In Favour of Fools: A Science Fiction Comedy (These Foolish Things Book 1) (8 page)

I may have mentioned that I wasn’t very happy to be in the squirtbooth with Strange. To be honest, I wouldn’t have been especially happy to be anywhere with him. The whole situation got much worse when I realised that we were going to squirt together.

(
To give you an idea of the calibre of person I’m dealing with, Phil had been sitting in the booth with Strange for nearly fifteen minutes before he was able to make this quite remarkable intellectual leap. N.F.)
I’d seen The Fly and I didn’t like the idea of swapping cells with Strange; I quite like my cells the way they are, and I didn’t want his bullying mine.

‘Can’t we go separately?’ I asked, over the hum.

‘Solo squirts cost more.’

‘I prefer to go solo.’

He looked away and sighed.

There was a quick flashing of the lights and a short burst from a claxon. Then it was all over and we were suddenly a very long way from home.

I let Strange leave first whilst I took a moment to confirm that I really was myself; I checked the mirror to see if I still had my sunny smile and that I was no taller than when we left our lovely planet. Everything seemed to be as it should be, so I followed Strange out into the concourse.

It was a large room, with small groups of people dotted about, and over-expensive vending machines offering to fulfil all human needs; it could have been anywhere on Earth. I had the sudden thought that it was all a con and that we’d travelled only locally; that interstellar travel was the stuff of dreams; that I could soon be tucked up in my own comfy bed.

Then Strange threw his bag over his shoulder and strode towards the exit and reality fell on my shoulders like a pile of wildebeests.

I trotted after him, trying not to appear as if I was rushing. Then I had to go back for my bag. He was gone before I got anywhere near the exit. There was no customs desk, or any impediment to just walking through; so that’s what I did.

Now, I know this was an alien planet, with all sorts of remarkable new experiences available to me, but the thing that hit me first was the smell. I might have expected the scent to be made up of all sorts of exotic fauna and flora; with the smell of an unknown sea, with the grit from an unclimbed mount range, or maybe the sweet aroma of a giant exotic orchid; or maybe the sky would be turquoise.

But all I can say about my first impressions of this new planet was that, unfortunately, wherever you may be in the Universe, I think I’m safe in saying that cow manure always smells the same.

The human population of OK was less than one hundred thousand; the bovine population was over twenty million, and rising all the time. Those burger joints take some filling.

The Squirtport building squatted alone at the end of a long dusty road. Cube-shaped and white; it could have been dropped from on high; maybe it had.

The land nearby was green and luscious, rolling gently away towards the distant hills. The summits of the hills were dusted with the shadowed forms of trees, and a river could be seen in the middle distance, running parallel to the road. Between the river and the hills, there were perhaps a couple of thousand cattle, resplendent in their mottled coats and masticating equanimity.

(At last they let me do a bit of description. People don’t like descriptions, they said. But, it makes a difference; don’t you think? N.F.)

After a couple of minutes enjoying the scenery, I decided it was time to find Strange. I might not have liked him, but he was all I had. A couple of hundred metres from the Squirtport, a string of low buildings began, continuing along the road for quite some distance.

When I reached the first building, which appeared to be some sort of stable, going on the noises from inside, I could see that the road ahead was empty. I didn't want to get involved in an interplanetary game of hide and seek with him so I just called out his name, trying not to sound petulant, or desperate. I waited for a second, and then the large wooden door to my left swung open.

With considerable snorting, mostly from the horse, Strange rode out on to the road on an impressively large brown horse. With a practiced flick of his wrist he persuaded the beast to swing round and face me.

‘Really?’ I asked.

‘It’s the only way to travel here.’

‘But, I don’t ride,’ I protested.

‘Don’t worry. Your ride is coming now.’

I turned then to see what manner of creature I would be riding.

‘What! You expect me to ride a donkey!’

‘It’s not a donkey. It’s a mule.’

‘It looks like a donkey. Why can’t I have a horse?’

‘The mule is more economical. It’s a far better animal for our needs than a horse.’

‘You ride it then.’

‘I need the bigger animal to carry my weight.’

He jerked his reins and began to trot along the road. I turned to the mule. It had its head to one side and avoided my eyes; I could see why it might be embarrassed. It was broad and squat, and it couldn’t seem to make up its mind about what colour it was. Parts of its coat were dull brown, other parts were shiny red, and some parts just didn’t fit any palette I’d ever heard of.

‘Can I at least have a saddle?’ I called into the stable’s dim interior.

‘He doesn’t take to the saddle,’ a croaky voice replied. Then a smelly old horse blanket was thrown at my feet. ‘Try that.’

I picked up the blanket and looked at the Mule. Then I looked over to Strange, disappearing in the distance on his magnificent beast.

I wanted to go home.

I threw the blanket over the animal’s broad back and slung my bag over my shoulder; that was the easy bit. Then I had to work to how to get onto its back myself.

‘I’ll take your bag for you, Sir.’ The croaky voice interrupted my considerations. ‘Mr. Strange said you’d handle the booking of the room.’

‘We’re staying in a stable?’

‘No, the hotel’s next door; you can just walk through.’

He emerged into the light. If you put grizzled into any search engine, his face would pop up. He was short and round; a little stooped, with teeth that had no place in the middle of the twenty-first century, and he was wearing dungarees. Across the centre of his ruddy face was a silver device that looked as if a butterfly had collided with his nose and refused to let go.

He saw me staring and chuckled.

‘It’s a filter; to stop harmful indigenous bugs getting inside me. You better get yourself one; you don’t want to wake up with three legs. ’

‘Does it have to be so...’ I was going to say ugly, but I didn’t want to offend. ’So obvious?’

‘These days you can get little ones that fit inside your nostrils; I guess they work OK.’

‘What about Strange?’

‘Mr. Strange is an experienced traveler; he has his own already fitted.’

‘You know Strange?’

‘He’s been coming here for years.’ He turned and began to walk towards the stable door.

‘Oh, I see,’ I muttered to his back. ‘What about the donkey?’

‘Brian’s a mule, and he’ll be OK here. He won’t go anywhere unless he’s made to.’

‘Brian?’ Surely there were better names for such an animal.

I followed him through the dim stable into a slightly brighter hotel reception area. He went behind the waist-high wooden desk and looked pointedly at the bell. I joined him in his study of the ancient device.

After what was becoming an awkward silence he said, ‘you tap the top.’

‘You want me to…?’

He nodded.

So I rang the bell, and he smiled broadly; graphically displaying his fascinating molar topography.

‘I love it when people do that. What can I do for you, Sir?’

‘I’d like...to book a couple of rooms, please.’

‘We only have the one.’

I should have seen that one coming.

‘Are there any other hotels with more extensive facilities?’

‘Mr. Strange likes to stay here.’

‘That’s fine by me, but we’re not joined at the hip. I can stay somewhere else.’

‘I’ll just book you both in for now and you can sort it out with Mr. Strange later; that’ll be fine, won’t it Sir?’

I decided that I really didn’t have the energy to continue the discussion, so I gave him my charge details and told him that I’d require full receipts.

‘There you go,’ he said, handing me two small cylinders. ’Just put one in each nostril and you should be OK for a week.’

I hesitated for a moment, not entirely sure they were unused. Then I shrugged and plugged them in; they were hardly uncomfortable at all.

‘You’ll also need this.’ He offered me a big shiny hand-gun.

‘No, I don’t need a gun; I have no intention of shooting any one.’

‘It’s not for shooting people; that’s a Crime Against Others; even here. No, it’s for shooting ar-furs.’

‘Ar-furs? Aren’t they the local dog equivalent that you use to herd the cows?’

‘Yes and no. Well, no and yes. We do use them for cow control, but they’re nothing like dogs. Take the gun; believe me, you’ll need it if you spend any time outside the town. It holds forty-two bullets and the auto is set for seven shot bursts; you need that to slow down an ar-fur. One shot would just annoy it.’

So I took the gun, and the holster, and walked towards my ride. I swear I was already walking bow-legged.

Collins was a marine, and as proud as punch about the whole idea. Girls wanted to be with him and guys wanted to be him. With his height, broad shoulders, lantern jaw and casual swagger, eyes always followed him when he entered a room, and lingered longingly when he left.

The one thing he’d always regretted in his ten year career was the lack of an opportunity to win medals. A little bit of fruit salad on his chest would seal the success story that was Sergeant Steven Andrew (Sack) Collins.

He and his squad had been to all twenty-one settled planets; engaging in multiple war-games, exploration, rescues and a considerable amount of marching up and down. But, as the elite force in the Earth Defence Army, they’d never had an enemy to fight. No intelligent aliens had been found on any of the planets and, so far, not a shot in anger had been fired.

Now, it seemed, all that was about to change. Sack and his team of heavily armed, fully trained, super motivated marines were waiting for the go signal. Something had taken out three probes, and they were going to investigate.

Sack’s first thought when he received his orders was that they were going to give someone a bloody nose; and about time too. But the powers that be wanted a low key approach, hence the small squad of ten, led by someone who was definitely not a marine. He was small and skinny, and he wasn’t even armed.

Adam Hollis used to be a xenobiologist; an expert in the fauna and flora of all twenty-one planets. That was until a week earlier, when he’d had something of a career change and accepted his appointment as EDA’s interspecies liaison officer; no training was provided, though it did have a nice retirement package and, apparently, there would be considerable opportunity to travel.

When the buzzer sounded, he nodded to Sack, who then led the team inside the multi-person squirtbooth.

As the booth ramped up its power levels, there was a lot of weapons checking, a little swaggering, and one or two nervous coughs. Hollis folded his arms across his narrow chest to disguise the shaking. He didn’t know what he was doing there; not really. What did he know about leading a gang of men with guns? The general had told him that every attempt must be made to achieve a peaceful solution to the problem; whatever that problem may be. The fire power the marines possessed was a last resort option. Hollis couldn’t help feeling that the gap between first and last resorts was going to be a little narrower than he’d like.

The hum reached a steady level and a claxon blared and the squad was squirted across the dozens of light years to their destination.

There was no time for reactions; no time to use their wonderful guns; no time to even think about aborting the mission and returning home. WithIn less than a second of their sudden arrival, they were all dead.

Being squirted onto the surface of a star will do that to you every time.

Chapter 20
. – Then a problem with the bar staff

I couldn’t quite bring myself to get on his back, so I took hold of the mule’s halter, and quite surprisingly, he allowed me to lead him down the road. At some stage I was going to have to ride him but, as long I as I could put it off, I was OK with walking.

After a couple of minutes, wandering between low wooden buildings, raised slightly above the road, and flanked by wooden walkways I spotted Strange’s horse tied up to a post outside a building that looked like a saloon; it had swinging doors and everything.

My animal wasn’t happy about being tied up next to the magnificent stallion; you couldn’t blame him; the comparison was never going to be in his favour. After five minutes or so of tugging and less than dignified pleading, I managed to get him securely tied to the post. Then I looked up at the double half-doors and thought, yes, a pint would go down very nicely.

When I reached the doors, I threw them both open and strode manfully into the dim room. Silence fell, and every head turned towards me. At least, I assume that’s what happened. I can’t say I really noticed. There were three very attractive women behind the bar, and the lighting was set up to reveal their beauty in all its glory. I could have handled that; I could have marched up to the bar, banged my hand down and ordered a drink, full of confidence in my masculinity. I would probably have stood a round for them all to toast their beauty.

I couldn’t do any of that. I couldn’t even bring myself to walk another step into the bar. They were topless, and I just could not deal with that. I know it’s a deplorable exploitation of women; that it should have been put behind us a century ago; that in a world of equality, sexual, racial and financial, putting young women behind bars in such a state of undress was completely out of order.

I‘d like to say that I turned away and almost staggered back through the swinging doors for all of these reasons. But you know me; I couldn’t be in the bar because the sight of all those naked breasts would tangle up my poor brain into such a mess that I wouldn’t be able to string two thoughts together, or two words. I’d be a gibbering wreck, leaning on the bar, drooling into my beer, assuming I’d managed to order one. It’s not a good look for me.

Outside, I took a deep breath. The air was redolent with the scent of horse and mule, with a strong undercurrent of cow manure. Still, I took another breath, and then another. My heart slowed a little and I tried a few lines of Shakespeare. A speech from Julius Caesar usually puts everything back in its right place for me.

‘Wherefore rejoice? What conquests brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome?’

There’s a lot more, but you get the gist.

Feeling a little better, I turned just as Strange opened the doors.

‘OK?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Coming back inside?’

‘No. I’ll just...not go in.’

He gave me that look again, as if he wondered what use I was going to be on this trip; or at all.

‘You show his picture, see if anyone recognises him,’ I suggested, trying to sound as if I knew what I was talking about. That’s the way it always happens in those old twentieth century westerns. You’re looking for a guy, so you go to the saloon, and there he is, nursing his whisky and doing a bit of scowling; there’s always a bit of scowling.

Just then a strange creature ambled across the road towards us. If you imagine a badger, without the stripes and fur, with its body flattened and widened, covered in sandy coloured scales and the size of a pony, you won’t be right, but that’s as close as I can get.

‘What’s that?’ I asked.

‘It’s an ar-fur.’

Quick as a flash, I pulled out my gun and trained it on the ravening beast. Strange grabbed my arm; his grip was far harder than it needed to be; I’d have bruises for weeks.

‘What are you doing?’ he said, with one of those I’m-talking-to-a-five-year old tones.

‘They’re killers!‘

‘Not on their own, they’re not. One or two are fine. They do what they are told and they aren’t dangerous. Not as long as they get their share of cow. But when three or more are together, a pack mentality takes over, and then they are really dangerous.’

‘Are you sure? I think he’s giving me the evil eye.’

‘He’s probably just wondering what you taste like.’

I glance up at him. ‘Is that a joke, Strange?’

He looked back at me and shook his head.

For a couple of minutes, we watched the ugly creature snuffle its way along the road, without talking. Then Strange snorted.

‘If I’m in the saloon, showing pictures, what are you going to do?’ It was a reasonable question.

‘I have another avenue of enquiry I want to pursue.’ Even I was impressed with that.

He grunted and turned back into the bar.

In fact, I was telling the truth. I wanted another chat with the stable guy/hotelier. It seemed to me that Masters (I know it was really Johnson, but I'm keeping in character for Strange's benefit) was a big heavy guy and he wouldn’t have been happy to walk very far. The chances were that he’d have got himself a horse at the earliest possible moment. So our grizzled friend might have hired him a horse, or maybe even a room.

He might even be there now, taking an afternoon snooze. We could get the job done and be home in time for Coronation Street. I’ve always been a bit of an optimist; my glass isn’t just half full, there’s a full one next to it.

Still, you never know.

I left Brian at his post and walked back to the hotel.

There was no sign of the grizzled one (I really should have got his name) so I thought I’d take a look upstairs, just to check out our room. If I happened upon our target in the process, I could cancel the room and save the fragrant Mrs. Masters (ex) and Mrs. Johnson (current) some money.

I reached the top of the stairs and was immediately apprised of two facts.

Firstly, Masters (Johnson) wasn’t there. Secondly, when our host said there was only one room, that’s exactly what he meant. There was only one room, with six beds and an armchair. Who got to sit in the comfy chair was anyone’s guess, but you could be sure it wouldn’t be me. My money was on Strange.

A little disappointed on all fronts, I started to walk back downstairs to see if I could find our host and extract some info from him. This was not the way I usually worked, so I had to make it up as I went along. But how hard could it be on a world of a hundred thousand souls to find one man?

I found him in the stable, cleaning out his filter. I really wished that I’d missed this little personal episode, as the smaller the portion of his face that was visible, the more settled was my stomach. His nose was so red and bulbous and veined that it couldn’t be real; could it? When he’d smeared it with a gob of cold cream and replaced his filter, I was much happier.

I coughed to make my presence known; he matched my cough and raised it with a phlegmy spit. I decided not to get involved with competitive bodily function expressions; not after the last time when Julie beat me hands down.

‘Can you help me with some information, Mr...?’ I asked as he adjusted the fitting of his filter.

‘The name’s Spittoon; Jimmy Spittoon.’

‘Spittoon? That’s an usual name.’

‘Not in my family, it aint.’

‘Anyway, Mr. Spittoon. Can I call you Jimmy?’

‘Mr. Spittoon is just fine, son.’

‘OK, Mr. Spittoon it is. Can you tell me if you’ve ever seen this man?’

I showed him the image of Masters on my wrist-top.

‘Yeah. I seen him. Couple or three weeks ago; maybe.’

‘Great! That’s just great. Do you know where he is now?’

‘Nope.’

‘Did he say where he was going?’

‘Yeah, I reckon.’

‘And..?’

He coughed and spat again, enthusiastically; I heard the splat as it hit the floor.

‘Where did he say he was going?’ I really needed a good set of pliers to help with the extraction.

‘Can’t really say.’

‘What?’

‘I can’t really say. I wasn’t paying much attention. I was thinking about a new saddle I want to buy...’

He turned slightly and took an old horseshoe from a peg on the wall. He began to toss it lightly in to the air.

I watched him for a moment or so before I realised that it was my turn to say something. And it was even longer before I understood what I was supposed to say; that a bribe was being requested. There’s no point being subtle with me; it’s not one of my strengths.

‘Perhaps if I give you some credits, it will help you put yourself back in the moment and you might remember what he said; how does that sound?‘

‘You never know, young sir. It might work; if the figure is big enough. I’m not promising nothing, mind you, but maybe it’s worth a go.’

I studied his face for a moment; how good was he at poker? I wondered. Better than I was, I guessed; most people are. How high to start, was the first question I had to struggle with. I suggested two hundred. There was no movement on his face, though I thought I’d spotted a flicker in his eye, and I knew I’d started too high.

In the end, it cost me five hundred, and I mean me because he wasn’t going to give me a receipt, was he?

With the deal done, I waited for my answers. It seemed that Spittoon was waiting for my questions; I gave in first.

‘Where is he then?’

‘He’s gone to a small town, half a day’s ride from here.’ He gave me a set of complicated directions.

I was about to leave when a question occurred to me.

‘You said that you didn’t know where he was. Was that just a ploy, to milk money out of me?’

‘No, it was the truth.’

‘Didn’t he tell you where he was going?’

‘Yeah, he did. But people lie. People lie all the time.’

‘Were you lying when you told me where he is?’

‘Maybe.’ He started tossing the horseshoe from one hand to the other.

I decided it was time to leave, whilst I still had my dignity.