Skid

by Keith Fenwick

  “But you’ve got any amount of food available to you,” Bruce tried to tell him.

  Toytoo seemed not to hear and continued in a strangely offhand fashion as though he were reading from a prepared script, the contents of which he clearly did not engage or agree with.

  “Recently a small group of us decided to take some positive action in an attempt to combat this catastrophe. For many generations the existence of your planet has been well known to us, and we have visited often over the years.”

  If only the UFO experts back home could see how right they have been all these years, Bruce thought, amused at the idea.

  “Our observations have told us that despite your generally low level of technological sophistication, the population of your planet has increased rapidly over the last few decades. Therefore we concluded that somehow, for such a primitive planet, you must have very efficient food production systems.”

  Bruce couldn’t stop the laughter that welled up in his chest. Toytoo’s discourse sounded even more far-fetched the second time around.

  “Please let me finish,” demanded Toytoo, holding his hand up for silence. “Our group decided to travel to your planet and enlist the support of experts in organic food production. Do you think you can help us?” he asked almost as an afterthought.

  “Oh yeah, mate, no problems,” replied Bruce, though he was still not exactly sure what Toytoo wanted him to do. Organic food production was obviously an abstract concept for Toytoo. He knew there was merit in the concept but he did not understand it.

  “Good.”

  The briefing was suddenly at an end, as Toytoo, without another word, turned on his heel and left the room.

  “Hang on a minute, mate!”

  But Toytoo had gone, leaving a lot of unanswered questions.

  “You know, Sue, if this is an example of their attitude I’m not surprised they’re in the shit.”

  Toytoo’s indifference puzzled him. In fact Toytoo had shown no apparent concern at all. Rather than outlining a potentially planet-saving operation, he acted as though he was dispensing with an unwanted chore.

  Bruce looked at Myfair. Weren’t they even going to discuss the hows, whys and wherefores of what they wanted him to do for them? Obviously not, by the look of things.

  “Come!” Myfair instructed Sue. “I will accompany you to your quarters.”

  Cyprus reappeared from somewhere and started to talk to Bruce and lead him away. Sue looked fearfully over her shoulder at Bruce’s retreating back, wanting him to call out to him. Despite the fact that she found him an offensive, insensitive oaf, the last thing Sue wanted was to be left on her own with any Skidians. Bruce seemed unconcerned with her plight, and Sue felt as if an umbilical cord binding them together had been severed. She was on her own now and wondered if she could handle it.

  “Where are me dogs?” she heard Bruce ask Cyprus as they walked out of the building and down the street.

  “Dogs!” she almost cried.

  Bruce was more interested in his dogs than her.

  “Dogs?”

  “Yeah, the dogs that came with me.”

  “Oh, them. Dogs? Is that what you call them? They have given our research staff a most difficult time, they are most perplexing creatures.”

  Bruce chuckled at the idea of the Skidians trying to talk to the dogs.

  “They await you at your quarters. Here.” Cyprus indicated a building several doors along from the one they had just left.

  Once again, Bruce was struck by the casual, unkempt nature of the place. As if nobody really cared about it. Like houses in a state housing suburb, all the buildings around this one seemed to be modules built on the same pattern. Each had different shrubbery planted outside, and each house was oriented slightly differently, just enough to break the monotony. And they were houses, he realized.

  The interior was the real surprise, an identical copy of the house he’d lived in back at the farm. Right down to the positioning of the chairs in the lounge, the color of the toilet seat and the carpet. There was even a decent-sized flat screen television hanging on the wall in the lounge.

  “We arranged your quarters using data taken from your brain scans, deciding that the familiarity would make you more comfortable,” Cyprus told Bruce proudly.

  “Nice touch,” Bruce said by way of thanks, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of homesickness. What else had they found out about him? How much did the Skidians know? The sort of things a man never wanted to recognize in himself, let alone reveal to others? Shit! he thought as he felt his eyes moisten. I hope I’m not going to cry, something he hadn’t done since before he was a teenager.

  “I will leave you now,” said Cyprus, for which Bruce was grateful. He didn’t want to fall apart in front of this alien.

  The dogs must have sensed he was around because Bruce could hear them barking somewhere outside as Cyprus opened the door to leave. He thought he’d better have a look to see how they were.

  Bruce found them in the most luxurious accommodation they could ever have experienced, let alone imagined.

  “How the hell did the Skidians dream this one up?” Bruce asked Cop as he inspected the kennels.

  The dogs had started barking and pawing furiously at the doors as soon as he approached, demanding to be released. But it took Bruce a few minutes to suss out how to open the doors.

  Finally released, the dogs leapt up at Bruce as if to say: ‘Hello, is it really you?’ Then they were off investigating their new home, sniffing and cocking their legs on everything in sight, or squatting in Can’s case, while Bruce made a closer inspection of the kennels.

  The padded hutches, which were already liberally covered in stiff dark hairs, were some kind of dog heaven by the looks of things. This left Bruce wondering how the Skidians had decided on the plan for the kennels and the continuous food supply system that would have been an integral feature of any canine conception.

  The eerie perfection of the dog kennels  well probably as far as the dogs were concerned  made Bruce wonder what the rest of his own house was like, so he wandered inside.

  Lying on the bed in what he assumed was his bedroom he found the conventional clothing he had ordered earlier, along with a pair of jandals. Cyprus was not lying about the tablets then. Bouncing up and down on the bed, Bruce wondered what else was true of Skid and what was merely wishful thinking, the result of generations of conditioning on the part of the Skidians.

  Stretching himself out to see if the bed was as comfortable as it looked, Bruce found he was exhausted, yawned once and before he knew it, fell asleep.

  Fourteen

  Bruce woke with a start, wondering how long he’d been asleep and, in the same instant, remembering he’d left the dogs out.

  “Shit! I hope they haven’t buggered off,” he said to the pillow. And then he remembered he was hungry. When had he last eaten?

  How am I supposed to feed myself? he thought, as Cyprus had neglected to make that important fact clear. Bruce rubbed his stomach and wondered was it really only that morning that he had woken to find the large form of Sideshow bending over him?

  Somewhere the dogs were barking furiously. Bruce rose stiffly from his bed and went in search of the source of the uproar. He found Cyprus eyeing the dogs nervously as they bailed him and a tall, slim female Skidian up at the front door.

  “May we enter, Bruce?” Cyprus asked, eyeing the dogs nervously.

  “Sure, come on in.” Bruce stood aside. “Siddown, you noisy buggers!”

  “Everything is to your satisfaction?” Cyprus inquired, without bothering to wait for an answer. “Good. This is Leaf, your assistant.” Cyprus indicated his female companion. “She is here to satisfy your every need.”

  Cyprus placed a lot of emphasis on the word ‘every’ and Bruce wondered what he was trying to say. He appraised Leaf with interest. Seeing the intensity of his look, Leaf bowed her head demurely. However, the long loose robe she wore, the standard dress for all Skidians, faile
d to hide the pleasant curves of her body.

  “I was planning on having something to eat, Cyprus. Care to join me?” Bruce was famished and couldn’t put off eating any longer. By the look of most of them, he was sure no Skidian ever passed up the chance to eat.

  “Inform Leaf of your requirements and she will ensure we are provided for.”

  Bruce turned to yell over his shoulder. “Beer?”

  Cyprus nodded.

  “Two beers and a feed as quickly as you can please, Leaf,” Bruce bellowed a little uncomfortably. Having a servant would take some getting used to.

  Bruce and Cyprus moved outside and sat in the sun on the patio around a small table. Within minutes Bruce was sweltering under the hot Skidian sun and gratefully took the cold beer Leaf brought. “Thanks,” he said offhandedly as she put them down on the table. “Cheers!”

  “Cheers!” Cyprus repeated, finishing off the glass in one gulp and holding it out to be refilled.

  Bruce stretched comfortably in his chair and rolled himself a smoke. “Tell me something. One important question has just occurred to me. This virus that’s troubling you. Do you know where it comes from?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I thought if you knew where it came from, how it evolved, it might help you control it. Right?” Bruce wasn’t sure he was, but it seemed logical, especially if someone had purposely infected the synthetic machinery. Maybe there was an antidote somewhere.

  “We do not know the origin of the virus. At one time intelligence reports suggested outside agents may have placed it in our plants.” Cyprus shook his head, discounting the notion. “The problem with that theory is that all planets in this system rely on us for most of their food supplies. Therefore in destroying our ability to produce food, a potential attacker would also deny himself food.”

  “Fair enough,” mused Bruce. “But what if somebody else has worked out how to produce enough food to feed themselves.”

  “It is not possible. We would surely know,” Cyprus declared with typical Skidian conceit, unaware that this was precisely what was happening on nearby Celcious B.

  Bruce, deciding he wouldn’t get much further on that tack, tried another. The Skidians seemed unable to believe anybody else in the universe was as sophisticated or as capable as they were. Alternatively, were they more worried that someone might be?

  “What about research into the virus?”

  “We are. Um …” Cyprus remembered at the last moment that Skidians could do anything. “Our scientists are continuing their investigations, and we are still confident they will develop a cure for this viral infection.”

  “So you just need me to develop a temporary solution. Maybe you’ve also decided that you need to develop some alternative to your synthetic production even if you do cure the virus.”

  Cyprus frowned at Bruce as if the thought had not occurred to him or anybody else.

  “Of course you realize that any system I set up will take time to develop.”

  “We are confident you can work miracles,” Cyprus replied unexpectedly.

  Bruce was dumbfounded by the response. “What if I can’t help?”

  “If you won’t or can’t assist us, you will be disposed of. Another expedition will be dispatched to your planet to obtain more suitable assistance.”

  “Wonderful.” Bruce thought the combined might of earth’s agribusiness industry would merely beat its head against a brick wall on Skid.

  “But I am sure you won’t let us down,” Cyprus added pleasantly.

  “Another thing interests me, Cyprus: how did you come to select me for your purposes?”

  “Simple, my friend. We chose you because you were traversing a zone of organic material,” Cyprus replied, defying any logic Bruce understood. “Based on previous observations, it was probable you were involved in some form of organic food production.”

  Bruce couldn’t understand how the Skidians came to this conclusion, for none of them seemed to know what organic material was. It seemed it was just an indicator on their sensors, which they could not relate to anything on their own planet.

  “Sue was selected using the same criterion?”

  “Obviously.” Cyprus’s voice carried a hint of irritation. “She inhabited an area of large organic structures. We therefore concluded that she would be an expert on their propagation.”

  It obviously had not occurred to the Skidians that just because something was organic did not mean you could necessarily eat it.

  “Geez, Wayne. No wonder this place is stuffed,” Bruce muttered in exasperation, not bothering to mention Sue had simply been lost in a forest.

  “We were also careful to select candidates who were isolated from their fellows, so they wouldn’t be missed easily,” Cyprus said.

  Bruce suddenly realized the Skidians didn’t just want him to show them how to produce food organically, they wanted him to do it for them as well.

  “I’m pretty sure I can help you, but have you got any idea how much work will be involved in producing enough food to feed all Skid’s people?” he asked.

  “We will work things out,” replied Cyprus smugly. He appeared relieved that the appearance of Leaf and a trolley load of food interrupted the conversation.

  Bruce devoured his unappetizing meal as fast as he could. He might as well have taken a pill for all the enjoyment the meal gave him.

  Cyprus ate more circumspectly, as Skidians were wont to do, scooping the synthofood up with his fingers rather than the spoon he held in his free hand. “Forget our problems for the present, Bruce,” he suggested as he ate, as if an imminent famine was a trivial matter. “Would you like to attend one of our festivals, Skid’s major cultural event?”

  “Sure.” Why not? Bruce thought. He had nothing better to do, after all.

  “Perfect.” Cyprus sounded pleased with himself. “Then I will give you a few moments to prepare yourself and then we shall depart.”

  What’s to prepare? Bruce wondered. The dogs? Maybe I’d better lock them up. Unless Cyprus was suggesting he have a wash. Bruce sniffed his armpit surreptitiously and decided he needn’t bother. It’ll be this Stim thing we’re off to, Bruce decided, as he locked the dogs up. I wonder if it’s worth watching?

  “Okay, so how do we get there?” Bruce asked as the two of them stood outside the house a few minutes later.

  “We will ride, if we are ready.”

  “I am if you are,” Bruce replied as the ground opened up beneath him. Before he had time to be surprised, he found himself crouching on some kind of subterranean beltway with Cyprus just in front of him clinging to a support pole as they were whisked away along a tunnel.

  In a matter of seconds Bruce found he had to step off the beltway he was standing on and onto another wider, faster one as they entered a vast cavern full of Skidians going this way and that on other beltways. He hadn’t even time to enjoy the ride, when Bruce found he was following Cyprus off the beltway and onto a small, unmarked platform. Then the two of them somehow popped up out of the ground outside one of the vast stadiums Bruce had noticed earlier. They were ascending a massive flight of concrete stairs up the rear of the stadium before he was really aware of what was going on.

  As they stepped into the sunlight and looked down on the playing surface, a great cheer rang out in response to an announcement over the public address system. Bruce stood there for a moment, trying to work out what was said and stared around the immense stadium that looked about three-quarters full of mostly hideously obese, white-robed Skidians, chanting, waving their hands about and cheering madly, obviously in a state of high excitement.

  It was a scene typical of any large sports ground Bruce had ever visited. Like Eden Park when the All Blacks were giving somebody a whopping, the MCG at an international one-day cricket final. Somehow he hadn’t been able to picture a crowd of Skidians, who seemed to be so reserved and dignified, acting the same way. Maybe whatever cultural event he was about to see was to Skidians what b
read and circuses had been to the ancient Romans.

  Gridiron-type poles at each end of the field caught Bruce’s attention immediately as he gazed about the stadium, still awed by the mass of people and the infectious sense of anticipation coursing through them, though the field itself was empty. So what had the Skidians been cheering about?

  Some sort of usher held an electronic wand, which he waved at the tablet Cyprus held, and pointed them to their seats, giving Bruce a furtive, curious glance as he did so. He seemed about to make some comment when another roar rose from the crowd. Bruce craned his neck to see what was going on and caught sight of two teams of Skidians jogging onto the field.

  Bruce expected Cyprus to tell him what was going on, though it was typically Skidian for him not to say anything at all.

  As Cyprus jumped up and down on his seat yelling and screaming along with the rest of the crowd in a state of uninhibited enthusiasm, Bruce realized Cyprus probably wouldn’t make sense of anything at the moment even if he tried. But despite all the excitement, as far as Bruce could see, nothing had even happened on field yet.

  Bruce felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. After the opening of the event, Bruce was left wondering how the Skidians could be playing a game which bore such a remarkable resemblance to a relatively obscure game played on earth. A game Bruce knew well.

  A member of the team in a uniform of white, knee-length shorts and red, black and yellow, hooped jerseys placed a white oval ball on a plastic tee. After checking the positions of his team members with a wave of his hand he retired a few paces then kicked the ball towards the stand where Bruce and Cyprus sat.

  The ball scribed a neat arc through the air, dropping into a space just inside the touchline – a space being invaded by about half the players on the field, one of whom fumbled the ball on his fingertips and knocked it forward.

  “Butterfingers!” Bruce screamed, getting into the swing of things.

  As the players formed a scrum, Cyprus remembered he had a guest and turned to Bruce, intending to explain the finer points.

  “After the kick-off the ball was knocked on, and now a scrum has been formed to restart play. Watch how the halfback feeds the ball to the scrum where it is raked back by the hooker. See?”