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Chapter 7
For A Whole Lot of Nothin’, There’s A Whole Lot of Somethin’
Starlight through the Camper’s blinds lit its interior as if it was dawn, orbiting Calmede. Foxx was asleep in a makeshift burrow of blankets and pillows, Free rested like a bat on the rafters of the laundry room. While Frost was hunched over old and tattered star charts sprawled across the Camper’s console, trying, and failing, to devise directions to Hornnhealm.
Free powered on and lazily descended, exiting the laundry room and spotting Frost.
“How long you been up?” Free yawned.
“Not long,” Frost said.
“Feelin’ any better?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Remember, you’re taking it easy for the next few weeks. You can’t afford another blow out like that.”
“Understood.”
“I hope you do,” Free sat on the kitchen counter. “By the way, I saw a diner not too far from here. Could be a good place to get all our thoughts together.”
“When?”
“A little before we crashed.”
“Humph. We have food here, in addition, you do not require sustenance.”
“Yeah, but—it’s a special occasion. We got some cash to spare.”
“We do not, restocking our medical supplies will be costly.”
“And who’s fault is that?”
“That does not change my point.”
“Come on…”
Frost shook their head.
Free hopped down, an idea struck him, “…You know, maybe someone knows something about Foxx—Plus, we can get some real directions to Hornnhealm.”
“Fair enough, and I trust that is your primary motivation?”
“Yeah, a hundred percent! The food' is just a little bouns.”
“Hmm.”
The diner was a quaint little place, built on a small asteroid turned into a space platform. It was well maintained and cared for but still showed its age. The neon sign next to it which read “F&J’s Diner” flickered, and the asphalt of the parking lot was cracked and gray.
It took a while to park due to the Camper’s size, and in that time Foxx had awoken. He stayed in his burrow playing “Cloth Commands,” using dowels Free had given him to levitate and press with.
Eventually, Frost admitted defeat and double-parked.
“Won’t we get towed for this?” Free put on his boots.
“By whom?” Frost replied.
“…Don’t know—never mind.”
Frost and Free exited the Camper, however Foxx seemed hesitant to leave, hugging the wall next to the door.
“Is it safe to leave?” Foxx asked.
“Yeah? It’s just space,” Free said.
“…Ok,” Foxx inched out the door and found that the void of space was… surprisingly lukewarm, if a bit dry.
“See, nothin’ to be afraid of.”
Foxx nodded.
Frost took the lead as the trio walked to the diner—
ding-tring,
and opened its door for the other two.
The diner’s interior was narrow, most of it taken up by rows of booths and a red stained wood counter; the trio had to walk in a line to fit in. A few people were around, most in booths, some on chairs, but all distinctly different than those Foxx saw on Calmede.
Foxx took brief, curious glances and spotted species he had never seen before. A dog-headed humanoid with metal embedded in their body, who was sharing a sundae with a collection of floating lights. A quintuple of cat-like creatures made of golden swirls goofing off and making a ruckus. A cubic rubber duckie made of light reading two books at once—just to name a few.
Paired with the rock n’ roll that fizzled out from the small, cracked radio on the counter, and the torrent of smells from the diner’s diverse dishes—ranging from sweet to savory to raw to metallic… Foxx decided it was best to stay low, and keep as close to Frost as possible.
Before the trio claimed a booth, the door behind the counter swung open. A dark, towering figure emerged from the low-list kitchen. It had cold silver skin, long slender arms, quadruple jointed fingers and a featureless spherical head that it extended over the counter—meeting Free at eye level. Then it noticed Foxx and turned its eyeless gaze to him.
Foxx’s ears went flat, and he shielded himself with his tail.
“Oh, ain’t you just the cutest!” the creature said, retracting her neck and diverting her attention to Frost and Free. “Welcome to out humble little diner—the best and only one for the next six clusters!” a slice opened on her head that looked a smile. “I’m Formosa, co-owner and waiter of this here dinner, what can I help y’all with?” her voice was raspy but warm.
Foxx relaxed sightly, his attention moved to the button pins and trinkets that covered her work clothes. They were mostly miniatures of cute animals, but a few were travel pins from different planets. One depicted a pristine and livelier version of the skyscraper back on Calmede.
“Free, the Self-made Machine,” Free said.
“Foxx, jump onto this seat, please,” Frost said, and Foxx did so. “I am Frost, and the child is Foxx. We do plan to dine here, but more importantly, do you know who may be Foxx’s guardian or what planet he may be from?”
“Oh, poor thing…. lost ain’t you?” Formosa sighed sorrowfully. “Not very good with species names—most folk don’t tell you theirs. The only thing I can say for sure’s that I’ve never seen someone that looks like him.” She unlatched one of her trinkets and gave it to Foxx, it looked like a chubby, bucktoothed fish-like creature, “Most around here in Ebb-Burrows are organic, so can’t be a local.”
“Ebb-Burrows?” Foxx tiled his head.
“The name of the Cluster Chain we’re in, honey,” Formosa replied.
“What is that?”
“Pardon?”
“A ‘Cluster Chain.’”
“…Have you’ve been in space for long? If you traveled here from another ’Chain you should know what it is.”
“I don’t know.”
“Huh…” Formosa snapped her neck to face Frost and Free, “Now
—and don’t lie to me ‘cause I’ll know—
you two didn’t nab a kid from some backwater Cluster, right?”
Free was shocked, “What the—”
“We don’t like kidnappers around here, and I’m willing to show you how we keep ’em out.”
“We found Foxx alone on Calmede, having none to turn to, we offered to help him find his home,” Frost said. “We do not know how he got there, nor does he know either. It seems he his missing his memories, the why of that is also unknown to us.”
“…That true, honey?”
Foxx nodded.
“Alrighty,” Formosa smiled. “Sorry ‘bout that, just been antsy. Pirates been on an uptick lately in the good ol’ Southeast, and I’m not about to let any think they’re welcomed here.” She turned to Foxx, “Southeast’s the quadrant of the Galaxy we’re in.”
“Ok.”
Formosa turned back to the other two, “Thankfully, so far, most ain’t brave or dumb enough that a little ‘persuasion’ doesn’t do the trick.”
It looked like Formosa wanted to say more but was interrupted by a voice from the kitchen calling for her.
“I need to get back to serving, you three go find a seat and I’ll be over in a bit,” Formosa returned to the kitchen.
Free plucked a menu as thick as a slab from the condiment holder, it had over a hundred pages of “consumables” that catered to every feasible diet, even serving raw materials.
“Turbulence waffles, or the Burrows Breakfast Bash…” Free said to himself.
“As I said last time, select the dish which provides the most calories for the best price. I suggest ordering coal.”
“Just because I don’t have taste buds yet, still workin’ on it, doesn’t mean calorie count is all that matters. Some eat with their eyes, you know. Smell with them too.”
Frost sighed, “Indeed, and you—”
“And I literally do that! I’m getting the Burrow Breakfast Bash—Pancakes and waffles staked on top each other covered in a 10-year-aged fruit syrup and dark chocolate chips.”
“...I believe that amount of sugar causes most to perish.”
“Eh,” Free shrugged. “That’s with a lot of things.”
“Foxx, what would you like?” Frost showed the menu to Foxx, who flipped through it with a fork.
“Hamburger,” Foxx said.
“An apt choice.”
A few moments later, Formosa came over and Frost told her their orders. She used her nails to etch down their orders onto her notepad, then went back to tending to the other customers.
“This place is not like Calmede, why?” Foxx looked out the window.
“I was surprised too way way back, but places like this are all over space,” Free said. “Lots of people moving around, and all of them need some place to fuel up that’s comfortable. Tis the age of Aliens we’re in!”
“Wow.”
“Kind of reminds me of after me and Frost first met, had to haggle with an oldie for hours just to get enough cash to afford repairs. Anyway, out of all things, I didn’t expect to see a junkyard up here.”
“Ms. Broche was very generous, you simply refused to agree to any deal that did not include her toolbox,” Frost said.
“It was a masterwork of a toolbox, perfectly organized, high quality, most of all, it had every tool I didn’t have—and still don’t!”
“And you wondered why she insisted on keeping it.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“How did you meet Frost?” Foxx asked.
“Oh,” Free was caught off guard. “Funny story—they ran me over.”
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