Heron returned after a thorough cleansing and was seated at the control panel. Heron was not going to delegate the specimen selection process after what happened last time, so he assumed command and told the others what they had to do. Byron was going to grab whatever materialised and then Nelson would place the translator box appropriately. Quick and easy.
"Are you two ready?" asked Heron, looking over his shoulder at Nelson standing next to the Transmission pad with the black box translator device and Byron next to him bouncing on his four feet, ready for action.
"Ready and waiting!" said Byron, anxious to please after his previous efforts.
"Sure," replied Nelson, "Whatever." Nelson seemed to have picked up that reply after carefully studying the alien transmissions for many late night hours.
"This time we are going to pick up someone from one of the towns," Heron said, "There should be more variety." He started moving the cursor on the screen and zooming in. It was night time and there were plenty of secluded places from which he could find a sample. They didn't want to advertise their presence by beaming up someone in full view of lots of witnesses. If the planet ended up joining the Federation, it did not help negotiations if the relationship started with what might be perceived as abductions. That is why the exploration ship had some basic camouflage through the use of non reflective surface materials, shields over their engines, plenty of insulation and padding to minimise heat detection. This was also helped by the fact it was quite a small vessel. The orbital flotsam in which the ship was floating provided additional protection.
"There. I've found someone," Heron announced, "He is walking down a small darkened path between buildings and no one is nearby." He moved the green cursor across his screen and quickly stopped himself making swooshing noises as the square settled onto the target.
"And … Pow! Gotcha!" Heron said as the green square flashed rapidly and he pressed the blue button. Heron quickly turned around to watch the action on the transmission pad.
A local inhabitant materialised just in front of Nelson. As Nelson was about to place the black box on the exact spot on the base of the dazed specimen's neck, the fellow was flung across the room by a flying Byron, tackling him around his middle.
"Oooff" yelled the alien as he hit the ground underneath a massive Byron.
"Go, Nelson!" yelled Byron triumphantly, "I've got him! Place the black box."
Nelson surveyed the prostate alien squashed underneath the much larger Byron and sauntered over to place the black box on the same position he had almost achieved a few seconds earlier.
"Thank you, Byron," said Nelson sarcastically.
"My pleasure!" smiled Byron as he stood upright, proud of his fine work, happy for the compliment.
The three explorers stood around watching the alien who was still on the ground.
"Is it dead?" whispered a concerned Byron.
"No, just dazed I think," answered Heron, peering closer at the body, "See, that part is moving up and down which would indicate breathing. And it's making a rasping noise like it is breathing through its mouth."
Nelson walked over and poked the alien carefully with his toe. "Hey! Alien! Get up!"
This seemed to work as the alien started to move. Quickly all three brave explorers stepped back a few paces.
The alien sat up and rubbed his head with one hand. He was wearing a long overcoat that looked very crumpled, probably even more so after Byron's welcoming "hug". His hair was black and unruly, spreading in all directions and there was hair growing on his face too. His skin was probably light beige, but there seemed to be quite a bit of long time dirt making his complexion darker.
Byron whispered to Nelson, "Yuk. This one's really ugly. He has hair everywhere!"
Nelson just nodded and gestured to Byron to be quiet.
Heron once more looked up his first contact notes. He grimaced as he remembered Byron's welcome and said in a firm voice, "Greetings. We mean you no harm."
"Whaaa?" said the alien.
Heron looked at Nelson as if to ask him if he knew what the response meant and Nelson shrugged.
Heron decided to go to step two.
"What is your home planet called?" he asked
The alien stopped scratching his head and looked at the three aliens that surrounded him at a respectful distance. His eyes were white balls with little black dots with some blue around the edges and lots of red lines reaching to the outer edges. He blinked a few times and said, "Who are you guys?"
Heron smiled. The translator was working after all. He understood that response.
"We are visitors to your planet and come in peace."
"No kidding?" said the alien.
Heron was confused again. The answer didn't make sense. The alien had either said he didn't believe them or they were about to have baby quadrupeds knows as "goats". Heron decided the first translation worked better.
"No, we are very serious. What is your planet called?"
"Ummm. Earth," the alien said.
"Ummdirt?" Heron asked.
"No, just Earth," the alien replied.
"Dirt," said Heron.
"Whatever, man," said the alien.
Heron grinned in pleasure. He had worked out the translation. It was difficult trying to translate alien thoughts and words. So many things had alternate meanings. After the first attempt Heron knew he had to quickly weigh up the options and pick the one that made more sense. Earth was the same as ground and dirt so all worked fine. Dirt was easier for him to say so he went with that and was rewarded with the statement of affirmation "Whatever". He had watched quite a few of the more recent broadcasts from the planet - "Dirt" he quickly added - and the young people always replied "Whatever" when confirming instructions from their parents.
"So, Dirtling," Heron began, "Tell us of your hopes and dreams."
This was the time honoured method of determining the depth to which the subject could think. Their plans for the future and how they related to the world allowed the investigators to see if the subject could become part of the great Federation of Planets. Heron looked forward to the answer.
The Dirtling looked up at his questioners and then felt behind him for something. Grinning lopsidedly he grabbed what he was looking for and brought it into the open, moving it to his lips. The explorers leapt backwards and watched as the Dirtling finished off the contents of his bottle, wiped his mouth with his dirty sleeve and sighed in contentment.
"Got any more?" he asked, shaking his bottle towards his questioners in emphasis.
Heron and Byron were amazed at the spectacle and didn't move. Nelson grinned slowly and, keeping his distance, reached across to their table and grabbed a bottle of Fizzy. Fizzy was Nelson's favourite beverage. It wasn't officially alcoholic or intoxicating or addictive, but, somehow, Nelson was always close to his supply of Fizzy. Considering his bottle carefully, he turned to the Dirtling and held out his bottle.
The Dirtling grinned, put aside his empty bottle and accepted the new bottle offered to him.
"What is it?" he asked slyly.
"Fizzy," said Nelson.
Byron looked at Nelson, "Are you sure? It might do weird stuff to him."
"Yup," said Nelson, watching the Dirtling closely.
"So," said Heron to the Dirtling, trying to get back on track, "Your dreams and hopes. What do you want to do?"
The Dirtling carefully placed the Fizzy beside him out of reach of the explorers, struggled with his overcoat and sat up, then picked up the Fizzy bottle and examined it carefully.
"Well," he said as he rotated the bottle so he could see more of the label, "I've had it tough. Real tough. No one likes me. Everyone hates me. Even the Guvment don't give me enough dough to live on. So I get by, you know."
Heron was glad he was recording the subject's answer as he did not know what was actually being said, but he answered, "Yes, I know. Do go on."
The Dirtling took a sniff from the bottle opening and a Fizzy bubble popped under his nose. The Dirtling sneezed and dropped the bottle, his eyes watering. The bottle started rolling away from him but he quickly stopped it with his foot and brought it back into his clutches.
"Yeah, like I was sayin' no one likes me."
"I understand," said Heron, who really could understand why no one liked him, "But what are you going to do about it?"
"What? Do about it? Nothin' I can do man. I don't know nothin'."
Heron looked at his translator. The subject admitted to knowing nothing. This was not good. Heron would give it one last chance and start the self analysing function of the black box. It was of secondary use to the actual verbal responses, but would provide excellent analysis of the potential of the subject. However, as he pressed the controls to start the process, the Dirtling raised the bottle to his lips and took a solid gulp of Fizzy.
"Urgh," said the Dirtling, and fell flat on his face. Nelson dived forward and picked up his Fizzy bottle before it fell and placed it back on the table, before turning back to the Dirtling.
"Hey Dirtling," Nelson said, poking him with his foot, "You OK?"
There was no answer except for a rhythmic purring from the Dirtling as air passed between his smiling lips. Heron looked at the self analysing control panel's results area.
"NO RESPONSE. PLEASE TRY AGAIN."
"I told you that stuff was no good, Nelson," said Byron, looking at Nelson disapprovingly.
"Well, I like it," answered Nelson defensively, "I can't help it if inferior races can't handle a little light beverage."
Byron got on his knees and poked the Dirtling gently on his head.
"Hey Dirtling," he said cooing, "Wakey, wakey. Time to get up."
There was no response from either the Dirtling, or Heron's control panel.
"No response. Thanks, Nelson. We may as well send this one back. He's a fail," said Heron bitterly.
Nelson removed the black box from the Dirtling and told Byron, "Pick him up and put him on the transmission pad. He's going back."
Byron looked at Heron, who nodded, so he carefully picked up the Dirtling in his arms and placed him carefully on the transmission pad.
"I hope you don't have a headache when you wake up, little Dirtling. Sorry I hit you," Byron said as patted the Dirtling soothingly and then stepped back.
Nelson pressed the blue button and the Dirtling beamed back down to Dirt. Not in exactly the same place, but not too far away so he should find his way home.
"Right. The next specimen we will get from a larger town," said Heron as he returned to his seat and looked at his sensors.
****
George woke up next morning to see a couple of pairs of eyes looking at him closely. He blinked in the bright sunshine.
"Hey Mister," said one of the children, "Whatcha doing here?"
"Yeah, Mister," said the other child, "Why aren't you in bed?"
"What?" mumbled George as he reached into his pockets for his normal morning reviving drink and found his pockets empty. He sat up and found that he wasn't in his caravan, or even in his caravan park. And he certainly wasn't in his small town.
A pleasant "Ding Dong" sound was heard over some speakers and he heard a voice, "Good morning to all our guests. Breakfast will be served in the main dining room shortly. Children are welcome to have their breakfast in the children's play area. We should be docking this afternoon at Vanuatu on this lovely Summer's day. Thank you."
"Gotta go Mister!" shouted the first child as he raced away, quickly followed by the second child.
George stood up slowly and looked around him. He was on a cruise ship surrounded by an ocean of water. He reached for a man dressed in white that looked as if he knew what was happening.
"What?" he asked cleverly.
"Yes, Sir," answered the Steward, used to this kind of morning query, "We left port last night. You were resting so soundly we did not wish to wake you. Are you ready for breakfast?"
George blinked and realised that he was not in town any more and it looked like free breakfast was on offer.
****
Heron, Byron and Nelson sat around their table and discussed their progress.
"Guys, these Dirtlings are a bit dense," said Byron.
"What do you mean?" asked Heron.
"I mean, they call their planet Dirt," explained Byron.
"That is our translation. It also translates as Earth or Ground," interrupted Heron.
"That's it!" said Byron, "Dirt, ground, earth, rock, whatever. They couldn't even think up a good name for their own planet. What do they call their star and moon?"
"Probably 'The Sun' and 'The Moon'," snickered Nelson, sipping on his Fizzy, causing both of his shipmates to laugh too.
"Anyway," continued Heron after they had all calmed down, "I'll get our next specimen from a larger town. This time Byron, no tackling! All you have to do is hold him and Nelson can simply place the black box in position. OK?" Heron looked pointedly at Byron.
"Yes Heron," replied Byron looking down at the table and moving his fingers slowly in a circle on the table, "I didn't want the Dirtling to do anything dangerous."
"Nope," said Nelson, "He never had a chance to do anything dangerous with you on top of him."
"Thanks, Nelson," replied Byron, grateful for the perceived support.
"Right, get into position. We should be almost there," said Heron as he walked over and sat himself back into the control chair. He found the larger town and zoomed in closer. On the banks of a river going through the town he saw a Dirtling lying under a tree apparently deep in thought.
"Ah. A thinker," thought Heron as he moved the green cursor over his target. The cursor flashed and he pressed the blue button.
"Pow! Got him!" he said and turned to his companions.
Byron was standing next to Nelson nervously looking between Nelson and back to the transmission pad. The Dirtling began to materialise and Byron hesitated before reaching for him.
"Go!" said Nelson as he reached out with his black box.
Byron reached out too slow as the Dirtling collapsed on the floor. Byron hugged empty space as Nelson looked at the Dirtling on the floor.
The Dirtling was lying there with a contented look on his face, waving his arms and legs slowly up and down like a snow angel.
"Wheee!" It said with a glazed expression and torpid smile.
Perplexed, Nelson bent down and attached the black box to the Dirtling's neck and stood back, using one of his hands to hold Byron back too.
The self analyser beeped and reported: "NO RESPONSE. PLEASE TRY AGAIN."
Results were similar to the first specimen, also probably obscured by some sort of stimulants used by the Dirtling.
"Are they all like this?" Heron asked, looking at Nelson and Byron who both shrugged.
"That's two fails," sighed Heron as he sent this one back.
****
Jonni stared into the morning sky above him as he slowly awoke from his night of revelry and illicit drinks and other odd things supplied by his friends. He raised his fingers and moved them slowly to reduce the sun's glare.
"Whaaat?" He mumbled as he somehow sat up after a dismal shuffling movement and looked around him.
A big tongue licked his face and a foul breath wafted over him.
"Urghh!" He cried as he looked into the face of a lion stepping closer to him. Jonni stumbled awkwardly backwards until he felt bars behind him.
"Hey mister!" A voice called to him from the other side of the bars, "You can't be in there, it's dangerous. Can't you read the bloody signs, Mate?"
Confused, Jonni turned around and saw he was in some sort of zoo in an open air cage. He certainly wasn't in a Parisian garden any more.
The lion roared and Jonni shrieked. The man in uniform threw a chunk of meat over Jonni and the lion near the far wall and the lion turned away to enjoy an easier breakfast.
"You stupid sod," said the Zoo keeper kindly, "We'll get you out of there in a jiffy."
Jonni sighed and muttered, "Merde!"