Blam. Blam. Blam. Captain Manners, thirty-two, fired three more shots through the sash window before slamming it shut. His target had died with a shriek and a thud, falling from a low branch twenty yards away. But there were more targets among the trees and not so many bullets. The house would be overrun within minutes.
Little Jimmy Manners, thirteen, ran forward and flung his arm around Captain Manners, pressing a tear-stained cheek against the captain’s waist. ‘Pop? Pop? What we gonna do. Pop? We have to stop them.’
‘I don’t know, Jimmy. It’s beginning to look a little hopeless round here.’
‘D-don’t say that. Pop. Never say that.’
‘I-I’m sorry, Jim.’
Professor Schwartzer, sixty-two, stood by the door, hands in his lab coat’s pockets. ‘Captain, maybe we can reason with them. They’re higher beings with a sense of right and wrong. They must worship God, as we all do.’
‘It’s no use, Professor,’ Captain Manners said urgently. ‘They can’t be reasoned with. I’m afraid I’ve been keeping something from you, hoping to avoid scaring you. You see,’ and he paused for dramatic effect, ‘the space chicks are feminists.’
‘Then we are truly doomed.’
And, with the screeching of strings and gratuitous lighting effects. Miles Silkland’s opus rolled on, having reached Space Chicks Conquer Coventry.
Destructor’s snoring head lolled on Lucy’s shoulder, settling there for the evening. What was wrong with him? This stuff was great.
She moved a drooping antenna away from her face, rested both feet on the screen bottom and, mouth stuffed with popcorn, watched on.
Something fell from Little Jimmy’s back pocket, hitting bare floorboards. Captain Manners retrieved, opened and read it. ‘Why, Jimmy, what’s this?’
Hands in pockets, the boy kicked his heels, coyly watching the floor. ‘That, Pop? Aw, that’s nothing; just something Miss Mimi at school had us make. You remember Miss Mimi from parents’ evening? You got on real well with her and, gosh, I’m rambling. I guess I’m just hoping that one day you’ll find me a new mom to replace the one who died in suspicious circumstances, tumbling down the stairs on that lightning-struck night.’
His father’s expression instructed him to continue.
‘Miss Mimi had us make a Fathers’ Day card. She told me to take special care with mine, as I had such a special Pop, especially after she lost her husband when he fell down the stairs one stormy night. I was planning on keeping it till Fathers’ Day but, if we’re all gonna be dis … dis … dis … dis …’
‘Disintegrated,’ Captain Manners assisted.
‘If we’re all gonna be that, you better have it now.’
The captain studied the card in greater depth. ‘But this sticky secretion holding it together?’
‘It’s glue. Pop.’
‘Glue? What’s that?’
‘It’s for holding things together, paper and stuff. All the kids in our gang use it.’
Captain Manners became excited. ‘Of course! That’s it!’
‘It is?’ said Jimmy.
‘Professor,’ said Manners.
‘Yes, Captain?’
‘Get me an interior decorator.’
Hands still in pockets, Schwartzer opened the door, ready to go. ‘Certainly, Captain. But why?’
‘Because I’ve just had the craziest notion.’
Schwartzer smiled. ‘It’s not crazy. Captain. You don’t have crazy notions – not like the space chicks. The space chicks need putting over someone’s knee and getting the spanking they deserve. And you’re just the man for the job.’
‘Thanks, Prof. I like to think I know how to handle a woman.’
And Schwartzer left, closing the door behind him, making free use of his pistol once outside. It wasn’t clear whether he’d removed his hands from his pockets.
Little Jimmy looked up at his father. ‘What you gonna do. Pop?’
Captain Manners ruffled his son’s hair. ‘Jim, you may just have saved mankind.’
‘I have? Gee.’
‘No, Chimpbongo. Naughty Chimpbongo. See what you’ve done, Chimpbongo? You’ve mixed up the glue formulas. Now we’ll never be able to tell the Beautiful Giantess from the Eighty-Foot Lobster.’
Chimpbongo sat on a bar stool, eating his own fleas, clearly uninterested.
Arms folded, Lucy frowned. Was this the same movie?
The final space feminist dissolved on the floorboards.
Captain Manners stood, his revolver pointed at the gurgling puddle. ‘Looks like she’ll never menace mankind again.’ And he shot it twice to make sure.
But Schwartzer watched gravely, hands in lab coat pockets. ‘I hope you’re right. Captain, I really do. Though I can’t help feeling they might return in ten months’ time, when we, or someone very like us, will have to fight them all over again.’
Manners laughed the laugh of a man who laughed at danger. ‘If they do return, Professor, they’ll find us ready for them.’ He ruffled his grinning son’s hair. ‘Come on. Little Jimmy, there’s still time to catch that ball game I promised you. We’d best run, or we’ll miss the oche.’
The End?
And with a flurry of strings the final credits rolled.
Destructor’s head still snored on Lucy’s shoulder. She decided to leave, before the pubs shut.