New site

Dear followers,

We have now relocated this site to WordPress, mainly because it looks much more pleasant, and also because it allows indents to be used, which provide a more organized and efficient layout. We hope that you will all follow us there in the future: we’re only a quarter of the way through this project, remember.

Tremendous vessels of amatorious veneration,

Your authors. x

Chapter six by Laura again AND the smileys :D

PROPERTY OF REBECKA SMITH

DO NOT TOUCH OR READ

IF YOU READ IT, I WILL KNOW!!!

NOW GO AWAY!

(no, not you 40 year old Becka, you can still read it :))

January 15^th

I got this diary for Christmas, but still haven't used it.

This is weird.

What am I supposed to do now, write my secrets so that Jake can read them??!!

NO WAY!

( Jake, if you are reading this, I swear to you, I'll hunt you down, and you don't wanna know the rest!)

I hate having a stupid younger annoying, boring and again annoying brother...( yes, Jake, I DO mean you....)

Ugh..

Okay, now I don't know what else to write, so I'm just gonna go.. Okay?

Bye, Becka

January 19^th

It was Jake's birthday yesterday... Why, oh why did he even have to be born stupid eight years ago?! The worst eight years of my life.. Maybe if he was a girl it would be better.. Not that he's far from looking like one..

So, all of his friends were here, and that means that the house was full of screaming children. The only good thing is that there was cake. Not that I was completely covered in it when Adrien (Jake's lame BFF) started the food fight.

Yeah.

Oh, and well, I saw Christopher when he came to pick up his sister with his parents. Aww, he is just so cute and adorable and I really like him. I mean, he is three years older than me, but so what?!?! He smiled at me, you know.. And I was so happy! :)

All of my friends say (including Danielle!) that we are too young for relationships now. Is twelve really that young?! Well, I object to that... I like Christopher, and they’ll see how cool it is to have a boyfriend when the two of us get together…

Oh, I think I’m in love... You know, this diary thing really isn’t that bad. I’m starting to like this :)

Beckah

January 21^st

Oh that stupid idiot!!

I saw him today, in school, during lunch break, kissing, yes, K-I-S-S-I-N-G that stupid girl from his class… what’s her name? Mona?! What kind of a name is that?!

He’s a jerk. And to think I actually believed we had something special. I mean, he smiled at me!!!!

Why is he sending me mixed signals!! Oh, I’m going to bed... And this diary does suck…

February 2^nd

Apparently my grandma died… Or was she my great grandmother?!?

I don’t know, it’s not like I’ve ever seen her in my entire life...

She like, lives in Russia, and now we have to fly there. Great...

See ya in Russia.. -.-

February 4^th

So, we’re now in Russia, it is cold (I can actually freeze to death here), and with snow falling from the sky the whole time.

I’m pretty much in the house most of the time. But only it’s not a house, it’s a freaking mansion... I think I’ll pretend I’m sick tomorrow (they are going to visit some relatives

--> BORING! / the last thing I need right now are old ladies pinching my cheeks the whole time... Thanks, but no thanks... I think I’ll pass..) and then explore around the house.

Maybe I’ll find somebody’s diary! Oh yay!

Oh, shoot, mum’s coming – gotta go be sick! :)

February 5^th

You will not believe all of the awesome things I found today... I found some books in Russian, and some jewelry (pretty!), some photos, and family portraits...

I found a few pictures with this cute little girl, but I have no idea who she might be. She must be dead or something by now... I’ll ask mum tomorrow...

February 6^th

Oh, so mum didn’t have an answer to my question, and we’re leaving tomorrow, although I want to stay now and find out who that girl is, I think she looks a bit like me...

So that obviously means that she’s pretty! :)

I’m gonna glue the picture here. I gotta go pack now..

Love, Becka <3

“Is that the girl” – Florence asked looking at the cute baby girl in a tutu in the old picture.

“I think so..” – Violet replied. “Wow, this is so interesting!” – she added.

“Yeah, I like that love part” – Florence said, lying down on the bed.

“What love part? There is no actual love” – Violet corrected her sister, as she lied next to her, laughing.

“Oh, well, she is in love with that Christopher boy…” – Florence said, looking up at the ceiling. Then she turned back to her sister, her eyes finding Violet’s.

“Don’t you ever wonder what it must feel like, to be in love?” – She asked her seriously.

“I don’t know. It’s not like we ever had a chance to fall in love with anyone other than Amadeus” – Violet replied joking.

“Oh, that would certainly be a great relationship, with a goldfish...” – Florence said laughing – “ One day you would just come home from work, tired, realize that you have no food for dinner, and wouldn’t feel like going to the store, and just eat your boyfriend / fish / friend / husband instead.”

“Umm.. Girls? They sent me to go get you” - Aaron Wells Thatcher said from a little elevator that took him upstairs, to the room his daughters were joking at the moment.

“What is that you’re wearing?” Florence asked with a grimace.

“Umm... They gave me some kind of a spacesuit...” he replied checking the suit.

“Will we get them too?” Violet asked excitedly.

“I... I don’t know.. We really should get going down there. They already declared us rude Earth people for changing Gadenhalden’s home; I don’t want them to think we don’t respect them because of this procrastination in here.”

“Geldunhaden” – Violet replied.

“What?” – Thatcher asked.

“That’s his name, Geldunhaden.” – Florence tried to teach her father.

“Well, what did I say?!” he replied – “I might be dressed funny, but thankfully I still have some brains, or as Miss Tibsen would say it, I still haven’t lost my sanity. C’mon girls, chop chop. The clock is ticking, and the time is sipping. I have a little hunch that now is the right time for lunch!”

“When did you become so poetical” – Violet asked getting up from the bed and entering the elevator.

“Oh, well… Adventures in outer space can really change a man and help him find some of his hidden talents” Thatcher joked as the metal door of the elevator closed.

The fifth chapter by Laura Roman.... and her smileys... NOT xD

"What was that?" Thatcher turned around, looking for the source of childish giggling.
"Florence, Violet, now is not quite the time to be laughing!"
"But father, it wasn't us," Violet said, looking innocently at her father's troubled face.
"Then who was it!?" Thatcher asked, confused and completely overwhelmed by the situation.
And then, suddenly, a little round robot-like creature came out of the shade and started staring at Thatcher.
"Oh my, what is that?!" Aaron shook his head toward Tibsen, pointing with his finger at the little robot that was quite amused by Thatcher's lack of knowledge. And then, it spoke.
"Hello! Who are you? Why are you here? Do you want to play?" it said in Dorieu.
"KEP!" Tibsen shouted, turning away from the control board and leaving Quadenhaden to deal with the coordinates alone.
The little creature ran away to the other room, leading to the rest of the PEEPs and the Thatchers could soon hear Tibsen yelling at them in a very strange language, that sounded different from the one she spoke earlier to Quadenhaden.
“Tibsen! Useless you shout! They study not never!” Quaden wisely told her when she came back a few minutes later.
“Excuse me…” Florence started.
“…but we are a bit confused… Could you…” Violet continued, looking at her sister.
“...please, tell us…“ Florence took over, cautiously glancing at a now mad Tibsen and completely indifferent Quadenhaden who was trying to figure out some numbers on the little green screen on the left side of the control board.
“…what the hell just happened?” Thatcher ended in an angry and frustrated tone.
“Nequem niih zulder waa?” Quadenhaden whispered to Tibsen, staring at the little family while biting his lip.
“Pata, niih tround,” Tibsen replied with a sigh, and then turned to the girls and Aaron. “Well, it seems that the PEEPs just blew up your island.”
“And us sorry much for this,” Quadenhaden quickly added with an sympathetic look on his face, and Violet would swear that his eyes were a bit too watery.
“But why would they do that? They don't seem that dangerous,” Florence asked, shooting an adoring look at the, what she found, adorable pink robot that was holding a purple flower in its little metal hand.
“Apparently, they were playing a game…” Tibsen said, looking at the PEEPs reproachfully.
“A GAME! You mean to say we are now homeless people because of some stupid game!? But… What are we supposed to do now? How will we survive? And there's no water nor food on this ship… And what about Harrison?! We can't just leave him there… Oh that poor lad…” Thatcher said and desperately crashed in a white chair that stood behind him.
“Don't worry, we have other fluids and foods. And I'm not sure how much longer you would be safe on Earth anyway. As for the island, I am afraid it is now completely gone…” Tibsen replied.
“Finido!” Tap yelled from a corner of the room imitating Spanish and wearing a worn out sombrero.
“Hey, where did you get that from?” Violet asked, approaching the lime green PEEP. But Tap didn't have the time to answer even if he wanted to, because the next moment another robot came to the room, a bright red one, to be precise.
“Quiero ir a la playa! Soy una chica muy linda! Eeee Macarenaaa!“ it sang, completely out of tune, while listening to an MP3-player and dancing around like crazy.
“Amp! Stop it!” Tibsen told him, but the girls had a feeling that he just wasn't going to listen to her. And they were right.
“Is that a... How did you…“ Florence tried to ask Tibsen, but was soon interrupted by another session of Amp's screaming, uh, I mean, singing. The other PEEPs decided to join in the party, and there were now eight of them, each one dancing in its own peculiar way.
“Quaden, we have to do something about them,” Tibsen said to him, upset. “I don't know how much longer I can take their attitude.”
“Donto, qewn wuf waf,“ Quadenhaden said and then slowly walked to the center of the room, raised both of his arms in the air and looked at the floor with his eyes closed.
The Thatchers looked at him completely speechless, while Tibsen took over navigation. They didn't know what to expect, whether he would now start yelling at them, or if he was just praying for salvation.
But they most certainly didn't see this coming. The PEEPs stopped dancing and surrounded Quadenhaden, so he was now in the center of a small circle. Amp turned off the music player, and took off the headphones, and then they heard Tibsen saying “Okay, ready?”
The next thing Thatchers knew, the lights turned off, new lights in different colors d Quadenhaden was now dancing in the middle, looking completely foolish, and the PEEPs seemed out of this world happy, as they all joined hands and danced around him.
The girls stood by the side, not believing their eyes, and Thatcher had had enough for one day anyway, so he decided it was okay for him to pass out now. So he did.
And as the girls felt compelled to join in the party – and were ready to do so – Kep, the terribly paranoid and worried purple PEEP, all of a sudden started screaming:
“We're all gonna die! There is no way out! Noo! Wait! What was that? It is the waffels!! They are going to kill us! Noo! Run, run for your lives!” and then it ran away trying to find a hiding place.
So, the little party was over, and the PEEPs' amusement needs were satisfied, and they decided to go play hide and seek around the ship. And Violet could swear that at least one of them had the intention to hide outside of it.
“Here, that should do it,” Tibsen said as they put Thatcher on a white surface that they used as a bed. “Are you girls going to be okay here? Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked them caringly.
“No thank you, Miss Tibsen,” Violet said with a warm smile.
“We'll be just fine,” Florence added, and then yawned.
“Yes, okay, speaking enough. You two boys needs sleep, for a much hard day you lived yesterday, or is it today?” Quadenhaden said as the girls climbed up the white soft blocks, and said goodnight once again.
He closed the door, and walked over to Tibsen who leaned against the wall, stroking her hair.
“Now what?” she asked him, with a tired smile.
“Now we go watch Geldunhaden,” he replied seriously, nodded to confirm his words one more time, and then headed to his cabin, while Flip happily jumped behind him, following like a faithful dog.

*

“Good morning, are you feeling any better?“ Florence asked her father, who just came into the room, holding his head with his right hand, blinking, and rubbing his left eye with his left hand.
“What happened?” was all he could say at that moment. He noticed that his house looked somewhat different the moment he woke up in a white room on a soft white block that didn't quite resemble his bed. He heard some voices outside, and decided to follow them. And now he was in what was supposed to be his dining room, his head pulsing from pain as if he drank too much the other night, but he couldn't recall such an event.
“Oh, well, you just passed out last… let's call it night, after Quadenhaden started dancing with the PEEPs, and so Tibsen and Quady helped us bring you to the guest room,” Violet answered, munching on something that resembled an energy bar.
“What did you just say?” he said, sitting on a chair next to his daughters. “And what are those?” he asked, pointing to Sif and Bani.
“Well two of the PEEPs, dad. Don't you remember anything?” Florence replied, visibly concerned.
“Yes this is Sif,” Violet said, and Sif looked down with a sheepish smile. “And this is Bani“, she added pointing at the dark blue PEEP who just growled at Thatcher, and continued to sit on the chair looking at everybody as if they were about to attack him.
“He has some issues,“ Florence whispered to her father.
“Oh, you're up!” Tibsen said surprised as she entered the room.
“Who are you?” Thatcher asked, still holding his head and squinting.
“Well, I'm Tibsen of course,” she replied, pouring a glass of pink liquid from a carafe.
“Wait!” Thatcher replied, getting up all of a sudden. “This is not my house!” he said, terrified.
“Bingo,” Violet said, but Aaron ignored her.
“Wait,” he said once again, and rushed towards Tibsen, grabbing her by her shoulders, looking at her like a mad scientist. “You mean to say that it wasn't just a bad dream? That I really am on a spaceship with… aliens?!”
“Yes, you really are on a ship with aliens, and you really could use a toothbrush,” Tibsen replied turning away from him.
Thatcher crashed once again in a bright yellow plastic dining chair in complete despair.
“Here, drink this, it will do you good. And, um… Try to get something done with your hair, we're landing soon, and I don't want dear old Geldunhaden to get an emotional attack when he sees three humans, and particularly you looking like that.”
“We're landing?” he said, looking up at her with a grimace.
“Yes father, isn't that exciting?” Violet said with a wide grin.
“But… but… Where?” was all his just-out-of-bed-self could mumble.
“To Nylar Fuslar… Iscay…” Florence tried, and then looked up at Tibsen. “Ugh, I still can't remember it, could you tell me again?”
“To Nyarl Nyarl Incy-Fustular,” Tibsen said with a big smile. “Now, go help your father get ready,” she added as she walked out of the room. A moment later, she came back.
“Oh, and Mr. Thatcher, drink that. You'll feel better, trust me,” she winked and then left again.

“Come, this way,” the girls repeated to Thatcher as they walked through long hallways filled with various paintings that showed different human emotions. Thatcher found one with a waitress in some Wild West Inn smiling at them with her two teeth, her greasy hair in a messy bun, her bright red dress that went well with the same color of her cheeks, particularly interesting.
“Violet, I think this is the one,” Florence said to her sister when they got in front of a door. But that wasn't just some random door. It was a completely, most certainly, a human's front door. It was brown and massive and had a little door knock, and a peephole, and most importantly; the name tag was still on, and it said Akin Volvapic.
“What's this?” Thatcher asked, and all he got as a reply was “Shush!” and “You'll see!”.
And indeed, Thatcher saw the moment later what was behind the door; he stood on the doorstep not believing his eyes, while his daughters rushed in, browsing around.
“Where did they get all of this?!” he said, his voice just a bit too high to be considered masculine. “Did they steal it?!”
“Oh father, please,” Violet said while picking up a little elephant figurine that stood on the coffee table.
“Don't be silly,” Florence added, sitting on a brown leather couch.
“Then where did they get all of this? It is all human stuff!” Thatcher replied entering the room, looking around as if he was in some sort of museum. “And why aren't the two of you at all surprised?!”
“Well, you were unconscious for a while, and Quady and Tibs showed us around,” Florence explained, going through the pages of an ancient book.
“And they told us that, back on Nyarl-Nyarl Incy-Fustular – did I get it right, Flo?” (and Florence nodded amazed), “back on their home planet, while Quaden was still just a little boy, he had this sort of a wormhole that shot things from earth to his room.”
“Isn't that an awesome bedroom?” Florence added with a smile.
“So…” Thatcher started looking around cautiously, “You mean to say that none of this is actually stolen?”
“No sir. Nothing.”
“But look at this,” he continued, pointing to an old gramophone. “Some of these things are ancient!”
“Oh, so what,” Florence replied, getting up. “Come on, we have to find you some clothes; here is the wardrobe. Violet, would you be so kind and put on some music?”
Florence took her father behind a wall full of various pictures – some of being of great value – and behind a piano, when they finally got to the wardrobe. She opened it, and clothes from all over the world and from different times were just waiting to be worn again. Soon, fifties music started, and Violet came to help her sister choose the right outfit, and they did so while having so much fun, and dancing around in pretty dresses despite the objection of their father.
A while later, they were leaving the room, and Violet stayed behind to turn off the music.
“We'll be waiting in the control room, okay?” Florence said, wearing a bright pink eighties tracksuit with light blue leg warmers, her hair in a nice ponytail with a headband that matched the leg warmers perfectly.
Violet turned off the gramophone, took out the record, and as she was trying to put it safely in its paper case, it fell down on the floor. She quickly got down on her knees, hoping it didn't break – if you're wondering, it didn't, but that's not the point now – and she saw something under the couch. She got closer, reached to get it and grabbed it. She took it to the light and it seemed to be a diary of some kind. As she was about to turn to the first page and read it, she heard footsteps outside, and quickly hid it in a bag that she decided to carry.
“Violence, you ready soon are?” Quadenhaden asked with a wide smile. “You look handsome much,” he added.
Violet looked at herself in the mirror. She looked quite funny, wearing a sparkly red dress that looked kind of medieval with its puffy sleeves, and it was actually a Halloween princess costume. But she didn't care, because who was there to judge her style?
“Well at least I look better than dad,” she thought to herself, and she was right, because what Aaron Wells Thatcher was forced to wear was absolutely horrendous.
He wore a white eighteenth century shirt that was now yellowish and had lots of neck and wrist ruffles, and some rapper's jeans that were constantly slipping down, which drove him nuts, red All Stars, and to top it off a floor long gothic black leathery jacket.
“Thank you, Quady, you're not so bad yourself,” she told him, smiling.
“Hurry now, we on ground. Geldunhaden, my sister, very much want to see me and my new friends,” he said, and the next moment they could feel the ship shaking a bit, and Quadenhaden started jumping up and down instantly. “We're here!” he exclaimed excitedly and rushed away from the room, and Violet just followed.



They all stood in a small hallway facing a pink wall of the Daisi Beravatstus 1021.
“Nyarl Nyarl Incy-Fustular; 3421508, Tibnulla of Rothquod's; house, two stories, owner: Geldunhaden of Blinkquod. Temperature: 2152 billies, a few mammatus clouds, Ranhappy is happily shining today, the date is 67. Loopaf of the year 5288 in Yuralhaden calendar. It is a warm sunny day. I hope you'll enjoy your stay.“
“Boy, am I glad Syelims upgraded Daisi; we now know the forecast when we land somewhere even before we get out of the ship,“ Tibsen told the others, all of them still staring at the bright pink wall.
“Opening the exit. Please stand still. Do not make any sudden movements,“ the computer lady's soft voice said, and around a meter wide part of the wall started rising slowly, and the stairs unfolded themselves, out of nowhere, to the ground. They stepped out of the ship cautiously, observing the scenery.
“But –” Florence stuttered.
“It's raining!” Violet finished while warm tropical rain poured down her face.
“Yes, it can do that, the computer,” Tibsen replied, looking displeased. “We'll tell Syelims to fix it when we visit him later.”
“Come!” Quadenhaden screamed excitedly, not caring about the weather. “Geldunhaden I not can wait to view!”



“Hello brother! How have you been?”
“Fine,” Geldunhaden replied, looking behind Quadenhaden's shoulder. “Who are they?” he asked with a questioning tone.
“Well, yes, that is why I'm here,” Quadenhaden answered.
“Hello Tibsen,” Geldunhaden nodded to her and she smiled at him, which he to this day didn't know how to comprehend.
“So who are the rest of them?” he added after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.
“Well, you see… How can I put this… Maybe you should sit down. Hm… It is quite an interesting story…“ Quadenhaden started. and Geldunhaden immediately knew that something was wrong. He knew that, the second he opened the door and saw three newcomers – all dressed in a funny fashion – looking at him like he was some attraction in the Wapuffs, their eyes full of excitement. And, yet again, there was the “Maybe you should sit down?”, and now he had no doubt – his brother had done it again. But how could he possibly out-top the Tibsen-incident?
“They are earthlings,” Tibsen interrupted Quadenhaden's rambling.
“What?”
“What did he say?” Thatcher asked, listening to the tense conversation of three aliens in Koksmutib of which he didn't understand a word.
“Did you tell him?” Florence continued the interrogation.
“Earthlings,” Tibsen told Geldunhaden again, ignoring the humans' questions.
“You mean, like from earth?” Geldun asked again, looking cautiously at the little family behind his brother and Tibsen.
“Yes, that's what we mean. Now can we please come in?” Quadenhaden responded, eager to get into the house and away from the rain which irritated him quite a lot now.
Geldunhaden stood there frowning for a while; the Thatchers feeling slightly uncomfortable and unwanted. They expected to be welcomed a bit more heartily.
“Oopla tand,” he finally said giving them room to get in the narrow hallway-like place. They followed him to the dark room, through ugly gray walls.
As they entered a big room with no windows or furniture of any kind (that was certainly a surprise), the ground suddenly started shaking, lights flashing here and there, and a low threatening sound emerged from the middle of the room, scaring both Thatcher and the twins.
“Oh, no…” Geldunhaden said. “You didn't explain it to them, did you?” he asked his brother.
“No, I didn't,” Quaden replied, feeling guilty and very ashamed.
The charade lasted for a minute, after which a dense fog filled the room, making it impossible to see even the tip of one’s nose. It soon faded away, and the Thatchers were now even more shocked than before.
They were standing in a large room, with big windows, and curtains, armchairs, sofas and a coffee table.
“It is our living room!” Violet finally said.
“But… But how?” Thatcher asked, looking desperately for an answer to this craziness.
“Oh, we didn't explain this earlier, we apologize. You see, our homes are very, how you earthlings would say it, high tech. That means that our technology is very, very advanced, to the levels you humans can't even dream of. So, every Tibhaden home is designed to fill the needs of the people that are currently in it, and then it replicates the most suitable environment for them and their pleasure. Since you came in, and didn't know this, or how to restrain your desire of home, the house immediately felt your needs and changed dear old Geldie's reception room to your living room. Even though that is not a polite thing to do when you're a guest in someone's home, and even though Geldunhaden didn't want his house changed, he backed off of his desires and demands, because he knows you're not aware of this. After all, it is your fist time. And humans desire more intensely than Tibhadens do. So it is as simple as that.“
“Niih rothqua fanfan,” Quadenhaden told his brother quietly and then gave Tibsen a significant look, after which she approached the girls.
“Why don't you girls go to the other room, you can make it look like any room you want to, while the rest of us talk,” she told them.
“Why can't we listen too?” Florence asked, not wanting to leave.
“No, actually, some time alone will do us good, we have to spend some quality sister time, and we could make the room look like our old bedroom! It will be fun,“ Violet interrupted, grabbing Florence's hand.
Florence gave her sister a puzzled look, but Tibsen didn't seem to notice that.
“Okay, just go to that wall, and say 'Fanwalla', and a little elevator will come and take you upstairs. Don't come back down until we call you, alright?” Tibsen continued, and turned her back on them as she walked towards the couch Thatcher was sitting on.


“What was that all about!? How could you just agree with her?! I don't want to be left out of the conversation!” Florence raised her tone, while sitting on her old bed in the replica of their bedroom.
“Oh, Florence, shush!” Violet said as she went through her bag, apparently looking for something.
“Don't shush me!” Florence replied, still angry with her sister.
“Alright, here it is,” Violet said excitedly and hurried to Florence. She sat on the bed, with a filthy black book in her hands. Florence was still not willing to look at her.
“What's that?” she asked after a few seconds, observing Violet's every move from a distant corner of the bed.
“Oh, would you please stop it and come here.” Violet looked at her impatiently.
Florence came closer, now sitting near her sister looking at the mystery in Violet's hands.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I think it is a diary of some kind…” Violet replied.
Florence looked up at her sister’s big eyes.
“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” she asked, and then they opened the first page of the long forgotten diary, once a possession of a Rebecka Smith.

The Fourth Chapter by The Cheeseburger Saint (Susie)

Considering the circumstances – those being that two aliens from the planet Nyarl-Nyarl Incy-Fustular had come to the Thatchers’ island and enlightened them on the fact that Fordarvians from the planet Oharg and their leader Bernice had invaded Earth, and brainwashed the entire human race with the purpose of turning them into soldiers devoid of independent thought – the Thatchers’ lives actually didn’t change much.

I’m joking, of course they did.
Now, back to the staggering conversation in the living room.

In the middle of a rather pointless remark Thatcher was making on the quite peculiar way Quadenhaden and Tibsen were drinking their tea, Violet turned towards Florence with the sort of loud gasp that abruptly ends all current conversation in the room.

“Florence!” she burst out and stared at Florence with a haunted look in her bright eyes.

“Violet?” Thatcher asked with a worried-father-tone in his voice. “What’s the matter?”

When looking into her sister’s familiar and troubled eyes, Florence was instantly struck by the same thought and gasped as well. They turned towards their father with bewildered faces.

“Harrison”, was all that they said, and there was no need to say anything else.

A silence entered the room. It was the kind of silence that makes you oblivious to if it has lasted an eternity or the quarter of a second. I can tell you though, if you're curious, that it certainly did not last the quarter of a second.

Finally, someone had enough. And quite naturally it was Quadenhaden, who had no idea who this Harrison person was – in fact, he wasn't entirely sure of what a Harrison was - and he was undoubtedly the most impatient and eager character in the room.

“Happen what is?” he asked curiously and eagerly, but to his defense he did try to keep it serious, very much aware of the warning glare Tibsen shot at him as she cleared her throat.

“If you do not mind me asking, what just happened? What is this 'Harrison' you are speaking of?” Tibsen asked Thatcher with a confused look.

“Harrison,” Thatcher started, “is our... Well, butler, I suppose you could say. He is more of a helping friend, though”, Thatcher said with a miserable look on his face; one that Quadenhaden genuinely recognized from own experience.

“Buttlah?” Tibsen asked curiously.

“Butler, yes,” Florence said gloomily. “It is someone who helps us with cooking and cleaning and such. Well… at least that’s what our butler does.”

“Really? You actually use humans for that purpose?” Tibsen asked, apparently stunned.

“Well, you make it sound so appalling, but yes, for many things...” Thatcher started but was interrupted by Tibsen.

“Back to the point,” she said. “What about this butler?”

“He – Harrison – is...” Thatcher’s voice broke and he cleared his throat before he continued. “You see, a couple of weeks ago he went away to gather the usual supplies we need to stay here on the island – food, paper, clothes, books, equipment…”

“And he hasn’t come back yet”, Violet interrupted. “He’s late, and we can’t reach him on his telephone.”

“And as you two have just made clear”, Florence went on anxiously, “Earth – with the exception of our island – doesn’t seem particularly safe, does it?”

“No”, Tibsen agreed. “You are quite right. Just as we said; not particularly safe for either life or sanity.”

Quadenhaden sighed.

“Make help for something is?” he asked.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Tibsen translated. “Chimey patinkioh Nog-bog”, she mumbled quietly to Quadenhaden.

“I –“ Thatcher began but was interrupted by the kind of sound some authors like to describe as “KABOOM” or “BANG”, but which really sounded more like a remarkably loud and complex ”BRHOMMBGLHBHDTH”.

Five distressed pairs of eyes met and the next moment all five of them – both human and Tibhaden – rushed out of the Thatcher residence to see what had happened. Another remarkably loud and complex “BRHOMMBGHBHDTH” sounded through the air, and as the word “earsplitting” came to their minds, another small detail also came to their notice; the ground was shaking. To be more precise, the entire island was shaking.

“View!” yelled Quadenhaden and pointed his arm towards the direction of the sound. They turned around to see what Quadenhaden was pointing at, and stared – quite shocked – at a very far part of the island vanishing in a fiery, but for some reason purple, explosion.

“Gordon Bennett…” Thatcher mumbled.

“Oh no! The PEEPs!” Tibsen exclaimed.

The easiest way of making you fully grasp what Tibsen had realized when she shouted “Oh no! The PEEPs!” would be to tell you two things. Firstly, I would have to explain what a Dori and what a PEEP is. Secondly, I would have to tell you about a certain game that the PEEPs had played earlier aboard Tibsen and Quadenhaden’s ship.

Doris are small and quite marvelous robots, first constructed by Pytte Tie-Knee, who later sold the right of producing them to the highly successful Yaggieyag Vovvov Faliallalilla Industries. It is very odd that Tie-Knee (who was in great need of money) agreed to sell the design of the Dori – which would soon become one of the most well-known robots in the whole universe – for an amount equivalent to merely seven dollars. It is a much odder fact, though, that he was in fact paid in a certain amount of meatballs from Uddevalla in Sweden, that were worth seven dollars. If you desire to dig deeper into the roots of this fascinating yet bewildering coincidence, I really can’t help you. But if you want me to continue with this story, I will, very soon. (If you do not want me to continue however, you still have that beautiful thing called free will which enables you to close this book or press the tiny cross in the upper right of your computer screen).

I believe I am now obliged to move on to the next point; what PEEPs are. In a small village of the planet Nyarl-Nyarl Incy-Fustular, there was a very gifted engineer. His name was Syelims Sarual. Since his planet, Kokobangbeng, suffered a terrible financial crisis, he had moved to Nyarl-Nyarl Incy-Fustular with his parents at a young age, and was quite a loner since there weren’t very many non-Tibhadens on the planet. In his early adulthood however, when he had mastered the Tibhaden language Koksmutib, he finally befriended a Tibhaden called Quadenhaden who soon came to be his closest friend. During their friendship, Syelims Sarual couldn’t help but acknowledge the fact that Quadenhaden had Flomersox Emotional Disorder, that he always did seem inconveniently emotional, and rather depressed because there was nobody to share these overwhelming emotions with - Not even Syelims who after all was from Kokobangbeng and was only on a slightly more emotional level than the Tibhadens. But nobody could deny that he did care for his friend Quadenhaden deeply, and therefore, he made Quadenhaden a gift. He bought eight little Doris and isolated himself from the outside-world for several months to work on making these eight Doris better, more practical, and above all; with the ability of having independent thoughts and emotions. When he considered himself done with all the adjustments, 7 months had passed, and he stepped out of his laboratory with eight small robots behind him. He called them The PEEPs (Pan-Emotional Exoskeletal Prototypes) and gave them the following names (The personalities were not his work, he had merely given them the ability of being individuals);

Flippersidianfubba – Yellowy orange PEEP; too happy for its own good. Nickname: Flip

Banniyargiebumdadad – Dark blue PEEP; with an evil look in its eye. Nickname: Bani

Amiamgamrosenpop – Bright red PEEP; very hard to keep from dancing. Nickname: Amp

Tapiaparschingelak – Lime green PEEP; loves mischief and giggles a lot. Nickname: Tap

Illialliaydenfraws – White PEEP; always depressed about something. Nickname: Illie

Drovvobalbagondh – Black PEEP; has a horrible temper, never smiles. Nickname: Dro

Kenditybrissapapap – Purple PEEP; terribly paranoid and worried. Nickname: Kep

Sif – Baby Pink PEEP, very quiet and shy and small. Nickname: Sissifillihintharoid

Arriving to Quadenhaden’s house, however, Syelims heard a piercing sound cut through the air. It was a very odd experience, as he had never heard a small little child scream before. See, the only small girls he’d met had been indifferent, unemotional and rather quiet Tibhadens. Inside, he found a stressed-looking Quadenhaden, holding a young baby-girl at an arms length away. The entire situation about poor little Tibsen was introduced to Syelims, and the PEEPs were introduced to Quadenhaden and Tibsen, who immediately stopped crying.

“Oh thank you, Sarual! They’re delightful!” Quadenhaden exclaimed in Koksmutib.

“It was nothing”, Syelims mumbled with an awkward smile. “It seems the little… human likes them too.” He continued with a glance at Tibsen, giggling and playing with Flip, Tap and Sissifillihintharoid.

If you have ever met the PEEPs, I’m sure you know why I say that it is without doubt unfortunate that they were programmed with the ability to think independently and have different personalities. They are exceptionally clever at planning pranks and even the ones with kindhearted personalities and emotions, can’t really help themselves from pulling a prank or two once in a while. In many aspects, they’re like small children, who never grow up. A PEEP has approximately 67 million languages programmed into its system, but they generally just speak their ancestors’ (the Doris) own language, Dorieu, to piss their owners off a bit and force them to learn Dorieu. The little robots are quite adventurous and consequently, they often hide in Quadenhaden’s spaceship to see where it will take them. In fact, this was such a known habit of theirs that Tibsen and Quadenhaden really shouldn’t have been surprised at all when the PEEPS appeared after takeoff.

A day or so after Tibsen and Quadenhaden had found the PEEPs on their ship and welcomed them in a little funny ritual of patting their heads twice and saying “Akerue Bof bof”, Tibsen had caught them playing one of their very strange games. Six of them had formed a circle, all holding a corner of a big piece of cloth up into the air, with Sissifillihintharoid lying helplessly in the center of the cloth. Dro had screamed “POFF! I explode!” (Dro said this in Dorieu, but fortunately Tibsen now spoke this very simple language perfectly well) and ripped apart the piece of the cloth it was holding. Then the next PEEP would do the same, ripping away his part of the cloth. Then they continued around the circle until little Sissifillihintharoid in the middle fell down on the floor, crying loudly. Tibsen had naturally quickly run to the little PEEP’s aid, and yelled angrily at the other PEEPs for doing something so idiotic.

“Why do you say that you explode?” she shouted angrily and quite confused.

“We’re playing bombs”, answered Flip in Dorieu. “You see, if we really were bombs, and the cloth was a planet or a country, we could make it slowly explode from each corner until anyone in the middle would explode with the rest of the country! It is a very funny game!” it continued happily.

Tibsen got absolutely livid at his words, and yelled for quite a while before she let it go. However, PEEPs lack the ability to learn from their mistakes, and it appeared that they had been dying to be left alone on the ship to get an opportunity to find out if their little game could work in real life.

Apparently, it could.

The memory of this game, though, made Tibsen instantly understand what had happened – or more appropriately, what was happening.

“Quickly! Run towards our ship! The entire island is going to explode!” Tibsen exclaimed.

“Say again? Why?! Did Bernice do this?” Thatcher asked perplexedly, grabbing a leather suitcase standing by the door.

“No! I’ll explain later! Right now, we just have to go.”

The thunderous rumble of another part of the island exploding into thick heavy smoke sounded forth, and now they clearly heard how much closer it was. There was no hesitation now – all of them started running; Tibsen and Quadenhaden in the front leading the way, Florence and Violet in the middle, and Thatcher in the back, making sure the girls were not sacking behind.

“But, wait! We can’t just leave the house and everything here!” Violet cried out, stealing a glimpse of their house behind them, while the explosions sounded more frequently.

“Oh, yes we can”, mumbled Thatcher after the deafening grumble and threw an anxious look over his shoulder.

“Come, Floret and Violence, we hasten us must!” said Quadenhaden seriously.

They could now see the spaceship among the trees, and Quadenhaden ran ahead, reached out his hand and stuck his finger into a small glowing circle. Some sort of door clicked loose and unfolded itself in front of them until it formed a pair of stairs. Tibsen jumped up on the first step and took a hold of Violet’s hand, pulling her up into the ship. Thatcher sighed and reluctantly stepped in behind Florence and Quadenhaden. They had entered a small room, filled with different screens and dashboards. Tibsen ran forward, pulled two control sticks and hit a button. She sighed, relieved.

“What on earth are we going to do now?” Thatcher said, panicky.

“Father,” Violet said and Thatcher realized she had a big grin on her lips, “I don’t think we’re going to do anything on earth.”

And of course, Violet was correct. The largest screen in the room showed the image of a massive cloud of thick black smoke that slowly grew smaller and smaller beneath them.

“Oh, dear me”, Thatcher mumbled.

“Odemie”, Tap imitated with a happy giggle from a dark corner of the room.

Chapter Three -- Adam J. M. Eagleton (again)

(By the way, I have tried all I can to add indents to this chapter, but the bloody thing won't let me. So you'll have to forgive me for that.)


*


They had moved into the living room, and Quadenhaden was cautiously sipping a glass of brandy. Thatcher had swallowed his in one gulp.
“I find difficult to believe already this not realise of this,” Quadenhaden said calmly.
“I beg your pardon?” Thatcher said, frowning.
“You demand of me a pardon in a type nonspecified?” said Quadenhaden, glancing at Tibsen.
Thatcher stared at him as though there was an alien before him. “What?”
“You are disturbed to rather?” Quadenhaden asked in perplexity.
“Hip wofer laptapasta icy-icy harsle frusker,” Tibsen murmured quickly to her companion. He frowned for a moment, then looked at the floor and nodded.
“Linhakky raffle fusking,” he mumbled.
“You must please forgive Quadenhaden,” Tibsen said confidently to the Thatchers, who looked decidedly alarmed. “There is something unnatural in his use of the English language. I feel certain that mine use is better, for I have studied it for more thoroughly long.”
“Are you French?” Violet asked.
“No, Tibsen. Tibsen is my name.”
“Don’t be rude, Violet,” Thatcher said quietly.
“What Quadenhaden was attempting to say is that he is surprised that you are not already aware of this.”
“Well, we haven’t really had much contact with the rest of the world for . . . a while now,” Thatcher said. “Well . . . no contact, for . . . several years.”
“That would explain it, then. But humans are excellent at communicating. That’s your strong point, we’ve been told. You spent all your time working out new ways to communicate with one another. How is it that you have not heard of this?”
“Miss Tibsen, I don’t have any idea what’s going on in the world. The King could be dead, and I wouldn’t know.”
“Your British monarch is dead, as far as I know.”
“See?”
“What?” Florence exclaimed. “The King’s dead?”
“Yes,” Thatcher said calmly.
“You seem unaffected by this news,” Tibsen said. “You seem unaffected by that news and also the news that your species no longer has power, or any Earth species, for that matter.”
“Oh, I am, I assure you.”
“Forgive me, it is just that I read that humans were very emotional creatures. You don’t seem to be that.”
“To be what?”
“Emotional.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, Miss Tibsen, the thought of the human race in peril doesn’t inspire a terrific amount of emotion in me, no. Animals, yes: they’re innocent. But humans probably got themselves into this problem in the first place.”
“I cannot confirm or deny that, Mr Thatcher,” Tibsen said rather solemnly. “I doubt the humans did get themselves into this problem, as you say, in the first place, because they had no contact with Oharg at all, excepting a few minor broadcasts to them.”
“Yes, well. . . . But what’s different about us, then? How come nothing’s happened here?”
“I can’t answer that, I’m afraid,” she said with a small laugh of disbelief. “We were travelling over this ocean to the mainland, and Quadenhaden spotted your buildings here. We were curious, so we landed, and found you. I can’t explain how you have managed to escape Bernice’s wretched manipulation technique, primitive though it is.”
“I’m sorry, Bernice?” Thatcher asked.
“Yes. He’s the President of Koksmutlop, and the leader of the Nyat-f Party. He’s responsible for the imprisonment of over two hundred planets and their inhabitants.”
“But why on Earth are you here on . . . er, Earth?”
“My friend,” she said, gesturing to a sulking Quadenhaden. “He likes the planet somewhat.”
“Somewhat?” Quadenhaden chimed in. “Hah! Hip lomey hasta wekwester!”
“Futnob. Yes, well. . . . That’s why we’re here, and not back on our own planet. Personally, I am rather fond of humans, too. And I’m incredibly thankful that you all still have intelligent thought, otherwise there’d be no hope.”
“But what’s stopping humans having intelligent thought?” Violet said. “Exactly, I mean.”
“Did you ever read about a meteorite which fell to this planet in . . . ap pof wop, Quadenhaden?”
“Hiss-nerf mau issnee.”
“1733, apparently,” Tibsen said.
“I’m not sure,” Violet replied, looking at Florence.
“I do,” Florence announced. “It caused the tsunami which hit Spain, didn’t it?”
“That’s right,” said Tibsen. “Well, that was from Oharg. It was manufactured by Beaulieu Industries in the Icks-Hilf Valley in western Koksmutlop, and was made primarily from a substance designed by Bernice according to the results from a biological examination of a human being abducted several years before then. It’s been integrating itself into your atmosphere for over three hundred years, and into your water, which is the whole problem. As soon as you drink the infected water, the process begins. Gradually the brain is broken down until it’s entirely helpless, and the Nyat-f can do what they like with it.”
“But what’s the point of all this?” Florence said in a somewhat broken voice.
“War. They need an army to fight their war with another planet, a stronger planet. They got ahead of themselves, invading without a proper army. That’s all this is: the gathering of soldiers.”
“So . . . that water’s poisoned?” Thatcher asked, pointing out of the window at the ocean.
“Yes. What water do you drink? It must be some kind of wonder liquid,” Tibsen said, laughing.
“It’s. . . .” Thatcher hesitated, then sighed. “I treat the water we drink with a. . . . I’m a scientist, Miss Tibsen. A rather famous one, actually. Well, I used to be. . . . I discovered a cure for cancer, back in 2009. Obviously I was rapidly propelled into enormous wealth and prominence; I was awarded the Nobel Prize, given a knighthood, all of that, you know. . . . As expected.
“But the cure I discovered was incomplete. My wife was already profoundly ill with the disease, and I could not stop it. It was . . . ironic, if anything. I left England a few years later, unable to bear the attention.
“By that time, the world was in a miserable state. The atmosphere was decomposing around us, the water was packed with poison, the minds were . . . dying, actually. Losing all sense of reality, and truth. We were better off far away from all of that.
“My grandfather was a scientist, too, of sorts. He, like myself, detested the state of the planet’s water supply, and had managed to develop a frankly extraordinary method of filtering it. I didn’t know this until I moved here. I chose this island in particular on his recommendation, because it was here that he found . . . something which is at the heart of this method. Our water is untainted, Miss Tibsen, as is our food.”
Tibsen was silent for a moment. “You owe your life to your grandfather, Mr Thatcher. Or perhaps just your sanity.”