by Sue Bough
CRASH!
A glass jar on the other side of the table didn’t have the same fortunate landing and now lay in pieces on the floor. Its stinking contents oozed towards a pile of books.
“GREAT HEAVENS!” shouted Professor Zube.
“I’m so sorry, Professor. I’ll clean it up and bring you a new jar…” Norm stood up miserably, still holding the green globe. He offered it to the Professor who, to his surprise, wore a beaming smile.
“The timing – it’s perfect! I should have realised… Oh, how wonderful… Wait till I tell Zohar…” he chattered excitedly.
Norm exchanged puzzled glances with Ernie, who shrugged his shoulders.
“Professor, what are you talking about?” Ernie asked.
“Oh, my dear Poggle, do you realise what Norm is?” The Professor was almost laughing now.
“Er… clumsy?” suggested Ern with an apologetic glance at his friend.
“No, no, no,” giggled the Professor, taking Norm by both shoulders and crouching to stare directly into his eyes. “You, my dear, dear Poggle, are a Long… Toed… Poggle!” He clapped his hands with glee.
“Yes, I know I have long toes… They’re a complete nuisance. That’s why I always fall over. It’s as if I feel the ground moving, and over I go. I’m so sorry about the jar.” Norman was confused.
“Oh, bother the marvellous jar. I don’t mind if you break all the jars in the place. Of course you fall over, it’s what you were designed to do, my Long-Toed friend! You are a miracle! One of the last of your kind… Never thought I’d see the like again. Come, come, sit, sit.”
The two Poggles sat down again in utter bewilderment.
“My poor Poggle,” Professor Zube chuckled, “I don’t doubt that all your life you have felt like some sort of misfit, not quite the same as all the rest. Hmm?”
Norman felt unwilling tears prick his eyes at this painfully accurate summary of himself.
“Well, the truth is, you are very special indeed, but many years ago Long-Toed Poggles were common. It would have been unusual to find the Short-Toed ones that live on the Planet today.” Norm and Ernie listened in amazement.
“Yes, you are all descended from the original Long-Toed population who, far from being ridiculed for their supposed clumsiness, were recognised for their useful skills. You say you feel as if the ground moves, Norman, yet no one else seems to notice?”
Norm nodded vigorously.
“Well, that’s exactly what happens. Your extra-long toes give you the ability to pick up the slightest vibration on the Planet’s surface. If tuned correctly, you would be able to tell if danger were approaching and warn others. Your ancestors were masters of this art; and what you now feel is an embarrassment, is in fact a very great gift.”
“But how come I’m the only one left?” Norm’s voice cracked with the strange mix of emotions he was suddenly feeling.
“Oh, occasionally the trait reappears in individuals but they usually try and hide it. There are not many alive now who understand its significance. Of course, most of the original Long-Toed Poggles were killed in the Great War.”
“What Great War?” Ern asked innocently.
“Good heavens, what do they teach you in school?” exclaimed the Professor. “Next you’ll be telling me you haven’t heard of the Drones!”
At the mention of the word, Norm and Ernie suddenly felt very cold and neither wanted to ask the question. Beside them on the floor, Spong whimpered and turned blue.
“Great Scott! You don’t know what they are, do you? Well, I am deeply sorry to have to enlighten to you.” The Professor suddenly looked incredibly sad.
“Many years ago, long before you were born and long before I came here, the Green Planet was attacked by the most awful creatures you can imagine. They came from their own Dark Planet and took over the Dark Side of this Planet. In the Great War that followed, the Long-Toed Poggles fought bravely. They were able to sense when the Drones were approaching and set traps for many of them. For a short time it even looked as though they might win, until one day the Drones found the only weakness the Long-Toed Poggles possessed.”
“What was it?” blurted Norman.
The Professor made no reply but turned to a short-stemmed glass on the table beside him. Silently he licked his finger and began to run it around the rim of the glass. A sweet, pure note reverberated from it, which made Norm’s toes tingle pleasantly. The Professor stopped and opened a small leather case that sat on the table beside the glass. Inside this were a number of two-pronged metal forks. The Professor selected one of the forks and struck it violently on the table. The Poggles jumped as a searing note of the same pitch rang out from the fork. Norm’s toes were now aching.
Quickly, the Professor touched the fork to the rim of the glass. For a moment the sound magnified as the glass and fork vibrated in harmony, then there was a splintering noise and silence. The glass had shattered.
“Blimey, I had an aunt who could do that when she sang,” exclaimed Ernie, “but what has it got to do with Long-Toed Poggles?”
“They shattered them!” cried Norman, barely able to control his tears now.
“Yes, Poggle,” the Professor nodded gravely. “I’m afraid they did. Somehow the Drones worked out that each Poggle had its own special note. If they could tune into it and reproduce it at the right pitch and intensity, the poor thing would literally be shaken to death. The Drones killed hundreds in this way. They would lurk in the shadows then surround individuals and begin to hum – low at first, then gradually rising up the scale until they sensed they had found the weakness. Once they had, the group would drone louder and louder until it was all over. The Poggles didn’t stand a chance, and soon there were only a handful left, deep underground.”
“What happened next?” Norm and Ern blurted together.
“Well, that’s the strange thing. The last few Poggles remained hidden for months, too scared to go above the surface where they knew the Drones were living on the Dark Side. They thought it was only a matter of time until they were discovered, deep in their tunnels, and killed. Days passed, though, and the Drones didn’t come. Then one day a Poggle called Scott couldn’t take being cooped up anymore and announced that he was going above. The rest of the Poggles pleaded with him not to go to his certain death, but Scott said he would rather die above ground in the light than wait to be killed in the dark. A few hours later, he returned to the group with the news that the Drones had gone. They had simply disappeared, and to this day no one knows why.”
Norm and Ern felt as though they had been caught up in a fantastic bedtime story only to find that the last page had been torn from the book.
“It can’t end like that,” Norm said, almost crossly. “What happened to the rest of the Poggles?”
“Well, they rebuilt their lives and gradually repaired the damage to the Planet. Eventually, things began to return to normal and the numbers of Poggles increased; however, Poggles were no longer born with long toes, almost as if they had evolved to protect themselves against possible extinction again.”
Norm gasped. “I can hardly believe this is all true,” he sighed, “but it explains so much. If only I knew how to control what I feel and use it the way the old Long-Toed Poggles did. If anything, I think I’m falling over more than ever these days.”
“Yes, well, you would be.” Professor Zube stopped picking up shards of glass and looked calmly at the two Poggles. “You see, the Drones are back.”
At the Professor’s feet, a small ball of fluff turned from orange to pure white.
A Flash of Light
It was a long night.
The two friends continued to question the Professor until nearly three in the morning when he insisted they went home to their pods. Not, however, before he explained, to their horror, how the Drones had regrouped. The Professor had been monitoring the Dark Planet
for years through his telescope, even though it was understood to be deserted. Three months ago, he had seen signs of life once more. The Drones were back and, worse still, they were building something.
Neither Norm nor Ern slept at all when they eventually crept back into their beds. Yet both of them surprised their parents by being up and dressed before their alarms went off. In contrast to the previous morning, Norman fairly wolfed down his Wartflakes while trying to work out how he could smuggle Spong out of his bedpod. The little creature had been squeaking excitedly under his bed since his return. (Scheherazade had been most pleased to see him again and hear about his trip to the Wasteland.) There was no way Norman could explain to his parents how his pet had mysteriously returned in the middle of the night.
How did my life get so complicated? he thought as he gently coaxed Spong into his bubble bag a few moments later. One minute I’m an ordinary Poggle – or rather, a long-toed, clumsy one – next, I’m having midnight feasts with Human Beings and learning about wars and invasions. Oh, and apparently I have special toes, too. It’s ridiculous!
Norm tried to sound indignant at the situation thrust upon him; but since hearing the Professor’s words the night before, he felt the seed of something he had never experienced before. It was the warm feeling of knowing you had a fantastic secret all to yourself. He liked it.
Ernie was hopping anxiously from one foot to the other at the bottom of the path as, with a quick “Bye, then!”, Norm let himself out of the house. Luckily his parents were too absorbed in frowning over a story in The PUN to notice his wriggling bubble bag.
“Crikey, I thought you’d never leave!” blurted Ern. “I’ve been waiting ages – didn’t sleep a wink. Can’t stop thinking about… you know…” He looked suspiciously over his shoulder at the hedge and remembered that they sometimes had ears.
“I know. I didn’t sleep either. My head’s buzzing like Fireflies around a syrup lake.”
“Don’t you mean, like insects around the Waste Dome?” joked Ernie, but neither of them felt like laughing at the memory of the sight and stench they had seen last night.
As they rounded the corner Ern stopped. “Hadn’t you better let Spong out of your bag?”
An impatient series of squeaks from inside confirmed that this would be a good idea. Soon the orange creature was once more straining at his leash and leading the way to the school pod.
The path became crowded with the usual throng of Poggles shoving, dawdling and laughing to their daily routine. Norman and Ernie followed in thoughtful silence.
“You two idiots had a row, then?” Jeli Mould’s whiney voice broke the spell.
Norm had completely forgotten to worry about the ritual bullying he suffered every day – somehow it had lost its importance. He stared blankly at Jeli and before she had time to line up another insult, a commotion broke out ahead of them. She turned in time to see Boris Whinge being frogmarched through the school pod gates on the arm of Bert Snatchitt.
“What the…?!” she blurted, and ran after the protesting Boris.
Norm and Ern exchanged wry smiles and quickened their pace. They reached the gates just in time to hear Bert retort to Jeli:
“None of your business, young Poggle, and none of his business to be sneaking about last night either!”
“That’s shocking!” Ernie cried with dramatic exaggeration.
“Terrible!” Norm nodded, with a disappointed ‘tut-tut’ to Boris.
“But… but you… I heard… I was trying to…” Boris complained weakly, realising if he finished any of his sentences he would have to admit he’d been spying on them. Bert dragged him inside.
“Not a bad start to the day.” Ernie winked.
Inside their classpod the usual clatter of bags and stools was in progress. Norm put Spong into his large pen and topped up his food and water. Ernie was on Fred-feeding duty that day, and he scooped some brown sludge from a jar into the Baracs Beetle’s cage.
Norm grimaced, “I suppose that’s p—”
“Dung, yes,” interjected Ernie. “Fred’s favourite.”
“Well, he’d have a field day at the Waste Dome, then,” Norm whispered under his breath, watching the insect gorge itself on the sticky mess.
“I think even Fred would be hard pushed to tackle that lot,” mused Ern. “At least he’d never go hungry.”
Miss Lastic arrived and the class settled down for the daily roll call.
“Norm and Spong today, I see,” she said when she reached his name. “Are you sure he’s fully recovered though, Norman? He still looks a little off colour to me. What did the vet say?”
“The vet? Ow! Oh yes, the vet!” Norm added quickly as Ernie’s well-placed foot reminded him just in time of the story he had told Miss Lastic. “Just-a-bug-should-be-fine-in-no-time-nothing-to-worry-about,” he garbled.
Another hard stare from Miss Lastic and a pause that seemed to last for an age. “I see,” was all she said.
“Boris Whinge.” Miss Lastic now directed her stare behind Norm’s head.
“Yes, Miss Lastic?” Boris mumbled grudgingly.
“On report from Bert Snatchitt, I hear, Boris? Very disappointing. Not the sort of behaviour I’d expect from a Poggle who has been given the honour of playing solo in front of the Elders. You’ll see me after school today.”
Boris flushed red and scowled.
“Now, class, speaking of our Elder Poggles,” Miss Lastic glanced towards the corridor and nodded, “we are very honoured this morning to have a visitor.”
A hushed silence fell immediately, and the class, without need for prompting, all stood as Ilona Quinn, one of the seven Elder Poggles, glided in. Of course, she was walking, really – Elder Poggles don’t have wheels – but she did so with such effortless grace, appearing to look at every Poggle in the room at the same time with her gentle, all-knowing eyes. She stood in front of the class and drew her cloak around her. It was a plain brown cloak which had been painstakingly embroidered with an intricate pattern of ivy leaves.
“Good morning, Poggles, and be seated,” she greeted them in the traditional way.
The class sat in awe and waited eagerly. Miss Lastic raised a questioning eyebrow to the Elder, who nodded with a smile.
“Class, Ilona Quinn is here today to very kindly take questions from us so that we may learn from her.” The class gasped and a sea of hands shot into the air but Miss Lastic added, “Now, this is a unique opportunity and you will think carefully about the questions you ask so as not to waste this precious time. How much will you learn by simply knowing a person’s favourite food or Telescreen programme when there are far greater questions you could ask?” Half of the hands went down and Miss Lastic scanned the faces in front of her.
“Anna Conda, you may ask your question.”
Anna stood nervously and began in a faltering voice, “Elder Quinn… how… how do…” she tailed off.
Ilona Quinn smiled. “Take a deep breath, young Poggle. Just imagine you are talking to your friend in the playpod.”
Anna nodded and began again. “How do you become an Elder Poggle, please. I mean, what exams would I need to take?” She sat down with a bump and a flushed face.
“That is a good question, Anna, and I shall try to give you a good answer.” Ilona paused. “I’m afraid you cannot become an Elder by simply passing exams – it is not that easy.” The class exchanged puzzled glances on hearing exams being referred to as ‘easy’.
“To become an Elder requires effort – great effort. More than just looking at a Data-Globe and writing an essay,” she smiled. “It is a long journey and there is more than one pathway. Some have become Elders through the wisdom and patience required to teach others.” Ilona Quinn glanced at Miss Lastic, who looked surprised and blushed.
“Others have been chosen for their courage – fighting bravely to overcome public o
r personal battles that you and I may never see. There are also those who travel the path of compassion. They have the gift of thinking of others and lending a helping hand, wherever and however it is needed.” The Elder Poggle paused and seemed far away for a moment.
Anna Conda couldn’t help herself from blurting out, “But where do I start?” She suddenly felt she would do anything to become an Elder.
“Small things every day, Anna,” replied Ilona gently. “You could start by being the first person up in the morning and making your family a cup of tea.”
“What – every day?” asked Anna incredulously.
“Every day,” said the Elder, with a twinkle in her eye. “I told you it wouldn’t be easy.”
Anna sat down, thinking how hard it would be to get up early on one day, let alone every day for the rest of her life. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult? In her heart, though, she knew Ilona Quinn was right.
“Next question from… ah, yes… Norman Snodgrass.” Miss Lastic nodded encouragingly at him.
Ernie gasped as his friend stood beside him. Usually, Norm wouldn’t say boo to a Marge Fly, never mind stand up and ask a question of an Elder Poggle.
Norm cleared his throat and found he was able to look Ilona Quinn in the eyes without fear. He sensed she would wait patiently for as long as it took for him to find the right words. She was willing his question from him.
“Elder Quinn, please may I ask what you know about the Drones?”
A hushed silence fell on the class, but behind him Boris Whinge whispered, “Trust you to ask a stupid question about a fairy story.”
Miss Lastic shot a worried glance at the Elder Poggle. “I’m… I’m not sure if we have time to answer that one…” she began, but the Elder raised her hand and Miss Lastic was quiet.
“We have time,” she said simply. “Norman, is it? Where did you hear about the Drones?”
