The Light Blue Jumper Read online

  “You were telling us about the events of this morning; just tell me as much as you can remember,” she said encouragingly. I inhaled deeply in order to resume my story, congratulating myself on figuring out that this prying was all part of some intel-gathering IPF mission, but she interrupted before I could say anything. “It’s all right if you can’t piece it together, any snatches of information would be useful to us.” I nodded and braced myself to start speaking again, when she held my hand and looked deeply into my eyes. “If you want to take a break for a while you can just sit back and relax. Such traumatic events are buried deep down inside our minds and they cannot resurface on demand.” Touched, I reassured her that I was fine and gathered my thoughts in order to give her a precise rendition of the day’s events.

  “Block 2, my building, was bombed in the early hours of the morning,” was all I could manage before she patted my hand and cut in.

  “I can see how painful it is to dig up the past, just take a moment.” I fell silent in order to nurse my emotional scars as directed. “Would you like to continue?”

  “Yes, as I was saying…” I began.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” she interrupted, concerned.

  “Yes.” For fear of another interruption I decided to launch straight into my story without pausing for breath, “Block 2 was…”

  “Oh, you poor thing! How painful this must be!” She seemed to have come to care a great deal for me in such a short time.

  “It’s quite all right, if I can just answer the question.”

  “Yes, of course,” she encouraged.

  “Block 2 was bombed,” I ventured forth again.

  “You’re sure? No pressure,” she assured me.

  “It is one hundred per cent fresh in my mind,” I reassured her.

  “Really?” She made towards my hand again with an indulgent pat.

  “Yes, Block...” I said.

  “A sip of water, perhaps?”

  “It happened this morning!” I spat out; I feared I could not say Block 2 again without running the risk of an imminent stroke. My shouting brought in the brute, or Lieutenant Salaar as I now know him. “I am trying to tell my story and she just will not stop interrupting!” I was shouting again.

  “Calm down friend or you will make your head split open,” he warned.

  I ceased immediately. He was right, that was an unfortunate consequence of shouting for us Zaaronians; also discovered in the early space wars.

  “I will hear your story,” Lieutenant Salaar said. “Madam, could you please leave the room?” he requested politely.

  “Well, I never!” said the magnificent Madam as she rolled out of the room in a huff.

  “I am so glad you’re back,” I said with much feeling. “Hear me out, before she comes back! My building was bombed this morning at 7 a.m.” The words tumbled out of my mouth in their haste to be heard before Madam’s reappearance.

  “What?” he asked, clearly shocked.

  “I was asleep. I woke to the sound of bomb blasts. It was all I could manage, to get dressed and leave for work in the morning,” I told him.

  He opened his mouth but no words emerged.

  “Your building was being bombed and you got up and got dressed for work?”

  “I had an important day at work; I didn’t want to be late.”

  He was still at a loss. “I would have gotten fired if I was late,” I attempted to clarify.

  “So it didn’t occur to you that you might die in the bombing? Your main concern was that you might be late for work?” he asked in confusion.

  Now it was my turn to be perplexed. “Dying is not in my control, but being punctual is, which brings me to my current predicament. I am already an hour late because of our collision.”

  “What about your family?” he persisted.

  “They reached work on time, as far as I know. Unless of course they had a spot of trouble en route, then it is my great fear that they too might be late.”

  He looked away immediately, but I saw it. Disbelief chased by mirth. I saw the tell-tale shake of his shoulders as he tried to compose himself. “What, might I ask, is so funny?” My tone was icy as I drew myself up to my full height.

  “I’m sorry, I do not mean to offend you,” he said with what seemed like genuine remorse. “Your ways are very different to ours.”

  “Yes, obviously, commitment and dedication are things to be laughed at in your world.”

  “I apologise profoundly for any offence caused to you Zaaronian, it was not my intention.”

  Suitably chastened, he continued the interview at my nod. “Was your home destroyed?”

  “Most likely, yes.”

  He raised his eyebrows in query, staying silent this time.

  “The whole flat was on fire when I left, there wasn’t much to begin with, so I’m guessing there will be nothing left of it when I return. There are no emergency fire services in the G-Sectors.” I saw his jaw drop. “It’s a compliment to us really, because as a people we are so careful that the IPF never had any need of adding it to their budget heads for the G-Sectors. Now with the frequent bombings, apparently they are thinking of creating a special sub-committee to deliberate and report back on the pros and cons of this policy,” I said, beaming.

  “Were any of you injured?” he asked with concern.

  “No. My wife and the twins had already left when the bombing started. Their work shuttle leaves at 6:30 a.m. I have an 8 a.m. start, which is why I was at home.”

  “You’re sure you weren’t injured? Did you feel any pain or light-headedness at any point?”

  “I know where you’re trying to steer this sir, don’t even try it!” I was quick to fathom his true motives behind the mask of sympathy and concern.

  “Try what?” he asked, apparently baffled. He was good at this, but I was better. I decided to go for the jugular.

  “This accident was totally and entirely your fault. We were in our lane, going at optimum speed when you came out of nowhere and smashed us into smithereens. In fact, I’m pretty sure we’d all be dead if it wasn’t for some stroke of good luck on our part. On that note, where is everyone else? Separate interrogation cells, eh?” I really was quite excellent at this sparring game.

  He cleared his throat and walked over to me, placing a large heavy hand on my shoulder. “I don’t know quite how to break it to you Zaaronian, so I’ll just be direct. Everyone else is, well, sadly deceased.”

  “Oh.” There were thirty people aboard the work shuttle. “Was I flung overboard?” I asked with some resignation.

  “Yes, I suppose you were. Actually, we found you in a daze, wandering about in our hold. Any ideas on how you got there?” he asked.

  “All I remember is a loud crash and being thrown into the air.”

  “That would explain it. You probably floated into the cargo bay and then onwards.”

  “Now that I have helped you as much as I possibly can, allow me to proceed to my place of employment. I am already dangerously close to being fired,” I said, on the verge of panic.

  “Yes, by all means, but before you leave, could you just answer one last question. What is it that you do on Zaaron?”

  “Of course. I work in Arms and Ammunitions, along with the rest of the Zaaronian natives. We have quite an aptitude for weapons development,” I declared proudly.

  “You WHAT? Are you telling me that you develop weapons for your enemy to use against you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! We are all united under the banner of the IPF for the greater good. Surely you know that! There are no enemies in this equation.” I wondered if this entire episode was some kind of test of my loyalty to the IPF. “In any case, the weapons I have been working on are not ready for deployment. They are merely at the testing stage. Prototypes, if you will. With that I revert to my earlier request. I have to get to work; it is an important day today,” I informed him.

  “Why? What is so special about today, Zaaronian?”


  I detected suspicion in his query. “If you must know, we are supposed to test one of the weapons I developed today. I tweaked one of the standard missiles a little and voila! Let’s just say that I expect the results to be phenomenal,” I said, brimming with confidence.

  “Funny you should say that, buddy. I think the test that you’re rushing to work for has already been carried out; at 7 a.m. this morning, on Block 2, Sector G-125, to be precise,” the Lieutenant said, curling his lip with distaste.

  It was my turn to be flabbergasted. “What are you suggesting? It’s not possible. This is clearly a complete misunderstanding which will be cleared up as soon as I contact my employer on Zaaron.” I was now absolutely sure of two things; one, I was being tested with anti-IPF talk, two, I would convince them of my unwavering support for the IPF before long. Standing up, I delved into my pocket to fish out my communications device. But before I could find it, a few unexpected things happened in rapid succession, at the culmination of which I found myself face down on the floor with my hands cuffed behind my back.

  “You will be our guest on this spaceship for a little while Zaaronian. My name is Lieutenant Salaar and you will be reporting directly to me,” he informed me.

  “I too would have introduced myself, but you seem to know my name already,” I responded, lifting my head slightly.

  He looked at me quizzically. “Zaaro III, of the House Nian, at your service,” I said as I was hoisted to my feet. “You may continue to refer to me as Zaaro Nian.”

  2. Zaaro Nian

  I had been taken to a room close by and relieved of my cuffs. By now I was beginning to get the distinct feeling that, whatever their mission, I was a prisoner on board this ship. Thankfully, I was left on my own for the rest of the day, other than a dish of food arriving through a chute in the blank wall. Unfortunately, the décor was identical to that of the last room, glistening white with not a door in sight. I was curious to see what sort of food was served on a stealth ship, so I opened the dish with bated breath. It had three large foil-wrapped slabs in it. I opened the first one to reveal a soft grey chunk. I sniffed it for a while, making sure it wasn’t anything awful, like mashed smellephant, a Zaaronian food staple made from a tiny grey fly with large ears found in vast numbers on Zaaron. I warily took a nibble. Roasted space mushrooms! I spat it out. The second was almost identical and smelled vaguely of oil, but I tried it anyway. Fried space mushrooms! I spat that out as well. The third looked equally unappetising, so I didn’t bother trying it for a few hours. Eventually, my hunger got the better of me and I took a tiny bite. Grilled space mushrooms. Uggghh. I ate it without complaint, along with the other two slabs, thinking wistfully of my wife’s cooking skills. If only I could get hold of some chicken tikka masala from somewhere, it would make everything palatable.

  The next morning I awoke to the sound of a heated debate. “He is hiding something.” Presumably that was the Lieutenant. “After centuries of being isolated by the IPF, a Zaaronian has come into contact with the outside world and he can only talk about rumours and speculation.” He sounded bitterly disappointed.

  “I think he has told us all he knows.” Madam spoke in my defence. I warmed to her again.

  “Well, he knows precious little then.” I really hadn’t made much of an impression on the Lieutenant; it seemed I could only be one of two things, a conniving sneak or an imbecile. I wasn’t sure which I preferred.

  “Could it be that…?” Madam was speaking in a low voice now, and I had to strain my ears to hear any further. Suddenly a hush fell over them.

  “Oh! Don’t be ridiculous! That is Ulronese nonsense, that too for a price!” There was no mistaking the irritation in Lieutenant Salaar’s voice.

  Madam carried on undeterred. “What if the soothsayer at the planetary fair was right? From the days of old, it has been foretold. From within the enemy he will rise, appearing suddenly before your eyes. The way forward will he show, yet precious little will he know.”

  I cleared my throat to offer a compliment on Madam’s poetic prowess. It seemed the polite thing to do. “Very well-written!” I called out.

  Lieutenant Salaar was the one to respond, “Thank you Zaaro Nian, you have a keen ear for nursery rhymes.”

  “It is not a nursery rhyme, it is a prophecy.” Madam was indignant as she walked into my quarters from somewhere behind me and pulled a chair up to the round table. I spun around immediately but it was too late to see the door.

  “Obviously penned by a five-year-old, for an audience of roughly the same age bracket,” Lieutenant Salaar mocked as he followed her in. This time I was ready for it, my eyes trained on the bit of wall where Madam had appeared, but the Lieutenant walked in from a totally different part of the room. Damn that door!

  “Do not scoff at the wisdom of the ages. You have much to learn young Lieutenant.” Madam’s wisdom and intellectual superiority were apparent.

  “Zaaro Nian, a quick question, did you know any of the poor souls travelling with you yesterday?” the Lieutenant asked, as he seated himself at the table.

  “Know them? Yes, of course,” I told him.

  “How?” groaned the Lieutenant, almost as if he already knew my response.

  “We were all working on the weapon prototype I was telling you about,” I answered.

  “Great. Don’t you find it even a little bit suspicious that your whole team is suddenly dead on the eve of your weapon being tested?” he asked.

  “Inauspicious? Yes. Suspicious? No. It was an accident,” I said with certainty.

  “Actually it wasn’t. Your shuttle was sabotaged,” the Lieutenant informed me confidently.

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Why get rid of the development team before you even know whether the weapon is successful?” I asked, baffled, even as my chest puffed up of its own accord at the thought of my innovations being tested successfully.

  “The test at 7 a.m. was successful. You were no longer necessary,” he pointed out.

  “But I am necessary,” I told him, “I was supposed to save all of my data in the company database before I left yesterday, but I forgot. The executable codes to the new weapon are still in my personal data drive,” I said, nervously fishing it out of my pocket, worried about landing face down on the floor again. “Well, I’ll definitely be fired now,” I predicted, voicing my fears aloud.

  3. Lieutenant Salaar

  I had never met anyone from Zaaron before, not a native Zaaronian in any case. Everything I had heard about them had proved to be an understatement.

  Zaaro Nian was pale blue with watery blue tiny round eyes. He had thin dark blue lips, a bulbous nose and ears, which fit neatly on to a large head, shiny, round and bald. Yet it wasn’t his physical appearance that was odd. It was everything else. I could not quite decide whether he was an advanced life form who functioned entirely without emotion, or just incredibly naïve.

  “He has the codes. It won’t be long before they come after him.” Madam was right. We would be sitting ducks if we didn’t make the jump soon. But there were so many unanswered questions, and I had a feeling the answers now lay just within our grasp. We had finally located Zaaron, despite the cloaking devices put in place by the IPF, and we had captured a native; none other than a weapons developer who had been silly enough to bring top secret executable codes to the latest missiles with him, and lucky enough to survive death twice in quick succession. Maybe he had lots of other secrets to impart, or his luck would rub off on us. Either way I was glad we had found him. He was no messiah, but he could be an asset to the Rebel Movement.

  4. Madam X

  The alarms started blaring at 3 a.m. We were being attacked. IPF stealth aircraft had crept up close to us and were firing missile after missile at our force shield. By the third hit, our shield had begun to shiver and shake. I wasn’t too concerned, we had seen worse. Our shield had the capacity to take hours of that kind of shelling. I looked over at Zaaro, who had been brought into the Mission Control Room when the alar
ms went off. To my surprise I saw a look of mild concern on his pale blue face.

  “Did you alert them to your whereabouts, perhaps?” I asked him wearily.

  “No, I didn’t. Actually, I can’t help but notice that your shield looks a little worse for wear.” He sounded worried as he looked at the computer projections on the screens.

  “Our shield can withstand hours of attack. Do not concern yourself, Zaaro Nian,” I reassured him.

  “Your shield will be down in five minutes at best,” he said, frowning as he pointed at the pulsating green light surrounding the shield.

  “How can you say that?” I asked, dreading his response.

  “I’m quite sure they are using Z-127 missiles; another one of my designs. They were also due for testing,” he finished rather awkwardly as he settled himself down at a vacant combat station.

  “Lieutenant Salaar! Begin the countdown for the jump!” I shouted, eyes fixed on the flashing screen in front of me. A large part of the shield had already shattered. “Whatever answers we may find on Zaaron, now is not the time to go searching for them!” I saw a flicker of approval on Zaaro Nian’s face when he realised that Salaar reported to me.

  5. Zaaro Nian

  I hadn’t jumped in a while, but I had a fair recollection of what it entailed. Slight dizziness, mild nausea, and headache to follow. However, I was wholly unprepared for what happened next.

  I was suddenly compressed like I was being squeezed out of a tube of toothpaste. My head felt like it would explode. As this is a very real possibility, given the history of my people, I was alarmed to say the least. To add to my woes, I had lost all feeling in my limbs.

  I later realised that was the case because I had, in fact, lost all my limbs. Hence the lack of feeling was a natural consequence and not at all alarming, nor surprising, in the least.