Steal My Stuff: August 2013

Chaos had entered the halfway home known as the Rat's Nest. Nervousness was also doing its bit by lightly tapping shoulders like snowflakes. Panic was firing flaming arrows from the figurative watch-towers. Pandemonium was perched in the shadows, waiting to pounce. Contentedness and unbridled joy were locked safely away at the bottom of the toilet bowl, where they could do no harm.

Anne was frantically clasping a metal transmitter around The Tank's trunk of a leg. Already a small queue had formed in the medical lab (i.e. that room with the bed-shaped table in the centre), with Ridley and Joe waiting patiently like good boys.

'How long does this thing take?' said Joe, showing perhaps a little less patience than I gave him credit for.

Before Anne could answer, Ridley interjected: 'Takes as long as it takes.'

'Wasn't talking to you,' said Joe.

'Doesn't change the facts,' said Ridley. 'Gotta stay cool in a crisis, right Anne?'

Anne was having trouble getting her arms around the great bulk of The Tank. (That's what she said!) The conversation finally hit her and she answered, 'Shouldn't be long,' and 'Yes.'

One of the twins raced by the archway. A moment later, he (or his brother) came from the other direction and stuck his head inside. 'We can't seem to find Isaac, Annie. Know where he might be hidin'?'

Anne thought for a moment. She opened her mouth then closed it. Got to stay cool in a crisis – Ridley was right. It was times like this she missed her grandfather. But he had taught her well. She knew how to demand of herself a strength of mind. She knew how to compartmentalise feelings and emotions when the situation called for it. She knew how to be a leader for herself. She knew she had to be a leader to everyone here. Like Connie. Like her grandfather.

'He'll have heard the trumpet,' she said. 'I'm sure he'll be up here soon.'

Up! Why did she say up? It was difficult enough to keep a secret in a place like this, especially from the very people she needed to trust the most, let alone slipping in little words like up. She felt horrible for the lies. No, not lies, untruths; kind of like white lies, since they were for the benefit of the recipient. The rationalisation was simple: the less people who knew about the Play Pen and about Isaac's experiments the better. If the twins or Connie were interrogated they'd have nothing to hide and wouldn't need to lie. At least not about that.

Still, it felt wrong. The best way to remove a sinking feeling in your stomach is to fill it up with other thoughts.

'What about The New Guy?' she said, finally managing to clip on The Tank's transmitter.

'Ah, cripes!' shouted the twin, and ran off.

'Next,' said Anne, without looking up.

Connie walked the "lawn" slowly and purposely. The waa's in her head grew louder.

waaaaaaaaa
waaa waaa
Wawaaaaaaaaa

In the distance, and nearing all too quickly, was an entourage of locals. Leading the way were four Blackened Gruerbs¹, three White Drens², two Pig-nosed Fruffs³, and an O.L. in a pear tree.

Oh alright, you got me, there was no pear tree. I don't even like pears. I rarely lie, so to make it up to you, my favourite reader, please enjoy these crib-notes for the aforementioned species:

¹ Little creatures with copious sharp black hair and horrible eye-sight.

² Forgetting at some point in their history to become corporeal, the Drens manifest as a mist, their individual particles flowing through the air like a flock of birds.

³ Current title-holder for ugliest species in the galaxy. Big, aggressive, and quick to anger.

There. We cool?

Connie understood the point of the Fruffs, acting as personal bodyguards to the O.L.'s, but why the Drens? They were well-known intelligence gatherers (or to use the pejorative and more accurate term, spies). She feared more the Blackened Gruerbs, which suggested a much more thorough audit than a simple check list. They had a way with details.

All this paled behind the threat of an actual O.L. in their midst. They weren't the smartest of races, nor the strongest, nor the most organised, but they were unmatched in one key strategic trait: they were damn sneaky.

Her body was telling her to run, to make it to the approaching procession as soon as possible, to stall for time. But any hurried movement would set off alarm bells. The O.L.'s were very good at picking up on slight changes in body language. So slowly was all she could afford, and slowly was how she proceeded.

Anne made an effort to avoid Joe's eyes as he sat up on the table. Her hands were just starting to shake. A slow blink and deep breath later, she placed Joe's transmitter around his leg.

'It'd be funny if yours didn't work,' said Ridley, standing against the wall with his arms crossed, watching.

'Yeah, real funny,' said Joe.

Isaac came through the archway. Connie exhaled. She hadn't even realised she was holding her breath.

'Sorry,' he said, 'just had to tidy up ze sthings.'

He blinked at Ridley, noticing surreptitiously that the transmitter had been affixed and that there was just a line of one.

'Glad you could make it,' said Connie, as evenly as possible.

Oh, and the noob probably came in straight after, I dunno.

Connie pressed the transmitter together, but it didn't lock. She tried again. She pursed her lips.

'Are ve having problem?' said Isaac.

Connie pouted her lips, then pursed them again, tilting her head a little.

Ridley began the 'Ahhh' part of a laugh. He followed it up with an emphatic 'Ha' and a quieter 'Hehe.'

'What?!' screamed Joe, turning to Ridley. 'What did you do?'

Ridley put his arms in the air. 'Hey man, I didn't do anything.'

Shamus raised his hands in the air, then brought them down, close to his body. He did it a few more times, just in case, but it wasn't needed; Connie had seen it the first time. She'd cleverly positioned herself to the side of the procession, giving her peripheral vision the opportunity of spying the indie semaphores* from the main archway.

*Pick one:

- I knew them before they were famous!
- Only losers watch the old, boring, standard semaphores. Are you a loser?
- You can't stick it to the man by propping up his dying business model, maaaan.

Her mind quickly translated the arm movements into “please may we have more time to make sure everything is fully sorted out before allowing these lovely chaps to enter into our abode, cheers” and she bowed slowly, making sure the attention of the O.L. was on, completely and utterly, her.

It was.

She shivered. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to have its attention after all. She knew not to address it until she had been specifically asked to speak, and she knew not to look at it directly. Still, the edges of her eyes, the same which saw Shamus in the archway, were able to make out, well above her head, a small body covered completely with a criss-cross of white cloth. The fabric fell down in shards, almost to the ground; far enough away to tell that the body was floating. Above the body was an unchanging face, fat, cherubic, smiling. At least, it seemed to be smiling. One of the most unnerving sights in the universe is when an evil and powerful entity smiles at you.

Ridley smiled at Joe while Isaac came in closer to inspect the transmitter's clamp.

'Oh, you can't be serious,' said Joe, to no one. 'What the Hades.'

Connie frowned as she grabbed the piece of metal from Isaac's hands and tried again. The clamp came together...then came apart.

'You must have done something to it,' accused Joe. 'You don't just say it'd be funny if, and then that same thing happens. It doesn't work like that.'

'Seriously man, I did nothing. I can't help if it's funny.'

'OK, so what's the worst that can happen?' said Joe. 'This auditor won't be worrying about a stupid transmitter, right?'

Anne managed to maintain eye contact avoidance with Joe. Instead, she showed Isaac a raised eyebrow. He returned with a gaped mouth. This was enough of a response for Joe to move from stage one (worry) to stage two (proper scared).

Loud steps and then: 'Erm, little problem ma darlin,' said Micky from the archway. 'We can't seem to find The New Guy.'

Hold it together, thought Connie. It won't help if you become irrational and make rash decisions. 'Ridley, go look for The New Guy. Micky, I still need to get your transmitter back on so switch spots with Joe.' She could do this. Just don't look at him. As soon as you look at him you'll make irrational decisions, you'll prioritise based on who they are, who he is, and not treat everyone the same. You can't afford to do this now.

'Joe,' she continued, 'just...stand over there for now. No! Go help Ridley. We need to find The New Guy.'

Joe gave Anne a panicked look. 'But...' he got out, unable to complete the sentence.

'I'll get yours working when you come back,' said Anne, focussing her attention on the transmitter in her hand, on Micky, on anything but Joe.

She was sure he scrunched his face up at her. But it couldn't be helped. Right?

'Right, yes, I will do my best to facilitate the process, of course,' said Connie, almost performing a wai to the creature floating above her.

Let us begin, she heard inside her head.

And with that the procession began making its way to the warehouse.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, thought Connie. She knew the audit could come early. And while it wasn't obvious to expect an O.L. to be involved, it certainly wasn't unheard of. Why didn't she make sure that everything was ready, that the place was prepared for guests?

Without running, without rushing the words, Connie tried to slow them down.

'Is there a particular area you would like to start with? Perhaps the inventory?'

The O.L. stopped. So too did the Gruerbs. So too did the Drens. So too did the Fruffs. All in unison. They stared at her for some time.

Connie remained calm, controlling her breathing and expression. She wasn't able to control her eyes which darted from creature to creature. The stares of the lower aliens were bad enough, but the grinning face of the O.L. made her lip quiver just a touch, almost imperceptibly. This seemed to be enough of a response to punish the outburst and for the procession to continue. For now.

'Now that you want him around, he's not here,' said Ridley, out of breath. 'Can't find him anywhere.'

'There aren't that many rooms in this place,' said Anne. She looked at Isaac. 'He couldn't be...'

'No,' said Isaac, emphatically. 'Ve vere just zere before here.'

Anne took a moment to decipher the sentence while the noob probably shuffled on his feet.

'Where was he seen last?' said Anne.

The others shrugged and shook their heads and muttered nothings, avoiding eye contact. They were all a little guilty about not completely engaging with The New Guy, not being as friendly as they perhaps, especially in hindsight, should have been.

'He's not outside?' she said.

'Oh no,' said Micky. 'He's still got on that jolly bit a metal.'

'Ya, ze transmitter's passive mode vould have registered.'

Anne thought for a moment. She didn't have a moment, not really. Perhaps a fifth of a moment. More like a tick. She was waiting for that glint of brilliance, that light-bulb moment when inspiration strikes one of the characters in a television programme and they say “I think I've got an idea” before cutting to a commercial. Nothing came to her. There was no idea. Not even a commercial (sorry Coke and Arnotts!). Just a bunch of scared people staring at her, waiting for instruction. So this is what it felt like to be Connie, to have the weight of expectation from all these innocent people. If she was going to feel like Connie, she'd have to act like Connie: decisively.

'OK,' she said, 'everyone get out and look for The New Guy.'

They all began to leave.

'Except,' she said, almost wanting to avoid the problem, 'except Joe.'

Connie trailed the procession into the warehouse. She looked around anxiously, half-expecting to see pandemonium cast out of the shadows and devouring them all, while half-expecting the usual calm line-up of personnel ready to be accounted for. Instead, the warehouse was empty.

This was certainly bad. Or is that half-bad? And if it's the latter, which half? I'm confusing myself. Focus.

While her feet moved slowly, Connie's brain moved fast. Scenarios filled her mind. Her own responses to those scenarios soon followed. Some of those responses would lead to a pretty grisly outcome for those in the Rat's Nest. But while there was still a chance, she'd back her team to come through.

The five blackened Gruerbs were already splitting from the main group, scurrying straight to an aisle each, pulling at mud boxes and registering contents at a rapid speed. As Connie walked past the sixth aisle she noticed a slight movement in one of the boxes.

She listened to the voice speaking directly to her brain.

'Yes,' she said. 'Personnel count. No problem.'

As if they were called, Micky and Shamus came racing through the archway to the main quarters, not looking where they were going. At the sight of the O.L., Shamus stopped dead and stammered his brothers name. Thankfully, Micky could afford the cost and immediately paid attention (around AU$2.35 based on the current exchange rate). They walked over to Connie as if that was their intention all along.

'Problem?' mouthed Connie.

'Teensy bit,' said Micky, quietly.

Anne finished attaching the transmitter to her ankle.

'I'm kinda turned-in-a-clockwise-fashion, aren't I?' said Joe, slumped against the wall.

'No,' said Anne. It wasn't a lie*. Not really. There was certainly a chance that things would turn out. One in a thousand is still a chance, right?

*White, bold-faced, or other.

The pit of her stomach ached. Joe would, most likely, get caught. He'd be hauled away. The Rat's Nest would use up more of their good will - precious capital that seemed to be shrinking every week - and maybe survive for another few months, maybe not. And there's nothing she could do about it.

Since it didn't seem to matter, she looked up into his eyes. She saw the kindness and the warmth. She felt a buzz. Why did it have to be Joe? Why not someone else? And why did she feel this way? They'd only just met. She didn't know anything about him, and yet... There was something she couldn't put her finger on.

He doesn't even like you, she thought to herself.

And yet...

Stop stop stop, she thought. This isn't rational. Focus.

'We'll hide you,' she said, determined.

'Don't they check that everyone's here? Won't they come looking?'

She wanted to tell the truth, to say that they do check and that they would come looking. She wanted to never lie to him for as long as they were together.

Together? She chastised herself. Silly girl. They were at best associates. And soon, most likely, they'd never see each other again.

Both Isaac and the noob had accidentally happened upon the warehouse party, much the same as the twins, and had now added their body count to the list of personnel waiting to be led down the chute and stamped like cattle. Well, counted like cattle. I'm not a big believer in tattoos, and I'd rather not follow the lead of a certain nationalistic and socialist German workers' party, if you catch my drift.

Connie now knew about Joe. That was one problem. She spied the other problem down aisle six. The mud box was unmoving and quiet, at least one aisle away from the prying eyes of the Gruerbs, who were moving far too efficiently for her liking. This problem would have to be solved first.

Once the O.L. seemed distracted by a private conversation with the floating Drens, Connie raced down aisle six and quickly pulled out the mud box. She sensed the attention of the O.L., its eyes sending waves of shivers across her skin.

'You don't need to continue the stock count, The New Guy,' she yelled, 'the Gruerbs will do a much better job of that anyhow.'

The warehouse had become quiet. More shivers induced by the stares of the O.L., with every other eye on her. She looked down at the angry man, his arms gesticulating a protest proudly in the air.

'Get up,' she whispered. It wasn't a threat. She wouldn't do anything like that. It was simply a kind request, said in the most threateningly quiet tone she could muster.

The New Guy slowly got to his feet and stepped out of the large box. One look from the O.L., through the gaps in the fixtures, was all it took for the tough, strong, stubborn man to be replaced by a weak, acquiescent, scared child.

'Come now,' shouted Connie, for the benefit of the intruders, 'you need to be present for the personnel count.'

On the way back to the team, Connie noticed the Drens float their way to the accommodation annex. But to get to the bedrooms, they'd have to first pass the medical bay.

How's about I explain it with some mathematical graphs:

Let:
B1 = warehouse
B = medical Bay
B = bedrooms
P = toilet

Now, let's say a travelling salesman by the name of Dren wants to go door to door. What is the minimum number of steps he must take to reach each destination? Wait no, that isn't right. Let's say he's a very particular travelling salesman who really just wants to go straight for the big spenders: Bedrooms, Inc.

From the warehouse, B1, the Dren would need to pass through the medical bay, B, and then onto the the bedrooms, B. In other words:

B1 → B → P → B

There, that should clear things up nicely!

Connie shouted: 'You need to come out now too, Anne.' She seemed to emphasise the Anne part, which is why I used the slanty italics. You're welcome.

Anne heard the shout and correctly understood the titled accent.

'Quick, go into the bedroom,' she said. At least it would buy time, even if it was the cheaper imported variety which often doesn't last as long as it should. Even if she could get 100 milliseconds for every second, it might be enough to think of something, to do something.

'Oh, and take this with you,' she said, handing Joe the transmitter removal device.

Joe looked down at the piece of tech and his hand and looked back up at Anne. His eyes were saying something but Anne didn't have time to concentrate and instead rushed him on.

She took one step toward the archway to the warehouse when a Dren floated up to her.

'Wheresss aressss the otherssssssssss?' it said, like a hundred voices whispering at once.

She turned quickly and noticed, very clearly, the absence of Joe. She breathed out.

'No more. I'm it!'

The Dren floated around her body and headed to the medical bay. Despite the creature's translucent appearance, it was incapable of moving through physical matter. This may prove to be important for our story in the near future. But probably not.

Anne took one more look behind before moving into the warehouse. Before her, in the foreground, were five very busy Gruerbs, counting and recounting the contents of the mud boxes. Behind them, in the middle of the warehouse, shuffled a bedraggled looking queue of humans, making their way to an O.L. She shivered. What the hell was an O.L. doing here?!

Yes, I know, she's a bit late to the party. But cut her some slack! She was the one putting up decorations while the others were devouring all the fairy bread.

Anne made her way to the queue and looked into Connie's eyes, allowing her face the slightest movement of a side-to-side shake.

Connie blinked for a fraction longer than she needed to, letting the realisation sink in. When she opened her eyes, she turned to Shamus and gave him a stern look. Shamus gave Micky the same. He gave his own toes the look, feeling the weight of expectation.

Anne Rumpelstiltskin, commanded a voice in their heads.

Anne walked up to the O.L. It stared, like in a staring contest. Anne tried to avoid blinking herself, giving as good as she got. Oh, it's on! The smack had been laid down, quite harshly it must be said. Standing adjacent to the O.L., one of the Fruffs growled, baring its teeth.

Anne thought about her grandfather, about her own life on this miserable planet. She felt angry, enraged. This creature, this “overlord”, and others like it, were responsible for everything. For all her pain and suffering, for all the hurt and worry. Because of this...thing, she couldn't even relax for one moment. All she wanted was to feel content, to droop her tightened shoulders, to not be keenly aware of every strange sound in the night, every quick flash of movement. And now they'd capture Joe, and he'd be gone too.

Her anger quickly mellowed into sadness. Her eyes changed shape, drooping on the sides. Now she only felt tiredness. Oh, what was the point? She blinked and walked away.

The Dren searched the medical bay. Finding no personnel, not even any advanced tech, it floated out the room and headed past the toilet (P) and straight for the boys' bedroom (B). It floated through the archway.

Joe Michael, commanded a voice in their heads. No one moved. Both Connie and Anne breathed heavily.

Then a creak. Micky slowly stepped up to the O.L. and put on the biggest smile he'd ever shown.

The O.L. stared hard at the beaming man.

Episode VIII is dedicated to the plethora of incongruous and ill-conceived alien races in John Carter (not of Mars).

Addendum
I almost forgot to include a figure in this episode. For that reason, allow me to present to you a trail of important character movements. Not just a boring top-down view, but one that, instead, randomly rotates in a 360 degree range. It will definitely give you a better understanding of how the Rat's Nest is laid out, while also letting you play along at home. [Please overlay the floor plans and key, Margaret.]