Dumpiter

by David Fletcher

Lysaars was in raptures. Doggerbat had never seen him so elated. And now his own trepidation was forgotten as he tried to puzzle out what could possibly have brought about such a change in his boss - and in the face of the news about the escaped fugitives. He risked a question. 'Where's Ferricantor? I mean is it far away?'

  'Yes, my dear Doggerbat. It is very far away, very far away from this cosy little bunker of ours. But where it is isn't what's important. What's important about Ferricantor is who lives there. The man who has sent me this letter. A genius of a man. Not like most of the others. You know, the others who are working on my little "research" project. No, this man is seriously clever. And when he says something, one can only believe it. And, Doggerbat, he says something in this letter that is truly marvellous, and I have no problem whatsoever in believing it.'

  'That's good, Mr Lysaars sir. That's very good.'

  Doggerbat really meant that this was very good for Doggerbat. Anything that blotted out Lysaars' dark moods and what they could mean for poor old longsuffering Doggerbat was very good news indeed.

  'Doggerbat, my faithful friend…' Lysaars was now talking to the ceiling of his office. '…I think it prudent that I do not share with you the contents of this correspondence. Not just yet anyway. The correspondent… his name by the way is Doctor Rattlepitt, a name you will become very familiar with, my dear Doggerbat. He, Doctor Rattlepitt, has after all, used this elegant form of communication for the primary purpose of secrecy. And for now I shall maintain that spirit of discretion…'

  Lysaars' eyes returned from the ceiling to Doggerbat. His pudgy face had lost something of its unusual sunny aspect. Doggerbat's unease resurfaced.

  '…but meanwhile, my Mr Right Hand Man, I want you to do me a little favour. I want you to get a message to Langail. I want you to let him know that we're setting off to see him - all of us - immediately. And make sure he understands that he can look forward to our company for what might be a little longer than usual. And get him to… oh, I am sorry. What am I thinking of? Ask him to make the necessary arrangements. Oh, and pass on my very sincere regards.'

  'Yessir, Mr Lysaars. I'll make sure that happens. I'll…'

  Doggerbat's mind was now distracted by a new thought - and then it stopped him. In mid-sentence. And then he went on.

  'Ah yes, I know! What about Tenting and the girl, sir? If we're leaving…'

  'Mr Tenting and Miss Maiden can go and play with themselves, Doggerbat. This letter's reminded me of just how unimportant they really are. Let them ride around Crabbsbab if they want. They'll run out of puff sooner or later. They're bound to. And believe me, Doggerbat, it can be as late as they like, because… ha, when it finally comes to dealing with them, I'll have all the time I need. All the time I could ever possibly need! Just you wait and see!'

  'Right, Mr Lysaars, right you are.'

  'Yes, Doggerbat,' sneered Lysaars, 'right I am'.

  Doggerbat proffered another 'yessir' and turned to leave, but then Lysaars spoke again. His voice was little more than a whisper. And it was tinged with evil.

  'Doggerbat, let Langail know that he should start thinking about where he can get one hundred thousand of his fine subjects gathered together on his fine Dumpiter. And he should also start thinking about how he might do this. You know, getting them together - say within about six days. Got that, Doggerbat? Got that completely?'

  'One hundred thousand!?'

  Lysaars looked almost impish.

  'Yes, Doggerbat. Just one hundred thousand. That's a one with five zeroes after it. OK, Doggerbat? Absolutely clear?'

  'Yes, Mr Lysaars, absolutely!'

  Doggerbat then left his master, absolutely as unclear as it was possible to be about what this all meant.

  36.

  Boz was prizewinningly resourceful. Within only a few hours of arriving on Crabbsbab, he had set himself up with a spacious villa (available to visiting spacecrew but rarely used), he had hired himself one of the planet's ubiquitous Edselle model hovers (there was only one hover franchise on the whole planet) - and he had even squeezed in a first practice sortie with this recently acquired machine. And it was during this brief flight that he had spotted a driverless milker and, in due course, a sparsely clothed duo. And now his resourcefulness extended to the provision of wardrobes.

  Renton looked at the neat pile of new clothes set out on his bed. Quite where Boz had gathered so much stuff from, he could only imagine. And, as it transpired, he'd done the same for Madeleine. Their saviour was really quite a whiz.

  And now, washed and bathed, it was time to get dressed. He picked a pair of blue jeans and a soft blue shirt from the pile - and, from the floor, a pair of coagulated desert boots with a unique history. And then, feeling like an entirely mended man, he left his room in search of his new companions. He soon found Madeleine in the sun lounge of the villa. She was sitting in an ankle-length, white bathrobe - tinged pink by a sun sunken low in the sky. And she looked absolutely ravishing - albeit Renton didn't fully take this in.

  'Feeling a little better?' he asked.

  Madeleine managed a big smile. Whatever was going on in her mind, thought Renton, it wasn't preventing her from being a little more amiable. And this was even more apparent when she spoke…

  'Infinitely, thank you. Though I have to admit, I think I still smell of milk. How about you?'

  'I'm fine. And I'm very happy to be here. I can't believe our good luck. All I need now is a drink.'

  And at that moment a scaly claw landed on Renton's left shoulder and a small tray appeared by his side. On it were three glasses of cloudy, yellow liquid. 'Pastis do yer, mister? Couldn't find that damn camomile infusion anywhere. So if yous don't mind too much, we'll make do with this here aniseed stuff. OK by you?'

  'OK by me, Boz.'

  'And me,' added Madeleine.

  Drinks were handed out, and after a round of profuse thanks and a suitable toast to Boz, some serious swallowing ensued. There then followed some glass re-charging, and Boz found from somewhere a cigar for Renton - and for himself, an odd looking pipe. And the three of them each settled down. For the humanoids of the piece, this involved nestling into a real comfy chair for the first time in a couple of days. For Boz it involved stretching out on the floor of the lounge. He was, after all, a very large reptilian…

  'Dinner be ready in 'bout an hour,' he said. 'An' it's fish pie! Meantime though, s'pose you two dudes wants to ask me some questions. Ain't I right now?'

  On their way back to the villa in the hover, Renton had done most of the talking and had explained how he and Madeleine had arrived in their novel circumstances. There'd not been the time for the questions that Boz now invited.

  'Absolutely, Boz. And I think Madeleine and I have got the same first question. Like, what in the name of the universe are you doing on this planet? I know you must have followed us here. But why? Why on…?'

  'Gratitude, my dear friend, plain ole gratitude.'

  'Gratitude!? What the heck have you got to thank us for? Streuth, we haven't done anything for you. It's all been the other way round.'

  'Oh but you have done somethin' for me. Or more precisely, beggin' your pardon, Madeleine, no offence, but you Renton, you've done somethin' for me.'

  'But what?' challenged Renton. 'I can't think of anything - absolutely nothing at all.'

  Boz puffed on his pipe contraption and blew a series of smoke horseshoes towards the open door of the sun lounge. 'You provided a link, a fascinatin' link, a link my ole pop would have described as a troooly tantalizin' link.'

  'How?'

  'Well, by turnin' up unannounced, so t' speak, in my spaceport. But you'll understand a lot better when I tell you the two things you linked, the two things I'd had on my mind.'

  'Come on, I can't stand the suspense,' said Madeleine. 'What two things?'

  'My dear, one of the things is a blubbertub by the name of Lysaars. An' the other thing… ' Boz paused ' …is the magickin' away of lill' ole spaceships.'

  'W
hat!?' exclaimed Renton. 'You think Lysaars is mixed up with those spaceships disappearing? Are you sure?'

  'Renton ole fruit, there are few things in this here life that I'm sure of, and Lysaars thinnin' out the spaceship population ain't one of them. But it's all mighty suspicious.'

  'What exactly is suspicious?' asked Madeleine.

  'Yes,' added Renton, 'you'd better tell us. I'm fascinated.'

  Boz puffed his pipe machine and let the smoke drift slowly from the rim of his mouth. His head became enveloped in a bluish-grey haze. He chuckled. 'I've always fancied m'self as a storyteller. You know, ghost stories and tales of horror, that sort o' thing. Well, looks like I finally got my chance. Hope you two enjoy my maiden voyage so t' speak.' He chuckled again.

  'So here goes then… "My Study of a Fat Man" by Bostrum T Aukaukukaura, Boz to you.' He paused and then began. 'Well, it all started some time ago. This here check-in supervisor you see before you spends his idle moments at Ranamavana spaceport perusin' like the many interessin' travellers who pass through its elegant vestibools. There's all sorts. Never a dull moment. Never a time when there ain't someone worth a-gawkin' at. Well, one such itinerant was this guy who looks like he's sorta over-inflated. Yous, I know, have had the pleasure of his company. Our Mr Lysaars. I tell you, yous sure tend to notice him in a crowd. An' I began to notice him a lot. He was becomin' a regular visitor to lill' ole Ranamavana.

  'Nothin' odd about that. Lot o' people pass in and out all the time. But I always had this naggin' feelin' that he was up to no good. Prejudice I s'pose, but I jus' didn't like the look of him. I was always pleased to see him leavin'. I was never too comfortable when he was in arrivin' mode.

  'Well, not much of a story so far and neither is my admittin' my interest in spaceships - the sort that jus' vanish. But you see, I've always been intrigued by what can't be explained, by things that this almighty, all-powerful, universe system we got ourselves, can't pin down, classify, label and file away. You knows what I mean, don't you?'

  Renton nodded. 'I'm with you all the way on that one.'

  'Yeah, well I thought you would be. An' well, with me bein' in the space flyin' business, in a manner o' speakin', I s'pose I was more aware than ever of these funny ole odd goin's-on. An' like most everybody else in the universe, I had my own theories - on what might be happenin'. But like most everybody else's, that's all they were - jus' theories. I didn't really have a clue. But then four days ago, some pretty damn local goin's-on a-started to happen. An' they got me a-thinkin'. They got me a-thinkin' that I might be on the trail of findin' out a whole heap lot more.'

  'That's the day I arrived in Ranamavana,' interrupted Renton.

  'Well, if it was, maybe you saw some of what caught my attention on that there day. Like first off, the fat man hit town.'

  'I didn't see him,' said Renton. 'I think I would have remembered.'

  'Right. Well, the next thing was somethin' really peculiar. It was the crew of some darn space freighter havin' an attack of the jitzies.'

  'The what?' asked Madeleine.

  'Irrational behaviour by people suffering from something to do with neurone interference,' answered Renton.

  'Spot on, professor. I'm right impressed. It's neurone refractional interference actually, as I'm sure you know. But you're dead on the mark with the irrational behaviour.'

  'I know. I saw it too. You're talking about those crewmen, aren't you? The ones who were playing around with those women. Like they were curtains.'

  'Curtains?' asked Madeleine. 'I'm sorry, but I'm lost.'

  'You tell her, Boz. It's your story.'

  'Most kind of you, young man. I will. Madeleine my dear, yous are acquainted with our current fashions in Ranamavana, and yous might jus' understand how some errh… some foreign types, might find a lill' amusement in some of our fabric designs - like I mean those presently in vogue so t' speak. I'll say no more than that. But imagine if you will, four professional crew members, the entire crew of some big ole space bucket, carryin' their amusement to the point of ungentlemanly behaviour with two of our local ladies. I mean these ruffians were makin' impolite, not to say lewd, comparisons between our ladies and a pair of curtains - based on some supposed similarity between their attire and certain curtain-kind fabric. And they were doin' this publically. I mean, like with an audience. Can you imagine it?'

  Boz's rather strange reptilian look of outrage began to dissolve as he attempted to stifle a chuckle.

  'Well, they were so public and so silly, they went and got themselves arrested by the constabulary. An' remember, we're talkin' 'bout real accredited flight crew types here, not but a few minutes off their giant ole spaceship. It jus' didn't make sense. So you see, by my reckonin' it had to be the jitzies. It jus' couldn't have been nothin' else…'

  Boz looked towards the kitchen and sniffed the air. 'Either of yous two smell our dinner burnin'?' He sniffed again.

  'I think it's your pipe thing. It's the smoke,' observed Renton.

  'Aw yeah. Fine weed, ain't it? Ha! Now where was I? Oh yeah, those crew charlies. Well, it was all a bit odd, but there was odder to come. The next day, these silly so and so's were released. Jus' like that. No charges, no hearin', no nothin'. They were out, back on their ship and off into yonder. Amazin' I thought. They were in real trouble - so why in a world were they free?'

  'Well you-all, my curiosity was well and truly fired up by now, and so I decided to make a few enquiries on my own account. Took a bit of time, but guess what. I'm ashamed to admit it, but it appears that the forces of law and order in our beloved ole Ranamavana are open to the persuasive power of that there filthy lucre stuff. Yessir, it seems a lill' bit of unsolicited generosity in the direction of a few members of our constabulary caused them to grant some kind of amnesty that day. All prisoners caught for crimes of indecent harassment against the fair ladies of the parish were freed. Namely our friends from the spaceship.'

  'Do you know who the benefactor was?' asked Renton.

  'Well no, not straight off I didn't. I'd found out like what had happened, but everyone was sure tight-lipped about who'd made it happen. So you see, I was still mighty curious about the whole damn thing when, next day, who should turn up in the most amazin' o' manners but one Mr Tenting. You spun a good line about not knowin' how you'd come to be in our lill' ole spaceport emporium, but yous was talkin' to one hell of a suspicious check-in supervisor - thoughs you didn't know it at the time. Anyway, I didn't believe a word. I had you down as part of some overall funny goin's on, which like included the jitzies thing an' all. However my man, you should be a helluva heap pleased that I never thought of yous as any sort of baddy. I reckoned, rightly as it turned out, that yous were in there not by your own choice so t' speak.

  'That's why I helped you. Anyway, I wanted to find out somethin' - like where into space yous was goin'. Hell, I'm naturally really nice, you know, but not quite as nice as all that.'

  'I weren't like sure o' what to do after that, but it sort o' rolled out in front o' me… I mean, you know, the thinkin' was obvious. Find out whether there was any other interstellar traveller goin' off in the same direction as this Mr Tenting chap, anybody off to this here Crabbsbab place - an' without passin' “go”.

  'An' o' course there was. This ole junk called the Ennovator was already on its way there. An' who should be one of its more weighty passengers than the fat man himself - Lysaars. Well, that was the key. Armed with the name Lysaars, I asked around again - about the dudes who'd sprung the jitzies squad. An' sure enough, Lysaars was behind it. Nobody actually said as much, but I knew it was him.'

  Boz stopped to empty his glass and to add the necessary dramatic pause in the story telling. He was near the climax of his tale. 'Might not have meant much more than that. Lysaars was bribin' the authorities to get some of his mates out of trouble. Point was, he got them into a whole lot more trouble - an' worse trouble. Cos you see, later that day, the news came through that their lill' ole spacebox was no more. An' I me
an no more forever no more. It's the latest on that there disappeared-without-a-trace list.'

  'Wow,' whispered Madeleine under her breath.

  'Shoot!' exclaimed Renton, 'you really sure of that?'

  'No doubt. I'm pos-ee-tive. And I'm damn sure that that there Lysaars is involved in some way. Yous mark my words. There is a link. An' thank you, ole chum, for showin' it me. Oh, an' that's why I'm here. Gratitude. Mind, on top of that, I wasn't gonna sit around in no spaceport when I had the scent in my nostrils of one of the biggest mysteries that there's ever like been. No sir. I wanted a piece o' that for myself. So I borrowed myself one of the spaceport's star launches and here I am. One willin' recruit to the cause of savin' the universe and maybe havin' some fun on the way. Seem reasonable, eh?'

  'Reasonable?' said Renton. 'It all sounds bloody terrifying. I don't know about reasonable. And as for saving the universe and having fun… well, I hope you're only joking. I mean you'd have to be out of your mind to want to do that. And particularly if it involves getting anywhere near this Lysaars guy. I mean, no way. Forget it.'

  'Renton's right,' added Madeleine. 'Anybody wanting to get anywhere near that monster would have to be a head-case. Or if not a head-case, then he'd have to have some other very good reason. I mean a far more personal reason than saving the universe…'

  'Like what?' enquired Renton.

  'Like trying to save the life of a friend, even if he couldn't be absolutely sure that the life in question needed saving - and even if the friend was somebody he'd known for no more than a few hours.'

  'Pardon.'

  'And tell me, Boz,' continued Madeleine, now ignoring Renton, 'how exactly did you know I'd been unremembered?'

  Boz, for the first time, looked uncomfortable, and he hesitated before he replied. And when he did reply, it was without his usual bluffness.

  'I jus' know'd it, child,' he said. 'I jus' damn well know'd it. But I didn't think you did. An' that's why I didn't say nothin'. But well, if Lysaars ain't interfered with you in your pretty lill' brain-box department, then I'm just a hostile, no-style reptile. And I ain't. So he must have. So there.'