Once in awhile some kid would dare some other kid to ask him for an autograph. But they would always chicken out before they got anywhere near Roy. Roy would just shoot them a sad, lonesome look and they'd scurry away like roaches from a lightbulb.
Roy was, officially, the most dangerous living thing in the known universe. Behind old Roy was a trail of tears trillions of life forms long. A man considered so dangerous, no one dared touch him, let alone kill him. So feared most system governors wouldn't even allow him planetside. Wherever Roy went, death followed close by.
Roy wanted a drink. Something refreshing, even a cold glass of ice water would be great. He waved down the length of the very long bar. The Aloosian bar tender floated over nervously, her bright purple tendrils taking on a pale cream stress response.
"Sir?"
Roy looked up, but the bartender wouldn't make eye contact. "Can I have a drink please? Like a drink drink?"
The bartender looked down at the untouched whiskey sour, made some assumptions, and set off toward the highest shelf liquors. "At once sir."
Roy started to protest but then sighed resignedly instead.
Right then a Kladit woman approached Roy from behind and let out a little yell of excitement. Kladits were bipedal, almost exactly human by exterior appearance, except with three long fingers instead of five and a webbed nose.
"You're Roy! The Roy!? Roy the planet-killer, Roy the sentience-ender."
Roy nodded meekly ready to lose another visitor. "Yep, that's me."
But to Roy's surprise the Kladit didn't run. She just yelped louder. "Ho-lee-shit! Roy! The Roy! I'm your biggest fan! You have a huge following out in the verse, you know."
Roy did not know that. Moreover, though human and distressed by the webbed nose, Roy was overjoyed to have the positive attention of a roughly homo-sapien and loosely feminine looking member of any species. He put on a smile."Of course! What are they..." Roy hesitated, regretting his addendum. "...up to, all of...them...those... people?"
The Kladit pulled up a stool very close to Roy and made herself comfortable, ready for the long haul. "Well, Roy, they are eager to learn more about you."
Roy was surprised again. "Me?"
The Kladit nodded. "You Roy."
Roy didn't even hesitate. "What do they want to know?"
Fifteen minutes later, the Kladit reporter - who introduced herself as Kladritarastuzzbrilla but insisted on being called just Klara" - had set up a tiny recording device. "What do you mean, accidental?" She asked, all surprise and disbelief.
Roy repeated himself. "I mean it's all a giant misunderstanding."
"How so, Roy? You're responsible for the deaths of trillions of sentient life forms." Klara rebuked. "What has been misunderstood?"
"I didn't kill any of those people, that's what!" Roy lowered his voice and mumbled. "I just have extraordinarily bad luck."
"Oh come on Roy."
"Everybody always says I knew what i was doing. But I didn't!" Roy looked down at the table. "I was just being ferried from planet to planet after the Collision on Earth."
This was ruining the fun for Klara who, like billions, were enamored to the volitional mass killer image of Roy the Man, Roy death-blossom. "Come on Roy, you knew you were a carrier and you wanted revenge for the Earth! Everybody knows!"
Roy looked aghast. "Revenge? For Earth? I hated that place. Everyone made fun of me, I had no friends, and my family thought i was a loser. And i was asymptomatic! I didn't have anyway of knowing I was infected."
"But you must have figured it out eventually," Klara asked, hopeful for a soft ball evil answer.
Roy did not oblige her. "I did eventually figure it out, sure - and immediately reported myself to the Antioch system's governor. I was being extensively tested at arrival and departure of every planet and coming out clean." Roy shook his head as if newly astonished by his own story. "How was I supposed to know no one off of Earth could identify Typhoid?"
Klara stared at Roy for awhile, wondering how he could be such a total loser. Then she shut off the recorder and got up. "I see." She said, with a tone of finality. "Well... pleasure to meet you..." then she added with a new tone of utter disregard, "...Roy."
Roy watched her go and cursed his luck. Too evil for most, not evil enough for the rest. He almost wished he hadn't been cured of his latent Typhoid. Maybe it was better to just be kept in isolation. At least there was cable.
The Aloosian swam back into view from the far end of the bar, balancing a positively giant gold fish bowl filled with a colorful swirl of every high end liquor available.
The Aloosian placed the bowl in front of Roy. "Your drink sir," she said before hastily floating away.
Roy started to protest, but she was gone too quickly. In her wake, Typhoid-Roy sat stooped over his fishbowl. Using one of those cute swirly straws that were all the rage on the spiral arm these days, Roy took a small sip.
[Photo Source]By NIAID (E. coli Bacteria) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
