 
The Dog's Dinner.

The

Avaganda

Book

of

Short Stories

By

Albie Benson

Copyright 2011 Albie Benson

Smashwords Edition

Licence Notes

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Eviction Notice

"Where is this place?"

"I think we should have taken a left at Alpha Centauri."

"Oh, now you tell me. Computer."

"Yes."

"Turn around and go back to Alpha Centauri."

"Yes."

"Computer."

"Yes."

"Remind me to have you replaced when we get back home."

"Yes."

"There's better models than you on the market."

"Yes."

"Computers that you can have a conversation with."

"Yes."

"Shut up, I hate sarcastic computers."

"Calm down, it's not the computer's fault."

"Yes it is, I told it where the planet was, it should have taken us right there. Instead we are lost in some back of beyond."

"May I interrupt?"

"What is it computer."

"We have arrived."

"Arrived where?"

"At the third planet."

"The third planet where?"

"The third planet in the 20031 solar system, in the Ragatine Galaxy."

"I thought we were lost."

"No you thought we were lost, if you had consulted me, rather than taken me for granted, I would have told you we were on course."

"See what I mean, a sarcastic computer."

"The computer's right, we didn't ask it."

"Fine, fine, fine, go on blame me."

"No one's blaming you. Anyway, how many can we bring back?"

"They said they'd take as many as we could bring back. Now on the computer's calculation, we can fit nearly ten thousand in the ship's hold."

"But they would have to be kept separate, because some will eat others."

"Yes, I know that, the hold's already been sectioned. Computer take us into orbit and start beaming them up. Ten thousand at a million per unit is ten billion, ha, ha, we're rich, rich. I told you it was a good idea to buy those old deeds, that planet is ours, and just think when the big corporations find out about the units they'll be falling over themselves to invest."

"But Aloysius, no one's been there for the last five hundred million wangs, things could have changed."

"Ethelburga, it's a known fact that they don't evolve like other species. The Capital zoo has been breeding and cloning them for the last six hundred million wangs, and they just remain true to type, they don't change."

"Are you sure the export licenses are in order?"

"Yes, stop worrying. Computer, have you started beaming them up yet?"

"I cannot locate any."

"What?"

"The planet is devoid of dinosaurs."

"No dinosaurs, no dinosaurs, what do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I say, there are no dinosaurs on this planet."

"Well you've got the wrong planet then."

"This is the planet according to your co-ordinates."

"Some gangle's illegitimate offspring has pinched them, they've got here before us and pinched the lot. I'm going to ring the police. This is my planet, I bought the deeds honestly, and it says in the deeds, indigenous life, mammals, reptiles, sub classification dinosaurs, all kinds. See, see, it says so here."

"Yes, I know Aloysius, calm down. Computer, is there any life on the planet?"

"Yes."

"Well what is it?"

"The dominant species are humans."

"Humans, humans." Aloysius banged his eight fingered four fists on the control panel. "Humans, the vermin of the universe. That's that bloody Kaynak and his genetic experiments ten million wangs ago. It's okay, I've got a plan, we'll clone some dinosaurs from the couple at the zoo and in a hundred wangs they will populate the planet again. Computer, irradiate the planet, kill all the humans."

"I am sorry. I cannot do that."

"Why not?"

"Intergalactic regulation number three, six, eight, eight, seven, six, two, two, two, zero, zero, zero, five, seven, seven, section four, sub paragraph B, states that when a human population develops communication they cannot be eradicated."

"They're vermin, they ruin everywhere they go, they fight, they pollute, they're obnoxious. Look, just irradiate the planet, no one will know, no one even knows they're here, what's a couple of thousand humans."

"Billions."

"What?"

"There are eight billion humans."

"Eight billion, on that little planet?"

"Yes."

"Eight billion, they must be living on top of one another. See Ethelburga, what did I tell you about these humans, they'll overrun the universe, they're the greatest danger the universe has ever faced. What sort of communication have they reached?"

"They can speak all the universal languages, have developed a primitive mode of transportation, and have nuclear weapons."

"See Ethelburga, humans with nuclear weapons. Computer, how long have they had these nuclear weapons?"

"Just over twelve standard wangs."

"Twelve wangs, in another ten they will destroy my planet. Right computer, get onto the Council in the Capital, apply for an eviction order, serve them with an eviction notice, and tell them to get off my planet."

"Contact made with Council."

Aloysius drummed sixteen suckered digits.

"Eviction order applied for."

Aloysius drummed twenty four suckered digits.

"Council acknowledges eviction order."

Aloysius drummed thirty two suckered digits.

"Aloysius stop frowning, your developing worry lines on your proboscis." Ethelburga said stroking his mandible.

"The Council says that you have to go and speak to the humans first, if they refuse to leave, then you must apply for a court order. However, they may have planetary rights if they have been there for more than one million standard wangs."

"No one knows how long they've been there, probably the humans don't even know how long they've been there."

"The Council says that they will send a representative in the next couple of wangs."

"When exactly?"

"They cannot say exactly, but your application is on file."

"Ask them if I can just irradiate the planet?"

"They say no, because irradiation can only be done by Council employees, and beside, they say, it seems these humans have developed into a species."

"Tell the Council they are not a species, they are a genetic experiment."

"The Council said that their status will be discussed at the next full Council meeting."

"Tell the Council I want something done now."

"The Council reiterate their first statement that you will have to speak with the humans first."

"Do I have to speak with them? What am I paying my taxes for if I have to do the Council's work myself? I can't stand them, they're so ugly. I hate bipeds, and they stink, they give off this obnoxious aroma to attract one another."

"I wouldn't know dear, I've never met one."

"Take my advice they have disgusting habits. Did you know they take food in at the top three times a day, and it comes out the bottom."

"What, three times a day and the food comes back out?"

"Yes, it comes back out, they only take so much from the food and the rest is wasted, then they just leave this waste all over the place, and their bodies secrete this liquid, that stinks as well."

"That sounds really disgusting."

"It is, but that's not the half of it, all they seem to do is cavort naked and copulate."

"Oh I'm sorry Aloysius, I'm not going down there, you'll have to go on your own."

"Ethelburga, we'll be all right, we'll have a force field, non of the stinky bipeds will be able to come near us."

"If you say so, but I don't fancy it."

"Computer."

"Yes."

"Fix us up with two force fields and beam us down to wherever their leaders congregate."

"Force fields activated, location found, the United Nations, New York City, North America."

"Oh computer, be ready to beam us back at a moment's notice. Are you ready Ethelburga?"

"Ready Aloysius."

"Okay computer, we're ready."

They disappeared and reappeared outside the United Nations.

"Oh Aloysius, what's that stink?"

"Humans Ethelburga, that's what they smell like."

"Ooh, they're funny looking little things, aren't they?"

"Hey man, great makeup."

"Please do not speak to us human, and please keep your distance or you will be harmed by our force field."

"That is great, you've even got the funny voice, how did you do that?"

"Aloysius, more humans are gathering around us."

"Don't worry Ethelburga, the force field will keep them back."

"Are you with a film crew?"

"Is there a Star Trek convention going on?

"Can I have your autograph?"

"Hey man, how did you make your trunk move like that, is there motors in there?"

"Do not touch human."

"It looks so real, and it feels so real."

"Computer, the force field is not working."

"I'm sorry, but their pollution is blocking the signals."

"Human, do not touch me again."

"Aloysius, they are touching me all over."

"Human, take me to your leader."

"Aloysius, what is that noise they are making, and why are they falling over holding their sides."

"I don't know Ethelburga, I'll try it again. Human take me to your leader."

"Aloysius, more of them are falling over, some of them have liquid coming from their eyes."

"Human, take me to your leader."

"Aloysius why are they all rolling on the floor?"

"I don't know Ethelburga."

"Aloysius, there are more humans coming. I'm frightened."

"So am I. Computer beam us back. Computer, computer."

"Hey man, that should be beam us up Scottie."

"Computer."

"Wow, they disappeared."

"Fantastic."

"That was the best special effect I've ever seen."

"It was a hologram, they just turned it off."

"Hey no way man, I touched its trunk, it was real."

"So did I."

"And I did."

"It was a hologram."

"Hey man, do you think they were really aliens?"

"Get lost Pete, you've been tripping on acid again."

"Oh Aloysius, they touched me."

"I know, come on into the sterilisation chamber."

"What are we going to do?"

"We're going home, I'm not coming back here again. I'll try and sell it at auction. It can be somebody else's problem."

Two wangs later Aloysius and Ethelburga had arrived home. Aloysius was doing his books, trying to think of some way to recoup the losses on the third planet when Ethelburga entered.

"Aloysius."

"Yes."

"Don't forget, we've got the ceremony of the Cutting of the Gangle tonight,"

Aloysius stroked his mandible, "I haven't forgotten."

"What are you going to wear?"

"What I usually wear."

"Not them old robes?"

"There's nothing wrong with them robes, they're fine."

"Why don't you buy yourself a new set?"

"Because we don't have the credits, until I can sell that planet at auction we must be very careful what we spend."

"Right, I'm going out."

"Where are you going?"

"Shopping."

"What for?"

"A new mask for the ceremony."

Aloysius clicked his mandibles in frustration. "Didn't you hear what I just said, we haven't got any credits, they've been withdrawn."

But Ethelburga had already left. He was just about to trundle after her when his monitor made a beeping noise. He pointed his proboscis at a button and blew on it.

"Ro-Winger Agamemnon Rindkraftfleisch?"

"No, that's my brother, I'm Ro-Winger Aloysius Rindkraftfleisch. Who are you?"

"Could you adjust the contrast on your monitor please, I can't see you properly."

Again Aloysius pointed his proboscis at the control panel and breathed on another button.

"That's better. Now, I believe you recently purchased the third planet in the 20032 solar system in the Ragatine Galaxy?"

"You haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"Who are you?"

"That question. I'm the New Species Manager at the Central Council."

"Grackum. But what's your name?"

"We don't have to give our names, security reasons, you understand?"

"No I don't understand, if you're not prepared to tell me your name get off my line, I've important calls to make."

"You don't seem to understand Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch."

"Oh official titles now is it? I understand all too well. You bloody petty bureaucrats love interfering in honest businesses. Either tell me what your name is or get off my line."

"So-Winger Gebraten Hammelkotelett."

"Good, now what do you want?"

"Our legal department received your report for an eviction notice for the said planet."

"Right, you're going to evict all those stinky humans off my planet?"

"It's not that simple Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch."

"No, it never is with you people."

"The report was passed to my department."

"And?"

"This type of human may be an independent species, and as such may have planetary rights."

"What? No, no, no, just hold on there. It's common knowledge they are a genetic experiment, cobbled together from a stack of other mammals, they are not a species, they are a food source."

"Yes, that is true for the humans we know, but according to your report they have developed speech, intelligence and building skills. If this is so, it also means the humans we know could also develop speech and intelligence, if left alone and given the opportunity. After all, they are exactly the same as the humans we know."

Aloysius' two hearts sank, he should have been nicer, now he could foresee bad things happening. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"That we need to investigate this before an eviction notice can be served. You as the legal owner must be informed and present at all investigations."

"What? That's ridiculous. I'm not going back to that place, it's full of stinky barbaric humans. No, I'm selling it at the next planetary auction."

"You cannot, a compulsory restraining order has been placed by the council because of the question about ownership."

"Typical, typical. What happens now?"

"We will send a delegation to accompany you to the planet to investigate if the humans have planetary rights."

Aloysius' two hearts were rattling around his three ankles. "Who'll be in this delegation?"

"In your report these humans showed a propensity towards violence, therefore the council has decided to send Acastus Taube."

"Yes, I've heard of him, a good honest negotiator."

"And a brigade of Stamplez."

Aloysius' two hearts jumped up to his three knees with hope. "Stamplez, don't they eat raw humans?"

"Unfortunately, there are no other units available. Anyway, Acastus Taube will keep the Stamplez under control. Will you be ready to leave on the morrow?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No, good e-morrow Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch."

The screen went blank and Aloysius couldn't help but rub his four pads together with glee. "Computer."

"Yes."

"Give me some information on the Stamplez."

"Stamplez, from the planet Stam, quadrupeds, also with four arms, retractable claws on each hand, a tail with retractable poisonous spikes, and a double row of serrated teeth."

"Yes, yes I know about their appearance, just tell me about their politics."

"They were affiliated to the Council some two hundred wangs ago, but because of their ferocity, it was decided they would be best utilised as first offence crack soldiers, F.O.C.S. I consider it to be a strange choice by the Council because they eat humans live, they love the taste. Although, this was outlawed by the Council two wangs ago as being barbaric. However, there are rumours the practise is still going on. The Stamplez are the finest and most ferocious fighting race in the known universe, they have never been beaten. Ethelburga has arrived and she wishes to speak with you."

Aloysius's two hearts were back where they belonged, in his back. "Ethelburga, Ethelburga."

Ethelburga bounced in on her three legs, her four arms loaded with shopping bags, "Stop shouting Aloysius, I'm here, what is it?"

"Good news, ha, ha, ha, HA, HA. We're going back to that planet I bought."

"Maybe good news for you, but I'm not going back there; the stink was awful."

"Listen, listen, I'm so excited, guess what?"

"What?"

"The Council are sending a brigade of Stamplez, and they want me to go with them."

"Who are Stamplez?"

"The most ferocious fearsome fighting race in the universe, they love the taste of human, they'll wipe the stinky humans out, they can't control themselves. The planet will be mine again, ha, ha, ha, HA, HA."

"Ours, the planet will be ours."

"Of course, that's what I meant. The Council have made a right gangle's ear out of this. Listen, I'll be gone a couple of wangs, get onto the capital zoo and order some dinosaur cloning material. When I get back I'll get in touch with that planetary repair firm. If the Stamplez are a ferocious as their reputation suggests it will take them about a hundredth wang to eat every human on that planet. Ha, ha, ha, HA, HA."

"Are you alright Aloysius, you haven't been eating too much of that crimson fungus again have you?"

"No, I've only had a couple of pieces. Ha, ha."

A thousandth wang later Aloysius was ready, with Ethelburga checking everything.

"Now, have you got everything you need?"

"Yes dear."

"Don't forget the planet's deeds."

"In the bag."

"And contact me every thousand wang."

"Yes dear."

"And don't forget to take your cough medicine."

"Yes dear."

"And don't let your stress levels rise."

"Yes dear."

"And don't take too many crimson fungi, I know you've got some in your bag."

'No dear."

"Excuse me," the computer chimed, "for interrupting this touching scene, but the Stamplez cruiser is waiting."

"Right, must go, ha, ha, cheerybye. Activate computer. Ha, ha, ha –h-"

Aloysius vanished, there was no noise, no weird crackling, no shimmering lights, he just vanished.

Ethelburga clicked her mandibles with glee, "At last he's gone. Computer, contact the club, it's time to party."

Aloysius instantly appeared before a Stamplez, he knew it was a Stamplez from computer pictures, he quickly took a step back as serrated teeth flashed at him.

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "Welcome aboard Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch. I am Captain Zzzizz at your service." Zzzizz made a noise like a sixty a day smoker bringing up a great gob of sputum. "KKKKAAAAAARRRRRRKKKKK." Gob. "And this is the negotiator, Acastus Taube. KKKKAAAAARRRRRRKKKKK." Gob. "He's in charge."

A tall smooth-skinned blue creature stepped out of the shadows and held out an extended flipper. "Whoop. Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch, it is an honour, a privilege, a pleasure, indeed a gratification of the highest order unsurpassed on your, whoop, part to make my splendid acquaintance, whoop."

Aloysius shook the offered flipper somewhat confused.

"Please be, whoop, seated."

Aloysius gave the captain a wide berth and sat.

Acastus Taube elegantly wandered around the room, also giving the captain a wide berth, and spoke, his flippers waving smoothly, as if he were swimming, "I've excellently, marvellously and wonderfully perused your report, whoop, and it seems that these humans may have developed into a, whoop, species. Therefore, whoop, we will have to proceed very, whoop, very, whoop, carefully."

Aloysius couldn't think of anything to say except, "Yes."

Acastus continued, "I will allow you to speak to me again later, after you have settled in, whoop, it was your honour to meet me, whoop." The door opened automatically as Acastus glided out.

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "Your quarters are next to mine Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch, but be warned, do not wander about my ship unaccompanied, my troops are the best, most ferocious fighting machines in the universe, but their social graces are nil. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

Aloysius could feel the quivers starting in his legs and working their way upwards, like a poisonous insect that you didn't want to touch. "Certainly Captain, I won't wander anywhere."

"Good. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "They have been informed of your presence, but step out of line and they will rip your head off. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"May I ask you something Captain?"

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"How do you feel about this delegation, because I've heard rumours," Aloysius shut up as Captain ZZZIZZZ murderous stare froze his blood.

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "What rumours?"

"Th – th – th – th – th."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "Spit it out."

"Th – th - that Stamplez and humans don't really mix, er, very well."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." gob "I'm a professional Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch. My personal feelings for the obnoxious little stinks do not come into it. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"Ex – ex – ex – excellent Captain. Bu – bu – but do you know that they have all kinds of primitive weapons?"

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"An – an – an –and nuclear weapons."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "Yes, but if they start, we'll blow the planet to bits. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

Shock made Aloysius stand, he forgot his fear, a fortune was at stake. "The planet to bits? But Captain, isn't that a bit drastic, wouldn't irradiation be better?"

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "No, some of the vermin would survive. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"But Captain, it's my planet, I've invested a lot of money."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "Aren't you insured? KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"No one would, what with the human infestation, and them having nuclear weapons, they all said it was too risky because the humans would blow themselves and the planet up within the next couple of wangs So you see I'm in a bit of a fix."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "I see, but there's no problem, if we are attacked, and only that, we'll wipe them out in claw to hand combat. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "However, that would take longer, perhaps a half wang or so."

Aloysius relaxed. "Thank you Captain, it's good to know the Stamplez are with us."

"My pleasure. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

Aloysius sat in his cabin in front of the monitor, and gently blew onto the control panel and whispered, "Computer."

"Yes."

"Wake Ethelburga, tell her I want to talk."

The computer in its lazy bored voice answered, "Ethelburga is awake."

"Ethelburga, Ethelburga."

"Aloysius, stop shouting, where are you?"

"We're just entering the Ragatine system. Listen, I've got a plan, I'm going to go into the Stamplez mess and stir them up a bit, I want to make sure they wipe out the stinky humans in one go."

"Oh Aloysius, be careful."

"Don't worry, I'm an honoured guest, the Stamplez wouldn't dare harm me. Speak to you later."

He blew on the disconnect button and decided to have a stiffener before facing the Stamplez. He opened his bag, took out a large flask and unscrewed the top, a greenish blue smoke ominously rose and poured over the sides. He clicked his mandibles and dipped his proboscis into the flask, after a couple of slurps, he bent his trunk and squirted the liquid inbetween his mandibles. Shivering slightly, then squaring his shoulders, he waddled out and staggered left down the corridor. He heard the Stamplez before seeing them, the growls, shouts, cheers, tables and chairs being smashed, but most of all the chorus of KKKKAAAARRRRKKKKs gobs.

He slammed the door open and walked in like he owned the place, and instantly regretted it as a hundred extremely ferocious heads turned to him, a hundred sharp serrated teeth flashed white, and a hundred spiked tails, seemingly endowed with a life of their own, swished and whipped around. Many tails became entangled starting a number of tail wrestling contests.

Speak, speak, speak. "Hail fighting warriors of the planet Stam. I salute your bravery," he shouted, holding up his two right arms. "Your courageousness is renowned throughout the universe. Tales of your valour are told in places where all races meet."

Luckily for him this struck a chord with the Stamplez, and they went wild with ferocious fervour.

Aloysius waited for some minutes for them to stop attacking and fighting and tail wrestling one another.

"But listen to me great warriors of the universe, the planet we are going to is infested with humans.'

Which was met with shouts of "Kill the Humans. Eat the humans. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." gob "KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob, gob, gob. Ad infinitum.

"They have derided the Stamplez, insulted the Stamplez, calling them weak and cowards."

Suddenly all hell broke loose, and Aloysius was out the door faster than a cat with a lit roman candle stuck up its jackzie.

"But why did you say those things Aloysius, and put yourself in danger?"

"Ethelburga, I've never been so scared in all my four lives. I've never seen anything like it. Ethelburga, they are the most fearsome creatures I have ever had the misfortune to meet. I had to make a quick exit, there must be nothing worse than a fighting mad Stamplez, especially with their tail barbed, their claws out, and their teeth flashing in and out. I honestly think one Stamplez would be enough to wipe out every human on that planet, and there's a hundred aboard this ship. But I am safe, and most of all fairly happy in the knowledge that it will take about one thousandth of a wang for the Stamplez and humans to start fighting, and that will be the end of the humans. Ha –ha – HA –HA."

"But Aloysius, you'll be on the planet when they start fighting, you could get hurt, or even worse."

"Blinkin' gangles, you're right, I never thought of that. Perhaps it would be best for me to stay on board, once the Stamplez get going they want to kill everything that moves. I watched some of them training, a Stamplez with a proton gun, phew it was an awesome sight."

An echoing tannoy voice boomed throughout the ship, "Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch, report to the Captain's cabin immediately. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"I'll have to go, we must be orbiting the planet. Speak to you later."

The corridor was empty as Aloysius left his cabin and waddled the short distance to the Captain's cabin. The door slid open before he had a chance to knock.

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "Enter."

Acastus Taube was standing just inside the door, "Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch, whoop, how good for you to see me again, whoop. Sit."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

Aloysius knew he was in trouble, he could feel it in his blue water. He sat.

"Some unpleasant, whoop, news has reached me that you haven inciting the Stamplez to kill humans, whoop."

"Me, certainly not, whoever said that is a liar."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "I said it Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch. And at this moment I've a good mind to rip off your trunk and shove it up your -."

"Whoop. Please Captain, whoop, Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch, I think you owe the Captain an apology."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"Shut up. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"Sorry, sorry."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"Enough Captain, whoop, down to business, whoop. Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch, I have decided that only you, the Captain and I will meet the humans, whoop. Unfortunately, we have not been able to make contact with them, we can receive their signals, but they cannot receive ours, it seems their equipment is too primitive, whoop. Therefore, we will have to transport down in person. Whoop, whoop, whoop."

Aloysius was surprised at the three whoops, definitely a sign of nervousness. "What? Only the three of us to transport?"

"Whoop, yes Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch."

"Excuse me, but the humans don't know that other life forms exist."

"Whoop, we are aware of that, whoop."

"When my partner-in-mandibles and I beamed down last time they thought we were wearing fancy dress costumes."

"Whoop. Yes, I am aware of that. However, we're dealing with a very primitive, emerging, whoop, species. Therefore, we must be patient and diplomatic. Whoop."

Aloysius clicked his mandibles, "There was also a problem with their pollution, it stopped our force-fields from working."

"Whoop. Yes, I am also aware of that. I have a brain capacity unsurpassed in the known universe, whoop. I read your report."

Aloysius could feel a blue doom spreading over him. "They are violent, they fight all the time. There's wars going on, they take drugs, drink alcohol to excess, and kill one another with their method of transportation."

"Whoop. I am aware of all these problems, that is why, whoop, the captain is accompanying us."

"Most honoured Diplomat Taube, perhaps it would be better if just you, the Captain and his brigade of Stamplez went. After all everyone knows how I feel about humans, I hate, dislike, dislike them almost as much as the Stamp..."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

Aloysius looked at the captain and felt his knees turn to moon jelly. "I didn't mean. Well, what I meant. Sorry, sorry."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch, whoop, you have the legal deeds to this planet, we cannot enter into negotiations with you absent. Whoop. No, you must accompany us. Captain, whoop."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "Computer, activate."

The three instantly vanished and reappeared in Liverpool, at the Albert Dock.

"Whoop, what is that stink? Whoop"

"Humans."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. Their smell is making me hungry. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"Please, whoop, Captain, control your appetite, whoop"

"Hey look, a walking dolphin."

A crowd was beginning to gather, talking, laughing and pointing.

"Whoop, whoop, whoop, stand back humans, your aromas are making the Captain hungry. Whoop."

Aloysius was becoming nervous. "We should leave, we're in the wrong place."

Two uniformed police officers elbowed through the gathering crowd and stopped. The first officer spoke, "Ay, Ay, something fishy going on here."

Even though it was a pathetic joke the crowd loved it.

The second police officer stepped forward, "What charity do you three represent them? And where's your collecting buckets?"

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"You dirty sod, look at my uniform. Right, take that mask off."

"Whoop, human, please control your aggression. Captain, please stand back."

"Come on fish-face, I'm arresting you three..."

"Whoop, whoop, whoop."

"Great sound effects, sounds like a real dolphin," a woman near the front said.

"Whoop, there is one thing I find puzzling, why does your head go to a point and the other humans do not? Whoop."

Aloysius glanced around, the crowds of humans were becoming greater, more and more of them seemed to be gathering, perhaps he could start it here. The Captain would finish this lot off no problem.

"Keep it up mate and you'll be back where you belong, in that dock."

"Captain," Aloysius whispered, "the humans are mocking you."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"Whoop, control yourself Captain, I will deal with this. You are wearing some sort of uniform. I take it you are a member of the law enforcement upon this planet?"

"Yes mate, locally known as bizzies, because we're kept busy with nuts like you parading around in fancy dress. Now I'm going to give you one more chance, move on."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

'God, that's disgusting."

"Whoop, please, I wish to know where we are?"

"Tell your mate if he does that one more time, I'm going to arrest him for fouling a public highway."

"Whoop, please tell us where we are? Whoop. We're looking for the United Nations Building, in a place called New York, Whoop, New York. Captain do not eat that little human, whoop."

A young mother with arms like Popeye, but with better tattoos, grabbed her little boy out of the Captain's claws.

Aloysius was disappointed; the Captain eating that little human would have certainly started hostilities.

"Right mate, you're in the Albert Dock, which is in a city called Liverpool, in a country called England, part of the United Kingdom, also known as Great Britain, which is in the continent of Europe. Now the United Nations is in a city called New York, in the United States of America, which is a couple of thousand miles across the Atlantic Ocean. You'd be alright, you look as though you could swim it, but your two mates look like they'd sink, especially the fat one that looks like a cross between and elephant and a big fat ant."

Aloysius wondered what an elephant and a big fat ant were. How could he get the Captain to start killing the humans? Perhaps if the humans killed Taube then the Captain would kill them all, but the humans didn't look as though they would kill anyone, they all looked as though they were enjoying themselves, and the stink was getting worse.

"Whoop. Thank you. Captain, back to the ship I think. Whoop."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"You dirty sod, He's just gobbed all over my uniform."

"He did that to me before, look."

"Right, that's it ugly, I'm arresting you for assaulting a police-officer. Take that stupid looking mask off."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob "Prepare to die human."

"He's done it again."

"Whoop, Captain please restrain yourself. Have us transported back. Whoop."

"Too late mate, you're not going back to the Star-Ship Enterprise, the three of you are under arrest, and I'm going to beam you straight to the local nick."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "Computer activate."

They instantly vanished.

"Bloody hell, where'd they go, how did they do that?"

"Special effects officer, a television engineer told me about it a couple of months ago. Y'see, how they do it is that they have one hologram beam inside that building there, and another one on top of the Liver Buildings, they both send out beams, and where the beams cross an image forms."

"Very clever," the first police officer said, "tell me, how did the big ugly one do the gobs of spit that's all over our uniforms?"

"Probably a little joke by the engineers. They probably had popguns loaded up with, er, plastic, er, bullets filled with icing sugar. Taste it, it's sugar and water."

The two police officers dipped their fingers in the white goo and tasted it.

"Eek, yuk."

"Oh my god, I'm going to be sick."

"Right sir, show me where these engineers would be, we want to have a word with them."

Acastus, Aloysius and Captain ZZZIZZZ appeared outside the United Nations Building in New York.

"Whoop, where are we now? Whoop"

"I recognise this place," answered Aloysius, "this is where their leaders congregate."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "Ro-Winger Rindkraftfleisch is right, this planet is a mess, all the humans should be eliminated. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"Whoop, please Captain, we're here to negotiate, whoop."

A middle-aged man and woman stopped in front of them.

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "Stand back human, or I will rip your head off and eat it. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." gob.

The man shook his head and spoke in a cultured Boston accent, "Oh no, not another Star Trek convention. But why oh why can't you guys get it right. This is what I was saying to you last week honey."

"What was that babe?"

"Listen you guys, I work for N.A.S.A., the wife and I are spending a few days exploring the big apple, but these suits, come on, they're crap."

"Whoop, crap, whoop, what is crap, whoop?"

"Stand next to them babe, I'll take a photo."

"No way honey, the costumes are pathetic. And, come on guys, speaking English for God's sake? Aliens would not speak English. Try and be original, and if not, at least speak Klingon."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "Explain yourself human."

"Take him," he said pointing at Aloysius, "or is it a her?"

"Me?" asked Aloysius.

"How can you mix an elephant's trunk with an insect's mandible, it's ridiculous, no where in the universe would such a combination happen. And you," he nodded at Acastus.

"Whoop, my name is Acastus Taube, whoop, I am..."

"Yeah sure, whatever, a dolphin with arms and legs, come on man, be realistic. And you," he pointed at the Captain,

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "You are about to join your ancestors. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, and what are you supposed to be, a cross between a dinosaur and a shark? And, that tail's hopeless, although the goo coming out of your mouth is quite good."

The Captain's tail moved with a lightening swish and the spike stiffened with a crack.

"Hey, the tail's moving was good, I admit, great sound effects, and those spikes are great, but the teeth, it's already been done, and to better effect, in the Alien series. Check the copyright buddy, I think you're breaking it. Come on honey, let's go and get a hot dog, at least they're real."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"Whoop, Captain please control your anger, and whoop, other urges. I think it may be wise if we, whoop, returned to the ship, whoop."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "Not before I take a couple of human heads back with me."

"Whoop, Captain, have us transported back to the ship immediately, whoop."

Aloysius felt he had to intervene. "Surely it wouldn't do any harm for the Captain to take just a couple of heads back for his break?"

"Whoop, now Captain, whoop."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "Computer activate."

Instantly the three appeared back on the ship.

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "Red alert, red alert, all Stamplez on immediate standby, fully armed, assemble at transporter stations, prepare for battle with humans."

Aloysius heard the collective KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK. Gob. And felt his hopes rise; the humans wouldn't stand a chance against the Stamplez.

"Whoop, Captain call of the red alert, whoop."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. No way, no one insults a Stamplez and gets away with it, especially a human. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"Whoop, Captain, whoop."

"The Captain's right," Aloysius felt he must crank the Captain's temper up a notch, "they did insult the Stamplez, and the names they called him, a dinosaur, everyone can see the Captain looks nothing like a dinosaur. And, and, a shark, whatever that is, but it doesn't sound complimentary?"

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "All troops, now hear this, now hear this, we're going to kick human butt. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

Aloysius felt elated as he heard the loud one hundred KKKKAAAARRRRKKKKs.

"Whoop, Captain, whoop, you are under my direct command, call off the red alert and stand your Stamplez down, that is a direct command, whoop."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "The Stamplez honour must be defended. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"I quite agree," agreed Aloysius, "the Stamplez honour must be defended."

"Whoop, if you persist, I will report you to the Council, and you will be severely reprimanded, whoop."

Aloysius had heard about this, being reprimanded by the Stamplez meant having your head ripped off.

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "I'll make a deal with you, we'll only kill a couple of billion."

Aloysius raised his proboscis, "A couple of billion? But Captain all the humans are the same, best to get the job over and done with in one go, then everyone in the universe will know that they can't insult the Stamplez."

"Whoop, shut up, whoop. Captain, I'm ordering you to stand your Stamplez down, now, whoop."

The Captain's four arms picked up his desk and ripped it in half as his tail came down on his chair and obliterated it.

"Whoop, Captain."

"KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. "All stand down, repeat all stand down. KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob.

"Whoop, thank you captain. Whoop. This will not go in my report. Whoop."

"What happens now?" Aloysius asked.

"Whoop, we will abort this delegation. Whoop. I will report to the Council, these humans will take more negotiations than I thought. Whoop."

Aloysius felt like making a "KKKKAAAARRRRKKKK." Gob. But contented himself with a "Bother".

~~~~

The Mortician

I first met the Mortician in a hospital mortuary. Obvious, you may think, were else would one meet a mortician? Well, one could encounter one in the local supermarket, pub, off licence, used car showroom, in fact anywhere, but you probably wouldn't recognise him as a mortician because morticians are just ordinary people like you and me. Just because they cut open corpses, take out metres and metres of slippery guts, slice up diseased lungs, enlarged kidneys, rotting livers, defunct hearts and spleen (if one present), buzz saw the tops of skulls off and slice the glistening brains into paper thin slices for microscopic examination, should not prejudice us against morticians.

Indeed, at first impression, this mortician seemed fairly normal. I suppose in his younger years he was quite handsome. At the time I met him he was late fortysomething, early fiftysomething, divorced (rumour had it after one month) and one of those 'sideburns from Hell' type of hairstyles. Just try to visualise that style; a parting that starts at the top of the left ear and finishes behind the bottom of the right ear. One that is so carefully coiffured that he could do a Dorothy, fly up the eye of a typhoon, and not have a hair out of place.

I always wondered about the reason behind his divorce. Did he tell his wife what he really did? I mean just imagine the conversation when he arrived home. 'I'm home sweetie pie.' 'Hello honey.' 'Gee I'm bushed.' (Don't know why I started off in this American fashion, I must be watching too many soaps) 'Have you had a trying day dear?' (That's better, seems a bit more English) 'Trying day? I've been up to my elbows in fatty tissue, blood, guts and brains. You know I opened up this stiff, he was twenty four stone, it took me ages to cut through his stomach fat, and it hung over the slab so far that it rested on the floor. It looked like a big red blanket. I kept trodding on it, nearly slipped on it twice until I kicked it under the slab. Then they brought in one body fished out of the river, all white and bloated it was and stinking to high Heaven. Then another one, who had died in his house two weeks ago with only his two Jack Russells for company, wasn't much left of him, although the ambulanceman said the dogs looked healthy enough. By the way what's for tea?'

Did his wife visualise where his hands had been as he caressed her erogenous zones? That would be enough to make a raging nymphomaniac anorgasmic. He always seemed to walk around with a ghost of a smile upon his lips, a sort of all knowing leer, as if he could see inside you. I knew a draughtsman once, he said that continually drawing engines and sections of cars gave him a sort of X-ray vision; he could look at a car and see the inside. Was the mortician like this, could he see walking skeletons, pumping hearts, digesting stomachs and flatulent bowels? I thought he could also see other things, like hernias, spots on the lungs, torn muscles, aneurysms, maybe even haemorrhoids, (he always walked around with his head down.) But then again that could be just my wild imagination.

He also had these unsettling eyes that seemed enlarged behind his thick black-rimmed glasses. Dark black eyes that probed inside you. I tried to have a conversation with him once but all he could talk about was the ins and outs of cadavers, corpses, stiffs and dead bodies. I tried to introduce the subject of an afterlife, that sent him into an episode of finger pointing, sneering derision. After he had finished I asked him if he had seen a television programme which was popular at that time called 'Quincy'. It was about an American police pathologist who lived on a yacht. (The yacht never went anywhere; it was just moored to the quay) I just happened to mention the American word for post-mortem; autopsy. Well, it was as if I'd mentioned an obscene sexual swear word to a Mother Superior. He went on for twenty minutes about the etymology of the word autopsy, how it was incorrect usage, how it really came from the Greek and really meant self-examination. How, he asked me, leaning forward until I could smell his stinky, inside of a drain, breath, could a corpse, a dead body, perform a post-mortem upon itself?

I shook my head in dumbfounded wonder as I took a step back; I was in the presence of true dedication. How indeed?

He hated his boss the pathologist, according to him he did all the real work and the pathologist was like a parasite, he did the humping, lifting, preparation, cutting, weighing, slicing, blood samples, tissue samples, everything, and his boss just came along, signed the figures and buggered off. Then he said to me, in confidence, (I knew it was in confidence the way his head and eyes shiftily looked around) 'He performed a P.M. on his own mother.'

What? I was shocked, horrified, totally astonished and mortified all in one, talk about trying to get back into the womb, but a number of thoughts immediately sprang into my mind, 1) Surely that was unethical? 2) The Mortician said he just signed the figures. 3) Was the mortician lying to discredit his boss? 4) The mortician and his boss were two of a kind. Time to go.

After that I tried to keep a discreet distance from him, unfortunately my job at that time, a hospital porter, meant that a couple of times a day I had to go to the mortuary. If he was beginning a P.M. and we wheeled in a deceased he would come out of the P.M. room with a flourish, flamboyantly flinging open the two sliding doors, leaving them open and striding purposefully over to us, I'm sure I could see the stink wafting after him, creating little eddies in his wake, and saying something like; 'what have you got for me here?' A big smile showing off his tannin and tar stained teeth. Then he would proceed to rip open the shroud exposing the deceased and looking into our faces for a reaction. It wasn't until a couple of weeks later that I shrugged off my naivety and told him off about his insensitivity. He laughed and belittled my complaint. He didn't laugh when I made it official and his hated boss reprimanded him. As you can imagine I was not his flavour of the month.

Anyway as I was saying he had this habit of coming out and opening the shroud in front of us with some sadistic pleasure. I always tried to act nonchalantly as if the sight of a fresh cadaver meant nothing to me. He always had to make some comment about the deceased, like 'oh he's got a good suntan, but that won't help him where he's going.' Or 'he's handsome isn't he, I bet he was a lad with the women,' and rip the shroud right down exposing the deceased pubic area and then say, 'no I don't think so'. He'd always look at me whilst saying this, as if he had some sort of extra sensory perception and could sense my squeamishness.

Another time four of us had to take this particularly heavy deceased to the mortuary. He pranced out, his smile dripping human fat, and exposed the corpse. 'I've been waiting for this one,' his oily mouth said, 'I'll need a hand.' He manoeuvred the trolley over towards the slab. 'Well, come on,' he said, looking directly at me. My three colleagues had discreetly moved away. 'What do you want me to do?' I asked. A foot pedal could raise the trolley, which was at the top end. 'I want you,' he said, lifting the deceased's arms onto its chest, 'to hold the right arm and make sure it doesn't fall back and get trapped under the slab.' Well I held the right arm securely over the deceased's chest as the mortician cranked up the trolley, watching the dead face come closer and closer to my own. I turned my head towards my colleagues, they were just watching, practically smirking. I looked back into the face that was devoid of life. The Mortician was still cranking. I moved my position down a little. I was concentrating so intently upon the deceased's face, the Mortician's cranking, and my three, supposed, colleagues that I didn't notice the deceased left arm fall, or realise why the Mortician cranked faster, or why the three began laughing. I remember the deceased arm stuck between my legs, the corpse turning towards me, as if trying to embrace me. I remember yelling and jumping at least four feet into the air. I remember such a feeling of revulsion overcoming me that even now, as I remember back, my skin still acts as if it has a life of its own.

My three colleagues found it highly amusing, but it is the Mortician's face I remember most, he wasn't guffawing like the others, the only way I can describe his face is if you can imagine a slimy slug in the middle of an orgasm, his eyes popping and his mouth bent like a performance graph. I suppose you can imagine the comments, 'he's come back for one last grope', 'you certainly livened him up.' With utter despair and dismay I realised I would be the standing joke for this week at least.

What to do? The only solution I could think of was to be one of the boys, roll with the joke, take it like a man, after all I was working with men, I should be like one of them, take it on the chin, laugh with the men, don't be so sensitive. I was wrong, that joke lasted for seven weeks and was brought out with relish on special occasions. I just sat back, listened, and smiled. Sometimes a new joke would be thrown in, and I must admit sometimes they were funny, but mostly they were stupid and insulting. I kept my mouth shut and smiled, after all I knew I was leaving, I knew I was leaving the first day I started. Obviously over the months I managed some moments of what could be called limited revenge but they were just little tricks, nothing they would affect them as much as that moment affected me.

However, there was one moment that confirmed to me the Mortician's mental state, it was the Friday before Christmas, Christmas being the Monday. I was working, what they called the graveyard shift, from three in the afternoon until eleven at night. It was nearly five and all the departments had gotten rid of their last patient and various parties were in full festive swing around the hospital, the Physio department were having a disco in their gym, the sharp suited bosses from the maintenance department were out in force with their cheap bottles of plonk gatecrashing every party. The X-ray department shut their doors; they were a bit more select and wouldn't have just anybody gatecrashing their party, only managers, doctors and consultants. There was no point trying to get a meal because all the chefs were pissed, but I must admit their buffet was the best. The Occupational Therapy do was very refined; you know little fingers in the air type of thing, definitely no vomiting behind the sofa.

You're probably wondering how I know all this, well at eight pm we had to conduct a fire patrol, which meant withdrawing all the spare keys to every department and going around and checking that the hospital wasn't burning down.

Obviously, the Friday before Christmas many of these parties were still in full swing so we didn't reach the mortuary until nearly ten, being offered drinks all over the show, suffice to say we were ourselves red faced and a little tipsy. We would have given the mortuary a miss but there was a light on so we had to check. Thinking back I should have realised, it must have been the drink. As we walked over we could hear disco music and whooping sounds. My colleague and I looked at one another, 'who'd have a Christmas party in the mortuary?' I, being in charge of the keys, unlocked the door and entered first, what a dope.

The sight that greeted us will remain fixed in my mind until the day I die. It keeps haunting me, popping into my mind at the most inappropriate time, when I'm about to tuck into a Lasagne, or just talking to someone, this vision will panoramically flash before my eyes. There were naked corpses everywhere, strewn all over the floor, their limbs bent at grotesque angles, some propped up, others almost upside down, some with their chest cavities opened to the world.

I could hardly believe my eyes. There he was, the Mortician, raving as if he'd just taken an ecstasy tablet, trying to disco dance with a naked corpse. Pulling and twisting this poor unfortunate woman's dead body across the floor.

Stupid me, I didn't hear the door slam and automatically lock behind me. Somehow, it didn't occur to me that my colleague would desert me. I couldn't move as the Mortician dropped his partner with a stomach turning thud upon the tiled floor and danced towards me.

I backed towards the door and was too frightened to even panic when I found it locked. I could only stare as this major weirdo thrust his hips with every step towards me. The danger didn't even register when he flashed a large slicing knife in front of my nose. 'Come to join the party?' he asked me as his lower jaw and lips acted in drunken independence. His breath was so strong it brought tears to my eyes; it smelled exactly like the pickling room in the labs. Still to this day I wonder if he had been drinking Formalin, (which is a solution of Formaldehyde and alcohol.)

'Come in and meet my mates,' he said, 'the best mates a man could ever have.' He grabbed hold of my elbow and guided me to two male corpses sitting up against a wall; one corpse had its arm around the other's shoulders. 'This is Bill,' he continued, 'and this is Ben, two very dead men.' He burst into laughter. 'Ben's well hung isn't he; look at the size of that, built like a donkey. What's that Ben?' he asked the corpse and then turned to me. 'Ben,' he said then giggled, 'wants you to dance. You will won't you? Of course she will Ben.'

I couldn't move, it was as if my body had died but I still knew what was going on.

'Go on,' he said.

I felt his strong hand grip the back of my neck and begin to force my head down. I caught some reflection of myself in the slicing knife. For the briefest of moments I felt as if I was in some surrealist advert, you know the type, were goldfish bowl faces flash before the screen, and weird jangly music is supposed to make you jump up and rush out to buy the product.

Then I heard shouts, the door smashed in, blue uniforms, many hands wrestling the Mortician to the floor, kind hands helping me to my feet, then blackness, I fainted. I never went back to that job, I work in a garden centre now with lovely flowers and plants, I love it, but I still have nightmares, flashbacks and visions that shock me even now. Occasionally I can see a set of exposed ribs in a leaf, a dead face in a pansy, floppy arms and legs in a spider plant, and the smell of death and disease seems to invade my nostrils without warning. And sometimes, when someone taps me on the shoulder, I turn in dread, imagining the Mortician's leering sadistic face and the big shiny slicing knife and half a dozen corpses standing behind him.

My Psychiatrist says I'm suffering from Post-traumatic stress disorder, and, admittedly, it does make me very depressed. Perhaps my mother was right, there are certain jobs different people are not suited to. I suppose one's personality should match the job, and at this moment I need flowers, nice aromas and brilliant colours.

The Mortician, I believe, is in a secure hospital somewhere.

~~~~

Unselfish Love

Peter relaxed as he drove, his muscular hands gently resting on the driving wheel, but still giving him complete control as the powerful car ate mile after mile of dark, smooth motorway. Elaine, Peter's wife, snuggled deeper into the seats, letting the hypnotic beat of the windscreen wipers relax her.

Suddenly, she looked up. 'Where are we?'

'We'll be in Perth in about twenty minutes.1

'Good,' she answered. 'Won't be long now.' She could hardly wait to see her parent's faces when she told them the good news she'd been keeping a secret these past seven months.

Onwards he drove, coming to the end of the motorway and going onto the A roads, driving northwards, past Perth then passing through the quiet snow covered Forest of Atholl.

The moon broke through the thick clouds, high-lighting the massed white tipped conifers. They drove through Inverness, the snow-laden streets were quiet and deserted. A feeling of loneliness crept upon Peter as the cars they passed became something of an occasion. Heading north the snow became thicker, but it was not impassable, and they continued to make reasonable time.

Suddenly, Peter stopped; he had a suspicion he'd taken a wrong turn. He looked around and was sure he had. Pressing his feet hard into the floor and his back into the seat, he raised his arms above his head and stretched them as far as they would go. Yawning, he roughly rubbed his eyes and accidentally nudged Elaine, waking her up.

'What's wrong?'

'I'm sorry,' he answered.

'Where are we?'

'I'm lost,' he answered, closing his eyes and harshly rubbing his face.

Elaine looked around. 'Oh I recognise where we are, you've taken the wrong turning.'

Peter could only mutter an 'Oh', his arms and legs felt numb.

'Shall I drive the rest of the way?'

'Sounds good.' He opened his door and climbed out, the freezing wind penetrating his thick clothing, making him shiver. He ran around the car, the crunchy snow yielding to his unsuitable city shoes. Elaine climbed over the gear-stick, suppressing a shiver as the icy air invaded their warm cocoon. She settled herself into the driving seat and with an excellent, but slow, three point turn turned the car around.

'You have a sleep,' she ordered him, 'we'll be there in half an hour.'

Peter, never one to argue with sensible orders, settled himself into the seat and tried to settle, but the tight seat-belt bit into his neck, disturbing his tranquillity. 'I'll have to take this off, I can't settle.'

Elaine nodded as he unclicked the seat-belt and stretched out. She drove on, and finding the right road she turned. Suddenly, without warning, another car came roaring out of a hidden track in front of her. She swerved to avoid it, and lost control.

The car seemed to develop a life of its own, the steering wheel turned against her will, snapping out of her hands. She looked at Peter, who stared back at her uncomprehendingly.

The world seemed to turn over in front of their eyes. With a forcing jolt the car came to a halt on its passenger's side. Peter's head smashed hard against the door window breaking it. Elaine was still safely strapped into her seat, hanging awkwardly over Peter. Her senses were shocked, and a feeling of disorientation overwhelmed her; then, panic gnawed at her tightened nerves, making the silence awesome. She looked down at Peter, trying to see him in the oppressive darkness.

Slowly, her eyes became accustomed to the gloom and she could make out his shape. He was crumpled in a crouched position, a large darkish shape was slowly moving down his forehead; blood.

She seemed frozen, unable to move, not feeling any pain; not feeling anything. The car moved, sliding forwards, making the unbearable noises of metal scraping and scratching over snow, grass and rubble. Suddenly, she heard the sound of water gushing in through the broken window, it made her look around. They were partially submerged in a small frozen pond, the ice broken and the freezing water continuing to pour in, threatening to drown Peter.

An inner strength forced its way into her mind, snapping her out of her shocked lethargy. Easing her legs around and gripping the steering wheel tightly with one hand, she snapped her seat belt off with the other. Her body, now unrestrained, fell; quickly, she righted herself, and carefully placed one leg besides Peter. The freezing waters bit into her skin, making her shiver uncontrollably. Peter's head was now nearly under water. She reached down and grasped hold of his thick sodden duffle coat, and with all her might pulled and heaved him into a half sitting, half laying position.

The water had stopped its invasion, becoming level with the pond. She was breathing heavily, as every muscle in her body ached for release. She sensed the pain before feeling it, then it hit her; abdominal cramps, making her double and hold her stomach. As quickly as the pain came it subsided. Taking deep breaths she straightened, and realised that she must try to get Peter out, otherwise he would surely die.

She tried lifting him, but that was impossible as his saturated clothes added to his considerable weight, and also with each exertion, the abdominal pains returned. Momentarily giving up, she reached and wound open the driver's window. Hauling herself up she climbed through the window and sat on the door surveying her surroundings, desperately searching for some form of help. The other car was nowhere in sight, the driver must have carried on, either ignorant of their plight, or not bothered.

Every muscle in her body began aching, sending pleading messages to her brain, defusing into one enormous pain. Multi-coloured spots darted before her eyes, joining; threatening to engulf her. A couple of deep breaths of the crisp, cold air revived her, and the spots disappeared. Peering into the car she saw, and felt by instinct, that Peter's face was turning blue. A deep sense of survival urged her into action. She moved, but quickly stopped as the car gently rocked on its side.

An idea came to her, giving her body renewed strength. Slowly, she climbed down into the icy water, the coldness was like thousands of needles pricking her legs.

Quickly, she waded around the car, then with all her strength pushed hard on the roof the car lazily rocked sending a wave of icy water over her knees. Again she pushed; timing the rocking motion; preparing herself; building up reserves of strength, again she pushed. The car moved dangerously back to her. With all her strength she gave one final heave, pushed with all her might, and mentally forced the car away from her. It seemed to balance precariously at an angle, and she had visions of it rolling back and squashing her. Blood pumped madly through her veins, adrenalin flowed freely.

That instant was an eternity. Her limbs felt numb, as if they did not belong to her. She gave a scream of exertion, and slowly, the car-began to move until gravity relieved her of her massive burden.

The car crashed into the water, sending an icy wave, soaking her above the waist. Leaning against the car she gasped for air, then her stomach knotted in painful cramps.

After a moment they lessened and she opened the passenger door. Peter's legs tumbled out, he was lying across the seat, his left arm twisted unnaturally at his side. She gently tugged him into a sitting position. She knew she had to go for help, but also knew that if she left him for any length of time he would die.

Wading to the driver's side she opened the door and eased herself in. The key was still in the ignition. She turned it, hoping, and offering a silent prayer, the engine would start. Nothing. Again she roughly turned the key. Again nothing. Many times she tried, until finally she was overcome with frustration and despair.

Her head rested on the steering wheel and she began crying, but just as quickly stopped, realising sobbing would not save Peter's life. She looked at Peter, he was still breathing. Suddenly, she lifted her head, as a. noise intruded through her pain. It was the drone of another car. Frantically, she opened her door and ran through the freezing water, ignoring her body's protests. She reached the road and could make out a set of car lights gradually coming towards her. Running into the middle, of the road, she waved her arms madly. Her foot slipped and she went tumbling into the fresh soft fallen snow. Wearily, she forced herself to stand, the abdominal cramps once again stabbing into her fatigued mind. The car slowly rolled to a halt and a man and woman quickly ran to her.

'My husband,' Elaine gasped, pointing, 'he's injured, in the water.'

'Take her to the car,' the man said running away. The woman put her arms around Elaine's shoulders, supporting her, and gently comforting her, helped her towards their car. She aided Elaine into the back seat and wrapped a thick blanket over and around her knees, then removed Elaine's wet overcoat, took off her own thick sheepskin and wrapped it around Elaine's shoulders.

Elaine involuntarily convulsed and quickly folded her arms around her stomach.

'What's wrong, are you injured?' the woman asked.

'I'm seven months pregnant,' Elaine answered suppressing a sob.

The woman put her arm around Elaine and began rubbing her back vigorously. Elaine looked up, through all her pain and misery, she still worried about Peter. The man came into the glare of his car's headlights with Peter slung over his shoulder. He opened the passenger door and gently eased Peter into the seat.

'Is he still alive?' Elaine almost shouted.

'Yes, he's alive, but we'll have to get him to hospital.'

Elaine closed her eyes and unconsciousness replaced the pain.

Peter awoke to see a young woman in a dark blue dress looking at him. For a moment all was total confusion, he should be sitting in the car. Then he remembered, the car speeding, the world spinning. 'Elaine, my wife?' he asked, almost neurotically.

'She's fine, she's in another ward,' the nurse answered in a broad Scots accent.

'I want to see her.'

'You should rest.'

'I'll go myself then,' he said, throwing back the sheets.

'Okay, okay, if you're feeling up to it I'll take you to see her. Just wait a moment and I'll get a wheelchair.'

Two minutes later Peter was in the wheelchair with a bright blue blanket wrapped around his knees, being pushed out of the large ward.

'What happened?'

'I'll tell you on the way.'

They were almost, at the woman's ward, and the nurse had nearly finished what she knew of their story.

'The baby, Elaine was seven months pregnant, what happened to the baby?'

'It would be best if your wife told you,' she answered.

Peter's insides felt like a giant hand was twisting them. He knew the worse. 'Is Elaine all right, tell me is Elaine all right?'

'Yes,' the nurse answered as she wheeled Peter into the ward, past the beds, and the staring, and some smiling, faces.

He looked quickly about trying to see Elaine. He saw her, she looked pale.

The nurse wheeled him next to her bed.

Elaine looked at him and smiled. 'You're looking better; the doctor said that gash will leave a scar. But I'll still love you,' she said tenderly, reaching over and touching the bandage.

Peter felt his throat tighten. 'I love you. I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I promise. We can plan for more.'

'More what?'

'In the future, when you're better.'

'What are you talking about?'

'We'll have children, I promise.'

'Do you mean beside the one that's in the Special Care Baby Unit?'

Peter started as if shocked by a charge of electricity. 'You mean, you've had the baby, you're all right?'

'Yes, I'm fine.'

'The baby's all right?'

'Yes, and the baby is a girl.'

'Ha, ha, a girl.' Peter could not contain his emotion; the tears flowed down his face. 'I thought, the nurse said, well, she didn't say actually. Oh, I love you.' He hugged and kissed her. 'When, and I wanted to be with you?'

'This morning, anyway they wouldn't have let you in, it was by Caesarean section. The doctors thought it was best.'

'Caesarean section, are you alright?'

'Told you, I'm fine, the painkillers are great, can't feel a thing. You've been out for two days.'

Peter stared at her. 'When can I see her?'

'Anytime I think, ask the nurse.'

'But it's two months early?'

'She fine, good weight too, almost six pounds.'

'You saved my life.'

'Yes, I suppose I did.' She smiled and looked into his sparkling eyes.

'How did you manage it?'

'Easy, couldn't let you die, who would I nag then?'

They both burst into laughter.

'How can I ever repay you?'

'Well, you can do the vacuuming for the next year.'

'Steady on, you only saved my life, the next month.'

'It was hard work pushing that car over, eleven months.'

'Men push cars over all the time, two months.'

'Not in the middle of frozen ponds, nine months, take it or leave it.'

'You drive a hard bargain.' He leaned over and gently kissed her.

~~~~

The Hero

It was as if every early warning system in the world had a hundred thousand volts shoved up its input connection, they screamed, as if in agonising pain.

To those outside, looking up to the skies and the stars, it was the most wondrous sight they had ever seen, incandescent red, yellow and green holes were opening in the fabric of space. Bolts of white lightening wrapped around rays of brilliant sunlight, creating images that remained on the retina.

Then they appeared, thousands and thousands of them, some small, no bigger than an articulated truck, others as large as a Caribbean Island, moving into loose formations that only they knew the purpose of.

They were all shapes and colours, some so bulbous that they made the bumblebee look aerodynamic, others so sleek that they could zoom past and not disturb the petals of a flower. Others, so fantastic that it was unbelievable, enormous ships that changed shapes and colours, like gigantic chameleon fish, or powerful octopuses sliding through small fissures in coral, or luminescent jellyfish becoming solid then amorphous.

Millions upon millions watched, and they knew, they could feel the power, the awesomeness. They could sense the greatness and majesty, and it made them plumb the depths of their despair, and run and hide, and quiver in the darkness of their own fears, their own inadequacies, their own phobias. Yet, still millions watched, with their naked eye, through telescopes, binoculars, infrared, ultra-violet, radio telescopes, and other technologies not widely available.

The ships carried on arriving until their numbers were impossible to count, until they backed up beyond the moon, in rows upon rows, tiers upon tiers. Then, almost simultaneously, many scientists across the globe noticed a pattern in the behaviour of the ships. The largest, most fantastic, most, seemingly, technologically advanced, were nearest the Earth, then in apparent descending order of rank until at the back, beyond the moon, were the smallest and least looking advanced ships. They stopped and the holes closes and the ships were immobile. Scientists, Mathematicians, Chaos Philosophers, every discipline one could imagine began counting, and everyone reached a different amount. However, they were all around the four million mark.

A score of idiot politicians from many countries ordered first strikes. It was gnats against mountains, cavemen verses Einsteins, and everyone thanked God there was no retaliation.

At ten twenty, U.S.A. Eastern Time, on the Tenth of November, Two Thousand and Twenty Five a single hole in the sky appeared. Its lightening flashed, the colours intertwined and coalesced, its sunrays blinded, and the most fantastic, incredible ship glided out.

Many looked at it and instantly thought if God were to arrive in a space ship, this would be it.

It was a gothic cathedral of fluidic diamonds, emeralds and rubies, moving with exquisite grace. One moment it was like a crystal swan in space, and then changing to what millions though resembled an emerald dove seeming to glide and swoop and changing back to the swan.

It moved with such relative slowness, as if it was a glorious hearse, delivering its final passenger. It filled the sky with a beauty of unparalleled proportions; billions could only gape with awe.

Down it descended, defying Earth's gravity, moving with a slowness that many scientists calculated at a hundred kilometres per hour, at a distance of fifty thousand kilometres, would take the ship twenty days, nineteen hours, fifty-five minutes and two seconds. Many scientists felt they could be so precise because its speed did not vary one iota.

They also calculated its two sizes; the crystal swan was four thousand meters diameter at its widest point and eight thousand meters long. The dove was narrower at only two thousand five hundred meters diameter at its widest point, but longer at twelve thousand meters, which puzzled the scientists.

They also calculated its exact landing spot, that was, of course, if it didn't change course, or vary in its speed, or blow the earth to smithereens. It would land two kilometres north of a town called Old Saybrook.

However, all that area from Washington through Baltimore, Wilmington, Philadelphia, Trenton, Newark, New York, Hartford and up to Boston had become one vast conglomeration of suburbs, and the area from New Haven to New London was one of the more affluent areas, you had to earn fifty mil a year before even looking at any property there. The residents were far from happy at being made to abandon their beautiful houses by Police, backed up by State Police, backed up by National Guard, supervised by the F.B.I., and watched by agents from a dozen clandestine Government agencies.

A twenty kilometre square area was evacuated, leaving just expensive real estate, pests (including the human variety) and wildlife. Looters were instantly gaoled.

One day left and its speed was decelerating, meaning the scientist had it wrong and not taken into account landing speed. It would take four hours more than they calculated. Idiots.

It could be seen with the naked eye now, but practically everyone watched it with either binoculars or telescopes.

Then it began changing shape again becoming a cone, an octahedral spire and back to a cone, and to the spire, as if it couldn't make up its mind.

At ten miles high, it kept its shape as an octahedral spire and moved its base to face the Earth. Still it shimmered as if disco lights were dancing up and down the Crown jewels.

Slowly it descended towards the multibillion-dollar real estate of Old Saybrook, and the wildlife, which had been enjoying a human free existence for the past three weeks, instinctively knew something huge was descending upon them, and fled.

Its landing was watched by nearly sixteen billion people across the globe. Down it descended, stately, majestic, glorious, fantastic, an event so momentous it would dwarf other historical episodes into nothingness.

Its descent was slowing further, now one metre a second, and then it seemed to stop at exactly one hundred meters.

Everyone marvelled, how was it hovering? No engines were detected, no heat was being generated beneath it, no air currents were diverted because of power. How could something so enormous remain motionless one hundred meters in the sky?

Of course, we had the technology to do the same, but some form of power, of propulsion, would be evident. Here there was nothing.

Suddenly from beneath the crystal cathedral a red beam of energy shot out, hitting the ground and spreading out, incinerating everything within a half kilometre circle to nothing.

It began moving again, slowly descending to twenty meters, and eight diamond-looking spikes shot out from its base, reaching to the ground. And it kept descending and the spikes forced into the ground.

And everyone realised the spikes were foundations as the crystal cathedral came to rest upon the ground. And fifty trillion dollars worth of real estate was squashed and obliterated and insurance underwriters threw anything they could lay their hands upon at the screens.

The crystal cathedral settled and a gigantic section of its front opened. A million cameras pointed inside and saw nothing. Then miraculously, without any tools, weapons or whatever, a square kilometre of ground in front cleared and what looked like emerald green concrete containing billions of glistening jewels flowed out of the entrance and settled and hardened and became a beautiful, perfectly level plateau.

Then, almost by magic, a multi-coloured sphere appeared in front, sitting on the plateau. It was small, probably no bigger than a cement truck. Everyone gasped as the sphere changed colour to the same as the plateau, then seemed to give a massive sigh and settle, as if the exertions had tired it.

The myriads of scientific disciplines could only guess at it composition, but many thought it was alive.

And suddenly it was forming lumps all over, and miraculously it was no longer one large sphere but twenty seven smaller identical ones that, almost in a military fashion, glided towards the massive black hole of an entrance and vanished inside.

Everyone watched and waited and exactly twenty seven minutes later they glided back out, began absorbing themselves into one main sphere, again became multi-coloured and disappeared.

The next ship to appear came flashing from the sky, having left its mother ship undetected by any of Earth's early warning systems. It zoomed in at an impossible speed, it seemed nothing would be able to stop it from crashing.

But to everyone's amazement, it instantly stopped on the plateau. It was a weird looking thing, a red, silver metallic tube shaped with spherical ends, divided into three by a set of, what seemed to be, twenty seven fragile-looking petals perpendicular to the tube. The petals shimmered and trembled, looking as though they would blow off at the slightest breeze. But everyone knew they wouldn't because it had just flown down at a thousand miles per hour.

One spherical end appeared to dissolve and a dark grey figure floated out. Estimates put it at two point five meters tall and a metre in diameter. Like the spheres before it, it floated and looked like it had some sort of head, with various antennae, at least twenty seven, but impossible to count, because they kept intertwining, protruding out at every angle. A number of scientists thought it was a protection suit. It moved towards the crystal cathedral and more came floating out of the tube, twenty-seven in fact. With military precision they floated into the crystal cathedral.

Twenty-seven minutes later they came floating back out into their ship and zoomed off at a speed impossible to register

The next ship landed, and again this perplexed the scientists, as it seemed to co-exist in twenty-seven different dimensions, changing size, shape and colours so fast that only a computer could track the transformations. And then it settled into the most unsymmetrical object they had ever seen. A space ship designed by Picasso, built by Salvador Dali, and finished by Francis Bacon. It had bits sticking out, round bits, square, pointy, all sorts of weird shapes.

Suddenly all the bits, square, spherical, irregular, all shapes and sizes, began detaching themselves, lining up and floating into the cathedral.

Exactly twenty seven minutes later they floated back out, reattached themselves, and the ship floated upwards, quickly gaining speed until in a few minutes it was attaching itself to a much larger, exactly similar, ship in space.

This went on for days, ships of every shape and size and colour landing, aliens of every shape and size and colour floating into the gigantic cathedral, staying for exactly twenty seven minutes, coming back out and zooming off into their holes in space and back to wherever they came from.

Every scientist was puzzled, thousands of ships had landed, thousands of aliens had floated into the cathedral, but not one alien had walked, not one had had any contact with the ground, and not one had tried to make contact with earth, or even acknowledged there were any living creatures upon the planet. Every one was so 'alien', so unexpectedly alien, that they felt like apes looking at advanced civilisations. Some ships contained a hundred, sometimes two, different species.

After nearly a month it seemed the less advanced ships were the only ones left and they did contain bipeds, tripedals, quadrupeds, quintupeds, sextupeds, septipeds, octupeds, centipeds, and ones with wings and bi-wings, and ones that crawled, and others that slithered, and rolled, and still others that moved with incredible speed. But they all went into the cathedral, and they all only stayed for twenty-seven minutes, and they all left without so much as a wave, leaving sixteen billion people very perplexed, but also glad they hadn't been turned into slaves, sushi or whatever.

The skies were deserted and earth was left alone, except for the gigantic jewel and crystal cathedral. There were mixed feelings about this, billions celebrated with wild parties, the scientists and UFO watchers and greeters were depressed and replayed their dvds over and over again, minutely analysing every frame. A record number of internet sites were recorded, a record number of magazines and newspaper articles were written, but after another month of inactivity the President of the United States of America and Europe, under enormous pressure from every quarter, ordered troops to move in.

It was the worse thing he could have ordered, as the offensive force came within a half kilometre every weapon on every form of transport began popping away, as if they were made of soap bubbles, pop, pop, pop, leaving nothing more than a liquid residue. They retreated.

The President, in consultation with his cabinet, decided to send one person, and everyone knew to choose the ideal candidate from millions of highly trained soldiers would probably take years. The President, an ex-navy man, told his senior admiral to pick one man within the next eight hours. The senior admiral knew the ideal candidate, his soon to be son in law, a lowly navy seal, a marine corporal, whom he detested. With a bit of luck as soon as the prick entered he would be instantly vaporized.

For two hectic days Corporal Sam McCrea was briefed. On the third day he was shown the U.S. Army's latest weapon, a prototype nuclear titanium/ceramic fighting suit. It was radiation, biological and chemical proof, built-in computer with head-up display, strong enough to withstand a direct hit from a tank shell, built-in rations, built-in oxygen supply for ten days, built-in waste disposal, built-in radar, scanners, weapons, i.e., proton blasters, high intensive lasers, armour piercing bullets and grenades. This was the latest technology, this was the business.

It was a one size fits all, and it fitted Sam perfectly, it made him feel ten foot tall, invincible, this was what he was born for, action.

Five days later, after intensive scenarios and practices in the suit, Sam walked onto the plateau, nervous, but confident. He expected resistance, he was told there would be resistance, and yet he was walking freely towards the crystal cathedral, and the suit was fantastic, he was gonna kick alien ass. That every alien ship had left was immaterial, that building was large enough to hold an army.

A voice came through his radio, 'Sam, we've got blips on several of the systems. Stop there, we're going to run a quick diagnostic.'

Sam's head up display began running different programs.

'Weapons?'

'Check.'

'Ultra-violet?'

'Check.'

'Infra-red?'

'Check.'

On the list went for a good ten minutes, when everything checked out ok Sam was told to proceed.

Half a kilometre to go and Sam's mind was suddenly flooded with words, Tennyson's The Charge of the Light Brigade, Psalm —- Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil. The realisation that this was a suicide mission battering into his mind. He dismissed the thought and continued, the suit's hydraulic legs powering him forward, towards the black hole of an entrance.

Suddenly he was standing before it, no more than an arm's length, the blackness no longer black. He gave an involuntary shiver, and the suit exactly followed every movement.

'Sam, Sam, you ok?'

'Yeah, yeah, just shivered.'

'You gave us a scare, every reading went berserk. What can you see?'

'It's fantastic, I can see inside, it's just like the outside, but the light is shinning in, creating millions of rainbows.'

'Can you see anything else, anything moving?'

'I can't see anything moving.'

'Ok Sam, whenever you're ready, weapons are armed, back up is ready.'

'I'm going in.'

'Sam, Sam. Shit, we've lost contact, back up move in.'

Sam was flooded with awe, as if he'd stepped into another dimension, everything was four times larger than the outside. Then a figure stood before him, a human figure.'

'Welcome, I am your guide, I am a facsimile of an average human being, a computer controlled hologram. Because of copyright laws, no recording in any medium whatsoever will be allowed. Also, because this is a sacred place no weapons will be allowed. Therefore, your fighting suit has been rendered inoperable. I suggest you leave it before you suffocate.'

Sam couldn't breathe; he pressed the emergency escape button. The suit opened and he fell out, gasping in air.

'Welcome Sam McCrea to the memory of the greatest hero in the universe, the human that began the revolution that overthrew the evil Saestos. Twenty billion galaxies were under their domination, yet one puny human, changed history and liberated three hundred trillion species.

'In the earth year 1558, a small scientific team of Saestos visited earth and abducted twenty from the Mohawk tribe. Their aim was research and conquest. Among their number was one called Swift Fox. This temple is dedicated to Swift Fox. If you look to your left you will see a hologram of Swift Fox. Follow me.'

'Stop.'

'Yes Sam McCrea.'

'Why is the number twenty seven so important?'

'The general consensus is that twenty seven is God's favourite number.'

'God?'

'You call the Supreme Being God; every species has their own name. But twenty seven appears throughout the universe, twenty seven is the number of elements used in the creation of stars and planets, twenty seven is the mythological number of the first species, twenty seven was the Earth age of Swift Fox when abducted. In one short year Swift Fox galvanised twenty-seven advanced races into rebelling against the Saestos, and twenty-seven was the age when Swift Fox was assassinated. Follow me.'

'Wait, who are the Saestos?'

'One of the original twenty seven species.'

'But how did they overcome the other twenty six?'

'Through apathy.'

'And where was God in all of this?'

'How can anyone physical know of the meta-physical, how can anyone know the unknowable, even the most advanced races have only touched the surface of God. They know that God exists, but the more they probe, the more the equation multiplies. Follow me.'

'I don't understand all this.'

There are races billions of years older than you that don't understand the creation, the universe, they continue to probe, and with all their technology, they are thwarted, because the rules of the universe are unknowable, because god is unknowable. Follow me. Over here is a statue of Swift Fox, it is an exact representation of her.'

'Her?'

'Yes, Swift Fox was a female of your species.'

'A woman saved the universe?'

'Yes, a woman. Swift Fox realised the secret of the universe, she realised the magic number of twenty seven, she knew that twenty seven could not be defeated.'

'How did she know that?'

'No one knows, no one will ever know, because she was assassinated by the Saestos, but the knowledge was already in place, it was passed from alien to alien, from race to race, from father to son, from living tree to living tree. If you look over to your left you will see an exact representation of her nomad village, of her family, and as we travel through this tribute to her you will see how she saved the universe.'

~~~~

Renfield

I think introductions to begin. My name is Peter Blake, I have just finished medical school. I am twenty-three, six foot four inches tall, athletic build, very strong, blonde hair and blue eyes. I was a professional footballer playing in the then first division, which is now called the Premier. I was good, I'm not being big headed, but I was. I was tipped to play for England until an opposing centre-back mistook my knee for the ball and left me with a dodgy leg. It doesn't give me that much trouble now, it's only when I sprint hard that it breaks down. It's no good being a professional footballer if your leg only lasts five minutes into the game. I'd taken A-levels at school and achieved two Ds, and I think I was very lucky.

Anyway, I was accepted into medical school, only just, because I know I'm not that clever. It was a case of not what you know, but who. The admissions tutor was a director at my old club and I think a bit of pressure from the other directors worked. The thought of becoming a doctor lessened the disappointment of not being able to continue as a professional footballer.

The first year was difficult, I couldn't pronounce some of the medical terms let alone spell them. I think the tutors were kind in their marking, but I knew that I would fail without some help. We were just beginning the second year and the work was becoming tougher. I was half an hour late for one morning's lecture, crept in trying my best to avoid the withering stare of the lecturer, and quickly seated myself. I didn't have a clue what he was talking about, so my mind wandered. I noticed the girl directly in front of me was writing like someone possessed. Her handwriting was brilliant, as were her notes. I remembered her from the first year; she was a genius, always achieving top marks. A little plan was forming in my devious mind. I've never had any trouble finding willing dates. Again I'm not being big-headed, that's the way it was. I suppose that was one of my failings, more interested in women and sport, rather than actually getting down to study. After the lecture I found her in the library writing up her notes. She wasn't attractive, not my usual type, a bit spotty, and her hair looked at though it needed a wash.

"Hi."

She looked at me. "Hi," and continued writing.

"May I join you?"

"If you want."

I sat opposite her and spread my books and notes trying to look academic. "I'm Peter Blake."

She sort of grunted, but continued writing.

"And you are?"

"Busy."

"I mean your name."

"Yes, I know what you meant."

"Well?"

"Well leave me alone, I'm busy."

It wasn't the reaction I'd expected. "Look, I'm only trying to be friendly, we medical students should stick together."

She put her pen down and looked at me. "You must think I'm an easy touch."

"Of course I don't."

"I ask myself, why is the big handsome ex-footballer with plenty of money - insurance payout was it - with a string of girlfriends that go into orgastic delight just at the sound of his deep husky voice, interested in me?"

I was stumped, which is rare for me.

"It's not hard to figure out, you're having problems coping with the work, whereas I'm not. The scenario is chat up the ugly medical student, bed her a couple of times, and she'll write your essays for you. Get lost thickhead."

"You've got me all wrong."

"I'm busy."

"Okay, I admit it, but you've taken the scenario too far, all I wanted was to photocopy your notes from that last lecture."

"Twenty pounds."

"What?"

"Twenty Pounds, I'll let you photocopy my notes for twenty pounds."

"Twenty pounds, I could buy a medical book for that."

"Well go and buy one then. Make sure it's got large print."

"I think you're being unfair."

"Unfair, bog off. I worked hard to get here, trying to manage on a measly grant, while it was your connections that opened the door for you. Go and shag one of your bimbos and leave me alone."

"You sound bitter?"

"I'm not bitter, just sick of people like you that think they can manipulate anyone they choose. Twenty pounds, take it or leave it."

"A fiver."

"Fifteen."

"Ten."

"Twelve fifty."

"Ten."

"Okay, you pay for the photocopying."

"It's a deal." I began to reach for her notes.

"Money first."

I took out my wallet and gave her a tenner.

"You've forgotten something."

"What?"

"The money for the photocopying."

"How much is that?"

"A tenner."

I had to laugh, "A tenner for photocopying some notes?"

"As many notes as a tenner will pay for. I think you need them more than I do."

Again, I gave her the tenner. "What's your name by the way?"

"Laura Renfield, but you can call me Miss Renfield."

"Miss Renfield?"

"Very good," she smiled and tilted her head in a girlish way, which I found both unsettling and strangely attractive.

"Perhaps we can come to some arrangement."

"You want to photocopy all my lecture notes, or is there something else going on in your scheming mind?"

"Tuition, you're finding the financial side hard, I'll pay you for extra tuition."

"Twenty pounds an hour."

"Come on, that's ridiculous, a fiver."

"Fifteen."

"Seven fifty."

"Twelve fifty."

She certainly liked to bargain, must have been brought up in Casablanca's kasbah. "A tenner?"

"I'm fairly flexible, ten pounds it is, but a minimum of ten hours a week."

"A hundred pounds a week."

"And I promise you'll pass."

"And if I don't?"

"Sue me."

I had to laugh, "Okay, it's a deal." We shook hands and so began our relationship. I could afford it, for as she said I had the insurance money, and how did she find that out? Then again it's common knowledge about insurance payouts. I'm a very determined person and when I set my mind on something I go for it. For the next two years she helped me, without her I would have flunked, and my marks improved, I was almost average.

We were in our final year approaching the Christmas holidays and were hard at it, studying that is, because she had always kept our relationship purely platonic and business-like. I must admit I was a little in love with her, probably because she wouldn't let me touch. That's one of the problems with people, and especially with me, what you can't have makes it very attractive. Her spots had disappeared, and her hair was long and shiny, and she had gained weight in all the right places, probably owing to the improved diet on the money I gave her. Correction, not gave her, the money she earned, and she did earn it, especially with a thick sod like me. She also had a wicked sense of humour, and had the ability to deflate my ego when I became big-headed. But what really impressed me was her sense of perception. Many times I wondered if she was telepathic, she seemed to answer my questions before I asked them. Anyway, as I said we were approaching the Christmas break, and was I looking forward to it, going home, out with the lads, get laid, get drunk, go the match, every macho pursuit I could think of without worrying about exams and lectures, and most of all forgetting about her. We were finishing our last essay, really I should say my last essay, because she had long finished hers. She was taking me through the symptoms of Transient Ischaemic Attack and I gazed at her face, examining the contours of her forehead; it seemed faultless, so smooth, almost marble-like, classical. Her nose was delicate, practically graceful in its proportions. My eyes moved to her sweet lips and I tried to remember where I had seen their likeness before. Then it came to me; Leonardo Da Vinci's The Virgin of the Rocks in the National Gallery, her face had the classical lines of the angel.

I scrutinised the formation of her chin and found a softness and gentleness that made me want to lean over and lightly kiss it. Her neck was so appealing, so unblemished, so smooth that I wanted to run my fingers down and again kiss her flawless skin. She turned her head and looked directly into my eyes. I seemed to be engulfed by their deepness, almost hypnotised by her large black pupils and the length and beauty of her lashes. Nothing else in the world mattered, as if I had been transported to a land of fantasy and I was gazing into the eyes of the most beautiful woman of all time.

"Nevermind my eyes."

"Pardon?" I was shocked back into reality by her seemingly to be reading my thoughts.

"You're not concentrating."

"I am."

"But on the wrong things."

"So," I asked, trying to act as normally as possible, "what are you doing for Christmas? Going home, partying, looking up old mates?"

"No, I'll do what I do every holiday, volunteer to work Christmas at a psychiatric hospital. Why don't you join me, you could do with some hands on experience?"

"What, Christmas at a psychiatric hospital? I can't think of anything worse."

"I can, sitting watching Christmas programmes that were recorded in August with a family that wishes I hadn't come home."

"Why would your family wish that?"

"Haven't you noticed anything different about me?"

"Well, you've put on some weight, you're looking a lot better, healthier."

"No, not that."

"What then?"

"Haven't you ever thought there was something strange about me?"

"You're a man, you've been taking hormones?"

She burst out laughing, "No thick head, I am a woman."

"Thank God for that."

"It would have ruined your reputation wouldn't it?"

"Well, I think it would have dented it."

"No, something else."

I looked her up and down and shook my head. I was stumped.

"I can sense things."

"Sense things?"

"Yes. I'm not exactly telepathic, I can't read other's thoughts when I want, but I can sense what people are feeling, I can read ideas."

"Oh." What more could I say?

"Extra Sensory Perception. I suppose I could have developed it more fully, practiced until I could read other minds, but it's not a gift, it's a burden. I've learnt to shut it off, but sometimes thoughts come flooding in that I can't stop, or can't shut out. These are not good thoughts, but the bad, anger, hate, jealousy, envy, all the negative emotions. It sickens me sometimes. You sickened me at first."

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to."

"It's alright, I know you didn't. Sometimes images flood in, mostly pornographic. It's like watching a cheap porno movie over and over again. Let me tell you there are some weirdoes out there. Thankfully, I've learnt to control it. I imagine I'm wearing a lead helmet and the images stop. You're trying not to believe me, but in the back of your mind you know it's true. That's why I want to be a psychiatrist. I know I can help people who are mentally ill."

"This is a bit much for me."

"What, knowing I have been seeing your thought images?"

"Well, it is a bit of an invasion of privacy, my privacy." Stupid, I know, but it was all I could think of.

"Don't worry, your mind's pretty normal, well as normal as any man's mind can be. Anyway, I don't deliberately invade your mind seeking out these lurid pictures, you transmit them and I just receive them."

"Can you do this with everybody?"

"Oh no, lots of people don't transmit any thoughts, and they're the ones I like to be with."

"You're having me on aren't you?"

"Course I am, and you fell for it." She laughed and I joined her.

I left her about ten and went back to my flat, after making myself something to eat I went to bed, I had to be up early the next day, hand my essay in before the deadline and drive home. I knew she was telepathic, because what she didn't realise was that over the years we had been studying together she transmitted some of her thoughts to me, not exact thoughts as she said, but many times I knew what she was going to say, what she was going to do. It's really weird that. I tried it with other people but nothing happened, it was only with her, as if we had developed some psychic bond. Admittedly, we had spent more time together, more than the ten hours per week I was paying her for.

She knew I fancied her, but always kept me at arm's length. It was ridiculous. When I wasn't with her I was always thinking about her, and when I was with her, I wanted to grab hold and kiss her and make love to her, touch her, stroke her hair. I just wanted to be with her all the time. I lay there and tried to tune into her thoughts. What was she doing? Laying in bed thinking about me. You stupid vain bastard. I sat up and pummelled my pillow in frustration, decided to forget all about her and look forward to my Christmas break.

The next day I handed in my essay and drove home. I did contemplate going to see her, to invite her to spend Christmas with me, but I knew she would refuse. Instead I went home, looked up my mates, went out drinking, partying, going out with some girls, and got laid on the third night. It's funny really, while I was making love to the girl I kept thinking of Laura, I was imagining making love to her. I just couldn't get her out of my mind.

It was three days before Christmas and I was out with my old teammates. We had visited about eight pubs and had ended up in one of the better clubs. I was chatting up this gorgeous blonde when the image of Laura screaming smashed into my mind. It was so realistic that she could have been in front of me. I ran out of the club, jumped a taxi home, had a cold shower, four cups of black coffee and drove the hundred and fifty miles to Laura's flat. I arrived there about five thirty and began banging on the front door and shouting her name.

A window opened on the ground floor and I heard a familiar male voice say, "What do you want?"

"Open the door I must see Laura."

"Why haven't you finished your essay yet?"

"Shut up smartarse and open the door."

"Do you know what time it is?"

Why do people always ask that? "Open the door before I break it down."

"Laura's not here, she's doing a night shift at the nut-house." He shut the window.

I banged on the door again. The window opened and he said, "I wish you would sod off."

"Where is it?"

"It's the one we visited two months ago, if you can remember that far back." He slammed the window shut. I jumped into the car and drove the twelve miles to the hospital. It was an old Victorian building, housing the more violent patients, the ones that couldn't be cared for in the community. Everywhere was locked up. I pressed the bell and continued pressing until a bleary eyed porter appeared and shouted through the glass doors. "Stop ringing that bloody bell, I heard you the first time. What do you want?"

"Laura Renfield, I must see Laura Renfield, it's an emergency."

"Which ward is she on?"

"She's not a patient, she's a medical student, she volunteered to work Christmas."

He unlocked the door and let me in.

"Who are you?"

"Peter Blake, I'm her boyfriend."

"Listen son, I'm not being funny, but we have to be careful, what's the emergency?"

"I had a message she had an accident."

"I haven't been told of any accident. Come into the office and I'll bleep her."

Ten minutes later Laura walked around the corner.

"Peter, what are you doing here?"

"I had a message you'd had an accident."

She looked at me closely, as if reading my mind. "I'm finishing now, it's nearly eight."

"It's only seven." the porter chipped in.

"Well I'm finishing anyway, it feels like eight to me. Give me ten minutes while I tell the on-call I'm going."

Twenty minutes later I was driving her home.

"So," she said, "what's the big mystery, who gave you the message I'd had an accident?"

I told her everything.

"It wasn't an accident, one of the more violent patients, a real big guy, was going to throttle me."

"What happened?"
"He took exception to the way I was looking at him."

"How were you looking at him?"

"I was trying to read his mind."

"Oh, did he know?"

"I don't know, he just charged at me. Luckily enough there was a couple of male nurses around, and they bundled him back into his room."

"You can read other's minds, can't you?"

"Yes."

"It's scary that. You were in danger and you sent me a telepathic message?"

"It's always the same, whenever I tell anyone I suddenly turn into a monster."

"You haven't turned into a monster. It's just that the idea that someone can read your thoughts is unbelievable, a sort of science-fiction joke. But I know you can do it, and that makes it really scary. You must know how I feel about you?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"Peter, I'm tired, I just want to go home."

"How do you feel about me?"

"I don't want to get involved."

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"No, it's not obvious."

"Because I'll know when you stop loving me. I'll know if you have an affair. I'll be able to see your feelings turn from love to resentment to hate. And they will believe me, it's happened before. My family are a good example of that."

"It may not be like that."

"It will, that's why I can never have a relationship, separation is bad enough without knowing what's really going on in a person's mind."

"But Laura."

"Please Peter, drop it, I'm shattered."

She turned away from me and snuggled into the seat. We drove on in silence until we reached her flat. "Can I see you tomorrow?"

"I'll be in bed all day, then I'm going to do another night shift."

"Can I come in with you then?"

"What, you want to volunteer?"

"Yes."

"You'll have to go and see the consultant at the hospital. It's Mr. Hargreaves."

"Not the one that lectures part time."

"That's him."

"The one that asked me that question?"

"Yes, well you've only got yourself to blame, you should have been paying attention rather than having a sexual fantasy about the redhead in the front row."

It was very unnerving that, her knowing what my sexual fantasies were. I could see her reasons for not wanting to have a relationship.

"If he says yes, pick me up at seven."

I drove to my flat, showered, changed, and was at the hospital by ten. I had to wait three hours to see Hargreaves. I'm sure he kept me waiting on purpose. He then gave me a half hour lecture on procedure, what I could and could not do, mostly what I could not do. I was there to observe, he said, not make any medical decisions, not make any comments, not to do anything except make myself as inconspicuous as possible, not get in anyone's way, not to see a patient on my own, and it was my own responsibility if anything happened or I was attacked. If it wasn't for Laura and the feeling she was in danger, I would have been back home partying, drinking and enjoying myself. Who in their right mind would want to work Christmas in a psychiatric hospital for nothing? Me.

I picked Laura up at seven, she looked beautiful. In a way I was glad I came, just to be near her was reward in itself. We chatted as I drove, she told me about some of the patients. We arrived, signed the porter's book and Laura found me a nametag. Like a whirlwind she led me to the on-call psychiatrist's office. I hardly had time to look over the place. I had a fleeting impression of white tiles from floor to ceiling, none of the staff wore uniforms, and the only way to distinguish them from the patients was by the nametags. The on-call was a tired looking woman about mid thirties named Pat. She also told me what I could and what I could not do.

"You will limit yourself to taking blood samples, blood pressure, temperature, and maybe I'll let you listen to some chests, all under supervision of course. Right let's go." She stood and grabbed a set of case notes and was out of the office like a whirlwind. It seemed a fast pace was obligatory. "Our first patient is a new admission for psychiatric evaluation. A Mr," she glanced at the top set of notes, "Renfield, same name as you Laura. Mr Renfield was brought in at six, referred to us by the police doctor. He attacked a twenty two year old girl in the shopping centre, bit into her neck and was attempting to drink her blood. Mr Renfield thinks he's a vampire. God, vampires, why can't we ever get a simple Napoleon? He was in an agitated state and was given 5mgs of diazepam by injection. That failed to work and at six forty five he was given a further injection of 5mgs of diazepam. That also failed to work and at seven thirty he was given 10mgs of haloperidol, that seemed to calm him down. Right, before we see him I'll make arrangements for two male nurses to be with us, it seems it took six policemen and restraints to get him here, so I'm not taking any chances, we'll also have a couple of injections ready." She saw the charge -nurse and asked him how Mr Renfield was, it seemed he was quiet and kept in a secure room with just a mattress on the floor. The charge-nurse offered himself as well as two other male nurses. So the six of us entered his room. He sat on the mattress with his back to the wall and slowly stood as we entered.

"Welcome to my humble abode." he said, spreading his arms in greeting.

I was surprised, he was about fifty, around five foot four and was fairly skinny. It was hard to imagine six policemen having to hold him down. He was staring at Laura.

"Laura Renfield, perhaps we are related. What's your mother's name?"

I could tell Laura was a bit flustered, but Pat spoke first.

"Mr Renfield, we are here to discuss you, not Miss Renfield. Can you tell me why you attacked the girl in the shopping centre?"

He was still looking at Laura. "The blood is the life."

"Do you like horror films Mr Renfield?"

"He will be annoyed at me?"

"Who will Mr Renfield?"

"Step forward Miss Renfield, let me see you."

"You stay where you are Laura!" Pat commanded.

"He would like you Miss Renfield, you have a beautiful neck, and you're special aren't you? He would like that."

"Laura wait outside please," Pat's voice was authoritative.

"No, if she goes I won't talk to anyone."

"Laura wait outside."

Laura turned and went.

"Peter, wait outside with her."

I joined Laura and she was shivering. "Are you alright?"

"He knows about me, he knows I'm telepathic."

"No, he's just upset you, and I'm not surprised, he's got a real evil stare."

"There's something more, he was sending images to me of another."

"Another what?"

"I don't know, but I'm scared."

"Laura, he's spooked you that's all. Come on calm down, be rational."

"I want to go home, I don't want to stay here any longer."

"Come on now, you can't let a psychiatric patient get to you like this."

"I want to go home."

The door opened and Pat popped her head out. "Laura, Peter, come back in."

Laura breathed in deeply and entered, I followed.

Mr Renfield gave her a big crooked smile. "I'm sorry that I frightened you dear, I promise not to do it again;" but continued staring.

Pat stepped in front of Laura. "Now Mr Renfield, we need to ask you some questions."

"By all means."

"When did you start to have these vampire fixations?"

He took a step to the right and looked past Pat directly at Laura. "You're a virgin."

"Mr Renfield," Pat said angrily, "if you persist we will leave, and I will give orders to have you sedated."

"My apologies." Mr Renfield took a step back and leaned against the wall.

"Why did you attack the girl?"

"I should not have attacked the girl, my orders were to take the girl to him."

"Who are you talking about?"

"My master."

"Right, correct me if I'm wrong, it's been a long time since I read Dracula."

"Dracula, ha."

"Renfield was a patient of Doctor Seward, who had an affinity with Count Dracula? Is Renfield your real name?"

"Yes, although he likes it, he thinks it ironic, he likes little jokes."

"He, I take it is Count Dracula?"

Renfield chuckled, "No."

"Who is he, is he a vampire?"

"Not in the sense you know it."

"Tell me in what sense then?"

"He doesn't drink blood."

"What does he drink?"

"He drinks, souls."

One of the male nurses was smiling, but the tension in the room was tangible. Laura had her arms folded about her and I saw her shiver.

"How does he drink souls Mr Renfield?"

"I have said too much, he is displeased."

Pat took a step closer to him. "I'm a bit confused Mr Renfield, if your master wanted the girl, wanted her soul, why did you attack her, why did you try to drink her blood?"

"Because I want to be like him."

"But you said that he doesn't drink blood."

"Not now he doesn't."

"So he did at one time?"

"Yes."

"I see. What do you do for him exactly?"

"I have said too much, please leave me."

"Okay, one more question before we go. Do you know how your master became a vampire?"

"Oh yes, it's common knowledge."

"Then please tell us."

"God made him."

"God made him," Pat repeated. "Why would God create a vampire?"

"Perhaps you should ask God that."

"I find it a little inconceivable that God would create something so evil."

"And you're an expert are you?"

"Certainly not."

"Why do people want to absolve God of the so-called evil things? He made the lot, the evil as well as the good. And I anticipate your next question, it's got something to do with free will."

"Free will Mr Renfield, did the young girl whose neck you bit into have a choice? Do the people that have their souls drunk by your master have a free choice? Come on Mr Renfield, isn't the reality that you have woven this fantasy to satisfy your own perversions?"

"If you say so."

"You have been sectioned under the Mental Health Act Section 3 for ninety days, you have the right to appeal." Pat reached into Mr Renfield's casenotes and took out a leaflet. "This explains what your rights are and the powers we have under the Mental Health Act. Please read it and sign."

Renfield took it off Pat, scrunched it into his pocket, and looked at Laura.

"You can sign it later. But be assured Mr Renfield that we do have the power to use chemical and physical restraints without your permission, so you can either make life easy or hard for yourself, the choice is yours. Goodnight Mr Renfield."

Renfield suddenly darted forward. "Laura."

The three male nurses quickly barred his way and I stepped in front of Laura.

"Laura, will you visit me?"

"No Mr Renfield, Laura will not visit you," Pat quickly said.

"Then he will visit you. I envy you, he will offer you something special."

Laura seemed frozen and I gently guided her out into the corridor. Her face was very pale and she was shaking. Pat put her arm around Laura's shoulders and they walked along the corridor. The last nurse left the room and locked it behind him. I could hear Renfield shouting Laura's name. I must admit I was shaken; Laura must have been shocked. We must have walked about fifty yards along the corridor when Renfield's shouting turned to the most horrendous scream I have ever heard. We stopped and the three males nurses turned back and ran to Renfield's room. I followed. The charge-nurse quickly opened the door and we found Renfield lying on the floor, his face still contorted in a scream. The charge-nurse checked his pulse.

"He's dead."

Pat came in and also checked his pulse and heartbeat, and then examined him for any signs of injury. There were none. We stood there in silence, baffled and shocked by his death, just looking at him. I heard a cry and turned to find Laura looking at him. Pat quickly ushered her out.

"Lock the door, come on Laura. I'm going to call the police and the hospital board to come in. Make sure no one enters that room."

After all the questions I drove Laura home about two. She was very quiet and I must admit I was knackered, totally and utterly knackered. I just wanted my bed. We arrived at her flat.

"Stay with me."

"Yeah sure."

"I just need you to be there."

"Of course I will."

We went to her flat and she told me to check everywhere. I must admit her actions were unnerving me a bit. She turned on every light, double-checked all the windows, closed the curtains, checked the door and then dived into her single divan fully dressed.

"Come on get in."

I nodded and began to take my coat off.

"Leave your clothes on, just get in, leave your shoes on."

I did as she said, and she quickly snuggled up to me. Again she was shivering.

"I think you may have to see a doctor, you're shivering."

"I'm scared, oh God, I've never been so scared in all my life."

"It's alright now, it's over, everything will be fine."

"It's not over, it's only just beginning."

"What's only just beginning?"

"Renfield was telling the truth."

"Oh come on Laura, he was psychotic. Okay, he may have been a telepathic psychotic, but he was still psychotic."

"He was sending me images of his master."

"Of course he would, he was well into his fantasy, he believed it. Come on you're too intelligent to believe in vampires."

"Renfield was right, his master is not a blood sucking vampire, he takes people's souls, he killed Renfield because he told us too much."

"Laura, Laura, you're letting your imagination run amok."

"And now he wants me."

"How do you know he wants you?"

"Because he's been in my head for the past six hours that's why. He wants me to replace Renfield and if I refuse he's going to kill me. He's making threats, sending horrible images into my mind, and I can't blank them out. Peter, Peter, tell me I'm not going crazy, please tell me."

"Of course you're not, just relax."

We fell into a silence and I must have dozed off, but at every little noise, every creak, she woke me up. It was a bad night. She only relaxed and slept when dawn broke. The images Renfield had been sending her must have been vivid enough to partially tip her mind. I awoke about three, it was overcast and threatening. Laura seemed out for the count so I let her sleep and decided to make something to eat. I made one of my specialities, two tins of vegetable soup with half a loaf of curled up bread. It was dark by five and Laura was still out for the count, so I turned on the telly and watched the children's programmes. I must have dozed off.

"Peter, Peter."

Her shouting made me jump and run into the bedroom. She practically flew off the bed into my arms.

"I thought you'd gone."

"No, I'm still here, come on everything is okay."

"It's not, he's back, he's somewhere near. What am I going to do?"

She was becoming hysterical, and for the life of me I couldn't think how to calm her.

"A church, we much find a Roman Catholic church."

"Okay, I know Saint Johns is half a mile down the road, we'll drive there."

"Yes, yes, come on."

She was really on a hype now and I thought the best thing to do would be to go along until this episode passed. She ran into the kitchen, came out with two big carving knives, and gave one to me. "Is this necessary?"

"It won't have any effect on him, but at least he'll know we're willing to put up a fight."

We put on our coats and went downstairs. She stood behind the door.

"Check outside, is there anyone there?"

"Yes, load of people, its six-thirty, rush hour."

"Rush hour won't make any difference to him. Is there anyone unusual?"

"They all look fairly normal to me."

"He's near, I can sense his presence."

"Perhaps we should ring the police?"

"Oh yeah, and tell them we've got a vampire stalking us. I'm sure they'll send out a whole battalion. Look again."

"Laura, I can't see anyone unusual." I was beginning to feel really edgy. I didn't, for one moment, believe that a vampire was stalking us, but she did, and she had a great big carving knife in her hand. What if, in her agitated state, she began to believe I was the vampire? I didn't fancy a six-inch blade shoved in my guts.

"Go and open the car."

I casually walked down the steps and opened the car door. I was really worried, I would be driving and she had her knife. Perhaps I should take her to the hospital and have her checked over, but if we drove past the church that might really flip her. She came running down the steps, dived onto the passenger seat, and slammed the door. I walked around the car, everything seemed normal to me, people with plastic bags, umbrellas, overcoats, a normal rush hour Christmas shopping scene. Perhaps the church was the best idea for the moment, if it made her feel safe then we could decide what to do after. I lowered myself into the driver's seat and started the car.

"Hurry, hurry, he's near, he knows where we are going, he's telling me it won't make any difference."

"Laura just relax, he's not going to attack you in the middle of rush hour, there's too many people about."

"Oh you idiot, it doesn't make any difference to him, he could kill me in a second and you wouldn't even see him. Drive, come on drive, drive."

As I've said I was a professional footballer and always prided myself on my calmness under pressure, but I was rattled. She was jumping up and down, looking everywhere and waving her knife around ready to stick the first person that looked at us wrongly. I drove out and nearly crashed into a taxi, then nearly into the back of a bus.

"Overtake him, overtake him."

"Laura I can't, there's traffic coming the other way."

"Overtake him," she screamed, "he's following us."

I saw a gap, put my foot down, and overtook the bus.

"Go through the lights, go through the lights."

I had to stop otherwise we would have been involved in a multiple pile up.

"Why did you stop?" she screamed again.

"Laura I can't just drive through traffic lights, we would have been killed."

"Oh God, oh God, he's getting nearer. Drive, drive."

The lights changed and I put my foot on the gas, but let go of the clutch too quickly, the car stalled. I tried to restart it but I'd flooded the carb. Laura was screaming and punching my shoulder. The car wouldn't start. The traffic behind began beeping their horns. All I was doing was flattening the battery.

"It's him, it's him, he's made us stall, he's laughing at us."

Suddenly she flung open her door sending a cyclist sprawling into the gutter and ran round to my side. "Get out, we'll run from here, come on come on."

The cyclist was angry, he came around the car calling her a stupid bitch.

"Back off," Laura snarled.

Which he did when he saw her brandishing the knife. All I could say was "sorry mate." She grabbed hold of my hand and practically dragged me along. I looked back at the traffic piling up and dreaded the trouble I knew I would be in. We continued running with Laura knocking people left and right. We could see the church, but suddenly my knee gave way, I went sprawling, taking her with me. A sharp pain locked my knee.

"Get up, get up," she screamed.

"Laura I can't, my knee's gone."

"Get up, hurry, he's closing."

"You go on, the church is only over there."

"I'm not leaving you to that bastard. Get up."

"It's not me he wants it's you."

"Get up, he's not going to have someone I love."

"You love me?"

"Get up."

She practically lifted me up and put my arm around her shoulder and we hobbled into the church. It was dark and gloomy, more frightening inside than out. She led me towards the font, put the knife into her pocket, and splashed water over the both of us, then kneeled and made the sign of the cross.

"Let's find the priest."

"You said you loved me?"

"Yes I do."

"Why haven't you told me?"

"Why haven't you ever told me?"

"Because I thought you didn't like me."

"I know what you thought, nevermind about that, he's outside, he won't come in here. Let's find the priest."

She was calm, once again the Laura I knew.

"Hello, hello, hello." her voice echoed inside the empty church.

We walked up the centre aisle towards the altar and stopped. Over to the right was a nativity scene, Laura looked up at the large crucifix and smiled, then gave me a hug.

"We're safe now, he won't come in here."

Over to the left we heard footstep and saw a priest walking towards us.

"Good evening, may I help you?"

"Give me your wallet," Laura whispered.

I reached into my back pocket and gave her my wallet without question. She took out my one hundred and forty pounds and handed it to the priest. He looked surprised, but smiled and took the money.

"Father that's all we've got, it's a donation to the church."

"That's very generous, but there's no need to give me all your money."

"Don't worry Father we've got more, but not on us."

"You're very kind, this will help towards the children's Christmas party."

"We need a favour."

"What is it?"

"Will you hear our confession, give us two crosses, some holy water, a wafer and bless us?"

Again he looked surprised and scrutinised us for a moment, then smiled, "Certainly, follow me."

Laura turned and whispered, "He's gone."

"Good. Just one thing, I'm not a Roman Catholic." I whispered back.

"Tell him you're thinking of converting."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are."

The priest asked us to wait and he went into the vestry.

Laura gave a deep breath and half sobbed and half laughed, turned to me and cuddled me so hard that I thought I heard my spine crack. The priest reappeared and gave us a cross each, a little bottle of holy water, and a small envelope containing the wafer. Laura placed her cross over her head and I followed suit. The priest led us over to the confessional. Laura went in first and I sat down. I could hear them mumbling. The church seemed peaceful and reassuring.

Suddenly I heard a crash and quickly turned, the entrance doors were flung open and in swarmed police in full riot gear. Shouting came from the side of the altar and more police ran in. They charged up the centre aisle, the others raced towards me. Four grabbed hold of me and flung me to the floor. Expert hands frisked me and removed my knife. There was much shouting and commotion. The priest came out of the confessional, as did Laura who received the same treatment. They handcuffed us, led us out, and bundled us into a large white van. It didn't seem so bad because Laura was smiling, but I knew explanations would be difficult.

I was charged with possessing an offensive weapon, ie. the knife, and a number of other minor traffic offences, and received a severe censure from the university. I suppose I was lucky that they didn't send me to prison. Laura was not so lucky, she was detained under section 2 of the Mental Health Act and her studies were terminated. Which wasn't fair, because she was a brilliant student and would have made an excellent doctor, but she was the happiest psychiatric patient I have ever seen.

They released her after six months and we're married now. I specialise in sports injuries, and I'm glad I've Laura to consult, although she can't practice she still knows twice as much as I do. She goes to confession every day, and has made our house into a little shrine, but I don't mind that. She's the most beautiful person I know and I love her more than anything. As for vampires, Laura believes that one exists, but he's never troubled her again, perhaps I should say she believes that he will never trouble her again. The only explanation I can give is that her ability to read other's ideas and images received an overload from Mr Renfield (who incidentally died of a brain haemorrhage) that her mind couldn't cope with. As we all know, there are no such things as vampires?

~~~~

Journey

The preparations had been long and tedious; the initial excitement had long since diminished. All that was left was the final journey, the long gruelling walk to the high wooden steps.

He was about to undergo the final ordeal and take a step into the unknown. He had tried to be calm and face this last challenge as he knew a brave man should. But slowly, it seemed parasites gnawed and chewed at his already taut nerves; his fingers were trembling; he could feel a twitch beneath his right eye. Tightly, he clenched his shaking fists, until his fingernails bit deeply into his palms. Droplets of perspiration were forming on his forehead ready to flow down his ashen face. His hands had become hot and clammy, his conscious will had started a war on his unconscious nerves; his weakened will-power engaged in a futile battle with his sub-conscious: the result was a once proud man reduced to a quivering, shaking mass of human flesh.

Unable to control his near convulsions, he quickly sat on the boards and straw that was his bed. Without warning tears began streaming down his cheeks and sobs of dismay were added to his convulsions. All his inhibitions had fled and he cried; cried and sobbed like a little boy lost amongst a sea of indifferent stares, powerless to stop himself. Gradually, the tears and nervous twitches subsided, leaving his more physically and mentally drained.

A vacant expression upon his face told the Priest and prison guards nothing as they entered his dank cell. Yet inside his mind electricity flashed from brain-cell to brain-cell, awakening long forgotten memories. He was reliving his life in condensed form; his inner-self was a buzz of activity; his life, his triumphs, his achievements, his failures, were all passing through his head on this last excursion down memory lane.

The guards manhandled him to his feet and stood on either side linking their arms with his. He offered no resistance. The Priest walked slowly in front, and the solemn procession began. The priest began chanting in incomprehensible Latin, and the guards (two experienced men specially chosen for this task) measured their steps to his.

The movement and change of surroundings slowly made him regain his senses. He seemed to be more rational and in command of his ragged nerves. He had come to terms with the inevitable and had accepted it. All he wanted was for the ghastly business to be over. He hoped it would be quick and not too painful. His senses had become sharpened and more aware. Then, the twitches started again.

God, he thought, hurry up, let's get it over and done with, the pace was too slow.

He tried to move faster but the guards restrained him.

"Walk faster," he shouted, "walk faster."

The guards held him more tightly, having seen all these actions before and knowing the strain was too much for any one man's mental capacity.

Soon, one guard thought, he will crack, and then he will kick and fight, scratch and bite. The guard tightened his grip.

The prisoner thought everything was slowing down, the world appeared to be in water, the Priest in front was swimming. He looked past the Priest and the gallows seemed to be farther away.

Spectators lining their path shouted obscenities. "Bastard. Murderer. Scum." A contorted face appeared and spat, spittle hit his right eye. He tried to wipe it away, but the guards only held him tighter.

The crowds' voices mingled, began droning, like bees, becoming inaudible; soon they were only waving their arms and opening and closing their twisted slobbering mouths, like the damned of Hieronymus Bosch.

His last journey seemed to have no termination; the gallows were further away than before. "Come back," he shrieked, "come back, I'm coming as fast as I can."

The two guards were puzzled; never in all their years had they encountered a condemned man who wanted to run towards the swinging noose.

He felt disassociated from his surroundings; he seemed to leave his body and float upwards. He was looking down on the whole proceedings; he was not walking towards his death, someone else was. He was free; free to fly away; away to be born again. Floating along on a cloud, watching that other person walking towards their death, not his. It had all been a stupid dream, a surreal nightmare; now the dream was nearly over and soon he would awaken and all would be well. Until then he would float along and watch the tragic comedy being played out beneath him.

Suddenly, he was back on the ground; the gallows looming, darkening his sky, standing monolithic before him. He had stopped at the bottom of the grimy, well-worn wooden steps. It was not a dream, it was not his mind playing tricks, this was really happening. Looking up he could see the hangman; waiting patiently for him; standing still; as if made of black coal ready for the fires of Hell. The appointed murderer; the one who would soon place the rope around his fragile neck and let him swing for all eternity.

Trying to break free from his enforcers, he wanted to ascend the steps and be done. It was taking too long. A man should be allowed to die as quickly as he wanted.

The guards could feel the heat and wetness of his body. They looked at him with apprehension, wondering what his next outburst would be.

He shouted quickly, surprising those around him. "I want to die, let me die now."

The Priest turned to face him and asked if he wanted absolution.

"Begone hypocrite," he snarled. "Ad majorem Dei Gloriam ad nauseam. I hope your death comes as slowly as mine."

The Priest made the sign of the cross, turned and began to climb the steep wooden steps.

The guards gripped the prisoner tightly; this was usually the time when the condemned man finally realises Death's bony hand is beckoning him and tries to escape.

He looked down at the well-trodden steps, worn by countless fatigued feet climbing their weary way towards oblivion. He could hear and feel his heartbeat pounding at his chest as if trying to hammer its way to freedom, as if not wanting to be a part of this. Two steps and it seemed like two centuries. His legs felt like lead weights and all his energy was drained from him. Three steps, and arriere-pensee, the complete reversal; he did not want to die, he wanted to live, to live, to live. The urge gave him renewed strength and he began to struggle, he didn't want to go up, he wanted to go down.

His struggles gave the guards a greater confidence, because he was now following the same pattern through which every other condemned man went. They practically lifted him over the remaining steps.

He shouted, "let me go, I'm innocent, let me go." And the veins in his neck and face stood out like agonised rods of steel.

The crowds laughed, guffawed and chuckled, this was one of the best hanging they had seen in years. Bets were being placed and taken on how long he would swing.

He was struggling furiously, kicking and trying to bite his guards. Inside him the panic had built to a high pitch, adrenaline was flowing freely into his veins giving him excess energy.

The guards were finding it increasingly difficult to restrain him. Two more guards ran up the steps and helped them. So violent had become his struggles one of the guards had to truncheon him hard on the back of his neck. The blow jolted and waves of darkness threatened to engulf him. He fought to regain consciousness and succeeded, only to be put in darkness by a hood quickly placed over his head. Terror gripped his body like tangible hands; he struggled, but was held in check.

Was there to be no last minute reprieve?

He felt the rope being placed over his head and sharply tightened around his neck. He could hardly breathe the rope was so tight. He tried to scream, but only a gurgle sounded in his throat. When he tried to swallow his mouth was dry and parched; hurting as if sand was stuck down his throat. He could not move his arms and they ached and pained when he tried.

Oh God, he thought with despair, I don't deserve this. He remembered the Priest asking if he wanted absolution. He wanted it now; Heaven was so far away, and yet, it was his last hope. "Please forgive me God, I killed him to protect my daughter," he managed to croak the words.

Suddenly, the floor beneath his feet gave way, the noose jerked and tightened around his neck, closing his windpipe and cutting off the precious air so necessary for life. A pain came across his chest, sharp and biting, constricting his movements.

A cheer rose from the crowd and he could feel himself swinging and turning. The noise seemed to be diminishing. The pain in his neck and chest was all consuming. His life was being sucked away. His head pounded. The pain hit him from all directions. He opened his mouth trying vainly to breathe in some life.

His chest exploded: no more pain.

The crowd watched in a silent, gleeful fascinated horror as the body twitched its last. The nerves moved spasmodically, receiving no messages from the brain. All the twitches and spasms stopped and all life was forcefully removed. All that was left was a spinning corpse, an empty shell, gently swinging in the breeze.

The crowd gave a joyful cheer.

~~~~

Miriam Specklebecker, Galactic Warrior

'Sir, how do we know which one to pick?'

'Look, I've already told you, the computer picks a spot at random, it sends down the transporter beam and when a human walks into it they are transported here, got it?'

'Yes sir, but.'

'Except pregnant females, intergalactic rules will not allow pregnant females to fight.'

Miriam Specklebecker pushed her black horn rimmed glasses back up her nose, and stood by the doors as the train slowed to a halt. She held onto the vertical hand pole bracing herself for the expected jolt. Another passenger came next to her, their hands almost touched, when suddenly he yelped out in pain and was seemingly flung back. The doors opened and Miriam quickly stepped off and hurried down the platform. Avoiding contact with people, practically flinging her ticket at the clerk, and hurrying out of the station home.

Ten minutes later she opened her front door, the cat took one look and shot out of the kitchen cat-flap like someone had stuck a Roman Candle up its backside.

'Is that you Miriam?'

'Yes mom.'

'Don't forget to put the rubber gloves on.'

She walked into the living room.

'For God's sake Miriam,' shouted her father, 'stay away from the telly, we've only just had it fixed.'

Miriam burst into tears and ran upstairs.

'Shut up George you insensitive idiot.' Miriam's mom Sally glared at him and followed Miriam, putting the rubber gloves on as she went.

Miriam was on her bed crying her eyes out. Sally sat next to her, yelped and jumped away. Miriam turned over, 'I'm sorry mom.' she said tearfully.

'Shush, shush, it's not your fault.'

'It's getting worse mom.'

'Have you still got the copper wire around your ankle?'

'Yes, but it's not working, people don't even have to touch me anymore just be close to me, and I've been sacked. Three days and they sacked me.' She wiped the tears away with the edge of the sheet.

'What happened?'

'I was wearing the copper wire, I made sure it was touching the floor, I avoided physical contact. But even from the first day, the phone system went down, computers that I passed began acting peculiar, then the second day I was working on the photocopier and it began smoking, the fire alarms went off and the building was evacuated. Then this morning the boss came in, touched my shoulder, and was sent flying across the room. Not realising he sent me down to the main computer room for some papers. I had to go, if I didn't he would have known something was wrong. As soon as I walking in, it crashed, the main computer, it crashed, a monitor blew up. A million pounds worth of computer ruined, millions of pounds in experimental software lost, millions of pounds in orders down the drain. They blamed me.'

'It's not your fault Miriam, perhaps you need a thicker earth wire.'

'Perhaps I should go to the Ministry of Defence after all and let them find out what's wrong with me?'

'No Miriam, I'm not going to let them use you as a guinea pig, you've got to lead a normal life, you just have to take precautions that's all.'

'Normal life mom? I'm twenty three and I've never even had a boyfriend, if a boy tries to kiss me their hair stands on end and they run a mile, except for that pervert who offered me a hundred pounds to rub his, you know whats.'

'Keep away from men like him Miriam.'

'I've no need to mom, most men keep a good three feet from me anyway after the first shock.'

'You'll have to find a job where there's no electrical equipment,' and she added as an afterthought, 'and no people.'

'Oh yeah, become a crofter in the Outer Hebrides, or even a solo trek to the South Pole, sail around the world single handed, or even better start off my own monastery, with me being the only nun. I'm a social outcast, I can't even watch the telly with my family.'

'Well, you can, if you go outside and watch it through the window.'

'Oh mom. I'm going for a walk.' She stood.

'But Miriam, I've made your tea, a nice ham salad.'

'Yes, and I've got to eat it wearing rubber gloves, with a plastic knife and fork, in case metal ones touch and send off sparks and burn the house down. I may as well stop eating altogether.' Miriam sidestepped, as did her mother, but in the opposite direction, and left.

She walked aimlessly for half an hour, not caring where she was headed, as long as there were no people.

A young man stood at the bus stop and watched her approaching. He admired her long dark hair, he couldn't see her face properly because she had her head down, but what he could see looked very pretty, and shapely legs, nice figure as well. Although those glasses looked awful. Suddenly she seemed to be walking in a heat shimmer that distorted her image. He moved to one side, she was normal, then back, and the same effect, as if something the thickness of a manhole cover was directly in front of her.

She continued walking.

He walked to the other side of the pavement and she was okay. It made him wonder, why was the shimmer in that one particular place, was heat rising through the pavement?

She walked into the heat shimmer and disappeared.

The young man stood staring at the spot, unable to believe his eyes. There must be some rational explanation, he thought, an optical illusion brought on by the heat, she wasn't on this side she was on the other, the shop windows and light was playing tricks. He turned and looked up and down the road, nothing. Obviously the girl had turned a corner. That was really weird.

Miriam was so engrossed in her thoughts and the transporter so fast that she continued to walk ten paces before she realised something was wrong. Of course nearly walking into two eight foot tall aliens, wearing white sheets, would make one wonder. She stepped back and looked up. Blue eyes with black pupils, no noses, no ears, no hair, a hole for a mouth. She took another step back and looked around. Colours everywhere, shimmering lights, a peculiar aroma.

One of them stepped forward, holding out two eight fingered hands. 'Hello, I'm.'

She didn't hear anymore, because she'd fainted.

'Well,' said the first alien, 'we've got our work cut out here.'

'Can't we just send her back sir, and find another.'

'No, that's the rules, first one.'

'I don't think she stands much of a chance.'

'It's our job to make sure she does. Activate the walls, I think when she wakes up she'll start running around. I hope she's not one of these humans that scream, they make such a terrible sound. I'll start the body scan.' He nodded towards a set of crystal lights and a bright blue light began travelling up and down Miriam's body. The other nodded towards another set of crystal lights and the room halved in size. Miriam floated about a foot off the ground and remained there. Three large flowered armchairs materialised and they sat, waiting for Miriam to awaken.

After a while she opened her eyes, she felt like she was floating and turned her head to one side, and screamed.

'Oh no.'

And screamed.

'Please.'

And screamed.

'We are not going to harm you.'

And screamed.

'Will you stop that awful noise.'

And screamed. Then jumped up and began running about.'

'I knew she'd start running about.'

And screamed.

'Please relax.'

And fainted.

'This is going to take a long time.'

'Perhaps we should let her become acquainted with her surroundings before we introduce ourselves sir?'

'She has to meet us sooner or later. No, she'll quieten after a while.'

Fifty screams and six faints later Miriam was sitting in the third armchair, her knees drawn up underneath her chin, her arms holding her legs tightly, the tears flowing down her cheeks.

'Hello, I'm Charlie, and this is Henry.'

'Charlie and Henry?'

'Not our real names, because you wouldn't be able to pronounce our real names. Your name is Miriam Specklebecker, is that right?'

Miriam nodded.

'You're probably wondering what's going on?'

Again Miriam nodded.

'We are Itridians, we are the arbitrators of the universe. We settle disputes between races. We're not the oldest race, there are many older than us, but we are the fairest, the most impartial, so the Galactic Council appointed us. Do you understand?'

Miriam shook her head.

'Well to put it simply, we have devised a very fair system when two planets are in dispute.'

'As your planet is,' injected Henry.

'Thank you, do not interrupt again Henry, I am the senior, I will inform Miriam.'

'Sorry sir.'

'As Henry said your race is in dispute with the Pastatinians.'

'What are you talking about, what's going on here?'

'Right, I start from the beginning. Twenty Earth years ago the Pastatinians made contact with your leaders with a view to trade. They wanted Earth's water and were offering sand in return.'

'Sand?'

'Good quality sand, not the gritty stuff, nice fluffy sand.'

'Sand?'

'Yes, I've already said, sand.'

'We've got sand, millions, billions of tons of the stuff.'

'But not Pastatinian sand, it's known throughout the universe as the best sand there is. Mixed with cement it will last for a million years.'

'And you're saying our leaders have been in contact with the Pastatinians for twenty years?'

'Yes, with Itridians acting as negotiators of course, and they kept turning the Pastatinians down. But you keep changing your leaders so often that every couple of years the Pastatinians had to initiate talks with the new leaders. As you can imagine they were becoming a little bit fed up with this, so they declared war on your planet.'

'War?'

'Yes war.'

'But why haven't we heard about this?'

'It's your leaders, they're all so secretive, they won't tell one another anything.'

'But all our water, for sand?'

'Not all your water, just half, and they were offering a very good deal, twice the amount.'

'We don't want their sand.'

'That's exactly what your leaders said.'

'I'm glad they did, water's vital to our environment.'

'That's what your leaders said.'

'Our planet would turn into a desert.'

'That's amazing, it's word for word what your leaders said.'

'And what about the animals, the fish, the plants, they'd die.'

'No they wouldn't, the Pastatinians would take half of them also.'

'Well I don't think it's a good deal.'

'No, neither do your leaders.'

'But this is all so confusing, what's it got to do with me, I'm not a leader, I don't even have a job.'

'We, the arbitrators, police the rules of warfare, to save either one planet and its population being wiped out, combatees from each race are chosen at random to do battle.'

Miriam gasped; the truth had dawned on her. 'I'm the combatee?'

'Yes, aren't you lucky?' said Henry.

'I can't fight, I don't know anything about fighting, why didn't you choose someone like Mike Tyson for God's sake? What happens if I lose?'

'The Pastatinians take all your water, and anything else they want. But they're fair, I'm sure they'd stick to their original offer and give you twice as much sand. Anyway, you're not going to lose, we're your coaches.'

'This is ridiculous, ridiculous, when am I going to wake up?'

'You are awake,' said Henry puzzled.

'I want to go home, I want my mom.'

'You can't go home.'

'I want to go home. I don't want to fight.'

'If you go home, you forfeit the combat. That means the Pastatinians win. They would be entitled to take what they wanted.'

'Earth wouldn't let them, we'd fight.'

'I don't understand,' said Henry, 'you just said you didn't want to fight.'

'I don't want to, but we have military forces, they will.'

'You don't understand,' said Charlie, 'that is why we are arbitrators, we would immobilise all Earth's forces.'

'Then they would fight with their bare hands, with sticks and rocks.'

'No, no, again you don't understand, we would immobilise all the people.'

'All the people?'

'Yes, we have the technology to put every Earthling into suspended animation.'

'So I've got to fight, otherwise Earth loses.'

'Yes.'

'Oh God, why me, why me?'

'Because you walked into the transporter beam,.' said Henry.

'Thank you Henry, now kindly shut up. Miriam, will you fight?'

'What choice do I have?'

'Is that a rhetorical question?' asked Henry.

'Shut up. Miriam, will you fight?'

Miriam was silent, staring at the floor, seeing her doom in the plain patterns that swirled before her eyes. 'I don't want to die.'

'Die? You're not going to die, we don't have to the death contests, that is why we are arbitrators, to stop all that barbarity. Now will you fight?'

Miriam took a deep breath, 'Yes.'

'Good, now we can formulate our combat plans.' He and Henry stood, he nodded, and as the room enlarged the armchairs disappeared. Miriam thumped to the floor, yelping out in surprise. Henry reached down and grabbed her upper arm, then stiffened as Miriam stood. But Henry didn't let go. Miriam looked at his face, his eyes were changing colours, from blue to green and now red. The hole that was his mouth clamped shut and started bending like a performance graph. She grabbed his fingers and tried to prise them off, but couldn't.

Charlie stared, 'Henry.'

He began making noises, little noises like a pig sniffing out truffle.

'Henry.'

'Get him off,' Miriam shouted.

Charlie nodded and Henry let go. Miriam rubbed her arm.

'Wow,' said Henry, 'are all Earth women like that?'

That was all she needed, a pervert alien.'

'Like what?' Charlie asked, then put his hand on Henry's head. 'I see. This is most unusual, it didn't register on the scan.'

Miriam folded her arms, it was always the same.

'Bear with us Miriam, there are some things we have to check.' Charlie nodded at a set of cerise lights, they changed colour. 'This is good.'

'Good?' said Miriam, raising her eyebrows.

'Oh yes,' said Charlie, 'this unusual output of electricity is good news, the Pastatinians are very sensitive, all we need to do is increase your wattage.'

'What? I'm already a walking generator, now you want to increase me to a power station. Don't you realise the burden this has been upon my life? I can't even touch people, now you want to up the power so that if anyone approaches me they'll be sizzled.'

'You want to win don't you, you want to save your planet?'

'Of course I do.'

'Good, it's no argument then, is it?'

Miriam shook her head.

'Right, we studied your biology and we'll start you on a course of drugs immediately, some to build up your strength to equalise it to the Pastatinian, and some to increase your electricity.'

'Drugs, is that legal?'

'Legal,' queried Henry, 'I don't understand?'

'Henry, you have not studied the Earth file,' Charlie said sternly. 'On earth it is illegal for their athletes to enhance their performance by taking drugs. But Miriam, we are not on Earth. To make the combat fair, we must equalise the combatees, if we didn't you would surely lose, and that would not be fair. The average Pastatinian is five times stronger than Earth's strongest man. Therefore, that makes your opponent at least ten times stronger than you.'

'What do they look like?'

Charlie nodded and a hologram of a full sized Pastatinian appeared.

Miriam raised her head. 'Oh my God, I'm supposed to fight this, this monster.'

'Monster?' repeated Charlie. 'Miriam, on his planet he is considered a male model. Consider, he may feel the same way about your looks.'

'How tall is he?'

'The average male is about, nine feet in your measurements.'

'Nine feet tall? I'm only five three. Are those claws?'

'Yes, retractable claws.' Charlie nodded and the hologram slowly turned around.

'Are those spikes on its tail?'

'Yes, shooting spikes to be exact.'

'At least it's got no teeth.'

'Yes they have, retractable teeth.' Charlie nodded and the hologram's teeth slowly emerged from its gums.

'Oh my God. Is it allowed to bite me?'

'Oh yes, but don't worry, if it bites anything off, we'll put it back on later, good as new, you won't even see the join.'

'Oh God. Will I feel any pain?'

'Do you normally feel pain?'

'Yes.'

'Then you will feel pain.'

'This is great, absolutely bloody great.'

'I know,' said Henry, 'I'm so excited, this is my first arbitration.'

'Henry, shut up.' Charlie nodded and a table with two tablets and a glass of water appeared in front of Miriam. 'Take those tablets Miriam, one will increase your strength, the other will increase your electrical output.'

Miriam took them.

'Right, the rules. The contest is to be fought on a neutral planet, it is the best of five bouts in a weightless environment. Any questions?'

'How long is a bout?'

'It all depends on the combatees, sometimes is all over in a matter of seconds, others can go on for years. I remember the contest between the Arvanians and the Zygogians, the first bout was the equivalent of three years, with the Arvanian winning, the second was nearly seven years, with the Arvanian winning, the third was twelve years with the Zygogian winning, the fourth was rather shorter at six years with the Zygogian winning, and the fifth was even less at four years with the Zygogian winning. I think the Arvanian tired after the first two.'

'Did they have breaks?'

'Breaks? No, they keep fighting until one wins.'

'How can someone fight for so long without a break?'

'The drugs we give them. That tablet I gave you will enable you to fight for at least five years, then it's up to your own determination. At the end of the first bout I'll give you another tablet.'

'I don't feel any different.'

'You will in about five minutes.'

'When is the first bout?'

'In fifteen minutes.'

'Fifteen minutes? Don't I get any time to train, to prepare myself, and besides, where is this combat taking place?'

'So many questions. Why should you want to train, the drugs are enough? The combat is taking place on the neutral planet of Vistovon, that's about a hundred light years from both Earth and Pastatin.'

'How do we get there so quick?'

'By this ship, how else? Oh a little tip, the Vistovians are an impatient lot, so try not to drag the bout on longer than a year, and if possible try to get them on your side by being aggressive, they love aggressiveness. Don't back off otherwise they'll start booing you. Are you feeling any different yet?'

'Not yet.'

'Perhaps we should give Miriam another strength tablet sir?'

'No, we can't do that, she'd be twice as strong as the Pastatinian then. No we'll wait, we've got ten minutes.'

'Is there anything else I should know about the Pastatinian?'

'Well, let me see. They are a very determined race, maybe ten to eleven million years older than humans, more technologically advanced, although they had an evolutionary blip for about five million years when nothing happened and they didn't make much in the way of scientific advances. Their artistic side is practically nil, but they do brew this fantastic beer, famed throughout the universe, lovely stuff, not much of it admittedly, that's what they want the water for. Also most races keep away from them during the mating season, they have a tendency to be a bit aggressive then, but otherwise they quite likable. Accepted, their social graces are not to everyone's liking, especially when they are indulging in a gingle's hind leg, and their conversation is very limited to themselves, but otherwise they are okay.'

Suddenly Miriam felt strange, as if she was as light as a feather. 'Oh, oh, oh, oh.'

'Ah, I see the tablets are working.'

She felt so much alive, so powerful, as if she could jump over the moon, or fly like a bird, a plane, or even superman. Blood rushed through her veins bringing power, raw power. 'Have you got a lump of coal?'

'A lump of coal, whatever for?' asked Charlie.

'Nevermind. I feel so alive, so full of energy, I feel fantastic.'

'Yes, that would be the tablet.'

'And you say I'll be as strong as that monster?'

'The Pastatinian? Yes.'

'Bring him on. I take it, it is a him?'

'Yes it is.'

'Right I'm ready for him.'

'Good, good, we'll be landing soon. There is only one problem still to discuss.'

'What's that?'

'Your attitude.'

'My attitude, there's nothing wrong with my attitude.' She began shadow boxing, sending her fists out into her imaginary opponent, sending him into the middle of next week, taking a cat like stance, like she'd seen that Kung Fu whatshisname on the telly, or like Jean Claude Van Damme (her favourite) about to beat up the baddies. That Pastatinian was in for a shock.

'We are about to land sir.'

'Thank you Henry. Now Miriam, there is no preamble, we land, and you go straight into the arena and begin fighting.'

'Don't we shake hands or anything?'

'I wouldn't shake hands with the Pastatinian if I were you; he'll rip your arm off. But don't forget, concentrate on your electrical power, focus, his weak spot is.' he looked at Henry.

'Testicles sir.'

'Right, his weak spot is his testicles, so if you can grab hold of them and send your electrical current, you're in with a good chance. Henry, is there anything I've forgot?'

'Miriam's clothes and glasses sir.'

'Oh yes.' He nodded at a set of lights and Miriam was suddenly dressed in a red tight fitting jump suit, and her glasses had disappeared.

'My glasses, I need my glasses, otherwise I can't see.'

'Miriam, do not worry, you will be able to see perfectly. Are you ready?'

'I think so.'

'Good.'

'We've landed sir.'

'Miriam, follow me.'

Silently Miriam prayed, she wasn't much of a Christian, but she hoped God would help her now. She crossed herself as she'd seen sportsmen doing before the contest.

Charlie led her and Henry along a grey corridor until they came to a set of double doors. They slid open and the noise of grunts and shouts hit her like a waft of hot air. The arena was about the size of a football pitch, but she couldn't see the bottom, nor the top. There was nothing there to stand on. Opposite she could see windows, rows upon rows of windows, and elephants, were they elephants? 'Are they elephants?'

'No, they're Vistovians.'

'Where's the floor?'

'Down there.' answered Charlie pointing.

'How am I supposed to get down there?'

'Jump.'

'Jump? I'll kill myself.'

'No you won't, it's weightless, step out and see.'

'I'm not stepping out there.'

'Miriam, you've got to otherwise you'll lose the first bout.'

I can't, I'm afraid of heights.'

'Sorry Miriam,' said Charlie and gave her a push.

Her scream silenced the Vistovians; they thought it was some sort of battle cry. She glided gently across the arena, the sensation, although at first frightening, was not that unpleasant. But the thought crossed her mind, how was she supposed to move.

Then she saw it, a massive green scaly Pastatinian, claws and teeth out hurdling towards her. She froze. Its massive teeth were heading straight towards her head. 'Ahhhhh, I give in, I give in, I give in.'

The Pastatinian waved his arms like he was in water and he slowed until he came within two inches of Miriam's face and growled, then turned and went back to his set of double door. The Vistovians began making grunting sounds. Miriam looked towards her doors and Charlie was waving her back.

'How do I get back?' she shouted.

'Kick, like you're swimming.'

She kicked her feet and slowly moved towards the doors.

'What did you give in for, he hadn't even touched you?' Charlie said as she landed. 'Well, the Vistovians certainly don't like you, they're booing. You've lost the first bout.'

'It wasn't my fault,' Miriam shouted, the tears falling onto her cheeks, 'you didn't tell me how to move, if you'd have told me how to move, I would have moved, but you didn't tell me.'

'Okay, that was an oversight on my part, you move like you are swimming, if you reach the edge you push yourself off. Now remember you are as strong as he is.'

'But I haven't got big teeth and razor sharp claws.'

'Miriam, you've got your electrical power. Now go out there and grab hold of his.' He looked at Henry.

'Testicles sir.'

'Yes testicles. Remember, determination, aggressiveness, attitude. Now go.' He pushed her off.

Once again she floated out, and once again the Pastatinian came at her like a rampaging dragon. In panic she kicked her legs, swung her arms, and moved out of his way, she glided towards the edge, landed softly on one of the windows. Hordes of Vistovians were gesturing at her, making grunting noises and blowing raspberries through their trunks. She turned and the Pastatinian was bearing down. All she could see was its teeth and claws. Quickly, she pushed herself off and heard an almighty bang as the Pastatinian crashed into the window. She reached another set of windows and turned. The Pastatinian was again pursuing her. She bent her legs and pushed herself off, but this time she was too slow and he caught her leg, his claws clamping over her ankle. She turned as he was about to sink his teeth into her leg.

'Ahhhhh, I give up, I give up.'

He growled as he let go and kicked towards his doors.

Miriam pushed herself to Charlie and Henry.

Charlie was enraged. 'What did you give up for, he only had hold of your leg?'

Miriam shouted back, 'He was going to bite my leg off.'

'We would have put it back on. Miriam, you have lost two bouts, you must win the next three, otherwise the Pastatinian will have won, and you'll have lost, and it will look awful in my portfolio.'

'Oh my humblest apologies, I'd hate your portfolio to look awful.' Suddenly Miriam cracked. 'Why did you choose me? I'm not good at fighting, I don't know how to fight.'

'Miriam calm yourself, direct your anger towards the Pastatinian. Remember you must win the next three. Now use your electrical power, go for his.' He looked at Henry.

'Testicles sir.'

'Yes, grab hold of them with both hands, squeeze as hard as you can, direct you electrical power into your hands. You must win the next three. Now go.'

Miriam took three steps back, ran and pushed herself off. She was going to do it, the fate of Earth rested in her hands, she would rip that Pastatinian's balls off and make him scream for mercy. She could do it, she could do it, she could do it.

They flew towards one another, Miriam determined, trying to ignore the Pastatinians spiked tail flailing to and fro, his claws extended, his awesome teeth gnashing frighteningly. They met and Miriam ducked under his claws and went for his testicles, and squeezed, and squeezed, willing her electrical power into her hands. Then she felt his claws clamp on her head, could see down its throat, could feel its hot stinky breath, its mouth seemed to open wider, another set of teeth sprang out, it was going to bite her head off.

'Ahhhhh, I give up, I give up.'

He let go, and kicked off, she watched as he somersaulted backwards, raising his claws in acknowledgement as the winner, turning around, absorbing the applause.

She turned and kicked towards Charlie and Henry.

'I'm sorry Miriam, you've lost,' said Charlie. 'Why didn't you use your electrical power?'

'I did, it didn't make any difference.'

'It should have done, the Pastatinians are very sensitive to electricity.' He took out a portable scanner and ran it over Miriam. 'Oh no, Henry, you idiot, you gave Miriam the wrong tablet.'

'Me sir?'

'It neutralised her electricity rather than increasing it. It's too late now. I'm sorry Miriam the Pastatinians are going to take all Earth's water.'

Miriam's head went down. 'Does Earth know about this?'

'We sent pictures of the contest, but your equipment's so primitive I doubt if they could receive them, let alone show them. There are only the formalities to observe, my opposite number will be over to run a scan-check on you Miriam, and I will do the same with the Pastatinian. Henry will take you back to the ship.'

Charlie disappeared and another Itridian appeared in his place and began running a scan over Miriam, after a couple of seconds he nodded at Henry and disappeared.

'This way Miriam.'

She followed Henry back to the ship and sat disconsolately in one of the armchairs. 'What happens now?'

'We wait for Charlie, then take you back to your planet, wait for the Pastatinians and supervise their loading of your water.'

'I imagine I won't be getting a ticker tape welcome, the Queen certainly won't want to give me a medal.'

Charlie materialised, clapped his hands, and gave what Miriam thought was a laugh.

'Good news.'

'What?' asked Miriam.

'The Pastatinian cheated, he took a strength tablet, that means he was twice as strong as you Miriam. So, you have two choices, either you can have a re-match, or I demand he be disqualified and you win by default. I suggest going for a re-match.'

'A re-match, no thank you very much.'

'Okay, I'll demand he's disqualified. But the Vistovians will be disappointed, they've never held a contest before. Be back in a jiffy,' and disappeared.

'Well,' said Henry, 'that wasn't fair, there's always someone trying to get an edge, the universe is turning into a rat-race.'

'What happens now?'

'The Itridian Arbitration Council will meet, but according to the evidence the Pastatinian will be disqualified, they will probably lodge an appeal and bring forward their own evidence. But the rules are quite strict, so in all probability they will be disqualified.'

'So they won't take our water?'

'Oh no, but your planet can have their sand if you want.'

'I don't think we want their sand.'

'You don't have to take it if you don't want it, you can take something else.'

'Such as?'

'Anything you want from their planet.'

'I don't know anything about their planet.'

'Their technology is more advanced than yours, they do have space travel, although it is a bit primitive, only twice the speed of light, and their computers are a lot better than yours, and, you can have the recipe for their beer, it is, without a doubt, the best beer in the universe.'

'So I can have all that?'

'Not you personally, your planet.'

'What do I get?'

'You get to bask in the glory of your victory.'

'But I didn't really win, I only won by default.'

'Yes, that is true, but you still won, subject, of course, to confirmation by the council.'

'What do we do now?'

'Wait.'

Ten minutes later Charlie reappeared. 'The Council have confirmed my scan and the Pastatinian has been disqualified. Congratulations Miriam, you have won.'

'What happens now?'

'We take you home.'

'Don't I get a trophy, or a medal, or something?'

'What for?' asked Henry.

'To show I won.'

'No, we don't give keepsakes, that's up to your own planet.'

The journey home didn't take long, and Miriam was deep in thought. She'd saved Earth's water, well, to be honest, she hadn't, she'd only won because the Pastatinian cheated. Really, she'd been frightened out of her mind.

'Miriam,' Charlie's voice brought her out of her thoughts.

'Yes.'

'Take these two tablets.'

'What for?'

'They will restore you to your normal state.'

'Hang on, let me get this right, one will take away the abnormal strength?'

'Yes, that is the yellow one.'

'Right I'll take that, and what will the other one do?'

'It will restore your electricity levels to what they were before.'

'I don't want to take that one, I don't want my electricity levels restored, I'm quite happy with having no electricity levels.'

'But Miriam, the effects of the tablet are permanent until you take the other tablet.'

'Fine, that's what I want. Also can I keep the suit?'

'I don't see why not.'

'What about my glasses?'

'Oh you won't need them, the tablet corrects any physical deficiency, your eyesight will be perfect. Okay Miriam. We have arrived at your planet, if you would step into the transporter. Oh one more thing, if Earth gets into anymore disputes, you are the one Earth person that will be barred from competing. I'm so sorry, but those are the rules.'

'Oh well,' Miriam smiled, 'I'll just have to live with them.'

'Goodbye Miriam.' Charlie said.

'Goodbye Miriam. The best of luck,' added Henry.

Miriam waved and stepped into the transporter.

The young man who had first seen the girl disappear was again waiting at the bus stop. Occasionally he glanced to the spot, again thinking how weird it was. He hadn't told anyone, after all who would believe him? It must have been his imagination. Then he noticed it, the same heat shimmer. He stood upright, the adrenalin suddenly surging through his body. Then she reappeared, just standing there looking around, and smiling, she was smiling. It was her, it was, even though she was dressed differently and not wearing her glasses, it was her.

She began walking towards him, he had to say something, he had to, if only to confirm he was not hallucinating. She was near, but what could he say? She was almost past him. He reached out and grabbed her arm. 'Excuse me, my apologies, I'm sorry, but.'

'It's okay,' she smiled and touched his hand, then rubbed his hand and gave a delighted laugh.

He smiled in response. 'I know you're going to think I'm nuts, but yesterday you were walking along the pavement and disappeared, and today you're reappeared.'

'Yes,' she laughed, and laughed.

'I'm sorry, I must have been having an hallucination.'

'No, it's all right, everything's fine, just fine.' Suddenly she grabbed hold of him and hugged, hugged and squeezed until he began to feel embarrassed.

Then they heard the noise, a squadron of helicopters circling overhead, police sirens, blue vans, white vans, police everywhere, blocking off the road, armed soldiers, two large white lorries drove at high speed and stopped right by them, the back doors swung open, people dressed in white protection suits, some armed, other carrying equipment. Like a typhoon they were swept into the back of one of the lorries, guns pointed at their heads, electrodes stuck to their temples, wrists and ankles, lights shined into their eyes, sleeves rolled up and blood samples taken. And all the time the constant chatter, urgent talk, whispered conversations.

'What's going on?' the young man asked, clearly shocked.

'Well, you're going to find this hard to believe but...'

~~~~

The Most Dangerous Threat To Mankind.

What is the most dangerous threat to mankind's (or should that be humankind's, or personkinds', I can never get this politically correct lark right) future? Nuclear weapons, terrorists, a rogue asteroid, global warming?

No, none of these.

I am writing this to warn you of one of the most dangerous and hazardous objects facing modern society. Something which we all ignore (to our peril) on a daily basis, something that has crept, and I mean crept, into every household on this planet.

And what is this seditious danger you ask?

And I will tell you, namely that of rugs.

Yes, rugs, those long flat, sometimes fluffy, sometimes cuddly, sometimes soft, things you place on the floor.

Mankind's health, sanity and general wellbeing is being eroded, nay, undermined and under threat from the insidious danger of rugs.

What makes them even worse is that they seem to be such nice things, laying on the floor, not seeming to be able to harm or offend anyone. But, and this is the big question, why do rugs move on their own?

My wife bought a Chinese type rug and she is forever moving it back towards the hearth. We come down first thing in the morning, and there it is, six inches away from the fire. We exit, come back in, and the same thing, six inches away, surreptitiously moving towards the middle of the living room.

So one day I said to my beloved, "leave it, let's see where it ends up." Late that night I was putting the finishing touches to a horror story, the rest of the family had gone to bed, and I felt a presence behind me. Quickly I turned, and surprise, there was the rug looking over my shoulder. (Only kidding). Having said that I have got into the habit of looking over my shoulder checking the rug.

We once had a white sheepskin rug that always had the habit of riding up in the middle, fooling the unwary into believing it was harmless until they were flat on their faces.

Another one was a Persian rug that seemed to move nearer the fire, especially in the winter, until it had a ridge along its length. An Indian rug that always had its corners turned over, no matter how many times one flattened them out. And a sort of new age patterned rug with tassels that always looked as if it had just smoked a joint.

And my mate, a great fella, but with a propensity to go ten times better than you ever could. For example, if you had one bucket of cow manure behind your front door, he'd have two. I visited him one day and was surprised at his new floor, real oak, not the laminated cheapo stuff, but real solid oak, polished to the most brilliant shine. It could have been used in an advert.

And to my horror, there in the middle, a massive green rug, glaring at me, threatening, challenging me to walk on it.

"Sit," my mate said, "do you want a beer?"

I nodded, and he went into the kitchen. I looked at the single chair, the three-seater couch and the rug that was blocking the way. I could hear him opening the fridge, the hiss of the opening of the can of beer; I knew I had to move. If I crept around the rug I would only have to stand on it with one foot, that should be safe.

I crept, came to the place I would have to step on it, grasped his mantelpiece, stepped on the rug, and surprise, surprise, did a backward flip and landed on my face in such a way that even the most adventurous break-dancer would have been proud of.

"Bloody hell," my mate said, "that's never happened before.'

Yeah.

Rugs can also have an effect upon our future, a rug played a prominent role in a job interview I once had.

It was the hottest July for many a year, and I borrowed a suit from my brother in law and attended this interview for a driver's job. The wages were rubbish, but I needed work. Turned up at the building and gave the receptionist my cheesiest smile. She was not impressed. After giving her my name and details, I asked her what the interviewer was like.

"The boss," she said, looking around as if the dreaded figure would suddenly appear and suck her brains out through her nose, "is a strict disciplinarian, who doesn't suffer fools gladly."

It was as if the spirit of the King's Fool had come behind me, plonked a jester's hat on my head and stuck a pig's bladder on a stick in my right hand.

She told me to take a seat on a very low vinyl leather look two seater. There, to my horror, nicely laid out in front of the two seater was a red rug. Summoning my courage, I stepped over the rug, sat, and sunk in ending up with my knees two inches from of my face. 1 felt like a garden gnome, all I needed was a fishing rod.

I could feel the rug assessing me.

The minutes wore on and I began to sweat. With hindsight I should have got up and walked around, if only to allow some air to circulate around my back. But the rug barred my way.

Her telephone rang and she answered it, glared at me with a stare that would have frozen anti-freeze, put the phone down and said, "Mr Strict will see you now."

At least that is what I thought she said. After the third attempt I managed to unstick my backside from the vinyl, stand, step on the rug, which slid out from under my foot, making me do the splits and ripping the crotch of my trousers in the process. Great.

As well as my C.V. I wish I'd brought a grappling hook and knotted rope it would have come in handy getting me out of that two seater.

"Go through those double doors, go to the end of the corridor, take the left turning, then the next right, and Mr Strict's office is the third on the left," she said in a voice so fast Usain Bolt wouldn't have been able to catch it.

"Pardon,' I said.

She repeated it slowly, as if giving directions to a walking cabbage that was pretending to be a cauliflower, jabbing her beautifully manicured finger left and right to emphasise her words.

Off I went C.V. in folder, letter in hand, and fifteen minutes later, after taking two wrong turnings, found myself outside the right room. Knock, knock, "come in." I entered. It was quite a large room, with a row of panoramic windows facing the door. The sun was gleaming straight into my eyes so that I could hardly see a thing. "Sit down." A gargly voice said. I could just make out a solitary plastic chair stuck in the middle of the floor. I didn't see the Indian rug and went flying, ending up with my head inbetween one of the women interviewer's breasts.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," I said, feeling that the jester's hat had become bigger, and my tie was suddenly strangling me (Ties, but that's another story).

Bad start, but perhaps I could turn it around. I could just make out five dark shapes, five interviewing me? It seemed a bit over the top for a driver's job.

Anyway, the interview went awful, my mouth dried up, I stuttered and stammered, repeated myself, and made a complete cock-up. At one stage I tried to put the letter into my right pocket, but couldn't get it in. I changed hands and tried the left pocket, same result. I tried the inside pocket and still couldn't get it in. I quickly scrunched up the letter and shoved it in my trousers pocket. It was only later when inspecting the pockets that I realised my brother in law hadn't taken the stitching out, the pockets were bloody well sown up. A cloud appeared and hid the sun giving me some relief. I knew from the look on their faces that I hadn't got the job.

"Thank you," Mr Strict said, "we'll be in touch."

"May I say something before I go."

Strict glared at me.

"Thank you for the opportunity of this interview, but I must say that your interviewing technique was crap. This was not an interview it was an interrogation. The positioning of the chairs gave no thought to the comfort of the interviewee, the sun was shining directly in my face. I notice you all had cups of tea, but not even a glass of water was provided for me. And finally, what idiot placed that rug in the middle of the floor, or did it get there by itself."

~~~~

Sadie's Problem Page

Unfortunately, Sadie is not here to write the Problem Page. Perhaps I should tell you what happened.

In the office when we were discussing the conception of a Problem Page, Sadie was making the tea. I should also add that Sadie is, or was, the cleaning, tea lady and general gofer. Anyway, Sadie said. "I could do that."

"What?" I said.

"The Problem Page. I could do the Problem Page."

"Sadie," I said, trying to be as gentle as possible, because Sadie is a female version of Nutter Hughes, (a local character known for answering questions by gripping your shirt and squashing your nose with a violent thrust of his temple), "one needs qualifications to answer sociological problems."

"What qualifications?" she asked, looking directly into my eyes with a stare that would make a Houseguard's R.S.M. wither.

"Well, probably a degree in Sociology, perhaps ten years nursing experience, psychiatric training, a counselling diploma, you know things like that."

"That's crap," she said. "I've brought up sixteen kids, I've got thirty eight grandchildren, don't you think I've got enough experience?"

"Well yes, that is a great amount of experience."

"Good, when do I start?"

"It's not that simple Sadie, there are a number of other thing to consider."

"Such as?"

"The legal aspects for one."

"Crap, you're just trying to fob me off. Has Claire Raynor got all these qualifications?"

"I imagine so."

"Has she brought up sixteen kids?"

"Well, I know she's got a family."

"Okay," she said, shoving me out of my chair. "I'll take the job on a trial basis. If you're not happy, then tough."

She held out her hand to seal the deal.

"One issue Sadie, that's all, one issue."

I took her hand and winced as I heard and felt the bones in my hand cracking.

"Right," Sadie said, "where's the letters?"

So, Sadie started reading the letters and writing like a woman possessed until she came to one letter. "The bastard," she shouted, in a voice so loud it nearly brought down the fluorescent light fitting. Then she was on the phone for a good thirty minutes. "Right," she said, "I'm coming down there." And put the phone down. Picked up her shopping bag and was about to leave.

"Sadie," I said, "are you going to see the person who sent that letter?"

"I'll only be a couple of days."

"But Sadie, the whole purpose of a problem page is that you answer the letters through the page, not go and see them individually."

"Leave them letters there, I'll answer them when I come back."

"But Sadie, we've got deadlines to meet."

"Stop panicking. I'll be back in a couple of days."

And she was gone, taking the letter with her. The next day, just as I was finishing, the telephone rang. I answered it.

"Hello, this is Sadie."

"Sadie where are you?"

"In Holloway Prison, on remand."

"What are you doing in Holloway Prison?"

"I've just told you, I'm on remand."

"What for?"

"I beat up three Neo-Nazis skinheads in a pub car-park in North London."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because they were Neo-Nazi skinheads dickhead. I can't explain everything now, my money's running out. I'll see you soon. Leave the rest of the letters for me. By the way tell George not to worry, Oh and they've give me a solicitor, he's a bit of a knobhead, but he'll do."

And the phone went dead. Two days passed and I had a visit from the police.

"Do you know a Sadie Murphy?" The officer asked.

"Yes, she works here."

"Have you seen her?"

"Not for three or four days, why?"

"If you see her will you let us know?"

"Yes certainly," I said. "What's happened?"

"Sadie Murphy escaped."

"How?"

"She tied five hundred dish cloths together to make a rope, used a metal mop bucket as a grappling hook and went over the wall."

"Oh." I said, what more could I say? They left. A week passed and I heard nothing from Sadie, then on the Wednesday the telephone rang.

"It's Sadie."

"Sadie," I said, "where are you?"

"In Holloway."

"Oh, they caught you then?" Be truth be told I was somewhat disappointed, I thought she would make it back home.

"Yes, but they wouldn't have if I hadn't tried to dismantle that nuclear missile."

"What? A nuclear missile? Sadie, what have you been up to?"

"I went to Greenham Common."

"The American Airbase?"

"That's the one."

"What happened?"

"By the way, how is George?"

"He seems fine, he's staying with your Josie."

"Good, she'll look after him."

"Sadie, what happened?"

"I jumped on the coach taking the cleaning ladies in. They like to keep those missiles nice and shiny, you're not allowed to use polish, only washing up liquid, not the cheap stuff either, no, it has to be the good stuff."

It was a surreal image, a team of cleaning ladies washing nuclear missiles.

"I just made my way to the first missile took the lift to the top and pretended to start cleaning it. When I thought it was clear I took my toolkit out of the mop bucket. I had the control panel unscrewed and was just about to cut all the wires, when some alarm went off and dozens of soldiers appearing pointing all their guns at me. There were just too many of them, so I had to surrender."

"But Sadie, that sounds dangerous, cutting the wires inside a nuclear missile, you could have started the device and set off a nuclear explosion."

"You don't half talk some rubbish sometimes. I was disabling it, not arming it. I'm running out of money, see you soon."

The line went dead. I was worried about her. I mean for a sixty four year old woman she was doing some weird things. Two days passed and I had another visit from the police.

"She was caught," I told them, "she rang me from Holloway."

"Yeah, we know, but she escaped again."

"Again, how?"

"She took the governor hostage with the broken end of a mop handle, and escaped in the governor's car, he was released an hour later unharmed. They had helicopters tracking them, but she still escaped. She seems to be a very resourceful O.A.P."

"Well, she's not sixty five until November, so strictly she's not an O.A.P."

"Right, ok, but if she does get in touch, will you notify us?

"Certainly officer."

They left. I was worried about her, what was she getting herself into? The telephone rang. I answered it.

"It's Sadie."

"Sadie, what's going on? I've had the police here, they said you've escaped again. Sadie, give yourself up, I'll get the best solicitors and lawyers, we'll plead insanity for you, and you'll only probably spend a year in a secure psychiatric hospital."

"I'm not spending a year in a psychiatric hospital, it'd send me round the bend."

"Sadie."

"Listen, I'm going to New Zealand to join the Rainbow Warrior, we've got to stop these nuclear tests."

"Sadie."

"I'll ring you when I get there. Make sure George is alright. Oh, and you'll have to do the problem page until I come back. Bye."

"Sadie, Sadie." The line went dead.

More next month.

So, here, at long last is the problem page;

Dear Sadie,

I've been married for just over a year and I love my husband very much. The problem is our next door neighbours. They are two very attractive university students who are, I am sure, nymphomaniacs. They are always round at my house, and I've found some of their undergarments in our bedroom. Now I work Monday to Friday 9 to 5, and my husband works nights. Just lately he seems too tired to do anything around the house, jobs are left half finished, he's losing weight, he's even too tired to have sex, and I know its the students, I just know it. Oh Sadie, what can I do?

Elizabeth. Birmingham.

Well Elizabeth Sadie isn't here to answer your problem, but I hope I will do. It does sound as if your husband is having sex with the two students, whether it is three in a bed only they can say. Therefore, I suggest your best course of action would be not to confront them, because that could only lead to further complications, ie. denials, bad feelings etc. I suggest you immediately put your house up for sale, take the first offer that comes along and move. And to show you that this magazine cares for all its readers, especially the ones who are having problems I will buy your house, see you later. Editor.

Unfortunately we've run out of space for problems, so I'm going to have to end, beside I've got to drive to Birmingham.

Hopefully, Sadie will be ring me, or send a letter, from New Zealand, if she does I'll keep you informed.

Sadie's Problem Page - 2

Once again Sadie is not here to do her Problem Page. She rang me from a radiophone just off the coast of New Zealand, it seems she missed the Rainbow Warrior but enlisted the help of twenty Maori women, hijacked a rich American's yacht and were happily sailing towards the French nuclear testing site at Mururoa.

'But Sadie, that's piracy,' I said.

'Rubbish,' she answered, 'the Yank's loving it. Twenty beautiful Maoris. He said he hasn't had so much fun since VJ Day, and what with me scrubbing the decks, he's in his element. By the way he's got this fantastic mop bucket, it's got rollers that squeeze the mop dry, you'll have to get one.'

Then the line went dead. Ominous I thought.

So here is the first letter:

Dear Sadie,

Since I gave up smoking I can't stop eating between meals, munch, munch, munch, that's all I do all day; apples, oranges, pineapples, pears, melons, plums, crisps, nuts, biscuits, All Bran, cheese, (all varieties), crackers, butter, lard, in fact anything I can lay my hands on. Please give me some advice, I'm desperate, and getting fat.

Cathy, Manchester.

Dear Cathy,

Sadie is not here, so I will have to do. Firstly, congratulations on giving up smoking. Secondly, there is a simple solutions to your problem; stop eating meals and run a marathon every day, or even better two marathons, one in the morning, the other at night.

Editor.

A week later, as I was piling my way through half a million poetry submissions, and experiencing something of a rhyme overload, the telephone rang, it was Sadie.

'Where are you?' I asked.

'You won't believe what's happened.

I'd believe, I thought.

'How's George?'

'He seems fine, your Josie's taking good care of him, the Legion organised a trip to a brewery.'

'Oh, he'd love that. Anyway, as I was saying, we were within two miles of the Mururoa Atoll when all these helicopters and gunboats came from nowhere and surrounded us. Hundreds of French commandos in dinghies and those fast motor launches came towards us and started trying to board.'

'What happened?'

'We tried to fight them off, I managed to throw three overboard, but there were just too many. We fought a rearguard action until we were hemmed at the stern. Then the Yank gave up. I suppose he had to really, what with three of them sitting on him and two automatic rifles stuck in each ear. Then I led an offensive with the mop bucket and knocked two of them out. It's a great bucket, light, but really strong, you must get one.'

'Sadie, what happened?'

'Well, they backed off. I must admit they were real gentlemen, didn't raise their weapons once against the girls and me.'

'Yes, and...'

'Then some high officer came aboard, he was a captain I found out later. Lovely looking fella, fit, looked like that Sasha whatshisname, great tan, jet black hair, lovely white teeth, just the right amount of lines on his handsome gob, lovely voice, all French and husky, made my knees go all weak.'

'And, and...'

'He said it would be best if we surrendered before we got hurt. Ha, that was rich, what with twenty of his men lying on the deck out for the count and another six swimming in the drink. Has Josie been giving George his heart tablets?'

'Course she has, what happened then?'

'We could see it was hopeless, there were just too many of them, so we gave up. Two commandos were allocated to every Maori girl and were taken to the dinghies. Then he said to hand over my mop bucket – my mop bucket – the best mop bucket I've every had. No way.'

'What happened?'

'He tried to take it off me, so I had to give him a right-hander. Poor fella, I feel sorry for him now, especially as he brought me some flowers and a box of chocolates, and all his face was swollen where I broke his jaw, and he was so good looking.'

'You broke his jaw?'

'Not intentionally, I just wanted to stop him taking my mop bucket, I had to, it was a matter of principle, it was my mop bucket.'

'You said it was the Yank's?'

'He gave it to me.'

'Right. So where are you now?'

'Don't know, some island somewhere, lovely place, fantastic hotel, everything we could ever want, and those commandos are really, really nice, can't hold their booze though, I drank every one of them under the table. The Captain said they're going to fly us back to New Zealand. But we've got a plan. I can't say anymore now because they may have this phone tapped. We'll stop these test yet.'

Then the phone went dead. I was really starting to worry about her; she was getting into all kinds of trouble. I wondered if this would affect her pension, which was due next week.

Anyway, here is the second letter.

Dear Sadie,

My marriage isn't on the rocks, it's sunk somewhere in the English Channel. I'm the eldest son in a high profile matriarchal family. I was forced to marry a girl much younger than myself because of the need to continue the family line. We now have two sons, although, I'm not sure the second is mine, he looks the spitting image of a Guards Officer I vaguely know. My wife and I are separated, although we still live close and see one another on occasions. Our marriage began in a fairytale way, but constant commitments, separations, and most of all, interference, soon took its toll. I admit I was having an affair with a married woman, but she was kind, mature and understanding at a time when my wife, I now realise, was experiencing a period of vulnerability, loneliness and self-doubt. Perhaps I should have been more understanding, but she seemed more concerned with her own problems than the overall happiness of our family and public image. I then publicly castigated her, which, with hindsight, was a grave mistake. She then took her revenge and went public, telling everyone about my failing, but also admitting that she's had an affair, and I could guess with one hundred percent certainty with whom. I feel that I can never forgive her for this. She also cast doubts over my ability to take over the top job. However, at stake is more than our happiness and well being, many, many people rely on us. I am torn between my duty, my love for the married woman (her marriage has also ended) my two sons, and, strangely, my wife. Perhaps, what is most galling in all of this is that everyone seems to like my wife more than me. She's manipulated pubic opinion against me. There is some pressure upon me to try and reconcile our differences, but how can I after all she's done?

C. London.

Dear C,

All through your letter you harp on about 'me, me, me,' duty, your family, your public image. You seem to have absolved yourself of any blame, firmly putting it on your wife. Remember, by your won admission, you began an affair with a married woman, you publicly castigate your wife first, but conveniently (for you that is) all the blame is hers and not yours. Get real C. face up to the fact that you –placed everything before her and now you're suffering the consequences. My advice is get your priorities right, give your mistress the elbow, let her try and sort out her own marriage, and go to your wife and ask her forgiveness. Remember, a good marriage takes lots and lots of hard work on both sides, and don't bother writing again, because your letter will go straight in the bin.

****
