by T K Foster
Getting to Brock was a cinch.
And the first thing he did when he saw his son Barry was slap him across the face with a wet hand towel.
But before this could happen....
Barry had led them up the stairs and outside onto the transporter floor of the Elevator, where he then proceeded to herd them toward the centre of the circle of fourteen stone pillars. During said time Cetra had managed to break free of the flock; she skipped and jumped and somewhat awkwardly danced around and giggled and laughed, and then she rejoined the bewildered group carrying a big, exaggerated smile plastered across her face. After which, Barry had rammed his hand into the satchel at his side, pulled from it what looked to Billy like a calculator, tapped it twice, then grimaced and shook it to his ear, tapped it twice again, and then raised his left eyebrow and nodded.
What ensued lacked considerably the excitement anticipated. In fact, Gabriella’s exact wording to describe her account of the experience was: “Well that was a fizzer!”
It was simple, one moment they were surrounded by fourteen stone pillars, then blink it was black, and then they were surrounded by four stone pillars.
In that same instance Billy had felt an odd bump against his behind, but when his surroundings changed, he had found no cause for it.
Again, simple.... humdrum even. “Where was all the mist?” Billy had asked, “Where was the falling onto stone hard enough to crack a coccyx?”
Barry’s head had tilted to the right and his lips mouthed a dumb huh? in response. Then he had led them down the stairs, only this time they entered directly into living quarters.
A lounge room with minimal decor, but comfy looking all the same, with five doors leading off around its circular wall.
Three of these doors were open, and from one of them Brock had emerged with dripping hair, face half lathered and a fluffy pink towel wrapped around his waist. That’s when he slapped his son across the face.
“What the...?” he said and trailed off as he grabbed Barry by the forearm and muscled him into one of the adjoining rooms.
Billy had seen that same look from his own father, that switching-into-lecture-mode look.... just give me a whack and be done with it for goodness sakes.
It must have been a good sixty something hands before they emerged again from that room. Brock was now dressed in cargo pants, shirt and a jacket, his feet remained bare, his face was half shaven, and he wore a grey cap that showed through the dampness from his hair.
“Well you’re here now,” he said, “guess I’m going to have to kill you....”
Barret’s mouth was the first to open wide in protest but Brock’s steady hand quickly waved the aggression away.
“Ease up champion,” he grinned, “I was only joking.... of course. Now Barry has an idea, but we’ll talk about that later, maybe. Take a seat, make yourselves comfortable. Does anyone want a drink?”
They all mumbled positively and nodded approvingly to one another at Brock’s sudden hospitableness. When Brock left the room via one of the open doors into what appeared to be a kitchen, they all sat as invited to do so. When Brock returned with a tray of drinks they graciously accepted the yellow liquid.
“Pineapple and passionfruit cordial,” Brock said.
“Never heard of it,” said Gabby, “but hmmm.”
Billy sighed when he drank it, “Finally something normal. Thankyou Brock.”
“Not a problem, Billy?”
Billy nodded.
“And we also have....” Brock stopped to point at each of them individually, “Cetra, Rod and Gabby? And here’s my good man Barret,” he added at the end.
“Hello,” Barret said and waved at their host.
“So,” Brock said as he moved to stand next to his son, “in this big brass universe of ours where people don’t come to us but we go to them, how is it that you came about coming to us?”
It was a fairly simple question, but it made Barry cringe all the same. In the events he had described previously to his father in private there had been particular facts avoided, like how they had come to actually be there. Barry went to step away from Brock’s side but was immediately detained by a forceful grip around the arm.
Silent glances followed and in her innocence Cetra answered, “I see Barry all the time.”
“Oh?” Brock said, his grip tightening.
“Oh yes,” she continued, “Barry is my friend, he lets me come in and pray.”
“Huh?” Brock screwed up his nose, “He lets you come in where? And do what?”
Barry squirmed.
“In here.... or the other one. Where are we now?”
Brock took his cap off and slapped Barry across the head with it.
“You’re in my house,” Brock said, “and I do understand your plight, but Barry really shouldn’t have brought you here.” He glared at his son. “Don’t you think that if I knew how to get you back to where you came from I would have already done so for Barret five years ago?”
“See Billy,” Barret said, “I tried to tell you it was pointless.”
“Why?” Billy’s voice cracked and his eyes began to water, “Why is it so pointless to simply want to go home?”
Gabby slid across the lounge and put her arm around his shoulders.
“I say old chap,” Rod now spoke, taking charge of the conversation, “my young friend here has travelled a long path to find you. He’s fought off monsters and Humps, been engulfed by flowers and trees, he’s endured rain and lightening, and he has had one of his friends turn their back on him. He’s championed through to maintain all dignity and strength, and all you can say is ‘I can’t do it’? Well I am very sorry sir, but that is just not good enough. Billy deserves much more from you than a big fat nothing, he deserves answers.”
“Answers to what?” Brock retorted, slightly intimidated by the small desert mouse.
“Well, for starters,” Rod continued, “something tells me we’re not on Bradley anymore.”
Brock and Barry looked at one another and began to fidget. They felt a little awkward with everybody staring at them, and Brock decided to smack his son across the head one more time before sending him through into the kitchen to replenish their drinks. When that was done they both sat down. It seemed their story was about to unfold, but that was going to be alright after all, because apparently Barry had an idea.
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
