Tanda fills in a form
Tom meets his Destiny
T
anda glanced at the pilot, sitting beside her in the long-range Pig-Ugly as they plummeted through an asteroid field. “I beg your pardon, Vac. What’s with the ‘Yee ha’?”
“It’s so good to be back at the controls of something that flies,” said Vac. “Shame we couldn’t take one of the new assault ships, but the delivery of hexacat whiskers seems to have been held up.”
“It was a good decision to put the mats we do have into smaller ships. This way more of our tribe have been able to get space-borne.”
“I still think that we would have stood a better chance of negotiating a good deal with GUTS if we were in a horribly beweaponed starship, rather than the Pig-Ugly though. They probably won’t be intimidated by this.”
“Nauseated more likely, but beggars can’t be psychos,” said Tanda. “These cars are fine once we’ve cleaned off the vomit from the previous owners. There is a ready supply now. They did have a brief resurgence as dieting aids, but since the fast food outlets have been slowed down by average speed cameras, the common people are not as obese as they used to be. We can get second-hand ones really cheaply, which is what we need, until we somehow get a reduction on our tax rates.”
“I knew that,” said Vac, throwing the ship into a sharp dive to avoid a set of traffic cones. “What the Phoist are those things doing out here?”
“Looks like the Consortium is improving this route,” said Tanda. “Look, there’s a sign over there.” She read. “It is with the utmost regret that we have to slow you down and divert you via Manchester, but this is for your own safety and we could not live with ourselves if you ran into a black-hole and destroyed your suspension. It’s your own fault the route is worn out anyway, so stop moaning.”
“Bastards,” said Vac. “Why the Phoist don’t they leave the roads alone. If I’m stupid enough to drive into a black-hole, then surely it’s going to be my fault.”
“It would be, and don’t call me…”
“I knew that.”
“Actually,” said Tanda after a brief period of silence where Vac concentrated on pulling the Pig-Ugly back out of a black-hole35, “I’ve noticed that you are not sounding at all like the old Vac. What’s happened to ‘Yessah’ and ‘Nosah’ and that annoying stilted speech, supposed to take the piss out of fictional military types?”
Vac grinned. “I have a different hat on now, babe. I’m in the space force, so can adopt a completely different persona. Now, I’m the dashing captain with the Universe at my feet and the babes falling over themselves to get into my pants.”
“If you give me any of that bollocks about ‘cabbage crates over the briny’ or ‘roger, wilco’, I’ll have to slap you and set fire to the hat.”
“Roger Wilco? Isn’t he the chap that founded that neat discount store?”
“I think it was, but I’m not having any of those sort of clichés spoiling the narrative, so put the ideas out of your mind, what there is of it. Look out!”
Vac fired the side thrusters barely in time to avoid being trapped between two massive boulders.
“Why don’t you turn the Splat-nav off,” said Tanda. “That’s not the first time it’s sent us to certain death.”
“Perhaps I should have set it for ‘safest route’ rather than ‘shortest’,” said Vac. “I probably don’t need it now; that cut-through has put us almost into the DSO planetary system, home to GUTS. I think that’s one of their suns over there.”
“The sun always shines on the DSO,” said Tanda. “That’s why they are so efficient and productive; they have learned to do without sleep altogether.”
“They’ve seen us already,” said Vac. “Those blips on the DOKUDAR wouldn’t be a reception committee would they?”
“I hope so,” said Tanda. “I’ve heard that they aren’t very friendly towards people from other worlds. Neat device by the way.” She craned her neck to examine the little square screen perched in the centre of the Scoot-board.”
“A present from the Magus. It stands for ‘Dokuon Detection and Ranging’. Works effectively. Got it hooked up to the Shunt Cannon.”
“Shunt cannon? I thought we were unarmed and on a mission of diplomacy.”
“Sorry,” said Vac. “It sort of just happened.”
“I’m not really surprised,” said Tanda. “As a Skagan, I always feel nervous when we go anywhere without protective weaponry. I guess it harks back to the days on our lost planet of Skagos, where the great Oilflig Phoist installed that energy absorber to take and remove any artificial power sources on the planet.”
“I believe he used it to keep his fish tanks and underground rocket silos operational. In those days the tribe was forced to rely on brute force and ignorance to survive.”
“Both of which were a plentiful commodity as I recall.”
“Ah, but as soon as they were able to break free of the planet and the energy damper, the sidearm became a fashionable accessory again...”
“And the front-arm, the back-arm, the underarm-arm and the arm-in-the-sock-arm which wasn’t there.”
“Happy days. Shame that Mr $mith (sic) has prohibited all violence.”
“Yes, shame,” said Tanda, regarding the firing control button, a large red mushroom push (Type 91T) wistfully. “Was it really necessary to put it next to the windscreen wiper lever?”
“It had to go somewhere, but that aside, the blips on the scanner are ships I think,” said Vac. “Short range ones, otherwise they’d be here already.”
“Already? You’re not going Jewish on me now are you?”
“One ‘already’ does not an ‘oy vavoy’ make,” said Vac.
“Thank goodness. I had a problem with them. Last time I ventured off-world they tried to dump me in a vinegar bath.”
“Those would be the Acidic Jews,” said Vac sagely. “They hate any form of microbes on the body, so rinse up to three times a day in preservative; they have lovely skin.”
“I noticed that, although they were a bit pink and kept hopping about rubbing their groins. I thought it was some sort of ritualistic greeting, and joined in. They kicked me out for taking the piss.”
“That passed a bit of time,” said Vac. “I think we’re about to meet the reception party. I’ll turn on the Pionio and hope they have our frequency.”
“Attention unidentified craft,” the voice came clearly through the induction coils. “This is Interplanetary Customs; heave to and splice your main-brace, we are coming aboard to inspect your vessel for illegal goods or Aztec stowaways.”
“How do we answer that?” muttered Vac. “There’s no room for anyone else on board.”
One of the Customs ships eased alongside them, and a travel tube snaked out from it and locked on to Tanda’s door. There was a hiss as it pressurised. Tanda wound the window. “Hi,” she said as a stocky official with a clipboard poked his head through. “What can we do for you... er, sir.”
“I need to search your ship. Can I come in?”
“Not unless I come out first,” said Tanda, “Shove over.”
She scrambled through the open window and the Customs man tried to get in. He stuck as soon as his head and shoulders were through. “Damn and blast,” he said. “These little ‘Fukedds’ cars are not big enough for a real person; how do you manage?”
“Healthy diet, exercise, not overeating and plenty of sex,” replied Vac promptly.
“Filth,” said the official. “I’ll add porn to the list of things I’m searching for. Well, boy, have you got any?”
“How much do you want? Will this do?” He handed over his proof copy of ‘Everyone’s Guide to Taking over the Universe’. “It’s got pictures,” he said. “You can have it for 2 Drachma 32 Chalkoi.”
The official flipped through. The cartoons together made an obscene simple movie. “Like it boy; I’ll have to confiscate this.”
“No problem, I get them print on demand. If I buy another, it will increase my sales by 50%.”
“Sounds like an issue for the Tax people,” said the Customs man. He shone a torch into the foot-well. “Looks like you’re clean enough,” he said, “apart from all the hairs stuck in the carpet, which are a feature of all cars, even if you haven’t got an animal.”
“I think they make the mats that way especially,” said Vac. “Probably makes it easier for Forensics if you’ve been transporting dead bodies.”
“That’s the approved reason,” agreed the official. “You can go, but report to the main aerodrome when you land, so we can look at your papers. Here’s a form to fill in as an alien.” He produced a concertina of paper from inside his jacket and handed it over. “Give me a pull please miss, get me out of this damn window.”
“He seemed friendly enough,” said Vac, when Tanda had returned to her seat and wound the window back up.
“You didn’t have to spend 15 minutes in a narrow tube looking at his backside,” said Tanda. “Are they all that big on this planet?”
“Don’t ask me,” said Vac. “You’ve got a form to fill in.” He handed over the paperwork. Tanda unrolled it, and the concertina disappeared down by her feet.
“This is going to take some time; look at all these questions.”
“Better start now, while I look for somewhere to land,” said Vac unsympathetically.
* * *
The Pig-Ugly touched down gently on its parachute and Vac set the motor rewinding it into the handy roof-box. They got out stiffly on to the landing pad and were met by a number of large uniformed customs men.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to the DSO,” said the Leader. They knew he was the leader; he was wearing a peaked cap and had a necktie on, whereas all the other men surrounding them were in baggy jeans and straining T-shirts, ironically with the names of sports equipment suppliers on them. “Can I see your entry paperwork please?”
“I’m sorry, it’s only half filled in,” said Tanda, trying to stop the sheaf blowing away in the breeze. “I got stuck on the bit where it asked me for my family tree back 400 years.”
“Yes, that stumps a lot of people,” said the leader. “We don’t like to make it too easy for folks to get in, otherwise we’d be overrun. Anyway,” he continued, eyeing the Skagan’s statuesque form, “it looks to me that you would be welcome here. We don’t get many of your type…”
“My type?”
“Yes, fit gorgeous people. I presume you are looking for a job advertising cars, sofas or white-goods or…” He suddenly noticed the Pig-Ugly and stepped back in horror. They could see he was desperately controlling his stomach. He turned his back. “If I’d have known your vessel had taken so much damage,” he said, “I’d have dispensed with the Customs inspection and sent you straight to Hospital PLC.”
“No problem,” said Tanda. “What do I do with this form?”
“Go along to the last question,” he said with his back to her. “Didn’t you read through before starting it?”
“I didn’t think,” said Tanda. She rummaged through until she found the very last page. “‘Question 20546,” she read, “Are you a terrorist, or have you ever belonged to a terrorist organisation, or do you support any bearded political leaders, so help you, Phoist. If the answer to this question is ‘no’, you may omit questions 2 to 20455.’ How do I answer that?”
“Tell the truth?” suggested the Leader.
“No,” she wrote.
Vac tutted under his breath.
“Now sign it,” said the leader, desperately trying to hang on to his breakfast feast.
“I certify that everything in this document is the truth as best I can make it up,” she read, and signed ‘Jill Gray’.
“Thank you Miss Gray,” said the Leader taking the form from her. “You may go. Enjoy your holiday.” He marched his fellows away from the car, one or two of them stopping occasionally to retch into the grass at the side of the path.
“Jill Gray?” said Vac as they collected their suitcases from the boot, which had mysteriously become a ‘trunk’ after they landed.
“Yes.” Tanda grinned. “I used a name I heard on a music track called ‘Child of Fire’.”
“As if I knew what that was,” said Vac.
“And neither will they,” said Tanda. “Now, let’s see about finding that Tax Office.”
* * *
The lift had turned up and taken them back down to the ground floor. Tom and Kara strolled for the exit to the building, Tom holding the file on the Imperator under his arm. “Ah.” He said, stopping suddenly. Kara walked into him. The file fell to the floor, split in a cloud of dust, and papers scattered across the corridor.
“What?” she said, bending to help him collect the jumble back together.
“Security at the gate; lots of them.” A bell began to ring. “Sounds like they’ve raised the alarm.”
“Why, was it originally on the floor?”
“We did that one three universes ago,” said Tom tiredly. “What about ‘thinking’ for a change, and see if you can work out how to get us out of here?”
“Easy,” said his companion. “They’ve put an emergency exit button on the wall for us.”
“It says ‘Fire Alarm’.”
“Of course, what else. Once I press this, all the exits unlock. We can nip out the back way.”
“Go on then,” said Tom, as Kara retrieved the papers.
“Right, I will.”
“Be quick, the security men are heading this way. They have guns and copies of their process manuals.”
“That should slow them down then.” Kara bashed the glass covering the switch with the palm of her hand. It resisted. “This is tough,” she muttered. “I’ll try my elbow. Ouch ouch ouch.” She hopped around the corridor, cradling her arm.
“What’s the matter; hurry up will you?”
“My arm; a tingling and my hand’s gone numb,” Kara moaned.
“Have you never hit your funny-bone before?” Tom grinned. “Actually, you shouldn’t have an ulnar nerve to catch between the humerus bone and the ulna. I thought you were a machine, and perfect; you keep telling me.”
“Too perfect I think,” said the gynoid. “I must program that response out of my ‘prosityser’.”
“Be that as it may, please break the glass. Do you want me to have a go?”
“I can do it,” said Kara stubbornly. “You are only an organic. What chance do you have?”
“Hurry then,” said Tom, taking a quick peek around the corner, “those guys are nearly on us.”
“Break, you bastard,” said Kara, hitting the glass with the sole of her stiletto. “Suppose there was a fire; we’d all burn to death before we could trigger the alarm.”
“Trigger,” said Tom. “That might do it. Stand back.” He took aim with his pistol, and fired. There was crack as the bullet ricocheted from the toughened glass, whistled over his head and felled the first of the security men to round the corner. The others drew back with cries of:
“He’s got a gun.” “Keep back.” “Call the military.” “What does it say in the manual about this?” “Can’t we let them go?” and “Is it lunchtime yet?”
Tom inspected the glass on the switch. “I think it’s cracked. Pass your bag; I’ll see if I can get something to wedge it open.”
“Get on with it then.” Kara drew her own pistol and sent a few more shots around the corner to keep the men at bay. Tom rummaged for his toolkit, buried in one of the recesses of Kara’s handbag and withdrew her largest screwdriver.
“I’ll try this.”
“Can’t you find the sonic one? They open everything. Shit, I’m out of ammo in this clip. Can you pass me another?”
“Get it yourself,” said Tom throwing her the bag. He wielded his screwdriver, handle first, into the face of another member of security who had taken advantage of the lull and dashed at them. “See, you can’t do that with a sonic screwdriver.”
“I suppose not,” said Kara, reloading and throwing the bag back to him. She sent another shot around the corner to discourage further attempts to take them. “Now hurry up.”
Tom wedged his tool into the crack in the glass and leaned on the handle. Still the cover refused to budge. “Damn this for a game of security.” He grabbed a large hammer and gave the end of the screwdriver a tidy thump. It forced through the gap and touched the emergency button. At once the corridor echoed with the caution, completely drowning out the normal alarm.
“Warning, warning. Fire has been detected in Corridor C1A. The alarm has been operated with a screwdriver. Take note, this is not a drill; evacuate the building now. The sprinkler system will operate shortly. Raincoats and umbrellas can be found in the emergency lockers. Please do not use the lifts.”
“Bravo,” said Kara, releasing a last volley towards their cowering pursuers. “Now, let’s find a locker and follow signs for the exits.”
The emergency lockers yielded stylish see-through plastic coats and hats, and Tom and Kara joined the stream of people leaving via the emergency exit. The fire suppression systems gushed into operation as the roof opened to let the rain in.
“What happens on a sunny day if they have a fire?” muttered Tom as they reached the street.
“I don’t believe it ever stops raining here,” answered Kara, “so the chance of that, compared with the risk of fire makes it not cost effective to install a real sprinkler system. It’s been assessed by the ‘Constrictions Risk’ module.”
“I must remember to make sure we never get one of those,” said Tom. “Nor will I ask if we are high and dry, having thrown off pursuit.”
“We should be,” said Kara, scanning the street. “I don’t see how they could track us now.”
“So that squad of guys with guns over there aren’t looking for us then?” A bullet thudded into the wall beside them.
“Run,” said Kara. “That way leads to the Outside.”
* * *
The rain hammered on their plastic coats out in the jungle. Tom and Kara continued running, even though there was now no sign of pursuit. Kara kept up a steady pace of exactly 6.2 miles per time-slice, which she thought that Tom would be able to match, but he was starting to fall behind. She gave a sigh and stopped to let him catch up. He stumbled and fell. She ran back with her pistol drawn. “I hope you haven’t caused yourself serious harm,” she muttered. “I don’t want to leave you to the authorities. If you’re injured, I’ll have to kill you to save you falling into enemy hands; one of us has to escape. Oh dear.”
The sight that met her eyes was not pleasant. Tom was writhing on the ground, covered in blood and items of viscera. His coat had split and the rain soaked in, washing the gore around. “Ah, you’ve hurt yourself,” she said hopefully. “Sorry about that, but Caryl did warn you not to leave the safety of SCT. I don’t think there’s anything I can do for you; I’d best be off then; ‘bye.”
Tom was clawing at the tangle covering him. He tried to speak. She bent nearer to listen. “Ah, last words; I forgot you ‘bios’ like to have their last words. Make it a good one so I can quote you later and make your friends cry.”
“Get this shit off me!” shouted Tom, causing discomfort to her aural receiver. “What the hell is it all?”
“You are not hurt then?”
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” said Tom. “What have I fallen into?” He reached out.
Kara grabbed his arm to heave him out of the mess. The rain washed him clean. “I had a soft landing. Is it some sort of trap?” he asked.
The gynoid looked thoughtful. “I think you may have fallen into a rabbit-midden,” she said.
“What?”
“Vampire rabbits. They leave the remains of their victims there. We should move on quickly, they may be lying in ambush in case the smell attracts any vultures. They love vultures. Come on; time for chat later. Can you run?”
“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Tom grunted.