COSMIC TALES 13: FIELD TRIP
By
Richard C. Parr
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY
Cosmic Tales 13: Field Trip
Copyright (C) 2015 by Richard C. Parr
* * * * *
This particular copy of the eBook series Cosmic Tales is licensed for the enjoyment of everyone. It may be freely distributed to others without conditions. Thank you for supporting the author by downloading and reading this story.
* * * * *
Field Trip
The shuttle from the city centre whizzed into the courtyard and blew a hiss of steam as it dropped its speed and hovered to a halt, causing a vast quantity of snow to turn into ice as its engine's haphazard humming subsided. Out stepped Mrs. Wimwomtiki and her band of 25 snivelling students overly dressed by their parents for a harsh winter that was not coming, all sporting different strains of a cold and relieved to be able to leave the classroom for an entire day.
"Stay together and walk in twos!" she hollered at the rebellious band as they made their way up the pristine stone staircase leading to the Library Records Museum, housing the greatest historical artefact collection and socio-political records this side of the galaxy. Before the children could gain access by the grand entrance, Mrs. Wimwomtiki spread her arms out wide and ordered them to stop.
"I want every technological device switched off and placed in this box at once," she said, much to the distress of her class. The children groaned and emptied their pockets, taking out cell phones, flat screen communications, galactic watches, televisions, web devices and visual entertainment. Holographic laptops and their corresponding web connectors were deactivated and dumped in the box, and before she knew it, Mrs. Wimwomtiki regretted the decision to confiscate their distractions, seeing the box overflowing with a countless selection of modern technology she wished she could comprehend the purpose and meaning of. She struggled through the entrance carrying the box close to her chest, then instructed the children to follow. They were met with a wave of warm air and the rustic, antique scent of a place of historical interest.
"Good morning," said the receptionist at the customer service desk. "Are you group one from Kalanansana Primary?"
"Take these," said Mrs. Wimwomtiki, crashing the heavy box on to the counter and blocking the receptionist's view. "I don't care what you do with them."
"Please can you sign the visitor form?" said the receptionist, handing a pen over the box and searching for the teacher's hand, playing a dancing game of grab the pen until Mrs. Wimwomtiki got hold of it and signed the registration form.
"Where is the smoking area?" she said.
"We don't have one inside, but you are permitted to smoke out the main entrance or in the botanical gardens."
"Where's the nearest place that sells alcohol?"
"Next to the botanical gardens."
"That's a strategic placement. Ok, children. Remember what I said. There are 25 of you, so stay together in twos and one of you will have to form a three."
The group assembled themselves into pairs leaving one lot of three.
"Everyone else gets one partner. Why do I have to form a three with two girls?"
"Because you're very lucky, Jason. Now everyone, pay attention. We have a special guest arriving soon who is going to give you a guided tour of the museum and show you some extremely interesting items on display. He is not the best fan of children, so I apologise if he says anything that might seem odd, and please do your best to help him feel welcome. I am paying him a lot for this privilege."
"Are you leaving us here?" said a little confused girl.
"No, no. I'm taking a break," said Mrs. Wimwomtiki, discretely removing a cigarette from the packet in her pocket and feeling for her hip flask. "I think we are both going to have a very pleasant day."
The group moved through the main grandiose hallway housing fossils of foreign and local creatures including sand monsters, the extinct electric whales, prehistoric reptilians, humanoids and species of bee spliced with dog. Many leather-bound books were opened at worn pages documenting the travels of galactic explorers who helped shape ideologies and knit the galaxy together, making it possible for its origins to be traced. The children cooed in awe at the sight of a full-scale model Gwonwan half-devouring a Xiknod, before a small moon shaped asteroid struck, playing pool with the world, causing the species' extinction and pocketing the planet into sterility forever.
"And thanks to modern advances in technology and astronomy, we can calculate when the next one is going to smash into us," said a masculine voice, getting louder as it approached from afar. Mrs. Wimwomtiki went weak at the knees. "Which is the best possible outcome right now considering your generation is bankrupt."
The children turned around to see the dishevelled space traveller and proud mercenary, with a slight stench of scotch and tobacco, towering over them. They noted his hat with the dangling corks, an array of weapons attached to his belt, an X-shaped collection of ammo strapped to his chest and a name tag pinned to his jacket.
"Red shoes?" said Mrs. Wimwomtiki as her heart raced.
"Don't worry honey, they do come off," the man replied, and she giggled, leaving him in charge and receiving a subtle pinch of the arse.
"Are you Captain Phoenix Wingclipper?" said Jason, arching his neck and looking at the name tag.
"That's me! How does it feel to meet a real life space pilot?"
The children stood in silence, staring at the human skyscraper.
"What's wrong? You're looking at me like I work in marketing. You have the enthusiasm of an eighteen year old woman. Come on, we're going to have lots of fun learning stuff together!"
"You don't look like a captain," said a little girl. "I don't think you're a real space pilot. I think you're a faker."
"Oh, really. Well, if I am such a faker, then tell me what this does."
Wingclipper removed a weapon from his belt.
"It drills holes into walls. My daddy has one."
"No, it does not drill holes into walls. It drills holes into beings. It is a miniature standard issue laser cannon gun, also known as a laser gun. It can also be used as a taser to stun your opponent before you fire on them. It is by far the safest and strongest weapon."
Wingclipper removed the gun from his belt, and checking to see if the safety was on, fumbled with the trigger and accidentally fired. Moments later, shards of glass came crashing down surrounding the breast of a former galactic dictator, the laser fire rebounded off the wall and landed on the end of Wingclipper's red shoe, piercing and melting the material and causing him to hop up and down with the heat. The children giggled.
"You must be the worst pilot and captain there is," said a little boy. "I bet everyone knows you as the worst."
"Despite the rumours to the contrary and the numerous news articles printed on a daily basis, I say this with a heavy heart. I am actually the best captain in the galactic army and I know much more about life than you. In fact, apart from basic maths, economics, the dangers of greed and having moral values, there is nothing that your generation can teach me that I do not already know."
"Who's that?" said Jason, pointing to the breast of the dictator.
"That is a severely decapitated war veteran encased and embalmed in a special substance and placed behind glass for everyone to see. Now you will all follow me to the societal and political section for the next part of your tour."
Somewhere in the distance, Mrs. Wimwomtiki enjoyed the fresh, unpolluted air and the sobering atmosphere as she drank and smoked profusely, keeping an eye out for any stray younglings who might catch her in the act. An unusual gust of wind blew her last cigarette out of her mouth and nearly sent her hip fl
ask flying. She clutched it close to her chest and looked at the sky, seeing a cylindrical object descend through the air, firing out a hiss of steam from its three giant legs and positioning itself in the middle of the botanical gardens, flattening a multitude of different species of rare plant. The engines faded and died and Mrs. Wimwomtiki's heart nearly stopped.
* * * * *
Wingclipper and the children wandered past a display containing puppets moving in slow motion re-enacting various civil wars, territorial disputes, historical revolutions, flag raising, flag burning, building erecting, building destroying, changing of the guard, changing of the monarch and changing of the president. A group of greenish people were clad in chains and dragged along by a large desert animal, boarded on to a wagon and taken away by a black cloaked figure whipping the animal into shape.
"Pay attention, children," said Wingclipper with a commanding voice, standing at the front of the group and seeing the inquisitive look on their little faces. "What you see in this display is the enactment of the slave trade. The indigenous locals were stripped of their homes and possessions, transported across the desert on these ill fated wagons, sold to the highest bidding master and deployed in various regions never to see their families again. Likewise when you leave school, some of you will go to university and get a worthless degree and will spend the next five years wishing for a job in your field of expertise while making coffee for an inept boss who cannot fathom modern technology and requires your assistance for you to wipe his technological arse. Some of you will take the wiser route, fail your exams, stay at home until you are twenty and then invest in a trade or skill in a specific field that ensures your definite future employment potential. Then you will likely work for someone else who is a complete micromanaging, nitpicking moron, you will be required to read minds as well as make coffee, then you will tell them to do the job themselves and then you will set up your own successful business in your specialised field. To explain further I have entrusted two sidekicks to assist me in the presentation of what I like to call the truth, which is something that none of your professors, councillors or careers guidance tutors will ever tell you, because they are all slaves like the greenish people, the desert animal and the slave trader."
Out of the shadows came a figure with a short haircut wearing mechanical gear and tools on a belt, looking less than impressed.
"I really hope you are paying me as much as you claim to be for this," he muttered into Wingclipper's ear.
"Class, say good morning to Elwood Makepeace, the peace maker."
"Good morning Mr. Elwee the piss maker," they chimed in unison.
"I suppose I have to say good morning back to you," said Elwood. At the same time, a separate, taller metallic figure emerged from behind a display and caused the children to collectively take a few steps backwards. Its arms and legs whirred and its head rotated periodically to inspect the environment. A sharp green glow came from behind its eyes and some of the children squealed.
"It's ok, it cannot hurt you. Say good morning to 234, my dual gendered robotic assistant."
"Good morning, 234," they sang.
"Good morning degenerate beings!" said 234 with rehearsed enthusiasm. "Going by the statistics of your planet, with a group size of 25, two of you will die before the age of eighteen. According to statistics, it will take each of you approximately 125.8 years of working 40 hours per week to pay back the debt you have already accrued just by existing, and once your government confiscates the retirement funds, this length of time will increase to 167.4 years. It is so lovely to see a group of happy little slaves. You warm my heartless mechanical heart."
"If we have anything to learn from history," said Wingclipper, "then it is concerning the results of our actions. We must pay attention to patterns and trends, facts and figures, and not to what other people in positions of authority think in their irrational, emotional, greedy mindsets. To show this, in the following presentation, Elwood will play the role of an individual and 234 will play the role of the government."
Elwood and 234 adopted their positions and the children watched bemused and entranced. The two exchanged a worried look and then Elwood turned to Wingclipper who flapped his arms furiously at them to get on with the act.
"Hello," said Elwood. "I am an individual interested in generating wealth based on achievement, success and hard work, and I would like to contribute towards a profitable society with assured growth."
"I understand", said 234. "We will take a portion of your earnings as tax to fund all required functions to assure the smooth running of society. The more you produce, the more you get to keep as your own. We will not interfere in your life. Oh dear. There is a problem. We need more of your money because we have let too many people into the country and we have redistributed your wealth to lazy unproductive people who want to destroy the country."
"Then I will work as little as possible and pay minimal taxes so that you cannot confiscate my wealth and the lazy unproductive people will die out, the illegals will leave and relocate, and the government will not interfere in my life."
"Now there are no jobs because we have raised taxes too high so that companies are discouraged from generating employment in the country. Everyone lives off government handouts and is forced to exist just above the poverty line. Success and achievement is unfair to lazy unproductive people. Having a positive vision and caring about your country is unfair to lazy unproductive people. Die, individual, die, die, die..."
234 suddenly attacked Elwood with an electronic stunning prong and Elwood fended it off, but for some reason there was a glitch and 234 kept attacking, moving behind a display and out of the children's way.
"This wasn't in the script!" shouted Elwood in vain.
"You must give in to the government...you must give in to the government..."
"Ok, there are some technical issues but you get the general idea," said Wingclipper to the children.
* * * * *
For two more hours, Wingclipper took the children to every section of the museum, making them look at historical war accounts, battlefield recollections, blueprints for invasions, sketches of enemies, tactics, reconstructions of bases and hideouts and the evolution of the soldier. Wingclipper noted how the children looked more interested in the contents of their packed lunches than the fruitful display of chronological gems. He took them outside to the botanical gardens where, on entry, they were greeted by the presence of a large metallic lipstick case, and Wingclipper's bosom swelled with pride.
"Children, this is my ship," he said, and the class stopped eating and took in the rustic majesty parked on the lawn and trampling the flowers. "Go ahead, feel overwhelmed. I will understand."
"Hey, Mr. Makepoo," said Jason, tugging at Elwood's side. "Is that a real spaceship?"
"You're damned right it is."
"Wow. Can we go inside?"
"That's why we're here."
Jason's face lit up and he skipped with joy. At that instant, a whisper coming from the interior of the Chromium Bullet accelerated and rose to a deafening throng of fizzing and sizzling. Steam escaped through tiny holes in the hull and a ramp creaked open and descended to a diagonal point. On this occasion it was lined with a red carpet. Circular strip lighting like an airport taxiway lined the entrance all the way to the top, where, as the children focused their sight on the entrance hole, a ball droid floated and peeked out, adjusting its vision to the planet's unique sun intensity, observing the tensely waiting schoolchildren, then retreated from sight. The children cooed when they saw it.
"Who wants to have a look around my impressive ship?" said Wingclipper, and the children cheered and stamped their feet. "So do you believe I'm a real space pilot now? Ok, a group of five at a time, and the entry fee is five coins. You can keep your shoes on -"
"Hey, five coins?" said Elwood. "They're just kids. Cut them some slack."
"The purpose of our visit is to make as much as we can and then get out of here," said Wingclipper
.
"If you charge them to go on the ship, I am not doing any more electrical repairs for the rest of the week, and I mean what I say."
Wingclipper thought briefly and then said, "Well, earth man. You drive a hard bargain. Ok, children. Listen up. My sidekick has just informed me that I would be better off not charging you, because he believes in equality, hates injustice and is happy to pay the fee for the next refuelling stop."
"Is that big meanie your boss?" said Jason.
"He thinks he is, but I keep him in line," said Elwood. "Without me, his ship would have been scrapped a long time ago."
* * * * *
"Watch and see what happens when I activate this," said Elwood as a group of boys and girls waited eagerly at a large screen by the command room table. Elwood inputted a sequence of codes and the screen came to life, showing thousands of stars, charts, ship speeds, average journey times, gauges and instrument readings. Elwood made the screen zoom in with a wave of his hands and he selected out a specific star from a cluster. Zooming in even closer, captivating the children, he singled out a reddish blue planet from a series of bodies orbiting a medium sized star.
"This is your planet," he said. "From here, we can plot a trajectory, or a path, to any other planet in the galaxy. Your nearest planet with other life forms is automatically detected by the ship's mainframe, or by 234 and Bink when the mainframe is too busy. According to the mainframe, the nearest planet with life is...here."
Cosmic Tales 13: Field Trip Page 1