The Fifth Element

13

“What’s she doing!?” David demanded.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

First she had walked nearly nude out of the shower.

Now she was sitting at the computer, wearing only a skimpy towel, wolfing down fried chicken.

Leeloo was surfing around the Internet so fast that the modem cable was smoking, the hard drive was whining, the chip was barking like a dog.

On the screen, data was scrolling past in a

steady stream.

“She’s learning our history!” said Cornelius. “The last five thousand years that she missed. She’s been out of circulation a while, you know!”

Both men looked over, startled, as Leeloo broke into laughter. Her laugh was a bright, musical sound, like die laughter of children, totally without malice or cruelty.

“What are you laughing about?” Cornelius asked. What could she find in the bloody history of

humanity’s last five thousand years that could be the slightest bit amusing?

“Nap Oh Leon,” said Leeloo.

“What the heck is funny about Napoleon?” David asked.

“Small!” chirped Leeloo. “So small!”

Still giggling, she tossed two more KwikChick capsules into the microwave.

The microwave scanned the capsules, clicked on the timer, and turned itself on.

“Uh, Father,” said David. “I know she’s been through a lot. But we don’t have much time. The Ultimate Evil is getting closer and closer.”

“Yes, of course,” said Cornelius.

Ding!

Leeloo opened the microwave. The capsule had expanded into a steaming plate heaped with chicken and vegetables.

She set the chicken dinner beside the computer and sat down in front of it, scrolling with one hand and eating with the other. Her appetite seemed bottomless.

“Leeloo,” Cornelius began. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but…”

He held up the broken handle she had given him.

“The case?”

Leeloo shrugged, starting on her second chicken dinner. The screen scrolled faster.

“The case with the Sacred Stones,” Father Cornelius went on. “You were supposed to have it.”

“San Agmat chay bet,” said Leeloo. “Envolet!”

“The case was stolen?”

Leeloo nodded, seemingly unperturbed. She helped herself to more chicken.

“Who in God’s name would do such a thing?” Cornelius asked, shocked.

Zorg, that’s who.

At that very moment, the galaxy’s cruelest financier was lurching crabwise across his warehouse in his best Byronic limp, musing on how to use his zillions most strategically, to the detriment of all that is wholesome and good.

For Zorg the equation was simple: whatever course of action gave the most benefit to himself and the least to humankind, was always to be preferred.

He was lost in these lofty thoughts when his most valued assistant scurried closer.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Zorg’s right arm, Right Arm. “The council is worried about the economy heating up. They wondered if it would be possible to fire five hundred thousand. I thought maybe from one of the smaller companies, where no one would notice. Like one of the cab companies.”

Zorg thought for a moment. “Fire a million.”

“But sit; five hundred thousand is all they need.”

Zorg turned slowly and eyed his assistant.

The thin scar that ran across his face was reddening. His right eyelid was beginning to flutter a sign that he was about to fly into a vicious rage.

The message dearly written on Zorg’s face was not lost on Right Arm. “A million! Fine, sir! Sorry to have disturbed you, sir!”

Meanwhile, back on the 323rd level of a middle-income racktower, in a spartan monastic apartment cubicle, Father Cornelius was talking to himself:

“Who would do such a thing? Hmmmmm…”

His young novice, David, entered the room with a bundle of clothing. Women’s clothing.

“There was this guy with a limp… and a scar,” Cornelius mused aloud. “Cameby a month ago. Said he was an art dealer… . Asked all these questions about the Sacred Stones.”

David handed the clothing to Leeloo, who was seated at the computer, still dad most fetchingly in only a towel.

“I didn’t know your size,” he apologized. “And I found this makeup box.”

“I didn’t think anything about it at the time,” continued Cornelius absentmindedly. “ What was his name? I’m so bad with names… .”

Leeloo stood up, smiling. She stripped off the towel and threw it into the corner.

Father Cornelius and David stared, transfixed.

She was nude.

Wonderfully, beautifully, perfectly nude.

“They really made her, uh…” David stammered.

“Perfect,” finished Cornelius. “Yes, I know.”

The two men turned away as Leeloo slipped into the clothing David had brought.

She twirled and admired herself in front of an imaginary mirror (since Father Cornelius kept no mirror in his apartment). It was almost as if she could see herself from without—

“Domo danko,” she said to David, squeezing his hand.

David turned around and grinned stupidly. The clothes fit perfectly.

“Leeloo?” said Father Cornelius. “The Stones! Tune is running out. We must get them back.”

She nodded and sat back down at the computer.

“Ikset-kiba. Me imanetaba oum dalat!”

Father Cornelius didn’t know whether to be astonished or overjoyed by her words—or both.

“You do?” he said. “You know exactly where The Sacred Stones are!?”

So did someone—or something—else.

At least, they thought they did.

A group of handsome, godlike warriors entered Zorg’s warehouse, buzzed in by the security ‘bot, and crowded onto the elevator.

The handsomest of the handsome warriors, Aknot, carried a metal case in his hand.

It was missing a handle.

The elevator door opened. With his warriors dose behind, Aknot started down the long echoing corridor.

Zorg and Right Arm waited at the end.

“Akaot, is that you?” asked Zorg when he saw the approaching warriors.

Aknot nodded. His handsome face was illuminated by a perfect, godlike smile.

“What an ugly mug!” said Zorg. “It doesn’t suit you at all. Take it off!”

Aknot shrugged. His face melted away, revealing the twisted, froglike, monstrous, misshapen, crapulous, crepuscular, uncouth, carpified, face of—

—a Mangalore. The ugliest race in the Galaxy.

“That’s better!” said Zorg. “Never be ashamed of who—and what—you are! ”

Aknot nodded. He gave a signal to his warriors and they, too, relaxed and let their faces melt away, revealing the Mangalore hideousness underneath.

Right Arm tried to hide his disgust.

“So what if the Federal Army crushed your entire race!” said Zorg. “So what if the government scattered your people to the wind. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger eh?”

He opened the crate by his side. It was filled with laser rifles.

“Your time for revenge is at hand. Voila—”

Zorg held up one of the rifles.

“The ZF1!”

Zorg hefted the weapon in his small, grasping hands.

“It’s light. The handle’s adjustable for easy carrying; good for righties and lefties…”

Zorg threw a switch on the side of the stock. The weapon glowed and hummed with what seemed an intelligent, if malicious, anticipation of havoc and destruction.

“Ideal for quick, discreet interventions,” Zorg went on, winding into the smooth sales pitch that distinguished one of the galaxy’s leading arms dealers.

He nodded at two warehousemen, who hurried to set up a mannequin at the far end of the corridor.

“The last word in firepower!” barked Zorg. “Titanium recharger, 3000 round clip. With the replay button—another Zorg innovation—it’s even easier. One shot…”

Taking quick aim, Zorg fired at the faraway mannequin.

BRAP! THUNK!

A hit.

“Then hit Replay and send every following shot to the same location! ”

Zorg spun around on his heel, firing the ZF1 wildly into the air as he made a complete circle.

BRAP A RAP AA RAP AA RAP AA RAP AA RAP AA RAP!

The Mangalores all hit the deck. So did Right

Arm.

THUNK A THUNK A THUNK A THUNK A THUNK A THUNK!

Every single shot hit the mannequin, rocking it on its stand.

The Mangalores, including Aknot, got back to their feet.

So did Right Arm.

“And to finish the job,” continued Zorg, “all the usual Zorg oldies but goodies—”

A small missile streaked across the room and buried itself in the mannequin. “The rocket launcher.”

A tongue of flame licked the floor. “The always efficient flame thrower; my favorite…”

A grenade arced into the air, exploding into a net which fell over the smoldering mannequin. “Our famous net launcher!”

A flurry of arrows flew out, some sticking into the mannequin and some exploding on impact. “The arrow launcher, with exploding or poisonous gas heads—very practical!

“And for the grand finale—”

A thin stream of gas hissed out of the rifle, chilling the air as it passed. “The all-new ice cube system!”

The mannequin, already blasted, riddled, punctured, charred, and stuck with arrows, froze and cracked into shards of dirty ice that fell into a mass on the warehouse floor.

Zorg tossed the weapon into Aknot’s stubby hands.

He pointed to the four crates at the side of the corridor.

“Four full crates of ZF1s, delivered right on time. What about you, my dear Aknot? Did you bring me what I asked you for?”

Aknot set the metal case on one of the crates.

Zorg touched it reverently.

“Magnificent!”

Aknot smiled.

As Zorg carefully, reverently, opened the case, his scarred face creased into a cruelly blissful smile—

Which faded suddenly as the case sprang open.

It was empty.

“What do you mean empty?” Cornelius asked.

Leeloo was laughing—that childish musical sound that was like the wind laughing through fields of flowers.

She explained in her musical language, while Cornelius translated for the young novice, David.

“She says that the Guardians were afraid of being attacked. The Sacred Stones were taken out of the case and given to someone they could trust, who took another route.”

“Caupo ruta welso brak!” said Leeloo, and she bent down over the keyboard. The computer’s search engines groaned.

“Leeloo’s supposed to contact this person in a hotel,” said Cornelius. “She’s searching for the address.”

But instead of a list of four-star hotels, the screen showed a map of stars.

“Dot!” said Leeloo.

David bent down to look.

He followed her finger, then picked up the mouse and clicked twice where it pointed.

“Planet Fhloston, in the Angel constellation,” he read.

Father Cornelius leaned back in his chair and breathed a sigh of relief.

“We’re saved!”

“I’m screwed,” said Zorg.

He closed the case.

“Empty is the opposite of full. This case is supposed to be full. Anyone care to explain?”

He fixed a blood-chilling stare on Aknot, who, since he was already cold blooded, was unimpressed.

“You asked for a case. We brought you a case.”

Zorg’s scar reddened. His eyelid twitched.

He lost it.

“A case with four stones in it! Not one! Not two or three, but four! Four stones! What the hell am I supposed to do with an empty case?”

Aknot’s warriors backed up, lashed by the fury of Zorg’s tirade. They clustered around their leader, their fingers on the triggers of their weapons, which, though not ZF1s, were still formidable.

Zorg and his assistants were unarmed.

Right Arm was beginning to look nervous.

“We are warriors, not merchants,” said Aknot coldly.

“But you can still count,” said Zorg. His voice had dropped back down to a faux-peaceful tone that was anything but soothing. He held up four fingers.

“Look. My fingers. Four stones, four crates. Zero stones…”

His voice rose to a shrill scream.

“Zero crates!”

He turned to his warehousemen. “Put everything back. We’re outta here!”

The warehousemen hesitated. The Mangalore warriors held their weapons leveled on Zorg.

Aknot shook his head. “We risked out lives. I believe a little compensation is in order.”

Zorg smiled. “So you are a merchant after all.” He turned to his men. “Leave them one crate. For the cause. ”

Without another word, he lifted the empty case and walked out.

Right Arm followed.

Still under the guns of the Mangalores, the warehousemen lifted the three crates of laser rifles and scurried toward the elevator.

“I don’t like warriors,” said Zorg as he walked out of the warehouse, onto the street.

He handed the empty case to his right arm, Right Arm, who put it under his right arm.

“They’re too narrow-minded!”

Right Arm nodded. He knew better than to respond. This was not a conversation; it was a lecture.

“No subtlety! Worse—they fight for hopeless causes. For honor! Honor has killed millions of creatures but hasn’t saved a single one.”

Right Arm nodded.

Even as Zorg spoke, a few hundred yards behind him, the Mangalores were opening the crate of rifles.

“You know what I do like, though?” Zorg continued, as he and Right Arm got into a waiting limo.

Right Arm nodded. He knew that all he had to do was listen.

“I like a killer! A dyed-in-the-wool killer. Cold blooded. Clean. Methodical. Thorough.”

Right Arm nodded.

In the warehouse, the warriors gazed at the gleaming weapons. One of the warriors picked up a laser rifle and handed it to Aknot.

“A real killer,” Zorg went on, “when he picked up the ZF1, would have immediately asked about the little red button on the bottom of the gun.”

He knocked on the partition. “Drive on.”

At the end of the block, in the top of the warehouse, Aknot turned over the gun.

He noticed the little red button.

It was flashing insistently.

He pressed it with a stubby lizardlike finger. BAAAARRRROOOOOM!

Zorg smiled as the warehouse went up in flames two blocks behind him. Smoke billowed out through the streets, and there was silence.

Then the distant wail of sirens.

“Bring me the old priest,” said Zorg.

Right Arm nodded.