The Fitting Out Facility was located some distance away from Halzone City, inside Black Mountain. Once upon a time, in the long ago primordial past, the mountain had been a mighty volcano thrusting up out from a soupy sea to spew it's superheated gases and incandescent liquefied rock in paroxysms of high pressure pyrotechnical violence, but the turbulence had subsided and the oceans of ooze dried up long ago. Aeons of erosion together with successive accumulated depositions had done their work over the intervening ages, so that now only the tip of the volcano's remaining rocky mass, looking much like the loosely clenched knuckles of a giant fist with one skyward pointing middle finger bluntly broken off at the second joint, showed above the surface of the barren plain where it lay.
Families of small furry creatures had found refuge inside Black Mountain's labyrinth of caves, making their homes in snugly dry passages once filled with lethally liquid boiling hot lava and asphyxiating fumes. There they had thrived, living and dying for many generations until the present occupants, a subsidiary of the Corporate Faith Keepers Peace Force, took over. Unmindful of the inhabitants, they exterminated, fumigated, enlarged and restructured the interior, so that now the total area of the Fitting Out Facility equalled that of a small town. Movement sensors attached to destructive devices were concealed at surface level in the surrounding bare ground and a massive security dome covered it all. Entry could only be gained with prior permission using the official Flibus Shuttle Service which operated between the outer gatehouse set at the perimeter of the domed sensor field and the landing deck at the main door.
Junior Officer Louis Gunn had known from the time he was just a small child that his career path would be the same as that of his father and his grandfather; The Peace Force. A place at Dunhurst Academy had been reserved for him even before he was born, once the sex of the expected was known. For years he had dreamed of the distinguished position he would fill in the PF's upper echelons fighting to keep Terra free from alien invasion. Just as his ancestors before him had done, he would courageously lead an assault on the forces of evil, bravely defeating them in spite of minor losses among the rank and file of his men, afterward returning to a hero's welcome with all the ancillary benefits it entailed. These altered in kind as he grew older of course, with the initially infantile games, toys and lollies being replaced by adult games, girls and booze or other stimulating mood altering substances. The scenario however, remained basically the same. Through all the dreaming years it had never occurred to him that his so-called 'tour of duty' would be like this.
Day after day it was always the same. Louis sat isolated in a tiny alcove, just one of the identical work station cubicles set close beside each other in long rows that entirely filled the floor space of the enormous windowless Induction and Processing Monitoring Room. He wore the usual privacy assured communication device clipped to his head and he was surrounded by banks of machines tall enough to cut him off from the adjoining cubicles. A sloping console board full of buttons lay in front of him and an array of Terra Vis screens above. Strings of lights flickered on and off and columns of numbers in an endless stream of data rolled past on the screens as the equipment slowly ground through the lengthy scanning program deemed necessary for the successful processing of the rather large new intake of trooper recruits that had recently arrived at the FOF. Louis didn't actually get to see any of them of course. They were somewhere else in the building, safely confined in the nether regions secure from outside interference, while the samples which would prove them fit for duty or otherwise were taken by Andys trained in the task. Already the recruits had passed the initial assessment, with their height, weight, physical development and freedom from pathological disease or infection having been established during the pre-selection procedure prior to their arrival. They could not have come this far without the mark of approval; a bar coded number etched onto the skin at the back of their necks that was visible only under ZRay light, and which matched that attached to the foot of the stretcher they were strapped onto. It was Louis' job to print out in triplicate all relevant information received at his station, dispatch one copy via Andy delivery up to the General's office at the end of his shift and file the others manually away himself in the cabinets one level below. He also had to watch for any anomalous data which was really boring because the machine was programmed to alert him if any such event occurred.
Louis yawned, shifted position in his chair and farted, long and smelly. Bloody gassy that Zing had been and he'd consumed several cans of it while out with the boys last night. It had been real fucking great! He'd needed to swallow several WakeMeUppers this morning just to get out of bed, a sure measure of the amount of pleasure previously enjoyed.
Beep!
His ear plug alert suddenly sounded at the same time as an unbroken display of green lights where there should have been a mixture of red, yellow and green, according to normal variables, blinked frantically at him from the screen. Louis gaped at them in disbelief, a momentary paralysis holding him frozen in his chair. He'd never seen that happen before. Did he do that? Had he accidentally touched the wrong key or something when he moved to fart? Training suddenly kicked in and he hit the red alarm button. Yet even as he did so, the lights in front of him suddenly flickered and turned back to the usual colourful mix.
An image of General Pike's head and shoulders popped up on the small insert screen in front of Louis, normally used for important messages or the endless exhortations regarding attention to duty.
“What in Hal is it?” the General snarled adjusting his trousers out of sight with one hand while his secretary Andy crawled away from under his desk. “This better be good Gunn, I'm a very busy man.”
Louis jumped to his feet and snapped off a smart salute. “It's the lights sir, they were all green.”
“What on Terra are you blithering about you fool? What lights?”
“Sir, please sir, the screen showed all green for subject DF six nine seven four three.”
“All green?”
“Yes sir. The machine registered the anomaly on all sequences through minus zero one to three nine. Every light was green.”
“Was?”
“Yes sir.”
“And now?”
“Now they're mixed, sir.”
“Really.” General Pike sounded bored.
“Yes sir. According to Induction Processing Directive number nine nine zero two, such an event is outside the known parameters of probability and that's why I'm reporting it sir. The subject registered as genetically perfect and that's impossible sir. Obviously it must be an alien.”
A short silence was the initial response to this piece of information. Then Louis stared in bewilderment as the General began laughing so hard that he nearly fell of his chair. Finally, as his amusement subsided, General Pike wiped his eyes with his sleeve and said, “You reckon we've picked up an alien then?”
“Yes sir. I do sir.”
The General leaned forward to peer into the small section of his screen that showed him Louis. “You're Tom's boy aren't you?”
“Yes sir.”
“How long have you been stationed in this facility?”
“Two months sir.”
The General sat back again and shook his head sadly. “Son, you've got an awful lot to learn. Didn't they warn you? All green lights are apt to come up every now and then. It's an ongoing problem with this old equipment we're using. Bloody antiquated these heaps of junk are. Take it from one who knows, it's just another machine error and that's all. Forget it.”
Louis frowned in bewilderment. “But sir, subject DF six nine seven four three could be an alien infiltrator.”
“No it isn't,” replied General Pike. “Believe me, the subject is quite definitely not an alien. You've merely experienced a machine malfunction.”
“Excuse me sir but I must ask. How do you know for sure?”
The General sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Does your machine register the subjects skin as being a wrinkly grey?”
“No sir.”
“Then perhaps it registers as being scaly green?”
“No sir.”
“Does the machine register the subject as having an overlarge hairless head and a small body with thin arms and legs? Or a flat face with bulging black eyes and slits for it's nose and mouth?”
“No sir,” replied Louis. “The machine doesn't show the subject as having any of those.”
“Then read my lips. The subject is not an alien.”
“But sir . . .”
“Are you being deliberately stupid soldier?” The ice cold tone of General Pikes interruption contrasted curiously with the redness of his inflamed by barely suppressed anger countenance.
“No sir.”
“Good. Because if you say one more word I'll have you up before the FOF's Martial Court, Tom's boy or not. Return to your duties at once you fool!” he snarled, and his visage vanished from Louis' screen.
Chan and BB had boarded the train with the unquestioning belief that it would take them in the desired direction but somehow they must have got it wrong. It was only after a long, hot and tiresome journey, during which they found it necessary to change trains twice and where their levels of endurance were severely tested by overcrowded, smelly, dirty and noisy carriages, that they reached their objective.
It was with immense feelings of relief that they finally alighted from the train onto the platform of the above ground terminal at the western limit of the railway system and started out on foot again. The sun had already gone down and outside of the coldly lit empty station closed shops sat decaying in darkly shadowed silence. Victims of MTT, the rusting steel mesh or solid metal security screens covering their windows were a boon for the local graffiti artists, who generously daubed them with overlapping examples of their work. The only place that appeared to have any life in it was the hotel. It was bright, it was warm with welcoming light and it was cheerfully noisy, with music and laughter. And that's where those in need of a little personal comfort, or of solace without strings, or perhaps destruction of their memory banks after a hard days work repeating endless meaningless tasks.
The nearby car park was full of all types of vehicles yet the streets were almost empty and other pedestrians rare. BB and Chan walked through quiet streets where battered shrubs and trees struggled for a leafy existence between large blocks of multi unit dwellings.
They were enjoying the less odorous air, fresher by comparison then that of the city centre or the stuffy trains, until a pall of heavy clouds darkened the sky, the gloom increased, the temperature quickly dropped, and with a violent gust of ice cold wind the rain began to fall. Only a few big drops splashing diagonally down at first, but it was a warning. Quickly the Orthians pulled out their waterproof hooded coats from their packs and put them on. In a moment a rain storm such as they had never experienced before was upon them. An ordinary shower they might have coped with, but this was a gale driven screaming, stinging pounding that lashed at their clothing, drummed hard on their hooded heads, drowned out any other sound,and blocked out their vision of the rest of the world around them. As the deepening water rapidly overwhelmed the inadequate street gutters, they sought shelter in the only refuge they could find under a one of the larger trees obviously popular for sacrificial reasons. They perched gingerly on a small rise where one of the trees roots had defied it's concrete straitjacket enough to protrude above the ground, huddling damply together on this dubious islet among the usual digusting Terran discards, staring glumly at the sheets of heavy rain slashing down and bouncing off the turbulent surface of the oil-filmed, litter-laden flood that threatened their position of relative dryness.
“As soon as the rain stops we'll be able to get going again,” said BB.
Chan shifted slightly, pressing further back against the rough bark of the trees trunk away from the downpour. “I have no argument with that,” she said. “The only problem I see is that without Alf's signal how can we be sure that we're still heading in the right direction?”
“Because we're still going roughly west.”
“But the black flicars might have changed direction and taken Alf off maybe to the north west or perhaps the south west. How would we know?”
“We wouldn't.”
V and Ratty were in paradise. The deal had been a good one and now they were happily relaxed, V laying propped up on the bed and Ratty in the easy chair sipping on cans of Oomph Plus staring almost hypnotically at the game currently playing on the Terra Vis they had sequestered from it's previous owners apartment a while back.
Once the rain eased off Chan and BB continued on their way. It was dark and late, and even though they had eaten some of their KK rations and had a drink while on the train in order to keep their strength up, they were beginning to tire now. It had been very early in the morning when they first emerged from the Shuttle into this strange new world and that had been many hours ago. Now they had reached the drab suburban sameness at the outskirts of the city, where pools of weak yellow light emanating from the sparse lamps set on top of poles lit on empty roads with no footpaths and no pedestrians either, apart from themselves. Large multi gabled, look alike, two and three storey houses crowded so close together that there was scarcely an arms length between them bulked darkly on every side, their only signs of occupancy being the cars parked on the concrete aprons in front of them and the flickering lights of Terra Visions showing through the cracks at the edges of the drawn blinds inside their tightly closed and barred windows.
On and on the Orthians trudged, backtracking occasionally while progressing in a roughly westerly direction until they rounded yet another curve and saw the high fence of metal panels ahead. It was built right across the roadway and it extended both to the left and the right so as to completely block their way. The cold blue light that blazed skyward from behind it and poked bright fingers through the cracks in the joins between the panels. They could hear the unmistakable sounds of activity coming from its direction so with their curiosity roused, Chan and BB quickened their pace to reach the wall A large sign fixed to one of the panels showed a picture of a perfectly beautiful house with a family consisting of father, mother and two adorable children, a boy and a girl, standing smiling happily beside its open front door. It also informed them that this was 'West Garden Estate. Another Highly Desirable Residential Development from J and B Consolidated Halistic Initiatives Ltd, Prospectus Available on Request' and gave a list of contact Cme numbers. BB and Chan peered through the cracks at the scene on the other side. Under the harsh light of rows of glaring blue lamps strung above them, hundreds of Andys were hard at work constructing more roadways, installing more utilities and erecting more houses. Even as they watched, sections of walls, floors, roofs and other components were rolled out from a gigantic metal box with MTT Housing Division Ltd written on its side, carried to the places readied for them and fastened together by the tireless Andys.
Chan noticed that there was a narrow gap between the wall and the fences of the last two houses on either side of the road. ”Which way?”
“Left I suppose,” said BB. ”It's as near to a westerly direction as possible.”
They walked in single file along the tiny lane, occasionally stumbling over the miscellaneous rubbish discarded in it which they couldn't see in the dimness, past the fence of a second house and out onto the next road. The metal panel wall continued right across but there was another small lane ahead between it and another house, so on they went until they came to where the lane ended at the rear at the property. The wall still carried on though and there were a few strands of wire strung between it and the back fence of the house. On the other side lay a dense growth of low scrubby bushes yet they could see where there was enough room beside the wall for them to get past. One at a time they climbed through the wires and pushed their way through between the bushes and the metal. The noise and lights from the construction had faded but they could see a brightness and hear faint roaring noise coming from not too far ahead. Their progress ended when they came to a place where the wall and the bush finished, cut off by a heavy wire mesh fence fixed to tall metal posts. Cautiously they moved forward until they were able to gaze down through the mesh toward the source of the noise and light. They were standing on the top of a deep steep-sided cutting, its base filled with endless lines of traffic rushing along the multi-lane highway that took up all the space in its broad base. A concrete barrier built down the centre allowed multiple streams of assorted vehicles to pass each other at great speed in opposite directions without interference. It was a novel spectacle for the Orthians to Mem for there was nothing like it on Orth and they both became almost mesmerised watching the endless streams of roaring traffic with their approaching bright white head light beams and retreating smaller red tail lights whizzing dizzily by below. Chan finally managed to tear her gaze away to look up over the busy chasm toward it's other side. She could just make out another high mesh fence on the far rim and the dark outlines of the scrubby wilderness lurking behind it. Beyond that though, way off in the distance loomed the floodlit tops of several round, enormously fat at the base chimneys.
“What are those over there?” she asked pointing in their direction.
BB glanced up. “Cooling towers by the look of them. Didn't Jack say something about nuclear power stations out west?”
“You mean that's them?”
“Most likely”
“Oh.”
It was quite obvious that they had reached a point from which there was absolutely no prospect of making any further progress. Both the highway and what lay on the far side had effectively brought them to a halt.
“I vote we turn back,” said Chan. “ I really don't think I can walk much further.”
BB too was near exhausted and badly in need of sleep. “Neither can I. Let's go back to the city and find a place to stay for the night.
“Good idea. Marching through the Big Empty back on Orth was easy compared to crossing Halzone. Tomorrow, after we've slept and rested, we can make a fresh start on the problem of finding Alf,” said Chan as they turned away.
Later on in the evening V and Ratty topped up with another shot each and then went out into the busy streets of Halzone looking for whatever other amusements might be on offer.
Day Two
Chan wondered why she hadn't thought of it before.
After paying excessive credits for the dubious privilege of spending a few sleepless hours in the filthy room of a sleazy hotel, she and BB were tramping aimlessly through the city. Neither of them were saying very much being both too tired and worried for idle conversation. The unwelcome attention received from the insects infesting the hotel room, the glare of lights through poorly covered windows and the incessant din of traffic from the street outside, plus the rowdy Terrans in the adjacent rooms who were obviously not there for sleeping but rather to party or engage in other noisy activities, had prevented them from getting the rest they needed. To top it off, the plumbing in the shared relief facility hadn't been working either. When they were checking out of the premises, Chan didn't even have enough energy left to make the sort of derogatory comment BB had grown to expect from her regarding the inadequacies of things Terran.
It was only when Chan glanced skyward toward where a siren wailing and beacon flashing OK flicar was passing overhead, that the idea came to her.
“I've got it!” she said excitedly as she came to a sudden halt much to the annoyance of a Terran right behind her who cursed her fluently as he was forced to go around the blockage.
BB pulled her off to one side of the footpath before asking, “Got what?”
“Did you ever see the episode of ‘Voyage into Space' where the captain evades Pluto's Pirates by disguising his ship to look like one of theirs?”
“No I don't think I did.”
“Well no matter. The point is that we could do the same.”
“What do you mean?”
“We've both got Mem of OK flicars and we can use our portable Mem players to export their appearance into the Shuttle's Read And Copy data entry system Then it'll be able to make itself over to look just like one of them,” Chen explained.
“Right.” BB smiled at Chan. “Then all we have to do is fly over the city and with the extra scanning power of the Shuttles sensors and it should be easy to find Alf. Sounds like a great idea to me!” He frowned a little and added, “But what do we do once we find him?”
“We can work that out when we get to it. Just be prepared to use your Dazer.”
“Do you think it may be necessary?”
“There could be some shooting!”
“You mean we might have to defend ourselves from being shot by Terrans?”
“Yes.”
“I'm prepared!” BB replied, doing his best to sound enthusiastic at the prospect of shooting back at someone who was shooting at him.
“Good. Now let's get moving. The sooner we get back to the Shuttle, the sooner we can rescue Alf.”
V and Ratty had lost all sense of time. They had no need of sleep for they were still enjoying themselves spending their newly acquired credits on whatever pleasure took their fancy and there were plenty to choose from in Halzone if one knew where to look. Which they did.
Day Three
In the early hours of the morning of their third day on Terra, Chan and BB stumbled wearily out from the dark shadows of the trees into the moonlit stillness of the clearing where the Shuttle that looked like a boulder lay. Their trek through Halzone City had been both arduous and dangerous, and on many occasions they had serious doubts about ever reaching their objective. In fact if it hadn't been for Chan's using her Dazer in order to avoid conflict and several miraculous interventions of one sort or another which occurred at the most critical of moments when absolute disaster appeared inevitable, they would never have made it. As it was, they were so very tired that once having gained access to the Shuttle and securely locking the door they both curled up on the floor and immediately fell asleep.
BB woke first some hours later, yawning and stretching before getting up to peer through the screens at the scene outside. “Wake up Chan,” he said, prodding her with his boot. “It's daylight.”
Chan sat up and rubbed at her back. “This floor is far too hard for sleeping on,” she complained. “When we get back to Unity I'll recommend that they fit out the Shuttle with chairs that recline for sleeping on!”
BB wasn't listening. He was busy breaking open the on-board emergency rations and after handing Chan a pack and a sqube, he took the same for himself.
Once both their hunger and thirst had been adequately satisfied BB said contentedly, “Praise be to Max, those were the best rations I ever tasted.”
“They certainly were,” agreed Chan as they put the now empty containers in the recycling bin. “And now we can clean ourselves up, change our clothes for some smelling sweeter than these, and get to work feeding our OK flicar Mems into the Shuttle's data entry.”
General Pike, already wearing his best dress military uniform with it's rows of shiny medals hung from bright coloured ribbons and his tall plumed helmet, completed a final meticulously detailed inspection of the Fitting Out Facility before the arrival of the First Assistant To The Third Deputy of The Corporate Faith and the other important Keepers. This had been the General's third time round the FOF this morning, since much depended, as far as his personal ambitions were concerned, on a favourable report being returned to the Financial Keeper of The Corporate Faith's Department. The General had long dreamed of seeing his name painted in gold lettering on his new office door. ‘Commanding Director Pike' it would read, and along with such a title would come an increase in salary and fter that he would only have to put up with a couple of years of bullshitting around before his service obligations would be over. Then it would be a rewarding pension and a cruise on the latest All Star Luxury Spaceliner for him where, according to the brochures he'd spent some time perusing, all sorts of pleasures unobtainable locally were available. This would be followed by the purchase of his own place on Paradise, one of the new Off-Terra Developments. It would mean realising some of his personal stock market shares for such an investment, but it would be worth it. Paradise had a perfect climate, fantastic facilities for fun and an incomparable reputation for permitting its residents to engage in indulgences that were frowned upon elsewhere, the bottom line of which meant he could enjoy himself in the manner he reckoned he deserved. Besides which, it was a well known fact that Paradise, with it's slightly lower gravity, extended ones life span, keeping one fit and healthy for many more years than was the Terran average.
Right now though, everything was ready for a successful circuit of the facility and General Pike allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction at how well it would reflect on his management skills as he exited from one of the lifts into the spacious reception area to join the Senior Officers already waiting there for the arrival of the official party. Two minutes later the flibus landed and rolled into one of the parking spots just outside. As the visitors alighted from their vehicle wearing the regulation yellow hard hats and white coats with name badges pinned to the pockets given to them at the gatehouse, General Pike felt a faint surge of annoyance run through him. There was a woman among them. He knew who she was of course, the token female given a minor position merely to placate the radical feminist faction in the population. Other than that she served no real purpose, for generally accepted scientific facts proved that all female brains were much smaller than a man's. Besides which, according to the General, a females emotionally driven cyclical mood swings and consequentially erratic behaviour patterns rendered them absolutely useless when it came to making important decisions. “What's that stupid woman doing here?” he hissed to the Officer standing closest to him. “She wasn't on the list!”
“She's taking the place of The Keeper of The Corporate Faith's Internal Affairs, sir. It seems he's too ill for today's tour. Something he ate last night, apparently,” came the whispered reply.
“Why wasn't I notified?” hissed the General.
“The information arrived forty seven minutes ago while you were out inspecting. The message was immediately relayed to your In FOF Communicator and the list has been adjusted.”
“Humph!” General Pike snorted irritably. He'd been too busy to check on his In FOF Com. so he'd missed it.
As the bombproof glass entry doors slid open allowing the visitors entry, the General recovered his usual poise, smartly clicking his booted heels together and bowing slightly from the waist as soon as they stood near. “Your Most Eminent and Gracious Excellency, Esteemed Keepers of The Corporate Faith,” he said loudly. “Welcome to Halzone's Fitting Out Facility. Allow me to introduce myself. I am General Pike and these,” he gestured toward the two men standing at attention beside him, “are my two most trusted senior officers, Lieutenants Barker and Frost.” The two clicked their heels together and bowed.
“How do,” said the Third Deputy sticking out one pudgy hand.
For a moment the General and his officers were taken aback by the this casual greeting, but they swiftly recovered and a quick round of handshaking and how do's ensued, after which General Pike took a step back and attempted to resume his former formality. “Your Most Eminent and Grac...”
“Leave it out Pike,” broke in the Third Deputy. “Just call me Excellency.”
General Pike stared in bewilderment for a moment before closing his still open mouth.
“Well, get on with it man!” the Third Deputy scowled impatiently. “What did you want to say?”
Hastily the General swallowed his exclamation of protest against the breaking of established rules of protocol. “Your Excellency,” he began again. “Honoured guests. It will be the pleasurable duty of I myself and my two officers to be your guides during your time with us here at the FOF. All the main stations of the plant will be included in the tour, allowing you to see for yourselves how we are able, by use of studied scientific process, to redirect the irrational testosterone fuelled enthusiasms of young Terran males into useful channels where their full potential may be realised. We pride ourselves here at the FOF in our proven ability to produce the finest troops in the whole of the FWUC. In order to do this we accept only the best specimens for processing, yet nothing is wasted. Anything found to be less then ideal is transported to the satellite world of New Botany to take up positions in the Uranium Extraction Plants where their labour is well appreciated. Feel yourselves perfectly free at any stage to ask either myself or my officers about anything you see. We will do our very best to satisfactorily answer your questions.” General Pike paused at this point to smile politely at his audience. “At sixteen hundred hours when the tour is over, we will proceed to the Officers Mess where you are all cordially invited to partake of our first rate quality refreshments. The Servers here in the FOF are more then the equal of those installed in the grandest eleven star establishments in Halzone.”
“We look forward to it,” acknowledged the Third Deputy equally politely.
“A few words of warning before we proceed,” the General added, his tone now sternly authoritative. “The badges issued to you at the outer gate entrance must not under any circumstances be removed. They have been automatically registered in the FOF's Security Data Bank as belonging specifically and individually to yourselves when you pinned them on and as long as you're wearing them you'll be permitted to move throughout the facility. Please keep them on your person at all times.”
“And what happens if we don't?” the Third Deputy asked his curiosity instantly roused.
General Pike shook his head sadly. “Zap, Your Excellency.”
“Zap?”
“Yes Your Excellency. Instant disintegration! The Fitting Out Facilities Alien Intruder Defence System is permanently primed to eliminate any visitor without a badge.”
Some members of the group shifted uneasily at this information, glancing sideways at each other while nervously touching the badges fastened on their coats to check on their security.
“This way now please,” said the General briskly as he led the visitors across to one of the waiting open lifts. After they had entered and shuffled into place, with everybody facing the door and the lesser personages crowded in the back, General Pike pushed the button for the third floor, the doors closed and down they sank into the depths of Black Mountain.
“What about Jack's flicar, or Beatrice's?” asked BB.
“I didn't see the tops of them, did you?”
“No, I didn't Mem either of them from above. Only at the side.”
“Did you Mem the tops of any others?”
“No.”
“Well what we did Mem is obviously not enough,” said Chan with a sigh of exasperation as she and BB stood staring disconsolately at the Shuttle that was supposed to resemble an OK flicar.
They had done their best, enthusiastically retrieving their Mems and feeding them into the Read and Copy Unit. However, their sightings of the OK vehicles proved to be somewhat inadequate. The underside of the imitation was passable, although perhaps a little rough on the sides, but the upper section which neither of them had actually seen was merely a vague blob constructed to fill in the unknown dimension.
“We could repeat the bottom on the top,” suggested BB.
“What about the landing gear?”
“We could delete it.”
“And put what in its place? Another blob?”
BB frowned crossly. “Your negativity isn't helping.”
“I'm sorry,” said Chan dejectedly. “I just don't know what to do!”
Silently they stood contemplating the half a flicar.
“How about ordering the Read and Copy to reverse itself?” said BB.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, same as the SpaceShip is doing. Let it display whatever it can read on one side on to its other. There might be some small delay in the registration of course, though I don't think it will be too noticeable on a rapidly moving object.”
Chan was delighted with his suggestion. “Why, BB, that's a wonderful idea!” she said, impetuously throwing her arms around him.
“No need to get carried away,” admonished BB carefully extricating himself from her embrace. “It's the obvious alternative.”
“I didn't think of it.”
“You were too concerned with your first plan, and perhaps a little stressed from our trek through the city.”
“Perhaps,” agreed Chan.
BB entered the order into the Shuttle and almost immediately it became virtually invisible apart from the plate beside the door. Then he thumbed the open button and it slid sideways to reveal the interior.
“You first,” said BB giving a wide smile, bowing slightly, and generously gesturing with one arm for Chan to enter.
She smiled back and stepped forward.
“Freeze!”
The shouted order came from behind them and for an instant, as surprise stilled them, they did as they were told. Then they swiftly spun about to face the maker of the demand, while at the same time automatically reaching for their Dazers. But it was too late. The two strangers confronting them were clad in shining silver armour, with reflective full face visored helmets on their heads, and heavy thick soled boots on their feet and both held intimidatingly large guns in their gauntleted hands, the big black round holes in the barrels of them pointing straight at the Orthians.
“Now see below you the cream of the crop, the fittest of the fit, the choicest chosen for induction,” said General Pike proudly.
He and the small crowd of dignitaries stood in the elevated Blast Proof Tube looking down through the curving C-Oneway windows of the viewing platform at the scene. Behind them the open carriages of the train built to convey staff and visitors waited on it's track. Nearby were two uniformed officers, sitting watching the multiple screens full of cryptic data set vertically in front of them and occasionally tapping with their finger tips at the coloured squares of light on the slightly sloping boards of the consoles arranged in a semicircle before them. Beneath the visitors were the recruits, each one separately secured to an individual rack fixed on a conveyor belt which moved them between the stations in the plant where the Fitting Out process was accomplished by highly skilled Andys specially manufactured for the purpose.
“Qualification,” continued the General, “is dependent on a number of factors including height, weight and specific bodily measurements. All those selected must fall within a scrupulously calculated criteria both physically and mentally, paramount of which is a propensity toward extreme violence.”
“And is there ever any shortage of suitable recruits?” asked the Third Deputy.
“Never. Studies have clearly shown that the aggression endemic in our species has a distinct biological advantage.”
“You mean survival of the fittest?”
“Precisely your Excellency. Fully trained Official Rabble Rousers are used to ensure that all those who exhibit prior ability by enthusiastically taking a part in violent contention against others are made available to us, for the prime purpose of combat is to win without fear or favour, whatever the cost. Without the will to kill a fighter would be quite useless.”
General Pike smiled at his audience and they all smiled happily back at him. Except, that is, for Junior Under Person Brady Assistant to The Keeper Of The Corporate Faith Responsible for Unspecified Committees. She deliberately failed to return the smile because she was quite definitely not feeling happy. It was bad enough that the hard hat she had been told to wear was too big (it had already ruined her expensive coiffure and persistently slipped forward over her eyes) and that the coat given her was too small (it failed to fasten around her rather ample feminine form) without General Pike's obvious antipathy toward her which she immediately become aware of during the introductions when he purposefully evaded the hand she offered for shaking. Not that anybody else appeared to have noticed the slight, or cared anything at all about it if they had done for that matter. They were responding to the General's words with exclamations of approval interspersed with nods and appreciative smiles to express their complete understanding and agreement.
“This is where our latest intake of volunteers are thoroughly scanned. Observe the magnificence of their physical development! We choose only the best!”
JUP Brady frowned down through the window at the near naked supine forms racked below. She could clearly see that scanning involved the insertion of probes into various body orifices, an action which rather disturbed her.
“Doesn't it hurt them?” she asked.
“They're comfortably numbed,” the General tersely replied.
“But look how they twitch! They must feel it! And you say they volunteered for this?”
“That's what I said.”
“So they have an alternative choice?”
“They are given the option.”
“What option is that?”
“The option of joining up or not. The choice is theirs.”
“What if they choose not to join up?”
“That never happens,” the General said disdainfully. “Being fitted out to fight for a worthwhile cause gives their miserable lives a significance it could never have serving a life sentence of hard labour on some pestilent FWUC satellite.” His irritation now quite obvious, he deliberately turned his back on JUP Brady to smile at the Third Deputy and say, “Now if it pleases Your Excellency, may I suggest that we proceed with the tour by re-boarding the train?”
Everyone did as he suggested and once they were all safely sitting down with he himself in the front and the Third Deputy beside him, General Pike entered his command code into the drive panel. A small blue spark jumped between the middle rail and the seventh wheel under each carriage and with a rising whine as the electrical current surged through it, the motor started and the train rolled forward to carry its passengers straight down the tube.
It took V and Ratty several minutes of frantic searching through the muddle to realise the awful truth. The last of the stuff they had bought with the credits obtained from selling off the gold were gone.
“Fuckin' nothin',” said Ratty.
“Ain't ya got no more?” Mirabelle asked querulously from her horizontal position on the bed.
“Shut up 'n fuck off y' ugly bitch,” snarled V.
Mirabelle sat up, swung her legs over the edge, got a little shakily to her feet and adjusted her skimpy clothing. “Fuck youse,” she said pulling her bag from where she'd hidden it under the bed and then poking with one chipped scarlet nail polished toe of a grubby foot at the mess of unwashed clothing, left over mostly empty food containers, bottles and other clutter littering the floor. “Where's me fuckin' shoes? 'N what about me creds?”
“What fuckin' creds?”
“The fuckin' creds youse fuckin' bastards owes me.”
She squinted about the room from beneath thin pencilled brows in a search for her shoes and finally saw them over by the door where she'd left them. Having carefully stepped through the mess she retrieved them and put them on, balancing precariously with one hand on the wall to do so. Then she turned toward V and Ratty who were regarding her disinterestedly from where they now sat, on the soiled rumpled mess of the bed.
“I'm a fuckin' working girl youse know,” she stated, “so now youse both fuckin' owe me.'N I didn' hear youse saying I was a fuckin' ugly bitch when youse was aksin' me up here to this dump to do all them things for youse.”
V looked at her face with it's smeared makeup, her crooked, badly stained teeth, her tangled, dull-yellow bleached hair and her sadly sagging body.
“We lied,” he sneered.
“Fuckin shit yeah,” Ratty nodded enthusiastically.
“Gimme me credits or I'll shoot youse both!” V and Ratty stared at the gun she had suddenly pulled from her bag and was now holding aimed at them. “Didn't think I knew did youse?” she sneered. “Well, I found it where youse hid it 'n now I've got it 'n I'm gunna use it iffen you don't gimme me creds what youse owe me!”
V and Ratty burst out laughing.
“What's so fuckin' funny?” Mirabelle demanded angrily.
“It's a fuckin' toy!” sniggered V.
“A toy?”
“Yeah, stupid. We never fuckin' hid it. It's only a fuckin' toy gun.”
“Then it won't matter iffen I fuckin' shoot youse?”
“Go ahead,” sneered Ratty.
So Mirabelle did.
A beam of pink light enveloped V and Ratty and they both collapsed limply back on the bed.
“At this station, Your Excellency, genetic samples vital for FWUC's research programs are extracted,” smiled General Pike. He had allowed himself to relax a little because they were now nearly halfway through the tour and the stations of the cleansing section, where teams of Andys diligently depilated, disinfected, detoxified and fumigated the volunteers, had been passed through without any interruption from that awful woman. “This is an extremely important operation,” the General continued cheerfully. “Here at the Fitting Out Facility we are authorised to work in conjunction with the Medical Advancement Department of National Experimental Sociobiological Supremacy.”
“You mean FOF and MADNESS are working on research programmes together?” asked the Third Deputy.
“That's right, Your Excellency. A most necessary combination for an important ideal if I may say so myself.”
“What sort of programmes?” asked JUP Brady, staring down trying to make out what was happening below but unable to see much of it because sample taking involved several very large and extremely complicated Andy operated devices which volunteers were rolled into and vanished from view in, for quite long periods of time.
“Their sensitivity demands that details are disclosed on a strictly need to know basis which means that only Qualified Research Practitioners are privy to their precise nature,” replied the General loftily.
JUP Brady looked at him with one eye brow slightly raised and said, “So you don't know?”
“Time to move on,” General Pike said turning toward the Third Deputy. “I think you'll find the next station a most interesting one, Your Excellency. It's where the volunteers are equipped with their individually adapted hypo-thalamic and limbic cybernetic connections including the so absolutely essential fidelity chip, and then measured and fitted for the very latest in up-to-the-minute battle suiting specially designed for optimum advantage in any conflict to come.”
They woke almost together. Mirabelle was gone and the gun lay where she had discarded it on the floor just inside the closed door.
V stretched his arms above his head. “Fuckin' Hal,” he said grinning happily. “That's the best fuckin' shot I ever had.”
Ratty grinned back at him. “Fuck yeah,” he agreed, and they both scrambled madly for the gun.
V reached it first, snatching it up from where it had fallen and settling back comfortably on the mattress before shooting himself. Eagerly, Ratty grabbed the gun from V's now limp grasp and did the same.
The visitors tour of the Fitting Out Facility was nearly over. They had viewed aspects of the preparation of recruits for future military engagement which they had known nothing of before and it had all been most interesting, even JUP Brady had to admit to that. Prior to the tour she had not realised how very complicated the process was. Now they had reached their last stop where, unlike the previous stations, there was no C-Oneway window to peer through or officers sitting working nearby. Set smoothly into the tubes blank grey wall were a pair of firmly closed doors, quite plain except for the two numbers painted large upon them, a one and a four. They gathered in a little group in front of it awaiting entry while General Pike, his voice sounding solemn with the importance of his words, addressed them.
“Your Excellency, Honoured guests,” he said. “We have now reached the final station. In just one moment you will be ushered through these doors to the balcony seats reserved for you in the FOF's Theatre of War. It is at this stage, having completed their fitting out, that the recruits are tested in a variety of combat situations designed to allow for a complete qualitative analysis to be made of their recently installed skills. Safety regulations require that the actual battle take place in the Virtual Reality Arena which is located elsewhere in the facility. However, all the action is fed directly into the theatre in real time, so prepare yourselves gentlemen, to enjoy the privilege of watching the greatest show on Terra inside here, on the biggest Terra Vision Multi View Array ever made.”
A small ripple of excitement passed through the group.
“This is the bit I've been looking forward to!” exclaimed the Third Deputy rubbing his hands together in anticipation of what was to come. Although he and the other visitors were familiar with Terran newscasts of the numerous armed conflicts of various sizes and importance continually taking place somewhere or another in the FWUCs, they had only heard rumours of what happened inside FOF Station Number Fourteen, and it was supposed to be something quite spectacular.
“What sort of losses does the testing incur?” asked JUP Brady.
General Pike had no intention of replying until the Third Deputy spoke. “There's an interesting question,” he remarked. “The overall costs of fitting out must be outweighed by the number of troops available for engagement in profitable operations after they've finished being tested. What are the figures?”
The General turned to his first deputy. “Give our guests some figures Frost.”
“If it please Your Excellency,” Frost bowed in deference as he began speaking, “We're now showing greater process cost savings then ever before,due to the ever increasing efficiency of present day methodology. Any minor losses that may initially previously occurred have recently been reduced by seven point three five which means that the final figure is well under all previous percentages.”
“Excellent, excellent,” smiled the Third Deputy.
“And I'm personally pleased to report Your Excellency,”General Pike added, “that all the improvements have taken place while the FOF has been under my command.”
“Is that right?”
“Indeed. All of us here in the FOF, both officers and men, have been given to clearly understand that it is their sworn duty to make sure that there is absolutely no unnecessary expenditure in any of the stations. To do otherwise would be tantamount to treason and might well be treated as such. Besides which it should never be forgotten that those who give their lives for the greater good of all will take their place beside Hal in the next life, where they will be rewarded for any sacrifice made with whatever it is they most desire.”
The visitors murmured soft 'so be it's of agreement with this belief in the miracle of life after death.
“Now as I was about to inform you, Your Excellency,” the General cleared his throat with a small harrumph, “once through the door you will find yourselves on the main balcony where you may take your seats. Because the battle has already begun for today, the interior is in darkness so my two officers will usher you to your places. If you look down toward the floor of the theatre below the balcony you will be able to see the cubicles where every recruits individual progress is being separately and continuously monitored by a single officer dedicated to the task. If you turn around and look back up above and behind, you will see the row of small lighted windows of the the control booths. This is where variable scenarios for the actions taking place are fed into the system by the Duty Officers in Charge of Operations according to a pre-planned script carefully designed to test the recruits by putting them through their paces and stretching their capabilities to the limit.”
“What limit is that?” asked JUP Brady.
“Far enough for an accurate assessment to be made,” replied General Pike with a thin smile thankful that this test of his patience was nearly over. “And now, without any further ado, Your Excellency, Honoured Guests,” he paused dramatically, “welcome to our War.”
The waiting dignitaries began chattering excitedly to each other as he turned and entered his command code into the panel beside the door. With a faint pneumatic swish of released pressure the doors slid apart allowing a blinding flash of brilliance and a stunning blast of sound to escape from within. They struck with such force that the visitors were instantly rendered dazzled and speechless with shock and awe.
As is the way with much innovative technology, the beamed transportation of non-living matter got off to a slow beginning simply because any perceivable advantage the system initially offered was seriously outweighed not only by the cost but also by the sheer quantity of equipment needed. The rows and banks of relays essential for the accurate identification of the molecular components of any substance prior to its being dispatched, filled all the available space in several massive rooms right up to ceiling height and similarly furnished rooms of equal size were necessary at the other end for the reception, recognition and subsequent near instantaneous assembly upon arrival of the goods being sent.
The whole process was incredibly slow and the running costs extremely high until the invention of Micro Mini Monadological Molecular Circuitry and the replacement of the old fashioned single phase separators with Multi-Track Super-Fast Speedy-Select Distinguishers. At the same time cheap energy became available from the newly constructed nuclear power stations employing wage free Andy labour, thus allowing Matter Transport Technology to fulfil the profit making dreams of its financial backers.
At first it was used mainly for moving essential supplies and goods and then by major manufacturers wishing to expedite the distribution of their products. However, as the price of alternative transport systems swiftly and steeply increased, MTT took over as the most economic method of consignment, rapidly becoming a permanent fixture installed in every place where the fast transfer of commodities was an essential part of the business.
Further to this success and in spite of the derision of MTT opponents who could not see the advantages of personal ownership and who claimed that if everyone had such a device in their own home it would mean the extinction of traditional in person selective shopping, the system grew so quickly in popularity that soon nearly every place of residence had one installed. Sales figures actually improved, soaring to new heights when it was realised that use of the technology allowed goods already bought in retail establishments to be immediately delivered to where ever the buyers wanted them to go, thus allowing customers to carry on acquiring unimpeded by prior purchases. Yet not everybody could afford to purchase or have room in their homes for one of the larger more elaborate model of MTT required for bulky items, although they were readily available to hire by the hour on a temporary basis. Nobody missed out on owning an MTT Server receiver. The busy lifestyle of the average FWUCian allowed little time for the tiresome task of food preparation, so having a Server dedicated to the instant delivery of ready to eat meals, snacks and beverages swiftly became the norm for modern consumer convenience.
The Officers Mess in the Fitting Out Facility was a spacious room, its centre filled by rows of circular tables each with four chairs arranged round it. The twentyfour Servers lined up in two rows against opposite walls. These were well used by the staff, both before going on and after coming off duty, as well as in between times when ever they had the chance to take a break. Today being the day of the tour, four of the Servers displayed 'Reserved' signs on their screens because their programmed menus had been extended to include extra special delicacies for the visiting dignitaries to select from when they arrived. Eight of the tables nearest to them arranged apart from the others behind a temporary rope barrier,were decked out with crisp white tablecloths, folded napkins, shining silver cutlery, gleaming glassware and vases full of fresh flowers. They also displayed the word 'Reserved' written on small placards fixed to holders standing in their centres.
At this time of the day, it being mid-afternoon, there were the usual number of officers in the mess choosing concoctions to fill the current emptiness of their stomachs with. From piping hot to icy cold, sugary sweet or lip smacking salty, peppery spiced or sharply sour, crunchy crisp or melt in the mouth soft and creamy, foodstuffs in over ten thousand different varieties and flavours all washed down with their favourite beverages were theirs upon request, and payment of the credits required. The officers sat at the tables, eating and drinking and chatting idly together about this and that while watching the games and other activities showing on the Terra Vision screens fixed high on every wall so that all could see them and none miss out on any of the action. Everything was as usual, until without any warning whatsoever, every screen in the Mess suddenly blanked out, including those on the Servers. Even as the officers fell silent staring at the darkened rectangles in stunned surprise, a message began to appear, letter by letter, written in a large easily read block font that showed cleanly white against the pitch dark blackness of the background.
'DUE TO UNAVOIDABLE CIRCUMSTANCES THIS SERVICE IS TEMPORARILY UNAVAILABLE. NORMAL TRANSMISSION WILL BE RESUMED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.'
Here was a potential disaster in the making. For several long minutes every member of staff in the room sat still looking at the words while silently praying to Hal that they would disappear and that normality would return. Quickly. The special visitors were very soon due to arrive in the mess and the men all knew that the advancement of General Pike's career pretty much depended on reports of a successful tour and they all wanted it to be so; many because they would be glad to see the back of him and all because his moving upward on the hierarchal ladder of service would give them a chance to rise in his wake. If things went wrong who knows who could be caught up in the blame game that would inevitably follow. Silence reigned, until one officer whispered what they were all thinking.
“Somebody better tell him.”
Of course nobody immediately jumped up to volunteer, and seeing as the first order of management in this sort of situation is to delegate and thus avoid the responsibility of becoming the bearer of bad news,the most senior officer present being well aware of the rule, pointed toward the most junior. “Gunn,” he ordered. “Go and tell the General.”
The annoying distortions which marred her vision warned JUP Brady that she was about to be afflicted by one of her awful migraine headaches. Quite obviously it was watching the war that had triggered it. All those deafening detonations and dazzling flashes from explosion after explosion as Terran forces bravely fought off the aliens in a lengthy space war of absolutely enormous proportions had been interspersed by a series of equally noisy and visually irritating engagements on the peaceful world of new settler farmers invaded by loathsome, monstrously ugly, over-sized bugs. The search and destroy Missions on the surface involved not only the obnoxious slavering beasts but also the shape shifters among them who could appear as ordinary innocent human farmers or their families or even troopers with only the slight shimmering of their outlines to mark them out as alien invaders. Lengthy battles excessively laden with bomb blasts and blinding lights had being going on for much too long as far as JUP Brady was concerned. No one else in the tour party seemed to mind. They were all quite obviously enjoying the show, clapping and cheering enthusiastically and whooping and whistling whenever another alien ship was blasted into a billion pieces or an ugly bug obliterated in a huge spray of evil looking green gluggy droplets.
JUP Brady popped a MyGraway pill out from the Handy Dispenser she carried in her purse, put it in her mouth under her tongue and turned round in her seat at the end of the back row looking to where she had last seen the General sitting just inside the entrance. It was her intention to get up and go and ask him if she might leave the theatre, yet even as she glanced in his direction JUP Brady saw him and a young officer she hadn't seen before exiting through one of the slightly open doors.
Quickly she got up from her seat and followed after them, managing to catch hold of one of the doors just before it closed. Out onto the station platform she rushed only to see General Pike and the officer sitting in the already moving train. Within seconds it had carried them away around the bend, leaving JUP Brady with nothing to do but gaze helplessly down the empty tube after them.
Shapely legs wide apart Queen Melody stood firm at her castle entrance. The long luxuriant locks of golden hair cascading down over her shoulders from beneath the gem studded silver helmet on her head, gleamed bright in the ruddy glare from the torches set on the ramparts behind her. With one fluid movement she reached back with both hands and pulled the great shining sword of Vengeance from out of its sheath strapped diagonally across her back. Her shapely breasts heaved with exertion, their erect nipples straining against the restriction of her low cut black leather bodice as she bought the deadly blade with its razor sharp edge swinging down in a flashing arc. Swiftly it sliced through the lust engorged throbbing flesh of the first of the crazed monsters lunging toward her, causing the hot blood to spurt up from his severed member in a great crimson gushing fountain. He staggered, his knees buckled and throwing his shaggy head back he screamed in a long drawn out wail of sheer agony. A wild shout of pleasure burst from Queen Melody's full rosy lips as she brandished her glistening scarlet stained weapon high above her head in triumph and . . . a high pitched buzzer stridently shrilled 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.
Furious at the interruption, Beatrice angrily pushed up the visor of the VR helmet.
“What is it now?” she demanded.
“Excuse me Madam but both the MTT and the TV appear to have crashed,” replied the new Andy Handy Maid who stood waiting beside her chair.
“Well then call the repair service stupid.”
“The CMe is out of order too Madam.”
Beatrice closed her eyes. “I do not care,” she said slowly, carefully enunciating every word. “Just go away and get lost and don't ever interrupt me again! Understand stupid?” she added.
“Yes Madam.”
Beatrice sat back, pulled the VR helmets visor down into place, pushed the restart button and continued on with the slaughter while the Andy Hand Maid obediently began a futile search through its programming for the directives on understanding stupid and how to get lost.
Reth was in the Central, which was still in the same place but had changed its décor, drinking a brew he had never heard of before called Cooey Blonde because he couldn't see the name of any of the brews that he used to drink in here and it was the name written on the tap in front of him when he ordered. After the first sip he decided, in total agreement with what his Dad had said and despite the large flashing advertisement over the bar claiming that a Cooey Blonde went down better than any other, that its flavour was nothing like as good as the beer he'd enjoyed in the past. Then again, after he'd downed several ice cold, tongue numbing jars the taste didn't matter too much. Reth had been in the bar for some time now, drinking alone at first and then joining up with a group of four very friendly Terrans when they came crowding in to watch Today's Big Game on the outsize Terra Vis screens with a beer or two or however many they wanted and had enough credits to pay for. Reth tried to show as much enthusiasm as they did for the Game but it was difficult because the rules were changed from what he remembered and he knew nothing of the merits of the teams or the players.
During one of the frequent breaks in the play when the advertisements were on screen and the music and singing and rows of scantily clad, youthfully attractive females dancing and chanting praises in support of their respective teams was over, Reth came back from the bar, his hands filled with the five jars of foaming ice cold because it was his turn to shout. As he placed them carefully down on the table one of his new acquaintances said to him, “Ta mate. Not meanin' to be nosy like but we aint seen y' in here before. New are y'?”
“Not really I've been away for a while is all. Got lost in space and had a bit of a job getting home.”
“That right?”
“Yeah,” replied Reth. “Got caught in a time warp.”
“Yeah?”
It was just as Reth began giving an abridged version of his adventures that every screen in the bar, including those on the Servers, suddenly blanked out and any faint interest in what he might have had to say vanished in the ensuing commotion.
“What do you mean no Servers?” demanded General Pike as the train carried him and Junior Officer Gunn toward the mess.
“Just that, sir,” replied JO Gunn. “They've all gone off line and so has Terra Vis too sir. They're all blank but for a message of apology.”
“Impossible!”
JO Gunn shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “I only wish it were sir.”
When the General entered the mess, every officer leapt smartly to attention and saluted him, but for the first time as far as any of them remembered he failed to formally acknowledge them by returning the salute because his eyes were focused on the message showing on the servers and screens. It was not until he had seen it for himself that the full realisation of the extent of the problem and of the catastrophe in the making if he didn't think of something very fast hit him. A hollow, slightly sick feeling disturbed his usually excellent digestive system.
“You,” he snapped pointing at the Senior Duty Officer, “contact FWUC Central Army Intelligence immediately and have the call put through to my office.”
“Yes sir. Right away sir. And what are your orders regarding the tour party sir?” ventured the SDO.
“They'll just have to be kept entertained with the war for a little longer.”
“Yes sir. I'll attend to it right away sir.”
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