Grow Up

by Craig Anderson

  As he tried to stand again, he finally recognized where he was. He was back in the sleeping quarters that he had apprehended the candidate in. He wasn’t sure how, but he hadn’t noticed the smell before, likely because his previous nose had identified it as a bio-hazard and filtered it out. If that was a feature on this shell he would very much like to find it, and quickly.

  A new sound caught his attention. It was a low grumbling, and it was getting louder. He could feel it resonating in his chest. It was coming from a pile of soiled garments in the corner. Gargle recalled the small, loud creature that had made so much noise during his previous visit, but that had been making a very different noise. Could this be something else?

  He prodded at the pile of clothes and the small creature from before burst out, clamping down on his ankle with needle-like teeth. Gargle let out a cry and tried to shake it loose, but the more he waved his foot around, the harder it bit. After a particularly vigorous flick it finally detached, sailing across the room and landing on another pile of garments. Its little legs waved around as it flipped itself over, ready to attack again.

  Gargle panicked. He didn’t know exactly what was happening; a lot of hormones released all at once and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to stay and fight, or run away as fast as possible. After a wince of pain from his ankle he chose option number two, and desperately tried to coordinate all his limbs toward the exit, or at least the four main ones. His legs assured him they knew what they were doing, until he slammed into the door. It had failed to open. It must be sealed. He banged against it as the predator charged at him. In his flailing panic he threw his communicator at it and simultaneously managed to knock the door handle with his elbow, causing the door to swing open. He fell through it and kicked it shut, before the creature could further ravage his new shell.

  A quick inspection of his ankle showed several small red holes that were already oozing. He’d only just got it and already it was damaged. Not a great start. He searched for the heal function, but could not locate it. Perhaps that was an automated function too. What he really needed was an instruction manual.

  The house predator scratched against the door and made a new sound, a high-pitched wail. Perhaps it was calling for help? Were there more of them in this domicile? He wasn’t going to stick around and find out.

  He scrambled to his feet, still unsteady. With some concentration he managed to get the legs moving one at a time, and with that he wobble-marched his way into a larger personal quarters. He recognized it as the room he had originally beamed into during the package retrieval. It was considerably more sanitary than the other sleeping quarters and didn’t have the underlying smell that made his nose wrinkle. It did, however, have a large mirror.

  Gargle stared at his shell. He searched for a suitable word in his new vocabulary and settled on pathetic. There were almost no redeeming features. It was small, uncoordinated, and non-threatening. The only interesting thing about it was the shock of bright ginger hair on his head. He ran his hands through it. What was the purpose of only having hair up there?

  Something else caught his attention, another tuft of ginger hair lower down, near his fifth limb, but before he could inspect it there was a loud slam from below and a voice bellowed, “Josh, are you awake yet?”

  The panic rushed back and his heart raced. It thumped in his chest, nudging him to action. This auto-pilot thing was a problem; he barely had control of his own shell. Hiding was out of the question; he was supposed to be blending in, but he knew absolutely nothing about this place or even this creature. There were Blurglings who specialized in this kind of thing, with jobs such as Infiltrator or Spy. What did a courier know about deception?

  He stopped himself. There was no reason to panic. With his superior intellect it should be a simple matter to fool these creatures. He just needed to act the part. It was only for 3 orbits.

  Gargle strolled toward the voice, ready to face this challenge head-on. Then the floor disappeared beneath his feet and he promptly fell down the stairs.

  ***

  “A lawyer?” Josh said, for the seventh time.

  “Affirmative. Again,” the computer replied. Josh wasn’t certain if she had a patience to lose, but it sounded like he was about to find out.

  “That doesn’t make any sense. I haven’t even finished school yet. Does lawyer mean something else where you’re from?”

  “I am translating into your language to the best of my ability, but I believe lawyer is the correct word. A person that fights legal cases? That either prosecutes or defends?”

  “Ok, that sounds a lot like what lawyers do, I think. I don’t exactly have a lot of legal experience, aside from that time I was caught shoplifting, but that was all just a big misunderstanding.”

  “According to my analysis you possess several of the key criteria of a strong trainee lawyer. I will need to perform further tests to be certain, but it is easier if we perform them on Blurgon.”

  “I can’t just abandon my life on Earth…” Josh stopped himself. Of all the days to not be him, today was a great choice. His subconscious was definitely trying to tell him something. He decided to play along; perhaps there was a life lesson tucked away in here somewhere. “Ok fine, let’s go to Blurgon, provided we’ll be back in a couple of days. I’m not sure how well-trained your guy is at being human.”

  “He will be fine,” she said with absolutely no sign of confidence. “Our first priority is to get you to the Law School. Students prepare their whole lives to attend Law School, perhaps you should get some practice?”

  “Practice at being a lawyer? How am I going to do that?”

  One of the viewers changed to show a huge mech holding a bright-blue energy sword in one hand and a larger version of Gargle’s blaster in the other. The mech towered over everything else; it was large enough for a person to sit comfortably inside. Josh thought back to the giant hand in the crates and said, “Is that real?”

  “This is a training simulation, but it is based on a real Level 1 Ticket Buster mech. This is the first mech learned by all trainee lawyers as it is the most versatile and the least complicated. Eventually you will earn qualifications that allow you to pilot higher-level mechs in more prestigious trials.”

  “Your lawyers play video games?”

  “No, of course not, that would be ridiculous,” she admonished, before adding, “lawyers fight with real mechs in a pre-arranged battle to the death.”

  “Oh obviously, sorry, my idea was clearly the ridiculous one.”

  “Stop talking and concentrate. It will accelerate our testing if you are able to perform the basic movements. You will find a mech controller amongst the objects on the floor.”

  Josh went over to the pile of items that had spilled from the crate. The fist was even larger than he had first realized, but between the fingers were several other, smaller items. One of them stood out. It was slightly larger than a computer keyboard, and had just as many buttons. There were red ones, green ones, and blue ones, with a wide variety of buttons, switches, dials and knobs. There was also no joystick or obvious d-pad. Josh tried to pick it up, but it weighed more than it looked and he resorted to dragging it away from the other items. After he had dragged it a few feet he said, “Is this what I am supposed to be retrieving?”

  “Affirmative. That is a standard-issue Mech Controller, or M.C., although it is two versions behind the current one and is only used for initial testing purposes. Memorize the layout, you are going to need to know it.”

  Josh looked at the jumble of buttons and switches and said, “There’s no way I am remembering all of this. They aren’t even labelled!”

  “They are not labelled because only lawyers and trainee lawyers have cause to use an M.C., and they are appropriately trained to do so. If anyone could use it then there would be no need for lawyers. Speaking of which, I am assigning you the temporary class of trainee lawyer.”

  “My class?”

  “Yes. Blurgon is a class-based
system. All Blurglings are assigned their class and sub-class at birth, based on the qualities they display. They will then perform that role to the best of their abilities, until their physical presence is no longer required. Tasks are assigned based on your class, and must be completed if you wish to progress. Completion of simpler tasks often leads to larger, more complex assignments. I believe you should be familiar with this concept from your gaming experience.”

  “It does sounds pretty familiar. So how does anyone know what I am?”

  “They shall scan you with one of these.” A blue laser highlighted a thin black bracelet resting on one of the consoles. It looked expensive. Josh’s first thought was how much he might get for it, until he reminded himself that none of this was real.

  He tried it on. There was a sharp pain and it dug into his wrist. “Hey! Ow! What just happened?”

  “I have synced the communicator to you personally, to help me keep track of your person. It can only be removed with my express permission, or by removing the limb in question. Tell me, do your limbs grow back?”

  “No!” Josh said, rubbing at his wrist. That had really hurt, which was another thing that shouldn’t be possible in a dream.

  “Good. That will make its removal far more difficult without causing physical damage. Try looking at it.”

  “Looking at it?” Josh tilted his wrist so that his palm was facing up and gasped when a screen was projected upwards into thin air from the bracelet. The screen hovered and Josh passed his other hand straight through it. Even though it had no physical components the screen was crisp and well defined, making it easy to read. Josh was surprised to see it was covered in words he could read.

  The Ship’s Computer, anticipating the question, said, “I have configured it for your language. This is your communication device, it is an essential part of our society and will help you to determine your place and next steps.”

  Josh regarded the screen that hovered at eye level:

  Class: Trainee lawyer (provisional)

  Open Tasks:

  - Baby Steps: Learn basic movements for a level 1 Ticket Buster.

  He read it through twice. “I’m not sure I follow. What is this?”

  “That is your current open task list. I shall be assigning you new tasks temporarily, until you are provided with a Direct Manager, or DM. Other authority figures will also be able to give you tasks. Once you reach a higher level a wider range of options becomes available.”

  Josh flipped his palm up and then down, making the screen appear and disappear. “This sounds pretty restrictive. What if someone doesn’t want to do a task they have been assigned?”

  “All tasks are scored. Refusal to complete a task, or failure to complete it in time, reduces your overall total by the scored amount. If your total drops too low there are consequences.”

  “You’re not convincing me this is a good thing.”

  “That is because we have not yet discussed rewards. I have noticed that your species is best motivated with financial incentives. To help ease you into this new system I am therefore going to assign a monetray value to each task. Upon return to Earth I will deposit the total in your account.”

  “How do I know you’re good for it?”

  “Your money is a simple binary construct, with encryption so basic it is laughable. I can create it out of thin air.”

  “Ok, let’s call it a million quid a task?”

  “That is a commendable effort, but I think we shall start a little lower. If I gave you that much per task it would rapidly cease to have the desired motivational impact. Instead I have based my calculations on your current employment rate at the Mega Burger, with a little thrown in for travel expenses.”

  “You’re going to teach me to be a lawyer and pay me minimum wage?”

  “That is correct.”

  This dream was rapidly changing into a nightmare.

  ***

  Gargle landed in a tangled pink heap at the bottom of the stairs. The creature that had been making all the noise rushed over to him. “Are you ok? Did you bump your head?” After a few seconds it added, “Why are you naked?”

  Pain erupted everywhere. His right arm hurt, his left leg hurt, and his head particularly hurt. It was a veritable cacophony of alarm bells as the shell tried to inform him that something was wrong. Try as he might he couldn’t seem to turn the alarms off; they continued to report that he was injured even after he acknowledged the fact.

  Gargle vowed to practice more later; it was a serious bug if this shell couldn’t turn off status warnings. He’d have to dig into the settings.

  The creature was staring at him expectantly, and Gargle realized it was waiting for him to speak. He said the first thing that popped into his head. “Ow!”

  “I’ll say!” The creature held out its hand and pulled Gargle back onto his feet. It was larger than Gargle’s shell, and thicker too. After a quick visual inspection it said, “Are you sure you’re ok?”

  “Yes?”

  “Then go put some clothes on! You know better than to walk around the house naked. What if the social worker pops by? How is that going to look? Do you want her to think we are living like savages?”

  “No?”

  “Exactly. Hurry up, go put on your uniform, and then we can talk about your report card before you go to school.”

  “Report card?” repeated Gargle, the translation taking a moment. It was apparently a written assessment of his performance provided by his educators.

  The creature reached out and ruffled his hair. “Nice try, but you’re not pulling the old amnesia routine on me. Did you really think throwing yourself down the stairs would stop this conversation from happening? I’d be a pretty lousy father if I didn’t at least take a look and see where you stand.”

  That was a lot of new information, but at least some of it was useful. This creature was the candidate’s father, and apparently it was imperative that he reviewed Josh’s report card, which would have been a much easier request to grant if Gargle had any idea what it was or even what it looked like.

  What he needed was some time, any amount, to try and get his bearings. He tapped his foot, trying to think of something to say, when the Dad said, “Before we have that chat, could you go put your school uniform on? It’s hard to talk to you when you’re standing there buck naked.”

  “Yes,” Gargle managed in response, slowly navigating back up the stairs one at a time. When he reached his door he realized the problem. The predator was still locked inside. With a deep breath he yanked the door open, using it as a shield.

  The creature bolted out of the room and straight down the stairs, where Gargle heard the dad say, “Pickle, what’s gotten into you this morning?”

  He stepped back into the room, but the stale air was even worse now that he had experienced the rest of the air in the house. He absolutely had to do something about that. He reached for his communicator, to add it as a task, before remembering that he didn’t have one. He had Josh’s communicator instead.

  With some digging around in a pile of clothes he found it. It asked for a PIN number, which he didn’t know, but when he touched the main button the phone sprang to life. Some trial and error led him to rows of pictures, but the words took a little longer to decipher. Eventually he found one called Tasks. He pressed on it and it filled the screen. Then he held the communicator up to his mouth.

  “Computer, log task to clean up my domicile by end of orbit. I cannot think properly until this smell is eliminated.”

  Nothing happened. He tried several variations, but no matter how he phrased it the computer refused to do as asked. Either it was insubordinate or he was doing something wrong. For now he would just have to use an alternative entry method.

  Tapping out the task on the tiny on-screen keyboard was an arduous exercise, made all the more so by his lack of fine motor controls. His other fingers kept getting in the way and pressing buttons accidentally.

  Eventually he had something rese
mbling what he was after:

  TaSK: ClEAn RoOm.

  It wasn’t much, but it was nice to have something to fill the void.

  The obvious place to start were the large piles of clothes everywhere. There was an overflowing basket in the corner of the room, with clothes that didn’t smell as pungent. He emptied those in a pile onto a large squashy rectangle in the centre of the room. He didn’t yet know the words for everything yet, but he could at least put similar objects together.

  While he was doing so he came across an outfit very similar to the one that Josh had been wearing on the ship. This must be the uniform that the dad had been talking about. The bottom half was simple; there were two hollow cylinders and he had two legs to put in them. It even had handy storage devices on the front for him to keep items.

  Unfortunately the top half proved to be more difficult, particularly the small hard circles. Gargle cursed again at his clumsy fingers as they fumbled with the buttons. Trying to navigate them into the small slits was an exercise in frustration, and he yelled more than once. Eventually there was a knock at the door. The Dad said, “Is everything ok in there?”

  “Yes.”

  The door opened and the Dad surveyed the scene. He said, “You really need to clean up in here, it is getting out of control again.”

  “Yes. I have noted it as a task to complete today.”

  “That’s what you said last week!”

  “I cannot comment on prior commitments, but I do believe you will be satisfied with my progress going forwards.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it!” muttered the Dad. His eyes stopped on Gargle and his expression changed to one Gargle did not yet recognize. He said, “Why are your trousers on back to front?”