Larry Goes To Space

by Alan Black

  Scooter said, “That is true among family. You are family no matter how you behave. Friends then are family that you choose, yes?”

  Larry nodded, “On Earth there is a group of humans that call themselves the Society of Friends. They accept everyone as their friend and they strive to do harm to no one. Good friends don’t mean to cause hurt, but sometimes they do. Even then they are still friends because we choose them to be friends.”

  Veronica said, “I want to be good friends.” The interpreter unit even managed to relay the desperation in her voice. “I would still be insane, but at least I would not be alone.”

  Larry said, “I’d like that, too. That’s why I left my world to help you on your world. Being good friends takes time. It takes patience and it takes a lot of understanding.”

  Scooter said, “That is where the Teumess erred with the Almas. We do not have a lot of understanding.”

  “Understanding can take a lot of talking,” Larry said. “Do you communicate a lot with the Almas?” He was starting to get curious about these Almas. Whatever problem the Teumess had requiring human help, it seemed to stem from the Almas. He didn’t know if they were a species native to the Teumessian home world or if they were aliens from somewhere else.

  Scooter said, “No. The Teumess are not good at communicating with others or even with ourselves. In the beginning, we dealt with the Almas only through messages send by interstellar probes.”

  Larry was a long way from understanding the Teumess. He was beginning to think they were as xenophobic as he’d originally thought. He was no longer positive they were just shy and wary of species who might snack on them. With a galactic view, a little paranoia seemed to be a sensible way to be because you just didn’t know who or what was out there.

  He’d always had an issue with SETI broadcasting an invitation to come and scoop up Earth’s abundant protein and chlorophyll. He was well aware as a steak-on-the-hoof herdsman that not only were his cattle protein, so was he. Without chlorophyll, his cattle did not eat. Without his cattle, he did not eat.

  He said, “You three are actually superb at communicating. And yes, I realize that’s because you are insane. But, why didn’t your Tetra let you talk with the Almas from the beginning?”

  All three Teumessians looked shocked.

  “Why would we be allowed to talk to the Almas? Would humans from Earth allow the insane to represent them?

  Larry laughed. “I don’t know why not. We do it all the time with our government. So, you made first contact with a probe?” Somehow, Larry was pleased someone was being probed somewhere. “Did the Almas respond by probe?”

  “Not at first,” Scooter said. “We sent them a probe and watched to see how they would respond. The Almas, while as intelligent as humans and almost as smart as the Teumess, do not or have not embraced technology as humans seem to do.”

  “We are gear, gadget, and gizmo groupies,” Larry agreed. He thought his dad would be pleased with the alliteration. He made a mental note to try to remember it. Of course, in the end, Dad would be less enthusiastic about a vicarious verbal victory than hearing how his son took a trip in space. Dad was odd that way.

  Scooter said, “We watched the Almas carefully for their reaction to a message from space. You see, the Almas did not realize space even existed at the time the probe landed on their home world. Their planet orbits between a dazzling bright gas giant and a nearby sun. They do not have a clear view of the stars to pique their interest, as did the Teumess and humans.”

  Scooter gave an audible sigh, “Our message did not cause panic or rioting that would indicate another message would not be advisable. So, we sent a second message and a third. Our fourth probe included a return device. You see, we put a smaller self-guided probe inside a bigger probe—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Larry interrupted. “You sent a self-addressed, stamped, return envelope. We do the same thing, sort of. And the Almas responded?”

  “Yes,” Scooter answered. “Their messages were short and to the point, but a dialog of sorts had begun. After a time we visited them. Oh, not face-to-face as we have been forced to do with humans, but through a communications device much like your television, only it goes both—”

  “Okay,” Larry interrupted again. “Closed circuit TV or video meetings or even something they call Skype.”

  Scooter looked surprised. “You do this? The equipment is immense and expensive.”

  “Not me personally,” Larry admitted. “But I know a lot of people who do it. We even have hand-held video phones, but not so much interplanetary stuff. And you know we don’t do interstellar communications.” He wanted to add “yet”, but that was still something that might spook the easily spookable Teumessians.

  “So, the Teumess and the Almas began talking. That is a good start. I assume something went wrong,” Larry said. “What happened?”

  Scooter looked at Veronica.

  Veronica shrugged as if to say, we have said this much, tell the rest. She and Betty climbed out of the shower. She went to sit in her chair near Scooter. Her fur dripped water all the way across the floor, shedding as if she were naturally water repellant. The water droplets started their slow, magic crawl to the hole in the floor.

  Betty stood in front of Larry.

  He thought she was going to drop another chair and sit in it. Instead she climbed into his lap and sat down. She was a little more than damp from the shower, but she leaned against Larry and sighed. She felt exactly like Ol’ Bucky felt back when he was a young puppy caught in a summer thunderstorm, wet and shivering, in need of comfort.

  Betty spoke quietly, “Open and full communications is done only with other family. How can it be otherwise as there can be no other who can be trusted with your secrets, your thoughts, and your heart? Families can gather and cling to one another to share communication and to share the comfort of contact. The insane Teumess have no one to hold them and no one can love them.”

  Larry wrapped his arms around Betty, letting her snuggle in closer. He thought he saw the shadow of Bob, Ginger, or Jughead in the hallway. He didn’t call out to them, because he didn’t want to frighten them. Maybe they would become friends and maybe they wouldn’t.

  Scooter said, “Talking with the Almas was not like talking in a family or even as we are doing here among friends. It was more we tell them this, this, and this. They tell us that, that, and that. There were few questions and even fewer answers. We watched them for many years. The Almas were very peaceful and quiet, living in small farming communities.”

  “You mean like me living in Kansas,” Larry asked.

  “Oh no. The Almas did not raise and eat other creatures. They maintained a very strict vegan lifestyle. There were no wars on their planet. That is why the Tetra chose to contact the Almas and not the humans of Earth.”

  “I can see the choice: warlike omnivores versus peaceful vegetarians,” Larry said. “I would’ve made the same choice myself. Still, I know a vegan who wouldn’t eat a cheese sandwich, but had no problem kicking another human being when they were down. In fact, the man is a tobacco salesman. I recognize tobacco is a natural occurring plant, but it still kills people more often than a glass of milk ever has. That begs the question, how do the Almas treat the other creatures on their world?”

  Scooter said, “There are no animals. There are only insects and the Almas on their world. The Tetra determined it was a natural course of events, since the Almas are insect-like themselves; they have a hard shell surrounding a soft, almost liquid center. They resemble an Earth beetle, except their legs are shorter, they are about three feet tall, and they do not have heads as such. Their intelligence and nerve centers are deep inside their bodies.”

  “The Tetra was wrong,” Veronica spat out. The shock of such a bold statement was almost palpable.

  Scooter’s hands gave assent. “The next step was to help the Almas join the space-faring races and eventually join the Union. We gave them a spaceship.”

  Larry
sighed. “One of these? You gave a non-technical species a spacecraft?” That was exactly the type of situation calling for a Prime Directive. Jean-Luc Piccard would have a fit if he heard about it, and that man broke the Prime Directive almost as many times as he appeared on camera.

  “And instructions on how to use it,” Veronica said.

  “Give Earth a working spacecraft and we’d build you one actually fit to your size,” Larry said. He wanted to be upset for not getting such a gift. However, giving a working spacecraft to a non-technical species was exactly like giving a loaded gun to a baby. That was as dangerous to you as to the baby. This example worked, because the Teumess were in trouble and the Almas were the cause.

  He continued speaking. “Instructions would help, but we’d figure it out anyway. Humans would reengineer a spaceship in the blink of an eye if you went to a private company and not to any government. I figured you didn’t build this spaceship for yourself, nothing fits your stature. Still, there are many who would say that humans aren’t ready for space. I gather the Tetra thought that as well, but thought the Almas were ready.”

  “It is said there was disagreement between the Tetra, but the choice was made,” Scooter said. “It was expected the Almas would strike out and explore on their own. But they followed the course of the probes and came to us.”

  Larry thought this situation was more like a baby and a gun than he originally speculated. At least, humans were like teenagers — spoiled, thoughtless, self-centered teenagers — but still not babies.

  “The Almas gave the Teumess a set of instructions,” Veronica said, the hostility and frustration clear in her voice. “The Tetra considered the instructions, but they were unable to respond. They did not know what to say. It has been many months and we have not and cannot talk to the Almas. They are still with us. The Tetra cannot agree on a response and the silence grows heavy.”

  Scooter said, “We only have three more days before we get home. Then, please help us if you can. We will take you back to Earth if you cannot help us.”

  Larry asked, “You want me to talk to the Almas for you? To help them become friends?”

  Scooter shrugged in reply, “Maybe.”

  “Maybe you want me to kill them for you?” Larry asked. He expected to get a reaction from the peaceful Teumessians. Killing didn’t seem to be their style, not even killing by proxy. He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected: insulted, angry, offended, or sorrowful. He didn’t get any of what he expected.

  Scooter just shrugged.

  “Then what?” Larry asked. “You got a human. You know what we’re like. I have three days to come up with a plan, but what outcome do you want?”

  Betty patted him in the middle of his chest to get his attention.

  He looked down into her big, brown eyes. He didn’t know if Teumessians cried or if she was still dripping from the shower. Whatever the cause, the result tugged at his heart just the same.

  Betty said, “We want you to help us keep the Almas from killing us all.”

  Your enemy is never a villain in his own eyes. Keep this in mind, it may offer a way to make him your friend. If not, you can kill him without hate, and quickly. (Robert Heinlein, Time Enough For Love)

  CHAPTER TEN

  LARRY looked down on the Teumess home world of Plenty from the bridge of their little spaceship.

  Bob and Jughead had vehemently protested letting the crazy human carnivore near their ship’s controls. Larry understood their attitude and promised not to touch anything. His promise was exactly like most of the phrases human males use with commonality: the check is in the mail; honest, I’ve never done this with anyone before; really, I love watching General Hospital romances on TV with you; or gaak, this is the worst poker hand I’ve ever had, but I might as well toss in a raise anyway.

  Larry’s fingers itched to dance across the controls, learning what made what work. The buttons and dials actually looked less complicated than Dad’s new tractor or his television’s new universal remote control. He wondered if someone had designed it from looking at the dashboard of a 1959 Dodge. All that was missing was a turn signal indicator and a gear selector. Well, the dashboard did have a point and click map screen instead of a speedometer. He looked around for an odometer, but there wasn’t any. The atmospheric settings looked so much like air conditioning and heater buttons, Larry had trouble thinking of them as life support controls.

  Whether the two male Teumessians accepted his promise not to touch anything was irrelevant, as Veronica, Betty, and Scooter had overruled them. The females kept working on trying to understand friendship and wanted their new human friend close. Scooter, as the nominal ship’s captain, wanted Larry close so that — if Larry finally got hungry enough — he could be eaten first and put out of his insane misery.

  Scooter was captain by virtue of consensus that he was the most insane of the Teumessians on this ship. Betty told Larry that Scooter was the most insane Teumess on the whole expedition, making him the fleet commodore and their little ship was the flagship of their space-going nut barn.

  Larry laughed, pointing out most humans still had problems understanding that insane didn’t necessarily mean stupid.

  Plenty was the name the Teumess gave their planet. It caused Larry to think a bit about his own world’s name. Humans called it Earth, naming the planet dirt although only about twenty-five percent of the planet surface was covered in dirt. The majority of the planet was molten magma, hot liquid rocks swirling inside a remarkably soft, thin crust covered by water, rock, and dirt.

  The Teumess called Larry’s home planet Asylum. That was as good a name as any coming from a species who considered Earth’s inhabitants insane. He had to agree. From their point of view, humans were padded-room, straightjacketed, medicated-to-drooling crazy. Larry had to be bonkers to volunteer to get into a spaceship full of crazy Teumessians.

  By human standards, Larry was only slightly strange. Individually, humans were more than a little odd. Some coming down so far on the side of peculiar that they couldn’t see sane in their rearview mirror. Larry understood crazy. Going to his family reunions was exactly like taking a refresher course in abnormal psychology.

  Plenty was about a fifty-fifty split between ocean and land, having only one large continent and a smattering of small islands. The land was a swirl of green and gold vegetation dotted with deep blue lakes that were readily visible from their low planetary orbit. Anyone could tell this wasn’t Earth, but it looked inviting nonetheless.

  All six of the Teumessians crowded around him staring at the blue, green, and gold planet below. Betty, as had become her habit in the last three days, was actually leaning against him. It wasn’t a clingy, grabby type of contact, just a comfortable closeness.

  Jughead, as had become his custom, was in the room, in physical contact with the group. He had actually stretched out an arm and was resting his hand — his paw, his palm and digits — his whatever they should be called — on Bob’s shoulder. He had, as always, positioned himself between Larry and the hatch. He was a brave little Teumess, but cautious. Larry understood caution, too. He might go boating in an alligator infested swamp, but he wasn’t going to dangle a hand in the water.

  The fire seriously depleted their supplies, but rather than dock with another spacecraft, they had elected to ration their food for remainder of the trip. The decision was a big relief for the crews of the other ships. They didn’t want to dock with a ship carrying a Teumess-eating omnivore.

  There’d been a lot of discussion lately about whether Larry should call himself a carnivore or an omnivore. He steadfastly maintained that omnivore was correct. He would, could, and occasionally did choke down a salad. He did it mostly to keep Mom off his back about eating healthy, but it didn’t kill him. Upon occasion, he had potatoes in any one of its myriad forms. He was especially fond of tater salad, but home fries, hash browns, French fries, and mashed with plenty of gravy were good to go on his table. Grilled corn on the cob was exceptio
nally welcome alongside a burger. And what would the burger be without the bun, pickles, lettuce, onion and ketchup? Ketchup may not be a vegetable, no matter what the US Government said, but it was definitely concocted from plant stuff and therefore it definitely fell into the “omni” category.

  The Teumessians argued that if Teumess was on the menu — then there was little room for debate as to the outcome of a meeting with a carnivore or an omnivore from their point of view. The outcome was the same.

  Larry had been hungry for the last three days, but he made an effort to suppress any evidence of hunger. Stifling needs was exactly like high school where they taught boys and girls to hide and suppress any evidence of sexual desire. Larry had been terrible at hiding his sexual yearnings, even behind tight, heavy denim jeans. Oh, he was better at it than some kids were. Chubby Sally Killian, the preacher’s daughter, had a hard time hiding her desires. He assumed he’d gotten better at deception as he got older. He acknowledged that Nancy had grown much better at deception as she aged.

  He was sure Bob and Ginger suspected how hungry he was. They were the expedition’s medical team, or what constituted a medical team, with a substantial knowledge of human biology. At least as substantial as could be winnowed from the vast amount of data blasted into the unknown by humans. Even with hidden satellites circling close to earth to catch almost on-time broadcasts, how were the Teumessians to determine what to watch and what was best to avoid? How could they determine what was true and what was fiction? Alien Autopsy on the Freaks, Geeks, and Nerds Channel looked as real as any medical program on PBS or the BBC.

  Bob grabbed Scooter’s shoulders and shoved him toward the pilot’s station. The chair was big enough for two Teumessians to sit comfortably side by side. Veronica joined Scooter in the chair. Scooter’s job as the command pilot was to manage the landing sequence. Since their ship was technically in charge of the small group of ships, Scooter had the other ship’s controls harnessed to his. They would land together in unison.