Fast Cars and Intergalactic Speed Dating

22: A Not-So-Long Story

Garth drifted in and out of sleep as they waited for Kin to arrive. His energy had waned as quickly as it had returned; the pain relief seemed to have a short-lived effect. Pey-Daika brought Richard a chair, and they gave him another cup of ooros tea. Richard sat down to drink it and watch over his friend, ignoring the grumble in his stomach.

Nearly an hour later, Garth's cell phone chirped. Garth started to roll over, grumbling, but he woke at once when he put weight on his bad arm. "Jiminy fffrrr," he growled.

"Please be careful," said Aialo-El, who had been quietly waiting with them.

Richard saved Garth's phone from clattering to the floor and nudged it within his friend's reach. He could see the notification on the screen indicating the message was from KIN.

"Oh, excellent, Aialo-El. He's here," said Garth. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. "I'll come with you to get him."

Richard put paid to that. "Lie back down, you idiot. You're swinging right back into 'gray-faced and sweating' territory."

"I will go to retrieve him," said Aialo-El. "Rest and do not become agitated."

Garth, grumbling, lay back down, watching Aialo-El depart. As they waited for their return, he blinked up at the ceiling. "I am becoming agitated. This was probably a bad idea," he said.

"You don't say."

"But it might be a bonding experience."

"It certainly could be."

"Or, he could run screaming in the other direction."

"Well, if he does, you'll always have Star Wars."

"Richard." Garth looked at him, frowning. "I really like him."

Richard raised his eyebrows, leaning on the edge of Garth's bed. He folded his arms. "Listen. I saw you two together at the race, mate. If he doesn't lose his wits when he gets here, I think you'll be fine."

"He'll think I'm crazy."

"He'll have to think he's crazy, too. I mean." Richard gestured at their surroundings. "What is it, a group hallucination?"

Garth sighed, looking back up at the ceiling again. "I hope it doesn't get him into trouble with the crabs," he murmured. "Distract me from my impending doom, will you?"

"How?"

"Let's plan what we're going to put in your Tinder profile when we get back home."

Richard sighed, sitting back in his chair again. "I'm not going on Tinder."

"Name: Richard Arturo Campbell."

"Garth, I'm not going on a dating app."

"We'll put that picture of you by Christine. The one where you're with that other racing dude and you're both laughing? It makes it look like you have friends."

"I sometimes consider getting rid of the friends I do have. They're kind of a pain in the ass."

"We'll write, I like fast cars and intergalactic speed dating. I make decent French toast, mediocre fajitas, and put milk in my tea for some reason. But I have a British accent and I am a rocket scientist."

"Hey, Google? How long does it take to smother a person to death?" Richard asked.

Garth's phone screen lit up and helpfully produced a link to an article. A feminine voice advised, "According to sciencedirect.com, the actual time required for smothering a person until unconsciousness is about five minutes, although bradycardia can occur after 30 seconds and ECG flattening starts at about 90 seconds, or sooner if much oxygen is consumed by heavily fighting back," said the Google Assistant.