Greegs & Ladders by Zack Mitchell, Danny Mendlow (top 10 ebook reader txt) 📕

“Why don't we bring extinct species back all the time?” I asked.

“Because we don't mysteriously happen to have frozen samples of these hypothetical species on hand.”

“Good point,” I said.

“For the most,” continued Wilx. “If a species sucks enough at living to go extinct... it's probably for the best.”

“Another good point,” I said.

“But throughout the Universe, bringing back species from extinction is a supremely popular activity. There are entire planets devoted to Extinction Attraction Parks, mostly in the over-commercialized Zenib Quadrant.”

“Oh, you mean like Jurassic Park.”

“Dinosaurs never existed on Earth, silly. Rip put them there to test humanity's faith in Giant Lizards.”

The now-living Quigg confusedly examined our ship. After a few minutes it remembered its purpose and began to scrub the floors.

“Oh, don't worry about cleaning the ship,” I said to the Quigg. “Save your energy for Garbotron, you'll need it.”

The Quigg either didn't hear us, or didn't understand.

“Might as well let it keep cleaning,” said Wilx. “The ship could use it.”

“Should we wake up Rip for the Garbotron ground-mission?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

We defrosted Rip from his cryogenic sleep. He snapped awake with vigor, showing none of the groggy hangover effects common after a long sleep.

“So, what are we up to?” he asked. Wilx got him caught up.

“We're on a mission to find the recently vanished planet of Jupiter. Krimshaw believes the disappearance has been caused by the Life-to-Planet Totality Quotient, and that Jupiter is still intact somewhere in distant space. Our only hope to find it is to have a sample of its atmosphere for the tracking beacon. For a time there were samples stored in a museum on Earth, only the museum was bombed and the remnants were sent to Garbotron. We're now at Garbotron in hopes of finding a surviving piece of the atmosphere. We plan on once again asking the fruit fly Milt for directions, except we plan on actually getting directions this time by having a bribe in the form of a recently cloned specimen of a Quigg, the once extinct cleaning species.”

During that rant, Rip had generally only noticed the word Garbotron.

“We're there again?!” he moaned. “Why did you wake me?”

“Because you might miss something amazing,” replied Wilx.

“On Garbotron?”

“No, probably not on Garbotron. But later. If we find Jupiter.”

Garbotron Revisited

We put the Quigg into a cage. Within minutes the cage had been cleaned to the point where it was blindingly shiny. With nothing left to clean, the Quigg promptly sat silently and went into a catatonic meditation. We didn't realize it, but the Quigg was caught in a serious state between life and death. The Quigg anatomy requires the act of cleaning to keep itself alive. Its cellular structure began to break down as soon as every square inch of accessible surface had been polished and sterilized. But this new Quigg was fighting to break through to the next logical phase in evolution. Had the creature been given a longer life-span and a more rapid method of procreation, it would have eventually spawned a new species of Quigg capable of not only cleaning things but also of dirtying things, allowing themselves to always stay alive, even if only to be caught up in a ridiculous loop of cleaning, dirtying, cleaning, dirtying, and so on.

It was not difficult to find Milt, for his swath of clean land known as the Oviform had substantially expanded. He had been busy at work. I made sure Wilx parked the ship at least a mile away from the edge of the Oviform, so that we did not stir up any contaminants. From there we walked.

Of course we couldn't see Milt anywhere, so we had to just walk around shouting out his name. Soon I spotted his tiny fluttering a few feet in front of me.

“What are you doing back here?” he asked irritably in his ridiculously shrill voice. “You musn't contaminate the Oviform! Musn't! Stand back!”

“We promise not to make a mess,” I said to Milt. “We plan on staying for as little time as possible.”

“But why are you here?” he asked. “There is nothing you can do here other than ruin my work. You are part of the slovenly species who did this.”

“We're looking for something,” I explained. “Something that might be important. This isn't for our own personal gain like the Beard of Broog. We're looking for something that might help save an entire planet.”

“Continue,” said Milt. The planet-saving bit had sparked his interest.

“A planet has vanished, we think due to Life-to-Planet Totality Quotient. In order to find the planet we must have some of its atmosphere for our tracking beacon. During your tireless and selfless work on this world, have you ever seen anything pertaining to the planet Jupiter? We are looking for the remnants of a museum.”

“I might have seen some stuff labeled Jupiter,” said Milt absently.

“Where?”

“I've already given you a map of the planet. If I've seen it, I've marked it on the map.”

“But we can't read the maps,” I said. “Even the magnifying glass did nothing to help.”

“Surely you have computers on your space-craft that could enhance the image?”

“We do, but we don't have a map anymore. Could we have a new one please?” I asked.

“I only have my one copy left and I'm not willing to loan it out,” said Milt.

“Then could you just take us there? That would be easier.”

“Yes it would,” said Milt. “Easier for you anyway. But I'm afraid I don't have the time. I've got a lot of work to do.”

“It won't take that long,” I said. “We don't have to walk. We have a ship.”

“Look, I just don't want to help you,” said Milt in a surprisingly stern tone for such a shrill voice.

“What if we could help you in return?” I asked.

“How could you possibly help me? Your mere presence damages the atmosphere. The exhalation of your breath is a veritable explosion of toxic carbon-compounds. A minutes worth of your breath sets me back a week of work.”

“What if we gave you something that every minute saved you a month of work.”

“Impossible,” said Milt. “There is no cleaning machine that powerful.”

“Machine, no. But there is a life-form that powerful. They're called Quiggs.”

“A Quigg?” asked Milt. He had read about them many times, always believing them to be mythical. “Quiggs aren't real. I've always wished they were, but they aren't.”

“They were real. But they went extinct. We've managed to clone one from a long dormant tissue sample. Weren't we just talking about Jurassic Park? Nevermind. The point is, we'll give you a Quigg if you help us. You have no idea what this creature can do for the planet. You'll be retired in no time.”

“Let me see it,” said Milt.

I produced the cage. Since we'd stepped off the ship the Quigg had been wide awake and going crazy with the smell of garbage. We opened the cage-door and the Quigg came rolling out.

“Wow,” said Milt as he noticed it had brushes, scrubbers and buffers where there should have been arms, legs and feet.

The Quigg seemed to be going into a spastic fit at the sight and smell of so much garbage. It could not handle the overload of filth. It began shaking so intensely it looked as if it was about to implode. Then the strangest yet most appropriate thing happened. The Quigg split into two Quiggs. It seems one look at Garbotron was enough to set the evolution of the Quigg back in full motion. There was no time for cloning or intercourse. More Quiggs were needed so badly that the sole member of one of the most useful species in existence was at once granted the power of instant replication. Within a few minutes there were half a dozen Quiggs hard at work.

“Amazing!” beamed Milt. “Sensational! Legendary! It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!”

“Enough for us to deserve your help?” I asked.

“Yes, yes, I'll help you find this Jupiter sample,” said Milt as the Quiggs continued to multiply. “Although that might be a problem. At the rate they're replicating and cleaning, we're likely to not find anything! I know where the Jupiter Museum is. It's not far, just across the swamp.”

Milt hurriedly directed us through a complex maze that we never would have been able to traverse without his expert help. At last we caught sight of a charred shell of a building with a sign that read JUPITER MUSEUM NOW OPEN.

“The building is still somewhat intact,” noticed Wilx. “Didn't you say it was bombed?”

“I thought it was,” I said. “It must have just been a fire. It's hard to remember everything when you're immortal.”

“Too true,” agreed Rip.

“Let's start looking,” said Wilx. “Everyone take a different wing of the Museum. Don't fall through any burnt floorboards!”

We walked towards the entrance of the museum.

“Do you mind if I push off now?” asked Milt. “I'm curious to get back to the Oviform and check on the progress of the Quiggs.”

“Go ahead, we should be fine here,” I said.

“Thank you again for the gift you have bestowed upon this troubled planet,” he said as he flew back to the Oviform.

Something Excellent

Afters hours of sifting through the rubble, it was Wilx who finally found an uninjured sample of Jupiter. He had always been the best at finding things.

“Here it is!” he shouted exuberantly. “I found it!”

He held out a clear cylinder.

“It's made of glass,” I said. “Amazing it hasn't shattered after all these years.”

“It can't shatter,” said Wilx, reading the fine print on the bottom of the container. “It's made of unbreakable Jardian mega-prisms.”

“I think we proved that Jardian mega-prisms aren't unbreakable with the whole Chalkboard of Elbereth scenario,” stated Rip.

“Right. Nearly unbreakable Jardian Mega-prisms,” corrected Wilx.

We gathered around the sample. Brownish-red gaseous vapor mixed with itself in an amazingly psychedelic way.

“It's so... hypnotizing,” drooled Rip as he grabbed the container and unscrewed the cap.

“What are you doing?!” shouted Wilx. “You'll let it escape!”

Rip proceeded to drink the entire contents of the Jupiter sample. We then had one of our typical moments of silence as we contemplated Rip's insane decisions.

First he bubbled out his ears. Then his pupils crazily swirled like black ink diffusing in a saucer-full of curdled milk. He began to rant about ridiculous prophecies that he thought were being channeled to him from the missing entities of Jupiter.

“I... understand,” whispered Rip in an usually high voice. He then turned and collapsed in such a manner that made his body look like a twisted heap of cheap rag-doll limbs.

As