Carrie’s eyes snapped open. Knife-edged mini-jaws were inches from her face. Her terrified expression was reflected in each of the creature’s hundred eyes. Drips of mucus spattered on the floor, and steamed.
“I—I’m sorry?” asked Carrie.
“Would you like to sit down?”
She peered to either side of the bug. There didn’t seem to be anyone or anything else there. There was only one conclusion possible: It had to be the ravening monster of her dream speaking.
Carrie took a shaky breath. “But...I am sitting down.”
“Are you?” The bug blinked, a tiny transparent membrane flashing over the surface of each of its eyes. “I always get humans confused with squashpumps. I suppose my proximity is making you uncomfortable, too?”
“Y—Yes, it is, actually. And if you wanted me to take a seat, I’d need a chair.”
The creature scuttled backwards to the centre of the room. Carrie’s rigid muscles eased and she exhaled through pursed lips.
“I apologise,” said the bug. “I am new to this. I would appreciate it if you do not mention anything to my superiors.”
“Umm...no, I won’t. Don’t worry.” She checked around quickly for signs of more massive insects.
“Thank you.” The bug squatted on its ten pairs of legs, their joints rising higher than its body. Its head twisted until it was perpendicular to the floor. “I understand you are here to interview for the position of Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer.”
“No.” Carrie wedged her back into the corner, which seemed the safest place in the circumstances.
“No?” the creature emitted an intricate, musical clicking. “That is incorrect. See, your application is here.”
“Where?”
“Whoops, there I go again. I forgot humans cannot see in that wavelength. I will read it out to you.”
“W4M Carrie, 23 YO.” It paused, clicked, and continued, “New in town, AL, PIS, GSOH, SD, NM, NS, WLTM S VGL man with SI (martial arts and pub quizzes) for FTA poss. LTR.”
Carrie’s flush reached the roots of her hair. “That’s my—my ad on a dating website. How did you get hold of it?”
“You are mistaken. This is not an advertisement. This is an application in transgalactic code. Translated into English it says, I would like to apply for the position of—”
“No it doesn’t.” Carrie leapt to her feet, her fists clenched at her sides. “It doesn’t say anything like that. It’s a lonely hearts ad, and you’ve no business—”
“But how did you correctly find and identify this interview room?”
“I didn’t know it was an interview room. I wasn’t even looking for an interview room. I needed to...I thought it was the—”
“And you bear the wounds of previous encounters in this line of duty.”
“No, I don’t, I...what?” Carrie glanced down at her body, and back at the creature. A hundred bug eyes were swivelled in the direction of her lower leg. She turned her foot to see what the bug was looking at. Toodles’ scratch marks ran down her calf to her ankle. “That was my cat!”
“Cat. A cat is another Earth animal. Am I correct? So you were not engaged in resolving a conflict between species, you were fighting with this animal—”
“No, I wasn’t fighting with her. She’s my pet.”
“Pet. A pet is an animal that lives with a human. So you were fighting with your pet...Why are you living with an animal that attacks you?”
“I told you, I wasn’t fighting with her. You’ve got it completely wrong. Oh...” Carrie grabbed her head in both hands and slumped down to the floor.
The creature made its clicking noise. “I believe you are expressing signs of agitation. Have I done something incorrect or inappropriate? Please do not tell my superiors. This is the third duty I have been assigned to. If I fail in the proper execution of my tasks in this position I will be terminated.” The thing retracted its internal jaws as its head returned to a horizontal position, and drooped.
“But...” Carrie sighed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right. Let’s get it over with.” This dream was becoming weirder and weirder. She wondered if the wine she had drunk had been off. “Let’s do the interview, then.”
The razor jaws popped out again, and Carrie sat upright, but the creature began talking about boring, political stuff and places and warring factions she had never heard of. She relaxed and lay on her side. Resting her elbow on the floor and her head in her hand, she soon zoned out. Occasionally, the bug would ask a question and she would answer yes or no, as the mood took her.
“Are you familiar with the cultural customs of the Inner Sect of Mantrikees?”
“Yes.” Carrie yawned.
“Would you mind undertaking missions that may expose you to threats to your personal safety?”
“No.”
As the interview continued the ache in her bladder grew and she tried again to figure out a way to wake up. Her arm began to twinge, and she adjusted her position. She could now see behind the giant bug’s shining bronze carapace. There was something there. It was a handbag, sitting in the middle of the floor. A gorgeous designer handbag. She sat up. “Excuse me, what’s that?”
The creature’s monotonous drone ceased, and its ten pairs of legs scuttled as it turned round to the bag. It hooked a leg through the strap, lifting the bag, and turning back, tossed it so that it landed with a thunk and a jingle at Carrie’s feet. Inside the open bag were strange devices, some of which blinked with tiny electronic lights.
“This is a Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer’s toolbox.”
“Toolbox?”
“Disguised as a portable Earth receptacle so that it may be carried around at all times in case you are assigned to assist in a transgalactic intercultural community crisis when you are not at home.”
Grabbing the handbag in both hands, Carrie lifted it to eye level and gazed at it. The material was thick and expensive and the design was finely stitched. “It’s beautiful. What is it, Louis Vuitton, Dior, Ralph Lauren?” If only she were not dreaming.
The creature clicked, seemingly unsure what to answer.
“So,” said Carrie, “if I do this transgalactic liaison thingy, I get to keep the bag?” There was no harm in asking. She began to hope, crazily, this was not a dream after all.
“The bag’s contents are indispensable to the performance of your duties in the role—”
“I’ll do it.”
“But the interview is not yet concluded.”
“I know, but I really need to...” She crossed her legs and riffled through the strange implements inside the bag. “Anyway, you know, I’d be really good at...whatever it was you were talking about. And...wait a minute, shouldn’t there be a screwdriver thingy?”
“I am unfamiliar with the English vocabulary item, screwdriverthingy.”
“It opens and locks things. Turns stuff on and off. Does whatever you need it for, really.”
“There is an articulated transmitting infrared—”
“Never mind. If I can have the bag, I’ll do it.” The creature’s inner jaws were paused open. “Or,” continued Carrie, waggling a finger, “I might have to have a word with your superiors.”
The bug’s jaws clicked shut. “You also need a uniform.”
“Uniform? Oh, you mean like a costume? Cool.” Carrie imagined herself in something black, with a mask and a cape; a long, flowing cape that billowed out behind her as she flew— “What are they?”
A section of wall had opened behind the bug, revealing a long rack of fluorescent orange jumpsuits ranging from toddler size to what looked like collapsed parachutes. “These are Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer uniforms.”
“But they’re, they’re...Why are they that horrible colour?”
“Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officers—”
“Don’t you have a shorter way of saying that?”
“No. Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officers must stand out in conflict zones to avoid...”
But Carrie wasn’t listening. She strode over to the jumpsuits and hastily pulled two or three out to hold up against herself. Her bladder nagged. She found a uniform that was about her size. It was a bit small but she was on a diet so she should be thin enough to fit into it within a couple of weeks. She shook her head. What was she thinking? This was a dream, for goodness sake. “Now, where’s the way out?”
“But...” said the bug.
“Or,” said Carrie, drawing her brows into what she hoped was a stern frown, “should I speak to someone about how you began the interview by frightening the life out of me?”
Behind the huge insect, a circle of swirling green mist appeared. Carrie pushed the orange jumpsuit in with the weird devices, put the bag on her shoulder and went towards the mist. The bag felt solid and heavy, as though it were real. “Thank you very much.” The coiling mist began to lift her hair. “What do I have to do in this job?”
“As a neutral, independent, disinterested member of an alien race, it will be your duty to mediate between disaffected populations to solve political and territorial disputes—”
“Like a space detective? Great.”
“No, not remotely like a space—”
“Okay, bye, thanks,” Carrie called as the mist took her.