Say the Magic Word

By Eva-Joy Schönhaar

I’ve just finished mopping the floor of the Decimator’s control room when two Second Class Henchmen walk in. The big goons leave muddy footprints all over the—formerly—shiny floor. I glare after them, but they don’t even notice me.

Typical.

No one notices me unless they slip on a wet floor, or—

“You there! Janitor!”

I whirl around. The Assistant to the Supreme Overlord double-times toward me.

“Yes, sir?” I say, hoping she won’t track more footprints on my floor.

“The Supreme Overlord is arriving within the hour.” She’s out of breath. “The docking bay must be spotless by then. You know our Supreme Overlord will accept nothing less.”

I nod. The Supreme Overlord insists that the Decimator be kept immaculately clean at all times. Something about wanting to see his face reflected in the floors. And the terrified faces of his victims, most likely.

“Well, why are you still standing here?” the Assistant snaps.

“Consider it done, sir.”

I take the elevator down and step onto the main docking bay, pushing my mop bucket in front of me. The floor of the bay is smudged with countless boot-prints. I wring out my mop, the citrusy scent of cleaning chemicals rising up to meet me, and set to work with a will.

The Decimator is the flagship of the Supreme Overlord’s fleet—his personal vessel. Great ship. Good pay, too. Of course, there’s always a chance you’ll be the one picked for disintegration when the Supreme Overlord needs a vent for his rage. But no job is perfect, right?

I’m lucky to have a job. But sometimes my eyes wander past the door of the docking bay to the stars beyond. What if I could take a break? Travel through those stars to distant planets? What if I could find someone who would see me and care enough to even… well, to even call me by my own name? Not just “janitor,” not “you there,” but my actual name. The one nobody cares to notice, even though it’s right on my name tag.

But I always push those thoughts away. You don’t get out of service to the Supreme Overlord just like that. Not when you’re all alone, like I am. And those who’ve tried… well, you don’t want to hear about them.

I finish with the bay floor and move off to mop out the emergency escape pods. The pods are already clean, but I like to stay busy.

“Hey, janitor!”

I look over to see those same two Second Class Henchmen snickering and staring at me.

“There’s a mess over here to clean up,” one of them says.

“I don’t see—”

He spits on the floor, right where I’d just mopped.

The other Henchman smirks. “Better clean that up.”

I grip the mop handle with both hands. I’m just about to stomp over and mop up the mess—and maybe even splash a little water on their polished boots, if I’m feeling particularly brave—when the Supreme Overlord’s personal spacecraft slides into the docking bay with a rush of air and lands just a few yards from me.

The Henchmen snap to attention. I do too, although it’s not easy while holding a mop.

The spacecraft’s ramp lowers and the Supreme Overlord stalks out, his boots tracking mud down the docking ramp. Of course.

The Supreme Overlord’s height, black cape, and the jagged scar on his face all conspire to make him a truly intimidating figure—usually. Right now, he’s just another pair of dirty boots about to step on my freshly mopped floor.

But in the next moment, I forget all that. Because just behind the Supreme Overlord, being dragged down the ramp by armed guards, is another captured, disheveled princess. She’s got to be the fourth or fifth princess the Supreme Overlord has kidnapped in the last few months. All part of his plan to bring the galaxy under his control. But surely there’s a more creative way to do that. Maybe kidnap a prince or a king once in a while? Just to change things up?

Not that it’s any of my business. I’m just the janitor.

“Bring her to Level 15,” the Supreme Overlord commands and marches off, not bothering to double-check that his orders will be carried out. No one would dare cross him.

The two crude Henchmen grab the princess from the spacecraft guards, eager to obey.

The princess’s eyes are red-rimmed, but she walks proudly, chin held high. She passes very close to me as the Henchmen push her toward the elevator, so close she could reach out and take my hand.

And, suddenly, that’s just what she does, gripping my hand with slim, cold fingers.

“Help me,” she whispers. “Help me…” Her eyes fall to my shirt, to the name tag pinned there. “… Cal. Please.”

I stiffen.

The Henchmen yank her away. The moment is over, but her words echo in my head.

She said my name. She said please.

I don’t think. I just act, kicking the mop bucket over.

Greasy water spills everywhere, heading right for the princess and the Henchmen. Those shiny boots won’t help them now. The Henchmen land in the spreading puddle, their uniforms instantly soaked in filthy water, but I don’t have time to relish the sight.

“Come on!” I shout to the princess, holding out my hand. “I know where the escape pods are.”

She takes my hand, and off we run. The escape pods are only a short distance, and we reach them before anyone else reacts.

“Stop them!”

I look back to see one of the Henchmen scramble to his feet. He shakes his fist at us—just before his foot slips, and he falls back into the foul puddle.

“That’s one big mess!” I shout as I press the button that will close the pod door and launch the princess and me into space. “Better clean that up!”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Eva-Joy Schönhaar has been writing since she was thirteen. While westerns are her happy place, she enjoys experimenting with and writing in a variety of genres. Eva-Joy lives with her family in snowy Alberta, Canada. When not writing, she loves to read all the books, watch old movies, and drink copious amounts of coffee.

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