Even The Professor's oozing grin, shoulder-clap and whisper couldn't bother Leela, or her early preparations, on that first Monday of July.
Little else to do but read magazines and have a coffee, until she checked the clock's big hand—six, seven, eight, nine. Didn't panic nor ponder for not seeing her charge; just stood up, move for the lockers, and rummage in her purse for one of now several insurance policies.
A quick rub-down and gasp of air later, she was off streaking lightning right out the doors.
At the terminal on the other side meanwhile, Mayfield had been biting his knuckles for the recent last-minute announcement. Arrived good and early as usual, but upon hearing all New New York buses being cancelled, had suddenly found himself left stranded.
Too many witnesses to just whip out his tube of miracles, too many questions he didn't want to answer. And quite unlike Leela, he couldn't shake the certain doubts of whether he could sprint or leap over those miles-wide banks…
Moved outside to consider a plan, didn't even have the foundations when he crashed into a human-shaped brick wall, heard a growl of sorts, and felt his arm almost get ripped off.
"Hey, what the… The hell do you think you're doing?"
No response as he was just hauled across their shoulders and sprinted away, leaving water skips to flicker behind. A matter of moments before he rose riverbank to skyscraper; against any conceivable thought of survival, the kid had screamed and tried to squirm out, only for the frights to end once he looked around and found the familiar doors of the lobby.
Could only check his jeans before he collapsed against those doors: "What you tryin' to do Leela, give me a heart attack?!"
A fold of arms: "Wasn't bringing my ship just to cross a river, and you know damn well I'm anything but a messenger. You could figure out the rest, I'm sure."
"Sweet thundering blazes, don't ever do that again!"
Straight up the lift and a seat at conference; seeing those two back together had left most virtually speechless. The Professor could only yell "Oh, foo!" and thud fists, while Hermes had gathered himself—like any good bureaucrat—to chew the delivery boy out.
"Sweet can rattlin' in Manhattan mon, where 'de hell have you been? Have yuh seen all the work we've got since yuh vanished?"
"No argument there Hermes, but to answer your question, I've been everywhere man…"
"Spare me 'de song and dance, seriously."
"Straight answers it is. In short, your Captain nearly murdered me, Zoidberg saved my arse, and I was helped to hospital. Once I recovered I got my things and ran away, soon found a place across the river. Had resided there with intentions to distance myself, but guess who came and found me? Let's just say after that, there's a reason I don't remember last week."
"Be 'dat as it may, your little stunt cost us a great deal of green, including my favourite kind. Consider yourself lucky that I'm ONLY going to place you back on probation, are we clear?"
"Stunt? Listen here, you son-of-a-munchie-lover, I'm only here today BECAUSE of Zoidberg and Leela's efforts to revive me! You think I'm going to accept such a disgraceful decision?"
"As your Grade 36 bureaucrat, I don't care. You've got no choice and no say here, especially for disappearing without cause."
"If you think I don't have a choice nor a say, then you'd better shove a Manwich in it, mate. Because my say involves The Captain, Amy and myself as crew, and how we've delivered more packages in two weeks than you've all done in YEARS!"
A little shift in his seat, while Hermes remembered the profits, stocks, and satisfaction levels to soar…
"Now I won't ask for a promotion nor your forgiveness, but this crap you're suggesting crosses my line. Your choice to demote me, but it'll be MY choice to send you all right back where you started. Now, do you have a better deal?"
Hermes had readied that wave of his hand, but soon had a stop and think. To ignore how business had boomed would've been career suicide, but to falter against the kid's threat? Likely more so.
"Keep your rank, but if you don't deliver all you've left behind in the hangar, plus whatever's new, in two weeks, I'll personally send you to the Sun myself. Got it?"
Mayfield could've kicked himself for gambling his life like that, but towards the dozens of crates swarming the ship, a grimace and approving nod before he stood to shake Hermes' hand.
"You're on, and thanks. Alright folks, let's get our arses in gear. Professor, get your cloning machine warmed up, we're gonna need to replenish our miracles."
"So THAT's how you insured us, to say nothing of yourself." Leela called. "Well to make double-sure, I'd better go and check that we're ship-shape."
"If you end up in pieces, I could read some medical texts about you guys maybe?" Zoidberg would offer.
A flash of a thumbs-up to all, before Mayfield slammed a fist into his palm. That rush of milk, sugar and cream in his skin, and the miracles soon to follow.
"Ladies of the ship? Gentlemen of the desk? We've got several dozen crates to deliver and just two weeks to do it… Let's rock."
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As reunited crew, their first delivery was towards none other than Eagle-76, a floating all-American sphere virtually next door to Earth. Not that one could recommend a spacewalk, mind.
For the being to make the Mount Rushmore cast look like Russian spies, a rare shipment of early 21st-century memorabilia. Championship rings and pennants, to signify fairytale sport triumphs decades or centuries in the making. While Mayfield could've waxed nostalgia on seeing the coverage, savoured on those past glories, he sadly knew that such times had to wait.
For deliveries of brand-new netting, crates of which dedicated to just basketball hoops, next up was none other than Amazonia. A job to take the kid by surprise, but something else entirely to knock his kneecaps together…
Had imagined Wonder Woman-like ladies as the planet's inhabitants; got ten-foot, thousand pound knockoffs of She-Hulk instead. Though given the tree trunk sized clubs they swung about, he dared not mention such an opinion.
In fact, once he remembered the original stories about 'snu-snu', it was enough for him to just shake hands, burble his farewells, and leave a trail of fire for the ship. No white leisure suit in the universe, if they still existed, would ever make THEM arousing.
A couple smooth runs later of concentrated Slurm syrup and odd trinkets had them relax, but Leela's crew hit quite the hurdle once they reached Tova-9, where the annual Miss Universe contest had begun.
The kid had heard a familiar voice on his approach to the stage, and could've thudded his jaw once he peeled the whole curtain back… Furrowed and sneering, the MC was none other than the golden-coiffed, bronze-faced head of Donald Trump, the U.S. President he knew of before he came here.
From what he could gather, it seemed he tried to hijack the contest into one of his rallies, but as the audience bombed subtle hisses and grand boos towards him, it soon devolved into a spiel about the cuter, chestier and classier ladies from his own beauty pageants. No shortage of unrepeatable sayings, nor any halts in the jeers, before he ranted insults to the entire audience and called a break. Despite the contest never having started.
Once Mayfield realigned his jaw, he could only stare at the notice and groan.
"Ohhhhhh man, of all the people? He's always hated contractors, and we're among that crowd!"
"Oh so he's loud-mouthed, says stupid things, and talks too much about the past," Leela shrugged. "What's the problem, you two would get along great!"
"Captain, none would recognise my corpse if I acted as him towards you. Galaxies forbid he's the same figure I used to remember…"
"Can't have been that bad, could he?" Amy piped in.
"I'd admit to being suckered in Amy, but once the articles, books, and chaos came to light, I lost the will to give more chances. Look, let's cross fingers that we get this done quick, that he doesn't try to pick fights."
Such hopes were nuked right into oblivion; as he was wheeled in, Trump gave a puckered eye-roll as he got wheeled in. Once that crate of fast food from Fishy Joe's, McPlutos and Limburger King got delivered, he tried to force his handlers to kick them out. Refusing tips was understandable, if not annoying, but trying to bargain them down…
"Mr. Trump?" Mayfield pointed. "I'm not the one to convince, gotta talk to our Captain here."
A woman he'd been ogling before the face-to-face introduction; from there, things had soured quicker than blinking. As he sprayed those insults and yells rapid fire, the "foreign alien" with paperwork in hand began to grow magmatic. Situation looked to erupt when, oozing a slimy grin, he made a re-election promise to build a wall around her planet.
Soon forced Amy and Mayfield to get in between, and her to almost bulldoze the both of them.
"Shwhoa Captain, take it easy!"
"Captain, don't scuff your boots on him. They don't deserve that." Mayfield agreed.
"This is between me and whatever 'that' is, so why don't you two quit interfering and run along?" came the leering reply.
The kid turned around, wary of the handlers and security presence.
"Mr. Trump, it only matters that we stop you from doing something stupid. At least, aside from building an entire wall around Earth…"
"Oh God, she even comes from my old home planet? What shithole country is she from?"
"For your health, don't make me answer that. Regardless, she made the absolute best out of nothing, so I'd aspire to be more like her."
Her red tinge grew apparent, while his leer became a glare: "Aspire to that pony-tailed piece of garbage, when I give low-lives like yourselves an audience? I'd have had you all shot for that remark; be grateful that I'm in a generous mood."
"Good luck, 'Exalted One'. Just to warn you though, you'd best back off with the bully tactics. You'll get no advantage, nor any position, to intimidating us."
"Oh you think so, do you? You seriously believe I can't handle the three of you right now?"
"You think our Captain, by herself, doesn't eat 'tough guys' for breakfast? I speak from personal experience, and I couldn't express this clearer for trying… For the love of money, DON'T get on her bad side! We dread to imagine what'd happen next."
"Think you're gonna threaten me and get away with it? I'll have you sued into bankruptcy, and laugh as your business burns to ash!"
"What you call a threat, I call a prediction. Newsflash, I actually HAVE limbs to fight back; you think they did me any good? Take my one and only free tip; pay the agreed price and Shut. Your. Mouth."
"How dare you order me around, little boy. Should I clue you in on who I am, what I was, and what I'll do to—"
"I couldn't give a good Gods-damn who you are. Now stay silent and sign this, for all our sakes here."
"I won't put my pen to that paper, unless you bend your knee and grovel at my head."
Got a mocking curtsy instead: "Apologies 'Your Highness', but if you won't sign, we'll have to seize your packages back and destroy the contents. Company policy, you understand."
"You can't do this to me! I was a former President, I was a real estate god, I was an uncrowned KING of media!"
"Was being the keyword. Now you're just a customer, one we can afford to reject."
"Matter of fact, I can and I will!" Leela declared, vanish the crates from view in seconds. A curled lip and raising eyebrows from Mayfield to Trump; the latter's face leaving a rainbow of sorts in his preserving liquid; pale-shock blue, beet-red rage, bits of bronzed orange…
"Well? Things to do and places to be… You want your food or you don't?"
Trump's jar began to shake; Mayfield worried for him flying off that raised platform altogether.
"If I had my extendable thumbs and Twitcher account, I swear I'd teach you do-nothing delivery boys a lesson."
"You're welcome to bring your worst, but you still won't be getting your food. For that snipe, in fact, I'll personally make you watch while we deep-fry them in the Sun. Comprendo, amigo? Capiche, paisan? Got it, friend?"
Didn't think it would work, but after his rather begrudging signature, Mayfield vanished to contact his Captain, redeliver the goods, and escape the lose-lose situation for all. The crew had their time wasted, and the deliveries—given the loud complaining—had gone cold, stale and smelly.
Boarding the ship, Mayfield could only grumble: "Gods forbid I meet anyone like him ever again."
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During their final return to Earth, Leela couldn't help but muse on how she preferred the head of Bob Barker as Tova-9's pageant host, despite the none-too-cordial dealings she had with him.
A quip to make Mayfield do a double-take, before he snickered towards the irony of it all. He knew the man had spent much of his life bashing creatures under his 'standards'. To host such a beauty pageant to stay afloat though…
Soon forgot upon hearing the Captain's news; while everybody onboard were stiff and sore, they had together achieved the first double-digit day in Planet Express's history. And to hear the sounds of scraping paper, as thumbs combed through their shares… No better proof of success for now.
Handing off the notices to Hermes—"Overtime, a bureaucrat's favourite pastime!"—the crew had made for the locker rooms. Mayfield felt just the first splashes of his shower, when his Captain and co-pilot joined him.
"D'oh, those deliberate little… What a time to be alive."
Could feel his heartbeat quicken, cheeks blush as he kept sneaking glances towards his Captain. How she bent in lathering those body oils & soaps, how she massaged that divine lavender silk, level to those breasts…
"No better temple I've known… Has to be a test, right? Damn this old mind of mine; if I move or get caught looking, I'll really cop it. Come on Tom, you were warned about this, now get comfortable. Might love the view, but keep it classy man."
Such murmuring had Leela catch him dead to rights; the moment she turned to face him was the moment he nearly broke his neck trying to look away.
"Thomas, your side-eyed glances aren't fooling me… Haven't you seen a naked woman before?"
Could only stutter and gulp, trying to find the words: "N-n-n-never a woman like you, if we're talking reality here. And I'd die a smiling man if you'd been my first & only."
A flip of her hair, as she grabbed her conditioner and began soaking.
"So I imagine you like what you're seeing?"
"No Captain… Took me a while to correct your words, but I LOVE what I'm seeing."
A genuine smile to give as the words would surprise, until she ended up glaring. Shrugging and oblivious to the subtext, it was only after Amy's own chirp that Mayfield glanced her way.
"Since you're speaking of lovely ladies and all, how 'bout me?"
Another reveal to collapse the kid into a fit of nervous laughter.
"Okay, this can't be real can it? You see me, you see yourselves… The hell's going on for you two to lower your standards for me? Captain, help me out here; you sure we didn't land on some fantasy planet by accident?"
"No, we're on Earth, but I should know better than to interrupt."
"Captain, please! Even though I've got my Kiffy, can't I join in the fun?"
"To kill this moment when you've GOT someone to love, that's really poor sport Amy."
Mayfield's head went into a swivel: "Whoa, whoa, what moment? Ladies, let's cut to brass tacks here. If you think I'm ready to burden any kind of woman, much less in your leagues, then forget it."
"W-w-w, you're joking me right?" Leela sputtered. "You've got a good job, a little travel, your own apartment and cash to live. Tell me kid, what the hell else is left?"
"Captain, one way or another, all that came from you. Rest assured, I'd go my whole life without love until I paid those debts back in full."
"Oh come on Thomas! Surely you could make time for anything else?"
A pointer and middle towards his eyes, then to her eye, as he glared back.
"Look into these eyes, and know that I'm dead serious. For all our problems Captain, YOU bailed me out. YOU gave me the means to make a living, and YOU gave me a purpose and meaning in this screwed-up world. Quite frankly, I owe you my life."
"Well I can't take all the credit, but if you're the one to give it…"
"Oh sweet Hell, I'm going to be sick!" a snaky voice rang out. "You're gonna fall for that world-class suck-up, even when his package doesn't pass inspection?"
Veins in Mayfield's throat began to throb, as he whipped around: "Who the hell said that?!"
A slap of flesh and a cursing wince, before Amy spoke up.
"Ai ya! Sorry about that. Talking tattoo from an old tax rebate, one to celebrate victory against the Spiderians. Even for how stupid I can afford to be with money, he's the sole thing I've ever regretted getting."
"Christ, and I just got used to this bloody future. So what would that prick know about 'packages' anyway?"
Leela jumped in, eager for payback: "Before Kif, let's just say that Amy was quite the connoisseur, of the 'anything that moves' kind. Hate to say it, but her talking tattoo had been around for much of that time."
"Leela, shmich! Give him my whole life story while you're at it, huh?"
"Look Thomas, don't take it personally, but the devil's got his due this time. It's not your fault, but 1,000 years of genetic engineering has, to be nice about it, left you behind in today's love game. So personal word of advice, you'd better offer something other than sex to impress a woman."
Didn't seem to take it personally, yet the kid's head slowly banged against the tiled wall.
"Captain, how many times must I tell you? Screw the love game, I'm not ready! How could I be, when I'm behind on EVERYTHING?"
"Excuse me, that's not true, and you…"
"I look at you two, I look at those around me, I look among our customers… When you're the uneducated, unskilled, untested sack of nothing in this universe, my little fella's the ONLY thing to stick out! I was already nobody in my time, you think I'd stand a chance in the here and now?"
"Hold on, you're a great gunman, so don't…"
"So I can shoot at screens the whole cocking day, big deal! Every other time you made me step up, but only the cream helped me keep up. You know how limp I'd go without such help, what makes you think anyone would date a boy like me?"
Flicking the tap off, he abruptly grabbed his towel and dripped to the locker room. The ladies could only look on as he disappeared, before they turned to glance at each other.
"Geez, sure makes sense now," Leela rubbed her skull.
"Did we push him too far?" while Amy continued washing.
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Knowing there were still no buses out to New Jersey, Mayfield had ventured out into the warm sunset to let those words wash around his head. Even for the candid honesty he still felt like the ladies had castrated him, wondering if he'd ever have a chance to catch up in this world.
"What could I offer, indeed?"
No longer had his family for reassurance; never felt worthy enough to answer the question.
Rubbing down on his miracles, he had hoped to do the one thing that, scenic route or no, had gotten him to work this morning. But in going for such a sprint, the doubts reeled him back enough to leave him plunging through the water's surface.
Drenched and shivering once he paddled the rest of the way, he'd drip up the stairs, turn the key and walk through. Shower, leftover takeout and TV, least that might've been the plan before a 'Special Bulletin' signal began to sound.
Sure enough, the familiar faces of Morbo and Linda, and the green one's very distinct gruffness to rouse him.
"We interrupt your puny Earthling lives to bring you this announcement. TREMBLE IN FEAR, as Morbo brings you a worldwide exclusive interview of renowned philanthropist, Sir Reginald Archbury."
Sure enough, there they both sat in two plush chairs, a table of tea and biscuits before them. The man opposite Morbo made Hermes look as skinny as a streetlight, but for that tailored, gold-lined blue suit, slicked red hair and jewellery, there was something about his presence that Mayfield had to respect.
"Oh hello, Morbo the Annihilator here, sipping a delightful tea with a true titan of New New York. Thank you for joining us, Reggie!"
"Greetings Morbo, a great pleasure to be here. But please, I insist you call me Reginald."
The voice gave impressions of a used car salesman; a never-ending oil slick to have Mayfield cringe. Spoke in airs of pride, pomposity and arrogance; might've bet money on a politician or Lord, if not for the philanthropy thing.
"So tell us, what are your plans for your latest gift to planet Earth?"
"Very simple, really. One month from now, I'll be holding my annual charity gala, Audience with Archbury, at none other than the Metropolitan House of Opera in New New York. There, my guests will enjoy a splendid five-star, three course meal, spend quality time among the world's elites, and of course, bid upon my priceless art collection where ALL proceeds will go to charity. But I must advise, to delay is to miss out, those tickets will be in short stock."
A middle finger for the TV: "Yeah, you can go and shove those where they don't shine."
Looking to enjoy a shower, the kid couldn't know that, inches from his screen, a creature had roared into the hard camera before a 'Technical Difficulties' had rendered on screen. Mayfield could've cracked the back of his head from the fright, but called himself lucky to just ventilate and fumble with the remote.
"Who in Satan's frozen hell was THAT?!"
The event did pique his curiosity however; first taste of social life, no bigger place to start than a hall full of celebrities from every walk of life. Indeed, he thought of the details; prices, points of intrigue, performances and other tastes of the high-class living he'd never have.
Couldn't imagine the harm in snooping around, after all.