Explain That To A Martian 3

Explain That To a Martian 3

  Copyright Gary Weston 2012

  Explain That To A Martian 3

  'What?'

  'I said, feed Monster.'

  'Oh. Right. Feed the Monster. Gotcha.'

  'Are you even listening to me?'

  I suppressed a sigh. 'You want me to feed the cat. I'll feed the cat.'

  Pamela didn't suppress her sigh. I knew she was making a mental bet with herself that I'd forget to feed the cat. She would probably win. 'When you're glued to that computer, you're a lost cause.'

  'Pam. This is important. When I'm in the zone, I have to write. Now. If you don't mind...'

  'Okay. I'm off to work. One of us needs to bring in some money. Don't cook. I'll bring takeaway.'

  'Gotcha. Feed the cat.'

  With only a slightly exaggerated sigh, Pamela kissed my cheek and left. The instant she was gone, my mind went into the odd dark place, where writers disconnect the cerebral from the physical. I suppose it's the same for anyone indulging in the creative process. For me, it is like going on autopilot, letting the juices flow and becoming the conduit for whatever comes my way. I was actually feeling good about myself for a change. For one thing, I'd cut right down on the booze. Pamela hadn't nagged me to do it. I was just happier in general, with her in my life. I just didn't feel the need to drink so much. The other upside was that my writing had improved. I was making sales. People were actually asking for more. Go figure. Right. Chapter three.

  I was about to hit the first key when my computer went ding dong. Incoming mail. I almost ignored it, but I thought I had better check it out. What I saw was probably the ugliest sight imaginable, and with the stuff I write, I imagine some damned ugly stuff.

  This had to be a joke, right? Okay. I'm not the most computer literate guy in the world, but I can usually figure out most things eventually. Of all the ninety seven emails clogging up my P C, I can make out who sent ninety six of them. Not ninety seven, though. It also had an attachment with it. Looking at the picture in the body of the email, I really wasn't sure about opening it. I was about to delete the thing, when something...oh, I don't know, something stopped me. It was an irresistible compulsion to open the attachment. So I did. Suddenly, my computer had a life of its own. My heart almost crash-dived at the thought of hackers and viruses. Then, a truly ugly but strangely familiar sight filled the screen.

  Four sickly yellow eyes on stalks, waved at me. I should have screamed out loud, but instead, I said, 'Hi, Joe.'

  The awful screeching sound I got for a reply had me reaching for the volume control, but Joe got things sorted out.

  'Hello, Gotta Pee.'

  'Hello to you, too. How the hell are you doing this? You are on Mars, right?'

  'Home, now. Wanted show Little Gotta Pee.'

  Joe called to somebody behind him. There was some bumping around and shaking of the camera as it was repositioned, and there they all were in their magnificent grotesqueness.

  'That is so cute,' I lied. No. That's not fair. Martians are not the most aesthetically pleasing people, and my friends would never get modelling contracts on Earth. But they do have a peculiar charm about them, and I was looking at the latest addition to the family. Sally, Joe's partner, held the youngest, and two larger kids sat by her side. Joe zoomed in on the baby. It had doubled in size in the three months since it had been born. I couldn't help thinking it looked like something that could be used for bait to catch fish. I know. My mind thinks in peculiar ways, sometimes.

  'Little Gotta Pee. After you,' he said. He zoomed in more for a close up, and I really wish he hadn't. Little Gotta Pee was latched onto Sally's nipple with its extended fringed sucker feeding tube, suckling like any contented human baby would have done. All four of his slash her eyes were closed. I had a rather odd proud feeling as I watched the scene of blissful domesticity. And why not? I'm the only human to have a Martian baby named after him. Sort of. By some misunderstanding on our first close encounter of the weird kind, Joe had taken my name to be Gotta Pee, and no correction was ever accepted. I didn't really mind, as I was guilty of being unable to pronounce their names, either. So to me, they became Joe and Sally. They had named the baby, born right here in my lounge, (I never did manage to shift the stains) after me. Gotta Pee.

  'Hello, Gotta Pee,' whispered Sally, waving a tentacle at me.

  I adjusted my webcam and waved back, having no idea if they could see me or not. 'Hey, Joe. Mind if I have a look around your home?'

  'Okay,' he said.

  Joe panned across his family, as they sat together on ...hmm. I'm a writer. I can do this. Right. Nest. It was a nest. The nest was big enough to accommodate the whole family. It was made up of some moss like material, more blue than green. Forget anything you think you know about the Red Planet. You've seen things on television. Several films have been made about the place, and all trying to be as realistic as possible. But we only see what Joe and his kind want us to see. What do you think of when you think of Mars? Red. Lots of red. Sand, dirt and a few rocks. The planet has ice caps, but nothing you and I would care to drink, and I drink neat bourbon.

  Martians live underground. Deep underground, where everything is white. Apart from the vegetation. Oh yes there is. We just haven't been allowed to see it. Joe has told me a little about it, but this is the first time I have actually seen any of it.

  Joe takes me through the 'lounge' of cool looking white rock. On the wall at one end is a silvery disc.

  'Joe. What's that?'

  Joe laughs. He says something to Sally and the kids and they all laugh. He reaches out with his tentacle and touches the disc. The disc lights up and I see a three dimensional image...of me! Not me as I am that instant, but of me sometime ago, in the kitchen. At the table were Joe and Sally, watching me cooking. I had no idea that all the time they were in my home, we were being recorded. Oh, it's common knowledge to some that I'm world famous on Mars. Nobody on Earth has a clue who the hell I am, but on Mars...! I hear all of them laughing hysterically at my antics, and the camera shakes so much I was feeling seasick.

  'Ha, bloody ha, you lot.'

  Joe turned off the disc and continued his way around his home. The next chamber was the equivalent of a greenhouse here. But no glass. It was full of the blue stuff and a variety of little trees and bushes, but nothing like you or I would be able to recognise. Joe zoomed into the nearest tree.

  'Ugh!' I said.

  Crawling around on it were what I can only describe as black slugs roughly the size of a man's hand. Some kind of parasite? Then Joe's feeding tube shot out of his mouth and a fat black slug disappeared. Joe belched, but not from his mouth. (You don't want to know, trust me).

  'Better than fish finger sandwiches,' said Joe.

  'I'll take your word for that.'

  The tour continued. In the next white, slug free chamber, were blue moss filled hollows.

  'We sleep here,' said Joe.

  It didn't surprise me that they slept in the same chamber together. They have nothing to be embarrassed about, and being naked all the time, they had no false modesty. They are sexless until breeding time, when they secrete fluids together to create a single egg. They didn't have to wait for the kids to go to sleep so they could have some mom and dad time. They simply didn't do it for fun. It's just one of the reasons they find us so fascinating. Joe returned to his family. Little Gotta Pee was fast asleep in a bed of the moss. The other two kids seemed to be squabbling about something, and Joe gave one a tap on the back of its head with a tentacle. The fighting stopped. Then he said something to them, and they got excited about something. Sally not so much.

  Leaving Sally and the baby behind, Joe led the kids along a white tunnel, where the white
turned gradually red. At the entrance of a tunnel was a ...thing. It reminded me of a canoe. It was made of some black material. It was also hovering off the ground. Joe picked up the kids one at a time and placed them inside the canoe, then he climbed in behind them. Without touching anything, the vehicle left the entrance of the tunnel, out into the bright Martian day. As it skimmed silently over the red sandy surface, Joe kept the camera going, the canoe apparently being controlled by Joe's thoughts. They were not alone. Dozens of other canoes were whizzing around; little Martians going about their business. Some of the canoes were empty, possibly going on errands for their owners.

  Joe stopped his vehicle after flying around for a few minutes. They left it parked next to three others and got off. The little ones ran off ahead of their father, red dust being kicked up everywhere. They stopped when Joe told them to, at the lip of a huge crater. Joe caught up with them, and aimed the camera into the crater. It was exactly as I had imagined it to be. Our two rovers were continuously going round and round, and in the crater with them were two Martians, changing the landscape, so the rovers always had something different to look at.

  'Up,down. Up, down,' the kids chanted.

  As an attraction, it had obviously lost most of its appeal, because I couldn't see anyone else watching them. One of the Martian landscapers stopped and sat on a large rock, his eye stalks twisting to follow the little rovers. For me, it would be a complete picture if he had rolled a smoke and wistfully wondered what he was doing with his life, as he sat thinking about a succulent black slug for his dinner. After a few more mind numbing minutes of tedium, he got on with the futile job of rock shifting and Joe said it was time to head off home. Well, that was riveting, I thought.

  It must have been dinnertime when they arrived home, because Sally ushered them all except the baby into the feeding cavern.

  'Joe,' I called out, 'Please don't take the camera in there with you. Joe...'

  I had no desire to be subjected to the four of them gorging on live black slugs. Too late. I think I may have mentioned before, when it comes to eating, Martians don't hang around. One of the kids bit a slug in half, and the most disgusting green slimy looking pus dripped out of the still wriggling creature. He held it up close to the the camera, then he held the half eaten slug up to his feeding tube and let the green slime trickle into it, before finally and much to my relief, dropping it in. Stop watching, I hear you cry. I so wished I could. As nauseated as I was feeling, it was compulsive viewing. Thankfully, with Martians being fast eaters, the whole revolting spectacle was over in less then a minute. This was followed by much belching. I swear that if Joe takes that camera outside to reveal what happens after Martians have eaten, well, I won't be responsible!

  Once the belching has subsided, they all gather around a small pool of what looks like water trickling out of a fissure in the cavern wall, into a hollow that overflowed and ran along a channel and out through another hole. There was much splashing about as they all drank from the pool. Mealtime was apparently over.

  They returned to the nest in the lounge, settling down together to digest their slugs. Sally held Lttle Gotta Pee in her tentacles, out popped her nipple and the baby started feeding, all four eyes looking in different directions at once, one at Joe, one at Sally, one just taking in its surroundings and the fourth eye staring in my direction. I couldn't help wondering how long Martian babies fed from their mothers before sampling the delights of the black slugs.

  'How you been, Gotta Pee?' Joe asked.

  'Yeah, not bad, thanks for asking. Pamela has moved in permanently and we are getting on fine. She does keep banging on about me finding a proper job, though.'

  'You writer.'

  'Oh, sure. Last week I sold an Earth shattering fifteen ebooks, making me the grand total of forty bucks. We celebrated with a meal that cost sixty.'

  'Your books popular on Mars.'

  I already knew that Martians were tapping into the ebooks. Joe even left me a four star review, one time.

  'Yeah. I look forward to the cheque in the post. Sorry, Joe. You guys on Mars are welcome to them. It would be nice to make a dollar or two, though. I mean, I got loads of free stuff out there. Be good if they actually bought one of the others, once in a blue moon.'

  'Moon no blue.'

  'Just an expression.'

  'You have babies?' Sally asked.

  'Dunno. Anything's possible, I guess. I would really have to get a proper job if we did. We'll have to see.'

  'You getting old,' said Joe. 'You have babies.'

  'Thanks. Cheer me up, why don't you? If we do, maybe Pam and I will drop in your place to have it. Put some stains on your settee. That'll teach you.'

  'You most welcome,' said Sally, quite genuinely.

  'It would sure clock up some air-miles.'

  One of the kids whispered something I couldn't catch and Sally nodded. Then the kid made his way up the tunnel to go outside. The slug digestion had obviously completed its cycle. Within a few minutes, they would all be heading up the tunnel to do whatever they needed to do.

  'When will you be paying me a visit? I'd like you to meet Pamela.'

  'We surprise you. Maybe when Little Gotta Pee is bigger,' said Joe. 'We have to now go.'

  I knew he meant that literally. 'Okay, pal. Been great chatting with you. Quite an experience.' I'll never be able to expunge those black slugs from my mind. 'You take care.'

  They all waved their tentacles at me and started up the tunnel together.

  'Cute.'

  My computer threw a wobbly as the connection was broken. I was staring at my screen and the blank page I'd started out with. I had that weird feeling again that something had happened, but for the life of me, I had no idea what. The little clock on my computer said eight o' two. Less than three minutes had gone since Pam had left for work and I was missing her already. I started on chapter three. For some unknown reason, I typed black slugs. What? Where the hell had that come from? I deleted that and really cracked on with the book. I had only been working half an hour, when the computer went ding dong. I saved my work and opened up the emails. It was another number ninety seven, but with no attachment.

  'Feed cat,' it said, followed by 'Joe.'

  Who the hell is Joe? I went to delete it, when it vanished. I fed the cat.