The Legend of Dan

by Robert Wingfield

Tom stopped abruptly. “I must see this.” In the centre of the square was a sleek black spaceship. A sales-being with greased black wavy hair, all over his body, a Permanoid, Tom learned later, was apparently trying to interest people in buying it.

  “Roll up, roll up, come and see the new ‘Greeshun 2000’, the fastest ship in the known universe. I’m not asking two million Drachma, I’m not asking one and a half million Drachma, I’m actually asking three million Drachma, and giving it away at that price. Who will buy my ship?” The square cleared of people, as the Permanoid scanned around for buyers.

  Tom caught his stare and felt an overwhelming desire to possess the vessel. “I wouldn’t mind one of those at all,” he said. “It’s beautiful; look at the lines, look at the styling...”

  “No,” said Suzanne, “I’ve heard that it goes so fast it makes your hair white. I don’t want to be blonde. Let’s have a drink instead. I’m dying for a glass of wine.” She grabbed Tom’s arm. “You are being hypnotised. Don’t look into his eyes. That’s why everyone else ran away.”

  “Okay,” said Tom, “Make way. Saviour of the galaxy coming through.” They shouldered a path through the remaining two people locked by the Permanoid’s stare, and some others selling crow-scarers, and entered the café.

  The place was now packed. A pair of Consortium troopers were sitting in a corner, fighting off an angry mob, and offering to buy the drinks instead. Tom chose a table in a dark cubicle at the other side of the room so as not to be disturbed by the noise. “Two wines please,” he said to the new waitress.

  “And some cream buns,” added Suzanne.

  The wine was there almost instantly, and Tom paid for it with a tiny engraved glass bottle he had liberated from OrcommNE. He suggested that the waitress keep the change. This caused some excitement within the cafe. The waitress, after seeing to their every need, supplying a large number of cream buns, and a butt of wine, resigned her job, cashed in the bottle at the nearest bank, bought the ‘Greeshun 2000’, and retired to a life of luxury and bleached white hair. Apparently she had always wanted to be blonde.

  Trying to ignore the screams of the guards in the far corner, Tom and Suzanne sat gazing quietly at each other over a mound of buns. “What will you do now?” asked the girl, as they felt for each other’s hands through the cakes. Tom locked his feet round hers under the table. The candle flames cast flickering shadows across her face.

  “I was thinking that I’m not going to be able to go back home; not now, not after all this. I have a race of aliens to lead.”

  “You must go home,” Suzanne said, gently, “We all have to obey the Cyclic Imperative.”

  “I am lord of an entire species. I don’t need to obey anything. Are you trying to get rid of me? Don’t you want to be with me?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then what the Phoist is the Cyclic Imperative? Some sort of ruling elite, because they will have to listen to me now, if they know what’s good for them.”

  “It’s one of the fundamental laws of the universe, like gravity, tax, and speed cameras. Essentially, in a quadrillipod-shell, the Imperative forces us to always return to our starting co-ordinates in space and time.”

  “Oh it does, does it? So what were you planning to do then?”

  Suzanne sighed. “I suppose I will go and get another job on that old planet where you found me, or go back home. I do have some family that I don’t despise. Perhaps we could meet up, if I can get a direct flight, and set the time factor accordingly.”

  “I expect we could. Conducting a love affair over a billion parsecs and as many years, has got to be easy has it? I’m not putting up with that!” He pulled his hand away and thumped the table in frustration.

  Suzanne started. “But the Imperative must be obeyed.”

  “Bollocks!” said Tom. “I’m not having some trumped-up bunch of geriatrics telling me how to behave. We have enough of that at home with the House of Lords. Don’t they realise I am the commander of the most powerful force in the, well the whole of whatever is out there.” He pointed upwards.

  “What, the roof garden?”

  “No, further up than that. I mean, the Mucronns will be back regularly, asking for instructions. I can’t expect that sort of occurrence to go unnoticed in Scotland, except perhaps Kilmarnock, I suppose.”

  “You may be able to postpone the inevitable, but I have to go back. I have no choice.”

  “I’ll go back with you then.” He grabbed her hand again.

  Suzanne nodded her head sadly, and they sat, staring at each other, an odd tear running down the girl's cheek, and an occasional dislodged bun falling to the floor. They said nothing until the candle burnt out and the bartender came to sell them another.

  * * *

  “There you go, Two-Dan,” said Kara, when Tom and Suzanne eventually returned to the ship, “the Mucronns have sorted out the jamming transmitters. We can go anywhere. It’s about time I sent you home though. Wifey will be wondering where you are.”

  Tom and Suzanne exchanged glances.

  “What, back to a life of unemployment, rain and total abuse by everyone? No thanks.”

  “You can’t stay perpetually wandering the galaxy,” Kara said. “Did Suzanne explain the Cyclic Imperative? I asked her to.”

  “Yes she did. I think it’s a load of drongo-dung.”

  Suzanne had her eyes fixed on the control unit.

  “Anyway,” continued Tom, “can we be sure the Consortium is finished?”

  Kara hesitated. “Actually no.” She took a breath. “I’ve checked some of the oppressed planets, and I find nothing has changed. In fact, most of them deny any knowledge of the Consortium at all, despite the fact that they were being controlled by them.”

  “Maybe so, but is it safe to travel about?”

  “Presumably. There are only the remnants of an unfriendly military presence out there.”

  “What’s going to happen without the Consortium?” asked Suzanne. Weren’t they keeping pirates in order, and doing that police thing, as well as all the corruption?”

  “I expect so.” Kara scratched her head. “Not our problem. I’m wondering why nothing’s changed. Ah, Two-Dan, do you remember what Husky said on that tour about the organisation... and a network?”

  “About one unit controlling all the others, and a lack of backups?” said Tom. “The network must be able to function independently, so cutting the military arm off won’t make a kappa of difference.”

  “Kappa?”

  “One step more definite than an Iota.”

  Kara looked thoughtful. “And if that is the case, resources will still be pouring into the Consortium. It is logical to assume that nothing will really change.”

  “More than that,” said Suzanne. “If we consider the Imperative, won’t the system eventually rebuild itself?”

  “Unfortunately you’re right. If we don’t find the network controller, and break that loop, I fear that we will find ourselves back to the original situation.”

  “Meaning?” Tom scratched his head.

  “You do understand the principle of circles, don’t you?”

  “I expect you are going to enlighten me further.”

  “You haven’t a clue, have you? Briefly then,” Kara tapped her foot, and pretended to look at a watch she was not wearing. “All things go in circles. We are born, we pay tax, we get annoyed by people not agreeing with us, we die, we are born again. An empire starts with an idea, expands, flourishes and dies. A universe starts with a bang, expands, contracts, drinks too much and disappears.”

  Tom nodded. “I get the idea.”

  “These circles all run together. You might see someone in the street. If you’re not careful, you bump into them. At that point the circles of your lives touch. This is insignificant, unless your circle has touched that of a man driving a car, and you are on foot, for example. Others can have far-reaching effects. You have altered one of those bigg
er circles. The Mucronns have developed beyond what they should have. If you don’t close your own circle, their fate will be affected too. Harmony must be maintained. That is why Vac and Tanda have returned to Skagos. They have been significant forces for change. If you settle somewhere else, and here we are talking about ‘Time’ included—as you have probably guessed we are not even running in the same time-zone as Earth—you can disturb these circles. I would not like to hazard a guess at what will happen. At the very least, the need for equilibrium will attempt to remove you.”

  “Remove me, how?”

  “Usually by ensuring you don’t exist.”

  “What, like ‘kill’?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” interjected Suzanne. “You can’t stay with me, because you will die. Something will happen to you, to restore how things should be in this time and this place. You may have died eons ago, or you may not yet be born.”

  Tom groaned. “You aren’t getting rid of me like that. I haven’t finished. The network is still operating. We have to sort that out first.”

  Kara furrowed her brow. “I guess we should make the effort; it shouldn’t be too difficult to find the power source. You might as well stay until we’ve sorted it out.”

  “So what happens then?”

  “I take you home.”

  “I need some more time with Suzy.”

  “If you must. Get a room.”

  “Can we borrow yours?”

  * * *

  “Look, is there any chance of landing this oil drum for a while?” Tom was restless. The cylinder was quiet, and his voice disturbed the occupants. Suzanne jerked out of her doze in the shadows, and Kara stretched her arms over her head, swivelling her chair towards him.

  “Despite all the evidence, I can’t seem to find a base which could conceal the network controller.” She squinted at him wearily over her ocular amplifiers. “I suppose I do need a recharge. Where did you have in mind?”

  “Oh, anywhere will do,” said Tom, absently. “Plug me in to the mind unit, and let’s see where we land.”

  “By that, I suppose you mean we will be stopping at a hostelry?”

  “Could be, could be. I really could do with a decent ale. It will help me think.”

  Tom used the headphones, and let his mind go blank. A few seconds later, they materialised in a freshly replanted rose garden in Bude.

  “Not again.” He looked confused. “I was thinking about a little village in the Yorkshire Dales, so why are we here?”

  “Does it really matter?” asked Kara. “You wanted ale. I believe this place has ale. What’s the problem?”

  Suzanne got up, and yawned. “Is this your Earth? The air and the radiation will ruin my complexion. I think I’ll stay on board this time. You go out and get drunk, if you must.”

  “Look here.” Tom was staring at the collecting bag he had been using to store the objects picked up during their travels. “Is this thing supposed to glow like that?”

  Kara regarded it with bored irritation. “In my vast and extensive experience of most technology, pottery owls feature right between slime moulds, and insurance salesmen. I have, however, never met one that glowed like that, so I don’t think I can help you.” She turned back to the console. “That isn’t to say that pottery owls don’t ordinarily glow in their natural habitat, though. What would I know?”

  “This is their natural habitat,” Tom said. “And they do not glow, under normal circumstances.”

  “Probably it picked up a bit of stray radiation somewhere.” Kara yawned and turned her back on him.

  “I’m not going to be put off,” said Tom indignantly. “Could it have something to do with my Star of Time? It seems to work better with the thing attached to it. Look, it fits into the eye socket perfectly.”

  Suzanne came over and took the owl. “I wonder if my Star will go into the other.” She retrieved her presentation case from the scaler bag and fitted it. “Will you look at that?” She turned the owl round in her hands. “The colours are flowing around inside it, and always point in the same direction. The brightest ones that way.” She indicated the open hatch of the cylinder, “Looks like the direction of the town.”

  “For Phoist’s sake.” Kara threw her ocular amplifiers to the floor. They bounced, and hit Tom in the face. “If you aren’t going to let me get on with the scanning, I suppose that we should investigate. Come on.” She walked out on to the cliff, and then looked back at Suzanne, who was still sitting quietly. “You too, Tubs, the walk will do you good. I’m not leaving you alone in the cylinder. You might eat it.”

  Suzanne shrugged, and shuffled after them. “Perhaps I have put on a little weight, maybe a little,” she muttered, “but that’s all the crap food you keep on board...”

  “And those cream buns,” added Tom, regarding his own reflection in the surface of the cylinder.

  They all felt better as the fresh breeze off the sea blew away their drowsiness. Suzanne even hummed a few bars of a song she found buzzing around in her subconscious, and held Tom’s hand as they walked along. “I suppose it’s not too bad, this planet of yours,” she said.

  Tom shot her a quizzical glance. “You mean you could stay?”

  “We should do some calculations. After all, I’ve nothing much waiting for me out there.” She waved in no particular direction. “Let’s go where the owl takes us, and have a think, and a drink, about it.”

  The direction-finding owl took them along quiet roads and down tiny side-streets that Tom did not recognise. It eventually set them by the door of a public house, a rather dingy building featuring ‘grey-wash’ that might have once been white, and oak beams.

  “Brilliant!” said Tom, “a pub detector. Perhaps it can find good ale.”

  “The ‘Throttled Goat’,” said Suzanne, reading the creaking sign. “Where have I heard that before?”

  “I like it,” said Tom, pushing the door open. “Now, it must be Kara’s round. Landlord, we would like three pints of your best ale, if you please, and a selection of crisps.”

  Three jugs of ‘Golden Gobbler’, a reference to the goose that lays the first-class eggs, were soon placed on their table, cushioned with umpteen bags of different flavoured crisps. Tom took a long draught. “That is incomparable.” He smacked his lips. “Exactly what I needed, after all this space-time-sex thing.”

  “I feel sick,” said Suzanne. “I don’t like it. I’ll have a few crisps.” She opened three different flavoured bags and dumped them on the table, then she made to scoop the mix into her mouth, trying not to catch Tom’s eye. Tom looked around in embarrassment. “She’s an alien,” he said to the landlord.

  “We get a lot in here,” he replied, nonchalantly.

  Tom grinned.

  “No, really,” said the landlord. “Can I get you another ale?”

  “Something different this time please, landlord.”

  “It’s not ‘time’ yet,” said the landlord. “I have to get my wife from bingo first.”

  “I’m fed up with this game.” Kara thumped the table, making Suzanne’s ale jump, and soak into her crisps.

  “Mmmm nice; they taste better this way.” Suzanne continued to shovel up the mixture.

  “We don’t seem to be getting anywhere,” continued Kara, “and that owl looks decidedly smug. Did you program it to get us out here, Dan?”

  She picked up the owl and shook it. The colours cycled, and then settled in a jumbled pile at the bottom.

  “I’m sure it’s try to tell us something,” said Tom, regarding the ornament suspiciously. “Perhaps it’s pointing downwards?”

  “Did you forget your shovel?” Kara said facetiously.

  “Whose round is it now?” asked Suzanne as she finished the last of the crisps.

  The door creaked open, and in walked the Magus, who did a double take in surprise.

  “His,” said Tom, indicating the astonished magician. “He must have s
ome use. I expect this is it.”

  “I wish you’d stop following me.” Suzanne scowled at the little man.

  “I haven’t been,” said the Magus. He looked puzzled. “I took the bio-trace off you aeons ago.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because it’s his round?” said Tom, hopefully.

  “I suppose it must be by now,” said the Magus. He produced a wad of Rigel bank-notes from his jacket. “Do they take these here or do I have to get them changed?”

  “I’ll take them,” said the landlord. “What’s your poison?”

  “I can recommend the ‘Gobbler’,” said Tom.

  “Pint of ‘Prior’s Back Passage’ please, landlord,” said the Magus.

  “PBP coming up, sir.”

  “I’ll have one, to accompany him,” said Tom. “Where did it get that name?”

  “Ar, now there’s a tale.” The man behind the bar took a deep breath for the explanation.

  “Briefly please,” said Tom.

  The man looked disappointed. “I suppose, in a nutshell, or a pint mug, it be a reference to the route a religious man used, to sneak in and out of the refectory at night, on the way to the brew-house.”

  “Disappointed,” said Tom and the Magus together, “at the explanation, but the ale is nice, nice, nice.” They downed the pints and slammed their mugs on the table, making Suzanne jump.

  “And strong,” said Kara tiredly. “Why are you here, little man?”

  “This isn’t simply chance then is it?” said Tom

  “No,” said the Magus. “The ale is an excellent one, but I’m visiting because my instruments indicate that a powerful transmitter is somewhere near. I need to stop it because it’s interfering with the remote fridge control in my ship. By the way, do you like the bumper-sticker I bought in town?” He proudly unrolled a long plastic label ‘Trans-dimensional Wizards do it somewhere else’. “I only need the car to fix it to now.”

  “Very nice. So you’re not here for the beer?”

  “Not a bad idea though. I’ll have another one, landlord.”

  “So the Controller is definitely still transmitting? I knew it.” Kara drained her drink.