Slowly the sun rose higher in the sky, peeping briefly out from behind the Radikals to paint the edges of the clouds above in scarlet and gold before vanishing behind them again. The Orthians followed Reth down the hill and into the deeply shadowed gloom lurking beneath the dense forests canopy. Reth's search for the track took some time, and when he finally did find it, it proved to be a mere vestige of what it must have been in the past. Nothing much remained apart from some rotting wooden risers where once there had been steps and a few odd broken stretches of a safety rail on some of the steeper sections. Otherwise it was mostly obliterated by age and overgrown by the invasive action of burgeoning vegetation.
The Orthians soon became aware of a probable source of the strange smell that still permeated the air. Underneath the trees lay a thick mat of decomposing leaves and other damply rotting matter, the strong odour of decay augmented by the scents rising from a variety of plants that flourished on the corruption. Among the bulbous earthy smelling colourful fungi, patches of grey lichen and green mosses, grew clumps of thin sharp leaves plants that threw up bracts of curiously formed flowers with curling pale yellow or green petals, spotted and striped in purple and blood red. Sulphur-yellow powdered stamens protruded from their centres and they reeked of sickly perfumes. Mysterious rustling sounds came from deep in the undergrowth while screeching calls intermittently echoed eerily through the treetops. Occasionally the Orthians caught a glimpse of some of the insect inhabitants crawling or running or flying about here and there, or just sitting among the vegetation ignoring their passing.
Enthusiastically the three Mem recorded every sample of the exotic flora and fauna they could see and hear, constantly halting to ask the increasingly impatient Reth such things as 'what's the name of this plant here' and 'what's that one there called' and 'what's that tiny multi legged thing with orange stripes' and 'what's that big bug with shiny blue . . .
“How do I know? I'm not a friggin' nature lover!” Reth finally snarled, the obvious annoyance evident in his tone immediately reducing them to Mem recording without questioning.
On and on they trekked until just as the sun broke through the clouds directly above they emerged from the trees into a wide clearing full of knee high grasses and weeds. On its far side, the once white now aged yellow peeling paint of a two rail wooden barrier showed clear against the darkness which prevailed beneath the heavily overcast sky beyond. Eagerly the Orthians crossed to it and found that the fence had been erected along the top edge of a vertical rock face to prevent the unwary from plunging over and thus down the sheer drop into the depths below. A barely legible weather beaten sign written in Terran hung crookedly from a post nearby.
Chan read it aloud. “New Paradise Garden Look Out.”
From their vantage point behind the railing the three gazed out over a broad plain filled by a great ocean of grey brown fog. Directly below them a few tall dark tree tops poked through the all concealing dirty looking blanket but the rest of what appeared to be a continuation of the forest sloped away to sink out of sight beneath its cover. Off in the far distance a number of long ridges of higher ground jutted up, their jagged outlines looking like menacing reefs in a murky sea, while even further away, the mass of heavy clouds on the purple hazed horizon were lit on their undersides by the lurid orange glow of whatever lurked beneath them. What really caught the viewers interest though, were the lights. Billions and billions of tiny flickering points of brightness in small specks and broken strings that glimmered from out of the overall murkiness of the landscape.
“This is what I call a marvellous view for our Mems,” said Chan as they stood taking in the sight.
“Judging from all those lights there must be millions of Terrans living out there,” said BB.
“I suppose that glow in the distance is Halzone City, right sir?” asked Alf.
Reth didn't answer, having ignored the view and headed directly away toward the next section of the down hill track on the other side of the clearing. The Orthians, having enough Mem of the view, were about to follow him when Chan frowned and tilted her head cupping her ear with one hand. “Wait! I can hear something.”
BB listened to the humming sound coming from somewhere nearby. “I wonder what it is?” he said.
Alf could hear it too. “It's getting louder.”
All at once, from seemingly out of nowhere, a black cloud of small flying insects swooped down, swirling around them in a confusing whirling, buzzing mass. Although not one of the noisy swarm actually came into contact with the Orthians, because their experience of insect behaviour was quite limited they became somewhat alarmed by this unwelcome attention. BB began waving frantically at the tiny things hoping to drive them off with flailing arms, while Chan crouched down low, face in hands, trying to cover herself against the threat. Alf reacted by pulling his Dazer out from its concealed holster, thumbing the control to full-on wide-cover and letting blast several times in the general direction of the menacing throng. For a few confused moments BB feared that if the insects didn't get him Alf surely would with his wildly aimed Dazer beams. Then suddenly it was over. Just as quickly as they had arrived the insects departed, streaming swiftly away and rapidly disappearing.
“I won! I won!” Alf danced about brandishing his Dazer above his head. “I showed the little pests!”
Chan stood up and looked around. “If you won, where's the defeated? There's not a Dazed insect in sight!”
“No, because I drove them off!”
“How do you know that?” Chan countered. “They could have flown away for any number of reasons.”
“Like what?” Alf asked.
“Because their interest lay elsewhere for one.”
“If I hadn't had the presence of mind to use my Dazer they'd still be buzzing all round you and maybe even taking a bite too. The least you could both do now is thank me.”
“Then I thank you,” Chan conceded, “for performing what was most probably a totally unnecessary act.”
“And I thank you too, although I must also point out that your aim is way off! My ears are still ringing from a near miss.” BB complained.
“Sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
“But you really had nothing to worry about,” Alf smiled confidently. “I had plenty of Dazer shooting practice before we left Orth and if by some remote chance I had accidentally hit either of you, it would've been your own fault for getting in the way.”
BB raised an eyebrow. “Is that so,” he said. “And may I use the same excuse if I ever accidentally Daze you?”
Chan said, “I think we should offer Praise to Max for investing us with a range of anti-bodies able to combat all possible unknown random diseases. If any nasty insect here does manage to bite us we'll not be affected.”
“Praise be to Max,” acknowledged Alf.
“Praise be to Max,” said BB. “And please put your Dazer back in its holster Alf, before you're tempted to try and Daze any more of the local fauna.”
Alf did as requested then glanced up and pointed toward the top of the downhill track saying, “All this fuss about nothing and look! We've lost Reth!”
“He's gone on ahead that's all,” said Chan. “We'll soon catch him up.”
The sun vanished behind the clouds as the three Orthians hurried across the clearing to the down sloping pathway, barely discernible among the rampant growth. Only the signs of recent hasty passage, a few broken plant stems oozing yellowish juice and the odd skidding foot mark in the mud showed where Reth had gone.
“Wait for us,” Alf called out hopefully as they started down the hill, slithering and sliding and accidentally bumping into each other and grabbing at the nearby bushes for support in their haste. Around a steep bend they skidded hopeful that Reth might be waiting for them, but no.
“Where did he get to?” Alf muttered.
On down again, around another corner and still no Reth so on they plunged, moving as fast as they could without completely losing their balance on a track which zigzagged back and forth in its descent of the precipitous hillside.
Half an hour later with no sight of Reth they were still descending through an increasingly foggy dampness. Long tendrils of thin vapour disturbed by their passage eddied and curled about them and the trees grew so close on either side that the leaves on the overhead tangle of their limbs dripped a constant rain of excess moisture onto the Orthians. Then as the ground levelled out, a sudden gust of wind stirred through the tops of the thinning trees. The light breeze that sprang up quickly swept the concealing fog away while at the same time the clouds parted and the sun broke through allowing the Orthians to catch sight of the wall that cut across their path a little way ahead. The barrier, when they reached it, proved to be a massive structure of grey blocks cemented together with coils of rusting razor wire fastened along its top by a row of metal fingers that angled out high above them. A narrow pathway and a ditch partly full of scummy water and wet loving weeds ran in both directions at its base, but it was the surface of the wall that caught the Orthians attention. It was liberally decorated with numerous overlapping stylised paintings and symbols in peeling once colourful now faded damp damaged paint.
“I wonder what it means?” said Chan.
Alf laughed. “It's graffiti. I Mem from the old stories that they were visual signs left by groups or individuals claiming territorial rights just like the various excretions deposited by some animals.”
Chan frowned as she peered a little more closely at it. “Are you sure that's all it is? Look, there. Isn't that the word 'BEWARE' in Terran?”
“So it's a warning written ages ago about something to be careful about back then. By the look of it it's far too old to worry about now,” Alf said with a shrug of his shoulders.
“You don't know that,” she retorted. “Just because the warning's old let's not assume that the danger is past.”
BB broke in. “Look, there's Reth!” he said pointing to the path off to their left and sure enough there he was, striding grim faced toward them.
“I can't friggin' find it!” The surly tone of his voice as he halted in front of the Orthians matched the scowl on his face. “It's gone!”
“What's gone please sir?” asked BB politely.
“It's all gone! The house, the farm, every friggin' thing! They should be round about here but they're friggin well not! Somebody's built a wall so now I don't know where the frig' I am or where they've friggin' gone. I've already tried that way,” Reth pointed with his thumb back along the path, “and it's nothing but a friggin' swamp down there! No way could I get past!”
Chan spoke with obvious logic. “Well then sir, I suggest we try the path that leads in the other direction.”
“I realise that!” Reth snorted contemptuously. “What the frig' do you think I was doing?”
He immediately stalked furiously off along the path to the right with the Orthians meekly following. Ten minutes of rapid travel and they came to a halt opposite a place where a low arch with a vertical grille of metal bars fixed just in side of it had been built into the base of the wall. A slow trickle of dark stained, oily surfaced water seeped through from whatever was on the other side.
Reth wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve. “That looks promising.” He jumped down into the muddy ditch to investigate. Although the wall was very thick he could see an arch of light at the other end of the tunnel beyond the bars that blocked it. “It's big enough for us to get through.”
The others squatted down on the bank to look into it.
“What about the bars sir?” Chan asked.
“I can move them.” Reth tugged mightily at the barrier.
“Let me help you sir,” offered Alf.
He jumped down into the mud and working together, the two of them managed to move the rusted grille out from its ancient moorings off to one side. Hunched half over Reth entered into the drain with Alf close behind. BB and Chan stepped a little more carefully into the mud to follow with bent backs after them. They all avoided the mucky ooze in the middle of the arching tunnel by shuffling along against one side wall where it was firmer and drier underfoot. Reth had already reached the other side by the time BB, who came last, was pulling the bars back into place behind him. The drain had angled up slightly, so it was an easy climb up the steep bank of the ditch on the other side.
Reth had hoped that there would be familiar territory beyond the wall, but there wasn't. For a long moment he and the Orthians stood gathered together gazing in silent amazement at the scene.
“Friggin' Hal!” Reth finally exclaimed.
It was an astonishing sight. The Orthians Mems of waste, seen on the Holoscreen in episode three of Regenisis where the story concerned a child living on the pickings from a dump, were quite different to what lay here. Small mountains, not of decaying household garbage but of discarded broken and/or terminally damaged assorted manufactured devices once useful but now quite obviously unwanted, surrounded them. Devalued and rejected, they were piled in tottering towers and great shapeless overflowing unstable heaps, much of it so badly mangled rusted and decayed with weeds sprouting through it, that it was difficult to discern what function it must once have served. Yet in the eyes of the Orthians it appeared to be a shameful waste of resources.
Alf expressed his opinion in one word. “Fascinating!”
“It's friggin' junk,” Reth stated contemptuously.
“Junk sir! Isn't that a stack of single-phase flugulating regulators over there? They could easily be retrieved and recycled.”
“Friggin' crap is what it is.”
“What about those sir?” Chan pointed to another jumbled heap. “Do Terrans often lose their heads?”
“Very funny. They're old Andy remains. Hey! Don't touch that BB! You never know what sort of verm . . .”
Reth's warning was a little too late as the stack of assorted paragedic triflectors BB had decided to investigate shifted slightly and dislodged several small furry beasts from their hiding places. With long naked tails flicking and tiny teeth menacing they squealed in high-pitched annoyance before vanishing back into the heap.
BB quickly stepped back out of their way. “Mice sir?”
“No. Rats.”
“But sir, surely rats are much bigger then that! And don't they have wicked looking fangs, and long sharp claws, and glowing red eyes?”
“Count yourself lucky they don't.”
“They did in Regenesis sir,” said Chan.
Reth didn't consider this remark worthy of contention. “I just don't understand it,” he muttered half to himself. “None of this crap was here when I left! What in Hal's friggin' name has happened?”
“Quite obviously things have changed sir.”
Reth ignored Chan's reply, turning abruptly to stride purposefully off along a narrow passage between the stacks of junk. “I'm going to look for my home and if you're coming with me then you'd better hurry up.” He halted momentarily to call back over his shoulder. “Unless of course you want to spend all your time on Terra Memming friggin' rubbish!”
With a snort of derision he rapidly continued on his way and the Orthians, not caring to be left behind again, hastily followed on in his wake.
Alf clambered up on the nearest tumbled pile of debris to peer into the interior of one of the buildings through the irregular opening in its side. “Come and see this,” he called.
The others climbed up to join him.
“What are they sir?” BB wondered aloud.
Fingers of bright sunlight streaming in from where the roof had partially collapsed, exposed the disorderly thickly grime coated tangle of smashed machinery mixed with hundreds of grotesque humanoid figures frozen in impossibly awkward poses that lay inside.
“Trashed Andys,” answered Reth tersely.
The house was old, a well weathered bungalow with a roof line that sagged slightly at one end. Its windows were blank with unwashed dirt, and the paint that had once coated its now warping timber walls had long vanished, giving way to the silver grey patina of advancing years. A wide veranda covered over in bull-nosed red rust spotted corrugated-iron with broken wooden cut-outs fixed about the tops of its supporting posts ran right across the front, providing shelter for the ancient easy chair and its occupant. This was his favourite place to sit in comfort and think about things with old Blue dog nose on paws lying at his feet, and his Peace Keeper leaning against the wall beside him ready at hand for when those Hal dammed flamin' bastards who'd want to rob a bloke of what little he had left tried it on. Which was sure to happen some time. He knew they were out there and he wasn't going to give up without a fight, no way! He was armed and ready to shoot to kill in defence of what was rightfully his.
In fact, he was looking forward to taking out as many as possible the next time any of them showed up. He'd spent a lot of his time of late, sitting here, just in case, without ever seeing hide nor hair of the buggers.
Not, that is, until this morning.
“What about that place over there sir?” asked Alf.
He had turned from the vision of decay inside the building, and the increase in elevation given him by the heap he was standing on allowed him to see where, on the other side of the road, the ridge line of a rust streaked iron roof showed above a tall wildly overgrown clump of thorny plants bearing masses of small pink flowers.
He heard them long before they came into view, their voices carrying on the breeze as they made their way along the old road on the other side of the gone to wild brier without any pruning rose bushes. All of a sudden they were there, four of them, walking along beside what remained of the picket fence before brazenly turning in at the gap where the gate had been. Then they started up the almost lost in the uncut grass garden path toward the house, obviously completely unaware of him waiting there in the dim shadowy depths of the veranda. Cheeky flamin' pricks! Casually he reached back, retrieved his Peace Keeper and stood up. His movement caught their attention.
“Someone's there sir!” he heard one of them say.
Weapon raised and levelled he stepped forward from the shadows to stand at the top of the three worn away in the middle steps leading down to the path and the front yard. Squinting through the auto-magnifying sights mounted on the barrel he took careful aim, pointing the Peace Keeper straight at the head of the crap-brain in the lead. His raised voice rasped harshly, its tone filled with menace. “Too right there is! One more step 'n I'll blow yer flamin' heads orf!”
At that very same moment the facial features of the leading intruder showed clearly in his Peace Keeper's sights. He blinked with surprise, the weapon wavered in his grasp and it was this slight hesitation that gave Alf, who was younger and quicker, the advantage. His Dazer was in his hand and the beam hit its mark, engulfing the victim in its softly pink sparkling glow. Slowly the old man's knees buckled under him and smiling happily with Dazer induced euphoria he toppled sideways in a loose limbed untidy sprawl down onto the dusty grey wooden boards of the veranda floor, the Peace Keeper slipping from his unheeding grasp.
He was dreaming. Overhead arched the clearest of clear blue skies and all around lay an endless expanse of lushly soft green grass where colourful sweet scented flowers danced joyously in the gentle breeze. The sun was warm on his back and he was running, running faster then the wind with an easy loping stride on his two good legs, laughing joyously as he ran.
Alf apologised. “I'm sorry sir. I didn't know it was your father. I thought it was some lunatic wanting to kill us all!”
Reth had expected some changes while he was away, but finding his father so much older and frailer and now unconscious as a result of Alf's Dazer prowess was of real concern to him. They had moved the victim, wearing what looked to Reth like the same stubby shorts faded black tank top with XX1 faintly visible printed in yellow across the back and scuffed brown elastic-sided work boots that he always favoured, into a more comfortable position in the shade, straightening out his pitifully thin arms and legs, one obviously an artificial cybernetic contraption, and cushioning his head with the jacket Alf had readily offered as a way to make up a little for what he'd done. Now the four of them stood looking down at the old man who slept peacefully, a blissful smile on his face.
Having never witnessed the results of a Dazer beam hit, Reth asked, “How long before he wakes up?”
Alf shrugged. “I don't know sir. I've never actually shot a person before. But it was set on wide beam so at that range it shouldn't be too long.”
Reth's father opened one eye. “I'm awake now.”
“Thanks be to Hal,” said Reth. “I was getting really worried.”
His father sat up. “Reth! Reth m' son! Is that you? Or 'm I still dreamin'?”
“No dad. You're awake and yes it's me, Reth your son. I've finally come home.”
“All glory be to Hal, y've returned. I always prayed y'd be back 'n now me prayers is finally bin answered. They told me youse 'd checked in yer chips! Gorn to meet our Creator with nothin' left for us to pray over n' ask for the Temple Priest t' bless! What happened to y' son? Where've y' been?”
“It's a long story dad, and I'll tell you all about it later. But right now my first concern is you. Are you all right?”
“Course I am. Never felt better in m' life. Here now, help me up.”
Reth and Alf grasped the old man by his bony arms, lifted him to his feet and dusted him down a little.
“Ta. Ta ever so. What hit me?”
“I did sir,” confessed Alf. “I beamed you with my Dazer. I really am awfully sorry sir. I hope it didn't hurt too much.”
“Hurt?” Reth's Dad chuckled. “Young man, y' can beam me again any time yer likes! Flamin' bonzer that dream I had was! Where's the Dazer thing what did it then?”
“I've put it away now sir,” said Alf.
Just then BB noticed Blue. “There's a dead animal lying here sir,” he said prodding at the inert body with a booted foot.
“Youse just mind what yer doin' now there!” the old man scowled. “No need to kick a dog when 'e's down.”
BB looked at the furry mound in amazement. “That's a dog sir?”
“Course it flamin' well is! Old Blue there's me favourite dog. Stuffed now though. Had 'im done like that after he gorn 'n passed away.”
“I always thought dogs were much bigger sir, great savage beasts with enormous fangs in massive slavering jaws. That doesn't look like a dog to me.”
“City bred are yer? Never seen a real dog?”
“Yes sir, I'm from a city, and no sir, I've never seen a real dog.”
“Well Blue there, he was me flamin' best dog until he bought it a few years back along with all the rest.”
“You mean all the dogs died sir? What happened?”
“One of them flamin' virals got to 'em all. Meant fer gettin' rid 'f them man eating raptors some fool hatched up fr'm the past 'n let loose. Only the bastard V's went mutinant 'n killed off all the dogs 's well. Everyone's got Andy dogs nowadays.”
“Andy dogs sir?”
“Too right. Don't tell me youse ‘ve never seen them neither!”
“No sir.”
“Yer city a bit off the beaten is it? Well never mind, youse'll most likely see them flamin' excuses for dinkum dogs soon enough.” The old man turned toward his son. “Now Reth, where's y' manners? Introduce me to yer friends.”
“Sorry. Of course. Dad this is Alf, BB and Chan. Everyone please meet my Dad Mister Beechworth.”
“How do you do sir,” the three Orthians said in unison.
“How d' y' do,” replied Reth's father thrusting out one bony fingered hand which, after a slight hesitation by reason of being unaccustomed to this social practice, the three Orthians each shook in turn. “Forget about the mister though boys, just call me Dave.”
Reth was just about to correct his father as to Chan's gender when she said, “Why thank you Dave sir. The boys and I certainly appreciate the honour.”
Dave peered a little more closely at Chan. “By crikey! Yer a sheila!”
Chan was puzzled. “A sheila sir?”
“Sheila's an ancient local term for a girl” explained Reth.
Chan giggled. “So that's why you used the name for your computer sir. You wanted a female companion.”
Dave frowned. “Not meanin' t' be nosy mind but with them duds youse are wearing 'n all I just hafta aks. Are y' one of them new changelin's what've been turned by the Magic 'f Modern Meditecs inta the opposite s e x?” He carefully spelled out the last word.
“Chan's a very ordinary girl dad,” Reth replied, grinning as Chan scowled, for he had initially proposed that she wear clothing of a more 'feminine' type, as he put it, and perhaps grow her hair a little longer; suggestions which she had greeted with, 'What? Me a fully trained Space Pilot with long hair and in a skirt? Sir, you must be joking!'
“Fair dinkum!” said Dave eyebrows raised in amazement. “I s'pose I'll 'ave t' be watchin' me flamin' language now won't I? Can't be swearin' in front of a little lady, eh?” He turned away from Chan to wink and smirk at the others.
Reth indicated with a sideways movement of his head toward the weathered front door and asked, “Where's Mum? Is she inside?”
Dave cackled with laughter. “Great Hal son, there's none allowed in the old house no more! Condemnified is what it is. Nothin' in there now 'cept dust monsters 'n bloodthirsty cockroaches big enough to take yer arm off! Only jokin',” he added seeing the alarm evident in the visitors' expressions. “Th' buggers can't swallow more than a finger or two! Hee! Hee” He laughed again. “No son. I've got a new place round the back now. As fer yer Mum, well, sad to say she done cooked her last cake years ago.”
“You mean . . .?”
“Yep. Passed on she has.”
The sad news silenced Reth.
“Got took crook with the alien flu 'n that's near always fatal. What's left of 'er after the regalashun burnin' what all flu victims have 't have, is in a jar on the mantel piece in the old house there. Costs 'n arm 'n a leg for cementry burials nowadays, 'n she don't seem to mind not bein' in the ground. Course it's them flamin' cosmotic invaders fault. They let loose them bug bombs 'n that's what did it fer 'er 'n all them others what got taken too! Come from a dimenshun on the dark side them aliens do y' know.”
“Really?”
“That's what they said on Vis Two Seven Now News. There's a wormhole 'n space keeps crackin' open 'n that's where the flamin' bastards 'r gettin' in. Did y' catch the latest this mornin'?”
“No. No we didn't.”
“It's bad son, real bad!” Dave spoke grimly. “There's a big battle going on out there right now! Death Rays 'n Sonic Blasters ‘n all. But our boys 'll never cut 'n run. Terra will triumph over all!” He thrust his fist into the air and shook it in the direction of the enemy somewhere overhead. “Or was it on Vis Ten Nine Tomorrow Today that I saw it? I dunno,” he added dropping his arm and frowning. “Can't keep track 'f it all at times.”
“What about Beatrice? Is she all right?”
“Bee's fine.”
“That's a relief.”
“Got a nice place she has now, out in one of them new Domes.”
“You mean she lives in a dome?”
“In a Home what's covered by a Dome. Most what can do son. Them aliens could bugger things up any time, 'n Domes is reckoned to be the safest way to go. Tec engineered they are to form an inpregmanabil . . . impregnanibal . . . a powerful shield made of nanny-party-killers to protect ag'inst poisonous stuff. Sports grounds 'n shoppin' malls was the first to get ‘em but now it's Home Domes what's sellin' best. Puttin' 'em up hand over fist these days they are.”
“How about Jack and the girls then?” Reth asked.
“They're all fine. Yer brother Jack's done real well. Very important 'e is now. Tell yer what, let's go and give 'im 'n Bee a buzz on the CMe and y' can show yerself to 'em. They'll be out here like a shot when they sees y're back.”
“Cme?”
“Yep. We got Eermes with vision now.” Dave bent over a little stiffly, picked up his fallen Peace Keeper and after checking it over and putting the safety catch on, led them down from the veranda and around the side of the old house. “Last I knew of the girls,” he continued, “yer sister Lil was still married to that bloke what's big in Bankerra Porn. Got a nice Domed Home there she has. As f'r Ell, she's livin' in Fairyland with a witch.”
“And Jude?”
“She went right orf the rails 'n eloped with a muso, she did!”
“What a shame,” Reth sighed.
“Mind now, I've not heard nothin' fr'm any of 'em in yonks.”
Dave's place, like its owner, was not all that new; a rather age worn, once mobile home now missing it's wheels, propped up level on several square grey concrete blocks. He pulled on the outward opening door set near the end of one wall of the mo'home and hooked it back before ushering them up the matching grey block steps inside. Several small square windows hung with dusty faded curtains were set along three of the walls, and the rectangular room they entered was lit by the bright bands of sunshine streaming in through those opposite the door. This first space, being large enough for the purpose, was furnished for both living and sleeping. A second room lay concealed behind a dividing wall with a narrow curtained doorway at one side and a big flat Terra Vision screen mutely showing four brilliantly coloured pictures at once, fitted flush into its centre.
“Sit youse down now while I put me PK away n' find m' flamin' CMe. Should be here somewheres,” said Dave.
Reth and the Orthians looked for somewhere to sit. A small oblong table with attached lightly padded high-backed padded bench seats was fixed to the wall under the windows. One seat was set against the divider under the Terra Vision sceen, the other on the opposite longer side of the table. Both benches and table were nearly hidden beneath the dog eared magazines and age yellowed papers heaped haphazardly all over them. Apart that is from one small space on both where a single person could sit with a little table surface facing the screen. Reth chose to sit down here, while Alf, BB and Chan sat in a row on the edge of the bed, covered by a taut stretched coarse grey blanket, that filled the far end of the mo'home. Here they perched gingerly their bags at their feet.
Dave began the search in the for his CMe in the area to the right of the door originally used for the preparation and cooking of meals and the washing up of dishes afterward. However, its rusting cooker, stained sink and cracked bench top piled high with a muddle of miscellaneous items, more piles of paper and ancient unwashed crockery provided mute evidence of this no longer being the case. While Dave rummaged about in the jumbled contents of the cupboards and drawers arranged under and over the bench, the Orthians gaze was caught by the Terra Vision which they stared at, round eyed in fascination.
On one section the words 'I MARRIED AN ALIEN!' were written large in Terran above the image of an astonishingly sexually well endowed young female standing beside a bed, wearing the minimum coverage of her obvious charms. 'I didn't know what a monster he was until a caught him shaving his toes click on the red button for the full story NOW' was printed underneath. On another two happily smiling white toothed well groomed Terrans, a male and a female, were talking. The other two showed a kaleidoscope of pictures and more printed words in extra brilliant colours that flashed on and off again far too briefly for careful scrutiny. At the same time both sides of the Terra Vis screen showed a row of smaller pictures, while several continuously moving strips of cryptic symbols and Terran print flickered at varying speeds along the bottom. Most of the numbers and letters flew past far too fast for the Orthians to make anything out of them, while those on a slower moving line 'flds C8trn: Eco cty bm C5m: 71 mum: FWUC CEO 0 rap chg: Buns 145 d Chims 39:' were beyond their comprehension.
“Always carry it with yer they says, but I aks youse,” Dave grumbled as he searched, “who wants one of them blasted things jinglin' 'n janglin' night and day with nothin' important only another flamin' sales shark trying to rob a poor old man of the next to nothin' e's got left after the bastard FWUC taxin' vultures 'ave raked through a decent blokes personal privates . . . ah! Here 't is! I reckon this is gunna be a real big surprise for 'em!”
Jack was readying himself for an extremely important CMe Link conference with the board members of his company, concerning fiscal strategies that were absolutely crucial for the projected deployment of future profitable investments. When the interruption came he was practising in front of the full-length mirror installed in his private suite for precisely this purpose, trying out the various versions of his proposed presentation. Being an already accomplished speaker he was well used to such a performance, so he stood with back straight and head held high, thanks to the built in lifts in his boots giving him that essential extra for a superior altitude. Carefully he inspected his reflection to ensure that his clothing was exactly right, for a man's status depended upon the appropriateness of his sartorial display. There were also a number of other things Jack regarded as being of equal importance. Every movement he made, every gesture he gave, plus the words he used, his phrasing of them, his accent, his pronunciation and general delivery, (he had had to lower his voice nearly an octave) also mattered. Right at the beginning of his career Jack had engaged experts to tutor him in elocution so that he could develop an effective oratory proficiency. Knowing what to say, and when and how to say it, knowing when to smile and when to look serious, and even knowing when to emphasise a point and when to imply the possession of superior knowledge by staying silent, could make or break a deal. Rehearsing these skills took time but Jack, who prided himself on being a perfectionist, didn't mind. He enjoyed exercising his artistry in this way.
Just as he launched into the final rehearsal of his painstakingly prepared production with it's accompanying pictures projected onto the screen positioned beside him pointing out precisely how a favourable financial forecast would follow once the meticulous measures recommended by the feasibility study he had ordered, such as setting new targets to eliminate unproductive time wasting by the Andy work force were implemented, the beeper set behind his ear buzzed and kept on buzzing, forcing him to cut short the powerful exposition he was making because much to his barely contained annoyance, the imperative urgency of the interruption ruined any hope of his achieving any personal performance satisfaction for the moment.
“Well?” Jack snarled at his Private Secretary Andy. “This'd better be important or I'm having you downsized!”
He was forced to wait while the Andy ran through a litany of spam that it was unable to prevent invading it's system because the basic primary instruction to do so had once again been mysteriously bypassed, before it dutifully repeated the recorded CMe message saved on its Hold File.
Princess Melody's lips slowly parted beneath his in willing acquiescence and he, in response to her capitulation answered with a deepening kiss, his thrusting tongue, tempting her to explore new levels of sensual persuasion. One of his hands cradled the back of her head while the other slid down to her waist, releasing the sash of her thin silken robe. She felt breathless, dizzy, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation as he cupped her exposed breast his splayed fingers stroking its ripe fullness while at the same time seeking her nipple and gently tantalising it to a rosy pink peak of soaring aching arousal. Now she could feel the strength, the potency of his desire against her trembling thigh, meeting its urgency with the satin moisture of her own excitement . . . and suddenly a high pitched buzzer sounded and a bright red light intruded itself into the left hand side of her vision, blinking frantically, urgently, repeatedly, on and off, on and off. At the same time the action froze as the VR machine automatically switched over to pause.
Beatrice pushed up the visor of the VR helmet. “What is it?” she snapped, her tone sharp with annoyance.
“Excuse me m'lady,” replied the Andy Handy Maid who stood waiting beside her chair, “but there is an urgent message for you on the CMe.”
“Dammit you stupid tin head! If I've told you once I've told you a million billion times before, never ever interrupt me when I'm gaming! Blast you, it's your job to deal with messages. That's what I bought you for!”
“Yes m'lady. Please accept my sincere apologies m'lady. I'll attend to it right away.”
“It's too late now you clockwork clown. You've already ruined weeks' worth of manoeuvres! Go and turn yourself off you useless hunk of hardware.”
“I willingly penalise myself as you request m'lady.” The Andy backed away into a corner and become perfectly still. The lights on its collar turned to standby red and the tiny glow in the centre of it's eyes died, which annoyed Beatrice even more, because rebooting this particular model of Andy Handy Maid would require calling on the ministrations of an Andy Service Person, which could take aeons. 'And isn't that always the case lately?' She thought. 'Good credits paid and yet the blasted heaps of excremental garbage are nowhere up to the pre-sale promises of convenience. And the service would cost a small fortune! No, I'd do better to order a replacement from the dealer, a newer, much more user friendly Andy - than go through that crap. Oh well, nothing for it now but to go see for myself what the message is.'
With a sigh of resignation she removed the helmet of her 5X Model VR Stimulator and climbed out of it's comfortably semi-reclining chair. As the contacts automatically retracted into their slots the standby mode took over. “Come play with me again real soon,” it said.
Beatrice left the Games room giving the unresponsive Andy a small kick in passing, and trotted down the spacious hallway, its thick piled white carpet soft beneath her elegantly slippered feet to the booth holding the CMe. She entered and once she'd sat down on the padded chair inside the privacy door automatically closed behind her.
“So what is it?” she demanded of her Message 4U Service.
“While we're waiting for Bee 'n Jack hows about tellin' me what happened t' yer son?”
“Could I have something to drink first please dad? I'm dry as the proverbial and a cup of Jawa would go down real well. Haven't had one in years. And while you're about it, is there any bacon and eggs? And some lovely hot toast, white bread of course, lightly browned with lashings of butter melting on it would really hit the spot!”
“Sounds good to me too son. Half a tick 'n I'll see what I c'n rustle up. I reckon we might all do with a top up.” Dave started for the other hidden end of the mo'home. “Tell y' what” he called back over his shoulder, “youse lot clear off the table n' the seats there while I do the necessary.”
The curtain fell back into place behind him and they began doing as he asked, removing the heaps of magazines and papers and stacking them neatly well out of the way, on the floor against the wall beside the bed.
“You're going to enjoy this,” said Reth smiling happily at the Orthians while they worked. “Decent food for a change.”
Dave's raised voice sounded clearly from the other side of the concealing drapery. “Stupid bastard flamin' crap!”
Reth stopped what he was doing, concern removing the smile from his face. With a pile of papers still in his arms he called, “Can I give you a hand there dad?”
“Come 'n have a look at this flamin' thing!”
Reth put down his load and slipped behind the curtain.
The Orthians completed their task and then sat down at the table to wait. They could hear the sounds of a muffled conversation coming from the other room.
Reth reappeared. “Bit of trouble with the meal order,” he said apologetically. “Dad reckons his Server must be on the blink. I'm trying to find out how to reprogram it now.”
“If it's anything like an Orthian Spenser maybe we can help sir,” offered Alf. “We all did a course on basic Spenser servicing as part of our training.”
“Trouble is this Server here is new to me, so I'm not exactly sure how it operates,” confessed Reth. “Any advice would be welcome.”
They all crowded into the room to stare at the problem. Part of the space here was taken up by assorted items of old looking mostly broken furniture while a large metal box with a burnished silver finish on it nearly filled up the rest. It was taller then any of them and utterly smooth and featureless except for the front which faced them, where a large square hatch with a tightly closed clear door was set at waist height below a flat mutely flickering Terra Vision screen displaying the same programmes as the one in the other room.
“It only recognises my father's voice,” Reth informed the Orthians. “Ask it again Dad so they can see what happens.”
“Hot coffee with sugar 'n cream, crisp fried bacon with easy over eggs 'n white bread toast with butter f' five please.”
The screen picture changed to that of the head and shoulders of an adult male, cleanly shaven, with neatly clipped short hair, wearing a spotless white laboratory type coat.
“I'm sorry Dave, I can't allow that,” the image said. “Coffee is an illegal stimulant for persons of your advancing years, cream is a luxury item unavailable to customers with limited credits and the consumption of bacon, eggs and butter are known to accelerate the onset of arteriosclerosis, hypertension, thrombosis, and paresis among the elderly. For those reasons your physician has forbidden you the items requested and I have no authority to serve them. How about five nice bowls of nutritious porridge and mugs of delicious herbal infusion instead?” The image then displayed a double row of perfectly even, gleaming white teeth, in a coaxingly friendly smile.
“Some bastards bin fiddlin' with it and changed m' deal,” Dave complained. “I paid heaps 'f pre-order creds just last week, I know I did!”
“So the food is definitely available sir?” asked Alf.
“Course,” replied Dave contemptuously.
“I've tried to find an access panel where I might adjust the menu parameters but there's nothing on the sides so it's probably hidden round the back,” said Reth.
“Right you are sir,” Alf agreed. “If we can just move it away from the wall.” He turned to Dave. “Where's the power off switch first of all please sir?”
“Just outside in the box up the pole on t' other side of the dunny.”
“The dunny sir?”
“Youse know! That out there where us blokes shakes 'ands with the unemployed.”
“Dad means the relief station,” explained Reth.
“We'll go look sir,” said BB and he and Alf went off to find it leaving Reth, Chan and Dave to wait with the uncooperative appliance.
“Flamin' heck!” said Dave a moment later. “It'll be padlocked still. Bastards pinch me power 'f'n it aint! I'll get the key.”
Off he rushed into the other room to retrieve the key from its hook beside the door and take it out to BB and Alf. They had found the padlocked box and were already on their way back in when Dave met them. Once they had returned and opened the padlock and pulled up the metal cover, and after they had all agreed on which switch inside was the main one and Alf had moved it to the off position, they returned to the mo'home. Then Reth, BB and Alf struggled the Server, bit by bit, out into the room.
Reth squeezed through the narrow space on one side to see the back. “Bugger! This isn't what I expected.”
“What is it sir?” asked Alf.
“Here, you can all look.”
One at a time they all followed Reth's manoeuvre to confirm his observation. The Server's back was nearly as featureless as its two sides apart from the thick coil of cable that protruded out from a circular fitting just above its base and disappeared into a large holding bracket fixed securely to the floor. A label written in bold red print was stuck at eye level on its smooth surface. 'Danger. This Server contains components that may cause severe radiation burns, poisoning, and/or death. No user serviceable parts inside.'
After reading this they pushed the Server back into place and Alf went outside to switch the power back on and re-lock the box. Following upon his return, Dave asked the Server for a meal. He offered to order some for his visitors too, but the Orthians, on seeing the grey lumpy gruel and smelling the strange yellow brew that appeared in the Server's hatch, politely thanked him and refused.
“We have no intention of imposing ourselves upon you sir, since we are well prepared to provide for ourselves,” BB added diplomatically.
They then generously offered to share the rations in their packs with Dave, but he refused after a nibble and a sip saying, “Ta ever so, but no. Don't really fancy eatin' funny tastin' bikkies n' drinking that blue stuff.”
Reth resigned himself to consuming Orth rations only because he couldn't stomach the alternative and he was, by now, very hungry. They all sat at the table for their meal with the three Orthians just fitting together on one side beneath the Terra Vision and the two Terrans on the other. While they ate Reth told the story of his miraculous escape from death and how he had become engulfed in a time warp that had swept him away into deepest space.
“That explains it then,” said his father. “Y' hardly look any older then when y' left, yet it's fair ages now since y' flew off to do yer duty.”
“Ages you say? Is it really?”
“Too right it is.”
“How long?”
“Look on the Vis there 'n the right hand top corner. That's t'days date.”
Reth read it. “Bloody Hal! That can't be right!”
“It's right all right.”
“But that means . . . ” Reth's voice trailed off into silence. He had known in the back of his mind that some time difference was highly probable, yet he'd not wanted to think about it too much before this. Now he sat with his gaze fixed on the screen and a half eaten KK in his frozen still hand, sadly contemplating the implications of his reckoning.
The Orthians continued munching while Dave slurped his gruel until Reth shifted his eyes and, looking toward his father, said “Then, eventually, I reached Orth.”
“Earth y' say?” Dave frowned in concentration. “I reckon I've 'eard that name before. Its a waste land i'nt it?”
“Not E A R T H Earth dad, O R T H Orth.” He spelled them out. “Earth was that planet of legendary beauty where the population was exterminated by the insane Andys they'd foolishly trained to be killers.”
“Is that right? Well there y' go again! Easy to mix things up when y' get t' my age. So why didn't y' come straight back home on an Inter Plan Shuttle?”
“Because Orth's not on a regular Interplanetary Shuttle service route. I had to wait for a lift in a ship coming this way.”
“That'd be right! Cut down on IPS services they 'ave. Flamin' costs 'r sky high! Virt' Travel's real popular though.”
“There's none of that on Orth either,” said Reth.
“So when did youse arrive?”
“We came in this morning. There sure have been some changes though! What happened to the space port on the other side of the Radikals and why is there a wall across the road that used to lead to it?”
“Anti-FWUCists blew up the port n' the risin' sea's drownded it. N' that wall there was built t' keep them flamin' dragons out! The Radikals is infested with the bastard things! Fair dinkum youse 'd better keep away fr'm there!”
“What do you mean? What are anti-fukists? And dragons?”
“Not fukists son. Anti Free World Union Corp'ists. All the corps got integrigated so a single Corps runs everythin' now 'n some don't like it. No satisfyin' em. I reckon they jus looks fer things t' complain about. Gets ter be their lifestyle. As fer the dragons. Well that happened just after y' left. Story is Nonsanemento engineered 'em from prehysteric dragons eggs found snap frozen in ice some wheres. Made to take the heat dragons is, so they was usin' 'em fer orf Terra minin'. But o' course wouldn't y' know it! A flamin' cargo ship that hadn't been prop'ly cleaned 'f the vermin before it left the minin' world crashed up in the hills 'n the flamin' dragons 'scaped 'n went wild. The wall's there t' keep the buggers out!”
“How big are the dragons sir?” asked Chan curiously.
“Pretty big I reckon. Course I've not never akchilly seen a live one close up m'self! Don't want to neither. There was some pitchers on the Vis of one what got shot by someone, 'n I'm tellin' yer, they're flamin' ugly customers all right!”
Chan said, “In all the stories I've ever heard dragons had wings. Do they have wings sir?”
“I reckon.”
“Then why don't they fly over the wall sir?”
“'Cause they can't.”
“Why not sir?”
“Them dragons is too flamin' fat 'n their wings is too flamin' small. Postrophies is what they are. Makes 'em useless for gettin' airborne lucky fer us.” Dave finished off the last mouthful of his grey goop and leaned back from the empty containers on the table in front of him. “Tell me,” he said. “'ave youse all got them Dazers then?”
“Yes sir.”
Dave frowned. “I've not never heard 'f them before.”
“That's because there aren't any Dazers here on Terra sir,” explained Alf. “We bought them with us from Orth.”
“Y' got permits for 'em?”
“Permits sir? No we haven't.”
“Gotta have permits t' import weapons yer know.”
Reth had a near enough to truthful answer ready for this. “My friends are here on a special Mission from Orth. They're sort of Diplomatic Ambassadors so they don't need import permits.”
“Maybe! But there could be trouble iffin Jack gets t' hear about it. Gets flamin' cranky 'bout orf Terrans bringing' in new weapons Jack does cause 'f bein' in the biz of sellin' army mints hisself. Reckons foreign imports ruin profit margerins. Not that I'd say anythin' to 'im 'f course,” Dave assured them. “Well, not on purpose see. But mind you now, I'm 'n old man 'n I might not remember t' forget. If 'n I'd got somethin' t' remind me like though.”
“Like what sir?” Alf asked.
“Aw, I dunno.” Dave frowned as if in deep thought then brightened up to say, “A Dazer'd be real nice 'f youse 've got a spare.”
“We have no spare Dazers sir. And even if we did, it would be quite inappropriate for us to give you one. They're extremely dangerous if not used by trained operators, and I'm quite certain that Brother Sandman, the inventor of the Dazer, wouldn't approve of one being given away as a bribe.”
“Bribe? I don't never remember usin' that word son. All I aksed youse for was somethin' t' help jog a poor old blokes mem'ry.”
“Give him a token,” ordered Reth.
It had been recognised fairly early in the planning for the Mission that any visit to another world would require the Orthians to have with them an ample supply of tokens, for as the Elders said to each other, 'How else can they manage to get about and buy the oranges.' Reth had informed them that gold was held to be a valuable metal on Terra and that they would have no trouble exchanging tokens for Terran currency at trading banks or dealers, so the travellers were each given some to carry with them.
Alf stood up, crossed over to where his pack lay on the floor by the bed and retrieved his draw string pouch from it. Then he went back, sat down at the table, pulled the pouch open and extracted a shining gold token from it.
“Here you are,” he said placing the token on the table.
Eagerly Dave snatched it up and examined it carefully, testing its weight in one hand and turning it over and over with gnarled fingers before placing it between his teeth and biting gently down on it. Then he squinted down at the results. “Crikey!” he said in genuine amazement. “It's real!”
“Of course it is sir,” said Alf. “Gold tokens are used every day on Orth.”
“I can vouch for that,” added Reth.
“'ave y' got any more then?” asked Dave hopefully trying to control his eagerness.
“They certainly have,” replied Reth.
Dave leered and winked and put a finger to the side of his nose. “Right then. Give us a couple more 'n mum's the word.”
Alf gave him two more.
Dave smiled happily as he regarded the gold gleaming up at him from the palm of his hand. “Crikey!” he repeated. “Ta ever so.” He pulled out a battered leather wallet from the back pocket of his shorts and carefully secreted the tokens in one of its securable compartments. “Now I'll be sure to r'member not to forget,” he said as he tucked the wallet with the tokens away again. “N' by the by,” he added hastily. “Take my advice n' don't go sayin' nothin' t' Jack about that there gold neither.”
“No worries,” said Reth. “My friends won't be here long. Only come to do a bit of sightseeing, make a couple of purchases, and then off back to Orth they go.”
“Well I hope youse have a real good time” Dave said smiling widely enough to expose his long yellowing teeth to the visitors. “Tell y' what now, if y' want to do some buyin' youse 'll be needin' them tokens changed to Terran cred's won't youse?”
“Yes sir, we will,” replied Alf.
“Well I reckon that's where I c'n help out. I'll give youse the address 'f a mate o' mine who'll do youse a real good deal changin' them tokens into creds. Does a bit on the QT Freddo does, so 'e knows how t' hold 'is.”
“That's all right sir. Reth has already told us how to find a currency exchange dealer. He said we should look for a shop with the sign of a sheep with a golden fleece hanging outside of it.”
Dave pursed his lips and shook his head. “No chance 'f finding any of 'em these days. All gone now ‘cause Corp Banks do all that changin' stuff 'n they always stings yer with their CB usering fees. Flamin' robbers make 'em up t' suit their own selves they do. Yer must've met 'em already when y' got charged at the 'port for yer entry fee.”
Alf didn't know how to reply to this without giving away any details of their unorthodox arrival.
“We must have,” Reth replied noncommittally the half truth slipping easily from his tongue because he wanted to avoid provoking any situation which might induce the Orthians to use their weapons. He knew from Mem information freely available to everyone on Orth that successive Dazer induced periods of sleep were definitely undesirable, particularly for those individuals with physical and/or mental problems, and he had to consider his aged father's state of health in both those areas as a dubious unknown. “Didn't think much about it.”
“That's th' usual!” Dave snorted derisively. “No flamin' choice out there! Here, I'll write me mates address down 'n youse can go 'n see 'im when yer get back t' the city.” Dave went over and selected a sheet of blank on one side paper from one of the heaps, rescued a pen from it's hiding place, upside down in a lidless jar full of blunt pencil stubs tucked away behind the assorted stuff on the counter top and sat down again. As he held it upright to write, the clothing on the image of an incredibly voluptuous female embedded in the pen's barrel, slowly slid away to reveal her naked remarkably generous proportions.
“You've still got the old pen,” Reth said in surprise.
“Hardly uses it,” said Dave as he finished writing and laid the pen down, an action which allowed the beauty to redress, and handed the folded paper to Alf who put it away in his pocket. “Not much call for writin' so I'm sort a keepin' it for special. Couldn't get another one 't any rate nowadays. Things ain't what they used to be y' know.” He got up and replaced the pen in the jar. “Friggin' awful it is.”
“You mean there's worse than dragons in the hills and alien bugs killing Mum?” asked Reth.
Dave sat down. “There's been more changes then y' can poke a stick at son.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “First orf, the weathers been real bloody crook lately. Flamin' heat 'n drought's is terrible! Hot enough fer chooks t' be layin' boiled eggs if there was still any flamin' chooks left t' lay 'em. 'N if it's not dry as a nun's cunt it's pourin' rain! Torrents 'f the flamin' stuff, 'n the damp givin' me pains somethin' awful 'n me missin' leg! Some say it's the Van-Demo oskalashin effect but I reckon it's them flamin' scientists is doin' it. Always muckin' about with things they shouldn't be, them bastards are. Second there's sport which I'm not even goin' t' talk about because by crikey it makes me blood fair boil just thinkin' of all them Tec Designin' Gene Pro's takin' the place 'f decent or'nary blokes havin' a bit 'f a rough 'n tumble kickin' a ball about with their mates for 'n honest flamin' goal.” Dave's shoulders slumped sadly. “Bastards!” he muttered. “Ruined a great game they 'ave!” With some visible effort he took control of his feelings and managed to continue. “Third is the proper pubs 'f all gone so a man can't buy a decent flamin' beer no more. Now it's all fancy-nancy Lounge Bars 'n coloured crap t' drink called 'Oomph' 'n 'K'Pow''n 'Zing' 'n fancy-nancy bottles 'n all tastin' like flamin' lolly water. And lastly there's no Halzone Cup since the gee-gees all bought it after a plan t' get rid 'f rabid vampires went orf track.”
“You mean there are no more horse races?”
“Not a one. What we've got now is Andy jocks ridin' flamin' unicorns racin' fer Marduks Halzone Grail. Bastard things them unicorns is. It's the size 'f their flamin' horn that makes the difference at the finishin' post, 'n the biggest prick always wins!”
The news of his brother's return had disturbed Jack. Although the picture on the CMe had certainly looked like Reth, and sounded like him too, in order to be sure Jack had ordered that a comparison of the saved image with old records of his brother stored in his Personal Archives be conducted by his Remarkably Intelligent Problemsolver Andy, RIPA, which after a bit of coaxing finally decided to operate without recourse to another costly intervention, something that was necessary all too frequently of late. It reported no discrepancy, yet instead of feeling happy at Reth's survival, Jack felt only a disconcerting unease. It was not until he had discarded his regular dark office suit for more appropriate casual clothing and settled down on the softly upholstered back seat in the air-conditioned comfort of his personal flicar sipping his one hundred year old specially imported by the bottle quadruple malted Broosky from a cut crystal glass that he was finally able to relax.
The flicar, his latest acquisition, sported a shimmering scarlet finish with gleaming gold trim on its elegant sleekly styled body. He had settled on the XXXL model, which featured a super-boosted engine with mirrored windows and exterior body panels of a new composite material warranteed to be proof against assault by any type of weapon, because one never knew what the local Terra hooligans were armed with. Just the other week there had been yet another news story of some poor bastard being taken out by a rocket while flying over the city in a non-armoured flicar. Nothing left of either him or his vehicle apart from the near unrecognisable bits of debris that rained down after the explosion.
For air safety reasons all air traffic over the city and it's surrounds for some distance was controlled by Halzone's Automatic Guidance System, HAGS,which meant that there was no real need for drivers, yet they were still popular for providing an overt display of the wealth increased social status of ownership, so an Andy wearing a smart dove grey uniform and cap, sat up front in Jacks flicar. Swiftly, smoothly and almost silently it flew over the row upon row of drably identical housing blocks and the burgeoning circles dotted about marking the construction of another Dome Safe Shopping Mall, or for those who could afford it, a smaller Happy Home with Security Dome, typical of Halzone's spreading suburbs. Jack saw none of the familiar mediocrity below, however, for he was lost in his memories of the past.
When Jack was little he had at first admired and then resented Reth's scholastic aptitude until he worked out that studying long and hard as Reth did to achieve good marks at school was not a true measure of smart. There were other ways of climbing high upon the ladder of success and Jack was clever enough to find and make use of them. He very quickly learned how to play for personal advantage in the highly competitive game of getting ahead, simply by ingratiating himself into the right social circles. Selection of the useful was the secret. This difference in attitude was the primary cause of the rift that, having developed between the brothers when they were young, deepened into a chasm as they grew into adulthood. Jack hadn't gone to see Reth off.
Then came the explosion. Before the fleet was anywhere near its target and before any weapon possessed by the rebels on Marduk could have caused it, the Intrepid had been blown away and Reth, along with eleven other pilots, hundreds of troops and a massive amount of very costly armaments had vanished without a trace.
The cause of the disaster had been exhaustively investigated by the old FWU Accident Inquiry Department before a panel of three learned Corporate Counsel, with the verdict clearly indicating that the onus lay on one of the other ships of the fleet, the Providence, which had launched a Planet Buster while en route. Unfortunately the Intrepid had collided with the irretrievable weapon, and the impact and detonation that followed sent what remained of the ill-fated ship spinning off into a region of space far beyond any hope of recovery. Reports from various sources as to the reason for the Providence's action proved inconclusive, although some mention was made of an alien incursion from subspace immediately prior to the event causing the Automatic Launch System to fire. With scant proof existent of any such occurrence, this excuse was summarily dismissed, as were suggestions that the incident was an Act of Hal. Damning evidence finally piled up against substandard manufacture used in the Providence's Planet Buster Operational Systems, and the blame was laid squarely on the inadequacies of the Andy assembly line workers used by the company supplying the equipment. Every Andy of that particular model was judged to be faulty so they were all promptly deactivated and scrapped.
The loss of the Corporate Security Force troopers was handled as normal, a risk associated with the job. After the usual memorial ceremony and the awarding of posthumous service medals, any dependants of the departed with proof of valid claim were paid off with a percentage of the available credits the troopers had individually and voluntarily placed in the CSF Service Insurance Fund. The pilots however, were an entirely different matter. Because their demise could not be counted as collateral damage from friendly fire, since war had not been formally declared at that time of their passing, a tedious argument ensued with the CSF lawyers claiming that the men in question were merely on loan from the QSL so all liability was their total responsibility, a premise vehemently denied by lawyers representing the latter.
It was at this point in time, following on after a series of swift market mergers and company coups, that the old FWU was superseded by the newly conceived Free Worlds Union of Corporations. It promptly installed a revised version of the old FWU AID, the FWUC Investigative Tribunal, and with new faces on the board, many of whom Jack was acquainted with, and fresh reasoning prevailing the FWUCIT prioritised the matter for urgent consideration. Less than a week later it directed both the CSF and the QSL to share equally in the full settlement of the damages claims for loss presented by Jack's lawyers on behalf of the bereft spouses and families of Reth and the other pilots.
As self-appointed manager of the claims and the compensation received, Jack managed the distribution and investment of the proceeds into suitable long term financial ventures, after ensuring that his lawyers and he himself were fully reimbursed for the time taken and the expenses incurred along the way plus the usual profit margin due him. This amount, although being in total a rather considerable one, was perfectly justified under the circumstances. None of the plaintiffs would have received anything at all if it weren't for Jack pressing on with the petitions, engaging competent legal representation and placing subsidies where they could do the most good, and to tell the truth, none of the recipients were up to handling financial affairs involving such large amounts of credit. Without his careful management they would have frittered it away on inconsequential rubbish and, if asked, they would be bound to freely admit to being much better off now then they ever were before and that this was, without any doubt, due to Jack's skilful administration.
Could Reth's coming back from being deceased change anything? Could the FWUC demand that the compensation be returned? The prospect was not a pleasant one to contemplate. But wait, wouldn't the statute of limitations prevent the FWUC from making any demands at this late date? And besides, the fact that they themselves had issued the information regarding Reth's expiration must certainly negate any subsequent action. All the same, it would be prudent to discretely check it out with his lawyers as soon as possible, just in case.
Thoughtfully, Jack finished off his drink and poured himself another one. Running several large business concerns as he did, meant carrying a sizeable line of credit, and the expenditure necessary for continuing expansion had recently required a considerable amount of financial investment sure to yield excellent returns in the future considering the favourable forecasts of a continuing positive increase in market responses, provided there were no unusual pressures put upon them. Over extension could be tricky, particularly when all that was needed now was enough time for the realisation of an incredibly stupendous profit to eventuate. After that it wouldn't matter. Jack smiled with satisfaction. Damn but he was good at what he did.
Then his smile vanished as another dire possibility came to mind. He had heard rumours of new techniques that made it possible for clones to be produced from little more than the DNA extracted from a lost first tooth, or even a hank of baby hair! Hadn't their mother saved just those things? Could someone have somehow got hold of them and replicated his brother? Could this be an attack from those jealous of his success? A diversionary tactic perpetrated by business opponents hoping to personally unnerve him and undermine his well deserved superior position in the lucrative hierarchy of the corporate structure? Jack took a big swig of his broosky to help soothe himself down.
Bloody Hal, but that was a stupid idea! As if such a thing were likely. Why, he was becoming as paranoid as the old man! However, there was another matter that disturbed Jack even more. Sooner or later (and Jack sincerely hoped it would be later) Reth would find out about Beatrice.
As his flicar approached the dump Jack finished off the broosky and replaced the glass with the bottle in the concealed compartment next to the Terra Vis screen. Then he opened one of the wall cabinets and examined his artfully augmented appearance (the cost of which was a tax deductible occupational related expense), in the mirror set inside it's door. It wouldn't do to appear anything less then perfectly groomed for such an event as this, so he carefully repositioned his hat at just the right angle, and because the Broosky left a definite odour, he sprayed his mouth out from the small bottle of CleanAway he kept handy within, a product line his company transported and promoted as 'the Only Formula Proven to Keep Your Breath Smelling Fresh as a New Spring Day'. He also ensured that the micro audio receiver of the Ultra-Light, Wafer-Thin CMe on his belt beside his holstered Blazer was fixed securely behind his ear and put his 'Be Sure To Be Safe Against Microbes a Must for All Who Care' mask on.
Beatrice sat staring at the blank screen for some time after receiving the news of Reth's return. Then she extracted two Karma Calmers from the decoratively jewelled EZDispenser container hanging from the slender latignium chain round her neck, and popped the tiny pink pills into her mouth.
The buzz of an engine heralded Jacks arrival. He had already alighted from his flicar where it had landed on the old road when, having been alerted by the sound, his father and brother followed by the Orthians came through the gap in the fence.
“Reth!” Jack said smiling widely to show his happiness at seeing his long lost twin. “It really is you!” He clasped Reth briefly to him before standing back and thumping him playfully on the upper arm. “Frig me but you look so young! Being lost sure has been good for you.”
Reth grinned uncertainly at this impeccably groomed man, with his smooth lightly tanned skin and ever so white teeth bared in a genial smile gleaming from behind the transparent mask that covered his mouth and nose. He wore a creamy coloured smartly tailored single breasted gold pinstripe suit furnished with gold buttons over a high necked violet shirt with smaller matching gold buttons, while a spotlessly white wide brimmed hat sat on his head and well polished, high heeled, ornately tooled brown boots gleamed from on his feet. Along with the faint scent of musky perfume that surrounded him, he exuded an air of overwhelming confidence coupled with his obvious affluence.
Chan was intrigued by the lettering woven decoratively into the gold stripes of Jack's suit. Without appearing to stare too intently she managed to decipher it as being the one word, 'VOGuene', repeated over and over again.
“Well now y're here let's go back inside m' mo'home and sit down,” said Dave, so back they went
Jack removed his hat and mask and sniffed pointedly as he entered. “Disgusting! You've been smoking in here again haven't you?”
“Mind yer own bees wax! I'll do what I flamin' well likes 'n me own flamin' place,” Dave snarled back.
“And look at that mess!” Jack gestured toward the table. The Orthians had cleared away the remains of their meal as was usual for them, but Reth and Dave had left theirs on it. “It's filthy! Where's your cleaner Andy?”
“Sold it,” Dave answered sullenly.
“You what?”
“Didn't want the flamin' bastard second hand piece of crap in th' first place, did I.”
“It's got nothing to do with what you want. It's a matter of hygiene. I went to a great deal of trouble obtaining it for you at the price you were willing to pay. This place is absolutely crawling with germs without it,” Jack said crossly as he peered dubiously at the bench seat then dusted it with a clean white tissue from his pocket before gingerly lowering his expensively suited rear end onto it.
BB, Chan and Alf squeezed back together on the seat behind the other side of the table as before, while Dave sat next to Jack and Reth retrieved a battered stool from the other room to sit on.
“So who do we have here?” Jack asked nodding in the direction of the Orthians.
Reth did the introductions and when they were over, without any of the customary handshaking, Jack turned abruptly to his father. “You got anything to drink out here Dad? Other then that piss you brew that is. We should have a drop of something to celebrate Reth's return.”
Dave got up and opened a cupboard pulling out a dark green bottle and after a bit of rummaging around a slightly squashed pack of disposable cups.
“Wasn't expecting visitors,” he muttered as he poured a small quantity of clear golden fluid from the bottle into six of the cups and handed them round.
“Al . . . ” Chan had barely begun her intended speech on the folly of drinking alcohol before BB, who sat next to her, kicked her ankle under the table. She winced a little but kept silent.
“Here's to your return brother,” Jack said and he raised his cup in a toast before swallowing the contents in one easy gulp. Dave and Reth immediately followed suit, but being a little more cautious and unused to liquor,the three Orthians hesitated until Jack frowned at them saying, “Come on now, drink up boys. You're not wooses are you?”
Obediently they did as they were told. Alf and BB smiled bravely as the liquid seared their throats and brought tears to their eyes. Chan choked then coughed at the first sip, before eventually managing to swallow a little of the contents of her cup.
Jack smacked his lips. “Not bad! Pour us another round Dad,” he ordered.
The Orthians politely declined.
“We don't mean to offend sir,” said BB. “It's just that we're unaccustomed to the drinking of strong liquor.”
Jack shrugged his shoulders and said “Right you are then. Leaves all the more for the rest of us, doesn't it.” He turned back toward Reth and asked, “Tell me now, what happened to you brother?”
Reth gave an even more severely edited version of his misadventures, omitting any reference to Dazers.
“Incredible!” said Jack when the tale was over. He poured himself and Reth another drink and gazing thoughtfully across the table at the Orthians asked, “So you three come from Orth and you're here on your first visit to Halzone?”
“That's right sir,” replied Alf.
“How long are you here for?”
Alf thought it prudent not to give too much away. “Long enough to see the sights sir.”
“Well you came at the right time. There's always plenty to see in Halzone at this time of the year with the HBD celebrations in full swing.”
“HBD sir?”
“Happy Budget Day,” replied Jack helping himself to another drink. “The joyous occasion when our Financial Keeper of the Corporate Faith releases the Current Account details for the past Fiscal Year and the Funding Allocations for the next. This year is particularly exciting for me because I've been selected to host the first Pre-HBD Dinner tomorrow night at my city residence. The Third Deputy to Our Prime Keeper of The Corporate Faith May His Profit Margins Increase,” Jack placed his hand briefly on his heart while uttering these last few words, “and several other important Deputies to Our Prime Keeper along with their partners are coming.”
“Fair dinkum?” Dave asked.
“Yes indeed! It's another step up the ladder of success for me.” Jack smiled happily at his audience before soberly saying, “Mind you I've had to work hard for it. When I think back over the long hours I've put in at the office they certainly add up, but now I'm reaping the just rewards for my labour. At this very moment the decorators are busy refurbishing my place with Ivory Alabaster, Ebony Marblesque and Simgold Inlay in the latest Nouveau Retro Style as was shown on the 'Make it Mine Now' Vis Show recently. It's going to look absolutely fabulous when they've finished!”
“That sounds as if it's something that'll set you back a credit or two,” commented Reth.
Jack laughed. “Hal no brother! Not me! That particular property, to which I have unlimited right of occupation, is a corporate asset, so every credit the company spends can be deemed a capital gains deduction. When it comes to creating credible accounts I'm nobody's fool!”
“Fair dinkum?” Dave asked again.
Jack ignored him. “I'm having a new heated swimming pool installed with an underwater garden featuring colourful tropical Andy fish, and I've updated the Andy Chef De Luxe Server too. One becomes so weary of the limited menus of outdated systems. As Cissie always says 'How much snail porridge, braised baby gerbils garnished with larks livers poached in liquorice gel, and candied emmet ice cream - however delicious they all are - can one consume before they become completely passe.' She's insistent that everything being quite perfect for our guests. Cissie's my partner,” he added in explanation.
Dave snorted. “She's the third bit 'f live in skirt you've 'ad, 'n she's just 's wantin' upstairs 's the two afore.”
“Now Dad you know very well, Cissie is a highly cultured, extremely beautiful young lady.”
“She's half yer age, 'n keepin' 'er in the manner she fancies must be costin' a flamin' fortune!”
“Which I can afford, and I left home long ago so what I do with my credits is my own business,” Jack snapped back at his father. “I don't criticise what you do with your credits, do I? Even if I see no practical point in your pouring them into a reserved spot in a Cryo-Crypt Bank so that your magnificently wrinkled old carcass can be eternally preserved and perhaps revived in some far off future. You'd do better to look at your improving your attendance figures at Hal's Corporate Temple of Faith. On the great day of His Final Reckoning, those who've kept the Faith are sure to be rewarded by resurrection and eternal financial bliss, frozen or not!”
Dave moved to pat him contritely on the arm with one skinny, age-spotted hand. “I'm sorry son, youse 's right 'f course. It's up to youse to choose yer little play mates whatever the flamin' cost.”
Jack poured himself another drink and took a good long swallow of it. “As I was saying,” he continued turning his attention back to the three Orthians on the other side of the table. “HBD is a pretty exciting season for all of us here. How do you celebrate HBD where you come from?”
“Not quite the same way sir,” replied Alf.
“It'll certainly be a novel experience for us sir,” added Chan.
Jack blinked and then stared hard at her. “Frig me! You're a girl!”
“Yes sir.”
“I am so sorry, I had no idea! I do hope you'll forgive me for not realising earlier. So who's your partner?” He gestured toward Alf and BB. “Or maybe . . . did you bring her? Is she yours?” he asked glancing in Reths direction with one quizzically raised eyebrow.
“I'm not 'partnered' as you put it, with of any one of them sir,” Chan said coldly. “What a ridiculous idea.”
Jack turned back to face her as she spoke.“Of course not.” His tone was conciliatory. “I can see that now, and I understand what you mean perfectly. I'm as liberal a thinker as any you might know, although personally I can't say I agree with same sex partnerships. Sort of undermines the reproductive purpose doesn't it? Hal gave women to men for a very good reason didn't He? I'm sure if you found the right man you'd change your mind.”
“She aint a lezzo neither,” sniggered Dave.
“She's not? Bloody Hal! I've made another blue haven't I?” Jack did his best to look suitably contrite. “Please accept my utmost apologies my dear,” he said and he leaned slightly toward Chan gazing with much soulful concern into her eyes while momentarily touching one of her hands where it lay on the tabletop with the pale, professionally manicured blunt fingers of one of his. Then he sat back and casually undid the top buttons of his shirt to reveal the glittering gold chains strung about his neck lying on his artificially tanned smoothly depilated chest. “Getting a bit warm in here isn't it,” he said smiling expansively.
“So how do you celebrate HBD here please sir?” said BB.
“You're all in for a real treat let me tell you,” Jack replied enthusiastically as he moved to lean forward again. “We have parades every day, and fireworks at night, and there's races and plenty of sporting fixtures too. We've the best Sports Dome that's ever been built right here in Halzone.”
“What sort of sporting fixtures sir?” Alf asked.
“Just about every game that's ever been invented, but Halzone Rules is the most popular. The Battling Bunyips, the Wrestling Wyverns, the Chimera Champs and loads of other top teams play there regularly.”
“Aren't they the names of mythical creatures sir?”
“Yes, that's right. And they're also the names of our best HR teams. Surely you've heard of them?”
“They know nothing about Terran games,” said Reth.
“No?”
“No. They don't have them on Orth.”
“No booze, no games. Hal! How backward can it be!” said Jack incredulously shaking his head. “What else is missing from their lives?”
“A lot, including the gambling that goes along with the games. They don't gamble on Orth either,” Reth told him.
“They don't?”
“No sir,” Chan stated firmly.
“You mean you've never laid a bet?”
Chan opened her mouth intending to give her views on gambling, a practice that along with the consumption of alcohol, sugar and many other things was seriously discouraged on Orth, but closed it again as BB hastily broke in saying, “No sir, none of us have. We know very little about such things. Perhaps if you feel so inclined you might help us in our ignorance and tell us all about playing games, drinking alcohol and gambling as practised here on Terra.”
Jack smiled condescendingly. “No worries. Halzone is a city deservedly famous for its fine liquors, its great variety of sports and its unsurpassed betting facilities. Our games are attended by record crowds and the Terra Vis broadcasts of them are watched by millions of viewers throughout the FWUC, all of them more then happy to lay out credits on their personal choice in their favourite sport via CMe's EZ Bet function. There's a whole range of other ways to bet as well that are a little too complicated to easily explain but all of them return clear profit to a winner. Pokies are very popular too and...”
“You mean those dreadfully addictive multiple reel machines sir?” Chan interrupted, having once seen some of them in an episode of Regenesis where an unfortunate young man having embezzled his employers money to satisfy his pokie urges had attempted suicide rather then go to jail.
“I don't know that they should be regarded as dreadfully addictive, but yes, that's them. And as I was saying, there are also tickets in the Lots a Luck Lottery available on EZ Bet. It's drawn three times per day during the week and double that on weekends and Haldays. Every player has a chance to win you know! Why only the other day one lucky punter won two billion credits! Pretty good eh!”
“It certainly sounds it sir,” said BB politely.
“And how many punters must lose their credits before a single winner is able to make such a considerable profit sir?” asked Chan.
“I don't see how that matters,” Jack said with a puzzled frown. “Surely focusing on winning is the important thing to do. How can one possibly make any gain without developing a positive attitude toward risk? Especially when it involves a relatively small outlay.” He tilted his head and wagged his index finger in the air so as to emphasise his words. “Take it from me, it's self-defeating negativity that creates loss.” His smile returned as he dropped his hand back down and added, “Mind you, I myself never bother with such trivial sums. Stocks and shares are my particular forte. I hold a large portfolio of very valuable gilt edge future securities but of course one must be in a financially capable position to take advantage of such dealings. Having a solid credit rating is the key to significant acquisition. However, if none of those smaller gambling activities interest you perhaps a little shopping would be more your style? Of course you boys may not be so enthusiastic about that, as it really is something of a feminine pursuit. But apart from the Terra Vis Virt Malls, which dad hasn't ever had installed out here so I can't show you what they're like, there's the new Wally's Wonder World to explore. It's a Mega Domed Extra Grand Super Hyper Shopping Mall Plus Pokie Palace near the city centre where the old Peoples Paradise Park used to be. 'If you can't find it in Wally's then you won't find it anywhere' is their motto and their guarantee as well!”
Beatrice had received a full body wax and massage from her masseur, followed by a soak in a perfumed bubble bath while waiting for the Specialist Beautician she was forced to urgently call in to arrive because her Andy Handy Maid was still standing uselessly in the games room. The SB had given her a manicure and a pedicure as well as tinting, shampooing, trimming, setting, drying and styling her hair. This was probably going to be one of the most important occasions in her life and perfect grooming was essential for maintaining the level of self confidence needed for it. Now, having gone right through her wardrobe and found that there was absolutely nothing suitable for her to wear, she was sitting in the room containing her Virt Mall engaged in doing some essential shopping. With a skill born of long practice her fingers flew across the lighted panel set in the arm of her chair until, obedient to her orders, the surrounding picture walls altered and she entered the department devoted to the latest in original distinguished designer fashioned feminine apparel.
Style colour and fabric, Beatrice selected them from the extensive range available in various combinations seeking that which she considered to be the most appropriate, and one after the other the garments were almost instantly virtually paraded before her by haughty Andy models. It was far from easy for her to make a decision but finally she found a garment that came near enough to satisfying her well seasoned taste.
“I want number seven,” she said, “In Perfect Pink,” and she entered the fitting booth where a finger of light measured her vital statistics. From long experience she knew it was wise to do this every time to ensure a good fit particularly as her weight was inclined to vary somewhat depending on how recently she'd visited her Lightening The Load Specialist at the Youth and Beauty For All Clinic. Within minutes her frock order dropped into the MTT receiver and after divesting herself of the silken wrapper she was wearing Beatrice picked up the garment and put it on. Then she turned to gaze critically at her reflection in the full-length mirror. The frock looked nothing like the one she had chosen.
“Stupid useless damn crap machine!”
Angrily she threw the rejected scraps of cloth down onto the floor, repeated her order and after taking two more pills resigned herself to waiting a little longer.
Reth asked, “Why in Hal's name did they go and turn that beautiful park into a shopping mall?”
“It'd become an eyesore,” explained Jack. “Full of dying trees and rubbish and badly infested with stinking derros and other vermin. Now it's a real crowd pleaser with non stop, top quality shopping plus available right around the clock.”
“We'll be sure to pay Wally's a visit then sir,” said Alf. “We need to buy some oranges with seeds in them while we're here.”
“I'm not sure about Wally's having any of those. Not really into shopping myself of course, but I don't think there can be much call for oranges with seeds in them. Useless seeds and inedible skin are hardly good value for credits paid. It's much more profitable to import bargain priced bulk orange flavoured powder for making into juice since MTT has come down in price.”
“MTT? You mean they've finally got it working?” said Reth pouring himself another drink.
“We've had it for some time now.”
“That explains the Server then,” said Reth.
“Excuse me sir but what's MTT?” inquired Alf.
Jack finished off his drink and poured himself another one too. “You're asking the right person here. I have extensive holdings in the biggest operating company so I know all about it.” He cleared his throat importantly and began his explanation. “MTT stands for Matter Transport Technology, which is a method of moving things between two points using a super fast beam of energy. You're not familiar with it?”
“No sir.”
“I must make a note of that.” Jack took out his Personal Reminder and tapped in a message to himself on it's miniature keyboard. “I'm always looking for new openings. How do you spell the name of the place you come from?”
“E A R T H,” spelled out Chan.
“And I thought Earth was just a legend,” Jack smiled at her. “Thanks for that my dear.”
Chan smiled blandly back at him.
“Can MTT transport anything anywhere sir?” BB asked.
“Not quite,” replied Jack. “First off you have to construct a Fixed Transport Emitter Station which is the difficult bit and then set up a Receiver in tune with the FTES signal. Of course there also has to be a prearranged acceptance code so that the qualities and parameters of the incoming matter matches perfectly with what's expected. Otherwise MTT could be used for sending all sorts of unwelcome surprises. And it doesn't work with living things either. Scientists tried beaming specimens like fruit flies and mice and even a dog when live dogs still existed, but it didn't work. Something about 'frail living tissue' and 'quantum subtlety' they said. Always ended up a horrible mess, all mixed up with insides on the outside and so on.”
“That sounds awfully gruesome sir,” said BB with a small shudder of distaste.
“Certainly was,” agreed Jack. “I heard told that one experiment ended up with a cross between a human and a fly! Had to eat by sucking through his probiscis would you believe. At any rate, MTT was completely profitless initially, because the cost of the energy it consumed exceeded that of any of our usual transportation methods. That was until our local fuel supplies pretty well dried up and the only source left was on Gazoleum. It's a satellite full of fuel belonging to the FWUC, but so far distant from our major centres of use that the purchasing price per liquid unit increased, and almost overnight the cost of moving goods by the old freight systems skyrocketed.”
“Flamin' awful it was,” Dave commented. “Two 'undred creds fer a loaf 'f bread.”
“Which might have affected my financial institutions adversely,” continued Jack, “had not I quite early in the picture recognised the direction markets would take. I therefore secured a firm hold on MTT for J & B Ltd by obtaining exclusive local franchise rights to the system and the establishment of several New Nuke Power stations out west. A reliable source of immense quantities of energy on demand is an imperative when it comes to running a successful MTT service. Today we of J and B Consolidated Halistic Initiatives Ltd transport a whole range of products between our local markets and the other FWUC Members,” Jack said proudly.
“Like that flamin' awful orange juice made fr'm powder!” said Dave with a grimace of disgust.
“As long as it's not living it can be transmitted to any corner of the many worlds of our extensive economy,” explained Jack.
“Tastes like flamin' possum piss!” Dave grumbled.
“It was a corporate triumph for us at J & B,” Jack continued.
“Ruined our orange growers!” Dave went on.
“. . . since which we've never looked back.”
“Pulled all th' flamin' trees they did.”
“Our entitlements have strengthened . . . “
“'n shut down our flamin' juice fact'ries.”
“. . . and profit margins have increased exponentially!”
“Flamin' disaster it were!”
“Today I'm happy to say that our foreseeable future is looking better and better all the time,” Jack finished with a smile.
Dave glowered at him. “If things is gettin' better 'n better how come the flamin' MTT Server yer got yer poor old Dad don't work!”
“What are you rabbiting on about now? That Server works perfectly. It may be an older type but it's an excellent model for the credits you forked over. You have no appreciation of the trouble I went to to get it for you, you know.”
“It's a piece 'f flamin' crap! Can't get what I want from it, can I.”
“What in Hal's name did you ask it for?”
Dave told Jack of the breakfast that the Server had failed to produce. “Bastard wouldn' give me nothin' but glue 'n roo piss!”
“Well of course not! It's not permitted to do so. Your physician recently informed you of your need to change to a healthier diet didn't he?”
“S'pose. Flamin' dick wit tator!”
“Well then there you go. As your chosen professional health consultant he has the perfect right to intervene in your Servers product availability, so your ridiculous orders would have been automatically overridden. At your age you're supposed to be careful about what you're consuming. Really father, you can be so obtuse!”
“Flamin' dick wits,” grumbled Dave.
Alf asked, “Are you quite sure that Wally's doesn't stock oranges sir?”
“Not absolutely,” conceded Jack. “Shopping isn't actually my forte.”
“MTT's ruinated ev'rythin',” Dave said gloomily. “I ain't seen a proper orange ‘n years m'self.”
“Mind you I might be able to arrange something,” Jack offered before swallowing the last of his drink and pouring himself another. “I could get someone to look into the availability of oranges for you.” He put down the bottle and frowned thoughtfully at the Orthians. They didn't appear to be really awfully well dressed so perhaps he should be a little more cautious. “That is if you have the credits to cover the cost of an inquiry. It could be rather expensive.”
“We haven't yet exchanged the bulk of our currency for local credits sir, so we're still unsure of their comparative value and of exactly how much we'll have available,” said Alf. “Perhaps you sir, with your obvious knowledge of financial matters might be kind enough to give us some advice on where we should go to obtain the best deal?”
“Certainly,” Jack said. “What you want are Credit Cards, like these.” He fumbled in his jacket's inside pocket, pulled out a shiny brown tooled leather wallet and flipped its many folds down open to show a long row of pockets filled with shiny rectangular cards. “I never go anywhere without them,” he said as he carefully selected one and placed it on the table.
The Orthians and Reth too gazed curiously at the Credit Cards glossy surface. It was liberally decorated with brightly colourful arcane symbols and it had a shiny metal oblong with an pattern etched into it embedded off centre.
Jack pointed. “See the name in the right hand corner there?”
Alf managed to decipher it. “Mysa,” he read out.
“Right. That's the one you want. Mysa. Here I'll give you one of my Corporate Business Cards.” He pulled a card from his jackets outside top pocket and gave it to Alf. “This is the address of a totally trustworthy reliable financial institution that you may find useful. Just show it at the door for special customer service.”
“And a cut fer 'im too if'n yer uses it,” sneered Dave.
“Why thank you sir,” Alf said politely as he showed it to the other two Orthians.
After they'd read it, Alf put the gilt edged cream oblong with 'J & B Consolidated Halistic Initiatives Ltd, Banking Division, 999 Capital Place' engraved in flowing gold script on it, into his pocket.
“We don't have Credit Cards back home sir. Could you tell us please how to use them?” asked BB.
“Certainly.” Jack pointed with one finger. “See here in the top left hand corner, this is where your available Credits are shown and they're also encoded into the disc embedded in it. Every time you want to buy something you place the CC into the counter slot available at every point of purchase. It automatically reads the code, accepts your payment and adjusts the figures on the card to show the balance remaining.”
Chan muttered, “Sounds more like a debit card to me.”
Jack heard her. “That's because you don't understand financial matters young lady. Few females do,” he observed loftily.
Alf peered at the row of numbers on Jack's card.
“90,000.00 credits,” he read out aloud. “Is that a little sir or a lot?”
“Enough,” Jack replied. “That's the CC I usually buy my lunch with.”
Reth said, “I've still got my A1 Triple A Credit Card.”
Jack looked puzzled. “Your what card?”
Reth pulled a small flat oblong object from his top pocket, put it down beside Jack's Mysa CC and said, “This one here. When I left Terra I had plenty of credits in a savings account because I was going to buy a home for Beatrice and myself. My salary as a FWU pilot would have been paid into it as well.”
Jack picked the card up. “Frig me! Look at that!” he said in amazement. “It's years since I saw one of them. No good now.” And he flipped it carelessly back the short distance across the table top toward his brother who caught it just before it fell over the edge.
Reth frowned down at the now discredited card he held in bewilderment. “What do you mean no good?”
“It's out of date. Besides which your account was closed years ago after you were lost.”
“But that was a mistake! I'm back now!”
Jack laughed scornfully as he retrieved his lunch CC and replaced it in his wallet. “At this point brother,” he said as he tucked the wallet away, “the interpretation of the rules regarding funds held by financial institutions in such a situation are perfectly clear. Listen carefully to me and I'll try and explain it to you in simple terms.”
During the speech that followed Reth tried to make sense of the reasons given for his loss of credibility. Jack, who enjoyed displaying his mastery at successfully navigating between the treacherous hazards lurking in the mysterious depths of complex banking regulations and of the superior value of the present innovative credit system that he had been on the cutting edge of during its introduction, spoke at some length and he would have carried on even longer but for the urgent beeps the CME's receiver behind his ear began emitting. After retrieving the device from his belt and squinting at its mini screen Jack helped himself to the last drink in the green bottle, downed it in one easy gulp and said, “I hate to break up the party but I must get back. Business is booming and I'm losing credits messing about out here. Go change out of that old gear Dad and I'll take you home.”
“Wa'for! I don' wanna go yet!”
“It'll save you paying for a hire flicar.”
“Oh all right. But youse'll ‘ave to cancel me order.”
“I realise that! Just get on with it. I'm in a hurry.” Jack looked toward Reth. “Do you want a lift into the city brother?”
“Doesn't Dad live here?” asked Reth in surprise as his father got up from the table, retrieved some clothes from a tall cupboard and retired in behind the curtain presumably to change into them.
Jack snorted contemptuously. “Of course not! The silly old bugger only comes out here for the day. He owns a very nice self-contained fully auto-function serviced unit back in Sunset Meadows Dome. Just look at this place! Nobody could possibly live out here! It's a dump!”
“I can see that.”
“So do you want a lift?”
“Beatrice is coming to pick me up,” said Reth, “so I'll wait for her. She should be here any time soon.” He failed to notice the slight start of alarm his brother gave at hearing this information.
Jack recovered quickly. “Well then, no worries,” he said before impatiently checking his watch and calling out, “Hurry up Dad. I haven't got all day!”
“You could give my friends a lift though,” said Reth. “They don't need to hang around here.”
“I'm awfully sorry brother, but I'm afraid not. My time is valuable and I've wasted enough of it already. They'll just have to return the way they came.”
Reth attempted to give a reasonable though untruthful excuse for making the request. “But we only had enough credits to hire a flicar out here after we changed our currency.”
“That's not my problem is it? You should have taken the train. I hear that it's quite the best way to travel for people on a low budget. You must understand brother, that I really can't be dropping visitors off and taking Dad home as well. I'm not running a taxi service you know and I'm already terribly late for an extremely important meeting that I should've been at absolutely ages ago. Do get a move on dad!” Jack loudly yelled the last few words in the direction of the curtain.
“Frag it!” Dave said angrily as he pushed it aside and entered the room, now sporting a one-piece tailored outfit of powder blue with an intertwining pattern of acronymic letters worked in purple metallic thread running through the fabric and matching purple boots. “I'm not flamin' deaf yer know! You just hold on now! I've still got t' get me eskey fr'm the old place yet.”
“You're not still mucking about with that stuff are you?” Jack said crossly.
“The boys back in the dome 'r expectin' me t' bring 'em a little somethin' 'n I'm not intendin' to disamappoint 'em. So you just mind yours 'n I'll mind me own.” Dave's voice resounded with an unusual firmness. “'ave yer scratched me car yet?”
Jack cancelled his father's travel arrangements while Dave went off into the old house. He returned to the bottom of the mo'home steps a few minutes later, staggering under the weight of a big battered thick-walled box with a clumsy handle fitted across its top.
Reth rushed down to help. “Here, let me carry that,” he said grabbing it from his father.
When everybody else had come out of the mo'home, Dave locked the door and set the Automatic Intruder Destruction System to the 'on' position. “Gotta keep them buggers out some'ow,” he explained.
Then they all walked round the old house and out to the road where Jack's flicar was parked.
“Door open,” ordered Jack and it did, but just as they were all about to climb inside, the sound of another vehicle rapidly approaching thrummed through the air, and a shiny pink and silver machine suddenly came into view.
“Here she is now,” said Dave as the flicar landed.
With a sighing sound it sank down just clear of the ground so as to disgorge its single female passenger.
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