Space Patrol!

by Sarah Nicole Nadler

  “Lissa, we can’t just go flying off into space!” Stephanie cut in angrily, “We need to go home. What about our parents? Your mom is probably freaking out right now.”

  “I know,” Lissa whispered, turning away from the others, “We’ll go home first. I just—come on Steph! I’d be totally crazy not to want to fly this thing. Don’t you wan to know what’s out there?”

  As they argued, the Space Patrol Captain—Lissa realized she still did not know his name—stepped up to Mr. Piff and began to confer with him in low guttural hisses and squeaks. At last Arthur spoke up for the first time, “There is another task you may have to undertake first,” he told Lissa, “Your Representative has made contact with the Earth President and they are searching for an Ambassador to represent Earth on Sagittarius Prime.”

  “Do we need to shuttle them there?” Lissa inquired, “We have room for another passenger, I think,” she had poked around and found several comfortable quarters on the port side of below decks.

  “First the choice must be made,” Mr. Piff told her, “As the nearest neutral authority, we were asked to make a recommendation. The Captain and I have nominated you for the position.”

  “What!” Lissa cried, jumping up, “I can’t be an ambassador—I’m eleven! Oh, for the love of Google.” She threw up her hands helplessly, “Mr. Piff, I’m just a kid. In Earth years I’m barely adolescent. Nobody in their right mind will elect me.”

  “Galactic Trade Company regulations require that any ambassador from newly-invited worlds be under the age of puberty,” Arthur told her, smiling slightly at her reaction, “It is their way of guaranteeing the pliability of the victim…excuse me, species representative.” There was a twinkle in his eye.

  “Figures,” Lissa muttered. Indeed, this was just what she should have expected of such a corrupt bureaucracy!

  “You are the perfect choice,” Mr. Piff told her sternly, bringing her mind back to the present, “You’re not a whimpering pup—you’ve got gumption and intelligence enough to do the job proper.”

  Lissa shook her head. She tried to think of a better option, but all that came to mind was the simpering face of a teenybopper celebrity. Ugh! She thought, anything but that.

  Stephanie interjected, “You are the best choice, Lissa. You can get along with anybody, or anything,” she added, glancing around at their alien companions, “If it was me, I’d probably insult someone before I even had a chance to say hello. I’m too impetuous.”

  Lissa sighed, “What happened to wanting to go home?” She demanded. Stephanie crossed her arms and gave her friend a pointed glare.

  “Fine! I’ll try it,” she said. Her chin came up and she looked Arthur square in the middle of his four eyes, “But you better hope that space is ready for us.”

  “Then perhaps it is time you were introduced to the last member of your company,” Mr. Piff said, and he jerked his head toward the octopus tank.

  Octavian Stubergott III

  The octopus floated up toward the surface of his ocean habitat, large black eyes trained on Lissa. His coloring was magnificent—he was a pale matte silver all over with the brilliant blue rings that gave his species their name. For a long moment the two faced each other through the glass wall, doubt niggling Lissa’s mind at the idea of this creature’s intelligence being so far superior to humankind. Just when she began to be convinced that these aliens had been pulling her leg, the octopus moved.

  Curling up a front tentacle, he jabbed it in the direction of the keypad to her left. She looked. He bobbed his ill-proportioned head up and down in the water, and pointed again—more urgently this time. Cautiously, she walked over to the panel, her eyes following the octopus as he floated along behind her. When she was directly in front of it, the small cephalopod made a quick series of gestures with two tentacles against the glass wall, clearly indicating the sequence of buttons she ought to push to release him from the tank. Lissa stared! Here was an octopus teaching her how to operate an alien digital keypad.

  Shaking her head, she tapped her own breath mask and said, although she knew he could not hear her through the glass, “All the water will drain out. How will you breathe?”

  The octopus seemed to understand her. With a deft twirl he spun himself to face the other way in the water. With his back to her, he used two tentacles to make a strange motion at the back of his skull. Lissa was flabbergasted when what appeared to be a layer of skin split evenly down the middle and peeled away. He released the ends of the skin layer and it fell seamlessly back into place. Suddenly, she understood.

  “You’re wearing a wetsuit,” she laughed, “Literally, a wetsuit; it’s keeping you wet!”

  She shook her head again in amazement as the octopus turned to face her, clearly searching her face with his large alien eyes for some sign of comprehension. She nodded slowly, the comprehension continuing to dawn in her mind. The wetsuit must be some alien technology on the order of an astronaut suit for octopuses. No matter the atmosphere, he seemed to be telling her, he would be able to breathe.

  She gestured him back to the panel and followed his careful tentacle jabs with her fingers until the door to the tank opened with a hiss. This one was different than the others and instead of opening vertically—and letting all the water slosh out into the corridor, the tank opened from the top and Lissa was able to reach down into the water and lift the octopus out.

  “Thanks,” a male voice said when she had placed him on her open palm at eye level. The octopus wetsuit must have had a Translator installed somewhere, for the inflection was mechanical and sounded not dissimilar to the round bot still hovering beside her.

  “Wow, I can barely believe it,” Lissa told him in awe, “Are you really from outer space?”

  “Yep,” there came a tiny nod, “Born and raised on Jupiter’s moon.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Octavian Stubergott III, at your service,” there came another bow. Lissa was beginning to get the idea that space aliens were a rather well-mannered lot. First Mr. Piff, and now Octavian was bowing to her. Captain Nask must have been the exception that makes the rule, she thought disgustedly.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Stubergott,” she curtseyed, careful not to wobble him about too much on her palm as she did so.

  “Just Octi, please,” he replied, “I’m trying to acclimate to Earth behavior. Your people seem very fond of nicknames.”

  Lissa laughed at that, “Then you can call me Lissa, but my real name is Melissa Phelps.”

  “Good day and calm waters to you, as we say at home,” Octi said.

  “Nice to meet you, too.”

  The top button on Mr. Piff’s lapel blinked and gave a short beep. He tilted his head, his small ear twitching as he listened to a murmuring voice, and then he announced, “The Earth President has agreed. Lissa has been appointed as Ambassador of Earth.”

  Stephanie cheered. Ash translated for Shika and they both stepped forward to congratulate her. Even Shiro looked pleased, giving her an approving nod. Lissa was less sanguine about the whole thing.

  “Now what?” she asked Mr. Piff, “What do I do exactly?”

  “Well, your first action will be negotiating for a contract with the Galactic Trade Company,” he said briskly, “We’ll have to use your MTrans to get there—the Forty-Five is not equipped for surface landings.”

  “What’s an MTrans?”

  “Matter Transmitter;” her bot stated, “A line-of-sight transportation device using matter/energy conversion mechanics to disintegrate objects and bodies in one location for reintegration in another designated locality. See note at Transportation, Space.”

  “Thank you, bot,” Lissa said politely.

  “So that’s how Nask got us up here,” Stephanie whispered in her ear.

  “Beam me up, Scottie!” Lissa joked.

  With the direction of Octi at the navigation station, Lissa and her new crew trimmed the sunsails and laid in a course for the western seaboard of North America, a
nd in a very short time they were hovering over downtown Los Angeles.

  Lissa decided to bring Stephanie with her planetside, and left Shika in command of the Forty-Five with Ash on first watch. Having done quite a bit of sailing in the summers she spent with her dad, Lissa knew and was able to instruct her new crew a bit about sailing lingo—which the translator bot assured her was quite appropriate for space. Learning how exactly her new ship worked would have to wait until they returned.

  Shiro was named as second watch, to assume the duty when they returned. He went below to visit Rasta as the two girls and Mr. Piff took up positions in front of the foremast where two small symbols on the deck marked the MTrans field.

  Once again a pop mixed with a fizzle as the air around Lissa and the others gave a golden shimmer, and they found themselves standing outside the One-World Tower.

  The Meeting

  The tower was a dull gray cement fortress with large glass windows that stared out at them expressionlessly. The front doors slid smoothly open to the rat-a-tat of twenty OneWorld Security officers who surrounded the three visitors. Lissa flinched away and shared a terrified glance with Stephanie before a herald appeared in the doorway, ushering toward them so obsequiously that Lissa was made more uncomfortable by him than the OWSF.

  She had heard the tales of kidnapping, bribery, and extortion for which the Security Force was so notorious, but there was no helping it now. They were gestured inside, and the guards fell in behind, the thud of their heavy boots an ominous rhythm that stalked the three down the hallway.

  The herald, bowing so low Lissa wondered if his nose had an intimate acquaintance with his knees, led them through the spacious entrance into an elevator. The heavy scent of fragranced air freshener hung thickly in the corridors, and Stephanie coughed several times, her face a little green by the time they arrived at a pair of thick double doors.

  The herald gave one last sweeping bow, murmured something conciliatory about their attire to his counterpart at the door, and left them. The man in livery there asked for their full names and jotted something down in quick jabs of his pen. With a last pitying glance at the state of Lissa’s jeans, Stephanie’s hair—which had become disheveled during their exploits—and a shocked glance at Mr. Piff’s state of undress, he announced in voluminous tones to the room within: “Miss Melissa Phelps, Ambassador Earth, and her retinue. And Mr. Piff, Second Mate of the 32nd Space Patrol.”

  “Ah, very good!” A fleshy man hurried toward them. His fat fingers trembled slightly with excitement as he reached to shake Lissa’s hand, and his double chin bobbed up and down as he spoke. Upon his head perched the fuzzy black crown that showed him to be Mr. Bilderbus—President of Earth.

  Behind the president stood a tall dark alien with long floppy ears and canine features. Introductions were made and Lissa instantly understood where the legends of werewolves and jackal-headed gods had originated on Earth: here was a species so prevalent in mythology that it was an easy connection to make.

  Anubis, as he was called, was dressed in a pleated linen skirt and had a headdress that resembled a statue she had once seen on a mummy from ancient Egypt. Anubis himself confirmed this when she commented on his attire—so alike the Old Kingdom.

  “Yeth,” he nodded, his lisp quite pronounced. “Excuse me. Some thoundth... er, sounds are hard for my people to pronounce...but I have been practicing,” He tried again, “Our people are known as the Jerz, which included the late Captain Nask. Imagine our dismay millennia ago when we realized Earth astronomers had Spotted our planet, watched us move about our daily lives, and believed us to be gods in the heavens. We watched Sadly as that primitive Earth civilization adopted our mannerisms and worshiped our form.” He shook his head, long canine ears flapping. “We finally invented the force screen that disguises us today as a barren world to put an end to the debacle.”

  “Which planet are you from, did you say?” Stephanie asked, puzzled.

  “Your people know it as Marth—excuse me ... Mars.” Anubis smiled at her astonishment.

  “An octopus from Jupiter’s moon, werewolves from Mars...” Lissa shook her head. “Takes a while for it all to sink in, you know?”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Mr. Piff said, speaking up for the first time. “Your people will have to confront that their perception of the universe is based on a series of carefully contrived lies.”

  Lissa turned to Mr. Piff just in time to see Anubis give him an almost-imperceptible shake of his head, and thereafter, for all her prodding, he refused to say anything more.

  A waiter in a smart black suit and apron circled around with canapés, and the Earth president was just commenting on how glad he was that Lissa and Stephanie could make it when another knock came at the entrance. The double doors opened a second time and the herald announced His Holiness, the High Priest of Jesters, Timothy Rocksquatter.

  Lissa and Stephanie turned in unison. A large man stepped heavily into their view, his every footfall accompanied by a ragged wheezing breath, as though the effort to move his enormous girth forward were a tax on his straining lungs. The room seemed to grow smaller to Lissa as she watched him edge forward, fat trembling on his limbs and waist with every step. He loomed over the two girls. Out of the corner of her eye, Lissa saw Mr. Piff clench his fists tightly.

  Timothy Rocksquatter was dressed in a skin-tight checkered outfit that showed every roll and fold of his enormous girth. Dribbles of spilled food splattered his front and the cuffs of his long sleeves were yellow at the edges. He wore a squashed three-pronged hat to signify his rank as High Jester, its pointed spikes drooping low to quiver above his brow. Lissa felt her stomach turn as a fetid stench wafted off of him like a rancid hamburger she had once thrown out when she forgot to empty her lunchbox on Friday night and it sat all weekend.

  She drew back, placing her foot slightly right to put Stephanie firmly behind her. Rocksquatter leaned forward slowly. She could see his eyes flicker to Stephanie, as though he could sense the weakness that made her pale with fright. It was easy to understand in that awful moment why this man was the most hated and feared human being on Earth. He was a massive reeking beast.

  Two bloodshot eyes sought hers. There was no mercy in his gaze, no human emotion. The cold look gave her goosebumps, and she forcibly lifted her chin in defiance. She had faced down an alien slaver threatening to sell her as dog food. She could face this, too. She shoved Stephanie back, step by step, until pressure on her legs told her they had reached a seat in the lounge at the center of the room. She dropped her friend into the over-sized chair and took one just beside her, clenching her thighs in her hands to stop herself from trembling all over.

  “So nice to meet you, Mr. Rocksquatter,” she ground out, a grimace passing for a smile on her lips. Not once did she remove her eyes from him as she added, “Mr. Bilderbus, should we get seated and start our meeting now?”

  “Why yes, yes of course.” The Earth president bustled forward excitedly and sat himself to the right of the girls. Mr. Piff took a proffered seat to their left, Anubis beside him, and the High Jester completed the circle when he sat on the couch, which emitted a creaking squeal.

  Lissa suddenly found this so hilarious that she had to cover her mouth to stifle a wide grin and coughed very loudly in disguise of the erupting giggles in her throat. Stephanie shot her a terrified look, still pale with fright at the sight of Timothy Rocksquatter, but Lissa could only cough harder.

  “We are here to discuss,” Anubis began, his canine lisp less pronounced now, “terms for an official contract between the client known as Earth, and the Galactic Trade Company.”

  “I see no reason to discuss terms,” High Priest Rocksquatter interjected. Lissa and Stephanie cringed at his voice. It was as oily and rancid as his appearance.

  “Our usual arrangement should suffice,” The H.P. went on. “I believe all of this media about the kidnapping is just an excuse by GTC to raise their prices. We are already clients, why change it up
now?”

  Anubis winced. The Earth president coughed delicately. Lissa stared. It was Stephanie who blurted.

  “Um, you guys already know each other?!”

  “Yeah, what ‘usual arrangement’ are we talking about, exactly?” Lissa challenged. “And that kidnapping was us!” she snapped at the grotesque Timothy. “Thanks anyway for caring.” If she was going to be ambassador for this planet, she would have a say in what goes.

  The High Priest of Jesters sneered at her, his curled lip revealing teeth so yellow they appeared to be green. She held back the urge to hurl.

  “Earth has long engaged in certain arrangements,” he jeered, “of benefit to both GTC and our own safety and security. Certain disappearances, you might say; the departure of primitive throwbacks whose absence is no loss to the populace, I assure you.”

  “You have been selling people off world!” Stephanie erupted, leaping to her feet and glaring accusingly at the High Priest. “I knew it!”

  Lissa turned to Mr. Piff. “Can’t Space Patrol do anything about this? Selling off your population? It even violates the definition you told us of ‘legal slavery’. Its government graft, if nothing else. There’s nothing in the World Constitution to support them using people as chattel!”

  Mr. Piff only looked back at her sadly. “The worst I could do is fine both parties. But I think, after this meeting, you will be glad to not have that debt on your back.”

  “What do you mean?” Lissa began, but the High Priest was already interrupting, his face ablaze with cruel victory at their indignation.

  “As actual clients of GTC, what rights and privileges would we receive that would recompense us for the inconvenience of having to go public with our space program?”

  “Who is running this meeting, anyhow?” Stephanie interjected loudly. The two human men in the room looked at her.

  “Aren’t you the president?” she added, gesturing pointedly at Mr. Bilderbus. “He’s a priest—not a diplomat. Isn’t negotiating what Lissa is supposed to be here for?”