James was stumped. Completely and utterly. One of Mr. Willoughby’s sheep had died with no discernible cause, so James and Tristan went up to the farm to find out what had happened to it. After examining it, James was no closer to knowing than Mr. Willoughby was. The vet sighed, snapping his bag closed with a defeated air about him. “I just don’t get it, Tris, this sheep was in perfect health. No illness, no signs of a heart attack, no lightning, no wounds… it’s as though it just keeled over out of the blue!”
Tristan didn’t respond. He was staring at the corpse, looking positively green. “Tris? Are you alright?”
His gaze was unfaltering as he responded, like he was watching a train wreck occur before his eyes and he just couldn’t look away. “Of course not! I mean, just look at that thing, gorging itself… looks like it’s about to burst, it’s awful!”
Looking back behind him, James saw nothing but the dead sheep. “I don’t see anything.”
“You wouldn’t, would you? It’s hanging about in one of the higher dimensions, making me feel quite nauseous…” The man grimaced. “A parasite, James, that’s what’s killed the sheep. A disgusting, life-eating parasite. Eugh.”
“You mean it’s like one of your tentacles?”
“Limbs, James, please. Tentacles makes me sound like some kind of squid. And yes.”
“Then you can get rid of it, can’t you? We wouldn’t want it to start on the other animals. If you get rid of it now, it’ll be better for everyone!”
“You want me to touch that… that thing?” He was being mite dramatic, thought James.
“Oh come on, Tris, you can handle a little parasite! Besides, you won’t be touching it with your hands, will you?”
Tristan raised his eyebrows incredulously. “If you were to touch a spider with your toe would that make it any less likely to bite you?” James didn’t reply, instead giving an expectant stare. ”…Fine. But you owe me a pint at the Drover’s tonight!”
“Deal.”
James watched in awe as one of Tristan’s tenta— limbs— began winding its way down from his sleeve and over to the sheep. Grimacing, Tristan appeared to reach for something… and suddenly James could see why the man had been so damn reluctant. The thing was putrid— a pulsing acidic green glow was emanating from its bloated belly, the exoskeleton stretched so thin you could see liquid sloshing about inside. It was hanging from the sheep by what James assumed to be its mouth— rather similar to a leech but with a long, insect-like body and a set of chitin wings on its back. He shuddered to imagine the thing flying. It squealed something horrible once Tristan grabbed hold of it. The sound had James doubling over with a migraine in seconds. Instantly, Tristan let go of the creature and slammed a nearby crate over it, holding it down with his body weight.
Soon, the noise began to fade and there was quiet again.
“It’s dead,” panted Tristan. “I compressed it to three dimensions. It’s a bit like taking a fish out of water, it couldn’t survive like that for long.” It made sense in a mad sort of way, James supposed, nodding dumbly and hitting himself on the side of his head to try and dispel the ringing in his ears.
After a few moments to catch their breath, James startled, straightening up.
“I say, Tris. Have you got a jar on you?”
---
The pair returned to Skeldale house with the creature in a small jam jar Willoughby had lent them and made straight for the clinic. No patients today, thankfully, which gave them free rein to poke and prod at the thing as much as they pleased.
By the time they’d arrived home, the parasite’s previously sturdy exoskeleton had softened to an almost gelatinous state, the fluid within its horribly distended stomach threatening to spill out. “It’s deteriorating,” Tristan frowned. “Cellular collapse due to its incompatibility with a three-dimensional environment.”
“We’d better hurry, then,” James said, donning his white coat and rolling up the sleeves past his elbows. Tristan mirrored his actions, then handed him the nearest sterile scalpel. Carefully, he positioned the blade at something he hoped was analogous to a neck. He prepared to press down and cut through… and then stopped. Tristan was making the oddest noise of protest, sort of like he was choking. “What is it?”
“Not there. I’m fairly certain that’s the vortisector.” Vortisector, as though it was a completely self-explanatory word.
“And a vortisector is…?”
“Some extradimensional species are able to tear rifts into the time vortex using a special gland or limb.” At this, Tristan poked the ‘neck’ area with a pair of tweezers and a dimly luminescent yellow ooze began to pool in its mouth. “It seems this nasty little creature was able to excrete some kind of substance that, in a sense, softens up the surrounding spacetime and allows for it to be cut through by any sharp object. Ideally its own teeth, I’d imagine.”
“So if I’d cut it, I would have ripped a hole in time and space.”
“Yes.”
“Right. How on Earth am I meant to dissect this thing, then?”
“No idea,” Tristan shrugged unhelpfully. “Try the back side, I suppose.”
---
An hour later, the dissection ended. Not because they’d been finished with it, but because the carcass finally metamorphosed into a great puddle of chartreuse goop.
If James learned one thing from the experience, it was that the biology of alien creatures was, much like Tristan, complete and utter nonsense.
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