The Intergalactic Italian Bistro blew up. Not in the way restaurants get famous, but kablooey, only smoke and ash left, blew up. The entire planetoid too, but that wasn't as upsetting as losing my job. Now left with nothing but a ship full of Martian garlic, I needed to get out of another jam.

 

* * *

 

"No warning," I told Mimsy, my best mate, part robot, and full-time social influencer.

 

"Babitha Beezle, you must have gotten some warning," said Mimsy.

 

"Well, the boss did mutter about taking an extended vacation, but why'd she have me get garlic? In retrospect, her Grongorian accent was so thick she might have been telling me to get out of Dodge when she handed me the keys to the delivery ship. I have auditory processing issues, so…."

 

"You spent your last paycheck on a shit-ton of garlic," said Mimsy.

 

"What do you think their resale value is?"

 

"Honey," said Mimsy in a way that makes you know why she's so popular, "if someone's going to make wine out of urine, it's you." She pulled me close, making a peace sign. Her drones took our video, edited and uploaded the footage simultaneously. #UrineToWine started trending, and our image memed on several planets.

 

* * *

 

I flew to Largo-7. I heard they're superstitious, using garlic for everything from blessing newborns to burying the dead. Some would think they have a vampire problem; others say they're just batshit crazy. I'd go with the latter since bat excrement carried powerful hallucinogens. Plus, Galactic Vampires lived in Alpha Sector, far from here, where they bred humans for food. Pondering my geo-ton of organic space garlic, if this plan didn't work, I could sell myself as a bleeder or a breeder to this fangsome species.

 

* * *

 

I docked on Largo-7 after convincing their customs agent that the High Bishop himself requisitioned these bulbs personally. Mimsy always said I can talk my way out of anything, and I told her it was because I couldn't be programmed otherwise.

 

I'm not part-anything in this world of half-caf-soy-latte humanoids. I'm a pure Homo Sapiens that managed to survive to the other side of twenty, cleaning floors and kicking ass. Well, one ass, and he deserved it for how he treated Mimsy. We've been friends ever since. #FreeRobotHumanoids

 

* * *

 

"Mimsy, how much do you think these religious freaks will pay for a bulb?" I asked via drone while setting up shop in Largo-7's central bazaar. She kept one of her drones circling me since my meme popularity. #BeLikeBeezle

 

"You're insane! You'll be converted," she said. Mimsy looked stunning, surrounded by couture cyborg dolphins frolicking in some tropical seascape. #DolphinsByGucci

 

"I figure they'll pay me more if they think I'm another soul to save." I held a red garlic bulb to the drone's camera, hoping she'd plug my product.

 

"You're screwed! Good luck, babe," she said, crossing herself. #Religion started trending throughout the galaxy.

 

"What do you mean I'm screwed?"

 

"You'll see," Mimsy said, laughing.

 

* * *

 

I'd been roasting under the suns of Largo-7 all day with nary a bite of garlic sales or food. People wandered over, whispered to each other, then fled when I made eye contact. Even the drone left. I glanced at my meager planetary credits and was desperate for a sale.

 

A woman approached my stall. She looked like the nuns of Earth, except that her robe was bright blue. A titanium garlic bulb hung by a cord around her neck.

 

"Hello, Sister. Would you like to buy some garlic? Good for what ails ya! Puts hair on your…head," I stammered, hoping she wasn't bald. Her benevolent gaze had me tongue-tied. Was hunger making me weak, or was religion truly the opiate of the masses?

 

"What demonic plague have you brought here, my child?" she asked pleasantly enough.

 

"These are the finest cloves from the farthest reaches of the galaxy."

 

She closed her eyes, wincing as if every word I uttered was the foulest of curses. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a few pale moon-shaped garlic cloves, and popped them in her mouth. She appeared in rapture as she chewed.

 

"Our garlic is blessed by the Divine Entity himself," she said, handing me a small clove. I took it into my palm, covering it like a tiny insect.

 

"Eat it and know the truth," she said; each T sound hit me with the sharpness of a blade. I hid the sliver of garlic in the folds of my coat while pretending to chew in ecstasy. She looked at me as if awaiting some final transformation, so I burped softly and returned to my produce.

 

Her face turned as red as my bulbs. I'd seen that happen before, and it never boded well. I insta-packed my stall into a small briefcase, signaling to my drone just as I was surrounded by blue-robed holy-garlic devotees. As I tried to squeeze between them, the garlic clove in my sleeve fell to the ground.

 

"Heathen! She bespoiled the Garlic Of Truth to bring us these sinful Devil bulbs. Seize her!"

 

I ran toward the shipyard chased by fanatics shouting, "Know the devil by his robes of red!" and "Impure, they must be cleansed!" As I approached my ship, I was blocked by cultists brandishing garlic-tipped batons.

 

I grabbed one of my bulbs and held it out. "Stand back. I'm armed and not afraid to use this!" They started hissing like they were being burned. I lunged forward, cackling maniacally, as the garlic-crazed knot of cultists unraveled before me. I boarded my ship safely and set a course for home. #RedMenace

 

* * *

 

Mimsy called me a miracle. The drone's footage was priceless. #Devil'sGarlic was trending, and advertisers signed on in droves. With the credits flowing in, I had enough money to buy my pizzeria. Don't worry; it won't stop my side hustle as a part-time influencer and full-time pain in the ass. #BeezleBulbsFTW