From the Author: Hello again, Startropics fans, and thank you for bearing with me through some 10,000 words of this little experiment. In this chapter, Mike confronts the ages-old decision: to choose love, or lust. Meanwhile, Mica and Naberra continue to plot behind the scenes while encountering a problem of a more logistical nature, and Dr. J. offers Mike some advice (not to mention some of his famous National Geographic Cuisine), which Mike might have followed were it not for one of life's little knocks at the door. All this sets the stage for a series of well-intentioned disasters which will all be seen...
...in chapter six. =P Sorry for the teaser! By the way, the next chapter may be some time in coming, do to the erratic nature of my access to a computer over the course of the coming weeks. Anyway, enough from me. Reader, enjoy.
P.S. I really think the title I used for this chapter would be better suited to the next chapter, but I couldn't think what else to call this one. I'm open to suggestions.
Chapter Five: Do as the Terrans Do
When it comes to taking one's mind off of a fouled romance, there simply is nothing quite like fishing. It is a simple fact of the universe, just as the sky is blue and water is wet. Or, at the very least, so thought Michael Jones. While he had a line in the water, the rest of the world and its problems could leave their name and number at the tone and he would get back to them later, after his appointment with the fish was over.
Unfortunately, the fish today seemed to have missed the memo about their appointment. "Not a bite all morning," Mike groaned, leaning his head on one hand while the other kept a lazy grip on the handle of the rod and reel. "Figures." In front of him, his cork continued to bob mockingly alone in the crystal-clear water, seeming to take a sadistic delight in the absence of fish.
"Alright, Slugger," Dr. J. said from behind him in a tone that was at the same time companionable and all-business. "What's got you upset this morning?"
Mike glanced over his left shoulder without changing his posture in the slightest. "Nothing, Doc."
Dr. J. nodded, standing silent and motionless for a few seconds. Finally, he took a few steps closer and casually asked "Is that so?"
Mike frowned, annoyingly reminded of a police detective seeking answers he already knew. "Yeah, Uncle Steve. I'm fine. What makes you think something's bothering me?"
By now Dr. J. was standing beside Mike with one hand in his pocket and the other rubbing his chin in the contemplative manner he wore when studying ruins. "Oh, nothing," he answered flatly. "It just occurrs to me that you normally do your fishing out in the harbor and not in the swimming pool. That's all."
Mike let out a sigh that sounded like 'hmph.' "Didn't feel like walking all the way to the harbor," he said lamely.
Dr. J. nodded. "Yes, yes, and I suppose fishing in an indoor pool has the added advantage of climate control. But it's always been my understanding that the experience of fishing is amplified by the presence of fish."
Mike was silent for a long time. Finally, he reeled in his line, stood up and asked, "Doc, why do you have a swimming pool anyway? You're on an island."
"I like to swim without the fish," Dr. J. answered. "I suppose now you're going to say you like to fish the same way?"
Again Mike was silent.
"Come on, Slugger," Dr. J. said more consolingly, putting his arm around Mike's shoulders and leading him away from the pool. "Talk to an old dirt diver. What's wrong?"
Shouldering his fishing pole and allowing himself to be led away from the pool, Mike shrugged. "It's just… well, it's a lot of stuff."
"What kind of stuff?"
"Just some kind of bogus stuff someone said," Mike answered as Dr. J. opened the door that led into the main living area of the lab.
Doctor J. nodded. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
Mike nodded. "Thanks, Doc."
Silence.
"I mean, it's just…" Mike shrugged again. "I dunno. I mean, I thought I was going to come here and it was going to be like, 'dude, it's a tropical island,' and everything was going to be cool. But then there was the whole aliens-and-temples-and-saving-the-world thing, and now everyone's like 'dude, you're a hero.' And at first I was like, 'cool,' but now everyone's like 'dude, you have to act all heroic now,' and it's totally heinous. Y'know?"
After a brief silence, Doctor J. nodded, removing his glasses and wiping them off on his shirt. "Happens to me all the time," he said off-handedly. "This is just a guess, but can I assume this has something to do with your fight with Baboo the other day?"
Mike stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Sort of. I mean…" he paused, eyes widening with realization. "Dude, you totally used reverse psychology on me to get me talking."
"Guilty as charged," Doctor J admitted as they entered the dining room. "So now that I've got you talking, why don't you have a seat? Lunch will be up soon."
"Sweet," Mike said with a grin. "The usual Steven Jones double-barrel lunch special?"
"You'd better believe it, Slugger," Steven assured him as he walked toward the kitchen pantry. After a few seconds he returned, each hand bearing a jar, with a loaf of bread tucked under his arm and a look on his face reminiscent of a soldier returning from an armory with heavy equipment to issue. "And we're double-loaded today." He held up first one jar, saying "peanut butter," and then the other. "And Jelly."
"Gimme both barrels, doc," Mike laughed.
"Coming right up, soldier." Dr. J. agreed, laying out the ingredients and preparing two sandwiches. "So, how about the rest of the story?"
Mike sighed. "I don't know, doc. I mean, I punched my bud's lights out, and Mica's ticked too."
"Mica?" Doctor J raised his eyebrows. "Ah, now I see." A pause, in which Dr. J's brow furrowed in confusion. "No, I don't. How did we get from Baboo to Mica?"
"'Cause when Mica heard I punched Baboo, she flipped out and said that was the same as what Zoda did to her world."
Dr. J. paused momentarily, his spreading knife still half buried in the peanut butter jar. "That was kind of unfair," he said darkly, resuming the preparation of sandwiches.
Mike sighed. "Tell me about it, doc. I mean, I knew she was still a little steamed over the other night, but-"
"The other night?" Dr. J. interrupted calmly, never pausing in his sandwich-making.
"Yeah, she totally put the brakes on me," Mike answered. Dr J's quiet response of 'aha' alerted him that he might have said too much. "I, uh, I mean she-"
"Nope, nope," Dr. J. silenced Mike's floundering recants. "Don't bother. It's true that High School wasn't exactly just yesterday for me, but there's no fog around my memory of the nocturnal ambitions of adolescence."
Mike looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.
"But be that as it may, Mike," Dr. J. went on in the same matter-of-fact way that Mike was beginning to find irritating as he handed Mike a plate with two sandwiches, both perfectly cut into two triangles. "Take some advice."
Mike cocked an eyebrow at this. "Advice on what?" he asked a bit nervously.
"Whatever your goals for your relationship with Mica," Dr. J answered as he prepared two more sandwiches for himself, "keep in mind that she's been through…" he chuckled an exhausted, mirthless chuckle. "Well, she's been through Hell, Mike. All seven of them have."
"Like you and me haven't?"
"I didn't say that, Mike. But our people, our home, our planet, they're all still there. Hers aren't. And if I understand these cubes correctly, they've only just now had the chance to come to terms with the fact that everything they knew has been gone for longer than their lifetimes."
Mike swallowed a bit of sandwich uneasily. "So what should I do then?"
Dr. J. took his seat across from Mike. "Want me to be blunt?"
"Pitch it straight at me, Unc."
"If you're looking for a wild summer fling (which I feel obligated to advise against, lest your parents have me lynched, but I digress)-"
"Doc-"
"All I'm saying is there are dozens of girls your age on the island, and any American is going to be something of a novelty to them, and you could probably take your pick." He pointed his sandwich-half at Mike, and with the bites he had taken out of the uncrusted side it looked like an absurd parody of a gun. "But if you've got your sights truly set on Mica, then start off by being her friend. I'll guarantee that's what she needs right now."
Mike seemed to consider this for a moment. "Yeah, doc," he finally admitted. "But what if 'friend' is as far as it goes?"
Dr. J. popped the last piece of his first sandwich into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed it before answering. "What if?"
After that, the two men of the Jones family finished their lunch in silence, and Dr. J. took up the plates and laid them in the already-dish-filled sink, mumbling something about needing to hire a maid. As Mike snickered at this the doorbell rang, emitting a tone which Mike swore had been stolen from the 'pause' sound effect in Super Mario Brothers. Dr. J. sighed. "Mike, would you-"
"Already on it, doc," Mike answered agreeably, getting up from the table and walking across the vast entry hall of the lab. The doorbell rang once more before he was able to reach it, prompting a shout of "keep your shirt on, I'm coming!" He finally reached the door and opened it to find that the comment had been somewhat moot. There stood Urahette, clad in a homespun outfit modeled after a bikini top and grass skirt, with her finger pressed against the button as if preparing to ring it a third time. She greeted Mike with the same dazzling smile which she credited with her victory in the 'Miss Coralcola 1990' pageant (nor was she hesitant to remind anyone who would listen).
"Hi, Mike! I thought I'd find you here." She clasped her hands in front of her in a way that drew Mike's attention inexorably to her chest.
"Umm, yeah," Mike answered, smiling back as he tore his eyes away. "Well, this is kind of where I stay, so, I guess this is where you'd find me."
Urahette giggled. "Well anyway, smartie, a bunch of us from the village are headed down to the beach. Wanna come with us?" She emphasized the question with a pronounced wink of one of her coconut-brown eyes and the same runway smile.
Mike, suddenly acutely aware of the day's heat, grinned back for a moment before looking back over his shoulder at Dr. J, as though seeking permission.
Dr. J, having only just emerged from the kitchen, shrugged. "Well, I do have some work here to do." The second comment was spoken in a heavier tone, as though intended to convey hidden meaning to Mike. "It's your decision, Mike."
"Sweet," Mike exclaimed. "Well, let me go change out of my fishing jeans." Moments later he was out the door, with Urahette's arm laced flirtatiously through his as the door closed behind him.
Dr. J. stared at the door for several seconds after it closed. Finally, he shook his head. "Mike, Mike Mike," he sighed to the empty room. Finally, he snickered and walked toward the steps that led upstairs to his lab.
Barely a half-mile from where Mike and his uncle had lunch, Mica stood at a mirror in her newly-adopted room, surveying her reflection nervously. Naberra stood with her, adding her opinions.
"Well, are you ready?" Naberra asked.
Mica gave her reflection another glance. "I don't know," she admitted. "I'd feel a lot more ready if I didn't have to go dressed like this." She gestured toward the handmade outfit, not unlike the one sported by Urahette. "I mean, I feel so… so…"
"Half-dressed?" Naberra added helpfully.
"Or less," Mica complained.
"Relax," Naberra coaxed. "It's the style on Terra. Remember? Besides, it's been a week since we landed, and we didn't exactly have a chance to pack a change of clothes into the stasis cubes with us. If you'll forgive me for saying so, princess, we weren't in much of a position to be picky about clothes."
Mica huffed, making clear that this logic did not change her opinion of her predicament. "Still doesn't change the fact that I look like a Xeltrian concubine," she muttered.
"Well," Naberra commented, "given the task at hand-"
"Ooooh," Mica stomped her foot childishly. "Stop it! Don't remind me!"
"Sorry, sorry," Naberra said softly.
Silence.
"Well," Mica finally said, adjusting her diminutive top to give the maximum possible coverage, "I suppose we'd better get this over with."
"We can head for the beach whenever you're ready, Mica," Naberra noted.
Mica nodded, taking a deep breath like an anxious stage performer moments before the curtain rises. "Fine," she said as she exhaled. "Let's go."
Naberra offered a rather un-encouraging smile as they left Mica's room. "Think of it this way, Princess," she said lamely. "Remember back in the palace how you always used to say you wanted to get out and experience something new?"
Mica tried to laugh, but the sound ended in an aborted groan. "I guess this will indeed be a new experience," she muttered. And so it would be...
...For everyone on the island.