“Now, now don’t panic. Don’t panic,” the commander said to reassure his partner. “I’ll just input your description into the Replicator.” He activated the computer with shaking hands, “It will tell us.” Then, under his breath, “I hope it will tell us.”
“This can’t be happening to me!” his partner said. “I’m supposed to be a human and look at me. I’m covered with fur!”
The commander frantically started to input information into the computer about his partner's newly acquired form. “Okay, now let's see.” He looked down at his partner. “You're obviously a quadruped.” He inputted, then looked again. “Short black and tan fur covering approximately ninety-eight percent of your body.” Inputting again, he then looked his partner up and down and inquired, “Where’s your uniform?”
“Oh, well let's see, hmm,” his partner said. “Since I’m now much shorter than before, I was able to just step out of it!” He began to raise his voice. “Now can we please find out what the hell happened to me?”
The commander looked at the pile of uniform clothes behind his partner and noticed something and spoke as he inputted it into the computer. “Short stubby tail.”
“What!” Looking behind, “I have a tail?”
The commander continued, “You have pointy ears along with a large proboscis.” He inputted and looked again, “And the most adorable almond eyes,” he said, trying to break the tension with humor, an old nervous habit.
“Cut that out!” he shouted, not in the mood for tension relief. “And tell me what . . .”
“Ah, here we go.” The commander interrupted. Using his index finger he started to scan down the information. “Ahh . . . you are a ‘Canis Lupus Familiaris’, ‘Caninus’, ‘Carnivora’. Oh! Oh!” He looked at his partner. “Just as I suspected. You’re a canine of the human race!”
“A human canine!” he said, shocked and dismayed, “What! Why! Who! – What?”
“Yes, a canine of the human race,” he said. “Specifically, a Doberman Pinscher.” He read the computer screen. “Let’s see here.” The closer they got to Earth, the more information the computer was able to update. “Thought to have been first bred around the human year of 1890 by Karl Friedrich Louis Dobermann . . .”
“I DON’T CARE! I care WHY! Why am I a human canine?”
“Technically, a canine of the human race.”
“Whatever the hell! Why am I a human canine?”
“Oh, yes, right.” He turned to his partner, “I’m not completely sure why. But, look at the bright side.”
“Bright side? What possible bright side?”
“Well, you're apparently still a male!”
The commander's partner quickly looked down at himself. “Oh, goodnight nurse! I’m exposed! This is so humiliating!” With confusion and anger building he asked, “Why am I a canine? Why would the Replicator replicate me into a human canine?”
Puzzled, the commander thought for a moment, “Well, I don’t know. There must be a reason.”
“Like, what?” The Doberman Pinscher asked.
The commander was silent for a moment. The only thing heard in the room was the hum of the computers. “Well . . . perhaps . . .”
“Well nothing! There’s absolutely no reason at all for this. I’ve studied the sub-folder we have on the humans preparing for this mission just as you did. They treat their canines as slave labor! They train them to do stupid tricks. And they're so dumb, they don’t even know it!”
“You really can’t say that,” the commander said. “The information we have on the human race is very limited, ever since The Great Fire of 4045.”
“Ah come on! They sniff each others' posteriors,” he said with an air of disapproval and disgust, “Their butts.”
Trying desperately to calm his partner down, the commander said, “Well, I guess that’s how human canines greet each other.”
His partner just stood there staring in disbelief. “What? Okay, tell me. Do human males greet each other by sniffing each others' posterior?”
“No of course not . . . well, I don’t believe so.”
“No! No they don’t.” After a moment his partner said, “I’m going to reactivate the Replication Computer and go through again. And this time this stupid computer better get things right!”
“No you can’t,” the commander said. “You know as well as I do you can’t. We can only go through replication twice. Turning into, then turning back. Anymore than that could cause irreversible damage. You know the technical aspects of replication. Now you’re an IPF Agent, start acting like one. We’ve gone through worse things than this together as Agents.”
His partner pondered this fact for a few minutes. He twitched his nose and flicked his newly formed ears. Then sat on his haunches. “I apologize for my outburst.” He sighed loudly, then said, “It’s just that, I’ve . . . we’ve been preparing for this mission for some time now. This historic mission. A mission that has never been attempted before ever in our history. A mission to infiltrate a world we know little about. A world that has no idea we even exist and isn't ready for the overwhelming reality of life beyond their galaxy. We have to get in, complete the mission, and get out unnoticed.” He paused for a few seconds. “I graduated at the top of my class. I have received commendations for outstanding police work for God's sake! Now I have to represent myself as a human canine! What will the history books say?”
The commander completely understood but was secretly glad it didn’t happen to him. “I am truly sorry about this. But there must be a reason the Replication Computer chose this form for you.”
His partner thought for a moment. “And that’s another thing. If I’m a human canine, a dumb, drooling human canine. Then — why — am — I — TALKING! If I was a human canine shouldn’t I be going, 'bark, bark and woof, woof'?”
“Well,” the commander said, suddenly realizing this, “yes, I suppose you're right. Perhaps the Replicator got human canines and Codas canines confused.”
“Oh! Confused is an understatement.”
“Well, you know those Codas canines. Once you get one of them talking you can’t shut them up.” The commander continued, “Nevertheless, we’re approaching our destination and must proceed with the mission. We’ll deal with your little condition later.”
“Little condition! I beg your pardon!”
“Come now, we need to continue with the mission. Go ahead and set the Replicator to give us the necessary credentials and documentation to allow us to move around freely when we land.”
“Very well, setting the Replicator to continue with . . . OH MY GOD!”
“What? What happened?”
His partner held up a paw and in a shocked voice said, “No opposable thumbs! Look! NO OPPOSABLE THUMBS! What am I going to do NOW?”
“I don’t know! You're just going to have to adapt. Use your pointy digit nails to manipulate the computer.” The commander held up his hands. “Mine are short and round.” He smiled and waved his fingers in the air.
Exasperated, his partner rolled his eyes. “This is so not fair.” He started to activate the computer and muttered, “Codas canines have thumbs.” Then, louder, “I am so going to make a formal complaint about this for the official record.”
“Well,” the commander said, while looking at his fingernails, “that’s in your right.”
“Yeah, yeah! Next, you’ll be telling me human canines defecate outdoors!”
The computer was activated and in moments personal effects were produced on small platforms in front of the two IPF agents.
“Ah! Here we go. The articles we will need to successfully complete our mission,” the commander said while picking them up. “This is human currency.” He fanned out the bills in his hand, looked at them front and back, placed them to the side, then went back to the rest of the items. “Let’s see, this here is a . . . Social Security Card.” He looked at his partner. “It must indicate my social standings within the community.” He placed that with the
currency. “This card is different!” He took his index finger and flicked it. “Made differently. Seems to be petroleum based, the front of it states ‘Diners Club’.” Shaking his head, “I haven’t a clue.”
Then, with great elation, “And this must be my driving certification.” He picked it up. “It is! Let's see what name the Replicator chose for me.” He read the card. “Jeff Trent! I will from here on out be referred to as Jeff Trent. We can’t make the mistake of using our real names. It could attract too much attention.” He thought back to the “Art and Entertainment” sub-folder that they both studied preparing for the mission, the only reference they had since The Great Fire of 4045, and pondered the name for a few seconds. “Of course! The lead character from the human film Plan 9 from Outer Space.” He looked at his partner. “You know the one.” But the Doberman gave him only a scowl as a response.
“You know?” the commander continued, trying to fill the void, “Where space aliens plan to resurrect the dead into an army of zombies to take over the world.” Still nothing. “Which the lead character,” he gestured toward himself, “Jeff Trent must stop.”
Nonchalantly, his partner asked, “What is this?” And held up a leather object between the digits of his left paw.
“Ah, well.” The commander could see this was going from bad to worse.
“What the hell is this?” The Doberman repeated, shaking the object he was holding. “Is this,” he paused to look at it, then back to the commander, “Is this a collar? Is it? A collar?”
“Ah, I think perhaps, yes.”
“And do I have to wear this around my neck?”
“Ah, yes,” the commander said, not making eye contact with his partner and fiddling with his Diners Club card. “Yes, I think so.” Then said, “Hey, look!” holding up the card. “This card has Jeff Trent's name on it also.” He gave a nervous little laugh. “Didn't see that before. I wonder if the currency does too?” He turned to look.
“Well,” the Doberman said, throwing his paws in the air. “This just keeps on getting better all the time doesn't it? First, I get replicated into a human canine, now I have to be subjected to the indignity and humiliation of wearing a collar around my neck. And I suppose you're going to attach THIS to it!” He thrust up a leash.
“No! No! I would never do such a thing.”
“Well, Jeff, I would certainly hope not!” The sarcasm flowed from his partner like a fissure in a dam.
Trying to veer the topic in another direction Trent said, “What are those little dangly things there?”
“Well, hellooo!” his partner replied. “You’ve already pointed out the fact that I’m a human canine male.”
“No, no,” now pointing at the collar. “Those little dangly things.”
His partner looked at where Trent was pointing and sure enough there were two small tags hanging from the collar. He read one. “Well, like in Glen or Glenda you peek up the skirt and get a surprise.” He turned to look at Trent. “These must be my credentials and documentation. Here’s a tag that states that I’m up-to-date on all my shots. Including rabies and distemper. And hey look at this! My fecal parasite test was negative. Isn’t that lovely!”
Jeff Trent had no response, he just shrugged his newly formed shoulders and grinned. His partner was still looking at the tags with great disdain. Then, looking at the other tag he read something. Something that did not set well with him.
“Oh, this is priceless,” he said. “It says ‘If found, return to Jeff Trent.’ If found!” Then speaking in a mocking tone, “Oh! I’m a big dumb drooling human canine and I’m ever so lost! Please return me to Jeff Trent, my owner.” Then changing his tone to annoyance, “This is so ridiculous!” He glanced at the collar again, not believing that this was happening to him. He then flipped the tag over to see more on the reverse side.
“Oh, wait!” he said, as he read on while Trent silently cringed, sorry that he brought up the little dangly things. “There’s more! It states here that my name is,” he suddenly stopped, and looked at Trent, “Genghis Khan! That’s my name? Genghis Khan? What the hell kind of a name is that for a human canine?”
“Well,” he thought for a moment. “Oh, that’s from the human film The Conqueror,” Trent said, putting on his best Movie Tone voice. “Starring John Wayne as the mighty Mongol leader, whose father is killed by a rival tribe and must be avenged.”
Genghis pondered this for a moment. “Why can’t I just be named John Wayne?”
“Because that’s silly, who would do such a thing?
“John Wayne's mom!”
“Yes, perhaps. But, the Replicator has already printed that name on your little dangly things.”
“Well, I don’t like it!” Genghis grumbled.
“Oh, will you stop arguing.”
“Argue! I think I have the right to argue. You're not the human canine!”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Trent said, “those are the cards we’ve been dealt.”
Genghis looked up, puzzled. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m not quite sure,” Trent said, slightly shaking his head, even more puzzled. “I think it’s a human phrase.”
Chapter Four
On auto-pilot, the Interstellar Police Force cruiser approached Earth at astonishing speeds. Bow thrusters fired and slowed the vehicle. As preprogrammed, the navigational computer guided the cruiser toward the dark side of the Earth’s moon. Several different thrusters fired, stopping the forward momentum of the cruiser.
Inside the science lab, one of the computers alerted them with a soft alarm. Genghis walked over to the computer, muttering something about Codas canines, and tried to sit at the computer's chair. But, being that he was still not yet familiar with his new form, he tumbled off the chair and landed on all fours. “Damn it!”
He reared up, balancing on his back legs and placed his front paws on the counter, and acknowledged the alarm using his pointy digit nail. He looked at the information and announced, “First stage of entry has been completed. The Nav Com has us at a dead stop behind their satellite. We are now in range of their detection devices, but, as of yet, have not been detected.”
Jeff Trent was in a storage compartment and called back, “Not sure if they have the capability of detecting us. But just in case, initiate all countermeasures.”
“Countermeasures activated,” Genghis replied. He then looked over his shoulder and asked, “What are you doing in there?”
“Well, I’m changing into human clothes,” Jeff called back. “I can’t walk around in my uniform. It’ll attract too much attention.”
“Oh, yeah, I guess I won’t be using mine. Won’t the cobbler be upset when he finds out I couldn’t wear the Oxford’s he made for me.”
Trent emerged from the storage compartment wearing a black linen suit and a white dress shirt with gold cufflinks. The thin black tie was tied in a Windsor knot and had a white Art Deco design woven into it.
Genghis glanced at him and said, “Nice wingtips.”
“Now, don’t start,” Trent said, as he walked over to Genghis. “We must continue with the second stage of entry. It’s time to maneuver away from their satellite and enter the upper atmosphere. Let’s go ahead and get into the cockpit.”
They both exited the science lab and proceeded up the metallic stairs to the bridge. Trent took his position in the left captain's seat. Genghis, not used to his new shape, awkwardly hopped up into the seat to the right of the captain's. He stood on the seat for a few moments trying to figure out how to do the simple task of sitting. He made a couple of circles, stepped off, then placed his front paws firmly on the floor of the cockpit, and slid his hind quarters onto the chair. Then, he laid his right hip flat on the seat and brought his back legs up close to his body. It took him a few moments to get comfortable. “I guess that will do for now.”
The bridge controls were designed around both seats in a way that resembled the top half of a hexagon. This made the computer sys
tems easily accessible to both pilot and copilot.
Genghis took manual control from the navigational computer utilizing the touch screen prompts with his paw pads and ignited the main thrusters. They slowly emerged from behind the moon.
“We still have not been detected,” Genghis announced. “Proceeding in.”
The cruiser circled around the curvature of the moon. While passing over the Ocean of Storms they could see the blacks and grays of the desolate landscape below. Then they accelerated, breaking the gravitational grip of the small planet and out toward Earth. They traveled 238,857 miles in under four minutes and entered the planet's uppermost atmosphere.
“We’re in the exosphere orbiting at 430 miles above the surface,” Genghis announced. “Traveling at a speed of 16,000 miles per hour, still undetected.”
“Excellent!” Trent said while looking out the window. “It’s a very blue planet, isn’t it,” he said, awestruck while gazing down at the Earth.
Genghis looked up from the controls and out the window in front of him. “Yes, it is very blue. Their oceans cover more than 70 percent of their planet.”
“Fascinating. Just think, in a few minutes we’ll be down there. Among the human race,” Trent said. “This is a momentous event.”
“Yes, yes it is.”
They both looked upon the planet with amazement. They could see the light blue oceans. Swirling white clouds obscured most of the landmass. Part of the western hemisphere was bathed in darkness as the planet slowly rotated. In moments they would be on the surface of a world they knew little about. not sure of the reception they would receive. But then again, if all went as planned, there would be no reception.
“Let’s go in,” Trent announced.
“Orienting the cruiser for entry,” Genghis said while setting the cruiser's computers.
The bottom aft thrusters fired, sending the cruiser's stern to pivot upward and over. Just before the cruiser was completely inverted, the top aft thrusters fired, stopping its momentum and leaving the cruiser at a 45 degree angle, with the top heat reflecting surface facing toward the Earth. “Cruisers ready for entry,” Genghis said. “Firing entry thrusters.”
The Interstellar Police Force, Book One: The Historic Mission Page 2