Strange Tails

For the next half mile Squirrel gazed back at the forlorn scraping figure of Potbelly. Coralane watched too, hopping backwards, though only because it was less searing on her eyes.

With a quarter mile remaining, and when a large mound of the most beautiful topaz any creature in the universe had ever witnessed before belched up and hoved between them, Potbelly, finally, disappeared.

And then they came upon a shed.

Though, to call it a shed would do disservice to somewhat similar wooden boxes scattered across the now long-lost planet Earth—the types of wooden boxes typically reserved for worrying plants, cultivating bugs, and escaping spouses. This was more a crate. A crate large enough, though, to house one adult spider, one cup of herbal tea, one copy of Playspider, well thumbed, one half-eaten synthetic fruit bar, and one fully operational zombification machine—or to give it its proper name: the Uncognitron.

The Uncognitron was the size and shape of a lady’s clutch purse, primarily because it was one. When opened, the Uncognitron uncognated. When closed, it didn’t. The Uncognitron obtained its immense reach and power, for all the spider that guarded it knew, from some sort of arcane wizardry, or, maybe, from some sort of harnessing of the fabulousness of Sequin Mountain. Either way, he wasn’t the spider who needed to understand how it worked, he was just the spider who needed to make sure no one broke it.

On a side note, and unbeknownst to Squirrel and Stinkeye, Coralane had attempted to sabotage the Uncognitron previously, or at least selflessly asked Zoltan to do so, despite the incredible risk, by scratching around outside for some sign of the divineth cord. All they found was useless and annoying jewelry. The cord had been buried too deep, too obscurely, or maybe wasn’t even anything physical at all, despite the promised ankh. This, Coralane realized, was another reason why only one spider need guard it.

So she had an idea.

And this is where Stinkeye came in.

“You are my chosen one,” said Stinkeye, sounding as regal as he could. He was speaking to the guard, or to be more precise, cognitively transmitting his thoughts to a very surprised and now very confused arachnid.

Stinkeye fluttered closer courtesy of a small gap under the door. The guard wanted to plug that very same gap to stop a draft but really wasn’t that maintenance’s job it’s what they’re paid for and did he have to do everything around here because of those lazy buggers they never seem to … then Stinkeye spoke again.

He did so in the most seductive yet imperious voice he could manage. Its disembodied echo was like nothing the spider had ever heard before.

“Eh?” replied the spider.

“You are my chosen one,” repeated Stinkeye.

The spider leapt from its webbed hammock, bashing its head on the roof of the shed.

“Whoosat?” it said.

“I’m speaking from heaven. I’m your supreme Goddess.”

“But we only have one.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Oh, I see, you’re supreme and you’re the Goddess.”

“Correct. And I have chosen you.”

“Did I win the vacation competition?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Instead, chosen one, this is something far more important.”

“And you’re the Goddess?”

“Yes.”

“I am not worthy!”

“You may be right, but we’ll push on.”

“Divine inspiration!”

“Thank you.”

“She who knows all!”

“Appreciate that, cheers.”

“The light that repels all darkness!”

“Indeed … ”

“Bearer of all bounty! Queen of Queens!”

“Yup, I’m pretty neat. Shall we continue?”

“The omniscient one! The—“

“Are you going to carry on like this for much longer?”

“She who—“

“Ut!”

“But—“

“Ut! Do you not want to know why I chose you?”

“Sorry your amazingness.”

“That’s better.”

“How may I serve you?”

“You may close the Uncognitron.”

“Oh.” The spider looked down at the purse-sized electronic marvel, representing the one job he had to do without messing up. “But I’m not supposed to,” he added.

“Your Goddess wills it.”

“But—“

“Yes?”

“Well … you being all-powerful an’ all, well, why don’t you close it? Maybe on someone else’s shift. Like, say, in 30 minutes?”

“We do not have 30 minutes.”

The spider stared at the purse. He’d always wondered why they chose a purse. I mean, it’s pretty of course, goes without saying, the rhinestones are an especially nice touch, but shouldn’t this sort of thing have wires, flashing lights, maybe a knob or two? Something that went ping?

“You see,” explained the spider. “My uncle’s friend’s neighbor’s Carkball partner got me this job. I had such a problem finding something, you know, after the incident.”

“The incident?”

“Sorry, Goddess, I’d rather not say.”

“No, please, go no.”

“But it wasn’t my fault! I never saw them bongos, and I’d only just bought the umbrella, and how was I to know the kettle would be full of fish? And then all of this syrup just—”

“Enough! You are forgiven. Say three hail Goddesses and open the door.”

“Can’t. Not allowed.”

“Just a crack?”

“Well … ”

“Your Goddess will bestow upon you great riches, castles, and raiment.”

“What’s raiment?”

“You’ll love ’em, trust me.”

“Well … ”

By now Stinkeye was running out of options. Coralane had not spoken for fear of revealing their true intention. Squirrel had not spoken for fear of revealing his bewilderment.

Then the door opened a crack, just a little, and the very top part of a small googly cluster of eyes peered out, followed by a half cluster, then a bit more, until there was just enough space for Coralane to swoop down and peck the living daylights out of them.

“Ow! Gerroff! Ow!” yelled the guard, falling back against the rear wall and collapsing onto the hammock, which collapsed too. Coralane pecked on.

“That hurts! You’re not the Goddess!”

“You wanna bet?” squawked Coralane, between frenzied pecks. Squirrel leapt in, nipping at the creature’s legs, and stamping on whatever bits seemed softer than the rest of it.

“Stop it! Stop it!” the guard screamed, flailing blindly. To its relief, they did.

Coralane flew over to the Uncognitron. She took a fleeting moment to admire its simplicity, to marvel at the sheer economy of its space-time utilization, and to wonder why the heck they’d chosen rhinestones. She reached out a claw and yanked—but it didn’t budge. She tried again. She fell sideways before flapping upright.

“Squirrel!” she urged. “You have to do it. I don’t have the leverage.”

“Me?”

“Is there another Squirrel in the room?”

Squirrel blinked, unsure how to respond. Then his little chest swelled with pride. “Me?” he repeated, looking up at the device from the prostrate spider.

He hopped over.

“To think,” he said, coming to terms with his place in history. “Squirrel, rodent savior of the human race! Who would have thought it? Whatever would my dear old mom say? I tell ya, she’d be welling up with pride, she would, tears in her eyes she’d have, all this way I’ve come, she’d say, the things I’d seen—”

“But without the speech.”

“Sorry, but you gotta love the irony.”

He surveyed his challenge. As he did so the spider, recovering from its dazed shock, cried in protest. “You’ll kill them all!” it exclaimed, sobbing, and nursing its damaged face. “You’ll kill all the thingamabobs. You know, the lampstand things … and … sob … and all the other wotnots. They’re not like us but they do have feelings.”

“We’re freeing them,” said Squirrel.

“You’re freeing them from breathing more like! Turn off the Uncognitron and all their collars go boom. They’ll be thrown into release mode. The entire planet’ll be covered in brain mush.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ignore him!” said Coralane. “Do it!”

“Wait,” said Squirrel, pointing at the spider. “Are you telling the truth?”

“We never lie. Goddess says we mustn’t.”

“But—“

“Do it!” urged Coralane. “Kill th … free them all!”

Squirrel turned to her. “Were you about to say kill them all?”

“No. ”

“Sounded like it to me.”

“This is the only way.” Coralane slowed her speech pattern down to a soothing calm, to the point where even that ear-grinding squawk became almost, but not quite, muted. “It’s why we’re here. It’s the mission. And for your information, I was about to say kill the Uncognitron.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Definitely not plausible verb usage,” agreed the spider, still nursing its wounds.

“Just shut up and do it!” squawked Coralane, the calm slipping in and out of her voice like a breeze through fire. She lurched at the guard, pretending to peck. It covered its eyes. “Can’t you see, Squirrel? This spider is tricking you! It’s stalling for time!”

“Didn’t get the impression it was smart enough,” replied Stinkeye, finally chiming in having decided to give the whole fighting thing a miss.

“I’m really not,” whined the spider. “Though that’s a good idea. Anybody want some tea?”

Stuck in that moment of indecision, Squirrel paused. Then, in the resulting quiet, he heard a new sound echo through the open door—the unmistakable whitt, whitt, whitt of giant spiders running across fields of priceless gemstones. Then a soft, throbbing alarm joined in.

“This,” said Coralane, before taking in a very deep breath, her shrill voice eclipsing the nagging alarm. “Is our last chance. We are all that is left. Everything the human race deserves rests solely with you. Think of the power—this is our chance to be Gods.”

Squirrel glanced at the Uncognitron and then back to Coralane, then on to the exhausted Stinkeye, who was not easy to spot, and then over to the ailing guard. What did she mean, a chance to be Gods? He looked out the door. There was that whitt, whitt, whitt sound again. Only louder.

He could see them now, the approaching spiders, trailed by armed humans, only fifty yards away. He sighed and wondered, for the briefest moment, what would Potbelly do?

The first charging spider neared the doorway.

He closed the purse.