by Alan Black
Even Betty looked shocked.
“You — you — you teach your children to kill?” Bob stammered.
The question brought Larry back to the here and now. “No, it’s not like — well, yes and no. It’s a war game, yes. But, no one actually gets killed. It teaches our children strategy and thinking.”
“But you teach your children war strategy?” Bob asked.
Larry thought for a minute. “No. We teach our children to survive, to fight, to protect themselves. That is why you needed me, right? Because humans are the way we are. You want me to play and win this game to save some of your people, right? So, don’t go all high and mighty on me, just give me a minute and let me think.”
He needed a way to win their game, but more than that, he needed a way to save more people than their current version of the game allowed. He needed to up the ante so they would be enticed to play for bigger stakes. He needed to try for a way to end the games all together, if possible. These Almas already pissed him off. He might not win every game, but they would know they had competition.
I will be conquered; I will not capitulate. (Samuel Johnson)
CHAPTER TWELVE
LARRY said softly, “This’s the Teumess calling the Almas. Can you hear me?” The machine translated and repeated his words loudly.
“This is Tedorus, Leader of the Almas Spacecraft Pantry,” a voice responded. “Who are you? And why have you not answered our calls before? Are you ready to play? Are you ready to gather for the benefit of the Almas? Are you—”
“Whoa there, Tedorus,” Larry said. “I can answer your questions, but only one at a time. I’m not very smart so we have to do this slowly.”
Tedorus laughed. At least, the translator interpreted the burping noise coming from the monitor as laughter. It sounded like a human trying to burp the alphabet. “The average Teumess isn’t smart, so if you aren’t up to Teumess average we will have to go slowly indeed.”
Larry gritted his teeth, but managed to give a quick “ha-ha”. He hoped the little translator managed to get it to the Almas with a little better acting job than he had done. “We may not be smart, but we are tasty, you betcha.”
Tedorus gave a little snort of laughter, “The Almas have been starved for generations without protein. You are a welcome addition to our plate.”
“What happened to the protein sources on your world?” Larry asked.
“We will ask the questions, Teumess,” Tedorus spat. “The Almas aren’t used to having food stuffs interrogate us.”
“That’s only right and proper, Tedorus,” Larry said. “It’s as it should be. We are but a small link in your food chain. I only ask out of curiosity, but you need not answer.” He had heard enough to know they had probably eaten every protein source on their planet. The Almas must be omnivores or they wouldn’t have survived even a few generations without a protein source.
“Why can’t we see you?” Tedorus demanded.
Larry smiled, “Because I’m insane even beyond Teumessian standards. I must hide my face and not look upon the face of another or I will cease to exist.”
Tedorus said, “All of the Teumess are insane. That is why you’re food, not anything more.”
A murmur came from the Teumessians seated around Larry. He signaled no with his hands.
Larry said, “That’s as it should be, oh wise Tedorus, may your belly be full forever.” He tossed that in because he remembered hearing something like it in a Bible reading from Sunday school ages ago or in an old movie. He didn’t think it would hurt to stroke the creature’s ego. “I must be food because my butt and haunches are big and fat.”
Tedorus laughed, “Then I will eat you myself when the time comes. What is your name, Teumess?”
“I’m called Deep Purple, Smoke on the Water.” Larry laughed. Dad would enjoy the reference. “But you may just call me Purple.” He wasn’t about to give this thing his real name any more than he would give it the coordinates to Earth.
“Purple, are you ready to begin when the next game starts?”
“Oh most noble Tedorus, may we change the game to make it more exciting for me?”
“Change? Why would we change?” Tedorus exploded.
Larry didn’t answer right away and there was silence on the other side for a moment. The quiet was one of those pregnant pauses that felt as if someone was talking about him behind his back. It was as if someone had disconnected the speakerphone and was conversing with another person in the room. Larry often dealt with a cattle buyer from Emporia, Kansas who often used the tactic when discussing their price negotiations with his boss.
Larry imagined that Tedorus, as a lowly ship’s captain, wouldn’t have the final say so on the entertainment portion of their invasion of Plenty. It had to be an important part of their overall activity. For an uncaring creature, it should have been easy to gather up the Teumess and all protein on the planet. The Teumess would run, but they would not be able to hide forever if gathering protein was all the Almas wanted. At that point, the game would have turned from Minesweeper to Space Invaders. The Almas must be as entertainment starved as they were hungry for protein.
Tedorus must have been listening to someone else, like some network television executive explaining how the ratings were down and they had to spice up the show anyway. Larry could imagine they were already having conversations about how to make the game more exciting. They had the choice of listening to Larry’s suggestion or going ahead and bringing in the bikini clad Almas females to dance around the stage.
Tedorus came back. He didn’t sound pleased but he responded, “What have you got in mind?”
“I just want a small chance to make it more fun for me and more of a challenge for you. As I play, would you please tell me how many adjacent squares Teumess occupy when I select an empty square? You need not tell me which ones are occupied, just how many. And since I must tell you which square to select and your contestant actually makes the kill, if they do not attack the square I selected, then they must be killed. You see, it makes it more of a challenge for the mighty Almas, giving your contestants a sense of danger.”
“Is that all?” Tedorus grunted. “You wish to kill the Almas?”
Larry said, “Certainly not. But, even the Teumess would kill their own if they were too stupid to follow simple instructions. It makes the game more sweet if the contestant has something to lose, does it not?”
Tedorus snarled but agreed.
Larry said, “I will mark a square at random, but not select it. If I say that there is a Teumess in a square and there is, then the Teumess inside lives.”
“No,” Tedorus shouted. “You try to trick us. You will mark all of the squares at once and claim victory.”
“I will not. For every empty square that I say has a Teumess but does not, you may take back a saved Teumess. The contest is over if I select a square with a Teumess in it. All Teumess I have marked are set free. All that remain are yours.”
Tedorus said. “You have made it harder for us to gather our necessary food, but I like the challenge. I may join the contest myself.”
Larry smiled to himself. He was making it harder. He had one more suggestion that might cause Tedorus to back out all the way.
“Oh, great and wonderful Tedorus, I have but one small suggestion yet to make. If I manage to save all of the Teumess from being killed — all of them in any one contest — the Almas must go home and never return to this world.”
“No. No. No. No.” Tedorus shouted. “There is not enough to gain.”
Larry could hear additional shouts of no in the background on the Almas spaceship Pantry.
“Then before you make a final decision, let’s give you more.”
Tedorus was skeptical, but interested. “More? How say you more?”
“Instead of such a small grid of squares, I suggest that you build one bigger — say, twenty-four by eighteen.” That should make the numbers easy for the Almas since both were easily divisible by six. �
�Bigger, I say. Yes. And you fill it with thirty. Yes! Yes!! Yes!!! You can collect up to thirty tasty morsels all for the price of one contest. You say you want more. I say yes. All of this, yes, all of this for the price of one Teumess that you give back for each contest I play. Instead of only twelve, you can now have twenty-nine delectable, delicious, and delightful dinners for just the price of one.”
Tedorus snorted, “You want us to give you back a meal before you even play? We are not stupid you know.”
“Of course, you are not stupid. You would not have so easily conquered this whole planet if you were stupid. I just ask for one small life. Surely, there is one among thirty that would be so small and scrawny as to not make a good meal. Throw it back until it grows a bit more.”
Tedorus laughed. “I agree. It will all be done as you say.”
Larry said, “Good. Call me back when you get your grid built and are ready to play.”
He signaled Jughead to shut off the sound and called the little Teumessian over to him.
“Say Jughead. Can you — what?”
All of the Teumessians were staring at him. Some of the newer insane ones were heading for the door. Even Betty looked shocked.
Bob managed to choke out. “You have done nothing but send the Teumess to their deaths faster. We should have never brought you here.”
“Relax Bob,” Larry said. “Great guns, it’s simple math. Are you as bad as they are at math?”
Betty said, “What do you mean?”
Larry sighed. “The previous way the game was rigged there were over eight percent of the spaces filled with Teumess. This new grid gives us — anybody — anybody — anybody?” Apparently, in all the broadcasts the Teumess had picked up from Earth, they hadn’t encountered the movie Fast Times at Ridgemont High, or maybe they just didn’t like his impression of Ben Stein. “Okay, my friends. I do this simple math in my head all the time. This puts the Teumessians in less than seven percent of the spaces. That may not sound like a big difference, but it’ll make a huge difference on a larger grid.”
Ginger nodded. “Yes, plus you have convinced them to save one for each game. That is one more than we have ever had saved before. I will rejoice for the one saved.” She came up and hugged Larry. Betty quickly relented and hugged him as well.
“Besides,” Larry said, “I may be able to save a few more. I have played this game before—don’t get your whiskers in a twist; we never play with living creatures. It’s a child’s game to teach strategy. I don’t know how many or if I can save more Teumess, but I will try.”
It wasn’t long before Bob saw the benefits of the different game and joined them in a group hug.
Jughead nodded his approval. The little Teumessian was no longer afraid of Larry, but it didn’t look like he was going to be taking any chances hugging a carnivore, whether it had just eaten or not.
“Okay, everyone?” Larry asked. “We need to get back to business. Jughead, can you turn on the sound on the Almas’s side, but not on ours? I want to listen to them, but not let them hear us or know that we are listening.”
Someone shouted, “Eavesdropping? How can you think of such a thing? That is uncivilized.”
Larry laughed, “Then don’t listen to them. I think it’s uncivilized that they’re eating Teumess.”
Jughead nodded and twiddled with some knobs on the monitors.
Larry said, “And Jughead, find some paper and pencils — you guys have that stuff right? Good. Get some people to write down everything they hear the Almas say. I want to know when and how they plan on cheating. Not if mind you, but when and how.”
Scooter raced back in the room. He brought a scruffy looking Teumessian with him.
Larry hadn’t seen a scruffy Teumess before. This one was missing patches of fur and what fur it did have was matted and filthy.
The new Teumessian walked up to Larry as if daring the human to eat him. He stared at Larry with cold eyes. Larry was sure that for the first time he was seeing a Teumess that would fit even a human definition of crazy.
Scooter said, “Tell him about the Almas weapon.”
The Teumessian said, “They spit acid. It’s a goo that comes from the middle of their belly. It turns everyone it touches into paste that they scoop up and eat.”
Larry asked. “Do they have any weapons?”
The Teumessian looked confused.
“Tools for killing. Do they have tools they carry for the purpose of killing?”
The Teumessian said, “They spit this acid from thirty feet. They can spit faster than a Teumessian can run. What need have they of tools? You will kill me now? Please.”
Larry said, “No. If you wish to die, kill yourself. Or go to the Almas, surely they’ll accommodate you.”
The Teumessian looked sad. “I’ve tried to get close, but I haven’t been able to force myself to. Why will you not kill me?”
Larry laughed. “I promised to kill and eat Scooter first. And I’m not hungry at the moment. Stick around. I may give you the chance to die soon enough.”
He looked around. He sure wasn’t going to get an army behind him. However, one crazy berserker can make a big difference in any battle. Or one very sane person for that matter; just ask Alvin York or John Basilone.
“Hey Scooter, can you get me a piece of metal about three feet long? Very flat, with a handle at one end and the other end sharpened?”
Scooter said, “You want a sword? Yes?”
“Yes I do. You know swords?”
Scooter shrugged in the human style, “I only know of swords from your broadcasts. We have no need of such on Plenty, nor would any Teumessian consent to making an instrument that only has a killing use.”
Larry said, “Okay. How about a pry bar? Just a solid metal bar, no sharp edges, but about two inches in diameter and about three feet long?”
Scooter nodded in the Teumessian style. “I can send a runner for one. When the Almas came we took all of our tools and technology and hid them, so the Almas could not gain a greater advantage.”
A voice from the monitors gave Larry a start, “This is the boss of the Allarian Mines. What you speak of is a common rock ram. I have already dispatched a family of runners bringing you many sizes. You may select what you need. It may take many hours before they get there. You may use and keep every tool in our supply if you can but drive the Almas from Plenty.”
“Thank you. I do have some rocks that I need to move around.” Larry smiled, although for all he knew the Teumessian miner was too afraid to even look at a carnivore over the monitors. “Jughead, can you get the Tetra back on the monitors.”
“We are here, human.”
“Good. Here is the deal. I’m going to save your people. But, I want something in return.”
“We will—”
“—if it is ours to give—”
“—already done so much—”
“—some agreement—”
Larry said, “If I can get the Almas to leave your planet and not come back, I want a spaceship. No. Don’t get huffy. You don’t even have to invite humans to join the Union. That is a bit above my pay grade anyway. I just want a spaceship and the instructions on how to use it. And to make it easy for you, I will take the spaceship you already gave to the Almas.”
“Will they go?”
“—save a full grid of Teumess, so—”
“—they leave?”
“Why would they go?”
Larry shrugged. “They won’t go because I beat them at their own game. They have agreed to it, but they won’t leave even if I beat them. I have another plan to convince them to go. You haven’t said yes to giving me a spaceship.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, but no introduction to the Union.”
Larry nodded, “Good. I’m not sure I want to join a union. Union dues always seemed too much like paying voluntary taxes.”
The room had become louder and louder as the Teume
ssians discussed Larry, the Almas, and the Teumessian Friends Society.
Suddenly, the room went deadly still as the Almas monitor came back on.
“Purple, the Almas are ready. We’re anxious to start. Begin now,” Tedorus demanded.
“As you wish, oh great and mighty Oz.”
“Fool,” the Almas snapped. “I’m Tedorus. Who is this Oz you speak of?”
Larry said, “Just a mighty person of intelligence, wit, and cunning. I called you by his name because you are so much like him. I am ready, except the Teumess will send a guide to bring back the one saved from this competition. We will begin when I know they are safe.”
He pointed at the scruffy little Teumessian, who took off with such speed Larry thought he could see a little cloud of fur left behind.
“May I study the grid while we wait?” He was going to have to give the location by such-and-such a number down and so-and-so across, hoping that the translator could get the message right.
Before he knew it, the scruffy little Teumessian was back with a child so small it was barely a foot tall. He looked at the grid and called his first number. He remembered playing Minesweeper as fast as he could back in high school. His goal had been to achieve a record time, regardless of the outcome. Lost games didn’t count. Here he would have to go slowly, lost games meant someone would die.
He selected a corner square. His reward was a square with the number three. Good! He could save three Teumess. Being a corner square there were only three adjacent squares on the grid. That meant each adjacent square had a hidden Teumess in it. Getting any number on a corner square was bad because he would have to take a guess with another unknown grid. Slowly he played, marking squares, analyzing each step.
He had saved only ten when he reached an impasse. There was no easy step remaining open to him. He had to make another wild guess. He did and was wrong.
He heard the Almas laughing through the monitor. They were obviously happy, having just won nineteen when a normal game would have only harvested them twelve.
The whole thing made Larry sick to his stomach. Even though he’d been instrumental in redesigning the game, the outcome was that he had just killed nineteen sentient beings. Sending cows off to slaughter at a packing plant was one thing. Even if they were slightly telepathic, cows were stupid creatures. The Teumessians were far from stupid.