

Rock of Ages.

A collection of short stories by Eric Bray

published by Eric Bray at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 Eric Bray

.........................................................Of mice and men-things
Chapter one

I don't really recall my first days, naturally, but I do remember my Mother and my siblings, all playing together, in a heap, in the home.

At first, they were simple little games, like find the food, where to dig, and how to wash properly - things that we all learn as infants.

A while later, we advanced onto chase the round thing, then catch the flying creatures. At first, we were hopeless, but with learning came skill, and soon it was second nature to use camouflage and subterfuge, which enabled us to perform our tasks.

I have vague memories of the big creatures that it was Mother's task to look after. Sometimes they would come, and pick her up, caress her, and make her happy, before putting her back with us. That was a bit scary, until we learned that Mother didn't mind, and enjoyed the contact with the creatures. In time, we learned that it would be our duty as well, because the big creatures didn't know about the invasion, and our kind did. This invasion has been going on for many, many lifetimes, and we were here to try to limit the influx. There were too many to eliminate, and more were being sent, all the time, so, for now, the best we could achieve was, and is, a form of equilibrium.

When we were bigger and older, the big creatures were permitted to touch us. At first they only touched us, then they were allowed to pick us up, and caress us, before putting us gently back. That was very scary, but we learned that the creatures wouldn't hurt us – not deliberately, anyway, but they were so much larger, and their size meant that we were lifted up very high – higher than the climbing-on things, and accidents do happen. Ginger stripes didn't like being lifted up, and thrashed about so much that she was dropped from a great height, luckily onto a soft climbing-on thing, so she wasn't hurt, just very frightened by the experience.

Mother told her off, after comforting her, because Stripe had damaged the big creature, as she fell, causing the red stuff that was in them to leak out.

After that, though, she was never lifted again, although now and then she was caressed as she stood there on the ground. Stripe didn't mind that - too much, but was never really happy, unlike Patches, my brother. He went out of his way to attract the attention of the big things, even to the point of climbing onto them, whenever he got the opportunity, so that they would fondle and play with him.

One day, we were shown a new game. We had to go through a big space, into a much bigger space where the air moved all the time, and sometimes wet stuff fell from high up. (We didn't learn this until later, of course!) This new space was called Outside, and the ground was cold, In places it was too hard to dig, and in others it was soft, and stuck to the feet – and anything else it came into contact with – so we had to be careful about where we lay down! There were lots of green floppy things on sticks, they were good for playing 'hide' under, and sometimes in, because they were big enough. One of them had thick brown sticks that we could climb up. The sticks got thinner and thinner, and ended with the green floppy things, but the sticks they were on were too thin to walk on, and tipped us off if we tried. (Of course we tried!)

At first we stayed very close to Mother, because it was so scary, but soon we began to spread out a little, and explore. Just past the green things was a big wall, bigger even than the big creatures, and of course Patches decided to climb up it. Mother didn't notice until he was nearly at the top, and then it was too late, because he'd got high enough to see over, and shouted down that there was another place like the one we were in - on the other side.

He then realized just how far away from the ground he was, and heard Mother's demands that he get down – RIGHT NOW! But he couldn't! He started to, alright, but even though his feet worked on the way up, they wouldn't grip the stuff the wall was made of, and kept sliding. He had kept his back feet on the top, so he didn't fall, but he was stuck, and began crying.

Luckily for him, one of the big creatures came out, and saw that he was on the top, and couldn't get down. That was when we discovered that the big creatures had even bigger creatures watching over them, because one of those came outside, and lifted Patches from the top, and placed him back on the ground. Patches ran to Mother, and got a cuff around the ear for his trouble, before we were all rounded up, and taken back into the place where we lived.

I had some of the ground stuck to my feet, and tried to wash it off, but it tasted horrible, and was all crunchy! Leaving it on wasn't an option, either, because Mother insisted that we remove it, so we wouldn't make the home dirty.

After that, we began going outside more often, and after a little while, we were allowed out on our own, without Mother. She preferred to stay in, and get some sleep while it was quiet!

One day, when we went out, there was a lot of cold white stuff on the ground, instead of the usual stuff. I trod on the very edge of it, and it was horrible! It felt very cold, and then my foot got wet, and the old ground showed through where my foot had been.

Black thought it was fun, though, and bounded out into it, up to her knees, jumping four-legged, and pouncing on it, as though it was a flying thing, or a round chaser. It wasn't until she noticed that she was getting very wet, and cold, that she decided it wasn't so much fun after all, and came in again, leaving a trail of muddy footprints on the ground behind her, her fur all matted and spiky. It took her ages to get clean again, afterwards.

All this time, of course, Mother had been teaching us how to look after the big creatures, and how to train them to do what we wanted, ready for when we had to leave home, and start our own duties. So, when a new big creature came, one day, with one of ours, it was allowed to look at us, and touch us.

Patches, being the boldest, and maybe the most stupid, allowed himself to be lifted and examined by the new big creature, and we felt the vibrations that the creatures use to signal to each other. The rest of us tried to hide under things, while we examined the creature. Mother just gave it a hard look, then ignored it.

After some more vibrations back and to, the new creature left again, and Mother gathered us round, to tell us that it was nearly time for us to leave the home, and go to new places. She warned us that we might be on our own, or we might be going with one other of the family, she didn't know, and wasn't able to do anything about that. She also had one more lesson to teach us, but first she had to go and find something, so we were to stay in the home until she returned.

She was gone for a very long time, but finally came back with another little creature. Judging by the noise it was making, the little creature didn't want to be carried, and didn't want to be in the home, either! Mother put it on the ground, and put a foot on it, so it couldn't run off, then made us all sniff it, touch it, and look at it, showing us it's short fur, the hairless tail, the little ears, the long pointy nose, and the rest, as the creature protested. Then she told us the same old story, one we'd heard over and over, about how they came from a different place, and intended to take our place for themselves, but we had been sent, a long long time ago, to stop them.

Then, one at a time, she showed us how to look into the creature's thoughts, and showed us all the evil that was in there, so we could see the story was true.

One White Foot was made to hold the creature, then, so it couldn't run. When she did, Mother took her foot off it, and stood back, telling us to catch it when it got away.

The creature was still for a moment longer, then somehow it squirmed, and escaped, and we were all chasing around trying to get it again, getting in each other's way, and generally making a mess of the task. Eventually, it made a mistake, and ran past Mother, who swiped at it with one foot, knocking it, rolling, across to Stripe, who got hold of it. The creature wasn't as harmless as we thought, though, it had teeth like needles, and used them on Stripe's leg. She let go in surprise, and the creature was off and running again. One White Foot pounced on it, and got it. This time the creature squealed, making White Foot jump, and let go, but she must have damaged it, because one of it's legs wasn't working properly now, slowing it down.

Patches got it, next, and captured it, holding it down with both her front feet on it's back, then wondered what to do with it.

Mother reminded him of the story, and how it said what to do, but Patches wouldn't.

Stripe said she would, she deserved the right, as it had hurt her leg. Patches let her take it, then walked away, wanting nothing to do with the final bit of the game. Stripe looked at the creature, then got hold of it in the proper way, gave a quick flick of her head, and the thing went limp. It twitched once or twice, and was still, it's evil thoughts vanishing.

Mother said they weren't too bad to eat, if we were hungry, but suddenly nobody was, so she took it back outside, and put it somewhere.

When she came back, she reminded us that soon we would all be going to new places, to start our new lives, and that we should remember all our lessons, because one day it would be our turn to teach our young ones.

Patches was the first one to leave, when the big creature came again, and rumbled at our creature. A box was produced, and Patches carefully slipped inside before the top was closed, so he couldn't get out. We could hear him crying goodbye, for ages after he had gone from our view.

We never saw him again, as a family group, but of course, as we all were moved, we lost contact with each other, as well, so maybe one of the others met him again, somewhere.

Chapter 2

My turn came soon after Stripes and One White Foot went, together. A big creature with long golden fur that reached halfway down it's body was my duty. I was gently placed into a box, and fastened in, so I don't know where I was taken, but I called out my goodbyes as I felt I was lifted up, and then carried off. Still in my box, I was put onto something that wasn't quite level, then it wobbled about a bit, before a loud noise scared me. The big creatures rumbled at each other, a bit more, and then I felt as though I was moving, although I wasn't! I could feel myself jiggling about, and being pushed backwards, forwards, and sideways at random intervals, I was so scared, I'm ashamed to admit that I wet myself. I don't know how long it went on, I was so scared I lost track of the time, and just huddled in on myself.

We stopped moving, then the loud noise stopped as well. For a minute or so, nothing happened, then my box was lifted, and carried.

I was put down, and then the box was opened, and the creature saw that I'd had an accident. It rumbled at me, and then I was gently lifted out, and placed onto a ground that wasn't ground, but could be picked up and moved. It was a kind of fur skin, that wasn't fur, and it wasn't skin, either. I was gently wrapped up in it, and all my water dried off my fur, then the not fur was taken away, and I was allowed to look around at my new place, while the creature put some food out for me, and showed me where the digging box was, for burying waste in. I used it, because I needed to, then nibbled a bit of the food, but I was too scared to be hungry.

I felt very lonely, and all I wanted to do was hide, but nothing was where I was used to it being! Even the way to the Outside was in a different place. I kept trying to tell my new creature that I wanted somewhere to go into, and I think eventually it got the idea, because a new clean box was brought, placed on it's side, with a not fur ground in it, and I was gently placed in it. The open side was left open, so I wasn't fastened in. The box was just the right size, so I curled up, and tried to rest, but I couldn't, there was too much new and frightening, in this new place.

So, I lay there, peeping at all the new things, and feeling sorry for myself. What I really wanted was Mother, but I knew she wouldn't come, no matter how hard I wanted her to.

I must have worn myself out, and gone to sleep, because when I woke again, it was dark. I needed the digging box again, and managed to find it, then went back to my new home, and began to clean myself up. My fur had dried in spikes and lumps, after being wet and soiled, and it took a lot of washing to get it clean and soft again. When it was done, though, I began to feel a bit better, and realised that I was very hungry. I found the food, and ate some, but it tasted different to the food I was used to, not bad, or nasty, just different.

The place was very quiet, and as it was dark, I assumed my creature was sleeping. (I had learned that they did this, as well as our kind). This was the best time to look into their thoughts, so I did, very cautiously, at first, until I found the right connections, and could steer to where I wanted to look. I found that my creature thought of itself as a 'she', and it was living in it's own home, with no bigger creatures to tell it what to do. 'She' was also lonely, because 'she' had nobody to cuddle. (I had learned that these creatures liked another of their own kind to cuddle, once in a while).

While my mind was exploring my creature's mind, my body was exploring the new home, and I found the way into the space where my creature was. 'She' was on some kind of raised platform, with a soft cover on it, and another soft cover over 'her', as I discovered that 'She' was also called!

Did I dare? Should I? I was lonely, 'She' was lonely, and it was my duty to look after 'her', and make her happy, if I could. Carefully, so that I didn't jiggle 'her', I jumped up, and ever so carefully cuddled up to 'her', all the while feeling her mind, to see what response there was. 'She' rumbled a little bit, then her thoughts seemed to smooth out a little, in the way that showed that they were happy, so I stayed there.

I must have gone back to sleep, because it was light again, and 'she' was waking. 'She' moved a little, then must have felt me there, because there was a moment's alarm in 'her' thoughts, before 'she' realised what it was that 'she' was touching.

After a moment, she rumbled something at me, and her thoughts said it was a greeting signal, so I knew it was alright for me to be there, so I snuggled up even closer, because it felt good, and right. After a short while, 'she' sighed, then got up, and frightened me again, because she took her skin off! I saw that 'she' had no fur on her, anywhere, except for on the top, and a little bit in the middle, at the front. 'She' went into another space, and I heard water splashing. When 'she' came out again, 'she' smelled a bit different, and freshly damp. 'She' picked new skins out of a tall box that opened on one side, and put them on, which made her a different colour and pattern! Until then, I didn't know they could do that! Then 'she' picked up a flat thing, from the top of one of the other boxes, and began to drag it through 'her' head fur, until it lay straight, and went shiny, instead of being crumpled and tangled.

'She' rumbled at me again, and I felt her mind shape something that might have been the food shape, but it was different to my other creature's food shape – not much, but enough so that I wasn't sure. While I was thinking about it, 'she' went into the other big space, where I'd been before. I needed the digging box, anyway, so I climbed down, and followed.

'She' had put fresh food in what I now knew was my dish, then got some stuff for herself. One piece fell to the ground, so I looked at it. It looked like a small green floppy thing from Outside, except that it was yellow and stiff. I patted it with a foot, then sniffed it. I felt the food shape in 'her' mind, so I tasted it, and decided that I wasn't sure I liked it!

A while later, 'she' was doing things around the various spaces in my new home. At first I stayed in the one place, but then I peeked round the corner into the next space. I wasn't told off, so I sneaked in and hid under a thing balanced on short fat sticks, so I could see better. She must have seen me, because her mind made the greeting shape again, and she rumbled, then bent down, and tickled me. It reminded me of Mother, and made me feel sad. 'She' must have felt my sadness, because she eased me out, picked me up, and placed me on her middle, where she was sitting on the flat thing, then cuddled me gently, and stroked me, while she rumbled at me, her mind making soothing shapes at me as she did so.

After a while, I remembered that I was supposed to be looking after 'her', and not the other way around, and moved away a little bit. I still felt sad, but not as much as before. I suppose I'll get used to being on my own, eventually.

Some time later, 'she' was going in and out of the spaces again, when she opened a piece of wall, and went into a small space I hadn't seen. There were lots of smelly things in there, one of them a long stick with a furry end, and other things I don't know what to call, or say what they looked like. 'She' took one of these things out, and it had a stretchy floppy stick which fastened to the wall, somehow, then it made a loud screaming noise that went on and on, without breathing in. It frightened me again, so I hid in my den-box.

'She' made the screaming thing walk all over the floor in all the rooms, then it suddenly stopped screaming, the stretchy stick shrank away again, and she put it back into the small space. As she did so, I got the smell of one of the little creatures that Mother had showed us, and it seemed to be living in there, so I went in, but couldn't find it. Then 'she' scooped me out and shut the wall, so I couldn't look any more.

'She' put me down again, on the soft flat thing she sat on, then picked up one of those things I'd been told about, that the creatures had. It told them stories, somehow, but it didn't make any noise, except for a scraping sound, every now and then, as a thin flat bit was moved from one side to the other. I could feel her mind making different shapes as she looked at it, and they seemed to be happy shapes, so it must be alright. I was just beginning to go to sleep when I sensed movement, and looked up to see a small eight-legs walking down the wall, pulling that very thin shiny stick behind it. I don't know how the shiny stick works, but if the eight-legs falls off, it doesn't fall down, because the shiny stick holds it up, but at the same time, it lets the eight-legs go up, down or across, as it sees fit.

'She' must have noticed I was looking at it, because I felt the disgust shape in her mind, then she picked up one of those small see-through boxes, and caught the eight-legs in it, took it to a see-the-Outside hole, and brought the box back without the eight-legs. 'She' must have some way of opening the see-the-Outside hole, but I don't know how it was done.

As 'she' sat again, she rumbled at me, then fondled the back of my neck, so I could sense 'she' was not displeased.

Later on, 'she' made another box near one wall make a click, and it started flickering and rumbling. I found that it was a false see-the-Outside hole, because it isn't outside, you can walk behind it, under it, and sometimes on top of it, and still be in the same place. The Outside in it is different to the real Outside, as well.

Much later, after another food time, and the Outside had gone dark, 'she' clicked the false Outside box again, and it turned back into an ordinary box with a shiny front. 'She' rumbled at me, and I felt the 'sleeping' shape in 'her' mind, as she went onto the place with the platform on thick sticks, changed 'her' skin, and then made the splashing noise in the other place, before climbing onto the platform and cuddling under the soft top. I felt the 'sleeping' shape again, as 'she' patted the top with one of 'her' long legs, as 'she' looked at me, so I clambered up, and lay down where 'she' had patted. I must have understood correctly, because 'she' stroked me a few times, then put 'her' leg inside the top, and relaxed. I felt 'her' mind go still, after a while, so I let mine wander as well, trying to understand all the new things I'd seen.

Some while later, I heard a tiny scuffling noise from the other space, followed by the faint sound of feet. I knew that there was only me and the big creature, so I quietly went to see. (Did I say that we can see quite well in the darkness, when the big sky light isn't working?) I crept past the way into the other place, and listened hard, to find where the noise was coming from. It seemed to be from under the false Outside box, at first, but not always, until I realised that there were two small creatures in here. Then I saw movement, near my food dish, and it was one of the pointy-nose little creatures, one of the aliens I had to stop. It had found a stray crunchy piece that must have fallen off, and was chewing at it, as I crept up. With that one dealt with, I listened and looked for the other one, and tracked it to under the sitting-on thing, where we had watched the false Outside, earlier. This one was trickier to catch, because it wasn't busy eating, so was more alert, but after a careful stalk, I got it. Now, what to do with them! I decided that the best place was by my digging-in box, because I didn't want to eat them, and I didn't want to bury them, either, that was not what the digging-in box was for.

Having done that, I was about to go back to the sleeping platform, when I remembered that they had been living in the small place with the screaming thing in it, so I settled down by the closed opening, in case there were any more in there, although I didn't know how they had got out. I got two more, before the Outside light began working again, and put them with the others. I had found that there was a tiny space under the moving wall bit, where they could fit under, although I couldn't.

When 'she' came out of the sleeping space, and saw what I'd done, for a moment I felt the horrified shape in 'her' mind, then a pleased shape, and I understood that the horror was for the aliens, and the pleased shape was for me, and what I'd done, which was my duty, after all! After a short while, 'she' picked them all up by the very ends of their bald tails, and took them somewhere Outside, came back in again, and went to make some more splashing noises in the small room, making the food shapes in 'her' mind, and rumbling at me, before putting some fresh in my dish, before getting 'her' own.

After two or three days, 'she' let me go and explore 'her' Outside place. It felt the same as before, but it looked different. There wasn't a climbing-in stick, for a start, and the floppy green things were all smaller, so no good for hiding in, although one had big flat green bits that were good for hiding under. There wasn't much of the sticky ground to walk on, most of it was covered up with hard shapes like the bottoms of boxes, or little stones. In one place, there was a puddle of water that kept jumping up into the sky and falling back down again, splashing everything that was close to it. A little green four-legs creature lived under a stone at the edge of it, it was long and thin, with a wiggly tail, but didn't move very often. When it did, it was very quick. I don't know what it was, but 'she' seemed to like it, so I left it alone, after sniffing it. I couldn't smell any aliens in the Outside, but there was a place where they had been, by a hard round box-bottom thing that smelled dirty. It had a small opening in it, through which I could hear wet noises, and the dirty smell was stronger. My foot was too big to go in, so I could only sniff the smells, or peep with one eye, but it was too dark to see anything.

Near a corner between two walls, there was a part that seemed like it would open, as there were gaps round the sides of it, and underneath. I found that if I lay down with my chin stuck out, I could see under it, but I couldn't wriggle through. There wasn't much out there, though, just some more hard stuff for walking on, then a wide stripe of black, another walking on stripe, then some more walls. Once, while I was looking, a box came along the black stripe, going very fast, and making a loud angry roaring noise.

Then the wet stuff started falling from high up, and I didn't like it, so I found my way back out of the Outside, and into the home.

When 'she' saw that I was inside, 'she' put a piece of wall into the opening, and went into the space with the false outside opening, which was rumbling and flashing to itself.

When I sat on the soft shelf next to 'her', I could see a flat green place in the false outside box. Moving round it were two tiny big creatures, holding sticks, which they poked at coloured round chasers, in turns. One of them, a white, knocked into a blue one that rolled across the green in the opening, and fell somewhere, but when I went to look, it wasn't on the floor under the box-thing. 'Her' mind-shapes seemed to be the soft happy ones, which I think mean amusement. I didn't think it was funny, though, so I went to my box, instead, and had a rest, while I thought about where the round chaser had gone.

Some days later, just after morning food time should have been, but wasn't, I was pushed into the going somewhere box, and put into the rumbly wobbly thing that moves without moving. When I was let out, I was in another place, on a hard flat thing that smelled bad. Another big creature in a white skin poked and prodded at me, fluffed my fur up backwards, and did other things I didn't like, but didn't hurt, then took a buzzing box from somewhere and put it on my front leg. A patch of the fur fell off! Then it took a shiny thin stick that grew out of a see-through fat one, and poked it into me there , and – I – had a sore side, and a funny thing on my neck so I couldn't get at the sore bit to see why. My side felt cold, too, and I could feel the air blowing on me there. It hurt me to try to get up, so I didn't. I just lay there, hurting, sad, and wondering what I'd done wrong.

Later, another creature with a white skin put me back into the going somewhere box, and then moved it to another place nearby, and I heard my creature's rumbles, and felt her mind again. Perhaps she had changed her mind about me?

Then I was moving again, and went into a rumbly moving thing, like before. When I had stopped being moved about, and let out of the box, I was back in 'her' space. Walking was difficult, because one leg didn't want to work, and my side hurt, so I went to my box, and lay down again. I was hungry, because there had been no food all day, but I hurt too much to go looking. I couldn't even wash with this thing on my neck, although I could feel my fur was all messed up. I still didn't know what I'd done wrong, and 'she' made no attempt to cuddle me. I couldn't even sleep properly, because my tummy hurt because it was empty, my side hurt every time I moved, and the thing on my neck kept getting in the way.

When it got light again, and I heard 'her' moving about, I found that my leg was working better, but my side was still sore, and of course I was ravenously hungry, and a bit thirsty as well, because the thing on my neck kept getting in the way when I tried to drink.

Eventually 'she' came into the space where I was, 'her' mind making the breakfast shapes. I hobbled over to my dish, looking hopeful, and found there was nothing in it, still. Once again, I tried to get a drink, but the thing on my neck stopped me getting near enough to reach. I just didn't know what I had done wrong, to be punished like this! Perhaps I shouldn't have saved the aliens for 'her' to see? I wish there was somebody I could ask! I struggled again to get a drink, but every time I got to the dish, the thing on my neck dug in so I couldn't breathe or swallow.

Then I noticed that 'she' had put some food in the other dish, so I tried to get that, but the same thing happened, this thing on my neck dug in, and stopped me before I could reach it.

I must have started crying, in my frustration and hunger, because I heard her rumbling, then she came over, and saw I was struggling, but couldn't get to the food. 'She' rumbled some more, and I felt the sorry/sad shape in 'her' mind, before 'she' reached down, did something to the thing, and it fell off. Before 'she' changed 'her' mind again, I grabbed a mouthful of food, and another, and another, but 'she' didn't stop me, so I slowed down a bit, then got some water, and some more food. When I was feeling pleasantly full, I began to clean myself up, which I'd not been able to do, before. That was when I found a big patch of my fur had fallen off, on my side near my bad leg, and there was a big lump in my skin, with some sort of thin sticks poked through it! I tried to pull one out with my teeth, but it hurt, and 'she' immediately stopped me, rumbling at me, and gently pushing my head away from the lump. I decided to wash the rest of me, put my fur straight, and do that bit later. I don't know why, but halfway through cleaning myself, I felt so tired, so I went to my box and curled up for a few – it was dark out, and the little sun on a stick near the top of the space was burning. 'She' wasn't there, but there was fresh food in the dish, and I was hungry again. The thing wasn't on my neck, so I had a good feed, and began to finish my wash, but fell asleep again, instead. Next time I noticed, it must have been a new day, because the flying things, outside, were all shouting at each other, as they do every day. 'She' was in the other place, on the soft shelf on thick sticks, I could hear 'her' making that scraping noise, while 'she' slept.

A few days later, I was feeling more lively, and had gone Outside, to see if the big light was lit, making the ground warmer. I had been lying there on the hard ground, listening to the flying things shouting at each other, when I felt that I was being watched. When I opened my eyes and looked around, there was a big yellow Tom sitting on the top of the wall, staring at me, his triangular ears twitching, and his whiskers wiggling as he sniffed the air. After a while, I said Hello. He stared back, then replied. His words were the same, but the sound was different, somehow. When I stood up, he stared again, then said that he could see he would be wasting his time with me, because I'd not be having any kittens.

I asked what he meant, and he said that he could see that I'd been to the place with the white skins, because there was a hairless bit on my side. That meant that something had been done that stopped kittens happening. I started to ask what he meant, but he jumped down over the other side of the wall, so I couldn't see him any more, but I could hear his feet clicking a bit on the hard ground, as he walked away. The patch on my side was feeling cold, and a bit sore, still, so I went in, and curled up in my box.

It took a few days more before my side felt better, and I noticed that my fur was growing back. I still felt a bit odd inside- as though something was missing, but I can't explain it. I still didn't know what I'd done wrong, either. I hadn't caught any more aliens, because I wasn't quick enough to catch them with my bad leg, and I hadn't bothered, anyway, in case that was my mistake. I knew there were one or two more about, because I'd heard them when it was quiet. So, not knowing what my error had been, I kept out of the way as much as possible, staying in my box if it was cold out, or the opening wasn't there, or outside, under a green thing, if it was.

At first, 'She' didn't notice, or if 'she' did, didn't pay any attention, as 'she' was doing things with those flat boxes with lots of skins in them, when they were opened. Then, one afternoon, when the wet stuff was falling from the high up, 'she' began hunting around, and making the 'come here' shapes in her head. I snuggled right to the back of my box, hoping 'she' wouldn't find me, as I didn't want to be taken back to that place again. It must have worked, because she mumbled noises, then went to the false outside, and made it show a warm place with a big puddle that waved back and to. There were tiny creatures that looked like her playing in the puddle!

After a while 'she' began making that scraping noise, so I thought I could go and see if there was any food in the dish, but there wasn't! I did get a drink, though it didn't stop my stomach from aching for food. The opening in the wall wasn't there, and I could hear the wet stuff pattering outside, so I crept back towards my box, but 'she' must have woken up, because her voice said things, and I got the happy thought, before 'she' came to me. Her mind was making the questions feeling, though, behind the happy, so I tried to get away, but she wouldn't let me. I thought that 'she' was going to put me into that other carrying box again, but no, she went to the soft thing on thick sticks, and put me on it with her, and began gently wiping a foot over me, making noises, as 'she' made happy thoughts. After a while 'she' stopped, and I managed to wriggle out from under her foot, and went back to the dish, but it was still empty, so I had to go back to my box hungry. Later on, after the outside light had gone out, there were food smells, so I went to see, and had a meal, before I went back to my box.

The same thing happened for the next two days, then the one after, even before the outside light came on, I heard her moving about, after a nasty bleeping noise that hurt my ears. A short while after, 'she' put some food in my dish, then went to the opening wall, and went through, closing it again, and leaving me inside! I felt her thoughts go away

The light outside came on, moved round slowly, as it does, and was going out again before I felt her thoughts getting stronger. They felt like hers, but they also felt a bit angry. I went into the back of my box, hoping 'she' wasn't angry at me again. Once 'she' was in, and settled down, the angry feeling went away slowly, so perhaps it wasn't me that had done something wrong. A little while later, I started getting the 'where are you' feeling, so peeped out of my box. When 'she' saw me, the happy feeling got stronger, she made noises, and patted the soft thing next to her with her foot. I think it meant come here, so I went, carefully, in case it was a trick. 'She' patted the soft thing again, and made the noises, then picked me up and put me down next to her, then began wiping me with the foot, like the other times – why, I don't know. Later, I began to get the sleepy thoughts, and 'she' went into the other space where 'she' took her skins off, then put some others on, and lay down on the big flat thing. When 'she' pulled a string with a foot, the light went off! I went to use the digging box, and found some fresh food, so ate that, then went to my box again.

Later, I heard the aliens again, and went to chase them off, but I accidentally caught one. What to do with it, because I didn't want to be punished. After a while, I had an idea, and hid it under that low soft thing she used for watching the false outside box, because I knew she couldn't get under it with that howling slurping thing, so it would be safe until I could take it out and hide it under a green thing. I didn't get a chance, though, because as I was dozing, I heard that horrible bleeping, then 'she' was moving about, and went off outside – leaving me inside.

When the outside light had been and gone, that wet began pattering again, so I didn't get chance to take the alien out then, either, when 'she' came back, because she put the wall back before I could go out. There was nothing I could do except leave the alien where it was.

After the bleeping, next time, 'she' was getting ready, and making a snuffling noise as 'she' moved about, and I kept getting vague bad thoughts. 'She' rumbled at me before she went, and I got thoughts about the digging box, and naughty – why I don't know.

After the outside light came and went, 'she' began hunting around, snuffling, and moving small things about. Then 'she' began moving the big things, and found the alien. It had gone stiff, and looked fatter than it had been. 'She' made a squealing noise, then went to get a short hairy stick and a funny-looking box, then chased the alien into it, and took it into that room where the water noises come from. There was a wet plop, then the splashing and roaring water, several times.

Afterwards, 'she' went around with a not-food packet that made an angry hissing noise, making a horrible smell as it did it. I concluded that hiding aliens under the things wasn't a good idea, either, so what to do with them? I never did find out, because there didn't seem to be any more, anyway.

The hot days with the big light came and went, and the cold dark days with the white stuff came and went, several times. Once in a while there were other big two-legs in the place for a day or so, sometimes they shared the soft sleeping shelf, and did a lot of wriggling about with happy thoughts and rumbling, and sometimes they didn't.

This day, when the outside light came on, I didn't feel very well, and just wanted to be left alone, but 'she' wanted me to play chase the red spot that I could never catch. I tried, but couldn't be bothered, and went back to my sleeping pace, and curled up. 'She' rumbled at me, then left me alone, then went off to wherever she goes all day.

Next day, I didn't want food, either, just to be left alone. Instead, she got the going somewhere box, and put me into it, then took me to that place with the narrow hard shelf, and the white coats. One of them poked and prodded, pushed a stick into me, then looked at it, and pressed another stick with a flat shiny end against me, in different places, then rumbled some more. 'She' rumbled back, with a sad feeling to her mind. White-coat got a thin shiny stick, and pressed it into my leg, then the fat part of it went red. He put that away somewhere, and got another shiny stick, which he pushed into the loose skin on the back of my neck. It felt wet for a moment, but nothing happened except he threw it into a box on the floor. After some more rumbling back and to, I was put back into the going somewhere box, and taken back home again. I was let out of the box, and went back to my corner, and went to sleep.

Several lights and darks later, I was feeling even worse, and was all wobbly when I tried to walk, so I was put into the going somewhere box again, and taken back to the white-coats. They did the same things again with the shiny flat-end stick, and the other one they look at, and even though I couldn't 'read' their mind, I could feel the sad thoughts. After some more rumbling back and to, with the sad thoughts getting stronger, I looked at 'her', and saw water running down her face. 'She' picked me up and stroked me, while the white-coat got another of those thin sticks, and pressed it into my leg. After a few moment, I began to feel very odd, and - - - - - - - -

.......................................................The liquidator

liq·ui·da·tor

[lik-wi-dey-ter] noun

a person who liquidates assets, especially one authorized to do so by a court of law

The rather over-weight man in the smart suit with polished elbows looked at the document he held in his right hand, again, then at his 'Number 2'. "So," he said, at last, "Someone has bumped off this scum-bag, but nobody knows who did it, or why – is that correct?"

"Yes,Sir." The other man replied. "That's it in a nutshell."

"Well, he's no loss to society at large, but there will be ructions on the streets, and a power vacuum to fill. I've read the report, now tell me what really happened, Jonesy."

The use of his nick-name signified the end of the 'game' they played. "It looks like the bod had a heart attack". Was the succinct reply "But he had been sitting having a quiet coffee, in the cafe. There was nobody near him, nobody spoke to him, and he hadn't begun to drink or eat anything. According to the guy behind the counter, he had been looking at a newspaper, then put it down, took an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket, opened it, looked at the paper inside, grunted, and dropped dead. The paper was from the vending machine in the cafe, just inside the doorway."

"Forensics found absolutely nothing on either the paper, the envelope, or the contents, except printing ink, and a few prints, most of which were his, is that right?"

"That's it, Jack, there was nothing there that shouldn't be. The same goes for the coffee, he hadn't even touched that, and there were only a few marks on the saucer from where he had held it as he carried it to the table. He hadn't even put any sugar in, or stirred it, so there was nothing on the spoon, either, except for a few salmonella bugs. All they would have done was give him a bad gut, if they had survived being dunked in the coffee."

"And these were the papers in the envelope?" Jack waved two sheets of A4, one bore a few words from an inkjet printer, and the other was an advertising flyer for bathroom porcelain, also with a few words on it, from the same, or a similar, inkjet printer, using the same 'typeface' and print size. "Common as muck, and no way to trace it. Does the paper give any clue?"

"No, it's just paper. You can buy similar stuff for a couple of quid a ream, in any supermarket or office supply place."

"And the advert?"

"I went to the address given, and they sent a few thousand of those out, as a freebie stuffer in the daily post, a week or so ago. They gave me a handful more, and give or take ink batch variations, they are all identical. Gets us no further. It's a bathroom fitter place, as the thing says - replace, fit new, install showers, wet-rooms, you name it."

Jack read the words on the first sheet, out loud - "You have been liquidated!" - then the words on the flyer, "Something for you to go on, Jack!" He flapped the sheets onto his desk. "Whoever he is, he knows my name, and he's got a sense of humour! Something to go on, indeed!" The words were next to a picture of a lavatory bowl. "When are the autopsy reports due?"

Jonesy shrugged - "They are sinking under a back-log, as you know, three more in front of this guy, all with the same comment on a bit of paper clasped in their little slimy hands, and all low-life that we haven't been able to touch, because the evidence magically disappears." He shrugged again. "It looks like someone is doing what we cannot, and removing all the scum from the area. None of them has a mark on them, and they all appear to be naturals, to the naked eye."

"I don't like it." Jack stated, "But, as you said, this person or team is only eliminating the rubbish. As long as that is all they do, I won't look too hard, and nor will you. Understand? But, if they step over the line, then I'll have to take notice."

"One more thing." Jonesy offered a folded newspaper, "Have you seen today's press yet?"

"No, I've not had chance, what is it?"

"It could be our perp, giving notice." He showed a picture from the page where the paper was open, it showed a nondescript scummy muddy pond, and the caption was – 'You will be liquidated' There was nothing to say who it was addressed to, nor from where it came, but it is obviously aimed at the scum and pond-life. "It's in most of the regular dailies." Jonesy added. "So a lot of people will have seen it. I've sent a guy round to see the Editors, to see if they know where the pic came from."

"Yes, whoever it is, they have a sense of humour." Jack dismissed Jonesy, and turned to the stack of papers threatening to overflow from his 'in' tray.

A month went by, with little out of the ordinary occurring, just the usual rapes, burglaries, muggings, hit and runs, blackmails, riots, cons and swindles, and little old ladies wanting someone to find poochi-coo, who had got out of the gate and wandered off – probably in search of some love-life, although we don't tell them that!

Jonesy knocked on Jack's door, which was ajar, indicating that he was available for business. "Morning, Boss – I think our mystery 'friend' has struck again." He proffered a report.

"Tell me."

"OK, well we had a phone-call, from a pay-as-you-go, untraceable, of course, saying that they saw a cyclist fall into the canal lock, and nobody climbed out. Of course, they cannot swim. By the time the fire bods and water rescue guys got there, of course, it was an hour later, and there was nobody around, and no sign of disturbance, except for some bike wheel-tracks which seemed to go wobbly, then lead into the water.

So, they put the kit on, and put a team in. The leader said it was like diving in brown windsor soup, they couldn't see their hand if they held it under their noses, so they had to do it by touch. They found three supermarket trolleys, and a very rusty old motorbike at the bottom, all of which they hauled out, then they found the bloke, still sitting on his bike. Stone dead, of course.

Once they'd got a couple of ropes on him and the bike, they winched him out, and had a devil of a job getting him off the thing. You know how some cyclists have these funny shoes with a clip built in, which snaps onto the pedal, so they can pull up as well as push down? They are meant to release the clip if they are twisted sideways, or something. Well, it seems that both the clips had jammed, somehow, and the guy was unable to get his feet free, so he was fastened down by his bike, a bit like the old concrete boots routine. They had to use the hydraulic cutter on the pedal crank bits." Jonesy riffled the papers, "The Paramedic on scene said he was dead, of course, but they had to do it properly, and get a Doc in to certify it – cause of death drowning, no other visible injuries except a bit of denting and scraping from the rope they hauled him out with."

"So – it's a freak accident, what of it?"

Jonesy slid a picture of the deceased across the desk. "It was an old pal of ours, Slippery Simon, we could never pin anything on him, but everyone knew he was a big wheel. There was nothing on him because there were no pockets in that lycra stuff they wear, but he had a key on a string around his neck. We don't know what it fits, yet, it's not a car key"

Jack looked at the photograph with distaste. "So? I don't see the connection."

"He drowned." Said Jonesy, "Wouldn't you describe that as well and truly liquidated?"

...............................................................Old Joe.

I am eighty-four – no, sod it, in two days I'll be eighty-five! Each year seems to get shorter, for some reason, although the calendar on the wall still has 365 days listed in it! I was wandering down the street, the other day, talking to my old mate Tom, and the cheeky sod had the nerve to ask how much longer they were going to have to wait for me! I said I'm going as fast as I can, (and a pretty young thing asked who I was talking to, and was I alright?). I suppose they can't see him, but then he has been dead for twenty years. He died in the same coach crash that took the rest of my oppo's, and their wives – and mine. It had been my retirement party day, and they were all on the way to the hall they'd rented. I wasn't in the coach, because I wasn't supposed to know, and they were going to send a taxi for me when they were set up and ready. So – when it didn't arrive, I took myself there, and found the place deserted, of course, just the agent with his keys, waiting to let them in. I suppose it is one way of starting the rest of your life with a bang, but I don't think it was quite how the phrase was meant!

For a while, I was mentally tied up with the intricacies of working the washing machine, and how to get the full bag out of the vacuum cleaner, and other domestic stuff I'd never given a thought to, before. Then, once I got that sorted out, and all the paperwork that we are cursed with had been dealt with, I could mentally sit back and take stock. In other words, what the F to do now! We had been planning on touring the country in a caravanette I hadn't yet bought, although we had been looking at likely ones in the magazines (and wincing at the prices!) The intention was to go and see all the places we had heard of, and see if it was as good as claimed, as the furthest we'd managed to go in the last fourty years had been to Southport Beach, to see if the tide came in! (It didn't, and it rained!) We'd never even got as far as Blackpool, since the kids began to arrive.

Having kids puts a stopper on lots of things, like holidays, and nights out together, when you don't earn very much for doing a menial job.

Now – where was I? Ah, the concrete and glass box they call the supermarket – I'd come for – what had I come for?

An arrogant little snot-nosed kid in a leather jacket, jeans legs full of ragged slits held together with safety pins, and his hair looking like an old floor-mop, barged into me and snarled to get the hell out of his way, or else.

"Or else what?" I replied.

In response, he pulled a flick-knife from somewhere, and brandished it, uttering threats about slitting my gizzards, or some such. I took it off him, made a few more slits in his leather jacket with it, then snapped the blade off and threw the bits into a nearby bin, while he stood and gaped – or should I say crouched and gasped, because I'd booted him in the male danglies. All these youngsters now, have never heard of National Service, when every male had to spend three years in the Army (mostly!) after schooling had finished, and before work commenced. One of the things we were taught was self-defence, and that knowledge doesn't go away, any more than the memory of my serial number. We were all just numbers, although between mates, we had names as well, usually rude ones. Oh, the things we got up to, Tom, Fred, Jim, Pete and me, we were know as the filthy five, not because we were unwashed, but because of our debased sense of humour. I remember when – damn it, I had come to the supermarket for something, what was it?

"You're getting to be a forgetful old git!" Fred sneered at me, as he walked through the door without opening it first – he can do that, because he's not really there, even though I can sometimes see him. I have to open the door myself, if the automatic machine doesn't work, which it often doesn't. "Hey – don't forget to get a trolley to put things in!"

I went back and got a trolley, which cost me a pound coin. That's another hidden cost in these places, they don't charge you to go in, but they charge a pound for a wire basket on wheels, which you can't take home! When you get in, they try to sell you two bags of everything for the price of three, if you don't watch the labels very carefully! (If you DO buy the two bags, most of the things in them have gone bad before you can use them!)

I wandered up and down for a while, trying to remember what I'd come here for. I put a box of bags of tea-factory floor-sweepings in the trolley, just in case, and a bit later added a packet of 'digestive' biscuits, when I found the right shelf. That is one advantage of these places, you don't hold up everyone else while the shop assistant waits for you to recall what you wanted, instead, you just wander up and down, pushing your trolley that cost a pound, until you see something that jogs your memory.

"Hey, Joe!" Fred yelled, "Get some of these!" He was pointing at certain small rubber things in the pharmacy section. There is one advantage of going out with a ghost, he cannot embarrass you by sneaking such things into the basket when you are distracted, because, lacking fingers, never mind any other part of a body, they can't pick things up.

"I used to blow them up, first, to make sure they didn't leak!" Pete chipped in. "It made the girls giggle and blush!"

"It still didn't stop you from becoming a Daddy with that blonde one, though!" Jim was here as well!

"What's this? An old mates get-together?" I asked. I must have said it with my voice, because I got a couple of funny looks. Well, the packet on the front of the shelf WAS called Mates!

"Are you alright, Mister?" She was a pretty, petite young brown-headed girl, maybe thirty, and wearing the shop uniform.

"Mmmm? Oh, yes, just thinking verbally!" I replied, "but I could do with a bit of help."

"Oh, well, what are you looking for?"

"How about an attractive young lady to help me to test out one of these?" I indicated with a rheumy old finger.

She smiled - "I don't think my husband would be too keen on that!"

"I wasn't asking for his help!" I smiled back. "I was thinking more of a petite brown-haired pretty girl. Seriously, though, I was just wondering what I'd come in here for in the first place, and looking for inspiration."

"Ah, well – when you do remember, and if it is something I CAN do for you, don't hesitate to ask!" She smiled again, and went back behind the help-desk I hadn't noticed until just then. I also noticed that her name-badge said she was called Jo.

"Keep trying! You've almost pulled her!" Fred whispered into my ear. "Don't give up now!"

I ignored him, and continued with my random wanderings.

A while later, I joined a small queue waiting to pay to get out again, with my few selections. After I'd put them on the big rubber band, and pushed my trolley through the gap between the tills, and put them back again after the machine beeped at them as they came past it, and paid, I was going back out, then realized I hadn't got a bag to put them in, and had to pay another penny for one. So my three pounds-worth of groceries had cost four pounds and a penny, and would hardly fill a letter envelope! Try to tell me that prices aren't going up!

Outside, I transferred my shopping to the penny plastic bag, and shoved the trolley back into the line. As I was walking away, one of the Middle-Eastern gentlemen who washed cars in the parking area, came running after me. "You forget you poun' Mistah!"

"You mean the pound I have to pay to get a trolley?"

"Yes, Mistah, you get poun' back when put basket back!" He proffered a coin again.

"What do you mean? Will you show me?"!

"Like this, Missah, put poun' in slot, basket come undo, put metal bar in, poun' come undo, you take back." He demonstrated.

"Ha ha ha!" another voice in my ear. "Didn't you know that, you daft old coot? How many pounds have you given away?" I knew the voice, but couldn't put a name to it.

"Well, I never!" I managed to say. "I must have been here a hundred times, and never knew!"

"Is your poun' Mistah!"

"Well, you keep it, now, as a thank-you for your honesty."

He looked at me, dressed in my finest raggy clothes, as I looked at him, in his working raggy clothes. "No Mistah. I think you need more than me. I also see what happen with punk before. I think you sojer! Good thing. Him damn pest!"

Another one of the car-wash gents came across, and said something in his own language, to which the first one replied. Why do these foreign gents always sound as though they are on the verge of fisticuffs when they talk, seeming to scream and yell at each other?

"Mahmoud he think you not pay!" The first one said, "I tell is ok, no problem."

"You would find it rather difficult to wash my car, anyway – I don't have one!"

The first one babbled, screamed, gesticulated, and waved at Mahmoud, who shrugged, babbled, screamed and gesticulated back, culminating with a digital sign which transcends language barriers, then turned and walked away again.

"Mahmoud doesn't seem very happy." I noted.

"Agh – he always angry. He woman say too cold, want to go back home!" He shrugged, "Nothing at home, tin house, sand, no water, no drain, no food. Come here get rich!" He offered the pound coin again.

"Tell you what, split the difference, half each." I suggested.

"Feefty pen', no - You poun'. I not teef like punk. In my country, teef get hand cut off – chop!"

He wasn't going to budge, so I gave in. "Alright, but I won't forget." I took the coin off him

"Is good." He went back to the car he was halfway through washing. "Hey! Teef two time, two hand off – chop! No do again, no hand! I still got mine!" He waved them.

Later on, back at home, I was sitting in my rather tired old easy-chair, with Tom, Fred and Jim still ribbing me about the trolley episode, when we had an idea! I forget who thought of it first, but that doesn't matter.

"No, that's stupid, as well as being illegal!" I argued.

"So what? If they catch and convict you, what can they do? Put you inside for thirty years?"

"Exactly!"

Jim fell about, laughing – well, as far as a ghost can fall about. "You daft old coot – if they do, that'll make you – what – a hundred and fifteen when you get out? No, I don't think so!"

Fred chipped in - "They'd never connect a semi-senile old git like you with it, anyway!"

"It's alright for you, they couldn't catch you with a butterfly net, and there's no jail built that will keep a ghost in!"

They seemed to think that was hilarious!

When Tom had got his breath back (do ghosts breathe?) he said they could be the under-cover agents, and I could be the operative that did the wet-work.

"The first bit I can accept." I said, "because nobody but me can see you, anyway, and locked doors are no problem when you can go in and out through the wall, but the other bit. No." I didn't voice it, but earlier, when I'd dealt with the punk in the jacket, it made me feel – I don't know – alive again, for a minute or two. "Anyway, I'm too old and slow for all the running and jumping."

"You won't need to – they are going to see a rheumatic old codger tottering along the street, until it is too late, and you are close in. Then they won't have time to do anything."

"Except fall over in pain!" Fred added. "Hey – did you hear about the skeleton that walked into a bar, and ordered a double whiskey? - The barman said - "Certainly, Sir, just bear with me a minute while I get a mop ready".".

It happened again a week or so later. I was ambling along the footpath, going to – somewhere, I forget – when I saw three yobs dressed in a collection of zips held together with nappy pins, hassling a young girl. She was wearing a couple of bandages, one around her chest, and one around her hips. The yobs were trying to encourage the bandages to ride up, and down, to reveal what little there was beneath, and she was tying to keep herself covered, and get away, without losing her grip on the electric thing with the wires that were plugged into her ears - and her bag.

One of the yobs, the one with green spikes for hair, gave me a contemptuous glance as I approached and suggested they leave the girl alone. I was advised to go away in sexual jerks, or – but he never got any further, because he collapsed in a heap, with an agonized groan. The other two weren't far behind. Then I heard the NEE-NAH of a siren approaching, and presumed that someone had called the law - from a safe distance.

The girl flashed me a very brief smile, then vanished into a shop. I declined to follow, as it was a ladies clothiers – the display in the window had pairs of knickers with no crutch in, and brassieres with holes in the cups.

A police car screeched to a halt, but all the coppers found was three yobs clutching themselves by the squashed appendages. The cop - I presume the senior - clambered out of the car, and surveyed the street, but there was nothing to be seen except the three, and an old blind man, tapping his way along a wall with his white stick – instantly dismissed as a likely contender!

I tapped my way around the corner, folded the white stick away, and put it into my pocket, and went elsewhere.

"No need to hurry", Tom said, as he caught up, "The fuzz aren't following you, they're looking for a vigilante – what do they call them – Street Angels or something, and the lads aren't going to admit that they were all decked by a gran'pa!"

Fred said that he had enjoyed the bit of action, so I said it was alright for him, nobody could punch him or stick a knife in!

It was something like a year later, when there was a knock at my door, one mid-afternoon. When I went to look if it was the rent-man, I found a youngster of about 40 standing there. He introduced himself as a Dee Eye, whatever one of those is, and waved a wallet with a picture in it at me, but without my readers, it was just a blur. I told him I didn't want double-glazing or PPI, and began to shut the door again.

"No, Sir, you misunderstand me." He said, as he put a size eleven in the door-jamb, "I'm from the Police station."

"Oh, well, you can tell them I'm not paying the parking fine I keep getting letters about, I haven't had a car for twenty years."

"That's not it, either! Can I come in, and we'll have a chat."

"And I don't need a tv license, either!"

"That's not it, either. May I come in, I'm getting very wet out here!"

I hadn't noticed it was raining until he said that. "Oh, alright, but if you are planning on robbing me, I have no money." I took the door off his boot.

He looked down at the scar across the shiny toe of the boot, and sighed, then stepped inside. "We know what you have been doing!" He started.

"Really? I deny it, whatever it is!"

He began to reel off a list of dates and places, none of them meant anything to me, but then, I can't recall what I had for breakfast, so that doesn't mean much! So I asked what it was about.

He then asked if I knew a person called Jack Reacher, but as I'd never heard of him either, I said so, adding that he was making a puddle on my floor, and to hurry up and get on with whatever he really wanted, and to stop asking me silly questions.

"Alright, Sir. We know it was you, we have pieced it together from several part-descriptions, and CCTV camera footage. So, what we are – what I am asking – is that you stop, before you take on something you can't cope with, and get hurt."

I told him I hadn't a clue what he was rambling on about.

"Just retire gracefully, and let us deal with street crime." He continued. "I'd hate to have to come out, and find you in a heap in a corner somewhere, with a hole in you." He turned towards the door, "Remember, we know it was you!"

"What was?" I replied, as I shut him out, in the rain, then went to find my mop, so I could remove the puddle he'd left on my floor. I'm sure I left it in the kitchen.

.......................................................The Boats Crew

We had been re-stocking the domestic supplies at the local Supermarket, and having taken them, by taxi, back to the boat which was moored in the marina inside the breakwater, we were heading back into the town to see what Holyhead had to offer. The other four had a head start, as I had been finding niches for my personal items, and was hurrying along the front, about three hundred yards behind the others, when I saw Josie go into the 'Fortune Teller's' dive. This was one of her 'things' – wherever we went, or ended up, she liked to discover what her future held, while the others milled around outside, and pretended to look at the seagulls, or whatever.

So – I knew I needn't rush, as she, and they, would be there for about ten minutes, on average.

I slowed down my long strides, and took a little more notice of the buildings and people around me, as they all went about their own activities. There was a muscular-looking type lurking in a doorway, as I passed, but he seemed non-threatening, so I mostly ignored him. That is, until another one stepped out of an alley a few yards in front, and turned to face me with a leering smile on his face. Alarm bells began to ring in my mind.

Then there was a scuffle of shoes on the stone flags, behind me, and I reflexively turned, sweeping any body-punch away with my left arm, as my bunched fist slammed – I stopped it a fraction of a second before I slammed it into the pretty face – eyes and mouth making O's of shock-horror.

"Oh. Lady, you nearly got your pretty little nose relocated to the back of your head, then!" I said.

"Squeak!" She managed, in reply.

I turned again, to check where muscle number two was, but he was wandering off up the esplanade, munching on a pie of some kind that was held in his right hand. I'd already noted that number one had gone back inside the door he had been by.

She was about five-two, stuck out in the right places, and went in in the middle. She had what looked, at first glance, like a rusty wire-wool pad on her head, but on a second look, was tight curls of coppery red hair, that protruded at all kinds of unruly angles. Her blue eyes, still wide from surprise, were below rusty-coloured eyebrows, which suggested that the hair colour wasn't out of a bottle. The beginnings of a blush was creeping up her neck, from as far down as her clothes allowed me to see, replacing the white blanch that my response had caused.

She was wearing a round-neck thick cotton tee-shirt, and the regulation jeans, faded by sunshine and repeated washes.

"Are you alright?" I lowered my fist, and relaxed a few percent.

She dragged in a shaky breath, (making them stick out even more) and managed a wobbly smile that included her eyes. "Oh wow!" She looked me up and down, which was fair enough, because I had done the same to her.

"Oh wow is better than OW!" I agreed.

The blush was still creeping up, and was around about her hair-line now. "This is going to sound stupid," She said, "but I saw you a couple of months ago, and I've been kicking myself ever since, then when I saw you again, about quarter of an hour ago, going back, I presume, to your boat, and again just now, I knew I had to say hello!"

"Well - hello, then!" Scintillating conversation! "Was it worth it? I hope I didn't scare you!

"A little", she lied, "but I suppose I left myself open, there, sneaking up behind you!"

"Well, a bit." I agreed, "There was a muscle standing in a doorway, as I passed, and then that other guy, who looks a bit like a bald gorilla, walking away from me now – I glanced over my shoulder to make sure – in front, and I put two and two and got five when I heard feet running behind me!" I paused, "You aren't planning on stabbing me, now my guard is down, are you?"

The crimson face flushed even redder, if that were possible. "Er, no!" She admitted, "and if I had been planning on shooting you, I'd have been further away!"

"So – that brings us back to the beginning - what can I do for you?"

"Back to the beginning – I said it was going to sound stupid – take me with you?" She was almost incandescent, now. "Please?"

"Take you – you don't know me, my friends, or where we are going!" Pretty obvious statement! "Or why!"

"I know – but – I just know – that I want to – to - ". she spluttered to a verbal standstill.

"You aren't running from the law, or a marriage, or anything?" I had to ask.

"Christ, no!" she blurted. "I'm not hitched, I'm not wanted, and I'm not being 'sought' by anybody. I just long for - " she groped for the words - "adventure, excitement, and - " She waved a hand vaguely - "And it's not happening here!"

(I thought of what we really did for a living – excitement, adventure, if the rest of the gang accepted her, she'd get that, alright!) "Well, then, you'd better come and meet the rest of the crew, then, and see if you can get along with them, and they with you!"

They were all outside the fortune-teller's place, waiting for me to catch up, so I introduced them, Tony and Alan, and Cath and Josie.

"Three guys, and two gals? Doesn't that cause problems?" Sandy (that was the name she gave) asked.

"No, why should it?" Alan replied. "We share each other, as and when!"

There was a frozen pause - "You mean – you - " Sandy waved a finger in a circle - "each other?" Her face went blank. "I think I've made a terrible mistake, I share me with nobody!" She began to walk away, shock and anger exuding from her in waves.

Josie reached a long arm out, and caught Sandy's shoulder. "Hey, he's teasing you, honey, come back and talk to us. If he steps out of line again, I'll beach him, after I've decked him!"

We sat around a small table, three beers, two martinis, and a thing with loads of fruit and a paper umbrella in it, in front of us.

"Do you eat that, or drink it?" Cath asked, eyeing this concoction.

"More to the point – do you have a passport?" Josie asked.

"Yes – to all three!" Sandy grinned. "Come on, tell me, what do you really do, you can't just be swanning around wherever the whim, and the boat, takes you, unless you are all billionaires!"

"No, we go where we are sent," Josie admitted, "We are working people, although it may not look like it!"

"The more you don't tell me, the more intriguing it sounds!"

"Another important question, have you ever lived on a boat, and can you cook?" That was Alan.

"That's two – and yes, and yes. I crewed for a while on a 'gin palace', until I got sick of sitting in marinas, washing seagull crap off the decks and polishing bits of brass while the owners got stoned on various substances, and tried to grope me. I'm no Cordon Bleu, but I've not poisoned anybody, yet, although I admit that I was tempted, a time or three!" Sandy had a sip of her martini.

Josie wiggled the cherry on the cocktail stick around in her concoction. "Do you have your passport with you, and can I see it, please?"

"I do, and are you the leader?"

"Skipper, but you can call me Captain!" She said that around a smile, to take any offence away.

"Aye aye, Skipper!" Sandy fished in her bag, and produced a little blue book, with the embossed crown and scrolls on it, which she passed over.

Josie carefully studied the photograph, the embossed marks, and the details of the front page, then flicked through the – mostly blank – visa stamp pages, then passed it back. "Thank you. Then – if we are about ready - I'll just 'powder my nose' then we can go and show Sandy the boat!"

(That told us we had a job on, and to lay off the booze. No partying tonight!)

"This is our Minerva." Josie gestured at our floating home. "Tony and Alan can show you around, while Cath and I re-arrange the ladies cabin to free up another bunk, and Dan gets us ready for sea. We tend to use the spare bunk as shelves, when we are in port." (That meant that we should keep Sandy out of the way while Josie checked up on her, via the satellite phone link.)

"First off, then," Tony said, "We'll go to your place, and collect your things, then if you decide to stay, you won't be running back and to while we are waiting for you!"

"That won't take long, then, I've only a rented bed-sit, and one suitcase of rags. I'm used to living portable, and don't have anything I'm not prepared to lose, if necessary. I'll just need to pay the rent, and I'm ready to go. I can do that in about fifteen minutes."

"No bank account? No mobile phone?"

"Oh, yes, of course, but I've got them with me. All I need to do is redirect the statements, etc, and that I can do via my phone, if I don't have time to call in at a branch, somewhere."

"So, this is our Minerva. What do you think of her?" I asked.

"Well, she's a bit spartan, not much in the way of soft furnishings, fancy curtains, or fripperies, but as you said, she IS a working boat, not a rich man's cruiser. More to the point, there are a few things you haven't shown me, like the engine room, and you have carefully steered me away from a couple of the stowages."

"I didn't think you would care to look at the engine, it's just an engine!"

Sandy gave me a wry smile. "One engine? With three throttles, three ignitions, three starters, three of every gauge, come on! Three engines, in a little boat like this!"

"Not so little, at fifty-seven feet and three and a quarter inches. She needs some power, because she can be used as a tugboat, if needed."

She made an unspellable noise. "Come on – she's too shallow-drafted to be a useful tug, she's a speed merchant, but too wide to be a racer. She's more like a torpedo boat! There's something you aren't telling me! Minerva, if I recall my Roman mythology, was the goddess of music, medicine, weapons, wisdom, and magic."

I held my hands up. "There are a few things I've not been allowed to tell you!" I admitted. "Need to know, etc!"

"Two radar sets, long and short range, loads more radio than a local boat would need, and that dome might be covering a satellite-phone antenna. I'm not stupid!" Sandy looked at me. "Alright, I can accept that you aren't allowed to tell me, because you don't have a clue who I am. I bet that Josie is not cleaning the cabin, she's on the Sat-phone to whoever, checking up that I'm really who I said I am! She will find out that I really am me, not a Russian spy, or something!"

Cath saved me from further embarrassment by appearing from the front cabin, and asking Sandy a question - "Who is your controller?"

"I know him as Zeke, and I can't contact him directly, I leave a message on a machine, and he does the same."

Cath quoted a telephone number - "That one?"

"How - ?" Sandy checked her bag. Her phone was still in it, untouched, turned off, and she had never put her bag down for an instant. She hesitated for a moment, then made her mind up - "Yes!"

"Bear with me for one more minute. Please." She went back into the cabin, and left the door open.

Josie called "Step in here, please, Sandy, someone wants to speak to you."

Sandy went in, stepping over the coaming, and ducking under the rim at the same time, without jarring her shoulders or elbows on the sides, banging her head, or scraping her shins - demonstrating familiarity with small boats.

Cath came out, and said we seemed to be working for the same 'company', but different departments, and they were just joining up the dots. She sat in one of the padded chairs that were bolted to the deck, with a sigh. "If she works out, we need a third woman, to balance us up."

"I'll put the kettle on, then!"

A little while later, we were all seated in the main cabin, as daylight began to fade. I switched on the interior lights, an auxiliary generator noted the electrical load, started itself, and began to produce power to replenish the batteries."So, that's what we do. We've been rounding up smugglers for the last couple of years, but it has mostly been firearm and explosives to or from Ireland, and drugs coming in from the Continent, but now there are the illegal immigrants as well. They don't all come through Calais in the back of trucks." Josie said. "You've already signed the Official Secrets Act, so that's an irrelevance. Do you want in, or do you want to walk away?"

"And I'd like to know – did Zeke tell you to contact us, or was it really by chance that you stopped me?"

Sandy toyed with the almost empty cup she held, as she thought it over. "I was instructed to try to make contact, but not specifically with you, that really was because I liked the look of you, when I saw you walking by." She was looking at me as she spoke. "I really was working on that floating brewery, like I said, earlier, but our company was trying to get a lead on where the junk was coming from. We thought he was bringing it, at first, but it turned out he was just another user, and there was next to nothing on board, so I was glad to get off on the pretext of the boredom and groping. That was real enough, the letch!" She sighed, and shuddered with disgust. " As to the rest, do I want in, or out – Zeke has left it open-ended, for now. If we can work together, without tripping over each other, so much the better, because we were getting nowhere, before. Do you want ME in with you, and if – and I said if – I get more, ah, friendly - shall we say, with Dan, would it make any difference?" She was going pink again.

"Providing that it doesn't interfere with our job, that is for you to work out. Just remember there are only the two bunk cabins, and nobody is going to make a space especially for the two of you to have your 'fun'. You'll have to wait until we are in a port, somewhere, and find yourselves a hotel – there IS no space, anyway!"

Miguel Zagasta – that was the name in his passport, anyway, was following his instructions, as well. He was at the helm of a small fishing boat, with a telephone booth-like cabin perched on the top of the deck, about one-third of the length back from the sharp end, that the man had called the blow, or something. Behind the cabin was a big hatch let into the deck, closed now, because below it was the fish hold, and he wasn't out fishing. Beneath his feet, in the cabin-space that extended from just short of the pointy end, to the fish hold, was the rest of the crew, a short thin Chinese, who spoke no other language than his own. As Miguel only spoke Spanish, that led to some really scintillating conversations! Squeezed in between the crew cabin and the fish hold, was the engine room. In there were the essential bits of machinery that made things work, such as the engine, which sounded like something taken from a tired old truck, a generator, for the electric lights and a winch, fuel, oil, and water tanks, and the thingy that made the whatsit on the blunt end wiggle, so they could go round corners, or straightish.

Miguel had been instructed to take the boat out of the port, keep going towards the big W on the wobbly disk thing in the rocking frame, until he couldn't see the land any more, then turn right, and follow the big N. He had followed that instruction to the letter, if you can forgive the pun, and the land was little more than a faint grey line on the horizon behind the boat. Keep going, he had been instructed, and somewhere out there, the other boat will find you, and unload the cargo, then tell you how to get back. That seemed to be a simple enough task, and as he was temporarily between jobs, again, and in need of a few pesetas, (not counting the money-lender and his bouncers that were looking for him), Miguel agreed, as two thousand seemed a decent amount for the task. As you may have guessed, he was no seaman, and the nearest he had been to commanding a vessel, was a pedalo two summers ago, but any fool could work a steering wheel, it was no different to driving a car, was it?

With the diesel engine thumping lazily away, the exhaust led through a corner of the wheelhouse, and out of the roof, and the sun blazing down, making the place hot, even though he had jammed the door open with an old magazine, Miguel decided a cuppa would be nice. There was a metal tube thing with a flap on it, that went down into the cabin, so he lifted the flap, and bellowed - "Oy, how about a drink, then?" (In Spanish, of course!)

After a pause, in which he could just hear the Chinese snoring, he stamped on the wooden deck a few times, and bellowed down the tube again.

Eventually, a vague "Hai?" was heard.

"Tea, coffee, agua?"

"Ah, Hai! OK."

While Miguel was stamping and shouting, he had wriggled about in the chair he was using, and his big knife, in the sheath attached to his belt, was jabbing into his kidneys, so he took it off, and looked for somewhere to put it, where it would be in easy reach. There weren't many options, as the panel with a few switches on was set on a slope, with only a narrow ledge behind the window. There was a convenient hook on the column the wobbling disk thing with the W and the N on, was in, so he hung it there, while he was finishing the shouting. Because of that, he was not watching the compass rose, and didn't see it swing round, to obediently point somewhere between the W and the S! After looking out of the window again, he glanced down at the wobbling thing, and saw he had wandered away from the W. As it was time to go to the N anyway, he wasn't bothered, and turned the wheel to the right. Once the boat had steadied, with the N at the front of the disk, underneath the pointer, Miguel settled down again, to wait for his brew. The waves were now coming from the front right, so as well as going up and down, the boat was rocking from side to side, which made Miguel feel uncomfortable, in the vomiting kind of way, but $2000 was a lot of money for him, so he grimaced, swallowed, belched, and stuck it out, while vaguely wondering if there was a bucket nearby.

The Chinese cook/dogsbody/gofer timed his entry, and got the side-door closed again before the spray from the next roller splattered against it. In his spare hand was a tin tray with a cup and a wedge balanced on it. The only clear space large enough for the tray was on the floor, so that's where he put it, grunted something, watched the sea with a practised eye, glancing at the compass rose, registered it was showing N, and timed his dive back below to perfection, thus avoiding another splatter of salt-water. After a quick glance around the various dials in his domain, he returned to his earlier horizontal studying position, and resumed inspecting the backs of his eyelids for pin-holes.

Several hours later, still following the N on the wobbly disk, Miguel was beginning to feel another need, as the liquids he had taken on board wanted to find a way out again. There was no sign of the boat that he was expecting to see, though.

The Chinese had been woken from his exhausting slumbers by a similar need, and came up on deck, had a glance around, then unzipped and discharged his water ballast over the side. Finished, he came into the wheel-house, and checked the compass, which was still showing N. Puzzled, he looked around, as they should have met up by now, but there was nothing to see except water.

"Hey!" Miguel said, "You steer for a minute." He gesticulated at the wheel.

"Hokay."

When he came back, he asked "How far we supposed to go?"

"Hai!" The Chinese relinquished the wheel. "Tea?"

The radar operator, located in his little office near the Lizard, watching the trace on his screen vanish off the edge, heading in the general direction of Bermuda, grinned to himself as he considered the lengths these local fishermen would go to in the effort of misdirecting their rivals away from their favourite spots, and forgot about it.

The boat from Fleetwood was drifting around about two miles off Anglesey, waiting for the courier to show, and beginning to get fed up! The Cox'n had already phoned HIS boss a couple of times, using his mobile - not the VHF radio that anyone could listen to - and been advised that the boat was on it's way.

Just over the visual horizon, at twenty miles, the Navy sat waiting, as well. They were also waiting for the courier to arrive, and begin the trans-shipment of the items, before they pounced. They knew that the Fleetwood boat was empty, so if they 'pulled' it now, the case would be thrown out. 'Suspicion of' was not evidence – blocks, rocks, or bags of powder were. They knew they were watching the correct boat, because the SBS team had sneaked on-board it, and planted a transponder on the wheelhouse roof a couple of nights ago, and it was cheerfully radiating it's electronic 'here I am' signal, each time their radar beam passed over it. The radar crew were watching for the courier, whatever it might be, but so far there was no sign of it.

The third man on the fishing boat, so far not mentioned, looked at his fuel gauges with a wary eye. All the other dials on his panel were where he expected them to be, pressures, temperatures, r.p.m's, and the like, but the fuel was getting low. He had expected the transfer to have happened a good while ago, and they should be heading back to port, now! The gauges, one for each of the port and starboard tanks, were telling him that they were approaching the level of not enough to get home. As there was no second Engineer, he shouldn't really leave his precious engine, and anyway, he knew what the sea looked like, grey and wet, with moving lumps in it. Apart from that, it was warm here, and cold outside! He decided to give it another half-hour, then he'd go and see what was going on.

Minerva was cruising along at about fifteen knots, slicing through the long swells with just the occasional flutter of spray lifting over the flared bows, with Sandy at the wheel, as she 'got the feel' of the boat. Apart from a few initial meanders, the wake was arrow-straight once she had learned how long it didn't take for the boat to respond to the helm, and how sharply. Once, Tony had glanced at Josie, as the stood in the wheelhouse, watching Sandy's performance, and nodded his approval, before disappearing below-decks.

"Skipper, can I try a few tight turns, to see how she responds?" Sandy asked.

"Hang on a minute, then, while I check that nobody is messing with hot water, below. We don't want anyone getting scalded!" Josie left the wheelhouse to Sandy, and went below. She was back in two minutes, and said "Wait a couple, while Cath puts things away. She was just about to start making a brew."

After five minutes or so of moderately high speed steep turns, Sandy had learned that the boat tended to skid for a moment, then the hull design banked the vessel over into the turn, and responded more like a racing boat than a cruiser, and she was settling back onto the original course, when there was a blood-curdling scream from up forward, and a flash of orange going over the port side, then someone yelled "Man overboard to port!"

Sandy reacted fast, spinning the wheel to port, and slamming the port engine to 'stop' so that hopefully the person wouldn't get sucked through the prop. After coming back on the power to the other engines, she matched up the port throttle again, as she continued the turn, round to where a splash of orange was barely visible in the water. She watched the mark with one eye, while the other was looking at the wind and seas, so that she could position the boat slightly upwind, thus drifting down to the victim, with the engines stopped.

Up in the bow, Alan leaned over with a brandished boat-hook, and fished out an empty life-jacket from the water, then gave a 'thumbs-up' to Josie, in the wheelhouse.

"Well, you can certainly handle her!" She smiled, "She's all yours for the next hour, then Tony will take over for a shift. You know the course. Be careful."

"You mean – don't try to run over any super-tankers!" Sandy gestured at one about five miles away. "I could use a cuppa, if someone will bring one up."

"We can do that."

On board the fishing boat, the Engineer was admiring a centre-fold picture, when his engine spluttered, then picked up again. Instantly, he was at the dials, monitoring - and looking for warning indications, the magazine abandoned on the deck. Everything was as it should be, no readings out of normal, until the needle in a small dial in a corner suddenly dipped and rose again, a moment before another splutter. Fuel! The pressure had momentarily dropped. He looked at his fuel-level gauges again, and they were all showing about half tanks. The selector lever was set to 'forward' so he shifted it to 'aft', just in case, and listened. The engine plodded along normally. Perhaps it was a bit of water in the diesel fuel, so the thing to do was to drain the filters, and traps. He found a bucket, and the correct spanner, and set about the task. He began with the port forward tank, turning off the valve in the fuel line, then removing the glass trap, and emptying it's content into the bucket. The gauze filter was clean, so he reassembled it, and opened the valve again, watching for leaks around the 'O' ring. There were none, so he moved over to the Starboard tank, and repeated the procedure, except that the trap was only half-full. There were a few specks of sludge on the gauze, so he rinsed it in the drained fuel in the bucket, then replaced it, and opened the valve again. The glass bowl didn't fill until the boat rolled sharply, in response to a swell. A dribble of diesel emerged, then stopped again as the vessel righted itself. Was the fuel line blocked? Short of taking it to bits, there was no way – or was there? He vaguely recalled there was a manual dip-stick on the top of the tanks, rarely used because they had the gauges. He struggled up onto the top of the tank, and discovered that his spanners didn't fit the – supposedly finger-tight - lock-nut, which had seized solid from disuse, and had to climb down again to get an adjustable grip. With the dip-stick freed, he wiped it on the first bit of cloth he could find, his sleeve, then slid it back into the tank, withdrew it again, and examined the mark left by the fuel – or would have, if there had been one. A second attempt gave the same result. Worried, now, he mangled the studs securing an inspection hatch with the grips, then pulled the hatch off and peered inside, using his pen-torch, to see a thin film of liquid sloshing back and to in response to the boat's movements, and occasionally covering the fuel pick-up pipe, close to the bottom of the tank.

Then a nasty thought crept into his mind – these tanks were supposed to be self-levelling, in that when fuel was pumped into one, the fuel could flow across and fill both tanks, keeping the boat balanced – the same applied when the fuel was used. As it hadn't, the port tank must be almost empty as well! As he 'dipped' the port tank, the engine faltered again! The stick told him the same sorry tale, there was about twenty gallons, if that, in the tank, yet the gauges read half full! Another cough from the engine sent him scrambling onto the top of the port aft tank, to find the same thing on THAT dip-stick. He was pondering whether there was any way that the remaining dregs of fuel in three tanks could be pumped into the fourth, to keep the engine going, when it became academic. The engine coughed again, picked up, faltered, spluttered, picked up, and died. With it went the generator, so the lights went out.

The Engineer groped his way out and up onto deck, where he blinked a few times in the bright sunlight, then went into the wheelhouse, where Miguel was wondering why the boat was going round in circles and the engine had stopped. "We're foocked!"

"Que?"

"No, not OK. Fooked!"

"Que?"

"Hai?" The Chinese had joined them.

Two miles away, a floating multi-coloured stack of rusty 40 foot containers with a ship underneath them was chugging along stolidly. On it's bridge wing, a lookout was watching this scruffy old fishing boat with two people having a punch-up on the quarterdeck, in case it drifted into his track. In response to his call, the Duty Bridge Officer came out, and borrowed the bino's, the better to see what was going on, then passed a message to the Captain, who was 'resting' in his cabin, nursing a well-used bottle of scotch.

The Captain staggered blearily onto the bridge, looked at the two boats in front of them, at about one mile distant, and suggested that the helm was put a couple of points to port, but if the buggers couldn't see the container-ship, they deserved to get run over! Then he went back to his bunk.

At half a mile, the fishing boat was still almost dead ahead, so the Duty Officer sounded the siren – one long blast – the universal warning that "You are standing into danger" (In other words – get out of the way, you wallys!)

At one quarter of a mile, the boat hadn't responded, so the Officer commanded a turn to port – but a monster ship like the container one doesn't turn very quickly, and the brakes weren't very effective either. Another long blast on the siren, as well as a call on marine VHF channel 16 gained no response from the boat, which continued bobbing up and down in front of them, one crew member sprawled in a heap on the quarterdeck, the other had gone below.

The container-ship was just beginning to turn when the fishing boat went out of sight below the bow – a short pause, then a resounding thud/clang, followed by a scraping noise was heard from the starboard bow. The duty Officer called for a reversed helm, to stop the stern from swinging, and leaned far out over the wing to see what had happened. He saw that their anchor had drooped from it's normal stowed position, and had struck the wheelhouse of the fishing boat, re-locating it rather further forward than normal, and rotated 45'. A Chinese-looking deck-hand was gesticulating with the universally recognized single raised digit, while another, with greasy overalls, was waving frantically. The ring of old car and truck tyres around the boat's hull had absorbed the impact, so the hull was still sound. A long black streak low on the bow of the cargo vessel, beneath the dangling anchor, testified to that.

The duty Officer went back into the bridge, and made a note in the log, with the position, then called it in on the HF radio, (VHF was out of range), to the shore station that responded to their calls on 2182, then told the helmsman to resume their original course, while he checked the Loran, and amended their track on the plot.

Two hours later, the 'word' had filtered through to Air-Sea Rescue, and an RAF Nimrod was diverted from it's Fishery Patrol duties and dispatched to the last reported position of the fishing boat. It came howling across the sky, searching by radar for the 'target' which typically was not where it was supposed to be. It took another hour of painstaking search and identify work, to find the likely suspect, which appeared to be drifting out of control, with nobody showing on deck at the noise of the Nimrod's overhead passage. No lights or exhaust smoke was seen, and radio calls went unanswered. There wasn't much more the Nimrod crew could do, except report the true location of the target, and hope that a surface vessel could be sent to examine the boat. They submitted a 'Navwarn', of a possible derelict adrift, with an estimate of speed and direction, then set a course for home \- for a re-fuel and bacon sarnies.

Four hours later, the general broadcast to 'All Ships' included the Navwarn, and requested any vessel in the vicinity to identify themselves, and whether they could go to investigate, as the range was too great for a helicopter to make a round trip and have useful time over target. The only naval vessel within a day's sailing was the frigate tasked with the smuggler's run, and the Captain was instructed to remain on station, by CincLant. (Commander in Chief Atlantic Fleet).

The only response was from a super-tanker, that happened to pass about eight miles away from the supposed derelict, and had no intention of stopping, but said the vessel was still afloat, with the current seeming to be taking it generally NorthWest, at about two knots.

Cath said it was about an hour and a half SouthWest of us, and did we think it worth our while to go and see if the boat was still afloat? Everyone looked at Josie.

After a moment, she called up the companion-way – "Dan steer 210 for now, and we'll see if we can see it!"

"210, Cap'n." Mineva leaned over to starboard a few degrees.

The first boat we saw in the area was a Drifter, with nets out, and a small triangular sail raised. The scruff in the wheelhouse bellowed that we should "Erf orf, or else!"

"Not that one, then!" Sandy shrugged, "Try that one." She touched a dot on the radar screen. "That one looks stopped, too."

"I've never seen a boat with the wheelhouse on corner-wise, before!" Tony commented, as he studied the boat through the binoculars, as we closed, "And I can't see any movement."

"What's the name – Marie Celeste?" Cath asked, around a mouthful of corned dog wedge.

"No lights, no exhaust smoke." Tony continued his commentary. "What's an inshore boat doing all the way out here?"

WE eased alongside – with a few feet of clearance, but we could see that there was nobody in the wheelhouse, which looked as though a big hammer had given it a clout. There were no engine noises, not even from a small generator, and our shouts and blasts on the horn raised nobody.

"Tony, Alan, hop over, take a rope, and tie us to that wreck. Dan – ease us in alongside."

"Right, Skip."

He did, they did, and - "Skip, there's two bodies on the aft deck!" Alan called.

"Bodies as in paralytic, or bodies as in dead?"

"Just checking, but by the amount of blood – bodies as in dead."

"Oh hell! Tony, check below."

"Skip."

"Dead, and going stiff, Skip!"

"Very dead, then." Josie scratched her head. "Cath, call it in on the radio, please, with our position."

A long, lean greyhound eased to a halt a cable or so off, as the Navy arrived. After a brief flurry of activity, a Gemini dinghy skittered across the water, with three matelots in it, one brandishing a radio, and one a Gladstone-type bag. He must be the Ship's Doctor.

"They are definitely dead!" He declared after a peremptory inspection. "One oriental, and one Caucasian, I'd say he was the engineer, by the grease on his clothes, and the pallor of the skin. The other – cook?"

The officer with the radio said he'd call his ship, and get a scratch crew sent over, to sail the wreck back to the nearest harbour, where the Harbour-master could find out who the owner was.

"They won't get far, there is no fuel in the tanks!" Dan said. "We checked."

"Oh bugger!"

"Exactly!"

Sandy emerged from the hatch leading to the crew quarters, looking puzzled, and paced carefully along the deck, to the marks where the wheelhouse used to be, turned, went back, and back below. A few moments later, she was up again, repeating the actions, then went forrard, opened the bow hatch, and peered into the rope and anchor-chain locker.

Tony interrupted by saying - "They were off-course."

"How d you know?"

"Easy, some dim-wit had hung a great big steel knife off the balance on one side of the compass binnacle, so it was reading about fourty-five degrees off!" He brandished a leather sheath with what looked like a machete in it. "What ARE you doing, Sandy?"

She was still looking puzzled, as she looked where the front bulkhead of the fish-hold was. "The crew cabin is three feet shorter, inside, than it is outside!"

"How do you mean?"

"What I said! The hold stops here" - she stamped on the deck - "Then there's the engine-room, which comes to here." She gestured at the hatch, "because there's a bit of an inset for the ladder. Then the front of the cabin stops – here, but the locker comes back to – here. There must be a space in between, but I can't see any way in."

"Has anyone noticed that there are three used mugs in there?" Tony asked.

"Just a minute – just a minute." The Doc interrupted us. "Does that meat-cleaver have a belt-clip on the sheath?" It did. "Then who was carrying it? The oriental doesn't have a belt, and the engineer only appears to have overalls on.

"The belt is still draped over the compass binnacle – but don't bother fetching it, there's no way it will go around either of these, they are – were - both too fat. This belonged to a thin guy." Tony added.

"So – where is number three, the thin one who was presumably steering?" The Officer with the radio asked, ably demonstrating that not all Naval Officers were particularly intelligent, as the person clearly was not on board, and there was only one other possible option.

We were volunteered to take our 'salvage' in tow, to the nearest safe port, as the Navy had to go haring off at 35 knots, to do whatever the Navy did at sea - at 35 knots. The two corpses were roughly bundled up in pieces of tarpaulin, and put into the cabin, out of the way of the marauding seagulls, - (and sight) – for the shore people to deal with, when we got there.

The joint efforts of Zeke and the brass in Admiralty smoothed our passage, as it were, and we weren't delayed for long with more ridiculous questions.

So – we were soon off to our next job, which is - - - (Still to be written! - Teaser!!)

...........................................................Coming home.

Sally-Anne, a small coaster weighing in at around 1200 tons, fully laden, was butting through the moderate swell that was the aftermath of yet another storm, one which had held her captive in Plymouth sound for a week. As she rounded the headland, and the radar, which was working for once, was showing the line of the breakwater protecting the destination harbour, the Skipper picked up the radio microphone, checked he was on the local channel, then gave the Harbour-master a call, to see if the ferry was in, out, or in between.

"Ah, boyo, she's still tied to the wall, bring the old lass home. Be careful and keep to the West of the marked channel, though. Fred said that the deep channel seems to have moved again, but we've not had the chance to survey it or mark it properly yet!"

"Ar!" The skipper acknowledged. "It does that every now and then, when a big one stirs the bottom up. I'll keep an eye on the sounder, and bring her in slow." He studied the leaping water outside his bridge window, judging the wind, the current flow, and the tide with an experienced eye, as he positioned Sally. These little Cornish fishing villages were all the same, built around where a river emptied into the sea through a crack in the cliffs that looked as though an angry giant had walloped an axe into the land, leaving a deep narrow gash, filled with water.

He picked up an intercom mike, and bellowed at his Engineer, "Jock, put your girlie magazine down, now, and stand by, we're about to come in." Vaguely he wondered why all Marine Engineers were Scots.

Eventually, the speaker gave a laconic "Ar."

Sally came round in a big sweeping curve, pitching and rolling wildly in the choppy seas, slowing down as she lined up with the harbour entrance, her Skipper and the Bosun looking for the channel marker buoys.

"Fifteen feet, Skip!" The deckie warned, as he watched the depth-sounder.

"Fifteen? It should be more like thirty, here!" Skip muttered, as he pulled the telegraph back to dead slow. They felt the engine vibrations die back, as the exhaust burbled and popped.

"Fourteen, Skip!"

The Skipper let her head fall off a bit more to the West, and crossed everything he could, without letting go of the vital controls. They needed twelve feet, or they'd touch bottom.

"There's one, fine on the starboard bow, white." The Bosun called.

"Is that a buoy or a pot?"

"S'too big for a lobster pot mark."

"Well, it's in the wrong place, then, it should be on the other side of the deep channel, not the offshore!" The Skipper eased another spoke to port.

"Bottom's dropping, Skip, sixteen now!"

They eased their way in, groping for the squirming deep channel with the depth sounder. It was no longer a straight run, but weaved randomly back and to, and fluctuating in depth from fifteen to fourty feet.

"There must have been a hell of a run-off to shift it this much!" The Skipper cursed as he wound the wheel back and to, trying to follow the guidance of the sounder, at this low speed, with the sluggish responses.

The Harbour-master watched their drunken approach through his glasses, as Sally-Anne zig-zagged her way in. Then there was a sudden blast of exhaust smuts and smoke from her funnel, as water boiled under her stern – forwards!

"Skip – go full back, she's shallowing fast!" The deckie yelled, as he clung to the grab-handles by the display, "Fifteen – thirteen, twelve - "

They felt Sally check as the mud of the bottom caressed her hull, before the prop could bite, then there was a horrible screeching clang, and a violent twist, as she hit something solid.

Reflexively, the Bosun sounded the siren, repeated long blasts to signify a hazard, as Sally began to back off from whatever it was.

The intercom screeched, then Jock's voice yelled from the engine-room - "She's holed! I've got the pumps running now, but you've got about five minutes!"

"OK, Jock, Give me full ahead, then get everyone out of there. I'll park her on the nearest beach we can get to."

The screaming distress siren brought the whole village to a stand. Nobody needed telling what the noise meant. By the time the third blast was echoing from the cliffs, the crew of the Inshore lifeboat were dropping what they were doing, and running for the boat-house.

Automatically, the Harbour-master reached for the big red button that would sound the alarm, then realised it wasn't necessary. Instead, he reached for the phone, and dialled three nines.

Sally-Anne fought against the sea, all the way in. Her decks were just beginning to go under when she grounded, with a long-drawn grinding crunch, onto the pebble beach just inside the break-water. Her engine had drowned a few moments earlier, and the propeller had stopped turning. She seemed to sigh, as she leaned gently about ten degrees to port, her bows a couple of feet higher than her stern, pushed up by her momentum and the rising beach, not too far from the fuelling jetty.

A week later, the sea was as calm as the proverbial mill-pond, and a new line of buoys were provisionally marking the new channel. A rubber dinghy was floating casually, just off to one side of a large red 'Danger' buoy with a strobe light on it. One man in a black suit sat near the little outboard engine, watching the bubbles of exhaled breath popping on the surface. His two pals were down in the murk, trying to work out what Sally-Anne had struck, because there was supposed to be nothing but mud down there! The slow, relaxed bursts of bubbles began to bunch up, signifying that the divers were on their way up, then a hand appeared, thumb and first finger curled in a circle, the rest held straight, the diver's sign for OK. Two masked heads appeared, and looked around for the boat.

"Behind you!" They turned, and finned a few feet over, to where a light ladder dangled into the water, then began passing their heavy kit up, weight belts first, then the cylinders that held the compressed air they had been breathing. Four fins were tossed over the transom, then they took turns to climb the short ladder, pausing to let the sea drain from their wet-suit cuffs, back to where it belonged.

"Bloody hell, it's cold!" The first one up exclaimed, as he made room for his pal. "Like diving in just-thawed Brown Windsor. I could just about see my fingers when I pressed them against my mask!"

"It's a ship of some kind – or was!" The second diver said. "It's well smashed up, but it's been there a long time, because it is heavily encrusted with concretion."

"Could you make out what size it was, or a name?" The cox'n asked.

"Hard to tell, but I'd say it was a coaster, about the same size as Sal. I could feel letters on the stern, which is all that is sticking out of the mud, and it felt like it read – er – Gol something, and underneath was Newcas – I presume Newcastle." He looked at his partner, who nodded agreement.

The cox'n picked up a Marine Band walkie-talkie, and passed the information to the Harbour-master, who said that he knew nothing about any wreck in that area, and that he'd get the Lloyds book out, to see if anything matched up.

It took a message to Lloyds Insurers, themselves, before Gol was provisionally identified.

It took some serious digging into the files to find that there had only been two Gol somethings, registered in Newcastle, which had been lost at sea. One was known to have been a large oil tanker, torpedoed in mid Atlantic by a German submarine, in 1939, so it probably wasn't her! The other one had the odd name of Golpatie, and had been a collier of about 75 tons tare, sunk in an uncertain position off Cornwall in 1940 by Stuka dive-bombers.

Two months passed by, the Sally-Anne was patched up, pumped out, and towed round to Plymouth, where she was dry-docked for repairs, and to remove what remained of her cargo. (As is the way off Cornwall, some of it had already magically unloaded itself!)

A commercial diving team were working on the remains of Golpatie, preparing to remove the wreck from the channel, as she was now a hazard. They had been using high-pressure water jets to blast the mud away, allowing them to cut up the rusting skeleton with acetylene torches. Most of the stern, and the engine block, had been floated and winched off, then transported to a scrap-yard.

The divers were now working through the holds, which contained, naturally enough, coal. Once the mangled decks had been cut away a big grab on a chain, lowered from the barge-crane, had removed a lot of the coal, although it would take a long time before it was dry enough to be of any use. Now the lower layers needed to be removed, so that the bottom of the hull could be cut up. There was a tangle of crumpled steel beams in the way, though, so they had to be removed first.

Working in the poor visibility, in between tides, when the current was slack, the divers were busy again with their cutting torches. One of them had found what felt like a big domestic water-boiler, solidly corroded onto one of the beams, and jammed against the hull plate. No matter which way he tried, he couldn't get his flame at the beam, so the boiler would have to go first. His flame touched it, and – an instant too late – he realised what it wa - - - - –

Two old salts were sitting in the pub, nursing their pints, and musing. "They said they're going to build a new oil jetty, close by the railway line."

"Ar. Never did like it where it was, anyway! Too near the open, so if it were a bit choppy, you had the devil's own getting tied up!"

"Aye!" He took a long pull at his pint. "But it'll be no bloody good if they do what they are talking of, and scrap the coast line, because of where it broke at Dawlish, and rerouting it inland!"

"I hadn't heard that."

"Ar. They found that Brunel's line was laid on sand, not rock. So once the wall gave way, the sand just washed out. We all thought he'd built it on rock!"

"These youngsters, always cutting corners to save a few bob! Who is Brunel?"

.................................................................UAV

I was returning to base, after completing a wet job down in Kent, when I first became aware I'd picked up a tail, somewhere around Crewe. I had just made a visit to the kitchen car, and paid an extortionate price for a plastic cup of hot brown stuff they claimed was coffee, and a shrink-wrapped slice of what looked like fruit cake, and was making my way back to my seat, when his studied glance drew my attention. I knew he wasn't looking at my purchase, and the rest of me isn't worthy of a second glance, either, with my 'weather-beaten' and rather well-lived-in appearance. Possibly he was gay, but I'm not, so he'd be wasting his time there!

I was trying to find the way into the plastic nightmare, when he 'happened' to wander up the centre aisle of the 'quiet' coach, and 'just happened' to glance at me again. The little warning bell in the back of my mind went 'ding!', but he went on past, and into the next – the end – coach. There was nothing in there except a few more passengers, and then the other power car of the ancient Pendolino.

I put the plastic-wrapped rock onto the little table that separated the other two seats, told it I'd be back in a minute, and slid into the toilet compartment in the vestibule at the end of the coach, and waited, a foot jamming the door almost shut, so I could watch through a half centimetre gap. A minute or so later he wandered back again, saw I wasn't in my seat, had a hasty glance around the other three heads visible in the almost empty coach, and sped up his wandering along the aisle.

I made the cistern make it's noises, splashed a bit of water into the micro-handbasin, looked for a paper towel, failed to find any, and resumed my seat, shaking water off my hands. It took him nearly five minutes to cover the length of the nine coaches, and return, visibly relaxing when he saw me back in my 'rightful' place. Now I knew, even though he went past, and towards the rear power car again, to casually return a minute or so later, with a flickering glance at me as I finally found the 'start' to the cling-film wrapper.

Plan 'B' kicked in, and I de-trained at Warrington Bank Quay station, (where the quay is, I have no idea!) and changed to a stopper that took the long way around to Manchester, via Earlestown, Newton, Patricroft, and Eccles. While I was waiting on the platform, I thought I glimpsed him, once, glancing around the side of the platform staff's hidey-hole. There was nowhere for him to hide in the one-car railbus, though, so he had to settle for the opposite end to the seat I took. Now I was pretty certain I was his target, so at Earlestown, I de-trained, and set off over the footpath through the waste-land scrub in between platforms formed by the triangle of lines where the Cheshire line from Winwick joined the Liverpool and Manchester.

He followed me. Now I was certain, because nobody gets off at Earlestown unless they really have to! There was nobody else around, so as the footpath weaved around a big, dense old buddleia bush, I stepped off behind it, and waited.

He heard my steps halt, and rushed incautiously around the bend, amateur! So I killed him.

I didn't say, did I, but that is my job, permanently sorting out other people's problems. Another glance around revealed nobody else, so I dragged him off the path, and into the scrub, then searched his pockets for anything useful. There was no I/D, just a plastic card that claimed his name was Frank Stein, (then – my name wasn't my name, either!) a couple of the discontinued Euro notes, and a thin wad of £10 notes, in his wallet. He wouldn't be needing those again, so I put them into my own. His watch, and a chunky ring on a finger, were flung deeper into the scrub, so it would look like a robbery. The plastic would get dropped down a street grid, at an opportune moment, as it was of no use to me, except as a glue-spreader.

Another quick look around, before I rejoined the path – and that's when I saw it, the black and yellow painted Police UAV, floating about ten metres high, and fifty away, it's glass eye staring at me! Damn! I blinded it with an illegal lazer, watched it wobble, then the auto-pilot kicked in, and it went home for maintenance. Moving quickly, now, I took my blue fleece off, turned it inside out, and put it on again, so I was now wearing a pale grey one, threw my optically flat-lensed spectacles into the scrub, and went back to the platform I'd disembarked from, heading over the footbridge, and into the remnants of a once busy small town. I hadn't gone very far, though, when I saw another drone heading for the spot I'd been standing on, so it didn't look as though my activity had been unnoticed after all. I hoped that my different appearance would be enough to fool it and the operator, as it floated past me, making a noise like a swarm of angry wasps. It looked chunkier than the previous one – a new model, perhaps?

As I climbed the foot-bridge over the railway, I glanced across at it again, and saw that it had sunk lower, to about two feet off the ground, more or less where I had been standing by the bush. There was nothing there for it to see, unless it could 'see' the thermal image of my footprint. I hadn't been in that spot for very long, though, so the image must have been pretty diffuse, if there was one there at all. As I watched, it lifted slightly, then began tracking slowly along the foot-way, heading towards the nearby housing estate – the obvious direction to go. But no! It stopped, span through 180', and began drifting back towards the bush again, hesitated, then continued along the track, zig-zagging slightly like a dog following a scent trai – they couldn't - could they? It certainly looked like it, as it followed along to the bridge, then lifted up the steps, maintaining the same height above the surface.

I realized I was standing watching it! Time to be elsewhere – sharpish! Plan 'B', find a crowd of people, and lose myself in it – so I headed for the town square, hoping there would be some sort of gathering there - a festival, or a market, or something!

I was lucky, it was market day, and the square was fairly busy, with a large number of people milling about, ideal for losing a scent trail in!

I emerged at an odd angle that was more or less on the other side of the square, then took a side-street back towards the direction I wanted to go. I could hear people pausing in their conversations, and talking about the drone, which seemed to be floating around just above their heads. I seemed to have fooled it by my crowd-dodge.

Then an angry whine drew my eyes upwards, and another one of the same design came past at speed just above the roof-tops, heading for the square.

"That's right, look all you want!" I muttered "I'm not there!"

"Don't know what you done – don't care!" An old chap was sitting on a doorstep, with a mug of something that steamed, "But they new 'uns can follow yer DNA, an' when they got it, they don' let go. Booger orf smartish before any more on 'em turns up!"

That seemed like good advice, and as I was doing exactly that anyway, I did it smarter!

As I rounded the next corner, following a convoluted route, another one of the things came whining past just above head-height, going towards the square. Then there was that angry whine noise again, along with a rapid slapping sound, making me look around in time to see the drone perform a crash-stop, a 180, and a back-flip all in one, dip down to about three feet, sig-zag where I had just walked, and head directly at me! I shot it to bits with another highly illegal weapon, and left it in a smoking heap on the ground. How could it possibly – could they 'talk' to each other without going via the base?

I ducked down a back 'ginnel' and added a few more evasive direction changes, but I could hear another drone whining along not too far behind, no matter how I ducked and dived. Perhaps they could pass detailed info directly to each other! Were they intelligent enough to know that I'd 'killed' one, so they would follow at a safe distance, steering the protein cops to me? Had that one I'd just knocked down had time to shout "Here he is!"

I thought of summoning an auto-cab, but then un-thought it again. They had the ability to remotely lock in any passengers that failed to pay the fare, or were disorderly in some form or other, take them to the nearest cop-shop, and summon assistance. I didn't want to be anywhere that I could be locked into, but I needed to be elsewhere – and fast, but without hurrying, which would draw attention! Perhaps I could find somewhere with doors at either end, go in, close the door, go through, close the other, and block them that way? There were no stores like that here, though! It was all residential, or little pokey corner places that sold a bit of everything in small sizes. I had to think of something – and fast!

The main-frame 'watched' the target moving along, using a combination of the sniffer-drones, video cameras, infra-red and thermal imaging cameras, and pressure sensors to follow, as the protein thing flailed around in a confused manner, seemingly unable to decide where it should go next, as it had already gone around in an asymmetric rectangle, and crossed over it's own tracks. Slowly – for a computer – it positioned it's pieces to form the trap the target would walk into. It was positioning three net-throwers and a couple of tazer-bots, in a way that the target would have to pass one or more, to escape. One small part of the processor sent a ground recovery vehicle to collect the downed sniffer, while another part was watching a pick-pocket operating in another area, and guided a couple of protein cops to intercept it. A few bytes were contemplating the thermal source that was slowly reducing, near the railway station, and a few more was watching a hot-spot that was a minor conflagration in a waste bin, started by some infant protein targets on their way – presumably – home from school. A line of command data marched past a reader, causing a hydrant to raise up from the foot-way, open a valve, and dowse the fire with a well-aimed jet of water. The hot-spot cooled rapidly, while the identities of the targets were sought, confirmed, and a mark placed on their records, by another few bytes of ram.

The target it was hunting turned down another back-lane which didn't have coverage either by camera or pressure sensors, but it had no other exits except the one at the other end, which was covered by a camera, so the computer 'watched' both, as the target had no choice but go one way or the other.

After a period of time had elapsed, neither camera had sensed the target, so the computer sent a basic – expendable – drone down the alley to find the target. Nothing showed on the camera it carried, so a sniffer-drone followed, trailing the scent to find out where – the trail just stopped! There were no doors or openings, and the walls were sheer. Another sniffer was sent in from the other end, just in case the sensor had failed, but there was no trace, until – there! Where the other drone was floating. It was impossible for a protein target to not release DNA scent, but this one had. The main-frame was confused! It made the sniffer-drones back-track, turn and re-scan the lane, with the same results. It drew on a lot more processing power, looking for a solution to something it could not find a programme for. The two protein cops arrested each other, while the pick-pocket got away free, and the automated traffic system had a power-fade that brought everything to a fail-safe stand.

The main-frame, looking for a programme that did not exist, because it wasn't possible, and so had not been written, was driven into a hysteresis loop, crashed, shut down, re-booted, and sent itself an error message. As it was impossible for a protein target to disappear, it logically concluded that the whole chain of data, including the target's identity code, was corrupted, so to avoid another crash, sent it to a 'bin', then deleted it, after sending itself another error message.

It was quite warm down here, although the odour was dreadful. The rats didn't seem to mind, though! It was a tight squeeze in the sewer, until it opened out into a larger diameter one, where I could crawl on hands and knees. I had no idea where it led, but I knew one thing – I'd need a bath and new clothes when I found a way out again, before I finished my journey! Why there were lights down here, I don't know, but I was grateful for them. Why they had all dimmed, then gone out completely for nearly a minute, then come back on, I don't know that, either. The important thing was – it was a drone-free zone!

....................................................Forced Landing 1

The Engineer reported that a fault was developing, and it would need a total drive shut-down so he could repair it.

So the Captain decided to land on a nearby planet, to save the crew having to work in free-fall. The survey team rejected the first couple, as they were too small, and had an insignificant gravity, or their natural rotation was too fast for comfort, so they chose a green/blue one, with a moderate rotation speed, and a small polar wobble that was a safe distance from a self-sustaining sphere of nuclear reaction that was too dangerous to approach closely. There was a very thin atmosphere of random vapours that surrounded the selected globe, and a slightly thicker one of hydrogen and a rare gas known as oxygen, in a strange two to one mix that covered around three-quarters of it, in the low-lying areas.

The ship settled down onto a crust of slightly harder but crumbly substance that gave way beneath the weight, until it reached equilibrium and a habitable temperature, at a gee-loading of around one two-hundredth of our home planet.

While the engineer waited for the thermal drive-room to warm up to a survivable temperature, we ran a brief survey of the area, looking for intelligent life, but there was nothing. A very few single-celled spores were noted, but they had a zero level reaction score.

After several planetary rotations, the engine-room temperature had risen, was accessible in a thermal suit, and the necessary repairs and adjustments made.

The engineer then ran a few tests, and indicated that all was well, so we resumed our interrupted journey. Once in clear space, we sent a signal home saying that this planet wasn't worth further study.

The Farmer heard his sheep protesting, cursed, climbed out of bed, dressed, collected his shot-gun, and went to see if he could get that damned fox that had been taking his lambs. He got to the lower field in his Landie, then paused, not believing what he was seeing. The sheep were all crammed in one corner, by the dry-stone wall, and in the middle of the pasture - - -

Hastily, he drove home again, and picked up the telephone, then began to argue with Directory Enquiries over whether he really wasn't drunk or hallucinating, and did want to report a volcano, and who to – in the centre of rural Cheshire!

........................................................Forced Landing 2

We had been tasked with surveying the planets surrounding an orange-yellow star, and had been working inwards from the smaller lumps of rock that were orbiting, finding nothing worthy of note. Several of the larger ones had small systems of their own, ranging from grains of dust up to moderate-sized rocks, but all were devoid of any life, except that here and there were traces of long-deceased mosses and algaes.

It was looking as though we had arrived too late for this system, but we continued the task anyway.

Next in line was a moderately large sphere which had a thin atmosphere, and liquid water around most of the surface, with hard water at the two poles, where the surface temperature was lower. It had a single satellite that was orbiting on a longer period than the planetary rotation, and this satellite seemed to have an almost zero rotation, just sufficient to turn once per orbit – thus keeping the same 'face' towards the planet.

Then our observers noted that there were a large number of small metallic objects also in orbit at various distances, some of which were effectively stationary above various land-masses, and some in very random non-symmetrical orbits. After a lot of discussion, the observers concluded that these objects were artificial, which could only mean there had been intelligent life somewhere nearby. The scientists made generalized measurements of some visible antenna-like structures on the surface of one, but the dimensions were ridiculous, suggesting wavelengths of many times that of natural light – approaching a light minute, which was electro-physically impossible.

Communications were busy searching all known wave-lengths, but found nothing to indicate there was any activity, so we eased in a bit nearer, to where the optics could be used.

That was when the observers noted that the atmosphere was filled with small metallic objects moving around at significant speed, leaving white vapour trails behind, presumably from the friction of their passage, as these trails gradually faded away.

While we were studying these objects, trying to understand if there was any pattern in their movements, our collision alarm sounded. Before we could respond, some small object struck us a glancing blow, somewhere on the hull, with a resounding clang!

That triggered various other damage alarms, including one indicting a loss of internal pressure, so following a hasty decision, we made a landing on a flat green area so we could affect repairs.

The green substance, close up, was created by large numbers of individual blades that stood more or less upright from the ground, which in turn was made of tiny particles of extinct growths, and small boulders, all bonded together with traces of liquid water! The blades reached up higher than the top of our ship, so we thought we would be able to remain unseen by any natives, of which we had gained a brief glimpse. They were all quadrupeds, covered all over with coarse hairs, and they appeared to be eating the green blades, apparently unaware of our arrival. Our communicators were trying to tune them in, but failed, reporting that the beings had almost no intelligence beyond a vague sense of belonging – what to, they couldn't discern.

The repair team went outside, began mending the hull-split, and replaced a couple of damaged antennas, while they were out there. They reported that it wasn't such an easy job, because large amounts of liquid water kept dropping on them from nowhere, as they were working, threatening to knock them off their platforms. They also reported that the green blades in the immediate vicinity of our ship were turning brown, and falling over, some of them falling onto the ship and the workers, also nearly knocking them off. Why it was happening, they didn't know.

It was due to this effect that the observers obtained a new vista across a bare area of rough black ground, to where some cliffs were visible. It also allowed them to see large numbers of tall, thin, bi-pedal creatures moving very slowly in a linear fashion along the cliff base, some going one way, others in the opposite way, and again lacking any obvious pattern. Because of the way they moved, it appeared that they were always on the point of over-balancing, and falling flat, but never did. A lot of them supported dome-like structures above them as they moved. These domes were of all colours and patterns, so it was thought that perhaps they were some form of status indicator. Did that mean that the ones with no dome had no status – perhaps they were slaves?

Then it was noted that some form of short lengths of tubing, mostly white, was fitted into an orifice high up on a large number of the creatures, and clouds of vapour followed them in billows, so perhaps they were some form of mechanised devices, and the tubing provided fuel to run them. If they were machines, there was nothing to be gained by trying to contact one, so we didn't bother. If there was intelligent life here, we hadn't found it.

We were preparing to lift-off, and continue with our task when there was a sudden – extremely violent - movement of our ship, in several planes simultaneously, causing massive damage to the systems, and killing a lot of the crew who were not yet strapped into their places, as they were dashed against the various fittings and structures. All lighting failed, pitching us into darkness, with only the light that came through a couple of small ports remaining, and then that went out as well, followed by more violent movements that ripped fittings from the floor and slammed them against the roof.

I think there is only me left, and I cannot move, as I have been smashed against a wall, and am trapped by an instrument panel that has broken loose. I have managed to trigger the distress beacon, and hope that this recording device is still working, so that when we are found, they will know what - - - - - - -

The street-sweeper looked at the crumpled plastic-foil balloon that he had just trodden on – that presumably some child had dumped on the verge and forgotten. It almost looked like it had been a flying saucer, or some similar thing. As it was broken, and so flimsy, he crumpled it up in a hand, tossed it into his trolley-bin of other rubbish, took a long suck on his cigarette, and wandered on, wishing it would stop raining.

...........................................................Tommy Feet

That's what I am known as, Tommy Feet. Everybody needs a name, to be identified by, so that was mine. I used to have another, and a number that went with it, but that was before.

Now, I had nothing, I had my home in a plastic bag that I carried everywhere, and I was dressed in what I was wearing – and I had one other thing, a thing that never wore out, and could not be taken from me. I used to have a watch, it didn't work, but I had one, but that was taken from me, one night, and I never even noticed for a few days. Before you think the obvious – no, I wasn't off my head on cheap booze or chemicals, I just didn't notice – until I happened to look at my wrist to see why it felt a little bit odd! I hope that whoever has it now gets as much pleasure from it as I did. Do I begrudge him or her? No, of course not, I got it the same way, only that person had stopped living anyway, and had no further use for it. It didn't work then, either.

I used to be with a load of other guys and a few women, we all had numbers – all different – and we all dressed the same, and did what we were told by guys with numbers, who did what they were told by other guys with numbers and smart suits, who did what THEY were told by guys without numbers, but with even smarter suits, until I saw the folly of it all, and left. I didn't leave early enough, though, and left a piece of one of my feet and a couple of fingers in the sand somewhere, next to a big pool of oil. Everything stank of oil, the land, the air, the food, our clothes, us, we lived in and on it, we breathed oil vapours, we ate oil mist. We had been there to stop the guys who wore nighties all day from blowing each other up – so they took to blowing US up instead, and shooting at us whenever they got the chance. That was before. Now, there was just now. I lived wherever I was, I dined whenever I found something edible, and I looked at the ground, watching for discarded coins, those valueless little bits of metal that other people cannot be bothered to pick up again, should they drop one as they go from day to day, running at top speed to go nowhere in their meaningless little lives.

This day, I was just outside the main clubland area on the edge of what used to be a nice town, but more than half the places were now shut - and boarded up - courtesy of the Supermarkets and their cut-price deals that saved a person a few bob on the grocery bills, but cost them an arm and a leg to get out to them in their expensive, petrol guzzling cars. I had just found a nice piece of cigar – I don't smoke, but it could be traded – when I heard screaming and jeering from the depths of a back-alley. The jeering seemed to be male, and the screaming female, and I could guess what was – or was going to – happen. My feet took me down the alley, and I found what I expected, two slap-heads, were dragging a young girl around by her hair, her clothing in disarray, and bruises just beginning to show where they had hit her - a drool of blood from a split lip.

It took me about two seconds to stop it – and I would have just turned and left them to it – after all, that is life, and the girl should have known better, she looked like she was selling it – but one of the thugs told me to eff off and mind my own business. Fair enough, but he shouldn't have called me a dirty wino tramp. That was wrong. Dirty I may be, Tramp I was, but not a wino!

So, one was lying on the floor, curled up and clutching his family treasures, while vomiting his earlier meal all over himself, the other one was having a little snooze as he leaned against the wall.

I carefully didn't watch as the girl tried to cover herself, putting a baby breast back into the brassiere, then pulling the knitted top down over it, and tugging the very short skirt back down over her stained panties. Then I walked her to a nearby bus shelter, and sat her down – it was too early for the buses to be running – and waited while she calmed down and stopped sobbing. I sat with her, just far enough away so that she would feel safe, but near enough so that she would feel safe, if you understand that. I was in no hurry, I had nowhere to be, and all day to get there, so what was a few more minutes of waiting? I saw her get onto the first bus, and that neither of the two lads had been near, and that was the end of that – almost. As she took a seat, she looked at me, gave a crooked smile, and blew me a kiss of thanks. That was payment enough. The bus driver gave me a funny look, but she said something to him, then he grinned, and stirred the gear-shift, so I assume she said that I'd not touched her.

I never saw the girl again, but it triggered an idea in me that I thought I had left behind. (No, not sex, there is nothing special about that!) As I resumed my search for breakfast, I pondered over the idea. I was lucky, too, because a glint of metal in a corner led me to a pound coin, two ten pence's, a five, and a couple of coppers that looked like someone's change, from a taxi fare, maybe, that had been dropped, and they couldn't be bothered to search for the coins in the dark and rubbish.

My feet took me to an all-night sausage and burger van that usually began to pack up for the day, about now, and if the owner was feeling generous, she would sometimes give our kind any odds and ends that were left over, rather than just discard it, so with my money, I could afford to buy one, for once! I ended up with two bacon and egg burgers, and a cup of well-stewed tea, which suited me fine – luxury for once – and she gave me back the 25 pence – for later. As I began to walk away, she said "I heard what happened, earlier." Considering that there had seemed to be nobody around, word on the jungle telegraph spreads the news fast!

It happened again, a few days later – well, nights, really – I was passing another alley (all towns have back alleys that sensible people don't go near after sunset) when I heard the grunts and thuds of two people 'going at it' with fists. My inquisitive feet took me to see, (Who said I was sensible?) and I found a group of four, against one of those who don't know which side to bat on. If it had been one on one, or even two on one, I'd have left them to it, but four isn't fair. One cannot defend against four unless the one has had training, and was in practice. I have, and the four hadn't, so it didn't take long, they were just street bullies. Once I'd made sure the one was still mobile, I left them to get on. What he did to them after, I have no idea, probably nothing, as they are usually gentle souls. He did ask my name, and I told him, but refused his gesture of some money for my trouble. What good is money, I would only spend it! I just said to be more careful where he went, and who with, in future!

It seemed that the 'word' was getting around, wherever I went, as there seemed to be less bother, and the very occasional patrolling quad of coppers – yes, quad, they go around in two pairs, these days, (like the old-time fighter pilots) if they are out of their fancy cars – stopped telling me to 'Move On' and began to say "Hello Tommy, are you OK?". Now and then, they'd treat me to a cuppa or a bite from one of the snack vans, because it seemed that wherever I was, they didn't need to be.

On this day, my damaged foot had been causing more bother than normal, and I was limping heavily as I plodded on my way, so I was tending to rest more, and walk less. I had 'parked' on a low wall, for a while, when one of the market-stall holders saw me and asked what the trouble was. I said my foot was hurting – an old war-wound playing up. He asked if there was anything he could do, and I said not really, it wasn't an open wound, just playing up, because my old shoes were about worn out, and leaked if it was wet. He nodded, and said there wasn't much he could do to help with that, as he sold fruit and veg, but he did give me an apple, and a slice of melon, and said to eat the melon, then put the rind in my shoe against the wound, it might help to stop it chafing. I tried it, and it seemed to – it took some of the fire out, anyway. When he saw the remains of my foot, he asked what had happened, and as he was charitable, I told him a little about it. He then asked why I was doing and living the way I was, and I said that we had been trained to kill people, then when 'we' didn't want to do that any more, we were just dumped, with no help from anywhere, and that all I knew to do was what I'd been taught, and nobody wants crippled killers in their work-force, these days. (He glanced at my hands). In passing, he asked the size of my large feet, and winced when I told him they were fourteens! "I thought mine were big!" he replied, then went off to deal with a customer. "Can't promise, but come back this way in a week or so, and I'll see what I can do."

I thought no more about it, as I'd heard those words many times before, and it usually meant nothing. So, it was nearer a quarter of a year before I passed again, my shoes were now stuffed with old newspaper, and held together by bits of string I'd managed to use as a thread to 'stitch' the sole to the uppers, using a bit of sharpened wire as a needle. Along the way, I'd stopped a few more thugs beating up innocent? Young Things, caught a pick-pocket, and persuaded her it wasn't such a good idea, (she accidentally got a few broken fingers when she lashed out at me with a staff!), and generally kept a low profile, as normal. People like us try to remain unseen, although we are in plain view, and people like you tend to not see us, as you dash from one crisis to another in your hectic lives – and wonder why you are ill all the time!

"Hey, I say, excuse me, Sir," A gent in a flash suit was talking to me! "Are you Tommy Feet?"

I admitted that I was known as such.

"That chappie over there on the stall asked me to nip over, as he's busy, and to say that if you can wait a while, he wants to talk to you."

I said, "Thanks, OK." (I'm not used to being called Sir by people in flashy suits!), then sat on the wall, where I'd been those months earlier. The gent was still talking, though.

"You don't remember me, do you?"

I looked at him again. "No, sorry, should I?"

"Probably not, as you were barely awake at the time, I was the surgeon who patched you up, when you got blown up."

What do you say to something like that? "Oh, thanks. Sorry, I don't even know your name!"

"What's a name? I had a silly number as well, just like you, and that is all we were – numbers – cannon fodder for the politicians."

"Yes, well, I'm not a number any more, I'm just me."

"And we've heard what you, and some others like you, have been quietly doing. Did you know you weren't on your own?"

"I've not been doing anything, just walking and living."

"Yes, well, they all say that." He fished in his pocket, and withdrew a small wallet.

"I don't want your money, thank you very much." I said. "I have all I need."

He grinned. "Not money, just a piece of card with an address on it. If you want to know more, just go here, whenever you get around to it, and see." He passed a card to me. "You cannot buy freedom." He drew himself upright, gave a little bow, and walked off.

A while later, the stall-holder came over, with a box in his hand. "I saw you talk to the Doc. I hope you can forgive me for telling him about you."

"Nothing to forgive – talk is free."

"Anyway, if you recall, I said I'd see what I could do. These are not new, but there is plenty of walking left in them. They might be a bit big, as they are fourteen and a half's, but they have to be better than those old ones!" He nodded at my multiply patched old shoes. "These have been bought by my customers. I charged each one a penny more, and saved up the pennies in a tub. Some others put a few bits of change in as well, as I had labelled it. I'm going to keep it going, as long as I can \- for others like you, and maybe I, and we, can help you people to get through the winter that is nearly on us, with bits of warm clothing, as and when. Some of the other stall-holders are doing it as well, now."

I was going to refuse, I don't want charity.

"No, don't look at it as charity, look at it as a thank-you. Not for what you are doing now, that is your own business, but for what you and your kind have done for us in the past. We are so busy looking where we are going, we forget where we came from, and how." He put the box in my hand. "And go and see the Doc, some time. I did!"

................................................Stane on Mappe.

(A tale from the little village of Stane, nestling on the banks of the river Mappe)

I had been heading for Baconsthorpe, near Cromer – I don't even recall why, now – but that's an irrelevance. The roads were typical Norfolk, flat, and straight, with peculiar gnarled trees here and there, deep ditches to one side or the other (or both) full of water, and nothing else to look at. Flat, boring country with lakes, and man-made rivers that they call drains, when the need for a 'pit-stop' began to impress itself on me – both for myself, and for the fuel tank. So I began looking for a suitable location, but of course, the first one I spotted was derelict, the old hand-crank pump rusted, the glass broken, and the hose missing. The building was boarded up, and what glazing remained was of the broken variety. The next one was just closed! And the next, and the next! As it was mid-week, they couldn't ALL be in church, not that I'd seen one. Perhaps they had gone fishing, well, with all the water, where else could they go – underwater golf, if there IS such a game? I was beginning to become concerned about the fuel level remaining, as the little red light had begun to flicker randomly, and my own need was becoming more urgent, when I saw a finger-post pointing down a narrow road, bearing the name of Stane, and the distance 2m.

As this was the first proper village I'd seen any sign of for a while, rather than the usual three houses and a pub type hamlets, I concluded that there must be a petrol station there, so took the turn. It was a very long two miles, and the engine had coughed a couple of times, before I saw buildings. With a sigh of relief, I stuttered onto a forecourt, stopped by a multi-pump, and then made a dash for the Gents.

With the first problem dealt with, I went back to the pump, opened the fuel cap, selected and inserted the appropriate nozzle, and then watched the numbers wheels going around – and around, while the flowing fuel made a very hollow splashing sound!

As I paid for the fuel (and the plastic card winced) I asked if there was a cafe or restaurant nearby, learned that there was not, but there was a bakery 'roun't'corner what did take-outs'. The pimply youth pointed across the street, and gestured a left turn.

After surrounding two ham barms, and a cream bun, washed down by a nice cup of tea, I pulled the map out, intending to find the quickest route back onto the main road. After a minute or so of head-scratching, I had to admit to myself that I didn't quite know where I was, so asked the next passer-by what the place was called.

"Ar, be Stane, boy". Was the response, as the person kept on going past.

Stane, Stain, or was it Stone, with an accent? I knew I had gone past Norwich, and hadn't got to Cromer, so it must be in between, but could I find anything that looked like it? From Norwich, I'd taken the A1402, gone past Horsham, and – what? Yes, the sign had read Stane. I still couldn't find it. So – if I back-track, I should get back to the main road, turn left, and I should be going the right way again. I started the engine, turned on the radio, and found a station broadcasting decent music, which just happened to be 'The Eagles', singing about their hotel in California, then drove back past the petrol station, and along the very long two miles (surveyed with an elastic measure?) to the tee-junction, where I turned left. The road was empty of traffic, and seemed little used – it certainly had not been swept in a while, as the gutters were lined with grit and sand. After driving for half an hour, I saw a small village ahead, and watched for a sign that bore it's name, to give me a clue as to my whereabouts. A steel tubular bridge arched over a small river, and the board on the bridge identified the water as the Mappe, then I drove into the town, and past a familiar-looking petrol station! Yes, it was! Somehow or other, I had gone round in a big circle, and was back where I started, facing the same way. I kept on going, out of the town again, then pulled into a handy lay-by, to peer at the map again. Stane, on the river Mappe. I couldn't find either of them!

So – try again – ahead, to the tee, and left.

After a while of travelling, I drove past a bakery – (everything fresh-made on the premises), and ended up at the petrol station again!

The pimply youth waved cheerfully at me, as I passed. The radio station must have been unmanned, and broadcasting a loop-tape, because 'The Eagles' were telling me I could check out any time I liked, but I could never leave.

"Really?" I asked myself, "I'll see about that!" At the tee-junction, I turned right, which should take me back to Norwich, from where I could start again, this time on the proper road! It took me to another tee junction, with a tubular steel bridge over the river Mappe, to my right, and an empty road to the left. Over the bridge, I could see a small town, with a petrol station prominent, so I turned left, and after a long time, I drove past a petrol station, with a tubular steel bridge in front, over a river. The pimply youth waved cheerfully at me. 'The Eagles' were told 'they hadn't had that spirit here since 1969'. I'd used half a tank of fuel, and gone nowhere!

Down the road a way, I spotted a familiar blue suit, so drove up and asked the Policeman for directions. He said I could take any of the main roads, they all went to the same place.

"Yes." I replied. "I did, and ended up back here again!" I then asked him to show me on my map – exactly where we were.

"Ah, you'll not find Stane on any maps, Sir!" was his reply. "So I can't do that!"

"Then how do I get to Cromer?"

"Cromer? From here, Sir? You cannot."

"Then how do I get back to Norwich?"

"Sir, you don't understand, you cannot get anywhere from here."

That was fourty years ago. My car has long-since stopped working, and there are no parts here to repair it. Several times, I set off on foot, walked all day, and ended up still here. I've even gone cross-country, and apart from being thwarted by all the water, and forced back onto the roads, I've got no further. I sometimes wonder how long they searched for me, with no success. There are telephones here, but they only reach other people in Stane, no outside calls are possible, and the only radio station I ever heard was still playing the same old tape, until it wore out and broke.

A new villager joined us a while back, in a sleek-looking car with all kinds of gizmo's, but they had stopped working after a few months. She had a thing she called an eye-pad, which was a plastic-looking thing with an opaque window on one flat side, that she claimed could connect her to anywhere in the world by something she called a net, but it didn't work when she tried it. It just lit up the words 'no signal'. Her car has joined mine, several others, and a bus, all quietly rusting away behind the petrol station, along with a few tankers that had arrived with a fresh load of fuel for the station, over the years

.............................................................Now what?

We were scientists, studying various aspects of life in zero gravity. The obvious place to do this, of course, is in free-fall, and there are two possible places – The American International Space Station, or the Russian one, Mir. We were on Mir (because it is cheaper!) and having suffered the ribbing about experimenting with procreation in free-fall, and the like, we had settled in nicely in our permanently falling telephone box.

For those of you who do not comprehend falling, but never landing, we were falling onto a target that keeps moving, so when we get there, it is somewhere else! (That is putting it very simply!)

The experiment of trying to breed guppies – those colourful little fish that make more little fish faster than you can separate them – failed dismally. We quickly discovered that trying to keep water in a container, whilst blowing air into it, to keep the fish alive, wouldn't work. Without gravity the bubbles of air don't know which way is up, and just sit there at the end of the feeder-pipe, getting bigger and bigger, pushing the water out of the recycling drain, and the fish themselves, with no ability to orient themselves, with no up or down - swam helplessly into the air bubble, where they flapped their fins helplessly until they suffocated!

So we had to concentrate on air-breathers, or if you prefer, mice. (Or hamsters).

Things were progressing nicely, and the long-term Astronaut crew had been showing an interest in what we were trying to do – in fact one or two of our 'subjects' had been borrowed - as pets!

Naturally, we kept an ear – or rather, a radio – on the goings on of our home planet, of which we have some stupendous and rather vertiginous views, clouds permitting! So, we were more or less up to speed on the goings-on of East versus West versus the Middle East versus the Far East, and all their squabbles and air-space infringements, illegal immigrants, and pontificating politicians, (not to mention the prolifically bonking self-acclaimed 'personalities'). (Damn, I've mentioned them!)

We knew that the USAAF were using UAV's to try to bomb ISIS, and getting nowhere fast. We know that the Russians had a go, and claimed to have wiped 50% of them out in a fortnight. We knew of the riots in Calais, and in the Scandinavian countries, where immigrants were trying to convert their 'new' country into the same collapsed, religiously ridiculous, rigid state as the one they had run away from. Who escalated it all, we do not know.

The first we knew of the trouble was when the radio links, all of them, were reduced to useless hissing lumps of electronic junk. At first, we assumed it was a solar flare, as that does the same thing, lasts a day or so, then fades away, then normality is restored, and we float around like blue-arsed flies, as everybody catches up with their up and down-link data. This time, though, it was different, the loss of radio propagation did not clear. The techies were at a loss, as they couldn't find anything wrong. Everything was working as it should, according to their test gear, there just were no signals – at all – coming in.

I can't recall who it was that happened to look outside, at the planet we call home – it is human nature to ignore things that can be seen every day, no matter how spectacular, because it becomes ordinary, not worth looking at. It was still there, of course, but there was a solid cloud-cover over the entire portion of the visible globe.

As the globe orbited and rotated, and we continually fell past it, never catching up, we could see that the cloud-cover appeared to be total, the whole globe was hidden from view. We concluded, from lack of any other ideas, that it was a really weird weather system, and that it would blow over in a day or so more.

It meant, of course, that the supply shuttle would be delayed, and we began to take careful stock of what we had available. Our main concerns were O2 and food. Water is recycled anyway, (yes – even THAT water!) and apart from small unavoidable losses, would last quite a while yet. After a hasty stock-take, we found we had oxygen to breathe for nearly three months, and if we rationed food to near starvation levels, that would last for five, so we didn't need to go quite that extreme! A lot of our experiments were immediately put on hold, mostly to conserve the O2. We still had to feed the livestock, but we might end up having to eat them!

So with little to do other than routine maintenance tasks, we had more free time, and nothing much to do except look outside, and wonder. The techies still continued to attempt to re-establish comms with one – any one – of the ground stations, with no success. They could find no broadcast stations either, although that wasn't really surprising, because the low radio frequencies 'bounce' off the upper atmosphere, and don't normally escape. Only VHF and above does that. They couldn't find any FM or television broadcasts, though, and they ARE VHF.

There was a flurry of excitement this morning (we keep Greenwich time, and morning is 8am, GMT). A techie had been searching the radio bands, and heard a faint but regular beeping, fading in and out, but our hopes were dashed when Fred, who takes great pleasure in building radios from junk bits, identified it as a satellite beacon. All it was saying was "I'm here" to anyone who cared to listen, as it orbited. It would beep away until a component in it failed, or the accumulated drag of traces of atmosphere at it's lower level caused it to slow, and really fall to earth. Fred said it was probably a 'cube-sat' put aloft piggybacked on some other launch, and built and paid for by a University or radio club, somewhere.

It was Josie who first noticed a hole in the cloud cover. She saw a glimpse of blue in the perpetual white, causing a mini-rush to allow everyone who could, to get a look at the long-hidden ocean. Which one, we don't know, as there was no land visible to locate it. We assumed it was the Atlantic, or maybe the Pacific, as they are the biggest wet bits. As it had been nearly two months, with no contact, we had no way of monitoring our 'drift', either physically, or time-wise, so had no way of telling just what was below. The techies redoubled their efforts with the radio sets, but with no result, except the poor cube-sat, still beeping away on it's lonely travels, fading in and out as our orbits crossed.

Another month passed by, and the Earth remained covered, except for an occasional glimpse of ocean, and once a small island in the middle of one. I was trying to decide between squeeze-tube chicken, or squeeze-tube beef when we noticed something else, outside. It was a very faint blue-green glow that had us peering through windows, trying to see what was causing it. Someone said it was a bit like the Aurora. At first, we didn't look earthwards, because the sun was around the other side, so our planet would be in darkness – backlit – until someone did.

I don't recall who it was that declared that the cloud cover had gone - we were all too busy looking at the eerie light that was coming up from below us.

A lone female voice said "Oh shit!"

"What?"

"That's a radio-active glow."

"You mean – some button has pushed the tit?"

It took a moment to reassemble the Spoonerism. "Yeah, and the others have retaliated."

"OK, folks, my Captain's hat on I have. Everybody - in the gym, now." She said it into the p.a. mike as well. (The gym is the biggest clear space available).

The Skipper waited until everyone had attached themselves to something, and were more or less oriented the same way up. "Are all you scientist bods here?"

We were.

"Tech – do you heard anything at all from earth?"

"Nyet - Nothing, Skip. Not a peep or a crackle."

"Before we lose the contact with the ground, do you hear if there were any crew on the ISS?"

"I think so not, Skip. Talk there was of resupplying it ready for use, but I nyet know if they did." The speaker glanced at one of the others, who said something in his own language. "And if there were, up we cannot join, different orbit are they in, and a different plane. We have the fuel or ability not to match up."

The Skipper's eyes went far-away for a moment. "Down there, anyone left, is?" She looked at us.

"There may be some, but scattered all over, and I doubt there will be the technical ability to get up here to us, not for a long time, Skip" Josie said – hesitantly and carefully.

"A long time we have not. Already the O2 reduce I have had." She gestured at a monitor light that was blinking occasionally. "And the CO is high a small bit too much." She looked at her crew-member in charge of maintaining our environment. "How long?"

He shrugged - "Dva – two week, maybe." Followed by the universal throat-cut sign.

"So." She placed a crimson-coloured zipper-bag onto the bench, and opened it, extracting a medium-sized screw-top bottle with a quantity of tablets in it. The bottle she placed onto a velcro pad stuck to a wall. "When time it become, one of these take, to your room retire, and swallow." She shrugged. "No need to say what no O2 like." She drew herself into an approximate attention, saluted us, and said "I thank, good people. Now go, talk to own gods. I be in cabin if wanted." She didn't take a tablet with her, so we knew she wasn't planning on 'going' just yet.

In ones and twos we drifted off, and while I was watching, nobody went near that bottle. One of the radio guys said he would go and make a small circuit that would connect into a radio, and make it into a beacon, like the cube-sat we still occasionally heard – beep – beep – we are here - we are here – beep \- - - -.

There was a faint haze in the air, now. I suppose the atmosphere in our big tin can was rather ripe, too, but there was nobody left to complain. The CO2 scrubbers were still working, but most of the 'atmosphere' that remained was a mix of helium and nitrogen. I had part of a space-suit on, mostly the helmet and collar, so that I could have an occasional whiff of O2 from the back-pack that had been saved for the purpose, while I made sure everyone had 'left'. I noted that Richard and Pyotr were sharing a space, and that Judith and Paul were cuddled together under a lightly elasticated sheet that stopped them floating out of the bed. I found Josie was in with Mark. And that the rest of my crew were in their allocated spaces.

There was so little oxygen left now that merely gasping for the last bits was exhausting, and moving about was becoming impossible. There were six tablets left in the bottle, so I took two out, and made my way back to my cabin. I didn't bother filling in the Ship's log – who was going to read it? As is the Captain's duty, I was the last to leave.

Then there was just the radio beacon, sending it's beep out for as long as the solar panels and radio worked.

Beep – beep – beep – We were here – Beep – beep- beep - We were here – beep – beep - - - - -

.............................................................Drought

"All rise for the Chair!"

When the Chairman had been seated, and the group of Officials around the table in front of the dais had all finished scraping and banging as they resumed their seats, the Secretary called the meeting to order.

"Captain Blare had the floor!"

"Madam Chair - As I was about to say, when we were interrupted – what purpose does our Navy serve now? There has been no rainfall that reached the ground for seventeen years, and the English Channel is just a salt-flat. All the ships are sitting there in – or near - port, with no water to float in. The only thing stopping anyone from just walking – well, driving – in, is the simple fact that there is nothing here to come for."

The Secretary hammered some more dents into the plastic table, with his mallet, before the hubbub quieted again. "Order, please, Gentlemen!" He hoped that nobody had noticed that the jarring vibrations of his hammering had splashed a few drops of the precious water onto his table-top, as he hastily blotted it, and transferred the tissue to a sealed container before the water could evaporate into the parched air.

(Brief interlude for the newcomers – For whatever reason, the surface temperature of the globe we call Earth has risen by 50 degrees Celsius, over the last twenty years or so. The scientists are still arguing whether the planet has moved an astronomically small amount nearer to the sun, or if the sun has enlarged by a similarly tiny amount, the result being that all free water on the planet, except for a very few deep underground reservoirs, has evaporated off. While I'm thinking of it, do not forget to get a signed receipt for all your waste bodily fluids, which will go towards paying for whatever fluids you have taken in, during your stay).

"Air Vice-Marshall Roquet."

"Chair, Gentlemen - you could ask the same for Captain Blare's armies. The tarmac roads they need, to enable them to move their vehicles, are so soft that their transport is sinking into it, and getting stuck! My aircraft, if there was any fuel for them, can operate from the earth fields, as they are harder, now, than the runways!"

The Secretary pointed at the Admiral of the Fleet, who rose, as AVM Roquet sat.

"Did I hear the Gentleman say that he has no fuel? In which case, the same initial question applies also to him!" He re-seated himself with a groan. (His chair groaned as well, as it bore his generous weight).

The Secretary looked around, to see if anyone had anything to add. "Minister for Agriculture has the floor."

"Thank you – Madam Chair – I don't really know why I am here. I have offered my resignation five times, now, because there is no agriculture left to administer! But nobody will take the vacant position, so I have to continue, although I can see no reason why I shouldn't just leave, because this discussion has been going round and round for nearly a week. Nobody has even offered a hint of a solution to the problem. Could I just remind everyone present that the air we breathe – well, the oxygen part of it – was created by photosynthesis from the plant-life on land and in the waters, and as there is no water, and no more plant-life, the O2 is not being replaced. Although I am no lab-rat, the water we lack was a mere two parts to one mixture of hydrogen and oxygen. As I understand it, the rising temperatures 'cracked' the molecules, and as hydrogen is lighter, it rose to the top of our atmosphere, and was boiled – or burned – whatever – off. So, my question is – has anybody, anywhere, tried making more water by creating hydrogen and recombining it with the oxygen, before it is all used up?" He sat.

The Secretary shuffled papers, and then said "I can partially answer that – and the answer is yes, it has been tried, unsuccessfully." The notes were fluttered, partly in the hope of creating a cooling breeze - "But because the recombining has to be done in a sealed container, there are other difficulties. If the mix is not exactly two to one, the result is highly explosive, a tiny spark will cause combustion, and as it occurs in a sealed container, it becomes a bomb. The laboratory now has no roof, and is missing a wall – and a few chemists!"

The Min of Ag rose. "As the Chair and the Secretary both appear to have succumbed to the heat of the moment, does anyone else have anything to add?"

He looked around.

"Nobody? Right, then. I am declaring myself redundant, and I leave you Gentlemen to talk around in circles until you also die of thirst, heat-stroke, or starvation. Before I leave, could I just remind you that the Lunar settlement cannot keep sending food and water shipments down here, because they don't have fuel, and not much water, either! Nothing has been heard of the first Mars ship since it was positioning for a landing, so I assume it has been lost, and none of our 'cousins' on the continents can help either, because they have to face the same dilemmas. I now am taking my long overdue leave, although I don't quite know where, yet. I bid you farewell, Gentlemen."

With that, he stood, tossed his papers onto the desk, and left, not forgetting to take his little bottle of H2O with him!

...............................................................Adrift.

I don't know how I got here, it's all confused in my mind. There was this sudden bright flash, followed by a feeling of falling, then I was standing by these two enormous gateposts that supported an equally enormous pair of gates, in a wall that extended up, and to both sides, as far as I could see, which wasn't very far in the swirling mist.

In one of the enormous gates, there was a person-sized doorway, and just outside it, a post with an arrow pointing at the doorway was standing in the ground.

Lacking any better idea, I went in, to find a guardian sitting at a dais, with a book in his hand. The dais had a hand-written sign on it, that read – 'Spectral Assignment'.

I came to the obvious conclusion.

"I'm dead, aren't I?" I asked him.

It took a few moments, then "Dead? No, just re-assigned! You have two choices, though, from here, take the left, or the right, passage, and see where it takes you. You cannot change your mind and come back, to try the other one, though. Take as long as you want to decide" He went back to his book, which appeared to be a Hammond Innes thriller.

I've always been a 'leftie', so just to be different, I took the right-hand passageway, after a lot of hesitation. From the left one, there seemed to be a lot of heat and noise emanating, whilst from the right, soft music was just about audible in the distance, accompanying a faint smell of chocolate and lavender.

The passageway seemed to go on for a long time, dead straight, with no markings, numbers, signs, or anything, not even an identifiable light source, just a constant steady glow from overhead. Then, in front, I saw another door, which was closed. When I got close enough, I could see a single button on it, that was labelled 'PRESS TO OPEN'. There were no windows, spy-holes, or even knobs or levers. I looked back, but there was no back, the passageway I had just walked down was closed off a few feet behind me, with a wall that looked exactly the same as the ones on either side. Well, the man DID say there was no going back! I pressed the button, and the door sighed open.

On the other side, it looked like any hotel foyer, with lounge seats, urns of flowers on pedestals, and a desk in the corner, behind a little hatch, with a sign over it that read 'Reception'. There was nobody about, but a little sign on the reception desk read - "Pick a key, sign in, and find your room." There was a small box next to a book, on the desk, which had a pile of keys in it, each with a tag bearing a number. At a glance, all the keys were identical, apart from the numbered tag. I picked the top one, looked at the tag, and read 67, so I signed in with a pen I hadn't seen until then, and wrote 67 next to my name. A strobing notice on the far wall caught my attention, and when I looked, it read 'Rooms', It led to another of these bland passageways, but with doors on each side, each bearing a number. I looked for the door I'd entered through, but it wasn't visible from this side. 67 was quite a way down the passage, so I was glad to find it! On opening that door, I found I was in a typical 'Travel-stop' type of place, with a one and a half room space, with a soft chair, a dining chair and table, and a desk, wedged up against a single bed, which was wedged up against the far wall. The half-room had the usual plumbing, with an extractor fan.

On the desk lay a sheet of paper, which proved to be the 'house rules'. Rule one read – Do as you please. Rule two read – if someone else does something that you do not approve of, do not complain to the Management, sort it yourself. Rule three read – before acting on rule one or two, consider the implications of rules two and three.

I could see no telephone nor intercom, no power socket, no tv, no – nothing at all. There was nothing to eat, no glass for water, nothing to read, except the rules. I turned, to go back to reception, and ask, but there was no door either! For some silly reason, my mind began playing an old pop song, some of the lines went – 'You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave'. BUT, this wasn't California, it was Greater Wigan! Then I noticed that the door-key that I had placed on the table by the 'rules' wasn't there, either!

Puzzled and frustrated, I tried to drink some water straight from the tap on the hand-basin, but the tap had no water. The cross-knob just went round and round, with no resistance. The chair was still a chair, though, so I sat on it, while I had a think.

I don't recall falling asleep, but I woke again with a start, when a gruff voice said - "Are you back yet?" The end wall, where the door used to be, was now an office, with a large polished wooden desk, behind which there was a typical 'Manager', smart suit, short hair, shiny teeth, no trace of a five-o-clock shadow, immaculate fingernails, you know the type – never did a days work in their lives, but they went to Uni and know it all. On his desk he had a huge file that was at least a foot thick, that he was leafing through.

"This," he said, "Is your CV." He lifted a smaller file out of one corner, "And this is the one that you wrote. They do not match up!" He sighed. "Everyone is the same, this" - he waved 'my' CV - "is what you want everyone to know, but this" - he slapped the big file - "is the real you. I won't bother reading it all out, it'll take a lifetime, and by the time I get to the end it will be out of date." He shook his head. "But, oh dear! All those years, weeks, days and minutes, and you did absolutely nothing of any use to anyone. That all changes now. We (he used the Royal WE) will start a new page, from this moment. You will go, and find something useful to do. Before we start, I have a couple of questions. Firstly, how did you get here?"

"I don't know – there was a bright flash, and a feeling of falling, then I was at a big gate."

He waved me to silence. "An accident, then, someone put the wrong code into the central processor again, they are getting very sloppy, they'd rather play Pacman! Second question – Why did you choose the entrance you did?"

"Ah, well, one had a lot of heat and noise coming from it, and the other had soft music and a nice perfume, so I chose that one."

He grinned, at that, and said "I TOLD them it was a mistake to put the bakery so close to the gateway! Anyway – here you are. Do you have any questions for me?"

I thought for a moment - "I'm not supposed to be here, as it was someone's error, can I go back?"

"No." A simple, flat statement.

"What do I do, then? There is nothing in this room part from the chair and table."

"What room?"

They'd done it again, the room had gone, all that was behind me was a wall with a closed door. "You read the three rules?"

"Yes."

"Then go, and find something useful to do!" He gestured at the back wall, and involuntarily I turned to look. The door was open, and when I turned back, he had gone, along with his desk, and there was just a wall there.

Well, I could either sit here and stare at a blank wall, or I could go through the doorway. I went, and found I was in a big work-space. By big, I mean vast! I couldn't see the far end, or the sides, or the roof, but it felt like it was inside. High up there were some fluffy white clouds floating round in small circles. A short way from me there was a lady sitting at a desk, transferring pieces of paper from one stack to another, after glancing at it and making a note near the bottom of each sheet. She seemed to be in charge – and as there was nobody else around, I asked her for guidance.

"Oh, just wander around for a while, see what is going on, decide what you want to do, and do it!" She said, without pausing in her paperwork. "But make sure it is what you really want to do, because you cannot change your mind later."

"I thought you were in charge here?"

"No, not me! I just do this."

I left her to it, thinking it was a strange choice of occupation, and did as advised - wandered around to see. I couldn't see any clocks anywhere, and I had already noticed that my wrist-watch seemed to have quietly vanished away, so I have no idea how long I was looking. There seemed to be nothing much of anything happening. I did see one chap, dressed in the usual fluorescent clothing that makes the wearer a good target for insane drivers to aim at, pushing a two-wheel cart along, with a broom and a shovel propped up in it. As the place was spotless, I couldn't see he was doing anything except pushing his cart!

While I was looking up at the little clouds, wondering what they were for, one came drifting down to my level. Sitting on it was a person, dressed in a long flowing robe, and bearing a little harp. "Whatever you do" - they said " - Don't choose this!" The harp was brandished. "Look at the bloody thing, three strings, all the same length, no machine-head so it can't be tuned, no sound-box to give any tone, they just go 'plink-plink'. How the hell can you make a tune from plink? And this" - he indicated the cloud - " six square feet of fog, with a chair on it. I can't even get up and go for a walk around! Well, I can – round and round and round!" The cloud drifted away, with a parting 'plink'.

After wandering around for what seemed like days, I noticed there was no canteen, so I thought myself a small space, with a big CAFE sign over it, and all the usual stuff inside, with myself as proprietor. I've even got a till, what for, I don't know, but I've got one! There is no money here, and I've yet to have a customer. Back to that song again - "This could be heaven, or it could be hell." I can tell you, this is NOT heaven! I'll let you make up your own mind just what it is, but I can say that eternity is a long time to be pouring cups of coffee that don't get drunk!

......................................................Dandelion Wars

(with thanks to Alianne Donnelly for the idea)

Hey, Joe, I found this in my e-mail in-box and forward it for your consideration.

(Address redacted)

It looks like a harmless yellow flower, with lots of fine narrow petals, that grows on a tall tubular stem from a radial array of narrow but irregularly lobed leaves that hugged the ground, but – Dent-de-Lion, Lion's Tooth, or Taraxacum Officinale, to give it it's Latin name, has been around as long as, if not longer than, us two-legged ground-hugging parasites that have named ourselves Homo Sapiens. We have used it as a herb, as decoration, as a salad, and even as a wine, but the reality of the dandelion is very different.

Apart from one or two single-celled amoebas, it is the only one that does not need a partner to reproduce. Without any help whatsoever, it can create perfect clones of itself, and rapidly colonise any earth where a seed can put a root down. It doesn't matter if it is clay, sandy, rocky, or even man-made surfaces like concrete or brick, if there is a hint of moisture there, and something to get a grip on, a dandelion root will bore through anything. It even has a modicum of intelligence, as it learns whether it can stand up tall, to be above other growths, thus capturing more sunlight, or whether to lie down flat, to avoid being grazed. It has even developed an immunity to all the various methods that humans can create for eliminating it, short of digging up each individual, and destroying it with fire, and even then, if a thread of root is left behind in the ground, it can clone itself again from that. All this is readily gleaned from any of the available media. What it will not tell you is -

The dandelion is not just an invader, it is an alien invader. It's origin was not on Earth, but somewhere out in the Universe. If it was ever aware of it's origin, so many millions of generations past, it has long been forgotten.

As you well know, it's seeds are suspended below little individual parachutes which can catch the slightest breeze, and can travel for many miles, before touching down again, and starting a new growth. This does not explain how it can cross interstellar space, though. My research into this subject has shown that each seed creates it's own microscopic electromagnetic field, which can, over time, draw equally tiny particles to it. As a seed can remain dormant for many years, the passage of time is no problem, and under the right circumstances, where it may get catapulted out of any gravity field of a planet, or other large lump of space-rock, it can gather it's own micro-shell around it, which helps to protect it from deep-space radiation, heat, cold, and vacuum, until such time as it 'falls' into the gravity-well of another astronomical body. Many of these interstellar travellers fall into or onto surfaces that cannot sustain them, of course, and are lost, but many more are not, and as we know, it only needs one seed to develop a flower, and scatter it's seed, then there are 100 or so new growths, and the colony expands exponentially, if unchecked.

Now – a small number of us humans know that the radiation that we call visible light is not the only radiation that is possible – indeed we have learned how to create radiations we cannot see, and have given them names such as radio, infra-red, x-ray, ultra-violet, and so on, and have even created devices that can 'see' these radiations. In what we call natural light, the dandelion is a yellow item, with a green surround, but when viewed in ultra-violet, or infra-red, or even thermal-imaging, it is visible in different colours to those our eyes can perceive. There is nothing special about this, as many other objects have the same ability, if that is the appropriate term, and we have learned to make use of this phenomenon for our own ends.

But – what if there are other radiations that we have not yet discovered? Electricity is a form of radiation that we have only recently learned to harness, and that led us into artificial light for dark places, and to simple communication devices that worked over long distances over fixed wires. Then we found a way to do it without wires, and called it radio, or wireless, (although there were a lot of wires inside the box!) and that could reach over the oceans. That led us into radar, and ever higher frequencies, which for practical reasons we measured in waves, rather than having lots of zeros behind the base figure of frequency, so we had long wave, medium wave, short wave, and now micro-wave, as general terms for the area of radiation under consideration. Light is also measured in waves, although we don't use that name for it. These tiny waves are known as Angstroms. (I won't bore you with the actual measurement, you can look it up if you really want to!) As far as present knowledge goes, there is nothing that can travel faster than light-waves, although electricity comes a very close second. (The difficulty lies in getting far enough away from the source to get a meaningful measurement of the difference in speed, with an instrument of sufficient accuracy).

This is straying somewhat from the subject matter, but a basic understanding is needed before we can go further. What if the dandelion is radiating in a spectrum we cannot yet 'see' with any device, the waves of which travel faster than light? Perhaps the humble dandelion is a communication device, the equivalent of our old 'telegraph' system. One single growth would show as a meaningless blip, but if it should colonize a land-mass, and it's radiation from a large area was to work like a signal lantern, which can be seen from a long way away, what could it be saying? The obvious meaning is – This place is suitable. To who - or what, to, we do not know.

What I can say is – I have developed a prototype receiver that is picking up this signal. No, it isn't in my workshop, that would serve no purpose. I managed to get it piggy-backed onto another experimental satellite which went into deep space, one of those one-way, no return missions to find out 'what there was out there'., and the telemetry downlink showed that there was a signal being radiated – I have taken the liberty of calling the band the Dan, for reference purposes – the signal, at the moment, is sporadic, presumably because there are no large uninterrupted areas of the growth, but it is there. I am now engaged in re-drawing my schematic, which is very messy at the moment, with corrections and updates, so that it can be published, then other faculties can attempt to reproduce my experiments. No other plant on this planet that I have been able to obtain samples of, is radiating in the Dan band.

In the meantime, I believe it is essential that we stop this radiation by removing every dandelion that appears, before it can seed and spread. We do not know what these 'others' are like, or what they want of our planet, but if their technology is such that they can get here in a meaningful to them time-span, do we have the ability to pre- - - -

Editor's note – at this point, this received email stopped abruptly, and after 'polling' the sender's address it came back as unobtainable. Queries addressed to the email server's owner eventually showed that the address was assigned to a small private workshop in the countryside, which has been destroyed in a mysterious explosion. There were no known flammable materials kept there, and the building did not have a gas supply, nor was there a pipe-line passing anywhere nearby. All the ground around the site was covered by the yellow weeds known locally as piss-a-bed, or more commonly as the dandelion. Forensics have so far failed to find any explanation for the total combustion and destruction of such a small confined area.

........................................................Hard-luck story.

Where to start, that is the question.

I seem to have been fated, from birth, to a life where nothing ever quite went right.

I was conceived out of wedlock when the condom broke during one crazy tussle on the back seat of his car, with – so I was told – two feet of snow all around, and the car stuck in a drift on a motorway, at 3am on New Year's day, when my Mother, who had been hitching a lift from Uni to her family home, decided it would be warmer if she were in a cosy clinch with the driver, who – at the time, she didn't know - under the one wool blanket that happened to be on the back seat.

When the car was dug out by a Corporation snow-plough, at 10, and they managed to continue their journey, for whatever reason they stayed in touch, swapping telephone calls, and the occasional letter (the WWW was just being invented) until she noticed that her waist-band was getting inexplicably tight, and the latest fad diet wasn't helping.

A visit to her GP gave the answer, and she belatedly realized why her 'clock' had stopped. She – Sarah – decided to call me Robin or Robina, whichever was appropriate, and I'd have liked to be a 'fly on the wall' when she told him, my Dad, Richard – Rich, she abbreviated it to.

Anyway, after the usual denial, then acceptance when the calendar was checked, then the usual discussion of what to do about it, vis-a-vis get rid, hatch it and get rid, or keep it and hope for the best, they decided on the third option. Then, of course, came the follow-on discussion regarding finance. That led Sarah into marrying Richard, at the registry office, as the church was 'stuffy' about things such as a visibly pregnant bride pretending to be innocent, in a white gown!

So – she became Sarah Sodde, a month and a bit before I, a boy-child, was hatched, and now you can see where I'm going with this intro!

The first few years were of no consequence, but my tale really begins at the first day at Infant school. In the part-time play-school, I'd just been known as Rob, or Robin, and real school was the first time I was called by my full name – at registration, on the first morning of the first day. It took the teacher a full fifteen minutes to stop the uproar as my name was read out. I was most upset, because I didn't understand why they all found my name so funny – even the teacher had to struggle to keep her face straight. At play-time they began calling me Tea-leaf, and I didn't understand that, either. I had four fights, that day, and went home with bruised knuckles, a crooked nose and a black eye.

It was around then that I learned that my Father's Father wasn't called G'anda', he was really a Pete, so I imagine he had similar problems when he was younger. His wife was called Harriet - Hattie. My Mother's parents – I never knew nor met them, but I do know they were very strict Catholics, and when they noticed that my Mother was developing quite a tummy, with no rings on her finger, they 'invited' her to leave the house, and to never go back.

It was no better for me through Junior, then Senior school, not helped by the fact that I was academically 'challenged'. As is the way of life, whenever something was mislaid or missing, I was the first suspect.

The next thing that comes to mind was my very first Job Interview. I, and a dozen or so other hopefuls, were waiting on plastic chairs, in a corridor, hoping to be the one chosen for the single vacancy that was on offer. There seemed to be no order to the way the candidates were called in, and the length of time varied considerably between entry and exit. I was last one in, and when called by the Gofer, I went in, and took the indicated seat while the Interviewer looked at my slim document sheet, and at me, in random glances. I, meanwhile, looked at him and his three assistants, all with large heads, narrow shoulders, and skinny arms hidden in smart suits with padded shoulders that made their arms appear to start halfway down their bodies, white shirts, ties and hair perfectly arranged, and smelling of arrogance and aftershave. I knowing no better, was in need of a haircut, and wearing a teeshirt under a wooly jumper, and jeans, and probably smelled of fear. I knew my under-arms were moist, as I quaked, jaw clenched to stop my teeth from chattering.

The one on my left – on the other side of the table, started the interview with - "So, Robin, what have you taken today?"

That set the tone – so I replied - "The morning off, to sit on a hard chair in a draughty corridor, just to be insulted." Needless to say I didn't get the job!

The second place I applied to was one that made plastic drain-pipes. I didn't last long in that interview, either, because when I was asked about measurements, and how many millimetres were in a metre, I naturally said "A million!". Well we had been taught in feet and inches, how was I to know differently?

"Thank you, we'll let you know."

I'm still waiting, but I heard on the 'grape-vine' that the post went to a Welshman called Ivor Blewitt.

The next one never even got to the interview – I merely received a terse note that said "Sorry, we don't think you will be suitable for this post". Still, they replied, but I wasn't going to be a warehouseman either (whatever one of those did!)

So, there I was, on one of those Government-created make-works for the unemployed that we have to do to qualify for the financial insult called Unemployment Benefit, with my yellow Corporation two-wheeled hand-cart, supporting two dust-bins, a shovel, and a broom. Yes, I'm a street-sweeper. On my first day, they gave me a faded photocopy of a bit of a street-map, with an area boxed in red ink, and was told that was my 'patch'. It proved to be an area of town I'd never been to, because it was 'out of my league' financially, and therefore I hadn't a clue where it was, for a start! It took me an hour to find it, and get there.

Second problem – (finding the place had been the first,) the streets were lined with trees, and the space between the mature tree-trunks, and the walls was 2" less than the width of my cart, so I had to push it along on the road, whilst putting up with the bellowed insults from the car-drivers as they hurtled past, and seeing how close they could get without actually hitting me. Of course – third problem, it was well into Autumn, and the leaves were being shed from the trees, so as fast as I swept a patch clear, more leaves fell onto it. That leads me to the fourth problem – do I keep doing the same bit over and over, or should I try to cover (or uncover!) the whole patch once?

Fifth problem, how do I prove I've swept it all, if there is no visible proof, because of the leaf litter? (and the sixth, when the bins are full, I have to traipse all the way back to the yard to empty them, while the trees continue shedding!) It was about then that the seventh problem began to show – I needed a pee, and there were no public loo's around here! Should I surreptitiously water a tree, and blame a conveniently passing dog, or hike all the way back to the yard again? I chanced on an odd concave-angle of wall, with a tree growing in it, and thought I could hide behind that, and water the wall. But that led me into the eighth problem – a 'Gentleman' in a blue suit, silver buttons and badges, and a tall hat decided to arrest me for 'indecent exposure', and for urinating on the local M.P.'s garden wall! He did have the decency to wait until I'd finished, and just barely managed to avoid laughing when I answered his question regarding my identity.

I spent the night in the local lock-up, and now I'm in the County Court, waiting on the Magistrate's pleasure. When I was asked – presumably by some secretary or other – if I could afford Legal Representation ( their capitals) I said no, and that I had three and sixpence halfpenny to last me a fortnight, as yesterday was my first day at work, and we were paid a week in arrears – AND – as I wasn't AT work, I probably wouldn't be tomorrow, either, and most likely wouldn't get paid at all.

My allocated rep finally arrived, and I had a three-minute private consultation regarding my crimes, and the likely consequences – then was I pleading guilty? I said I was guilty of watering the wall, but said I didn't know it belonged to an M.P, and I couldn't have been indecently exposed, because the temperature was minus three, and my 'person' had nearly turned inside out, so couldn't possibly have been visible to anyone, unless they could see through a brick wall.

That excuse didn't hold water, and after I had appeared, I was kindly given a five pound fine, and told to present myself for 'civic duties' at a certain address for each Saturday and Sunday for the next six months.

After I had been invited to leave the court, I made my way back – on foot – to where my cart had been abruptly abandoned. Strangely enough, it was still there, but – minus the bins, broom, shovel, and wheels!

Suffice to say that my reception, when I had dragged the carcass back to the yard, was not of the joyous kind!

So, here I am, on my first Saturday, scrubbing graffiti off walls, with a galvanized bucket of water, a scrubbing brush, thick rubber gloves, and some foul-smelling chemical in a second bucket, which is supposed to remove paint, indelible ink, doggy-spray (and human!), and anything else that can be applied to the various near-vertical surfaces that abound. The gloves are to stop the chemical from getting onto my skin, because – so I was told – it would dissolve it in seconds. That may be so, but it doesn't do much to illicit posters, spray-paint or scribbled anatomical drawings! (and how do I stop the water in the other bucket from freezing, either to the bucket or to the wall). For eight hours, I scrubbed ice with ice, before we (there were several of us) were told to pack in, and take our gear back to the yard, until tomorrow – eight-o-clock sharp, or else! Apart from the ice on the pavement, the area we had been working on didn't look much different to when we'd arrived – maybe it was a little faded, but that was all.

I handed in my buckets, scrubbing brush, and gloves, and was about to depart when - "Oy, Yew! Come 'ere!"

"Who, me?"

"Yer – Robbin' Sod, yew owe us for two bins, two wheels, and a broom and shovel. Seven poun' thirteen an' six, if yer please!"

I said I didn't please, I hadn't got it, and to bill the Old Bill, because they made me leave my cart where it was, while I was behind bars.

So – I'm up before the Magistrates again on Monday, for misappropriating Council Property.

(Sigh!)

