Strange Tails

“Thank you,” said Coralane.

She peered down from Mount Snodberry at the soft, perspiring, and to Squirrel who held it, disturbingly squidgy bag. “It is a shame I am unable to analyze it personally, but I look forward to reviewing the data later.”

Strutting to her left, Coralane reviewed Potbelly instead. “If this turns out to be as important as we believe, Potbelly, we owe you a debt.”

Despite herself, Potbelly wagged her stumpy little tail.

“And if it’s not,” chimed in Squirrel. “We owe you a nickel for the toilet paper.”

“So how are you going to get Tina’s data out of the … item?” asked Potbelly. “Wouldn’t it be a bit soggy by now?”

“We have everything we need to separate out the encoded DNA from your own.” Coralane nodded to the floor, where Potbelly’s straggles of fur lay. “We have control samples.”

“Danger, high moltage,” agreed Squirrel.

“Littlewiener!”

Coralane’s abrupt squawk ushered in an aged chimp. Its leering countenance gave Potbelly the impression it’d be quite happy to see, hear, and most likely speak evil too. Littlewiener gestured to Squirrel for the bag, who was relieved to hand over his perspiring payload, all the while making efforts to drop it rather than risk physical contact—Littlewiener’s hand resembled last week’s cooked bacon.

The sleeve of the chimp’s oversized lab coat fell back when he held up his prize to the light. “Oligonucleotide synthesis,” he said, still with that leer, but directing it now to the Ziploc.

“Thank you,” interrupted Coralane, suggesting that would be quite enough information for now.

“Not her own DNA, no, that’d be quite impossible,” continued Littlewiener, regardless. His halting voice confirmed his wizened years. “Must have been something she inserted, something with a eukaryotic make up—carbon based, no doubt.” He twirled Exhibit A to show off its magnificence. “Strong acids in her digestive system, so had to use her leg. Had to insert it through a small incision, no doubt.” He took a deep, wheezing breath before continuing. “Something the size of a small seed might encode petabytes of data. Should have kept it cold, dark, and dry, of course.”

Squirrel chipped in. “No problem—sounds just like Potbelly,” he said. Littlewiener hacked out a guffaw.

“That’s enough, Littlewiener, thank you,” insisted Coralane. The chimp bowed.

“Did she do all this on the spaceship?” asked Potbelly, before the chimp could leave. “Or maybe on an alien planet? Can a spider do that? Was she small enough to go unnoticed?”

Littlewiener raised two heavy eyebrows at her, bowed once more to Coralane, and then left.

Potbelly tried a different tack. “Tina was a hero, right?” she said to Coralane.

“The finest we had. Intelligent, resourceful, courageous. I’d shake every one of her limbs if she were here today.”

“Well, we still have the one,” said Squirrel. “Hopefully it’s in better shape than the Twinkie.”

“Agreed.”

Coralane followed her terse reply by issuing departure instructions to her simian ship, but before they could set sail, Potbelly waded in once more. “But what are you hoping to find?” she asked.

Snodberry paused. Coralane nodded her consent to remain.

“Tina had been undercover for several weeks. Deep undercover. We thought we had lost her until a brief communication, a few days ago, included coordinates for an extraction. We dispatched Gavin, but as you know, things did not work out. We believe Tina seized information relating to the last remaining humans.”

“Humans?” echoed Potbelly, excited.

“Again, with those two-legged freaks,” tutted Squirrel. “No offense,” he added, for the benefit of Snodberry. Snodberry shrugged.

“Are you saying there are humans still alive?” continued Potbelly.

“Oh I think so, yes. And as I said before, we must fulfill our destiny. And to do that we must fill in our missing pieces. We can only do that with the help of our creators, and now, thankfully, with the help of Tina.”

“Our missing pieces,” scoffed Squirrel, patting himself. “All my bits seem to be here. Look at Snodberry, he has more bits than he needs. No offense,” he added again, and again Snodberry shrugged.

Coralane replayed her impression of smiling without actually doing so. “Then you are truly blessed,” she said. “And indeed, some see no reason to seek the humans. I, however, would like to get under their skin … as it were.” Her voice trailed off. “Well, there are many things to do. Hopefully you will enjoy your stay with us.”

“Let’s just follow our gut,” agreed Squirrel, relieved the meeting was coming to an end. “Mine says it’s lunchtime.”

“Then maybe you will have some luck in our storeroom.”

With a now familiar glance to Snodberry, Coralane and her hirsute immensity revolved on a dime and exited the room, having first tapped at the same small security device as before. The door closed behind them quietly.

“Well that does seem to cover it,” said Squirrel. “Shall we be off?”

“There you are!” came a voice from the far side of the room. Michel rolled in on a skateboard, two clumpy legs paddling to the left side.

“Nice wheels,” mocked Squirrel.

“Thank you,” replied Michel, ignoring his tone. “I like it, despite the door frame collisions, the floor grates, and the continual stopping for bipeds.”

“Bipeds—they’re the ones that like both men and women’s feet, right?”

“ … who,” continued Michel, still ignoring him, “despite my constant warnings and notes to the contrary, continue to take no notice.”

“Maybe they’re not bifocal. That’s people who like both men and women’s—“

“Quit it, Squirrel.”

Squirrel mimed zipping his mouth.

“Did I miss anything?” Michel nodded to the door.

“Just some more hippy hooey from the parrot,” said Squirrel, after miming an unzip. “Potbelly and I were about to leave.”

“You might be,” declared Potbelly, “but I’m going nowhere.” Her matter-of-fact tone conveyed that it was, indeed, a matter of fact. “Like some others here, I, too, need to find myself.”

“Great,” declared Squirrel. “It’s like a disease. Fortunately you were only briefly exposed. Find a mirror, find yourself in it, and then we’ll be on our way.”

“It’s the most important debt one owes oneself,” agreed Michel, finally rolling to a bump against a chair leg. “The debt of finding who one truly is.”

“Thank you Bertrand Rus-shell, but she can do without your encouragement.”

“Russell was more a logician,” corrected Michel. “I consider Potbelly and I as being more like Lao Tzu. Philosophers of the spirit.

“That’s me,” said Potbelly, brightening. “A Lao Tzu Shih Tzu.”

“Oh so it’s Potbelly and I now is it. Forming a singing duo are we?”

“Are you jealous?”

“Jealous? Confused maybe. How would it even work? Though I did hear Snow White hung out with the seven dwarves so she could feel happy inside.”

“Now you’re just being gross,” sniffed Potbelly.

“Love conquers all. You will learn this at the Silence,” added Michel.

“Actually it’s a nuclear warhead that conquers all. Or maybe a good solid club. Love, on the other hand, couldn’t fight its way out of a paper bag.”

“Is this a Squirrelism? The philosophy of the brute?”

“Better a brute than a Brutus, backstabber.”

“Words are my only weapons.”

“Then you, sunshine, are in for a pasting.”

“Stop it!” shouted Potbelly. “As flattering is it is to have a chubby rodent and an aged reptile fighting over me, you pair are giving me a headache.”

She flopped down onto her haunches before continuing.

“Does it not occur to you, Squirrel, that in any sane world you would not know the stuff you know? You’re a tree-dwelling, nut-guzzling, not-especially-evolved mammal, yet here you are with a knowledge of twentieth century human philosophers and a taste for off-color jokes. What about Michel here, apparently a member of the Lau Tzu fan club? Don’t you think this needs some examination? Maybe worth looking into a little?”

She took a deep breath, turning to Michel. “By the way, dear, I think Laozi is the preferred pronunciation.” She shook her head. “See! How do I even know that? Why would I know that? What possible need does a dog have for Taoism?”

“Who cares?” countered Squirrel. “Why bother knowing anything about anything—we breathe, we eat, we poop, that’s it. OK, pooping, not such a good example in your case Potbelly, but knowledge … pfft! As useful as a football to a fish.“

“Actually, there is an underwater games room in B block.“

“So help me Michel, if you tell me about soccer-loving salmon I will strike you down.”

“Talk to the shell, dude,” replied Michel, attempting a middle finger.

“I swear, I’ll—“

“Squirrel! Quit it! We have enough enemies with the space aliens without fighting amongst ourselves.”

“Who says they’re our enemies? What have they ever done to us? It’s the humans they wanted. Who knows why, and frankly who cares. Who cares other than crusty-bonce here and that feathered loon Coralane.”

“Actually a loon is an aquatic bird, like Stimsky in block D. Coralane is a parrot.”

“One more peep out of you and you’re soup buddy.”

“If you’re referring to turtle soup, it was actually made from terrapin, and certainly not—”

Squirrel was on him in a leap. He took barely a swipe before Michel rocked backwards and forwards, head and legs fully retracted.

“Come out here and face me you hovel dwelling nettle muncher. I’ll ten pin bowl you into next week.”

Another moment later and Squirrel found himself dangling by the scruff of his neck from Potbelly’s mouth. She transported him to a waste paper basket and unceremoniously dumped him inside. After trotting back to Michel she sat down next to him to admire her handiwork.

Squirrel coughed, and dusted off whatever it was he had landed in. “No fair fight,” he grumbled.

Potbelly said nothing, beating her stubby tail.

“We’re still friends though, right?”

“You know what, that remains to be seen. Friends support each other, Squirrel. Every day I’ve known you, I’ve literally supported you, here, on my back. And now this, this bullying. This isn’t how friends behave.”

“He started it.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving. Coming Michel?”

Michel thrust out his extremities, a skydiver leaping from a plane, and clambered as quickly as he could back onto his skateboard, which took about two minutes. After waiting patiently Potbelly faced the door, offered him her stumpy little tail, which he took gently in his beak, and together they departed the room in the world’s smallest ever caravan train. A dark, beady-eyed crow, who had just entered the room at that moment, allowed them to pass.

Squirrel watched them trundle away, convinced, just for a moment, Michel winked at him. The crow seemed to stare at Squirrel, deep into his soul, and he didn’t like what it found there.

“And you can get lost too,” he said.