Hiss Bot Hank

Max and the Multiverse Shorts, Volume 4

Zachry Wheeler

Published by Mayhematic Press, 2020.

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: 978-1-954153-00-4

Print: 978-0-9982049-9-4

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.

HISS BOT HANK

a Max and the Multiverse short

Max awoke with a throbbing headache ... again. He groaned into a pout, as this particular rouse grated on his nerves. When you greet a new reality every time you wake, a certain amount of strangeness is expected. But dammit all to Tim, head traumas always signaled a troublesome day. Part of him wanted to bash his skull on the nearest rock and reset the clock, maybe roll the dice on a fluffy mattress inside an alien brothel.

But, whatever.

Time to face the terrible music.

First order of business was to massage his aching noggin. He reached up to rub his temples, but the reach itself was wholly ineffective. After all, a lack of arms tends to make rubbing rather challenging. He glanced down to a long and scaly body lying on its back. The bright yellow belly was six feet long, slightly more than his usual height, and remarkably thinner. Broad scales covered his meat from head to tail, ending with a series of rigid segments. He shook them, prompting a brief rattle.

Max groaned again, then dropped his head back into the dirt. “A snake? Really?” His eyes narrowed. “And one who can speak.” His annoyance morphed into wide-eyed curiosity. “Well that’s interesting.”

The act of talking proved rather cumbersome, mostly due to the forked tongue that seemed determined to flicker every few seconds. Max stuck it out as far as he could and curled it up for inspection. A gentle breeze washed over the tips, which he could taste in surprising detail. Smoke, char, hints of barbeque. The tongue blurred as his eyes refocused on the sky above, a lovely shade of purple, but littered with black clouds and fiery explosions. Distant tremors echoed inside his tender head, much to his chagrin. Snakes are hard of hearing, but he could hear himself clearly, which conjured more questions.

Max rolled onto his belly to assess the situation. A quick glance behind him uncovered a diamond pattern along his back. He blinked, which startled him because snakes don’t have eyelids. More questions arose, but as per usual, most would go unanswered. Precarious shifts prioritized survival above all else, so fleeting thoughts of “huh, that’s weird” would remain exactly that. Nevertheless, he blinked his new surroundings into focus.

Turning to one side unveiled a wall of porous rock. A further pan placed him inside a craggy alcove. A long channel in the dirt led him to believe that he had skidded to his current position, perhaps by kick or throw. The alcove opened into a dusty valley where bolts of plasma zipped by and slammed into unseen targets. Random boulders served as cover, absorbing much of the assault. Unseen soldiers continued to trade fire. Max slithered forward for a closer look, but then a heavily armed mech bot stomped into view. Its tarnished exterior towered over the alcove, easily ten feet tall with an arm span to match. Plasma cannons littered its frame, each glowing with lethal ambition.

Max froze in place, hoping to remain unnoticed.

The mech panned its gaze with cannons outstretched, hunting for its next victim.

A plasma bolt streaked into the alcove and exploded over Max, showering him with pebbles and drawing a sharp yelp.

The mech whipped its gaze to Max, who yelped again. The bot squawked with acquisition and stomped towards the helpless serpent.

Max could only scream and slither in circles. What a way to go, he thought. A sentient snake crushed by an angry robot.

But death it would not be.

The mech disarmed its weapons and dropped to its knees in front of the snake. The impact bounced Max off the ground and filled the alcove with dust. When the haze cleared, the faceless robot had held out its hands. Not in threat, but with a gesture of aid, like a concerned mother trying to comfort a child.

Max had started rattling out of sheer instinct.

The mech inched closer and closer, palms open, posture warm and welcoming.

Max gawked at the metal monster. He was cornered into accepted his fate, whatever it may be. The rattling slowed to a stop, but the wide-eyed terror remained.

A panel opened on the mech’s chest, revealing a mysterious green glow. Max was instantly captivated, like a near-death victim drawn towards the light. His gaze softened and his neck craned forward, which the mech took as an invitation. It snatched the serpent from the dirt and stuffed it into the chest compartment. The panel slammed shut, leaving Max to scream inside the glowing box. Flashes of light greeted his arrival. Conduits hummed with activation. Tubes and wires began to wrap themselves around his body. Max yelped at every poke and prod, all of it frightening, but none of it painful. The episode peaked with Max’s head shooting out of a membrane that served as the mech’s neck.

A strange sensation crawled over his body.

Max turned inside the alcove.

The mech turned with him.

Max turned the other direction.

The mech turned with him.

Max could feel his arms and legs again. He was kneeling in the dirt and could sense the warm earth beneath him. Lifting his arms felt entirely natural. He studied the giant metal mitts, each plated and segmented like a war gauntlet. Out of sheer curiosity, he clenched a fist and punched the wall beside him. It exploded into a rain of pebbles, many of which vaporized when they hit the energy barrier that protected his head. Max could hear every pop as clear as day, better even, along with everything else around him. He raised his palms and stared at them, slack-jawed and mesmerized, like a superhero realizing his true potential.

“Welcome back, Master,” said a butler-like voice.

Max flinched. “Jarvis?”

“My initial scan shows a mild head trauma, possible loss of short-term memory. You were expelled from the suit after an explosion. I am Vic, your AI-OS.”

“M’kay. Nice to meet you, Vic.”

“A pleasure. The crew is still in battle. Shall we rejoin them?”

“Crew? Battle?”

“I figured the burning sky would have made that obvious.”

“You mean to tell me that Zoey, Perra, and Ross are out in that chaos?”

Vic paused before responding. “We do not use those names during missions.”

“What, our actual names?”

“You are part of an elite mercenary unit, code-named Slaughter Team Alpha Bravo. All relevant data, including names, are codified to protect the mission.”

“Slaughter Team Alph—jeez, even the acronym is obnoxious. So who am I in this bunch?”

“Hiss Bot Hank.”

Max snorted into laughter. “Holy hell, that’s brilliant. And Zoey?”

“Lady Boom Boom.”

More laughs. “Perra?”

“Duchess von Rampage.”

More laughs. “Ross?”

“Furminator Prime.”

Max palmed his metal chest and fell over into the dirt, executing a ROFL maneuver. Moments later, a dark shadow sailed overhead and landed with a thunderous crash outside of the alcove. The impact jolted Max to his feet. Vic rearmed the mech suit cannons. The barrels hummed with power, ready to release a torrent of plasma fire. When the dust cleared, Max met eyes with what could only be described as an armor-plated Snuffleupagus. Its long orange fur was caked with blood and muck. Max quickly realized that the blood belonged to something else. Probably a lot of something elses. A hairless trunk was cocked with savage intent, but when the beast locked eyes with Max, it instantly relaxed.

“Ah, Hank, there you are,” it said in Ross’s voice, complete with a baritone British accent.

Max ruffled his brow. “Ro—erm, Prime?”

“No, your mum.” Ross rolled his basketball-sized eyes. “You back in the fight or what?”

Max gaped at the brute in disbelief, despite being a snake-headed murder bot. “What in the actual f—”

“Vic, take point.”

The suit chirped and yanked Max into a sudden sprint, drawing another yelp. Max, now sans control of his own body, cycled through terrified expressions as the mech suit barreled through an open battlefield. It ducked, dodged, and dove its way to a large mound of rubble at the center. With cover secured, the suit poked itself over the mound, Max and all, and unleashed a barrage of hellfire. Bug-like creatures the size of city buses exploded en masse, raining their bright blue guts over the valley. Foot soldiers scattered to regroup behind a massive fortress at the far end of the field. The mech suit ducked behind the rubble and relinquished control back to Max, who proceeded to blow a hole in the ground next to his foot.

The suit chirped its displeasure.

A distant rumble grew louder and louder, stealing Max’s attention. His gaze whipped around to see a giant armored beast leap-slide to a halt behind the mound. The violent stop splashed dirt into Max’s face, causing him to wince and cough. Vic had apparently dropped the face shield for some petty payback.

“Great work, Vic,” Ross said as he scanned the valley.

The suit chirped, leaving Max to question his purpose for being there at all. He huffed and glanced away, prompting the suit to cross its arms and mope.

“Duchess!” Ross said to the open air.

A ghostly cyborg materialized behind them, holding a severed head in one hand and a comically large sword in the other. Her face was concealed by a mechanical mask that fed wires to a burnished breastplate, the living embodiment of a steampunk assassin. A pair of glowing red goggles wrapped around to a taut auburn ponytail. The entire ensemble dripped with fresh blood. She dropped the head to the ground and kicked it aside.

Max watched the blue-skinned cranium roll to a rest. Its four-eyed face was locked into a terrified expression, no doubt from staring into the glowing red eyes of death before leaving its body. Max cringed, then returned his gaze to Duchess-Perra, who was staring him down with emotionless severity.

“Hi,” Max said, which the suit accented with a subtle wave.

Perra nodded silently, then turned her attention to Ross. “Flanking general defeated,” she said in a robotic version of her familiar voice. “Next target.”

“The queen is inside the citadel,” Ross said, gesturing to the fortress ahead of them. The massive onyx structure rose from the earth at jagged angles, resembling a black lotus with sharp teeth and a bad attitude. Foot soldiers swarmed the ramparts surrounding it, creating a living wall of opposition. “We need to clear a path to the entrance. Where’s Boom Boom?”

As if on cue, an explosion echoed from afar. They all turned to find a giant fireball rising into the air. Shrapnel showered into the valley as a shockwave slammed into the rubble pile.

Ross grunted and shook it off.

Perra’s ponytail fluttered, but she otherwise didn’t move.

Max yelped and fell over again.

Vic sighed in mech-speak.

Moments later, a black-haired bushfighter galloped to a stop, rejoining the crew. Zoey wore a rugged bandoleer loaded with silver orbs. Camo pants and a frayed tank top shaped the image of a hardened commando. Streaks of war paint adorned her sunburnt cheeks. A pair of dark sunglasses reflected the glowing tip of a fat cigar. The contrast between her and Perra was striking. For once, they looked like different species.

“Battalion desecrated,” Zoey said in a low, graveled voice.

“Wow,” Max said with a chuckle. “You sound like Batman.”

She whipped her gaze to Max and snarled. “And you sound like a pathetic little asswipe with a kazoo for a windpipe.”

Max recoiled from the verbal strike.

Vic snickered in mech-speak.

“Settle down, soldiers,” Ross said. “We’ve got a queen to slay.”

“Let’s light ‘er up,” Zoey said and plucked an orb from her tunic.

“No,” Ross said. “There are thousands of grunts between her and us. We should construct a reckless plan of attack.”

“Agreed,” Perra said.

“Fine,” Zoey said.

“Thousands?” Max said with fearful hesitation.

Ross shrugged. “A little more than usual, but we can manage.”

Vic raised a robo arm and flicked Max in the temple, prompting some choice curses.

“Okay, listen up,” Ross said, using his hairless trunk to point around the group. “Boom Boom, kill everything that moves. Duchess, kill everything that moves. I will also kill everything that moves. Hank, use your Super Awesome Flailing Missile Attack to infiltrate the complex, and then kill everything that moves. We will regroup at the lair entrance. Got it?”

“Aye,” Perra said.

“Aye,” Zoey said.

“What the f—” Max said before Vic assumed control and yanked him into a sprint around the rubble pile. Max screamed as the mech suit raced towards the fortress.

The other three followed close behind as a torrent of plasma fire erupted from the ramparts. Countless bolts zipped by the group. Many slammed into the energy shield created by the mech suit, dispersing waves of white-hot charge. Max’s shrieking head saw fit to dodge each one, even though he was in no immediate danger. Without warning, Vic launched hundreds of tiny missiles from the suit. Exhaust trails tore through the purple sky as they screamed towards their targets. The missiles honed in on large groups and weak spots, resulting in a cascade of explosions that sent bricks and bodies flying. Black smoke lifted from gaping holes in the perimeter wall. The four mercenaries sprinted into the complex, broke away, and began their bloody massacres of everyone inside.

Furminator Prime released mighty roars as he stomped skulls and wrecked fools with his beefy trunk. Duchess von Rampage slipped into the shadows and sliced her way through countless alien necks. Lady Boom Boom plucked orb after orb from her tunic and hurled them at groups of soon-to-be-limbless enemies. Hiss Bot Hank continued to scream as his mech suit blasted attackers with waves of plasma fire.

Before long, a deathly silence fell upon the complex. Bolts and blasts faded into smoke and flame. Blood and guts oozed down the interior walls. Heads and limbs littered the ground. Three of the four mercs regrouped at the tower entrance. Max, Ross, and Zoey glared at the dark gate, each wearing guts of the fallen.

Max glanced around the grisly arena. “Where’s Duchess?”

As if summoned, she reappeared before the group with a giant severed head. She held it aloft like a well-earned trophy, gripping one of its horns while resting her bloodied sword on the opposite shoulder. The queen’s head was much larger than the soldiers she commanded, but carried the same horrified gaze of pre-decapitation. Perra dropped it into the dirt. It landed with a wet splat, prompting Ross and Zoey to relax their stances.

“Well that was anticlimactic,” Ross said, adding a sigh.

“Show off,” Zoey said.

Perra retained an emotionless, yet highly victorious stance.

“Alrighty then,” Ross said. “Only one thing left to do.”

“Wait, what?” Max said. “But we just killed the queen.”

Perra whipped her gaze to the snake mech, who took a wary step back.

“I mean, she killed the queen. We’re done, right? What else is there to do?”

“CWAFEE,” Zoey said.

“Ah, nice,” Max said. “I could use some coffee.”

“No, CWAFEE,” Perra said with a hard pronunciation.

“Casual Walk Away From an Epic Explosion,” Ross said. “Remember? We are bound by contract to complete every mission with a CWAFEE.”

Max stammered as his brain struggled to digest the statement. He twisted in a slow circle, hunting for a lick of sense. “Are we on a movie set or something?”

“No.”

“Are drones watching us?”

“No.”

“Do we have an audience?”

Ross glanced around the carnage. “Obviously not.”

“Then ... why?”

“Because it’s cool.”

Max started to respond, but his eyelid twitched instead. His puzzled gaze leapt between the crew, expecting someone to reveal the prank, but their stony faces refused to budge. Having no choice but to roll with the punches, he concluded with a sigh and shrug. “Well okay then.”

“Boom Boom,” Ross said. “Set the charges and meet us outside the barricade.”

“Aye,” Zoey said, then sauntered towards the gate.

“Let’s roll out,” Ross said in his best Prime voice.

The crew wandered through a sea of blood and guts while trading some casual banter. They strolled through a smoking gap in the front wall, then paused to wait for Zoey. Perra sat on a boulder and sharpened her blade. Ross parked his massive bum in the dirt and began to groom his paw. Max glanced around the bloodbath and smirked with success, not that he had earned any part of it. Vic, taking immediate offense, zapped his tail from the inside. Max yelped and cursed the mech suit. The rattle, it would seem, was especially sensitive.

Soon after, Zoey moseyed through the busted barrier. She grabbed a severed limb from the ground, still smoldering from the assault, and used it to relight her cigar. “Armed and hot,” she said as she rejoined the group.

“Excellent,” Ross said. “Places then.”

The group formed a line facing out into the battlefield. They spaced themselves six feet apart, as per contract, and assumed a well-rehearsed starting pose. Ross stood in the middle with Zoey and Perra flanking his sides, each radiating a cocky-yet-casual demeanor. Max stood awkwardly behind them, watching the prep unfold like a lost kid on a movie set.

“Ahem,” Ross said, prompting Vic to shock Max again.

Max yelped and scrambled to Zoey’s side, completing the line. He struck a Buzz Lightyear pose, the only thing he could muster on short notice.

Zoey rolled her eyes.

“Count it down, Boom Boom,” Ross said.

“Three, two, one, gravy.” Zoey clicked a remote.

With ten seconds to detonation, the group began a slow amble out into the field. Ross swung his mighty trunk with each heavy step. Perra glided down the line, bold and valiant with her giant sword swaying atop her shoulder. Zoey smirked and clawed her fingers as she strutted like a runway model. Max missed the first few steps, but a hasty scramble brought his mech suit back into line. He tried his best to convey a cocksure image, but ended up looking like a trained bear trying to disco strut.

Moments later, BOOM!

A giant explosion erupted from beneath the black lotus, consuming it in flame. The entire structure began to crumble and fall, bringing the mission to its triumphant conclusion. A soaring wall of fire served as an epic backdrop to the four heroes. They maintained a casual stroll as the shockwave hit their backs.

Well, at least three of them did.

The impact forced Max into a forward stumble. His feet crossed, resulting in a very uncool face-plant into the dirt.

The group stopped and sighed in unison as the fortress crashed to the ground behind them.

Zoey groaned loudly. “That was a one-take shot, fuckface.”

“One-take what?!” Max said. “You said there weren’t any cameras!”

“The world is a camera and winners rub their taints on the lens.”

Max cringed at the newly soiled Batman imagery.

Vic shocked him again, drawing another yelp.

“That’s it! I’m out! I am done with this galactic A-Team nonsense!” Max flipped onto his back and glared at the smoke-filled sky. “Vic, your mother was an Atari.”

Vic gasped in mech-speak, then assumed control of an arm and punched Max in the face, knocking him out.

* * *

Max awoke a short time later in the same field, lying on his back with a purple sky overhead. Only this time, it was clear and sunny. A soft layer of grass tickled his fingers. His fleshy fingers. “Oh thank Tim,” he said, then raised his hands to verify the glorious return of his human state. No extra digits, no weird patterns or scaly skin, just his usual boring self.

He rose to a seated position and turned towards the fortress. Not so much a looming lotus, but rather a walled outpost with shops and vendors. Several vessels dotted the field with alien crews tromping through the various ports. Ships arrived and departed at random intervals, using the valley as a convenient pit stop.

“That’s twice in one day,” Ross said.

Max flinched, then turned to the other side to find an orange tabby cat sitting next to him. Same ‘ol Ross, same ‘ol snark, which gave Max some much-needed relief. An armor-plated war mammoth had been a little rough to handle.

“Wanna go for the hat trick?” Ross said. “I’m sure there’s a meathead somewhere that could use a good insult.”

“Huh?”

“You trip a guard, he punches your lights out. You insult an android, it punches your lights out. What’s your damage today? It’s like you’re itching for a beating.”

Max nodded as the memory slowly returned. After landing for a resupply, he and the crew were strolling towards the depot. He wasn’t watching where he was going and ended up tripping a security guard. The resulting apology was misinterpreted as a taunt, which gifted Max a swift punch to the face.

Which, in turn, gifted him a brief stint as Hiss Bot Hank.

Which, in turn, required a harsh insult to rectify.

A double shift was quite enough for one day. He had also pressed his luck by shifting on a planetary domain. Max was damn fortunate to return to a reasonable universe where the crew and ship were intact. The current tweak was not immediately apparent, and he was more than happy to let it remain a mystery. (He had shifted to a universe where talking in a movie theater was punishable by death.)

“Yo!” said a voice from afar. Max turned to see Zoey loading supplies into their familiar freighter, the small boxy vessel that he called home. Zoey, now clothed in her normal pilot garb, glared at Max from the airlock. “I am more than happy to give you a third knockout if you don’t help us with these crates,” she said in her usual non-Batman voice.

“C’mon guys,” Perra said as she moseyed by with a handcart. “I found some draconga fruit. The sooner we’re loaded, the sooner we snack.” She winked and continued towards the ship.

Max grinned, not for the promise of delectable treats, but for the return of Perra’s punky mechanic vibe. A wrench dangled from her utility belt, replacing the giant sword. Auburn pigtails framed her creamy orange cheeks, a much warmer profile than her Duchess doppelganger. Max released a heavy sigh, comforted by the image of his eclectic family. He climbed to his feet and shuffled towards the ship with Ross trotting alongside. As he watched Zoey and Perra toss crates into the cargo bay, a portrait of Slaughter Team Alpha Bravo popped into his head. He smirked and glanced down at Ross. “Hey, do you think we’d make a good mercenary team?”

“No,” Ross said with a mocking tone.

Max took offense. “Why not?”

“Because you’d do something daft, like trip while casually walking away from an epic explosion.”

Max frowned and bowed his head. “Fair enough.”

THE END

Find more nutty tales at:

MaxAndTheMultiverse.com

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, wary and waiting. His eyes shifted towards every faint sound. A thump here, a muffle there, then footsteps. Floorboards creaked overhead, then down the hall, then nowhere. A door slammed. A car rumbled to life and faded into the distance. Max closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then pumped his fists and shouted “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 anxiety and a deep distaste for 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 the 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 jerked backwards, tumbling out of the chair. His body thumped the floor and rolled into the couch. The chair clanked and clattered before landing on its side. Max grunted in distress, then whipped a frightened gaze to the 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.

END OF SAMPLE

Continue the adventure at:

MaxAndTheMultiverse.com

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

Puki Horpocket Presents

A sci-fi comedy series about a cosmic journalist who profiles extraordinary beings.

Max and the Multiverse

A sci-fi comedy series about a nerdy teen who tumbles through the multiverse.

Max and the Multiverse Shorts

Stand-alone tales that also serve as entry points into the book series.

Immortal Wake

A tech noir series about a dark and distant future where death is obsolete.

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