A Space Oddity Too

Felice glanced back towards the road we'd just travelled and her Smith & Wesson .789 Laserblaster jumped into her hand. I do wish she'd apply the safety catch when she does that. Those things have got hair-triggers. "Someone's coming," she warned.

As the stranger drew near, we could see that it was only a skinny old man dressed in ragged homespun and carrying a bundle of sticks, presumably gathered for fuel. Felice's pistol disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "Looks like a developmentally disadvantaged indigene to me," she added.

The old fellow didn't seem at all surprised at the sight of us, just stopped and gazed with open envy at our sandwiches. "Thas' a good-looking sammich!" he observed with a black-toothed grimace, "A bloke don't half get hungry out on the road all day."

The man wasn't exactly begging but looked forlorn so I took the hint. "Sweary, give the gentleman something to eat please," I said. A few seconds then our robot opened his midriff panel and handed the man a large sandwich.

"Cor!" he exclaimed, "A toasted cheese sammich! Ain't never had one of them.

Unbaked beans and broccoli stalks get a bit boring, even on fatty bacon Wednesdays. Thanks mate!."

Sweary's ruby eyes glowed. "Well, bugger me! Another human thanking me—I could get used to this!"

The old man wolfed down a couple of mouthfuls of his 'sammich' and then gave us an appraising look. "Where's Dorothy, then?"

"Who's Dorothy?" I asked.

"You know... Dorothy. Don't recognise you two young ladies unless you're the Good Witches of the North and South but he's the Tin Man and the Tin Man always goes around with Dorothy. Well-known fact. There's four of 'em, him and Dorothy and a lion what panics and runs away from fights and a bloke made of straw what's shit-scared of fire."

Felice and I looked at each other and shrugged. If a robot's smooth face can look affronted then Sweary managed it, although when he spoke his tone was dignified: "I am not the bleeding Tin Man, I'm a fucking Alpha-plus class Mark II robot with an IQ which is off the grid. And I'm not made of tin but of an amalgam comprising the finest metals to be found on Earth."

"Earth? Wherezat? And I reckon if Dorothy could hear your language she'd be disgusted—give you a good kick in the goolies... if you had any, that is!"

"Where did you hear about this Dorothy and her companions?" Felice asked.

"From Gambalf the Grimm."

I was getting interested despite myself. "And who is Gambalf the Grimm?"

The man looked scornful. "Come on, you must have heard of Gambalf the Grimm. Everyone knows him. Old fellow, long white beard down to his balls, carries a staff. Face like he's got boils on his bum but he's all right really. He's got a small harp only he calls it a liar, Gawd knows why, never heard of a harp telling lies unless mebbe the gold one what that kid Jack pinched from the giant in the sky does. Anyhow, Gambalf goes around the villages telling us tales of all these people he's met on his travels. That's how I knows of Dorothy and her lot."

"A travelling story-teller," I whispered to Felice, "They were common on Earth many centuries ago. Obviously the people here believe he's telling them about real events and experiences." Aloud I said: "Sorry, we're not witches and we're nothing to do with Dorothy, we're strangers round these parts." To pre-empt any further nosiness on his part I added: "In fact, we're on an quest of our own. Going to the coast."

The old man's eyes widened. "A quest? Lucky you, nothing ever happens in my village. " He pointed vaguely up the right-hand road. "Bloody boring place. Mind you, you'd not get me down at the coast. Bad for your health is water. Which way you goin'?"

I indicated the left-hand road. "That way."

His eyes widened even more. "Oh, you don't wanna go there. That's where the eggs is."

"Eggs?"

Gulping the remains of his toasted cheese, he nodded. "Eggs! You wanna steer clear of them! Go up my way—it'll add about forty miles to your journey but at least you won't see any eggs! Anyway, must get goin' else the wife'll nag me summick rotten. She's making unbaked bean and broccoli stalk surprise today. 'Ere, wait till I tell her about meeting the Tin Man. Thanks for the sammich." With a cheery wave, he set off.

Felice and I looked at each other, puzzled. "Eggs?"

"Reckon the poor old lad's a bit addled," I concluded, "Mother must have been frightened by an egg when he was in the womb... or something psychological like that..."

Whatever, we were not going to walk an extra forty miles, eggs or no eggs.

* * * * *

One thing's for sure about walking long distances on planet Effluvia, it gets very tedious, probably as boring as the old man's unbaked beans and broccoli stalks. There wasn't even a bend in the dusty track to make it mildly interesting, just the monotonous straight line with the scrubby moorland and stunted bushes on either side. From the muttered imprecations I heard, I think even Sweary was tiring of our trek. Felice kept pulling her pistol and twirling it as if hoping something would attack us just to relieve the tedium. Nothing did save for the occasional mouthfuls of grit and dirt when there was a sudden eddy of breeze.

Eventually the road began to ascend, gently at first and then more steeply until we couldn't see beyond the next summit. At least this was less boring than what had gone before. And when we reached the crest...

The road on the other side descended gently and then perhaps a mile further on came to a dead-stop against a wall of solid rock.

"Hah! That's us fucked!" swore Felice, "It's all the way back and the old man's extra forty miles, I suppose!"

I shook the direction finder savagely. "Fucking useless thing!"

Sweary, who had been staring intently at the rock-face, said: "No, Agent Lightener, we are not fucked. Nor is the device at fault, Double Oooh Eleven. It's probably invisible to human eyes but there is a slender crevice about there..." he pointed "...which should allow us a way through. Let us proceed."

About half-way down towards the rock-face there was a badly-weathered notice with faded lettering at the side of the track . It read: "bWeAr ofF tHEe eGss n ThIS meeNs U".

"bWeAr ofF tHEe eGss, eh?" said Felice, "Looks like they're more concerned about the eggs than their levels of literacy."

"We'll soon find out," I said.

The crevice, when we reached it, was more than wide enough for access, even Sweary's bulk finding the way easy. We went for some way along a narrow passage which suddenly opened out into a large rocky chamber. The place wasn't dark as might be expected but instead was illuminated by a weird greenish light. And there were the eggs...

We were standing on a rocky shelf about ten feet above the floor of the chamber and to one side of the shelf were a number of roughly-hewn steps leading down. As for the eggs... I estimated there to be about two hundred of them, split into two groups with a slender track between them which seemed to be the only way across the chamber. Each egg stood about two feet high with its top covered by three flaps. "Looks like that's the way forward," I said, moving towards the steps.

"Wait, Jaimie Pond!" snapped Sweary, "I sense that all is not well. You ladies wait here while I investigate." The robot descended to the chamber's floor and walked to the nearest of the eggs. As he bent to examine it, the flaps sprang open and something leapt out to fasten itself to Sweary's face. Imagine a beige-coloured spider crossed with a horseshoe crab with pincers on each leg and a long muscular tail which wrapped itself round Sweary's neck. Within seconds of it landing on target, it let out a distressed-sounding Meep! noise.

Sweary plucked the creature from his face and turned it to study. From the middle of its body protruded a long and rigid tube which had snapped in the middle when it hit Sweary's metallic face. This was probably the reason for the distressed noises it was making. "That's interesting—an ovipositor, I believe," the robot observed, "If I had been human, I think it would have planted a parasite of sorts inside me. Stay where you are ladies."

Hurling the thing to one side, Sweary wandered among the nearest eggs and was attacked several times. Soon the air was filled with unhappy Meeps! from injured organisms. Sweary muttered something barely audible. I think it was: "Fuck this for a game of robots!" He stood back and his amplified voice boomed out. "Right! Listen up, you eggs! We can do this the easy way or the hard way! The easy way is that my friends and I walk through the chamber unmolested. You don't want to know about the hard way!" To emphasis his warning, he picked up an egg in each huge hand and shook them ferociously until they rattled before using them like bowling balls on their fellows. It might be my imagination but I'm sure some of the other eggs cringed back.

Sweary took a few steps forward and creatures from a couple more eggs attacked him. Having rid himself of them, Sweary cried: "Right! That's it you bastards! No more Mr Nice Guy! Don't complain you weren't warned!" His ruby eyes glowed fiercely and twin beams shot from them, some kind of heat ray by the looks of it for the eggs burst into flame as the beams touched them. The robot hurried back up the steps, grabbed Felice and me, one under each arm, and dashed for the chamber's exit.

"Sweary, you were magnificent!" I told our saviour as he lowered us to safe ground, "I wonder what those things would have planted in us."

"Don't know," said Felice, "but I'll bet it was nasty with big teeth."

"Something wrong, Sweary?" The robot was looking pensive.

"Recognising the perils there, I wonder why Madam Kew suggested most strongly, ordered in fact, that I always let you lead the way, Jaimie Pond."

Felice and I looked at each other and nodded. "Uh oh!" we chanted in unison. I don't know where Kew gets her information from but it's not a legitimate source. She was out to get me one way or another.

"Tell me, Sweary, if Madam Kew ordered you, why did you disobey her?"

The robot pondered before nodding gravely. "Because you and Miss Felice have treated me like a person whereas Madam Kew treats me like a thing."

I patted Sweary's shoulder then we carried on and soon saw daylight ahead. We emerged from the tunnel to find ourselves on a large promontory and ahead of us was the sea.

* * * * *

A large flat expanse of shore was covered manure-coloured sand with murky green sea-water splashing gently against it. Away to both our left and right were a series of low hills. We could see for quite some distance to the right and there was nothing but sand and sea and the ubiquitous ochre grass. If there was anything to be seen it would be beyond the nearby hill to our left. I asked Felice and Sweary to stay where they were, keeping an eye out for any bad guys, while I climbed the hill to carry out a recce.

Em and Kew had guessed rightly—Buggah The Krutch and his men were here although I suspected that somehow Kew had known this all along. I reckon that I was intended to fall victim to the eggs with something nasty planted inside me, Sweary would deal with the gangsters and Felice would rescue Princess Layla. But as usual, I had no proof and Kew probably had her arse covered already.

Back to business. On reaching the crest of the hill I could see a huge bay, so huge that it contained a landing field and a massive building, something like a long-house. A battered old space-ship, a cargo tramp by the looks of it, lay on the landing field together with a number of air-cars. A few men were scurrying back and forth carrying out whatever work they had to do.

I slid back down the hill and...horrors! My Felice was flat on the ground, unconscious or dead, Sweary kneeling beside her. A little further away two other figures were stretched out. I rushed to my beloved's side. "It's all right, Jaimie Pond," Sweary assured me, "she is only asleep."

"How...?"

"There were a number of booby traps here, slumber-bombs, and Miss Felice triggered one. She'll probably wake up in about twelve hours." He pointed to the other bodies. "That pair of shithouses had a hiding place deep down in the ground and must have been alerted by the booby trap going off. I captured the silly buggers and used them to trigger all the other slumber-bomb traps. I think they'll sleep for several days."

"Good." I told Sweary where the criminal hideout was and that I was going to find a way in. "Stay here with Felice and join me when you can. If they've killed me, wipe the bastards out."

"You can bet your sweet arse on it, Jaimie Pond."

"Why, Sweary, you've noticed."

Live and let fly

It took me a while to get half-way down the hill wriggling on my belly. While pausing to spit out a mouthful of dust I spotted the sentry. His back was to me so I laid him low with a Phlung Dhung neck chop, the one where I clip a specially constructed brass-knuckle to the edge of my hand. He'd give me no trouble.

That was when I felt something pressing into the back of my neck. Experience told me it was the muzzle of a laserblaster. There followed a rapid series of thoughts:

Oops! that was bloody careless of me. Sentries usually go round in pairs, even when they're stupid sentries, ergo: two twits make a twat. But this time I'm the twit who made a twat of herself.

He's not all that bright either, prodding my neck with his laserblaster. If you know what you're doing, it's fairly easy to disarm an assailant whose gun is touching you.

Ah, perhaps he's brighter than I thought, he knows that too and has stepped back a couple of yards.

Might as well accept it—after all, I wanted to get into Buggah The Krutch's lair somehow. This way was as good as any.

I turned to face him. He looked a tough egg, it was so hard to tell where scars stopped and face started. "Oh, hello," I said brightly.

"What are you up to?" he growled, "And what are you doing here?" He didn't seem in the least concerned about sleeping beauty.

"I was hoping to meet your boss, the notorious interstellar master criminal."

His mouth fell open. "Got a death wish, have you? Oh well, if that's what you want come along. But first I'll have these." Moving very carefully, he took my brass-neckbasher and the pistol from my arm-holster.

After ten, fifteen minutes of scrabbling our way downhill, we were on the flat and near to the huge entrance of the gang's HQ. We'd gathered a following of all those working outside. I guess they wanted to see what happened to someone as rash enough to visit their boss as I apparently was.

"Boss!" my captor called, "I've got some woman here, says she wants to meet you. I've got her weapons so she's harmless." He grabbed my arm to drag me forward through the doors. "Okay, the boss will see you now. If you're lucky he might let you live for a few more minutes. He can be funny that way."

The lighting inside the building was low and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. And then I saw Buggah The Krutch...

Well, there was no denying it, Buggah The Krutch was quite monstrous and Kew's description had been accurate, perhaps even on the generous side. He... him... it...(?) oh, for convenience sake I'll call it 'he'... he did look like an immense slug crossed with some kind of gigantic water mammal. He stared at me with great saucer-like eyes as he scratched his belly with a hand-like flipper before reaching up to stroke one of his tusks. And such tusks! They must have been a good three or so feet long and gleamed in the half-light.

I thought I'd go for the contemptuous approach, hopefully knock him off balance. "By the Great Black Hole, but you're ugly!"

Buggah The Krutch seemed to take this as a compliment for there was a deep-down gurgling noise in his throat which I took to be laughter. "I like this one," he croaked, "She's honest." He tugged at the slim silvery chain linked to a belt around his ample midriff. "Did you hear that, my dear, she thinks I'm ugly."

At the other end of the chain, sitting on a tapestried cushion and fastened by one shapely ankle, was a beautiful young woman, naked save for a scrap of some garment I couldn't see too clearly around her loins. A sweet face was framed by two large doughnut-shaped coils of hair covering her ears and big brown eyes gazed at me with hope.

"Princess Layla?"

"I am she." Very dignified.

"I've come to rescue you," I told her.

Again there was that gurgling laughter from Buggah The Krutch. "Come to rescue her? Come to rescue...? Oh, I think we'll get some amusement from this one. I like your sense of humour—what is your name, foolhardy little person?"

"My name's Pond, Jaimie Pond," I answered, "and I'm not laughing."

"Jaimie Pond?" Princess Layla's eyes seemed to light up. She must have heard of me.

Buggah The Krutch nodded to some minions. "Strip her!" he commanded, "Her self-assurance disrespects me and she must be taught a lesson!" Several gangsters seized me and tore my tunic to shreds, leaving me wearing nothing but my combat boots. Well, that was something.

Buggah thrust his great head forward. "There, don't you feel ashamed and humiliated now, rash human woman?"

I stood up straight. "No, why should I be? I've got a great body, a body to be proud of..." [I thought I heard Princess Layla murmur: "You certainly have!"] I did hear some murmurs of appreciation from the nearby gangsters. "...Mind you, I'd rather have a band of women crooks goggling at me than men but I guess you have to go with the materials at hand."

"Hmmm!" Buggah The Krutch seemed to think for a few moments then said: "Tell me, imprudent Jaimie Pond, would you be prepared to fight my champion for the princess? One-on-one engagement, no interference from any of my other men?""

"Bring him on!"

"Hah! No hesitation. Good! I knew there was a reason to like her. This should be fun although likely very brief!" Buggah called out down the hall. "Rocky Ballova! Another victim for you! You can have her for dinner when you've killed her." Buggah's champion stepped forward. The crowd parted involuntarily, many falling on their backsides or bouncing off walls, shoved aside by something massive I think was human.

You've heard the expression 'Biting off more than you can chew!' Yeah, right! It was one of those moments when my back hairs stood up and I suddenly wished I was at home with a cup of cocoa watching a vintage Touchy-Feely, preferably a romance. I might as well have picked a fight with a chunk of mountainside because that's roughly what Rocky Ballova looked like. He had muscles and his muscles had muscles, all of them on places most people don't even have places, while his face looked as if he had just head-butted a speeding star-ship knocking it off course. He shuffled towards me flexing fists the size of hogsheads and I'm sure that his bare feet left indentations in the tiled floor. Grinning, he showed teeth sharpened to needle points. This got worse and worse. I'm not sure but I think his head was pointed too. Still, I was a First Nad black belt in the ancient art of Phlung Dhung. Might give me an edge. I fell into fighting posture.

"Aieeee!"

Rocky Ballova's eyes widened at my cry and he dropped into defence mode, legs splayed wide apart to strengthen his grip on the ground. "Huh-huh-ai-hyuh huh!"

Oh shit, was I in trouble! The different black belt and higher grades in Phlung Dhung have their own battle cries. My "Aieeee!" was for First and Second Nad grades only. Rocky Ballova's cry told me that not only was he a monster who could eat me alive with both hands tied behind his back but he was also a Third or Fourth Nad, holder of a black-and-white striped belt. It would take me years to attain that level of skill. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, settling myself for the formalities. There are traditions in Phlung Dhung, one of which is that when two Nad grades face each other in combat, they first show respect by exchanging ritual greetings. As the inferior grade, I had to pay courtesies first, eyes lowered respectfully, hands clasped before me and bowing low.