by Sue Bough
Norman sighed and shook his jar, hoping the grains of dust inside would spring into life… Nothing.
“Look, Norm, I’ve got more than enough bugs here – why don’t you take the Firelighters?” Ernie pointed to three delicate, blue-winged flies circling in formation near the lid.
“Wow, thanks Ern, but how will we get them into my jar without them escaping?”
“Leave it to me,” grinned Ernie taking a small bottle labelled ‘SUGAR SYRUP’ from his belt. He carefully unscrewed the lid of Norman’s empty jar and dripped some of the sticky liquid into the bottom. “Right, hold it on its side,” he instructed.
Norman did as he was told and Ernie slowly tipped his jar sideways so the necks met. He quickly whipped off his lid and closed the gap between the two. Instantly, the Firelighters picked up the scent of the syrup and darted into the empty container.
“Now!” shouted Ernie, and both Poggles clapped the lids back on their jars and tightened them.
“Ow!” Norman yelped, shaking first one hand then the other as he juggled the suddenly searing hot jar.
Inside, the Firelighters were doing their job, gorging on the sugar syrup and producing bright light and heat from their glowing bottoms. He put down the jar, and Spong ran around in circles, enjoying the warmth while the flies finished their meal.
“Useful little things,” mused Ernie. “I wonder how the Elder Poggles managed before they discovered them? Dad said they had better eyesight in those days. I’d have been falling all over the place…” he tailed off nervously and gave Norman a sideways glance.
“Crikey,” Norman laughed, “imagine what I’d have been like. I fall over in green daylight!”
Ernie was relieved to hear his friend make a joke, but in fact Norman wasn’t like most Poggles. The middle toe on both of his feet was extraordinarily long and made him very clumsy. He normally fell over several times a day and, although most Poggles would politely pretend they hadn’t noticed, Ernie often saw them staring. Worse still, some of their classmates, led by Boris Whinge and his gang, made a point of bullying Norman because he was different. To his credit, Ernie always stuck up for his friend even though this meant he was teased as well.
“Is that a Trojan you’ve got in there?” Norman asked, changing the subject.
“Yeah! I wonder what’s inside it?” Ernie rattled his jar to encourage the Trojan to reveal its secret. It worked. The boring, brown beetle suddenly erupted into a frenzy of suckers and tentacles. It began climbing the side of the jar, leaving behind a slimy, fizzing trail of silver. At this, the nervous Humm Bugs began buzzing and vibrating their triangular, black and white striped bodies. This turned them grey so they blended into the background.
“That’s upset them,” laughed Norman.
“Could have been worse,” said Ernie. “I once saw a Trojan with an acid dart that would have dissolved those Humm Bugs in seconds. Fantastic thing it was.”
The warmth of the Firelighters finally faded, and the two Poggles picked up their things and headed back to the Zube Tube.
“I just would have liked to have found something really special,” Norman said wistfully, prodding a small rock from the safe distance of his middle toe.
“What, you mean like a Baracs Beetle?!” replied Ernie. “That would be special.”
“Yeah. Miss Lastic says poor old Fred is the last one on the Planet. Not much of a life for him, stuck in a tank in our classpod all day. To think there used to be thousands of them once… I wonder why they all died out.”
“Hmm,” pondered Ernie, “I guess I’d be feeling pretty sick if all I’d eaten for a hundred years was poo.”
“Dung, you mean?” said Norman.
“Same thing. Mum says that’s the reason we’ve got such a waste problem now – no Baracs Beetles to recycle it all like they used to.”
“But doesn’t it all just get sent to the Wasteland?” asked Norman.
“Yeah, but what do you think happens to it there?” replied Ernie.
“I don’t know… I hadn’t really thought about it.” A puzzled look spread over Norman’s face as he contemplated the problem.
It wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t thought about it. Poggles had developed a very neat way of dealing with their ‘waste’ which required very little concentration or effort. All Poggles wore a utility belt with a light that flashed every few days to remind them when it was time to be ‘emptied’. This could be done by simply attaching a waste pipe to their star-shaped belly buttons and flipping another switch on their belt. A few seconds later, the light would go out and that was it. No mess, no fuss, no funny noises or smells and, best of all, no need to wash their hands afterwards.
The waste-pipe system was also created by Professor Zube. He designed it to run alongside the Zube Tube network so comfort was never far away. As the process only takes place every few days, a Poggle can quite easily be several inches thinner afterwards.
One TWIT thought that this would be a useful fact to help free a Poggle who had got stuck in a Zube. The poor thing’s waste light had broken so he didn’t realise he was well overdue for an emptying until he became firmly wedged on his morning commute to the Sugar Rock Mine. The poor Poggle obediently followed the TWIT’s instructions and flipped his waste switch inside the Zube. In fairness, it did do the trick and un-bunged him, but it was a pretty unpleasant journey to work that day for all the Sugar Rock miners behind him!
Norman shook his head. It was no good; he had no idea what happened to his insides after they left his body and he didn’t much care to think about it. He wiggled his toe absent-mindedly in the cool dust left by a recently shifted stone.
A tiny flash of white caught his eye. “Look! A Sneezewort!” he shrieked, pointing to an object exactly like a crumpled-up tissue on legs. Norman made a dive for the creature, catching his left toe in Spong’s leash as he did so. There was a crash, a shattering of glass and three blue flies escaped into the late afternoon sky.
“Are you OK?” Ernie rushed to help his friend to his feet. “You’ve broken Miss Lastic’s jar!”
“I know… My stupid toes! What am I going to do? I’ve let your Firelighters escape as well and… Oh no!”
The broken jar, escaped insects and fresh bruises were suddenly forgotten. Norman and Ernie watched in horror as an orange ball bounced away from them.
“Spong! NO!” they shouted.
Too late.
Trailing his leash wildly behind him, Spong reached the Zube Tube entrance. Delighted at finding himself free, he turned yellow and bounced up towards its shiny brass buttons. He hit one of them at random and rebounded into the tube. There was a shush as the doors closed and a whoosh as Spong disappeared from view.
Seconds later, Norman and Ernie reached the entrance just in time to see a light disappear behind a button with the word ‘Wasteland’ on it.
Trailing his leash wildly behind him…
The Fib Pot
Isadora Snodgrass was worried. As she stood washing the breakfast dishes, she knew, with a mother’s instinct, that all was not well with her son.
Norman had been late home for supper the night before and had had a definite droop to his hooter. What’s more, he’d hardly touched his food – splungewort mash on sugarloaf toast, his favourite.
When she’d asked him what was wrong, he’d mumbled something about not being able to do his homework and a broken jar. Well, the last part had been easily fixed. Isadora Snodgrass had a pantry full of clean jam jars waiting to be filled with her award-winning mungoberry preserve. She smiled for a moment and glanced at her collection of first-prize ribbons pinned above the sink. Then her frown returned as she plunged her hands once more into the foaming water and pulled out Norman’s breakfast bowl. It reminded her – he’d not eaten his Wartflakes that morning either.
Norman’s temperature had been normal; although, judging b
y the state of his bed, he’d clearly not slept well. Half of his sheets had been on the floor and the rest so tightly twisted around that it had taken an extra five minutes to get him out of bed. Isadora scrubbed vigorously at the bowl to remove a stubborn Wartflake.
Maybe he was just worried about Spong. He’d come home alone, saying Spong was a bit off colour so Miss Lastic had taken him to the vet. Yes, that must be it – he’d become very attached to the fluffy creature. With a satisfied nod, Isadora pulled the plug in the sink and watched the water drain away, first clockwise then anti-clockwise, down the plughole.
Of course, here on Earth, water quietly obeys the laws of physics and swirls in an orderly fashion one way or the other, depending on which hemisphere you are in. However, water on the Green Planet does pretty much what it wants. This is largely because the Planet doesn’t spin on its axis as it moves around the Dog Star – but it’s also just because it can. In fact, it’s not uncommon for water to lurk in the sink long after you’ve pulled the plug, then whoosh away when you least expect it. The fact that the Planet moves in this fixed way also means that one side is in permanent daylight and the other in perpetual darkness; that side is known as the Dark Side and no Poggle ventures there.
Isadora picked up a worn tea towel, on which was a picture of a very old Poggle wearing a purple cloak and a gold pointed hat. She began drying the dishes as her husband Arthur strolled into the kitchen. He gave his wife an affectionate peck on the cheek.
“Lovely breakfast, Izzy.”
Isadora smiled as her husband wound his arms around her, but said, “There’s no time for that; I’ve these dishes to sort and then I’m off to the shops. We’re out of teabags and I want to check the mungoberries at the market to see if they’re ripe enough for my first batch of jam. Anything new in The PUN?”
“Just the usual, dear.” Arthur unfolded his copy of The Planet’s Updated News which had been tucked under his arm. “Waste levels have risen again… Slight upturn in the production of sugar; that’ll please the boss… Oh, and a bit about the plans for Zohar’s Golden Jubilee party.”
Izzy held up her tea towel and stared at the kind old Poggle face in the picture. “I can’t believe it’s fifty years since he became Master Poggle! Where does time go?”
“You’re not wrong, dear – I can hardly believe our Norman will be eight next birthday. Seems only yesterday that he was all legs and hooter and we were bringing him home from the maternity pod.” Arthur Snodgrass smiled at the memory.
“That reminds me,” his wife replied. “I’m worried about Norm. He’s off his food.”
Arthur Snodgrass did a double take. “Off his food? Norman? Are you sure?” he spluttered.
In life, there are those who eat to live and those who live to eat, and Norman fell very firmly, and slightly podgily, into the second camp.
“Certain. He’s skipped two meals now.”
“Two meals?!” Arthur blurted.
“Yes. Now, close your mouth and stop repeating everything I say. I think I know what’s wrong with him.” Isadora folded her tea towel purposefully. “He’s fretting over Spong.”
“Spo—” Arthur began, but checked himself quickly. “What do you mean, dear?” he managed instead.
“Well, he’s obviously worried that Spong’s been taken to the vet. You know how inseparable they’ve become.”
She picked up a teapot and marched over to some shelves which were adorned with a variety of pots of different shapes, sizes and colours. Besides her prize-winning jam, Izzy Snodgrass’s second passion was tea. She was famous for being able to brew exactly the right blend for every occasion, ailment or mood, and her advice was often sought on the subject.
“Oh, I meant to say, I’ll be late home for supper tonight, dear. Bit of a rush on at the Sugar Rock Mine so I’m doing some overtime.”
“Righto,” replied his wife absent-mindedly. She reached up to put the teapot on the shelf next to a strange, cabbage-green pot whose spout appeared to be growing longer. Isadora drew her breath in sharply. “Arthur! Come and look at this! The Fib Pot’s spout is growing!”
“The Fib Pot’s spout is growing?” replied Arthur, unable to prevent himself from repeating her words. “What does that mean?”
“It means, dear husband, that someone in this family is telling lies…”
Someone in this family has been telling lies…
Lies
Norman felt wretched as he dawdled slowly into school. It had taken him ages to get to sleep, and when he’d finally drifted off he’d dreamt that Spong was floating in a jar full of giant bugs.
“Cheer up, Norm,” Ernie said half-heartedly. “He’s a friendly little thing. Someone’s bound to be looking after him.” It wasn’t Ernie’s most convincing performance and, in truth, he was just as worried.
“How am I going to face Miss Lastic?” Norm sighed. “No Spong and no homework! She’ll kill me!”
“Just say the same thing that you said to your mum,” Ernie replied.
“What, that Miss Lastic has taken him to the vet? She’ll know that’s not true!”
“No,” explained Ernie patiently, “you tell Miss Lastic that your parents took Spong to the vet last night.”
“Oh, I see,” said Norm quietly, “I guess that would work. I’m a hopeless liar though – it makes me nervous.”
“Look at it this way,” suggested Ernie helpfully, “it’s not another lie, it’s the same lie told to a different person.”
“I don’t suppose I’ve got any choice,” Norman replied dismally. “Mum’s Fib Pot will be working overtime, though.”
“One thing at a time, Norm. We’ll deal with the Fib Pot later.” Secretly, though, Ernie thought himself very lucky that his mum didn’t own the awful thing.
The two Poggles walked on, heads down, scuffing the dirt. Ernie’s jar of bugs swung gently from the hook on his belt, causing the insects inside to bump against the glass and buzz about. Norman’s replacement jar hung empty, reminding him about the second problem on his mind. Of course, Ernie had offered him a Humm Bug but Norman didn’t dare risk another catastrophe, and why should his friend lose out because of his own wretched clumsiness?
Normally the walk to school was enjoyable. Most young Poggles chose walking over Zube-ing to delay their arrival, and the two friends usually stopped to study the many strange plants that grew madly inside the Planet despite the lack of sunshine; it seemed that the warm light from the many jars of Firelighters was just as good.
A commotion broke out overhead as a rather overweight Poggle became stuck in a busy Zube Tube. One by one, more Poggles were ramming up behind him until finally, with a sound like a rubber bung being pulled out of a bottle, the jam freed itself and several Poggles cartwheeled out of sight to their respective destinations. This would usually have amused Norman and Ernie, but this morning, with their heads down, the two friends were oblivious.
Gradually, the path filled with other groups of Poggles all heading to the shiny white school pod in the distance. Norm spotted some of his classmates comparing jars of blurry objects with ‘oohs’ of amazement. His stomach turned again.
“Oi! Toe-freak! The idea is to put something in the jar before you bring it in!” The familiar, taunting sneer of Boris Whinge made Norman jump.
“Look, Jeli! He’s found a jar of air! Now, that’s what I call clever!” Boris grinned at a mean-faced Poggle beside him, who sneered back. Angelica Mould, or Jeli Mould as her friends called her, was never far from Boris’s side and always ready to join in the taunting of his latest victim.
“I guess that’s all we should expect of an airhead!” she smirked. The two of them laughed in Norman’s face. Ernie silenced them.
“Well, it’s obvious you idiots have never heard of Invisi-bugs.”
Boris and Jeli stopped laughing and looked again at Norman’s jar, not quite sure whether
to believe him.
“Yeah, well, we’ve got to be going. Jeli’s going to help me practise my hooting. I’m bound to be asked to do the solo at Zohar’s party.” And with that, the two unpleasant characters ran off, whispering to each other.
“They make me so mad!” Ernie fumed. “There’s no way Whinger is going to get that solo before me. He’s always off-key.”
“Don’t let him get to you, Ern,” Norman tried to calm his friend. “You’re much better than him and everyone knows it. Quick thinking about Invisi-bugs, too!”
“Thanks, but they’ll know I was bluffing soon enough.”
Their pace slowed as they reached the large oval doors of the school pod, which slid open to allow the stream of noisy Poggles inside. Gradually the mob filtered off into the circular classpods dotted along the main corridor. Norman and Ernie ducked into the third one on the left, where the rest of Miss Lastic’s form were busy seating themselves at their benches.
These were arranged in two circles. Twelve Poggles could fit around the outer circle and eight on the inner. An opening in each of the circles allowed the teacher through to a raised podium which contained various buttons and knobs.
There were some open cubbyholes near the door where a few of the crowd were busy storing their jam jars, bubble bags and lunch cubes. One set of cubbyholes, labelled ‘Data-Helmets’, was reserved for the teaching staff. Each of these contained a different metal hat with antennae sticking out of it.
Norman and Ernie squeezed into the inner circle and seated themselves on their stools furthest away from the door. A few moments later, their form teacher arrived and took her place in the middle.
The class stood and chanted, “Good morning, Miss Lastic.”
“Good morning, class. Sit down, please. I hope you all managed to complete last night’s homework? I’m looking forward to seeing what you have brought in.”
