The Legend of Dan

by Robert Wingfield

  “Sorry,” responded Ruddles weakly, “I haven't even enough power left to keep the burgers warm. I suppose I should have mentioned it earlier, but you know how it is, things to do, people to see.”

  The leader of the troops stood directly in front of the hot-dog stall and spoke into a loud-hailer. “We are repossessing this planet for military use, and you are to assist with our suppression of the uncontrolled sectors of the Galaxy. We are taking you and your organic computer to Base A47, just off the Trappist 1 ring road. Resistance will not be tolerated.” To reinforce his order, the troopers simultaneously clicked their guns into the ‘rapid fire’ mode.

  The Magus knew he was beaten. “I suppose I have nothing else planned.”

  “Oh, that’s a disappointment. No resistance then?”

  “None. You got me bang to rights. It’s a fair cop, I done it all, but society is to blame.”

  “Is that your defence?”

  “It’s more convincing than most of the mitigating lawyers come up with in the county courts.”

  “How about this bucket?”

  “Look out he’s got a bucket!”

  The soldiers loosed a barrage of fire, and the bucket fragmented, leaving only the handle.

  “That will never hold water,” said the leader.

  With a trooper either side of him, the Magus and his bucket handle were marched on to one of the ships. His computer was discovered lurking behind the bike sheds. They decanted the liquid into a large plastic jerry-can, where it slopped weakly about, looking as sorry as it was possible for an ale to appear, cloudy, smelling of vinegar, and with a green tinge.

  The ships departed in a haze of toxic smoke and polyethylene microbeads. The last the Magus saw of his dream planet before the hatch closed behind him was of the troopers smashing up the ice-cream stalls and using his pleasure cruisers as targets for their proton mortars.

  Dispatcher Despatched

  Tom showers and Kara fiddles.

  T

  om felt a human hand make contact, groping through the mass of tiny creatures suffocating him. He tried to pull himself free, but lost his grip again, and slid back to the floor in the slimy darkness. The rescuing hand found his arm, and this time held it more firmly. He was dragged from the mess, breaking free with a loud ‘plop’. He fell forward and lay still, gasping for breath, and covered in slime. A cloth wiped the mucus from his face as he coughed and choked, and then he was staring at the shapely knees of his saviour as she knelt in front of him.

  “The spawning is over,” said Kara. “They have taken their regeneration wisdom from you, rather than that mad creature.”

  “Wisdom,” Tom spluttered. “What do I know about wisdom?”

  “More than the creature you fought.” Kara kicked it sharply. There was no response. “I think you’ve won.” She flashed her torch at the adult mucronns now crowding into the room. They surrounded the creature, wrapped it in slime and posted it through an opening in the floor.

  “You see,” Kara continued, “the mucronns had been told that creature was the ‘Imparter of Understanding’ as decreed in their Book of Lore. This is the way their spawn develop knowledge more quickly than if they had to be raised, sent to school and had all individuality knocked out of them by the system.”

  “I enjoyed my school days,” said Tom.

  “Normally they would study long and carefully to get the right I.o.U. at the right time, but there was a mix-up with the delivery of alarm clocks and thermometers, and by the time they had realised...”

  “Why did they need those?”

  “To be sure exactly when the hatching was due of course–keep up, old man.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Yes, you are. The mucronns realised they were too late to engage their own Imparter of Understanding, who needs at least four weeks’ notice and a new suit for such events, but fortunately there was a leaflet which had dropped through the door, advertising a cut-price I.o.U. through the ‘Galactinet’. It promised next-day delivery, as long as they committed to a yearly subscription, and promised not to buy anything from any other supplier for that period. Apparently they got a free TV channel too, and endless repeats of a reality show, where a load of semi-dressed young dimwits take it in turns to slag each other off. This clinched the deal, and the mucronns placed the order immediately. What turned up the following day was the creature you fought. There was a note with it to say that they were temporarily out of stock, so had supplied the nearest alternative. It has been a close call. If the new generation had taken on that character, who knows what the cosmos would have been in for, as they absorbed all its character traits.”

  “But why me?” Tom muttered.

  “Isn’t it better to have the nature of a sex-mad, lazy, pacifist seeded into the new generation, rather than a violent psychopathic one?”

  “Are you sure you’re talking about me?” He forced a smile. “Me, sex-mad? Are there any courses I can take?”

  “You’d be surprised. You have great potential... but not with me.” She slapped his slimy hand as it groped towards her.

  “I was only trying to stand up.” The lie showed on Tom’s face.

  “At least now, they will spend their time being nice to one another, having sex, and drinking ale, and therefore won’t cause any trouble.”

  “You could have told me before I went in,” Tom said. “I nearly died.”

  “Quite likely,” said Kara, brightly. “Luckily, I was here to save you.”

  Tom scowled.

  “Come on.” She grabbed his arm. “No time to lose. There’s a whole universe that needs our help. We can’t let this sort of thing happen again.”

  Tom was too exhausted to argue, or even question her meaning, and he allowed himself to be dragged out of the spawning area. He glanced back at the boiling tapioca mass of tiny mucronns. Then his head started to spin. He stumbled against Kara. She put her arm round his waist, and caught him as he blacked out.

  When Tom awoke, he was back in the cylinder, propped between two of the storage units. Kara gave him a shot of ‘Alchy-Salsa’ ‘Guaranteed to reach those parts only a mother could love, or your mummy back’.

  “My head feels like it’s full of fireworks,” he mumbled, “but at least I can see now. Wifey or no, I want to go home. Where are my clothes? Did you give me a scrub down?”

  Kara smiled. “You were filthy, and they were beyond saving. I wasn’t having that mess in here. Imagine how long it would take to get out of the carpet.”

  “What carpet. There isn’t a carpet.”

  “Nor are there any clothes. You’re not leaving like that, are you?” said Kara. “I made it plain that there is grave danger, and mischief afoot. That incident was one of the clues. You’re with me for the duration, so you better get used to it. It’s not going to be that bad is it? I’ll do what I can.”

  Tom blinked at her. “Is that a school uniform you’re wearing?”

  “Pay attention.”

  “I am” he drooled.

  “Behave yourself,” said Kara, observing the effect she was having on his body. “I meant pay attention to what I am saying. Would you rather I put on this boiler suit? I was going to give it to you, but I can wear it myself instead, if you like.”

  “Er, no, you’re fine as you are. Don’t change on my behalf. I’m not the kind of man to try to make a woman change.”

  “Good. If you are worried about your marital status, and being gone a long time, with this machine I can put you back exactly where and when you started, so you won’t even miss ‘Strictly Come Making-a-fool-of-yourself’, this evening.”

  Tom scowled.

  “Look at it this way,” Kara continued in a more conciliatory tone. “A trip round the cosmos, in the company of one of the most perfect (and modest) creatures…” She flashed the total length of her thigh through a slit in the side of the skirt.

  “God, those socks, that skirt, the stress on thos
e blouse buttons…” thought Tom. “She really is gorgeous. Is she even wearing a bra… or any knickers? How can something be that perfect?”

  “You’ll have to find out for yourself,” Kara said, seeing his shameless stare. “Make your mind up: a trip round the galaxy versus an episode of ‘Naked Embarrassment’ in the company of your lovely wife.”

  “If I miss an episode, my whole life will never be the same… no, only joking. Um, what are the sleeping arrangements?” He grabbed the boiler suit, and started to climb into it. “Didn’t you mention something about seeing your boobs if I helped?”

  “Put it away, and let the suit seal itself. You’re not ready for breasts yet, and I don’t sleep... At least, not with you… right now. You’ll have to earn your privileges as we proceed with our investigations.”

  “What about what I’ve already been though? Enough at least for a short grope, don’t you think?”

  “That was only a test.”

  “A test; you mean there’s more; There is another problem? Ouch.” The boiler suit sealed itself, rather tightly. “Is this all there is?”

  “The undergarments are all part of it, including the socks. The fixings connect automatically, so you don’t need to worry about fiddling with zips.”

  “I’m going to be sweltering in here.”

  “Run your hand over the control strip there. It will change to whatever temperature you want.”

  “Is there a battery?”

  “Yes, you need a couple of AA 1.5 Volt (not included).”

  “What?”

  Kara laughed at his expression. “Don’t be daft. It uses your own energy to keep the temperature level. Batteries... what are you on?”

  “I only asked,” mumbled Tom.

  “It even monitors the temperature in your armpits, making sure that you never get warm enough to sweat, so you can forget deodorants, and especially after-shave.

  “I like deodorants and after-shave.”

  “I remember,” said Kara. “I’ve still got to get the stench out of the curtains.”

  “You prefer natural smells then?” said Tom, hopefully.

  “No, I hate them. Give me a can of ‘Rosepong’ and a freshly scrubbed body any day. People who say otherwise are only being polite. Anyway, back to our problems. The next is a slightly bigger one. Now please forget my legs for a moment, and focus on the matter in hand. What do you think should be our next move?”

  “I would like to think about the matter in hand, if you’d let me get close enough...” He shook his head as Kara stared at him.

  “Think!”

  “Did you say the Mucronns got that creature from a Galactinet company? Would it be worth checking up on them?”

  “Good, you’re starting to use your brain. That’s what I thought too. And that’s where we’re going, the administrative offices of Janet Ward Stores Universal on Antares 3.”

  * * *

  Order Despatch Director Bluben was irritated, and showed it by scowling at his new assistant. She looked puzzled as he gave his next batch of orders.

  “And don’t keep asking questions,” he said. “You should never question the commands of a superior.”

  “I know, sir, but I’m trying to understand what we are doing.” She fidgeted under his glare, and looked up timidly into the bulging area of fat, which in his species was referred to as the ‘face’.

  “But sir, how can I send a size 38, when the customer is asking for a size 26? I’ve checked, and there is a size 26 in stock.”

  Bluben's huge body pulsated. He began frothing at the mouths. “I know what the customer wants,” he snapped. “You are employed to do a job for me, now do it and stop wasting my time.”

  “Yes sir.” Suzanne sniffed, and bowed her head. She began nervously organising the forms on the holographic display covering the top of her desk. The unit started bleeping angrily at her. Bluben vibrated with disgust. He rolled over to her workstation, and pushed her roughly out of the way.

  “You’ve placed that requisition into the wrong zone.”

  The girl watched helplessly, and looked even more confused as his tentacles moved rapidly over the top of the screen.

  “But those are the wrong slots. We’ve already allocated those products.”

  “Enough. If you can’t manage the job, get out of the boiler.” He tried to ignore her muffled sobs. “Why did I get such a worthless and diabolically ugly creature for my assistant?” he thought. “I can do it much better myself. I’ve always done it myself in the past, and achieved the specified minimum complaint level. I run this place, after all.”

  Bluben believed his job for Janet Ward Stores Universal on Antares 3 to be vitally important. He was solely responsible for shipments out of the warehouse, and he expected unquestioning obedience and respect from his staff. He detested all lifeforms which were not like his own, but realised that, as one of the last of his species, he would have to work with aliens wherever he went. Observers of Bluben's species recorded such notable features as warty skin, which varied from muddy green to dirty grey depending on the hemisphere they were born in on his, sadly defunct, planet. Bluben's people had a single word for all the colour variations, 'mugray'. This removed all risk of racism, because you could not insult someone who looked different in colour, without defining that colour. As they were mostly blind to dull colours, they all looked the same to each other, anyway.

  Observers also noted that the body was roughly spherical, supported on seven stumpy legs for stability. In a normal specimen, the body would taper upwards to the head area, which would be bald and rounded at the top. Where the neck should have been, between the head and the body, seven evenly-spaced tentacles sprouted. Bluben however was ugly, even by those standards, and had a number of unnatural variations which fortunately assisted him in his present occupation.

  Bluben’s home world had been destroyed, after a civil war between the greys and the greens, over what they should call their respective colours, had been brought to a swift conclusion when a bunch of psychopathic bipeds turned up, and finished the fight. “We come in the name of peace,” they said, and then proceeded to kill everyone, and strip-mine the planet’s resources.

  Bluben cocked one of his seven eyes in Suzanne’s direction and thought again how repulsive and stupid she was. By the old measurements still used in the more primitive areas of the Galaxy, she measured some 165 centimetres in height. “Huh, it's a wonder something that shape doesn't fall over,” he observed. She was a biped in the normal ‘human’ form, of slim build, and in this case, masses of glittering golden hair. “Hair,” thought Bluben. “Yuk, exactly like an animal. I wonder what’s living in that lot.” He moved closer, and caught the expression of misery in the golden eyes. “Actually, I quite like the colour although I would have preferred mugray; but only two of them? How can it see if anything is sneaking up on it from behind? Wouldn’t give it the time of day though if it hadn’t been forced on me by the Management: ‘Got to outsource; got to diversify, got to give jobs to the bipeds, whinge, bleat, whine, bellyache.’ Hmm. Those eyes... And they look even better when that liquid comes out of them. I wonder if I can get them to do that again.”

  Bluben rolled back to his seat and resumed work, this time, deliberately sending some male, sex dolls to the nunnery of the Opulent Sharons, who had ordered new habits, (“That should give them some new habits to think about”). He then sent one roller-skate to a man ordering a set of crutches, and a double barrelled electron gun to a prisoner who had requested a coil of rope. “Hah, I can blame it on my assistant if Management come griping. Perhaps then they will send it on its way, and leave me alone. This should get my stats up, and keep my cousin in Customer Service in his job. Let’s see if they can really downsize his department after the complaints come in!”

  Suzanne started to protest again. “But sir, are you sure those orders are correct? According to the forms, we should not even be sending merchandise to a prison, apart f
rom suppository SIM cards and drugs of course…”

  Bluben exploded. “How long have you been working here?”

  “About two days, sir.”

  “It ends now!”

  “Pardon me?”

  “You are fired.”

  “Sir, no you can't. I barely had enough cash to get here. I haven't been paid yet. How am I going to live?”

  “Not my problem.” The grotesque face took on the appearance of a smirk. “You should have considered that, before you started questioning everything I do.”

  “But…”

  “You can collect what there is of your pay from the office—I've already notified them that you have asked to leave. After all, I’m not totally callous.”

  “But I'll never get another job this quickly,” Suzanne’s voice rose. “Please keep me on a bit longer, until I can find somewhere else. I can't survive without money. What am I going to do?”

  “Perhaps a trip to the docks? I've heard that there are creatures there that would pay money to use something like you. Can't think why, but there is no accounting for taste.” His 'face' split into a huge grin.

  “You bastard! You cruel bastard.” Suzanne burst into tears.

  “Lovely, you look lovely. Keep it up, but close the door on the way out, after you’ve collected your things… Oh what now?”

  He peered through the window, and saw a large metal cylinder materialise in the flowerbeds. His grey-green skin turned muddier. “Oh Phoist. Is it the Management? Do they know what I’m doing, or worse still, is it customers after a refund? We don’t do refunds–company policy, only replace the items. Damn those bipeds, and they’re heading this way.” He dropped his stylus and cleared his workstation screen. “Emergency tea-break,” he muttered to the sobbing girl, as he disappeared towards the fire exit. “Look after the place for me. If anyone asks, say it’s all your fault.”