THE GROOMDA FILES: Part Final (pt. 5)

Part Final

by Aubrey Lysander

“Dude, I seriously think working at those weird magazines has, like, rotted your brain. You assume everything is a conspiracy. He’s just a normal vape salesman.”

Gelmire walks me through the Cavelier, introducing me to his coworkers and peers. I would have hoped for the crew of an intergalactic war machine to have more reasonable employees at its helm. Instead, I’m welcomed by a parade of the ridiculous. A giant cat and a cat with a top hat? And don’t get me started on Froglevel.

“Ok, this is Groomda’s room. Do you want me to come in with you?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks Gelmire. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course, Aub! It is allowed for us to host family members on the ship and I love to do things that are allowed.”

“Oh yes me too,” comes a voice from some Guy behind me, “I think doing things that are allowed is good. Not all the time of course. Things that are allowed aren’t allowed because they always are supposed to be done. But when those moments occur that the allowed thing is appropriate to do, I feel no hesitation. Now things that are NOT allowed are a different story- though I myself have been tempted by those in the past as well. That doesn’t bother me though. I think wanting to do something you’re not allowed to do is, well, normal!”

Gelmire and the weird guy walk away together waxing about the pleasures of protocol. I take a deep breath. I knock on Groomda’s space door.

“Come in.”

I’m in. Groomda sits on a swivel chair facing a wall sized window.

“Please. Sit.”

I sit on the stool opposite his desk.

“Do you have it?”

I place a space shoebox on the desk. The tentacle nudges open the top to scurry out of the box, across the desk, and over the chair. The chair spins. Groomda’s in the chair.

Seeing Groomda in person is like seeing a marching band in formation from the nosebleed seats. His tentacles are in constant motion, exchanging places with each other in a free flowing but intentional choreography that still prioritizes Groomda’s main features. A mouth. Two arches outlining where eyes should be. A torso that drapes onto the ground like a gown cosplaying a snail. Two tentacle arms made of tentacles.

Groomda’s in the chair. He strokes the lonely tentacle like one would a Terran Cat or an Ooxopean Knife.

“What did you think?”

“Of the vision?”

“Vision?”

“Yes. Your tentacle emitted musical vibrations that lulled me into a trance, revealing to me the origin of how you escaped from your home planet.”

THWACK!

Groomda slams the tentacle onto the desk.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

“Yah dang idiot! You were SUPPOSED to emit PODCAST vibrations that lulled Aubrey into a LECTURE about our ICE FORM! Aubrey, I’m so sorry! Sometimes when I ‘get independent’ I go rogue.”

This doesn’t make sense. How could my vision have been an accident? He had revealed too much to be evasive now.

“Please, no need to hurt yourself! I’m grateful for your vision!”

“It’s just SO frustrating! I do my best to make everybody happy! I do my BEST to make sure NO ONE has to deal with all of Groomda’s baggage! And then the one time I decide to reveal just a LITTLE BIT about Groomda one of my dang TENTACLES decides to break the rules and tell a story IT WASN’T EVEN THERE FOR!”

“Wasn’t there for? What do you mean?”

“I mean…I…I mean I JUST wanted you to learn about my ice form…and I JUST wanted you to hear about it in a podcast.”

“But what you gave me was so much deeper, so much more profound! And it’s only the beginning! I have so many more questions!”

“You have MORE questions??”

“Yes! What is the nature of your home planet? Are you the first personality to break free from the hive? How did you get into space? What else can you do with your vibrations? When you used my head as a springboard, was that actually my head or just a part of the vision? If it was me, did I travel through time and space? Am I a part of your origin? What kind of science do you study? Do you eat? What is the deal with your ice form? What is the deal with you?”

Groomda leans back as if weighing his options. A sigh. A deep puff from a Spakish Vape. A cloud of watermelon-lime smoke clouds his simulacrum of a face.

“Great questions! I’m Groomda!”

Groomda slams a button on his desk and the stool I sit on drains into a floor that itself opens into a hole. I fall. I’m propelled through twists and turns like a roller coaster until I’m deposited onto a chair. I look around to see I’m in a shuttle.

“Welcome to the Agnew,” speaks the computer, “We hope you’ve enjoyed your time on the Cavalier. This shuttle will return you home in three weeks. A few warnings: the light can’t turn off, the bathroom is a sometimes thing, and the food has been seasoned by Groomda. In lieu of movies and literature, we can offer you audio from the campaign speeches of the Vice President after whom this shuttle was named. We hope you think of this trip next time you feel the itch to write about Groomda.”

:::

I will be taking a break from updating this substack. Thank you for reading this far. I have so much more I want to tell you but, for now, I must wait until I have fully recovered. Like a casual jogger fainting in their first marathon, my failure has only taught me the degree to which I must prepare to accomplish my goal. Follow me on MuskMAX at @TheOnlyAubreyLys.