by Sue Bough
Isadora Snodgrass blushed.
“Professor Zube, Norman’s been telling us about the Drones. Is it right they’re back?”
“I’m afraid so… May I call you Arthur? Yes, they’ve returned to the Dark Side despite your son’s heroic efforts today. Just a Landing Party at the moment. They’ll report back to their Planet after they’ve scouted around – but you know what follows. Did Norman tell you about the toxic waste?”
Freda Sludgebucket slopped her tea into her saucer.
“I really don’t think this is the sort of conversation to be having in front of young Poggles!” she quailed.
“Norman, why don’t you take Ernie to your room? He can keep you company while you tidy it.” His mother’s tone was non-negotiable. Norman shot a protesting look at the Professor.
“Perhaps that’s a good idea, Norman; it will give me a chance to talk to your parents.”
Arthur Snodgrass shut the living pod door firmly behind them. “How bad is it?”
“I won’t lie to you. We have a serious problem. I’ve been in the Wasteland for years now trying to come up with the answer. It’s not just the amount of waste we produce but the fact that over time it ferments and produces toxic gases. You should see the Waste Dome – it could explode at any moment.”
“Does Zohar know?” Bill Sludgebucket asked.
“Oh, absolutely. He foresaw the problem years ago when the Baracs Beetles disappeared. He knew they were the only thing controlling the waste. He asked me to move to the Wasteland and keep him up to date with the smallest detail – I speak to him every day.” There was an awed gasp at this.
“I’ve tried everything I can think of but nothing works. The thing is, I’m to blame for the whole problem. If I hadn’t introduced the waste-pipe system, the Baracs Beetles wouldn’t have died out in the first place. It’s too late now – too much of the stuff has built up – an army of beetles would never get rid of it all.”
“There must be something we can do.” Arthur Snodgrass leaned forward. “Every problem has a solution. Let me tell you what I did with the brooms at work. The handles kept coming out and—”
“Not now, dear,” his wife interjected.
“Right, well, I’m just saying there’s got to be a way.”
“I’m certainly open to any ideas you have, Arthur; two heads are always better than one. We don’t have much time, though.”
*
Norman was fuming as he paced the length of his bedpod.
“So it’s OK for me to face a bunch of Drones single-handed on the Dark Side, but I’m not allowed to be in the same room while they talk about dung!”
He dragged the vacuum cleaner angrily behind him. (This had also been introduced to the Planet by the Professor and was very efficient at cleaning up space dust.)
“Sorry, Norm, it’s my mum’s fault. Just because I’m the youngest she treats me like I’m her baby. She went loopy when I told her what had been going on. Now she’s just trying to pretend nothing’s happened. As if that’s going to make a difference.”
Norman continued to pace.
“What were they like?” Ernie asked hesitantly.
Norman stopped. “The worst thing I’ve ever seen. And when they look at you…” He paced again to shake the image from his mind.
“Is this really it, then?”
“I don’t know – it doesn’t seem real. To think, two days ago I was worried about homework!” The friends laughed in spite of everything.
“Well, if the Planet’s going to end, you may as well face it with a tidy bedpod. Are you actually going to plug that thing in?!”
Norman looked at the flex trailing uselessly behind him. He’d been so preoccupied he hadn’t realised it wasn’t connected. He plugged it in and reached to flick the switch on the machine.
WHOOMPF!
The whole room filled with dust.
Seconds later, two sets of parents and a Professor crammed into the bedpod doorway to see Norman and Ernie choking and blinking in the dust.
“What have you done!?” shouted Mrs Snodgrass.
“I’m sorry, Mum. I wasn’t concentrating. I turned it on to blow instead of suck. I don’t think it’s been emptied in a while…” But before his mother could scold him further, a triumphant cry came from Professor Zube.
“I don’t believe it! That’s the answer! You fantastic Poggle – you’ve just saved the Planet!”
Whoompf!
“The whole room filled with dust.”
The Switch
The living pod was a mess.
Teacups, papers and pencils were strewn across the dining table and spilled onto the floor. Everyone was talking at the same time, gesticulating excitedly and occasionally pausing to scribble on fresh sheets of paper. A thin film of dust from the exploded vacuum had wafted through from Norm’s bedpod and was whirling around in the flurry of activity.
Disturbed by the eruption, Scheherazade crept out from her hiding place. Upon seeing the wonderful mess of dirt, she felt as if all her birthdays had come at once. Definitely worth exploring, she thought.
The hullaballoo in the living pod sounded interesting, though – perhaps there was a good story to overhear first? Keeping to the shadows, she pattered across the hall and scooted under the sofa. There she sat, chewing a tasty morsel of dust and listening intently.
“I think it could work, Professor!” Arthur Snodgrass shook the Professor’s hand vigorously. His mechanical mind had been the first to grasp the brilliant simplicity of the idea. “We’ll turn the Zube Tube into a giant hoover!”
“That’s it, Arthur! If we connect the pipes feeding the Waste Dome to the Zube Tube network and literally switch the mechanism from suck to blow – just as clever Norman showed us – we’ll blast the Dark Planet into space and kill two birds with one stone. No more Drones and no more toxic waste – it’s sheer genius!”
“Wait a minute, you didn’t say anything about killing birds – whatever they are. I’m not having anything to do with that!” Freda Sludgebucket protested.
“No, no, dear lady, we won’t be killing birds, or anything else for that matter – it’s a figure of speech, you understand.”
She didn’t, but warily held her tongue.
“Of course, we’ll need a pipe to direct the flow on the Dark Side,” continued the Professor. “Just like the hoover, really. Otherwise the muck will just splurge all over the ground.”
“I can see a problem there.” Arthur Snodgrass scratched his head. “It’ll have to be a pretty big pipe, and the force of all the gunge inside will make it very difficult to control. It’ll be wobbling all over the place.”
There was quiet in the room as everyone pondered the problem. The clock ticked loudly. Sherri stopped chewing, her eight eyes glittering.
“I know,” Isadora Snodgrass picked up the Fib Pot, “we can splint it.”
The Professor eyed the Fib Pot’s spout, now held rigidly by the wooden ruler and tape.
“A veritable family of masterminds!” he clapped. “That’s perfect. We’ll aim the pipe at the Dark Planet and prop it up in place. I’m sure we can find a way of doing that.”
Arthur Snodgrass winked at Bill Sludgebucket.
“Well, you don’t work down a sugar mine all your life without learning a thing or two about supporting tunnels. What do you say we borrow some pit props from the mine tonight, Bill? I’m sure the boss won’t mind – under the circumstances!”
“Sounds reasonable,” Bill replied with a chuckle. “I’ll give you a hand.”
Norm and Ernie exchanged impressed glances. They’d never seen their parents as animated, and after the events of the last few days they were very happy to let them take charge. Norm put another log on the fire and stroked Spong. He still felt cold to the touch.
The Professor added some diagrams to the
sheet nearest him, talking as he went. “It’s really coming together now – a few tweaks and I think we’re there. It will be simple enough to connect the two networks… We just need to cut a hole through and seal it well. Then I’ll need to set the flaps on the Zube network so we don’t get any blow-back through the system.”
“That would be most unpleasant.” Freda Sludgebucket raised her eyebrows. “Izzy, I think Poggles need to be warned not to use the Zube at the same time.”
“Good idea, Freda. Professor, perhaps the Master Poggle could notify the Poggle Wardens? They could put notes through everyone’s doors.”
“Yes, you’re probably right. The old tubes are a bit cranky these days; better safe than sorry. I’ll have a chat with Zohar tonight.”
“Close your mouth, Freda,” Bill Sludgebucket whispered to his wife, who was astounded to hear the Professor refer so casually to their Master.
“He speaks to him every day,” Isadora reminded her friend. “And do you see that toe-ring our Norman’s wearing? Gift from Zohar himself!” Freda gawped again.
“Now, the switch will need to be positioned by the Zube Tube on the Dark Side. Norman, I’m afraid you’ll have to be the one to throw it when the time comes. Your long toes will warn you well in advance if there is any danger.”
Norman nodded quietly; it was just as he’d expected.
“Wait a minute, you’re not sending him back there! I forbid it!” Isadora Snodgrass looked to her husband for support.
Arthur Snodgrass put his arm around her shoulders.
“Izzy, you know I think the Planet of our Norman… and if I could change any of this I would. The fact is, we knew this day would probably come, didn’t we? He’s a Long-Toed Poggle. We can’t ignore it – this is what he was born to do…”
“It’s true, Mum. There’s no need to worry, though; we’ll wait till the Landing Party of Drones has gone, won’t we, Professor?”
“Oh, absolutely. I’ll make certain of that. Then it will just be a matter of attaching the pipe at the Zube entrance, propping it up and flicking the switch. What could possibly go wrong?”
Norman laughed weakly. He was secretly thinking that there was a lot of scope for him to muck things up completely, as usual.
“Right, we’d better get on with it. If you round up those pit props tonight, I’ll pop over to Zohar and let him know the plan. What say we all meet at my Laboratory in the morning? I think you’ll like what I’ve done with it, Arthur.”
“I’d be delighted, Professor! Norman and Ernie can show me the way.” Arthur Snodgrass nodded enthusiastically.
“Oh no. You might be happy for Norman to risk his life but Ernie’s not having any part in this.” Freda Sludgebucket had found her voice once more. “He hasn’t got any special toes to protect him; and besides, he needs to stay home and practise his hooting.”
Ernie looked at his mother aghast. How could she worry about hooting when the entire Planet’s future hung in the balance?
“Actually, Mrs Sludgebucket, Ernie’s a critical part of the plan – isn’t that right, Professor?” Norman looked pointedly at Professor Zube.
“What? Oh, yes, yes indeed – crucial member of the team; we can’t do without him. You must be very proud to have such a son, my dear Freda!”
Freda Sludgebucket’s eyes narrowed for a moment but then she blushed.
“Well… if you put it like that, I suppose he’d better go along. Not that I’m surprised you can’t do without him. He’s always been the brainy one in our family. I think he gets it from me…” Bill Sludgebucket choked on his mouthful of tea.
“Thanks, Norm!” Ernie whispered as his mother chattered away happily.
*
Later that evening, a small group of Poggles gathered outside the office pod of Wilbur Faircop, Chief Poggle Warden, and watched him pin a notice to his door.
“No need to crowd! You’ll all be getting one of these through your letterboxes tonight. Special orders from the Master Poggle himself.”
“What does it say?” An elderly Poggle with very thick glasses strained to read from the back of the huddle.
“It says that all Poggles should refrain from using the Zube Tubes tomorrow, and until further notice, for health and safety reasons. There’s some essential maintenance being carried out on the section near the Wasteland.”
“That’s stupid,” Boris Whinge mumbled under his breath. “I don’t see why the whole network has to be out of bounds. Hey, Jeli, we can have great fun whizzing around on them with no one else about! What do you think?”
Jeli Mould sighed, “Why do we always have to do the exact opposite of what we’re asked? Maybe for once there’s a good reason?”
“What’s the matter, Jeli? Not losing your bottle, are you? Or maybe you’re afraid of getting into trouble in case your boyfriend Norman finds out? You’re turning into a nerd like him.”
“Oh, why don’t you just shut up!” And with that, Jeli stormed off, leaving an astounded Boris in her wake.
*
Back at the Snodgrass residence, all had finally fallen quiet. More dust had settled on the abandoned papers and cups which, unusually, hadn’t been tidied away. The day’s events had been exhausting, and three weary Poggles now lay snoring in their bedpods.
Only one creature stirred. The beady eyes of Scheherazade the Scudder blinked in the darkness. Quietly, she crept out from under the sofa and climbed the leg of the dining table.
Most interesting… she thought to herself as she studied the plans scattered across it. A whimper broke the silence. Deep in his wretched sleep, Spong was re-living the attack of the Drone’s tail.
Softly, Scheherazade descended and made her way over to his basket. Settling herself next to Spong she softly wove a tale of wondrous bravery into his ear, and there she stayed all night, keeping watch over her charge.
“… keeping watch over her charge.”
Fall and Rise
“Well, I never!” Arthur Snodgrass exclaimed.
“Isn’t it incredible, Dad? Just like I said!”
The pleasure of showing his father around Professor Zube’s Laboratory erased the memory of their emotional send-off moments earlier.
Norman’s mother had given him a hug, so fierce it squeezed the breath out of him. She’d then hurried back into the pod without looking over her shoulder, saying she didn’t have time for this nonsense when there was fresh antidote tea to make. Her tearful sniffs could be heard from the kitchen however.
Poor Ernie hadn’t got off so lightly. He still had the red lipstick marks from his mother’s many kisses plastered on his face.
“What wouldn’t I give for a space like this…?” Norman’s father whistled with admiration as he studied the fantastic array of books and experiments competing for attention.
“I knew you’d appreciate it.” The Professor smiled proudly. “I recognise a kindred spirit in you – a fellow enquiring mind, eh? In fact, when this is all over, it would be my absolute pleasure if you were to become a regular visitor. I could clear a workbench for you if you like?”
Arthur Snodgrass was gobsmacked. He shook the Professor’s hand warmly and his eyes shone.
“That’s settled, then. We’d best get on. There’s been a bit of activity on the surface of the Dark Planet this morning. I wouldn’t mind betting they’re preparing to welcome the Landing Party back. We need to get cracking.”
“Righto, Professor; the boys and I can finalise the hoover-pipe-what’s-his-name, if you want to see about connecting the waste pipes to the Zube? We’ve brought some supplies from the sugar mine that should do the trick.”
For the next two hours, the three Poggles worked in harmony. Through years of helping his father, Norman was able to anticipate his every move. He knew which tool was needed and when, and was ready with a hammer, screwdriver or pliers before he could be
asked. Ernie soon slotted into the team, lifting bits of wood, or holding a jar of Firelighters up to help Mr Snodgrass see.
Before long, the trio had completed their task, and a giant flexible hose stood in the Laboratory supported at either end by criss-crossed pit props.
“All you’ve got to do, Norman,” his father explained, “is attach one end to the Zube Tube entrance with this thick tape. Then move the other end so it’s pointing… Well, you know where. When you’re ready, unscrew the button marked ‘To the Wasteland’ from the Zube Tube control panel. Then replace it with this reverse switch.” He handed Norm a small brass knob.
“How will I move it into place on my own, Dad? It takes two of us to lift one of those props as it is.”
“Not a problem,” his father grinned, and reached into his tool-bag; “only don’t tell your mother. These are the casters from her tea trolley!” He pulled out four wheels and deftly attached them to the bottom of the pit props. The pipe now glided smoothly with just the push of a finger.
“Mum’ll go off her trolley too when she discovers they’re missing!” Norman was delightfully shocked at his dad’s resourcefulness.
“Let me worry about that; you’ve got enough on your plate,” his father grinned.
“I wonder how the Professor’s getting on outside,” Ernie said anxiously.
“Here he comes now; you can ask him,” said Norm.
The green button by the airlock lit up and the Professor emerged waving a telescope. “Action stations!” he exclaimed, rushing over to them. “I’ve just seen the Landing Party return to the Dark Planet. We’ve only got a small window of time.”
“We are mobile, sir!” Norman’s father unwittingly saluted the Professor as he demonstrated the newly wheeled contraption.
“Excellent work!” The Professor clapped them all on the shoulders. “And I’ve connected the two networks successfully so we’re all systems go – or rather, all systems blow! Hee-hee!”
