by L. T. Hewitt
“Just so you know,” the Space Chicken said as he also examined the interior of the building in disgust, “I don’t eat corpses, so would you mind ordering me something else. I’ll pay, of course, but I don’t approve of your eating corpses either.”
Dave frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought there were any corpses in the food here. It’s mostly meat.”
“Dave, I mean I’m a vegetarian.”
“What? Why?” He sounded offended, as though meat consumption were such a personal experience to him that failing to do so was an act of heresy.
“Dave,” the Space Chicken said bluntly. “I’m a Chicken.”
The Fez-following group approached a nervous, teenage boy at the counter.
“Hi,” said Dave, as he contemplated how the small room was creating such a phenomenal amount of noise. What an odd place to put a roadside café, he thought. “Can we have a cheeseburger—”
“Frank…” the man abruptly whined.
“What did you just say?”
“Frank…”
“Frank? Who’s Frank?” Dave looked the cashier’s nametag and saw the word ‘Dave’. ”Oh my G— Quack, how many Daves are there?”
“Frank...”
“Stop saying that! What do you mean?”
“Frankfur…”
“Can we have a—”
“Frankfurters.”
“Can we have a cheeseburger…” he asked through gritted teeth, looking at the third Dave, “and—”
“We sell frankfurters.”
“Can we have a cheeseburger—”
“Would you like a frankfurter?”
“Fine! We’ll have three frankfurters, a veggie hot dog and a cheeseburger!”
“Say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’,” the cashier Dave instructed. “Sacred Quack, where are your manners?” he blasphemed.
They left the building with three frankfurters, a veggie hot dog and a cheeseburger shortly after Dave (the only reasonably sane one of the many – the alien one) had collapsed onto the floor, only to be woken up by Dave the Cashier telling him that it was impolite to sleep on the floor and that, oh, they sold frankfurters.
“What. A. Freak,” Clint stated as they headed off down the road again.
“He was very odd and annoyi—”
“Stop!” They turned around and saw Dave the Cashier running after them. “I think I gave you the special frankfurter from the future with an acorn in it!”
The Fez-following gang ran away immediately.
Chapter 11
Arthur Cardigan thought about every single element of what was happening to him. He thought about the nature of his life. He thought about the structure of his life. He thought about the rhythm of his life. He thought about the method of his life. He thought about the quality of his life. He thought about the aim of his life. He thought about the meaning of life.
Arthur Cardigan reasoned with himself and made his next decision a logical one. He called out for help. But who was there in his time of need? Quack had vanished without a trace.
‘But Quack is always present in our world,’ a small religious quote inside his head told him.
He spoke back to this ghost aloud. People had been calling him crazy for a long time. Arthur didn’t see a reason why they should be wrong.
“Yes,” he responded to the voice. “But He doesn’t actually give us distinct clues to tell us what we should do.” Some people were beginning to give him funny looks. Arthur felt like crying out of frustration. The repressed depressive had been released because of his solitude. But, sadly, this was only one of his minor troubles. He tried not to let these thoughts penetrate his brain. He tried blocking them out as hard as he could. He tried not to think how if he had somehow managed to get himself lost it would not just be his life at stake, but the whole of the world in peril. “Quack isn’t there for me.”
“Quack is there for everyone,” said a passer-by in a futile attempt to help the hopeless.
“Yeah, everyone can find Quack in their life.”
“I know,” Arthur barked. “I’ve spoken to him.”
“So why do you still need to search? Just accept Him as He is.”
“It’s not that simple. I’ve lost Him.”
“Quack is never truly gone—”
“Just shut up!” Arthur screeched, causing the public much more pain than he intended. “I need to do this on my own,” he explained, much more calmly.
Sometimes Arthur wished he could just become an atheist. The only problem was that he had spoken to Quack before, which slightly contradicts with the idea that ‘Quack doesn’t exist and there’s no way He could exist and everyone who says they have spoken to Him is deluded’. Arthur was deluded, of course, but for different reasons. He had tried self-denial before, but this usually failed. Why do I always have to be right? he wondered in vain annoyance.
Arthur returned to his original train of thought. “They’re non-specific, His actions,” he decided. “He doesn’t do anything in such a literal way as to state it to me. Quack doesn’t just clearly tell me ‘Here’s where you go next.’ Or—”
Arthur spotted a quotation on a statue nearby that told him all he needed. He stepped forward and hugged the artwork. He felt a small piece of rock break off in his hand and stick into his palm. He knew there were quite a few people staring now. He didn’t mind. Some day they would all be grateful to him.
Chapter 12
After walking for a short while through the town of Carpe Yolu, Dave (both the crazy and the alien varieties), Clint and Clein (only one variety between them) and the Space Chicken reached a signpost on the path with its writing facing away from them. Dave eagerly ran up to it and looked at the other side.
Welcome to Carpe Yolu
Home of the Great Yolu Cod
Mother of Lake Fretulfance
Established 1372
The Region of the Holy Chicken
Incipit vita regis apud furiosum iter.
What does this mean exactly? Dave wondered. He wasn’t sure if he should ask aloud or not. He decided against it.
The Space Chicken was clearly thinking along the same lines. “It means we’re leaving the city of Carpe Yolu,” he muttered to Dave.
My first new place, Dave thought. I’ve spent my entire life up until eight days ago on the same planet and now I’m exploring more and more of a different one. I was scared enough of the thought of the last city, but exiting it may be the reason I later exit this world. But, as I know all too well, there’s more than one way of exiting a world and one of those is in a body bag.
The city of Carpe Yolu has thus far been good to me, and I hope Glix continues to live up to this. But, again, as I know from experience, this isn’t often the case with expectations. Carpe Yolu seemed to me to be the perfect place to hide away from society, as its people are so understanding of their own flaws. If there’s anywhere on Glix I’d like to revisit, it’s this particular settlement.
Dave stopped and thought for a moment. I’ve only just begun to explore a planet and already I’ve concluded that its greatest place is the small part I was contained within. Perhaps I’d better broaden my horizons.
“Dave, are you all right?” the Space Chicken asked.
“You’re so polite.”
“Okay… I was only wondering because you’re stood back there on your own.”
“You people. You are great. You understand exactly what a person wants and doesn’t want.”
“That’s enough I think, Dave…”
“Your whole planet. It’s fantastic. You cater to the needs of the few, yet you do it so brilliantly you make them feel like the majority. The good majority, the welcoming majority, not the mass, nameless majority.”
“Dave,” the Space Chicken warned, “I’d stop rambling now if I were you.”
“Yes. Thank you. Must stop.” Dave looked a bit sheepish and didn’t talk much for the next few minutes. He was very thankful for the Space Chicken’s words.
“Shut up. Just shut up!”
The rest of the group turned around and looked at him. “Dave, you’re not feeling too well, are you?” the Space Chicken informed him with a piercingly vacant stare that no-one else saw.
Dave felt obliged to agree. “No, I mustn’t be. It’s probably something to do with the hot weather.”
“You think this is hot?” Clint laughed. “You should try going to the Nekken Semisphere in the warmer months.”
“In fact,” Clein added, voicing his concern, “I thought everybody had been to the Nekken Semisphere at some point or other. And it’s always hot there.” What nonsense, Dave thought. Surely the Semispheres of Glix – just like those of my home – alternate temperatures depending on their proximity to nearby stars. But Dave remained quiet, mostly owing to his apparent lack of knowledge in this subject area.
“Not everyone’s as well-travelled as you,” the Space Chicken commented to the twins. “We can’t all afford to (or we choose not to) go abroad to hot countries. Perhaps Dave hasn’t travelled very far in his lifetime.”
If only, Dave thought. If only I hadn’t travelled very far I wouldn’t be feeling as uncomfortable as I am right now. I wouldn’t be in any of this mess. Travel seems to cause a lot of problems, he concluded. Only this one seems marginally worse than losing a train ticket. Nobody I know likes travelling. I particularly don’t like it, seeing as I may have travelled a trillion light-years, for all I know. And that’s quite enough for someone who can’t be bothered with leaving his hometown more than once a month.
He’s talking about holidays, you dolt.
I know that. I was using a deliberate turn of phrase.
A turn of phrase is a particular arrangement of words. You were just misunderstanding a prophet. You humans have a tendency to do that.
I’ll misunderstand you if you don’t leave me alone. Now shut up.
The Space Chicken walked up to Dave and had a quiet word with him. “Are you quite all right, Dave?”
“Of course! Why would there be anything wrong with me? It’s not like I’m an alien or anything!”
“Dave, it’s all right. You can be honest with me. I’m here to help you,” the Space Chicken said comfortingly. “I mean, there aren’t many things a massive Chicken can do in the world. I can’t get any job that requires the use of fingers, so I may as well devote all of eternity to helping people. As you do. And – please don’t take this the wrong way – you seem like the kind of guy who might need a lot of help.”
Dave thought about this for a while. “Thanks. I’ll let you know if I need to talk about anything.” He gave the Space Chicken a small smile.
The Space Chicken smiled back as well as he could, given the solidity of his beak. He looked as though he was about to walk away, but then turned back and said, “Can I ask you something, Dave?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“Do you think I’d have made a good airline pilot? They rejected my job offer because they said I needed thumbs.”
“Um… That is a minor requirement.”
“I suppose. How about a waiter? I can balance things sufficiently with my wings.”
Dave stared at him blankly, his mind trying to comprehend the mental image.
“You know what?” the Space Chicken asked upon seeing Dave’s expression. “I think I’ll reserve these conversations between us to mental health issues.”
Dave couldn’t focus on his own mental health while watching his inner mind-Chicken fruitlessly attempting to deliver spaghetti carbonara. “That’s probably for the best.”
Chapter 13
The Space Chicken, Dave, Clint and Clein casually talked whilst finishing off their fast food purchases. Crazy Dave had more manners than to talk whilst eating, so instead proceeded to stretch his lips around the cheeseburger, sticking out his tongue to moisten (and subsequently devour) it as he did so.
“Do you have any manners whatsoever, Crazy Dave?” Dave asked, with his mouth full of meat.
“Do you not realise the hypocrisy of that statement?” the Space Chicken asked, after swallowing a mouthful of his meat-free meal.
“Because I’m eating and talking at the same time,” Dave said in realisation, accidentally spitting food everywhere.
“Yes, that,” the Space Chicken said in disgust. “But also because of what you’re eating. That’s meat. Animals just like you and me were killed to produce that burger, which tastes just the same as most vegetarian-friendly substitutes.”
“Oh well,” Dave said. “I’m sure they killed the animals in a humane way.”
“But they didn’t! They tortured them. That’s what they always do and the public remains oblivious. No-one seems to listen to anything they think might make them change their minds!”
“You know, I was trying to get on with you, but you can be incredibly annoying to listen to when I’m eating my food. It’s ever so slightly off-putting. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Yes,” said the Space Chicken, his fuse having reached its end and the spark just beginning to light his patience dynamite. “Most people tell me that. Most tell me to shut up as they carry on eating, without a care for what goes into their meal.”
“Maybe you should listen to them more often,” Dave suggested.
“Dave, for Quack’s sake, I’m trying to help you!”
“Did I ask for help?”
“No, because that’s not what people do. Nobody ever asked for help. They are either given it by a friend or they get themselves hurt.”
“You don’t really sound like a good friend at the moment.”
“Dave,” the Space Chicken said solemnly, “if you don’t think very carefully about your actions and take into consideration the friends and enemies you make, people will begin to find out things you don’t want them to know.”
Dave went red. He wasn’t sure if he was being threatened or if the Space Chicken was prophesying.
“And I get the impression you have a fair few secrets you don’t want anyone to find out about,” the Space Chicken said.
Dave’s face displayed an entire rainbow of shades before it settled on a colourless one. He quickly changed the topic away from himself. “So, what do we all think of the Fez?” he asked, opening the conversation up to include the twins as well, and Crazy Dave, should he choose to speak.
“It’s all right. I think it’s a nice thing to have,” Clein said. “Isn’t it great that we have a hobby the whole nation can share?”
“I guess so,” said the Space Chicken.
“The thing I don’t get,” said Clint, “is why people even go after the Fez.”
“Well to try to get what’s inside, of course,” replied the Space Chicken.
“But no-one knows what’s inside.”
“That’s why they want to get in.”
“I guess so.”
“Look,” said the Celestial Cockerel to the disinterested. “The Fez is like a giant Quack Festival present.”
“I like presents!” said Clint, perking up.
“It’s all wrapped up in lots of tape because it’s from your Grampy Clum.”
“But he wraps things up in loads of tape!” Clint said, clearly roused by this scenario.
“How are you going to open it?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know! I Do Not Know!” he sobbed, exhaling melodramatically.
“But surely you could find the place where there was no tape,” said Clein.
“Yeah, surely you could,” Clint desperately tried to persuade himself.
“But it’s see-through tape.”
“Yeah, but you can find the creases in the tape.”
“No, it’s completely invisible!” the Space Chicken said.
“Then we’ll pick at the tape until we find all the cr
eases in it.”
“But you know what happens when you push a button on the Fez and get it wrong, don’t you?”
The twins looked each other straight in the face.
“And you’re not the only ones trying to get into this present.”
Clint and Clein screamed and ran off into the distance.
The concerned Dave, who had been eavesdropping this whole time (though not quite as privately and secretly as he might have believed), turned to ask a question to the Space Chicken, who immediately turned back and said, “This is completely normal for them I believe. Or at least, from what I’ve heard, it is.”
“What does happen when you push a button on the Fez?”
“Well, if it’s the right button, it opens.”
Dave had been wondering for a while, but didn’t want to sound stupid, so he quietly asked, “And if it’s the wrong button?”
Neither the Space Chicken nor Crazy Dave heard him. He prompted, “And if it—”
Don’t just go out and reveal to all of them how much of a traitor you are.
But I thought we— I thought I established that they weren’t a threat.
Better to be safe than sorry.
Why would I be sorry? If they’re harmless, they’re harmless.
But don’t you remember what the Space Chicken said to you just a few minutes ago?
I’m sure he didn’t mean anything too serious.
Better to be safe than sorry.
What do you mean by that?
You have a knack for finding trouble where there isn’t any.
Now hold it just there—
“And if what, sorry?” asked the Space Chicken.
“Um, er, uh— Did you enjoy your veggie hot dog?”
“Yeah it was fine, thanks,” he said, although Dave was pretty sure he heard him mutter, “There is definitely something wrong with that boy.”
Dave tried to ignore this comment. This was wise, as the comment had very probably been a product of Dave’s imagination. And Dave found that it was always best to ignore anything that was created within his own mind. “I wonder where the twins are right now.”
“Oh, they’ve probably discovered some spot in which to hide themselves.”
Sure enough, Clint and Clein were found curled up in a ditch, like a dog or a cat or the Loch Haggis monster.
“Get up and come on,” said the uncaring Chicken, kicking the dormant seventeen-year-olds awake.
As they got up, Dave turned to the Space Chicken and said, “You seem to know them very closely, although they said they didn’t know anyone before they came to FezFans.”
