Showing posts with label space aliens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label space aliens. Show all posts

Friday, November 4, 2016

Friday Flash: Xavier Xanthum, Space Explorer

For this month, while I'm very busy trying to juggle a NaNo project and the release of The Problem With Peggy (Book 3 of the Ninja Librarian series), my Friday posts may be either short, photographic, or re-runs. Just a warning :)

Today, however, I got inspired and we have a full length (990 words) flash--another voyage with Xavier Xanthum, Space Explorer.

Xavier Xanthum and the Alien

“Comet, we need some excitement.” Xavier Xanthum addressed the comment to the large black-and-white cat that lay, weightless, on his lap.

“I do not think it is wise to wish for excitement.” The answer didn’t come from the cat; to the best of Xavier’s knowledge, the animal couldn’t speak. The only other voice in his one-man spacecraft was that of Larry, the AI.

Xavier looked around for the floating eyeballs that Larry liked to use as his physical manifestation. “Why not? We’ve been in transit for a month, and I’m bored out of my mind. We need to do something to break up the trip!” He and Larry had been entertaining themselves by learning an ancient code he’d found in a book, one that worked by long and short flashes. That kept them occupied for a tiny part of each day. Managing the ship took another few minutes. Boredom was killing him.

“It is not wise, because you do have a tendency to stumble into more excitement than you enjoy.”

That was true. Xavier thought about some of his adventures. He’d not enjoyed them all. But time, distance, and boredom gave them a certain nostalgic luster.

“What could go wrong out here?”

At those ill-considered words, Larry sucked in an imaginary breath, and Kitty Comet shoved off Xavier’s lap and disappeared into the ductwork. Seconds later, the com unit crackled to life. First there was a noise they had to take as speech, then an image appeared on the screen. A being with four visible appendages, and two of what Xavier took to be heads, showed against the unmistakable—though very alien—backdrop of spaceship’s control center.

Finally the translator began to translate.

“Alien ship you are in our territory. Why should we not to vaporize you at once?”

Xavier thought. Mostly he thought that it was weird that the alien claimed empty space as its territory. Then he thought that he didn’t care to be vaporized.

“Uh, just passing through. My apologies if I interfered. Didn’t see the No Trespassing signs; we’ll move right along.”

The alien waited for its own translator to handle this, then the two heads swiveled to look at each other. First one head and then the other spoke. He didn’t think the thing had meant for this conversation to get translated, but computers did exactly what they were told, and theirs had been told to translate.

“We are commanded to destroy all threats.”

“This puny craft is no threat.”

“We can’t know that.”

“They appear harmless.”

“We must follow orders.”

“Uh, fellows? Mister?” Xavier cleared his throat and tried to figure out if he was addressing one alien or two. “I must say, I’m not a threat. No sir, not any kind of threat.”

“It is sentient. We do not destroy sentient beings without cause.”

“It is sentient. Therefore it is a threat. That is sufficient cause.”

Xavier listened, fascinated. He’d never heard anyone play good cop/bad cop with himself. The two heads went on arguing. Xavier muted his own com unit and asked Larry if they could get away from the alien ship.

“No, Captain. It is not even clear where the ship is, but we appear to be firmly held by an unknown force field.”

Xavier swallowed. It was never good when Larry started calling him “Captain.” He listened to the on-going argument. It seemed to have shifted from whether to destroy him to how to destroy him.

“Larry? Do your best to break that field, okay? I think we might be in trouble here.”

Just then, Comet shot back out of the duct. The cat had mastered zero-G movement, mostly. She over-shot Xavier, bounced gently off the com unit, and drifted, drawn by the motion on the screen. She swiveled her own head, following the argument. Then she began batting gently at the moving heads. Xavier reached out and put her back where she could pat the screen. Someone should enjoy this encounter.

The heated discussion of vaporization vs. laser broiling broke off. Both heads zeroed in on the cat. Four arms lifted as though to reach through the screen.

“What is this creature? Is it your leader?”

“It’s a cat,” Xavier said. “She’s a pet.” Screeches from their translator told him the aliens had no word for either cat or pet. “A non-sentient animal that offers comfort to a human companion,” he defined for them.

“This ‘cat’ offers you comfort?”

“I told you the alien is perverted,” the second head said.

“I would like such a ‘pet.’”

“You betray your duty.”

“You have no feelings.”

“Correct. The locus of sentiment is in your head. That is why I am the stronger.”

Xavier watched, fascinated, as the heads argued about the virtues of feelings vs. logic, all the while with their gazes locked on Comet.

The sentimental head addressed Xavier again. “Give us your ‘cat’ and we will release you.”

Xavier stiffened. He couldn’t do that to the creature that had arrived in a Christmas stocking two years back. Comet had been a tiny kitten then, a bundle of fur that stole his heart in seconds. But maybe Larry could use the demand to make an opening for escape. Xavier said something vague to the aliens, and looked around for the eyeballs. Larry hovered just out of sight of the com unit, blinking in the ancient Morse code.

Larry wanted him to agree? Xavier opened his mouth to argue. Larry blinked some more, and the space explorer stifled a smile.

Xavier interrupted the alien’s argument. “Very well. I will beam the cat over to you. You will need to lower the field that immobilizes me.”

And before the logical head could argue, an arm reached out, punched a button, and Larry blasted the Wanderlust out of range.

The last they saw of the alien, it looked like they’d be arguing for a long, long time.

###

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2016
As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated!


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Thursday, March 3, 2016

Friday Flash: In the Soup

Chuck Wendig spent all last week collecting first lines from his readers. This week he gave us ten to choose from to write 1000-2000 words. For me the choice was clear.

“Of all the things I expected to find in my tomato soup, this wasn’t one of them.” (Stella Wood)

I think I ran a few words over my personal word count target of 1000 words. Nonetheless, I give you....

In the Soup

Of all the things I expected to find in my tomato soup, this wasn't one of them. I opened the can and mixed it myself, and only turned me back for a minute. Next think I knew I was looking at a little green man doing the breast stroke. My first thought was that I was glad I hadn't heated the soup too hot.

My second thought was that I was nuts. I was seeing naked green men in my soup. I had to be crazy.

It got worse. I closed my eyes to shut out the hallucination and raised a spoonful of soup to my mouth.

"Hey, watch it there, greedy-gullet! Whattaya think yer doing?"

Even if I believed there really was a little green man in my tomato soup, I'd have thought he'd maybe have a squeaky little voice to go with his tiny size. This guy had a huge, rough voice that sounded of whiskey and smoke. It was that voice that began to convince me this was for real. I didn't think I had enough imagination to hallucinate a little green space alien with the voice of a barfly.

"My apologies. I thought I was eating soup." The sarcasm was wasted on my visitor.

"Aye, and I thought this was me bath."

"Looks like we were both wrong." I thought about it, and said, "Actually, you can have the bath. I don't seem to want the soup anymore." I didn't. It wasn't just that he was there, and green, and naked, but...he looked like he needed a bath. Tomato soup might have been an odd choice of bathwater, but who was I to judge?

The green man ignored my invitation as he had my sarcasm. He was, in fact, standing on my spoon and cussing at me. I put up with it for a while, then said, "Oh, for heaven's sake, shut up and get back into the bath!" Even at a mere 6" tall, the view of his naked green body, liberally coated with tomato soup, wasn't edifying. He was human enough in some ways, but his skin was scaly.

"Begorrah, lass, but you're the bossy one."

"'Begorrah'? Puh-lease. You're no leprechaun, if that's what you're trying to suggest. So don't you try to play off of it being March and all."

"Who are you to say if I'm a leprechaun or no?" He certainly had the belligerence for the role, but I had to demur.

"Look at you. You're green all over," I began.

"As are all leprechauns. Haven't you been paying attention?"

I struggled to remember the cards and advertisements I'd seen over the years. Were the leprechauns green all over? I didn't think so, though I couldn't be certain. That didn't change the bigger issue. "Your skin is scaly and your head is a little...odd." I tried to be tactful, for all the good it did me. He looked outraged, so I hurried on. "You don't have any hair, and the shape is definitely not human, and well, to me you look like a space alien, though you're kind of...." I hesitated again.

"Smart?"

"I was thinking 'small.'"

"Just like a human, fixated on size. And leprechauns ARE little green men, you know."

That phrase rang a different bell in my mind. "Little green men...are from outer space."

He gave a sort of a howl that I decided must be meant for laughter. "I knew you were brighter than you look," he crowed. "Got it at last!"

I stared at him. "So you're saying that leprechauns are really space aliens? You've been here all along, and we just created a mythology to explain it?"

"That's pretty much the size of it."

Another thought occurred to me. "Why Ireland?"

He waved a hand to indicate that's easy, and said, "The whiskey, of course. No place like it for a good drink."

"And that brings us to a very good question."

"Do I want a drink? Why yes, I do, lass."

"That's not the question." I was hanged if I was going to give this little green exhibitionist strong drink, even if I had any. "The question is, what are you doing in a bowl of Campbell's tomato soup in Toledo, Ohio?"

"It's a long story, and talking's thirsty work," he hinted, but I could be as deaf to hints as he could.

"Tell me, and maybe you can get back to Ireland and your whiskey."

He huffed and dove back into the soup. I went to find some cheese and crackers, since I wasn't going to be eating my soup. When I came back he was swimming around and singing "Sweet Molly Malone," loudly and off key. I pretended not to notice.

By the time I'd finished my crackers, the green man was back on the spoon, howling for me to bring him a robe. In the interests of decency, I gave him some paper towels.

"Got blown off course, you see," he said, wrapping a towel around him like a toga.

"On your broom?" I was getting snarky, but he deserved it.

"I'm no witch," he said indignantly. "You'd be wanting the girls from the other side of the galaxy for that."

I  nodded and started in on a dish of ice cream. He went on after a moment. "I was coming in from a visit to the mother ship, you see."

"Half a world away is a lot of off course." I thought he'd probably been warming up for the fine Irish whiskey. He didn't disappoint me.

"Ach, well," he said modestly. "I might not have been tip-top on the navigation. Anyway, so here I am."

"That's your 'long story'?" I'd be damned if I'd do him any favors on the strength of that tale.

"I got chased by a big bird and had to land in your garden. Then a masked bandit came along and stole my ship."

"A bandit?"

"Furry, black and white, and wore a mask."

I groaned. "A raccoon?"

"I couldn't say. Anyhow," he said gloomily, "now I'm stuck here, and you don't even stock any good drink."

"Your problem, not mine," I told him, and went to bed.

He went back to singing, and I put the pillow over my head.

##
I stuck it out in his company for a week before I made reservations for a trip to Ireland. He could ride in my luggage.

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2016