by Chris Troman
a day checking computers, spaced about twenty feet apart. Then I pass the data onto Jerry, who next gives his results to Penrose. Finally Penrose submits them through a small slot in the wall. And if I ever did get through the door, no doubt the guard dogs, guns and razor wire would stop me getting too far.
Ambulance chaser
The ambulance screeched round the corner into Maynard Street. Sirens pronounced its imminent arrival, just before the blue lights showed in the mirrors of the cars. So they hastily pulled in to let it pass, but the drivers found their path blocked again when they tried to pull out. For this time there was car in hot pursuit; of the medical emergency on wheels. The driver of this second carriage held the road with an uncanny skill, never more than a heart beat away from the lead vehicle. He reached for the other radio, the one on the dashboard. Next to it sat the photo card, proclaiming him to be Mr G. Harvester. This radio didn't pick up the normal commercial stations, but was tuned to the emergency frequencies. Frequencies set aside purely for their exclusive use.
The speaker crackled, and out came a voice. "Got a critical three o two on rout to St. James. Our E.T.A. is ten minutes, please have a trauma team ready over." The driver left the channel open, and lit the cigarette already between his lips thinking quickly. "This one might make it", he calculated the potential profits for tonight. "One in Bethnal green, two on the strand. And this one if he turns out to be good one, not a bad haul."
He thought back to the accident. A bike squashed underneath a four by four, very nasty. And when he got there, the patient was all the way across the road. He must have been flung about thirty feet at least. He couldn't get too close, but from the glimpses he did get, chap looked in a bad way. But then these cases always did, and all that leather and the helmet didn't help. "Give me a pedestrian any day, easier to spot diagnose."
The ambulance turned into Hogarth rise, and over the radio came a new message. "We're losing him, I think his hearts stopped" "Well use the defibrillator." What luck their radio had been jammed on some how. Now he would get a blow-by-blow update. "Clear, not yet" "Well try again" "O.K. he's back" "Keep him stable we're nearly there." "If he needed that he must be in a bad way", mused the driver as he chased his blue flashing prey.
He recalled again the start of this chase, the driver was sobbing. She was still sat in her car as the trolley wheeled past. He couldn't see the face too well, as there was too much padding and he was strapped down. Then he recalled, all the limbs were there but there was a lot of padding on the right leg. It was soaked in blood. How long could he last losing that much? "Done the blood match" "Yes A B negative, I've got the drip going." So he was bleeding like a stuck pig, or they’d not need that. The driver still weighed up the odds on his prey reaching hospital, alive or not.
What they could do with technology these days. There was that woman who died five times on the journey, and still made it there alive. She didn't last long though of course, but he didn't go inside. That was somebody else’s job.
The ambulance was in to the home strait now, as it tore down Mornington crescent. He had to move quickly to keep up. Then screeching to a halt the doors of the ambulance flew open, and he stopped just in time to be a respectful distance away. The doctors rushed out then. As he waited tensely he heard the words over the jammed radio. "Too late", and a slower team emerged and shut the door. "Off to the mortuary then."
Their pursuer, who still sat a short distance away, wasn't staring at the departing Ambulance. He was looking at the pale figure floating in mid air, where the vehicle had just been. It sat up and looked bemused. It was only then that the driver pulled forward, and raised the small for hire sign on his dashboard. As he drew near to the confused figure, he wound down the window. "You look like you could do with a ride mate, hop in." And opening the door, he beckoned the spectral figure in, which was now standing mere inches from the floor. The recently passed on slid unsteadily across the seat, as the driver continued. "So where we off to, you got after life insurance?" Glancing at the figures neck he noticed the glowing cross. "Up there then" and he set off.
The driver immediately began the type of patter; heard from the front of every black cab. "Of course there are a few policies you can buy in to. But yours is pretty standard round here. Though the other week I got a Buddhist. That was a short trip. Maternity hospitals only round the corner.' "Is this it?" enquired his fare. "No some choose to walk, wander the earth for ever. I don't see the point to it my self, and of course there's those who don't believe. They just fade away, but I pity the bad ones. I don't pick them up. They've got their own special ride, all the way down", and he shuddered.
"So got your fare?" Searching his pockets, the passenger found two coins to his surprise. Which he held up. "Cheers just drop them in here" proffering his gloves hand. "Any change?" asked the man in the back. "Only if you're a Cyclops, thought not." Slowly the car faded into a wall, until only the number plate glowed faintly Reaper 1. Then it was gone.
The Loyal Lodge
I went to Halesowen tertiary college. It was a sort of finishing school for the technically minded. Either that, or my high school had already had enough of the students by the age of sixteen. Down the hill from the college was a pub called the Loyal Lodge. A real old world place; consisting of several small rooms to keep the locals from the younger crowd.
The name harks back to the civil war. The Lodge was loyal to the old regime. In the back sat the games room, a haunt of youth Festooned with a jukebox that I knew played hello I love you by the Doors, and Led Zeppelin’s Black Country Woman. Those were the main theme tune to my stay then. Other accouterments were the video games; it even boasted a table video console, so you could have a place to put your beer whilst zapping aliens.
The landlord had an interesting policy on under age drinking. Long before the time of identity cards, he would sum up his clients, and if the youth had stretched it to the limit of what he could call of age. Then he would enquire, "Are you sixteen?" In his embarrassment at being cross-examined by such an impressive figure, the lad would obviously reply in the affirmative. "Then you’re too young to drink, over eighteens only."
In spite of his policy on age restriction, the landlord still held an annual event called Drink the Lodge Dry. Word always filtered up to the college, and so on the appointed day the more disreputable element descended on its prey, intent on draining the barrels dry. It was a futile effort, as the landlord had previously stocked up in preparation. Despite this obvious breaking of any rules of engagement, we partook until reeling we had to admit defeat. But it wasn't the winning it was the taking part. You can never drain the ocean, but at least we tried.
Albert and Victoria
Albert had never seen an alien before, but he had also never seen a human. He had been activated after landing on the moon. He was fully programmed in his job, the unpacking and constructing the final testament of the human race. Many years ago, a man called Ben Fastwick had come to the conclusion; that with all the technology in the world, man would still never reach the stars. So with a vast empire and fortune at his disposal, he set about preserving what the human race had achieved. All the scientific progress and artistic effort, was to be saved for posterity.
But where should he put it? History told of the great storehouses of knowledge from the past, always succumbing to the hand of the barbarian or natural disasters. Then it struck him. Why not go to the furthest reaches his race had been to, where astronauts of the past had left tokens of their own? The moon.
So he set up a program to ship humanity's last museum, to where no present day human would ever see it. A project of a lifetime, at the end of which, all he got was a radio signal. The self-repairing guardian of man's achievements sent back that all had arrived intact, and would be set up as planned.
Albert, who was charged with this monumental task, set about clearing the site. He constructed the asteroid defences, a solar charged laser that would automatically sense an erroneous object, then remove it before the
projectile could be of harm to it’s precious ward. With that done, he could set the specimens up for display. Each lovingly placed in order of development for all to see. The fact that there was no one to peruse the artefacts did not bother Albert. Preserved in the vacuum of the moon, they would wait eternity.
Another task set the robot was to use a telescope to look back at earth, for he knew one day his public would come. He was programed to know this, so they would. But the few rockets that did take off, soon fell on other parts of the earth. Then not long after that all he could see were clouds swirling over the surface, and so it went. Not much happened after that for a long time, perhaps a thousand years. Albert’s internal clock said a thousand and twenty six.
But today was different, after he had scanned the earth through the telescope; he paced up and down the isles checking the unchanging exhibits. Then a flash startled him. An asteroid of some size had come into view. and the automatic laser had done its job. But instead of splintering up and crashing in a safe site, a bit of it broke off as the rest glanced back off into space. Was this made of something other than rock, he decided to investigate.
The piece of the
