by Tom Holt
David waited a while after he’d gone, remembering what had happened the last time he’d tried to get off the bed. He thought about George and his apparent fondness for dogs, which had led him to program Fang. He thought about that a lot; then, in as gentle and friendly a voice as he could manage under the circumstances, he cooed, ‘Here boy. Good dog. Nice biscuit.’
The machine called Fang blinked some lights at him. An aerial at the back waggled backwards and forwards.
‘Good boy,’ David said. ‘Nice biscuit. Come and get it.
With a whirr of servos the machine called Fang turned through ninety degrees and rolled across the floor towards him, aerial vibrating. David waited till it was nicely within arm’s length, then grabbed hold of the dentist’s-drill thing, jerked it sideways till it snapped off and smashed it into Fang’s console. The machine stopped dead and rocked from side to side for a couple of seconds; then all its cute little lights went out.
David wasn’t particularly happy about that. He’d never knowingly killed anything in his life, and in his mind’s eye he could see a translucent cartoon version of the machine, complete with wings and halo, slowly ascending to heaven. He shook himself, urged himself to get a grip and headed for the door.
He’d gone about five paces when something hit him in the small of the back, decking him. Once the shock had cleared from his mind, he realised that whatever it was had four feet and was breathing heavily down the back of his neck.
‘Rivet,’ said a voice behind his head. ‘Where do you think you’re going, pal?’
It was a very odd voice indeed. The words were English, the accent sounded vaguely transatlantic but somehow not human. It sounded, in fact, like the synthesised voice that came out of his Korean-made digital answering machine.
‘Hello?’ he said.
‘Hello yourself,’ the voice replied. ‘My name’s Uuuurk. Actually, my regular name is U’uuurqqqk but you humans, your throats are the wrong shape for pronouncing our language. I could care less, it’s no big deal.’
Uuuurk? ‘This is your spaceship?’
‘Yeah.’ Something odd and wet flicked his ear. ‘And I gotta tell you, you ain’t got no right to go trashing it like you did. That multiplanar scanning module you beat up on just now, you got any idea how much that sucker cost me? More’n your whole damn planet, I’m telling ya. But it’s OK,’ the voice went on, calming down a little, ‘you weren’t to know that. We’ll say no more about it.’
David concentrated very hard. ‘You’re an alien,’ he said.
The voice laughed; rivet, rivet, uuuuurk. ‘You could say that,’ it replied. ‘Like, my people and some amphibious raniforms on your planet share a very remote common ancestor, hundreds of generations ago, but so far back it don’t matter any. You wanna make something of it?’
‘No, of course not,’ David said quickly. ‘I was just —raniforms?’
‘Scientific word. Technical term. It’s just a fancy way of saying frog.’
‘Frog?’
‘Yeah, frog. Can’t say I like your tone of voice, buster.’
‘George said you were—’
‘George? Who’s this George?’
‘The other human. The one who brought me here.’
‘Ah, right, yes. So that’s his human name, is it? Come to think of it, he did tell me once, and I guess I forgot. Like, he answers OK to Uuuurk, so why bother? What about him?’
‘He said he was running this project.’
‘Hah! Like a human could run this project. Gimme a break, will ya?’
‘Sorry,’ David said quickly.’ It’s just— Well, if this is your ship and you’re some kind of really advanced alien civilisation—’
The voice croaked. ‘We are. That’s what being really advanced means, we get plenty of quality leisure time. It’s very important when you’re a high-profile scientist to stay in touch with your inner tadpole, you know?’
‘Ah.’ Cautiously, David tried to move. A paw pressed on the back of his neck, paralysing him. Presumably that was just a friendly overture, as well.
‘You probably figured it all out already,’ the voice went on, ‘but I’ll explain anyhow, so we all know where we stand. My people are the Uuuurk—’
‘I thought you said Uuuurk was your name.’
‘It is. Damn.’ The alien sighed. ‘Shoulda known, you guys just haven’t got the brainpower to understand. Yes, my name is Uuuurk. My people are called the Uuuurk. Each one of my people is also called Uuuurk. Uuuurk is also the only word in our language — apart from rivet, of course, but that just means rivet. OK?’
‘No.’
‘Shit. All right, listen up. It’s all in how you pronounce it, see? Like there’s uuuuurk, meaning a muddy pool; uuuuurk, meaning the fourteenth month of the year; uuuuurk, to slide quickly off a floating log into the water; uuuuurk, the pleasure you feel on a close friend’s birthday; uuuuurk, an equilateral triangle; uuuuurk, the colour of ripe pomegranites; uuuuurk, the square root of 1,067—’
‘All the same word?’
‘But pronounced differently. You could hear the difference, couldn’t you?’
‘Oh yes,’ David lied. ‘Clear as a bell.’
‘A what?’
David guessed. ‘An uuuuurk?’
‘Clear as the scent of the blossom of a late-flowering uuuuurk?’ A slight pressure against David’s spine suggested that the frog was shrugging its shoulders. ‘Hey, you guys, you’re something else. Anyhow, we’re from a planet in what you call the Sirius system.’
‘The Dog Star,’ David remembered.
‘Dog Star? With a “D”? Must be a typo. Anyhow, we’ve been watching this Earth of yours.’ The voice pronounced it ‘Oyth’. ‘Been keeping an eye on it for a couple hundred years and I gotta tell you, you guys are weird. Completely nuts. But that’s OK, live and let live.
You don’t bug us, we don’t bug you. Though there is one thing I gotta ask. About the worms.’
‘Worms?’
‘Yeah. What is it with that thing where you get a worm and you stick a big sharp hook through it and tie it to a rope and then you throw it in a pond and drown it. We seen you guys do it, most every pond we stayed at. What the hell did worms ever do to you?’
David thought for a moment. ‘It’s fishing,’ he said. ‘You know, catching fish. The fish swims along, sees the worm...
There was a long silence.
‘OK,’ said the voice, ‘forget the worms. There’s obviously some really deep-rooted cultural issues here, and we ain’t got time to go into all that stuff right now. What you want to know is, what are you doing here? Am I right?’
‘Yes,’ David replied.
‘It’s very simple. And before I start I want you to know, there’s nothing personal, OK? We like humans. A whole lot of people back home keep humans, they’re like a sort of — what’s that thing they’re called, fashion statement. They’re crazy about them. We even got a saying, a human is for life, not just for Planetary Equinox.’ The voice sighed. ‘If there was any other way — but hey, you know how it goes. What can I say? Anyhow, the straight deal is, we’re invading your planet. We need the space. Back home it’s getting so crowded we’re three, four to a lily pad. And your planet — it’s got the atmosphere, it’s got the climate, it’s got the ecosystem and the mineral resources. You get the idea.’
‘I suppose so,’ David said.
‘Too damn’ right you suppose so,’ the voice said. ‘That’s why we chose you for this research project. Like, you’re one of them, but also one of us. We take you to bits and figure out what makes you run, I guess you can see where that’d make conquering your world a whole lot easier.’
It was the way the voice said it as much as the words themselves: the eagerness, the enthusiasm, the joy .
For God’s sake, screamed the embattled PFLDP, frogs are going to kill you and take over the Earth, and you’re starting to like them?
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ David asked.<
br />
‘Sure? Sure we’re sure.’
‘But...’ David searched his mind, digging deep into the compost heap of cultural programming, and found what he’d been searching for. ‘But animals don’t do that sort of thing. Animals don’t invade each others’ territory or wantonly kill each other or oppress the weak and helpless. Animals are better than we are, that’s why we like them so much.’
Silence — stunned silence — David could almost feel the disbelief resonating through the webbing between the Uuuurk’s fingers — followed by frantic croaking, which he eventually figured out was laughter.
‘Oh boy,’ the voice eventually said. ‘Have you guys even heard of evolution? But that’s OK. I’ll be straight with you, it’s this kinda soft-hearted dipshit naivety you guys have that makes us like you so much. You’re cute. Listening to some of the garbage you guys come out with sometimes, it makes a person just want to reach out and cuddle you to death.’
David thought for a moment. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Now, would you mind very much getting off me, because I’m having trouble breathing. I promise I won’t be any trouble.’
‘Hey, I don’t know about that. You done enough damage already.’
‘You have my word of honour,’ David said gravely. ‘As a human.’
‘Yeah, OK, what the hell. Hold still, I’ll jump off you.’ There was a soft thump, as of four paws landing lightly on the deck plating, and David began to feel sensation returning to his body, along with enough pins and needles to fit out an international voodoo convention. He got up slowly and shakily, and looked round until he saw a large green frog, about the size of an adult chimp. It had huge round yellow eyes, and it blinked at him like a civil servant on being asked exactly why the form had to be signed in triplicate . . . ‘Bastard!’ David yelled, and kicked the alien so hard it flew through the air and bounced off two walls before landing in a tangled hammock of wires behind some machine. ‘Hey,’ he added, as a vast wave of euphoria swept over him. ‘You know what? All my life I’ve really wanted to kick a frog, and I never dared, because I thought it was cruel, or someone would see me. What I’ve been missing all these years!’
Croaking frantically, the alien scrambled out of the wire cradle and hopped across the floor, narrowly avoiding the nondescript metal object David had just thrown at it. ‘You gone crazy or something?’ it whined. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
David grinned and picked up a small console. ‘Not allowed to be cruel to animals,’ he said, breathing heavily. ‘Can’t pick on small, helpless, defenceless animals, it’s not right. Doesn’t say anything in the rules about not picking on small, sadistic, hyper-evolved superbeings, though. Now hold still while I smash your head in.’
While he was saying this the alien must’ve found some way to trigger the alarm system. Red lights flashed, a siren started blaring uuurk-uuurk-uuurk, and something like yellow smoke billowed out of vents in the walls. David said something uncharacteristically vulgar and hurled the console; he missed, but hit the door panel just as it was sliding shut. It stuck half-open, and David made for it as quickly as he could.
Outside, he found himself in a corridor — a round brushed-stainless steel tunnel that clanged alarmingly underfoot. It had an oddly unfinished look, which he might have investigated further if he hadn’t been preoccupied with running for his life.
Silly, he told himself as he ran. You’re on a spaceship, billions of miles from home, there’s no way in hell you’ll escape, and all you’ve done is give them grounds for being extremely upset with you. This time it’s definitely the end of the line.
He turned a corner, only to find that he was facing a dead end. The tunnel just stopped, in a seamless cul-de-sac (as if he was a fugitive cartoon and he’d just reached the edge of the page). He spun round, and saw that he wasn’t alone.
‘You idiot,’ said George.
David sagged. He was bigger and stronger than the alien, but George was bigger and stronger than him, so trying to fight his way through was out of the question. There wasn’t enough room to squeeze past, even if he was quick enough. This was it, then: the process that bad started when he’d bought the lock of hair had finally reached its conclusion. All this time, he’d been falling down a long, dark hole (which had been bad) and now he was about to stop falling (which would be worse; worse even than going to prison or getting eaten by tigers or being told his job was being relocated to Merseyside—)
‘Just tell me one thing,’ David asked quietly. ‘What did I do wrong?’
George looked at him, puzzled. ‘You mean, apart from smashing up expensive equipment and assaulting a Uuuurk citizen?’
‘Yes. Why me? What harm did I ever do anybody?’
This time, George looked away. ‘It’s just one of those things,’ he said, in an odd tone of voice. ‘It’s one of life’s minor tragedies that the eggs never get to see the omelette. Next time, we’ll try and make it a bit easier, I promise.
‘Next time?’ David started to say; but he couldn’t make himself heard. The tunnel was reverberating with the deafening sounds of gunfire, klaxons, sledgehammers and desperate barking.
‘Bugger,’ said George.
Something exploded or fell over or got dropped from a great height, just around the corner. George swung round; and David, seeing a tiny skylight of opportunity, hurled himself across the tunnel at him in a flying tackle, as seen on TV. Of course he missed — he’d never done this sort of stuff before — and hit the wall (which hurt his shoulder rather a lot) and slithered along the almost frictionless tunnel floor on his bum, like someone on a fairground ride. Trying to grab him as he sailed past, George slipped, fell on his nose and knocked himself silly. Never in the field of human conflict had the physical incompetence of the two participants been so perfectly symmetrical.
‘Bloody hell,’ David muttered, scrabbling to his feet.
Another ear-splitting noise just round the corner. A moment ago the noise had been a good thing, because it had given him a chance to escape. Now, however, it seemed rather more ambiguous. If George had still been conscious, he could’ve asked him what was going on; but that was out of the question, thanks to his possibly ill-advised Bruce Lee impression. Those surviving remnants of the PFLDP that hadn’t already given up on him as his own worst enemy were howling at him to consider the trend. Back when being in prison had been the worst fate he could possible imagine, he’d taken his chances and escaped (and look where that had got him). Before that, he’d been sure that all his troubles would be over if only he could get the unconscious body of the newly hatched clone up the stairs and inside his flat. Before that, he’d honestly believed that recreating Philippa Levens in the flesh was his only chance at true happiness.
Pillock.
On the other hand, how could things possibly get worse? If he stayed put, a load of frogs were going to dice him like pepperoni as a prelude to taking over the planet. If he walked round the corner slap bang into a death ray or a laser beam, it could only be an improvement. Couldn’t it?
Well, what the hell. If there was one lesson to be learned from the trend, it was that whatever he did only made things worse. Therefore, if he sat down in the corridor and stayed put, the trend dictated that that would prove to be the wrong decision and the course of action most likely to bury him in the deepest-ranging stratum of trouble. He shook his head, sighed and strolled down the corridor. No point hurrying, after all.
As he turned the corner, someone jumped out from behind him (naturally; big deal) and clamped his shoulder in a bone-crunching grip.
‘You’re nicked,’ said a voice.
A familiar voice; a blessed, wonderful, heavenly voice, like a choir of angels ringing you up to tell you that you’ve just won a brand new Seat Ibiza. It was the policeman.
‘All right,’ the voice went on. (Down the corridor, something else blew up, making the floor shake.) ‘You have the right to remain silent, though anything you do say will be take
n down in writing—’
‘Is that really you?’ he interrupted. ‘Really?’
‘Shut up,’ the policeman replied. ‘You are entitled to have a lawyer present—’
Another explosion; this time only a few yards away, round the next corner, because the shock wave from the blast picked him up and slammed him against the wall like a naan bread being slapped on a tandoori. The grip on his shoulder immediately relaxed; and as soon as he’d picked himself up off the floor and looked round and down, he saw the policeman lying in a heap. Damn, he thought. Really, this isn’t fair.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Does it look like I’m bloody all right?’ the policeman groaned. ‘No, I’m not all right, my left arm’s definitely bust and probably my left leg as well. And don’t think you’re going to get away with this, because sooner or later—’
‘I don’t want to get away with it,’ David howled. ‘I want to be arrested, you stupid little man. Now get up and get on with it, before that bloody frog shows up.’
‘What frog?’
‘What frog?’ The Uuurk, of course.’
‘Uuuurk? Frog?’ The policeman drowned in deep bewilderment. ‘Are you talking about a French person here, or...?’
‘No, you fool, the Uuuurk! The aliens whose ship we’re on.’
The policeman looked up at him with a very strange expression on his face. ‘What the hell are you talking about, aliens?’ he said feebly, before passing out from the pain.
Policemen, David thought bitterly. There’s never one conscious when you need one.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The choice, it seemed, was his. Either he could stand there like the last cocktail-stick-impaled sausage on the plate at a stand-up buffet and wait for the war to come to him, or he could go to meet it. He felt in his trouser pocket for a coin to flip, but there didn’t seem to be one there. It was hours and hours since he’d had anything to eat. I’d probably be a good idea to find a lavatory before too long, as well.
Hands still in pockets, he walked round the corner.
