however.”
“Rasta is your bird?” Lissa wanted to know.
“She is a golden eagle,” Shiro said proudly.
“I’m sure we can capture enough food for her before we leave,” Lissa assured him, “We will need to go planetside for supplies first anyway.”
“Lissa, we can’t just go flying off into space!” Stephanie cut in angrily, “We need to go home. What about our parents? Your mom is probably freaking out right now.”
“I know,” Lissa whispered, turning away from the others, “We’ll go home first. I just—come on Steph! I’d be totally crazy not to want to fly this thing. Don’t you wan to know what’s out there?”
As they argued, the Space Patrol Captain—Lissa realized she still did not know his name—stepped up to Mr. Piff and began to confer with him in low guttural hisses and squeaks. At last Arthur spoke up for the first time, “There is another task you may have to undertake first,” he told Lissa, “Your Representative has made contact with the Earth President and they are searching for an Ambassador to represent Earth on Sagittarius Prime.”
“Do we need to shuttle them there?” Lissa inquired, “We have room for another passenger, I think,” she had poked around and found several comfortable quarters on the port side of below decks.
“First the choice must be made,” Mr. Piff told her, “As the nearest neutral authority, we were asked to make a recommendation. The Captain and I have nominated you for the position.”
“What!” Lissa cried, jumping up, “I can’t be an ambassador—I’m eleven! Oh, for the love of Google.” She threw up her hands helplessly, “Mr. Piff, I’m just a kid. In Earth years I’m barely adolescent. Nobody in their right mind will elect me.”
“Galactic Trade Company regulations require that any ambassador from newly-invited worlds be under the age of puberty,” Arthur told her, smiling slightly at her reaction, “It is their way of guaranteeing the pliability of the victim…excuse me, species representative.” There was a twinkle in his eye.
“Figures,” Lissa muttered. Indeed, this was just what she should have expected of such a corrupt bureaucracy!
“You are the perfect choice,” Mr. Piff told her sternly, bringing her mind back to the present, “You’re not a whimpering pup—you’ve got gumption and intelligence enough to do the job proper.”
Lissa shook her head. She tried to think of a better option, but all that came to mind was the simpering face of a teenybopper celebrity. Ugh! She thought, anything but that.
Stephanie interjected, “You are the best choice, Lissa. You can get along with anybody, or anything,” she added, glancing around at their alien companions, “If it was me, I’d probably insult someone before I even had a chance to say hello. I’m too impetuous.”
Lissa sighed, “What happened to wanting to go home?” She demanded. Stephanie crossed her arms and gave her friend a pointed glare.
“Fine! I’ll try it,” she said. Her chin came up and she looked Arthur square in the middle of his four eyes, “But you better hope that space is ready for us.”
“Then perhaps it is time you were introduced to the last member of your company,” Mr. Piff said, and he jerked his head toward the octopus tank.
Octavian Stubergott III
The octopus floated up toward the surface of his ocean habitat, large black eyes trained on Lissa. His coloring was magnificent—he was a pale matte silver all over with the brilliant blue rings that gave his species their name. For a long moment the two faced each other through the glass wall, doubt niggling Lissa’s mind at the idea of this creature’s intelligence being so far superior to humankind. Just when she began to be convinced that these aliens had been pulling her leg, the octopus moved.
Curling up a front tentacle, he jabbed it in the direction of the keypad to her left. She looked. He bobbed his ill-proportioned head up and down in the water, and pointed again—more urgently this time. Cautiously, she walked over to the panel, her eyes following the octopus as he floated along behind her. When she was directly in front of it, the small cephalopod made a quick series of gestures with two tentacles against the glass wall, clearly indicating the sequence of buttons she ought to push to release him from the tank. Lissa stared! Here was an octopus teaching her how to operate an alien digital keypad.
Shaking her head, she tapped her own breath mask and said, although she knew he could not hear her through the glass, “All the water will drain out. How will you breathe?”
The octopus seemed to understand her. With a deft twirl he spun himself to face the other way in the water. With his back to her, he used two tentacles to make a strange motion at the back of his skull. Lissa was flabbergasted when what appeared to be a layer of skin split evenly down the middle and peeled away. He released the ends of the skin layer and it fell seamlessly back into place. Suddenly, she understood.
“You’re wearing a wetsuit,” she laughed, “Literally, a wetsuit; it’s keeping you wet!”
She shook her head again in amazement as the octopus turned to face her, clearly searching her face with his large alien eyes for some sign of comprehension. She nodded slowly, the comprehension continuing to dawn in her mind. The wetsuit must be some alien technology on the order of an astronaut suit for octopuses. No matter the atmosphere, he seemed to be telling her, he would be able to breathe.
She gestured him back to the panel and followed his careful tentacle jabs with her fingers until the door to the tank opened with a hiss. This one was different than the others and instead of opening vertically—and letting all the water slosh out into the corridor, the tank opened from the top and Lissa was able to reach down into the water and lift the octopus out.
“Thanks,” a male voice said when she had placed him on her open palm at eye level. The octopus wetsuit must have had a Translator installed somewhere, for the inflection was mechanical and sounded not dissimilar to the round bot still hovering beside her.
“Wow, I can barely believe it,” Lissa told him in awe, “Are you really from outer space?”
“Yep,” there came a tiny nod, “Born and raised on Jupiter’s moon.”
“What’s your name?”
“Octavian Stubergott III, at your service,” there came another bow. Lissa was beginning to get the idea that space aliens were a rather well-mannered lot. First Mr. Piff, and now Octavian was bowing to her. Captain Nask must have been the exception that makes the rule, she thought disgustedly.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Stubergott,” she curtseyed, careful not to wobble him about too much on her palm as she did so.
“Just Octi, please,” he replied, “I’m trying to acclimate to Earth behavior. Your people seem very fond of nicknames.”
Lissa laughed at that, “Then you can call me Lissa, but my real name is Melissa Phelps.”
“Good day and calm waters to you, as we say at home,” Octi said.
“Nice to meet you, too.”
The
