Mars Inc.

by Angus Ecrivain

  “That's a bloody long way down,” said Mike.

  “Looks like I'm up,” said Eloise. With cat-like grace – she was Catwoman, after all – she leaped up onto the window ledge. A quick study showed her there were no viable footholds or handholds – even for a cat. “You know, I really kinda' hope this isn't the exit either.”

  She leaped and seconds later, landed upon Mike's desk.

  “Thank Christ for that!”

  The Fish Tank

  “The fish tank,” said Mike. “It's got to be the fish tank.”

  “The fish tank?” Darren asked. “Why the fish tank, Mike?”

  “Why not the fish tank, cowboy Darren?” Mike asked in response. “It's a better idea than the bloody window.”

  “True enough,” said Cassandra, twirling her twin pistols around on her fingertips. “But I ne'er said was def'nitely the window.”

  “She's good at that, isn't she?” Mike said as he nudged Darren in the ribs. “You should take notes.”

  He headed over to the sideboard upon which the fish tank sat, smiled at his friends, and stepped into the water.

  Seconds later he was out in the corridor with his back to his open office door. Turning with the intention of telling the rest that it was a good idea, that the fish tank was in fact the way out, he saw that his office was empty.

  Not only that but upon turning so that his back was, once again, facing his office door, Mike could see that several zombies were ambling towards him. He knew they were zombies, because he'd seen films and if they weren't zombies, then Mars Incorporated really needed to rethink its recruitment process.

  “Head shots,” he muttered to himself, fumbling at his belt for non-existent guns. “Ah. Bollocks.”

  The Zombie Code

  Everybody knows how to kill a zombie, right? Hollywood has prepared the entire human race – perhaps unwittingly – for what many people believe to be the guaranteed Zombie Apocalypse.

  Shoot them in the head, that's the only thing that kills them. Well that and decapitation but if you allow a zombie to get close enough to you so that you can decapitate it then quite frankly you're an idiot. Unless you're out of ammunition of course in which case, kudos, you're gonna' go down fighting.

  But that's not the only thing Hollywood has taught the human race about zombies. Don't get yourself cornered. No matter how secure you think your panic room is, they'll find a way inside eventually.

  Above all else though ensure you have a black guy with you. They always get got first.

  Unfortunately for Mike, he didn't have a black guy with him. He didn't have a panic room either. In fact Mike didn't even have a corner. Not only that but either Hollywood had lied massively or zombies in whatever messed up dream world he was in didn't have to abide by the zombie code. Sure, the zombies approaching Mike were doing so at a reasonably slow pace, they were moaning and groaning with every half-shuffled step and whilst it was true enough, the majority were missing large amounts of skin and flesh and in a few cases a limb or limbs, but Mike was fairly certain – he'd have to watch The Walking Dead again, just to be sure – that zombies weren't supposed to carry weapons.

  Them There

  “Isn't that Derek from Accounts?” Eloise asked. Mike hadn't heard her arrive through the fish tank portal – that's how he assumed she'd got there, and he was right – but clearly, she had. “And Fiona from Catering? You still look like a slag, even with half your face falling off.”

  “Are you sure it's wise to goad the zombies?” asked Mike. “I mean, I'd have thought it good practise not to piss off the reanimated dead.”

  “Oh don't worry, Mike,” Eloise replied as from over her shoulder a single shot was fired. The bullet passed harmlessly through the head of the nearest zombie as if it wasn't even there, and embedded itself into the wall between two motivational posters – one claiming that you don't have to be mad to work here but it helps, the other requesting “five more minutes, boss,” beneath the photograph of an incredibly cute looking koala.

  Mike was certain those motivational posters hadn't been there before. He was so certain because he'd made a mental note that there ought to be motivational posters along the walls of the corridor directly outside his office.

  “Yeah, them there zombies ain't real,” said Darren. “Is just them there Security Protocols.”

  Even though Mike accepted what Darren said, mostly because it was quite clearly the truth, he couldn't help but think his friend was trying a tad too much with the cowboy speak. He didn't say so though, instead he decided to see how far Darren would take it.

  The Leggy Blonde with the Battle Axe

  Once the Security Protocols came to terms with the fact that the escaping individuals knew their zombies weren't real, said zombies disappeared and left the corridor empty. As it seemed the right thing to do, Mike led the way and the rest followed as they headed towards the elevator.

  Now you might remember that Mike hadn't had too much luck with that elevator in the past. He said as much, too.

  “Fine, you big baby,” said Sandra, and pressed the button to call the elevator.

  They waited, and then they waited some more.

  Finally the elevator arrived and much to a jointly combined feeling of surprise, annoyance and “oh c'mon, really?” they discovered it was occupied.

  “Oh crap, it's Jane,” said Darren.

  He was right it was definitely Jane, and the Amazon strode into the corridor.

  “Gulp,” said Mike, for Jane was clearly ready to do battle. Luckily for him though, and luckily for Darren, Eloise and Cassandra, too, Sandra took a step forward.

  “If what we think is right, as soon as you lot find the real Rose we're all gonna' wake up,” she said quietly, not taking her eyes off the leggy blonde with the battle axe. “So go. I'll handle this one.”

  “You're sure..?” Mike asked, though even he wasn't convinced he meant it.

  “I'm sure,” she replied. “Have a good day at work, honey.”

  “Yeah,” Mike said as he followed the rest into the elevator. “Yeah... you too.”

  Homeless Scrotes

  Mercifully the lobby was clear. Mike wasn't about to question the Security Protocol's effectiveness but he did make a mental note to up the security of wherever it was that he worked in real life, assuming he did actually have a job of course. He could've been one of those homeless scrotes you see out on the street, begging for money with a collie or a lab that just so happens to be in ridiculously good condition.

  As they pushed their way through the big glass doors Mike's car screeched to a halt midst a mass of squealing brakes and tyre smoke.

  “Fren' o' yours?” asked Darren.

  Here's hoping, Mike thought. Before he had a chance to voice that thought though, Sammy J thrust his head from the driver's side window.

  “C'mon!” he yelled, not that such a yell was necessary for Mike, Darren, Cassandra and Eloise, certainly weren't going anywhere else. “I got Security Protocols right up my ass so you honkey's best have some kinda' plan.”

  “Airport!” Cassandra shouted, despite the fact she was most definitely not a honkey, as the four of them flung themselves into the back seat, Darren slamming the door shut behind them. Sammy J screeched off just as several hundred Security Protocol vehicles hammered around the corner at high speed.

  “I don't think it needs saying,” said Mike, “but step on it, Sammy J!”

  Apple Pie & Custard

  During the brief conversation that lasted for all of eternity that Mike and God engaged in when he died, briefly, God told Mike something else. Due to the nature of God though, Mike didn't remember what that something else was. In fact he didn't remember conversing with God for anything but the most fleeting of moments. In truth they'd shared a seven course meal at a highly dodgy and disreputable road side café...

  Mike'd had the chicken, playing it safe and all that. It was a meal with God after all, and it wouldn't
do to order something from the menu that you weren't too sure about, only to discover that what you ordered tasted like reconstituted vomit.

  He'd had apple pie and custard for dessert though. You never can go wrong with apple pie and custard. Sure, some apple pies are better than others but basically when you get right down to the nitty gritty, an apple pie an custard is an apple pie and custard.

  God'd had something with kumquats. It doesn't really matter what God had because let's be perfectly honest, chances are he'd had it before.

  “No honestly, I'm fine,” Mike had said in response to God's proffering of a spoonful of the kumquat something. “But, what were you saying?”

  “Oh yes, that's right,” God had continued. “Just say no, Mike. Just say no.”

  Robots in Disguise

  Sammy J drove the car like a man possessed, which he might well have been. That was the least of the concerns of those in the back though, as they were thrown about all over the shop.

  “Hold her steady!” Darren yelled as he hung his head and arm out of one window and Cassandra did the same from the other. They fired their pistols aimlessly, not because they had poor aim but because for no apparent reason whatsoever, the road to the airport was suddenly a mass of potholes and Sammy J couldn't have kept the car steady if he'd tried, at least not unless they all wanted to walk to the airport.

  The chasing Security Protocol vehicles made up some ground, because apparently they were able to drive over the potholes as if they weren't even there and Sammy J bashed those on the left and then those on the right, all the time accelerating as quickly as he could.

  “No matter what happens,” said Darren as he tapped Mike on the shoulder, “keep going. All that matters is that you find that bloody Rose, all right?”

  Mike nodded dumbly and watched helplessly as Darren and Cassandra leaped from the moving vehicle. Before his and Eloise's very eyes the Security Protocol vehicles entered some kind of metamorphosis and turned into giant robots.

  “Bloody hell,” said Mike. “Transformers!”

  He looked right and saw the look on Eloise's face, and placed his hand gently on her knee.

  “You OK?”

  “Yeah...” she replied, half-heartedly. “I mean yeah, I am. I know that what she and I had here wasn't real but it felt it, y'know?”

  Now it was Eloise's turn to notice the despondent look upon Mike's face.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I'm sorry, of course you bloody know.”

  Clear Martian Skies Ahead..?

  Once they'd reached the airport the Security Protocol vehicles seemed to give up the chase. Mike certainly wasn't about to complain, nor was he going to question their motives. He did wonder however, what was in store next as he, Eloise and Sammy J, sought exit from the dream world.

  There was a rocket waiting on the runway and that's what Sammy J headed for. The tarmac was pothole free and soon the vehicle pulled up next to the steps that led into the space-going craft.

  “Up here,” Bongo shouted from the door. “Quick you silly bastards, they're coming!”

  “Who's coming?” Mike asked as they alighted the limousine. To his shock he was only mildly surprised that Bongo was aiding their escape.

  “At a guess,” said Eloise, pointing towards the Martian sky. “I'd say them.”

  A squadron of Security Protocol jet fighters screamed across the sky and banked sharply at the end of the runway as they came about to make what Mike hoped wasn't going to be an attack run.

  “Go!” Sammy J yelled as he clambered back into the driver's seat. “I'll lead these bastards away, give you guys a fighting chance!”

  “Thanks, Sammy J,” said Mike, flipping a quick salute.

  Then he and Eloise were inside the rocket with the door shut tight.

  “Buckle up, kiddies,” said Bongo from the helm. “Shit's about to get real.”

  The rocket accelerated very bloody quickly as Sammy J led the jet fighters a merry dance in the opposite direction. Then they were up, up and away, heading away from Mars.

  Every Good Boy Deserves Favour

  Before they knew it the rocket splashed down in Loch Ob and the three refugees of Mars Incorporated swam for the shore. The loch water wasn't as warm as it might've been but then again it was January and the shore was dusted with a light sprinkling of snow.

  “Come on, Bongo!” Mike shouted as he jumped up and down on the spot in a futile effort to keep warm. “You can do it!”

  The sentient Irish Setter paddled for all he was worth but doggy fashion wasn't the quickest of strokes. His mouth open, the dog panted as he made painfully slow headway.

  “I just saw...”

  “I saw it too,” said Mike before Eloise had a chance to finish telling him what it was she'd seen.

  “We should...”

  “Yes, we should,” he interrupted her again.

  “Bongo!” she yelled. “Paddle faster!”

  “C'mon, my old mucker!” said Mike, proffering his own words of encouragement. Those words were about as futile as his continual hopping from one foot to the other as he tried in vain to get some feeling back into his extremities.

  Tentacles broke the surface, followed swiftly by a heavily fortified head that appeared to be nothing but mouth.

  Then with a whimper Bongo was gone, a mid-afternoon snack for the Loch Ob monster.

  “Good boy,” said Mike, a tear in his eye. “Thank you, old friend.”

  The Lights Are On...

  “We're sure this is it?” Mike asked. He and Eloise had sprinted for the better part of a mile and were already beginning to feel warmer, though they were still soaked to the skin.

  “It's the only place with its lights on,” Eloise replied. “Besides, I don't think we can be sure of anything in this dream world.”

  “I'd say it's definitely progressed from a dream world to a world of nightmares,” said Mike, his teeth chattering. “But what the hey, right? You gonna' knock or am I?”

  “I think it'd best be you,” replied Eloise. “Mostly for the fact that I don't appear to be able to move.”

  She was right and Mike realised that as he turned around. He was halfway up the garden path, and yet despite the fact that Eloise looked as though she was walking, she wasn't progressing in a forwards manner. It was as though she was stuck on a treadmill and as Mike watched, she became more and more distant until finally she was nothing more than a speck upon the immediate horizon.

  “Right then,” said Mike out loud, though he was clearly talking to himself as there was no one else there. “The real Rose had better bloody well be here.”

  He rapped thrice upon the door and waited. There was no answer so he rapped thrice more.

  “I'm bloody coming, all right? Keep your bloody hair on.” The shout came from within and moments later the door opened. There was Rose. She was naked, and Mike smiled.

  “Hello, Rose,” he said, allowing himself the brief realisation that she wasn't flickering in any way. “I've been looking for you.”

  Wake Up, Mike

  “Wake up, Mike.”

  Mike awoke and it took him several seconds to realise exactly where he was. It wasn't until he saw the relieved faces of Eloise, his secretary and Bongo, his slightly retarded brother, that he did.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living, boss,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Mike said, his throat dry. “Water.”

  Bongo handed him a glass and Mike struggled to a seated position before he drained the clear liquid in one.

  “Did you get what you needed?” Eloise asked.

  “Yeah,” said Mike after a few deep breaths. DreamCryo really messed with your head. “Mars Incorporated's Security Protocols are good, damn good, but beatable.”

  “So we should be able to merge Venus Corp. and Mars Inc. without too much bother?”

  “We'll have to send in the big guns but yes, no hassle.”

  “Lafferty will be
pleased to hear that,” said Eloise, pausing for a moment. “Which reminds me, he's booked the entire zero gravity course for tomorrow morning and wants to know if you'll be there to play?”

  Mike thought for a moment, about how competitive Lafferty was and about his brief conversation with God. He couldn't remember many details about the latter, other than being advised to break a limb. He did have the feeling though, that he probably shouldn't play a foursome with Lafferty.

  “Yes,” he replied. “A good round of golf is exactly what I need.”

  Fin