by Paul Vayro
Chapter Five
Zarg stood up before sitting back down for the third time. Neither state satisfied an urge he couldn’t place. Restlessness was a common problem upon spacecraft. It had been the biggest obstacle facing anyone with an interest in galactic travel for many a century, but whilst the major corporations threw money at the problem, a humble man from the planet Antelope Three stumbled upon a solution while looking after his son.
The people of Antelope Three had mastered the art of weather prediction, much to the displeasure of the chaotic system. The weather prided itself on its mysterious nature and ability to surprise, and so in response it began rotating on an hourly basis. After several weeks of sixty minute storms, heat waves, and ice showers, talks were called to resolve the issue. As a compromise the weather agreed to give the good people of Antelope Three the same number of sunny, windy and rainy days it would in any other year; however the seasons would no longer exist. Instead the weather would see how it felt each morning and create the climate accordingly.
After a string of rainy days in the midst of what used to be summer, Deodorant Malone noticed his son’s unrest at being stuck inside. He felt the only solution would be to open the front door and allow his son limitless access to the outside world, should he so choose. His son, Bookcase Malone, went in to the front garden and played in the rain for a full hour and a half. On his return he found all restlessness gone, and his watch, but that was due to carelessness, a different department entirely. Bookcase didn’t ask to go outside again until the sun returned, and crucially felt no unrest as he waited. Deodorant realised the key to his son’s harmony lay in the belief he could venture out whenever he wished. After sharing his handy parenting tip it quickly spread, and Deodorant was invited on to all the top chat shows to discuss it further. He was also approached by numerous publishers to write a book on the subject, but chose to write a pamphlet instead and sell it for twice the price.
News of the tip reached the ears of scientists at Powerflex Corp, who quickly applied it to the problem of space travel and restlessness. They came up with the ‘restlessness expulsion device’, which in essence was a door with an exit sign above it. Upon opening the wooden divide you stepped in to a small holding area, where a poster thanked you for using a Powerflex product and hoped your restlessness had been relieved. In truth the device usually signalled the final straw for many an ailing mind, which would pack in there and then and fall into a deep coma. In response, Powerflex invented intense stimulation rooms to bring sufferers back round.
With 87% of long distance space travellers falling into comas it was only a matter of time before somebody asked why Powerflex didn’t simply remove the doors rather than creating an expensive solution to a problem that could be eradicated easily. A number of reasons were cited in court as to why removing the doors wouldn’t help, but placing a small sign next to the portals, warning of the potential dangers, would fix the dilemma instantly. The court agreed with Powerflex, and the company offered to fit the signs for a very reasonable price.
The restlessness expulsion device on board Zarg’s ship had long since been abandoned. Even if he wanted to use it he couldn’t. It had become the cleaner’s cupboard. Instead the teenage alien opted for a brisk walk around the ship, a decision which meant leaving his room and negotiating the family area.
Entering the open plan room, containing a kitchen and seating area, Zarg was faced with a scene of domestic bliss. His father, Ted, sat at the table reading a paper, his mother, Doreen, flitted about, keeping busy with tasks only she saw need for. His little brother, Edwin, sat in his high chair throwing various toys on to the floor and staring at them in innocent wonder. Zarg gave a few sighs and poked a chair before his mother finally engaged him in conversation.
“Are you okay dear?” She walked in to the kitchen area, conversing on the move.
“Why do you always want to know what I’m doing? Can’t I get any privacy?” He continued to poke the chair without conviction for his rant.
“Just checking you’re alright dear. No prying intended.” She toddled past, back towards the living area with a spray of some sort. Her tone remained calm and distracted. She had chores to do and none of them involved an argument.
“Well I’m going to go round the ship for a bit. I need to get out of here.” He could sense nobody was interested in starting a fight but stormed out anyway.
“Make sure you’re back for tea dear.” His mother called out as she headed back to the kitchen for a different spray. Zarg didn’t have chance to reply, the door had already closed. He cursed his mother’s understanding nature and set off down the long, silver corridors.
Zarg’s attitude towards his parents plagued him. He thought on the topic as he strolled aimlessly. He wished to tell them that he cherished their love and support for him more than any other object the universe could offer, but his teenage mind translated his affection in to shrugs and strops. The mere thought of their selfless attitude boiled his walk in to a moody stomp.
After thirty metres of angry walking, Zarg stopped and considered his actions. What was wrong with him? His behaviour was completely over the top. Struck by a moment of clarity his hormones relented as he turned to the wall to face his reflection, ponderous of his own identity and place in existence. A vague, green, alien shaped blob shimmered back at him. For all the reflective quality the walls promised they delivered little. Zarg’s curiosity quickly turned to frustration at the inability to distinguish his ear from his leg. He set off around the ship once more, his hormones returning to huff and puff their displeasure.
The corridors stretched on for miles, offering little variation amongst the thirty floors they provided access to. It made walking along them a challenge for the senses that yearned stimulation; fortunately entering a room more than made up for the famine.
When the time came for the Jefferians to build a craft to explore the universe, they had little to draw on other than what they had seen in 1950’s science fiction movies from Earth. Drafting in a team of master designers they explained their idea of a ship: a giant silver saucer with matching interior, except for a pleasantly carpeted control room. Slightly irritated by such a simple request, a task well below their talent, the designers set about the corridors and did as asked. Unhappy their good name would be attached to work so dull and lifeless they requested a meeting with the Jefferian King, explaining that a ship doesn’t have to stick to such strict boundaries and can look anyway you wish. The king was always willing to learn and in response gave the designers complete freedom over the rest of the interior, at which point raw extravagance took over.
Their creativity, subdued by working on the corridors, had built to the point of eruption, and with permission to do as they please it spilled over into every available nook and cranny. By the time they were finished the entire Jefferian fleet was a cacophony of surprises just waiting to be opened, the replica Trevi fountain that served as a sink in the toilets on level six being a particular highlight.
Zarg had been walking for around ten minutes when the solution to his boredom struck: food; more specifically, Dovwar pie. The meat of the Dovwar has been compared to party sausages wrapped in bacon, only in large, dense slabs of many layers, separated by melted cheese. His mouth motioned a bite as his pace quickened, the imaginary pastry cracking effortlessly beneath his teeth.
He reached the canteen with eyes half closed, lost in imagined flavour.
Wiping his drool with the back of his arm, Zarg pushed the ample door to the canteen open. It swung gently on its hinges, bathing the little alien in light and sound. Stepping inside he had no interest in the designer’s vision of a fully operational fairground doubling up as a cafeteria; all Zarg wanted was the finest slice of Dovwar pie in the room, and he knew exactly where to find it.
Although predominantly a fairground, the centre of the room held the essence of a canteen. A multitude of tables, each incorporating a minimum of six comfortable seats, were grouped to
gether. This nucleus was surrounded by an increasing density of stalls and tents, all of which supplied food. You could choose to be served freely or play the game they offered in return for sustenance. The bigger rides sat on the outskirts and offered snacks to those who were eating casually between meals.
Zarg let his mind wander as he headed towards his favourite stall at the far end of the cavernous room. He always played the game it offered, partly to boost his inconsistent ego but mainly to show off to Jennifer, the stall holder and object of Zarg’s crush. Being such a logical young chap he knew she was unattainable and was merely a test run for the emotions he would one day need to partake in a relationship, but logic didn’t stop him blushing whenever she smiled at him.
The stall was hidden away from the more popular areas meaning it was usually quiet. Zarg left the walking process to his subconscious. A few adjustments here and there were enough to avoid any major embarrassments in the form of trips and falls. It had travelled the path enough times to know exactly where they were heading. He allowed his conscious mind to wander freely as he went. They settled on watching a young soldier test his strength; apparently he was strong to the point of eighty. This pleased the soldier greatly as he turned to his friends in a victory stance: legs spread and both arms fully extended above his head. Zarg wondered what his own strength would be before remembering he didn’t care about that kind of thing, he was more cerebral. A smirk of superiority flashed across his face, distracting his subconscious for a moment. The ensuing stumble saw his grin disappear as the soldier and his friends mocked him from afar. Lowering his gaze, Zarg picked up the pace.
Reaching his destination, Zarg smiled to see Jennifer behind the counter. A warm glow fluttered through his intestines. Some would call it love, Zarg called it hunger. It wasn’t just Jennifer’s understated prettiness that Zarg liked, she understood him in a way those his own age didn’t. He felt they shared a level of maturity, mentally if not physically.
“Greetings, Zarg.” Jennifer offered the little alien the usual friendly welcome. He felt instantly at ease, and a little dizzy with pleasure.
“Greetings in return. I have come for the greatest pie the ship can offer.” Zarg felt confident flirting with Jennifer as he knew it couldn’t lead anywhere, although her occasional reciprocation left him floundering.
“With compliments like that you’re always welcome here. How are things?” Jennifer set the game up as she spoke.
The game was simple: each player was given a hand held cannon and three missiles. A circle sat eighteen feet away with a hole at the centre. This led to a clear tube that reached down to the floor. The aim was to fire the missile into the centre of the circle without touching the sides of the pipe that created the hole. Any contact would result in the missile being fired instantly back in your direction. Success allowed the dart to fall into the tube and to the ground. Those bullets would then be weighed and the equivalent amount of Dovwar pie handed over.
“You mean aside from the constant battle with my parents?” Zarg looked to the sky with disappointment, at the same time taking the cannon Jennifer offered.
“Do they still not understand?”
“If they did they’d stop punishing me just for being alive. It was their choice to create me. I’m just a consequence of their selfish desire to be loved.” Zarg listened to the words he was saying as he lined up his first shot. He wanted to compliment them on doing such a fine job of raising him, but the harder he tried to be nice the more vehement his abuse became.
“Do you need reminding of the rules?” Jennifer chose to side step his comments and changed the subject.
“The rules that lead to such an unsurpassed pie experience are engraved upon my very soul.”
“Ooh you little charmer. Have another dart.” She passed the missile over with a wink.
Zarg paused briefly, unsure how to interpret the gesture. He wobbled slightly before raising the cannon in front of his face, taking a moment to recompose himself before aiming. Once over his fluster he added another pause for added drama. He knew how to put on a show.
Preparing to fire, the smell of pie escaped from beneath the table. For many this caused a distraction, for Zarg it merely offered focus. Taking in a lungful of the culinary delights odour, he fired then listened intently, ready to duck should it return. Two tense seconds passed before the dart fell into the tube.
“Nice shot. Maybe it isn’t too late to consider becoming a soldier.” Jennifer knew Zarg’s feelings on the forces.
“I don’t think my testosterone is in the right places to become a soldier.” The second shot left the cannon with an air of nonchalance. The tension was missing as the dart fell into the tube in an increasing heap.
“Things change, Zarg. Never say never.” She smiled in a way that could have meant five different things. Zarg presumed it was desire.
“I’d never be so naïve.” His concentration shifted. Did she mean things change as in he will one day be old enough for them to date without embarrassment? The thoughts didn’t stop the third dart mirroring the first two and adding to the growing pile. “I’m just sure my presence in the army would benefit neither myself nor them.”
“Well whatever you choose to do I’m sure you’ll be a success.” Jennifer kept one eye on the target and one on Zarg as he fired his final shot. It too fell without drama, joining the others.
“That’s very kind of you to say.” Zarg retreated in to politeness, unsure if this was genuine flirting or friendliness. He could feel his cheeks warming and awkwardness beginning to course through his veins. He decided to keep eye contact to a minimum and conversation strictly to his prize. “I believe I’ve won some pie.”
Jennifer had already retrieved the darts and placed them on the ornate scales she swore by. Reaching beneath the counter she lifted a slab of pie that left Zarg dizzy with excitement. It was bigger than his brother.
Jennifer’s years of pie cutting experience had taught her exactly how much related to four darts, yet this didn’t stop her cutting slightly less. It was a tip passed down by her grandfather: always cut less than they have won, then when you add the slice that makes the weight correct the customer will feel extra special. It was a far better tip than his advice on dealing with a dart in the face; she hadn’t been able to find the technique of closing your eyes and ignoring it in any manual she’d read since. She stored it as a loving anecdote rather than a first aid procedure.
In truth Jennifer always gave Zarg an extra slice, but he still witnessed the same routine to receive it. He considered the cutting of the pie to be as important a ritual as the actual eating. Nervously grinning thanks, he stared at his reward as he walked away. For now food still out ranked the attention of a lady.
Zarg searched for a seat. He wanted to ensure he got a table alone, social awkwardness was never a pleasant side dish. All the time he resisted the urge to nibble his prize. Denying himself would make that first bite all the tastier.
Zarg avoided the centre cluster of tables; invariably somebody would join you; however the seats nearer the edge suffered from the passing traffic of people visiting stalls. The little alien quickly found the perfect spot between the edge and the centre. The empty tables that surrounded it would suffice as alternatives for others seeking solace in their own company. Zarg sat down and removed the cutlery from his tray. He’d already chosen the corner that would make up the last bite. He gazed at it longingly while snacking on the smaller chunks that were scattered across his plate. It glistened with the perfect ratio of pastry to filling. After teasing himself long enough to heighten his taste buds he approached the main slab and slid his knife through its entirety with minimal effort. Cooked to perfection, the meat offered little resistance. Securing a mighty chunk on his fork, his arm trembled with excitement as he lifted it towards his mouth.
“Alright Zarg. You don’t mind if I sit here do you? Didn’t think so. How’s it going?” Don sat down with a thud. He didn’t care how Zarg was or
if he wanted his company. “Are you gonna eat that pie or kiss it? I’ll have it if you don’t want it. Do you not want it Zarg?” Don was in Zarg’s class and had a talent for annoying people, but being twice as big as everyone else and a having a tendency towards unprovoked violence meant his peers usually tolerated it rather than mount a challenge. Zarg filled his mouth with as much pie as he could, just to stop Don stealing it. It ruined the whole experience.
“I can’t wait for this war to get started.” Don continued. Oblivious to Zarg’s sorrowful chewing. “My dad said I can question a prisoner if I keep me room tidy ‘til we land. Said I can try out a few torture techniques. Do you want to see some I’ve been practicing?” Don put his fork down as Zarg waved his arms. He swallowed the pie as quickly as he could in order to add his voice to the non verbal protest.
“No it’s okay.” The food slipped down his throat in a mechanical manner. All sense of enjoyment had gone. “I don’t think it’s going to be that kind of take over Don. I’m not sure there’ll be a war and prisoners.” Zarg sipped his drink with a watery eye.
“Are you calling my dad a liar?” Don had barely retrieved his fork before slamming it back down and preparing to pick up his fighting fists once more.
“No, no, no. Not at all. I just think they’re going for a more subtle approach.” Zarg cowered slightly.
“If I was entirely sure what subtle meant you might be regretting saying it right now.” Don’s look ensured Zarg knew he meant it. The little alien picked at his food as the bully wolfed his down. Don spoke again, spitting chunks of something meat based with each word. “We’re definitely taking the Earth over though?”
“Yes.” Zarg didn’t want to say any more than he had to. It was too risky.
“Without fighting?”
“Without fighting.” It was going well.
“How can you win a battle without fighting?” Don suspected he was being made to look a fool.
“It was all covered in the assignment we did for future history class. Did you not do your assignment?” Zarg asked in the least offensive tone he could muster.
“I handed it in. Dave Harper did the actual work. I told him to get me a B or I’d smash his face in.” He beamed with pride at his ingenuity.
“Did you get a B?”
“I got an A, and Dave Harper got what was coming to him for not getting a B.” Zarg didn’t wish to point out that an A was better than a B. Maybe Don knew that. “You still haven’t told me how we’re going to win without fighting.” The bully was growing restless.
“An ingenious plan has been devised that leaves no need for fighting and thus no risk of harm to us.”
“I think fighting’s a pretty ingenious way of winning, and when I fight there’s no risk of harm to me.”
“I agree Don, but we’re not all as skilled as you in the art of pugilism.”
“First subtle now pugilisrosness. You are mocking me!” Don stood up.
“I’m not, I’m not. It just means fighting with your fists.” Zarg cowered, glancing at his pie longingly.
“Well say that then. If I wasn’t so understanding that could have ended very badly for you.” Don ripped more meat from the bones of something well cooked. “So what’s this wimpy plan then?”
“We’re going to stop time on Earth then steal all the tea and coffee and hold it as ransom until they sign ownership of the franchise over to us.” Zarg gave an appeasing smile, trying to steer clear of any hint of mockery.
“I’d rather smash ‘em in. I’m good at that. Do you want me to show you somethi…..” Don never got to finish his sentence as a toffee apple flew across the room and struck the back of his head. After the initial jolt forward he turned and began running in one smooth movement. He flew in a fury in the direction of the missiles origin, fists ready to swing and eyes scanning for culprits. Zarg sighed relief at being left alone as mayhem erupted around twenty feet away. He only had eyes for the corner of Dovwar pie that lay on his plate. He snuck away to find somewhere quieter to fulfil its destiny.
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