The UFO Man Has Died

The cemetery was a lot of things, but chaotic was not one of them. Freshly cut grass and rows upon rows of weathered headstones covered the peaceful field. Sam had walked these grounds on a few occasions, always surrounded by a large group of friends, family, and the occasional acquaintance. This time it was different. No one, but him and the priest journeyed to Gary's final resting place. 

Gary was an odd duck to say the least. Around the town, he was known as "The UFO Man," even though he insisted on being called "Eran, Gary Mathers." Apparently "Eran" was the title given to him by the Eranian Guard of the Plesta System after he saved their Queen's daughter. It was one of many stories he told to the entire town and any passerby who would listen to him. Obviously, nobody believed him and chalked it down to him having a wild imagination. With that reputation, it didn't lend to having many friends, which apparently only left Sam. 

Sam saw many foreign names listed who were expected to be in attendance, but when he was the only one at the open casket, he knew those stories were just that. Stories. In no time, Sam arrived at the plot and his friend's night black casket stood over the dug grave, ready to be lowered. Father Heston cleared his throat before he spoke. 

"Do you want me to wait a few minutes for others to arrive?"

"Sorry Father, I think it is just me," Sam said.

Father Heston began his prayer, but it only served as background noise to Sam's thoughts. No one showed up. Surely someone from his stories had to be real? Yeah, his galactic travels were definitely fake, but even his friends? His wife? Was he just that sad of a man, he had to make up stuff to feel important? I could have done more than listen to him talk every Thursday at the bar.

"Amen," Father Heston said and addressed Sam. "Would you like to say anything?"

Sam walked up to the casket and the clouds above him distorted. Neither noticed what was going on in the sky, but it was hard to miss the car-sized flying saucer smash through a few gravestones to the left of them. The ship came to a stop a few yards away and smoke bellowed from an opening hatch. Sam ran to the crash, not registering in his head the craft was alien in nature. 

He got to the edge of the smoke when he saw a short gray humanoid alien stumble out, waving his fist at the sky and coughing. "Watch where you're flying, princess!"

Sam froze, noticing the wrinkly gray skin and large bulb head was not human. An alien?

"Hey, you there in the suit," the alien said, pointing at Sam. "Where's Gary?"

"You…know Gary?" Sam asked, surprised once again the alien even spoke his language. 

"Yes, now where is he? I got to get to work before that Princess up there ruins everything." 

Sam looked up at where the alien was pointing and the sky was filled with different spaceships. Some were small, much like the one in the cemetery, but others were easily six times as big. They all had different shapes and colors, except for ten of them. Those ten reminded Sam of human spaceships he had seen in movies. Rectangular in design, reminiscent of battleships and all patterned in the same gray and red color scheme. One of those broke ranks and came in for a landing. 

Father Heston was thoroughly terrified and made a break for it, leaving Sam to watch in awe as a large ship landed in front of the casket. The alien next to Sam pushed past him, trying to will his little feet over to the casket before whoever was landing got out. 

When the ship touched down, crushing numerous headstones with the landing gear, a ramp shot out of the underbelly of the ship. Soldiers about Sam's height, wearing red armor and armed with spears came rushing out. They reminded him of samurai, except with a sleeker design. The soldiers formed a perimeter around the casket, blocking the short alien from getting to it. 

"Let me by, you brutes!" the alien yelled at the soldiers.

"Stand back. The Queen is disembarking," the soldier responded.

"I'm not here for her. Just need the stiff in the box."

The soldier did not take his words kindly and stabbed him in the foot, pinning him to the ground. There was some cursing and the alien tried to pull out the spear from the ground, but it was going nowhere. 

"You will address him by his title, Eran Mathers, in our presence or I will cripple both your feet."

The alien gave him a harsh look, but did not dare say another word. The rest of the soldiers stood at attention as another figure emerged from the ship. She was definitely royalty, wearing a long red dress which dragged behind her a few feet. Her hair was done up like a large corn cob on top of her head and her feminine features were similar to women on earth. The only real difference Sam saw was her hand had six fingers and her ears were more like red turnips.

She walked down the ramp with tears in her emerald eyes. It made a line of glitter on her face when one tear managed to escape her eyelids and run off her soft cheek. Her body stood poised until she reached the casket, where she collapsed to her knees and sobbed in her hands. The man she loved was gone and all that remained was the pain of her loss. 

Sam took a few steps forward, feeling compelled to comfort the grieving woman. The soldier gave him a warning glare.

"Do you mind? I'm a friend of Gary's," Sam said, pointing to the casket.

The soldier stared at him for a few moments, deciding what to do. Sam couldn't tell what the soldier was thinking since their faces were completely covered in red and black masks. The woman's wails became louder and the soldier nodded to Sam.

"Thank you."

Sam went up to the woman and kneeled next to her, laying his hand gently on her back. She continued to cry and grabbed him by the shirt, using him as a towel. 

"Why? Why did I have to be such a fool!" she wailed into his shirt. 

"You're not a fool." Sam patted her on the back, trying to reassure her. 

"I should've left everything behind. Our kids were old enough to rule. I thought I had more time!”

Sam's eyes got big. If this alien was saying what he thought she was saying, that would make her…Princess Parhan. Gary mentioned he married the Queen's daughter, but nothing about kids.

"It's okay, Princess Parhan."

The woman wiped her tears and looked up at him. "I haven't heard that title in a long time.”

"Gary told me quite a few stories about you. I didn't believe any of them, but seeing you in person, it is hard to refute now."

"What did he say?"

"He told me about how he saved you from a group of bandits.”

"He jumped on a moving starship for me. I still remember it like it was yesterday. The way his hair flipped in the wind. His strong arms held me tight after fighting off those barbarians." Parhan wrapped her arms around herself, reliving the memory in her head. It brought a smile to her face, but didn't last as the casket reminded her where he rested today. "Do you know what happened to him?"

"Doctors said radiation poisoning. I guess he was trying to make a spaceship in his garage."

Parhan broke down in tears once again. Sam held the slouching woman who cried into his chest.

"He was trying to get back to me. I marooned him here!"

"No, you didn't–"

"Yes I did! How could I be so stupid?"

Sam let her cry for a few minutes before he found the right words to comfort his friend's wife. 

"You know, for as long as I knew him, he never complained about not being with you." Sam said and Parhan lifted her head to face him. "He spoke about you and all the people in his life with such passion. Never a bad word, except for those darn Carosains."

Parhan laughed and sniffled. "That sounds like Gary.”

"One time, I did ask him why I never met you. And you wanna know what he said to me?" Sam asked. She nodded, clinging to his every word. "He said, 'She needs to be with her people. When the day of peace comes, she will return to me. Whether that is in this life or the next, it doesn't matter. I know she loves me and she will always have my love as long as there are stars in the galaxy.'"

Parhan's lips quivered and wanted to cry, but she had no more tears to give. "What is your name?"

"Sam."

"I will not forget you, Sam," she said and stood up. Parhan put her hand on the casket and whispered. "I will see you again. I promise."

No more words were uttered as she turned and left. She signaled to her guards and they all followed her, except for one who retrieved his spear. The blade left a large oval hole in the gray alien's foot, but no blood. The gray alien ran up to the casket, trying to figure out how to get it open, while the last soldier approached Sam. 

"Can I ask you something?" the soldier asked.

"Sure."

"Did Eran Mathers ever mention his children?"

"I don't think he knew he had children. How many did he have?"

"One hundred and seventy three."

Sam coughed from the sheer shock. "Woah. I'm positive he didn't know that. He would have definitely bragged about it."

The soldier stood up a little straighter and clicked his boots together. "It was an honor meeting you."

Before the soldier could turn away, Sam asked a question he thought he knew the answer to. "Let me guess, you are his son?"

"Have a good day, sir," he said, turning away and left up the ramp.

It didn't quite sit right with Sam for his son to leave without more, even if they had never known each other. There was no way to send him his inheritance, so he left him with the only thing he had time for. An offer. 

"If you ever are back on Earth, don't be a stranger. I know his stories by heart if you ever want to hear one."

The soldier turned on his heels and lifted his spear. In the blink of an eye, he wound up and threw it. Sam didn't get time to react as it flew past him and struck the gray alien who was stomping on the casket.

"I'll be back for my spear. Until we meet again," the solider said and the ramp closed behind him. There was a quiet rumble and the ship took off, back up into the sky. The fleet of ships all began to turn away and without warning, disappeared without a trace.

Sam smiled, watching the empty sky. "Damn Gary, you really were a galactic adventurer."

***

Zom-Be-Gone

Two eyes appeared between the slit in the giant metal door. "Who goes there?" 

"The name is Donavan Sullivan. I hear you had a bit of a zombie problem," the man outside the gate said, adjusting his tie.

"Who doesn't. Get lost pal," the voice behind the gate said without a care. 

Donavan stepped forward. "What if I told you, you don't have to live in fear. What if I told you, there was freedom outside these walls."

"I would say you are insane. Get lost before we ring the dinner bell on you!"

"I don't think the zombies out here are too hungry."

The eyes darted around Donavan and grew big upon seeing the reality behind him. A series of clicks and ticks occurred, followed by the slit in the gate being slammed shut. Donavan stepped back with a grin on his face. The gate opened enough for a bald man to come out, wearing a crown of spikes and barbed wire.

"What...did you do?" the bald man asked, letting his baton drop into the dirt. The battlefield of zombies laid motionless, enjoying the silence of the wind.

"The same thing you could be doing if you buy my product. It's called Zom-Be-Gone," Donavan said, waving his hands in a comical fashion.

"What is it?"

"It is a once in a lifetime, cure-all product. Zom-Be-Gone is a spray, not unlike your generic hairspray, that actively kills infections in zombies and humans alike! Designed with a revolutionary formula, our brand of Zom-Be-Gone will be something your ancestors will be talking about for years."

"How does it work?"

"I'm glad you asked." Donavan pulled out a small black can of aerosol spray with a green zombie painted on it. "It is simple to use. Just point and spray!”

The white mist floated over the bald man, causing him to hack and raise his baton.

"What did you do to me?" the bald man said, his eyes lit with furry.

"It is completely harmless to humans. If anything, it cures any infection you have. This is why zombies die. Their whole body is infected."

The bald man licked his inner cheek. It felt smooth like his gums. He felt the rest of his face. Where there were once blisters and acne, they had all disappeared. This spray moved like a thief, taking without leaving a trace.

"My sores! They are gone," the bald man said, still feeling his face.

"See what I mean, my good man. It is a natural cure for any infection."

"How much do you want for it?" the bald man ask, pointing at the can of spray.

"My good man, I don't want to sell you one of these. I have crates of them." 

On cue, a giant black truck with high suspension drove over the hill. Stacks of crates sat in the bed, waving at its new potential owner. 

"We'll take them all. How much?"

"Can you really put a price on health and no zombies?"

"I'm sure you can. We'll give you any supplies you require."

Donavan smiled. "How about a feast? Out here for the whole camp. To celebrate victory over the zombies."

"That's all you want?”

"For starters, we can talk about details then."

Needless to say, word got around quick of the magical spray and everyone came outside to witness its wonder. Donavan did a few demonstrations for some of the more sickly folk and the whole camp made a big feast in his honor. The smell of meat and other savory flavors kept the rotting flesh smell of the zombies at bay. Sun started to set on the land and the bald man tapped his glass.

"I would like to make a toast. To Mr. Sullivan here. He has brought us hope for our children! For our future! We are forever in your debt," the bald man declared.

The people cheered and clapped while Donavan climbed up on top of the truck. The people cheered louder, waiting for a speech from their new savior.

"Thank you. Thank you. You all have been so kind to me. When I created this product. All I wanted to do was save lives. Create a better humanity. A better future." The truck started up and the engine roared, emphasizing his last word. "The problem about a better future is it is always fleeting. Something to be cherished. But in the end it comes and goes like the wind."

Zombies from the ground started to twitch, waking up from what was thought to be their eternal resting place. People had not realized the danger around them, still focused on Donavan's speech. The truck started to slowly roll toward the open gate, away from the crowd of people.

"But one day it hit me. How do I save lives when the enemy is at the gates? By letting nature take its course.”

The truck stopped inside the camp and Donavan jumped off the back to shut the gate. A woman screamed as a zombie had bit into her thigh. People scattered and screamed, realizing the zombies that were thought to be dead were alive once again. The bald man ran to the gate but could not reach it in time. His people were being slaughtered by the moaning zombies while he banged on the metal gate. Two eyes appeared before him.

"Who is it?" Donavan asked, with a high pitched voice.

"You betrayed us! We trusted you!"

"My good man, you were a fool to do that. Which button do I click here to ring the dinner bell?"

The bald man pounded the gate with his fists. "You bastard! Why are you doing this?"

"Sorry, I'm not some supervillain who is going to reveal his diabolical plan to you, so you can somehow miraculously stop me. Just know, you died the fool." A giant gong rang, causing the zombies to roar with rage. "Oh looks like I found it. Good luck my good man. I'm rooting for you!"

The metal slid over the slit in the gate. Howls of the people echoed across the countryside, warning anyone within earshot to stay far away. Some managed to escape that night, but it was of no consequence to Donavan. He took pride in his work. Work that he knew was still left unfinished.

The Geese

“Prime Minister, the Geese? You can’t be serious?” Minister MacAulay said.

“You heard me.”

“Surely we can try something else? Maybe contact the Americans?”

“No. All they will do is bring us into a war that will never end. This needs to be handled swiftly. Ruthlessly.”

“But the Geese, sir? Aren’t you worried about civilian casualties?”

“Our people know to stay out of their way. The aliens don’t. Our people will be safe.”

“But…”

“This discussion is over. Alert Commander Eyre at once.”

Minister MacAulay waddled out of the office and pulled out his cell phone. Scrolling through his contacts, he clicked on the name John Wayne and the dial tone rang in his ear.

“Lawrence, how are you my good man?” Commander Eyre asked.

“Release the Geese.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is straight from the Prime Minister himself.”

“He must be out of his mind?”

“I’m afraid he is not.”

Commander Eyre did not answer. Minister MacAulay moved the phone closer to his ear and looked at the ground.

“Wayne? Did you hear me?”

“I heard you...God have mercy on our souls.”

The phone beeped twice and the call ended. Minister MacAulay walked to the adjacent mahogany door and entered his office. His bookcases flanked him on both sides, filled to the brim with stories of war and loss. In front of him, the sun shined through the window, highlighting his pristine desk. On the desk was only a laptop and a cardboard box with a lamp sticking out. The room began to dim as cloud cover blocked the sun and he heard a sound coming from outside. He ran to his desk and looked out the window, up toward the clouds. But there were no clouds. Only geese. The grey feathered cloud turned the land into night, their choir of honks sent a shiver down his spine.

“What have we done?”

Tour Guide

Kenny squinted. “You need a tour guide?”

“Yes. You do work for the hotel? Don't you?” the alien said.

Kenny looked down at the short green alien that looked more like a kid wearing a little red Hawaiian shirt with sunglasses. His little green feet were consumed by the fine sand of the beach. Behind him was the alien’s wife, Suzu, picking up a blue towel. She was dressed in a pink sundress and an over-sized white hat that also seemed odd for such a small green alien to wear.

“Gooey, did you find us a tour guide?” Suzu asked.

“Well slick, what do you say? Give us a tour around the island?” the alien said to Kenny.

“Okay...Gooey,” Kenny said, still trying to process how an alien booked a room at a hotel.

“My name is Gorzon. Only my wife calls me Gooey,” Gorzon said, wrapping his arm around her as she walked up next to him.

“Alright Mr. Gorzon. Where would you like to go?”

“You're the tour guide. Lead the way.”

Kenny walked up the beach, back to the company jeep. The logo of Angel Beaches Resort was plastered on the side of the white door. Kenny opened the back door and helped the two into the backseat. Suzu cuddled next to her husband in the back, draping the blanket over them both.

“Oh, isn’t this romantic Gooey? Taking a ride on a slow moving craft around the beach,” Suzu said.

“It sure is,” Gorzon said, holding her close.

The jeep came alive at the turn of the key and Kenny started driving down the windy paved road. All around them was the natural beauty of the island. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, while the colorful flowers on the side of the road waved to them. A large cliff side rose above them on their right and on their left was a deep valley overseeing the tropical forest below.

“Hey guide, aren’t you going to tell us about each location?” Gorzon asked.

“Um...sure. On your left you will see a valley,” Kenny said, unsure what he was supposed to say.

“There is no name for it?”

“Yes...it is the...Spring Valley. Known for its...um...plants and exotic animals.”

“Oooh, like what?” Suzu asked.

“Like lizards. And...deer?” Kenny said, shrugging.

“Deer? Really? I never knew deer lived on the island,” Suzu said.

“Yeah most people don’t. But they are nocturnal so you won’t see them,” Kenny said, trying to sound confident. He was unsure if deer lived on the island, let alone if they were nocturnal.

“Fascinating,” Gorzon said, trying to peek farther out of the jeep.

Kenny drove for the next few miles, making up a name to a different “landmark” and backstory every quarter mile. He did that to stop Gorzon from asking what every car they passed was. After the fifth car, Kenny realized Gorzon could not grasp the concept that because a car looked different and had a different color, it was still called a car. It also distracted him from the horrible smell that they gave off. He didn’t notice it before, but every second they were in his jeep, the smell got more pungent. It smelt like a bottle of grease and moldy cheese spilled in his vehicle. Even the open air didn’t help the stench. Eventually, they arrived at the other side of the island to another beach almost identical to the first one.

“Alright, here we are.”

“We are back at the beach? That was a quick tour,” Gorzon said, opening the door.

“Yep. It is a small island.”

“Well I’ll say,” Suzu said. “Oh Gooey, you spilled my drink.”

Kenny looked in the back seat to see a small silver can tipped over and a black liquid soaking into the floor mat.

“I’m sorry dear, I’ll get you a new one when we get back at the hotel,” Gorzon said.

“I’m so sorry, mister. I don’t think that will come out,” Gorzon’s wife said to Kenny.

“It’s okay. It’s the company vehicle. Someone will get that cleaned up,” Kenny said.

“Well I insist on paying for the damages. I remember the last time I spilled one on the rental ship we got. They had to rip out the entire panel to get the smell out.”

Suzu reached under her blanket and pulled out a small sack of gold coins.

“You still take gold?” she asked.

“Um...yes,” Kenny said, shocked he was getting paid in gold.

The two aliens hopped out of the jeep and left him the sack of gold. They waved goodbye and went down to the beach to find another nice spot to soak in the sun. Kenny looked inside the small sack. It was easily worth twice his salary for the year. He drove away with a smile on his face, ignoring the horrid smell in the back. Who would have thought giving tours could be so lucrative?

Human Bites Zombie

"You want us to do what?" Franklin said, taking off his glasses.

"Just take a bite. Like you would a hamburger," Greg said.

"But this isn't a hamburger. Greg what you're talking about–"

"Is what? Not sanitary? Not normal?"

"Complete insanity!"

"Oh, so they can bite us, but we can't bite them? Sounds like a double standard if you ask me."

The grotesque man in the jail cell rammed the bars. He reached his decaying arms out to grab them, but his arms were not long enough. His moans echoed in the small room, longing for their flesh.

"You want to eat a zombie? Fine. Go for it!" Franklin said.

"I didn't say eat...only bite a little."

"I'm not doing it."

"I see you're not convinced. I'll show you how it's done."

Greg turned to face the zombie still grasping at air. The zombie's skin was a puke green hue and puss oozed from its cheek. Greg took off his loud Hawaiian shirt and wrapped it around his hand. He grabbed ahold of the zombie's hand like giving a handshake. The zombie dug its chipped fingernails into Greg's covered hand, unable to reach the skin. Greg swooped his head down to the zombie's forearm and sunk his teeth into the zombie's squishy flesh. The skin gave way like Fruit Gushers, squirting a liquid into Greg's mouth.

Greg released the zombie from his bite and stepped out of reach. The zombie stopped trying to get at Greg and backed away from the bars. The zombie rubbed its skin where Greg bit it and the skin peeled off, revealing tan, healthy skin underneath. The zombie kept rubbing up its arm, revealing more normal human skin underneath. This continued until what stood before Greg and Franklin was no zombie, but a person. 

"What...happened?" the former zombie spoke.

Greg wiped his mouth with his rolled up shirt. "You have been cured my good sir. Just let the record show, Franklin was going to kill you.”

"I never said that."

The former zombie shook his head. "Cured? From what?"

"You were a zombie. Franklin didn't want to save you, so I took it upon myself. No need to thank me though. It's kinda my calling. Like a doctor. Or a race car driver," Greg said, putting his shirt back on.

The former zombie held his head and closed his eyes. "I'm so confused."

"Don't worry, so is Franklin here. I'm going to head out, Franklin will catch you up. Might even find you a job with that cute girl who makes those amazing deer sausages. What's her name? Wendy?" Greg said, walking backwards to the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Franklin asked. 

Greg reached into his pocket and put on his aviator glasses. "To save the world.”

Mechanic Jackson

“Come on up!” a voice said from the intercom.

The intercom buzzed and the solid metal door opened to a generic looking elevator like he had seen numerous times before. Jackson took one last look behind him. His black pickup truck stood alone, surrounded by rolling hills of sand and covered by the shadow of the imposing ship he was about to enter. Jackson entered the elevator with his toolbox in hand, ready to take on the challenge set for him.

Inside the elevator, the button panel was dangling by a bundle of wires and sparks flew out of the opening. Jackson put his toolbox down and pulled out a flashlight. He shined the light inside the dark recess to see a spider web of cables going in different directions. Moving some of the cables aside, he found the source of the sparking. A red wire was dangling above a metal prong, causing it to spark every time it swung into it. Jackson rummaged through his toolbox and found a needle-nose pliers. He reached in blindly with the pliers and reattached the red wire to the metal prong, causing more sparks and zaps. Smoke pumped from the panel opening and Jackson retracted his arm.

He waved the thick black smoke out of his face and lifted up the panel. The buttons were all lit up and he tried to put it back in place. Once he got it lined up close, the panel was ripped from his hands and stuck to the opening like it was a magnet. Jackson reviewed the buttons and they were not in any language he had ever seen. He pressed one that looked like an upside down lowercase H. The elevator lurched up and down for a second like it was stuck and made a low whining sound. Jackson was about to press the button again before the elevator shot up. He tried to brace himself and was forced into a squat from the upward force. It stopped just as fast, shooting Jackson into the air, hitting his back against the ceiling before falling back down. His tools crashed next to him, scattered all over the floor. Jackson laid on his stomach, holding his lower back while he groaned. He watched the doors open from the ground, while his client stood at the entrance to greet him.

“Hey you fixed the elevator! You really are a full service mechanic,” the green humanoid said.

Jackson pushed himself up to his knees and wiped off his grey jumpsuit.

“Are you Mr. Gorsen?”

“I sure am. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mr. Gorsen said, kneeling down and extending his blotchy green and black hand.

Jackson shook his slippery hand and began picking up his assorted tools. Mr. Gorsen went over to the corner to help him.

“So what is all this?” Mr. Gorsen asked, inspecting a phillips head screwdriver with a yellow and black handle.

“Some of my tools. I didn’t know what I needed for a job like this. I usually work on vehicles.”

Mr. Gorsen put another tool in the toolbox. “This is a vehicle.”

“Earth vehicles I mean.”

“I can’t imagine it is too different. This vehicle has a hyperdrive unit, three command consoles, and two main engine thrusters.”

Jackson shook his head. “Did you see what I drove here with?”

“No. My scanners have been fried for ages and my windows are dirty.”

“I drove a truck.”

“I don’t know what that is. Is it fast?”

“Not compared to this I imagine.”

“No wonder you took so long. I was wondering if I contacted someone on a different planet.”

“You landed in the middle of the desert, fifty miles from any town. Hard to get here fast without flying.”

“You’re truck can’t fly?”

“...No…”

“Sounds like you need to fix your stuff first. I can wait.”

“Let’s take a look at what you need fixed first.”

Mr. Gorsen escorted Jackson down a narrow, rounded corridor. The white walls were smooth like glass, while the floor was a textured grey. They went up to a white door with an orange outline along the edge that opened once they got close. The room contained only one item: the hyperdrive. It looked like a twelve foot long and five foot tall car engine. It had a row on each side with twelve pipes coming from it that ran to the ceiling. Jackson could see his reflection in the silver body. In the middle, the hyperdrive had three circular pistons on top about the diameter of his toolbox. Jackson ran his hand along the cool steel, amazed by it’s design and the roar of the wind going through the pipes.

“Who made this?” Jackson asked, still admiring the pristine metal.

“I’m not sure. It came with it. You act like this is the first time you have seen a hyperdrive.”

“This is the first time I have seen a hyperdrive.”

“Your vehicles can’t fly and don’t have a hyperdrive. What’s next? You’re gonna say your people still drink water?”

Jackson did not respond.

“Wow. Just wow.” Mr. Gorsen shook his head. “Whatever, can you fix it?”

“I’m not sure. What’s wrong with it?”

“The middle piston won’t go back down. The other two do, just not the middle one.”

Jackson plucked a large wrench from his toolbox and climbed on top of the hyperdrive. The middle piston was stuck in place and made a light grinding sound that he only heard when he put his head next to it. Jackson banged the top of the piston with the end of his wrench and it came alive, moving in sync with the other two pistons. The hyperdrive beeped three times and continued humming along like normal.

“You did it. How do I acquire one of those magical hammers?” Mr. Gorsen said, pointing to the wrench in Jackson’s hand.

Jackson jumped off the hyperdrive. “You can have it. I can always buy another one.”

Jackson threw him the wrench and Mr. Gorsen caught it with two hands. He stared upon it like it was a sacred treasure. The cold metal turned his skin to a darker green shade.

“Thank you. Now let’s get you paid.”

Jackson followed Mr. Gorsen back down the hallway and down the newly fixed elevator. The door opened to whirling sand blocking their view of the Jackson’s truck.

“Just over here,” Mr. Gorsen pointed to his left.

They walked out in the sand along the ship to a retracting door that resembled security doors at shopping mall stores. Mr. Gorsen clicked a button on the side of the ship and the doors retracted up, revealing a crate of gold bars stacked taller than Jackson. Jackson picked up one of the hefty bars with both hands. Smooth to the touch, except for the few sand particles that slipped in-between his hands.

“Is this enough? I don’t know how much $3000 is.”

Jackson smiled still looking at the mountain of riches. “Oh this is enough.”