Fabricated Chapter 13

[companionwolf]

 They’re in the middle of unpacking at a hotel not even a few streets from the White House when Espeon shrieks.

PC, standing on the upper deck outside the room, throws himself down to the parking lot, landing face first, cuing yells from Alex as they stop flabbergasted in the doorway. 

He staggers to his feet and runs to the car, ignoring Alex’s call of concern. Espeon stands on his seat, lashing her tail in excitement. 

“What?” he asks as he picks her up, checks her over for damages. “What is it?” 

“Ok, ok,” Espeon says, and if it’s possible for embroidered eyes to shine, that’s happening now. “So you wanna get to the president right? Right? Ok. So turn yourself inside out, and one of the humans writes ‘property of Baron Trump’, and then brings you in on a public tour and puts you somewhere inconspicuous, and then the Secret Service will find out, see the tag, put you back in the kid’s room, and then you can go into the Oval Office and talk to the president!” 

“Beats the idea of ‘throw one of you over the fence and pray the person that brings you back is nice enough to listen’,” he says. 

“Sweet, alright, lets go get that tag written,” Espeon says, wriggling out of PC’s hands to clamber up onto his shoulders. Alice sighs as he picks her up.

“Can you tuck my phone inside ... uh... me? When the time comes?” he asks her, and she nods.

“I pray this works,” she says, and quiets as he crosses the doorway into the motel room. Davey is downstairs in the main lobby paying, and Tulip is accompanying him; the only human here is Alex, who’s sitting on one of the beds messing with their phone next to their bag. 

“Hey, Alex,” he greets, sitting on the other bed opposite them. He sets Alice down among the pillows; Espeon runs down from his shoulders and sits down next to him, body quivering as she shoots PC excited glances. 

Alex looks up, smiles. “Hey,” they say. “Any ideas on how to get into the White House? I mean, talking wise- apparently there’s a public tour of the eastern wing. But you want the government.”

“Espeon actually had a idea,” he says.

“Oh?”

He takes off his jacket and slides off the pants, astral legs congealing into one pillowly end as he hops out of the waist. 

Alex blinks. “Wow,” they say. 

“Not very impressive under all the clothing, I’ll admit,” he says.

“The arms just... go,” they say. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean they’re still here—“ He picks up Espeon, waves her around for a moment despite her indignant flailing “— you just don’t see them.”  

“Does this have to do with your idea?” they ask.

“Yeah, so Espeon thinks if we turn me inside out and write out that I’m property of the president’s kid, and then leave me somewhere in the White House, the Secret Service will return me to the kid’s room, and from there I can get a audience directly with the president,” he says. He hands them his phone, and then removes the ribbon that’s tied around where his neck should be, and hands that to them as well. “I need you to put these, uh, inside me as well,” he says. “The phone’s got all the pictures and the videos.” 

“Doesn’t that hurt?” they ask.

“I don’t know,” he says, “I’ve never done it before.” 

“It’s not going to kill you to take you off your pillow, is it?” 

“No,” says Alice, before he can speak. “His consciousness is tied to both aspects, but mostly to the case; that would need to be destroyed for it to be harmful.”

“Ok,” Alex says, stepping over to him; they pause for a moment to tie his ribbon around Espeon’s neck, and then reaches for him. PC drops limp into their hands, feels them gently shake him off of his base. It’s a strange feeling, being flipped; his vision goes white, and he blinks a few times- it does not clear, and he realizes it’s because he’s looking at the inside other panel of his case. 

There’s a thunk, and then a gentle push, and the pillow is now in his face. He wiggles a little to let it settle, and then stands upright. He feels something heavy in the floor end of the pillow; the phone, he realizes, and hopes it won’t clunk too much. 

“Tag’s here,” he says, dipping the far end of the pillow at Alex, who’s rummaging in their bag for a pen. He feels them take the tag in their left hand, and scribble with the right.

“I hope this works,” they say.

“Me too,” he answers. A pause. “Hey, Alice?”

“Mm?”

“This doesn’t mean I’m beholden to the president’s kid now, does it?”

He imagines she shakes her head when she speaks again: “No, the bond does not break that easy.”

“Ok,” he says. “Just- just wondering.”

Alex tucks his clothes into him, flat as they can get against the pillow, and lies him against the wall that their bed is against, and to his relief, places Espeon and Alice near where his head is. He can hear Espeon coloring in her book, feel Alice’s gentle paw on him. 

When Davey and Tulip get back, Alex explains what’s going on, and after a brief discussion of what to do with the Sectoid bodies (the verdict is they’ll stay here but be given up to the government once PC’s had his talk), the humans head out for a late dinner. 

PC presses astral hands against the pillow, for a moment feels wildly disproportioned.  Then he settles. He can deal with this. He can deal with this. Humanity’s at stake, he can handle being inside out for a day or so. 

For humanity. For the Owner. For the Hoard.