by Hugh Macnab
around them, the air all around was crystal clear and crisp. Above the sky was the brightest azure-blue with only a few small cotton-wool clouds to break the intensity of the colour. No sun was visible, yet it was pleasantly warm, and the ground beneath them caressed the soles of their bare feet.
Only when that gradual caress penetrated his consciousness did Shylock realise he could feel a light breeze blowing where no light breeze should be. Looking down, he squealed, and immediately crossed his hands in front of his personal assets even as the blood rushed to his cheeks.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Permission, concern in her tone.
‘M..my clothes!’ muttered Shylock.
‘What about them?’ asked Permission.
‘They’re gone, of course!’ said Shylock, huffily. ‘What do you think has happened to them.’
‘Gone? Whatever are you talking about?’ asked Permission, stepping towards him and putting her hand on his shoulder. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You don’t?’ asked Shylock, aware for the first time that Permission still appeared to be fully clothed. ‘You mean, I still have my clothes?’
‘Of course you have,’ Permission laughed. ‘Now, what do you make of Hades?’ she asked, looking around and changing the subject.
Shylock, still confused but accepting Permission’s reassurance, reluctantly removed his hands and looked around, still feeling awkward.
Immediately behind him was another large cactus with more white signposts suggesting possible places for them to start looking for Nether-World disgruntlement. He read a few of them out loud. ‘Agony, Anguish, Misery, Torment, Nightmare…where in Hell should we start looking?’ he asked.
‘Look!’ said Permission. ‘Down there, underneath Wretchedness.’
Shylock looked down at the small white sign, which looked as if it had been hastily tacked-on. Shop Steward it said, in hand-written letters.
‘Well, I guess we should give it a try,’ Shylock said, turning in the direction indicated and moving off. ‘Coming?’
‘Mmmm, hmmm,’ replied Permission, following Shylock’s little bare wobbly cheeks, and smiling.
Stoking the Inferno
The direction they took led them through a sepia-tinted image in which Shylock could recognise some things but needed Permission to explain others. It seemed - as he was simply a ‘three-dimensional being - his senses were only equipped to visualise in these dimensions, and the only part of him capable of dealing with additional dimensions was his brain. Even then, all he could do was intellectually agree that other dimensions were possible, he could not relate to them when Permission tried to point them out.
So it was some relief to Shylock when they eventually came to a halt outside a shiny metallic building - without any visible sign of a door – where presumably, they would find the shop steward.
Shylock knocked on the wall of the building and stepped back as a voice asked his name and business. Not sure whom to address his response to, he faced the building and replied aloud in as confident a voice as he could muster. ‘My name is Winston Shylock III and my travelling companion is Permission, from Wilderment. We are here to talk with the shop steward.’
‘What about?’ asked the voice, bluntly.
‘That, is a matter for the shop steward,’ replied Permission, moving forward and silencing Shylock before he could speak.
In reply, a small hatch opened in the front wall of the building and what looked to Shylock like a motor-cycle helmet, was catapulted towards him. ‘Place the Electro-Psycho-Neuronic scanner firmly on your head and I will confirm your identity,’ Commanded the voice.
‘We will do no such thing,’ replied Permission, firmly. ‘We are here to talk with the shop steward, and it is to his advantage that we do so. If he does not wish to meet with us, then we will be on our way. We are not here to undergo identity checks.’
Shylock tugged at Permission’s arm. ‘What are you doing?’ he whispered.
‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered back. ‘Remember, as Permission I have dealt with Unions before.’
‘Like this one?’ asked Shylock.
Fortunately, before Permission revealed her uncertainty, a doorway slid open in front of them and the voice bade them enter.
Stepping inside they entered a laboratory environment equalling anything Shylock had ever seen in the best of science-fiction movies. Many traditional beakers boiled and fumed coloured vapours through clear pipes and tubes. Electrical discharges ran up and down strange-shaped structures, the purpose of which he couldn’t even guess at. But, these things apart, it was the vast array of electronic equipment disappearing into the distance which most intrigued him. Lights flashed, displays glowed and continuously altered, buzzers sounded intermittently and in front of all this stood a figure which he recognised immediately. ‘C3PO?’ he gasped in surprise.
‘Why, master Shylock III. You know my name?’ the robot replied.
‘In my time, on the planet Earth, everyone knows your name,’ explained Shylock. ‘You and R2D2 are very famous on Earth.’
‘That’s so kind of you to say, Master Shylock III,’ replied C3PO. ‘To me, my creation on Earth was in another lifetime and dimension, however, as I have been programmed to retain all previous experience and knowledge, I do remember my creation and spending many happy times in your Galaxy…although I didn’t like that Darth Vader chap too much.’
‘But what are you doing here?’ asked Shylock, puzzled. ‘And how do you know who I am?’
‘Well, if I may answer these in reverse order,’ replied the shiny gold humanoid. ‘I recognised you immediately as the recruiter, Bb, told me about.’
Shylock groaned as C3PO continued. ‘As to what I am doing here, if you remember, I was originally developed as an interpreter and am now - through working with the collective-soul-matter - capable of conversing in many more languages than I was originally, and that was rather a few. Anyway, when the tenth part of the Star Wars Saga was complete, I started to look around. I found a new position was being created here, and when I applied, I was given a proposition I couldn’t refuse. You should see the benefits package.’
‘What exactly is the job?’ asked Permission.
‘I’m the Director of Stoking,’ replied C3PO.
‘I thought you were the shop steward?’ asked Shylock, still digesting the occurrence of Bb’s name one more time.
‘Oh yes, Master Shylock III. That as well,’ said C3PO.
‘So, whom do you direct?’ asked Permission, looking around and seeing no-one.
‘The work-force of course,’ said C3PO.
‘Which is where?’ asked Shylock.
‘Here of course, Master Shylock III. Try to follow the plot,’ said C3PO, indicating the bank of electronics all around him.
‘I’m confused,’ said Permission. ‘You Direct these….electronic machines?’
‘Hmm, I see a little explanation is in order,’ said C3PO. ‘Very well. The Grand Master, whom you must have already met or you wouldn’t be here, collects bad-soul-matter and sends it here, where it joins all previous bad-soul-matter in the collective. The collective is charged with stoking the Inferno, but it’s far to hot and dirty, so they decided to hire me and have me automate the process. Quite a challenge Master Shylock III, I can assure you.’
‘So the machinery is what you direct?’ finished Permission.
‘Very good, Miss Permission,’ C3PO agreed.
‘So where is the collective soul-matter, while your doing their work?’ asked Shylock.
‘Oh, they’re at several resorts we have. They seem to derive great satisfaction from doing very little,’ explained C3PO. 'They're really like many of the work forces back on your home planet.'
‘But, this is Hell. They’re not supposed to be having a good time…are they?’ Shylock asked, suddenly unsure.
‘Oh no, master Shylock III, said C3PO. ‘That’s just propaganda promulgated by the good-soul-matter. In reality, it is neither bette
r nor worse to be good or bad, for they are merely all essential parts and are just doing their jobs. Besides, if Hell were as bad as those in Heaven would have you believe, everyone would be good and no-one would ever come down here to stoke the Inferno.’
‘And these resorts,’ Permission said. ‘Where are they?’
‘Oh, all over the place. But there are shuttles to them all, if you would like to visit I can arrange it quite easily, although they really run on a most unreliable timetable’ C3PO offered. ‘In fact, there are a few particularly good War-Zones in the brochure, if I remember correctly. Perhaps you would like to try one of those?’
‘No, no,’ replied Permission, quickly changing the subject back to the reason for their visit. ‘You said that you are also the shop steward?’
‘Yes, mistress Permission. I am,’ replied C3PO.
‘And do you represent the collective bad-soul-matter in negotiations?’ she asked.
‘I do, mistress Permission,’ C3PO repeated.
‘And are the general conditions in the Nether-World agreeable to the collective?’ Permission asked.
‘On the whole, we mustn’t complain. However, there’s one little thing that’s been causing a bit of a problem lately,’ C3PO alluded.
‘Which is?’ prompted Permission.
‘Well, it’s a delicate matter,’ said C3PO.
‘It is of this matter, that we come to talk,’ said Permission. ‘We would like to help resolve the current discontent, if we can.’
‘But, I’m afraid it’s not an easy problem to solve,’ said C3PO.
Shylock and