Lunch Swap Disaster

by Bruce Coville

  The new assistant nodded as I came in. “Your Fatherly One said to send you in the moment you got here,” he said. Then he vanished—only to pop up directly next to me, which caused me to jump in surprise.

  “Sorry,” said Beezle Whompis. “I should remember it takes you physical beings a while to get used to that. Listen, I’ve gone over the messages from school today, and the situation is not pleasant. I thought I should warn you that your parental unit is most distressed.”

  He vanished again, only to reappear in the chair where he had been sitting a moment earlier.

  I blinked and headed into the office, the Veeblax at my heels.

  * * *

  The Fatherly One’s command pod was floating halfway between floor and ceiling.

  “You wished to see me, Parental Unit?” I asked, looking up and feeling small.

  “I have had a disturbing report from the school, my childling.” He paused, then added significantly, “Another one.”

  I hung my head. “I have no excuse, parent/mentor. An unbearable urge came over me most unexpectedly. At first I did not even realize what was happening.”

  The Fatherly One burped a command, and the pod drifted gently to the floor. He stepped out, put his hands on my shoulders, and said, “I need you to exercise caution and control right now. Especially control. Obviously it will take time for us to learn all the little ways in which things in this planet’s environment may affect us. But you cannot use that as an excuse! You must contain your impulses.” He paused, then continued, “This is a perilous moment for our mission.”

  The fear I felt now had nothing to do with the Fatherly One’s anger. “I do not understand,” I said quietly.

  “I will explain,” said the Fatherly One. His face was heavy with concern.

  CHAPTER 8 [TIM]

  COMMUNICATION

  When I got down to our apartment, I found a large purple package sitting in the center of the living room floor.

  “It’s from the embassy,” said Mom. “Ralph the driver dropped it off about five minutes ago. He said Pleskit wants you to open it as soon as possible. I figured you’d want to know right away. He also left a note,” she added, passing me a small purple envelope.

  “This is too cool!” I cried. “I wonder what it is.” I stuffed the envelope into my pocket, then grabbed the package and began trying to open it.

  Five minutes later, I was snarling with frustration. The wrapping material, whatever it was, was impossible to cut or tear in any way.

  “May I offer a suggestion?” asked my mother.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “Never mind. If you can’t speak civilly, I’ll keep my stupid adult thoughts to myself.”

  I sighed. “Sorry. What’s your suggestion?”

  “Why not check what’s in the envelope?”

  Feeling foolish, I pulled the envelope from my pocket. Unlike the package, it opened easily.

  Tim:

  Greetings and good wishes!

  I have finally arranged for us to have a more effective method of communication than your primitive telephone system provides. At last I will be able to see you and smell you when we talk, rather than simply hearing you! (You will be able to smell me as well. However, I know this is not a particularly effective means of communication for Earthlings, so you can switch off the odor emitter if it bothers you.)

  Batteries are not included, mostly because they are embargoed technology. I’m not sure why I can send you the communicator and not the batteries, unless the Trading Federation has determined that your scientists might be able to figure out how to make the batteries, while the communicator would be beyond them. Anyway, we had to come up with another power source, which is part of why this has taken so long. Barvgis finally reconfigured the device so you can plug it into a standard Earth socket. It disturbed me to do so, but he said it was the best solution, inelegant though it appears.

  To open the package, just run your fingertip along the edges of the box. It has been cued to your personal chemistry, which we have on record from your trips to the embassy.

  Please contact me as soon as you have the unit up and running. I had a very disturbing conversation with the Fatherly One this afternoon, and I want to discuss it with you.

  Looking forward to seeing/hearing/smelling you.

  Fremmix Bleeblom!

  Your pal,

  Pleskit

  I looked at my fingertip, not certain I liked the idea that the aliens had so much information on file about me. But I was too curious to spend much time worrying about that, so I ran my fingertip along the edges of the box. Instantly the sides, top, and bottom rolled into small tubes. Without a sound, the tubes slid one into another. A second later, all that remained of the box was something that looked like a long, purple straw.

  “I wonder how this thing works,” said Mom, picking up the slender tube. “I’d love to have a bunch of these at Christmastime. I’d save hours of wrapping!”

  I was too intrigued by the contents of the box to answer. The base of the object was circular, about an inch thick and maybe eight or nine inches across. Mounted on this base was something that would have looked like a computer monitor, if monitors were circular and no thicker than a penny. On the base was a single purple button, shaped like an egg.

  “Gotta go check this out,” I said, picking up the machine. I carried it to my room, where it took me a few minutes to clear a spot among the comic books, action figures, and dirty laundry to set the thing, then plugged it in.

  I reached out and touched the button on the base.

  The circular screen began to glow. A pair of small boxes folded out from the base. Then two metallic tentacles stretched up from the boxes. They reminded me of the extensions that came from the brain vat of Pleskit’s Grandfatherly One.

  “Do you wish to make contact?” asked a pleasant voice.

  “Yes!” I shouted, so excited, I could barely stay in my chair.

  “Such volume is not necessary,” said the voice, sounding as if it were wincing. “With whom do you wish to be connected?”

  “Pleskit.”

  “Noted and logged. I will let you know when contact is—”

  The voice was cut off, and Pleskit’s face appeared on the screen. “Tim!” he said happily. “You got it working!”

  “This is so cool!” I said. “Can you see me?”

  Pleskit blinked, as if surprised by the question. “Of course. That was the point. I can smell you too, which makes the communication much more complete—though the odor from your underwear pile sends more information than I really want to know.” He leaned closer to the screen. “Are you alone?”

  “Yeah, I’m in my room. Mom tries to avoid coming in here, on account of the mess makes her upset.”

  “Good. I need to talk to you.”

  “What’s up? Wait! Did you get in trouble about what happened at school today?”

  “The Fatherly One was surprisingly understanding, though he did get cranky about the fact that I brought the Veeblax into his office with me. But listen, Tim. My strange behavior today is not the only thing going on. There are other problems here—problems that are very disturbing for the future of your planet.”

  CHAPTER 9 [PLESKIT]

  TIM HAS A BRAINSTORM

  Tim frowned. “That doesn’t sound so good.”

  “It’s not. The Fatherly One’s new assistant arrived today—”

  “Beezle Whompis finally got here?” interrupted Tim. “I was beginning to think he was never coming. Is he cool?”

  “Please, do not start again with ‘cool,’ ” I said. I still had not been able to totally grasp the idea. “Let’s just say he is… unusual. The important thing right now is that he brought a message from the Interplanetary Trading Federation.” I took a deep breath. “Things do not look good for the mission.”

  Tim’s eyes grew wide. “Why not?”

  “The beings who are monitoring us feel that the Fatherly One is not progressing rapi
dly enough toward his goals.”

  “Geez, Pleskit, you’ve only been here a few weeks. What do they want?”

  “It’s not so much what he hasn’t done as it is how many things have gone wrong. We have had a remarkable number of… incidents, given the brief time we have been here.”

  “It’s not like Mikta-makta-mookta was your fault!” said Tim indignantly. “She was assigned to you guys by the Trading Federation.”

  “That is true,” I agreed. “However, even in an advanced civilization, people like to shift blame whenever they can. And the Fatherly One makes an easy target because of what happened on Geembol Seven.”

  “Which I still want to know more about,” said Tim.

  My sphen-gnut-ksher emitted a gust of odor, which the communicator sent straight through to Tim. He flinched. “Man, Pleskit,” he said, waving his hand in front of his face. “If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so. You don’t have to stink up my whole room!”

  “Sorry. Involuntary reaction. Tap the top of the device twice if you want to turn off the odor transmitter.”

  “Whew,” Tim said a minute later, still waving his hand in front of his face. “That’s better. So, what do the top guys at the Trading Federation want?”

  “Well, Beezle Whompis says the best thing we could do right now is show progress in finding something that can be used for interstellar trade.” I wanted to emit the smell of deep concern but knew that Tim would not understand, even if he had not turned off the odor transmitter. So instead I put on my most serious expression and said, “If things do not get better soon, the Fatherly One may lose his franchise.”

  “Just how bad would that be?”

  “Very bad for us—even worse for you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Most beings who have studied the situation—and there aren’t that many, because Earth is still considered a very minor planet—think it would be better to simply colonize your planet.”

  “Colonize it?” asked Tim uneasily.

  “Take it over,” I said bluntly. “The Fatherly One is considered a real beezledorf for the way he wants to deal with you. But he staked the first claim, so his wishes have to be honored—unless the Federation decides he has not exploited the franchise properly.”

  “And if they do decide that?”

  “Then we’re out, and someone else—someone much tougher—takes over the planet. We have come hoping to be partners. The next to come would more likely be conquerors.”

  “Yikes!”

  “Precisely. The problem for us is finding something worth trading. Frankly, Earth does not have much to offer. Certainly not your technology, which is far behind ours. You might provide a good workforce, but that would take lots of training.”

  “What about our natural resources?” asked Tim. “Haven’t you guys all, like, plundered your planets and ruined your ecologies and stuff?”

  I laughed. “Do you think we are idiots? Earth is potentially one of the fairest and richest planets in the galaxy. Unfortunately, it is currently also one of the worst managed. According to the Fatherly One, the first survey team wept in frustration when they saw what you people have done to the place.”

  “Well, that makes me feel just wonderful,” said Tim.

  “Don’t take it personally. However, it would probably be just as well if your room was never exposed to off-planet scrutiny.”

  “Ha, very ha.”

  I smiled. “Oh good. I made a joke! But do not worry. The problem at the moment has much less to do with you than it does with me. Today’s events at school only added to the sense that the mission is being mismanaged. Botched. Tim, I do not want to be responsible for costing the Fatherly One yet another planetary assignment!”

  “But what happened today wasn’t really your fault,” said Tim.

  “Well, I certainly didn’t do it on purpose. But it happened nonetheless.”

  “Right, so the question is…” Tim stopped. His eyes widened. “Hold on! I think I’ve got it!”

  “You think you’ve got what?” I asked in alarm. “Do you mean it’s catching? Are you going to start having inappropriate bursts of emotion too?”

  Tim snorted. “As if! I mean, I think I know what set you off today.”

  “What?”

  “Think about it. What did you do today that was different from most days? Think lunch, Pleskit.”

  “Peanut butter!” I cried. “I ate your peanut butter sandwich!” My sphen-gnut-ksher bent sideways in a questioning gesture. “Do you really think that was the source of my bizarre actions?”

  “Makes as much sense as anything else. Do you have any way to check it out?”

  “Certainly. We can explore the idea the same way we would explore any other hypothesis.”

  “And how would that be?”

  “By conducting an experiment.”

  CHAPTER 10 [TIM]

  EXPERIMENT

  “I love experiments!” I cried. Then I wrinkled my brow. “What do you have in mind?”

  “It should be obvious. We feed me some peanut butter, then put me in a room with a female of your species and see what happens.”

  “Excellent idea! I don’t want to try this at the embassy. Can you arrange for Linnsy to come down to your apartment? I will see if I can get McNally to bring me over.”

  “Good. Then you can give me some more instructions for using this communication thingie,” I said. “I’m going by the seat of my pants right now.”

  “There is no need to show it your backside!” cried Pleskit. “I did not think you Earthlings had sufficient control of your farting mechanism to give the device commands that way, so Barvgis reprogrammed it to be more sensitive to spoken language. I am sorry I underestimated your communication skills.”

  I sighed. “I just meant… oh, never mind. I’ll call you back as soon as I’ve talked to Linnsy. If you don’t hear from me in ten minutes, you better call me, because it may mean I’m having trouble with the machine. Hmm. Better make it fifteen. Convincing Linnsy may take a while.”

  “I may have the same problem with McNally,” said Pleskit. “He is officially off duty. Therefore, some pleading is likely to be required to get him to bring me over.” He made a long, multi-toned belch, smiled, and said, “That means: ‘Talk to you/see you/smell you soon.’ ”

  The communicator went dark.

  I went to call Linnsy on the regular phone.

  * * *

  Her first response was pretty much what I had expected.

  “You want me to what?”

  “We want you to participate in an experiment that could help determine the future of Earth-alien relationships,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “Controlled conditions. Perfectly safe. Could be crucial to life as we know it.”

  “Hold on,” said Linnsy. “Let me check the weather report. Aha! Just as I thought. ‘Cloudy, with a chance of wackos.’ ”

  “Linnsy!”

  “Tim!”

  Click.

  I called her back.

  “Hi. It’s me.”

  “Like, big surprise.”

  “Come on, Linns. There’s nothing to worry about. McNally will be here, and Pleskit will be… immobilized. We just need to check out my theory.”

  “You need to check out your brain!”

  Click.

  I called her back again. Before I could even say her name, she shouted, “Will you stop bothering me?”

  “Not until you help us save the world.”

  “Give me one good reason,” said Linnsy.

  “Saving the world isn’t enough of a reason?” I yelped.

  “Give me one good reason why this idiotic idea has anything to do with saving the world.”

  I hesitated, then said, “Can I trust you?”

  “Can you trust me?” she cried. “I don’t think that’s the question here, buddy.”

  I took a deep breath, then went on. “Look, Linnsy, Pleskit’s Fatherly One is the good guy in all this.
He’s trying to be a partner with us Earthlings. If he gets recalled by the Interplanetary Trading Federation, the next trader who gets the Earth franchise may decide we should be a colony instead.”

  Linnsy went silent for so long that I began to wonder if she had put the phone down and walked away. Finally she whispered, “Tim, are you messing with me on this? Because if you are—”

  “Tarbox’s Honor, Linnsy,” I said, which effectively cut off her question. She knew good and well that while I might like to wiggle around on the edges of reality a bit, when I used the Tarbox oath, I was deadly serious.

  She sighed. “I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  It was early evening. Gathered in the living room of our apartment were me, Pleskit, McNally, and my mother.

  Linnsy was waiting in the kitchen.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Mom said nervously.

  I sighed. “I’ve told you what’s at stake, Mom. Besides, McNally is here to keep Pleskit in line—which he won’t even need to do unless my theory is correct.”

  “I concur with Tim’s analysis,” said Pleskit. He was sitting in a straight-backed wooden chair. McNally stood behind him.

  Mom sighed. “What about you, Mr. McNally?”

  The bodyguard shrugged. “I think it’s worth a shot.”

  Mom stepped forward and gingerly placed a peanut butter sandwich on the tray table I had set up by Pleskit’s chair.

  “Divine aroma,” said Pleskit, picking up the sandwich and sniffing it.

  Then he took a bite.

  We watched him anxiously.

  “I think I should probably eat the whole sandwich,” he said. “Also, even if this is the source of the problem, it may take a while for it to kick in.”

  He took another bite of the sandwich, and then another.

  I got too impatient to wait for him to finish, and I motioned for Linnsy to come in.

  The moment she entered, Pleskit put down the sandwich. He sat back in his chair as if he had been stunned. McNally put his hands on Pleskit’s shoulders.