And moreover, it would be irrelevant to the real purpose of the Council meeting. That, after all, was to provide Kanker with a stage, a platform on which he could parade his ego and flex his authority. And often he needed to rape someone with his words. (Especially when he'd been upset - like he'd been at the last meeting over his title.) And at this meeting it had been Wojjer. Nothing too unusual about that, and nothing poor old Wojjer wouldn't get over. It was just part of the job. Something you had to endure as a Council Knight of the League, sitting at Kanker's table. Along with all that responsibility. All those weighty decisions. All that hard work. The long hours, the long meetings - and those interminable plates of biscuits.
Shit! Those adventuring-type knights out there - they just didn't know they were born!
26.
After their night's rest on Peton-Alpha, Renton and Madeleine had returned For-bin-Ah's scudder to its owner and had taken another for themselves. It was one of the three to have been flown solo from Pandiloop for just this purpose - spare vessels for new crews - and to allow for losses in the fleet. Happily there had been no losses, and shortly after daybreak on Peton's moon, all twenty scudders, which had arrived from Pandiloop, had set off for Korpulund - but now with a complement of thirty-nine knights and troopers and a single Dust cop.
It had been Meitchars who had suggested that Renton should accompany Madeleine - rather than himself. And in the circumstances it had appeared the right thing to do. And Renton had agreed. So, in the tradition of their previous adventure, he and Madeleine would arrive on Korpulund together, to face the next stage of their current adventure together. But first an expedition through the impossible reaches of space made possible by a re-acquaintance with the magic of hyperphysics - and a chance for some catching up. They'd not seen each other for months now, and they wanted to discover what they'd each been up to, what they'd each been doing in their respective lives during these past few months. And now they were three hours into their flight and had spent all this time doing just that: indulging in an extended mutual debriefing and filling in the facts of their lives apart. But then Madeleine made an observation that was very much to do not with the past but with the present, the very immediate present. As Renton finished his tale of his encounter with Sereza, she suddenly announced that: 'You know something? I think my feet have swollen.'
'What?' replied Renton.
'And either I've put the wrong bra on, or my boobs have as well.'
'What the heck are you talking about?'
'Just what I said. My shoes are pinching and so's my bra. And I'm not so sure, but I think my belt's feeling tighter as well.'
'Well, take them all off!' suggested Renton, a leering grin spreading across his face. 'You've got to be comfortable. This is going to be a long trip, and…'
'God! Don't you think of anything other than sex, Tenting? Look, I'm giving you a status report on the condition of your crewmate. And all you can do is suggest I take my clothes off. Well pardon me, but I don't think that's very impressive.'
'OK, keep your knickers on…'
'That's exactly what I was planning to do. It's not even lunchtime…'
'No, I mean, don't get uppity. I was just suggesting you made yourself more comfortable. It's only the inactivity. You know, sitting around doing nothing. Water retention and stuff like that. I was being serious. Honest!'
'Serious, my arse. You were being downright lecherous as usual. Pervert!'
And with that salutation delivered, Madeleine reached down and began to remove her shoes.
'Don't worry,' she said, 'I'm keeping my socks on. And my trousers. And my bra.'
'I'm very pleased to hear it,' responded Renton. 'I'm on duty. And when I'm on duty, I make a point never to…'
'Never to engage your brain. Yes, I've noticed. Hell, I don't know how you manage sometimes, I really don't.'
'Well, I've managed to keep my feet from swelling, which is more than you have…'
'OK, OK,' interrupted Madeleine. 'Let's drop the subject. Let's just get back to your story. You haven't told me all about Meitchars yet. You know, why he seems to be so sad all the time. So, come on, tell me everything.'
And he did. For almost half an hour. Until he became aware of two things. One was a sight and one was a sensation. The sight was of Madeleine pulling and stretching various bits of her bra as she sat and listened to his tale. And the sensation was one of tightness - in the foot zone - in his own foot zone. As usual, he was wearing a pair of desert boots. And there was no doubt about it: they were now a pair of very tight desert boots. He hesitated in his monologue. 'Errh, you know something? My feet are swelling as well. I'm going to have to take my shoes off.'
Madeleine looked at him quizzically. 'Are you kidding?'
'No, I'm not. It looks as though whatever you've got is contagious. And you've still got it, haven't you - judging by the way you've been playing with your boobs?'
'Yes, I damn well have. And it's a progressive complaint as well. I'm going to have to take this bra off. It's almost painful.'
'And the belt?' enquired Renton.
'Yes, It's tighter as well. I mean, it really is.'
Renton felt a sudden twinge of alarm. Something was wrong. And even the sight of Madeleine's top half being released from its blouse and bra wrapping couldn't make it right. And just maybe his own belt was feeling a little bit tighter as well…
'God! Look at the marks it's left,' Madeleine said to herself. But Renton didn't hear. He had now leaned forward in his flight hammock and was working the control panel keyboard.
'What are you doing?' asked Madeleine as she rebuttoned her blouse - her busten now free from its halter.
'The Medicaid,' answered Renton. 'We might as well try and diagnose what we've got. And quickly. There may be some other symptoms.'
'Wow!' exclaimed Madeleine. 'You really think we've got something? I mean, that we're ill? That we've caught something?'
'Or it's something hyper-induced,' responded Renton. 'You know, some sort of hyper-fattening as opposed to hyper-blurting. Mind, I've no idea why it should happen now.'
'But there's my implant… Even if you're right… well, I shouldn't be affected, should I?'
'Mmmm, I shouldn't be so sure,' responded Renton. 'It could be anything. Anyway, let's see what we can find. What have we got under "swollen" for example?' He pressed a last key and a whole "swollen" menu appeared on the screen. Everything on or in a human, an insectal, a reptilian or an amphibiad that could possibly end up being swollen.
'Jeez, look at this lot!' exclaimed Renton. 'It's amazing. Look, swollen earlobes! How the hell do you get swollen… And look, swollen nipples! I mean, they're s'posed to be, aren't they? I mean, sometimes. And swollen upper mandibles, and swollen lower mandibles. And swollen tail-tips. And good God, swollen colon! Swollen colon! How the hell do you know you've got that?'
'You probably just feel very shitty,' ventured Madeleine. 'But you know, this isn't helping us, is it? Remember we've not got anything specific that's swollen. We've just got swollen bodies, general all-over swelling. And that's just not covered, is it? I think you need to try another tack.'
'Such as?'
'Well, why not what you said yourself - "hyper-induced"? I mean, you may well be right.'
'Mmm, OK,' agreed Renton. And he went to work on the keyboard again. And a new menu appeared. And more amusement for our Tickler-knight.
'Hey look!' he said. '"Hyper-induced euphoria". And to think we got dealt blurting. And bugger me, "hyper-induced orgasm". I don't believe it. How do you get that lucky?'
'Search me,' responded Madeleine. 'But I think you're getting distracted again. You seemed to have failed to notice that there's no hyper-induced swelling, inflating, fattening or anything at all that would suggest that what we've got is remotely possible.'
Renton didn't answer. He couldn't think of an answer. He just stared at the screen. “Hyper-induced vacancy. Hyper-induced vertigo. Hyper-induced vilification.” Th
en “Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage”, the most unexpected of messages obliterating the medical menu in an instant. Then it was gone. “…Hyper-induced vomiting. Hyper-induced vulgarity…”
'What the hell was that?' shrieked Renton.
'A bit of "Twelfth Night", I think,' responded Madeleine. 'Although I'm not entirely sure…'
'Yes, but I mean what the hell is it doing in the Medicaid programme? That just isn't possible. It can't happen.'
'But it just did,' confirmed Madeleine. 'We both saw it. Or maybe it was an hallucination - a hyper-induced hallucination. Hey, and maybe the swelling's an hallucination as well. Maybe…'
Just then the cockpit Coke fountain exploded, spraying both Madeleine and Renton with globules of Coke-syrup.
'Shit!' exclaimed Madeleine.
'Bloody good hallucination,' added Renton. He licked his lips. 'It even tastes of Coke.'
Then the computer screen went blank and the cockpit emergency lighting came on, even though the regular lighting was still working.
'Put a call out,' ordered Renton. 'Straightaway. A general all-channels May Day with locator, and I'll pull this bugger out of hyper.'
Madeleine turned to the transmitter. But as she reached for it, she saw it was already too late. For where a few minutes previously there had been a reassuring bank of prettily coloured transmitter-type displays, there was now just a grey-black landscape. It could mean only one thing: their transmitter had passed on and our heroes had a case of acute communications necrosis. However loud they shouted, no one was about to hear them.
'Renton, we've lost all the comms. This thing's as dead as a dried doo-doo.'
'Yeah and guess what,' returned Renton, 'so's the hyper-control. It just doesn't want to know.'
'Christ! 'You mean we're stuck in hyper? But that just isn't possible.'
Renton was about to confirm that this further impossibility in their situation was indeed depressingly possible when the armour casings on the cockpit windows snapped shut. Then the normal lighting finally gave way to the emergency lighting. They were now in semi-darkness, in a deaf, dumb and blind spacecraft that was rapidly falling apart as it hurtled through hyperspace. And if that wasn't enough, its captain was having some serious trouble with his underpants. It was time for him to rise from his now less than comfortable flight hammock.
'Where're you off to?' enquired Madeleine.
'To the loo - while I still can. And to take my clothes off. I don't know about you but my underwear's playing havoc with my balls. And you know something, it's becoming just a little bit tiresome.'
'Well, I can't claim quite the same problem. But there again, I do know what you mean. My knickers feel as though they've been tightened with a torque wrench. And I think I'm losing the circulation in my legs. I'm going to have to join you…'
Five minutes later, the newly nude crew of the scudder were back in their flight hammocks, physically relieved but more mentally stressed than ever. Renton surveyed his surroundings: a dim, disintegrating cockpit with two now noticeably enlarged occupants - looking more than a little ridiculous in their nakedness - and in their uselessness. He hadn't a clue what to do and he knew Madeleine hadn't either. It was just the sort of situation to engender panic in Renton, or, more constructively, incisive insight. On this occasion it proved to be the latter. Suddenly he jerked forward in his hammock and, as though addressing some huge gathering of people, announced at the top of his voice that: 'God! We've been hyperbolicalled!'
It was Madeleine's turn to jerk forward. 'What?' she shouted back.
'Hyperbolicalled. We've been bloody hyperbolicalled. Why the hell didn't I see it before? How can I have been so slow?'
'Well, slow down some more will you - and let me in on what you're talking about.'
Renton turned to look at her. 'Errh… yes, sorry. But you see, I've just realised what's going on. And well, it's so obvious. We've been hyperbolicalled. Somebody's actually managed to hyperbolical us. And I didn't think it was possible. I thought it was just a theory. But it is possible. And we're experiencing it. And…'
'Yes,' interrupted Madeleine. 'But what is it? What is hyperbolicalling? I don't understand.'
Renton smiled. Then he set about answering Madeleine's question - as best he could.
'Well, it's a straight steal from the word "hyperbolical". Which means errh… you know… errh "exaggerated" or… errh "extravagant". Only in this instance it applies to hyper travel. And it's sort of short for hyperbolical hyper - if you know what I mean.'
Madeleine's expression showed very clearly that she didn't.
'Well,' he continued, 'you know the theory of hypertravel, the E = MC2 bit and all that, and how it all balances out in the hyper-kite coil - automatically?'
Madeleine nodded in agreement.
'…and that theoretically it's actually possible to achieve hyper when there's an imbalance in the coil?'
Madeleine continued to nod.
'…and that that's all it is, just a theory. Nobody's ever done it. Well, I think it's not just a theory any more. I think somebody has done it. Somehow they've got the imbalance…'
'Which means what?' interrupted Madeleine.
'Which means that we've been hyperbolicalled. The imbalance exaggerates the hyper process. And that doesn't affect "E" or "C" in the equation, but it has a pretty dramatic effect on poor old "M". That gets worked overtime - and that means the mass starts to reduce itself. We're not getting bigger, Madeleine; the mass of this scudder is getting smaller. It's shrinking - and we're staying the same size.'
'Shit! Are you sure?'
'No, not absolutely. But just think about it. The ship's falling to bits. More and more of it is flaking out as it's being miniaturised. It can't be anything else. Somebody somewhere has developed some diabolical hyperbolical system and has turned it on us. I suppose it's just possible it's some natural phenomenon. But I doubt it. My money's on the diabolical. And if that's the case, I just wonder what's happened to Meitchars and For-bin-Ah and everybody else…'
'Hey, wait a minute,' interjected Madeleine. 'Why aren't we shrinking as well? What's so different about us? We're travelling at hyperspeed just like the scudder – and just like our clothes. So why aren't we being hyperbollocked as well?'
'Hyperbolicalled,' corrected Renton. 'And the reason is simple. It's in the theory. Micro-circuits in anything organic - that's living organic - will automatically neutralise the exaggeration process. You can't hyperbolical living tissue.'
'Oh great,' said Madeleine. 'So we'll start shrinking as well, just as soon as we're crushed to death in this dustbin. That's a real comfort.'
Renton's heart sank. A minute earlier he'd actually been elated. But it was just a transitory elation, just the fleeting enjoyment of a puzzle solved, a mystery unravelled. But now he was back with reality, and he could find no words to deal with Madeleine's last comment. She was spot on. They were going to be crushed to death in this scaled down scudder, and there was nothing they could do about it.
And as if to reinforce the point, the entire navigation console at Renton's right shoulder began to emit sharp snapping sounds. And as he turned to inspect the source of the noise, he hit his head on the curve of the cabin ceiling.
'God,' he thought, 'this is going quicker than I reckoned.' And then he had another thought, and his stomach went into spasms '…and that's because it's exponential!' He'd just remembered a bit more of the theory of hyperbolicalling and how it meant that the shrinking of the scudder was an accelerating process. They were moving ever closer to that steep bit of the exponential curve. They would soon be able to watch the shrinking. It would be that rapid.
It was time to get serious.
'Madeleine,' he said quietly, 'I think we really have had it this time. I don't know whether we'll be… well, whether we'll be crushed or whether this ship'll just disintegrate first. But there really is no hope. And I'm so sorry. I really am. I'd give anything…'
'Oh come on, you o
ld misery, look on the bright side,' chirped Madeleine. She looked as happy as Renton felt sad. 'You don't realise how relieved I am that I'm not inflating and it's the ship that's shrinking. I mean, I can still get into a size ten. And that's the right size to go out on, I reckon. And I'll be going out with the right man by my side as well. So it could be a great deal worse…'
She smiled and leant over to Renton and kissed him. And the kiss turned into an embrace. Then the embrace turned into an intimate embrace. And within less than a minute, two naked bodies were writhing about on what was left of a cabin floor. It was cramped but they didn't seem to notice. They were both too intent on going out with a bang. Or, if time allowed, two or three. Or even four.
27.
The threat of imminent extinction worked wonders for Renton's libido. But there were limits. And eventually it began to shrink into uselessness. Just like its surroundings. And they'd shrunk so much that as well as a stiffened libido, any further lovemaking would have required the flexibility of a bloody contortionist. And frankly, neither of them was quite up to that.
So they just lay there, curled up in their miniaturised cockpit, naked, content and resigned to their fate - but with little more to say to each other. After all, what could one possibly discuss in this brief post-ecstasy, pre-eternity pause? Unless, of course, one was Renton - who desperately needed to talk about something - or indeed, about anything. In which case, one could resort to a further discourse on the subject of hyperbolicalling.
'From what I remember,' he started, 'this shrinking won't stop until we're out of hyperspace, or we become a black hole - whichever happens first.'
'You mean we're going to become a black hole, Renton - just the two of us and the scudder? Wow, that's almost romantic.'
'Unless, as I say, we're plucked out of hyperspace first. Although I'm afraid that's not looking too likely, is it? But anyway, if we were, the shrinking would stop. And I mean immediately.'
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