Steal My Stuff: sf

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Vladimir & Estragon

“Ah, Estragon.”

“Morning Vladimir.”

Estragon continued mopping the metal floor as his colleague shuffled toward him, broom in hand.

“And how has your night been, old one?” said Vladimir.

“Old one he says. Listen to him. As if he's the spring chicken.” Estragon licked his lips. “You're catching up, you know.”

“I'm catching up? And how's that possible dear Estragon, answer me that?”

“Hm?” said Estragon, ear pointed toward his colleague.

“I said, how is that possible?”

“How's what possible?”

“How is it possible that I'm catching up? In age, I mean.”

“Oh, that's easy,” said Estragon. “It's well known that you age faster as you get older. You can't tell me a day today is the same as it was in your youth, old man.”

“Old ma-” Vladimir choked on the phrase. “And that's beside the point, if we aged as we got older, you'd be getting older faster than me. Which would mean, ipso facto, you will always be winning the race.”

“The race? Where are we racing now?” said Estragon.

“The race to the end.”

“What end? Where are we going? Argh, we're always going somewhere.”

“No, not somewhere,” said Vladimir. “The end isn't somewhere. It's more an...idea.” He leant his chin over the long broom handle as he brushed aside the debris of the corridor.

“We're headed for an idea?” Estragon removed his bowler hat and, through thick blonde hair, managed to scratch his scalp.

“Well, something like that. I forget the details.”

“And what is this idea? Can I hear it?”

“I said I forget the details. It doesn't matter.”

“It does,” said Estragon. “I'd like to know where we're going.” He mopped one portion of the floor, the wet fibres only managing to give his holy shoes a clean. “Where did you hear this?”

“Oh, I don't know,” said Vladimir, straining his gaunt face. “Everyone's heard it, at one time or another. You've heard it, the-”

“I've heard it?” said Estragon. “When did I hear it?”

“When you were younger, perhaps.”

“Younger? You're not too far off me, you know, in the age department. And you're gaining.”

A heavy jolt almost knocked Vladimir off his feet. “And what are they doing now?” he said, steadying himself.

“Ah, I'm wondering that myself. They've been at it off and on all night.”

“Who has? The flight crew?”

“Hm?” said Estragon.

“What's been off and on?” said Vladimir, louder. “Are they shooting targets out there?”

“Could be, could be. You might be on to something. All I know is that I've barely been able to get a nap in.”

“Do you think they know where to aim? That they're not meant to shoot the ship?”

“Oh it's all their hair,” said Estragon. “The roots get too long and infect the brain.”

“You're one to talk,” said Vladimir.

Estragon blew the long blonde locks out his eyes. “No, not me, them,” he said. “No offence.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Well with the, you know,” said Estragon, his hand wavering a finger toward his colleague's head. “No offence meant.”

Vladimir squashed down his own bowler hat. “Yes, well, I'm getting older you know.”

“I knew it! I told you!”

“You told me what?”

“You're getting older. Like I said.”

“Well done. You win.”

“Not another race?” said Estragon. “To be honest, I'm a bit too tired for races.”

As he was speaking a din grew in the distance, followed by a swarm of soldiers each with clean and ironed uniforms of blue, stamping their boots with vigour across the clean wet floor.

“Hey, hey, watch it!” said Estragon.

They were already buzzing away when Vladimir let out a half-hearted addendum, saying, “He's only just done that bit.”

“Thanks for your help,” said Estragon.

“What? I called out. I did my bit against the evil imperialists.”

“Oh yes, you showed them.”

“You already did that part of the corridor. I know. I told them. It's all sorted out now.”

“Thank you my brother. What else will you do for me? Feed me grapes in my parlour? Hold me up when I go to the toilet? Clean my shoes?”

“Your shoes get a good cleaning at any rate,” said Vladimir, nodding at the wet tattered fabric.

“Hm?” said Estragon, believing that scrunching his face would improve his hearing.

“What? Hey? Where? When?”

“Oh alright then, make fun of me. You're such a sprightly one. Full of vigour and such. Well done you.”

“Just don't collapse on the floor and make me carry you some place. I don't think my muscles could take it.”

“Oh yes, that's it!”

“That's what?” said Vladimir.

“That's it, that's what.”

“What's it?”

“What I was trying to remember. You interrupted me. The soldiers that went past – they were soldiers, right?”

“I cede to your greater sight,” said Vladimir, adjusting his glasses.

“Ah yes. The soldiers. They shouldn't be running like that. It's a health and safety issue. What would have happened if one of them slipped and fell backwards? Oh I know, they've got a gun, and that makes them important; so important that they couldn't possibly slip on a wet floor and crack their head open.”

“That's the problem. Permanently in a hurry. Did I ever tell you that when I was younger I designed the interior of a colony class ship, and improved the internal transportation methods, cutting down on end-to-end journey time by thirty percent?”

Estragon stopped mopping and stared dully at his colleague. A smile slowly formed as a crease amongst many on his cherub face. “You did not. You didn't design anything.”

“I did! I designed even this one, I think.”

“Designed this one?”

“Or one like it. They're all pretty similar I suppose.”

“You didn't design this one.”

“I did! Read the plaque if you don't believe me.”

“Plaque?” said Estragon. “What plaque?”

“The one on the ship. Don't you always read the plaque?”

“Where is this plaque?”

“Depends on the ship. But it's in lots of places. Depends on the ship, of course.”

“Like where? Somewhere near here?”

“I suppose,” said Vladimir. “Down a corridor is as good a place as any to put a plaque.”

Estragon looked around. “On the wall, do you think? Or somewhere else?”

“On the wall, sure. On the wall. Or somewhere else.”

Estragon mopped his way to the angled metal corridor wall, saying, “About eye level?”

“Eye level. Aye.”

“Hmmm. There's something here.” Estragon scratched at the surface, leaning in with a squint. “This colony class vessel internals designed by Becky Sams.”

“Ah, Becky Sams. A good designer. Good.”

“You know her then? This Becky Sams?”

“Know her? She's a good designer, very good. The ship is in good hands.”

“So you're not Becky Sams?”

“I'm not Beck- Of course I'm not Becky Sams. Do I look like a Becky Sams?”

Estragon raised his hat, leant in, and peered at Vladimir. “No,” he said, at last. “So you didn't design it?”

“Design what?”

“This ship. You didn't design it.”

“Oh no, not this ship. Stands to reason. I would have done a much better job if I'd designed it. No doubt. Those soldiers wouldn't have needed to jog or run or walk or whatever is was they were doing.”

“So dangerous,” said Estragon. “Imagine all the crew downtime with all the injuries. Just imagine!”

The corridor shook with a jolt and the sound of crumbling beyond the walls.

“It's short term thinking, that's what it is. You know what they did? They had to add an extension to the port wing. An extension! All the new civilisations we're picking up and they didn't think they'd need a place for them to stay.” He hissed out his nose before wincing in pain at a cut on his finger.

“Why do they do that, then? No planning ahead?”

“They just get younger every year, brother. Youth breeds ignorance, if nothing else.” But he was focussed on his finger more than the words out his mouth.

“What'd ya do there?”

“Just a cut,” said Vladimir. “Only just noticed it.”

“When did you do it?”

“Only just noticed it, like I said. And why is it that I did it? Wasn't it done to me?”

“Hm?” said Estragon. “We're all purveyors of our own future. It all has to start somewhere. Stands to reason.”

“Why can't it just happen?” said Vladimir. “Like in those old dice games, you know the ones. Why can't it be like that? A quick throw, let go, see where the cookie crumbles.”

“What dice games?”

“Oh, you know the ones. What's-it and who's-it. The names aren't important.”

“If names aren't important, I've got a few I can call you. Names aren't important, he says!”

Vladimir sucked on his cut finger. “They aren't. If this was called a komboobally instead of a finger it wouldn't matter a smidgen.”

“Is it?”

“It is what?”

“Called a komboobally. Is that what they call it?”

“What who calls it?”

“I don't know, one of the other species. There are many, you know. They each have their own language. That's something they aren't interested in sharing. At least not at first.”

“It's not what anyone calls it. I just made it up.”

“A komboobally, you say? Not bad, not bad. Bit long. Way too long. But not bad. Gives a better feel for the joints, for all the bits that move and bend. Far better than finger.”

“Psh,” said Vladimir. “Now you're just playing the devil's.”

“Not infected, is it?” said Estragon with an upturned nose.

“I only just did it.”

Estragon noticed a chink and went for it, saying, “Ah-”

“I mean, it was only just done to me. Before you start again.”

“You're not one of the important ones, you see; not important without a gun. So it's not worth it for them to help you. They can ignore your arthritic legs and tennis elbow and your cut and your Alzheimers.”

“Alzheimers?” said Vladimir. “Who's got Alzheimers?”

“Never mind.”

“No, what do you mean Alzheimers?”

“Ah, you've forgotten. Never mind, never mind.”

“They think we're just cogs in a wheel,” said Vladimir.

“Who does?”

“They think anyone can come in and clean this place just as well.”

“Who thinks that?”

“They do, they! Now who's the one with Alzheimers?”

“You know, you should get it checked out,” said Estragon. “The finger, I mean. Not the Alzheimers.”

“No,” dismissed Vladimir, rubbing any excess blood on the torn shreds of cloth he wore.

“You should. Really. They have to write it down, put it in a report. Shows how dangerous the job is. We might even get danger pay.”

An ostentation of pilots, with red pin stripes and gelled blonde hair, crashed through Vladimir and fled away down the corridor, woollen hoods bouncing against their backs.

“No, you need a nice uniform for that,” said Vladimir, looking past the stained beige blanket his colleague wore. He slowly lowered his head and went back to sweeping.

After a moment Estragon clutched his grumbling stomach. “Been a long shift,” he said after noticing Vladimir's accusatory stare.

“Have you tried the Xinghoola?”

“Are you still talking about your finger?”

“No, not the komboob-something, the Xinghoola.”

“So it's food, then? Nice, is it?”

“Sure it's nice. I wouldn't bring it up if it wasn't nice. They only have it in the mess upstairs.”

“Ugh. Too far to travel,” said Estragon, out of breath. “Too far. A pity. What does it taste like?”

Vladimir put on his thinking man's pose, resting his chin on his hand on his broom pole. He twisted his head one way, then another. Finally he opened his mouth and answered, “Chicken.”

As if laughing from an incredibly funny joke the corridor shook with a larger jolt, dislodging debris from the rafters. A single soldier, racing toward them, slowed to keep his balance.

“Heyo!” said Estragon. “My friend! I haven't seen you in such a long time.”

The man, for that is what he clearly was despite the vulgar attire, exhibited a shocked expression, which slowly straightened as realisation dawned. “Estragon,” he said, hesitating. “Nice to see you.” The corridor and his own uniform seemed to attract his attention more than the large old cleaner.

“Yes, yes, good to see you up and about,” said Estragon. He nodded toward the insignia on the man's shoulder and added, “You've had improvements, I see. Pushed up. You've been pushed up.”

In response to the man's confused stare, Estragon added, “They've bumped you up to Chief Petty Officer now.”

“Uh, yeah. Look, I gotta-”

“Nice, nice,” said Estragon. “Chief Petty Officer Pozzo. Has a nice ring to it. Your mum must be proud, I'm sure.”

“She is, yeah,” said Pozzo.

“How is she, your old mum?”

“Good. Good, yeah. Look, I really have to-”

“Ah, good,” said Estragon. He grabbed Pozzo by the arm and said, “Before you go – always in a hurry, I know – before you go, what's going on around here?”

“What's going on where?” said Pozzo.

The lights momentarily dimmed as the corridor shook violently with great comic timing.

“That,” said Vladimir, joining in.

“Oh,” said Pozzo. “Yeah, apparently Captain Nichols played a game of cards with the Nulu's. They accused him of cheating and now we're in an all-out war.”

“Not very lucky, then, this Captain Nichols?” said Estragon.

“So it's not our own long-haired lot practising?” said Vladimir. “It's a proper war going on out there?”

Pozzo's eyes widened as he said, “Yeah, it's a proper damn war. I've gotta go.”

“Make sure to say hi to your mum for me!” said Estragon to the shrinking figure.

“Another war, hey?” said Vladimir.

“Another one,” said Estragon. “When was the last, do you think?”

“Not long. Not long ago. It never is. They don't need much of an excuse to drag out the weapons. Then they can trot out the same lines, always about peace and-”

“They! They! There he goes talking about they's again. Who are these they's?”

“It's them, obviously,” said Vladimir. “I mean clearly. If it's not them, then who is it exactly?”

“Them who?” said Estragon.

“Oh, I forget exactly who. But you know who they are. Everyone does.”

“And they want peace, do they?”

“Not peace as such, no. They want to always be striving for peace, yes, definitely always striving. That's what they aim for. That's their goal. To always be striving for peace.”

“But they don't actually want peace?” said Estragon.

“Oh no, what would be the point in that? How can you keep striving for peace when you've already got it? Stands to reason.”

The lights dimmed again, this time to be replaced with a dim red. The P.A. crackled in anticipation as a monotone female voice said, “Red alert. Red alert. All essential personnel to positions immediately. Red alert.”

“All essential personnel. Essential, is that how it is?” said Vladimir.

“We're all essential, brother,” said Vladimir. “That's what they don't get. The ones who make decisions. The ones who roll the dice. You need everyone for a ship to run smoothly. Everyone. Especially out here in deep space.”

“Oh, if only. If only they knew that. The ones who make decisions. If only they knew that you need everyone. I see your point now, yes. Not thinking, that's their trouble. Not thinking at all.”

“Not caring,” said Vladimir. “It's the apathy that spreads itself out like tentacles. Like the tentacles of an octopus. Out to everyone.”

The P.A. continued to blurt out the same instructions, saying “Red alert. All essential personnel to positions.” It then added something new: “Please stand by for an important announcement.”

“Here we go,” said Vladimir, already looking up at the tiny monitor poking out from the wall.

“An announcement, did it say?” said Estragon. “What'd'ya think it'll be?”

“It'll be about fighting for peace, no doubt,” said Vladimir with a sigh. “Always striving. That's our goal: to strive.”

The scrolling Red Alert text on the monitor was replaced with the head of a clean-cut, sharp haired figure.

“Who's that?” said Vladimir, to a shrugging Estragon.

“All Personnel,” said the figure, “All personnel.”

“Did he just say all personnel?” said Vladimir. “That's us!”

“Your attention please. Your attention please.”

“Hm?” said Estragon, leaning his ear closer to the monitor.

“We've, uh, got ourselves embroiled in a bit of a conflic-” said the figure, quickly drowned out by an explosion and a large beam dropping between Vladimir and Estragon.

“Bit of a conflict?” said Estragon.

“But we need to pull together. All for one and one for all.”

“D'ya think that's the captain?” said Vladimir.

“One of the bigwigs,” said Estragon. “Definitely one of the bigwigs. Doesn't really matter which.”

The figure continued, saying, “It's at times like these I like to think about Earth and how important our mission is, out here in deep space. Just the other day I-” Distracted by whispering off screen, the figure shared his attention in quick flutters.

“You need to speak up!” yelled Estragon.

“I, uh...” said the figure, along with “well...” and “we need to strive for...” before the monitor went dead.

“Inspiring,” said Vladimir.

“Rousing,” added Estragon. “Just the tonic we need, oh yes.” He went back to mopping the floor under his feet. “Oh, look at the boot marks. They certainly aren't mine! What do they walk on?”

Vladimir peeked over Estragon's bulky frame, saying, “You'll never get that out. Not in a million years.”

“Ah well,” said Estragon, tightening his bulbous jaw. “Too bad. They'll have to put up with it.” He said the last part with a wink to his colleague.

“Yes, exactly, if they want it clean they can do it themselves. Stands to reason.”

Distant screams and sounds of gunfire interrupted, followed by a shrill whistle and the synthesised voice of the P.A. saying, “Sections C and D, make your way to escape pods in orange chamber. Sections C and D, make your way...”

“Well that escalated quickly, did it not?” said Estragon.

“If it means I can skip my shift, I'm happy to go along with their little plan,” said Vladimir with a yawn.

“We won't even get a spot on those things, you know. I've seen this before. Back on the last ship. They'll put women and children first. Then all those essential personnel who couldn't even repel a wave of...what were they called?”

“I forget. Something with a U in it, I think. Or a Z. But if I can take a seat while we wait-” Vladimir stretched his stiff back “-they can call themselves whatever they want. We could be waiting for a long time, brother - all day I imagine - by the time they sort themselves out.”

“Yes, looks like we'll be waiting a while yet.”

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

Do aliens dream of space operas? (Episode XIII)

-clop. Then silence. Then another clip. Then a scuffed clop.

Joe sensed Anne's body melt a little behind his. It felt good to be the man for a change, to stand guard before someone, to not run away. It also felt incredibly scary.

Another clip and the sounds stopped. The air was still and quiet. It was times like this that you'd hear all the whirring, creaking, and settling background noises that you'd otherwise ignore. But this time there was nothing. Just silence. It hurt Joe's ears, like a painful numbness.

Finally a clip, a clop, a clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.

'There you are. I thought I heard someone.'

Anne's shocked face failed to change for some time. Until it was replaced by the widest grin Joe had ever seen.

'Connie!' shouted Anne.

'Connie,' said Joe, unsure how to react.

'Connie?' said the voice of Ridley, moving quickly into the warehouse. 'Connieeeee,' he yelled, acting as a PA system for the Rat's Nest.

'Yes,' said Connie, matter-of-factly, as if coming in from an evening stroll. 'Connie.'

'Connie,' said Isaac. 'I vas busy finding solutions to your capture.'

'I hear you've been very busy of late,' said Connie. 'Especially in that little room of yours.'

Isaac curled a smile. 'Ya,' he said.

'We warr just comin' to bust ya out,' said Shamus.

'Quite unnecessary.'

'Aye, so it seems,' said Shamus.

They were all there now, inventing questions in their minds as they formed an ad hoc semi-circle around Connie.

'Ya, how did you eshcape?' said Isaac.

'I know a few people. High up people. Nothing special.'

Nothing special?! Joe was already feeling let down. He needed to at least hear detailed stories with daring and intrigue. Not evasiveness. 'But how?' he said.

'That's not important right now,' said Connie. 'I've put you in danger. We need to be out of here before sunrise.'

The nervousness he felt when he'd heard the echo of her shoes wasn't so much fear of who it might be, or fear for his own safety, or, more importantly, Anne's safety; it was a fear of falling back into his past self. Despite making big changes, positive changes, to his character, he still felt on the brink of falling back into his old ways; as if he teetered on the precipice and one little nudge would end it all. After sensing Connie's presence he felt let down and empty, almost lost. The plot had given him purpose. There was a clear sight of a future. Now it was just whisked away. He'd never know if the plan would have worked out, if he'd been right.

Doubts are like little creatures with hundreds of arms that climb their way around your body until they completely cover you. He hoped he'd be able to push them down, at least until they were all truly safe. The people that is, not the doubts.

'Are they coming?' said Anne. Her voice was strong and objective once more. She seemed completely in control.

'They will be,' said Connie. 'But we've got some time. I know of a few places we can go, people we can trust. Though we might have to split up. It'll be much harder to find one or two of us than the whole group together.'

Ridley's eyes were darting to everyone as they spoke. He opened his mouth, about to speak, then closed it.

Joe pushed the metaphorical little creatures down to his waist and spoke up. 'OK, we can do this,' he said.

'Come on everybody!' blurted Ridley. 'You can't be serious. We've got a damn matter transporter and you're talking about crashing on friends' couches!? Here's an idea: why not use the damn thing and get out of here?'

Both of Joe's eyebrows raised.

'And go vere?' said Isaac.

'Anywhere! Wherever it takes us!! I'm sorry for using so many exclamation marks but I'm really fired up about this!!! I was waiting for someone to say something, anything, but I could tell you were just going to look down at your feet and shrug your shoulders a lot, then do whatever Connie wanted. No offence Connie.'

Connie shook her head, dismissing any offence.

'Come on guys,' continued Ridley. 'Come on Joe. We've explored this place, great, it's terrible, no problem, let's go somewhere else. Simple.'

Anne looked at Joe.

'I guess,' he said, slowly. 'I guess he has a point. I don't really like it here. The place is pretty backward. It doesn't exactly give me awe and wonder, like I hoped. Not only that: I don't know if you've noticed, but it's quite racist.'

You were always one of the sharper tools, Joe. A spade perhaps? Ah, I make me laugh.

Anne looked stunned. In an instant she had lost any trace of her staid expression. 'You don't like it here?' she said, quietly, almost to herself.

'We should all go,' said Ridley. 'Connie?'

'I can't,' said Connie. 'There are too many people here who need me. I can't just abandon them.'

'It's not abandoning,' said Ridley. 'It's living life. You need to take care of yourself, too.'

Connie shook her head. 'No,' she said, speaking in such a way that showed no room for a change of opinion.

'Tank?' said Joe. 'You wanna come?'

'I like it here at the Rat's Nest,' said The Tank.

'There won't be a Rat's Nest,' said Ridley. 'It's over. Kaputt. Niet. Done.'

The Tank thought to himself. The others could see the strain on his face as the small brain inside his large head swirled. 'I want to stay here. With Connie.'

'That's where we belong, too,' said Shamus. Micky nodded.

The noob looked over to Isaac. 'You know,' he said, 'I think I have to go.'

'Ya, OK,' said Isaac.

The noob frowned and said: 'I'd love to stay. You've taught me so much. I just feel like there'd be less opportunity of making things now that the Rat's Nest will go away.'

Isaac nodded blankly, not paying a lot of attention.

The noob decided to forge on, to fully explain his reasons. 'Besides, I came through the wormhole looking for adventure. I wanted to be the protagonist in some speculative fiction novel, to fight aliens and discover the universe. The thing about those characters is they don't outstay their welcome. They get in, do what they have to, and leave. That's why I need to do the same.' He seemed pleased with his little speech.

'Good choice, noob,' said Ridley.

'Phillip,' said the noob.

'What? I think you've gone all loopy, noob. My name's Ridley. Ridd-leeeeee.'

'No,' said the noob, louder. 'My name. It's Phillip.'

Ridley clasped Phillip's shoulder in a very manly way, like a knight showing new-found respect for a former adversary.

'Good to finally meet you Phillip, son of Phillip's father,' said Ridley. 'Go. Rest. You shall need your wits about you, for we rise at dawn, to claim what was ours of birthright.'

The others gave him confused glares. But that didn't stop him from continuing:

'Yes, my lieges, the battlements we assembled shall not go to waste. The king will know soon of our bravery. Minstrels shall sing canards in our name, long after our escape.'

The others continued to give him confused glares. Except Joe.

'You aren't suggesting we should continue the plan?' said Joe, secretly hoping he did in fact mean that. 'We've got Connie back. That was the point.'

'There were two aspects to the plan, loser,' said Ridley, moving expertly from poorly formed middle-aged rhetoric to his traditional classy dialogue. He stopped short of any further explanation for dramatic affect. He waited. Someone finally bit.

'You wanna blow up the Emperor?' said Shamus with a twinkle in his eye.

'Call it a going away present,' said Ridley.

'That's not such a bad idea,' said Connie. 'It would take them months to fully recover. And in the meantime, we could get ourselves better positioned.'

'And who knows,' said Anne, 'it might leave the door open for proper regime change.'

'Real change,' said Micky. 'Not just some fancy slogan.'

General agreement lead to plans which lead to actions which lead to the Rat's Nest working together one last time to punch a whole right through the O.L.'s. Oh, I could give you a blow-by-blow of the whole ordeal. I could elaborate on the debate over who should take the device to the guards *spit*, about who should go through the wormhole as faux fresh immigrants, about who should take the actual weapon into the room, but you'd probably get bored. Suffice to say there was plenty of action – so much that my fingers would hurt from typing it all. So I can't exactly give you that much detail since...you know...fingertips, etc.

OK, fine, there were explosions and lots of bits flying everywhere, none of which belonged to the bodies of our intrepid Rat's Nest inhabitants. There was even a cigar-puffing end where someone said:

Mr T posing with large gold chains around his neck.

Figure 13-1: 'I love it when a plan comes together.'

It was all done on quite a fast timeline, too, which would give them enough time to leave before the expected revenge attack.

Which is where we pick up our story once more, after the largest anti-climax in history, with Anne standing before Joe with a stolid expression.

'That went well,' she said.

'Better than I expected,' said Joe. 'Thanks again for, err, saving my life.' He raised a sooty and wrinkly forearm.

'Are you sure you don't want me to treat that?' she said.

'Nah, I'm tough. Bit of fire won't hurt anyone.'

'Mm,' she said absently. Her eyes darted in every direction but Joe's face. Eventually she said: 'How much longer till the big exit?'

'Just waiting on Isaac to calibrate the transporter. Apparently the more power you put in, the further it takes you. And the noob has been able to work out whether we'll land on a planet or just the vacuum of space. I'm hoping for the former.'

'Good,' said Anne.

'All done, laddie,' said Shamus in the archway. 'They're setting it up outside, away from anything flammable. Just in case.' He winked and left like a shot.

'Looks like we better say goodbye, then,' said Anne, looking up at Joe's eyes.

'What do you mean?' said Joe. 'You're coming too, right?'

'I can't,' said Anne. 'I can't just leave Connie. Not after what she's done for me.'

'Are you serious? She'll be fine. She has lots of burly blokes to take care of her.'

Anne lowered her eyes and, at length, closed them. 'The last time I went through a wormhole I had to fight for my life. I don't think I can do that again.'

'I'll be there with you this time,' said Joe, showing mucho bravado. He pulled her close to him, his arms around her lower back.

She looked up into his eyes. 'But grandfather was with me last time. And we got split up.'

'We won't get split up. I promise.' Joe's words were strong, but his voice still cracked. She couldn't possibly want to stay here, could she?

Anne looked up at him and quickly relented, following the plot as much as her heart. Then a thought struck her. 'Grandfather! What about grandfather? I can't leave without him.'

This is your chance, Joe. Have you grown enough to be a big man? Will you tell her the truth about her grandfather? Will you conveniently leave out the last words that you didn't actually hear? The ones that could have given this lovely girl some closure and made the grieving process easier? Oops, have I let the cat out the bag?

Will you make me a liar?

'I know it's hard,' said Joe, slowly, almost to himself. 'But...he would want you to leave now, to be safe. You've managed to survive so long without him and...he knows that. He knows what you've become, how strong and wise and...well, pretty amazing.'

Joe smiled at Anne with pursed lips. She looked back at him without expression. Joe wondered if he'd stuffed it all up. Maybe she would start asking questions, like how did he know all this?

He continued: 'I feel pretty lucky to have met you. All this time I've kind of fumbled through life, doing the least necessary to survive. But now I don't want to just survive. I want to really live. That's why I need to leave this place and take a jump through the wormhole. You make me want to strive for something better, to show that I really am someone. I'm...not quite there yet, but I will be. With you.'

She blinked. A small tear dropped to her cheek and she leant in to Joe, kissing his lips tenderly. He felt the warmth of her mouth as the coldness of her tear touched his face, becoming merged, something they both shared.

OK...that wasn't bad. Not quite the failure I was expecting. Still, we've been waiting since episode IV for the whole grandfather payoff, and that was it? Talk about a massive anti-climax.

Wait a minute, was this a bigger anti-climax than the skimmed over attack of the O.L.s from earlier in this episode? You be the judge:

'So will you come with me?' said Joe. 'Fight or flight?' He smiled warmly.

Anne couldn't help but smile back her response. 'Let me get my stuff together,' she said.

The wormhole wooshed into existence. The air around it felt thicker and a darkness fell into place.

Connie, Shamus, Micky, Isaac, and The Tank all stood at a respectful distance, perhaps in case of an emergency, which would suggest that “respect” == “not getting blown up”. Joe, Anne, Ridley and the noo...Phillip all stood brightly in front of the wormhole, like the holy quadra...quadry...like four horsemen of the apocalypse? Maybe I should avoid religious iconography. They looked more like inter-galaxy travellers or hitchhikers on their way to a new location, without the help of any guide.

'Good luck,' said Connie, formally.

'Pfft, we don't need luck,' said Ridley.

'Ba-bye boys and girls,' said Joe. Goodbye Connie. Goodbye Shamus, Micky. Goodbye Isaac. And Tank...I think I'll miss you most of all.' He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

The Tank looked back and, despite his great size, his imposing presence, his manly lack of emotions, he...certainly didn't cry if that's what you're expecting. Sheesh. Haven't I taught you anything?

If you managed to foresee that little switcharoo, consider me pleased with your progress young padawan. Now watch movies and read stories with that same eye to clichés. Don't let them get away with it! Evil face.

Isaac moved a step or two forward. 'I sink zis is yours, ya?' he said.

Phillip reverently took the circular piece of metal from Isaac's hand. He read the inscription on the back: All My Heart, All My Love, Always.

'Thank you,' said Phillip. He didn't need to say he'd treasure it or that it would remind him of the friendship they'd forged over such a short space of time, because that kind of thing is implied. I thought you were learning! A padawan you are not, it seems.

'That looks similar to my grandfather's watch,' said Anne.

'Oh, how interesting,' said Ridley, examining the timepiece in great detail. 'I wonder if this means that...we can stop gawking at useless crap and finally get out of here!'

Hmm, forget what I just said about clichés. I'm awesome! That's all you need to remember. Smiley face.

Joe took Anne's hand. 'You ready?'

'Yes,' she said.

'Scared?' he asked.

'Yes,' she said.

Joe chuckled. 'Same. But we'll be alright. I'm an old hand at this.'

They both stared at their future.

You know, I'm quite proud of the character you've become Joe. From someone who shies away from any responsibility to one who just blew up a government.

'Thanks, err, whoever you are,' said Joe.

'What?' said Anne.

'Nothing.' He smiled.

You're welcome. But who knows what will happen when you step through that wormhole? You might go back to being your old loser-y self. You might find that the stressful situation will find you crawling back to your corner, avoiding contact with everyone, even Anne.

Joe hesitated for a moment. Then an energy coursed through his being. 'No', he whispered. 'I've changed. I've grown up. And it feels good. Real good. There's no chance I'll go back to how I was. Wherever we end up.'

With that they all jumped through the wormhole.

No chance, you say? We'll see about that, little man. Winky face.

Episodes I-XIII are dedicated to Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett. Thank you.

THE END...or is it?

Yes, it is.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Australia License

Do aliens dream of space operas? (Episode XII)

'So lets go over the plan holistically, make sure the bits fit.'

Joe stood in front of the assembled personnel. They were all quiet, attentive. He could hear the sound of his own voice, strong, without nerves. He also imagined hearing the Mission Impossible music (or something eerily similar yet far less copyrighted) playing over the top.

daaa daaaa
Da dada da
daaa daaaa.

He felt a surge of energy with all eyes on him. There was Isaac and the noob, sitting up front like good schoolchildren; there was The Tank, taking up a large portion of the middle of the room; there were the twins up back, unusually silent; next to them were four empty spaces where the three men and one woman of The Underground should have been, after having arrived with perfectly clichéd appearance,

only to have left promptly upon hearing the phrase “preparation”; and to his side, with an encouraging smile, was Anne.

daaa daaaa
Da dada da
daaa daaaa.

'Ridley, Tank,' continued Joe, 'you go straight to the Emperors Tower and demand to see the Emperor himself. They'll refuse. The guards will be Black Shoes, but don't let that scare you.'

The Tank hruffed. Loudly.

'Sell them on the idea that what you've got could change everything. Sell it big. Don't show them anything until you've gone further down the sales pitch, though. Let them know you're only doing this for personal profit, that you're sick of fighting for food. Let them know that what you've got will solve their little sanitation problem.'

Joe smirked at Ridley. He continued:

'Tell them how you've got this wonderful technology that will solve their biggest problem, that you can force the wormholes from Earth to pop up in the location of their choosing. Straight into their jails, if they like. Only after saying this should you show them the device. And make sure it's safe enough to give them a demonstration. They're only guards so they'll be impressed by anything shiny.'

I'd like to point out that I don't personally endorse Joe's thoughts on guards. I think they are an important part of modern society. Perhaps a little lazy at times, sure, but who isn't? And certainly not the most intelligent of workers. Granted, they can be quite cowardly when push comes to shove. But ultimately they do a wonderful job. Bouncers on the other hand...

'This is where you come in,' said Joe, with a look toward the noob. 'Have you spoken to Adam Douglas?'

'All done,' said the noob. 'He assured me that they will agree to the deal. They are desperate. Blah, blah, blah.' (Does it really matter what else he said?)

'Good,' said Joe. He didn't know how the noob had been able to get in contact with the drug-addicted white-suited smooth-talking hyphen-inducing man, and privately cast admonitions my way for not having already established any of this in the story. Especially harmful to the believability was the explicit mention of no communications equipment.

He also pondered how the noob had convinced the man to help. With drugs, maybe? But how would he have access to them?

I could have filled him in on that part. Isaac had a few reds inside his watch (or is that technically the noob's watch?) back from when he was working with the local human gangs. Perhaps I should have mentioned it a few episodes back? Whoops. Oh well. Consider yourself informed.

Having no knowledge of this, Joe plunged on with his instructions to the noob:

'Set up the other end of the matter transmitter here. Then once it's opened up, jump on through. They'll arrest you and hand you over to the Cowboys.'

Ridley grinned at Joe's use of his nickname for the creatures. 'Nice,' he said.

Joe continued with his instructions. Not so much to ignore Ridley, that was merely icing; his focus was on making sure the plan got executed as well and as quickly as possible. 'They'll take you away to the temporary holding area.' Assuming they have agreed to the deal, thought Joe.

The noob probably nodded his head or something like that. But Joe was still worried about how desperate the Cowboys really were. It was clear they were enslaved with transmitters, fixed to this dimension, forced into labour by the O.L.'s. So surely the promise of freedom would be enough recompense for their help.

'Oh,' said Joe, looking at The Tank and Ridley, 'and if they take you away too, which they probably will, they'll send you to the same place.'

'Oh, it'll be fine then,' said Ridley with the brutal force of all his sarcasm. It was a level 9 at least.

'You'll be OK,' said Joe. 'But I'll get to that later.'

'Sure,' said Ridley, 'as long as the Cowboys are in on it. Quite a lot rests on that assumption.'

'We don't have a choice,' said Anne. It was the first thing she'd said since the meeting started. The words hung in the air with no one willing to argue the point, not even Ridley.

To Joe's mind, the air of excitement had been sucked out of the room as they were reminded of why they were doing this. His earlier confidence had been partially based on the thrill of the plan, the kind of thing you'd see before a heist in some Ocean's 50 sequel. Now that the point of the meeting had been reinforced, it was all a bit too...real. He tried to get the tone back on track, at least in his own mind, with some more exhilarating background music.

daaa daaaa
Da dada da
daaa daaaa.

Yeah, that was better. His chest stuck out as he continued the low-down: 'After they witness the veracity of the device, the guards will quickly pass it on, up their chain of command.'

'Why?' said Ridley. He crossed his arms. 'Why would they do that and not just use it themselves?'

'Because they're guards,' said Joe. 'Who ever heard of a smart guard?'

'I've heard of selfish guards,' said Shamus.

'And ones that are on the take,' said Micky.

I must say, I'm shocked at such a strong anti-guard sentiment. I'd put together a protest and march on the streets with big signs and bigger bull-horns, but...you know. *shrugs*

Joe took a deep breath. 'That's not the way the Black Shoes work. They are chosen from those most disciplined so as not to be corrupt. They will fight to be the first to give it to their immediate superior. They will want the rewards of duty.'

He didn't say how he came to know this information. Some might suspect him of being more intelligent than he appeared. Others would realise how obviously wrong that statement was, and surmise that Anne had told him. Still, it was enough to win over the Rat's Nest.

'The rest of us will stand by until the device works its way up to the Emperor.'

This was a big worry. He was fairly sure it would get there, as each rank of the Black Shoes, and further to the O.L.'s, would want to send it straight to the top as soon as possible. But still, it would take time. And time was something they didn't have.

The plan wasn't unravelling just yet. The mission impossible beats in his head were a bit slanted, though, a bit off-key.

daaa daaaa
Da dada da
daaa daaaa.

'Once the device has made it into the hands of the Emperor O.L.,' continued Joe, 'and switched on, Anne will go next, with the transmitter removal tool hidden on her body.'

He looked at her body. Come on, what choice did he have? He mentioned it, she was standing nearby, it was only natural he'd look at it. All those curves and smoothness and warmth. It gave him good thoughts and bad thoughts. Well, bad thoughts about good thoughts. Or should that be good thoughts about bad thoughts? He coughed and continued:

'Remember, act like you were just on Earth and you've been unexpectedly shoved through a gaping hole.'

The twins made a few jokes about shoving and holes, which didn't help Joe's focus.

He didn't really want Anne involved in the plan but she was the only one who knew how to remove the transmitters. Even if there was someone else, there was no way she'd let them do this without her.

'Once she's through,' Joe said 'Anne will get straight to work on removing the Cowboys' transmitters. It'll be a great good-faith gesture. That way, we can get them to find Connie as soon as possible and get her – and everyone else – out of there.'

'When do we get to squeeze through the hole, then?' asked Shamus, with a wink. Joe cringed. I think it was more at my use of a stereotypical over-the-top wink than at any crass humour.

'Next up,' said Joe. 'But space yourselves a bit. We want it to look random.'

'To be sure, to be sure,' said Shamus.

That even made me cringe. Sorry.

Joe paused at the next part of the plan. He wasn't entirely sure how this would happen. There really needed to be better communication systems in play. He hoped that if they did get out of this and manage to transport themselves away from this place, it'd be nice to go some place where phones are prevalent. Or better, some kind of high-tech brain->brain communications mapping. That'd be cool. Or, would have been cool.

That last bit was directed at me. Sigh.

It might get down to just winging it, Joe thought. Just like on Earth: close your eyes and jump through the hole, without knowing what's on the other end.

'Once Connie is out, once you're all out, let me know,' said Joe. He was looking at them all. It didn't matter who told him as long as they did. He turned to Isaac. 'Have you got the weapon working how we want?'

'Ya, I have rigged up ze trigger so zat she overloads on release.'

'On release?' said Joe, shocked. 'What do you mean on release?'

'It is like a dead man's svitch,' said Isaac. He shrugged.

'Why?' said Joe.

'It vas ze most elegant vay to achieve ze desired outcome, ya?'

'Err no,' said Joe.

'So wait,' said Ridley, 'he'll take the thing through to the other side, then when he releases the trigger...ka-boom?'

'I sought you vould appreciate ze self-sacrifice. It vould be helping all of ze people.'

Joe looked at him, aghast. 'You thought I'd want to be a suicide bomber?!'

Ridley laughed. 'We all bear risks with this plan, Joe,' he said.

'Why would I want that?' said Joe.

Isaac started responding but his words were drowned out by a much more animated Joe. 'This is a recovery mission. We're trying to save someone, not bring down a government. I'm no martyr.'

Ridley wouldn't take the horrible grin off his face.

Joe hadn't realised until now, but Anne was holding his arm. It was like a magic transportation device where strength flowed into him. It didn't matter that no one else seemed to be on his side. But why would he self-sacrifice if there were other options?

'Can you rig it up so that it only overheats after I press a button?' asked Joe, trying to keep calm.

'Ya, I'm sure zat could be done. If you vant it.'

'Oh, I vant,' said Joe.

He felt his heart beating against his chest. He was nervous enough without having to worry about exploding randomly. 'Perhaps you should get started on that now,' said Joe, with a quiver in his voice.

'Ya, I can do zat,' said Isaac. The noob followed behind quietly.

Joe let his fingers find Anne's hand and held it in his own. There wasn't much more to the plan but he was finding it difficult to finish. It was all catching up to him. Maybe he hadn't really changed at all. Perhaps the extra confidence, the more willing personality, was just a temporary boost, something that would fall over and die just before he did (i.e. real soon now). His whole body drooped as he deflated emotionally. He looked around at the faces of Shamus and Micky, of a grinning Ridley, of Anne. He wanted more than anything to just curl up in the corner and let them all sort it out. But he'd made a promise. You could call him a lot of things: fat, ugly, introverted, passive, shy, humourless, unintelligent, impersonal, disagreeable, grumpy, purposeless, sexually-frustrated,... oh, err *cough* but promise-breaker ain't one of them.

CLANGGGGGGGGG...

Joe jumped.

The room shook.

They all turned to see the noob standing with a red face next to a large fallen piece of flexible metal.

'Sorry?' he said.

I should have pointed out that this scene is taking place in the Play Pen. It seemed best to hold a secret heist-type meeting in a secret gadget-filled room. Yeah, I don't get it either, but I'm sure it made sense to Joe at the time.

'So like I was saying,' said Joe, 'once you're all out of range and we've got Connie, I'll send through the overheated weapon.'

He had a bad feeling. The kind that says this plan won't go according to, well, plan. The plan of the plan will not, in affect, be well planned. Hang on, I'm going off track here. Joe felt his stomach twist in strange ways. His bad feeling (oh yeah, that's what I was talking about) made its way slowly up his neck and into his conscious brain. The plan should work, in theory, but it just might involve exactly the kind of self-sacrifice he was trying to avoid.

Being terrible with technology was simply the source of a bit of humour back on earth. If you couldn't get your new phone to actually send a phone call, that'd generate a few derisive laughs from onlookers, sure, but you wouldn't find your bones separated from your skin in quite the same way as an explosion. The bigger problem was all the small holes in the plan. Imagine the plan was a large boat. Not the titanic though, since it sank, which would be bad for the plan. Instead, imagine a large yacht, cutting swiftly through the sea with a nice tail wind and plenty of salty sea-dogs to help you on your way (is that what sailors in yachts want, salty sea-dogs?). So you're making good speed when you discover a hole in the hull. Not a massive hole by any stretch, but enough to see the sea through. So rather than be a little dutch boy, you'll refrain from “fixing” the hole by sticking your fingers in. Instead you'll...but wait, what's that? Another hole? The same size but on the other side of the hull. Then another. And another. Pretty soon you're swimming in holes. Pretty soon after that, you're swimming in the ocean. No big holes, just lots of little ones. That's the way Joe felt about the plan. And he didn't want this ship to sink.

He tried to conjure up the theme song in his head once more, to bring back some mojo, but for some reason the tune wasn't coming to him. He would have settled for Gilligan's Island at this point. Instead, he had to stand in the relative silence of the soft metallic noises of Isaac and the noob.

'Any questions?' he said, meekly.

'I've got one,' said Ridley, sitting back. 'What happens when something goes wrong? What happens when things don't go quite to plan? What do we do if we get caught before making it to the Emperors Tower? What happens if the Cowboys aren't on our side? Will the device definitely find its way up to the Emperor O.L.? What happens if we can't even find Connie, if she's not even held there, or...' He looked at Anne. 'What happens if she's already dead?'

Anne's eyes bulged. 'She'll be alive,' she said, almost trying to convince herself. 'They will want to find out all those she “corrupted”.'

She really did speak the quotes around corrupted. It's quite a skill.

'Thanks for enumerating all the potential problems with the plan,' said Joe, stepping in quickly. 'Perhaps you've got some ideas on how to fix them? On what we can do instead?'

Ridley smirked. 'Hey, it's not my job to come up with this crap. I'm here to tear it down, find the holes.'

'Do you even want to help?' said Joe. It may as well get said since he'd been wondering it the whole time, in the back of his mind. 'Do you care about saving Connie or would you rather leave her and find a way to survive here on your own?'

'Hey, I'll do whatever,' said Ridley with a shrug.

You probably would, thought Joe.

'What about you guys, any problems with the plan?'

The twins looked back at him sedately. Perhaps the seriousness of what they were getting into was hitting them, too.

'No problem,' said Micky.

'Good,' said Joe. 'Then we should all make sure we're ready to go as soon as Isaac has the weapon ready.'

Joe stepped into the warehouse. He looked around at the darkened aisles, the mud fixtures, the high ceiling. It already felt like the past for him, like something he used to do, like grandparents you acknowledge and respect, but never want to visit again.

'You did really well,' said Anne, stepping beside him.

'Thanks,' said Joe without much enthusiasm.

'I think it's a good plan,' said Anne.

Plan, plan, plan, plan;
plan, plan, plan, plan.
Plan rhymes with spam!

'We'll get her back,' he said, turning to watch her glassy eyes.

In response she showed a brave smile.

They stood in silence, looking out at the centrepiece of the Rat's Nest, taking in its significance. OK, so maybe Anne had more of a connection to the place than Joe, but without it, neither would have survived long.

'We won't be able to stay here, though,' said Anne. 'Not after.'

'I know,' said Joe. I've got some ideas on that.'

'Good,' said Anne. She turned slowly and faced him. 'I'm really scared,' she said.

'Me too,' said Joe, much louder and faster than he had anticipated, adding a nervous chuckle. He gave her a big hug and felt her body cold, almost shivering.

'Do we have to blow them up?' said Anne, muffled in Joe's chest.

'I think so,' said Joe. 'We'll be in worse shape if they can come after us. Don't you think?'

'Mm,' she said.

Joe pulled back and let his arms fall to Anne's waist. He lifted one hand and touched her face, feeling dampness on her cheek. Their faces were drawn closer together, their lips almost touching, when a clip-clop sound echoed in the warehouse. They both twisted their heads abruptly.

'What's that?' whispered Anne.

'I don't know,' said Joe. He wasn't completely lying, he didn't actually know. But he did suspect. It wasn't the sound the twins make. Ridley would be moving faster and probably shouting out some kind of inane comment. The noob and Isaac would be locked in the Play Pen until they came up with a solution to the dead man's switch. And it certainly wasn't The Tank.

The clip-clops continued, getting louder, getting closer. Like the tick of a clock, they reverberated against the high ceiling of the warehouse. Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-

Episode XII is dedicated to classic movie themes*.

*That's classic movie-themes not classic-movie themes. GOOMHR!

Find episode XIII here.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Australia License