Larry Goes To Space (19 page)

One of the monitors cleared and a grid appeared. Most of the spaces on the twelve-by-twelve grid were blank, but a few were marked in black and red. The black and red marks appeared in random all over the grid. Larry watched for a while and another square filled in black, then another red, a few more blacks, and another red, a black and finally another red. There were twelve red squares in the twelve-by-twelve grid. The monitor flashed in an explosion of colors. The whole result was like a stylized fireworks display or a laundry detergent commercial.

“More Teumessians are dead at their hands—”

“—more families wiped out—”

“—more insane to wander the land.”

Another grid appeared and a series of figures were superimposed over the grid. He didn’t need to read the symbols to recognize a countdown. He watched the numbers and compared them to his watch. They had about twenty hours.

Only one Tetra spoke. “Many insane volunteer to go to the Almas to save families. Some families volunteer to go to the Almas to protect other families. If we don’t have enough volunteers, they capture us and put us in or on this grid. The black means an open space. The red means that a Teumessian occupied that space. The Teumessians are separated from their families and placed in small, single boxes. Selecting a red square will kill the Teumessian within the space. All Teumessians remaining alive will go free if the black squares are all selected before the red squares are gone. The Almas told us we must do the selecting and kill our own. We cannot kill another species, how can we kill our own?”

“Who’s doing the choosing if you aren’t making the selection?” Larry asked. “How many have survived this game? And why is it in twelve and multiples of twelve?”

“The Almas select an Almas to select.”

“They consider it an honor—”

“—bring an Almas from their planet to here—”

“None have—”

“—survived. None at all.”

“We assume it’s twelve by twelve because the Almas—”

“—six appendages on each Almas, with three to a side—”

“—sometimes their appendages are arms and sometimes they’re legs—”

“—two Almas with six each—”

Larry thought, “Great. Six-legged, killer bugs.”

“Why don’t the Almas just take your other spacecraft?”

No one responded. He looked around.

Bob shrugged. “We keep them locked when we aren’t in them.”

He wanted to ask more questions. Everyone was looking at him. His friends, all the insane ones that followed him, the Tetra, and who knew how many others were watching on monitors around Plenty. There was plenty of Plenty. He wished they had laid this out on the trip. He could have worked up a plan of sorts or at least been able to ask intelligent questions.

It seemed the Almas needed entertainment and nourishment, just like humans. If nourishment — in this case was protein from the Teumess — was in limited supply, then they would compete for it. Winners would eat and losers would go hungry. With only one spaceship, the Almas wouldn’t have the ability to slaughter the Teumess in wholesale batches and transport their nourishment back to the Almas home world. Still, given enough time, they would tire of their games and begin transporting more Almas to Plenty for direct feeding or for conquests to take more spaceships.

Larry asked, “How long has it been since you spoke directly with the Almas?”

“We are not—”

“That would be insane—”

“—by message only—”

“—no messages in six months.”

Larry did the math in his head. He wasn’t a genius, but the numbers were simple enough. If the Almas killed twelve Teumessians in each game, and there was one game per day times 180 days, that equals 2,160 dead Teumessians. If a Teumessian lost all of his or her family to the Almas, but was spared, he or she went insane and was lost to society. He didn’t know how many Teumessians were on Plenty, but a couple thousand was enough to get angry about. Many Earth countries would have gone to war over a lot less.

“Do the Almas have weapons?” he asked.

There was silence.

“I will take that as you-don’t-know.” He turned to Scooter. “Can you see if there are any volunteers to go watch the Almas and see if they can spot anything that might be a weapon?”

Something was beginning to jiggle at the back of his brain.

Scooter and a few others headed for the door.

“Scooter,” he shouted, “see if you can find out about how many Almas are on the planet at any given time. Don’t get yourself hurt or captured, but do what you can.”

He looked at the Tetra. “I would be considered insane even among your insane. I’ll try to talk with them. I’d rather make friends than enemies.”

“How can you speak—”

“—not speak for Plenty—”

“—do not want to endanger Earth—”

That last was a valid point. How was he going to talk to them and not let them know he was human? He certainly didn’t want them to backtrack him to Earth. As for not speaking for the Teumess, that was a moot point. They had asked for his help and couldn’t or wouldn’t speak for themselves. He would do what he could do.

“Jughead? Can you send a signal to the Almas, but make sure to block the video from this side?

Jughead conferred with his two staff members. Then he nodded acceptance with his hands. His two staff lifted him up to the top row of monitors. He opened a small panel on the side and twisted a few controls.

Jughead dropped back to the floor. He went to the translator unit and turned a few dials, twisted a few knobs and punched a few buttons. He seemed a lot more familiar with the unit now than he did back on Earth.

Larry wondered if the Teumessian had found a set of instructions or if Jughead was just getting used to technology his species hadn’t built. Finally, he gestured from the monitor on the wall to Larry and back.

Larry turned up the volume on the interpreter unit.

“This is the Teumess calling the Almas. Can you hear me?” Larry said softly.

The little interpreter machine called out his message. Rather it burped out a message and followed that with a translation into Teumess. Larry assumed the burping was the Almas language and not something the machine ate.

He repeated his call three times, but received no response.

He went back to finishing his lunch. Then it hit him. That little jiggle in his brain finally wiggled its way to the forefront. That stupid grid was just like a little version of Battleship. The game was simplified and played solo, but that was what it was. Set up the way it was, it became completely unwinnable for the Teumessians. It was exactly like playing Monopoly against yourself, but making someone else pay with real money when you lost to yourself. Even if the Teumess elected to play, they might, just might save a few of their people, but not enough to make it worth the effort.

“Battleship!” he muttered. “No, that’s a two person game. This crap is more like that old game on every computer I’ve ever owned — Minesweeper.”

Minesweeper was a game designed to teach mouse skills and deductive logic to children, or that was the purpose when it was first applied to computers. The game was simple and one he’d played for countless hours while avoiding homework back in junior high school.

The game was a grid with hidden mines. The player would overturn hidden squares on the grid to reveal either a blank square or an exploding, buried mine. If the player overturned a blank or empty square, the computer version would tell the player how many hidden mines were in adjacent squares. It was a simple game of logic and reasoning. The player won if they found all of the hidden mines without overturning a square with an exploding mine in it.

Larry clearly remembered an element of guesswork as the first few overturned squares were always guesses and most of the time, no matter how good he got at the game, he would reach a point where he had to guess which space of the two or three remaining spaces held a hidden mine. He remembered losing a lot more games than he won.

The variant the Almas was forcing on the Teumess was a simple hit or miss version without the deductive logic or reasoning of getting a mine count when selecting blank squares. The player continued selecting grid spaces until all of the Teumess were dead or, which was unlikely, the player had selected all the empty squares before killing all of the captured Teumessians.

From what he could gather listening to the Tetra’s garbled everyone-talking-at-the-same-time conversation, the Almas had turned a cheap version of the game into a television game show with the winner taking home a few barrels of liquefied Teumess protein. The Almas weren’t the serious vegans they appeared to be.

Larry must have been thinking aloud because Bob asked “What?”

Larry shook his head. He was deep in thought and responded to Bob without thinking. “It’s a child’s game on Earth.”

Even Betty looked shocked.

“You — you — you teach your children to kill?” Bob stammered.

The question brought Larry back to the here and now. “No, it’s not like — well, yes and no. It’s a war game, yes. But, no one actually gets killed. It teaches our children strategy and thinking.”

“But you teach your children war strategy?” Bob asked.

Larry thought for a minute. “No. We teach our children to survive, to fight, to protect themselves. That is why you needed me, right? Because humans are the way we are. You want me to play and win this game to save some of your people, right? So, don’t go all high and mighty on me, just give me a minute and let me think.”

He needed a way to win their game, but more than that, he needed a way to save more people than their current version of the game allowed. He needed to up the ante so they would be enticed to play for bigger stakes. He needed to try for a way to end the games all together, if possible. These Almas already pissed him off. He might not win every game, but they would know they had competition.

I will be conquered; I will not capitulate.
(Samuel Johnson)

CHAPTER TWELVE

LARRY said softly, “This’s the Teumess calling the Almas. Can you hear me?” The machine translated and repeated his words loudly.

“This is Tedorus, Leader of the Almas Spacecraft Pantry,” a voice responded. “Who are you? And why have you not answered our calls before? Are you ready to play? Are you ready to gather for the benefit of the Almas? Are you—”

“Whoa there, Tedorus,” Larry said. “I can answer your questions, but only one at a time. I’m not very smart so we have to do this slowly.”

Tedorus laughed. At least, the translator interpreted the burping noise coming from the monitor as laughter. It sounded like a human trying to burp the alphabet. “The average Teumess isn’t smart, so if you aren’t up to Teumess average we will have to go slowly indeed.”

Larry gritted his teeth, but managed to give a quick “ha-ha”. He hoped the little translator managed to get it to the Almas with a little better acting job than he had done. “We may not be smart, but we are tasty, you betcha.”

Tedorus gave a little snort of laughter, “The Almas have been starved for generations without protein. You are a welcome addition to our plate.”

“What happened to the protein sources on your world?” Larry asked.

“We will ask the questions, Teumess,” Tedorus spat. “The Almas aren’t used to having food stuffs interrogate us.”

“That’s only right and proper, Tedorus,” Larry said. “It’s as it should be. We are but a small link in your food chain. I only ask out of curiosity, but you need not answer.” He had heard enough to know they had probably eaten every protein source on their planet. The Almas must be omnivores or they wouldn’t have survived even a few generations without a protein source.

“Why can’t we see you?” Tedorus demanded.

Larry smiled, “Because I’m insane even beyond Teumessian standards. I must hide my face and not look upon the face of another or I will cease to exist.”

Tedorus said, “All of the Teumess are insane. That is why you’re food, not anything more.”

A murmur came from the Teumessians seated around Larry. He signaled no with his hands.

Larry said, “That’s as it should be, oh wise Tedorus, may your belly be full forever.” He tossed that in because he remembered hearing something like it in a Bible reading from Sunday school ages ago or in an old movie. He didn’t think it would hurt to stroke the creature’s ego. “I must be food because my butt and haunches are big and fat.”

Tedorus laughed, “Then I will eat you myself when the time comes. What is your name, Teumess?”

“I’m called Deep Purple, Smoke on the Water.” Larry laughed. Dad would enjoy the reference. “But you may just call me Purple.” He wasn’t about to give this thing his real name any more than he would give it the coordinates to Earth.

“Purple, are you ready to begin when the next game starts?”

“Oh most noble Tedorus, may we change the game to make it more exciting for me?”

“Change? Why would we change?” Tedorus exploded.

Larry didn’t answer right away and there was silence on the other side for a moment. The quiet was one of those pregnant pauses that felt as if someone was talking about him behind his back. It was as if someone had disconnected the speakerphone and was conversing with another person in the room. Larry often dealt with a cattle buyer from Emporia, Kansas who often used the tactic when discussing their price negotiations with his boss.

Larry imagined that Tedorus, as a lowly ship’s captain, wouldn’t have the final say so on the entertainment portion of their invasion of Plenty. It had to be an important part of their overall activity. For an uncaring creature, it should have been easy to gather up the Teumess and all protein on the planet. The Teumess would run, but they would not be able to hide forever if gathering protein was all the Almas wanted. At that point, the game would have turned from Minesweeper to Space Invaders. The Almas must be as entertainment starved as they were hungry for protein.

Tedorus must have been listening to someone else, like some network television executive explaining how the ratings were down and they had to spice up the show anyway. Larry could imagine they were already having conversations about how to make the game more exciting. They had the choice of listening to Larry’s suggestion or going ahead and bringing in the bikini clad Almas females to dance around the stage.

Tedorus came back. He didn’t sound pleased but he responded, “What have you got in mind?”

“I just want a small chance to make it more fun for me and more of a challenge for you. As I play, would you please tell me how many adjacent squares Teumess occupy when I select an empty square? You need not tell me which ones are occupied, just how many. And since I must tell you which square to select and your contestant actually makes the kill, if they do not attack the square I selected, then they must be killed. You see, it makes it more of a challenge for the mighty Almas, giving your contestants a sense of danger.”

“Is that all?” Tedorus grunted. “You wish to kill the Almas?”

Larry said, “Certainly not. But, even the Teumess would kill their own if they were too stupid to follow simple instructions. It makes the game more sweet if the contestant has something to lose, does it not?”

Tedorus snarled but agreed.

Larry said, “I will mark a square at random, but not select it. If I say that there is a Teumess in a square and there is, then the Teumess inside lives.”

“No,” Tedorus shouted. “You try to trick us. You will mark all of the squares at once and claim victory.”

“I will not. For every empty square that I say has a Teumess but does not, you may take back a saved Teumess. The contest is over if I select a square with a Teumess in it. All Teumess I have marked are set free. All that remain are yours.”

Tedorus said. “You have made it harder for us to gather our necessary food, but I like the challenge. I may join the contest myself.”

Larry smiled to himself. He was making it harder. He had one more suggestion that might cause Tedorus to back out all the way.

“Oh, great and wonderful Tedorus, I have but one small suggestion yet to make. If I manage to save all of the Teumess from being killed — all of them in any one contest — the Almas must go home and never return to this world.”

“No. No. No. No.” Tedorus shouted. “There is not enough to gain.”

Larry could hear additional shouts of no in the background on the Almas spaceship Pantry.

“Then before you make a final decision, let’s give you more.”

Tedorus was skeptical, but interested. “More? How say you more?”

“Instead of such a small grid of squares, I suggest that you build one bigger — say, twenty-four by eighteen.” That should make the numbers easy for the Almas since both were easily divisible by six. “Bigger, I say. Yes. And you fill it with thirty. Yes! Yes!! Yes!!! You can collect up to thirty tasty morsels all for the price of one contest. You say you want more. I say yes. All of this, yes, all of this for the price of one Teumess that you give back for each contest I play. Instead of only twelve, you can now have twenty-nine delectable, delicious, and delightful dinners for just the price of one.”

Tedorus snorted, “You want us to give you back a meal before you even play? We are not stupid you know.”

“Of course, you are not stupid. You would not have so easily conquered this whole planet if you were stupid. I just ask for one small life. Surely, there is one among thirty that would be so small and scrawny as to not make a good meal. Throw it back until it grows a bit more.”

Tedorus laughed. “I agree. It will all be done as you say.”

Larry said, “Good. Call me back when you get your grid built and are ready to play.”

He signaled Jughead to shut off the sound and called the little Teumessian over to him.

“Say Jughead. Can you — what?”

All of the Teumessians were staring at him. Some of the newer insane ones were heading for the door. Even Betty looked shocked.

Bob managed to choke out. “You have done nothing but send the Teumess to their deaths faster. We should have never brought you here.”

“Relax Bob,” Larry said. “Great guns, it’s simple math. Are you as bad as they are at math?”

Betty said, “What do you mean?”

Larry sighed. “The previous way the game was rigged there were over eight percent of the spaces filled with Teumess. This new grid gives us — anybody — anybody — anybody?” Apparently, in all the broadcasts the Teumess had picked up from Earth, they hadn’t encountered the movie
Fast Times at Ridgemont High
, or maybe they just didn’t like his impression of Ben Stein. “Okay, my friends. I do this simple math in my head all the time. This puts the Teumessians in less than seven percent of the spaces. That may not sound like a big difference, but it’ll make a huge difference on a larger grid.”

Ginger nodded. “Yes, plus you have convinced them to save one for each game. That is one more than we have ever had saved before. I will rejoice for the one saved.” She came up and hugged Larry. Betty quickly relented and hugged him as well.

“Besides,” Larry said, “I may be able to save a few more. I have played this game before—don’t get your whiskers in a twist; we never play with living creatures. It’s a child’s game to teach strategy. I don’t know how many or if I can save more Teumess, but I will try.”

It wasn’t long before Bob saw the benefits of the different game and joined them in a group hug.

Jughead nodded his approval. The little Teumessian was no longer afraid of Larry, but it didn’t look like he was going to be taking any chances hugging a carnivore, whether it had just eaten or not.

“Okay, everyone?” Larry asked. “We need to get back to business. Jughead, can you turn on the sound on the Almas’s side, but not on ours? I want to listen to them, but not let them hear us or know that we are listening.”

Someone shouted, “Eavesdropping? How can you think of such a thing? That is uncivilized.”

Larry laughed, “Then don’t listen to them. I think it’s uncivilized that they’re eating Teumess.”

Jughead nodded and twiddled with some knobs on the monitors.

Larry said, “And Jughead, find some paper and pencils — you guys have that stuff right? Good. Get some people to write down everything they hear the Almas say. I want to know when and how they plan on cheating. Not
if
mind you, but
when
and
how
.”

Scooter raced back in the room. He brought a scruffy looking Teumessian with him.

Larry hadn’t seen a scruffy Teumess before. This one was missing patches of fur and what fur it did have was matted and filthy.

The new Teumessian walked up to Larry as if daring the human to eat him. He stared at Larry with cold eyes. Larry was sure that for the first time he was seeing a Teumess that would fit even a human definition of crazy.

Scooter said, “Tell him about the Almas weapon.”

The Teumessian said, “They spit acid. It’s a goo that comes from the middle of their belly. It turns everyone it touches into paste that they scoop up and eat.”

Larry asked. “Do they have any weapons?”

The Teumessian looked confused.

“Tools for killing. Do they have tools they carry for the purpose of killing?”

The Teumessian said, “They spit this acid from thirty feet. They can spit faster than a Teumessian can run. What need have they of tools? You will kill me now? Please.”

Larry said, “No. If you wish to die, kill yourself. Or go to the Almas, surely they’ll accommodate you.”

The Teumessian looked sad. “I’ve tried to get close, but I haven’t been able to force myself to. Why will you not kill me?”

Larry laughed. “I promised to kill and eat Scooter first. And I’m not hungry at the moment. Stick around. I may give you the chance to die soon enough.”

He looked around. He sure wasn’t going to get an army behind him. However, one crazy berserker can make a big difference in any battle. Or one very sane person for that matter; just ask Alvin York or John Basilone.

“Hey Scooter, can you get me a piece of metal about three feet long? Very flat, with a handle at one end and the other end sharpened?”

Scooter said, “You want a sword? Yes?”

“Yes I do. You know swords?”

Scooter shrugged in the human style, “I only know of swords from your broadcasts. We have no need of such on Plenty, nor would any Teumessian consent to making an instrument that only has a killing use.”

Larry said, “Okay. How about a pry bar? Just a solid metal bar, no sharp edges, but about two inches in diameter and about three feet long?”

Scooter nodded in the Teumessian style. “I can send a runner for one. When the Almas came we took all of our tools and technology and hid them, so the Almas could not gain a greater advantage.”

A voice from the monitors gave Larry a start, “This is the boss of the Allarian Mines. What you speak of is a common rock ram. I have already dispatched a family of runners bringing you many sizes. You may select what you need. It may take many hours before they get there. You may use and keep every tool in our supply if you can but drive the Almas from Plenty.”