Steal My Stuff: Do aliens dream of space operas? (Episode IV)

Joe focussed, knowing these were probably the most important words to ever come out of the old man's mouth.

Some barely audible noises emanated from the small hole. Joe wasn't sure if the old man was speaking or just making strange old-person noises.

'...there is only so much...' he heard, followed by '...mumble mumble (don't cheat by reading this)...I will never....mumble mumble (I'm on to you).'

Oh, this is it, thought Joe, these must be the old man's final words. This is the kind of thing that might go down in history books. Assuming the man was at all well-known. Which was unlikely. Still, he was a man, and as such deserved a base level of respect.

The noise through the hole stopped. When he was sure the ramblings had ended, Joe pursed his lips together and fought embarrassment by uttering one small phrase: 'Can you say that again? I didn't quite hear it.'

I wonder how many of you just had this one small phrase going through your head: “Hang on, there's two sentences there. Why did you say one small phrase?”

This is why he didn't want the responsibility. This is why it would have been better for someone else to pass on the message. Imagine how mundane those compiled famous quote books would be if no one could actually hear the famous quote. There'd be no “Go away...I'm alright” and no “Shoot straight you bastards!” and no “I wish I'd drunk more champagne.” Then again, most quotes were probably apocryphal at best (and completely fabricated with questionable motives at worst). This last thought didn't exactly provide the solace he had hoped for.

The old man wheezed in another breath and, after poking his hand through the hole once more, began to speak. In an effort to better hear the words this time, Joe lowered himself to the floor, almost onto the dusty hand itself.

Once the voice stopped, the hand went limp.* It shone brightly against the dark floor, all wrinkly and pale. Joe touched it – he wasn't sure why, it just felt right. He's dead Jim, he thought. Oops. No Star Trek references. Cancel that.

*So it goes.

Joe ignored the interruption, showing great restraint. He walked to the other side of the small room and sat himself down against the wall, staring, motionless, at the hand. His whole life had, till this point, revolved around avoiding pain and emotions and anything related to real life. Now, staring death in the face (and the hand), it was all a bit much. He started shivering, a sudden coldness gripping the core of his body. There were no tears but his eye sight went blurry. Then a strange whooshing noise filled his ears and he closed his eyes.

When he opened them, a figure stood before a bright white light, framed by a doorway. The shape was silhouetted and moved like an amorphous wave, constantly changing its dimensions.

Now, your eyes may have already strayed to the following picture. It is made up of four frames. All you have to do is cut each frame out, import them into a image manipulation program, fix up the aliasing with some fancy tool, create new images that go in the opposite direction so that there's a smooth transition for a loop, and then stitch them all together and make an animated gif, after eye-balling a good framerate. Once those simple steps are complete, you should have a good idea about the shape squiggling before Joe. Legally I'm obliged to tell you it will look nothing close to the truth and that the use of animation, whether in still or moving form, is purely representative and remains as a guide only. Concocting an animation closer to how this creature looked is beyond the scope of the text and is left as an exercise for the reader.

Four way image of creature with slight changes between them

Figure 4-1

Long story short, Joe was whisked away from his dark cell and taken off into the brightness.

By the way, the whole final message thing with the old man is kind of a story arc, so don't feel like I've let you down just yet. I realise I've done that once or twice already - raised something up and then just let it hang there, flat - and it's pretty certain I'll be doing it again. But in this case there'll be a conclusion. When I work out exactly what that is, you'll be the first to know.

Ridley whistled as he walked down a long corridor. The ceiling was so low he had to perform a bendy miner's walk. The extremely bright white walls were rendered with almost no detail apart from a single strip of black shiny stuff. It reminded him of a hospital.

'So, err, having a good day?' he ventured.

Behind him, a Large Amorphous Blob, similar in all regards to the one outside Joe's cell, moved without moving. The Large Amorphous Blob did not respond.

Ridley, embarrassed, asked: 'Do you...can you speak?'

The Large Amorphous Blob did not respond.

With the end of the corridor very clearly not in sight, Ridley turned to look at the Large Amorphous Blob. Correction, he tried to look at the Large Amorphous Blob – instead it shimmered and phased in and out, like it was straddling dimensions. Since it was also rustling him along, he joked: 'I think I'll call you The Cowboy.' He was pretty sure the walls found that one funny. The Cowboy simply kept shimmering along, completely changing its shape as it glided across the floor. No, not completely: Ridley noticed a strip of metal around what one might consider its leg. The red pulsing light along the outside of the metal drew his attention.

Not one for discretion, Ridley blurted, 'So what's that thing on your, er, leg? You tagged or something?'

The Cowboy stopped gliding and shimmered, phasing in and out. A whistling noise echoed against the walls. Then it continued its slow glide, forcing Ridley to pick up the pace.

The long corridor appeared to be getting larger, ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly.

'Don't suppose you can tell me where I'm going? Or why I'm even here?'

The Cowboy shimmered in response.

'Sorry, I don't speak multi-dimensional sign language,' said Ridley.

He was in such a good mood. And why not? He'd travelled to another planet, been taken from the street and held in a prison cell, forced to have sex with strangely attractive blue aliens while sweet grapes were placed delicately on his moist lips, and was now being shown the way to possible certain death.

One part of that paragraph may have been made up.

The corridor seemed much larger at this point, almost twice Ridley's height. Or was he getting smaller? He turned and evaluated The Cowboy's height as remaining commensurate with his own. But that ol' fella can done near change into any ol' size it prefers. So who knows?

At the end of the corridor sat a massive sheet of metal, rising maybe four stories. In its middle was a large knob.

What? You thought I'd have a go at that low-hanging fruit? What do you take me for, some kind of lowest-common-denominator-laughs-at-his-own-fart-jokes kind of person? The kind who can't help but laugh like a schoolboy's hyena at the sight of a word even tangentially close to a “rude” body part? Boobies LOL!

Standing behind a thick black line, the two insignificant specks looked up at the towering metal door, a structure imposing itself quite heartily onto Ridley's bladder. He hadn't been scared at the black hole, the new planet, the alien losers, the massively towering spirally spiral, the dark sparkling cell, or even The Cowboy here. But this...

A vivid flashback floated over his mind, seeping into his synapses, melting over misfiring neurons. He was five and a quarter years old, cuddled up under the covers in the foetal position, listening intently to his mothers voice as she told him A Story. He shuddered now, thinking of it. How could someone be so cruel?

The Story was about a boy who didn't believe in hard work, instead hoping magic could make up for this shortfall. His belief influenced his actions and he soon found himself up in the sky, in a magic kingdom, hiding from a giant. All great stuff. Then they had to go and introduce a gold egg-producing hen. The thought of the heavy metal sliding out of an animal and plonking onto the ground with who-knows-what by-products covering its surface made Ridley shiver.

An association between that visceral response and anything giant related quickly formed. While he was glad not to be an Englishman, the mere mention of the word giant would instantly induce a stomach spasm, and anyone he later met that was taller than him had always caused a good deal of consternation on the old bladderino. And now he was faced with the same door as in his imagination, the same as in The Story.

'Tell you what,' said Ridley, 'I'll just let you go on through while I wait out here. You can let me know the outcome.'

The door opened. At first it looked like slow motion, like it was straining to move even a tiny amount. Then, as the door came closer, Ridley heard a loud whooshing scream, the sound a hurricane might make. Soon the door was almost upon them and looked like it would strike them both off the floor and high into the air. Faster still it came rushing and whooshing just across the thick black line, right in front of Ridley's now contorted face.

What I've got in my mind is that old black & white footage of a man facing up to a wind tunnel, his mouth flapping and his eyelids permanently held open due to the extreme forces. So picture that, but even more comical (if that were possible).

The door rushed by and was cushioned by a hidden force, slowing before striking the corridor wall. After a moment to recover, Ridley crept into a giant (sorry Rids, “massive”) hall, with a ceiling as high as the door. The walls sparkled with what looked like gold (sorry again), adorned with lapis coloured trim. Through the middle stood two thick pillars, coloured in rows like an opulent version of a children's rainbow. Toward the end, through the mist of distance, Ridley could make out a regular-sized desk and regular-sized chairs, with a few regular-sized figures. He relaxed and squelched his way in.

One of the figures turned out to be Joe, appearing small and shrivelled up in one of three lined-up chairs. On the near side of the desk, which would be ~~giant~~ massive in any other setting was another chair, this one taken up by an alien human. As in, a human that was alien to Ridley.

He took the second chair and whispered to Joe.

'So, ah, enjoying your stay?'

Joe turned his head only slightly and narrowed his eyes.

'Yeah, me too,' said Ridley, sniffing the air.

He looked over at the alien human, male, 30's, immaculately cut short-back-and-sides, probable shiny white dentures.

'Hey,' whispered Ridley, 'do you think this is like the trick they do at used car joints? Plonk a guy here and let him listen to our “private” discussions, without us knowing if he's one of them or one of us?'

Joe didn't respond.

'Because if this place is full of salesmen, we're set. I know how to deal with those female-parent procreators.'

'I just want to get out of here,' said Joe, quietly. 'I've had enough. I've done the whole holiday thing to who-knows-where and now I want to go home.'

'Hey, our adventure has just hit a slight hurdle. I'll get us out of here, no probs.'

'Hmph,' said Joe.

'What? Don't think I can?'

'The Tank might be able to. But he's not here.'

'Always with The Tank. The Tank is so good, The Tank would get us out of here, The Tank's a better friend. Well The Tank ain't here. I'd think you'd be more worried about a certain girl.'

'What? Who?'

'Who?' said Ridley, shocked.

'Oh. Yeah. Her.'

'Man, you're weird. Do you like her or what?'

'Can we perhaps...another time?'

'I heard about your Valentine's Day card.'

'What?'

'She told me. She said you wrote “To whom it may concern” at the top and didn't even put your name on the bottom.'

'That was a joke! She knew it was a joke. Did she tell you I was serious?'

'The bigger issu...do you mind if I'm honest here?'

They both gave the alien human some attention, followed by the massive hall around them.

'I guess,' said Joe, less than enthused. 'It's not like we've got more important things to worry about.'

'Yeah, yeah,' said Ridley. 'Fact is, she did like you, she just didn't think you were really that keen. There were no heart-felt pledges, no strong desire to consensual-sex the stool out of her.'

'What? But I...I did. I did want to...do that.'

Ridley held his hands in the air. 'Hey, that's just what she told me.' Then, quieter, 'Which I agree with.'

This is the part of the episode where I smoothly plonk Joe back into the role of viewpoint character. Just close your eyes – you won't even notice a thing.

Joe was about to get upset, about to tell Ridley where to stick his neutral tone. Then, finding a previously hitherto restricted area of his heart, he relented.

'I've never really felt the L-word before,' he said. 'I've wanted to. Heaps of times. And I keep trying.'

'That's very sweet and all,' said Ridley, 'and I'll be sure to tell the ladies down at the local RSL Bingo night all about it, but we aren't talking Love here, capital L or not. We're talking lust. The good part of a relationship. Before it turns bad. Before the boring “sharing your hopes and dreams with another person” stuff, and the boringer “growing old with each other” stuff. Just plain old Barry White style let's get it on, sister.'

'Oh,' said Joe.

'I don't think you know what you want, old fella,' said Ridley.

Joe was too confused, too caught up in his own mind to care about the jibe. All of a sudden everything was happening too fast. His thin veneer of a shell was starting to crack. He had to focus on just keeping himself together or he'd be crawled up in a ball before the night was out. Or the day. It was hard to tell the time when there were no clocks or windows. The only real light was a bright glowing blob in the distance.

Joe squinted. A shape was moving. Closer? It was hard to tell. Footsteps grew louder.

'You know,' said Ridley, 'I wish I could remember what I'm forgetting. There's something at the bottom of my brain that's nagging at me. Almost like a woman wanting to be in a relationship with you, you know? Oh wait, you wouldn't. Never mind.'

Joe could only hear the slight echo of the footsteps, the clip-clop of high-heels on a hard surface.

If this were a movie, imagine seeing an extreme wide shot of the massively massive hall with the tiny desk (relatively speaking) and tiny people (figuratively speaking) on one side, and way, way on the other, a tiny woman (not speaking) and, after a few seconds, a hunched-over man (quietly speaking) trudging after her.

If this were a movie, you'd also expect the woman to be attractive (to get the young (and not so young) male demographic), and the hunched-over man to be a great thesbian actor (to get the awards). Fortunately, this is not a movie, and we are free to envision the woman in a manner entirely suitable for the plot. Which means, for our purposes, she's an attractive woman. For the male demographic. Oh, shuttup. I'll tie it in with some humour or something.

The woman approached the desk and held out a hand to her hunched assistant. Grabbing at the thin display, she read to herself for a brief moment and, still standing, looked down at the boys.

Joe looked away. He didn't like giving attractive women an extra ego boost by staring at them silly, when they probably got that all the time.

Ridley stared at her silly. His mouth was agape, and his eyes bulged. I did say eyes there! So no dirty thoughts, alright?

The noob said, 'Excuse me ma'am, I must ask you why it is we have been kept in such harsh-'

The woman gave him a stare one might inherit from Himmler, lips pursed, eyes a steely gaze, giving an impression of the possibilities if one continued to speak, forcing the noob to delve into his darkest and scariest imaginings, forming an emotional response much less pleasant than a simple scream could elicit.

'That's it!' shouted Ridley, unaffected by The Stare. 'The noob! That's what I was forgetting.' He seemed rather chuffed with himself.

The woman seemed confused. She focussed her stare on Ridley.

'Man, I'm so stupid,' continued Ridley. 'I mean, he obviously isn't that important, but it's always the small things that get you.'

The woman stared harder, narrowing her eyes.

'Like when you find an odd sock and wonder where you left its gummy partner, and it annoys you and annoys you until you realise you used it to scrape the crusty parts from your sheets.'

The woman tried the only weapon left in her arsenal: sex appeal. She pressed her lips closer together, pouting. But this was only the first step. She slowly, very slowly, pulled her lips apart in sections, her dry lips sticking to themselves until a pointed tongue emerged to redden the skin. Her face lifted and her cheeks held a kind of rosy glow. She let out a little moan.

Joe and the noob were repulsed. For Ridley,

it's super effective!!!

and he became more silent than a fourteen year old at a bucks night.

'You have been found in public without your restraints,' said the woman in a robotic tone. 'You have no identification marks. You are clearly new arrivals.' She looked at the noob. 'That is why you are here.'

The noob must have had about fifty follow-up questions but refrained from opening his mouth. He'd learnt his lesson.

'Given your age, and despite your obvious deficiency in intelligence, you are to be given tech duty. Do you understand?'

The boys didn't move.

'Do you understand?' repeated the woman.

The noob shot Joe a quick look, a plead, a question of how they should proceed.

'Do you understand!?' said the woman, not with volume but strength and authority.

'Yes miss,' said all three, channelling their inner schoolboy.

'Of course you don't understand,' said the woman. 'You are new arrivals. You need to be told. You need to be explained. You need guidance and knowledge. You shall receive such guidance. You shall be told and explained on location in Brown 42-5.' She sniffed and looked over at Joe. 'First you will be cleaned.'

Ridley held on to the sparkly look in his eye, even through the previous poo-gag.

The woman turned to leave.

'Miss,' said Ridley, smitten, 'you seem quite lovely; lovelier than the sweetest aroma and most beautiful flower.' He'd moved into his romantic prose. The only thing worse than the accent was the over-use of semi-colons.

The woman stopped, turned.

'Be still my heart; fear let me tread through the battlefield of love; let me bypass the fallen bodies of nobility and arise alone atop the rolling hills of your bosom.'

The woman spoke, 'Let me be clear: though I may look like you and may seem like the closest thing you have to a friend right now, I am not. I am no Schindler. There is no list. There is no way of escape. There is nowhere to run. Do you understand?'

The besotted one simply grinned in response - such a cunning riposte that the woman had no alternative but to leave. Quickly.

Clip-clop, cla-clop cla-clop, cla-clop cla-clop.

Sla-slide, sla-slide, sla-sliiiiide.

Ridley sighed as his angel fled.

The alien human turned his perfectly chiselled features toward our heroes. And to the noob. 'Boys,' he said, shining a smile as wide as something really wide; the kind of wideness where an ordinary wideness would set off on a journey to find its end and discover only more wideness. 'Boys, I do apologise for the scary old lady, oh yes I do, she ain't the most tactful of humans you're ever gonna meet, but by golly if she ain't purty.'

Ridley hinted at another sigh but kept it to himself.

'Now,' continued the white-suited alien human, 'this here right now, right here in this room, this here is the beginnin' of your new life.' He corrected: 'Lives, even. A brand new start. A way to enhance civilisation – the only real civilisation in the galaxy, I might add. Oh now, where are my manners? My name-o is none other than Adam N Douglas, the first.'

The man stood with hand outstretched.

The noob noticed how the hand shook, like the hand of an old grandfather clock.

Joe noticed how the hand shook, like a wavering politician.

Ridley noticed how the hand shook, like a vibrator.

All of the boys gave each other a look before jointly, and silently, agreeing to do nothing.

Adam N Douglas retrieved his dangling hand and gave a small bow. He did this for each recipient. 'You'll find it's a good ol' place when ya get used to it. And you fellas look the goods, oh yes you do. Nothing says anything like intelligent and passionate boys such as yourself, no siree. You'll do quite alright here in Megadodo.'

'Megadodo?' said the noob. 'Is that the name of the city or the planet?' Without thinking he reached down to his pocket for a non-existent pen and paper with which to make notes.

Adam N Douglas looked to Joe and Ridley. 'Say, we got a sharp one here, don't we boys? A right sharp one.'

'But you didn't answer the quest-' started the noob.

'Come now,' said Adam N Douglas, standing, 'we'll have to hurry or we'll miss our ride. Oh yes we will.'

The noob set off in the pointed direction, followed by the floating figure of a smitten Ridley. The white suit hung back and leant in close to Joe.

'Say, you seem like the coolest of the lot,' whispered Adam N Douglas. 'Surrounded by the dweeb and head-in-the-clouds loser, I know what that's like, am I right? Listen, don't suppose you've got any reds I could take off your hands?'

'What?' said Joe.

'Oh, they ain't listening on this, it's alright, it's alright. Just, uh-' He paused, leaning in even closer to Joe's ear. 'Nothing better to cure the blues than the reds, know what I'm sayin'?'

'I really don't,' said Joe. He didn't know if he should have blurted that out, or tried to sneakily work out what the man was talking about. This is the kind of thing you're supposed to learn as you get older, he thought, and wiser. So why am I still struggling to know how to deal with people? Apart from the whole avoiding any contact with people aspect, that is.

Adam N Douglas rubbed his nose. His friendly persona was gone and he was agitated. It didn't take old and wise to work that out. He opened his mouth as if to continue but seemed to think better of it, instead walking on ahead of Joe as they all made their way out the large hall.

Episode IV is dedicated to scary fairy tales that have no effect on the adult version of me.

At all.

Zilch.

Nada.

...Hold me?

Find episode V here.