The Dipple Fringle of Namibar

Two aliens sat at a table.

In a room. In the capital of The Collective. And the foremost Special Agent in the Universe entered.

Carrying white netting.

‘Hello, erm…’

‘Agents Irene and Spatula’, prompted Spatula.

‘Good’, noted Special Agent Sockenpowder, ‘I’m looking for two Agents to travel to Earth and convince the inhabitants to join our Galactic Collective.’

‘Earth? the ultraviolent planet –it’ll take more than us two to get them to civilize.’

Spatula kicked Irene under the table.

‘A man of Sockenpowder’s intelligence knows what he’s doing’, he said.

‘Exactly’, agreed Sockenpowder, ‘and that’s where this comes in.’

He stretched out the netting.

‘Now if I know alien Zoology, which I do, because I’m brilliant, then the only danger on Earth is the midge. And this netting forms an impenetrable fortress against winged insects. Plus, if you dress in it the Earthlings will think you’re both deities.’

‘Are you sure?’, asked Irene.

Spatula kicked her for a second time.

‘Of course I’m sure -I’m a Special Agent, my plans never fail, tell her Spatula.’

‘Gladly. Irene –did I ever mention the time Agent Theresa became a Fringle on Namibar? Not just any old Fringle, the Dipple Fringle. She arrived wrapped in netting. The inhabitants thought her so beautiful they insisted she marry the planet itself. Just so everyone could be related to her. The Collective now controls everything that happens there.’

‘Exactly‘, beamed Sockenpowder, and marched out of the room.

‘Ya nearly talked us into trouble there Irene.’

‘We still have to go to Earth, and I never heard of Agent Theresa.’

‘That’s because she’s made up’, replied Spatula, ‘but if there’s one thing I know about Agents like Sockenpowder it’s that once you tell them a story explaining how clever they are, they forget what they were doing.’