Arnie Bateman

A Growing Concern




Snarling, Bagarf slowly pulled a four-meter length of creeper from the auxiliary astrogation console and threw it on the pile of vegetation covering the control room deck.

His three-fingered fist punched the intercom. "Hydroponics!"
"Hydroponics. Nefark here."
"Bagarf. Status report."
"Oh, Captain. How are you?"
"I've got creepers in astrogation. Report!"
"I've mixed up some stuff that retards it a bit but still have no idea what's causing the accelerated growth."

"Not good enough. Staff meeting in four Units. You best have something or I'll throw you in those hyperthyroid vats. Out * "
Bagarf stood seething for a moment then resignedly began picking grass blades from the command chair.

Bagarf, Nefark, and Mucowk, the engineer, sat around the moderately clear table in the galley sipping mugs of brew. As in the rest of the ship, grass, vines, and assorted greenery sprouted from the ceiling, walls, and floor.
The captain turned to Nefark, who was absently scraping at a large mass of mold with a stirring implement. "Report."

Reluctantly, Nefark looked up. "We may be able to slow, possibly halt-subsequent growth, but I doubt if we can kill off what we already have. In time, that is."
Bararf nodded. "Mucowk? Anythine. "
The engineer's breast cartilage rippled. "Plenty; but, unfortunately, nothing that won't get us too."

"Well, with seventy percent of our systems already on backup, we can't last much longer." Bagarf gulped his brew. "Fortunately, there's a system just under 200 Units away. We'll have to land and try to kick this thing."
A polar orbit was established around the third planet. Anxiously, the aliens watched the main scanner as the green planet passed below.
"There!" Nefark pointed.

Bagarf nodded and began their descent. A large estate grew on the screen: a mansion amid acres of immaculately trimmed lawns and flower beds.
The spacecraft settled softly on the lawn. Bagarf, wearing a light pressure suit and breathing mask, stepped onto the clipped grass.

A dozen or so bipeds were warily approaching him. All wore clothing with green and brown stains, especially at the knees; they clutched a variety of hand tools.
Bagarf stopped. He glanced at the perfect flower beds, then held out his arms to the bipeds and said, "Take me to your weeder!"