Chapter Four – A Poor Reflection
THE SQUASHPUMP FOREIGN Secretary had landed upside down about three metres away on the soft turf. The creature’s departing yell echoed in Carrie’s mind via the translator in her toolbox. Her hands flew to her mouth. She shut her eyes and thanked her lucky stars that her squeamishness about harming living creatures had prevented her from stamping on the squashpump official. “I’m so sorry,” she gasped as she ran to the creature’s side.
About ten centimetres long and slimy as a slug, the squashpump wriggled as it tried to right itself, its pale grey underbelly undulating. Carrie squatted down to pick it up. “Put me down immediately,” shouted the creature. It had a broad Scottish accent, which sounded so odd, given its appearance, that Carrie grabbed her mout
