Greegs & Ladders (17 page)

Grollers are
ridiculously unsuited to live on a waterworld. They have no gills.
They are human-like, but are denied even the ability to swim by the
unfortunate setback of having only one arm and one leg each. You
might think this perfectly enough considering all the
oddly-proportioned creatures that manage to keep afloat in water,
but Groller limbs were like anti-fins... without another one of
them, no amount of flailing could keep them afloat. Grollers mainly
just hop and roll around aimlessly.

Doing nothing
but hopping and rolling around while living on three acres of sharp
rocks in a perpetually storm-stricken waterworld without even the
ability to swim is the least of worries within the Groller
community. There is the much greater problem of food.

The only food
on Hroon is fish, yet Grollers are deadly allergic to all types of
seafood. Always have been. That being said, there are only three
possible endings to the devastatingly limited lifetime of the
Groller:

1. A Groller will
   forget it is allergic to seafood. Eats seafood and dies.
   

2. A Groller will
   forget it cannot swim. Rolls into ocean and drowns.
   

3. A Groller will
   forget it cannot swim. Rolls into ocean and is eaten by some sort
   of carnivorous monster.
   

Grollers don’t
exactly forget these facts, because they never learn them in the
first place. No knowledge of any kind is passed down from parent to
child. Not even the rudimentary sense of a grunted language. All a
Groller has time to do in life is hop, roll, mate, give birth, and
then decide if it would rather die of food-poisoning, drowning or
monster-attack.

No one
suspects being eaten by some sort of carnivorous fish-monster,
although it accounts for 14% of all Groller related deaths.

Obotron
1 touched down in the water, close enough for us to be able to
reach the rocks via the floating elevator. The 2 remaining Obotrons
touched down as well. One of the ships looked in amazingly good
shape, while the other had landed upside down. Apparently the ship
had not recovered from being whipped away by the wind and thrown
into a 100 foot tidal wave. The upturned ship continued to float,
and would have looked normal to someone unfamiliar with the regular
layout of an Obotron (which is most people given how rare an
Obotron is) but inside the ship was a state of total ruin. Rather
than read the instruction manuals lining the walls of every room,
which would have told them to calmly jettison the ship in the
escape-pods which also lined the walls of every room, the
frightened crew members decided that watching a copy of
The Poseidon
Adventure
would be a
more productive thing to do given their current predicament of
being upside-down. The melodramatic discourse of the ensemble cast
of 1970s Hollywood stars proved to be useless regarding the topic
of Surviving an Upturned Spaceship in Alien Waters, but the crew
members stood by their choice of action as the ship slowly sank to
the bottom of the Hroon ocean. Their entranced eyes were fixated on
the flickering pictures. They were totally ignorant of the plethora
of aquatic monsters attracted by the new shiny
spaceship.

“Look at those
animals,” said Rip as he pointed to the island, not at all noticing
the vanished Obotron. “Are you guys sure we want to go near
them?”

Wilx looked up
from his annoyingly slow computer. “You were the one who just said
it was vital to question those creatures.”

“Yeah, but
that was before I got a look at them. I mean, look at them!”

“Are these
pitiful beasts considered the dominant species of this planet?” I
said.

“Yes,” replied
Wilx.

“How does that
work? You said the ocean is full of life. There must be something
more plentiful and intelligent underwater.”

“
Of
course there is. But these creatures are considered the dominant
species because such matters of classification are dictated and
controlled by the powerful publishers of
Very Rare Planets
. And the publishers of
Very Rare
Planets
, in their
anti-aquatic manner, decided that 'dominant species' is defined as
the most developed land creature. Since nothing that lives in water
is applicable for the title, these beasts win by default. The
UUIAO, or Universally and Unanimously Insulted Aquatic
Organization, has many times unsuccessfully lobbied for the proper
recognition of water dwellers. The notorious case of Planet Mrool
vs. the VRPPC (or
Very Rare Planets
Publishing Company) is frequently cited. Apparently the
planet Mrool is entirely water, not even a few acres of island like
this planet, and the only life form on the entire world is an
amoebic plankton with a life-span of several hours. The VRPPC
refused to acknowledge the amoebic plankton as the dominant
species, despite the fact the plankton owned the title by logical
default. The VRPPC even went so far as to try to plant false
evidence of a land-creature that didn't or couldn't exist. The
planet Mrool was eventually deemed a great waste of space, and its
orbital pattern was thus re-directed into the nearest black hole.
It's true that Mrool might have been a waste of space. No one lived
there to enjoy it. There was nothing swimming in its ocean but some
invisible amoebic plankton. It brings up the classic argument about
whether or not magma-rain is still hot if there's no one there to
get burned.”

“Do you know
what these creatures are?” I asked Wilx.

“
No, but
pass me the copy of
Very Rare Planets
. They might make mention of it in the less-read
sections.”

I passed Wilx
my tattered copy of the book. He flipped to the chapter on Hroon
and read from the microscopic blurbs bordering the edges of the
page. I had never bothered to read those parts.

“The dominant
species,” said Wilx, “are a measly gathering of beasts known as
Grollers. All we can tell you about Grollers is to not go near
them, under any circumstances.”

“Ok. Let's get
out of here,” said Rip. “You heard the books informative yet
anonymous voice from two thousand years ago telling us not to go
near them.”

“
Actually,” began Wilx, “
Very Rare Planets
is even older than that. The first known
publication was sometime before--”

“They look
like the puke of a Galactic Gobbling Groobin,” interrupted Rip.

“No they
don’t,” I said. “They look like the guts of a Colossal Snorkling
Plitzer!”

“No,”
challenged Rip. “They look like evolution’s cutting room
floor.”

Grollers did
not end up on evolution’s cutting room floor. They made the final
cut. You might think a Groller is ridiculously unsuited to live on
a waterworld because they’re not originally from a waterworld,
having possibly re-colonized to the wrong planet. This is not the
case. Hroon is the only planet that Grollers have ever existed on.
It is simply a case of evolution severely fucking up.

“Prepare the
floating elevator.”

“And don’t
forget the remote control this time,” I said.

“Way ahead of
you,” said Wilx as he patted his jacket pocket, which contained
ample spare remotes. “It is a new rule never to leave the ship
without ample spare remotes for the floating elevator. We’ve gotten
in a lot of trouble from continuing to forget this thing.”

Grollers
always evoke a strong reaction in visitors. Many people wish that
someone would get the whole business over with by dropping a bomb
on the lot of them. Others wish that someone would transport them
to a planet where they belong. Most are against this last idea, not
wanting to risk their own planet being the future home of
Grollers.

“Ugh. Just
look at them,” I said.

“Don’t forgot
that you’re a Greeg,” said Wilx. “You’re barely less hideous than
those things.”

“Do you think
they can talk?” I asked, ignoring the comment.

The floating
elevator touched down on the island. The Grollers were noticeably
scared of the new technology. They hopped and rolled their way to
the opposite edge of the rocks. A few remained nearby.

“Look,” I
said, pointing to the close Grollers, “Some of them are brave and
want to examine us.”

“I don’t think
so,” said Wilx, inspecting the nearby bodies. “They aren’t moving.
I think they were killed by the fire propulsion of the floating
elevator.”

“Oh.”

Rip promptly
rolled the dead Grollers into the water, so as to not upset the
rest of the herd. A carnivorous fish-monster promptly ate them and
was delightedly surprised by the random introduction of cooked
Groller meat as opposed to the usual raw. It was a delicacy the
fish-monster had never been treated to. No one else in history had
ever accidentally fried a group of Grollers with the propulsion of
a floating elevator and then rolled their bodies into the
ocean.

“Not the best
way to say hello,” said Wilx.

“Just look at
them,” I repeated.

“Indeed.”

All three of
us were thoroughly brought down by the sad scene of the
Grollers.

“Can any of
you talk?” shouted Rip. “HELLO?”

Not one sound
emanated from the creatures. Not even a slur of gibberish or a
brief bout of nonsensical shrieking. Total silence.

“They can’t
talk. Let’s go,” said Rip.

Wilx threw up
over the edge of the rocks. “You’re right. We can’t learn anything
from these primitive beasts.”

“Why did you
throw up just now?”

“Maybe
seasickness. Maybe the horrible sight of those creatures, or a
combination of the two. Probably just the creatures though.”

“I’m cueing
the elevator.”

As we were
about to climb onto the elevator I happened to glance behind me and
take one last look at the Grollers. I could just as easily have not
taken this last glance. Sometimes I laugh about how much can change
during the millisecond of a trivial decision.

Of all the
Grollers overpopulating this island, one of them in particular was
special. Kog shall be his name. Kog was not smarter than the other
Grollers. He was not the next link in their evolution. What made
Kog special was the fact that he had something in his possession.
It was the only object on the entire island, and it was hidden away
so that no one else could see it. If any of the other Grollers were
to have anything in their possession they would immediately try to
eat it.

“Hey!” I
shouted at Rip and Wilx. “Look at that one over there!”

“Where? They
all look the same.”

“Right there
to the left! Do you see it?”

“No.”

“One of them
is motioning to us!”

Rip and Wilx
looked around the terrain until they spotted Kog. He was waving for
us to come closer.

“I don’t like
it,” said Rip. “Could be a trap.”

“But it’s a
sign of intelligence! Maybe that one has learned how to
communicate.”

“Maybe
so.”

“We should at
least try to talk to it.”

“You go over
and chat with the monsters. We’ll stay on the elevator in
preparation for rapid departure. If these beasts turn on you, don’t
count on us waiting around to collect your body.”

“Ok.”

So Rip and
Wilx (in their occasional cowardly fashion) remained on the
floating elevator as I carefully ambled my way towards Kog. I could
see that he was now pointing at the rocky floor.

“What is it?”
I asked.

Kog continued
to point at the rocks.

“It’s just
more rocks. What are you pointing at?”

In a fit of
impatience, Kog stood on his leg and attempted to jump up and down
like a child. He quickly fell over, bruising his face and scraping
his arm. He angrily thrashed about, apparently having just
discovered for the first time that he only had one leg and one arm.
Grollers have no memory at all. Kog was the only living Groller who
had any sort of remembered knowledge, and it was merely the
location of the hidden object.

It was at this
moment that most of the Grollers became aware that I was food. They
began to hop and roll their way towards me. Luckily they were slow
and zombie-like, but given the lack of space it was only a matter
of minutes before they closed in on me.

“Listen, you
mutant! What are you pointing at?!” I screamed at Kog.

The sudden
loudness of my outburst shook Kog into an awakened state of
purpose. He had never felt more alive.

Kog pushed and
kicked away the loose pile of rocks he'd been pointing at. Buried
underneath was a book. It looked very old and tattered.

“Thank you,” I
said as I grabbed the book. I raced for the floating elevator.

Obotron 1 flew
away from Hroon. Just one fleet ship now followed behind us (the
other one resting at the bottom of the Hroonian Ocean, for those of
you who have the memory of a Groller). I could not wait to peruse
this mysterious artifact.

The book had
washed up on the island many thousands of years ago. The archaic
and brittle tree-fibre pages had survived the ocean by having been
rolled up and contained within an airtight canister. This canister
was likely the first ever 'message in a bottle' in universal
history. The ancient Groller who found the book somehow
instinctively knew that it must be kept a secret, so he buried it
in the rocks. In his short lifetime he showed it to only one other
Groller, this being the Groller who would in turn be the next
guardian of the book. This cycle continued down the ages, so that
per generation there was always only one Groller who knew the
secret. None of the guardians were curious enough to open the pages
or to even wonder about the book. They merely kept it safe. This
remarkable event reached its culmination with Kog. For whatever
reason, Kog knew the book was meant to be given to me.