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Chapter 6
Colorful Luggage
A cart of canned food, a package of bottled water, and a bundle of metal scrap hovered into the Camper’s pantry, Foxx orchestrating them through the air effortlessly.
“Remember, no touching any electronics until I know you aren't gonna fry them,” Free shouted from within the Camper’s former laundry—now operation room, as he patched up Frost with the last of their medical supplies. Frost was still unconscious, but at least stable and likely to wake up soon, although unlikely to return to full strength for a good while.
“Good job so far though,” Free washed his hands of Frost-gunk before peering out of the laundry room to see Foxx attempting to pick up a box almost the same size of him with just his snout—using it as leverage. Not wanting Foxx to hurt himself, Free hopped out of the Camper’s open side and easily picked up the crate—tossing it into storage. “How come you couldn't lift up that one?”
“Too big,” Foxx said as they tried to leverage two other boxes that were stacked on top of each other.
“Ah, don’t worry I got it,” Free lifted both remarkably feather-weighted boxes like a champion, morphing his arms to appear as if he had muscle. “You lift the small stuff, I’ll deal with the big stuff, okay?”
“Ok.”
In a few minutes, the two finished packing up what was left, Free finding that Foxx’s electromagnetic abilities somehow did not completely ruin his small trove of electronics—lifting a heavy weight off his chest.
“Well with that done, break time!” Free jumped onto the open trunk of the Camper, sitting down onto its rim and gesturing to Foxx to do the same. Foxx does so and both enjoy the almost-too-cold desert breeze, Foxx angling his head to the wind; Free seeing Foxx’s eyes close for the first time since they met—even if only for a moment.
“I don’t know if you drink water, but here,” Free offered Foxx a water bottle.
“Thank you,” Foxx turned to him then bowed and levitated the water bottle closer to himself.
“No—” Free blinked and suddenly the water bottle was completely empty—crumpled up with a pin-sized hole in its side, “…problem.”
Foxx tossed the bottle into the trash bin next to the pantry then tilted his head, “Can you tell me your name?”
“Oh right, yeah, can’t believe I forgot to introduce myself,” he stood up, “I’m Free, the Self-made Machine!” He tried to strike an impressive pose, but he couldn’t fully commit to one, ending up just vaguely moving his arms dramatically in the air.
“Woah,” Foxx’s expression was plain and his tone was flat, but his ears pointed high.
“Heh, thanks,” Free sat back down. “Anyway, it’s getting late and you should be heading back home—before the sun comes up and cooks us to crisps. If you want, we can drive you there once Frost wakes up, which should only be in an hour or two tops.”
“Home?”
“Yeah, you know, where you came from or how you got here—Your guardian or ship or something gotta be around here, right?”
“Home…” Foxx whimpered, “I don't remember.”
“Well, that’s not good,” Free scratched the back of his head nervously, “Must have taken more damage than I thought.” He crouched down to Foxx’s height looking for any head trauma he may have missed, “Do you remember how you got to Calmede in the first place?”
“I…” something caught Foxx’s attention, something out near the dunes, but whatever it was Free could not see it, “…don’t remember.”
“Oooh boy,” Free sighed. “Look I uh, don’t have the tools or know-how to fix internal damage like that, I’m sorry. We’d need to find a proper mechanic or a doctor for that, and there’s a chance they don’t have the knowledge either.”
That did not seem to cheer up Foxx, who looked mournfully towards the stars with his tail curved around himself.
“But hey,” Free snaped his fingers to get Foxx’s attention, “Your voice has gotten better, and those injuries are healing on their own, so I bet your memories will return as well. Plus, you can tag along with us, and we’ll help you find your guardian—they’re probably even looking for you as we speak!”
Foxx’s tail and ears perked up, “Ok,” then he jumped down from the Camper’s trunk, “May I think for a moment?”
“Oh, yeah sure. Just don’t go too far alright?”
Foxx replied with a nod before hovering to a small dune just a few feet away.
***
As endless and barren as a stagnant moonlit sea, the wasteland served well as a blank canvas for Foxx’s thoughts to wander.
“Home,” a word undefined, its picture blackened, scratched, and incomplete, as if no matter how hard he tried his mind wandered far from it but not too far to not see part of it.
He saw himself sitting atop a chair much taller than him, with a sheet of music placed on a piano in front. It was a simple one, yet it required more than what he had to play, he remembered wanting to try anyway.
Next to him was a figure, a blurry figure—out of focus, but with each key press it became just a bit clearer and under the blur, the figure had the kindest smile—a truly familiar one. It was like a small crack in the ceiling of a dark cellar—and from it just enough light came through to reveal that this small fragment was just that, a piece of a greater whole.
Hundreds upon thousands of fragments all around him, floating and isolated like shattered islands—each blurrier than the last and each enveloped by shadow which the faint light alone could not banish. He tried as hard as he could to reach out to them, but each time they would fade away moments before he could see past the blur.
So, he turned to himself playing the piano—he focused on it, trying to keep his past self playing—each note becoming more distorted then the last until a sharp static pierced his ears and the piano dissolved into the sands, dispelling the figure and the rest of the fragments along with it.
A painful chill ran through his spine—the noise had returned him to reality, and right beside him was the origin of it, which was neither beast nor man—no, it was the Red Door, as open as it was before and shining with a weak pale white.
But this time, the circumstances were different—He had no reason to fear what may hunt him nor what would happen if he did not accept its offer. As much as its presence seemed to discomfort him, he had to learn what it was. He steeled himself, cautiously approaching, but as he looked it up and down, it was the same as before—familiarly unfamiliar yet just a simple red door.
With nothing more he could divined with just his senses, he asked it—without speaking a word, “Are you Friend or Foe?”
In turn, the Red Door replied with a low drone underset by soft wood-creaks. Although Foxx did not understand the dialect of doors, or if they had one, what he did understand was what it offered; A mighty boon—the chance to run faster and farther than any beast that could hurt him, but at the bane of him not knowing where.
Perhaps it was truly his guide home, it felt only a little less familiar than the vestiges he could remember—Or perhaps it was a traitor, a mimic of the memories he had lost which sought to bring him further away from home? Whether benevolent or malevolent, it was in essence an escape.
Foxx had seen much this azure and emerald night, and while it was scary to travel yet another path unknown, he knew the forks chosen would be his own and he would be not alone.
“Thank you kindly,” Foxx bowed, “But for now, I must refuse.”
***
Free kicked his feet in the sand with his head propped up by his hands, his eye slowly closing and then quickly opening as he tried to stay awake and keep watch. But despite his best efforts, he almost fell to the allure of the somber desert winds, almost.
Gekk-grekk
, just as he closed his eye he heard something creep up behind him—He jumped awake, nearly scraping his horns against the ceiling, and turning back to see… It just was Foxx.
“Oh good, it’s just you,” Free relaxed, “So, you made up your mind?”
“Yes,” Foxx said, although he did take just one more moment to think—But after that pause, he spoke, “Please help me find my home, Frost and Free.”
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