A / N: Holy camoley, this story has nearly 100,000 words.
Thank you Forgotsurname, HG Blob, LadyBender, firetemplar415, Raymie Stardust, and Guest for leaving such incredible feedback.
He was dreaming of Leela again.
It wasn't like he wanted to, Fry thought dejectedly. Every night before he fell asleep he ordered his brain to think of something else, like Morbo, or Planet of the Apes, or Donkey Kong. Or pizza. Or bowling. Or his old dog Seymour, or monster truck rallies, or All My Circuits or Bender or the Brainspawn or even the Professor's false teeth.
Anything.
And every night, without fail, he dreamed of Leela.
Sometimes he dreamed of stupid things, like taking her to a truck-stop arcade or sharing take-out on Thanksgiving. Snatches of a life they'd never have together.
Sometimes he didn't even remember the dreams clearly; he just woke up thinking about her smile or the way her breath caught when he kissed the nape of her neck, and knew he'd been dreaming of it.
Mostly he dreamed of the things he wouldn't let himself remember during the day. His memories of Leela were like a loose tooth his tongue kept coming back to prod at – he couldn't seem to leave them alone. He kept trying to force them down but they welled up again at night, and replayed themselves while he slept.
Right now he was dreaming of that night at Planet Express, when Leela had kissed him and he had made the monumental mistake of kissing back, kick-starting this whole mess.
They made their way to Leela's cabin locked together, shedding clothes and stumbling into things as they went. Fry knocked something heavy off the wall – a fire extinguisher or an oxygen canister, or something. Leela kicked it aside without so much as glancing at it. She was still kissing him - like they were doing mouth-to-mouth, like she couldn't breathe without him, like he was the only real thing left in the world.
The back of her knees hit the bed frame and she fell back onto the bed, dragging Fry with her.
And laughing. She was laughing, he realized.
Leela hardly ever laughed.
"What?" he said nervously. "What's funny? What did I do?"
Leela watched him fret, as if it was some interesting new thing she'd never seen before. She ran her thumb over his lower lip, smiling, then buried her hands in his hair and pulled him down into another kiss.
When he pulled away, gasping for air, she laughed again.
"I don't know," she murmured.
Her teeth tugged at his bottom lip; her mouth pressed warm against his cheek, in the hollow of his throat . . . he felt her next words against his skin.
"But I think I like it."
The truck bumped to an abrupt stop, jolting him out of his seat, and Fry awoke. Hitting the roof had that effect on a person, even when they were a million miles away dreaming of Leela.
Leela . . .
He groaned. That had been bad.
He hated those dreams, the memory ones. Playing it all over again seemed to stir up his feelings and send his thoughts spinning in uncomfortable new directions. Right now, for instance, he was wondering if Leela ever dreamed of him the way he dreamed of her, if she ever woke up aching for him the way he ached for her.
With an effort, he forced her from his mind.
"Where are we?" he mumbled, rubbing the top of his head.
Glottus glanced at him from the driver's seat.
"Unoccupied moon orbiting Jupiter," he grunted. "Time for a pit stop and a paint job."
He tossed a can of spray-paint at Fry, who groaned again. He'd been hoping his information about the Brainspawn could be his main contribution to this partnership. But it looked like Captain Glottus expected him to do the grunt work too.
The delivery boy tossed the can idly from hand to hand as he looked around.
They were inside a huge transparent dome. The ground beneath his feet was dusty and dull, like that of Earth's moon, but Fry couldn't bring himself to care because he got to stretch his legs and breathe non-recycled air for a change. After three days in a tiny delivery truck, no-one would complain about that. He breathed deep, happy to clear his head.
"So we're the only people on this whole planet?"
Glottus shrugged.
"There's a migrant family squatting in the supply station," he said. "But other than that, sure."
The migrant family turned out to be six bug-like Cygnoids, skinny for their species and distrustful of humans. The father of the family – as near as Fry could tell, it was the father, anyway – came to talk to them, while the mother hid behind the fuel canisters with their three children, and some aged relative of indeterminate sex. She clicked her mandibles nervously, glaring daggers at Glottus. Clearly she had strong feelings about the DOOP.
Apparently her husband shared them.
"You are DOOP?" he asked as they approached. "We do no harm. No harm! We stay, we clean station. Do no harm. Please, no hurt us. No harm!"
Glottus sighed.
"Relax," he said. "We're not DOOP. Not anything. And we're not here, understand?"
The Cygnoid narrowed his eyes, taking in the captain's tattered uniform with an expression that said 'yeah, right'.
"Not DOOP?"
"No."
"We're not DOOP," Fry chipped in, as if anyone cared what he thought. "Not at all. We're more like the anti-DOOP. Hi."
"And we're not here," Glottus repeated. "Do I need to say that again?"
The Cygnoid shifted into a more open stance, his mouth quirking up in a grin.
"Not here," he nodded. "Understood. Mr Cross DOOP Man, not here. Orange-Hair Boy, not here." He glanced at the Slurm van, which was still carrying a sizeable amount of cargo. "Three crates Sloorm for me, sell on black market, also not here."
"Three crates!" Fry yelped, but Glottus had already stuck out his hand.
"Done," he said. He glared at Fry. "Hand 'em over."
"We could've haggled," Fry complained, but he unloaded the crates anyway and watched Glottus hand them over. The captain wasn't someone you said no to. He had been in command so long he seemed to forget other people actually had opinions.
Not that Fry really minded. It was a relief not to have to think all the time.
It took him most of the evening to spray the truck red and unscrew the license plate. He found the piece de resistance on an old barrel – a logo for Molten Boron, which Fry peeled off and stuck on the side of the truck, completing the camouflage.
He stepped back to admire his handiwork.
"Nice job," Glottus said behind him. "You work at a chop shop or something?"
Fry shook his head.
"No," he said truthfully. "But my friend Bender used to fix up hovercars and sell them on for profit. He operated out of our apartment 'til his supply line dried up. He used to let me redesign the exteriors."
He frowned. He still wasn't sure that had been entirely legal, but the cops had never come to call, so it must've been.
"He said I had a real knack for it," he continued happily.
"I see that." Glottus shook his head. "Well, you're done. You may as well eat."
He jerked his thumb at a fire a little way off. A pot of stew was bubbling above it. It was murky and brown, but Fry could recognize some of the lumps in it, so he ladled out a bowlful and decided not to complain. So what if the meat was boiled white in some places and charred black in others? That was nothing compared with the meals Bender had served him over the years.
"Are they gonna eat with us?" he asked hopefully, indicating the hut where the migrant family lived. "It sure would be nice to talk to someone new."
The hint clanged off the top of Glottus's head.
"They don't like fugitives," he said bluntly.
"Or the DOOP."
"Or the DOOP. No," the captain said, chewing thoughtfully. "You can tell me more about these brains."
Fry groaned.
"I already told you everything I know."
"Then tell me again."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
This wasn't the first time Glottus had asked him to reveal everything he knew about the Brainspawn. He kept asking in different ways, like he was trying to catch Fry off guard or jog his memory, and he watched his face closely every time. Today was no exception. His eyes bored into Fry's over the fire as the delivery boy recited the story again.
"Fine," Fry muttered. "Like I already told you, they're giant flying brains, and they can control people by making them stupid."
"How?"
"I don't know. Telepathic rays or something. Science."
"Right. But these rays don't affect you?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"I 'unno." Fry shrugged.
"You're the only being in the universe not affected by these creatures, and you don't know why."
"Nope."
And then the captain was right in front of him. He seized Fry's jaw in one strong hand, turning his face back and forth.
"No," he said. "There must be something. Maybe you were bio-engineered."
"I don't even know what that is!" Fry protested, trying to wriggle free.
"Means bred for a purpose," Glottus explained. "Maybe someone tampered with your genetics to make a weapon against the brains."
"Why would anyone would do that?" Fry scoffed, still wriggling. "C'mon, a human weapon? That's a dumb idea. You'd have to be crazy to think like that."
"Or a government," Glottus countered. "Believe me, they eat that shit up. You should see the budget for R&D at the DOOP." He let Fry go, albeit reluctantly. "A human weapon would be right up their alley," he continued. "It'd do what the rest of us can't. These brain things could destroy us all. But if scientists found a gene that makes you immune to their power . . . why not stick it in some kid and see how it turns out? You could breed a whole army from it. Nixon would."
"I'm not a weapon," Fry sputtered. "No-one bred me, jeez! They just cancelled a game and my mom got bored. I was an accident, she told me all the time. Anyway, I was born a thousand years ago. We couldn't even clone pineapples back then."
Glottus frowned.
"You were born a thousand years ago?" he repeated. "How did you get here?"
"I fell in a freezer. It was an accident."
"An accident."
"Yeah." Fry shifted uncomfortably. "I have a lot of accidents."
Glottus was staring at him in a way he didn't like.
"I nearly ran you over," the captain said.
"Yeah, see? It was an acc-"
"The only person in the universe who can fight these brains, and the only one who knows they're out there," Glottus continued, talking over him. "And we meet by accident. That's a heck of a coincidence, don't you think?"
Fry fell silent.
"Maybe," he said, but for the first time, he felt less sure of himself.
"What are you saying?" he asked at last. "You think someone out there is controlling my life and making it look like an accident? Or . . . or some big mysterious force keeps putting me in the right place at the right time? Like destiny?" He laughed. "That's nuts."
"Is it?" Glottus rubbed his head, obviously feeling frustrated. "Look," he said impatiently, "you might believe in coincidences, but I sure as hell don't. So you're probably not some sort of biologically engineered warrior – you're too scrawny, and you don't have the brains to conduct a stealth operation – but something doesn't fit here. I want to find out what."
Fry pushed his bowl aside. The stew wasn't great, but it was the conversation that had really taken the edge off his appetite. Maybe it was crazy to think he had a destiny, but there was a weird, unsettled feeling in his stomach and for some reason he kept thinking of Nibbler.
Nibbler had believed there was something wrong in the universe. Nibbler had believed it had something to do with him. At the time he hadn't paid any attention, but now . . .
He swallowed.
"Sometimes . . . sometimes I feel like I know more about the brains," he admitted. "More I can't remember."
Glottus considered this.
"Makes sense," he said at last. "Maybe you met these things more than once. Maybe someone scrubbed your memory."
"What?" Fry panicked. "Who would do that? Why would anyone do that?"
Glottus laughed.
"You're really not that smart, are you? Look, kid, even if you weren't created to fight these things, you're the key to defeating them. Someone out there wants you under their control. Controlling how you see the world – who you meet, what you know – means they can control what you think. And if they control what you think, they can control what you do. They know which buttons to push. It's Manipulation 101."
Fry tried to process this. It was difficult.
"So . . . you're saying I met the Brainspawn again, after that time I beat them in the library? And then someone wiped my memory so I wouldn't . . . so I wouldn't . . . start . . ."
"Thinking, probably. Or thinking the wrong thing."
"What's the wrong thing?"
"Anything they don't want you to think." Glottus yawned. "I told you, I don't have all the answers, kid. I don't even know if I'm asking the right questions here. But at least I'm asking. You might want to do the same."
He stretched out by the fire and shut his eyes.
"Keep watch," he ordered.
Fry nodded vaguely. He poked at the fire with a stick, trying to marshal his thoughts. Who would want to control him?
The Professor? Maybe. He was amoral enough, for sure, but he was getting senile these days and it was hard to believe he could keep track of anything that long.
Bender? No. Bender was his friend, he wouldn't do that. Not unless he was getting paid serious money, and even then, it would be a little too much like honest work for his taste. So Bender was unlikely.
Nibbler? He talked a lot about big, deep ideas, and he did say his people watched over the universe . . . but that made them the good guys. The good guys wouldn't wipe your memory without asking, so they could use you when they wanted to. The good guys wouldn't manipulate you. Manipulation was not A Good Guy Thing To Do.
Fry poked the fire again, and watched the sparks spit over his shoes.
More than anything, he wished Leela would appear and help him think.
Leela . . .
And suddenly, mentally, he was somewhere else.
He was hiding under a table, drawing patterns in the dust on the floor. He was angry and confused, but then a ray of hope shone through; a thought that made his heart swell.
"You really think I would have had a chance with Leela?"
Fry blinked and he was back. He was staring into the embers of the fire and there was a taste in his mouth like . . . like . . .
Purple.
What the hell was that? It wasn't a memory, he was sure of that.
Well. Ten minutes ago he would have been sure of that.
He frowned. Start asking questions, Glottus had said. Maybe it was time he did. Maybe it was time he stopped letting other people think for him and used his brain. What did he have to go on, right now? What did he know?
He knew the Brainspawn were flying around killing people. Why? They weren't killing famous people or high-up people, and they weren't staging big battles in space. They were just killing anyone who got in their way.
So they were going somewhere. They had to be. They were trying to get somewhere and killing anyone who saw them, so wherever they were going, it must be a secret.
Fry rubbed his forehead, groaning. All this thinking was giving him a headache, but he finally felt like he was getting somewhere.
Where would the Brainspawn want to go? That was the next big question. What did they want? What did a big flying brain need? Money? Food? (Did they even eat?) A planet to live on? The only thing he really knew was that thinking hurt them, and while it was good they had a weakness, this didn't tell him much about what they might be planning.
The worst part was he probably knew. He probably had memories about the Brains, locked away in some purple-tasting part of his brain he couldn't access.
He tried thinking of Leela again, to see if that might trigger something, but the memories seemed beyond his control. No surprising new flashbacks hit him; just the same old hollow loneliness. Straining his mind didn't help – that just threw up the kind of memories he didn't want to relive, like the way Leela bit his lip sometimes when she kissed him, or the look on her face when she told him to let her go. He didn't want to see those things.
He stepped across the campfire and shook Glottus awake.
That was his intention, anyway. He'd forgotten the guy was an old soldier and a fugitive, and kinda tetchy. The man sprang up as soon as Fry touched his shoulder and instinctively reached for his gun. He had fired off three rounds of lurid blue stun charges before the sleep even left his eyes.
Fry ducked, cursing his own impulsiveness, and the shots sank harmlessly into the sand.
"I remembered something!" he cried, when it seemed safe to do so.
The captain tossed his gun aside with a grunt of annoyance.
"I was trying to sleep, kid."
"I know, but I remembered something!"
Glottus sighed.
"Fine. What is it?"
"Uh." Fry deflated a little. "I don't know exactly. But it made everything taste purple for a second, and I swear I never remembered it before. I think someone wiped my memory, like you said!"
"That shouldn't come as a surprise," Glottus grumbled. He was yawning again, and apparently wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. "Anything else?"
"I want to remember more. Everything! How do I do that?"
"I don't know. Wait for it to come back."
Fry blinked. This wasn't the answer he'd been expecting.
"What? No! I can't just sit around and wait! What if I know something really important?" He ground his teeth, frustrated. There had to be a faster way. "There must be someone who can make me remember. This is the future! You guys can do anything! One time I nearly got gills. Memories can't be that hard to get back!"
"It's not that easy." Glottus scratched his cheek. "You need to understand, kid . . . sometimes you can break something easy, but it's hard to fix." He threw some fuel on the remains of the fire and blew on it to build up the flame again. "There's a way," he admitted. "But I don't know if it's worth the risk."
"Hey, it's my brain and I don't care," Fry said quickly. "What do I do? Tell me!"
The captain's eyes flashed.
"I care," he snapped. "We're talking about letting some crackpot doctor dope you up and dig around in your subconscious. Worst case scenario? You go under and never come up again - or you come up and leave your mind behind. You're our only weapon against these brains, and you're only any good if you can think. That's what hurts the Brainspawn. That's our only hope of fighting these fuckers. I won't mess with that if I don't have to."
Fry swallowed.
"Oh. Then I guess I . . . I guess I'll try and remember," he said limply.
"That'd be the smart thing to do," the captain grunted. "Now if you don't mind, we need to be out of here in an hour and I could use some sleep." He tucked the gun back in his belt and tapped the barrel with a pointed expression. "Wake me again and I won't miss, kid."
He was snoring again in five minutes flat, scowling in his sleep. Fry took to staring at the fire again, trying to coax his brain into co-operating for once.
Just remember, he thought desperately. C'mon! Think about the brains, think about whatever you did, c'mon . . .
The fire burned steadily in the windless dome. The air didn't even move here – it felt as stagnant as his thoughts.
On the other side of the dome, the mother of the Cygnoid family scuttled out and started hanging out their washing. There was a fat baby larvae-thing in her arms. She was singing to it; a high cicadian hum that buzzed in Fry's ears.
He huddled into his red jacket and stared up through the roof of the dome, at the stars. It would be nice, just once in his life, to get something right. Lately it felt like all he ever did was stuff things up. He had tried to win Leela over and failed, had tried to forget her and failed . . . now all he wanted was to remember something he already knew, and he was even failing at that.
Fry had never spent much time evaluating his life, but he was starting to feel conscious of the holes in it. Right now he had no friends. No family. No Leela.
He didn't know where he belonged anymore, or what he was supposed to be doing. Beating the Brainspawn was the only thing that made sense. Maybe that was what he was supposed to do with his life? Maybe that was the one thing he might actually get right?
This wasn't a comforting thought, exactly, but it wasn't a bad one either. It just filled him up from the inside out, pushing aside anything else. For the first time in weeks Fry found he didn't want to get drunk and forget everything. He wanted to do something instead, and keep doing it, not just sit and wait for something to happen to him.
That was all he ever did, he realized. Sit and wait for stuff to happen. He acted like life would just keep pushing him along in the right direction when he didn't even bother to steer. No wonder Leela got frustrated with him. He left it all up to her, all the time. He just assumed she knew what she was doing.
He hadn't ever stopped to think that maybe she didn't - that maybe she was just as lost as he was on this. Fry hadn't understood that until it was too late - until she was kissing him and he could taste tears in her mouth; until she was arguing with Bender and he could feel her hands shake; until he was telling her he loved her because he didn't know what else to say.
I'm sorry, Leela, he thought.
Above him, a star flickered and winked out. Lost in his own thoughts, Fry failed to notice.