Larry Goes To Space

by Alan Black

  He braced his left arm against the door jam. Since the opening was really a hatch and not a door, it should be called a hatch jam, but Larry decided that sounded too much like a hot chili made into jelly. Not that he was very familiar with hatch chilies. There was that one time he tried one when he was in college. The name stuck in his head like the heat stuck to the roof of his mouth. However, he was sure whoever named the little chili a hatch chili had done so because it burned his personal waste disposal hatch the next day.

  Even if this was a hatch, thinking of it as a door was easier than thinking of a door as anything other than a door, even if it did melt to open and unmelt close.

  He wondered if this fire could get hot enough to melt the spaceship’s hull. The flames were doing as good a job burning the kitchen equipment as the hatch chili had done upon exiting his body the next day.

  He stretched an arm over the heads of the two Teumess and grabbed the lever with his right hand. At the sight of his hand, the male Teumess squealed like a little girl, or at least the equivalent of a Teumessian little girl. He darted to a corner and cowered there. The female ignored him. She tried bracing a foot against the slick bulkhead and yanked harder on the lever. Her foot couldn’t find purchase on the bulkhead and she was unable to bring her powerful lower body muscles into play.

  Larry was sure she saw him. She had darker fur than Betty, and her eyes seemed to be just a bit bigger, but that may have been due to the light refraction through her plastic headgear, her fear of fighting a fire and a carnivore at the same time, or just his imagination. Whatever the reason, Larry decided this little Veronica had a lot more guts than Jughead hiding in the corner.

  Larry didn’t want to criticize his host’s design of an emergency system, but the lever was set too high on the wall for the Teumess to reach with any kind of comfort or efficiency. Even an extra length of pipe would have been enough to give the little folks the leverage needed to move the lever. Why would anyone design an emergency system with a lever? What was the matter with using good old-fashioned buttons, or a voice activated command, or better yet, an automated fire suppression system?

  This spaceship was so much like farming it was scary. In farming, little had changed since the invention of the tractor and the cotton gin. With the exception of a progressive thinker here and there, most farmers did their work the same way their daddies taught them. Many farmers failed because they’d been born into families with stupid daddies.

  Larry pulled the lever with his right arm, bracing harder against the door jam with his left. There was a slight pop and the lever slid smoothly to the left. A blast of white sandy foam hit him in the back of his head.

  Veronica dropped to the deck in exhaustion.

  Betty was yipping in distress.

  The hose was blasting out the white sandy fire retardant with enough force she was unable to control the nozzle. She was small enough that the hose was tossing her about like a berserk tilt-a-whirl at a traveling carnival.

  Not that Larry had ever spent any time on a berserk tilt-a-whirl. By the time he pulled himself away from the booth selling cold beer and deep fried Twinkies, he had drunk so many beers that the carnival ride would make him puke. At the same time, he had never drunk enough that he was willing to tempt a puking for such a ride. Still, he recognized Betty’s whipping and whirling motion.

  Larry jumped next to her, wrapped his arms around her, and grabbed the nozzle with both hands. He didn’t feel Betty pull away from him, so he leaned in and began to direct the flow of the fire retardant toward the bottom of the flame. He felt the hose give a little tug. He glanced behind him. Veronica had lifted the hose up on her shoulders. The nozzle was easier to direct toward the flame without having to lift and direct at the same time.

  It didn’t take long for the flame to sizzle and die. But, the room was filled with smoke and soot. It was hard for Larry to breathe but there wasn’t much else he could do except keep breathing. He wondered if the fire retardant was toxic. It wouldn’t make sense to use a toxic chemical when you had to keep living and breathing in the confined space of a small spaceship.

  However, what might be toxic to him might not be to the Teumessians. They may look like earth-style mammals, but looks were all he had to go on. They might not even be mammals. Just because the females had accessories that looked like mammary glands did not mean their accessories were mammary glands.

  The females might not even be female, since he only had the word of a translator that might have been wrong. He had to admit to himself that this was the first time he’d been close enough for a detailed look. He wasn’t sure he wanted to get that close, but that might depend on how long he was stuck in space.

  Veronica ran to the lever and shut off the fire retardant flow to the hose. Once unstuck, it moved quite easily.

  Larry dropped the hose and backed away from the two females. That put them between him and the open hatch. They could run away if they felt the need. Jughead jumped up from the corner and shot out of the room as if the Piggly Wiggly in Fredonia was running a two-for-one sale on cheap beer.

  He didn’t blame the little guy all that much. Larry knew he would’ve been out of a swamp as fast as he could if someone dropped an alligator in with him. But he wouldn’t have left the swamp if there were a couple of women there to protect. He was a country boy, after all. You just do not leave your women behind to be eaten by alligators, even if it meant you got close enough to floss the old guy.

  Veronica stood near the door, staying near the lever. Betty didn’t move. She slumped down a bit, resting her hands on her knees, assuming the place where her legs bent could properly be called knees. The two females looked at each other and nodded.

  Larry didn’t know if the communication meant, good job on the fire; this carnivore is too slow to eat both of us, so no need to rush out; or, that a-hole Jughead isn’t getting laid tonight. Whatever it meant the two females didn’t leave the room. Somehow, knowing they wouldn’t run away was comforting. Maybe he was not as much of a loner as he thought or maybe Ol’ Bucky and his horse Dollar had been more acceptable companions than he gave them credit for.

  He moved over to check out the fire’s hot spots. And it was hot. The first piece he yanked away from the melted, mushy, burnt mess was hot. He blew on his fingers, but reached for another piece.

  He’d never had any fire training, but he’d built enough campfires to know that if you don’t spread the logs out, it’s likely to reignite, just like the time Nancy came over to get some of her stuff. She decided to stay over when it got too late to drive back on snow covered, unpaved roads. She and Larry had gotten too close on the couch and things definitely reignited.

  Not willing to let things go up in flames again, Larry grabbed another piece of what looked like melted cabinet. The melted metal was hot and best cast aside; just as Nancy leaving the next morning as early as she could was best for all concerned. He pulled another few pieces away, trying to estimate the damage as he went.

  A flash of flames caught his eye. Without thinking, he swatted at it with his hands, trying to pat it out. Clearing away the top layer had let oxygen reach down and feed the heat of the lower layers. He quit patting at the fire when part of the cabinet came away on his hands in flaming, molten-plastic style.

  He had a brief flash of memory from childhood. Camping trips are a time for roasting marshmallows over the fire and going barefoot. However, a flaming marshmallow dropped on a bare foot shouldn’t be brushed off with a bare hand. That’s asking to get both your feet and hands burned. It had also put Larry off roasted marshmallows for the rest of his life, or rather the rest of his life so far. Maybe someday he’d try them again. Maybe he’d get the chance to try one of those s’mores things everyone raved about. So far, he’d been unable to get past the flaming marshmallow part.

  He cursed himself. His hand was on fire and he didn’t have anyone to blame but himself. He’d have cursed the fire, but there was no sense in making the fire any more a
ngry than it already was. The fire was only doing what fire did. He was angry with himself because he would have sworn he’d learned the lesson about not grabbing burning, sticky things. It was obvious he hadn’t learned it near as well as he thought.

  A gentle stream of fire retardant splashed across his hand, dousing the flame. It quickly cooled his fingers. The stream flicked over to the reignited fire. The fire died, or went to wherever fires go to when they aren’t burning. Betty sprayed the whole area again, but the hose wasn’t blasting out the fire retardant like before. He looked. Veronica had managed to move the lever only partway. Larry held up his hands in front of his face in an imitation of Scooter’s agreement, cupping his fingers as if drinking water from them.

  Veronica gave a delightful little yip, causing Betty to look around.

  The two females yipped and barked back and forth, even pointing at Larry. He wondered if he’d made the wrong hand signal. Maybe it didn’t mean the same thing from male to female as it did from male to male. Her response could mean: not on your life, thank you, but I am not into hairless giant apes, or even bacon is bad for your cholesterol levels.

  He really hoped he could talk to Scooter about miniaturizing the translator unit. After all, he’d seen commercials for cell phones with translation capabilities and this supposedly technologically superior race was dragging something around the size of an old vacuum cleaner.

  He flexed his fingers. They felt hot, but showed no serious burns. They’d hurt for a few days, but it wasn’t any worse than sucking melted cheese from a pizza just out of the microwave up on the roof of your mouth.

  Larry wasn’t willing to shove a bare hand back into the burned area. He spotted a pipe. It looked like cast iron plumbing. Even though one end had melted, the other end was cool to the touch. He yanked it free from the burned mess and began using it like a breaker bar, spreading the pieces every which way.

  Whenever he uncovered a hot spot, Betty flooded the area, and him, with a gush of fire retardant. When he reached the corner where the bulkhead met the deck, he stopped and leaned against his impromptu fire pick. He would’ve wiped the sweat from his eyes, but his hands, arms, and shirt were drenched in sooty firefighting leftovers.

  He wanted to cough and wheeze a bit, but as a guy, he tried not to do that in front of women. He didn’t want to look weak. The two Teumessian females may not have been women, but they were as close as he had. Even if there were no women within a galactic quadrant, or twenty-teen-however-many light years, that didn’t mean he shouldn’t at least try to remain in super macho mode.

  “Great job, you two. Really good teamwork,” he said.

  “Yip, yip, bark, yip yap.” Scooter had entered the room with the translator following him on a leash. It translated his words to the two females.

  “Scooter, where you been? We kind of made a mess of your kitchen,” Larry said with a smile. He surprised himself that he was genuinely pleased to see the little Teumessian.

  He could see a sudden flash of distress on the Betty and Veronica’s faces. Clamping his lips around his teeth, he realized that exposing his cutting canine’s and sharp front teeth might be disconcerting to creatures who thought of themselves as prey.

  Such a reaction was exactly the feeling Larry once had when he walked into a gay bar in Wichita by mistake. Larry wasn’t any Rudolf Valentino or Brad Pitt, but he was passing nice looking. From the sudden flurry of activity around him, he’d thought he was going to be dinner and swallowed whole. Not that Larry was a homophobe. He’d even let a few of the fellows buy him drinks and dance him around the jukebox a few times. Having known Nancy for so long, he’d learned how to be a tease, so when mealtime came around, he ducked out the back door.

  Scooter returned his smile with his weird Teumessian imitation, nodding when Larry clamped his mouth shut. The little Teumessian said, “I have been on the bridge. We were making arrangements to abandon ship if it came to that, but we are very pleased it has not come to such a drastic measure.”

  “Yeah, it looks like me and the ladies got it under control.” Larry pointed to some conduits and gaps in the wall. “Unless, the fire spread down one of those into another room or into a crawl space, or jefferies tube, or whatever you call the gaps in the walls.”

  Betty leaned down and looked into one of the open conduits. She yipped for a bit, speaking directly to the translator, “We should have Yapper and Yappia re-melt these holes and do a complete flush to space of all of the environmental conduits.”

  Scooter held his hands in front of his face as if he was holding water to his lips to sip. The gesture was definitely the Teumess equivalent of a human nod. “I concur, the other ships were hesitant to dock with us for fear of the fire spreading to their ships.”

  “Scooter, can you identify the individuals that you are naming?” Larry asked. “That way I can get the translator to specify the individuals when it translates for me.” He kicked at a pile of rubble, thinking if it was feeling stubborn, it might flame on at any moment. It spread across the floor without a hint of flame.

  “This is as you have done with Betty and me, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “This one?” Scooter asked, pointing at the female by the fire suppressant control lever.

  “Veronica. And the one that was in here before is Jughead.”

  Veronica yipped in response to the query that came from the translator.

  Scooter said, “There are two others on this ship. The male Yipper and the female Yappia.”

  Larry frowned. “Okay, before I get in over my head, I assumed that the Teumessians with the bushy tails are the females.”

  Scooter signaled his agreement.

  Larry said, “Good. The other female is Ginger and the male is — is — um, Bob.”

  Scooter signaled his assent a second time. “This will help you identify each Teumess as an individual for your comfort, yes?”

  Larry snorted a little laugh, “Yeah. Isn’t that the way the Teumess do it?” While he asked the question, he began poking his impromptu pry bar around more burned rubble, looking for hot spots. He knew from watching firefighter shows on television that flare ups happen quite easily — kind of like his athlete’s foot.

  Scooter waved his hands in front of his face indicating the Teumess didn’t identify everyone by individual names. “Only one without family would have a name of his own. Anyone without family is insane. We know this is not so on your world. That is why we call your planet Asylum. That is the name of a place where you lock up your insane ones, yes?”

  Larry said, “But I thought you had a name of your own?

  Scooter gave a hoot of a laugh. “I am insane, but you know this, yes? That is why you have given me a second name.” He struggled with the sounds but managed to vocalize Scooter. “My Teumessian name means, he who is alone with no place to hide.”

  Larry laughed, “I can tell you’re sure going to learn to speak my language before I speak yours.”

  Scooter laughed as did the two females. “Of course, our superior intelligence makes that the logical conclusion. What means this name Scooter?”

  “Well,” Larry shrugged. “It is a name given to a friend, mostly someone whose real name is Scott. I suppose that derives from someone coming from Scotland.” He kicked apart two smoldering pieces of something resembling plastic. They stopped smoking right away.

  “Is this Scotland a desirable place to come from?” Betty asked. She bent over the plastic parts, even flipping one upside down. Her snort of disgust didn’t give Larry a clue whether she was disgusted with the smell or with whatever the thing had been and was now useless.

  “I can’t say about the place, but the people are known to be strong, courageous, and good-hearted. Someone named Scooter is all this and a friend.”

  “What is this friend? We hear this word, but it lacks meaning,” Betty asked. All three Teumessians quit poking around the rubble and stared at Larry.

  “A friend is someone you like and who lik
es you right back. It’s someone who helps you when you need help. It’s someone you will go help, even if it is inconvenient for you. It’s the person you choose to be with when you have a choice.”

  “This is not just family?” Betty asked.

  “Sometimes family can be friends. But humans tend to choose friends outside of family. I’ve been told many choose a lifelong mate from among their friends. Family will sometimes help you because of a sense of obligation. A friend will help you because they want to.”

  Betty made agreement with her hands. “That’s our Scooter. The loss of his family has made his insanity obvious for all to see.” She patted Scooter on the shoulder in sympathy, for either the loss of his family, the loss of his sanity, or maybe for both.

  She turned back to Larry. “What means this Betty?”

  Larry shrugged, “I don’t really know the origin of the name, but among many, a betty is a young female who is very pretty and um — a desirable mate. Is that okay to say?” A rising wisp of smoke from a pile of rubble gave him the opportunity to swing the pry bar, avoiding showing Betty his blush.

  Betty took a step backward, but Scooter and Veronica laughed.

  “You want to mate with me?” Betty said. Even the translator managed to get the shocked tone correct.

  Larry emphatically waved his hands in front of his face in the Teumessian gesture no. “You’re a very attractive Teumess. Your fur may be singed a bit now, but it’s smooth and full. Your face is straight and your eyes are very large and sparkly.”

  Grandma always told him to compliment a woman’s shoes, but she never said what to do when the female was naked, except for a coat of fur. Of course, Grandma also said to make sure you kissed her after you had sex, even if it was just a quickie in the back seat of a car. He didn’t see how that would make a woman feel better about herself after giving it up on vinyl in a Dodge, but Grandma seemed to think so. “Besides, I can recognize beauty without the desire to possess it. I’d think Scooter would’ve tried to make you his mate.”