Bring Your Befuddled Zxeardks
by Garry Stanton
Genre: Fantasy/Sci-Fi
Swearwords: One mild one only.
Description: They drop from space... will they stay for the cuisine?
_____________________________________________________________________
Lieutenant Grabb was shouting at me again. He is a complete Fevbor. No, really.
- You do realise it's only three sun-runs and 8 million certoms to home, don't you? I mean, what in Kebb's name have you been doing, Flesk? I have a good mind to.....
It was at that precise moment that the craft stopped. Just halted in mid space. Silence. Even Grabb had shut his wide fat mouth. There were only four of us aboard Skeetar Six, and each of us was quiet. This was rare. We had been pretty much at each other's throats for the entire voyage, as cosmic cabin fever, intolerance, bad smells, and good old isolation in the company of people who you do not necessarily like, took their toll. Well, Blans is decent in small doses, and his collection of rare recordings by The Smeek is the most impressive illegal import stash I have ever come across.
The lieutenant spoke again, in that raspy whine.
- What's happening? Flesk, why have we stopped? This is not scheduled! Are we close to the Insle Space Station? And, Xipai, please can you tell me, immediately, our current co-ordinates? Thank you.
Grabb's eyes and manner were conveying panic, though he was attempting, in vain, to conceal this. His voice was, too, and this was noticed by Xipai, our faithful, if sarcastic and condescending onboard Disembodied Mind Holograph- DMH, officially, and this is the moniker under which he preferred to be called. The name Xipai had its origins in some ancient experiment which dealt with existential issues as pondered by artificial intelligences- XIPAI. The name had stuck for about six hundred sun-runs. In truth, DMH hated Xipai, and this is why we flesh entities insisted on it as a reminder who was really boss. In an instant, Xipai had responded. The voice which had been loaded was a hybrid between the scientific genius Arbze and a human called da Vinci. Arbze had tuned into some distant planet and found the voice. A long story.
- Lieutenant. Yes, we have indeed stopped, but there appears to be no rational reason for this. Even I am unable to offer an explanation. Have you interrogated the....pilots?
I wanted to rip his stupid wires out and pijest on the consoles. So annoying!
Suddenly we began to fall, descend, plummet. We were being dragged down towards some hard place, the blue haze of which was now beginning to loom in the large windows. We all looked at each other, certain death in our eyes. I shouted at Xipai to do something, as did Blans and Kerxo. We were desperate, and much too young to expire in this distant cold corner of wherever. Xipai was unmoved as only an artificial entity can be, and instead of offering any kind of solution began to sing a melodic ballad from the Days of Jurte. It was called The Light at the End of Yextri – beautiful, and somehow apt given our predicament.
We landed. Alive, unhurt. Xipai chuckled like a neutered Destpxo and said:
- Welcome to.....Trulx 23, Galaxy 46.9...known locally as Earth. Enjoy, my breathing entities. You will find the breathing compatible. I will sleep now, probably forever. Bon Chance, brothers!
Blans opened the door. We all pressed our Askte buttons to achieve equilibrium in all things. We would be able to translate, interpret. We became humans, convincing enough to fool the humans, keepers of this Earth.
We emerged on a mountainside. It was green and purple, and vast, and cold. Sheep ate green grass.
Grey clouds floated above the hilltops. Black birds cackled and cried, looking down upon us. In the near distance, a small settlement sat peacefully, awaiting our arrival.
We were hungry. We wished suddenly that we were with our sedries and our little hercs. What kind of food would they have? Would they be friendly?
Kerxo, engrossed in his double screen zartee, suddenly looked up, and exclaimed:
- This is.....bleep.....bleep.....ah, Scotland.
…......
We smelled the food from some distance. It smelled like roasted greds, or freots. Fatty and delicious. People were walking around, some with smiles on their faces, others sad, or deep in thought. No-one floated around on wexes. Everyone had legs, and no vehicles were visible in the air, only on the ground. We were not noticed, really, although an old male raised a hand as the four of us approached. He smiled but moved quickly away. A much younger male sped towards us on a two-wheeled vehicle with no engine. He looked through me and Grabb and stared at Blans. Intensely. He spoke to him in a high-pitched drawl.
- Awright big man? Where ye been? They yer mates? Awright men?
Blans was taken aback, naturally. The young male from Scotland stepped off his vehicle (similar to a gocke, but without propulsion) and held out his hand. Blans took the male's hand and shook it, all the while seeming bewildered but somehow cogniscent of the male and his customs. The male moved closer to Blans and whispered a few words into his head. He said:
- Blans. You have returned!
- Yes, I have, Blans replied. How is earth?
- Earth is fine big man!
- Good, good.
- And the old planet? How have you all been...?
- Things have been bad of late...we need to find a new home, I fear...
- No way! Well, could do worse than this place....deep-fried mars bars, the lot...
- Deep-fried....?
- Never mind. Tell me about the problems...
- Our self-determination is being threatened, Vedsi. The Yerksis have started their invasion...
- Bastards!
- Yes, and we find ourselves outgunned...there are just too many of them...
- Stay here.
- Stay here?
- Yes, stay here...on the planet Scotland! Haha!
- Really? But...
- Stay, he said. We welcome all-comers. And, big man, the food is awesome.
Swearwords: One mild one only.
Description: They drop from space... will they stay for the cuisine?
_____________________________________________________________________
Lieutenant Grabb was shouting at me again. He is a complete Fevbor. No, really.
- You do realise it's only three sun-runs and 8 million certoms to home, don't you? I mean, what in Kebb's name have you been doing, Flesk? I have a good mind to.....
It was at that precise moment that the craft stopped. Just halted in mid space. Silence. Even Grabb had shut his wide fat mouth. There were only four of us aboard Skeetar Six, and each of us was quiet. This was rare. We had been pretty much at each other's throats for the entire voyage, as cosmic cabin fever, intolerance, bad smells, and good old isolation in the company of people who you do not necessarily like, took their toll. Well, Blans is decent in small doses, and his collection of rare recordings by The Smeek is the most impressive illegal import stash I have ever come across.
The lieutenant spoke again, in that raspy whine.
- What's happening? Flesk, why have we stopped? This is not scheduled! Are we close to the Insle Space Station? And, Xipai, please can you tell me, immediately, our current co-ordinates? Thank you.
Grabb's eyes and manner were conveying panic, though he was attempting, in vain, to conceal this. His voice was, too, and this was noticed by Xipai, our faithful, if sarcastic and condescending onboard Disembodied Mind Holograph- DMH, officially, and this is the moniker under which he preferred to be called. The name Xipai had its origins in some ancient experiment which dealt with existential issues as pondered by artificial intelligences- XIPAI. The name had stuck for about six hundred sun-runs. In truth, DMH hated Xipai, and this is why we flesh entities insisted on it as a reminder who was really boss. In an instant, Xipai had responded. The voice which had been loaded was a hybrid between the scientific genius Arbze and a human called da Vinci. Arbze had tuned into some distant planet and found the voice. A long story.
- Lieutenant. Yes, we have indeed stopped, but there appears to be no rational reason for this. Even I am unable to offer an explanation. Have you interrogated the....pilots?
I wanted to rip his stupid wires out and pijest on the consoles. So annoying!
Suddenly we began to fall, descend, plummet. We were being dragged down towards some hard place, the blue haze of which was now beginning to loom in the large windows. We all looked at each other, certain death in our eyes. I shouted at Xipai to do something, as did Blans and Kerxo. We were desperate, and much too young to expire in this distant cold corner of wherever. Xipai was unmoved as only an artificial entity can be, and instead of offering any kind of solution began to sing a melodic ballad from the Days of Jurte. It was called The Light at the End of Yextri – beautiful, and somehow apt given our predicament.
We landed. Alive, unhurt. Xipai chuckled like a neutered Destpxo and said:
- Welcome to.....Trulx 23, Galaxy 46.9...known locally as Earth. Enjoy, my breathing entities. You will find the breathing compatible. I will sleep now, probably forever. Bon Chance, brothers!
Blans opened the door. We all pressed our Askte buttons to achieve equilibrium in all things. We would be able to translate, interpret. We became humans, convincing enough to fool the humans, keepers of this Earth.
We emerged on a mountainside. It was green and purple, and vast, and cold. Sheep ate green grass.
Grey clouds floated above the hilltops. Black birds cackled and cried, looking down upon us. In the near distance, a small settlement sat peacefully, awaiting our arrival.
We were hungry. We wished suddenly that we were with our sedries and our little hercs. What kind of food would they have? Would they be friendly?
Kerxo, engrossed in his double screen zartee, suddenly looked up, and exclaimed:
- This is.....bleep.....bleep.....ah, Scotland.
…......
We smelled the food from some distance. It smelled like roasted greds, or freots. Fatty and delicious. People were walking around, some with smiles on their faces, others sad, or deep in thought. No-one floated around on wexes. Everyone had legs, and no vehicles were visible in the air, only on the ground. We were not noticed, really, although an old male raised a hand as the four of us approached. He smiled but moved quickly away. A much younger male sped towards us on a two-wheeled vehicle with no engine. He looked through me and Grabb and stared at Blans. Intensely. He spoke to him in a high-pitched drawl.
- Awright big man? Where ye been? They yer mates? Awright men?
Blans was taken aback, naturally. The young male from Scotland stepped off his vehicle (similar to a gocke, but without propulsion) and held out his hand. Blans took the male's hand and shook it, all the while seeming bewildered but somehow cogniscent of the male and his customs. The male moved closer to Blans and whispered a few words into his head. He said:
- Blans. You have returned!
- Yes, I have, Blans replied. How is earth?
- Earth is fine big man!
- Good, good.
- And the old planet? How have you all been...?
- Things have been bad of late...we need to find a new home, I fear...
- No way! Well, could do worse than this place....deep-fried mars bars, the lot...
- Deep-fried....?
- Never mind. Tell me about the problems...
- Our self-determination is being threatened, Vedsi. The Yerksis have started their invasion...
- Bastards!
- Yes, and we find ourselves outgunned...there are just too many of them...
- Stay here.
- Stay here?
- Yes, stay here...on the planet Scotland! Haha!
- Really? But...
- Stay, he said. We welcome all-comers. And, big man, the food is awesome.
About the Author
Born in Edinburgh and now living in Fife, Garry Stanton is a musician to trade, as well as a teacher in training. His debut album, Indigo Flats, was released online in 2010.
Garry also writes, having completed several short stories, his first novel and a lot of poetry, some of which has been published in the Edinburgh-based poetry magazine, Harlequin.
Garry also writes, having completed several short stories, his first novel and a lot of poetry, some of which has been published in the Edinburgh-based poetry magazine, Harlequin.