 
# The Fez Journeys On

### L. T. Hewitt

### Also by L. T. Hewitt:

NOVELS

The Fez (2012)

POETRY

Black or White Checks (2012)

The Fez Journeys On

By L. T. Hewitt

Copyright 2013 L. T. Hewitt.

Smashwords edition

### Chapter 1

### "Wow," said the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack.

Three of his friends had just vanished. That would generally be a sufficient reason to say 'wow' at the very least. But that wasn't the most shocking or wowable part; the Space Chicken knew how the Fez worked. The reason for his interjection towards no-one with ears was that the person he had expected to open the Fez had joined the ranks one of those who failed to do so.

It all added up perfectly, he told himself. One letter different from being a future leader, but he was just an average Joe, albeit an alien one. Dave Gray, the Space Chicken's companion for the journey to the Fez. David Gratton, the dystopian leader. It was widely accepted that they weren't the same person, and (peculiarly) they weren't. Dave Gray was a completely unspecial alien. It's a shame; he would have made a good Prime Minister.

But it wasn't like that, the Space Chicken thought. This wasn't a good thing. Quack had told him that this future leader David Gratton was a bad person. Or at least a bad leader. But they were essentially the same thing. What Quack said is that he'll bring about a new country. While improving the country and making a new one would usually be a good thing, David Gratton was actually going to replace Britain. It would not be a 'new' country so much as a new country. So the Space Chicken had to stop Gratton before he gained the power to create a new country. And, apparently, the power was stored within the Fez.

### If I could stop Gratton, thought the Space Chicken, perhaps Dave Gray could become the Prime Minister instead. But he was gone. Dave Gray had pressed the wrong button and had been transported home. It was all a big, sudden shock. And the Space Chicken needed to tell someone about it.

'I'm shocked,' he shared telepathically with his son, Fred Jr. As usual when he was lost, he was lost for words, so he said the obvious. 'I'm shocked. You don't seem shocked. Are you?'

### A crack appeared in Fred Jr.'s shell. A sign of confusion and, possibly, shock.

'You're not hatching, are you?' the Space Chicken asked excitedly.

'I am constantly hatching all the time. It may take several weeks or even months before I fully hatch.'

'Oh,' the Space Chicken sighed. The shock he was presently engaged in was quite tiring, and he had been hoping for some nice relaxing elation instead. In times of great peace, he sought distress. 'I'd better ring Quack and see if He has any problems to trouble me with.'

'That is rather pessimistic.'

'Well, I'm not solely asking after his issues,' the Space Chicken explained. 'I'm going to trouble Him with my problems as well as asking about His. Holy Sock, how selfless do you think I am‽' he exclaimed, offended.

### Fred Jr didn't respond and the Space Chicken falsely took this to mean he had succeeded in his side of the discussion, as he had observed in many others facing ignorance.

"Hello," he said aloud over the phone. "It's me, the Space Chicken."

"Ah, hello. How are you?" Quack responded.

"I'm a little confused."

"How, pray tell, exactly did you get confused in trying to find somebody?" This may have been too melodramatic. To a god's mind, it could never have been dramatic enough. Life, after all, is the drama which gets in the way of being.

"I thought Dave – you know, normal Dave – was David Gratton. He's not."

"Well, you can just carry on your search," Quack said simply. "Oh, and if you get the chance could you also stop a man known as Michael Rowland Daffodil?"

"Flipping Quack, Quack! How am I meant to stop all these people? I only rang You up to ask where to go."

"I was just saying," He justified. "For now you can just loiter around the Fez and I'll give you further instructions later. You shouldn't come across either of the people I have asked you to search for now,"

He hung up. The Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack looked at his son. Fred Jr looked at his dad – or at least would have, had he any eyes, so performed the closest gesture possible, which wasn't very close at all. 'I guess all we can do now is wait.'

### Chapter 2

### It's a well known fact (amongst teenagers) that parents of teenagers are annoying. Regardless of whether or not they have done anything wrong, the parents will be blamed of any and all ills present upon the surface of most planets. This is excluding, of course, those celestial bodies which consist many of plant life, and the moons of Joi which are solely inhabited by the more ignorant and careless of all creatures, ladybirds. Moving these set scenarios aside, we are left with a great many worlds where parenthood is the sole target of most angst.

Clint and Clein arrived at their house in Carpe Yolu. The two seventeen-year-olds had a chance to break free from their lives of cohabitating with their irritating parents. They were both very disappointed that they hadn't pressed the right button on the Fez. They had two shots at success – more than most people – both of which were arguably just for one person. In fact, there could be great debate as to whether Clint's pressing of a button followed by Clein's attempt gave them an unfair advantage. The question of whether that was one attempt each, or one combined effort for two chances possessed by one thinking mind formed the basis of a whole academic module in the Philosophy/Statistics course at the University of Darrkwonn, Atheia. It wasn't strictly unfair, since everyone had as many attempts as they liked to seek down the Fez and to push a button, and Clint and Clein – even though they were intelligent twins with identical minds and bodies – had soldiered each mass of flesh they possessed (henceforth, otherwise and formatively referred to as a 'human body') forwards in parallel motion. Regardless of whether the two twins were defined as one person or two, their mother had undeniably given birth to two bodies, both of which (seventeen years later) had walked towards the Fez and collectively used two of the twenty fingers developed from their parents' offspring to make an attempt to open the Fez.

The debate is entirely flawed, however, as there is neither a rule by the Fez Society nor a physical restriction which prevented each person from making more than one attempt to open the Fez when they visited. You could quite easily and acceptably, for example, spread out your body to enable you to press all the buttons your front side allowed. This is quite difficult when the Fez is moving away from you, but if the Fez is coming your direction, you can quite easily stand there, spread out and allow the force of several dozen people all pushing the Fez a metre at once crush you and prevent you from being able to comfortably exist for several days. The only problem this might present is that your pushing at many buttons simultaneously would (assuming they were all the wrong ones) send the Fez at least ten metres back in the direction from which the majority audience of the Fez was pushing, resulting in all those people being pushed into the Fez and into each other. As a direct consequence of all these people crashing front-first into the Fez's buttons at once (assuming none of them press the right button), the Fez would then fly off a few kilometres in the direction in which the first inconvenient pusher had been standing. Needless to say, if you want to push a button on the Fez, but don't want to anger thousands of people, it's best just to follow the crowd.

### Clint and Clein were considerably angry, although they themselves had only pressed two buttons and had managed to anger nobody but themselves. They moped around for a while, in a manner typical of sullen teenage boys, before deciding to moan a little at a friend – the route commonly chosen by people aged under... by people of any age.

### "And then we got sent all the way back home!" Clein cried, as though it were the most indignant thing anybody had ever heard of. Percietta, on the other hand, had heard plenty more indignant things, but played up to Clein's emotions for the foolish sake of friendship.

### "Oh, sounds bad," said Percietta.

### "It's stupid."

### "Sounds it."

### "Rubbish."

### "Who, me?" asked the offended schoolfriend.

### "No, 'it'."

### "What?"

The intelligent twins both sighed at their own lack of cohesion. "The fact that we got the wrong buttons is rubbish, because it means we got sent..." That was when Clein had the idea. The marvellous idea, which would go on (as many seemingly trivial ideas do) to shape the whole world. And, being his intelligent twin, Clint had an idea, too. The very same idea.

### Clein put down the phone. "Do you think it will work?" he asked his twin, knowing exactly what the answer would be.

### "I can only hope so."

### Chapter 3

Waiting is an essential part of life. We wait before making any big decision. Or, at least, we should. When we enter a shop and choose which item to buy or whether to buy any at all, we are given a queue which (much to the shopkeepers' dismay) allows customers time to think and evaluate our choices. As we wait for food to cook or hair to dry (or, unfortunately often, the adverse), we have time to think about everything. Sometimes to think about cooking, but mainly about roughly everything in general. And on 85th Quinquomber 2042 – just like the customary cooking pauses in restaurants he hated so much, but which allowed bother-makers and eaters the vital time to think or do – the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack had to wait.

### "It seems we spend a lot of our time waiting," the Space Chicken sighed. "Don't you agree, Fred Jr?"

### 'It is an essential part of any undertaking.'

"I suppose. I just wish waiting served some purpose."

'It provides one with time for reflection.'

"I suppose." The Space Chicken sighed again. "If you knew where David Gratton was, you'd tell me, right?"

'Certainly; that is to say I would co-operate providing I were certain my telling you would be of absolute benefit to the opposing party and to yourself."

"Ah." The Space Chicken frowned. "So, you probably wouldn't tell me if you knew?"

'It depends entirely upon the fulfilment of the criteria I just specified within the circumstance.'

"Ah," the Space Chicken said, nonplussed again. "So, would you tell me if you knew?"

'I may inform you that I know, if I ever do.'

The Space Chicken was by this point almost entirely perplexed: he would have been completely bewildered were it not for the fact that he could still remember most of the alphabet. "Do you know where David Gratton is?"

'No.'

"I'm not sure I believe that. Ah, who cares? I have faith in you."

'That appears to me to be rather foolish. Faith proves nothing.'

"Faith means that we know Quack exists and can be trusted."

'The fact that I know Quack means I know Quack exists. If I did not know Quack, I may suspect He did not exist. Even then I would need evidence, for faith can be foolish in any direction. If I had no evidence for or against any being beyond this universe, I would be forced into remaining ambivalent. This is the case with those beings beyond the realm of gods. God, for instance; the notion of an ultimate creator has (in this world) no evidence in support or against. Thus – whilst I may certainly form an opinion based on guesswork – to make a definitive claim that a God does or does not exist would be incredibly foolish, and render me a fool.'

### The Space Chicken looked at Fred Jr blankly. "I'm too tired for this. I'm always too tired for this. Can I just have a hug?" Fred Jr obliged.

Just then – like a fieldmouse tap-dancing its intrusion into a dinner party which soon becomes both disgusted and impressed with the talent on display and the relevance of formal art at a fancy dinner, leading to an overwhelming level of awe, crushing the disgust, and subsequently overthrowing the whole working of the organisation at tea in favour of a greater focus on art and wildlife, all because of a simple idea and a dash of waiting – a quiet voice began nearby the prophet and his son. "Excuse me." They looked around and saw a large, togaed, blonde, curly-haired lady with standing next to them.

"Yes, Oprah?" the Space Chicken responded. He was quite shocked to see her there. However, the number of shocks that day had already exceeded its limit, with the result that his voice would have ended the sentence in an upwards squeal regardless of whether it was a question or not. "What did you want?"

"Have we met somewhere before?" Oprah asked the Space Chicken melodramatically.

### The Space Chicken sighed and attempted to shake the confusion from his head. He wasn't very successful in doing so, but was vastly entertaining for anyone watching. "Maybe we've met, maybe we haven't. It depends on whether we're talking about your timeline or mine."

"Well put. I'm glad someone understands me." She calmed her tone from the level of opera teacher to that of musical sales assistant – a very minor change usually, but significant when you hear the two contrasted. The latter tone is usually preferable, surpassed in terms of vocal madness among people with melodramatic voices only by that of the enthusiastic cellist. Combined, the range available to such people makes up the tonic trio. "I am Ms O. Piano. I have been travelling around with my septet of musicians from the land of Humm." She gestured to the 'people' in robes behind her. "We were looking for a vehicle in which to further our voyages to distant lands." The Space Chicken frequently remembered his resentment towards his mother's excessive use of speech, and the memory cropped up again every time Oprah used an unnecessary description in place of a word readily accessible in the dictionary. "When such luck we discovered to be bestowed upon our very selves! Here before us was the magnificent specimen which is your deluxe 2040 Speedvan F81. Are you currently in the possession by which this automobile is your own?"

"No," the Space Chicken said abruptly, before the women found another opportunity to throw in description of something right in front of him. "By all means, take it."

### With that, the Humnian Musicians gave their greatest thanks (which they referred to as their 'heartiest'), climbed into the Speedvan and set off into space. The Space Chicken resumed with full force what he had been doing: waiting around and half-heartedly looking for David Gratton and now Michael Rowland Daffodil.

### Chapter 4

### Clint and Clein packed their bags with lots of food and promptly began to put everything they owned into two identical suitcases. They thought about this. Did they really want to lug all their possessions around with them, when they could just return here to get anything if they needed it? They took most of their things out the suitcases again, deciding they would come back and visit. As is the way with packing for travels, this process took an unmeasurably long period of time, extended primarily by the hypnosis of identical items passing back and forth before their eyes and by the tremendous boredom of allowing oneself to reach such a state wherein one questions whether or not clothes are a necessity. They put a large quantity of their possessions back in again. They then took it out a further few times. After mixing things up a bit more, they eventually decided what to take and what to leave. 'We'll come and visit' was soon the philosophy. They concluded upon taking only the necessary things. This was a strict rule, bent only to include their conjoined-twin teddies, Julian and Stella.

### When they reached the hallway, they were stopped. A plump woman with messy brown hair and big, vacant yet interested eyes stood before them, looking lost and bewildered. She moved quite gracefully for her size and appearance. This woman would take the news of their departure hardest of all.

"Where are you going?" she squawked, scrunching up her dress and staring through to the back of their skulls as she spoke.

"Mum," said Clint, "we are going away to find the Fez."

"You've just bin!"

"No, that was just a trip," Clint scoffed. "This is an expedition. We are going away to search for the Fez permanently."

"You mean yer leaving 'ome?"

"That should actually be literally ye're," Clint said, attempting to scoff.

"Actually, it should be you're," said Clein.

"But yer too young!" Oprah cried, making the same mistake again, under the forced belief (since she could not comprehend what Clint and Clein were talking about) that no subordinate conversation had occurred.

"We're seventeen! Most people leave home when they are our age."

### The scholar Krakennorm once performed a series of studies into the variety of reasons why boys and their mothers so easily get into arguments. He looked into the psychology behind trivial annoyances, he analysed childhood development and the onset of adolescence as a springboard for disagreement (with a particular focus on the nature of opinion-forming in the teen years as a significant factor in argumentative passion), but most importantly he sat in living rooms and at dinner tables while families bickered over slouching and eating habits (i.e. 'don't slouch at the dinner table' and 'don't have bad manners in the living room; that's what dinner tables are for').

### Krakenorm's research appeared to be a great success, but as the document neared its publication, his mother found it and was not best pleased. She feared the work would portray her in a negative light. Instead of acting rationally and releasing an opposing paper (as most parents would), she confronted her son and asked him why he was such a waste of space – an irrational concept, of course: in an infinite amount of space, none can be said to be wasted. Failing to provide an adequate response, Krakennorm the son promptly got into a heated argument with his mother, inevitably eating the research paper and asking, "Is this what you want? Is this what you want?" It wasn't. The whole debacle ended up being pointless, succeeding only in contributing to the vast wealth of uselessness in the universe. And, even then, any countable amount of uselessness in an infinite amount of space is only noticeable in high concentrations. It also resulted in the latterly popular phrase and one-time dictionary entry 'arguments: some mothers do have them'.

"Most people are getting ready to go to the good universities like Dogsbridge or Llamafoot," Clint and Clein's mother justified.

### Krakennorm's studies also suggested the university argument was quite a popular one.

"Yes, mum, we're going to uni."

"I told you not to use sarcasm on me," she said sternly.

"We're sorry; we thought you might have been being sarcastic at the time."

### The twins' mother was dumbstruck and stopped to ponder how one can ever be certain all others are not being sarcastic, during which time Clint and Clein shuffled closer to the door.

### The children's father entered the room, drinking a cup of tea. He looked the same as Clint and Clein, except he wore glasses and had a similar, though slightly less extreme, stuck-up hairstyle. He was in his late forties. He said nothing.

"Tell them, Calvin!" his wife screamed at him. "Tell 'em they're too young to leave!"

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, mum."

"It didn' have to be hard at all. It didn't even have to happen. Going away to waste your lives as hitch-hikers. You're the only children we've got!"

"You're the only children we've got," Calvin repeated simply.

"Look, mum, we're just going away to fulfill our dream."

"You're teenagers. Yeh've a new dream ev'ry few moments. You're not meant to run away because of them."

"That's the great thing about dreams," Clein said. "You can follow them. An accomplished dream is the only worthwhile kind. You've never had a dream, so you wouldn't understand."

"You're not the only ones who can dream!" she shouted in an explosion of fear, more inwardly than outwardly, bursting into floods of tears and sinking in her grief more quickly than she could conjure the words to throw. Calvin put an arm around her and acted as her support against the crushing feeling of their children departing. She got up the courage and postponed her vocal disability sufficiently to speak again. "I always wantid to run away an' be a sing-ger. But I didn'. I stayed an' lookt after you."

"That's great. Now you can leave and fulfil your dream as though you never had us."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"No, by all means go off and become a singer. Get a group together and tour around with them wherever you go – although, with a voice like yours, I don't think you could ever succeed. Just make sure you take all our other possessions with you. We left them for you. If you go off on a crazy adventure and leave the house forever, that's fine, but take our stuff with you."

"You can't be serious." Her heart sank at the thought that her own children had taken her seriously. They honestly expected her to leave forever.

"Bye," said Clint, "bye," said Clein.

### And with that final word, Clint and Clein left their house and stormed off into the world, never looking back. Their dad joined their mum at the door as she watched, with bleary eyes, her children leave their home and enter the world.

"Can I be one of the musicians?" Calvin asked.

### When one reaches an emotional state wherein it becomes difficult to stand upright – that most basic of tasks deprived – any words of mild comfort become a cure for distress. Pet names come out and a reminiscent nostalgia for modernity is born. "O' cause you can, Hawky my love." She still looked understandably worried and Calvin could see this.

### "They have managed on their own before," said Calvin, although he too was worried. "It's nothing new to them. And this is their dream." He said the last word with such conviction that he convinced himself at the same time. "Come inside. I'm certain they'll be fine, Oprah."

### Chapter 5

### A tremendous loneliness surrounded the Fez. The Space Chicken and his acquaintances had spent so much time and effort making it to this vast being that their sudden departure left him lonely and isolated, in perpetual fear of the strangers around him. He had Fred Jr to talk to, but was thankful when Quack rang up. It was a great relief to think that Someone wanted to speak to him.

"I have another idea," the god said.

"Oh, Chicken Foot."

"Please don't blaspheme to My face." Quack paused. "Hey! Don't blaspheme because you don't think I have good ideas. I do."

"Name one."

"I was just about to: you need to give something to Clint and Clein that will help them on their journey."

"Why, where are they?" asked the Space Chicken. Why do people move? he thought. It was enough trouble moving when one has to (as is the horrible situation of being a prophet), but why anyone would voluntarily transport themselves from their home to somewhere that wasn't their home was beyond the prophet—beyond any prophet.

"They're in Gord, on their way to the Fez."

"What‽" The Space Chicken stopped and thought logically. This was a popular hobby in Britain, though not on as many planets as you might have thought. The Space Chicken's theory in response to his thought ran thus, in as many premises:

### 1: Clint and Clein have already been to the Fez.

### 2: They're seventeen-year-old boys: they're lazy.

### 3: They wouldn't want to walk to the Fez again.

### 4: My hearing is limited.

### 5: I'm attempting to communicate across dimensions: it can never be fully accurate.

### Conclusion: Therefore, the only rational explanation is that I misheard Quack.

"Sorry, Quack, could You repeat that?"

"Clint and Clein are going to the Fez again."

"What‽"

"Also," Quack continued, ignoring the Space Chicken's interjection, "your logical calculus is invalid. It does not necessarily follow that if the five premises are true the conclusion will also be true."

"What‽"

"Just because there is reasonable doubt that you heard Me correctly, it does not mean that there is unfalsifiable evidence that Clint and Clein are not going to the Fez."

"What‽" the Space Chicken reconcluded. "Why are Clint and Clein heading towards the Fez again?"

"They're intrigued by the concept of opening it. Just the same as last week."

"But they know they can't open the Fez! David Gratton's going to open it, and they're well aware of this."

"Actually, you never mentioned anything about David Gratton in front of them."

"Of course I did." The Space Chicken paused to reassess his statement. "Right before they left, I shouted at Dave. Dave Gray, that is. I called him David Gratton. Clint and Clein must have heard that."

"They'd already left."

### The Space Chicken paused in thought once more.

'What was it that You would like us to accomplish?' Fred Jr asked.

"You just need to give them something to help them on their journey. Not much. No hard work."

"What?" asked the Space Chicken.

### "Well, since you have no need for the Speedvan..."

### Chapter 6

### He landed. A big thud on a theatrically carpeted hallway. Where am I? he thought. If everybody gets sent home when they don't open the Fez, then I must be... Unless I opened the Fez and this was what was inside. I could believe that. No, I definitely didn't open it. So... I must be home. But I'm not. Or am I? Where in which world am I?

"Right, we need 'at velvet cushin on that chair, Hawky. And I thinks we should 'ave ten— Who is that?"

"Oh – hm – sorry to intrude. I'm Dave Gray, nice to meet you." Dave stood up and extended an arm. It was traditional in his culture, for whatever irrational reason, to have it shaken in response.

"How'd you get in aw 'ouse?"

"I think he probably used the door behind him," said Calvin. "The Solid Oak Door we spent so much on will be far better at keeping intruders out when it arrives."

### Oprah turned to her husband and affectionately said, "I know, my Hawky-Love-Love." Dave began to retch. "I need to know why he intruded in our home."

### Dave was shocked at what he was hearing and also at himself for somehow breaking into the house. "I assure you," he said. "I didn't break into your house."

"We know. You just used the door. We really should have locked it."

"No, I didn't."

"Chimney, whatever. I guess we were naïve and didn't think that our society would mean people breaking or opening or climbing and entering in broad daylight."

"No, no."

"Perhaps we should give him a chance to explain himself, Oprah," Calvin said.

"Oprah? Wait," said Dave. "Have we met somewhere before?"

"Not to my knowledge. That's besides the point: explain yourself immediately."

"I was just – I opened – I pressed a button on the Fez and—"

### Oprah pricked up her ears. "The Fez? Oh come – sit down," she told him, urging him to a seat. "Make yourself at home."

### "So here the plan:" said Quack, running it by the Space Chicken one more time, "I want you to get the Spaceboat for Oprah and the Humnian Musicians."

"O HM."

"You can buy it from Gary's Vehicles in Gord. They're a great bargain in there, you know—" he began.

"I don't fall into Your advertising schemes! You should know that by now."

### Quack let His hopes and expectations dwindle. "Okay," He said. He sighed. "You buy the Spaceboat and exchange it with Oprah for the Speedvan."

"Right. Why do we need this?"

'To give to Clint and Clein so they can more easily travel from Carpe Yolu to the Fez.'

"Thank you, Fred," said Quack.

"Fred Jr," the Space Chicken corrected. "It's always Fred Jr."

'All correct. We shall purchase the vehicle once it has been constructed.'

"It's already made," said Quack. "I think someone else ordered it."

### The Space Chicken still had his head down the toilet of confusion. "Just a quick question: I gave the Speedvan to Oprah."

"That is correct, although it's not a question."

"Then I'm going to get it back from her and give it to Clint and Clein. But I got the Speedvan from Oprah in the first place, back in Wales."

"Any questions yet?"

"Yes. Where did Oprah get it from?"

"Good question. Well, adequate at most. I guess Oprah must have gained it back from Clint and Clein. We can always have the twins give it back to Oprah in the past when they're done with it."

### Just then, a loud, searing alarm screamed on Quack's end of the phone. When it eventually stopped, Quack said, "Sorry about that. It's just an alarm I set to stop myself from causing paradoxes. Apparently the Speedvan going round in a loop of time like that would result in the vehicle infinitely aging."

"And that's a problem because...?"

"That's a problem because any object gets damaged with any contact with the universe. Think of every piece of dust that will wobble an atom on every journey it goes on. Supposing the Speedvan meets only one small clump of particles in the period of time between Oprah acquiring said Speedvan from Clint and Clein until the moment when Clint and Clein go back in time to hand it to her. That one piece of dirt will cause an unnoticeable amount of damage, but it will cause damage none-the-less. And the cyclical nature of a time-loop will mean that this small damage will repeat itself an infinite number of times. And any damage, no matter how small, will demolish its opponent. It's the small wears and tears of life which go to the greatest effects."

'So if the Speedvan gets struck by a piece of dust an infinite number of times, the vehicle will wear down until there is no Speedvan to be struck by dust.'

"Indeed."

'So, within a time-loop, a great many laps of the infinity of time must have presented themselves.'

"Yes. Every time someone creates a minor time-loop, that will cause the whole of time to go round and round again."

'So, are we stuck in one particular loop? Has the universe already been around several times? Have there already been several versions of us? Are there more to come? Is this life just the same as one reading of a book, which may be reinterpreted with a second, third and fourth reading? Where are we? And are we all the versions or just one out of a thousand? Am I the only me, or am I only a fraction of myself?'

"I cannot answer that. I cannot answer any of those questions. I can never know whether a person feels life an infinite number of times or only one out of an infinite number of times living it. Every time somebody creates a variable – a man-made variable, not a natural one – another version of the universe will have to happen for all the potential outcomes, happening again and again."

"Like the multiverse?" asked the Space Chicken.

"No. The multiverse supposes an infinite number of existences happening concurrently. I'm saying the universe is one world happening over and over again. The trouble is, I don't know what's 'natural' and what's 'man-made' anymore. I don't know how many times this universe happens, and many times you feel it."

"So which time is it happening now? The first? The last? I can't remember this happening before, but I can't feel most of the universe happening."

"You don't have the cognitive processing capabilities of a god. Those who claim to know of gods or know not of gods can't know they know this. They lack the brain for it. They are stunted by the physical universe."

'Which world are we living? And which time are we living it? Which Glix do You see?'

"I see all of them at once. I see every inaccuracy of time. Some I must let remain, for I lack the capacity to change the inevitable changes. But when a problem prevents itself becoming a problem, I must prevent it becoming a problem in the first place, which is a problem. I can see every paradox of Glix. It looks like two opposing events interacting to destroy each other. Both succeed: scenario A demolishes scenario B before scenario B destroys scenario A before scenario B beforehand, which happens anyway. I can't let this happen. It's not just that I don't want this to happen, it's that I simply have no option but to prevent this. Humans never have this. There is always an alternative. In eating, you may claim to have no option but to eat, but there is always the potential to starve. An unpleasant one it may be, but the option is there. When one is 'too full to eat any more', there is always the ability to force food down one's throat until one chokes or vomits and/or dies. In fighting, there is always the option not to fight. In war, no matter what the 'alternative' may be claimed to be, there is always the option of peace. Humans can never experience having no alternative: there is always one there, hidden though it may be."

"I'm incredibly confused," said the Space Chicken, attempting to peck out his own eyes.

"Good. Then you know that you don't know what it means to see as a god."

'In the case of the speedvan paradox, there is no option to face an infinite regress; we cannot have a speedvan which destroys itself; the alternative we suppose is that there would be no speedvan to begin with, but this is never really a potential, only an impossibly impossible hypothetical.'

"And there you have a smashing example of a paradox."

"I see," said the Space Chicken. "That's out of the question, then. How about we give Oprah the Speedvan brand new at the same time we give her the Speedvan. In the next week, we'll give her a new Speedvan, thus starting the life of the Speedvan, which will go back in time, go round the loop once and then continue, but never get stuck in an infinite regress."

### Quack thought about this. "But Oprah needs the Speedvan in the past, in order that she may give it to us in Wales."

"The Oprah we met in Wales was evidently an Oprah of the future who'd travelled back in time. She told us so herself. Granted that's not sufficient evidence in itself, but the Spaceboat was there. That was an Oprah from a time after we'd been to see her."

'We always see her.'

"It was the Oprah after we gave her the Spaceboat (and potentially the Speedvan too), but it was an Oprah of the time before the time after we hypothetically give her the Spaceboat."

'That is no guarantee that Oprah shall take the Speedvan back in time,' Fred Jr pointed out.

"It's not a guarantee, you're right, but we already know that she has been going to definitely do so."

### The Space Chicken didn't understand, so he naturally accepted the statement to be true. "All right. We'll have to try that, then."

"It's not an experient or trying," said Quack, "if we already know it will work."

### The Space Chicken looked directly at Quack. As Quack was a being talking on the telephone in another dimension, the Space Chicken closed his eyes. "As a good friend, would You mind talking nonsense for a while, so I don't have to think anymore?"

### "Certainly I can," said Quack. "Have I ever told you about the set of holy grails I received from a Bull who's my brother?"

### Chapter 7

### When you're old and wearied, it's endlessly thrilling to recount the tales of your past. When you're young and angstuous, it's less than thrilling to hear them.

### And the youthful and angry are usually those who grow up to become the old and nostalgic. For these are the kinds of people who look back upon a condensed life. An elderly adventurer looks back at a thousand days of venturing out in the harsh, damp terrain of wild mud beaches in the unexplored depths of Parrugee with a smile at the thought of every sunny day when they reached the caramel waterfall at the end, and a smirk at the memory of every ground owl they encountered on the way. A youth experiencing the same life attempts to look back at memories that haven't yet been created, so is forced into looking forward at soggy trees.

### The youths of sorrow are those who have reached a point where their satisfaction of gained intelligence is outweighed by the strength of emotion at a renewed, enriched and expanded concept of the largeness and intensity of the physical universe and traces of a potential, hypothetical and theoretical world beyond; and so the minds of the sorrowful youths are distressed and depressed at being overfilled with an understanding of just how much there is to understand and the understanding of their lack of understanding.

### Dave was young yet believed himself old. He was young enough in mind and spirit that his very presence in the universe distressed him. He was not yet old enough to find satisfaction in looking back upon his life. When he looked back, all he saw was self-hatred and his former residence, the two being very much intertwined.

### Quack, however, was old but believed Himself young. Very few people understood their standing in the world, and fewer still cared. Quack had the capacity to recount tales from the immense and unthinkable period of time He had existed, and would gladly do so for a period which could translate on Glix as many millions times the length of time Glix had been in the physical universe. When He was an infant, He had accidentally brought another form of life into existence, which merited another star system being created in order to accommodate such a race. They ate sunshine and smiled with what one would refer to as either their toes or their appendices. For some time after this, Lady Whoosh was reluctant to allow Quack His own planet. When an adolescent, Quack and His brother Moo had ransacked a nearby party and spiked the punch bowl with lettuce leaves. It was less entertaining than it sounds. But one of Quack's favourite adventures was the time He first bought a house.

"You can't control Me anymore, Mum!" Quack shouted as He left the portal of the house and attempted to slam the vortex on the way out.

"I'm not trying to control You, I'm just saying perhaps You should think about what You want to do with Your life before heading off to get employed."

"I know what I want. I want to get a job."

"What do You need a job for? Why don't you spend more of Your time exploring Your emotions and experiencing the wonders of existence?"

### This was a common debate in the House of Onomatopoeia. Moo had accepted His mother's qualms and was now travelling around Greece (that is, the Greece of the Overworld; it should here and forever be noted that the precise conditions of the Original Overworld Greece generated such a fine environment for the expansion of thought, technology and understanding, that a replica of Greece was henceforth created in every Ache-style star system) and meeting up-and-coming gods and deities. Moo wasn't interested in getting a job, and had focussed instead on something productive: writing a short story compilation.

"I'm going to get a job," said Quack, "so I can earn some money and spend it on vital things."

"What in existence do You need money for? The world can provide You with everything You need."

"I want to buy everything necessary to live."

"Food? A home? Life? These things don't require money, Son. Food grows from the ground which serves as Your home and life can't be bought or sold."

### Quack left the home and some voluntarily used time later was in a meeting with a Unicorn.

### Chapter 8

### "I think We at Horn Industries will be very happy to employ You," said the Unicorn.

"Really?" asked Quack.

"Certainly."

"No, really? I mean really, are You really going to call Your organisation Horn Industries? It's like You just looked in front of You and picked the first thing You saw."

"Don't start."

"Really?"

"Look, do You want this job or not?"

"Absolutely."

### Quack found Himself employed at Horn Industries, but quickly became disillusioned by what He saw there.

"These products," said Quack, "they're things Nobody could ever possibly need."

"Sure they are," the Unicorn informed Quack, though both of Them were fully aware that this was far from the truth. The business of Horn Industries had quickly become a desk covered in all the inessential items of everyday life. The Unicorn groped for the nearest object He could find. "Who could live without this magnificent brush-cleaner?"

"As in a cleaner in the form of a brush?"

"As in a device which cleans the back of Your brushes!" the Unicorn explained excitedly.

### Quack informed His boss of the unnecessary nature of such an item in the politest way He felt appropriate: "You're an idiot."

"Look, do You want to be employed by Us at Horn Industries or not?"

"When You say, 'Us', You mean You. When You say, 'Horn Industries', You mean You. When You say, 'employed', You mean idolising You."

"You, Me, Anyone," the Unicorn mindlessly replied. "It's all a process of relabelling for the greatest possible effect."

"And what effect is that?"

"Whatever You want it to be. Why did You come to work here?"

"I wanted money."

"Of course. That's why Horn Industries exists!" the Unicorn proclaimed. "Because money is power and power is meaning."

"No. I came to get a job. Money makes the world go round."

The Unicorn looked quizzically at Quack for uttering this nonsensical idiom. "Round what? Round in a circle? Round like a circle? The world is a realm, not a circle. Life is a line."

"And what line is that?"

"Up, up, up, and to Me. That is the meaning of success."

### Quack had by this point concluded that His coming to Horn Industries (and very possibly His own existence) was a mistake. "Whatever the meaning is of success, money is not the meaning of meaning."

### "What exactly is it You want?" Moo asked Quack over a drink. They were sat in a bar in their local neighbourhood. The small community comprised only several million entities, from Ants to Leviathans – ordered in such a manner only by the relative base universe-level size of their latterly formed animal replicas.

"I want meaning," said Quack said. "Or, at least, I thought I did."

"You have meaning as You are. What You seem to be in search of is the loss of meaning."

"How do You mean?"

"We live in a world where One may feel content if One wishes. By attempting to apply the idea of money to this, You wish to organise freedom in terms of possession."

"I think rules can be beneficial," said Quack. "Rules can help control without oppressing. Do You think that's a terribly bad thing? That We should all go against the rules for the sake of 'freedom from authority' – freedom from thought."

"Rules are perfectly fine, in place," said Moo. "What You need is a planet."

"What?"

"You need a planet. It would be great for You. It's exactly what You need."

"How so?"

"You can lead people. You can create a civilisation and lead it from the origin of life until it is self-sufficient and can take control of itself."

"That sounds like a lot of hard work."

"Nonsense," said Moo. "They try to establish their own, secular system of ethics after a few hundred thousand years."

"And what happens until they can take control of themselves? Come on."

"You lead them."

### Quack frowned. "So You're suggesting I get a planet just so I can assert My dominance? The Will to Power."

"No. To lead, not to dominate. With a planet, You can guide them to a perfect world – a utopia – through Your teaching."

"So the Will to Knowledge?"

"Better still: the Will to Ideas. Through teaching, One can create a better world. When everyone is a thinker, the world can guide itself to perfection."

### On Quack's hatchday, he received a planet as a gift from His Parents. He received a set of goblets from His Brother, Moo.

### Chapter 9

"Here's a goblet," Quack said.

"Okay." The Space Chicken was unused to receiving holy kitchenware. It was one of the few godly activities he hadn't yet become accustomed to. "Where is it?"

### Quack paused. "It should be in your possession right now."

"Define 'possession'."

"Have you got it?" Quack asked.

"No."

"Then it's not in your possession. Don't you think that was an unnecessary explanation?"

"Yes. Well, I don't have this goblet, so if You'd kindly tell me where it is, that would be helpful."

"Oh Me," Quack said.

"You haven't done something else wrong," the Space Chicken said, in the form of an offensive question, which he hoped would shine through as a major feature of all his conversation.

"No."

"What have You done, then?"

"I may had conducted a little mistake."

"That's what I just said." The Space Chicken began to subconsciously peck the ground in frustration.

"No. You said I haven't done anything wrong, when I evidently have. I find that quite disrespectful." Quack turned His Bill upwards and attempted to take the moral high ether.

### The Space Chicken squawked. "Where is that goblet‽"

### Quack performed a quick check and then announced, "According to My calculations, the goblet I sent you has landed in..." Quack performed the tuttutations of scanning through a list. "Gord."

"In Gord‽ What's it doing there? What's Your goblet doing in that country? They can't even speak!"

"I'm sorry, Spacey, but in terms of the universe, it's very difficult to tell the difference between BongVe Bong and Gord without using a microscope. It's only about 100 km."

### The Space Chicken rolled his eyes. Well, he theoretically did. As a chicken (well, a Chicken), the prophet remained – however powerful and unusual he was – unable to move his eyes independent of his head.

"Will it be enough?" the Space Chicken asked. "I've never seen a situation where a cup was deemed worthwhile enough to trade for a spaceship."

"Goblet," Quack corrected.

"A mug for a spaceship?"

"Boat."

'A trade is a trade,' Fred Jr argued. 'It is inevitable that, before long, any transition of property will be deemed – if both parties are coöperative enough – sufficient material for commerce.'

"It's still just an acrylic beaker."

"Believe Me," said Quack, "pious gold would have been enough to buy you whatever you wanted."

### The Space Chicken's mind began to wander.

"But don't even think about spending it on anything besides what I ordered," warned Quack. "Okay?"

### The Space Chicken paced in circles for a few seconds, mumbling something to himself about retiring to a mansion.

"Okay?"

"Oh, all right, then," the Space Chicken agreed. "Are You going to send us another goblet?"

"No."

"What? Why not? We need to pay for this Spaceboat. And, according to You, a saucer is enough to do that."

"It's a goblet."

"And where is it?"

"In Gord. You can easily go and get it."

"Or You can send us another one."

"Do you think I can just conjure anything I want out of nothing?"

The Space Chicken paused. "Yes. That's exactly what I think. Now, if You wouldn't mind, could You go ahead and creatio ex nihilo us another spoon?"

"A spoon‽ How did you get from a godly goblet to a spoon?"

"How do You get from BongVe Bong to Gord?"

"You can let Me know when you get off the train in a few Haca."

### The Space Chicken rambled around like a headless chicken, blaspheming and groaning and thus insulting the god in multiple ways.

"From what I can tell," said Quack, "the goblet fell in the Prong. It may have washed up on its banks in Castle or Gate."

"Fine, I'll just drown on my way to getting a boat. How delightfully improbable, yet of course it's going to happen to me anyway!"

"If you die, I'm able to resurrect you in two to three working days."

"I'd rather not die or live, thank You very much, if it's all the same to You."

"Well, it's to your benefit, as the goblet should now be located right next to the Spaceboating workshop."

### The Space Chicken scowled. "You did this deliberately, didn't You?" he scorned the god. "Out of an awkward convenience."

"I assure you, I would never do anything for your convenience."

'We had best be on our way, dad,' said Fred Jr.

### "Oh, make sure you keep an eye out along all the bank, you two," said Quack. "The goblet may be very tiny. Then again, it could be massive and heavy. Who knows? These things tend to get mistranslated."

### Chapter 10

### Freedom is the main thing teenagers long for. The ability to do as you please, to go where you like, without the restrictions of your parents, and to dye your hair a painful colour and shout at figures of authority. That is the theory, at least. In reality, all a teenage boy wants is to have a place to stay, some food and a reasonable amount of social activity. That, and a car.

### All teenage boys are different, of course. Apart from Clint and Clein. They are exactly the same as each other. They are also the archetype of explorational teenagers. While still believing that a man is always the one who knows best for himself rather than his parents, the two had set off into the world to forage for themselves. Who can say whether people ever truly become individual, and at what age they should leave home? University life usually served to substitute for an answer to both these questions, but Clint and Clein had instead decided that seventeen was the age to leave their home and never turn back.

### It was a silent journey, as both of the twins had identical thoughts and emotions, so had no use for spoken language between them. They did, however, unintentionally communicate through thoughts, though it was largely one-sided on both sides.

### What do parents know? they thought. Parents always claim to be doing 'what's best for you', but they never do. They just care for their own needs and opinions. All parents ever do is make you act like them. Why does mum want us to go to uni, again? Oh yeah, because it's what she would have done. Because her intentions are always the best intentions. And look how well that turned out for her. It's just what she wants. How could education benefit us in any way? It's only so she has something to gossip about with her friends. So she can live out her own unaccomplished dreams through us.

### What was that she said about moving on from us? I bet she won't. I bet she'll just buy some new carpets and pretend she's made just as much of a change to her life as we have to ours. If she commits to anything, she'll probably do something outrageous, like getting a new son to replace us. Not a baby, though. A young adult she can keep in the home until he's middle-aged. I'm uncertain how she'll get one, but she will.

### You think? asked one of the other voices in the cumulative mind.

### Certainly, it replied to itself. Mum'll be expecting another son to come knocking on the door and present himself. Instead, she'll have to seek one out, but she will find one.

### I'm not convinced. I think she'll get cats.

### I'm telling you, she'll adopt a new son. He won't come knocking on the door, and it won't be pleasant, but I'm telling you she'll find an annex child. The poor fellow will probably be walking along one day, he'll get a knock on the head and the next thing he'll see is a freshly laid shag carpet.

### We'll see about that.

### Clint and Clein agreed upon a bet wherein they both claimed their mother wouldn't steal a human, whilst their opponent claimed she wouldn't. They would both hand Julian/Stella (each a half of two teddy bears) to the other, in exchange for Stella/Julian from Clint/Clein. They both shook hands with themselves on this.

### Within several seconds, they had gone back on their agreement.

### Chapter 11

### After about a week (which turned out to be five days on Glix) of living with Oprah and Calvin, Dave had begun to adjust to this new way of life. He fitted perfectly into their way of life – no impulse, no work and no children. Just the bliss of having no aims and so accomplishing everything intended.

### During the week, Dave had discovered something called 'boredom' and he loved it. It basically meant that, not only did you have no work to do or that you were inclined to do, but your mind had also relaxed and not bothered to make any decisions that you had to go through with. Dave's mind was frequently coming up with stupid ideas that he felt compelled to accomplish. Such ideas varied in form, from 'You want to read a book' to 'You wouldn't mind giving bungee-jumping a go'. He would mind greatly, of course. When he was younger, Dave's mind had persuaded itself that songwriting was fun. As it turned out, Dave didn't know the first thing about how to construct a lyric or a one of the other bits of a song; much to his surprise, 'Lemons and Limes Taste the Same to Me' was never picked up by any record producers.

### At the Oprah and Calvin Deluxe Residence (the couple had renamed their accommodation in honour of their new educational aspirations and acquiring of a thesaurus), he felt himself melt into a Glix'n household. Dave had the memories of his younger failings stored away in a desk in his mind. He had become a Glix'n, but his personality still remained such an eloquent example of mentally unwell stability that without any warning it may conjure wild fantasies. At the moment he became at one with reality, he had been dreaming up a world of luxury, then had opened his eyes to discover himself part of it. At the moment he was at peace, he had developed his most outrageous idea of the week, though he didn't mind so much, and forgave his mind as he had grown to do.

### The idea was this: he should make a jam sandwich, and then – if he was feeling adventurous – eat it. Oprah and Calvin had been shopping the day before and Dave had asked for jam specifically to suit this craving. The parents had gladly agreed. Upon his inspection of the fridge, Dave had found a large jar of raspberry jam on the top shelf. Good, thought Dave. I can use the big loaf of bread and fit the entire jar's worth into one sandwich.

### Dave felt somewhat bad for having other people purchase all his food. He had offered to get a job and pay for accommodation and all other expenses, but Oprah had rejected this notion as silly and had told Dave to stay and relax in their shared house, saying there was no need to pay them. "Your presence in my 'ouse is awl the riches Oi need," she'd said. Dave retrieved a thin blade from a drawer and stuck it into the jar.

### Shortly after his thoughts had been muddied with the notion that getting a job would be a useful pursuit, Dave had had to chastise his mind for crafting the idea that he should get a job anyway and pay his landlords. He thought it very rude that his own brain should call Oprah wrong.

### In the calm week Dave had been part of Oprah and Calvin's household, he felt more at home than he ever had before. Sure, Dave missed the freaks he had been travelling with, but he was finally at home somewhere and he thought that this time it would—

'Hello Dave.'

—last forever. He knew it couldn't, however, as his life was destined to fail, but for one short moment, he was happy and content with his feeble existence. The fact that he had managed to prolong this period of obliviousness for a whole week (even if it was a five-day week) was an added bonus.

'Help me, Dave. Down here.'

### Dave glanced at his sandwich. Ignorance is bliss, Dave decided. It felt great to finally be free from things he didn't care about. If he chose to block something irrelevant from his mind, he could do so with relative ease, bearing in mind—

'David Gray, I'm going to get very angry with you if you don't listen.'

"Oh Quack!" Dave cried, his mind collapsing once again as he buried his face in his hands. Nobody heard him, as Oprah had gone to singing lessons for the day, and Calvin had a job as a driving instructor. He was being paid by the council to give lessons to outpatients, but only after they'd been through a week of study to prove they were physically and mentally complete. The idea was to rehabilitate those formerly with issues and to integrate them back into society by reintroducing them to menial tasks. A stupid plan if I ever heard one, Dave thought. "It's been so long since I heard voices."

'I'm not a voice.'

"Well that's the stupidest statement I've heard in a while."

'I mean I'm not imaginary. I'm merely a mind who creates thoughts in your head.'

"That sounds pretty much like the last voices I had. Have you ever heard of the Vaemei?"

'Yes, and they're awful,' said the voice. 'But I'm not one of them.'

"There aren't more of you, are there?"

'Not yet.'

"Oh Quack," Dave repeated as he sank to the floor. As he was down at a physical and emotional low, he prepared himself for the future by fashioning a sort of bed out of the creases in his clothing – a way of making the most comfortable form of intense inconvenience.

'Don't worry; I'm an old friend.'

"I've never been friends with you. In fact, I try to make a habit of not being friends with disembodied voices. I'm getting quite good at it." Dave remembered all the previous offenses he had ever caused by refusing to be cohabiting towards those he didn't know. "But I'm always willing to change and meet new people." He then remembered having been told that the two mental voices were already sufficiently acquainted to avoid the inconvenience of politeness. He stretched the bottom of his T-shirt back down to soften the pressure of the planet resting on his hip. "Are you technically a person? I don't mean that in a human sense. I never do. I'm no doubt a different species to that most popular here. But are you an animal? Who isʔ̦ I suppose. If such a thing as a person even exists separately from the mind, are you part of it? Do you, in fact, have a body somewhere?"

'I'm right in front of you, sitting on the kitchen bench.'

### Dave popped bolt upright. "Where are you?"

'I'm the jam.'

### Dave refaltered, and found his home to be the tender kiss between the mouth of a lunatic and the surface of a stranger's floor.

'David, you do not need to react like this every time you remember that everything you have ever known is, in reality, meaningless in the greater context of the world. You're just being melodramatic.'

### Dave was silent for a minute. "Holy Sock, the jam's talking to me."

'It's okay.'

### The alien's face was squashed up against the beautifully grimy cracks between the tiles. His eyelids were attempting to blot out the world, but drooped open to reveal its worst features. He would that he could be comatose, for at least that permanently remained a fixed state of perpetual, blissful uselessness. "I definitely never made friends with a jar of jam," he droned, dreaming that he was asleep and hoping that he was anything less than fully aware. "Why can't my life just be normal?" Ignorance is bliss.

'Dave, you're an alien whose best friends are a lunatic, two identical identical twins, a Chicken and his Egg with only one biological – astrozoological – parent. Oh, and a god.'

"How do you know who my friends are?"

'I told you, I'm another good friend.'

"But I've never even met you before," Dave explained, desperately trying to cling onto the idea that such a thing as normality exists.

'I'm not a good friend now. I'm from the future.'

"Oh, now it's getting complicated!" Dave frowned and squinted on the floor in pain. He did something, but he didn't know whether it was cry or sneeze.

'Because my being a jar of talking jam from the present was completely understandable up until the point when time-travel and the future got involved, was it?'

"Well, some animals on Glix can talk," Dave justified, "so I thought some fruit might be able to as well."

'Yes, some animals can talk. Notably you. Well, you're not from this planet, but all those most similar to you can communicate with relative vocal ease. All animals can communicate somehow. Isn't that what makes a person?'

"How did you know I was an alien?"

'You told me a minute ago.'

### Dave breathed a sigh of relief. The jam didn't know everything. That was frequently a good sign.

'I knew already, of course.'

### Dave groaned. "You knew I was an alien?"

'Yes,' the jam replied bluntly, something jam infrequently does. 'Everyone knows that. That's old news.'

"Does all fruit talk?"

'It depends upon your perspective.'

"Is all fruit annoying? Give me straight answer."

'What sort of fruit?'

"Any. Does any fruit talk? You, obviously, but who else?"

'Dave, I've told you a thousand times: it's 'whom' when referring to the object of a sentence.'

"Sorry. Whom else, then? Whom else is a talking fruit?"

'There's another grammatical point for me to establish here.'

"What is it?" Dave sighed.

'You can only say "Whom [sic] else is a talking fruit?" if somebody had been noted as a talking fruit in the first place.'

"But you have." Dave theoretically gritted his teeth. In reality, as was often the case, he couldn't be bothered.

'I was never a talking fruit. I was most definitely born a homo sapiens glixtenus.'

"But to become talking jam, you must have been a talking fruit at some point, right?"

### The jam looked down at Dave in his humble simplicity, if ever an eyeless being could look down, which they evidently could, and did so more frequently than any being which could actually look down. 'You're using an awfully linear perception of time.'

"What were you before you became jam?"

'I was here. I don't think I've become jam yet.'

"What were you in the future?"

'I don't know, but I'm trying to forget I ever remembered.'

### Dave tried to sleep again. Awareness was betraying him by forcing him to remain in this physical 'real' universe, rather than a random one of his unknowing choosing.

'I have yet another grammatical point to raise.'

"Why do I become friends with you in the future? Just inform me, because I honestly can't think of any reason why I'd choose to spend time with you."

'Well you didn't exactly choose it.'

### Dave pushed himself up with one hand and glared dazedly at the sandwich he had created. "Why should I believe you're from the future? You've provided me with no evidence."

'Well you've already believed that I'm talking jam.'

"But I can see that. That makes it real."

'Why's it more real than your mind? Why on Glix would you believe that external stimuli are more reliable than your own mentally constructed thoughts? There are fewer regions for error, fewer areas for beings to confuse you.'

"What was the grammatical mistake?" If Dave ignored the jam's meanderings, the alien's logic ran, some intelligible thought should find its way through eventually.

'Sorry, I'm not always like this. You've just no idea how frustrating it is to hear these mistakes coming from someone you've spent so long with, teaching him the rules of grammar all the while.' Dave rapidly rejected his own theory of intelligible thought.

"Oh, what fun my future is going to be⸮" Dave exclaimed sarcastically. "And how long do I have to wait for this future to happen?"

'Not as long as you might think. We'll be thick as thieves as soon as... When are you planning to leave here?' At this point, Dave rejected the notion that thought existed at all, and clung to the hope that the only actual and real item in the universe was an all-powerful potato somewhere which proved the source of all 'life' and related false phenomena.

"Well, surely you know when I leave," Dave said. "Can't you remember?"

'When are you planning to leave?'

### Dave sighed. "I don't know. What was the grammatical point you had to raise?"

'Oh, that. You were using the past tense to refer to the future.'

"I'll try to avoid that. But would you mind telling me what your physical state was in the future?"

'You're doing it again.'

"What is your physical state going to be?"

'Solid.'

"Hopeless. I'm not going to bother any more."

### The jam laughed. 'Okay. I am a human now and will be a human in the future, but became jam when I travelled back in time.'

"Is that not an example of your using the past tense to refer to the future?"

'To me, these things are in the past. You were speculating upon the chronological future, not a perspective-based time stream.'

### Dave sighed painfully.

'In the future, I will be a human. In my past, I have been a human.'

"Do you, as you presently rest on the cookery base before me, deem yourself to be human?"

'No.'

"Then why do you say you're a human now?"

### The jam just laughed. 'I became jam in the past; that's all you need to know for now.'

"And how exactly did that happen?"

'Transportational difficulties.'

"This is all going far above my head." When something when over Dave's head, it usually meant something to do with books or— "Does Quack have something to do with this? Is it religious?"

'Yes.'

"Ah, that makes sense."

'I'm fine, though. I'm without a movable body now, and will remain a stationary object in the future.'

"But I thought you said—"

'Different timeline, Dave.'

"Ah."

'A portable body isn't the important thing when you have a brilliant mind,' the jam said.

### On Dave's home planet, idiocy had been a quality of great admiration. However, Dave possessed an idiocy which derived from having the knowledge necessary to survive on a planet, but knowing less than 50% of the infinite amount of information there is out there to know. In reality, few people had knowledge above 1‱ of that possible, but the law remained: idiots are those who know less than 50% of knowledge, and accept it with an air of humility. Morons are those who know less than 50% of knowledge, but refuse to acknowledge their own idiocy. 'Genius' is a self-applied term used by those who have given up learning.

### The most popular form of idiocy where Dave lived came from ignorance: it was terrible to be in the pursuit of knowledge one didn't have, but wonderful to be unaware how unaware you were. He was wise, but that was of little significance to anyone. "Shut up."

'Sorry. The important thing is that you put the lid back on this jar and take me to the Great Oak Tree.'

"Why do I need to put the lid back on the jar?"

'Well, it's so you have an easy way of transporting me. I was just trying to be helpful.'

"But you're not in the jar anymore."

'What‽ Where am I, then?'

"You're spread across two pieces of bread. I was making a sandwich."

'What? You were going to eat me? What's wrong with you?'

"I wasn't aware of the fact you were a sentient being."

'That's what they all say. Then they shovel the carcasses of their former friends down their throats.'

"I was ignorant, now I'm sorry. I merely wanted a tasty snack."

'Oh, bless His little Cotton Socks,' the jam blasphemed.

"That's a new one. I'll have to use that more often. What does it mean?"

'"Bless His Cotton Socks"? It's based on a legend,' the jam explained. 'Often physical objects get mistranslated in celestial delivery. Some people believe that Quack ordered a shipment of footwear and only one item arrived the right size.'

"And what really happened?"

'This is religion, Dave. Fact isn't important; opinion is.'

"Either way, I shall make more common usage of blessing his little cotton socks."

'You mean blessing His little Cotton Socks.'

"Whatever."

'Returning to my original point,' the jam said, 'why have you made me into a sandwich?'

"I was hungry."

### The jam thought about this for some time. In its mind it went through all the thoughts which had ever passed through his head and re-evaluated them. Its knowledge covered much of the history of Glix, most of which had been made up during the time the jam had been learning it. This was called culture. Some days it was superior to history. Some days it was the exact same thing. As the jam thought, it felt that its time was all of the universe and that it was nothing at all. It thought about the fact that Dave had nearly eaten it as a sandwich out of hunger. 'Fair enough.'

"I assume that means you don't want me to eat you."

'No!'

"Does that mean you want me to eat you or not?"

'No! I mean I don't want you to eat me.'

"Oh."

'Dave, I need to be merged with the Great Oak Tree.'

"And whereabouts is the Great Oak Tree?"

'I'm not sure if it's been planted yet.'

"Well, that's a great help."

'But it will be soon. And – being a sandwich as I am, thanks a lot, Dave – the Acorn will need to be planted inside my slices.'

"That's it settled, then. We're leaving this house to hunt down your acorn. This lovely, catering, resourceful house. With its kind, caring, voluntarily hospitable occupants and its food which rarely talks." Dave sighed a groan. "We're leaving it out of a forced choice. Oh, well. I knew my life couldn't go well for too long. Something inevitably had to urge me out of this place and make me travel with the carnival of insanity once more. Here I go, I guess."

'That's the spirit! One more thing, Dave.'

"What is it now?" asked Dave, more than a little bit frustrated.

'Before we leave, would you mind putting me in a lunchbox?'

### Chapter 12

### The Space Chicken had always felt uncomfortable on trains. It almost made him regret having invented them in the first place.

### Strictly speaking, he hadn't been the sole inventor. Quack had needed to have a few ways to conveniently transport His people around Glix, so Quack had come up with the idea of public transport. One clever member of the public had engineered aeroplanes, omnibuses and trains, and the Space Chicken had been their chief entrepreneur, later helping to distribute them. He felt ill-at-ease whenever riding on a train, owing mainly to the fact that he was putting his life in Quack's hands. Still, it was better than a car, where he was putting his life in his own hands. Especially since he didn't have any hands.

Now, Quack he wasn't too sure about. The sacred overlord probably had a set of hands somewhere. Hands can have some great uses, though are frequently an inconvenience to have on one's person all the time. Yes, Quack almost definitely had a set of hands somewhere, though most probably not attached to the rest of Him.

When he looked back upon his early days as a working man— well, not as a man with its biased connotations of human, but as a life form which fulfils more than or equal to none of the properties of being male, and certainly not such a being in working order —as a worker, the Space Chicken began to remember the name of the person – the working man – who had really been the actual creator of public transport. He had been David Gratton. A great help that is now؟ he thought, with an irony mark which greatly pleased Margery. The Space Chicken sincerely hoped that this was just a distant relative of the David Gratton. David Gratton I/VI, maybe.

### The more the Space Chicken dwelt upon his past, the worse he felt. That was one of the reasons he disliked trains. There was too much time spent thinking to himself, so he inevitably depressed himself. It was also the other nutters he found on the train. When the Space Chicken stepped into any building, vehicle or other public place, he liked to feel safe in the fact that he was the only nutter in the vicinity. Perhaps this was why other loons came along to talk to him. In general, most nutters like to keep away from the rest of the population, whether the general population also consists of nutters or not.

### But, upon seeing a creature so extraordinary and Gallular as the Space Chicken, any nutter would willingly (if subconsciously) glide towards, and inevitably squash up close to, him, in all his feathery elegance.

### His distaste for trains made itself even more prevalent in his mind when all his pet peeves combined themselves into one mass of hatred in the shape of a human. This human – who was also a nutter – came and placed himself next to the Space Chicken.

"I've been thinking a lot," he said to the disgusted Cockerel, disgusted at the impossible injustice of being placed next to another life form of severely limited rationality. "I've been thinking, and I've come to the conclusion of who my favourite person ever is." He paused for an uncomfortable while, during which he anticipated the Space Chicken's response of 'Whom?' This never arrived, and so the latter nutter continued, "My favourite ever person was the woman who invented the train. It's such a great idea and it's convenient to everybody. There is nothing that anybody could ever find at all wrong with a train."

### The Space Chicken found himself unfortunately compelled to talk. "What makes you think it was a woman?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said your favourite person was the woman who invented the train. Why do you think it was a woman?"

"Oh, well you just assume, don't you? It's one of those things where you automatically expect it to be a woman."

"No, not really. It's a male-dominated world. It's a sad fact, but we expect everything to be done by a man."

"You didn't comment on my use of tense," the human nutter said.

"Why, what was wrong with it?" the Chicken nutter said.

"I said 'was'. That implies that I think either the woman – or even the man, as you so rightly say – is deceased or is no longer my favourite person. Either way, she – or he – is assumed to be no longer my favourite living person."

"Also, you implied that there is only one person named as having invented the train."

"Yeah... but the point is that this was a long time ago, so the inventor(s) is/are probably dead." On a different note, he said, "Do you think God is a woman?"

"When you say 'god', do you mean that as a proper noun, as the hypothetical definitive creator; or as a god, a figurehead looking over our planet or zone or 'world'?" The Space Chicken heard the capital G, of course. He didn't care. He wanted to make people think, and to do so for a nutter on a train would be a great achievement. If the Space Chicken made a significant enough difference to his audience, he would award himself a badge. However, this had to be approved by a board of eleven professionals, all of whom were the Space Chicken. The prophet was not spontaneously crazy; he had a rigorous and predictable selection process for all ludicrous ideas.

"Any definitive creator would have to be a woman. No man could be organised enough."

"So organised it took billions of years to perfect a universe wherein all the creatures didn't kill each other?" asked the Space Chicken, raising an eyebrow.

"Organisation doesn't mean perfection. It means being orderly enough that you can spend your time on something and know that it will eventually work. The Supreme Creator must be a woman, because women are orderly."

"Do you think such a place exists outside the Milky Way where beings are forced into specific roles and identities are created by gender?"

"I don't know. Do you think gods – i.e. generic, sentient creators – are gendered? Are the leaders of our planet female?"

"I don't know," replied the Space Chicken. "I think Quack is a man. Although I'm not sure. Is it important?"

"I guess not."

"Have you ever heard of the Divine Why?"

"I don't think so."

"It's the idea that God and His/Her existence aren't important so long as we are moral and just."

"Interesting idea. I like it," said the man. "I'm sorry, what did you say your name was, again?"

"I didn't say what my name is."

"Oh. Well, are you going to say?"

"Perhaps."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"Maybe."

The human man looked shifty. "Well, you see, I've been studying people's language recently and I understand that this is an issue of pragmatics. You see, when I say 'What did you say your name was, again?', you tell me your name!" he shouted, causing everyone on the train (everyone who wasn't a nutter, that is) to look over at him in shock. Two people looked at him.

"Oh, er, it's the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack,' he said, horrified by this sudden outburst.

"Hmm, sounds familiar. Is there anywhere I might know you from?"

"Um, perhaps from religious scripture?"

"No, I don't read any of that. You see, I believe in this concept called the Divine Why. It's where—"

"I know what the Divine Why is; I just told you about it a moment ago."

"No, you didn't. I've known about it for years. I first heard about it from his man a long time ago whom I met on a bus. He was wearing this lovely feather coat—"

"I think you're thinking of me," said the feathery Fowl.

"No; you're wearing fur. You've got to learn the difference."

"Anyway," said the Space Chicken, keen to move off the topic, "what did you say your name was, again?"

"I didn't."

"Okay."

"And why did you say 'was'? I've always had the same name."

"What is it, then?"

"When?"

"Just tell me your name!" the Space Chicken crowed.

"All right. No need to be impatient." The man tutted. "My name's Mike."

"Mike?" asked the Space Chicken, dumbstruck. "As in Michael?"

"Yes."

"And tell me, Michael, do you have a middle name?"

"Yes. It's Rowland."

"And would your surname happen to be homophonic with a floral life form of the flowering bulb variety?"

"Um... It's Daffodil, if that's what you mean."

"Aha!" the Space Chicken exclaimed. "I'm not going to let you get away with it as well. I can't lose somebody Quack has sent me out to get after having travelled with them." The Space Chicken stood up in a rage, but this lost its drama somewhat by the fact that he almost toppled from the movement of the train and subsequently had to grip onto the handrail for the rest of his speech. "I've failed so far at capturing people I've been told to find. Now that I have you, I'm taking you hostage."

'Are you certain that taking a hostage is a good idea?' Fred Jr asked.

"Of course it is," the Space Chicken replied to Fred Jr, causing the already dumbfounded onlookers in the train to become even more startled. "I've been preparing for this since Quack told me about you," said the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack to Michael Rowland Daffodil. "It's always good to carry supplies," he declared, getting out a pair of handcuffs and locking one end to Michael Rowland Daffodil's wrist and the other to his wing. The Space Chicken's wing, that is. Michael Rowland Daffodil's wing had issues of its own, not least of which was its lack of presence within the physical reality of existence.

"Excuse me," said an angry man in his twenties, whose furrowed brow gave the Space Chicken the impression that he didn't much approve, and was angrily determined never to have to agree with the prophet again. "What do you think you're doing to this gentleman?"

"I'm abducting him," was the Space Chicken's calm and collected response.

"You can't do that! He has his own set of feelings. He has places to be, no doubt."

"I don't, honestly," said Michael Rowland Daffodil. "I'm quite happy to do whatever people want. Y'know, go with the flow, and all that."

"But this man is a sentient creature. Any other sentient creature should use its cognitive faculties to recognise this." The train passenger was infuriatedly passionate, but his words were lost of the Space Chicken.

"This man – Michael Rowland Daffodil," the Space Chicken said. "He is evil."

"And so are you, from what I can tell so far."

"Well, Quack told me that Daffodil will go on to do bad things in the future. I'm eliminating him from the equation now, so there won't be any problems later on."

### The train pulled up at a station and the Space Chicken and Fred Jr left. The train passenger continued expressing his opinions, though no-one in particular listened – not even the human sitting next to him.

"That is pretty much a summary of people today," the stationary, passive human said. "They're all intolerant of each other. They're all rude. And they ignore all opinions except from their own. People these days are all the same," the passive human declared, turning to the man next to him for further clarification. The passive human looked at the angry man's name badge to see an increasingly common collection of letters. "Aren't they, Dave?"

### Chapter 13

"Clint, do you think we need help?"

"I used to, but after our last journey to the Fez, I'm beginning to doubt we're the more insane ones. I suppose you could argue we must need help if we're making that journey again."

"I meant do you think we need help from Quack?"

"I wouldn't go that far. The Space Chicken needs that sort of advanced mental rehabilitation, and he readily receives it. I'm not sure we're in quite as dire a situation."

"What?"

"Dave and Dave need Quack's help, too. The Egg's all right."

"I meant do we need Him to guide us in our travels and give us advice on what to do next?"

"I know what you meant."

"I know you know what I meant."

### There was a moment's pause.

"It's kind of awkward having exactly the same things to say all the time, isn't it?"

"My thoughts exactly."

### Another pause.

"Do you think we should pray?"

"That's just what I was going to say."

"What should we say?"

"We could ask Him for stuff."

"What do we need?"

"Transport, I suppose. I'm fine walking for now, but we may need something later."

"Okay, then." Clint clasped his hands in front of his face, once placed above the other, forming a pious digital bill. "Dear Quack. We might get tired. Teenagers aren't designed for movement. Send us something. But neither of us can drive, so send us someone to drive for us. That's something else teenagers need. Beak."

"Is that good enough?" Clein asked.

"I don't know. We'll have to wait and see."

### They waited a short while and nothing happened, so they concluded definitively that there were no gods.

"Useless. Absolutely useless."

"I know. I thought there were gods. There was substantial evidence for there being gods, but they don't respond."

"I'm turning atheist."

"Me too."

Just then, a bolt of lightning struck down from the sky, causing Quack great heartache. He channelled a voice down directly to the twins, which takes more effort than you'd think. For the passers-by, there was nothing extraordinary occurring, but for Clint and Clein the pious Word was thundering down upon them. He spake unto them: "What the Quack do you think you're doing? Turning atheist! Of course there are gods! I'm one of them."

"Yes. And where were You for us?"

"What do you mean? I was sending the Space Chicken on another minor task."

"Let's hope this one doesn't go wrong."

"What the Me do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," Clein lied.

"The task I just set one of my valued prophets on was actually a mission designed to help you."

"Good. So You were listening to us."

"What?"

"We asked You to help us, and You did. Like You're meant to."

"I'm meant to? Why should I be assumed to have to help you?"

"Because You're a god. That's Your duty."

"I don't have a duty to do anything for you. I made you. Isn't that enough? I am your Father."

"No, You're not. Calvin's our father. Mum wouldn't get married to someone else, would she?"

"I'm not married to your mother."

"What‽ What does that make us, then?"

"It wouldn't affect you in the slightest. You don't have to be married to have children."

"But, still, we're thankful that You responded to our request."

"Huh‽ What request?"

"We asked You for transport and now You are sending it. Cheers."

"Listen here," Quack said sternly. "I made you to begin with, and most planets' populations would see that as being enough for a god to do. I am helping you because I want to, not because you told Me to."

"Okay," said Clint. "But, either way, we're very thankful."

"Thank you. I don't ask for your sacrifice, I only ask for your gratitude."

### Chapter 14

'Where am I now?' the jam asked.

"You're in a sandwich. And I'm putting the sandwich in a plastic box for easy transport."

'Are you taking me to the Great Oak Tree?' the jam asked excitedly.

"I thought You said it hadn't been planted yet," Dave said, furrowing his thick brown brow.

'So that's a no. Can we try to seek out the Acorn at least?'

"Yep," Dave said resignedly. "That's where we're headed. "You and me all the way. I've been settled a few days and off I go on another journey. But I'll be happy to travel along with You."

'You realise you don't have to capitalise my pronouns, don't you?' the jam asked, with both parties well in the knowledge that Dave wasn't aware of such a fact.

"I wasn't sure. I thought I could slip it in and you might not notice."

'Dave, I'm a jam sandwich. It's safe to assume that when a person's senses are sufficiently unused that the being itself becomes maladroit, they can at very least hear punctuation. Just like many writers.'

"Don't throw intellectual words in there just for the sake of it. Maladroit? Seriously?" Dave sighed. The word 'maladroit' brought back a very specific memory of himself aged 10. Dave had been an unhappy and quarrelsome child. During one lesson where the students had been trained in the basics of punctuation, Dave commented that he sometimes felt it necessary to provide an additional comma after the penultimate item in a list for clarification. Mr Gray, his teacher had said, as bland as you are, I at least count this as among your few admirable qualities. I feel I can rely upon you to have nothing of any worth to say. You, Mr Gray, are the epitome of the word 'maladroit'.

When he asked what the word 'maladroit' meant, he was met with the response, Mr Gray, if you do not know what the word 'maladroit' means, I shall take that as definitive proof that you are maladroit. You're exactly the sort of frightful person who would use a dictionary.

"But thank You anyway," said Dave to the jam. "I will use Your information in the future."

'You're doing it again.'

### Dave sealed the plastic box, semi-hoping that this would prevent the jam sandwich from being able to communicate with him, but half-thinking that this wouldn't be the case and full-knowing it would be a far duller trip with no-one to talk to.

### Grabbing the rucksack he had taken with him across the country a week before, Dave unzipped the largest section, shoved the box inside and, closing it and slinging it upon his shoulder as he walked, went to the door. The bag was now adorned with three felt badges – one from each of his Glix'n pseudohomes. The first badge, which had been attached to the bag when he received it from Glinda at Monterey Jack General, was the hospital insignia, showing a brown squirrel with a yellow underside holding a staff. The second badge showed merely a question mark. It appeared that Old Man Tales had suffered a bout of insomnia several days earlier when the Fez-followers had stayed at his house. The elderly gentleman had got up in the night and cross-stitched the punctuation before applying it to Dave's bag as a memory – or rather a lack of memory. The third badge Dave had found in a box in Oprah and Calvin's hallway. As they had been refurbishing their house, they had emptied out their apothecary drawers into boxes, with the intention being that they move the old items into the new drawers of their new apothecary when it arrived. They did so almost immediately when the replacement furniture came, and Dave volunteered to help them unpack the boxes and pack the replacement drawers – as is only polite to offer when residing in a fellow human's abode. The image was of a burning Oak Tree and Dave wondered what it meant. He thought perhaps it might tie in with the question mark of Old Man Tales's badge, but couldn't see how.

### Dave asked Oprah what it meant and she had no idea, nor where it came from, but offered to teach Dave how to sew it onto his bag with the others. Glix'n sewing was pretty much the same as on Dave's home planet. Dave didn't know how to sew on his home planet, so this was useless knowledge he didn't know. The benefit of ignorance, it seemed, was that it rarely meant learning something once, let alone twice.

### Dave's bag was the emblem of everything he had experienced on Glix. The badges were the safety spots where he had been able to put his baggage down long-term without the fear of its long-term detachment from Dave and Dave's travels. But, for Dave, nothing that was long-term ever lasted particularly long. He had been hoping to stay on the burning tree badge a little while longer, but now he had to move on. Perhaps he would return to Oprah and Calvin's home some day. Perhaps he would find some new badge as his home. Perhaps that place would have a longer-lasting long-term. But, for now, he was resigned to the material between the badges. Dave had done enough staring out the door and thinking. It was time to start acting. And, for the second time in a few weeks, Dave stepped out the door and on a journey to an object he couldn't locate.

### Chapter 15

### As Dave wandered once more through the streets of Carpe Yolu, he was thankful for the opportunity to give the city a second viewing.

### This settlement, which he had viewed so little but had missed and reminisced upon on his travels, showed an unconscious love for culture like few places had on Dave's home planet. The jam in his bag advised Dave to look for the Oak Tree, but was understanding that the alien would wish to see the other parts of the foreign land.

### Given that he was – as had been acknowledged and mostly brushed over on his extraplanetary excursion – a lost alien, Dave headed for the most homely part of the city, which was (as in any settlement) the library.

'Dave, I do know who you are,' the jam said.

"I know," he replied. "It's an alarming fact."

'I mean, you don't have to keep hiding from me.'

### Dave walked steadily along the street, glancing at the buildings either side of him and hoping this would conceal his shifty eyes. "I'm not trying to hide from you," he lied.

'I know you're an alien.'

"What‽" Dave screeched.

'It's not that uncommon here.'

### Dave still wasn't comfortable. "How long have you known me? I wouldn't impart that knowledge to someone, even if I'd known them for a really long time."

'How long had you known the Space Chicken for when you told him?' The jam already knew the answer.

"How long have you known me for?"

### The jam remained silent. Dave didn't imagine he could ever live on Glix for longer than a ten days. Ten days, he figured, was a round number, but also a great enough period of time to change a traveller's thoughts from 'Oh, this is nice and a bit different' to 'Why don't they serve [any given food product] here? All this region's food is weird and too spicy/plain'. Dave had already spent three weeks on Glix: one week at the hospital; one walking to the Fez; one at Calvin and Oprah's house. It startled him that he had been on Glix for more than ten days. He had assumed that after ten days – even in unfavourable circumstances – whatever forces had caused him to be stranded on this planet would have safely sent him back home. Another ten days would definitely be too much.

"I'll be alarmed to find out I've known you a few months."

### The jam didn't answer. If it had eyes, it would have given Dave a look which would make him rethink his suggestion. Dave was expecting such a look, but of course, none ever came. Like many jams, the jam in Dave's backpack had no eyes.

### Dave wasn't enjoying this game anymore. "A year?"

### The jam remained silent.

"Ten years?"

### The jam didn't answer. Dave saw his own life draining away before his eyes.

"You don't have to answer me. Your lack of response isn't negative or positive, it's simply that: an unloaded lack of response." Dave smirked a little at the fact he'd let himself believe something so ludicrous without any form of proof. Then he talked to jar of jam about immortality and the future. "How old do I live to?"

'Now that I can't tell you.'

"What do you mean?"

### The jam remained silent.

"Are you suggesting there are lots of things you can tell me? You keep loads of things from me already. Who you are, for instance. Who are you?"

'A friend.'

### Dave's smile had barely appeared back on his face before it was wiped off again. "Have you seen me die?"

### The jam remained silent.

### Dave quickly changed the subject. "What's the library like here? I'm a bookworm, you see."

'Most people are.'

"I wouldn't say so."

'Most Glix'ns are.'

"Is it a pretty redundant statement for me to say? 'I am a bookworm' is meaningless, is it?"

'The Glix'ns don't really use the word "bookworm",' the jam explained. 'Except to refer to the Great Bookworm Plague of... never mind.'

"No, you can tell me. I find this sort of thing interesting."

'I said "never mind",' the jam informed him, 'because I can't tell you when it happened.'

### Dave was discovering more as the jam talked that any mention of time-related secrets made him feel very uncomfortable. "So what is the library like?"

'I'll show you.'

### The jam directed Dave towards a building which Dave considered to be one of the finest he had ever seen. In Dave's experience, beauty didn't often happen for places dedicated to books.

### The building was largest in all of Carpe Yolu and Dave was surprised he hadn't noticed it in the eleven days total he had spent there. Monterey Jack Hospital was actually taller and Dave had stayed on one of the highest floors, but the library was as broad as a street and nine storeys high. Its brown, wise front stood proudly before the city, watching all that happens and every advancement with an unjudgemental, vacant gaze. But that was its purpose: to absorb all the wisdom and stupidity of Glix equally and without praise or prejudice. Above this omniscient cuboid perched a glass pyramid, pointed towards the sky. And it shone in the gloom.

### Dave went inside through the library's grand arch. The entrance room had a beautiful rustic feel to it, as if it had been born directly of nature. Everywhere Dave looked, he saw enthusiastic faces. The rich, the poor, and everyone in between were readers. The old, the young, and everyone in between were readers.

### They were all happy. They were more than happy. Most of them understood something more than happiness. Most of them had the power to read a book and experience things deeper than sadness, anger and hatred. Some of the books were making them feel depression, injustice and love. But then not everyone felt this. Some readers were staring blankly into books, ignoring the themes and oblivious to the messages. They were happy. And that was the most basic, lightweight and shallow – yet most consistent – feeling the authors had been trying to get across.

### The jam was examining its surroundings and just about coming to the conclusion that it would be some time before the Great Oak Tree was planted. As such – to avoid embarrassment (and embarrassment came quite easily to a jam sandwich) – he kept quiet, not caring to insist upon Dave's travelling any more. The jam allowed Dave to spend many hours in the library, during which time Dave signed up to the national scheme and got himself a library card.

### Dave examined all the fiction floors of the Carpe Yolu library, flitting between a number of books, reading fragments of authors such as Dirring, Bitlerson, Yurbst and Atloc.

'You know who my favourite author is?' the jam asked.

"I don't know many Glix'n authors, so it's doubtful." This comment garnered some strange looks.

'Trawe Mit. You probably haven't heard of him.'

"Where might he be found? I don't quite understand this organisation system."

'Well, it's alphabetical by overname, just like any other library.'

"No, it's not."

'Yes, it is. Look, he should be here under M.' The jam guided Dave towards that section, although Dave still wasn't convinced.

"When was he writing?"

'Around... Actually never mind. He won't be here.'

### Dave lifted his rucksack close to his mouth and muttered, "Is he from the future?"

'Dave, you don't need to be so secretive about time-travel. It's quite common here,' the jam informed him. 'Well, it will be. Which means it already has been. I think your main concern ought to be that you're standing in a library claiming aloud that you know nothing about Glix'n literature and seem to be talking to your bag.'

### In his travels through the wealth of Glix'n knowledge, Dave discovered many pieces of information about his new home. He discovered that the continent of America was square and split into the four triangular regions of North, East, South and West, even though those measurements of direction aren't commonly used on Glix. He discovered that the largest river on the planet ran through the air, waving between clouds as a steady stream of thick, dense steam.

### From the non-fiction sections of the library – the research leading to the advancement of Dave's knowledge of his own surroundings – Dave found himself drifting towards the fiction and literary sections of the home. The more works of literature he read, the more he felt a compulsion towards activism and the progression towards a more meaningful existence. Then, when he got bored of learning, he read simple fiction for plain pleasure without such intense thought as was present in complex literary works.

Dave eventually discovered his favourite author was Adam Terrance and selected his The Darker Day's Sun to read. He used his library card to rent the novel out, but remained inside the building anyway, heading up to the top floor to read.

### Dave found in the highest room a calming area where it seemed everything was possible, but only good was wanted. The original flat roof of the library was grown over with a carpet of moss, and had subsequently been covered with a glass pyramid and used as a place both to read and grow fruit. He lay down on the floor – as seemed only natural – and gazed up at the purple sky for a moment. He placed his bag next to him, preparing for a long period of rich solitude intertwined with companionship: the very heart of reading. The jam confirmed for him that it was all right to read, as he would be drifting off in his own thoughts anyway, but could remain there for company. Dave took hold of the book, taking care not to damage its paperback spine.

And that's when Dave vanished. Not visibly, of course, though that would have been more ordinary. He disappeared into the world of The Darker Day's Sun. He felt himself being introduced to all its characters. Its story – which was about a corrupt government – moved him forever. He had heard people say they had been changed by a book. This, of course, he cared very little for. Having a book change your life is a very minor achievement. A good book will keep you exactly the same, but change your opinion, or give you an opinion where you previously had none – or at most a very weak one. This is what The Darker Day's Sun did to Dave.

Dave stared up at the sky again. It felt different now. It was exactly the same, the building was identical and Dave's life hadn't been changed. Yet the sky was richer, a little bit more clear. Dave's mind had been opened slightly. The Darker Day's Sun filled Dave with regret. He regretted that he had not taken an interest in politics before. The key reason most of the population takes no interest in politics is that the politicians pretend it's too confusing for them. But now Dave knew. Now he understood its simplicity and that he could have a say in the world. There was no-one here to tell him who to vote for, no family and friends to say what was right. He could truly make up his mind for himself.

"I didn't like the government on my home planet."

'Here we have lots of different governments.'

"Well, we had separate governments on my home planet. I just didn't like the one in Britain."

'Okay. That's a perfectly ordinary feeling.'

"No, I mean I really hated it. I should have said something earlier. I wish I'd said something while I lived there. The men in charge said lovers of the same gender couldn't get married, that people with less money were less important, and that not everyone was entitled to a perfect education. None of these things are okay, so why did I say they were? I kept quiet and didn't say anything because I thought my friends and family were holding me back. They weren't. How could they be? I was trying to keep myself to myself, but I kept myself to from myself."

'I wouldn't worry about it too much, Dave.'

### Dave turned and looked at his bag. "You know what's going to happen next, don't you?"

### The jam was silent.

"Well, for once, I do too. We're going to go and find that oak tree you were talking about. Or was it an Oak Tree...?"

'Um, Dave, you might want to stay here a bit longer.'

"Why?"

'Because... this is a lovely library!'

"It is rather beautiful. Who made it?"

'It was designed by a number of the finest architects, from Pasker to Bredzell, during the 1230s. It has since had a number of refurbishments and extensions. Most recently, it was repainted and then opened by David Gratton.' Then the jam said, 'I'm not sure I was meant to say that.'

"David Gratton. I've heard of him," Dave said, thinking. "And that's uncommon for someone of Glix. He's that guy that the Space Chicken accused me of being."

'I've said too much.'

"No, you need to tell me right now," Dave said sternly.

'It's just some guy.'

"Why does David Gratton keep coming up? What are the chances of me coming all this way and hearing more of David Gratton again? What's he got to do with me?"

'He did a lot, that's all. In David Gratton's life, he went a lot of places, gave a lot of talks, opened a lot of buildings, that's why you keep hearing of him. He's no-one important.'

"He's very important, clearly. Why else would the Space Chicken care if I were him?"

'Try to forget about David Gratton. There's nothing you can do.'

"But it concerns my future. What happens to David Gratton will change my life."

'Not really.'

"Don't lie to me. I know you well enough to tell when you're lying."

'And I know you well enough to tell that you needn't worry about David Gratton.'

### Dave gave up. All his attempts at anything seemed to result in failure and humiliation. "We're going to find the Oak Tree."

### Chapter 16

"Don't you think you're being a bit extreme?" Quack asked down the phone.

"But You said he's evil," the Space Chicken countered.

"That's not really evidence to go on, is it?"

The Space Chicken was flabbergasted. "But You said that. And You're omniscient."

"Semiscient, I think you'll find," Quack said, straightening his metaphorical tie. "Which means I'm unreliable. Some of the time. I'm sometimes wrong. At least if I were wrong all the time, I'd be consistent. That would be useful. But I'm not."

"How would Your being wrong all the time be useful?"

"Because you'd always know what was right."

"How?"

"Because it would always be the opposite of what I said."

### The Space Chicken put the phone down. Any sort of illogical logic was fairly distressing, but pious inconsistencies could be infuriating, which meant they imperatively were.

"Can I go now?" asked Michael Rowland Daffodil, a possible criminal. But only in the future.

"No," the Space Chicken said. "But I will remove your hand-wingcuffs, provided you stay in the car."

"What are you talking about?" asked Michael Rowland Daffodil. "You haven't got a car."

"I will have soon enough. I'll also open the window slightly so you can get some cool air."

### The Space Chicken walked up to a sailor who was standing by the side of the river Prong. After leaving the train, with his wing cuffed to Michael Rowland Daffodil's wrist, the Space Chicken and Fred Jr, his son, had wandered around for a while, hoping to find the their prize, which was sitting in the major river of Gord. "Excuse me," the Space Chicken excused, "but you look like a man wizened to the ways of the water. Would you might helping me?"

"What do you want?"

"I'm looking to retrieve a holy grail. It shouldn't be too much of a trying task."

"It's always me," the sailor grumbled. "Listen, darlin', this God or god hasn't spurken to you. You haven't been sent on some mission or owt by 'Im, so just farget abaht it."

"Look at me. I have been sent on a mission. I'm not like the other nutters who pass through here. I'm a different nutter."

### The sailor looked at him. "Do Ah knoo yous from somewhare?" the sailor said to the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Oh, yeah. You're that one as told us the world were gonna end." He chuckled, though out of stubbornness, arrogance and antipathy, not out of humour. A difficult laugh to pull off, but the trained mariner achieved it. "You're the Paternal–"

"No, I'm not!" the Space Chicken squawked. More calmly, he added, "I'm the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack."

"Ah, reeght," he said, both of them well aware that the sailor didn't know the difference. "In that case, Ah can get yer hahly greel fer yiz."

### The sailor used a variety of levers, pulleys, nets and rods to retrieve the grail. Soon afterwards, the Space Chicken, Fred Jr and Michael Rowland Daffodil wound up in Gary's Vehicles, celestial treasure in wing.

### Arriving there, they were promptly struck by how the majority of the interior of the shop was taken up by the gargantuan Spaceboat. The Space Chicken found Gary, and, exchanging the aforementioned valuables, was entitled to take the Spaceboat.

### Things were just about beginning to match up.

### Chapter 17

"Clint?"

"Clein?"

"Are we going anywhere?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"We're going to the Fez, of course."

"Yes, but are we actually going anywhere?"

"We're going Nekken, if that's what you're asking. I checked a proper compass this time."

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't."

"You can't pull that lie on me."

"Of course I know what you mean! Do you think there's a chance in Tartarus I could fail to understand you?!"

"Clint," Clein said. "We both know we're both thinking it. Are we really going anywhere? Do we really need to follow the Fez again?"

"Look, it's just what we felt like doing. Some people feel like going to university. We didn't, because we knew something else would come up. This is it. The Fez is a different path we can take."

### The Space Chicken and Fred Jr drew up in the Speedvan. "This might help your journey to go a bit more quickly."

"Space Chicken!" the twins exclaimed in unison.

"Don't ask how I got this Speedvan back from Oprah. I'm suffering from quite a lot of timelag as it is and I don't need a headache on top of that."

"Thank you," Clint said, clambering into the car. "Now drive us to the Fez."

"What?"

"I said, 'Now drive us to the Fez.'"

"What are you talking about?"

### Clein explained, "He said—"

"Yes, I know what he said." The Space Chicken was beginning to get rather irritated.

'You may need to explain in greater detail.'

"Fred Jr thinks you may need to explain in greater detail."

"Yes, we can hear him too," Clint said. "And you decided to call him 'Fred Jr'? Hm, interesting."

### Clein said, "I didn't know you were called 'Fred'."

"That's beside the point!" the Space Chicken calmly and politely explained. "When I said, 'What?' I was clearly mistaken in pre-empting your interpretation."

### Clint and Clein stared at him blankly.

"What I had meant to say was, "Don't you dare think for a minute that I'm going to drive you to BongVe Bong.' There wasn't meant to be much room for your interpretation."

"Space Chicken," said Clein, "please," said Clein, "could you," said Clein, "drive us up to BongVe Bong? Please."

"No."

'Dad, you must help them. All we shall be doing anyway is wandering around. We have no proposed destination; we may as well help our friends.'

"All right," the Space Chicken agreed. "Get in, if you must," he said to Clint and Clein. It seemed they must, for they clambered into the back of the Speedvan without a second thought.

"Um... Space Chicken?" Clein said.

"Yes."

"There's another man in the car with us."

"Ah, yes," the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack said very calmly. "I have taken him hostage. I did so at divine request."

"Has Quack actually asked you to take him hostage?"

"Well, no."

### Clint gasped. "Have you gone beyond Quack? Have you spoken to— to God? Does God exist?"

"No."

"God doesn't exist? Do you know that exclusively now? Perhaps you should tell the press."

"I mean 'No, I haven't spoken to God'. I don't know if It exists or not. Even Quack doesn't know that."

"Well, there are a lot of things Quack doesn't know, aren't there?"

"He knew how to ridicule the Space Chicken," Michael Rowland Daffodil said.

"That's enough out of you," the Space Chicken said sternly. "Now, does anyone have a compass?"

"The Speedvan has one, doesn't it?"

"Where?"

'It is in the centre of the dashboard, next to a series of violet switches.'

"Ah, yes. So it is." The Space Chicken checked it. "We appear to be heading Nekken."

"Good," said Clein. "We've already established how we shouldn't be having any mishaps this time."

"Yes, Dave did inconvenience us a large amount, but he is a member of our group who is greatly missed."

"Where is Dave now?" asked Michael Rowland Daffodil.

'Well, he would have been sent home, but we're uncertain where his home is,' said Fred Jr.

"Quack knows," the Space Chicken put simply.

"Should we ring him up and ask him?" Clint asked.

"No," the Space Chicken mumbled, "it was just an expression." He added, "Quack couldn't find a Dirring book in Carpe Yolu library."

"I imagine he could—"

### Clein interrupted, "We might need to explain all this to the stranger in the car."

"Michael Rowland Daffodil," Michael Rowland Daffodil introduced himself.

"Hello Michael Rowland Daffodil," said Clint to Michael Rowland Daffodil.

"Hello Michael Rowland Daffodil," said Clein to Michael Rowland Daffodil. "We may need to explain some things to Michael Rowland Daffodil. Unless you don't want us to," he added to the Space Chicken. "The phone business, that is."

"Can I ask you something?" asked Michael Rowland Daffodil. "Why do you call me Michael Rowland Daffodil? What's wrong with a nickname? Or even just one of my long names? Do you have to say all three?"

"Quiet, Michael Rowland Daffodil," said the Space Chicken. Then, to Clint and Clein, "Don't refer to him by his first name."

"Should I just call him 'Daffodil', then?"

"I mean I don't want you getting friendly with him."

### Michael Rowland Daffodil leant forward so he could whisper loudly in the Space Chicken's ears. "Oh, you needn't worry there, chickiwick. I've got very friendly towards you already. And I know all about your little phone, too. Talking to Quack. Trying to block doors – trying to reverse rifts. Naughty, naughty."

"I'm doing that for good. Quack told me to."

"Just like how you kidnapped me."

"How do you know all this?"

"Keeping secrets, were we?"

"How do you know all this?"

### Michael Rowland Daffodil leant a little closer. "I've been talking to a frog called Sam."

### Chapter 18

Arthur Cardigan woke up. It had been one week since he had spoken to Quack. One Tartarus of a week. He had discovered that the greatest punishment that could be bestowed is thinking. But Quack wasn't punishing him. Quack just wanted him to understand himself, as well as Himself, and indeed He needed to understand Himself as well as himself on top of him understanding himself and Himself. Arthur Cardigan had been beginning to grasp it. Then he had a week solely to think about it. Now he understood it or else.

### What he needed to understand was the initiation process of becoming a messenger of Quack. Quack didn't see why He needed another servant; He had plenty of prophets, so unless Arthur Cardigan was planning to outlive immortals, he would be of little use to Him.

### The complex mind required in order to grasp and guide the actions of a constructed, uncontrolled and non-dominated community of planetary scale required a great deal of understanding to be gained. Understanding, as ever, came from confusion.

### In order for Arthur Cardigan to understand Glix, he had to look within himself, reanalyse his own flaws and misunderstandings, and discover a new meaning to the world in which he lived with the help of nothing but his own self-exploration. The one thing he didn't understand was why Quack needed a new prophet.

### There were doesn't of prophets hanging around anyway. Quack had them all over the place. Most of them didn't even know what they were doing. Why would Quack need more of those? Even the present Quack wasn't sure why.

### At the same moment, Quack and Arthur Cardigan had the same thought. One of the prophets was going to die.

### This must be why the future Quack sent me back, Arthur thought. To train me for the perfect moment when a prophet leaves us and I must replace them.

### Chapter 19

### A week of thinking had been both a help and a hindrance to Arthur Cardigan, but a helpful hindrance at that.

### A week seemed a very useful period of time to Arthur Cardigan. Not just this past week, but all weeks. It was the perfect unit of time for measure events that were neither instantaneous nor ever-enduring. Five days. Five simple days. It began with an introduction and ended with a conclusion. In the middle was a turning point, supported by a natural bridge either side. If anything needed doing, any trip needed taking, any thought needed thinking, a week would be the perfect period of time to set aside for it. Five simple days.

### A year had been wrong for Arthur Cardigan. A was was much better. He had progressed greatly in the past year, of course, but it wasn't quite right. It wasn't perfect. What was unachievable in a year came naturally in a week. The past year hadn't been perfectly set out for Arthur. There had been too much action, too much distraction. A week of thinking was perfect.

"How are you feeling now?" Quack asked Arthur over the phone. Arthur was sitting under a tree on the outskirts of Carpe Yolu. Quack was in the overworld – specifically, in the Ache.

"I'm feeling pretty good, actually. The week of thinking has done me good. I'm not angry or stressed any more; I just have a calm, relaxed attitude and a simple approach to everything."

"Good," Quack replied. "Now I'm going to mess that up for you."

"I won't let you."

"I have a simple task to set you. This will be part of the prophet experience, training you up for whatever big thing the Me wants you for. I want you to go to Gary's Vehicles in Gord and ask him to build you a Spaceboat."

### Chapter 20

### After having successfully travelled from England to BongVe Bong – without having to visit Wales this time – the Space Chicken, Fred Jr, Clint, Clein and Michael Rowland Daffodil were forced into stopping at a motel for the night. It was 18th Haca and the Space Chicken was tired and convinced that, if they drove for any longer, he wouldn't be able to see straight. He couldn't really see straight anyway, as his eyes were on the sides of his head, but at least they were effective for the time being, even if they were facing in opposite directions.

### The chiefest difficulty was actually the act of driving itself. The Space Chicken was an excellent driver, having centuries of experience and even having been present at the first drive of an automobile in history (the inventor, John Whimsy Gisbert, had assured the curious and skeptical public that, owing to the limitations observed in current scientific understanding, no vehicle would ever be able to travel faster than ten kilometres per Haca – sure as no tree will ever be able to grow more than ten items of fruit per year, eleven being an unlucky number and thus perpetually avoided in nature; sure as protein can only ever come from the remains of slaughtered animals; and sure as there will never be any evidence in favour of life outside Glix – before pushing his foot down upon the spike – the pedal having already been invented, but naturally rejected in favour of the electroconductive abilities of the spike – and hurtling forward into a brick wall at 57.11kmpH and being crushed between his concrete chair ("concrete being the only substance known to man which can go within eleven metres of an electric wire without causing an explosion") and his safety spike. The Space Chicken's chiefest difficulty was not having any hands to drive with, a biological fact he addressed as 'discrimination'.

### Fred Jr was unable to drive not because he was too young, which he was, though driving age restrictions hadn't been introduced in 2042 N.G. (which stood for 'New Glix', the second period of 1,000,000 years in Glix's lifetime, after 'Glix Time'), but because he had no limbs apart from feet – laws preventing people driving with their feet had been introduced before age limits.

### Clint and Clein had already informed the Space Chicken that they could not drive, much to the disappointment of their mother, Oprah. She had told them they ought to study a course in vehicles ("They reckon 'at movers is the third big somethin' in 'istory, after elec'rick an' sloiced butties!") at one of the universities, Dogsbridge or Llamafoot, but none had appealed to the twins. Oprah was at that moment in operation of the Spaceboat, driving significantly farther every second than she had ever imagined Clint and Clein would in their entire lives.

### That left Michael Rowland Daffodil. A man who was quite probably evil, whom Quack senses had indicated would cause great harm and would be very dangerous to the Fez-followers. He was currently the Space Chicken's prisoner. With no other options available, he was elected to the position of driver.

### They arrived at the motel safely, after a great deal of arguing and disagreement between all parties: on all counts, a successful journey.

"There's one thing I've come to notice about motels," said the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack.

"What's that?" asked Michael Rowland Daffodil.

### He ignored him.

"What's that?" asked Clint.

"Nothing good ever happens in them," the Space Chicken said.

"Have you had bad experiences in the past?"

"I've never been to a motel."

### Clint thought about this. "Neither have I."

"Well that's hardly surprising," Michael Rowland Daffodil said, "he's a dozen times your age."

### Clint was confused. "Who are you suggesting is older here: me or the eternal prophet?"

"The Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack."

### Clint narrowed his eyes. "I'm not sure I believe you. In fact, I'm sure I don't believe you."

"I wouldn't have confused the ages of you and the Space Chicken," Michael Rowland Daffodil explained. "I've been paying attention to what you have to say. You're seventeen and the Space Chicken's four centuries old."

"Just shut it, you," said the Space Chicken. "You're a criminal, and you ought to know that."

### The evening continued in a tense mood. The group argued over nothing for the sake of individual solidarity and community liquidation. They were still frosty when they snuggled into their beds for the night. Michael Rowland Daffodil was told to sleep in his clothes from the day preceding. Clint and Clein wore matching striped pyjama bottoms and red slippers. The Space Chicken had a nightcap and had managed to find some triangular slippers which only it provided he put them on with his feet closed, then spread his claws once they're inside the slipper. Fred Jr had a small nightcap with a large plume sticking out of the top, which his father had fashioned out for him out of his own body materials. The Space Chicken took off his own nightcap and let Fred Jr sleep in it, before cuddling the bundle into his pennae.

### The Bird glanced around the area, before passing the vast judgement again that, "Nothing good ever happens in motels." Most of the group ignored him and the evening remained frosty.

### Then Clein asked, "What do you mean?" in an attempt to restore peace. "What do you mean that nothing good happens in motels? How can you pass judgement if you've never been to one?"

"Although I have never been to a motel," the Space Chicken began to justify, eyeing the others while fluffing his – and therefore also Fred Jr's – pillow, "I am able to base my opinions upon works I have studied."

"That was a very long, thought out and fancily worded justification," said Michael Rowland Daffodil. "That probably means you're trying to distract us from the fact that you can't explain what you mean. Please elaborate."

### The Space Chicken glared at him with each eye in turn. "What I meant," the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack explained, slowly detracting his gaze from Michael Rowland, "was that in every piece of fiction I have read – whether it be a novel, a poem or a play – motels are always regarded as being a dodgy location. Loads of murders happen in motels. Of course that's not real life." As the Space Chicken said this, he reached towards the light switch. He had a glint in his eye that made everyone else feel uncertain. A glint that told them there might just be a murder in a motel after all. A glint that told them there could easily be a chalk outline with a feather on it. The Space Chicken was a maniac. He'd made mistakes before. Usually because Quack had told him to. The twins had never slept in a room with the Space Chicken without Dave being there before. Michael Rowland Daffodil hadn't even met him before that morning. The Space Chicken was a nutter with a metal glint in his eye. And they were sleeping in a motel room with him. "Sleep tight."

### Chapter 21

### During the night, Michael Rowland Daffodil began to grow restless. He often had trouble sleeping at night, and now that he was standing accused, it was even more difficult. But he no longer had any handcuffs. He had been freed at Quack's request. The gods were urging him forth. Michael Rowland Daffodil stood and stared at the others in the room. They had let him in. They had allowed a stranger they believed to be evil into their friendship group. The Space Chicken seemed absolutely certain that Michael Rowland Daffodil was bad – more specifically that Michael Rowland Daffodil would do something very sad very soon – yet still he had brought the man along on a trip with his friends. They had dropped unconscious before the man. This was the point where they had fully placed their trust in Michael Rowland Daffodil, who was now standing over their dormant bodies.

### Chapter 22

### The Space Chicken didn't think himself very trusting. He had often come across complete strangers and assumed the worst of them. But then there were bad people. Some people in the world did bad things. And if you trusted someone who was going to do bad, it was... well, it wasn't good. Logically, the only way to make sure you don't trust get hurt is to not trust a bad person. And the only way to make sure you don't trust a bad person is to not trust anyone who could be bad; therefore, anyone. Don't trust anyone. The Space Chicken thought this was a good policy to go by.

### The Space Chicken didn't think himself very trusting. Apparently this was a bad thing. But when a stranger that he had been told at pious word was going to do something bad watched the Cockerel and his peers sleep, he got the impression that something was up.

### The Space Chicken stepped out into the orange dusk. All around was barren with a glow of fullness. There were a number of cars left in the parking lot. The Space Chicken ignored these, but thought of the number of drivers who must be sleeping here and therefore the number of people at risk of getting hurt. He turned around the corner of the wood panelled wall and saw Michael Rowland Daffodil standing at an ice machine.

### Michael Rowland Daffodil picked up a cup and pushed back the lever. Cool blocks of ice fell out of the machine.

"What're you up to?"

### Michael Rowland Daffodil turned and smiled slightly. It was a warm night and all the leaves in the trees seemed to have turned golden in the twilight hours. They would be back to normal come morning. "Y'know, a lot of people get the wrong impression about me." His ice had begun to melt already. He tipped the cup and the ice fell forward onto his face. He drank the trickle of water that came down. "They think I'm strange."

"You are. You're a stranger. That has 'strange' in the title."

"What do you think I am?"

"I think you're evil."

"Do you actually have a reason for that?"

"Quack told me."

"And that makes it true, does it?"

"You're the one who makes it true or false. And at the moment you don't seem too friendly."

### Michael Rowland Daffodil placed his cup under the machine and got some more ice. "You may find, the Space Chicken, that you have sorely mistaken me. You often place the most minor thought out of place – we all do – and this leads to grave misunderstandings. Goodnight, Chicken."

### Michael Rowland Daffodil brushed past the Space Chicken and made for the door. The Space Chicken caught him just in time. "Why are you here? You could have run away. You have the key to the Speedvan. I wouldn't have been able to catch you."

"I'm not running," he said, "because I'm not a criminal." He slurped some more water. "And even if I were I wouldn't flee."

"Why are you here?"

"I'm here to help you learn." He put his cup in the bin. "Goodnight, the Space Chicken, and sleep well."

### The Space Chicken didn't sleep well at all.

### Chapter 23

### The next morning, all the group members rose individually, of their own accord, except for Clint and Clein, who (being intelligent twins) automatically woke at the same time. Of course, being 17-year-olds, they were also reluctant to get out of bed. When they eventually did so, the Space Chicken joined them in shifting out of redundancy, flapping his feathers into place and cradling Fred Jr in his wings once again.

### Michael Rowland Daffodil made it all look easy. He looked in a mirror, as though his hair really bothered him, but gave one simple sweep of his hand through the big, blonde matt and ended up with a dazzling swish which ran from his forehead to his left ear in one effortlessly maintained do. While the Space Chicken always had bags under his eyes and constantly had to keep flapping to keep his feathers in order and blinking his third eyelids to moisten his eyes, and Clint and Clein had all the marks of lazy youth idleness, Michael Rowland Daffodil simply splashed water upon his young face in order to cleanse himself of all possible ailments, not that he had anything wrong, anyway.

### As they were in BongVe Bong by this point, the same location as the Fez, the group could automatically locate the Fez, and they automatically understood that it was following roughly the same path it had been the last time the four of them had been in BongVe Bong. Now it was slightly farther Nekken.

### Michael Rowland Daffodil drove the four other travellers up the road, but stopped soon afterwards at a diner to buy them breakfast.

"Have any of you done this before?" he asked.

"Yep," said Clein.

"We do it every day," said Clint.

### Michael Rowland Daffodil's blue eyes widened. "How is that possible?"

"We have breakfast all the time. Morning, noon and night."

### Michael Rowland Daffodil rolled his eyes. "I meant who's travelled to the Fez before?"

"We all have," the Space Chicken said. "We went there three days ago."

"You lot are mental."

"We had Dave and Dave with us then."

"Who are they? Specifically who is the first Dave?"

"Oh, Dave? He's crazy."

"What about the other Dave?"

"Crazy Dave."

"No, the other one."

"The other one is Crazy Dave. The first one is just normal Dave, but he's crazy," the Space Chicken failed to explain. "Crazy Dave is a weird fourteen-year-old we met at FezFans and then later outside eating a cheeseburger from a bin."

"He did love his cheeseburgers," Clint commented.

"Normal Dave was just your average guy, but he was still equally weird. He's around your age," the Space Chicken added to Michael Rowland Daffodil.

"Why did you decide to search for the Fez?" asked Michael Rowland Daffodil.

"Quack had sent me on a mission."

"What, another quest to abduct an ordinary guy you've never met?"

### The Space Chicken made to protest, but realised that this was perfectly true.

'I developed physically on the journey, from a thought to a person, though I imagine I would have had my own reasons to travel anyway.'

"Did your Egg just talk?" asked Michael Rowland Daffodil. "That's awesome! I thought he just flew around and wiggled his legs."

"Yes. Yes, he is an Egg." The Space Chicken glared daggers at the twins. "But they're arms, not legs."

"They look like legs."

"They act like arms."

'I'm fine whatever.'

"You stay out of this."

### An employee of the restaurant arrived at the table with their meals. The twins had fat bacon, eggs, greasy sausages, mushrooms, slimy beef, hash and dismal toast – what was commonly referred to as a 'full European breakfast'. The Space Chicken and Michael Rowland Daffodil had a grand compilation of fruits: slices of oranges, apples and pears, some grapes and grapefruits, a lot of peaches, apricots and mangoes, melons of all different shapes, sizes and colours and the finest plums, cherries, berries and strawberries you can think of. Fred Jr had a soup that had been ordered for him by the Space Chicken but he was unable to eat or drink.

"Are you not having any meat?" Clint asked of Michael Rowland Daffodil, though it was clear he wasn't.

"It's not good for you, you know," the Space Chicken interjected. "You're shortening your lives. I feel my lifespan shortening just looking at it."

"Why do you care, Space Chicken? You're pater—"

"I'm eternal, yes. I am the Space Chicken, as you so rightly say, and so I care about the animals and I take into consideration the deaths caused by your eating that food. If you can call it food..."

"But you're a chicken—"

"I'm a Chicken."

"Bacon comes from cows," said Clint. "It's not like you're the same thing."

"And anyway," said Clein, "you're a prophet, so you're not even distantly related to them."

"But we're all people," cried the Space Chicken. "Does it not bother you that, had you been born to different parents, that you could have been what Clein's eating?"

"I am Clein. He's Clint."

"Same thing. You could still both have been dead meat."

"Well we're not." Clint bit into a chunk of flesh and liquid fat dribbled out. "Anyway," he said to Michael Rowland Daffodil, whose name Clint couldn't remember, "why aren't you eating any meat?"

"I'm a vegetarian," he replied.

### Clint stopped in his tracks. "Oh," he said disappointedly. "Why?"

"For all the reasons the Space Chicken just mentioned and more."

### The Space Chicken looked at him in awe.

"Oh," repeated Clein.

"The equal rights movement is growing, Clein. It's the inevitable progression of civilisation."

### When put in his place, Clein's only response was a bland and ignorant one: "Do you have to be so argumentative?"

"I don't hide away. I don't diminish my views for the sake of sharing opinions with the oblivious majority. I have no trepidations in answering any questions I'm asked."

"Well, there's one thing you never told us."

"What's that?"

### "Why are you travelling to the Fez?"

### Chapter 24

Dave Gray got a job working at the Carpe Yolan Library. Well, he worked there, although he didn't require payment. And – strictly speaking – the staff of the establishment weren't aware of his decision to employ himself there. But, after he had sorted through several dozen books, he became well acquainted with the librarians. He told them the publicly acceptable version of his story (including his journey to the Fez and return to Carpe Yolu, but not including his being from another planet and the talking, time-travelling jam). The people seemed to take pity on him, and allowed him to stay there overnight, which was understandable, given he was homeless and kept talking to his backpack. People always look at a situation and assume the worst. Although it wasn't the worst. He wasn't the worst. Or, at least, he didn't think he was. He didn't really think of himself as being on any sort of scale. Which led him to wonder how well he was considered to be doing.

"Jam," he said as they settled down in a corner under the stars and moons that night, "am I the worst?"

### The jam wasn't quite sure how to answer. '...You don't seem that bad to me.'

"I mean, where am I on the scale? I don't think of myself as being a Glix'n, but they do."

"We all have times when we think there's nobody like us."

"Well, I'm an alien and you're a fruit conserve."

'Some of us are different. There are those who think they're different to try to become more like everyone else, and there are those who think they're different so they try to find other people who are different.'

"Am I like you?"

'Well, you found me, didn't you?'

"No. Oprah found you. You were in aisle 12, along with the breakfast foods. Although I tried to eat you for lunch. How foolish I was; jam is hardly ever a lunch food." Dave sat up. "Is that why I found you? Was it some twist of fate or the accumulation of the efforts of the universe to create harmony which caused our timelines to converge?"

'I wouldn't look into that too deeply. There's nothing there, but you might start trying to imagine there is. On Glix, we call that superstition.'

"Yeah, we had something similar on my home planet." Dave sat back down again.

'We are certainly similar, belonging to the same group of people.'

"What do you mean?"

'I am to have a great many connections with your group.'

"What group? Do I belong to a group?"

'Of course you do. It's you and the Space Chicken.'

"That's not a group. That's just a friendship."

'There are more people, too, but I can't say in front of you, since I don't know who you're expecting.'

"I'm not expecting anyone."

'Dave, surely you must know you'll see the Space Chicken again. Did you think you travel around but never meet him again?'

"I don't know what to think. Sometimes I just need a rest from thinking." He read some more of The Darker Day's Sun by double moonlight and eventually drifted off to sleep.

### The next day he proceeded in the fashion, organising bookshelves to a scheme he didn't understand and conversing with those he met. That night he slept in the same manner, reading and pondering whether or not this Oak Tree would be planted any time soon, or if he'd be indefinitely. He wondered if he'd see the Space Chicken again, and – if so – if he'd search out the prophet, or if the Celestial Cockerel would look for him, or if they'd meet by chance. Or if they'd never meet.

### The same happened on the day after, and the day after, and the day that followed that. He began to think more and more about time. It was always an issue. People were always passing through it. Glix'ns – which he may or may not have been one of – travelled around and among it in all different directions. It was becoming all he thought about. Time, and how soon things would happen. He needed to know about time and travelling with it, so he asked a time-traveller. Of course, he started with the basics.

"What time is it?" Dave asked the jam at 11.74 Haca.

'94th Quinquomber, 2042.'

"Why did you say the date and not the time of day?"

'Because I knew what you were asking.'

"I don't understand the time."

'Few people do.'

"You clearly didn't know what I was asking there. Could you explain the time to me?"

'Time is an illusive concept. Future philosophers believe—'

"Now you know what I'm asking, but you're just refusing to help."

'I've got all the time in the world to talk to you about all the time in the world.'

### Dave sighed.

'Okay,' the jam acquiesced. 'I'll explain: on Glix, the year is the time it takes to orbit around the two closest stars, Quil and Romploon.'

"There are two stars? Is that like my Sun?"

'I've never been to your planet. I've never left Glix.'

"Ha! I've been to two planets and I've only 35. That is, I'm 35 on my home planet. I'll soon work out how old I am here."

### The jam got defensive. 'I can travel in time. Or, at least, I have travelled in time. You've never done that.'

"Of course I've travelled in time," Dave laughed. "I've just only ever done it forwards at a consistent rate."

'Could you be any more smug?'

"I can try. So, does Glix orbit in an oval? Does it swing round Romploon, then go flying back to Quil, only to be swung back again, like a game of tennis?"

'Yes, basically. There'll be astrophysicists soon. They'll go into more detail, if you want.'

"I look forward to it."

'The Glix'n year is split into ten equal segments of 20 days, called Ombers. These are: Simber; Bimber; Trimber; Quadromber; Quinquomber; Sexamber; September; Octomber; November; December.'

"Right. And we're still in Quinquomber."

'Yes. Any period of days can also be split into Weeks. There aren't as important as on some planets, I believe, but consist of five days.'

"Okay. We have them at home, too."

'From what you've told me, I calculate you arrived here on 77,42.'

"Have I told you anything?"

'Haven't you? It may have been in the future that you told me.'

"And it's now 94th. So have I been here for nearly a month?"

'Yep.'

### Dave sat down on his backpack. He'd only been expecting to be on the planet for a few days. Well, he hadn't be expecting to go to the planet at all.

'The Glix'n day has 15 Haca, which can be conveniently subdivided into Decahaca, Centihaca, Millihaca, Decamillihaca, etc.'

"That's incredibly confusing," said Dave.

'How does it work on your planet?'

"There were twelve months, similar to your Ombers, each with either 30 or 31 days, but sometimes they had a different number of days depending on which month it was, and whether or not the year was a number which could be divided by four and the result be an integer, and additionally by whether or not the year's number was a multiple of 100, but changed again if it were a multiple of 400. A week has seven days, which have different names, but don't correlate to the day of the month. There are 365 days in a year. But sometimes more. And there are exactly 24 hours in a day, split up into 60 chunks, which also consist of 60 sub-particles. Well, almost exactly 24."

The jam was silent for a moment. 'What‽ That system makes absolutely no sense whatsoever! 365 isn't even a multiple of seven or twelve!'

"Well... It sort of works."

'No, it doesn't! None of those numbers have any relation to each other.'

"Neither do the ones here."

'200 splits down into ten groups of twenty, which are split into four groups of five. It's pretty basic.'

"I suppose you have a point there. How is the day split down into hours?"

'We don't have hours, we have Haca.'

"What's the difference?"

'Haca are metric. We have fifteen Haca a day. You can cut a Haca up however you choose.'

"Okay, I guess that makes sense."

'It's very simple and easy to get used to.'

"I hope it won't be too many Haca before the Oak Tree gets planted."

### The jam was silent until he could take it no more. 'Well, it's the 94th today, so it shouldn't be too long.'

### Chapter 25

### After having set off from the restaurant, Michael Rowland Daffodil drove himself and his peers Nekken. The man being an experienced driver of all kinds of vehicles, he soon got to grips with the Speedvan and set it off in flight mode. However, this time the four experienced passengers flew well within the atmosphere of Glix.

### Floating gently through the sky at a phenomenal rate, with the target of the Fez a lot further Nekken than it had been on their previous journey, Clint and Clein took the opportunity to once again discuss the basics of the Fez.

"So when you press one of the wrong buttons on the Fez, you get transported back home?"

"Yes, Clint, we established this."

"But what if you have no home?"

### The Space Chicken was dumbstruck.

"Does that mean you'd be able to press the buttons endlessly without being sent anywhere?"

### The Space Chicken was dumbstruck.

"It would mean that you could continuously attempt to open the Fez without being sent home. Eventually you'd open it, unless somebody else came up with the same idea or you took the Fez somewhere nobody else took it."

"If we press one of the buttons," said Clein, "we'll just get sent back to our parents' house. And we made it clear to them we don't want to go back there."

### The Space Chicken refound his voice. "Do you know any homeless people?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"I just gave a large vehicle to a group of people for travelling around in. I suppose they would be considered homeless. But, if they pressed a button, they'd probably get sent back to the boat."

"Surely they have houses of their own that they would go to."

"No. Well, not for the couple who own the vehicle. They sold their house before they set out on their journey. Although they did say they had two teenagers they'd be leaving behind without a place to stay." A thought dawned upon the Space Chicken. "What are your parents' names?"

"Oprah and Calvin."

"It gives me great pleasure to tell you, Clint and Clein," announced the Space Chicken, "that you are now homeless."

### Chapter 26

### Arthur Cardigan arrived at Gary's Vehicles in Gord. It was a large building on the banks of a river. And it felt wrong to be asking for a boat that wouldn't be using the water.

"Soo lemme ge' this streeght," said Gary, rubbing his hands on a cloth, looking out at the cobbles, bricks and stones that formed the town, to see if it was likely that any other customers might want anything built in the next few years, and sitting down in disbelief. "Ye want a Speeceboot built, like?"

"Yes, please," said Arthur Cardigan. "If it's not too much hassle."

"Well it is gunna be quite a birroh hassle, mate. Ye knoo, these things teek time. I 'aven' enough people to be buildin' summat like that."

"Why not get more employees, then? Expand your business."

"I will do. All righ'. Ah will build yer boot. Ah'll 'ave to retire afterward, like. An' Ah'll need payment upfroont."

### This was an issue. Arthur Cardigan had not a penny in the world. He left the room, pulling out a rock, holding it up to his ear and talking into it as he did so.

### A few Centihaca later, he arrived back in the room, dripping wet, and placed a solid gold goblet on Gary's desk.

"So ye'll be back here a wheele after it's done collect it?"

"No. A giant Chicken shall."

### Gary stared at him in profound confusion. "I'll put you down as 'to be collected'."

"What are you talking about?"

The Space Chicken knew this would take some time to explain. He barely understood it himself. Gary – whom it appeared had no customers and seemed to have been anticipating his arrival for a long time – had taught the Space Chicken to fly the Spaceboat. And so, the Space Chicken, Fred Jr and Michael Rowland Daffodil (the latter not being trusted to control a vehicle, the son being too young, and the former being delighted to discover it didn't require hands) set off on a journey through time and space. This proved to be all in vain, however, as both are very elusive subjects and it is all too easy to become lost there, so it is immensely harder to find something else in the infinite depths of the extended dimensions. 'Lost' being, by definition, not knowing where you are, finding something else seemed a futile task. The Space Chicken would have described the mission as near-impossible, were it not for the fact that the near-impossible so commonly happens and also the logical and grammatical exposition that, with impossibility being an infinite, the state of being wherein something is near to being impossible also proves that it must be an infinite distance away from being impossible. On the few occasions when the stalking travellers did fulfill their task in catching up with Oprah, it appeared to be a form in the wrong time – well, the wrong age, really – often resulting in there being the same Spaceboat twice, occasionally causing paradoxes paradoxically near-impossible to fix, and eventually leading the whole team to give up that set of futile tries in order to just contact the Sacred Quack and ask Him to give them the precise co-ordinates for the location, time and state of being in which Oprah and the Humnian Musicians first received the Spaceboat (which the Space Chicken, Fred Jr – him keeping his theoretical and metaphorical head held higher than the rest and encouraging them with his optimistic outlook – and Michael Rowland Daffodil all vouched they wished they should have intended to ask in the first place) the answer to which was, Quack informed them after much ridicule, on Ool, 85th Quinquomber 2042, several Centihaca before Dave, Crazy Dave, Clint, Clein, the Space Chicken and Fred Jr had arrived to be given the now-useless Speedvan, all in the increasingly hated location of Wales.

"Time," the Space Chicken said.

"Ah," Clein said.

"But what about us?" asked Clint. "Why have our parents left us behind? Did she not think about us?"

"Well, you did say you were leaving home," the Space Chicken justified.

"But I assumed she'd pseudo-adopt another son as part of the grieving process, then have a nice surprise if we pressed the wrong button and returned home."

"She told me that she did have one young man staying with her for a Week, but he left, then so did she."

"Wait, we only left two days ago. How can all this have happened since?"

"Time," the Space Chicken said. "I've been getting a bit confused. It's 87th Quinquomber today. Oprah and Calvin don't actually leave until the 91st."

"But they are going to leave," said Clint.

"You're taking the wrong approach to this," Clein said. "We wanted to leave home and now it's definite."

"That's a good point I've made," said Clint. "Now it's definite, so there's no turning back."

"That was my point."

"Same thing."

"Hm. Well, so long as we're in agreement, I'm happy."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Besides, we won't press the wrong button. Now we're homeless, we can press as many buttons as we like. We will definitely be the ones to open the Fez."

"Actually," said the Space Chicken, "David Gr—" The Space Chicken quickly realised he needed to quickly cease talking.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Then the Space Chicken had a great idea. Rather, an easy get-out route. The two were frequently the same. Clint and Clein were homeless. Or, at least, they would be. The intelligent twins could press every button on the Fez. It was a necessity that they would eventually press the right one. And, by doing so, they would prevent David Gratton from doing so. He had completed a mission. He had solved a puzzle. He had won. By default. And that was usually the best kind of winning.

"I support you, twins. Go ahead. Open the Fez. Press a thousand buttons if you need to. Just don't give up on this."

"But you said Oprah hasn't sold the house yet. We have to wait four days before we can press a button. If we do so sooner, we'll immediately get sent home."

### Michael Rowland Daffodil perked up. "And you don't know who might open the Fez before those four days are up."

"If only that were the case..."

### Chapter 27

### Glix had two moons. They hung in the sky in exactly the opposite way individual moons do. A single moon resides alone, hanging around planets and festering on the light of nearby stars – as a dog accepted into the family as a pet of a different species.

### Two moons were a couple, they paired together, spinning around and mockingly tormenting their planet. They race at different rates, different distances from their planet, closer to each other than to the mindless world below.

### Under two moons, Michael Rowland Daffodil opened his eyes, opened the door of the Speedvan, and stepped out onto the cold soil below. He was barefoot. The frozen air of a BongVe Bong Quinquomber gently stung his sole and he nearly jumped back up. He took caution not to gasp audibly as he clambered out of the vehicle.

### He walked slowly towards the towering scarlet parallelogram ahead of him. A moon placed itself either side of the Fez's peak. There were no buttons visible any more; there were only three shapes apparent: the rough polygon that was the Speedvan behind him; the loose form of Michael Rowland Daffodil himself; and the trapezium.

### It was there. Immediately in front of him. The chance at freedom. The ability to escape. The closer he got, the more opportunities appeared in front of him; the buttons on the Fez were now making themselves present as stars coming out at night. One simple press would mark the end of slavery. All Michael Rowland Daffodil had to do was push one little finger against one button to free himself from entrapment.

### Chapter 28

### Michael Rowland Daffodil landed in BongVe Bong again, right next to the rapidly Nekken-proceeding Fez. Three passengers stared up in fond remembrance of the Fez, reminded of its beauty from just a few days before. One passenger looked up at the Fez for the first time and saw its astounding beauty with awe, every aspect of the organically inhuman landmark resonating through even the infrequently visited depth of his imagination. There was still a huge crowd surrounding the enormous being. Well, there was a crowd, although every member of it which the group had seen on their previous visit would now have been sent home and replaced by someone else. The problem that arose now was that there were still four days until the twins were homeless.

"What do we do now?" asked Michael Rowland Daffodil.

"I guess we just have to wait," the Space Chicken replied.

### The Speedvan drove alongside the Fez as it was pushed along by dozens of humans. The crowds died down as evening approached again. It seemed that people wouldn't set off knowing they would arrive when it was dark, but would rather wait in a hotel or campsite or motel or space-/air-craft until the morning. It made sense, as travelling all that way would be pointless if you were just going to hurriedly get the event over with as soon as possible, without finding the best possible moment, and – sure enough – when it got dark there was nobody left. Of course, finding the perfect moment was reasonably pointless when the event would take no time at all. Logically speaking, the desired moment when searching for the Fez is pressing the button. Well, ideally it would be the opening of the Fez, but merely pressing a button is good enough for most. The actual point when the button is pressed and it is determined whether or not the Fez has been opened lasts no time at all. Therefore, the time people spent waiting for the best time for the event was an infinite amount longer than the event itself. But such was life. People always spend a long time waiting for the perfect moment, ignoring the fact that having the event makes a moment perfect. Life is spent waiting, in fear, assuming that a great moment could ever go wrong. But perfect moments don't happen with the changing of the weather, they are created by actions.

### The Space Chicken, Michael Rowland Daffodil, Clint, Clein and Fred Jr all waited, but for a very different reason. Until Oprah had sold the house, until Clint and Clein were technically homeless, the Fez could not be touched, lest they press the wrong button and get sent home. It would be a few days before this happened. Even when Clint and Clein had left home, their mother was still imposing rules upon them. It was now three days to go until Clint and Clein could freely press all the buttons on the Fez.

### And the talk and the sleep were the first day.

### Chapter 29

"Where's the Fez?" asked Michael Rowland Daffodil.

### The Space Chicken closed one of his eyelids and pulled the blanket farther over him, remaining under it.

"You know, if you were still asleep you'd have all six eyelids closed."

"Sock!" the Space Chicken exclaimed, rising. Pulling himself up, ruffling his feathers and crowing several times, he began to come to terms with the horridness of consciousness. "What? The Fez has gone."

"It must be kilometres ahead by now. These sightseers really do get up early."

### The group drove onwards for a while, and – sure enough – there was the Fez, hurtling onwards as thousands of people pushed its buttons.

### The crew drove alongside it again for a while, observing from a distance the unobtainable fruit.

"What do we do?" asked the Space Chicken.

'We are here merely as onlookers,' said Fred Jr. 'We always are. We are the people who record events, knowing what will happen, but knowing that we cannot help.'

"Well, I'm going to change that. You know what should happen next. Well, I shall entrust the Fez to the twins, and they can be the only ones to press buttons on it. I'm creating the future, Fred Jr. Our worries won't come true."

### The travellers stared out the side windows of the Speedvan at thousands of people seizing their desires, chasing their dreams and fulfilling their fantasies, all throwing themselves at the buttons of the Fez as it slid farther away.

"Unless someone else opens it." This was Michael Rowland Daffodil, who was gazing lecherously at the sight of hopeful hearts capturing that moment of ecstasy. The Space Chicken and son turned to look at him. "There are loads of people pressing buttons. It's still two days until the changeover."

"Yes, that's what worries me. The wrong person could get to it. Or, indeed, the right person could get to it. David Gratton – the man who's meant to open the Fez."

"You talk about all these things that are 'meant to happen'. Why are they so? Quack told you Gratton shall open the Fez, but you have to be determined to make sure that's not the case. Give the Fez to Clint and Clein: you can be sure they won't put it to bad use. In two days' time – Quackwilling – no-one shall have opened the Fez, and the twins will have it all to themselves."

"You're right. Thanks." The Space Chicken looked around. "Speaking of which, where are they?"

### The Space Chicken and Michael Rowland Daffodil looked out of the window (and Fred Jr pretended to) and saw the twins running towards the object of their desires.

"Clint! Clein!" the Space Chicken shouted. "You can't push a button yet; you'll get sent back home!" A few of the sightseers on their way to great red chest turned around to give him funny looks.

### But Clint and Clein weren't going to press any buttons. Instead they put their four hands around separate buttons and – to the amazement of the Space Chicken, Michael Rowland Daffodil, Fred Jr and many other adventures – pulled themselves up. They proceeded to place their place their feet on the upper edges of buttons close to the ground and did the same actions again, and again, and again. When they were a considerate distance up the side of the Fez, they spotted a collection of buttons which stuck out farther than the others, and went over to sit on the top sides of them, taking care not to push any buttons in as they went.

### Everyone on the ground looked at them in disbelief.

"Um..." the Space Chicken sort of said. "What are you doing?"

"Making good use of time. It is our intention to press buttons indefinitely. Did you think we were going to run after it continuously?"

### The Space Chicken remained silent.

"This way we can sit on the Fez and push buttons forever until we reach the right one, from the comfort of being uncomfortably relined on a slope."

"I assumed you'd just follow the Fez around, pressing buttons as you went, then walking the metre it had moved away."

"Why would we walk a metre every time we wanted to push a button?"

### Someone in the crowd shouted out, "I had to walk 300 kilometres."

### Clein continued, "We're going to sit here and press buttons endlessly, journeying on the Fez until we find the right one."

The Space Chicken looked up at them, holding a wing up against the glare. Michael Rowland Daffodil looked up too, and Fred Jr hovered beside them. There was a very long pause. An incredibly long pause. The entire crowd around the Fez had now collectively quietened. The Space Chicken looked up at the twins in extreme disbelief, indignation and partial confusion. He had no words.

"Well... Just make sure you don't press any buttons in the mean time."

"All right, mum." Clint and Clein both snorted with laughter.

"I mean it, you two," the Celestial Cockerel said sternly. "If you're going to be cheeky, you can get in the Speedvan and we'll turn around and go back home."

"You can't do that," said Clint. "You can't even drive." Clein stifled a laugh.

"Right, that's your last chance."

"What?" said Clein, the smile dropping from his face. "I didn't even do anything."

"You laughed at him, and you know that only encourages him to be silly."

"No, I never!"

### The Space Chicken turned back to the Speedvan and spoke to Michael Rowland Daffodil. "He laughed. You heard that, didn't you?"

"Don't get me involved. I'm staying out of this."

### The Space Chicken tutted. "You could at least stick up for me in front of the children."

'I heard it.'

"Yes, I know you did, Freddy-Weddy. You're my good Son."

'That 'S' shouldn't have been capitalised.'

"I know it didn't need to be." He smiled. "But I wanted it to be."

### The Space Chicken's phone rang.

"It's your mother here."

"I assumed it might be," he mumbled.

"That 'S' should not have been capitalised," the Space Chicken's mother, Margery, informed him, knowing that he already held that piece of information in his mind and had used it against her. "I appreciate you showing a little affection towards your son – for a change – but that does not allow you to break the laws of language. And do not be so mean to Clint and Clein."

"Don't tell me how to look after my children!" He switched off the telephone.

"Right," he said, turning to Clint and Clein, "you're on your last warning. Any more messing me about and we're going straight home. And that's final." The Space Chicken walked back to the Speedvan with Fred Jr and shut the door.

### There was a long silence.

"So..." said one of the thousands of otherwise silent members of the crowd, all of whom had just witnessed the event. "What just happened?"

### Chapter 30

"Arthur Cardigan, I have another task to entrust you with doing."

"What?" asked Arthur Cardigan. It had now been three weeks (fifteen days) since Quack has sent him a year back in time – or, rather, it had been been minus thirty-seven weeks (minus one hundred and eighty-five days). During that time, he had helped out elderly people, collected money at a House and order a space- and time-travelling vehicle to be constructed in the Nekken-Luc.

"There is a debate about politics going on in Neet. I'd like you to get involved in it."

"Okay. Which side do You want me to be on?"

"I can tell you that. I can't tell you what to feel and how to have the right views. I want you to think. Hopefully you can help others to think as well."

"Why do I need to do this?"

"Everyone needs to do this."

### Arthur attended the event. It seemed that there were two teams arguing about how to work together. One team – those sitting on the right side of the room, said they shouldn't. The others – those sat on the left – agreed that everyone should be equal and treat each other equally, without making anyone more important than anyone else. They had a leader, which Arthur initially thought was against their point about equality, but he soon realised that their leader was just a person to summarise their points. This would be useful at events where a lot more people were represented. Fitting thousand voices into a room is a lot easier if you stick them all inside one human.

### Arthur sat at one of the seats in the centre of the audience, but eventually shifted more to the left. It seemed that working with everyone as equals was usually the best way to go about things. Arthur thought more and more about politics, as he had never done about anything before. But he knew why. He knew exactly why Quack had asked him to come here. It was because of the future. In the future, it would be of vital importance that he understood these things. He would need very strong views in the future. And Quack may not yet have understood why Arthur Cardigan had been sent there, but deep down He knew. Deep down, he was waiting, remembering, planning, all for the day when all would be revealed.

### Chapter 31

### The Space Chicken, Fred Jr and Michael Rowland Daffodil collected some planks of wood. They also had some nails and hammers and a lot of glue. A few Centihaca later, the Speedvan was driving off towards the Fez, with the added appendage of a form of scaffolding or trellis attached to its left side. And, with a quick drive and swerve round to the front of the Fez – the side currently opposed to that which was having its buttons pushed by the people of Britain – the extension was firmly ground on the Fez. The Speedvan was no longer driving, the Fez was pushing it along on the course Nekken.

"You find your spot on the Fez, Clint and Clein," said Michael Rowland Daffodil, "and so do we."

### And so the twins, having rucksacks – and so all their food and bedding – with them, settled down for the night on their ledge, discussing plans of what they would do tomorrow, on their final day of waiting before they could fully take the Fez.

### The rest of the group, too, formulated a plan for the succeeding time block. It consisted mostly of sleeping. As their vehicle was now attached to the Fez and so would always travel in the right direction, the Space Chicken, Fred Jr and Michael Rowland Daffodil had no need to get up early to follow it; they could rest easily, knowing that they would always be with the Fez. And so they discussed how there would be just one more day of this, of following around a box, hoping no-one would open it and could be escorted away by the twins. One more day, then peace would return to the prophet, his son and his hostage.

### And the talk and the sleep was the second day.

### Chapter 32

### At five Haca, Michael Rowland Daffodil, the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack, Fred Jr, Clint and Clein started journeying Nekken. Around ten Haca, they woke up. It was a peaceful life, briefly, but this was to be the final day of it.

### Clint and Clein discovered that, during the procession of people pressing buttons below them and some of them sinking downwards, they had lost the high perch they'd held earlier and would soon be on the ground. Because of this, they decided they had to do more ascending of the Fez. They scrambled up – carefully, making sure not to press any buttons as they went. They were now resting well above the crowd and peering down at the masses of people who had turned up to witness, to touch, to hold the Fez.

"What will happen if they slip and press some of the buttons?" the Space Chicken asked as he watched the twins crawling up the Fez.

"If they falter now, then this whole journey shall have been in vain," Michael Rowland Daffodil commented, not sure whether or not the question had been directed towards him and so answering in a way that denied there had been a question and claimed to be a statement in its own right.

'It would not entirely be in vain; they would have had their shot at opening the Fez, each pressing at least one button as they tumbled,' said Fred Jr. 'You have begun to think under the impression that the only meaningful quest would be one which allowed permanent residence on the object for achieving the goal. It has changed for you.'

### Such wisdom. Such beautiful words. Michael Rowland Daffodil had only one thing to say. He turned to the Space Chicken and uttered, "The Egg can talk?"

"It depends upon your definition of talking. What is talking, really?"

"There are so many things that can be defined as talking."

"You don't have to keep doing that. Contorting your language; we're friends and we can talk freely. I am addressing these questions to you and you can answer them if you wish."

"'We're friends'? I find that difficult to believe."

"Why?" asked the Space Chicken in bewilderment. He could not think of any reasonable reason not to consider themselves well acquainted.

"I'm your hostage."

### The Space Chicken's face dropped. "That's a matter of necessity," he informed the hostage abruptly.

### Michael Rowland Daffodil – the hostage he had been sent to capture at a pious request, then instructed to release, not that a prophet could ever fall for such foolishness from a god – opened his mouth to speak. The Space Chicken expected him to utter another trivial plea for 'freedom', but received a shock when instead Michael Rowland Daffodil asked, "Why are you still here? You still have me captured. Are you going to do anything with me?"

"Michael Rowland Daffodil, you need to be found guilty and I need to find out how to punish you."

"That's rather archaic. Why not take me to court, or whatever, now?"

"Because," explained the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack, "we still have to be here for Clint and Clein."

"Do we? They've already made it to the Fez. We know that tomorrow they'll take it away on their own. Do we still have anything to look back for?"

"We have to make sure their transport stays alongside them until they find a new way of travel," the Space Chicken said. "Their transport being the Speedvan and its replacement being the Fez."

"So when they're done waiting, we can have a go at the Fez ourselves, pressing a button each when we're free to leave the twins?"

"Ha ha, you're not getting away that easily. We need to take the Speedvan back to Oprah and the Humnian Musicians. It's a borrowed vehicle from the cargo hold of the Spaceboat."

### The Space Chicken looked back at the Fez's human glow. The twins had settled on a perch at the back of the Fez. They weren't the focus of his attention any more. It was the crowd. That huge, swelling crowd of people eager to open the Fez. The Space Chicken could only see the edge of it around the Fez, but there were innumerable there. Anyone of them could be David Gratton and he wouldn't be able to tell. He thought of shouting the name. He decided against this.

"David Gratton!"

He went against his own decisions. There was no response. The would-be opener of the Fez would undoubtedly be using a different name by now. He couldn't be foolish enough to still be calling himself Dave. And Dave – the Dave, the only Dave that 'Dave' would ever be to the Space Chicken – was proven false. He was the Dave, but he was not the David Gratton. And what about Michael Rowland Daffodil? The stranger. He had been invited into their lives, their changing accommodation, their transport. The one the Space Chicken was just beginning to trust. What did the Space Chicken know about him? Nothing. And even that nothing could be a lie. For all the Space Chicken knew, he could be the one to open the Fez.

### But there was just one day left. Provided David Gratton didn't show up, and provided Michael Rowland Daffodil didn't turn out to be him, all would be fine. Tomorrow, after Oprah and Calvin had left their home – thus making Clint and Clein homeless – the Fez could be fully handed over to Clint and Clein. They would press every button on that thing until it was opened. By them, not by David Gratton. They were writing history. But not yet. It was the end of the last day of the Space Chicken and Fred Jr's journey. They only had to hope nothing would go wrong.

### The Space Chicken settled down for the night, wrapped up in all the blankets he had, and said to his son, "I guess all we can do now is wait."

### Chapter 33

### On Glix, a day has fifteen Haca. Glix is numerically a very commensurate planet, having islands that are geometrically shaped, a metric system of measurement, and timing based on the number 100. As such, Glix'ns often feel the day should begin at 0 Haca. This is a great starting point. It is also a great ending point. It is also a great ending point, as it means the day has come full circle. This means that, (originally at least) Glix'ns would stay up from 0 Haca until the fictitious 16 Haca (in fact the second coming of 0 Haca), at which point – it being a new day after all – they would get up at 0 Haca for the day ahead. After a globally embarrassingly long time, the Glix'ns realised that they needed sleep (5 Haca of it) and were left divided as to whether 0 Haca should be getting up time or going to bed time.

### The Space Chicken had lived on Glix for a long time, and, after having experimented with both ideas, and other, more complex, suggestions, he came up with one simple mantra: sleep where possible.

### The Space Chicken had been sleeping where possible and, after their day of observing others being active (all of which made him feel very tired), had finally begun to sleep at 13 Haca. Clint and Clein followed suit. And Fred Jr never really had much to say in the matter. But one of the group's members wasn't sleeping. Michael Rowland Daffodil had never tried that night. Instead, he left the Speedvan, taking care not to wake any of the others, and walked towards the Fez.

### Michael Rowland Daffodil stood before the mighty Fez. He could press a button. Nothing would stand in his way. The Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack didn't understand. He thought someone called David Gratton was going to come along and open it. Why? He was so utterly convinced of it, all because Quack had told him so. And how many times had Quack been wrong before? Never trust religion. – that's what Michael Rowland Daffodil had learnt. Time wasn't set. History hadn't been made yet, despite what the Space Chicken and Quack might think. Michael Rowland Daffodil was here to make it. There was nothing to stop him – no restrictions socially, mentally or physically. Those were the usual barriers. He could ignore what people thought or what he felt. But physical ineptitude was usually what stopped him. Now no-one else was there. Even if these factors had at one point presented a restriction, there was nothing at the point in which Michael Rowland Daffodil stood to stand in his way.

### Michael Rowland Daffodil stroked the Fez. He walked up to it, and stroked it. He liked the feel of its buttons. There wasn't anything wrong with it. He just wanted to feel the material that was unlike any other. There was nothing wrong with that. And so there could be nothing wrong with pushing one of its buttons, and taking a chance on the Fez. What, after all, is a push but a strong touch.

### But it wouldn't be taking a chance. It could never be. He was certain. Everyone else was wrong. He was the only one who could open the Fez. And he would do so and discover what was inside.

### Michael Rowland Daffodil was about to open the Fez. And there would be no-one there to stop him.

### Chapter 34

### The Space Chicken woke up. Late. But time wasn't a concern of his; at least, not the time of day. The day was, though, and early that morning Oprah and Clein had sold their house. This was great, of course, because of what it meant about the Fez. The Fez here being the primary issue of the day.

### The Space Chicken looked at where the Fez wasn't. The place where the Fez wasn't was everywhere around him, which meant that the Space Chicken had to put in a lot of work. In any case, the Fez wasn't there.

"What the Tartarus has happened?" asked the Space Chicken.

"I deem that an acceptable form of blasphemy," said Quack. "But I am still unsure where the Fez is, unfortunately."

"Couldn't you just check? That is your job."

"Couldn't you just watch it? That is your job⸮ I thought you were meant to be keeping an eye on it. That shouldn't be too hard, given you are a Chicken. Your eyes are on the sides of your head and they are in a set position."

"I ought to define that as Racism."

"What did you just say?" squawked Margery. "'Racism' should not be spelt with a capital 'R'."

"Hello, mother. I just thought, 'Y'know, seeing as "Chicken" has a capital "C".'"

"That does not mean all words relating to our species should be capitalised. Also, I am thoroughly against that particular contraction of 'you' and 'know'. It is an abbreviation I despise."

"I thought you dispose all abbreviations."

"My point remains undiminished. And 'dispose' is something very different to 'despised'. I had best stop now, lest we use up all quotation marks."

"Also," said Quack, returning to the original topic at wing, "it's not racist or Racist: I was merely stating a fact about your anatomy."

"So," said the Space Chicken, "as a result of my calling You, I have discovered that You know nothing about what might offend me or where the Fez is. You have failed at all the few things I may have wanted to expect from You."

"Look, if you want to find the Fez, why don't you just drive a few kilometres ahead, and you'll probably discover people have been moving it along without you. Don't complain to me every time something moves; that's the whole reason I made stuff. To move."

"No, you don't understand. We created a sort of trellis—"

"A trellis?"

"Yes, a trellis. And—"

"Did you—?"

"Yes, we've been growing tomatoes along it. Very funny," said the Space Chicken, not laughing. "We used this trellis to attach the Fez and the Speedvan. So wherever the Fez moved, we'd move."

"Just drive on ahead and I'm sure you'll catch up with the Fez."

"I can't do that. In order to control the Speedvan, I'd need Michael Rowland Daffodil. And he's not here because he's probably the one who opened the Fez and is off with its treasured evil contents that will bring about the end of the world!"

"You're getting worked up again. Calm down. You probably just became detached. Check the trellis for any signs of damage."

### The Space Chicken went to follow out Quack's advice, then became aware of his great mistake, possibly one of the top ten greatest he'd made on this trip so far. The Speedvan wasn't missing and he hadn't noticed. He looked around, bleary-eyed, and discovered he was sat in a small hovel, which he now interpreted to be a café.

### Quack had no idea where the Speedvan was, so the Space Chicken hung up and nervously headed out the café and in the location he calculated to be Nekken, his son (whom it seemed couldn't succomb to the wearying effects of existence) flying alongside him. It was vitally important he got the Speedvan back. After all, they had been given in by Oprah in Wales in the first place, then it had been taken again by a past version of her, last time they had pressed buttons on the Fez. The Speedvan as it now existed was borrowed from the cargo hold of the Spaceboat, moments before the Dave, the twins, the Egg and the Space Chicken had received it. Now was the day when Clint and Clein were free. They could have the Fez, but the Space Chicken needed the Speedvan; if he didn't return it to that moment in Wales, they could never have given it to Oprah, so they wouldn't have it now.

### But giving the Fez to the twins would no longer be possible (the Space Chicken began to cry as he thought of this, dashing along to the Fez with his son by his side and his hostage taking over the world), unless the Fez was still unopened, unless – by some faint stroke of luck – enthusiastic tourists had taken the Space Chicken and Fred Jr out the Speedvan before moving the Fez. No, that wasn't plausible. The Fez was gone. The Space Chicken strode swiftly Nekken, hoping without hope that the implausible was true, but knowing without knowledge it wasn't. And why would they remove Chicken and Chick, yet take Michael Rowland Daffodil along with them?

### That was it, of course. Michael Rowland Daffodil had opened the Fez. He probably was David Gratton. Either way, he'd done something terrible. Why couldn't the Space Chicken just have stopped him when he had the chance?

### The Speedvan was gone, too. He'd lost everything. It was more than just its loss that was worrying. If the loop was broken, then the Speedvan never existed, at least not in the Fez-followers' timeline. The Speedvan would be destroyed or lost if the Fez's kidnapper put a foot wrong. Then it could never be handed back to Oprah, as the Space Chicken had hoped. So the group's arrival in Wales hadn't been met with a reward, but with a rejection and a long walk to BongVe Bong. And the twins' eventual second trip to the Fez would be postponed, Quack wouldn't have been able to send the Speedvan, the Space Chicken and Fred Jr wouldn't be travelling with Clint and Clein, and they would never have met Michael Rowland Daffodil, for better or for worse, probably both. David Gratton would have got to the Fez before them. That is, assuming he hadn't already.

### This, the Space Chicken decided, was the world when it had shifted to accommodate these changes. He had waited too long and now time had lost interest, realising that David Gratton hadn't been stopped, and accepting the terrible, destroyed version.

### But, again, more importantly, the Speedvan. Its chronological destruction would mean more than just farther to walk. If it were taken out of the system, Oprah would never have travelled back in time and set up Carpe Yolu FezFans, the group telling them how to go about chasing the Fez. Yes, they already had their own intentions and FezFans didn't actually help, but the important thing was that it was there. If FezFans hadn't existed, then the group would never have formed. Clint and Clein would still know each other, obviously, but that was about it. The Space Chicken would never have met Dave, Dave would never have met the Space Chicken, the twins would know each other, but would never have met either the Space Chicken or Dave – Fred Jr might never have existed, and that was a thought that terrified the Space Chicken. And, of course, it all came down to a paradox. It had to. Whenever anything relating to time-travel went wrong, it resulted in a paradox. This was quite a basic one: if the Speedvan never existed, Oprah could never have brought the group together, but if the group had never been brought together, they could never have destroyed the Speedvan and prevented Oprah bringing them together. There would be other paradoxes nestled in there, but the Space Chicken hadn't worked them out yet. In summary, if the Speedvan was damaged now, it would rip a hole in the space-time continuum.

### Chapter 35

### Arthur Cardigan had firmly established his role as a prophet. In the two Ombres since he had arrived at that time, Quack had sent him on innumerable missions and tasks, ranging from the minor – arranging for Ronald Barthy-Scrumdent to get his mid-morning cup of tea (and, in fact, considerably energy-consuming task, requiring Arthur to make train journeys to get the right sort of yaks' milk and BongVe Bong Boofeys' milk – and in the right ratio – and ten decateaspoonfuls of sugar, all the same brand, and all from different newsagents' stores run by people named Pete – provided their surnames didn't begin with consecutive letters of the alphabet or end in any letter before T) – to the major – travelling to another country to establish a reform of the electoral system (hop in a wormhole and you're there).

### What he still hadn't come to grips with was the future; he was infinitely worried about that: there were infinite reasons to be worried. He could prepare himself as much as possible for what lay ahead, but that didn't mean he would cope.

### Currently, Arthur Cardigan was sitting at the table with the council of Gaul as they went about deciding how the law should be laid down. Politics was dull, mainly because it was childish – that is what Arthur Cardigan had decided. He didn't view what he did as politics: instead it was an act of opposition to most of the current politicians. Most of the problems in politics arise because fools ask questions where the answers are already obvious.

"We need to tackle the issue of factory farming," said Lord Rory Tyre. "Is it right to grow animals in sheds to get meat?"

"No." Arthur said it loudly and bluntly. After sitting through a dozen lectures that essentially all asked whether or not being evil was good, he could no longer stand the elderly men's 'intellectual queries'.

### Lord Tyre turned to him. "You say no. Why is that?"

"Because what you're asking is ridiculous. Of course factory farming is wrong. Your entire approach is childish."

"Well, you just started a sentence with a conjunctive, I'd say that's pretty childish." There were several sneers.

"There's nothing wrong with that. You just used a comma splice."

"No, I didn't, it wasn't written down, I can't of."

"Can you not hear punctuation?"

"Right, that's enough of that," the Wisewicker of the Grand Gaul Council said. "This is meant to be a Political debate. You can take your English grammer somewhere else. I suggest England."

"Sorry," said Arthur and Tyre. Arthur continued, "Factory farming is not right, if we wish to live in a world where people are treated equally. Which I'm beginning to suspect is not your wish at all."

"Of course we want that," the Lord Tyre said, pretending to be offended. "This is a democracy, after all."

"Is it?"

"We want equality. We just don't want everyone to have equality, or else it would become worthless. Like money."

"Factory farming is wrong. In what way could it ever be deemed acceptable? And, even so, what purpose does it serve?"

"Well, we need some way to get meat. It's essential for us."

"No, it's not. Humans need protein, which comes from plants and fungi. By growing crops to feed to animals, then killing those animals to get their flesh to feed to other animals, you're inserting a load of middlemen."

"But you don't get meat to feed to animals, you get it for humans," Lord Rory Tyre lied.

"Humans are animals!"

### There were more sneers. Then Lord Tyre said something that really got to Arthur: "Quack wanted it."

### He had no idea where it had come from. It wasn't true, of course. Quack, and the idea of contraextraplanetary beings, had developed a massive cult. It was universal. The world adored the exploration of other worlds, other ideas and – particularly – the exploration of ideas about other worlds. In Greece, they had their own ideas about gods and goddesses, perfectly compatible with the theories about God and Quack. The believers and admirers of all these ideas spawned many writers. These writers incessantly wrote books on what to do with the question of Other Beings. The natural conclusion they came to was that we should all live in peace and harmony, we should treat every creature on Glix as a beautiful expression of life, in graceful acceptance that acting upon our own greed in a world which means nothing to the universes beyond but causes harm and the disruption of peace to the close-at-hand, seen by more than just eyes.

### The greatest writer of pious philosophy, Iosev, had once stated that the only way any animal can achieve anything is to make sure everyone's chances at survival and success are equal. Anything opposing the survival of others, he deemed to be wrong. That was the solid foundation of rational thought on Glix.

### Of course, there was no evidence for any of this. When finding oneself on a rock, one invariably questions how one arrived there. Without outside information, without having read the works of Iosev, anybody will suppose the notion that someone placed them there. For some thinkers, this idea sticks. For others, it passes. Whether the idea of gods stays or goes in one's mind is purely down to chance. However, the advancement of civilisation means than different influences affect different people differently. Some people will grow up in a world where their closest friends and relatives believe one idea or another, and so are more inclined to believe these ideas.

### There is no evidence one way or another on the matter or life outside the universe. So, logically, claiming to be certain on the matter one way or another is unbelievably foolish. For most people, these strange meanderings end with childhood and the lack of interest in something which cannot be researched. Some people write books about their ideas. Some people don't. The burden of proof lies on the person making a claim. As there is no proof, to make a definitive claim about gods is evidently the stupidest mistake anybody can make. And Lord Tyre had just done so.

### Quack wanted it.

### Arthur's face went red. It burnt, it hurt. How could people be so ignorant? But he had to be calm and form a sensible, structured argument, based on fact. "I know Quack! Why would He want that?" Anger alters the best of us.

"Fine, then. Not Quack, maybe, but God wants people to eat meat."

"If God wanted people to eat meat, would He really make it only obtainable by killing another animal?"

Arthur was beginning to lose hope. Nobody understood him. Nobody appreciated what it was to care. Every action must benefit humans, was the common view, and only humans, and only the best humans, at that. But what had happened to morals? Good – undefinable though it may be – should be the foundation of all actions. Why? There is no explanation. But good is the target. If we don't aspire to good, things aren't happening; they're just moving.

### When all at once a golden ray shone. A female figure burst through the doors on the left with a positive air of compassion. "I agree with you," said Rachel Treen. "I care. And I'm pretty certain that a great many other people in here agree with you, too. We live in a Gaul dominated by fear. It's time to change."

### Chapter 36

### The Space Chicken ran along as quickly as he could, longing to see the Fez on the horizon, but knowing that Michael Rowland Daffodil had already opened it. He was David Gratton. The Space Chicken knew that, whether Gratton opened it or the twins did, the result would be the same. That was logical. But what logic also said was the exact opposite: that Gratton's opening the Fez would end in peril – this was inevitable, and nothing the Space Chicken or the twins could do would change this. Under one interpretation of inevitability, the twins would not be able to open the Fez, since future history dictated that David Gratton was the one to do so. However, if the twins successfully detached the Fez from society, there was no chance of this happening, so there would have to be theoretical (and eventually practical) alternatives. If the twins opened the Fez, it would prevent the popularly proposed future from taking place – it would break the prophecy and so counteract the peril; if the twins opened the Fez, it would mean that Quack's prediction of David Gratton opening the Fez and bringing about a country which would end Britain was untrue and so the twins wouldn't destroy the world. If David Gratton opened the Fez, something awful would happen. Logically, if the twins opened the Fez, something good would happen. Logically, if the twins opened the Fez, something awful would happen. The logical conclusion reached by the Space Chicken – or another logical thinker, logically – was that, David Gratton definitely meant something awful; with Clint and Clein it was 50:50. The Space Chicken preferred the latter option.

### But, as he reached the top of an incline, the Space Chicken spotted – to his astonishment – the Fez travelling in front of them.

"Oprah sold the house," Michael Rowland Daffodil explained when they got nearer. "Clint and Clein are free to take control of it now." The Space Chicken looked up and saw Clint and Clein perched on the side of the Fez, kicking and thudding the buttons, sweeping their hands and feet across to achieve the maximum area of pushing, all of which resulted in cracks, pops and clicks as mistakes were replaced by new possibilities. A large proportion of the surrounding collection of Fez-followers was looking at the twins in annoyance.

"So they have the Fez now."

"Yep. And I guess they won't let anyone else have a turn."

### The Space Chicken (nervously, tensely, cautiously and trepidatiously) relaxed. Though just a little. "So, I suppose that means they'll be the ones to open it?" The Space Chicken had done sufficient harm to language to break ties with his mother. The conjunction that bonded the Space Chicken to Margery was withering away, and his providing a question mark at the end of an indirect question was no help (though no hindrance, in his outward-looking eyes). "David Gratton is no more," he pronounced, over the sound of a celestially ringing telephone being gallulally ignored. And that is a very interesting and difficult sound to speak over.

"Who's David Gratton?"

"Doesn't matter."

### Eventually the ringing and the ignorance became too much for the Space Chicken, so he answered his phone.

"I expect you know why I am calling," said Margery.

"Yeah, yeah; I put a question mark in the wrong place."

"Since then, you have made another mistake."

"Go on," the Space Chicken sighed.

"I am not convinced 'gallulally' is a real word, let alone one that can be used to describe you."

"Of course it's a word!" the Space Chicken snapped, offended. "How few dictionaries have you read?"

"You know perfectly well I've read every known dictionary at least three times."

"Then look through one of those dictionaries – I would refer you to your memory if that were of any use – and see what the word means for yourself."

"I would do," Margery explained, "but 'gallulally' is not in any dictionary, nor are any of its hypothetical derivatives. Would you care to define the word yourself?"

The Space Chicken attempted to sneer, but found himself at a lack of tact and sophistication, something Margery would later describe to her friends as a 'compound failure exposition'. "If I'm being honest," the Space Chicken said dishonestly, "I think the word really speaks for itself. It doesn't need a definition, does it?"

"Yes, it does."

"It means 'chicken-like, -ish'."

"Perfectly articulated⸮" Margery said sarcastically, taking great pleasure in the opportunity to use an irony point. "You are not a chicken. That was just the closest universary approximation we could get for your appearance, and then we capitalised it to exaggerate the distinction."

"Just because I'm not galline, doesn't mean I can't do things gallulally."

"There you go again: coining neologisms. There are enough words in the Glix'n language without you making up new ones for people not to understand."

"You would stifle my creativity, wouldn't you? What with you being a grammar tyrant and all."

"I prefer 'linguistic socialist'. It has a much nicer ring, do you not agree?"

"What's your point?"

"If you insist upon doing so, could you at least have the decency to perform future actions Gallulally?" Margery hung up.

"Space Chicken?" asked Michael Rowland Daffodil. The Celestial Cockerel could tell Michael Rowland Daffodil wouldn't ask anything but his attention. Begrudgingly, the Chicken turned to the man, but – seeing his blank gaze fixed upon the horizon – he followed the turn through 300º.

### The Space Chicken saw the focus of his companion's attention in their own reflection on the horizon, a blob in the distance. This was of great interest to Michael Rowland Daffodil and the Space Chicken – the latter because it was the sole interest of the former, which was interesting. It was also an interest of Fred Jr's, but this was a willing interest, and wasn't of interest. The far-off blob was a red smear, and seemed to the Space Chicken to be a contemptible smudge on the canvas of BongVe Bong.

"Look at the Fez," pointed Michael Rowland Daffodil. Well, technically he can't point words; he pointed and said them, though he pointed and said them with such force that they implied a direction more pointedly than the finger with which he pointed. Out of a curious cocktail of etiquette and intrigue, the Space Chicken looked back at the Fez, which he couldn't locate; looked at Michael Rowland Daffodil; saw the outstretched finger; followed through, and fixed his eyes on the red blob he had just stopped looking at in order to look at.

"Ah," said the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack.

### Chapter 37

### Two men ran and one son flew and pretty soon, the mis-matched drew discovered they were much too late to save their siblings from their fate. They travelled very quickly, but two eighteen-year-olds with no limitations will push buttons indefinitely. The Birds and Michael Rowland Daffodil caught up slightly during the moments Clint and Clein's fingers began to ache. The Space Chicken and Michael Rowland Daffodil had spent all their lives running; Clint and Clein had only pressed buttons on the Fez once before: those with more practice can generally do things with greater efficiency. Clint and Clein felt the joints in their fingers begin to freeze up, while the Space Chicken and Michael Rowland Daffodil only strengthened their abilities to run by using the muscles required endlessly. Neither party would give up in this unintentional, co-operative battle. Little by little, the men slid away towards their goal and the twins slowed down.

"Do you need to get back to the Speedvan?" Michael Rowland Daffodil asked. "Is that why you're running?"

"Time-travel's very complicated. That Speedvan's part of a loop. It's a past version of its present self. Basically, if anything goes wrong with it, life as it is now will never have happened and a lot of people will very probably cease to exist. Also, if a butterfly gets involved it will be infinitesimally more complicated."

"'Infinitesimally'? Is that really necessary?"

"I just told you the world is about to end and that's you concern?"

"I think language is always pretty important. I always think important language is pretty."

"You sound just like my mother."

### The twins were now within shouting distance. The Space Chicken and Michael Rowland Daffodil attempted to do so.

"Clint! Clein!" the Space Chicken squawked. "Stop what you're doing."

### The Fez made headway on its steady incline.

"We're doing exactly what you told us to do," said Clein. With each button they pressed, the Fez got slightly higher up the hill they were currently ascending.

"And what's that, exactly?"

"We're taking the Fez away. We're hiding it from the public and making certain no-one else can open it." Higher and higher it rose, a remarkable effort for the tremendous, towering cage. "There's no danger in that."

"There's great danger indeed. If anything should happen to the Speedvan, it would rewrite the course of history, and – quite probably – destroy the known world."

"We'll look after the Speedvan, don't you worry. And the Fez, too. All we're going to do is travel around with it and make sure no-one can open it but us. You can have the Speedvan if you like." Clint and Clein were as two noble warriors riding the mighty Fez up, up, up, and to glory.

'You have to stop now,' Fred Jr said. 'We need the Speedvan back so that it may safely be returned to your mother; if you do not, you are you are bringing peril into the scenario.'

### A butterfly landed on the Space Chicken's helmet. As an extra-dimensional being, the Space Chicken infrequently noticed a difference between the trivial words spoken by one species and those spoken by others. It is only the upbringing of different creatures which teaches them to forget some words and sounds while remembering very few. Indeed, most creatures of the Milky Way find it no more difficult to learn a new language than to memorise the words of a short poem.

### As such, the Space Chicken had not only an impeccable language-learning ability, but also – in most cases – automatic communication with every species on Glix. The animals off Glix were only ever-so-slightly harder to talk to. The butterfly looked at the Space Chicken and the Space Chicken looked back. The Space Chicken asked politely if the butterfly would mind asking Clint and Clein if they could have the Speedvan back.

### The butterfly flew over to the Fez on the top of the hill. As it flew, it planned out its speech, so that by the time it had reached the box and landed on one of its buttons, it had time to say, 'Look...' before the Fez jumped a metre in the opposite direction and the butterfly flew into the wind.

### "Don't worry," said Clein. "Nothing's going to go wrong." The Fez fell off the Nekkenmost cliff in BongVe Bong and into the sea, obliterating the Speedvan on the rocks below.

### Chapter 38

### Arthur Cardigan had done it again. With a visit to Gaul, he changed the country. All it took was an argument. He could get used to this, if all it took was conversation to change bad to good.

"What next? That was well done, Quack."

"Well," said Quack, pausing momentarily to take pleasure in the thought that, had Arthur punctuated his last line differently, it would appear as though he were complimenting Him.

"Quack! Do You still need me, or should I just do my own thing?"

"Have you ever ridden a Speedvan?" asked Quack.

"What? No."

"A Spaceboat?"

"No."

"A Dorhar-Max?"

"No. What's Your point?"

"They can all travel into space. Have you ever been into space?"

"No. But then again I'm not a car. At least, I wasn't last time I had my M.O.T."

"Neither is the Spaceboat. The clue's in the title. You know, on some planets, it takes billions of years to get into space? Short scale usually, but still."

"Oh, I know You too well, Quack. You talk about something as though it's the best idea in the world, then You send me over there, off on another task. You're not really going to send me into space?"

"You see, that's where you're wrong."

"Oh?"

"I am really going to send you into space. There's a bit of exploring to be done, and I've never had a human up there—"

"Did You experiment on other animals to begin with?"

"I would never test on animals. Though I did send a Duck up there."

"A Duck?"

"Job, to be specific."

"What did You need him to be specific about?"

"I didn't, I needed him to fly. That's why I put him in a spaceship."

"He has four wings."

"What's your point?"

"Why couldn't he just fly around in space?"

"Oh, Arthur. Don't you know there's no air to fly through in space?"

"Could you cut down on the question marks?" asked Margery.

"Slightly hypocritical, given you asked that as a question."

"Fine, then; I shall rephrase it. Cut down on question marks. Imperatives are so terribly rude."

"Don't use them, then."

"Go to Tartarus!"

"Could we return to our original conversation, grammar freaks?"

"Linguistic socialists!"

"Quack," said Arthur Cardigan, "Your point about space having no air is moot when considering that Your planet is surrounded by Light Space."

"I tried placing the Space Chicken in Light Space."

"What happened?"

"Like the stubborn festival-fool he is, he just fell down to Glix."

"Right," said Arthur Cardigan. "So, how am I going to get into space?"

"I think you can use a Dorhar Max."

"What about the other two? A Spaceboat sounds cool."

"I'm already using one of those for something. I don't like to have more than one of the same vehicle in My command; it gets confusing." Quack paused. "Well, I don't really have anything to do with Oprah. And she's not travelling now, but when My Glix'ns are out of orbit, I kept track of them, and when they're time-travelling, it makes them stand out like a minor, regularly pain-reminding bruise."

"We're running low on commas here," said Margery.

"So I'm stuck with the Dorhar," Arthur said.

"Dorhar Max," Quack enthusiastically corrected.

"I'm stuck with the Dorhar Max."

"Oh, don't say it like that. There are plenty of things you can do in a Dorhar, I'm sure. It's a finely designed—"

"A Dorhar Max," Arthur corrected.

"I was referring to the brand."

"So was I earlier. That didn't stop You correcting me a Centihaca ago."

"...You were wrong," Quack concluded after careful analysis. "There are plenty of things you can do in a Dorhar Max, provided you're a good driver."

"I haven't got a driving licence."

"What is it with Glix'ns and not being able to drive?"

"Walking's better for the environment. Your environment."

"Yes, I know. Well, today's your lucky day. I'm offering you the chance to fly."

"I haven't got a driving licence."

"You don't need one."

"Then why did you ask if I had one?"

"I didn't. You answered, but I hadn't asked. I've rarely asked questions when people answer them."

"Okay. What if I refuse Your offer?"

"You see, there's where I made a mistake – it wasn't an offer, it was a command. It wasn't 'I'm offering you the chance to fly', it was 'fly'."

"They're two very different things."

"They're both imperatives," said Quack.

"Actually, 'I'm offering you the chance to fly' is a declarative."

"Shut up, Margery, you never help anything. So, Arthur, today's your lucky day. You're going into space."

### Chapter 39

### Arthur Cardigan was a strange man. However, as he believed should be typical of everybody, in terms of data he was nondescript. His real name couldn't be revealed. His identity needed to be hidden. His religion varied depending upon how much Quack was annoying him at the time. Even his current location was not applicable. As Arthur Cardigan drifted through space, he pondered upon the absence of all categorisation, and wondered whether this would be a positive or a negative change to the world.

### In the end, it all boiled down to beauty. Space was beautiful. It made no attempt to conform to set criteria, which served only to make it more beautiful. It was truly spectacular. The swirling dust, the vibrant galaxies, the colours and shapes which oozed and dripped directly into the mind, surpassing all human understanding.

### It was all ecstasy. He could drift and float through it for hours in bliss. Then Arthur spotted something.

"Quack." Whether he blasphemed or called hardly mattered. "I have a problem."

"What is it?"

"I don't know." Arthur Cardigan stared vacantly at the mindless abyss before him in the chunk of celestial orbit. "But I want to call it a honeydew."

### Chapter 40

### The Fez, as it turns out, was both a very flamboyant object and a buoyant one. There had, as of 94th Quinquomber 2042, been no tests to see whether or not it was flammable, but it hardly mattered to anyone other than the tyees of rhetoric. The resulting force (of water resistance, not of eccentricity) was that, upon plunging into the European sea, the Fez bobbed back up again, and Clint and Clein were at no harm. There was a crushing sound, however, as the Speedvan smashed against the rocks, and shards went splintering off and smashed against each other, the jagged protrusion from the cliff face and the sharp waves.

### Clint and Clein clambered up the sides of the Fez and found a spot where they could sit that was much higher than they had ever been before. They looked Luc and saw the Nekken corner of Glix. They looked Shins and saw the other Nekken corner. The Nekken-Luc one was closer. Besides, they didn't want to end up in Wales again.

### The twins moved to the side farthest away from their desired direction and pressed as many buttons as possible. The Fez rode with more flourish but still even travel on water. The sea is just an older land of motion. Occasionally, the twins climbed higher and higher on the Fez. Within a few Haca, they had reached the next side of the British cliff.

"Clint," said Clein, "do you think we will be the ones to open the Fez?" He climbed higher and higher up the Fez.

"We'll have to be, won't we?" Clein replied, as he also ventured up the buoy. "No-one else is here, we have all the buttons to press and a large supply of food."

"What about water?"

"We're floating in it; we have an endless supply to drink."

"So we should have everything."

"What about company?"

"We have each other." Clein heaved himself up another metre. They were nearly at the top of the Fez.

"Does that count?" Clint pulled himself onto the Fez's roof. Clein joined him. A grey-haired man was standing there, holding a walking stick.

"Are you Old Man Tales?" they asked.

"No," the elderly gentleman replied. "I am David Gratton II."

### Chapter 41

"So..." said the Space Chicken, as he stared down into the abyss that was the sea, at his attempt to preserve the Speedvan displayed before him in splintering shards, and he sighed and trailed off with more confused regret than three reluctantly joined dots could say. "When's the universe going to implode?"

'I suspect something has gone differently to your suppositions.'

"What do you mean?"

'The paradox you suggested has not occurred. Consulting Quack is the only way forward.'

### The Space Chicken rang Quack up to ask.

"Well," Quack said, "I realised that the destruction of the Speedvan would not only cause a paradox, but also prevent one."

"How?"

"Supposing we didn't destroy the Speedvan, what happens then?"

"We give it back to Oprah. Back when she was in Wales."

"And Oprah then hands it back to you."

"But it's a different us. A past us."

"A past you, who upon meeting Oprah at the Fez on the 85th, hands it to Oprah."

### The Space Chicken was unwillingly dawned upon with the realisation that his running had been in vain. "...And then she travels back in time and hands the Speedvan back to us."

"It's stuck in an infinite loop." This was Michael Rowland Daffodil.

"Exactly. Now, at some point, the Speedvan is likely to be hit by a piece of dust. Am I right in thinking this?"

"Absolutely."

"And that piece of dust will damage the Speedvan. It will do very little damage' probably not enough to shift an atom, but it will do damage nonetheless. Now, a small amount of damage, performed an infinite number of times, is an infinite amount of damage. The Speedvan would be damaged an infinite amount—"

"To a point where it no longer exists."

"—To a point where it no longer exists. And, if the Speedvan doesn't exist, then it isn't there to be destroyed, so it exists again. A huge paradox, right there."

"Okay. But, by crashing the Speedvan here, You are creating the paradox of origin. How did You solve that?"

"Simple. I bought another Speedvan."

"So there are two Speedvans?"

"No, just one. But it has a beginning and an end. It begins in Gary's Vehicles in Gord and ends on the rocks below. And that's all I can try to keep track of as a god. Anyway, what are you doing wandering around and questioning the nature of the universe? You're a prophet. Shouldn't you be telling people how to think?"

"I'm not a prophet of organised religion. I'm a prophet of morals. I thought we'd established that."

"I know, but I'm as big a wind-up as Sally the Troll."

"Were You asking a question? I blocked out the idiocy and I was just left with static."

"I asked you what you were doing. Wandering around aimlessly, by the looks of it."

"I was going to return the Speedvan to Oprah, but since You've told me I'm worthless, I might just walk Michael Rowland Daffodil home."

"Thanks," he said, maladroitly blending sarcasm and gratitude.

"Could you do something else for Me, instead?"

"No," said the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack. "I've got other things on my mind. I need to take care of Michael Rowland Daffodil."

"Okay. After that, would you mind doing Me a favour?"

"What it is?"

"I need You to be there when the Acorn is merged with the jam sandwich."

### Chapter 42

"Please tell all," Clein asked of the man. "Are you the son of this David Gratton?"

"I can't say any more. Your friend, the Space Chicken, has set out to capture David Gratton."

"He always was a nutter."

"He's tracking the man down, something that has to be done."

"He's tracking someone else down at the moment," Clein pointed out. "Taken him hostage, the Space Chicken has."

"He will soon learn the error of his ways," David Gratton II said.

"But who are you?"

"And why does the Space Chicken's tracking down of David Gratton 'need to be done'?" asked Clint.

"I am David Gratton II. The Space Chicken will find his target soon enough."

Clint and Clein's eyes widened. "Are you the David Gratton? Are you using a false name? Is the Space Chicken coming here?"

"I am David Gratton II. That is all I am, and all I am is here, now and then."

"Do we have to call you 'David Gratton II'?" Clint moaned.

"It's rather long and tiresome," said Clein.

"Why can't we just give you a nickname?"

"Like 'Two'?"

"Or David Gratton?"

"Or Dave?"

### David Gratton II closed his eyes and took a moment to prepare his words. Waves crashed, then gently embraced the box below them. The Fez rocked slowly back and forth. "These are people who already exist. I am not David Gratton. I am not your friend Dave."

"Oh, Dave's gone. He got the wrong button."

"Evidently," said Clein, "as we have the Fez with us now, complete and unopened."

"Is Dave gone?" asked David Gratton II, opening one eye. "Or is he on his way to see you now?"

"I don't care. I'm calling you Two."

### Clint and Clein took the bags off their backs and placed them on the flat, smooth top of the Fez.

"Are you bad?" Clein asked.

"Or were you wrongly accused?" asked Clint.

"I am under no suspicions," David Gratton II replied. "I am a lost young man—"

"You don't look that young."

"Comparatively young."

"Isn't all age comparative?"

"I am young in comparison to all of time," David Gratton II said.

"Isn't everyone?" Clint asked.

"Not Old Man Tales," Clein pointed out. "He's been around from the Dawn of Glix to its End, and longer."

"Yes, but Glix isn't there for all of time."

"Why are you arguing with yourself?" David Gratton II asked.

"I'm not, I'm arguing with Clint."

"That's the same thing." He resumed: "As I was saying, I am a lost young man—"

"You don't look that young."

"—who has become an unnecessary attachment to David Gratton's life. I have set myself a duty: I shall protect the Great Oak Tree and support its growth."

### There was a rustling as the twins rifled through their bags. "This story's boring me," Clint said. He retrieved a sandwich from his bag. An Acorn fell out onto the top of the Fez in the process.

"What is that?"

"It's a jam sandwich."

"No, not the sandwich, the acorn. Is it an Acorn?"

"Of course it's an acorn."

"That's not what I asked." David walked over to look at the seed, but saw it had turning into a shoot. "It's germinating."

### Chapter 43

### Two. That's what they call you. 'Two'.

### What's the matter with that?

### Two. You're a replacement. A substitute.

### There's nothing wrong in that.

### Face it, Two, you're pathetic. David Gratton – the real David Gratton – has his place in history. You're the leftover remains of a personality.

### Clint and Clein mean to do no harm, I'm sure.

### what makes you so certain of that

### They're good company. They provide me with someone to talk to.

### you need someone to talk to not that itll do any good

### You're useless and insane whatever.

### I'm David Gratton II and I'm proud of that fact.

### youre the second

### The second. The offshoot of a meaningful life.

### people remember david gratton i but you will only exist

People remember David Gratton I negatively.

Ooh, italics. You become me.

### You!!! are a leftover!!!!!

### I thought you were on my side.

### I am on the side of no-one but the truth!!!!!!!

### face it two you will never amount to anything but a statistic

### The phase between One and Three. Two is insignificant.

### An accidental silver medal!!!!

### Shut up! I don't have to listen to you.

### oh but you do

### We're in your mind!!!

### We are your mind.

### You're just a series of reactions to my circumstances.

### Of course. Let's see what we have to respond to next.

### Chapter 44

### Dave Gray had had just about enough of libraries. He didn't think this was possible, and the many days he'd spent in total didn't compare to the confusion of many days on the trot.

### He loved books, he adored books, but many days of relative solitude drove him crazier. He was beginning to question whether or not the jam could actually talk. There was nothing to back Dave up and even he didn't believe it. There had been a moment when Dave mentioned to a colleague that the jam was talking to him. The colleague said Dave sounded crazy and Dave agreed.

Then it hit him. As Dave had been alphabetising a copy of Judy Palmder's The Star Fish – a revolutionary merger of sci-fi and folklore – he heard a shout from the jam.

"What is it?"

'The Great Oak Tree has been planted.'

"That's great!"

'I've been waiting -50 years for this.'

### Dave pulled a strange expression.

### The jam explained, 'I've been waiting since the future.'

"So we need to stop what we're doing right now and head straight to the Great Oak?"

'Yes. As soon as possible, really.'

"And where is the Great Oak?"

'Well.' The jam paused. Dave wasn't good with surprises. He wasn't good with travel. He wasn't good with the location of the Great Tree. 'It's on top of the Fez.'

### When Dave and the jam opened the front door of the library to leave for the Fez again, they were greeted by a small being.

"Fred Jr?" said Dave in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

'The Space Chicken has gone crazy.'

"Gone? Now that's peculiar."

'He has kidnapped a man named Michael Rowland Daffodil and is claiming the man is going to destroy the world, with no evidence to back this notion up.'

### Dave's face dropped. "This may be quite serious." He turned to his backpack. "The tree can wait. We're going to the Space Chicken. Our list of missions runs thus:

'1: Rescue Michael Rowland Daffodil.

'2: Chastise the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack.

'3: Go to the Fez.

'4: Merge the jam sandwich with the Great Oak Tree.'

### The faceless Fred Jr looked quizzical. 'Why are you talking to your backpack, David Gray?'

"It contains a jam sandwich which holds the memory of one of history's greatest minds."

'I see.'

"Not yet, you don't."

### The three of them took the train from Carpe Yolu to the Nekken cliff of BongVe Bong. Each of the three regions of Britain had four train stations. Wales had a station in the Nekken-Shins corner, one in the Nekken-Luc corner, one in the Nord-Luc corner and one in the Nord-Shins corner. The same was the case for England. The same was the case for BongVe Bong. The same was originally the case for Island. However, since Island had separated from the mainland of Britain, there was much debate about whether or not that country was still considered part of Britain.

### The section of Island closest to mainland Britain (the Nord-Luc corner) was culturally closer to England, Wales and BongVe Bong and referred to by the archaic and possibly alien name of 'North Island'.

### In order to travel between Carpe Yolu and the Nekken cliff of BongVe Bong, Dave, Fred Jr and the jam sandwich took the train from the England Nekken-Shins station to the BongVe Bong Nekken-Shins station via the BongVe Bong Nord-Shins station. The endeavour cost nothing and only required one ticket.

### When they arrived at the final destination, they walked the distance from the station to the cliff, where they found the Space Chicken engrossed in an argument with Michael Rowland Daffodil.

"I'm telling you," Michael Rowland Daffodil said, "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Oh, no, of course you haven't, that wouldn't be like you to reveal yourself this early, you could let me know all about your secrets just yet, could you, now?"

"Space Chicken?" Dave said at he approached. The Cockerel's feathers were falling out. He was pale and pink, his skin showing through what was once a rich and thick coat. "What's happening?"

"Dave?" His eyes were manic, red and bloodshot. "You're here just in time, of course, for I have caught him in the act, discovered the secret, this treacher's going down this time, he thinks he can get away with destruction, but he won't, I've captured him now."

"Space Chicken, what are you talking about? This man's done nothing wrong."

"Thank you, Dave," said Michael Rowland Daffodil. "I've been trying to tell him."

"What's your name? Mike, was it?"

"Michael Rowland Daffodil!" the Space Chicken squawed. "Not Mike. Never Mike!"

"Why not?"

"I quite like it," said Mike.

"You stay out of this!" the Space Chicken roared.

"Space Chicken," Dave said sternly. "You need to stop this. You've become isolated. You need to communicate with other people. Thinking to yourself is important, but you need to listen to other people."

"Why listen to other people? They'll only lead you astray."

Dave's eyes sadden slightly. "I know. I know people lead you astray. But you can't ignore everyone. Otherwise you become this. People lead you astray, but you need a halfway house. You can listen to other people and evaluate their views. Listen to everyone, but you don't have to agree with everyone. Just don't cut civilisation out."

"Civilisation tells me that people aren't equal, when I know they are. Everyone is just a mind, and there need be no hierarchy in that. Rich people aren't born with superior minds. Everyone, of every race, wealth and species is born with a mind the same. They are all born open to new ideas and to beauty and to love. Society beats that out of them. If I say everyone is equal, I get told I'm a lunatic. And there's so much stigma behind that. So many people using foolish labels to discredit arguments. I feel the pain of the world. And people make excuses. Civilisation attempts to justify the suffering, by saying lies like that people feel pain differently. Like one person's death is any less significant than another's. So when people tell me Michael Rowland Daffodil is innocent, when I know he's not, why on Glix should I believe them? That's why I've kidnapped him."

"You're not being rational."

"Then you're like the rest of them, telling me people aren't equal."

"I know everyone is equal. I believe that. But Mike is innocent until proven guilty. He may be a good man."

"I agree with you, Space Chicken," said Mike. "Not everyone is treated equally. Different species, genders and lovers are mistreated. And I will not stop in my efforts to end this injustice until the day I die or until everyone everyone acknowledges that everyone everywhere is equal. Hopefully the latter will come sooner. But I have done nothing wrong. I shouldn't be held hostage for your anger and mistrust of the world. So many people out there are corrupt and dishonest. You just need to find the good people and find the good in people. I'm like you, lost and alone. But Dave, Fred Jr, Clint, Clein, you and I are good people, trying to make the flawed world perfect. Won't you let me help you, not suffer for you?"

"See," Dave said. "He's done nothing wrong. Don't cut off your beak to spite your face. Don't cut off your friends to spite our race. We're good people. You can't trust everyone. But when you find someone worth trusting, you need to cling to them and use them as your shield away from society's harm."

"You're right." The Space Chicken fell to his knees. He lay down on the floor and took in the world once more. "Anyone becomes a criminal when left with no sensible voices. There are very few sensible voices left to listen to, what with people valuing the self before equality and compassion; thus, the world becomes ridden with criminals. It's a perfect circle."

### "Am I a sensible voice, Space Chicken?"

### "Sometimes, but I don't always know I can trust you. You don't care about any animals so much as you care about humans."

### "Well, naturally. Humans are people and I'm a human person."

### "And it's that sort of idiotic rhetoric which drives me into insanity."

### "But, it's true. I'm a sensible voice to listen to and I say that's the case, so it must be true."

### "How can I know whether or not you're a sensible voice, unless you're saying something I agree with. And how do I know what to agree with unless I listen to a sensible voice. It's an unsolvable paradox, and not one Quack can fix."

### "Why doesn't Quack write a book saying what's right or wrong?"

### "He tried that; it didn't work. So long as someone found one little element to quibble with, they dismissed the whole work. He went through listing groups of people who he considered equal, as is everyone. He said everyone's equal continually throughout the work, but aimed to list people as a rhetoric device to help readers endlessly grasp the concept. He ended up missing off one or two groups of people and was dismissed as racist by some and used as an excuse for racism by others. You know how it is. Anything other-worldly and not fully understood evokes the very human notion to fear."

### "So, how can we know what's right or wrong?"

### "We can't. There are no set guidelines for us and we have to make up our own minds."

### "Why not search for something you strive for and stick to it?"

### The Space Chicken thought about this. "I aim for equality. I want everyone treated well and given all the rights they deserve and require, regardless of where they were born, what gender they are or are acquainted with, and what species they are. I prize equality above all else."

### "Okay. So strive for that."

### "But you've seen what happens. I want equality and am left on my own, so I become this monster. I can only work towards my goal knowing there are others who agree with me."

### "Then work with me. Work with all of us. Together we'll make a world where everyone's equal and fix the problems we encounter. We won;t stop in our quest until everything's perfect."

### "You don't get it. You believe your aims are more important than everyone else's. You believe that because you were born a human, rather than a beetle or a slug or a goat, you are more important than everyone else. You may value equality, but you still consider this a side issue in comparison to your own comfort in where you're located."

### "I don't."

### "All people are equal, no matter what. No exclusions, Dave, only complete, perfect equality is good enough."

### "I understand. I see, Space Chicken. I'm not as selfish as you think I am. I do value equality. I just need other people to help me. No-one can fully exist in any level of comfort on their own. I need people like Clint, Clein and you, and even Michael Rowland Daffodil, though I barely know him yet, to make me a good, compassion person. Don't judge me before I had a chance to open myself up to judgement."

### "Okay. I'm sorry. I shouldn't call you selfish."

### The Space Chicken looked around at the desolate and hopeless landscape.

### "Now, shall we get started on crafting utopia?"

### Chapter 45

### Arthur Cardigan revelled in his fame. They loved him in Gaul. Quack had looked through notes to find another task tantamount to restructuring the politics of a country. He found that Arthur needed to bury a lettuce.

"Please run that one by me again."

"I'm not sure why," Quack said. "And I can't explain it. But I've got it here in My notes that you need to bury a turnip."

"No, a lettuce."

"You just buried a lettuce down by the Nord coast. Next, you need to bury a turnip."

"Anywhere specific?"

"Yes. There's a mossy patch in the middle of Foxchester."

### Arthur found this location and also managed to find the turnip. It's amazing how many items at a market can talk.

### Foxchester was a quaint town, with grey and buff decorative buildings, and a sloping high street which climaxed in a large mossy protrusion at the centre of its self-devised plaza.

"So what I'm doing here," Arthur explained to the turnip he had just bought, as he placed it in a hole he had just dug in the moss patch, "is handing you over to another possessor."

'Sure, whatever, just shovel compost onto my face.'

"Where is your face?" Arthur asked.

### Then the thoughts came back. Not the thoughts about the turnip or Quack, but objective thoughts about himself. The thoughts about his life and legacy and the horror of what was to become of him.

'What do you mean, where is my face? It's right 'ere where I'm talking to you from. Or are you mental, or summin'?'

### Arthur furrowed his brow and held the turnip in front of him. "Tell me, are you supposedly one of the smartest creatures on Glix?"

'Me, sir? No, sir. The other bits are all righ', though.'

"The other bits?"

'Of course. You didn't think it was just me, did you?'

"I don't understand."

'I am a vegetable. A nat'ral plant product, injected with the presence of a mind. 'Ere are many others like me, but I am an individual.'

"I don't understand. I'm burying you so that you can absorb the being, the life and the culture of Foxchester."

'Yes. You ob'vously do ge' i', don't you? But a great person ain't made by just seein' one town. Well, perhaps if they study the cultures of different towns... But 'snot 'bout travel 's'bout knowledge. A genius don' come from knowin' one fact. You've got to know everything about a country if you want to know anything about it. Y' kno' 'at all righ', don' you?'

"Don't use commas and apostrophes next to each other; I get confused and think you've just splashed ink on a page."

'You confused by me? I'm a turnip. How much more basic a life form can you get?'

"Actually, a turnip isn't a life form itself, but part of a plant."

'See wh' I mean? I don' even know wha' genus I am.'

"Again, 'genus' is a group referring to a whole organism. A plant is part of a genus, but an individual turnip holds no position in this scheme—"

'Quack Sock, if I don' know this stuff, 'ow can I be 'spected to be one of the smar'es' bein's? The jam's quite intelligent an' we got a pretty wise pota'o.'

"Don't tell me I've got to find those as well."

'Course not. You gotta hide 'em.'

### It stung again. The sharp pain of reality. Arthur knew it was just his future, but it hurt so much just to remember he was alive and would have to live it.

"Oh, I have to track down a Potato as well."

'It's a potato, not a Potato.'

"Where is it?"

'D'you know Carpe Yolu?'

"Yes. I've been there many times. It's got a good library there. But, then again, where hasn't? Everywhere worthwhile has a good library. Yes, I love Carpe Yolu. I'd be happy to locate a potato there."

'Luvly place is Carpe Yolu,' the turnip said. 'The potato's in Borg.'

Chapter 46

Clint and Clein stared in amazement at the shoot. Or perhaps at the Shoot.

"How does it work?"

"Well," said David Gratton II, "the Fez is one great life source. It's rarely considered this way, but hope is a form of life. I'd say killing hope is equal to extinguishing lives. The Fez gives people hope, and provides them with pleasure and reason in their lives. Given the great elixir that is the Fez, it's no wonder that it's possible to grow a seed from it. After all, you can grow cress from wet toilet paper."

"I usually discard my toilet paper once it's been used," said Clint.

"That's what I meant," said Two. "Wait, did you say 'usually'?"

"You're saying a tree can grow from anywhere?" Clint asked.

"Trees are the purest and most powerful form of life. Trees can live forever if nothing kills them."

"You can hardly call cress a tree, can you?"

"The point remains," David Gratton II said, "that many plants are immortal. This one appears to be particularly significant, having taken its life force from that greatest of all immortalities – the Fez."

"The Fez isn't immortal. It will end and die when some wretch steals its innards. Of course, that wretch will be me."

"Or me," said Clint.

### The three looked at the sprout for some time further.

"You know," said David Gratton II, "the tribes of the Triangle Islands believe the seeds of plants – such as acorns or conkers – are representative of the punctuation we use. Every time someone uses a full stop or comma correctly, a seed falls and life grows. But when they're used out of place, the Trianglers believe, a plant dies. They were the first people to recognise a link between language and the natural world."

"And – by the looks of it, Two – Clint is the first person to recognise a link between the sea and hunger," Clein said, as he went to join Clint's picnic.

"Actually, that link has been established for a long time," said Two, but the old man was ignored.

### Clint and Clein pulled some flesh sandwiches out their rucksacks. "Do you want one?" they asked Two.

"No, thanks," he said. "I'm a vegetarian."

"What is it with people being vegetarian?"

"It's a very healthy diet."

"So I hear."

"You live longer if you're a vegetarian."

"How long have you been alive?"

"I'd rather not going into it."

"But surely it's not good to limit what you eat."

"It isn't; I'm not." David Gratton II pulled out a large sandwich filled with all sorts of cheese, cucumbers, tomatoes and lettuce, all of which was drizzled with mayonnaise.

"That doesn't look healthy."

### "It's not too slimming, I'll grant you. But I could drink a bottle of cooking oil and still have a better diet than one who eats a flesh steak."

### Chapter 47

Trouble in paradise?

### Give it a rest.

### youre a vegetarian theyre not it doesnt add up well

### I hate vegetables!!!!!!!

### It's nothing to do with vegetables.

### Yesitdoes:it'sgot'vegetable'inthename.

### I just don't want to hurt anyone.

### Wuss.

### man up and take some ownership

### Do!!!!! (!!!!!) you even have a sense of pride?!!!?????!!!!!!

### Whyareyousuchapatheticwimp?

### You need to kill!!!! to survive!!!!!!!

### Where is the logic in that?

### shut up number two

### You're worthless.

### You'reinferior,remember?

### R-e-m-e-m-b-e-r-?

### remember

### Leave me alone. I am David Gratton II and am proud to be me.

### You have nothing to be proud of.

### youll disagree with people all your life

### You always find someone who hates you.

### B-e-c-a-u-s-e e-v-e-r-y-o-n-e h-a-t-e-s y-o-u a-n-y-w-a-y-.

### Why do you (!!) even bother!!!!!!!????!!!

### It'll get better. I don't need to listen to you. I know I'll get better.

### Whatever helps you cry less.

### Chapter 48

"Mike, I am deeply sorry for having kidnapped you," said the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack. "I hope you can forgive me."

"Well, it wasn't very pleasant," Mike began, "but what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't forgive you?"

"You're very forgiving," said Dave. "I'd have held a grudge. I'd have held a few grudges. In fact I think I am."

"Oh, don't revel in distress; it does nobody any good," Mike said. He smiled at Dave. "Would somebody mind – if it's no hassle – removing my handcuffs now?"

"Oh, Quack, I did that‽ I really am insane." The Space Chicken removed Mike's handcuffs.

"Don't worry yourself. It's no big deal, really. You just did it earlier when you weren't feeling so well."

'Where do you live, Michael?' asked Fred Jr.

"Over in Garfford, in the Nord-Luc."

"Great," said the Space Chicken. "We'll head over there now. We just need to find some transport."

"Who are you, may I ask?"

"Me?"

"No, the flying Egg."

'I am Fred Jr, son of the Space Chicken.'

"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Mike.

"Are you called Fred?" asked Dave of the Space Chicken. "I wish I'd known that earlier. It's so much effort to say, 'The Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack'."

"My name's not Fred, but I wish it were."

"Then why isn't it?"

"It's a difficult process for prophets. The naming office is right at the centre of the Ache."

"What's the Ache?"

"It's this region of this spiral arm of the Milky Way."

### Dave's eyes widened. "The Milky Way? You mean I haven't left this galaxy?"

"You're an alien?" Mike asked.

"Yes. I just assumed I'd travelled across the universe to come to somewhere so different. But the same galaxy?"

"Really? You look a lot like us Glix'ns. Except you've got something like claws on your hands, now I'm thinking about it."

"Yeah, but I'm an alien."

### "In the grand scheme of the universe, you and I are as close as brothers."

### Chapter 49

"How do we get to Garfford from here?"

### At the moment the question was asked, the Incredible Spaceboat appeared before them. "Welcome!" a large, togaed, blonde lady announced, stepping off the the vehicle. "Have we met somewhere before?"

"Yes, countless times."

"No, actually," said Mike. He extended a hand. "I am Michael Rowland Daffodil. Nice to meet you."

"I am Oprah, that is all. The mononym defines me and I define myself. We have discovered there is a Speedvan in our cargo hold. If you're in need of transport, we're happy to give it to you."

"No!" the Space Chicken shouted. "That Speedvan has caused us enough hassle as it is."

"But we haven't given it to you yet. It came with the Spaceboat when we bought it."

"Look," said Mike, "if I understand correctly, that Speedvan needs to be handed to my group of friends at a different point in time. The Spaceboat can travel in time, so you can go from there."

"He's right," said the Space Chicken, having recovered from his distress. "You need to take yourselves, your Spaceboat and your offer of a Speedvan back to the 85th Quadquomber. The location is approximately 40 km Nekken on the England-Wales border. There you should meet me. I'll be more than happy to accept the Speedvan from there."

"Okay, then," Oprah accepted. "After all, I owe you one for having given a Speedvan to me in BongVe Bong, just a few dozen kilometres Nord of here, and then this lovely Spaceboat to me on that bright blue planet. What selfless kindness." She smiled warmly, then got into her Spaceboat again and flew backwards in time. The Space Chicken saw.

"You did all that for her?" Mike asked. "That sounds lovely."

"It's really not as nice as it sounds. It was all for the sake of paradoxes." The Space Chicken thought about all the stressful paradoxes he had encountered in an attempt to preserve the timeline of various vehicles. "Actually, would anyone object if I proposed we take the bus?"

### Chapter 50

"So how have you been since I last saw you?" Dave asked the Space Chicken as they headed for Garfford.

"Well I took Mike hostage."

"Ah." Dave nodded knowingly, letting the 'ah' subside into a warm sigh. "I nearly ate a prophet."

"I see."

"You are a prophet, aren't you, jam?"

'In a manner of speaking, yes.'

"Who's this latest prophet?" the Space Chicken asked.

"It's a jam sandwich I keep in my backpack."

"Ah."

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Space Chicken.'

"It's a pleasure to meet you, too, wherever you are," the Space Chicken said. He turned back to Dave and continued, "He speaks in the back of your head, just like Fred Jr. His voice appears not in your ears, but directly into your mind."

"It does indeed. So, how did you meet Mike?"

"He was on a train with Fred Jr and me. He said his name, I handcuffed him – the usual stuff."

"I met the jam between two slices of bread. Oprah bought him at the supermarket."

"Why do you call it 'him'? Does the jam have a set gender?"

"I haven't decided again."

"Isn't androgyny beautiful?" said the Space Chicken. "Why did Oprah buy you the jam?"

"I lived with her for a week."

"It figures. She was probably quite lonely after her children left."

### Dave frowned. "She has children?"

"Clint and Clein. I thought everyone knew this."

"No. I had no idea. Anyway, I have a bone to pick with you."

"I hope it's not a useful bone. You can take my wishbone if you like; I've heard people like them."

"Last time I saw you, you called me David Gratton. The jam won't tell me what you meant by that."

"David Gratton – or so Quack tells me – is a man who will found a new country."

"That doesn't sound too bad."

"The assumption is that it will replace all existing nations."

"Ah."

"Quack sent me to stop David Gratton."

"Does He regularly do things like that?'

### Mike chipped in. "The Space Chicken was sent after me."

"Really?" asked Dave, alarmed. "Quack asked you to do that?"

"Well, sort of. I guess I just misinterpreted him."

"A lot," said Mike.

"But Quack hinted I should kidnap Mike. Or, at least, that's what I thought He hinted."

"Why?" asked Dave.

### The Space Chicken rang up Quack to ask why.

"It says in my notes," Quack explained, "that Michael Rowland Daffodil—"

"He's called 'Mike' now."

"That Mike is an accomplice of David Gratton."

"Am I?"

### Dave said, "The jam knows about this, but it won't tell me."

### They all turned to look at the jam in the sandwich in the box in the bag in the seat on the bus.

"Jam," the Space Chicken said, "are you from the future?"

'Who isn't?' he replied.

"I'm not. I was born in space, but I've never been into the future."

### Dave changed the topic. "So, how's your Cantaloupe challenge coming along?"

"What's a Cantaloupe?" Mike, the jam and Fred Jr asked, though only Mike asked vocally.

"It's a big, purple hole that transports people through time."

'Sounds strange. Though I think you could have called it something better,' the jam said.

"Don't start."

"Wait," said Mike, "did you name it that?"

"Well, a group of us did. The Space Chicken and the twins included."

"I really need to organise my schedule," said the Space Chicken. "I have so many things I'm meant to be doing."

"I recently made myself a list of what I need to do," said Dave. "It was this:

"1: Rescue Michael Rowland Daffodil.

"2: Chastise the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack.

"3: Go to the Fez.

"4: Merge the jam sandwich with the Great Oak Tree.

"I guess now I've rescued Mike and chastised you, I only need to focus on returning the jam to the Great Oak Tree."

"Wait, did you say you need to get to the Fez?"

"Yep. That's where the Great Oak Tree is."

"I'll head there with you." The Space Chicken sat and thought for a moment. "I suppose my list would be this:

"1: Stop David Gratton.

"2: Stop Michael Rowland Daffodil.

"3: Solve the Cantaloupe crisis.

"I suppose now we've discovered that Mike isn't a problem, I can remove number 2 from the list."

"Yes. But how do you aim to stop David Gratton?"

"I've already solved that one. Gratton can't open the Fez if he can't get to the Fez. Clint and Clein have taken the Fez away from Britain and are going to make sure they open it themselves in solitude.

"I suppose my list has now transformed to this:

"1: Take Mike home.

"2: Solve the Cantaloupe crisis."

### The Space Chicken pondered upon this. He almost tired of having only two goals. He knew how to take Mike home. That one shouldn't take too long. It would be gone soon. How to solve the Cantaloupe crisis was a difficult one. He knew it was something to do with the rifts. They were letting the Cantaloupes slip through. All it took was the flick of a switch to change this.

"Quack," the Space Chicken announced on the phone, "I have solved the problem of David Gratton opening the Fez. Now how do I solve the Cantaloupe crisis?"

"It's just the flicking of a switch."

"I could have worked that one out by myself."

"Then why didn't you set off?"

"I have no way of getting to the rifts, I'm in the process of taking Mike home (sorry again, Mike) and I'm going to plant a jam sandwich under the Great Oak Tree with Dave. I don't mean I'm going to plant Dave and the sandwich, I mean I am going to assist Dave in doing so."

"I see. Under the circumstances, I'm going to suggest that Fred Jr heads off to the rifts, while Dave and you head to the Fez."

"Fred Jr leave without me?" The Space Chicken was alarmed.

'I am okay with that.'

"But I don't think I am."

"Space Chicken," Dave said, "you'll have to let him go places without you eventually."

'I shall only be gone a day.'

"But you're just a baby!"

"Space Chicken, there's no need to get hysterical."

"I'm not hysterical!"

'False. I am not a baby, I am at a pre-infant state wherein I have not yet revealed my body to the dangers of the external world.'

### When they got to Garfford and located Mike's house, there was a long, sentimental pause as they left him at his home. It was just a small apartment. He invited them in for drinks. They accepted.The Space Chicken and Dave informed him that they had gone off tea. Mike didn't have any gone-off tea, so he provided them with coffee instead. The three rooms had little content – the items could all fit inside a backpack – and looked designed as though Mike were ready to get up and leave any moment.

### It was from here that Fred Jr left through the window and headed up to space. Dave gave Mike a long cuddle and a reluctant Cockerel did too, through sobs at his only child leaving (someone else's) home.

### Outside, the Space Chicken, Dave and the jam sandwich set back off walking into the great unknown: the rest of the universe, that which exists outside a home, or which acts as a home. Mike watched from the window.

"Goodbye, Mike," said the Space Chicken. "The world is a strange place; we'll probably meet again somewhere."

"Goodbye," said Mike. "I'll miss you, Dave and the Space Chicken. And hopefully I shall come across the Great Oak Tree and You'll remember me, Jam."

"You don't need to capitalise his name or pronouns," Dave, the Space Chicken and the jam all said.

### As he was leaving, Dave added, "Oh, and I'll probably be on a different planet, so I'll never see you again." This gave Dave a pang of sadness, which he tried to ignore. "Goodbye."

"Sorry for taking you hostage!" the Space Chicken called as the three left wandered off down the road.

### Chapter 51

"So, what's the plan now?" Dave asked.

"I'd say we should walk towards the Luc coast. From there, we can take a boat out to ocean and board the Fez."

"Which one's Luc?"

"That one," the Space Chicken said, pointing at the coast ahead of them.

### There was a moment's silence before the Space Chicken couldn't take the sound of his own thoughts any more. "So, jam, what are you, exactly?"

'I'm just that.'

"Just what?"

'Jam.'

"Yes, I know that, but where did you come from?"

'In the future, Quack will send an Acorn back in time.'

"Like the one Clint and Clein had?" Dave asked.

'Exactly the one Clint and Clein had. This is to be the Great Oak Tree. Unfortunately, something goes wrong in the process. A part splinters off and becomes some jam. I don't know why, it just does. And now I must be merged to complete the Great Oak Tree.'

"That should be simple enough."

### They eventually reached the boat rental shop on the coast. Ahead of them, they saw many young hopefuls who had heard of all the excitements and wonders away from Britain. The world was a wonderful place, and part of its wonder lay in the knowledge of its unreachable immensity. It is one thing to know that some day you could leave your home and view the world as a list to tick off, but quite another, more exciting one to know that there is more to the eye that meets the mind, and the mind conjures more images than meet the eye with all the eye sees. But teens and young adults in their droves took their boats and fled the isle. All they had was themselves, their backpacks and their freedom. All they left behind were the gentle splashes of the oars into the water which touched the coast as they left Britain.

### Chapter 52

### It was cold. The coldest, harshest winds whipped around the European ocean. This was always the case. The convection currents of wind and water shifted heat from place to place around the globe. There were parts of Glix which differed wildly in climate. The environment of the Nord pole was harsh, cold, cruel, icy winds and frozen clime. The environment of the Nekken pole was hot and steamy, owing to its proximity to Ra, the third star in Glix's astronomical neighbourhood. The environment of Greece was a sandy, vibrant, stone, hot world.

### The waves of Europe developed in the changing ocean around the countries. From Nekken Europe, the waves built and built, then crashed into Britain. The cold climate got colder and colder. The normally absent region was at this point inhabited by the Fez, which silently and slowly drifted on in the freezing mist.

### Clint, Clein and David Gratton II woke up on told of the Fez. Clint and Clein were cold. David Gratton II had, in fact, applied logic to the situation.

### Without looking up, Clint said, "He brought a tent, didn't he?"

### It was a big, dark green one, too. It was insulatory and wind-resistant and Two loved it very much. He had offered it to Clint and Clein, but – in their ignorance, arrogance and antipathy towards elder generations – they had rejected it. This rejection may have owed some of its origin to the fact that they were unconscious. Nevertheless, Two was snug and the two were cold.

"Um, Dave?" asked Clein through the zipped entrance to the tent.

"Don't call me Dave," came the reply. "Nobody's called me that in a long time."

"Okay then," said Clein. "Two, why are you in a tent?"

"What a foolish question. Why aren't you in a tent?"

"We didn't have one."

### The tent door unzipped. "Get in here, then." It was Two who said this, not the tent.

### The twins stepped inside. It was very homely. There was a small footstool. Two had conjured from his bag, and on it he had a loaf of bread and some cheese.

"So," said Two, "where are you on your journey at the moment?"

"This is it. This is the ultimate goal – to be travelling on top of the Fez. Are you here to try to open the Fez?"

"No, I'm here to see you."

"Why?"

"Where do you see this all going?"

"All what? Can't we just open the Fez?"

"And what if you don't?"

"But we will."

"Supposing you don't. Supposing there isn't the Fez to fall back on. What do you do then? Do you get a job? How will you live?"

### Clint and Clein thought about this for some time. "We want to be good. If everyone were good, we wouldn't need to be so focused on status and wealth. Do you know of the prophet the Space Chicken?"

"Yes."

"He once asked us what we need to live. And you know what? It boils down to two things: fuel and place. We need our fuel, not petrol or gasoline, but air, food and water. And we need a place to live."

"But you need to be part of the system. You can only get anywhere in life by affirming your place in society."

### Two left the tent and lit a small fire on top of the Fez. He returned and got a teapot and some ground up leaves. Clint and Clein followed him outside as Two turned away from them and made his morning cuppa.

"Do you really believe that, Two?"

"No. Do what you like. Be good. If everyone made it their goal to be good, if everyone were nice and put in a little effort to make fuel and accommodation, there would be very little harm in the world."

### Clint and Clein thought about this for a while. "I think I might be a scientist."

"Me too."

"If we had a place to live and grow food, we'd just be free to help others. Efficiency is key. I mean, look at the Speedvan. If space travel advanced a little more, we'd be able to travel to other planets and pick up all the wonders and medicines there."

"Also," said Clint, "chemicals are cool."

### Chapter 53

### Quack, it's dreary to be alive.

### you said it

### Are we alive???!!!!!!???

### I s-u-p-p-o-s-e i-n a s-e-n-s-e w-e m-u-s-t be-.

### Why do you say that?

### W-e-l-l-, w-e-'-r-e c-o-n-s-c-i-o-u-s-, a-r-e-n-'-t w-e-?

### The dead are conscious.

### Ugh. You don't honestly believe that nonsense, do you?

### i do

### You're wrong.

### Why not?

### D-o-n-'-t l-e-t-'-s g-e-t i-n-t-o t-h-i-s-; i-t i-s a d-e-b-a-t-e w-h-i-c-h d-i-e-d y-e-a-r-s a-g-o-, w-h-e-n n-o n-e-w e-v-i-d-e-n-c-e c-a-m-e a-l-o-n-g-.

### What's wrong with getting into it?

### It's pointless and petty. Unless you can shed some new light on theology, give up talking about it.

### Weliveinaworldwithagod,Quack.

### Is that not something to talk about?

### there are more important things to do

### Like destroying Two.

### David Gratton II. What a pointless being.

### H-e-'-l-l b-e d-i-s-p-o-s-e-d o-f s-o-o-n e-n-o-u-g-h-.

### i look forward to the end

### Chapter 54

### There was a harbour in Garfford. There were boats in it, which always served to make it more useful. More importantly, there were boats away from the harbour, which served a greater purpose than those docked.

### Arthur Cardigan had a bilberry.

"Could you explain to me how this works, exactly?" Arthur asked Quack.

"Well," said Quack, "you need to bury this bilberry."

"Why?"

"It needs time to mature. Listen to it."

### The bilberry spoke" 'Ewwo, mate! Is you gunsa be pushing me unda that um brown flour?'

"Soil, do you mean?"

'Doesant ring a bell. Brown flour, dat's wot dat stuff be.'

"Quack," said Arthur, "non-standard Glix'n speech doesn't mean you're immature."

"It's not about speech. He doesn't know anything. This is to be one of the greatest thinkers of all time. Don't ask me how it works, but it says so in my notes. In the future I'm sure I'll understand."

"And how is burying the bilberry going to help?"

"Because it will be in the natural glix. The closer one is to nature, the more one develops as a thinker."

### Arthur Cardigan looked around. There was a statue of a thin-lipped man wearing a crown, who was standing on top of a man who appeared to be wearing a potato sack. Underneath the statue there was a sad-looking poppy in a soft patch of compost. Arthur pushed a hole in this ground and placed the berry there. When it needed to be pulled out, it would be a plant.

"I think I understand now," said Arthur. "I've just stuck a philosopher in the floor. Great."

### Chapter 55

### Dave had always had a broadly limited knowledge of boats. On his home planet, he prided himself on excelling at not knowing about boats. He was more skilled than anyone else who'd ever seen the sea in the field of not knowing what boats did, how to control them or who pays for them. It was really quite a gift.

### All he really knew about boats was that they were made of wood (which they usually weren't), that they were controlled by pirates (who had in fact created their own form of democracy whereby they staunchly opposed the suggestion that any of their conduct could be considered polite and/or sophisticated enough to merit the word 'controlled'), and that they were flown into the sky every week so they could dry off and prevent their hulls getting pruny. This last fact had been told to him when he was younger. Deep down, Dave suspected it might not be true, but Dave gave all boating such spectacularly little thought he had never had the opportunity to realise his own naïve stupidity.

As an alien visitor to a planet, Dave thought it polite to take an interest in things he had never cared about before, in the same manner that people visiting a foreign country think it polite to skim-read a guide book and regurgitate unconnected quasi-verbal linguistic abuse. When in Rome, thought Dave, bon appetit!

"So, what do boats actually do?"

"Didn't they have them on your planet?"

"They did, but I didn't ask questions. Are they to go out fishing?"

"'Fishing'? What's that?"

"It's where people kill fish for food."

"On your planet, they just eat anything, don't they?"

"They don't eat pets."

"What are they?"

"They're animals you keep in your household."

"So, if you had a cow on your premises, you wouldn't eat it?"

"No, we still would."

"Oh," said the Space Chicken. "Well we don't have fishing or petting or cowing here, so please don't introduce them. There are enough problems as it is."

"so, what do you have boats for?"

"Just for fun. People sail and row them around. Also, it's a great way to get around. You just let the wind take you and control the air, without having to poison the sky."

"I thought you were against all that stuff," said Dave. "Fuel's just fuel. Petrol's just petrol. You got pretty angry at Border City when that guy suggested we walk to the Fex instead of driving there."

"If you recall, that was you."

"But you agreed with me, didn't you?"

"I'm not saying fuel-based vehicles don't have a purpose," said the Space Chicken, "but there are ways of getting around without creating deadly fumes. Besides, where we need to go now is offshore. The Speedvan could have got us there, but that's in the sea somewhere else and will never again be in working order. We'll just hire a little boat and sail out Luc and Nekken."

### The alien and the prophet had casually walked up to the harbour. The shipman said, "What is this, some kind of joke?"

"No, sir," said the Space Chicken. "We'd like to rent a boat please."

"What kind?"

### Dave let his nervous mind overtake him again. He spoke. "One that floats."

### The Space Chicken wasn't any better. "A big, medium, sailing yacht."

"Okay," said the shipman. "We have the Bold Garf Bong."

"We'll take it."

"I wasn't giving you an option."

"You're welcome."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Bless you."

The Space Chicken, Dave and the jam set off in the Bold Garf Bong. As the jam had no body and the Space Chicken no arms, Dave had to steer and power the boat. As Dave had no knowledge of boats and the Space Chicken no care, the jam had to guide them. As they were all incompetent, they had no hope.

### Chapter 56

"Two," Clein said, "how old are you?"

### They were sitting in a tent on the Fez. It was cold outside as they drifted along the Luc coast of Britain, but the tent was warm.

"Quite old," said Two. "Why do you ask?"

"Are you ancient? Lots of people are these days. Old Man Tales and the Space Chicken are."

"55, I think," said Two. "Although I'm not sure if I counted a year twice. Worse still, I'm not sure if I was meant to."

"How long have you been 55?" Clein asked mysteriously.

"Don't know. It happened at some point in the future."

### It would be another lazy day. All their activity centred around kicking buttons as they swung their legs off the Fez.

"I'm 17," said Clein. "Although, between us," he added, gesturing to Clint and himself, "we've lived it twice."

### There was a knock at the tent door.

### There was an awkward pause.

### Clint was the first to speak. "Were you expecting anyone?"

"Um, no, I don't think so."

### There was another knock.

"You don't knock on a tent, anyway. How can you knock on that? If anything, you should knock on the Fez."

### There was a knock on the floor.

"All right, all right, I'll get it," said Clint.

### Clint opened the door and found an elderly gentleman standing there.

"No, thank you, we already have one."

### He zipped the door back up again.

"Who was it?" asked Clein.

"Just Old Man Tales."

"Are you going to let him in?"

### Clint paused. "Why, do you think I should?"

"Maybe."

### Clint allowed the elderly gentleman to join them, and the flowing beard brought with it a greater sense of mystery.

"Hello," said Old Man Tales. "I just thought I'd join you and guide you forth."

"Uh... How did you get here?"

"I knocked on the door then the floor and you chose to open the door."

"I meant how did you get up here?"

"I climbed, the same as you. You didn't think you were the only passionate people, did you?"

"If you're trying to open the Fez, you can forget about it, because we're going to press every button."

"I'm up here to witness a great event. I see the Acorn has already been planted."

### David Gratton II spotted him. "Hello, there."

"Hello again."

"Have you two met before?" Clein asked.

"Not yet."

"Ah."

"We'll meet at some point in the future."

"What do you know of the future? Do you know about David Gratton?"

"Clein, I know a lot about the future, but I can't tell you."

"How did you know I was Clein?"

"You're a good man, Clein. If I told you what happens next, you'd try to prevent it."

"Now, that's where you're wrong," Clein tried to explain. "You can tell me what's going to happen."

"Clein, you're a very lovely man, but you wouldn't understand."

### He got angry. "Old Man Tales, I'm not the stupid little boy you think I am."

"Clein, I don't think you're stupid."

"Yes, you do. All you old people are the same. You all think youths are stupid and bad. Well, I'm not."

### Old Man Tales sat down beside Clein. "Okay, Clein. I can tell you. You may have heard of David Gratton."

### Clein looked up at him. "That's the guy who's plotting something bad, isn't it? He likes to terrorise."

"Have you heard about the prospect of there being a new country?"

"Yes. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"I can talk to you about this, because it's just us two here."

"What about Clint and David Gratton II?"

### They had slipped out a few moments earlier. "Oh, yes. I forgot about them. Where are they?"

"They're sitting on the edge of the Fez, pressing buttons so we propel this direction."

"Okay. Is the new country going to be a good thing or a bad thing? Is there going to be a new country? Is the rumour true?"

"Yes, it's true."

"Good or bad? Is it something that needs to be prevented or promoted? Or do we need to prevent it being promoted or promote it being prevented? Or even prevent it being prevented or promote it being promoted?"

### Old Man Tales laughed heartily. "You're very inquisitive. I like that. It's the sign of a smart person."

"I thought if you were smart you wouldn't need to ask questions."

"When we stop asking questions, it means we've given up with gaining knowledge and succomed to an inferior intellect."

"You still haven't answered any of my questions," said Clein.

### Old Man Tales sighed. "Suppose I said the new country were a bad thing. Then you would undoubtedly try to change the course of history. And, as I'm sure you know, if you changed that aspect of history, I wouldn't be here to talk to you about it. And so, you couldn't try to prevent it happening." He chuckled. "A standard paradox."

"But what if that's a good thing?" said Clein. "What if you tell me there's nothing wrong with the new country?"

"That would be just as bad. Then you would undoubtedly try to stop people who object to the new country arriving. And there are lots of people attempting to stop David Gratton. If you told them it were all in vain, they'd stop their futile quests. There's a man called Richard Dakin who, in addition to opposing Quack, has made it his duty to prevent David Gratton from opening the Fez. He won't get anywhere, but will inadvertently found the Dakin Daycare for abandoned cats. It's a foolish title, as the animals are cared for day and night – which rejects one meaning of the word 'day' – for up to thirty years – which disproves the other. Even so, your telling him he would achieve nothing would guarantee he really did achieve nothing. And surely that would be a bad thing. You don't want cats to go homeless, do you? I hope not. So, you see, whether we reveal the truth to dreamers (regardless of whether it's a definite truth or subject to the mood of the space-time continuum) we are preventing dreams and stifling advancement."

"What if I just tell him he needs to found the cat centre?"

"He doesn't intend to found it. These things happen by accident."

### Clint looked upset.

"What's the matter?" asked Old Man Tales.

"So you're saying we have no choice in what happens?"

"I'm not saying you can't make history. You will. But with reference to the new country, we shouldn't be fearful. We don't yet know how it will turn out."

"So the new country will happen?"

"I can't say whether it will or it won't, but it's best just to assume that it will and accept that there's nothing else to be done about it until this all blows over."

"But the Space Chicken had been trying to stop the new country from happening."

"Yes, but that's known about. It's part of the prophecy," Old Man Tales said. "Don't you see awful this is? We've condemned ourselves to creative confinement. Many people know about what is allegedly going to happen. And so any attempt to change this would conflict with the ideas they hold. Don't you think it's best not to know what will happen next, so you can make what happens next in your mind come true. If I could tell you when you're going to die, would you like to know?"

"Of course. Then I can prolong my life as long as possible. That is, assuming I die an unnatural death."

"Would you really want to know? What would it achieve? It would mean you spend your life hiding from mortality. You would limit yourself to a set lifespan. You wouldn't live. You'd plan for the end."

### Clein reflected upon this.

### Old Man Tales continued. "I know when you die. I have it down to the precise date. Do you want to know?"

"No," Clein replied quickly. "Knowledge of my death is equal to death itself."

### Chapter 57

### I'm here now, guys.

### oh goody

### Hello there.

### You took your time.

### How is everything?

### A-l-l r-i-g-h-t-. W-e-'-r-e b-u-s-y r-u-i-n-i-n-g D-a-v-i-d G-r-a-t-t-o-n I-I-'-s l-i-f-e a-t t-h-e m-o-m-e-n-t-.

### Is he the one everyone keeps calling 'Two'?

### Y-e-a-h-.

### Ah. I like to be up-to-date on these sorts of things.

### the two refers to the end of his name david gratton ii

### Yeah, I got that, thanks a lot, Vaeme 2.

### youre welcome

### It was sarcasm.

### Why does e get to be Vaeme 2?

### Yeah!!!!!?!!!!!

### E was here second, wasn't e?

### I was here first. I'm always first. I'm Vaeme 1.

### i am vaeme 2

### I think!!!!??? I was third!!!! Number three!!!!!! I'm the bronze medal!!!!!!

### AndIappeartobeVaeme4.

### I am third!!!!!

### That's pathetic. No-one cares about the bronze medal.

### yeah

### I care!!!!!

### silver is good too

### Silveristhehighestformoflosing.

### Bronze is good!!!!!!

### Bronzeisjusttheworstmedal.

### At least I got a medal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

### ooh

### Oh, you got told.

### I a-m t-h-e f-i-f-t-h o-f t-h-e V-a-e-m-e-i-.

### are we still doing that

### Which makes me Vaeme 6.

### And me Vaeme 7.

### That's that, then!!!!

### Of course that's that. What else could it be?

### yeah

### Are there more to come?

### Certainly. We wouldn't want Two to get lonely in his own head, now, would we?

### Yeah!!!!

### There are always more voices.

### Remember this, Two: no matter how bad you think things are, they can always get worse.

### things are never as jolly as they appear and never appear jolly until youve seen the darkest sights of misery

### And when you've given up being depressed!!!!! then we can always increase the intensity!!!!!!!!!

### Andthefrequency.

### A-n-d w-e c-a-n g-e-t i-n-t-o y-o-u-r m-i-n-d a-n-d c-o-n-j-u-r-e t-h-e w-o-r-s-t t-h-o-u-g-h-t-s a-n-d f-e-a-r-s-.

### We are your mind.

### We are your worst thoughts and fears. But things can always get worse. Never give up the hope that oblivion is on the horizon forever.

Chapter 58

### In space, there was a deep, unnerving silence. In space, there is always silence. Unless, of course, it was light space, which is filled with jelly and potential. But it wasn't.

### This silence would not be particularly significant were it not for the fact that there was a huge object floating around in it. It was a very noisy object, but as there were no media to transport sound and only one person, this wasn't really an issue. If it were a place with the potential for sound, it would have gone like this:

### Weeikrumpentedooztschftrunketcloun!

### But it wasn't a place for sound.

### A small, solitary creature headed up towards the noisy silence. The creature had no gender, no face and legs. The only way to refer to such a spivak was neutrally, something e very much approved of. There was no air, so e couldn't breathe. This hardly mattered, as the creature had spent eir entire life so far in places with air, and e hadn't been too impressed. E didn't mind. E didn't breathe.

### The small creature was on a big mission. Nobody knew if the mission would be a success or not, so ordinarily someone would say to em, "Don't hold your breath," but under the circumstances (eir idleness and lack of respirational abilities), nobody did.

### Fred Jr read a signpost on the mass of mess, which read: 'The Island of Rednuht'. There was another one, saying, 'The Island of Retawnair'. As Fred Jr got closer and the swirling matter became not so much an obstacle as a community, e noticed that there were, in fact, two islands before em.

### How odd, thought Fred Jr.

### Before e had time to work out what to do, the young prophet was met by an odd gentleman twice. That is, the gentleman was present twice.

'Hello,' said Fred Jr. 'I see you are intelligent twins,' e added, as though it were a compliment.

"Well, that's what the authorities tell us," said one of them. "Although when have they ever been right? As you may tell from my brother here," – he pointed to the twin standing next to him, then looked lost, as though he couldn't find his other, until the second twin waved, reassuring his twin, himself and Fred Jr – "there he is, we are as thick as mud and completely insane."

"Completely," his brother agreed.

'I do not mean to sound impolite,' said Fred Jr, 'but, if you do not mind my asking, who are you?'

"Well, I," the first one said, "am King." So is my brother—"

"Hello," said his brother.

"—but of somewhere else. I've allowed him on my land at the moment, as you may see."

"You may see."

### Fred Jr now saw they were both wearing crowns above their huge grey beards and hair, as well as other jewelry. 'And where is your land, exactly?'

"It isn't. It's space," said the first king. "I am the King of Rednuht."

"I am the King of Rednuht," said his brother.

"No, you most assuredly are not."

"I know. I was just repeating what you said."

"Well, don't."

"I am, in reality—"

"Or fantasy. I find both impossible to believe."

### The Kings laughed, as they frequently did upon any remark, regardless of whether there was any potential for humourous inference. Laugh first; ask question never.

### The second king proclaimed, though not for the first or the last time, "I am the King of Retawnair."

'I came here,' Fred Jr explained, 'to—'

"Yes, to get the switch which stops the Cantaloupes coming through."

"All you need to do is call it. Ahahaha har!"

### Fred Jr understood. E struggled, however, on how to do so. It is a universal fact that it's easy to know what one wants, but the difficulty lies in expressing it. All the difficulties I have thus far encountered are down to the difficulty of expressing one's desires, thought Fred Jr, and e didn't stop thinking it until e was much older.

'I cannot speak,' said Fred Jr.

"Oh, of course you. Aha. Don't let society's pressures get you down, hmm?"

"Anyone, big or small, is allowed a voice these days."

"One might call it democracy."

"Millions would."

"Brought closer by difference," said the King of Rednuht.

"And broadened by passivity," said the King of Retawnair.

"What else would one call agreeing to something one doesn't agree with?"

### They both fell back in laughter again. As they relaxed (Fred Jr wondered whether that was indeed the word for not having a care in the world; the more e thought, the less he believed), the rules of gravity, which needn't be in place, since it was not present on the Islands of Rednuht and Retawnair, slackened and the Kings – seemingly oblivious to the change – began to float around in the mist-less void of a realm.

"You simply must try some of this cake, hmm?"

### Fred Jr saw that the King of Rednuht was holding a plate, as he floated neither here nor there, which held a colourful slice of Greek yoghurt souffle.

'Where did that come from?'

"All your desires are answered when you stop believing they never will be."

"Are we confusing you?"

"I wouldn't be comfortable with the idea of your going away without any of our confusion."

### The Kings laughed heartily again.

"One might say we're quite famed for it."

"You don't have to be mad to work here, hmm?"

"But you do happen to be hatless in space. Ha ha ha ha!"

"Ah ah ah ah! Quite!"

### Fred Jr was bewildered by how e could ask without a voice. The next major fault in the Egg's mission was that e saw a strange apparition.

'Daddy!' Fred Jr called out. A small piece of his shell broke off.

"Fred Jr?" said the Space Chicken. "What are you doing here?"

### Fred Jr was confused. This happened very infrequently. The Space Chicken surely knew Fred Jr was going to be there. They'd arranged that earlier at Quack's command.

"It's a ghost of the future," said the King of Retawnair.

'Like a woff?'

"What's that?"

'It is a kind of ghost that looks identical to you and can hurt you unless you shout at it.'

"That to me is the King of Rednuht."

### Fred Jr thought for a while. Then e decided what he needed to say.

'I would like the switch which determines whether or not there are Cantaloupes on Glix.'

### Nothing happened.

"You need to say it out loud," the King of Rednuht said.

'I cannot do that.'

"Of course not. Your to young. You need to be of a significant age to have a place in the world."

'It should be "You're too young."'

"You're right. But, unfortunately, the world being as it is, it isn't intellect which defines whether or not we're important, but age and the lie of maturity."

'Can you not simply decide the rules of how the switches work?'

"It is not determined by us," said the King of Rednuht, floating past, "but by the public."

"Their wishes and feeling are what make the world. No petty rules can outway the reality of thought."

"That written on paper by quills does not replace the thought of the common dunce. Ahahaha!"

"Is that not democracy?"

### They both burst out laughing again.

"Give us the switch," said the King of Retawnair, "that decides if Cantaloupes come to Glix."

### It promptly arrived, appearing from the swirling mass of switches surrounding the and rushing through and about the Islands, more common than wind on a mountaintop. Fred Jr flew up to the floating switch and used eir small Chicken arms to pull the attached lever.

"What did that do?" asked the King of Rednuht.

'You work here; you should know.'

"It's our first day."

"And there are an infinite number of switches, so we can't be expected to know about them all."

'I am not asking you to know about every one in detail. I just expect you to have an understanding of how your islands work.'

"And," the King emphasised, as though it were a credit to the extra-Glix'n monarchs that they had not one but a series of lazinesses: one might even go as far as to say a diocese (widely acknowledged to be the highest level of noncompulsion collective) of idlenesses, "we can't be bothered."

"And there are an infinite number of things we can't be bothered with."

'"And there is an infinite number".'

"And you can't begin a sentence with a conjunctive."

'And I do not see any reason why not.'

### Fred Jr started ringing.

'Excuse me,' he said to the King Twins.

'Hello,' he said to the phoner.

"Hello," said Quack. "Did you know you're a lot less entertaining when you talk about language?"

'Quack, you are listening to this?'

"Hello? I'm omniscient. Not to mention omnipotent."

'I thought you concluded you were only semiscient and semipotent.'

"Don't say 'only' as though they are somehow inferior."

'But my point remains that you are – categorically defined – inferior.'

"But you can't begin a sentence with a conjunctive."

'Why not? Grandmother, are you there?'

"Of course I am, sweetheart," said Margery.

'One can begin a sentence with a conjunctive, cannot one?'

"Of course. Its opposition is just a silly ride made up so people can pretend they're better than everyone else. You can say whatever you like, my dear."

"You're doing it again," said Quack.

'What?'

"You're talking about language again."

'You are always doing that.'

"Yes, but I am a god."

'That does not make you better than anyone else.'

"What?" Quack turned pale blue. "Nobody's ever said that before."

### Quack spent some time recovering from this.

'Quack,' said Fred Jr, 'have you been watching me this whole time?'

"I'm always watching you. I look out for each and every person. I created this world and so its produce is also my responsibility."

'Great. So, is the rift fixed now? The hole which was letting Cantaloupes through should have gone away. Has it?'

"Yes. There are 10,984 Cantaloupes on Glix."

'What? But I stopped them.'

"Time is very complex, as you are to learn in this business, little one. The space of time that rift was open is not directly comparable to the life of Glix. The Islands of Rednuht and Retawnair only exist as for one day – in their own definition of the word 'day' – but Glix is around for a lot longer. And, even further, neither the Islands, the King twins nor the rift know how long Glix will last or have any control over the Cantaloupes. If a Cantaloupe comes through, it can land anywhere on Glix, at any time. There are 10,984 of them, spread across a great stretch of time. The only control we have over them is deciding whether they arrive or not. And now we've decided. You may return to your father now, Fred Jr. Well done."

### Chapter 59

### Arthur Cardigan landed in Spotton with an unripe dominut as his 50th item to bury in Britain.

"Well done," said Quack. "You're now over halfway through your mission."

"But what have I achieved?"

"You're creating life. I've told you before, each of these items is soaking in the richness of nature. When they are collected together, they shall form the greatest thinker the world has ever known."

"So, we're making a monster?"

"No, we're crafting a genius."

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"We're taking pieces of people from all over the country to create one masterful thinker."

"Like in a horror novel."

"No. All people are created through meeting life and connecting to the world. It's not just bits and pieces – body parts stuck together. A physical presence isn't important. It's our minds that we are. When we read, we experience someone else's view of the world."

### The dominut spoke up. 'That is lovely. I shall be glad to pass on wisdom. So You are going to absorb the wisdom of Britain alone?'

"What do you mean?"

'It is a large world out there. There is a lot to learn.'

"Well, a thinker never stops learning. We have all the time that Glix lasts to advance the intellect of this thinker."

'So will it— Will I travel to distant lands, to learn all I can in my time?'

"Certainly."

"Oh, Sock," Arthur groaned. "Don't tell me I have to plant fruit all around the world."

"No, you don't. You're halfway through your year of training, but this is the end of your planting. From here on out, it's smaller tasks."

"Okay," said Arthur. "I'll be here to help whatever benefits the world."

"At the moment what benefits the world is this thinker developing. But, now you've planted its parts, you can relax and perform some gentler missions."

"Gentler than botany?"

"Gentler than travel."

"Can I just ask," said Arthur, and asked, "what form will this thinker take? How will it absorb the fruit?"

"The great thinker," said Quack, "will take the form of an Oak Tree."

### Clint and Clein sat on the edge of the Fez and kicked the buttons which swan them backwards, Nord on Glix. David Gratton II and Old Man Tales sat inside the tent.

"I felt rather useless," Two explained to Old Man Tales.

"Why?"

"Well, don't you think I'm just sort of an extra in the world?"

"No. You're an individual. What more can anyone be?"

"Some people have a purpose," said Two.

"My boy, being an individual is the only purpose. Anyone who deludes themselves or others into thinking they hold any level or superiority over anybody, for whatever reason, isn't worth associating with."

"As a child, I was always the isolated one. Now I'm back to being an outcast."

### Clint popped his head through the tent door, interrupting Two and Old Man Tales's conversation. "How many of us were there on board the Fez?"

"Four," answered Two.

"Okay. Are you sure it wasn't seven?"

"Definitely four."

"And was the always a boat attached?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Who's in there?" asked Dave.

"It's David Gratton II and Old Man Tales."

"David Gratton?" Dave said from outside of the tent. Dave put his head through the tent door. Upon seeing David Gratton II – whom he identified as David Gratton given that there was a male in the tent who wasn't Old Man Tales – his head left the tent again. "Space Chicken, I've found him. I've found David Gratton. Do you need to arrest him or something? Because I don't really want another hostage situation." Dave's head returned to the tent occupants. "How are you, Old Man Tales?"

"Quite satisfactory, thank you," the eternal gentleman replied.

"You just let him call you an old man?" Two asked.

"'Old Man Tales'," Dave pointed out.

"For now," said Old Man Tales.

"No!"

"What is it, Dave?" asked Two.

"That wasn't me."

"That is not my name!" came another shout from outside.

### Two, Dave and Old Man Tales left the tent and discovered the Space Chicken screaming at Clint and Clein.

"It's the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack."

"Oh," said Clein. "We thought it was the Pat—"

"No!"

"Hello, friend," said Old Man Tales.

"Hello again," said the Space Chicken. He lifted a wing in the direction of Two. "Who's this?"

"This is David Gratt—"

"What‽ We can't have David Gratton on the Fez! What were you thinking? How did you find him?"

"No, it's not like that."

### The Space Chicken calmed down. "Oh, you to say he isn't actually called David Gratton; I was too hasty in my screeching?"

"Well, no, he is."

"What were you thinking‽"

"He's David Gratton II."

"His son?"

"Not quite," said Clint. "But Gratton isn't here. If you wanted to make sure it was only us who opened the Fez, you've succeeded. The only people who are here are Clein and me. And Old Man Tales and Two. And now Dave and you."

"How do you know about that?"

"Space Chicken, I have lived the length of Glix and more. It is safe to assume I have already seen the future."

### The Space Chicken thought for a moment. "Do I die?"

"I can't answer that."

"It's safe to assume that's a 'yes'," Normal Dave said. "If people decline to answer your question, the answer's almost definitely not positive."

"Why are you here?̦" Clein said, from his perch on the end of the Fez.

"Dave has something he would like to do."

"Is it all right," Dave said, looking at the sapling in the centre of the Fez, "if I feed your Great Oak..." He found himself unable to use the word Tree. "The Great Oak Lifeform a sandwich?"

"He prefers pizza," said Clein.

'No, I don't.'

"Was that Fred Jr?"

'No, it was me, the jam.'

"The Jam?"

'No, "the jam". I'm soon to be part of the Oak Tree.'

"Oh. In that case, go ahead."

### Dave stepped forward and placed the jam sandwich next to the sprout. "Um, I don't know how to get it under the Tree." But the plant unlodged one root from the Fez and placed it into the sandwich.

### The Space Chicken's phone rang.

"Hello."

"It's Quack here."

"I assumed, seeing as everyone else is here and I hate my mother."

"I see the Tree has joined the sandwich."

"Yes," said Dave. "And the red eagle flies at dawn."

### Quack went silent and everyone on the Fez looked blankly at Dave.

"It sounds like a codeword," he explained. "For spies."

"Like in the books?" asked the Space Chicken.

"Sure."

"Anyway, your quest is complete. You're free to do what you like."

"So that's it," said the Space Chicken, despondently. "My journey's over?"

"Review your list," said Dave. "What did we have left to do?"

### The Space Chicken thought for a moment. "It started as this:

"1: Stop David Gratton.

"2: Stop Michael Rowland Daffodil.

"3: Solve the Cantaloupe crisis.

"I realised number 2 wasn't an issue. We sent Fred Jr to flick the switch in the Islands of Rednuht and Retawnair."

"Where?" Dave asked.

"Space," the Space Chicken said.

"Ah," Dave exhaled.

"I guess that only leaves the first item on the list. David Gratton. And I'm fairly certain he's not going to open the Fez." He walked over to David Gratton II and said, "Just promise me you won't touch a single button."

"Okay," said Two.

"I mean it. Clint and Clein are here to open the Fez. Nobody can disturb them."

"It's fine," said Two. "Everything will be fine."

"I think that's everything done then, isn't it?" said Dave, wide-eyed. "Our missions are over."

### The Space Chicken looked vacantly back at him. "There's nothing left to do but for you to get back home."

### Quack made the sharp inhalation of one about to reveal the news that the oven may have, in fact, not only been left on but left in an unlocked house filled with greasepaper. The Space Chicken frowned, scowled and glared through his eyelids.

"What is it?" he caesered – a Glix'n word uncommonly used but commonly needed, meaning 'to say with acerbity and a scowl'.

"I wouldn't get too excited just yet," said Quack.

"Why not?"

"There's a chance your journey may not be over."

"Why?"

"The jam wasn't the only fruit."

"Is jam a fruit?" asked Clint.

"Well, I guess we'd best set off for the next fruit," said Dave.

"Do you not want to stay with us?" asked Two.

"Of course I'll spend time here. I just need to go with the Space Chicken to get the fruit."

"Can I head off straight away to search for the further fruit?"

"No," said Quack. "They need time to mature."

"So what do I do? Wait around until the fruit needs to be located? Why can't it be located now?"

"You're very inquisitive."

"You're omniscient."

"Very well. You can do what you like. Try to find some morals."

"I have morals. I have gods."

"Find more."

"More morals or more gods?"

"What do you think?"

"Do You need morals or restrictions?"

"Now you're thinking."

"Are morals included within restrictions?"

"It depends how you look at it. The most universally accepted moral is that we shouldn't kill people. But still many people disregard that. That's a restriction, in a sense. It restricts your freedom to murder. 'Freedom', 'equality' and 'liberation' are all things I support. They don't equal a vindication of immorality. Allowing people to murder each other would be restricting the right to life. With every supposed 'freedom' there also comes a restriction of the opposite. We just have to pick which side we want to be on."

"Generally I'd say morality is the best option."

"Yes, but how can we determine what's moral? Popularity certainly isn't the way to go. If everyone said it was all right to kill people, would that make it right? The general attitude is that killing's only bad for humans, but is fine for food and sport."

"But that's why You're here, isn't it?" asked the Space Chicken. "To teach us right and wrong."

### Quack shook His head. "That's the way it used to be, but not any more. I can't be the one to determine right and wrong. That must be decided by the individual and approved by the thoughtful group."

"But You created morality."

"No. Gods create life and worlds. Morality is the creative decision of a created mind."

### Quack switched off His phone. Quack switched off.

### Chapter 60

### The Space Chicken and Dave lay alone in confusion atop the Fez.

"Who can I trust, Dave?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"You can trust me."

"But I'm alone. I'm not like the rest of these people. Quack's gone now. Am I just meant to die?"

"No, you're an independent being."

"But I was created for Quack."

"No, you were born, just like anyone else."

"Quack had a Chicken, called Margery, which laid a nest of Eggs. They then hatched in another dimension to this one and the resultant Bulls, Hedgehogs, Pigs, Dogs and Chickens are what became us prophets. I was brought into this universe in the orbit of Glix."

"I know the feeling. I'm an alien, too, remember."

"Hardly. I'm far more foreign than you are. You were born in Britain and you still live in Britain."

"Yes, but it's a different Britain."

"Hardly."

"I'm from a very foreign land," said Dave, slightly taken aback that after having spent so long denying foreignness, he was now being forced into claiming it.

"What's different about it?"

"They drive on the left."

"Quack told us popularity isn't the way to determine morality," the Space Chicken mused to himself. "But how else can we decide? I know what's right, or at least what I view as right, but how can I know they will agree without using the determiner of population." Then it hit the prophet. "We can use our minds to influence others. If we know something to be right, we should passionately encourage others. There doesn't always have to be just one leader. Everyone can lead if they have something to say that others can learn from."

"But why do you need to?" Dave asked. "This world seems perfect. I don't see why you would change anything."

"There are dark secrets here, Dave."

### And just like that, the paranoia started up again. Dave's innermost fears were awakened as he became aware there really were things to be afraid of. He wanted to ask what this meant, but felt he couldn't. He was ashamed to be afraid, and vice versa.

"What do you want to do, Dave?"

"What?"

"When we've completed these tasks. This one task of finding more fruit, now, I suppose. In fact, we have no directions or instructions for that anyway. We have completed the tasks Quack set us and he wants nothing to do with us. We're now free to pick anything we like."

### Dave hadn't considered this. There always seemed to be something to be done. The idea of him making an independent decision seemed more alien than the foreign planet on which he was currently located.

"You can go home if you like."

### That really struck him. He hadn't thought reverse-extramigration possible. He thought about it every day, but it hadn't struck him as a possibility.

"I suppose so."

"Great. We'll leave when you're ready."

### Chapter 61

### The next day, Dave, the Space Chicken, the Great Oak Tree (with jam), David Gratton II, Clint, Clein and Old Man Tales awoke on top of the 5x5 metres square which made the roof of the Fez. They each silently decided that it had become rather cramped.

### Clint and Clein's plan was to start pushing people off. Everyone else declared a desire to split into different groups, so they went with that instead.

### It is a widely accepted fact that nature is beautiful but also hilarious. All the wonders of greenness aesthetically pleasing, but wouldn't be half as entertaining if it weren't for the way the world seems to be comically inconvenient wherever possible. For instance, whenever a toddler happens to be running along whilst eating an ice cream, the juxtaposition of advanced mathematical mechanics and the biology of sub-metropolitan undergrowth creates a reverse gravitational thrust which lifts that one paving slab just in front of said infant in an upward motion by exactly one trip. There is a study at Dogsbridge University into why this happens, but – thus far – no-one has managed to complete the course without wetting themselves.

### Another example of where the comedy of nature may come into play is in cramped spaces. For instance, if a small area is largely populated, this has a way of throwing a big fish in there.

"I don't know if anyone else is awake," said Dave, "but there's a very large salmon watching us."

"Oh, yeah," said the Space Chicken. "He's my brother."

"Your brother?" several people asked.

"Yeah. Hi, Sammy!"

"Hello, Space Chicken," the Super Salmon glugged.

### The Space Chicken's phone rang.

"Could you tell Dave," said Margery, "that in this instance 'Salmon' is a proper noun?"

"Wait," said Clein, as the Space Chicken loudly ignored his mother, "is Sammy the Space Chicken's brother?"

"Yes."

"Then why doesn't he have the same sort of name?"

"Sammy and the Space Chicken are both just nicknames," the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack explained.

"So, does Sammy have a full name like your official one?"

"Yes."

"So, his actual name is the Paternal Super Salmon of the Scared Quack."

### Just then, Sammy swam deep into the water. Bubbles emerged in a trail above him. He grew to elephantine size, then laid a huge Egg on top of the Fez.

### "Yeah," said the Space Chicken to the already nodding Dave, "we really need to leave."

### Chapter 62

### In the deepest blues of the infinity between and beyond night and day, a small, pious Egg flew down to the planet hanging below.

### Eir thoughts were with em, the sole voice which acted as a bridge between the solitary Egg and the rich, gloopy galaxy glittering, shining and flowing with life. In the noble eccentricities of life, the universe and everything, e was no longer a body against the cold, but a drop in the universe.

### Bodies generate heat. When I look down upon Glix, I see an overall coldness: the average of millions of inadequacies. This is not inherent. I begin to feel nothing is inherent. The Big Bang which created this vast, glowing universe of which I have seen little required laws of the sciences which have not been seen since. How can one presume to know an inherent 'truth' or to believe there to be any inherent truth when we have seen so little and know not if the questions we ask have answers or are even real, logical, sensical questions?

I have lost all my individuality, but gained the universal personality. I see now that a personality is not defined by the distinctions of a single lifetime, but by the collective structure of all history. The kind and the bitter, the cruel and the loving, the hot and the cold. All add up to an infinitely wise and benevolent creation. Neither the heat or the absence of it in history is to be valued or gloried: only to be learnt from and observed. No state or race will claim 'we did this' or cry 'we did this', but 'this happened: how may we help all because of what we now know?' When time has come not to a still or a stream but to a state beyond which time is contemplated or considered, when all the creation of the universe is connected and informed by a universal personality, when that is when we will ask not who, why, when, where or if, but instead will say so. Beyond good and evil is not far enough. Acceptance is key.

### And all at once e was content with life, at peace with life and in harmony with the universe. The sense of complete embracement with all e knew and saw – and did not know and could not see – flowed over and enveloped em.

### This is what I want everyone to feel, e thought. If only I can use the cognitive functions provided to me by the forces which created my very being to elevate all of life to this infinite bliss of embracement, to accept and invoke the universal personality, then there will be nothing left to ask of this universe: so we will know how to go beyond asking questions to a point where what we now foolishly call fact and fiction becomes an answer we cannot currently begin to conceive the question of – for there is no question, but a world beyond which we can only now call a 'world' for we have no complete knowledge of the world and thus no conception of the 'world' beyond.

### When I look down upon Glix, I see an overall coldness. Bodies generate heat. This is not inherent. The heat we see depends upon the heat we choose to give.

### When the Egg returned to Glix and regained eir name and place, eir father asked how it was. The Egg could answer only that, 'It was.'

### Chapter 63

### Dave, Fred Jr and the Space Chicken set out on a valiant journey to the British mainland. In days of yore (on Dave's Britain), these voyages had been noble quests. On Glix, in 2042, Britain was still very yore. However, the Galline and paranoid trip was not so majestic. They painstakingly attempted to steer their ship across the sea, failing in just about every way possible.

### They spent a week trying to navigate. There were arguments, discussions of the wheel, then the hearty trio set off towards Britain.

### When they reached mainland, they set about making plans for Dave's future.

"So, Dave," said the Space Chicken, as they wandered along the Luc coast. The gentle breeze of the sea air was not the harshness they had suffered on the boat, nor the comfort of being inland, but the wavy reminded that they stood between two radically different worlds. "How do you propose we get you home?"

"Well, I don't know, really."

"You must have made plans for getting back."

"I just assumed that I never would. I began to accept my life here."

"If you managed to make it here in the first place there must be a way to get back."

"Okay. Well who could help us with that?"

"We'll have to check."

### They set off for some of the Space Chicken's previous work. They were confronted with a variety of options about how to go about rehousing Dave.

### The Space Chicken tapped out an ancient melody on the wooden portal. The door opened.

"Hello?" said Jordan Sprot, although this was neither a question, nor a suitable situation in which to be terrified.

"Hello. Do you remember me?"

"Oh, Quack's Sock! You're the Chicken who cured my acne."

"You're welcome."

"Wait, wait, wait," said Dave. "I thought you were a prophet sent by the gods. What happened to burning bushes and breaking bread?"

"Are those particularly admirable things on your planet?"

"More admirable than acting as a faux pharmacist."

The Space Chicken glared at Dave. "I wasn't acting as a faux pharmacist. I was a faux pharmacist."

"Where's your friend?"

"Jordan? I don't know."

### They followed him inside and discovered him asleep across the sofa.

"Um..." said the Space Chicken. "Can we come in?"

### Jordan woke up. "Sure. Whatever." He resumed his slumber.

"We need to talk to you about interplanetary travel."

### Jordan looked up and flapped his hand lazily. "Tomorrow." He fell asleep again.

### The Space Chicken and Dave stood uncomfortably for a while. "Is there anywhere we can stay?"

### Jordan snored. Dave poked him.

"Is there anywhere we can stay?"

"Upstairs," said Jordan Sprot. "There's a toilet next door to the bedroom. Don't confuse the two."

### "Space Chicken," said Dave as they laid in their room that night, "where is Quack?"

"He's in the sky." The Space Chicken was almost asleep. "But not really."

"No, where's He gone? Why won't He speak to us?"

"He gets confused about things."

"Why?"

"Because His mind is in so many parts. Gods' brains don't work in the same way as the human brain. They are split into different sections, all confusing and contradicting each other. The part of Quack's mind He uses to communicate with us isn't the same as that with which he would, say, speak to a teenage boy. He's confused. Gods created this world, but it has outgrown them. The future belongs to the people."

### Dave thought about this. "You're wrong," he concluded. "That's exactly how the human brain works."

The Space Chicken smiled and turned onto his back. "Quack set us particular tasks. Find the Great Oak Tree. We've done that. Merge the jam sandwich and the Oak Tree. Done that. Stop David Gratton from opening the Fez. It has left Britain. Then He left. Now we can focus entirely on you."

"I suppose. I can go home. Then everything will be back to normal. When we revert to the original, all our problems are solved. No Dave. No Quack. No issues."

### Chapter 64

### "Arthur," said Quack, "do you understand how a god's mind works?"

"I doubt it."

"It's sort of segmented. Things don't always happen in the right order."

"Let me help with that order: I just finished scattering the pieces of a philosopher and I'm not far from ending my course."

"What I mean is that things I don't know don't correspond to my whole mind," Quack explained to Arthur, who hadn't asked. "I have some things in my mind that I don't fully understand when I'm talking to you."

"How do you think I feel?"

"I'm sure you feel the same. There are a lot of people with more than one identity on their mind. It's just I have the ability to compartmentalise."

"What's your point?"

"If I seem a little strange, then all is well."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to help with the Great Oak Tree. I don't know what it is, but I know why it is important."

"Is that it? Find a tree?"

"No. I want you to follow David Gray. He, the Space Chicken and two intelligent twins are to travel around Britain. I want you to follow them, find out what they're doing and obey my every word when I tell you what I need. Follow David Gray. And when you reach the end, your training will be over."

### Chapter 65

### "So what's to happen to our group?" asked Dave. "I've barely had the chance to reconnect with the twins."

"I suppose that's it," said the Space Chicken. "Our paths crossed with theirs, but we're separate from now on. The same goes for Mike. The twins have gone off to lead their own life."

"Hopefully they'll open the Fez."

"We know they'll open the Fez. They're not coming back to Britain until they do."

"Space Chicken, who's David Gratton?"

"Forget about it, Dave."

"No, I want to know who he is."

"He's a man that Quack said would open the Fez and bring about a new world. But that won't happen now."

"But I thought you said we can't rely on Quack."

### The Space Chicken sighed. "I don't know."

"How do you know the twins won't bring about the new world instead?"

"I don't know. But the legend says that David Gratton opens the Fez and, in doing so, brings about a new world."

"But isn't that exactly what you want? You're always saying what's wrong with this world. Why wouldn't you want that to change?"

### The Space Chicken looked confused, distressed and mildly vacant again. "I do want a new, better world. But I want a world run by the people, for the people, not controlled by the first person to take charge. You can understand that it doesn't work if one person has their way and no-one else has theirs."

"I agree. I want that world to."

"That's why I don't want David Gratton to open the Fez. When he does that, he can do anything. If the twins open the Fez, that won't happen. I can't promise the world will stay the same, or indeed that I'd want it to, but if I prevent David Gratton from opening the Fez, I've prevented the worst from happening. Clint and Clein aren't part of our lives any more; they're part of the solution. And pretty soon even we won't have intertwined lives any more. It will be Fred Jr and me, and you will have your old life back."

### Chapter 66

### On the morning of 97th Quinquomber 2042, Jordan still refused to wake. There are said to be a select few people who are silent thinkers, living their lives in content philosophy, but sharing none of their understanding with the world. The life of a silent thinker is lonely, but they exist in a blissful realm beyond words, so their knowledge of harmony cannot be passed onto those still hung up of literacy. Jordan Sprot was not one of these people.

"Get up," said the Space Chicken. "We need to ask you a favour."

### Jordan groaned. "What is it?"

"I've got an alien who wants to go home."

"What?"

"You're a scientist. I thought you might help to reverse the idea that Dave is on Glix."

"Go find the rift."

"It's deeper than that."

"No it isn't. Leave me alone."

### Dave perked up. "What do you mean 'Go find the rift'?"

"It's just a theory, Dave," said the Space Chicken.

"And a theory, in scientific terminology," said Jordan, "is an idea with sufficient evidence in favour."

"That doesn't mean to say it will work."

"No, I want to hear," said Dave. "What about the rifts?"

"Doesn't he know about the Islands of Rednuht and Retawnair?" Jordan asked.

"The what?"

"The rifts."

"I know of the rifts," said Dave. "The rules of Glix. I don't see how they can help us."

"If we manipulate the rules of the world, we can change anything," Jordan grumbled.

"What do you actually want to happen?" asked Dave.

"You want to go home. If we make a switch to stop Dave being here, he should get sent home."

### Dave had never thought about the switches as working like that. He always thought they were already present, but could be altered to suit a means. He didn't know there was a conscious, selfish element to it.

"There's more to it than that," the Space Chicken said. "You need someone to arrange to pull the switch. And where will Dave be? Will he just disappear?"

"No, you can pull a switch to open up the portal and then allow Dave to wander through at some point within a select timeframe."

"You can really do that?" asked Dave.

"Of course. It's quite simple technology."

### And with that, the Space Chicken, Fred Jr and Dave left Jordan Sprot's house and set off to think further.

### Chapter 67

### Clint, Clein, Old Man Tales and Dave Gratton II sat in a tent atop the Fez.

"Have you ever felt as though you're not needed?" asked David Gratton II.

"Yep," said Clint. "I feel it all the time. It's what happens when there's another of you."

"As though you have no place in the world. It's not just being a student, it's being inessential. Being replaced."

"Don't do this," Old Man Tales advised.

"No, it's all right," said Two. "I've come to terms with it. I have no place. I've lost my job and role."

"How do you mean?" asked Clint.

"Everything that once was me has been replaced. I was a man. Now I have been overtaken in that position."

"By whom?"

"By David Gratton. He took my place as a leader and he took away from me myself."

"I thought you were David Gratton," said Clein.

"No, I'm just a replica." David Gratton II stepped out of the tent and stood near the edge of the Fez.

"Don't do this, David," Old Man Tales warned.

"And why not?"

"You are someone. You are a brilliant individual."

"My place has been taken by David Gratton. I am nothing."

"You are David Gratton."

"No, I'm not. I've already explained this to the twins. I'm not David Gratton. I'm Two."

"You are David Gratton. You're better than David Gratton. You're anything you want to be."

"Why would I want to be anything other than what I am, which is what I don't want to be – not just for me to be, but to be at all?"

"Because you could do anything with your life."

"Like what? My life was to lead— no, no-one should instruct— to guide."

"Anyone has the right to guide," said Old Man Tales. "You can still do that, David."

"No. My place has been taken by David Gratton I. I'm not bitter, but I'm defunct."

### Old Man Tales screamed. Clint exhaled every chemical in his body. Clein felt the hottest, most intoxicating silence he had ever seen. David Gratton II tumbled like an autumn leaf.

### Clint and Clein had a plan. They desperately ran to the opposite side of the Fez and pressed buttons as quickly as they could, in the hope that they would jump the Fez close to Two and roll him back up the sliding wall. It didn't work. With each successive slam, the Fez was forced a metre back on itself. The rush to rescue Two became faster and farther.

### And then silence. All sound was empty but for the washing of the waves. The side of the Fez clashed with Two and there was no jump, only a tumbling and a splash as the cold hand of death clutched David Gratton II's body and threw him into the Nord-Luc sea.

### Chapter 68

### "Are we going to go, then?" the Space Chicken asked Dave.

'I am able to fly up and pull the switch for you.'

### Dave thought about this. "If I go now, I will forever wonder what happens next." That was always the case, he thought. "I'll not know what happens about David Gratton."

"Nothing happens! I've abolished the concept of David Gratton opening the Fez. I've abolished David Gratton. Clint and Clein shall open the Fez."

"Fine." David reworded his reasoning to stay. "I want to know what's inside. I will stay on Glix until Clint and Clein shall open the Fez."

"If that's the case, so shall I."

### Chapter 69

### Quack was anxious. This was often the case when people assumed you wouldn't speak to them any more. Quack had resolved that this would be the end.

"Hello?" said the Space Chicken as he answered his phone. "Who is this?"

"It's Quack. I'm here to apologise. I shouldn't leave you. I'm always here, available to talk. But you can't look up to me any more. That would be a universal philosophy. Never view anyone as above you."

"It's okay, Quack."

"I'm sorry. I abandoned you in a time of need. But I'm not different from any other person. I'm sentient, and therefore open to flaws."

"I've got something to tell You," Dave said. "I'm going home."

"What? Why?"

"Because I can't live here anymore. I have to be there for others."

"What do you mean?" the Space Chicken asked.

"I have commitments back home. On my planet, I have people who know me. They may not like me, respect me or help me, but I have to return for them."

"Why?" asked Quack.

"Because they've always been there for me."

"Have they?" asked the Space Chicken.

"No."

"Then why return?"

"I just have to. It's a responsibility. For the good of the whole."

"Nothing's for the good of the whole if it doesn't help everyone."

"It's just something I have to do. I have to go back."

"Well, have fun," said Quack. "That's all I'm here to say: have fun."

"Can You say anything more?" the Space Chicken asked. "Any words on morality?"

"Yes. Have fun."

"Is that it?"

"I've found there's nothing else I can say."

"Of course You can. Just tell people You exist and that they should be good."

"I can't do that."

### The Space Chicken's face dropped. "Of course you can. Just tell people how to be moral. That will solve all the world's problems. Just teach them."

Quack smiled. In another dimension, the Space Chicken, Fred Jr and Dave saw. "I can't because I can't keep up the pretense that I'm more important than anyone else. Prophets teach. What am I saying? People teach. Just because my views have had a long time to develop, doesn't mean they have. Having spent a long time developing views doesn't make them any more important than just views. Everyone has views. And everyone's views must be taken into account. Everyone must think to develop their views. But that's not something I can tell them to do. Morality is not something that can be instructed; it can only be encouraged."

"Then tell them that!"

"Space Chicken, it can't be told. No words can from authority should claim a greater importance than the words of people."

"Dave's right," said Quack.

"I don't want you to leave," said the Space Chicken.

"You don't want me to leave, because I'm your friend. And I won't leave you. Because I'm your friend, not because I'm a god. You're misappropriating kindness."

### They sat in silence for a while. A long, thoughtful silence. Then Quack said:

"Where is it you're going, Dave?"

### "Home," he replied. "I need to go home. But first I need my friends. We're going back to Carpe Yolu until Clint and Clein open the Fez."

### Chapter 70

### The Space Chicken, Fred Jr and Dave walked for many miles. Time became irrelevant; the only significant factors were the primal urges of nourishment and tiredness – these were only acted upon out of physical necessity. With time came the greatest strains, but these were ignored in favour of home. Home was the defining factor: the definite goal to which they aimed, and their home now was Carpe Yolu.

### The wandering ran on, wearily, until they reached a point where all they could do was think – reflect. Dave was the primary reflector: the Space Chicken and Fred Jr would live on, contrive their lives on Glix. But everything would be different. It would no longer be struggle after struggle, but the peaceful life of father and son. Yes, there would be fights. There would be the struggle for dominance, but the painful struggle: the loving and loveable struggle.

### And Quack would be there, though as a friend, not a ruler. The fact that a god created a planet would be irrelevant, were it not for friendship. For only in friendship have there yet been seen signs of true equality.

### Clint and Clein would soon open the Fez. And they would have what they desired. The idea of a bad thing coming from the Fez had been eradicated. The Space Chicken, Dave, Fred Jr, Quack, Clint and Clein had all worked together as friends to prevent any wrongdoing. The group laboured towards the ultimate goal of peace. And they had won. Because of the dedication they showed towards the desire for co-operation, the workers had concocted one of the rare occasions in an unadvanced world such as Glix other planets lacking compassion for the weak, where everyone involved gained. Clint and Clein gained the ultimate prize. The Space Chicken and Fred Jr got to live in peace and gentle thought. Quack had pleasure – the pleasure and freedom to do what he liked, without the drollness of having to be looked at as a figure of authority simply because of the a position he was conceived into.

### And Dave had the greatest gain of all. He got to go home. He got to go home with wisdom. When he returned, he could see the faults with his world and help to correct them. With everyone working as a whole, his world could become more efficient for everyone.

"Dave," said the Space Chicken, "are you happy?"

### Dave thought about this. Happiness wasn't a concept he usually considered. But if his development had taught him anything, it was peace. Peace of mind, peace of heart, peace of community – whatever it was, he felt elation. Peace was everywhere. It was the blissful happiness of not having to hurt.

"Yes," Dave said. If his Haca on Glix had taught him anything, it was peace.

"I'm beginning to get sentimental."

"Me too," Dave laughed. "Do you know how long I've been here?"

"Here in this spot?" asked the tired Space Chicken. "Not too long."

"No."

"On this trip? It feels like forever, but I'm pretty sure it can't be longer than a day," the Space Chicken said with a beaky smile. "We set off at the break of dawn and here we are as it nears the second dusk. That's a lot of energy to put in for me. But I'm prepared to do it for you." He smiled again, though he hadn't stopped smiling the first time, and so awarded Dave the prized Cockerel double-smile. "There is a human who can help us get to the rifts. We'll get there eventually, if you want to."

"I meant on Glix."

"No, we're trying to get you off Glix."

"No. I was asking how long you think I've been on Glix."

"Oh."

"Do you know?"

"I've no idea, I'm afraid."

"A month. I've been on Glix a month today. That's twenty days. Twenty mornings like this morning (though most were significantly lazier than the trek we started today) and twenty wonderful nights like tonight. Twenty days."

"You're learning," the Space Chicken informed him in the most patronising way achievable whilst still holding onto a friendship. "Though just slightly too late."

"No, I've known how long a Glix'n month was for a while now."

"That's good. Although I must inform you you've made a slight mistake. You haven't been here for twenty mornings, since you arrived in the afternoon of 77th Quadquomber."

"Ah. I knew I couldn't be perfect all the time. I never was good with maths. I only just about understood that the 97th day is twenty days after the 77th."

"Red."

"What?"

"So much red," said the Space Chicken. "The red Fez resonates in my mind." They now entered Carpe Yolu, passing the sign they had pondered on several weeks prior. "As we walked over here," the Space Chicken reminisced, "I looked at the red horizon and saw the rich memories I shall never forget."

"Me too," said Dave, for there was nothing more to say, or to be said. "When I'm back home, I will look at the sunset with a smile, as I remember the best of the worst."

### Dave could not help but smile. "How is your list?" he asked the Space Chicken.

"What?"

"We both had a list of problems we needed to solve. How is yours?"

"Blank," said the Space Chicken. "But I have things to add. I need a new list. The problems I face are no longer simple tasks to be fixed at Quack's request. They are issues of freedom and equality. Peace, love and harmony. The next world."

### Dave smiled.

"How's yours?" the Space Chicken asked. "Is there anything on your list but 'return home'?"

"No. We have solved the David Gratton problem. The man who had once been the threat to freedom is nowhere to be seen. I'm not sure I even care what's in the Fez."

"Why not?"

### Dave shrugged. "Because it will make Clint and Clein happy whatever. Beyond that, I don't really mind."

### The Space Chicken smiled back at Dave with his Chickeny beak. The Space Chicken's Chickeny beak, that is. "Have we solved all that can be done in this world?"

"What do you mean?" asked Dave. "There are still plenty of problems. So long as not everyone is living in blissful euphoria, there is more work to do."

"Yes. But we have prevented David Gratton, and his success would have resulted in a dystopia. In preventing a dystopia and bringing joy to our friends, we have done all we need in this world, and all that is left is the creation of a utopia – the next world."

"Is that it, then?"

"This is it, but this is not everything. I have a long way to go to perfect Utopia. And you have a long way to go to return home. But we can both do it. Everyone we know is on the brink of achieving their goal. You will have your home. Clint and Clein will have whatever's in the Fez. And everyone will have Utopia."

### The Space Chicken, Dave and Fred Jr turned onto a wide street and saw a wall of red. I looked like a work of art, a commemoration to all they had just thought.

### But sadly it wasn't. Sadly, it was a red wall. Sadly, it had Clint and Clein sitting on top.

"Oh no," said the Space Chicken. "Clint and Clein!" he shouted. "What are you doing up there?"

"We're travelling on the Fez."

"I know that. Why you on land?"

"We got sick of the sea. We needed more resources."

"But you have to be the ones who open the Fez."

"We will. We're nearly there."

"No, you're not. We have no knowing when the Fez will open, or who will do it. That's why you were out at sea. Now you're back, in the open. Anyone could come along. David Gratton could be here."

"I thought you said he didn't exist anymore," Clint said as a question.

"He won't exist so long as you open the Fez yourselves! Why have you come back here?"

"Oh, it was great," Clint said, not completely or partially answering the question.

"Wasn't it?" said Clein.

"We found this exciting little cave on the Nord coast. Lovely."

"Why are you back here‽" shouted the Space Chicken.

"Because no-one can survive on their own. We all need each other. We need supplies."

"I'm sure you four could survive on your own."

"Uh," said Clein, "three. Two didn't make it."

"He means David Gratton II," said Clint.

### There was a long silence. Clint and Clein (now sat on the edge closest to where the Space Chicken, Fred Jr and Dave were stood) pressed a couple of buttons, so they jumped slightly away from the group on the ground. The Space Chicken took a few steps forward to pursue them anyway. Old Man Tales stood at the centre of the Fez and watched over the scene.

"Wait," Dave said. "You three are homeless. The Space Chicken's homeless. Fred Jr moves in his home."

'That should be "in eir home". I am gender-neutral and so should my pronouns be.'

"In eir home, then. We're all homeless, anyway. Why don't we all try to open the Fez?"

"No!" said Clint, again not really answering the question, if there even was one. "It's mine."

"It's mine, you mean?̦" said Clein.

"You have to share," said Dave.

"Never." Clint pressed his finger onto one of the buttons. Nothing happened. "The button's just popping back into place again."

"It should disappear," the Space Chicken said.

"Maybe," Dave suggested excitedly, "that means you've opened the Fez."

### A young passerby looked incredibly distressed at the sight of the Fez. "Stop! You don't know what you're dealing with."

### The Space Chicken attempted to roll his eyes but once again found himself restrained by biological form. "We know what we're doing."

"No, you don't." The passerby buried eir head in eir hands. "Oh, Quack." E looked up again. "Don't you know the danger of what you're dealing with? Haven't you heard the prophecy? Just leave the Fez alone and no-one gets hurt."

"It's not as basic as ignoring the problem. We have to take hold of the problem and reverse it."

"And what are you doing to reverse the problem?"

"We're trying to get someone else to open the Fez."

"And I think it's working," said Dave. "The twins have succeeded in opening the Fez."

"No, then the button would stay pressed in. It's not doing that. It's popping back out again."

### The passerby successfully rolled eir eyes. "Oh, Quack. Anyone opening the Fez is wrong. We should have just destroyed it. I don't care if you think you're special, it's still going to bring about the apocalypse. Humans are always looking for new ways to prove mortality."

"Hey!" shouted the Space Chicken. "My child and I are deeply offended by your belief that we're human or even native to this Tartarus-bound galaxy."

"I don't care if you're offended. Your sensitivity to science is of little value when we're faced with the destruction of all life on the planet."

"I told them," the Space told them so. "I told the secondary creators that the Milky Way was just going to end badly."

'Indeed,' said Fred Jr, floating next to eir father. 'The fact that it ends at all should have been an indication.'

"I'm confused," said Clein. "Is the Fez opening?"

"I think so," said the Space Chicken. "But not by your hand."

### The passerby wandered round to the side of the Fez opposing Clint and Clein. "Oh, Cotton Sock," e blasphemed. "Of all the people to open the Fez and unleash evil upon the world, it would be you, Crazy Dave Gratton."

"Space Chicken," said the normal Dave. "I think I'm going to have to prolong my visit."

