'And reverse?'
'No. It's an irreversible process… well, in theory it is. I mean, it's all been theory up to now. But if the theory's right, the shrinking wouldn't reverse at all. And we'd have ourselves a pocket-sized scudder. Could be quite an attraction.'
'Doesn't sound very attractive to me, I have to say.'
'No, I suppose not. I…' but the rest of Renton's words were caught in his throat. His theorising had been hijacked by a sensation, a sensation of just the slightest amount of swaying of the scudder. Then nothing. It stopped. But as he was about to speak again, there was the distinct sound of a soft thud - from somewhere further back in the scudder - and just maybe from somewhere outside.
'What's happening?' whispered Madeleine. 'Have the giros gone?'
'They don't work in hyper. No, I don't think it's that.'
'Well, maybe we're out of hyper, Renton. Maybe the shrinking's stopped. Maybe…'
'Hold on, Madeleine. That just wouldn't happen… Although I must say, that was a bit peculiar. You did feel the swaying motion, didn't you - before the thudding noise?'
'Yes, I'm sure…'
Then there was a jolt and another thudding sound - this time from somewhere below.
'God! Is this it, Renton?' Madeleine was now clutching Renton tightly - as tightly as Renton was clutching her.
'I don't know. I just wish I could see through the windows. But we're…'
'Renton! Look behind you! The rescue panel! The clamps! They're falling away. We'll depressurize!'
Renton craned around to look at the emergency rescue access towards the back of the cockpit roof. And sure enough, all four retaining clamps were loosening, and would soon allow the panel to drift out of its housing - and allow extinction to drift in. He indulged in a traditional gulp. It was all he could now think to do.
Then one clamp fell. And then the other three in quick succession. And the panel began to lift. Renton turned to kiss Madeleine one last time before oblivion overtook them - and Madeleine hugged him like she'd never hugged him before.
Then a voice punctured their magical moment. A gruff voice edged with a strange mix of warmth and reproof.
'Well, well, well. I can hardly believe my eyes. Seems I jus' have to turn my back for a moment, an' yous two degenerates goes an' gits your clothes off. Ain't yous got no shame at all?'
Renton's eyes widened. As wide as Madeleine's. They both knew that voice. And it was only too obvious that they were both recalling a meeting with its owner on a far away planet - when all they had to wear between them was a pair of Madeleine's tights and a pair of Renton's desert boots. It was the voice of their rescuer on that occasion. And he was doing it for a second time. And, as he'd correctly observed, here they were again, both of them, in a similar state of undress. It was a very weird but a very welcome case of déja-vu.
Renton disengaged himself from Madeleine and turned to greet his old friend. His great scaly snout was poking through the rescue panel, and below his huge glinting eyes was a wide toothy grin. And he was chuckling quietly. It was Boz, Boz the ex check-in supervisor turned detective reptilian, and their fellow adventurer from their Dumpiter trip. Their best friend in the universe.
Renton told him he was a genius. Then his eyes got a bit watery. So did Madeleine's.
Not surprising really.
28.
Just minutes after For-bin-Ah's lead scudder popped out of hyperspace above Korpulund, news of his impending arrival was being brought to Kanker's office. The messenger was a Tickler by the name of Bristle. He was an insectal-humanoid cross, who'd inherited the ugly genes of both his parents, but unfortunately none of their “subtlety and diplomacy” genes. He was blunt to the point of rudeness.
'The whole Pandiloop office has arrived,' he announced as he stood before Kanker's desk. 'They've been given clearance to land at Midi-Tempa. They'll be down in about two hours.'
Then he stopped. There had been no greeting, no preamble to his message, and now no gesture of deference, no request for orders - no anything. He just stood there silently like an automaton, not even appearing to take an interest in Kanker's reaction.
Kanker too remained silent. He knew Bristle and Bristle's direct approach to life. It was something he approved of. He liked information presented this way - concisely and dispassionately - without all that stupid courtesy and grovelling nonsense. And now he was taking a few seconds to digest the information. Then he spoke.
'Bastards! Arrogant fucking bastards! Who the hell do they think they are? Soddin' peasants. That's all they are: soddin' peasants.'
Now Kanker was rising from his seat and his hands were beginning to brush vigorously at his copiously dandruffed shoulders. It was a clear sign of his agitation.
'Well, Bristle, I'm damned if I'm going to deal with any pig-ignorant peasants from some arsehole of a world like Pandiloop. I'm buggered if I am, I can tell you. No, that's not a job for the Senior Knight, that's a job for the Council - the full Council - with all my esteemed Council colleagues. After all, they've got fuck-all else to do…'
He walked over to Bristle, moving his attention from his dandruff to his spectacles, prodding at them as he'd done a million times before. Then he pushed his shoulders back into an order-giving stance and addressed the still silent hideousness before him.
'Go and see Gleeze. Tell him I want a meeting of the Council - this afternoon. And make sure he understands it's not an optional affair - for any of the buggers. Then I want to see him here - in half an hour's time. I want to brief him on the agenda. And I want no excuses. Understand? He'd better be here in half an hour - or else!'
Kanker grinned at Bristle.
'Well, go on then. What are you waiting for? Want me to say goodbye or something? Go on. Fuck off!'
Bristle appeared impervious to Kanker's abuse and turned to leave the Senior Knight's lair, his brief audience at an end as suddenly as it had begun. But then Kanker added a postscript to his instructions.
'Oh,' he said to Bristle's back, 'tell Gleeze the Council won't have the pleasure of my company at its meeting this afternoon. This is one little matter they can sort out themselves. Tell him I'm leaving on an urgent mission. And if he asks where, tell him to go and fuck himself. Got that, Bristle? Understand?
A pronounced nod of Bristle's large head assured Kanker that he had got it - and understood it. Like a reliable machine, he would seek out Gleeze and impart his new message - as abruptly and as totally lacking in finesse as always, just the way Kanker would approve of.
'That'll shake the bastards up,' thought Kanker. 'That'll get them running round in circles, the stupid morons. They deserve that Pandiloop lot, they really do. They're all a bunch of bloody idiots, the whole damn lot of them. And they might just realise that when they next see me. When I enter their lives again. Yes…' and now he started to croak with laughter and his thoughts broke into words in the empty office '…when we meet again. When we meet again some sunny friggin' day. Ha, ha! Some sunny, sunny friggin' day.'
And all the time, as he chuckled and grinned, his eyes remained as cold as death. They were dreadful, ruthless eyes - full of pure malice - and full of threat - even for the sunniest of days.
29.
Renton slept like a baby. Hyperbolicalling had left him exhausted, and deep sleep had followed his rescue within minutes. Only now, hours later, had he risen, ready to rejoin his adventure - and ready to taste even more déja-vu… It began the moment he set eyes on Madeleine.
She was wearing a bathrobe, a long white bathrobe. It could have been the very same one she'd worn on that far away planet of Crabbsbab - on the evening of their first rescue by Boz. Then, in the sun lounge of a Crabbsbab villa, the evening sun had painted her robe pink. Renton remembered it vividly. Now, however, it was all a bit different. There was no evening sun and no sun lounge to sit in. For they were still in the depths of dark space - on board Boz's own scudder. And Madeleine's robe remained snowy-white. But this didn't upset Renton at all. Because
this scudder was a full size one with a reassuringly spacious cockpit. In fact, it was a veritable giant of a vessel compared to the one that they'd had to abandon, the little toytown jobbie that now sat in the rescue pod above the cockpit roof.
Renton felt good, and Madeleine's arrival in the cockpit made him feel even better. 'Wow, you look great,' he smiled. 'You really do. And well, how can I say it? You look… well, you look the right size again.'
Madeleine giggled.
'…and on the subject of things being right, wouldn't it be nice if…'
'Yous had somethin' decent-like to smoke, a shot or two o' pastis, an' in a lill' while, a nice fish pie to tuck into,' finished Boz. He had followed Madeleine into the cockpit and was now standing behind her, holding in his huge, scaly hands, a large metal tray. On it were his own special smoking contraption, a box of cigars, other assorted smoking requisites, and three glasses of the required cloudy liquid.
'Jus' as well we're in the smokin' seats, an' that the bar's still open,' he continued. 'Wouldn't be quite the same otherwise, if you knows what I mean.'
'I agree with Renton,' said Madeleine. 'You're an absolute genius, young Bostrom.'
'Carried nem con,' added Renton, as he rose from his seat. 'And give me that tray. My turn to play waiter, I reckon.'
'Whatever yous says, boss. Only I'll keep a hold o' the ole fish pie duties, if yous don't mind. Only I remember a certain so-called breakfast you cooked up that time on…'
'OK, OK,' laughed Renton. 'As long as you tell us how the hell you managed to pop up in our adventure - and at such an opportune time…'
'He means when we were just about to die,' interrupted Madeleine. 'But you know our Renton. He was never one to confront the unpleasant.'
Boz chuckled.
'Be nice to know how you did manage it though,' she continued. 'Then maybe one day we could return the favour…'
'Favour?' erupted Boz. 'Wha' duh you mean, favour? Hell, I may have to remind you, my girl, like in case yous gone an' forgotten, that there ain't no favours between us here three people. Never have been an' never will be. If I have to save yous two's lives another hunded times or more before yous do the same for me, still won't be nobody owin' nobody no favours. Get it? I mean, I mean that. I mean, I really do.'
It was obvious that Boz really did mean that. And Madeleine looked just a little bit sheepish. But Boz's expression was already changing.
'An' as a penance, my girl, for yous forgettin' how this here threesome works, I'm gonna subject you and your chivalrous-my-timbers friend here to exactly what yous asked for: a didactic-type discourse on like how I turned up with my rescue pod gizmo. An' it'll be a penance. Cos it'll take me some time, I can tell yous. I've even put the fish pie on low heat, it's gonna take me that long. So there.' He laughed. 'So come on, let's get on with it. Renton, my smokin' kit and my drink please. An' then I'll begin.'
And with his smokin' kit and his drink secured, he lowered his tall, crocodile-like body to the floor, flicked out his tail, and began.
'Right, well yous two owes yours lives to a lill' ole lady - a lill' ole humanoid type lady - by the name of Doreen. Well, to tell ya the truth, she ain't that old and she ain't that lill'. She's less than forty actually, and she's a bit on the fat side o' plump - for a humanoid type. But she's charmin' all the same. An' anyway, she's the one who set things a-rollin' by settin' me off on my latest lill' jaunt - the one that has ended up here - an' with yous two all rescued an' safe.'
'And who's Doreen?' asked Renton.
'Doreen, my young man, is the spouse-wife of a dude by the name of Herbie. An' Herbie is a freelance dust worker who, until a lill' while ago, was doin' his dustin' stuff at an out-of-the-way place called Targa-B on an out-of-the-way dust-ball called Kerra-Dust.'
'God! That's where I worked,' exclaimed Madeleine.
'Yeah, I know that now, young girl, though I didn't know it back then. But anyway, the point is that Doreen wanted me to find her hubbie-spouse. An', well, I shouldn't really be tellin' yous this, but in the circumstances, I s'pose I should - even if it's like a technical breach of professional detectival confidences an' all… But you see, Doreen thought that Herbie hadn't really dropped out with all those other dust dudes. But that well… errh, well, that he'd like taken off with a Herbie girl friend - an' that the mass magickin' off of all those dusties was jus' a cover. You know, jus' somethin' Herbie had reckoned he could use to scuff up his tracks - so like he could start a new life without his lill' ole lady.'
'You mean you were hired to track down some errant husband?' asked Renton, his eyes twinkling.
'Well, what do ya think I mean? What else was she likely to be hirin' me for? To get her weight down? To clean her windows? Hell, Renton, I'm a private detective, remember. It's what we do. Might not be quite in the regular range of Tickler services, but it pays. An' I can tell you, it requires a few skills an' things that even a hot-shot dude like you wouldn't have. So there…'
'I didn't mean…'
'Shit!' continued Boz. 'Good job I don't take offence easy, an' that I've got an even temperament an' all. An' that I knows what a complete dick-head you can be - even when yous ain't tryin'.'
Boz rolled his eyes. 'So, anyway, yes, I was a-husband huntin'. An' I took myself off to do jus' that, jus' as soon as I could… An' tell me, young Renton, where d'ya think I went? Where would yous have gone to start this here Herbie-search, eh? You bein' a chivally-Tickler an' all?'
'Targa-B,' responded Renton immediately. 'I'd want to see where they'd all disappeared from. You know - to see for myself.'
'Oh would you now?' huffed Boz. 'Well, I reckon that's as 'bout as wrong as you can get. An' that's cos you thinkin' like a Tickler, young man. An' I'm talkin' here 'bout what a detective would do, not what no adventurer type might go an' rush 'imself into.'
'What do you mean?' asked Renton hesitantly.
'Well, you just think about it. All those dust types vanishin'. Well, in the first place, it weren't no great secret, was it? Everybody knew about it. An' the way they'd vanished. Well, that could mean only one thing: our Herbie was a genuine kidnap case. No question about it. Even if there was some Herbie-Heidi some place, there was no way he'd have made off with her all on his own. He jus' wouldn't have had the chance. He'd have been spirited off with the rest of those dusties. And he was probably… an' I mean very probably, still with them. So it wasn't a job o' findin' Herbie on his own. It was all about findin' the full set of them, so t' speak. Wherever they were, that's where our Herbie would be.
'But, an' I say but, young Renton, I jus' happened to know that some outfit was already on the case. Y'know, like lookin' for all those dusties together. An' this here outfit had a bit more of jus' about ever'thin' at its disposal than poor ole solo Boz - an' with some real wizzo types workin' for it. You know, the knights-you-like lot, the stickler-tickler dudes - your lot, Renton. An', jokin' apart, there was no way I was gonna beat that lot to Herbie an' his friends. No way at all…'
'You just happened to know?' interrupted Renton. 'That it was the Ticklers…'
'Yeah,' responded Boz. 'Just as I happened to know that they were runnin' the search from Korpulund. An' that if you can't beat 'em, as they say, then you damns well has to join 'em. An' that meant there was only one place to go, the place where they were runnin' the show from: Korpulund.'
'I don't believe it,' observed Renton.
'And I don't exactly understand how you were going to join them,' added Madeleine.
'Well, when I says join them, I don't mean like sign up with them or like some joint venture thing. I mean… well, like join them like… errh, covertly like. Well, heck, I mean, like piggy-back their own operation… errh, like by buggin' it.'
'Bugging the League?' exploded Renton. 'You can't mean that. You just can't. I mean, well, apart from it being bloody sneaky, it's downright impossible. You wouldn't believe the lengths we go to to protect what we do - and anything to do with operations…'
'
…is buggable, ole boy,' interrupted Boz. 'Trouble is with you League types, yous don't move in the right circles. If yous an on-yer-own dick like young Bostrom here, yous has to rub shoulders with your criminal mentality nows an' again. An', well, things rub off - like where to pick up some not-quite-authorized espionage-ical requisites an' the like. I mean, like some real state-of-the-art buggin' kit - that the League just ain't up to speed with.'
'Bloody hell!'
'Yes, Renton, bloody hell indeed if you is on the receivin' end. But it's all for the good…'
'So you bugged the Korpulund office?'
'Errh, well not the office, no. But all the transmissions from the office. Like I intercepted them.'
'The transmissions?' howled Renton. 'You bugged the transmissions? But that's impossible. There'd be thousands of them. And they'd all be in code. It would take an army… And even then they wouldn't be able to make head nor tail of them.'
'Uh, sorry, ole bean,' responded Boz, 'but the codes are no problem at all. And as far as the numbers of transmissions are concerned, that's no real problem either. Yous jus' put a word trigger in. First one I put in was "Targa-B". Then when Targa-B pops up in any message - however many there are - then the trigger flicks the bug into record mode - for however long you like. An' you got yourself some interestin' tit bits. I like a two-minute stab myself. Otherwise you always ends up with too much to listen to at the end of a hard day - 'specially when you put more triggers in. Like the one that came out of my listening to some of those first tit bits - some dude by the name of Grader.'
'Oh yes, our friend Grader,' interjected Renton.
'Well, not from what I heard. But anyway, I added him as a new trigger. An' guess what - some hero by the name o' Tenting featured in the next crop. I mean, can you imagine it? Our very own Knight Tenting was on this geezer's case. Renton, I have to tell you, I was deeply impressed. I mean, deeply.'
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