After a bit of scratching around Bruce found a shoehorn shaped object in a small compartment behind the bowl. He turned it over in his hand. “Hey, look at this! A disposable bum scraper! Neat, eh?” He tried it out and found it surprisingly soft. “Just the gears,” he said, dropping the scraper in the bowl.
He stood up and looked for the flush mechanism. There wasn’t one, unless it was cunningly hidden. However, as he stepped away from the bowl there was a whoosh and the contents were sucked away leaving a little pool of water in their wake.
“Aren’t you going to wash your hands?” Sue demanded as Bruce wiped them on his robe.
“Find me a tap, why don’t you? Anyway I’m going to have a shower.” Bruce jumped into the cubicle, throwing his robe out as the water began to run.
Sue was relieved to see Bruce out of the way, even for just a moment. Now she could use the toilet herself with some degree of privacy, discounting the interested stares of the dogs. It was a great relief to be able to regain a moment’s personal space. She was just not emotionally equipped to deal with spending so much time confined in such a small space with a total stranger, even if he was relatively harmless.
The flow of water stopped just as Bruce was starting to enjoy it, replaced by a blast of hot air.
“Don’t come out yet!” Sue yelled from the toilet as Bruce opened the cubicle door.
“Why not?” he asked, sneaking a hand out to grab his robe. “I’ve seen it all before. Anyway, it’s not fair, you watched me.” But he stayed put until Sue gave him leave to emerge. It was too early in the morning to start winding her up.
“I think I’ll have a wash as well. How does it work?”
“Jump in and the water starts automatically.”
He sat on the edge of the toilet seat and rolled himself a cigarette. The most satisfying of the day.
“Are you smoking again?” Sue called from the shower.
“Yeah. What of it?”
“Do you really have to?”
“Yeah, I have to.” What is her problem? he wondered as the door slid open and a trolley laden with containers of food advanced into the room.
Bruce tossed his cigarette away. A drone popped out of the wall to clean up the butt and was so much a part of the landscape now that he didn’t even notice its presence. He emptied the contents of a few of the bowls on the floor and filled the empty bowls with water for the dogs. Then he looked in vain for something that looked as though it was good to eat. The Skidian food he had tried so far, despite slight differences in color and texture, had the same bland taste.
“Must be pretty nutritious stuff no matter how bad it tastes,” he said to Sue, who after her shower was showing the same sort of limited interest in her tucker as he was in his, “considering the size of the Skidians.”
“At least you could wait until I’ve finished eating,” Sue grumbled as Bruce rolled and lit another cigarette, after discovering a liquid that looked and tasted a little like coffee, to wash his breakfast down with.
“Yes dear, no dear, three bags full dear.” Bruce chucked the half-smoked cigarette at the trolley where it fell into one of the empty bowls and tossed what remained of his breakfast on the ground for the dogs to fight over.
Seconds after Sue had carefully put the bowl with her own unfinished breakfast on the trolley and found herself something to drink, the door slid open and the trolley whisked itself almost silently out of the room.
They weren’t left to their own devices for long, which was just as well because an undercurrent of hostility was developing between them as they sat at either end of the bed trying not to look at each other.
Just as Bruce cleared his throat to say something the door opened and Mulgoon waddled into the room. “Welcome to Skid,” he announced extravagantly, as if the offworlders, by some telepathic process, should have realized that the ship had landed on his home planet. “You are privileged to be the first offworlders to visit our planet,” he added uncomfortably, aware, given what he now knew about the offworlders, that this traditional belief possibly wasn’t true. If that was not true, what else was there, which he had always taken for granted, that was not true either? Not that Mulgoon was about to openly question traditional Skidian beliefs, because that was the quickest way to be transported to a social re-education center, he knew.
“Isn’t that lovely?” Bruce grunted preparing to be as bloody-minded as possible.
However unfazed Mulgoon was by Bruce’s sarcasm, he actually seemed pleased by Bruce’s remark, as if he interpreted the comment as a compliment.
Bruce decided the Skidians had a particular talent for ignoring what they didn’t want to hear, had very thick skins, or were merely ignorant. Most probably a combination of all three, he decided after a moment of reflection.
“We are going to present you to our senate, an honor not accorded even to most Skidians,” Mulgoon continued, self-importantly.
“I demand to see the United States ambassador!” Sue demanded suddenly and then bit her lip as she realized how silly she must sound.
Mulgoon continued as if she had not spoken. “Until the appropriate time we have a documentary for you to watch in order that you might learn something of Skid.” He pressed a button on the keypad by the door and a video image was projected onto the opposite wall, and sat heavily on a chair that seemed to appear from nowhere, and without any preamble the show began.
“Interesting, eh?” Bruce grunted with a hint of sarcasm after a few minutes.
The documentary did provide them with some useful insights about Skidian life. The tobacco-like material was called agar and demonstrations of its use caused Bruce to double up with laughter; at least he wouldn’t run out of smokes. Although he’d never seen anything like it before in his life, it was no wonder the Skidians had been so upset with him when they saw him smoking. Taking it up the nose, indeed! That wasn’t natural!
Skid seemed to be something of a utopia. However, the presentation made Bruce a little uneasy; it reminded him of Cold War communist propaganda from his childhood. Few of the Skidians appeared to be involved in any activity resembling work. In fact they didn’t seem to do much at all, though Skidian culture apparently gave all the inhabitants a say in the running of their planet and provided a comfortable niche for each of them. Fantastic, for sure. So how did it all work? Bruce wanted to know. The documentary did not make this particularly clear. What’s the catch? he kept asking himself.
He was about to check his observations with Sue, but she forestalled him.
“Doesn’t it look wonderful,” she said. “Imagine never having to work for a living.”
Bruce decided not to destroy her illusions. He could well be wrong, after all; the Skidians looked happy enough on the surface. Despite this, he thought he detected something else in their faces. Lurking behind the peaceful, contented façade he was sure a volatile cocktail of emotions was ready to explode, a barely suppressed combination of violence, hostility and resentment, looking for a way to express itself.
“Ah, well. You can’t tell all that much just from a picture,” he replied instead.
Bruce reckoned he might be happy in a place where no one seemed to work and they could occupy themselves in any fashion they wished. But only if he could find himself something constructive to do.
The Skidians seemed to be free from the drudgery of working for a living that enslaved most people on earth. Their food and almost every other conceivable need was supplied without their having to labor for it. It seemed idyllic really, but the more he saw, the greater his unease became. It all seemed too good to be true.
The scenery was pretty standard if you used earth as a comparison. There were forests and grasslands, snow and mountains, seas and lakes, arid plains and tropical forests. Skid looked very much like earth, not the exotic wonderland that Bruce had always imagined a highly sophisticated alien planet would be.
One thing that did strike him was the lack of wildlife on Skid. There were a few strange-l
ooking cattle-like beasts, several species of birds and fish, and a variety of insects. But nothing like earth’s abundance or diversity of wildlife.
The absence of habitation outside the great cities also struck Bruce as a bit unusual. Surely some of them would live out in the country? Skid was heavily industrialized, though the factories were largely run without Skidian involvement and the factories themselves were mostly hidden underground or in vast undersea complexes. Skidian industry mostly used raw materials imported from other planets and asteroids, since the planet’s own resources. Bruce decided that this was euphemism for being - long since been exhausted through millennia of thoughtless plunder.
The process by which the asteroids were mined was an indication to Bruce just how incredibly technologically advanced the Skidians must be. Small robot spaceships were continuously launched towards an asteroid belt several light years away. Once a robot ship identified a suitable asteroid it landed on it and turned itself into a mining and industrial module. This module proceeded to mine the asteroid and build a propulsion system that then propelled the asteroid toward an orbit around Skid.
By the time the asteroid had swung into this orbit not only was there a stockpile of raw materials for further processing on the planet itself, but it was also possible to program the industrial modules to manufacture specialized products on the journey.
A continuous stream of these asteroids was strung out through space, on their way to join those in various stages of consumption already in orbit or heading for a splashdown in the sea, and transported to a terrestrial industrial facility. As soon as one came into orbit around Skid, another outbound robot ship was dispatched. And not a Skidian in sight anywhere.
Despite being dependent on these imported raw materials, Skid seemed to be the only place in known space, apart from earth, that actually created anything of value.
The documentary ended abruptly, as though the producer had lost interest towards the end of the task and decided enough was enough, encapsulating Bruce’s experience of Skid and things Skidian to date.
“Interesting place, isn’t it, Bruce?”
“Yeah,” he snorted noncommittally.
“Don’t you get the feeling there’s something a bit creepy, though? Did you see any old people?”
Bruce hadn’t and realized that Sue was more on to it than he had given her credit for.
“Tell me about your food production systems,” Bruce asked Mulgoon.
The documentary had not been clear on that, either. He’d seen no evidence of cultivation or animal husbandry and hadn’t understood the allusions to the synthofood plants. How did they produce the stuff they had the gall to call food? Surely what they ate at home must be better than what they had been given on the ship?
Mulgoon thought he neatly sidestepped the subject by saying he was not competent to comment.
Bruce probed further, sensing a hint of uneasiness behind Mulgoon’s evasive reply. “I notice you don’t farm animals in any fashion.”
“Farm?” Mulgoon examined this unfamiliar term closely. Mulgoon, who liked the sound of his own voice, suddenly decided it would not be prudent to say anything more. “Yes, well, I must leave you now,” he decided hastily, which did nothing to allay Bruce’s suspicions that the Skidians were hiding something from them.
“Perhaps they have some taboo about discussing how their food is produced,” he suggested to Sue once the Skidian had left.
“This is one weird place,” Sue sighed. “What do you think will happen next? After we’ve been presented to their government or whatever?”
“I would imagine they’ll give us a good going-over to see what makes us tick. Hook us up to who knows what kind of machines, stick needles into us. That sort of thing.” Not a pleasant thought.
“Really?”
“Yeah. You don’t think they’re going to let us off here, say howdy doody and let us traipse round as we please, do you?”
“I have no idea. I wouldn’t have asked, otherwise.”
“Consider it this way, Sue. If the situation were reversed and it was a couple of Skidians on earth that we’d got a hold of, what do you think would happen to them?”
“I expect there’d be doctors, psychiatrists and all sorts of people pawing them all over. But …”
“But what?”
“This is different.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It would just be different, that’s all.”
“You basically mean it would be okay for us to do it to them, but it’s not on for them to do it to us? That’s a strange sort of morality, don’t you think? And if they managed to survive that treatment, then what?” He paused to let his words sink in. “They couldn’t be allowed to roam about at will because people might get upset. People like church leaders and politicians would demand they be killed in case they carried around some deadly disease or wanted to marry one of their daughters. Imagine the reaction if that ever happened!”
“That’s horrible. We’d never do that.”
Sue’s naivety astounded Bruce.
“You want to bet on it? Still, they don’t seem exactly hostile, do they? Maybe things will work out alright.” Bruce wondered whom he was trying to convince. Nevertheless, as helpless as he felt, he saw no value in thinking negatively. Were the Skidians merely softening them up, having some ghastly future in store for them? What frustrated him most was that they were entirely at the Skidians’ mercy.
“All we can do is resist passively and be as difficult as possible in the process. You know, like Gandhi.” As Bruce rolled himself a cigarette something else occurred to him. “You know, having said all that, I might be on the wrong track. I’ve got this oddest feeling the Skidians think we might be able to help them somehow.” It was a comforting fantasy. “Something one of them said about helping them or being guests. The one called Myfair, I think. Or was it the one called Cyprus?”
“They sounded fairly friendly, anyway.”
“Sue, just think positively and anything might happen,” Bruce said as the door slid open again, “… and probably will.”
Two of the tallest men Bruce had ever seen, clad only in loincloths and Sikh-like turbans that accentuated their semi-nakedness and height, stood in the doorway.
Bruce hoped they hadn’t come to take his blood or something because there was no way he would be strong enough to resist them.
The Skidian called Cyprus pushed his way past the two grim figures and said gravely, as if passing a sentence, “It is time for your presentation to the senate, and the guards will escort you.”
Bruce rose slowly to his feet, his knees a little wobbly, his heart pumping. He became acutely aware of each little detail about him. A trace of ash on the floor, a blemish on Cyprus’s cheek and a slight nicotine stain around his right nostril. He was ready for either flight or fight.
“Come on, Sue,” he said more calmly than he felt, pulling her to her feet and commanding the dogs to get in behind. Unfortunately he never had much control over them at the best of times, and once they sensed daylight they were off out the door, almost knocking over Cyprus and the two security guards in the process.
“Get in, bugger you!” But the dogs had perfected the knack of embarrassing Bruce when he least needed it. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled his stop command. The high-pitched whistle caused Sue, Cyprus and the guards to jump almost out of their skins and clamp their hands over their ears. However, the dogs completely ignored him and shot out the open doorway.
Ten
Bruce stepped out of the spaceship after the dogs and shaded his eyes against the brilliant sunlight. Resisting the insistent nudges of the guards who were prodding him forward, he turned to inspect the spaceship. It was a bit of a disappointment really; he had expected a spaceship to be far more elaborate. It was also a lot smaller than he imagined, no larger than a standard three-bedroom house, shaped like a smooth, inverted pudding bowl with the lip of the bowl resting on the gro
und.
Bruce wondered what powered the ship because there was no outward indication of rocket motors that he could see, unless they were underneath the saucer. Apart from the doorway they had exited from, its surface was smooth and seamless. There were no windows, no flashing lights and no hiss of escaping gases or steam. The spaceship was simply a cold, inert, gray lump of metal criss-crossed by a few long, brownish scorch marks.
The dogs loped across the vast cobbled plaza they had landed on, reveling in the open spaces after being cooped up inside. At any other time they would have made a comical sight, so excited at being let outside, they could hardly stop to relieve themselves as their wild exultant barking filled the still air.
Stepping the two or three stairs to the ground from the spaceship’s doorway had felt like moving out into an impenetrable wall of humidity that Bruce imagined would almost support him if he fell forward. He started to sweat profusely. “Bloody humid, eh?” he whispered to Sue, who walked woodenly alongside, apparently resigned to whatever fate decreed.
Bruce felt like a pygmy from darkest Africa suddenly being confronted with a city like London or Rome; he was almost overwhelmed by the vastness of the plaza they were walking across and the size of the building they were walking towards.
The small party was headed for a long, low building, domed with an immense cupola, which was in turn capped by a tall spire, on which a flag hung limply. The building stretched away on either side as far as the eye could see, and was flanked by the plain trees that also surrounded the plaza, effectively isolating the plaza and building from whatever was on the other side.
Though looking over his shoulder, Bruce caught glimpses of other bowl-shaped objects beyond the trees with busy, unrecognizable shapes rushing between them, and realized that the plaza must be adjacent to some sort of spaceport. What really struck him was the almost total silence. The only sound he could hear apart from their own footsteps and someone’s heavy breathing beside him came from the soft scuffing of paws on the cobbles accompanied by the furious sniffs and yelps of the dogs as they zoomed around like lunatics.
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