By the Time I Get to Pellax

by Keith Dersley

  - 44 -

  The bowman was shaking and cursing under his breath. 'Further back into the bushes there!' A detachment of more than twenty men on horseback raced by. Several of them had crossbows on their backs. They wore steel helmets like piss-pots and had red crosses on their white tabards. 'They are searching for someone to hang beside the Earl of Pembroke, I'll warrant, and I'll do for one,' said the bowman. 'Are you Robin Hood?' 'Ha ha ha! Everybody knows Robin Goodfellow! No, I'm Derwent.' 'We will do everything we can to help you in your struggle, don't worry about that,' said Venner. It sounded like a joke, but he felt that the best thing he could do was enter as deeply as possible into the spirit of the holographic scenario. 'Even if you two fellows had weapons, we could do nothing against those swine until we get the rest of the band at our back,' said Derwent as they went out to the open ground. The area was now churned up with hoof prints. 'As it is, the three of us would be easy meat for them. If they did not kill us where we stood, then by God they would soon enough have us in Nottamun jail.' The hoofbeats faded to nothing in the distance. 'This way,' said Derwent after checking the position of the sun. Venner and Julian hesitated. 'Where are we going?' said Venner. 'To the camp of your Robin the Hood, or Robin Goodfellow. I sent a message to the outlaws, and recently, with their help, made an attempt to get the Earl of Pembroke out of the hands of the Sheriff of Nottingham.' 'The Earl of Pembroke? Who is he to you?' asked Venner. 'He was my captain when we went to the Holy Land, and a fine and gallant gentleman.' 'They threw him in jail?' 'He is condemned on a trumped-up charge, The real reason they wish to do away with him is that he supports King Richard.' 'The Lionheart?' 'Yes sir, may Christ bless him.' Derwent pulled out of his tunic a folded piece of paper which described the Earl as being 'gentil', in other words a nobleman, well built and near six feet tall. The charges against him were listed as 'treason and foul deeds'. More to the point there was a woodcut at the top of the paper showing a man's face. Crude as it was, it was easy enough for Venner to recognise the likeness of Captain Ted Cutter. His heart leapt, because this had to be a sign from outside the Holodream Suite. If he got to Cutter and had a few words, who knew what the result could be? The fact that Cutter, or his image, had come into the game again, as it had in the courtyard of Carbo Cato, made him wonder. He must have missed a trick there, back in 'Rome'. More than likely, the Captain had got the technicians to use his image as a way of contacting Venner with a view to getting him out. The paper said, 'Where is he?' and offered thirty golden crowns for information. After checking the sun again and fixing in his head the location of the points of the compass, Derwent made his mind up. 'There's the way,' he said, pointing with his whole arm. 'That's where the horsemen were making for,' said Venner. They continued plodding on, watchfully, down a barely discernible track that presented itself. It looked as if it had been made by badgers and hares. Of course, the deep marks of horses' hooves were all around, leading in the same direction. They had travelled a mile or two when there was a shout from either side of the way. 'Godwin was right!' 'Run them down! They are ours, and so is the reward!' The three men stood frozen: the Sheriff's men had left two of their mounted soldiers behind to waylay anyone who might be following. 'Two is good, Baas, just about manageable,' said Julian. One rider came at the little Hottentot, swinging his sword. However, the oblong shield he was carrying got in his way. Also, he did not appear to be able to control his mount. This meant that Julian evaded his thrusts and got up under his sword arm, swinging himself up behind the fellow's saddle where he pulled the knife he carried. Venner had been watching this while the other rider was trying to run Derwent down, to crush him with the weight of his horse. Derwent had not drawn his sword. Instead, still clutching his bow, which he flourished in the horse's face, he concentrated on nimbly avoiding his attacker. Venner contemplated jumping up behind this fellow as Julian had the other one, but he lacked the Hottentot's nimbleness. Derwent had now slid behind a couple of close-set trees where the rider could not follow, and there he put an arrow to his string and loosed a shaft which hit he fellow's steel helmet and glanced off. Then another shaft had him galloping away. Yet another arrow chased him and lodged in a gap in his armour because they heard him cry out. Meanwhile Julian's man, still groaning and covered with blood, was sprawled on the ground with a cut throat. After cleaning the blade with a bunch of grass, Julian returned his knife to its place. The dead man's horse followed the other one along the track which went towards the camp of Robin Goodfellow.

  - 45 -

  Derwent shook Venner and then Julian by the hand. 'What stout fellows you are! Robin shall hear of this. We'll get Pemroke back yet, I tell you!' For him the fact that his two new friends had not simply run for it went a long way. They continued walking and now it was turning to late afternoon. 'Will we get there before dark?' asked Venner. 'Aye, but we'll not approach them directly, we shall have to be very careful of those horse-riding boys.' He strode on ahead, grimmer than before. 'Julian,' muttered Venner, 'we should have talked to that fellow back in Rome. The one who had all those people waiting in the courtyard to see him, Carbo Cato. He was none other than a friend of mine back where I come from. A fellow who could help us quite a bit.' 'Yes, and his face was on that paper, Baas, wasn't it? The same man who was the king pin on the great flying ship that we visited.' Venner stopped in his track, putting his hand on Julian's shoulder and staring into his face. You enigmatic rogue, he thought to himself. Those black eyes in which a crazy wisdom, all the deeper for what seemed like a strain of foolishness, resided. Those black eyes so hard to read! 'Yes, we might do well to speak to the king pin, Baas, but the trouble is that the horse riders and their friends have him under lock and key in the town, if I am not mistaken.' Absolutely, thought Venner. Between us and 'the Earl of Pembroke', and freedom to get back to the Tortuga, is a castle full of hard cases with sharp swords and chain mail armour. Dark was almost there when they heard someone strumming a tune: 'Hey-ho hey-ho, this life is so slow/And pleasure becometh so rare-o.' Some time before getting to the outlaws' camp the hoofprints had disappeared. It might mean something, it might not. 'Perhaps the good Saint Peter preserved us all by leading the Philistines astray,' said Derwent. Mayhap they still didn't have the luck to chance upon Robin's forest abode.' He put his hand to his cheek and called, 'Hullooooo!' A moment later he followed this greeting with a fair resemblance of the alarm call of a blackbird when a cat approaches the young. The same sound came chirruping back. They approached a pleasant bank of wild flowers beyond which a bonfire burned, causing little smoke. Leaning round the trunk of a tree were two stout archers with their bows drawn and an arrow at their ear, ready to let fly if they saw any of the Sheriff of Nottingham's hirelings. 'Lay down your bows, my lucky lads,' said someone, 'do ye not recognise Derwent there all tired out with walking and the anxieties of the chase?' Before them stood Robin Hood himself, the same height as Derwent, who was no giant. Even when he stood alongside Little John however, Robin looked every inch the leader. He wore his authority neither so light as to lessen his power nor so heavy as to be overbearing. No one, Derwent had told Venner, begrudged Robin the leadership, and very rarely did anyone challenge his decisions. Venner looked at the leader carefully. Was he someone from the Tortuga? Robin Goodfellow had such an air about him that Venner felt as if he had known him all his life, that he must have been born as he was on Pellax, the Second Earth. But he could not recognise him as anyone from the crew of Captain Ted Cutter. The smell of food was in the air and a pot was steaming with lumps of venison and pork. Venner and Julian were accepted without a murmur as travellers. Plenty such went through Sherwood every day of the year. The various Merry Men introduced themselves and shook hands, uttering their names: Bediver, Clunt, Kicker Joe, Abram, Seth, Godbold, Bradwell, and so on. The cookfires were blazing and a crude table had been set, piled with wooden plates and horn cups. Soon the travellers were sitting back to nurse their bloated stomachs, listening to ditties uttered by Alan-a-Dale such as 'The Brewer's D
aughter'. Preparations for turning in began: men made for their favoured spots to roll themselves in thick cloaks and blankets, Other fellows, taking their turn, went off to keep guard. There were two more who bade goodnight and returned to their wives and their cottages until the morning. But Venner and Julian still had not seen one outlaw whose name was on everybody's lips: Sir Franz. It had been 'Sir Franz would really like to get a look at this this,' or, 'Wait until Sir Franz hears about that.' 'I have not yet seen Sir Franz,' said Venner. 'What matters it, sir?' replied Robin Hood. 'He's out along some greenwood path and will return when he feels like it.' Sir Franz was not the only nobleman among the band (Robin himself should have been a belted earl). It was dark and Alan was singing the tune strangely reminiscent of some of the Scottish folk singer Donovan's ballads, when a shadow stepped out from under a massive, spreading tree and made his way towards the fire. 'So that's Sir Franz,' muttered Venner to himself. 'You have seen him before, Baas?' said Julian. Yes, thought Venner to himself, it's Hollis Pierpoint. The slightly rotund figure in doublet and tights and a simple straw hat went to the pot over the fire where the man in charge of the food that night ladled him a bowlful of hot stuff. 'Sir Franz!' called Venner softly. The man looked up at him, nodded to himself and, taking his bowl, swiftly walked away into the grove where the outlaws were laying their cloaks and blankets for the night. While he was wondering whether to follow the newcomer, Venner saw two men come running in to approach the outlaws' leader who was sitting on the branch of a tree. 'Robin, we heard a horse whinnying beyond the grove,' said the first scout. The fellow with him nodded. 'We have guards all around, so be of good cheer,' the outlaw leader told Venner. 'If the enemy comes we'll be warned. Until then, sleep. Be not afeared or anxious in your mind, but take your rest until some move is made by the Philistines. And mayhap it will never be made, what, boys?' The cookfires were well banked down with moss, in order to be rekindled in the morning when they would break their fast. 'If it's true that they've found us, we will disperse in an instant,' Robin told Venner confidentially. 'They do not ask our names, Baas,' said Julian when Robin had melted into the grove amongst his band. 'That's true,' said Venner. In fact, he thought to himself, everything was getting sketchier than ever and full of uncertainty. Like life on the outside also, come to think of it. He put his hand close to the outside of the bottom of the almost-empty cauldron on the fire and the coals scorched his fingers. That was real enough, that had the bite of life behind it, and could do some genuine harm. The main thing was what was in the head of every outlaw that night as it had been on other nights: how to get through the next attack with a whole skin and not end up in 'Nottamun' market place in the stocks or swinging from a gibbet. In fact they all slept well that night. As they awoke next morning and were about to make for the cooking fire, Robin Hood appeared at the side of Venner and Julian who were standing close to Derwent, wrapped in cloaks. 'You two, can you shoot?' he said with a grin. 'We are ready to learn,' said Venner. 'You are?' said the outlaw dubiously. 'Well, in the meantime you shall be issued with swords and quarterstaves, yes?' 'Yes,' said Venner enthusiastically. He did not add that they might need some instruction to go along with these items as well. 'Well,' said the outlaw, 'I would like you two lads to stick close to Derwent for the next day or so. You and Sir Franz can help him with his preparations for aiding the Earl of Pembroke, God save him.' Derwent smiled sadly and nodded. He was much addicted at this time to sitting with his chin in his hand, staring into the fire and scowling as he turned over in his head plans to get the Earl out of prison. Venner followed Julian towards the cookfire. 'At least the horsemen did not attack last night while we were sleeping, Baas. They could have chopped us up good, But I was not worried because these fellows know how to keep their eyes open.' Suddenly Sir Franz walked by, and Venner took his chance. 'We have a friend in common, I believe, sir: Captain Cutter?' Sir Franz avoided the question. 'I am more interested in the pressing case of the Earl of Pembroke,' said the knight. 'If we all work together we may see him out of the hands of the Sheriff of Nottingham before long.' 'I heartily pray we may,' said Venner.

  - 46 -

  The software of Mitzi the living doll was something else. Kalat Hertig's flirting had brought a response. Mitzi had at least agreed to meet him for tea one afternoon at his apartment in Gart. 'I told Erl I would be shopping for things we need at the apartment,' she said. Hertig reflected that he might not need his coding expert, Kyle, to make changes in Mitzi's programming after all. These skills might be useful later though, because you could never predict the pitfalls that could be encountered in a relationship. For now, she was falling for Hertig's charm as in an old-time movie. Like Old Blue Eyes himself he was doing it his way. Yes, he told himself, what he had going here was an actual relationship. It did not seem strange to speak of his obsession in terms of affection, of pledging something, as well as lust. And what was love but a highly localised obsession? In more sober moments Hertig could kick himself for allowing this to happen, however. He was in the quicksand, through fooling around. He had been absurdly confident. He had stupidly felt a sort of amusement at the start of all this. Looking at the cool, smooth skin of Mitzi's fabulous face he had felt himself slipping into the trap. Even then it would have been possible to get out, but he had allowed it to happen. It was stupid, because with a living woman he would never have permitted himself the extravagance, the indulgence, of falling in love. He had been caught too many times and his good nature had been used against him by complacent, nylon-clad schemers. But a pile of circuitry with a cute pair of hips and a velvety voice synthesiser? It was impossible. Ridiculous. But here he was, experiencing the anxieties and thrills of a lover. It was dangerous in more ways than one. (He did not worry about Spurgo. His guess was that the pirate would be slightly annoyed, at the most, if he found out that his living doll was serving someone else's turn. Erl Spurgo saw Mitzi as a computer, thought Hertig, and that was that. He felt no urge to utilise her as an 'erotic companion'. As for love, the very idea of it would be preposterous to Spurgo. The pirate had hinted once or twice that there was a woman he still carried a torch for, a woman with blood in her veins: his schoolyard sweetheart back on Pluron. Reianne? Yes, that was it. Reianne.) So, one afternoon Hertig was waiting by the window of his bungalow in Gart, and he saw Mitzi gliding towards the front door. That's no computer, that's the girl who put the 'soft' in 'software', he thought to himself. He opened the door and stood back. 'Mitzi!' She smiled and stepped into the hallway. 'Through here,' he said, guiding her into the sitting room. She could have been human. So very nearly. But that slight, to many people probably imperceptible, oddness made her appear all the more desirable to Kalat Hertig. Everything about her just jibed so well with him. He was getting excited. 'You like Barbattan tea, I believe,' he said, switching the kettle on to boil an infusion of fresh spring water. 'Barbattan? My favourite!' Yes, she would be able to drink the tea, she had a protocol built in. She couldn't taste it of course, but that made no difference to Hertig. She could swallow it and everything. 'May I?' he said, helping her off with her coat. She shrugged it off with a delectable, girlish action. Then she sat on the sofa, leaning back smoothly. Hertig did not sit beside her yet, the kettle was about to boil. He poured the scalding water onto the Barbattan leaves, stirred the pot, closed the lid, then put the tea cosy on the pot. 'You have a wonderful house,' she said. 'I find it comfortable,' he said, sliding in beside her and putting his right arm out so it was almost touching her back. She turned to him and smiled. 'You've got lovely eyes,' he said, getting close to her face. 'Thank you. You are kind.' 'You've got wonderful lips,' he said, putting his right hand on her left shoulder. It felt as if warm skin was sliding over a slender shoulder bone, all maintained at blood heat. 'Are you sure you want this?' she said silkily as he leaned in to kiss her lips. 'I want you,' he said, and she did not pull away. Though she did not hug him in return, she let him kiss her. He felt at her breasts, which were soft and firm as the ones he had read about in th
e first works of pornography he bought long ago. Her thighs were soft, her panties were flimsy and came down easily. He manoeuvred himself on top of her and he went into a hot, soft cave of what seemed like flesh, but not so moist. Suddenly it was as if an iron door had slammed on the most tender part of him, and he shrieked. 'Aagggh! What is it? What?' 'One of my protocols,' said the android.