Mission Improbable

by J. J. Green

  Shifting herself to a more comfortable position on the floor, Carrie’s thoughts wandered from Dave’s misdemeanour to how many minutes or hours they would have to wait until they were broken down to their constituent elements, and whether it would be painful.

  A scuttling sound came from above, unlike anything Carrie had heard up until then on the spaceship. The sound wasn’t metallic or mechanical, but it was familiar. It was the sound of many pairs of legs on the floor above them. Ten pairs of legs, in fact. Insect legs with claws at their ends. Carrie stood and looked up at the hatch in the ceiling. It opened, and a large, fanged, bug-eyed head peered in. The jaws stretched wide, and a smaller set of razor-sharp jaws protruded, dripping mucus.

  Dave whimpered.

  Carrie said, “Boy am I pleased to see you.”

  Chapter Nine – Saved by the Bug

  “You have an elevated heart rate and adrenaline levels, according to your translator, Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer Hatchett, and you appear to have been placed under arrest. Is there a problem?”

  “Yes, there’s a big, big problem. Thanks so much for coming. Can you get us out of here?”

  “Possibly, but we must follow the protocols, which I do not believe you have been doing, Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer Hatchett. I have diplomatic immunity and free access to the placktoid vessel, but it seems you have not declared your status. Until we can establish that the placktoids are perfectly entitled to imprison you.”

  “They weren’t just going to imprison us, they were going to kill us,” said Carrie.

  Dave was pressing his knuckles to his mouth.

  The bug paused. Its head disappeared and ten pairs of insect legs extended through the hatch. With a clatter, it landed next to Carrie “We must discuss this matter further,” it said.

  “So, you get signals from this thing?” Carrie held up the translator.

  “All your devices transmit your status while you are in your probationary period. It appears you neglected to read that section of your instruction manual. At first, I was receiving signals from an unknown human, and I thought perhaps you had discarded the device or it had been stolen.”

  Carrie narrowed her eyes at Dave, who was squashing himself into a corner.

  “I was about to recall it,” the creature continued, “when signals arrived that indicated the translator had re-entered your possession. It was then I perceived your biological status, which indicated you were experiencing extreme difficulties and possibly danger.”

  “You can say that again, er...um...what’s your name?” asked Carrie.

  “Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Manager...well, humans cannot express my name, Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer Hatchett. It is a series of pheromones. It is a very distinct and, though I say it myself, beautiful series of odours selected by the queen of my—”

  “All right, all right. Is there something else I can call you?”

  “The closest rendition of my name in English is, I believe, Gavin.”

  “Gavin?”

  “That is the—”

  “Okay, okay. Gavin, can you get them to release us?”

  “Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer Hatchett—”

  “Call me Carrie. Please.”

  “I will attempt to have you released, but the matter is rather delicate. It is unfortunate that this particular conflict was your first assignment. Humans are not well regarded among this species, due to some coincidental resemblances between its various forms and certain Earth artifacts.”

  “We found out about that,” said Carrie.

  “If you had been wearing your Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer uniform, the matter would be completely different, of course. The placktoids would have accepted your diplomatic immunity. May I ask why you are not wearing your Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer uniform?”

  “I...er—”

  “Carrie,” whispered Dave. “That th-thing...”

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t introduce you. Dave, Gavin, Gavin, Dave.” Carrie pulled on an ear lobe. “I didn’t bring my uniform, Gavin. I didn’t have time.”

  “And where is your toolbox?”

  “I couldn’t bring that, either.”

  Gavin chittered. “ Transgalactic Intercultural...Carrie. This is not good. This is not good at all. How can you expect to perform your duties without the necessary equipment? And let us not forget you have also brought along an unauthorised companion.”

  “Now, wait a minute. That isn’t fair. I didn’t even apply for this job. It isn’t my fault I accidentally sent in an application. I got whisked off to an interview that I didn’t want, with an interviewer who, if I can be blunt, Gavin, scared the life out of me.

  “That green mist appeared in my kitchen again and sucked Dave in, and I followed him to help him out. I didn’t know we’d end up in the middle of a war zone, or have to do all this dangerous stuff.” Carrie folded her arms. “I didn’t ask to be a space detective.”

  Gavin emitted a series of rapid clicks. “Firstly, you are not a space detective, and secondly, if you did not want the position why did you accept it? As I recall, you coerced me into hiring you. Thirdly, you clearly did not read the manual in your toolbox, or you would have known exactly where you were going and what duties you had to perform.”

  “I...we...” Carrie sputtered to a stop. “So, can you get us out of here or not?”

  “I will try my best.” Gavin reached up with two pairs of legs, and pulled himself up and through the hatch, which slammed shut. The mucus he left behind on the floor steamed. Carrie rubbed the back of her neck. Dave blinked, and the colour began to return to his face. “What the hell was that?”

  “My boss, I think, or something like that. I never really found out.”

  “You never...” Dave stood. He walked three steps to the opposite end of the cell and back again, before turning to face Carrie. “How can you not know your job title, or what you’re supposed to be doing, or who your boss is? Do you ever listen to anything you’re told?”

  “Calm down, all right? You sound like my ex. I just miss things sometimes. And when that mist first sucked me in, I thought I was dreaming. It was all so stupid—why would I think it was real? Of course I wasn’t paying attention. Anyway, it looks like Gavin might be able to get us off the hook.”

  “Yes, I could understand that much. Thank goodness at least one of these aliens speaks English. Well, I hope you’re right. God, I wish I’d never accepted your party invitation. All I want to do is go home and forget about this; pretend none of it ever happened.”

  “Me too.” Carrie thought of Toodles and Rogue, her new flat, new job. It had all been going pretty well. She wanted nothing more than to continue with her life back on Earth.

  She walked to and fro as the time passed, while Dave leaned in a corner. He didn’t seem to want to talk, and Carrie was still annoyed at him for stealing the translator, so she left him alone with his thoughts. When her legs became tired she sat down.

  At last, the sound of insect legs scrabbling on the ceiling signalled Gavin’s return. Their fate had been decided one way or another. Carrie felt the translator in her pocket. She was going to be the one hearing the aliens this time, and Dave could listen to the terrible racket they made.

  As they returned to the shredder to find out what was going to happen to them, Gavin explained that, despite their resemblance to Earth stationery, the placktoids were intelligent organisms, though not natives of the planet below.

  When they were back with the shredder-like placktoid commander, Carrie was pleasantly surprised by the translator’s effects. It seemed to eliminate the original sounds of communication—or perhaps prevented her brain from interpreting the auditory signals—and replaced them with English spoken in her mind. In the case of the shredder, the translator modified its speech into a BBC
newscaster accent. Carrie couldn’t resist a smirk as in the corner of her eye she saw Dave grimacing and cringing.

  Soon after it was clear they were not going to die, Carrie lost track of what the shredder was saying during its long speech, though she was pretty sure it offered no apology for the way they’d been treated. She thought their near-execution warranted at least a mention of regret, but the shredder sounded, instead, rather disappointed.

  Reduced to their chemical constituents, it told her, she and Dave might have been useful. Protected by diplomatic immunity they would retain their organic form and be of no practical use to anyone. The Transgalactic Council was welcome to send officers to resolve the dispute, but it doubted they would make any difference, and it could not see how these humans—the translator conveyed a disgusted tone—could help.

  Gavin was drumming his legs like fingers on a tabletop.

  “Gavin.” Carrie spoke from the corner of her mouth as the shredder continued without pause. The bug ignored her. “Gavin.”

  “Shh.”

  “But—”

  “It is very rude to interrupt,” whispered Gavin.

  “But,” said Carrie in an undertone, “we’re going home now, right? Back to Earth?”

  Gavin didn’t answer, and Carrie noticed the room was silent. The shredder had finally stopped speaking and she hadn’t heard its last few sentences.

  “What happens now?” asked Dave weakly.

  A paperclip zoomed up and hovered nearby, before telling them to follow it.

  “We go that way,” said Carrie.

  “We aren’t going to be executed?”

  “No.”

  “Thank goodness,” said Dave. “So we’re going home at last.”

  Gavin walked alongside the two humans. “Not at all.”

  “What?” said Carrie and Dave.

  “If I may remind you, you were sent here to resolve this conflict, Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer Hatchett.”

  Carrie winced.

  “Despite an unfortunate start, you are to return to your duties. The placktoids want nothing to do with you at the moment, due your unprofessional behaviour. Instead, their strong suggestion is that you return to the planet surface to speak with the opposing side.”

  “No, no, no,” Carrie exclaimed, waving her hands in front of her. “I don’t want to. I give up. I resign. I—”

  “I am afraid that is not possible. If you resign now it would make me look very bad in front of my superiors. Very bad. They would question my judgement in recruiting someone unwilling or unfit to perform their proper role in resolving these conflicts. As I explained at your interview, my position as an employee of the Transgalactic Council is precarious.”

  “I don’t care about your position. I want to go home,” cried Carrie. The bug didn’t reply. “Gavin, we want to go home. We have to. Dave shouldn’t even be here. Send us back to Earth.”

  Gavin’s head waggled. “I did consider returning your companion, but he may be of some use to you in your first assignment, so I will overlook your indiscretion for now.”

  Carrie and Dave continued protesting as they followed the paperclip. The numbers of placktoids in the corridor increased, inhibiting their passage, until they arrived at the entrance area of the spaceship where the matte black boxes were stacked. As they neared the square hole that led outside, the paperclip began to hum.

  Carrie felt herself being lifted into the air. “I’m not going to do it. Put me down you horrible paperclip. Gavin, send me home. Send us home, please.”

  “All you need to do,” called Gavin, as Carrie and Dave were carried, squirming, to the centre of the paperclip, “is to question the oootoon about the placktoid disappearances. When the placktoids discover where their missing members are, they will be more disposed to enter into negotiations and resolve the conflict. You have your translator. With a little patience and concentration you should be able to communicate with the oootoon.”

  Writhing against the force field that held her, Carrie drummed with her fists and feet. Gavin’s parting words were faint. “Good luck.”

  Chapter Ten – Death by Custard

  It wasn’t easy to remain back to back while floating within the centre of a giant paperclip, but Carrie and Dave managed it. From the look on Dave’s face, it was clear to Carrie that he blamed her for their predicament, and while that was, she admitted to herself, partly true, she thought he was being harsh. It wasn’t as though she intended to involve him. She wanted to go home just as much as he did. And he did steal the translator from her house, so it wasn’t as if he was Mr. Perfect.

  The planet surface zoomed up towards them at a sickening pace. In a sea of yellow the grey island sat, with its forest of red leaves. The island drew closer and closer until, about four hundred feet above the planet’s surface, Carrie realised the paperclip’s positioning was wrong. It was returning them to roughly the same area as before but if they continued along their current trajectory, they wouldn’t be landing on the island.

  “Left,” she shouted upwards, though in fact she had no idea what part of the paperclip contained its hearing facility. “Go left, or...”

  Dave followed her gaze downward. All color drained from his face. “No, no, no. Left, left!” The pale yellow, gently heaving ocean drew closer and closer.

  “Carrie...Carrie,” shouted Dave. “Do something. Make it change course. Carrie, pleeeease...” Without a sound, the force field holding them was released, and they tumbled down. “I can’t swim.”

  They hit the liquid, but instead of sinking like stones beneath the surface, their feet penetrated only slightly. The impact sent shock waves up their legs. The thick, gloopy ocean bore their weight. Carrie could hear a droning monotone.

  “Phew,” said Dave, as he regained his balance, “that was...ahhh!” The firm surface beneath his feet gave way, and he began to sink. Carrie was sinking, too. Flailing and thrashing, Dave sank faster.

  Carrie stopped moving, which slowed her descent. The liquid was thick but it became runny in response to rapid movements. “Don’t struggle,” she called. “It’s like quicksand. The more you struggle—”

  “Carrie, help me,” cried Dave, as his thighs and then his torso began to disappear into the yellow gloop. “Help!” But he was too far away for Carrie to reach.

  “Stay still,” she shouted. “Stop struggling.”

  Fully panicked, Dave desperately fought the liquid that was swallowing him, even as his arms and shoulders became covered in the glossy goo.

  “For god’s sake, Dave, keep still. You’re making it worse.”

  “Carrie, Carrie,” called Dave, twisting violently as his neck began to disappear. He tilted back his head to keep his mouth and nose free.

  “Dave,” shouted Carrie.

  His eyes rolling, he gasped. He took several short breaths and spoke, his words slow and precise. “I think I’m touching the bottom. On tiptoe.”

  Carrie exhaled. “Okay. Now don’t move. Do you understand? Not a single muscle.”

  Dave spat out the liquid that had oozed into his mouth. “’Kay.”

  “If I spread my weight over the surface, I bet I can wriggle across. Once you’re in this kind of liquid there’s no point fighting it, you just sink.”

  Dave spat again. “I think I’ve discovered that.”

  “The shore’s only about ten metres away. Move slowly, and try to work your way upward.” Carrie was already doing this herself, and it was working. Her top half lay across the surface, and she wasn’t sinking. She gently wriggled her legs, easing them free of the gloop.

  Dave wasn’t so successful, but he knew where safety lay, and his painstakingly slow movements drew him gradually closer and closer to the shore. Emerging from the yellow ocean, the two flopped down on the dry, dusty sand. Their energy returned, and they stood and ran their hands down their clothes to remove the remains of the yellow goo. Carrie took the translator out of her pocket and placed it on the ground
. The ocean’s murmuring ceased.

  “You know, I think that paperclip did it on purpose,” said Dave. “Dropping us in the sea I mean. Vindictive little piece of stationery.”

  “Not so little,” said Carrie.

  Dave was flicking the yellow liquid into the ocean. “My boots,” he exclaimed. The once neatly brushed suede was flat and dark and very, very spoiled.

  Carrie held out her arms to dry her sleeves in the breeze. The gloop had been easy to remove, and had left their clothes only slightly wet. Wondering what kind of substance it was, she sniffed her hands. “You know what, this stuff smells the same as the inside of our cell back on the placktoid spaceship.”

  Dave took a sniff. “Does it?” he asked. “I can’t say I really noticed.”

  Carrie dipped her finger in the ocean, and held it to her nose. “It smells like...” She popped her finger in her mouth. “Mmmm ...” Her eyes widened. “It’s custard.”

  “Eurghhh,” exclaimed Dave, “we were just swimming in that.”

  Scooping a handful of the liquid, she sucked it up and licked her hand clean. “It’s quite nice. It tastes exactly like the vanilla custard my mum makes.”

  “That’s disgusting.” Dave stepped back. “How could you eat it? Anyway, shouldn’t you be contacting those people your bug boss was telling you about? Was it the oootoon he called them?”

  “Don’t you want to try some? It’s lovely and creamy and not too sweet. Brilliant. A whole ocean of custard. Now all we need is some apple crumble.”

  “There’s no way am I eating that.”

  “Oh well, I’m hungry.” Carrie scooped up some more liquid in two hands and began slurping.

  “Wait a minute,” said Dave. “Don’t drink it, you idiot. Just because it tastes like custard, it doesn’t mean it is. It isn’t likely, is it? We’re on an alien planet. That stuff could be poisonous.”

  Carrie’s satisfied expression fell. “You’re right. I didn’t think of that. Whoops.” She opened her hands and the remains of the liquid dripped out. She spat what was left in her mouth back into the ocean. As she turned back to Dave, his eyes focused on something behind her and widened in fear. She only had time to utter, “What’s—” before the deluge hit. A wave of custard swamped her, knocking her off her feet. Blinded and smothered in yellow goo, she felt herself being dragged backwards into the ocean.