Polkingbeal67 observed him with thinly-disguised scorn. "You don't know any sea shanties, do you?"
"Yes, yes, I certainly do," yukawa3 insisted. "I know a couple."
"Name them."
"Well, one of them is..." To his surprise, he managed to come up with a title that sounded perfectly plausible. "Yeh, one of them is called 'Haul away, haul away' and the other one..." His resourcefulness floundered like a gasping trout. "... isn't."
Polkingbeal67 knew that if they were going to blend in with earthlings they would have to think and behave like earthlings. He judged that one of the first and key considerations was to secure some form of employment. As it was early summer, he was certain there would be no shortage of waitressing opportunities in the area, so the immediate priority was to help yukawa3 apply for work as a deckhand with a fishing crew. With this in mind, they followed the coast on foot until they came upon a town with a harbour. Following an elevated pavement along the harbour wall towards a lighthouse, they were encouraged to see a wide variety of fishing boats bobbing in the water. For some reason, they descended the steps near the lighthouse only to be met by the incoming tide lapping against the wall, so they squabbled, ran back up the steps and retreated towards the town. Near the top of the harbour they approached a man who was unloading nets and lobster pots from a boat.
"Excuse me," polkingbeal67 said in his new phony waitress voice. "Are we having a nice day today? Tell me, do you have any vacancies at the moment? My friend here is an excellent deckhand with plenty of experience." He swished his ponytail and contorted his face into a ghastly smiling-for-tips grimace.
The fisherman straightened up, wiped his brow with the back of his hand and turned a withering gaze on yukawa3. "'E don't look like 'e could lift a bloody fork to 'is mouth!"
"No, really, his appearance is deceptive," said polkingbeal67. "He's struggled with a marlin for three days and nights."
The fisherman fingered his grizzled beard, coughed and spat on the shingle. "Not much marlin round 'ere," he growled. "Not much call for 'em either. Anyways, the skipper is 'avin a coffee in the shop there. Go an' ask 'im yourselves. I've got work to do." Sensing the possibility of some entertainment, he changed his mind. "'Ang on! I'll come with you. I'll introduce you."
The three of them crunched their way over the shingle towards the cafe. A solitary gull stood on the metal railing, its feathers lifting easily in the breeze as it eyed the motley crew marching past some cobble stones and an old rowing boat filled with flowers and herbs. Entering the cafe, the fisherman greeted the woman behind the counter and took a chair next to a man wearing a blue-checked shirt. "Jarek," he said. "These two characters 'ere want to know if we wanna take on any more crew."
Polkingbeal67 shook his head. "Just him,” he clarified, pointing to yukawa3. "Not me."
"Yeh," said the first fisherman. "I kinda assumed that, being as you're a girl an' everything. Why doesn't your boyfriend 'ere speak for 'imself?" He fixed yukawa3 with a hard glare. "What's your name?"
Yukawa3 glanced nervously at polkingbeal67, who nodded in encouragement. "Sophia," he said. "I'm Sophia Gonzalez. Can I have a new sou’wester?"
The look the two fishermen exchanged was a queer combination of mistrust and amusement. "Hokay," said Jarek, pushing his coffee cup aside. "You're colled Sophia?" When yukawa3 nodded, he exchanged another look with the first fisherman. "Sophia, you're very fin for a fisherman. Are you strong? Which is important for, uh, fishing work. Uh, yes? No worries. Pay peanuts, get monkeys, uh? Ha ha!" He nudged his colleague, who joined in the laughter. "Next point is why you have a girl's name, uh? Sophia is, uh, a girl's name."
Straight away, polkingbeal67 suspected he had not paid sufficient attention to detail when he had constructed their earthling identities (given that Mortians have no gender and reproduce in an agamogenetic fashion, he could possibly be forgiven for underestimating the importance of gender issues in earthling life). This suspicion was confirmed when Jarek asked him his name and he replied tentatively, "Er, Mohammed?" The first fisherman snorted. Jarek, to his credit, kept a straight face, nodded and simply repeated, "Uh, Mohammed."
"Anyway," said the first fisherman, addressing Jarek, but pointing to yukawa3. "This character says 'e's fought a marlin for three days and nights. So, what do you think?" Neither polkingbeal67 nor yukawa3 noticed him winking conspiratorially at his skipper.
Jarek turned to the woman leaning over the counter, enthralled by the conversation. "Beryl," he said. "Hokay, can we borrow one of those, uh, crab line things?" He nodded his head towards a rack containing buckets, spades and other sand toys.
Beryl sneered at him derisively. "What do you think this is? Do I look like Father Christmas? They're two pound forty-five, includes the bag."
"Hokay, hokay," said Jarek, "No worries. As I'm in, uh, a good mood, I'll even buy my two friends here a drink."
Jarek paid Beryl the money and handed the lemonade bottle and the crab line to yukawa3. "I tell you what," he said. "You take this and catch me a marlin and, uh, you can have the job. Hokay? You can borrow my rowing boat. It's the, uh, blue and white one down there on the sand."
As polkingbeal67 and yukawa3 left the shop and made their way over the shingle, Beryl and the two fishermen stood at the window, pointing and laughing.
Polkingbeal67 was more than a little apprehensive. "Do you know how to row?" he asked.
Yukawa3 shook his head. "I wish I could," he said.
"You wish you could? Don't you want this job? Really, y'know, you've got to start saying 'I will' instead of 'I wish' all the time."
"I will I could?" said yukawa3, a tad confused. "Anyway, this boat's no good."
Polkingbeal67's frustration with the young cadet was growing. "Why?" he asked. "Why is this one no good?"
"It's upside down," yukawa3 replied. There was only a short pause before his sou’wester was subjected to another pounding.
Yukawa3 never thought to use more than one oar at a time, so it will not surprise you to hear that the quest for the giant marlin took place within a particularly small circular zone of the harbour waters. The outcome, especially given that he had neglected to bait the hook, was equally predictable - they caught precisely nothing. Nevertheless, the episode was not without its benefits. For one thing, Jarek's crew, along with several other bemused spectators, enjoyed the best part of an hour's free entertainment. Also, it gave polkingbeal67 plenty of time to reflect on the effectiveness of their new identities. The relative tranquility of the harbour was punctuated only by the dipping of the oar blade and the random cries of oystercatchers and gulls. It should have served to calm his disquiet, but polkingbeal67 grew increasingly agitated about the mistakes he had made. It galled him to think that smolin9 would have handled it much better. Eventually, the obvious solution - switching their names - dawned on him, but by then he was disenchanted with the whole project and was contemplating an entirely different strategy.
As his new game plan took shape in his head, polkingbeal67 cheered up. "I think honesty is going to be the better policy. Yes, that’s the way to go!"
"Definitely. I've always believed in honesty." Yukawa3 shipped his oar and stood up, suddenly and unaccountably emboldened to deliver a heart-felt homily or two on the subject. "Honesty and integrity are..." His brain muscle flexed promisingly and then collapsed with fatigue. "...very good things." The boat rocked violently causing him to sit back down again. "I would be prepared to die for my belief in honesty," he asserted.
"Really?" Polkingbeal67 rolled his eyes. "I've told you before - you should never say you'd die for your beliefs, because what if they turn out to be wrong? Anyway, we've got to accept that we're no good at blending in with these people. Smolin9 might get away with it, but we're no good at it. We're never going to pull it off. This is the new plan - we're going to be upfront with them and get their support."
Yukawa3 gaped open-mouthed. "What? How? Why?"
"We'll go back and tell them exactly who we are an
d exactly what we want. Just follow my lead."
"You're right!" yukawa3 exclaimed. "This is, this is..."
"A good idea?" polkingbeal67 suggested helpfully.
"A total Rubicon moment!" Yukawa3 took a large swig of lemonade. He then learned the hard way that you should avoid reaching a total Rubicon moment while you're drinking. It makes lemonade shoot out of your nose.
Twenty minutes later they abandoned the boat, yukawa3 having failed in his attempts to manoeuvre it back to land. They waded through the water and strode purposefully back to the shop. By this time, the fishing crew had disappeared and the only customers were a couple of holidaymakers sipping coffee at a window table.
Beryl smiled a sardonic smile. "Did you get your marlin, then?"
While polkingbeal67 proceeded to tell her exactly who they were and what they were doing and why they were doing it, Beryl retrieved a broom from behind the counter and waved it in his face. "Right, that's it! Come on you two, out you get! I've had enough of your lunacy for one day! Off with you! Go back to your old Morris Minor car or your spaceship or whatever you're living in and get out from under my feet!" Brandishing the broom like a spear, she chased them from the shop and yelled at them from the doorway, "And don't come back here with any more of your crackpot stories! Go on, clear off! I've got better things to do!"
Withdrawing to the harbour wall, polkingbeal67 and yukawa3 sat in total despair and bewilderment.
Yukawa3 was the first to speak. "What happened?"
Polkingbeal67 slapped the sou’wester. "Okay, it didn't go exactly as I planned it."
. . .
You will recall, dear reader, that polkingbeal67 and yukawa3, in the frantic aftermath of the Niffis incident, had forgotten that polkingbeal67's prospects of survival on Earth had been jeopardised by a corrective procedure to his earthling heart that rendered him susceptible to earthling infections and diseases. The morning after the episode with the rowing boat, he woke to find what looked like an insect bite on his leg. Other than a little localised itchiness, it did not trouble him too much, but it did serve to remind him of the issue.
He and yukawa3 had booked into a little bed and breakfast near the harbour and polkingbeal67 had secured a part-time job as a waitress in the local diner. Despite their best efforts, and despite a switch of names, they had not found a fishing crew willing to employ yukawa3 as a deckhand.
It was four o'clock in the afternoon and polkingbeal67 had just started his shift and was cleaning tables in his section. Worried about the outlook for any kind of extended stay on Earth, particularly in view of his vulnerability to infection, he was preoccupied with his thoughts and barely noticed a customer who had shuffled into a booth near the door and had coughed to attract attention.
"What's your problem?" The words had escaped polkingbeal67 before he had had a chance to register where he was and what he was doing.
"I beg your pardon," said the customer in an aggrieved voice.
"Sorry, I just started work. I mean, what can I get you?"
As the diner was quiet, the two of them struck up a conversation and it turned out that the customer was the owner of several local fishing vessels. Polkingbeal67 realised this was an opportunity that he should not squander. Earlier in the day, he had resolved to offer earthlings some of the benefits of Mortian technology in the hope that it might ingratiate him with the intergalactic community and go some way towards atoning for the Niffis calamity. Mortian microwockys incorporated real-time video imaging and sonar technology that were way beyond even the wildest dreams of earthling naval boffins, so locating shoals of fish in the shallow waters of the Bristol Channel would be a breeze. This wasn't just about getting yukawa3 a job. Polkingbeal67 was thinking big. If he and yukawa3 could transform the British fishing industry, how long would it be before military and government officials homed in on the potential benefits? And how long then before the planet's top scientists would be knocking at his door, drooling and slavering over the prospects of other technological innovations? Obviously, he would have to be conservative about how much to reveal - it would not do to have dumb earthlings whizzing around the galaxies causing mayhem everywhere and undermining the established order. You can lead earthlings to knowledge and information, but you cannot make them think. No, it would have to be a judicious drip feed of advanced scientific concepts, such as biogeometry, thermodynamics, neurochemistry and genomics. He could, for example, push people like Stephen Hawking and Jacob Bekenstein further along the path to understanding string theory and quantum field theories without revealing the relationship between black hole entropy and time travel. Surely, if he could be instrumental in accelerating earthling civilisation in this way, it would go a huge way towards ameliorating his mangled reputation in the eyes of intergalactic society. And what if he expanded his ambitions into the cosmetic and pharmaceutical industries? Why, the possibilities were endless: if he were an unscrupulous, greedy and power hungry individual (and, to be fair, he was not), he could bask in the radiant splendour of prosperity, wealth and success for the rest of his days. Fleetingly, visions of world domination and affluence drifted seductively across his mind and only the sound of the customer, Peter Dylan, slurping his tea like a vacuum cleaner, brought him back to his senses.
Dylan stared in wide-eyed amazement at some of the features of polkingbeal67's microwocky and readily agreed to give yukawa3 a trial on one of his boats the following day. The plan was for Dylan and yukawa3 to take out a rigid inflatable boat at dawn so that they could use the microwocky to record the locations of the best shoals, and then communicate the data to the crews before they set out.
Later, when polkingbeal67 discussed the strategy with yukawa3, he strayed once more into wild expectations and had to be snapped back to reality by the stupefied expression on the young cadet's face.
"But don't you see?" polkingbeal67 enthused. "This is going to be our salvation. This will ensure that we can go home with our heads held high, a song of triumph on our lips and the hope of freedom on our minds." It was misguided and senseless, but he could not help himself. In truth, he was a little feverish. The insect bite had become swollen and full of pus.
Yukawa3 attempted to keep his mentor lucid and focused. "But what if they don't believe you or don't trust you or chase after you with a broom?"
Polingbeal67's eyes took on a crazy gleam. "They'll listen," he argued. "I'll be able to show earthlings, for the first time in their miserable existence, exactly what they are running from, and to, and why! And if they need more convincing, I'll amaze them by transforming myself into my natural Mortian form!"
Appalled at the notion, yukawa3 became flustered. "Don't do it!" he insisted firmly. "You mustn't do it. They'll lock you up. They'll carry out unspeakable experiments. Remember Roswell!"
The following morning, yukawa3 met Dylan outside the harbour cafe where a light rain had dampened the roads and the cobbles. A soft breeze rippled the water as they set off in the RIB to conduct their survey of the nearby fishing grounds, particularly the sand banks where high yields of bass and pollack could be expected. Meanwhile, the fishing crews started to assemble. Clearing the harbour fairway, checking equipment and repairing damaged trawl nets, they had plenty to occupy themselves with while they waited.
Polkingbeal67 arrived just as the RIB was bouncing the waves back towards the harbour. The aroma of dimethyl sulphide, the smell of the sea, would have greeted him, but, although the fake earthling nostrils configured and actualised by his biomimetic mutator appeared to be as authentic as the real McCoy, his sense of smell was actually weak and unreliable (like having a completely stuffed nose). What he thought he could smell, however, was the sweet smell of success as yukawa3 and Dylan disembarked from the RIB, looking confident and energised.
"Well?" polkingbeal67 prompted. "Did you record it all okay? Do you know how to get to the best shoals?"
"Don't worry about that," said yukawa3. "I've got it. I've photographed the metal identification plate on the
transom."
Polkingbeal67 and Dylan looked at each other in bemused perplexity. They spoke in unison: "What?"
Proudly flourishing the close-up of the RIB's serial number on his microwocky, yukawa3 announced, "Look! Here it is! This clearly identifies which boat to use to catch all those fish!"
Dylan was aghast. "Do you mean you haven't identified the locations of the shoals?" A number of crew members and a few locals, including Beryl, the café proprietor, had gathered around to listen to the exchange.
"But I've identified which boat to use!" yukawa3 repeated. He was not so dense that he could not perceive that something was wrong and that whatever was wrong was almost certainly perceived by everyone else to be his fault. One glance at polkingbeal67's thunderstruck expression told him all he needed to know. To yukawa3, life was a wonderful enigma made intolerable by the fact that no one else shared his grasp of the rationale behind it. In abject remorse, he took off his sou’wester and offered it to polkingbeal67, who looked at it in confusion and exasperation before replacing it delicately on the cadet's head and slapping it hard.
"Get out of here, you... you... charlatans!" Dylan spluttered, almost choking with rage. "And don't come back here or we'll... we'll... we'll keelhaul you! Take your stupid sciencey toys and clear off! As if we haven't got better things to do!"
As they beat their hasty retreat, yukawa3 turned to his mentor and said, "Yeh, I think I know where it all went wrong."
Polkingbeal67 tightened every sinew to appear composed and restrained. "Oh?" he said. "And where do you think it all went wrong?"
"Well," said yukawa3. "For one thing, we'd never have got all those men and their equipment on that boat."
Polkingbeal67 kicked yukawa3's battered yellow sou’wester all the way back to their bed and breakfast lodgings.
. . .
The ICJAC (or Intergalactic Court of Justice, Arbitration and Conciliation) only ever investigated allegations of crimes against humanity, war crimes and genocide (it also intervened in cases where a planet proved unable or unwilling to investigate serious wrong-doing by its own people). The Niffis incident was the first time that Morys Minor had been the object of this kind of ICJAC attention. In many ways, the Mortian leader's desire to protect the reputation of Mortian envoys was honourable, but, in the longer term, his failure to apprehend polkingbeal67 and yukawa3 damaged his own reputation and laid him open to accusations of collusion and corruption. Unfortunately, his ill-advised decision to send smolin9 in fruitless pursuit of the two fugitives was seen as further evidence of his complicity, and, impervious as he was to intergalactic hostility, he had been backed into a corner and there was no way out for him but to travel to the Court and answer the charges levelled against him.
Through The Wormhole, Literally Page 18