"Ben, stop it! You're going to break the good silverware!" Gwen yelled. She sat across from him at the narrow dinette table, her nose wrinkled in an expression of pure revulsion.
CLINK. CLINK. SNAP.
Ben ignored her. He was leaning all his weight onto a stainless steel butter knife, while using his other hand to bend the butter life which was already wedged between his skin and the black band of the Chaquetrix.
The metal of the knife bent at a forty-five-degree angle before the tip snapped off, flying across the RV and hitting the microwave with a sharp TING.
"It's like it's part of my skeleton!" Ben slammed his fist onto the table. The plastic placemat jumped. "And that fire lady... she said I was a 'Sire'. What does that even mean, Grandpa? It sounds like something from a weird history book."
Max stood at the small kitchenette, his back to them. He was stirring a pot of something that looked like purple mud and smelled like a dumpster in July.
He didn't turn around. His shoulders were hunched, his thick neck muscles corded with tension.
"It means you're a 'daddy-to-be' for a bunch of freaks, Ben," Gwen sneered. She reached over and flicked the pink hourglass on the watch.
BEEP.
The watch emitted a low-frequency hum that made the milk in Gwen's cereal bowl ripple.
"SHUT UP, GWEN!" Ben snapped. He swiped his arm away, nearly hitting his head on the low-hanging cabinets. "I'm ten! I don't even like girls! Especially ones that are made of literal lava and weigh five hundred pounds!"
"Actually...i weigh approximately seven hundred and forty-two pounds," a voice rumbled.
A miniature, holographic version of Pyra's head erupted from the face of the watch. It was only three inches tall, but the heat it radiated made the hair on Ben's forearm curl and singe.
SSSSS.
Gwen jumped back, her chair legs screeching against the linoleum. "AH! GET IT AWAY! IT'S MELTING MY JUICE BOX!"
The plastic juice box on the table was indeed sagging, the side wall thinning as the liquid inside began to steam.
"Little rival, your voice has the frequency of a dying rodent," the tiny Pyra rumbled, her golden eyes glowing with annoyance.
She turned her gaze to Ben. "And you, Sire. Do not use 'silverware' on the Bridge. It is insulting to the technology. And to me."
"I'll use a jackhammer if I have to!" Ben yelled at his own wrist. "Go back to sleep or whatever you do in there!"
"I am in 'Standby'," Pyra stated. "I hear every word. I smell the foul sludge the Elder is stirring. It is... offensive."
"That's enough!" Max finally turned around. He wasn't holding a wooden spoon anymore. He was holding a heavy, metallic device that looked like a cross between a remote control and a medical scanner.
He walked to the table and sat down heavily. The suspension of the Rustbucket groaned under his weight.
"Grandpa, what is that?" Ben asked. He stopped picking at the watch.
Max didn't answer immediately. He flipped a switch on the side of the device.
WHIRRR-CLICK.
A blue laser swept over Ben's wrist. As it hit the pink metal of the Chaquetrix, the device began to vibrate violently in Max's hand.
BZZZZZZT.
"I was hoping I was wrong," Max muttered. He set the scanner down. His face was pale, the deep lines around his mouth twitching.
"Ben, Gwen... there's something about my life before I retired that I haven't told you. I wasn't just in the plumbing business."
"No kidding," Gwen said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She pointed at the holographic fire-head still floating over Ben's wrist. "Unless the pipes in this country are filled with magma-women, I think we figured that out."
"I was a Plumber, but not the kind you think," Max said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, hexagonal badge.
It shimmered with a dull metallic sheen. "We were an intergalactic organization. We're called the Law enforcement. Or Peacekeepers if you will. We dealt with species from every corner of the galaxy."
Ben's jaw dropped. A piece of dried ash fell off his forehead and onto the table. "You were like... a space cop? And you didn't tell me? I spent three years playing 'Space Cadet 4' and you actually had a real blaster?"
"It wasn't a game, Ben," Max said, his voice dropping an octave. He looked at the Chaquetrix. "That device on your wrist is the most dangerous piece of biological hardware in existence. It's the Chaquetrix. It wasn't designed as a weapon, but as a last-resort ark for dying species."
"Ark? Like Noah?" Gwen asked. She leaned in, her eyes narrowing.
"Sort of," Max said. He looked at Pyra's hologram. "The Pyronites, the Tetramands... their populations are collapsing. Genetic decay. They needed a catalyst. A 'Universal Sire' with highly adaptive DNA that could jump-start their reproductive cycles. Someone whose biology could handle the strain of inter-species grafting."
"Wait, wait, wait," Ben held up his hands..."What do you mean by Grafting?" Ben couldn't help but ask since he's slightly clueless about what they meant by the grafting.
*Ahem*
"What the elder is trying to say is that, you're meant to have intercourse with whoever you contracted with." Pyra dropped the bomb with a slight cough which Gwen perceived as an obvious fake one.
"..." He turned to his grandpa with a deadpan face.
"You mean I'm supposed to... with her?" He pointed at the tiny flaming head.
"The Contract is binding, Sire," Pyra rumbled. "You provide the spark. We provide the legacy."
"I'M GOING TO BE SICK!" Gwen gagged. She grabbed her stomach and leaned over the table. "I'm actually going to vomit. This is the grossest thing I've ever heard. Ben is a genetic stud-muffin for aliens!"