Author's note: If anyone's still reading, I only did four pages for Ernie, but a lot of thought went into them. Eventually it will connect to the sequel story (also on this site) Ernie 074: Sawtooth Star.

The Quaceb story below Ernie's adventure is longer because I wrote the entire sequel book a long time ago...it just needed some revisions.

At some point, Ernie's adventure here will conclude, and will pick up in Sawtooth Star.

[0000]

Alone on an alien planet.

Essentially entombed alive.

Completely isolated from any intelligent life.

Not a soul to help me.

Anywhere.

I could scream at the top of my lungs and bang on the sides of the pod, but nobody would ever hear me.

Well, other than God.

I didn't know I got motion sickness until I threw up on the glass and melted the window frame.

The acid didn't do anything helpful. I still had a weighty metal pod pinning the hatch shut.

Something made distant popping sounds outside, like fireworks. Although there remained some remote possibility that they were fireworks, I hazarded a guess that I actually heard the Sulaco breaking up in the atmosphere.

My pod had a small radio/communications panel, but when I pushed the buttons, it said I had no signal lock, and I only got static when I used the manual controls. There must have been thousands of channels of static.

"Well, looks like I'm on my own. Better figure this out myself."

At first, I contemplated doing something drastic, ripping apart panels, melting something, you know, doing a lot of work and somehow peeling the walls open to effect an escape like mom would have done.

Just for giggles, I decided to take the manufacturer recommended course of action first, tugging on the emergency release lever.

To my absolute surprise, I actually got movement. It helped to have those big cushiony airbags on the exterior to provide an awkward sort of fulcrum.

Admittedly, not the most ideal fulcrum. My experiments resembled recordings of men attempting to right a Jeep that had fallen over on its side. But, like those men, I understood when too rock and when to shove forcefully.

...Mostly.

I gave the lever some fierce pulls, setting the rocking in motion.

A lot of monotonous back and forth action - if I hadn't already emptied the contents of my stomach, I probably would have done so here.

It rolled quite unexpectedly, the door popping open and folding to the closed position before I could make adequate preparations. "No no no no no!"

The hatch clanked shut, and down it smashed into the dirt and gravel once more.

Something honked mockingly in the distance. It reminded me of the calls of geese...if geese somehow produced offspring with German Shepherds.

Sigh. I still had airbags and the hatch release lever, so I didn't resort to smashing through the walls. I worked it again. "Pop goes the weasel..."

As before, the pod rocked back and forth, slowly gathering enough momentum for the door to shift away from the ground.

I almost jumped out immediately when the pod started rolling with its hatch open. Unfortunately, at that precise instant, a piece of flaming spaceship debris crashed down in front of me, giving me pause.

The parachute caught fire, holes developing in the fabric.

The hatch clanged shut during my moment of hesitation, and when I gave it another tug, the lever broke off in my claw.

Worse, I'd somehow sent the pod speeding down a sharp incline.

I hit a bump, became airborne for a split second.

Crash! My pod struck a large statue of a bird monster. The object toppled, breaking into pieces, but not before shattering my window. Glass shards flew into the pod, sticking in my face and body. Acid blood sprayed here and there, deflating the airbags around me. Melted rubber and plastic clung to my exoskeleton.

Although I could not tell from the strange candy colored atmosphere, the planet had actual oxygen, so I did not die when the capsule became compromised.

As I picked glass shards out of my body, my pod rolled like a weighty beer can down a slope. Glass fragments popped the airbags on the exterior, the effect similar to a punctured tire on an automobile - it even made the same noise: Pudda-budda-pudda-pudda-wudda-pudda.

The flaming parachute popped in and out the opening, tearing and snagging on broken glass.

The pod entry hatch rattled and juddered disconcertingly, pieces of hinges and whatnot snapping off and flying every which way.

As an experiment, I pushed on it, but, like a loosened tooth, something unseen prevented it from coming all the way out. It only banged teasingly between partway open and all the way shut, like a car trunk with a broken latch.

You know what I said about not dying from lack of air? What I saw out the window next made me wish that I had.

The bird creature statue had been built atop a small mountain, not unlike the Cristo Redentor in Rio De Janeiro, so when I rolled downhill, I soon found myself lacking `real estate.' I shrieked in fright as the pod rolled off a rock shelf into nothing.

As the cylindrical pod took to the air, two lamentable things occurred at the same time: First, my body, debatably heavier than the loosened door hatch, at once found itself under the immense pull of gravitation. For some reason, the pod determined myself to be the center of gravity, rotating my window and hatch to offer a perfect view of a thousand foot drop, no liquid or soft objects below to break my fall.

Secondly, the door hatch, loosened by my vigorous escape attempts and battering upon rocks and other associated debris, lost connection to...whatever mechanical contrivances it had employed to keep itself in place.

Skydiving on a small, surfboard-like object. It fairly resembled a scene from a movie, except I had no parachute.

Well, my pod did, but that useless flapping piece of fabric wouldn't do anyone any good.

One advantage to not actually dropping out the cargo hold of an airplane: I still had land within sight.

Imitating a character from a film, I attempted to compress my exoskeleton into its most aerodynamic shape, posing in such a way to (I hoped) steer the door (and my body) into a collision course with the side of the mountain.

A sudden updraft caused me to flip completely upside down, and, unlike a surfboard, the door had no attachment to my feet, so I dropped through the air with the thing hovering dangerously overhead.

I did my best human torpedo pose, again aiming myself (or, more accurately, attempting to `will' myself) closer to the rock face.

I was halfway to the hard ground before a boulder came within reach. No tree branches or roots to grab onto. I snatched a rock with one claw, but it broke off and dropped to the valley below.

I grabbed another. It held.

Caught hold of a crevice, scrambled for footing.

Secure. No longer moving. I paused to catch my breath.

That's when the pod door bashed me in the head.

I lost my grip on the rocks, fell screaming through the air.

[0000]

The Quaceb Book 2, Part 3

[0000]

I frowned at my outlandish outfit. "Okay...I'm parked out front..."

When I took a step down the boarding ramp, Quana gave me an expectant look. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Blushing, I grabbed her hand and tried to walk her down with me.

Green tinged her face. "Poniki! Matt, aren't you going to change clothes?"

I sighed. "We have a hard time explaining our...alienness to everyone. Nobody believes us. Why not make it a little easier? We're just meeting your future inlaws, after all..."

"What if we get pulled over?"

"I'll drive carefully."

The green in her cheeks deepened as she clutched my hand and stepped forward. "Poniki, what happened to the wusu I kissed?"

I chortled. "He'll show up once I run into other humans...Of course it'll be less scary with you coming along..."

We marched to a pool ladder framed by crumbling blue tiles. "It's less hot this way, right?"

Quana let out a nervous ferret grunt.

Dista also had misgivings, asking about ET and X-Files and other stuff.

I groaned. "Dista, those are movies. Not real. So far everyone thinks we're cosplayers." I had to explain the term to her, she hadn't been at the convention with Quana. "Anyway, most people don't seriously believe in space aliens."

We climbed out on the pool deck. "Did you build this pool, or did it come with the house?" Matt asked as he stepped on the deck.

"It came with. The last owner couldn't afford to finish it."

"Neither could you, it would appear."

"Funny."

That old dilapidated split level ranch house. I would have avoided going through the musty building, but during our trip to space, the whole yard had become overgrown with weeds.

We marched through the crumbling, dusty innards of her poorly tended house, past barren kitchen counters, empty shelves, then a living room occupied by a couple trashy sofas and a crude makeshift coffee table.

I'd parked my Corolla out front. Certified used. Gold. Still had that `new car loan' look to it.

Mashing my tail in the door- not an experience I wanted to ever repeat. I got back in my vehicle in extra cautiously.

Quana climbed in the passenger side. "On Pathilon, we meet the parents a lot sooner."

"Really."

Dista had a little difficulty with finding the seatbelt in back, so I had to get out and help her. I pretended to not notice the smiles, or her face flushing green as I reached around her.

I nearly forgot my tail again when I returned to the driver's seat and closed the door.

We took off down the freeway leading into town.

Quana grinned, staring out the window. "This is so exciting! I never thought I'd get so intimately immersed in human familial relationships! I should write something about this to share with the Gazmioc!"

Noting my blank look, she explained the publication.

My face flushed red as I thought of our romance being the subject of some scientific article. I nearly missed the exit. "Why not just, I don't know, translate some psychology or sociology books? I'm sure they'd have more than enough useful information."

"None of that is from an Abreya perspective, especially in my situation! This is going to be fascinating!"

I chuckled nervously, feeling uncomfortably hot as I imagined the public spectacle.

"Okay...so where should we have it?"

"Have what?"

She chortled. "Matt...what do you think I'm talking about?"

"I...I guess it'd be best to have it here, I mean, for family. It'd be hard to transport everyone to your planet. People have a difficult enough time fitting a regular wedding into their schedules."

"I have family too, Matt. Remember that."

"Yeah? I don't suppose there's a planet in the middle somewhere, is there?"

"We didn't stop at any, did we?"

"I don't know, Quana. What are we supposed to do?"

She paused in thought for a moment. "I...guess we'll have to hold two weddings."

I grinned. "That's kinda cool."

Quana took out her communicator. "All right, give me some ideas. What's our earth wedding going to look like?"

I took a deep breath. I definitely had some ideas. "Okay...So how about we dress up like scifi characters?"

She blew a raspberry. "That's not very authentic."

"What do you want? You asked for a suggestion."

"Fine. How would your parents set up the wedding, if it were them?"

"Oh, you mean, how would they make it boring?"

"Actually, I was thinking `normal."

"Yeah. Boring."

"Okay, fine. Describe `boring' to me."

"Well...Everyone wears the same thing. It's kind of like a dress code."

"The whole congregation?"

"No, just the people up front with the wedding party, group, I mean."

"Sounds really cute!"

I sighed. Soo disappointing. "I guess we've still got time to come to decisions we both can agree upon."

"That's true."

Quana jotted down some notes. "Um, about my car..."

I groaned as I remembered her totaled car. "It's obviously gone now."

"Would it be bad just to leave it at the impound lot?"

"Did you have it paid off?"

"Guep."

"Well...I don't know, but if you bring it back, I think it's going to be a tax liability at the very least. Maybe even illegal."

"Guep, but it could be illegal to leave it there..."

"It might end up on a police auction, which I don't think is totally bad..."

"Matt, it's got some important documents in it."

"Quana, I...you've been gone for a long time. I'm surprised they don't have an arrest warrant out for you. I mean, you got a license plate and stuff..."

"I haven't gone through all my mail yet...It was a fairly pretty large pile."

"Yeah, I think it's going to be a bit of a problem. We might have to go downtown and pay a fine or something. Hope you don't end up in jail."

"I had to learn about Jesus, Matt."

"I know. And now we'll have to fit this under the same category as my education, and my job."

She sighed. "Matt, If you're still holding a grudge, why propose to me?"

My car rolled through a commercial district, past restaurants, supermarkets and wholesalers, small shops, and a hardware store. "Quana, I'm just making a point. Too often you barge ahead without thinking of the consequences, but consequences have a nasty way of biting you on the ass." Quana opened her mouth to say something, but I blurted, "Yeah, I know, eternal consequences are more important...You're not wrong, but that doesn't mean we can ignore those things."

Several other things came to mind, but I didn't dare say them, such as it was her fault I couldn't afford a diamond, and how I had every right to ask her to pay off my student loans. "...How the hell do you pay your taxes?"

"Morgan...helps with that. There's some...creative writing." Quana narrowed her eyes at me. "Matt, do you actually love me? Because...you're not acting like it right now."

"I'm just...annoyed, that's all...Worried. I...don't even want to think about talking to the police about your car. I'm surprised they haven't shown up at your house yet. I think we're going to be screwed. I don't want to go to jail, I don't want you in jail...or something worse."

"And yet we're not disguising ourselves."

I could only sigh.

She put her hand on my shoulder. "Have faith in God. Whatever happens, He'll see us through it."'

"Yeah..."

I took us down the main street leading to my parent's house.

Quana watched scenery pass by the window: Minsky's Pizza, an antique shop, a bar, a place where they did automotive detailing, and a hairdresser. Mr. Z's, a convenience store in a yellow building that hadn't changed since 1970. "Matt, did you eat breakfast?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't."

"Well, maybe Camille will have something for you. Or we can stop somewhere."

She gestured to her outfit. "Looking like this?"

"She's got to have cereal or something, at least."

My parents lived in a two story house near a park. I settled to a stop behind mom's rusty white pickup truck. Due to the steepness of the street, I always made use of the emergency brake lever to keep the car from rolling backwards downhill.

The moment I got out of the car, I felt self conscious. A couple kids in sports jerseys had been walking by, and now they muttered to each other in Spanish, pointing and laughing at me. A weather beaten old guy in a white tank top squatted at the edge of his porch, narrowing his eyes at me as he puffed on a cigarette.

I let my alien friends out, leading them up a crumbling walk, and a creaking staircase, to an enclosed porch. A black cat popped up from its sleeping position to stare at us.

Quana's eyes went from the uneven red paint job to the cracked concrete, and the scuffed up front door with glass windows you had to stand on your tiptoes to see through.

She gave me a look that said, `Oh you poor boy,' like she might even cry.

I only shrugged, nonverbally telegraphing, `It is what it is.'

A short little blonde woman opened the door. Plump, middle aged, haircut like floppy dog ears. She blinked at me through hornrim glasses, frowning until she recognized my face. "Matt? Is that you?"

"Yeah, mom. It's me."

Chiefs shirt, capri shorts. Not what she usually wore to work. "Fuzzy! I hardly recognized you! What's with the Halloween costumes?"

Quana grinned at me, mouthing `Fuzzy?'

I just rolled my eyes. "Pet name. Long story." Yeah. Ironic, considering the present circumstances. I glanced at the staring people on the sidewalk. Some took pictures with their phones. "Uh...Let's discuss this inside."

We hurried into a living room with old yellow-green carpeting and worn mismatched furniture. Resin bowling ball with a flower inside. Bowling trophy. Fancy bowling caddy. A flat panel TV played General Hospital.

"It's a good thing you came when you did!" the woman announced. "We have the day off from school for teacher planning. Your father's upstairs doing paperwork...Would you like something to drink? Maybe some coffee or orange juice?"

I and Quana exchanged knowing glances. Thinking back to how Quana wrecked her car, I suppressed a laugh.

"Orange juice, please..." Quana took in her surroundings with undeserved wonderment, admiring the chintzy orange curtains, dusty framed reproduction of Christ in Gethsemane, the Billy Graham books, the coffee table piled with folders and paperwork...

A black cocker spaniel growled and barked at us from the top of the carpeted staircase, scuffing her hind legs.

"Is that...Trixie?" Quana asked.

"Yeah...Takes a bit for her to warm up to strangers..."

The dog did not come down.

I gestured to the woman. "Quana, Dista, this is my mother, Camille. Mom, this is Quana and Dista."

Quana smiled and shook hands with her. "It's an honor, soon to be—"

I elbowed her. "Not yet!"

Camille looked baffled. "What?"

"Nothing," we both said in unison. A green tint crept up my fiancee's face.

I groaned. "She's a friend. A good friend. We met on the trip. I'll tell you all about it in a minute."

Mom stared at Dista. "And...who's this?...Another friend?"

"Uh, yeah. She's, uh, her maid. I mean, a maid. Quana's friend."

"I wish I had a maid!" Camille laughed nervously, offering her hand.

The palace servant gave it an awkward shake, then bowed. "Dusaq. Hib Dista."

"What?"

"She said she's Dista. Her English isn't good."

The gray faced female nodded vigorously, but then used some of that bad English: "Geigy Quana would like breakfast meal now..." She cast me and Quana questioning looks. I smacked his face, totally embarrassed. "And...I as well, obes, please..." She gave Mom a dramatically low bow. "I was told you have cereal."

Camille burst out laughing. "Did Matt put you up to this?"

I groaned. "Noooo!"

Quana prodded me with her tail.

"But, uh...they kinda haven't had breakfast yet. Don't trouble yourself, I can get them something...Or take them out someplace...Honestly, I didn't know..."

"It's no trouble...Did you eat, Fuzzy?"

"Yeah, at the apartment."

"Well, come on back..."

We followed her down a hallway to a cramped little kitchen with a drab olive fridge, old cooking appliances of similar drab colors. She offered us all seats at a round table draped with a yellow plastic table cloth.

"You'll have to excuse me if I'm a little unprepared. I wasn't expecting guests..." Camille gave me an annoyed look.

She poured Quana and Dista some orange juice, cracked eggs into a skillet, laid out bacon on another. Delicious smells filled the air.

Quana smiled, admiring the healthy plants gracing the windowsills, the framed bible passages, the family photos.

An old fashioned tin coffee percolator sat on the middle of the table. Quana stared at it, removed the lid, stared at the inner cup and tube with a mystified expression.

"I should throw that thing away," Camille muttered. "It came from my mother's house. I've never used it to make coffee."

For a moment, she silently worked the eggs with a spatula. "Something tells me you didn't go to New Guinea..."

"Mom, do you believe in extraterrestrials?"

Camille turned to stare at us for a moment. "No, but those costumes are pretty convincing."

"So...You don't believe in them at all?"

"Fuzzy, aliens are just something people make up so they can say that intelligent life is a common thing that can happen from random chance. A man was talking about that on the radio this morning. It's just an evolutionary argument they use when they fail to explain how life happened on this planet. All they're doing is pushing the theory back to somewhere else in the universe and hoping nobody will notice they're still wrong."

"You...don't think that maybe God could have...created intelligent beings elsewhere?"

"Oh! I'm burning the eggs!" She frantically scraped the spatula along the bottom of the skillet. "Look, I know God made angels, and we're finding new species of animals all the time, but nothing in the bible says that aliens exist."

"The bible doesn't contain everything, mom. It doesn't mention pandas, or airplanes, the creation account is geocentric, but we've managed to harmonize that with what we know about the universe..."

Camille fell into a thoughtful silence as she scooped the eggs on plates and cooked the bacon. "If I'm hearing you correctly, you want me to believe you went to outer space?"

I pointed to Dista. "Does that look like a natural skin tone to you?"

Mom glanced at her and rolled her eyes. "Fuzzy, makeup is easy—"

Quana opened her mouth, splitting her tongue.

Dista smiled and imitated her.

Smash! Mom dropped the plate containing Quana's breakfast on the floor. Eggs and broken porcelain everywhere.

I jumped out of my chair to help her pick up. "Sorry...you want me to cook or get cereal or something?"

Mom shook her head. "It's fine, Fuzzy. Just get this with the broom and dust pan."

She cracked some more eggs. "That's a horrible birth defect..."

As I'm sweeping up the broken shards and dirty eggs, she grabbed my prehensile tail.

The moment she felt it flex and wiggle under her grip, her hand jerked back. She unthinkingly wiped her hand on her shorts.

"Brunch, and I'm not invited?"

I glanced up at the doorway. "Dad?"