Due to this fact, entry into Earth’s upper atmosphere was only possible by blasting a small temporary hole in the field near one of Earth’s poles, where the field was at it weakest. The entry hole would then only remain open for less than a second and a half, before the force field automatically repaired itself.
March’s entry would be aboard a small six-man shuttle, which needed to be blasted from a Hoog’s missile launcher with split second timing, and enter through the tiny temporary opening in the force field, which would be created by a warhead fired by the same Hoog a split second before the shuttle.
Once safely in orbit in Earth’s lower atmosphere, he would be teleported down to the surface. Unless there were people to collect for a return journey, the pilot of the shuttle would return immediately and make the much more dangerous exit from the force field. This complex manoeuvre necessitates the shuttle gaining maximum velocity, and then aiming at the exact same point in the force field that the Hoog mother ship will fire a warhead. Approaching each other at forty-five degrees, the shuttle has to slip through the blasted hole, in less than a second after the warhead explodes.
*****
March leaned back in his chair, let out a deep sigh, and then grabbed his THE from his pocket, as he hoped Glothic High Command would assign an experienced Lacertilian pilot for his mission to Earth. He entered Abba into the search field of his THE centre coil book, and then tapped on a very eye catching entry, and Anni-Frid began to sing:
Money, money, money,
Must be funny,
In the rich man's world,
Money, money, money,
Always sunny,
In the rich man's world…..
March was interrupted by his Q’muniktor, which informed him noisily that he had been summoned to a private meeting with his father at ten-fifteen the next morning. That it was going to be his first private meeting with his father in over three years meant that it was probably, reasonably important.
Prophet Of Profit
As a royal family, who rule in totality over the Twelve Sun Systems of Gloth, Gregorians see it as their duty to rise above everyone, and everything else, by refusing to ever contemplate the thought of heeding to anything remotely akin to an order or demand. In this respect, March was a true royal Gregorian, as he arrived twenty polite minutes late for his meeting with his father.
His father’s secretary informed him on his arrival that February the Twenty-Ninth, the Supreme Potentate of the Twelve Sun Systems of Gloth, was in a meeting and would be available to see him, quite presently. Unsurprised, and expecting to wait at least and hour or more, March took a seat and decided to brush up on his Earth facts, just in case his father might have it in his mind to ask some tricky questions. He took his copy of THE from his pocket, studiously avoiding any temptation to search for more Abba entries, as he instead searched for the keyword, exports.
Even by March’s relaxed attitude to data, the first search result was a shock.
The Erdean Salmon Conglomerate, during its most productive years, once supplied three hundred and fifty mega tonnes per month of fresh and smoked salmon fillets to Gloth and the Twelve Sun Systems. Following the untimely demise of Erde however, and despite the best efforts to introduce salmon into the rivers and oceans of Gloth, the project failed miserably, as it became obvious, quite quickly, that salmon absolutely detested pink oceans and mauve rivers. So much so, they demonstrated their disgust by dying at their very first opportunity.
Meanwhile however, this rare and exotic fish species is still abundant in the rivers and seas of Earth, but net exports have nose-dived to less than two point one tonnes per annum.
While the force field surrounding Earth has proved to be a minor handicap in generating export wealth, the major hurdle has been in the incomprehensible adoration of the species on Earth, where it is especially popular either served raw as Sashimi, or as a pan fried, crispy skin fillet with baby potatoes and spinach. Both of these delightfully popular local recipes have decimated available export stocks of this unique product. The closest competitive product, the blushfish, which is found in ample supply across many planets in the Sixth Sun System, compares badly however. While its pinkish to orange flesh resembles salmon, the fact that it is tough and has a taste similar to damp cardboard when served raw, is a drawback. When cooked however, it is marginally more palatable, but it does require a sauce of mouth burning spiciness to hide a residual taste, which closely resembles that of sodium hypochlorite, more commonly known as bleach.
March noted the problem and clicked the next entry.
During the latter years of production on Erde, caviar was the most prized tradable commodity in the entire Universe. No further data available.
March again made a mental note of this seemingly important fact, and clicked again.
No further data available for Earth exports.
From this research, he believed he had at least begun to understand the crux of the problem. There was a problem. To give balance to his research, he tried searching for imports, and was not surprised at all to see the one and only entry.
Earth imports weapon systems, occasionally, from time to time, from Gloth, but usually rarely and spasmodically at best. Refer, silly peace initiatives, for more information.
‘I’m sorry for the wait. He shouldn’t be too long now, Mr. Gregorian,’ the secretary said.
‘It’s fine,’ March replied, and went back to concentrating on his THE, and now instead of in-depth economic research, went back to watching Abba – on mute. With a few clicks, he had subtitles.
Gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight,
Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away.
Gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight,
Take me through the darkness to the break of the day.
‘He’s ready to see you now, Mr. Gregorian,’ broke his reverie.
‘Uh, yes, of course,’ March said, folding his THE, and Abba, into his pocket as he stood.
‘This way, please.’
March followed, and then nodded politely as his father’s secretary held the door open for him. His father was sitting at his desk, partially silhouetted by the sunlight streaming through the window behind him, but March could see he was reading something, and hadn’t bothered to look up as he entered. It had been quite a while since he had seen his father, and he noticed that his long hair was now fading from silver to grey as the years passed. He couldn’t remember the time when his father had blond hair like his own, as most male Gregorians have when they are in their younger years, because he was born when February was already well into middle age. However, as he stepped closer to the desk, and February glanced up momentarily, there was definitely no change in his eyes – steely grey, razor sharp and able to cut grown men down to size in a flash. Although March had one similar coloured eye to his father, he hadn’t found that his had any cutting power whatsoever.
‘Come on in. Sit down, will you. There’s a lot we need to discuss,’ his father said, hardly looking up from what he was reading. March sat, and went to say something, but his father cut him short.
‘Hopefully, you’ve had a look at the problems we face on Earth. It’s a disaster, isn’t it? Look, I’d dearly love to have this force field lifted from around the planet, because it’s costing a fortune to maintain and it’s a handicap in getting tradable quantities of produce on and off the planet. But, well, we can’t until these creatures finally learn how to interact with intelligent beings and we can bring them around to an understanding of how to behave in a civilised manner – and mostly to stay where they are and to understand that they will have to learn to keep their noses out of our business, especially after all the problems their Erdean ancestors caused us. So, what plans do you have?’
‘Well, apart from ……’
‘Good. You’ve had a chance to think about it then. I’ve just been talking to the Skirrd ambassador, and there seems to be a problem between two small outer planets in the Eleventh Sun
System. Would you believe that a small war has broken out, just because these two silly planets can’t agree on the correct classification, or geographic origin of a long dead prophet? What are they called again? Oh yes, here we are, Serial and Pliant See. These types of problems crop up from time to time, but they usually get sorted out quite quickly – either with a bit of rational discussion, or by sending in Glothic High Command to blow a few things up. It’s amazing what a couple of Hoog destroyers can do to encourage positive thinking. But anyway, we’ll let it run and make what we can out of it for a while in small arms sales – unless it gets out of hand. Anyway, back to your assignment.’
‘Yes. I wanted to ask you if….’ March started.
‘If you’re going to take my place one day, it’s issues such as this that will define you, young March. Earth is a basket case, that’s for sure, but our investment over millions of years needs a return. It is your task to ensure this happens, and that at some point in the future, Earth can join the Twelve Sun Systems of Gloth and enjoy the fruits of peaceful and profitable coexistence with its neighbours. Now? What do you plan to do about it?’
‘I have thought about….’
‘Good, you’re on the ball then. Now, when you get there, make sure you give my best wishes to Tryskolia, as I haven’t seen her in eons, but I know she has been totally devoted to her duty there. I think she’s my third cousin, or is she my fourth? Anyway she’s family, so please say hello to her from me as soon as you arrive.’
‘Yes, I….’
‘Oh dear, it must be at least fifty years or more since she took up that dreadful post on Earth. Time does seem to fly by. Oh, now I have some notes here,’ February said, as he flicked through a pile of papers on his desk. ‘Ah, here it is. Right, so the top priorities for your mission are to ensure that high volume salmon exports are reinstated as a matter of urgency, oh, as well as caviar, as both of these commodities play a vital role in er, well, diplomacy, oh, and of course, profitability, as I’m sure you know.’
‘Yes, I unders…’
‘In despatches from Tryskolia, she has mentioned on occasions, Earth oysters, as being a delicacy worthy of exploitation, so look into this market as well. But place the highest priority on precious metals before anything else. As I understand the situation there, humans have a very odd value system, which places their highest value on pieces of paper. Money, I believe they call it. Anyway, try to get an understanding of this perverse mentality, then exploit it, and use what you need for leverage to ensure our interests can be achieved. I believe Earth is extremely deficient in technology and effective weaponry, so see what sense you can make of the situation and how we might get a profitable trade offset against our arms supply. Especially from our production in the Sixth Sun System, as it is low level technology, but very high margin.’
‘And their integration into the Twelve Sun….’
‘Don’t go that far, March. Integrating Earth is certainly a long-term and cost saving goal, but from what Glothic High Command tells me, it is a very long way off yet. Humans are still almost pure Erdeans carrying the destructive ape gene, and until such time as we can deem them to be civilised by any reasonable Glothic measure, they must stay quarantined. Set your sights on reality for your mission there. Let’s just see if you can start making a small profit before getting ahead of ourselves.’
‘Apart from Tryskolia Munchk, how many people do we have on Earth?’ March asked, and was very pleased that he managed a complete utterance without his father talking over the top of him, but took the hint that he would be judged on his results, as long as they were profitable.
February flipped silently through some files on his desk until he found what he was looking for. ‘Three.’
‘That’s not very many.’
‘For the return we get from Earth, it’s probably too many.’
‘Right, so salmon, caviar, oysters and precious metals.’
‘If you have success in these areas, I’m sure the Grand Council will be obliged to consider an investment in upgrading the Earth force field. It will be costly to do so, but a reliable access route, via a polar entry point, would be the first step in creating profitable trade.’
‘And an easier trip for me.’
‘A little adventure will be good for your spirit, March.’
‘Maybe. But can I request an experienced Lacertilian pilot?’
‘As far as I understand, only Lacertilian pilots are qualified to fly Earth entry missions.’
‘Right,’ was all March could manage, as that fact confirmed that this was very definitely a dangerous mission.
‘Don’t look so worried. They do it regularly, so there shouldn’t be any problem at all.’
‘How regularly?’
‘You’ve got a lot to do once you get there, so don’t waste your energy worrying about a short shuttle flight and a little teleport. You’ve got work to do, March.’
‘Yes, father,’ March replied, but did notice the lack of an answer to his question and gathered that Earth entry missions were definitely not a regular occurrence.
‘Well, good luck then, and we’ll celebrate with salmon and caviar when you return,’ February said, as he stood to shake his son’s hand, which clearly and officially, ended their meeting.
*****
As March whizzed back to his apartments on his laser scooter, his mind was racing at the thought that his father had set him a task, which was perhaps a test to see if he was worthy of one day becoming the Supreme Potentate. While he was officially the eldest son and heir, and therefore next in line, this was all still far from a certainty. Gloth’s history was littered with heirs who had failed in their ascension due to a number of unfortunate occurrences. Being certifiably insane had robbed a number of hopefuls, while being outsmarted by cleverer siblings accounted for quite a few more. However, by far the most common failing was to suffer an unfortunate or ill-timed accidental, or in some cases, non-accidental death before the big day arrived. March had the distinct feeling that this may be the one hurdle he needed to overcome if he was to succeed his father. Staying alive had huge advantages in this regard.
There was one more thought that March had upon entering his apartments, and with it, decided that a large can of Draft Sunk was appropriately in order. Not one single March in the entire history of Gloth had managed to survive insanity, fratricide, accidental or non-accidental death, or plain bad luck to ascend to being the Supreme Potentate. He took a sip of his drink.
‘There’s always a first for everything,’ he thought, and then admonished himself for even thinking of such a tired old cliché. ‘I’ll prove everyone wrong,’ sprang to his mind, but he decided that this was even worse, as he flopped into his sofa and took another long swig of his Sunk.
Afraid that his mind may find an even worse cliché, he decided to move his thinking to more productive topics, such as, ‘who the hell is this Tryskolia Munchk?’ After finding nothing about her on his THE, he grabbed his Q’muniktor and entered her name.
Tryskolia Munchk, known as January Gregorian on Gloth, is the fourth cousin of February the Twenty-Ninth, the Supreme Potentate of the Twelve Sun Systems of Gloth, and has by decree, occupied the position of Earth Ambassador for nearly sixty Earth years. Her hobbies are believed to be stamp collecting and playing the violin. No other information available.
‘No other information available, as usual,’ March mumbled, and then suddenly had the notion that really useful information was probably never recorded, as it was, probably, well, useful. If Tryskolia, or January, had ever had an affair with anyone important, it was hardly likely that it would be advertised, he supposed. Or if she had a passion for liver, perhaps it would also be quietly missed in reporting.
To see if his theory was correct, in that nothing untoward was ever recorded, he did the only sensible thing he could think of doing to prove it. He searched for his own name, March Gregorian, on his Q’muniktor.
No information available.
‘No way! She’s a nobody and she gets her stamp collecting listed. But I’m the heir to the Supreme Potentate! No way! I’m important!’ he screamed at the screen, as he took a semi-calming gulp of his Sunk. It didn’t help. ‘No way!’ he shouted again, thinking that his potential, to one day become Supreme Potentate could have at least rated a small mention.
A Matter Of Time
At the very beginning there was absolutely nothing, except for an infinitely empty Universe, which although it may have been something, because it had a name, amounted to very little apart from, well, a vast amount of empty space, total darkness, and a sense of time that had no meaning. Nothingness was the rule of that timeless time, and it continued unabated. Not surprisingly, as the Universe amounted to nothing whatsoever, there was obviously nothing to measure the passing of time, so there is zero possibility now of knowing the amount of timeless time that passed between the very beginning and the precise moment when the first concept of measuring time came into existence. It was probably an awfully long time though.
Yet, on the initial stroke of the very first second of this totally new time-cum-clock concept, all of a sudden, a wondrous planet called Gloth miraculously came into real and immediate existence. Perhaps there was a light broth of accidental and invisible gasses, which the Universe may have been working on developing over billions of uncounted and untimed years, or an electrical short caused by friction between colliding layers of nothingness that enabled Gloth to burst into existence on the Universal scene so quickly. But this does not explain at all how, or why, the first Glothians instantly stood erect on two legs and possessed immediate intelligence, defying any concepts of evolution, or for that matter, creation, and could instinctively from that first tick of the clock in the new Universe of something, tell the time.
March: A Tale of Salmon and Swedes (The Glothic Tales Book 4) Page 2