by Iain Benson
“And who are you two?”
“I’m Han Solo, and she’s somebody from Star Trek.”
“Brilliant, I must say,” laughed the barman, with a laugh that sounded like a duck in a tumble drier. “You’re all brilliant. Now, what can I get you?”
“Can I order some food?”
“You’ll need a table number,” said the barman.
London looked around the completely deserted pub. The low ceilings were going to cause a problem for Vera, and London doubted the lion was going to get into one of the cubicles, so he pointed at a table with four chairs in the middle of the room.
“What number is that?”
“Table fourteen,” said the barman. “That is a good choice, sir. Far enough away from the fire and door so you don’t get cold or hot. That is a brilliant, choice, if you don’t mind me saying. Now what can I get you?”
London grabbed a menu, scanned it quickly. “Three tower burgers, I’ll have a lager, and two chocolate milkshakes. Can we also have a leaf salad for Zaphod’s other head? It’s vegetarian.”
“Oh, very good sir, that’s a good one, vegetarian. I like that.” The barman chortled to himself as he pulled a pint of lager.
London handed over his card.
“I’ll bring the food and milkshakes over in a minute,” said the barman, handing back the plastic card. “You all look amazing. I can’t stop laughing.”
London took his drink and led Vera and Xia to table fourteen. Vera needed a side all on his own; sitting on the chair like a parent at a primary school parent’s evening. The room had limited lighting, boosted by a couple of flat-screen televisions showing the news. Broken English subtitles that rarely made any sense scrolled beneath the middle-aged news anchor. Like male news anchors the world over, he wore a dowdy grey suit and jazzy patterned tie. Various brass objects were stapled to the rafters in the pub, more to provide a concussion hazard than lend an air of antiquity.
Out of idle curiosity, London read the screens. Apparently, the pry minster was holding torches with the super mean whirl leader about You Kay’s sir ender. London couldn’t make head or tail of it. He was amazed that in an age when mobile phones could instantly translate between human languages, a phone based cinema ticket booking computer could understand a Geordie, a Glaswegian and somebody from Derby, why the subtitle computer still struggled with clearly enunciated English.
Their milkshakes arrived. Xia and Vera tasted them carefully, before draining them within moments.
“This is really good,” said Vera.
“Can we have another?” Xia asked.
“Sure,” London replied. London finished his drink, and their food still hadn’t arrived, so he returned to the bar, leaning on it in the customary style that is learnt but not taught.
The barman came over.
“Sorry about the delay,” he said. “Barry wasn’t expecting to have to do any cooking, so he’d turned the grill off. It’s a bugger to light. It’ll be another ten minutes.”
“That’s okay,” said London. “You said something about a curfew.”
“Oh yes, you know, the curfew,” said the barman.
“No,” said London. “I’ve been away for a few weeks, so I’m a little out of touch.”
“Where have you been?” the barman said, shocked. “Have you been on the dark side of the moon?”
London thought about telling him the truth for nearly a second, but then decided against it. “I’ve been on a spiritual retreat,” he lied. “We had no contact with the outside world. We only took a break for the science fiction convention. And that was cancelled.”
“I’m not surprised,” said the barman, leaning forward. “That Wishbone’s been cracking down on all sorts of bizarre things.”
“Who is Wishbone?”
“You really have been out of touch,” laughed the barman. “You’ll have to give me the number of that retreat. Getting away from it all is wonderful. Wishbone is the supreme world leader. You know him. You must have seen those super soldiers of his. He’ll be on the television in a moment, telling us his grand vision of the future. Now, can I get you folks more drinks while you wait?”
London nodded, trying to absorb the information. He’d only been away two months and Megalomaniacs Anonymous had obviously realised he wasn’t available to save the world this time, so sent in their latest nut-job to take over. London thought about getting an answerphone message along the lines of “I’m sorry, I’m not available to save the world at this time; if you could hold, I will return shortly to thwart your plans in the nick of time.” There had been numerous attempts, but this was the first to succeed. The super soldier line reminded London of the day he was accidentally abducted. London returned to the table.
“What’s the matter, James?” asked Xia. “You look much shaken.”
“You have a little time off,” said London. “And the world goes to Hell in a shopping trolley.”
“What has happened in your absence?” Vera asked.
“A megalomaniac has taken over the world,” London said. “He’ll be on TV in a minute, apparently.”
Straight after the news finished off with a story about a dog that could sing the national anthem being put down for treasonous displays, a stylised W appeared on all the screens.
Because he’d been instructed to do so, the barman turned the sound up. Grieg’s Hall of the Mountain King announced the arrival of Kyson Wishbone’s daily broadcast.
“Good evening people of my world,” he said, with quite a pleasant voice. “Today we completed the first phase of uniting the world under my banner, and tomorrow will see…”
Wishbone got no further, as Vera erupted from his seat like a tsunami, the chair flying backwards. He was so violent in his movement that Bonbon was flung from his shoulder.
As the bartender came out of the back with three burgers and a salad, he was just in time to see Vera bellowing in rage and ripping the television from the wall and throwing it into the second one with a thunderous crash. London and Xia remained seated, open mouthed at the sudden vehement uproar from their companion. The bartender was likewise open mouthed at the loss of two mid-priced large screen flat televisions he’d personally braved a Black Friday for in Sainsbury’s, Ulverston.
“Vera!” Xia yelled, finally moving, and grabbing her friend’s arm. He looked about to swat her away like an insect, regaining composure just in time.
“I am sorry,” Vera said, his chest heaving, hearts pounding. “That despicable creature is my sworn enemy.”
“That’s the guy that killed your family?” London asked. “He is the shape shifter?”
“Yes!” Vera looked ready to erupt again.
“Then we know where he is,” said London. “Don’t take your revenge out on a television.”
“Do you still want the burgers?” asked the barman, in a quiet voice, all his humour gone.
“Yes,” said London. “Vera, sit down, eat your burger, while we decide what to do.”
Vera calmed down through sheer will power, righted his seat and sat in it. With trepidation, the publican put the burgers on the table.
“I’ll pay for the televisions,” said London, passing over his credit card. “My friend knows this Wishbone character. They go way back.”
“You said he killed his family?” the barkeep asked, overcharging for the televisions on his card machine.
“It is lucky you are not his fifth cousin twice removed on his daughter’s husband’s side,” said London, typing in his PIN. “You’d now be dead.”
“He is very thorough,” said the bar steward. “He’s known for it. He took America in under a week.”
“Impressive,” London said. “That’s quicker than One Direction.”
“Indeed,” the barman said.
“The news said he was having a meeting with the prime minister,” said London. “We won’t need the rooms.”
“But what about the curfew?” asked the barkeep.
“It doesn’
t apply to us,” said London. “We’re going to be enemies of the state quite soon.”
“Well, good luck with that, sir,” said the barman. “It sounds brilliant. I’m sure you’ll do a marvellous job of it. Enjoy your burgers.”
Vera calmed down far enough to take a bite from the breaded minced meat and onion product.
“This is very good,” said Vera, fishing out a dill pickle. “Although, I must admit, I do find this particular bit distasteful.”
“The burger is delightful,” said Xia. “What are these thin things?”
“Chips,” London said. “Or fries, depending on how much you’re paying.”
“They are particularly delicious.” Xia said with her mouth full.
“I am also enjoying the herbivore alternative,” Bonbon told them.
The moment all four had their mouths full, the barman asked how their food was.
London settled back into his chair. He felt more in his element now. He picked at the chips and ate his burger, which did taste fantastic. The only choice he had to make was if they took his car or Vera’s ship to London. The ship would get them there quicker, and without curfew issues. His car would be less obvious, although they would have to wait until the curfew was over. He said as much to the three eating with him.
“We will take my ship to your prime minister,” Vera said. “We will get there before he can escape.”
“Only one problem,” London said. “Whilst there are plenty of places to hide a space ship around here, there are fewer places around London. We could probably leave it at the airport, but the traffic warden’s would have a field day if we left it on a street.”
“I do see the problem,” Vera mused. “How quickly can we get there in your transport?”
“Five hours or so,” London said. “If we set off now, we’ll be there before day’s end. Assuming we’re not stopped because of the curfew.”
“Then we set off now,” Vera said. “We will deal with the curfew.”
Vera knocked the chair over again as he came to his feet. He scooped Bonbon up and placed him on his shoulder. Xia and London exchanged glances and followed the lion, licking their fingers.
“Good luck!” the barman called after them. “Watch out for the soldiers.”
They stooped through the low front door into the gathering twilight. There was a sign post for Bowness, where London had left his car.
“There is an odd mind ahead,” Bonbon said.
“How is it odd?” London asked.
“It is diffuse and unformed,” Bonbon replied. “I have never encountered a mind like this.”
London again thought about the attack on the day of his abduction. He had a sneaking suspicion that his attacker was connected to this mind. London had only been home a short while, but felt he already had a pretty good grasp on the situation.
“We’d best be careful,” said London. “I have a feeling that what we’re about to encounter may be a little tough.”
But Vera didn’t listen. He’d set off at speed in the direction London had indicated, despite not knowing where London’s car was.
“Vera, slow down,” Xia called. “Even if you knew where you were going, you’d still have to wait for us when you got there.”
Vera paused, realising that they were right. They walked down out of the village onto a country road that followed the edge of the lake. Around the bend in the lake, they could see the lights of Bowness reflecting on the dark water. On one side of the road, trees, a low wall on the other.
“The mind is coming closer.” Bonbon’s thought to them was tinged with darkness.
The owners of the mind came around the bend, marching in formation. There were sixteen, filling the road. The two groups saw each other at the same time.
“Into the wood,” London said.
Vera didn’t listen. “I can take them,” he said.
“Oh crap,” London took out the energy weapon. Xia looked at him, sighed and did the same. Bonbon hopped to the side of the road pretending to be a bush. It was an effective disguise in the gathering dark.
London had to admit that Vera’s initial rush was as effective as a bowling ball on skittles. Three of the soldiers were down before the others regrouped into formation. Vera was, however, quickly overwhelmed. The three he’d put down got back up again.
“Shall we join in?” London asked Xia. “I’ve not really got a clear shot.”
Vera was just about a match for one, or maybe two, but his odds improved when the soldiers saw London. They suddenly ignored Vera and turned to face London.
“They appear to know who you are,” Bonbon told him.
“Oh crap,” London said again. He pointed the gun at them as they came at him at speed. London fired, and fired again. The soldiers he hit span off, crashing into the others, slowing them down. Xia joined in, dropping them as they charged. One made it through, barrelling into London, knocking him backwards. London looked up into an impassive face identical to the one he’d seen squashed further round the lake. He saw a fist coming down. He closed his eyes, but felt nothing.
He opened them again to discover Vera folding the soldier up, and tossing him to one side.
“Thanks,” said London, getting shakily to his feet. They looked at the other members of the troop. Every last one of them was identical to every other one.
“Clones,” said Vera.
“I was hoping for clowns,” said London. He checked through their pockets, looking for anything useful. “These pockets are fake. Why would you have fake pockets on a uniform?”
“Cheaper?” Xia suggested. “Perhaps it is a fashion statement?”
“Can you rip this off, Vera?” London asked.
Vera extruded a claw from a fingertip and hooked it under a pocket. With a tug, it ripped off leaving a jagged hole. London looked at the scrap of material. There was an electronic sensor on the underside.
“It’s a transceiver,” London said.
“Can you sense any other soldiers, Bonbon?” Xia asked.
“Far away,” said Bonbon, “We should be able to proceed unhindered, now.”
“Not for long,” said London. “They’ll know these are dead, and be sending reinforcements. We need to get a move on.”
They walked as quickly as possible around the lake. London didn’t have any doubt that his car would be where he’d left it. It was a Volvo; it couldn’t be stolen because of all the ant-theft devices and wouldn’t be stolen because no car thief would be seen dead in a Volvo. They arrived at the car-park just before midnight. There were three cars present. Naturally, they were all surrounding London’s car, as though huddled together for warmth. The one with thirty-five parking tickets was London’s Volvo. London had managed to keep his keys safe for his entire journey, something he was proud of, though it reminded him about the loss of his phone.
London opened the doors, pushed the passenger seat as far back as it would go, and Vera still wouldn’t fit.
“I have a solution,” Vera said. He grabbed the seat and pulled it out.
“Thanks,” said London.
“You are welcome,” Vera replied, squeezing onto the floor, wedged between the dash and the rear seat. His head still reached the roof.
Xia shrugged in London’s direction and climbed in the back seat behind London. London took all of the parking tickets and put them on the ripped out seat.
“That’ll flummox them,” he muttered.
Bonbon jumped onto Vera’s lap.
“Road trip!” said Bonbon picking up on a London’s film reference memories.
London turned the key.
The engine made a slight coughing noise, and cut out.
“Is there a problem?” Vera asked.
London glared at his dashboard, and tried again. The engine roared into life, with London pressing on the accelerator far too much.
“No,” he said. “Let’s go.”
The main meeting room of Number Ten Downing Street was more ornate than needed, and l
ess ornate than expected. The table looked like it was from the Ikea Government collection; most of the chairs matched, but two of the chairs were from a different room. Wishbone wondered what had happened to the missing chairs. Most of the chairs appeared to be Victorian dining chairs: golden arms curling down into the front feet. The chair Wishbone was seated in was a gas-lift office chair.
The UK Prime Minster was seated diagonally opposite.
“Sadiq, can I call you Sadiq?” Wishbone said.
“Sadiq is fine,” said the Prime Minister.
“Well, Sadiq, I’m just wondering why I have not had the British unconditional surrender?”
“The committee hasn’t finished its investigation yet,” Sadiq told the supreme world leader. “We’ve only just left one union. We don’t want to rush into a new one.”
“This isn’t a choice. What are they debating?” Wishbone asked. He was insistent but not annoyed. “You only need to sign it. The terms are clear.”
“That’s not the British way,” Sadiq told him. “We debate.”
“Your populace have accepted the new state of affairs.”
“They would appear to have done so, yes,” said Sadiq. “The British are good at ignoring things they don’t like. Eventually, we hope you’ll go away, or join in being British. One of those two things always happens.”
“There is no such thing as Britain anymore,” Wishbone said.
“So you’ve told us,” Sadiq said. “That will not prevent us being British.”
“Sign the paper,” Wishbone pushed a sheet of paper across to the Prime Minister. “We can then begin the dismantling of your military.”
“The previous administration did that for you,” Sadiq said.
“I understand that the UK is the world’s largest arms dealer,” Wishbone said.
“We dabble,” Sadiq spread his hands looking innocent.
“Dabble?” Wishbone looked at his tablet. “In the last three major conflicts, both sides came to you to find out what their enemies had in terms of munitions.”
“We do charge for that information,” Sadiq said. “It’s called ‘consultancy’.”
“Where are these weapons made?” Wishbone leaned forward. “My scanning equipment has been unable to find much in the way of firearms in the UK.”