2. Chapter Two.

At this point I'd like to tell you of my condition. It's what they call Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Or, as many sufferers have referred to it, Look, It's a Bird on Fire. But a condition by any other name is still as crippling.

I was led by Ford into a largish, darkened room with a bearded man seated behind a desk. His suit was a sort of purplish-pinky-green affair with a giant square tile hanging from his neck, which I supposed was a tie. "Go on, sit," he spoke with a faint smile.

"I think I'll stand," I said.

"Well, suit yourself." He tapped a pile of papers on the edge of the desk. Not that he had to, but the man apparently liked the sound it made. "My name is Troy Halfrunt," he began. "I am the Psychological examiner for this experiment. You and the rest of your kind were discovered on an uncharted planet in an unnamed solar system powered by a star I simply cannot remember."

"You mean Earth," I asked.

"No," said Ford, interjecting. "Not earth."

"You see," resumed Troy, "That planet was surrounded by celestial gases that absorbed all light that fell within its surface, rendering it virtually imperceptible until now. Since discovering it, there were elite groups that have taken great interest in your company's product."

"You mean Pineapple Deodorant?"

"Yes." He stroked his beard. "It can be quite useful in the hands of a toxins expert."

"Oh," I said. "But we on Earth--"

"You were not on Earth," Ford interrupted.

"Er, yes, excuse me -- we on the planet were already aware of its use as a poison."

"Please," said Troy, bemused. "You and you race couldn't possibly comprehend the full and awesome power of your product. I admit, your planet is quite advanced, especially when you consider the primates that walk across it every day."

I wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or not, so I didn't.

He reached into a drawer and pulled out what looked like an small MP3 player. "Take this, for example. Significant achievements in both memory storage and compact design. But for what use?" He pressed a button, and "Tub Thumping" began to play.

I felt the inexplicable urge to perform a small jig to the beat of the music.

Ford stared.

I stopped.

"We were very short on time," Troy continued, "so instead of going around setting up the proper paperwork for transplantation of your staff, we simply waited for the inevitable."

"Er, the explosion while I was on the planet?"

"You were never on the planet," said Ford, "nor any other except this one, but yes, the explosion."

"Quite right," said Troy. "As I was saying, we took the samples we needed from the resulting carnage and -- guava!"

"Guava?" I asked. "Are you sure you don't mean 'voila'?"

Troy furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"It's an expression from Earth."

"No," said Ford, "not earth." He suddenly slapped his forehead. "That's it! That's what we'll call the planet when we revise the Guide. Not-Earth!"

"Why can't we just call it Earth?" I asked.

"Because people wouldn't be able to tell the two apart, you zarking lunatic!"

"You mean there's two Earths?"

"No!" said Ford. "There's only one! That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Spit flew out of his mouth.

The saliva formed a spinning dumbell-like mass of translucent fluid, twirling across the room as time slowed to a crawl. At the far wall, a clock was halfway through a tick, and it was taking forever to get there. A dog barked. Then the spit landed right in Troy Halfrunt's beard.

"Oh, my word!" said Ford, rushing toward the psychological examiner with a towel to wipe up the mess. "Am I ever so sorry!"

Troy snickered. "Such a crude and belligerent race," he said, finding it difficult to speak with Ford working at his jaw. "In all my years of examining, I have never seen before--" his beard tugged downward-- "a species more deserving of complete and total annihilation by, perhaps, their local star going nova."

I gasped. "That's a terrible thing to say!"

"Is it terrible to state future events on your planet?" asked Ford, still mopping up the goo.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Future events?" said the field researcher, trying to explain. "You know, things that are about to happen?"

"You mean Ear-- I mean, Not-Earth is going to be destroyed?"

"Heh," said Troy. "The monkey figured it out."

I sat down, then got up again for effect. "I'm a human man!" I shouted for no particular reason other than to embarrass myself. "I deserve respect!"

"I'll tell you who deserves respect," said Ford. "The lawyers who reserved the right to destroy that planet and its inhabitants. I'm sure that was quite an ordeal."

"Lawyers?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," said Troy. "They work for an famous rock group whose signature has to do with the decimation of a sun during a live performance. I don't particularly see what all the fuss was about."

Ford let go of Halfrunt's beard. "They were pretty hoopy froods in their day, but their new album is rubbish."

My cheeks burned red. "May I ask what the point of bringing me to your office was in the first place?"

Troy suddenly remembered the stack of pages he was holding. "Oh, yes. You see these papers? They are a list of new names for your company's product."

"Huh?" I asked. "What wrong with Pineapple Deodorant?"

Ford laughed. "We can't possibly call it that! Why, on this planet, it's like calling your best friend a red-eyed leapfrog."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Doesn't seem so bad, really."

"Yeah?" said Ford. "Just wait until someone says that to your best friend."

"I don't understand," I said, trying to get to the point. "I was responsible for advertising, not product naming."

"Actually," said Troy, "you're both, now. We didn't really have the time to clone your staff individually, so we just combined aspects two or three persons into each body."

"I don't..." I pondered. "You mean my DNA is a mixture of more than one staff member?"

"Yes," said Troy. "We also did that to the CEO, who is also the secretary."

I suddenly remembered the CEO's overly emotional state earlier on. "So... he's also Mrs. Woolworth?"

"Catches on quick, this one," said Ford, shaking his head.

"Wait a minute," I said. "You're telling me that I'm both Dave Grooming, head in charge of advertising, and Gregory Gaspare, title consultant?"

"With a little Kent Rosenberg in there to boot," added Troy.

Both Ford and Troy shared a laugh.

My face abruptly found itself falling into my hands. I could tell this was going to be the beginning of a most horrible existence.