By the Time I Get to Pellax

by Keith Dersley

  - 4 -

  Venner had a card slipped under his door, from Riley, the Director of Entertainments. Unlike Lonnie, he had not been renewed and in a couple of weeks he would have to leave the ship. He had arranged to run through a couple of songs with Lonnie that morning, so he took the guitar case and music stand to his singing partner's quarters. 'The new influx of passengers seems as if it may be quite promising for us,' said Lonnie with a grin. 'Not all oldsters, either. There's a youngish party of married couples from Earth. Our bread and butter, what?' 'Well, Riley didn't renew me,' said Venner. 'I got a card. Not required, that's me.' 'Fug me, I don't believe it,' said Lonnie, taking the card from Venner's hand and inspecting it. 'That dirty toe rag. He never liked you, but I didn't think he'd do this.' 'Nah, it's not him,' said Venner. 'This kind of thing happens too often, I can't blame Riley. I must live under a cloud, man.' 'Don't you feel sorry for yourself, my lad,' said Lonnie. 'You've got as much talent as anyone on the boats, and more!' Venner chuckled to himself. 'Well, it doesn't mean I can't get together with you now and then and give the people a pocketful of songs just off the cuff like, eh?' 'Too true,' said Lonnie. 'But if he passed on you, why renew me? If he thinks I act inoffensive and play the crawler so I can stay on, I'll soon disillusion him.' 'Don't make a thing of it, Lonnie,' said Venner. 'Yes, but it's a load of shit. I've seen this before on boats. I've seen it everywhere. And I know what YOUR credentials are. I mean, all the stuff you do, your writing, your acting bits, your composing, your PAINTING, even. Man, you've tried it all, and succeeded. It's just not fair. Other people might do just one little thing like you're doing and they make it. Yet here are you, you can do all these different things, pile up all this work, and still you don't make it. They don't take you up. Perhaps it's something in your birth chart!' 'In all modesty, I don't deny what you say,' replied Venner, 'but maybe the stench is just ON me. But who said anything had to be fair? Life ain't, is it? Maybe I've got the sign on me, Don't let this one get anywhere, he's a bighead. Ah, what do we care, it's all ego anyway, it's all about kudos these days. Now that there's not any real strife about securing a living, we struggle all the harder for the intangible. The dream, baby. Just a position in the world, and a bit of prestige. People don't own up to it much, but who is there amongst us who doesn't wish to feel he's special and better than the others at least in one little thing? Here we all are, secure citizens of the Federation, made for life. Fifty years and more of good dinners stretching ahead, right? Yet we can't just sit on our fat, we want to exert ourselves, don't we, and pull off something spectacular?' 'Hey, you're talking as if you've got a long grey beard, Ven. You're not out of the battle, by any means. What are you, man, nineteen? Twenty? Anyway, we can still do a birthday party or two, if requested. We don't have to go through Entertainments. Fuck Riley!' 'Hey, tell you what, shall we run through a couple of numbers, as we were going to?' said Venner, snapping open the locks on his guitar case. 'Damn well right,' said Lonnie heartily. They set up and went through a couple of songs, but it wasn't there. 'Ah, we were just singin' out of defiance that time,' said Venner, 'so what do we expect? But we got it when we want it.' 'Yeah, we have, and there are plenty of newbies on board who are going to want their little private functions catered to.' 'Damn right they will.'

  * * * * * *

  'One big plus being on a starliner like this is that they cater for everyone, every permutation of taste, and still provide the old-fashioned live music,' said Drax as he and Rosalind sat over breakfast in their cabin. He held up a flyer showing two singers in top hats, the taller one holding a guitar. 'Are you serious?' said Rosalind as he lifted a forkful of scrambled dodo eggs on toast. 'I can't believe a man like you is able to stomach a True-Time session, as they call it, with some one-man band and pal.' 'The write-up is quite interesting. One of the guys is from Pellax, like me.' Rosalind did not notice that he bit his lip and took a heavy breath. 'You're not going to tell me he's a friend of yours, are you?' 'Ha! No, I'm not. Pellax is as big as earth, you know. I never met him,' said Drax off-handedly, turning to look out of the floor-to-ceiling window which showed the seemingly motionless stars among which the pulsating Tortuga glided like a whale. He took another look at the leaflet. 'Still, I really would like to hear some of the old melodies as laid down by a native son.' Rosalind had picked up a copy of the magazine-like schedule provided by the ship's Entertainments Department. 'Is it this guy here, Lupo Venner? Yes, it says he's a Pellacian.' 'I've never heard the name, but I'm sure he'll bring my memories back.' 'Yeah, well I don't know if I like that,' said Rosalind. 'Maybe you ought to spend more time building up new memories alongside of me first.' 'Don't you think I'll ever forget one little snippet of the delights we've shared, baby. Oh God, I love 'em, but for a poor little runt from plastic Pellax, times like those can be pretty overwhelming,' said Drax, raising his arms over his head as if protecting himself from an avalanche. 'Stupid idiot,' said Rosalind, drawing back the dagger-like toe of her pixie boot, 'I oughta burst your bubble.' In fact it was Venner's partner that they saw in the Coconut Lounge later that day. He was in a corner, surrounded by tourists on folding chairs. 'I'm sorry that my accompaniment is limited to this music box today, my old trusty Tunesmith. I really love, as I'm sure many of you do, a live accompaniment, but my guitar-playing partner Lupo Venner has another engagement tonight, so I am left with the canned melodies.' 'It's not the same,' said an old woman solemnly. 'I quite agree,' said the singer. 'The worst of it is, Ven won't be joining me in an official role much longer. He'll be missed. Well, I say that, but the truth is he will still be on board here for a while, a week or two at least, and he and I may be playing a few informal gigs on board. You can all catch a gig from him while he's still here.' 'Really? That's great,' said Drax. 'Oh yes, birthday parties, engagements, just plain old-fashioned bring-a-bottle parties and get-togethers. We've always done those alongside the more formal performances. We do it for the love of it, man.' 'When is the next one here on board?' asked Drax's lady. 'Nothing is slated yet. When it is though, it will be pretty informal and anybody who's free can come. Leave me your name and cabin number and I'll let you know.' The singer clapped his hands to establish a rhythm, then flipped a switch on the small chrome Tunesmith box and from all around them arose a deep orchestral string arrangement, not overloud. It seemed to be emanating from the floor and the sides of the ship. Smoothly and as it were without transition from his speaking mode, the minstrel began crooning 'My One and Only Love'. 'Hey, it was a good crowd that came aboard from the taxi yesterday, a real friendly bunch,' hissed a thick-set fellow with fair hair, 'and most of us are here now, you see.' 'You're right, actually,' whispered Drax. He winked and raised his fingers to his lips. 'Dig those strains.' The blond man, who smelled of lager beer, raised his thumb in agreement and sank back onto his canvas chair to listen his fill. A few more songs went down and the audience was attentive and applauded loudly, forgetting about any lack of input from a live musician. Just after the minstrel had got into 'The Nearness of You' a drumming, booming noise started to infiltrate into the backing track. It got louder. And louder. Then an electronic whooping gained in volume. This had nothing to do with the song. 'An alarm!' said Drax. A man close to the singer stood up and began to denounce the Federation. A fellow beside him then leapt on Lonnie. The aggressors were young and red-faced, wearing a curious combination of formal evening attire and clothing associated with visiting a beach resort. As Lonnie skilfully defended himself, the tirade continued: 'These incidents shall not be allowed to pass without response. Also, my people have been exploited by swine, heartless swine.' Drax pushed between the toe-tappers and hurled himself onto Lonnie's antagonist. The man twisted in his grip and jumped clear, briefly. His fists and feet moved in a blur, raising welts on anyone in range.

  - 5 -

  The desk the two girls shared in Mr Dashak's class in the little school in the run-down town on the insignificant planet Pluron was in the front row. Nearby was the crate out of which they had taken th
eir bottles of morning break-time abaya juice. From the box on the teacher's desk Tyana had fetched them two straws each. 'It's a wonder Erl's not drinking his straight out of the bottle,' said Teresa, looking over at the boy who was sitting on his own at a desk in the corner. That week Mr Dashak had announced a new seating arrangement in class: pupils could choose their own places, sit next to whatever friend they wished. (He had tried other schemes too, such as having a big 'brains table' of several desks pushed together in the centre at which students who had turned in the best work the preceding week would be available for the others to consult with. These methods were worth trying out, instead of just arranging the pupils in lines alphabetically by surname.) 'Erl doesn't really have a single friend in class,' said Teresa. 'No,' said Tyana. 'He calls them small time. He prefers to hang out with the big boys. You know, jet gypsies. And the worst ones, at that.' The jet gypsies, the sons of visiting space merchants and fairground proprietors, always let local boys join them in their sports and games. It was a tough gig though, and every new recruit had to be dragged through a prickle bush first. Erl had. Once he was in with them he became a daredevil on their buzz bikes and crates. Some were dangerously overpowered and some were ancient. Some even had wheels. Jet gypsy children would come to class, briefly. Sometimes Erl knew them. His father often took him with him when he went to visit these travelling entrepreneurs. Erl's father had travelled with these people before he was married, and he could speak their language. Erl was small and wiry, but even the biggest boys steered clear of him. If Erl got into a temper and went at someone, it was rough. Even Astok, the toughest boy in the class, would take a beating from Erl. 'What makes him so different to everyone else?' asked Tyana. 'How do I know? But he's the same as the other boys in one way,' said Teresa. 'He'd like to go out with Reianne, I bet.' Reianne Osferr, a self-possessed girl with bobbed brown hair and a turned-up nose, was accepted as being the pin-up in the class. Reianne seemed to have a charmed life. Everything about her was neat and clean and wonderful. Her parents were older than anyone else's and she had obviously inherited some of their way of looking at things, which was not quite today's way. It was more classy and reserved. Not that Reianne was old-fashioned, she was completely up to the minute. She was clever in class, without being brilliant. The girls liked her, and did not resent the fact that the boys treated her like a queen. Reianne was pleasant to everyone, including Erl. Erl was puzzled by this. She treated him the same as she treated the others. She didn't seem to think he was different from anyone else. Unlike Reianne, the rest of the class were always wary around him and didn't act natural. For his part, Erl did not treat Reianne like an ordinary classmate. Though he could be friendly when it suited him, Erl would often ignore his fellow pupils, or push them out of the way or smack them if necessary. When it came to Reianne, he was too shy to say anything. Reianne was perhaps the only girl Astok, the tough boy, would have stood up to Erl for, if she asked him to. She never asked.

  * * * * * *

  The school, like any other school on the planet, had its share of fads. These came and went. They would take hold for a day or two, a week at most, and then it was quiet until the next thing. You had the Earth music craze, with everybody on the playground gyrating to the strains of Tunesmith boxes on the playground tarmac. This was one of the few crazes that had a lasting effect on Erl. He became a real connoisseur of Earth beats, particularly folk-rock. After the Earth music it would be power kites for a while, with everyone competing to get the biggest and highest-flying one; then jet skates were the rage. Erl rarely took any interest. He had his own things going on. He was the black sheep of his class, and of the school itself, and took a pride in it. Then the craze for the movie Pirates of the Cosmos started. There was the film, the comic, the hardbacked annual and the tricorn cap. Of course, the jet gypsies wore tricorns, amongst other headgear, and Erl's father brought one home for him. This was a genuine tricorn, quite expensive, and modelled after those made on Earth long ago. Erl certainly stood out when he arrived at school with that on. It was much better than the cardboard ones some of the boys had sent off for using a coupon from the Pirates of the Cosmos comic. 'Thanks, Dad,' said Erl, putting it on. He looked in the mirror and adjusted it. 'Let me try it,' said Tron, Erl's eight-year-old brother. 'You'll need some bundled-up paper in there,' said their dad. Tron really liked the cap, but Erl wouldn't let him hang onto it. At bedtime he took it and put it in the cardboard box where he kept his comics. The next day, looking like a real brigand, Erl caused a sensation as he came through the school gates. 'That's a great tricorn, Erl,' said someone. 'Ah, I've got plenty of these old things,' said Erl with a shrug. 'Where'd you get it?' asked someone else. 'The jet boys wear 'em all the time.' Though he didn't say much, it seemed as if Erl was happy to be the centre of attention that day. Everyone flocked around him, even Reianne, and when they went into class, as it was a day when they could sit anywhere, she sat at his desk with him. 'He looks stupid,' said Tyana. 'Ridiculous,' said Teresa. 'Why is Reianne playing up to him?' 'What's that you've got there, Erloch? Do you think you're a country squire?' said Mr Dashak. 'Take it off, boy.' Erl did so and put it in his desk. For the rest of the day, sitting beside Reianne, he behaved like a model pupil. The next day, Erl went into class, taking off his tricorn as he did so, and saw that Reianne was sitting with Sarinda Sarell, at Sarinda's desk. They were colouring in a big map with crayons. Reianne looked up at Erl then returned to her colouring. Erl went to his desk. He opened the desk lid and put his tricorn cap in, then gently shut it. Reianne was obviously ready to stay beside Sarinda Sarell for the next week, at least. Erl decided he wouldn't wear the tricorn on the way home. He wadded it up and stuck it in his pocket. Tron could have it to play with. You can't wear a Pirates of the Cosmos cap forever, he thought to himself. But in a way, that was what Erl, or Erloch Spurgo, went on trying to do for the rest of his life.