Chapter 12: Green Gilly’s Whisper Noodles

 Chapter 12: Green Gilly’s Whisper Noodles

When Jackson woke up, he could already feel the heat from the blazing sun. His dreams had either been immediately forgotten, or sweated out upon his arrival. He shielded his eyes and saw that the hatch of the small train car was open above him, and Tarza and Dusty had already exited. 

“Little help?” she called down to him.

Plod was halfway up and out of the hatch, and clearly needed a boost. Gladly leaning into the shadow being cast by her body, Jackson obliged, but was still decidedly “fuzzy”, as he would call it in later recollections, from his nap. He guessed it may have been the soothing ride through space, or perhaps the exhaustion of the exciting and strange journey he’d been on had finally caught up with him. Either way, he was fuzzier than he could remember being in a long time and, once again, in a place he was not familiar with. In this case, he was also in a place that seemed to be a secret not just from him, but the entire staff at Pelligrant Station. 

“Are you sure it’s safe here?” he asked, remembering Pelligrant Station’s fugitive alarm. 

“I’ve already told you,” Tarza answered, helping him out. “It’s probably the only place we are safe right now.

“Not very reassuring,” he answered, looking around through squinted eyes.

“And you already said that back,” she smiled. 

“So, now can you tell me where we are?”

Jackson saw orangey-brown land as far as he could see. Some was more browny-ish-orange, and a few rocks in the distance seemed almost redy-ish gold, but for the most part it was the same color as an orangey-brown crayon, had such a crayon ever been manufactured. 

It was a dirt dessert, only broken up by the small town the train had landed in, and the mountains to their East. But had you asked Jackson which direction the mountains were from him at that very moment, he would have had a 27% chance of guessing correctly (and the percentage is only higher than 25% because he had a slight proclivity for thinking things are to the east, even on planets where he was aware of the sun’s path, and had no suitable reason for needing to guess but did so anyway).

The street in front of them had wood buildings, none more than a few stories tall, with metal accents and patrons meandering or standing around outside on a planked boardwalk. The aliens tipped their hats, the ones that had heads that could support a hat, towards other passersby as they moved about their day.

“We’re in Ridgea, the home of the Pocket Watches,” said Tarza. “Now come on.”

She led them to a wide-faced tavern with a pack of horzips waiting outside. Given that horzips are only prevalent in 30.1% of planets recognized by Those in Charge, and Earth is not one of them, and given that humans do not like when they don’t know something, I will give you a brief explantation of what Jackson, Tarza, Dusty, and Plod saw outside the tavern. For starters, horzips do somewhat resemble Earth horses in size and shape, but the similarities in name are purely coincidental. Horzips, as they are known in all languages that use words instead of direct telepathic gutteral-emoto communication, are known as such due to the distinct hoarse* sound they make while belching, and the “windzip” sound they make when running. Their long bodies and long heads might lead a human to believe that they are looking at a horse, were it not for the fantastical color of orange hair that they grow in adolescence.

*hoarse, as it happens is also purely coincidentally identically sounding to horse.

Walking past the horzips, of which you are now slightly familiar, the group entered the half-full tavern. Three tables were filled with patrons, each drinking a different variety of three hundred fizzy drinks served on tap at the establishment. Since the advent of molecular fizz flavor fusion stations in taverns, most were able to serve between 100 and 1000 varieties without much fuss. But fuss-less fizz flavor fusion was not cheap, and this particular tavern capped out at three hundred.

Jackson could feel the eyes upon them (some patrons had three or more eyes so this added up quickly) as they walked up to the counter. Whispers began spreading through table and booths. It could be because of Dusty and Plod, Jackson reasoned, because he had not seen any other ROBs since arriving on the planet. But deep down, deep below his belly button, past his right knee, somewhere around his ankle, Jackson knew it was because of the Fugitive Alert that he could not get out of his head, or so it seems, ankle.

The round blue bartender sloshed over to them and Tarza greeted them with a smile.

“Oy, Orozco! Happy to see me?” she beamed.

The bartender shook their head from side to side and Jackson marveled as it seemed to whoosh and then wiggle to a stop. As far as Jackson could tell, their large bulbous body was made up entirely of a gelatinous goo that was semi-transparent. Each of their limbs was made up of a set of smaller round balls as well. And on their face, just below a round nose, was a stark, black mustache. 

“Course I’m not, Tarza. What are you doing here?” Orozco replied.

“Aw, come on! I missed you! And…” she said, leaning in. “I thought it might be a good time to get my watch fixed.”

Tarza lifted up her Pocket Watch and rested it on the counter.

Orozco’s round eyes got wide and they let out a sigh so large that their whole body jostled and shook.

“The Watchmaker’s booked solid today… He’s out of town,” said Orozco, picking up a rag and cleaning a glass that didn’t need cleaning.

“Which is it? Is he booked solid or out of town?”

Orozco leaned in as well.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Tarza. Do you know how many people would like to collect on a reward like yours?”

Tarza smiled.

“I do. Which is why I think it’s best that I get my watch fixed as soon as possible. Can you imagine if Those In Charge found out that Byzong and Earth fugitives were captured on your Ridgea?”

Orozco’s mustache twitched.

“Imagine a big investigation on your little ol’ planet.” She said with less-than-sincere concern.

“Are you trying to—“ Orozco started.

“Listen, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. You know I wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t worth it, Orozco.”

He sighed again and placed the extra clean glass back on the counter.

“All right, Tarza, I supposed he has an opening today… and he’s back in town. Go on, then.”

“Thank you,” she said with a very-much-sincere smile.

Jackson was relieved when they walked up a set of stairs behind the counter. The number of eyes watching them had grown since they walked in, and the whispers had become full voice conversations. 

They went along a walkway overlooking the kitchen. Over the railing, Jackson saw two chefs preparing some food he knew and some that he did not. One chef was chopping a purple root-like vegetable that seemed to shimmer and move. The other was silently sliding Green Gilly’s Whisper Noodles into a pot of boiling liquid. Had Jackson stuck around to eat them, he could rest assured that they would be the thinnest, quietest noodles he ever ate, unlike the thick, loud, and slurpy noodles of their competitors. Green Gilly’s guarantee is that you’ll never heard a sound above a whisper.

“Who is the Watchmaker?” Jackson asked Tarza.

“Not-President-Racha asks a lot of questions,” noted Plod.

“Yes, he does,” said Tarza. “He’s the head of the Pocket Watches. But from here on out, let me do the talking. Trust me, it’s for the best.”

Jackson nodded. They passed row of doors on their left, then came to an old, dark one. Tarza looked around and then pressed inside. All four crammed forward, but Jackson soon found that there was nowhere to go.

“Is this a closet?” asked Jackson.

“I thought I told you let me do the talking?” whispered Tarza.

“It’s fine, no one else is here. Did you open the wrong door?”

“Jackson, if you would just…”

He could barely see, but Jackson reached out his hand to touch the wall in front of them with ease.

“See, no one here. This is a closet if I’ve ever seen one!” 

But Jackson had made quite a false assumption. As it happens, and as he should have learned by this point in his journey, not all someones are shaped in the manner in which he is accustomed. And some of the someones who are not shaped like others, might not like being poked by a human without permission.

“Do you mind?” said the wall in front of them.

Jackson jumped back into the door they came through, startled.

“Did… did the wall just talk?”

“I’m not a wall!” said, the wall (as you may have guessed, it was not a wall, but since you don’t yet know what it is, we’ll continue to call it that for just a moment longer).

“I’m…sorry,” said Jackson, sincerely.

“This is Jackson. He’s new to, well, most things. It’s me, Tarza.”

She pulled out her Pocket Watch again, but this time it glowed a dull pink.

“Ahhh, Tarza. Good to see you again! ” said the loud rumbling voice of the wall.

Suddenly a light ahead began to reveal itself to Jackson. The wall was getting smaller and smaller. By the time Jackson could fully see, it was in the shape a small creature made up of what could only be described as rocks and pebbles.

“Thanks, Rog.”

Tarza led them forward to a long hall as Rog, moved aside to let them pass.

“Anytime,” said Rog in a tiny voice. 

“I’m terribly sorry, again,” bowed Jackson as he passed. “I’ve never met a… a…”

“Rockwallian,”answered Rog. “Think nothing of it.”

Once they were clear, Rog filled up into a wall-sized shape once again behind them.