Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 64359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
The scythkin takes me to his ship, which is an impressive, sleek vessel. It gleams black and dangerous in the highlighter dock of the asteroid. A few curves here and there give it an almost organic appearance, like the casing of a very dangerous insect.
I am sure Raz will follow, just as I am sure the others will follow. As soon as we stop anywhere, the other owners will be on us again, finding various ways to steal me for themselves and using me for their own purposes. I’m already losing track of how many frying pans there are to leap out of, and fires to burn me subsequently.
The interior of the scythkin ship looks like a mid-century human living room. I could ask why, but it would be a waste of energy, I suspect. It’s probably the same reason anybody’s place looks like anything: just because.
“I need to put a fresh suit on,” he says. “I am monstrous to you now. Once I take a more human form we can talk. Take a seat on the couch and wait for me to come back.”
When I don’t immediately sit down, he picks me up and puts me on the couch where he wants me, moving me around like a living doll. I stare up at this massive, shiny, dark creature with the shiny protrusions that represent endless danger and I try to fathom how he could ever fit himself into a human form.
He turns and walks away, apparently satisfied that I will obey him. He’s right. I do obey him. I am shell-shocked, I think. The trauma of the last twenty-four hours, topped off by the reality that my life is genuinely in immediate danger is catching up with me.
I sit and I look around myself at a perfect recreation of a point of human history that existed many hundreds of years in the past. Earth tones were very in at the time, natural fibers and organic shapes. There’s nothing complicated here, and ironically, nothing sharp. The couch I am sitting on is a bright turquoise which contrasts with the egg-yellow rug at my feet which is then complemented by the wood paneled walls. There are silver and black dials and little red lights mounted on some of the walls. I’m not sure what they do, but I’m sure they’re not as simple as dimmer-switches and other anachronistic things.
It’s like finding myself in a museum. A very cool museum. It’s actually quite cozy and charming. Maybe there’s some part of me that remembers when things were this way, when humans were mostly confined to planet Earth, and the biggest problem anybody had was the imminent prospect of mutual annihilation.
I wish all I had to worry about was mutual annihilation. I’d take a vague human enemy that was largely propaganda to begin with in the first place over this complete mess I’ve landed myself in for only the best of reasons. Nobody’s asked me the reason I scammed them all yet, and if they did ask, then I’d have quite the story to tell them. But they’re not asking. So I guess I’m not telling.
“You need comfort.”
Sometimes, words that are intended to soothe are only effective at making one feel a great deal less good. I do need comfort, but that deep voice replete with gravel is not making me feel comforted at all.
The accountant is back. A new human suit has been donned. This one looks much the same as the first. Sandy hair, square jaw, Clark Kent type. He is wearing a day-suit again and carrying a cane over his forearm. Interesting how the universe’s most terrifying beast prefers the most harmless aesthetic. I could almost forget who he is and what he is. In fact, I feel a little of the respect I had for him actively leaving my body as I behold what my mind interprets as being an ineffectual peon. Brains really are stupid things. They put way too much weight on what the eyes tell them, and not enough on what all the other thoughts are saying. Thoughts like, argh, he could kill me with a flick of his wrist at any given moment if he wanted to.
He has two cups, one in each of his hands.
“Here,” he says, handing me a hot chocolate. “You will likely enjoy this.”
I look down at the rich, dark liquid which smells of chocolate, which is the most perfect edible compound in the universe. I take a sip. It is good. Slightly salty, but mostly chocolatey. For a very brief moment, I have the sense that everything is going to be okay. Everything has always been okay, and everything will always be okay. The effect fades as soon as the chocolate leaves my tongue, and on the next sip, the effect is slightly muted. From there, the law of diminishing returns comes into play. I keep drinking, trying to chase the dragon of that first perfect sip, but of course that isn’t possible. I finish my beverage without ever feeling quite the same reprieve from worry I felt in that first delicious taste.