Mission Improbable by J.J. Green - HTML preview

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Chapter Twenty-Eight – Farewell Oootoon

 

Belinda looked even worse than Dave from her immersion in the sticky oootoon. Her gorgeous mane of tawny hair was dark and flat and plastered to her head. Her fluorescent orange jumpsuit had caught and torn on the corners of the boxes of oootoon, leaving her in wet, yellow-orange rags.

Refusing to speak to Carrie or Dave, she gave Gavin monosyllabic answers to his inquiries after her health, and all the way back to land she did not say a word.

The oootoon deposited them on a beach near a placktoid settlement. The island that was new to Carrie. There was no red-leaved forest, but there were metallic roadways and buildings reminiscent of the interior of the placktoid ship. Empty black boxes lay abandoned near the shoreline, waiting to be filled with oootoon. There was no sign of any placktoids.

“It seems the placktoids have abandoned this settlement, perhaps upon discovering their ship had been captured,” said Gavin. “This is further evidence that they are illegally using gateways to travel across the galaxy. There is no other way they could have left the planet.”

“Where have they gone?” asked Dave.

“It is impossible to tell with any certainty. If the gateway was legitimate, the Transgalactic Council would have a record of their journey, but illegal gateways are, of course, unreported. Perhaps the placktoids returned to their home planet. A more prudent destination would be a planet unknown to the Council, in the eventuality their illegal operations had come to light.

“The remaining storage containers the placktoids created to transport the oootoon are all empty,” Gavin continued. “Presumably the planetside placktoids took the full containers with them.”

“Poor oootoon,” said Carrie. “What will happen to the parts of it they took?”

Gavin did not speak immediately, then he said, “I doubt the placktoids are interested in preserving living oootoon. They are generally only concerned with the constituents of things; raw materials for constructing more placktoids or items they require. ”

None of the four spoke for a while. The planet’s sun was setting, casting violet tones over the undulating yellow ocean. The sky was turning a deep purple and stars were appearing. Carrie looked up at them. The patterns were unfamiliar, though she could see a concentrated band of silver she supposed must be the Milky Way.

“Where’s Earth?” she asked Gavin.

The insect chittered. “I apologise, but my knowledge of astronomy is extremely poor. I am unaware of the location of your home planet, I confess, except to say that it is near the edge of the galaxy. This is one of the reasons it was only comparatively recently discovered.”

“Could the placktoids go there?” Carrie was remembering the shredder, and the placktoids’ hatred of humans.

“Much as I would like to reassure you that it is not possible for the placktoids to visit Earth, I am sorry to report that if they are travelling illegally by transgalactic gateway, they could go anywhere for which they possess the coordinates.”

“But if Earth is off limits until we develop long distance space travel,” said Dave, “how did the placktoids even know about office stationery?”

“The term ‘off limits’ is not an accurate description of the travel restrictions that apply to Earth,” said Gavin. “You three, for example, are all here. But the reason for the placktoids’ knowledge of Earth artifacts is quite simple. Your media is very popular throughout the galaxy. Documentaries, dramas, quizzes and—what is it you call them? Ah yes—makeover programmes. Extremely edifying.”

Carrie and Dave raised their eyebrows at each other.

Turning his head horizontal, Gavin said, “I will create a gateway to return you home now.”

Throughout this exchange Belinda had been standing at a short distance from the group and staring silently out over the oootoon ocean. At Gavin’s announcement she began rummaging in her bag. After pulling out a hairbrush she began to attempt to brush her thick, matted locks. “So, I’ll send in my report tomorrow.”

“Your report?” asked Gavin. His head returned to vertical.

“For this assignment, of course.”

“Thank you, but that will not be necessary. I will, however, require a report from you,” he said, turning to Carrie. “I have concluded that my decision to replace you with a more experienced officer was premature. As I said, your performance was laudable, despite a rather disorganised start.”

“But—?” said Belinda.

“Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer Markham, while I am grateful to you for stepping in at short notice and attempting to deal with this difficult case, some of your behaviour and attitudes during recent events have led me to question your fitness for this role. I do not require a report from you, but I do require a self-evaluation statement, outlining where you believe you could have behaved differently, and what you would do if you found yourself in similar circumstances in the future.”

Belinda’s mouth fell open, and she stood gaping like a fish out of water.

Carrie looked around once more at the alien planet, its rich colours and the silent, sluggish oootoon. A chill wind was rising. She rubbed her arms. “Gavin, please, can we go home now?”