don’t remember forgetting anything!”
“Because you forgot about that too!” Box groaned. Then it said, “Box, shut up.”
“Did you record my voice?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t give your permission to do that!”
“Yes, I know. But your ferret did.”
“Why?”
Before Box could answer, Countdown started again, reminding Exflibberaguil he only had three hours left.
“Shut up!” Box and Exflibberaguil said at the same time.
Exflibberaguil jerked a lever and felt the pressure drop. “Box, can’t you NoseTalk to the ship or something?”
“NodeTalk. And no. It was specially designed so that it was impossible to hijack this ship. It’s blocking all access to my requests.”
Exflibberaguil sighed, pulling the lever up once more. Then his face brightened. “Hey, Box, I need you to assist me.”
“Of course! I am so happy to be of assistance!”
“Remember, if this ship crashes and we all die, it wasn’t my fault, ok? It was my ferret’s fault. Or even better, your fault. Just in case anyone asks.”
“But sir, if we all die, how can I—” Box stopped, looked at Exflibberaguil’s face, and said, “Wait, don’t say it. ‘Shut up.’” Box repeated the recording.
“Translator, please give me another catchphrase.”
The ship accelerated suddenly. “Damn it. Driew’s gravity is finally strong enough to have effect. I was wondering how far we’d have to be for such a small planet to pull us in.”
“Sir, you probably want to switch gears and—”
“Pipe down, Box.” A beat. “How was that?”
“I’ll have to record that too.”
----------------------------------------
NICK STARTED MAKING HER WAY TO MCDONALDS.
She strapped a cave light on to her bike helmet, and duct taped a flashlight to her handle. Exflipper had told her to be in a good mile radius from McDonalds, but Nick wouldn’t be listening to that. Whatever Exflipper was doing, she didn’t want to miss it.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
Nick took a roundabout route to McDonalds, being careful not to be in Ms. Wooddell’s line of vision. As she pedaled along the sidewalk, she suddenly realized that she had no idea what she was doing.
It had never occurred to her that Exflipper’s claims of being an alien were true, but if not, why was she going to McDonalds?
Perhaps it was a show? Or some crazy gadget? Maybe Exflipper was a child genius, who invented some sort of UFO-looking machine, and now needed Nick as a witness?
Or maybe Nick was really just going to be kidnapped. What a clumsy way to do it, though. It would probably have been smarter to leave an email or something. Not a stupid website that barely anyone would go to.
Or maybe it was a McDonalds worker. Some sort of contest? Maybe she’ll get a free serving of chicken McNuggets.
Nick realized it took more imagination to think of reasons why someone would want to meet her at McDonalds, than it did to simply believe the whole alien hoax.
Anyways, whatever happened, it was bound to be amusing, at least.
Nick pedaled on harder.
Soon, the gold McDonalds ‘M’ came into view. McDonalds was in a sort of clearing in a semi-forest. You had to be only a few yards away to see it. A twisty road led up to the parking lot. Nick had brought some money, just in case the whole thing really was some stupid prank. At least she’d have something to eat.
Nick wheeled her bike into a bit of trees, making sure she was far enough in that she looked like a shadow. Nick leaned her bike on a trunk and sat down, waiting.
She squinted at the large “M”. Was there a billboard stuck to it?
She was momentarily distracted by a McDonalds employee dressed in red stripes drive up in a nice car.
----------------------------------------
TIMOTHY ARRIVED ON HIS SHIFT.
He looked anxiously at the sign. It still read Sunday.
Something was supposed to happen today.
He stepped out of his car, parked in the reserved employee lot, and entered through the kitchen door. As usual, there was only one chef who was half asleep.
He relieved the other employee’s duty for the moment, standing behind the counter. His eyes kept on darting to the window. Was that a creak? He wished McDonalds had a window on the ceiling. But then again, if something was to happen, he would know. One of the customers would say something.
The man from last night entered. Timothy was able to understand what “the usual” meant this time.
“Here you go,” Timothy said, less polite then yesterday.
The man grunted. His lungs were just as full of smoke as yesterday. “There’s something stuck to building,” he said unhappily, “almost made me miss this place.”
Timothy’s heart quickened. “Yes?”
“On the big M. Nearly didn’t see this road. Covered all the light.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, a piece of paper or something. Get rid of it.”
“I believe it was a sign.”
“I don’t care what it is. Get rid of it. Don’t want to see it tomorrow. Next time I’ll complain to the manager.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man grunted and left.
If nothing happened today, Timothy though, he’d personally remove the sign and resign from his work. He had already thought of an excuse. He had a rich, childless uncle who recently died and left all his fortune to Timothy. He’d be able to pay back his student loans.
But somehow, Timothy felt certain something was about to happen today.
----------------------------------------
REMEMBER THE DOCTOR WHO CURED THE MEERCAT SPECIALIST’S TAPEWORMS, THE ARCHEOLOGIST’S DOG, AND THE DRESSMAKER’S PRICKED FINGER?
Well, he was able to remove a small splinter of the unidentified object which caused the whole finger infection.
As he was shutting down for the night, hoping he’d finally be able to get some sleep, he heard something coming from the stethoscope he wore around his neck. Hesitating, he placed the earbuds into his ears.
It was a low, humming noise. The doctor moved the stethoscope around.
The sound was coming from the biohazardous trash bin. He opened it.
A pale light was emitting from a piece of gauze. Donning latex gloves, the doctor slowly pulled it out. He hadn’t noticed the glow before, as it was only visible in the dark.
Using tweezers, her carefully pulled out the small fragment the gauze was protecting.
It was the splinter he had removed from that whining dressmaker earlier that evening.
“Donna?” he called, then, with more impatience, “Donna!”
“Yes doctor?”
“Look at this.” He raised the tweezers so the nurse could see.
“What is it?”
“Came from one of the patient’s finger. Have you seen anything like it?”
“No, doctor, though the piece too small to make sure. Might just be a glow-in-the-dark toy fragment. Do you want it analyzed?”
“Would it cost a lot?”
“Perhaps. But if we found some rare material, we might get a lot of money.”
“Stop with your fantasies, Donna. There’s no such thing as a rare material nowadays.”
“Then what should we do with it?”
The doctor considered. “Find out how much it costs to be analyzed,” the doctor decided, “then I’ll make a decision.”
“Yes, doctor.” Donna retreated.
The doctor placed the splinter into a container and pocketed it, remembering his lack of sleep.
It was probably some sort of nut anyway.