EXFLIBBERAGUIL WAS SLEEPING.

His dreams are not important, as they were rather, er, explicit to say the least. Average Mustela puberty occurred only a year after average Odriew puberty.

Next to him, a violet flower suddenly shriveled up and died.

An hour later, Exflibberaguil woke up.

"BOX!"

“Box!”

Box woke up, just in time to dodge a punch. “Yeah?” it whirred.

“Box!” Exflibberaguil thrusted a small plant pot at Box. “Fix it!” he said desperately.

Box looked at the pot thoughtfully. “Well, sir, it seems to be in good condition. Only one minor crack at the top. A potter can probably fix it—any potter. Harry Potter too.”

“Not the pot, you boxhead! The plant!”

“Oh.”

“Fix it!”

“It’s dead.”

“I know!” Exflibberaguil wailed, “It’s not supposed to die!”

Box’s circuits whirred, analyzing the crinkled brown petals in his database.

“It’s a violemortum.” Box said,

“Violemortem can see into all possible futures. When it is certain it is going to die in the next year, that is, the future has been decided, it dies to save the trouble of living for the next few months.”

“But why would it die?” Exflibberaguil cried, “I take good care of it and everything!”

“Actually—”

“Fine. My ferret takes good care of it. But what’s the difference?”

Box did the equivalent of a shrug, ejecting the “shoulder” plates three feet in the air.

“But it’s not supposed to die,” Exflibberaguil muttered in desperation, “it’s supposed to live forever and ever and ever. I don’t suppose the seller is still alive.”

“No. He’s –”

“What?”

“I don’t think I should tell—” Box said suddenly.

Exflibberaguil hit it.

“He’s dead. Along with everyone else,” Box said unwillingly.

“My mom can fix the plant—”

“Your mom is dead. And so is your planet.”

“What?”

“Pylo’rox is no more, sir,” Box said, “and neither are any of your relations.”

“What do you mean, no more? Do I need to buy some or something?”

“They’re dead.”

Exflibberaguil breathed in a breath of cold, industrial air. “No. they’re not.”

“They were invaded, sir.”

“They were not!”

Box made a sighing noise, turning on his fan for effect. “…I’m sorry, sir.”

Exflibberaguil sat down in his toucan seat. “Let me get this straight. My planet was invaded, and that’s why I’m trying to help other planets?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And now I’m an orphan, driving around space with an outdated robot and a ferret and a flower.”

“Correct.”

“And now the flower is dead.”

“Yeah.”

“And the flower only dies when it knows it’s going to die in the near future.”

“Yup.”

“But me—or my ferret, whichever you’d like to choose—has been taking very good care of the plant.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, it seems, the only case in which the flower would die is when neither me nor my ferret can take care of it.”

"It seems so.”

“And I can see no reason why I should leave this ship without bringing the flower. Besides, even if I forget, my ferret won’t. He was quite attached to the flower.”

“Si.”

“So the only reason the flower would die is because my ferret and I would die in the very near future.”

“Right you are.”

“Box, how many ways of saying yes do you know?”

“One thousand four hundred—”

“Shut up.”

Exflibberaguil was looking very green. He took another breath of air, then refused to let it out. Not that he needed to, for some of his pores could breath.

“I think I want to forget it all.” Exflibberaguil said softly. “I’m pretty sure my machine could do that.”

“Sir?”

“What?”

“You can’t just forget it!”

“Why?” This only seemed to motivate Exflibberaguil to move. “You’re not the boss of me!”

“But you need to remember! To save Driew!”

“Why does it matter. My planet is dead.”

“But—”

“So it seems like the only way to save Driew is to forget about my planet.” Exflibberaguil stepped into the forgetting machine.

“But—”

Exflibberaguil pressed a few buttons.

“But—”

Exflibberaguil pressed ‘Start’”

“But,” Box finally completed, “If you forget everything now, almost all our fuel would be gone!”