The Worst Man on Mars

by Mark Roman

  If the humans had been capable of hearing at radio frequencies, they would have heard the room abuzz with the excited and cheerful twittering of the robots.

  signalled one.

  said another.

 

 

 

 

  10. The Creative Splurge

  Of all the colonists, Harry found it hardest to fall asleep in his scaled-down bunk in his down-sized quarters that night. For him, in addition to the rumbling, empty stomach that all colonists were experiencing following their ‘wine and nibbles’, he was also kept from sleep by the buzz of ideas in his head. He was composing. Nothing quite triggers the creative urge like a near-death experience and the onset of starvation.

  Rhyming word-pairs assaulted his mind: “elevator/alligator”, “asphyxiation/constipation”, “demise/French fries”. He felt a high-class ode coming, squeezing its way out through his neurons, out into the world for all to appreciate.

  He took out his fliptab and started writing:

  The Lift of Doom

  There we were, crushed in the lift,

  Feeling not a little miffed.

  Short of space and cannot breathe,

  Dugdale always quick to seethe.

  Along comes Leachy with her trunk,

  Lets it go and, with a clunk,

  Out spray all her bras and pants,

  Some too big for ele-phants.

  Dugdale’s mad, boy is he hopping,

  Lift keeps talking ‘bout the shopping.

  Then comes Darcy, blow-up doll,

  Gavin dancing, oh so droll.

  Tug-of-war and Darcy’s flying,

  Poor Miss Leach she is a-crying.

  Then, after one or two false starts,

  And teenage quips and teenage farts,

  We drop and crash like lead balloon,

  And Dugdale plays the mad buffoon,

  Opens doors and, not a care,

  Leaves the lift and takes the air.

  There we are, all blue and choking,

  All in fear of final croaking.

  Dugdale’s back on helicopter,

  Picked lift up and then he dropped ‘er.

  Down we go, our final plummet,

  Now he’s well and truly dunnit.

  The robots find and then retrieve us.

  But who on Earth will ever believe us?

  Harry sat back, exhausted by his creative rush. A warm glow filled him. “Two down,” he told himself. “Only 48 more to go.”

  11. The Call of the Mild

  “Zak,” whispered Willie, peering at the grainy image on his screen. “That you, Zak?”

  The image moved and blurred and darkened. Then an unmistakable moan issued from the loudspeaker. “Man, what time is it?” groaned the dreadlocked lump.

  The picture cleared as Zak’s head moved away from the camera and finally came into focus, eyes still closed. “Hey, Willie, you bin missin’ my dissin’?”

  “Just listen.”

  “Lonely up there? Just you and Mr Darce with the nice arse?”

  “Zak, I need to tell you something. It’s important.”

  “You’re engaged? Congrats, dude.”

  Willie paused for Zak to finish laughing. “It’s about Dugdale. I think you’re all in danger. He’s going to try to kill you.”

  Zak gave another laugh. “Old news. Mad Dugdaler the Impaler has had two cracks at us already, man.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Me too. But it was incompetence rather than malevolence.”

  “I think he murdered Penny Smith. And maybe even Commander Lionheart. You could be next! Round everyone up, get ‘em in the lift and then get back up here before he strikes again.”

  The dreadlocks swirled as Zak shook his mangy head. “No can do, kangaroo. The lift is stiffed. Battered and shattered.”

  “Serious?”

  “Like the Dog Star, man, like the Dog Star.”

  Willie paled, suddenly lost for words. “So there’s no way back for all of you?”

  “One-way ticket to Dead Planetsville, ex-partner. Unless you can come up with a rescue plan, man. But it better be better than Dugdale’s brilliant ideas.”

  “Oh,” said Willie, trembling slightly. “You’re taking it very well.”

  “That’s ‘cos I haven’t woken up, yet. Call me back in ten and I’ll be wailing my guts out.”

  “Right.” Willie bit his bottom lip as he debated whether to continue. “Zak?”

  “Still here, givin’ ya ma ear.”

  “There’s something else.”

  “Shoot.”

  Willie paused, still debating. “OK. There are aliens down there, Zak. Not far from the base. Large bird-like creatures. I discovered them.”

  “Whoa, man. What you been smokin’, dude? Aliens? How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  “And do you know if they’re friend or foe?”

  “No.” Then he added, “Zak, be careful.” He flicked the comms link off and dropped his head into his hands.

  12. The Not-so Famous Five

  “Wake up, bruv!” Oberon whispered, turning on the light-switch.

  “WTF!” Gavin ducked under his duvet to escape the photons.

  “Eeeeek!” squealed Tracey, similarly covering her head.

  “Dudes,” insisted Oberon, stepping further into their undersized bedroom and trying to close the ill-fitting door behind him. “Guess wot I got.” He jangled a set of keys between finger and thumb.

  Gavin poked a bleary eye from under his cover. “If that is da keys to da biscuit cupboard, I’m all ears.”

  “No, blad. Is the keys to MarsBug 1. You know, like, one of them buggies with the big bastard wheels. We is going for a spin. Have us an adventure!”

  “It’s morning!” shrieked Tracey from under her bedclothes. “I don’t do Mornings. I is not a morning person.”

  “Adventure? Wot, like we iz the Famous Five, or sumfing?”

  “There is only three of us, bro,” Oberon pointed out.

  “Famous Five?” asked Tracey, popping her head out, her hair dishevelled. “Like, who is they?”

  “Oh, come on, Trace,” said her brother, turning to her. “Them is famous, innit.”

  “Never ‘eard of ‘em. Can’t be that famous, then.”

  “You must’ve read that shit when you woz a kid,” said Oberon.

  Tracey merely gave a baffled look at the word ‘read’ before diving back under her duvet.

  “Come on, guys. It’ll be wicked. Meet you in the spacesuit changing room.”

  *

  Carefully following NAFA procedures they kitted themselves out with spacesuits and space helmets. Then, creeping as quietly as they could, they made their way to the buggy garage.

  “Uh-oh,” said Oberon as he spotted two small figures in their way.

  “Where are you guys going?” asked Tarquin in a dressing gown far too large for him. Mr Snuggles was at his side.

  “We iz going to use the outside bog, innit,” answered Gavin with a smirk. “Commander Fatbloke’s just dropped a megaton bomb in the one inside. Long half-life, if you know what I is meaning.” He wafted an imaginary smell. “So we is off to use the outside one.”

  “All three of you?” Tarquin raised an eyebrow. “You’re just trying to get rid of me. I can tell. Wherever you’re going, I’m coming with you.”

  “No, kid. Now scoot. We is on a secret mission. And you haven’t seen us. Understand?”

  “But that’s not fair. I want to come.”

  “It’s just chuffin’ bollocks.” Mr Snuggles crossed his arms defiantly.

  “No means no. Now scat.”

  The three teenagers went on their way, unaware that Tarquin had not, in fact, scatted but had scurri
ed to the suit room where he quickly put on his own spacesuit.

  *

  “Slow down! You is crazy, bruv. You gonna get us all killed.”

  Oberon was grinning from ear to ear as he sped across the desert, bouncing recklessly over boulders and sand dunes, performing handbrake turns and wheelies. With all the dust the wheels had thrown up, visibility was down to a few feet, so it was only a matter of time before the buggy hit a large rock.

  “Ugh!” they all gasped as their seatbelts caught them, knocking the air out of their lungs.

  They sat, winded, looking around as the air gradually cleared. Then Oberon and Gavin high-fived each other in the front seats, glad to have survived, while Tracey asked from the back, “What is that fing?”

  “What?” asked her brother, turning around.

  “Over there.” She pointed.

  The two boys leaned across the front seats to look.

  Standing on a craggy hilltop, no more than a hundred metres from them, was a tall, black monolithic slab embedded vertically into the ground.

  “Holy crap!” cried Gavin, his mouth dropping open.

  “Whoa. IMS,” added Oberon.

  “What?” asked Tracey.

  “Impregnate me sideways,” elucidated Oberon.

  Tracey rolled her eyes. “I know what ‘IMS’ means, you div. I meant, what is that fing?”

  Gavin reached for his blablet to take a photo. “It’s only a friggin’ obelisk!” he said in hushed tones. “Like, how amazeballs is that?”

  Tracey, not knowing how amazeballs it was, asked, “What’s a noblisk?”

  “Like in dat film – 2001 a Space Oddity, sis.” Gavin clicked the shutter and leapt out of the buggy.

  “Where is you going, blad?” asked Oberon, suddenly trembling.

  “To take a look, right?”

  “But if it’s an obelisk, it’s been put there by some intelligent alien species, innit. Are you sure we should go anywhere near it?”

  “’Course! Like them monkeys in the film.”

  “Yeah, but this is real life, bro’. What if them aliens is still there? And they is not the good guys.”

  Gavin was shaking his head. “Get with the programme, man. They probably left it there millions of years ago. Let’s go take a look.”

  Oberon climbed out of the buggy with shaking legs and followed him, making sure to stay several yards behind and keeping Gavin between himself and the object. Tracey remained, arms crossed, in the buggy.

  “Come on, sis!” called Gavin back to her. “In the film the obelisk made them monkeys smart. Might work on you.”

  *

  Step by step they approached it.

  “Sick, man. It’s just like da movie,” Gavin kept muttering. “Just like da movie.” He stopped suddenly and halted his friend. “Can you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “That chorus of frantic heavenly humming. It’s like: whooooo-oooo-ooo.”

  “No, bruv.”

  “Whooooo-oooo-ooo?”

  Gavin shook his head. “No, I tell ya. Must be, like, the wind in your helmet, innit. Dis is one seriously blowy planet.”

  Gavin shrugged and moved on.

  “How do we know it was the aliens what put it here?” asked Oberon.

  “Duh! Does it look natch to you? Big, black, flat fing – stickin’ out the ground like a sore fumb? You don’t think it grew there, do you?”

  “Could be one of them crystals, or sumfing.” Oberon scratched his head. “Feldspar, maybe.”

  “Feldspar? Where did that come from, bruv? You some kind of expert on geology all of a sudden?”

  “Dunno, mate. It just kind of came into me ‘ead, like. Maybe dat obelisk put it there.”

  Gavin’s mouth dropped open. “Wicked. Tracey needs to have a seriously close encounter with this fingie, then.” He turned to stare at the black slab. Something near the top caught his eye. “Writing! Look. Alien writing!”

  Oberon looked to where Gavin was pointing. A line of symbols had been inscribed into the surface of the slab. “Maybe we should go back to the base and tell old Flabface?” he suggested.

  They looked at one another for a few seconds and then, simultaneously, “Nah.”

  “That is just crazy talk,” said Gavin. He turned back to the slab. “It is black, though, innit. Blacker than the blackest black.”

  “Must be some kind of time portal, or sumfing. I’m gonna touch it.”

  “You sure, bro?”

  “Yeah.”

  “OK, I’ll film ya.” Gavin took out his blablet and started taking pictures. “Wiv any luck you will be whisked away to another dimension. Make an epic Instablog clip.”

  “Cheers, blad.” Oberon edged towards the black slab and peered at the surface. It was peppered with pinpricks of light, like myriad tiny quartz crystals. “Whoa. Those look like stars,” he whispered in awe. “I is looking at billions and billions of stars in another galaxy. Dis obelisk’s gotta be a gateway to anuvver universe.” The teenager stretched out a trembling, gloved hand to reach into the blackness on the other side of the gateway. His hand felt resistance at first, but as he pushed harder the resistance appeared to lessen. Then, all of a sudden, the stars were moving away from him. “OMG. The wormhole’s collapsing.” He stared open-mouthed as the stars seemed to accelerate faster and faster away from him.

  “Timber!” cried Gavin who, from his perspective, saw neither a gateway to another galaxy, nor billions of stars, but a large black slab that Oberon had just pushed over and which was now toppling to the ground. It landed, not with a cushioned thud on sand, but with the sound of a concrete block being dropped on half a dozen kitchen pan lids.

  “WTF just happened?” demanded Oberon, jumping a metre backwards.

  Gavin was laughing. “You just pushed it over, you plonker. Them advanced aliens is goin’ to be well vexed with you for knocking it over, bro’. Prolly on their way right now to sort you out.”

  “Don’t joke about fings like that, Gav.”

  Gavin shrugged. “For advanced aliens, they is not much good at de DIY, is they? Their shelves must be proper wonky. Might not even be an obelisk.”

  “So what is it?”

  “Grave.”

  “Yeah, is proper grave, man. Totally serious,” agreed Gavin.

  “Nah man, I mean it’s a grave.”

  “Wha’?”

  “Here lies the remains of some alien dude.”

  “An alien? Buried here?”

  “Could be. The squiggles at the top could be the dead guy’s name.”

  They looked back at the slab and, as they did so, saw it move. With a creaky, scratchy sound, the far end of the slab was rising. A trickle of sand slid off its shiny surface as it continued to lift.

  The boys stared at it in horror.

  “If it’s a grave, then sumfing’s trying to come out of it,” said Gavin, edging backwards.

  “A friggin’ zombie,” said Oberon, following him.

  “A friggin’ alien zombie,” corrected Gavin. With that, the two turned and shot off down the hill as though propelled by powerful turbo-thrusters in their trousers. They bounded towards MarsBug 1 as fast as their young legs would carry them, without so much as a backward glance.

  *

  “WTF?” asked Tracey as the boys leapt into the vehicle and Oberon rammed the accelerator pedal to the floor, sending up spumes of sand. “WTF?” she repeated.

  “Zombie aliens,” explained Gavin, enunciating the words as clearly as he could.

  “What about Tarq?” yelled Tracey above the noise of the motor. “You can’t just leave him back there. Not wiv dem zombie aliens.”

  Oberon jammed on the brakes and they skidded to a halt. “What is you on about, Trace?”

  “Tarquin. Him and his little metal friend.”

  “Go on.”

  “Like, they’d been hiding away on da back of the buggy where we couldn’t see ‘em. Then, they like, followed you up to the noblisk. You went round to
the left and they went round to the right. You must ‘ave seen ‘em up there, though.”

  Oberon and Gavin looked at one another. “Holy crap,” they said in unison.

  Gavin jumped out of the buggy and yanked open the boot. “Can’t leave little bro’ up there with them zombie aliens. Mum would kill me.”

  He found two spades in the boot and, throwing one to Oberon, raced up the hill with his friend in close pursuit. “Remember, you kill zombies by whacking their heads clean off,” he called back as he ran. “If da zombies have got to Tarquin we gonna have to finish him off, too.”

  With their senses on full alert, they sprinted back to the fallen obelisk, spades at the ready. Adrenaline pumped through their arteries, hearts pounded, and their minds ran through the terrible scenarios they might be about to encounter.

  But when they reached the place of the felled monolith, there were no zombie aliens to be seen, let alone battled with. The far end of the slab had risen several feet now, and when they edged round to view it from the side they realized what had caused its movement. There, beneath it, his skinny metal arms aloft, like a rickety car jack, was Mr Snuggles, supporting the weight of the mighty slab, while a dazed Tarquin was crawling out from beneath it.

  13. Feeling Down

  Little Tarquin burst into the Brush family quarters, excitement emanating from every pore of his flushed face. “Dad, Dad!” he exclaimed, throwing his space helmet onto his bed and removing his space gloves.

  Dr Brian Brush turned round and greeted his boy with a familiar grin. “S’up, Tarq?”

  “Shhh!” hushed Tarquin, his finger to his lips. “Secret!”

  “Oh?” asked his father with a conspiratorial wink.

  Tarquin waited for Mr Snuggles to trundle into the room. The robot had a large, fluffy white thing attached behind him, its downy tendrils fanning out behind his head and swaying gently as he braked to a halt. Tarquin quietly closed the door.

  “Aliens, Dad. We’ve discovered aliens!” Tarquin’s eyes glinted.

  “Aliens, eh?” Brian grinned, unable to conceal his amusement. “Oh, ho, ho.” He leaned forward as if ready to be part of this lark.