“Are the offworlders free from harmful diseases and other pathogens?” he asked, turning to Mulgoon, who was what passed for a physician on Skid. It wouldn’t do to have the offworlders land on Skid, only to discover that they needed to be disposed of because they carried diseases potentially lethal to Skidians.
“Yes. Amazingly, for such primitive creatures, they are remarkably healthy. They will pose no disease risk to us.” Mulgoon was pleased to be able to display his simple talents to an appreciative audience. “The male has undergone some basic surgery on his right knee to correct a structural problem, coincidentally not inconsistent with the sort of knee injuries suffered by some Stim performers. The surgery was successful, though the cosmetics leave a little to be desired.”
“The female?”
“Physically fine, if a little undernourished, and I am a little concerned about her skin pigmentation. But, consistent with my initial observations, she is emotionally unstable and does not possess the physical and mental strength of the male.”
“What about the difference in their skin coloring? Why is the female so much darker than the male?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps it is because they come from opposite hemispheres of the planet. A genetic scan suggests they are of one species, though.”
Mulgoon did not add that the structure of the offworlders’ genetic material was so close to their own that both races must surely share the same evolutionary heritage. However, he knew this could not be true. His equipment must be malfunctioning because it was a known fact that Skidians were racially superior to any sentient species in known space.
“In other respects there is no more difference between them than there is between males and females on Skid, except for their facial features, the nose and lips especially.” Mulgoon coughed discreetly, he was still a little shaken by the knowledge of, and the implications of, discovering that the offworlders apparently shared his racial heritage. The idea that Skidians could have been as unsophisticated and primitive as the offworlders at some time in the past called into question all he had believed about his own illustrious ancestry that Skidians had always been the highly sophisticated and technologically advanced race that they were today.
“Though the male initially appeared to be of low intelligence, as I mentioned previously, I may have to alter this assessment after using the more sophisticated equipment that will be available to me on Skid. He seems remarkably adept at concealing his thoughts.”
Myfair glanced significantly at Toytoo, as if to say ‘I told you so’.
“And the other specimens?”
“With these creatures I believe my earlier assessments to be correct. They are unintelligent and appear to have some role in personal security. But as I say, I can’t really be sure at this early stage.”
“Very well,” said Toytoo with unusual decisiveness. “We must develop and maintain a close relationship with the offworlders, ingratiate ourselves with them, no matter how distasteful that might be. They may be our last chance at salvation.”
Toytoo turned to Cyprus and Mulgoon and said, “We have a little less than sixteen standard hours before we reach Skid. I want you to spend at least part of that time speaking with the offworlders. Gain their confidence, speak freely about Skid, but make no mention of our synthofood crisis. We don’t want them to get the wrong idea about us.”
Mulgoon and Cyprus wandered away to prepare themselves for entering into fellowship with the offworlders.
Myfair sighed at the inherent stupidity of his fellow crewmen and decided to get himself assigned to a long-range patrol vessel and off Skid before the synthofood crisis intensified.
Carefully Toytoo withdrew a pouch of agar from inside his robe, rolled a cigarette, and carefully placed it into his left nostril. He was highborn and in the years to come would be in the running for elevation to a seat on the ruling council. For some time he had been seeking a means by which he could accelerate this process, to gain more influence in the largely impotent senate and maybe aspire to the hitherto unattainable position of Skid’s supreme ruler. Perhaps he was now closer to gaining this position than he had ever been, thanks to the offworlders.
Despite the fact that the high council had effectively usurped responsibility for the expedition that he and his companions had embarked on, their part in it would not be forgotten. Especially, he thought wryly, if scapegoats were required. Cyprus, the commoner upstart, would definitely make an admirable sacrifice if he were needed to ensure Toytoo’s own survival. Mulgoon, who was so transparently hiding something, could join him if necessary.
Toytoo inhaled deeply and manipulated his Eustachian tube so that smoke squirted in perfect rings from his ears. Now, how best to employ the offworlders to maneuver himself onto the high council? By the normal process of attrition it could be decades before he could achieve that status.
Could the offworlders be used as assassins? Perhaps? The very idea disgusted Toytoo, but he filed it away for future reference nonetheless. As far as he could recall, no incumbent had been disposed of in that fashion for several hundred years.
Toytoo yawned; the unaccustomed mental activity had left him feeling quite drained. “Let’s see how they progress on Skid before we make any plans,” he muttered. Unable to even begin formulating a plan, he wandered off to lay down.
“Okay, where do I start?”
“Name, date of birth, where you were born, that sort of thing,” Bruce suggested.
“My name is Sue Louise Clark, and I was born twenty-seven years ago in Portland, Oregon, which is where I still live. I have an apartment at 1997 Prebble Drive, Portland. 696-1976.”
“Go on.”
“I have two brothers, both older than myself and married, and my parents are still alive.”
“Kids?”
“One brother has two boys.”
She added that almost guiltily, thought Bruce.
“What sort of work do you do again?” he asked, trying to sound enthusiastic, already wondering if this little discussion was such a good idea.
“I run my own travel agency, Trekkers Tours.”
“What are the names of your parents, sister, brother and the like, and what do they do for a crust?” Bruce prodded Sue, sensing she was flagging. He was already thoroughly bored with the whole idea himself.
“My elder brother’s name is Scott, and he’s a math teacher at a Portland High School. His wife’s name is Thelma and the boys are Willard and George. My other brother is Lesley; he’s an accountant and makes lots of money. Mom and Dad live in a retirement village in Northern California. Is that enough?”
“Nah. Not really,” Bruce shook his head. “What about boyfriends? Your best girlfriend? When did you lose your virginity? You haven’t really told me anything yet.”
“I don’t really feel like it at the moment. I’m just so tired,” she sniffed weakly as her voice trailed away.
Bruce looked down at her. “Okay, it was my idea. I’d better have a go then.”
He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. What should he tell a total stranger about himself? There were many things he hardly even admitted to himself, let alone a complete stranger. He certainly didn’t want to tell her about all the stupid things he had done in his life. The total meaninglessness of his existence to date. Not that it really mattered, he decided. Pulling out his last tailor-made cigarette, he lit it and puffed away until he had assembled his thoughts. Not that the few extra seconds were a hell of a lot of use. Bruce had no idea what he was going to say before the words began to tumble out.
“Like you, I’m twenty-seven and was born in a little place that doesn’t even exist any longer.”
Bruce was spared any painful revelations by the wall opening and two of the spacemen waddling into the room the fat one called Mulgoon, who had delivered the food, and another one that Bruce couldn’t recall having seen before.
“Greetings, my new friends,” said Mulgoon. With a wave of his hand he indicated his compani
on. “This is my associate, Cyprus.”
“Hello.”
“Gidday.”
“We wish to have some fellowship with you,” Mulgoon announced, conjuring up two chairs by pressing the appropriate button on the keyboard. “May we sit for a while?” he asked.
As they were obviously about to do as they pleased, Bruce said, “Feel free,” although the irony was lost on the two Skidians.
Bruce lay back, stared at the ceiling, waiting for them to get on with it, and not particularly concerned if he were breaking some sort of alien etiquette. When Sue seemed about to speak he nudged her and brought a finger to his lips as if to indicate ‘let’s see what they have to say’.
Cop did not have any of Bruce’s scruples, rising from his apparent slumber and wandering over to investigate the newcomers. Neither of the spacemen knew what to make of him.
“Hello,” said Mulgoon. “How are you?” Cop took this as an invitation and jumped up onto Mulgoon’s ample lap. Mulgoon tried to push him away, but Cop was not going to be denied this pleasure once he had been invited. Mulgoon, believing Cop’s behavior was some primitive ritual, let the dog sniff at and lick his face.
“That’ll do. Sit down!” Bruce barked when he’d decided that the alien had probably had enough of Cop and the other two dogs showed signs of wanting to join in the fun. Cop jumped down and pranced back to his spot on the floor.
Bruce cleared his throat, still waiting for the spacemen to speak. Mulgoon opened his mouth and then, seeming to think the better of it, closed it again.
For something to do, Bruce rolled up some of the space tobacco into a cigarette then popped it between his lips. As he lit the smoke from the butt of his last remaining tailor-made cigarette, he caught the incredulous stares of the two spacemen. Didn’t they smoke the stuff then? Maybe they chewed rather than smoked the tobacco. Maybe it was some kind of snuff.
“That is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen,” Cyprus said, receiving support from an unexpected quarter.
“I agree,” said Sue.
“In all my time I have never seen agar used in this obscene fashion,” he continued, as if Sue had not spoken.
“Do you chew it or sniff it, then?” Bruce inquired, genuinely interested.
“I’m sure it must be unhealthy,” Cyprus informed Mulgoon haughtily, who nodded his agreement.
“What’s the problem?” Bruce asked, taking another contented puff.
“We have come to prepare you for your visit to Skid,” Cyprus said, recalling why he was there and trying to ignore the offworlder’s vulgarity.
“Visit? Skid?”
“We will answer any queries you might have to the best of our abilities.” The Skidians seemed quite matter-of-fact about the whole situation, as though Bruce and Sue were guests rather than kidnap victims.
“That’s nice,” Bruce replied derisively.
“I’m used to organizing my own vacations, thanks,” Sue added, equally scornfully, “and I want to go home now.”
“I’m afraid that is impossible,” replied Mulgoon gravely.
“But you can’t keep us here against our will.”
“We can, and we will, if it suits us.”
“Sometimes a crisis can only be satisfactorily resolved with by the adoption of unconventional measures,” said Cyprus enigmatically, adding, “there is no possibility of your ever returning to your own planet.”
Although Bruce had half expected to hear something like this, to be told it so bluntly came as a shock. He felt empty and angry. ‘Never going home’ had a ring of finality to it. I’ll see about that, he promised himself. There must be some way of escaping this mess. On the other hand, he might as well resign himself to his fate for the moment, because getting worked up wouldn’t help at all. He looked across at Sue with what he hoped was an encouraging smile.
“What’s your name again, mate?” Bruce asked with a bravado he didn’t really feel, as the Skidian opened his mouth to speak. He might as well learn a little more about Skid.
“Mulgoon, and this is my associate, Cyprus.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Bruce didn’t see any point in making it easy for the bastards. “I’m Bruce, this is Sue.” He did not bother introducing the dogs.
“Skid is situated in the Pacificus system, about four hundred light years from your own planet,” Mulgoon began woodenly, as if reading from a teleprompter. “Skid is in many respects similar to your own planet: water covers much of the surface, our atmosphere has similar chemical constituents and we have a single star providing all our solar energy needs.”
“Generally,” Cyprus took up the story as if on cue from Mulgoon, as if he were the second half of a comedy double act, “in respect to size, temperature variations and climatic conditions, Skid is also similar to your own planet. It has a population of nine hundred and seventy million people who live in three immense cities spaced evenly around the equator or in vast underground industrial complexes, leaving most of the planet’s surface empty and uninhabited.”
“Whoopee shit,” Bruce grunted as Cyprus paused dramatically.
“We on Skid are renowned and envied throughout our system for our technical sophistication and level of civilization,” Cyprus continued proudly.
Mulgoon suddenly remembered his manners and asked, “How are you to be addressed?”
“I’m Bruce and she’s Sue,” Bruce repeated.
“The others?”
“Eh? Oh, the dogs. Cop, Can and Punch.”
“Have you any questions before I continue?” Mulgoon asked in a perfunctory fashion, obviously not expecting any.
“Yeah, can you tell us why we’re here?” Bruce demanded bluntly.
Mulgoon considered the question carefully, choosing an answer he hoped would placate Bruce without revealing too much about the crisis facing Skid.
“Oh, we wish to learn from you, of course, and perhaps improve life on Skid,” he replied casually.
“How?”
“In any fashion you think useful,” replied Cyprus vaguely.
“Why us two in particular?”
“You were assessed as being suitable for our requirements,” Mulgoon lied.
“Technically sophisticated and civilized, eh?” Bruce muttered.
If they heard, the two Skidians chose to ignore his comment. For the life of him Bruce couldn’t think why he would be selected to help a planet that obviously considered itself pretty clever. His ego, though, was suitably inflated.
“What about the two men who arrived with me?” Sue snapped.
“Unfortunately our monitors informed us they were irrevocably contaminated and had to be disposed of.”
“So much for the selection criteria of the universe’s most sophisticated planet,” Bruce muttered again.
“Are we irrevocably contaminated?”
“I am pleased to inform you that you are not.”
“When do we arrive on Skid?” Bruce asked.
“In about ten of your hours,” Mulgoon replied inaccurately. “We will be available at all times if you have any questions to ask of us.”
Mulgoon beamed, slapped his thighs heartily and hauled himself to his feet. Neither Skidian cared if the offworlders realized they could not leave the room fast enough now they had done their duty. They left happy in the knowledge that they had completed the offensive task of preparing the offworlders for life on Skid.
Bruce would have been amazed, if he had been privy to the thoughts of the Skidians, for he was still none the wiser about Skid or why they were being taken there. The events of the past few minutes had taken on a surreal quality. There was something quite odd about the Skidians, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly what seemed so strange. What the bloody hell could he do to help the self-appointed master race of the universe? He turned to ask Sue what she thought, but she seemed to have fallen asleep and was snoring softly.
Nine
Bruce woke from a deep, dreamless sleep and realized he was
n’t alone. There was a great mass of dark hair on the pillow and a body beside him in the bed. Who the hell’s this? he wondered. And then it all came back to him. “Hey, wake up!” Bruce gave the body a nudge.
Sue stirred, turned her head and screamed. “Ah! Get away from me!”
Bruce didn’t think he was that bad. Maybe he had bad breath or something. Sue scrambled over Bruce in her haste to get away from him and tumbled onto the floor.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” she replied, sounding a little bewildered, as if she expected to wake up from a nightmare and find her life had returned to normal.
“Shit, I feel horrible,” said Bruce as he stood and stumbled over to the keyboard, stabbing at the buttons that would hopefully call up the dunny and the shower. The day hadn’t started properly unless he had made good use of both.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, a little embarrassed as he pulled up his robe and sat on the toilet facing Sue. He didn’t know quite what else to do.
“What do you think you’re doing? Bruce!” Sue screeched, appearing to have difficulty recalling his name. “Have you no decency at all?”
Bruce shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, but when a man’s gotta go, a man’s gotta go.” He wriggled around and looked around for the magazine or book that should have been on the floor beside the toilet. “Wish I had a cup of coffee and something to read,” he mused, forgetting he had an audience.
“You’re gross.”
“Eh, what’s wrong now? I spend some of my happiest moments sitting on the bog.”
“All I ask is that you don’t dribble on the seat,” Sue retorted, making an issue out of not looking at him while he sat contentedly for far longer than necessary.
“Are you quite finished?” she asked at last.
“Yes, I think so.” He glanced around. “What do you reckon they use for toilet paper? Can’t see any, can you?”
The Skidians seemed to have forgotten this basic necessity, and it wasn’t as if Bruce could grab a handy dock leaf or something.
“Just hurry up and find something. I’m busting,” Sue snapped.
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