* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Botzi and Noodles stood on the footpath, in New York, just outside the Basilica of the Capitalist Church. “Now what do we do?” asked Botzi.
“Now we wait for new leads,” replied Noodles. “I’m monitoring every news item around the world and analysing them for key indicators pointing to a possible location of the reactor. Let’s take a walk to Central Park.” They shuffled off to the gardens.
What Noodles meant was that his built-in processors had linked up with news dispatches from satellites around the world and part of his brain was set up as a database entering hundreds of broadcasts, and analysing them for a common pattern -anything about reactors.
Central Park was an amazing gift of great foresight from the city fathers of long ago. Its’ estimated real estate price tag today of some $600 billion would only equal just one of the many conglomerates ruled by Papa Speculatus III, giving some idea of the huge power of the Capitalist Church. This power is beyond the comprehension of the ordinary man in the street, hence the reason for a blind faith by the multitude in the financial spirituality of The Capitalist Church. They think, "It's BIG, therefore it can do no wrong!"
They reached a park bench and sat down, Botzi idly watching ducks on a lake and Noodles staring into space, processing millions of instructions per second. There was no conversation necessary.
After some time, Noodles detected a build-up of news flashes about an impending garbage strike in New York. Damn nuisance he thought, this would hamper traffic which is no help to anybody. There was nothing new about reactors so he monitored the strike for a while. Apparently an accidental dump of garbage on a worker triggered a safety issue and an instant demand on the Sanitation Department to double the workers’ wages or else -strike! The City of New York, not having the funds to meet this demand even if it wanted to, was resigned to tough it out.
“Serious garbage strike, Botzi,” informed Noodles.
“Oh, just what we need,” replied Botzi.
“Started already, apparently.”
“What streets do we need to avoid?”
“It’s building up around Fifth Avenue and in 33rd, and 34th Streets in Manhattan.”
“Anything on the reactor?”
“Some stuff on ordinary nuclear reactors but not much else.”
The sun set. The Bots, not needing shelter stayed on the bench for the night, waiting for news. About one o’clock in the morning a gang of tough-looking gangster-types approached them from the darkness.
“Ay, man,” said one, “some dude’s left his toys behind.” (Not the whole world had heard of the existence of these sophisticated Bio-Teks, especially the criminal set and the uneducated.)
“They’re ugly man, I ain’t taking them to bed,” sneered the other.
Botzi turned to look at Noodles. They were communicating a plan and Noodles nodded.
The gangsters approached. “Ya see that? They moved -must be on batteries.”
“Ya think they have any value?” asked one.
“Not without a remote control -you can’t do anything with ‘em.”
“Let’s use ‘em for target practice, an’ see what happens.”
The others laughed as they pulled out their guns to follow the game.
By now Noodles was on high alert and humming strongly, generating powerful magnetism.
A huge magnetic pull on the gangsters took their guns out of their hands into Noodle’s waiting mitts. Metal belt buckles, buttons, zips all ripped off and headed toward Noodles. Next Noodles energised the molecules in their jeans and hoodies to a level high enough to generate heat and spontaneously combust.
“Hey I’m smokin’ man!” yelled one as he felt the heat.
“Hell! I’m on fire -what’s goin’ on?” exclaimed the other, but he didn’t wait for an answer. He made a beeline for the duck pond and dived in, a stupid mistake. The duck pond was shallow, and he ended up shovelling a bucket of mud and duck dung down his throat. He was trying to get up, coughing his lungs out, when the others jumped in, but wisely, feet first. They were on fire too, and needed to rip off their clothes and extinguish the flames. The tatters that remained fell off them, rendering them quite naked.
Nothing demoralises an enemy so much as being stripped naked in the face of battle. Not only does he feel more exposed and therefore more vulnerable, but as nakedness is suited to making love, not war, the ridiculousness of the situation destroys his anger and the will to fight. As if that wasn’t enough, two policemen on horseback came into view.
“Split! The pigs are here!” One thing gangsters do well is the sport of running. Four almost-naked youths sprinted down a garden path, like they saw the devil, and vanished in less than five seconds. All was quiet again except for the clip-clop of approaching horses.
The police stopped to look at the bots. They had been advised at the station that if they came across independently motivated robotic hybrids, they could ask for personal identification and certificate-of-roaming-at-large. This was a bit like a driver’s license for a robot. It was permission to be as free as a human in keeping with the same laws applicable to humans.
The police were very interested, examined Noodles’ and Botzi’s paperwork and chatted with them for over half an hour As the youths had not yet done any harm, it was decided not to go after them although Noodles handed the police a haul of guns and knives.
“We could do with a few like you, in the force,” remarked one policeman. They mounted their horses and moved on, into the faint light of a dawning day.
The bots were mostly silent for the next two hours, Noodles occasionally feeding Botzi any news developing from his constant monitoring.
The morning was now about 10 o’clock when Noodles blurted out with astonishment. “Listen to this news. -really weird! The garbage pile in the city is starting to melt away and nobody can explain why.”
“What streets did you say was the big pile up?” asked Botzi.
“Corner 5th Avenue and West 34th Street.”
“Isn’t that the location of the Empire State Building?”
“Yeah.” Noodles was computing connections and possibilities that might be causing this phenomenon of garbage melting away into thin air.
Suddenly, he sprung off his bench, nearly taking his feet off the ground. “It all computes! The garbage strike built up garbage mainly around the Empire State Building. The garbage is now disappearing because somebody has set up the ant-clutter reactor on top of the building and is refuelling it from the garbage below. That somebody is planning for a big energy boost into the reactor which will have devastating consequences when fired at his intended target.”
“And your conclusion is that the Calamari may have something to do with this?” pre-empted Botzi.
“Almost certain. And what’s more, -the target? Bound to be the Basilica of the Capitalist Church, the Golden Sucks office tower. We gotta get there fast and stop that maniac.”
“And the fastest way? - Heck, from here we can outrun any bike or taxi combination to get there - let’s go!”
New York is no stranger to weird sights. But not often is a man-sized robot looking like it’s made of red and yellow jelly beans and his partner, a series of golden rings making a human-shaped slinky spring, are transformed almost into a blur of action, performing a running dash beyond Olympic records.
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Twenty (20)
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There it was, the icon of Manhattan, all 102 storeys of it, the Empire State Building. It withstood a plane crash in WWII plus numerous assaults by oversized monkeys whenever a Hollywood producer ran out of ideas for a new movie.
Bozzi and Noodles dashed into an express lift and zoomed to the highest available floor. Botzi had no credit card to pay the tourist sightseeing fee but chatted
the attendant into cheerfully letting them out on the observation deck for free, using a little hypnosis.
They bounded out to the roof-top of the Empire State Building colliding into Rodney Dangerfeld, who, so surprised, took a fair suck of his hip-flask.
He stared at them, thinking they were some sort of hi-tech apes. He pointed overhead to the radio mast. There was Alby, the all-black Bio-Tek hugging the radio tower. “Oi!! What da hell goes with dis joint? Every monkey wants ta hump it since 1933!"
Botzi noticed Rodney’s golf bag holding a full set of golf clubs. “What’re you doing up here?”
Rodney’s stress meter was rising. “I’m belting golf balls at the Statue of Liberty! Dat’s wot!”
“Why?”
“I'm gettin' revenge on the I.R.S.! Now piss off!! I get no respect I tell ya!” (* I.R.S=Internal Revenue Service-United States Taxation Department.)
Their attention diverted upwards. Their perennial enemy, Alby Monk, the next-door neighbour at Poppycock Place stood above them harnessed to the big steel tower. He had the anti-clutter reactor firmly in his arms, pointing it down into the streets, vacuuming every last bit of garbage. They could see its' sophisticated series of LED indicators mounted on the sides, winking and glowing indicating a full powerful charge.
“Wow,” exclaimed Noodles, "he's managed to charge the reactor to the max. He could melt a whole skyscraper with that!"
“How do we tackle him? He could disintegrate us if we got close,” asked Botzi.
“No, he won't fire it at close range - the power feed-back would destroy him too. I just hope he knows the dangers in using it.”
“Well, shall we take a chance and tackle him?” asked Botzi.
“Looks like we have to. Come on let's climb up.”
But Alby was prepared for this situation. He took out a large can of WD 40 all-purpose lubricant and sprayed all the foot-holds around him, then undid the harness and with the reactor attached to his back, he proceeded to mountain-climb further up the tower.
When Botzi and Alby reached his former position, they were severely handicapped as the slippery structure afforded little grip and it was a long way down to the streets.
“What's the use of him trapping himself at the top of the tower? He has to come down sooner or later!” yelled Botzi.
“Don't bet on it, he's probably got a helicopter organised to pick him up!" replied Noodles. "In fact, hear that? - the sound of a throbbing engine.”
Now the Bots were on one side of the huge radio tower and their view was obscured from seeing what was approaching from the other side. It was not long coming however, when a huge shadow drifted over them and the air throbbed with not one, but many motors.
“Wow! Look at that!” exclaimed Noodles. He was looking at a giant airship that was now manoeuvring to attach an anchor to the side of the tower where Alby was waiting. Botzi watched as motors chattered away, spinning propellers glistened in the sun, and a large accommodation cabin slung underneath the belly of the ship came nearer and nearer. He could see the pilot.
It was now apparent that this was Alby's escape. A steel cable from the ship swung underneath attached to some sort of anchor. With a sharp clang the anchor clasped the structure of the tower. Sure enough, a rope ladder was thrown over the side from an open door in the airship's cabin and it flexed its way towards Alby. Botzi was taken by another surprise when he saw the name of the airship - the “Hindenburg II”. Of course the first Hindenburg burned to ashes on approaching a landing in Lakehurst, New Jersey back in 1937 so this must be an exact replica he thought. He snapped out of his surprised state and took stock of the situation.
“Noodles, Turn on your magnetic field and cling up the tower as close as possible to that ladder and carry me on your back.”
“You got it!” assured Noodles.
Alby by now was ready to grab the ladder, but a nuisance breeze was giving him difficulties. This was sufficient delay for the two heroes to almost get close enough to grab his legs, but he finally jumped onto the free-swinging ladder. Almost like a gorilla, he quickly scampered up to the airship. As soon as he was inside, Alby hurriedly rolled up the rope ladder, leaving the bots behind, still clinging to the tower. The anchor rope held however. It was tough steel cable and it wasn't so easy to reach or to cut, and the hoisting mechanism had jammed again.
Alby stormed towards the cockpit looking for a tool to cut the cable and found Fungus working hard, keeping the airship stable and away from colliding with the big radio mast.
“You stupid, insufferable, bonehead Fungus!! What the hell are you doing with this giant air-ship!? I told you to meet ‘The Man’ at the helidrome and guide his helicopter over here!” Alby was fuming, resisting the urge to throttle Fungus.
“B-But b-boss -‘The Man’ told us over the phone he will pick you up in his air-craft. He never mentioned a helicopter -this is it!”
“Well -what happened? How the hell did a dimwit like you end up in this cockpit?”
“I was walking around the helidrome looking for a businessman in a grey suit like you told me, when I noticed these friendly German guys trying hard to unhook their air-ship from its moorings but they kept falling over each other. I went over to help and managed to free their machine.”
“I asked them if they knew ‘The Man’ and showed them your letter of introduction and to my surprise they said their boss was waiting for me inside the airship. So after they struggled aboard I followed them inside and entered the air-ship lounge. The fat guy, Herman then took me to the cockpit and showed me how to fly the machine. It was easy, I learnt fast, and he left me to join his mates in the lounge for another round of drinks.”
“Pity he didn’t throw you overboard head-first - it might have re-organised your brain! And what about ‘The Man’ -where is he?”
Fungus ignored the insult. “They said we need to wait a while as he was having a siesta and must not be disturbed. They said he will talk to us in due course.”
“A siesta? -A siesta? Gimme a break!! Half the US Air force will be here in 5 minutes and the guy wants to take a nap!!?”
Alby looked down a corridor and saw nobody. “And where are these buffoon friends of yours?”
“In the lounge -listen they’re starting to sing.”
All this time Alby was totally distracted from what Botzi and Noodles were doing. During Alby’s conversation with Fungus, Noodles managed to magnetically hoist himself up the steel cable with Botzi on his back, and clamber on board. They quickly found a small bath-room and hid out of sight.
Alby had no time to introduce himself to the singing clowns -he searched for something more important. He found it - a small tool store. Slamming several cupboard doors containing various tools he came upon what he was looking for - a heavy-duty steel grinder. He ran over to the attachment point of the cable and looking down, saw no-one.
“Aha - they’ve gone away to get help. Fat lot of good that will do them! They’re too late -Har! -Har!”
In his haste, Alby had forgotten about Noodles’ magnetic abilities and thought himself safe.
Plugging the lead into a ship’s power-point, Alby pressed the screaming grinder against the cable throwing a shower of sparks as it bit into tough steel. After a few minutes, a twang announced the cable had parted and the air-ship drifted free. Alby went back to the cockpit.
“Head for the Golden Sucks Basilica, at once, while I go and see what those Germans are up to.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” answered Fungus, quite pleased with himself. Alby had carefully put the ant-clutter reactor on the floor of the corridor and had roped it securely. He had no reason to suspect anyone would interfere with it. He made his way to the lounge room and was met by an extraordinary sight. There, lounging around a grand piano, sloshing big tankards of beer and glasses of schnapps, chorusing at full volume, were four men in h
igh-ranking German officer uniforms of World War II vintage.
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Twenty-One (21)
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Alby entered the room and stared at them with an imperious look. The drunks, on the other hand, were startled to a complete halt as to their patriotic vocals. The fat man sitting at the piano, the one in a sky-blue overcoat, was first to speak.
“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?“ After a moment of silent stares, he tried English. “Do you spik German?”
Alby was running his central processing unit at top speed searching his in-built history database to get a profile on what he was looking at.
The fat piano man was Herman Goering, the guy with John Lennon spectacles was Himmler, the pretentious little upstart was Josef Goebbels and the tall pleasant chap was Albert Speer. Four top Nazis from World War II whom the database also said were all dead.
Alby was not sure how to play this but as he needed to conclude his business deal, he decided to act friendly until the mission was accomplished. He turned on his multi-lingual module and set it to German.
„Ja, ich spreche Deutsch, aber ich bin ein Amerikaner. Ich bin ein Freund von Fungus.“
Alby’s German and their intake of alcohol disarmed their supicions. The thought as to how a friend of Fungus could possibly join them in mid-flight did not enter their reckoning.
“Ho, ho!” said jolly fat Goering. “Den ve vill spik Amerikan, mein Fruend!”
Speer was in an ebullient mood. “Kommen, join us in a song. Do you know Lili Marleen?”
Alby searched his database again. “It was a World War II song popular with soldiers on both sides of the conflict.”
“Ah, you know about it?” queried Goebbels. Himmler said nothing, balefully staring at Alby, full of distrust, and half-full of schnapps. Alby was aware the four of them packed revolvers and if he took them on together he was bound to suffer damage which might stop his mission.
“OK.” He imitated a weak smile. “Fruende, you sing it in German, I’ll sing it in American.” Alby turned on his singing voice processor and coloured it with a German accent, as if he was a German trying to sing English. He still couldn’t work out where these seemingly flesh and blood characters had come from. And moreover, they looked to be in their late forties, whereas the original vagabonds would be over a hundred years old by now. They looked like a clone of the originals.
Ding! Alby zeroed in on a possible explanation -they might be clones!
Speer tapped his glass with a knife, to signal the start. „ Ok! Auf der Graf von drei. Eins, zwei, drei! - Vun, two, tree!“
Alby was away into the song, on cue. His mind however was estimating what Fungus was doing and how close they might be to the Golden Sucks Basilica.
....“Our shadows vunce stood facink
....ein tall vun und ein small
....They mingled in embracink
....upon der lighted vall
....Und passers by could siehe und tell
....who kist meine shadow es so vell
....Meine girl, Lili Marleen
....Meine girl, Lili Marleen”
“Wunderbar!” shouted Speer with glee, after 5 choruses. “Und you know ‘Deutschland über alles’?”
“Singen! Singen!” encouraged Alby. “Just gotta check my friend, see if he needs any help.” Alby sneaked out.
The German Nazis belted into it, unfazed that Alby had disappeared.
“...Deutschland, Deutschland über alles,
...Über alles in der Welt,
...Wenn es stets zu Schutz und Trutze
...Brüderlich zusammenhält........”
Fungus wasn’t really finding it easy to steer the craft. After the anchor cable snapped, a wind breeze started slowly pushing them out to sea and he had the devil of a job in making headway back to Manhattan Island.
Alby marched back to the cockpit, checking their location through the windows and was boiling once again.
“We’re nowhere near the Golden Sucks Basilica! What the hell are you doing!?”
“It’s all right -I’m just getting a feel on how to handle it -that’s all. We’ll soon be back on our way to Wall Street.”
“You’d better be right, or I’ll lower you down on a rope and you can pull it to Wall Street.”
Fungus was glum but said nothing. Alby could be such a pain.
Alby sat beside Fungus and stared out through the front windshield. His mind was going over the deal he had made with ‘The Man’. A package had arrived at his loan shop business premises in Poppycock Place, two weeks ago. In it were detail plans of the Jet Propulsion Laboratories in California. Secret codes, personnel names, profiles and operation schedules were all included.
The deal was to steal the portable anti-clutter reactor and four X-17 rocket motors, the most powerful ever made. A bag of “good-luck” peanuts was included in the package to negate JPL’s security karma and ensure they were caught napping, whilst the heist was in progress.
The peanuts worked, the burglary was a success. Alby delivered four rocket motors to an agent in Paris then flew the anti-clutter reactor to New York. It was also part of the deal to re-fuel the reactor with clutter before delivery, ready to operate. How do you collect truckloads of garbage in New York and operate a reactor without drawing the attention of an army of Police?
So for this exercise, Alby paid some understanding union officials to cause a garbage strike around the Empire State Building while he was on the roof-top sucking the clutter and re-fuelling the reactor. He had sent Fungus to meet ‘The Man’ and guide his aircraft back to pick up Alby and the now potent reactor. There was a matter of a fee of $20 million dollars to be handed over for this deal, no questions asked.
Fungus at last brought the air-ship under control and began to make some distance towards Wall Street. Alby crossed his arms and grimaced, as he waited for ‘The Man’ to wake from his ‘stupid siesta’ and come over to inspect the goods, and hand over the money.
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Twenty-Two (22)
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While all this was going on, Botzi and Noodles had the luck to find a side door in the bathroom that led to a sort of map-room and library. In there they found complete details of the air-ship’s structure, rooms and their purpose, and air-ship performance. They wasted no time in memorising all the details including the location of a curious refrigerated master bedroom. Also the plans showed there was a security control room with videos of all important rooms as well as the engineering areas of the air-ship.
Using their best stealth mode, they ascertained that on board, besides themselves, they knew of at least seven other characters. -Alby, Fungus, ‘The Man’ and the four ‘drunken musketeers’. And possibly there might be several mechanics inside the huge air-frame.
They estimated Wall Street was at least an hour away given that the opposing head-wind was increasing and this would give them a chance to adopt the best plan. So for now, they would remain undiscovered but watch and listen to developments. For this, they decided to hi-jack the TV monitoring room.
Noodles forced the door open and Botzi hurtled inside ready to hypnotise into submission whoever happened to be working there but there was no-one in the room. About fifteen video monitors surrounded the walls just above a desktop height. They viewed into various corners of the airship and picked up the sound as well.
“Maybe one of the drunks was supposed to be on security duty, but he isn’t here. That explains why we haven’t been detected by these monitors, because no-one was watching them,” whispered Botzi.
“Yeah, piece of luck,” added Noodles, pointing to a monitor. “Look there’s Alby sitting next to Fungus in the cockpit and they’re not talking.”
“And check out those four drunks in the lounge. Two are tr
ying to waltz with each other but their rubbery legs are doing the cha-cha. No DJ can mix ‘Tea for Two’ with ‘The Blue Danube’ -Look! They’re sagging to the floor, -heh, heh.”
Something caught their eye on monitor 7, the one watching the refrigerated bedroom. In the middle of the room was not a bed but a large sarcophagus, ringed with lights and digital panels. The lid was slowly swinging open to reveal a man with long silver hair wearing a black, body-hugging robe, edged with silver lining.
His face was ashen-grey with thin pale lips over which hung a pencil moustache . His eyes however, were jet-black and glossy, and showing a determination that would penetrate anyone standing before him. A cold fog rose from inside the coffin and poured out over the sides to the floor.
The Bio-Teks watched ‘The Man’ gently arise out of his misty casket and do some physical stretches. It looked like he was packed in dry ice and was trying to kick-start his system. After a few moments, he checked himself in the full-length mirror and made his way to the door.
They followed him on the monitor walking the length of the ship. He paused at the Lounge entrance and gave a terrible scowl at the proceedings within. He was in a very bad mood. He moved on down the corridor and stopped at the reactor lashed to the wall for safekeeping. He spent a good deal of time studying every feature of the machine. He must have decided it was the real thing as his face lit up with a demonic brightness. Then on he went, all the way to the cockpit to find Alby.
‘The Man’ entered the cockpit just as Alby was turning around at the sound of his footsteps.
“I have inspected the reactor,” The Man said, in a commanding mono-tone voice. “And it fits the design plans in my possession. The power indicator has primed itself to ‘Full’. So far so good -but how do I know it’s the working original, not a hollow copy?”
Alby spoke sombrely, “You’ve been monitoring the news, no doubt? Seven hundred tons of garbage around the Empire State Building disappeared into thin air this morning. You expect a vacuum cleaner to do that? How else could I do it? The power from that de-synthesised clutter is now locked in that machine in the corridor, ready to use.”
The Man observed Alby for a moment. He knew only one machine was ever built so he was just testing Alby. “True, but there is the matter of the ignition key, before it can be used.”
“True,” Alby batted the ball back. “But there is the matter of the $20 million delivery fee before I can give it to you.” Alby took out his Ipad and set up his bank account in one of the windows. He then extracted the ignition key from his pocket and placed it on a small desk shelf.
The Man appeared satisfied and took up Alby’s Ipad. He punched a series of codes and strings of numbers and transferred a huge lump of money across to Alby’s account.
“There! -It’s done.”
Alby checked his account, verified his money was there, then transferred to another account and destroyed any links The Man might have set up in his computer. Alby handed the ignition key to The Man. “And now, whilst we are over land again, I must bid you good-bye sir, as my assistant Fungus and I are about to disembark.”
“Yes, your service is ended and you may go.”
Back in the security room, Botzi and Noodles looked at each other. What was Alby up to know? They soon found out. Quickly slipping on a parachute each, which they took from a cupboard store in the cockpit, Alby and Fungus hurried to an exit door in the corridor and jumped out into the big sky. There was a camera under the air-ship, looking down, and it enabled the Bio-Teks to follow the spiralling path of their parachuting colleagues. It appeared the escaping crime duo were heading for a large abandoned industrial area from where they would subsequently disappear.
But Botzi and Noodles soon switched to red alert. Forget Alby and Fungus for now. The Man, of whom they knew little about, was now in possession of the loaded anti-clutter reactor and the Golden Sucks Basilica was now not that far away.
The video monitors had disclosed there were two engineer mechanics, stationed at either end of the spaceship. The Man bent over the cockpit controls, flicked a switch and snapped his orders.
“Giuseppe! Scendere alla cabina di guida subito!!”
“Sì, signore, io vengo!” came the reply.
The monitors showed the front-end mechanic hurrying from his room along the steel gangways inside the steel ribs of the air-ship and finally making his way to the cockpit. The mechanic was an older man, and without a word, The Man indicated to him to take control of the airship. The Bots had already worked out they were dealing with an Italian ship commander and switched on their language interpreters to Italian. They watched and listened to some amazing revelations.
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Twenty-Three (23)
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The Man stood tall in the spacious cockpit, his hands behind his back. He stared out the windscreen at the slowly approaching Golden Sucks Tower. He laid out his plans to his trusted mechanic.
“It is now time Giuseppe. For hundreds of years I have tried to get the Capitalist Church off the back of my scientific flock, but no! They -the Capitalist congregation, insist, century after century, to hunt, torture and murder my people. This day is their day of reckoning. Never before have I had the power to surgically annihilate the Golden Tower from the many. Today I will cut the head of the snake! -Destroy the Golden Sucks Basilica, Papa Speculatus III, his clergy and all his followers!!”
This tense atmosphere generated by the holocaust about to happen, contrasted strangely against the background piano and dis-jointed chorus. The four totally blind-drunk Nazis were playing leap-frog and occasionally collided head first into the pointy ends of various furniture, thus expressing the choicest expletives.
The Man continued.
“I am aware, however, that destroying the headquarters of the Capitalist Church will not totally eradicate the sect as it has spread all over the world. No! A ruthless army is needed for that ! And so it was, that fate led me to the man in South America who had stored blood from dozens of Nazi leaders but knew not what to do with it, because DNA theory and cloning had not yet been discovered. In frustration he dived headlong into the jaws of an obliging crocodile, leaving the bottles behind, for me to discover.”
“My greatest triumph, Giuseppe, over my fatuous cousin Leonardo da Vinci is that I kept myself alive over the centuries -but where is he now? Dead! Dead as dead can be! Even his dust is now scattered and lost, probably mixed with mortar that built some brick shit-house.”
The Man beat his chest, mocking his cousin. “Hah! da Vinci! Where are YOU to-day? THIS...IS...DA LADRO!”
Meanwhile, violent crashes mixed with musical notes denoted a Steinway grand piano in agony as it was being dismembered by an axe. The German officers were in a jovial creative mood. They were re-arranging a Wagnerian opera to the key of Hitler.
Giuseppi concentrated on lining up with the target, about 3 blocks away . The Man continued, unswayed from his mission.
“My first attempt to begin the ruthless army has not been entirely successful. I have created four expendable buffoons. But having said that, I have more blood stored for new attempts and I only need one drop to create a clone. There will be others, more intelligent and more ruthless!”
The Man took command. “Hold the air ship right here, Giuseppe! We are on target. I am going to power up the reactor for battle.”
On those words The Man turned to enter the corridor and walked towards the reactor.
Botzi and Noodles already on red alert, just about switched to red alert with full blasting foghorns.
“Come on Noodles!” exclaimed Botzi hurriedly, “I didn’t see any small arms on him, but we have to take a chance -we must tackle him NOW!”
Noodles needed no deliberation. Both Bots rushed into the corridor and ran towards Leonardo da La
dro. Just as he completed unravelling the ropes securing the reactor, he looked up, surprised.
Before he could say “Banane Santo!” the boys leaped on top of him, knocking him away from the reactor and together, in a tangled heap, they slid across the floor in the corridor.
But The Man was not so easy to pin down. Like an eel, he wriggled from their grasp to leap at the reactor in two bounds. He flicked a switch and fingered a series of buttons along its side.
“Hah! Hah! Haaa....The reactor is locked in self-destruct mode. She can not be defused! In five minutes Giuseppe will have it against the Golden Sucks Basilica. Bail out gentlemen or blow up with the whole lot.”
He ran down the corridor and disappeared into the frame-work of the air-ship.
“Let him go, Botzi, we have more urgent things to do.” Noodles picked up the reactor and got Botzi’s help. “Hold down those two green buttons. He’s right -we can’t stop it, but I can retard the clock by forty-five minutes, to give us time to maybe clear the danger.”
Noodles punched in sets of codes and to Botzi’s relief he saw the reactor timer go from two minutes to forty-five minutes. Next the Bots rushed over to the cockpit, to see Giuseppi, “the pilot”.
“Giuseppe, Leonardo has escaped and set the reactor to blow up the air-ship. Don’t ask questions - run to your compagno at the other end with an extra parachute and get out - Subito!”
Giuseppe was not an airline pilot. He got second prize in a competition for model aircraft. A keen enthusiast for all things flying, he had borrowed the book ‘Dirigible Aeronautics for Dummies’ and was making progress.
Still, it wasn’t a job to die for, as evidenced by the surprising speed of his surrender and retreat.
Botzi took over the controls and pointed the ship towards the distant sea. “We’re in luck, we have a strong tail wind pushing us out, in addition to our motor speed.”
Noodles went and retrieved two extra parachutes which they harnessed to themselves and together they watched both the time and their flight progress. As they passed over the coastline, they noticed two parachutes floating to the sea below. Botzi called the Coast Guard to pick up the misfits as well as to stand by for a call on co-ordinates when the moment came for them to abandon ship.
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Twenty-Four (24)
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After thirty-five minutes, they were sufficiently far out to sea to prepare to jump.
“We don’t know what Leo is up to, Noodles. The wind will keep pushing this air-ship further out over the ocean, but we must make sure Leo won’t bring it back, in case he knows how to reset the reactor timing clock.”
“Ok, we’ll cut the fuel lines on the four motors. You do the port side, I’ll do the starboard side. Let’s go!”
And so they did, cutting the fuel lines into four or five pieces, making it impossible to join them. The smell of splashed fuel highlighted the extreme danger of an explosion, but their luck held. They rejoined each other at the jumping-off bay and hesitated for a moment.
“What about the choir boys?” asked Noodles.
“Two are drunk beyond resuscitation. Didn’t you hear them snoring as we passed the lounge?”
“That was snoring? -Thought they were sawing through what was left of the piano? Oh well, and the other two?”
“Blind as bats, but still singing.”
They could hear the strains of “Auf Wiederseh’n... Auf Wiederseh’n...” wafting through the corridor.
“Auf Wiedersh’n.....
Auf Wiederseh’n...
Vee'll meet again, sweethort
Dis lovely day hast flown avay
Das time has kommen to part
Vee'll keese again, like dis again
Don't let das teardrops start
Mit love dat's true, I'll vait fur you
Auf Wiederseh’n, sweethort ....”
“How cute.” chuckled Noodles. “They’re singing in Germglish.”
“They’re clones, Noodles, and evil ones at that. The world is better off without them.”
The bots shrugged to each other and tumbled into the stiff breeze. They watched the airship drift away and pulled the ripcords. Below, the wake of a boat was faithfully shadowing their descent.
In a short while both Bio-Teks were aboard the Coast Guard cutter which then turned to get away from the Hindenburg II. About five minutes later, the air-ship now some kilometres away, blew up into an orange fireball spraying the sky with blackened pieces of shattered material. In seconds, what was left of the framework crashed into the sea and sank immediately.
Back at the wharf in New York, reporters, police and army were waiting for the heroic duo to ask questions and get news of what happened.
And there was panic in the streets of Manhattan. Millions had seen the huge fireball. Was this a precursor to another terrorist attack?
New York Mayor Salvatore Scassinatore, recently migrated from Sicily and narrowly elected on the Mafia ticket, took action to calm down the citizens. He ordered a parade of a couple of gay floats to coast the streets.
Each truck had a swimming pool complete with desert island and liberally sprinkled with bikini babes around the perimeter. Salvatore stood on the lead truck with a loud hailer.
“Folks! Everybuddy! It’s only a balloon! Its a-gone! Whatsa matter you!? Go back to your swimming pools! Have fun! Go back to your swimming pools!”
An aide nudged him and whispered this was New York not Miami. Pools were difficult to install in one bedroom apartments thirty or fifty floors in the sky.
“Well, so what!?” replied the Mayor, “I mean them to have fun. Ok I’ll change it.”
He turned up the loud hailer. “Oi! New Yorkers - Go fly a kite! Everybuddy -Go fly a kite!”
His aide didn’t mention this translated to an insult as in “Get lost!” or “Go jump on your bum!” Salvatore found that out when they passed the fruit and vegetable market and both trucks and swimming pools rapidly filled with rotten tomatoes. Some bikini babes were bowled like ten pins with hefty cabbages, making a hilarious belly flop into the pools and stirring the lot into tomato soup.
Salvatore, proud of his charisma in turning potential bloody riots to a festival of fun, retired to Alfredo’s Cafe for lunch. He sat at his favourite little square table and tucked the red and white chequered table-cloth into his collar, under his chin.
“Ciao Alfredo! Oggi spaghetti alla bolognese!” he ordered from the proprietor. Alfredo greeted him with a big smile showing his gold teeth collection. He snapped his fingers at his kitchen hand to prepare the favourite lunch.
For you lady readers and metrosexuals dying to find out Alfredo’s spaghetti recipe, here it is:
1-2 tbsp olive oil preferred nutty flavour from North Italy.
1 large onion diced not too fine, just right.
1 Beretta 9mm hidden in the gents behind the cistern tank.
1/2 clove garlic minced, or 2 cloves if not visiting Molly’s Girls.
1 28 oz can diced tomatoes, ensure it says ‘fresh’ on the can.
1 14 oz can stewed tomatoes, slurp occasionally out of sight of patrons.
1 lb Italian sausage sliced into 3/4"-1" pieces. Use real meat if serving the Don.
1 Irish Police Captain sat down as decoy.
1 tsp salt , some pepper.
1 tsp sugar, don’t overdo it.
A handful of dried basil.
3 cups dry red wine, drink 2 use 1.
“Ah, la dolce vita!” Salvatore smacked his lips in anticipation, tossed back a glass of red and rattled the wine glasses in the bar with a guttural burp. He smiled at two clandestine lovers in a corner, who grimaced disgust at this ethnic exhibition of table manners. He raised his glass to them. “Bon appetit! And afterwards a little hoochie koochie -eh? ” He laughed as he pointed a clenched fist at them, bent his right arm
and slapped his fat bicep.
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Twenty-Five (25)
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And so it came to pass.....
Things settled down within the Capitalist Church, to a period of relative peace, with the many faithful grateful for the miraculous escape of the Papa and their house of worship, The Golden Sucks Basilica.
The events did increase the prestige of Papa Speculatus III. He declared himself infallible, and promptly preached the doctrine of share prices ascending all the way to heaven.
As a penance the Capitalist congregation was forbidden to eat spam on Fridays, a reasonable sacrifice, as Lobster Thermidor was the usual fare of the Monsignors and their underlings.
Indulgences granting immunity from damnation by the Securities Exchange Commission prosecutions were offered for a price, proceeds going towards gold plating the facade of the Golden Sucks Basilica.
The Papa took pity on the millions who never bought a company share in their life and sent out missionary brokers to bring them into the faith. But unfortunately, he pointed out that those who died without a share certificate lived in a Limbo of poverty where the sun never shone on their swimming pool, and the face that appeared to them out of the fog was not God but the bailiff.
Leonardo da Ladro was never heard of again. But although the explosive fireball definitely gave the Nazi chorus a Viking funeral, one could not be sure Leonardo would be so obliging. Besides, his five hundred year longevity record would class him as a precocious brat compared to Methuselah’s 969 years.
Papa Speculatus III paid Noodles the $10 million fee for mission accomplished and for saving his life.
Noodles awarded his friend Botzi $4 million for his help and banked the rest to finance the development of his gravity-time machine.
Now that these two Bio-Teks had this much money, what adventures would they get up to next?.......
The END
An action packed saga by Tobias Dingbat
Illustrated by Tobias Dingbat
“The IDIOTA CODE”
ISBN: 978-0-9870533-1-2
NOTE TO THE READER:
A free download of this book is available at
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“SKY SAILING HEROES”
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Written by Tobias Dingbat
Illustrated by Tobias Dingbat
ISBN: 978-0-9870533-0-5
“SKY SAILING HEROES”
Botzi receives a treasure map from a mysterious uncle. Botzi has no money and is helped by his friends. So Noodles volunteers to take all five shopkeeper friends, Botzi, Noodles, Aurora, Banjo and Izaak up in his balloon to sail it on a trip to a South American lost city. The balloon often runs out of fuel placing our heroes in dangerous predicaments. Mexican bandits, dangerous car chases, powerful Elfin war lords, plagues of killer bees, and that’s just the easy part. The “treasure” turns out to be a dangerous instrument of power left by the pharaohs, that can enslave the world. A problem arises when Alby and Fungus, the two Bio-teks who have over-ruled their ethics modules and are growing into very selfish monsters, learn details of this expedition. ….Who will control this instrument?....Is this the makings of another world dictatorship?.....
REVIEWS
What others are saying about “Sky Sailing Heroes”
Rating:___Star * Star * Star * Star * Star
World renowned novelist Charles Dickens liked the book. “Sky Sailing Heroes is full of great expectations and widened my horizons. If only they had robots in my time -Scrooge would have made a great robot.”
Thomas Hardy was more practical: “A wobbly see-saw of adventure to be grasped firmly or otherwise used to chock up a rickety table. Snuggle up with this book on a cold winter night and I promise it can light your fire.”
“As I suspected. if you hold this book up to a mirror and read it backwards you can imagine more steamy passion in it than my novel ‘Lady Chatterbox’ -Wish I thought of this technique first to get past those pesky censors.” D.H.Lowrence
“How long can famous author Tobias Dingbat give away his books for free or so cheap? Please let us support him or have it on our conscience if he follows Van Gogh and cuts off an ear or two.” The New Yolk Times.
“BENJAMIN FROGLIN”
A free download of this book is available at
Written by Tobias Dingbat
Illustrated by Tobias Dingbat
ISBN: 978-0-9870533-2-9
“Benjamin Froglin”
A bright young frog from a poor family becomes a scientist and develops intelligent flowers that can spell words. He falls in love, goes into business and makes his family rich. His friends love him because he is kind and generous.
REVIEWS
What others are saying about “Benjamin Froglin”
Rating:___Star * Star * Star * Star * Star
“A heart warming story of a courageous frog battling against the odds and bringing happiness to everyone. I will never serve frog-legs in my restaurant ever again!” Jacques Cordon Bleu - Paris
Abraham Lincoln accepted the status quo, “First there were the Bioteks, now we have professor frogs. Oh well, it was inevitable, as the Senate has often been populated by bullfrogs since the Boston Tea Party.”
“After I finished ‘The Origin of the Species’ I retired but now I have to track down Benjamin Froglin for an interview. If this frog is as smart as Tobias Dingbat says then he must be from outer space as the frogs I met could hardly read or write.” Charles Darwin.
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The Idiota Code -Poppycock Place Series Page 6