Aliens Stole My Body

by Bruce Coville

  I knelt and nudged him.

  “Eeep?” he asked in a thin, mournful tone. “Eeeep?”

  Then he climbed onto our back.

  We stood and trotted away, leaving the trees weeping and moaning behind us.

  I noticed Snout go back one more time, and wondered what he was doing, since we were all out safely.

  Seymour and I waited for him to come back, just in case. When he returned, he was actually smiling.

  What were you doing? I asked when he opened the line of contact.

  I wanted to get some of those nuts you bonked me with, he replied. They may be interesting.

  * * *

  “Well,” said Madame Pong when we had settled down, dried our tears, caught our breath. “It appears we owe you our lives, Rod.”

  I would have said, “Aw, shucks,” if I had been able to talk. I would have smiled, if I had had lips. As it was, Seymour and I just ducked our eyeball modestly.

  “I, especially, am grateful,” said Snout. “A Mental Master should never have succumbed to something like that.”

  “So why did you?” asked Elspeth, never one to let someone off the hook easily.

  Snout closed his eyes. “I am not fully in balance yet. As you know, I nearly left this life when we were in Dimension X. This was not a tragedy from my point of view. I was moving on to something new, something beautiful. But Rod’s father called me back, and that forced return has left me burdened with a sorrow unlike any I have ever known. Well, unlike any save one that I carry from long ago. But this new grief is so deep and so fresh that the trees were able to pull it to the surface before I realized what was happening. Thus, I was as lost as the rest of you.”

  He turned away. No one spoke for a moment.

  It was Elspeth who finally broke the silence. “What was that thing with the trees all about, anyway?” she asked.

  “I am not entirely sure,” said Madame Pong. “My theory is that they were trying to entrap us so they could use us as food.”

  “Food?” yelped Elspeth.

  Madame Pong shrugged. “It would be a long-term process. Trapped by despair, unable to move, we would die. Over the years our bodies would rot. In doing so, they would enrich the soil. Then the trees’ roots would take in the added nutrition.”

  “So they were trying to kill us?” asked Elspeth with a shudder.

  “I doubt it was conscious,” said Madame Pong. “It may be a tactic evolved over millions of years. I have a vague recollection of some legend about the weeping trees. I’ll look it up, when I have a chance.”

  “Did you know they would do this when you brought us here?” demanded Elspeth.

  She took the words right out of my mouth, so to speak.

  “Goodness, no!” said Madame Pong. “I would never knowingly bring you into danger. Most of the trees are merely mildly melancholy, as you heard at the beach. I suspect these are a wilder, older species, not well known. Now come on, we need to get moving. I want to find a place to make our permanent camp before it gets dark.”

  * * *

  It took several hours, but finally we found a spot on the bank of a small pond that we all agreed was just fine. A clear stream ran into the pond, and Snout tested the water with some kit he had, to make sure it was safe to drink. The trees were quiet (that was a relief!) and not too thick. The ground was littered with twigs and leaves that Madame Pong said would work well in our synthesizer. And there was enough level space to put up our shelters.

  We had two of these shelters—one for Madame Pong and Elspeth, one for Snout, Edgar, and Seymour and me.

  Elspeth promptly dubbed them “the Boys’ Room” and “the Girls’ Room.” That wasn’t quite accurate, since we put up another small shelter about twenty feet away, after Snout used a blaster to open a good-sized pit in the ground, and this was both the boys’ room and the girls’ room, at least in the way those terms are usually used.

  All in all, it was a little like taking a camping trip—though our shelters were a heck of a lot nicer than any tent I had ever been in. For one thing, their walls were temperature regulating; no matter how hot or cold it got outside, the inside was always perfectly comfortable. For another thing, the floor of the shelters was made of the same material as the sleeping pockets, and walking on it was like walking on the deepest, thickest carpet you ever imagined.

  That night we made a campfire. Then we all sat around it while Madame Pong told hilarious stories about the snavel and the wonkus, two characters they liked to talk about on her home planet.

  Afterward, Snout told the scariest ghost story I had ever heard.

  Do you believe in ghosts? I asked him, after he was done.

  Existence comes in many forms, he replied with a shrug. I was nearly something resembling a ghost myself, before your father called me back to this life—though it would have been quite different than the way you think of ghosts.

  What do you mean?

  I was joining with other Mental Masters who have left this plane of existence. I was losing myself becoming part of something bigger, something that— He broke off the thought, then added, At least, I was until I was forced to come back.

  He closed his mind to me then, but not before I got a sense of loss so bitter it was as if my brain was being washed in lemon juice.

  No one spoke for a while. Seymour and I stared into the fire, listening to the night sounds that drifted around us. We heard something singing softly in the trees. A bird? I wondered. An insect? Maybe something I had never even imagined? My mind was wandering off on this tangent when I realized someone was touching us on the shoulder.

  “Take a walk with me,” said Madame Pong, when Seymour and I looked around to see who it was.

  We scrambled to our feet. Following Madame Pong, we meandered along the stream for a way. Occasionally Seymour and I would wade into the water, which seemed to chuckle, as if rebuking the trees for being so sad. Madame Pong mostly looked at the stars. The rosy curtain of light was not out this night.

  When we were a fair distance from the camp, Madame Pong said, “I notice you are wearing the ring I gave you after our first adventure, Rod.”

  She paused, as if waiting for me to answer. After a moment of silence she went on as if I had. “It’s good that you brought it. Should things go terribly wrong, the ring may prove useful.”

  How? I thought.

  Though I couldn’t speak the word out loud, Madame Pong answered anyway. Taking a deep breath, she knelt beside Seymour and me and looked directly into our big eye.

  “That is a diplomat’s ring,” she said softly, “and it has more than one use. The important one to know about now is that if you are captured by BKR, the ring will allow you to end your life quickly and painlessly, before he can pry the fatal information from your brain.”

  CHAPTER

  8

  Mental Exercises

  GEEZ, LOUISE, THOUGHT SEYMOUR. IF I’d known what kind of messes you were going to get me into, I’d have thought twice before I let you share my brain, Uncle Rod.

  I didn’t bother to answer him. And I didn’t bother to point out to Madame Pong that I’m just a kid. Once I had accepted membership in the Galactic Patrol, being a kid didn’t count for much when it came to excuses. But I did understand, in a deeper way than ever before, how serious this really was.

  Even so, I wondered why she had left the ring with me to begin with. I mean, what if I had killed myself with it by accident? But as she explained how to use it, I soon realized that that wouldn’t have been possible. The ring couldn’t do its number on you until it had been activated, something that only she could do. That was sort of comforting.

  It would have been even more comforting if she hadn’t chosen that moment to activate it.

  “Now it will be ready if you need it,” she said as she slipped it back onto our paw. “The ring has other uses, of course. For one thing, it is recognized by diplomats across the galaxy. They are required to help you if you show it to them.”

/>   Well, that’s a relief, thought Seymour.

  When she was done with her instructions, she put her hand on top of our eye and said softly, “You are a worthy comrade, Deputy Allbright, and I am proud to share both danger and duty with you.”

  Her hand was empty. Even so, I felt as if I had just been knighted.

  We walked back to the camp in silence. Before we went to sleep, I slipped the ring off our paw and stowed it carefully with my things. It made me nervous. Besides, we didn’t have to worry about BKR at the moment.

  Thanks, said Seymour as we were settling in to sleep. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to wear that all the time now.

  * * *

  The next morning it was Snout’s turn to invite me for a walk.

  Geez, we sure are popular these days, thought Seymour as we started out after the Mental Master. We took pretty much the same path we had with Madame Pong the night before, following the stream that fed into the pond. But this time we went even farther. As we walked on, we could hear trees weeping in the distance—just normal weeping, not the fatal kind.

  We are going to be here for an undetermined amount of time, thought Snout, speaking directly into my head. It could be a few weeks; it could be many years.

  Yike! thought Seymour. I had to agree. I hadn’t really thought about how long this might take.

  Yike, indeed, replied Snout. The thing is, it is not good to be idle for that amount of time. We need something worthwhile to do. Therefore, I was wondering if you would like to train with me. Not too intensely, he added, holding up one of his long-fingered purple hands. After all, you are not an official apprentice. And you remain Tar Gibbons’s krevlik, even though he has released you for the time being. But there are things I can teach you that may help you on your road.

  I would be honored, I replied.

  Good. We start tomorrow.

  * * *

  To my surprise, we started with exercises. Physical ones . . . like push-ups, which are utterly different when you do them in a body with six stumpy legs.

  I thought we were going to be doing mental work, I complained.

  The mind and the body are intimately connected, replied Snout, who was standing on one finger.

  Are you kidding? I thought bitterly. My body and mind are umpty squintillion miles apart

  You are a special case, replied Snout. Even so, the mind you are sharing with Seymour will work better if the body that carries it is in proper condition.

  If that’s so, then how come the Head Council of the Mentat has given up on bodies altogether? asked Seymour.

  Snout slowly returned himself to a standing position. I was impressed; he was stronger than I would have guessed. He gestured for us to try standing on one leg. At the same time, speaking aloud, he said, “In my opinion, the Head Council has forgotten the importance of balance. That is one reason I left the Mentat and joined the Galactic Patrol. Not that the patrol is perfect,” he added as he grabbed our legs to keep us from falling.

  After about an hour of exercising, Seymour and I were exhausted. Snout, however, showed no signs of wear and tear at all.

  I wouldn’t be so tired if I was in my own body, I told Seymour. I exercised a lot when I was training with Tar Gibbons.

  Oh, shut up, he replied.

  Under the circumstances, he was probably justified.

  * * *

  That night we began another aspect of our training. After dinner Snout took us to the top of a hill he had found while Seymour and I were resting that afternoon. Sitting together, we looked out at the stars for a while, and listened to the distant weeping of the trees.

  After about fifteen minutes Snout put his hand on our shoulder and asked, What is your code, Rod?

  Huh? I replied, none too brilliantly. I thought he was asking about some kind of secret communication system.

  What is your code? he repeated. What rules do you live by? What do you believe? What will you fight for? What do you honor above all else? These are some of the things I mean when I say, “What is your code?” No being can be a Mental Master, or even a master of its own life, unless it has a code. So what is your code, Rod Allbright?

  I couldn’t answer him, then. I mean, I had some vague ideas, but I had never really thought them through. I felt strange, not being able to answer. I felt that I should have thought of these things before.

  We went to the hilltop every night.

  Every night Snout asked me the same question.

  What’s your code? I asked, more than once.

  Most of the time he just shook his head and said, “My code is not the point. It is something that grew from my heart, just as yours must grow from your own heart. Listen to your heart, Rod. It will tell what is important. It will tell you what really counts.”

  Yet despite that, he did give me one hint. We were lying on our backs, staring up at the stars one night, when he said out of nowhere, “I will tell you one piece of my code. I try, in all things, to act out of love, not fear. I do not always succeed, of course. If I did, I would be the Mental Master. But it is a useful guideline.” He chuckled softly and added, “I know it is useful, because I have found that whenever I forget it, I get myself in trouble.”

  * * *

  Every night I struggled with Snout’s question. And finally I did find my answer. Not in a blinding moment of insight. It came slowly, piece by piece.

  But once I had it, I knew the struggle had been worth it.

  So what was it?

  Sorry, but that’s one thing I’m not going to tell you—and I really have told you just about everything else. But your code has got to come from your own heart, or it won’t be yours at all.

  * * *

  The other thing that happened at night was that we sat around the campfire and told stories. Well, mostly Madame Pong and Snout told stories. Elspeth told a couple. Seymour and I, obviously, were in no condition to do any storytelling at all.

  I got a kick out of the stories we heard from Madame Pong and Snout; they ranged from truly weird alien fairy tales to wild stories of their adventures with the Galactic Patrol.

  One night Snout got out the nuts he had gathered from the grove of trees where we had nearly died from weeping.

  “Who wants to try one?” he asked.

  None of us answered. With a shrug he held one up so that we could see it in the firelight. It was beautiful, a burnished brown color with a smooth, oval shell.

  He put it on a rock, picked up another rock, and cracked it open.

  The odor it released was tantalizing.

  Using his long fingers, he pried a piece of the meat out of the shell. Then he went into the Boys’ Room. When he came back out he was carrying a small box-shaped device that had several dials and meters on it. He dropped the nut in and pushed a button. The device whirred and clicked, then dinged.

  Snout studied the dials. “Well, it should be safe to eat,” he said at last.

  Taking another piece of nutmeat from the shell, he popped it into his mouth, and began to chew.

  An instant later he burst into tears.

  It was fifteen minutes before he could stop.

  “These would probably be useful in therapy,” he said, wiping his eyes. Then he put them back in the cloth bag where he had stored them, and returned them to our shelter.

  * * *

  Two nights later Quat the waterman showed up at our fireside. He was carrying a slimy-looking bag and wanted to know if we would mind his company.

  “Not at all,” said Madame Pong. “Please, join us.”

  “I brought some food to share,” said Quat, reaching into his bag. A moment later he pulled out a warty thing that looked like a purple pickle.

  “Here,” he said, handing it to Elspeth.

  She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “You expect me to eat this thing?”

  “Certainly,” replied Quat, reaching into the bag for another. “They’re delicious.”

  Figures. Alien guy comes with a special treat, and what is
it? Some scrumptious food that I can’t eat, because I don’t have a mouth!

  Don’t be bitter, Uncle Rod, thought Seymour. At least you used to have a mouth. I never—

  His thought was interrupted by Elspeth’s scream.

  CHAPTER

  9

  Negatrons

  ELSPETH WAS STANDING ON HER feet. “It moved!” she cried. She was pointing at the warty purple thing, which was now lying on the ground in front of her. “It moved. Right in my hand. It moved!”

  As if to prove the point, the purple thing doubled over, then straightened out, which caused it to bounce at least two feet into the air.

  “Aaaah!” cried Elspeth, backing away from it. “Aaaaah!”

  Quat began to laugh. “I forgot to tell you; you have to kill it before you can eat it!”

  “I’m a vegetarian!” cried Elspeth. This was a total lie, of course. But under the circumstances, I couldn’t blame her.

  “But this is a vegetable,” said Quat. “It’s hard to get them this fresh. They’re considered a great delicacy.”

  “Vegetables don’t bounce,” said Elspeth, who was now standing about ten feet from the campfire.

  “These do,” said Quat.

  “If they bounce, they’re animals,” insisted Elspeth.

  “Vegetables,” replied Quat firmly. With that he took the knife from his side and skewered the purple thing he was holding. I half expected it to scream. Or bleed. Or both.

  It did neither.

  Quat twisted the knife and deftly sliced the thing in half. “See,” he said, holding out the two parts.

  The inside section, smooth and moist, looked pretty much like a purple potato.

  He took a bite and smiled. “Delicious,” he said, holding the other half out toward Elspeth.

  She looked at Madame Pong, who responded with just the slightest nod. Elspeth swallowed and walked forward. I wondered what that was all about. Had Madame Pong been working with Elspeth while Snout was working with me? I kind of liked the thought of someone trying to turn Elspeth into a diplomat. It was sort of like training a gorilla to be a butler.