Book One - Chapter Twenty-Five: Treasured Chests for Family Jewels

Peña barreled in first, grinning like an idiot through fresh gauze taped crooked across one temple. His left arm hung in a makeshift sling that looked like it'd been rigged from a bedsheet. Riley followed close, sharp eyes scanning the room on instinct before they locked on me. Her civilian clothes couldn't hide the soldier beneath.

I almost lost it.

I crushed Peña in a hug that might've cracked something already broken for both of us.

“Easy, hermano,” he said through a strained laugh. “Still got a couple ribs left.”

“Shut up,” I muttered. My voice shook more than I wanted.

He hugged back just as hard. An unexpected anchor.

Riley waited until I let go, then stepped up. The hug we shared was brief, stiff, but her hand gripped the back of my neck for half a beat longer than casual. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

“Jerry,” she said, and there was relief in her voice. Real relief. “We thought we'd lost you.”

“Not going all soft on me now, are you?”

“You look like hell.” She smiled.

“Not half as good as you two. You don't know how good it is to see you guys.”

Another chime echoed through the room. Three silver disc-shaped robots glided in on silent repulsors, each trailing a white-draped cart behind them. Their sensor arrays blinked blue as they arranged the carts in a neat line, then whisked out with a beep.

Peña smiled in excitement.

“What are these?” I walked over to lift up the cloth covering of the first one.

“That's a crazy story, actually. So, like, we got word about how things were going,” Peña said, bouncing on his feet like he'd mainlined espresso. “This whole thing is crazy, right? There I was, just fighting aliens and minding my own business back on Earth, when I got this summons notification in my HUD. And like, I hate summons. Like, this one time I had to go to jury duty, you know? Which, I don't mind civic duty or whatever. I mean, other than it was like a really inconvenient time and all because my cousin was getting married that weekend and I was supposed to be the best man, but they wouldn't let me reschedule even though I explained the whole situation to the clerk lady who was super nice but also kind of scary? But this was different, this one said you were in trouble. Said you were in some intergalactic political thing. I was like, 'My Jerry? Political? Nah.' Like, no offense, Jerry, but I figured there was no way you were doing space politics. But it was totally right! And then—”

“Skip to the end, Peña,” Riley said, rubbing her temples.

“Right, right. Okay, so basically the System told us you were in trouble, right? So this ship lands and Jerry, I gotta tell you, this was the most terrifying thing I've ever seen. Picture a shark, okay? But like, nine feet tall and wearing a really expensive suit. Like, better than my cousin's wedding suit, and that thing cost him two grand. And this shark guy walks up to us and he's got these dead black eyes and this smile that's all teeth, and I'm thinking, 'This is how I die. Eaten by a business shark.'“

“But you went with him?”

“Well, yeah! The System was like, 'Go with Timothy,' and I was like, 'Timothy? That shark's name is Timothy?' I mean, no offense to any Timothys out there, but that doesn't seem like a shark name, you know? I'm thinking more like Chompy McBiteFace or Admiral Bloodfin or something. But the System probably just translates it that way, right? Like maybe in shark language his name means 'Devourer of Worlds' but it comes out as Timothy because the universe has a sense of humor.”

“Peña.”

“Right! So Timothy opens this portal thing. Just rips a hole in space. And we step through and it's like, whoosh! Suddenly we're in space! Which is super cool but also terrifying because space is really big and empty and cold and I started thinking about that movie where the guy gets lost in space and dies alone and—”

“We actually got here two days ago,” Peña continued, barely pausing for breath, “but we couldn't get onto the ship. This lady in a white pantsuit said we didn't have the right authorization. Real professional asshole about it. Had this clipboard and everything, kept asking for our vaccination records and some form called a 27-B. I was like, 'Lady, I don't even know what that means,' and she was like, 'Then you can't board.' Super condescending about it too, like I was stupid for not knowing about alien paperwork.”

“The fucking Karens,” I growled. “They were keeping you out.”

“Karen delegation intercepted them pre-arrival,” Whiskers said, tail flicking with annoyance. “Buried them in paperwork and immunization protocols, kept them floating out there for days without even notifying us they'd arrived. My people caught wind of it during your hearing and broke the stall.”

“So we've been sitting in Timothy's ship for two days eating these weird fish crackers and playing twenty questions with a shark,” Peña said. “Do you know how hard it is to play twenty questions with something that has that many teeth? Every time I'd ask 'Is it bigger than a breadbox?' he'd just smile, and Jerry, when a nine-foot shark smiles at you, your brain stops working.”

Riley shook her head. “What he's trying to say is we're here now, and we brought you something.”

“Oh yeah!” Peña bounced again. “The Green Lady, and by the way, she is terrifying in the best possible way, like a mom who could absolutely murder you but would also make you soup if you were sick, she gave us this thing for you.” He gestured to the first sheet covered cart. “Said you'd know what to do with it. Something about brewing hope? Which sounds like hippie nonsense, but she was very insistent. Also very scary. Did I mention she's scary?”

“She said you'd understand and that you needed it right now,” Riley added.

They pulled off the cover, revealing a brass espresso machine that was absolutely gorgeous. Antique, hand-cranked, with everything you could want. Even came with a grinder and a bag of fresh beans from... the museum she'd stolen it from.

“She said it was really important, but I have no clue why, but when the Green Lady tells you to take something… you take it, you know?” Peña added. “Anyways, but that's not what we brought you.”

The second cart's covering fell away like a curtain drop, and I nearly choked on my own spit.

“Sweet mother of God. Is that really...”

Riley and Peña exchanged grins. “Yep,” Peña said, practically bouncing. “One hundred percent genuine, authentic, Earth-made clothing. With actual pants.”

I approached it like it might vanish if I breathed too hard. Hanging there on simple hooks were clothes I hadn't seen in what felt like lifetimes; a plain black t-shirt that had seen better days but still looked like heaven. Actual underwear.

A full wardrobe of clothes from Earth. And not just that, but, “Pants!” I exclaimed.

Real, honest-to-Christ pants with actual fucking backsides and everything.

“How did you? Where did you?” I stammered, reaching out with trembling fingers to touch denim that felt like coming home.

“We didn't want you going all Tarzan on your big day,” Peña said with a smirk, “so we thought we'd bring you something to make you look good.”

I held up the jeans with actual pockets that couldn't store interdimensional coffee shops but could hold my wallet and keys like normal pockets were supposed to do. After months of ass-exposing aprons and hospital gowns, the simple promise of covered legs felt like the greatest luxury in the universe.

“Jerry,” Peña said, solemn now. “Your cheeks have been through enough. It’s time you had a proper chest for the family jewels.”

I held up a pair of simple jeans like holy relics.

“I'm gonna cry,” I said, and I wasn't joking.

“Please don't,” Riley said. “I don't want to see you all blubbery. Besides, if you cry, then I'll cry.”

“And then I'll cry,” Peña added, eyes glistening in a smile.

I hugged them both again, and this time I definitely teared up. “Thank you.”

Then, I turned to Whiskers.

“And thank you,” I said. “For stopping the killing, even if it's only temporary. And for helping me get my friends aboard. I know this has to be causing you a lot of political trouble.”

“You have more options at your disposal than you—” Whiskers began, pausing suddenly. His head tilted to the side as if he was listening for something far off.

His nose twitched. Once. Twice.

Then he went absolutely still. His ears swiveled forward and every muscle in his compact frame coiled tight. Pupils dilated until they were black pools.

I felt my heart rate spike. The silence stretched taut as a bowstring.

Then he moved.

He launched himself at empty air. The empty air grunted, cursed creatively, and hit the floor with a meaty thud.

“What the fu—” Riley started.

The space where Whiskers had landed exploded into chaos. He was fighting something, someone we couldn't see. His claws raked across invisible fabric with a distinct tearing sound. His body twisted and rolled as unseen hands tried to grapple him.

“Thought I smelled something rotten on this ship,” Whiskers snarled. “Still using that old bargain-bin Vorthan cloaking tech, Jackie!”

“Still a paranoid little shit, Whisk!” The voice came from thin air, followed by a grunt of pain.

The fight tore across my quarters like a hurricane of violence and creative profanity. My coffee table disintegrated under invisible force, wood splintering, metal legs screeching against the floor. The lamp beside my bed toppled as Whipsteele crashed into it. Books exploded from shelves as the cloaked bastard tried to use the wall for leverage.

“Son of a bitch!” came the disembodied curse.

“Wrong species!” Whiskers shot back, moving like liquid death.

A heavy thump. The invisible man hit the ground hard, and Whiskers landed on top of him, appearing to float about a foot off the deck. The sound that followed was distinctly human and extremely pained.

A razor-sharp claw extended from Whiskers' paw to where I was guessing Jack's throat was. A thin trickle of blood materialized in midair.

“You know, Jackie,” Whiskers said, settling his weight onto what was apparently his opponent's chest, “you really gotta do something about that cologne. Smelled you coming from three decks away.”

“That ain't cologne, furball. That's just my natural musk.”

The air shimmered. Like heat waves rising from summer asphalt, reality rippled and twisted. A boot materialized first. Then a leg in dark pants. A torso in a coat that probably cost more than my old apartment. Finally, a face that wore defeat with the practiced grace of someone who'd been caught red-handed more times than he could count.

Jack Whipsteele lay pinned beneath fifteen pounds of extremely lethal cat. Whiskers sat squarely on his chest, one of his claws pressed against Jack’s throat.