“Nonpareil Gwyn, Nonpareil Gwyn, please come to garage three. We would like to speak to you about your vehakul. Nonpareil Gwyn….”
“I’m coming already!” Gwyn grumbled to the looping disembodied voice as he shuffled close to the door marked with an odd symbol that denoted the number three. It was bad enough that the Quenth scientists were so gung-ho to bring him to see his old car—he hadn’t even thought much about it since crashing it so long ago—but the insistence on continuing to address him as ‘Nonpareil’ over in such a public way drove him insane.
It had been clear to him from the start that he was no grand hero deserving of some fancy title. After coming home from Nun, and with his insane run around the town of recent, some other folks were starting to catch on. He had heard some not-so-private whispers among some guards about how Prince Donn had bestowed the title as a joke or parody of the earthling. That seemed to be the prevalent theory, though Gwyn had heard others. Had the prince not been away in another nation, the so-called Nonpareil might have opted to meet and see if he could get a clear response from the blue man. He owed Gwyn that much after all the trouble the title had brought.
“Over to your left, Nonpareil!” a stick figure of a scientist said when Gwyn pushed through the door. He paid no mind to some of the stammering explanations the Aqueenian gave while accompanying the earthling to the destination. At first, Gwyn simply zoned him out, but soon he became distracted as a familiar vehicle came into view.
It was his old car, completely intact as if it had never been wrapped around an Aqueenian decorative column. In fact, even the bodywork on the back looked almost factory-new.
“It really took a lot of work, but we were determined,” the sticklike scientist said to Gwyn. A plump and shorter one wiped some grease on his white, space-age-looking suit and joined the other two.
“She was really beat up, but not beyond repair,” the short Aqueenian said. Gwyn wondered where the quirk of calling a car a ‘she’ came from in Resh dialect, but didn’t press it.
“On earth, we would have considered it totaled. Er, that is, sent it to the scrap yard.”
If both scientists didn’t already have blue faces, they might have turned the shade as they gasped in unison. “The scrapyard!”
“Do you really give up so easily when something is broken?” the thin man gasped.
Mem, who had been unusually quiet for the last five minutes, piped up with a chuckle.
“They’re right, partner; no wonder you looked so shocked when you saw it.”
Gwyn moved his jaw back and forth wondering if he lost any stupid expression he might have made when seeing the old car.
“Is this all you wanted to show me?”
“Dant Nonpareil, we actually wanted to ask you a couple of questions about your machine,” the stout one said. The thin one quickly ran to the table to grab a tablet, presumably to take notes.
“Now, the first question is, why you have these four wheels on the machine, wouldn’t hover technology suit it better?”
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“We don’t have that on earth.”
“Fascinating. Are you getting that?”
“Of course I am you dolt, keep asking!”
“Alright, well, we believe we have repaired most of the mechanical systems, but we drained a number of fluids from the machine during the process. My colleague there believes they are unnecessary for the operation, but I have a professional disagreement.”
“Yeah, right,” the skinny scientist said with a roll of his eyes. “Personally, I just think earthlings have unique storage apparatuses for their beverages.”
Gwyn was sure a new stupid expression formed on his face, and he thought he might have taken a step back.
“Did… did you drink it?”
This time, the scientists were in unison. “Of course.”
The short one added, “After checking the makeup with our Needaimus, we confirmed they were safe to drink. Were they not supposed to be?”
“Every fluid in that car will kill a human, er Netzian.” He made a silent note to himself to stick with only water going forward. “Anyway, did you use a Needaimus to repair it too?”
“Not quite,” the skinny one said with a rather smug look. “We actually are working on cowriting a paper about the lack of true knowledge gained within society due to Needaimus enhanced development, and repaired this vehakul in painful detail to show the gaps within culture and reason.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, the short one added, “If you could direct us to which fluids go where, it would be a big help. I told this dummy we should label the containers as we pulled them out, but he was so insistent on the beverage theory!”
“If you’re Needaimus said it was safe, you would have come to the same conclusion!” Before Gwyn could realize it, they were standing in front of each other, a glare in both sets of eyes.
“And if you paid attention to the wider application of our thesis, you would have realized that you haven’t learned a thing!”
“I still can’t believe someone as idiotic as you could be held in such high esteem!”
“Why not? They hold you in a similar esteem.”
Mem leaned close to Gwyn’s ear to whisper. “You’re going to need to intervene.”
“Just what I need,” the Nonpareil muttered. “Guys. Settle down. Uh, fighting will only delay your march to new science or something.”
The two men looked to Gwyn, then to each other, then to the ground before looking back at each other. The short one sighed, and the skinny one grabbed at his wrist.
“The Nonpareil is right, I apologize. I spoke out of turn.”
“No, I did as well.”
The Aqueenian men locked hands and nodded to each other with what seemed to be respect. Gwyn was sure his face was deadpan but figured it would be best to let the two do their thing and get away as soon as he could. He wasn’t too keen on being with these strange scientists any longer.
“Anyway, I can’t really tell you much about where things go. Maybe the gas if I smell it, but we don’t really know much about these sorts of things.”
“Fascinating!” the short man chimed in, “did your society also experience a diminishing of knowledge with Needaimus?”
“They wouldn’t have Needaimus in that world; it must have been something else.”
“Oh, you’re right; well, what is your theory, nonpareil?”
Both scientists inched closer to Gwyn, leaning forward as if to make extra sure they heard what knowledge he might bestow. If only they knew he was a total fraud, they might just let him go. The earthling felt no reason to play up the role.
“I’ve never been much into cultural analysis or philosophizing, so I can’t help you there.”
“How sad,” the short one said with his head hanging low. The taller scientist patted his companion's shoulder.
“Nevertheless, we are interested. If you have time to think about it, we would love to hear your theories. It would be a massive boost to our paper if we could quote a Nonpareil!” Gwyn was sure he had kept free from reactions the whole time, but that last use of Nonpareil made him wince just a little.
“Yes, another time then. Well, have a good day! I, uh, have a trip I need to pack for, actually.”
Gwyn waved goodbye and marched away as the scientists offered their own parting words. He felt he could finally breathe once he escaped the garage. Only later did it sink in that his car might actually be fixed, and he could escape into a long drive someday. The thought was pleasant; long drives always seemed to clear the nerves—if only for a little while.