Melinda: Right. Insane. Literally. So not really like our rain then. Anyway, it’s been good talking to you. Smolin9′s here now. I’ve got to go and wash my hair.
smolin9: Oh good. You’re still here. And you’ve met Melinda.
polkingbeal67: Yes, what on Morys Minor is going on? You bumbling bubble-head! You left me talking to an Earthling! Who is she? What’s going on? She’s been talking about marriage! Oh help! What just happened? I don’t feel well.
smolin9: Calm down, p. It’s all good news. It’s fantastic! Melinda is the missing link.
polkingbeal67: Between humans and apes?
smolin9: No, between us and Voyager 1 verification. I’ve taken her into my confidence. She now understands all about us and she’s been very co-operative. I’ve managed to get incredible breakthrough information. I knew I was on to something when I heard her in the bathroom singing ‘Johnny B. Goode’ – the song that’s on the Voyager 1 golden record!
polkingbeal67: I hate to tell you this, but I’ve done my research and there’s no way that woman is Chuck Berry.
smolin9: No? Oh.
polkingbeal67: And what’s all this marriage nonsense?
smolin9: Well, we’ve become quite close in the short time we’ve known each other. She’s introduced me to all kinds of earthling culture. I’ve been reading their literature.
polkingbeal67: Like what?
smolin9: I read War And Peace – only took me five hours.
polkingbeal67: Big deal. It’s only three words.
smolin9: No, it’s… Oh, never mind. Anyway, there are strategic advantages to this marriage…
polkingbeal67: You’ve said that before. Remember when you fell for that jellyfish?
smolin9: Yes, I admit that was a mistake. But you get stung and you move on. Listen, Melinda played me samples of earthling wedding music and one of them was Bach’s Gavotte en Rondeau. The Voyager 1 golden disc again! It’s got to be a sign. But that’s not all. Believe it or not, Melinda says she knows Jimmy Carter and she’s going to introduce me to him! Put that in your microwocky and process it! Anyway, Melinda and I are going to a party. I’ll get back to you straight afterwards. Keep the wormhole open.
Investigator Diary 12.19.19.2.4:
Melinda: Hello?
polkingbeal67: Hello Melinda. Where’s smolin9?
Melinda: He’s on his way. Before he gets here, there’s something I should tell you. Literally.
polkingbeal67: Oh? How did the party go, by the way?
Melinda: So erratic. Well, it was a fancy dress party and…
polkingbeal67: Fancy dress? What did smolin9 go as?
Melinda: Himself. Y’know, as an alien. Literally. Insane. He wore a full length cloak, but otherwise he was… well, he was smolin9.
polkingbeal67: Oh no. Oh help. Did he cause panic and uproar and…?
Melinda: No. No. It’s all right. There were three others who looked just the same as him.
polkingbeal67: Oh yes, I see. Interesting. So, what was it you wanted to tell me?
Melinda: Well, smolin9 and I are… well, we’re no longer an item.
polkingbeal67: What? What does that even mean? You’re not on a list? You’re not a piece of information or news?
Melinda: Ha ha. Insane! No, we’re not… well, put it this way – we’re not getting married any more.
polkingbeal67: I’m not capable of unrestrained expressions of joy, but if I was, I’d be jerking my limbs about haphazardly and singing ‘Johnny B. Goode’ at the top of my voice. Er, sorry. What happened? Did you come to realise a union between different organisms of different species from different planets could never work?
Melinda: No. He just got on my nerves. Literally. It all started at that party.
polkingbeal67: Do tell.
Melinda: Well, I introduced him to Jimmy Carter like he asked me to. I don’t know Jimmy very well. He’s just someone who lives on our estate. He sold my cousin a knock-off Xbox a while back. Literally. Anyway, Jimmy introduced smolin9 to another guy who turns out to be a real low life.
polkingbeal67: Arthropod? Fungi?
Melinda: Arthur who? You know him? Smolin9 thought he was a fun guy. I certainly didn’t. Literally. Anyway, this Arthur guy has been a really bad influence. Smolin9 has started behaving like him and talking liking him. Wait, here he comes. You’ll see for yourself. I’m off. It’s been totally erratic meeting you. Insane. Literally.
polkingbeal67: Goodbye Melinda.
smolin9: S’appenin bro? Mel tell yah ’bout us? Shame, innit. Know wot ah mean? Don’ worry. We’re cool. No yellin’ or ‘ittin’ or nuffin. Yah diggin’ me?
polkingbeal67: What?
smolin9: Ah is finkin’ dat stuff on da golden record maht be a bit iffy. Know wot ah mean? Ah mean, dat Jimmy Carter. ‘E knows nuffin’ ’bout Voyager. Nuffin’!
polkingbeal67: I can hardly understand a word you’re saying. Is there a problem with the telepresence feed?
smolin9: Nah! Don’ fink so. Hey p, ah is finkin of resignin’ ma job as spesh envoy and investigatah.
polkingbeal67: Resigning? You crazy prokaryote! You can’t do that.
smolin9: Why can’t ah den? Ah’s depressed abaht dis Jimmy Carter fing an’ all. I wants to jus’ do some chillin’ on da Erff fer a bit.
polkingbeal67: Out of the question. You can’t quit now. I’ve stuck up for you all through this wretched mission. Against my better judgement, I might add. Ever since you and I first found the Voyager probe while we were spacecombing with that Mark III Zeplock mineral spotter, I’ve tried my best to keep you on the right path, but you keep letting me down. I’ve persuaded our revered leader to keep you in post despite all your vitalmados abuse. Don’t you see? Our reputations are at stake. Besides, I’ve done research and, curiously, humans don’t have unique names. So you see, your Jimmy Carter may not have been the right one! You must not give up now. Our planet is depending on you.
smolin9: Wossup wiv you bro? Chill. Join me. It’d be bonkers down ‘ere on Erff knowin’ all da stuff we know, innit.
polkingbeal67: Pull yourself together. Think of the great heroes of Morys Minor. Would achilles12 have given up on an assignment like this?
smolin9: ‘Oo? Oh yeh, ‘e waged war massive on dem Oovian chilloks and died of gangrene when dey burrowed into ‘is ankles.
polkingbeal67: And what about Joan5 of Ork?
smolin9: Captured by carnivorous skavaks ‘n’ burned as a steak.
polkingbeal67: Okay. What about custer3? Did custer3 quit at the Battle of the Greasy Crater?
smolin9: Listen, bro. ‘E was torn to pieces by a fousand screamin’ goopmutts.
polkingbeal67: Oh. Yes. Well, at least he didn’t quit.
smolin9: Okay, okay. Ah’ll fink abaht it. Keep da worm’ole open.
Investigator Diary 12.19.19.3.12:
This report was not submitted on the due date.
The following is a note from the investigator’s colleague, polkingbeal67:
I can’t imagine what’s happened to smolin9. At the time of his last report, he’d fallen into bad company and was talking about resigning his post as special envoy and investigator. So it’s possible he could have defected. Not satisfied with being just a crazy prokaryote, he may now have become a traitorous collaborator. He could be helping a combined force of earthlings and chilloks prepare for an invasion of Morys even as I write this.
I knew this would happen. All this getting clingy with other life forms – it never comes to any good you know. Frankly, I don’t see why he can’t be like the rest of us and conduct relationships without getting all emotionally entangled. Well, I warned our revered leader against sending him to the planet. Obviously, it should have been me. Not that I’m bitter or anything. It’s just that, well, smolin9 is too sensitive. He has all that idiotic empathy thing. I’m from the mean craters of Morys Minor where even the goopmutts fear to tread. Speaking of goopmutts, here’s an example of why it should have been me and not smolin9:
Th
ere we were, spacecombing in the Centaurus galaxy shortly after we’d salvaged Voyager 1, when a young cadet called yukawa3 arrived. Our revered leader had sent him out to check the Voyager artifacts we had stowed away in the hold of the ship. He also warned us there had been reports of marauding goopmutts in the vicinity. That night, I was woken by the unmistakable sound of a warlike goopmutt scream. Yukawa3 and I jumped out of our sleeping pods and saw the crested silhouette of a goopmutt in smolin9′s pod. We were about to zap the pod with a couple of micro beam plasma blasts when we heard strains of ‘Johnny B. Goode’. It turns out smolin9 had intended to disguise himself as a goopmutt in the event that we came under attack. So he’d configured the settings on his mutator so that he only had to flick the ‘confirm’ switch and he’d promptly assume the appearance of a goopmutt. Meanwhile, he’d settled down with some vitalmados pills and was listening to the Voyager 1 golden record when Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 13 in B flat suddenly morphed into a trumpeting elephant. Smolin9 dropped the pills, knocked the mutator switch and got transformed into a goopmutt lookalike. His pathetic swearing was translated into the goopmutt screams that woke us up. Hardly a good example to set for a young cadet. But I’m not bitter.
I remember when we took Voyager back to Morys and our revered leader gave us the job of investigating the Pale Blue Dot. Obviously there was a lot of research to be done before we could make any sort of contact with the planet, so we tapped into communication networks and did our homework. Eventually, we abducted a mouse for analysis. According to the information we’d acquired, we should have been able to plug the thing into a computer as a pointing device. When we clamped its tail to a microwocky connector, however, the mouse started making high-pitched squeaking sounds and the cursor got stuck. Smolin9 felt sorry for it and wouldn’t let us disassemble the thing to get to the trackball. Right there, our revered leader should have known smolin9 was going to be a problem. But I’m not bitter. Really, I’m not.
Goodness knows what life-forms he’s empathising with now. Before he even got involved with earthling humans, he’d fallen in love with three dolphins, a baobob tree and a jellyfish. The bumbling bubble-head! He’s even started to resemble an earthling human without using a mutator. The last time we communicated via telepresence feed I swear I spotted incipient nails and some nasal hair. Which is strange because we don’t have noses.
Follow-up note from the investigator’s colleague, polkingbeal67:
In one of smolin9′s early reports, he mentioned deciphering primitive datagrams on his microwocky and communicating with earthlings using something called Facebook. After a bit of trouble, I found smolin9′s facebook page. Things are more serious than I thought. His last few status updates seem to dwell on the breakup of his relationship with Melinda. The last update he posted says he’s in a black hole staring into the abyss. So, it seems he’s left the Pale Blue Dot in some sort of craft and made a rather serious navigation error. I don’t know if we’ll ever hear from him again. But I’ll keep the wormhole open.
Investigator Diary 12.19.19.4.12:
polkingbeal67: Smolin9? Is it you? You’re back! We thought you… I can’t believe… How did you…?
smolin9: Hello p. Calm down, old buddy. What are you blathering about?
polkingbeal67: Your facebook status said you were in a black hole staring into the abyss! How did you get away? We feared the worst, I’m afraid. I’ve just come from a meeting with our revered leader where I reported your untimely demise.
smolin9: I didn’t know I was untimely demised. What does that even mean? Is it because I missed the last report? Listen, when I wrote about being in a black hole, I was talking metaphysically.
polkingbeal67: You mean the age-old mystery surrounding the nature of matter, time and space at the heart of cosmology?
smolin9: Uh, okay, in that case, I was talking metaphorically.
polkingbeal67: You’ve lost me. Anyway, you’re obviously okay. So, why did you miss the last report?
smolin9: Yes, I’m sorry about that. I was at the football.
polkingbeal67: Football? Football! You neglected to deliver a report that’s vital to the survival of our species because you were at the football! It’s inconsequential! Football is irrelevant!
smolin9: An elephant? Ha ha. An elephant is an earthling creature. You crack me up, p. No, football is a game in which two opposing teams of eleven players defend goals at opposite ends of a field, with points being scored by kicking the ball into the net attached to the opponents’ goal posts. Elephant! Ha ha.
polkingbeal67: I didn’t say elephant, you crazy prokaryote! I know it’s a game. It could just as well be cricket, it doesn’t matter, the point is…
smolin9: I see how you’re getting confused now, p. Cricket is a game but it’s also an earthling creature.
polkingbeal67: You crazy… Wait, are you mocking me? You are, aren’t you? Instead of mocking me, don’t you think you should just submit your report so I can have something sensible to take back to our revered leader?
smolin9: Okay, okay. Here’s my report. No, wait, mocking you is a lot more fun!
polkingbeal67: Please!
smolin9: Well, like I said, I was bonding with some earthlings and we went to this football match. It was strange. There was no atmosphere.
polkingbeal67: It was isolated from the protective layer of gases that sustains life on the planet?
smolin9: No, I mean… well, people usually like it when their team scores goals. But this was different. We were watching a team called Manchester City. By the way, you should check out their mascot! Where does that come from? Anyway, when a City player scored a goal, he seemed to be upset about it and revealed a message on his undershirt saying ‘Why always me?’ The supporters were also disturbed about it. They put their arms around each other and turned their backs to the pitch as if they couldn’t bear to look. What do you make of that, p?
polkingbeal67: Interesting. Perhaps it’s some kind of collective emotional turmoil. Speaking of which, are you now compos mentis and dedicated to your investigation of the planet?
smolin9: I don’t know. Why don’t you ask this duck I brought along with me?
polkingbeal67: What duck? I don’t see a duck.
smolin9: No? Has he gone? I must join him on the great migration.
polkingbeal67: What?
smolin9: I don’t think I’m completely recovered yet.
polkingbeal67: Well, I notice you’ve at least reverted to talking properly. I could hardly understand a word you were saying last time. I’m sure you’re getting back on track. I look forward to your next scheduled report.
smolin9: Ah. I can’t make the next one.
polkingbeal67: What? Why not?
smolin9: I’d miss the Arsenal match! Keep the wormhole open.
Investigator Diary 12.19.19.5.3:
This report was not submitted on the due date.
The following is a note from the investigator’s colleague, polkingbeal67:
Smolin9 said he’d miss this report. Well, he has. Apparently, watching earthlings dribbling spherical objects on a patch of monocotyledonous green plants is more important to him than securing the survival of an entire species of advanced sapient beings threatened with imminent extinction. He’s a loose cannon and he’s blown his last chance. If that crazy bubble-head thinks Mario Balotelli’s undershirts hold the clue to our successful colonisation on the Pale Blue Dot, well, he… I don’t know, words fail me! We can no longer entrust smolin9 with the sole responsibility for this planetary assessment and, thankfully, I’ve managed to persuade our revered leader that the mission requires the skills, expertise and objectivity that only I, polkingbeal67, possess. For the record, I entreated our revered leader to let me replace the bumbling prokaryote, but, apparently, for the sake of balance and alien affinity, I’m to join him and we’re to work together for a minimum of two uinals.
I’m preparing myself for wormhole travel tomorrow. I refuse to adopt smolin9′s
low-key approach and I shall, of course, arrive wearing full Morys Minor battle dress with sherg-encrusted helmet. I intend to forge a new path for our people in a new world, a world of hope and optimism and boundless opportunity. It may be like looking for a needle at the tip of an iceberg, but I will find Jimmy Carter and we will smoke a pipe of vitalmados essence while we discuss the future of our peoples. I’ll get an official apology for Roswell! I’m so excited about it, I’m experiencing an unsettling release of endorphins and I’ve started talking in clichés and, as you know, I usually avoid clichés like the plague.
As for smolin9, I will curb his behaviour and rectify his errors. He won’t like it, but I shall put my foot down with a firm hand.
Through The Wormhole, Literally Page 3