Gift Basket

As the aircraft left orbit, Syl could still remember the overwhelming sense of fear that gripped him. Even when he saw the aircraft, part of his brain worked to convince him this was all an elaborate prank. Any moment now, Daniel or one of the other bullies that tormented him and Mikey would real their ugly, little heads in, and reveal it was all a joke devised to make Syl and his brothers look stupid. Syl would have accepted that. He even would have accepted the noogies and wedgies that came afterward. If they wanted to give each of them the nastiest swirlies in the nearest toilet they could find? Bring it on, he would have endured it. It would have at least brought normalcy, but Daniel wasn’t on the aircraft. Neither was their mother or father, or anyone else they once knew. It was only them, the warthog, the wolf, and the shark – the latter three having stepped on planet Ex’Fi for the first and last time. The jury was still out on whether the brothers would ever step foot on it again.

“What a rundown dump,” One of them said.

“They should consider themselves lucky we aren’t GLAD. They’d have drained it of what little resources it has, then, blasted it into bits,” Another one followed.

The shark had a toothy, toothy, toothy grin on his face, literal rows of them, in fact. “You foolish children don’t know the whirlwind of troubles you have just gotten yourself into.”

“We, uh, we didn’t see anything. Just take us back and then, I promise we won’t say a word about you guys,” Syl pleaded, but from the chuckles of the wolf and the warthog, he knew it fell on deaf ears.

The warthog’s name was Sully. The shark’s name was Sabre and the wolf went by Hyke. Not that Syl, Mikey, or Jack would be spending very much time with any of them. They only learned the essentials about them – that they were cruel men, thieves and scavengers.

The overall course of events that unfolded were unclear, but Mikey had thought enough about it to make a semi-concrete explanation. The Life Wreckers (that is the name Jack had coined to describe them) had been on the run from the C.D.’s (Canis Dingoes), a species of dogs from the Planet Cauldron that took it upon themselves to act as a part of the galaxy’s law enforcement – literal ‘Hounds of Justice’. Their reason for landing on Ex’Fi was to hide out until the heat died down and to mine the planet of a particular resource (called “Inpolium’, a resource harvested from deep beneath the ground and used as ammunition for certain weaponry found in the galaxy), everyone on Ex’Fi was evidently too dumb to know they were sitting on a small fortune. If the population of Ex’Fi were smart enough or had knowledge of its invaders, they would have known the crop circles were made as signs for possible drilling locations for scavengers. With the dogs hot on their tail, when the brothers sneaked on their spaceship, it tripped their alarm system and made them tuck said tail and flee the scene in a hurry, the resource wasn’t worth getting caught for.

Their haphazard decisions after finding the boys onboard were up to interpretation, and none of the Life Wreckers ever bothered to offer a proper explanation. Mikey liked to believe it was for a more scientific purpose, why they didn’t simply turn around, come back to Ex’Fi, and drop the boys off once they realized it was a false alarm. “They must not have had enough fuel to deploy hyper-speed again if they would have come back!”

Syl scrolled through his memory sometime later and vaguely recalled them stopping at a meteor refuel station on their way back to Planet Floyd.

Jack offered a more cynical outlook, believing their fate came down to a roll of the dice. Their destination, after leaving their home space rock, had been a two way street. They were either being ejected out the waste system into space, or taken to Planet Floyd and sold for profit. To their luck or misfortune, the scavengers decided on the latter.

The truth was though that it didn’t matter. They could have done what they did for any number of reasons, but the outcome would turn out the same. They were sold on Planet Floyd to the Myro Construction Agency all the same.

Besides, all of that occurred over eight years ago.

2.

 

“Sylvester,” Michael said, looking at his brother.

Sylvester floated in his own little world, somewhere between ignoring all other sentient life, and enjoying a moment of peace. After all, daydreaming was an important part of the three brothers’ lives now. Syl, sighed, only in part due to Michael, but mostly at having to return to reality, he looked up at him, nodding acknowledgement, taking the wrench from him as he tightened the bolts on the ship.

It was surprising how fast something could go from being both terrifying and intriguing at the same time, and then, without any warning at all, become mundane and pedestrian. The Myro Construction Agency had instilled that in them, one way or the other.

They had three full meals a day, largely grub, a stew of whatever bug or plant life they could come up with. Most of their time was spent doing odd jobs for the organization.

In space terms, The Myro Construction Agency was a renegade corporation. It didn’t use slave labor, per se. Instead, it gussied up the title to create the appearance of having legality for when the C.D.’s came sniffing around. They paid bits for the labor, but also required ’employees’ to pay a boarding fee that not only outweighed the amount paid but made it so that each ’employee’ accrued a substantial debt the longer they were on the payroll. It was an unwinnable paradox that ultimately amounted to this simple mantra – “Once you work for the Myro Construction Agency, you’re family forever.”

Most of what Sylvester had to say about the Myro Construction Agency was as negative as can be. The nights were cold, the days were hot, and the bosses didn’t care in the least about safety protocol or maintaining an animals’ livelihood. They did, however, put up a front when C.D. came by for an inspection. It meant some hard times, but what both Sylvester and Michael realized, however, was that if they wanted to survive, they needed to find pleasure in the little things that were offered to them. For Michael, that included reading and taking in information.

Their odd jobs primarily included mechanical repair, the job they were doing at the present. Sylvester looked at all the different cords and plugins, and buttons and switches, and couldn’t help but think back to how excited all the complicated devices and ‘doohickeys’ had made him feel when he first stepped foot on the Life Wreckers’ ship. Now though, they were old hat.

He floated in orbit outside of the space shuttle, the only thing keeping him tethered to the ship and from flying off into the black, forever abyss of space was a thin, flimsy cord, one end attached to the ship, the other end attached to the harness on his back. Any malfunction – so, what? Sylvester would be replaced come dinner time.

When they were first brought onto the station, they were provided a tour given to them by Kaitlin Steels, who went by the name ‘Needles,’ a nickname with an origin that still alluded them. Myro Construction Agency’s headquarters was a large meteor (large by a relative standard, enough to occupy a small one-thousand-man fortress).

On the main floor, dubbed the ‘Dance Floor’, small spaceships were available on either side of the wall. Your team and your manager, a fellow slave by a different name with newfound responsibilities, would be able to fly off on your own designated mission.

The ships were heavily rigged and manipulated. Basically, they had a built-in auto pilot that flew them to whatever coordinates were beeped and booped into their system, and then, the small ship could be used to return back to headquarters once the mission was completed.

On the Dance Floor, there was also a sign that said “Days Since Injury” with a giant circular hole directly beneath it. Needles explained to them that it was an instance of dark humor, the joke being that they had rewritten the number “0” so many times it burned a hole through the steel and that was why the hole existed. No one laughed, but it told everyone everything they needed to know about their stay in the company – you are not only expendable, but you will, in fact, most likely die.

Even the never-ending space behind Sylvester no longer carried the mesmeric yet overwhelming beauty it once did. The stars he stared up at as a kid he no longer felt nostalgic about. They were dead and diffusing, and that was the awful, awful reality every animal had to come to terms with.

A bit of static shot off from the ship’s circuit board, Sylvester gritted his teeth, wincing at the destruction before him.

“Step aside, Syl,” Michael said, offering him a small smile for his effort.

As some things changed, others remained the same – case and point, Michael was still the smart one, a tool that came in handy and kept them valuable among the company.

“Thanks, Mikey.”

Everything wasn’t all doom and gloom, however. It couldn’t be. As prefaced, they needed something to keep them chugging along through it all.

After they completed their assignment, they collected their bits (that would later be confiscated) and returned to their shuttle. Later, as Sylvester left Michael alone in his cot – a glorified prison-cell that housed him with one other roommate, a primate by the name of Gryls with more muscles than brains and a seemingly selective form of mutism, he turned to his own quarters.

Needles was waiting for him. Her big green eyes stared back at him. She was a source of comfort for him throughout all of this. Make no mistake about it, she was absolutely, positively out of her mind, but besides her and Mikey, they were the only rabbits aboard the Myro Construction Agency’s meteor (and he didn’t miscount).

“Do you have it? Do you have it!?” Needles said in a shouting whisper, poking and prodding at Syl’s rib cage as though her namesake was literal.

“Watch it,” Syl responded, feigning as though he were hurt.

“Do you!?” Her voice had risen from a shouting whisper to almost a shouting shout, to which Syl immediately quieted her, placing his paw over her mouth.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding his head. “Yeah, I have it.” With that, Syl revealed a small coupling from his back pocket. “I’ll have you know it is never easy to take these things. If Mikey found out about it, he would have my head. Not to mention, the risk …,” Syl continued.

“Yeah, yeah,” Needles responded, stealing the coupling out from Syl’s paws. She looked at it like it was the most special thing in the world, and not a piece of junk Syl had stolen from off a poor sucker’s ship.

“I am serious, we need to be more discreet. If they take me, Mikey is all alone here. I can’t have that, so keep your voice down.”

She looked at him seriously (or as seriously as a total loon could be). “Believe me, I have thought this through. I am a ‘Manager,’ I know the rule book like it is the back of my paw. No one is being sent to Duggin’s for stealing a coupling. No one on the ground floor of Myro would even know what it is.”

“Mikey would know what it is and that’s enough,” Syl said.

From afar, the other row of bunkers’ lights flipped off. The curfew would commence soon. Needles was undeterred by the fact, too busy looking at their ill-gotten goods.

“That isn’t, … like, … important, is it? That ship I jacked it from won’t catch fire in space now, will it?”

“No, Syl, it will not catch fire in space.” She assured him, offering a Sly smile.

“Good?” Syl said skeptically.

“Of course,” She continued. “In space, there is no air in which to create fire, and so, that was never an actual possibility to begin with. Now, an explosion can happen if there is an oxidizer available, of course, but fire,” She shook her head. “No fire.”

“I’m being serious.”

“For them, it is only a small piece to a complicated spaceship. One day, someday, it breaks down, but not today and not tomorrow, and when it does, they will call us or some other mechanic shop for assistance. Don’t sweat it, Syl. For us though, my hippity-hoppity, little friend, it is exactly what we need.”

A ‘manager,’ as they are called, is an animal at the Myro Construction Agency who has survived long enough and been around long enough to be ‘promoted’ in the rankings. On paper, it comes with a pay increase that effectively exceeds the amount the company charges for room and board. Thus, in theory, if one were to work as a manager long enough, they would be able to pay off their debt and reclaim their freedom. The likelihood of that happening, however, is practically zero, because it usually takes upwards of a decade to achieve such a position, and, by then, your hole has been dug already. Otherwise, it comes with other benefits as well. These are things that would look piddly on the outside looking in but add up to a significant quality of life boost. For example, she received better food, the ability to pick out her jobs and assign tasks to others, as well as less obvious perks like being able to pick out her own bunk mate.

“I only hope all of this trouble is worth it,” Syl said.

“It will be, can’t you feel it?” Needles asked, looking at him intently. “You want this, don’t you? I mean, if you’re scared, you can back out and I can find somebody else.”

Syl considered the notion for a moment, then smiled, “of course, I want this. I have always wanted this. I want this more than I thought I could ever want something.”

“Good,” Needles said, smiling back at him and offering an affirmative nod. “Because I wouldn’t really find someone else. I would tie you up and make you do it.”

“Good luck having Mikey go along with that.”

“Trust me, I vetted everyone in this block. I didn’t choose you because you were the smart one of the bunch, if I wanted to do that, I would have chosen your brother.”

“He would have never gone for it. He isn’t like me. He wouldn’t take that gamble.”

“You are right, he wouldn’t have. See, unlike you, he is smart. He is a skeptic. Your brother and you both have seen at least a dozen animals try to break out of this place. The only difference was that he learned not to put his trust into some random rabbit who came up to him with an escape plan. Thank you very much, by the way.”

“He will agree to it when he sees the finished result. He will understand then.”

“That is what we are both betting on.”

“And I am betting on you not forgetting the other part of our agreement,” Syl said, glaring at her, in search of some breaks in her armor.

Per usual, there weren’t any.

“I won’t forget. I will help you find Jack.”

3.

 

In front of him, Jack saw his adversary. He was a Rottweiler with sharp teeth and an angry demeanor, the size difference between them was enough to show Jack would be at a sharp disadvantage. This wasn’t uncommon. As a matter of fact, it would have been unusual if he wasn’t the underdog (in a manner of speaking). It was what brought him to the dance, after all. It was what they saw in him. What made him a promising and worthwhile prospect. If he wasn’t, he would have never been chosen for The Trials of Calpera.

The rules to the game were simple and straightforward enough. All you had to do was defeat your adversary and do your best to entertain the crowd while you did it.

“Rabies and germs, if I could have your attention, today’s pre-show match is a special one to say the least.” The announcer’s voice boomed, a meerkat in a suit and a tie, fur gelled up to a spike on top. “In this corner, with a flawless eight and zero record, we have the immovable object, the devastating, the undeniable Mack “The Mangler” Krul. In the opposing corner, don’t count him out folks, this rabbit’s fast, he is a newcomer, making his debut with a zero and zero record, it’s Jack “Rabbit” Jones!”

Jack played to the crowd, as did his opponent. Mack’s character was supposed to look mean and muscular, whereas Jack’s was to play the role of the brave underdog, a fair and accurate representation of each of their fighting styles.

Jones wasn’t his last name. Truth was that their family name was Sabian. Zackary Leake, the connoisseur that founded The Trials, didn’t like the name, however. He said it was too foreign, what that meant for a Colosseum that specialized in match ups consisting of combatants across the galaxy, Jack neither knew nor cared. Zackary also liked the alliteration Jack Jones had. Jack didn’t care, his last name no longer mattered.

Every combatant was offered an assortment of weaponry to choose from. These were, of course, only starter weaponry. Should the situation evolve beyond that, more weaponry would be strewn throughout the arena to maximize the entertainment value.

The weapons, displayed across a wooden table, rose from the center of the arena, and slowly rotated like an oversized lazy Susan. Jack slapped a rustic sword – or, as he was pointlessly informed, a basket-hilted sword, across a feeble wooden shield. The crowd hadn’t filled the stands to see two combatants block one another’s strikes. Having a shield available at all was a courtesy. Jack got the point though, he was there to provide blood, either his own or his opponent, not to live. Despite the audiences’ protest, the arena masters had been kind enough to allow them simplistic plate armor and a bowl helm. They wanted them to bleed and bleed fast (*but not too fast). All in all, the ridiculous attire made Jack feel like he was a knight straight out of a poorly written medieval storybook. Should Jack ever get the chance to meet the author, he planned to impale him right through the rear end, until the sword protruded from his mouth. That would still be a better fate than that author deserved.

His adversary, Mack Krul, donned chain mail, but chose to leave his rather muscular arms exposed. His helmet had a bright red feather decor at the back. As Mack stepped away from the weapon’s table, he dragged a heavy-looking mace through the sand behind him.

As they returned to their respective corners of the arena, a bell sounded, and the match began.

Jack stepped forward, bracing himself, head held high and back kept straight, pretending his best to be a formidable opponent. His trainer may have expected more from him, Jack was uncertain why, but Jack himself accepted he probably would walk out of here with zero tally-marks in his win column. That wasn’t the point of this anyhow. All he needed to do to uphold his end of the bargain was to be entertaining.

“The Mangler” charged toward him, staying true to his name. He moved quicker than Jack would have expected him to. Thankfully though, Jack was much faster, hopping out of harm’s way with ease. As safe as he may have been, however, that didn’t stop him from feeling a twinge of fear when he watched the ball of the flail dig its way into the dirt floor, throwing up dust, leaving a massive imprint behind. That was meant for my head, Jack thought, but then, did his best to dampen the thought from his mind.

He had to. After all, there was an opportunity presented to him. In a fast movement, Jack made a small jab at “The Mangler’s” rib cage. The sword broke flesh. The sword broke flesh!

Jack hopped backward and created distance between him and Mack. It wasn’t a fatal jab, ’twas just a flesh wound. It didn’t matter though. The crowd popped at the first sight of blood and that was what mattered.

Jack smiled and bowed before them, surprising himself as much as them.

Mack seemed unimpressed, however. He turned his attention back to him and swung his mace again. Then, again. Then, again. A fourth time, even. A fifth and a sixth. Each time was faster than the last. Jack dodged one, then the other, again and again, but each attempt was, in turn, closer than the last.

Finally, The Mangler’s onslaught was brought to a halt when his mace found itself driven directly into the wooden turntable, breaking a full hole through the large rotating wheel.

The crowd cheered.

Mack’s weapon was now out of commission. It was another opportunity, Jack realized. He ran toward him, aiming his sword at him like a javelin. Mack was ready for it, yanking a wooden staff from the assortment of weapons and stabbing Jack with it. Jack went into the air like a pole vaulter, before being roughly slammed into the sand.

Jack felt the wind leave him. ‘Well, I didn’t look completely awful. Maybe not completely awful would be enough.’

He awaited his end and was surprised when it didn’t come. Even stranger than that, the crowd’s reaction changed. He didn’t know what it was, maybe a sound of approval or, even, some kind of giddy amusement? They were a harsh crowd for cheering on his death like they did. He leaned up to a seated position, and then he saw – Mack “The Mangler” Krul had tripped. To be more specific, he had stepped on the wooden turntable and gotten in his leg caught in the very hole he had created with his mace. The hole had completely engulfed his leg. As he groaned, pampering his crotch, the crowd retained their amusement.

This was good, Jack thought. He stood up to his feet and waved to the crowd. This was his moment. If he could defeat The Mangler then he would move up in the food chain. Quickly, he acted, removing his helm from his head, he threw it up in the air and rabbit-footed it directly at Mack’s head.

The crowd cheered on. Jack smiled, looking on at his dazed foe. He turned his back to him and showboated. It wasn’t his normal way of doing things, but Mama Sharko had told him this was the one sure way to allure himself to the crowd. To be remembered, to be loved or, even, to be hated, that was enough to make him a regular in the Trials of Calpera.

The crowd changed from its ovation to a subdued silence. Jack’s smile dropped. as he turned back around and faced Mack Krul, he was disappointed to find he had since freed himself.

“Oh, good, you’ve found your mace,” Jack deadpanned, emphasis on dead.

Who would have thought a flail to the head would hurt so much?

4.

 

Jack couldn’t say whether it was adrenaline or anxiety, or something, somewhere in between the two, but he felt an unhinged, fullness as he awakened. His eyes were wide-open, and in spite of his efforts to remedy the situation and close them, they stayed open. It was like they had always been that way and like they always would be.

Well, that sucked, Jack thought to himself, reflecting over his battle against Mack “The Mangler” Krul, and feeling a twinge of discomfort as he did so. It was as though part of his brain comprehended the events that had unfolded, while the other part of his brain was a long way away. Worse yet, it surely didn’t endear himself to Mama Sharko or the rest of Calpera. His body shook and rattled like a snake with arms that weren’t his own – they felt mechanical, for lack of a better word.

Then again, if you are a snake with mechanical arms, do you not become less of a snake and more of some type of engineered, makeshift lizard? How philosophical, Jack thought to himself, feeling a sliver of pride for his fancy-pants thought-thinkin’. It was the type of thinking Mikey always did.

He stepped out from the machine, taken aback by the array of whites and blues that zipped and zapped over his head in the terminal.

His legs gave in out from under him, and he soon fell flat on his face. He took breaths, trying to make both his body and mind come to some type of agreement over what had happened to him. It wasn’t natural, after all. How could a person’s brain be expected to properly process one minute being smashed to bits with a flail and the next being as fine as ever? It couldn’t, that’s how.

Jack fought his way forward, leaving the terminal behind and walking toward the nearest door he could find. As he stepped out, he opened the door and saw Mack Krul looking back at him, holding what appeared to be a gift basket in his hand: “You did really well for your first day, kid.”