Category: sci fi

The heads of state regarded the delegation from the alien ship.

Each of these creatures had four limbs and a part that corresponded to the human head, with organs of sight, hearing and c.

They were all in approximately the places one would expect to find them, if one were looking at humans.

The head of earth’s most populous nation whispered to his Caucasian neighbour, putting his head alongside the latter’s to do so. The difference between these two earthlings was stark. Much more marked, really, than the difference between themselves and the visitors from another planet.

“Why they look so much like humans?” said the head of populous nation. “Humanoid, possible, yes, yes? But they look like you, me, what difference? You not wondering if it practical joke?”

“Yes,” said his neighbour. “I mean, I agree the resemblance is uncanny, but no, it is not a prank. We would be able to tell. Their ship definitely came from outer space. From the direction of Sagittarius, which is where you would expect it to come from. Galactic centre and all that.”

The ETs were smiling blandly at everyone, nodding politely, as though eager to please.

“Do you come in peace?” said the head of earth’s most powerful nation, as though prompting them to conform to his conception of aliens, however corny.

“Sure, yes, what, did you expect us to come all this way to fight? Whatever gave you the idea?” said one of the aliens.

They had already uploaded their language and Google translate had no trouble with it. It had no sounds a human couldn’t reproduce.

There was silence, and the several heads of state stared glumly at the aliens. The thing had the reek of anticlimax.

Then the head of the most populous nation started.

He pointed excitedly at an alien. “Six digits. It having six digits!”

The alien held up its hand. It smiled. “Yup. I was born with one extra. They say it’s lucky, you know.”

There is a fat man. There are many millions of fat men, but this one is special. His belly prevents him from touching his toes. There are many millions of potbellies that do that, but this one is special. It is all that stands between the world and total confusion. The man, unknown to himself, is a globality reversal switch. Should his toes make contact with his fingers and complete the globality reversal loop…one shudders to think of it. No, we will let it remain a sinister, unspecified menace for now.

The world referred to, by the way, is not ours. It is a planet about three times the size of earth in the Andromeda galaxy. It is about 567 quintabillion buggle sticks away. A buggle stick is a savoury, crunchy in the beginning chewy later incredibly popular edible thing, sour-sweet and another unknown flavour, and the Glibillions of Glibillio measure distances in buggle stick lengths. We don’t know why they do that. They are aliens, we cannot fathom their reasoning.

The fat man was in his middle thirties. The last time he touched his toes was when he was 9 months old. At this point in his life, he could suck his big toe the way you or I can suck our thumbs, though I do not see why…that is another matter. Babies are bendy. As he grew older, his toes and his mouth grew apart and lost touch. He became a globality reversal switch at the age of 7, when he was an obese, slightly repulsive brat. He did not suspect anything, though he had indigestion and a slight headache. These were fairly frequent occurrences in his life, for he was a greedy person.

The Glibillions’ existence became fraught when the fat man fell in love, at age 35. It was the conventional opposites attract story. A very thin woman. She did not sneer at him. She did not notice him. She was his colleague at office, though not in his department. And not in his league, to get another triteness out of the way.

The fat man got it into his thick head that it was his bulk that rendered him invisible to her. He joined a gym. Two months passed, during which he used the facilities of the gym ten times. Twice a day, for the first five days after he joined. The personal trainer (it was a posh gym) warned him to go easy. But the fat man would not listen.

On the sixth day, when the alarm rang at 5.30 am, he shut it up, turned around (with some difficulty, for muscles, though deep under many layers of fat, ached) and went back to sleep. There was only so much one could do for love. However, a few weeks later, the pretty colleague wore a flaming red t-shirt to office. The fat man’s passion was reignited. He panted, which reminded him of his exertions at the gym. He returned.

The personal trainer nodded to him, without comment or expression. But the fat man ignored his unspoken disregard. He didn’t care. He got on with his struggle.

His labour began to bear fruit. He went from 36D to 28B. He didn’t wear bras, but he could have. A month, two months. The fat man grunted, panted, sweated. Ever so slowly, the paunch melted. So much so that, three months later, he was actually able to see his toes. It was as though a mountain had moved, revealing an unfamiliar, if uninspiring, vista on the far side. He bent experimentally. The end was in sight. The end of the glibillions, that is.

That evening, as he was pacing up and down his living room composing a love letter to his slim colleague (as he lost weight, he appeared to acquire a restless energy and a distaste for repose) the doorbell rang.

It was a courier. He had a package for the formerly fat man. A note that accompanied the package, which held about 5000 buggle weights (approximately 25 KGs) of buggle sticks, said that it was a present from a secret admirer.

The creature lifted the pan off the flat, eerily glowing surface. There was sizzling, spitting, slimy goo in the pan.

The woman, watching it on her visi-screen, screamed.

“Watch it!” she said.

The creature turned its anterior portion towards the camera.

“Why? Is it dangerous?” it asked.

“It’s sizzling,” the woman said tensely. “You’ll burn yourself!”

“Oh, that’s OK,” said the creature. “I’m wearing protection.” It held up a limb to show her. The woman took its word for it.

“I think your stove is too hot,” she said. “You’ve burned the upma.”

The creature touched the glowing surface.

“Shall I try it again with a lower setting?” it said.

“Yes,” said the woman, patiently. “Let’s start again. First, heat the oil. Don’t incinerate it! Then put in some mustard seeds…”

The creature held up a limb to stop her. It gingerly tasted the slowly cooling, slimy goo in the pan. It licked its anterior ingestion orifice with its taste sensor. “But this is pretty good! I say, do you think I’ve discovered a new recipe?” it said excitedly.

The woman clapped a hand to her forehead. “Ayyo Rama!”