Nonzero's Wish Station

“Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say, but I don’t know, there’s something about this beastie’s head that makes me think he could break apart that saying in a belch, let alone a scream,” Hugh says, chuckling to himself. His laugh caused the hard, plastic hazmat suit face screen to fog up dramatically. He lets go of his disgusting mop that was pushing the now detached head, to fall perfectly behind his fellow janitor, scientist and partner, Isabel. He expertly uses the amount of time it takes for the mop to fall over to heave the green scaled and decomposing head up and aloft, just in time for Isabel to be spooked and turn around in a huff to come face to face with it.

“I think…,” Isabel says, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.” I’ve been thinking, I mean, that we should call this a Littersul, and that this head might just make a decent exploratory specimen.”

“A Littersul, huh?” Jacob asks as if speaking to that very vacuum of space outside the massive panes of glass that separate them both. He holds his soiled mop out in front of him and uses it to take some of the weight off. “You know I used to ask this question back when I just cleaned vomit off of middle-school gym floors: have we run out of names? Tyler spilled his milk, oh and Veronica dropped her little make-up thing. Jacob threw up again in the third period; always so many Jacobs every year. It was at least three, sometimes four.” He stops for a few breaths and watches starships of every size and colour trace cursive lettering across the void. He rubs the small of his back and curls into an age-old stance yet again to resume cleaning. “All this to say, anyway, that no matter what it is I’m mopping up: I am just happy that they’ve got some new names and we’re not truly running out,” the older janitor says. “You know I’m even happier that they have you two working with me here. I like the spunk and energy you two have with each other. I grew tired of the old blue-haired Susies and Bettys back home,” Jacob says, guiding Isabel’s and Hugh’s eyesights to a very distant speck in the black vacuum.

Hugh is the first to lose contact with their old home and looks directly at him "It could certainly be worse!” Hugh says excitedly, trying his best to make good on having his spunk encouraged. “And of course, in an industry both as new and as old as this one is, it’s invaluable having such a veteran by our side, Jacob. Nobody aboard the Nonzero’s Wish Station can mop the grotesque innards of a Littersul quite like you."

Isabel nods in agreement and continues where her partner left off. “And right now, we’re gonna need that efficiency: our next shipment is in a few hours from now. Come on, let’s make sure Mr. Sterling’s landing bay is spotless for the next rotting mess he kindly and neatly delivers,” she says in a heavily sarcastic tone.

All three janitors with very different tenures return hard at work. Hugh picks up the several body parts Isabel deems useful enough to study, and places them gently on a table in the far corner. All the while, Jacob does what he does best, diligently sweeping and mopping. He takes a little longer in the lifting aspects, as he goes around and picks up the bits that Isabel deems insignificant, the leather-like appendages that are torn in half, or bits of shredded animal sternum. All left-over parts eventually end up inside the massive, built-in incinerator off to the left side of the landing bay.

When all is done, the useful body parts are separated and sprayed clean along the backside tables. Those tables were then pushed on wheels into a hidden alcove inside the wall to be later studied. All the sparkling, unfortunately, white tiles that make up the floor are spotless, and the landing bay’s yellow and red spinning lights flick on in unison, welcoming Mr. Stirling back into his theoretical castle in which he parks his flying throne.

The landing bay door opens and graciously welcomes his quad-winged spaceship inside that quickly jettisons the excess pressure in the bottom thrusters. Before landing, he spins it around to have the docking doors face towards the janitors. His ship, the aptly named: The Searcher, was on most days painted a heavenly mixture of soft blues and whites with gentle rays of yellow streaking down the sides but is now covered in grotesque giblets of unknown species. There’s stained and dried blood of several different colours that help create a new visage upon her. The four wings that make up the improbable dragonfly formation on an ironically bird-shaped ship, spin rapidly counter-clockwise for a brief second that sends volleys of crimson and deep purple and greens in each direction, tracing vicious gashes through the once sterile landing bay. The ceilings, floor, windows and of course, each and every Janitor standing in wait in fresh, white vacuum suits.

A few minutes pass as they stand patiently and painted, awaiting the custom curated, ostensibly attractive female voice. “Mr. Stirling’s landing bay has re-entered atmospheric pressure; welcome back: Peter. I hope you have a nice stay aboard me.”

“Oh, I sure will,” Mr. Stirling says, a sultry voice that cuts through the whirring of a drone floating up from the top of The Searcher. “But first, let us see what masterpiece I have created today, shall we?” He says a little louder as the drone begins to ascend, not letting his altogether strangely placed sexual innuendos be drowned out by lacklustre onboard speakers on the drone. “Little bit higher we go; yes, oh yes, stand right there my friends. The way the Morriliac blood has splattered across you, Hugh, It’s wondrous. Isabel? Well, you look okay too, darling. Keep your chin up,” Mr. Sterling says through a clearly obvious smile. The drone flashes a brilliant white and then begins floating downwards to where it came.

The back docking doors send out puffs of gas and slowly lowers. “Alright, my friends, just wait for me to gather my things and I’ll be out in a—” He’s abruptly cut off by the sounds of sudden commotion. Glass bottles breaking, boxes and briefcases being thrown across the ships’ interior, and the sounds of a metal cage breaking and twisting.

“Oh, this piece of shit,” Hugh sighs, affectionately wiping blood and bits from Isabel's visor. “He definitely just recorded those sounds, “ she laughs. “Well, maybe not?” Jacob cautions, as a tranquillizer rifle flies off from the lowering docking bay ramp and comes to a skittering halt at his feet. He bends to pick it up as an uncharacteristically stressed voice rings out: “Jacob, in a minute here when this door decides to open, I think,” He says between heavy breaths and panting. “I think this creature here needs a little more than I thought.”

The door puffs more gas and creaks into a halfway opening.

Hugh looks at Jacob now holding the tranquillizer and gives him a weary thumbs up but squints and shrugs while doing so. He puts his left arm across Isabel's chest and takes a few steps back, awaiting whatever is behind. Jacob takes a slow, elderly knee and enters a firing position once he sees the tip of Mr. Sterling's signature wide-brimmed and brown Akubra hat. In front of it, however, is the face of something previously unseen. A vaguely ape-like, wholly bipedal creature locked in a fierce and unrelenting choke hold. “Quickly Jacob; centre mass, twice!” Mr. Sterling shouts. Jacob summons his courage, aims where directed and pulls the trigger twice. Two frilly darts fly towards the beast, one impacting the short-haired muscular chest and the other into the thick brown thigh. It quickly working its magic, as with the help of the choke hold, the beast is lowered back onto the ground and dragged into a nearby cage.

“Wow! What a fighter, eh?” Mr. Sterling says, doffs his hat and wipes his brow. “Nice shots, my friend, could use some work though. Hugh? A clear protector; I like it.” He walks down the ramp and takes the gun gracefully from the trembling hands of the older janitor, rapidly taking three more shots at the beast in the cage. “It’s a good thing I only brought home one of those, hm?” He chuckles, slapping Jacob on the shoulder and puts the gun back in his hands. He walks through the janitors and opens his arms as if to beckon a hug from the tiny slits in the blast door connecting the landing bay and the station proper. The door opens wide and in the hallway stands a portly man, the mayor of The Nonzero’s Wish. Through it rushes a torrent of soldiers all equipped with matching sidearms and gray suits, pushing several floating platforms used to carry the captive beasts to who knows where.

Mr. Stirling and the Mayor share a bureaucratic hug and begin talking as they walk down the hallway towards his office. “What a show, Peter. You know, I have an idea for a show like that if ever you grow tired of this. It would begin with something just like that and then…,” The mayor’s voice begins to trail off as they get further down the hallway. Hugh, Isabel and Jacob all finally exhale the biggest breaths of their life and walk to the corner of the room to take a seat and watch as the soldiers excavate the ship of strange and misshapen creatures of every size.

“I truly do wonder where and what happens to these things,” Isabel says, first to break the silence. Hugh, hanging his head off the back of his chair, sits upright with a few grunts. “The beasts, or the soldiers?” He asks plainly, eyes still closed. “The beasts, dumbass,” She retorts. “Well, I think,” Cementing his sarcasm this time. “They take the beasts into a backroom, they give them guns and a drab gray suit, and they become the soldiers.” She assumes Hugh’s old sitting position in defeat. “What do you think, Jacob?” “I suppose it stands to reason that they take them away and do what you guys do to them, right? He answers.

Both Hugh and Isabel flick open their eyes wide and begin coughing wildly, trying desperately to take attention away from what was just said a touch too loud. “It’s like we always say, Jacob, nobody slings a mop quite like you. They could never do what we do, we’re the best Janitors on this side of the Milky Way,” Hugh spits out quickly, diffusing the air. “Oh yeah, truly,” Shaking her head affirmatively. “Hey! Maybe we should get a headstart on these windows? Mr. Stirling sure had a lot of fun painting this time, it’s almost like he killed more than he captured.”

Hugh and Isabel both slap their knees and stand up like they’re about to leave a family get-together, quickly grab their mops and their personal window cleaning elevators, and get to cleaning. Hours fly by quickly, as the three janitors clean as if being watched over their shoulders by a boss. The league of soldiers in their matching gray suits finish their job far before the windows are fully cleaned. They leave far more of a mess in their wake, however, as every last unfortunate and monstrous giblet falls from a cage being transported to and fro. Hugh and Isabel leave Jacob to finish the window while they step down from their elevators. They begin to follow the same routine mastered over months spent inside this bay, Hugh walks over to extend the hidden examination table and Isabel begins hunting for usable specimens and appendages. The janitors finish up for the night, throw off their suits and flick on the overnight UV lights, finally meeting up outside the landing bay where Hugh and Isabel motion towards the main Concorde.

Arriving at the Nonzero’s Wish Station’s second-best restaurant, Gregorio’s, they get to relax their tense shoulders over some Italian white, synthetic wine. “So, Jacob,” Hugh says without making eye contact, choosing instead to straighten out the edges of the tablecloth. “What we do is supposed to fly under the metaphorical radar, alright? We don’t truly, honestly know whether they do pay attention or not or if they would even care about us studying the bits and pieces,” he finishes, glancing at Isabel across the table for backup. “The mayor is just pretty neurotic when it comes to this stuff, he doesn’t want to step on any toes as none of us are aware what the suits do with them all,” she says, this time sharing a glance together, before continuing. “We –um– were to a degree, chosen to look into them because of the danger what Mr. Stirling finds may very well pose to the station and system as a whole.”

Hugh finally finishes straightening the tablecloth and leans forwards toward Jacob. “To finish her statement: especially dangerous, because the more we look into these things the more dangerous they seem to become. Both the natural weapons they inhibit and wield, and apparently, the ones we humans seem to be used against them. As we are continually finding more and more lethal wounds on them,” Hugh warns, his voice wavering on near-sympathy.

Isabel, despite the serious conversation, cannot help but tug on her side of the tablecloth. “Our mayor is playing both sides here for the greater good, and you were chosen to help with that, Jacob,” she says. Hugh nods in agreement and squints, looking at where her hands are positioned. Isabel smiles and continues. “As rude as it may sound, you are such an unassuming decoy for us and an incredibly believable scapegoat, while we conduct our business. We would love for you to continue keeping it under wraps for us, okay?” She says, punctuating it with another good tug.

It causes Jacob to reach forwards as quickly as his older reflexes can manage to snag his dear glass of wine before it topples. He takes a slow, meaningful swig and meets eyes with both his fellow janitors before setting it down. “I suppose that makes sense, after all, I wondered where everything on that table ends up,” Jacob says. “I like you two, you keep it interesting and you do okay work. Let’s keep it that way then. But for now, let me close my eyes and dream I’m back on Earth, somewhere in the Sicilian isles, sipping with my dearest Theresa again.” He promptly closes his eyes and leans back, wishing for sun and soft winds.

Hugh and Isabel pull their lips together and shrug. They both down their glasses and get up, quietly, in case he’s already asleep, and begin walking away towards their apartment. “I’ll see you Monday, my friends. Take care and goodnight.” Jacob says a little too loudly, disrupting the few other patio goers around. Hugh throws a humble thumbs-up into the air behind him. Isabel reaches her left hand into the air and grabs his wrist, throwing it down to his side quickly. “And go!” She takes off running. “Last one there picks the movie!” Hugh cannot help but smile, as he looks down at his somehow untied shoes.

The weekend rolls over into a reluctant Monday, and the three janitors meet back up outside Mr. Stirling’s personal landing bay. They peer through the tiny slit alongside the mayor, all vying for more viewing room as Mr. Stirling regards all standing at the edge of his ship’s door. He throws a calloused but perfect hand into the air and gives everybody he knows is watching one single, solid wave, as he turns around and coaxes The Searcher back out into the vacuum of space.

The mayor turns to the three janitors and places his thick hands on Hugh and Isabel’s shoulders. “My god, he ate that totally batshit idea of mine up like breakfast. We would simply never host a show like that with him. In case you guys were worried,” the mayor chuckles. He goes to leave but spies a particularly green-covered cargo ship entering the bay and points an all-golden pinky towards it, then pats Jacob on the bicep sympathetically.

“Be mindful of the suits; I hear their nigh-fascist stomps from here.” The mayor says while walking away back towards his office. They unexcitedly enter the bay and await the cargo ships and the aforementioned suits, all now astutely aware of the increasing danger of these beasts. Their outwardly daily occupation goes on for months from that point on without so much as a hitch. However, their hidden secondary objective grows more and more inquisitive and interesting. Through those few months, they begin to piece together just why the Mayor has assigned them to this duty and understand his worry. The teeth of these new beasts are steadily growing in more lethality. Their mandibles, claws, and tails all follow suit as well. But what is most worrying, are the incisions and shots that clearly fell these creatures. What used to be simple shots from tranquillizers followed soon by pentobarbital to put the more aggressive to sleep, now turned into entire gaps through the creature's hind legs as if shot through by rail guns. Jacob, always the more attentive to the goings-on outside the massive windows, also notices a stark uptick in the number of times a particularly regal, red, and impressively defensive spaceship visits the Mayor’s offices.

Tensions felt as if they were growing alongside the size of the creatures' skulls, as at this point four and a half months since their dinner at Gregorio’s, they have not seen nor heard from Mr. Stirling. Not a single sexually infused wave or whistle or disgusting beast was brought on board. That was, until one Friday night as the last of the gray suits had just finished emptying another cargo ship, Jacob lost in thought, reminiscing about all the other Earthly Jacobs and what they’re up to now. He spies a distant fire creating a parallax with the closest planet’s rings: the beautiful and light-blue rings of Kouralis that snaps him out of his daydream.

“Hey, Isabel? Come - come look at this.” “What is it?” She says, focused separating limb from limb. “Do I have to?” Hugh pipes up through the sound of wet mopping. “Can I come too?” “Both of you come; it’s getting closer,” Jacob says with a little more waver in his voice.

Isabel and Hugh both clearly recognize the iconic shape with their younger eyes, but wait for one another to be the first to rationalize it. Jacob pushes his face against the glass and covers the glare with his hands. “That’s The Searcher, right?” He says, growing more and more worried. Both sets of younger eyes flick around the room wildly, calculating and figuring out the implications this could have if Mr. Stirling dies.

Without a word, Hugh runs over towards the landing bay door controls and waits for the signal from Isabel. She stands still, eyes locked on target, narrating Hugh’s thoughts while watching the leaking ship approach closer. “His ship clearly still has autopilot engaged as it’s headed in the right direction, but the controls to open the door are still manual or voice-activated. Oh, he’s already—” She stops, impressed at his quickness. “Alright, Hugh, on my signal. Jacob? Just prepare your suit; flick your boots and O2 on. Ten, nine, eight…three, two, one, open!” She yells, as the burning exhaust of onboard oxygen and light blue body of The Searcher flies inside the landing bay, not quite as graceful as it used to, as the airlock door closes behind it.

Within seconds, the automatic fire sensors are triggered in the docking bay and an utter torrent of pure white foam is ejected from the ceiling. The foam is propelled downwards by massive tubes of pressurized, heavy gas, designed to fight the pressure of an open airlock door. Everything inside the personalized landing bay is quickly coated by layer and layer of the stuff, until the sensors stop detecting heat and the airlock doors are thrust open again, ejecting everything not nailed down or held by powerful magnets. A minute later, the doors close and all that remains is a leaking ship, three janitors and one mop between them.

Jacob is the first to find the humour in the situation and immediately begins to mop what remains of the foam on the ground. “Well, that was far more exciting than gym class vomit!” Jacob says, smiling behind his hazmat face screen. “You guys go figure that mess out, I got all this.” Hugh and Isabel both bend over and put their hands on their knees for a minute, catch their breaths, and walk around the ship towards the back where they’d usually expect Mr. Stirling to be standing right about now. Hugh puts his hands together in mock prayer, closes his eyes and lifts the cover to hit the open cargo bay door button. Only opening one eye as it comes sputtering down, disjointed and sparking, they are introduced to a bloody mess. More, far more than they are ever used to seeing in the back of this ship. All eleven metal cages are open, some torn, with bloody pulps inside. So far, Hugh’s prayer is coming to pass as there are clearly no humanoid remains to be found, at least in the cargo hold. They both take gingerly steps through the muck; Hugh keeping an eye out for dangerous leakages and live electrical cables, while Isabel counts in a whisper, trying to match cage to skeleton. “We should be good, Hugh, I count eleven to eleven. Christ alive; we don’t get paid enough for this shit.” She coughs, in spite of her suit working perfectly.

“I’ll go search around his quarters. You go to the engine bay first, and then the cockpit. We’ll meet back here if nothing is found, but keep your comms open.” Hugh nods affirmatively and takes the lower staircase down as she splits off into a side room. Isabel took the much more difficult path for herself as there are two priorities Mr. Sterling has: the cargo hold in which to store his hunt and his quarters in which to enjoy his fun. There are leagues of blankets and pillows she kicks through wildly, searching quickly and unwillingly to touch anything. A large enough bed for five and a shower twice as large as anything on the Nonzero’s Wish Station to examine. Her search does not last long, due to Hugh entirely skipping over the engine room and instead entering the cockpit, immediately spying a splintered screen.

“Isabel, honey, come up to the cockpit if you’re not too busy.” “Did you find him?” She questions. “No,” he hangs on that word as he squints his eyes.”No, not quite, but in essence – not a bloody mess though! Just, come and look.” “Yeah, alright I’m coming. I hate being in here.” Isabel says, kicking a final red and gold pillow on her way out of the room. She reaches the threshold of the cockpit and sees Hugh staring attentively at the broken screen. “Is this what you were talki—” “Shh, listen, listen,” Hugh interrupts.

The screen flickers and reverts to a stop state prepared to replay its loop any second now. It struggles to find its colour and right its voice, but it eventually focuses on a pair of beautiful blue eyes and a familiar chiselled chin that backs out of the frame and sits down on some strangely stiff, blue grass.

“Hello! To whoever is so lucky to be watching this video,” an iconic sultry voice rings out. “As you should very well know by now, I am Peter Stirling and you’re most likely aboard my dear girl: The Searcher. You would have passed a whole bunch of these sweet guys on your way up to her chair.” He says as he picks up an entirely new creature to the Janitor’s eyes. It’s tiny, and far darker blue than the grass they sit on with a strangely bulbous and portly look to their body. Almost entirely round, except for the four extremities that poke out from them. Mr. Stirling places it on his lap and pokes it in its stomach with a knife. “I have decided to call these guys Sémanchérs, in honour of all my French lovers and their love of wine. For you see and bear with me here,” He gestures towards the camera and lifts the creature upwards above his head, to where the dark purple juice is now flowing from the knife wound directly into his mouth. “Now this isn’t wine, unfortunately. But it is juice concentrated from the local flora around here; it’s a wondrous planet, and I wish for the people aboard the Nonzero’s Wish Station to have a taste as well. I will remain here and continue looking for more wonders, but my ship will fly home carrying aboard eleven of the Sémanchérs, enjoy!"

The screen flickers on and off and reverts to the stop state once more. Hugh and Isabel look at one another, both with a wide array of emotions on their faces. Happy, confused and altogether disappointed that they don’t get to try. “Hmm,” Isabel ponders aloud. “So why was the ship on fire?” She quickly receives her answer.

They turn on their heels instantly to the sound of a thunderous whack as Jacob is sent flying into the far left wall and crumples into a shell of himself against the incinerator. The two remaining janitors on their feet don’t see what flung him, however. They only make out foot-long, three-toed footprints moving through the spots of foam left on the floor towards Jacob. They share another glance, only now showing one emotion, and both spring into action. Hugh sprints up the stairs into the cargo bay to find the tranquillizer he’s cleaned many times before and runs outside to confront the unseen beast.

Isabel, meanwhile, looks around the control panels to find the drone controls, and quickly pilots it into the air. Taking a bird’s eye view first to locate the prints, and upon seeing them still headed towards Jacob, yells into the microphone. “Hey! Hey, beastie! Over here! Look up!” The footprints stop moving forwards and instead spin around towards Hugh now standing beside the cargo bay door in a defensive stance. She maneuvers the drone down in front of the beast, estimating where its head would be, expecting it to charge at him. “Shoot straight ahead Hugh!” Isabel yells "Aim under the drone!” Without a second thought, he shoots four darts that all impact an unseen body, but they all watch horrifically as each dart is plucked or clawed or forced out and hits the floor.

Isabel’s eyes go wide with fear but return to a focused state as she looks around for another control. Her hand finds a switch labelled “Masterpiece Maker”, and the whirling of the blades is heard throughout the room. The blades quickly paint the bay with several different colours, including mighty swatches against the once invisible creature. The thuds of giblets and residue against his chest and head of Jacob stir him back into consciousness.

Hugh is seen desperately trying to reload his gun through the camera of the drone, as she continually yells through the microphone to keep its attention. Now seeing parts of its monstrous head, she keeps the drone head-level and guides it towards the left side of the room slowly, hurling all kinds of insults Hugh has unfortunately heard before. Isabel, confident about its distance to the wall, positions her mouth in front of the microphone again. “Everybody close your eyes!” As the drone flashes in a brilliant white that sends the beast recoiling forwards, trying to claw at the tiny, buzzing miscreant. At the same time, Jacob stumbles onto his window elevator, ascending up to the residue-painted beast’s head and summons all his leftover grandfather's strength to plunge the broken end of his trusty mop into its head. He keeps a mighty grip while clicking his magnetic boots together and making the elevator descend, bringing the head of the beast down and into the mouth of the incinerator.

A guttural roar and grotesque smell are all that’s left of this thing, as the three janitors breathe a sigh of relief and gather next to Hugh. As they’re about to congratulate Jacob on his surprising feat of strength, there’s a pounding outside the main door. Through it flows an army of gray suits flanked by a stern-looking man in a regal red suit, who pays the Mayor no attention standing in the hallway. He looks to the janitors and beckons them over.

“Mr. Stirling’s ship automatically pinged our systems with his message; that guy and I were in my office when it happened. We have his location, but no access to warning him. I’m sorry, my friends. But it has to be you three, take my ship,” The Mayor says, offering his keys to Isabel. “I’m fairly confident the gray suits’ working relationship with Mr. Stirling and you three just ran its course, you must get there before they do and warn him. My yacht is not tracked, take it and go, quickly.” He says looking around at the three before him.

“But, sir—” Isabel is cut off again.

“No time, Isabel” The Mayor insists. “They will question and probably kill you for what all you’ve seen by tomorrow’s time. Goodbye, my friends. I trust you, this station trusts you.”