Chapter 22: Fellswig Robot Binoculars

The official Shipyard at the Bandango Fazaar has a serviceable fleet of rocketships. At least a dozen are space-worthy, and, if you catch her on a good day, the Ship Boss (similar, but distinct from the role of “Boss of Ships”) might even give you a fair price on one. However, each of the rocketships in the Bandango’s yard are registered, and are in some way trackable by Those in Charge. And if there was one thing that Tarza wanted to avoid, it was being traced. 

That is why, when Tarza, Dusty, Plod, and a human with orange hair, around Jackson’s height and build, but with a freckle-less face that looked at least five years younger than him, departed the planet in a rocketship, it was not from the Shipyard. Instead, they took a rocketship that was hidden in a tent owned by a secret ship dealer, who had been known to help the Pocket Watches for years. 

Although the ship dealer does have a name, it is both too long and too inconsequential to include here. And for clarifying purposes, I will add that the ship dealer’s name is indeed longer than the previous sentence, which explains the context for not including their name, this sentence, which addresses the fact that that many words are being used to discuss the topic, when, in most cases, just stating the name would be more efficient, and the next sentence, which will address why a nickname cannot be used, combined. In the ship dealer’s culture, names can take as long as ten minutes to speak, and it is considered the height of rudeness to not state someone’s name in its entirety, and to start over from the beginning, should a mistake be made.

In fact, if Tarza had not been painstakingly focused on getting the ship dealer’s name right when she greeted him, she would have discovered that Jackson was lost in the tents much sooner.

When the ship, which had been given a name by each of its previous four owners, and at some point was called Skylark, then Populizaro, then Populizaro II, then EZ-79-REG, and was now known as Haven*, took off, Jackson was grateful, if not downright relieved, to be leaving the Bandango. Yet, he still could not get the taste, or thought, of the food he had been eating off his mind, and didn’t really want to. As such, he spent the first hour of the trip trying to think of a word that was stronger than “delicious” to describe how he felt about it. He was shaking his head at his own idea of “mouth-affirming”, when Tarza told him they were nearing Earth.

*The ship dealer did not name the ship in the fashion of his own culture, since he found it to be bad for business.

“We’re going to begin the descent now, Jackson. Are you ready?” she asked.

“I am,” he said. “It is my home planet, after all.”

“It is,” she hesitated. “But I think you’ll find it a little different than you left it. After that APB went out across, well… everywhere… your upcoming debate has gotten a lot of attention.”

“How much?” he asked. 

Tarza motioned to the window.

Jackson peered outside and could see earth approaching, no smaller than a marble. But as it grew larger, he started to notice something off. The entire planet seemed to be coated by a layer of something. The color was wrong, and for a moment he worried that the oceans had already been stolen. But, it wasn’t that. It was like there was a sheet around it. A moving, blinking sheet. It was only after Dusty extended a pair of Fellswig Robot Binoculars (whose magnification is unmatched by rivals, as is to be expected from Fellswig, the top name is ROB accessories) that he realized thousands upon thousands upon thousands of ships were in orbit around the Earth.

“Thanks, Dusty,” he said, sitting back in his soft seat. Haven had been outfitted with state-of-the-art features, including memory-gel seats, Instarest headsets, and a minibar filled with snacks. It was one of the reasons, along with Tarza’s obviously desperate position, that she had to pay a large premium for renting the spaceship. Another reason was that she had slightly misspoke during reciting his name and either did not realize, or lacked the proper manners to go back and start again. Either way, he decided to bump up the price before she was done speaking.

“May I?” asked Tarza, leaning in and reaching out her hand.

“Oh, um sure,” answered Jackson, not knowing what she was about to do.

He felt a tickle behind his left ear, and started to laugh. A moment later his Defacto Placto Misleed Wig popped off.

“Oh, right,” he said.

Haven landed smoothly at the third most popular Spaceport on Earth, New La Orko.

Flash photography, as you well know, has long been obsolete on Earth. However recent legislation from President Racha’s predecessor, President Hampton, required all photograbbers to signal they are in use via a bright flash, so that no one may be photograbbed without a reasonable visual warning (with an epilepsy shield, of course). They also emitted a quick, sharp and directional chirp, so that the visually impaired, and people with low vision, would be aware as well. This meant however, that the moment Jackson, with his newly created celebrity status, stepped off the ship, he was greeted by hundreds of flashes, and targeted by hundreds of chirps, all at the same time. Had Plod not been behind him to stop his fall, the first images of the moment “Shouty Freckles Arrived on Earth!” would have been of him flat on his face. 

Instead, Plod whisked him away to a waiting Shoot.

Once they were safely inside, and had successfully blocked any members of the press from squeezing their way inside, The New La Orko Port Shoot, began to count down to Shoot Off. Jackson had been in Shoots before, many times, considering their prevalence around the planet ever since a Sri Lankan student came up with their design as part of a contest, but he had never had so many eyes on him, inside the glass chamber, before Shoot Off. 

As you are, of course, aware of most, if not all, of the popular technology on Earth, I will take a moment to address my seemingly unnecessary descriptions of these, and other aspects of life on Earth. I have done so, and will continue to do so, until the conclusion of our story, not as a scathing implication of your knowledge as an Earthling, but as an acknowledgement of a growing trend among literature called transgalactic cross-promotion. This trend, although new to the publishing world, outside of certain U U of U materials, has seen great success in other industries such as music, technology, and, famously, packaged snacks. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume that while this book was written with the express intention to be read by humans, it may soon, or at a time much further in the future, by read across the galaxy, and ultimately, the universe. And, in such cases, Earth culture, customs, and curiosities, will need to be explained along the way.

With this in mind, I will explain that Shoots operate under a basic principle of gravity. Long tubes, not unlike those that traverse Pelligrant’s Station, except much longer and curved, act as the main form of short-distance transportation on Earth. A Shoot is propelled with a great deal of force through a tube that bends upwards, then downwards below the ground, then up again until it comes to rest at its destination. It is not unlike an ancient form of entertaining faux-transportation that was known as rollercoasters. After the initial burst and cresting of the top arch, the trip is guided solely by gravity, and a combination of friction and resistance. And much like the rollercoasters of the past, some people have difficulty completing their journey without getting sick.

As the countdown neared one, Jackson was acutely aware of the fact that he had never, not once, completed a trip in a Shoot without vomiting. He reached out for Tarza’s hand and she grabbed it. When they arrived at their destination, Las Algos, he was surprised and happy to learn that he was feeling well.

“Las Algos?” he asked Tarza. “Is this where the debate is?”

“It is,” she answered. “Let’s get to the hotel room right away, okay?”

“Are you worried they’re going to try something?” Jackson asked as they entered the Belmontenegro Hotel.

There were only a few reporters there, and they all turned to Jackson with flashes and chirps.

“Agents for the TOC are never far, and I’d rather not risk it.” She could tell he was nervous. “But don’t worry, I don’t think they’ll try anything with all these eyes on us. We’re not in a tent at the Bandango Fazaar. Besides,” she said, as the doors closed on the levitator up to their floor, “I think they’re counting on President Racha winning the debate.”

When they arrived at their room, she pulled out a small fob and the door eased open. Jackson didn’t know when she’d arranged all of it. He couldn’t wrap his head around how many resources were being used for him to be there in that moment, and how much the Pocket Watches and people on Earth were counting on him. But when he stepped inside the room, Jackson was focused on one particular Earthling- the one standing in front of him with a big smile and his hand outstretched.

“Long time no see, Jackson. You might not remember me. I’m Arn Brule.”