Skid

by Keith Fenwick

  Punch could not contain himself. He leapt at the plate, knocking it from the alien’s hand. In an instant the other two dogs charged at the plate, devouring its contents in seconds. Not satisfied with this meager offering, they pushed the plate around the floor until it slid under the trolley, out of reach.

  “I trust that meal was to your satisfaction, sirs?”

  “Woof.”

  “Oi, what about me?” Bruce was more than a little hungry himself. “Don’t worry about the dogs. They don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  “You require sustenance?”

  “Yes, of course. What about you, Sue?” Bruce added almost as an afterthought, thinking she could probably use a good feed.

  “What have you got in there? Food? Drink?”

  “I have a wide selection for you to choose from,” the alien said, opening up the trolley, revealing trays of various sizes and colors.

  “Get out of it!” Bruce snapped at the dogs when they immediately showed renewed interest in the food.

  “I will leave you to make your own selection, unless there is anything else you require,” Mulgoon said with great formality.

  “Nah. Can’t think of anything. Sue? Oh, hang on a minute! Is this stuff okay to eat?”

  “Oh yes,” Mulgoon replied. “I have analyzed your physiological profiles and have found your nutritional requirements are quite similar to our own.”

  “Thanks, mate,” Bruce grunted sardonically.

  Mulgoon bowed almost imperceptibly, an insult that would be recognized by any Skidian but was completely lost on Bruce and Sue, and left the room without a further word.

  Bruce pulled some of the trays out of their racks, peered into the containers, pulled the lids off others and sniffed at them all suspiciously. None of it looked particularly appetizing. Bruce poked his finger at some of the rice-like material that seemed to have the consistency of rubber. He looked at some of the containers that held fluids, some hot and others cold. His sniff test revealed one lot that resembled coffee, another that might have been beer, and one that was probably water.

  He scooped a blob out of a bowl and threw it at Cop, who wolfed it down and came looking for more. Even though the dogs ate anything without a second thought, he took it to be a sign it was safe to eat.

  Bruce shrugged, popped some of the stuff into his mouth and waited for his taste buds to react. It was like eating rubbery, tasteless rice, a bit bland but not otherwise offensive.

  “Seems alright to me,” he said, mostly to himself and partly to Sue, who seemed to be hypnotized by the sight of the trolley.

  He took a spoonful from another bowl and then sampled the others in turn only to find that each bowl appeared to contain the same bland, unappetizing material. “Go on, try some, Sue. You must be hungry,” he said shoveling food into his mouth.

  Finally Sue seemed to snap out of her daze, mustered her confidence a little at the sight of Bruce eating and tentatively tried some herself.

  “What do you reckon about it, then?”

  Bland and more or less tasteless the food may have been, but it certainly seemed to fill the spot.

  “Reckon? Well, it’s a bit like yogurt, sort of.”

  “Dunno. I’ve never really been partial to healthy food like yogurt. I’m a fan of proper food myself,” Bruce said.

  In his considered opinion proper food included things like roast mutton, steak, eggs and chips, roast spuds, peas, carrots, bacon and eggs, cheese and Vegemite sandwiches.

  Bruce turned his attention to the liquid refreshments. The liquid that smelled a bit like beer tasted a bit like it too. He took a swig from the flask, wiping foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. “That tastes good.” He swallowed some more beer and suddenly felt quite lightheaded. So much so that he had to steady himself against the trolley. “Got a bit of a kick to it as well.”

  “Is this decaf, do you think?” Sue asked, sniffing suspiciously at the coffee-like liquid.

  Highly bloody likely, thought Bruce.

  “Dunno, try some anyway.”

  He tossed a couple of bowls of food onto the floor, which the dogs immediately launched themselves at, and filled the empty bowls with water for them.

  Taking another draught of beer, he began to hunt about in the trolley, moving containers around until, feeling a little uncoordinated, he accidentally knocked one to the floor. Can began to devour the mess, trying to shoulder the other two dogs out of the way at the same time. The sight was so comical, like feeding time at the zoo, that Bruce laughed and deliberately knocked another couple of bowls onto the floor.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Just feeding the dogs,” Bruce slurred.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “No way,” he retorted. Not yet anyhow, he thought, as he rummaged through the trolley. “Hello! What have we here?”

  On a recessed shelf in the end of the trolley Bruce found a small, flat box. After fumbling with the catch he flipped open the lid to find a sheath of wafer-thin papers and a fibrous material that smelt like toasted tobacco. “Shit hot!” he exclaimed loudly and somewhat theatrically, knocking more food containers off the trolley as he swung around to show Sue.

  The drone maid, who had shot out of its hole and was competing with the dogs to clean the mess up on the floor, ran over Bruce’s bare foot. He gave it an experimental nudge. He suddenly felt like wrecking something, felt like lashing out at the unfairness of it all. The drone responded by rolling to a stop and emitting a high-pitched, outraged squeal. He chucked the rest of his beer over it and then rammed it into the wall with the trolley, barely missing Sue, who quickly jumped out of the way.

  “Stop it, you maniac!” she screamed, afraid his behavior would get them into trouble with the aliens.

  “How dare they kidnap me!” Bruce yelled, ramming the drone into the wall again. “Bloody stupid-looking thing,” he panted. “Must be just about idiot-proof.”

  Disappointingly the drone seemed to be quite undamaged so Bruce picked it up and flung it into the corner as hard as he could, pelting it with food and drink until the trolley was nearly emptied.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to wreck things, what does it look like, you silly woman?”

  Sue was momentarily stunned by Bruce’s insult, then after a further moment’s hesitation pitched in and started throwing things around the room herself.

  The dogs did their best to contribute to the mess, although they spent most of their time dodging misguided missiles. When the ammunition was spent Sue and Bruce slumped onto the bed, the dogs retreated to their places in the corner and the drone righted itself and went about its business as if nothing had happened.

  Bruce found the box of tobacco and rolled himself a smoke. By the time he had located his lighter the drone had somehow righted the trolley, replaced the bowls and plates, and cleaned up the mess on the floor and walls. The sight of the drone disappearing back into its lair made Bruce wonder why he had even bothered.

  Seven

  “What is your initial assessment of the offworlders, Mulgoon?” Toytoo asked as they watched the them throw their food around the guest suite.

  Mulgoon took a few moments to consider his reply, because he really had no idea. “Without an in-depth analysis of the sort we would be able to conduct on Skid, it is difficult to say accurately.”

  “Yes, yes, we understand,” said Toytoo impatiently, disliking Mulgoon and his fellow intellectuals for their inability to make a decision about anything. Given even a simple question, they never seemed able to reply directly, if at all. “Just give us your initial impressions.”

  “I would say they have a limited mental capacity and agility. For instance, their inability to use the amenities keypad effectively indicates this.”

  “But sufficiently capable to satisfy our needs?”

  “Possibly.” Mulgoon was not going to commit himself if he could avoid it.

  “Mm.”

&nbs
p; “How do you suggest we prepare them for their role on Skid?” Cyprus was more concerned with practicalities. The offworlders’ intellectual abilities concerned him little; however, he was secretly envious of their primitive status, which allowed the offworlders to get away with the violent outburst he was witnessing. Although he had managed to claw his way up the Skidian social pecking order, Cyprus realized his peers would never really accept him as an equal. If only he could vent the feelings of inadequacy this knowledge gave him, in the same fashion as the offworlders, he was sure he would feel much better. Generations of cultural programming denied him any form of release, physical or otherwise, in this way. He was not even sure it was acceptable for a Skidian to have these feelings. He was not about to discuss them with anybody either because one misplaced word or action could mean permanent detention in a social re-education camp.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do much at all. I consider they will be of most use to our cause if they first prove their adaptability to Skid.” Mulgoon was not sure how the offworlders should be primed to complete their mission on Skid. Leaving their destiny in their own hands neatly sidestepped the whole problem of him having to think how.

  “Like all Skidians they should gravitate into whatever occupation was ordained for them, in this case to produce food organically for Skid and peacefully accept the way of things. We should make the offworlders subtly aware of our problems and then provide them with the means to solve them in their own fashion,” Mulgoon waffled on.

  Toytoo nodded wisely. Not that he really understood the rationale Mulgoon was advocating. This was not surprising, as neither did Mulgoon.

  The matter was complicated by the impossibility of simply telling the offworlders exactly what was required of them on Skid. It was not just a matter of an admission of weakness or failure of Skidian technological might, which would have been bad enough. Just making any statement directly about any matter was simply not done on Skid.

  “Have you managed to collect any other data on the offworlders?” Toytoo asked, changing the subject slightly.

  This was much safer ground for Mulgoon, and he began to reel off the paltry details he had assembled on his subjects. “We have in our possession two primary specimens, one female and one male, who are, as I have already mentioned, physiologically very similar to ourselves. Three more primitive specimens, which I have not been able to identify, accompany the male.

  “Primitive? How primitive?”

  “I don’t know. I won’t be able to tell until I have studied them further.” Mulgoon hurried to cover his uncertainties. “However aggressive they appear to be, the male specimen has them firmly under his control. I suspect they may have a role in personal security, though I am only guessing. Hopefully things will be clearer with the equipment available at our medical research unit in Sietnuoc.”

  Mulgoon paused to study his slate. “The female appears somewhat emotionally unstable. At this stage I am not convinced she will prove entirely satisfactory for our purposes because of this. However, it must be remembered that we transported her from a region of vast organic structures so she may be of some long-term value. The male, according to initial investigations, is of low intelligence and should be easy to manipulate. Unfortunately he also appears to be somewhat aggressive.” On screen Bruce and Sue were in the last throes of trying to pull the trolley apart. “See what I mean?”

  “Brothers, it looks as if we have failed in our mission,” Cyprus said, sadly summing up the situation up for his companions.

  “I hope not,” Toytoo muttered, just loud enough for the others to hear. “Our need is too great, and these offworlders may be our only chance of salvation.”

  “They could be intergalactic explorers, taking us back as research material to their planet,” Bruce speculated, not considering how Sue might think about this, even though he felt quite excited. “This whole spaceship could be crammed with all kinds of animals and plants they are taking home to analyze. Maybe they want to see what makes us tick.”

  “So we’re just guinea pigs, then?” Sue shivered. “I wonder if they are watching us?”

  “Probably. Mind you, the alien I met out there said something about helping them. Buggered if I know what he meant.” Bruce was thoughtful for a moment. “It’s funny, you know, I’ve always laughed at the reports of deranged old bags from some hick town or another who says she’s met a Martian or been taken for a ride by one. And look at us!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Bruce thought for a moment. “We’re just like the first Indians that the early European explorers of America took back with them, you know?”

  Sue shrugged.

  “You know, to be poked and prodded and paraded through the streets and then to die of the flu or some other white man’s disease.” Why the hell did I start on about this? Bruce asked himself. Getting Sue worked up over what might happen to them in the near future was the last thing he needed to do.

  “What are you talking about? I don’t understand a word you Australians say. Why don’t you speak proper English, for crying out loud?”

  “You watch your tongue, woman!” Bruce wagged a finger in Sue’s face as if nothing enraged him more than being mistaken for an Australian. “Don’t you ever call me that again!” He sounded so angry the dogs cowered in the corner. But, like Sue, the dogs had no way of knowing that Bruce was far more annoyed at himself for winding Sue up unnecessarily than at anything she had said; sometimes he just couldn’t help himself.

  “I’m a New Zealander,” he explained after a moment. “It’s a different country!”

  “But I thought New Zealand was part of Australia. Doesn’t the harbour bridge join Australia with New Zealand then?”

  “Oh shit, woman, I give up!”

  “Do you have kangaroos in New Zealand as well?” she asked, wondering why Bruce was getting so upset over such a trivial issue.

  “Are you really that dumb? Why are you people so insular and ignorant? Don’t you know anything?”

  “Oh, the whole world’s against me,” Sue wailed as tears started trickling down her cheeks again.

  Deciding he had probably overdone it a little Bruce sat beside her, and the dogs relaxed a bit. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, giving her a hug. “It’s just that we New Zealanders have a sort of love-hate relationship with Australians, probably a bit like you do with Canadians. We’re a bit touchy about being mistaken for them.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sue mumbled, but Bruce did not seem to hear her.

  “Look, New Zealand is further from Australia than the westernmost part of Russia is from America. How would you like to be mistaken for a Russian?”

  When Sue just shook her head and started crying even harder, Bruce realized he wasn’t improving the situation. “Listen,” he said, scratching at his nose, “I read a book once. Hey, don’t laugh,” he added as Sue began to giggle. “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just here we are on a spaceship going God knows where, you’re giving me a hard time about not knowing where you come from, and then you suddenly mention a book you once read.”

  “Yeah, well it’s sort of relevant to our present plight.”

  “Do you read much?” Sue asked, finding it hard to accept that the oafish redneck sitting beside her might even be literate.

  “I read this book once,” Bruce continued undeterred, “based on one of those hostage dramas in the Middle East. Beirut, I think. A bunch of Arabs had kidnapped some poor sods, and well, anyway, these hostages amused themselves by telling each other every detail they could remember about their lives.”

  “So?”

  “It gave them something to do to pass the time, eh. Take their minds off things. I’ll start if you like.”

  “Oh, I see what you mean. No, I’ll start,” said Sue eagerly, grasping at the opportunity to take her mind off her present predicament.

  Eight

  “What is the condition of our passengers, Myfair?” Toytoo asked.


  “Satisfactory at present,” Myfair replied. “They seemed to have settled over the last hour or so,” he added, turning back to the monitor. “Though I have noted that the male makes much use of agar in a most casual manner.” Though feigning outrage at this excess, Myfair was secretly envious of the offworlder, because agar was in short supply at the moment. “I think we may have to reassess our original analysis of the male as well.”

  “How do you mean?” Toytoo asked. “Surely we should leave these assessments to the experts.”

  “Perhaps, but I have a strange feeling about him, that’s all,” Myfair suggested. “I don’t trust the so-called experts,” he added to himself, as Mulgoon waddled into the control room accompanied by Cyprus.

  Myfair could not understand why his fellow crewmen were making such an issue out of what to do with the offworlders. Surely simply telling the offworlders what was required of them was a far less radical departure from the Skidian way than actually embarking on the trip to their planet in the first place. What was the point of retaining their dignity if it meant they were going to starve?

  Myfair also knew it was pointless arguing with them. They thought they were some kind of rebels, pushing for change. However, all they really wanted was to secure their own positions and ensure the continuation of the status quo. He despaired of his fellow Skidians and was frustrated by his powerlessness to do anything constructive to shake them out of their smug complacency.

  “Mulgoon, what will be the procedure for the offworlders when we return to Skid?” Toytoo asked.

  “They will be placed in strict quarantine while they undergo a variety of tests, and I imagine they will be presented to the ruling council, perhaps the entire senate, at some stage.”

  “Then we simply let them loose to solve all our problems? Impossible,” Cyprus shook his head.

  “I hope, for all our sakes, it isn’t impossible,” Toytoo replied seriously.