74.
But it wasn't just any old asteroid belt. It was the giant Zuzpenda Belt, the biggest asteroid belt in the universe, a great disc of swirling stones, tens of millions of miles deep and more than a light year across. And as Kanker had correctly observed, the Godhead was slap bang in the middle of it. And, of course, with no hyper to get itself out.
Renton took hold of the controls in his mote. At last he was going to do it for real: take a big bugger of a ship through an asteroid swarm. And no half measures either. As well as being the biggest collection of spinning masonry in the universe, the Zuzpenda Belt was also the most thickly populated, and with some of the biggest asteroids you could ever imagine.
He closed his eyes. There was to be no cheating. Not to start with anyway. Then he began. He commenced his blind journey through the minefield of stones.
A turn to the right brought the Godhead into its first encounter with a reasonably big one. It was sitting in the path of the ship's forehead. It was a stumpy, sausage-shaped asteroid about fifteen miles across. And as soon as it came within range, the plasma domes opened up. The facing side of the massive stone became a sheet of plasma pulses. The thing was being disintegrated by them. Eaten away in a frenzy of plasma energy.
But it wasn't like a missile, or even a thermite bomb, some high-explosive that detonates into a belch of energy - and nothing much more. No, this was a very big piece of stonework, a massive sausage of mass. And that mass had to go somewhere. And some of it went on towards the Godhead. A vast shower of it. A shower of small bits, but travelling at explosive speed, and in such numbers that the domes couldn't cope. They simply could not demolish the asteroids - and every piece of the asteroids - every time. And with so many asteroids about, some of these pieces were bound to get through.
And, although the sio-nite lattice supporting the domes could absorb any amount of offensive energy, the domes themselves were far less adept at absorbing offensive masonry, especially small bits of it striking them at tens of thousands of miles an hour. They tended to get punctured. And when they got punctured, they got pacified.
So Renton had set in motion a process of attrition. His asteroids would gradually wear down the Godhead's plasma defences with their pebble-sized pellets. And as more and more of the domes succumbed, then more and more of the artillery would find its way through. And then larger calibre artillery. And the process would be both cumulative and exponential. Then there would be real trouble.
Renton smirked like a child as he brought the colossal doomed spacecraft to the left. His eyes were still closed.
In a little while he would open them. But just for now, he was back on that module again. And he wanted to enjoy it. He wanted to relish the thrill of that blind race through the void, a void filled with large lumps of danger. And he especially wanted to enjoy failing again, failing as comprehensively as he had on that first occasion.
Because that way he'd win - and Kanker would lose.
75.
Kanker had a bad feeling.
His mote window was one of the few places on the Godhead not sheltered behind that enormous mask of domes. And when tiny pieces of asteroid chippings began to hit it, he knew the writing was on the wall.
The dome shield would be degrading. More bits of asteroid would find their way through to the inner skin. And then bigger bits. And the bigger bits would pierce the skin. And that meant the skin of his eyeball as well. And the bloody mass repulsion unit would do fuck all about it. All this flying masonry-mass was too small for it to bother with. It was interested in planets and moons, not pissy-sized asteroids and even pissier-sized asteroid sweepings.
So his Godhead was doomed. That bastard in the other mote had really gone and screwed it up. And with a damned asteroid belt at that. It was enough to make you spit. Even if you were divine.
And so he spat. Kanker spat on the floor of his mote. An act of sacrilege of sorts, but one he needed to perform. His Godhead was about to be desecrated. Well, he would do it himself first. And then whatever was left was sacred no more. And of no interest to him. They could have it, or whatever was left of it. And he would be gone. And he would build another Godhead. An even more wonder-full Godhead. One that would really befit the scale of his deity. One much bigger than this little jobbie…
But to do all that, he had to survive. And to survive, he had to leave his mote and get to an escape pod - the one in the corner of the bridgeroom, the one that he kept just for himself. And he'd better do it quickly.
It was beginning to sound like a bloody hailstorm out there.
76.
It was time to open his eyes.
Renton could hear pieces of pulverised asteroid hitting the window of his mote. And he could almost discern an increase in the hit rate. The assault on the Godhead was going to be a good deal more exponential than he'd first thought. And it wouldn't even need any of his fine steering. It didn't matter where you pointed this little baby in this stretch of space. It was so jam-packed tight with asteroids out there that you couldn't possibly avoid hitting them, even if you were perverse enough to try.
This realisation led him into some new thinking, and this concerned his own situation.
It was all a great deal of fun: this re-living of his training module. But he was sitting in a very large spaceship that would very soon resemble the biggest colander the universe had ever seen. And he was sitting in a spacesuit which was not quite complete in every respect. In particular, it lacked a space-helmet. And that rendered it unsuitable for anything other than what might be described as indoor use. But not indoors in a colander-like hulk in the deep vacuum of space where this vacuum was indoors as well. Then it could operate successfully only if reunited with the aforementioned helmet.
Renton needed a helmet. There were none inside the mote, but he had a vague recollection that he'd seen some in the bridgeroom. It would be his only chance. Leave the comfort and current security of his mote, and join all those thugs out there in the bridgeroom.
Mmm, that should be fun!
77.
The miracle had arrived.
Something was going on outside the ship. Boz wasn't sure, but he had the distinct impression that it might be under some sort of attack. Difficult to believe, but something was definitely happening out there. And whatever it was, it was having a remarkable effect in here - here in the bridgeroom.
Some of Kanker's thugs were disappearing. And others were withdrawing from the battle to talk to each other. And there was confusion. And then, most remarkable of all, King Kank himself was letting himself out of his mote. He was coming down amongst his plebs in the bridgeroom. The Almighty was moving in a mysterious way.
It really was a miracle.
78.
There was also confusion in Renton's bridgeroom. Mounting confusion - and distraction. It seemed that all the thugs there were completely absorbed in the fate of their ship, and they'd lost all interest in the mote - and in its sole occupant. Maybe he could slip out without their noticing. Sneak out without their being aware. Well, it was certainly worth a try. And anyway, what else could he do? And what could he lose?
Suddenly there was a great thump on the window of the mote.
'Jesus, that was a big one,' declared Renton. 'Another one like that, and there won't be any window. Things are going downhill fast. Incredibly fast.'
And now he had to do something fast himself. Or he'd be dead. And this time for real. He had to get out of the mote and take his chances in the bridgeroom. And he had to do it now.
He opened the door gingerly and eased himself out. Then he crept round the edge of the bridgeroom - holding his breath. But he soon decided that this was a little impractical, and it would be a great deal better if he simply re-engaged normal ventilation mode. So he did.
And nobody noticed. They were all still totally absorbed. He continued to creep.
And then he realised he was in pain. Because his creeping was on tip-toe. And this wasn't too sensible, and al
most certainly not vital to his cause. So he adopted instead a more conventional flat-footed creep - which allowed him to creep in more comfort… And then, there it was, just to his left: a single fishbowl, sitting in a glass fronted locker with the word “helmet” stencilled on it. It was just what he wanted.
He opened the locker door, reached in and picked up the helmet. And as he rose to inspect his new prize, he noticed a thug. It was a thug who had just noticed him. But a bit of a slow one. His maser was still in its pouch. And Renton had his in his hand.
He had to do it. It would raise the alarm, but that would be up and running soon anyway. This rather slow thug would see to that. And now he was reaching for his weapon. Renton had to do it. He had to kill him. He had to take the man's life.
And with hardly a pause, he raised his maser, aimed it at the man's chest and pressed the trigger.
The man collapsed. Probably because there was now a hole in his chest, and he was dead.
'Bloody hell,' thought Renton. 'I've done it. Just like that. And that's it, isn't it? You just do it when you have to. And all that stuff about can I or can't I… well, it's just that: stuff. I might as well have worried about fairies.'
So here was another realisation for Renton, and another step up that stairway of growing up. And like many of its other steps, this one was all about commonsense. Yes, when you're faced with imminent extinction - or one of your colleagues is - you very soon appreciate that it's not a life you're removing, it's a threat you're removing, a threat to you or someone you care for. And just as long as you don't start to enjoy it, you shouldn't hesitate. And afterwards, you shouldn't regret it. People have been killing other people in combat for as long as there have been people, and it hasn't turned them into monsters; it's just helped them and their comrades survive. It is simply the ultimate act of commonsense, a practical solution to an unusually challenging problem…
And if he hadn't just applied that practical solution, he would have died; he was sure of it. Just as he was sure that he might still die if he didn't get that helmet on pronto. The bridgeroom would not be airtight for much longer. There would soon be holes in its walls, and it would begin to lose its air. And as more and more bits of asteroid then made more and more holes, it would very soon lose all it had.
But, of course, there were still the other thugs - who had now been alerted to his presence. They might just save him from that terrible vacuum of death - by killing him first.
79.
Kanker's bridgeroom was enjoying something of a charmed life. Much of the right eye was already weeping away its air, as ever more rocks tore through its skin. But not yet the bridgeroom. So far it had been spared. Its atmosphere was intact.
Kanker was leading a charmed life as well. And he knew it.
Only feet from the door of the mote, he'd seen that ugly looking reptilian raise his maser to shoot him. But as the maser round burst out, so too did the stomach contents of one of his men, the unlucky individual who had chosen precisely that moment to run into the lethal line of fire. So the master was able to duck out of danger and continue on his way. And the reptilian was cheated of his prey. Kanker was still alive - and still he'd survive.
But then the blasted Meitchars tried to stick his oar in. He'd come leaping towards him like some demented acrobat. And he would have been on him but for another unintentional intervention by his troops. This time two of them had decided at the same time that this Meitchars chap needed to be cut down to size, and they'd rushed him from both sides as he'd closed on his target. The result was a perfectly timed avoiding somersault by the intended victim, a double dose of concussion for the would-be assailants - and a split second delay in Meitchers' performance. Just long enough to let Kanker dodge out the way. And then Meitchars had other matters to attend to, like a squad of six thugs - all intent on doing him harm.
He was still alive. And he would survive! And no damn bird was going to stop him either.
He could see her. She was trying to cut him off from the pod. But no problem. There was this insectal within grabbing distance, a feeble little thing, but he clearly had a thick carapace. He would make an ideal shield. And it didn't matter whether a willing one or not.
It worked. The little bastard tried to wriggle a bit, but Kanker was able to hold him. And that made the bitch hold her fire. Not that he'd expected that. He'd thought the shield would be used, that it would take a few masers or more. But how was he to know she was just a stupid softie, and that she hadn't the bottle to kill him? Well, so much the better. It would probably cost her her life, the stupid cow - what little of it was left.
But not so his own. His was assured. He was now at the pod, the Pod of the God - and he was about to survive. The peasants might perish, but he would prevail. Deities always did. And so too would he. Because he was a god - and the best of the lot. Oh yes, he would surely survive.
He cast the insectal aside and set about the God-Pod's bio lock. The door was open in an instant and he moved to step in. Then he felt it: a sudden tightness around his neck, a choking tightness. Maybe the air had gone. He needed to get into that pod as soon as he could. But he couldn't. The tightness was holding him back. And it wasn't the air; it was something around his neck, something bound tightly around his neck - and getting tighter all the time.
Then he heard a voice in his ear.
'Hello, Kanker. It's Grader here. You know, your mass murderer. Sorry, but I just can't seem to quit the habit.
'But you know how it is, don't you? Because you know everything. Everything there is to know. You're the all-knowing Almighty, aren't you? And right now you know you're going to die.'
Kanker tried to turn. And then he tried to speak. But he could do neither, and Grader went on.
'But before you do, hear this. Hear the truth. Hear what you've not heard for years. Not since you first surrounded yourself with that sick bunch of sycophants.
'You're a nobody, Kanker. Just an ill-tempered, ill-mannered nobody, who may have managed to bully his way to power, but who's then let that power subvert him. And so much so, that he now thinks he's the very opposite of a nobody. And I don't mean just a somebody, I mean somebody special, somebody very special. Indeed, the chosen one, no less. The one and only chosen one. And the one who commands it all.
'Well, let me tell you now; all you command is people's disgust and people's distaste - and maybe their contempt or maybe even their pity. But never their respect and never their recognition as your being anything other than a nobody. A nobody who can threaten and menace, but still a nobody.
'I could go on. But why bother? Yes, why the hell should I bother with a nobody?'
And with that, Grader gave a final twist to the garrotte, and Kanker let out his final gasp of breath, the very last God's-breath of all.
It was a simple garrotte, one he always carried around with him, made from a couple of sticks and a short length of string. He'd learned how to make it on his training course years ago - when he'd had to make a swinging pot-holder out of the same components. He'd thought it might turn out useful one day - the garrotte, that is, not the friggin' stupid pot-holder thing.
80.
It was a bit of a squeeze, but it could have been a great deal worse. Kanker's pod was designed for just one, but a very important one, a god no less. And so it was roomy in the extreme, quite roomy enough for four mere mortals. Even if one of them was the chunky young Boz.
And it gave them a grandstand seat, the best in the ground for “the death of the head”.
Its skin was already in tatters. Everywhere great curtains of domes hung loose from their moorings; the once seamless mask now ripped into shreds, cut into strips by the onslaught of stones. And here and there, there were gaping holes, jagged gaps in the mantle of domes - like pockmarks and worse on the face of a freak. And out of these holes oozed that cargo of dust…
The inner skin was going. It was being beaten to a pulp, devastated by a rain of blows that nothing could withstand. And as it w
ent, as more and more rocks hurtled through the membrane, so more and more of its mess belched into space. It was as if the Godhead was being suffocated in its own stinking black breath, choked by the poison it meant for poor Shrubul - and anywhere else that had stood in its way.
Then a series of monster asteroids joined the fray and the battle was done. The first one took away the whole right cheek, and with it, the eye. But an eye now no more than a blind metal globe peppered with holes. The second found the forehead. It scalped the Godhead like a knife.
And then a veil was drawn over the scene. Dust was everywhere, Kanker's thick black dust obliterating his likeness. And then hiding from sight its final moments - as a third massive asteroid, and then a fourth, smashed into what was still left of the skull.
It was over. The Godhead had joined its evil master, and its like would never be seen again.
Renton, however, would. Not immediately, but after a few hours of searching with the pod's life-sign scanner. And there he was, floating helplessly in space with one of those hated helmets on his head and a sunny smile on his face.
They were not able to bring him inside, but they could throw him a line, a life-giving umbilical that would support him while the Pandiloop squadron raced to their aid. And they'd soon be here. Meitchars had sent a mayday call to For-bin-Ah as soon as their pod had ejected.
And through the umbilical they could also talk to him, enough anyway to tell him of Kanker's certain demise and to learn a little about how he'd avoided the same fate. But the detail would have to wait. There was just so much of it, and communication through the umbilical was difficult and sporadic.
And hugging him would have to wait as well.
Because that's what they all wanted to do. Especially Madeleine. She wanted to hug him more than anything she could think of. But for now she'd have to make do with these fellows in the pod. A bit of vicarious hugging. And unsurprisingly, she made do very well. And they didn't seem to mind either. But they were like that. Very nice blokes. Chivalrous, you know - two of them by nurture and one of them by nature…
Ticklers Page 31