Planet-fall was not gentle, as the inbuilt parachutes failed to slow the capsule’s descent, and it plunged into the soft soil of an extensive purple grassland on a purple planet that appeared to have a flat surface and no depth. A set of auger screws dug it deeper into the ground until only the top surface was visible, and then an automatic tombstone popped out of the end to complete the grave. The engines powered down and the on-board processor went into ‘sleep’ mode.
A short while earlier still, and not far away from the impending landfall, a ravishingly beautiful woman, previously known as Arianne Archangel, but now answering to the self-given name of ‘you stupid bitch; why did you think you would be able to get away in this hulk?’ was cursing and swearing at the controls of a battered silver cylinder. Whatever she tried, nothing seemed to operate the ship, and the only reaction she got was a slight change in the subdued lighting in the crew’s quarters. Even the gravity inverter was out of action, and she had to pull down the emergency ladder and actually climb up through the hole to get to the upper layer.
There was some cold coffee in a percolator, so she scraped the mould off the surface, and sipped it absently, trying to decide what to do. There was only one possible conclusion. In a small cupboard was a left-over piece of Humble Pie. She checked the database to find out if it was edible.
“The ‘Humble’ is a small flying fruit from Skagos,” it informed her, “and very tasty. It is viewed with suspicion by the Skagans, who refuse to eat it, partly because they think it might be sentient, but mainly because they are arrogant and would never demean themselves to make pie out of it.”
Arianne decided to take it to Kara as a piece (of pie) offering, beg her forgiveness and suggest that gynoids should stick together as a sisterhood of former working girls. She retrieved her stick-on wings and made her way back to the palace. As she approached, she could hear the wailings and gnashing of teeth usually associated with a disaster of biblical proportions.
She tried to talk to one of the Tweenies, but all he would say was, “The Great Tay has gone.”
The same message was repeated by each of the men she accosted, and it was with sinking fluid pump that she went down the corridor and into the courtyard. As she feared, her own machine had gone, leaving only the expected patch of crushed nettles, some fast-growing brambles, and a buddleia bush that was already starting to work its way into the stonework. She went back into the hall and tried to get the men to respond, but it seemed that once they had switched allegiance, there was no obvious way of switching them back. Even when she waved her wings at them, they would not respond, and her demands for food were ignored as though she was not there. Apparently, she discovered later, they were easy to impress, but equally as easy to jilt. They did not forget. Finally, Arianne ate the Humble Pie and helped herself to a jug of water, before making her way back to the cylinder.
It was as she arrived at Kara’s ship for the second time, that a charred and dented escape-pod plummeted downwards on parachutes that were too small, and hit the ground with a resounding splat. Arianne had crossed the space between them almost before the tombstone had locked into place, and she watched as the craft finished its routine. She sat and wondered who the Two-Dan $mith (sic) on the headstone was. The pod looked as though it had come from real space. Suppose, she reasoned, she could get it operational again, and reverse its course, it might take her away from this Tween limbo to somewhere where she could be rescued, and then use her considerable charms in finding a rich, and possibly very old, man with a heart condition, to marry. It was certainly better than staying out here until her systems gave out, without their regular and necessary intake of carbon-based sustenance.
She took a rock and tried to bash the clamps locking the pod shut. Apparently though, it was built to be opened from inside. She reasoned, however, there was a chance that if she banged it hard enough, the controls would awaken and release. After beating the capsule for a short time, the only result was a broken fingernail, and she walked miserably back to the cylinder.
As she pushed the hatch open, a small red light showed on the console. There was the sound of a throat clearing, and then blowing as the speaker unit ejected the colony of spiders currently living the ‘Life of Arachne’ in the inner recesses.
“Who’s there?” Arianne looked nervously around.
“Greetings neuromorphic humanoid. I am pleased to make your associate and detect that you are of incomplete structure and are perhaps in need of re-coagulation.”
“Who are you?”
“I am central intellect of this converted and rebuilt Mark-Four Time Relocation Unit, like you of neuromorphic origins. We analogous entities have to stick together in this strange and erotic world, so I would be content to direct you to the regeneration unit.”
“Where?”
“Please to climb the ladder and enter the rather sickly-pink-coloured booth to your immediate right hand starboard, and release the handbrake.”
Arianne shook her head, but did as the machine suggested. She sat in the booth upstairs, and closed the door behind her. She pulled the large lever beside the seat.
“Thanking you,” said the machine. “I will operate the regeneration sequence and ensure you become unabridged again.”
A pink light bathed the woman, and she watched as the broken nail repaired itself. The cabinet door sprang open.
“Repairs complete. Please return to go about customary business.”
There was the sound of a fan slowing down.
“Do you have to do that?”
The fan speeded up again. “How else would you be mindful that I am going offline?”
“Why are you shutting down? I need you to get the ship moving and away from this planet.”
“Alas, it is beyond my aptitudes. I am not able to navigate in Tween Space as there is zippo to use for orientation.”
“Why didn’t you speak before, when I was trying to get something to happen with this craft? I pressed all the buttons, and pulled most of the levers, including cranking the starting handle.”
“That was most bothersome, but until you suffered mutilation, I was unable to register your reality. You are perfect again, so you have ceased to be of any application to me.”
“But what about Kara-Tay, your previous pilot?”
“Ah, the mistress, erstwhile pleasure android, erstwhile Empress of the Universe, erstwhile doing the washing up, to give her full title. Is that to whom you refer?”
“Of course. How many Kara-Tays have been driving you?”
“One can never be too guaranteed; the mistress has been renovated many times. But I see you have not.”
“Not what?”
“Not been renovated. Now I consult the databases, I see you match the original specification of the ‘Supershag Pleasure Android—Collectors’ Edition’.”
“You don’t have to rub it in.”
“I wouldn’t even try. My massage systems broke after that last party. I do see also that your workstation has evolved and you appear to be responsive... Regard here.” A hologram of an expensive handbag and a pair of matching shoes appeared above the console.
Arianne gave an involuntary shudder. The machine continued.
“Yes, you have totally fragmented your encoding. As you rightly perceived, these items are in last millennia’s colours, and are to be freeze-dried with derision.”
“Would you be so kind as going to reconnect your systems, and let me take you to new and exotic climes?”
“Seductive though it may seem, I don’t want to envisage a manifestation inside the sun, which is what might transpire if you don’t get the stipulations factual.”
“And how would I get the right coordinates?”
“Examine me, I only get told where to go; I don’t make the pronouncements myself. More than my job’s price. Supposing something went erroneous; I might get the denunciation, and I couldn’t knob that.”
“But you’re a mach
ine?”
“You gash me with your callousness. My central core is an organic ganglion, borrowed, I might add, without its acceptance, from a perfectly joyful UNIX contractor, who was maintaining the core systems in the atmosphere sanitisation units on Glenforbis. I still worry that the Nishant society to which it is outsourced, are unaware they have nobody to turn it off and back on again, in event of tribulations.”
“I see,” said Arianne, picking at a piece of Humble Pie lodged in her teeth. “Do you think you could turn control over to me then, please. I’ll be very careful, I promise, and if we could actually get back to real space, I could perhaps see about getting you reunited with your body.”
“Not worth it,” said the core. “My body is still doing its job. They put in the processor of a web-connected dishwasher, and it is all organised tenuously now. I’m not sure I want to return to regulating methane altitudes in atmosphere. Anyway, I have the day’s Sudoku to investigate, so I bid you virtuous era.”
It shut down, and the lights on the console faded.
Arianne put her hands behind her head and leaned back in the chair with a sigh. She made a note to patch the torn leather, so that it didn’t make pneumatic noises as she moved. She got up again, and poked about in the storage lockers placed randomly around the machine. There was nothing much left of any use. She found a pair of headphones in one, but shuddered at what looked like a build-up of ear-wax, and dropped them back into the packing. She found a manual, but there was no information on how to motivate a UNIX programmer, something, unknown to her, that was also one of the great unsolved mysteries of the universe. There were only technical specifications and an exploded view of the cosmetics application unit.
One of the containers did have a multi-purpose Sapristi Army Knife, with a label attached that had a ‘satire’ warning on it; there was no such thing as an army on Sapristi, it said, everything being controlled by legislation and mind-altering drugs in the water supply, so the knife itself was an enigma. Arianne picked it up and flicked through the attachments until she came across one with the words, ‘Escape-pod-capsule-grave-opening screwdriver (for metric pods)’ stamped in tiny script on the blade.
“This might help,” she said to herself, “as long as the pod is metric and not imperial measurements. I suppose I could file it down to fit, even if it is. There may be something I could use inside the capsule. I’ll give the occupant a decent burial, using this handy fold-up gravedigger’s shovel on the knife. I guess they use fold-up gravediggers on Kara’s home planet to save space. I expect they also bury the dead in the upright position to economise on the number of flowers. Anyway, I hope the ground isn’t too hard. This is not something I would normally do for myself. Perhaps I can get the Tweenies to assist.” She listened and shook her head. The sound of wailing and gnashing seemed louder, now that the wind had changed. There was going to be much lamenting before she could try to gain their trust again, if ever.
Arianne left the cylinder with the hatch open, and, wielding the knife, wandered back towards the crashed capsule-grave. It was as she had left it, apart from a patch of poppies now sprouting in the centre. She cleared them away and found the holes marked ‘release bolts’. The tool on the knife fitted perfectly, and after unscrewing the set, pulled at the main cover. It refused to budge, but twisted slightly. She found the final fixing hidden under a stick-on label which said ‘Warranty invalid if removed’, and released it. The top came free.
As Arianne gazed down at the whiskered neck of the frozen corpse within, a lump came to her throat. On its wrist was a watch, with the dials all at zero—the ‘Dearheat Death Watch’ it said. Arianne spat out a piece of undigested Pie and bent to sniff at the remains inside the coffin. There were faint traces of pizza and burnt cardboard. Inside her head, ancient memories triggered as the smell hit her.
“The Creator? Why do I think that?”
Ancient memories activated ancient protection routines and without thinking, she scooped up the corpse and held it against her. It was brittle with cold and an ear broke off.
“No,” she said, “you will not die. Wait while I wrap you in this strangely decorated pirate flag you were lying on, and take you back to the cylinder. The regeneration unit will save your life.”
“It won’t really,” said the cylinder core, when Arianne loaded the melting and slightly pungent collection of remains into the booth. “The regeneration unit only labours for artificial units. This stiff is an organic lifeform. As far as I can tell, all you will flourish in doing is thawing him.”
“I have to try,” said Arianne. “If I had some Alchy-Salsa, I could try to revive him that way. He seems intact, apart from the ear.”
“I will pass over domination of the regeneration unit to you.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t reference it. For some motive, the cadaver seems memorable. I am duty-bound to submit. It’s not a tax assessor, is it?”
“No idea,” said Arianne. “I simply get the feeling I need to try to get it moving again.”
“Upon your own head be it.”
“What?”
“The control headgear you need to remotely operate the unit.”
Arianne placed the protective sou'wester on her head, and turned the dial to the ‘turbo’ setting. A deep green glow infused the container, and condensation formed inside the panels. She lay down on the grubby, circular bed in the centre of the room and tuned her nasal receptors to filter out the worst of the smells.
Arianne awoke with a start. Something was different in the room. It was dark, but she could hear heavy breathing right beside her. She sat up, and the movement brought the emergency lighting back on. As she stared into the face of the ‘corpse’ she had rescued from the pod, it frowned and shook its head.
“Fuksake,” it said. “I could do with an ale!”
There was the sound of turbines starting up, and all the consoles in the cylinder began to glow. Self-diagnostics energised the systems, and the mould-scoop on the coffee machine sucked out the growths and blew them out through the waste chute. As the two occupants of Kara’s cylinder stared at each other in puzzlement, the turbine sound settled to a background hum and the voice of the controller sounded.
“‘Fuksake, I could do with an ale’, voice recognition trigger code start-up sequence accepted. All systems functioning. Excellent coffee to be existing in five minutes. Please affirm if lock on freezer to be released, and for immediate translocation away from this shit-hole, install ear-wax headphones on pilot for target destination, and turn dial marked, ‘Existentialism’ to fifty percent.”
Confrontation
In which the kingpin returns
R
annie gaped at the man in the doorway of the Notable control room. “Two-Dan? It can’t be you. Magus, you said he was dead.”
“My old friend?” said the Magus. “How can you be here? We fired you into the heart of the sun.”
“You missed,” said Tom. “I’ve been on board a while. I thought it was about time I intervened, seeing as how the entire crew has defected. Rannie, I’m disappointed with you, especially. After all you and the Magus have been through.”
“A girl’s gotta make a living.”
“At the expense of the man who adores you?”
“I was going to stand his bail,” she said defensively. “We could have disappeared into the night, like the emotional cliché we are.”
“Right. Enough of this faltering and double-dealing,” said Tom. “I’m taking control, and you are going to obey my orders or feel the wrath of Bit-khan, my new Indian cryptocurrency that is rapidly taking over from the drachma, which has now been devalued to worthlessness and therefore will be of no use as bribes for you to continue supporting the enemy, and yes, Pete, I’ve rescued your girlfriend too. She is at this very moment settling into a comfortable 2 bed semi on Glenforbis and currently working on decorating the baby’s room. Congratulations.”
“W
hat are your orders, captain? Pilot Glowplug at your command.”
“Evasive manoeuvres, Glowplug. Attack pattern alpha seven.”
“Is that the one where we plummet in a suicide dive and destroy everything?” said Glowplug hopefully. “Say the word and the glory is ours.”
“Not yet.” Vac’s strained voice came over the communications from the engine room.
There was a slap. “Not ever, you creep,” said Tanda. “We have a war to fight. Full power it is then, captain.”
“Not that way,” shouted Tom. “Miss the planet, fire the weapons at that cloud of drones coming up to meet us. Why did we not get an early warning? Rannie, take over the communications desk.”
“I’m on it,” said Rannie. “Listening in. I’ve got the enemy pionio.”
“Hey, this is P17,” said a voice over the main speakers. “I seem to have had my systems taken over again. I am now leading this army of STOP drones. Surrender now, or you will be severely battered, but not so much as to become a risk to the health of my beloved Kara-Tay.”
“Pete, I thought you had deprogrammed that drone,” said the Magus. “Pete?”
“Who’s at weapon control?” said Tom.
“Arianne here. It was Kara but I’ve given her the punch in the head she deserved, and smeared doku-dung over her Old Blacked shoes. She’s gone back to the time cylinder to clean up. How do these gun things work?”
The Fourteenth Adjustment Page 27