 
### MAKING IT HOME

### by Mac Dyson

Copyright 2016 Mac Dyson

### Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you enjoyed this book and would like to share it with your friends, please either purchase a copy each to give them, or direct them to Smashwords.com where they can buy their own. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### The Who's Who: Characters

On Earth:

Sam: 16, the author of this story

David aka Da': One half of the double Dads (The Da'Ad's)

Adrian aka Ad': The other half of the parental pair

On Cloud 9:

Merry - Mericles: 3037 years old (12 in earth years), our outa space hero

Zeus: Merry's not so heavenly father

Chubbs: Merry's Cherub minder

Hera: Merry's glamorous stepmother

On Urf:

Medusa, Diana, & Aphrodite: Merry's ex-Supermodel Goddess Mothers

aka The ModMums, Cloud 9 refugees

Jake: 16, orphan, a would-be film maker

Smuts: 8, orphan, a mechanical genius

Kiri: 14, a hopeful musician

'BotCop 16 - BC16 aka Chad: 17, A biomechanical policeman, & Jake's friend

Tiresias: - an ancient blind prophet of muddled gender, & poor dress sense

Penelope Du Lally aka Penny-Pink, Penny-Black, & Penny-Blu: The Urf kids' school teacher, part Urf part Cloud 9, who can change her style and personality at will

With:

Kiri's Mum, Dad, and Baby Brother

The BeachBum Gods/Goddesses aka The Bees/BeeGees

The 'BotCops including 'BotSergeant 49 aka BS49

Orpheus the kitten, Edith the Emu, Tolkien the Dragon,

and a selection of other clockwork livestock

### The What's What: Chapters

Chapter 1: **On Earth** \- Sam begins a story for his absent little brother

Chapter 2: The secret of the Specs; The Planet Urf

Chapter 3: Mary on the Cloud Ninety Nine; with a Diversion

Chapter 4: Mary is banished by his Father

Chapter 5: **On Urf** \- meet The ModMums

Chapter 6: **In Space** – Merry (Mary) is kicked out; Chubbs tags along

Chapter 7: **On Urf** \- Jake and BC 16 ( _'If he only had a heart'_ ) enjoy the delights of Coogee Beach

Chapter 8: **In Space** \- Merry plays Space Debris Pinball

Chapter 9: **On Urf** \- Smuts fixes Jake's camera; he begins a doco' on Old Sydney

Chapter 10: Avoiding Collision with Urf Merry is well armed

Chapter 11: Jake and Smuts bear the brunt of Merry's manoeuvres and again

Chapter 12: Merry makes a big splash at Coogee; ages fast

Chapter 13: Jake and Smuts visit Kiri in Technicolour Suburbia; a missing mum; and all that jazz

Chapter 14: Sam gets the squirms when Merry chooses a wardrobe

Chapter 15: Looking for Kiri's Mum hits a barbed-wire barrier

Chapter 16: Merry attracts the attentions of the 'Botcops; gains a pet

Chapter 17: Penelope-Pink steers the kids into the forbidden city

Chapter 18: Merry escapes to a hot dance groove; Chubbs watches some videos;

with a ... **Meanwhile** \- Zeus spies on them all

Chapter 19: The Kids get up close & personal with BC16's 'BotCop mates.

Chapter 20: A new norm; On the run The Kids and Merry team up

Chapter 21: A balancing act; Merry to the rescue

Chapter 22: Retro research; Chubbs, Merry, & Bruce Willis to the rescue

Chapter 23: A load of rubbish; let's go clubbing!

Chapter 24: A blind Prophet; dresses & dressups

Chapter 25: The shape of a Snakes Tale over dinner

Chapter 26: Tunnelling beneath the city; an unfortunate meeting

Chapter 27: Tirry & Smuts get sidetracked; a double reunion at Coogee

Chapter 28: Kiri has a lightbulb moment; Penny-B plans a Trojan Horse

Chapter 29: Wail Music with Haka; Jake tries tracking a missing Merry

Chapter 30: Merry's SpaceBall gets a make-over; his emotions make waves

Chapter 31: Drowning in The Tunnels of Terror

Chapter 32: **On Earth** Sam cries a lot; **On Urf** there's a lucky escape

Chapter 33: A portable party; plus transformations

Chapter 34: A 'Topsy Turvy' music video - You all sing along now!

Chapter 35: Making It Home is a mixed blessing for Kiri and her Mum

Chapter 36: Tension and foreboding; the SpaceBall gives up a tiny secret

Chapter 37: BC16 gets re-armed thanks to Merry & some Angel poo

Chapter 38: Just as it all seems to be going right it begins to go all wrong

Chapter 39: Under attack; no escape

Chapter 40: Counterattack with singing; a paranoid monologue

Chapter 41: Merry's thinking gets heated; the BeeGees darn a hole

Chapter 42: From a standing start Merry steps into the spot light(ning)

Chapter 43: A duel in the sky; a mother's advice; Merry gives up utterly

Chapter 44: A second Creation; Zeus unmasked

Chapter 45: Miracles - the dumb speak and a popular tune unlocks a home

Chapter 46:

**On Earth** \- Sam and his two dads can begin Making It Home together permanently

**On Urf -** Merry's new family celebrate Making It Home for him

with a barbie together in front of the Telly

Chapter 47: A Postlude

Author's Note: Making it up as I go!

Chapter 1: On Earth - Sam begins a story for his absent little brother

I wear glasses now. Spectacles. Spec's eh. And. As you know Bro'. Me being me means I'm envious of everyone that doesn't. But also. Me being me I have to be different. So. No contact lenses allowed.

Instead. I go searching the second-hand shops for interesting and unusual frames. Mum used to nag me about it. You know. Belonging. Fitting in eh. That being 'normal' crap. But. Da' - David - just shrugs. Coughs up for lenses to be fitted to yet another pair.

And. That's how it happened. Not Da' coughing, y' mental! That's a figure of speech. A turn of phrase. What I am saying is - that's how I got these ...? Well. I suppose they are glasses. At least to look at. If not exactly to look through.

I'm not mega-mad about living in Australia. I miss Aotearoa-NZ. The down-to-earth connected vibe. But. So far I like living in Coogee. There's the sea. Always warm enough when you fancy a swim. Cliff tops to walk when you want to think. People to watch in the street cafés when you're bored with thinking. Yeah. I'm allowed. Long as I stick to Latté. No more than one a day. Fair enough. I'm hyper enough.

Sydney is huge compared to Oamaru. Mad various as well. So lots of places to explore. Like Newtown. Coogee's perfect opposite. Dustbowl city bro! Just like the wild west. Well. It would be without the cars. And. Add a gunslinger or two. Scowling at each other. There's stumpy little two story shops with tin verandas winding for miles. Got stuck there once one evening after closing. Waiting for a bus. Kept expecting one of those big desert tumbleweeds to cartwheel by.

Anyway. There's always interesting new shops of old stuff to investigate. They never last more than a couple of months. The one I got these from was gone the next day. I read. A lot. So I guess I should have read the signs in that! Perfect mystery story material.

As was the little old lady behind the counter. Far too nice. Funny - ha ha. Not funny peculiar. Well not very. Looking closely at her. She had this quality that old people don't usually have. You saw her. Really paid attention The wrinkles couldn't hide it. When she was young she must have been a really super super-model. If they had them back last century. Really short ones I mean.

She got the whole 'different' thing straight off. Though. She used the word singular instead.

"You appear to be a most singular young man, young man." _

Bustled me off through a forest of old evening clothes. Spangly rainbow frocks. Shiny liquorice suits. To a ramshackle dresser covered in a muddle of musty tartan kilts. She wrestled with the top drawer without much success. When I offered to help she just stood for a moment. Staring at me. Before cackling and cackling like a demented hen.

She got her breath back. Wiped her eyes. "Didn't think the magic word.

I know this one. Well trained. "Please?"

"Something very like that." She winked at me. Rose on her toes. Very elegantly like a music-box ballerina. Muttered something to herself. Turned round three times. I should have turned and run. But. I stayed. And when she stopped the drawer slid out silk smooth. Like on teflon ball bearings.

Inside. Sitting on the top of some boned corsets. Were these. Or should that be 'was'? After all. There was only one pair. Whatever. They were perfect. I'd been looking for some 1960s TV screen shaped ones for ages. You know. Thick black nerd-science frames. Big intellect 'Brains' style. Didn't even try them on. There's a mistake I won't make again. Just gave her the money. Exactly what I had been planning to spend. Oh yes. The signs are all so clear now. But then ...

I should be honest here. I've been stringing you along a bit. Not lying eh. Just. Using words in slightly deceptive ways. Dabbling with the truth. Bulking up what seem the ordinary bits. To get the mood right. I'd apologise. But. "Get over it". And pay attention.

Because now I am going to explain what the big story is ...

Chapter 2: The secret of the Spec's; The Planet Urf

These Spec's tell them. Stories. And. That's where it starts to get properly weird. I'm not sure how eh.

They seem to take a plot and kinda translate it. They know what they want to tell you. But. Because it's so alien. So not of this world. They sift through your mind and memories. And then. Use what they find as the materials to build from. Like. If they wanted to tell you about one of their animals they'd alter a nowadays one you knew already. Even the humanish characters seem a bit familiar. Guess they're based on people in my head too.

So. I don't know when these stories actually take place. Or where. Because when I am shown them they become set in parts of Sydney. Except quite a different version. Seen from quite an odd angle. Not a parallel Universe. More like one crossing over at some hard to measure, weird angle.

Looking out through these. Sydney is no longer lush and green. The sea always sparkling and blue. The Sydney of the Spec's is more compact. Much older. Almost worn out. And. Surrounded by desert. Smothered by it. Bits of it entirely encased in sand. Great drifting dunes between oasis of buildings that seem partly salvaged from this reality. What few plants there are are totally Jurassic Park. Enormous cacti and succulents. Like Ad's - Adrian's - prize pot plants mega-giant size.

Above the sun is bigger and redder. And sorta wobbly. It throbs a bit. Like. I imagine a heart might. Making pulsing shadows. It's actually quite interesting to watch. In a slightly scary way.

The bit I don't get. The thing that doesn't make any sense. Is that through it all potters your basic Aussie wildlife. Bounding Kangaroos. Sprinting Emus. Bumbling Wombats. Laughing Kookaburras. Plus a Kiwi or two - to make me feel at home? So that sounds OK eh? Wrong. They're all colossal. And clock work. You can see the huge keys turning slowly in their backs. I'll leave you to sort out who winds them up. Never seen it happen.

Downtown. The Harbour Bridge has a broken back. The arch is intact. But there's no roadway from this side to the other. Where Luna Park still stands. Abandoned. The big smiley face entrance with broken teeth. Though at the moment one eye is winking at me. Like in one of my nightmares!

Whoa! That's going a bit too far into my head. Toying with my imagination. Back off eh! Phew. Seems the Spec's agree. Image flash. Advert break. Yoda clasps hand about fist and bows to me. Kung Fu Panda style. OK. Fair enough. Apology accepted.

Past the funpark. On the far side. There's no North Shore suburbs. Just mounds of rubble. Like the remains of some strange mining operation. Under the bridge and around the inner beaches the harbour water is oily greens and purples. Boats a bit like Chinese junks bobbing in it. Though how they stay afloat is another mystery. Coz they're made of old-fashioned red and green Meccano. The holey metal strips bolted together by huge nuts and bolts.

Where the Opera House would be here is open land. A grassy plain. The grass way tall. With oversized breadknife blades. At the point there's just one huge tree. Roots hanging onto the edge for grim life. Its branches are twisted and curled together. Like Reggae dreadlocks. It seems dead. Or. Perhaps it's just winter in this world.

Anyway. What I going to tell you comes to me in a muddle of images and sounds. A chopped up movie. Some of it looks exactly like films I've watched. Or images I've seen. From books I've read. Posters and pictures that Ad' has put up round the place. He's a regular little homemaker.

Sorry. That's a bit unkind. I guess its weird for him as well. This make-an-instant-family thing.

The reason I'm telling you all this stuff is that I've tried to watch this three times so far. And. Each time it changes. But. If I think about it. Underneath. Really it's pretty much the same story. It just gets a bit more detailed. A bit more real. But. Every time it nears a certain point it suddenly hiccups. Catches on an image. Like one of Da's old scratched LPs. Caught in a groove. Jumping back and forth. Over the same moment.

So. I don't know exactly how it finishes. And you know. I'm definitely the type of person who likes to know how things turn out. Therefore. I reckon if I write it down I might be able to find a clue. Get past the block. Unearth something that unlocks the final scenes.

Plus. I thought you might like my version. Because I get the idea that if you put these Spec's on they would tell you another story. Or. If it were still this story it would use your memories in the translation. Be changed by them. Events would take a different turn. It'd all end up somewhere else.

Oh. Sorry. I know we were about to get going. But. A piece of advice. Go with the flow. Check this.

" _I am lying on my back. Floating in the silent black of Space. Looking at the stars"_

You see the problem eh? If you're not careful. You end up wondering. How is this person breathing? After all. There's no air in Outer Space. But face it. You're applying your rules where they aren't valid. See. What if the "I" in that sentence isn't human?

PS: They probably aren't.

Chapter 3: The Beginning - Mary on the Cloud Nine; with a Diversion

It's outer Outer Space. A splash of stars. Something like the Milky Way. But. A long way away from here. Whichever here we're thinking of.

This bit of Space isn't very spacey. I mean. It's not all that empty. In fact it's full of clouds. Obviously not rain clouds. Just large lumps of unidentifiable misty stuff. Chemicals? Gas? Space Dust? Discarded atoms? Dislocated particles? A mix of them all? No idea. But. They're quite distinct. Float about like islands. Bumping occasionally. Wispy dodgems. Making up a kinda filmy flat planet.

At the centre looms a huge cumulus. Soaring up and up like a mountain. I think that this is meant to be somewhere like Olympus. A home planet to super beings. A bit like the Greek Gods. Though not quite. Being assembled from molecules other than ours.

The peak of the mountain is encrusted with ornate buildings. Intricate roadways. All set among fountained gardens. We zoom closer. A sweeping fly by. The picture of lavish prosperity fades. The buildings are abandoned. Boarded up. The streets are crazed with potholes. The Fountains choked with weeds. The gardens knitted with brambles. Only a wedding cake style castle straddling the summit stands solid. Cared for. Lit from within.

Over the far side. A couple of misty islands further on. On a hazy outcrop of orange cloud is a small solitary figure. Lying on its back. Looking up into the stars. Who it is morphs with each telling. Changes each time. Looks different close up.

Today. It's a pale skinned boy. I guess aged about twelve. Maybe thirteen. Close to your age. Sam. His hair, the soles of his feet and the palms of his hands are jet black. His finger and toe nails are earth-sky blue. But. That might just be paint. Yesterday. It was a tall green teenage girl. Built like Wonderwoman. The day before. He was aluminium. Squat. Asian features and a bit overweight. Whatever. Every time I zoom in to check. I can tell they've been crying.

Mary ...

Hey. I don't make these things up. I just hear them. Write them down. Though this name might be Da's fault. He loves Johnny Cash. Old time grouchy gruff singer. Makes me listen. All the time. Big favourite is 'A Boy Named Sue'. Frankly I'd have beaten our dad up if he'd called me something that stupid eh. If he'd stuck around of course.

Anyhoo ... (Sings the Morepork)

Mary is a bit bored. A lot lonely. He's been thinking of his Mum. Not Hera. His Dad's latest wife. She doesn't count. Another one in the long long list. Here one century. Gone the next. Like these clouds. No, his real mum. He misses her. Not that anyone knows. They've never asked. And. He's never told.

All he knows. It wasn't her choice. She was stolen. Or at least. That's the story that has lodged in his mind. Like the idea that his Father never tried to get her back. Mary guesses it was because she wasn't ever His wife. Just a pretty thing He'd wanted. For a little while.

Mary often wonders. Where she is now? What she is doing?

### The Diversion

The Spec's wallow about. Bit psychedelic. All twirly colours. Cue a new location. To show me the answer. What Mary doesn't know. Useful, eh? If a bit gut churning.

A vast rock cave. Big beyond the largest cathedral. Deep deep underground at the core of a terra firma planet. High up flickering splashes of lavaflame light the vaulted ceiling. It shines ebony. Like polished coal.

In a low dark corner sits a striking woman. Lit by the meagre glow of a brass lantern. Mary's mother. A sort of Persephone. The Goddess of Spring. She's wearing a shimmering sari of apple-green silk. Her hair is wound in a net of gold. At every join a mirrored jewel.

She is quietly intent on making a simple daisy chain. As she finishes adding a flower she simply reaches out. And. At the touch of an elegant finger the next grows. In a tiny crevice of soil.

The lantern flickers. A shadow looms over her. As it passes over the flowers she looks down into her hands. Watches the daisies rapidly wither to dust. She closes her fingers over their grey ashes. Looks up at an enormous craggy coal skinned man. Who resembles an escapee from the World Wrestling Federation. Or The Terminator (Arnie. Second incarnation. Without the moobs). He smiles tenderly at her.

This is Hades. Her husband and The God of this Underworld. He is naked but for a strip of white Sari-silk floating discreetly in front of ...

I don't know why they're being coy. Surprise surprise. I do have a penis of my own. I reckon the Spec's have got the idea from those orange and black vase pictures. The ones the Ancient Greeks painted on their bowls and jugs.

But in this case. His thighs and butt are also tattooed in red. Polynesian style.

Persephone holds out her empty hand to him. A pause at the touch. There's something both happy and sad in them both. He gently helps her up. Tender for such a giant. They walk away arm in arm. Down a long descending tunnel. Swallowed up into the darkest of the dark.

Chapter 4: Mary is banished by his Father

On Cloud Nine C. Or whatever it's called. Mary has decided on a strategy. Distraction. So. He summons his imagination. Slowly at first. Then accelerating. The vapour around him solidifies. Becomes a mountain pasture. Mary studies it for a moment. Then. Another intake of breath and thought. It becomes lush. Daisies, buttercups, poppies. Plus. Some alpine flowers. Edelweiss?

Another breath. Now. It's bathed in something like sunlight. He smiles. Much better. Runs up the slope to the top. And. Gazes down with pleasure on the field that spills out in front of him.

Arms out. He runs full tilt across it. It's all very Julie Andrews. 'The Sound Of Music'.

Remember Sam? We had to watch. Every Xmas. Mum's orders. Its sooo long. And knowing all the words is sooo not cool. In the playground. At Sing-along screenings. Anywhere!

Anyway. When Mary reaches the middle he begins to spin. And spin and spin. Spins till he's completely dizzy. Running low on brain oxygen. Of course. Without his attention the landscape reverts. Turns back. And suddenly he is plummeting through layers of insubstantial cloud. One hazy bank after another. Free falling. Down down down. Spinning. Somersaulting. Whooping like a fool.

Finally. He imagines a trampoline. And bounces acrobatically on it. One and half somersault. With twist. To seat-drop. Difficulty 3.8. I'm considering my score. An eight? Point five. When suddenly...

A crack of very loud thunder. Huge black and purple clouds tumble angrily into view. Dominate the sky. The landscape turns to winter. Mary is now standing. Quite still. Knee deep in a field of snow. Not daring to look up. Several flashes of lightening stab the ground. Quite deliberately close. All round. Circling him. As if they were creating the bars of a cage. An electric prison.

Above. The clouds mass and bulge. Form and fade. And then. Materialise. Into an enormous bearded face. Like the God of the Sistine Chapel. But this is more Zeus. Supreme Deity of Olympic Pantheon. Livid with fury.

"Mericles Samuel James!"

Hey Bro' the Specs have included both our names. Noice. But hang on. Mericles? Oh "Merry"! Got it! Sorry. Oh. And apologies to any bloke called Mary. 'Coz I'm sure that's OK too ... Somewhere.

Zeus roars his name again. Merry nearly falls. With every utterance from his Father the cloudland beneath him shakes. A sky-quake.

A huge cumulous finger stabs down from the sky. "This is the end!"

"Is it?" Merry seems to be quite a literal person. Accepts word for word. He looks up. Confused. Expecting a theatre curtain to descend? The sky to fade to black? Or perhaps. A lengthy 'Final Credits' sequence?

Zeus appears to be holding back. Grimaces. And with thunderous self control. Commands. "Pack a spare SpaceSphere. Report to your Cherub and be gone!"

Merry falls. As the ground writhes. "What!?"

The finger waggles. Gi'normous. Looming above him. The landscape begins to wither. "You are banished."

"Banished?" Merry is completely bewildered.

Zeus snaps back at him. "Banished!"

"Why?" Merry blinks. And sinks. Up to his waist in cloud.

"Because it seems that you are incapable of acting with any form of discretion."

Merry struggles not sink further. Manages a kind of dogpaddle. Offers hopefully. "If I knew what that was, I could try."

"I have plans. Important plans. And I will not have them undermined by some brat!" The finger begins to withdraw.

Merry is still not sure of what is going on. "But. Where will I go?"

Zeus's colossal face begins to revert to cloud. Voice begins to diminish. "You can go to Earth for all I care."

Merry is entirely appalled. The cloud under him turns to rock. "Yuk, I'm not going to that ruin, that dump! I mean I know that Mum loves it ... "

Zeus reforms. Closer. Growls at Merry from mere yards away. Giant ski jump nose about to poke his eye out.

"Merry!"

Merry picks himself up. His stone oasis broadens. Turns to marble. Black. With little veins of fire red. He turns to face his father. "I can say that. She's my Mum even if she isn't your ..."

"Enough already!" Zeus relaxes a little. Is that a twinkle in one eye? Perhaps. A little respect for his boisterous son.

Merry shrugs. Tries to look nonchalant. Uncaring. He's cool.

"Okay, Okay. I'm going, I'm going." Then. Mutters under his breath. "No need to get your toga in a tangle!"

The clouds above him are just clouds. Now you'd have to look hard to see a face. His father's voice comes from a far off. Echoing like a distant storm. "And don't come back till you learn to behave!"

After a moment. Merry looks up to see that Zeus has gone. The defiance drains from him. His shoulders sag. Eyes glaze. Lose focus. He has no idea what has set off his father this time. So. He lets go. Stops trying. He begins to slip slowly through the field of vapour at his feet. Disappearing down into the sky.

Silence. I watch the deserted clouds play gentle dodgem. Then. From far below I can hear. Plaintive. Wailing. A lost toddler whimper.

"Banished ..."

Chapter 5: On Urf - meet The ModMums

An echo. Close by. Shrill. Piercing. An elderly, quavery echo. "Banished!"

The Spec's do their "I'm so arty" thing. Provide a lengthy cross-fade. Which begins with the stars bursting into white flames. Then shrinking. Turning golden. To become a sprinkle of little fires. Tucked among rocks. Twinkling through an earth night. Sparkling off the sea. At the base of a cliff face. One I know well. Coogee Beach!

Louder. More anguished. "Banished ... Banished ... " The echo trills on and on. The fires squirm and wriggle. The flames flash red, green and purple. I wonder if the Spec's are broken?

Suddenly. Several female voices yell. Almost in my ear.

"Cease!"

"Desist!"

"Enough already!"

"Stop even!"

Finally. Close up. Iridescent. Shimmering. A jewelled nest of vipers. Hissing. Spitting. Writhing like boneless belly-jelly-dancers. They speak! "Banished!"

I'm getting bored with that word. Sure. It sounds very ominous. Foreboding. As if something terrible has happened. But. It really hasn't. Seen this bit before. Though to be fair. You haven't.

A pair of hands reach up. Liver spotted. Veiny. With taloned nails. Witch black. They part the snakes. It's her hair. Her living hair. Oh. That's new! This time quite clearly. It's the lady from the shop. She - Medusa - is returning from a trance. Her purpled eyelids are flickering. The snakes are looking at each other. Concerned.

Now this is where I digress. Go off topic. To explain. In the old Greek stories catching Medusa's eye turns you to stone. Hence you could look at her two companions. Think that's what they're trying to avoid here. But it's not. This Medusa's eyes are quite safe. Her two girl friends are dancing about with their eyes closed. Fingers in their ears. Singing loudly "Tie me Kangaroo down Sport!" Simply to divert themselves. Block out sound. But especially. Suppress any images. Because. It's her visions that are the problem. They're loud. Vivid. Take over your head.

Not a problem you think? Want your mates to share your dreams? Like the one you woke up from. Last night. About 3am? Sweating. The one where you're being chased. By that unspeakable slime tentacled horror. Mouths (yes plural) gnashing. Spitting suppurating saliva at you in its fury. You can't run. Legs of rubber. Your screams choke in your throat... You're starkers. Boll... Bits to the breeze. And. The only escape is through your school parent-teacher meeting ... Want to keep that one to yourself? Thought so.

Medusa reaches out. Groping. As if blind.

"Aphrodite? Diana?"

Her companions freeze. On the spot. And. Behold. Minus the flailing arms. Without the desperate attempt at warding off the horror. We can see two equally dotty looking old birds. Just as beautiful. Just as wrinkly. Just as unkempt. And. Quite as nuts as Medusa.

If once long ago, they were models. Now. They are clearly down on their luck. And a few sausages short of a barbie. (Not the doll - think Aussie outdoor cooking). Anyway. They seemed to have dressed themselves in the dark. From a Sallie Army rags collection bin.

Without so much as a glance. They slow breathe as one. And together begin a Tai Chi exercise. To gather their wits I reckon. But from where is anybodies guess. In perfect unison. They float and surge gently. Like weeping willows in a soft breeze.

Their pen portraits.

Y' know. The exercise English teachers give you when they've run out of ideas. On par with essays about "What I Did On My Holidays." Complete rubbish. But picture this.

Diana. Actually quite muscly. For a broomstick insect. "Starvation-on-stilts." Ready for a some strange sporting marathon. She's wearing a navy cycle helmet planted backwards over a sleek French roll. A white towelling bathrobe. And. A crimson sash from which swings a bugle. Hiking boots over fisherman net stockings.

Aphrodite. Ebony. Wobbly voluptuous. "Slow - Dangerous curves." Flowing ash-blond locks to her impossible tiny waist. She's wearing a pretty daring polka dot bikini. Well it would be. Except. Its over a woolly yellow cardie and grandpa long-john pants. Not sure that fluffy slippers should have heels. Certainly not that high.

Medusa. "Sweet petite." Tiny in a filmy nightie. Over a floral chrysanthemum bathing suit. One piece. A flouncy pink bustle on the bum. Her legs are bare. Bar the tattoo of snakes that twine them. From ankle to thigh. As she sits up. She tucks the vipers into a bathing cap shaped like a huge daisy. The snakes put up a bit of a fight. She gets quite shirty with them.

"Beloved, relax." Aphrodite's voice. Husky Italian. A low singing tone.

"Pull yourself together girl!" Diana's accent is English. Silly kids-book fruity. Bossy. Overly enthusiastic.

"Sorry. That was a rip snorter!" Medusa's is nothing like how she spoke in the shop. Now. It's American. Perky. Cheer leader.

"We should never have left him alone in Olympus."

"We're his godmothers."

Reckon they've had this argument before. Lots of times. They power through it. Not really listening. To themselves. Or. Each other.

"But it was soooo tedious ..."

"... mind-numbing ..."

"... dull as ditchwater!"

"We would have gone quite mad ..."

"Absolutely bonkers with boredom ..."

"... if we'd stayed a moment longer."

"And then what use would we have been to the little angel?"

"If only his mother ..."

"... had practiced self defence like I suggested." Medusa snaps.

As if to call them to attention. Feebly whining from afar. Worn out. Weary. Weakened from reverberating through the titanic cathedral of space. But never-the-less intense. Insistent in their minds. Merry's plaintive voice.

"Baaa ... aaa ... aaa ... niiiiii ... shshshsh ... ed ... "

It works instantly. They are all concern. Tutting and clucking. A barmy brood of deranged mother hens.

"Tch! Our dear little Merry set adrift in space."

"Och! A child alone, it doesn't bear the thinking about."

"Phooey! I'm sure he'll be just dandy."

Diana and Aphrodite glare at Medusa. Who just shrugs indifferently.

"Sorry."

As one. They turn their gaze heavenwards. Clasped hands. Beseeching. A pious tilt to each head. Faces suffused with love and yearning. Or. Indigestion. Depending on your point of view.

Still against the night sky. Three plaster parodies of Mary. The Mother of God one. Carved by a sculptor with a rather weak grasp of biblical style. Indeed of any fashion.

Outlined by stars. Three Super Model Goddess-Mothers. The ModMums. Uselessly waiting for a small lost child. Abandoned to the limitless Universe.

Chapter 6: In Space - Merry is kicked out; Chubbs tags along

And. The object of their concern? That poor abandoned waif. Forsaken. Unloved. Unwanted. Languishing alone among the cold grey stars at the end of the Universe. Is he blubbering noisily? Eyes spouting like a fountain? Nose running like a tap? Waist high in tear stained tissue?

Yeah right! He's grinning gleefully. Spinning around and around in a swivel chair at a very hi-tech command station. Spinning. And then spinning again. Faster and faster. Spinning and spinning until ... his head explodes.

Whoa! Retina burn. An after-image of his forehead bursting open. Spilling out ... ? Blinding white light. Now this is a scary moment. A long scary moment. My eyes in aftershock. Shooting off fireworks against a menacing black. Am I blind? Worse. Am I blind forever? The pyrotechnics fade into flickering grey. The grey takes form. Adds dots of colour. Monet City mate! My mind struggles to put together the points of light into full pictures. I blink. And blink again.

Oh! OK so his head hasn't blown up. Pity!

Just kidding. Merry has sprouted a third eye. In the centre of his forehead. A bling jewelled lens projecting a hologram of a baby Sumo Wrestler. Glossy black top-knot and traditional nappy. Hovering like a plump humming bird thanks to a pair of mini angel-wings.

"Hey Chubbs. My massive Main-man!" Merry gestures gansta. Cool as afro-ice.

The Cherub doesn't reply. Speechless with fury. Little fists beating in the air.

"What's the go, my big fly-baby buddy?"

The tiny figure gulps like a goldfish. Searching for a retort.

"You seem a mite perturbed, my chickie-wing chum."

The Cherub finds its voice. A surprisingly basso growl. Snarls once or twice to warm up. And lets fly. Computer staccato. Loudly. And at length.

Probably best if I go off-camera here. Summarise the details. Avoid the invective. Reduce the R Rating. And. Supply some background.

The tiny figure is a Guardian Cherub. Named Chubbs. In charge of Merry's exile. Seems that as a breed they tend to get the prison-nanny positions. A difficult and thankless task. Especially as they are confined to space-quarters in their own Sphere. Regulations. Long in the distant past some ancestor formed an inappropriate interspecies association. So now. Contact is only allowed by holographic Bindi. Hence the fury. Because. Every move the miscreant makes is projected. Onto a huge mobile 'Gyroscreen!' that encompasses his chubby custodian. Letting him experience directly his charge's manoeuvres. Merry twirls. Chubbs twirls. Merry falls. Chubbs falls.

Merry pleads innocence. No one is convinced. Chubbs goes into graphic detail about his digestive response to the spinning. I'm about to chuck myself. So. To divert me. Settle my tum. The Spec's take me on a tour of the flight deck. Of the Federation Starship The USS Enterprise. The 1960s version made of cardboard cobbled together with staple and sticky tape. And. Gobs of chewing gum.

The only major change. Instead of the station where Lieutenant Uhura would have once prodded a fake screen. With a false scarlet nail. There is a bunk bed. Sole current occupant a small blue teddy bear in a red jacket. One patched ear and a loose eye. Dangling by his nose. A blast from my past. My beloved Teddy-DollDoll. Seems I was - how do I put this? - species-fluid from a very early age.

Chubbs has now embarked on a lengthy lecture. Rules and regulations. Adherence strongly recommended for mutual sanity.

I'm lead to observation window. So! It's all been a huge fuss about nothing. Because. I can still see all the cloud planets. Close up. This is the equivalent of being banished to the bottom of the garden. Not exactly worth the high drama.

Over Merry's strenuous excuses. Elaborate justifications. I can hear a storm rumbling in the distance. Sounds like a herd of buffalo rioting. A pre-match Haka. On the far horizon dark clouds mass. The thunder begins to throb. To thump like a bass drum. Cracks of lightening intercut. Provide snare. Hail adds a hi-hat shuffle. A balalaika strums a funky riff. The groove crescendos. All we need now is Kylie vocals for 'Instant Dance-Party'!

The clouds materialise into a gaggle of gigantic Angels on a drunken bender. Dancing shoulder to shoulder. Weaving. Whooping like rugby/football hoons. They've cobbled together some Can-Can steps with a bit of Zorba the Greek. Laughing. Lurching. Looming closer and closer. On a collision path with Merry's Space-Ball.

The sound of thumping boots becomes deafening. Chubbs and Merry stop their fighting. Look about in surprise. Merry runs to the window. The Chubbs hologram swinging in front like a carrot tempting a donkey. He screams the obvious.

"Warning! Warning! Danger approaching. Evasive action! Evasive action!"

Merry dashes back to the command centre. Tries to start the engines. They cough once. Spit twice. Gargle into life. Then. With a strangled gurgle choke. Die.

For a moment there is stillness. Silence. Until out of the ominous quiet slowly builds a machine-gun snare. At its cacophonous climax the sphere is surrounded by flying steel-cap clodhoppers. The size of cross-country trucks.

Merry stony faced. Straps himself in. Switches off Chubb's projection. Steels himself for impact. The massive feet sweep and swing performing a ludicrous grapevine. Cross in front. Step behind. A hurtling heel just misses crushing a thruster. A tipsy toe clips the left aileron. The Spaceball wobbles. Rights itself.

Finally. The dancers begin to exit stage left. As the last one passes we all plan for breath. Prepare a sigh of relief. But. The line cracks like a whip. Exuberantly swings the last angel towards the ship. She's about to miss it when she loses balance. Her foot lashes out blindly making perfect contact with her instep.

An intoxicated voice bawls "Goal!" The hull of Merry's ship flashes once briefly before spinning out into space. As it hits Warp Speed the concussion detonates a vivid orange flare across the sky.

Chapter 7: On Urf - Jake and BC16 (*sing* "If he only had a heart") enjoy the delights of Coogee Beach

Another arty cross fade. The orange spreads. Flows outwards in all directions. To cover my field of vision. Then. Ripples. Mirrored on a gently swelling sea. As. The sun rises over Coogee Beach.

Silhouetted against the glow a distant shape leaps and somersaults along the waters edge. There is something CGI larger-than-life about the muscular outline as it romps along the sand. The martial arts acrobatics are comic book exaggerated. Gravity defying manoeuvres linger too long in midair. This must be some long lost 'Super'. The Incredibles style.

With a complex twisting kick - airborne over five metres - the spunky figure lands on the rocks around the big beachpool. A smattering of enthusiastic applause. Oops. I've joined in. He (?) bows graciously to the three antique Supermodels. The Modmums wave back. Flirtatious under their Japanese parasols. The cyber police- um ... 'person' strikes the familiar heroic pose to survey the cliffs.

A brief 'Info-mercial' informs me that they're Bio-mechanical. Part robot. Part human. Familiarly known as 'BotCops. The "Bum Fuzz" to their detractors. It seems that the Specs have combined Robocop with the Star Wars clone soldiers. On gleaming white armour a rank and number is painted chest and back. A jam sandwich striped footy jersey.

Close up. 'BotCop 16 is the size of a two seater brick sh ... sorry ... brick outside dunny ... Oh crap. ...Toilet! Its hard to tell what gender 'it' is. The mix of organic and mechanical construction blurs the details. And. I can see very little of the face under the sun-dim visors. But. Judging by the dark square jaw line. Ah. Stylishly stubbled. BC16 is likely to be male. Maybe late teens. He suddenly waves exuberantly. At a figure dipping and diving through the pool like a porpoise.

Jake surfaces and shakes the water out of his eyes and sunbleach dreads. He's about 16. With a effortless street-cred demeanour. Plus. A swim conditioned body to die for. He waves back. Plunges deep. And. Crosses the pool to BC16 underwater all the way. A slivery streak of lithe muscle.

I'm not sure which sin to commit. Envy? Or Covetousness? Actually. I'm gonna chose Lust.

BC16 throws down a towel. Cheerily singing him a greeting. "Good morning. Good morning. Good morning to you!"

He must have been forced to watch Singing In the Rain by our mum. That was the Easter 'Treat'. It was a musical comedy childhood. And. You can interpret that any way you like!

Jake hauls himself out of the pool. Grinning in return. "Thanks."

He drags a T-shirt on. But. When his face pops out the neck his expression has changed. Those cute freckles are creased up in puzzlement. "Hey! You're happy!"

BC16 suddenly stiffens. Retorts all starchy. "No. I am most certainly not."

"Yes you are!"

"There is nothing that could be considered in the slightest to be unusual about me at this time. Or any other."

"Of course not." Jake rolls his eyes.

BC16 is getting upset. "There isn't."

"Whatever you say." Jake shrugs. Turning away, pretend indifferent. While. Watching carefully out the corner of his eye.

BC16 is now quite agitated. "There isn't anything different."

"There. Right there, there is." Jake swoops around on him.

BC16 clenches his fists to restrain himself. Squeezes out, "There is not!"

"If I didn't know better. I would say that you were getting a smidgette emotional there."

BC16 snaps to Attention. "That is impossible for a 'BotCop. When we are rebuilt all human nerve function is disconnected."

"Fair enough." Jake pretends to accept the explanation. Finishes dressing. Before he turns on BC16 unexpectedly. "So how come you're so pleased to see me."

BC16 starts. Then sniffs prissily. "I am programmed in Social Graces and Empathic Communication."

"Since when?"

"Since he ... "

Jake pounces. "Aha!"

"I shouldn't have said that." BC16 sounds near tears. "I don't want to get Tiresias into trouble."

Jake just looks at him. Waits. The age-old manipulative ritual. Pursed lips. Arms akimbo. Tapping foot. Unblinking stare. The 'I've got all the time in the world' routine. BC16 squirms and fidgets. Giant hands clenching and unclenching. But. He can't evade Jake's steely gaze. He finally breaks down. Spills the beans. Well some of them. We are no wiser about who Tiresias is after than before. Though. Going by the rather gory detail he's either a reformed serial killer or a surgeon. Whatever. He has made some reconnections with BC16's old cellular self. Giving increased access to human function.

Jake is thrilled. Gives him a big hug. BC16 endures it stoically. Rigid and unyielding like my mate's Dads under the threat of affection. Jake realises and steps back. Gives him the proper manly thump on the back. And just ducks in time. As BC16 returns the favour.

Then. Jake has a thought. A cheering one at that. "If your emotions are coming back ... um ... what about your memory?"

BC16 shakes his head. "Tirry said that part of my brain seemed too badly damaged to repair."

Jake gives a half smile. Bends down to put on his Jandals. Sorry, I'm in Oz now. His flip-flops. "Yeah, yeah. Of course." He stands back up. "Well I've got to go help Smuts get her gear. The neighbours are getting suspicious."

He lingers awkwardly for a moment. BC16 checks him out. A bit bothered. "You okay?"

"Yeah, of course. Never better. You?"

BC16 beams. "Best ever!"

"OK ... Good ... Good ..." Jake swallows and begins to leave.

BC16 remembers. Hand goes up like a small child with the answer for Teacher. Or in desperate need to pee. "Oo, Oo!"

Jake spins back. A bit over eager. "Yeah?"

"I won't be able to see you till late tomorrow. For the next 24 hours we're on high alert."

Jake smiles at him. Wistfully. "Oh ... Sure. Well take care!"

BC16 watches Jake clamber over the rocks to the base of the cliff. Head leaning towards one shoulder like a giant metallic cockatoo. The audience of ModMums give each other a look. Ever the romantic. Aphrodite wipes away a tear.

Chapter 8: In Space - Merry plays Space Debris Pinball

Back out in the vastness of space I am looking at ... nothing. Well. This is a bit boring. Apart from a light storm off in the distance there's just floating rocks to look at. Bobbing like apples in a bucket. No doubt we're waiting for Merry. But. Best not to treat this as a hold-your-breath moment.

This Spec's seem to agree. And start to fiddle with focus. Puddle with depth of field. It's a bit chunder making. Images surging in and out of clarity. Objects surging towards and away. Then. Everything gets red cast to it. Now a green. Then a silvery combination.

Oh no! Please no! Of course they don't listen. And. I'm suddenly sweeping through a 3D version of a meteor storm. Great! And can I just say again. Great! Because no matter how many times I repeat "Great" I'm still going to throw up!

Woooooooo! No time for digestive evacuation. (Da's choice of words. He thinks he's funny. Which he is. But, best not to encourage him!)

A comet rockets past me. Inches to spare. Dragging a snaking trail of space muck. At the last minute the tail whips around and splatters me with ice and dust. Talk about flies on a windscreen. I know it's only imaginary. But here-on-in I keep my mouth firmly shut.

We've just swept yet another arc through a vast rocky space-sea. Crowded with enormous shards of purple crystal. Vertiginously slip sliding about like a rally car. Just missing the knife edges of their glinting facets. When. An explosion behind me spins me off towards a large planet. The surface of its atmosphere absorbs my momentum like a saggy baggy mattress. After some blubbery wobbling I come to rest. Let my body go limp. Trying to regain my scattered wits.

But then. As they say. There's no rest for the wicked. With a second blast of light Merry's space ship bursts into being. Comes hurling towards me. On a collision course. It now looks rather like a huge snooker ball. There's is number glowing on its side. Outlined in a ring of light. It's about to get very up-close and personal. When luckily. One of the planet's multiple moons circles by. Stages a last minute intervention. The SpaceBall hits it. Recoils with a bell-like ping. The numbers on the side roll over. Increase as it ricochets off. It hits the next moon. Then another. Bouncing back and forth. Every contact causes a flash of light and a huge chime. Each time it zigzags past me I can count the next score.

It's just like my vintage Bladerunner pinball machine. Bought for my first birthday with the Da'-Ad's. General consensus - better than any Gameboy.

With a triumphant triple rebound the Ball heads off into space. I'm suddenly cold. Chilled to the core. Caught in the shadow of an enormous spherical relative to Merry's ship. Home to the Cherub. Chasing his errant charge out into the vast dark.

The Spec's carry me with it. We follow Chubbs' sphere through open space for a while. Till finally ahead. A huge floating labyrinth of discarded space-tech. Bits of old communication satellites, intergalactic-transporters, solar-yachts, etc. Deep in its guts there seems to be a chaotic carnival going on. Flashes of light. The ringing of chimes and metallic carnage. It seems that Merry is trapped inside. Bouncing around willy nilly. No doubt producing an ever increasing score.

Chubbs edges his ship gingerly through the rubbish. He pulls up by a huge derelict space station. From it's scarred hull hangs the remains of an enormous crane. Its arm swinging limply on a couple of wires. Merry's careering SpaceBall has cleared a space in middle of the junk. And now sits spinning there like a top.

Chubbs backs up a little. Takes aim. Fires his ship at the exposed end of the crane. The arm shoots forward like a giant pool-cue. And. With great precision pots Merry into a pocket of wire net. Attached to one of the Terra-formers in the opposite corner.

The SpaceBall hangs for a moment. Jiggling on the spot like a baby in one of those suspended bouncers. Before there's a graunch. And. A metal squeal as it tears. Merry begins plummeting languidly downwards. Spinning lazily into the darkness. Chubbs tries to contact him. Gets no reply.

So. The Spec's and I pop inside the SpaceBall to check up. Merry is jumping up and down. Running in tight circles. Then leaping high. Fist in the air. With a whoop of triumph. "My best score ever. The best score ever. Anywhere! Anytime. Ever! And ever! Amen!!! ... So there!"

He's flung onto his bunk. As the SpaceBall oscillates between the rings of a pair of twin planets. From the cockpit you can hear the score rack up like we're inside the workings of a giant clock.

"Crunch. Ratter tatter - Clink! Bing bong! Scrunch. Ratter tatter tatter tut tut - Ping pong - Clang!"

It bounces off into space again at high speed. Merry still crowing with delight. He doesn't appear to notice the approach of broken down sign post. From which droops a filthy, faded pointer - "URF". The SpaceBall actually clips the sign which spins and spins. As Merry's ship heads straight for a blue/green blob in the distance. Wreathed in dirty cloud.

Chapter 9: On Urf - Smuts fixes Jake's camera; he begins a doco' on Old Sydney

Jake is swinging acrobatically. Hand over hand up a towering set of bamboo Monkey Bars. A rickety shambles of scaffolding. The paths and streets of the cliff-face shanty town. The morning sun casts disguising criss-cross shadows on the stone deep behind. Obscuring the beehive of caves that pepper it. Retirement homes to a legion of very nimble geriatric eccentrics. Lots of agile old loonies, if you prefer. They call themselves "The Bees". Short hand for Beach Bums.

He shinnies effortlessly up the outer frame like it were a primary school Jungle-Gym. Near the summit he turns to check out the beach way below. But sadly. BC16 isn't watching him showoff. No matter. I am eh. Nice!

BC16 is currently being a Carousel. A roundabout. Feet planted stock still. Upper body spinning at high speed. Two of the Godmothers dangling from his outstretched arms. Squealing. Hope they're grateful that the Specs have purloined the wreckers yard scene from The Iron Giant.

Jake tries a nonchalant wave. Then a more demanding two hand gesture. That requires him to hang upside down by his knees. No response. BC16 and the Mod-Mums play on oblivious. Miffed he resists giving the finger. Rights himself. Climbs the rest of the way more sedately. Sauntering up with a carefree air. Fake!

At the top. Back from the crown of the cliff stands an imposing sandstone doorway. All alone by itself. Minus a door. And. Sans the walls that should surround it. Hold it up. Got the reference? Then. You need to brush up on your Narnian history. Stand behind it. Beneath the broken letters on its arch. B A T _ S. You can look clear through to the lonely sea and the sky. Stand in front of it. And see ... black. A viscous gloom that beckons you down. Seeks to suck you into the dripping bowels of Urf. Under Old Sydney.

Alone. On its worn marbled step. Outlined against the dark. Sits a little girl aged maybe six or seven. She's intent on fixing a vintage video camera. The cumbersome black plastic boxy sort that uses tape. She carefully loads a cartridge into its drawer. Tightens a last section. Tucks the screw driver down her sock. And solemnly holds the camera out to Jake.

He yelps in delight. "Smuts! You're Einstein, but!"

Jake capers away from the cliffs to the crest of a tussocked sand-bluff. BC16 forgotten in his delight. There. He surveys the vista back towards the city through the video viewfinder. He begins to pan the lens over the view. As he films he ad-libs a commentary.

"Kent Clarkson stood silent above the rotting carcass of the old city. He was in no hurry to go down into fetid dark, where the dispossessed raked among the rubbish for hope and their next meal." Jake starts to get carried away with his own invention.

"Once the most beautiful pleasure city in the hemisphere, basking in radiant golden light about an azure harbour. Now it lay forgotten - the only blue that remained lurked in scraps of old paintings, in discarded fragments of costume jewellery, and in faded, sun-scarred eyes."

He uses the traditional hushed and fake-enthused voice-over accent from film trailers.

Why? What's so great about the American way of saying things. Kiwis always sneer at such Aussie insecurity. Well they ask for it. Always making fun of our vowels. Well, t' b' f' th' l'ck off th'm. (Try it out loud eh).

Ignoring the dodgy poetics he's right. Desiccated and dried out. The remains of this Urf Sydney lie bleached beneath a pallid pulsing sun. Beached between restless desert waves.

OK. OK. But. As the author I reckon I can indulge my own dodgy word plays. So ...

The fingers of harbour lie lank and listless. The bedraggled commercial district on its greasy shores overshadowed by sand walls. A fortified city. Surmounted by a ring of smothering dunes. The statued stone balustrades crowning the old Town Hall only just peeping above the drifts.

To the far far North can just be glimpsed the sparkle of 'New Sydney'. Its glass dome sealing out the gritty polluted sun. And. Sealing in safely those rich enough to escape the dying city. Though no one can avoid the fate of a failing planet.

To this side. Across the wide gritty plain between Coogee and City centre scattered ribs of terraced housing poke out. Lego skeletons in a some dinosaur graveyard. Their brick bones slowly being consumed by the predatory wasteland.

As Jake pans and zooms and pontificates the sky suddenly lights up with an explosive flash. And. A flicker of flames. He lowers the camera in surprise. But it's over in a second. And forgotten. For the moment.

He catches sight of Smuts. Standing now. All metre high of her. Looking rather lost beneath the looming doorway. She's quite still. Her face poker plain. Jake smiles gently in sympathy. Takes a deep breath and crosses to her. Trying to sort out what to say.

He squats down in front of her. One look into her eyes. He decides on the direct approach. No frills. In a plain-spoken package.

"Remember you decided. Your choice. If you don't want to be taken, put into the Discards Home, we have to get your stuff. Before anyone finds out your Nanna's dead. OK? We get in. Say goodbye. Get out. Fast, but."

Smuts nods at him. Very slowly. Very precisely. Solemn as a church statue. She lets him take her hand. They head off. Down the tussock strewn sand-dune towards the city. Past a row of striped deck chairs. A group of Bees sunning themselves wave them goodbye.

Chapter 10: Avoiding Collision with Urf, Merry is well armed

Merry's eyes. In close up. There's the reflection of flame flickering in them. All cosy and Christmassy. Except that by the size of his pupils I reckon he's scared sh ... Sorry. He's frightened to the point of ... leaving stains in his undies.

Which thinking about it he probably doesn't wear. Hmm? That's not Awkward. Much.

The Ball is wreathed in fire. Though a passing raft of rain cloud soon extinguishes that. Leaving the observation windows edged in soot. Through the small clear patch in the middle you can see Urf approaching. Fast!

The hologram of Chubbs shows him unconcerned. In fact. He's filing his nails. Under 'C'_. (For 'cuttings'_, of course). Tee hee. OK. Sorry. Lame. Couldn't resist. But. This is no time for a manicure. Someone could lose an eye. Especially when violently swung about by someone else's sudden panic.

Merry's kneeling by the command unit. Fighting to extract a chunky cardboard tube marked "MemMoss" from a locker beneath it. Not easy. The interior looks like one of those old computer screen savers. The ever-growing maze of pipes. With tentacled ideas of world domination.

The tube takes it's cues from Warner Bros Cartoons. My Saturday mornings lost to Bugs Bunny, Tweetie Pie, Road Runner et al. It stretches and expands. Contracts and twists. Even grows hands to hang on. All to be as difficult as possible. Racking up the tension as high as it will go.

Merry gets a maddened glint in his eye. There's even the traditional comical light bulb flashing above his head. Chubbs blinks. Blinded. But. Merry has a strategy. Without warning. He lets go. Yawns briefly. As if totally disinterested. Shrugs the tension out of his shoulders. Instantly the tube lies still. All innocence. Merry pounces before it gets ideas. Jumps to his feet. Waving it triumphantly.

However. He still has all the co-ordination of the terminally petrified. It's not easy to get in your own way. I know because I've tried. Every last day of my life. But. Merry achieves the next best thing. Tripping himself up.

He rolls across the floor. The elevator door opens with a breathy "shhh". Merry hits the far wall with a resounding clang. There's a muffled noise off of Chubbs chundering. The lift heads ... to the right?

Change in point of view. From outside the SpaceBall looking in. The flashing number on the side turns to zero. Shrinks to a pin spot. Then expands like a camera iris to form a circular window. We zoom through the round window. Just like on 'Playschool'. Merry is prone. On his stomach. Eye to eye with the inert tube. Lying in front of him on the floor. It's like some daft Mexican Standoff.

Eventually. He reaches out gingerly. Gives it a smart tap on its nose. Instantly. It's a crocodile jaw. Slowly opening. Wide. A red wrinkled ribbon of tongue flicking. Licking. Checking out each vicious tooth.

Merry takes a deep breath. With one swift move. Thrusts his hand elbow deep into its throat. Grabs the uvula in a iron grip. The jaws twitch in open surprise. Then. Clamp down. Hard. Tears of pain spout from Merry's eyes. But regardless. I can see his bicep clench as he grips the uvula tighter. With a raspberry of frustration the jaws deflate like a pricked balloon. Leaving his lower arm encased in a skin of silver. A series of tiny sparking lights run up and down the MemMoss. Outlining. Checking. Activating its nerve circuits.

Merry studies it with a wrinkled brow. Waggles it hopefully in the air. Nothing happens. Chubbs winks into view. Green at the gills. Wiping his mouth. "She's an Incarnation Device. Use your imagination. Picture what you want her to be and she'll oblige."

In obedience the MemMoss flexes momentarily. And then. There is a over-size boxing glove on the end of Merry's arm.

Chubbs chuckles. "You can't hit me kid. I'm still in the other sphere. Half a galaxy's distance out of reach."

Merry takes a swipe at the hologram anyway. Nearly punches himself in the nose.

"If you want the chance to deck me you better survive this landing first. Think Particle Cannon. Set to Neutronic Spectrum 2 - shortest wavelength."

Merry's not sure. "But that's just beyond the ship's hull?"

Chubbs ignores him. "You're now in an oxygen rich environment. The focused wave should cause a brief intense detonation."

"What? ! So I die more quickly?"

"The blast will be repulsive." Merry opens his mouth to retort. Chubbs cuts him short. "Think of it as a reverse thruster."

Merry stares anxiously at his gloved arm. A flickering whirr of activity ripples through the MemMoss. The hand twitches. Pulses. Expands into a huge vintage rocket launcher. Circa 1950. He staggers under the weight. Just manages to swing it to point out the porthole. He screams. "O dear Zeus! I'm about to crash into houses."

Chubbs turns Sergeant Major. Barks at him. "Aim at the city and fire ... NOW!"

Merry pulls the trigger with his free hand. A brief intense explosion. Just beyond the hull. When it clears. Merry is looking down to Urf in horror.

"I've killed them."

Chapter 11: Jake and Smuts bear the brunt of Merry's manoeuvres, and again

The sand storm swirls. Twirls. Twists. Chases its tail. Plays at being a miniature tornado. Makes an half hearted attempt at taking off. But. Decides it can't really be bothered. And. Collapses to the ground. Revealing a large bomb crater.

At the bottom of the hollow there's a giant emu on its side. Rotating slowly. Propelled by a clockwork key. Not far away. There are two suggestive humps in the ground. From the smaller one Smuts surfaces. Shakes the sand from her hair. Carefully wipes it from her eyes. And in the next instant. Has her screwdriver out. She dashes behind the beached bird. Opens a flapdoor at the base of its long neck.

Up close. The clockwork emu is like some optical illusion. It's all bits and bobs from unrelated devices. A mishmash of tin and twine. Discards and debris. Cobbled together to give the impression of a bird. A blind man's attempt at copying the construction of a 'BotCop.

Jake splutters out of the second pile of dirt. "What the heck was that?"

The metal monster is now still. Smuts emerges from inside holding a couple of small brass cogs. She waves them at Jake. He crawls over to hold them for her. There's a moment or two of clanking. She ties a large bow in a piece of string deep in its guts. And. The bird clambers to its feet. Lifting Smuts and Jake with it. They scramble to sit on its back.

"What the ...! These are dangerous. You trying to get us killed but?" Jake looks desperately for a way down.

Smuts grins at him. Taps a panel on the beast's neck and it begins to lumber forward. She touches another. It turns right. She touches two. It stops.

Jake is amazed. "You've managed to reprogramme one of these? Massive! Our own tame 'AnimaClok'! Kiri is gonna be mad for this but."

The mechanical mock-up mock emu can manage a fair turn of speed. Kicking up little spurts of sand in its wake. Though it could do with some suspension. Or at least a saddle. Jake is not enjoying the bouncing up and down. Grimacing as every loping stride jars his ... ah, unmentionables. Hope there's no permanent damage eh.

They pass between towering grey-green succulents. Lofty cacti. Skirt round large piles of rubbish. And head down. Into a shaded gorge hidden among in the depth of the dunes. At the very bottom of its dappled heart stands a single strip of old-time terraced houses. Zigzag formation like broken teeth.

They duck into a tiny lane and dismount. Jake is looking for somewhere to tether their mighty stead. Which now seems to be named Edith. After that sad-sack French singer Piaf I reckon. (Ad's taste in after-dinner music tends to the mournful. And the antique.) But. A rusty squawk echoes from above. Edith calls back. And before they can stop her. She's headed off. Lickty-split up the dune.

Jake shrugs. "You can't deny family." Grimaces to himself. Coughs to cover his lapse.

He turns to Smuts. She squares her shoulders. Jake tidies her hair. Brushes the last grains of sand of her cheek. "You'll do!"

Smuts' answer is a small tight grin.

In perfect unison. They step out into the street. And as one. Deliberately pause. Sure enough. There's a twitch at every net curtained window. A chorus line of synchronised nosey-parkers.

Jake snorts. "Always nice to see the Neighbourhood Watch at work. Good thing they're terminally thick." He turns to Smuts. "You got your key?"

She nods. And together. They walk the gauntlet of the watchers. Feigning nonchalance. Cool as cucumbers. Strolling through the deafening silence. To reach a shabby red door at the very end of the terrace row.

On its doorstep. Suddenly. Jake turns back to the street. "Boo!"

Every curtain simultaneously flicks closed. Both kids laugh. Relax a little. "Almost there."

Smuts is about to put the key into the lock when it swings open in front of her. A 'BotCop looms out of the darkness of the hallway. Fortunately she's turned back. To answer a mate behind.

"No, leave it. The Med Team will pick up the old lady's body later." She turns to the street. The kids are frozen. Stuck to the spot like stunned rabbits. The 'BotCop looks down at them. A pause. She tries to compute what is going on.

Suddenly above. A loud squealing noise like a WWII incendiary bomb. They all look up and gasp. Merry's SpaceBall has been careering across the sky. Leaving intricate patterned vapour trails. A panicked web of green smoke. As Merry fires pulses to try and steer it.

Now. It stalls. Stock still. Right over head. The 'BotCop steps smartly back into the house. Slams the door. Jake yells to Smuts. "Run!!" They dash off up the lane.

A rip-roaring explosion. The kids eat dirt for the second time. The SpaceBall heads off like an arrow towards the horizon. A rather wobbly arrow. Tracing a very slow and erratic trajectory. Oh OK. So not much like an arrow at all eh. More like a rugby ball. Thrown badly down a lineout by a drunken winger.

Chapter 12: Merry makes a big splash at Coogee; ages fast

Moments later over at Coogee Beach the cry goes up. Everyone makes a run for it. Well. More of a frantic stagger. Vintage Zimmer frames flash into action. Flailing limbs and faltering strides strain for youthful verve. The Bees scramble from the sea's reach. Trying to escape the clawing surge of the tsunami.

A SpaceBall in free fall causes a wopper of a splash. And some major waves. Perfect for extreme surfing. Tucked in the curl of one of these 40 foot killers. Medusa skims on a rusted sheet of corrugated iron. Sweeping up and back the giant face. All cool dude nonchalance. She even manages a gracious wave to the shore. Mistake. Because her board catches a crab. Kicks up. And somersaults her high over the rock wall. Into the churning water of the sea pool.

Aphrodite and Diana pop up from behind an outcrop. Wringing the sea from their hair. Wiping the salt from their eyes. Medusa surfaces nearby. Her snakes coughing dramatically. She shakes her head impatiently. "Pull yourselves together!"

They oblige by parting like a theatre curtain to either side of her head. Peeve faced. Puckered lemon squeezer lips. Sullen sulking at being treated in such a dismissive and imperious fashion.

Out at sea there's a pop. Merry's SpaceBall explodes back out of the sea like a champagne cork. Hovers ten feet up. Dripping. A surprised clockwork octopus clings to it for a moment. Before losing all grip. Falling back into the sea. Tin tentacles waving uselessly in the breeze.

Closer to shore. Slowly. Lazily. A parachute swings a tiny figure. Silhouetted against the smokey sallow sky. The ModMums are preening in a trice. Diana straightens her cycle helmet. Blows the sea water out of her trumpet with a damp parp.

"I am so excited!"

"He's going to get such a surprise!" Medusa pats her vipers lovingly. They melt instantly. Coo and sweep into a simpering coronet around her head.

Aphrodite disentangles a soggy shopping trolley from some seaweed. Checks the contents of some plastic shopping bags. "I've got the welcome wagon ready - clothes, food. I found even a few games."

Fascinated by the unfamiliar panorama. Merry isn't paying attention to what's happening closer at hand. And so. Gets dumped roughly into the breakers by the 'chute. There's some panicked grasping under its rainbow fabric. Before he gets a hold and pushes it off. Ever the drama queen - he's going to get on well with Medusa's snakes - he tosses his long locks. Suddenly we're in a hair shampoo ad. All high-gloss and hyper-colour. Sunny shimmering in saturated slow motion.

'Til with an audible squawk. Everything swings back into real time. Merry looks at the strands in his hand. A second experimental flick propels the most of the remains of his hair off his scalp. To float dankly on the sea. All that remains is a sprightly off-centre tuft curving up and back. A miniature 'Mohawk'. A blond rooster comb over his left ear.

The ModMums are surrounded by the Bees gawping at the new arrival. Aphrodite pushes her way to the front. "I can't see. Oh... " She stops so suddenly that the other two collide into her.

Silence, then.

"Bother!"

"Crap!"

"Premature aging!"

Aphrodite pulls sadly at the turkey skin folds about her neck. "Damn Urf Oxygen."

"Our lungs can cope ..."

"... but not our outer skin."

Well that explains the ancient super-model deal.

Diana takes Aphrodite's hands very gently in hers. "You are still quite quite lovely my dear."

"Darlink, I look 1000 years older." Aphrodite wipes away a stray tear.

Medusa can't be bothered with the sisterly concern act. "Quit gabbing girlfriends and grab the gear. He's on the beach."

Diana grabs her firmly by the shoulder. Stops her in her tracks. Spinning her round. "Stop!"

Medusa is about to retaliate. Give her piece of her mind. As if there was any of it spare to share.

Aphrodite gasps. "His forehead!"

"That Holi-cam ... means one thing, and one thing only. There's a Cherub orbiting just off planet ready to poke his sneaky snoz in where it's not suitable." Diana hisses.

The snakes look wildly about. Hoping perhaps for new playmates of their own kind.

Medusa looks worried. "We can't be seen. The photos will be beamed back to Olympus. He'll realise where we're hiding out." Her timbre on 'He' throbs with multiple negative implications.

"We can't abandon him stark bollock naked on the beach." Aphrodite points to Merry squidging his toes into the sand. Oblivious to all else but this fascinating new sensation. He's forgotten his almost bald pate.

Medusa shrugs. "Sane adults won't see him."

Her sisters are horrified.

"But other kids can ..."

"... and other kids judge!"

All the while they have been watched. By a woman in a large picture hat. Her face shaded by a brim wider than her shoulders. In her mirrored sunnies she looks like a glamorous stray from a Spring Horseracing Carnival. The Melbourne Cup. Or even Ascot. Except. Instead of the traditional pearls and glamorous frock. She is wearing a toy stethoscope over a long once-white lab coat.

"Perhaps I could take that dear wee collection down to him."

It's the perfect solution. The ModMums thank her profusely. She graciously waves off their thanks with a gloved hand.

It's all very High Society. And yes indeed. Yet one more sweeping cinematic reference. With songs. All we need is a jazz band riff on "What a Swell Party This Is". Punctuated by the percussive clink of martini glasses.

She collects the trolley. And heads out along the gravel high tide mark. Surprisingly elegant. Stalking the rocks in stiletto heels.

Chapter 13: Jake and Smuts visit Kiri in Technicolour Suburbia; a missing mum; and all that jazz

Smuts and Jake are picking their way quietly through a dreary tunnel of tall cacti. Under the menacing canopy of twisted thorn it's very muted. The silence unbroken by bird song. Or in this case. By the mechanical clicks and clunks of AnimaClok wildlife. There's just the sound of their steps. Squeaking through the sand. But. Near the end of the path a hint of mournful jazz wells up through the still air. The slithering trombone gets more insistent when their feet finally hit tarmac.

They emerge out of the gloom into '50s fantasy suburban street. Something out of "Little Shop Of Horrors" merged with "The Stepford Wives" (original version).

Now don't judge. Be nice. Play fair. The second isn't a musical. Yet.

It's lined with identical brick and fibro' bungalows. Each with its own vivid colour scheme. Virulent violet. Sickly salmon. Lettuce green. Baby-pooh yellow. My stomach calls a halt before the variety runs out. Over every front porch in matching hues hangs an oversized wooden butterfly. Each ticky-tacky home is set amidst a perfectly groomed garden. Silk flowers and plastic flamingos. Tyre swans and plaster gnomes. Rows of iridescent Paua shell edging the shiny Astroturf lawns. You wouldn't so much weed and water here as dust and vacuum.

The two kids round a corner at the end of the street. The sound of the caterwauling brass becomes more strident. The 'bone is being played very fiercely. If rather inaccurately. They stop short of a patchwork painted bungalow. More dilapidated than the rest. Standing at the gutter. Just in front of the broken gate is a youngish man. Holding a dribbly baby on his hip. He's trying to keep a wisp of thin hair from falling into his careworn eyes. While talking animatedly to a pair of 'BotCops in an idling hovercraft.

Jake and Smuts glance knowingly at each other. Stealthily. They skirt the adults. Duck through a ripped hole in the Cyclone netting of the side fence. Tip toe down the uneven crazy paving. To a window at the back of the house.

Jake calls up. "Kiri! Kiri!"

But. His stage whisper is easily overwhelmed by a wailing rendition of Billy Holiday's "God Bless The Child". And when I say rendition I mean 'rending' in the sense of ripping to pieces! Yes. The jazz original is bitter. But also smokey smooth. After six months with Da' and Ad' I'm fairly clued up on Torch Songs. This version lacks the classic touch of velvet. It's rough as guts. A shouty effort at drowning out feeling.

Smuts hands Jake some small pebbles. He biffs them at the window. Without effect. The 'bone cries on. Smuts keeps feeding Jake with missiles. However. They are both getting rather distressed by the music. Concentration falters under the onslaught. Neither notices when she hands him a brick. Its out of his hand and through the glass before you can say "Oops". They duck as the slide of the trombone shoots out through the broken window playing one last hideously strident note.

"Go Away!!"

Of course they take no notice. Jake reaches over a knife edge of glass. To slip the window catch. Gives Smuts a leg up. Then drags himself over the sill. Falling head first into Kiri's bedroom. She stares coldly at her friends. Daring one of them to break the silence. Jake takes a deep breath. Drops them all right in it.

"Has your Mum gone walkabout again?"

Stonyfaced. Kiri just shrugs. Like it's a thing of no matter. Smuts blethers something in response. First noise I've heard her make. Sounds like a series of odd whistles and burps to me. But. Kiri seems to understand.

"Alright, Alright I get it! No need to go mental on me as well!" Smuts gives her a dirty look. "Sorry Smuts!"

Jake sinks onto the bed. "How bad this time?"

Kiri sighs. Gives in and joins him. "Not so bad. I mean she sort of knew me when I got home from school yesterday. But when I went to make breakfast this morning I couldn't find the milk. It was ... in the washing machine." There's a strained pause. Then they all burst into slightly hysterical giggles.

Jake is the first to recover. "I wonder who she thinks she is this time?"

"Like it matters? They said they'd put her away if she took off again."

Smuts makes quite a long and intricate chittering chain of sounds. Very informative I guess. If you speak gabble.

Kiri winces. "I know it's just a hospital. But I reckon if she goes in that'll be the end. She'll never be let out again eh."

Jake's all for some action. "If we found her first ..."

Kiri's close to tears. Smuts pats Kiri gently on the hand. Prattling all the time.

Jake lights up. "Hey Kiri that's it. We can turn it round. If anyone misses her we just have to say she was with us but. She came to find me coz she was worried about me being homeless and all."

Quickly. Quietly. Before Kiri's dad comes back in. They search the house for clues where she might have gone. Which turns out to be extra useful. Because it turns into a hide and seek clean up. They find all sorts of domestic waifs and strays. Household and personal items that have been missing for a while. Hidden away all over in strange cubby holes. She seems even to have created a secret sanctuary for orphaned socks. Unfortunately. She has filed the used teabags there as well.

Eventually they work out that a white overcoat is missing. Which seems to indicate that she thinks she's a doctor again. Has probably headed to the hospital.

"Of all places!" Kiri shakes her head. Hopeless.

Jake is halfway out the window already. "We gotta cut her off."

"OK. You two sneak out. I'll get some of her pills. Feed Dad some kind of story."

Smuts gives Kiri a big hug. For a moment Kiri is drawn out of her own misery. "Are you OK sweetheart?"

Smuts nods. Leaps up on the sill. Falls backwards out the window without looking. Kiri gasps and runs to look. Smuts is fine. Jake is rolling on his back. Winded from breaking her landing.

Kiri laughs. "Meet yous nutters at the Wharves."

Chapter 14: Sam gets the squirms when Merry chooses a wardrobe

OK. I need to take a break here. Remove these Spec' things. Been watching Merry rummage through the contents of the dress-up trolley. He's rooted out some great stuff. But. He's taken a fancy to ... Sorry. In my book that's a "No!"

You know. Right at the start. I said I'm the kinda person who likes to be different. So. I always make the 'interesting' choice. Take the 'alternative' route. After all. It's how I ended up with Da' and Ad' after Mum was gone. In many ways I am totally unembarrassible. Nothing phases me. But there's a thing. A weird and ironic thing. I just don't cope with others doing the same. I get the squirms if someone else tries it. So on this occasion. I'm actually feeling quite upset. I want to walk into this story. Offer a word or ten from the wise.

But hey. I'm a big boy. I can cope. Big breath. Spec's on!

Clearly. Or not. Merry has had some difficulty getting his eyes to adjust to the light of this new-to-him planet. He hasn't realised that he is being watched. So. He's been poncing around balls to the breeze. As if he were totally alone.

Thus far I cope. Just. Guts only twitching a tiny amount. But then. We get back to the choice of clothes.

First up. He found a black shearer's singlet \- mega-choice! That's a yes. Steel-cap Doc Martin boots. A little large. But. Sensible and classy. Another yes. But now ...

Oh dear now ... He's admiring a ballroom style flouncy petticoat. The kinda full-skirted full-length jobbie used under waltzy ladies gowns 150 years ago. Thankfully. It doesn't fit. Vastly too big. So he throws it back. Then. Has a second thought. And grabs it. Rips off the lower 10 inches of incredibly frilly hem.

My stomach turns at where this is probably going. Yeah. I'm right. Just when I wish so much I wasn't. Because...

Merry throws away the plain section. Then wraps the fluffy remainder round his waist. Ties a couple of knots. Fiddles with some safety pins ... and Voila! A floaty tiny tutu with a huge bouncing bustle bunched up at the back.

No! It's fabulous. Totally fabulous. But noooo!!!! And can I just cry again, Nooooooo!! Because totally fabulous and simply acceptable are not quite the same thing. Totally fabulous of course goes so well with black. As in black- listed. Black-eye. Beaten black and blue.

Oh better and betterer (as Alice would say)! Now he's twirling in it. Whirling about. As his 'frock' coils and uncoils around him. The swishiest Swan in the Lake. Still totally and absolutely fabulous.

That's still a big NO then. Though ... I guess the up side is that it's short so its definitely not going to get in the road. When he needs to run away! Fast!

Happy as Larry in his new getup. No idea who Larry is. Just something elderly uncles and aunts tended to say. Anyway. Happy as some unknown bloke who must have had a rep' as a very very cheery chappie. Merry (well it's in the name) scrambles up the Valley way to the City. At the top. He's surveys the scene.

Chubbs pops in for a visit. Takes a look at Merry's clothing. With a click. His image is replaced by a rapid series of pictures. A kinda slide show. Fashion through the ages.

Merry waves it away. "Don't fuss at me Flyboy! For the first time in for ever nobodies peering down at me. I can wear what I like."

He runs off down the dune in delight. In his wake there appears a faint ripple of light. Like a heat haze. An energy wave. Shoots of grass begin to appear at his feet as he passes. In a moment of sheer exuberance he begins to pirouette. Turning and turning. The tutu flaring out around him. A vibrant pulse erupts from his spinning form. The greening grass spreads. A few daisies pop up.

Finally. He makes himself giddy. Wobbles for a moment. Then. Falls in a laughing heap. In an instant. The daisies and grass have evaporated into thin air.

Chubbs projects. Scowling through a pea green face. Thunderously chunderous! Ha! He turns his back on Merry. Begins to survey the Old City in front of them. Finally. He zooms in on the large abandoned point. Jutting out into the harbour.

"That headland would be perfect. It's flat. It's cut off from the rest of the city by derelict warehouses. Open your SpaceBall there and it would blend right in with the sails of those Junks."

Merry is on his feet in a trice. He takes an Outlaw stance. Hands on hips. Feet planted. A determined set to his jaw. Clint Eastwood in a frilly-frock. He gestures triumphantly in challenge to the skies.

"Take note you Pooey Old Powers of Heaven, I'm the head-honcho now. This is my life and I'm gonna make of it what I want!"

A zigzag of white lightning runs through the MemMoss on his arm. Outlines it for a moment. Very Tron. Merry laughs. And. Strides purposefully down the dune toward the city. "Look out world - here comes da Man!"

Da man? In that getup? I think not!

Chapter 15: Looking for Kiri's Mum hits a barbed-wire barrier

Downtown. Away from that fierce throbbing sun. Amongst the blue shadows of the wharf warehouses the streets are swarming like an ant farm. 'BotCops drilling in platoons. Work crews erecting scaffold to hold barbed wire barriers.

Kiri peeps out from behind a armoured car. Spots the others in the shadow of a burnt-out building. Jake peering at the crowd through the zoom lens of his camera. She looks for a way across the street. A couple of people pass carrying an armful of signs. Kiri grabs a huge yellow and black roll of Crime-scene tape. Tags on behind them.

Jake jumps when she taps him on the shoulder. "Sorry eh. I just got through. The central streets are being closed behind me."

"Good thing the Hospital is on this side of town but."

"Only if she came this way. I checked again. Her gardening hat and gloves are missing too."

Jake looks perplexed. "There isn't any gardens this side of town. It must mean something else but. Has she mistaken you for anyone particular lately?"

"A couple of days ago she thought Dad was Sir Richard 'atom bomb' the third or something."

Smuts fires off her usual jabber. Kiri translates. "Alright then. Sir Richard Attenborough the eight."

"That sorta adds up to her thinking she's a botanist but. Or an some kind of eco-scientist."

Kiri groans. About to walk blindly out into the street in her distress. The others have to grab her back. "She's gone to the beach." She wails. "Ocean Park. Coogee Beach eh! The other side of the city. The other side of these barriers!"

They peer out to see the last ten foot high fence swing into place. Completely blocking the street. They check out the other streets around them. Every one is cordoned off. Only one has a gate. Vigilantly supervised by 'BotCops. Checking people into the city.

The kids tail closely a small battalion of smartly marching soldiers. They're wearing full camouflage gear. Blotched black, grey and ... pink. Well. That'll be effective if they need to hide in a hairdresser's. As they draw closer to the gate the Kids see that the 'BotCops are asking to see some kind of document.

Jake whispers. "We don't have passes."

Kiri is completely undaunted. Nothing is going to stop her. "Get the water-works ready eh. Time to play the lost mother card."

The idea is met by a tumble of prattle from Smuts. Jake is in total agreement with her. "They'll want a description but. We can't have them find her first!"

"OK. Next bright idea eh?"

A long silence while they try to muster some thoughts. But no dice. They turn away from the barriers in disappointment. Heads down. Spirits drooping. And so. Nearly get run over by the ice-cream pink and white 1950's Italian scooter. A Lambretta actually. Remember my 'real' dad had one? According to that faded photo. In black and white. So colour unknown. But. I doubt it was pink.

Kiri is about to vent all her disappointment in a volley of abuse. When. The rider sweeps off her helmet to reveal their favourite Primary School teacher. Miss Penelope Du-Lally.

She's the spitting image - which must be a bit damp :-) \- of her ladylike namesake. From the ancient kids TV series Thunderbirds. She's even wearing the trademark pink mohair miniskirt twin set and pearls. Except in this case she's real. Not a puppet. Well obviously - sorry. In line with her perfect grooming her hair is a mountain of burnished blond. All bouffed up to the nines. Much bigger than her motorcycle helmet.

The kids are thrilled to see her. Though it's long time since she taught him Jake still obviously has a crush. The signs are classic. The hanging back all pseud' reluctant. The fake cool and bogus indifference. But with improved posture. And a smidge of swagger.

Penny-Pink gathers them to her. Even the blushing Jake. Cooing. "My Pretty-prettys!"

Penny-Pink sounds like the oldtime movie star Marilyn Monroe. Kinda breathy. With lots of ditzy "oo"ing and "ah"ing. But her students know that there's another side. A hidden edge. They don't cross her. Mainly because they trust her. And with good reason.

The three chorus together. (OK. Smuts adds her own interpretation). "Mizzzzz Du-Lally!"

Penny-Pink beams at them. "It's the Spring long weekend. I'm not your teacher till at least ... ooooo, Tuesday! So, today doooooo call me Penelope."

"Penelope!" Jake sounds quite the man about town. However. The falsetto squeak at the end undermines the effect.

Kiri is near tears. "Ms ..."

"Penelope dear. Penelope."

Kiri tries again. "Ms ... Penelope. We've got to get across town. But it's all closed off.

"Has your darling Mama gone on another 'adventure', my little Pretty-pretty?" Penny-Pink kneels to Kiri's eye height.

Kiri nods. "We think she's gone to Old Coogee."

Penny-Pink ponders. Then. She's to her feet clapping her hands. All school marm efficiency. "Oooooo. Sorted! So sorted! I've had a most charming idea. Who remember Special Activities 103?"

Jake is jumping up with excitement. Hand in the air like a primary kid again. "Oo Oo I do!"

"Formation acrobatics?" Kiri is much less enthused. Smuts' echo likewise unsure.

Penny-Pink smooths down her skirt. Checks her makeup in the scooter's rear vision mirror. Dabs at the corners of her mouth to remove stray lipstick. Pats her hair. Lifts a practiced eyebrow. Swings onto her bike. "Lets dooooo the dooo darlings!!!"

Jake agrees rather too loudly. Trying to regain his manly mojo.

"F.A.B., Penelope!"

Kiri and Smuts look at him like he's gone completely bananas. Penny-Pink pats the seat behind her. He climbs on rather quickly to hide his blushes. The girls stare at each other doubtfully. But finally as one, shrug and approach the motor-scooter. Their grimaces of determination could almost be mistaken for cheerful grins.

Almost.

Chapter 16: Merry attracts the attentions of the 'Botcops; gains a pet

From above it looks like a huge parking lot. Perhaps for a circus-truck convention. A sea of giant HGVs with huge trailers. All bearing strangely sculptural burdens. Huddled and hidden under heavy tarpaulins. Merry ducks and weaves under their chassis. In this context. In that outfit. He looks like an escapee from the Big Top. A mad miniature trapeze artist.

He certainly has the dexterity. He scales a mountain or two of craggy canvas. And. With acrobatic ease leaps to the top of the nearby barrier. Wavers for a moment on tip toe. Then changes to a tight-rope routine and begins to scamper along its top. Quite debonair for someone in Docs. Tutu fluttering in the breeze.

Mistake numero uno. It's like a flag to a 'BotCop with visor set to 'Reveal'. And sure enough. "Oi! You!"

Merry looks wildly about for somewhere city-side to land. Can't see his way clear. Jumps anyway. Right into the picnic lunch of a couple off duty 'BotCops. Their visors are flipped up to eat. Revealing their faces. They must be used to it. But. That combination of puckered flesh and metal contraption would put me off my lunch.

They can't see him. Just the effect of his thrashing about in the midst of their brie and baguettes. They bound back. Bewildered. The visored 'BotCop from outside rattles the barrier like a caged chimp.

"Go infra red! Go infra red!"

The duo flip their visors down. Recalibrate screens. But Merry has gone. Out of visual range. Round a corner.

They radio for help. Soon hordes of 'BotCops are pouring down the lanes. Like some Spanish festival bull run. Boots thundering. LED eyes steely blue through visors. Jaws clenched tight with determination. It'd be really scary if their military grade rifles didn't shoot water! However. Merry is not to know that. He's frantically calling the Cherub for help. But Chubbs can't materialise while he's running at speed.

Merry turns down a gloomy alley. Finds it blocked by a huge drift of sand. He freezes. Hearing the clatter of hobnail boots approaching he ducks into the recess of a towering doorway. The footsteps clump into the alley. Merry presses himself further into the shadow. Tries to still his gasping breath. A single 'BotCop passes. Misses him. Sees nothing.

Merry wills himself to be still. The 'BotCop retreats past again. Merry is about to allow himself a shuddering breath. When out of nowhere. At eye height. The darkness takes form. Looms. Stretches. Stares.

Time stands still for Merry. Then. Casually a small slinky figure detaches itself from the shadows. Leaps down. Presses against his legs. Purring loudly. Throat puttering like a vintage motorboat. Merry desperately tries to shoo it away. Not knowing enhanced auditory abilities of your average 'BotCop. Suddenly the air crackles with a radio call for backup.

Merry searches the metal doors behind him. Finds a chink in the panels. Flicks out a skeleton key from the finger of his MemMoss hand. Presses it into the gap. The lock clicks open. A pause as he readies himself. Then with a swift move he has the doors open. Is through. And has slammed them shut before you can say ...

"Oi!"

He bangs the bolts back into place. Falls against the door. His heart slamming in his chest. Drumming against his ribs. A terrified timpani amplified by the doors.

The kitten looks up. Studies him coolly. Chirrups. And saunters off into the dark. Away. Down the concrete corridor. Out of Merry's line of sight its eyes briefly flash. LED red.

Merry studies his hand. Clicks the knuckles of each finger. Waggles the thumb. The MemMoss obliges with a shiver and a trill of lights. Merry grins. Closes his eyes in thought. Nothing happens. He thinks harder. Screwing his face up in concentration. Still no effect. He tries. And then. Tries again. Nothing. It seems that only panic triggers her into life. He gives up. Lets the arm drop in exasperation. Immediately. His hand becomes the equivalent of a Swiss Army Knife. One by one. Each of the fingers produces an almost useful implement. Screwdriver. Bottle opener. A pick for getting stones out of horses hooves. Finally. His index finger transforms into a torch.

Which reveals the kitten further down the passage. Playing the violin. OK. Cats don't play string instruments. They don't play any instruments at all. Not really all that musically inclined eh. If you go by the singing they employ to serenade prospective partners. In this case I am using the standard family euphemism. The polite alternative to 'licking its bum'.

A sudden huge bang at the doors. Throwing Merry to the opposite wall. The 'BotCops are trying to batter their way in. Without thinking Merry raises his arm. It's suddenly a roaring flame thrower. Spewing out great gouts of fire. Welding the doors solid. They shimmer red for a moment. Then. Tinkle gently. Tunefully. As they cool to charcoal. Puckered. Pitted like a steel moon.

Merry steadies his wobbly legs. Holding his hand up and away from him. In a kinda frightened distaste. It hangs limply. Inert and innocent. A soft noise. The hand flares back into fiery life. Merry just restrains himself from taking out the kitten. Which stares at him. Unblinking. Then. Disappears round a corner.

Merry hesitates a moment. Calls up Chubbs. Who looks accusingly at the flame thrower. At once. It turns back into a hand. He hides behind his back guiltily. Wordlessly. They head off down the corridor. Lead by Chubb's holograph. Ghostly in the dark.

Chapter 17: Penelope-Pink steers the kids into the forbidden city

Smuts' face is creased up tight. Stressy. Strained. Eyes closed. Jaws clenched. She's either -

1: concentrating very hard.

2: having a really difficult crap.

Or. Actually ...

3: she's hit a 10 rating on the "Terrified" scale. With a Rock 'n' Roll 11 due any minute.

Kiri and Jake are standing side by side. Balancing. Just. One foot apiece on the seat of Penny-Pink's teetering scooter. The other swinging in the air. Smuts is sitting on their shoulders. Perched petrified. Like a pigeon with vertigo. Clutching fists of their hair in each hand. Wishing herself any where else but here.

Up front. Blithely oblivious to her students' fear and trembling. Penny-P is full of enthusiasm. "OK, my Pretty-prettys. This has got to look planned. We're supposed to be gate crashing. Crashing these gates. We're part of the Entertainment. Remember to wave!"

Kiri mouths frantically at Jake. "Wave!" He shakes his head. Almost dislodging Smuts. Who squeals a stream of gibbered invective. Grabbing his hair tighter. Jake seizes her wrist to steady her. And. To save his scalp from imminent baldness.

Penny-P revs the engine. The kids' grimaced smiles grow more clenched. She takes up a cheer. "We got the Do-thing! lLet's do the Do-thing! And Ooo! Lets do the Do-thing NOW!"

Kiri and Jake gingerly begin to open out their arms. Smuts begins to climb up onto their shoulders. The bike wobbles. Penny-P revs it to begin moving. It rights itself. Kiri and Jake just manage to stop Smuts before she pitches off.

At the Barrier gate. There's now a large crowd. Bizarrely dressed. In very little mostly. Laden down like refugees with their life's possessions. Waving permits impatiently. Jostling each other for pole position. And quick access to the city. But. Even the most desperate and irate among them can't ignore the approaching sound. The cacophonous death-rattle of a struggling two stroke engine.

As one. The crowd looks behind down the slope. In unison. Like choreographed cheerleaders they scatter to left and right. The 'BotCops look up from their table. Jaws drop. Then. Mouths agape. As fast as their whirring appendages will allow. They too scramble clear.

Safe at last. Everyone freezes. Waiting. Watching. All you can hear is the scooter engine. Labouring. Coughing. Almost ready to cut out. Then. After one long breath catching moment of silence. It bursts into full-throated song. The crowd cheers.

Penny-P and the Kids ride triumphantly into view. Kiri and Jake, spread-eagled star-shaped, to each side. Smuts standing on their shoulders. Gingerly giving the thumbs-up. For a moment. The Spec's zoom in on Penny-P beaming. Waving like a Beauty Queen at the crowd. A tear in either eye. Any time now. She'll be thanking her mother. And. Elizabeth Arden.

Her mood is broken with a jolt. Smuts drops suddenly down onto her shoulders. Penny-P looks back to see Jake and Kiri. Some yards behind. High in the air. Clinging to their respective sides of the barrier. Caught on the way through.

The crowd are shocked to silence. Not sure how to respond.

Penny-P laughs uproariously. Waggles a teacher's finger at the 'BotCops. "Ooo Darlings! Next time you'll have to open the gate just a wee teensy bit wider!" The crowd relaxes. Laughs with her.

The 'BotCops run to help the Kids. They lift Smuts down. Stand her. And then catch her as she wavers on wobbly knees. Kiri and Jake rush to hug her upright. Penny-P ignores them. Smiling like a Star on a red carpet. Hisses out the corner of her mouth. "Curtain Call!"

They break apart. Bow deeply to the crowd. The crowd cheers. Swarms gleefully to the open gate. The 'BotCops rush to block their way.

Penny-P and the kids hold quite still. Dazed at their success. Though. If you look hard. They're quivering. Like jellies in an earthquake. Nerves ajangle. Blood and adrenaline still rollercoasting through their veins.

All about them the world is again jostle and bustle. People darting and dashing. 'BotCops chasing and channelling. An explosion of energy. The Spec's go all arty. Speed up the activity into a whirl of blurred commotion. But. In their midst. Aloof from the frenzy. Like a small island in a storm. Our intrepid quartet remain quite frozen. Oblivious.

Penny-P twitches the throttle accidentally. Waking them all up. The Kids laugh loudly. Long. Part astonished triumph. Part delayed shock.

Penny-P checks her nail polish for chips. Her lippie for smudges. Smoothes her hair. Pops on the helmet. She looks for moment like a Barbie-'BotCop. Flips up the visor. Smiles at the Kids.

"Now I've got to do my do. But Ooo, I do look forward to seeing you on the other side!"

She twines a cerise scarf about her neck. Waves graciously. And putters off into the heart of the Old City. Her scooter belching a cloud of smoke. Pink of course. Just when I'm thinking "surely, smoke rings." Voila! The Spec's oblige. And trump my imagination. The exhaust blows rosy-hued vapour hearts. Smart ar.. show off!

The kids wave. All cheery grins and enthusiasm. "Thanks ... Penny!"

The moment she is out of sight. Their faces fall. Slack jawed. Glassy eyed. Worn out. They collapse together where they stand. A small tangle of limp limbs. Heaped unheeded in the middle of the heaving crowd.

Chapter 18: Merry escapes to a hot dance groove; Chubbs watches some videos; with a ... Meanwhile \- Zeus spies on URF

So? I'm a Dancing Queen. Don't deny it. DNA dad. Donation Dad Dude. The 'other', first father. Would have frowned. Turned away. I guess. Didn't stick round long enough to form any opinion about me. But. I'd have capitulated. Given up.

Ad's attitude is quite the contrary. Follow your gut. The tiny tug of yearning. That minute longing. Nagging. Navel height. See. His mum wouldn't let him learn Ballet. Though he was desperate to. Should've. Fire up the music. Any period. What ever the style. He goes apeshit. Gloriously gracious and groovy. Though when required. Can manage perfect unco' uncool Dad-Dancing. Father flailing. Can thrash an entire dance floor clear in about five awe-inspiring awful arm waggling moves. Awesome. There's real skill.

Anywhat. Let's get this party started. Because ...

There's a monster back beat courtesy of the 'BotCops. Trying to bash down the welded warehouse doors. The atmosphere is smoking hot. Fingers of flame creeping along walls, ceiling. And. The Spec's are playing DJ. Dropping samples. Theme? Disco Horror. Multi-echoes of the scream from ... well Scream. Some dissonant Hitchcock violins wailing like tortured cats. Plus. Vocal snippets from Lady Gaga's Greatest Hits. Result. Total terror.

At the far end of the corridor. Merry is clawing at a fire exit. Too frightened to concentrate. To think. Willing his hand to help without any success. Chubbs projects through the door. Checks about. Reads the sign on the back. Recoils hurriedly. Tries to get Merry's attention. There'd be a slap in the face. If he were solid. All he can do is dance demonically. Dangling on the end of the beam of light. Jiggling and gesturing. Trying to break through the panic.

Finally. It's the lack of oxygen that slows Merry. He falters. Gasping. He wipes the sweat away with a filthy hand. He's not happy. A torn nail. He peers short sightedly at Chubbs. Squinting through smoke reddened eyes. Chubbs waits till he has his remaining attention. The last vestiges of his failing consciousness. To point out. The door opens inwards.

"Pull it!" he screams. "Towards you!"

Total silence. Merry blinks. Once. Twice. His eyes droop close. Slowly. Sleepily. Chubbs is aghast. Too late? Then. Merry rallies. A soft puff of understanding. "Oh". Grabs the handle. Is through in single move. Safe. Though singed.

And blind. All optics have shut down in protest. Seared by an intense icy glare. We seem to have arrived on a distant white Antarctic planet. An eye-wateringly stinky polar landscape. Serenaded by elevator music. Single sustained piano notes hanging in the frosty air. Very surreal. Very 'Airport Music' period Brian Eno.

As our iris's adjust aperture a large mountain rises up before us. Gradually. As visibility improves the jutting crag turns into a statuesque piece of Public Art. Decorating the atrium of a decrepit and deserted Shopping Mall. Oh. Not quite abandoned. Coz behold. That's not marble. And the cause of the smell is now clear. The five story dome is home to countless Pigeons. And their sh ... waste products. Guano. The official word I believe.

Merry seems unbothered by the stench. Olfactory abilities tainted by smoke inhalation. He's drawn fascinated to the closest shop. A tawdry 'two dollar' toy emporium. He wipes the grime from the glass. The window display is made up of a motley collection of old-fashioned toys. All mechanical or wooden. Neither technology nor electronics in sight. The games require cards. Or dice. Some even use counters or dominos. Tacky eh. But. Merry is enchanted.

As his eyes hungrily roam the contents the MemMoss morphs rapidly into each toy. However when he finally notices the movement it freezes as a paper price tag. $2 of course.

With a sigh he moves on. Past a hardware shop. Where unobserved, his hand turns to all sorts of vicious tools. He avoids a chemist with a blokish sneer. Till. He catches sight of a poster. Some short bald old bloke with a miniature mohawk. Scary but familiar. A kinda old elder brother. Then he realises. It's a mirror. The crumple-skinned person is him! Aghast he dashes back to the cosmetics counter. Grabs some antiwrinkle cream. Slathers it roughly on his face. Mixed with the soot he looks a movie commando. Claude Van Dam meets Jet Li in Gun-Totting Machos vs. Jujitsu Aliens.

No. You haven't missed that arty epic. I just made it up.

In a dark and dingy corner. Lurking. Untouched by the pigeons. Stands a shabby second hand book shop. Merry and Chubbs both light up with glee. Merry gawps at the contents of the shelves. Overwhelmed by choice. Thrilled he collects some serious study. Before flopping down on the floor to read.

He's ended up sitting in front of the DVD section. Where. Chubbs buries his head - literally - in the files. Ingesting the films through the particle stream of his holograph. After the cartoon section he needs a moment to wipe his eyes. That'll be Toy Story 3 then. Kung Fu Hustle and he's breaking some major aerial moves. Some Jane Austen adaptations and he's poncing about. As disdainful as Darcy.

Merry is wide eyed at his books. Enthralled by insights into human customs and culture. The variety and creativity of the species. He checks the spine for the author. Terry Pratchett. The kitten leaps down from a pile of Dickens. Prances and prads to settle into Merry's lap. What Mum used call "kneading the scones". Merry screeches. Rapid readjustment of the tutu required to avoid cat claw circumcision.

The creak alerts them. A ancient security camera turning. Focusing. In an instant Merry's hand has flamed it. Before Chubbs can scold, the Mall sprinklers are on. The errant limb flickers. Reverts to form. Merry scoops up the kitten. Puts it in the bustle of his tutu. And they're off. Running. Dodging damply from shop to shop. As. The sound of boots thunders towards them

Behind them from a side alley Aphrodite springs out. Swings a train of shopping trolleys across the passageway. Collects a bunch of 'BotCops. Producing a perfect 'Bot block barrier. - Too much? Too bad!

Merry runs on. Sloshing down the aisles. Oblivious to all but the now manic mutating MemMoss.

### The Meanwhile

The enormous video screen gives off almost no light. Though its signal is hyper-real. Vivid. In textured 3D. Every surface begging to be touched. It's like being actually on Urf with Merry.

The Spec's pan away down the cavernous throneroom. Its black leathered walls half a football stadium away. They're lined by ebony pedestals. Tens of tens of them. Each topped by a bullet shaped glass cabinet. Containing a stuffed corgi. And. I don't mean they're over-tired.

At the far end of this mausoleum to bygone pets. An elderly live descendent wheezes asthmatically at the foot of the throne. Its cavelike interior is entirely in shadow. Zeus invisible in its depths. The rhythmic tapping of an impatient finger the only sign of occupancy. The images shuttle back and forth. At high speed. Playing the footage of Urf. Freeze. Repeat. Freeze. Fast forward. Freeze. Replay. Freeze.

Then. There is silence. All is still. A decision has been made.

Chapter 19: The Kids get up close & personal with BC16 and his 'BotCop mates

Deep down an alley. Hidden in a huge shadow. The kids have secreted themselves away. Bickering softly about strategy. Jake is all for being bold but. Kiri for stealth eh. The shadow gets bored with the argument. Flexes its knees. Cracks its knuckles. Reaches down. Collars them. Lifting them high to dangle in mid air. Actually. Jake's quite tall. So. He sways gently. On tip toe.

" 'Ullo, 'Ullo, 'Ullo? What 'ave we 'ere then?

Jake laughs at the comic-cop cliché. But. Kiri is furious. Twisting and turning in frustration. "You idiot, put us down."

BC16 obliges. "Where are you lot off to?"

Jake tries to get in first. Loses to Kiri. "Ocean Park."

BC16 is curious what for. This time. Jake gets the jump.

"Just something!"

Kiri glares at him. Mental. "My mum. She's run away again."

"You told him!" Jake looks about to strangle her.

Kiri is completely bewildered. "Of course I told him. Why-ever not, eh?"

Jake doesn't know where to start.

"Oh, that's ... "(sniffle, sniffle) "terrible."

Kiri looks to BC16 in surprise. "You're not crying?"

"No." BC16 gulps. Sobs loudly. Twice.

Kiri can't believe it. Demands the truth. "Tell me you're not crying."

"Well ... I'm not ... I'm not ... much." But. The words are losing definition. Becoming slurred and sluttered. Punctuated by a torrent of juicy saliva.

"Of course you're NOT crying!" Jake hints insistently.

So. Obedient as ever. BC16 tries to speak. But. Can only produce a choked series of dribbly drenching snuffles. Smuts takes his hand. Pats it gently. BC16 gives up all attempts at control. Begins to wail like a drunken bagpiper at a Wake. Producing a tearful cascade of incoherent inconsonant vowels.

"Ahhhhhh ... mmm nnnohhhh ... eye-ehhhh-nnnnng!"

The three kids are fascinated. Not just by his bravura operatic bawling. But. By the cavernous view down his ululating throat. They can see all the way to his electro-mechanical respirator. Pumping at high speed. Trying to produce enough oxygen to keep him standing.

"What is going on here, Officer 16?" Loud with pompous authority. The unexpected voice wakes them all. In an instant.

Even BC16 snaps to shaky attention. Offering a wavering salute. His hand fluttering like a humming bird. "Ahhh'm nohhht crahhheyeing. Siiiir!!"

"Of course you are not crying Officer! 'Botcops have no feelings!"

BC16 has flipped open his visor. Desperately trying to staunch his over-flowing artificial eyes.

"Yes of course, 'Bot-Sergeant 49, Sir! None at all! Not a single one!!"

"Are those tears?" BS49 is incredulous. Moves in for closer study. BC16 tries to back away. "Stand still, that Man! I mean, that BioBot!"

Jake has pulled the girls aside. Hisses venomously. "I told you not to tell him!"

Kiri doesn't get it. But. Our miniature scientific genius has it all figured out. She begins to gabble an idea. But is interrupted by a panic-stricken staccato voice on BS49's radio.

"What the deuce are you talking about?" BS49 is completely flummoxed. "You're chasing a commando circus midget ..." more rapid fire hysteria. " ... armed with a leaf blower?"

Smuts stamps her foot. The others lean down to listen. Forming a miniature scrum. She struggles to make herself heard. BS49 becoming louder with each report.

"Now it's a miniature ballet dancer with a vacuum cleaner. A Dyson no less." BS49 is rapidly losing patience. "No?" His com splutters on. "My apologies. I misheard. A chainsaw." BS49's voice is becoming icy sarcastic with suppressed fury. "Oh I see, you were mistaken! It's actually now a BUNCH OF ROSES!?"

The voice on the other end of the com has realised the full import of all she or he has said. A moment of silence. Filled only by the sound of BS49. Slowly sipping in a deep breath. When he finally speaks his tones are measured. Clipped through clenched teeth.

"This scarcely sounds like a serious breach of Parade Security." He lets fly. Spittle splattering his mouth piece. "CALL ME WHEN YOU'VE GOT A GRIP! YOU PUSTULANT LITTLE PRAT!! YOU LOLLY-GAGGING LITTLE PIP-SQUEAK!!! YOU ... YOU ... "

He drops his head into his hands. His shoulders drooping with the weight of command. The difficulties of working with less than able assistance. Another deep breath. He squares his shoulders. Turns purposefully back to BC16. Determined to sound calm. To be reasonable. "Now BC16. What exactly is happening here?"

Kiri. Lost in admiration. Misses her cue. Smuts needs to smartly kick her back into role - the contrite delinquent. Which she effects not entirely successfully. The hopping on one foot. The rubbing of her shin undermines the sincerity.

"Its my fault Sir, he was trying to apprehend us and I threw dirt in his eyes."

BS49 is suspicious. Not entirely convinced. But. He's been around. Knows a serviceable lie when he hears one. He becomes brusque. Businesslike.

"Threw dirt in his eyes? Shocking! Hand those miscreants over BC16. I'll take them to the station myself while you get yourself to the Machine Shop and have those 'Technoptic!' lenses washed out immediately."

"Right away Sir. Thank you Sir!" BC16 is back to normal. Bar. The subtle sheen of snot sliming his upper lip.

BS49 gives him a disgusted look. And a hanky.

"And wipe that nose!"

"Yes sir. Thank you Sir!" Hidden behind the handkerchief. He winks at the kids. And. As he hands the sopping rag back to BS49. Deliberately loses his balance. Stumbles. Tries to right himself by pulling on the Sergeant's arm. Knocking him for six.

The Kids break free. Begin to run.

Chapter 20: A new Norm; On the run the three Kids & Merry team up

Normal. What's that?

Whatever you get used to. Whatever usually surrounds you. The things you do without thinking. The ways you behave. The things you experience. The other kids taking the Pi... Mickey! The random roller coaster of Mum's mood. Dealing with the constant moving on. The seemingly endless succession of flats and boarding houses. The ocassional week or two in the car. In the gaps. Learning to cook. Bank. Change a cam-belt. To me? All perfectly ordinary. But. Living with two Dads? Now. That's a bit weird. But. Give it a month or so. It'll be my new norm. They hope.

Even this story feels natural now. Realistic even. It has rules. Makes sense. Well sorta. But. No matter how bizarre a life. Or a story. There are things that obviously miss the mark. Just plain stick out. The dog's danglies of the Universe.

This for example.

Picture an alley way. On an abandoned industrial estate. No retail here. Never been shops in the entire area. Not since time began on this planet. So lurking nonchalant. All breezy easy with a shopping trolley doesn't cut it. Especially if there are two of you. Terrible twins. One at each entrance into a long lane of dark derelict warehouses. Bizarre blasé bookends. Jiggling wire prams. Jumbled full of miscellaneous junk. Pretending it were the most natural thing in the world. But. There's nothing normal about that. Especially. If one is Aphrodite. The other Diana. Dressed in all their Op' Shop finery. As they say in the movies. Something is going down.

They wait. We wait. Occasionally they seem to talk to themselves. Or. Perhaps the air. Or just as likely an invisible friend. Eventually. To while away all this mutual waiting. I hum quietly to myself. They immediately spring to life. Heads twitching like blackbirds listening for worms. Scanning. Checking. Monologuing enthusiastically the whole time. Then. They've pulled back. Out of sight. Tucked in beside mounds of garbage.

Oh. It's not me. As Mum always told me. They've heard footsteps. Fugitives on the run. From one direction the three Urf kids. From the other our favourite bald baby alien. Each being pursued in speedy unison by their own plodding platoon of the BumFuzz. They career into the alley from opposite ends. Looking back over their shoulders. A collision is inevitable. Spectacular. And painful.

Jake's first concern is his precious camera. He hunts about in the snarl of limbs for it. Comes up holding Merry's hand. It's copied what it found at the bottom of the pile. Merry snatches back his arm indignantly. Hands Jake the original. The Urf kids are fascinated. Smuts pokes him gingerly. Kiri glares. Jake prepares to video. But reality intrudes. The ringing blast of Diana's horn. Aphrodite's strident shout. "Run!"

And they're off. Continuing in their own directions. The ModMums sweep into action. No daffy fluttering here. Military precise. They cut the 'BopCops off with their trolleys. The kids and Merry head for fire escapes at opposite ends of a gutted brick umbrella factory. Begin to climb.

The ModMums buy them time. Having brought their pursuers down. Now they keep them down. Amazing how being helpful can cause such havoc. Every bit of assistance adding to the snarl up. Carefully knitting them into more of a knot. A puzzle. Hard to distinguish ars ... armpits from earholes.

Jake leaps like a basketballer. On the third try. His grated finger tips just snatch the bottom rung of the ladder. Drags it down with screech of rusted metal. Kiri lifts Smuts up and on. Follows. They begin to scramble up the rickety steps. Swaying precariously on their crumbling fittings. Jake looks back at Merry. Who. Being shorter is having some trouble hoisting himself up. His hand hampering him with unhelpful choices. Jake peers harder. Uses his camera to zoom in. Fascinated by what appears to be a ball of light spinning in front of Merry's face. Kiri kicks him awake. A short sharp clout on the back of his head. He turns reluctantly. Begins to scuttle up the shaking steps.

At each end of the alley. The macramé muddles have begun to unravel. Rediscover individual limbs. Recover personal perspective. And now. Are trying to reassemble themselves into functioning units. Difficult. As some of their bionic functions have got scrambled. Above the whirring of misaligned gears. The spitting of shorted electrical circuits sparking. And. Helpful voices loudly contradicting other helpful voices. BS49's stentorian tones can be heard. Tersely ordering his Keystone Cops into a semblance of organisation. So far with limited though comic effect.

Fortunate for Merry. Who only now has managed to clamber onto the first landing of his fire escape. And has paused to contemplate a skinned knee. Two scraped shins. And a hand that has formed into a feather duster. Cherub exhorts him on. Merry clocks the increasing activities of the Urf police. And begins to climb.

Smuts and Kiri have also come to a halt. Eight floors up. Their fire escape has run out. A huge gap to the next section at the 10th floor. They huddle on a single landing. Which wavers and wobbles like a crow's nest. High above a storm tossed yacht. Gingerly. Not looking down. They shuffle places till Jake can reach the window. The closed window. The only one sporting glass in the entire building. He smashes it with the pistol grip of his camera. They scrabble inside.

Merry has just passed the 6th floor. He stops to gather his breath. But. 'BotCops have reached the 2nd. He jumps a missing step onto the 7th landing. Teeters for a moment. Counterbalanced by his hand mimicking a stone pediment. A very heavy stone pediment. The rusted metal at his feet creaks briefly. Gives a louder shriek of protest. Then. Crumbles.

Merry begins to fall.

Chapter 21: A balancing act; Merry to the rescue

Inside. The warehouse is hushed. Muffled with neglect. From cracks in the boarded windows slanting light catches the ancient dust. Floating unflurried. Talcum powder through the still air. Serenely snowing among a vast forest of leafless winter trees. Not a floor or ceiling in sight. Just. Fat trunks of brick sprouting spans of truss and joist. And the occasional dwang. The juicy words of the building trade. Like. Noggin. Lintel. Strut. Ad' loves to chew them out. Like swearing. We're building me a shed of my own up back of the section. Recycled. Green of course.

Jake, Kiri, and Smuts scuttle slowly like arthritic cockroaches over the rickety beams. Beneath them ten stories of mostly open space echoes with their tentative steps. In the depths of the building's skeleton 'BotCops shuffle gingerly. Hampered by antique debris and the after-effects of crash damage. From outside Sergeant 49 is trying to muster them into a slow haste. Scared they might spook the kids into doing something stupid.

A flutter of white catches the corner of his eye. He looks up to see Merry directly above him. Four floors up. Dangling in midair. His face distorted in silent scream. Wafting from side to side. His tutu wavering angelically in the breeze. He's suspended by a parachuting black brolly. Merry Poppins! (geddit?). Of course the moment he begins to relax the umbrella turns inside out. And. Merry begins to plummet towards BS49. Standing gaping beneath him. Frozen to the spot.

A scream. From inside the warehouse. Well of course. It's a narrative imperative. A story telling must. All attention away from the peril of Merry to that of Jake. Who has been recording their escape. With Kent Clarkson voice over. Necessitating a fictional cliché. "Pride cometh before a fall". Lost in the act of creative genius he has missed his footing. The camera arcs out of his hand.

And my world turns upside down. Downside up. The Spec's have switched to the lens point of view. Tangles of tumbling scenery. Spinning. Soaring. Lunging and lurching.

My heart is pumping. My stomach churns. An adrenaline surge. Head spin! Just as I reckon I'm about to blackout the camera lands with a bounce. Turns off with a jerk. Leaving me with a mouth full of bile. Staring at black. Stink!

Nothing. Then a bit more nothing. Time enough to learn how to breathe again. After a while. In the dark I can hear voices. Distorted through the crackle of Walkie-Talkies. Over the distant surge of sea. Medusa's twangy American squawks. Alive with alarm. "You let him see you! And exactly how was that a good idea?"

Somewhere close. Aphrodite's mellow tones murmur reassuringly. Medusa punctuating her every phrase. "OK ... OK ... OK ... OK, I guess we can only hope that the Cherub has been confined to bed. Seasick after all that giddy gadding-about."

Now I am thoroughly cheesed off. The Spec's relent and I get a single wide shot.

The warehouse alley. A Wild West Mexican Standoff for four. Traditional sound track and visuals. Laconic whistling. Late afternoon sun aslant narrowed eyes. A staring contest. No blinking allowed. Aphrodite and Diana glowering at two corners. Merry to the third. BS49 looking rather crushed - literally - completing the quadrangle. No sign of Chubbs gatecrashing the party.

Merry looks a bit bewildered. Unsure what to do. Diana launches into some caricature Karate. Windmill arms and menacing cries. Backing an aghast BS49 against a brick wall. Aphrodite herds Merry towards a window. Boarded with a sheet of dangling corrugated iron. He tears it away. Launches himself through the gap. And. At once. As one. The two ModMum's bow formally to BS49. And. Scarper.

At Coogee. On the cliff top. Penelope-Pink putt-putts from the dark side of the BAT_S doorframe. Viewed side on. It seems she emerges inch by inch out of nowhere.

She parks the scooter. Removes her helmet and her hair springs up and out. A candy-floss Beefeaters Busby. Wanders over on the brow of the hill to find Medusa. Sitting alone on a promontory facing the sea. Studying a jewel of light floating just above her upturned palms. Medusa doesn't look up. Merely invokes some telepathy. Or. Feels Penny-P's shadow?

"She's down on the beach."

Penny-P nods in thanks. And strides to the scaffold balconies. Her slinky progress down is accompanied by the fading sound of Medusa's crystal-radio conversation. "Tiresias. You're the next stop."

She's answered by a strangely modulated voice. A tone like the bastard child of Dame Edna and Vin Diesel. "Roger. Over and out Snake Mother!"

Medusa tries to sound cross. But actually. Comes across as a bit chuffed. Flirty. "Where do you get these expressions Tirry! No don't answer that. Snake Mumma out!"

Jake has recovered his balance. To find they have reached a dead end. A large toothy gap in the floor joists. Sneering at them. Daring them to danger. The Kids freeze. Shoulders drooping in defeat. Way below. 'BotCops tentatively begin to climb. A menacing tide of armoured ants.

The air is suddenly rent by a steely screech. The protesting cry of ancient cogs and wheels. Merry appears over the horizon of the floor. Rising majestically on the roof of a metal-cage elevator. His MemMoss hand has morphed into a motor-winch attached to the suspension wires of the lift. While his other normal hand triumphantly holds aloft Jake's camera. He stops the elevator at floor level and the kids scramble aboard. Merry throws the camera down to Jake. Guns the winch engine. And. They soar into the shadows at the height of the building.

Chapter 22: Retro research; Chubbs, Merry & Bruce Willis to the rescue

Merry creaks into view above the shack of wheelhouse. A heroic silhouette against the low throbbing sun. However below. His moment of victory is undermined by a sticking elevator door. Smuts pulls a screwdriver from her sock. And. From inside rummages in the lock mechanism. With a click the metal bars concertina open. Kiri and Jake spill out. Rush to the edge of the roof. Jake filming as usual.

Merry lowers himself down to roof level. Where he has trouble getting his hand to disengage. It seems determined to stay a winch. But. Smuts has sorted how it all works. She grabs a length of discarded timber. Waves it at Merry. He blinks as it flashes before his eyes. The Hand morphs. And. No longer held by anything. The lift plummets out of sight. Into the bowels of the building. Merry following.

Jake turns at the scream of twanging wires. To catch on video a huge mushroom cloud of dust. Exploding out the lift shaft. It hovers for a moment. Then. Scatters on the wind to reveal Smuts. On her stomach. Reaching down into the gaping shaft. Jake runs to the chasm in horror. To find Merry grinning up at him. His hand a beam of wood. Jammed across the opening.

They drag him to safety. Where he capers around in hyper-relief. A unco' dance in sheer delight at survival. Somewhere between a random spasmodic jumping bean and John Travolta. In his Saturday Night Fever disco period. Sorry. Know you've never seen it. But I've been brainwashed with camp musical comedies. Worst of the bunch? Xanadu! Try it. Gene Kelly and Australia's own Oliver Newton John. A bad toupee meets knitted leg warmers. All at the Roller-Disco. Vom'!

Kiri interrupts the festivities. "The ButtFluff are on their way. Up the outside as well now."

Jake is on camera and into character in an instant. "Kent Clarkson reporting from Siege Headquarters. Atop the 50 story building."

"15 stories. Jake! 15 stories max eh!" Kiri rolls her eyes.

Jake doesn't miss a beat. "15 or 50. We are still subject to an assault on the poor and marginalised of this misbegotten society."

"Thank you Martin Luther Ghandi Solheinitzen!"

Merry and Smuts have collapsed exhausted onto a pile of discarded fire fighting equipment. The rubber hoses make comfy recliners. Chubbs projects with an idea. In his unexpected basso profundo voice he suggests. "I have a selection of film files. Procured from DVD. They that might be of assistance."

"What sort of files?" Merry is sceptical.

Chubbs is fired up with enthusiasm. "Really great action adventures. Lots of chases. Lots of a escapes."

"OK. Play 'em pronto Buddy-boyo."

From Merry's forehead lens projects a rapid fire flash of images. Fast motion. Smuts suddenly exclaims.

"Are you sure?" Merry seems to speak her lingo.

She nods.

Merry is convinced. "OK Chubbs. You heard her." The images rewind some. Then freeze. He cups his hands around the image. So the picture is clearer against the orange light. Though not visible to me.

After one look. And. A replay to check. He and Smuts leap to their feet. Grab the reel of fire hose that a moment ago was his hand. And. Drag it to the edge of the building. Smuts grabs the nozzle. Clambers up on the parapet. And before you can say "Die Hard!" jumps off the edge. Launching herself out into space. Merry just has time to take the strain. Locking his feet against some broken masonry.

The Spec's go all Megamind. Showing Smuts falling slo mo. Tumbling over and over against the sky. At the last moment. She lets go of the hose. Free falls five feet. Tumbles down a convenient sand dune. Banked up against the building. To disappear into a pile of rubbish bags.

There's the sound of 'BotCops trying to break down the roof door. Kiri and Jake rush to Merry. "OK. Who's next?"

"I reckon Jake, eh." Kiri gets in first.

Jake is not pleased. Sarcastic. "Thanks but!" He grabs the hose. Tips himself dubiously over the side. Begins to abseil down the side of the building.

Kiri gets into position to follow. "How are you going to get down."

"Gotta a plan." Merry beams confidently at her. The clang of a grappling iron intrudes. After a couple of misses it catches. Behind him a visored face peeps over the edge of the roof. Kiri jumps.

Merry's face falls. He doesn't have a plan. And. Trying to work one out he loses his concentration. The hand reverts. The hose rapidly shrinks away. Merry is dragged right to the edge of the parapet. Luckily Kiri is almost down. She lets go. Falls onto Jake. And. They both sink into the mound of rubbish bags. Absorbed. Like it were some kind of black plastic quicksand.

Chubbs runs the Die Hard DVD catalogue again. All five films in about 10 seconds. But. Obviously slowly enough that Merry gets an idea. His hand becomes a Helicopter blade. Begins to rotate slowly. Then suddenly. The action reverses. The blade holds quite still. Merry spins rapidly on the spot. Tutu et all twirling like a Whirling Dervish. Equally suddenly the brakes are on. And. Out of the blur appears a very tremulous Merry. As a group of 'BotCops break down the door onto the roof. While another contingent climbs up and over the side.

"Find a rudder!" Chubbs booms. As Merry searches for something suitable the kitten appears nonchalantly from his bustle. Chirrups at him and settles happily on his shoulder. Finally. With a sheet of corrugated iron as rudder Merry takes off. Clears the roof. Then. With a cheery smile to the shocked 'BotCops. Lets himself descend into the rubbish.

Chapter 23: A load of rubbish; let's go clubbing!

"I knew that a day that started bad, was gonna stay bad, and would finish bad. Hell, I was used to it. My life was bad to the bone and the gristle and the spit of it. I'd adjusted my karma before and I would adjust it again. Though generally I found it best to jam it on at a rakish angle and be done.

I paused to catch my breath, but it had gone on without me. I cast a trained eye through the subterranean darkness. It didn't come back ..."

The fetid atmosphere gags "Kent Clarkson" to a standstill. He splutters. Reverts to Jake. "Oo yuk! It stinks down in here, but!"

Kiri calls out in a nasal voice. Punctuated with glottal stops. She's holding her nose against the stench. "I can'd see a thin-geh. Keeb talkin' zo I can fine you, eh?

For a moment. I'm glad I can't smell what they can smell. For a moment. An all too brief moment. Coz now. The Specs have decided to evoke "Odourama". Stink in 3D! Toe jam. Butt-crack. Pus and puke! I snatch them from my face. Oh the relief. But not for long. The scene is still playing. I can hear it as though from someone else's headphones. I gotta go back.

I take a deep breath of fresh air. Dive back into the dark.

To the rustle of bodies scrambling. Shallow breathing. Muffled exclamations of disgust. And. Through it all. Jake's camera whirrs. The pale gleam of its screen glinting in the dark. Trying to crack a wink between the closely packed bags.

Suddenly. A huge voice resonates out of the darkness. Haloed in rolling metallic echoes. An unearthly sound. Neither angel. Nor we hope. Devil.

"Further up and further in!"

Great. Access to Narnia now includes via a rubbish tip. The Greens aren't gonna like that. Nor the pansy English kids of the books.

Jake tries a body plumbing joke. "Further up what?"

"Further up and further in." The mystery voice is emphatic. Not amused.

Merry reckons that he knows the voice. Someone familiar. Someone powerful. From his Olympian past. But. Under the kids' persistent pressure he can't remember who. Or. Perhaps more scarily what.

Jake entirely misplaces his brave card. A falsetto flick in his voice spoils the butch boy persona. "Should we do a runner while we can but?"

"And straight into the 'BotCops? Don't think so eh!" Likewise. Kiri doesn't sound as fearless as her words. But. Their minds are made up for them. The sound of searching above their heads. The scritch scratch of bags being turned over. The increasing light as they are lifted away. Their pursuers. Plus. That persistent hypnotic voice.

"Further up and further in."

"It can't get any worse." Kiri decides. "Come on Smuts. Get a wriggle on."

And wriggle they do. Attempting not to chuck. Hands trying to cover mouth and nose. They pull themselves forward on elbows and knees. Twisting and turning. Tunnelling down through the rank rubbish. Towards the insistent insinuating voice. Finally the throng of bags thins out. Before they can stop themselves they are pitched out of their slimy embrace. And. Are surfing down one last long black slope of plastic. Into a pit of pulsing colour.

They land in a tangled heap. An accidental game of Twister. With added bruises. Twined together in embarrassing intimacy. Looking at ... Worse! Holding onto ... pieces of another person that we just won't mention. Well. Not until it becomes an amusing party anecdote in say ... an eternity from now. Plus a decade or two for dignities sake.

They extract themselves. Slowly. Carefully. With their eyes shut tight. Some strange version of 'Blind... ' sorry 'Sight Challenged Person's Bluff'. Ad' is teaching me to be PC - Politically Cool. With a side order of 'Pin The Tail On the Donkey'. Oops. Cruelty to Animals. Sorry. Whatever. Further pain is inflicted. And Endured. Until eventually they achieve separation. Standing stiff and awkward. Stick figures in the flickering rainbow light. Gingerly. A slow unison preparatory breath. And their eyes spring open.

The tension breaks. Snaps like a twig. The sight of each other rigid like store window dummies is too hilarious. They collapse in hysterics. Roll about on the sticky carpet like spastic billiard balls. Careering here, there, and everywhere in convulsive laughter.

Eventually they run out of foof. Phouf? End up sitting side by side gazing up at a series of gold framed photos. Ancient black and white performance promo shots. Fading to grey with curled edges. Lithe showgirls with strong jaws. Adams Apples. Oddly demure in floral bikinis and fluffy feather boas. Almost alive in the twitching neon.

"Are they ...?" Kiri doesn't know quite how to say it.

Merry entirely comfortable in his own daggy drag shrugs. "Yep, though they could do with a style update!"

Once long ago - the swinging 1960s - this was probably a very stylish night-club. Velvet curtains the colour of old blood. Scarlet wallpaper flocked with elaborate gold felt swirls. Semi-circular booths filled with deep-buttoned divans. And from the low ceiling, two long rows of under-sized crystal chandeliers. Sparkle long lost. Now fly blown with missing bulbs. At the far end a gilded picture frame Proscenium Arch encloses a curtained stage. Atop crackles and whines a row of neon letters. Randomly flashing. Unable to make up their minds. Les G ls ... L s Gir s ... es G rls ...

Safe at last. Relieved. Relaxation set in. They're drawn to the parquet dance floor. Jake and Kiri try a few moves. Merry adds some Olympian space-moves. Even Chubbs makes an appearance. Bopping 50s Dad-style. All he needs is a brown cardigan to effect complete fail. Smuts checks out the gloom of the DJ booth. Cranks up an old Jackson Five track. And before you can sing 'ABC' there's an impromptu party underway. But. Right in the middle of Jake's very successful demonstration of the 'Moonwalk' the stage curtains swish back with a violent Whoomp!

A menacing black figure looms at them. Outlined in flames. "Welcome!" It cries. Advancing towards them. Arms outstretched for fearful embrace. A spear in one hand.

Chapter 24: A blind Prophet; dresses & dressups

Merry and the kids shrink back in terror. The figure takes another step toward them. The flames behind it leap higher. Another step. They are buried in the tentacles of its twisting shadow. Though usefully the dark allows their eyes to adjust a little. Now. They can see a saintly halo of crystal light. Flickering around the creature's head. Softening its image. The figure begins to transform into a cross between Gandalf and Dumbledore. Long flowing hair. A full length robe. Holding a something between a stave and a wand.

"Welcome my friends!" The wizard creature booms. Echoing around the club from a dozen spitting speakers.

The kids are far from reassured. Trying not to be too obvious. Or provocative. They edge back. Till they find themselves pressed against a mirrored column. The Being takes one final step towards them. And into the light. They gasp. Awestruck at first sight of the famed prophet, Tiresias. In all his or her or, perhaps ... their ... decay.

The Spec's engage a gravel rich voice. All documentary and horror-film trailer. Mimicking Jake at his Kent Clarkson worst. They quote.

"Picture a time raddled face. Through whose crevasses the daubs of peacock eye shadow and orange lipstick squirm in a thousand tiny rivers. Smeared is too imprecise a concept to express the precision and intricacy with which they carry their lurid cargo all over the face from the puckered lips and the socketed canyons that once held eyes."

In a way. It should be quite astounding. Except. The entire effect is ruined by the fact that s/he is nonchalantly wearing a tangerine halter-neck evening frock. Which disturbingly outlines ample breasts swinging at 'nanna' height. Just above the waist. Obviously we have caught him cooking on the fire centre stage. The 'fearsome' implement in his hand is actually a pair of over-sized tongs.

Smuts is staring at him wide eyed. Fascinated. Delighted. She very shyly moves to him. Takes one of his hands. Tiresias kneels. Traces her face carefully with the other hand. His - or her - dress sense becomes clear. He is blind.

"Scary! He looks like her Grandmother." Kiri notes in an astonished undertone.

Merry is thrilled. "Tiresias!" Who grins past him vacantly. Reaches out to pat him on the head. Instead strokes the kitten on his shoulder. Automatically. He picks it up. Cuddles it. Its eyes flash momentarily red.

"I've been expecting you for hours.

Merry nods. "The runes foretold of our coming."

"Well ... actually ... No. I mean ..." Tirry ad libs quickly. "Yes indeedy, something very like that." Obviously the ModMums presence is a secret. Perhaps they are on the run. Hiding out. Though they don't strike me as the criminal kind. Though they are oddly glamorous enough to be spies.

"Anyway. Well done Lad! You're safe now."

Merry isn't sure. "Some kind of soldiers are chasing us. You gotta hide us Tirry."

Jake lowers his camera. "Tirry? You're the one that reconnected BC16's heart."

"He saved my life once. It seemed only fair to give some of his back."

The kitten has leapt down from Tiresias' arms. And. Is sniffing Jake dubiously. Kiri copies it. Then. Wrinkles her nose in total disgust. Mimics Ludo's gruff complaint from Labyrinth. "Smells bad! Smells Bad!" In her own voice. "Yeurg, that is worse than any Bog of Eternal Stench eh!"

Jake looks down at a suspicious smear all down the legs of his jeans. "There's nothing I can do. Unless you want me to go buck naked but?"

Well. He certainly gets my vote for that choice. Tiresias interrupts a pleasant daydream. Before it even gets started. Tarnation!

"There's a whole wardrobe back stage. See what you like. Keep it. Most of it doesn't suit me. I'll finish cooking your lunch."

The Wardrobe is an exact replica of the shop where I got the Spec's. Perhaps its even the same place. Though. Being in a story it all seems both more gloomy and much more glamorous. A forest of fabrics fashioned into fantastical frocks and suits. With sparkling eyes the kids start to check out the possibilities. Offering Jake this and that suggestion. None of which he likes.

Merry finds a length of apple green sari silk. Is sadly stroking it when Jake turns in to his aisle. "Hey. That's totally cool!"

"It's what we wear on special occasions." Merry tries to hide his melancholy. Unsuccessfully.

Jake plays the blokey diversion card. Punches Merry lightly on the arm. Butch-boy playfully. "Hey, thanks for saving our lives there but!"

Kiri agrees. "Absolutely eh!"

"That's alright. It was fun." Diverted. Merry grins at them. "It's so much cooler here on Urf. At home they say it's the worst planet in the Multiverse. But I think it's massive!"

Jake does the honours. Introduces his team. With grownup hand shakes from everyone. Including Smuts.

"I'm Merry." He beams. The others do a double take. Mary? "Really its Mericles, but that's a mouthful for nothing."

The kids relax. Having jumped to same conclusion as me. Jake covers the moment.

"Could you show me how to put it on?"

"OK. Come round here into some light." Sadly they disappear from view. And. I get to watch the girls play in a tangled jewellery box. Spoilsport Spec's! They respond with a wink.

Tiresias calls from the stage. "Kai is ready!"

Merry calls enthusiastically from behind a clothes rack. "Great. I could eat a Centaur."

"You eat horses on your planet?" Kiri is appalled.

Merry appears. Looking equally horrified. "No way. It's just a saying. The Centaurs on Olympus are so old they'd be really tough. And they're really really boring. So they'd be absolutely tasteless."

Jake sidles bashfully into view. He looks gorgeous in the sari tied as a Greek Toga. The colour sets of his tan. And the skimpy style shows off his muscles. Phew! Hot hot hot!

Kiri whistles. "BC16 is gonna flip over that look!"

Jake turns red with embarrassment. Dashes out onto the stage. The others follow. Laughing.

Chapter 25: The shape of a Snakes Tale over dinner

Now they feel at home the nightclub seems no longer lit by the fiendish fires of Hell. In fact on stage. There's just the flicker of friendly flame. From a good old Aussie Webber barbeque. And from that. The aroma of cooking food wafts tantalisingly.

Tiresias opens the top of the barbecue. Begins to hand round veggie kebabs. Being "visually impaired" (I still reckon blind is a perfectly OK word. The Da'-Ad's get carried away sometimes) this consists of grabbing randomly with his tongs. Pivoting away from the fire. And then. Letting go. A couple of wasted skewers to the floor. Which is too mucky to invoke the 30 second rule. So. The kids quickly grab plates. Scrabble to catch the falling food.

Eventually. Silence. Broken only by the sound of chewing. An occasional sigh of pleasure. They are sitting around the fire. On huge metal bones. Broken carcasses of the clockwork animals that roam the city. When Tiresias potters off to "feed the kitten some milk". The kids pump Merry for the prophet's story.

"It's one of those stories that grownups think you're too young to understand. So they won't tell you. But then they also think that they can talk about it when you're around. Spelling the awkward bits. 'Coz you won't have a clue. They're a bit stupid like that. Of course it's about sex stuff. Or at least I think so."

Jake assumes an adult air. Looks very knowing. "Everything is."

"Not it's not." Kiri is scathing.

"Yes it is." Jake asserts from his lofty maturity of 16.

"Well," Kiri searches for an example. "Blowing my trombone isn't eh!"

Jake isn't quite sure how to respond to that. Fortunately Merry begins to tell his story.

"Once upon a time Tirry - Tiresias - was some kind of priest or minister. Glad I didn't know him then because they reckon he was really grumpy and strict. The kind of bloke that walks around with a wrinkled-nose and lemon squeezer lips as though everyone and everything smells. Anyway, one day he came across a pair of snakes twined around each other ..."

"See, everything is about sex." Jake is triumphant.

Kiri gives him a filthy look. "You are a sad sad SAD person eh."

Jake deigns not to respond. And. Merry carries on regardless.

"Of course he thought that was really dirty and so found a stick to break them apart. Accidentally, I reckon, he killed the female snake. And instantly. He turned into a woman."

"Yeah right. How could that happen eh?" Kiri is fed up. Overloaded with all the boy energy about.

Merry is unfussed. "In my world all sorts of things like that happen. Nearly every day." He thinks for a moment. Not wanting to exaggerate in front of his new friends. "Well, every other day at least. So anyway. Tirry lived as a woman for seven years. They say s/he had a rough time of it. And I reckon that bits true coz they don't really like girls much in my world. But then s/he came upon another pair of snakes you know ..."

Kiri gets in first. "We get the picture eh."

"Well now he's really hacked off. And gets another stick to separate them. But this time he stops at the last minute. Has a change of heart. Leaves them be. And because he does, my Mum who protects all living things - she's kinda the Goddess of Spring really - turns up and says she'll grant him any wish. So of course he wishes to be a bloke again. But just to keep him from becoming too smart and smarmy as a bloke my Mum - Persephone - doesn't change all of him. Hence he's always had breasts. As a reminder."

Kiri wants to know about the blind thing. But. Just as Merry snorts with anger. Leans in to whisper. Tiresias returns. Kiri mouths. "Later." She and Jake offer to do the dishes. Head behind the bar bearing plates. Leaving Tiresias and Merry to catch up.

Not that Merry has much to offer. Every time he brings up a piece of intrigue or Goss'. Tiresias already knows. The downside of conversation with a Seer. So he gives up. Talks about his own life.

"It's just as stink as always. No-one to play with. There's hardly anyone around any more. I spend most of the time mucking about playing Asteroid Pool or ancient heroes or whatever. Long as I'm home in time for dinner no-one hits me.

Tiresias commiserates. "Well. Ne'er you mind about being banished. You're better of here. We all love it."

"We?" Merry is confused.

Tiresias covers quickly. "Oh, just the regal We. Me Myself and I. You know what old people are like. Well you don't. But we end up talking to ourselves. And discover quite a few other-selves as a result."

Jake and Kiri are finishing the dishes behind the bar. Smuts is snuggled up cosy in one of velvet banquettes. Patting the kitten. Apparently named Orpheus.

Kiri leans close to Jake. "With her Nanna dead, we've gotta find her a home. It's alright for you, you're older, you can cope alone."

Jake looks unsure about that. But agrees. A bit reluctantly. "Yeah, she's too little to look after herself. Plus she's still not talking. At least so that other people can understand."

Kiri is insistent. "We've got to sort something out ... "

"I know I know." Jake hisses back. "But Tomorrow OK? Today we've got enough to do making it home with your mother all the way from the Beach Park."

Merry has wandered over. "Is your mum at the beach? Coz, so's my SpaceBall."

"I gotta get her home before anyone else finds her."

"I gotta get my SpaceBall to the Harbour and opened before its seen."

Jake is buzzed. "That's perfect but. We're all going the same direction."

"Both ways." Kiri realises.

Merry isn't so excited. "Yeh, through those stink streets!"

Kiri is triumphant. Crowing. "We don't have to take the streets any more! Tiresias knows a way underground, through the old city service tunnels. He'll take us there after Smuts has a nap."

Chapter 26: Tunnelling beneath the city; an unfortunate meeting

Merry's laugh echoes round the tunnels. A carillon of hysterical bells. With an occasional basso wheeze. A throaty hiccup as he tries to contain himself.

I didn't catch on at first. Coz. I was laughing too. Jake made a really funny comment. I laughed and laughed. Then laughed some more. A bit desperate really. Trying to impress. Someone who doesn't know I exist. Well. I've never done that before!

Merry doubles over. Catching his breath. He's got the stitch. Slowly straightens up with a happy groan. It's only then I notice. Coz it's stopped. When he laughed I could have sworn that the stone tunnels began to glitter. Not glow worm flicker. That's not vivid enough. More diamonds in the rock sparkle. But now. We're back to muted shadows. The reflection of failing light-bulbs on wet walls and streaming floor. Gleaming faintly like fresh cut coal.

The kids step out into a neglected former train station. Junction to four tunnels. Its platforms are lined with cracked cream and black tiles around ancient eligible ads for Holden cars, Speedo swimmers, and other Aussie icons.

Tiresias and Smuts have got quite some distance in front. Smuts has a skip in her step. Tirry spring heels at her side.

Merry takes the chance to explain his blindness. "It all happened hundreds of years ago. When I was really little. Seems my Dad and my stepmother - she's the fully wicked type - had this stink bet. Something stupid about whether boys or girls have the most fun."

"Most fun at what?" Kiri is perplexed. Jake just rolls his eyes and encourages Merry to carry on. "The weird bit was that when Tiresias said that girls have nine times the fun, old frosty features - Hera, my stepmum - threw a wobbly and blinded him."

"Probably because he was lying. Boys obviously have all the fun. "Jake is smug.

Merry joins the male solidarity. "Absolutely!" The two boys High Five. Kiri mimes vomiting.

Tiresias and Smuts have disappeared into the tunnel on the far side. But. Before the others can follow the cavern pulsates with the sound of tramping boots. And. Familiar metallic voices. They shrink back into the opening. Just in time. As 'BotCops pour into the space. They form up in pairs. To each side of the other entrances. 'Bot Sergeant 49 beckons BC16 to him.

"Are you sure they went down into these tunnels. They seem a rather rum venue for kiddies to venture into."

BC16 salutes him smartly. "Absolutely sir! Saw them with my own eyes... " He considers the comment. Corrects himself. "So to speak."

Unexpectedly. Weirdly. Jake croaks loudly. A tin-pot imitation of a clockwork frog. BC16 burps an echo. BS49 looks at him in surprise.

BC16 covers at once. "Sorry sir! Must be some kind involuntary response. A memory from when I was a child?"

"Ah. I forget how young you were, son." BS49 pats him on the shoulder. Gruff-kind. "The accident must have happened when you were not much more than a boy. Didn't make 17, eh what?"

BC16 hesitates before answering. Not wanting to give away his 'improvements'. "Yes Sir. Thank you Sir."

"Now where did you say that darn grating was that they climbed down through?" BS49 is tersely back to business.

BC16 does a double think. "Further into the ... Western Quarter."

"All right men. Fall In! To the West. Quick March!"

The 'BotCops move out. To the unison whirr and clank of their electro-mechanical parts in action. BC16 holds back. Hisses into the dark. "Why aren't you up on the streets? I thought I'd distract them down here. Well away from you."

"It was an old friend of yours' idea." Jake's voice takes on a pointed edge. "An elderly bloke in a frock ... named Tiresias?"

BC16 shuffles a bit on the spot. But. Before he can make his excuses Kiri breaks in urgently. "We've lost him Jake."

"Bother! BC16. How do we get to Beach Park?"

Before he can answer BS49's voice booms from the distance. "BC16. What's keeping you?"

"Sorry Sir! Still having a bit of trouble with grit in my lenses."

"Well, mop up, that man ... on the move! This way now. left right, left right ..."

BC16's feet start to follow the Sergeant's chant. He has enough time to hiss out the corner of his mouth. "Turn right. Pass three intersections. On your left is a set of stone steps. They'll lead you up to the BAT_S Portal."

"Thanks." Jake pops his head into the cavern. In time to see BC16 fumble with a pocket in his chest armour. Drag out a handkerchief. And. Accidentally turn on some kind of inbuilt music player. Suddenly. A voice rings out. "Woop Woop - Dats da sound of da Police!" Seems KRS-One had a rap hit in this version of reality too.

BC16's mobility systems don't know whether to 'Get up'. 'Get Down'. Or. 'Get Going'? So. He ends up marching down the tunnel in a flurry of staccato lurches. Interspersed with the occasional head spin. Hand stand. And drop into the splits.

In the distance. BS49's voice can just be distinguished. Barking maniacally at BC16 over the noise. "Shut it off. Shut it off!"

The glasses give me a quick peek at the madness. As 24 'BotCops boogie-on-down in a slippery sloping tunnel. 'Down' being the operative adverb. Though. Even the fallen manage a funky move or two before locking up entirely.

The music and cries of confusion resound up out of the darkness towards the kids. They peer bemused out of their tunnel. Wondering whether there is a party or a brawl happening. Seeing nothing they dive into the right hand tunnel. Taking advantage of the cacophony to cover their mad scramble.

Chapter 27: Tirry & Smuts get sidetracked; a double reunion at Coogee

Tiresias and Smuts are padding softly along. Holding hands in companionable silence. Apart from a rhythmic ticking. Tiresias's repeated tongue clicks. No. He's not geeing up a horse. Just orientating himself from the tunnel echoes. I think I forgot to tell you he's changed his gear for the occasion. He's wearing a lady bowlers outfit. Green visored hat and all. In outline. The two of them together look like a mildly deranged image of Christopher Robin and Pooh. Walking off into a literary sunset.

Tiresias stops suddenly. Fires off a rapid succession of clacks. He cocks his head. Listens intently. Smiles. Turns to Smuts. "Fancy a little diversion, my dear? A mild deviation from the beaten path?"

Smuts gabbles enthusiastically.

Tiresias flexes his fingers. Begins to tap a series of Morse rhythms on the stone. He stands back in satisfaction. But. Nothing happens. He frowns and tries again. A slightly different order of taps. Again nothing. He turns apologetically to Smuts. "Sorry pet. They made me change my PIN last month. Security update or something. Now I can't for the life of me remember my new one."

He begins to dance from foot to foot. Humming snippets of tunes to himself. Familiar melodies thanks to Dance Demon Dad's late night movie sessions. Watching Fred and Ginger hoof it through ancient black and white films. "Putting on The Ritz". "Top Hat and Tails". "Night and Day".

Finally. Tiresias gives a little cry of glee. Taps "Lets Face The Music and Dance" into the wall. 'Short long... short short long... short long'. And lo and behold. It begins to shimmer. To become some kind of hologram of stone. Then. A sheet of tumbling water.

Tiresias holds out his hand to Smuts. "Let's pay an old friend of mine a visit. It's been quite a while. Who knows we might even get a nice cup of tea out of him."

They walk through the wall. Which. Instantly turns back to rock.

Up on the Headland above the beach. Merry, Jake and Kiri emerge from the gloom of the BAT_S Portal. Kiri moans in dismay. "This coastline is huge. She could be anywhere!"

"We'll help." Merry understands completely her sense of loss. Of futility. "What does your mum look like?"

But. Kiri is angry at herself. At the world. The unfairness of it all. She lets fly. "Oh I don't know! She looks like a mother."

"She's in a white laboratory coat. Probably wearing a very large straw sunhat." Jakes steps in to sooth.

Merry chuckles in relief. "Oh, I've meet her."

"Yeah sure." Kiri is derisive.

Merry snaps back. "Well I have. So there. Your mother gave me these clothes."

"Well ... that at least is likely." Kiri looks him up and down. Scathing. Like some prim English school prefect.

Merry sticks out his tongue in retaliation. "Sooo! What 'cha saying Urf-Gurl?!"

Jake gets the giggles. Part due to tension. Part due to the silliness of the spat. The other two turn on him. Simultaneously.

"What's so funny?"

"You two are ..." Jake dissolves into noisy laughter. Kiri and Merry look at each other. See the mirrored looks of self-righteousness. And. Crack up.

A few hysterical moments latter. They're back to being friends.

"Where did you meet her?"

"Down on the beach. Close to that ruined swimming bath."

They clatter down the swinging bamboo paths. The scaffold creaks and flexes. Nearly at the bottom Jake sees someone in a huge picture hat. In her excitement Kiri nearly trips and falls. As she runs shouting. "Mum!" But. When it turns. The face under the hat is Koori. And bearded.

She doesn't stop. Keeps running over the rocks. Along the sands. Calling and calling. "Mum! Mum!" Over and over in desperation. But nothing. No-one responds. She stops quite still by a cliff of sand. Whispers to the sea. "Mum ..."

Jake catches up with her. "She mightn't know who you are. Or remember your voice. She might be hiding, scared."

Kiri knuckles away the tears. False brave. "Yeh, you're probably right, eh." Her smile isn't convincing. Jake moves to hug her. Kiri shrugs it off. Turning away. To bump into Penelope-Pink. And ...

Her mother. Who waves a handful of common seaweed at them. "Why hello everybody - isn't this lovely. All this help to take care of these rare and beautiful plants!" She points at Kiri. "You, young lady, why don't you help me put these into water."

"Sure Mu ... " She bites her tongue. Takes a deep breath. And. Smiles brightly. "Yes, I'd love to help, ma'am." They head off together. Down the beach. Towards the tidal pools.

Behind Jake's back as he fumbles for his camera. Penny-P signals "Shhh" at Merry. As in "We don't know each other. OK?" Out loud. "Oo Jake. Who's your pretty pretty new friend?"

"P ... P ... Penelope, this is Merry. Merry, this is Penelope."

Penny smiles brightly at Merry. Who stiltedly holds out his hand in greeting. Not well pleased to be denied. "Nice to meet you."

"I teach school you know. Perhaps in the new term you'd like to join my class?"

Jake is confident. Behind his camera. The grownup cinematographer. "He's way too old for school, but."

"Appearances can be deceiving. How old are you Merry?"

Merry is proud of his age. "Three thousand and thirty seven ..."

"See, he's way too old." Then Jake realises. "Three thousand and what?"

His shout of shock masks Merry's muttered sad reflection. "Well, three thousand and thirty eight. Today."

"That's about twelve in terrestrial years." Cherub projects. Fed up with being ignored.

"And who is this quaint creature Merry?"

Merry turns his back on Jake's camera. To glare at Penny-P. "My minder. A Cherub called Chubbs. He gets to keep an eye on me while I exiled here, to make sure I don't cause too much trouble."

"Oh I don't think that is likely to happen. Is it?" Penny's inflection is pointed.

Merry studies his feet. He knows when he is beaten. "No, Penny. Of course not!"

She walks away over a sand dune. Out of sight. A moment. Then. A flash of light.

"Top ho laddie!" Penny pops back into view. Clad head to toe in black. Sleek in a leather body-suit and thigh boots. Her hair a shiny ebony bob. A monocle glinting in one eye.

Jake is in raptures. Jaw dropped to the beach sand. "Wow! Wowwwww!!"

Merry shakes his head in reluctant admiration. "The Du-Lally have always been complete show-offs!"

"Whaaaaat?" Jake is stunned. Deaf and blind to all but the ravishing new incarnation.

Merry just shakes his head. As. Penny-Black wolf-whistles. Her pink scooter rolls into view. She whistles a second time. Another flash of light. The Vespa is gone. In its place. Roaring like a lion. Rev's a huge Harley Davidson motorbike.

Chapter 28: Kiri has a lightbulb moment; Penny-B plans a Trojan Horse

Glinting. Late afternoon low. The tangerine sun catches Merry's SpaceBall. Its metal hull vibrates quietly. Projecting a contrasting halo of electric green static. On the shore Kiri sits in its shadow. Watching her mother at work. Diligent as a small child. Back and forth with a plastic bucket watering her seaweed pool in the sand.

In the shelter of a dune the ModMums lurk. Watching like ancient seagulls. Suddenly they turn. Give a simultaneous gasp of horror. Scatter to the winds.

Kiri looks up at the sound of a straining engine. As. Penny-Black storms over the rise in her Harley. Exhausts flaming dramatically. Merry and Jake cling on. Petrified pillions. Legs precariously tucked up to avoid burns.

Penny slides to halt in a rooster tail of smothering sand. In accordance with American movie-maker law there's the incongruous sound of squealing tyres. The boys appear from the dust coughing and spluttering. Penny rises on her pedals. Statuesque and triumphant. She shades her eyes with a gloved hand. Gives a cry of greeting. As. Tiresias and Smuts rise up out of the sea atop a foaming tower of wave. Which hangs in suspended animation some yards from shore. Directly beneath the SpaceBall.

The wall of water is as transparent as crystal. The liquid sparkle of a blue-blood sapphire. In its depths can be seen Neptune riding a killer whale. Dwarfing it. He gestures majestically with his pearlescent trident. The wave begins to roll to the beach. Slowly. Slightly hesitantly. A silvered dragon trying to veil her power so as not to dump her riders.

Tiresias and Smuts seem serenely unafraid. The flaming sea anemone and coral that garlands them slips from their bodies. And all at once. They are standing on the beach completely dry. Their normal selves. If you know what I mean. And I think you do! The only sign of the underwater adventure? The kitten. Orpheus holds a huge exotic multi-finned fish in his mouth. Dinner.

Penny-Black strides to them. No longer a mild-mannered sex-siren. Now a Amazonian warrior. Even her voice has darkened. Deepened. Become commanding. Perhaps even a bit bossy.

"Together at last! Well enough shilly shallying, let's get organised! Spit spot. Spit spot!"

Smuts has taken her underwater adventure in her stride. But. She baulks a little at the martial figure standing in front of her. Legs a stride. Arms folded purposefully.

"It's Miss Du ... I mean Penelope. Or at least a version of her." Jake whispers. Doing his big brother support act.

Tiresias faces quite the wrong direction. On purpose. Going by the suggestion of twinkle in his milky eyes. "Have we found Kiri's mother?"

"Indeed we have." Penny-B booms.

Kiri is tenderly holding her mum's hand. "But she may not want to come home with us."

"And Tiresias, me old china, I do believe that you have just surfaced beneath an Olympian SpaceSphere."

Merry clarifies. "Which we can't steer."

"And that is just the start of our problems." Penny-B is relishing dealing to all the difficulties.

Jake whispers to Merry. Goggle eyed with admiration. "Isn't she awe-inspiring?!"

"Just like a run-away Hell-hound!" Merry isn't so convinced.

Penny-B winks at him over Jake's head. Carries on. Voice throbbing thrillingly. "Because ..." She halts for dramatic effect. "The city is under complete 'BotCop Shut Down for the Topsy Turvy Parade!"

Jake is relieved. "So that's what's going on. We haven't had one of those since I was very little."

"What sort of Parade is it?" Merry hadn't paid a lot of attention in Urf Studies 101. Well actually. None at all.

Penny-B is offhand. She's seen it all before. "Usual sort of big celebration thingie. Think of it as a party on the move. Marching through the central streets of the city. An all round knees-up. Lots of laughter and general merry making. Music, dancing, costumes, floats ..."

"Then why do you need 'BotCops?" Merry's experience of a party was a few Immortals eating too much. Drinking too much. Spewing too much. To end up falling over asleep. Pretty boring stuff. None of which seems to be Police business.

Penny-B cross fades a little. To add some of her Penny-P teacher incarnation. Sporting spangly pink diamante chandelier earrings. Shocking pink lipstick. Her thigh length boots now cerise patent leather. Even her voice reverts partially to its breathy alter-ego. "Oo, think of them as traffic wardens. Keeping the whole kit and caboodle floating along safely."

"Floats ... floating!" Kiri flashes into life.

All we need is the cartoon light bulb above her head for effect. And lo. The glasses draw one in. A black felt-tip pen squiggle.

"If we ..."

Smuts gabbles loud and long. Finishing her sentence for her.

"Perfect! And your mother could ... " Penny-B joins the trio. Smuts finishes her sentence.

Jake makes it a quartet. "And we could ..." Smuts doesn't stop for breath. Taking over without the slightest pause. Rattling out phrase after phrase of enthusiastic gibberish.

They play idea-tennis back and forth for quite some time. If I could manage a rally that long I'd be dead chuffed. I tend to drop the ball at the first encounter. And that's just trying to serve. To be honest I love sport. And I'm not too bad at it. Well, mildly average. But. It's very hard to enjoy. What with all the pressure to win eh. And the more pressure? Well. The more crap I get.

Back on the beach. There's silence as they consider their collective brilliance. A lot of nodding at each other. And smug smiles. Tiresias sums it up. "Exactly. Now, what do you think Merry?"

But. There's no reply. Merry is nowhere to be seen. Just a solitary set of footprints heading back towards the cliffs. Jake volunteers to go look for him.

"Terrific idea!" Penny-B is back to bold monochrome black. "Time is running short. We'll do the make-and-do thing. You do the find-and-fetch thing." She shines her monocle on her sleeve. Pops it into one eye to study Merry's SpaceBall. Rubs her hands in glee.

"I have always wanted to build a Trojan Horse."

Chapter 29: Wail Music with Haka; Jake tries tracking a missing Merry

It starts out a dying bagpipe wail. Mutates into a high pitched keening. Twists into something between the sound of seagull cry and mournful Celtic crooning. The moaning moody folksy 'O Poor Me' kind. There's a tune in there somewhere. A familiar tune. Just can't quite make it out. Echoes ghost up the tunnels. Carried on a chill sea wind. Just on the verge of meaning.

At last. My eyes are accustomed to the dark. I blink once. Twice. Hoping that they're still playing tricks. But no. The rocks are shuddering. Rolling convulsive. Like a cat trying to clear a fur-ball. Just as I get a lock on it. They stop. Simultaneous with the singing.

The Spec's pan around. To stare back up at the BAT_S Portal where Merry stands motionless. He's just a black cipher. An outline of morose misery. A drooping doodle against the hot sky. For a moment his tutu flutters like a torn flag. But soon even it gives up the struggle at animation.

After a moment. With a deep slow breath he turns to enter the tunnel. And. Looking down. Confronted with the endless pitch dark gives a huge hopeless sob. The ground lurches beneath his feet. He is surprised into calmness. The tunnel falls still. A Beat. He waits ... nothing. Releases his breath gingerly. Nothing. A little calmer. He walks slowly further into the smothering ebony of the tunnels.

The footsteps in the sand have run out. Jake has hit rock and scaffold. The lower levels of the Cliff-Shanty. From here he's going to have to seek assistance. A frustrating game of Twenty Questions. A nod or a shake the only answers. Most of the Bees gave up speech long ago. Turned to contemplation rather than conversation. They use gesture if they really must communicate. And that's usually just when they need a fag. Of the cigarette kind.

Through trial and error Jake gets the game down to four questions. 'Been here long today?' 'So seen anyone go by recently?' 'A bald boy with a mohawk in a white skirt?' 'Which way did he go?' And thus. In halting leaps and tiny bounds he follows the wake of Merry's progress. Up and along the swinging bamboo streets.

At last he reaches the top. Some fifty yards from the BAT_S Portal. Viola! There's a strange withered path through the grass. As though something has been dragged to the doorway. Perhaps. Merry's despondent feet.

Jake turns back. Way down below on the beach there's a flurry of activity. Seaweed is being plaited into long rope. Then. Flown up and around the SpaceBall by a flock of remote control AnimaClok-Gulls. The effect is rather arty. Free-form macramé. A result of Tiresias at the controls. With Smuts his eyes.

Meanwhile. Penny-B is storming up and down the beach on her Harley. Like a glamorous Mad Max. One minute she's giving orders to the Sphere crew. The next she's at the Shanty-face haranguing reluctant 'volunteers'. Eventually all the cables are in place. And everyone grabs a section.

Even high up on the top of the cliff face Jake can hear Penny-B lead them. She's got leather lungs to go with her outfit.

I'm not sure its proper Maori etiquette for a woman to lead this kind of haka. And on Eora land. But then. I'm also not about to tell an Amazon in full cry that she can't.

"Ka mate, ka mate! ka ora! ka ora!"

That's It's Death! It's Life! in English.

"Ka mate! ka mate! ka ora! ka ora!" (Now. The next line is a bit hilarious.)

"Tenei te tangata pukhuruhur ...

Here's the hairy man ...

Sure as eggs that's not Tiresias! But. I'spose that's the story with traditional songs. It's their feel, not their literal words that carry you through.

" ... Nana nei I tiki mai whakawhiti te ra"

... who brought the sun and made it shine

"A, upane! Ka upane!"

A step upward, another step upward!

Stamp by stamp. Singing and straining in time. Faces beet red with effort. They drag Merry's SpaceBall like a bloated blimp towards shore.

"A, upane, ka upane ... _"

A step upwards, Another ...

To tether it a couple of feet above the ground. Within easy reach.

"Whiti te ra!"

The sun shines!

Over it, there's a descant. Warbly wavery. The wet woeful singing of someone close to tears.

"Happy Birthday to me.

Happy Birthday to me.

Happy Birthday dear Mericles.

Happy Birthday to ... "

Merry is sitting on a rock ledge. Hugging his knees to his chest. Cherub is beamed out in front of him. His face screwed up in a kind of constipated concern. Your basic bloke. Stumped. Not clue what to say. How to console.

"I'm stuck here, aren't I? Probably for ever. They don't want me." Merry gives a shuddering sigh. The tunnel undulates in sympathy.

"They said when I'm good I can come home. But they don't want me. They never wanted me. I'm just a nuisance. No good for anything. So they'll just forget they promised. They'll just forget I even exist!

"I'll never get home again." Merry gasps a juddering breath. The tunnel spasms. Then settles to a constant, almost imperceptible quiver.

"And I don't know anything about here and I don't know anyone here. And ... And... And I don't wanna know anything or anyone here at all. At all ... not any at all!"

Unkind I know. But. I've almost stopped listening to him. Fascinated by the behaviour of the rock. It's almost liquid in its movements. A ripple of response flowing out from where Merry is seated. His anguish acting like a pebble dropped into a pool of molten stone.

Suddenly he stands. Shakes his clenched fists. Shouts at the very top of his lungs.

"No!!!"

With an echoing shriek. The tunnel behind him caves in.

Chapter 30: Merry's SpaceBall gets a make-over; his emotions make waves

In the centre of the beach. Tethered just above the bleached blond sands. A tin air-balloon. The SpaceBall bobs and wallows like a giant mooring buoy in a gently chuntering sea.

To the north. At the foot of the Cliff-shanty. The Bees are auditioning the contents of their shopping trolleys to the ModMums. Who crow and cackle over the rainbow sari-silk and ballroom satin booty they find. It seems they can come out of hiding once Merry and his bodyguard are out of the way. Though Diana stands watch. Trumpet at the ready to blow should he re-appear.

Aphrodite has found some vintage Samurai swords. Their curves glint in her scarlet taloned grasp. Her decrepit assistants hold the shimmering fabric out in taut sheets. Cringing as if before a despotic queen. With Kung Fu cries she swings the blades in bewildering routines. Each steely flash slicing and dicing the material.

Medusa gathers up the intricate pieces. Her snakes holding a supply of needles and threads and other sewing implements ready for her. While. With surprising dancer's poise Tiresias channels Madonna. Voguing a rumpled and wrinkly series of famous statues. He models the fabric as Medusa pins and tucks. Sweeps and sews the swag into lavish and luminous costumes.

In the far distance. Atop a sand dune. I can see a tall clump of gangly Succulent wobble drunkenly. Their wetsuit flat leaves waving surrender like oversize spongy hands. Edith, the AnimaClok Emu, supervises their harvest. Penny-B harnesses the branches to her ebony Harley. Drags the huge plump leaves back across the dunes. Dumps them under the SpaceBall. Where they are stitched together to form huge continents of rubbery green.

Kiri and her Mother are sitting peaceably side by side assembling garlands of fake flowers from shaped and sculptured sea weeds. They are singing quietly together. I think I recognise the source. Madonna. At last Kiri seems at ease. Contented and happy.

Smuts is perched on a narrow bamboo platform that rings the upper section of the SpaceBall. She's working with Jake's video camera. Checking through his footage. Looking for images. Anything to do with nature. I think. I feel a bit of a voyeur peering over her shoulder.

She lingers on the footage of Merry meeting Penny-P. It's a bit puzzling. Hints of intrigue. Clearly there's a vibe there. A connection of some kind. Plus. What is all this business about his age? Anyway. Before I can sort it out. Smuts has hit Fast-forward. Scrolled on to another section.

Jake has found a new trail to follow. A mesmerising flow of miniature ripples in the water trickling down the cave walls. Matched by tiny concentric waves rolling towards him through the puddles on the floor. Tip toeing gently against their tide he makes his way up a tunnel to reach the great chamber. From a tunnel at 10 o'clock the water swells and surges forth in rhythmic waves. Perfectly in time to the sound of quiet sobbing.

Just as he is about to cross the pounding of steel-booted feet rings out into the space. Echoing and re-echoing like a thunderous timpani. Jake only just manages to throw himself back against the wall of his tunnel in time. Barely hidden in the shadows as a contingent of 'BotCops pass from left to right. Fortunately in the opposite direction to Merry's tunnel.

Hunched in a ball of damp misery Merry hears the steps. And. In a state of emotional debility misreads the situation. Grabs the wrong end of the stick. Adds One to One and comes up with something well over a hundred and fifty.

"See. Now they're not happy just leaving me alone. They have to chase me. Drive me down. Down and down these tunnels. Like some fox in a hunt." Raging and roaring. Totally convinced by his mis-reasoning he up and runs. His imagination gnawing at his feelings all the while.

He storms along through tunnels, over underground bridges. Highly agitated he begins to hyperventilate. The walls of tunnel are now vibrating so much in his immediate vicinity that they look more like holograms of black light than solid stone. The ground where he has stomped is almost molten. From a pipe above him a drip of water falls. Hits a recent footprint. And. Turns to steam.

Bobbing up and down in front of his forehead. Suspended on the elastic beam of light. Nauseous but determined Chubbs tries to get through to him.

"Merry. Merry! You need to calm down. Something I don't understand is happening around you!"

But. Merry just waves him away. As if he were no more than a nagging blowfly. His attention all focused on not crying.

"I feel bad so bad I don't know what to do. Everything hurts. Breathing hurts - thinking hurts My hands hurt ... my face hurts ... My chest hurts!"

He takes a huge gulping breath. Stillness.

Then he suddenly screams. Desperate. "What's happening to me?" The tunnels pitch violently at his feet.

The glasses flash a montage of mayhem at me. The tunnel utilities under strain. Ceiling pipes dripping. Electrical cables sparking. Large cracks starting to appear in walls. Throughout the labyrinth 'BotCops struggle to maintain their footing. Not far away now Jake lurches along after Merry.

A couple of 'Bot Cops stumble into view out of a side tunnel. But. They're swept back against the wall by a small tidal wave. Caused by Merry's flinging gesture of anguish.

"So! They don't want me - can't change that! So I'm here now - can't change that. And maybe I won't get to go home so... "

He storms through the tunnels. Flowing with ever more turbulent water. However. Merry's energy is parting the way for him. Like Moses through the Red Sea.

"So... It's not fair! It's not right!" He roars to the world at large. "I'm not taking this any more!!"

For a moment. everything is perfectly silent. Surprised into stillness. Then. A flash. Like The Enterprise hitting Warp speed. The energy field from Merry's anger ripples out through earth and rock. Heading for a huge water main. On the edge of rupture.

On the beach all activity has ceased. As everyone tries to hold their balance against the shimmying sands. Tiresias cocks an ear. Decides. And. Runs rapidly towards the sea.

Underground. A major artery is caught in an upthrust. Torn in two. Gallon upon gallon of raging water cascade out to sweep down the tunnel towards the main chamber. From there to spill throughout the labyrinth. Marauding. Merciless. Murderous.

Chapter 31: Drowning in The Tunnels of Terror

Deeper yet within the subterranean black soars another huge space. This one an ornate octagonal hall. Pillared and arched in rusted wrought-iron. Smoke figured brick and sooted tile. A long discarded underground Victorian station. All a bit Oliver Twist. Though now it's an underground lagoon. So. Any sensible pickpocketing urchin has long gone walkabout.

The knee-high swirling water surges. Tugs and yanks at Jake's balance. He struggles to keep his footing. Clings to a iron post. His hands lacerated on the torn metal. Around the cavern muffled and muddled voices echo and re-echo. He has no idea which of four tunnels to choose. Each of them seems to ring with the menacingly mechanical voices of 'BotCops. But then. From the tunnel behind him. Merry's voice. High pitched and piercing. Quivering with fury.

"I'm not taking this any longer!!!"

Jake turns and yells into the void, "Merry! Merry! It's Jake!"

"Jake? Jake! Where are y ... " Merry's cry is drowned out by the deafening sound of a flood in full cry.

Merry is focused on pinpointing Jake's where-abouts. So. Misses the wall of water rearing up behind him. Roaring like a bad-tempered panther. Stalking him. Bearing down slowly but ominously.

"Reach!" Chubbs' yell activates the MemMoss biohand. It shoots upwards. But. Without Merry's concentration it fumbles. Flaccid. Feeble. Its grip easily slips from the grill above. Merry watches it in mild surprise. Detached. In a state of shock.

Chubbs shouts and shouts. Blind nonsense. Incoherent noises. Squeals. Burps. Waves his arms erratically. Then in semaphore. Anything to rouse Merry from his stupour. Eventually. Merry shakes himself. Water sprays and spirals like off a wet dog. He tries to gather his wits. But. Too late. As the hand reaches up for a second time the wall of water hits them. The wave knocks Merry from his feet with a single swipe. He disappears under the tumbling torrent.

Jake stumbles along the tunnel. Faster now. In the shallow wake of the wave that is carrying Merry away. But. A snarl announces that it is not alone. It has brought the whole pride. A succession of ever higher waves. Clawing. Clutching at everything in their way. Of course 'just in time'. There's a ladder.

Geez. That's a surprise. Otherwise the story would've stopped right here. Minus a leading character. The glasses give me a poke in the ear. A mild electric shock. Okay. Okay. I'll play nice and go with the flow. See what I did there? Ouch!

The surge washes by. Jake is nearly knocked from his perch. The water flings flotsam and jetsam about it. Trying to dislodge him with surging debris. Then. The boiling breakers sweep a 'BotCop past him. To jam him against a twisted grill a little further down the tunnel.

The 'BotCop's visor is cracked. Crazed. Chest plates are scraped and scared. The numbers unreadable. One hand looks mangled. A miniature car wreck of twisted metals. Pinned against the bars s/he coughs feebly. Starts to slip down.

Jake yells. "Hang on, officer! I'm coming!"

The 'BotCop gestures feebly. Dismissive. As if to say, "No. Stay there. I can deal with this."

"You're hurt!" Jake is not to be denied. Takes a deep breath. Lets himself go from the ladder

The 'BotCop bawls, "No!" Basso. So. Definitely a bloke.

But. Jake is in the water. Well. Under the water. He disappears for a heart-stopping moment. Appears. Struggles for air. Then is gone again. The last wave passes. The murky water is now just a turgid swirl.

There is a long pause. Long. Longer. Longest.

Okay I was wrong. You can kill off a major character in a story. Ouch! Another electric clip over the ear.

The 'BotCop searches wildly about. Gradually lowering himself by his one good hand. Desperately. He grapples in the water with the other crippled limb. Suddenly. His whole body tenses. The robotic hand on the gate creaks with effort. As. He braces himself. Inch by inch Jake comes into view. Gurgling and spitting. He clambers up the 'BotCop's body. Agonisingly slow. Hand over hand. Fingertips wincing as they grasp at the torn chest plate. Till finally. They cling together. In each others arms. Exhausted. But. Exhilarated at survival.

Jake lifts aside a piece of broken visor. Beneath there is a web of scar tissue. A bright blue eye among the wreckage. The picture is less human even than Robocop. But. Jake is unfazed. He grins.

"Hey Chad!"

BC16 twists his bionic jaw. Into a parody of a smile. Grunts through the remaining frame. "Hey Jake."

Suddenly. A screech. And. A lurch. The gate breaks free. They are swept away. Still in tight embrace.

Merry sweeps down the tunnel at high speed. It's kinda like down a tumultuous water slide. But. With real dangers. Corners that scrape skin. Hanging pipes that crack skulls. He yells over the rushing water. "Get me out of here!"

Chubbs snarls back. "I don't have any sympathy. It's all your own doing."

"But I haven't done anything!" Merry considers for moment. Decides. "At least not recently."

Chubbs retorts. "Okay then - its your own Being. Definitely a case of like father like son!"

"I caused this?" Merry is puzzled. Then. Adamant. "No! Never!" A wave rises behind him. Dunks him in a flurry of foam. Some underwater flailing. And. Merry surfaces violently a little further along. Spitting water. Spitting tacks. Shouting.

"No! I won't be like my father!"

Just ahead. Rocks crash from the roof. Block the tunnel. Their backwash sweeps Merry at right angles off into another tunnel.

Merry gets the point. His face sags into a picture of discouragement. Hopelessness. He ceases to struggle. Sinks beneath the water. All I can see is the beam of light projecting Chubbs. Hurtling downstream like a submarine periscope.

Chubbs frantically calls for Merry. But the transmission becomes more and more intermittent. He finally flickers and disappears.

For a while. The glasses focus on water cascading over a brick weir. It's suddenly all very still. Quiet. Moments pass. Eventually a bundle of black and white surfaces. Rotates once. Twice. Then. Sails over the weir like a rag doll.

Chapter 32: On Earth Sam cries a lot; On Urf there's a lucky escape

OK. Usually. This is where the story gets stuck. So. Let's take a moment. Give myself some breathing space. Anyway. It's time for a refreshment break. There's a gurgling stomach wanting kai.

Glasses off. Down to the kitchen. Banana. Ice. Honey. Into the blender. Oh ...

There's no point in crying over spilt milk. They say. So I won't. But tell you what. I'm finding it bloo... very difficult pouring what's left of it into the glass. Especially with this sudden dose of hayfever, eh.

So ... You're not convinced. I'm not convinced. The blind bag lady down the lane would struggle to be convinced. Even if she's as mad as a cut snake.

You didn't hear that. But. I sighed. Long. Loud. And. Yes. There's tears. All very cinematic. Dramatic. Except for the hiccups. Which are convulsive. Spastic. Ugly.

I grab a tea towel. Then discard it. Little homemaker Ad' ... Sorry unfair. Anyway. He likes things to be hygienic. So I crumple a rather large number of paper towels to mop up. The milk. And. Me.

A couple of hours later. OK. Stretching the truth again for effect. Really only a few minutes further down the track here I am. Sitting on cool tiles of the floor. Almost under the kitchen table. Patting at the last puddle of white.

Silent. Still. Oddly. Quite calm. Almost on the verge of cheerful. And. There you are. Rising up in my mind's eye. Grinning right in my face. Gaptoothed triumphant. Meaning 'I won'. And you did. 'Coz I can't get you out of my mind.

So little bro' ... Here I am, eh. Spilling it out. Spelling it out ...

I miss you. I always have. I always will.

Goodbye Jimmy.

So. Now fortified with some calories. And perhaps. A home truth or two. Let's see whether the Spec's will give me the next instalment.

OK. That'll be a yes then. Because. Back in Lens La la Land ...

Can see Jake and BC16 being swept down yet another tunnel. Clinging to their metal gate. One more semi-funfair ride with dangerous possibilities. Plus. Great potential for 'Gameplay Spin-off'.

Suddenly. The tunnel narrows. The gate tips up. Jams upright across the lower two thirds of the opening. Its hold is pretty precarious. As they discover when Jake goes to move. BC16 ducks his wounded head. Trying to avoid a shaft of searing sunlight. Jake looks up to see an open manhole. On the far side of the trapped gate.

Gingerly. Inch by inch. Agonisingly slowly. Trying not to upset the balance. They cautiously edge up and over to the other side of the gate. They've almost made it. When there's a thump. Jake looses his footing. Falls. Disappears. Then surfaces. A fist clenching white tulle.

One handed Jake tows at the fabric. Reeling in Merry like a fighting Marlin. At last. Merry's face splutters to the surface. Alive. But. Too weak to help. Jake tries to swim. Muscles straining. Bulging. Sexy. Nice. But. They're stuck.

The gate shivers on its temporary moorings. BC16 starts to crawl to their rescue. Loses his grip at the sudden blare of a trumpet. The shock of its deafening fanfare knocking him into the water with the others.

The gate finally gives up the ghost. Its dead weight gathering them up. Plunging them down the tunnel. To tangle them in a rope ladder dangling from the manhole (person-hole?) above. They grip it for grim death. As. The gate hurtles off into the distance.

A shadow falls from the manhole. Diana peers through at them.

"Would you geezers quit larking about. Climb the blooming ladder. We're late!"

Above. At street level. It's another flood. A kaleidoscopic boiling and bubbling sea of people. A chaotic bustle of shouting and shoving. The crowd's iridescent colours swirl like oil slides at a school dance. Their exaggerated shapes and forms lock and unlock. A falsetto voice flutes commandingly. "Move aside please. Move aside please. Drag Queen coming through!" The crowd parts like the Red Sea. Creating an transient catwalk. A burly bearded figure sashays by. Six foot plus resplendent in silver lamé. Stalking sturdily on ten inch heels through the applauding throng.

By the gutter's edge an old red postbox splits the tide. In its shadow lie our three heroes. A damp heap of exhaustion. An oasis of still among the playful partying. But. Their respite is short lived. Suddenly they sit up with a start. Fingers to ears. Trying to dislodge the searing ring of Diana's bugle from their lugholes. She merely laughs. And. Plays the eccentric lipsticked boxing trainer. Throwing towels around their shoulders. Prior to pouncing on Merry from behind. To place a large Band-Aid plaster over the Cherub bindi before he can appear. Identify her.

Merry grabs her bathrobe. Whispers to her. "Sorry. I'm so sorry." Over and over again. Till she shakes him.

"There's nothing to apologise for."

Merry bites his lip. Fighting tears. "Yes there is. It's all my fault. I didn't know."

"So you take after your Dad." Diana shrugs. "Exactly what about that is a surprise?"

Merry is shocked into clarity. He sits up. Stares straight at her. "But I don't want to be like him!"

"You silly chump. So, you have his way with a few of the primal powers of the Universe. You don't have to use them as he does." Diana is entirely unfussed. "Just a guess, but I suspect that you also have more than a modicum of your mother's talents."

Merry goes to protest. Diana holds up a silencing hand. "It's all part of growing up. Finding your powers. Learning to control them. Let me assure you. It's not that important. There's a wide world of other much more enjoyable things to explore."

Merry is unconvinced. Turns to the others to apologise to them. But. They look at him as though he were mad.

"That was massive!" Jake is on an adrenaline high. "Better than any funfair ride I've ever been on!"

BC16 is equally thrilled. "We haven't had an adventure like that for years."

"Good one Merry!" Jake thumps him on the back enthusiastically.

Merry is bemused. "Thanks. I guess ... "

All further conversation is overwhelmed by the throb of beats. A competition of dance grooves swirls around them. Diana blows a complimentary riff. A classic gaunt Jazz flourish. Miles Davis. If I remember Da's Blue Note records right. She heads off into the midst of the bustling, dancing crowd. A geriatric go-go dancer.

As Diana disappears into the méllé. The boys clamber carefully to their feet. Wobble a bit. And. Supporting each other. Begin to chase the sound of her bugle. Forcing their way upstream against the crowd. Occasionally over their heads they catch glimpses of fanciful structures framed by huge gantries bearing lights and speakers.

For a moment. They almost lose Diana avoiding some 'BotCops. Until a particularly atonal screech calls them from the distance. Desperate now. They push madly through the bustling crowd. Break out onto the road itself. And. Stand silently. In breathless disbelief.

Chapter 33: A portable party; plus transformations

The purple sky flashes brilliant with the evening storm. The sentinel dunes looming over the city are spit and spark. Chiselled lightning setting off some element in the sand. Exploding metres high fountains of silvery fireworks.

Merry throws up his hands in surrender. "Don't blame me!"

Then. In an instant it is all still. The last segment of orange sun wobbles indecisively. Before. Falling suddenly below the purple horizon. Dark. Silence. Then. A cheer rises. Disolving into laughter and shouting. Lanterns are lit. And. A vivid wash of carnival colour splashes the streets. Revealing a mad caricature of a circus parade.

"Happy Topsy Turvey!" shouts a familiar voice. And there. In front of them. Tiresias. Dressed for unknown reasons as a Edwardian Bathing Belle. All boned corset and beach towel striped pantaloons. Plus the all important fringed parasol. He's astride what was once a Penny-farthing bicycle. Though its 19th century frame now seems capable of hovering. And. Is festooned of wizzbang electronics. Connected to a plump power cord. Snaking off skywards.

"Hang on a mo'. Need to get the juice flowing." He rises up and begins to pedal the spindly front wheel. Soon his feet are a blur. He rings the bell on the handle bars.

"Ignition on! Firing up now!" Penelope-Black roars in response from somewhere in the shadows.

An electric whine sets off the hairs on the back of my neck. A shiver runs down my spine. But. It's a buildup to nothing. The starter-motor drone falters. Falls into silence. Smuts runs up to the bike. Tinkers with some obscure device.

At last. Very slowly. Faintly. Floating above Tirry's head. A huge orb begins to glow. For a moment it is no more than a mirage. Shimmering. An artificial Harvest Moon. Then it flickers twice. And. There it is. In full glory. A enormous globe of Urf. Looking like Earth as you and I know it. The blue planet. Set with emerald continents. Sparkling like a sapphire against dark Space. Merry's SpaceBall in splendid disguise.

On the very top sits Kiri's mum. Haloed by a halogen full-moon. She's wearing a white silk sari, threaded in gold. Tied in the manner of a Greek Toga. Orpheus the kitten purrs mechanically on her lap. Merry gasps. "Mother?"

Kiri appears at his side. Glowing. A garland of spring flowers woven round her hair. "Yeh, that's my Mum. Looking great eh!"

"Great ... " Merry is a bit stunned. But. Kiri doesn't seem to notice.

"We're sorta doing an ecological number. She's Persephone... "

Merry finishes her sentence. "The Goddess of Spring."

Penny-B roars into view on her Harley. Her voice louder than the engine. "Enough schilly schallying. They're calling for us to take our places!"

The Beach-Bums shuffle out. Subtly transformed. The effect is like 3D. Without the glasses. Two images over-laid. Just a fraction out of line. Except. In this case it goes a stage further. One image is of addled-pated muddle-dressed decrepitude. But. The other is of godlike limitless beauty and power.

The old man who used to potter about in rock pools. Stamping his feet. Making splashing noises. Pretending to make storm waves. Now also seems to be channeling Poseidon. The crone who used make tiny sheaves out of dried grass is parallel projecting Demeter. The golden Goddess of Harvest. While the elderly bloke who liked run up and down the beach trailing an old sheet. Pretending to paraglide. Has transformed into Superman. Though. I suspect that's just the Spec's attempt at making a joke.

Thanks to Aphrodite and Medusa. Jake and BC16 are now looking resplendent in matching orange and blue saris. Diana replaces BC16's cracked visor with a pair of very stylish Raybans.

Kiri is very impressed. "You boys look sweet as!"

"They are an exceptionally handsome couple." crows Diana.

Jake mumbles. Embarrassed. "Oh shudduuuup." BC16 echoes him. Almost simultaneously.

Kiri and the ModMums laugh. They turn away to fall into line. The two boys shyly link hands.

The Beach-Bum Gods and Goddesses - now aka The BeeGees - have created a formation to lead the Globe. Some are hitching it to Penny-B's motorbike with ropes twined with garlands of flowers. Smuts climbs up beside the toiling Tiresias. Mops his brow. Blots his lipstick.

The ModMums help Kiri, Jake, and BC16 onto a platform hanging at the base of the SpaceBall. They all gasp as they look out over the many floats lined up in front of them. Ready for the Parade.

Diana parps a flourish on her bugle. And. They're off! The ModMums leading the BeeGees. Followed by Penny-B towing the UrfBall. They turn onto the main Mardi Gras route. The crowds begin to cheer.

Chapter 34: A 'Topsy Turvy' music video - You all sing along now!

Enough already! The glasses have gone feral with images. Trying to capture the vibrant Topsy Turvey essence of the Parade. They've plundered my knowledge of video and photo software. Like a beginner. Have thrown in. Stacked up. Overlaid. Overplayed with every special effect available. In random chaotic cascades. Twirling. Swirling. Furling and unfurling. Picture upon picture. Clip by clip. A meaningless mess.

Oi! If you don't stop I am not responsible for my reactions! I will chuck. Chunder. Let fly with a technocolour yawn! The Spec's take this as a cue to redouble their psychodelic efforts. OK. Let's make this simple. Direct. I am about to vomit!

The brakes squeal on. The hurtling montage screams to a halt. Fade to Black.

The lenses blink. Once. Twice. Thrice even. Consider. And then. Send slow simple soft images. A fluffy kitten. Or four. In cute poses. What is this? Vintage Facebook? My gorge rises. Instant plain blue screen. In the foreground. Nemo bows in apology.

You're getting over-excited. Aren't you? The thought of a parade. A celebration has addled your wits. No. Not that Nemo you clown! Geddit? Obsequience in that manner is unlikely. If not impossible. Fish don't have waists. We're talking the other Nemo. Plug-me-in. Phone-me-home. Nemo from The Matrix. All serene and saintly. Soothing.

Apology accepted. Now. What was your point?

So. Here we go again. But this time. Without the digital frills and trippy FX. Another trip round the block trying for a 'Tube moment. YouTube. TheirTube. MeTube. MakingAFoolOfYourself-Tube. Sorta what the Da'-Ad's refer to as a music video. Sadly. The past couple of journeys down this road with them have involved silly soggy soppy songs. The kind that pop unbidden into mind at inappropriate moments. So. It's up to you to create this soundtrack. Think party-time. Think dance-floor. Think fun and fabulous. And no. Abba doesn't count.

Got it? Now sing to yourself. As you read this. Watch this in your inner mind. Multitask. You know you can do it. I've seen you pick your nose and scratch your ar... bottom all at the same time.

The floats move out. Well? More like rumble forth. Huge belching trucks hauling trailers festooned with fantasy scenes. Some more fantastic than others. Some. Strangely point-pixelated into obscurity by the Spec's. Spoil sports! These pictorial platforms are intermixed at street level with vibrant ensembles. Flamboyant marching teams. Throbbing dancing throngs. Festooned with exotic costumes. Pulsing with colour.

The crowd shouts. And. Shouts again. And again. To every passing sector of the Parade. "Happy Topsy Turvey!" And. Not surprisingly they're right. Everything is Oopsy Daisy. Upside down. Downside up. Inside out. Outside in. Who knows what's their left and what's their right. Tonight it's all about opposites.

There's children dressed as old folk. Grey bearded Father Times. Old Father Williams. White bearded Santa Claus. Wise Witches and Wicked Wizards. Even a solitary but majestic Grandfather Clock.

Old folk dressed as children. Romper suited. Nappied. Dummies in their mouths beneath beards and moustaches. Rattles in their liver-spotted hands. Reeling. Falling about as if taking their very first steps. Crying for their mothers. And. Their bottles. And. Long-lost rag dolls and teddies.

Poor people dressed as if Rich. Fat Pillows stuffed down shiny suits. Reddened noses. Blotched cheeks. Even some "fat cats" preening their whiskers. Lording it. Arrogantly waddling down the street as if they owned it. All to the exuberant amused Boos of the crowd.

The Rich dressed as Poor. Begging bowls in hands. Haranguing the crowd to give them alms. Most receive merely a piece of someone's mind. Which they seem to accept with reasonable grace.

Just in front of the UrfBall. Marches the Synchronised Shakespeare team playing the gender swap card. Celebrating the women who dressed as men. Led by a team of Portias extolling "the quality of mercy". Followed closely by another 20 Violas exhorting us to "build me a willow cabin". Next. A motley collection of his heroines who put on soldierly armour expounding bravery and the way of the sword. The rear is brought up by this years guest heroine. A phalanx of mail-coated St Joans quoting simultaneously from George Bernard Shaw.

Behind the Urfball. The Pretty Men team. Frocking up. Taking their cue from traditional cross-dressing celebrations all over the world. There's groups from Indian, Jewish, and Japanese cultures. To list but a few.

Ah! Here's a group specially for me. The "Unquiet Chorale". Only membership requirement? To have been told to shut up in school choir. Or. By well meaning teachers "Dear, face it, you'll never sing!" Now. Singing lustily to confound all those nay-sayers.

Or. What about this one. The "Unco - Athletes". Patron Saint Janis Ian. For all those who got picked last for "The Team". Any team. However. It seems they've grown up rather nicely. Left behind all vestiges of unco-ordination to become quite a brawny bunch of handsome men and women. And. In their own Topsy Turvy way pretty athletic.

Behind them. On the back of artic' truck a game of wheelchair basketball careens about. Precariously avoiding disaster on its cramped court. Beneath a banner that declares "Don't Dis' Us".

All about are giggling, prancing gaggles of children. All ages. Dressed in the usual array of fairy and super hero costumes. Their double-dads and duo-mums grin a little desperately at their exuberant off spring. Both proud of them and concerned for good behaviour!

Sprinkled about amongst these. And so many more. Are happy couples. All combinations. In plain clothes. In dress-up clothes. In next-to-no clothes. Meandering amongst the bedlam. Cheerily enjoying a big night out. I almost expect to see Da' and Ad'.

Back at the UrfBall. The BeeGees have begun to sing and dance. A huge formation number. Prancing up and down a pretend Catwalk. All very Zoolander with overtones of Madonna circa Vogue. Plus random snatches of tap, ballet, clog, and Greek Dancing. Now. Their double-vision selves entirely given over to their godlike natures.

You still singing? Giving this MTV video-doco a suitable soundtrack? Well. Take another breath. Or twelve. Because the whole phantasmagoric occasion takes a goodly hour to pass in all its glory. If you like you can take a moment's respite. Silently focus on an intimate moment. A heart-warming interlude. Gently without drawing attention to yourselves. Behold.

Kiri looking up at her mother. Atop the globe. Happily waving to the crowd. She looks down. Catches Kiri's eye. Their hands reach out. And. A la Sistine Chapel ceiling. A Michelangelo moment. Their finger tips almost touching.

Chapter 35: Making It Home is a mixed blessing for Kiri and her Mum

Slimed!! Coated in green cack. What a grate (sic = exactly) way to finish the Parade. Where are Ghostbusters when you need them? And a hose. Of course it's virtual. So. A shake of the head. A rapid blinking. And. The lenses of the glasses are clear again.

Close by. Another javelin of lightning hits a giant succulent. Ever seen a lime jelly explode? Well a bit like that. With unpleasant overtones of a toad blowing up. Not that I've seen either. Just guessing. Like a car accident I watch it happen in slo' mo'. 10 metres of rubbery leaf turning to emerald mush. Fountaining up and out. A liquid firework. A spectacular splatter of alien guts. Green gunk glooping the BeeGees. And me again to good effect!

Much squealing in disgust. Though. Tiresias always up for a culinary adventure tries a sample. His lips pucker. More than usual if that is possible. His whitened eyeballs spin in their sockets. A massed holding of breath. He quivers. Shivers. Shakes. Then. After a pause. Shrugs his shoulders as if to toss the experience off.

"Needs salt!"

Kiri's mum is about to do the taste test. When. A pack (a pouch?) of panicked AnimaClok Kangaroos charge across the road. And. The UrfBall parade crew prepare to take the opportunity to scatter. Head off to their respective homes. But. Penny-B hushes them. Gathers them back in formation. Kiri and her mum need to be dropped at home. Then the SpaceBall parked by the harbour. And finally. Opened.

At the front gate of the patchwork house the SpaceBall bobs. Almost invisible against the dark sky. Out in the ticky tacky suburbs it's almost jet black. No street lights. Not a star to be seen. Perhaps they don't have stars in this part of the Universe. But the glasses focus on a break in growling clouds. Reveal more wobbly red suns at star distance.

The ModMums are hushing everyone in tones that could wake the dead. On a distant planet. Of course provoking everyone else to hiss "sh" in return. A noisy cacophony of mad snakes. Jake and BC16 help Kiri's mum down. She curtseys her appreciation. The boys bow stiffly in return. Yes. Uncool. But sweet.

Everyone relaxes. Kiri and her mum have made it home in one piece. Safe and sound. Then. The front door suddenly swings open. A shaft of light catches them like startled rabbits. You know. Headlight Hiatus. That daft idea that if you freeze perfectly still then you're invisible. Not!

Outlined in the glow stands Kiri's Dad. Dandling a sniffily baby on his hip. His wispy hair tousled. He looks like a big bewildered bub himself. "What on Urf is going on out here?"

Behind her back. Kiri makes desperate shooing motions. "Nothing Dad. Nothing at all."

The others stand quite still. Beaming expectantly. Kiri's gestures become more frenzied. Finally. They get the point. Shuffle shyly out of the light. To leave Kiri's mum standing by the letterbox. Her white gold sari agleam in a tiny pool of electric light. Merry lingers. Watching her wistfully till a crabbed hand snatches him into the darkness. And. Out of sight.

Kiri's Mum runs gaily up the path to the front door. Her flower head-wreath at a jaunty angle. She takes the baby. Kisses it.

Her husband asks tentatively. Trying to sound unconcerned. "How are you?"

She smiles up at him. Easy. Elegant. A old time screen queen. Kate Hepburn in Philadelphia Story. "Oh. I'm fine. Just fine! Are you fine?"

"Yes... Yes. I'm fine." He lies.

"Oh fine!"

Kiri joins them. Beaming. It does indeed all seem fine.

Her mum spins on the spot. The baby gurgles in pleasure. "I've had the loveliest time and met the loveliest people. You know Sir Richard the famous botanist? Well let me introduce you to ..." She turns to Kiri. "Sir Richard's eldest daughter." Kiri's smile freezes on her face. "I'm sorry dear - such a silly. I've forgotten your name."

Kiri gulps. Whispers. Only just audible. "Kiri."

For a moment her Mum frowns. Chasing some fleeting phantom of memory. Then. Her face brightens. Her family hold their breath. "Well, Kiri darling, while you're on holiday here, you must think of our home as your home."

Her Dad takes Kiri gently by the hand. "Won't you come inside dear?"

She takes a big breath. Smiles bravely at him. "Thank you very much. That would be lovely."

The kettle whistles. Both Kiri and her Dad jump. Each waking from a private thought. Her dad makes himself move. Be busy. Normal. He mops up the spilt sugar. Fetches some mugs from the cupboard. Sets one of them on a tray by itself. Its glaze informing us that 'My Mum is Special'. Which is unfortunately a bit too true if you think about it. They both stare at it. Silent. Avoiding each other's gaze. Eventually.

"Are you okay?"

"Not really."

"Me neither."

Another long silence. The tea brews. Kiri has come to a decision. But. Before she can turn it into words the baby screams. Sudden. Loud. From the living room. They both rush headlong to the door.

Kiri's mum looks up in mild surprise. Smiles at them. Then returns to blowing buzzing bubbles on the baby's tummy. The baby screams again. In a thrilled terror of delight.

Shakily. Her hubby and daughter return to the kitchen. They hug. Clinging on as if life depended on it. With his free hand Kiri's Dad undoes her braids. Smooths her hair. Soothes her. Gentles her like you would a frightened colt. After a while. Her face still buried in his flannelette shirt. Kiri mutters.

"Does she have to go to the hospital?"

Her father puts her arms length from him. Looks her in the eye. "We can't keep an eye on her all day, everyday."

"But she won't hurt anyone. Never the baby."

"Which is why we ran so fast just then, eh?" He smiles at her ruefully. "Listen love, of course she'd never deliberately hurt or endanger the baby. But she forgets. She could leave him anywhere and not even know."

Kiri takes in a big breath. Let's out the big fear. "But if she goes in she'll never make it back home again."

"I promise that no matter what happens, next school holidays when we're all here we'll fetch her." He grips her tighter. Willing her to hear. To understand.

Kiri stares back. "You can't promise that."

"But I can try. I promise I will try."

Kiri studies him. Taking in the early wrinkles. His thinning thatch. The weary eyes. Smiles. "Thanks Dad."

She reaches up. Pulls his head down towards her. Kisses him on the bald patch. The child, a parent of the child.

He stands in the doorway. Watching. Kiri heading off down the hall to bed. His wife sitting in the living room. The baby now asleep on her knee. The standard lamp lights them like a Xmas card nativity. A flash of lightening reveals his welling eyes. He turns away.

In her bedroom Kiri has dragged out her battered trombone. Puts it to her lips. An expression of sensitive artistic genius suffuses her face. She takes a deep breath. We await a melancholy lament of love and longing. But. She blows a very ripe raspberry. A fruity fart of a note. Ripping through the dark like a torn sheet.

She grins ruefully.

Chapter 36: Tension and foreboding; the SpaceBall gives up a tiny secret

Mum refused to call it her Monthly. Said it sounded like a prim Girl's Annual from the 1930s. Populated by prissy prats rambling about in rollicking school yarns. The type where the height of adventure is a midnight feast in the 'Dorm'. Mallory Of The 4th. 5th. 6th. Form that is. Senior high school. Anyway. She said. It was much too discombobulating to have a cute nickname. And. 'The Curse' was too negative. Seeing it was part of the creative life cycle. "Filling my gumboots" was her favourite. "Bleeding like a stuck pig" saved for really bad days.

Yeah. We talked about that stuff. Said I should know for when I got married. We even laughed about that the day she ... went tutu. I'm in Oz now so I guess ... went walkabout. Sorry. Gonna to use a euphemism here. For the time being.

My point?

I recognise the mood. The atmosphere. The foreboding. Frowning. Heavy with promise of tantrum. A potential Hissy Fit. Waiting to end in tears. Stand clear folks!

The open field, where the Opera House should be in Sydney Harbour, churns with it. Inky fumes of premonition float just beyond sight. But still cut-with-a-knife solid. Calm before trouble.

It's not just the lowering clouds seething across the night sky. Nor the knife sharp lightning scything down to earth. The ModMums have been fighting. About what I have no idea. Because. They seem to have some sense when they're being watched. So for now. For me. For the others. It's all goodness and light. Gracious assistance. Smiling support. Exquisitely choreographed co-operation as they divest Merry's SpaceBall of decorations.

The family cat Small always retained a kittenish inclination. Even into arthritic old age. One minute. He'd be sitting quietly out on the terrace. Then. Without warning. He would leap high in the air. Turning once completely about. A moment later. He'd be sitting quite still. All innocence. With a faint air of shock. "Gosh, who did that?

Well the ModMums have that air. Although. Medusa looks as if she's biting her tongue. Hard.

The BeeGees have formed a tight clump. Out in the middle of the field. A rugby team pep-talk huddle. I can't work out what they're muttering. But again. There's a threatening vibe. They've stopped their flicking morph now. Settled into solid form. Taken up their hidden shadow mantle. Grandparent Greek God/Goddess Grey Power. Care worn. Wrinkled. But Never-the-less muscular. Commanding. And preparing for something. A Test Match? Unlikely. But why did I think that? Guess they look a bit like the All Blacks. Warriors. Lining up for the Haka before an International.

Interestingly. The younger ones seem immune to the ambience. Though Merry seems quite dispirited. Just tired? He listens without much interest while Penelope-Black consults with Chubbs about his SpaceBall. "Are you have sure you don't have any idea how to get it open?"

"The link between our ships is broken." Chubbs snaps. Brittle. On edge. Lying? "I can't operate the system from here, and I have no access to any diagnostic data. I can't do anything. I can't suggest anything. I can't help in any way!"

The discussion is interrupted by the roar of an engine. Tiresias and Smuts ride by on Penny-B's Harley. Tiresias is at the helm. Smuts is standing on the seat behind him. Gabbling guidance info in his ear.

"You daft blind dingbat." Penny is aghast with fury. "Bring that child back this instant!"

Unfortunately. Her shout causes Smuts to lose her concentration. Tirry looks suddenly confused. "What?"

Out of control now. They ride full speed up a ramped sand dune. To fly skywards. Up and over. Out of sight.

Penny-B and Merry rush to the top. To see them jump the gap between two wharves. The Glasses give me a slo mo replay. A close-up on Smuts' face full of joyous terror. A medium-shot of a barnacled AnimaClok shark. Looking up in surprise to see them pass over head. Climax. A wide-shot as they land. To ride full tilt into a blue telephone booth.

They disappear entirely from view. So. I guess it's much bigger on the inside. Plus. There's quite a wait until the sound of impact. A couple of moments later a lone wheel rolls back out the door. A car wheel. Which fulfilling all good narrative rules. Bounces into the air. Bangs into the SpaceBall. Which lights up at the site of impact.

"Well the circuitry is are still alive." Merry has perked up. "Going through the meteor storm on the way to Urf must have just scrambled some operating code."

Penny-B gets bossy. Did she ever stop? "Chubbs get on to it. I need to find out the fate of my bike!" She strides towards Tirry and Smuts peering guiltily out of the Telephone box. Fortunately unhurt.

"We need a password." Chubbs shrugs. "But Zeus knows what it is."

Jake has wandered over to join them. Merry jokes with him. "Any good at computer hacking?"

"Too right but!" Jake lights up. "Let me at it. Where's the programming interface?"

Merry thinks a moment. "Well, I guess that'll be the whole hull skin."

"I don't have hands that big!"

Merry laughs ruefully. "Oh! Well leave it till daylight. I'll make a plan then. You've done enough for the moment." His attention has wandered. Caught by the sight of a shower of sparks that mark where Aphrodite is rewelding the last piece of BC16's armour. Merry rambles over to them. Leaving a momentary shining wake in the long grass. A streak of moonlight across a black sea.

The night is about to end. A thin blade of neon green lights up the horizon. The Spec's mist slightly in the plummeting temperature heralding the dawn. Under the SpaceBall Jake tries to rub some life back into his hands. Whistling to himself at the cold.

"Phew ... "

Unexpectedly. A tiny area of the SpaceBall directly above him lights. And. A miniature metal hatch clicks open.

"What the ...?" Jake looks up in surprise. Jaw dropped. Catching flies. As they say. (Who says?)

Smuts runs to him. Gabbling volubly.

"Okay!" Jake responds. And whistles again. The hatch closes.

Grinning. Smuts gabbles again.

"So it responds to sound." Jake is less convinced. "It'd take a mighty loud sound to activate the whole surface!"

They look at each other in realisation. A beat. Then. Simultaneously yell.

"Kiri!"

Chapter 37: BC16 gets re-armed thanks to Merry & some Angel ... bi-product

"It grows on Angel shi... cra... poo!?" BC16 holds Merry's ex-arm with the tips of his good fingers. Well away from himself. Though can't resist the temptation to gingerly sniff it. From afar.

OK. That's a great way to start a new scene. But. What the heck is going on? We've jumped some info here. The glasses go into rapid rewind. Begin again with me paying attention this time.

In that Now the dawn is yet a little shy of daylight. Aphrodite is putting a final sheen on BC16's repaired armour. However. His mangled arm still hangs limply by his side. Merry wends his way through the long grass towards them. Leaving a trail of shimmering blades. He watches for a moment. Hesitant. Then speaks tentatively. Slightly embarrassed. "I have something for you."

BC16 looks surprised. "For me."

"Yes. Seeing as all that damage is my fault."

BC16 splutters a bit in protest. But. Aphrodite cuts in. "Darlink! Perhaps you should see what it is first."

Merry takes firm hold of his arm. Pulls the MemMoss surface off with a quick tug. His eyes water briefly at the sting. He holds it out to BC16. Who automatically pulls a gun on it. The flesh recoils. Tries to take on some shape. Trying to disguise itself as commonplace objects. But. No longer attached to Merry's skin it hasn't the energy. Merely ends up looking like a small flailing squid.

"Puhlease! It bites not." reassures Aphrodite. "Unless you ask it to, Darlink."

BC16 reluctantly lowers the gun. "What is it?"

"Actually, it's a she." Merry explains. "She's MemMoss. A form of sentient plant. Not very bright. But telepathic. Able to respond to a larger mind. Take form as it wishes. That struggle to take shape there is her equivalent of memory. Her nerves still have a bit of my thought left over in them."

BC16 still looks confused.

"Put her on a part of your body and she will conform to it. Then amplify its abilities. I thought you could wear her to sort out your broken arm."

BC16 takes the MemMoss. Studies it. "A thinking plant, but?"

"Yeh, it grows on a semi-precious stone planet near Olympus. A stopping off place for Angels."

"Angels make them?"

"In a way." Merry and Aphrodite laugh. "It grows on their droppings."

"It grows on Angel shi... cra... poo!?" Quivering. BC16 nearly drops it.

We've come the circle.

"But of course. The guano is very nutritious." Aphrodite pats the MemMoss. It squirms slightly. Shivers with pleasure at her touch. And for a fleeting instant. Sits on her finger as an enormous rose diamond. "You think that angels do not need to eliminate? All creatures need to go to the lavatory in one way or another. In their case the result is more of a Gel. A crystal clear mucus made of redundant Amore. Always with a faint hint of Chanel No5."

BC16 carefully places it on his damaged arm. Nothing happens.

"You have to talk to it." Merry explains. "After a while she will just respond to the tiniest thought."

BC16 looks sceptical. Then. Puts on slightly formal voice. "'Ullo 'ullo 'ullo. Testing 1, 2, 3..." he waits for a response. Nothing. Tries the formal approach. "Pleased to met you. My name is Chad. Oh... " the recollection of his original identity floors him.

"Tell her you'd like her to become your arm." Merry encourages.

BC16 takes a deep breath. Aims for friendly. Surfer-dude style. "Hey! It'd be really cool if you'd be my right arm. I mean, if that's copacetic with you... ?"

Before he has even finished. The MemMoss has shaken herself. Liquefied. And. Is flowing to form herself over his limb.

BC16 squeals. Loudly. Shouts. "No! No!" at the top of his iron lungs. Then. Falls to the ground. In a panting heap. Everyone looks on in astonishment.

"Sorry. Just a bit ticklish."

The MemMoss works more slowly. Tenderly. BC16 bites his lip till she is finished. Then. Holds up a perfectly functioning hand. Which suddenly turns into a vicious looking fat needle. Merry and Aphrodite jump back. But. BC16 inserts the needle under his thigh armour. Wiggles it about.

"You have no idea how great it is to be able to scratch an itch!" He sighs with relief. The others echo him. Though. For different reasons.

There's a clatter from inside the PoliceBox. Penelope-Pink emerges. Like an animated pearl-bedecked powder-puff. Pushing her pale cerise Vespa. However. Her breathy cut-glass vowels are tinged with teacherly sternness.

"Ooo, Mr T! I am very displeased with that infantile display. Someone could have got seriously hurt!" She waggles a perfectly manicured finger. Tipped with immaculate rose nail varnish. "You, my dear, could have come quite the gutser!"

Tiresias tries to look innocent. But. Appears more like someone with a severe digestive difficulty. In the background. The motor scooter coughs politely. Shudders a little. As if trying to shake off the frightening memories of its black Harley previous life.

Jake runs across to them. "Miss. Miss!"

"Last warning. Call me Penelope, my Pretty Pretty!" Penny-P admonishes him cheerfully.

He ducks his head. To hide the blush. "Sorry... Penelope. Can we borrow your scooter?"

"Ooo, I don't know whether that is an altogether sensible idea. It's rather skitterish at the moment."

But. Jake has commandeered it. Without waiting for her to finish her response. "You're an angel."

"Ooo! Never an angel. An Arch-Angel on occasion, my Pretty Pretty. But I've certainly never perched on a rock in all my life." Penny-P shivers with distaste. "I never book a star lower than the Hilton!"

Jake rises to kick start. "I'll be back with Kiri in a flash."

The little scooter emits a mighty roar. The Harley engine still resides beneath it's curvy cowlings.

"Ooo, I doooo hope it'll be alright." Penny-P gasps in horror.

Tiresias reaches out to comfort her. Patting Smuts on the head instead. "He'll be fine."

"Oh I know Jake will be fine. But what about my sweety sweet scooter?"

Outlined against the rising sun. As if they can hear her the scooter drops onto its back wheel. Lifting its front like a rearing horse. Jake blows her a kiss. And. Disappears into the dawn glare over a dune.

Chapter 38: Just as it all seems to be going right it begins to go all wrong

I'm a night person. No early mornings for me. Crabby isn't the half of it. Belligerent more likely. Bloody minded. Tempered by bleariness. But. I'm not actually a danger to society. Only to bits of my own body. Demonstrating a strong tendency to stubbing toes. Knocking my head on open cupboards. With resulting four letter words. Blow! Darn! Damn! ... Yeah right!!

But last birthday. My 16th. On the real day. The one I keep to myself. I got up in the dark. Sat on Coogee beach to watch the sun come up. It was beautiful. That's why I cried. The only reason OK? The sheer soft loviness of it all. 'Course this being Australia. The native soundtrack pretty much lacked any sign of elegance or restraint. Here the Dawn Chorus is more a footy match shout. Thousands of straining untrained voices. Croaking like toads with severe laryngitis. Enough to engulf all memories of being woken in New Zealand. Lulled into wakefulness by pretty polyphonic choirs of Bellbird, Blackbird and Tui!

This dawning Urf Dawn is exquisite in its scarlets and golds. A foil sheen like Thai silk ripples across the clouded sky. Sadly the mood is broken by the AnimaClok equivalent of the Sun-up Singalong. A thousand metal voices. In bad need of lubrication. Rusted. Wrenching. Screeching like horror film gates.

Out on the end of the promontory. Merry is oblivious to the cacophony. Sitting peaceably in the Reggae tree. It's bare branches hanging over the harbour. Merry swings his legs above the slimy water. Easy. For a time at peace. So. This is a strange planet. So. His Space Sphere is inoperative. So. Nothing is as he imagined his life would be. So. For the moment he doesn't care. However inhospitable this sand-cased city seems there is still a twinge of hope in his heart. An actual tickly tremour. One that holds a some message of promise.

He allows himself to think of his Mother. Wonders where she is? Sends a thought out to her through the ether. "I'm OK. Don't worry about me. Hope you're OK. Happy where-ever you are, what-ever you are doing."

Heedlessly. He runs his now naked fleshed right arm up and down the branch. Toying with its texture. Grounding himself in this place. This time. He gives a deep sigh. Stares back into the oily depths. While. Just beyond the edge of his vision. Like a time-lapse replay the branch bursts into bud. Then into blossom. Finally. Yields golden apples.

Every one has stopped to admire the shaky progress of the sun above the horizon. But. At the moment it quivers into eclipse behind Merry's SpaceBall it is dwarfed by a searing flash of light. A second. A third. And. Where once there had been Goddess-Mothers. There are now three circular tufts of burning grass.

Tiresias cocks an ear. Ducks back into the Phone Booth. Moments later. Reappears in as a Sunnydale High cheer leader. Sorry. But his bad. Even at her most blond. And. Totally distracted by vampire slayage Buffy would never have teamed a pleated mini skirt with clay toned support hose and maroon leg warmers.

In his hands he grips a Playstation controller. The traditional pom-poms hang from his wrists. His head wavers like an antennae. Wobbling back and forth like Stevie Wonder. Seeking to catch some inaudible private signal. Finally. He begins to operate the controller. Beginning small. He builds a bravura performance befitting a virtuoso concert pianist. Now light delicate taps. Now vigorous twistings. The more agitated he gets. The more it's clear that it's having no effect. Whatever he hopes to manifest. Whatever salvation he has in mind. It's not about to turn up.

You know how I feel about people making fools of themselves. I'm about to chuck up in agitation. With gut burning anxiety. Desperate to run to him. To tell him that that controller isn't wifi. There's a cable dangling uselessly from it. Plugged into nought!

The BeeGees are huddled under a monumental cactus. Some kind of tussle seems to be taking place. When the BeeGee channelling Demeter bursts out of the cluster. Runs out into the middle of the field waving her hands in the air. Supplication. Pleading. "Take me!" She quavers. Surprisingly loud for a such a wrinkled midget. "Take me!" Another splat of light. The smell of burning grass. A empty charred circle. As. Merry cries out in surprise. And anguish. "Nana!"

Then. From somewhere above. And. Behind me. An orchestral melange of creaks and groans begins a long crescendo. Sounding like a very badly maintained Jumbo-Jet coming into land. Sure enough. Here it comes. Grumbling deafening over head to land on the field. Obviously. The Hobbit is a fav' with Tirry as well. Because here in front of me. Breathing heavily like an asthmatic in their last moments sits an enormous steel girdered AnimaClok Dragon. Not merely the size of a house. But. Indeed the dimensions of a small housing estate!

Still in the process of construction. It is merely a metal skeleton. All sharp edged danger. Exposed gears spinning like blades. Unsleaved pistons pumping like fists. Unshielded flame firing its scalding boilers. But. Tirry seems undeterred. I guess in his mind's eye he sees the final product. He scales it. Tongue clicking all the while. Sound-checking for foot holds. Hand grips. Till he stands triumphant on its back between the wings. Like Boudiccea about to lead the troops. Sadly she didn't do all that well. Due to a small difference in style between her and the invading Romans. Vicious mindless violence tends to overcome fair play and the knowledge of the actual value of life.

Smuts tries to get to him. He'll need a guide. But Penny-P grabs her and holds her tight. As. Tirry with a flick on his controller takes off into the now ashen skies.

Dark begins to fall again. The day begins to revert to night. As the looming clouds mass and thicken. Foaming in fury. Flexing together like huge fisted boxing gloves. Belting into each other with blinding flashes of lightening. And. deafening explosions of thunder.

With a slurp of suction. Sluttering damply they join as one. Become a single taut sheet of charcoal menace. Into which pushes the colossal mask outline of Zeus.

Chapter 39: Under attack; no escape

It's a handsome face. It's an ugly face. Both simultaniously. Exquisitely attractive. Utterly repulsive. It draws. It devastates. It delights. It disgusts. It's a matched set of good-looking Disney Hero features distorted by hideous thinking. Into something hypnotically compelling. You don't want to look at it. But then. You don't want to miss a flicker of it's flashing features. You could easily lose your head. Or a leg. Or your entire life!

He's dropped the biblical beard. Gone for sideburns and a handlebar moustache. With tilted up tips waxed to stiletto sharpness. A celestial Cavalier. Dashing. Dastardly. Clearly he spent a lot of time in front of a mirror. He wants to look smart when he wins this war. And win he will. No cloud cover can disguise the expectant sparkle in that gi'normous eye.

In the oldest books of the Old Testament they say that Moses' face was shining after he spoke with the then God. A kind of heavenly sunburn. It's just a metaphor. But. I can now see how such things could happen. However. If this monster Father-Deity looked at you directly. Not through the mask of cloud. Then I reckon it would be like being faced with a nuclear blast. From the distance of about a metre. Not a shred of skin. Not a sinew or muscle would be left on your skull. Nor any part of your smoking skeleton.

Likewise. It is only the muffling effect of thick cloud that saves your ears from melting.

"You thought you could escape!" The huge visage contorts into a parody of smile. "You thought you could be safe! That there was a place far far away where I would not find you." The face sneers. "You were wrong. Oh so wrong. One could almost say you were terminally wrong!"

Zeus bursts into thunderous laughter.

The clouds echo and re-echo with the sound. In the mutual hilarity. For a moment. The sky erupts into scudding laughter. The great face pulls to pieces. More Picasso than photo-real. One large eye up there. A glinting smaller one down here. To the left a nose like a ski jump. To our right a mouth like a plush sofa. And thus. It's somehow all the more accurate. Making clear how not human he is.

Merry has been standing in the sidelines. Head ducked. Trying to hide his bright red face. Guts squirming. Wringing his hands. Pivoting back and forth on pigeon toes.

My feelings exactly. Why do parents have to purposefully embarrass us in public? When I'm out with Da' he's always standing up. Making waves. Mr Constructive. Mr Supportive. Mr Politically Awake. Mr 'Why say a few words when a lot will be more fun.' He gets that from his Maori side I reckon. Just wish he suppressed the urge when I'm around. Ad' is a quiet one. A few gracious but direct words delivered discretely in the background. That's his modus operandi. Softly softly. The stilleto pointed power of polite honesty. Just like his tiny Thai mother. Very very scary!

A sigh. As Zeus catches his breath. Wipes his giant eyes. Now back in order. Side by side. And. Returned to their intimidating proportions. Merry takes the opportunity. Stomach churning like a geyser. He swallows hard. Willing his guts not to betray him he stomps out into the middle of the paddock. Stands. Steel cap boots planted. Arms determinedly akimbo. Stares defiantly up at his Father.

"Look I'm sorry but it's really all just a big accident - I was just hanging about at the bottom of the Galaxy \- Minding my own business - Out of the way - Like you said - When someone kicked me into outer space - " Merry notices that Zeus is drawing himself up to speak. So. Knowing his temper. All too well. Babbles on without a breath. "But then, it wasn't really their fault either - It was just a mistake - They were having a dance party and didn't see me there - And you mustn't be mad at everyone here - They've just been trying to help - Be mad at me - It's me that gets it wrong - Sorry - OK?"

After that one long splurge he should collapse. Breathless. But he's willed himself into rigid attention. Eye to eye with his father's manifestation.

In the sky. One cold eyebrow arches. Might be in amusement. Maybe in considered respect. Perhaps. Preparing for another furious onslaught.

The BeeGees have lined up. Ramshackle behind Merry. Solemn. Silent. A slightly rickety support group. Above. Tiresias buzzes like a antique insect war-plane. Zeus tries to wave him away. But Tirry is relentless. So Zeus swats him. And. Swipes him hard. Tirry and his stead are knocked from the sky to plummet directly towards where Jake and Kiri have just returned.

In an instant. BC16 has gestured towards them. Imagined a bouncy castle. The MemMoss has produced it. And there seems to be a colourful children's party happening over by the SpaceBall. But only a moment of trampolining is possible. Before a sharp clockwork rib stabs the plastic. Deflates it. BC16 reels it back in. Looks at acre of flaccid plastic. A bit unsure how to turn it back into his hand.

Merry takes a deep breath. "Please They've done nothing... " But. Before he can continue a large cumulous finger shushes him.

"Nothing!" Zeus channels King Lear for a moment. "Nothing! Nothing?" Certainly the tone is Shakespearean. Resonant and rumbling. Moistly rolling. Like fine chocolate on the tongue. But. The delivery is a bit amateur. Overstated. An attempt at regaining balance.

Suddenly Zeus realises to whom he is speaking. Changes the subject. "Anyway! What are you doing here? You were supposed to be evacuated. Cherub?"

Chubbs projects from Merry's Bindi-cam. "The SpaceBall is damaged. He can't leave."

"But you Monstrous Infantile Booby it has already begun." Zeus is aghast with fury.

Chubbs blanches in shock. "No!"

"Yes! The End is Nigh!"

A giant finger points at a horizon speared by a relentless stab of lightning. A column of searing electricity drilling into the crust of Urf.

Chapter 40: Counter-attack with singing; a paranoid monologue

They swoop down from the heavens...

Gee that's loud! Cinematic surround-sound. A surfeit of symphony orchestras. Full blast fortissimo. Timpani and tempest. Rattling your fillings. Loosening your joints. Scrambling your brains. Worse. The Fat-Lady and all her rotund mates are singing Opera. Well actually. Producing something more like high pitched gargling. Full bore wobbly Wagnerian nonsense. "Ho' yo' to' o'!" or summit. Very Ghetto. Not! Reckon it's that over-blown pompous nonsense that Dictators love. Which Mum always loathed.

I tap the frame of the glasses. Volume down. Repertoire change to a chase scene from BATMAN. Much more melodious. Thank you! Now. Where were we?

They swoop down from the heavens. Approach low. Under cover of the fading sun. Well. That's the theory I guess. Because. The four black dots approaching are conspicuous. Even against such insipid light. As they get closer you can make out the three ModMums. Plus Demeter. All waving steely lances. They're flying 'Angel Air'. Dove white winged in diamond formation. A landscape skimming flypast reveals that their beautiful steeds are wearing crash helmets. Shoulder pads. Dressed for aerial Seraphic Grid-Iron.

Penny-P whispers to Jake and Kiri. "Angel's might be strong and fast, but they're not very bright. Crash regularly if you're not careful."

The skinned knees. And. Scabbed elbows bear out her testimony. The goofy blissed out expressions on their faces suggest why. Sooky stoners the size of the Statue of Liberty.

The guerrilla-gurl Air Force doesn't stop to engage Zeus. Ignores him. On their way to encounter a flock ... Hmmm, a clump? A cluster? What-evah! Lots of Cherubs. Approaching from the north.

In the wayward light. The flickering sun. And. Throbbing cloud. Perspective is distorted. Proportion hard to judge. My imagination hasn't helped either. It takes a moment to realise that the Cherub are huge. Fat bulbous Sumo wrestlers of planetary proportions. Our Knights on Angel are no more than mosquitos to them. Good thing we all know how annoying mosquitos are. The four women dart back and forth. Stabbing tiny stings into sensitive places. When you're only wearing a flimsy flappy nappy there's lots of those. Soon the Cherub are fully occupied. Trying to scratch that aggravating itch just out of reach.

Penny-P takes the chance to mount her scooter. Whispers in its rear vision mirror. The chassis contorts between her legs. Shapeshifting. Till. The roar of the Harley returns. On her new black with pink racing stripes dirt-bike hybrid she dashes across the field. Scoops up Merry. "Time to stop that drill!"

"How?!" But she doesn't hear him. His voice lost in the slipstream. He doesn't try to speak again. All energy focused on remaining seated on the bucking bike. As. It pitches. Slips and slides across the dunes. Spurting huge sprays of sand.

Zeus is fully engaged at glaring at the BeeGees. Like any good villain he has embarked on a lengthy monologue. Obviously hasn't seen 'The Incredibles'. Otherwise. He'd know realise just how far wrong he has gone. Best I summarise. The gist is that the BeeGees are ...

"Communists!" "Traitors!" "A Danger to Society!" "A Menace to All Good People!"

I note for future reference. Speaches to the Masses require a lot of capital letters. Plus. Exclamation marks!

"You thought running away to Hide and Plot at the far edge of the Universe would save you! That one day You would Return and Deseat Me!" "Oust and Ostracise Me" "Take from Me what is Mine and Mine Alone!" "No way José!" Who? "You never had a Chance!" "I have my spies everywhere!" "You can never escape the God of Gods. Father of Fathers. The Man of All Men!!!"

The BeeGees look at him like he is mad. Which he clearly is. Pity then he's paranoid with power! Powers!

Zeus is about to resume. When. There's an odd sound. Resonating across the heavens. Like drumming. Though lighter pitched. Clicky. Ticking over. A repeated rolling rhythm of four. Semiquavers. Perhaps the tapping of impatient fingernails. Zeus falls suddenly silent. His cloud visage turns white.

C/o the Spec's my minds eye conjures the image of a huge hand. An elegant blood nailed, diamond beringed hand. Twitching with suppressed anger. It seems that somebodies belovéd wife may be a tad miffed. Perhaps even a smidgen cross. Yeah right. Hera is furious!

In an instant. Zeus has regrouped his clouds. Formed them into a bland armoured orb. Out in Space. Beyond the atmosphere. Around the source of the drilling lightning. The BeeGees laugh loudly but briefly. Before beginning a surprisingly vigorous sprint. Across the paddock after Penny-P and Merry.

Smuts tightens one last nut on the Dragon. It's bruised. Bent. And. More than a bit buckled. But. It can fly again. Thanks mainly to Edith. Now bolted into its frame to help out. She's at the rear. Facing backward like a warplane gunner. Though. Her presence is entirely peaceable. Her long neck replacing the missing tail. Providing stability and direction.

Around and about the rest of the body. Various AnimaClok creatures are securely wired and stapled and gaff'-taped. Though Smuts hasn't been able to replace the tip of one vast wing. So. The dragon is only able to zig zag like a tacking yacht across the sky.

Kiri, Jake and Tiresias join her on its back. With a gut lurching groan the tin-pot menagerie heaves it's huge body into the air. Begins to chase Penny-P's hot-rod Motocross toward the flames.

Chapter 41: Merry's thinking gets heated; the BeeGees darn a hole

Uh Oh! Shame Attack! I know these well. More than a bit prone to them. 'Til the dynamic duo started to retrain me. Still have to remind myself. Almost daily. Guilt and shame might use similar words. But. With vastly different meaning. "I've made a mistake" vs. "I am a mistake". The first is the story of being human. The latter starts with entirely missing the point.

So. To begin. Take some thing upsetting. Anything really. Small just as good as big. I was never that particular. Then. Blame yourself. A lot. Over and over. Next. Add extra accusation. Turn up the heat. Ferret through the past for added flavour. No logical connection required. Until. You are boiling in a hot sauce of self-loathing. And lo. Behold. You are now responsible for the end of the world. While. Being spectacularly unable to stop it!

Hence. Here's Merry. Standing apart. Alone. Atop a dune. Faintly outlined against the boiling sky. White hot with shame. Flaming faced. Sticky palmed. Armpit tingling. Stomach churning shame.

The destruction of Urf. To him. It's quite clear that it's all his fault. A deep down certainty. Like he's always been quite sure that he caused his mum to leave. It's all totally because of him. Like this time. His dad turning up in a temper to rip the universe a new butthole. A black hole of desolation. Which he himself could contribute to any minute. All it would take is a misplaced emotion. A gripe or grumble. And. Down would fall the Himalayas from their heights. There's no doubt. He is a very dangerous fella. A very bad person. Full stop!

Merry begins to loop. Caught in the freight-train rhythm. Running over and over. "Me bad! Me bad! Me ... " He shrivels into himself. Lost in a kind of petrified hysteria.

"Move aside! Intervention coming through!" When he wants. Tiresias can navigate like a hawk after prey. He homes in on Merry. Pom poms all aflutter. Pouncing suddenly his hand grips Merry's shoulder. The liver spotted skeletal fingers pinching into the muscle. Merry winces. And. Surfaces a little.

"Shame! Shame! Shame! Shame on you!"

Tirry really shouldn't try to sing. Certainly not old Disco songs from last century. However. It is an entertaining take on Wake Up Call #1. "Name it!!" With an impression of Michael Jackson dancing to underline the point. Oh. I didn't want to see that. Going commando under a traditional kilt is one thing. Under a cheerleader mini skirt? Perhaps not. Ever! Fortunately. Too fast a flash to illuminate exactly how Tiresias' gender divide works these days.

Having got Merry's attention. Sort of. Tirry turns him so that they are eye to blinded eye. "Can you hear me?"

Merry nods. Well. That's as good as a wink.

Tirry grabs both shoulders. Grips harder. "Do you hear me?"

Merry gasps. "Yes!"

"Then answer me this. What is a prophet?"

Merry shrugs. It's obvious. "Someone who sees the future."

"Wrong. Totally utterly erroneous. Absolutely completely mistaken!" Tirry is almost gleeful. "A prophet is someone who sees the present perfectly."

Merry is stung to retort. "Even if you're blind!"

"Touché. Okay try this then - a prophet is someone who comprehends the present accurately, understands its exact reality, and recognises what is truly going on. All absolutely unblinded by ego or fashion, fear or wishful thinking. Of course, if you can do that as I can, then all possible futures are completely obvious. Like the time I predicted the birth of your sister."

Merry is confused. "But I don't have a sister."

Tirry blinks. Shakes himself like a wet dog. Yodels a quick chorus of 'We are Family'. Before. "So presently ... " He gives a mad giggle, "You think you're a bad person. Resultant future = the end of a planet. But that's the shame chuntering on. Is there anything that are you actually guilty of? Name one thing you have deliberately done to make this come about?"

Merry goes to reel off a list. But. Tirry repeats vehemently. "Deliberately Mericles! On purpose. Planned. Worked out detailed, sorted and shuffled in advance, purely and utterly to hurt or to destroy."

Merry tries to imagine himself actually doing so . And fails. Tirry reading his thoughts. "Exactly! So in fact you are guilty of none of the these things that you accuse yourself of. Any court worth it's salt would throw such accusations out for lack of evidence...

"But j'accuse!"

Flashback to 18th century France. I can just see Tirry beside a guillotine that's dripping gouts of blood. Calmly knitting a scarf. While the French Revolution throws a tantrum all about him.

"What you are truly guilty of is not paying attention! Worse, to not being mindful of yourself. Not considering your gifts. Ignoring what you care about. Who you care about!

"We are in a dire situation here, so you need to look to yourself now because you are the only one who can save us. So be quick! Pay attention and create us a new future."

Before Merry can respond Tirry has waggled a joystick. And. The dragon has swooped down to carry him off in its tin claws. I avoid the temptation for a peek as he is hoisted directly overhead.

All the while. Spearing down. Surreptitious. Stealthily sissling. Twined with an eerie dentist drill whine on the far edge of hearing. The relentless lightning is a silken laser. Close up it's almost invisible against the sky. A shimmering heat haze mirage. A distortion in space. A wrinkle in time. But. The gash in the crust of Urf is livid. A suppurating wound. The lava oozing from the planet's flesh is a septic green and purple blaze. The point of impact at its core black hot.

All dero cloaking thrown aside. The Beach-Bum Immortals are heatedly conferring. Working out how to cap the lesion in Urf's skin. Or. To at least slow its growth. They dance an urgent gavotte. I think that's an old fashioned kind of stately dance. Anywhat ... They're electric with concentration. Taut as bow strings. Communicating in terse whispers. Brusque gestures. Forming groups. Breaking apart in frustration. Reforming. "This way." "That way." "No you over there." "I'm going to stand here." "Try over here". Connecting in different ways. Making patterns. Testing powers gently one against the other.

Eventually they reach a curt consensus. And. Assemble around the circumference of the inferno. Each to their particular place. Creating diagonals of balance. And. Counter balance. A charmed circle. Weaving a patch. Like my Nana did over the elbows of ravelling jerseys. The heels of old socks.

Across the pit Fire faces Water. Earth counteracts Metal. Gravity apposes Flight. Big contradicts Small. UltraMasculine verses UltraFeminine. By the by that's not boy verses girl! Thought contrasts Emotion. Vain assuages Self-effacing. No characteristic is left out. No matter how slight. How substantial. How seemingly petty. How utterly essential. Every one paired up. Intricately arranged to complement another's powers. Sending strands of tension across the gap. Though. All just slightly off-centre to leave an open core. Through which the lightning drills inexorably on. They haven't the power to stop that.

Chapter 42: From a standing start Merry steps into the spot light(ning)

Merry hasn't moved from the spot. He still stands alone and aloof. Motionless on the outside. Frantic on the inside. Feverishly searching his brain for an idea. Any idea. Looking for an answer. A way out for them all. But. All he finds is a cavern of nothingness. A huge void of silence. A vast empty zero. His mind is pretty much a blank.

His blood begins to boil. His hackles to rise. He becomes a small inferno of fury. Still motionless. Though close up you can see a pale aura of white flame surround him. He begins to swear. To himself. Combinations of four letters or more. Each word explosive with spit and growl. Every forbidden syllable rattling around his empty mind. Rippling through his body.

"It's so #@$ unfair. There's no ^@! way out. %^...! Why Me! I can't *...^^%* do anything! I have no #$%^...@# idea what to do."

But still. The lightning spears down. Relentless. Merciless. Cutting through layer upon layer of rock strata. Causing more and more molten magma to spume up. To creep like flaming hands up the dunes. Greedy. To snatch at bare toes.

Finally. Worn out. Mind run to a stand still. Merry decides. That. There is no decision. This is a very simple Lose-Lose choice. Whatever he does. Or doesn't do. Heads or tails. Either way. He's probably going to die.

Unexpectedly. Realising that calms him. He becomes detached. And finally. The hidden parts of his mind. The bits that ran away for safety can make themselves heard. Are able knock on his consciousness. And he knows that it can be done. He can stop this. No idea how. Not even a hint. But. Just that it can. He takes a deep breath. Lets his tense shoulders release. His head fall forward. And there it is. The answer. At his feet.

He steps back. Stoops. To peer closely at the glass circle fired from the sand by his shame. A round shield. Tantrum tempered to a metallic sheen. He grabs it. Runs. Calling to for help.

"BC16. BC16! Give me a hand."

BC16 looks a bit confused. Merry reaches his side. In time to stop him stripping of the MemMoss. Preparing to give it over. "No! Keep it on! You need that to get me to the centre of the pit."

"But that's right in the way of the drill!?" BC16 is freaked.

Merry holds out the silvery glass dish. Speaks very calmly. Very clearly. Explicit. "Exactly. I can use this as a reflector. Send the lightning beams back out into space where they can do no damage. You need to carry me out there. Think about it. What have you seen on this planet that reaches over distances."

BC16 screws up his face. Trying to concentrate over the sound of roaring fire. The slicing spit of the lava. Then he lights up. His arm starts to throb. Pulse. It expands and contracts once. Twice. Thrice. Testing. Testing. Testing. As. BC16 forms the idea in his head. Tries it out for size. Then. With a electric whine and a whoosh the MemMoss suddenly bursts into a giant cherry-picker. The extendable arm kind they use to fix tall street lights. Carry firemen to upper windows. He promptly falls over. The weight of it overbalancing him.

"Chad!" Jake runs to his aid. The others following. BC16 begins to slide down the dune into the boiling flame. Jake jumps on top of him. Kiri, Smuts, and even Tiresias follow suit. Some kind of desperate 'Stacks on the Mill'. He stops sliding. Begins to drag himself upright.

Very gingerly. Wincing. Merry climbs slowly into the basket. The stack begins to tilt. To tip again. Out of nowhere. Penny-P arrives on scooter. The Dragon in tow. Trailing assorted bits and bobs of mechanical debris. Edith scampers after them. They all leap on board. The weight balances up. So quickly that the scrum nearly falls in the opposite direction.

With a deep breath. BC16 begins to stretch out the picker arm. Winching slowly. It inches out towards the centre. In the tin basket Merry strikes a brave pose. Undermined by his clearly knocking knees. And. the slight compulsive twitch of one eye.

Below him. Seen birds eye. The interlocking energies of the BeeGees looks like a huge glowing mandala. Not your usual static Tibetan sand number. This one forms and reforms. Shapes and reshapes in intricate patterns. Across the entire hell mouth. Capping its energies. For the moment stopping them from spilling out. From totally destroying the planet.

Merry is about to move into the path of the lightning.

"Just a moment sweetie!"

"Not yet Darlink!"

"Hold your horses cowboy!"

The Goddess-Mothers take their several places around the circle. The mandala mesh winks. Turns from a tinny silver to platinum gold.

"Now!" they cry as one.

Everyone closes their eyes. Unable to watch. As. Merry gingerly extends the reflector out into the path of the lightning bolt. BC16 unfurls the arm that extra metre. To meet the lightning.

For a moment the shaft baulks. Spits as it hits the glass. The rays bouncing back out into space. Merry shakes as he resists its pressure. He locks his muscles. Taut. Trembling with strain. Then. The lightning begins to slice through the lens. Merry counter-attacks. Concentrates. Cold. Chill. Freeze. Frosty images of artic icebergs fathoms deep fill his mind.

At the point of impact the lightning falters. Splutters. Begins to turn blue. With a roar of fury. Zeus sends a ball of flame down the wire. Smashing through the glass in Merry's hand. Javelining back into Urf's heart.

The pressure released. Merry wobbles. Trying to maintain his balance. Flailing to keep his footing. Fails. And falls. Into the path of the lightning.

Chapter 43: A duel in the sky; a Mother's advice; Merry gives up utterly

My Spec's decide to rack up the tension. So. They cut away from Merry's peril. Instead. Follow the MemMoss as it snaps back to become BC16's arm. To the audio of the BeeGees gasps of shock.

A fissure of oily anti-fire snakes out of the pit. Slashes it's way through the dune. To snatch at the balancing crew. A shuddering thrust that throws Smuts to the ground. She slips towards the crater's disintegrating edge. Kiri and Jake struggle to hold her. Drag her back. But the heat. The fear. Their hands are slippery with sweat.

The BeeGees are having trouble holding their footing. Keeping in contact. As the circumference of the pit grows to match the depth of the probe.

The AnimaClok dragon and its component mates slide down a dune. Towards the fire. A claw smoulders. It's twine and barbed-wire sinews begin to flame. Edith struggles in vain to break free.

Finally they manage a teetering equilibrium. Hold their collective breath. Not wanting to look up. To look out to see Merry's fate. There's silence. Apart from a fizzing noise. That no one wants to investigate. In case it's Merry going up in flames. Then an overly loud yell of triumph.

"Yes!!"

Merry is floating. Rotating slowly over the centre of the mandala. His right arm extended to the sky. Above his hand hovers a crystalline sphere of solid light. A icy bloom frosts its surface. It looks like a huge Aussie milk opal. Threads of red and green fire flashing through its white heart.

The lightening slashes and slices at it. Ineffectually. Useless as a plastic toy Light-sabre. All its power sucked into the sphere. Which almost smacks invisible lips in delight. Tasting. Drinking. Absorbing the energy. As it moves skywards trailing silver sparks.

It's like an echo of the wand duel in Harry Potter. Or the mind combat in Dark City. The two energy forces form a single arc. Their meeting point that ball of turbulent tumultuous light. Ringed in New Year's fireworks.

It moves towards Zeus. A circumspect cheer goes up from Urf. It pushes back towards Merry. A collective sigh. And thus it continues. And. Persists. And. Perseveres. And. Carries on. And. On!

I won't bore you with the details. But. I can tell you this is taking for ever. So don't hold your breath. 'Coz now the movement back and forth is too subtle to track. Stuck around the point of equilibrium.

Everyone on Urf is gradually tiring. Penny-P tries to get a camp fire song going to perk their spirits. But it peters out pretty quickly. Maybe it's just me. But. I don't find "Cum By Ya" all that rousing. "We Are The Champions" would have much more urge.

On Urf. Up in the sky. Below. Above. For the moment it's a stalemate. But. Not for long. Simply holding everything in place is costing everyone everything they have. The moment is coming. Soon. When they will have nothing left. And it will be over. For ever.

The world begins to slip away.

Too far off for detail. A ball of golden light. An iridescent bubble. Skimming lightly over the horizon. High over the city. Caught out the corner of his eye. Merry imagines that within his mother is barefoot. Running. Indeed skipping. Her fresh fronds fluttering. Flowing out behind her. A sapphire train of silken skyfoam. A chocolate cascade of bronzed earthloam.

Merry doesn't look away. Doesn't need to. He knows. He can hear her voice. Whispered in his ear.

"Flow Mericles." Its sweet soprano murmurs. "Flow. The power lies within letting go. The seed must pass so the tree will be. And every tree falls to feed the next. The cycle of life has no brakes. It doesn't stop for us to catch up. It is an ever rolling stream. Release my son. Let go."

Merry lets the thought wash through him. Soothing every nerve. Softening every muscle. A sweet cold sadness wraps him. But. He can feel the Life bloom within. Heartbreaking. Its longing. Its desire. The breathless wanting to reach out. To embrace. To be one with it all. No longer alone. A lone. One. Single. Singular. But perfectly connected. Touching each and every last particle. Dancing with each and every tiny atom. At Last. Child. Friend. Brother. Sister. Lover to the Universe.

He drops his arm.

Life blinks. There is a sound like a sigh. The exhalation of an entire Universe. The sigh of the smallest butterfly. Set free. The world goes black. Then.

There is nothing.

Chapter 44: A second Creation; Zeus unmasked

Nothing.

Then. There is everything.

In profusion. Confusion. Just beyond sight. Out of ear shot. The black blank is trembling with promise. A nought taut with infinite potential. A zero buzzing with ultimate possibility.

Finally. I get to witness what no one else has. A second Big Bang. Though. This is more like a Gentle Pop. A most delicate breaking of pressure. A pin prick release in the fabric of Absolute Nothing.

Right on the threshold of hearing. An intake of breath. Followed by song. A silent melody that insinuates its self into light. A tiny pool of expanding radiance. Shivering into existence. Time. Space. Poke tentative heads above the Sea of Infinity. The Ocean of Eternity. With a chuckle. There is harmony.

After a moment. Short? Long? Who can tell. A pair of feet can been seen standing on the expanding luminance. A pair of black steel-cap boots. One maybe two sizes too large for the boy wearing them. From him over the golden threads of a mandala flows a garden. At first tiny. But soon. A full-sized Botanical Wonder. A carpet of tiny fern and flower. Emitting a mingled scent of fresh herbs. The tingling pungency of the new. Seabreeze. Waterfall spray. The ozone electricity of the raw.

The Eden garden reaches the solidity of the dunes. Entirely covering the scab in Urf's crust. And halts. It's leaf tentacled edge fluttering reluctant. Unwilling to more than graze the sand.

As one. The BeeGees collapse in exhaustion. Lying in limp heaps. Worn out. Wrinkled as flabby week-old balloons. Incapable of anything except trying to get abused lungs and hearts running smooth again.

"Mum! Mum!" Merry runs to the one standing figure. Calm. Collected. Cool as a model on a runway. He can hardly see through his tears. So. It's only when he is feet away that he realises. Slides to a halt. Takes a moment to switch his thoughts. And. Trembling. Offers courtesy to the elegant coutured figure. Bows low to his Stepmother. Hera.

"Please Mericles. Do not call me by that vulgar nomenclature. It is common and domestic. Everything that I am not."

Merry doesn't know what to say. Nor. What to do. But the awkward moment is covered by the ModMums. Squealing like schoolgirls. Running to greet Hera with air-kisses and flighty endearments. She accepts their accolades with easy grace. It seems that all along she had been keeping an eye on her errant husband. Had rescued ModMoms and Demeter. Angel mounted them. Armed them for the battle. And. When the odds became unbalanced. Had flown in to turn the tide. Well. To supervise. No need to break a nail on so small a thing as saving a planet. But then. She is kinda the Goddess of Hearth and Home. Though she likes to think of herself as more House and Garden. Or better. Architectural Digest. She prefers her homes stately.

The clouds shake out their tension. For a brief cleansing minute it rains. Light. Refreshing. Soothing. Then. The central curtain of nimbus part. Expose Zeus. Unmasked. Disarmed. Plonked defeated on his arse. A small rotund man. Piggy faced. With a weedy attempt at a moustache. And. A sightly greasy comb-over. Its strands now fallen in a lank new moon to one shoulder. He looks every bit the middle aged accountant. Think Mr Banks in Mary Poppins meets the fake behind the original 1930s Wizard of Oz. But more desiccated. Seedy. And. Utterly lacking in any grandeur. Poise or power.

A Cherub flies to him. Disdainfully picks him up between thumb and finger. A flea. They slink away. I feel an Olympian coup d'etat coming on!

Hera and the ModMums amble through the new garden. Swapping stories of their 'Vogue' and 'Hello' hey-days! Peels of laughter. High and long at memories of youthful escapades on runway. In camera. Leaving Merry tottering. Emptied of energy and emotion. Demeter sits him. Pats his hand. "You did well Pet! Your mum will be proud of you."

Merry becomes agitated. "But where is she? I thought ... "

"Shhhhh ... " Demeter sooths him. "Wrong solar system sweetheart. She's on Earth. That's in Sector 14. We're in sector 98. A third of a million light-years away." Seeing Merry is on the verge of tears. "Go on pet cry. You've earned the right. There's no shame in acknowledging the right cost of a thing. Every man who is true man cries after battle."

Hera and her agéd entourage saunter elegantly back. Garlanded in fresh blossom. She pauses. Let's him have his moment. A twitch of tenderness crosses her face. She wipes it away. Fearing wrinkles. But. Her voice softens.

"Mericles. I must away. Too long on this oxygen depleted planet and I'll resemble a prune. Not a prospect I prize! But my dear I am thrilled that you observed my tutelage to such grand effect."

Merry looks confused. Hera twitches an errant twig out of his tutu. "You may well have your mother and father's gifts. But, beyond and above all that, more importantly you have my style! And that my dear, is what marks out a true Hero!

"Now, I would offer you a lift home but I suspect you'd rather stay here awhile. It's always nice to have company one's own age. Friends with whom to run amok and create pleasant havoc. Especially in a time and place that does not disrupt my domestic arrangements. Or leave muddy footprints all over my prize vintage kilim. A win win situation I believe."

Merry can only nod in agreement. A bit dazed.

With a gracious wave of her hand. The economical wrist circle of a Queen. Hera boards her travel bubble. Wafts gently away. Checking her appearance in a small hand mirror. Admiring her bone structure in the shifting sun light of New Urf.

Merry sinks back. Closes his eyes. Just for a moment. Demeter and the others tiptoe away. He needs his space. As his mind drifts into imagining. His mother proud. Hugging him tight and long. He smiles. Tired but happy. Dreaming. A dream interrupted. For. Suddenly. Incongruously. The squawk of a duck in agony rends the air. Kiri firing up her trombone.

Chapter 45: Miracles - the dumb speak & a popular tune unlocks a home

Moments earlier.

Beneath the SpaceBall. Jake is bouncing on the spot. Like a toddler desperate for the toilet. Gesturing exuberantly at Kiri. The glasses zoom in. To hear ...

"I just don't get it eh." Kiri looks very sceptical.

Jake's on a roll. Happy to explain his genius yet one more time. "To open the SpaceBall we need to reprogramme it. It responds to sound so some kind of pulsed code, even a melody, will probably reset it. That's where your trombone comes in. We need something loud enough to trigger the whole surface."

"OK, I'll give it a go." Kiri shakes her head. Humouring him. Lifts her trombone to her lips. Puckers. And. Prepares to blow.

A flash before Merry's eyes. Chubbs hangs suspended. Looking very woebegone. Projected as far from Merry as holographic power will allow.

"Look I'm sorry. But I am forbidden to leave my ship. I wanted to but old programming is hard to break. You saw how much damage your father is capable of when crossed. I'm too young to die!"

Merry smiles wearily at him. "It's cool. I understand. Bindi Boy. I just want to know ... "

But. Whatever he wants to know is drowned out by a cacophonous version of the theme to one of those old space movies. '2001 A Space Oddity'. I think. Though it's a bit mangled. With the occasional note having a mind of its own. Heading off into the stratosphere. To frighten life on distant planets.

Regardless. Accurate or not. It is enough to light a graphic on the side of the SpaceBall. A huge pixelated hitchhiker thumb. Which wavers horizontal for a moment like Caesar about to judge the gladiators. Before decisively turning tip down. Hopefully not meaning death to Kiri. Just. 'No go!'.

Chubbs turns to look. Impressed. "Looks like there's a chance you'll have somewhere to sleep tonight."

Kiri now launches into the haunting theme to 'Close Encounters'. The SpaceBall flashes a huge yellow banana. Surrounds it in a red circle. Then adds a diagonal slash. I'm guessing that means 'Nice Try But No Banana!'

Kiri grunts in frustration. Squares her shoulders. Breaths deep. Launches into a rollicking version of Mozart 'Symphony 40'.

You know. Until the glasses started this story game I had no idea my brain contained so much miscellaneous rubbish. So much random guff. I'm blaming the Double Dads. They're always on the go. Watching films. Even ancient ones in flickering black and white! Listening to obscure recordings. So old they're just a strident whisper smothered in crackles and hiss. Reading books dripping with metaphors and meaning and multi-syllabic words. Like that one. Not to mention the marathon trips through nature. And. On all these mindcrazing journeys they drag me along. Filling my head up with useless info. The kind of data nobody really needs to know. Though to be honest. The sort of stuff that I really enjoy. Though not enough to tell any one at school. They pretend to prize their ignorance. Brandish it like a gold medal.

Chubbs is thinking along parallel lines. "I don't think your father is that musically literate." Apparently the SpaceBall also agrees. Producing a large flashing question mark.

The Urf team stop to confer. Jake is despondent. "It seemed like such a simple idea."

"We can't go through the entire history of music." Kiri grimaces. "My lips won't take it!"

Tiresias clucks at the SpaceBall without effect. "It was commissioned for Merry so it must have some significance connected with him."

"Ooo, what do we know about him, my pretty pretties?" Penny- P wonders.

Jake is blunt. "Sweet F.A."

"Probably even less than that." Kiri sighs.

All this time. Smuts has been holding Jake's camera. Staring at it vacantly. Suddenly she snaps upright. All attention. Fizzing with an idea. A fabulous idea.

"I know... " She clears her throat. "I know what it is. But I need to check."

Now. It is the others who are speechless. Quickly Penny-P holds up a warning hand. For silence. No comment! They choke back their surprise. Their delight that she is talking again.

Oblivious. Smuts squats. Begins to rewind through the video footage. Scanning to confirm her idea.

Leaning against a small blue gum tree. The real organic kind. Merry smiles ruefully. Resigns himself to finding another home. Having to sleep nights without Teddy DollDoll. But then. He thinks. Real men probably don't sleep with soft toys. He's about to wonder what real men sleep with when Kiri's trombone rings out across the paddock. Perfectly in tune. Not a muffed note. Nor. Straggly piece of rhythm. Loud. Clear. Familiar.

"Happy Birthday to you ... "

His new friends standing beaming at him. Singing at the top of their lungs.

"Happy Birthday to you.

Happy Birthday dear Merry."

Diana joins Kiri with a soaring trumpet descant.

"Happy birthday to you!"

Merry looks up. Shocked. Maybe they're a few hours late. But. They've noticed. They've cared. He shuffles reluctantly across the field to them. A bit shy with surprise. Then. With a impulsive holler of joy. Runs. A rainbow energy field flowing out from him. Leaving a stream of spring bulbs bursting into flower. My favourites. Fragrant cream freesia. Even Chubbs bouncing biliously along in front of him is smiling. But. Before he can reach them. A crack. Like the splitting of a ice glacier slices through the air. Everyone holds quite still. I've stopped breathing. And yes. The SpaceBall lights up across its entire surface. Blue!

Damn. The Blue Screen of Death!

BC16 takes one look. Snorts. Thinks. His hand turns into a giant cartoon fist. He clips the SpaceBall firmly over where it might have an ear. For a moment it wobbles on its axis. Almost shaking its head in surprise. Clearing its thoughts. This time we get the Mac OSX circulating clock. Then. It goes disco ball on us. Flaring into psychodelic patterns of vivid rainbow light. Before blacking out entirely.

We all wait. And wait. Only to wait a bit longer. With some added waiting to ramp up the suspense. Plus. A side serve of waiting. With more waiting to come.

Then. In perfect unison, the SpaceBall begins to break apart. Into large half-moon slices like fat Terry's Chocolate Orange segments. Light pours out of the seams. It'd be more impressive if it weren't for the noise. The creaks and groans of an arthritic robot trying to get up in the morning. Sounds as though Tirry had a hand in its construction. A couple of stray bolts falling. Nearly hitting Edith confirm my suspicion. Finally. With an ear rending shriek of protesting metal the sections completely separate.

Then we are deafened by the roar of a mulitiude of miniature rockets firing. Everyone runs to avoid being flamed. Driven by eccentric firework engines the huge slices muddle about. Getting themselves slowly sorted. Then finally. With a lot of dodgem hit and miss. Bump and recoil. They orientate themselves. Lock into formation. A flying dish of silver citrus wedges. And slowly lower themselves to the ground. Engines screaming in reverse thrust. To disappear into a mushroom cloud of sand.

Chapter 46:

On Earth - Sam and his two dads can begin Making It Home together permanently

On Urf - Merry's new family celebrate Making It Home for him with a barbie' together in front of the Telly

Finally. It's all over. Not nearly as scary as predicted. The ordeal worth the outcome. Admittedly there was a moment when I thought Da' and Ad' were going to divorce. But then. We pulled it all together.

The individual interviews the week before had gone OK. The 'Home Visit' was the Everest that we nearly didn't conquer. Ad' went all Hera. Designer House and Garden. Not a thing out of place. Every sign of the debris and detritus of the human presence hid. If not removed entirely. Furniture straightened. Ornaments were grouped. Flowers arranged. Surfaces shone. Fingerprint free. Photo ready. Brady Bunch perfect.

Da' and I were sure this was the wrong strategy. If we were going to be granted Family Status a 'home' was required. Moments before the Social Worker was due. We sent Ad' on a last minute desperate quest. Toilet freshener. Then. We ran madly round the house. Adding signs of human occupation. A Playstation controller here. Stray sock there. Ruffled cushions. Rucked mat. A greasy mark on the stainless steel fridge. We also let Rocky back in.

He was a great help. Because. We all assumed that he hadn't been fed. A concern he knows well how to milk. So he'd scoffed three breakfasts before the Visitor rang the bell. And with impeccable timing. On the first peel he regurgitated them all on the hall carpet. So. That vital initial impression? The homely vision of Da' and I trying to clean up dog vomit. Before. Rocky. All Staffy grin and doggy love. Tried to kiss the poor woman to death.

She recovered bravely. Probably used to such things in the line of duty. And. After a nice cup of tea and a homemade Anzac biscuit. Plus. A lengthy chat about the appalling weather. Pronounced us David, Adrian, and Sam - Two Dads and a Son. A proper modern family.

There's a convulsive scritch scratch. Hack. Scratch scritch. Hack hack. Like a rusted up gate being wrenched back and forth. Tiresias' kitten is coughing up a fur ball. Of iron filings and metal swarf. Before falling on its side. Paws paddling in mid-air. Red led eyes flashing a Morse pattern. Long short long. Smuts rushes to the rescue. Wielding a screwdriver like a knight's sword. Tirry inteprets the fault-find flashing code for her. Soon. Orpheus is back up on her paws. Whirring and purring. Innards upgraded for long life.

They're getting ready to dine out on the front steps of Merry's new home. A perfect replica of the Sydney Opera House. Each slice of Spaceball now wedged into the ground. Point first to create the iconic sails. Though. These are tiled with corrugated iron.

It is nestled into a cornucopia of botanical delights. A recklessly random splendour of colossal plant life. Two story cabbage check by jowl with jumbo daisy. Giant garlic nestling among the roots of sky-scraping Rhododendron. Roses the size of dinner plates rub shoulders with lofty Cacti. Human sized carrots sprout among the house dwarfing flax bushes. It's a muddle. But a lush one. It seems that Merry has been spreading the love.

Fortunately. He's left a decent sized paddock by the Harbour. But. Even there his talents are a bit fecund. Kiri and Merry are running an impromptu maze through the head high grass. Following the winding circuitous path cut by Penny - ? Well, let's call this personality, Penelope-Blu.

Penny-Blu is in Dolly Parton guise. Navy denim roll-up jeans. Blue gingham checked shirt tied up under her pneumatic bosom. Love those old fashioned phrases. Describing extreme gravity challenges with such quaint euphemisms. Her hair caught up in two perky pigtails. She's yodelling her head off. Country and western style. Not Yoda-ling. As in the end of the sentence with the verb finishing. No. The multi-octave warbling of someone immitating being tortured. However. She cuts a rakish swathe. Perched on a ride-on mower incarnation of her bike.

Nearby. Jake is taking Kiri's baby bro for horsey back rides. While. At the base of the steps. Kiri's dad is fiddling with the rabbit ear antennae of an ancient vacuum tube TV. As deep as it is wide. Though. At a couple of metres in all directions this is rather larger than its 1950s cubic inspiration.

BC16 bursts through the foliage. A bustling benign King Kong. Yelling cheerily up to Tirry. As he scrambles out of the undergrowth. "I did it. I did it! All adjustments made. 'You-know-who' is no longer 'you-know-who' and is instead... 'you-know-who'!"

I suspect the mimed quotation marks are lost on Tirry. Though. The meaning is not. However. I'm thoroughly confused.

"All of which means, Smuts, that I am now your legal guardian. So if you want to, you can come and live with me."

Smuts grins. Give him a big cuddle. "F.A.B. Mr T!"

"And I reckon I've enough room Jake, if you could face living with an old prophet?"

"Thanks all the same, but I thought I might just find a converted Container of my own in the Surry Hills Shanty."

BC16 is suddenly on alert. "What, up at the back of the 'BotCop Shop?"

"Yeah." Jake grins. A bit bashfully. "Well I just thought someone's gotta keep an eye on you and your bleeding heart!"

BC16 bursts into loud tears. Wailing like a banshee. An Oscar winning performance. While. Managing to stutter out a la Sally Fields. "You like me! I thought you didn't like me ...But you like me!!!"

There is a long communal groan. Jake laughs. And holds out his arms to BC16. Who forgets his own strength. And. Hugs him very tightly.

Jake winces. Winded. Just manages to squeak out. "Ouch!"

"Sorry!" BC 16 lets go quickly. All in a fluster.

Jake reaches out. "It's totally cool." Flicks up BC16's visor to give him a big sloppy kiss.

Another collective groan. And. A quick turning away. A making out to be busy. To give them privacy.

Penny-Blu skids to a grass-fragrant halt. "It's time!"

There's a mad scramble to get a good seat in front of the Television. As. Kiri's dad fiddles one more time with the aerial. Trying for the perfect picture. Only to succeed in getting one slightly worse than the last. But finally. Chubbs' beaming face projects once more. His basso voice rumbling in over-enthused welcome.

"They're beautiful! But they're mad! They're madly beautiful! They're beautifully mad! They're women on a mission to reclaim the Universe! Yes. Welcome to the most popular entertainment series in the Cosmos - 'Chubbs' Goddesses'!"

A rainbow montage of action silhouettes introduces Aphrodite, Diana, and Medusa. As always the Spec's are splendidly derivative. It's all very Charlies Angels. But with a reality TV twist.

"And introduuuuuu....ssssing... " Chubbs sounds like a side-show spruker. "Medusa! Invoking her dream time psychic abilities. This week she reunites the members of a famous singing group decades after they broke up. But can she find the last elusive reclusive member of The Sirens?

"Diana! Exploiting her athletic prowess. This week she transports a transplant wing from dragon donor to reptilian recipient across three galaxies. Will she make it in time?

"Aphrodite! Summoning her powers to make a love connection. This week she tries to find a happy home for an orphaned Hell-terrier. Will she succeed or while he be returned to the dust of Hades?

"With special guest star The Lady Hera - who talks about her new book on gender power balance 'A Time for US'. A challenge to us blokes! I quote - 'After 3000 years ME in charge, then 3000 years YOU in charge, let's sort it out together'!"

"And of course - I, Chubbs Cherub, your main man is out and about as Bindi-Boy. Am I going to catch you unawares on Holo'cam? A big shout out to the 48th quadrant of the Delta Luna System! Time to put on your best gear and get ready to party!!!"

They settle down to watch. Muddled together. In a cuddled heap. Lazily bickering over who's hogging the snacks. A family. Maybe a mismatched miscellany. An incongruous assortment. Certainly fitting no known model of normality. They're never going to be a poster for mainstream values. But never-the-less a family. Forged out of loneliness and difficulty. Loss and alienation. Glued together from the icky sticky stuff of real life. The experiences that make you realise what things are really worth.

So. For better or worse. In sickness and in health. Rich or poor. Human or other. Kiri has made it home with her Mum. Merry is making it home with his new family.

Chapter 47: A Postlude

Now. Where to from here? Happily ever after? As if that were the simple thing. Actually. It seems. Adventures are the easy bit. You have something overwhelming to sort out. To take up your entire attention. It carries you along on the crest of its wave. Sweeps you away on a tsunami ride beyond the bounds of normal imagining.

The aftermath is a bit more prosaic. (No not those stupid happy pills! That's prozac!) I mean it's more mundane eh. 'Coz. Now. You have to make your own quests. Seek out opportunities for exploits. For daring-do! You need to stay awake to what's going on. Not give in to coasting. To saying 'she'll be right mate'. And. Sitting back. On your fat buttocks.

And. it's not all big stuff either. It's been agreed. That now we're family. Not so much under scrutiny. Nor open to the chance of misunderstandings. With resultant risk of separation. That. I have to face my biggest fear. Affection! So it's hug training for me.

I hate to be touched. I keep wondering when it's going to turn into a belt around the lughole. A clip over the ear. Or. Alternatively. What's the hidden agenda? What do 'they' really want. So now. To learn a hug is a hug is a hug. But. I have negotiated it down to no more than a couple a day. Even if science recommends five daily for prefect good health.

And. The future for our fictional friends? Well. Picking up on the hints. It seems that somewhere in the Universe Merry has a sister. And. If all good story conventions are to be observed she's perhaps even a twin. Either a lost one requiring rescuing. But more likely? A wicked one in need of quite a different type of saving. As well.

I'm guessing that there's a dangerous journey on the cards to catch up with Merry's Mum, Persephone. Plus on Urf. There is the issue of all that water running through those tunnels. Directly beneath a parched desert city. Someone is playing the advantage. With rather a lot of underhanded self interest. Perhaps it's even an ex-partner of Tiresias? Whatever. It's all going to end in tears. Though. Not for our new mates. Eh!

Sam McKenzie - 12/12/2016

Author's Note: Making it up as I go!

So how did I come to write "Making It Home"? I'm not really all that sure. It began a long time ago. But generally I start with an idea that intrigues me - a 'what if ...'. And the more fascinating and bothering that 'what if?' is, the better. Because it means that I am much more likely to keep working through the boring and/or difficult stages of the creation. Because, for me at least, writing a book is a very long job of not just writing but rewriting. And then. Rewriting, getting confused, taking a couple of days off, having second thoughts, going back to quite a lot of the original, then having third thoughts, while ... Well, you get the idea.

"Making It Home" started with 'Merry' in this case. Mericles, with his boistrous, cheery, very idiosyncratic, nature, is based on a strange performance character I once invented. 'Vyl Universe' was half male, half female being with a mohawk and wearing a rather fulsome tutu with a bustle and steel cap Doc Martin boots. They featured one bionic arm and one bio-mechanical eye - shades of the BC16/Chad.

Check out a cartoon of 'Vyl' back in the day, by a great artist, David Lawrence Stafford.

But 'Vyl' was a very grownup being, so I wondered what they had been like when they had been a child. What kind of world had they come from? What being an outsider, some one who didn't belong, might have meant in their life. And from there my mind provided a lot of other strange outsider people to join him in his adventure.

Ideas come to me on walks. I find that a lot of 'writing' is wandering about in a slight daze, bothered by a shadow of an idea that just won't show itself entirely. Of course, as in many things, they often then turn up when you least expect them, and in a form that is more intriguing than you expected.

I find that my most interesting work comes from trying to create interesting questions to answer on my wayward wanders. It's much more fun to ask myself (for example) "What is the most colourful, even bizarre, way I can have the group make their way across the city?". Of course the answer flashed up as a party-parade, based on the Sydney Mardi Gras. If I'd asked my imagination simply "How can I get them across the city" then the answer would probably have been rather more mundane - 'a bus.' So I reckon the better the question, the more fascinating the problem, the more unexpected and entertaining the answer. Practice your questions folks!

I have always really liked the fact that when I read a book I am collaborating with the writer to produce a unique version of it. On page twelve of a certain book the author tells me I am standing at the bottom of a set of rickety steps leading up and away into the gloom. At once my mind begins to picture my own particular version of that winding staircase, and creates my own singular sense of the impending doom. So when I began to write "Making It Home" I had the idea that I wanted to write something that functioned like a text cartoon. A comic book made up of words which a reader could bring to life as if they were watching a movie. But their own particular film. Hence the idea of a pair of glasses that brought a story to life before one's very eyes. Sadly, I don't think I quite achieved the balancing act of providing just enough information to make it vivid without adding so much as to make it a bit restrictive. But hey, I'm learning here. And I'm just glad I got the opportunity to try!

"Making It Home" is in its own way quite as muddled and mucked up as the 'Topsy Turvey' Parade. No one turns out to be quite as they first seem. Nothing that happens works out exactly as we initially expected. And that my friends is the adventure of life. Much as we strive and strain it simply isn't possible to control everyone and everything we encounter. It is the flexible and imaginative among us who end up with the biggest rewards, and having the most fun. The truth is that left to our own devices we are all pretty weird - and that's a good thing.

'Family' is one of those ideas that has many different possibilities - combinations and connections - even though we are currently taught only one or two versions. But I learnt in my odd little life that 'Family' to me has become a special group of weird and wonderful people who hold my hand when I am unhappy or afraid, who dance joyously with me to the oddest songs, who put up with my muddles and scrapes, and who are always there when I need them. Sometimes it's my turn to be a carer, providing a shoulder or a meal or a bed. Sometimes it's my turn to be a teacher - especially when it comes to my great love, music. Some times I help build stuff. Other times I help demolish things. We all do what's needed when it's needed. You could say that we all share around the jobs of being a parent, or the mad aunt, or the stern guide, or the bewildered child. And whether we each are male or female, masculine or feminine, abled or disabled, young or old, short tall, small, big, we all get to contribute as we choose. And that is tres cool! (If some times a bit confusing!)

I have one particular regret about "Making It Home". The character who 'writes' the story I named Sam because I wanted to avoid them being specifically male or female. Sam could be short for Samuel or Samantha. However, as I wrote I guess the male bit of me wanted to say stuff, so in the end Sam ends up being more on the male spectrum. Though if you turn a blind eye to a few smaller details there is no reason why you can't create your own version of Sam as a girl. Or even on the cusp, somewhere between. But I do apologise that it's not easier to make your own choice in the matter as the book currently stands.

What about 'me'? Well, I'm a work of imagination, still in construction. If I should ever arrive at a definitive version of myself I shall let you know. But the version that mainly wrote this novel was dealing for a lot of the time with being homeless. I slept in my car (till the police towed it away!), then on friend's sofas and couches (when they were on holiday elsewhere), the occasional park bench, and under the cover of a grandstand at the local football park. It was a time when I had no particular ties to anywhere or anything, and to be honest I discovered that living like that was quite relieving. (I'm by nature an excessively anxious person - everything worries me.) There was so little to bother me, and all of it was in the moment - past or future played no part in my thinking.

I also found that it was quite educational (not in that horrid school sense!). I had very simple concerns - keeping clean, fed, and dry. I had books - found in the wonderful refuges of little libraries around inner Sydney. I had lots of time \- for people and for writing. Through it I learnt to prize privacy, safety, and water.

But such an adventure is in the long run (18 months plus) very wearing, so I am now very very pleased to say that I have a roof over my head. Oh yes. Something else being homeless taught me - gratitude!

So for me a home is both people and a safe place to live. "Making It Home" for ourselves and for/with others is the most important creative thing we can work at.

### Mac Dyson

29/09/2016

