A / n: Thanks to my two anon reviewers! (Graie: I have the same voice in mind when I write Glottus, ahh! I'm glad it comes across in the writing.)

This chapter and the last one where originally supposed to be one chapter, but it was getting too long, and thematically I think there was just too much to absorb, so I split them. I feel like some of the scene breaks are a little abrupt as a result, but that's probably just me being a perfectionist about it.

The yellow sun was high in the sky when they landed on Trisol. Fry shucked off his jacket and left it in the van as they moved out.

Glottus led them toward a big, ugly looking Trisolian building. It wasn't anywhere near as fancy as the palace Fry had once lived in, but rivaled it in size, which he thought was weird. Why build something that big and then stick it in the middle of nowhere? He could see across the flat dry plain for miles, and the horizon was empty. He kicked up a cloud of dust, perturbed.

"It's so quiet," he said. "Should it be this quiet?"

"I doubt it."

Fry paused, taking in the heavy duty iron locks on the gate they had just passed through. He couldn't help noticing the locks were all on the inside. Like they were designed to keep something in the building from getting out.

"This place is giving me the heebie-jeebies," he muttered as they pushed the door open.

Inside, the building was dark. Glottus pulled out a flashlight and panned the light over the corridor. The darkness swallowed up the narrow beam after a few paces, making it seem like the corridor went on forever. Fry's inner coward would have been happy to go home right then, but the captain was already moving forward, trying the nearest door, and when it clicked open Fry had no choice but to follow. He stepped over the threshold, watching the light bounce off the walls. They were lined with row on row of burnished metal orbs.

Fry picked one up. It was cool to the touch and gleamed dully in the light, but when he raised it to eye-level he noticed the lid, and -

"It's locked," he said, surprised. He flicked the padlock curiously with one finger, then shrugged and dashed it off the nearest stone shelf.

"What the hell?!" Glottus yelled.

Before Fry could answer him blue mist gushed from the broken orb, drenching his hand and then drying it again as every drop of moisture was wicked away from his skin and sucked into the whirling mass forming at waist-height in front of him. It solidified at last into a figure made of water. The watery crest on the figure's head was bobbled like a little girl's pigtails.

Glottus lowered his weapon.

"Is that a kid?"

"I think it's a little girl." Fry turned to the strange apparition. "Um. Hey. 'Sup."

The girl stared blankly back at him. Her eyes were as translucent as every other Trisolian he'd encountered, but they seemed emptier, somehow. The little girl gazed at him as if she, or they, weren't really there.

Glottus made a sound of impatience – probably at Fry's total ineptitude – and crouched down to the child's level. He had put his gun away, Fry noticed.

He put out a hand – carefully, so as not to spook her.

"Hey there," he said softly. "I'm Eric. This is my friend Philip." He gestured backwards at Fry, not taking his eyes off the girl's face. "What's your name, little lady?"

The girl made a strange bubbling sound and hopped away.

"We're not gonna hurt you." Glottus tapped the shattered remains of the orb. "How long you been cooped up in here, huh? You must be glad to get outta there."

The girl, who had never focused her attention on either of them, now began to wander away. When Glottus tried to catch hold of her his hand went right through her arm. She didn't seem to notice.

"I don't . . . um . . . I don't think you can help her," Fry said quietly.

Glottus rounded on him.

"She's a kid! What the hell? Why lock her up like that?"

"I don't know. I wasn't here that long," Fry admitted. "I don't know how the whole planet works."

"Are they all kids?" Glottus indicated the rows of orbs. His gun hand was shaking. "Is there a kid in every one of these things?"

Fry picked up another one.

"Only one way to find out, I guess."

He weighed the orb in his hand and then dashed it hard against the shelf. What fountained up from it this time was not a Trisolian child, but an adult. A man – skinny by Trisolian standards, with a bulbous head and wide, raving eyes. At the sight of Fry he melted immediately into a subservient puddle on the floor.

"Emperor!" he gasped. "Emperor!" He clutched wetly at the hem of Fry's pants. "Just as I foretold! The gods have seen fit to smite the unworthy, at long last! And they send us an envoy – an envoy from among the dead! - so that we, the faithful, may ascend! Praise them! Praise! Praise . . praise . . ."

He turned his face to the ceiling and began weeping noisily.

"Uh . . . what?" Fry tried to pry the alien off, but only succeeded in getting his fingers wet. He gave up quickly. "Listen, I think you're confused. I don't know what you're talking about, about the gods and smiting and all. Also, pretty sure I'm not dead. Am I?"

He pinched himself hurriedly. To his relief, it hurt.

"Wait a minute," Glottus interrupted. "You were emperor of this place? And you didn't think to mention it? You didn't think this was something I might maybe need to know? We're trying to stay undercover here, kid. Jesus . . ."

The Trisolian turned to him with shining eyes.

"Who is this, O Emperor? An acolyte? A celestial guardian for your royal person, perchance?"

"Um, sorta." Fry wriggled uncomfortably. "Look, can we back up on the worshipping? What happened here? Where's everybody else on the planet? Are they all inside these ball things?"

He waved the remains of the orb he'd just smashed.

"No, your solidity." The Trisolian leaned closer, smiling conspiratorially. "They were visited by demons, holy one. Flying pink demons who wrought their destruction!"

Fry and Glottus exchanged looks.

"The Brainspawn," Fry said flatly.

The Trisolian merely shrugged, water rippling across his body.

"I do not know, o lord. We none of us could see the demons. We remained in our prisons, and listened as the evil of our captors led them to turn on each other, and to die. They lost their wits but we, we remained safe! Awaiting you, o stagnant one!"

"Right. Because for some reason you think I'm your messiah. Man, I wish Bender was here. He always had really good advice about this religion stuff." Fry rubbed the bump on the bridge of his nose. "Remind me again . . . how come you thought I was dead?"

"Ah." The Trisolian was wearing that crafty expression again. "You test my knowledge of your exalted person! That is understandable, my lord. You were not the favorite emperor of many, and it is strange that the gods should choose you, of all that line, to serve as their mouthpiece. But my faith is strong! I shall not waver like the unbelievers! You are the savior of my people, o crimson one!"

"Yeah, right. Quick question - saving you from what, exactly?"

"Sin, your graciousness! Slavery and sickness! The corruptions of our once great nation!"

"Right, right. We were getting to that. 'Coz I just let a little girl out of a box the size of my hand and there's hundreds of those things in here. Maybe thousands, I dunno. And I can't help noticing you keep talking about prisons and captors, but you don't look so tough to me, and she definitely didn't. So what is this place?"

The Trisolian blinked. The idea that there was something the emperor didn't know seemed to throw him for a loop.

"A prison, emperor. A holding place for the mad, and the damned."

"So they think you're mad," Glottus put in quietly. "They locked you up here because you talked about judgement day and dead emperors coming back to smite everyone."

The Trisolian swiveled his glassy, orb-like eyes back to the Captain. His gaze was decidedly creepy. Like the little girl, he gave the impression of being both present and absent at the same time.

"Not at first," he said slowly. "At first I spoke merely of change, of the wrong I saw in hiding the weak and the mad and the poor in these cells out of sight. But as time progressed in my prison, in the dark, the light came to me and I understood. I saw the future and it came true!"

"Jesus," Glottus muttered. "He wasn't even mad when they put him in here."

"I didn't know," Fry said, dazed. "I was only emperor for a day. I didn't know about any of this."

He shook his head helplessly. Trisol was nothing to do with him – it had been years since he was anywhere near the place – but apart from the time they almost beat him to death, he had fond memories of being emperor. The politicians were all sneaks and bureaucrats who kept trying to stick straws in him, but the ordinary people had been fun. They seemed easy-going, pleasure-seeking. It was only now that Fry was beginning to realize the Trisolian court might have been nothing more than a construction, a way to keep the emperor happy by showing him the contented populace he wanted to see. While in the background all those sneaks and bureaucrats signed off on places like this, to hide anyone who didn't fit the happy image.

If Trisolian law applied on Earth, half the people Fry knew would have been locked up ages ago. The professor was totally cracked, Bender would never tow any party line, Leela would be out there protesting human rights violations in an instant . . . and Fry himself would probably be locked away for being too stupid.

He knelt down by the quivering alien on the floor.

"Yeah," he said, patting him on one wet shoulder. "Yeah, you saw the future. Kind of. What's your name?"

"Risnar, o - o beacon of hope."

"That's great. And, er . . . you thought I was dead because when I stopped being emperor, that's what they told everyone, right?"

Risnar looked puzzled, as if the answer was obvious.

"Yes, lord. They said you were a usurper and an interloper, and you had been put to death. Juiced, your eminence."

In the background, Fry saw Glottus grimace. Not that he blamed him. The word provided its own visual.

"Okay. Well . . . sure. This is judgement day. You're right about that. But you're not all ascending to heaven."

"We're . . . not, your holiness? Are – are we not worthy? Have we failed you?"

"No! No, it's not like that! You're super worthy, but I can't . . . I want . . . I want you to make things right here. I want you -" - Fry took a deep breath - "I want you to find all the places like this on the planet and let the people go. Don't leave anyone locked up like this. And look after them, okay? Do what you can to make them better."

Risnar nodded.

"On my honor – on my faith it will be so!"

"Awesome." Fry helped him up. "Just one more thing. You know those demons you heard? The pink ones? They're not being sent by the gods, Risnar. They're bad, and they'll kill anyone they can find. If you see them coming I want you to hide. I'm the only one who can beat them. It's like a . . . a quest. Thing. But I only have a chance if they don't know I'm coming."

"I will keep your secrets, o emissary of divine wisdom." Risnar bowed again. When he straightened up his eyes were alight with purpose. "Fight well, lord! Until we meet again!"

Fry backed out of the room with Glottus, watching as Risnar began to smash a shelf of orbs.

"Yeah," he said softly. "You too."

Trisol was still on Fry's mind two days later, as they approached the nearest Galactic Gas'n'Go.

Glottus kept giving him funny looks, which wasn't all that surprising. Fry was aware he hadn't spoken more than three words together since they left the planet, and was probably freaking the captain out - but he had a lot to process, and he had always been slow at that.

Glottus broke the silence at last.

"Should be there soon," he said. "You nervous?"

Fry shrugged.

"I dunno," he said truthfully. Sure, his stomach was flipping up and down at the mere thought of seeing Leela's face again, but it was a good kind of flipping. An opening-your-presents-on-Christmas-morning, losing-your-virginity, getting-on-a-rollercoaster kind of flipping.

"You haven't said much lately."

Fry stared at the Gas'n'Go, willing it closer.

"I know," he said. "I've been thinking."

"Ah. You think she won't forgive you for running out on her."

Fry chewed his cheek.

"No. I mean . . . it was over when I left. Really over. But she'll still be mad at me." He winced. "I took off in the middle of the night and didn't tell anyone where I was going. I mean, I didn't know. But Leela . . ." He swallowed. "Leela would worry about that. I kept meaning to send her a postcard or something, to let her know I was okay. But I was scared, I guess. I was scared of even thinking about her, back then, in case I did something dumb."

He fidgeted awkwardly in the passenger seat, wishing he had a can of Slurm or a games console. Just something to do with his hands. Talking about this was making his palms sweat. He took a deep breath.

"But she'll forgive me," he went on. "She's forgiven me for things that were a lot stupider than that. And she forgave Lars, so . . ."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter. The point is, I'm not scared of that. That's not what I've been thinking about."

"Then what is?"

Fry frowned.

"It's kind of hard to explain."

"Might as well give it a shot."

Fry shrugged again, conceding this point. He drummed his fingers thoughtfully on his knee, searching for the right words.

"Leela's like you," he blurted out.

"Huh?"

"Not – not that she looks like you, or anything. And not that she's a dude, obviously. But she's smart. And she – she cares about stuff."

"What, you don't?"

"No! I do," Fry protested. "I do care. It's just that . . . I don't notice it like Leela does. I don't see it unless it happens right in front of me, and I'm not smart enough to put all the pieces together and see how something is wrong even when it looks okay. Leela has all these causes, see." He struggled to explain. "She's always fighting something, like animal cruelty, or sexism, or Zapp Brannigan. And I used to think it was because she was, um . . . angry. She's really angry most of the time. She's always been that way. I used to think she looked for things to fight because she was angry at the world. But now I think . . . now I think she's angry because there's so much wrong with the world. The universe. Whatever." He shook his head impatiently. "She could see it and I couldn't. I was standing there on Trisol and I felt how Leela must feel the whole time. And I hated it. With Trisol and the brains and everything you told me about the DOOP . . . you know, I used to think the future was this great place where anything could happen. And now I kind of hate it." His shoulders sagged. "That's all."

Glottus was quiet for a long time.

"It happens to everyone, kid," he said at last.

"What does?"

"Disillusionment."

"Oh."

"Turns you into a bitter, jaded cynic if you let it."

"Oh." Fry tugged at his sleeve, feeling more dejected than ever. "How do you not let it?" he asked hopelessly.

To his surprise, Glottus laughed.

"Find the good things in life," he said simply. "Your kids. The person you love. The things that are worth saving from all the bullshit." He shrugged. "If you have to fight against something, might as well find something worth fighting for."

Fry nodded slowly.

"I have Leela," he said. "And my friends. They're worth fighting for."

Glottus cuffed him round the ear, grinning.

"There you go."

The Gas'n'Go was deserted when they pulled up. Glottus jumped out to fill up the tank, and Fry went to pay. He usually did, as his was the less recognizable face.

The store was deserted save for the clerk, a gelatinous pink blob creature hunched behind the counter. She was reading a magazine, and was so bored her mouth and chin had drooped down into her neck.

"Greetings-valued-customer," she droned, not bothering to look up as Fry put a can on the counter in front of her. "Welcome-to-Galactic-Gas'n'Go. What-can-I-do-for-you-today-sir-m'am-or-other."

Logic suggested that was supposed to be a question, but the sentence had been delivered without any inflection at all, and it took Fry a minute to realize he was supposed to respond.

"Oh," he said. "Uh, hey. I'll just take this and some gas. Pump 3."

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling on their stalks. She closed her copy of Us People magazine and oozed over to the cash register.

"What-is-your-currency-of-choice-sir."

"Earthican dollars."

"Sixty-three ninety-five."

Fry dug out the crumpled notes from his pocket and counted them out. The process took some time, as it always did. Even then -

"You're ten bucks short," the clerk said blandly.

"Sorry." Fry fished out an extra twenty and handed it over. "Do you have a phone here? I have to call home."

"Out back by the john."

The clerk disappeared behind her magazine again. HACKER-BOT LEAKS CELEBRITY NUDES! the cover screamed. Most of Selena Go-Bot's circuit board had been splashed across the front page, headlines artfully placed to cover her modesty. Back home, Bender had probably torn that page out and stuck it on the refrigerator. The "guerilla chic" fashion spread made Fry grin though – it looked as if Leela's signature look of tank tops and men's army boots had suddenly come into style. Which was funny, because Amy had always said it never would.

"Thanks," he said to the clerk. But she didn't respond, and after a while he realized she wasn't going to. So he stepped out, throwing a last "Bye," at the magazine cover.

He found Glottus by the pay phone, eyeballing his own wanted poster.

It made for an interesting study in contrasts. The Glottus on the poster was wearing a DOOP dress uniform. An array of shiny medals glistened on his chest, and his hair had been buzzed close to the scalp. This Glottus – dress-regalia Glottus – was staring into the middle distance with a fierce, determined expression. His profile could have been carved out of rock and stamped on currency. The Glottus Fry knew, on the other hand, looked like he'd just rolled out of the gutter. The clean-shaven captain had been replaced by a guy with a scrubby beard and a mass of dark hair - flecked silver - that fuzzed out in the beginnings of a 'fro. He was wearing dusty khakis and the expression on his lined, dirty face was one of derisive amusement.

He grinned when he saw Fry looking at the poster.

"Me at my finest."

"I think you look kinda noble."

Glottus snorted.

"Noble, my ass. I look like I have gas. Always hated that picture." He turned his back on the poster and faced Fry. "Alright. Call your girl, but remember, the DOOP will be monitoring your call. They can't listen to every phone call in the universe, but they don't need to. They have recognition software – the expensive kind. If the camera gets a look at my face, or you use my name in conversation, the system automatically forwards a recording of the call to the DOOP surveillance detail tasked with tracking me down. So don't use my name. Not even part of it. Don't tell her where we've been, or where we're going, and don't stay on the line too long. I'll keep an eye on you from over by the truck, but I'm sticking out of shot. If I think we need to get out of here I'll holler, and if I do that, I expect you to hang up the phone, pronto. No long goodbyes. Got it?"

"Get it," Fry confirmed. "I mean, got it."

"Alright, I'm moving out. Good luck."

Glottus clapped him on the shoulder and moved off, leaving Fry alone by the phone. The delivery boy picked up the receiver and emptied a handful of coins into the slot.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

His heart was hammering so hard he thought he might be sick. It didn't help that the extension code for Earth was as long as his arm - it took him two goes to get Leela's number dialed right. When he did, it seemed to ring forever.

And then she was there, her face filling and then receding from the screen as she set the receiver down on her kitchen table.

"Leela!" he gasped – but she was already talking, and she was looking right through him.

"You've reached Turanga Leela. I can't take your call right now but if you leave a message I'll get back to you."

It was her answering machine. Her answering machine. Fry gaped at the screen in disbelief. He wouldn't even get the chance to talk to Leela properly, after everything.

At least he got to look at her though. The message had to have been recorded sometime after he left, because Leela wasn't wearing her wedding ring. Her fingers were bare, curled around a mug of peppermint tea. She looked sick, Fry thought, frowning. She was paler than he remembered, and her eye was puffy, like she hadn't been sleeping. Every now and then she would stop talking and press her lips together hard, then swallow like she was trying not to be sick.

"If you're calling about a jar job," she said wearily, "you want the – ugh – the Head Museum. Lars and I are separated, and I don't have the time to take his messages. I'm not his secretary. If you're calling about a delivery, you want Planet Express, and if you're calling to complain about – ugh – if you're calling to complain about Nibbler, Bender, or a delivery . . . cram it. I'm not interested."

She hesitated, fiddling with the silver bracelet on her wrist.

"Fry. If this is you . . ."

She stopped again. It had to be hard, finding the right words to say to him when she knew anyone else could hear them too.

"Fry, if you're hearing this," she said at last, "we need to talk. It's important. There are things you don't know, and I can't . . . I'd really prefer to tell you face-to-face." The cyclops sighed. She looked lost, and frustrated as hell. "Just come back," she said at last, and then the beep sounded and Fry realized she'd hit the button and cut off the recording.

Which meant it was time for him to talk.

"Um," he said, surprised. He couldn't imagine what Leela might want to tell him that was so important she had to say it face-to-face. "Hey, Leela. I don't know if you're asleep or busy or whatever, but, um . . . if you're screening my call, please pick up."

He waited.

"Oh. You're not screening my call. That's good." He swallowed. "I mean, not good that you didn't pick up, because I really, really want to talk to you, but good that you're not ignoring me. Because I miss you and I still love you, and I have to tell you something really important too."

Fry stopped to catch his breath. Slow down, doofus, he told himself. He took a deep breath, and forced himself to count to ten before letting it go. When he did, he felt a little calmer.

"Leela," he said again. Saying her name helped. It grounded him somehow. "I'm really sorry I left. I know you were probably mad about that. And I know you're probably worried about me, but I'm okay, I promise." He stepped back from the camera for a second and spread his arms, grinning. "See? No dismembered anythings." The smile slipped from his face. "But. But." Another deep breath. "I can't come home yet. Nibbler was right – the universe is in danger, and I think I'm the only one who can stop it. Which is crazy, I know, but – yowwww!"

Fry screamed. Something white-hot had just streaked past his ear - something that felt a lot like a bullet. He dropped and rolled on instinct.

He was bleeding, he realized numbly. The bullet must've clipped his ear, or maybe his neck. Blood was dripping in the dirt beside him and he felt sick and dizzy. He could see his attacker's feet, drawing closer, and the receiver of the video phone, swinging like a pendulum where he'd let it fall.

"You shot me," he mumbled. "You shot me."

Booted feet stepped closer, and then the ugly metal snout of a shotgun was thrust under his chin - and Fry found himself staring into the blank, emotionless eyes of Captain Glottus.