by Mark Crilley
Billy allowed his eyes to meet Ana's for a split second but immediately found he preferred looking somewhere else. Anywhere else.
“Ana's a little like you, Billy,” Jim continued with a grin, “except that when she discovered what you discovered she was only seven years old. They tried to convince her to wait until she was older, but she insisted on starting early. Little Ana was just made a full-fledged Affy, what was it, a year ago?”
Ana rolled her eyes. She obviously wasn't too crazy about being called little Ana.
“Yes, yes,” Fernando said, beaming with pride. “The youngest in the organization right now.”
“But she'll not stay an Affy long,” Maria said to Billy with mock seriousness, “if she doesn't improve the terrible grades she's been getting in school.”
Ana ignored this remark and turned to Billy with an excited smile. “So you're an Affy too? We younger Affys have to stick together. Show the adults we're not as dumb as they think we are, you know?”
She had an accent just like her parents, and spoke with that same C'mon, let's be friends tone of voice. Billy had dealt with her sort before. They were good-looking, they knew everything about everything, and they thought everyone they met should instantly adore them.
“I'm not an Affy,” Billy said, trying to come up with a clever remark to follow this with but finding himself at an utter loss.
Linda put a reassuring hand on Billy's shoulder. “Give him time, Ana. He just found out about all this last night.”
Oh, great, Mom, thought Billy. Now she thinks I'm some kind of charity case.
“It's going to take him a while to get used to things,” Linda continued. “Then we can see if he wants to be an Affy or not.”
“Oh, you will,” said Ana. She moved closer to Billy, and for a moment he feared she might actually take a seat next to him. “Being an Affy is a lot of fun. It can be a little scary, depending on which creatch you're battling. And people do get bitten or even eaten alive sometimes, you know….”
Billy wished she'd stop saying you know. “Still, you're going to love it, I'm sure. Tell me if you need any help when your Affy entrance exams start. Some of those questions can be tricky, you know, especially the multiple choice and fill-in-the-blanks. I'd be happy to give you some tips.”
Billy felt his face growing warm. How can she talk to me like this? Like she's the big expert and I'm a nobody?
“I wish we could stay, Jimmy,” Fernando said, “but we're due in Vladivostok by the end of the day. Big creatch op going on. Spotted scumspitters. It's getting pretty sticky over there.”
Finally. They're leaving.
“Nice meeting you, Billy,” said Ana. She touched him on the arm as she said it, and Billy suddenly found it impossible to say anything in return. He ended up producing a sound that was a cross between a cough and a gulp.
“Such a pretty young girl,” Linda said after they were gone. “And smart as a whip. You should become friends with her, Billy. She could teach you a thing or two about creatch battling, that's for sure.”
I don't need her. I'm going to learn how to be an Affy on my own.
Jim Clikk waved his vita-dog in the air, trying to remember something. “Ana was the one who single-handedly captured the flesh-eating glabslug of Ouagadougou, wasn't she?”
“Yes,” said Linda. “And at age nine. Very impressive.”
“Can we talk about something else?” Billy said, and his parents smiled at each other for some reason.
Jim pointed his hot dog in Orzamo's direction. “Want some of this, Orzy?”
Orzamo grimaced, shook her head, and went back to examining a newspaper Linda had placed on the floor for her. Orzamo had always spent a lot of time nosing through newspapers and magazines back in Piffling (when she still went by the name of Piker). Billy had noticed it, along with many other distinctly undoglike habits of hers, and had been vaguely aware that there was something unusual about her. He had noticed these details but had never managed to string them all together or question what they all meant. Now, though, Billy saw plainly that the dog wasn't just looking at the newspaper. She was reading it.
“What's the deal with Orzamo?” Billy asked. “Is she superintelligent or what?”
Billy's parents exchanged a glance. Jim made a face that suggested Linda had better handle this one.
“Orzamo is a demi-creatch,” Linda explained. “An ordinary animal—in this case, a dog—crossbred with a creatch.”
Billy's eyes widened.
“Don't worry, she's not dangerous. Not to us, anyway.” Linda smiled at Orzamo, who smiled back and wagged her tail. “Demi-creatches are an important part of AFMEC's operation. We've managed to convert quite a lot of them to our cause.”
“So she's smarter than an ordinary dog?”
Linda raised a finger: she had just taken a big bite of hot dog and needed time to chew and swallow. “Oh, yes. Much smarter. And that's just the beginning.” She turned to Orzamo. “Go on, Orzy. Show Billy what you really look like.”
Orzamo stood up on all fours and shook herself vigorously, as if she'd just stepped out of a tub full of water. When she stopped, she had changed in almost every respect: black fur had turned to yellow shiny skin; dog ears had turned to small, curved horns; and stubby paws had turned to three-toed chicken feet. She was now an exotic lizard, a miniature dinosaur with a tail the length of Billy's arm.
Billy's jaw dropped.
All traces of the dog he'd known as Piker were gone. Well, all but her long, wet tongue, which hung out of her mouth just as it always had, bobbing up and down as she panted in short doglike breaths.
“Creatch blood is dominant,” Linda said. “Orzamo's forest creatch characteristics overpower her dog characteristics. If not for all the training she's undergone, she'd look like this all the time, even back home.”
“Did you say forest creatch characteristics?”
“That's right. There are five different kinds of creatch. Forest creatches, which include tropical and jungle creatches. Ground creatches, which include desert, tundra, and subterranean creatches. Aquatic creatches, which can be found both in the oceans and in some large inland lakes. Mountain creatches, which limit themselves mainly to elevations of one thousand feet or higher. And air creatches, which share some habitat with mountain creatches but stay airborne for much of their lives.
“Orzamo's mother was an ordinary dog,” Linda went on. “Her father was a forest creatch. Interbreeding between animals and creatches is very rare. The vast majority of creatches that encounter animals are more interested in eating them than mating with them. Luckily for us, Orzamo's father was one of the less aggressive creatches.
He came across her mother—a terrier that had strayed into the forests of Saskatchewan—and evidently fell in love.
“Your father and I found all three of them by chance when we were on a creatch op outside Moose Jaw back before you were born. We brought them back to AFMECopolis, where Orzamo's parents stayed for many years. Her mother finally died ten years ago after a good long life. Orzamo's father died a couple years later.”
Jim folded his hands behind his head and turned to Linda. “Isn't it great that we're finally able to tell him all this stuff?”
She smiled back. “Isn't it, though?”
Billy was down on all fours, examining Orzamo up close. “This is… incredible.” He ran a hand across her back, marveling at the smooth reptile skin. Every so often he could hear a faint bleating sound, like the purring of an alien cat.
“Without Orzamo we'd never be able to leave you alone in Piffling like we do.” Linda patted her mouth with a napkin. “That's her main job, actually: to protect you while we're gone. We hired Leo Krebs mainly just to reassure you that someone other than your dog was keeping an eye on you.”
“You know, I've been thinking,” Jim said. “This whole involuntary leave business is a blessing in disguise. This is our chance to make things right with Billy.” Linda nodded enthusiastically.
>
Jim Clikk popped the last of his hot dog into his mouth and kept right on talking. “A month is not nearly enough to make up for what we've put you through all these years”—he pointed a finger at Billy—“but it's a start.” He swallowed noisily. “From here on out we're going to be spending a lot more time together.”
Billy put on a face of mock horror. “Man, maybe I was better off before.”
Linda ignored this remark and began tidying up the table. “We've never had a month off, so we'd better make the most of it. Let's see if we can get you a few days off school for a family vacation.”
“A vacation, eh?” said Billy. “You guys getting busted is going to work out in my favor.” He was glad to get out of school and finally have some quality time with his parents. Still, he was a little disappointed to be leaving AFMECopolis so soon. He wanted to stay and find out more about creatches and being an Affy.
“Come on,” Jim said as he rose from the table. “Let's blow this Popsicle stand.”
They all got up, bused their trays, and headed back to pick up the van. Orzamo trotted along beside them.
Linda was now in plan-making mode and sounded genuinely happy about the prospect of having some time off. “What do you say we go see Gramma? Not today. Tomorrow. Once we get home and rest up a bit. She's got stories that'll make your head spin.”
When they got back to the docking platform, Gordy came running out in a state of minor panic, his parrot creature yowling with displeasure.
“There you are, Mr. Clikk! Mr. Vriffnee needs to talk to you. Says it's urgent. Is there a problem with your viddy-fone or something?”
Jim wore a confused expression as he fished his viddy-fone out of his pocket. “No, Gordy. But we're on involun—on vacation right now. I switched it off.”
“Well, you'd best switch it back on!” Gordy shouted as he dashed off to get the van, his parrot flapping madly to keep up with him.
TEEP
Mr. Vriffnee's voice came blasting out of the viddy-fone the moment Jim popped it open. The words were indistinct, but Billy could tell something big was going on. Jim could hardly get a word in.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Vriffnee, but I thought… Of course, Mr. Vriffnee … Yes, but … Certainly…. Certainly…. The Taj Mahal? Wow…. Yes, Mr. Vriffnee…. Thank you, Mr. Vriffnee. … We won't let you down. … Absolutely. We'll report in as soon as we get there.”
TEEP
“Gordy!” Jim called out as soon as he shut the viddy-fone off. “Better get the van loaded up for a ground-creatch operation. Weapons, ammo, and the full range of tranquilizers.”
“I'm on it, Mr. Clikk!”
Jim turned to Billy with a tired smile. “Vacation's over, son. Skeeter gig. In India.”
“What is today,” Jim asked as he revved the engine, “Thursday?”
Linda chuckled. “No, honey. It's Saturday.”
They were back on the little island of stone where they'd first arrived. Jim pulled a few knobs on the dashboard and the van slowly rose into the air.
“Saturday? Already? Oh well, at least we won't have to come up with an excuse for Billy not being in school today.”
“Wait a minute,” Billy said. “You mean I'm coming with you guys? I thought Mr. Vriffnee said—”
“He changed his mind, son,” Jim said. “We've got to be in India ASAP. No time for pit stops back in Piffling.”
I'm going to India, thought Billy. How much weirder is this day going to get? “All right, so… what exactly are we going to be doing in India?”
“We,” Linda said, glancing at Billy to make sure he understood that we referred only to his parents, “will be handling a code-red invasive creatch operation. You will be watching from a safe distance.”
Safe distance? Billy didn't like this.
“But Mom, this is the perfect chance for me to begin my Affy training,” he said. “That Ana girl was battling creatches when she was nine years old. I'm twelve already, and I'll be thirteen before the end of the year….”
“Now, hang on, son,” said Jim. “Ana didn't go on a creatch op the day after she was brought to AFMECopolis. She was younger than you, sure, but she went through months of prep before they decided she was ready to get some experience in the field.”
“Come on, Dad, you've got to at least let me help.
” “Oh, we'll find something for you to do, don't worry. But you're not going to go head to head with a creatch on your first day out.”
“I'm not asking to go head to head. But I want to be close enough to see the thing at least.”
“Just…be patient, kiddo. You'll get your chance to see acreatch once you've passed the exams. A year or two from now, tops.”
“A year or two?” said Billy. “That's ages.” “
Take it easy, darling,” said Linda. “I was just as anxious to see a creatch when I was your age. But you've got to take things one step at a time.”
Billy kept quiet for a minute or two. He was frustrated but he hadn't given up yet.
Maybe the creatch will come out in the open. Or they'll change their minds. I've gotta sneak a peek somehow….
He changed his tone of voice to sound as if he'd accepted their decision but simply wanted more information. “So what kind of creatch are you going to be dealing with?”
“An orf,” Jim said. “A type of ground creatch. One of them has taken up residence in the Taj Mahal. As you can imagine, the local authorities aren't too tickled about it.”
“This one will be tricky,” said Linda. “Getting rid of the orf without damaging the Taj is going to be a very delicate procedure.”
“A creatch in the Taj Mahal,” said Billy. “Man, this must be all over the news and everything.”
“Actually, they've managed to keep it under wraps. Most governments have people in their own media who understand the importance of secrecy in these matters. So far as the world is concerned, the Taj is temporarily closed due to a water-main break.”
“I get it. So you two are going to go into the Taj Mahal and kill this orf?”
“Oh, we won't kill it if we don't have to,” Linda said. “Just knock it out. We've got an assortment of tranquilizers that usually do the job. Once the creatch is unconscious, it's simply a matter of getting it back to creatch-controlled territory.”
“What's an orf look like?”
“There's a book up there in that locker in front of you,” Linda said. “The AFMEC Guide to Ground Creatches. See it?”
Billy looked up, opened the locker above his head, and found a massive black book among many others on a shelf.
“Look under O. There should be a picture there.”
Billy flipped through the book, past illustrations of longnecked creatches, hundred-legged creatches, and creatches with heads where their navels ought to be. He came at last to a single page relating to orfs.
An illustration carefully rendered in the manner of nineteenth-century engravings depicted a black, furry beast with dozens of hairy tentacles. The silhouette of a man drawn next to it showed that the orf was roughly five times as large as a human: big enough, Billy imagined, to eat the man and still have room for more.
Billy read through the paragraphs beneath the illustration and soon came to the conclusion that Affys didn't know as much about these orfs as they would like.
DIET: Further study needed. Some researchers have suggested a fondness for the flesh of goats, based on carcasses found during cleanup operations. Teeth are large, tightly packed, and capable of tearing through flesh with astonishing speed. One agent, who lost the better part of his left leg to an orf, reported that the limb was severed and swallowed in under a second. Evidence suggests, however, that orfs prefer swallowing their prey whole.
LANGUAGE COMPREHENSION: None. Rumors persist of orfs that can be trained to understand simple commands, but there is no hard evidence of this.
MOVEMENT: Orfs move primarily by burrowing through the earth using claws that project from their tentacles, then retract wh
en not in use. On rare occasions they have been seen moving overland at speeds in excess of forty miles per hour, but, like most ground creatches, they prefer to stay out of sunlight whenever possible.
DEFENSES: Orf saliva is a green gelatinous substance that is believed to induce drowsiness in humans after prolonged exposure. Orfs are said to be capable of using their tentacles to throw objects with startling accuracy. Orf tentacles can also take hold of prey and constrict with lethal force; studies of mangled goat flesh suggest tentacles are capable of strangling prey at pressures up to seven tons per square foot.
WEAKNESSES: Poorly understood.
SUGGESTED CREATCH OP TECHNIQUES: Unclear. Some agents have reported success with tranquilizers; others have found them entirely ineffective. Nets and traps have had limited success. Agents are urged to exercise extreme caution. Though few agents have been killed by orfs, those who have are thought to have died slowly and in almost unimaginable pain.
“Wow,” said Billy. “These orfs are heavy-duty.
” “Yes,” said Linda. “Which is all the more reason why you need to keep a safe distance. An orf could eat five boys your age without even thinking about it. We've got protective gear, so you don't have to worry about us. But trust me, you're going to want to be as far away from this thing as you can get.”
I'll be the judge of that, thought Billy.
Several hours later they landed in Agra—or rather, on a dusty road outside Agra, where they raised a fuss among a herd of cows but otherwise didn't attract much attention.
Linda consulted a map while his father steered the BUGZB-GON van through narrow lanes past towering Hindu temples and women carrying bronze-colored pitchers of water on their heads. There were white-bearded beggars, carpet vendors, and men sitting down for a shave right on the side of the road. One old turbaned man was selling tea in tiny clay cups that customers disposed of by simply smashing them on the ground.
Billy had never seen anything like India, that was for sure. Or smelled anything like it either. Every time he inhaled he caught different scents mixed together: curry, manure, flowers, exhaust fumes, and always something deep-fried and spicysmelling from food stalls along the road.
