PaF - Backstory Time: Late

Although the platypus had only needed to take two swimming classes before he'd passed, there was never a day when he didn't use the pool. It relaxed him. It made him feel more like himself. He'd only even had to take more than one class because they'd made him use human techniques, like keeping his eyes open and using his legs to propel himself. It had been easy to get the hang of swimming the way they wanted him to, but all the same, he preferred to swim naturally when he could.

Today, keeping calm was particularly important. He had a math test. If he failed, he'd have to do all the math classes all over again, and he didn't want that. He hated math. He didn't think anybody liked it.

Reluctantly, the platypus climbed out the pool, nodding at an otter he was friendly with as he left the room. The otter didn't have a name. Nobody did, until they were assigned.

He entered the exam room. There were five other trainees who wanted to stop the classes as desperately as the platypus did. They looked at each other nervously.

The white-clothed human, who the platypus had learned was named Carl, was also in the room. He was there to make sure they didn't cheat. He gave out the tests and stuttered his way through all the test stuff that the platypus had memorised months ago.

Finally, they were allowed to start. The platypus looked at the first question.

Write out the digits from 1 to 10, in numerical order

That one was easy. It was just memorisation. The platypus wrote out the numbers as neatly as possible.

The really hard part was in the next set of questions.

The second question said 2 + 5 = ?

The platypus took a deep breath. He just had to pass this test, and he'd be finished with this ridiculous waste of time and energy forever.

He looked at the symbols again. He knew what order they went in, and how they were read, but not the concepts they symbolised. He understood a single, and a double, and a many. He did not understand a five, and he did not understand how a double and a five could be combined into a third, unrelated number. He didn't understand how the technique he'd been taught made that number either, but he didn't need to. He just had to use it.

He counted on his fingers until he got to five, then counted to two on more fingers. Then he counted how many fingers he was holding up now. Seven. He wrote the number seven in the answer space.

So far, so good.

The next few questions were similar, though some had bigger numbers than others. Some even added up to above fourteen, which was the last number he could get to using the fingers of both hands and the toes of both feet. He had to do a lot of scribbling in the margins to complete those.

Finally, he came to the last question.

It was a word problem.

If you have six apples, and your nemesis comes along and takes half, and you find one more apple on the ground, how many apples do you have?

The platypus stared at the question for a long time. Eventually, he wrote the numeral "6" in the margins.

Half. Of six. This was really high level stuff. A half of a number was a number that made the original number by adding itself to itself. Not all numbers had a half. The platypus had no idea where to begin finding the answer to this one. He bowed his head in thought.

Numbers couldn't be made earlier by adding. He knew that. So... The half number was earlier than six!

Pleased with himself, the platypus wrote out all the numbers below six, and stared at them. Now what? He... He could go through them one by one and add them to themselves until he got six. But that would take forever.

But he couldn't think of any other way. Frowning, the platypus began adding the numbers to themselves. One plus one was two. Two plus two was four. Three plus three was... six!

The platypus wrote down the numeral 3 and sat back. Then he sat forward again. He'd forgotten about the rest of the question. Having three apples and picking up one was like three plus one. Three plus one was... Four!

There. It was all finished. He'd never have to do another math ever again. He put the test in his beak, walked down to the front, gave it to Carl, and made to leave.

"Uh... Can I talk to you for a second?" said Carl.

The platypus came back into the room, feeling curious.

Carl lowered his voice. "It's about the... the two legs thing."

The platypus didn't like where this was going. He knew it was important to be able to stand on two legs. He tried it every day.

Every day he failed.

"We're running out of classes to give you. You're gonna have to stand up soon," said Carl, pushing his glasses up his nose.

The platypus nodded to show that he understood, and tried to push himself upright. He'd just completed a math test, and he was reasonably confident that he'd even passed. He could do this.

He fell on his back.

Carl rushed to pick him back up even though he could right himself on his own. "The good news is, you're doing great! You wanna see your grade point average?"

The platypus didn't know what one of those was, and didn't really care. He trusted Carl's claim that he was doing well. Who would tell someone they were good at something when they weren't? It'd just make them complacent.

Without waiting for a response, Carl shoved a piece of paper into the platypus's face. "This is yours!" he said, pointing to one of the numbers on the sheet.

The platypus looked at it for a second. There was a number. Then there was a dot. Then there was another number. It didn't mean a lot to him. A small amount of one lesson had been spent on the concept of decimals, but he'd only been told how to use them in costs, and this number obviously wasn't a cost.

Carl was looking at him, so the platypus smiled weakly, pretending he understood.

"Make sure you stand up soon, okay?" said Carl.

The platypus nodded, and left the room. What would happen if he ran out of classes, he wondered. Would he fail? Would he be kicked out? What would he do? Would they give him a host family even though he hadn't finished his training, or would he have to cope on his own?

The platypus went back to his room to practice. Over and over, he tried to stand up. Over and over, he fell. It was impossible. But it couldn't be. They wouldn't give him an assignment that was impossible.

He concentrated as hard as he could, but it didn't seem to help much. Even when he leaned against a wall, he fell. He tried and tried to keep his balance, but he was far too top heavy to stay up for even a second.

He couldn't do it.

The platypus took a few deep breaths. Panicking never helped. It just made things worse. All he needed was a break. Sometimes when he took a break, he came back much better at whatever he was practicing at.

He reached for his CD player, which had been given to him as a reward for topping the class in ventriloquism, and put on one of his favourites, a bouncy song about having fun. He loved music. He loved it almost as much as swimming. If there'd been some way to listen to music while swimming underwater, he would have been the happiest platypus in the world.

All that rearing up had given him an idea for a new dance move. The platypus reared up, let gravity pull him back down, and reared up again, all in time to the beat.

He overbalanced a few times, but he soon got the hang of it. He had a lot of fun, rearing up and down and stepping around to the music.

Stepping?

The platypus fell on his back. What was that? Had he actually stood and walked without realising it? Was it possible after all?

Excited, he began dancing again, paying more attention to what he was doing. What had he done before...? He'd moved his tail! That was it! He'd held his tail... just like that.

He turned off the music and tried to stand again, without success. So, he could only do it when the music was playing. That was... disappointing.

If he could do it with the music, he could do it without the music. All he had to do was get his body used to the motions.

The platypus put the music back on and began practicing.


The platypus was almost always in one of the training rooms these days. When he wasn't eating, sleeping, or taking classes, he was training. His final test was tomorrow and he knew he wouldn't fail. He couldn't fail.

He dodged a few imaginary blows, then jumped up and slapped his tail on nothing. He liked that move. It would look better when he grew up and his tail got longer, he guessed. He'd never seen another platypus in the flesh, but he'd seen pictures of adult platypuses... platypi? English was a confusing language. Though the platypuses he'd seen hadn't been standing on two legs, so he still had no idea what he'd look like when he grew up.

Once he was satisfied with his fighting technique, he practiced swapping between four legs and two for a while. The posture was only part of it. He couldn't be on two legs and look relaxed, it was unprofessional. Humans thought he looked smarter when he focused his eyes, so he always did it when he concentrated.

And it felt weird to be relaxed, but not look it. Eye focusing was for concentration, eyes pointing in different directions were for relaxation. Anything else felt wrong.

He was getting good at switching, or so he hoped. It would be embarrassing if he got assigned and was immediately found out. He'd been told over and over that he was the best trainee they'd ever had.

Once he was satisfied with his switching, he headed for the recreation room. Maybe somebody wanted to spar with him. He usually won. If his opponent ever won, it was cause for congratulations and candy and other earned privileges. The platypus never got any candy for winning, but he didn't care. Winning was its own reward.

And he liked it when other trainees beat him, too. It reminded him that he wasn't invincible, and kept him from getting complacent. He'd seen enough movies and TV shows to know what happened to people who let their successes go to their heads.

He chattered as he entered the room. A solenodon who'd started at about the same time as him turned and waved.

The platypus waved back, fighting back an urge to rub his ankles to check if his spurs had come through yet. He checked every day now, but nothing ever changed. The solenodon had had venomous spit since the day he'd been born. The platypus was a bit jealous.

He knew that his spurs would be removed for safety reasons as soon as they developed, but he still wanted them to appear. It would mean that he was growing up.

The platypus chattered again and adopted a fighting pose, but nobody seemed interested in fighting him today. Most of the trainees were gathered around the television, watching some old science fiction movie.

The platypus sighed and turned away. He'd outgrown movies a long time ago. They weren't important. The only thing that mattered was to be the best he could be.