Find my Way Home

Ultraman slammed him down on the building again. The beating was legendary; he deserved it, to be honest. The Gnome had taken his mother hostage and Ultraman pounded him like he’d killed her.

The most lethal gadgets of the diminutive villain strewn about the top of the Daily Crier, the Gnome was down to two tricks: A rock that he was told could possibly kill Ultraman, or the button.

The button, a portal creation device the Gnome had recently built, sat relatively untested on his chest, and though several times he could’ve used it, he was scared to. Truthfully the Gnome had no idea where it would send him. In theory it should send him to wherever it was last set to, but he had no trust in that option.

The Gnome's face burned under the rage of the aliens' red hot gaze. In his arrogance, he stripped away the only inhibitions of the hero, who wielded full strength on the small man now. The type of strength that could level a small country. A few more strikes and the power suit would crumble.

The untested must be tested, he thought; the stone must prove its worth. Ultraman slammed him into a stone structure, and his systems redlined. His hand flailed for the stone, but in his panic he accidentally pressed the button for the portal jump.

A killing fist meant for his head instead found crumbling stone, and the hero screamed in frustration.

The gnome saw none of this, for reality melted into a carousel of colors. Nausea trickled through him, and he almost sullied his suit. Nothing held him standing suddenly, and he felt like he fell through the sky, the universe.

When he landed, he bounced a good meter or two off the hard surface. He panted viciously in his suit and was concerned for his air supply. Then he looked about him and his concern grew to terror.

The Gnome had traveled extensively. He knew what outer space was.

He built a spacecraft in hopes of following the Emerald Beacon to his home planet of Oui and nearly crashed in Saturn‘s rings. The Beacon had to rescue him from his shattered ship.

He, along with the Injustice Federation, constructed a star station on Mars in hopes of establishing an intergalactic crime syndicate. Unfortunately, none of the geniuses who he had partnered with had considered their supplies, or re-upping them. They nearly starved, and the Freedom Foundation had to rescue them. It led to the Foundation creating its own star station just off the edge of the moon. The Injustice Federation accidentally created a beacon of hope to the people of Earth ever since.

He constructed a shrink ray, and brought it to the moon when first he was ridiculed and shunned by the international scientific community. An infantile rash decision, he intended to shrink the Earth, and hold it hostage. It was the first caper that began his illustrious criminal career. One of the members of the Fleet Footed Four turned it on him, and he spent his first few days in jail even smaller than he was presently.

All of these ridiculous plans plunged him into deep space. All failed miserably. Space always fascinated him deeply and frightened him terribly.

None of those experiences held a candle to the terror of this moment.

The ground upon which he kneeled was rock, bumpy and coarse with divots on the surface the size of thousands of different sports balls. The horizon rose high to a small mountain on the south end and dipped off to the north.

On the edge of every horizon, frigid space loomed with no sign of any other stellar bodies.

Cold dark silent space. He stood alone, stranded on a rock in space. Where had he landed?

Was this a meteor? No. The rock stood, sentinel still. No bare movement existed, even in comparison to the stars. A moving space body cruises at at least 25 km/s, so he would at least feel something trying to pull him off.

Nothing of that seemed to exist, neither potent gravity, although some sort of field pulled him to the surface. Perhaps he would investigate that further, when he could calm his frazzled nerves.

“Stanley, it appears we are in space,” Pops said into the micro computer. “Can you give me diagnostics?”

“I disagree, sir, you are in space,” the computer quipped. “Give me a moment to scan properly.” A series of noises came from the ear piece, concluded by the light hiss that usually meant Stanley was about to speak.

“Diagnostics complete: power supply - 45% (Damn!) air supply - 100% (Whew!) propulsion and weapon system - destroyed (No surprise there) utility belt - two items.”

“So just the Ellyptonite and the portal unit, that sucks,” he said out loud. “The propulsion unit may have gotten us home.”

“Doubtful sir,” Stanley replied. “You are presently 810 parsecs from Earth.”

“Parsecs?!!!!” The Gnome shouted in disbelief.

“Parsecs are equivalent to light years sir,” the droll computer spoke. “Your propulsion unit would have run down after about 5000 miles.”

“Thank you, mansplainer, I know what a parsec is,” I screamed, trying to control my panic. “What I want to know is how I got here?”

“I’m assuming you used the portal device on your belt,” Stanley shot back.

“That wasn’t supposed to send me 800 parsecs from earth,” I questioned.

“810 sir.”

I took a minute and calmed my breathing. “Thank you Stanley.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“Is there a civilized system nearby?”

“Ellypton orbited sol-ward until about 25 years ago,” Stanley answered. “When it exploded into the red sun of its galaxy.”

“Sol-ward?” I asked. “That’s toward the Milky Way, right?”

“Correct sir.”

“No others?”

“Cistaren is 500 parsecs west,” Stanley informed. “Bollagia is northward 200 parsecs and Oui is East 250 parsecs.”

“Oui is out of the question,” I thought out loud, “we would not be welcome, and might even end up dead.”

“Cistaren as well,” stated Stanley.

“Oh?” I retorted, surprised. “Why do you say that?”

“Lady Mirandara made it quite clear on your last foray there,” Stanley reminded me. “I believe she said she would have your head if you returned.”

I shrugged and grinned. “Anyone can change their mind,” I countered. “But perhaps traveling that far west would not be good. Make our pathway back too long.” I said in a not unconvincing voice.

“Indeed. I assume the same applies for Bollagia?” the voice asked. “Backtracking is not prudent?

“Not sure,” he whispered, looking north. Pops’ predicament started to settle in and his confident decision-making was beginning to waiver. “Remind me again of Bollagia?”

A series of noises ended with Stanley’s voice returning, sounding more like a scholar reading an encyclopedia which I suppose is what he gets. “Bollagia is a small system featuring two sons and a central moon, larger than either of the planets that inhabit the system the loggia features two planets, Thwee and Thrullias. Thwee planet is a civilized center for knowledge and technology, and the other throne, is a savage people with a hive mind. The two worlds are constantly at war. The Revengers and the freedom foundation have both brokered treaties and cease-fires on various occasions. None have lasted.”

“They are 200 parsecs away?” I asked, holding out a sliver of hope.

“Yes, but you probably should stay away from either,” Stanley said.

“Why?” I asked, expecting more bad news.

“The Thwee are known for taking slaves when they come upon stranded travelers…” he started.

“Whoa, I thought they were civilized?”

“Yes, that’s true sir, very few earth civilizations have slavery in their history,” Stanley shot back.

Pops sighed. “Continue.”

“And Thrulls are known for just killing strangers,” Stanley stated. “Just in case there are Thwee spies.”

“Of course they are.”

A sense of despair fell upon the gnome as he concluded how his illustrious career will end. “Can you give me a few minutes, Stanley?”

“I am, as always, yours to command.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

After what seemed like an eternity, Pops shook himself from a bemused reverie, and settled into the comfort of an impasse.

The last hour spent making chess moves against himself, he felt ready to lay his king down. His mind settled, he looked about him, really seeing the star system for the first time.

“Stanley?”

“Yes, sir. May I now ask where our next adventure takes us?

“To the Great Beyond.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know where that is sir,” Stanley replied.

“Neither do I,” Pops spoke softly. “That’s the adventure.”

“Sorry, sir?”

“I need you to listen carefully, and do exactly what I say how I say it.”

“All right, sir.”

He inhaled through his mouth and out his nose. No other noise interrupted him. He realized he was going to miss wind, breeze, the shuffling of leaves, the rumble of thunder. He would miss the touch of a lover, the smile of a friend. He would miss it all. He breathed in and out again and plunged in. He spoke matter of fact and in a calm, clear, emotionless voice.

“For the next 20 minutes, Stanley, I need you to lower my oxygen level every two minutes by 10%. After 20 minutes, remain at zero.”

“For how long, sir?”

He swallowed. “For good, Stanley.”

“Yes sir.” He heard some sounds and turnings as the program set in. He felt sad. He felt he should walk a bit; enjoy the view, as this was the last he would have.

“90% oxygen,” chimed Stanley.

Pops felt as if he had less oxygen to breathe. It was probably psychosomatic but eventually it would not be, and he would drift off, he imagined.

“So what is the point of this exercise, sir?”

“To end it, Stanley,” Pops replied.

Moments ticked by. “Oh,” he said. “80% oxygen,“ Stanley spoke and the breathing became more difficult. “To end what?” Stanley asked.

“My life, Stanley,” he replied.

“Oh,” Stanley replied. Moments ticked away again.

“70% oxygen,” Stanley spoke. Pops had to stop walking, as it was definitely harder to keep going.

“Is Lady Mirandara really that scary?” Stanley asked.

Pops laughed, then coughed lightly. “I ran through all the scenarios in my head. All of them end this way. Me dead in my power suit on this cold, lonely rock.”

“60% oxygen,” Stanley spoke. A few moments went by and he spoke again. “I suppose so, all but the one.”

Pops laughed again. Laughing seemed easier now. “Which one is that?” he asked after an unknown amount of time went by. Pops may have lost consciousness for a moment.

“The portal button,” Stanley spoke and I tensed. “50% oxygen.”

“That’s what got me in this predicament in the first place,” Pops shot back as harshly as his addled brain would allow. “How would it get me out?”

“You could go back to the last saved location,” Stanley reported. “40% oxygen.”

The Gnome began to pass out, but something made him say it. “Wait?”

“Is that a question or a command?” Stanley asked.

“I dunno,” Pops said, gripping tightly to what little consciousness and breath he had left. “Where would I return to?”

“Earth. Specifically the roof of the Daily Crier. Would you like me to continue to lower your oxygen level?” Stanley asked.

“Wait.” I tried to think. It was very hard at 30% oxygen. This time I did pass out. Shit. I could hear Stanley’s voice mumbling a question I could not answer.

A blast of oxygen hit Pops and he shot upright. Dust of centuries caked on the outside of the power suit, clinging to it after his fall.

Stanley’s voice rang in his head slowly, with a drawl as his senses came back. “I’m sorry sir, I brought you back up to 80% to answer my last question.”

Pops’ head swam. “What was it?”

“Did you want to die still?” Stanley asked.

“I don’t remember the other choice,” he replied sleepily.

“Your heart rate is still coming back to normal. Your stupor is understandable.”

Pops breathed deeply, and his memory clipped together. “Were you telling me I could return to earth?”

“Yes sir, any jumps you have made would have a last known location to it, in case of just such an occurrence.”

“Did I program that?” Pops asked, feeling more relieved, if still quite breathless.

“No sir,” Stanley replied in the more condescending manner of his normal speech pattern. “As with all of your ideas, I ran the program through your friend Baron Despaire, and he added this.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“I believe his exact explanation was ‘Zat idiot iz goink to get himzelv strunded if ee eva euses ziz ting’” Stanley mimicked.

“I may just have to kiss him the next time I see him,” he said.

“I see you are still delirious from your attempted suicide,” Stanley quipped. “Would you like to continue your dramatic suffocation or shall we return you to earth, sir?”

Pops panted a bit. “Bring me back to normal breathing, Stanley.” My lungs filled with air. “Thank you. Do you think it’s prudent to go back? Isn’t Ultraman likely to be there?”

“There is a possibility of that,” Stanley replied. “We can wait for some time if you think it necessary. However, I expect he is searching for his mother, rather than for you.”

Pops gasped audibly. “Oh God.” he almost forgot the shenanigans that began this cursed night. “Man, I have so many apologies to make.”

“Perhaps tonight is not the night for them,” Stanley retorted.

“Yeah,” he said, more to the asteroid than to his electronic companion. “I think you’re right. Let’s go home.”

Stanley made the requisite adjustments, including a scan for Ultraman’s energy signature, and prepared to leave this barren stone adrift in space. “Stanley, could you please memorize the coordinates of this rock in this system?” Pops requested.

“For what purpose?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You’re not glad to leave this unnamed astroid?” Stanley asked

The Gnome took a long last look around. “Maybe,” he replied.

“Maybe?”

“You never know,” Pops said as the portal opened. “This is the kind of place a fellow might disappear to, if he could.”