Chapter 16
Before heading straight for Gamma Froth, the lion’s den as it were, it was decided they would stop off at a small planet called Pebbles located in a star system nearby. The atmosphere was breathable and the inhabitants not so insecure as to think all aliens represented a deadly threat. There, they could ask a few questions. Perhaps find out a little more about Django Twip and his entourage. There seemed little doubt in Bev’s mind that Twip was still alive, even after such a long time. Death had never been allowed on Django Twip’s agenda. The main worry was how much further, if at all, he had developed technologically. Given that his starting point had been so far up the scale to begin with. But, according to Bev, Django Twip was never a developer, a contributor.More a consumer, a user.
*
Pebbles wassix hops distant. Eachhop taking zero time plus one millisecond recharge time. Apart, that is, from Captain Phoenix’s warning, the count down from ten and the press and release of a button. Phoenix knew full well the whole operation could be automated andtake milliseconds to travel light-years. But, well ... he had little enough to do as it was. To have his voice booming, “Crew prepare for hyperjump !”
and then counting theatrically down, “Ten, nine,eight ...” etcetera, followed by a flamboyant button press was just too dramatic an opportunity to be missed.
Hops one to five went very well. But when - after setting his microphone to full echo - Captain Phoenix said, “Crew prepare for hyperjump !-ump!” for the sixth time and then started, “Ten-en, nine-ine...”
Apricot could take no more. “For goodness sake press the damn button!” he snapped, turning quite purple.
“All right-ite, all right-ite,” Phoenix said defensively. “Keep your hair on-on.”
“Well!” said Apricot accusingly. “I mean!”
“ You can do it-it if you want-ont,” said Phoenix petulantly.
“No, sir.That’s all right,”sighed Apricot.Then added, barely audibly. “We wouldn’t want to spoil your little game, would we?”
“What was that-at?” demanded Phoenix.
UNDERSTOOD.COMMANDER APRICOT SAID, WEWOULDN’T ...
“Thank you, Marshia.” Apricot interrupted Marshia’s untimely intervention. “It wasn’t important, sir. Perhaps we had better get on.”
“I’ve got my eye on you, Apricot-ot,” said Phoenix and, much to Apricot’s relief, pressed the button. The imposing view of the Armpit Nebula shown on the main screen was replaced by the image of a pale marbled planet. Patches of green, brown and blue were visible through breaks in the white cloud cover. Apricot tapped away at his terminal. “We have stable orbit, sir,” he said. “Marshia has verified with the planet’s communications computer that we have permission to land a small craft of up to one thousand tons at any one of seventeen locations.”
Phoenix turned to face Bev and Vick. “Any preferences?” he asked.
“The port nearest the most highly populated regions will probably give us the most scope,” said Bev.
“Do it, please Marshia.”
UNDERSTOOD.SHUTTLE ONE IS PREPARED AND PROGRAMMED FOR LOCATION
STONEWHIP .
Phoenix rose to leave. “Shall we, gentlemen?Lady?” West tried to sneak from the room unnoticed. “Mr West?” Phoenix said pointedly. “Please. Allow me to accompany you to the shuttle bay.”
*
The away team consisted of Commander Apricot, Sergeant Arthur, Sergeant George, Bev, Vick, Kwait, Streemly, and a reluctant West. It had been decided that they would split into smaller teams on Pebbles. Each team would nose around and try to gather any relevant information. The teams would be Commander Apricot, Bev and Vick who would check out any available Media archives; Streemly, Kwait and West would talk to the local authorities. Sergeant Arthur and Sergeant George were assigned the Port bars to pick up on any local gossip.
The buffeting of re-entry had just stopped when Streemly asked, “The new transporter is quite capable of putting us safely anywhere on the planet, so why use the shuttle?”
Bev looked up from sorting through some small cubes. “It was thought prudent not to disclose our transporter technology as it may be to our advantage to keep it to ourselves for a while,” he said passing a handful of cubes to Vick.
“These cubes,” said Bev, “which my brother will pass around, contain various MAIDs which you may find useful. There are language MAIDs , communication MAIDs , defence MAIDs , information MAIDs
, transport MAIDs and enhancement MAIDs . If you ...”
“Defence MAIDs ?”West interrupted. “Do you really think we’ll need them?”
“Just a precaution.If you ...”
“Enhancement MAIDs ?” interrupted Streemly. “What do they enhance?”
“I shall come to that in a moment,” said Bev. “If you ...”
“Why language and communication MAIDs ?” interrupted Kwait. “Aren’t they the same thing?” He looked suspiciously at the cube.
“Precaution?” saidWest .“Precaution against what?”
“Enhancement MAIDs ?”Sergeant George winked and nudged Sergeant Arthur. “Eh? Brother?”
“Gentlemen!Please!” Bev was getting annoyed. “I am trying to explain. Now settle down!”
The shuttle fell silent leaving only the gentle hum of the instruments standing.
“Thank you!” said Bev.“Now. If you look carefully at the pale side of the cube you will notice a slight indentation.”
Mumbles of “Where?Oh, yes.” and the like filled the air. Bev continued, “Be prepared for a slight feeling of disorientation. Now, press gently.”
Five cubes went pop. “Mr. West?” said Bev. West swallowed. The sixth cube went pop. There was a moment’s silence.
“Hell’s tits!” exclaimed Sergeant George.Which just about summed up everyone else’s feelings.
*
Kwait had no idea what to expect and was completely unprepared for what happened.Some little gizmo to stick in his ear? A pair of folding rocket powered boots?
As the cube he held popped open, a transparent mercurial fluid flowed rapidly out over his hand and up his arm beneath his tunic. His breath was momentarily taken away as he felt the cool liquid cover his whole body. It flowed right to his feet and over his head entering every orifice it found. A moment of dizziness and panic was immediately followed by a warm glowing sensation and feeling of general well being.
Kwait dared to take a breath. No problem. He looked at the backs of his hands which looked clean and moist as if just covered in hand cream. He put his hands to his face which felt smooth and silky. He saw that Streemly was doing the same. They smiled at each other.
*
Vick cackled. Bev clapped his hands. “Welcome to the club,” he said. “The information MAIDs are activated by sub-vocal messages.”
“Pardon me, Your Honour?” said Sergeant George.
“Talking, of the ‘under your breath’ persuasion,” Sergeant Arthur hissed. Bev continued, “Ask them anything you like. You will also find you will be in direct contact with Marshia and each other if you should so wish. We have about one hour before landing so you can get to know your new friends ...”
*
Kwait quickly found out about the MAIDs which infiltrated his entire body. Some were even inside his tissues and blood stream. They formed an effective barrier between him and the environment. The language MAIDs would help him read, hear and speak in virtually any language. The communication MAIDs allowed Kwait to communicate with his friends and with Marshia, and to monitor most electromagnetic frequencies. Defence MAIDs provided some protection against high speed missiles and high temperature beams, and could generate very destructive ion beams from his finger tips. Information MAIDs gathered and stored data from the other MAIDs and the environment as well as having its own on-line encyclopaedia containing all the data ever collected by any MAID in the past. Transport MAIDs gave the individual transporter technology plus a limited flight capability. Enhancement MAIDs enhanced the individual’s own biological functions giving extra strength, speed, stamina, and the ability to survive in hostile environments. This MAID fought off diseases and effectively stopped all ageing. Kwait wondered if being an immortal superman would go to his head. It was some time before anyone spoke. “Wow!” said Streemly. “Do we have to give these back when we go back to Marshia?” she asked.
“The defence MAIDs would not allow their removal unless you gave permission,” replied Bev. “They are now as much a part of you as ... well, any of your natural organs.”
“Fantastic!” said Streemly.
“ Erm, excuse me,” said West raising a finger. “I don’t seem to have the defence MAIDs thingies. Is there another box or something?”
Bev looked apologetic. “I’m sorry Mr. West,” he said. “The defence MAIDs will not activate under certain psychological profiles. And I’m afraid yours is one of them.”
“What?” blusteredWest .“Certain psychological profiles?”
“It is very rare though,” Bev tried to reassureWest .
“But what about those two clowns?” West pointed a trembling finger at Sergeant Arthur and Sergeant George.
“There’s no call for that!” said Sergeant Arthur indignantly.
“It’s not our fault your psychology’s got a dodgy profile, Governor,” said Sergeant George.
“It’s out of my hands, I’m afraid,” said Bev. West sulked.
“ Hey, Pops! ” Streemly’s voice was suddenly inside Kwait’s head. He looked at Streemly who smiled back.
“ Does this means no one else can hear us? ” Kwait directed the question at Streemly.
“ I think so,” thought Streemly.“ Hey West! What makes you such a slimy maggot? Great bum, Apricot. Do you work out? ” Kwait chuckled. But there was no reaction from anyone else in the room.
“Watch this,” Streemly said out loud to Kwait. Kwait was suddenly reminded of when Streemly was a small girl of six or seven in the swimming pool. “Watch me, Mummy.Daddy. Watch me.” Streemly would clamp a hand over her nose, screw her eyes up tight, take a deep breath and disappear under the water. Kwait and Vairy would exchange that glance reserved by loving parents for when their child was being adorable. Only this time, instead of disappearing under water, Streemly just disappeared.With a pop. An almost, but not quite, simultaneous pop came from behind Kwait. He spun round and sure enough: there was Streemly.
“Wow!” she said.
“Awesome!” said Kwait. A word he had not used singly since he was a teenager.
“Might I recommend we keep that particular activity down to a minimum,” cautioned Bev. Marshia’svoice seemed clearer than ever.
PLEASE BE SEATED. THE SHUTTLE IS ABOUT TO DOCK.
*
Touchdown was hardly noticeable and decontamination was passed through with no problems. Except for Vick.
A seventeen-year-old boiled sweet which had migrated through a hole in his pocket into the lining of his jacket had to be extracted and incinerated. The attached fungus was considered a hazard to other life forms on Pebbles.
The tragedy of the incinerated boiled sweet was completely lost, as are so many such incidents, in this hard, cold universe. Undetected by the decontamination scanners, some enhancement MAIDs colonising Vick had mutated after being bombarded by neutrinos during one of his many transporter experiments. The mutant MAIDs had occupied the boiled sweet, using it as a raw material resource, and had evolved at an astonishing rate. They reached full consciousness and a thriving film and package holiday industry blossomed. They were just about to send a documentary team out into the vast blackness beyond the fur zone when Sacca , the great God of heat and strange smells, engulfed their world in flames. There were few survivors. Theirs is another story.
*
Customs presented no problems.Always a tense time, passing through customs. Made slightly tenser by Sergeant George who pointed at the customs official’s betrunked face and said, “Look at the boat on that, brother!” while nudging Sergeant Arthur. “I didn’t know your Mildred was in town!”
Thankfully the Pebbles customs officials were specially chosen for their patience and tact. Also he hadn’t understood a word Sergeant George had said.
*
The teams went their separate ways.
*
Kwait followed signs for Stonewhip Port Authority Emigration and Immigration Department. Streemly followed Kwait hanging on to the back of his shirt so she could have a good gawk round without bumping into anything. West followed Streemly looking like a small, terrified stoat that just wanted to go home to its mother and have a nice lie down and a cup of tea and maybe a Bakewell tart. Apart from the three-foot trunk sticking out of the front of their faces, the inhabitants of Pebbles were not unlike humans. Kwait noted that the Pebblings did not stare at them . Humans were either very common sights or the Pebblings were incredibly polite and heeded their mothers when they said, “Don’t stare at the alien, dear. It can’t help not having all of its face”.
*
The offices of the Stonewhip Port Authority Emigration and Immigration Department were embedded deep within a colossal sandstone building.
Kwait, with Streemly and West in tow, approached a shining white counter. A small, brass, wooden handled bell sat invitingly at its centre. Kwait looked at it uncertainly.
“Go on,” urged Streemly, “ringit.”
Kwait paused. “You ring it,” he said, at last.
“Oh, for goodness sake!”West elbowed Kwait and Streemly out of the way, grabbed the bell and gave it a good hard shake.
Three things happened simultaneously: an enormous badly painted picture of a ghastly multi-eyed monster complete with dripping fangs and outstretched claws suddenly loomed from behind the counter; a noise like a Tyrannosaurus Rex being relieved of its genitals by a maniacal giggle of school girls wielding blunt bread knives rent the air; West fainted, hitting the ground like a wet sponge. A cheery pink face appeared from behind the picture. A large smile could just be seen under the trunk. The trunk’s owner looked at Streemly and Kwait. He then leaned over the counter and looked down at West. “Oops,” he said. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.” Responding to the quizzical looks of Kwait and Streemly he explained, “It’s an album cover.For my group.The Terrazoids . I just do this job for a bit of extra cash.”
Kwait and Streemly nodded sympathetically.
“What do you think?” he asked pointing to the picture.
“Well ...” Kwait rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “... Very ... colourful,” he said at last.
“Yes,” agreed Streemly, “very colourful.”
The Pebbling looked disappointed for a moment before putting his picture away and assuming an air of authority. “Now,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“Got any water?” asked Streemly, indicating the recumbent West.
“Oh. Yes.Certainly.Back in a tick.” The Pebbling rushed off returning seconds later with a glass of water.
Streemly drank the water and dropped the glass on West’s forehead causing him to jerk to a sitting position in alarm. “ Hupyou come,” she said, helping a dazed West to his feet. The Pebbling assumed this was some sort of strange alien custom and turned to Kwait who looked the sanest of the bunch.
“We’re actually looking for someone,” said Kwait. “And we thought you might be able to help us.”
“I’ll do my best,” said the Pebbling.
“We’re looking for a man,” said Kwait.
“Will any man do?” asked the Pebbling. “Or did you have one particular man in mind?”
“This particular man first came to these parts around ...” Kwait paused, not really able to believe what he was about to say next, “... three thousand years ago.”
“Are you pulling my trunk?” said the Pebbling.
“I know it’s a long time ago but some of us have ... well ... a very long life span,” said Kwait trying to regain some credibility. “This particular man may still be around.”
The Pebbling looked very dubious as he pulled a pencil from behind his ear. “Name?” he demanded.
“Django Twip,” said Kwait.
“Django Twip,” said the Pebbling thoughtfully. “That name rings a bell. Django Twip.Django.Django. Django.Twip.Twip.Twip.” The pebbling chewed the pencil for a while. “Nope!” he said finally.“No one of that name on file.”
Kwait and Streemly looked puzzled. West rubbed his forehead.
“Aren’t you going to look it up, or something?” asked Streemly.
“No need to,” said the Pebbling. “We Pebblings never forget!”
“But you just said it rang a bell,” said Streemly. “Couldn’t you just go and look it up using your ... whatever it is you use to look things up with, thing?”
The Pebbling sighed. “Take a seat,” he said. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“Thanks,” said Streemly as the Pebbling disappeared.
*
Meanwhile ...
Apricot and Vick followed Bev as he homed in on the library.
Few of the Pebblings Bev spoke to had any idea what a library was , never mind where is was located. In times of distributed data networks the idea of a central pool of information was difficult for some to comprehend. Nevertheless, the library still existed. It was situated underground and accessed by a very small door with ‘L br ry ’ written on it. It was obviously close to an underground train line. Occasional loud rumblings and quite violent vibrations gave the game away.
They stumbled down a badly lit stairway which seemed to go on forever before finally opening into a very dingy, but enormous, cavern of a room. Books, cubes, tapes and masses of unidentifiable media lined the walls and filled row after row of bookcases disappearing down to the end of the room in the far distance.
Bev approached an ancient desk piled high with books and cubes. A grey-haired, female Pebbling sat peering intently into a dusty volume.
“Ahem,” said Bev politely. The old girl did not stir. “Ahem!” said Bev slightly louder.Still no reaction.
“A-HEM!”Bev was almost shouting. No reaction.
Vick appeared in front of him. “ OI!” he bellowed. “TURN YOUR DEAF AID UP, YOU DOZY
OLD TART!” he shouted tactfully.
Apricot was mortified and pushed Vick out of the way as the old lady looked slowly up from her book.
“Young man,” she said, addressing Apricot and removing the inch thick pebble glasses from the bridge of her trunk, “rudeness is the retreat of the impotent. Now go and stand over there.” She pointed to a small alcove a few yards away.
Apricot tried to explain. “No, that wasn’t me. I just ...”
“Must I repeat myself?” she demanded, putting Bev in mind of Dame Margaret Rutherford with a trunk.
“But ...” A withering glare cut Apricot short. “I ...” He started towards the alcove. Halfway there he turned and started to protest. “This is redic ...” The glare forced him to continue into the alcove where he stood looking suitably pathetic. Bev and Vick looked on in sympathy. The old dear turned to Bev and Vick.“How can I help you, gentlemen?”
Bev stepped forward. “My brother and myself were wondering if it would be possible to access any archived information that had been generated as a result of incidents that would have fallen within the arena of ‘general public interest’.”
“Pardon?” she said.
“WHERE’S YOUR OLD NEWSPAPERS?” bellowed Vick.
“How far back do you wish to go?” she asked.
“THREE THOUSAND YEARS.”
“Are you pulling my trunk?” she asked, replacing her glasses.
As there was no response from either visitor she assumed they were serious and picked up a rather dusty hand set. “Did you have anything in particular in mind?” she asked.
“NEWS TO DO WITH US LOT.MEN.HUMANS,” yelled Vick.
“Won’t be a moment,” she said as she started to dial.
*
Meanwhile ...
Sergeant Arthur and Sergeant George wandered aimlessly around the busy streets. Bicycles were the predominant form of transport. Each bicycle sported a large hooter in the middle of its handlebars. The riders constantly walloped the hooters with their trunks. The noise was such that no single hooter could be heard. The cacophony filled the air like tickertape. Occasionally the pandemonium would increase in their general direction and the Sergeants would be forced to leap out of the way of some careering cyclist.
Large electrical passenger carriers threaded their way carefully through the throng. But the cyclists always had right of way. Most privately owned vehicles were in the air dancing high above the streets among huge posters and flamboyantly illuminated signs. Their brightly lit undercarriages contrasted strikingly with the moody, grey sky above.
Street hawkers tried to be heard above the din and one or two dangled gaudy, flashing baubles under the noses of the dawdling duo.
“By heck!” said Sergeant Arthur rubbing his hands together. “This wind is really whistling through me boxers.”
“Indeed, brother,” said Sergeant George, “it’s quite a few degrees colder than home. That’s for sure.”
“Now this ...” Sergeant Arthur stopped looking up at the gaudy sign above a door way, “... looks like an establishment of just the right persuasion.”
“Indeed it does, brother,” said Sergeant George. “After you,” he said bowing slightly.
“Thank you,” said Sergeant Arthur, skipping lightly through the door.
*
Throughout the known universe, in every society - from the Wispy White Wanderers of Plaggarth’s fog-filled swamps, to the Hairless Hawkers of Hellbent Valley, to the Dropsical Druid Dinosaurs of Gwak - there can always be found: a bar.
The bar that Sergeant Arthur and Sergeant George happened upon was typical of many scattered throughout the universe: somewhere to take the weight off your limbs, something to take the weight of your mind and someone to take the weight off your wallet. They sat on two spare stools at the bar.
“Barkeep!”Sergeant Arthur’s friendly tones summoned the old male Pebbling who stood polishing glasses in the time-old tradition of barmen around the universe. “We are new to these parts so would regard highly your advice on some tasty beverage of an alcoholic persuasion.”
“Pardon?” said the barman. He idly wiped the damp surface in front of the two newcomers using an even damper cloth gripped by his wrinkly nicotine stained trunk.
“What would you recommend, friend?” asked Sergeant George.
“Well ...” the barman looked thoughtfully at the two men. “What sort of a mood are you in?” he asked at last.
The Sergeants looked at each other and frowned. “Happy?” suggested Sergeant Arthur.
“At ease with the world, brother,” agreed Sergeant George.
“Beer,” said the barman.
“Beer?” said Sergeant Arthur.
“What would you have said if we had said we were sad, friend?” asked Sergeant George.
“Beer,” said the barman.
“And if we’d said ... pensive?”
“Beer.”
“Cross?”
“Beer.”
“Worried?”
“Beer.”
“Dyspeptic?”
“I get the impression,” interrupted Sergeant Arthur, “that you only have beer. Would that be a fair assessment?”
“No,” said the barman. “But beer is the only thing that won’t knock you humans on your arses!” The other Pebbling customers leaning and standing by the bar snickered into their drinks.
“Are you inferring that we can’t hold strong drink?” Sergeant Arthur bristled.
“No,” said the barman, “I’m implying it! You can infer what you will from my implication.”
Sergeant Arthur used his thumb to indicate the Pebbling standing next to him. “I’ll have a double of whatever he’s drinking,” he said.
“And I’ll have a double of whatever he’s drinking, friend,” said Sergeant George pointing to the Pebbling sat next to him.
The barman smiled under his trunk and went to get the drinks. “Two large Xanthostings coming up,” he said. The other members of the bar snickered again.
Sergeant Arthur slapped some local money on the bar and smiled confidently at Sergeant George. Two large glasses of a viscous yellow liquid arrived. The other bar members watched with interest as Sergeant Arthur and Sergeant George emptied their glasses in one manly swig. The predictable happened.
The pair managed to sing two choruses of “The Blue Ridge Mountains of Edenia ” in close harmony to an unappreciative audience before collapsing unceremoniously into an untidy heap. The barman was impressed.
*
Meanwhile ...
West was still rubbing his forehead and looking embarrassed when the Pebbling returned carrying an open folder.
“Any luck?” asked Kwait approaching the counter.
“Not much, I’m afraid,” said the Pebbling. “There used to be a colony of humans down south in Alagamma but they relocated to Spwat III twenty years ago.Reason for relocation given as more favourable tax concessions for their freight business plus a start-up grant.” The Pebbling closed the folder. “That’s it! Nothing more I’m afraid.”
“Thanks for your time,” said Kwait.
“If you hang around the space port you’re bound to run into some humans,” volunteered the Pebbling.
“Every few days, when their freighters are in port, we’re overrun with them.”
“Thanks again,” said Kwait heading for the door. “We’ll bear that in mind.”
Streemly grabbed West by the elbow and steered him towards the door. “Bye,” she called cheerily over her shoulder.
*
Meanwhile ...
While the ancient Pebbling librarian mumbled into the hand set, Bev and Vick sidled over to where Apricot stood in shame.
“Anything of any interest?” asked Bev scrutinising the books immediately in front of Apricot.
“Where’s that idiot brother of yo ... Oh.” Apricot looked in disgust at Vick who ignored him. “This is ridiculous!” hissed Apricot.
“No matter,” said Bev. “It’s not important. It is far more vital that we have the full co-operation of this individual. If that involves you standing in a corner for a few minuteslike some naughty schoolboy. Then so be it.”
Vick sniggered.
“As a matter of fact,” said Apricot, “there are one or two interesting books here. Look ...” Apricot pointed to a large amber volume with “Dogs - A Universal Life FormOr An Ancient Civilisation?” on its spine.
“Interesting use of the word ‘interesting’,” said Bev dryly.
“I was just wondering if the dachshund was called that because it looks like a badger or because they used to hunt badgers.”
“You were?” asked Bev. “A mind like a steel trap,” he observed.“Plenty of space to put your foot in.”
“Yes,” said Apricot absently as he studied some book spines lower down. Bev’s attention was drawn to the old lady who had suddenly leaped from her chair trying to stop piles of papers and books from falling onto the floor. It seemed there was some ancient printing device buried on her desk which had suddenly sprung into life.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said as books fell at her feet. The vibrating stopped after a few seconds. The old lady reached into the pile, drew out a piece of paper and handed it to Vick who handed it on to Bev.
“Most appreciated,” said Bev.
“Suityourself ,” said the old Pebbling, resuming her seat.
“THANKS!” bellowed Vick.
“My pleasure, young man,” she said to Vick while giving Bev a dirty look. Bev examined the piece of paper. There were three entries, each about one hundred and fifty years old and all from a news agency based on Spwat III. The entries read:
1) Twip’s Fish & Chip Emporium Fiasco.
2) Chippie Chief Challenged & Chased.
3) Forces Forget The Fishy Fiasco.
*
Sergeant Arthur and Sergeant George lay on their backs in a small, dark room at the rear of The Green Dralon . They each smiled sweetly at some private little thoughts, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen next.
What did happen next was that the ice cold contents of a water bucket were transferred, with some gusto, from the bucket to a new location across the faces of the recumbent duo. Their smiles did a runner and took up residence around the trunk of Bleasedale , the barman and proprietor of The Green Dralon . “Good morning sleepy-heads,” said Bleasedale , good naturedly. The two sat up.Regretting the action immediately.
“Ooh!” said Sergeant Arthur.
“ Aargh!” said Sergeant George.
“Feel a bit sensitive, do we?” asked Bleasedale with exaggerated concern.
“My mouth is of the ferret’s bum persuasion,” said Sergeant Arthur with feeling.
“Ditto, brother,” said Sergeant George. They looked around at the crates, bottles and cans surrounding them.
“What the f...” Sergeant Arthur stopped as two large, grey, crumpled legs came shakily into focus. With infinite care, the sergeants raised their eyes travelling up the wrinkled legs, over a wrinkled rotund stomach supporting a wrinkly trunk and finally stopping at two smiling, wrinkled eyes. “Oh,” said Sergeant Arthur, “it’s you.”
“Yes,” said Bleasedale .
“I supposewe ...?” said Sergeant Arthur.
“Yes,” said Bleasedale .
“And I expectwe ...?” said Sergeant George.
“Yes,” said Bleasedale .
“We didn’t ...?” said Sergeant Arthur.
“Yes,” said Bleasedale .
“Did we ...?” said Sergeant George.”
“Yes. Now look,” said Bleasedale , offering a hand to help them up, “I’d really love to continue with this fascinating and erudite conversation but I’m opening again in four hours so if you don’t mind I’d like a quick chat before you go.A chat of the business persuasion.” He smiled pointedly at Sergeant Arthur. The two brothers finally became vertical after much grunting, wheezing and the release of some incarcerated wind.
Bleasedaleled them back into the main bar.
Walking into a solid wall of stale smoke and alcohol fumes was almost too much for the two sergeants, who tried tobreath without actually inhaling.
They sat unsteadily on bar stools while Bleasedale went behind the bar.
“Hair of the rat?” he asked.
“A nice hot cup of tea would be just the ticket, brother,” said Sergeant George hopefully.
“Tea?” Bleasedalelooked puzzled.
“Water?” suggested Sergeant Arthur.
Bleasedalefilled a jug with water and broke in a tray of ice cubes. He placed two glasses in front of the sergeants. They drank like men who had just spent seventy-two hours eating nothing but dry crackers.
“Now then,” said Bleasedale putting both elbows on the bar and digging in his ear with his trunk, “to business. For years now I’ve been trying to go ... you know ... up market a bit.” The sergeants nodded.
“I’m not saying anything against the crowd I get in here. No sir. They’ve kept me in kelp and petroleum jelly for a long time. I can’t deny that. But it’s not quite what I had in mind. I sort of envisaged more of a clientele who were more on the ... youknow ... dare I say intelligent side.” The sergeants nodded again.
“As you probably recall” - the twins arranged their features to look like people who clearly could recall whatever it was they were supposed to recall - “your rendition of your species’ classical aria was at one and the same time a resounding success and an abject failure.”
The sergeants did that not shaking but not nodding head movement typical of people who don’t know what the hell it is they’re hearing.
Bleasedaledeftly flicked something his trunk had discovered in his ear along the bar and into an ashtray.
“Let me explain,” he said, allowing his trunk to continue exploring his other ear. “Your opening number had the effect of forcing some of my more intellectually challenged customers to leave. And what’s more, they did so without first beating seven bells out of you.” The sergeants nodded appreciatively. “When you came round and started on your second set” - the sergeants looked puzzled, more unknown territory “some passing glitterati, obviously drawn to your rendition of that classic ‘Dome, Dome on the Flange’, came in and started ordering Baby Xens by the gross. Well the tone of the whole place shot up a few octaves, I can tell you. And the mark up on the Baby Xens is enough to straighten your trunk.”
Bleasedale poured himself a small glass of something red and knocked it back.
“So,” said Bleasedale , screwing his face up and tapping his chest with his trunk, “how about it?”
Sergeant Arthur’s mind struggled with this new concept. “You want us,” he said at last, “to sing? Here?”
“I’ll give you twenty per cent of the take,” said Bleasedale .
“You want us,” said Sergeant George, “to sing dodgy ... old classical songs?For money?”
“Well of course,” said Bleasedale . “I wouldn’t expect you to do it for nothing, would I?”
“It’s very kind of you, and all that,” said Sergeant Arthur, “and I’m sure I speak for both of us when I say we’re very flattered.”
“But?” said Bleasedale .
“But we’re just a pair of old space bums, brother,” said Sergeant George. “We don’t know the first thing about entertaining folk.”
“Last night,” said Bleasedale , “this place was full of the intelligentsia of Stonewhip . For the first time since I opened. And they loved you. Classic human songs are all the rage right now. You can’t go wrong. We can’t go wrong.”
“I think we’d like to think about it,” said Sergeant Arthur, standing to leave.
“Sleep on it, brother,” said Sergeant George also rising.
“Well the offer stands,” said Bleasedale . “You know where I’ll be.”
“Sure do,” said Sergeant Arthur. “Bye now. And thanks.”
“Yes,” said Sergeant George. “Thanks, brother. See you around.”
“Before you go,” said Bleasedale , making them pause at the door, “what is a ‘ dicky-dido’?”
: III