At Death's Doors
I asked for a story prompt, and one I got suggested an age swap. While not quite according to Hoyle, here's the result. This is set in the same universe as Kalibar, though not in any timeline I've established.
Chapter One: Flee Market
"Uh . . .thaaaat's no bueno."
"I probably should leave. Now."
"I should probably join you."
"Yeah."
Avocato and Gary Goodspeed stood side-by-side in the open-air market on Grodin IX staring at a wall of wanted posters starring themselves.
As near as Gary could figure, the planet's entire industry was geared towards flea markets, jumble sales, lawn sales, silent auctions, bargain basements, and the like. They stood in one of the smaller markets, meaning it covered an area only about the size of New Jersey. The really big markets – the Australia-size and up - were further from the planet's equator.
They had stopped for supplies. Food, fuel, parts for the ship, parts for HUE, and stuff for the sickbay quickly expanded to include video games, new plants, fresh formaldehyde, music, clothes, and throwing knives the moment the Team Squad saw the wares available. The supply run had morphed into a mini vacation as almost everyone onboard the Crimson Light discovered a mighty need. They had lost Tribore in an aisle that boasted six kilometers of makeup and accessories. Little Cato dove into a huge bin of video game chips like it was a ball pit. Gary nearly lost his mind when he found vendors dealing with alien insects, though Quinn refused to let him buy any. There was something for everyone.
With the possible exception of Avocato. Shopping was not an activity he enjoyed. The Ventrexian warlord disliked clutter and so wasn't interested in collecting anything but ordnances and necessities. Unlike Gary, he did not consider super cool, see-through, glow-in-the-dark caterpillars a necessity, but he didn't protest when Gary wanted to purchase an old recording of The Loggins. When even Sheryl and Quinn had fallen prey to the market's allure, Avocato alone kept alert and focused on the crowd of shoppers around them.
So, while his son and husband and mother-in-law and his husband's girlfriend and pet planet killer and auxiliary adopted children and weird, multi-eyed sometimes aunt/sometimes uncle and one insane robot that he somehow just couldn't kill ran around like nuts, Avocato watched for who might be watching them. And then he spotted the wall of wanted posters.
Few things were more disturbing than la-dee-dah-ing through some alien flea market and suddenly coming across your own larger-than-life face plastered all over the side wall of a Jogungi confectioner's shop, offering a tidy sum for you dead or alive, preferably dead. And coming from a mass-murdering xenocidal warlord like Avocato, that was saying something.
"You're an expensive date," murmured Gary, staring at the pictures.
"You don't come too cheaply, either, baby," Avocato replied.
Both wanted posters had fairly old pictures. Gary was wearing a goofy smile and his old Infinity Guard prison uniform in his, looking empty-headed and harmless. Avocato's picture had been taken right after his return from wiping out the Scotia system – he recognized the details on his Tera Con uniform. Even Avocato had to admit he looked as if he was about to murder something in his picture, which he probably was.
"Oooh, nice headshot, kiddo," complimented Sheryl, joining them.
Gary gave his mother a look. "You said that on purpose."
"Maybe. Maybe I'm just jealous I didn't get top billing on known associates."
"We're going back to the ship," said Avocato quietly. "It might be smart to leave . . . soon-ish."
"Right you are. Hurry along, lads, I'll rally the troops."
Avocato grumbled quietly, his faith in anyone prying Tribore off this planet anytime soon non-existent. Still, they'd be safer in the ship. With a last, knowing look at Sheryl, he hauled Gary away, heading straight back to where the Crimson Light was docked.
The most direct route, however, did not prove to be the wisest . . .
"What the hell?"
Avocato frowned as he realized Gary had paused to gape. Again. Following his husband's gaze, the Ventrexian blinked, his surprise matching Gary's as he read the sign above a narrow little shop that opened to the dusty walkway.
Death's Doors.
Completely taken aback, Gary could not resist peeking into any store with such an off-the-wall name. As promised, it was filled with doors of all sorts and sizes and from everything from farm houses to airlocks to space capsules stacked against the walls and displayed on the sidewalk.
"For real?" muttered Avocato.
"I don't even know what to think," admitted Gary.
"I do. Think of how many people would love to get their hands on a million dropnoids and let's go."
"Death's Doors? I can't decide if that's brilliant or cracked!"
"Actually, it's pronounced 'Deeth's Doors," said an oily voice, and they both turned to see a tall, bald, skeletal being in an oversized bathrobe smiling at them with far, far too many pointy, needle-fine teeth on display. Everything about it was the color of old ivory: skin, clothes, teeth, eyes – wait, did it have eyes? "Heh-heh. A common mispronunciation."
"Cracked," concluded Avocato.
"Eeew," exclaimed Gary at the unsolicited closeup, then collected himself. "Uh . . . no offense, but I just see death. Like, for real. I'm not buying the Deeth, dude."
"That's good," said Death, "since I sell only doors. Heh. Can I interest you in one?"
"We're good," assured Avocato warily, edging a step back and pulling Gary along with him. He turned to leave the ivory oddity behind him when he almost walked smack into Death. Either Death had a twin or he was folding space because nothing could move that fast.
"Are you sure?" smiled the bony freakshow.
"Okay, morphing from weird to sinister," exclaimed Gary. "Let's get ou-"
Somehow, the were directly in front of the shop, and Death was pushing the door open for them, saying, "Welcome to Death's Doors, gentlemen."
"Oh, my crap!" yelled Gary.
Avocato moved to draw his gun as Gary tried to lunge backwards and drag Avocato with him. It was too late. The trap had been sprung and they were falling, falling, falling. . .
Into sleep. Into oblivion. Into . . .
"Oh, not again!"
Gary's voice echoed through the seemingly unlimited space and structure surrounding them.
"Two Lazarus Traps in a lifetime has to be a record," snarled Avocato.
For the second time in their lives, Gary and Avocato stood atop a platform surrounded by identical stages branching off every which way in defiance of physics and gravity. This time, however, instead of stairs, there were spiral slides in every color of the rainbow.
"What happened to the never-ending, unsafe amusement park of stairs?" asked Gary, gesturing sharply at the twisty expanse before them.
"Weapons check," was the ever-practical reply.
"Gonzo. You?"
"Same. Dammit." Avocato shook his head, confounded. "I've never heard of a Lazarus Trap with slides. Whatever master trap maker made this must be a fan."
"Or this is the el-cheapo, grad student version. It's more fun than stairs, at least. We went from someone puking up an Escher print to being stuck in a giant box of rotini."
Gary sat himself on the lip of a slide and spiraled down to the landing below with a shout of childish enjoyment. Knowing he couldn't let Gary get too far away, Avocato followed, though silently. The next landing was at a right angle from where they'd started, but neither man could tell.
Avocato reached for him. "Gary, listen. Listen! Don't think. Focus on how we're going to get out of here. Lazarus Traps are designed so your own thoughts will eventually kill you."
"Oooh. That's dark."
Suddenly they were plunged into total darkness. Avocato sighed.
"Re-think the light, Gary."
"Sorry," was the sheepish reply.
When they could see again, Avocato continued.
"The more things you think of, the more the trap will weaken, but the more likely you are to die."
"Meaning . . .?"
"We need to wear the trap down without letting it kill us so we can escape and kill Death."
"I like that plan. Especially the dead Death part. So . . . "
"Do not think about anything else but how we're going to-"
Avocato staggered over nothing, and suddenly he was in his old Tera Con Empire uniform. No. There was more. Suddenly he was General Avocato again. He knew because his back was aching, and soon after he'd returned to Tera Con Prime after the destruction of the Scotia system, he'd injured his tail during a thimbles tournament. The Lord Commander had been pissed, and Avocato hadn't dared to let it slow him down.
"Gary!" Avocato growled through clenched teeth. "I told you not to think!"
He glared. It was what he did at this stage of his life. Instead of cowering, Gary fought to keep his delight in check, biting his lower lip and pressing his hands to his face as a long, high-pitched squeak escaped him.
"Sorry, but that look you're wearing made me think of your wanted poster because that murder face you get is just sooo danged cu-"
"No!"
Avocato staggered again. He was still himself, still in his long coat, only now he was . . . cute. His ears were rounded and whisps of hair curled out of them. His eyes were huge and his nose and mouth were tiny by comparison. His face was rounder and his teal coat had gone from flat and silky to long and fluffy. Everything about him was softer and like a candy-coated version of the Eyebrows of Everything and –
"Why am I so short?"
"Because you're so cuuuute!" Gary could not contain his gushing. "Oh, my god, you have eyelashes! That is tight! And, oh, good lord, it's sexy!"
Avocato stamped his foot. "Put me back, dash it! Make me forty-two again! What the dingo is wrong with my voice? And . . . why the cotton can't I curse?"
Gary's brain had clearly evaporated at the sight of his younger, kawaii husband. "Because, you're too cute. You're almost as adorable as –"
"Wait! Stop, you fish stick!"
Another wave buffeted Avocato, and he glared even further up at Gary.
"I'm eighteen, aren't I?" he demanded without looking down, his voice flat and his murder face unwavering despite his puffs and fluffs.
Biting his lip, knowing he was in it deep but too in love with skinny, darling little Avocato in his teal-and-gray academy uniform and shiny boots to have any regrets, Gary nodded.
"So, I'm even shorter. Great. Gary?"
"Yeeeee-ah?" he carefully asked, recognizing that tone of impending doom.
"Billy-boo the applesaucing Lazarus Trap, I'm going to swatkat you myself!"
Even short and sweet, Gary knew Avocato was more than capable of carrying out the threat if he didn't set things right pronto. Much as he wanted to bust out laughing, he tried instead to calm the simmering honeypot in front of him.
"Super cute way to go, Cato, because right now, you're like the plushie version of yo-oh crap."
Gary paused in the silence, closing his eyes and slowly letting his breath out before he looked at his feet.
Plushie on deck.
Crap.