In Search of the Alter Dom

by Jack Challis

  Ahead of them in the corridor, a cabin door opens and out steps an immaculately dressed figure with ginger hair and a green uniform with a large shamrock emblem on its back. Around its neck the android wore a pink ladies scarf. Karak signaled Blodwyn to stop and whispers…, ‘The Glin-Adare, stand still!’ The Glin-Adare android broke into drunken song. ‘The minstrel boy to the war has gone, his wild harp slung behind him….. We are the boys of old Wexford….and he rode like a king in command….’ But to Blodwyn’s surprise the android suddenly became aware of their presence. While the android’s body continued walking forward – only the head of the Glin-Adare turned a full half circle and foolishly grinned at them. The eyeballs of the Glin-Adare spun backwards like a slot machine; the android then made the call of a cuckoo. Reaching a t-junction in the corridor, the android moon-walked to his left, still grinning at them.

  ‘Our fish has taken the bait,’ says the Cold-blood with satisfaction, ‘he has already lost his sense of direction – and has gone the wrong way!’

  Reaching the entrance of the banqueting hall, Blodwyn swept past the Cold-blood nose in air, and after a few steps, stopped and glared at the Malis Afar. ‘You are casting your shadow on my freckles – five paces behind me, if you please,’ she orders, falling into the part of Grunwalde.

  ‘I beg your pardon, your majesty,’ the Cold-blood complies.

  Entering the banqueting room Blodwyn saw a massive round table loaded with delicious looking food, and the queerest bunch of aliens seated around it. Every alien diplomat except one, was wearing a shiny metal bands around its head. As she swept into the room, the entire group of alien diplomats rose to their feet. ‘Grunwalde Angharad!’ Karak announces, ‘Queen of all the Lings and their kin – a true Changeling!’

  ‘Be seated gentleman,’ says Blodwyn confidently – her stomach fluttering! The first to speak was a stick-like Semmi Tal; his large luminous eyes blinking nervously from the depths of his saffron hood. ‘Let me be the first to congratulate the new Queen of the Lings. We the Semmi Tal hold the Lings in high esteem – for they are true “three hearts” (Changelings). We Semmi Tal are but simple Shape-shifters.’

  ‘Just don’t ask me to change into a hippopotamus or something,’ answers Blodwyn, ‘it bores me!’

  ‘We also wish to thank the Malis Afar,’ adds the thin Semmi Tal, ‘for not inviting the Na Idriss – Jed Bela – or the Iraa-Brill, to the table – they make me nervous!’ Next to speak was a fierce looking alien with a striking bright red and blue face; this alien kept flashing its eyebrows and teeth at Blodwyn.

  ‘It means the mandrill faced Dandy-Indra likes you, Highness,’ whispers the large friendly fish-head Cilla, sitting to Blodwyn’s right.

  The Dandy-Indra was tall and dark with swept back black, greasy hair – deep-set eyes and the whitest of teeth. Each long canine was inserted with a diamond that sparkled when he spoke! He was immaculately dressed in black with silver trimmings – a real dandy. ‘You must come and visit our planet in the Hydra Nebula, part of the Centaurus System your Highness; we Indra have an eye that appreciates beauty.’

  ‘I certainly will – as long as it’s just your eyes, you appreciate beauty with – and not groping hands!’ answers Blodwyn – giving the Dandy Indra a flirtatious wink, with her false eyelashes. (Copying Grunwalde’s flirting).

  Every alien laughed. The next alien to speak was slim and held a smiling gold mask in front of his face completely hiding it! This alien was a Shi-Larriss, a species never willing to show their true facial features. But because of their powers of illusion and mind reading abilities, everyone respected and feared the usually peaceful Shi-Larriss and their neighbours the Jinnd, another powerful, mysterious race from the distant fourth Quadrant. The rest of the advanced races seldom visited the far off fourth Quadrant – strange and dangerous things happened there! The Jinnd were even more mysterious than the Shi-Larriss. Nobody had ever seen a Jinnd in its true shape!

  ‘We the Shi-Larriss welcome you,’ says the alien in a soothing almost distant voice. ‘I speak also for the Jinnd,’ he nodded to the empty seat next to him. Suddenly a small sparkling blue light appeared two foot above the empty seat. The brightness of the light made all the aliens shade their eyes, but Blodwyn kept her composure – which impressed all. ‘Twinkle, twinkle little star,’ Blodwyn says, pursing her lips and kissing in the Jinnd’s direction. ‘Why is everyone wearing metal bands?’ Blodwyn asks the large fish-head Cilla sitting next to her.

  ‘The Shi-Larriss are mind readers!’ the Cilla answers in a low voice. ‘The special metal bands protect our thoughts!’

  ‘Then why don’t I have one?’ Blodwyn asks.

  ‘I was told you had a sense of humour your Majesty,’ replies the fish-head, ‘you don’t need one – with your magical powers!’

  ‘Of course,’ answers Blodwyn, ‘I just did not care to mention it – aren’t I the most modest person you have ever met?’

  ‘What has happened to the Glin-Adare android?’ the Semmi Tal asks.

  ‘I am afraid the Glin-Adare will be late,’ Karak replies.

  ‘Late!’ the Dandy-Indra exclaims. ‘Androids are never late.’

  Suddenly the doors are pushed open and standing there is the Glin-Adare; its synthetic ginger hair skew-whiff, and a silly smile on its face. The sound of the androids electrical brain malfunctioning was audible to everyone. The Glin-Adare then moon-walked to its seat – mimicking the call of a cookoo, and sat down. The android then seemed to return to its normal serious self; it addressed Karak in a mechanical voice. ‘Cold-blood – I have only a hundred and three questions to ask!’ All the other guests let out groans of despair.

  ‘This will take all night!’ the fish-head Cilla moans.

  The android Glin-Adare clears his throat and takes a drink from a beaker placed in front of him (again spiked with alcohol). Everyone watched and waited for a reaction. A puff of smoke as the android’s electrical brain short-circuited again – the android shot to its feet – its eyeballs crossed. He then addressed everyone in a rich Irish accent.

  ‘Top of the morning – Jesus, Mary, and Joseph – it’s himself Father Murphy – would you be having a pint of Guinness in a tin glass Father.’ Another puff of smoke arose from the android’s circuit. ‘Now let me see,’ says the android; changing to a rather effeminate voice. ‘Do you think a cushion has feelings? Would a teapot, make an intelligent house pet? Does pink bring out my feminine side – without making me look too camp? Ahh Mary Murphy….. What a fine looking Colleen – sound in wind and limb – a fine pair of legs on her – I would love to get my hands on her beautiful peaches – they rose and fell like the gentle waves of Galway bay when she followed the plough!’

  Another puff of smoke from the android’s circuit: he becomes angry. ‘A pox on orange King Billy and the English devil Oliver Cromwell – may they roast in hell fires – home rule to Ireland – except Donegal.’ Then a sad expression spread over the android’s face and he broke into song again.

  ‘O Danny boy – the pipes, the pipes are calling….’ Melancholy tears of alcoholic lube oil roll down the android’s cheek as he breaks down sobbing. ‘Mother…. sweet mother.’

  ‘Ignore the android,’ says Karak – its just rubbish he has picked up by listening to its mad Irish inventor – when he’s had too much alcohol.’

  A flash of sparks and a plume of smoke rose from the android’s head; he then made a weak cuckoo noise and fell face down onto the table – to the relief of all the other aliens.

  Blodwyn suddenly felt a little homesick and thought of her mother. Then to her utter surprise and horror, her mother appeared in the seat of the Shi-Larriss. This was most off putting, her mother watching her performance; the only person her acting had no effect on.

  Blodwyn wonders if the Shi-Larriss knew she was a fake – it was certainly reading her mind. ‘Why are the Shi-Larriss feared?’ Blodwyn asks the Cilla.

  ‘An enemy of the Shi-Larriss would never know the real situation
in battle – had they won? Had they lost? Were they dead – or just imagining they where alive? The Shi-Larriss create dangerous illusions, when angered. ‘Thank the Jinnd for coming,’ says Blodwyn to the Shi-Larriss: who was now actually talking to her mother’s image. She had to distract the Shi-Larriss somehow; she was sure her mother’s face would soon turn into a scowl and would put her right off her performance.

  ‘Have you ever kissed a weasel?’ Blodwyn asks the Shi-Larriss with a very serious face. The image of her mother vanished – the smiling gold mask returned – her trick had worked!

  ‘I am not familiar with such an animal – are they willing to bite?’ the Shi-Larriss asks.

  ‘Not – half,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘why the little buggers bite like hell. I usually carry one in my pocket, but they pong a bit – and taste horrid, if you lick them!’

  ‘Do weasels ever bite you when you kiss them?’ the Shi-Larriss enquires. ‘They would not dare – they know I will bite them back and gob on them!’ Blodwyn gave the Shi-Larriss a demonstration by pulling her lips back and chomping her strong white teeth – in biting mode – just like Grunwalde. ‘I love to bite,’ continues Blodwyn, ‘I bite my Lings – I bite my Hobs’ ears when they displease me, you should hear them squeal.’

  ‘I hope you won’t bite me your majesty,’ says the fat Cilla next to her.

  ‘No,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘unless you try to snog me!’

  ‘Thank you for warning me,’ replies the Cilla fish-head, ‘we fish do feel pain you know.’

  The next alien to speak was a tall, narrow faced alien with a sly look. Heavy long earrings stretched his ear lobes, and made him look like a wooden African Mask. Blodwyn knew he was a Jal Mar: purveyors of poisons and evil plots; she did not like the look of him!

  ‘Have you ever kissed a Sillian?’ the Jal Mar asks slyly.

  ‘No – weasels are cute – Sillians are not,’ answers Blodwyn, ‘but if a Sillian made me cross - I would kick it in the arse – and gob on it!’ She giggles at what she had just said. Every alien now was paying attention to this conversation: for all feared close contact with a Sillian!

  Blodwyn suddenly realizes to her horror – there was a cadged Sillian on board. Blodwyn hoped the Jal Mar would not want a demonstration!

  The Cold-blood Karak came to her rescue. ‘Gentlemen – I can assure you even a Sillian cowers in the presence of the Queen of Lings, Angharad,’ he fibs.

  A sigh of amazement arose from all the diners. The Jal Mar was satisfied: at least for the moment.

  ‘We of the Jal Mar also speak for the Kar-Sarr your majesty,’ he says nodding to a wild, Viking looking humanoid. The Kar-Sarr grinned at Blodwyn; showing off his black stained filed teeth. ‘I hope we can be of assistance to you one day – we Jal Mar are scientists – we also do magical tricks – but with chemicals! It is a shame you did not bring a Ling with you,’ continues the Jal Mar, ‘I would be most interested to handle and study one closely.’

  ‘I give you fair warning!’ says Blodwyn, ‘Lings do not like being handled or studied – you would end up being stung or bitten – then you will have good need for your magical chemicals – but they wouldn’t save your life!’

  ‘Can your Majesty also sting?’ the Jal Mar asks with interest.

  ‘Of course not you silly old man – I don’t have a pointy bottom,’ giggles Blodwyn. ‘Anyway I don’t need to sting – I have power enough Sir!’

  ‘Do you have children?’ asks the Jal Mar.

  ‘No,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘but I love children – medium rare with butter.’

  ‘Don’t any of these guests have names?’ Blodwyn asks the friendly Cilla. ‘Yes, but they are never used in meetings like this…, who knows, the Alter Dom could return, or even be listening. Even so – my name is Koga - King of the Cilla.’

  And so it went on, each alien speaking in turn to Blodwyn. She was starving, the food smelt delicious. Blodwyn grabbed a goblet of something and took a delicate sip – it was lovely, she took a great quaff; spilling some on her dress, just like Grunwalde. The drink went straight to her head. The very last alien to speak was the strangest looking being at the table; it was totally covered by white crawl, only two massive compound eyes and two sets of arms were visible, it also wore a kind of apron. It had an enormous head. ‘Welcome Queen of the Lings,’ says this alien in a buzzing kind of voice. My species used to visit the Lings on Venus to trade pollen toffee – for honey. Of course only when their first Queen Nemesis was away hunting - for she was partial to the flesh of my species.

  ‘How charming,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘I love giving my Lings toffee – it shuts the little buggers up for ages! What species is he?’ Blodwyn asks the friendly Cilla.

  ‘A Festus Noope,’ answers the Cilla, ‘you call them bluebottles – they are famous for their…’

  Karak interrupts the Cilla. ‘Now gentleman,’ announces the Cold-blood, ‘before we eat, the purpose of this meeting…’

  ‘What!’ exclaims Blodwyn, ‘I say eat first – talk later, the Cilla’s guts are rumbling like a volcano – and mine are joining in.’

  ‘I agree,’ adds the Cilla, ‘I am so hungry I could eat… a whole whale’s tail with Tallian seaweed.’

  Blodwyn was not to be outdone. ‘I am so hungry,’ she announces, ‘I could eat… a whole…a whole…. elephant’s bottom!’ (All she could think of at the time). All the aliens looked at Blodwyn in surprise. Blodwyn felt she had to say something else. ‘Well – washed first of course – and with garlic butter and parsley.’ The Cilla nodded approvingly and the feast began.

  Blodwyn grabbed two drumsticks: one in each hand, and after a bite from each; threw them over her shoulder: (the kind of thing Grunwalde would do). Koga, the jolly Cilla had a massive mouth: cod eyes and the bulging stomach of a Chinese goldfish. ‘We Cilla, your Majesty, are true gourmets you know,’ Koga adds.

  ‘Call me Grunwalde,’ answers Blodwyn. ‘But I would say you Cilla are more like gannets than gourmets.’

  Koga laughed. ‘Try a turtle’s egg,’ he recommends. Blodwyn picked up two large turtles eggs and stuffed both into her mouth!

  ‘Bravo,’ shouts the Cilla, ‘I can see what I have heard about you is true.’ ‘You mean my extraordinary beauty?’ Blodwyn asks.

  ‘Of course your beauty,’ answers Koga, ‘but also your delightful table manners. We Cilla come to the table to feast, not to practice etiquette – it is wonderful to meet likeminded Royalty.’

  ‘Thank you,’ added Blodwyn, and let out a great burp that echoed around the banquet hall! Blodwyn: though greatly embarrassed, studied the reaction of her fellow diners. The Cilla belly laughed; the nervous Semmi Tal jumped at the sudden noise. Karak cleared his throat in embarrassment; and the Dandy-Indra flashed his eyebrows and teeth at her, with approval. The suspicious Jal Mar held a handkerchief over his mouth as if he was in danger of catching some dangerous disease from her.

  ‘Pass that leg of whatever – over here,’ Blodwyn shouts across the table with a mouthful of food!

  The eating habits of the aliens were interesting. Karak the Cold-blood Malis Afar ate with the decorum of nobility. Blodwyn was curious to see how the Shi-Larriss would eat – she did not have long to wait.

  From the grinning mouth of the gold mask that the Shi-Larriss was hiding behind, came an extremely long prehensile tongue: at least two feet in length; delicately it entered a small bowl.

  ‘What’s that you are eating?’ she enquires.

  ‘Pellian – ants!’ the Shi-Larriss answers.

  ‘Ants,’ repeats Blodwyn, ‘don’t you also eat uncles?’

  ‘Yes,’ answers the Shi-Larriss, his flexible golden mask breaking into a smile, ‘but only the uncles of ants.’

  ‘Ha, ha,’ laughs Blodwyn. ‘I must remember that fine joke.’ The Jal Mar while eating inspected every morsel suspiciously as if expecting to be poisoned. The Ka-Sarr ate like a hungry cannibal: helping himself from the plates of other diners!

  The Dandy Mandrill-faced Indra,
seemed to forage over the table; turning items of food over and looking under them – as if some delicate morsel had been hidden. The Cilla on the other hand threw whole items of food into his cavernous mouth.

  Blodwyn stuffed herself unashamedly – it was expected of her. She threw food on the floor and at other diners. Taking her chance she threw a large roasted drumstick (of some alien creature,) at the sly-looking Jal Mar, hitting him on the side of the head while he was deep in conversation with the wild looking Ka-Sarr. Blodwyn giggles.

  ‘Excellent shot your majesty,’ laughs the fish head Cilla. All the other guests wait for a reaction from the feared Jal Mar. Wiping the side of his face, the Jal Mar gives the Queen of the Lings a thin smile; the Ka-Saar grins. ‘I will wager you will not throw a dish at the Cold-blood,’ suggests the fat fish-head, ‘they lack a sense of humour, you know.’ Blodwyn picks up a large pie. Standing up to get leverage, she threw it with all her might. But Karak was ready and ducked; but as he sat upright again a large coconut hit him on the head! ‘Ouch!’ exclaims the Cold-blood. Only the fat Cilla laughed, all the other aliens remained discreetly silent. Karak rose to his feet, ‘gentlemen a toast to the fearless Queen of the Lings.’ All the aliens toasted Blodwyn. ‘However,’ continues Karak, ‘in the future, if your majesty wishes to salute me with a volley of edibles – I would prefer non-vegetable matter for my only fare is meat.’ The Festus Noope suddenly spat out a mass of blue sticky substance over his food!

  ‘Please excuse me your Majesty – it is the only way my species can digest their sustenance!’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘I sometimes gob on food.’

  ‘What did you say the Festus Noopes are famous for?’ she asks the Cilla. ‘Their culinary expertise. Festus Noops love being around food. Our chef Rottengob cooked all this lovely food we are eating!’

  Blodwyn felt like throwing up – she had just eaten a meal prepared and cooked by a giant bluebottle. “I hope he has not gobbed on my grub!”