Passage to Paradise (Carrie Hatchett, Space Adventurer Series Book 2)

by J. J. Green

  “Yes, thanks.” She went to pick up her toolbox from the table, then paused as she realised she had understood the dandrobian even though she had not been close to her translator. “You can speak English?”

  Holding the door open, Apate said, “Oh yes, we’ve had several English-speaking visitors from Earth in recent times.”

  Carrie’s eyes widened. “Visitors from Earth?” she murmured. Gavin had told her that Earth could not join the Unity until humans achieved deep space travel, but he had not, as far as she could remember, said explicitly that humans were forbidden from leaving Earth. She herself travelled to other worlds, after all, and Belinda, the half-dandrobian banker she had met on her previous assignment, must have been conceived somehow. Carrie frowned.

  While she was musing, Apate waited patiently at the door. Carrie noticed her, smiled apologetically and went out, blinking in the strong light. She set her shoulders. She had prepared well for this meeting by reading up on the United Nations and similar organisations and studying the art of diplomacy. She was going to be a model of professionalism and decorum and prove her new boss wrong.

  Chapter Five – Trouble in Paradise

  As they walked between the low buildings, Carrie said, “Thanks for helping me out with the Foreign Secretary back there, Apate—is that your first or last name?” Like the buildings and the dandrobians, the name sounded familiar.

  “We have only one name, dear. Each of us has a different name, you see, those few of us who are left.”

  “Oh, has your population been shrinking? On Earth, that’s happening in a few countries. Low birth rates. But...” Carrie frowned. “How come? I heard dandrobians are immortal.”

  Apate smiled sadly. “Immortal but not indestructible. Every year we lose people to accidents.”

  “But surely births make up for deaths?”

  The corners of Apate’s mouth turned lower. “Carrie, darling, when the Unity confined us here, they altered our genetic material so that we could no longer reproduce with each other. There are no births on Dandrobia. Our own genetic modification that allowed male dandrobians to cross breed with species from other worlds was not altered—a small concession by the Unity—but all pregnancies are brought to birth off-planet.” Apate’s tone softened. “Essentially, they gave our species a death sentence.”

  Carrie grimaced. The conversation was turning far heavier than she had intended. “What’s your job, Apate? I mean, what’s your role in this negotiation with the squashpumps?”

  “I am a facilitator, much like yourself, my love. I don’t think English has a word for what I do, but I smooth relations, organise gatherings, convey communications too delicate to be recorded in any permanent way.”

  “We do have similar jobs,” said Carrie, nodding. “It isn’t easy, is it? Keeping people happy, I mean.”

  Apate’s smile returned, and she displayed white, even teeth. “No, it isn’t.”

  Carrie was warming to this dandrobian. It was comforting to know there was at least one of them who understood her role as a Liaison Officer. This female alien seemed so nice and reasonable, Carrie wondered again about this species that had once tyrannised the galaxy. Maybe the dandrobians had changed in the long years of their imprisonment? How long had Errruorerrrrrhch said it had been? Thousands of Earth years. They could have changed a lot in that time.

  She walked with Apate beyond the complex and out into open ground. As they rounded a corner that brought them to a full view of the surrounding landscape, Carrie caught her breath. The sight was even more beautiful than the hologram Errruorerrrrrhch had shown her. Spread before them were wide, rolling hills that ran down to a brightly sparkling, blue-green sea. Swathes of long, verdant grasses and wildflowers clothed the hills in pastel and vivid shades, and a balmy breeze sent the grass and flowers into undulating waves, mimicking the motion of the water at the pearly white shoreline.

  Carrie stopped for a moment, taking in the view. Apate stood with her, also regarding the landscape.

  She sighed. “It seems very beautiful to you, doesn’t it? But if you can never leave, the most beautiful place is still a prison.”

  Shaking her head, Carrie struggled to accept the idea that anyone would want to leave Dandrobia. Maybe Apate was comparing her fate with her memories of the time when she had roamed wherever she had wanted, far and wide across the entire galaxy.

  Continuing their walk, they descended a flowery hillside that led to a platform on a hill about ten metres high next to the sea, providing a wide view. Dandrobians were already on the platform, and Carrie assumed the squashpumps were also present, though she could not see them at the distance. A perfume was filling her nostrils, either from the wildflowers or perhaps the alien sea. Atop a hill to their left was a large, single story, rectangular building. Wondering why it was set apart from the rest, Carrie asked Apate what it was.

  The dandrobian paused slightly before answering. “It’s our main governmental building, dear. There are work rooms, meeting rooms and a library.”

  “A library? With books?” asked Carrie, her eyebrows rising.

  Shrugging, Apate said, “We must record information somehow. We aren’t allowed any more complex technology.”

  They were nearing the platform, and the seated dandrobians began to turn as they noticed their arrival. Carrie double-checked she had her translator, which would record the statements from both sides at the meeting. With her there as a witness, the recording provided a legally binding agreement.

  Carrie had her bag open and was peering in when Apate drove into her side, sending her sprawling to the ground. She landed heavily.

  “Foreign Secretary, I hope your journey was pleasant,” said Apate, addressing a squashpump on the patch of grass where Carrie had just been about to tread.

  Thank goodness. Once more, Apate had saved her from an embarrassing and potentially disastrous diplomatic incident. She was going to have to look more carefully where she was treading all the while she was there. Scrambling to her feet, Carrie said, “Foreign Secretary, I’m pleased to see you again.”

  The squashpump did not deign to reply but continued sliding royally and surprisingly quickly towards the platform.

  Carrie wondered why the squashpumps had not invented a speedier way of getting around. Though the Foreign Secretary’s progress was fast for its size, it would be at a big disadvantage when it came to escaping or defending itself. During their invasion of the squashpump planet, the dandrobians could have, and maybe had, literally walked all over them.

  Apate led Carrie up the slope to the platform. In the reduced gravity, the climb was easy.

  “Thanks for stopping me from squashing the Foreign Secretary back there,” she murmured to Apate as they reached the top.

  “Apate, darling,” burst out some dandrobians as soon as they saw them step onto the platform. Apate’s friends skipped over and hugged her, kissing her cheeks lightly.

  After returning their affectionate greeting, Apate showed Carrie to a wide seat strewn with cushions like those that had been spread to soften her landing when she arrived. The seat was built for a dandrobian and she had to climb onto it, but she sank gratefully into the cushions. Her legs dangled. Settling herself in, Carrie found her heart was thudding and her mouth was dry. Though her role was minor, she was desperate to get it right.

  In a circle around the platform dandrobians were on seats similar to Carrie’s, interspersed with thin columns. On top of each column sat a squashpump. Only one was empty. Now that Carrie was there, everyone awaited the squashpump Foreign Secretary. It was crossing the ground and soon began gliding up the side of the empty column.

  Some of the squashpumps reared up and their many flaccid stalks sprouted from their heads as they apparently prepared for the meeting. The sea breeze grew stronger, sending the squashpump tentacles waving. Carrie did not think she would ever look at a plate of spaghetti the same way again.

  She mentally went over the words she had rehearsed to get the meet
ing started. She had memorised them and the points of the final dandrobian and squashpump agreement. She’d thought that reading them from her briefing document would look unprofessional. Now she wished she had the words in her hand in case she dried up mid-speech. Referring to her notes would not look as bad as standing there like a fish out of water, mouth open but nothing coming out.

  The Foreign Secretary had nearly reached the top of his column. Carrie was sure the creature had slowed up in order to make more of an entrance. She jumped down from her seat and stood in front of it, hoping to give her short form—topped by frizzy out-of-control hair, whipping round her face in the breeze—some dignity and gravitas.

  As she opened her mouth, an especially strong gust from the ocean blew in, taking her words from her. At the same time, the wind toppled a squashpump column: the one the Foreign Secretary had been climbing. The creature had not quite made it over the edge, and as the column hit the ground its soft body was severed neatly in two.

  Chapter Six – Revenge of the Squashpumps

  Carrie and the dandrobians gaped at the body of the squashpump Foreign Secretary. Only one half of it was visible, next to the downed column’s lip. The other was half hidden beneath it. The visible end twitched, and Carrie jumped; then she remembered her position and tried to compose herself. “I—er—I...” trickled out, but no more words came. She had to say something, but she had no idea what. No one had explained what a Transgalactic Council Officer was supposed to do when a member of a negotiating side died in a freak accident.

  The dandrobians were getting to their feet and looking around uncertainly, and Carrie became aware of the faint squeaking of the gathered squashpumps, some of whom were sliding rapidly down their columns. Realising she could not understand what they were saying because her translator was too far from her, she reached for it. As her hand closed around the cylinder, the squashpumps’ cries were sharp in her mind.

  “It’s a trap,” they were shouting. “An ambush. They’ve tricked us and now they plan to massacre us. Defend yourselves squashpumps. Get the dandrobians. Take down the enemy!”

  At these words, despite the crisis, Carrie’s alarm faded into curiosity. The small, soft squashpumps were going to attack the large, muscular dandrobians? She wondered if they had a secret corrosive slime or some other hidden weapon. The dandrobians clearly understood what the squashpumps were about to do because their reaction was immediate. Panic seized them and they began to run away.

  The squashpumps compressed like concertinas into squat folds. Carrie gazed at them, fascinated. Then, the creatures sprang into the air and, like speeding bullets, they flew towards the departing dandrobians, landing on their heads and faces. Screaming and shouting, the dandrobians batted, swiped and pulled at the squashpumps, but they stuck like glue and, almost too quickly for Carrie to see, they disappeared inside the dandrobians. Up noses and into mouths and ears they slithered. One even slid into the corner of a dandrobian’s eye.

  “Urghhhh...squashpumps, no,” she shouted. “Leave the dandrobians alone at once. I command you as a representative of the Transgalactic Council.”

  But the squashpumps either didn’t hear or didn’t care what she said. Dandrobian screams turned to shrieks. Some sped down the hill as if trying to escape the squashpumps inside them, while others spun, writhed and jumped, flailing their arms or hitting themselves on the head, trying to dislodge the aliens.

  Carrie did not know what to do. This was a time for action, not diplomacy. She wanted to try to save the dandrobians, but there had been no time, and now it was too late. And she was pretty sure that she, as a member of the Transgalactic Council, should not attack the squashpumps herself. She had to remain neutral in all disputes. Removing the squashpumps from the dandrobians’ heads also wasn’t an option because she didn’t know how. Should she run away? The squashpumps didn’t seem intent on attacking her. A hand grabbed her arm. She turned to see Apate, who had been hiding behind her seat.

  “You must leave,” she said, radiating shock and fear.

  “No, I should stay and help.”

  Apate shook her head, her lips tight, her eyes wide. “You don’t understand. There’s a whole ship of squashpumps. When they hear what’s happened to their Foreign Secretary, they’ll attack and you won’t be able to stop them. You have to get out.”

  “But...I can’t just leave you.”

  “You can’t stay. Go. The negotiations are over.”

  Carrie looked around. “I suppose you’re right,” she said uncertainly.

  Dandrobians were running down the hill, violently shaking their heads. The squashpumps who hadn’t managed to land on a dandrobian were swiftly gliding after them, over the platform and into the grass.

  “There isn’t much time,” said Apate. “A battalion of squashpumps will be on its way.”

  There seemed no alternative but to leave. Carrie’s brow wrinkled in concentration, trying to remember what Errruorerrrrrhch had said about contacting her when she needed a gateway. She was very reluctant to do it. Her alien insect manager would no doubt blame her for the situation and take it as evidence of her incompetency, but Apate was right, there was not much she could do. It would be better for her to return to Dandrobia later, when tensions had calmed down a bit.

  She recalled that all she had to do to talk to Errruorerrrrrhch was to say her manager’s title and name into the translator. “Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Manager Errruorerrrrrh.” Hearing no reply, Carrie repeated, “Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Manager Errruorerrrrrh.” Still nothing. She must be pronouncing the name wrong. Damn that bug, she thought. Why couldn’t she have given herself a name that humans can actually pronounce? Like Gavin? She tried again but there was no answer.

  Apate was looking fearfully around, her hands over her face, shielding her eyes. “Hurry up,” she said. “They’ll be here any minute.”

  “Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Manager Errruorerrrrrh,” said Carrie desperately. “Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Manager Errruorerrrrrhch.” Her dry throat caused her to cough very slightly at the end of the final word.

  “Yes?”

  “Oh, thank goodness.”

  “I can hear shouting. I stopped the recording. What’s happening? The meeting can’t possibly be over yet. What do you want?”

  Carrie quickly explained what had happened.

  Skepticism dripped from the reply Errruorerrrrrhch gave. “All you had to do was witness the statements from both sides. Are you saying you did nothing to provoke this breakdown?”

  “I told you, it was an accident. It was the wind. But the squashpumps took it as an attack.”

  “And what did you do to prevent their reaction?”

  “I couldn’t do anything. There wasn’t time.”

  Apate was wringing her hands. She mouthed, You must go.

  “A dandrobian informs me a contingent of squashpumps will continue the attack.” Carrie swallowed and grimaced. “I think I should leave for the time being.”

  “In the circumstances I am forced to agree, unfortunately,” came the curt reply. “I will open a gateway to return you to Earth. We will have to wait for a lull in the hostilities before resuming the mediation process. If I allow you to continue the assignment, it will have to be at a later time and after I’ve received a full report from you on exactly what has happened.” There was a click as Errruorerrrrrhch broke the connection.

  Carrie’s heart sank. She turned off the translator.

  To her left, behind her seat, wisps of green mist were appearing. Carrie slipped her translator into her bag and prepared herself for the almost instantaneous journey home. It felt like stepping from one place to another, even though she was travelling perhaps hundreds of thousands of light years. The mist whirled into a spiral and began to thicken and deepen in colour.

  Apate stared at it, her expression odd. When she realised Carrie was watching her, her face smo
othed into a smile.

  The swirling mist tugged at Carrie’s hair and clothes. She gripped her bag tightly. If she let go of it between worlds she might never see it again. Her stomach clenched as she wondered what happened to people who were lost during the journey. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she told Apate. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the Transgalactic Council can fix everything. It’s just a hiccup.”

  Apate did not answer. A strange, hungry look had formed on her face. Carrie wondered what the dandrobian was thinking, but there was no time to ask her. The force from the green mist was pulling strongly now. She stepped forward and bent down, attempting to go through feet first this time to avoid a painful landing on her head at the other side. But, as always, the mist grabbed her upper torso and sucked her in headfirst.

  Carrie’s ankle felt odd, as if someone were holding it, just before she emerged in her familiar kitchen. She slid across the floor face down. Rubbing her nose, she sat up. Dave and Rogue were not far from where they’d been when she had left, but they were not looking at her, they were looking behind her. Carrie followed their gaze to see Apate sitting on the floor, a wide grin on her face.

  Chapter Seven – Uninvited Guest

  Unable to believe her eyes, Carrie turned to her friend. Dave’s face was a picture as he looked from Apate to Carrie and back again. Rogue began to bark.

  Apate stood, brushed down her emerald green robes and adjusted the golden clasp at her shoulder. “That landing was a little rough.” Standing more than two metres tall, she made the small kitchen look even tinier.

  Carrie was frozen to the floor. “But—but...”

  “Carrie...” said Dave slowly, his eyes fixed on Apate’s statuesque figure, “who’s this?”

  Rogue had stopped barking. He had dropped to the floor and was glaring at the dandrobian. His low growl rumbled in the silence.