Sh*tpost

Something, a noise, probably, almost woke me from my nap. I took a deep breath to let myself fall back into sleep, when it came again.

A voice, right next to me, “Are you hungry?”

I jolted upright, hitting my head on the upper bunk, grabbed my head and rolled away from the source of voice only for my king-sized bed to come to a sudden end and I fell entirely too far to a hard floor.

What upper bunk? I wondered. Where is my carpet? Why is my bed so small and high?

My head throbbed, my right shoulder was bruised, at the very least, along with my right knee, and I landed with my hip on my right hand in an odd position. The sharp pain from my wrist, shooting into my fingers made me fear I’d broken something.

I removed my hand from under my hip — gingerly — and forced my eyes open to assess the damage. My knuckles were red, and my wrist made a painful sort of clunking as I tested out the range of motion. Okay, not broken, I just re-aggravated my carpal tunnel syndrome.

“Are you hurt?” the voice asked.

“Yeah! Shit!” I looked around. I was on a metal floor, a triple bunk bed next to me, and a speaker on the wall near the middle bunk.

Wait, this must be a dream. I must be laying on my hand weird and the dream is trying to account for the pain. But my head? Never mind. WAKE UP!

That didn’t work. I stood, saw my phone laying on the middle bunk, and grabbed it to check the time. It felt light, like the battery had been removed, but it was still working. Less than an hour after I’d lay down to nap, and zero bars.

It felt like I’d fallen off a roof, but the middle bunk was only shoulder height. I did a little jump and hit my poor, abused head on the ceiling and barely managed to stick the landing.

I was in too much pain now to think I was still dreaming. “Where the hell am I?”

“You are here.”

“Funny, asshole. You interrupted my sleep. I nap three hours in the afternoon and three at night. Now my schedule’s going to be all jacked and you better have a good reason.”

The wall opposite the bunk bed split open and sort of…disappeared. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t what standing there. I wished — for a brief moment — that it was a prank, someone in a suit. It couldn’t be though, because the proportions were…wrong. Tall, stick-thin, two legs, two long arms with three-fingered hands coming from too far forward on the chest, two more, longer, coming from behind, ending in cruel, knife-like points.

What I guessed were mouthparts at the bottom of its face were surrounded by fractal-branched appendages that extended, waved in the air, then withdrew again, like a collection of tiny sea anemones. Apart from the weird, fractal organs, the only other visible sensory organ was the collection of at least a dozen compound eyes.

“What the fuck are you?”

Its chest vibrated and it made an odd, warbling whistle, followed by the voice coming from the speaker again. “I am an envoy from my people, the __, and we need your assistance.”

“The what now?”

It made a high, sustained whistle, and the speaker repeated it.

“Non-translatable, I guess. Do you have a name?”

A complicated whistle was followed by the same on the speaker.

“Is it okay if I call you Pat? I don’t know whether you’re male or female or neither/both, but it’s a name that works for any.”

“That is an acceptable moniker.”

“Cool Pat, nice to meet you…I think? I’m Justice, but I go by Jay.”

“That is also acceptable. My people require your assistance, Jay.”

I looked past Pat, the walking nightmare, to the area behind him/her/it. It looked like a spaceship set for a Cameron movie; everything made sense where it was, down to the smallest detail, and everything looked worn from use. The only part that didn’t jibe was the horror show in the windows…screens?…whatever. If that’s what faster-than-light travel looks like, we’ll never get it right in the movies.

“I, uh, shit. What kind of help could you want?”

“We need the assistance you have provided your own kind. Our war with the __ is not going well, and we are in danger of losing a key wormhole gate.” The little anemones around its mouth-parts waved in frantic spasms as it spoke those words, then retreated for several uncomfortable seconds.

I was about to ask again, when hundreds of social media and forum posts and comments began flashing in the air behind Pat. “How did you trace any of that to me?”

“Your networks are simple. We’ve been watching thousands of you, looking for the ones that can turn the tides of war.”

“What.The.Fuck?!” I shook my head. “Do you know what I do?”

“You influence others, build or destroy morale, often arguing with yourself, allowing one version to win over the other in order to show the superiority of the logic or morals of the winning position.”

“No. I shitpost. That’s all I do. I get paid to troll social media and forums, and I push whatever agenda I’m getting paid to push. That’s it. I don’t believe ninety-nine percent of what I post.”

“Jay….” Pat seemed to be lost in thought. Its knife-arms folded on themselves. “This is acceptable,” it finally said. “This reduces the need to show the morality of our position.”

I thought about it. I’d be missing some of my current jobs, but a few trolls, stalwarts, and social justice warriors disappearing for a while wasn’t a big deal. I’d have to come up with excuses for them and bring them back online at different times, but I had practice at that. While I was contemplating, my stomach rumbled.

“You know what, Pat? I am hungry. Show me to a computer, give me some food and caffeine and let me see what’s going on with your war before I get started.”

Pat led me to a chair in the cockpit-type area, that adjusted itself for my size and shape. A standard, QWERTY keyboard swung in front of me. It was a mechanical keyboard, not my favorite, but I could use it. I didn’t know what was involved in translating their language to English, and my input to their language, but their network was easy to navigate.

I knew Pat had been watching me for a while when he set a hot microwave breakfast burrito, a bag of extra-spicy tortilla chips, and a cold can of energy drink next to me. “Thanks, Pat.”

“Whatever you require for payment, we will gladly provide.”

I took a bite of the burrito, then stopped. “Wait. How did you get me here?”

“Your gravity is too strong for me to carry you, so I had to use a tractor beam to pull you aboard and put you in the bed.”

“Wait, how did you get me out of my house?”

“The roof lifted off easily in the beam. I am very sorry, but it did not settle back down properly. I fear your domicile is damaged. We will pay for repair, of course.”

“Of course.” I perused the network for a while longer, before pulling my wrist brace out of my waist band and strapping it on.

“What is that?”

“It helps with my carpal tunnel,” I said.

Pat seemed to either understand or just decided to let it go.

I cracked my knuckles — which made its little anemones spasm and hide again — then took a deep breath and dove into a forum to begin my new job. It was the official news run by the other side’s military and allowed public comments…stupid of them.

The keyboard clacked loudly as I typed up a rambling message about weak Pat’s people were. I hoped it was translating my misspellings and bad grammar as well, but had no way to tell.

By making the pro-enemy poster a total idiot, it would be simple for my next sock puppet user to tear down every argument with facts, backed by links, then follow up with some exaggerations.

“What is this?” Pat asked. “Why are you talking up the enemy?”

“Wait until you see the rebuttal,” I said. “This is just a shitpost.”