Bert felt jealous, cheated on, and blue. Then he discovered he could morph into a giant nightmarish slug...
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On Wednesdays and Sundays I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ novellas. You can check in regularly and read them bit for bit, or leave a message in my 'contact' page, and I'll send the entire digital story to you for free when published.
Life in the Clouds #6: Take a Slug ® James Field.
Sci fi series: Evil Portent
If you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.
#4: Evil Portent ® James Field.
Previously from posts 13 - 16…
Irritation flared in Bert. Rather than do or say something he might regret, he crawled out of the Elder’s hut on hands and knees. He wanted to go home to Olive, to his Chums the Alsatians, and his horse, Big Foot.
The doodad that opened the tunnel between their planets was in the Elder’s hut. In his younger days, Bert had been thief, good at it too. Someway or another, as sure as his name was Bert, he’d snitch the doodad and transport himself back to Earth. As soon as he re-entered number three Flintstone Terrace, all he needed to do was turn the doodad off. End of problem.
The alien woman who'd kidnapped him waited outside. “Don’t be angry,” she said. “Stay here while the Elder dishes out my punishment. Then I’ll take you to my cottage.”
Two minutes later, she was out again, her face ashen. “Come.”
“What’s the punishment?”
“Food rationing for three days. Half measure.”
“That ain’t so bad. You can have my share.”
They trekked through the village of well-spaced bamboo huts and arrived at another stone-built house, not as large or austere as the Elder’s, but inviting and cosy. It also had a proper, solid door. Inside, a small man greeted the woman with a big hug, and tears flowed easily. Bert crouched, but could still feel the ceiling scrub his bald head.
“This is the father of my children,” said the alien woman.
“Welcome,” said the alien father. “Are you hungry?”
Unlike the Elder, he appeared unafraid of Bert. For an Ewepitarian he was tall, almost reaching Bert’s belly button. The horny nodes on his forehead were more prominent than the woman’s, and his features hinted at a strong character. There were no chairs big enough for Bert, so he sat cross-legged on the floor, his head on a level with the alien father’s head. “Depends what you 're offering,” he said.
“Bamboo porridge. There is nothing else.”
“Then I ain’t hungry.”
“Sit!” said the alien father.
"I am sitting."
The alien father stared down at the floor, hands clasped. “You are here through no fault of your own.” He reached out to touch Bert, then pulled back as if not worthy, or perhaps nervous. “I owe you an explanation.”
“Too blinking right you do.”
“Many hundreds of years ago, our people dominated Ewepiter in their billions. They drove almost all other species to extinction. Food was short, pollution was high, and our world was dying. We needed to find a new planet to live on, so we built the...” he scratched his head, concentrating, then shrugged, “the doodads.”
“The gadget that makes the tunnel between planets?”
“Yes. When we activate a tunnel, we have no control over where the other end opens. When we pass through, we anchor the other end by placing a doodad there too. Unfortunately, our first and only attempt opened on the Guardian’s planet. They invaded us, confiscated our technology, and farmed us for the meat of our bodies.”
“Why did you come to my planet then?”
“On all Ewepiter, we have just two doodads left. We’ve kept them hidden all these years and never used them. When the Guardians came to our village to round up the young, I ordered the mother of my children to gather all the infants in our village and take them through the tunnel to safety. If lucky, she might have found a planet where we could all escape. Alas, this time also, it opened on a useless, hazardous world, and now you are here and can never return.”
“We closed the tunnel and hid the doodad again.”
“What about the one that's left behind on my world, in number-three Flintstones Terrace?”
“We know where it is, so it ain't lost. What about if you turned the doodad on again at this end?”
“The tunnel would open, but you will never find it and use it, and neither must the Guardians. The next time it opens, the Guardians will find it easily and invade your world, and the fate of the Berts will be the same as Ewepitarians." He spread his dinky legs, rested his hands on his hips, and gave Bert a harsh squint. "The destiny of your planet is in your hands.”
Cogs swirled in Bert’s brain. “What about if you smash the Guardian’s doodad? The one that opens to their world?”
“That is why we call them Guardians. They guard the doodad in the citadel on the hill. Nobody dares go there.”
“I tried to organise a surveillance group once, but everyone said I was mad.”
“So you just let them piss all over you?”
“What else can we do?”
The alien father visibly shook in his boots.
“Why not let me go home and come back with a pile of weapons?" He drew his knife, the eight-inch blade flashing in the light. "I only use this as a toothpick. With a few bazookas we’ll soon stop those pesky Guardians. Then we can all live happily ever after.”
“I’d give anything to be as big and strong as you, Bert. Then I wouldn’t be so frightened of them.”
“Does that mean you’ll let me fetch some dynamite and stuff?”
“How can I trust you’ll return?”
That was a good question. But he would because it was the right deed to do. If it came to fight, he’d die for his buddies, even new buddies like these kindly little people who ate nothing but repulsive grunge. He had his moral values, too. He’d never allow bullies to lay a finger on children or animals, and he wouldn’t let space invaders continue to ravish this fine world for all the money in China. “If I didn’t come back to help you, I’d never forgive myself.”
“No, forget it. It can never be. Our people are not warriors. In our millions of years of evolution, there has never been a war.”
“You were brave enough to go against the Elder’s rules and open a new tunnel to my planet.”
“Yes, and look what trouble I’ve caused. The Guardians are keeping an extra eye on us when all we want is inconspicuous peace.”
“Don’t look so glum, you saved the lives of all your children.”
“No, I didn’t. The guardians will come again, and when they see you, they’ll punish us. Oh, woe is me.”
Just then, a hammering of fists erupted on his door, and the poor man almost fainted.
“Open up,” they heard voices cry.
The alien father uttered a soft curse and tutted. “I feared the Guardians were here, but it’s simply the villagers.”
Bert’s stomach growled, he noticed a headache coming on, and if he didn’t eat something soon he was certain his strength would bleed away. The crowd’s urgent mumbling outside and the loud thudding on the door drove him crazy. “Can’t you see what they want?”
“They sound panicky,” said the alien father.
“Well, at least they ain’t hungry, so I don’t what else they’ve got to fret about. Are you going to tell them to go away, or shall I?”
The alien father squeezed past Bert, rushed to the door, and tore it open. “What is it?” he asked, a quiver in his voice.
Bert peered over his head and narrow shoulders and saw the whole yard swarmed with little people. As far as he could see, the entire village had gathered. The Elder headed the group, his fist still raised and ready to bash against the door. “The Guardians are coming in their hundreds,” he said, and his knees rattled in his baggy shorts. He pointed to the citadel on the mountain. “They’re firing cannons and hurling death rays in every direction.”
In this post: Bert sees a storm coming…
The alien father stopped to listen, then darted out to see for himself. Bert pressed his shoulders through the opening, stretched his back, and let out a groan of relief. The villagers must have seen him as an overgrown gorilla because they yelped and scuttled to a prudent distance.
Even on Earth, Bert had the same effect on people, so he ignored their reaction and peered across to the distant hill with its citadel. In that direction, the heavens had turned black with the bruise of thick angry clouds. The darkening sky rumbled like Bert’s empty stomach and jagged silver flashes jabbed at the coming night. A cool breeze caressed his bare arms and a lone drop of rain kissed his bald head. “It’s only a storm.”
Bert could see his new friend was uncertain.
“It could be thunder and lightning,” said the alien father, “but it could also be a new offensive by the Guardians. In times like this, when we’ve opened another port, who can tell?”
“We take no chances,” said the elder. “With its underground shelter, this is the safest building in the village. So we better take refuge here.”
Like a bunch of frightened mice, the villagers surged to the alien father’s house. The alien father stood in the entrance, arms stretched, blocking them out. “Not so fast,” he said.
To be continued…
The real world:
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Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
Image by mohamed Hassan from Pixabay
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The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman
My rating: 2 of 5 stars
There’s a lot to like and a lot to dislike in this story. I like that it’s cosy, funny, and heart-warming. The plot, however, is a tragedy. There are two murders, and every character in the book, of which there are many, has a motif. With so many twists, turns, and red herrings throughout the narrative, it lost me in a virtual maze.
But the author commits the gravest crime: he introduces a new, guilty character right at the end of the story. Tut, tut, naughty.
View all my reviews