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Best In Show
By
Tim J. Vickers
Zarzewoop had been coming to SciCon for five years, but for the first time he was paralysed by indecision over his shape. He hoped this year would be his first victory, but to win he would have beat to Robert Scott. Staring out through his tinted windscreen at the parking lot, Zarzewoop curled and uncurled his green slug-like body in anxiety. SciCon was the highlight of his social calendar - in fact the only event on his calendar - so this was a critical decision. It had to be something or someone the costume judges knew. He had made that mistake before; the first year after being stranded on earth, he had entered the competition in the shape of a Beloran slime-beast. Not only had he not even been a runner-up, but he had needed to work overtime at the drive-through to pay the bill for the extensive carpet cleaning.
Now, after four years of intensive study of earth culture (mostly spent watching sci-fi series on cable), he was ready. With the release of the new Star Wars movies he figured these characters were the way to go. Screwing up his courage, Zarzewoop extruded himself out of the truck door and morphed himself into a hulking nine-foot tall biped. White fur sprouted over his body as his teeth and claws lengthened. Dabbing a little fake blood around his mouth, he inspected himself critically: the Wampa costume was ready. Zarzewoop shambled towards the convention centre.
A few hours later at the pre-competition party, Zarzewoop was happy. The shape was a great success and he had actually talked to people. He knew a lot about Star Wars and aliens, so he could really shine in conversations. Zarzewoop was just debating the similarities between Gamorreans and Vogons with a short man from Arkansas who was dressed as Han Solo, when a female voice piped up next to him.
“You’re a Wampa, I love Wampas! Come and menace me!” The small dark woman, down on his right, bounced up and down in excitement as she beckoned to her friends.
Zarzewoop froze. A group of skimpily dressed alien women surged towards him, their hands stroking his thick white fur. They are so small and pretty, he thought, but what do I say? In a moment of joy he realized that he was a beast, he didn’t have to say anything. He threw himself into role-play; tilting back his head with a howl and looming over the girls - his long claws raking the air. This party was great! He roared, posed for photos, growled and drank lots of strange sticky little drinks in primary colors. These made him feel a bit funny, but quite brave. A tiny little dark-haired alien called Nancy stumbled and pressed herself against him.
“You’re so strong and tall and fierce, what’s your name?”
Zarzewoop growled, scooped her up and draped her over his shoulder. She squealed in mock horror and pretended to struggle. He wished again that people were just a little larger; if only he could scale himself down to their size then maybe he could have someone as nice as Nancy for a girlfriend.
The PA crackled “All contestants for the SciCon costume competition to the main hall.” Zarzewoop straightened and carefully put down Nancy. He had almost forgotten about the competition! Where was Robert Scott? He scanned the room. Robert usually dressed as a monster as well, but his costumes were always so professional that the gossip mill claimed he was a Hollywood special effects designer. There was an Ice Beast walking into the hall and some kind of purple dinosaur in the far corner. Neither was a good costume. Could this be the year when he finally got first prize?
The competition passed quickly. Most of the contestants were dressed in unconvincing outfits that looked like they had been stitched together just days before. There were far too many Han Solos. Zarzewoop crouched behind the curtain, waiting for his cue from the announcer.
“And now ladies and gentlemen, from the ice-bound wastes of Hoth... I give you - a Wampa!”
Bursting onto the stage, Zarzewoop drew himself up to his full height and let out the roar he had been practicing. At first it was low - a grumbling snarl - then he opened his mouth to display ranks of glistening fangs and screamed a deafening blast of rage at the stunned audience. The crowd sat frozen for a second and then went wild. Zarzewoop scanned the upturned cheering faces for Nancy, but he couldn’t see her. He turned and walked off stage.
That did it, he thought, I’ve won! After five years I have succeeded at something on this planet... something to make up for the long lonely hours, hiding in my basement. I’m finally popular and successful.
“And now ladies and gentlemen a creature from the darkness of Jabba the Hut’s throne room,” Zarzewoop darted back to peer through the curtain. “A Rancor!”
The terrifying beast lumbered into the spotlight, its massive bulk dwarfing the stage. Green warty skin glistened with drying blood, its long curved claws flexed slowly as if searching for prey. It opened its mouth and let out a low poisonous hiss - mucus dripping from yellow teeth the size of butcher knives.
Zarzewoop turned away. It was another Hollywood-perfect costume from Robert. He had lost.
Drifting away into the shadows, he hardly listened to the announcer calling out the names of the winners. Yes, second place as usual. A heavy footstep brought him out of his reverie. It was the Rancor, plodding towards the dressing rooms. A flash of hate burst up in his heart. The puny little man would be almost blind in the middle of all that flimsy plastic and foam rubber, and completely at his mercy. Zarzewoop stalked soundlessly up behind the costumed human and smashed his long arm into the back of Robert’s head. His claws skidded over a thick layer of tough reptilian skin, and the shock of the impact jarred his arm. The Rancor staggered and struggled around to face him. Its arms whipped out to pull him into its jaws. Zarzewoop snarled and drove his fist into the face of the beast. The monster slumped back onto the floor and its outline flickered, dissolving into a long rounded green body. Zarzewoop stood transfixed. The huge slug stirred and sat up.
“Don’t look at me!” It tried to crawl away from him. “Please don’t hurt me.” Its voice was soft and fearful.
Zarzewoop shifted back into his own slug form and dropped to the floor next to this beautiful apparition. He extended his antennae and stroked her flank. She was perfect, his heart pounded within him.
“Hurt you, my lady? Never. I love you.”
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