Chapter Two: Argall’s Unbreakable Fogelmite Locks
Jackson Fickle was unsure what to do.
His three years of service as the Personal Assistant to the Non-Personal Assistant to the Executive Assistant to the President of Earth had not prepared him for this situation. It had only prepared him for scheduling trips and ordering light food and beverages, neither of which applied here. Still, he had always considered himself lucky to have landed the job at all, since he is overwhelming uncomfortable with being interviewed, and sweats through his underclothes, overclothes, and any accessories he may be wearing. It just so happened that his interview with the Non-Personal Assistant to the Executive Assistant to the President was on a cold January morning, and the heat in the White House’s West Wing had stopped working. The frigid winter air prevented him from sweating through his outermost layer, a winter parka with a fur-lined hood.
Given his lack of relevant experience, Jackson decided to sit back and watch as his ROC was pulled through the enormous metal teeth of the Byzong Warship’s landing bay. Often times in his young life, Jackson had found that when he was confused, outmatched, or otherwise at a disadvantage, the best course of action was no action at all. He found that this worked most of the time (if he had been trained in data evaluation he would had found that it worked exactly 89.9% of the time, but the Personal Assistant to a Non-Personal Assistant to an Executive Assistant is not often trained in data evaluation) whereas, attempting a bold action worked much less frequently (24.59% of the time, in fact), as he had learned, in part, when standing up to his elementary school bully, Arn Brule, in defense of a young girl by the name of Marlet. But,
you need not remember their names for another fourteen chapters.
As the cable drew the ROC to rest into the landing bay, Jackson stood fast to his plan of doing nothing. When the Byzong Ship Attendant came to the door and asked Jackson to open it, he did not move. When two more Byzong crew members knocked on the windows and motioned for him to turn the latch and open up, he neither spoke nor shook his head. He did absolutely nothing. For the entire ten minutes that it took them to pry open the door, Jackson did hardly more than blink. By the time they pulled him out and stood him up before the Boss of Ships, everyone in the entire landing bay was angry, except Jackson.
The Ship Attendant handed the Boss of Ships the remainder of the tuna fish sandwich and nodded.
“That’s a beautiful jumpsuit you’re wearing. Why didn’t you open up and let my crew aboard?!’ the Boss asked.
“I wasn’t sure what to do. So, I did nothing.” Jackson replied, in the pleasant, yet slightly shaky voice that you did not know he had until this moment.
“Brilliant shoes,” said the Ship Attendant. “You know you could have saved us a whole lot of time if you had just opened up.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” said Jackson. “It’s just that I don’t quite understand what’s happened. Can you tell me… where am I?”
The Boss of Ships paced in front of Jackson with a scowl.
“First you delay our mission, and now you refuse to compliment us? You must be the worst prisoner we’ve ever had!”
“Prisoner?” Jackson repeated in disbelief. Suddenly he remembered his Year 8 course of Intergalactic Species, in which he had done exceptionally well. He had learned that Byzongs used to be considered one of the most advanced civilizations in the universe until their former leader made a series of poor and increasingly ill-advised wagers with their planet’s fortunes. Jackson seemed to remember that at a certain point the leader, Supreme Chancellor Plaggis, had become so desperate to win back his losses, that he bet the Jargons that he could tunnel through the center of his planet and come out the other side. Given the astronomical odds against him, it was calculated that winning the bet would have made him the richest person in the universe. Unfortunately for the Byzongs, he disappeared below ground with little more than a motorized shovel and was never heard from again. The Byzongs lost not just their leader, but 80% of their wealth and resources, and have been struggling to recover ever since. He also recalled that Byzong culture demanded that each conversation begin with a compliment from both parties. No exceptions. Jackson sought to fix his mistake immediately.
“What I mean to say…” he corrected. “Is that this is very impressive for a Byzong ship.”
The Boss of Ships scowled at Jackson with crossed arms. “Take him to the Inquisition Pyramid”.
Jackson had taken another Year 8 course named “Methods & Manners”, in which he did exceptionally poorly. Had he done moderately poorly, or even surprisingly poorly instead, he would have recognized that his compliment was what is traditionally considered “backhanded” (meaning not much of a compliment at all). And Byzongs, experienced in these kinds of things, do not take kindly to backhanded compliments.
Two guards strode forward and grabbed Jackson by the arms.
“Excellent physique. Now come with us,” they said in unison, throwing on a pair of handcuffs. As they dragged him away, there was little chance of escape, since these handcuffs had been outfitted with an Argall Unbreakable Fogelmite lock, built to last for a thousand years, and special ordered for this occasion by the Byzong general herself. After the click of his well-crafted handcuffs, Jackson heard only the loud clanging of the guards’ boots escorting him down a long hall.
Had he thought more about it, Jackson might have wanted to look around and glean whatever he could about the ship and the crew as he was led through the hull of the ship. He heard Byzongs hurrying along on either side into rooms whose uses he could hardly fathom. And if he had looked up, just five seconds after leaving the loading bay, he would have had a clear view into a sunken room filled with the finest Byzong scientists of their generation. He would have seen the hologram of a large machine pointed at a model of Earth, and he may have understood, to some degree, the gravity of his situation. Instead, committed to his plan of doing nothing, Jackson didn’t look up at all.