Lobster Man II: Mombo from Mars

TruTraTri Week 1 — Transmission Two The specimen had awakened. After the 4-day germination, the young Gorilla Zkittlez Fast entered its first week under Martian observation. “Report, Mombo.” “It remains alive, Master.” “Excellent.” “It has done nothing else.” “Then it is waiting.” The slightly stretched specimen stood unchanged in its chamber while the machines hummed and Mombo tried to look important. Mombo checked the atmospheric readouts, confused by the wild fluctuations of this strange blue planet. “Temperature range detected, Master… minimum 4, maximum 25… average 14.” The Lobster Man narrowed his eyes. “Unstable climate… unpredictable conditions… perfect for concealment.” Mombo nodded, though he clearly had no idea what that meant. _____________________________________________________________________________ “Then we must go to Earth!” — Lobster Man from Mars

TruTraTri ### Week 2 — Transmission Three The order came without warning. “Move the specimen.” Mombo obeyed. The **Gorilla Zkittlez Fast** was transferred into a **1-gallon pot** — a larger containment unit for the growing Earth specimen. The operation was slow, careful, and unnecessarily dramatic. The Lobster Man observed from the shadows. “It lives?” “Yes, Master.” “Good.” The specimen settled into its new chamber. More room. More silence. More opportunity for the kind of Martian plan that looked impressive only because the lights were pointed upward. Mombo stood guard beside the containment unit, waiting for a reaction. The plant gave him nothing. So Mombo wrote down: **transfer successful**. The Lobster Man accepted the report with the cold patience of a creature whose entire strategy depended on cheap equipment, Earth air, and one strangely important green specimen. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________ “If we don’t get air soon, Mars is finished!” — *Lobster Man from Mars*

TruTraTri ### Week 3 — Suspicious Silence Mombo stood beside the **Gorilla Zkittlez Fast** containment vessel all week, holding a clipboard he still couldn’t read. The specimen stayed stable.n That bothered him. At night, the chamber readings dropped to near-freezing levels — a creeping Earth phenomenon Mombo logged as **“frost intrusion.”** He pressed his helmet closer to the glass, half expecting the specimen to shiver or protest. It did neither. Inside the command chamber, the Lobster Man slowly turned a dial that clearly did nothing. “Report.” “It is calm, Master.” “Too calm?” Mombo stared at the plant. “It might be planning something.” The Lobster Man paused, considering this with great seriousness. “Good. Then we are ahead of it.” Mombo nodded, because on Mars it was safer to agree than to understand. They remained at their posts. The 1-gallon chamber sat quietly, humming under flickering lights while the mission continued exactly as planned — or at least exactly as it looked on paper. At the end of the week, Mombo filed the report: **Specimen stable. Mission continues.** ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________ “Lobster Man, we got a big problem. Mars is dying.” — King of Mars

TruTraTri ### Week 4 — The Apical Incident The Earth weather began acting like a badly written supporting character. By night, it still crept in cold and suspicious. By day, it had grown warmer, almost friendly — which made Mombo trust it even less. This week, the **Gorilla Zkittlez Fast** specimen was officially measured for the first time. **23 cm.** Mombo stared at the number. Then he stared at the plant. Then he stared at the number again, in case Earth mathematics had changed while he was blinking. “Master,” he reported, “the specimen is gaining vertical ambition.” The Lobster Man turned slowly in his throne of painted cardboard and red bulbs. “Vertical ambition becomes rebellion.” Mombo nodded. He did not know if that was science, politics, or lunch. To prevent the Earth treasure from becoming too tall for its containment plan, the tip of the plant was lightly cut — a small **apical nick**, too modest to be called topping, too uncertain to be called FIM, but dramatic enough for Mombo to log it as: **CONTROL EXPERIMENT: SIDEWAYS DESTINY** The idea was simple, at least on paper: discourage the specimen from reaching too far upward and maybe persuade it to grow broader instead. The plant gave no statement. Mombo took that as cooperation. In the royal chamber, the Lobster Man clicked one claw against the console. “If it grows wide,” he said, “it can carry more flavor.” Mombo wrote that down immediately. Outside the chamber, the cheap stars wobbled on visible strings. Inside, the specimen stood at **23 cm**, slightly wounded at the top, possibly offended, possibly inspired, and now part of a Martian plan that was becoming less scientific by the hour. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ “Of course, it all makes perfect sense!” — *Lobster Man from Mars*

TruTraTri ### Week 5 — The Pressure Method The chamber warmed, and the **Gorilla Zkittlez Fast** responded with strong growth. “Master… the specimen is rising again.” A pause. Then the Lobster Man’s voice: “Everything on Earth rises before it becomes a problem.” Mombo blinked. “That sounds like a problem already.” “Exactly.” He approached the plant and applied a careful **pinch and twist** — not enough to break, just enough to soften the stem. “You are being redirected,” he muttered. “You are altering its structure,” the Lobster Man said. “I am applying pressure.” “…acceptable.” Mombo stepped back. The plant stood unchanged, but something beneath had shifted. He updated the log: **PRESSURE METHOD — STRUCTURAL ADJUSTMENT** ___________________________________________________________________________________________________ “Of course, it all makes perfect sense!” — Professor Plocostomos

TruTraTri *-10 cm in new pot and future weeks (Transplantation) ### Week 6 — Landing Procedure The heat backed away just enough for the mission to stop feeling like a cooking demonstration. Mombo received the order in the usual way: one red bulb, one useless dial, and the Lobster Man’s voice crackling through a speaker that smelled faintly of burnt wires. “Prepare final containment.” The **Gorilla Zkittlez Fast** was moved into its final vessel: the **AutoPot**. To Mombo, this was no longer a simple transplant. This was landing procedure. The specimen was lowered deeper into the new chamber, hiding part of its previous height below the surface like a Martian secret buried in Earth soil. When Mombo stepped back, the plant looked shorter, steadier, and far more suspicious. (50cm before, 40 cm after transplantation) “It has descended,” he reported. “It has infiltrated,” said the Lobster Man. Mombo considered this. It sounded better than “repotted,” so he wrote it down. With the final vessel secured, Mombo began a little **LST**, gently guiding the specimen outward instead of upward. The official reason was structural control: keep it broad, open, and less likely to become a dark, crowded swamp later in the mission. The Lobster Man approved. “A wide specimen catches more Earth flavor.” “That is science?” “That is authority.” Mombo tightened the last restraint and stared at the green treasure. It had entered its final chamber. It had been set deeper. Its shape was now being guided sideways by Martian hands and questionable logic. The mission had changed. They were no longer merely watching the specimen grow. They were preparing it for the signal. ____________________________________________________________________________________________ “It’s all very simple! Bunny men from Neptune have invaded Mars!” — Mary,

TruTraTri ### Week 7 — The Wrong Map The **Gorilla Zkittlez Fast** kept reaching upward. Mombo reported it as an escape attempt. “Then redirect the route,” ordered the Lobster Man. So Mombo used the old **pinch and twist** and a little **LST**, not as gardening, but as navigation. Each bent line became part of a landing map only Martians could misunderstand. By the end of the week, the specimen stood wider and lower. Mombo stared at it. “It looks like a trap.” The Lobster Man leaned closer to the screen. “No, Mombo. It looks like directions.” Somewhere on Mars, the invasion committee cheered too early. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ “No, not interested.” — The Dreaded Lobster Man

TruTraTri ### Week 8 — The Moving Map The Earth air turned warm and dry, and the **Gorilla Zkittlez Fast** began to move like the map itself was alive. Mombo had tied down the route last week. By morning, the route had changed. “Master,” he whispered into the transmitter, “the landing pattern is expanding again.” The Lobster Man studied the screen. “Then the specimen is not showing us where to land.” Mombo blinked inside his helmet. “What is it showing us?” The Lobster Man raised one claw. “Where not to get lost.” That sounded important enough, so Mombo believed it. He returned to the chamber and performed another careful **pinch and twist**, followed by more **LST**, not to punish the plant, but to keep the strange green map open. Every branch became a direction. Every bend became a warning. Every new stretch looked like the specimen was quietly redrawing the mission. By the end of the week, Mombo stood before the wide green pattern and lowered his voice. “It is still growing.” The Lobster Man answered from the speaker. “Good. Then the map is not finished.” Somewhere above Earth, the saucer waited. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ “But Lobster Man, there will be plenty of tasty, soft food units to be eaten there.” — King of Mars, *Lobster Man from Mars*