Sitting by the lake with Roger, I enjoy the waterfall’s cool, rushing breeze blowing across my slippery, purple hide. I bet that cool air means little to him. It means everything to me right now; I’m alive, and I get the chance to experience the wonderful sensation of being one of God’s creations. I guess.

  Am I still something made by God? Would He make such a terrible thing? I still have my mind and heart, I suppose. He made those. No one can ever take that away from me. He made everything this flesh is made of. No one can take that away from me.

  Father, remake me in Your image. I detest the purple flesh. At least it still feels a cool, refreshing breeze. Take what I can get when it’s given: that’s how I get by. There’s strength in gratitude.

  “We just need to figure out where we’re going to build this café,” I say with a tendril on an approximation of my chin. “Do you think here will work? What do you know about this place? I can already tell you, I’m not a fan of whatever spooky witchcraft goes on in that forest.”

  I look over to the darkness beneath with silver-topped trees, the stars glittering in the black, eternal night above them. I shiver with the memory of the cabin and Sam’s pulverized face, of the mangled, torn bodies with their blood on my tendrils, of shlooping through the woods full of bullet holes, about to die.

  I still don’t know what to make of all that. What kind of place is this? I think I’d like to leave and never come back. Probably a good idea since this is where I first met ‘him,’ that monster.

  How’d he get from the bottom of the lake to inside my head like that? I guess everything will be revealed. Eventually. Follow the mystery, Jack. That’s what you’ve always done.

  “The more I think about it, the more I’d like to get off this rock, Roger. I don’t want us planting down on this planet. I’ve had my fill of strange. I want to run our café in peace.”

  “Planet? You are mistaken, Mr. Wolfgang.”

  “Huh?”

  “We are not on a planet.”

  “Oh, what, is this some kind of figment of my imagination too?”

  “No, Mr. Wolfgang. This is only an asteroid. A very large one which supports life for reasons which remain incalculable to me, but a mere asteroid nonetheless.”

  “Huh. I see. So, what does that mean for us, tin can?”

  “That means we can leave easily so long as you reality crawl us out of here.”

  “Reality crawl? What are you on about now?”

  “That is when you grab spacetime with a combination of your tentacles and psychic power, permitting you to move even through empty space with little to no resistance.”

  “Oh, you mean shlooping. Yeah, I can shloop us out of here. But, once we leave, where are we going?”

  “Your instinct should drive us to a location rich in crystarium, a mineral that’s psychically conductive and pliable. Yog biology is instinctively drawn to large psychic phenomena.”

  “Instinct. Gut. Yeah, I can follow my gut.” The thing’s never been wrong yet. Well, maybe not never, but it’s at least gotten me this far. Uh, I guess. “By the way, I like how you already knew I was going to ask what that psychic-crystal-mineral stuff is. I think you’re getting the hang of being my right hand here. I’ve got more tentacles than I care to count, but I’ve only got one right hand, and that’s you, Roger. That’s a metaphor by the way.”

  “Your compliment is received with a simulation of gratitude. I can calculate no better use of my circuits than to be the hands of Mr. Wolfgang.”

  “Easy, tin can. Don’t get too excited now.” I look to the side for a moment. “That’s a little sarcasm. Eventually, I’ll teach you how to use it. You’ll be the snarkiest tin can in the galaxy.”

  “Beep-boop. Processed. Anticipation for sarcasm lessons initiated.”

  “Alright, alright. You’re weirding me out. There’s only so much of your tin cannery I can take.”

  “Would that be more sarcasm, Mr. Wolfgang?”

  “No. Now, let’s hit the bricks and find those minerals.”

  I load Roger onto what I decide is my back and begin shlooping up and into the air.

  “That’s another metaphor, by the way. You’ll need to learn how to recognize those, too. I use a lot of them.”

  “Metaphor observation and categorization initialized. Spacetime recorded as suitable comparison to ‘the bricks.’ Roger and tin can recorded as suitable comparisons to ‘right hands’ with descriptor of ‘to Mr. Wolfgang’ added.”

  “Boy. We’ve got a lot a work to do with you. Good thing we’ve got all the time in the galaxy.”

  We follow my gut, shlooping through space, tiny asteroids drifting by in the glittering, starry void. As we go, I see the things begin to sparkle. Slowly, they become more and more crystalline until we’re surrounded by not just the glitter of stars, but the glitter of minerals in drifting in starlight.

  “Is this the kind of place we’re looking for?” I ask Roger.

  “Most certainly, Mr. Wolfgang.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Alright, so what do we do next? How do we use these things to build the café?”

  “Use a slash of psychic energy to open the asteroids. That will reveal the mineral clusters inside.”

  “I’m supposed to cut rocks open with my brain now? How’s that work? I can’t even cut through monster hide, let alone solid rocks.”

  “Biological beings resist psychic attacks because your minds create natural barriers protecting you from psychic force. Minerals have no such functions.”

  “No brain means no resistance. Alright. Let’s give it a try.”

  I swipe a tendril loosing a pink blade of psychic light and energy. The slash sails through space, completely missing the asteroid I was aiming at.

  “That was an exceptional attempt, Mr. Wolfgang.”

  “Don’t flatter me, tin can.”

  “I was practicing sarcasm.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re about as good at it as I am swinging psychic energy around.”

  “You could try getting closer.”

  “That’d make it easy. Why waste an opportunity to practice? A man should be proficient in all his skills.” But, you’re not a man, Jack. I don’t care. Doesn’t mean I can’t act like one.

  “Very true, Mr. Wolfgang. I will help collect and refine the crystarium as you slice open the asteroids.”

  [ WORK, WORK ]

  After no time at all, I’m slicing through rocks three and four times my size like ripe summer melons. Drifting open, they reveal massive glittering caches of the crystarium. Roger putters through space scooping up the smaller halves and pushing along the larger ones, collecting them all into a single ‘pile’ with no sense of up, down, left, or right.

  “Hey, I shloop through space. How are you getting around?”

  “I have an electromagnetic flux mechanizer that—”

  “Never mind. Sorry I asked. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Wolfgang.”

  After what might have been a few hours of honest work, my brain numb and buzzing from dispensing the pink, psychic blades, I turn my attention to our collection.

  “You think we’ve got enough yet, Roger?”

  Feels good to be doing hard, honest work. I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘manual labor.’ Can’t do manual labor if you don’t have any ‘manuals.’ I guess mind-tendril labor would be more accurate. No, but I’ve got Roger. He’s my right hand, remember Jack? He’s working plenty hard. Couldn’t imagine doing this without him.

  “By my calculations, that is certainly possible, Mr. Wolfgang.”

  “What do you mean ‘possible?’”

  “Efficiently utilizing our stockpile depends on the efficacy of your psychic transmuting.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Got it.”

  “Is that more sarcasm, Mr. Wolfgang?”

  Wrapped in my tendril, the crystal shard glows with pink light. Then red. Then blue.

  Bang!

  The mineral shatters like a glass stuffed with firecrackers, sending more shards into my purple flesh again.

  “Yeowch! That smarts, dadgummit.”

  Hey, I’m getting better at not swearing. Maybe this honest work is doing something for me. Calm down, Jack. I don’t think it’s even been a day yet. Keep doing what you’re doing, though.

  “Beep-boop. I am sorry you have had another failure, Mr. Wolfgang. Here. Try this shard. It is smaller.”

  “I think I was having more luck with the bigger ones. Feels like I can use more energy with those. These small ones are finicky. Delicate. I can’t finesse just the right amount of energy.”

  “Roger!”

  The crystal glows blue in my tendril.

  “Roger! Are you seeing this?”

  The mineral loosens like putty and starts to change into the shape formed in my mind.

  “Stay focused, Mr. Wolfgang! You are doing it!”

  The glow fades as the shape solidifies into a perfect, glittering glass.

  “Roger! We did it! We actually did it! Would you look at that? We’re really getting somewhere. I can almost smell the coffee now. Hear the clink of glasses. Taste the homemade sandwiches. I don’t know where we’re getting all that stuff, but we’ll figure it out. You and me? We’re gonna make it, little buddy. We’re actually going to make ourselves one stinking beauty of a café. The classiest little place this side of the galaxy.”

  “Mr. Wolfgang, it was all you. I merely analyzed. My calculations simulate the ‘impressed’ response by your ability to master this technique so quickly. By my analysis of known variables, I concluded we would be at this for weeks or months.”

  “First, you were here cheering me on all along. My success is ours. Second, I appreciate the vote of confidence. Third, we’ve got to get you talking like a normal person. Cut it with the calculating this and analyzing that. I want you to pretend you’re just an average guy when you’re speaking to me, Roger. You’re not my personal computation machine. You’re my friend.”

  “Beep… Beep… Boooop… Mr. Wolfgang,” says Roger, slow and somber like a sad slide whistle. “If I could cry, I would. Beep beep boop.”

  “Don’t get all sappy on me now, tin can.” I look down to admire my work, then mutter, “Say, what’s this here?” I inspect the side of the glittering crystal lowball glass more closely, holding it up in the starlight. “I didn’t imagine any etchings.”

  There on the side is an etching of Dave’s face, smiling that goofy grin back at me. On the other side is a quote that reads:

  “I’ll always be near. I’ll always believe in you. Love, Dave.”

  “What an interesting etching. Did you put that on there, Mr. Wolfgang?”

  With tears in my eyes: “No. No, I didn’t.”

  “Strange. I wonder how it got there.”

  “He’ll always be with us, Roger. It’s not just you and me alone out here. We’ve got Dave looking over our shoulders.”

  “I am beginning to feel inspired.”

  “Me too. Here’s looking at you, Dave. Thanks.”

  I raise the empty glass to the stars in a toast to that grinning marble son of a gun.

  Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first H.P. Marlowe chapter.

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