Eyeballs

            "Is that . . . an eyeball floating in your drink?" asked Mr. Rogers, a Flatheaded Gonk with purple spots. He owned a company in the Mirror Galaxy, where his entrepreneurial species grew and harvested puppet parts. Today, he had business at the café with Mr. Klern, his lawyer. Mr. Rogers picked up Klern's teacup and poked at the eyeball swimming in it with his plastic knife. "I haven't seen one of these in years."

            Mr. Klern leaned in, and his floppy furred ears flushed pink at the new topic. "No, no. They're rare indeed. It took some real trouble to procure it." Mr. Klern took his fork and pierced the eye, the whites of which were still clear. "See how fresh this is? I get daily deliveries from a certain client I helped some months ago." He leaned in closer to Mr. Rogers and whispered conspiratorially, "And it's real, too. No glass in this." Mr. Klern sniffed the eye and licked it. "But I like to let them steep a while first.

            "Now! On to business." Mr. Klern opened his suitcase with a flourish and handed a few manila folders to Mr. Rogers. "Let's see . . . you are being sued by three firms."

            Mr. Rogers leafed through the files, using his third finger to turn the pages. Mr. Klern noticed and asked why he used his inferior digits. "Oh," Mr. Rogers replied, "One of my puppets got out. He bit me. The doctors said I would be all right, but you can see my blood seeping through the bandages here. So much lavender color, Oh God! And the pain!" Mr. Rogers shivered. "I hope I don't get infected. I wish we could sedate the puppets constantly. Their teeth are so sharp."

            "Yes, yes." Mr. Klern shook his head. "I remember the sedative case. We studied it in law school. It was an interesting one, for the all the 'contempts of court' the judge gave and the legislation. I did a paper on it, and my teacher said afterward, 'Well, obscenities aren't allowed in court either, but frankly, a law system based on logical paradigms instead of truth quality oughta get a good cussin'.'" Mr. Klern threw back his head and laughed through his giant snout. "I don't see why so many sentients got so excited over mere puppets. It must be because they're bourgeoisie. Always so progressive."

            Mr. Rogers agreed and held up a file. "So, what is this about the glittery narwhal? That puppet was predicted to be a hit."

            Mr. Klern sighed, and the smell of it tingled Mr. Roger's nose. "Oh, it's someone complaining that the glitter on the narwhal's costume was poisonous and got her pups sick."

            "What do I do about it?"

            Mr. Klern sipped at his tea. "Nothing. You wrote a warning on the box of the toy that said 'lethal for the Dogz Species', right? She should've known not to buy it. She is Dogz, you see. We win."

            Mr. Rogers opened the second file. "And the next?"

            "This one is about a finished puppet toy, after hardened and glued and costumed. The archaeological society of Earth is saying that puppets, in their primitive forms, never rode lawnmowers while holding pitchforks. The society blathers on how the misrepresentation teaches our children the wrong thing about puppets, etc, etc, etc." Mr. Klern swirled the eyeball into the tea. "My advice for this one is just recall them all and take away the pitchforks, maybe come out with a 'prehistoric farmer puppet' to use your extra pitchforks."

            "And the third?"

            "Mr. Rogers, this case concerns your Neighborhood Facility itself. A few costumers have complained and brought together a joint suit against you. If it weren't that there were a few hundred sentients involved, I wouldn't even bring it up. It seems that the puppets, after you have finished and dissected and rearranged their features, can still move after you send them out. Some children and collectors have had quite a scare, they say, or hear strange noises, or smelled odd things. As a lawyer, I ask you this: Is this at all possible? Are your puppets still alive when they leave your factory?"

            Mr. Rogers leaned back and stroked his round nose, from which he grew his beard. His puppet stock was one of the finest in the Mirror Galaxy. Like exotic flowers, he and his scientists engineered and perfected the puppet beings to fit the current market. His scientists pulled off the comparative petals and stems and stamens of some puppets to supplement the beauty of the others. Such odd things, the puppets were, with their awkward limbs and soft skins. His customers loved them, however.

            Mr. Rogers reached his conclusion. "Mr. Klern, there is no way my puppets could have survived past the gluing process. These protestors are jokesters trying to discredit my business."

            Mr. Klern gathered his papers and stuffed them into his suitcase. "Just as I though." He drained his tea and speared the eyeball again with his fork. "I have another meeting to attend to now. I will see you again sometime."

            Mr. Rogers watched as Mr. Klern sauntered away, nibbling at the eye. The expensive coffee sitting in front of him paled in taste. He leaned back, pushed away his cup, and dreamed of a time when he too could afford such frippish delicacies.