The Fifth Element

3

“GOOD GOD!”

Korben Dallas sat up in his bed.

There had been a blinding light, a tremendous explosion, and…

Korben shuddered and shook his head.

Another war nightmare.

He looked over at the clock on the bedside table. “BRRRUNNNGGG!” it said.

“Hush!” said Korben, flicking it with one finger as he reached for a cigarette.

“March 18,2413,” said the clock. “8:00 A.M.”

“I know, I know,” said Korben.

“Meaow” said the cat from the hall. There was a scratching sound at the door.

“I’m coming,” said Korben. Then he heard the phone.

BBBBRRRRIIIIINNNNGGG!

Everything at once!

He picked up the phone as he crossed his tiny

modular apartment room toward the door, patting himself for a light.

Behind him, the bed made itself.

Korben was a well-built man in his mid-thirties, all but bald with very short hair, and good-looking in spite of the scars on his face and arms that revealed a somewhat more adventurous than judicious nature.

“Yeah?” he said into the phone. Still patting himself for a light.

“Hey, bud!” said a familiar voice. “Finger here!” His oldest friend and now his cab dispatcher.

Korben wedged open the stuck cat door and a small yellow cat ran in. “Hi, sweetie,” he said.

“I love you too, Major, but you haven’t called me that since basic training.”

“Not you, Finger. I was talking to the cat.”

Still looking for a match, Korben opened a drawer in the bedside table. It was filled with medals.

He unrolled a paper. A Medal of Honor certificate, made out to Major Korben Dallas. For valor above and beyond the…

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” said Finger. “You prefer your pet cat to the real thing.”

Korben unrolled another paper. A faded photograph of himself with his ex-wife. Beautiful, if slightly predatory…

“At least the cat comes back,” Korben said. He dropped the picture into the drawer and it rolled

itself back up. Under a tangle of campaign ribbons, he found an old fashioned book of paper matches.

“You still pining for that two-timing slut?” Finger asked. “Forget her. There are a million women out there.”

“I don’t want a million,” said Korben. He tried a match. It didn’t light. “I just want one. A perfect one.”

“Don’t exist, bud.”

Korben pulled out another photo. Two men in uniform, standing in front of a batwing space fighter. “Just found a picture of you,” he said to Finger.

“How do I look?”

Korben fried another match. It didn’t light. “Like shit.”

“Must be an old one,” said Finger. “Listen up―” Korben crossed to the refrigerator and opened it. It was bare except for a single empty container of Gemini Croquettes. He picked it up and studied the banner over the label: “Win a Dream Trip for Two to Fhloston Paradise!”

“I’m listening,” muttered Korben, closing the refrigerator.

“You gotta bring me your hack for the six-month overhaul,” said Finger. “ASAP.”

Korben crossed to the tiny sink and turned on the tap. A dribble of brown water came out.

“Don’t need an overhaul,” he said.

“Sure you do.”

Korben filled a pan with brackish water and put it on the stove. The burner lit automatically.

“You’re forgetting who sat next to you for a thousand missions,” Finger continued. “I know how you drive!”

“Finger!” Remembering his cigarette, Korben bent down to light it off the burner. “I’m driving a cab now, not a space fighter!”

“How many points you got left on your license?”

“Um…” Korben calculated a lie. “At least thirty.”

“In your dreams. See you tonight!“

The phone clicked as Finger hung up. Korben, sighing, did the same.

The water was boiling. Korben dropped in a pill of instant Colombian. He took the saucepan off the burner and set it on the tiny three-legged table.

The burner blazed on merrily.

Korben slapped the stove.

The burner shut itself off.

“Meow.” The cat jumped onto the table.

Korben set the cat’s bowl on the table. He poured half the instant coffee into his own cracked cup, and half into the cat’s bowl.

“Sorry, sweetie, that’s all I have.”

“Meaow.”

Korben tapped his cup against the cat’s bowl.

“Cheers.”