“This is stupid,” complained the aardvark, Steve.
The alien shrugged and tugged Steve’s leash towards another termite mound. Its tentacles reached nearly to the ground and made a gentle swooshing sound as they waved against each other. It was a medium sized Smark, a soldier. It didn’t have guns or anything, but the lasers it could shoot from the tips of its tentacles were pretty cool.
Steve thought so, anyway, til the damn thing lasered HIM.
“Dick move,” thought Steve as he fell over sideways, paralyzed.
So anyway, here was Steve on a red bungie cord leash, being dragged and nudged to one termite mound, then another, then another. Finally the alien seemed satisfied with Steve’s skillset demonstration, and led him towards the rocket.
You don’t see a lot of spaceship-rocket-types of things in the African savannah. The aliens had used Wikipedia to determine the safest landing zone within a stone’s throw of their target. They had also used Wikipedia to find a creature capable of extracting things from under the ground. What Wikipedia hadn’t been able to tell them, however, was that their creature of interest had a whiny attitude and a filthy mouth. And could be incredibly rude. And was gassy.
The alien swooshed Steve up the ramp into the rocket. It was tall and cylindrical, like the one Bugs Bunny rode in Loony Tunes, not round and wide like in E.T. Steve was annoyed. This was not gonna be a comfy ride. He grunted and whined. He farted. The alien zapped him with a tentacle.
“Oww!” Steve squealed, “Asshole!”
The elevator trembled and the pair rose silently through the dark tunnel of the rocket. Tiny lights of various colors blinked on and off in the cool darkness. The door slid open and the alien swooshed out. Steve stuck his snout out first, tested the air. The door slide closed and caught him. And didn’t let go.
Steve’s day had started out normal enough. Sleeping. Because that’s what aardvarks do during the day. And he was just there in his den, minding his own business, having a snooze, when the long slimy cold tentacles had reached down through the tunnel and wrapped around his neck. His exit from his den, sideways through the narrow tunnel, nearly choked and woken from sleep, now counted as his least favorite way to start a day.
Steve was ruminating on this as he waited for someone to open the goddamn elevator door and release his nose. Someone was sure happy to take their fucking time.
“Hello? Little help over here?” he snorfled. The alien turned and tentacle-faced itself. A different tentacle stretched out and tapped the elevator button. The door slid open again and Steve stumbled out with as much swagger as an aardvark with a sore nose can muster.
“So, bro, what’s the dealio?” he asked as he plopped down on the floor. The alien pointed to the window, and presumably the sky beyond. Its large glassy eyes, all four of them, were evenly spaced around its headlump, so it was hard to tell where it was actually looking.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I’m not an idiot. We’re in a rocket, I kinda figured we were gonna take off,” Steve muttered. “Ok, Slimy Guy, surprise me. I love surprises.” Steve put his head down on his paws to take a nap.
Tentacles on a large flat screen built into the console pressed various places in seemingly random order. The mothership received a message:
SUBJECT SKILLSET DEEMED APPROPRIATE.
SUBJECT IS A BIT OF A DICKWAD.
To be continued…