Planet Earth Adventures

By D.P. Elemm

Planet Earth Adventures is the story of a man named Krakken and his best friend, Chris P. Critter, the millionaire inventor of The Simpleton. Krakken has several utterly useless college degrees. He is also the father of a strange and precocious toddler named Camadan, whom he adopted after a chance meeting with a girl. (“Some guys get herpes from a one night stand. I got a baby.”) Chris is impulsive and hyperactive and more than a little crazy, and he hires Krakken as payback for helping graduate high school.

Chris is on a mission to find a new form of “alt power”, an energy type that he believes will make him a billionaire. He enlists his friend Krakken to go and search for this new form of energy in a vehicle called The Angry Dwarf, using a new invention called The Knows. After several chance encounters with some truly odd and often infuriating people, the two friends finally discover an enormous source of alt power. But in short order, they discover a shocking truth: the energy signature they have found is caused by an alien spacecraft that crash landed on Earth many years ago.

The ship was piloted by the survivors of a planet wide civil war, on a world dominated by a race of hyper-evolved dogs. It was meant to be a rescue ship searching for refugees who had fled their planet, but their rescue failed. Not only did they crash, a new civil war broke out on the ship, an uprising led by a traitor who called himself Master Cannis. He was defeated, but wrecked the rescue ship, and killed many of its people. Chris, Krakken and Camadan stay aboard their ship to help make repairs.

Planet Earth Adventures is unlike the usual sort of science fiction. There's no alien invasion, no vast interstellar conflict where the “good guys” are just some folks who happen to be very good at killing “the bad guys”. The aliens are furry and warm blooded, not green or cold or reptilian. They are also – with one exception – not the least bit interested in conquering the Earth. All they want to do is gather up their people and go home.

Additionally, the book is about ideas, and questions. Some are technical, such as "why can't we stop traffic jams by somehow getting the fast drivers in front of the slow ones?" or "why do we grow trees just to cut them into pieces, then nail the pieces back together to make a house?" Others are more philosophical, such as "what does it mean to be a family?" or "are aliens racist?" Still others are critical: "why are we trying to find aliens when we can't stand the sight of other people?"

Most important of all, Planet Earth Adventures is about hope. Most of the aliens are either friendly or at least tolerant. They have survived a genocidal conflict and managed to rebuild their home world. This gives us hope that we too will survive whatever happens in the years ahead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.P. Elemm
• Release date: Jan 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463489949

D.P. Elemm

D.P. Elemm is the pen name of a heavily armed pacifist who lives in a warm green sunny part of North America. He has always loved spinning fantastic tales of beautiful new worlds and strange amazing people who are out there, somewhere. He also loves his privacy, so we are not very likely going to find out where he went to school, who his parents are, how many people live with him or the name of his favorite dessert topping. At least, not any time soon. The story, good people; the story is far more important than the story teller. Please read his new book, "Planet Earth Adventures". Think about about the ideas he ponders, and the questions he asks. Sci fi is about conflict, yes, but only in part. The better part of it is imagining what the future might be, if only we will have the courage and the desire to ask for it.

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PLANET EARTH ADVENTURES

by D. P. ELLEM

Copyright 2017 D. P. ELLEM all rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

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work of this author.

Chapter 1 - The One Note Orchestra

Halfway down a cul de sac, in an unfashionable neighborhood, shaded by large old trees sits a modest one story home. The roof is new and black and the vinyl siding is old and faded, in a light blue the color of birds egg. Krakken owned the house, which is to say that he had inherited it from his parents. Damned good thing too, since Chris P. Critter never paid Krakken near enough money to pay actual rent, not even in the completely uncool suburb where he lived.

Krakken was thinking of neither his money – nor lack of it – nor his parents, nor his lack of them. He was on the hunt for a small, mischievous toddler.

Camadan!

No answer.

CAMadannn!!!

Nothing. Not a whisper. There were louder reading rooms at monasteries.

CAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!! Krakken was shouting now, looking at his phone, mentally swearing so his boy, his exasperating, maddening, sweetly angelic little boy wouldn’t hear his daddy cussing. Dammit, The Angry Dwarf would be here any minute.

Krakken suddenly had a hunch, and he doubled back to his own bedroom. Krakken swung the door open, and there, at the top of a six foot tall bureau was his pride and joy. Giggling. While trying to open up Krakken’s Roku remote with a small screwdriver he’d stashed in his pull up. He was wearing Krakken’s green boonie hat, which covered his tight, springy curls as effectively as it disguised Krakken’s creeping baldness.

Krakken sighed and walked over to his bureau.

That’s my hat, boy; give it back, he commanded.

Camadan fell for the bait for about the millionth time and tried to hold onto the hat. Not very well though, since he still had a remote in one tiny fist, and a screwdriver in the other. Krakken made a grab for his boy under the armpits, and heaved him off the bureau. With his hips and foot, he shut all the drawers, which the little imp had opened to make himself steps to climb to the top.

Gimme that, said a mildly annoyed Krakken. He pried out the Roku and the screwdriver, and then he re-possessed his hat. All the while ignoring his son repeatedly blowing raspberries, like a one note orchestra built from spit and mischief. Thirty seconds on, Camadan giggled some more.

I pooooooooooooooooooooop!

Krakken picked him up , sniffed, then sighed. Of course you did. He grimaced, grunted, reproached his boy. Geez, I had my mouth open and everything! Krakken sighed again, then smiled. Well, at least you got yourself dressed.

‘up, ‘up, ‘up!! agreed Camadan, who had trouble pronouncing the letter y.

Truly, Krakken’s boy had managed to pick out a wardrobe that would have been the envy of the former host of AGT. Red vans, bright yellow socks, his silver jogging pants and his favorite tie dye shirt. Plus a clip on tie. Camadan had eyes as dark as outer space and skin the color of tasty creamy coffee, and Krakken loved that little asshole. However he was dressed, if he was covered enough for public, then that was just ducky with his dad.

Krakken had once tried joining a local toddler group. (There were children in his parents' old neighborhood, but they were mostly teenagers.) The mothers who ran the toddler group like a Mafia fiefdom had snipped and sniped and momsplained about Camadan’s unique attire. Krakken had very quickly decided that the mothers could all go to hell.

Krakken had met some much nicer women the few times he had tried dating, but he quickly found out that there were basically two types of women in the dating pool: those with children and those without. Those who had kids of their own were friendly and sympathetic. They were also cuddly, in the same way that a python cuddles with a mouse. Women without kids would typically discover that Krakken had a child, and would then develop a sudden concern for the lateness of the hour. One of the latter group had made it plain as day that they had no future at all, since he himself was neither a millionaire, nor was he hung like a moose.

Oh well, thought Krakken, at least I have a job. Even if my boss is bat shit crazy.

Krakken hurriedly changed his son’s pull up, then wrapped the mess so tightly that it was bound to become methane at the landfill. He tossed the bag into the kitchen garbage, then slathered his hands with sanitizer. He strapped the boy to the harness Krakken wore over his shirt, put on his hat, and strode outside.

****

Chapter 2--The Angry Dwarf

Several miles distant, the driver of The Angry Dwarf raced along the highway, shouting along to the old punk rock song that was making the safety cage rattle. He had a shock of dirty blonde hair (shock and awe, baby, shock and awe!), wrap around mirrored sunglasses over his deep green eyes and a grin that made upright citizens count their silverware and look for a safe space.

Chris P. Critter gunned the engine as he dove straight at the huge knot of traffic dead ahead. With a flick of a switch he activated The Simpleton tm and prepared to engage.

The Simpleton tm was a big red button strapped to the dashboard of Chris P’s car. Embossed on its surface was a picture of the fool from an old deck of Tarot cards. Underneath the picture was a packed treasure chest of firmware and electronics that allowed its owner to bypass traffic jams the way a Lear Jet bypasses the Stone Age tribesman of Papua New Guinea.

Chris had been friends with Krakken since the third grade, and had copied off of him on every test and class project since middle school. Unlike his friend, who held several advanced degrees, Chris had never attended a single day of any college class, ever. Parties, sure: he regarded the parties as the only useful thing about any college. It wasn’t because of a lack of talent: his creative potential and his IQ were both off the charts. About the only thing more massive than his intellect was his ADHD. College classes just moved way too slowly to keep his attention for very long.

For Chris, everything moved far too slowly, especially traffic. He could never quite understand the dull, placid cows driving in front of him, who seemed to have zero sense of urgency about actually arriving anywhere. He had built The Simpleton tm out of frustration and electronics, having missed hooking up with a really fine girl he was supposed to meet at a party. All due to a traffic jam, of all things. He had worked out first the math, then the engineering and then the patents, and The Simpleton tm was born. It looked like an ordinary big red button mounted on your dashboard, until you came up behind some drivers who were apparently in tryouts for the Dead Peoples Olympics. You activated the device by pushing the button, which would then blurt out in a loud friendly voice That Was Simple! Then, in a crackle of lightning and a roar like a concert, the cars simply switched positions. Now the faster car was out in front, where it belonged, while the owner of the slower moving vehicle continued to plod along behind.

Which is exactly what he did just now: at the very last moment, Chris stabbed at the big red button, and suddenly found himself at the head of the traffic parade, steadily leaving it far, far behind. Chris grinned more broadly than ever, then turned up the volume to 11.

There had been an avalanche of lawsuits after Chris went public with his invention, mostly from those afraid of change, but also by some who genuinely enjoyed making other people late for parties. Chris had been rescued by the nation's fire departments, cops and EMT units. They had instantly realized the value of being able to finally get people the hell out of the way when they were being held up from doing their jobs.

The Simpleton tm had made him filthy rich to the point of being officially recognized as eccentric. As Chris liked to put it A crazy person is the homeless guy that goes around saluting telephone poles and waving his penis at the morning commute. An eccentric is every bit as crazy, but he has enough money and lawyers to buy his way out of whatever havoc he causes.

Chris also had enough money to be able to hire people who were talented but down on their luck, as indeed he might have been without his device. One of them, as it turned out, was a man with several advanced degrees, but with virtually no prospects of ever making any real money. A stand up guy that Chris had copied exam answers from for years. Chris laughed out loud as he thought to himself: won't our old buddy Krakken be ready to just shit when he sees what I have planned next!

Mere minutes later, the Angry Dwarf pulled up in front of Krakken's house.

Flicking another switch, Chris popped the right rear gull wing door. On cue, the door cut off the punk rock and began playing the randomly selected music file, which this time was the theme from 2001 Space Odyssey. Chris began playing air drums while the music rose to a crescendo and Krakken snugly strapped Camadan into a prototype car seat labeled Safe As Milk. Krakken hopped into the shotgun seat, and strapped himself in.

Hey there Critter, said Krakken.

Hey there, college boy, replied Chris.

They fist bumped, and grinned like the old friends they were. From the back, Camadan gurgled happily.

Good to see you, Tim, Chris added.

It is a crucial but unspoken rule of friendship that says that there are some topics that can always be talked about, as well as certain subjects that can never be brought up for any reason. Ever. For all time. Shrimp can learn to whistle, Miami can be buried under a glacier, Diogenes can rise from the dead and finally find an honest politician, some subjects are always forbidden.

In between are topics that can be talked about, but only sideways, as an inside joke. Chris and Krakken had agreed a long time ago that they could joke about Chris P's notoriety as an inventor in the same breath as Krakken's numerous college degrees. The Simpleton's tm inventor first became Chris P. Critter after a cover story in Popular Mechanics showed him with his hair practically on fire and a particularly crazed expression to his eyes after testing a new prototype. Social media lit up hotter than his scorched hair with know it alls eager to comment on what they believed was the source of Chris P's flamboyant, and often borderline criminal behavior: drugs. Strangely, Chris was the only person Krakken knew who had never smoked a Marlboro, much less taken any drug of any kind. Chris was born that way, and didn't need any artificial inspiration.

For his own part, Krakken's birth name was actually Tim; he had had it legally changed when he was still