Grow Up

by Craig Anderson

  It was those kinds of little details that were going to get him in trouble. Gargle slowly removed them, and the Father said, “How many times do I have to tell you to wear underwear?” He rummaged in a drawer and threw a smaller pair of trousers at Gargle. He got the hint and put them on, before pulling the trousers up over them, being sure to put them on the right way round.

  The Dad shook his head. “Honestly, I thought you would be dressing yourself by now.”

  He started to do up the buttons. Gargle watched as his nimble fingers effortlessly slotted the small plastic discs in the appropriate slots. Then he picked up a black-and-red-striped tie and wrapped it around Gargle’s neck. He performed some kind of intricate motion, and when he stepped away Gargle regarded himself in the mirror again.

  It was certainly an improvement.

  The Dad also admired his handiwork. “That looks a little better. You know you’re going to have to figure out how to do your own tie one of these days, I can’t be popping to your house to do your tie when you’re all grown up.”

  Gargle lifted up the coloured rope and said, “Tie?”

  “What has gotten into you this morning?” He brushed aside some folders on the chair to sit down and stopped. He picked up a sheet of paper and squinted at it before waving it at Gargle. “Is this what this whole charade has been about? Trying to delay me from seeing your report card? I can see why. What is your excuse for this?” He stabbed the air with the report card, as if punctuating his disappointment.

  “I have no excuse,” was all that Gargle could say in response. The Dad’s tone suggested that the report card was not up to expectations, but where it was failing or by how much was still a mystery. Gargle suspected it may be better if it stayed that way.

  The Dad slumped into the chair, the report card hanging limply by his side. “I feel like I’ve let you down. You’re better than this.” He waved the report card for added effect. “Your mum and I tried to hold on just a few more months, until you were done with your exams, but we just couldn’t make it. Believe me, we tried, but after the incident we were barely able to be in the same room as each other, and I couldn’t risk leaving her with access to our shared accounts. We did the best we could.”

  “It is alright,” Gargle said, fighting back a strange urge to wrap his arms around the Dad. “I will get better. Things are different now. You will see.”

  “I wish I could believe that, but things aren’t going to improve until you stop staying up all night playing those childish video games.” He gestured to a small black plastic box sitting beneath a larger, shiny black rectangle.

  “Why?” Gargle asked, genuinely curious.

  “Because they are a pointless distraction from the real world. You’re not going to get a job playing video games! It is time to grow up. You need to focus on something practical. When I was your age I could build an engine from scratch. What have video games taught you?”

  Gargle could feel the panic rising again. He was already out of his depth. He had to be careful not to get caught in a lie. “I don’t know?”

  “Exactly! It’s all just flashing lights and loud noises. You’ll never learn anything useful from a video game.”

  “Then why do they exist?” Gargle asked, feeling puzzled. On Blurgon, if things did not serve a useful purpose they were replaced or destroyed. The same rules applied to citizens. Failure to complete tasks in a timely manner led to less tasks. Eventually it would lead to no tasks. Any Blurgling that was without tasks for an entire planetary rotation was immediately retired. Their shell was stripped, their job reassigned, and they were forced to float their ethereal form up into the clouds and join the great collective. No-one ever came back from the collective, which meant it was either really great, or really bad. Gargle had no intention of finding out which any time soon.

  “Ok, Father.” He pulled the black box out from its location. Several wires had to be removed, and they dangled there, lifeless. Gargle handed it over without a second thought. “If this is the cause of my poor results, take it.”

  The Dad blinked a couple of times and reluctantly took the offered box. “Is this a trick? I know how upset you were when your mum took the last one. Did you get a new one and forget to tell me?”

  “No. I wish to meet your expectations and will work hard to do so. If this device is a distraction then it will be better for my future if I no longer have it.”

  “Well I won’t discourage that, if you’re serious.” His arm sagged with the weight of the box and he said, “Let me pop this somewhere and I will drive you to school. I look forward to hearing from your teachers about how much better you are doing.”

  “Yes, Father,” Gargle said. He may not have completed his first task yet, but it was obvious what his next task was. He needed to complete school.

  ***

  Josh banged his fist down on the ground next to the Mech Controller. He let out a frustrated grunt. He was starting to realize why it was so bulky and heavy. If it wasn’t, he would have tossed it across the room a long time ago. “This is stupid! You’d have to be an idiot or a genius to make this work, and I’m neither,” he declared as he jumped to his feet and stretched his legs.

  Making the Ticket Buster mech perform simple actions required complex combinations of commands. The Ship’s Computer had guided him through the basics of walking, which had taken far longer than it should have. Each button and dial controlled an individual joint on the mech, so something as easy as strolling forwards required at least 8 different buttons to be pressed in a very specific sequence. Miss one and the knee joint would lock up, or the ankle would twist 90 degrees, or the mech would start skipping.

  It was utterly hopeless, and he hadn’t even moved on to the top half of the mech yet. His commands were so erratic that his poor mech could barely stay on its feet, and as it started to topple he overcorrected, launching it forwards into a belly flop. It crashed to the ground harder than a maple tree at a beaver convention. Getting up was even harder, because it required a different sequence for the legs, along with several more buttons for the arms. It would take him weeks to memorize all these basic moves.

  This must be the part of the dream where things became impossible. Any minute now he’d be sitting in the exam hall completely naked.

  “I could use a little help here,” Josh said as his virtual mech writhed around on its back, limbs sporadically flailing as the joints spun uncontrollably.

  “Negative. This is a learning experience.”

  “All I am learning is that whoever came up with this controller clearly had more arms than I do! This thing is torture. The button layout doesn’t even make sense. Why is the button for ankles over here on the right, but the one for knees is on the top left?”

  “I believe your species has a saying about a bad workman blaming his tools,” the computer replied.

  “Perhaps, but if you ask an electrician to install your new kitchen lights with nothing but a wet fish then you should be prepared for a shock.”

  “This is the device that every other lawyer uses to control their mech. It represents the culmination of decades of Blurgling Master Crafters’ experience. That is the very latest model, with 17 more buttons than the previous one, for even more nuanced control.”

  “Yeah, well it sucks. Someone who has never piloted a mech in their life invented that thing, and I’m guessing lawyers don’t want regular folks to be able to do their jobs, so it suits them just fine that it is a nightmare to use.”

  “Do you have a better suggestion?”

  Josh shrugged. “I will just design a new M.C. It couldn’t possibly be worse than this one.”

  “Negative. You are a trainee lawyer. You do not have the correct class to design a new mech controller and therefore I cannot assign you a task to do so.”

  “Wait, so because I’m now a lawyer, I can’t do anything related to the other classes?”

  “Correct. Everyone has their place, and M.C. design is not yours.”

&n
bsp; “I think I am starting to understand why that controller is so awful.” Josh stared at the huge slab of buttons in front of him and sighed. What he needed was something better suited to the task at hand. If only he had…

  “My controller!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “Where did it go? I saw it not long ago.”

  “Your game controller is located 37 degrees and 1.7 metres from your current position.”

  Josh turned his head, but couldn’t see it. “Can you be more specific?”

  “37.2 degrees and 1.7654 metres.”

  “Can you be less specific?”

  “It’s over behind that blaster on your right.”

  Josh saw the huge pistol and found his trusty game controller tucked behind it. He inspected it for any signs of damage, but there were no more than usual. He held it aloft. “Can you program this so that I can use it to control the mech?”

  “Please wait…” the Ship’s Computer said. “I have reviewed the appropriate laws and can find nothing specifically outlawing the use of such a device. Technically you did not create it yourself, so you have not gone outside your class, although the M.C. Designers would understandably require reassurances. It is somewhat of a stretch if you program it, but lawyers have occasionally programmed specific buttons before, so there is a precedent if required.”

  “Excellent. Let’s do it. I’ll tell you what buttons I want where.”

  “I do not see how, your control device is missing 117 buttons, so it cannot be mapped one to one.”

  Josh grinned. “Let’s not try to run before we can walk. Or get back up.”

  Level 5: Baby Steps

  Gargle stared out of the window as the vehicle precariously made its way down the street. Without even thinking about it he mentally mapped their route, remembering each twist and turn. It was a hard habit to break, and far easier on a planet with so many landmarks. Everywhere he looked were new and interesting things. There were domiciles, and places of business, and a lot of green vegetation. There was also an abundance of other vehicles, in far better states of repair.

  The vehicle they were in made a medley of squeaks and squeals from the chassis, and at his feet was a small hole that he could see straight through. At first he believed it was for ventilation, but he was beginning to suspect it was not supposed to be there. If this was a Blurgon ship it would have been melted down for parts a long time ago.

  Thankfully speed did not appear to be a major concern as there were far too many other vehicles trying to use the same straight line of smooth surface.

  The Dad said, “This traffic gets worse every day! We are going to have to start leaving earlier so you’re not late for school.”

  “We should fly over these other vehicles,” Gargle suggested.

  “Very funny.”

  “I was not intending to be amusing. It was a helpful suggestion. Are you trying to conserve fuel?”

  The Dad stared at him and rolled his eyes. “Honestly, half the time I don’t know what you are talking about. Guess I’m getting old.”

  This was his chance to do some research. Gargle was woefully underprepared for field work. A spy would usually have months to study the environment they were infiltrating, learning every intricate detail of the species they were going to imitate. “How old are you?”

  The Dad laughed. “I remember thinking my folks were ancient too. I’m only 48.”

  “Is that close to your expected lifespan?”

  “No, but if you keep asking me stupid questions you’re going to get a lot closer to yours.” The Dad ruffled Gargle’s hair.

  Gargle went to open the window, using a primitive crank, but the handle came off in his hand. The Dad said, “I keep telling you not to mess with that!”

  “Your vehicle appears to be in need of repair.”

  “Yeah well, it still gets us from A to B, and right now that’s all we can afford. Cars don’t just grow on trees you know.”

  Gargle peered out of his window to confirm this assessment. It was correct.

  The car stopped abruptly outside a large building. There were a lot of juvenile humans running around outside, wearing matching uniforms to the one that Gargle was sporting. This must be the school.

  As he fought with the handle to try and open the car door the Dad said, “I know it’s been tough lately, but just keep your head down and stay out of trouble. You don’t have long left now, make it count.” There was a pause before he added, “I love you, son.”

  “Yes,” Gargle responded, finally figuring out how the handle worked. He bolted out of the car before there were any more questions.

  The Dad shouted back after him, “Where’s your backpack?” but his son was already lost in the crowd. He rolled his eyes. “Teenagers!”

  Gargle followed the crowd of fellow students towards the school entrance. He was about to enter it when a figure blocked his path. “Morning, Josh. How are you this fine day?”

  “Mostly confused,” Gargle admitted. It was still a strange sensation responding to someone else’s name in a language he’d only just learned.

  Apparently that was not the expected response, as the boy’s face wrinkled up. He said, “I hope you’re not about to tell me you don’t have my money.”

  “Your money?”

  The boy made the noise of air being sucked through teeth. It was a disturbing sound. He reached out and put his arm around Gargle, triggering a lot of conflicting emotions. “Now’s not the time to play dumb, you understand? A bet is a bet. I managed to catch up with your stream this morning. I honestly thought for a moment that you were going to do it, until you choked on the Shadow King. It was a terrible shame, I tell you. I almost feel bad about taking your money. Almost.”

  Gargle blinked a couple of times while he tried to process what was happening. It seemed there had been some form of wager, and he was now responsible for fulfilling the candidate’s obligations, which hardly seemed fair. Unfortunately explaining that he was actually an ethereal alien in a replica of Josh’s body might create more problems than it solved. He was supposed to be hiding out. “I’ll supply the promised money.”

  “Damn right you will, right bloody now, because if I let you welch on this bet then other people might start getting the idea that they don’t have to pay me, and then I’ll be a right mug. Do you want me to be a mug?”

  Gargle was definitely having issues with his dictionary. The only translation he had for mug was a receptacle to store hot beverages, but this creature looked like he would be terrible at that. Perhaps that was the point he was trying to make? Gargle tried agreeing with him. “You’re not a mug.”

  “Damn straight, so you’d better pay up.” He held out his hand.

  “How much?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me. Give me my hundred quid right now, or you’re going to be having a chat with Pete.”

  Something blocked out the sunlight. Gargle turned to see a creature that was as wide as it was tall. Pete shoved him forcefully in the back, almost knocking him to the ground in the process. He grunted something until the other kid said, “Last chance.”

  Gargle frantically checked his pockets, but he already knew full well there was nothing in them. He said, “How does money work here? Can I transfer some to you?”

  “Cash only.”

  “I do not have any cash.” Gargle peered around, looking for backup, but the rest of the students had suddenly found somewhere else to be.

  “Consider this your one and only warning. Do your thing, Pete.”

  Gargle was ready for a laser blaster, or even an energy sword, but he wasn’t ready for the guy to pull up his hand and use it to whack him in the face. The pain was sudden and intense as Gargle fell to the floor holding his eye. Pete loomed over him. The other kid said, “Have my money tomorrow, or he starts breaking bones.”

  The two of them skulked off, leaving Gargle in a heap. His eye had already started to go lumpy, making it harder to see. This was why two eyes wasn’t enough; damage to one
of them made him effectively useless. How these creatures had survived this long was anyone’s guess. He couldn’t even shell swap without raising suspicion. He was stuck in this damaged shell for the foreseeable future.

  He tried again to find the healing command, but if it existed it was in a sub-system he had not yet learned to access. Eventually he gave up and walked into the building. A tall lady in a pretty pink cardigan spotted him and bustled over. “Do you have permission to be out of class, young ma….oh goodness what happened to your face?”

  “Someone hit me.”

  “I can see that. Do you know who it was?”

  “His name was Pete.”

  “Pete what?”

  “Pete hit me,” said Gargle, confused.

  The lady looked at him. “What is Pete’s last name?”

  “As far as I am aware he is still being called Pete.”

  “Oh dear, I think you may have been hit in the head a little harder than you realize. Come with me.” The lady led him down the long corridor and around several corners. Then she stopped abruptly and said, “Here you go. The school nurse will take a look at that eye for you.” She knocked on the door and then scarpered off before it was answered.

  The door swung open to reveal a grizzled older lady, who scowled at him intently, before looking back over her shoulder. She was clearly distracted by something else in the room that Gargle couldn’t see. She said, “What do you want?”

  “I was told you can fix my face.”

  She gave him a cursory glance. “Looks fine to me. Swelling will go down in a couple of hours.”

  She tried to close the door, but he blocked it.

  “Is there nothing you can do? Are you a healer class? Do you have some kind of atom regenerator in there, or maybe a healing ray?”

  The nurse scoffed. “Bit of a comedian are we?”

  “I see nothing funny about having an injured face.”

  She sighed and rummaged around in the room before throwing a cold bag at him. “Here’s your healing ray.”