For the rest of the day, Captain Leela could only snap orders to her charge that he remain within sight at all times. Her smog of suspicion so thick, she didn't even waver for the couple of no-miracle, ten-minute deliveries to remain.
To her, his fat mouth, defiance of authority, and future plans made clear that he couldn't be trusted.
Mayfield, meanwhile, could only ball fists and try to breathe in between grits of "Yes, ma'am", as the old life sparked before his eyes. Dared not argue, speak or murmur for fear of retaliation; settled for creating his own sunburn instead.
Even for their first encounter, her obvious temper, lack of care and power trips were ensuring that she couldn't be trusted either.
Fearing he'd erupt, he remained out of sight to flick through his take. Rather good for a day's work; 350 dollars, and at least an assurance that the customers were alright. Figuring he'd walk out to cool off, he was about to exit the hole before the Professor called out. An unkempt corner to meet, and a clap of sorts on the shoulder.
"Young man, now looks like the time to prove your worth."
"And how do you suppose I do that?
"Did you really have to ask?"
"Ohhhh… You kidding though? Since Captain thinks I'm out to screw her, what chance do I have now? What do you propose?"
"I propose that it's not my problem now… It's yours."
A jangle as he fiddled through his pockets, soon palming the ship's keys in Mayfield's hand. This time a special, perhaps wicked, exception to his usual policy this time of day.
"If I don't get them and your cream when we open tomorrow, I'll be dialling that number first thing in the morning… You down, as you kids would say?"
"Uhhh, yes sir."
A sneer for such fakery aside, he could only gulp for what laid ahead. On one path, his Captain would cook him alive for this potential stunt, and on the other, his big boss would make a marked man out of him if he didn't comply.
"You wrinkled bastard, I swear I'll…"
Whatever he thought after that, upon releasing the bridge stairs, he knew the deal was 'survive now, worry later.'
The search began in the cabin's safe; a panic upon finding that the cream was nowhere to be seen. It soon expanded from top deck to bottom, from the bridge to the engine room, and got to where he combed through every cupboard and countertop.
Yet for the hours spent, not a trace.
"If not inside the ship, where else could it be?"
Had wrung his hands, tried to refocus through a few headslaps. Scoured the entire HQ that he knew of from lobby to lounge, and whatever else he couldn't recall; attic, basement and boiler room. But beyond the beakers and big scopes, beyond closed doors and beyond those creepy underbellies, he had soon surrendered.
Death now etched in stone, he could only choke quiet tears, hoping he wouldn't suffocate too long before he turned to ash. But a final promise of ultimate pettiness to slap that prune, hell everybody, with a whopping utility bill starting from the shower.
At least before he spotted the Miracle Cream, sat upon the wooden bench. Next to it, a 'READ ME' card, and a piqued frown of "What the hell?" as he seized it.
Cut the crap kid, I've got my eye on you. One choice saves your life, the other has it snuffed out…
- CL
Course she'd call her own shot… Her plan all along to want the damn thing for herself, exclusively.
Still, it was dead if he did, dead if he didn't, and only choice left was how he'd leave. Had him sit beside the cream, fist under his chin, for some time.
Between Farnsworth & Leela, who did he wish to piss off least?
While the former gave him a job and temporary home, it only came after the latter's offer and funny way of 'vouching'. The former, at best, cared nothing for him or his development, while the latter had taken precious weekend time to bring him up to speed. The former was too obsessed towards his own pursuits, the latter cared—daresay too much—for everyone's success.
The choice would've been obvious, but in a finger-snap moment, he knew of a Plan C…
Placing the cream on top of Leela's locker, and sliding it out of view, he returned to the Professor with the ship's keys in hand.
"A shame to see you don't value this job, Mayweather."
"Oh I do, but that cream was left on top of Leela's locker. Tried to scrabble and claw at it, but remained out of my reach. Perhaps you could grab it?"
"Hmm, matter of fact I could. My Fing-longer could slide over it, and have it in my possession inside a half-hour. Dismissed with my thanks."
Late evening before they wished each other goodnight, and after a snack and prop-up, Mayfield lied down before a warping sound rung in his ears. No Taser required, and a growl for Lord Nibbler's arrival.
"Gods-damn-it, Nibbler, mind picking a better time to meet up?"
"Negative. So, how's your first day been?"
"One near-impossible, interstellar delivery, a couple of easy Earth drop-offs, a pissed-off Captain and a threat of firing from The Professor. Other than that Puke Eyestalker, nothing you'd care about."
"That's where you're wrong, friend. Word in HQ says you've found yourself a miracle."
"The hell did you know? Actually never mind. Yeah, some muscle cream in an old cabin's safe; cured my fatal injuries, and gave me short-term superpowers too. No better rush I've known, and we both know how I wound up here."
"Hmm hmm, indeed we do. Must say it sounds promising child, how have you used it?"
"Had selfish temptations at first, but after a couple of ultimatums, I've directed The Professor to it to see what he can do. Save, grow and evolve our company, guarantee future prosperity… Yet this whole time, Leela's been thinking that I'm out to screw her."
"Why do you think that is?"
"How should I know, it's not like she told…"
"WHY do you think that is?"
Mayfield cowed before Nibbler's raised voice: "Easy, back off! If I had to guess, she's missing things beyond concepts I just don't know, and never will since she's told me nothing. All it's been with her are arguments, orders, threats, violence and stupid games, maybe the odd kindness thrown in."
Nibbler grew meditative, crossed legs and all: "You should've known that Leela would've been suspicious of you from the start, and that you've exposed your act already. How did you think she'd react, given the types she grew up with?"
"No question that Cookieville sucks, but the way she's been, it's got me thinking of the hows and whys. Have you read this thing she wrote?" He passed the card to Nibbler. "And it seems that no matter my choice, I'm as good as dead…"
"I wouldn't be so quick to say that. What have you noticed about Leela since that Friday?"
"Let's start with how she forces me to sleep beside some foul, mouldy tribute. How she intimidates and belts me hours after I find that cream. How she screeches in my ear to remain within her sight. I mean…"
"What else did you find in that cabin's safe?"
"Old photos of some ginger-haired sucker and a robot torturer. Don't suppose you know the connection?"
"Why would a tube of superpower cream be hidden behind old photos?"
"Again, not a clue. How am I supposed to see eyes-to-eye, when all she does is glare, kick my guts in and demand permission for me to take a PISS? Am I losing my mind, Your Furriness? Has she already declared me guilty, sentenced me to the gallows?"
"While I don't believe such paranoia to be ideal, you'd be most wise to reveal everything, and I mean EVERYTHING. I've seen what minefield she could become, especially in recent days. She's bound to explode, but perhaps you'll defuse her once you take time to talk, understand and learn beyond what's obvious… Maybe you'll discover a greater set of miracles than mere superpowers."
"I'll try, if I can even get time alone. Lady always seems so busy."
"Then make time, for your sake. Pleasant dreams, Mayfield."
As that creature warped out, the charge's eyes clenched shut, asleep before his head hit the cushion. Far from wishing to talk to anybody, never mind Leela, he only cared for the brand new adventures ahead of him.
For the rest that'd ready himself on the path to better wealth and new challenges…
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To no-one's knowledge but hers, Leela had tiptoed back inside HQ at around 10:30pm, a focused beeline for the conference room. Had her suspicions, wrought her confessions, now a chance to find out if her temptation could be resisted.
Taking the quiet lift, she shadowed for the security TV, pressed a button, and fingered her way through Mayfield's small collection of videotapes. Though she had threatened to crash or slump over the desk, she knew she had to catch him early or prove herself wrong to put her mind at ease.
Once she scrambled to mute the volume and checked to see that no-one had woken up, she sat down and kicked her boots off. Not like The Professor would know…
Through her delegation, and this first tape now playing, she had sent Amy to have a chat; aside from how they'd huddled in, it had proven inconclusive as they kept things well-hushed; couldn't read lips, and there were no secret signs to exchange.
The second tape featured the discussion between himself and The Professor, a matter that had her bring out the heavy bag from suspicion. Did her big boss want in as well? If he had such future plans, a secret desire of replacement…
The third tape, and sure as looking at it, she clutched her head and cupped her mouth, forcing in a scream for seeing HER keys in the new hire's hand. The same ones The Professor swallowed and brought up, to her everyday disgust.
"How did you get such privileges, you..."
But a smirk and stifled laugh as she realised the twisted pleasures, all those hours to be spent, on him turning up empty-handed, of the monstrous clean-up yet to happen…
Fourth and final tape, where he strode into the locker rooms and fixed that hungry gaze upon the prize. Moment of truth, as she saw him scan her little note, rest that chin, and ponder through his options…
Watched him grab that cream, and got ready to declare war before he just replaced it on top of her locker, leaving fully dressed.
"On second thought, seems you do value your life after all. Wise choice."
Seemed content after that to pack it in, shut it off and leave, especially once the cassette wound up mutilating its tape. Tossing that into the trash, she cleaned up after herself, satisfied that should Mayfield ever slip up again, it'd be like stomping a puppy in her own words…
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Besides the couch's usual nonsense, Mayfield could only moan and spring in cold sweats, for recent dreams of family loss had surfaced in mind. Two o'clock on his watch, and a stumble about the kitchen for a glass of water.
Puzzled at first for the faint smell of odour, he soon began swallowing that nectar and filling it again. Time seemed to crawl as he trudged for the lift, pressed for the attic, and heard the echoic crunch under his feet. The Widow's Walk, and a moment to scan the starlit sights, to squeeze the bannister as the Business District washed through.
First pay in a thousand years, potentially limitless adventures, decent co-workers & customers…
Things he had never achieved, let alone combined, in those bygone days. And for how the citizens accepted him, least compared to before, he should've been the happiest refugee alive.
Yet still the smiles evaded him, as he only had ideas about why he got sent here, into this city and time he could never call home. Most of all, the only people he ever loved had been disappeared, perhaps buried in unmarked graves.
Hoped from the stars he could form portraits of his dad, who once dreamed to ride the rails while delivering packages. Only imagine his face now, to see his second 'good man' sail through space. Create an image of his mum, who from watching him fade away would've beamed aglow to see her baby boy shine again. Maybe of his brother, who'd finally admit relation for becoming his own man.
Just like his clasped hands, hopeless fantasies that at least brought comfort… Hands could've used a crowbar, as he sank to his knees.
"Ohhh, how should I start? It's no secret that I've been such a wayward son and heavy-load brother. A pox on your legacy, a little boy in a man's body… Wherever you all are, please watch over me. And if you can't, please be at peace."
Pats of his chest, a point to the skies, and a bubbling of tears for the tribute long overdue. Did put his mind at better ease, and might've finally enjoyed some sweet dreams before he bumped into a naked Professor.
Wrinklier than a hundred Shar-Peis, the wind had flopped certain bits of his to almost have Mayfield heave over the Walk, possibly onto some poor schmuck's head.
"Ugh, Christ on bikes! What the serious fuck is wrong with you?"
"Language, Mayfair! To answer your question, just enjoying the breeze. Since you were nice enough to squander my private time, I figured I'd return the favour. Maybe as a bonus, shred your naïve innocence too."
"You think me to be so chaste, do you? Listen here, Rip Van Wrinkle. You might think me quite primitive, but that doesn't mean I haven't seen my share of sleaze before. Innocence nothing, I just wished there were some 'bodies' I'd never see naked. However, be a hell of a trick if you could melt into a puddle right now."
"Wise-ass. I did have another reason to see you though. It's because I believe that I've invented something to fulfil your stupid fantasies, and it's ready to test out. I'll see you down at the lab?"
"Okay, that fast? Your knack for inventing's clear, but even I find that impossible."
"You'd be amazed how motivated you get when money's on the line."
It took about half an hour, mostly Mayfield waiting, until The Professor gripped the sheet and struck a sweeping pose.
"Move over Dolly, I shall clone a greater creation than thee!"
Had revealed a giant black box that featured a conveyor belt, a large scanner unit and a computer screen, as well as other bits and bobs inside. To do all that in a matter of hours…
"My goodness big brains, now we might be talking… Well, I'm waiting, give me the tour."
"So simple even you can use it," as The Professor began pointing. "Insert any item into this scanner here. This screen, and this handle, can select how many copies you desire. This green button will begin the process. And thanks to the miracles of modern science, any perfect copies of ANY item will end up in this tub."
"How long had you been working on this?"
"Been on the shelf about a year, piece by piece; completing that delivery helped me afford the rest of the materials."
"Huh, the dates seem to match up… Okay, one question 'fore I start slapping buttons… What should I know?"
"Nothing of concern, not at all… Oh wait, two things actually. One, this'll only accept a single item at a time, to be LOST upon a completed scan. So scan yourself an extra payday, but not a king's ransom, get me? Number two, and most important, you'll have to wait twenty-four hours for each copy produced."
The kid scratched his head: "So say I produce, I don't know, a hundred of those creams. They'd come in all at once, but I'd have to wait three months and change before we can operate again?"
"Precisely, so be careful."
"Well now… As if matters weren't already complicated."
"Oh balderdash, I've made it really simple!"
"No no Professor, not that kind of complicated. More of the life-or-death conundrum kind. My Captain thinks I'm out to screw her, and sadly, I haven't helped my case that much. Through this invention, I know now how to give such ultimate gratitude… But the question is do I go low or high?"
"What's low, and what's high, would you say?"
"That's just it. Go low to test our waters, and I won't have enough for myself never mind her. I give the wrong impression, she returns me as dead meat. Going high means we can employ plenty for our work, but we just might attract some unwanted attention. Gods forbid Mom gets wind of us cloning ship supplies, when she almost killed me for mentioning your name."
"Hmmm, I don't blame you a bit for keeping that dragon-breathed dictator at arms' length."
"Preach it, and I'll need plenty to trial before I'm assured of success, before I pay Leela back… How 'bout we start with seven? I test three, she gets four, and fingers crossed that everybody's happy."
Upon both their nods, the thick green tube vanished inside the scanner, which began to prep the properties, ingredients, labels and warnings as Farnsworth gripped the handle. Somehow slipped right over; by the time Mayfield propped him back up, they looked to make seven THOUSAND clones instead.
Maybe a What-If question for another time, as they corrected themselves and soon found their wishful gold mine drop, soft little thumps aplenty, into that nano-plastic tub.
A quick grab and close inspection later, Mayfield was seduced by the fine whiskey dreams dancing in his head. No warning mislabelled, no crooks in the text, not even a mark out of place for those complicated glyphs.
"You're our ticket to caviar dreams… Hmm hmm, precious." A slow, circular rub of his cream, and a flashing smile for his big boss.
"I'll test this out tomorrow at work, but by the sounds of things, you might've outdone yourself Farnsey."
"It's Farnsworth you nitwit! Now it's time you pay me back in kind."
"Rest assured I will, perhaps then some, if this works… Until then, goodnight!"
A few pairs of jeans would offer plenty of workarounds, in case Leela's demands remained the same. Not that such a thing could worry him now, as he returned to the couch to let those truly sweet dreams lull him to sleep.
If only they could've remained that way…