John Statham: A Short-ish Story - Chapter Three

We've almost reached the end of the story. This is part three of four and if you're just jumping in, I'd suggest flipping back to chapter one to get the full story. - Michael

Chapter 3

"Is there any drink you would like?" Questions of my foresight and general judgment filled my mind and I was not ready to experiment with alien alcohol.

"Do you have," I queried cautiously, "some Jack Daniels?"

"It is a favorite of his when the winter nights are cold," Antius said in regard to my new acquaintance, as he reached to a shelf hidden below the level of the counter.

Taking my glass I placed it on a table and settled back on a couch near the windows. Staring at the ceiling the pattern of maple planks swirled and ran. My mind started to take its general anxieties and place them into more concise set of questions. Will I be back in time to get my homework done? How is he expecting me to help him? Is the air here okay for me to breath? What happened to my coffee? “Oh, blast!” I had left my coffee in the craft (my largest pet peeve in my life was when a friend would leave their coffee cup in my car...well when I had a car, I had to sell it to afford this last year).

“I have made a lechur burger and frutas fries for your dinner.”

I rose out of the couch and made my way to the bar where Antius had served a tantalizing burger and yellow fries with a grey sauce. He cleaned behind the bar while quietly staring at me. I did my best to focus on the coarsely ground lechur, avoiding eye-contact at all costs.

“Walk with me,” directed Antius after clearing my place setting. We returned down the hall past the elevator and stepped through double doors into a rustic suite, accented by bare cedar planks and a roaring and somewhat smoky fire. Noticing the scratchiness of wool, I lay down on the bed.

“Hmm, yes, I do believe a wide shawl collar would be best...possibly make it contrasting...,” suddenly my mind realized that a person was quietly examining me in my sleep laden state. Sitting up my mind was jolted by the reality of my location and the four-armed woman inspecting me through a very thick set of lightly tinted glasses. “Well hello, I hope creatures from your planet are okay with being seen during their rest. I’m Terresta, quite honestly the best tailor to ever come from Anisla Major, and many have come from there. Your body is quite convenient to shaping clothes to. You see one time there was an Elithian who requested my services and although I managed it I’m not sure how I shaped the collar around what they like to call their nineteenth head. Do you have preference toward the number of buttons, the material, possibly the color, are patch pockets okay?

“Well um, I’m not quite sure,” I stuttered while still overwhelmed by the flood of words emanating from what I assumed to be my tailor. “I’m sure whatever you choose will be fine, thank you.”

Stepping out of my room an hour later, I was dressed in a midnight blue suit, quite similar to the slim and simplistic grey suit of my acquaintance. Sauntering down the hall, a tumbler of amber liquor in his grasp, I met my friend again. “Well mate, I think I’m about ready for hell. Let’s sit in the lounge and look over the briefing”

I sat with my best posture in one of the armchairs, waiting while my host studied his tablet. Setting his tablet precisely on the coffee table, he flopped back on the dark leather couch. “You’re role is really quite simple you see,” he said softly, “I’ve simply had a spat with some Elithians about a core broadcasting issue and then some snarks from Daskam II were worked up in regards to the other spat and some collateral happenings. You can’t really help but feel sorry for the fellows, but in regards I am not at all responsible. Bugger, I might have helped them a great deal with but no one knows, but it’s all in the wash now. As long as you come tomorrow and are a good amiable mate, I’m confident it can all be worked through. Is it crystal where things are at?”

“Yes, um I think I might have the gist.”

“Dashing, court will be opening there in just half an hour so we best make good time.” And with that Elby stood, slipped the tablet into a small leather case he had, and led me back to the space-craft garage.

We stepped into a larger dark, flat charcoal-colored craft. Antius was at the controls while we sat in large seats, back-to-back armchairs, that looked out panoramic side windows. This flight was quite short and left out any heart stopping maneuvers. Before I particularly expected, we had landed and were stepping onto a deep green carpet.

In stark contrast to the garage at my host’s flat, this was a well lit room with a carpeted floor and walls painted with murals. There were tall brass doors that opened for us and we walked through what I assumed was a security checkpoint manned by tall, slim grey-skinned men in matching black suits. We strode through another set of brass doors, entering a breath-takingly large hall, the ceilings vaulted and painted with even more murals. At the distant end of the hall there was a set of sparkling gold doors at least twenty meters tall, slowly opening outwards. Thick carpet seemed to suck away the sound of our footsteps and that of the many other thin and rigidly dressed aliens hurrying each to his own door. Traversing the length of the hall, we stepped through the tall, gold doors.

Yeah, golden doors...things are getting blingy. Next week or so the final chapter will drop and suddenly nothing will make sense anymore...at least that's what the editor in my mind keeps telling me...