Max and the Banjo Ferret Read online

  “That is the saddest and most pathetic thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”

  “Hmph?” Ross stirred on the mossy bed.

  “It’s a gaming console. Apparently, I was so distraught at losing it, that I needed to recreate the experience inside a dank tree hollow.” He glanced down to a round depression in the floor. “I sit right here and stare at a blank wall while tapping sticks connected by vines to a block of wood. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

  “Don’t overthink it. It’s the part of home you missed the most.”

  “Still, though. Shouldn’t I have stick dolls of friends and family or something?”

  Ross lifted his head to make eye contact. “Do you miss them?”

  Max thought for a moment, but did not respond.

  “There’s your answer.”

  Max bowed his head and shuffled to the center of the room. He plunked his wearied body onto a log and sulked. Ross rose onto his front paws and stiffened his neck, as if to guard an Egyptian tomb for a moment. Max batted at one of the dreadlocks hanging in front of his face. He sighed and turned to Ross.

  “I miss Zoey and Perra.” Max scratched his beard and glanced around the hollow. “I miss the ship. I miss my bed. I miss the crisp, clean air.”

  “Don’t forget hygiene.”

  Max raised an arm, sniffed his pit, and recoiled with a wide-eyed neck snap. “Yes, that too.”

  “So the question reveals itself. What are you going to do about it?”

  Max shrugged. “Apart from shifting back to the Yarnwal party, I don’t see what else I can do.”

  Ross raised his brow.

  Max responded with a slow nod. “I need to shift back.”

  Ross raised his brow a little higher.

  “Which means ... I need to fall asleep. A lot. Like, over and over until I get back.”

  “Bingo. And that’s where I come in. While I am a Force of Nature, I cannot command nature. I can, however, exert some influence. I can zot your noggin, knock you out, and yank you back, as many times as it takes.”

  A hopeful smile stretched across Max’s face.

  “But, and this is a big but, it’s going to feel like a street fight with Mike Tyson.”

  Max didn’t flinch. “Let’s do it.”

  “It may take hundreds, even thousands of tries, each of them feeling like a sledgehammer to the face.”

  Max leapt to his feet. “Don’t care, I’m in!” He pumped his fists, but the giddiness deflated. “But, what if they don’t remember me? What if I shift to a version where I started here and we never met?”

  “Doesn’t matter. All you need to do is find them, sneak into the ship, and get to space. Once you do, your domain will transfer back to the freighter and your shifts will reset. There are only so many ways an Earthling can hook up with a pair of Mulgawat couriers. I mean, I guess you could have brain-bonded with a robotic beaver and—”

  “Couriers!” Max asserted so hard that his body bounced off the ground. “They’re couriers! You can appear to them and tell them to come pick me up!”

  Ross raised an eyebrow. “Hi there. I’m the Fifth Force of Nature. Yes, fifth, the one who loosens all the nuts and bolts in the engine room. Anyhoo, there’s a stranded Earthling on a jungle planet millions of light-years away. You don’t know or care about him in any way, but you need to go pick him up, for reasons. It will take weeks to get there and you need to hurry. It’s all for naught if he falls asleep.”

  Max groaned and plunked back onto the log.

  “First things first. Let’s get you off of Yankar.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The Terramesh was a cluster of stolen planets. Eighty-six to be exact, all bound together by enormous sky bridges. The colossal structure resembled an atomic molecule floating in the blackness of space, the same model adorning the desks of every high school science teacher. The manacled mass floated around a red hypergiant in the Milky Way Galaxy. Earth scientists called the star VY Canis Majoris, a decidedly unsexy name for something a billion times bigger than the sun. Locals called the star Behemet, and truth be told, that wasn’t very good either.

  Long ago, Behemet was home to 37 different planets, all with their own traits and orbital cycles. However, due to the star’s immense size, the planets weren’t technically planets. They were outer belt worlds similar to Pluto and Ceres. Any normal planets that managed to form around Behemet had long since perished. Or rather, disintegrated inside a raging nuclear inferno. The remaining outer worlds were small and rocky, similar in size to Earth. One of them even managed to spawn complex life. After a rousing period of evolution, its scientists unlocked the mysteries of spaceflight and decided to terraform the other planets. Before long, a multi-world civilization rooted into the solar system.

  For thousands of years, citizens traveled back and forth between the worlds of their choosing. Climates spanned the spectrum, everything from warm and populous to cold and desolate. Cityscapes filled the temperate planets, attracting big business and eager youngsters. The outer planets offered peace and seclusion, attracting retirees and fringe lunatics. And for the brave few who favored the outer reaches, they could purchase land by simply pointing at it, because no one in their right mind would ever want to live there.

  Wealthy citizens traveled the gamut, including a young corporate executive named Isella. She loved the hustle and bustle of the big city planets, but also longed for the frigid tranquility of the outer worlds. As a very successful businesswoman, she maintained a presence on multiple planets. But when time came to relax, she retreated to one of her many vacation homes in the outer belt. And thanks to a hyperline transport system, she was able to travel back and forth with relative ease. Shuttle commutes took several days (or a few weeks depending on planetary alignments), but the serenity was always worth the hassle.

  Isella owned a company that experimented with holistic gravitational manipulation, a fancy way of saying fun with gravity. It started off as a scientific organization with a focus on improving space travel, but quickly shifted into a profit model when they developed a weight loss pill that actually worked. In lieu of reducing actual mass, they created tiny anti-gravity fields inside fatty tissue, reducing weight on a technicality. They sold like hotcakes (well, more like warm fumbungers) and made Isella a very rich woman. The tidal wave of sudden wealth taught her a valuable lesson: never underestimate people’s willingness to bullshit themselves.

  Infused with an immense fortune, Isella started to focus on what every affluent citizen does: herself. She dismissed the needs of the many in order to address the problems that affect her own slice of the opulent pie. Her primary gripe was the commute between planets, which took far too long for her own tastes. With the leverage of enormous wealth, she set out to shorten her commute by any means necessary. Localized jumps were illegal under Federation law, so that was out. She thought about lobbying to change the law, but she would be long dead before that bureaucratic slog came to an end. Teleportation was a pipedream fantasy (at least, to anyone outside of the Suth’ra Society).

  But then she got a nutty idea.

  While sipping on an expensive scotch at her penthouse desk, Isella came to the realization that her focus was wrong. She couldn’t shorten the commute, but she could, in theory, shorten the distance. (It would help to point out that any reasonable person could simply relocate to a better system or buy a climatized moon, but as history has shown us time and time again, excessive wealth renders people far from reasonable.) She did own a gravitational diet company after all, so her idea carried some merit.

  The plan was simple: tether planets with a concentrated gravity lock and reel them closer together. The governing council scoffed at her ridiculous proposal, but reconsidered after she wheeled barrels of money into the chamber.

  It took well over a decade to iron out the kinks. After a few city destructions and moon collisions (not to mention a slew of PR hassles tied to the mass casualties), she managed to perfect the process. Isella tethered the first two planets within 50,000 miles of each other, then started work on a permanent atmo-bridge. Well, started work would be a tad generous. She gave canned speeches to shareholders while millions of underpaid workers risked their lives to connect two giant rocks with some metal rope. Years later, Isella cut the ribbon on a gleaming sky bridge, complete with high-speed mag-trams. The two planets were officially locked in a gravitational dance, floating around the belt like a makeshift dumbbell. The methods for maintaining orbital equilibrium remained a guarded company secret.

  Fresh off the monumental success, Isella green-lighted the next planet. And the next, and the next, on and on until every belt planet was connected via a tangled web of steel. After trillions of credits, billions of work hours, and millions of deaths, Isella finally had an acceptable commute.

  She enjoyed it ... for a time.

  Isella realized far too late that being close to everything meant that she was close to everything. She couldn’t escape anymore. Going to her vacation home meant staring at her office planet in the sky. She yearned for the sweet serenity of isolation. Thus, she started purchasing properties on other planets in nearby solar systems. It was delightful, until she tired of the commute.

  The nutty idea returned, this time with the delusional insanity of a criminal mastermind. She started “collecting” planets like a hoarder collecting knick-knacks. She spent an untold fortune developing plunder tech, where a monstrous stealth vessel bored itself into an unsuspecting planet, spun a jump drive the size of a small town, and blinked the entire world to the Behemet system. Isella managed to steal every rocky planet in Canis Major before the Federation of Planets intervened. She spent the rest of her life in a small concrete cell, broke but happy.

  The collapse of her mighty enterprise also collapsed the Terramesh economy. In the end, 86 planets went bankrupt all at once, sparking the single greatest economic disaster in the history of the universe. It never recovered. Most of the inhabitants fled. Thousands of years later, the mesh housed anyone that dared to traverse it. It turned into a haven for criminals, deviants, and televangelists. Some worlds offered lavish casinos with upscale brothels and seedy underbellies, like Las Vegas on a cosmic scale. Other worlds embraced their criminality and served as harbors for organized raider factions, like Las Vegas on a cosmic scale.

  In recent days, the Terramesh was home to numerous clans, including the Navcarks, Dread Jacks, and Moreons. The core planets once housed the fearsome Varokins, but a massacre at Hollow Hold depleted their fleet. The Moreons had since taken control.

  Jarovy, the innermost planet, was Isella’s homeworld and the first bound to another. It was a commerce center before the mesh, but had since grown into a metal-plated monstrosity. Every square mile of its surface was covered by steel and concrete. Skyscrapers stretched from pole to pole, transforming the planet into a perpetual cityscape. It stood out as the only world inside the cluster without a view of space. The surfaces of its bound neighbors filled every sliver of sky. It also featured the most bridges, connecting to every nearby world like a silvery sea urchin. In a very real sense, it served as the beating heart of the Terramesh.

  * * *

  A black service shuttle sailed through the chaotic space between planets, carving through traffic with the confidence of a helmetless jackass on a crotch rocket. It zipped under a gleaming sky bridge several miles in diameter, its shadowy hull reflecting off the sheen. The colossal pillar connected a snowy world on the left to a desert planet on the right. The shuttle crested a final planet to bring a metallic globe into view. Jarovy pulsed at the center of the Terramesh, its vast steel tentacles plunging into neighboring worlds. Countless vessels filled the void, everything from raider fleets to battlecruisers. Jarovy breathed with nonstop activity. The entire surface glowed with the deep greens of artificial light.

  The shuttle sliced through the atmosphere and fell into the jagged cityscape. It slipped between tarnished towers as it pushed towards a black monolith in the distance. The ship slowed to a hover and came to a rest upon a landing pad near the tower’s peak. Metal claws gripped the surface as a ramp lowered from its base, coughing puffs of steam. Five figures in black robes emerged from the vessel and glided towards a large entrance door. The leader took point with the other four following in pairs. They came to a stop at the door, prompting the bulky plane to unlatch and slide open. The whine of neglected gears needled the ears of everyone present. The door clanked to a rest, revealing a beefy bloke with leafy green skin and cropped yellow hair leaning on the wall inside. Jai Ferenhal adjusted the tie on his tailored suit and turned his sapphire blue eyes to the visitors.

  “Welcome back, m’lord,” he said in a graveled voice.

  The figure lowered its hood, unveiling the teardrop skull and purple skin of Lord Essien, commander of the Varokin forces. Her silvery eyes burrowed into the brute. “Jai.”

  “Were you followed?”

  She narrowed her gaze.

  “Sorry, force of habit.” Jai cleared his throat and lifted from the wall. “Word on the wire is that Nifan knows you’re here.”

  “So? Bitch is welcome to set foot on the mesh. Hell, even the dregs would take immense pleasure in cutting down The Dossier.”

  “Even so, our power has been greatly diminished here.”

  Essien took a step forward. “Our power?”

  “The Varokins.” Jai responded with a wide-eyed snap, then stammered like a child with his hand in the cookie jar. “The collective our, if you will.”

  “Last time I checked,” Essien said, taking another step, “you are not a Varokin.”

  “I meant no disrespect, m’lord. I, um ...” Jai huffed and slouched. “Just scold me and get it over with.”

  Essien grinned and punched him in the shoulder. “I do miss fucking with you, Jai. Never disappoints.”

  “Um, thank you?”

  Essien glanced at the minions behind her. “See? He even thanks me for it.”

  The posse snickered like cartoon villains.

  “Anyway, let’s get on with this shit show.”

  “This way, m’lord.” Jai swung an open hand into the dark corridor.

  Lord Essien stepped inside and floated down the tunnel with Jai tromping alongside. The interior of the Varokin headquarters (well, former headquarters) radiated darkness for the sake of darkness. Every nook, knob, and surface fell somewhere between charcoal and Batman. Even the lighting units glowed under panes of smoky glass. One half-expected to glance down a corridor and see Ripley doing battle with a xenomorph. Jai and Lord Essien rounded a corner with the four robed Varokins floating behind. Jai’s weighted steps echoed down the tunnel as Essien and her minions glided in silence.

  “Can you walk any louder?” Essien said.

  Jai stammered and glanced down to his feet. His pricy dress shoes had wooden soles, which clanked on the grated metal like clogs on a dance floor. He stiffened his legs and shuffled for a while, trading clanks for scuffs, but his mind struggled to abide the diminishing value of his kicks. With dignity now a luxury, he decided to tiptoe like a Scooby-Doo villain.

  Essien laughed. “Tim help me, you are such a dork.”

  Jai grunted and resumed his normal stride.

  Essien wiped her eyes and punched him in the shoulder again. “Okay, so, give me the rundown on these morons.”

  “Moreons. Eon, like an era.”

  “Mor—oh, I totally heard that wrong.”

  “They manned a small outpost on Jarovy before seizing control of the Varokin strongholds. In fact, they maintained presences on all 86 planets inside the Terramesh. Most were housed in the temple colonies of Kurm, Hyoma, and Lovaka. The mesh largely dismissed them as religious kooks, just a bunch of irritating yet harmless missionaries. But, they used that facade to amass an armada right under our noses. They mobilized after the Hollow Hold defeat and conquered the mesh before anyone knew what had happened.”

  “Do I detect a hint of admiration?”

  “Just impressed by the efficiency.”

  Essien sighed. “So a faction of holy fucknuts usurped the Varokins. I would rather deal with the Dread Jacks. At least they’re reasonable between murders.”

  “Plus they have good coffee.”

  Essien nodded. “So what’s the Moreon shtick? Sacrificial loons? Another sect of ferret worship?”

  Jai chuckled. “No, nothing like that. But I should warn you that their beliefs are rather untethered.”

  “What religion isn’t?”

  “No, seriously. They’re another Qarakish cult.”

  Essien huffed and shook her head. “Great. Just give me the highlights then.”

  “Well, speaking of good coffee, they don’t drink any. Or alcohol. Or flimgarbles. Standard purity complex. If it’s fun in any way, they abstain.”

  “Any prophets?”

  “Just one, some fishmonger named Joe. They believe he started the religion by talking to fish in a bucket. And I wish I were joking. There is something about golden tubas, plus all the classics like sanctioned racism and sexism. Oh, and they all wear magic t-shirts.”

  Essien snort-laughed.

  “It’s just a regular poly blend, but they treat it like a sort of spiritual armor. They actually believe that it will protect them from physical harm.”

  “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

  “The controlling faction is made up of Dimathiens, a race known for their pasty white skin and warped skulls.”

  “Warped?”

  “Random, no rhyme or reason, like giant tumors with eyeballs.”

  “Ah.”

  “The leader’s name is Trevor. He can be, um, artfully wholesome.”

  “Explain.”

  “He’ll backstab you, but he won’t cuss.”

  They rounded a final corner and into a cavernous foyer. Jagged metal panes adorned the walls and climbed to the peak of a vaulted ceiling, like the scaly insides of a dragon belly. Rows of sconces lined the walls, their lights flickering behind bubbles of clouded glass. A pair of towering steel doors veiled the nerve center of the Varokin headquarters. Two masked figures in ivory robes guarded the entrance, serving as a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. Lord Essien smirked as her posse approached.