Episode 1: In Which We Meet Tinker and His Confusing Residence
A Curious Incident of Aliens and Petticoats
By
Mary E Jung
Chapter 1
In Which We Meet Tinker and His Confusing Residence
The houses in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania were conveniently numbered in a nonsensical way. Even in the great year of 1851, where innovation and industrial revolution transformed society, the puzzle of the city's numerical system remained. One house might be 31 ¾ Walnut Street, while another was 42 ½ Seventh Street. This made it perfect to hide a spaceship disguised as a townhouse in the middle of primitive and unsuspecting humans. If a small residence was squeezed in between two other nondescript buildings, no one would notice the peculiarity. At least they hadn't taken notice since April 4th, 1851, at approximately 12:53 am, which was exactly forty-one days ago.
So it was that at 13 ¼ Filbert Street, a man, who was not quite a man, had manipulated space with his mysterious technology and inserted his transport as a perfectly normal Philadelphian home. This man, who decided through his random generator on his space
ship that he was to be called Tinker.
His real name was much too complicated to pronounce in any human tongue, according to his ship's database, and therefore a new moniker was needed while he remained incognito. Much like his ship, his appearance was also glamoured. Only slightly, since humans shared similar characteristics to his homeland people. It was rather convenient, since changing his entire physiological being would have been impossible. A conundrum he was still trying to parse, since his travel companion was a snarky Tuskcorus who didn't look human in any way and couldn't possibly be allowed outside unless under extreme disguise. In an effort to blend in, his companion was given the position of butler, and somehow this suited the Tuskcorus quite well.
Outwardly, the house appeared as brick with cherry red trim around the patterned bands and bay windows. On the inside, it was altogether alien and not of the Earth. It should have resembled a tea room, kitchen, or even a small parlor, but for some reason the system refused to adapt to the environment. Perhaps Earth was so primitive the matrix stubbornly clung to its advancement out of pride, but Tinker held to the opinion that she just didn't like being stuck.
Forty-one days, and the ship was lodged without hope of launching due to the type of sun the Earth orbited. There wasn't enough energy to soak up and the engines were taking an incredibly long while to recharge. It might be another six months before she was able to leave Earth. In the meantime, Tinker adapted to the city and tried his best to appease his cranky ship and his dear friend, Babblelabblelopakise. Babble for short.
"Sir! That scoundrel with the white liquid is on our porch again. Permission to vaporize him with the cannon?"
Tinker had his head stuffed in the mainframe of the ship, which he called the Space Propulsion, Apparatus, and Manipulator, or SPAM for short. His muffled remark was accompanied by the clattering of mechanical parts as he attempted to reconfigure the data-collecting drive that would allow him to observe and learn about Earth and its inhabitants. It had been damaged last week, when Tinker asked the computer to explain the word 'cheese'. The concept was so foreign that the system malfunctioned and had been acting wonky ever since.
"No! We don't vaporize the milkman. He is bringing us liquid protein from a female cow to ensure we have sustenance. It would be bad form to scatter his atoms into the atmosphere for doing his job."
Babble scratched his round bald head and cheered, "Right! I'll simply ask him if he finds his job a glorious endeavor in the grand fight for human nourishment. Do you think a wave would be appropriate? I can never remember the silly human customs of greeting."
Tinker tossed a spiral over his head. "I think a wave would do quite nicely. Make sure to extend your arm over your head and flap it back and forth with as much vigor as possible. I hear humans enjoy this motion. It releases endorphins in their brain."
Babble opened the door and stuck out his brown head. "Thank you for your continued service of fighting the mighty cow and delivering its white liquid to our doorstep. See you on the morrow, Good Sir!"
Stretching both hands above his head, he waved them with as much enthusiasm as a Tuskcorus could muster, which was extreme to begin with. The milkman gobbled for a few minutes, grew white in the face like his milk, and dashed away with a strange sort of keening sound.
Babble shrugged and collected the milk. He shut the door and held the glass bottle up with uncertainty. "I still do not know what we are supposed to do with this. It tastes abominable. Maybe we could feed it to the plants? They are looking droopy."
Tinker straightened from his examination and scratched his head. "If I could get the data collector running again we could look up Earth recipes. Stick it in the icebox with the rest of the bottles and we'll deal with it when the computer is fixed."
"Right, Oh! Do you think they could deliver insects instead? I haven't had a good larva salad in a month."
"I think we are going to have to interview for an assistant, Babble. We need native advice."
Babble didn't like the idea, and his face showed his opinion on the matter. "What if the human makes things worse?"
"We'll simply have to find an intelligent one."
"And how are we to explain this place or me?"
Tinker scratched his head again. "We'll have to interview them to be sure their minds can handle it. I'm sure there must be at least one human in this city we can employ. When the computer is fixed, we'll wipe their mind and they will have no memory of their time here."
"Do you think they can prepare larva salad?"
"I should think so, it isn't that hard to make."
Babble gave a consenting nod. "Then I'll scour the city!"
"Excellent," Tinker agreed, "Leave no stone unturned."
"Do they live under rocks?" The inquiry was made with such astonishment that it doubled the natural wrinkles across Babble's forehead.
Tinker tapped the screen on his console and squinted at the frozen image. "According to the computer, before it crashed, some do."
Babble recovered from his incredulity and put on his best strategy face. "I'll upturn every rock as well! Perhaps some tasty bugs will be living with the humans. I've been living off of that weird wheat product. Why does it look like a mopelmere's rear?"
Tinker dropped his hand and stared at the mess in the main bay. "I haven't the foggiest. It tastes delicious to me. I rather like the puffs the baker makes with the jam on the inside. Right, then. Good luck. I'll see if I can find any information in the books. Surely, someone from Hafrien must have traveled to Earth. If the ship can't provide answers, I'll search the old-fashioned way."
"You'll drive yourself mad trying to sort through centuries of knowledge. I'll return at sundown."
Tinker waved him off and drew a rag from his coat pocket to wipe his fingers. He might indeed go mad, but then could your mind warp any further when it was already a mess? He didn't know, but anything in the universe was possible. He might descend into an insanity even his people would consider vulgar. He spun on his heel, unconcerned with the state of his mind, and skipped up the stairs.
The most relevant books circled the main deck of the ship. The other volumes were contained in the vast library of the SPAM. A library he stole because knowledge was so tempting, he was powerless to resist it. His people wouldn't miss it. They hardly left Hafrien anymore. They were too busy feeling superior and collecting old debts from the universe to bother with one library. Of course, it was the entire section of the Sacred Learning Temple, but really, Tinker doubted they would need it.
As he passed along the corridors, he whistled a tune from his homeland. It had been at least a hundred years since he returned. He was due for a visit with his mother and brother. Tinker's father had died in the great war against the mecha worms. They came to planets and sucked the literal life from it. The once vibrant beauty of Hafrien was lost to all but a section that was now called 'The Pearl of Hafrien'.
As Tinker opened the lock on the library, he recalled the sacred space of his planet. If only his people would concentrate on terraforming the rest of Hafrien. Perhaps it might be beautiful again. Something happened during the war, and the leaders were no longer able to see past the fear of the worms returning. For though the beasts were vanquished, no one knew who created them. The master behind the machines was still at large, and three hundred years after the carnage, the high priests of Hafrien still believed the worms would return to finish what they started.
Maybe that was true, but the universe was vast and infinite. There were whole worlds and possibilities out there. Why waste life pondering the what-ifs? Tinker had places to go and things to learn. He had a mind that needed cultivating. All the worrying in the world would not prevent the end of Hafrien. Only luck, knowledge, and a little bit of detection would discover the whereabouts of the master of the mecha worms. His people could hide on their planet forever, but Tinker knew that the answer to their salvation was in the stars.
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