The Amazing Adventures of the Human Bob in the Galactic Zoo
By Horia Hulea
Copyright 2014 Horia Hulea
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Prologue
Let's start our story with the main character.
And let's name him something simple.
Something anyone can spell.
I have always hated the science fiction stories where people have futuristic names like UgaLai or Enigoron. As if advanced future times should call for advanced and complicated names.
What happened with the simple names in science fiction? Did they ban them somehow in the next century? Did they go extinct in the next stage of our civilization? Don’t people like the normal John and Bill anymore?
Science fiction authors these days and their character names! Can't you have a good story without a long futuristic name?
Uuuu! It’s the fuuuuuture, let's all call our characters robot names or give them warlock-sounding incantations!
So no, I will call my main character Bob.
But mister author, Bob sounds so simplistic and dumb. We can't have a complex story happening in the future involving galactic empires and stretching over vast expanses of space with someone called . . . Bob!! Please, mister author, let's call him something else!
Sorry.
No.
Bob.
Chapter 1
And since this is the first chapter, we will start it with Bob.
Why? Because I like a simple, neat, and proper story structure.
Currently Bob sits on his ass in the sand.
More precisely, he sits on the most perfect beach, with the most perfect sand, with the most perfect blue waves rolling in the distance.
And, of course, on top of the perfect this and that, there is also the most cloudless sky you can ever imagine (which is also perfect) with a sun that is not too hot to burn and a breeze that is not too cold to chill.
Just in case you still have problems in picturing this, I will say it in a different way:
Imagine that you have a shitty, meaningless, boring job at which you slave for 12 hours a day, six days a week for a whole year under a boss that you absolutely hate in a company that you despise from the bottomless pit of your soul (some of us don't have to imagine this . . .).
And after one miserable year, one wasted year that seemed to have no end in sight . . . you finally get a vacation. Not just any vacation, but the only thing that made you drag your daily zombie existence out of the bed every morning. The one thing to which you clung with your hopes and dreams of staying alive. The one thing on which your sanity depended.
Well, that perfect vacation place is the tropical island where Bob has his ass planted.
And since the picture should be complete, let's put a couple of palm trees in the distance with some hammocks stretched between them.
In one of those hammocks there is another sleepy guy that is not Bob.
We will ignore this other person for the moment, even if he scratches where it itches and turns around mumbling stuff. (He might mumble something intelligent or maybe something just plain stupid. Who knows?)
Bob doesn't seem to pay any attention to that other person. Bob is still sitting on his ass with his face staring long and hard in front of him.
Just staring.
A calm voice is heard faintly in the distance:
"Welcome to the Galactic Sapiens Zoo, home of over 30 cognitive species from all corners of the universe. Please don't tap on the windows or use light flashes, since it will stress the exhibits. Make sure you don’t."
But the voice is fiercely covered by the sound of bonkity-bonking on the window.
Window? What window?
In case you didn't notice, the perfect beach with the perfect sky in the background has (unfortunately) a very perfect window in the middle. Just like that, out of nowhere, a square-shaped transparent window happens to stand there in the sand.
A window full of cute, fluffy-looking purple rabbits, who are banging their curious heads like idiots, hoping to grab any ounce of attention from the human Bob.
Why all this outrageous noise, you may wonder?
Well, it seems one of the bunnies is looking with big puppy eyes at the human (I should say bunny eyes, but we all know puppies have cuter eyes than bunnies) while the human looks back at him (with killer and not-so-puppy eyes).
Both of them are caught in a staring game!
A staring game that neither of them wants to admit losing.
And they stare . . . and they stare . . . for what seems to be ages, when all of a sudden the little bunny is dragged away screaming and kicking by some bigger and fatter bastard bunnies that seem to be his parents.
"Better luck next tiiime," Bob smiles and says triumphantly. "Hee hee! He thought he could win, Dude. Against ME!"
A sound of disappointment can be heard from the pack of vicious bunnies that goes in search of some other specimen to annoy down the alley.
But not to worry, five minutes later, we can find Bob tracking another pair of fluffy ears hopping along the window.
Other eyes.
Another staring game.
And another parent to ruin it.
Living in a zoo doesn't seem to be so interesting. And Bob doesn't remember anything exceptional he has done in all his time here. In fact, Bob doesn't remember anything at all before the zoo. And that bothers him very much.
Soon lunch time arrives (the most expected moment of the day for Bob), and since we are on a perfect tropical island, the food is no exception from perfection.
Also, it seems that food is the only thing that wakes Dude up.
In case you haven't figured it out, Dude is the other guy. (We will call him Dude from now on because Bob calls him that. Actually, I don't really know his name . . . and I'm the author!)
Dude sits up (which is an event in itself) and is soon happily, even blissfully sipping a drink through a straw.
The other thing noticeable about him is the straw hat, which seems to be handmade. And by that, I mean sloppily made by the laziest hands. Most probably, Dude's hands.
And like all the other times, Bob has to start:
"You never wondered what is beyond this glass? Where we come from? What is our purpose here?"
"Gaaah, not again . . ."
"What 'not again?'"
"No man, I don't wonder about purpose. I don't wonder about froms and whens. I don't wonder! Period! I simply know that this is what I wanted my whole life. Just a beach, with a sun not too hot and a breeze not too cold. Just sitting and enjoying my drink. No worries. No stress. No nothing."
"But . . . what if we have been abducted by aliens and put here? What if we have been brainwashed to like everything around us, when in fact this perfect tropical island is a shithole and we simply can’t tell? What if we have families who are worried sick at home? Loving children that grow up without seeing their brave fathers? Caring wives that are desperately looking for us? Did you ever wonder about THAT?"
"Don't really care, man. Don't really care. Thinking too much will simply ruin it, and I don't want to ruin it. I'm going to enjoy every day here for as long as it lasts."
"But what if there is an entire conspiracy that put us here? And back home we
are someone important? What if we are some world leaders gone missing? Some scientists, on the verge of a breakthrough, that were kidnapped?"
"Bob, for all I know, we can be two guys that actually signed up for this and had our memories erased. Maybe some aliens landed in our bathroom to take a shit and then asked us: 'Hey guys! Do you want a carefree life for the rest of your days doing absolutely nothing, eating whatever you like, on a sunny beach?' Why not that? Why all the conspiracy theories? Why all this stress-stress-stress and negative stuff?"
"I have a bad feeling about this!"
"You always have a bad feeling about everything and then you always do stupid things. Well, I don't have a bad feeling at all. My feeling is that before this I had a very shitty life with a very shitty job and all day long I would be dreaming of retiring on a tropical island and doing absolutely NOTHING for the rest of my life."
"NOTHING!"
"Just nothing! Just lying down like an extremely fat cat, scratching my balls and eating my pizza. I know deep down that this is what I always wanted, and now that I am in heaven I will simply not care."
"What if?"
"Whatevvver!"
Slurp-slurp followed by chow-chow, and then a burp (this is to show how Dude really feels about Bob's anxieties).
"I'm happy with my little cocktail over here sharing some very intimate moments together."
Another slurp-slurp with the little girlfriend drink.
Then Dude resumes the conversation:
"You do the same thing every time. And all the time you come back to negative, negative, negative. Why don't you ask yourself the positive: What if we are actually convicts on our planet and instead of the death penalty we accepted to go to an alien zoo? I mean . . . who wouldn't want a lifetime in a prison cell like this? What if we are the last survivors of an extinct species and now they are doing their best to keep us happy for the rest of our lives? What if we are some war refugees that were offered temporary shelter in a zoo as a neutral zone since this is the only legal status available? What if . . ."
"I don't think so, man."
". . . our sentient species is a luxury pet to some other sentient species and we have been donated to the zoo as an exotic curiosity? Just look around you! Look at how they are treating us! I would surely consider myself a luxury pet! Why not something like that? Why always 'evil overlords kidnapped us and this and that?' What's with the constant 'we are raised to be sacrificed as a delicacy?' 'Hi, my name is Bob, and all I can think of is conspiracy, conspiracy, conspiracy.'"
"No way, man. These bunnies ARE evil overlords and no way are we luxury pets."
"Why no way? You said it yourself: you can't remember anything from before you got here. So, if you can't remember what was before this, then it can be ANYTHING!"
"We were kidnapped, that's what happened. Tell me of one single zoo where the stupid animals came willingly with their paws up: 'Hey mister zoo keeper, put me in a cell for life so that snotty spoiled kids can throw food at me.' Why do you think we have all these windows, mister smart ass? To keep us in!"
"Maybe you shouldn't compare this place to a stupid animals' zoo. From the looks of it, we are in a zoo where all the animals seem pretty intelligent. Us included. In fact, iff I may say, they all look more intelligent than us!"
Dude sits up again, since he wants to make a point (he doesn't sit up actually, just makes the effort of barely sitting up with an annoyed expression of "See what you made me do? You made me lose my good spot that I managed to warm up!").
"See Mark there?"
Dude waves "Hi Mark!" to another window in front of their window where a furry koala-like creature catches with the corner of the eye the "Hi Mark" wave and shows the finger back.
"He is building space stuff that I can't even imagine!"
Indeed, Mark is building something very advanced that is floating above the ground and has blinking blue stuff and some other glowing green stuff and some more stuff on top that seems awfully complex.
"That means Mark is way, way smarter than me. And he is just a koala! Does he complain? Noooooo! Does he go with 'Purple bunnies of doom enslaving the galaxy?' Noooo!"
Long, slurping pause.
"Mark is in a box with all his nice gadgets and concentrating on the anti-gravitational blinky-glowy stuff and he is very happy humming and probing and doing whatever."
"How do you know his name is Mark?"
"What? Can't I just name alien species?"
"Mark? Really? You land on a planet and encounter a species that is building anti-gravitational engines and the best you can come up with is . . . Mark?"
"What is wrong with Mark? Mark is a very good name for an intelligent species. Any self-respecting species would be flattered to be called Mark! Markus sapiens! See?"
"And what about that big brain guy?"
"Mentoid Joe?"
If we turn our heads to the right, we can see wh0 Dude calls "Mentoid Joe." He/she is another guy-specimen, from another window, and you can see he/she (at the moment we are not supposed to know what mentoids are, but we'll go with "he" since Joe has no boobs) is writing boards and boards of equations, all surrounded by more boards of even more complex equations.
And all that writing makes him very, very happy.
He is humming a tune (what is it with the intelligent species and humming tunes while they do stuff?), oblivious to anything around him.
"What did you name him? Joe?"
"He's my favorite. I first called him Big Brain Guy. But then I realized he can be a she. Or a he-she. And then I called him Joe because he looks very happy. Just look at him writing those doodles! Those doodles are his bestest friends ever and the only thing he wants to do for ever and ever! Just like me and sitting on this beach! Me and Joe have so much in common!"
Another slurp-pause.
"But you know, Bob, there is one unhappy sapiens on this floor"
Bob is genuinely interested: "Who?"
"Who? You! Who else? Why can't you be like the rest?"
"Because I don't think my purpose is to sit in a box loudly slurping cocktails like an existential slacker."
"Speak for yourself."
Slurp-slurp.
Mentoid Joe pulls out another board and starts thinking profoundly, rubbing his shiny blue head. You can tell he is really concentrating because his boneless skull is all pulsing and vibrating with tiny pink veins showing up (boneless skull is a weird expression, because a skull is made of bones, and the "boneless skull" gives birth to an oxymoronic image).
It seems Joe is swimming so deep in his ideas, that he is ignoring completely the stream of purple furry rodents that come and go past his window.
Unfortunately, that is not true for one little owner of such purple fur.
A curious bunny with one spotted ear tries to cling to the edge of Mentoid Joe's window (even if the big warning says not to cling to it), very interested in seeing the doodles on the board (even if another big warning says not to be interested in his doodles. In fact there seems to be a lot of warnings on Mentoid Joe's window, more warnings than on the other species windows. Many, many more).
But the bunny slips and the bunny falls.
But rest assured, where there is a will, there is a way.
So the bunny starts hopping and snapping a quick look at the boards with each jump. One hop, one board, another hop, another board . . . and one more hop and then she gets it! Miraculously, a pen pops into her paw, and with a very radiant face she looks left and right so that nobody sees her "feeding" the animals.
Mommy is busy texting stuff; little brother is busy munching his ears. Best time ever to hop and write some other doodles on the window (even if another big warning message says also not to do that!).
And the doodles line up one after another all under the horrified eye of a surveillance camera hanging from the ceiling.
You cannot tell the camera is horrified (because a camera doesn't have a facial expression, duh!), but you can
tell that the guy behind that camera is screaming "Noooo" and rushing out like crazy.
A smiling Mentoid Joe has just finished another board of doodles, and he turns to fill in another. But he can't help noticing the squeaky-squeak of the marker on the window. So like any curious being (curiosity is a strong sign of intelligence, after all) he turns and looks at the bunny doodles (which are still in the making).
And now his face is going through various strange stages. First it starts with "What do these morons want? Really? A photo? Again?", then goes to "Hmm, this stuff makes sense! Wait a . . ." and then it stops to a "Whoaaa!" and it freezes there.
And while his expression is frozen in the "Whoaaa!", his eyes are going left to right, left to right and some more left to right all the while his forehead arteries are bulging and his head is growing and growing and gro . . .
Now, at this point, the little bunny should have seen the growing of the mentoid brain as a cause of concern.
She should have stopped feeding him the doodles (warnings in big letters are, after all, put there for that very purpose).
But no! She is too much caught up in finishing the last one. And once she is done, she strikes a very smug and happy pose and says something in bunny language.
And only then does she look up!
Three seconds later a loud pop is heard behind the window and what formerly was known as Joe's brain is currently spread all over the walls.
Ironically, all that remains from his head is the face . . . still frozen in the "Whoaaaa."
On the other side of the window, the little bunny face is horrified and on the point of crying.
To make this a dramatic moment (since, as an author, I like dramatic moments), we'll also have to imagine the marker falling down . . . in slow motion . . . to the floor . . . and bouncing to a stop.
The tears start running down her eyes. (Also music please! Can we have some dramatic music here? Thank you.)
Out of nowhere, the horrified guy behind the surveillance camera is rushing in, panting (amazing how in all the galaxies, the same thing stays true: the guys in charge of preventing stuff always show up when the stuff they are supposed to prevent has already happened).
"See what you did? See? You should never! Ever! Throw solutions for third apex circular differentials! Don't you know their cognitive system simply can't cope with that?"
Little bunny mumbles something through the tears.
"Didn't you see the warning? Their brain is too underdeveloped to digest these types of solutions. It will take another million years for them to evolve to a higher sentience in order to assimilate this kind of knowledge. These creatures are way-way too low on the evolutionary scale to be able to fully understand your doodles."
As the scene unfolds, it seems the magnetic power of scolding pulls around every bunny kid that saw the brain pop and now they are gathering to enjoy the show.
"All you do is put their small brain into overdrive, which increases the blood flow that leads inevitably to the pressure increase of their cranium membrane. And then (hands go in a wide circle around his head): Boom! Now do you understand?"
The little bunny nods, sniffing.
"It's like the non-sentient animals. Some foods that we like are poison for them. That's why, even if you like chocolate, you don't feed them chocolate because it will kill them."
The little bunny stops sniffing.
"And what are you doing playing with third apex differentials anyway? Aren't you a little too old for that?"
"But, but, he really looked like he was having problems."
And while some bunnies have learned from all this a very valuable lesson on species interaction, others, like the one in the corner with the evil smile (a clear display of getting very good bad ideas), sneaks around to the humans' window. He looks around, making sure the zoo keeper is still busy explaining stuff near the mentoid's window, pulls a marker and starts slowly squeaking the same doodles on the human window.
But after a moment . . . the voice of authority makes its presence felt:
"Really?"
The Fat Bunny has somehow stealthily sneaked behind the naughty fur ball and is looking down at him, then looking up at the human Bob (who is scratching his head in the most genuinely monkey style). Then looking back at the naughty one.
"Really?" comes again, but this time like he means it.
The bunny hides his marker and tries to put on a smile.
"But, but, I want to see how their heads explode!"
"You're writing third apex differentials to . . . humans?"
"But . . .”
"They are humans! Huuuuumans, mister smart ass! They are even lower on the evolutionary scale than the mentoids! See? Here" (pointing his paw at the description under the human window where some kind of sentient species scale appears to have the humans, unfairly, lost on the very deep bottom).
"Oh . . ."
"You can write kindergarten meta-polynomials on their window; they will still need around three more million years just to have a clue about what you did."
"Oh . . ."
A rather confused Bob is looking at the two evil bunnies of doom discussing stuff in front of his window. In the beginning he figured out somehow that the little bunny with a marker didn't want to engage in a staring game. And when the doodles started showing up, he became even more confused. All these circles and complicated stuff with worm signs and bugs with seven legs were spreading all over his window with no apparent meaning.
"What is this?" said Bob in a loud voice.
The Dude didn’t even bother opening his eyes: "Don't care, man."
"This one looks like an apple. That one looks like a sun. Stupid rabbit kids! Why are you drawing kindergarten doodles? We're smarter than this, you know! At least try to tell us something deep . . . to communicate in an intelligent language! Morons! We are, like, highly evolved species, you know!"
Bob rolls his eyes and just stops paying attention to the doodles. Not worth his time! So not interesting! But who is that? Oh, the Fat Rabbit of authority! Now that he is here, the little bunny will be in serious trouble!
Bob looks at the big rabbit, who starts giving lessons to the little rabbit. The big rabbit is even pointing to something written below the window. Bob acts all-knowingly now:
"Yeah, you tell him! The stupid brat is drawing bugs and apples on my window. Can't he read the clear sign? Overly evolved species. Too intelligent for kid doodles!"
However, on the other side of the window, mister Fat Bunny is looking at the kid bunny dragging his feet disappointedly down the alley and muttering to himself: "Damn kids. They can solve apex differentials, but they can't read a clear sign: 'Limited brain species. Do not engage them in cognitive feedback.' But what can you do? Kids will be kids and until they learn, everything is new to them."
So mister Fat Bunny scratches his ears and starts walking slowly toward the mentoid area to clean up the mess. He climbs up the edge and enters through the window inside the mentoid room. Carefully, he tiptoes around the blue and green mess, looks around disapprovingly and talks loudly as though to another person:
"Guys, we need another mentoid clone in sector XB. The kids again fed him third apex solutions."
And all of a sudden the boards, the floor, everything, resets and the room is brand new as if nothing happened. A ping sound follows, the wall is flipping over and there he is, Mentoid Joe, in all his glory with that happy and contented smile all over his face.
Mister Keeper waves to Joe and waits a few seconds for the mentoid to respond.
But something is wrong.
The mentoid face is changing slowly to an expression mister Keeper knows and hates.
It's the "Whoaaa!" expression.
And then Mister Keeper turns and sees that he forgot to clean the doodles from the window.
"Crap" is all he could say.
Pop! was all that followed.