The Fourteenth Adjustment

by Robert Wingfield

“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. A
pparently, 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.”

  Apocalypse

  In which large beasts and fresh burials do not mix

  A

  fter an uneventful few days travel, the Fortune made landfall on the verdant planet of Skagos. Tom took grateful gasps of the fresh, clean air, a complete contrast to the doku-impregnated atmosphere in the ship. He operated the cargo ramp and the beasts stampeded past him into a rich meadow. The AstroTurf in the hold had taken a severe trampling. Gone now were his dreams about inviting the ladies’ football team back on board. He shook his head at the devastation, and went back into the ship to track down the Skagans.

  Groat and Spigot were lying listlessly, exactly where he left them, only with more mucus.

  “Come on you two. We’ve landed. You’re home.”

  “Too weak now,” muttered Groat. “Too late. Want to die.”

  “Don’t be a wuss. Once you get the fresh air of Skagos in your lungs, you’ll be as precise as a deluge. If it helps, I’ll take Spigot first, especially as she seems to have lost all her clothes.”

  “Be careful with her; she’s slippy.”

  Tom managed to wrap a coat around the female Skagan, and started to drag her out of the cabin.

  He was joined by the Magus. “The doku have all left the ship.”

  “Good. Give me a hand with Spigot.”

  “I’ll take her legs,” said the Magus. “And very nice ones they would be if they weren’t covered with slime.”

  “I hope she’s not dead,” said Tom. “It would be a shame if we were too late getting her home.”

  “She’s not dead,” said the Magus, checking a pulse in her upper thigh. “Seems more like some sort of coma.”

  “I’m hoping there are some Skagans already here to help,” said Tom. “I’m guessing this is where Vac and Tanda disappeared to when they deserted SCT to the evil car-parking agencies.”

  They heaved the girl out of the ship and laid her gently on the turf. The Magus took a handful of the rich meadow grass and started to mop her down. “Here’s your coat,” he said, handing it back to Tom.

  “I’ll leave it thanks,” said Tom, regarding the slime-covered garment with distaste. “Don’t let her get cold.”

  “She won’t get cold, Sah. She is back on her home planet now.”

  “Vac!” Tom stood up suddenly, and collided with the burly figure of his former chief of police.

  “Yes, Sah. Reporting for duty, Sah. What are your orders?”

  “To get Groat out of the ship and make sure that he and Spigot are properly cared for.”

  “Right away, Sah.”

  Vac snapped his fingers, and a group of Skagan tribespeople came out of the trees.

  “We will take them to the breeding grounds,” said Vac, as his comrades carried the stricken Groat and Spigot away from the landing site. Tom frowned as he noted them also collecting his soiled coat, and the foliage the Magus had been using to clean Spigot.

  “You will come with us,” said Vac to the Magus. “You have already started on midwife duties.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come.”

  Tom and the Magus followed the procession into the bushes at the edge of the meadow, elbowing their way through the herd of browsing doku. Vac led them along a narrow path, and they found themselves in a freshly dug area, that reminded Tom of how the allotment he had at home would have looked had he actually put any effort into it. There was even a small hut, converted from a Great Western Railway cattle wagon. Tom did a double-take. He pointed. “How the Phoist did that get here?”

  “The shed, Sah? We have to have a shed in an allotment, Sah. How do these things get anywhere?”

  “That’s what I want to know.”

  “Probably terraformed with the rest of the planet,” muttered the Magus. “I’m more interested in what they’re doing right now, not how things started. What are they doing with our crew?”

  What the Skagans were doing was laying Groat and Spigot in an excavation in the bare soil at one side of the allotment. Then, along with the coat and slimy grass, they started covering them with earth.

  “Stop,” shouted Tom. “They’re not dead. Surely you don’
t bury your people while they are still alive? Although it could be a good idea with some people on my home planet,” he muttered as he tried to force his way towards the burial party.

  He was held back by Vac. “Do not interfere with Skagan rituals, Sah. We know what we are doing. It’s instinct.”

  “But, it’s also murder.” Tom watched helplessly as Groat and Spigot were completely buried. Vac left him and stood at the end of the mound. He took out a small book and flicked through it.

  “If I could read,” he announced eventually, “I would have read the ‘Blessing of the Newly-planted’ and wished the best of propagation on the parents to be... however, I can’t, so they will have to take their chances. Are there any others who are ripe to propagate?”

  Two other Skagans came forward shyly, holding hands and wiping their noses, apparently suffering from extreme head-colds. “We would like to,” said the man, sniffing. The woman nodded vigorously, spraying mucus over the burial plot.

  “Then sit in the holy soil,” said Vac. “To give you the required privacy, we will all swivel. It is not seemly that we watch you making offspring. Everyone, turn.”

  The Skagans formed a protective circle around the lovers and then turned their backs.

  “You may commence,” said Vac.

  From outside the circle, Tom tried not to look as the Skagans inside stripped off their clothes and sat, legs and arms interlocked, facing each other. He glanced at the Magus, who was staring at the couple.

  “You shouldn’t be watching,” he whispered. “This is a private, dignified act.”

  “Yeah right,” said the Magus. “They are going to be shagging like they always do. How is that dignified? They always encourage people to partake, especially outsiders.”

  There was a loud sneeze from the man inside the circle. The Skagans cheered. There was another sneeze, this time from the woman, and then both began coughing and sneezing and sounding as though they were choking, bringing up streams of mucus. The Skagan cheering continued. Before long, the couple were covered in phlegm and almost unrecognisable.

  “Turn,” shouted Vac. “Shovels... begin!”