“How about going for a sauna and massage in the morning, lunch in the Pilot’s Bar, swimming in the afternoon, an evening meal and a chill out back here in the evening?”
“That all sounds great. I wish I could have thought of all that.”
“I guess I know the station better than you so I know what is on offer and what I would like to do.”
At just that moment Denny came past and must have overheard us, “If you need to know what’s on offer Tiger, just give me a call.” She suggested before sashaying way, with a huge grin. Claire wasn’t amused, all the more so as she spotted me leering at Denny’s bum. A swift dig in the ribs returned my red faced attention to her.
Regaining my earlier train of thought I dismissed the diversion. “Erm but, I don’t have any trunks for the sauna, massage and swimming.”
“That’s OK, you won’t have to go Commando they supply everything in the facilities.”
“What shall I do with Adams?”
“There are lockers for your clothes and for your computer which are all biometric.”
After breakfast we went to the pilot’s facilities. I got changed in the changing rooms and stuffed my jumpsuit into a locker. I placed Adams carefully into a separate locker.
“You will come back for me won’t you Roy?”
“Of course I will Adams. If I left you here who would I play computer games against?”
“Claire?”
“I don’t think so. You’ve seen the way she plays.”
I closed the door which clicked shut and looked for the direction sign for the sauna. The sauna was hot but not as hot as Claire. I hadn’t seen her with so few clothes on, wow! Without moving my eyes I took in the visage and felt the sap stir. I immediately clamped down on my thoughts and everywhere else also. Smiling and ensuring eye contact only, I spent the hour telling myself not to look at her boobs. ‘Keep eye contact. Keep eye contact…’
After lunch and chatting over two not Irish coffees, the swimming was nice and refreshing. I was expecting the pool to be small, but it turned out to be quite large with a diving board and a couple of slides. After that we went back to my apartment and relaxed, until we were ready for our evening meal.
As we stepped into Sam’s Bar Gary called us over.
“Do you two love birds want to sit with me?” asked Gary.
“Not if you’re going to make embarrassing comments.”
Open palmed and hands in the air, he abjured his previous poke. “Sorry, I promise to be good. Come and sit down.”
“Do you want something to eat or drink?” I asked Gary.
“I’ve eaten but I’d love a lemonade.”
Claire sat down whilst I went to the bar to get some drinks for us all and to order food for Claire and myself.
When I returned Gary said “Claire tells me you were a teacher.”
“Yes but this job is far more interesting.”
“Surely it must have been fun working with children all day?”
“Are you mad? Have you ever worked with a group of half-crazed, hormone fuelled and ram bumptious teenagers?”
“Well no. But there must have been some parts of the job that were fun?”
“Not really. Sometimes the kids would do or say silly things.”
“Like what?”
“Well, and I swear this is a true story, when I first started teaching we used to use floppy discs to store data and sometimes to run programs. I was using a desktop publishing program that was run from a disc but it involved swapping discs because it couldn’t all fit onto one disc. This was in the days before we had networked PCs or even PCs. One day in a lesson a year seven student came to me and said ‘Sir, what does foreplay mean?’”
“No way. Was she serious?”
“Deadly serious. She didn’t know what it meant.”
“What did you do?”
“I burst out laughing because it caught me by surprise and then I told her that she’d have to ask her mother. The head of department was in the I.T. office so I told him what had happened. He explained that the year eleven students had been renaming the discs and had given them all stupid names so when the computer needed the disc it would come up with a stupid name for the disc. Obviously one of them had called the disc foreplay.”
“That’s quite funny.”
“That’s not the end of the story. I went over to the student who had asked me what foreplay was and I asked her what the problem was with the computer and the discs. Her reply was ‘The computer keeps asking for the disc called foreplay and I know it’s the wrong disc because our disc is called clit’”
Gary nearly spat his drink out. “You’re kidding? What did you do?”
“I had to walk away because I didn’t want her asking me anymore questions about the names of discs.”
Our food arrived and we started eating.
“We also had a music teacher,” I continued, “that had a bad habit of giving misinformation.”
“What do you mean?” asked Claire.
“On a piano you have two pedals. Yes?”
“Yes. One dampens the strings and one lets the strings sustain.”
“That’s what he didn’t teach the pupils.”
“So what did he tell them?”
“He would play a piece of music and tell them the right pedal would make the music go faster and the left pedal made the music go slower. He would play a piece of music and then pump the right pedal furiously and speed up his playing. Then he would pump the left pedal furiously and slow down his playing.”
“That’s terrible.”
“I know but even some of the older students believed what he was saying.”
“Did you do anything like that?”
“Not anything so bad. However, I did have a map of the school up on my classroom wall. After scanning the original map I superimposed another map on top and put a title ‘Nuclear Bunker Information’ and then labelled the map with made up facilities like Geiger Counter Centre. There are a lot of ex-students who really believe my school is built on top of a nuclear bunker.”
“I can’t believe you did that.”
“There’s also the ghost story.”
“Ghost story?”
“Ha-ha, yes,” I chuckled, “I talked about it the whole time I was teaching in the school and it eventually became an urban legend in the local area.”
“What was the story?”
“I told it to year sevens each year. The story goes that when they built the school in the early fifties the builders lived on site. One night a couple of the Irish builders went and had a few too many drinks at the local bar. On the way home, one of them fell into the foundations of the school and his friend was too drunk to do anything about it so he left him there. In the morning they had a delivery of cement for the foundations and buried the builder alive. By the time his friend woke up, it was too late for a rescue so they left the body in the foundations. I told them that the builder was called Patrick Fields and was known as Paddy to his friends.”
“Paddy Fields? Are you telling me that the students actually believed that story?” asked Gary.
“Yes, totally. I had a door in my room that had been blocked off because the area behind was used by another classroom instead. I would tell the students that the door had been bricked up out of respect for the builder because the area behind was over the foundations where he was buried.”
“No way.”
“I’m telling you it became an urban legend. Parents would discuss it with me during parents evening. I was going to get the Design and Technology department to make a plaque in memory of Patrick Fields and I was going to screw it to the wall outside my room.”
“Why didn’t you do it?” asked Gary.
“C.B.A. – couldn’t be bothered.
“Anything else, you’d like to tell us?”
“The only other stupid thing I did was to make up a story about the Internet. We had a very reliable connection in school but about once a term it
would go down for a couple of hours.”
“So what did you tell the kids?”
“They all knew who Bill Gates was because he was so rich and famous. I would tell them that he owned the Internet and in his office was a switch to turn it all off. Every now and again for fun he would turn the whole Internet off. They would ask why he would switch it off and I would say to them that if they were one of the richest people in the world and they had an off switch wouldn’t they turn it off for fun?”
“That is so bad,” said Gary, “You will have adults that you have taught who will still believe there is a body under your school, a nuclear bunker and a switch in Bill Gates’ office that turns off the whole Internet.”
“It kills the boredom. When I was in school I had a metal work teacher that told us the white stuff that was used to cool the lathes was pigeon milk. I believed that story until I was in my twenties.”
“Do all teachers tell silly stories?” asked Claire.
“No, only the unprofessional ones like me.”
“Hang on a second,” interrupted Gary, “does that mean chalk isn’t made from the bones of white mice?”
“Correct Gary. Also, lead pencils are made from graphite, the three R’s have only one R and there isn’t a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.”
“My childhood has been shattered.”
“Didn’t you ever do anything silly Claire?” I asked.
“Not really. Cleaning houses is boring and you don’t get chance to do anything silly. There was a primary school I used to clean and we used to use the computer chairs with the little wheels on to have chair races up and down the corridors.”
“You little rebel,” said Gary.
“Well it’s better than nothing. I bet you’ve never done anything silly have you Gary?”
“Actually I have.”
“Pray tell.” I enquired.
“I had this old client who was a real bitch. I totally hated her and she was so condescending when she talked to me. She never gave a tip and would always complain about her hair or the coffee or the water being too hot or too cold. What a bitch.”
“So what happened?” I asked.
“One day she came into the shop and demanded I cut her hair so it would look like Marilyn. I told her I’d have to remove her glasses to get it right and so she couldn’t see what I was doing. After several hours and her constantly moaning I showed her what I’d done.”
“What did you do?”
“I’d cut it shoulder length, made it look lank and greasy and dyed it black. She screeched and said ‘That doesn’t look like Marilyn Monroe’ and I said ‘Christ I though you meant Marilyn Manson!’”
“What did she say?”
“’Who the fuck is Marilyn Manson?’ I got fired from that salon but I’ve always thought it was worth it. It also meant I had to get a job in another salon which I did very quickly and got paid twice what I was originally earning.”
“I think that beats anything I ever did as a teacher. What about you Adams? Have you got any stories of anything that you’ve done that’s a bit silly?”
“I haven’t been turned on long enough to develop any stories. Perhaps I should try to do something daft so I have a story to tell.”
“Maybe you should.”
*
The following day was another relaxing day with Claire. After a sauna and massage I had lunch with Claire in Sam’s Bar.
“What do you want to do tonight Claire?”
“I thought you were going to meet Gary in the Pilot’s Bar?”
“Oh yes, I forgot. Are you coming?”
“I’ve got a quick meeting with Simon at six o’clock so I’ll meet you there.”
“OK sounds good.”
After lunch we went swimming again and Claire left at about four o’clock. I went back to my apartment for a quick snooze before going back out.
At six forty five Adams woke me up and I headed over to the Pilot’s Bar. As I approached the bar I could see through the doors that the lights were out. I walked through the bar doors and the place was empty.
“Hello?” I called but nobody answered. I turned to leave the bar and as I did Doctor Philberts came through the doors. He was holding a small black box which he pointed in my direction.
“It’s you,” he said sternly.
“It’s me what?”
“You’re the carrier.”
“Sorry Doctor you’re going to have to give me more than that because I ain’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”
“We’ve had an outbreak of Sirius Cryptosporidium.”
“What’s that then?”
“Cryptosporidium on Earth is a bacterium that gives you sickness and diarrhea. However the Sirius form is a little different.”
“In what way different?”
“Well in some species, like mine, it’s totally harmless but we have found that in humans it can cause ischemia particularly to the penis.”
“What do you mean?”
“It restricts the blood supply to your penis causing death to the cells which quickly turns black, like frost-bite, causing it to drop off.”
“Holy shit Doctor! What are we going to do?”
“It’s OK Roy. I’ve only detected the bacterium on your clothing. I think your clothing must have become contaminated on your journey here in the shuttle. I cannot have you wandering the station with contaminated clothing though. What I want you to do is strip off and give me all your clothing. I will take it all to a decontamination unit which is situated down the hall. The whole process should only take about five minutes and then you can have it all back.”
“Can’t I go to my apartment first or come with you?”
“Are you mad? I cannot have you wandering the station potentially spreading the bacterium to all and sundry.”
“What if somebody comes in?”
Doctor Philberts looked around the dark room “Well there’s nobody here now. If you like you can ask your computer to lock the door behind me so nobody can enter the room over the next five minutes.”
“Thanks Doc. How am I going to get my clothes off without infecting myself?”
“The contamination is on the back of your jumpsuit so you should be able to remove it without spreading the bacterium. I will need all your clothing though to make sure the contamination hasn’t spread elsewhere.”
“No problem.” I started removing my clothing and dropped it into the bag held by the Doctor, except for Adams who I strapped around my naked waist. When I had finished I stood holding my bits with both hands. “Five minutes yes?”
“See you in five minutes.” Doctor Philberts turned and exited the bar.
“Adams, lock the door please.”
“The door is now locked Roy.”
I turned facing the interior of the dark bar and hoped that Doctor Philberts would be back before the other pilots started arriving. That’s if they remembered. The conversation with Gary Pascoe was very short and he could have forgotten about the event. Perhaps I should have contacted him in the afternoon to remind him about the get together. As I was wondering how much longer Doctor Philberts was going to be all the lights came on. There was instant brightness and I saw a group of pilots on the other side of the room.
“SURPRISE!” Came the simultaneous shout of the group of pilots.
“Fuck,” I said gripping my genitals closer, as several flashes of cameras went off. “What the hell is going on?”
Gary Pascoe walked over to me and as he got closer he said “Welcome to the unofficial pilot’s initiation ceremony. You are now officially unofficially a pilot. Congratulations.”
“Thanks Gary. Can I have my clothes back please?”
“Doctor Philberts.” Shouted Gary and Doctor Philberts came back through the door with all my clothes.
“Here you go Roy,” said Doctor Philberts, “and don’t worry about your penis dropping off because I made it all up.”
“Thanks for nothing Doctor. How am
I supposed to get these back on with an audience?”
“Don’t worry,” added Gary, “we’ve all seen naked people before. Get changed here.”
“What about the cameras?”
“They won’t take photos of you whilst your changing,” and then Gary whispered and winked at me “except for Claire. She might try and get a sneaky photo taken.”
“That’s not funny.”
With one hand I managed to remove the belt that Adams was attached to and I very carefully started putting my clothes on. I felt the rake of nails on my backside, as I began pulling my pants up and looked up to see a smiling Denny licking her lips at my embarrassment, I thought, ‘That’s naughty and she is one bad girl.’ When I’d finished dressing Gary took me over to the bar.
“Russell, show Roy the latest addition to the hall of pilot’s fame.”
“Yes sir.”
Russell held up a photo of me that had been printed. I was stood naked, wide eyed and with a dropped jaw in front of the doors to the bar. It was actually a very good photo because it captured me it full horror of the realisation of what was going on.
“Russell, open the hall of fame.” Ordered Gary.
“Yes sir.”
Russell pressed a button and a whole section of the wall on the other side of the room started to open. The part of the wall that was opening was the length of the whole wall and sliding down into the floor to reveal a load of photos pinned to another wall hidden behind it. We walked over to the hall of fame and Gary pinned my photo towards one end of the wall. There were about a hundred photos of pilots.
“Not every pilot appears on the hall of fame.” Gary informed me. “Only a special few who we think can take a joke will appear here. This little tradition was started during the nineteen thirties by the pilots recruited from the RAF. It’s a great way to relieve the stress of training and a great way to break the ice. Don’t you think Roy?”
“It’s an unusual way of doing it and certainly better than sending me to the stores for a can of striped paint, a short weight or even a long stand.”
“Take a few minutes to have a look at all the photos Roy because this wall is rarely opened.”
I walked down the line of photos. There were faces in all sorts of states of horror, confusion and terror. Most were cupping their genitals like I did. Only one photo stood out which was a young man with his legs spread, his arm resting on his hips and a big smile on his face.
“He doesn’t look very horrified.” I pointed out.
Beyond Uranus Page 12