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Chapter 6
Colorful Luggage
A cart of cans, a pack of bottled water, and a pouch of metal scrap levitated into the Camper’s pantry, Foxx orchestrating them through the air effortlessly. It was to Free’s surprise that the child had the ability to manipulate objects using the same electromagnetic power he used before.
“Remember, no touchin’ any tech till I know you ain’t gonna fry them,” Free shouted from within the Camper.
Free was tending to Frost’s wounds in the laundry—currently operation—room. While he had stabilized Frost, they were still unconscious, although likely to awaken soon.
“That should be everything, last of our medical supplies though.” Free peered out of the laundry room, “How’s the work going?”
Free saw Foxx attempting to pick up a crate the size of him with just his snout.
“Hang on, you’ll hurt yourself—let me handle it,” Free hopped out of the camper and picked up the crate, it was as light as feather. “Huh, how come you couldn’t lift this one up?”
“Too big,” Foxx said.
“So there’s a size limit to what you can ‘grab,’ interestin’…” Free set down the crate and picked up another big one. “You take the small stuff, I’ll deal with the big stuff, ’kay?”
Foxx nodded.
The two finished packing what was left. Free found that Foxx’s ability did not ruin electronics—a heavy weight lifted off his chest.
“Alright, break time!” Free jumped onto the trunk of the camper and sat on it rim, Foxx did the same. “Don’t know if you drink water, but here,” Free offered Foxx a plastic water bottle.
“Thank you,” Foxx took the bottle.
“No prob—”
Free blinked and suddenly the bottle was complexly empty, crumpled up with a pin-sized hole in its side.
“…No problem,” Free smiled.
“May I have your name?” Foxx levitated the bottle into a trash bin.
“Oh, right, yeah—Can’t believe I forgot to introduce myself.” Free stood up, “I’m Free, the Self-made Machine.”
“The Self-made Machine?” Foxx tilted his head.
“’Cause I made myself, got no Creator other than me.”
“Wow,” Foxx’s tone was flat and his ears pointed high.
“Heh,” Free sat back down. “Anyhow, it’s gettin’ late. You should be heading back home before the sun comes up and cooks you. If you want, we can drive you over once Frost wakes up—should be in only an hour or two tops.”
“Home?”
“Like, where you came from or how you got here. Your guardian or ship or somethin’ like that gotta be around here, yeah?”
“Home… I don’t remember.”
“That’s not good,” Free scratched the back of his head. “Must’ve taken more damage than I thought. Do you remember how you got to Calmede—That’s the, uh, planet we’re currently on if you didn’t know.”
“I…” Something caught Foxx’s attention, whatever it was, Free couldn’t see it, “…don’t remember.”
“Crud,” Free sighed. “Look, I don’t got the tools or know-how to fix somethin’ like that, sorry. We’d need to find a proper mechanic, or maybe a doctor, for that. Plus, there the chance they don’t have the know-how either.”
Foxx’s ears drooped.
“But hey,” Free snapped his fingers. “Your voice’s gotten better, and those injuries are healing on their own. I bet your memories will come back to you too. And, if you want to, you can tag along with us! We’ll help you find your guardian—they’re probably even looking for you as we speak.”
Foxx’s ears perked up, “Ok.” He jumped down from the Camper’s trunk, “May I think on it?”
“Alone? Sure. Just don’t go too far, alright?”
Foxx nodded then hovered away.
***
As endless and barren as a moonlit sea, the wasteland served well as a blank canvas for Foxx’s thoughts to wander.
“Home,” Foxx did not know what to make of it. Undefined, unclear, like a picture worn and faded.
Formed from the sands, a vestige of himself sat atop a chair much too tall appeared. Then, a dining table along with three other chairs, a figure on the chair across the other Foxx.
The figure was featureless, save for one thing—a kind smile that, like a crack in the ceiling of a dark cellar, light expelled from. The light wrapped and snaked out, revealing that there was more than just this vestige.
Hundreds of fragments of Foxx’s memories float in the air, far out of reach. Each shadowed with only the faintest, smallest light shining from within.
Creak.
The fragments dissipated and a chill ran down Foxx’s spine. He turned to face where the noise had come from and saw the Red Door. Open like it was before, leading to a starless void.
“What are you?” Foxx asked.
The Red Door replied with creaks and drones. Unfortunately, Foxx did not know the dialect of doors, or if they had one.
“Sorry, I cannot understand.”
Foxx pondered the door’s intent, it didn’t seek to harm him, that was clear—Yet it may be to blame for his current state, it may have been what drove him away from his home. It was familiar, that was true, but perhaps it was a mimic of his memories? A theft? A traitor?
Then again, it also delivered him for peril to safety—A savior? A guardian? A guide?
Whether benevolent or malevolent, Foxx understood that he did not wish to use it. It offered an escape to anywhere, at the cost of not knowing where. And while the path with Frost and Free was similarly unknown…
Foxx knew the forks chosen on the journey would be his own.
“Thank you. For now, I must refuse,” Foxx bowed.
***
Free kicked the sand, his eye slowly closed and quickly opened as he tried to stay awake and keep watch for Foxx. Despite his best efforts, he fell asleep—
Kee-kee-kee.
“Ah!” Free jumped and hit his head on the camper’s ceiling. He rubbed his head and looked around—it was Foxx. “Oh good, it’s you. So, you made up your mind?”
Foxx nodded.
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