Liqui-Burger

            Rex Jetsetter careened into the floating lot of Intergalactic Liqui-Burger just under lightspeed, clipping a Z400 automaton unit, sending him hurtling into the blackness of space.  Rex flicked open the hatch on his Galaxy Hopper and jumped out onto the flexi-crete, landing with a little bounce.

         “I’m never going to make it,” he groused, checking his chronometer for the sixth time in a nanosecond.  The robotic clown at the front portal smiled mockingly at him.

         Rex hopped though the portal into the sterilized shininess that was Liqui-Burger.  If not for the clown at the front door, it would be easy to mistake the place for a clinic or moratorium.  In a break of luck, there were no customers in the first line. 

         “Welcome to Intergalactic Liqui-Burger,” the metallic voice droned through the speaker in the order-wall.  “Would you like to try our new liquid-chicken combo for seventeen thousand starbacks?”

         “No, no,” Rex spat.  “I want the regular – Liqui-Burger combo, and make it fast.”  He took a seventh look at his wrist display.  If he could just get in and out of here, he could still get to Sector Four in time for the meeting.  If he was even a few nanoseconds off…

         “Would you like to add a Liquid-Pie to your order for just four thousand starbacks more?”

         Rex slammed his hands against the cold, silvery surface of the order wall.

         “For the love of Luxious Andromeda, fill my order you rusted piece of commercial space junk!”

         The metal wall fogged up where Rex pressed his face against it.

         “Would you like ketchup?”

         “Yes, please,” Rex sighed, waving the payment chip imbedded in his palm across the surface of the order wall.

         “Thank you for your order,” the voice said.  “Please report to booth seven ninety-two, and have a nice time cycle.”

         Booth seven ninety-two was almost a metro block down the rows of nutrient stations.  Rex skidded across the highly-polished floor, swatting adver-bots out of his path as he ran down the aisle.  If he couldn’t make it to this meeting in person, his career in cloning was over.  Of course, his clone had to be in Sector Eleven getting its DNA scrubbed this time cycle.  Like that couldn’t have waited another lunar pass.  And then the Teleport System Union went on strike, closing down all the teleport pads.  Was the whole universe aligning against getting to this meeting on time?

         The hatch on Rex’s booth was closed.  Running his palm over the latch didn’t trigger its opening.

         Rex slammed on the hatch.  “Hey, come on!  I bought this booth.  Open up.”

         The hatch hissed and slid into the walls of the booth, revealing a Groxmoid.

         “Should have known,” Rex rumbled under his breath.

         “Grax mod jelli wana do?” the gelatinous blod gurgled, dropping a tendril off its backside (or possibly front side) as it slimed its way out into the aisle.

         Rex slid into the nutrition booth and waved his hand over the panel inside, swishing the portal closed again.  The disturbing clown face appeared on a screen in front of him.

         “Thanks for choosing Liqui-Burger!” the clown cackled, followed by an unnecessarily long laugh.  “Unlatch your suit access panel and your meal will be served.”

         Rex leaned forward in the cramped little booth, bringing his face uncomfortably close to the screen with the leering clown.  He unsnapped the hatch in the back of his spacesuit and sat back down.  A light in the roof of the booth changed from red to yellow and the familiar vacuum pulled Rex’s seat against the booth seat.  A clear tube dropped from the ceiling and dangled in front of Rex’s face.

         “Enjoy your meal, and remember to hang on!” the clown said, a twisted gleam in his eye.

         Rex grabbed the tube and stuck it in his mouth, gripping the chrome bars running along the side of the cold seat.  The booth began to hum and the sound of flowing liquid came from the pipes running around the walls of the booth.

         Rex checked his chronometer again. 

         “Good overlord,” he swore around the tube.  “I’ve been in here twelve seconds, what’s the hold up?”

         As if it heard his complain, the light in the ceiling turned green and the pressure in the booth was sucked out through the vents in the floor.  Rex’s eyes bulged, and the warm, ketchup laced liquid shot through the tube in his mouth and down his throat, passing through his stomach and intestines, and out the access panel in the backside of his suit.  The reprocessing seat sucked the liquid away before it could hit the sides of the bowl.

         The light turned to red, and the booth was re-pressurized.

         Rex checked his wrist as he stumbled out of the booth, still disoriented by the change in pressure.

         “Flak, that took a whole minute!”  He looked up at an adver-bot floating past his booth, flashing Liqui-Burger’s forty-five second service guarantee.

         “There’s no way I’m paying for that – ”

         The chronometer flashed and began beeping.

         “No, no, it’s too late!  I’ve missed it.  The meeting’s over.”  On Rex’s other wrist, his communi-band flashed to life, an image of his Groxmoidian boss appeared, threatening to ooze out through the screen. 

         “Blaxo beno,” the blob slurred.  Rex hung his head.

         “Yes, sir, I know sir.  It’s just, I stopped at Liqui-Burger and – ”

         “Togo lucka lucka.”

         “Of course sir, where is the next meeting?”

         “Raxuc mugo.”

         “Sector Fifteen?  That’s twenty-nine parsecs from here.”  Rex looked down the long aisle to the door and his waiting Galaxy Hopper.

         “No problem, sir, I can make it.”

         Rex slapped off his communi-band and ran toward the portal.  If he did a slingshot maneuver around the moons of Typhon IV, he’d have two point two milliseconds to spare.