by JT Griffiths
“Where are we Newton? Give us short facts only please.”
Much to their amazement the space above the orange splodge on Tycho’s wrist turned into a fuzzy mist. As the haze thickened it formed into the shape of an elderly man wearing a dark red beret. Large hooped earrings hung from his earlobes that were, like the rest of his skin, tinged green. A goatee beard dangled from his chin, but the most striking characteristic were his piercing blue eyes. Carina sensed there was something about this apparition that she hated. She couldn’t decide what it was but when it spoke in a pompous high-pitched voice she shivered.
“You are at Gamma spaceport attached by skytugger to Goldilocks world. This planet was first colonised by man in the year 11014 A.D. Goldilocks orbits a small yellow star every three hundred and forty days at an average distance of one hundred and thirty million kilometres. The planet was given the name Goldilocks because it was found to be neither too hot nor too cold, but its climate was just right. When the first settlers came here they found Goldilocks already had plenty of life. There were animals and plants, but all were deadly poisonous to humans. Large domes were built to keep the native life out and today the people still live under them. Do you wish to be good citizens and listen to how the police overthrew the Goldilocks government?”
“Ugh, boring. No! Newton that’s all for now,” Tycho replied. The tattoo’s image dissolved.
Jaime could see the distaste on Carina’s face.
“Don’t worry! Newton would never do anything to harm us; I would trust him with my life. He can get a bit cantankerous, that’s when Tycho calls him Mr Grumpy.”
“I vaguely remember Newton from school history, I believe he was someone from prehistory, before the second seismic war destroyed the Earth,” Carina was pleased with herself being able to show off her knowledge.
Tycho smirked, “Huh, I don’t believe in Earth, I’ve never liked fairy stories.”
Carina was about to reply when Jaime interrupted.
“Come on! We need to find a crate to hide behind. Then we wait for the skycart to arrive and with luck we will slip onto it without being seen. Make yourselves comfortable, we may have to wait a while.”
Carina and Heen found a space together on the cold metal floor underneath an empty wooden plinth that was high enough to allow them to sit, though somewhat uncomfortably. Tycho, trying to avoid putting weight on his sprained ankle, hopped across to join them. The girls watched intrigued as he sat cross-legged, concentrating all his attention on his tattoo game. He flicked his fingers, bashed his thumb and forefingers together and waved his hands frantically as the tiny red rectangles danced towards his fingertips.
After a minute of wild activity he sighed, “Game over. I just can’t complete that level.”
All of a sudden the area above Tycho’s palm filled with fast moving words and numbers.
“What’s your tattoo doing now?” Carina asked.
“Oh it’s downloading the latest news. Mega-boring! And I can’t play another game until it’s finished,” Tycho groaned.
“Can I read it?” Carina was eager to find out if they had been missed.
Tycho mumbled his disapproval but stroked his wrist so that a series of words and images formed in the air a few centimetres above his tattooed hand.
“Here is the news from a million inhabited worlds,” he mocked. “If you want the news from galaxy central touch your little finger; if you desire the lesser Megellanic cloud touch your ring finger; if you would like the Andromeda galaxy touch your thumb, for other options touch...”
“Tycho, give us the news from our planet, please.”
Tycho belched and yawned, but with a wave and a finger flick a tiny group of stars and planets hovered in the air above him. Carina stabbed her finger at a dull yellow star recognising it as her own sun. Another prod brought up her planet and a few more prods located her town.
Reading the news was made almost impossible with Tycho’s ever fidgeting hands especially when he and Heen started to giggle.
“Keep still you sewer rat,” Carina was becoming irritated with the younger pair. “Heen, don’t you want to see if we’ve made the news?”
Tycho laughed even more.
“That’s what the workmen call us,” he giggled. “Those wretched young sewer rats! Just you wait until I catch them riding our skycart for free. I’ll string them up, tear their guts out and chuck what remains of them into space.”
At first Heen found the idea hilarious and pretended to rip her stomach out. She tumbled about laughing so much she had tears streaming across her cheeks. Then reality struck, they were no longer in an innocent game of hide-and-seek, but were part of a dangerous game of cat and rat.
They were billions of kilometres from home and angry workmen were seeking revenge for the removal of their jumpsuits. What would happen if they were caught? Would they have their guts torn out and have what’s left tossed through an airlock into space? She knew she was in serious trouble and the thought of her empty bed calling for her became too much. The sound of her stomach didn’t help, it was telling her it was time to eat. Heen’s laughs became loud sobs, her pain made worse by her hunger. The others, worried the noise would alert an inquisitive worker or robot, flung themselves over her body muffling her cries.
“Heen please be quiet. Maybe we’ll find something to eat on the skycart.” Carina tried to comfort her sister, but Jaime shook his head.
“I’m afraid we mustn’t open any crates, no one must know we’ve been here. Heen will be alright. As soon as we land we’ll get some food. I can see the skycart’s lights. It’s getting quite close.”
A few minutes later the four sewer rats were scampering onto the skycart. Another few hours and they would be back on solid ground even if it wasn’t their own.
****
Many trillions of kilometres away, on the space platform above Heen and Carina’s world, a conference was taking place. Eight workmen were holding eight replacement silver spacesuits and they were not happy. Their boss, who had travelled from a planet many thousands of light years distant, stood listening to their protests.
“It’s about time the company installed a rat trap,” cried the first.
“We should plan an extermination campaign,” urged another.
“We could have been killed. Those kids don’t deserve to live,” argued a third.
“So what are you going to do about it Mr Phobos?” asked a fourth.
“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll give you my word that by tomorrow your problem will be sorted,” their boss assured them.
Chapter 11
Goldilocks
Moments after the skycart landed four shadows weaved their way through the gaps between the wooden crates, and managing to avoid the gazes of the robots going about their secretive tasks they sneaked outside. It was easy evading the men who supervised the robots, they didn’t expect to see four children creeping about, and besides most of them appeared to be asleep.
A security robot sat guarding the entrance, and though it was facing them as they crept by, it was too busy playing chess with a trainee robot to be bothered. For a heart-stopping moment looked up and regarded them with contempt, but bored with the diversion it resumed the game that had so far lasted five months.
After a few hundred metres the path terminated at an airlock that joined the skytugger depot to the main dome. Unsure what their next move should be they turned to Tycho who held up his hand and quizzed Newton. They listened as the tinny robotic voice described life on Goldilocks in detail.
“The locals love to spend all day sipping strange cocktails, playing the drums and (most of all) comparing their colourful tattoos with each other. Visitors are welcomed so long as they are lazy. They are encouraged to sleep, sample the local food and drink, and to watch the most popular sport on Goldilocks, tattoo fighting.”
A holographic image of Archimedes, the current champion fighting tattoo hovered o
ver Tycho’s wrist.
Newton continued, “Archimedes is a spinning top which uses its twirling razor-sharp edges to tear its tattoo opponent apart.”
They watched as the replay of its greatest battle showed the tattoo rip its challenger into tiny holographic pieces. Not only did the losing tattoo get obliterated, but the tattoos owner had his arm cut cleanly off by the victorious top.
Heen shivered, “I wouldn’t like to meet Archimedes.”
Carina laughed, she could think of three good reasons to get to know this champion.
“Think what a tattoo like that would do to Tapper, Derain and Gibran. They would never trouble us again.”
“Yes, but it’s so scary. What if it was a friend of Tapper’s?” replied Heen.
Jaime spun the wheel operating the airlock door. As it swung open they were caught by a sudden and unexpected gust of wind as the hot air from the dome met with the cold air from the depot. Closing the door behind them they entered the tropical world of Goldilocks. The large yellow sun shone in to the dome roof high above their heads. The boys took off their coats and hung them casually over their shoulders and told the girls to do the same.
“Better not to appear like visitors,” Jaime explained.
“I thought they welcomed visitors,” replied Heen.
“Yes, but I bet they prefer visitors with lots of money, and who don’t stowaway on their skycart for free.”
The roadway was littered with several hundred brightly coloured kiosks. Each stall fronted by an owner and an assistant who sat in bright stripy deck-chairs soaking up the sun. However no one seemed interested in selling their goods, every stallholder was enjoying a nap. Despite this, people were frantically moving from stall to stall, the street market was extremely busy. Every time a shopper walked past a stall the owner’s tattoo would shout out the latest offers and curse the customers who ignored them.
“Let’s see if we can earn our breakfasts”, Jaime said with optimism as he approached a stall laid out with the most delicious smelling food.
“I don’t fancy his chances if Jaime’s going to challenge him to a tattoo fight,” Carina whispered to Heen.
For a moment Jaime stood opposite the stall deep in thought. There were dozens of multi-coloured bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes. Cakes, pies and sweets were piled into heaps. Carina guessed that the owner was far more interested in sleeping than arranging his stock into neat rows. The stallholder was in fact lounging in a blue and white striped deck-chair. He was snoring so loud that the sound filled the entire street. His tattoo, a blue-haired, blue skinned middle-aged lady dressed in a dark red robe and perched above the stall’s awning, seeing Jaime began to sing...
“I have jams like you have never tasted,
I have pickles whose contents are never wasted.
I have pastries that you’d adore,
I have pies that will help you snore!”
“What an awful song! Do you ever sell a crumb?” Jaime laughed.
“Don’t be so rude you arklebinker,” replied the tattoo.
“I’ll be as rude as I like until you think up better songs,” said Jaime sharply.
The tattoo and Jaime continued to argue until the stallholder roused from his sleep joined in.
“Hey mate, what you jarsing Madam Monplaisir for?”
“I’m not jarsing nothing. She started it by screaming at me with that awful song. Can’t you teach your tattoo to sing in tune?”
At this, the tattoo, clearly upset, started wailing and shouting insults at the gathering crowd who were eager to be entertained.
“What does jarsing mean?” Heen whispered to Tycho.
“I don’t know and I doubt Jaime knows either, but one thing I do know is that he won’t be out-jarsed by anyone.”
“Hey mate, I need no trouble. You go on your way now, let poor Grimaldi sleep,” grumbled the stallholder.
“Listen Grimaldi, I’ll show you how it’s done. For a small payment of – well, we’re starving so we’ll settle for some of your food and drink,” Jaime replied.
Aware of the hundreds of pairs of eyes, both human and tattoo, watching him Jaime turned to the crowd and started selling. Tycho ordered Newton to join in. A high-pitched tinny beat provided the backing.
“Don’t leave now ‘cause I’m just a kid,
We got the goods so make us a bid.
Grimaldi’s sore ‘cause we disturbed his sleep,
Plenty to eat here – It’s all going cheap, cheap, cheap.”
While Jaime continued his song the crowd pushed forward with their money. The stallholder couldn’t believe his luck. Above the stall awning Madam Monplaisir grew to triple her size and started to cry.
“He’s taking my job,” she wailed in a shrill soprano voice. “How will I feed my children?”
“Oh shut up!” shouted Tycho, “You’re a tattoo! You have no kids!”
The tattoo’s face turned a deep shade of red with both rage and embarrassment before she disappeared from view.
****
After a while the four lay exhausted on the side of a grassy bank. It sloped away from the market hiding them from the gaze of the stallholders and their tattoos. A selection of pies, breads and pastries surrounded them donated by the bewildered stallholder who exhausted by the excitement was now back in his deck-chair fast asleep. Newton, upset for being forced to perform the backing beat to Jaime’s poem had refused to respond to Tycho’s calls. They left him to mope alone.
“What’s with the tattoos, Tycho? They seem a little sensitive,” asked Heen.
“Tattoos often forget they are no more than fancy computers, but I like it that way. When I’m on my own I like to imagine Newton is my best friend,” Tycho admitted.
Heen rolled her eyes, but on reflection wished that she too could have a tattoo friend that would be with her and advise her whenever she got into trouble. She wondered what she would call it. Certainly it would be nothing like Madam Monplaisir or Newton. Maybe Mrs Poppy or...
“Tycho, can tattoos be anything? I mean toys, animals or people?”
“Yes anything I suppose, but who would want a cabbage or a turnip for a tattoo?”
“No, I was thinking of a horse. I’d have a talking horse for a tattoo and call it Mrs Snowflake,” offered Heen dreamily.
Tycho stuck a finger down his throat, it made him retch.
“Tycho stop that! Eat up! We probably won’t eat this well again for a while,” Jaime grumbled as he took a swig from a large bottle.
“Is this how you earn your keep?” Carina inquired.
“Sometimes, but other times I make Tycho do the work.”
Heen wanted to ask what work Tycho did, but Carina spoke first.
“How long do you stay on each world, Jaime?”
“We last as long as we can, usually until the locals realise we were the cause of the problems that we appear to put right. We try to travel from town to town before being found out, but the swiftness of the local news bulletins can beat us and we have to drop everything and run back to the skytugger. Occasionally we arrive on a new world only to find that the people already know all about us and then we have to leave quickly on empty stomachs.”
The sun shone directly overhead and the four explorers, grateful for the warmth, lay down and slept together on the grass. The sisters fell into a deep sleep but Jaime and Tycho, used to making quick getaways, slept lightly.
Chapter 12
Hunted
The street market bustled with people and the tattoos continued to shout for attention and curse if ignored. Madam Monplaisir had recovered her composure and was in full throat singing her awful songs and scaring away most of the customers from all the surrounding stalls. However when all the tattoos began to shout at once Jaime was up on his feet. For a minute he listened to the angry shouts, threats and insults then shook the others awake.
For a brief moment four heads peered over the grass
y bank. They watched as police moved from one stall to the next helping themselves to food, drink and any other goods they fancied. All sorts of things mysteriously made their way into the uniformed pockets without payment.
“Wake up! Wake up!” Shouts and cries echoed across the market, and the whack of heavy sticks cracked across the sleeping stallholder’s legs reached their ears. The police appeared to be asking lots of questions.
“I believe it’s time for us to leave,” Jaime whispered.
“Are they searching for us?” Heen was worried.
“I think so,” said Jaime sadly.
“Look at Grimaldi,” Carina gasped. The others watched as a group of six officers tipped the stallholder from his deckchair and kicked violently at his arms and legs.
“We’ve got to do something. We have to help him,” whispered Heen.
“We can’t. We have to return to the skycart.” Carina and Heen had never heard Jaime speak with such desperation.
Heen grabbed all the food she could carry and sulked when Jaime ordered her to leave it. Keeping close to the ground they crawled behind the grassy bank not daring to risk another peek. They had to cross a short stretch of open grass before they reached the airlock, where anyone who might glance their way might see them, but hoping everyone was too busy to notice they ran across it as fast as they could.
When they reached the airlock Carina helped Jaime turn the wheel as quickly and as quietly as possible. Meanwhile Heen glanced back at the stalls which continued to be smashed and looted by the police. She gasped as a policeman who had finished stripping a rack full of clothes and stuffing them into a sack noticed her and gave her an evil smile. He started to walk towards them.
A rather overweight tattoo on the next stall that looked like it had eaten far too many pies began screaming at the officer telling him to leave his silverware alone and diverting attention from the children. Ignoring the tattoo the policeman filled his sack with watches, bracelets and other silver trinkets.
Jaime opened the hatch and they climbed into the chilly air.
“I’m sure that a policeman saw us,” Heen gasped as they swung the hatch shut behind them.
“I hope you’re wrong. I bet it’s your imagination worrying too much. Stop panicking,” scolded Jaime, but he stared through the dome window for longer than he liked.
