For good measure:
Disclaimer: The following story is a fictional work. Any references to any persons, living or dead, are coincidental. This fiction is intended for personal consumption. It is not intended for commercial sale or distribution. "Stitch" and all related media © The Walt Disney Company. All other media included in the following work © Euphonemes.
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Enjoy In His Own Stars!
One
29 Hours In
"In here, Ambassador."
The rusted iron door opened into a musty cell. Ambassador Martin Corregan's piercing blue eyes took a few moments to adjust to a thick darkness. He stooped a bit, his six-foot frame barely squeezing through the doorway. He brushed the lapels of his slim-fit three-button navy blue wool jacket and used long olive-skinned fingers to fix his meticulously coiffed auburn hair. Oak oxfords clacked as he stepped toward the plain chair positioned in the center of the room. Corregan paused and swiveled to the silhouetted guard at the cell door. "Thank you, sir," he tendered in an affable yet steady baritone.
The door swung shut, leaving Corregan with the dim halide bulb affixed to the ceiling to guide him to the lone chair. Bathed in the anemic circle of pale light, it looked to be an exceedingly uncomfortable steel contraption, an appearance validated as Corregan eased into its odd curvature. He drew in a few shallow breaths of stale air, hoping to stave off the resurgent anxiety that had earlier nettled him in the vessel that had delivered him here. Oxfords tapped on the floor, through which Corregan could feel the unfamiliar ground turning through infinite space. The thick darkness congealed along the edge of the bulb's reach. Taunting blackness had Corregan breathing harder.
The chair's convex back dug squarely into thoracic vertebrae. The ambassador tried to regulate his breathing as he leaned forward to escape the prodding furniture. His mind set itself to task. Find it. From within the pale circle, he scanned the dense shadows for his client. Corregan squinted piercing blue eyes, which discovered the outline of a curled form reposing in one corner. It growled as his gaze passed.
His voice jumped up half an octave, his tone steeped in measured concern. "It's okay," he cooed. "I'm here to help you."
The growl amplified, an anger reverberating around the tiny cell. Corregan nervously brushed at his lapel. "Come on now, don't be shy." Long fingers worked to draw it toward the pale circle. "Could you please come a little closer?"
No movement from the corner. He gulped and tugged at one of the gold buttons on his cuff. A tension built in his jacket's wool fibers. He hid a sigh born from frustration and nurtured by homesickness before beginning again. "My name is Martin. I'm from Earth. My boss sent me here to help you."
The outline reified when Corregan mentioned his now-faraway home planet's name. Long and swooping elliptic ears, each sporting a noticeable nick, perked up. Two antennae bobbled as it spun around the dark corner. Slowly, six limbs emerged from the shadows, its clawed paws dragging the rest of the creature into the pale circle of light. While most of its body was covered in an orange jumpsuit, Corregan could see small patches of sapphire fur covering its hands and jutting out from sleeves emblazoned with red and yellow triangles with rounded vertices. Three spines, composed of the same blue save for their black caps, projected through the back of the suit. It raised its head, a bulbous midnight blue nose noisily sniffing the air, and opened its mouth, revealing rows of sharpened teeth. Wide dark eyes, with motes of mischief brightening within, shimmered in the strange twilight.
"Earth?" it squeaked.
Corregan found himself smiling. Progress, he commended, holding back the sigh of relief. "Yes, Earth. You're under Earth's protection now…and that of the United States of America," Corregan felt compelled to add. With an index finger, he tapped his jacket, atop the lip of the inner pocket. "That's where I've come from. We heard you could use our help."
"Ih," it nodded as it spoke, drawing its limbs around itself.
The ambassador crossed his legs, escaping the floor's chill that was permeating his oxfords. "Alright then, no need to waste time. Let's get started, Six-Two-Six-"
"Stitch."
Corregan stopped short of falling out of the convex chair. Quick hands restrained a shocked body, which had leaned further toward the creature below. He cleared his throat, buying a moment to decide what to say. "I'm sorry?"
"My name Stitch."
The correction almost stymied Corregan's legerity. He snuck a breath and relaxed. "Ah, okay then, my apologies. Stitch, let's get started. We'll need to confirm your identity, so that we may proceed. Sound fair?"
Antennae bobbled as it nodded.
"Very well then." He produced a manila folder from the crux of his arm. The stacks of wafer-thin paper rustled as the ambassador searched for, and then sloppily collated, several reports-some typed, some neatly handwritten, and still others scribbled in nearly illegible writing. He screwed up his eyes as he sped through the pages and compiled his questionnaire. "Okay…who is your legal guardian on Earth?"
Corregan watched as the motes in its eyes tumbled toward the frigid floor. "Lilo…" it muttered, spines quivering. A pang of pity pealed in Corregan's gut. Its tone, wistful and sad, sent him back to Earth. He had left Jack waiting in front of the television, the DVR playing back the baseball game already through eight innings. The ambassador's phone buzzed as the crack of a bat resounded from the brand-new OLED TV. He had said he had to run down the street, to meet a friend. Mostly true, he had told himself while walking out the door, chased by his son's call of a foul ball. The creature sniffled, bringing Corregan into the dank room again. He ran fingers through his hair, which was disagreeing with the fetid atmosphere of the cell, and moved on to the next question.
"Alright. And your creator is-"
A louder and cheerier response. "Jumba!"
"And how many years have you been a resident of Earth?"
The creature pondered for a few seconds, clattering claws against each other. As it stirred, Corregan thought of the puppy his father had promised to buy him years ago. Senior was on furlough from his position at a company whose name Corregan could never remember, taking time off from fulfilling the usual vaporous government contracts. They had traveled to the local mall, where a puppy who was licking the glass of the pet shop window had immediately enraptured the young Corregan. They were halfway through the sales transaction for the infant Australian Shepherd, and the clerk had already predictably commented on how Corregan was the "spittin' image!" of Senior, when the distant look clouded Senior's limpid hazel eyes. Senior's subsequent impromptu and nonsensical rant embarrassed Corregan so badly that he gave up on the dog and stormed out of the pet store. On the drive back to their Indiana home, Senior had promised to purchase a dog from a different store. Their family outlived three cats before they sold the house. The creature made a grunting noise and held up three clawed digits, which caught the pitiful light emanating from the halide sun bolted to the ceiling.
"Yes, good. What is the name of the island of Hawaii on which you live?"
"Mmm…Kauaʻi," it labored through sluggish syllables.
Better than I could manage, Corregan thought as he heaved an elephantine section of the folder out of the way. The ears had flopped over the creature's face, obscuring all but a sliver of wide dark eyes. An exasperated sigh emanated from behind enamel daggers, and as Corregan watched it flick its ears back into place, he felt a friendly warmth bubble from the shade of pink that lined their elliptic interiors. The unexpected warmth infused Corregan's tone with another shot of affability. "Great, thank you, Stitch! I'm satisfied. First things first, are they treating you well?"
"Ih."
"Is there anything I can procure for you? Better food, water rations, anything?"
"Naga."
Corregan flipped through some more of the documents in the manila folder. On the folder's back was scrawled "Tantalog: A Primer" in permanent marker, with a hastily constructed dictionary for the creature's primary language stapled below. The dim light made it difficult to read the minuscule writing, but he found it replete with a surprisingly rich vocabulary. Corregan squinted as he searched for his translation. "Let's see…ih is 'yes', and, uh, na-ga does mean 'no', correct?"
"Ih."
"Right, apologies, my briefing on the language was…light," Corregan stressed as he shut the folder and returned it to his arm's crux.
"Smish…erm, Stitch understand."
Corregan smiled. Smarter than it looks, too. "Thank you. So if I understand the situation correctly, you were here to finalize some sort of transition?"
"For Armada."
"Right, the Armada…that's the military branch of this government, right?"
It nodded.
"So they gave you the position of heading their Armada, you accepted for a, uh, very brief tenure, then you relinquished it, correct?"
"Ih," it said.
"How long ago did you give it up?"
The creature pondered, the claws moving invisible abacus beads through the fetid air. Corregan, whose breathing had quickened as he caught sight of encroaching blackness, waited a few stifling moments for it to calculate an answer. "Tiznet…mm, three months."
"Alright, so then after three months of nothing, you were called back to another meeting yesterday to finalize some elements of the transition…you didn't try to take it back, right?"
"Ih!" it shouted emphatically. Claws glinted brightly in the pale light as it gestured wildly, creasing its orange jumpsuit. "All done!"
"Okay," Corregan maintained his poise through shallow inhalations, "so then why are you here, in this cell? They haven't disclosed that to me yet."
Stitch seemed to brighten. Wide dark eyes shimmered, motes of mischief dancing over Corregan's face. His high-pitched voice squeaked in alacrity. "Oketaka. They say it is t…hmph…tr..."
Corregan leaned forward in his chair. The steel legs squealed as he moved. The pale circle started to shrink. "Yes?"
The creature had grasped its chin with one paw, the other limbs wound tightly around its chest. "Ah…" it hummed while it squinted, straining to remember the word. Corregan held his breath. The soupy blackness frothed around the edge of the circle. Suddenly, the creature was visibly bursting with enthusiasm. Wide dark eyes flew open, and Stitch's claw flew from his chin to the ceiling. "Ikata! Treason!"
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