Specimen Carl was just passing the large maple tree at the bend in the path when the humming started. That's odd, he thought, looking around for the source. As he did so, the sound grew louder, as from an approaching dynamo. He couldn't see anything in the immediate area that would cause such a sound, and he realized that it didn't seem to come from any particular direction, but was rather an omni-directional droning that suggested that the source surrounded him. "Hello?" he said tentatively, and then more sure, "Is anyone there?" No answer came but he wasn't sure that made him feel any better. Maybe the electric company has put up a new power station, he thought, and it's too small to see, and they turned it on just as I walked by, and... He trailed off, realizing the increasing implausibility of what he was saying. Abruptly, there was a bright flash of white light, and a sudden chill to the air. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed several leaves on the tree had frosted over. Then his attention was drawn back forward again as two bizarre shapes moved toward him. The approaching figures strongly resembled a crazed caricaturist's idea of a potato wedded with an octopus. They were large and bulky, and yet moved surprisingly quickly on tentacles that seemingly sprouted from everywhere. Small black eyes peered out at him and their dusty brown color only served to heighten their spud-like appearance. The tentacles were apparently used for other things as well, for both creatures stopped, and began to wave them in complicated patterns. Carl staggered, staring in disbelief at the figures before him. A rather lumpy but surprisingly resonant baritone came from one of the beings. "Hmmm, we seem to have frightened it. We must be missing... Oh yes! The indigenous attire." Then, in an accusatory tone, "Urble, why didn't you remind me of that before we left?" Not waiting for a reply, it promptly vanished, followed by the other, leaving a blast of hot air, only to reappear again seconds later. Carl, who had been looking on in unmoving this whole time, stared at the two now outlandishly garbed figures. The one addressed as Urble wore what Carl guessed was an attempt at blue jeans and several tentacle tips were sheathed in purple and green argyle socks. A derby on top completed the affair. The other creature sported a tie-dye shirt, leather moccasins, and a purple beret slung jauntily atop its bulk. Carl stumbled backwards, emitting a yelp, as he took in this scene. Again the irregular voice issued forth, "See, Urble, how much better this is? Notice how its coloring is paler now, undoubtedly due to the calming effect of our well-dressed appearance, and of course that high- pitched noise shows relief, now that we are more suitably clothed to its barbaric eyes." "Yeah, I think you're right, Chief, and did you see how it bowed backwards in greeting? I dunno 'bout this here native skirt though. Kinda makes me itch," said Urble, rubbing several sock-covered appendages together to illustrate. "That's 'native dress,' you idiot, not skirt! I would think that the encephlogrammatic language training would have taken effect on even your mediocre mind." "Sure, Boss, I took them 'ceph tapes like you said, so we can, like, speak the native lingo and all. Hey! You think it maybe understands what we're saying now?" Urble and supervisor both fell silent, and then slowly turned to face Carl, who stood there in stunned silence. He began to speak, falteringly, "Uh, well, I can see you two are rather busy, so," he hurried on, "I'll just be on my way." He rose to his feet, turned, and started off the other way, only to feel a fuzzy but firm touch from behind. He looked back to see an argyle-clad limb grip his shoulder. "Just a sec there, buddy. You ain't going nowhere just yet." "What do you want?" Carl sputtered, still staring at the argyle sock. Urble's superior stepped up, saying, "I, Burff, and my assistant, Urble, have ventured on this scientific compilation in order to procure a specimen of fauna from the local habitat, to be studied at our leisure." "Uh, of course--" "He means you," said Urble matter of factly. Carl stiffened, preparing to yell, but suddenly there was no air left anywhere, and it seemed like too much trouble, just like it was too much trouble to keep standing, and why bother to stand anyway? Fighting this sudden lethargy, he struck out at Urble, eliciting a meaty thud, before his legs folded. His last sight was of Urble standing over him, waving his argyles again, and then everything faded to black. Carl awoke in a brightly lit white room. He was lying on a padded board resembling an operating table, which seemed to be the room's only furnishing. What a crazy dream, he thought. I must've been hit by a car or something and they doped me up. That would explain a lot. He felt himself all over, but he seemed to be all in one piece, and the only thing he could remotely complain of was a slight headache. He was just looking around for a nurse call button when he heard voices from outside the room. "Do you think it will be conscious yet Urble?" "I dunno, Boss, and personally, I don't care. I'll have a yug-ache for at least a quarter-cycle." Carl hastily lay back down and closed his eyes, just as the door opened, and Burff and Urble rolled into the room. He heard a scuffing noise, and then felt an inquisitive tentacle brush over his arm, coming to rest on his chest. "Hmm, it appears the soporificizer was more effective than I thought. We'll check back in a while and see how it's feeling then." Carl looked through narrowed eyelids in time to see Urble tenderly rub a spot before following his superior out the door. He waited for a moment, breathing deeply and slowly. All right, maybe I'm still dreaming. I'll just pinch myself and wake up, that's all. He pinched his arm. It was convincingly painful. Hmmm, it always works in the movies. Still, he had to get out of this--whatever this was, and quickly! He leaped up from the table and went to the door. It was painted a bright white, just like the rest of the room. He grasped the knob and twisted slowly. It turned and he opened the door a crack. Looking out he could see a hallway colored the same dusty brown as his captors leading off in both directions, and, most importantly, empty. He slowly opened the door, edging out into the hallway, alert for any sign of alarm. Hearing none, he shut the door quietly behind him and examined the passageway. It stretched on in both directions for as far as he could see with odd-looking doors set at uneven intervals. He looked both ways, sighed, and then started off determinedly to the left. The first door he came across was drab brown like the rest of the hallway, and shorter and wider than a usual door. Adorning the door was a strange looking symbol which resembled the silhouette of an overly large bean-bag chair in a tutu, tentacles spewing from everywhere, and a frizzy growth on the top. Most surprising of all was that there was no doorknob or any other visible means of opening it, except for a small, cone-shaped indentation. He hesitated, and then put his little finger into the hollow. The door whirred open with a smooth motion, and with it came an odor not unlike singed flower petals. He stepped into the room. Inside was a large horizontal mirror set into the wall on the left, short, flattened booths on the right, and pinkish burnt umber tile everywhere. In addition, a shape resembling the symbol on the outside of the door sat in front of the mirror, complete with a dun frock, dark brown tendrils on top, and a red lacy something hanging unfastened from the front. A tentacle applied a rose-colored dye to a spot on the bulk which seemed no different from the rest of the body. Catching his motion as he entered, it turned to face him, and then quickly went a dark shade of orange brown. "Oh, pardon me," he paused, glancing at the red lace, and then went on, "...uh, Ma'am. I thought this was the Men's room." He whirled around and dashed back out into the hall, only to collide with a large brown shape. He oofed and went down, flat on his back. He looked up to see an irate, if thrashing tentacles and a slightly orange hue indicated irateness, alien clothed in a sort of yellow toga. Apart from the toga, he could have been Urble. "Hey, mac, why don' ya watch where yer...say...," the alien paused, looking Carl over. "You must be one o' them new guys they was telling us about, Nyrts, or something like that." He looked again at Carl, glanced at the door he had just come out of, and then back to Carl. "Oh, female, eh? Sorry...er... miss, but just between you an' me, you all look the same to me. Anyways, ain't you supposed to be in Sector 9 Level 4, according to the regs? Paragraph 3c, sub-section 2, clause F, I think it is..." "Why, yes, I believe it is, uh, subsection 2. Guess I'd better be going then." �����He started down the hallway, then halted, and said, "Ah, which way is Sector 4 Level 9, by the way?" "It's Sector 9 Level 4, and you're headed the right way already miss. Just turn left at the first intersection, go past the fruum-fruum bush, and it's the fourth door on your right. Boy, these greenies." This last was mumbled as he rolled down the hall the other way. Carl kept on, passing numerous doors, many embellished with strange looking pictures. After a while he came upon an intersection. He took the left passageway, which seemed to have less doors than the main hallway. He passed several other aliens apparently identical to Urble, except for the clothing, which seemed to vary wildly with the individual. Some of them had spots here or there colored a bright shade, and their reactions to him ranged from mildly agitated tentacle waving to convulsive writhing as he walked by. One started violently as Carl came near. Finally, he saw a violet hued clump of foliage off to the side whose odor was disturbingly similar to the perfume his great-aunt always wore. He counted four doors and stopped, facing a door bearing an untranslatable alien scrawl, and paused. Well, I suppose there's only one way to find out... He paused, taking a breath, and then slid his finger into the small depression, waited as the door slid aside, and stepped through. He was in a large room bustling with movement. Large brown individuals moved everywhere seemingly without purpose, but with great vigor. They clustered around small mounds placed at random about the room which seemed to be the focal point of activity. The mounds were mostly covered with odd looking piles and heaps of varied substances. As he stared, dumbfounded, a gruff voice spoke up at his shoulder. "Hey buddy, what do you think you're doing out here? Get back to work!" He turned to face a heavier than usual looking alien who had a dirty length of cloth tied so as to hang down the lower half of his front. "I'm...new here. I'm a, ah, Nyrt," he hazarded. "Yeah, I can see that, you think I'm blind? I guess you'll need me to show you the ropes. Follow me." He turned and headed off towards a door set in one of the walls. Carl hesitated, and then trailed after him. They stepped through the open doorway into a room filled with steam, the clanging and clattering of metal, and a decidedly off-color smell vaguely reminiscent of garden mulch. A counter with a window opening into the room outside was covered with stuff similar to that on the mounds, and other aliens wearing soiled browns served it to eager looking patrons outside. The beefy apron-wearer walked to the rear of the room and turned looked back to face Carl. "This here is the washer," he said, pointing with a tentacle-tip at an abandoned looking metallic bulk in the corner. It resembled a grimy and badly dented clothes dryer. "You put the cutlery and stuff in here," he continued, indicating an opening in the front, "and then you push this button to start it going. After it's done, come get me, and I'll give you your next job." "What about the little switch near the back?" he inquired attentively. "That's the maintenance switch, but if you have any problems, you tell me and I'll take care of it, understand?" "Yes, of course," Carl said quietly. The alien left, muttering. He looked around and spied a large pile of gooey looking metal utensils of strange design. He sighed, and then looked behind him. The cook was at the front of the room, blocking the doorway, yelling something and shaking a serving item at one of the assistants who was at the counter. Carl looked back to the machine, eyeing the switch, and then flipped it up. A small service cover fell open, exposing a bewildering and dusty array of strange looking coils, oddly colored wires, and several glowing tubes. He stared for a moment at this disorderly display of gadgetry, and then noticed a small access panel almost hidden at the back where the device met the wall. He reached through the wiring, fumbled at the panel for a moment, and then smiled as it came away, revealing a small, dark crawl-space leading back into the wall. He glanced again to the front of the room, where the servers were still passing out unidentifiable portions to those waiting. The cook was momentarily out of sight. He squeezed himself into the service opening. He wriggled through the electronic innards, twisting to face the open panel set in the wall, and then his shoulders caught on a black cable snaking across the confined space. For a single instant everything seemed to close in on him, and then he slid around it. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and then worked his way into the crawl-space. He was in a ventilation system of some kind, perhaps for cooling the machine. The duct was about two feet by two feet, and the walls were made of some sort of smooth, resilient, material to which dust adhered. It went on for 20 feet and then angled up. Just then, the light from the open service cover was eclipsed, and a surly voice called out. "Hey! What do you think you're doing in there?" Carl scrabbled forward, and then up the incline, hearing hoarse yells behind him. As he reached the top, he stopped, panting for breath, and then noticed that there was light coming from the floor of the conduit just up ahead. He crawled to it carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible in the restricted space. Upon reaching it, he discovered that it was a grating set in the ceiling of a room. The room below contained an alien sitting on a sort of stool in front of a console, tentacles busy tapping keys and buttons, and occasionally stopping to pat the dark brown tendrils on top. He caught a faint whiff of burned foliage. He brushed at the grating in search of a latch, and in doing so sent a small cloud of dust up into his face. He gasped, eyes watering, and then let out an explosive sneeze, falling forward onto the grating. The grating, evidently flimsier than it looked, promptly gave way and he dropped onto the floor below with a painful thud. He groaned, and sat up to look into small black eyes that gazed back at him from above a section of skin dyed a rosy red, and as he did so, he heard a giggle. "Well, if it isn't the wicked boy from the restroom. I don't believe we were properly introduced." "I, ah, my name is Carl, but I've got to be going, Miss..." "Vicrona Verrusa, but you can call me Vicky. All of my close friends do." She sidled forward. "You were so handsome the way you tore open that grating and forced your way in here..." "Forced my... But I didn't!" he protested, backing away, "I sneezed and fell through it!" "But you can't tell me that your little 'visit' awhile ago was an accident," she twittered, waving one tentacle tip back and forth. "Actually, it was, and--," he bumped up against the wall. Vicrona reached out and pulled him into a close embrace. "Hold on here!" he said indignantly and a trifle muffled, "I don't even know you and--" The door opened and an aproned figure burst into the room. "Vicky, I was wondering if you've seen..." he trailed off, taking in the scene. He went a dangerous shade of deep orange and advanced threateningly, pointing a tentacle at Carl. "You!" Carl gulped, making vague motions with his hands. "Wait, I can explain everything. This... this isn't what it looks like. Actually, I'm not even sure what this does look like, but it's not!" He attempted unsuccessfully to disengage himself from Vicrona's loving caresses, while the jealous cook closed the gap. In desperation, Carl kicked out with his foot at the console. He connected with a large blue switch which clicked and the room went black. He squirmed out of Vicrona's tight embrace, and started to crawl in the direction where he thought he remembered seeing the door. "Oh Carl, you naughty boy..." "Vicky! Where is that little...?" He reached the door, and began feeling around. "Now Rukky! There's nothing to be upset about. I was just...helping... him." "I'll say you were helping him! When I get my tentacles on him, I'll..." "Rukkil! You'll do nothing of the sort!" His finger slipped into the hollow and the door slid open, revealing blackness. He crawled through, letting the door shut on the still raging quarrel behind him. He stood up and started slowly feeling his way along the wall. He heard a shuffling noise somewhere behind him. It seemed to be trying to match its noise with his footsteps, and was only partially succeeding. He started moving faster, and the pursuer speeded up as well. He pictured a large brown monster, hunting him down in the dark. He began to run, slowly at first, and then faster, in response to the scuffling behind him that seemed to be getting closer. Suddenly, he slammed into a wall, and went down. Frantically, he shook his head, trying to clear it, and sat up, feeling around for a door. Finding a hollow, he placed his finger inside, and heard the accompanying whir of a door sliding open. He scrambled through and something brushed the back of his head just as the door closed. Abruptly, it was quiet, and he stopped, listening. Silence, and then the door whirred open. He got to his feet, feeling around for a wall, just as the lights went on, and something woolly grabbed him around the neck. "Ah, there you are," said an oddly familiar voice, "We were beginning to wonder where you had gone." The tie-dyed, bereted figure of Burff stood before him. "Urble, let him go!" Carl looked down to see green and purple wool remove itself from his neck. "I just want out of here, that's all!" Carl said nervously, backing away. "Look, mac, all we wanted is--" "I know what you wanted! Something to study and dissect. Well, I'm nobody's lab assignment!" He looked to see Urble and Burff coming closer. He paused, an idea forming, and then groping in his pocket came out with his fountain pen, which he held extended before him. "Hold it right there! Stay away from me!" "Now now, my boy, no need to act rashly...," cautioned the senior alien. Carl turned to aim the pen at Urble, who was sliding slowly towards the door. The latter jerked, and began motioning his tentacles shakily. "Now look pal, there's no reason we can't be friends, right?" Suddenly, the door slid open and Rukkil rushed into the room. He stopped, and seeing Carl, leaped towards him. Carl shied, splashing ink on the front of Rukkil, and dived off to the side. Rukkil fell past him, landing heavily, a black stain down the front of him. "You've poisoned him!" squawked Burff. "And we were just trying to inform you that you are to be released to your autochthonous milieu." "He means," whispered Urble, "that we'll take you back home." "Why didn't you say so in the first place? And what about studying me, and all that?" "Well, it seems the chief flubbed," murmured Urble under his breath, "and this wasn't even the right locus, but we didn't find that out until you'd already escaped, which we didn't think you were smart enough to breakout of there." "How could you poison Rukkil like that, without feeling?" said Burff, still sounding shocked. "Ah, well, actually, it isn't poison, it's ink," admitted Carl, giving Rukkil a prod with his foot. The latter stirred, groaning slightly. "See?" "Hmmm, yes, I suppose you're right. Still, no need to have frightened me like that, that is, if I had been frightened." "I dunno Chief, I haven't seen you so scared since the time you--" "Quiet, Urble!" he paused, turning to face Carl. "Now, as to getting you back..." The door opened, and a familiar odor wafted in, followed by Vicrona. She saw Carl, and let out a happy squeal accompanied by sinuously wriggling tentacles. "I'd like to go as soon as possible!" he stammered. He was standing once more by the large maple tree. With Burff and Urble acting as bodyguards at his pleaded request, he had managed to evade Vicrona's affection, and they had transported him back here, without fanfare, using the same strange method of transportaion they employed upon arrival. He sighed, and began walking home. Lucy would never believe this. In fact, he was starting to wonder if he should tell anyone about it. Walking in the front door, Lucy met him with a kiss and a smile. "You look wonderful Lucy!" he said, breathing her perfume in deeply. "You had a good walk I take it?" She smiled, and then reached behind herself. "I have a surprise for you," she said. "Oh really," he said, smiling back, "and what could that be?" "You keep saying you're wearing them all out, so today I picked you a bunch of new ones," she beamed, handing him a package. "Oh," he said, opening the package, "you mean my socks? Yes, I..." he trailed off, staring. "Dear, what is it? I thought you'd like them!" she said worriedly. "Dear?" But Carl just continued to stare at the half open package whose purple and green argyle contents spilled out onto the floor around him.
Copyright © 2001 Roald E Peterson Iii |