Scorched Earth, Alien Wonders

Our donkey stopped in its tracks. We all swiveled around in time to watch a large, fuzzy, black and white creature fall to the dirt from a rippling-space crevice four feet above the ground where our wormhole was located. The critter stood up on its hind legs, and grabbed its throat when it took a breath.

“What the fica-hell is a two-tailed, Draxian monkey doing here?” I blurted out in astonishment.

We stayed positioned on top of our donkey, not knowing why this unannounced creature materialized at our secret Earth location. The 4-foot-tall, monkey-like critter, with a bifurcated tail and olive eyes coughed a few times, shook its short fur wildly, and pranced around on its two toenailed back feet like it was trying to avoid hot coals.

“I’m a Rosenian scientist and a last minute addition to this mission,” squeaked the monkey, who added matter-of-factly, “Griping magpies, it’s hot here.”

“They sent you as a Draxian primate? How are we supposed to explain a creature like you?”

“I was told...they didn’t have time...to devise another prairie dog program,” the monkey explained in between short, huffing sounds.

“Couldn’t they have come up with any credible software for ANY animal that might currently exist on THIS planet?” I demanded from my perch on the donkey.

The monkey shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Evidently, there aren’t many animals left on this world.”

“Why were you added at the last minute?” I persisted.

My team slipped one by one back onto to the parched ground, and strolled over to take a closer look at the intruding creature. The monkey glanced down at us with a feeble smile, trying hard not to look like an out-of-place gargoyle.

“My name is Dr. Jones, and I can be of great assistance here.”

“I’m Captain Memphis,” I said, ignoring the unwanted straggler’s attempt at self-importance. “I’m in charge and this mission is classified, so who gave the authority for you to jeopardize it at the last minute?”

“Captain...I was rousted from 12 hours of a good night’s sleep to be rushed through protocol and slapped into a wormhole,” explained Draxian-Jones, with high-pitched indignation. “So, you know as much as I do, except apparently someone decided to add a scientist to your team.”

“Hold on guys, I think we have much bigger problems,” said Davis, the best technical expert on Rosen. “The screeching noise we heard just before the Draxian materialized? It sounded like a crap-load of trouble to me.”

That got everyone’s attention. The primate agreed with Davis.

“Yeah, I’ve been on a few wormhole rides, and this one felt different,” said the monkey, wiggling his fingers to make sure all three were still there.

“Torie, we need the diagnostics,” I said, looking at the bored-faced donkey.

In a twirling flash, Torie shifted back to the binocs. I picked them up, accessed the data panel then entered my request. After running a diagnostic of the immediate surrounding space I said, “Davis, have a look at this.”

Davis, moving surprisingly fast on chubby, prairie dog legs, came to stand beside me. He looked into the binoc lenses. After a short observation, Davis blurted out a long, string of curse words, and foul language that would impress the most profane creature of any species.

“The wormhole to get us BACK HOME is...ah, what’s the feckless Earth word...bread, rolls, yeast...” he stammered, clearly put off by the diagnostics.

“I believe ‘toast’ is the word you are looking for,” offered Brown, who knew every word and slang meaning in almost every language spoken on the planet.

“Yeah, toast! With big steaming piles of donkey crap on it!” grumbled Davis, who then explained the binoc scanner showed instability that could create problems, when we initialize or re-engage the wormhole in order for us to return to Rosen.

“Did YOU do this?” I glared up at Drax-Jones, who towered over me by at least two feet.

“It may have had something to do with the hasty programming of my subroutine,” replied the primate. “But I assure you that whatever happened was unintentional, because I don’t want to be stuck on this rock-melting planet any more than you do.”

“We don’t have time for this,” said Brown, stating the obvious, as any good communications officer would. “After two more full moons on this planet the wormhole will disengage permanently in this sector of the galaxy, because it’s timed with our mission parameters.”

Two full moons, my Rosenian ass...this better be wrapped up way before then!

The first update report to Rosen wasn’t scheduled for two more days, but I went ahead and used the binoc-communication link to send an emergency request to the mission supervisor, Qualdron, for tech assistance on repairing the wormhole. I also asked for confirmation of a last minute addition to my covert team. The message was sent successfully, so there was nothing more we could do there.

I turned my attention back to explaining our two-tailed companion to the prairie dog residents upon arrival in Suburbia. I was good at coming up with bullshit explanations, but this one had me stumped.

“We shouldn’t have any trouble getting them to trust us, but why should they trust a big, strange-looking monkey?”

Especially, when I didn’t trust him myself.

“Anyone have ideas on how to explain this guy?”

“How about you, Mr. Scientist, Drax-Jones?” I asked sarcastically. “Did Qualdron suggest a plan for your participation?”

“Just call me Jones,” said the primate cheerfully, without the slightest acknowledgment of my crankiness. “I don’t know who Qualdron is,” he continued, looking uncomfortable in a body laden with fur in a heat-choked atmosphere. “I was fetched by two officials, who said it was vital I be on this mission and report back to them as soon as I return.”

“You could just say that Jones is part of a scientific experiment we are working on,” suggested Doc.

“And when they ask questions, like ‘what kind of experiment’, do we shrug it off as a study on the advantages of having a forked tail?” I responded curtly, knowing everyone, including myself was getting irritable from the infernal, relentless heat.

“Let’s just say he’s our big, tall, ass-kicking protector and leave it at that,” suggested Moore, who was an excellent SO, even if he had little patience for diplomacy.

Hmmm...

“Actually, that’s not a half-bad idea, Moore,” I replied. “We have time to give it some thought on the way to Suburbia, so let’s get going.”

“Torie, we need the donkey back,” I said loudly, looking down at the binocs on the ground. Instantly they swirled up in a torrent that deposited our four-legged, flop-eared, taxi back at our service.

“We ride...you walk,” I glared at the monkey.

Normally, I wasn’t such a rude soul, but there was something that didn’t feel right about the presence of this unexpected simian. Actually, something didn’t feel right beyond the business of an unannounced monkey, but I couldn’t nail it down.

The distraction caused us to start our journey late, just as the brain-melting sun, was rising into a hazy, purplish sky. It felt like a malevolent presence that begrudged puny creatures surviving against all odds in its harsh and blazing domain.