This story was previously printed in 2008 in Alien Skin Magazine.

~~
A government reconnaissance craft prepared to depart for Earth. I had a free round-trip ticket, because I’d agreed to do a job for the Ministry of Abductions. They wanted me to locate and tag for immediate extraction an elusive kind of Earthonian—a blue-topped female. Tagging meant inserting a vibro-gonzer into the hole already existent in the female’s ear, the part from which decorations dangled. If she had no piercings, my job was to create one using my left index claw. When I asked why that particular claw, considering I had twenty-eight of them, they spewed formulas about optimum angles of penetration.

I’d never pierced a Martian’s ear, much less an Earthonian’s, so I was a bit edgy. Especially since I tend to favor the claws on my fourth hand. Fortunately, the Flight Officer supplied materials on which I could practice during the five-hour trip.

Using abducted Venusian vermin hides, I tore several dozen holes, after which I inserted vibro-gonzers. The crew said the skins were roughly equivalent to the size, shape, and texture of Earthonian female ears.

Surprisingly, each time I inserted a vibro-gonzer, my gloper glands became pleasantly stimulated. I hoped with all my hearts that the target female’s ear was free of piercings. Maybe when penetrating her ear, my glopers might break out into song as they’d just done. I could hardly wait for the craft to land.

Deck hands asked why I was aboard. I explained my intention to study Earth’s polar icecaps, and the tagging task I’d agreed to perform in exchange for free transport.

“Good luck,” someone said. “Better you than us.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s New Year’s Eve on Earth. The entire planet goes nuts. You couldn’t pay us enough to leave this disk. Back in ’04, Glixi did. Look at him now.”

My stomach curdled. One of his heads was missing. The other was covered with hideous scars.

“What happens on New Years Eve?” I asked.

Glixi described a bizarre, Earthonian ritual. “They dance, eat certain foods, drink mind-altering liquids, and work themselves into a frenzy that builds into a spectacular climax at the arrival of what they call, ‘midnight.’”

I repeated the strange word in my mind.

“When given a signal that midnight has arrived, they explode with shouts, use implements to make weird noises, share an effervescent liquid, and intermingle, in ways that remind me of ancient, Martian revelry. They chant a slogan, and sing a traditional song. Within minutes of the climax, the celebrants are dissipated and often go into a stupor.”

“Sounds goofy,” I said.

“Even nuttier, they repeat this on the same date an Earth-year later.”

“If I go among them tonight, do you think I’ll find a female with blue topping?”

“Never saw a blue one,” Glixi said. “But watch out for those with red toppings. That’s how I lost my other head. I ran into one with fuzzy red topping. Stroked it out of curiosity. She went bonkers. I ended up hospitalized for three solar rotations.”

The craft hovered over a building. “If you’re gonna find a blue one,” said the Captain,” this is probably the best place to start. We’ll be back in thirty ticks. Meanwhile, if something goes wrong and you need emergency retrieval, just yell ‘gazangas.’”

I jumped out, and searched the building for revelers.

Just as I walked into a large darkened room, somebody shouted, “Happy New Year.”

Earthonian males grabbed my hands and pumped them violently. Females kissed me. Luckily, a blue-topped woman pressed herself against me, and stroked my gills. I checked her ear. No holes. I dug into it with my index claw and inserted a vibro-gonzer. The sensation was so remarkably pleasant, my glopers vibrated, then broke out into a sweet Martian lullaby.

The lights turned up. The female screamed. Next thing I knew, males overwhelmed me.

“I’ve seen this kind before,” a red-topped female yelled. “Five years ago. Took one of his damn heads off. Had it stuffed. Hangs over my fireplace.”

She moved toward me.

A male pushed her aside. “I’m a cop,” he yelled. Pointing to me he hollered, “You’re under arrest, for…for…”

“Clawing a hole in my ear lobe,” said the female, “and jamming something through.”

“You have the right to remain silent,” he said, cuffing two of my wrists.

Fortunately, the other two were still free. I shoved him, grabbed the blue-topped female, and headed for the roof yelling, “GAZANGAS!”

Having only two legs, my pursuers couldn’t keep up.

The craft lowered, and the crew pulled us aboard.

“Where are you taking me, you buncha ugly bastards?” yelled the female.

“Mars,” the Flight Officer said. He stuck something into her arm causing her to collapse.

“There’s a problem,” the Captain said. “We’re only authorized to reconnoiter, not to transport abductees. I must return the Earthonian.”

“Can we keep her aboard for a while?” I asked.

“Why?”

“I thought I’d entertain the crew with lullabies.”

“Hmm. Go ahead. I haven’t heard a good tune in a while,” said the Captain.

Removing the vibro-gonzer from her ear, I sealed the hole, then dug a new one. My gloper glands vibrated and emitted a sweet melody. The applause was tremendous. I repeated the process a dozen times until we located a transport authorized to carry abducted Earthonians.

A year later, I spotted her in a bar. Though horribly disfigured from exploratory surgeries, her ear lobe was intact. I persuaded her to let me use it to entertain the customers.

We made a bundle in tips. That convinced us to form a musical act.

Now we make a good living performing for entertainment-starved canal diggers in the Martian Wetlands.

~~

Michael A. Kechula’s flash and micro-fiction tales have been published by 150 magazines and 50 anthologies in 8 countries. He’s won 1st prize in 12 writing contests and 2nd prize in 8 others. He’s authored 5 books of flash and micro-fiction tales, including a book that teaches how to write flash fiction. See his publisher’s site at: http://www.booksforabuck.com/ to read a free story or chapter in all of his books.