Given a curious rope to lasso the Solar System, Mayfield braved the early morning, and The Professor's unnerving cackles, to learn all about the gala that'd come to Manhattan. Via snazzy Netsuits around the lab, he could learn all he needed without getting drip-fed, if Archbury was that charitable.
All that time and effort to obtain a special broadcast, only to give no details? He had to have the clout for the airtime; perhaps getting cut short would've dissuaded him.
A streak blasphemed for the cords to untangle, for having to temper himself so he could get help, he had found himself logged in, soon nothing but some fuzzy green code and static before a gigantic digital world before him. Where he stood, a generated cliff-face of sorts, and above him, dozens of unique flapping tabs lurking over the abyss.
All had featured slogans to have him squirm, the likes of "Your hand's no partner, so saddle up" or even "Can't deliver the goods? Perk-up your package today!" among them. If that wasn't targeted advertising…
Still, he figured that paying pretend attention to the floor, just as he did against the 'charities' clamouring for his rent money, would help him sneak away. Not on his life, as those would-be warplanes began to flash and dive-bomb his avatar, bludgeoning him while they wrapped him up and bled his eyes.
"Sons-of, dumb little, mother-f… Ad-blockers were free in MY time!"
It took a dozen or so slaps of crosses to wrangle from their grip, break free and fly away, allowing the virtual wind to freeze his face while he ventured for the smorgasbord of sites. A wicked world indeed; Avenue Q had become the sagest prophets of all.
Landing inside the 'city streets', he gave a drawn-out whistle for the sidewalks dotted by chat rooms, online games, virtual good times and lastly, Foogle out in the distance. No bigger search engine he knew; even the most obscure subjects had returned millions of results without effort.
Just as well he didn't accidentally wander into future DuckDuckGo or anything… Would've got a gold medal for explaining that away.
Resurrecting a long-dead wrestling company for searching 'AWA', he spotted what he came for once he narrowed the search down. After a scream upon a stretch and warp into his new world, all he could see before his eyes was a cityscape made of kings' ransoms; a digital El Dorado.
"Jeeeeeee-sus Christ! This much for a simple homepage? Well alright, let's see what we see."
Stumbling into the spiffiest skyscraper of all—and did that say something—Mayfield had scanned around for where those prices were housed. Very well could've needed a new Netsuit; anywhere from 25 hundred to ten THOUSAND dollars for just a single event, and that didn't cover the VIP Packages.
Slapped his face trying to deny it all: "Psshhh, this guy's outta his bloody mind!"
Couldn't argue against the showcases though, for what it was worth. Live orchestral performances, unlimited alcohol samplings, speeches from rather pedigreed heads, and exclusive sightings of once-extinct creatures. For emphasis on high-class celebration, for everything he'd enjoy, Archbury had imbued quite the jewel into the city's crown.
But the treasure was discovered once he found a profile on Archbury and that hideous beast to scare his soul out. One to give off an '80s rock star vibe through that mullet-styled black hair and teeth-grinding frown, though he looked more the type to smash guitars instead of play them. A wealth of other details too; huge gold-flared collar, a black cape-like protrusion, and that he could spot, a thin gold chain tucked inside.
Intriguing if dated look, but one he couldn't dwell on once he snuck a peek of his watch. Already five to nine, a realisation to have him rip out of the Netsuit, slather on his cream and pelt headlong for the lockers to wash up before leaping into the meeting.
Sure made him glad to be one of the last names called out; answered just as the last syllable left Hermes' lips.
"Alright people!" the bureaucrat called out. "Though we did receive some scathing Twitcher feedback, Hubert and I must give some credit for your fantastic efforts yesterday. However, we insist that you all step up again, as there's still much to get through. Before we get limber like a limbo champion, any questions or comments?"
"Tch, whoever left that can kiss my big Outback arse," came Mayfield's jab.
"Excuse me, we do expect our customers to be treated with respect."
"Hermes, respect goes both ways, and that's all I'll say on that."
After more minutes & notes, once again the crew had packed the ship, performed the checks, and soared past the horizons. Given such stormy seas above, getting graced with gifts or goods might've been quite the special occasion for some.
But for Planet Express, you knew what day it was.
¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)
"I won't lie, it had been on my mind since yesterday evening."
A drawn-out reply to a worried question, one that didn't relish their continued hot streak but left Mayfield only gazing at stars. All he had done since they boarded the ship, save for deliveries.
"So you are still alive there, that's a relief."
"I guess I am, Captain."
"So you were saying?
"Who was I to bludgeon you with my bullshit? You're right, no cream can conceal my faults forever. Has to be now, not after, that I've got to build my skillset. If nothing else you helped me understand, so thanks for the truth you gave me."
"You came to that conclusion yourself, kid. Can't say you compare to the originals, but to your credit, you're proven a good cover band."
"I don't mind my share of covers… So did you end up catching the special bulletin last night?"
"Can't say I did, slacked off on the cooking. What about it?"
"What would you know of this 'Audience with Archbury' charity gig?"
"Only that it's the biggest gig the nation's ever known. Why do you ask?"
"It's coming to the Metro; something about it makes me feel like we have to attend it, no matter how."
Following a command of Auto-Pilot, Mayfield thought he'd get a private conversation; what he got instead was a sudden silence followed by an evolving chorus of snorts, guffaws and belly laughs. If that didn't cast doubts already…
Still, could've been relieved; might've become a human pinball had she wrung that steering wheel by accident.
"Holy hell, that's the best laugh I'll have all week! No way Thomas, that's not happening. Such events are exclusive, and for the price alone, that DOES exclude."
He gave a quick assurance of caring crap-all for the event or for the host, and had told her of the mysterious goon to frighten him on TV last night. Had come across him while researching, and kept puzzling as to who he was.
"Even talking myself flying in your spaceship, I couldn't peg a man more out of place than him."
"You're not hiding anything from me again, are you?"
"I regret to say this, but that's where the conundrum comes in. Truth is, there's a theory starting to click inside, and I don't want to shoot first until I've got my evidence to either prove it, or otherwise."
"Heaven knows I don't want to rip open such sensitive wounds yet," he spoke into his palm.
"I see, but forget your theories and focus on the mission please. Third delivery to Spectrus-19 is imminent."
"At once, Captain."
Could've shored up like it'd been any other job, but once Mayfield caught a planet bursting, flashing and pulsing to life with every colour he could imagine, he already wished he could stay for longer.
"Sweet shit to sainthood… Oh my, oh my."
In those infantile eyes, the universe had condensed an uncountable number of Skittles into a supernova, and let it explode over the surface. Rueful of the fact that he couldn't record such imagery, he tried to drag his feet and talk to those energy beings; delays upon delays before he almost got dragged back into the ship.
For lunch, a '50s style diner of fried foods and fine dames on rocket skates, and for the rest of the afternoon, a flight from quadrant to quadrant as five more packages ended up SSD'd—signed, settled & delivered.
Eighteen done in two days, and from their thumb workouts, plenty to show for such efforts.
Handing Hermes another overtime hoard of notices, the three hit the showers in the same way, again leaving Mayfield to giggle his fits. Only this time, a chance to work on social graces; kept in mind how their partners were on 'extended missions' to calm himself and converse easier.
For the temptations standing either side of him, it was Archbury's blackened champion to erect on his mind. More a curious call of the sleuth; whoever they were, there had to be something underneath the mindless, fearsome, rage-fuelled brute to protect that ample asset of his new world.
Once again, another return home to reheat some leftover pizza, a chance to munch on some crust while his mind pressed on all those issues.
According to rumours of recent paparazzo attempts, judging by the papers and evening broadcasts, any candid shots of Archbury were either 'persuaded' out of hands, ripped away clean (hands if necessary), or virtually shredded whole, where remains were sent as warnings to offending studios.
Sure kept them from going on 60 Minutes, or whatever the successor might've been.
But Mayfield had now grown worried for the trapeze line he swayed on, regarding Leela's trust. As Captain and charge, he couldn't imagine them coming to blows anytime soon, a VAST improvement far as he'd been concerned. But he knew how easy it was to nuke goodwill, even for trying to stockpile it since he came here.
Then there was gathering up the proof… Doing so through those peace officers? Like they'd touch such paperwork in a thousand years! Lurk around on public servers? As if he needed other eyes prying! Ask his Captain, when she could've killed him for exposing such scars the first time?
From all the options, it looked like the new company Netsuits were the best of them. To do unpaid overtime among crazy old men, alien crabs crawling around, and a creepy boy in a tube.
For the woman who saved, who helped reset his life though, it'd be part of paying his debt.
¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)
By week's end, Mayfield could've been tempted to dust his hands of overtime. Having explored every corner of Archbury's world to find nothing, all he had left was the backlog of rightfully peeved customers he had left behind in exodus. So many apologies, such deserved lacks of tips…
Even for new money problems though, it had lately been 'The Admiral' to bother him.
A new coining from media outlets the nation over, yet his scent had been shot and his gaze had gone cold. No new pictures had come to light, no outfit details had been seen, and he couldn't help but feel stalked in recent days; that he'd hear a warp out every time he looked back.
So he figured instead that some alone time to give the ship some love would've been a welcome change. Shine that hull proper, polish those windows to sparkling, clean off the specks of dirt…
Just himself, a bucket, a mop and a squeegee, and as he powered up his Symphod, maybe some sweet sounds of yesteryear too.
"What a wonderful world, indeed…"
Had to be for getting hooked on classics, for thundering to Celtic music, or perhaps regretfully, for shedding tears to tributes of a happier youth, to the ones who made it so. Found himself getting lost to each flute and fiddle, a freedom in dancing with his mop. For each instrumental solo, a sweep of his squeegee. For every harmony of one's pipes, a blissful pursuit towards the perfect finish.
Could've reminisced all evening for the drives to chocolate and candy factories. Memories moulded by a journey's melodies, by sweets to savour as father and son waxed words. The cafés he'd enjoy sampling from, as Mum did her rounds to glue them together. The toasts to themselves in restaurants, through their beers, cups of tea or Cokes.
Could've pined and ached for those days, perhaps wish to go back. But even in such loss, he nodded his head for a growing truth; being happy exactly where he stood.
Hadn't seen anybody about while belting out vocals, this time to the flutes, harps and bagpipes of 'Rise Again'. For where he'd been and how he came back, it did make him laugh. Not so much when he slid towards the ships' underbelly, and heard a voice yell out.
"Yo, Thomas! Cut the one-man show for a minute!"
Gave his head a good clonk as he rose in fright, cursing to himself as he found a better vantage and stared out. None other than his Captain, feet on the conference desk, a wry smile on her face. Made him think for a while, rubbing skulls aside, but soon the horror dawned.
"Dear God, you heard me SING?! How long have you been sitting there?"
"Not long at all, and I guess I did. Could use a little work, but I've never heard anyone have such fun washing the ship before."
"Yeah, sure, once I get through my other engagements. And that's the magic of music for you. So what brings you back besides my audition?"
"For starters, been wondering why you hadn't left with us these past few days."
"Overtime, of a sort. Been trying some late-night searches on this theory of mine, but this time figured I'd do something useful."
"I see, I see. Here's the deal. Normally I'd have evening plans, but none wanted in. And if you suggest I go hang in Zoidberg's dumpster…"
"No, I wouldn't be that stupid," came the crack. "Can imagine where this is heading…"
"You were kind enough to invite me and hear me out, so I figured I'd do the same. Maybe enjoy some TV, a few drinks, maybe some more dances… What do you say?"
"My story's been told, but hey, sounds like fun. Just let me shower and dress up, okay?"
"Alright, see you by our hole!"
Had to roll his eyes and grin to himself; only a month ago that lady left him cold-cocked outside her place, now within the hour he'd be stepping INTO her place. Had the squirms for some reason, but given their week of delivery, maybe they did deserve a good get-together now and then.
Showering, sorting some details and grabbing his bag, he had found Leela playing some Pong on her wrist device, dressed for the sunset that had hidden a wind behind it. Once he called out, the two would walk off together, eager to get the weekend going.
Course, for pinging Mayfield's web presence a whole galaxy away, they'd be salivating for the month to come…