Arrival, or Attack of the B-Movie Clichés
by Stephen Granade (1998)
Genres: Alien Visitation
Satire


action: %
response: Geez, mom really hacks you off sometimes. I mean, making you do dishes while that new show "Captain Dangerous" is on. Last week, Cap'n was having to fight off the slavering hordes of Gamma Proxima Epsilon Centauri Five B, and he and his side-kick Billy Bob had used up the last of their ammo keeping the zombie mind troopers at bay. The evil over-leader had just shown up with his mucilage-ray when the show ended.

And you're stuck cleaning the Pfaltzgraff while Cap'n and Billy Bob fight for their lives.

Life's not fair when you're eight.

You've spent many an hour at the kitchen sink, elbow-deep in suds, staring out the window. Add this hour to the total, thanks to mom and her speech about familial responsibility. At least she isn't making you wipe down the cabinets again. A dismayingly large stack of dirty plates towers on one side of the sink, balanced by a much smaller stack of clean plates on the other side. Next to the east doorway is the avocado-green refrigerator your family has owned forever.
action: You wash the dishes
response: You pull, freeing the top plate from the gummy, foody stack with a wet slurping sound. One quick dip in the suds, one quick rinse from the faucet, and you toss the plate on the "clean" stack. The clean stack, in return, shimmies a bit. You keep piling slick clean dishes on that stack and, chances are, you'll soon have dish pieces on your hands.
action: You examine the window
response: The window may have been clear once, but your mom's gleeful use of oil while cooking has added a dirty yellow glaze, making it hard to see through.
action: Clean window
response: Eww, gross. That oil'd coat your hands more or less permanently.
action: You look at the fridge
response: Everything in the kitchen used to be the same pukey-green color as the fridge. Thankfully, all that other stuff was replaced. Too bad the fridge still works, or you wouldn't ever have to see that color again. Mom has covered up as much of the fridge as she could with some of your artwork from class.
action: About yourself
response: You look about the same as always.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are empty-handed.
action: You open fridge
response: Nuh-uh. You mess around in there and you won't get to see Captain Dangerous' adventures for the rest of your life, maybe longer.
action: You examine the artwork
response: Just some stuff you drew for class. No big deal. Though you did get an A+ on the big blue swirly one.
action: You examine the sink
response: The discolored porcelain sink is filled with suds. To its right is a stack of dirty dishes; to its left, a stack of clean dishes.
action: You wash the dishes
response: You pull, freeing the top plate from the gummy, foody stack with a wet slurping sound. One quick dip in the suds, one quick rinse from the faucet, and you toss the plate on the "clean" stack.
action: Continue
response: You pull, freeing the top plate from the gummy, foody stack with a wet slurping sound. One quick dip in the suds, one quick rinse from the faucet, and you toss the plate on the "clean" stack. As you do, the clean stack of dishes wobbles for a moment before settling down. You could probably get that stack dancing if you wanted.

A gleam out the window, a faux star, grows brighter and brighter. You pull yourself up on the edge of the sink, soaking your elbows. The gleam is a glow, is a streak, is a flame which is rocketing into your backyard and WHAM onto the ground. You reflexively blink, the flash brighter than the one on that camera dad lugs around everywhere. When you can see again, there is a silvery ship in the backyard.

A ship! Oh man oh man, it must be a spaceship! From outer space! Maybe from Gamma Proxima Epsilon Centauri Five B! Forget the dishes--this is way too cool to ignore.

or, Attack of the B-Movie Clichés

(Type "about" for more information)

Developed with TADS, the Text Adventure Development System.
action: Look around
response: You've spent many an hour at the kitchen sink, elbow-deep in suds, staring out the window, ignoring the ugly appliances and dirty cabinets. A dismayingly large stack of dirty plates towers on one side of the sink, balanced by a much smaller stack of clean plates on the other side. Next to the east doorway is the avocado-green refrigerator your family has owned forever.
action: You go east
response: A short hall lined with dark wood panelling. It connects the
kitchen, to the west, with the living room, to the east. The backyard is north of here.
action: Go north
response: Normally the backyard is boring, but not tonight! Tonight the lawn
has been crisped by the arrival of the silvery ship. It sits there, gleaming under the bright backyard lights your dad installed a while back. Its shadow stretches across the brick patio and Weber grill. Your house is to the south.
action: You examine the ship
response: It's much, much cooler close up. The surface is all crinkly and silvery. The top and bottom are flat; the sides angle out, then back in, and are ruffled. On its back are two bumper stickers.
action: You look at the stickers
response: left bumper sticker: The left sticker reads, "Speed Kills! .55c Saves Lives."
right bumper sticker: The right bumper sticker reads, "My Other Saucer Is A Porsche."
action: You look at your surroundings
response: Normally the backyard is boring, but not tonight! Tonight the lawn
has been crisped by the arrival of the silvery ship. It sits there, gleaming under the bright backyard lights your dad installed a while back. Its shadow stretches across the brick patio and Weber grill. Your house is to the south.

With the sound of a thousand cats yowling a thousand different songs, a piece of the saucer lowers, forming a ramp. For a few seconds, the only things coming out of the ship are gouts of white gas which quickly dissipate.

Then the aliens step forth.

Full of might and majesty, two shapes drift down the ramp and onto the zoysia grass. One is purple and cylindrical, with several tentacles dangling. The other is green and much more blobby, though he too is be-tentacled.

The purple alien squints for a moment at the bright lights, then produces a small box with a rotating antenna on it. He punches some buttons on the box. It responds with bleeps and blips. The purple one nods and puts the box away. "Scan for life signs in immediate vicinity complete. Two adults, one child, no tabloid reporters found."

"Good," the green one says. "We now must--" He stops, staring right at you. You blink.

"Zigurt," the purple alien says to the green one. His voice is thick with worry.

"Shh," the green alien replies. "I am cogitating."

"Ziiiiiguuurt," the purple alien whines.

"Shh!"

"But ZIIiiIIiiIIiiguuuurt, the child can see us! Why is that?" The purple alien turns to the green one, filling the air with his flailing tentacles. "You said the neurotron would prevent our detection. You said that this would be a slight wind, that this would be without difficulty!"

"Silence, Floban." The purple alien falls quiet. "We will unravel this conundrum in due time. For now, I have closed the child's avenue of retreat." You spin around--sure enough, a curtain of energy has sprung up between you and your house.
action: You enter the ship
response: The aliens move to block you.

The two aliens begin whispering back and forth. "Obviously the child is the Ambassador Plenipotentiary for this planet."

"A child?"

"Certainly. The Zufans' intelligence, while fearful in their young, diminishes with age. All of their civil servants are children. Why not with Terrans? Have you not seen the their `sit-coms,' in which the children are all-knowing and their elders impotent fools?"

"Fine, fine, fine. But can the child understand us?" Zigurt responds by displaying a plain metal rod. "Ah, yes. I had forgotten of the translator."
action: Hello
response: "Kindly hold your tongue until we have decided your fate."

Zigurt makes a sound like that of gravel being crushed underfoot. "Floban, would this not be an opportune time to present our demands to the Ambassador?"

Floban looks hurt. "I was preparing the list mentally," he says truculently. "There is no need for you to clear your esophageal passages at me.

"Human child!" The latter is directed at you, making you jump. Floban moves forward, looming ominously. "We are here on behalf of all spacefaring races who must cope with the mess your species is making. Must you shout your news across all radio frequencies?"

"Mmm, Floban," says Zigurt.

"Must I hear of your puny world wars? Must I deal with the endless chatter of a semi-sentient race? Must you flood the universe with your `top-ten lists' and `buzz clips'?"

"What about our demands, Floban?"

"Must I sully the tips of my tentacles by dipping them in the muck of this world? Must I stop your stupid, stupid development of Solarnite? Must I spend more time on a backwards planet, educating the--"

"FLOBAN! FOOD!"

Floban winces. "Not so loud," he hisses to Zigurt. "One moment, please, Ambassador," he says to you as he rolls back to Zigurt.
action: Wait
response: Time passes...

Zigurt and Floban have a hurried, whispered discussion. Finally, Zigurt moves closer to you. "Our trip has been a long one, and we are in need of sustenance. You will bring us rock salt, so that we might de-hydrate."

"And some Ho-Hos," Floban interjects hopefully.

Zigurt glares at Floban. Finally, grudgingly, he adds, "And some Ho-Hos. You will--"

"And a memento!" says Floban.

This silence lasts longer than the previous one. Slowly Zigurt swivels around to stare at Floban. "A...memento?" he asks.

"Oh, my, yes! The preliminary scan--" he waves around the small box you saw before, "--showed a high concentration of mementos somewhere within the domicile. We should obtain...one to...add..." Floban's words trail off under Zigurt's glare.

Zigurt sighs before turning back to you. "Bring us rock salt, some Ho-Hos," he pauses and glares again at Floban, who ducks his head, "and a memento. You will bring them to our skrrbtz..." Zigurt frowns, shakes the translator. "Enter our fzzgt..." His frown is deeper this time. "Our gblzzt..." He waves his tentacles, distressed.
"`Universal translator' my anterior appendage!" he shouts.

"Please, not so loud!" Floban brings out an open white bottle and pops a pill from it. "I am experiencing a horrendous headache. If you would but wait a moment." From somewhere he finds a large book, which he consults. "The word you want is `sheep'."

Zigurt pauses, rolling the strange word around in his mouth, tasting its sounds. "Bring the rock salt, Ho-Hos, and memento to our sheep.
We will wait."
action: You look at the grill
response: Roundish, red, with three legs and wheels. Occasionally dad uses it to flash-burn meat into flaky, charcoal lumps.

Zigurt and Floban drift back up the ramp. When they are near the top, they stop. "Oh, and tell your world governments' spacefarers to clean up after themselves in orbit," Zigurt says.

"Yeah, especially that Mir."

Zigurt negligently waves a tentacle, making the curtain of energy vanish, and the two aliens disappear into their ship.
action: You open grill
response: No thanks. Last time dad cooked something in it, it almost exploded from all the lighter fluid. If you open it and get soot all over you, you'll probably have to clean it.
action: Go south
response: A short hall lined with dark wood panelling. It connects the
kitchen, to the west, with the living room, to the east. The backyard is north of here.
action: You go east
response: The living room is the rumpled center of your home. Comfy floral furniture, a few shelves filled with knick-knacks, a window, two parents, and a TV. The hallway to the kitchen is west, and the unimportant rest of your home (mentioned here merely for the sake of completeness) is south.
Mom is here, knitting away.
Dad is slowly going through today's paper.

Mom says, "You better be done with those dishes, kid," and smiles.
action: You look athe knick-knacks
response: Collectibles out the wazoo. Well, out the shelves. Hummel figurines, Franklin Mint plates, even a bunch of plastic smurfs. One entire shelf is filled with Precious Moments dolls, all of them staring at you with wide eyes, exuding eerie cuteness.
action: You take the doll
response: Mom glances at you. "Leave that stuff alone, kid."
action: Look around
response: The living room is the rumpled center of your home. Comfy floral furniture, a few shelves filled with knick-knacks, a window, two parents, and a TV. The hallway to the kitchen is west, and the unimportant rest of your home (mentioned here merely for the sake of completeness) is south.
Mom is here, knitting away.
Dad is slowly going through today's paper.
action: You go to the south
response: That part of your house is so unimportant right now that it hasn't been implemented. Don't you read the long descriptions of rooms?
action: You look at Dad
response: Dad is poring over the paper, reading and re-reading every article, occasionally circling misspellings and misprints.
action: You examine mom
response: She's relaxing, quietly knitting to pass the time.

You hear your dad rustling his newspaper. When you look over at him, you see that he's crumpled part of it into a saucer-like shape. Mom sees it too; she says, "Dad? Whatcha got?"

"I...I don't know," he answers, "but...it means something."

"Oh, hush," mom scolds him. "That doesn't mean anything."

Dad thinks, then sends the paper saucer flying towards the trash. "I guess you're right," he says before he starts reading again.
action: Examine tv
response: The TV sits there, completely silent. It's not natural, I tell you. Behind that blank screen the adventures of Captain Dangerous and Billy Bob are going on, and you're missing them!
action: You ask Mom about Ho-Hos
response: Mom sighs. "I wish we could afford Ho-hos. But you know how expensive brand-name snack cakes are."
action: You ask Mom about the rock salt
response: "In the kitchen cabinets, like always," mom tells you.
action: You tell Mom about the ship
response: Your dad grunts as he rises from his chair. "Okay, kid, let's take a look." He gazes out the window for a moment, then sits heavily back down in his chair, shaking his head at your mom.

"Oh, kid," mom says laughingly. "I know you don't want to wash dishes, but we all have to do our part. All three of us have familial responsibilities. Now get back in there." She gives you a playful swat on the butt.
action: You go west
response: A short hall lined with dark wood panelling. It connects the
kitchen, to the west, with the living room, to the east. The backyard is north of here.
action: You examine the cabinets
response: Closed pressboard cabinets. From time to time, mom makes you sponge them down to remove the oily residue that builds up on them.
action: You open the cabinets
response: Opening the cabinets reveals a can of rock salt, a box of generic cupcakes, and some other stuff.
action: You take the rock salt
response: Taken.
action: Look around
response: You've spent many an hour at the kitchen sink, elbow-deep in suds, staring out the window, ignoring the ugly appliances and dirty cabinets. A dismayingly large stack of dirty plates towers on one side of the sink, balanced by a much smaller stack of clean plates on the other side. Next to the east doorway is the avocado-green refrigerator your family has owned forever.
The cabinets seems to contain some other stuff.
action: You go north
response: Normally the backyard is boring, but not tonight! Tonight the lawn
has been crisped by the arrival of the silvery ship. It sits there, ramp down, gleaming under the bright backyard lights your dad installed a while back. Its shadow stretches across the brick patio and Weber grill. Your house is to the south.
action: You enter the ship
response: The silvery hallway splits into five branches, like the inside of
some mutant cauliflower. The branches lead north, northeast, northwest, southeast, and southwest. Behind you, the ramp flops out onto the backyard. A strange metal plate is attached to the wall by the ramp.
action: You look at the plate
response: The plate is shinier than the rest of the surrounding wall, as if rubbed by countless tentacles (tentacli?).
action: You touch the plate
response: A whispering of voices runs lightly through your mind, then fades away when you stop touching the plate.
action: You go north
response: Curving control consoles, all just taller than you, line the
underneath of the viewport. There are no chairs, no creature comforts--just austere controls and an exit to the south.
action: You go to the north-east
response: southwest, a chill which leaves your breath diaphanous in front of you. Ovoids the size of small couches lie scattered about.
action: You examine the ovoids
response: The ovoids must be sleep pods, given their frosted windows and sleep-podish appearance.
action: You get in the pod
response: Good luck getting in the sleep pods while they're closed.
action: You open the pod
response: The pods open reluctantly and with a hiss.
action: You get in the pod
response: Gingerly you lower yourself into a pod. You have to wiggle around a bit before you're comfortable, but soon enough you're settled.

All that shifting and squirming must have started the pod's lid to closing, though. You look up just as the lid snicks into place.

You thump your fists against the lid, hard at first, then weaker and weaker as the gas filling the pod puts you to sleep.

* * * * *

You blink away the crusty sleep which fills your eyes. Above you, Zigurt and Floban peer at you in surprise.

"Ambassador!" Zigurt says as he helps you out of the pod. "We had no idea you were on board with us!"

"But what a wonderful happenstance!" Floban says. "We cannot return you to your world, since the V'lvxnlxiaforming of Terra is nearly complete." He looks sad for a moment, pausing in sympathy. "But!" he says, brightening, "The nobles of V'lvxnlxia will no doubt find you amusing, and suffer you to live."

"Say, Floban." Floban turns to look at Zigurt, who is now holding a small barrel organ. "If you can learn to play this instrument, no doubt the Ambassador's performances will be more entertaining."

"Splendid!"

You have achieved a score of 0 points out of a possible 20 in 65 turns.

You may restore a saved game, start over, quit, or undo the current command.
action: You go northwest
response: The rec room is surprisingly empty, its only features a slanted
ledge on one wall and a counter jutting from another. Across from the ledge is the southeast exit.
Sitting on the low-slung counter is a white bottle, a universal translator, and a large book. The slanted ledge seems to contain a road atlas.
Zigurt is carefully poring over the atlas.
Floban stands next to Zigurt, watching him and the maps.

Floban nods in your direction. "Ambassador," he says.
action: You look around
response: The rec room is surprisingly empty, its only features a slanted
ledge on one wall and a counter jutting from another. Across from the ledge is the southeast exit.
Sitting on the low-slung counter is a white bottle, a universal translator, and a large book. The slanted ledge seems to contain a road atlas.
Zigurt is carefully poring over the atlas.
Floban stands next to Zigurt, watching him and the maps.
action: You examine bottle
response: The white bottle is about three inches tall. Its lid has been removed. The inside of the bottle is crammed full of white pills.
action: You examine the road atlas
response: The atlas lies open to a map of the USA.
action: Examine book
response: Large and, strangely enough, bound in leather. Stamped on its cover are the words, "To Serve Man." Someone has made a feeble attempt to obliterate "Serve" and replace it with "Understand".

Zigurt traces some routes on the atlas with one tentacle. "We shall follow this `Interstate' until it reaches Washington, D.C., at which point we will meet with the leader of this country," he says to Floban.

"Oh, capital!" Floban replies.
action: You examine the pills
response: Little. White. Similar.

Floban massages his forehead with one tentacle, picking up the white bottle with another. He sticks a third tentacle into the bottle. When he pulls it back out, a pill is stuck to the end of it. He pops the pill in his mouth, then puts the bottle back on the counter.
action: You take pill
response: "Winners don't use drugs."
--This message brought to you by the director of the FBI.
action: You take the bottle
response: A tentacle darts out, thumping your hand and making it sting. "That is not polite," Floban says.
action: You give the cupcakes to Floban
response: Floban takes the box from you, looking at it. "Redi-Snak(TM) Chokolate Snak Kakes?" He sighs. "I suppose they will do."

"Now we need rock salt and a memento. If you would, please, run along now." Floban, meanwhile, has wolfed down two or three cupcakes, leaving his face smeared with chocolate which he tries to lick off with a large blue tongue. "You are such a mess," Zigurt tells him as they turn back to the atlas.
action: You examine the translator
response: The universal translator is a metallic silver rod about the length of your forearm and almost as thick around. It is currently turned on. There is a button on its side labelled in an alien script.
action: You look at the button
response: A button on the side of the universal translator.

Floban massages his forehead with one tentacle, picking up the white bottle with another. He sticks a third tentacle into the bottle. When he pulls it back out, a pill is stuck to the end of it. He pops the pill in his mouth, then puts the bottle back on the counter.
action: Go southeast
response: In sharp contrast to what you've seen of the rest of the ship, this room is filthy. Junk piles up in corners, spilling out over the floor, claiming most of the room. It's as if Zigurt and Floban had thrown every bauble which had ever caught their eye into this room without regard for order or the boundaries of good taste. Indeed, most things you see lie squarely on the far side of tasteful. Somewhere in the midst of the junk is the northwest exit.
action: You examine the junk
response: The amount of junk thrown down here is astounding. There's no telling what you could find with a bit of work.
action: You search the junk
response: Some rooting around turns up a salad shooter, which you pick up.
action: You search the junk
response: Some rooting around turns up a red lid, which you pick up.
action: You search the junk
response: Some rooting around turns up a velvet Elvis, which you pick up.
action: You search the junk
response: Some rooting around turns up a rain stick, which you pick up.
action: You examine the red lid
response: A red child-proof lid.
action: You search junk
response: Some rooting around turns up a garden hose, which you pick up.
action: Continue
response: Some rooting around turns up a stress ball, which you pick up.
action: You look at the stick
response: A hollow stick filled with beads and capped at both ends. When turned, the beads slide down the stick and make a sound that is kinda like the sound of falling rain.
action: You examine hose
response: A green garden hose.
action: You look at the ball
response: The stress ball is quite deformed from people squeezing it.
action: You examine Elvis
response: The King, captured in all his glory by a simple piece of mounted velvet. Stunning.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: You have a salad shooter, a red lid, a velvet Elvis, a rain stick, a garden hose, and a stress ball.
action: You look at the shooter
response: The salad shooter might once have chopped up vegetables and more for a mighty fine salad, but someone has removed all of its blades, rendering it useless.
action: You put the red lid on the white bottle
response: A tentacle darts out, thumping your hand vigorously. "Most definitely do not do that," Floban says while you rub your smarting hand.
action: You give Elvis to Floban
response: Floban waves away the velvet Elvis. "Your trinkets are of no concern right now," he tells you.
action: You go southwest
response: Stark. Metal. An examination table fills the center of the room. Above it crouch various tools on metal appendages, extended like the legs of some insect. Along one wall is a control panel. The exit is to the northeast.
action: You examine the tools
response: You can begin to guess at some of the tools' functions--the brightly-shining light is familiar, reminding you of visits to the dentist. Other tools, however, are too strange for your puny Earth brain.
action: You examine table
response: Whatever metal was used in its making has been buffed to a high sheen. You can see your face reflected in its surface when you stand on tippy-toes.
action: You examine the switches
response: So many controls. So many, many controls, and all unlabeled.
action: You turn the stick
response: You give the rain stick a turn, listening to the beads fall.
action: You put Elvis on the table
response: Done.
action: You look around
response: Stark. Metal. An examination table fills the center of the room. Above it crouch various tools on metal appendages, extended like the legs of some insect. Along one wall is a control panel. The exit is to the northeast.
Sitting on the examination table is a velvet Elvis.
action: You turn on the controls
response: You flip a switch at random. The table shudders, as if trying to do something, then quits. A red light on the control panel winks on, then off. A tool descends, points angrily at the object on the table's surface, and retracts once more.
action: You look at the controls
response: So many controls. So many, many controls, and all unlabeled.
action: You pull the lever
response: You yank on a lever. There is a loud keening sound as a laser beam shoots from one of the tools and strikes the table. The beam traces up the middle of the table before shutting off again.
action: You pull the lever
response: You yank on a lever. An energy field flicks into brief existence around the table.
action: You pull the lever
response: You yank on a lever. The table is wrapped in what looks suspiciously like Saran-Wrap. The plastic sheeting dissolves and vanishes a short time later.
action: You pull the lever
response: You yank on a lever. A whirling circular saw descends, slices the air above the table, then retracts.
action: You pull the lever
response: You yank on a lever. The table undergoes a series of uncomfortable-looking contortions before straightening back out.
action: You pull the lever
response: You yank on a lever. The table shudders, as if trying to do something, then quits. A red light on the control panel winks on, then off. A tool descends, points angrily at the object on the table's surface, and retracts once more.
action: Inventory
response: You have a salad shooter, a red lid, a rain stick, a garden hose, and a stress ball.
action: You pull the lever
response: You yank on a lever. The table shudders, as if trying to do something, then quits. A red light on the control panel winks on, then off. A tool descends, points angrily at the objects on the table's surface, and retracts once more.
action: You take all from the table
response: stress ball: Taken.
action: You examine the map
response: The map shows the innards of the spaceship. According to it, the bridge lies to the north of the silver hallway, the rec room is northwest of the hallway, the slumber chamber is northeast, the exam room is southwest, and the hold is southeast from the hallway.
action: You give Elvis to Mom
response: Your mom rejects the offer.
action: You look at the window
response: The window looks out on the backyard and on the ship.
action: You examine paper
response: Your dad is reading it with deliberate care.
action: You turn the stick
response: You give the rain stick a turn, listening to the beads fall.
action: You hit Mom
response: Temper, temper.
action: You hit the dishes
response: Which dishes do you mean, the stack of clean dishes, or the stack of dirty dishes?
action: You go east
response: A short hall lined with dark wood panelling. It connects the
kitchen, to the west, with the living room, to the east. The backyard is north of here.
action: You go north
response: Normally the backyard is boring, but not tonight! Tonight the lawn
has been crisped by the arrival of the silvery ship. It sits there, ramp down, gleaming under the bright backyard lights your dad installed a while back. Its shadow stretches across the brick patio and Weber grill. Your house is to the south.
action: Wait
response: Time passes...
action: You wait
response: Time passes...

From the kitchen, you hear a tremendous clattering banging crash. Something very bad has happened to your clean dishes, and something even worse will probably happen to you if mom catches you.
action: You wait
response: Time passes...

Mom jumps up, her knitting forgotten. "What was that?" she asks on her way out the door.

Dad calls after her. "Oh, probably a stack of dishes falling to the floor and breaking."
action: You ask Dad about the grill
response: He lowers his paper, looks out at you from under beetle brows, and goes back to reading.
action: You give all to Dad
response: salad shooter: Your dad rejects the offer.
red lid: Your dad rejects the offer.
rain stick: Your dad rejects the offer.
garden hose: Your dad rejects the offer.
velvet Elvis: Your dad rejects the offer.
stress ball: Your dad rejects the offer.
ship map: Your dad rejects the offer.
action: You examine the patio
response: Dad spent one summer putting it in. He got the bricks from an old house, so they were covered in mortar. He offered you ten cents a brick to scrape the mortar off--yeah, like you wanted to spend your vacation working for the Man. The Weber is on one side of the patio, a free-standing faucet on the other.
action: You attach the hose to the faucet
response: You screw one end of the hose onto the faucet.
action: You turn on the faucet
response: You turn on the faucet with a twist. Water begins gushing from the far end of the hose.
action: You take the hose
response: You already have the garden hose!
action: You point the hose at the grill
response: If you want to spray something with the hose, just say so.
action: You spray the ship with hose
response: You send a jet of water towards the ship. The water beads on the skin of the ship, then rolls down onto the ground.
action: Go south
response: Not until you either drop the hose or you detach it from the faucet.
action: You examine the ship
response: It's much, much cooler close up. The surface is all crinkly and silvery. The top and bottom are flat; the sides angle out, then back in, and are ruffled. On its back are two bumper stickers. Its ramp lies open like a big silver tongue; you can enter to the north.
action: You look at ramp
response: It leads into the ship.
action: You examine the patio
response: Dad spent one summer putting it in. He got the bricks from an old house, so they were covered in mortar. He offered you ten cents a brick to scrape the mortar off--yeah, like you wanted to spend your vacation working for the Man. The Weber is on one side of the patio, a free-standing faucet on the other.
action: Inventory
response: You have a salad shooter, a red lid, a rain stick, a garden hose, a velvet Elvis, a stress ball, and a ship map.
action: You examine the map
response: The map shows the innards of the spaceship. According to it, the bridge lies to the north of the silver hallway, the rec room is northwest of the hallway, the slumber chamber is northeast, the exam room is southwest, and the hold is southeast from the hallway.
action: You turn the stick
response: You give the rain stick a turn, listening to the beads fall.
action: You examine the lights
response: Your dad's always adding this and that to the house, trying to improve it. A while back, he added these lights to the backyard, presumably because he wanted to show the mosquitos where to gather. The current control for the lights is mounted below them.
action: You examine the control
response: It's just a knob to control how bright the lights get. Right now it's turned counterclockwise.
action: You turn the knob clockwise
response: You twist the current control all the way clockwise. The lights brighten to the point that the backyard is more lit up than it is during the day.
action: You spray the lights with the hose
response: It's too far away.
action: You look
response: Normally the backyard is boring, but not tonight! Tonight the lawn
has been crisped by the arrival of the silvery ship. It sits there, ramp down, gleaming under the harsh backyard lights your dad installed a while back. Its shadow stretches across the brick patio and Weber grill. Your house is to the south.
action: Go south
response: Not until you either drop the hose or you detach it from the faucet.
action: You drop the hose
response: Dropped.

You are startled to see Zigurt come down the ramp, squinting and wiping away tears. Floban follows him, waving his tentacles about madly. "What did I tell you? The light out here has become unbearable. How do you expect me to concentrate on our plans with the sound of so many photons bombarding our ship's repulso-field?"

"Your point is taken," Zigurt replies thoughtfully. He brings out a large ray gun, complete with flanges and doohickeys. He braces its barrel against one tentacle and fires at the lights. With a FZOOM! a shower of sparks falls from a nearby tree.

In response, Zigurt clears his throat and wipes his tearing eyes once more. "Somewhat...tricky..." he mutters, taking aim once more.
FZOOM! and more sparks fly from the tree, followed by a very put-out flock of nesting birds.

Zigurt is drawing a bead on the lights once more when something hits one of them and breaks it with a quiet tinkle. In the reduced glare, both you and Zigurt turn to look at Floban, who has dropped a tentaclefull of medium-sized rocks. "Not for nothing was I on the All-Solar team at the Academy," he says with a touch of pride.

"Indeed," says Zigurt as both cautiously detour around the water-spewing hose and re-enter the ship.
action: You look at your surroundings
response: Normally the backyard is boring, but not tonight! Tonight the lawn
has been crisped by the arrival of the silvery ship. It sits there, ramp down, gleaming under the bright backyard lights your dad installed a while back. Its shadow stretches across the brick patio and Weber grill. Your house is to the south.
You see a garden hose here.
action: Go west
response: You've spent many an hour at the kitchen sink, elbow-deep in suds, staring out the window, ignoring the ugly appliances and dirty cabinets. A dismayingly large stack of dirty plates towers on one side of the sink. Next to the east doorway is the avocado-green refrigerator your family has owned forever.
The cabinets seems to contain some other stuff.
action: You go east
response: The living room is the rumpled center of your home. Comfy floral furniture, a few shelves filled with knick-knacks, a window, two parents, and a TV. The hallway to the kitchen is west, and the unimportant rest of your home (mentioned here merely for the sake of completeness) is south.
Dad is slowly going through today's paper.
Mom is walking down the hall towards the living room.

Mom looks at you angrily. You duck your head and scuffle one foot against the floor. "You know better than to run away and hide when you've done something wrong," she says. You turn beet red. "To your room, kid." When she talks to you in that tone of voice, you know better than to disobey. Up the stairs you go, to await your eventual punishment.

Of course, none of this matters much since the world ends some hours later.

You have achieved a score of 4 points out of a possible 20 in 209 turns.

You may restore a saved game, start over, quit, or undo the current command.