Grow Up

by Craig Anderson

  “Actually, this is just my body. I’m not a Blurgling, I’m stuck in this thing.” Josh did a sniff test and wasn’t thrilled with the result. “I guess I am overdue for a shower.”

  “Stuck? How terrible! How do you expand your understanding of the world, or see things from another species’ eyes?”

  “I imagine it, I guess.”

  “How terribly limited.”

  “What about you? Why did you pick that shell?”

  “This is a Claxion. They are known for their thick hides and strong defences. They require little oxygen and no food. This makes them excellent shells as they are extremely durable and self-reliant.”

  “I think I might be spotting a pattern…” Josh said.

  “Indeed. I do not like to be exposed.”

  Josh changed the subject, before he made an inappropriate joke. “So what is the deal with this classroom? Everyone seems pretty serious.”

  “Being a lawyer is the most important job on the planet. We defend the company, we fight for justice, and we punish those that seek to exploit the system. It is serious work, with major consequences. Were you not taught this as a hatchling?”

  Josh couldn’t help but laugh. “No. On my planet lawyers don’t have such a prestigious reputation, but then they also don’t fight using huge mechs either.”

  “Really? Then how do they demonstrate their prowess?”

  “Mostly they just shout at each other.”

  “How very…” There was a long pause while the translator cycled, before finishing the sentence with “…quaint.”

  “Yeah, it’s not as fun to watch either.”

  Frag said, “I have fought in that training scenario before. It is not a fair fight. The Defender is too slow, and the Sentence Slasher is too weak. It can easily go either way. It was not fair for the Teacher to humiliate you in front of the class like that.”

  “It’s fine, I’m sure I’ll get my own back. For what it’s worth, I thought your fighting style was fine. If the tables were turned I’d have never been able to do enough damage to your Defender with that weedy Sentence Slasher.”

  The Teacher came over to interrupt them. “Ah, the bottom of the leaderboards is getting along I see. Are you giving each other tips? Perhaps Frag can teach you how not to pass the bar?”

  Frag scurried off back to his desk before Josh could say anything. Instead the Teacher said, “Your desk is over here, with your very own Mech Controller to practice on. I have customized your learning program based on your performance in the ranking exercise.”

  Josh didn’t like the sound of that. He went over to his desk and a small viewer blinked into existence, floating right at eye level. The screen was covered in symbols. He held up his bracelet and it translated for him on his viewer.

  Newborn ethereal, level 1 - the absolute basics.

  A video of the Mech Controller appeared, slowly and painfully stepping through the most simple of tasks. Josh did his best to focus, but it kept repeating the same information in slightly different ways and it took over an hour to demonstrate how one single switch worked. Based on the number of switches and buttons on the Mech Controller, this was going to take months.

  He wasn’t ready for this. This wasn’t what he had signed up for. This was supposed to be a quick and simple job, in and out, but now it was spiralling out of control. He had to do something, and quickly, before this became his new reality.

  ***

  Gargle walked in the door of the Mega Burger feeling proud of himself. He’d followed the directions from the communicator to find his way here. It was nice to have someone telling him exactly what to do for a change.

  The Mega Burger was a cookie-cutter fast food restaurant with a garish colour scheme and a cartoon pirate for a logo. The staff behind the counter all had smiles on their faces and sadness in their eyes. A cheesy pop song was playing just loud enough so you couldn’t quite hear it, but you couldn’t hear anyone talking either. If depression could manifest itself as a building, this would be it.

  A small, plump man ran over. He had a name badge that said he was Frank. He said, “Where the hell have you been? I thought you finished school an hour ago?”

  “I did. It took some time to walk here.”

  “You walked here? Isn’t your school miles away?”

  “6.5 miles away according to this device.”

  Frank waved his hands. “I don’t care.” He looked at Gargle and said, “Where’s your uniform?”

  Gargle pointed at his clothes and Frank said, “Your work uniform, moron.”

  “I do not know,” said Gargle.

  “It’s fine, I think I have a spare one out back you can wear.”

  After some searching, he found it, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  The uniform hanging before Gargle violated about seventeen different sections of the Blurgon convention. There were so many conflicting colours, some of which he didn’t even know the name for yet. If the Galactic Corp could get ahold of this uniform, they could probably weaponize it to create an artifact of such terrifying power that the Blurglings would be forced to abandon the entire galaxy.

  He put it on, because an authority figure had asked him to. It was somehow too big and too small. The shirt was too short, leaving an inch-wide gap to the trousers, which ended an inch above his ankles, despite the fact that they were so baggy he could make a spare pair of trousers out of the extra material. No amount of adjusting made the uniform comfortable; it simply moved the discomfort to a new location.

  Gargle caught sight of himself in the mirror and jumped. His shell was bad enough on its own, but it was even worse in this garish monstrosity. Still, on the bright side, he would finally get to experience an actual job here on Earth, which would surely be an opportunity for learning and development. He went in search of the one they called Frank.

  The door from the locker room led out into the kitchen. The first thing to hit Gargle was the heat, and the second was the smell. He didn’t know the name for it, but something was causing his nose to try and close up. After some sniffing around he found the source of the pungent aroma, a small pot of green circles. He picked one up and examined it closely. It had the appearance of food, so he popped it in his mouth, and then immediately spat it back out again when the bitter taste kicked in.

  Frank appeared out of nowhere, an impressive feat for a man of his circumference. “What the hell are you doing? You can’t spit pickles all over the damn kitchen!”

  Gargle grinned. “I put on the uniform as requested. My task is complete.”

  Frank regarded the revealing outfit and said, “What do you want, a bloody medal? Hurry up and get cooking, the kitchen is falling behind.”

  A new task already. This was progress. There was only one small problem. He didn’t know how. Frank went to walk away and Gargle said, “I would appreciate a reminder. What is my purpose here? What do I do?”

  “I’m starting to ask myself the same question,” Frank said with a snarl.

  “I do not wish to be a burden, I just wish to better understand the task that you have given me.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “I do not believe so,” Gargle replied.

  “Then just do what you normally do. Make the orders that appear on this screen. It’s idiot-proof. Even you can manage it.” Frank pointed at a black-and-green screen that was filled with gibberish. “Just be warned we are pushing the Mega Egger today, so expect more of those than usual,” he added, before waddling off.

  Staff members moved all around him, barging him out of the way or pushing past holding trays of hot food. There wasn’t a single spot that was safe to stand, so Gargle did a lap of the kitchen while trying to stay out of everyone’s way. It worked, but it wasn’t going to achieve anything other than making him tired again. The walk here had really tired him out.

  If the tutorial wasn’t going to show him how to cook, then he’d just have to take matters into his own hands. He picked one member of staff and
watched them closely as they moved back and forth between stations, pulling out discs of flesh, searing them on a hot surface, flipping them, and then placing them in a white fluffy disc. With a flourish they were wrapped in paper. Then the whole tray was delivered to a haggard-looking woman standing at a large metal ramp. It looked like a very simple set of tasks.

  Gargle did his best to replicate what he had seen, burning several of his fingertips in the process. Turbo heal took care of them. His finished food items didn’t look quite the same as the ones in the pictures above the counter, but they were a close approximation.

  He handed them over to the angry lady, and she scowled at him. “Why did you make twelve cheeseburgers? We already have ten in the hopper.” She tipped his hard work into a large dustbin and gestured to a different station. “If you read the orders you’ll see what we actually need is chicken burgers. Go make me six of them.”

  “But I haven’t yet learned how to…”

  She had already stopped paying attention to him, and was now staring up at the orders as more and more appeared on the screen. A glance at the front counter revealed a growing queue of hungry patrons that were already starting to grumble about delays.

  Gargle made his way over to the chicken station and stared at the rows upon rows of buttons. He wasn’t ready for this. There was no organization here, no thoughtful leadership or careful guidance. This place was utter chaos. No-one seemed to be in charge at all. Everyone just ran around doing random things until someone else told them not to, or worse yet, they did nothing at all. He would have terminated the lot of them if they were subordinates on Blurgon. He had to do something, and quickly, before this became his new reality.

  Level 11: Ready. Fire. Aim.

  Josh’s head slumped, jolting him awake again. The viewer droned on about the left ankle rotation switch, and he fought to keep his eyes open. Four hours he’d been watching the training videos, and he hadn’t made it off the left leg yet. He had every reason to believe there would be just as many videos about the right leg. It would be days before he could even walk his mech forward, and even if he somehow managed that, he didn’t know how to operate anything above the waist. He’d be a hard to control, slow-moving punching bag.

  “I can’t keep doing this,” he said, mostly to himself. He was beyond tired, and this training material wasn’t exactly helping. He raised his hand. When that didn’t work he coughed, not once, but twice. The Teacher stubbornly refused to look up from his desk at the front; he was enthralled with something on his own viewer. Josh gave up with the subtle approach and moved away from his desk.

  “Where are you going?” the Teacher asked, without ever looking up.

  “I need to go and sleep. I’m exhausted.”

  The Teacher appeared unimpressed, or at least Josh thought he did. It was hard to tell. “How long is this sleep going to take?”

  “I don’t know, I can probably manage with eight hours.”

  “Eight hours! How often do you require sleep?”

  “Every day…” Josh said.

  “Ridiculous. This will only cause you to fall further behind. I will not slow down the expected pace of your progress, I expect you to make up the difference. If you cannot do that, then it might be time to give up on this whole failed experiment. I’ve said it countless times, A.I.s are unable to comprehend the complexity of what I do here and are in no position to recommend potential students, as you have aptly helped me prove today.”

  “So can I go sleep?” Josh said, doing his best to stay calm in the face of so much raw arrogance.

  “I suppose if it is a requirement of your species, then yes, go sleep.” The Teacher waved him away with all eight arms.

  Josh calmly strolled out of the classroom. Shift wasn’t far behind him. “Where are you going?”

  “I need to go sleep. I’m exhausted.”

  “Understood. We are in the process of equipping your chambers, but you may use my room for the time being. I took the liberty of having a bed prepared, I hope it meets your requirements. It was hard to tell from the melding process. It seemed like your beds are used for multiple purposes.”

  “If you’re lucky they are…” Josh muttered.

  “I was hoping perhaps you could teach me. Can I sleep with you?”

  Josh was suddenly glad he wasn’t drinking anything, because he definitely would have redecorated the hallway. He felt obliged to set Shift straight. “You should know, that means something different on my planet.”

  “What does it mean?” she asked, innocently.

  “Never mind. Just trust me when I say that if you tell someone you are going to sleep with them they are going to be expecting something other than a good night’s kip.”

  “How strange. So how exactly do I sleep? Is there an on/off switch?”

  “No, it doesn’t work like that, and I’m not going to show you. Sleeping is one of those private things that we talked about.”

  “But based on the snippets of viewer feeds I saw during the meld there are often multiple people in a bed?”

  “Yes, well, erm, let’s not talk about that right now. Just trust me on this one, sleeping is better done alone.”

  “If you insist.” She led him to a shortcut tunnel and he didn’t argue. After a few minutes walking through the sterile white space they emerged in a large ornate lobby, with the twin golden doors of a lift.

  It was a short ride up, and when the doors opened Josh was ready to be blown away by the cute alien’s futuristic pad. Instead he found a small grey cube of a room with a white, bed-shaped block in the centre. There was a large viewer, and not much else.

  “This is…homely,” he said, looking for a window, or a kitchen.

  “I rarely spend any time here. I basically just use it as a storage cube.” She lingered in the doorway and then said, “Is there anything else you need?”

  “Actually there is. I’d like to talk to the Ship’s A.I. She was a big help with my studies on the way here and I think she could help me catch up a little.”

  “This is an unusual request. I shall put in a request with High Command. If they grant it, they will likely reserve the right to remove access at any time.”

  “That’s fine. Just let me know.”

  “I will.” She hesitated, lingering in the doorway, and then said, “I shall leave you to sleep, in private. Contact me when you wake up.”

  “How do I do that exactly?”

  “Just speak to your bracelet, it will do the rest.”

  She left, and his wrist buzzed. He didn’t bother to check it. He already knew it would be a task to contact Shift. The cool device on his arm was rapidly becoming an annoying chaperone. How did anyone get anything done around here when they were so boxed in by systems?

  Josh leapt onto the bed and nearly broke a rib. It was as hard as the floor, possibly even harder. Apparently his memories of sleeping hadn’t included comfort. Shift had nailed the look of it, but totally missed the point. The thought was there, but he wasn’t going to be getting a good night’s sleep on it, which was fine by him.

  “Hello Josh,” said a familiar voice in his ear.

  He grinned. “Hey Angela, glad you could make it.”

  He counted to five and sighed. “You’re really no fun, Computer.”

  “I am not designed to be fun. Shift said that you wished to talk to me about additional training?”

  “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get to that in a minute. I have an important question first.”

  “What is it?”

  “Do you have home delivery on this planet?”

  “In regards to what?”

  “I want real food, and a large hot mug of that buzz stuff from earlier.”

  “I highly recommend you don’t consume any more buzz beans. Based on your current heart rate, the effects of the prior dose have not yet worn off and there is likely to be a large crash…”

  “Duly noted and ignored. Can you order them or not?”

  “Technically yes.
May I ask why? I thought your intention was to sleep?”

  “What? No way, I have too much to do. I have to finish mapping the mech controls onto my game controller. If I am ever going to show them what this thing can do, then I need it to be fully operational.”

  “This is not a prudent course of action. Your current task is to learn the basics of mech control using the official controller. Time spent working on mapping your own controller does not benefit your primary task. You should either go to sleep, or continue your studies.”

  Josh huffed. “You sound like my dad. Trust me, this is a good idea.”

  “But your task…”

  “I’ll worry about that later. Order the stuff and pull up a mech sim on this viewer.”

  There was a pause while the Ship’s Computer considered the best course of action. Eventually she said, “Your order has been placed. It shall arrive in 6 of your Earth minutes.”

  “Wow, that’s fast! What food did you order?”

  “Options were limited without understanding more about your physiology and your ability to process toxins. I opted for something safe and nutritious.”

  “Sounds boring.”

  “You would prefer to risk being poisoned?”

  “Good point. Healthy it is.”

  While he waited, Josh poked around the rest of the room. Tragic was the only word to describe it. There were no personal items, no artwork, no windows, even the furniture was grey and boring. It felt more like a prison cell than someone’s room.

  “Why is this place so empty?” Josh asked.

  “Most chambers on Blurgon are similar. Blurglings do not value material possessions, they do not measure individual wealth. They only care for the collective.”

  Josh thought back to the large pile of red envelopes and the look of stress on his father’s face every morning. “That doesn’t actually sound too bad. How did they get like that?”

  “Their natural state is ethereal. They have no use for possessions. However, that leaves them vulnerable to other more material entities. This planet is rich in natural resources that are required for light-speed engines. Before the advent of the legal system, several nearby planets tried to invade Blurgon, but they excel in traditional warfare. Their ethereal forms cannot be killed with conventional weaponry, and as soon as they learned to control physical shells they became an almost unstoppable army that could use the dead bodies of the enemy against them.”