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

'Careful now, they're coming back,' said Shamus.

Joe pressed himself against the alley wall as the Black Shoes trotted toward them up the street. Heavy footsteps pounded in unison apart from the occasional clatter of an opposing beat.

None of the hiding party appreciated the jazz-like change in tempo of the marching – probably just as well since they had their lives to worry about and it would be a bit strange to start thinking of some swinging beats at a time like this. Anne, however, must have responded to the missteps with much more practical thought, because she said: 'Look! Oh no.'

Joe squinted as the Black Shoes swept past. In the centre of the gaggle, through the gaps in large heads, bounded in rope like an imminent meal for cannibals, was Connie.

Anne started for the group but was pulled back by Joe.

'We have to save her,' said Anne. Her bulging eyes reminded him of a wild animal.

'Not yet,' he said. 'I've seen this movie too many times. If we go and attack them now we'll all be massacred. We can't. We're not bit players, we're the stars. If we hide now, we'll come up with some amazing plan and cleverly, strategically save the day. Then there'll even be enough time for a final act to conclude everything.'

Anne didn't seem to be listening. She was stalking her way out of the alley and down the road, following the Black Shoes. They all followed. Quietly.

'Come on Anne, dear,' hissed Shamus, his little legs spinning rapidly. 'The silly lookin' man's got a point. We need ta regroup.'

Anne walked briskly. She seemed determined and scared and about to pop.

Joe was sure one of the Black Shoes would turn their head at any moment and see a collection of humans following them, all without transmitters, and all with a weapon of some kind in their hand. He looked down at his own Big Stick

That's what...OK, even I'm getting sick of that joke.

and held it up close enough to see the grains in the wood.

Hehe.

He then threw focus to Anne. More specifically, to Anne's head. A last-resort idea came to him and he soon found himself right behind her. He raised his stick and then-

'Oh no,' said Anne, rushing over to the side of the road. She ran up to the bloody and battered Tank. He'd come out of hiding when he saw some recognisable faces.

'I'm fine,' he said, pre-emptively.

'Sit down. Don't move.' Anne became at once motherly. Her bulging eyes were less bulgy, her pursed lips were more relaxed. She examined The Tank's wounds.

'What happened?' said Shamus and Micky at the same time.

'We were about to nab The New Guy,' said The Tank, wincing at Anne's pokes and prods. 'He was right there. Then we was ambushed. They just streamed in. Lotsa fighting, which was good. Felt good to be back, like I was in training.'

'What about Connie?' said Anne.

'They took her first. After they had her, they just fended me away till they could leave. I broke three noses at least!' The Tank beamed with pride. 'If I didn't know better, I'd say they only wanted Miss Connie.'

'We have to get you back to the Rat's Nest,' said Anne, and thought a little, looking at the receding Black Shoes, at the receding Connie. 'We'll regroup there. Joe, Micky, you'll have to help carry The Tank, I think his tibia may be broken.'

Joe realised his stick was still raised in the air. He lowered it, embarrassed. After his short time being on another planet, and the somehow longer time he'd spent around Anne, he'd realised that you really have to take things one step at a time. You can't worry about a problem when there was another more imminent. In this case, the first step of convincing Anne not to suicide into the Black Shoes had been completed. Even The Tank had been found, which would have rated as a 3(a) at best. The next step would logically be to get home safely, as soon as possible. But he couldn't help but wonder about the future of the Rat's Nest and what might happen next. The O.L.'s now had Connie. Would they come for everyone else? Was that the plan all along? Had Connie managed to slip by them in the past, perhaps with bribes to the right alien at the right time, and now it was all coming to a head? All he knew for sure was that this paragraph was getting long and he'd have to start the unenviable task of carrying the equivalent weight of a cement truck. Or a tank.

Ridley peaked his scuffed head over the low mud wall. Cautious eyes scanned left and right. It was quiet now. No sign of any movement. Still, he thought, it might be a good idea to just wait it out. Surely, any moment now, Connie and The Tank would waltz out of the mud tower with The New Guy in tow and they'd make their way back to the Rat's Nest. Crisis averted. No problemo.

A cold breeze sent a chill through his body as he lowered his head once more.

Joe stepped quietly into the medical bay. It seemed to be quite a common place of late, almost as if someone was trying to cut costs by reusing locations in a film. But since this wasn't a film, that thought was tossed, like so many others, into the useless idea bin.

Anne held up a large knife. It shimmied in the light and almost blinded him.

The Tank, the big tough Tank, took one look at the shining piece of metal and...didn't faint, because that would be too obvious. Instead he grinned. 'You gonna cut me open?' he said excitedly.

Anne used the blade on a thick hard mud tube. She then placed it around his hulk of a leg. Beside her was a large tray of brown paste which she used to seal up the tube.

'How is he?' said Joe. He was expecting her to jump at his sudden words, but she didn't.

'It should heal OK. If he stays off the leg for a few months.'

'A few months!?' exclaimed The Tank.

'Yes, quite unlikely,' said Anne. 'Especially since we need to act fast. Do either of you have any ideas?'

Joe looked at Anne's lips. She hadn't turned to look at him. She wasn't really looking at The Tank's leg, either. Just somewhere in between, and nowhere at all.

'Yeah,' said The Tank, 'we go in there and bash 'em. Simple.'

'Go in where?' said Joe.

'Where ever they got Miss Connie. Where do they got Miss Connie?'

'Normally they take people to the general lock-up first. From there they get...sent away.'

'Where will they send her?' said Joe.

'Come with me,' said Anne, leading Joe out of the medical bay and into the warehouse. Their footsteps echoed in the large empty space.

Joe squinted, not quite able to tell Anne's facial expression in the dimness.

'There is something I should probably tell you,' continued Anne. 'They have been trying to catch Connie out for a while now. She has friends in high places. Some from bribes, others from...I'm not sure, but she has them. And some of the O.L.'s do not like how much power she has accrued.'

'So where will they take her?' Joe was whispering to match the level of Anne's voice, though he wasn't sure why.

'There is a place, sickly and dark, where the worst of the O.L.'s are said to have full reign in their experiments. Where pain is only the beginning. Where the biggest hope you have left is to one day be sent a regular torturer, one who only gouges out your eyes and burns your skin.'

Joe's eyes were wide.

Anne continued: 'Thankfully it will not be there. Apparently, the directive for Connie's arrest goes all the way to the top. They will take her to him. They will take her to the Emperors Tower.'

'You mean the Emperor's Tower. Note the apostrophe in the way I say it.'

'No. Emperors plural. It has passed down from one Emperor to another, one generation to the next, all ruthless, all disgustingly cruel. And now this one has Connie.'

'How do you know this?'

'Micky and Shamus hear things,' said Anne. 'They are part of the underground. Connie never really liked them being so directly involved, not when they lived here. She saw – sees! - the underground as putting all other humans at risk.'

'We are at risk,' said a new voice, a strong voice. Micky stood stoutly before them.

'But there are other ways,' said Anne quietly.

'Violence begets violence' said Micky. ''Tis the only way out of this for all of us. And it'll be the only way to get Connie back. Shamus has gone to the Den to rustle up some helpers. We're gonna go blasting in and do a lotta damage to those damn O.L.'s. Revenge time!' His eyes were glazed and his smile menacing.

'About time,' said The Tank, limping in. It was beginning to be quite the party.

'No,' said Anne. 'We can still get Connie out. But we have to be clever. Not just charge in. How will that help?'

'It'll help because we'll be doing something,' said The Tank.

'We don't havta win the battle to win the war,' said Micky. 'And I'ma sicka this waitin'.'

'Joe, help,' said Anne, finally looking to him in the darkness.

'OK, hang on,' he said. 'Let's sleep on this and see how we feel in the morn-'

'No,' said Anne and Micky at the same time. The word was echoed by The Tank, who was doing his best to keep up.

'We can't wait till then,' said Anne. 'The longer we wait, the less chance that we will get to her in time.'

'Exactly,' said Micky. 'Which is why we act now. A stab, right into their heart.'

An exasperated Anne look pleadingly at Joe. He took one more stab at it.

'All right,' he started, looking at Micky. 'You said Shamus has gone to get some others. We can't exactly start until they get back, right?'

'I suppose that would be true,' said Micky, being careful with his words.

'If we can come up with something else by then,' said Joe. 'A new plan I mean; something better. You'll go with it? You won't just suicide your way into the Emperors Tower.'

Micky thought on it for a while, scratching his chin in the time-honoured way. 'Suuure,' he said, at length.

It wasn't the most convincing of responses but it would have to do.

'Good,' said Joe. He turned to Anne and took her hand. 'Come on, we've got work to do.'

They raced along the hard floor of the warehouse.

'Thanks!' said a new voice. Footsteps meandered through the air like a lazy Sunday afternoon.

'Oh, hi Ridley,' said Joe.

'Oh hi Ridley?' repeated Ridley.

'Sorry, we don't have time to chat at the moment,' said Joe.

'No time ta-' Ridley choked on his own anger. 'What the Hades? Am I the new noob now? The newbie noob. It's noobs all the way down. That kinda thing?'

'Seriously man, we have to come up with a plan to get Connie out. And fast.'

'Where is she?' said Ridley.

'The Black Shoes have taken her.'

'What? When? How? Where is she?'

'The Emperors Tower,' said Joe, answering the last question. Ridley was about to interject when Joe rallied: 'It's plural, not denoting ownership, so need for the apostrophe.'

'Oh,' said Ridley. 'Then why do we always speak with an apostrophe when we say O.L.'s?'

Joe ignored him. 'What were you doing out there? Why didn't you see anything?'

'What was I doing?' said Ridley. 'You're the one who got us into this mess.'

'Oh brother,' said Joe. 'You still on that?'

Ridley didn't know what to say. But he tried, anyway. 'Everything on this planet is backwards. It's like opposite world or something. I'm left out there on my own; no one listens when I speak; there's no where I can go to have fun; I can't even make-sweet-sweet-love to anybody. And, to make it worse, even you have a carnal-acting girlfriend!'

Joe and Anne gave each other a look. Joe dropped the hand he held, embarrassed.

Ridley continued: 'She's way too young for you, man. Much more my age. And let's face it, I'm way hotter than you are. Yet she wouldn't even give me one sign of attractedness.'

Anne awkwardly squeezed her mouth to one side of her face.

'And now I'm female-dogging about my horrible life like some loser emo,' said Ridley. What the exasperated-expression!'

He walked away, exasperated.

'O...K...' said Joe. He shook his head in a comical way that refreshed his senses then looked over at Anne. She raised her eyebrows slightly and gave a sheepish grin. They touched hands again and whisked each other into the bedroom.

Hey, hey, hey, no dirty thoughts, all right? The bedroom is a perfectly legitimate secluded location for a pair to get down to some deep, deep analytical thinking. They aren't doing “homework” and this isn't “high school”.

“High school” is quoted the same as “homework” because it's not real. I don't care what experiences you think you had or what “knowledge” you think you possess. School was a figment of your imagination. At least I hope so. I don't ever want to go back...to that figment of my imagination. Because it's not real. No.

Anne sat on the bed (fully clothed!) and buried her chin in her hands. It was a classic thinking pose. Joe stood nearby, looking vaguely at the wall, his mind awash with thoughts.

See, no sex related activity. If this were a film I might have been coerced into adding a superfluous little ditty with soft lighting and the horrid sounds of a saxophone of unknown origin. It is not, so I have not.

In fact, I've drawn a top-down diagram showing the positioning of both Anne and Ridley, along with a clear barrier surrounding them, proving once and for all that I intend no reference whatsoever to either hanky or panky.

Two circles next to each other with a small dot inside each one.

Figure 11-1: Spatial relations sans relations

I hope this clears things up and we can continue.

Anne's hair floated in the wake of a stalking Joe. He marched up and back with a worried gait. He wasn't feeling too confident of coming up with a plan. What did he know about plans?

He knew that best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry. Which suggested he shouldn't be sitting here wasting time and instead embrace spontaneity.

He also knew that he should love it when a plan comes together, courtesy of John “Hannibal” Smith. Which suggested a well-detailed plot of things to come. It would be hard to enjoy the spoils of a plan if the plan wasn't followed to the letter.

He knew that there was often a Plan B. Did this suggest he should come up with a second plan? This one was a quandary. If he had one, he'd have to use it, since they never get mentioned if they aren't. So by not having one, he'd make sure that Plan A (or “the plan”) would be successful. It also meant he wouldn't have to come up with yet another plan, when the first wasn't quite fleshed out as yet.

He'd heard of “Plan 9 from Outer Space”, but not being into science fiction*, didn't know much beyond its billing as the worse film ever made. Did that suggest coming up with a bad plan? That something truly, terrifyingly awful would bode well?

*Yeah, right.

He also knew that the word plan was like a shortened version of planet – the very thing he was nervously walking on this moment. Coincidence? Yes, almost definitely. That made him realise the folly of useless plan talk.

'Got any ideas?' he asked Anne.

She looked up as if breaking out of a deep thought. She stared into his eyes. She shrugged.

This was going great, Joe thought. Maybe some planning music would help. Yeah, let's break this thing down, hip hop style, yo.

Ridley sat with his back against a large mud basket. The floor was cold on his bare foot. He scratched it, showing great dexterity by bending it almost to his face.

He looked up at the tall aisles and thought back to how things were before arriving on this planet. He remembered how easy everything seemed. You just closed your eyes, jumped in, and when you opened them again you'd be welcomed by more excitement and more adventures. Your whole world would just sort itself out; everything fell into place. Now, here, it had all changed. When he closed his eyes and jumped through the black wormhole, he emerged into some parallel universe where up was down and he was the noob. It was almost enough to make a guy doubt himself. But not him, not Ridley.

It had started fine: watching Joe run for his life in that first courtyard, being abducted by the aliens without any probing, getting to see the most beautiful woman he'd ever goggled at. All priceless memories. And all happening without a care for others. That was the problem. He had started to spend too much time being part of the team, doing his part, helping! That last part made him shiver. That's where all his issues lay. The solution was staring him in the face.

Be a jerk. Be an individual. Don't listen to others. And most importantly, stop all this thinking! The time for thinking was past. Move on to the better Ridley, the careless Ridley, the true Ridley.

It was also time to find a way out of this crappy place. Which meant relying on someone else to find a way. Why should he rack his brains when others could do it for him? Why should he waste time? The only problem with the plan of having no plan was he'd have to wait for it to happen. In the mean time, there was always the chance for snide, sarcastic remarks to get him through.

He gave his foot another scratch.

'I just thought you might have some thoughts,' said Joe. 'Help get us started with something.'

The noob looked up, almost in shock. His face reddened and lowered quickly to the workbench by his side.

Joe looked at Anne. 'Even just an idea or two,' he said. 'Related to...all this.' He gestured vaguely to the Play Pen as a whole.

'Ya, we are a bit busy at ze moment,' suggested Isaac, moving from one spot to another, looking busy.

'It's more like brainstorming, saying whatever comes into your mind, no matter how unrelated.

'Perhaps if you are to try again lat-'

'Isaac,' said Anne, authoritatively.

Isaac stopped and looked up at her. He blinked a few times before giving an embarrassed shrug, then continued with his busywork.

Anne sent a stare which didn't quite hit its intended recipient. The noob had inadvertently wondered into range and noticed her expression, immediately becoming shamed and questioned, falling back on his haunches.

Joe showed a high measure of practicality by ignoring the lack of response and focussing on the job at hand. His earlier music idea hadn't helped since there was no pre-recorded music on this planet. He had hoped that being exposed to the technology on display in the Play Pen would help. Instead, looking around at all the moving parts, the gears and cranks, the electronics, the soldering irons; it just made things more confusing.

'Hmm,' he said to Anne, 'perhaps we're going about this the wrong way. Maybe what we need to do is think about everything that's happened since arriving on this planet. Any plan must necessarily involve only the things we've experienced. Otherwise it'd be like that Harry Potter movie where a sword just magically appears at the end.'

Anne raised a confused eyebrow to this but I understood completely.

'So what have we got?' mused Joe. He scratched his chin. 'We know that the aliens speak a different language, and that it gets instantly translated...somehow.'

'I doubt that holds much significance,' said Anne, helpfully.

'Hmm, you're right. So what about...these transmitters? They've been mentioned over and over again. Surely they could be of use?'

Probably on the wrong (star) trek there, Joe. I haven't even explained who's receiving the tracking data or why it's even important. Kind of hand-waived that tidbit. Embarrassed smiley face.

'OK,' continued Joe, 'well what about...' He looked around the cavernous room. Surely something here would spark an idea.

The sounds of loud voices in the warehouse muffled their way into the Play Pen. The members of the Underground had arrived. Already!

He felt the touch of soft skin. Anne's fingers wrapped around his hand. She looked at him with such an earnestness, such an innocence...the small crack in her even veneer was enough to wedge his heart inside. His resolve became emboldened. His mind went back to their discussions out in the yard. Then later, in the chaos after The New Guy did his bit for the O.L.'s, how he was hurt at the lack of trust. Things had changed. He was now expected to get them out of this, to get Connie back. And it felt good. Scary, frightening even; but good.

He ran his finger against Anne's and felt the warmth of her hand. It was quite a contrast to the cold metal of the weapon he had felt for that brief time, back when he didn't want the expectation.

The weapon!

Surely, he thought, they could do something with weapons. But what? It wouldn't be much use against a slew of O.L.'s. His thoughts even shifted to the way it overheats, and what happens as a result.

'Wait, the weapon overheats?' he asked.

Isaac looked up. 'Ya, it does,' he said, not missing a beat.

Joe hissed an exhale.

Isaac continued: 'If ze frequency of use ist too high, she vill become far too hot to ze touch. At zat point, you must cease use or it vill...'

'It vill what?' said Joe.

They all looked at each other.

Episode XI is dedicated to boobies everywhere.
Uh, I mean plans. I like plans. It's good to have plans.

Find episode XII here.