by Sue Bough
“Well,” she gasped at last, “this is most unexpected. A Baracs Beetle! Where on the Green Planet did you find it?”
“Near the Wasteland,” replied Norm truthfully. There were murmured whisperings from the rest of the class at this revelation – the Wasteland was not a popular destination. “But he’s a boy like Fred,” he added quickly before Miss Lastic jumped to the same wrong conclusion.
“Oh… well, that’s a pity,” she peered into the jar more closely, “but even so… two Baracs Beetles are far better than one! Why don’t you introduce him to Fred?”
The class crowded over to Fred’s tank and watched as Norm carefully lowered Ginger’s jar into it. Fred appeared from behind his ball of breakfast dung sensing that something interesting was afoot. Slowly, Norm unscrewed the lid and stood back to observe.
At first neither beetle moved, but their antennae twitched as each picked up the other’s scent. Gradually, Ginger crept out of his jar and inched towards Fred, feelers extended. Then Fred crawled forward until their feelers touched – in the same way that humans might shake hands. Finally, with a little jump, Fred did an about-turn and scurried excitedly around the tank with Ginger in tow, almost as if he were giving his new friend a guided tour.
“That has to be worth an A star, Norman,” beamed Miss Lastic. “Well done! Now, settle back into your seats, class; we’ve had enough excitement for now.”
“S’not fair!” a familiar voice chipped in. “How come he gets full marks for handing it in late?” The complaining voice of Boris Whinge went unnoticed as the class booted up their Data-Globes.
Norm reluctantly tore his gaze away from the two happy beetles who were now side by side and tucking into a mound of fresh dung; but before he could switch on his Data-Globe, Miss Lastic addressed him again. “Norman, I need you to take this Thought Memo to the Star Chamber.”
Everyone in the class stopped work and watched as Miss Lastic pushed a button on her Data-Helmet. A tiny cube was ejected from the side of it. She placed it into a small plastic bubble bag, sealed it and handed it to Norm.
“You may take Spong with you; he could do with the walk,” she added.
Now there were loud whisperings around the room and glances of envy directed at him. It was very unusual for junior Poggles to be allowed into the Star Chamber outside of assembly hours, but to be excused classwork to walk the school pet was unheard of.
“Who should I give this to when I get there, Miss Lastic?” asked Norm, slightly apprehensively.
“You’ll be met,” was the simple reply.
With a wide-eyed glance at Ernie, Norm collected Spong and headed off.
Having been instructed to take Spong for a walk, Norm led the way into the nearest Poggle-made tunnel. Since the installation of the Zube Tube network, this ancient system had become almost disused. Only a few older Poggles, who were distrustful of modern inventions, trod the paths. The old tunnels now had a damp, musky smell, and Spong pulled this way and that, contentedly exploring the nooks and crannies as they walked.
Fortunately, the route to the chamber was clearly marked by star and arrow symbols etched into the walls at intervals. Norm’s feet plodded on autopilot further into the centre of the Planet while his brain busied itself with this latest strange turn of events. He rolled the bubble bag around in his hand, wishing that he knew the contents of Miss Lastic’s Thought Memo and wondering who it was for. Trying to mind-read it was useless – Thought Memos only opened when in the hands of their intended reader.
Deeper and deeper into the centre of the Planet they descended, their path now lit by jars of Firelighters.
“We must be getting close now, Spong,” Norm whispered, afraid to disturb the dense silence around them. “We’ve been walking for ages.”
Sure enough, as they turned the next bend they saw a star-shaped opening illuminated at the far end of the tunnel.
Without warning, a dark figure darted out of the shadows beside them and grabbed Norm by the hooter.
“a dark figure…
grabbed Norm by the hooter.”
“What are you doing down here out of class?!” Bert Snatchitt demanded. He tightened his grip and made Norman’s eyes water; but before he could answer, another shape slid into view.
“It’s alright, Bert, he’s with me. Let him go.”
Bert spun round to find himself in the presence of none other than Zohar, the Master Poggle himself.
“S-sorry, Master,” he stammered, trying to bow and salute at the same time. “I-I had no idea.”
“That will do, Bert. I’m sure you’re a busy Poggle and have somewhere you need to be.” It was not a question but a quiet command. Bert hastily backed away down the tunnel, still bowing and muttering his apologies.
Norman found himself frozen in awe and unable to speak or move, but much to his embarrassment Spong was bouncing happily on the end of his lead. He jumped up at the Master’s robes and squeaked excitedly.
Norm watched in disbelief as the Master picked the little creature up and allowed him to lick his face. For a moment, Master and Minky eyed each other, and an understanding seemed to pass between them. Zohar nodded, then gently placed Spong on the ground again, scratching him softly behind one of his small ears.
“Now, be good for your master,” he said, before turning to Norm. “I believe you have something for me, Norman?”
“Y-yes, sir,” Norman stuttered and held out the bubble bag awkwardly.
The Master Poggle took it, unzipped it and removed the little cube from inside. For a moment there was silence as the Elder Poggle focused intently on the cube. It shuddered and opened. A minute later, Zohar smiled and gave a satisfied nod.
“That is good news,” was all he said.
Norm opened and shut his mouth, unsure whether he was supposed to say anything or simply leave. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this audience.
Zohar spoke: “And now I have something for you which I think you will find most helpful.” Without waiting for a reply, the Master Poggle turned away from Norman and seemed to reach for something in the hem of his robe. He turned back and held out a small, round, shining object. “It’s for your toe,” he explained. “Your middle one.”
“Th-thank you, sir!” exclaimed Norman, taking the gleaming trinket, which was in fact a ring. He examined it closely, noticing some strange marks and symbols engraved onto it.
Zohar continued, “It is a wave translator. When you wear it, it will help you to understand the vibrations you pick up. It should be useful for the task you have ahead of you…”
Norm inhaled sharply. “How do you know?” he blurted, quite forgetting who he was addressing.
Zohar smiled but his eyes were sad. “Put it on,” he instructed gently.
Obediently, Norman bent down and slipped the ring onto the long, middle toe of his right foot. Spong sat patiently and watched. The ring fitted perfectly, and immediately Norman felt a curious sensation. His toes tingled, but now in a pleasant way, almost as if someone had tuned them. He no longer felt as if the slightest vibration would make him fall over. A wave of contentment flowed from his feet up his body, and he wiggled his toes happily, forgetting again whose company he was in.
“One last piece of advice… Watch out for their tails…”
Norm looked up to where the voice had come from, but Zohar had gone.
Bad Timing
“Wow!” exclaimed Ernie in the playpod when he had finally been able to talk to his friend. “You met Zohar and he gave you a present?! What will Professor Zube say?”
“Ingenious!” said the Professor later that day as he held the toe-ring up to the light, squinting at it through an eyeglass. “It’s a very sophisticated aerial… and there’s something else I can’t work out… Incredible! I never realised such advanced technology existed on the Green Planet. Judging by the hieroglyphs, it mu
st be ancient! Well, it couldn’t be better timing,” he chuckled, and handed the ring back to Norman who quickly slipped it on again.
“How did Zohar know about our plan?” he asked.
“Hmm…? Oh, well, he is the Master Poggle, after all. I’m sure he has ways. Now, speaking of plans, we have work to do.” Professor Zube smoothly changed the subject and led the way over to his workbench on which was an assortment of strange equipment.
“Right, let’s recap.” He held up a small figure with a large mirror taped to it. “Ernie, you will be stationed with mirror number one on the Light Side of the Planet at the closest point to Sirius. That way we will maximise the strength of the beam we have to work with. Using this protractor… yes, the thingy that measures angles… you will reflect the light at precisely ninety degrees towards me. I’ll be stationed here with mirror number two, just beyond the Wasteland, where the Dark Side meets the Light.” He picked up a larger figure and taped a second mirror to it.
“Got it!” said Ernie enthusiastically.
“Good. Now,” the Professor continued, “I will capture your beam and, again using a protractor-thingy… Heavens, you’ve got me doing it now… using a protractor, I will send the light beam at ninety degrees over to Norman who will be waiting on the Dark Side.”
Both Ernie and Professor Zube glanced at Norman, who calmly replied, “Got it.”
The Professor took a third figure and taped a mirror to this as well. “Right, now, on my signal, Norm will capture my beam and direct the light upwards to the Dark Planet. If my calculations are right, the beam should be strong enough to light up a pretty large part of the surface. It’ll give those old Drones the scare of their lives!”
With a chuckle, he clicked on his miner’s headlamp that was now suspended above the work bench. A zig-zag of light hit the three figures before bouncing upwards onto a crude model of the Dark Planet, which was just a ping-pong ball painted black, hanging above the far end of the bench. “Hee-hee, they’ll think twice before coming down here again!”
“Professor?” Norm interrupted him. “You said I should wait for your signal… but you’ll be miles away. How will I know when it’s time?”
“A-ha! Good question, young Poggle. Have you ever heard of walkie-talkies?”
“Walkie-whatties?” Norm frowned.
“Talkies,” said the Professor. “Here, catch.” He threw a small plastic object with two buttons and a long metal spike at Norman. “Now, go and stand in the airlock.”
Norman dutifully shuffled off.
The Professor waited until he was out of hearing, then twiddled one of the knobs on his walkie-talkie and held it to his mouth. “Can you hear me, over?”
Ernie gasped as muffled crackles seemed to come out of the Professor’s hand.
The airlock burst open and Norm rushed in.
“Wow! That was amazing! I could hear your voice inside this thing!”
“Yes, that’s the idea,” the Professor explained patiently. “You’re meant to reply by holding this button down and talking in here. Now let’s try again.”
Norm hurried back to the airlock and the Professor’s walkie-talkie crackled into life again.
“Can you hear me, Professor?” Norm’s voice sounded tinny but no less excited.
“Roger, over,” replied the Professor.
“Professor? It’s Norm… Can you hear me?”
“Roger. I can hear you loud and clear,” the Professor replied again.
The airlock opened once more and Norm emerged looking confused. “Who’s Roger?” he asked.
“Dearie me.” The Professor shook his head. “Roger is what you say instead of ‘yes’ when you’re talking over the radio. You say ‘over’ when you have finished so that the other person knows when to click their button to speak.”
“Why don’t you just say ‘yes’ and ‘your turn’?” asked Ernie.
Now it was the Professor’s turn to look puzzled.
“Do you know, I have absolutely no idea!” he laughed. “Anyway, let’s get some practice in.”
For the next hour, the three conspirators took it in turns to stand in the airlock and practise their ‘Rogers’ and ‘overs’ until they were perfect. Even Spong joined in by squeaking over the radio when he heard his name. Once the walkie-talkies were mastered, Professor Zube gave them reflection exercises using mirrors, torches and the protractor-thingies until they could quickly and accurately direct beams of light all over the laboratory.
There was a strange incident when Ernie’s beam lit up the glass case containing the Professor’s Waste Dome experiment. The Dome had stretched to twice its original size and was oozing horribly, when it suddenly imploded. The case shuddered and a muted ‘whumpf’ was heard through the thick glass. Brown toxic ooze seeped ominously over the surface of the model until nothing of the miniature Green Planet could be seen.
“What’s happened to it, Professor?” asked Ernie, hoping it wasn’t his fault.
“Nothing I haven’t been expecting,” the Professor replied with a frown, but before they could question him further he set them some more tasks.
Soon Norman and Ernie were worn out from sheer concentration, and Spong was exhausted from chasing spots of light all over the laboratory. The hard work paid off, though. The two friends were now able to angle their mirrors with remarkable speed and precision.
“By George, I think we’re ready!” Professor Zube exclaimed at last.
“Who on the Planet is George?” the two Poggles groaned.
“Never mind that now,” Professor Zube continued, “you both need to get a good night’s sleep in readiness for tomorrow.”
“Why, what’s tomorrow?” Ernie asked nervously. He had a horrible feeling he knew the answer.
“Tomorrow…” said the Professor, bending down with an earnest gaze, “tomorrow is D-Day. Drone Day. The day we put our plan into action.”
“Tomorrow?!” both Poggles gasped. They suddenly realised that all the enjoyable planning and rehearsals had been leading up to this moment.
“Yes – there’s no time to waste… The Drones have finished the ray.”
*
If there was one thing Mr and Mrs Sludgebucket could be sure of, it was that they wouldn’t see their son before ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. It was hard enough to rouse him on a school day, so they kindly let him lie in at weekends. So it was that Mr Sludgebucket nearly choked on his breakfast when Ernie flew out of his bedpod at nine o’clock and, with a garbled “Bye-I’m-off-to-see-Norman-back-later,” slammed the front door behind him.
“But… but… he hasn’t even eaten his Wartflakes!” exclaimed Mrs Sludgebucket, dropping her spoon in shock.
Norm and Spong were already waiting at the Zube Tube entrance having just left Mr and Mrs Snodgrass in a similar bemused state. The familiar journey to Professor Zube’s laboratory was a quiet one. Both friends anxiously thought about their part in the dangerous plan. Sensing the tension, Spong sat still at Norm’s feet, his fur a pale orange.
Shush. The doors of the Zube Tube opened at the Wasteland exit, breaking the silence.
“Well, here goes,” Norm laughed uneasily as he led the way.
In his laboratory, Professor Zube greeted the two Poggles cheerily as usual. “Good to see you! I hope you both got a good night’s sleep? Busy day today…” he tailed off, and his smile wavered for a fraction of a second. “Right – I suggest we run through the whole plan again and get some final practice in with the radios and mirrors.”
The Poggles nodded and obediently collected their equipment from the bench where it had been abandoned the day before. They slipped into the carefully rehearsed routine of movements and commands. Soon they were absorbed in their work.
Both were shocked when, what seemed like only a few moments later, Professor Zube quietly announced, “I think we’re r
eady… It’s ten to twelve. Time to get into position.”
With those words, the false sense of calm deserted poor Norman. He felt sick to his over-large stomach and wished he’d taken time to eat something for breakfast. His legs felt like jelly but were no match for his feet, which had turned into lumps of clay and wouldn’t budge.
“Come on, Norm.” Professor Zube gently propelled him out of the laboratory and into the daylight. As they reached the Zube Tube entrance he continued, “So, Ernie, you head back to the Light Side; I’ll be just beyond the Waste Dome; and Norm, you’ll be on the Dark Side waiting for my signal…” He gently pushed Norm into the Zube Tube entrance. Spong followed.
“It’s no good… I can’t do it!” Norm blurted. “I’m so sorry, but I really can’t!”
“Yep, I was kind of expecting this,” Ern said quietly. He lifted a nearby rock and nudged a disgruntled Scudder towards the Zube Tube. “Sorry, Norm, got to be cruel to be kind.”
There was muffled scream followed by a familiar shush as the Tube whooshed into life.
He’s never going to forgive me for that, thought Ernie.
“Sorry, Norm,
got to be cruel to be kind.”
*
But on the Dark Side, Norman had already forgotten the Scudder. He was surrounded by blackness such as he’d never known before. Beyond the dim glow of the Zube Tube entrance, there could have been a thousand Scudders. He would never have seen them. If they were there, however, they were very, very quiet. The silence was ominous.
Spong pulled softly on his lead to encourage Norman to step into the unknown. Norm’s toes began to tingle disconcertingly. He couldn’t decide if it was through fear of the dark or something worse. He wiggled them and squinted downwards to try and separate them from the inky blackness. As he stared, something caught his eye. The ring on his toe had begun to glow.
“Norm!” Ernie’s voice crackled on the walkie-talkie, making Norman and Spong leap in fright. “I’m so sorry about the Scudder… It was the only way. You understand, don’t you?”
