Towards the lead-up to the Big Big Apple's biggest party; no-one had time to search or pause as they toasted to blitzing new milestones on the clock. Seemed that together and by themselves, those once days of disgrace had been long left behind.
But when his own ultimatum came to pass, Mayfield could admit to such warm and tipsy spirits turning ice-cold sober.
One Monday, he could've sworn he'd seen his Captain prowl around the doctor's office; come to think of it, Zoidberg didn't sit in at conference either. Further oddities that only notes were given, that no comments were allowed. Outside or during deliveries, Mayfield got just folded arms and nasty stares in his attempts to make conversation. Go to descend down the bridge, he'd be immediately ordered back into the cabin.
They even took his share of tips for all he'd do; in spite of asking why, they'd never give answers…
Days and weeks would trickle by, as the Captain gradually took away more privileges; day she denied him that hot shower after work, he could've begged to make woodchips of the bench.
"Okay, did I offend you Captain? If not, mind telling me what the hell's going on?"
A silent wag of the finger, before she vanished again.
Everything came to a head the very first day of August; Mayfield entered the lobby fit to kick something, only to find his big boss and Hermes standing in front of the hallway. A virtual dead silence for all lights being on, and not even a facial wrinkle of change when the kid exploded again.
"Fuck's going on, guys? I've been dead to everybody since at least last week!"
Professor looked anywhere but his eyes, while Hermes pushed up his glasses and closed in, a sigh as he levelled to his shoulders.
"Language. And to level with you, mon, yuh will be quite soon. Your Captain and ourselves agreed that, due to your unprofessional conduct, your contract's been terminated."
"Wait, WHAT?! But all those milestones, all the money, all the… Huh?"
"Not to mention that we shook hands on an ultimatum, and you failed to meet it. Just took us a couple weeks to organise 'de paperwork. 'Dat simple, I'm afraid. Bidness be bidness."
Desperate to keep himself alive, just when things got good, Mayfield rattled off his reasons to remain. Hermes just beckoned him forth, having heard not a bar.
"So you can be ready for wherever you're going, I'll help you clean out your tings… 'Dis way, please."
The void of purgatory began to return as Mayfield, bowed and fighting tears, just dragged his feet.
"So this is Death Row," he muttered, while he stuffed his bag, slung it upon his shoulders, and slumped towards the lobby. About to open the door, he stopped when Hermes—his face still arctic—spoke up.
"Before I call 'de police, others hoped to say goodbye first. Could yuh do them 'dat kindness?"
"Kindness nothing. Just dial the damn number and get it over with."
"It's either out 'de cannon, or in pieces. Captain's promise, not mine."
Could only growl as he got redirected towards the lift; a longing stare to the spaceship while Hermes opened a door to total darkness.
"After you."
"I see no-one here Hermes. Now how 'bout you take my chip and stop wasting my precious…"
A sudden click of lights, a yell of "SURPRISE!" from several voices, and a shout of "OHHH, gee…" as Mayfield dropped flat on his ass. Rubbing his backside, he had come to notice a big table full of nibbles; chips, candies, chocolates, boxes of authentic pizza, and a layered cake of strawberry and vanilla.
Now it had truly dawned over the kid, for why they'd left him out of the loop.
"You sneaky bastards!" as he wrapped them all in hugs. "How'd you do all this behind my back?"
"Had thought of lasering our mouths shut, actually." Leela giggled. "Though in truth, it's a surprise party for all of us. To surprise you, and for our surprise comeback."
While Leela revealed piece by piece of the plan, from why she took over Zoidberg to leaving Mayfield in his cabin, Hermes had smiled and clapped his shoulder.
"I couldn't overlook yuh choice to leave, but I can credit a mon who takes responsibility for it."
"When most others didn't, you all gave me that one chance to prove myself." A palm to his heart: "Far as I'm concerned, that's credit enough. Now enough chatter, let's party!"
And party they did; feasting, dancing and chatting until an impromptu play of Limbo Rock had them grab the janitor's mop. Soon everybody took turns to wriggle under, and one got no prizes for guessing how Mayfield went…
He won of course! At least, he bonked his head hard enough to believe it.
Could've thought of getting examined when he saw Hermes take the eventual win, but that was before the bureaucrat's curled grin, before his leg stretches and knuckle cracks. Even for that belly, Hermes just kept sliding under with perhaps scornful ease, as Mayfield's mouth took the shape of a funfair laughing clown.
At one point, Hermes demanded the bar so low it could've had intimate relations with the floor. The rookie had to grip the window, once Hermes bent his knees inward, slid along, and shimmied right under, the bar barely brushing his nose.
"Wha? How the, when did you…"
Readjusted his shirt: "Retired Olympian-grade Limbo athlete, at yuh service."
"Struth… And just when I thought I knew ya, mate."
Returning the mop to the red-capped janitor, and looking at that sprouting moustache over their brief conversation, he had grown content to just chomp down cake and pizza, least until the lobby's doorbell rang.
Giving an "I've got it!" as he took off, it wasn't long before Mayfield heard a hiss, saw a huge snake, address him.
"Mail call for you, ssssir."
"Cheers mate"—he handed a Braino—"and for your trouble too."
A remark on that strange postman, and for his arm giving way. Half a dozen envelopes at a guess; silken quilt to the touch, a shimmery onyx coating, and a pure gold trim. If he didn't know any better, could've been reminded of 'The Admiral.'
Found his name in the lot and ripped that envelope across, a scan upon and inside the paper…
Eyes would've popped out his head, were they not attached. A guaranteed date of Sunday, August 5th, and in his hands the ultimate of VIP invitations. Front-row seats to every event and every talk, plus abilities to mingle with every big name in and across the galaxy.
And underneath, just to confirm such golden tickets for everyone, a message scrawled of 'all-or-none'.
"Well, ain't this a beaut to behold…"
For fear he'd find it all a cruel joke, he took his time returning to the lounge, earning a share of shrugs.
"Guys, cut everything. Conference room, now please."
The flat disbelief had confused the co-workers as they took their seats, but The Professor, fuming for being undercut, had rounded on the new hire.
"Mayfield… I call the meetings around here, NOT YOU!"
"You're right, and I do apologise." He scanned over the envelopes again. "Can't believe I'm about to say this, but…"
"But what, kid?" Leela called while the murmurs started.
"We're about to have the 'surprise' put in 'surprise party.' That Archbury gala to leave you laughing Cap? We're all going on a full ride…"
After his wave of envelopes, handover of loot, and a cursory scan, the scepticism soon took backseats to a ruckus of hollers, high fives, and hugs. Only Mayfield's clamming skin for seeing those fancy swirls had Amy pay attention.
"Are you alright, Thomas? You're not celebrating this?"
"Any other situation I would Amy, but to catch such attention from Archbury himself… The question I'd beg now; what DID we do, or I, to earn tickets like these?"
Whether from coffee, nerves or excitement, Leela had been hopping from left to right.
"Oh, I knew I'd never afford it, but I always dreamed to attend it!"
"I can't say I know their value Captain, but I'll never stress this enough… Would you work your entire LIFE for these tickets, just to get dressed up and have a good time? This doesn't strike you as suspicious, getting these kinds of gifts from nowhere?"
"Oh suck in your own helium!" Leela teased. "The impossible doesn't always need an explanation."
"Yeah, you remember how far we'd fallen." Amy piped in, an open palm. "How stupid would we be to dismiss the VIPs ripe for cosying up to; mayors, Presidents, tycoons, generals and more?"
"The way he dangles such golden bait is what worries me, ladies. Last I checked, I saw no such lottery."
Hermes' feet soon met the desk, unusual for one of order: "Oh, why all 'de fuss? Thanks to our efforts, who knows how high we could go? I know I could look forward to finding out."
"Hermes, don't cloud your mind now. I won't sneeze at our success, that's my word, but don't you think we'd be the odd ones out? The people we'd mingle with could blow their nose or wipe their backside with a Nixon; Gods forbid they'd do so in our faces."
$1000 bills, and Mrs. Astor to thank for such knowledge.
The Professor groaned as he stood up: "You certainly won't given that attitude! Think we're rolling in it now? Wait until we butter up those clients, garner all that influence…"
"Attitude or no, Professor, I'm doing just fine to NOT need Archbury in my life. Just his voice alone gave me quivers of bad news. On the other hand, you're right. To refuse that potential pool of money, when we could've been bankrupt…"
Though his finger thoughtfully met his lips, he sparked once he heard Leela's groan.
"Ughh, course it's my luck that the absolute loathe of my life's gonna be there… Zapp Brannigan."
"Huh, what about him's a problem? Seemed heroic enough, going by those recruiting posters."
"I suppose that was one set of stories I tried to push aside. Word of advice kid? Never judge a poster by its cover star."
"That I remember off-hand, he's an Army General. Sure sticks out like dog balls, I mean…"
"Let me put it this way, then. Pray you don't understand why he sticks out for me. "
"Oh damn, that serious huh? Well if such doubts are true, he'll be one problem of many."
"I'm just curious though, Thomas." Leela inflected, a furtive eyebrow given. "You seem so hostile towards Archbury, so adamant to avoid his party… Can I ask why?"
"I only got to researching this gig because of his guard, one whose roar almost cacked my pants. Was all I cared about, least before the sensation of being stalked. Had me thinking about his other skeletons, those he wanted hidden behind those homepages, exclusive prices and whatnot. Perhaps, dare I say it, how his past might've influenced our futures."
For Leela, almost a white oval from her eye-roll: "That's the dumbest statement I've ever heard… How are you EVER going to prove that?"
"Forgive me for keeping mum about all this, but his story's a fascinating one. Before he had the world wrapped 'round those fat fingers, it was said he grew up poor in the New New York slums. Stole and fought wherever he could just to survive, but soon the crimes became more intricate. His coffers grew bigger, his skills beyond reproach, his reputation one to fear. Has said over and over in interviews that he's reformed, and I'd argue him to look in his mid-30s or early-40s now…"
"If they were once, they will be always." Leela scoffed. "Criminals, bullies, perverts; I speak from personal experience."
"Regarding what I've seen and heard of your stories, didn't being so poor fuel your obsessions in part? Logically speaking, he must've figured at some point that his crimes weren't worth the risk. Why not lay low with the money made and study the dozens of markets out there? You don't think he's capable of making dedicated years of investments add up, at least?"
On the desk, Leela's face met her arms: "Oh for God's sake kid, you're making it really hard to take you seriously!"
"Hermes, what's our current stock price?"
"One dollar, predictions of a rise."
"Captain, we were only good for a penny two months ago. Hundred-fold rise, again, TWO months. Besides growing our potential to keep rising, you've all got a reputation for the adventures as Captain, crew or colleague. For back then and since, you think he wouldn't take a 'hostile' interest in us?"
That was when the whispers started to creep. Even for the glaring security issues inside and out, the doomsday devices, bubbling lab and mad cackling had allowed Farnsworth to scare off most thieves, lowlifes and drug addicts from HQ. But a decrepit yet ruthless mogul did trouble him before.
Thing was, if a true nothing-to-lose criminal wanted in, there were no such protections in place.
"Damn it, all the times I've tried to insure us, now I'm wondering who's going to collect."
"So now what?" Amy asked.
"We make plans on hiding those creams, ASAP. I'd rather we don't get raided here."
"Thomas, even for your points I'm still not convinced that you're of sane mind." Leela spoke out.
"I'm not either, but regardless, I don't trust him far as I could throw his blubber. Between the origins, the stalking, and now these sudden gifts, would you?"
Valid arguments or no, Farnsworth gave them no choice but to attend. A decision Mayfield was forced to agree to, judging by Archbury's ominous fine print. At least, could've certainly looked at the 'all-or-none' part that way…
But before everyone got sent back to work, he had called on them all one last time.
"Guys, I wanted to tell you all thank you, I love you, and to assure that while I breathe, I'll give every effort I can to propel us forth. But from this point forward, let's be crystal-clear…"
They huddled in close as he rubbed his head, worries on his mind quite evident.
"Keep your wits about you, at all times. I've a feeling we're gonna stumble someplace that simple delivery can't prepare us for."