Strange Tails

Or at least, Squirrel thought he closed the purse.

It was definitely the motion he made. He felt the soft velvety sides as he pushed them together. His eyes witnessed a perfectly clear image of the purse lips meeting. He experienced the smooth texture of the letter-sized, prettily-rhinestoned device against his wiry, dexterous little digits.

And yet, he didn’t.

Instead, there was the purse, still open.

Instead there was a voice.

“Bloody typical,” it said.

The voice did not so much speak as replace the air with itself. The closest thing Squirrel could compare it to, if his lips could move that is, but they couldn’t, was that it was like Stinkeye’s, unplaceable in origin, but unlike Stinkeye’s this voice came from everywhere rather than from no place at all. Also, unlike Stinkeye’s, it made everybody in the room freeze rigid.

Coralane remained static in midair, leaping with joy at Squirrel’s decision to switch off the Uncognitron. The spider at the door had its mouth open yelling—presumably, no!—while the other spiders, in mid-lunge, remained that way too. As did the humans accompanying them. Through Squirrel’s peripheral vision he could even see one of the spiders carrying Potbelly, in mid-struggle, staring at him, unblinking.

“Absolutely bloody typical,” repeated the voice. It was young and female. “Stupid, stupid, stupid spiders! You mess everything up! Always! It’s just not fair!”

Somehow Squirrel was breathing without moving, or at least, oxygen didn’t seem important to him right now. His lungs had other things to do, like be scared witless along with the rest of him. He was, in every sense, petrified. Especially when the shed dematerialized into nothing and Sequin Mountain dimmed to the brightness of a forty-watt bulb.

“Always, always, mess it up!” continued the voice, as much to itself as to anyone else. Squirrel ached to look up, and could just about make something out. It was definitely a girl, and specifically, a young female squirrel.

He wasn’t to know this, but what everyone else saw—assuming they could see anything at all—and depending on their personal bias, was: a spider, a moth, a parrot, a human, and to one of them, grateful her ribs were no longer aching, a cute, stubby-tailed little puppy. Whatever they saw, though, they could all agree it was not having a good day.

“Look what I did for you! Everything so sweet and sparkly and pretty! Look how you turned out! Just … eww! Gross! Oh but not him, oooh no! Earthquakes and dinosaurs and bacteria and look what he gets – cute little mop-headed things! It’s just not fair! And you can’t even follow simple instructions! And now he’s going to find out!”

Clumping feet, indeterminate in quantity, vibrated through every atom of every part of Squirrel’s brain. Again, it was not so much a sound, but a new way of being frightened by the universe.

“Shit! Shit!” said the voice.

“’Wotya up to?” came a new voice.

“Nothing.”

“Wossat?”

“My project.”

“Ha! Looks lame. What are those hairy things with the legs?”

“Spiders. I call them spiders.”

“What are those weird signpost-looking things? The ones with the arms. ’N the odd little furry things. Did you make those?”

“No. They’re yours.”

“Mine? What are they doing in there?”

“Not telling.”

“What happened to my dinosaurs?”

“Don’t blame me! You always blame me! It’s your fault! You get bored and then you leave! Well … they’re dead.”

“Oh, man, I was going to win with those! Let me take a look. Hey, you’re right, where’d they all go? Even the really big ones. They were the best ones, took ages to grow. Wait a minute … why you acting so shifty? Did you kill them? You did! You killed them didn’t you!”

“Didn’t!”

“Did!”

“Didn’t!”

“Did!”

“Alright, maybe a little. But it’s not fair! My planet is way prettier than yours and all I get are those stupid-looking spider things. Every time! It’s like five times I’ve extincted them and still they keep coming back. Then guess what, your stupid dinosaurs go away, and what happens? You get these cute little pogo stick things. It’s just not fair!”

“What happened to all my dinosaurs?”

“I threw a rock at them.”

“A rock?”

“It was only a little one. Stupid things.”

“They were awesome! I hate you!”

“Oh you hate me? Your big nasty things go away and then what happens? Your bloody, bloody, lampstand beansprout things, what do they do? Invent poetry and music and art and literature and … and what do mine do? All day braiding their stupid wiry hair!” The voice turned cold. “Sous, I cannot get another C. They’ll flunk me if I get another C.”

“Who cares? School’s for losers. I want my lizards back. Maybe I can rewind time—”

“Sous! Veeshnew! What are you two doing in there?”

“Nothing mom.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“What’s going on dear?”

“Those two at it again. Arguing. Veeshnew, have you been at your diorama? I warned you about the mess those civilizations make. You never clear up afterwards.”

“But it’s for school mom.”

“I don’t care. Why don’t you make a nice binary black hole or something?”

There was a sigh.

“Black holes are boring mom.”

“Well I think they should make a comeback. I used to do quite well with mine.”

“Your mother made a very nice singularity, as I recall.” The same voice continued in a whisper. “Though we do need to keep up with the times, dear.”

“Fine. They’re your kids, you speak to them.”

There was a clearing of a throat. It seemed to rearrange Squirrel at the sub-atomic level.

“I, uh, I like the blue-green planet,” said the paternal voice. “The, uh, the white blob near the bottom’s a nice touch. And the yellow blob next to it.”

“Australia, dad.”

“Right. Nice name, son. You have an eye for these things, I can tell. And Veeshnew, I, uh … what are those hairy things with all the legs?”

“See!”

“I mean they’re … interesting. The shiny mountain’s nice. Sweetie, what your mom’s trying to say is, well, why not just stick with the topography? It would look lovely in the bathroom. But all this inception of life, fiddling with the genesis of being, it’ll hurt your eyes. In our day you just went outside a bit more. Mixed up some dense concentrations of interstellar gases in the garden. Where it makes less mess.”

“Dad!”

“Come, it’s cruel to evolve sentient beings, however rudimentary. They have feelings, you know … possibly.”

There was a pause, and then the breathy sound of a group leaning in closer.

“I don’t think so,” said Veeshnew.

“Who cares about subjective will?” cried Sous. “I want my dinosaurs back!”

“Will you shut up about your bloody dinosaurs? I hate you!”

“OK, that’s it. We’re done here,” shouted the mother. “I’m vaporizing everything and you are just going to have to make a pretty little nebula and hope that’s enough.”

“No! I can’t! They’ll flunk me! They flunked Tethys! She’s working all summer to catch up!”

“Then that’s just what you’ll have to do, too.”

“Mom!”

“Listen dear, let’s see what we can salvage. If Veeshnew is willing to mop up her primordial soup—“

“It’s not soup! They have interplanetary space travel—look!”

“Did you give them that?”

“No.”

“Veeshnew?”

“Well, maybe a little. They were getting there. They have VCRs.”

“Hmm.”

The breathing drew closer still.

“You say they can think?”

“Of a fashion. I mean, they don’t actually do anything with it, but you can see them trying.”

“Mine made poetry,” declared Sous, proudly.

“Well, we won’t hold that against them. Anything else?”

“Maybe we should ask them?”

“Really!” said the mother. “This has gone quite far enough.”

“Now, dear, do we really want to be transmitting Veeshnew to school throughout the summer? Our vacation, remember?”

“Well … ”

“Anyway, this could be interesting. Takes me back to my old science days. Cooked up a few spiral galaxies with the frat boys back then.”

“Dad, you’re such a nerd.”

“So, how does one communicate with them? Molecular cortex realignment?”

“No, I just take corporeal form and verbalize. Last time I appeared as a spider, seemed easiest. Take your pick, really. Oh, and speak very, very slowly. Be patient while they try to form words.”

“OK, here goes.”

Above the shed, or at least where it used to be, Sequin Mountain dimmed further as a three-hundred-foot Potbelly appeared.

“Good evening everyone!” it boomed.

Silence.

“I said, good evening everyone!”

Another pause, and then an aside. “You’re right, it does take them rather a long time. Should we make cocoa?”

“They’re still frozen dad. Hang on. They were about to destroy each other in a planet-wide bloodbath.”

“How delightful,” said mother, drily.

Squirrel’s hands blurred back into motion, but in the opposite direction to how he willed them. As far as he could tell, in that moment, he was being rewound. He could feel his heart beat backwards, his blood reverse direction, exhaling when he wanted to inhale. Then he stopped. Then he started again, this time in the proper direction, the one he usually preferred.

His hands pushed the purse-sized Uncognitron almost to a close before, just in time, he stuck in his thumbs. A gasp of relief rang around the former shed, except from Coralane, who found herself clamped under one leg of the spider-guard she had tormented previously. It stared down at her with a vengeful menace. The alarm bell rang again. The rescuers at the doorway—which, curiously, still remained—fell into a heap. Potbelly rolled into the room.

“Kill that, would you?”

The pile of rescuers vaporized into nothing.

“No, dear, the bell.”

“Oh.”

It stopped ringing. Every remaining creature went back to being frozen—this time out of awe, blind panic, and fear.

“Right!” bellowed the building-sized Potbelly, with its ten feet tall, salivating teeth. “You there! Good evening!”

Suddenly not a single member of its audience could stop screaming in terror.

“Not a friendly bunch, are they?”

“I get that too. Try a little smaller.”

A moment later there were two Potbellys: the original one, still wheezing in pain, and the new one, floating in mid-air and glowing a spooky orange. “I understand you are able to think,” said the new one.

The screaming subsided to a low, steady whimper.

“I said, everyone, my daughter tells me you have a brain. That you can reason.”

“Yes,” managed Potbelly, her aching ribs giving her focus, like biting down on a splintered stick while a drunk surgeon saws off your leg. “Though … only a few of us … find occasion to use it.”

“Indeed, so I heard. Can be overrated, of course. So spokes … er, spokes-thing, we were wondering if, and don’t rush this, big decision, but we wondered … would you prefer to remain alive, i.e. in corporeal existence? Or would you rather we just de-atomize you into nothingness? You know, stop all this messing about?”

“Well,” replied Potbelly, hoping to look like she was giving it due consideration. “I can’t vouch for everyone, of course, but I think the general consensus would be to remain alive.”

Despite their genus-specific sounds of alarm each creature seemed to generally agree with Potbelly’s verdict, while also being contented, at least implicitly, for her to remain the spokes-thing for now.

“Do you indeed. And you believe that would be the popular choice?”

Potbelly nodded enthusiastically, or as enthusiastically as her ribs would allow.

Out of the blue, and to her left, a great wail of pain and squawking let out. Coralane’s spider captor hopped from the flapping bird, its leg bleeding furiously, while Coralane flew the short distance from the now-absent floor to the top of the curiously-still-remaining door frame, clinging to it with her reddened claws.

“Oh Goddess! Oh great Veeshnew!” squawked Coralane. “It is me! It is Coralane! It is I who brought on this Armageddon. It is I who summoned you!”

Silence, followed in turn by a confused murmur.

“It is I who would stop the Uncognitron,” continued Coralane. “Oh Veeshnew, it is I who shares your pain. You are right, Veeshnew. Only the brilliant, only the beautiful deserve to live. I understand all from your bible—everything! Make me your chosen one. Let me rule these worlds! For both of us! I can bring you your beauty!”

“Eeesh,” said the father. “Does it have to sound like that?”

“That’s Sous’s,” said Veeshnew. “Nothing I make looks that pretty.”

“Yes! Oh Gods! Look at my plumage! Look at my dazzling colors! See the genius in my mind. A planet of the parrots! Think of it!”

“That noise reminds me of my pterodactyls,” noted Sous.

“It is rather nice looking,” said the mother. “But all I hear, sweetie, is that same racket you make when you scrape back your chair. Is it actually saying anything?”

“Please! Listen!” screeched Coralane, her voice urgent and loud. “These others, they are not worthy, it is only I who—cough—I who—cough—cough—gaaahhh!”

“Oh good shot little furry thing.”

Coralane fell in a heap, her eyes bulging, retching. On the plinth, Squirrel watched her, nonchalantly, while tossing a rhinestone he’d plucked from the Uncognitron. It was the second he’d plucked. The first lay lodged in Coralane’s throat.

“Well, that’s a relief. So, where were we? Ah yes, mass extinction. For or against?”

“Against! Against!” the group called. “We’re thinking and self-aware,” shouted Stinkeye. “Well, not so much self-aware. But we think. And what about morality? What about kindness to all living things?”

“Hmm. Veeshnew, did your teacher say anything about morality and kindness?”

“Mrs. Hecate? She didn’t mention it.”

“Vaporization would seem the easiest course, but on the other hand, one does get a sense they’re at least somewhat keen to stay alive. Is there anything else you wish to add, um, things?”

“I demand one last Twinkie!” shouted Squirrel, deciding to pipe up before anyone else could complain or Coralane could gag up her rhinestone.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, I want to eat one last Twinkie.”

“And a Twinkie is?”

“A candy bar. You’ll love it. It’s the food of the Gods.”

“I thought that was ambrosia?”

“Milk pudding? Are you kidding me? You gotta try a Twinkie.”

There was a sigh and a general shaking of the ground. “Do we have any of these Twinkies?” said a low, curious voice.

“They have them on my planet,” said Sous, amidst a further rummaging and shaking. “Here.”

“They look perfectly awful.”

A soft munching sound.

“Actually … you know … they’re really rather good. And you invented these, Sous?”

“Not me. The beanpole things with the hairy tops. After they replaced my dinosaurs.”

“Hey!” shouted Squirrel. “Don’t I get one?”

“He is rather cheeky, isn’t he? Maybe we should just keep that sort of wotnot, the small furry things with tails.”

“It wouldn’t be much of an ecosystem, dad.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Ugh, this is so typical,” whined Veeshnew, munching too. “A whole planet full of candy and not one of these idiots comes up with a Twinkie.”

“You know, maybe we do need to think about this. We could keep the cheeky furry things, and the ones who make the Twinkies. What do you think, Sous?”

“Could work. What about the fat things with stubby little legs, and the screechy thing with the funny-colored eyes?”

“The fat thing I could understand, appealing in a ghastly sort of way, but the other one? Far too pushy. And that voice. It needs work.”

Driven by sheer exasperation, Coralane dislodged her rhinestone and heaved in a great lungful of air.

“Veeshnew! Listen to me, I—“

“I have no idea what it’s saying.”

“Please!”

“Does it have an off button?”

“An off button! An off button!” shrieked Coralane, the force of which sent her staggering. “An off button! Me!” Even the orange floating Potbelly shifted back a bit. “And you believe you’re Gods!”

“Well, if the cap fits.”

“To think! I came here to sacrifice the humans! Sacrifice them for you! An offering! And this is how you treat me? You want these idiotic bipeds? Do you? Because of some stupid candy bar! Well I’ll kill them all! Kill them all I say! Do you hear me?”

She leapt and swooped for the Uncognitron, clamping her strong beak around its two ornate clasps, still barely ajar from Squirrel’s earlier efforts, her eyes flashing redder than he had ever seen them before, a strangled squawk of menace in her throat, biting down hard—

And then suddenly, she wasn’t there.

“Yep, really not keen on that one,” said orange Potbelly, floating where Coralane once stood. “Don’t make any more of those, son.”

“Where’d she go?” gasped Squirrel, staring at the purse-like object, whose edges were now a millimeter apart. They crackled like a spark plug, electricity leaping from anode to cathode.

“It’s starting!” yelled the half-blind spider-guard. “Quick! Open it back up!”

Squirrel teased a claw into the crackling gap of the Uncognitron, slowly prying its lips apart. Blue sparks flew from clasp to clasp, angry and spectacular, first rising and then calming under Squirrel’s intervention. At last, and after great care, a soft contented hum returned. Exactly one octave higher every creature present breathed a long, slow exhalation of relief.

Except one.

“What is this odd thing they keep making such a fuss over?” inquired the orange-glowing facsimile of Potbelly, clasping the Uncognitron it in its jaws for closer inspection.

Click.

Crackle.

“Oops.”