He looked relieved. “Can I get to that in a minute? I’d like to explain what I am first and why I need your help.”
I ignored his outstretched hand and stood up.
He shoved his hand into the pocket of his denim jacket. “I’m a computer engineer, responsible for flight data. We now have all we need to leave this planet except the exact co-ordinates of our home, which we stored in a young oak tree in earth year 1019. It’s my task to retrieve this data and I need your help to do it.”
“Why an oak tree?” My voice cracked. Why on earth hadn’t I just told him to go away and find someone else to wind up?
The pale, slender alien faced me and explained as if to a child. “My kind have an affinity with stone and wood, we can occupy rocks and trees and store information in them. We had thought that the tree was lost – your race are so destructive with wood and stone, things that should last for many, many years. Some of our computers got damaged when we landed on earth, so we stored our data in several places, reasoning that not all could be damaged by natural catastrophes such as fire or earthquakes, but much has been lost, broken into small blocks for your dwellings, or burnt in stoves to warm them. We can’t recover our data from small pieces.”
He paused for breath. “It was by accident that I found the wood from one of the ancient trees in the building over there.” He gestured towards the Shipwreck Museum. “It had been cut down when it was a couple of hundred years old and used as a rudder for a boat.”
I became aware that I was gaping at him and closed my mouth. “I thought you couldn’t recover data from small pieces?” Tension made my voice sound sharp.
“Luckily, this piece is six metres long,” he grinned. It was the first time I’d seen him smile and it made him look even younger.
“What is your name?” I had so many questions, but only the trivial ones seemed to make it out of my mouth.
“Attis. And yours?”
We had reached the net huts just as a stream of school children rounded the nearest one, heading for the beach.
I heard a short cry from Attis and caught sight of his face, twisted in pain, as he pulled his helmet on. “They are so noisy!”
“What’s with the helmet?’ I was suspicious again. “Are you hiding from someone?”
Attis inclined his head towards me and lifted the visor. “No, nothing like that Kristy.”
I stared. “I didn’t tell you my name.”
Attis gave me a long hard look. “I know. That was deliberate on my part, so that you’d believe the rest of what I have to tell you. You see I ‘heard’ you answer me with your name, even though those children appeared and you didn’t say it out loud. I can hear your thoughts. I can hear everyone’s thoughts. That’s why I’m wearing this helmet - it screens me a little. Our race is telepathic, whereas humans broadcast, but don’t pick up except for the odd, ‘I was just thinking that’ comment and put it down to coincidence.”
He grimaced. “You all make so much noise and you have absolutely no idea!”
“Where are you from?” I half believed his story, but at the same time I expected to catch sight of a bunch of local students giggling and filming us for their art project.
Attis took a deep breath. “I come from a triple-star system that we call Hacate in the constellation of Scorpius, about twenty-two light years from here. Through some confusion your scientists call our planet and our star Gliese. We call our planet Lagina and it orbits the smallest of the three stars, which we do call Gliese.”
My words came out slowly. “Our scientists are confused about the name of your home planet… does this mean that they know you exist?”
“No, they don’t know about us. Well, only a couple. We occasionally influence people’s minds, but only on simple things – like the name of our planet, but those scientists obviously got confused. We rarely make contact because it has such an impact.”
“What sort of impact?” I asked.
The young man watched the school children walk down to the beach. “Copernicus, Newton, Darwin and Einstein. When we find humans with such intellect, we get tempted to help them sort out their theories.”
I realized that I believed his unlikely story of alien planets and telepathy. It all seemed so plausible, but, it didn’t stop me feeling rather scared of him: he had found it so easy to read my mind - what else could he do?
Attis surveyed the street and removed his helmet. “Look, now you believe me, please can I tell you how I need you to help? Please don’t be frightened.” He smiled reassuringly. “I won’t ask you to do anything wrong and we won’t hurt you or do anything weird to you. This isn’t a Sci-Fi movie.”
He raised his eyebrows at me and I realized, with a little jolt, that he knew those thoughts had just crossed my mind.
I relaxed a little and grinned sheepishly. “So what is it that you want me to do?”
“The wooden rudder is in the museum and all you need to do is put this,” Attis handed me a mug-sized chunk of wood, “up against the rudder and it will do the rest on its own. You could call it a memory stick - it works by induction and it will enable me to download the data I need.”
I studied the piece of wood: it was golden in colour, like polished oak. There was nothing to indicate that it was anything other than a section of branch. “Why can’t you do it?”
He frowned. “I started it off and have downloaded about eighty percent of the data, but I got thrown out. Twice.” His light green eyes rolled expressively.
He reminded me of my teenage daughter and I tried not to smile. “What did you do?”
Attis gave an irritated snort. “Well, the first time a coach load of tourists showed up unexpectedly and I fainted from the pain of all their thoughts. The staff found me and evidently thought I was drunk or on drugs, so I then tried to go back in with my helmet on and they thought I was going to steal something!”
I ran my hand over the wood. It felt cool and smooth under my fingers. “OK, I’ll do it. How will I know when it’s finished?”
“You won’t know. I’ll have to tell you.” Attis paused. “We need to practice telepathy - I have to make sure that we can ‘hear’ each other as you move away. I must be careful not to ‘deafen’ you or you will have a headache for days and you must project your thoughts more strongly as you move away.”
I thought back to the school children. “Won’t I hurt you?”
“No.” Attis seemed pleased at my concern. “As I said before, you have ‘quieter’ thoughts. I couldn’t have coped with a ‘louder’ human because of the noise level. The downside is that I may lose you, even though I have locked on to your mindprint.”
I rummaged in my pocket for some change. “I’ll get us some coffee and we can practice on the beach. I have so many questions I’d like to ask you.”
Attis ran his hands up through his hair in the gesture I was beginning to recognize. “Sorry - I really am running out of time. The spacecraft must leave tonight. The data will take about ten minutes to download and the museum closes in twenty minutes.” He looked agitated. “We will have to practice as you go in. ‘Think’ the questions at me and if you don’t hear my reply, ask me again, more strongly. Oh - and mentally shout ‘stop’ if I’m too loud. If you run out of questions, then just think ‘Hi’ again and again to keep in contact. I’ll do the same.”
I slipped off my jacket, draping it over my arm to hide the lump of wood. My heart was racing and I felt lightheaded. I took a deep breath to steady myself.
Attis brushed my shoulder and I heard a whispered ‘Thank you’ inside my head.
I thought, ‘That’s OK.’ and saw him wince slightly. I walked on a couple of metres and cautiously asked, ‘Is this better?’ I felt rather than saw him nod - a soft tingling over my scalp from my neck to eyebrows and back again.
I drew level with the museum and started thinking. ‘Hi… hi… hi.’ Back came the answering sensation of a nod.
A slim, older woman raised her eyes from her newspaper
as I entered. “We close in fifteen minutes, dearie, so you’ll have to walk quickly!”
“Ok.” My blood was pounding in my ears, but I smiled back as pleasantly as I could and walked through the low arch and into the museum.
I’d been here in the summer, bringing visiting friends to look at local artifacts. The rudders were round this corner, yes! Damn it… ‘Rudders - three of them…which rudder is it?’
‘The 13th century one.’ I heard Attis’s voice in my head. I’d forgotten to keep ‘thinking’ after the encounter with the woman. Thankfully, we were still in contact. I glanced around trying not to look too shifty. Even though I couldn’t see any CCTV cameras, I decided to be cautious and made a show of fumbling with my coat to get a notebook out. I dropped it by the rudder and, under the pretence of picking it up, I slid the ‘memory stick’ from under my jacket and placed it behind the rudder.
I mentally called out. ‘Is it working?’
There was a short pause, then an answering, ‘Yes’ breathed into my mind on a sigh of relief.
‘What do I do now?’
‘Wait until it’s done,’ came Attis’s reply.
It felt awkward just standing there. I pulled out my pen and started copying down the notes about the rudder - it was a ‘side rudder’ used on the right or starboard side of the boat, the other side always being against the dock or jetty, hence ‘port-side’.
My mind wandered over Attis’s story. ‘What makes this so urgent? I know the museum is closing soon, but if you’ve been here for centuries, couldn’t you just wait until it re-opens tomorrow?’
Attis’s voice floated into my head. ‘The planets in this system are aligning tonight and will enable us to do a sequence of sling-shots to escape this solar system. My parents and the other elders arrived on earth as young men and women and they long to return home to Lagina before they die. The next alignment in 3707 will be too late. I was born here and, although I’d like to see my home planet, I am happy to stay on earth.
There will be other suitable planetary alignments, but they will require much more fuel - we would need another ISON-like comet to pass close enough to earth.’
I’d followed the articles about comet ISON and had hoped to see its bright tail when it emerged from behind the sun. ‘What has ISON got to do with it? I thought it burned up by getting too close to our sun?’
A mixture of amusement and regret came though. ‘We have a small craft that is capable of short journeys and uses solar energy. However, this technology only works close to stars, for the long interstellar distances we have to use a different fuel. We have been examining every comet and meteor that has come near earth for centuries. ISON was one of the rare ones to contain the compound we need as fuel, so we intercepted it behind the sun and extracted the cyanogen gas. As a result, the comet disintegrated and you didn’t get the display you all hoped for!’
How many years? I tried to do the sums in my head; the rudder is thirteenth century and the tree would have been a couple of hundred years old when it was cut down - going home this year - call it a thousand years! ‘How long do you live?’
‘We live on average the equivalent of 3,000 earth years. I’m nearly 659 earth years old, which is equal to just over twenty-one in a human lifespan.’
“Five minutes ‘til we close!”
I jumped and dropped my pad.
“You haven’t got very far, if you don’t run you won’t see the rest of the museum before we close.” The woman glanced at my notes as she picked up my pad. “Do you belong to the history society?”
I took the pad back. “Thanks. No, I’m doing research for a novel and wanted to look at the rudders, I won’t be much longer.”
She trotted away. “A writer are we? Don’t forget to mention us, dearie!”
‘Kristy? Can you hear me Kristy? What’s happened - it’s stopped downloading!’
I peered down, the woman must have knocked the rudder as she picked up my notebook. I pushed the piece of wood back into position. ‘Is it working?’
‘No - can you try tapping it? Again, harder.’
“What DO you think you are doing?” The woman’s shout startled me - I hadn’t heard her approach.
She looked really annoyed. “That’s it, we are now closed. You’ll have to come back in the morning if you want to carry on making notes.”
I felt my face go red. “Um, sorry, I was trying to work out what the rudder would sound like against the boat.”
She raised her eyebrows. It sounded really lame to me, too.
“You can come back with me.” She flapped her hand at me and sniffed.
‘Sixty seconds left.’ Attis’s voice sounded desperate. ‘You can’t leave it there!’
“It’ll only take me a minute to finish my notes,” I pleaded.
“Sorry dearie, I’ll not leave you here a moment longer.” She put her hand on my arm and steered me back towards the shop and the exit.
My mind was racing, I could feel Attis’s anxiety.
‘It’s done!’ As his shout exploded inside my head, I staggered and yelled. “Stop!”
The woman stared at me. With the pain of Attis’s shout still reverberating through my brain, I realised I had spoken out loud. I stuck my hand in my pocket and, ducking round her outstretched arm, I dashed back to the rudder and yelled. “My phone, I must have dropped it.”
I threw my jacket over the ‘memory stick’ and then stood up waving my phone. “Got it!”
Grasping the wooden block firmly, I sprinted past her towards the exit. “Thanks - see you tomorrow!”
My heart pounded so much I could hardly breathe, but I kept going until I was round the corner. I slumped against the wall and pressed my free hand to my forehead - the pain in my head was getting worse.
I opened my eyes as I heard Attis’s voice in my ear. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted at you - I was terrified I wouldn’t get it back.” His face swam in front of me a little out of focus.
“You were brilliant! Listen, your head will hurt for a few hours, you need to get away from people and rest. You won’t be able to ‘hear’ other people’s thoughts, but your brain will be sensitised and will continue to hurt if you stay around them. Take this.” Attis thrust a small cool pebble into my hand. “I have imbued this stone with a healing energy. Hold on to it all the while your head hurts and it will ease your pain. Can you walk ok?”
Gripping the pebble tightly as another wave of pain went through my head, I attempted a few steps away from the wall. I was unsteady, but could manage. “Yes - thanks.”
“I’m sorry to abandon you in this state, but I have to get back and load this data. My people will be so very grateful. Farewell!”
I watched Attis run up the road until he disappeared into the alleyway beside the pub. Everything had happened so fast - it didn’t seem real. Tiredness crept over me on the long slow walk home, but I was determined to write everything down, lest I forget.
Rumpelstiltskin Twenty Years Later
by Charles Menzinger
Most of us are familiar with popular folk tales and their endings, good or bad. Suppose though, that an ending just happens to be a beginning...
He was still very young when he inherited the kingdom of St. Leonards-on-Sea, but he had promised his late father that he would get married as soon as he became King. In order to find himself a bride he issued a proclamation that all unattached girls between seventeen and twenty-one, together with their parents, should come to the palace to be interviewed.
There was one girl who was not only beautiful, but according to her father the poor miller, she had the ability to spin straw into gold.
“Fantastic,” said the King. “Let’s find out if that’s true.” So he locked her up in a room full of straw and said, “Ok, get weaving.”
The poor girl didn’t have the faintest idea how to spin straw into gold. Then, a dwarf appeared, spun the straw into gold and the gold into coins. She rewarded him with a necklace.
Came the time when the child arrived and who should show up promptly at the palace - she was Queen now - but the ugly little man to claim the child.
The story goes that the dwarf said, “If you can find out my name in three days you can keep your child, if not, the child is mine.”
The Queen managed to find out his name - a very strange one - Rumpelstiltskin.
The Queen asked, “Are you called Rumpelstiltskin?”
The little man shrieked. “A witch has told you, a witch has told you!” And he stamped his right foot so hard into the ground with rage that he could not draw it out again.
Then he took hold of his left leg with both hands and pulled away so hard that his right came off in the struggle and he hopped away howling terribly.
The story goes on to say that nothing more was heard of our friend the ugly - now one-legged - Rumpelstiltskin, but nothing could be further from the truth.
He re-surfaces again twenty years later. A lot can happen in twenty years.
(Incidentally, there was nothing sinister about Rumpelstiltskin asking for the Queen’s baby. He wanted to give it to his sister who couldn’t have one of her own and needed to adopt.)
*
The King and the Queen, (formerly the miller’s daughter) and their child, a little girl by the way, lived not exactly ‘Happy Ever After,’ but everything went well for quite a while. Then things went wrong.
The King had always been very careless with money. No need to worry, he always felt, if you’ve got a wife who can turn a roomful of straw into gold overnight.
In any case, he had three large rooms each one bigger than the other, full of the stuff. All he had to do, whenever he needed to pay the street cleaner or the park keepers or his soldiers and all the people who keep a kingdom in good working order, was to pop into one of those rooms and fill his pockets full of gold.
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