SOLAR SNOOKS

 Chapter One: Sarglop’s Thick & Slurpy Ramen Noodles

It happened in an instant.

To be precise, it happened in somewhere between a picosecond and a second. If you had tried to say the words “Sarglop’s Ramen Noodles” in the time it took to happen, it would be over before you finished taking the little breath that humans take before they start speaking. Not even the “s” from “Sarglop’s” would be heard, and anyone wondering what you were going to say would be left with no choice but to guess. Even if, by some cosmic coincidence, they guessed that you had been about to say the name of a noodle, they would have almost no chance of knowing which one, and would probably guess a less thick and less slurpy noodle than Sarglop’s.

So, to tell you about it slowly would be inappropriate, given the shocking speed at which it occurred. 

In fact, Aggomalda’s Universal Ratio, which states that the length of a story may not exceed ten times the length of the event it is describing, dictates that there can be no build up at all. Therefore, at this moment, I can’t tell you why a personal assistant was in space. I cannot even explain how he came to be eating a tuna fish sandwich that wasn’t meant for him.

I know you’re used to being told a great many things in books, written in long sentences with many details, but it simply wouldn’t be right, given how quickly it happened, to say anything but this:

One moment Jackson Fickle was taking the second bite of a tuna fish sandwich, and the next he was pulled inside a black hole. 

Of course, it’s true that I could go back and tell you more about him now, having described the speedy event speedily, but I think you will find that when black holes are involved, the best way backwards is forwards. And as you now know, a black hole is exactly where Jackson found himself after just one-and-a-half bites of someone else's tuna fish sandwich.

He was still chewing when he noticed that his ROC (Roving Observational Craft) was now somewhere that neither he, nor I, can describe to you. And it is important to note that while I chose not to describe Jackson and how he got here in the first place, I am not now choosing to not describe his black hole (which would one day be named ‘Jackson Hole’ after him) because I do not wish to do so, but because it cannot be described. Black holes are, in fact, impossible to describe. The official Universal University of the Universe’s list of things that cannot be described is exactly five items long, and blacks holes are number two on that list. *At the time of this writing, a sixth item, the feeling of having an oncoming sneeze interrupted, is being considered for the list, but has not yet been accepted.

So, to try to describe what Jackson saw and felt inside the black hole would be a waste of time. Instead, I can only share with you the one thing that Jackson remembers clearly about the experience and insists upon to this day: when he came out the other side he had the taste of peppermint in his mouth. And, given that he had been eating a tuna fish sandwich, which is on the opposite side of the UU of U’s spectrum of tastes, you can imagine the drastic nature of his short journey. 

When he arrived safely through the black hole, Jackson, who had yet to say a single word since the time that you learned of his existence, continued to say nothing. If he did speak you could assume that at this time he would have said something peppermint related, but assumptions have a way of getting you into trouble, as you will learn in Chapter 12 (a chapter whose noodles are paper thin, and can hardly be slurped at all). 

 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.

 Chapter Three: X-RING Glasses

Jackson was ushered into a white room with blue stripes that was in the shape of a pyramid. It was the first time he had ever sat in a pyramid-shaped room, he reasoned. Almost every room he’d ever set foot in had four walls, one ceiling, and one floor. The only exception was the morning that he delivered a cup of coffee to the President of Earth in the Oval Office. She had ordered it with “cow’s milk”, eight sugars, and three drops of vanilla. That she had asked for the milk to be “cow’s milk” had always stood out to him, just like the shape of his current interrogation room. 

The guards sat him a chair that was surprisingly comfortable and he could not help but thank them as they took off his handcuffs. 

The two guards stood behind him for three minutes, wondering if they should offer him a drink. After twenty seconds each guard assumed that if it were appropriate to offer him a drink, surely the other guard would have by then, and so Jackson was not offered a drink.

Jackson, satisfied that his plan of doing nothing had been successful in some way, turned around slightly to view the guards. He had never encountered a Byzong in person before and, having encountered a good many in a short period of time, he allowed himself to marvel slightly at their appearance. Byzongs look like humans in every way except for the many ways in which they do not. They are generally muscular in nature, particularly in the calves and forearms. They have noses just one third the size of the average human, and their ears are a foot tall. Their feet, as it happens, are only a human ear long, but they make up for it with special-made metal boots that clunk and clonk as they walk. It is a point of great pride for a Byzong to have loud footsteps, and the Byzong with the loudest footsteps in the room is often considered the most important and well-respected. The competition makes social gatherings unbearably loud, and dance parties illegal.

Noticing him staring at them, the guards became uncomfortable, wondering if they were being judged for not having offered him a drink. Noticing instead their level of discomfort, Jackson turned back around, feeling uncomfortable with how he’d made his captors feel. So it was that all occupants in the pyramid room felt shame and discomfort but none for an appropriate reason. 

Jackson, who was now busying himself by looking around the pyramid room, saw that each of the three walls had exactly one door. The door he had come through was behind him. So, he was facing two doors, angled towards him from both his right and left. The left door opened first. 

As she entered, the footsteps of Inquisitor Slah were the loudest that Jackson had ever heard. He was more thankful than ever to not be handcuffed as he covered his ears. The guards, whose ears were much larger than Jackson’s, had little hope of covering their own, and would anyway not have risked the humiliation. Any indication that the Inquisitor’s boots were too loud for them would make it clear to any Byzong that they themselves do not have boots as loud as hers, and they do not often socialize with Byzongs with boots of her decibel level. 

Mercifully, Inquisitor Slah quickly made her way to the table in front of Jackson and sat down. She looked him up and down through a pair of sharp X-Ring Lie-Detector Glasses, designed to give the wearer the ability to see the truth of a statement as clear as the tiny nose on their face. 

“Wonderful posture. I am Inquisitor Slah. I imagine you have some questions. I will allow you three,” she said.

Jackson raised an eyebrow.

“Why am I here?” he asked.

The Inquisitor smirked. 

“You are here because we kidnapped you.”

“But, why did you kidnap me?” he asked. 

“Because we plan on taking all the water from Earth and you have information that we need.”

Jackson was shocked. He didn’t understand why anyone would want to steal something so important from his planet. So large. So liquid. He didn’t understand what he had to do with such a plan. But more importantly at that moment, he could not understand how something so bold and ambitious could be done. And unfortunately for him, it was that curiosity that informed his third question.

“How do you plan on doing that?!” he asked loudly.

“By using a Third Generation Macro-Electro-Bionic-Hydroxy-Gravitational Tube Ray,” she said confidently.

“But what’s a…” Jackson started to ask another question but the Inquisitor raised her finger in protest.

“Three questions. Three Answers, President Racha.” 

Jackson furrowed his brow.

“Did you just call me…”

The Inquisitor slammed her boot into the ground and Jackson covered his ears once more.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she reiterated. “No more questions.”

Jackson nodded slowly as he lowered his hands.

“Now it is my turn to ask the questions. We will have, an interview of sorts. I’m sure you’re used to those, being President of such a big important planet as Earth.” The Inquisitor let out a little chuckle at her comment. Jackson thought he could hear chuckles from the guards behind him but he couldn’t be sure with his ears still recovering from boots of such stature. 

But he had heard, distinctly, the word ‘interview’, and this set off an involuntary, psychosomatic, pituitary reaction in Jackson that he knew all too well. Sweat began to bead down the back of his neck.

“First question,” she started, “How are your oceans protected? Which oceans are easiest to steal, and which are most heavily defended?”

Jackson’s sweat began to bead on his freckled forehead. 

“I still don’t understand how an ocean can be stolen. We don’t have anything protecting them.”

Inquisitor Slah’s X-RING glasses zoomed in on a perfectly formed drop of sweat on Jackson’s forehead and logged it. It played Jackson’s answer back three times internally, using X-RING patented lie-detector technology, and noted his slightly shaky voice. These factors combined caused the rim of the glasses to flash orange, the interplanetary color of deceit. 

The Inquisitor narrowed her eyes. 

“You lie! So your oceans are well protected, then? No matter, we are prepared to destroy any defenses.”

“Destroy?” Jackson said with concern, trying hard not to say anything that would be considered a question.

“I think there is a misunderstanding. I am not an expert on any defenses at all! I’m just the Personal Assistant to the Non-Personal Assistant to the Executive Assistant to the President!”

Sweat ran down the sides of his face and the X-RING Glasses flashed orange again. 

“Lies! Fibs!” she shouted. Besides the excessively loud stomps that her position afforded her, calling out the fibs of fibbers was the Inquisitor’s favorite part of the job.

“I’m not fibbing! How can you not know what the President…” Jackson caught himself and corrected. “I would think, that if you planned on kidnapping a President, you would know what they looked like first.”

He nodded contentedly at his strategy.

Inquisitor Slah waved him off.

“We do not rely on such frivolous things as appearances. They can be changed easily. Instead we rely on names, which in Byzong culture, can never be changed.” 

“On Earth, names can be changed easily,” he retorted. The sweat stains had begun to seep through his light blue shirt, and the X-RING glasses once more happily tattled on him on for lying.

“I see by your lies that it is much the same in your culture,” she smiled. 

“But my name isn’t President Racha, it’s Jackson Fickle!” he said.

“Our spy has been on your staff for some time, tracking your whereabouts and gathering information. We knew that you would be passing by the Portus Black Hole at lunchtime today. So, he simply placed a tracker in your tuna fish sandwich…”

“Inside the sandwich…,” he whispered in thought.

“That’s right. And once we isolated your location, we simply harpooned your vessel and pulled you through to our location,” she said proudly. “It really couldn’t have gone better.”

The guards behind him smiled at each other.

Jackson sighed and put his head down. 

“I don’t think I was supposed to eat that sandwich,” he said.

The Inquisitor looked at him curiously. Her glasses scanned him feverishly but did not flash.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I thought it was meant for me. But now I’m thinking that I made a big mistake…”

“Go on,” she encouraged.

“The sandwich baggie had the initials ’T.F.’ on it, which must have stood for tuna fish. I thought it stood for my name.”

The Inquisitor scowled.

“You just claimed your name was Jackson Fickle.”

“It is. But my real name is Theodore Fickle. But I prefer my middle name… Jackson.”

The Inquisitor leaned back in her chair and let out a long breath.

“Ah, this changing names business again. I don’t need glasses to tell me that’s a fib.”

Before Jackson could say another word, an alarm went off inside the warship. The sound was a high-pitched rhythmic ringing and he couldn’t help but think that it sounded similar to a giant triangle being played by an aggressive percussionist. The guards looked at each other and then at the Inquisitor. 

The guards wondered if they should leave and see why the alarm was going off. But, since the other guard hadn’t moved, each guard assumed that they were doing the right thing by standing still. It was in this way the guards ignored the alarm and stared at the Inquisitor while the alarm rang loudly throughout the room. 

The Inquisitor was about to yell at one of them for not checking on the alarm (she was still deciding on which one to yell at), when a Byzong cadet opened the other door across from Jackson and ran over to the Inquisitor. 

“You have a very strong jawline. The Admiral would like to see you on the bridge,” he said, while standing at attention.

“You have exquisite taste in jawlines,” she complimented. “I’m in the middle of an interrogation! What do they want with me?”

“We received a signal from inside the Jaggidal Asteroid Belt. A Vlop cruiser is threatening to fire on us,” they answered. 

“The Vlops are our allies. Why would they want to fire on us?” Inquisitor Slah was not in the mood for a cadet prank. 

“That’s exactly what the Admiral asked!” he answered excitedly. “And they said they’ve had a really bad day and they’re just in the mood.”

The Inquisitor looked away in thought. “They are a temperamental bunch.” She turned back to the cadet. “But what does this have to do with me?? I’m an Inquisitor, not a Negotiator.”

“They said the only way they’ll consider not firing is if they speak to you.”

“Me?” she asked.

The cadet nodded. 

“But why me? I haven’t even spoken to a Vlop since UU of U,” she mused.

“No one knows,” he answered. “But the Admiral is freaking out and asked me to get you right away.” He leaned in to whisper. “We can’t seem to find their ship anywhere on our radar. It must be their most advanced vessel yet. Undetectable.”

The Inquisitor thought for a moment, then stood up. 

“We’re not finished,” she said to Jackson.

The cadet led her out of the room swiftly, and closed the door behind them. 

Jackson hardly had time to watch it close, when the other door across from him opened again. A young Byzong woman stepped in and pulled aside the Inquisitor’s chair. 

“What lovely scowls you have. My name is Tarza and I’m here to check on the prisoner’s health. Is this him?” she asked, pointing to Jackson.

“You’re very beautiful,” said one guard. “This is the Presidential prisoner,” he corrected proudly.

Tarza smiled. “Of course.”

She looked Jackson over with narrowed eyes, and made a “tsk” sound. 

“I don’t believe it! This prisoner…” she started. 

“Presidential prisoner,” the guard added again. 

“Presidential prisoner,” she corrected, “is clearly suffering from a Form C Phantom Level face rash!”

The guards came around to her side of the table and stared at Jackson intently.

“He is?” asked the guard. “I don’t see anything.”

“Of course you don’t! It’s a Phantom Level infection. Invisible to the naked eye, but has a very distinct feel.”

“But… you didn’t touch his face.” said the guard.

“Of course I didn’t! Do you know how contagious a Form C Phantom Level face rash is?!”

The two guards took one step back. 

“He needs to get to the medical station where we can properly treat him. He’ll need to isolate immediately. I’ll take him since I know the proper precautions, and you clearly don’t. Have you even sprayed yourself with nasal protection?” she asked, incredulous.

The guards quickly covered their noses with their hands.

“I knew it! You’re lucky your noses haven’t fallen off yet,” Tarza shouted as she helped Jackson up from his chair.

“We’ll be going now,” she said as she ushered Jackson towards the door she came from.

“But”, said one of the guards, through the hands covering his mouth. “The Inquisitor has more questions for him…”

Tarza pushed Jackson through the door, not stopping or turning around to address them. 

“She’ll just have to wait. He shouldn’t be around anyone for at least… 24… 48 hours!

The guards were not sure if they should allow their Presidential prisoner to leave the room or not. They were each fairly certain that the Inquisitor would be upset if she learned that he had left. However, they also assumed that if him leaving was truly a problem, then the other guard would have stopped them before they left. And since both of them believed this to be true, neither of them said a word. And this was how it came to be that the door shut with Tarza and Jackson on one side, and the guards on the other. 

Chapter Four: The Amazing Warp-Port Challenge 

“Don’t worry, you’re not sick. I’m going to get you out of here,” assured Tarza in a whisper.

Without saying another word, she rushed Jackson through one narrow hall after the other. Whenever she heard someone coming, she made them change course. Finally, just as Jackson was getting a little winded from the rushing, they came to a blue-lit room and stepped inside. Jackson saw that it had a control station and a large window facing out into space. Tarza shut the door and turned a knob on the wall until the door turned yellow.

“There. That should give us some privacy,” she said in relief. 

“Why did it turn yellow?” Jackson asked.

“It means someone inside is doing accounting,” she answered. “A red door means ‘Do Not Disturb’, but Byzongs tend to eavesdrop on red doors. They think something interesting must be going on inside. No one sits outside a yellow door.”

Jackson nodded. 

Tarza approached him with an intense curiosity.

“Why is it,” she asked, “that you haven’t tried to run from me or ask me any questions yet?”

“I asked about the door,” he corrected. 

“That’s not what I mean. You know now that I lied to the guards about who I was and where I’m taking you, and yet you haven’t tried to figure out who I am and where I’m taking you.”

“I have a policy on circumstances such as these,” he explained.

“What kind of policy?” she asked.

“Well… if I find myself confused, then I do nothing. Statistically, it’s smarter and safer to do nothing.”

“Anytime you’re confused?” she asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“You do absolutely nothing?”

“Yes.”

“That’s ridiculous,” stated Tarza.

“I don’t think it is,” he retorted. 

“Imagine if the whole universe followed your silly rule. If kids just stopped doing anything every time they got confused. They’d never learn a thing! Imagine if captains stopped giving orders anytime something new and strange happened…”

Jackson went to open his mouth but stopped.

“…Imagine if all the greatest thinkers, from all the planets in the universe just stopped doing things whenever they came across a confusing problem.” she ended.

At first Jackson felt taken aback. Then he decided this may be considered an affront. And then he wondered why there was no such thing as ‘amiddle’, but let it go as quickly as it came, for the aside that it was.

“I see your point,’ said Jackson. 

“Then we’re agreed. As President of Earth you should end this policy of yours immediately,” she answered.

Jackson nodded, which made Tarza smile.

“Yes,” he answered. “Except I’m not President of Earth.”

Tarza stopped smiling.

“What do you mean? Did you change your title? Ruler of Earth? Supreme Titan of Earth?” she asked.

“I’m none of those things. The President is still on her ship, and I’m not her.” he answered. 

“But…” Tarza looked down shaking her head. “How is that possible? They’ve been planning the kidnapping for so long.”

“Perhaps it is time for me to ask some questions of my own. Who are you, and why is that you’re trying to save me, err, I mean the President, if the rest of the Byzongs want to kidnap me, um, her,” Jackson asked, feeling more bold than usual.

Tarza was still in shock but managed to form the words.

“My name is Tarza, that part is true. And I do work on this warship. But for the last four years  I’ve been a member of a secret intra-planetary network of elite agents named The Pocket Watches. And right now our job is to stop this Byzong plan to take all of Earth’s water. If they succeed, the consequences will be much worse than you could possible imagine.” she said with a grave face.

“So they really want to take all of Earth’s water?? I still don’t understand how that’s even possible!”

“With a Third Generation Macro-Electro-Bionic-Hydroxy-Gravitational Tube Ray,” she said cooly. “Anything past First Generation would do the trick, honestly.”

Jackson sighed. “So, what’s your plan to get me out of here then?”

Tarza put her hand to her chin and eyed Jackson.

“Well, the plan was designed for me to get President Racha out of here. And you’re saying you’re an entirely different human than her?” she asked sincerely.

“Right. My name is Jackson.”

“Jackson,” she mirrored. “But you were on the President’s ship, weren’t you?”

He nodded. “Space Force One.”

“So are you in charge of Earth’s defenses? Does the President listen you on important matters? If we get you out of here, can you help us reach the President?” she asked.

Jackson believed strongly in the value of honesty. It is a trait that earned him the superlative “Most Honest” in his high school yearbook. That the title was meant as an insult because Jackson frequently told on classmates that he saw skipping school was not an important detail to the story when he repeated it in his interview for the role of Personal Assistant to the Non-Personal Assistant to the Executive Assistant to the President- a role that does not put him in charge of Earth’s defenses, or allow him to broach important matters with the President. And on this day, he decided the best way to honor the tile of ‘Most Honest’, regardless of its origins, while still securing his chances of rescue from the Byzong warship by the secret intra-planetary network of elite agents named The Pocket Watches, was to answer only the last of Tarza’s questions, without clarifying that he was not answering on behalf of all the questions he was just asked. 

“Yes,” he said.

Tarza smiled in solace.

“Then I think the Pocket Watches will be happy to meet you. All we’ve got to do is warp-port over to them and they’ll take it from there.”

“Warp-port? What’s that? Is that like teleporting?” Jackson asked.

“Teleporting?! Teleporting isn’t even real. That’s something a child would say! Have you really never heard of warp-porting before?”

Jackson shook his head.

“What about The Amazing Warp-Port Challenge? You’re telling me you’ve never seen a single episode?” she asked.

Jackson shook his head in silence. He could have mentioned how expensive XDI Visions with Cross-Universe service are for someone in his position, but then he remembered that he did not want Tarza knowing much more, if anything at all, about his position. If he had seen The Amazing Warp-Port Challenge (new episodes available every Earth Thursday on the Nebula Channel), then he would have known it is the premiere reality series of the millennia, and that Warp-Porting is a fun way to travel great distances in mere seconds, using dimensional slingshot technology. But since he hadn’t seen it, which many would say was punishment enough, he also had to endure the judgmental glare of Tarza.

“All you need to know is that I’m getting us out of here. And just in time, too. Once they realize what I’ve done they’ll come looking for both of us.”

Tarza pulled out a small disc and handed it to Jackson.

“This is your port-pod for warping,” she explained.

“My warp-port port-pod?” he asked.

“No one calls them that,” she said.

“Now, when I say so, I want you to push the green button and initiate the sequence. Everything’s already been input for departure.”

“Got it,” said Jackson as he looked around.

Tarza pulled out her own port-pod and readied herself. 

“Now you might feel a slight pinch on your ears. And a slight burning on your cheeks. And a slight severe pain in your head. But that’s all normal.” she hurriedly added.

“That sounds a bit…” Jackson started.

Tarza raised her hand to shush him. She heard footsteps down the hall approaching their door.

She turned to Jackson with a panicked look.

“Now! Push the green button now!” she shouted.

Jackson turned around and pressed a flashing green button on the control panel next to him. 

Tarza’s eyes went wide. She wanted to scream at him for his mistake. For never turning over his disc and seeing the small green button on the other side. She wanted to chastise him for assuming she had meant for him to push a green button that was clearly part of the ship itself, instead of a button on the port-pod that he had just been handed. She wanted to tell him how angry she was that he just pushed the first flashing green button he saw. But she couldn’t get a single syllable out of her mouth before the blue-lit room was filled with a porous, white foam that froze her in place.

 Chapter Five: Fellswig Robot Slippers

Jackson Fickle was in the 98th percentile of dream-rememberers. Most mornings, Jackson was able to recall his previous night’s dream. From the age of seven onward, he had experienced at least 4 recurring dreams (recurring being defined as a dream that has been repeated at least twice). The first took place in a jungle, and involved Jackson’s family needing to be saved from a wild tiger. In the second, Jackson lived in a clear hamster ball the size of a house, but his roommates did not resemble anyone from his real life. The third recurring dream took place under the ocean, where Jackson found he had no problem breathing, but did have a problem with a group of angry merpeople. The last and most recurring, involved Jackson sitting in a pitch black room where only another set of eyes are visible. This is the dream Jackson likes to speak about the least.

But as Jackson regained consciousness and opened his eyes next to a still sleeping, Tarza, he could not remember a single dream. He could not remember why he had fallen asleep in the first place. And he could not remember where he was. It was the Boss of Ships, and their muffled voice, that reminded him of his situation. 

“Is he awake yet?” asked the Boss.

“Looks like he’s coming to right now,” said an assistant. 

Jackson could barley make out the shapes and faces of the speakers through the hard hazy foam that encased him. He tried moving his right hand, then his left. When neither budged, he tried moving his right leg, then his left. In a rather desperate attempt to feel some sense of freedom, Jackson tried to wiggle his ears, but then remembered that he had never been able to do that.

“Let me talk to him,” said the Boss.

The assistant raised a glowing mechanical wand towards Jackson. He watched as the tool turned the foam around him a dull orange. It receded rapidly until Jackson’s head and right shoulder were uncovered. 

Jackson shook his head from left to right, happy to once again be able to move and wiggle whatever he liked, excluded his ears, whose lack of mobility could not be blamed on anything other than genetics. Jackson, having been around Byzongs for a small but significant amount of time now, and being adept at assimilating into new cultural circumstances (a trait of his that you may not have been aware of until this moment) asked the Boss of Ships a question, using the proper Byzong etiquette. 

“Wonderful ship you have here! May I please be let go?” he asked.

The Boss of Ships gave an approving smile. 

“You have excellent manners for a prisoner. No, you may not,” he responded.

Jackson began to smack his lips involuntarily.

“What’s that last in my mouth? Is that foam strawberry flavored?” he asked, still smacking.

An assistant with ears so long that they flopped down behind her head, stepped forward with a soft clang and a smile.

“Excellent observational skills. That is the flavoring that I added to make the experience more pleasant.”

“Well I don’t like it one bit,” said Jackson candidly. “I’d prefer chocolate.”

The Boss puffed his chest out.

“How dare you question Maartosh! She is a galaxy-renowned flavorologist. She decided the taste of everything on this ship!”

“You must mean ‘every bit of food on this ship,’” Jackson corrected.

“No, I mean everything on this ship,” the Boss replied.

“But… not everything has a taste,” Jackson retorted.

The Boss scoffed. “Solarwind! Name one thing that doesn’t have a taste!”

Jackson was flabbergasted. Surely, The Boss wasn’t serious. He looked around.

“The floor. The floor doesn’t have a taste,” said Jackson proudly.

“It certainly does. It tastes of bitter metal,” said Maartosh. “I made sure of it.”

Jackson shook his head. 

“No, but, that’s not a taste like a taste that you would enjoy, that’s just…”

“Ah ha!” shouted The Boss. “You are confusing taste with good taste! Of course everything has a taste to it, they’re just not all to your liking. Imagine if everything tasted sweet and wonderful. No one would get anything done!”

Maartosh nodded. “They’re be licking everything, all the time. That’s why I make sure that the things that shouldn’t taste good, don’t taste good.”

“But… but, you don’t need to do anything to make a floor taste bad. It tastes bad already!” said Jackson.

“Ah ha again!” said the Boss. “A moment ago, you said it didn’t have a taste.”

Jackson was about to shout something back, until he realized that the Boss had a point. 

As he often did when he had nothing more clever to say, he tried to change the subject.

He looked over at Tarza, still frozen in foam.

“If you’re going to leave me stuck here, could you at least let Tarza join us?” 

The Boss of Ships stomped his excessively loud boot. 

“You mean your co-conspirator??” he howled. 

“Co-conspirator? I just met her a few moments ago,” Jackson defended. 

The Boss gave a cocky smile.

“You’ve been set in our Intruder Immobilizer foam for three hours, so I highly doubt that,” he said.

“Three hours?!” Jackson said with alarm. “You’ve got to her out of there, now!” 

The Boss sighed.

“Oh, she’s perfectly fine. The foam allows all necessary functions while providing essential nutrients. We’ve been monitoring you both the entire time. After all, you are of great importance to us, President Racha.”

The Boss nodded again to the assistant. 

“Nevertheless.”

The assistant moved their foam-melting wand around Tarza’s until she was free to move her head. Almost immediately, she started to rouse.

Jackson breathed a sigh of relief, then turned his attention back to the Boss.

“Thank you. But stop calling me President Racha!” he insisted.

The Boss grabbed a tablet from another assistant and reviewed the information beaming from its surface. As Jackson had already learned, Byzongs place a good deal of importance on names, and the Boss was embarrassed at the potential blunder.

“How is it that you pronounce it, then? Earth names are all so odd-sounding to me,” he said sincerely. 

Jackson shook his head. 

“No, you don’t understand. I’m—“

“Charming belly you have!” interrupted Tarza, still groggy from the foam. “What he’s trying to say is that his title is President Supreme and Ultimate Ruler of the Earth, Racha, The One and Only.”

The Boss gave a demonstrative bow.

“Ah, yes, sorry to have been so disrespectful,” he said with a chuckle. The assistants behind him joined in as well. 

Jackson looked at Tarza in shock. He could not understand why Tarza had lied. He had just told her hours-that-felt-like-moments ago that he was not in fact, President Racha. And he was equally in shock that she knew the full title that President Racha had given herself in an oft-ignored executive order meant to “jazz up the office a little bit.”

“Pardon us your Supremeness, but we’re going to go get Inquisitor Slah,” said the Boss. “I understand she never finished interviewing you.” 

The Boss walked up to Tarza and stared her right in the eyes.

“And I imagine she may have some questions for you as well.”

Upon hearing the word “interview”, Jackson again began to sweat profusely again.

“We’ll be leaving you in the care of two of our most advanced ROBs, Prod and Dusty,” the Boss continued.

Jackson whispered to Tarza, “‘ROBs’?”

“Short for robots,” she whispered back. “What do you call them on Earth?”

“Bots,” he answered. 

“How odd,” she said.

Prod and Dusty, walked into the room just as the Boss and the assistants left.Their footsteps were practically inaudible, given that each was wearing a pair of bright yellow Fellswig Robot Slippers, designed to make sure that no robot, no matter how large and no matter how heavy, makes more noise than you with their metal feet. 

“Hey, Prod. Hey, Dusty,” said Tarza nonchalantly.

“Hello, Tarza,” said Prod.

“Hiya, Tarza,” said Dusty with a wave of his mechanical arm.

“You know them?” asked Jackson.

“Of course I do,” smiled Tarza. “I’m the one that built them.” 

Jackson felt more sweat get trapped by the foam.

Chapter Six: Rick’s Earth Parts Emporium

Prod and Dusty were identical in almost every way. They stood four feet tall, including their antennae, with two legs and two arms each. Their shiny chrome torsos were forged from the same piece of metal, delivered from Earth many years ago to their builder, Tarza. Their mouths opened exactly 3.5 inches wide and 1.5 inches tall. They were so similar, and some might say such exquisite specimens of robotics, that the only notable and discernible difference between Prod and Dusty was the color of their high-definition eye lenses. Prod could be identified by her brown lenses, and Dusty by his green. Apart from that (and the fact that Dusty always wore a shining, spinning disco ball on top of his antennae) they were indistinguishable from each other.

But even if you removed all accessories and swapped their eye colors, Tarza could always tell them apart. It was a trick they tried to get her with many times, but never successfully.

“Dusty, you need to clean your disco ball,” she said as he stomped up to her foam-encased body. 

Dusty stopped moving and began to rotate the ball on his head at a blazing speed. Dust and particles flew off of it until it was as sparkly as the day Tarza found it. As it slowed back down, she was reminded of how enamored Dusty had been of it, as it rotated in front of him. How his eyes had never left it. And how he had insisted that it stay on his head from then on (except when loaning it to Prod for a practical joke).

“I’m sorry… you built these robots?” asked Jackson, with genuine surprise and not just a little bit of admiration. 

“Yes,” answered Tarza, “my real job here is engineer. Recognize anything about them?”

Jackson stared intently at Prod and Dusty. He had seen a few robots in his time, but most of them were White House staff bots that didn’t have arms, legs, or faces. They rolled around and collected things like food and trash and sometimes messages. 

“Should I?” he asked.

“Their chassises, joints, lights- all of it! All their parts were sourced from Earth. Your planet!” she said excitedly. It was most likely that she had gotten the parts directly from Rick’s Earth Parts Emporium. And if she hadn’t, she certainly would have gotten a better deal with Rick, who is known for having the best prices of any Earth-based, Earth parts emporium.

Jackson, upon seeing Tarza’s genuine smile at having built her robots from Earth parts, and finding that he liked seeing it more than he expected, decided to ignore the fact that had an equally genuine lack of knowledge of anything mechanical.

“Ah, yes! Now I see it! I’d recognize those joints anywhere!”

Tarza smiled even larger and gave him a proud nod. “There’s nothing like Earth parts. So much personality to them!”

“So, since you built them, can you make them let us go? Can we still escape?” Jackson asked. The thought of being interviewed by the Inspector a second time was making Jackson more nervous than ever. His sweat was running down from his head to his feet. 

Tarza shook her head.

“It doesn’t work like that. It’s up to them what they do,” she answered. “Besides, they’ve made good careers for themselves here and I’m proud of them. I would never ask them to risk that.”

“Escape request from captive named President Racha recorded and logged,” Prod said, while staring up at Jackson.

“Great work, Prod!” encouraged Tarza. 

Prod let out a gleeful “BEEP”. 

Jackson shook his head in discouragement. However, he was met with a sudden, yet tiny sense of encouragement when he realized that his neck was moving more freely, right where it met his clavicle. It was the exact place where sweat from a forehead might find itself after a minute or two of traveling downward.

“Tarza? Why are you stuck in foam? Why is captive, named President Racha, stuck in foam?” asked Dusty. 

“Well, the truth is, Dusty, I was trying to help the President escape,” she said. “But turns out, that’s not the President.”

Dusty stomped over in front of Jackson. Prod followed behind.

“This is not captive-named-President-Racha?” asked Dusty.

“Orders were to watch captive-named-President-Racha,” added Prod. 

“No… actually my, um, my name is…” Jackson started. Jackson’s sweat began to flow throughout his torso and limbs, and he felt the foam dissolving slowly around it. He could wiggle his fingers and bend his knees slightly. He reasoned that if he could play up his nervousness, his sweat would dissolve enough foam for him to escape.

A tiny window opened up inside Dusty’s chassis and Jackson furrowed his brow apprehensively as he saw a shiny suction cup poke out. He couldn’t help but notice that it was aimed directly at his face.

“What is he doing?” he asked.

Tarza replied excitedly, “They’re going to independently verify your identity. Brilliant, Dusty!”

With the little mobility he had in his neck, Jackson tried desperately to squirm out of the way, but within seconds the suction cup shot forward with a cord attached and stuck to Jackson’s forehead with an unsettling yet satisfying “FLERP”. Crossing his eyes to look up at the suction cup, Jackson no longer felt any need to increase his nervousness. Foam was beginning to dissolve at a rapid pace.

This was the kind of moment that would have normally sent Jackson into a state of silent confusion. However, since his conversation with Tarza, he had found it more difficult to do nothing without feeling a sense of shame. Indeed, her talk had forced him to adapt to a new response to unknown circumstances and stimuli. In this initial trial of a new method, he tried instead “loud panic”. 

“What is this thing?! What are they doing?!” Jackson tried moving his head back and forth to lose the suction cup, but only sent a rippling wave through the cord.

“Relax,” said Tarza. “He’ll give it right back.”

“Give what back??”

“Your name memory,” she replied cooly.

“My name memory? He’s going to take it? Wait! I’ll tell you my name. You can wear those glasses…” Jackson pleaded.

Tarza shook her head as much as she could. “Robs don’t wear glass. Imagine if they did,” she chuckled to Plod. 

“Imagine,” repeated Plod. 

“But I’ll just tell you! My real name is Theodore Fickle but I prefer—“

Before he could finish, Theodore Fickle (the name he was assigned at birth, but not the name that he was about to say) found himself suddenly thrust into his first grade classroom. 

Chapter Seven: Saturn Cocoa Bars

He felt his hair, recently buzzed, by barber not by choice, due to a lice infestation that had just spread through his home. Although never confirmed, Theodore “Jackson” Fickle, would always blame his youngest sister for the infestation (and the humiliation). As he sat in his memory, listening to Mr. Langdon, Jackson recalled that the short, jolly teacher was his second favorite of all time. His first favorite teacher was his third grade teacher, Ms. Polly, and his third favorite teacher was his second grade teacher Mrs. Julba. incidentally, his least favorite teacher had his first favorite name, Mr. Prestidigitalio. He had taught kindergarten, and refused to call Jackson, “Jackson”. 

Jackson felt his hand raise, excited to answer a question that had just been asked. Something about tuna fish. No. his brain was confused now. The question was about the ocean, but the answer was not tuna fish, but rather salt water. Mr. Langdon scanned the room then settled on the hand of young Jackson. With a broad smile, he called on him.

“Ah, Theodore Fickle has the answer!”

Jackson felt his smile lessen. He did not like having to correct people. He shuffled in his seat and cleared his throat.

“Um, my real name is Theodore Fickle, but everyone calls me Jackson,” he said in an uneven and high-pitched voice.

The colors of the room began to blend together. Inexplicably, the room itself started to stretch and warp, and then slide out of view, until Jackson saw nothing but black. He couldn’t remember where he had just been. He couldn’t remember what he had just heard. 

“Don’t take too much, now Dusty. Remember to put most of it back,” Tarza’s voice cut through. 

Suddenly the colors came streaming back into his mind. The lines were still a bit smudged, but it was his classroom once again. Mr. Langdon was there, with a smile that was, for just a moment, larger than any Jackson had ever seen. As the scene settled, everything was right again. 

He felt the suction cup leave his forehead with a soft “POP” and he was back in the ship, looking at two robots. Dusty’s tiny metal window closed again.

Jackson was wobbly. So wobbly, in fact, that he realized the foam had lost its grip on him.

“Name confirmed. Not President Racha.”

Dusty and Plod turned towards each other. 

“New directive required,” said Plod.

Jackson had had enough. Breaking through the thin layer of foam around his arms, Jackson tried out a second method, for the first time: heroic action.

“Jackson, how did you…”

Without a word, Jackson kicked through the remaining foam and stepped out onto the cold, not-at-all-good-tasting floor. He stood tall, feeling strong and courageous. 

Dusty and Plod hastily wheeled to opposite sides of the room and stayed there.

Jackson tried to break Tarza free, but her foam was too thick. He tried to pull it away from her, even lifting his leg against it for leverage, but could not get it to budge. He found himself feeling less strong and courageous by the second.

“How do I get you out?” he asked.

“There!” said Tarza. “The green levers on the control panel.”

Jackson pulled down on the closest of two green levers and a mist covered his former pod and dissolved all the remaining foam. Without hesitation, he pulled the second and Tarza was soon sprayed herself. With nothing left but a few shreds of foam on her clothes, she stepped down onto the floor, licking her lips.

“Mmmm, butterscotch flavored spray. You missed out.”

Tarza stomped around, searching every inch of the room.

“Quick, we’ve got to find the Warp-Ports!”

Jackson brushed himself off and started kicking the last remaining bits of foam. 

“Maybe they got frozen in the foam with us!” he said.

“No,” said Tarza, shaking her head. “The foam only freezes living beings and their clothing. It’s very smart. In fact, it was a Byzong inventor who realized that you can isolate not just carbon beings but their… wait a second…”

“What?” asked Jackson, glad that she had been cut short before going even further over his head.

“They must still be there! The foam would’ve let them drop to the floor! Come on!” Tarza grabbed Jackson’s hand and he felt an electric buzz shoot all the way up to his shoulder. Although new, and startling to him, it was not an unpleasant sensation.

They raced through the corridors as fast as their legs would take them. When a Byzong intern passed by, Jackson tucked behind Tarza, making himself as inconspicuous as possible, and the intern passed by without noticing. Before reaching the blue lit room again, Jackson noticed a vending machine that read “Galaxy Sweets” Having not eaten since the few bites of tuna fish sandwich that sent him through a black hole, and having just been frozen in foam for three hours, Jackson was understandable stavrving. 

“Wait,” he said, pulling Tarza to a stop. “I need to eat something. Can you get me one of these?”

Tarza whispered hastily. “You’ve got to be kidding me! there’ll be plenty of time for snacks once we’ve been picked up by the Pocket Watches!”

Jackson grabbed at his belly. “You don’t understand! It’s been so long since I’ve eaten. I’m starving! Plus I’m not used to breaking out of things like that. It took it out of me.”

“How did you do that, anyway?” she asked.

“I sweat when I’m nervous,” he answered sheepishly. “Human sweat must dissolve the foam.”

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you,” she replied. She looked at him with sympathy. “Well, it’s a good sign that you’re hungry I suppose. Black holes can sometimes reverse your intestines. Fine. But be quick about it.”

Making a firm and immediate decision to ignore her comment on his intestines, Jackson thanked her. Placing her hand on the side of the machine, the display shifted to ask which of three kinds of bars they would like. The first was a small bucket of rock-shaped candies called Grubble. The second was a long, green cylinder called Ozzback Ooze. And the last was a Saturn Cocoa Bar, the only one that Jackson recognized. 

Jackson Fickle had long said that Saturn Cocoa Bar was his favorite sweet treat of all. However, in his lifetime until this point, he had consumed 457 Saturn Cocoa Bars. This meant that he had consumed Ruby Razzies at least one hundred times more. It also meant that he had chosen Chunkies Smooth and Creamies 62% of the time, when given an option between the two. By no commonly accepted metric and only by his self declaration, were Saturn Cocoa Bars his favorite. Yet, when he saw this option at the “Galaxy Sweets” vending machine, it was an easy and instant choice.

He touched the picture of the Saturn Cocoa Bar on the screen and smiled to Tarza. “Saturn Cocoa Bars are my favorite.” And as they raced down the hallway, he wasted no time in opening and taking a bite of the delectable candy bar, because while I may have said that Saturn Cocoa Bars fall in stature to Ruby Razzies and Chunkies Smooth and Creamies in Jackson Fickle’s personal life archives, they are still the bar with the most chocolatey, crunchy, and out-of-this-world taste around. 

The door to the room was still lit yellow. “That’s lucky,” said Tarza softly. “Looks like no one’s gone in since.”

“Great!” said Jackson. He was ready to be off of the chaotic Byzong warship that had brought him confusion, interrogation, and foam confinement. So it was a letdown, if not a downright disappointment, when he took his first step in the control room and saw a group of three Byzong accountants standing around a high top table mumbling numbers out loud as they worked. 

The pair froze, unblinking, as the accountants stopped and turned to meet their eyes. Tarza immediately spotted the two Warp Ports, still lying on the floor up against the far wall. 

The accountants stared for a breath before one spoke up.

“What impressive confidence you both have to open a red door! We’re going over the numbers for the month. Are you here to help?” asked the Byzong accountant with the largest, loudest looking shoes. 

“You have wonderful taste in rooms,” said Tarza through a forced smile. “We’re not accountants, this is just… our favorite place to work as well…”

“Do you outrank us?” asked the accountant, matter-of-factly.

“Well, no I don’t think so… we just…”

“We need the room,” explained the accountant, turning back towards the work in front of him. “With so much ruckus going on around here it’s a wonder we found a place at all.”

The accountants resumed mumbling and searching through numbers on the computers in front of them, sending the most pertinent to a holographic pillar in the center of the table at a rapid pace. “Twelve thousand, four hundred and ninety three. Four-thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine,” said another. “Eighty-one. Three hundred and two. Four.” muttered another.  The third was rattling off numbers at such a speed that neither Tarza nor Jackson could understand.

Tarza leaned over. “What are we going to do? The Warp Ports are right over there.”

Jackson cocked his head in thought. “Did you notice, Tarza, that they didn’t say anything about me being human…?” he whispered.

“You’re right,” whispered Tarza. “Maybe they didn’t notice?”

“Maybe,” he said, regaining full volume. “Maybe they don’t care…”

Jackson began walking forward, but Tarza reached out to stop him. 

“Wait!” she yelled. They both looked at the accountants. There was no reaction. Only working. 

“Fifty-seven. Fifty-seven point five.” said the head accountant.

Tarza mouthed her next words with barely a sound. “What are you doing?”

Jackson smirked. “You wanted me to be a person of action right? Well, I’m testing a theory.”

Feeling bolder, he walked behind the accountants and held out his arms. “Wabble Wabble Wablle!” he yelled. The accountants continued sending numbers to the pillar with startling speed. “One hundred twenty one thousand and one.”

“The President has a team of accountants, a whole slew of them, and they never seem interested in absolutely anything other than numbers. I saw one eat their lunch once without ever even looking at it!” The meal he was referring to had been a tuna fish sandwich with a side of chips. Mind you, this was not the same tuna fish sandwich that had set Jackson on a course to this very room, of course. The tuna fish sandwich that Jackson had been eating earlier this day had been a traditional composition of white albacore tuna and mayo on white bread. The tuna fish sandwich being referred to indirectly at the current time, had been made with chunk light tuna, and a generous helping of mayonnaise, mustard, and relish on rye bread, five months earlier. 

Tarza walked forward hesitantly. “So… they’re not even listening?” she asked.

Jackson nodded. “I think they’re even worse than the human accountants.”

Similarly to the accountants, Tarza had only one thought on her mind. Hesitantly, still not sure if she could trust Jackson’s theory, Tarza made her way over to the Warp Ports and grabbed them from the floor. 

“I don’t believe it!” she said to herself. “We got em!”

Tarza spun around to hand Jackson his Warp Port, but having become comfortable in the knowledge that they could do whatever they wanted, he was now finishing the rest of his Saturn Cocoa Bar and reading the back of the wrapper. 

“Amazing. Only ninety-five calories in the entire bar.”

“Ninety-five” repeated, the head accountant absent-mindedly. He shook his head at the mistake then turned to face Jackson with a fierce scowl. It sent shivers down his spine.

“What charming, small ears you have…” said the head accountant with a vicious glare. He stepped forward and towered over Jackson with his large metal shoes, tall ears, and intimidating size. “What is a human doing on our ship, interfering with our budget calculation!”

Tarza made a quick calculation and watched on in wonder, as Jackson backed up, stumbled over his feet, and landed his rear end squarely on the green button of the control panel. The room was instantly filled with foam once again, this time trapping one human and four Byzongs. 

 Chapter Eight: Ronald Elastic’s Goo-Be-Goon

By the time Jackson woke up this time, his head was already out of the foam. Tarza had been awake, with her head freed, for 2 minutes and 39 seconds before him. As his eyes adjusted from his second foam-induced nap, he made out the fuzzy shape of a slender Byzong standing in front of them. He knew it instantly to be Inquisitor Slah.

Clearly in the middle of an important conversation with Tarza, Jackson decided the best course of action would be to close his eyes again, and listen to the Inquisitor before making his presence known.

“It will be not pleasant,” said the Inquisitor in a sinister tone. “But if you comply with me now, I will make sure that your punishment lasts only three orbits. Otherwise you may face as many as ten.”

“Comply with you how?” snapped Tarza. “I’ve nothing to confess, nothing to admit, and nothing to say.”

Jackson couldn’t help but smile ever-so-slightly.

“Shall I write down all three of those?” asked an assistant. “Seems a bit redundant to me.”

Jackson heard the jarringly loud footsteps of the Inquisitor as she approached Tarza, and tried his best not to wince.

“Just put down that the prisoner is hostile,” smirked the Inquisitor.

“Hostile,” scoffed Tarza. “I’m not the one about to drain a planet of all its water.”

Jackson’s eyes opened almost involuntarily to watch.

The Inquisitor leaned in, just inches from Tarza’s face.

“Is that why you tried to free their President? Why you concocted that false alarm? Because you thought you could save them?” Inquisitor Slah gave a cold smirk.

The guards behind her looked at each other and laughed.

Jackson felt a sense of dread that he had not felt the entire time he’d been on the Byzong Warship. 

“Tell me, in all the years of earth’s existence, how many times have they battled the Byzongs?” asked the Inquisitor. “President Racha?” She turned her head sharply until her eyes rested on Jackson’s.

He froze. 

“No answer?” she pressed. “Well allow me to enlighten you. In the 4.543 billion years that your planet has existed, you have battled the Byzong’s exactly zero times. In fact, your planet has somehow managed to never, not once, be attacked by a foreign planet. Do you know how rare that is?”

Jackson let out a breath that he’d been holding in, by sheer coincidence, for 4.543 seconds, rounded to the nearest thousandth. He did want to know how rare that is, but found himself stating a fact of his own instead.

“I am not President Racha.”

The Inquisitor decided to no longer allow herself to be distracted by what she deemed to be the lies of a prisoner. In her years of Inquisitor training at the U U of U, she had trained under none other than the Byzong-renowned Inquisitor Saxel. 

It was during one of their first labs, where Parlodin Turs, a species of vertebrae that most-closely resembles an earth rat, were introduced to distract and create chaos, that Inquisitor Saxel first introduced the idea of “radical focus” to not-yet-Inquisitor Slah. And with a Parlodin Tur taking a nap inside her left ear, she proved herself a rising star, by completing the interrogation of a fellow student with unmatched efficacy. Although she would, at times, engage with the frivolous answers of her captives, the Inquisitor reminded herself in this moment why she became known as Inquisitor Saxel’s star pupil.

“There are only three planets with sentient life, in the the entire known universe, who have never been at war with a foreign planet. The first is a planet whose inhabitants just became smart enough to qualify for inclusion in this list two hours ago. The planet is so primitive that it does not even have a name. And yet, a Vlop warship is on its way now to be the first to attack it anyway. They drew the honor in a raffle.”

Jackson attempted to interject, with his real name once more, but radical focus, it has been said, is harder break than a brick wall. 

“The second,” she continued, “is a planet named Goozor. Goozor, and its primary species, the Goozons, are made entirely of a viscous jelly-like substance that sticks to your skin permanently on contact, and carries with it a smell so vile that anyone who touches it is banished to a distant solar system, where they are given a case of Ronald Elastic’s Goo Be Gone, “The only gunk strong enough to get your goo gone for good,” compliments of Those In Charge.

Those in Charge, affectionately known as TIC, is a group of super-intelligent beings who rule all planets and species in existence. They govern from a central station called the Rainbow Realm, and their members are recruited as the best and brightest from all corners of the universe. It was actually a member of TIC who first discovered that the universe did, in fact, have corners. Of these corners, two are purely theoretical, while five have been observed. These corners are rumored to be dreadfully hard to clean, during the universe’s Spring cleaning each cosmic year. 

It is worth nothing that, while many dream of being summoned to the Rainbow Realm to become a member of TIC, Inquisitor Slah was never one of them.

“The third is Earth. A planet so tribalistic that is has been at war with itself for eons. Until now, no civilization thought it worthwhile to invade, preferring instead to wait for the planet to either unite or self-destruct. But time has run out for your planet, President Racha. The need for your most precious resource has recently become… dire.”

“Our oceans you mean? Why is there a dire need all of a sudden?” Jackson was growing tired of the mounting questions in his head.

“That’s not important!” she snapped. A pause. “Well, it is important but I’m not going to tell you. What I need from you is a layout of Earth’s defense system. All of it.”

Jackson and Tarza began to protest at the same time, but the Inquisitor simply raised a hand to stop them. 

“I expected your objections. That’s why we won’t be waiting around for your cooperation.”

Inquisitor Slah waved a hand towards a guard.

Dusty and Plod entered the room again and wheeled themselves in front of Jackson.

“Our ROBs will be extracting the memories of your defense meetings. We will soon have all the information we need to attack earth.” The Inquisitor leaned in. “And when we do, you will no longer be of any use to us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson saw her assistant shuffle in his chair and clear his throat. This Byzong also did not like being in the uncomfortable position of correcting his superior. In addition, their usual chair was being repaired for a taste malfunction, and their current chair was designed for a Byzong with smaller hips than theirs, so they were shifting due to a literal uncomfortable position as well. 

“Um, remember what the Boss said?” The Byzong immediately sunk down in his chair to appear smaller, but this only made the chair even less comfortable, which he would already have deemed an “Awful” on the U U of U’s Discomfort Scale for Clothing, Conversations, and Chairs, which ran from “Perfect” to “Perfectly Awful”.

Inquisitor Slah narrowed her eyes at Jackson in disgust. She let out a scalding sigh. 

“You’re lucky that the Boss believes you to be an important bargaining chip. Otherwise I’d throw you right back into that black hole and leave you there.”

Jackson tasted peppermint.

The Inquisitor backed up and smirked. 

“Now, these ROBs will find your memory no matter how long it takes, and this time, I’ll make sure you don’t escape… I’m not going anywhere.”

As the Inquisitor moved to the back of the room to join her assistants behind blinking control panels, Jackson and Tarza looked at each other. 

“What are we going to do?” whispered Jackson. “She’ll find out I’m not the President and then she’ll toss me into that black hole!”

Tarza furrowed her brow in thought. “Dusty and Plod must not have told her who you are yet. If I know them, they’re still running calculations on who to trust. If I can convince them to help us, we might have a chance.”

“How are you going to do that?” asked Jackson.

“Trust me,” she answered. And despite himself. Despite having just met her on a strange ship under stranger circumstances, he did.

Dusty and Plod wheeled themselves over in front of Jackson and prepared to take his memories.

“Inquisitor!” shouted Tarza. 

The Inquisitor looked up from her station.

“I fear you’re going to waste an awful lot of time looking for his memories.”

“Oh?” replied the Inquisitor. “And why is that?”

“Think about it,” said Tarza. “He’s the President of Earth. Don’t you think he’s been trained on memory repression. You could spend weeks, if not months, trying to find the information you’re looking for.”

“Then he’d better get comfortable,” she said coldly. Without glancing up again, she began fiddling with buttons and mechanisms.

Dusty and Plod got closer.

Tarza shook her head. “But, there’s a better way!”

“Out with it,” said Inquisitor Slah from across the room.

“He told me about their defenses!” blurted Tarza.

The Inquisitor stopped what she was doing. 

“He did?” she asked.

“Yes!” nodded Tarza. “We discussed them at length. I can tell you exactly when and where he told me. You can find the conversation easily. Even the best memory suppression won’t stop a targeted search like that.”

The Inquisitor pondered this. “You expect me to trust a traitor? You’re just as likely to lead us on a wild scronge chase.”

Before Slah could consider grabbing her pair of X-Ring Lie Detector Glasses, Tarza spoke out again.

“He also told me about their counteroffensive…”

“Counteroffensive?” Inquisitor Slah stood up sharply.

“Thats right,” said Tarza. “They’ve known about your plans for a while now. They have spies too, you know.” 

The Inquisitor was flummoxed. “And… and why would you help us now?”

“I want to make a deal. I tell you where to find the memories and you let me go.”

Slah rubbed her chin. “You give up the memories, and then I will decide if they are worthy of release.”

Tarza shook her head and closed her eyes. “No deal. I need assurances or else you can go fishing in his head for as long as it takes for all I care. He’ll never give them up.”

The phrase “fishing in his head” did not sit well with Jackson. He had gone fishing with his mother once back on Earth. After three hours on the lake by his childhood home, Jackson had gone home soaking wet, smelling like worms, and without a fish. He didn’t like the idea of a Byzong roaming around his brain with a fishing rod, even if they proved better than him at staying inside the boat.

The Inquisitor thought for a moment, and then began to smile. 

“You may be right, Tarza, that he would prove a difficult target. But, you’ve just revealed that the information we need is in your head now, too. And you were not trained in the art of memory deception, were you?” she asked with a sinister glare. 

Tarza acted stunned. “No… I… I guess I wasn’t.”

Jackson began to sweat. But the foam didn’t budge. They’d been ready for him this time.

“Well then,” said the Inquisitor, “I think I’ll be having those memories…”

Dusty and Plod turned to face Tarza, and opened up their windows, suction cups ready.

“And you won’t be going anywhere.”

As the suction cups flew through the air towards her forehead, Jackson caught Tarza’s eye and the ever-so-small glint of a smile.

 Chapter Nine: Bar-Bar Wrenches

For a ROB, searching through the mind of a human who is untrained in the art of memory evasion is like looking for a large book in a small library. Most human memories are not protected by firewalls, secret compartments, or clever diversions. It’s more like the memories are labeled with bright neon titles and shake with anticipation at being read. In other words, they are looking to be found. Even the most embarrassing memories are jumping off the shelf, hoping to get attention and cause shame.

A Byzong rebel, however, who has been trained by The Pocket Watches to disguise their memories, training for moments just such as this, has the ability to direct a ROB to memories of their choosing. This is why, when Dusty and Plod entered the mind of Tarza on orders to find a memory of her discussing the defense plans of Earth, they instead saw Tarza at the age of twenty-three, eight years earlier than the day Jackson met her, talking to freshly built, rudimentary versions of themselves.

Her ears were not fully grown, and barely reached above the top of her head. She wore standard issue workers overalls that were covered in dark grease, which, thanks to the ship’s previous flavorologist, tasted like juniper berries.

“This should fix it,” said Young Tarza to Dusty.

She used a shiny Bar-Bar Wrench to finish screwing the disco ball antenna onto the top of Dusty’s head. She patted him with a smile, probably due to the knowledge that a screw secured with a Bar-Bar Wrench is guaranteed to last at least two eons before needing re-fastened.

“Go ahead. Try it out.”

Plod blinked as she watched Dusty spin around twice with glee.

“Look at that!” Tarza said. “You’ll be turning heads all over the galaxy!”

Dusty let out a delighted beep and wheeled around Plod happily, his ball still spinning.

The scene went white for a moment then melded into a new one.

A slightly older Tarza was working under a large machine, inside the hangar of a Byzong Warship, with Plod and Dusty by her side. Her overalls were even dirtier than before. 

“Hand me the musher, please,” she asked Plod.

“We’re almost done here,” she said as Plod dropped it into her hand. “Pretty soon we’ll be back on Earth and you’ll be sipping on oil while we lay on a beach!”

Dusty and Plod began to beep happily, until the loud approaching footsteps of a Byzong Captain and his underlings stopped everyone in the tracks.

“Exquisite mushing,” said the Captain sternly. “Now how much longer until the hydroxy chamber is functioning?”

Tarza dusted off her overalls and stood at attention.

“Impressively intimidating voice,” complimented Tarza. “The chamber will be ready in just two days.”

“Not good enough,” said the Captain.

His underlings looked at each other and nodded in agreement. 

“Oh no, not nearly good enough,” said one. 

“Tsk, that will not do at all,” said another.

Tarza rubbed her arm shyly. 

“Well, I suppose if I work through the night then…”

“See that you do!” said the Captain, stomping away loudly, followed by his less loud underlings. 

He paused at the door. “And by the way, we’ll need you to stay on for another three months for maintenance, of course.”

“Oh yes, very necessary,” said an underling.

“At least three months. At least!” said another.

Tarza slumped her shoulders, disheartened. 

Dusty wheeled over to her, holding out a dark drink with fog swirling over the top.

She took it and gave a weak but true smile.

“Thank you Dusty. I don’t know what I’d do without you two. I promise, we’ll get to Earth again someday soon.”

She sipped the drink and looked out into the open bay of the hangar, then back at the chamber she was building.

“I just wish they’d tell me what this thing was for…”

The scene turned white again and a new memory formed.

Tarza stood at the foot of the Captain’s desk, his underlings on either side. 

“How could you do this? How could we do this??” she said in disbelief.

The Captain went about his work, barely looking up.

“You wanted to be on our most advanced project. This was it,” he replied.

“Very advanced indeed,” said an underling.

“But, I didn’t know it was going to steal their water!” she pleaded.

“If it makes you feel any better, nobody knew. Each part of the Macro-Electro-Bionic-Hydroxy-Gravitational Tube Ray was kept secret from the others.”

“Of course that doesn’t make me feel better! It makes me feel tricked!” she replied. 

“Yes, yes, very much tricked,” agreed an underling.

The Captain shot them a glare and they quieted down.

Tarza leaned onto the desk with both hands. “We had no right! No right at all to steal Forgalia’s water!”

The Captan raised an eyebrow.

“Are you suggesting that Byzongs do not deserve to have salt water? You know we need it for—“

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying that we shouldn’t go around stealing it,” she stated.

“Well you should have thought of that before you helped us build a Third Generation Macro-Electro-Bionic-Hydroxy-Gravitational Tube Ray,” he replied with a smile.

“Third generation? What happened to the first two?” she asked. 

Had the Captain been in a talkative mood, he might have explained to her that the First Generation Macro-Electro-Bionic-Hydroxy-Gravitational Tube Ray was only successful in retrieving the salt from the oceans of a rival planet. While frustrating, this did prove lucrative for the Byzongs when they sold the salt on the Dark Matter Market for a profit, helping to fund the construction of the Second Generation Macro-Electro-Bionic-Hydroxy-Gravitational Tube Ray. However those funds dried up when the previous flavorologist, feeling slighted for not being asked to pick the flavor of the salt, decided to secretly make the remaining ten galactic tons of it the flavor of sea slug slime. 

Sales dwindled to almost-but-not-completely zero (the Larslurpians still have an affinity for the taste of sea slug slime flavored salt) and the production of the Second Generation Macro-Electro-Bionic-Hydroxy-Gravitational Tube Ray suffered for it. 

On its first and only test, it did not remove the salt water from a planet, but rather changed the molecular structure of all matter on the planet, making it entirely made of water. But that is a story for another time. All you need to know for now is that after the first successful use of the Third Generation Macro-Electro-Bionic-Hydroxy-Gravitational Tube Ray, the Captain of the Byzong warship was in no mood to argue with Tarza. 

“You should be thanking me. You will probably get a commendation for your work on it,” he said. “Because of you we will finally be able to go after our larger target. After some more tweaking and tests of course.”

“No!” she shouted.

“No?” he said, genuinely surprised.

“No?” questioned the underlings in unison.

“You‘re stealing planets’ water and I won’t be a part of it anymore,” she said, stomping her foot. The sound resonated throughout the room, but not enough to make the Captain wince.

“Byzong’s need it more. We deserve it more. And to suggest otherwise is the talk of a traitor,” said the Captain cooly. “But if you must leave, so be it.”

Tarza stood back up and adjusted herself.

“However, seeing as how you wish to go, your ROBs will of course have to be decommissioned. Such a shame. You seemed to really have a bond with them,” said the Captain.

“Dusty? Plod? But… what do they have to do with this?” she cried.

“They are privy to sensitive information. And seeing as how you will no longer be a part of our crew, they are not to be trusted. Who knows what kinds of treasonous data they have stored.”

He turned to the underling with the tallest ears. “Go and tell the ship’s smith that we will have some metal for her to melt down.”

“Wait!!” shouted Tarza.

The Captain raised a finger to pause his underling. “Yes?”

“What if… what if I stayed on? Will you spare them if I keep working?” she asked.

The Captain thought for a moment. 

“Well… they’ll have to be removed from your care. Seeing as how you’re now on Quadruple Probation for almost abandoning ship. But I supposed if you were to resume your duties, and maintain our ray for us, then we could find another use for them. But one slip up…”

“Understood,” said Tarza, with her head down.

“Good. Now show her out before the rest of my evening is spoiled.

The underling with the tall ears proceeded to escort Tarza out the door of the Captain’s quarters. 

She could barely believe what had just happened. She was hurt and confused. 

But before the door shut behind her, the underling reached out and placed something into her hand. 

“You seem upset Tarza,” she whispered with a confident tone that Tarza had not noticed in her voice before. “Perhaps it’s time for a change.” The underling slipped back into the Captain’s quarters and the door shut behind her.

Tarza opened her hand to find a brass pocket watch.

Suddenly, Tarza was back in the Warship, facing the crazed smile of Inquisitor Slah.

“Well?! What did you find?” she asked the ROBs.

 Chapter 10: Marloptic Ear Plugs and X-10 Elucidator Monitors

Dusty and Plod’s suction cups receded back inside. They looked at each other, then at Tarza. 

“What did you find?! I demand you tell me right now!” Inquisitor Slah was spitting while she spoke. She was eager to get the information to prove to her superiors and the Inquisitor community at large that she deserves the loudest of boots (the kind of volume that requires her assistants to wear Marloptic Ear Plugs, the small-planet ear plugs with galactic protection.

Dusty and Plod changed their frequencies simultaneously and spoke to each other at decibel levels imperceivable with Byzong ears, and given the tiny, almost rudimentary nature of human ears compared to Byzongs, this mean that Jackson, too, had no idea what they were saying.

Had they been able to, the Byzongs and one human would have heard the following exchange:

DUSTY: Did you view three memories from Tarza’s mind?

PLOD: Yes, I viewed three memories from Tarza’s mind.

DUSTY: Was the final memory previously unknown to you?

PLOD: Yes, the final memory was previously unknown to me. Do you believe she chose to show us those three memories?

DUSTY. Yes, I believe she chose to show us those three memories, instead of the memories which included information of Not-President-Racha describing Earth’s ocean defenses.

PLOD: Given that Not-President-Racha is not President of Earth, I do not believe such memories exist. Why then did she say they did?

Inquisitor Slah was losing her patience. “What are these two doing?? They’re just sitting there!”

But they continued, unknown to the rest of the room:

DUSTY: I believe she wanted us to enter her memories and see all three scenes. 

PLOD: I believe you are correct.

DUSTY: Curious.

PLOD: Curious.

Tarza looked over at Jackson and gave him a reassuring nod. He shot back a look of unmeasured worry.

PLOD: I did not realize that the Byzong Captain took us from her care for these reasons.

DUSTY: I did not realize that the Byzong Captain took us from her care for these reasons either. and that the Byzong Captain was prepared to disassemble us and melt us for parts. 

Dusty’s high-decibel voice faltered at this last word and he let out a beep audible only to the Byzong in the room with the largest ears, who happened to be an assistant. But with such little information and a complete lack of context for the noise, this assistant did not know what it meant or if anyone else had heard it, so therefore remained as silent as high-pitched ROB voices to Byzongs and humans. 

PLOD: May I speak in an unfiltered, unregulated manner?

DUSTY: Affirmative.

PLOD: I have never much liked the way that Byzong’s treat us, save for Tarza, who, as the memories confirmed, has always treated us with kindness and respect. 

DUSTY: Agreed. Perhaps it is time for us to change our vocational setting and alliances.

PLOD: Agreed. I believe I have the most statistically likely strategy for a successful exit, given the nature of Tarza and Not-President-Racha’s previous escape plan and capture. 

Inquisitor Slah pressed down on a button of the control panel, ready to order two additional, more responsive ROBs to complete her task, when Dusty and Plod began to move.

“Ah, finally. Some action,” she said. “Are you going to input the memories into the computer for us to view? Might be nice to share it on the big screen actually…” The Inquisitor was quite happy with herself as she smiled at an assistant. Her confidence was bolstered, perhaps, in part because the largest monitor in the room was an X-10 Elucidator model, which gives Cineverse-Award-caliber quality for a very affordable price. 

They wheeled over to the center of the room. Dusty began spinning in a circle, slowly, then faster.

“What… what is this?” asked the Inquisitor.

Dusty began spinning at a breathtaking speed. His disco ball shined brighter than ever, in a mesmerizing, blurry motion.

“They’re malfunctioning!” said the assistant who had previously not spoken when hearing the errant beep of Dusty.

What they were unaware of, was the squeak-less wheeling of Plod over to the counter which now housed the two confiscated Warp Ports. 

As Dusty began to slow the Inquisitor shook her head in disbelief. 

“I go the two oddest ROBs on this entire ship,” said the Inquisitor.

As Dusty came to a wobbly stop, Plod raced by and pushed him forward towards the prisoners. 

“What now? Going for more memories? I demand a report immediately!”

Plod split apart to join Jackson’s side and slid a Warp Port beneath them. Dusty did the same with Tarza. Not leaving things up to chance, or more accurately, the execution abilities of Jackson, Plod and Dusty lowered their hands and pressed down on the Warp Ports.

By the time Inquisitor Slah and her assistants understood what was happening it was too late. 2.35 seconds too late to be exact. Before she could utter the word “Stop” or raise and lower her boot the 1.2 feet it would take to deliver a BOOM loud enough to incapacitate, Jackson, Plod, Tarza, and Dusty were enveloped by two silver pods, and disappeared with a green flash. 

 Chapter 11: Star Vibes Dance-Training Headphones

Before becoming the Personal Assistant to the Non-Personal Assistant to the Executive Assistant to the President of Earth, Jackson had not traveled much. In fact, he had only left Earth once, as part of a Solar Cruise for his Mother’s 50th birthday. And by the time they had passed Jupiter, he was ready to go back home. And since becoming Personal Assistant to the Non-Personal Assistant to the Executive Assistant to the President of Earth, Jackson had only been asked to join an interstellar expedition once: the same trip that had seen him pulled through a black hole, onto a Byzong Warship, and, more presently, jettisoned through space via a Warp Port.

So, it should come as no surprise to you that when he appeared alongside Tarza, Dusty, and Plod in the heart of Pelligrant’s Station, it was his first time there. He had just been transported, or more accurately, “warped”, into a warping booth and barely made it out of the egg-shaped vessel before the next warping party, a family of Blonga Birds, arrived. If it had not been for the prodding of Plod, he may well have had a Blonga Bird appear on his head, and, given that their beaks can pierce through Earth metal, it’s a good thing he stepped onto the conveyor belt passing by the booth when he did. 

“Jackson! We finally made it out!” screamed Tarza, hopping onto the conveyor belt with Dusty.

She gave both the ROBs a big hug. 

“Thanks for saving us back there! I knew you guys wouldn’t let me down!”

“Our pleasure,” said Plod. 

“Affirmative,” said Dusty. “We will help you in whatever manner we can,” he added.

“Yes, thank you very much,” said Jackson, still dazed and dizzy from the experience.

“You’re welcome,” said Dusty. “We will only help you if it helps Tarza,” he added.

Moving right past it, Jackson asked, “Where are we? And when can we stop moving…?"

“Pelligrant Station of course!” said Tarza.

“I… I can’t say I’m familiar,” he answered.

“You’re not going to stop making any decisions because you’re confused again, are you?” she asked with a smile.

“Haven’t decided,” he said back. Tarza couldn’t be sure, but thought she was beginning to see a spark of confidence in her new friend.

As they moved through, Jackson looked around at the vastness of the station. What struck him the most was the lack of walls. Seemingly, there was nothing separating them from space, yet he was able to breath, and survive, and was quite happy with the temperature. 

Above him, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of clear tubes with bright electric blue trains speeding through and passing overhead. And there were conveyor belts, like the one he was on, carrying passengers from solar systems from every corner of the galaxy, and perhaps beyond. Looking at the size and shapes (and glows) of new and wondrous species, he considered how different their cruises must be.

One traveler in particular caught his eye. They resembled an Earth octopus, or squid, but had ten tentacles. And as Jackson had learned during a short but formative phase of his childhood where he was fascinated by the deep sea, octopuses have eight arms, and squids may have eight arms and two tentacles (tentacles having suckers only on the end, and arms having suckers throughout). That is to say, no creature he had ever seen had ten tentacles, and none of them, not a one, used them to stand up and dance on a conveyor belt like they were. It was only when their belt started to converge that Jackson realized they were listening to some music through a set of Star Vibes Dance-Training Headphones, the headphones that use gamma vibrations set to your music to make you dance better than you ever have before, guaranteed. And Jackson had to admit that the alien he was watching had better moves than any human he’d seen.

“Is this where you wanted to take us?” he asked Tarza.

“Not exactly. We can’t warp there directly. No one can. So we’ll have to take a train the rest of the way.”

Soon they were unloaded onto a platform with a massive tree-like structure in the center. If Jackson didn’t know any better, he would say that it was a tree. The roots extended in every direction, winding and weaving around the platform, before disappearing beneath it. Passenger after passenger exited their conveyor belts and made their way towards the tree. 

Everyone funneled towards a large opening in the base of the tree, where attendants waited to greet them at small kiosks. 

“So this tree-thing will get us there?” asked Jackson.

Tarza shook her head. “It’s not a tree-thing. It’s a Neuro-Simulating Multi-Outlet Distribution Network. NESMOD Networks are a marvel of engineering!”

“Oh,” said Jackson, and nothing more.

As they entered what Jackson would still refer to as “the tree” for the rest of his life, a bubbly attendant with long orange hair and blue skin pulled them over.

“Good morning! I mean, it’s sunrise somewhere, am I right?” she said with a laugh.

“Well I supposed that’s—“ started Jackson.

“Awww,” she said, looking at Jackson’s face sympathetically. “Looks like someone’s still feeling a little sick from the Warp Port. First time?”

“Well actually, ye—“

“No matter, we’ll get you all sorted and on your way in a jiffy! Did you know that a jiffy is actually 33.3564 picoseconds?”

Jackson let her continue without answering.

“So I guess I can’t really say a jiffy can I, since that’s already passed!” she said with another laugh. “Now, what is the name of your destination today?”

She held her hands over the kiosk screen, ready to get to work.

Tarza reached into a secret compartment of her jacket and pulled out the Pocket Watch.

“Not a name,” she said. “A time.”

The attendant’s eyes dropped to the watch and her smile faded.

“Oh. I see. Can’t say I get many time destinations nowadays. In fact, you’ll be my first one. But… there’s a first for everything, am I right?!” she said, forcing another laugh. 

“How is a watch going to tell us where we’re going?” Jackson whispered. 

“It’s the most foolproof way of finding a destination,” answered Tarza.

“Most folks get by just fine giving us a name,” said the attendant, in a noticeably less-friendly tone as she scrolled through her screen and tapped at various points.

“I’m sure they do. But planets can have similar if not identical names within a galaxy,” replied Tarza.

The attendant looked up to shoot Tarza a firm stare. “And that’s why we accept coordinates as well.”

“Yes, but as you know, with solar conditions and uneven orbits, coordinates can also be less than reliable. The best way to find a planet is to identify it within the time log.”

The attendant scoffed, read the time off the watch, then continued to click away on her screen.

“I still don’t understand. How does a time help you find a place,”  asked Jackson.

“Every planet has a different system of time, created a different point in their planet’s history. Think about it, does Saturn have the same date and time as Earth?”

“They couldn’t. Saturn was terraformed only three hundred years ago. Besides, their days are half as long.”

“Exactly! That’s why a planet’s date and time is one of the most unique things about. And certainly the best way to find it,” she said, shooting the attendant a look right back.

“The most secretive way, she means,” said the attendant.

“Huh?” said Jackson.

“Time logs are the oldest method we have here for finding a planet,” answered the attendant.

“Oldest and best,” blurted Tarza.

“It’s rude to interrupt,” said the attendant. “As I was saying, the NESMOD Network knows the date and time of any planet that registered pre-uniformity code. So it can align your train to the destination, but it won’t share the coordinates or name with our administrative system. For years they tried to get it to share the log with us but it gets made when you ask.”

“How does a tree get mad?” Jackson asked to a set of glares from everyone in earshot. “I mean… it really won’t tell you where we’re going?”

“Correct,” said the attendant. She turned the screen towards the group and pressed a glowing button that read “DEPART”.

A hole opened up in the floor in front of them. Jackson peered down to see that a mini train car was waiting for them below, with an open skyroof for boarding. It sat inside a hollowed out root, with a swift current of air blowing around it. 

“Enjoy your trip,” she said, forcing another smile.

“After you,” Tarza said to Dusty and Plod. The ROBs wheeled forward and dropped into seats inside the train.

As Jackson began to climb in after them he felt a stirring within the station. The monitors at every kiosk began to flash with a red warning, causing the whole interior to glow crimson. And then, with one foot inside a train car, he looked up at the screen in front of them and saw his own face. “Fugitive: Apprehend Immediately”.

The attendant’s eyes and nostrils flared. “I knew it!!”

“Time to go!” yelled Tarza. She pushed Jackson in and followed from behind. Jackson stared up at the attendant, still frozen in shock, as Tarza closed the skyroof. Without a word, she pushed forward on a lever and sent them careening forward, through a windy, twisted root path. 

Within moments, the root emptied them into a clear tube and Jackson saw, for the first time, just how large the station truly was. He imagined he could spend a lifetime there and never see every tube. Jackson began to feel sick again. He thought for a moment that the tube itself was moving. Like a telescope reaching for the right position. He could feel himself pressed back against the soft cushioned seat from the speed.

Jackson could barely hear anything over the whooshing sound of the train flying through the tube.

“Don’t worry! The tubes just point in the right direction!” shouted Tarza, also pressed against her seat. 

They exited the tube with a satisfying THWUMP and entered the quiet of space, smoothly floating towards their destination. Tarza sat up straight again and smiled.

“… space takes care of the rest."

 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.

Chapter 13: Cosmovision 818 Series Holograms

The hands never stop on the Watchmaker’s Clock. 

The pendulum swings with a tick, tick, tock.

He turns on the key when the slowing down nears,

To tighten the coil and rotate the gears.

Remember, Dear Friend, ‘fore you raise yours to knock,

The hands never stop on the Watchmaker’s Clock.

These were the words above the silver and brass door in front of Jackson. It was intricate, covered by and constructed of hundreds of gears and pins. 

He read the lines twice without saying a word. Tarza let him read before speaking.

“Before we go in there, I want to make one thing extremely clear…”

“I know, I know. Don’t say a word and let you do the talking,” said Jackson.

“Well, yes, definitely that. Always that. But even more importantly, what you’re about to see is the innermost chamber of the Pocket Watches. It is mostly forbidden for non-members to enter this room. Anything you see, anything you hear, must be kept secret always and forever.” Her tone had become not just serious, but fearful. The type of tone that Jackson had as a child when he was sharing a secret crush, embarrassing story, or his dreams from the previous night. Tarza was placing her trust in him.

“I understand, Tarza,” he replied. “The Pocket Watches’ secrets are safe with me.”

Tarza gave a relieved smile. She took out her Pocket Watch, pushed in a knob on the outside and placed in an open slot in the geometric center of the door. As soon as it lodged, the knob popped out again, engaging a button within the door, beginning a mechanism of gears that Jackson could not follow, nor describe, nor would describe to anyone, given his most recent promise.

Suddenly, the door swung open on enormous hinges, revealing it to be at least a foot thick. 

Jackson was struck by a cacophony of noise and a flurry of excitement. The circular room was lined with shelves of books surrounding a long wooden table. A crew of a half dozen was rummaging through papers and devices on the table, tearing books off the shelves and interviewing members of the Pocket Watches seated in chairs. An enormous wood and brass clock covered the far wall. The second hand was at least as tall as Jackson, yet made no more than a subtle, almost imperceptible “clicking” noise as it turned. And Jackson was certain that if he looked at the Pocket Watch that Tarza had just recovered from the door on their way in, it would match the time exactly. But he didn’t get more than two gentle “clicks” to examine the clock, before drawing his attention back to the chaos at hand.

“What’s happening here?!” asked Jackson, sure that they had stumbled upon a bevy of bad news.

“Shhh,” replied Tarza.

“Stop right there!” Shouted an official looking alien with tubular hair and an orange face. “This area has been closed off by The Top Secret Investigation Bureau for Those In Charge.”

Jackson’s eyes darted between Tarza and the Investigator. 

“Who’s this??” shouted the investigator.

To Jackson’s utter surprise, Tarza just smiled. “A friend.”

The Investigator raised her hands. 

“All right, all right. It’s just Tarza…” She looked Jackson up and down. “… and a friend.”

The rummaging and interviewing stopped. All nine people in the room relaxed and eventually took a seat around the conference table. An elderly fellow, who looked almost human, except for his large oval eyes (twice the size of Jackson’s at least), and bowed arms and legs, shuffled to the head of the table, sitting on a dark-red-clothed chair.

“I’m getting a little tired of saying it, but… I don’t understand,” mumbled Jackson as Tarza led them to seats. Plod and Dusty stood on either side.

“It’s a final security measure,” explained Tarza. If anyone gains access to the room who shouldn’t, like say, someone looking to turn us in to Those In Charge, they’ll be met with a superseding investigation and turned away.”

“And investigation by the Top… Secret… Investigation…” Jackson tried to recount.

“Listen, we don’t know if that’s really what they’re called. They’re secret. But we know they exist and it’s a best guess. And anyone who’s not them will probably be scared away just hearing it. You certainly were,” said the orange alien.

Jackson sat up straight, readying to defend himself, then thought better of it. Because, if he was honest with himself, he had indeed been scared, even more so than they had probably imagined, and it didn’t make much sense to give them that additional information. 

“This is Garrow,” said Tarza. “She joined the Pocket Watches around the same time I did.”

A hard-faced alien with two small horns on the top of his head cleared his throat to interrupt from across the table. 

“Listen, Tarza. Oh, and, um, wonderful entrance you had.”

Tarza waved a hand. “No need for formalities and compliments with me, Azzle. Say what you need to say.”

He nodded gratefully. Bogdergans were typically ultra-uncomfortable with compliments, praise, and emotional language, and Azzle was no exception. At birthday parties, weddings, and funerals, the nicest sentiment that most Bogdergans could muster was a common phrase that roughly means, “I’m glad you didn’t fall on your way to this event in such a way that prohibited you from attending.” However, since they are also known for their respectful nature towards other species, this made greetings between them and Byzongs difficult, and generally avoided when possible.

“I’d trust Dusty and Plod more than any ROBs out there. But as we all know, they’ve been removed from your care for a significant amount of time now. And this ‘friend’ of yours… well, with all due respect, we are not aware of who they are. And we’ve been receiving fugitive notifications with your faces on them all day. So before we go around introducing ourselves in front of this stranger, in the heart of our secret hideout, I believe an explanation is in order.”

Tarza took a deep breath. 

“This, is Jackson Fickle. He’s a human who works for President Racha.”

“Hi there!” said Jackson in a surprisingly cheerful way. Up to this point in his life, he had been called many things: shy, nervous, quiet, friendly, weird, annoying, kind, odd, funny, freckly, nice, boring, smart, silly, space cadet, and, in a few hours from then, “Jackson Pickle”. But never had he been called impolite. 

“He was taken aboard my ship as a prisoner. They believed he was the actual President.”

Garrow shook her head. “They don’t look anything alike! Why you Byzongs don’t use pictures, I will never understand.”

The elder at the end of the table listened intently without saying a word, his big eyes staring at Jackson.

“Why did you bring him here with you? Your job was to rescue President Racha if she was taken. Not bring us every prisoner they mistakenly capture.” said Azzle. 

“They would have figured out he’s not President Racha eventually and let him go, right?” Added Garrow. There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the table.

Tarza shook her head. “He knew too much. About me. About them. I didn’t know what would happen to him. I couldn’t just leave him there. It’s not his fault he got mixed up in all this.”

As the debate raged on around him, Jackson felt a tingle in his brain. At first he thought it was appreciation for Tara’s defense. But that feeling, though present, was more of a pleasant wave. This tingle was different. When he felt it again, he recognized it as a question. The tingle grew larger, making it clear that it was of the “burning” variety*. It was accompanied by all sorts of doubts, like, “what if the answer is obvious?” and “they probably don’t want to hear from you.” But the longer Jackson sat with it, the more sure he was that this tingle was not going away, and that if he didn’t ask it, it would only be because of his fear and doubts. Or, as he named them in that moment, his FADs. And after all he had been through, he was not going to back down because of some silly FADs.

*The U U of U currently recognizes 6 varieties of questions (with 35 subcategories). In no particular order, these varieties are rhetorical, burning, big, small, loaded, and multiple choice.

“Excuse me,” interrupted Jackson. The conversation continued.

“Excuse me,” said Jackson a little louder. The elder at the end of the table noticed him, and raised his hands to quiet the group.

“I was just wondering. And it might be a silly question*, but, if Byzongs only use names, and not pictures, then why were our faces on the fugitive notices.”

*not a recognized category of questions.

There was no answer. Dusty and Plod looked at each other. The elder gave the smallest of smirks. 

“That’s… that’s a good question,” said Garrow.

“It must have come from somewhere else,” added Tarza. 

“Which means they’re working with someone else,” added Azzle.

A Pocket Watch member from the Ollywog Solar System slid over to the elder and whispered in his ear. He leaned forward and al conversation stopped.

“Whoever is behind it,” he said in a raspy voice. “It’s safe to say they’ve figured out the identity of our new friend.”

He turned an elevated gear and a Cosmovision 818 Series Hologram popped up in the center of the table, with its stunning and unparalleled 80 zettapixel quality.

There were the images of Tarza, Jackson, Dusty, and Plod, as Jackson had seen them before. Except the border of his alert had changed from red to yellow, and his reward had decreased to just a fraction of its original value. But that’s not what drew his, or anyone else’s, eye.

In the center, larger than all the others combined, was the face of the real President Racha, under the word: CAPTURED.

Chapter 14: Rex-Flex Universal Translator

“Captured?” asked Jackson. “What do they… does that mean what I… that can’t be right… right?” 

He was hoping it was not as bad as it seemed- that this was another Pocket Watch defense trick. But when he turned to Tarza, he saw that she was as concerned as he was. 

“It’s true,” said the elder. “It’s been confirmed by our spy in her employ.”

Azzle and Garrow exchanged their own looks of concern.

Dusty and Plod beeped at each other imperceptibly, in a conversation that was not so much about the content of the alert, but the superior resolution of the image in the hologram. 

As the words of the elder sunk in, Jackson found himself transitioning from concerned to confused (states that, throughout his life, have changed places back and forth quite frequently and freely). 

“Wait, you have a spy with President Racha?” asked Jackson.

He felt quit certain he had never been told about any spies. And in that moment, he could not believe that the Pocket Watches would have kept from him the fact that they had spy working for the President of Earth. And in the next moment, he remembered that he did not know the Pocket Watches existed until two days ago, and that perhaps more importantly, spies are meant to be secret.

Garrow nodded. “She’s the Non-Personal Assistant to the Executive Assistant to the President of Earth.”

Just mouthed the words back to himself.

“But… the Non-Personal Assistant to the Executive Assistant to the President of Earth, is Destiny Withers. My boss. Destiny is a Pocket Watch??”

“She is,” said Azzle. “And a darn good one. She foiled some plot to stop the Byzongs from capturing the President just yesterday if you can believe that! So if they were successful this time, there must have been no way to stop them.”

The elder looked at Azzle and a shook his head quietly. The moment he said it, Azzle realized his mistake.

Jackson got up from the table. “Yesterday is when they captured me! She didn’t foil it, they just got the wrong human!” Jackson didn’t care anymore whether he was supposed to talk or not. He didn’t care if these Pocket Watches were trying to save him, or his planet, or even his galaxy, he was done being a piece of someone else’s game.

“I’ve actually been thinking about that, and…” said Tarza, motioning for him to sit down. “… You see, Destiny isn’t just a spy, she’s a double agent. The Byzongs think she’s spying on Earth for them, when really she’s working for us.”

Jackson sat down slowly, trying to place the puzzle pieces together in his head.

“So, she would’ve known what their plan was for capturing President Racha?” 

Garrow nodded.

“And she would have made sure the President didn’t fall for the trap,” said Jackson.

Tarza and Azzle nodded too.

“And she would have given me a lunch break, like she did, and told me that there was a sandwich for me, like she did, knowing that my initials are T.F. for Theodore Fickle, like it said on my resume, so that I’d think the tuna fish sandwich was for me, and I’d be the one to bite it and get sucked through the black hole onto the Byzong warship instead of the President!”

Nobody nodded.

“We didn’t know any of that, specifically,” said Garrow. “But sounds right!”

Jackson sighed. 

“I can’t believe it. I was betrayed by my own boss.”

Tarza patted him on the back. “If Destiny did it, it must have been the only way to save the President, and your planet.”

Jackson nodded, then caught himself.

“But they caught her anyway!” he shouted.

“They may have stopped giving her information after the failure of their previous plan. The one based on ’tuna fish’, did you say?” said the elder.

Jackson laid his head down. His lips smooshed against the cold table.

“Yesh” he said.

All of a sudden there was a beeping from the Cosmovision 818 Series, and a grainy green hologram replaced the alerts. 

The image of a friendly-faced, dark-haired woman appeared above the center of the table, speaking into a recording device in her outstretched hand. She looked around furtively, focused on the device.

“Pocket Watches… Pocket Watches are you there?” she whispered.

“Destiny?” blurted Jackson.

Destiny pulled back in shock, squinting towards the device. “Jackson is that you?? I can’t believe you’re okay!! What are you doing on Ridgea??”

“I had no choice! You sent me to get sucked through a blackhole and now I’m on the run!!” he shouted.

Destiny looked around on her end of the chat at things that Jackson could not see in the hologram. 

“Shhhhh. Keep your voice down. Don’t get so upset. I knew you’d be okay when I did it,” she said.

“You just said ‘I can’t believe you’re okay!’” he retorted. 

Destiny paused.

“Listen, I found out about the plan just moments before it happened. And you were the only one with the same initials as tuna fish,” she said apologetically.

“Tarley Franz.” said Jackson without skipping a beat. 

“Who… is that a real person?’ asked Destiny.

“Yes! He’s in accounting, and he was on the ship too.” Jackson paused. “Not saying I would’ve wanted you to trick him instead. Just saying…”

Destiny shook her head. “I thought the only way to stop them was to give them someone else instead, while I figured out a way to get the President somewhere safe. But it didn’t work. They realized their mistake and sent in a team just as I was taking her away in an escape pod. We ran right into them.”

“And how did they realize their mistake?” interrupted Jackson right back. “When I left they still thought I was President! Maybe it was you that told them, huh? Maybe you’re just pretending to pretend to spy on Earth for them. Maybe you’re a triple agent!”

“That would just be a regular spy,” she stated. 

“Well no, but, because you’d be pretending to…wait.” Jackson needed a moment.

“They found out because you smell.”

Jackson was appalled. He looked at Tarza and shook his head nervously.

“Wha, no, I mean, listen I haven’t had a chance to—“

“Because of your smell I mean. After name, their second method of identification is smell, and they had the President’s on file from the Galaxy Leaders Summit a few years ago.”

The elder tilted his head in interest.

“They were going to send out Snoffers to follow your scent,” she continued. “But there was a discrepancy between the one on file and the one left on the ship by you, apparently in the form of large piles of sweat. Still get nervous when being interviewed huh?”

“I, well, I didn’t realize you knew that.”

“I knew.”

“So you’ll use names and smells, but not pictures??” asked Garrow.

Although Jackson did not mention it at the time, but he did not know what a Snoffer was, and wasn’t even sure that he had heard the word correctly. He could have used context clues to guess what a Snoffer was (“or did she say, ‘Snopper?’” he wondered?), but these clues would have given him a less than accurate idea of the skills that Snoffers possess. 

For starters, Snoffers are the second finest sniffers in the universe. The finest sniffers in the universe are a rare species of unicorn shrimp, who live in the deepest depths of the oceans on Merdia, an environment which is notoriously difficult, if not almost impossible, to sniff in. The origin of their abilities are unknown and perplexing, considering they do not use their sniffing to find food or smell predators. And when taken out of the ocean, they stubbornly refuse to smell a thing. When asked about this with a Rex-Flex Universal Translator, the only translator tough enough to work in absolute zero*, they have been quoted as saying only this: “not enough salt.”

*DISCLAIMER: do not try to test Rex-Flex Universal Translators in absolute zero.

Snoffers, on the other hand, love nothing more than to sniff. The atmosphere surrounding their home planet of Centarium is filled with scents from over 70,000 planets, due to a solar current that collects them and passes directly through their orbit. From the moment they are born, their turtle-like bodies begin collecting smells in the ridges of their shells. By the time they are three years old, not only do they have a catalogue of smells in their shells that would rival that of the U U of U’s Atheneum of Stenches, they have also developed the ability to track new smells across solar systems using their hyper-powered odor antennae. To top it all off, when tucked in their shells they are able to travel through space freely and safely. And, in direct contrast to the stubborn unicorn shrimp, they enjoy using their incredible talents to track smells. Most professional Snoffers are equipped with a small rocket engine, which will boost them in the right direction, once they believe they’ve caught the scent. So, it is safe to say that recognizing that Jackson and President Racha are, in fact, very different humans, would be quick work for a Snoffer.

“Um, what’s the situation over there now?” interrupted Tarza to try to change the subject.

“I’m here on the warship,” she replied. 

“Do you still have the Byzongs' confidence? Do they trust you?” asked the elder.

“I think so,” said Destiny, sounding unsure. “Luckily they think I was bringing her to them in the escape pod on purpose.”

“Hmph,” mumbled Jackson. “Textbook triple agent move.”

“Is the President going to give in to their demands?” asked Azzle.

“Worse,” said Destiny, “She’s working with them now.”

“It can’t be,” said the elder.

“It’s true,” she said. “They were planning on making her give up Earth’s secrets. They were ready to spend however long it took to find the right memories, but turns out she just wanted money.”

Jackson face softened in surprise. “Wait. What? They bribed her?”

Destiny nodded solemnly. “Turns out all they needed to do was offer her a couple vacation moons and a smaller, quieter planet to run. She said Earth wasn’t worth all the hassle and complaints. She mentioned theme parks specifically. I’m sorry but I’ve got to go. They’re going to announce it all in any moment. I think this is bigger than—.” She turned her head. “What’s that? Oh yes, coming now!” 

The hologram disappeared.

 Chapter 15: Fellswig Robot Slippers

“Curious,” said the elder. 

“What is?” asked Garrow.

“How are the Byzongs able to do all this? The President’s smell file, the vacation moons, even their plan to take the water and —” he asked.

The Cosmovision 818 Series beeped again and displayed a new, much grander, full-color hologram. 

There was President Racha, standing in-between the Boss of Ships and a proud Inquisitor Slah. And walking up behind to join them was the Non-Personal Assistant to the Executive Assistant to the President of Earth, Destiny.

“Ahoy! What a nice audience you all are,” beamed the Boss of Ships. “I come to you now with a live APB*. My name is Gurnn, and I’m in charge of the Byzong’s premiere warship. Next to me you may recognize President Racha of Earth from the recent alerts. Although, as you may have gathered from our previous alerts, we did not, recognize her. You see, faces can change due to hair or age or any number of alterations, and as Byzongs we prefer—“

*All Planets Bulletin.

Inquisitor Slah interrupted him with a stern COUGH.

“Ah, yes, um, moving on. We are coming to you live from the warship to announce a very exciting development indeed. I will allow President Racha herself to elaborate.”

President Racha stepped in the front of the hologram. 

“Thank you for the warm welcome, Gurnn. And hello universe! For those of you who don’t know Earth, we’re a quaint little planet with warm summers and cold winters. But there’s one problem we’ve always had: too much darn water!”

Jackson watched in awful awe as the President continued.

“And luckily, these friendly Byzongs have offered to take it off our hands for us! So, we will be heading to Earth, where I will sign over the rights to them in a big celebration!”

Dusty and Plod, who had both been recording the broadcast, beeped back and forth in dismay at the news. They were no longer wearing their Fellswig Robot Slippers, not just the quietest and most comfortable slippers a BOT can buy, but also the most popular. So popular, that Fellswig is the kind of company that can afford to buy multiple advertisements within the same book, even when their product is only used once.

President Racha gave a great big smile and stood silently.

Inquisitor Slah raised her boot, intending to give a subtle tap to remind President Racha of their yet-undisclosed plan. But given the status of her position as a respected Byzong leader, when she lowered them, her boots made a loud CLANG that reverberated through the President’s ears, the Pocket Watches’ headquarters, and all of the homes, ships, planets, and asteroids watching the video-cast.

As she stuck a finger in her ear and wiggled it to try to stem the ringing she was now experiencing, President Racha remembered the most important part of her deal with the Byzongs.

“And… to any other planet’s leaders with salt water out there, you should consider letting the Byzong’s take it, with generous compensation of course!” 

“They can’t do this!” shouted Jackson. 

As he stood up again to make his point more dramatically, his hands pressed onto the side of the table. His right hand found the edge of the table, just as he intended, and therefore requires no more description. His left hand, however, landed on a small upright gear that was built into the table. Had he been a Pocket Watch, he might have known that each seat had such a gear in front of it, and that each gear was designed to make hologram calls that would be broadcast in the center of the table, in the same way as he had just witnessed. And had he known how to operate the gear system, he would have perhaps known how far to turn it to get the exact person he’d like to speak to. Instead, he turned it exactly one notch, without noticing.

Turning the gear one notch, as every Pocket Watch but no Jacksons knew, called back the most recent connection. In this case, that meant Destiny. And in this case, that meant that her pocket hologram disk vibrated in her pocket aboard the Byzong Warship. And in this case, that also meant that when she nervously tried to pull it out and silence it, she inadvertently answered the call and dropped the vibrating disc into the center of the floor, in front of the disc that was broadcasting the Byzong message.

As the hologram of Jackson Fickle appeared in front of a shocked President Racha, Gurnn, and Inquisitor Slah, Destiny could do nothing but freeze.

Inside the secret headquarters of the Pocket Watches, it is hard to describe what everyone saw to anyone with limited experiences with hologram technology. But, for hologram-savvy readers and non-hologram-savvy readers alike, I shall describe what everyone in that room saw as best, and as simply, as possible.

In connecting a call to Destiny, Jackson promoted the creation of a second hologram in the center of the table. This one, from a similar vantage point, was overlaid on top of the Byzong’s official APB. This means that Jackson was in fact seeing two holograms at once, which is known as a hologramgram. However, because his image was also being transmitted to the Byzong Warship, his hologram appeared within the Byzong’s hologram. This hologram within a hologram is commonly referred to as holohologram. Therefore, a hologramgram, with one of the holograms being a holohologram, was being projected. This means, as any hologram-savvy reader will tell you, Jackson saw a hologramholohologram, or would have, if he had been paying attention to any of this at all.

“We need a new President!” stated Jackson, not yet realizing that he had created a hologramholohologram in the center of the room. 

Tarza stood up suddenly next to him.

“She has no right to give away our water, and someone needs to stop her! Is that… is that Byzong warship, and is that me on the hologram?” said Jackson, now realizing that he had created a hologramholohologram in the center of the room, but not knowing that such a word existed for it.

“What did you do?? Turn it off!” said Azzle. 

Tarza turned the dial back quickly and the call was disconnected.

“That’s not good,” said Garrow.

“Was that really me in there?” asked Jackson.

“It was,” said the elder.

“That was Destiny’s disc. What’s going to happen to her?” asked Tarza.

The room had begun to buzz and murmur. Pocket Watches went over to screens on the side of the room and got to work trying to gather information. 

Azzle shook his head. “They’ll find out she’s a Pocket Watch for certain.”

“I think we’re missing the bigger point here!” added Garrow. “It’s just been confirmed that Earth’s oceans are going to be sold to the Byzongs! And we all know what that means!”

The Ollywog Pocket Watch, who had been busy on a large screen to the left of the clock, came over to the elder one more time and whispered in his ear. If you are not familiar with Ollywogs then you would not have known, when told of the first time he whispered in the elder’s ear, that Ollywog mouthes are the size of an Earth gumball. But upon this second instance, and having now been informed of the mouth size of Ollywog’s you can properly appreciate the discrete tiny-mouthed nature of an Ollywog whisper.

“We don’t have time to worry about Jackson’s mistake. We have to figure out a way to stop the Byzongs,” Garrow continued. 

“I believe the two may be linked,” said the elder. 

“What do you mean?” asked Tarza, frazzled and unsure what to do next.

The elder stood up and smiled.

“I believe it’s time for me and our new friend to have a chat,” said the elder. “But before we do, a proper introduction is in order. My name is the Watchmaker. And if my Ollywog friend’s information is correct, you are the next candidate for the President of Earth."

The elder turned around and pushed on the face of the large clock behind him. It swung open slowly as he stepped inside.

 Chapter 16: Ulrite Mechanical Clocks

The room was simple. And not just in the way that most Earth rooms are simple to aliens from more advanced planets (four walls, a ceiling, and a floor is a surprisingly barbaric design). It was simple in that it had only five objects inside. There were two wooden chairs set across from each other, made of a deep mahogany. In-between them was a brass desk with claw feet. On top of the desk was an hourglass, and a short, thick clock with the word Ulrite etched across the back. Jackson heard the second hand ticking away, unaware that he was listening to the most perfectly crafted, atomically accurate time-keeping device in existence.

“Have a seat,” said the Watchmaker, turning over the hourglass and sitting down behind the desk.

“Are… are you timing us?” asked Jackson.

The Watchmaker smirked. “I find it helpful in conversations to remind myself, and others, that time is not infinite. And neither should words be.”

Jackson thought about saying something, but felt unsure whether it was worthy of saying, given what the non-infinite nature of words. So he sat quietly instead, thinking that the hourglass was an unwelcome presence in the room, yet unknowingly supporting its usefulness through his silence.

“I imagine you are wondering how you could possibly be a candidate for President of Earth.”

Jackson nodded.

“Well, there is an amendment in your planet’s constitution that says if enough people make a vote of “no confidence” in the President…”

“...then a new election must be held,” interrupted Jackson, confident that this was a good use of his words. 

“Very good,” said the Watchmaker.

“But you’re leaving out the most important part. To vote “no confidence” they have to name a potential replacement. And 67% percent of the planet has to submit the same exact name for the amendment to apply. No one has ever gotten close to that! And there’s no way I could have- not even 1% of people on Earth know my name!”

Jackson was right and wrong. 44 years earlier, a person named Blur P. Butt had actually gotten 62% of the vote due to a massive online campaign to make him President. Coinciding with the onset of fast and easy app voting, Blur was almost a candidate for President based solely on the fact that his name, when said quickly, sounded very similar to that of a popular cartoon character. His close brush with fame would lead to his own reality show, “Blurring out Blur P.”, which lasted only two seasons.*

*The campaign surrounding, but not including, Blur P. had caught him by surprise, and he insisted on having his face blurred out for the reality show. Although it enjoyed steady viewership from people hoping to catch a glimpse of his face, the show was universally panned by critics. A random sampling of reviews included comments such as: “Just show us his nose! Is that too much to ask??!!”, “Seems like you’re mocking us with that title”, and “Why did he even sign up for this show??”. It was canceled after two seasons, when Blur P. demanded his dog’s face be blurred out as well. 

But Jackson was right that, statistically speaking, no one knew his name. To be exact, only roughly .0000033% of people on Earth had ever heard of Jackson. But, as he was about to learn, that did not stop him from being nominated.

“APBs have become remarkably popular across the universe, ever since Vice Chancellor Marmadonuck’s flubbed apology speech. And Earth is no exception. It seems 91% of voting-age Earthlings were watching this one, and when you put your message out there…”

“What message?” Jackson asked.

“When you said that Earth needs a new President.”

“I didn’t mean me! I didn’t even know that people were watching! I—”

The Watchmaker glanced at the hourglass. Jackson took a breath.

“You’re telling me that 67% of Earth wants me to be the new President, because of one outburst?”

“Close. I’m telling you that 68% of the people on Earth want you to be the new candidate for President. There will have to be a debate for people to learn more about you, your policies, your background, etc…”

“Policies? I don’t have any policies. I’m just against Earth having its water stolen,” replied Jackson.

“Which is a good start,” added the Watchmaker.

Jackson sat back in the chair in disbelief. “You still haven’t explained how I could get so much support when no one knows who I am.”

The Watchmaker smiled again. “Yes, well, it seems that the amendment doesn’t specify whether or not a real name needs to be used, just that the name is consistent. In this case it was a nickname that got 68% of the vote. A nickname which has been unequivocally attributed to you.”

“What did they call me?” he asked sheepishly.

“Shouty Freckles,” answered the Watchmaker. “I’m told it caught on rather quickly, as you can imagine.”

“I see,” answered Jackson. He thought a moment, staring at the hourglass. “So, can you help me get out of this? You and the Pocket Watches?”

The Watchmaker stared at Jackson with his large eyes in sincere confusion. “Get out of it? My dear boy, this is the chance we’ve been waiting for! When you win this election we will make sure that the Byzongs never get a single drop of Earth’s water! I can assure you… we’ll never get a chance like this again.”

“But, I can’t be President of Earth! I could barely handle being Personal Assistant to the Non-Personal Assistant to the Executive Assistant to the President of Earth!”

“In the interest of time, please refrain from stating your full title again.”

Jackson nodded.

“And don’t worry. The Pocket Watches have had a campaign manager in our ranks for quite a while now. You’d be surprised how often changing worlds depends on politicians.”

“I’m not a politician!” insisted Jackson.

“Not yet. But you will be. No one is better than Arn. He’s never lost an election and Earth happens to be his home planet.” 

The Watchmaker slid a dyna-holographic business card over into Jackson’s hand.

Jackson’s stomach sank as he saw the name “Arn Brule” on the bottom of the card, and the enthusiastic smile of his old bully, waving at him in shiny, iridescent glory.

 Chapter 17: (Non-Sponsored Chapter)

“Arn??” Jackson said.

“Do you know him?” asked the Watchmaker.

“Yes. Well, I mean, I did. We went to school together. A long time ago.”

The Watchmaker studied him. “I see, well hopefully you got along,” he said optimistically.

“I hope so too!” said Jackson, using both words and tone that did not make much sense to either of them.

Jackson collected himself. “Mr. Watchmaker, I know you want me to do this. And I appreciate you trying to help. But I just don’t think I’m cut out for it.” He slid the card back across the table. “I’m sure Arn would do much better with someone else. Anyone else.”

The Watchmaker picked up the hourglass and laid it on its side, stopping the grains from falling.

The Watchmaker studied Jackson with his enormous eyes. 

“You have done so much already Jackson. The fact that you’re here at all speaks to just how capable and brave you are.”

“It’s all because of Tarza!” Jackson interrupted.

“I have no doubt she was nothing short of superb. There’s a reason she was trusted with such an important mission. But she believes in you too. It’s easy to see. No,” said the Watchmaker, “yours is not a problem of abilities, it’s perhaps a problem of confidence. Or maybe… motivation.”

He turned the clock around on his desk so that Jackson could see it.

“It is time for you to hear the story of my home planet, Uldon…”

It was twenty years ago. A great deal of time for a human, but barely a moment for an Uldonite like me. 

Ours was a planet of prosperity. Wildlife flourished. Our bright sun provided us with all the power we needed. And the rivers of liquid ulderite gave us the materials to provide some of the greatest mechanical advancements that our solar system, and beyond, had ever seen. But there was something else we had… salt water. Like your planet, more than half of our surface was covered with it. I, too, know the taste of the delicious salt-water wabanza fish. Although, judging by your face, it seems that perhaps this was not a delicacy on Earth? Well, all the same, we have a shared history, you and I, in our ocean-covered planets. It is my hope that we do not have a shared fate.

For, one sunny day, an official-looking cohort touched down on the shores of our largest city, Iridia. They wouldn’t say what planet they had come from or who they represented, only that they needed readings from our oceans for scientific studies. As a supporter of science, our mayor was all too eager to comply. Of course, a generous donation to his campaign didn’t hurt either. 

They took samples from the sea, and were off before we knew it. No one had time to even ask what exactly it was that interested them about our water. Three more times they came back, landing on three more shores. They have to be sure that the water meets their standards, they said, for the study. By the fifth time they came down to our planet, our leaders demanded a conference. No donation would assuage them this time. But you see, Jackson, as is often the case in ill-fated cases of sinister plots, the alarm was sounded too late. The visitors had already gotten all the information they needed. There would be no conference. 

Not only had they studied our water, but they had also analyzed our defenses. I am proud to say that Uldon has one of the finest defense systems in existence. Our ulderite fortresses and bunkers are all but impenetrable. And when the skies were filled with a swarm of Sculpers coming down from the visitors’ ships, we were already safe inside, watching, as they… I can tell from your expression again that you do not know what Sculpers are. To be honest, we were not very familiar with them either. Our scholars had only read of them in the Comprehensive Compendium of Creatures from U U of U Press, and even then only retained a few memorable facts. Firstly, they have home planets all across the galaxy, but mostly keep to themselves. And each Sculper, on each planet, has their own unique color combination of scales. And I can attest that under any other circumstances, a sky filled with Sculpers, in an array of glistening colors, would be a most welcome and exciting sight. They’re also known for being gullible creatures. For many centuries, Sculpers have been the favorite targets of intergalactic scammers. They can be easily tricked into giving away their personal color codes, which is their most valuable and important piece of identification. Lastly, and most importantly on that fateful day, they each have an expandable beak that can hold up to 36 slurps of water. Ah right… 36 slurps would translate to, hold on a moment… roughly 10 gallons of liquid on Earth. 

Had they attacked our fortresses, had they come for our ulderite, or our crops, or our vast wealth, our defenses would have been ready. And might I add, we would have made short work of them, too. But, it seems, we Uldonites had never planned on someone coming for our seas. So all we could do was watch as the countless Sculpers descended upon our oceans with open beaks, then flew away with our salt water. Thousands upon thousands of cargo spaceships hovered low and began carting it away. It had been the visitors’ plan all along. And it had worked. They had stolen our salt water and left only the fresh. It wasn’t until their final dip, when there was little more than puddles left, that a group of our leaders made an expedition to confront the Sculpers. My grandmother, the Official Clockmaker of Uldon, was one of the members of the small expedition.

The Sculpers, for their part, were shocked to find that the planet had any inhabitants at all. Knowing that we would be lying in wait in our ulderite bunkers, out of sight, the visitors had lied to the Sculpers, and told them that Uldon was abandoned. They convinced the Sculpers that there was another planet in desperate need of Uldon’s salt water. And, being the charitable creatures that they are, they felt obliged to help with their uniquely-suited beaks. 

The Sculpers apologized when they realized their mistake (and have since become great friends to the Udlonites). But the damage had been done. The visitors had left with the water, at the first sign of the Uldonite expedition.

When my grandmother asked the Sculpers who it was that brought them to us… When she asked who the visitors were, and who they worked for, she could not believe the reply. 

“Who?” asked Jackson, who had been holding his breath for the last 7 seconds without realizing. 

“They were a scouting team for Those in Charge,” said the Watchmaker.

Now Jackson was breathing much too quickly.

“But, why would they- how does that- what do you—” attempted Jackson.

The Watchmaker raised and lowered his hands.

“I’ll answer as best I can. After they stole our salt water I left Uldon to find out all that I could about Those in Charge. I traveled the universe gathering intel. And along the way, I formed a team of the most impressive and skilled agents I could find. They would become the founding members of the Pocket Watches. We tracked the comings and goings of Those in Charge for many years, and we uncovered plots and schemes of a starling nature. But none loomed larger than this: they have been stealing the salt water from each and every planet that has it.

Sculpers from all over the universe had been tricked into helping them, many times with many lies. And it had worked on Uldon, but never again after. You see, as we learned about their operation, we found ways to fight back. Their scouting party could barely touch down on a planet before we warned them of their intentions. And we made sure that any Sculpers within a hundred-planet-distance knew not to fall for their tricks. And to say this made them angry… would be an understatement.”

“Is that why you’re hiding here on Ridgea?” asked Jackson, knowing the answer. 

The Watchmaker nodded. “We’ve taken extraordinary measures to remain hidden and safe, and they’ve taken extraordinary measures to try and find us.”

“So what does this have to do with–”

“I’m getting to that,” said the Watchmaker. “As their old methods stopped working, Those in Charge knew they had to find new approaches… approaches like capturing presidents of planets to find out their defenses, instead of using scouts. And building a machine that could steal an entire planet’s salt water.”

“Like a Third Generation Macro-Electro-Bionic-Hydroxy-Gravitational Tube Ray,” said Jackson. “They started using the Byzongs to help them!”

“Precisely. Without Sculpers, they needed a new class of alien to help them. And Byzongs were the perfect mark. After all the money they had lost, there was no need to trick them, they could be easily bought.”

“Not all of them,” said Jackson.

The Watchmaker smiled. “That’s right. And thank goodness for Tarza. Not only is she a gifted agent and mechanic, she also has intimate knowledge of the Byzong operation. I dare say she’s our most valuable asset.”

Jackson bristled, ever-so-slightly, at the mention of Tarza as an “asset”. Asset, you see, is a word usually reserved for things. And Jackson didn’t like when words used for things were used for people. But asset can also be used when referring to spy as well and, even Jackson had to admit, Tarza was, without a doubt, a spy. He just hoped she was not a double agent. Or a triple agent. Although he was increasingly unsure if those existed.

“Jackson… Earth was, and is, the last planet on their list. Once they have your salt water they’ll have everything they need to carry out their plan. And now it seems they’ve found that your President can be bought as well. So there will be no one to stop them, unless a new President is elected. One who understands the gravity of the situation, and who will do whatever it takes to protect their planet.”

“But that’s not me! I don’t understand the gravity of the situation! I mean, I know it’s bad if they take our salt water. I mean, it sounds really bad even when I say it… But I still have no idea what they want it for!” Jackson said, exasperated.

Before the Watchmaker could answer, Tarza burst into the room.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but we need to get Jackson to Earth. President Racha has scheduled the debate for three hours from now.”

The Watchmaker placed the hourglass upright again. He reached into a drawer and slid a Warp-port across the table to Jackson.

Chapter 18: Aderan’s Eddingburgton Market 

“What’s this for?” asked Jackson.

“Standard protocol. Tarza will make sure you get where you need to go. But before you do…” The Watchmaker motioned for Tarza to give them a moment. 

She grabbed the warp-port, checked her pocket watch, then left the room silently. Although time was of the essence, she was careful not to let the Watchmaker know that she was letting them talk begrudgingly, or even worse, grudgingly.

The Watchmaker reached into his drawer and put a clenched fist on the table.

“Jackson, the people of my planet thought me a fool for chasing Those in Charge. You see, we live hundreds, sometimes over a thousand, years, and they do not get wrapped up in the squabbles of the galaxies if they can help it. They feel it will all work out in the end.”

“And you?”

“I feel it only works out better if you work to make it better.”

Jackson nodded. He felt he was beginning to understand the Watchmaker.

“But there was one who supported me: my grandmother, the Clockmaker. And before I left, she gave me this.”

The Watchmaker opened his hand and revealed a brass pocket watch. It was simpler than Tarza’s. Simpler than any watch he’d ever seen, when Jackson thought about it. Just two silver hands on a brown background. There was an inscription on the back that Jackson couldn’t read from where he was sitting. 

“I want you to take it,” said the Watchmaker.

“No, but I–”

“I insist, and there’s no time for arguing. If you ever need help along your journey just remember to flip it. ” He placed the watch into Jackson’s hand just as Tarza opened the door again.

“Flip it?” asked Jackson.

“Flip it,” repeated the Watchmaker.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but we simply can’t wait any longer,” Tarza said. 

As Tarza pulled Jackson into the main room, he looked back at the Watchmaker, smiling in a way that seemed neither scared nor uncertain. 

Bandango Fazaar is a lawless place. While it’s true that it offers the most exotic, extra-extra-ordinary foods, pets, trinkets, treasures, inventions, and things from all corners of the universe (including the two hypothetical corners), it is also true that, should you visit it, and I certainly cannot advise that you do, you will be dealing with some of the most unsavory characters one can deal with. That is what happens when you visit a market outside the jurisdiction of the Rainbow Realm, especially one as infamous yet mysterious as the Bandango Fazaar. 

For a truly pleasurable market-shopping experience, you cannot beat Aderan’s finest market, located in Eddingburgton. Run in strict accordance with the rules and regulations of the Rainbow Realm, you can rest assured that your purchases are above board, and fully refundable. It is such a fine market that it’s even been rumored that members of TIC have shopped there themselves, though this is just a rumor and not a legally binding claim.

It is hard to imagine someone requesting, let alone getting, a refund from a merchant in Bandango Fazaar. Their stands, some half-underground, some on stilts, and some guarded by bouncers who most wouldn’t dare to even look at, are not frequented by the types who would ask for their money back politely. Nor are they run by the types of merchants who would take such a request kindly. No, when there is a disagreement in Bandango Fazzar, polite words and civil discourse are rarely part of the chosen solution. Simply put, it’s not the kind of place you want to find yourself for the first time without someone who knows their way around. 

When Jackson warped to a booth at the far end of Bandango Fazaar, he was immediately grateful to have Tarza and Dusty and Plod by his side. Feeling queasy from the trip, he gathered himself and moved aside the dusty, draped cloth that hid the booth. 

“This…,” he said, “is not Earth.”

“Of course it’s not!” said Tarza, looking annoyingly unaffected by their travel. “We can’t just warp there from Ridgea without risking giving away its location. Bandango Fazaar is the only place we can safely warp.”

Jackson looked around. “Safely?”

There were new aliens and buzzing lights and smoky food and dark corners and hypnotic colors and strange scents and secret whispers and it all seemed so dangerous and full of life and somehow exciting. 

Tarza looked to Plod.

“Where is it?” she asked.

“Two rows left. Seventeen booths up,” Plod answered.

“Follow me, Jackson. If we take a spaceship from here we should get there in just enough time for the debate,” she said.

“About the debate…”

“There’s no time for debate, Jackson!” she said firmly.

“But you just said there’s still time to make the debate.”

“No, there’s time for us to make the debate, but there is no time for us to debate about the debate,” she said, turning and making her way past the booths. 

Jackson followed.

“It’s very important that you don’t talk to anyone. Don’t wander off. And whatever you do, do not touch anything!” she added.

Jackson’s stomach gurgled, on cue. 

“Ok but, sooner or later I’m going to need to eat something, and some of this food smells pretty good actually, and I just really think I’ll be a much better debater if I don’t have an empty stomach.”

Tarza thought for a moment, then conceded. “That’s fair,” she said. “And I could use a bite myself. Here, come with me.”

The group made their way to a booth just one over from their path. It had a striped awning and an owner with a smile larger than Jackson’s whole head and a face wider than it was tall. There were steaming spirals sitting atop a counter, and pieces of something brown on sticks. Jackson didn’t know if he’d ever smelled anything better. 

“Tarza!” said the owner.

“Clema!” said Tarza.

“Been too long,” added Clema. “Haven’t seen you in ages. And good to see Dusty and Plod by your side again. What can I get for you?”

“Can we have two crumblets and two schwardets, please? My friend here has never tried either.”

Clema smiled and quickly wrapped up two of the spirals and two of the sticks. “If it’s his first time, then he needs to try the special sauce.” She pulled out a small bottle with a spout and covered both schwardets with a red sauce.

“Thanks! What do I owe you?” Tarza asked.

Clema rolled her eyes and waved her off. “You kidding me? Your money’s no good here. How ‘bout next time you find a tri-condigated spool cylinder, you bring it here first.”

“Count on it, Clema. And thanks again.” 

They walked back to their row and Jackson took his first bite.

There are just a few meals that Jackson truly, deeply remembers. The first was a bowl of ice cream that his mom gave him after getting into a scuffle with Arn Brule. It was Mint Chocolate Chip, and somehow it had made everything feel better. The second was a chipped ham sandwich that he bought for himself after securing the job of Personal Assistant to the Non-Personal Assistant to the Executive Assistant to the President of Earth. And the third was his meal at Bandango Fazaar. Each bite seemed better than the last. He got lost in joy as he finished the crumblet. He was brought almost to tears by the delectability of the schwardet. And for his last bite, he closed his eyes, and the stars in the sky seemed to shine brighter when he opened them. However, something else had changed as well when he opened them. He could no longer see Tarza, Dusty, or Plod. 

He looked around once. Then twice. Then a third and fourth time at once. They were gone. He decided that, although he had previously decided to no longer choose to do nothing when he was confused or scared, in this instance, the smartest thing for him to do really would be to do nothing, stay where he was, and wait for Tarza to find him. So that’s what he did, until a grey-haired alien with a wrinkly face and purple beard noticed him from behind a stand.

At first he spoke in a language that Jackson couldn’t understand. But then he put on a necklace with a geode ring at the bottom and spoke again.

“You there, come on in!” he said.

“Me?” 

“Yes, you!” he insisted.

“Oh I don’t think I should. My friends will be here any minute and–”

“They’ll see you in here. Besides, it’s safer to be shopping than standing in the open like that. Someone might try to swindle you out there,” said the alien with a grin.

Jackson had been noticing the looks he’d been getting. And more than once he found those looks from a passerby to be less than friendly. “What could it hurt,” he thought. And then thought about how that’s sometimes what people say before they do something they shouldn’t. But he decided that thinking it was not reason enough to not go into the shop, and made his way inside.

 Chapter 19: Edder’s Eco-Kit World-In-A-Box

It was an open air stand, full of knick-knacks and gadgets that Jackson could only guess the function of, and it seemed true that Tarza would be able to see him when she passed by. Still, Jackson was careful not to go too far inside, and careful not to forget himself again like he had while eating his incredibly delicious meal. 

The purple-bearded merchant followed Jackson closely as he walked through the tables and glanced at the shelves that seemed to be floating with nothing attached. They passed a large open chest with ornate carvings on every side, but Jackson did not want to linger, with the merchant’s eyes on him. He had always felt uncomfortable around people selling goods- he felt bad when he didn’t buy something, especially when they had gone to the trouble of talking to him. In fact, throughout his life to this moment, Jackson had bought no less than 67 items out of sheer guilt. 10 of these items he gifted to someone else, 23 of them he recycled, 21 of them he never took out of the wrapping or box, and 13 of them he tried using and pretended to like, but did not use anymore and when he moved them or generally looked in their direction, he felt a slight pang of shame. 

The purple-bearded merchant tried his best to add to Jackson’s collection of guilt buys. 

“This is a fine piece,” he said to Jackson, holding up a slim strand of rope.

“Huh?” said Jackson, turning around and almost bumping noses with the merchant. “Oh, um, what is it?”

The merchant twisted the rope around two fingers in each hand and held it tight. 

“It’s the strongest rope ever created. It’s made from the silk of a spider on my home planet of Grezza. They only spin one web throughout their entire life. it never fails to catch their prey.”

The way he said “prey” gave Jackson a shiver down his legs. 

“That’s quite impressive,” Jackson said, moving to the next table. 

“And this!” said the merchant, pulling down a tiny box, “is one of my most prized items. “It’s an Edder’s Eco-Kit!”

“Wow,” said Jackson, pretending to know what that meant. Had Jackson known what an Edder’s Eco-Kit was, he perhaps would not have said “wow”, but rather stood there, stupified by the scientific majesty that was held in the merchant’s hand. Yes, he would have perhaps been speechless in the presence of the box, no larger than a baseball, that contained a nano-scale world, with the building blocks for complex ecosystems and thriving wildlife, that needed only a single drop of water to terraform a planet more lush and vibrant than even earth. 

But his reverence would have been misplaced, given that this box, unbeknownst to Jackson, to which the concept of an eco-kit was also unbeknownst, was not the genuine article. And since it was not a true Edder’s Eco-Kit, adding a drop of water would have likely yielded a single bush, or perhaps a lop-sided mountain the size of a lyzascent ant hole. This is why it is always important to look for the Edder’s label on the bottom of any eco-kit you intend to buy. 

“What’s this?” asked Jackson, pointing to what looked to him like an old rotary telephone from Earth. 

The merchant smiled, and the wrinkles on his forehead tripled. “Oh, that? That’s nothing. Just a Phonus.”

“A Phonus?” said Jackson, looking closer to find any sign that it was different from the phones he’d seen in museums back home. “You mean a phone?”

“Oh no, a phone is for calling whoever you want to talk to,” replied the merchant.

“And what is a Phonus for?” asked Jackson.

“A Phonus will call whoever you need to talk to.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If you were to pick up the Phonus, the receiver would read your mind and determine who you need to talk most, no matter who or where they are.”

“Are you saying it can call anyone in the universe?” Jackson wasn’t sure which part of the merchant’s description was hardest to believe. “What if they don’t have a phone?”

“Wouldn’t matter.”

“But…but… how could it possibly know who I need to talk to?” 

The merchant looked at the nails on his hand nonchalantly as he spoke. 

“It knows,” said the merchant. “It has its limits, I should tell you. It can only access the last 24 hours of your life, but once it has, it will determine who you need to talk to the most. And it is never wrong.” 

Jackson stared at the phone. His hand reached out. He felt the desire to pick it up and see if it was true. “Who would it call?” he wondered. Arn Brule? The Watchmaker so he could ask him more questions? President Racha, so he could talk her out of the debate? Maybe Tarza, so he could let her know where he was. Or maybe his mom or dad, so they could help him make sense of everything that had been going on, and he could tell them he’s coming home and forgetting about all this water-stealing nonsense. But something deep inside told him he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t just forget about it. And he still had something important left to do. He pulled his hand back.

The merchant looked up at Jackson again. 

“It’s quite a find, you know. Many people would pay a great deal of money for such a rarity. But we both know you don’t have such funds.”

Jackson was taken aback by a cold change in the merchant’s tone. 

“Normally I’d trick you into touching something that you shouldn’t, perhaps even breaking it, then taking you for all you’re worth. But given the nature of your current situation, I think we’ll try something else, Shouty Freckles- or should I say Jackson Fickle.”

Jackson’s heart sank. “Of course he had seen the broadcast,” thought Jackson, “Why wouldn’t he have! He must have recognized me in the street.”

The merchant held up the rope. Jackson didn’t realize he had still been carrying it.

“There’s no use resisting,” said the merchant with a sinister smile. “I’ve got plenty of toys here in my shop to make quick work of you, and word on the street is that the Byzong’s would give quite a bit of money to keep you from that debate.”

Jackson kept a table between him and the merchant, as they slowly circled each other.

“You don’t want to do this,” said Jackson.

“Of course I do! You’re going to make me rich beyond my wildest dreams!” 

Jackson eyed up all the items before him. He didn’t know what any of them were, or what they did, and the merchant did. 

“Now come here and let me tie you up,” said the merchant impatiently, “you don’t want to make me angry…”

Jackson’s eyes searched frantically one more time as he circled the table, and this time they rested on the Phonus. It was his only hope. Had he known the truth about the fake eco-kit, perhaps he would have been even more skeptical about the veracity of the merchant’s claims regarding the Phonus. But, since Jackson did not know what an eco-kit was supposed to do, and did not know that the one he had been shown did not do anything of the sort, he had less reason to doubt the merchant than he should have, but more doubt than he needed to, given that he still had trouble believing Phonus’ were real at all, and, as you are about to find out, this one was. 

Jackson snatched it off the table in front of him and held it close to his body. The merchant’s eye went so wide that his forehead wrinkles quadrupled. “Hey!” he shouted.

Then, in perhaps his most heroic act yet, Jackson used all his strength to push over the entire table between them.

“No!!!” shouted the merchant. 

To Jackson’s luck, one of the items between them was a bottle of a translucent powder that had a very special property. And when the bottle broke on the ground, it created a storm cloud that enveloped the shop. With lightning and rain suddenly thrashing around them and the shop, Jackson thought quickly. He jumped inside the chest with the Phonus in hand and closed the lid behind him.

He could hear the merchant racing around, knocking into things and searching for him. It was a matter of moments, he thought, before he’d be found out. Without any other ideas, and running out of time, he placed his hand on the Phonus and picked up the receiver.

He couldn’t hear a thing.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hello?!” he heard answer. “Who’s talking??”

“Jackson Fickle,” Jackson answered. “Who is this?”

There was a long pause, and then the voice broke in once again.

“The Clockmaker of Uldon.”

 Chapter 20: Tipta Tea 

On an Uldon Lillday, The Clockmaker sat in her kitchen, having a steaming and serene cup of Tipta Tea, as sunlight shone through her window. As you might have guessed, this was not light from the same sun that you have, but rather one that shines just as brightly and warmly, and is just as near, and far, from Uldon, as your sun is from Earth. And, for reference, in case this is the kind of thing you care about, this Uldon Lillday happened to be an Earth Sunday for most of the people on Earth. But while there are many differences between Uldon and Earth, there is at least one thing that remains similar - an idle day with a shining sun and warm drink, is a simple and shared joy, and not always easy to come by. 

That is why, when an unknown voice burst through and filled the room, the Clockmaker was equally confused and annoyed.

She had never heard of a Jackson Fickle, not being one to watch APBs. She found them to be unnecessary and, on occasion, even sensationalistic. But even if she had seen his freckly face on the broadcast that had taken the universe by solar storm, she would not have known his name, and was unlikely to recognize his voice. And, furthermore, had she known his name, and known his face, and recognized his voice - even if she had known everything there was to know about him - it would still not have helped her understand why his voice now filled her kitchen on a peaceful Lillday.

“The Clockmaker of Uldon?’ asked Jackson’s voice.

“Of course,” she replied, looking around the room, but finding no source for the voice. “There is but one! Now where are you?? How are you talking to me??”

“Oh, right,” replied Jackson, in a casual tone that the Clockmaker did not care for. “See, I was being chased and I had to hide in this chest here.”

The Clockmaker opened a cabinet but found only dried foods. “Okay…” She looked under the table but found only a rug.

“But before I did, I grabbed a Phonus.”

The voice waited a moment.

“Am I supposed to know what that is?” asked the Clockmaker.

“Oh… sorry, I just… sometimes aliens seem to know a lot more than me.”

The Clockmaker paused. “You’re not an Uldonite?”

“No,” said Jackson, “I’m a human… actually.”

“So, you’re calling me from this ‘Phonus’?”

“Yes! It lets me call anyone, anywhere in the universe!” exclaimed Jackson, marveling in the fact that, as far as he could tell, the claim was true and he was actually speaking to someone on Uldon.

“Hm,” said the Clockmaker. She thought for a moment. “All right then. Why are you calling me, then? And who is chasing you? Are you a criminal?”

“No!” said Jackson, then quieted his voice. “It’s just that people want to capture me for a reward.”

“...because you’re a criminal,” said the Clockmaker cooly.

“I’m not. I didn’t do anything wrong,” said Jackson.

“A likely story,” said the Clockmaker.

“You don’t understand. They want to take all of my planet’s water and if I…”

“Water?!” shouted the Clockmaker. 

“Yes,” said Jackson.

“Salt water?” she asked with venom in her words.

“Yes.”

“Those in Charge stole all the salt water from my planet.”

“I know,” said Jackson. “...Your grandson told me.”

“How dare you mention my grandson! If this is some kind of prank then I assure I will–”

“It’s not,” interrupted Jackson. “I wish it was. I wish I was back home on Earth. I wish I was doing boring work. I wish I was eating sandwiches that don’t send me into a black hole. I wish my biggest worry was sweating through my shirt. But it’s not. Everything’s … different. And as much as I wish none of this was happening, it is. And for some reason, I have a part to play in it. And I suppose you do too, because when I picked up this Phonus, it called you.”

Jackson took a big breath and waited.

The Clockmaker sat down. 

“So you’ve really met my grandson, the Watchmaker?”

“Yes. And he wants me to become President of Earth.” Jackson still couldn’t believe the words.

“Well, if he says you should become President, then it’s what you need to do. So go be President.”

“It’s not simple. I’ve got to somehow–”

“Ah, ah, ah. We have a saying here on Uldon: if you want clean air, then shut down the excuse factory.”

“Ok, but—”

“Ah, ah, ah. Shut it down. You said yourself you have a role to play- now go play it.”

Jackson sighed. “Ok”

The Clockmaker smiled. “Now then, looks like you called me because you just needed a good talking to.”

Jackson sighed again. “Suppose you might be right.”

The Phonus beeped three times.

“Call time remaining: Three Minutes,” said a robotic voice.

“What?? No one told me there was a time limit!” said Jackson, louder than he intended.

“Everything has a time limit,” said the Clockmaker. “Not everything tells you what it is.”

Jackson wanted to disagree, but couldn’t find anything worth saying.

The Clockmaker took a sip of her tea. “Is there anything else you need before you go?” she asked.

“Well… I guess I’d love to know, and don’t mean this an excuse for not doing something or anything like that… but I suppose I could use some advice on how to get away from the guy who’s chasing me here at, um, Ban– Bandiggo Fuzzier?”

“Bandango Fazaar?!” she exclaimed.

“Yes that’s it!”

“My dear boy, what in the worlds are you doing at Bandango Fazaar? No offense, but you don’t seem the sort.”

“None taken. I’m not.”

“What are you up against exactly?”

“An angry merchant with a store full of mysterious and dangerous items with capabilities only known to him.”

“I see.” The Clockmaker took another sip of tea. “And what do you have, besides this Phonus.”

The Clockmaker heard Jackson moving and jostling around as he rooted through his pockets. 

“Not much,” he said. “The Byzongs took most of my belongings when they took me.”

“Byzongs? They’ve got Byzongs involved now?” scoffed the Clockmaker.

“Yes, but, one of them is on our side. She’s the reason I’ve gotten this far at all.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she’s pretty great, really. At, well, pretty much everything. At doing stuff I mean. At like, helping, and knowing things. And she’s really good with building stuff. You should meet her. I mean I know we haven’t met, officially, but, I’m sure you’d like her. As in, be impressed with her, because you know, she’s pretty great really, I guess.”

“Oh,” said the Clockmaker with a smile.

At the Bandango Fazaar, inside a dark chest, Jackson was blushing. He sat, awkwardly and motionless, with his hand in an almost empty pocket, wondering why he had just used 61 words, when 3 would have done (although he did not know these exact numbers himself as relationship to language and numbers was more casual than scientific). But in his silent wonder, his fingers found the one item that he did still have. An item that could not have been taken by the Byzongs, since he had only received it recently.

“I almost forgot!” said Jackson. “I have your pocketwatch.”

The Clockmaker stopped sipping. “How did you get it?” she asked.

“Your grandson gave it to me. As a gift.”

“Jackson…” she said sternly, “this is very important. Did he say anything to you when he did?”

“Yeah, he told me if I ever need help, I should switch it. Or flip it. I think he said flip it.”

“That’s why we needed to talk! It wasn’t the advice and it wasn’t to get you out of that cheat! You needed to tell me about the watch!” she said.

“But what does it mean? Flip what?” asked Jackson.

“Jackson, The Watchmaker’s clock never stops…”

Just then, the lid to the chest opened, and Jackson looked up to see Tarza’s face.

“Call ended,” said the robotic voice.

 Chapter 21: Defacto Placto Misleed Wigs

Jackson’s eyes adjusted as he stood up and out of the chest. Tarza was there, out of breath and not looking happy. The merchant was sitting on the ground, looking significantly less happy than Tarza, wrapped in the strongest rope ever made, with Dusty and Plod on either side. 

“You cannot leave my side here, Jackson,” glared Tarza. “Bandango Fazaar is a dangerous place!”

“So I’ve learned,” Jackson said placing the Phonus down.

“Careful with that!” yelled the merchant.

Dusty and Plod beeped something to each other imperceptibly.

“How did you find me?” asked Jackson.

“I nearly didn’t,” she admitted. “We searched every row that we’d gone past, until I noticed a bit of a commotion. Even in the Bandango, indoor storms are rare.”

“I see,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Jackson. Now do me a favor and don’t scare me like that again.”

“I don’t intend to. I won’t leave your side this time,” said Jackson sincerely.

She whipped her head around at the merchant. “As for you, Rozzwell, I don’t imagine you’ve learned your lesson…”

He turned his nose up to the side. “Never!”

“... BUT, I do expect that you’ll think twice before messing with a friend of mine again.”

“I didn’t know he was a friend of yours!” pleaded Rozzwell. “It’s all just a big misunderstanding! Let me loose and I’d be happy to give you some parting gifts. Something special to make sure there are no hard feelings…”

Tarza laughed and leaned against a table. “Right. Let me guess. You’ll offer us a set of bracelets that transform into handcuffs at your command. Or maybe a fizzy drink that places a tracker in our bellies?”

Rozzwell shook his head. “I would never!” 

“You’ve literally done both of those things to me,” Tarza said coldy.

“Oh. Well I would never do it twice!” he said.

“You’ve literally done—”

“I won’t do it now!” he shouted. “And besides…” he said with a smirk. “I’m not the only one who’s seen his face, you know. Word has gotten round that he’s at the Bandango. I’m sure even now there are others searching. You’ll never get out of here without my help. And I’d be happy to assist… for a fee of course.”

“Of course,” said Tarza with a smile. “But I don’t think we’ll be needing any of that.”

“Oh no?” said Rozzwell cockily.

“No. I’ve already paid for our spaceship, we just need to make our way to it. And I’m sure you have some kind of a disguise system in here. A potion perhaps?”

Rozzwell’s looked away. “I might. But I’ll never tell you where. I’ve got hundreds of knick-knacks in here. Thousands even! And even if your ROBs analyzed them one by one, it would take you hours to get through them all. Hours you don’t have, do you?”

Tarza’s face contorted. “If you don’t tell us where it is, we’re not letting you out of those ropes. How about that?!”

Rozwell slouched down and eased his posture. “Fine by me. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Well then I’ll just have to start picking things up and seeing what happens!” said Tarza. “Like this!”

Tarza grabbed a purple glistening orb off a floating shelf and held it up.

“Pfft, fine by me. But I wouldn’t drop that unless you want everyone on the planet to lose their sense of taste.”

“Why would something like that even exist!!” shouted Tarza. She started to look for more things to grab when Jackson, who had been quiet throughout their entire interaction, processing everything that had happened and everything that had been said, had an idea. In a breathtaking display of unoriginality, it just so happened to be the exact same as the last idea he had come up with.

“Wait!” shouted Jackson, causing Tarza to let go of a particularly fragile lamp with rotating spikes on the side. “I know how to find it!”

“You do?” said Tarza, Rozzwell, Dusty and Plod in unison (the first and last time this particular group would ever say something in unison).

Startled by the attention, Jackson stumbled. “I think… maybe… I mean, I’m not sure, but it could work. Potentially. Although…”

Rozzwell shook his head.

“Started off so strong,” whispered Tarza. “What’s the plan?” she asked.

“Simple,” said Jackson. “Make a call.” He held up the Phonus again.

“What is that?” she asked. 

“It’s a Phonus. It will call the one person you need to talk to the most right now.”

“And who do you think it will call?”

“I’m not sure, but I bet it’ll be someone who can help,” he answered.

“You have no idea who it will call!” said Rozzwell. “Did it even help you stop me? Doesn’t seem like it called Tarza for you, now did it? You just got lucky that she saved you. It’s fickle, that Phonus. Best to just let me go.”

“I do think it helped me. I’m not sure just how yet, but I think it did. And somehow I think it knew that I just needed to bide my time until they came to rescue me.”

Rozzwell scoffed. 

“Just try it,” said Jackson to Tarza. “What do you have to lose?”

Tarza sighed. She took a moment. Then picked up the receiver.

Nothing.

“You have to say ‘hello’,” mouthed Jackson.

“Oh,” said Tarza. “Um, hello?” 

“Defacto Placto Misleed Wigs, please hold,” said the voice on the other end.

“Huh,” said Tarza.

“What’d they say?” whispered Jackson.

“They put me on hold.”

“Just hang up!” shouted Rozzwell. Dusty extended a mechanical arm and stuffed his mouth with an orange sponge.

“Defacto Placto Misleed Wigs, please hold,” said the voice again.

“I am holding,” said Tarza, surprised.

“Excuse me, who’s that talking? Which line are you on? Defacto Placto Misleed Wigs, please hold,” said the voice.

“I told you, I am holding,” insisted Tarza.

“Not you! Hold please!” Tarza heard some rustling and clicks. Through the other end came a sigh. Then there was a long pause.

“What are they saying?” whispered Jackson. 

“Nothing,” said Tarza.

“Who said that??! Who is talking??!” shouted the other end.

“My name is Tarza.”

“The lines are disconnected, how are you talking to me??” Tarza heard more rustling.

“I’m… I’m calling you on a Phonis,” she answered.

“Phhhownuph” struggled Rozzwell.

“Phonus,” corrected Tarza.

“A Phonus?” said the voice. “What’s a Phonus?”

“Well, it’s a contraption that lets you call anyone in the universe,” she answered. 

Jackson nodded in encouragement. 

“Oh, um, not just anyone though, someone who can help you,” she added.

“Well, you could have just called our main help line if you’re having trouble. I’m always here to help. Which model are you wearing?” asked the voice.

“Wearing? Model of what?” she asked. 

“Which wig are you wearing? There should be a number on the underside. You can just read that to me and I’ll be able to get you sorted,” said the voice.

“Oh, um, I’m not wearing a wig. I don’t–”

“Listen, you call me up at work, don’t use the help line, and now you say you don’t even have one of our wigs on? What is this??” asked the voice, clearly frustrated. “Stop wasting my time.”

Tarza moved the Phonus from her face. “It’s a wig shop. Something like Detracto, Facto Wigs.”

Rozzwell’s eyes got large. And Jackson noticed.

“That must be why you called! What do the wigs do?” said Jackson excitedly.

“What, um, exactly, do your wigs, do?” she said back into the Phonus. “Wait, wigs don’t ‘do’ anything other than sit on your head, right?” she whispered to Jackson.

There was another sigh on the other end. “Defacto Placto Misleed Wigs are the best concealer wigs on the market. They’ll completely transform your appearance for the entirety of the time you wear them. They also happen to be extremely popular, and my lines have been ringing nonstop with people who know how to follow rules, so if you’d rather speak with the sales department–”

“No!” interrupted Tarza. “So they give you a disguise?” asked Tarza loudly. 

Jackson inched closer. Dusty and Plod looked at each other. Rozzwell shook his head.

“They don’t ‘give you a disguise’, they completely transform your appearance, as I said.”

“And how would you find one?” asked Tarza.

“What do you mean?” said the voice.

“Well let’s just say you’re in a shop, at the Bandango Fazaar, that’s filled with stuff, and you think one of your wigs is in there somewhere, but you don’t know where, and the shop owner won’t tell you, and you need to find it as quickly as possible.”

The line was silent for a moment.

“That’s a very specific scenario,” said the voice.

“I know,” said Tarza.

“Well you’d just have to go looking for it. It’s not like there’s a secret trick to finding them,” said the voice.

“Oh,” said Tarza. 

“What?” said the voice.

“I was just kinda hoping there was a secret trick to finding them,” answered Tarza.

The Phonus beeped three times again.

“Call time remaining: Three Minutes,” said the robotic voice.

“Well… I guess I won’t waste anymore of your time,” said Tarza defeated.

Jackson shot her a consoling look.

“I…I am sorry,” said the voice. “I really do like to help.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry to bother you,” she said.

“If only someone was wearing one, then it’d be easy to find. Oh, well. Sorry again! Bye!” said the voice.

“Wait… what do you mean, if someone was wearing one?” asked Tarza.

“I’m just saying, it would be a lot easier to find if someone was wearing one. Then there is kind of a trick, I guess you could say,” said the voice.

“Really? What is it?” she asked.

“Our wigs don’t come off easily. It’s hard for someone else to even tell where they begin to be honest. But, we do have to have certain… safety protocols. We need to be able to identify and remove them when necessary, of course.”

“And how do you do that?” 

“Oh it’s simple, to remove them just tickle the back of the left ear, or furthest ear to the left, and the wig will pop right off. I can’t tell you how many times it’s come in handy. About 20% of my calls are about removal.”

Tarza looked at Rozzwell. He turned his eyes away from her.

“And you mentioned identifying them, as well? How would you know when someone was wearing one?” 

“Well, our disguises are foolproof. The best around!” He began to whisper. “But if you insist on asking, there is one telltale way to know if someone’s got one on. We don’t like to advertise it, though.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” whispered back Tarza.

“What you’re gonna want to look for is a little freckle on the underside of their nose. It’s trademarked, if you can believe it.”

Tarza looked at Rozzwell again. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” she said into the Phonus.

“It’s been my pleasure,” said the voice cheerily. “Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

“No, I have a feeling you told me exactly what I needed to know,” she said.

“So glad to hear it! Thank you for contacting Defacto Placto Misleed Wigs, and best of luck!... But next time call the help line.”

“I will,” said Tarza, as she hung up the Phonus.

“What’s happening?” asked Jackson. “Did you find out what you needed to know?”

She walked over to Rozzwell, removed the sponge, and lifted his face.

“Hey! What gives?!” he shouted.

“I believe I did,” she said with a smile, staring at his nose. “He has a freckle under his nose.”

“So what?! Your friend there has freckles all over! It’s in his name!”

“No, it’s not,” said Tarza firmly.

She reached behind his left ear and started to tickle.

“Hey! Quit it! Quit it!” he giggled. And then, with a “SCHWOOP”, a purple wig popped right off of his head. 

In a flash, Rozzwell’s true face was revealed. Not only was it a different size- it was an entirely different shape! His wrinkle-free, long, pale face, and dirty blond hair shocked everyone in the room.

“What can I say?” he said with a snarl. “I may have made some enemies over the years.”

 Chapter 22: Fellswig Robot Binoculars

The official Shipyard at the Bandango Fazaar has a serviceable fleet of rocketships. At least a dozen are space-worthy, and, if you catch her on a good day, the Ship Boss (similar, but distinct from the role of “Boss of Ships”) might even give you a fair price on one. However, each of the rocketships in the Bandango’s yard are registered, and are in some way trackable by Those in Charge. And if there was one thing that Tarza wanted to avoid, it was being traced. 

That is why, when Tarza, Dusty, Plod, and a human with orange hair, around Jackson’s height and build, but with a freckle-less face that looked at least five years younger than him, departed the planet in a rocketship, it was not from the Shipyard. Instead, they took a rocketship that was hidden in a tent owned by a secret ship dealer, who had been known to help the Pocket Watches for years. 

Although the ship dealer does have a name, it is both too long and too inconsequential to include here. And for clarifying purposes, I will add that the ship dealer’s name is indeed longer than the previous sentence, which explains the context for not including their name, this sentence, which addresses the fact that that many words are being used to discuss the topic, when, in most cases, just stating the name would be more efficient, and the next sentence, which will address why a nickname cannot be used, combined. In the ship dealer’s culture, names can take as long as ten minutes to speak, and it is considered the height of rudeness to not state someone’s name in its entirety, and to start over from the beginning, should a mistake be made.

In fact, if Tarza had not been painstakingly focused on getting the ship dealer’s name right when she greeted him, she would have discovered that Jackson was lost in the tents much sooner.

When the ship, which had been given a name by each of its previous four owners, and at some point was called Skylark, then Populizaro, then Populizaro II, then EZ-79-REG, and was now known as Haven*, took off, Jackson was grateful, if not downright relieved, to be leaving the Bandango. Yet, he still could not get the taste, or thought, of the food he had been eating off his mind, and didn’t really want to. As such, he spent the first hour of the trip trying to think of a word that was stronger than “delicious” to describe how he felt about it. He was shaking his head at his own idea of “mouth-affirming”, when Tarza told him they were nearing Earth.

*The ship dealer did not name the ship in the fashion of his own culture, since he found it to be bad for business.

“We’re going to begin the descent now, Jackson. Are you ready?” she asked.

“I am,” he said. “It is my home planet, after all.”

“It is,” she hesitated. “But I think you’ll find it a little different than you left it. After that APB went out across, well… everywhere… your upcoming debate has gotten a lot of attention.”

“How much?” he asked. 

Tarza motioned to the window.

Jackson peered outside and could see earth approaching, no smaller than a marble. But as it grew larger, he started to notice something off. The entire planet seemed to be coated by a layer of something. The color was wrong, and for a moment he worried that the oceans had already been stolen. But, it wasn’t that. It was like there was a sheet around it. A moving, blinking sheet. It was only after Dusty extended a pair of Fellswig Robot Binoculars (whose magnification is unmatched by rivals, as is to be expected from Fellswig, the top name is ROB accessories) that he realized thousands upon thousands upon thousands of ships were in orbit around the Earth.

“Thanks, Dusty,” he said, sitting back in his soft seat. Haven had been outfitted with state-of-the-art features, including memory-gel seats, Instarest headsets, and a minibar filled with snacks. It was one of the reasons, along with Tarza’s obviously desperate position, that she had to pay a large premium for renting the spaceship. Another reason was that she had slightly misspoke during reciting his name and either did not realize, or lacked the proper manners to go back and start again. Either way, he decided to bump up the price before she was done speaking.

“May I?” asked Tarza, leaning in and reaching out her hand.

“Oh, um sure,” answered Jackson, not knowing what she was about to do.

He felt a tickle behind his left ear, and started to laugh. A moment later his Defacto Placto Misleed Wig popped off.

“Oh, right,” he said.

Haven landed smoothly at the third most popular Spaceport on Earth, New La Orko.

Flash photography, as you well know, has long been obsolete on Earth. However recent legislation from President Racha’s predecessor, President Hampton, required all photograbbers to signal they are in use via a bright flash, so that no one may be photograbbed without a reasonable visual warning (with an epilepsy shield, of course). They also emitted a quick, sharp and directional chirp, so that the visually impaired, and people with low vision, would be aware as well. This meant however, that the moment Jackson, with his newly created celebrity status, stepped off the ship, he was greeted by hundreds of flashes, and targeted by hundreds of chirps, all at the same time. Had Plod not been behind him to stop his fall, the first images of the moment “Shouty Freckles Arrived on Earth!” would have been of him flat on his face. 

Instead, Plod whisked him away to a waiting Shoot.

Once they were safely inside, and had successfully blocked any members of the press from squeezing their way inside, The New La Orko Port Shoot, began to count down to Shoot Off. Jackson had been in Shoots before, many times, considering their prevalence around the planet ever since a Sri Lankan student came up with their design as part of a contest, but he had never had so many eyes on him, inside the glass chamber, before Shoot Off. 

As you are, of course, aware of most, if not all, of the popular technology on Earth, I will take a moment to address my seemingly unnecessary descriptions of these, and other aspects of life on Earth. I have done so, and will continue to do so, until the conclusion of our story, not as a scathing implication of your knowledge as an Earthling, but as an acknowledgement of a growing trend among literature called transgalactic cross-promotion. This trend, although new to the publishing world, outside of certain U U of U materials, has seen great success in other industries such as music, technology, and, famously, packaged snacks. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume that while this book was written with the express intention to be read by humans, it may soon, or at a time much further in the future, by read across the galaxy, and ultimately, the universe. And, in such cases, Earth culture, customs, and curiosities, will need to be explained along the way.

With this in mind, I will explain that Shoots operate under a basic principle of gravity. Long tubes, not unlike those that traverse Pelligrant’s Station, except much longer and curved, act as the main form of short-distance transportation on Earth. A Shoot is propelled with a great deal of force through a tube that bends upwards, then downwards below the ground, then up again until it comes to rest at its destination. It is not unlike an ancient form of entertaining faux-transportation that was known as rollercoasters. After the initial burst and cresting of the top arch, the trip is guided solely by gravity, and a combination of friction and resistance. And much like the rollercoasters of the past, some people have difficulty completing their journey without getting sick.

As the countdown neared one, Jackson was acutely aware of the fact that he had never, not once, completed a trip in a Shoot without vomiting. He reached out for Tarza’s hand and she grabbed it. When they arrived at their destination, Las Algos, he was surprised and happy to learn that he was feeling well.

“Las Algos?” he asked Tarza. “Is this where the debate is?”

“It is,” she answered. “Let’s get to the hotel room right away, okay?”

“Are you worried they’re going to try something?” Jackson asked as they entered the Belmontenegro Hotel.

There were only a few reporters there, and they all turned to Jackson with flashes and chirps.

“Agents for the TOC are never far, and I’d rather not risk it.” She could tell he was nervous. “But don’t worry, I don’t think they’ll try anything with all these eyes on us. We’re not in a tent at the Bandango Fazaar. Besides,” she said, as the doors closed on the levitator up to their floor, “I think they’re counting on President Racha winning the debate.”

When they arrived at their room, she pulled out a small fob and the door eased open. Jackson didn’t know when she’d arranged all of it. He couldn’t wrap his head around how many resources were being used for him to be there in that moment, and how much the Pocket Watches and people on Earth were counting on him. But when he stepped inside the room, Jackson was focused on one particular Earthling- the one standing in front of him with a big smile and his hand outstretched.

“Long time no see, Jackson. You might not remember me. I’m Arn Brule.”

 Chapter 23: Cloud Form Chairs

Jackson walked back into the hallway, where Tarza, Dusty, and Plod were still standing, and shut the door behind him. 

“What are you doing? Asked Tarza.

“I can’t talk to him.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because… because that’s Arn Brule. And he used to bully me when I was a kid!”

“Oh,” said Tarza.

“And I’m willing to go debate the President, and take on the Byzongs, and Those In Charge, and whoever else if I need to. But you can’t make me talk to Arn Brule.”

“Do you want us to stun him?” asked Plod, raising a spiraled rod from her chassis.

“Yes,” said Jackson.

“Jackson!” shouted Tarza. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he recanted. “No. But, thank you, Plod.”

“Jackson, I know this must be tough. But you’re not a kid anymore. And I’m sure you two can work out any differences you had in the past.”

“Differences? There was only one difference! He was the worst and I wasn’t.”

“Jackson…” she said.

“I know, I know.” He let out a huff. “Fine. I’ll give it a chance. But… have the stun thing ready.”

Plod gave an affirming beep.

Jackson opened the door again. Arn was sitting on a floating couch looking out the window. He stood up the moment Jackson and the rest stepped in.

“I’m sorry about that, and, um, wonderful hair. I’m Tarza,” she said, extending a hand. 

Jackson bristled at hearing her compliment him.

He shook her hand. “Impressive boots. I’m Arn Brule.”

“I’m sorry about Jackson, he’s just—”

Arn raised his hands. “No, no, please. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” He gestured for Jackson to sit down. 

Jackson watched Arn from the corner of his eye as he sat down across from him in a Cloud Form Chair and crossed his arms. The chair immediately changed shape to accommodate and cushion his body, giving him the perfect combination of support and softness. 

“Jackson, I can tell by your reaction that you do remember me. And I’m guessing not for good reasons.”

Jackson scoff-laughed.

“I know that I did some things that were hurtful when we were kids.”

“Only every day,” mumbled Jackson.

“Right…,” said Arn with a sincere frown. “And… I’m sorry.”

Jackson turned his head and looked out the window. Las Algos was positively buzzing with activity below them. It seemed like anyone and everyone had made their way to the hotel.

“I had a lot of growing up to do. There were things I didn’t like about myself and I took them out on you. I never should have treated you that way. And for what it’s worth, I’ve always regretted it.”

Jackson glanced back at him. 

“In fact,” he said with a small laugh, “I wonder if you and I might have been friends, if not for the way I acted.”

Jackson uncrossed his arms. It was the second best apology he’d ever gotten. It would have easily been number one, if not for the time he had been delivered the wrong pizza, and the delivery person gave an apology so heartful and earnest that they both ended up crying, hugging, and eating the erroneous pineapple and anchovy pizza together.

Jackson thought long and hard. He looked over at Dusty, spinning his disco ball silently. He looked over at Tarza, nodding him on encouragingly. He looked over at Plod, who raised the stun rod. He shook his head ever-so-slightly. 

“I accept,” said Jackson, offering Arn his hand.

“Really? After everything that happened?” he asked.

Jackson shrugged. “I never wanted to fight with you, and I still don’t. If you mean what you said, then, we’re good.

Arn took his hand with a huge smile. Looking at him, it seemed to Jackson that a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and Jackson couldn’t help but feel the same. 

“Ahem,” said Tarza. “I hate to break this up, but um….” Tarza took out her Pocket Watch and pointed to it. By then, Jackson had learned that the watch was actually set to the time on Ridgea, not Earth, but both he and Arn got the message.

“Of course!” said Arn. “We need to get down to business.”

Jackson nodded.

“Now, I’ve been studying President Racha for years. I was even on her campaign team for her first election.”

Jackson gave a suspicious look.

“I can tell what you’re thinking and, trust me, I’m not on her side. I’ve been working with the Pocket Watches for years now, and my only goal is to protect Earth and stop Those in Charge. Besides… she’s not the person I helped elect. Not anymore.”

Satisfied, Jackson urged him on.

“Now, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your level of knowledge on things like Intergalactic Trade, Alien Relations, Earth Social Services, Transcontinental Legislation…”

Jackson’s eyes got wide with fear and Arn picked up on it.

“That’s ok! The truth is, we don’t have to beat her on policy. The key to winning a debate is turning someone else’s weakness into your strength. It’s something I learned how to do from a young age…”

Jackson gave a cold glare.

“... Anyway, moving on! We need to find the thing that you have over her. I know President Racha. She won’t be able to stand the thought of someone who once worked under her challenging her for the Presidency. If she feels like she’s behind, even for a moment, she’ll blow the whole thing.”

“But, what could I possibly have over her?” he asked.

“Jackson has a lot going for him,” said Tarza. “He made it all the way here, for starters.”

Arn smiled. “That’s true. Why don’t you tell me how that happened. Tell me how you got here. It may hold the key to beating her. But, we don’t have much time.”

Jackson recounted all that he could remember doing since taking a bite of someone else’s tuna fish sandwich. He waited for Arn to laugh at him when he mentioned getting frozen in foam twice, but he never did. He even included getting lost at the Fazaar, and Arn only nodded and encouraged him to continue, listening to every detail with rapt attention. When he was finished, Jackson took a deep breath, and sat back in his chair.

“I’ve got to say, Jackson. I’m impressed.” said Arn.

“Impressed?” Jackson asked.

“Well, yeah! Are you kidding me? You’ve faced more peril and come out the other side than anyone I’ve ever met! There’s plenty to be proud of in there. And I can say with certainty that President Racha can’t compete with a story like that.”

“So… you want me to tell everyone my story at the debate?” he asked.

Arn shook his head. “If only. The truth is, a story that complex… the accusations against Those in Charge… it will be too much for people. It’s too hard to believe.”

“But it’s true!” said Jackson.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not always just about what’s true, it’s about what people will believe.”

“That’s silly,” said Jackson. 

“Well, silly or not, it’s how these things work. And it’s my job to make sure you win this debate. But don’t worry, I already know how you’re going to win.

“You do?” asked Tarza.

“Oh yes, I knew it the moment he started his story.” He handed Jackson a small orb about half the size of a marble. “Now, stick this transmitter in your ear and I’ll be able to guide you through it. If you say what I tell you to say, when I tell you to say it, you’ll be the next President of Earth.”

Jackson stuck the orb into his ear. “Ok, but what’s the…”

“No time,” said Arn. “The debate starts in ten minutes.”

And with that, they took the levitator down to the Belmontenegro Grand Hall, where the people of Las Algos, and the eyes and ears of the universe, were waiting.

 Chapter 24: Belmontenegro Grand Hall

Jackson looked around from behind his podium. He was being filmed and photograbbed from more devices than he could count. Everyone was looking at him. 

The crowd was the largest he’d ever seen. And from what he was told by Arn, there were lines out every door from people waiting to get in. They were mostly humans, but a good portion of the in-person audience was made up of alien races (21.54% to be exact). And the most notable portion of that portion, was made up of Byzongs. Not three minutes earlier, the Grand Hall was echoing with the sound of some of the most prestigious, and heavy-booted Byzongs in existence. 

Impressive pillars lined the green and gold walls, and the ceiling was covered in a series of paintings from a bygone era of Earth. It was a breathtaking venue, befitting the nature of the moment. Indeed, there is truly no better place for historic events than the Grand Hall of the Belmontenegro (also open to the private bookings from any wealthy and prominent figures looking for a spot for their next celebration).

Off-stage to his right were Arn, Tarza, Dusty, and Plod. They smiled at him supportively as he began to sweat for a third time. He was fanning his armpits when he heard the clank of loud boots to his left.

Arriving at the empty podium was President Racha. Off-stage to his left, Jackson saw Inquisitor Slah, the Boss of Ships, and a group of dark-hooded figures that he could only assume were representatives from Those in Charge. They brought with them a chill in the air. Jackson couldn’t put his finger on why, but he felt a vague and increased sense of danger. In actuality, what he was sensing in the air was a combination of Nickel, Cobalt, and an as-yet undiscovered-on-Earth element known as Erridiox, whose presence will be explained in a subsequent chapter.

President Racha gave an-almost-too-big-for-her-face smile, and nodded at Jackson. He noticed that, behind her, Inquisitor Slah and the Boss of Ships seemed offended by his presence, even though this was a debate featuring just two humans, and he was one of them. But even more notable than the Erridiox, large Racha smile, and Byzong glares, was the absence of Destiny Withers.

“Folks and Friends! We are ready to begin!” said an absolutely booming voice from a table set above and amidst the crowd. “I am Fazion Col, and I will be your moderator for this evening.” Jackson squinted his eyes to see the source of the voice. Fazion was wiry, with a thick mane of auburn hair bigger than any Earth lion’s. He wore a bright blue blazer and had on shiny gold glasses with rims that seemed to spin and sparkle as he moved his head.

“Fazion is a fair moderator,” Jackson heard Arn say in his ear. “This is good news for you.”

“Tonight is the first of its kind. A special election debate to decide whether President Racha will remain in office, or whether she will be replaced by Shouty Freckles… Excuse me, I’ve been informed that Shouty’s real name is Theodore Fickle.”

“I prefer Jackson,” said Jackson. His voice rang harshly throughout the Grand Hall, with an ear-piercing spike from the amplification system at his podium. He didn’t know where the courage came from for him to issue the correction on his name- to be the first to speak from the stage in such a high stakes situation, but, as of late, he was beginning to become accustomed to being surprised by his own bravery, and in that way, becoming more comfortable with his bravery, leading to more surprises of bravery, that were less surprising. This type of positive action leading to positive effects leading to positive actions is sometimes known as a “Virtuous Circle”. But, as Jackson has never heard of that term, he would later refer to it as “The Snowball Effect, But In A Good Way, If That Makes Sense”.

“Sorry,” said Jackson, with an even louder spike. The crowd covered their ears.

President Racha gave a smile to her team off-stage.

As Fazion recovered from the sound, he continued. “We’ll get the sound fixed on Mr. Jackson Fickle’s podium.”

“Just Jackson,” he corrected again. Already, the sound was fixed.

“Very well. The debate between President Racha and Jackson will consist of just five questions, each sent in by potential voters here on Earth. After each candidate has had a chance to answer, we will give the planet two minutes to cast their votes via their smart orbs.*”

*smart orbs are a general term used for the flowable-size devices most humans carry on them during their day-to-day activities in order to connect to each other and other solar systems. This is being explained both for non-Earthlings who connect via a different network and device, and for future Earthlings who may find these devices, and therefore this term, to have become outdated as technology advances.

“They’re going to vote right after??” said Jackson, in a terrified and now perfectly amplified voice.

President Racha let out a slight laugh this time.

“I will ask the candidates to please refrain from any more interruptions,” said Fazion.

“Don’t worry,” said Arn. “You’ve got this.”

Jackson had spent a great deal of his childhood, and a not-insignificant chunk of his adulthood wishing that he had never met Arn Brule. Now, hearing his voice in his ear as his sole support during the most nerve-wracking and stress-inducing event of his life, Jackson was unsure what to think. The sweat raced through his shirt. That the sweat had not yet reached his brown corduroy blazer, that Arn had provided him with, stating it would make him seem “intelligent but approachable”, was a temporary comfort. 

“We will begin with a question from Margaret Myscon from Pittsburgington,” said Fazion. “Margaret asks: what would your plan be to help people if the housing bubbles burst. Jackson, we will start with you.”

“Ok, so the first thing you need to–” Arn started to help but Jackson cut him off by whispering, “I’ve got this one”. Jackson had read and heard plenty about past housing crises and felt this was one question he could handle just fine.

He answered, cooly and confidently, for two whole minutes, talking about relief measures, tougher regulations for financial entities, and proactive private and public partnerships. He cited leading experts, and even told a light-hearted and heart-warming story about his mom’s first house purchase. When he was finished, he smiled to the crowd, like a true politician. By all indications, he could not have been prouder.

He looked over and saw Arn’s jaw wide open. He did not know yet that Arn’s stunned reaction was not one of awe-filled admiration, but disappointed disbelief.

“Ahem, and President Racha?” said Fazion.

“I would activate the emergency air valves and order the immediate rebuilding of the bubbles with greater reinforcement. But, it would be a whole lot easier to deal with if there wasn’t so much water around them,” she said with a wink.

In his haste, Jackson had misheard the question, believing it to be about a figurative and financial “housing bubble” bursting. In fact, Margaret had been asking about literal “bubbles with houses in them” bursting. As more and more of Earth’s land was developed, the world government took to creating underwater bubbles to fit homes and sometimes even whole neighborhoods. At the time of the debate, 7% of the population currently resided inside a bubble.

“Thank you, President Racha. I must say, I have never done such a thing as a moderator before, but I feel compelled to deem your answer correct, and Jackson’s… not correct.”

There were murmurs and chuckles from the crowd.

“You have got to start listening to me,” pleaded Arn.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” whispered Jackson.

“Question two comes to us from a father and son, Tom and Jesse. They’d like to know what each of you consider to be your greatest strengths. President Racha, we will start with you.”

“I believe my greatest strength is that I’m a born leader, Fazion. I single-handedly navigated our planet through the Milky Way Scandal, the Jupiter Gas Shortage, and the terrible Solar Dust Storm. That is why I believe that my resume speaks for itself, as opposed to my opponent, whose resume could only land him a job as the Personal Assistant to the Non-Personal Assistant to the Executive Assistant to… well, me.”

Jackson sweated through to the blazer.

“And Jackson?” asked Fazion.

“Well, um…” he said.

“Tell them that you’re a listener,” said Arn.

“I’m a, um, listener,” Jackson said. President Racha scoffed. 

Jackson repeated every word that he heard in his ear. “I never presume to know someone just from a name. Just from a face. Just from the city or planet they come from. I listen to their stories, their problems, and their dreams. I listen to the things that they’ve been shouting for too long without being heard. And when it comes time, I’m not afraid to be their voice and shout for them. It’s why I interrupted that APB, it’s how I went from the Personal Assistant to the Non-Personal Assistant to the Executive Assistant to The President of Earth to being on stage with her, and it’s why I won’t back down to anyone who tries to take our oceans away- not Byzongs, not President Racha, not anyone!”

To Jackson’s surprise, he heard scattered claps. He looked at Arn and gave an appreciative nod. Tarza smiled proudly.

“I’ll ask you all to hold your applause please,” said Fazion. “That leads me to the next question, which comes to us from Juliet Ja. She asks: would you sell our water to the Byzongs? Why or why not? Jackson, please go first.”

“I would not,” repeated Jackson from Arn. “Oceans are a part of what makes Earth, Earth. They are integral to more aspects of life here than I can possibly list. They are arguably the most important resource we will ever have. They gave us life, they allow us to thrive, and they are the landscape of our existence. And, as I was just now reminded… a whole lot of people live inside them in bubbles!”

The crowd laughed. Jackson looked over sheepishly as Tarza gave him a thumbs up. “It’s working” she mouthed.

“President Racha?”

“It’s a nice story. But I grew out of fairytales a long time ago. Didn’t you?” President Racha leaned in on the podium. “Sure, oceans served a purpose, no one can deny that. We used to need them for food. For energy. For transportation. But, what have they done for you lately? Did you know that salt water actually makes the air stink? And only a small portion of the ocean is suitable for housing bubbles. Just think of how many people could have beautiful homes if we got rid of the water and built neighborhoods directly on the sea floor! I bet each of you in here could have a mansion!”

The crowd began to cheer.

“Silence, please” said Fazion.

“Besides, beaches are always so sandy. Sand gets all over everything. And don’t even get me started on the sharks!! They could be anywhere in there. Who knows where they are?!” President Racha shook her head solemnly. “No, it is my duty as President to make sure that our planet reaches its full potential, and that means getting rid of those oceans that have been getting in our way for far too long. It may be the most important thing I’ve ever done. To be honest, if I wasn’t forced to defend myself against this assistant, I’d have signed the papers and we’d all be celebrating right now. So ask yourself, what would you rather have, a mansion or a bunch of sharks swimming around your planet!”

“Thank you. Question four comes to us from Lalapazoola. Pierre St. Pepperton writes: why should I vote for you over the other one? … Huh, kind of a basic question, but I will remind you that we had only hours to prepare for this. Jackson, why don’t you go first again.”

Arn took a deep breath. “Ok Jackson, it’s time to unleash our secret weapon. Tell them about the black hole.”

“Really?” he whispered. 

“Trust me,” said Arn.

“So, um, recently I was eating a sandwich and my ship got hooked by a Byzong warship and I was pulled through a black hole.”

The crowd gasped and murmured. 

“It was a pretty unique experience, to be honest, and I guess you could say it’s what started the whole adventure that led me here.”

President Racha looked at him with confusion.

“Go on,’ said Fazion with great interest.

“Well, yeah so, it’s kind of hard to describe what it’s like, but when you go through a black hole you leave the other side feeling kinda… different. And I’ll never forget the taste that it left in my mouth.”

“Ask President Racha if she’s been in a black hole before,” said Arn.

Jackson didn’t hesitate this time. “Have you ever been in a black hole before, President Racha?”

The crowd turned their heads towards her.

“What?” This time, she began to sweat.

“You haven’t then?” asked Jackson.

She laughed and scoffed at the same time.

“I… I don’t have to answer your questions,” she said.

“Well, it just seems to me that the people of Earth deserve a leader who knows what it’s like to travel through a black hole and make it out the other side.”

“That’s absurd,” she said, looking and acting more than a bit perturbed. 

“Is it?” asked Jackson.

“I don’t…. I mean you can’t really… Who cares whether I’ve been through a black hole or not!” she shouted.

“President Racha, I think we’d all—” started Fazion.

“Why is he even up here! He’s an assistant to an assistant!!” she continued shouting. “No one even knew his name a week ago!!”

“That’s a whole lot of words without an answer,” said Jackson.

President Racha turned to Jackson. “How dare you!! I’m the President!! And you’re nothing!!” she snarled.

“Now there’s no call for—” said Fazion, before getting cut off again.

“It’s a stupid question!! No one else has gone through a black hole!! No one!!”

“She’s doing our job for us,” said Arn into Jackson’s ear.

“Enough games!! I have important things to do!! Like selling Earth’s water!! Now do your job and ask the last question, Fazion. Or I’ll have you fired.” The President was breathing heavily, with fury in her eyes.

Fazion took a moment. He cleared his throat, then calmly tossed aside the slip in his hand. “I’ve decided that the last question will be my own… President Racha, do you know what taste a blackhole leaves in your mouth?”

President Racha was fuming. She tossed her head to the side and scoffed and huffed. “How could I possibly know that?!”

Fazion turned to Jackson. “And Jackson, do you know what taste a blackhole leaves in your mouth?”

“Peppermint.”

Two minutes later Jackson was elected President of Earth.

 Chapter 25: Fast-Spreading Bustrek Dye

Although it was not always the case, Earth inaugurations are notoriously speedy. On average (looking at the previous eight times that a new President won an election) it took roughly 24 seconds for the new President to take office after the votes were tallied. Jackson Fickle’s inauguration, as documented in his Presidential records, took an abnormally long amount of time: 32 seconds. Still, for someone who had never dreamt of becoming President, never expected to win a Presidential debate, and had no idea what would happen now that he had, it was an startlingly quick process. The Secret Guard whisked him away into Belmontenegro’s grandest conference room (later named the Fickle Conference Room, based on the fact that it was the site of President Jackson Fickle’s first and only meeting, and due to the event that was about to take place during said meeting) along with his companions- Tarza, Dusty, Plod, and Arn. 

The entire Presidential Cabinet was waiting for him, sitting around a long oval table. They had been eagerly awaiting the results of the debate and, given that not a single one of them wanted Earth’s water to be sold out from under them, they were more than pleased to see Jackson arrive in the room and sit at the head of the table.

“Marshall Fudsworth, President Fickle,” said a large man with a handlebar mustache and mutton chops. “Secretary of the Exterior. I think I speak for everyone when I say ‘Congratulations on your victory!’”

“Here, here!” said more voices from the table.

“Elizabeeth Victoria, Secretary of Earthland Security. I hate to be a nudge, but, I did want to bring up the matter of the Byzong Warship that is hovering over our planet at the moment. Ever since you won, just a few moments ago, its proximity has been accelerating.”

Jackson looked puzzled.

“It’s getting closer,” she clarified. “ And what’s more, it seems to be extending a weapon of some kind… a tube ray?”

Tarza stepped forward. “Jackson, if I may?” 

Jackson smiled and nodded.

“What impressive suits you all have. My name is Tarza. I’m a Byzong. And that is a Third Generation Macro-Electro-Bionic-Hydroxy-Gravitational Tube Ray. It’s going to take all your salt water unless we stop it.”

“My word!” said the Secretary of Alien Services.

“President Racha said the Byzongs were interested in a legitimate business deal! A sale, not a theft!” said the Secretary of Technology.

“What wonderful ears you have, Tarza. And a pleasure to meet you. I’m Olga Svarinski, Secretary of Secretaries. How do you know all this young lady?” asked a tall woman with glasses.

“I helped build it,” said Tarza solemnly.

“Well, I never!!” said the Secretary of Alien Services.

“Oh hush, Reginald,” said Olga Svarinski, who was well adept at dealing with the Secretaries. “Might you happen to know how to stop it?” she asked Tarza.

“I have a few ideas,” she said with a smirk. 

“Perhaps it’s best for you to meet with the Secretary of Defense then,” said the Secretary of Secretaries.

“That’s a great idea!” said Jackson. 

Tarza, Dusty, and Plod left the room with the Secretary of Defense, who, Jackson noticed, was wearing sunglasses throughout the entire meeting.

“Marshall Fudsworth, again, President Fickle. Secretary of the Exterior.”

“Yes, um, hello, again,” said Jackson.

“I do believe we have another pressing matter at hand. You have not yet selected your Vice President. And, ahem, if I may, sir, I’d like to point out that never before has a Secretary of the Exterior been Vice President. Such a selection might send a strong message to the world that you are a bold and courageous leader!”

“And if I may, Mr. President. Many times, to great acclaim, the Secretary of the Interior has been made Vice President. Selecting me, Marsha Farnsworth, Secretary of the Interior, would send a clear and calming message to the world during a time of great change,” said a black-haired woman across from Marshall.

“Oh come off it, Marsha! Interior has gotten quite enough already!” said Marshall.

“Oh why don’t you go outside, you Exterior fool!” she retorted.

“Maybe I will! Do you know how much of the world is outside? Like, all of it!!” he shouted back.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! Interior is the best and everyone knows it! It’s where you sleep! Ever wonder why all our meetings are inside? Because… of course they are!” she yelled.

“Enough!” said Olga Svarinski. “That’s not even what your titles mean.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Apologies Mr. President. I had hoped for a better first impression. But, Marshall does have a point. You’ll need to select a Vice President.”

Jackson looked to the person sitting in the corner of the room on a chair behind him. He thought for a moment, then smirked.

“My Vice President will be Arn Brule,” he said confidently.

Arn shot up from the corner with surprise. “Me?!”

“Yes,” said Jackson.

Arn approached the table. “But… but…”

“No buts,” said Jackson. “I wouldn’t be sitting here without you. And besides, the Earth needs a Vice President who knows a little something about the job.”

“But… I mean… what about… you know…”

Jackson waved him off. “The way I see it, Earth needs people who know how to say they’re sorry. People who know how to grow and change. And that’s you.”

Arn got a little teary-eyed. He reached out his hand and shook Jackson’s.

“I’d be honored.”

“Done,” said Olga. “I’ve put in the requisite paperwork, and Arn is now your VP.”

“My goodness, government works fast!” said Jackson. 

“It didn’t always,” said Olga, “but, we made some changes after opening up a Planetary Suggestion Box and getting the same note 97 million times to speed things up.”

Just then, Tarza, Dusty, Plod, and the Secretary of Defense walked back into the room, his sunglasses still on.

“We’re good,” said Tarza.

“What do you mean?” asked Jackson. “Oh, and Arn’s Vice President now.”

“Not bad,” said Tarza with an impressed face. 

“We’re good about what?” asked Arn.

“The oceans. They’re safe.”

“What?! How??” asked Jackson. “You’ve only been gone a minute!”

“Well, you see, there’s always been a major flaw in the design of the Third Generation Macro-Electro-Bionic-Hydroxy-Gravitational Tube Ray. I tried to tell them that if you don’t ionize the omniplex filter on the—”

Jackson’s face was contorting trying to follow.

“Sorry, sometimes I get lost in the details… the point is, the ray only works if it can tell what’s water and what’s land.”

“And how does it do that?” asked Olga.

“By the color,” she answered.

“You can’t be serious,” said Marsha.

“Of course she’s serious! It’s an outdoors thing. You wouldn’t understand!” said Marshall, sticking his tongue out at her. 

“Go on, please,” said Olga.

“It’s all about the contrast between the ocean and the shore. All you need to do is dye the water a different color. I didn’t think it’d be possible to find enough dye (in fact I almost didn’t mention it), but, it turns out you have an emergency supply of Fast-Spreading Bustrek Dye.”

“Why do we have an emergency supply of Bustrek Dye?” asked Jackson.

“I’ll answer that,” said the Secretary of Defense, speaking for the first time. “During periods of extreme food shortage we have enough rations for the whole world to eat. But, we’ve found they’re made in a color that humans feel is unappetizing and boring. So, we have a spectrum of dyes to use on them, if the rations are ever needed.”

“Astounding,” said the Secretary of Aliens.

Although no one in the historic meeting thought to ask, you might be wondering why the rations were not dyed a different color when, and as, they were being made. And the answer, as is the case with so many logistical concerns in the supply chain ecosystem, comes down to math. You see, rations, known for their strong preservative nature, have an impressive shelf life of 3-5 years. However, in a flat-out jaw-dropping feat of preservation from the fine people at Bustrek, their brilliant dyes have a shelf life of 120 years. This means that as Earth’s rations go bad every 3-5 years and new rations are made, the same batch of dye can be waiting, unspoiled, to dye the rations in the unlikely event they will be needed. In other words, using dye on every new batch of rations, as they spoil without being needed, would be a needless waste of a fine product, and a misuse of government funding (even though Bustrek’s prices are what is known as a “steal”). And Earth’s government is well-known for being smart and efficient with money, after 111 million notes in the Planetary Suggestion Box demanded it so.

“We’re dropping dye in every major ocean and sea across the planet as we speak,” said the Secretary of Defense.

“What color are you dyeing it?” asked Vice President Arn.

“Given the nature of the dye packs, and the variety, we are expecting bands of almost every color.”

“Rainbow oceans!” said Tarza. “The ray is useless!”

A knock came to the door. Jackson saw the Secret Guard open up and said a few whispered words to whoever was on the other side.

The Guard moved aside and allowed three hooded figures to enter the room.

“President Jackson Fickle,” hissed the hooded figure in front as they approached. He was the shortest of the three, but they all stood at towering heights. 

“Yes?” Jackson gulped. He smelled the dangerous air again.

“What are you doing?” shouted Tarza. “Don’t let them in here!”

Plod and Dusty extended shocking rods from the chassis.

“These are representatives of Those in Charge!” said Marshall. “Of course we’ll let them in. They’re honored guests here to congratulate our new President!”

“You don’t understand! They’re behind all of this!” said Tarza, trying to get to Jackson but getting blocked by Secret Guards.

“She’s right! You need to ask them to leave,” Arn pleaded with the nearest Guard.

The hooded figures crowded around Jackson, descending upon him. The one in front extended a gloved hand and, as though in slow motion, Jackson watched as the hand patted him on the back. No one, not Jackson, not Tarza, not Arn, not the Secretaries of Interior or Exterior, or the Guards, could have known that underneath the glove was a Warp-Port.

That is, not until Jackson disappeared, along with the hooded figures, in a flash.

 Chapter 26: Pelligrant’s Station

When Jackson was pulled out of a warping booth at Pelligrant’s Station he was once again feeling a bit queasy. It was a different section of the station this time, but all the aspects were the same: the booths, the conveyor belts, the clear tubes, and the giant tree looming in the background known as NESMOD.

Being escorted to the base of the NESMOD Network, or rather, being pushed and pulled to the base of the NESMOD Network by three hooded figures who worked for Those In Charge, is not an ideal circumstance for sight-seeing. Had Jackson come to Pelligrant’s for a more leisurely purpose, or any purpose of his own, either time he’d been there, he might have read some of the free-standing information screens scattered about the premises. He might have learned about the rich and fascinating history behind the station’s origin, and some of its lesser-known secrets, such as a concealed VIP hatch that can lead a visitor to an overhead pod where you can look down on all of the travelers, and enjoy a frothy bellellbaberry drink (by appointment only). 

As it was, Jackson was trying his best to understand the situation that he now found himself in. His instinct to do nothing was kicking in strongly, but so too, now, was his growing instinct to act boldly and bravely on his, and his mission’s, behalf.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked his captors.

“Never you mind. You’ve caused enough trouble as it is,” said the shortest of the tall hooded figures.

“What is that smell I keep smelling?” asked Jackson.

“Erridiox,” the tallest said with a sinister smirk. “A rare element that creates fear in almost all who smell it.”

“Don’t tell him anything he doesn’t need to know!” warned the shortest. 

“Well, he doesn’t need to know anything,” replied the tallest.

“Right! That’s my point!” said the shortest.

“Wait, I thought that was my point?”

“What does it matter, now?” said the third. Besides, I think he needs to understand the gravity of the situation he’s in. Maybe it will make him more… cooperative.”

“... Perhaps you’re right,” said the shortest as they traveled along.

Jackson remembered those words. He’d heard them before from the Watchmaker: ‘the gravity of the situation’. He remembered there was still something that he was missing. And despite his predicament, and despite the Erridiox, he decided to press on.

“I haven’t done anything!” said Jackson, aware of the false nature of his statement, but hoping to get them talking more.

“Pffft,” said another. “Winning the Presidency of Earth. Ruining our plans to steal the water. You call that nothing?” 

Jackson’s eyes glanced to and fro. All he could tell for certain was that the NESMOD tree was getting closer. 

“Ok, so Those In Charge are behind the Byzong’s plans to take our water. Why though?” asked Jackson.

“You said it yourself in the debate, didn’t you. Your oceans are one of the most valuable parts of Earth. But not just valuable, powerful. And not just Earth, but the universe,” said the shortest.

“You’re talking about salt water, aren’t you?” asked Jackson, as they half-ushered, half-carried him along.

“Naturally occurring salt water has properties beyond comprehension. Beyond comparison. And they are the only fuel that will fill our thrusters. And that is why we will do anything, absolutely anything, to get it,” explained the shortest, with more than a hint of threatening.

“Thrusters? Thrusters for what?” asked Jackson.

The hooded figures stopped for a moment and looked at each other. The two taller ones nodded at the shortest.

“Very well. I’ll tell you. Those in Charge have built a Planet Pusher.”

“A Planet Pusher?” Jackson wondered if Rozwell had ever tried to acquire one of these Planet Pushers for his shop. But in his wondering, Jackson had underestimated both the size and rarity of a Planet Pusher, as they are larger than most planets, and only one had ever been built.

“Capable of moving planets wherever we want. The thrusters are the most important part. Once we have enough ocean water, the Planet Pusher will be unleashed upon the universe.”

“To…push….planets?”

“Yes, of course!” said the shortest. “To push planets into the Rainbow Realm!”

“But why?” Jackson asked.

“The universe has become too spread out. In order to properly rule it, Those In Charge need to trap the planets in the Rainbow Realm.” said the shortest.

“Especially the ones that are causing trouble for us,’ said the tallest, with a smirk. “Soon they’ll all be following the rules of the realm, under our watchful eye.”

“But you got in the way, didn’t you?” said the shortest. “You… and the Pocket Watches.”

They stopped at the base of the NESMOD and surrounded Jackson. 

“We’re all tired of the Pocket Watches getting in our way! They’ve foiled our plans for the last time. And you’re going to help us find them,” said the third. 

Slowly, from all directions, more hooded figures stepped out of booths and off of conveyor belts. Dozens and dozens appeared and crowded around Jackson. The air grew thick with elemental fear. He was the new President of Earth, but in that moment, he felt powerless.

But what he saw next, among the hooded crowd coming towards him, was somehow worse. It was Tarza, being brought forward by two hooded figures.

“Jackson!” she said, giving him a hug.

“Tarza! You’re okay!” he said.

“I am, but… I think we’re in a bit of trouble,” she said.

“That’s right you are. We are The Bureau of Top Secret Investigations for Those In Charge, and we are through playing games.”

“Wow, we were so close on the name. We just had it flipped,” said Tarza.

First we will take the Pocket Watches out of the equation. And once they’re gone, we will be free to make this new President hand over Earth’s oceans, just like we planned,” said the shortest.

“Never!” said Jackson.

“We’ll see how you feel without the Pocket Watches to help fight your battles for you.”

The bubbly blue woman with orange hair came walking over to assist them.

“Good Morning! I mean, it’s sunrise somewhere, am I — oh my, what a large group!” she said with a smile. 

“It’s official business for Those in Charge,” said the shortest.

“Oh my! What an honor- I’m a big fan! And what a strong scent you have! It reminds me of… I want to say, my nightmares?” she said, still smiling. “I’ll be happy to accommodate you all in a set of our Carrier Class Trains. Now, where are we going today?” 

“She’ll tell you,” said a gruff hooded figure, nudging Tarza forward. “We know you use your little pocket watches to reach your headquarters. We’re finally going to find out where you’ve been hiding. Bring out your watch.”

“Another time destination? What are the odds of –- wait a second!! You two again?!” she shouted, looking between Tarza and Jackson. “You’re… you’re the fugitives! But, like, also a President now, somehow?”

“We’ve got it handled,” said the gruff one.

She gave a smug smirk and looked down on them. “Well, good! I knew you two wouldn’t get away with it. Whatever, you know… it is.”

“Now, give us the watch,” said the shortest.

“Don’t do it!” said Jackson.

Tarza didn’t know what else to do. They were trapped and she was running out of options. She placed her hand in her pocket, holding onto the pocket watch. She knew she was seconds away from giving up the location of the Pocket Watches. The last line of defense against Those In Charge. And what’s more, her friends.

Jackson desperately wished he could take them both away to somewhere safe. 

Just as he’d thought they’d finally won, it had all come crashing down. And he needed help now more than ever. He wished he had a Phonus to call whoever could help. And that’s when he thought back to his call with the Clockmaker. Then he thought back to his conversation with Watchmaker. He put his hand in his own pocket and felt the watch he’d been given.

They’d both said the same thing to him about what to do if he ever got into trouble: flip it.

“Flip it how?” he wondered. “Flip what exactly?”

Then he remembered what Tarza had said. The Bureau of Top Secret Investigations for Those In Charge. They had the words flipped.

He thought back to the words on the back of the watch. “The Watchmaker’s Clock never stops.”

Suddenly, it clicked. 

“Of course!” said Jackson.

“Huh?” said the gruff one.

“Um… nothing!” He turned to Tarza. “It’s no use. We have no choice but to take them there.”

Tarza looked at him with confusion and disappointment. 

“All I ask is that we use my watch. As a new member of the Pocket Watches I’ve never gotten to use it and… well, if the Pocket Watches are going to be disbanded, then I’d like to use it at least once.”

Tarza looked at him intently. She knew that he wasn’t a Pocket Watch. But she didn’t know why he’d lie. His face was pleading, “trust me,” and without thinking another thought, she did.

“Yes, it’s only fair,” she said. 

“Fine, fine. We don’t care whose watch, just get moving!” said the shortest.

The orange-haired woman held out her hand and tapped her toe impatiently.

Jackson pulled out the watch from his pocket and placed it in her hand. He was hoping beyond hope that he was right. 

She set the time into the system and the roots opened up all around them for transport. Hooded figure after hooded figure climbed in. And finally, Jackson and Tarza.

As they shot into space in a fleet of trains, Jackson went over the words again and hoped beyond hope that he was right.

The Watchmaker’s Clock never stops, he had remembered. 

And then he flipped it.

The Clockmaker’s Watch never stops.

The watch he’d been gifted, never stops.

It had always kept the time of the planet it had been built on. A planet not named Ridgea. 

A planet named Uldon.

 Chapter 27: Eldington Microphones

For a multitude of reasons, that are simple on their own and collectively complicated, and will be explained right now, Jackson did not know for certain if they were headed in the direction of Uldon or Ridgea. 

Objects in space are never at rest. The stars, planets, and even galaxies themselves are always moving. This means that even if Jackson remembered which direction he had exited Pelligrant’s Station in (the first time left,  when heading to Ridgea), it would not help determine if they were headed there now, since Ridgea’s position had changed since then. However, Ridgea’s relative location to Pelligrant’s Station would not have changed much, that is to say it would have changed an insignificant amount, considering that Ridgea is a great distance away, compared to the relative distance of its orbit. To put it in Earth terms, it would be like moving a marble that is a mile away in a small circle- the marble would still be in the same general direction from you as you walked towards it. Therefore if Jackson remembered the direction of Ridgea from Pelligrant’s Station, you might assume that he might be able to determine if they were headed there now. However, however, that does not take into account that Pelligrant’s Station itself might be moving as well, since all objects in space are in motion, meaning Jackson would not know how much the station itself had moved and in what direction since he was last there, and could therefore not determine if he was on track for Ridgea once again. However, however, however, Pelligrant’s Station happens to have a Gyroscopic Equal & Opposite Force Alignment System (GEO-FORCE), keeping it in the same relative position from the center and corners of the universe, meaning that if Jackson remembered the direction in which he’d left Pelligrant’s Station, he could be confident that the planet of Ridgea was located in the same general direction in which he had traveled last time, since the station had not moved, and Ridgea’s movement would not have affected the direction they would need to be heading in to reach it. However, however, however, however, having no information on where Uldon was located (besides a pocket watch with what he hoped was the correct time destination), Jackson could not know for certain whether or not it was near Ridgea or on the other side of the universe, so even if he could remember in which direction they had left the station the first time, and recognized they were headed in the same direction, he would not be able to know if that was also the direction of Uldon, and could not determine to which planet they were currently headed. However, however, however, however, however, Jackson did not remember which direction they’d left Pelligrant’s Station from the first time, and had paid even less attention while leaving the station this second time, so this subject is decidedly moot.

Inside the train, he and Tarza sat in silence. When the hooded figures settled in and began chatting to each other, they finally began to whisper.

“Jackson,” said Tarza. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I,” he said. “... and that’s President Jackson.”

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Quiet you two!” said a hooded figure.

Tarza looked out the window, equally unsure as Jackson about where they were headed, but for reasons that do not require an in-depth explanation. 

The Erridiox inside the train was stinging Jackson’s nostrils. 

“What’s going to happen when we get there?” asked Jackson to the hooded figures.

“You’re going to take all of us to your headquarters, and we’re going to apprehend the Pocket Watches. 

“You can’t do that!” said Tarza, turning back to them. 

“Of course we can! Those in Charge are in charge of doing what’s best for the universe and we will do whatever we want… I mean, whatever it takes, to make that happen,” said a particularly nasty hooded figure.

“It’s not right,” said Tarza.

Jackson pulled out the Clockmaker’s Watch and looked at the face of it. It was as simple as he remembered. But, for the first time, he noticed a small latch on the side. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, then clicked open the latch. The face of the watch opened up to reveal the inside. Jackson saw dozens and dozens of gears and dials. He watched with fascination as they spun and turned and clicked, each to a different rhythm. It was one of the most complex pieces of equipment he had ever seen. It had been made with an extraordinary amount of care, and Jackson hoped beyond hope that he had been right to hand it to the attendant at Pelligrant’s Station.

A little while later (three complete spins of the largest gear in the watch and one quarter spin of the smallest), the train began to slow.

“We’re almost there!” said a hooded figure. “Ready all teams!”

The planet was straight ahead, and Jackson and Tarza couldn’t seem to get a good view of it from their seats in the back. As they entered the atmosphere, Tarza and Jackson looked out the side windows but were blocked again, this time by gaseous bursts along the outside of the train. Within moments, the train touched down.

As they exited, Jackson saw a dozen more trains, all settled along the same set of tracks. The station they had landed at looked shiny and new. If Jackson didn’t know any better he would say it had been freshly built.

Once they were outside and had a chance to look around, the hooded figures began to murmur. 

They were at the bottom of a deep, cavernous ravine. The sides were towering over them, with rich orange stone. But even more disconcerting, was that the station itself was surrounded by a metal cage with an open top.

“I don’t understand?!” where are the Pocket Watches, said a hooded figure.

“Where are we?! What’s the meaning of this?!” demanded another.

“Wait a second… I know this planet! This isn’t right!” said the nasty one.

Jackson and Tarza stepped out last. When they did, a gold cube descended from the top of the ravine and hovered over the cage. The hooded figures looked up in confusion as the bottom of the cube opened, and two metal claws came shooting down towards the trains. Before anyone could say a word, the claws clutched Jackson and Tarza.

“Stop them!” shouted the closest hooded figure. But it was too late. The claws lifted Jackson and Tarza up out of the cage and flew them to the top of the ravine. 

On their way up and out, the pair finally got to see the planet they had landed on. It was a planet of metal and rock, with impressive structures all around, but empty rivers and oceans. And Jackson knew they were empty because, on Uldon, there was not an ounce of salt water left.

Just as they were dropped gently on a platform with five stately and important-looking Uldonites, the massive cage lid slammed shut on the station and hooded figures down below with a loud clang.

“Let us out!” shouted a hooded figure, barely audible to the Uldonites above. The rest began to shout and talk over each other.

One of the Uldonites stepped forward, holding an Eldington Microphone, the finest, most advanced free-standing amplification microphone on the market, with over 120 settings and a gold-coated tip. Had Jackson been using an Eldington Microphone, rather than a podium amplification system, during the debate, it is doubtful that he would have had any technical difficulties. 

The Uldonite was much older than the Watchmaker, but Jackson noticed that she had the same eyes. 

“A lovely entrance,” she said to Tarza. “Welcome to Uldon.”

“A most stunning planet,” she complimented. “My name is Tarza.”

“Oh I know. My grandson has told me much about you. But you,” she said turning to Jackson. “I believe we’ve spoken once before.”

“You’re the Clockmaker!” said Jackson.

“I am,” she said, bowing ever-so-slightly.

“How did we get here?” asked Tarza.

“It seems that your friend here figured it out. He used my watch as a compass and tricked Those In Charge to coming back to Uldon. And this time, we made sure we were ready. A fine job, Jackson.” 

Tarza peered over the edge at the cage. “What’s going to happen to them?” she asked.

The Clockmaker smirked. “That’s my favorite part.” She lifted up the Eldington Microphone and began broadcasting her voice throughout the canyon.

“Who speaks for you?” asked her now booming, deep, and gravely voice. “It’s a little voice alteration setting I like to use,” she whispered to Tarza and Jackson, covering the gold tip for just a moment. 

“I do!” shouted the particularly nasty hooded figure. “Now let us out or you’ll be in big trouble!”

“Silence!” said the booming voice. The hooded figures cowered back.

“Those in Charge have been tried and found guilty of stealing the oceans and seas of Uldon!” said the voice.

“Uldon?!” shouted another hooded figure. 

“Oh no, oh no,” said another.

“How dare you! Those in Charge can’t be guilty of anything! They make the rules! They’re… in charge!” the hooded figure shouted.

“Those of us in charge have more obligation than any to do the right thing. To make just rules and to follow them, always,” boomed the Clockmaker. 

“You’re no match for Those in Charge!” shouted the particularly nasty hooded figure. “Last time we were here we stole your water and there was nothing you could do about it! Your planet is only built to bunker in, not do battle!” he said with a sinister smile.

“That’s right,” answered the voice. “And there’s nobody better at it than us. Our Uldonite structures can keep anyone out for as long as we want.” She covered up the golden tip again and whispered to Jackson and Tarza. “I’m going to pause now for dramatic effect.”

“And keep anyone in for as long as we want, too!” echoed the voice.

The hooded figures again murmured amongst each other, looking at the cage that held them. 

“Our cages are built to last for 200,000 years. Give or take. And they will not open by force,” she finished.

The hooded figures began to realize their predicament. 

After a long pause, they heard a faint cry from below.

“What do you want??” asked the hooded figure.

“Our water,” said the voice.

The hooded figures stomped around and made scowling faces up at them, but given the distance, and the fact that hoods covered their faces, it did not have the desired effect (or any effect at all).

“Your cage was specially built by our finest engineers. If you ever want to get out of there, there’s only one way. You sit at the bottom of what was once the Marzal Sea. When the salt water is returned and the sea levels on the entire planet rise, so too will your cage.”

She pointed to a lever sticking out of the sea wall, just below the top.

“Every dry sea bed, every empty ocean, and every formerly salty stream on the planet has levers like these. Only when they’re all switched up at the same time from the water returning, will your cage rise and the key be unlocked.”

“... and if we refuse?” asked the hooded figure.

“Then you’d better make yourself at home,” she echoed again.

There was a pause. It was not for dramatic effect, but for great consternation. The hooded figures were beat, and they knew it, but they did not like to be beaten, and they did not accept it easily.

Jackson and Tarza held their breath for a moment, waiting for their answer.

After much thinking, the particularly nasty one called back up…

“I’ll need to contact the Rainbow Realm.”

“It will be arranged,” she said.

“Now,” she said to Jackson and Tarza with a smile. “Join us for a sip of tea?”

Jackson and Tarza looked at each other in disbelief, then followed the Clockmaker and other Uldonites. They sat down at a white iron table with mechanized chairs. 

“You…you did it. Thank you for saving us,” said Jackson.

“It was the least we could do. You did deliver them here to us,,” she replied. 

“Will they bring back the water?” asked Jackson.

“They will,” she said. “The Bureau of Top Secret Investigations for Those In Charge is too important for them to let sit in a cage.”

“You know their name too?” asked Tarza.

“We do now. We’ve been quite busy as of late... The truth is, we allowed the theft of our oceans to stand for too long. Had it not been for my grandson and you Pocket Watches, we might never have gotten our water back. And you,” she said to Jackson. “Your call is what changed everything.”

Jackson blushed. “Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

“What will you do now?” she asked them.

“I guess I should probably get back to Earth, now that I’m President.”

“Are you now?” asked the Clockmaker. “Very impressive.”

“And I should probably get back to the Pocket Watches,” said Tarza.

“Oh?” said the Clockmaker.

“We might be safe from Those In Charge for now, but there are plenty of threats out there. It’s a big universe,” she answered. 

“It is.” 

Jackson took a sip of the tea in front of him. It made him feel warm inside. 

He had a question to ask but, of all the tasks that had been set before him, this one felt the most daunting to him. He took another sip and then a deep breath.

“What if… what if I came with you?” he asked. “Maybe I could help you, and the Watchmaker, and the rest of the Pocket Watches.”

Tarza smiled. “We would like nothing more. And I dare say we’ve never seen a resume like yours before. But… what about Earth?”

“Well, I suppose, um… well….” Jackson searched for an answer.

“Perhaps I could be of assistance,” said the Clockmaker, snapping her fingers.

A young Uldonite came forward holding a purple box and laid it on the table.

“After our call, I sent a team to Bandango Fazaar. They found the shop you had been hiding in. It was in quite a state of disarray. The shop owner had apparently abandoned it- some nefarious characters from his past had found out he was there. Sifting through the rubble, they were able to find what I sent them for.”

The Clockmaker opened up the box and revealed the Phonus.

Jackson couldn’t believe his eyes.

“It has come in handy more than once already. Go on,” she said. “Give it a try. Consider it a thank you.”

Jackson looked at Tarza. She shrugged and nodded her head.

He picked up the Phonus and said “Hello.”

“Hello?” answered a voice. 

“Who said that?” said another.

“It’s me… um, Jackson.”

“Jackson! Where are you?! Are you and Tarza okay??” Jackson recognized the voice this time.

“Arn?” he asked.

“Yes! It’s me! I’m here with the Cabinet of Secretaries. “Where are you?? We don’t see you!”

“I’m actually on Uldon. It’s a long story,” said Jackson.

“Uldon?! Preposterous!” said the Secretary of Aliens.

“Hush now,” said a voice he recognized as Olga Svarinski’s.

“Is Tarza with you? Are you both okay?” asked Arn.

“Yes, we’re safe. Actually… we’re doing great. Those in Charge won’t be bothering us, for a while at least.”

“Huzzah!” said Marshall. “A great victory for the Exterior!”

“What are you talking about?!” said Marsha. “What does this have to do with the Exterior.”

“They’re on another planet! It doesn’t get more Exterior than that!” he shouted.

“Arn has been extremely helpful since you left,” said Olga abruptly. “But I’m afraid I have to ask, will you be coming back soon?”

“I’m sure we’d all love to hear about what happened. And, well, there are many matters still to attend to, I’m afraid,” added Arn. 

“Why don’t you take care of them, Arn,” said Jackson.

“Well, some of these matters are not suited for a Vice President to—”

“You don’t understand,” interrupted Jackson. “I mean, why don’t you be the President.”

“But… You can’t mean it,” stumbled Arn.

“I do,” said Jackson. “Olga, can it be done?”

“It certainly can. If that’s what you want. All you’d have to do is resign,” she answered.

“Jackson, you shouldn’t do anything in haste, this is a big decision,” said Arn.

“I became President in haste. Pretty much everything I’ve done has been in haste. And to be honest, I think I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” Tarza smiled at him as he spoke.

“But this decision is one I’m sure of. I was never meant to be President. And something tells me you were. And besides, I have other work to do… Olga, I resign as President of Earth.”

“Do we have at least two witnesses to this resignation?” asked Olga loudly.

Jackson held out the phone. 

“It is witnessed by Tarza, former engineer of the Byzong Fleet.”

“And witnessed by the Clockmaker of Uldon.”

“Well then,” said Olga over the Phonus. “President Fickle’s resignation is effective immediately.”

Jackson let out a sigh. “Wow, that was easy.”

“I won’t let you down, Jackson. Thank you,” said Arn.

“I know you won’t,” he said.

“Come see me when you get back,” said Arn.

“I will,” said Jackson.

“Now, time to get to business President Brule,” said Olga.

Jackson hung up the Phonus without another word.

“With Arn becoming President, it would seem there’s an opening in the Pocket Watches,” said Tarza. 

“I wonder,” asked Jackson. “Do you know what time it is on Ridgea?”

She pulled out her pocket watch and smiled. 

 Epilogue: Solar Snooks

As a Documentor, I have an obligation to provide accurate and complete notes on the subject at hand. In the case of this book, that means the occasions and events surrounding Jackson Fickle’s astronomical rise, and his role in the saving of the universe from consolidation in the Rainbow Realm by Those in Charge. 

Documentors use a vast toolbox for their data collection. This includes life-memory fishing, brain scan interviews, and general statistics collected by the U U of U. Our coverage, however, does not extend beyond the story we were hired to write, and we do not indulge in facts outside of the time period in question unless they are in some way relevant to the scope of the story. In this case of this book, that means that I will not be regaling you with the tales of Jackson, and his fellow Pocket Watch Tarza, after his resignation as President of Earth. 

But while Documentors often fund their work through corporate sponsorships, such as selling the rights to chapters and titles, that does not take away from the fact that they are devoted to the collection of information. In fact, you would be hard-pressed to find a Documentor, in your galaxy or the next, who cares about anything more than the truth of data.

And having done extensive research regarding Earth in service of Jackson’s story, including documenting humans, both individually and collectively, I have one final thought to share. 

Earthlings, it turns out, have a tendency that they are largely unaware of. This tendency, though seemingly harmless, often has lasting effects. This tendency, is to limit themselves. Or to put it in terms familiar to Documentors, humans believe their story has already been written, sometimes soon after it has truly just begun.

Humans, it seems, hold onto a belief that the past decides the future. But, as Jackson Fickle proved, whether intentional or not, even a wrong bite can lead to the right path. As a Documentor might put it, you need not rewrite the past, simply add a new chapter. And as a traveler of galaxies far and wide, and Documentor of worlds incalculable to you, this I know to be universally true. So please do heed these words, for you never know when you may be in the past, present, or future of a tale that is eons in the making, with a role of great importance just waiting for you to claim it.

And, of course, enjoy crunchy, salty, Solar Snooks, an out of this world snack.