Sparkle Pirate

Max and the Multiverse Shorts, Volume 3

Zachry Wheeler

Published by Mayhematic Press, 2019.

COPYRIGHT

© 2019 by Zachry Wheeler

All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-9991027-6-0

Print: 978-1-9991027-5-3

Edited by Jennifer Amon

Published by Mayhematic Press

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BONUS READ

Haven’t read the books? No problem! Max and the Multiverse shorts are stand-alone tales that serve as entry points into the series. And if you’re hungry for more, this short also includes the first chapter of book one as a springboard into the saga.

SPARKLE PIRATE

a Max and the Multiverse short

Max awoke in a lush meadow full of chirping birds and colorful flowers. He lay in a bed of soft grass that perfectly adhered to his contour. A pleasant aroma of honey and lavender tickled his nostrils, prompting a deep inhale. His cheeks puckered as a wide smile stretched across his face. This was, by far and away, the most peaceful and refreshing rouse that he had experienced for quite some time.

Max was an Earth teen who suffered from a peculiar affliction. He shifted between parallel universes whenever he fell asleep, which provided daily doses of irritation. One time he awoke to the piercing shrieks of harpy dragons. Another time he awoke to the sudden panic of drowning before realizing that he owned a set of functioning gills. It was a perpetual pain in the crack that undermined his fragile sanity. Thus, arising to a tranquil environment became the mental health equivalent of winning the lottery.

His crewmates, on the other hand, could still ruin the whole thing. Ross, his pet cat and constant goader, often reveled in the opportunity to inflame trivial situations. Zoey and Perra were fearless couriers and often served as critical insights into the new reality. Their gallantry and fortitude made any reaction one to heed. When in doubt, get behind Zoey. When in further doubt, ask Perra why they ducked behind Zoey.

In addition, when Max awoke somewhere other than the spaceship, it usually meant that something had gone terribly wrong (or was about to). But dammit, the blissful comfort of a balmy meadow was a welcome shift, so he was going to enjoy it.

A few indulgent minutes passed before he began to stir. His eyes blinked open, revealing a blue sky peeking through the leaves of a large oak tree. Curious critters with brilliant plumage hopped from branch to branch. Tall stalks of blooming foliage lined the peripherals, framing the scene with a rainbow of hues. Max absorbed the vista through sleepy eyes and a contented grin. He yawned, then stretched his arms overhead and lowered them to his chest.

And thus concluded the relaxing interlude.

Max shot up to a seated position with a frightened gaze. “Where are my nipples?!” he said while rapidly patting his bare chest. Or rather, while patting a bulging mound of man flesh. The missing nipples took an immediate backseat to the unveiling of massive pecs. And giant biceps. And washboard abs. Max, it would seem, was a total beefcake.

“They point downward,” Ross said from afar.

Max turned to a curled pile of white fur resting nearby. The voice was familiar, but the horse shape threw him for a loop. “Uuuuh ...”

Ross raised his snout and turned an irked gaze to Max. “Downward, you idiot. Your nipples point downward.”

Max walked his fingers down beneath the pecs, where two firm nipples resided. “Oh, there they are. Sorry, never had muscles before.”

“You nev—what?”

Max studied his new beach-ready body, uncovering all sorts of hairless delights. Broad shoulders, ripped flanks, trunk-like legs, and calves that looked like cantaloupes trapped in skin prison. He was also tan to an unnerving degree, like a roasted turkey leg on the cusp of jerky. All the same, he continued to marvel at his newfound sexiness.

The meadow, however, still needed some clarification.

Rising to his feet, Max began to search for clues to the current predicament. A slow pan around the area uncovered more of the same lushness. He stepped forward, but a shift inside his underpants caused him to lose his balance. He flailed and stumbled before planting his heels in the soft dirt. Confused and a little concerned, he gripped the front of his waistband and pulled it open. The visual shock forced him back a few steps. “Sweet mercy, look at that thing! I should give it a name and start a college fund.”

“Ahem,” Ross said.

Max met eyes with the horse, who nodded to his own backside. He followed the visual cue to a rather emasculating comparison. Max groaned and slumped his shoulders.

Ross smirked. “That’s right, think before you speak.”

Max released the waistband, which snapped back to his V-shaped groin. After another slow pan with minimal insight, he sighed and returned his gaze to Ross. “So why are you a horse?”

Ross cocked his brow.

“And why are you white?”

Ross dropped his brow. “That’s racist.”

“No, I mean, you’re an orange cat. So why are you a white horse?”

“You say that as if I’m supposed to give you a sane response.”

“Fine, I’ll figure it out on my own.”

“Figure what out?”

Max ignored the steed and started wandering around the meadow, but nothing out of the ordinary caught his attention. Even so, there was a peculiar imbalance that he couldn’t put his finger on. The serene landscape felt a bit too serene, like a creepy morning show for kids. Max ruffled his brow, but then a twig snap caught his attention. He whipped his head to the source, which cued a twinkling sound and a wash of sparkles around his face. His head whipped back, unleashing more twinkle sparkles. Bewildered, he jerked his head from side to side, releasing a cascade of twinkle sparkles.

Max froze with fright. “What is this witchery?!”

“What, do you mean your hair?”

Max eyed Ross without moving his head. “My hair?”

“Yes, your hair. Your obsessively groomed, painstakingly highlighted, angel soft, long and flowing come-hither mane. It twinkles whenever you whip it to the side.”

“Wa—why?”

“Why is water wet? Those are the rules. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Max dismissed the scorn and resumed a gingerly pace around the meadow, careful not to disturb the hair. “I, um ... let’s just say that I’m not feeling like myself today.”

“That much is obvious.”

“Bite me, Shadowfax.”

“That’s ...” Ross stammered into an unexpected pause. “That’s a compliment. Sorry, threw me for a loop. Anyhoo, shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“For what?”

Ross opened his mouth to chastise him again, but huffed instead. “For the big date? You are meeting your one true love today, remember?”

“I do not,” Max said with a matter-of-fact tone.

“How can you not? It’s the entire reason we’re here. It’s your fate, your destiny, your ... fadestiny.”

“You mean my date?”

Ross cringed. “That’s a stupid mishmash.”

Deciding to embrace the ride, Max clapped his hands and waved at the horse like a frat boy initiating beer pong. “Okay then, give me the rundown. Classic amnesia, let’s go.”

Ross glanced away at nothing in particular, weighing the choice between selfish amusement and selfless assistance. He exhaled a heavy sigh and returned his gaze to the sexy mancake. “Her name is Tammy. She has been your weekly pen pal for the last two years. You fell deeply in love with her while working as a shirtless firefighter on the beach planet of Pectoria, which left you disabled and raising an adopted son as a single dad on a paltry salary as a nude art model. The mother was your best friend and platonic dance partner. She was killed in a tragic accident while saving a puppy, which left you deathly afraid of dancing, puppies, and dancing puppies. Tammy claims to be a high-powered executive who struggles to maintain a work-life balance, but finds solace in writing provocative poetry under a solitary pen name. You have no idea what she looks like. You have never spoken to her. But, you are captivated by her prose and have gifted her your unconditional adoration. You believe her to be your soul mate. Oh, and there’s something about a notebook. The end.”

Max thought for a moment, then nodded. “She sounds hot.”

Ross rolled his eyes. “Anyway, today is when you finally meet. And you’d better get a move on, she’ll be at the lobby bar in half an hour.”

Max whipped a baffled gaze around the meadow, releasing more twinkle sparkles. “The meadow has a lobby?”

Ross narrowed his gaze. “Where do you think you are right now?”

“In a meadow.”

“This is a pleasure cruiser, nimrod. You’re on a love boat in space.”

“In a meadow?”

Ross neighed and bowed his head with frustration. “Suite 137, default setting.”

The meadow pinged and fizzled out of existence, leaving them to the sleek confines of a spacious executive suite. The lavish interior was overflowing with the ornate decor of a royal palace. Plush furniture, gold-plated everything, and a giant bed layered with pelt-like blankets. Max glanced around the swanky pad with mouth agape.

“Holy schmeckles,” he said. “This place must’ve cost a fortune.”

“It did,” Ross said. “You depleted your life savings to reserve this cabin for the week. Hope the nookie is worth it because you’re broke as hell now.”

Max deflated a bit. “Romance is a powerful drug, eh?”

“A cure-all for logic, that’s for sure. But not to worry, chances are that you’re a secret prince who will inherit immense wealth after fulfilling some arbitrary milestone.”

“What kind of milestone?”

Ross shrugged. “True love’s first diddle? Fuck if I know.”

Max sneered in reply. “Thanks, Garfield.”

Ross cocked an ear. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Wait, why are you still a horse?”

“Huh?”

“The room reset. Why are you still a horse?”

“Because I’m a goddamn horse.”

“And they let horses onto pleasure cruisers?”

Ross tilted his head. “Why wouldn’t they?”

Max thought of a hundred reasons, which he clearly conveyed with a blank stare.

“I’m a noble steed, bound to your hotness. You ride me into situations that require bouncing pecs or slow motion.”

“Oh.”

“And on that note, why aren’t you getting ready?”

“Ah, yes, okay.”

Max spun around the cabin on the hunt for a dresser, suitcase, anything with the promise of clothing. Each twirl released a fresh cloud of twinkle sparkles, which had started to grate on his nerves. He ventured into a bathroom that was larger and more luxurious than most bedrooms he had ever seen. “Whoa,” he said in a pitch-perfect surfer voice.

And then he caught his reflection in the mirror.

As if drawn by pure enchantment, he floated towards the glass to bask in his unbearable studliness. Chiseled jaw, high cheeks, plump kissable lips, and a set of immaculate eyebrows plucked to perfection. A glorious mane of silky brown hair with blonde highlights flowed down to a pair of stout shoulders. His upper body was flawless to an absurd degree, as if carved out of marble by the gods of fornication. He reached for the glass with a cautious hand, like a monkey with a funhouse mirror.

“Is it possible to be too sexy? I mean, c’mon, have you seen these abs? It looks like I’m smuggling cereal bowls. I bet I could—”

“Get ready goddamnit!” Ross said as he shot his head into the bathroom.

Max flinched out some half-sparkles. “Yes! On it.”

He rummaged through a satchel that housed a plethora of hyper-specific grooming utensils. After a short and vexing search, he abandoned them all in favor of the suite-provided comb. A nearby suitcase contained several sets of thin white shirts and black leather pants. He grabbed a few and examined the material. “What am I, a pirate? Who wears this stuff?”

“You do, wanker,” Ross said from the doorway. “Standard issue hunk attire, now put it on so we can get outta here.”

Max grimaced as he slipped into a set of skintight pants that left little to the imagination. A wispy white shirt and black leather boots completed the outfit, a dreamboat portrait that begged for baby oil and a wind machine.

Ross nodded with approval. “Good, now let’s go.” The horse backed out of the bathroom, then spun and trotted towards the entry. “Suite 137, open front door.”

The door pinged and slid open, revealing a bustling atrium and an orange alien female with a furious glare. Her choppy black hair, bold makeup, and sleek jumpsuit gave her a miscreant vibe, like a hacker babe yanked from a steampunk metropolis. She leaned on the doorframe with both hands and buried a malicious gaze into the steed.

“Where is he?” she said with a graveled voice.

Ross, now with widened eyes and puckered lips, stepped aside with no intent of interfering. His hooves tapped the tile floor with the soft silence of a ballerina. The lady sauntered inside just as Max emerged from the bathroom. They met gazes, which stopped Max in his tracks and drew a toothy smile across his face.

“Zoey!” he said with open arms.

“You have a lot of nerve coming here,” she said on approach. Zoey stomped up to the beefy human and got right into his face, forcing him to backtrack a bit. “Tammy is mine, you asshole.” She jammed her finger into his chest, prodding each syllable.

Max shifted his eyes with hands in the air. “Uuuuh ...”

“Have you no shame? Do you not know what we went through?”

“Um ... what did you—”

“No!” Ross said in his best dramatic movie voice.

“—go through?”

Ross hoof-palmed himself.

Zoey withdrew her finger and strutted around the space for theatrical effect. “Tammy and I met as teenagers at Camp Adolescence where we served as counselors for troubled kids. It was love at first sight, her sumptuous breasts spilling from her taut uniform. My hungry eyes plunged into her misty cleavage like a cliff diver. She caught my gaze, but did not recoil, for she knew that we would dance at dusk. Our first rendezvous was a violent eruption of pleasure under a moonlit sky. She made me a woman that night, and expanded that sensuous reality every night thereafter. For three full months, my tongue endured a more exhaustive workout than any other muscle in my ravenous body. I returned home in a state of euphoria, for I had climbed to the top of the mountain and screamed at the summit. We nursed a long-distance relationship for a time, but the gap was too painful to bear. With sorrow as my co-pilot, I ended our accord with a curt yet shameful text. It was the single most devastating mistake of my life, one that has plagued my very existence ever since. And now, I intend to remedy that mistake.” Zoey clenched her fist and struck a resolute pose in the middle of the room.

“Cool,” Max said with zero emotional weight.

“Okay then,” Ross said. “So if we’re done with the obligatory love triangle, can we shake hands and mosey to the bar?”

“Love triangle?” said a mystery voice. All three turned to the front door as Perra sauntered into the room. Her creamy orange skin, taut pigtails, and skintight dominatrix garb fit right into the weirdness of the predicament. “I think you mean, love quadrangle.”

“Oh hey,” Max said, adding a polite wave.

“Tammy was my college roommate,” Perra said with a breathy voice. “She liberated my carnal desires from beneath the flompball bleachers. My piercing wails of passionate passion caused the boofbarker to drop the—”

“Nay!” Ross stomped his hoof, startling the group. “No more convoluted tales with sexual overkill. We got somewhere to be and here ain’t it.”

Perra crossed her arms and glared at the horse. “You think I’m gonna let you steal Tammy away from me that easily?”

“Wait,” Max said as he pointed between the two ladies. “Aren’t you two together?”

“Yeah,” Zoey said. “What of it?”

Max grunted as his brain sputtered for an answer. “So this is a, um ... love duo quadrangle? Which I guess would technically make it a triangle, but with a separate partnership acting as one of the corners. But if you’re both competing, I suppose it would be a threesome in a foursome of potential twosomes. Or something.”

Zoey and Perra shrugged in unison.

“Sweet Tim almighty,” Ross said, then poked his head out the front door. “Anyone else out here in love with Tammy?”

“I am!” said a voice from afar.

“Piss off, Carl! You’re a horse!”

“Don’t judge my undying love, bro!”

Ross groaned with aggravation, then glanced back to the group. “Wrap this shit up and meet me in the lobby. I gotta see a horse about a woman.” He trotted into the atrium and kick-slammed the door shut.

An awkward silence infected the suite. Zoey wandered the chamber with hands at her waist, taking stock of the elaborate interior. Perra followed her lead, but in the opposite direction. Max stood in the center and studied the strange alien rug beneath his feet. The vivid pattern conjured images of a psychedelic zebra moose. Zoey settled into a chic chair and crossed her legs like a smarmy villain. Perra brushed her fingertips over the rear of a plush couch, then leaned forward and pressed both fists into the fabric. The ladies glared at Max from either side, but he failed to notice. He just gawked at the rug with wide-eyed fascination.

“So what’s the play?” Zoey said.

Max jerked out of his trance, shedding more twinkle sparkles. He waved them away like pesky flies, then gestured to Zoey. “No idea.”

“Looks like you spent a lot to be here,” Perra said.

“My life savings, apparently.”

“You don’t know?”

“It’s a long story.”

The ladies traded confused glances.

“Be that as it may,” Zoey said, “cost does not grant you dibs. This needs to be settled before we step out the door.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Perra said with a duh tone.

“Those are the rules,” Zoey said.

“To what?”

“To l’amour.”

Max snort-chuckled. “Quel fromage.”

“Okay, smart guy,” Perra said. “How would you handle this?”

Max shrugged. “Rock, paper, scissors for all I care.”

“So we choose between the weapons and battle to the death?” Zoey said.

“No, jeez, you don’t—”

“Paper would seem like an inferior option,” Perra said.

“Okay stop,” Max said, raising both arms. “Let’s cool the loins and look at this rationally. We’re leaving one key element out of this equation. Any guesses?”

“Graphic sex?” Zoey said.

Max pointed at her. “I like your thinking, but no.”

“Graphic sex sounds right,” Perra said with an assured nod.

“No, I just said—” Max facepalmed a sparkle from his scalp. “Tammy. The missing key is Tammy. We just rock down to the bar and let her decide. Easy breezy, fair and squeezy.”

Zoey paused for thought, then nodded at Perra.

Perra shifted her lips, then nodded at Max.

“Great,” he said with a snap and clap. “Let’s roll.”

Max twirled around, rained some twinkle sparkles, then moseyed to the front door and thumped it open. Zoey and Perra sneered at the husky human as they exited the suite, but Max didn’t react. The gravity of the situation had peaked at mild curiosity, so he slapped the door shut and leapt into a whistling strut.

The trio marched through the atrium like a superhero ensemble. Zoey and Perra remained focused on their competing destinies while Max rubbernecked the room. The multilevel plaza radiated opulence, from marble statues to gaudy fountains. Tuxedo-clad waiters floated through the space with trays of exotic drinks. Glitzy hostesses in shimmering gowns escorted patrons to various parts of the complex. Aliens of all shapes and sizes were dressed in their seductive best, some more obvious than others. A palpable eroticism oozed from every crevice.

They entered a receiving lobby where an eager concierge directed them to a bar around the corner. The roar of activity faded into the quiet dignity of a cognac lounge. Ross was standing just inside, scanning the interior with a puzzled expression.

The trio strolled to a stop beside him.

“So what’s the dealio?” Max said.

“Take a gander and tell me if you notice anything,” Ross said.

They glanced around a space bursting with grandeur, but lacking any sense of relish. Every patron seemed locked inside a cocoon of sorrow. They stared into their drinks, quiet and dejected as if a loved one had just passed.

“Not much pleasure on this pleasure cruise,” Zoey said.

“Exactly,” Ross said. “Tammy said to look for a red dress at the bar. I see a red dress, but it ain’t parked on a stool.”

The horse nodded towards the rear, where a dozen barstools surrounded a crescent of dark wood. Rows of expensive liquors lined the wall behind it. Tending the space was a gorgeous brunette wrapped in a red gown. She surveyed the den while polishing a snifter glass with a disarming calm. Her long flowing hair, haunting green eyes, and bright red lipstick created a siren-like presence. This was her realm and she wielded it like a weapon.

She winked at the crew and motioned them over.

Max heeded the call without question and sauntered towards the sultry vixen. Zoey, Perra, and Ross followed close behind while wearing some obvious concern. Max swaggered up to the bar with the brash confidence of a rock star. He spread his arms across the surface, returned the wink, then whipped up some twinkle sparkles for good measure.

She smirked at the effort, conveying equal parts pity and charm.

“Hello, my sweet Tammy,” Max said.

The lady snickered in response.

“That’s not Tammy,” Perra said.

Max stuttered, then turned to Zoey.

Zoey shook her head.

Max turned to the horse.

Ross cocked an eyebrow. “What, like I’m a horse in this race?”

The lady ducked behind the bar and retrieved a black file box. She flipped the lid, rummaged through the contents, and retrieved a bundle of postcards. “Name?”

“Uh ... Max.”

She flipped through the stack, found the card in question, then placed it on the counter with an unopened bottle of whiskey. “On the house,” she said with a sharp smile, then secured the box and veered her attention elsewhere.

The group held its collective breath as Max lowered his eyes to the card. He lifted it from the counter, exhaled a weighted breath, and began to read it aloud.

My dearest Max,

The room is nonrefundable. Thank you for the commission.

Tammy, Go 4 Love Travel Agent

After a long and anxious pause, Max burst into uproarious laughter. Everyone inside the lounge turned to the commotion. Ross shifted his eyes with notable fluster while Zoey and Perra struggled to grasp the reveal. Max slapped the countertop with every bark and wheeze.

“Holy mother of pancakes,” he said between gasps. “This version of me is gonna be so pissed when he wakes up.” Max tossed the card into the air, snatched the bottle of whiskey, then twirled for the exit and showered some twinkle sparkles. “I’ll be in the meadow if anyone needs me.”

Zoey caught the card and crumpled it into a ball of hate.

Perra bowed her head and released a quiet whimper.

An awkward silence returned to the group.

But it didn’t last long.

“Hey,” Ross said. “Wanna get drunk with a sparkle pirate?”

“Yes,” Perra said with a slow nod. “Yes I do.”

“Ditto,” Zoey said, then tossed the wad over the counter.

They turned for the exit and trotted to catch up with Max.

MAX AND THE MULTIVERSE

Book One, Chapter One

Max stared at a dingy basement wall, tracing the grout lines of bare cinder blocks. He stood motionless in the center of the room, silent and waiting. Nostrils flared as they recycled the stale air. Fingernails scraped on tattered jeans. A pair of dim lamps painted haunting shadows on a cracked ceiling. His eyes shifted towards every faint sound. A thump here, a muffle there, followed by footsteps. Loud clomps overhead, then down the hall, then nothing. Silence ensnared the room. A door slammed. A car started soon after and faded into the distance. Max closed his eyes, took a measured breath, then scared the crap out of his cat by shouting “Spring break!”

Max’s parents had departed for Hawaii, leaving him to fend for himself in the dusty suburbs of Albuquerque, New Mexico. Not that he minded. As an only child with social anxieties and a crippling fear of the outdoors, he welcomed a quiet week in a dank basement. He enjoyed it, preferred it even. Spring break to most teens meant travel to exotic locales, or at the very least, anywhere but home. Max had no interest in such things. Spring break to him meant one thing: gaming, lots and lots of gaming, an endless romp of caffeinated carnage without curfews or prying parents.

And so, it began.

His closest friends inhabited pixels on a computer, the avatars of fleshy cohorts all around the world. They escaped their real-life dungeons by slaughtering monsters in virtual ones. It gave them a sense of pride and accomplishment, all while dismantling their basic social faculties. Two days into an epic bender, Max’s cat found him facedown and drooling on a rather expensive keyboard.

“Oi, Max. Time to get up.”

“Huh?” Max stirred at his desk.

“Arise, you lazy sod. I’m hungry.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll—wait, what?”

Max opened his eyes to find a chubby orange tabby with green eyes and puffy jowls sitting on the desk beside him, part one of a reliable morning routine. However, the usual crop of impatient meows had been replaced by the King’s English, complete with a disarming British accent.

“Morning,” Ross said.

Max yelped and flung himself backwards, tumbling out of the chair. His body thumped the cold tile floor and rolled to a rest against the couch. The chair clanked and clattered before landing on its side. Max whipped a frightened gaze to an apathetic feline.

“That looked painful,” Ross said.

Max flinched.

Ross raised an eyebrow while maintaining a ninja-like stillness, conveying the least possible amount of concern. “You okay there, mate?”

“You can talk. You’re talking.”

“Yeah, so?”

“But how? You don’t, um, I mean ...” Max’s sputtering mind sifted through a deluge of questions before settling on the most impractical one. “Do all cats talk?”

“What, do you mean figuratively?”

Max started to respond, then stopped, then started and stopped again. His brain and mouth refused to cooperate, sounding like a faulty video stream.

“Ooookay then, moving on. You’re awake. I’m hungry. Get off the damn floor, get your head on straight, and meet me in the kitchen.” Ross dropped from the desk and trotted towards the stairs.

Max shook his head and blinked several times, trying to offload the hallucination. He untangled himself and leaned back against the couch. After a scowl and shoulder roll, he pressed a finger to his neck to check his pulse, explaining a grand total of nothing.

An annoyed Ross peeked around the stairwell. “Are you coming or not?”

Max flinched again and covered his heart. “Jeez, give me a minute.”

“That’s another minute I have to abide an empty belly, now get a move on. By the way, the litter pan is full and I deuced in the bathtub. You might want to address that after you tend to my nutritional needs.”

Max responded with a contorted gaze.

Ross huffed and scampered up the stairs.

Max slapped himself across the cheek, winced in pain, and immediately regretted the decision. Climbing to his feet, he glanced over to a morning sunbeam peeking through a small port window, then grimaced like an albino cave troll. Designed as a mother-in-law suite, the basement featured a bathroom, kitchenette, and external entry, allowing Max to come and go as he pleased, not that it mattered much. His real-world obligations peaked at school and the occasional girlfriend, so he preferred to stay put, content to explore his virtual worlds under a veil of darkness.

He spent most of his time in a living room of sorts, in the sense that it housed the evidence of something living. Apart from an extravagant gaming system, furnishings amounted to little more than a squatter’s paradise. A ratty couch and rickety table served as bedroom and dining room. Corners and cubbies seemed hell-bent on expanding an impressive collection of dust bunnies. A pair of particleboard bookcases with opposing veneers gave a firm middle finger to interior design. An assortment of comic books, computer manuals, and gadget boxes completed the portrait of a standard nerd cave.

Max climbed the stairs like a half-naked camp counselor in a horror movie. He paused at the top and peered around the doorframe, scanning the hallway through widened eyes. Everything seemed in order, down to the forced smiles of family pictures along the walls. He tiptoed down the hall, pausing to examine each passing room. When he arrived at the end, he poked his head into a sage green kitchen where hanging pots reflected the morning sunlight. Ross stood in the center of the room with an expectant gaze.

Max froze and gawked at the feline.

Ross sighed. “Um, food? Sometime around now would be nice.”

Max stiffened his posture and crept towards the pantry while maintaining eye contact.

Ross tilted his head. “You’re starting to weird me out a bit.”

Max filled a bowl with cat food, lowered it to the floor, and slid it over to Ross.

“Thanks, mate. And for the record, that was way more than a minute.” Ross plunked his face into the bowl, spilling bits of kibble onto the floor.

Max backed away slowly like a vegan at a hog roast. He turned to the sink, cranked the faucet, and splashed his face with cold water. Droplets fell from his dangling jaw as he gazed out the window at nothing in particular. After a brief mental reboot, his attention shifted to the coffee maker, the lifeblood of any true gamer. He fixed a pot, filled his favorite mug, and lowered himself to the kitchen table. Sip after sip, he studied his furry friend while fretting over mental health and conversation etiquette. Small talk proved vexing with other humans, let alone with a cognizant pet. Convinced he was dreaming, or perhaps the target of an elaborate prank, Max decided to test the waters with a civil exchange.

“So, um, any plans for the day?”

Ross halted mid-chew and lifted an irked face from the bowl. “What, besides eating?” he said through a mouthful of kibble.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Why?” Ross narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t know, just curious.”

“Okay. I’ll play your little mind game.”

“It’s not a game. I’m just making conversation.”

“Life is a never-ending game of attrition. Our wits, swords. Our composure, shields.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Jeez, dude. It’s a simple, harmless, superficial question. I don’t need a Shakespearian response.”

“Fine.” Ross thought for a moment while crunching. “I haven’t thought much past this bowl, to be honest. Napping will be a high priority, on a variety of precarious surfaces. Might take in a window viewing or chase some sunbeams. May freak the hell out for no apparent reason, that’s always fun.” He ruffled his brow. “Why? Is there anything I should know about?”

“Nothing comes to mind. Why are you so suspicious?”

“That trollop of a girlfriend isn’t coming over, is she?”

“Who, Megan?”

“No, Miley Cyrus. Who the bloody hell do you think I mean?”

“No need to be a dick about it. What’s wrong with her coming over?”

“Well, duh, she’s an insufferable twit.”

“Wow.” Max cringed. “That’s a bit harsh. I thought you liked her.”

“What? When did I ever give you that impression?”

“So you don’t like her?”

Ross huffed and glanced away for a moment. “You are one dense wanker, you know that? How many times do we need to have this conversation?”

Max started to respond, but sighed instead.

“She’s a canine sympathizer, Max. She consistently reeks of wet dog and utterly fails to grasp the concept of an inside voice. I have choked down her prattle for long enough. Let it be known that I am very close to a rash retaliation.”

“Please don’t. She’s a good person.”

“Seriously, the next time I see that dimwitted bint, I’m going to vomit in her shoes.”

“Fine, no Megan today.” Max groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Jeez, it’s like living with a douchebag Garfield.”

“That’s racist.” Ross cocked his ears back.

“What? How is that— You’re both—” Max paused for a brain buffer. He shook his head, took another sip of coffee, then stood from the table. “I’m going out to get the mail.”

Ross replied with a stink eye, then plunked his face back into the bowl.

Max shuffled to the front door, unlatched it with a limp hand, and greeted an onslaught of New Mexican sunlight. The heat needled his pale skin as he lumbered towards the street with an arm raised overhead. He grabbed a handful of letters from the mailbox, sifted through a pile of mostly junk, then turned for the house.

“Maximus!” said a voice from below.

“Sweet mother of pancakes!” Max convulsed the letters out of his hands.

“Sorry mate, didn’t mean to wonk you,” the voice said, also in a British accent.

Max palmed his heaving chest. He glanced down to find the cheerful face of Gerald, the neighbor’s cat, a dirty brown tabby with blue eyes and an obvious weight problem.

“You got any more of those salmon treats? I could really go for some.”

“Shut up, minger,” Ross said from an open windowsill. “You need treats like a Max needs a third willy.”

Gerald scrunched his brow. “You have two knobs?”

“No, of course not,” Max said, then glared at Ross.

Gerald perked. “My uncle had one eye, three legs, and talked like a pirate. True story. Strange lad, that one.”

Ross snorted with amusement.

Max gathered the letters from the ground and stomped towards the front door with Gerald prancing behind.

“About those trea—” Gerald said as the door slammed in his face.

Max tossed the mail onto the counter, scowled at Ross, then flopped back into his chair.

Ross snickered and returned to his food bowl.

Max leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. Troubled eyes stared at the surface as he nodded with the steady cadence of a metronome. Fluttering breaths fled his lungs with every sip of coffee. Teeth chattered behind taut lips, filling his mind with a grim melody. After a long spell of nervous contemplation, he dropped his forehead to the table with a loud thump.

Ross jerked away from the bowl with cocked ears and a poofed tail. “What the hell, man?”

“I’m crazy, I’m crazy, I’m crazy,” Max said from beneath an arm fort.

“What do you mean crazy?”

Max lifted his head and heaved with a mounting panic attack, his unhinged gaze darting around the room. “I’ve gone insane. My cat is talking to me. My damn cat, and as Nigel Puffbottom no less.” Writhing and panting, he closed his eyes and tucked his arms to regain some composure. “I must be dreaming, or sleepwalking, or something. My brain has lost its footing and I’m just imagining cats talking to me. That’s all. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Brains can’t have a footing,” Ross said with a flat tone.

Max huffed and opened his eyes. “You can be a real jerk, you know that? Or not, who knows, it’s all in my head.”

“So, you don’t think I’m talking right now?”

“Of course not, cats don’t talk.”

Ross uncocked his ears and pondered the declaration. He pranced over to the nearest chair, bounded up to the table, and settled in front of Max. After a brief silence, he turned towards the window. “Oi, Gerald!”

Gerald’s head popped up from beneath the windowsill. “All right, Ross?”

“Get this, Max says that cats don’t talk.”

“What, does he mean figuratively?”

“No, he says not at all.”

“Well that’s interesting because we’re having a lovely conversation.”

“Exactly my point.”

“That doesn’t prove a damn thing,” Max said through a double facepalm.

“Wow, what’s his damage today?” Gerald said to Ross.

“Don’t know, trying to figure that out.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then. Best of luck.”

“Cheers, Gerald.”

Gerald ducked away as Ross returned his gaze.

Max glared at him through a finger fence.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m trying to help you.”

“Help me?” Max slapped his hands on the table. “How on Earth is that helping?”

“Fine, my apologies. Truce.” Ross bowed his head for a moment, then lifted onto his hind legs. He cleared his throat and dropped his voice to a smooth baritone. “The truth is ... you are the chosen one.”

Max scrunched his brow. “Huh? What the hell are you talking about?”

“While I appreciate my given name of Rosco P. Coltrane on this planet, my real name is Reginald Sarcoga, first son of Hackamore. I hail from an ancient order of supreme beings that occupied the Zynfall Galaxy of Hamonrye. We settled upon your planet long ago and assumed the feline form to aid in our divine quest. I have spent my entire life looking for you. Today, we present ourselves to Your Grace. You are the one the prophecies foretold. You are the fabled Shifter, The Light, the vessel that will unite all universes under an infinite era of peace.” Ross placed his paw on top of Max’s hand. “It is time to fulfill your destiny, star child.”

Max donned the bewildered expression of a preteen boy seeing his first pair of boobs. An eyelid twitched for good measure as his brain processed the reveal. With a renewed vitality, he locked eyes with a stoic Ross. “I knew it. I knew there was something bigger going on here. I have always felt the draw of some higher purpose.”

“I am so pulling your leg right now.” Ross smirked and removed his paw.

Max drooped with the sting of embarrassment. “You’re such an asshole.” He closed his eyes and thumped his head back onto the table.

“Gerald!” Ross said to the open window.

“Wotcha?” Gerald said as he popped his head up.

“I told him he was a star child with a destiny.”

“Oh, that’s cheeky. How’d he take it?”

“Not well. He keeps banging his head on the table.”

“Won’t that churn his noggin?”

“Can’t break what’s already broke.”

“Brilliant, carry on then.”

Max stood in a hurry, flinging his chair halfway across the kitchen. He rushed over to the window where a smiling Gerald perked with attention.

“So how about those trea—” Gerald said as the window slammed shut, muffling his voice behind the glass. “Right, shall I just bugger off then?”

Max ignored him, dropped the shade, and returned to the kitchen. He swiped the mug from the table and snapped at Ross. “You proud of yourself?”

“A touch, yeah.”

Max downed a final swig before grabbing the pot for a refill. He sighed with defeat, then leaned back on the counter and stared at the floor. “So that’s it, then. I’m nuttier than a squirrel turd.”

“Yeah, you’re probably schizophrenic or something.”

Max sneered at Ross. “Thanks, you’re so helpful.”

“Oh c’mon mate, lighten up. Most people slog through life without ever knowing the wonders of true insanity. I say enjoy the pink elephants while you got ‘em.”

“Well, that’s one terrible way to look at it.”

Max spent the rest of the day coping like a normal teen, by avoiding the problem and turning to gaming. He battled digital demons while trying to ignore the color commentary of a sentient feline. Though unnerving, he did learn a great deal about life as a house cat. He learned that laser pointers were the purest of evils, that sunbeams healed every possible ailment, and that squirrels were a bunch of frolicking asshats that needed to be taught a lesson.

* * *

In another universe, about three and a half billion to the left, a small freighter ship exited hyperspace just outside of Neptune’s orbit. As little more than a flying dumpster, the ship was not winning any beauty pageants. Its clunky hull appeared more mangled than designed, leaving one to suspect that its architect loved booze and Legos. A charcoal gray exterior with numerous dents and rust stains conveyed an impressive amount of disregard. The deep blue glow of its twin rear engines created a drab silhouette, like a bloated bat crossing a moonlit sky.

Apart from a standard registry code engraved in white lettering, the mundane craft carried no markings or obvious identifications, a calculated necessity for the crew. Its banal presence concealed a sophisticated collection of technology, including a military-grade frame, enhanced jump drive, and several pieces of plasma weaponry. To an average passerby, the ship read as little more than a poor drifter shuttle. After all, members of the PCDS (Precious Cargo Delivery Service) needed to guard their inconspicuousness above all else.

The sleek cockpit gleamed with an array of touch-based circuitry. A double-crescent control panel pinged with scans and alerts. Blinking blues and pulsing purples outlined the freighter’s commander in the pilot seat, a shrewd Mulgawat by the name of Zoey Bryx. Most knew her by an ominous nickname: The Omen, earned for her distinct reputation as one of the most ruthless and efficient PCDS couriers to have ever lived.

When Zoey accepted a job, it came with an unwavering promise: If I’m not on time, you can assume I’m dead. Despite her young age, a twentysomething by Earth years, she won tremendous fame through an unrivaled dependability. As a result, she often found herself entrusted with some of the most extraordinary artifacts in all of existence, current cargo included. Nothing explicit, just a small plastic box with an address and the following instructions: Handle with care, the great bag of marbles depends on it. It rested inside a bio-lock safe at the rear of the cargo bay.

On their way to the Andromeda Galaxy, Zoey and her longtime girlfriend, a fellow Mulgawat and gifted machinist by the name of Perra Harbin, decided to make a pit stop at a boring yellow star. To anyone in the know, the destination was obvious. This particular star anchored a solar system famous for one of the universe’s most delectable sources of water: a small icy moon named Europa orbiting a massive gas giant named Jupiter. Those fortunate enough to sample Europan water, harvested from enormous freshwater oceans far beneath its surface, often described it as a transcendent experience akin to licking a firetooth sandworm.

Zoey narrowed her deep blue eyes as she scanned the panoramic viewport. She slipped off her worn leather jacket and draped it across the back of the pilot seat, leaving her to the comfort of a thin tank top and cargo pants. A few taps of the control panel produced a green hologram of the current solar system, brightening her sunburst orange complexion and dark blue lips. A small cursor blinked at the outer orbit, signifying their current location. She brushed her choppy black hair aside and tapped the pulsing icon. The hologram pinged in response and zoomed into Neptune’s orbital path. She nodded and input a course correction. The ship pitched downward, lifting a massive blue horizon into view. A smile stretched across her face as Neptune’s cobalt sheen engulfed the cabin.

“Perra sweetie, we’re here!”

A squeal of delight echoed from the cargo bay as Perra darted up a narrow corridor towards the cabin. The studded straps and tarnished buckles of her machinist pants clanked along the metal walls. She emerged with a toothy smile and peered out the viewport. Her creamy orange hand pressed against the console as she leaned forward. A series of error pings rang around the cabin, prompting Zoey to fumble for corrections.

“Ugh, watch what you’re doing,” Zoey said.

“Sorry,” Perra said. “I’m just so excited to see it.” She stepped back from the panel and wiped her grimy hands on a simple halter top.

Zoey nabbed the back of Perra’s neck and pulled down, planting a kiss on her buttery orange cheek. Perra’s long auburn ponytail brushed Zoey’s shoulders, tickling the thin blue scales running down her upper arms. Perra snickered and plopped into the co-pilot chair.

“I’m excited too, my love,” Zoey said.

“So where is it?” Widened eyes scanned the vista, her deep purple irises floating in pools of white. “That doesn’t look like Jupiter at all. At least, not what I remember from the coms.”

“We’re not there-there yet, just here.” Zoey pointed at the hologram. “We’re at the edge of the planetary system. This is a controlled area, so we can’t jump in directly. We have to taxi in from outer orbit.”

Perra huffed. “That means we still have a few pochs left to travel.”

“That’s nothing, we’ll be there before you know it. Let’s see ...” Zoey tapped across the console, highlighting some basic system info. “Okay, we have a yellow dwarf star with eight planets, four rocky, four gaseous. Jupiter is fifth from the star, first gas giant. We’re just outside the eighth’s orbit. That’s Neptune.” She pointed at the giant blue planet filling the viewport. “Taxi speed is set at 10 gamuts a mark, putting Jupiter at about 3,000 marks away. See? Not even a full poch. Plenty of time to relax and load up some languages.”

Perra sighed. “Okay, fine. Let’s just hope it’s nothing too complicated.”

Zoey and Perra were not speaking an Earth dialect when they arrived. As citizens of Mulgawat, a small planet in the Ursa Major Group, they spoke Korish as their native tongue. To human ears, a Korish conversation sounded like a couple of sleep-deprived frogs getting stabbed in the throat. When entering any new system with dominant forms of language, it was customary to install the major dialects before docking at a station.

Perra reached into a side compartment and withdrew a cylindrical device, silver in color with a simple control pad. She plugged it into the console, spawning a hologram panel of diction data. “Looks like we have three. Chinese, Spanish, and English.” A quick swipe loaded the infuser. She plucked it from the dock, placed the business end to her temple, then pressed a red button at the other end. A whir, zot, and ping signaled a successful installation. She shivered away a chill, then handed the device to Zoey.

“Only three? Nice.” Zoey repeated the process.

Now they were speaking English, the most comfortable of the three. Chinese felt too weird on the face and Spanish sounded too damn sexy to take seriously.

“So, just under a poch, eh?” Perra stood from her seat, slid her hands across Zoey’s chest, and whispered into her ear. “That does give us plenty of time to ... relax.”

Zoey smirked. She confirmed the trajectory, engaged the autopilot, and lifted to her feet. A wandering finger hooked Perra’s belt and yanked her into a steamy embrace. Wet lips and muffled moans broke the dull hum of the main engines. Perra pulled away and motioned down the corridor with a subtle gesture. Zoey bit her lip and nodded, allowing Perra to back down the passage with her lover in tow. Hungering for each other, they disappeared into the bedchamber.

Continue reading:

Max and the Multiverse

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Zachry Wheeler is an award-winning science fiction novelist, screenwriter, and coffee slayer. He enjoys English football, stand-up comedy, and is known to lurk around museums and brewpubs.

Learn more at ZachryWheeler.com

ADDITIONAL WORKS

Immortal Wake Series

Transient

Thursday Midnight

The Mortal Vestige

Max and the Multiverse Series

Max and the Multiverse

Max and the Snoodlecock

Max and the Banjo Ferret

Max and the Multiverse Shorts

The Item of Monumental Importance

Nibblenom Deathtrap

Sparkle Pirate

Hiss Bot Hank

Box Sets

Immortal Wake

Max and the Multiverse

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