In which the Skagans take to their beds.
S
pigot looked up sadly from the seed catalogue she was studying. “Too much do we roam; Two-Dan, I miss my home.”
“I thought we had drummed that nonsense out of you.”
“It’s the call of the planet. I think it might be propagation time.”
“But you lot are always mating.” Tom smiled, remembering his experiences with the Skagan woman, Tanda, the second-in-command of the remnants of that once proud and psychopathic race, and also his recently departed security force. “That’s what makes you so much fun.”
“There’s more to life than war and shagging... I can’t believe I said that.” Spigot shook her head, her shoulders sagging dejectedly.
“Me neither, and what’s all this about mating? Every time I spoke with your glorious leader, Vac, I tried to suggest you should really have some progeny to save the Skagans dying out, but he never took the hints. Nice seed catalogue by the way, but it says ‘Wartime Edition’. Are you at war?”
“We always like to be… when there are enough of us.”
“But not now. There aren’t many left.”
Spigot sighed and shook her head. “Can we go home then?”
“We have to return to Glenforbis first, to see if the Magus can drum up some help from his old contacts. He says there are many who owe him favours from his days as a private investigator. We also need to restock on doku hair for the engines. After that, perhaps we can drop you off on our way to the hexacat planet. We need the whiskers for activating the drive. Perhaps we can find a mate for Cat there too, and stop him doing things with the surviving cushions, and digging up the AstroTurf in the loading bay. We are going to need to have that thoroughly cleaned when we next dock, if we are going to attract back the Swedwayland crew.”
“I really need to go back to Skagos.” Spigot sighed.
“Do you think you could keep the engines going until we get there?”
“I suppose so, but my heart is not in it. I’m not motivated like I used to be. I’m not going to relish it.”
“Would it help to get shagging again? I can call Groat, although he looks as though he is suffering too.”
“It’s the Call. We can’t function properly when the demand for coupling happens.”
“And how often do we expect this?”
“Once in a generation.”
“And how long is a generation?”
“No idea. I’ve never lived one.” She gave a sob and threw herself dramatically on the floor. The ship rocked. “Did I do that?”
“No, we are being attacked.” Pete’s voice came through the intercom. “Leave it with me.”
There was a roar as the doku-shunt battery discharged, and a flash of light came from outside the ship.
“What was that?” shouted Tom, as he opened the door of the gunroom.
“It seemed like some unmanned ship that sneaked up on us,” said Pete, spinning on his chair. “It whacked us before I even knew it was there. The shunt took care of it, though.”
“Any damage?”
“As I said, I obliterated it.”
“No, I meant damage to the Fortune.”
“No idea. I’m still breathing, and my Hyper-Wars game hasn’t CTD.”
“What’s that?”
“Blown out, shut down, crashed, screwed itself, considerably tediously died, but nobody seems to know what CTD stands for... at least, nobody over the age of twelve.”
“I would ask those kids who design the websites for software downloads, then. They know about everything, except usability and the fact we don’t want to have our systems analysed and speeded up.”
“CBA.”
“I don’t know what you mean, and I can’t be arsed to ask while we’re being attacked. Nice one on sorting the drone out, though. I’ll go up to the cockpit and find out what’s going on.”
“Yeah, right,” said Pete, now fully immersed in his game again.
Tom pressed past the chickens and joined Groat at the helm. “Must you wear that steel faceguard?” he said. “The feather keeps tickling my nose.”
“Can’t drive without it,” said Groat absently.
“Any damage?”
“Not while I’m wearing this helmet,” said Groat.
“No, I mean to the ship.”
“Pete destroyed it. Didn’t you see the explosion?”
“No, I mean this ship. The one you are driving.”
“Oh that. The lights are still on, so I guess not.”
“If Spigot can work on the engines, we should get over to Glenforbis as quickly as possible.”
“I agree,” said the Magus, squeezing in beside them. “That drone hit us with something like our own weapons. We are only still alive because it was so small. I think it may have been a prototype. I didn’t recognise the logo on it: ‘STOP’. We lost the auxiliary rest room in the attack. Luckily, Suzanne was in the toilet at the time.”
“We seem to have enemies, even out here,” said Tom. “Could it have been that freighter we held up?”
“I don’t see how,” said the Magus. “We parted on good terms. They were even interested in signing up for our resistance against the car-parking expansions. Apparently, they had been denied season tickets for the Letsby Cowboys matches, or was it that they couldn’t afford it? I wasn’t listening.”
“Letsby Cowboys?”
“A Sapristi team comprised mainly of plumbers and roofers. Their home ground is next to the police station in Letsby Avenue, and is the first of the triple-decker playing fields ever to be built. Planning permission was granted on the understanding that it could be used for car parking on alternate Fridays, when the farmers’ market wasn’t there, but only by rich people.”
“Thank you for that,” said Tom. “I’ll store that in the ‘Things to forget as soon as possible’ section of my memory. Can you set a course for Glenforbis, Groat?”
“I suppose so.” The Skagan slumped in his seat. “Is it really worth bothering?”
“You too. What’s the matter?”
“I need to go home. It’s the Call.”
“Spigot mentioned it. We will go to your home, I promise. Glenforbis is on the way, if you can get the ship moving.”
“If it will make you happy.”
“Ecstatic.”
“Can someone let me out please?” Suzanne’s voice came through the intercom.
“Where are you?” Tom left the others to restart the ship.
“The toilet. I went for a dump and a roll-up, and then there was this big explosion. Honestly, I didn’t eat too many of those beans.”
“Don’t open your door. The rest room took a hit.”
“So I’m stuck?”
“Until we land and can get you out.”
“But my fags, and the booze and cakes were in the rest room.”
“You are going to have to manage without.”
“For how long? I’ll starve in here.”
“Is the water still on?”
“Yes.”
“You should be able to cope.”
“I shouldn’t have to. You could save me. That’s what decent captains and husbands do.”
“How long until we get to Glenforbis?” Tom addressed Groat.
“Sometime... oh, I don’t know,” said the pilot. “Do you really want me to look at the controls and make an approximation?”
“Would you like me to do it for you?”
“You’re not really qualified... I suppose I’ll give it a go.” Groat half-heartedly jabbed a few buttons. “A week,” he said. “Give or take a month.”
There was a wail from the intercom.
“Can we go any faster?” said Tom.
“If I make it go faster, I suppose so.”
“Can you?”
“If you want.”
“I want. Make it go faster, now.”
Groat pulled the control lever and the ship accelerated. “That’s all it will do,” he said, “and the engines will probably burn out, and the ship will explode and we’ll all die horribly... which will be a relief.”
“Fine,” said Tom. “How long to Glenforbis now?”
“Two days, give or take a kilo-milli-metre, if we don’t fall apart.”
“Suzy, did you hear that?”
“Two days or die horribly? Yes, I did.”
“Can you last that long?”
“I’ll have to I suppose. I could always binge-watch ‘Have I Got Pointlessly Interesting Cats in the Attic’, I suppose. I have a couple of hundred episodes to catch up on.”
“I’ll leave you to it.”
“We have arrived,” announced Groat’s depressed tones, some five hours later, “not that it matters, but you did ask me to let you know.”
Tom and the Magus joined him in the cockpit.
“What do you want to do now?”
“I’ll ask for permission to land,” said the Magus. “They know me here, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Groat, can you patch me through to ‘Traffic Control’?”
“If it will help.”
“Trust me, it will. This button here?”
“I suppose so.”
The Magus pressed it, and a piece of toast popped up out of the flat-screen microwave. “Hello, this is freighter, The Black Empress Kara’s Good Fortune requesting permission to dock,” he said into the egg-poacher.
“Is that the Magus? This is Traffic Control.” The answer came back at him via the cockpit refrigerator.
“Yes, it is I. Can I land?”
“Not here.”
“Why not?”
“We’ve got no runways.”
“I can see three from here, although there seems to be something on them.”
“That’s what I mean. We outsourced runway maintenance to some foreign bunch called STOP, because they were cheaper than our own runway sweepers, but they seem to have converted them into car parks. We haven’t been able to get anything down for the last week. Apparently, if we pay to reserve all the spaces, STOP say they will clear the vehicles out of the way, and then we can resume normal operations. Where are we going to get that sort of money?”
“We are working on it. Are you still in touch with Herr Gottstein?”
“Yes, he actually owns the airport now. Hasn’t been able to leave because of all this. Says his cigar supply is running short.”
“Get him to meet me at my place.”
“Gottstein? A friend of yours?”
“He was a client from when I was a detective. I solved a number of cases for him, and a couple of grips and a portmanteau. We can rely on him for support.”
“We could, if I could find you somewhere to land.”
“We don’t need one,” said Groat tiredly. “I can just drop this crate where you want.”
“My estate then?” said the Magus.
“If you insist. Point it out on the map.”
Fresh air flooded into the ship as Tom released the outer hatch—as fresh, that is, as was possible on Glenforbis, with its dung mining industry and intensive bovine presence. However, compared with the odour of chickens, sweat and hexacat droppings on board, it was almost a relief. Tom released Suzanne from her cubicle, expecting to be thanked, but she charged past him and grabbed a handful of cigarettes from a drawer in the ruins of the coffee table. She stuffed the lot in her mouth. There was a strong odour of toilet freshener.
“Don’t just stand there; give me a light.” She looked around desperately.
“You smell... nice.”
“I have washed, of course. Being stuck in there for that long, I didn’t want to seem rancid. And the Eastern Block Toilet Deodoriser works splendidly under arms. Now give me a light.”
“Oy,” said the Magus. “Smoking outside is banned, on account of the methane levels in the air. Light up and it will be more than your cravings that are removed.”
Suzanne gave a wail, and then pointed. “And what’s that?”
“My house.”
“No, I mean that haze of spray and hooves and horns charging down the field towards us.”
“Probably my guard-doku.” The Magus shrugged. “They will be fine once they recognise me... I hope.”
“I’ll get back in the ship,” said Suzanne. “Call me when it’s safe.”
“I’ll join her,” said Tom. “I remember what happened last time something charged at us. You left me to die.”
“It’s perfectly safe,” said the Magus uncertainly, as the thundering herd bore down on him. He turned to run back to the ship, but was quickly swamped, and disappeared under a press of bovine bodies.
“I should have told him they didn’t look friendly,” said Tom. “Fortunately, I don’t lose many friends that way… well, he would have been a friend if I had liked him. Are we trapped now? Will we have to shoot our way out?”
“No problem.” The Magus reappeared, climbing on the back of one of the beasts. The others were clamouring around, trying to nudge and lick him. “I think they remember me.”
“Is it safe?”
“They think I’m their leader,” said the Magus. “They are not stupid. There are times I think they understand everything I say.” One of the beasts nodded, and twitched its head at Tom as if to invite him out. He descended the ramp hesitantly.
“Climb aboard,” said the Magus, indicating some of the beasts. “These guys are offering to take us up to the house.”
The doku left them at the front door of the Magus’ mansion, and began browsing the topiary.
“There doesn’t seem to be as much vegetation around as I remember,” said the Magus, “and my herd isn’t so large. What’s happened here?”
“Very impressive house, anyway,” said Tom, gazing at the frontage of the building. “I love the pseudo Greco-American styling on the gutters. How did you afford it?”
“As you can smell, property is cheap here, if you can get used to the odour from the doku and the dung-mines. I traded in a caravan on Sapristi for this place, and it was liveable, once I got the catalytic converters fitted. Come on inside. The systems have detected my arrival and have all powered up—that’s the control panel there in the hall. All green indicators I see. Make yourselves at home.”
“Can I light up yet?”
“Best not to, Suzy,” said the Magus apologetically. “The doku become enraged if they smell smoke. Have a look in the freezer and have something to eat instead. There is bound to be some long-life chocolate cake. Then I’ll get on the Galactinet and order more supplies. Oh, here’s a note from Ludwig Gottstein.” He scanned the screen. “He’s on his way, and he’s not happy about STOP turning his aerodrome into a car park, especially as he paid exchanged a good stock of burgers for it. Maybe he can help more than I thought.” He glanced around. “Where are the Skagans?”
“They wouldn’t leave the ship," said Suzanne. “Still muttering about needing to go home.”
“You shouldn’t have left them there,” said the Magus. “They could desert us. You know what they are like.”
“I do. That’s why I took the ignition key.” Tom pulled a plastic card out of his pocket. “They can’t go anywhere without it.”
“Good. Let’s get something to eat,” said Suzanne.
They followed Suzanne into the kitchen. She opened the freezer and extracted a Belgian Bun. “These are great,” she said, biting into it. Frozen fragments sprayed across the floor.
“You’re supposed to let them thaw,” said the Magus.
“Better like this,” she said. “I’m never going to have them any other way in future. You have a good supply.”
“I’ll find something more wholesome,” said the Magus. “We should have a decent spread ready for Ludwig. He always seems to be hungry.”
“Like me,” said Suzanne.
“Not quite,” said the Magus, sweeping her with his gaze. “His body isn’t quite as efficient at dealing with lard... as you will see.”
By the time the dining-room table had been suitably loaded with food, there came a message from the outer gate.
“Magus, my friend. Can you let me in please? Call off the guards.”
“Guards?”
“These animals… they will not let me pass. One has already eaten my hat.”
“My apologies. I’ll order you a replacement; the ‘Dearheat Doku-resistant Boater’ is recommended by the gong farmers. I’ll come out and move them on.”
“An interesting ride, my friend.” Gottstein squeezed into the hallway, his bulk almost cutting off the light. Tom joined the Magus to greet him.
“I think you have slimmed down a bit,” said the Magus, standing back and regarding his friend.
“One tries, but the outing has given me an appetite. I’ve never travelled astride two such beasts before.”
“It seemed unkind to let you ride only one.”
“They are most accommodating, but have you heard the news? Glenforbis is in crisis.”
“A crisis worse than the car-parking issues?”
“Worse. You may have noticed that the vegetation is a little sparse?”
“I did.”
“It’s because of the doku. They keep vanishing. I suspect there is rustling going on, because the burger bars never seem to be short of a juicy steak. The conservationists have looked into it and have come to the conclusion that with fewer doku, the grass is fertilised less, and doesn’t grow so profusely for them to feed on, which in turn breeds fewer doku. Because there is not enough grass, the animals are browsing on other vegetation, which removes the ground cover, drying the place out and further reducing the undergrowth. It’s a vicious circle, and already the air is losing its familiar tang.”
“Some of them seem to be following me,” said the Magus. “I wonder if that’s anything to do with the problem.”
“We are leaving it to the conservationists,” said Gottstein. “They have been delegated to sort it out. I think they were talking about introducing flying sabre-toothed mega-cheetahs to control the wild doku, and the hunting parties, to allow the trees to recover.”
“I should improve the anti-aircraft facilities around my borders," said the Magus. “I don’t want to have to contend with those sort of pests. These elastic doku-flies are bad enough.” He swatted at one which was buzzing around the table. It rebounded from the wall and into a suction fly-extractor.
“Shot!” said Gottstein. “Now, have you any of that splendid ale of yours to wash down what I expect will be a most generous dinner?”
“Of course. The beer cellar is connected to the Galactinet of Doobries, and reorders whenever alcohol levels drop below five percent.”
“I love technology.”
The Magus nodded. “Allow me to introduce my associate, Tom, Two-Dan $mith (sic), and his nearly-ex-wife, Suzanne, who are in a similar situation as you with the car-parking magnates. STOP have managed to steal a whole international corporation off him.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Gottstein, enveloping Tom’s extended hand in his own slab of flesh. “And what does your business do?”
“I really have no idea,” said Tom. “I still haven’t found out, but we did branch out into spacecraft, using a technology the Magus discovered.”
“Yes, the doku-drive. I read about it. These scheißkopf car-parking people have started to use it too. That’s how they got here so quickly, I think. They need to be stopped.”
“That’s what we are planning, but we need finance and resources.”
“I can give you that, but I will need some, how you say, compensation.”
“How about a ten-percent share in SCT when we recover it?”
Gottstein produced a j-Pad from his pocket, licked it gently and read from the screen. “Looking you up on the companies’ register, I see: uncertain income, unspecified assets and no products. Are you a crowdfunded internet start-up?”
“No, as I said, I have no idea what we used to do, but we are now a transport supplier. Have a look at the aerospace division.”
“Ah, I nearly missed that. Excellent. Your offer of twenty percent share is acceptable.”
“But I said ten percent.”
“I accept your twenty-five percent. Shake on it.” He pumped Tom’s hand again. “I will call up my engineering teams right away. What do you need me to do?”
“I’ll stay and be the company representative,” said Suzanne. “I was looking for a role more challenging than tea-lady...”
“Don’t let Mrs Tuesday hear you say that,” said Tom, “but if you want to stop here, I won’t complain. Please don’t sell the company, or fall in love with Ludwig and propose an alliance.”
Suzanne batted her eyelashes. Tom’s heart fluttered. He tore his eyes away from her. “Is that acceptable, Ludwig?”
“Very much so,” said the large man, giving Suzanne a strange look, as she helped herself to a Methuselah of wine. “We have a deal. I call my teams. And now, all those negotiations have made me feel hungry. Talking is over and eating begins, no?”
The next day, Gottstein’s engineers had finished repairing the Fortune. Tom and the Magus returned to the ship. As they crossed the field, the Magus was surrounded, and gently butted by what seemed to be a larger herd of doku. He heaved a bale of newly-cut doku hair on to his shoulder. “This should keep the engines going for a while,” he said. “I’ve left blueprints with Ludwig and your wife, so that they can start work on the SCT Glenforbis manufacturing facility, and build us ships to replace the Sapristi ones that have disappeared. I’ve asked them to convert the more suitable cars parked in the insecure slots on his runways, and then use them to retake control of the airfield. Apparently, he sacked the man responsible for the outsourcing, on the grounds that he was working for both STOP, and the airport authority, as a conflict of interest.”
“Good,” said Tom, “now how are you going to get away from your bovine admirers?”
“I’ll manage. Get aboard, and I’ll be with you in a moment.”
The Fortune lifted off neatly from the Magus’ estate, the newly replaced doku-mats giving extra lift and bountiful separation from the planet. The Magus was now at the controls, as both Groat and Spigot were listlessly in their bunks, and refusing to speak or eat, only sipping occasionally at bottles of Pimm’s-substitute. Both appeared to have heavy colds.
“Despite the refit, the ship feels a bit sluggish,” said Tom, “but it’s better in the cockpit now we cleared the chickens out.”
“Yes, I agree,” said the Magus. “It’s as though we have a full load. Do we have something extra in the hold? Has Ludwig left us a surprise present?”
“I’ll check.”
Tom made his way to the cargo storage area. Before he opened the hatch, he knew there was something wrong. He took a breath and disconnected the interlocks. He reeled as the smell hit him. It was like the air on Glenforbis, only many times stronger. The cargo bay was full of doku. In one corner a huge pile of hay obstructed the atmospheric readouts, but he could see that the console was ablaze with yellow warning lights. The creatures regarded him placidly and continued chewing.
Tom spoke into the communication box on the wall. “Magus, can you get down here please?”
“Why? Can’t you simply tell me? I am busy, you know.”
“You aren’t really. The controls are on auto and the distant scanners will warn of any obstructions.”
“I have to remain on standby. Suppose we hit an asteroid?”
“If you have noticed, there’s a lot of space out there, and relatively few asteroids or planetary bodies. Do you want me to give you the probability figures of us actually hitting one?”
“It doesn’t mean I don’t have to look.”
“And of course, as we are travelling faster than light, you won’t see anything before it hits us anyway.”
There was silence from the cockpit and then the Magus’ voice sounded thoughtful. “Is that the lowing of distant bovines I can hear, or am I missing my home already?”
“That’s what I mean.”
“I’ll be right down.” He materialised next to Tom.
“That was quick.”
“MUPPET.”
“No need to be rude.”
“No, MUPPET; Mental Unconscious Permanent Physical Ethereal Translocation or auto-telekinesis to you. It usually happens when I panic.”
“There’s no need to panic. It’s only that we have a full load of doku in the hold.”
“They must have sneaked on while we were being repaired.”
“And we never noticed?” said Tom.
“They can be tricky beasts when they want to be.” The Magus didn’t sound convincing.
“Each one can weigh a thousand kilograms. How tricky is that, and how can we not have noticed them sneaking aboard?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a bloody zoologist.”
“You should go and calm them down. Since you arrived, they have become a bit agitated. I’ll check on the Skagans. See if they will make it to their planet without dissolving in their own mucus.”
“I think I prefer the doku.”
“Good. Make sure they don’t stampede. The last thing we want is a herd of doku charging around the ship.”
“I’d have thought that the last thing we wanted would be not to crash into a star whilst being dissected by brain-sucker parasites from the Pits of Bradley.”
“That too. I’ll leave you to it.”
