by J. J. Green
Dave didn’t reply. He looked from the objects to Carrie and back again.
“There wouldn’t be any danger at all. You’d only have to do the training exercises with me. You wouldn’t even have to pass them, just be there with me. That’s all Gavin said. Just come along.”
Still Dave didn’t speak. He picked up the thick tablet his friend hadn’t been able to identify earlier.
Carrie took it from him and put it down. She held his hands and looked him square in the face. “Please?”
He slumped like a puppet with its strings cut. “I’m going to regret this, I know I am.”
Carrie grinned.
Chapter Five – All Aboard
It wasn’t until Carrie was standing among the candidates training to be Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officers that it occurred to her that she and Dave would be the only humans. The most noticeable individual in the group was a huge, dark green blob towards the back of the room. To Carrie’s left was a small hairy creature about as high as her knee, with no face, and on her right, sitting atop a cylinder as high as her waist, was a squashpump. There was also a many-legged insect that seemed to be distantly related to her Manager, Gavin’s, species and a light that flashed intermittently without any energy source as far as she could see. But perhaps the strangest Liaison Officer candidate of the bunch was a box; just a cube of deep red, shiny material. How it got about, she had no idea.
Dave was standing two candidates away, looking as though he was already regretting his decision to join her in the week-long training session. He was looking around the creamy ceramic room they were standing in aboard the Transgalactic Council starship. Carrie suspected he was trying to avoid looking at the training manager who was currently addressing them, explaining the living arrangements and their general schedule for the week. Though the manager looked like Gavin, it was a female. Carrie knew this because it had a hole in its abdomen, an anatomical fact she had learned through a painful faux pas in her previous assignment. She yawned. The manager had been droning on for at least fifteen minutes.
“Any questions?” she asked, apparently coming to the end of her introductory speech.
“Yes,” said the squashpump trainee, “where will we be sleeping? And this atmosphere’s too dry for ma skin. ’Tis makin’ me uncomfortable.”
“Do not worry,” replied the manager. “All your cabins, uniforms and equipment have been designed or modified to suit your species’ requirements. For example, you will find a uniform in your climatically controlled cabin that will keep your skin moist. We are quite used to meeting the ranging needs of our staff. Anything else?”
“How will we do the exercises? Don’t ask that, it’s obvious. Well, it isn’t obvious to us. Speak for yourself. We want to know. Ask again. Yes, ask her again. No, you ask. I asked once already.”
Carrie couldn’t see who was speaking, but her heart leaped. The voices must have been coming from the box, or rather, not the box, but what was inside it. She had met the yellow liquid known as oootoon on her first assignment. A collection of individuals melded into one amorphous mass, it constantly argued with itself. It was wonderful to have the chance to meet it again, but she wasn’t sure how it could work as an officer for the Transgalactic Council.
“Each candidate has something to offer to the role of Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer,” replied the manager. “Where an individual is prevented from completing a training exercise by its anatomy it will not be required to take part.”
“Well, that isn’t fair,” exclaimed the hairy creature at Carrie’s side in a surprisingly deep baritone, though she couldn’t figure out how it was speaking. “We should all do the same training. How are you going to tell who the best candidates are?”
“Let us be clear. The galaxy is home to hundreds of sentient, civilised species. Each possesses skills that are useful to the Council. Excluding a species because it cannot complete a certain task means the Council is deprived of other benefits it offers. Consequently, during your training we may not be assessing which of you perform the best in any given exercise, but who are best suited to the role of Liaison Officer. Your tasks are a means for us to observe your skills.”
Great, thought Carrie. Why do they have to make it complicated? Why can’t they just tell us what they’re looking for? Then I can show them I can do it.
“More questions?” asked the manager. After a pause it continued, “No? Then you may go to your quarters and settle in. The doors on this starship are activated by pheromones or genetic signatures. The entrances to your allotted cabins have been programmed to open to only your touch, and your partner’s if you are sharing. Training rooms and other common rooms are opened by pheromones. Your translators will produce them if you hold them up to the doors. A map and key to the door symbols and your individual itineraries are on your briefing devices.”
The group of trainees began to break up, the box of oootoon rolling on hidden wheels towards the door. Dave was already rummaging in his bag, looking like a child on Christmas morning. Carrie went over to him. “Let’s go to our room. You can have a proper look at everything in there.”
“Our room?” Her friend stopped what he was doing.
“Yes, they’ve put us together. Didn’t you know?”
“Oh.”
“What’s wrong? Do you snore or something?”
“Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer Hatchett, how pleasant to see you again.” The training manager had come over as the group dispersed.
“Oh, yes, you too,” replied Carrie, confused. Had she met the insectoid alien before? The only two she knew were Gavin and... She sniffed. She could smell a faint spicy vanilla scent. It couldn’t be...? “Errruorerrrrrh?”
“My English name is Errruorerrrrrhch, yes.”
“Wow, I mean, good to see you.” Carrie struggled to reconcile this apparently friendly alien with the Transgalactic Council Manager who had given her such a hard time on her previous assignment. Errruorerrrrrhch’s beef had actually been with her former lover, Carrie’s boss, Gavin, though that hadn’t prevented her from taking it out on Carrie. “But, I thought you couldn’t speak English.”
“I apologise. I may have allowed personal feelings to intrude upon my professionalism in the past. I am able to speak English, but I am afraid I chose not to at the time. But let us put all that behind us now. I hope to establish a good working relationship with you henceforth.”
“Sure, of course.”
“Allow me to show you and your companion to your quarters.”
“Thanks.”
Carrie and Dave followed Errruorerrrrrhch through the maze of tunnels to a recessed door that looked the same as all the others, only with a unique set of symbols outlining it. Carrie tried to remember the route but wasn’t sure she could. On the way, the manager had chatted with the two humans, praising Carrie for her ingenuity in uncovering the connection between the dandrobians and the placktoids. Carrie could hardly believe this amiable insectoid alien and her former manager were the same individual.
As Errruorerrrrrhch left, saying she would see them at breakfast, Dave placed his hand on the door and after a moment it opened. Inside was a room similar to a cabin on a cruise ship, containing twin bunks, low lockers, and a small shower room. The bags they had brought with them from Earth and two bright orange Transgalactic Council Officer uniforms had been placed on the beds. Best of all, in Carrie’s opinion, there was a window. Beyond it, a starscape shimmered. Her breath caught in her throat. “It’s wonderful. Perfect.”
Dave sat on the lower bunk. “Can we put a curtain over that?” he asked, gesturing towards the window.
“Why? It’s a beautiful view.”
“I don’t think so.” He went to the window and looked out. “Space is so cold, and dark, and...” he grimaced, “...endless.”
There was a buzzing sound at the door. Carrie placed her hand on the surface, and as the door opened,
she took a step back.
“Bloody hell,” said Dave, the colour draining from his face.
“Carrie, I am pleased to inform you I will be present for the duration of this training exercise.”
It was Gavin, but it was more than Gavin. Crawling over every inch of his surface were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of smaller Gavins. As he spoke, one crawled out of his mouth. Carrie gave a small scream.
“You appear to be disturbed. Please be assured, there is no cause for alarm. I would like to introduce you to the bounty of my union with your former Manager, Errruorerrrrrhch.”
“These are y—your and Errruorerrrrrh’s k—kids?” stuttered Carrie.
“That is correct. We have not yet named them all, otherwise I would introduce you. Stop that, you little scamp.” Gavin appeared to address the comment to a tiny insectoid alien swinging from one of his antennae. “In our species the father cares for the offspring until the first moult. I thought it would be pleasant to be here during the training programme while I am on paternity leave, and fortunately the Transgalactic Council agreed to my request.”
“Fortunately,” muttered Dave, who was backed against the rear of the room.
Chapter Six – Dinner Diversions
“You can’t put your stuff there. My stuff’s there,” said Dave.
Carrie eyed the surface of the locker nearest the bunks, where Dave had arranged the entire contents of his Transgalactic Officer bag into neat rows and columns, all the items spaced equal distances apart.
“Well, where can I put my bag, then?”
“Over there,” said Dave, pointing to another locker on the far side of the cabin. “That’s yours.”
“But I wanted to use this one, next to the bed. Then I can reach my things without having to get up.”
Dave sighed. “Well it’s too late now. I put my stuff away while you were in the shower. I’ve organised everything.”
“I can see that.” Carrie threw her officer’s bag across the room onto the top of the locker, where it landed with a crash.
Dave winced. “You ought to be more careful. You’ll break something.”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s anything fragile in there. With all the technology the Council has, everything’s bound to be pretty tough.”
Her friend didn’t answer. He was examining one of the thick tablets he had found interesting before, when the two had been talking in Carrie’s kitchen. “I’m looking forward to finding out what this is.”
“It looks like a—”
“It isn’t a dishwasher tablet.”
“But it does look just like one, though, doesn’t it? It’s even got a plastic wrapper. Why don’t you open it and see what’s inside?”
Dave put the tablet with the rest of the items on top of the locker, positioning it carefully. “We might not be supposed to open it yet. It might be for a training exercise.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s okay.” Carrie reached for the tablet, but Dave pushed her hand away.
“Don’t take mine. If you’re going to open one, open your own.”
“You’re such a fusspot. They’re all the same, you know.” Carrie unfastened her bag and began pulling out devices, scattering them on the locker top. Two or three dropped to the floor. “Here it is.” She took out the tablet and pulled at the wrapper. When it wouldn’t come off, she ripped the covering with her teeth and spat out pieces of plastic. Dave watched where they landed.
“Hmph, look.” Carrie held out the package contents, a grey cake of a powdery material. “It definitely looks like a dishwasher tablet. Oh.”
“What?”
“It’s going all crumbly.” The surface of the tablet had begun to disintegrate. Carrie rubbed it, and more of the powdery material broke away. “Oh well, never mind.” She tossed it onto the locker, where it broke into pieces. She put her hands on her hips. “Are you ready for dinner?”
Dave stood and stretched. “Yes, I’ve looked up where we need to go.” He picked up a transparent piece of plastic that displayed a map. Carrie knew this gadget: it was the briefing device that held the information she needed for her assignments. She hadn’t known it contained maps too.
“Great. Let’s go, then,” she said, sliding her translator into her pocket. She planned on getting reacquainted with the oootoon over the evening meal.
“Don’t you think you should bring yours?” Dave held up the transparent briefing device.
“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll just follow you around.” Carrie grinned.
***
Dinner for the two humans looked like spaghetti bolognese, but it tasted like seaweed, and brick dust, and a graduation party hangover. It was as though the Transgalactic Council chefs had seen spaghetti bolognese but hadn’t the remotest clue what went into it, and even if they had, they hadn’t the slightest chance of getting the ingredients. As a vegetarian, it was important to Carrie that the meal contained no meat, and judging by the taste and the horrified reaction of Errruorerrrrrhch when she’d told her about her dietary requirements—as if she was some kind of monster for even suggesting the Council would provide dishes made from animals—she was confident that it didn’t.
From the look on Dave’s face as he chewed, she guessed he was adding the meal to the list of reasons why he didn’t want to be there. Keen to avoid his reproachful glare, Carrie turned her attention to the oootoon sitting, or rather, occupying the space next to her. The box lid was open, and the oootoon was visible within, filling the box to the brim. Sitting as she was at a dinner table, Carrie couldn’t help but be reminded again of the alien’s resemblance to custard, though she hadn’t touched a drop of the stuff after mistakenly eating some oootoon in her first assignment. Drips of a white liquid were falling from a pipe on the ceiling. Surely it couldn’t be milk?
“It’s so wonderful to see you again,” she said.
“Hello, who are you? It’s that alien, from the time with the placktoids, remember? No, I don’t. Me neither. I wasn’t involved in any of that. The one in the placktoid starship. You must know. Oh, yes, we went up, didn’t we?”
“Yes, that was me,” interrupted Carrie. “And Dave was there, too.” She glanced at her friend, who was munching stoically. “You protected us when the starship crashed. And my boss, Gavin, and my colleague, Belinda. I wanted to thank you. With everything that was going on, I forgot to. You saved our lives.”
“Did we really do that? You’re welcome. I think so. No problem. Anyone would have done it.”
The clatter of cutlery hitting the floor distracted Carrie. Dave had dropped his knife and fork and was staring, white-faced, at the doorway. Gavin had arrived and was heading in their direction.
“I—I’m full,” said Dave. “I’ll see you back at the room,” he spluttered before darting to the wall and, as Gavin approached, edging along it towards the exit. As soon as Gavin was safely in front of him, he bolting through the door. The insectoid alien manager had brought his babies along. They leaped and ran all over him, occasionally falling off then climbing up again. Carrie wondered how he moved under all the additional weight, but his offspring didn’t seem to bother him at all.
“Hello, Carrie,” said Gavin, “I thought I would find you here. I hope the human food is to your liking?”
“Well, it’s...I’m sure the chefs tried very hard—”
“Good, good. Oooh, that tickles.”
Carrie assumed the second remark was addressed to one of his children.
“I am not hungry myself. I will not eat again until these little rascals have moulted. I came here merely to reassure your friend, Dave, about the first test, but he seemed to be in rather a hurry to leave. His character is rather different from yours, being more circumspect and cautious. It would be natural for him to feel rather wary of invasive procedures, but the examination is entirely harmless. Would you tell him for me?” The alien’s head swivelled round as Errruorerrrrrhch entered the canteen. “Oh my goodness, I must leave. Do pass on my message, please. I wo
uld not want Dave to be unduly concerned.”
“Yes, I—” said Carrie, but Gavin was already scuttling away towards the opposite exit, taking his hundreds of offspring with him. As Carrie wondered why he was avoiding the mother of his children, Errruorerrrrrhch addressed the Transgalactic Council Officer trainees.
“I apologise for interrupting your meal. I have a small announcement. We have made a minor change to the itinerary. Due to the placktoid threat and the accompanying necessity of expediting your training, we will be conducting the first test, a deep brain scan, tonight while you sleep. This test measures the type and extent of nerve connections within your brains or other neural systems of your species, and the results indicate your general ability in the position of Liaison Officer. This is a starting point for us to determine how you might best work within the role, and which features of training will be of special benefit to you.”
Deep brain scan? Carrie frowned as she picked up her fork and twirled the awful spaghetti-like substance around it. Scanning brains seemed an odd way to assess someone’s skills. What would the test tell them about her? She had no idea, but she didn’t like the sound of it. She had always thought she was more sporty than brainy. Why couldn’t they just let her show them what she could do?
***
For the rest of the meal and some time after, Carrie chatted with the oootoon—with some difficulty—and got to know the other trainees. The large green blob was especially friendly, but the flashing light was quite standoffish, she thought.
When she got back to the cabin, Dave was already asleep. She decided not to wake him up to tell him about the brain scan. There was no point in worrying him unnecessarily. As she got ready for bed, she noticed the room looked a lot tidier than she had left it. The floor was clear, and all her Liaison Officer devices had been placed neatly away in her bag.
Chapter Seven – Bring Out the Big Guns
When Carrie woke, she could hear Dave in the shower. She dozed back off to sleep while waiting for him to finish. The sound of the door opening jolted her awake again. She sat up, stretched and yawned. “Did you get a good sleep?”
