Grow Up

by Craig Anderson

“I am not trying to win, I am trying to convince you that this new controller is better. Hopefully it is working.” Josh turned to give Frag his most sincere look.

  Frag capitalized. His mech reeled back and tossed the energy shield. It crashed into Josh’s Ticket Buster for major damage, almost ending the fight.

  “You cannot do that,” Frag said, frantically. “Never show weakness or compassion. No client will ever hire a lawyer with compassion. We are expected to be ruthless, to kill or be killed.”

  “Is that you talking, or the Teacher?” Josh said. He pushed a couple of buttons and his Ticket Buster removed the shield from its chest. “That was quite a move! Why didn’t you open with that?”

  “It leaves me vulnerable and without my shield. I have only used it in a fight once before, and Teacher chastised me for it, saying it was the most idiotic attack he had ever witnessed.”

  “Yeah, well he’s wrong, that was great.” Josh pushed a little further. “There’s no way you should be on the bottom of the leaderboard. I can barely hit you, and I’m moving a lot quicker than anyone else is going to be. Why aren’t you crushing the others?”

  “I do not like to attack. It leaves me vulnerable.”

  “Were you always like this?”

  Frag hesitated. “I do not think so. If anything I would attack too much, but when I failed the bar the first time it made me hesitant. Failing the second time was even worse. I learned to defend instead of attack, to parry instead of strike.”

  “Well the Teacher is right about one thing, you can’t win a fight by hiding in the corner. Your problem is, your Mech Controller isn’t great at multitasking. You are either attacking or defending, but it is hard to do both at the same time. Here, give mine a try. I think you’ll find it’s an improvement.” Josh tossed the controller over and Frag held it in his small hands. He said, “How do I use it?”

  “Mess around with it. Push buttons, use the analogues, once you’ve got a feel for it I’ll show you the basics.”

  “There is no tutorial video?”

  “What? No, you have to figure it out for yourself. Honestly, everyone around here is too used to everyone else telling them what to do and how to do it. Can you not figure something out on your own?”

  “If I had a task I could…” Frag said quietly. He tried pressing the various buttons, one at a time. The green mech danced around the screen, spinning on the spot, running in circles, and randomly firing off weapons. It was far from coordinated, but it would surely be easier than learning the button-filled monstrosity. When he had pressed each button once he said, “How do I do everything else?”

  “Button combos. Here, let me show you.” Josh walked him through the basics, jumping, boosting, aiming. It didn’t take long until Frag was gliding the green Ticket Buster around the virtual arena. He was grinning madly. “This is considerably easier!”

  “Yep. Give it a couple of hours and you will be a pro, no-one will be able to touch you in the arena.”

  Without warning the Computer shouted in Josh’s ear, making him jump. “Shift is on her way to this room right now. She must have noticed your absence and asked security to locate you. I suspect she will not be pleased about you ignoring your task. I advise that you ensure she does not find you using that game controller, as that will only add to her annoyance.”

  “Understood,” Josh said. He reached out with his hand. “Sorry, Frag, party’s over. My burblesitter is on wer hay.”

  “What did you just say? I think there may have been a translation error.”

  “I said my burble…” A wave of darkness washed over Josh. His head was suddenly bowling-ball-heavy, and his neck was a spring. He tried to stand up, but his arms and legs refused to cooperate. The last thing he heard was the Computer saying, “Looks like the buzz beans crash is finally happening. Stay back everyone, this might get a little messy…”

  ***

  Gargle opened his eyes and wished he hadn’t. The light drilled into his skull like a Krogon Cerebral Bore. Shutting his eyes did little to improve the situation, but it did stop the room moving around quite so violently. The room was definitely spinning, or possibly he was. Apparently he had found himself back in space, or at least on a planet with less stable gravity. That was either good or bad news, depending on who had found him. Had the Galactic Corp finally discovered him?

  He sat up, which was his second mistake. The movement triggered a very violent evacuation of his stomach, which tried to use all available exits. Forced to choose between two less-than-ideal evacuation routes, he instinctively went with the upper one as his preferred option, and violently barfed on the floor.

  A voice next to him said, “I’m not cleaning that up.”

  Gargle slowly turned his head to see an old man that was currently sharing a room with him. He looked rather worse for wear, in bedraggled clothes that were covered in sewn-on patches and unidentifiable stains. As Gargle continued turning his head, thick steel bars came into view.

  “Where am I?” he asked, his voice booming. It sounded far too loud and made his head hurt more.

  “You’re at the police station. Looks like you had quite a night.”

  Gargle looked down for the first time. He was wearing a pair of tatty tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt 3 sizes too large. He had no idea where they had come from, or what had happened to his school uniform, but he suspected he wouldn’t like the answer to either of those questions. He desperately tried to remember what had happened, but there were no memories, just a yawning black hole devoid of any information. He could remember everything up to the third beer, and then it went blank.

  Not good. What could he possibly have done to attract the attention of the local authorities? How thorough were they with their interrogations? He may not be able to maintain the ruse if they were competent at detecting deception.

  He needed to come up with a plan, a detailed strategy to maintain his cover. Unfortunately he was barely able to think with this splitting headache. What he needed was a moment without the pain crowding out his thoughts. His turbo healing was having little effect, and he didn’t dare try messing around with his automatic systems in the state he was in, the results could be catastrophic. If only he could have a moment of peace to come up with a plan.

  Of course! He could ditch this damaged shell and think in peace in his ethereal form.

  The old man in his cell had had almost as crazy a night as Gargle, the only difference being it was just a regular Wednesday for him. He was well-known to the old bill and they typically let him crash the night if he was being particularly rowdy. He was far more versed in handling hangovers, and if you had asked him he would have told you that he had seen a lot of crazy things in his time. Hang around with fellow pissheads long enough and there’s not much you won’t be exposed to.

  However, nothing had quite prepared him for what he was about to see. A young lad straight-up died in front of him, his body slumping to the ground in a limp and lifeless heap. That wasn’t even the crazy part. He looked up to see a ghost, plain as day, floating above the corpse. The strange thing was, it didn’t look anything like the lad in question. This thing was blue, and shimmery, and a poorly defined blob.

  Gargle heard the gasp from next to him and remembered that humans didn’t have an ethereal form. He clearly wasn’t thinking straight. Just as the old man started yelling something about ghosts, Gargle quickly popped back into the shell in time for the police officers to come running. They saw Gargle lying on the ground and immediately panicked. One of them unlocked the cell door while the other went to get backup. The officer breathed a sigh of relief when Gargle sat back up, still regaining control of all the limbs.

  The old man was on his feet, yelling and pointing. “He died! I saw it! He was a ghost.”

  “Alright Burt, calm down, you know how you get when you start sobering up.”

  “No, I really saw it this time!”

  “Yep, and last week it was Jack the Ripper, and the week before it was Elvi
s. Honestly, you need to lay off the booze for a while.”

  Burt turned to Gargle. “Tell him! Tell him you died and came back to life.”

  Gargle did his best to maintain a neutral expression. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “Wait, I’ve got it, he’s not a ghost, he’s a body snatcher!” Burt yelled, rushing at Gargle. “He’s an alien that has stolen that body.”

  “HA!” said Gargle, a little too enthusiastically. “Don’t be silly, an alien body snatcher wouldn’t get caught by the local police, it would go undercover and try to keep a low profile to learn more about human society and culture.” He laughed like his life depended on it, and to his relief the police officer joined in.

  The cop said, “Don’t mind Burt, he has a very active imagination and he likes his drink. Speaking of which, I think you may have overdone it a little last night.”

  Gargle rubbed his head in an attempt to make the pain stop. “I’m having some trouble remembering. Where are my clothes?”

  The police officer pulled a small notebook out of his pocket. “According to eyewitness accounts you jumped onto a table, loudly proclaimed that you were here to invade the planet, and then wet yourself. Not to be deterred, you declared clothing to be utterly pointless and proceeded to remove it all.” He flipped a couple of pages and added, “That was after you challenged every man in the bar to an arm wrestling competition and before you barfed on the slot machine.” He read something else and glanced over at Burt. “Apparently you also told the patrons that you were from a planet called Blurgon and you are here in secret to enable a school child to become an inter-galactic mech-piloting lawyer.”

  “See! I told you!” Burt jumped to his feet and several of his limbs creaked in protest.

  Gargle closed his eyes. He had blown his cover. Again. He was clearly not cut out for spy work. It was only a matter of time before the Galactic Corp discovered this and came down to grab him. His best hope was to remain safely locked away in human custody. The question was, how long did he have? “What is the duration of my incarceration for these crimes?”

  The police officer chuckled. “Oh, you weren’t charged with anything. If we arrested every school kid that went on a drunken bender the week before exams we’d need five times more officers. You were just locked up for your own safety, so we could keep an eye on you and make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit.” He regarded the fresh pile of sick in the middle of the room. “I’m quite frankly amazed that you’re still puking. Just how much did you drink?”

  “I believe it was four beers.”

  “Four beers! You caused this much carnage after four beers? God help us when you discover shots!” The police officer grinned. A communication device on his shoulder crackled and he listened intently. Then he said, “We couldn’t get hold of your dad, but we did manage to reach your mum. She’s outside in reception.”

  “My mum?”

  “Yep. Come on, I’ll take you out to her.”

  “Wait, no, I can’t leave here.” Gargle looked for something to grab hold of.

  The police officer laughed. “You’ve got to face the music eventually, you can’t hide in here forever. Don’t worry, she probably won’t murder you in a police station.” He placed his hand on Gargle’s back and gently ushered him out of the cell. He could hear Burt yelling something behind them, but he was too busy focusing on the large blue door they were moving towards. The one that led from safety to danger.

  Level 13: From the Frying Pan…

  Gargle followed the officer out into reception, scanning the room for threats. He saw a teary-eyed woman, quietly weeping into a tissue, and he cautiously went over to console her. “I am sorry for the shame I have brought you, Mother.”

  The woman looked up at him. “I’m sorry, what? Who are you?”

  A voice behind him said, “Christ, how much did ye drink last night? Even I don’t get pissed enough not to recognize me own ma.” The voice sounded different to all the others he had heard; it took him a moment to comprehend it. It was almost lyrical. He slowly turned to see a tall, thin, red-haired woman wearing very tight jeans and a jacket that was made out of black animal hide. Before he could say anything she crashed into him in a hug and kissed him on each cheek, leaving red lipstick smeared on his face. Gargle noticed that several of the male police officers had stopped what they were doing and were staring intently. The woman was signing something, and taking the small pile of Gargle’s possessions, which did not appear to include his uniform. She slid them from the desk into a gaping handbag.

  This woman moved like she had drank too many buzz beans, as if she was bursting with energy and could barely contain it. He stood, mouth agape, and she said, “Come on, let’s get out of here and grab some breakfast.”

  “But…”

  “Don’t give me that, I know we aren’t on speaking terms right now, but would ye rather wait in jail until yer dad gets here?”

  “Yes!” he said, nodding enthusiastically.

  “Too bad. Come on, we’ll get ye cleaned up.” She hooked his arm in hers and dragged him along. He tried to resist, but she was surprisingly strong.

  As they left the police station, she walked towards a sleek red sports car. It only had two seats and even Gargle could tell it was quick based on the shape. It looked like a fighter ship, all sweeping surfaces and delicate curves. Gargle wouldn’t have been surprised if it had blasted off straight into space, but instead the moment he sat down the Mum revved the engine and wheel spun out of the parking lot, spinning the car in a semi-circle and leaving deep black tire marks. She whooped as the tires finally caught and shot the car forward.

  The Mum shouted over the roar of the engine, “It’s nice to see you getting out and about. I was worried your little sulk was going to last forever. Still, you need to work on your fashion sense.” She tugged at his baggy t-shirt playfully. Out here in the daylight it looked even worse.

  Her driving was objectively terrifying. Gargle could not tell if her reflexes were excellent, or awful, because every course correction happened at the very last available moment before certain death. He found himself wondering what he would do when this shell was destroyed in a fiery crash. Could he lurk around on this planet in his ethereal form, waiting to be picked up? Or would he be better off trying to find a new shell, and doing his best to blend in somewhere else.

  Thankfully he didn’t get a chance to find out. The car screeched to a halt in front of a building with a grungy sign that Gargle read aloud. “The Spoony Grease?”

  “Can’t beat a fry up when ye hangin. Come on, my treat.” She hopped out and strutted away without waiting for Gargle, forcing him to chase after her.

  There was already a commotion as Gargle walked into the cafe. Several people hollered at the Mum. One man who seemed like he might already be drunk said, “Back again so soon, Caitlin?”

  “Ye know me, Steve, I can’t get enough of this place.”

  Caitlin settled into a booth with seats so frayed and worn you could practically draw the outline of arse cheeks. A man with a grease-stained white apron and a long black moustache gave her a nod and she held up two fingers, before gesturing to the seat opposite her. When Gargle didn’t sit she said, “Still giving me the cold shoulder huh?”

  Gargle slid into the booth. “Cold shoulder?”

  “Don’t be cute. I know you’re still mad about what happened. It’s ok to be angry, I don’t blame ye. I’m not trying to convince anyone I’m Mother of the year material.”

  Gargle didn’t know what to say, so he sat in silence.

  After a few seconds Caitlin said, “If ye aren’t going to talk to me, will ye at least play cards while we wait?”

  She pulled a small package out of her handbag and opened it. Inside was a stack of rectangular objects that were extremely thin. Each had various numbers and symbols on them. Gargle picked one up and stared at it. “What is the purpose of this?”

  “I know ye don’t approve, but i
t will help us to pass the time until yer dad gets off work and finds out what happened. I’m certainly not sending ye to school looking like that.” She shook her head and laughed. “So what would ye like to play? Gin Rummy? Old Maid? Blackjack?”

  “Blackjack?” He meant it as a question, but she took it as a reply.

  “Works for me. Ye remember how to play?”

  “No.”

  “I guess it has been a while. I’ll remind ye.”

  If Gargle thought she was animated before, she stepped it up a notch now. It was like watching someone on a viewer at double the playback speed. Her hands were a blur as the cards spun across the table, landing neatly in a row in front of Gargle as if propelled by a Brainling. It was eerie enough for Gargle to slowly scan the room, looking for anything suspicious. Unfortunately, the Spoony Grease and suspicious went together almost as easily as the Spoony Grease and food poisoning. Everyone in here was either a badly informed alien or a poor excuse for a human.

  Gargle turned his attention back to the cards. What followed was an impromptu lesson in the art of Blackjack. He listened intently while trying to determine the purpose of this activity. Was this what life as a spy was like? Quietly acknowledging the drivel of other species and pretending to care? If so, he found himself glad to be a courier, where his tasks were clear and well defined, and he didn’t have to pretend to be happy about anything.

  Once Caitlin was convinced that he understood the basics she introduced a new aspect. She removed a small pile of metal discs from her handbag and said, “Ok, let’s have a little fun. Here’s five quid in change, ye determine how much to bid for each hand. I’ll be the dealer. You have to bet at least 10 pence per turn.”

  He did as requested, staring at each coin to determine its value before playing the smallest coin he had, until the pack was half-used and he determined that the statistical likelihood of winning results had marginally improved. On the last hand he noted his cards, and Caitlin’s overturned card, before pushing all his remaining money into the centre.