Stinker from Space Read online

  “Right. Except I am not really a skunk. I borrowed this body from a passerby. My earlier body was fatally injured in the crash.”

  “Wow,” she said shaking her head. “Do you change bodies all the time?”

  “No, not all the time. It takes too much energy. I only do it in dire need.”

  “Oh.” She was silent a moment, then reached into her pocket. “Would you like another?”

  “Yes indeed. What are they?” He ambled forward, his white striped nose twitching eagerly.

  “They’re cookies, made with peanut butter.”

  “Peanut butter?” His whiskers tickled her outstretched hand as, squatting on his hind legs, he retrieved another cookie. “I imagine I’d like this in any body. Maybe I should take some home with me.”

  Karen sat back and looked at the fat furry creature. Skunks were really kind of cute if you didn’t worry about the stink. “So, how do you plan to get back if your ship’s wrecked?”

  “I was hoping you could help me with that.”

  “Me? I don’t know anything about spaceships. I’m just a kid.”

  “An immature member of the species? Ah. Well, perhaps you could direct me to the nearest spaceport.”

  “Spaceport? We haven’t any.”

  “No? But I thought… . Well, maybe what I should do first is learn a little about your civilization. You are certain, now, that you know nothing of the Zarnk Dominion?”

  “Zarnk Dominion? No, never heard of it. Is it anything like the Dark Empire?”

  He scanned her mind for the reference. “Yes, somewhat similar.”

  “Ah, real nasties. Well then, I guess I’ll have to help you escape.” She frowned thoughtfully for a minute. “If you want to learn more about Earth, maybe you could come home with me and read the encyclopedia. That has stuff about everything I’ve ever had to do a school paper on.”

  “Yes, perhaps that would be the wisest course. Do you perhaps … uh, have any more peanut butter cookies at this home of yours?”

  “Sure. Peanut butter cookies, and I think there are still some peanut butter-dip granola bars. And there’s a jar of peanut butter, and some straight peanuts too if there are any left from my parents’ party last week.”

  Mentally he sighed with contentment. “This body of mine seems to be constantly hungry.”

  Karen stood up and walked across the leaf-strewn clearing. Eagerly the skunk followed. In a few minutes they had emerged from the trees and started along a faint footpath in the weedy meadow. In the brilliant autumn sunlight, the skunk’s black and white stood out boldly against the yellowed grass.

  Karen turned and looked at her bizarre new companion. “Have you a name?” Deliberately she thought the question. This form of communication would take getting used to.

  “Yes, I am called Tsynq Yr.”

  “Stinker?” She whooped with laughter. “Your name is Stinker?”

  “No, no. Not pronounced like that. Tsynq Yr.”

  But she was laughing too hard to detect any difference. “Oh, that’s perfect. Perfect!”

  The Sylon thought he should probably be insulted, but if it amused this alien so much to mangle his name, he supposed it was acceptable. Particularly if she provided more of that peanut butter.

  4

  “Can We Keep Him?”

  As Karen approached the old white farmhouse, it occurred to her that Stinker might not be a totally welcome guest. She decided to go around to the front door and make a direct dash for the hall stairs, hoping her mother was still struggling with curtains in the kitchen.

  Leading the waddling skunk, she walked stealthily around the house to the front porch and quietly opened the door. Her mother was standing in the hall, a stricken look on her face.

  “Karen,” she whispered hoarsely, “I saw it from the window but was afraid to shout. Do you know there’s a … a skunk following you?”

  “Oh. Yes. His name is Stinker. He’s … uh, someone’s pet, I think. He’s very tame.”

  “How do you know? Oh dear, he’s coming in! Get him out of here before he sprays!”

  “Really, he’s very friendly, so he must be a pet. And I’m sure he’s deodorized.” She shot a thought at Stinker: “If you make a stink now, I’ll skin you.”

  “Oh, but a skunk, Karen! Maybe he’s rabid. That could be why he’s not acting like a wild skunk.” Her voice had a panicky edge.

  “No, no, he must be somebody’s pet. Look, he does tricks.” She reached down and grabbed their dog’s battered tennis ball from the floor, then bounced it along the hall. “Fetch!” she said pointedly.

  Stinker got the picture.

  Feeling like an idiot, he ambled after the ball, chasing it as it ricocheted off the umbrella stand. Eventually he threw himself on top of the thing. Then, managing to get his jaws around it, he carried it awkwardly back to Karen and laid it at her feet.

  “There, you see?” she said pleadingly.

  “Well… .”

  Just then, Stinker heard toenails click on the floorboards behind him. He spun around and was gripped by an almost uncontrollable urge to lift his tail at the golden-haired creature behind him. But he caught a mental wave of horror from Karen and concentrated instead on trying to communicate with the thing.

  “I’m a friend,” he told it. “I belong here. I like you.”

  The spaniel whined and wagged his stump of a tail. Slowly it walked up and began smelling the skunk.

  “We can have nice times together,” Stinker continued at the dog. “We can play together, chase the ball, find loathsome things to eat.”

  The dog sat down in front of the newcomer and grinned amiably.

  Karen’s mother watched with amazement. “Well, will you look at that? I’ve never seen Sancho act like that with a strange animal. He’s usually all stiff legs and growls.”

  “See? Stinker must be a pet. Perfectly safe and odorless. Can we keep him?”

  “Well… .I suppose we’ll have to keep him until we can find the owner.” She stood for a moment looking thoughtfully at the skunk. “You know, he is kind of cute at that.”

  Stinker cringed at the word but decided he had better play up to it. This person was obviously an authority figure. Sitting on his broad hind end, he wrapped his tail around him and tucked his two forepaws under his chin.

  “Don’t overdo it,” Karen thought at him.

  Her mother’s expression was quavering between a smile and a worried frown. “Oh dear, I don’t know what to do. I guess your father could drop an ad by the newspaper office tomorrow on his way to work. But maybe we should just take the skunk to the animal shelter.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “Well… . maybe not yet. But that’s just until someone’s had a chance to answer the ad. And, Karen, you have to take him on walks frequently. I hope he’s house-broken.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he is,” Karen said, adding the thought that he’d darn well better be.

  “And it’ll be your job to feed him. I wonder what skunks eat.”

  “Peanut butter,” Karen answered without thinking.

  “How do you know?”

  “Oh, I read it someplace.”

  “Well, whatever. But taking care of him will be your responsibility entirely until we can see if someone answers the ad. Understand?”

  “Yes, Mother. No problem. Let’s go upstairs, Stinker.”

  As they trotted up the carpeted stairs, Stinker thought, “I presume there is some reason for not revealing my identity to your mother?”

  “Sure. She’s an adult.”

  “So?”

  “Adults don’t believe weird things very easily.”

  Once in Karen’s room, her guest set about a thorough exploration. Drawers and boxes were opened and plowed through, the tape recorder was put through its paces, the pencil sharpener was twirled and then taken apart. All the while, Karen picked up little mental bursts of surprise, interest, amusement, and occasional disdain. She also realized that apparently a space explor
er’s training did not include putting things back as you found them. She hated to think what her mother would say if she came in now.

  “Uh, Stinker, if you want to see the encyclopedia, it’s over here. It’s just a junior edition, of course, but … say, can you read?”

  Stinker gave the mental equivalent of an indignant snort. “Of course. I picked that up out of your mind.”

  Karen raised startled hands to her head. That sneaky skunk’s worse than a pickpocket, she thought.

  Stinker looked up from the jewelbox he was examining, a plastic bangle dangling over one ear. “Sorry. Don’t mean to offend you. I forget you’re not used to working with your mind this way.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. Take what you need, I guess. At least it doesn’t hurt. I’ll go down and fix us some peanut butter sandwiches.”

  When she returned with a plate of sandwiches and a couple of oranges, Karen found the skunk squatted in front of volume A of the encyclopedia, smoothly scanning a page, then turning it with his little furry paws.

  She stopped in the doorway and stared. This more than anything else convinced her of Stinker’s story. After all, talking animals were old hat—in fairy tales, at least. But reading animals …

  She stepped into the room, quickly closing the door behind her. “Don’t let my folks catch you doing that— or typing or turning on the TV. Take your cue from Sancho. He’s probably about as stupid as your average skunk.”

  “Sancho? Is that what that type of animal is called?”

  “No, he’s a dog. Sancho’s his name. They called him that because when I was little I couldn’t say ‘cocker spaniel.’ It came out ‘cockeyed Spaniard.’ ”

  “Oh.” He didn’t get the allusion, and from a scan of Karen’s mind, he could tell she wasn’t too clear about it either. Something to do with a character in some large boring book.

  The next day, when it was time for school, Karen left Stinker in her room with a bowl of peanuts, the last of the peanut butter cookies and several apples— the apples being an attempt at balancing his diet.

  Before leaving to catch the bus, she took his picture with her father’s Polaroid camera. She had wanted to take Stinker along in person to show the kids at school, but her parents had firmly said no. It would probably cause a riot, they thought, and Karen decided that fun as that might be, they were probably right. But at least she could flaunt the picture. Having an apparently pet skunk seemed to Karen a surefire way to raise her prestige at this new school.

  On the bus coming home, Jonathan Waldron actually sat next to her and after a few awkward minutes asked to see the picture. He seemed genuinely impressed. Smugly Karen thought how impressed Jonathan would be if he knew the truth about this particular skunk. Let him keep his old spaceship models!

  Back in her room again, Karen found Stinker just finishing volume U. The floor was littered with peanut shells and apple cores, and Sancho was flopped on a rug, soulful brown eyes fixed lovingly on his new friend.

  She plunked down a stack of books onto her bed. “I took out some books on space travel from the school library. That encyclopedia’s not very up to date for scientific stuff.”

  “Oh, glad to hear it,” Stinker thought back at her. “I was beginning to wonder—though I’ve been learning a lot about the ancient city of Ur and also Ulysses and Ungulates.” He got up, shook himself, and began waddling toward the bed.

  “Not yet,” she said firmly, placing a hand on the pile of books. “All work and no play makes a dull skunk, also maybe a dead one.”

  “Huh? But I don’t want to play. My dignity… .”

  “Never mind your dignity! As far as anyone can tell, you are a skunk. Dad took that ad to the paper this morning. In a few days, maybe a week, when nobody claims you, they’ll want to take you to the pound—unless you’ve proven what a fine family pet you make.”

  Stinker picked up her mental image of the animal pound. “Right.” He turned to Sancho. “Let’s go play.”

  5

  Despair of a Stranded Skunk

  When Karen’s father got out of his car that night, he was greeted by the sight of his daughter playing ball with a cocker spaniel and a skunk. He watched with amazement as the little black and white player continuously outwitted the flop-eared golden one.

  “That’s some animal,” he said, shaking his head in grudging admiration, as he walked up to Karen. “I never would have guessed a skunk could make such a good pet. He’s really quite bright. His owner ought to be eager to get him back. Just don’t let him go wandering off, Karen. We don’t want him bringing back any of his woodsy friends.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, Dad. Stinker’s a real home lover.” As her father walked away, Karen continued to herself, “It’s just that his home’s some distance away.”

  When she turned back to the animals, she found Stinker and Sancho sitting side by side, vigorously scratching themselves with hind feet. The dog seemed resigned to it, but his companion was not.

  “I don’t think much of these little biting creatures that seem to have come with this body,” Stinker thought at Karen. “I keep giving them mental commands to leave. They do, but they have apallingly short memories.”

  “I don’t think fleas are known for their high intelligence,” Karen replied. “Just don’t scratch much in front of Mom and Dad. They’d make you wear a flea collar. Then you’d smell worse than a… .”

  “Do stop making uncomplimentary references to odor.”

  Stinker also did not think much of the dog kibbles Karen’s mother served him for dinner, although on the kitchen floor beside him, Sancho eagerly gobbled up his own bowlful. The skunk forced some down, however, after Karen sprinkled them with peanut butter morsels.

  After dinner, he took a quick look at the new space flight books, then settled down in Karen’s lap in the living room while the family watched a movie on television. It was a popular space saga with plenty of interstellar dogfights and blazing lasers. Stinker watched with excited intensity.

  Karen’s father noticed, “Look at that skunk, will you?” he laughed. “You’d almost think he was following the story.”

  “Oh, no,” Karen protested quickly. “I’m sure he just likes the moving shapes, or maybe it’s the food commercials.” She felt an annoyed kick from a hairy paw.

  After the movie when Stinker and Karen had gone upstairs, he shot a question at her. “How old are those books you brought back, anyway?”

  “The space flight ones? Oh, pretty old, I guess. Ten years, maybe.”

  “Only that old? Then how could you people have moved in a few years from the primitive stuff in the books to what we were watching tonight?”

  “Oh, that was just a story. It’s made up.”

  “A story! But … what about all that other stuff you know about? The Dark Destroyer, the Princess of Light?”

  “They’re just stories, too. But, heck, if I hadn’t been into that sort of thing I’d probably never have believed you so easily.”

  His mental groan went to Karen’s heart. Suddenly understanding, she knelt down beside him. “You mean, you thought… .”

  His bushy tail drooped. “I mean, this might not have been the best planet to crash land on.”

  When Karen came home from school the next day, she found Stinker pacing back and forth across her room. “It’s hopeless!” he thought at her. “These books make it clear. I’d have as good a chance of getting home from here if I sprouted wings and tried to fly.”

  She sat down and scooped the dejected animal into her lap. With one hand she scratched the white patch on his head, while the other traced the pattern along his back. Despite himself Stinker purred, rubbing against her fingers.

  “You know,” she said, “you’re welcome to stay here if my parents say it’s okay.”

  “Thanks,” he answered dully. “I mean, I appreciate the sentiment, but I simply can’t stay here. Sylon High Command must receive the information I have about the Zarnk attack.”

  After a mo
ment the skunk got up from Karen’s lap, ruffled his long silky fur, and with determination padded toward the door. “I guess I should go back and take another look at that wreck. Maybe there is something I can do with it after all.”

  Soon with Sancho trotting eagerly behind, they slipped out the back door and headed off to the woods.

  In his former body, Stinker realized, he’d probably have had trouble finding the crash site again, but this one led them right to it. The land here was so boggy that already the landing scar and even the wreckage of the ship were disappearing under mud and watery green scum.

  He felt slightly squeamish about confronting the remains of his former body—he had been very attached to it—but he found that the forest scavengers had rather thoroughly removed all traces. Indignantly, he wished indigestion on them. He did not care for the thought of having been somebody’s dinner, not at any stage.

  Karen sat on a fallen log and watched as Stinker scrambled over the remains of his ship, digging here and there, Sancho enthusiastically helping.

  From what Karen could see sticking above the surface, this might almost be another old rusted car that had been dumped in the woods. For an interstellar adventurer, she decided, this fellow seemed awfully low profile: a peanut-guzzling skunk who arrived in a broken-down jalopy. Oh well, maybe he cuts a more impressive figure in his own setting.

  He looked far from impressive when he finally came back to the log, bedraggled and covered with mud. He crawled up beside Karen, his tail drooping dejectedly over the side. Irrepressibly cheerful, Sancho sat at Karen’s feet, panting and thumping his short tail against the ground.

  Stinker sighed. “It seems the drive unit is pretty well intact, but the ship itself is a total write-off. Those mass-produced scout ships ought to be banned from the market. At home I have a trim little one-person fighter that could have taken a landing like that with hardly a scratch.” He sighed again and began picking absently at the rotten bark. Without thinking, he popped a grub into his mouth.