by Terry Jones
Bolfass grinned and blew away the smoke from his SD handgun. His anger assuaged, he twirled the gun on his finger and slipped it back into its holster.
It has to be explained at this point that the Yassaccans were a peace-loving, kindly race — dedicated to craftsmanship and sober industry. Many of them, however, were also prone to blind, blood-lusting rage when confronted by certain things, such as sloppy workmanship or a disregard for fine hand-crafting. In the distant past these rages had led to terrible destruction of life and property, and, since the moods went as quickly as they came, they had also led to unendurable remorse for many thousands of these otherwise benign and caring folk. The Yassaccan scientists had, therefore, developed the SD weapon, which unlike the sort of hardware that most military scientists come up with — was designed to reduce death and destruction rather than increase it. The Simulated Destruction weapon — or SD gun — gave the user the momentary impression of having wreaked the bloody revenge that his crazed fury craved without actually doing any damage. It always surprised and stunned the enemy, but that was all.
Lucy, not knowing any of this, was more than astonished to find herself still alive enough to hear the leader of the invaders demand: 'You are under arrest! Where are the others?'
'Hey! This is great! I'm going down one of the cybernautic neural pathways! It's like a water-slide! Wheeee Excellent!' exclaimed Dan.
'Take that stupid thing off his head!' snapped Bolfass. The Yassaccans had no time for virtual reality exercises. Their business was exclusively MatterSide. Two of the invaders grabbed Dan and yanked the helmet off his head.
'Hey! I was enjoying th — ! Jeepers! What's going on?!' said Dan as he experienced SRM — Sudden Return to MatterSide.
'I said: where are the others?' repeated Bolfass.
'There aren't any others,' replied The Journalist, truculently.
'Come on! I wasn't brought up in a Blerontinian State Nursery! [These institutions were infamous for turning out individuals of less than avenge mental agility — possibly owing to the fact that, for generations, Blerontinian Governments had saved money on these establishments by forbidding any teaching to be done in them.] Who's running this ship?' Bolfass was getting irritated again; he'd just noticed the wretched finish on the mess-tables: the Blerontinian furniture makers had used unseasoned Lintin Pine from Northern Blerontin — an inferior wood which would warp badly after a couple of decades in use… and… by the Falls of Faknik! They hadn't even concealed the end grain with housed joints! In fact, when he looked closer, he could see the tenons were barely haunched leaving scarcely enough timber at the top of the stile for wedging! Had these people never learned even the most rudimentary basics of the art of joinery? Bolfass reached for his SD gun…
But before he could wreak his terrible and destructive revenge on the perpetrators of this slipshod botch-work a miracle happened.
The door of the Crew Room opened and a vision entered — someone so compellingly and so unutterably beautiful that Bolfass fell heavily and permanently in love. His life was never to be the same from that moment forth.
He lowered the SD gun and stared in childlike adoration.
Nettie, who had just completed her course of rejuvenation in Leovinus's extraordinary beauty parlour, had not only regained her youthful complexion, her body also had returned to its former proportions — in fact, if anything, her waist was just that little bit thinner, her breasts just a tiny bit firmer,the swell of her stomach just a tad more rounded. She looked more lovely than ever for, despite the fresh bloom of youth that had returned to her cheeks, her face was also suffused with the wisdom that comes of having lived for several million years. Old Leovinus certainly knew what he was doing.
'Nettie!' murmured Dan.
'Who d'you say?' asked Bolfass absentmindedly.
'Hi! Everybody!' said Nettie.'Supposing we all introduce ourselves? I'm Nettie.'
'Captain Bolfass at your service!' said Bolfass, springing to attention 'And these are Corporals: Yarktak, Edembop, Raguliten, Disembody, Supercharger, Fordable, Khaki, Zimwiddy, Duterprat, Kazitinker-Rigipitil, Purzenhakkken, Roofcleetop, Spanglowiddin, Buke-Hammadorf, Bunzlywotter, Brudelhampon, Harzimwodl, Unctimpoter, Golholiwol, Dinseynewt, Tidoloft, Cossimiwip, Onecrocodil, Erklehammerdrat, Inchbewigglit, Samiliftodft, Buke-Willinujit (he's a half-cousin by marriage of Buke-Hammadorf)…'
'Hi, Nettie!' said one of the Yassaccan invaders.
'Barnzipewt,' continued Bolfass, 'Spighalliwiller, Memsiportim, Itkip, Harlorfreytor, Pullijit, Beakelmemsdork, Uppelsaftat, Bukhumster, Rintineagelbun, Bootintuk, Poodalasvan, Sumpcreetorkattelburt…'
'Look! I hate to interrupt,' interrupted The Journalist, 'but there's a bomb on board this ship which is about to go off in…' He switched on the mobile phone.
'Ten… nine…' counted the bomb.
'Hot shit!' exclaimed The Journalist.
'Silence! Blerontinian Purveyor of Shoddy Goods!' shouted Bolfass, grabbing the mobile phone.
'He's not a Purveyor of Shoddy Goods!' exclaimed Lucy (who, if the truth were told, was a bit hacked off by the reaction to Nettie's entrance).
'Eight…' said the bomb.
'Give me that!' screamed The Journalist, flinging himself at the phone. Bolfass tossed it to Corporal Inchbewigglit.
'Seven…' counted the bomb.
'It's down to seven!' yelled The Journalist.
'Take this Blerontinian Bodger to the cells!' commanded Bolfass, and Corporals Spanglowiddin and Rintineagelbun grabbed The Journalist in a half-nelson and marched him out of the Crew Room.
'Six…' said the bomb, and Corporal Inchbewigglit flicked the mobile phone off.
'These two as well!' Bolfass was pointing at Lucy and Dan.
'No!' cried Lucy and Dan. 'The bomb!' but they were hustled out.
'Captain Bolfass,' said Nettie in a cool voice. 'There is no time to explain. Please give me the phone.'
'I am afraid I cannot allow you to use it, Nettie,' said Captain Bolfass, 'for security reasons.'
'Such as?'
'You might call for reinforcements.'
'Captain Bolfass, you have my word that there is no one else on this ship, as far as I know. You also have my word that there is a bomb about to blow us all to cosmic dust, unless you give me that phone.'
Bolfass hesitated a fraction of a second, and then nodded to Corporal Inchbewigglit. Corporal Inchbewigglit hesitated even less than a fraction of a second and handed the phone to Nettie. Nettie switched it on.
'Two…' said the bomb.
'Oh, bomb!' said Nettie. 'This is Nettie. Remember me?'
'Er… One…' said the bomb.
'How many fours make eight?'
'Er… er… Zeee…'
'No… How many fours make eight?'
'Er… er… Two?' said the bomb.
'How many twos in six?'
'Three…' said the bomb.
'And how many times does three go into twelve?'
'Four…' said the bomb. It paused for a moment and then continued: 'Five… Six… Seven…'
'Phew!' said Nettie. 'That'll buy a bit of time…'
'Why have you put this bomb onto our ship?' demanded Bolfass.
'Your ship?' exclaimed Nettie.
'Why do you sound so surprised?' cried Bolfass. 'Do you think we're not smart enough to have built such a wonderful thing?'
'Oh no!' replied Nettie. 'I didn't mean anything like that — it's just that you attacked the ship. It didn't seem like you owned it.'
'Of course we own it!' Nettie thought Captain Bolfass appeared a trifle defensive.'Legally and morally! This ship is our rightful recompense for all the misery and hardship that we have suffered at the hands of the Blerontinians!'
'Look! I don't want to appear stupid…'
'You could never look that, Nettie,' the Captain assured her.
'Thank you…' Nettie felt herself charmed by this short, fair stranger, in whose hands her fate apparently lay. 'But I don't know the background
history to all this…'
'And I will be delighted to tell you the whole story, dear lady' — Bolfass gave her deep bow — 'but first it is my unpleasant task to ask you once again: Why have you placed a bomb on this ship?'
'We haven't!' Nettie gave a little laugh that sent the Captain's heart reeling after his wobbly knees. 'We're on this ship by accident…' and she told Bolfass the whole story; how Dan and Lucy were about to turn the old rectory into a hotel, with the money from the Top Ten Travel Agency, and how the Starship had crashed into the house; how they had been invited aboard by a polite robot, and of all the things that had passed on the ship up until the invasion by the good Captain's forces.
When she had finished there was a long pause, until Nettie eventually added: 'And that's it… really.'
Bolfass seemed to suddenly recollect himself, as if he'd been in a dream while she'd been talking. He jumped to attention, and clicked his heels in a most courteous manner.
'I understand perfectly, dear lady,' he said, bowing and kissing her hand. Captain Bolfass increasingly looked as if he had just stepped out of a Jane Austen novel.
'All we want to do is to get back to Earth,' said Nettie.
'Of course!' Captain Bolfass clicked his heels again, in that way that made Nettie wriggle inside with delight. 'I am entirely at your service. Come!'
And Nettie followed the Captain, her high heels clicking on the beautifully laid floor of the work area.
19
Dan wasn't quite sure why he was surprised to find that there were cells on the Starship Titanic. It made sense in a way, he supposed, and yet they seemed totally out of place amidst all this luxury and elegance. The cell that he and The Journalist had been thrown into was, as cells tend to be, bare and cold. It was also damp, which is certainly what you expect cells to be but a bit surprising on such a technologically advanced vehicle.
'Lucy is such a good flick,' said The Journalist, shaking his head in admiration. 'You are a lucky man!'
'Look,' said Dan, 'I hate to disabuse you, but on Earth our attitude to these sorts of things is not the same as you Blerontinians…'
'You're telling me!' exclaimed The Journalist. 'When Lucy first suggested we have sex I could hardly believe my ears!'
'She did what?' exclaimed Dan.
'Well — we thought that the bomb was going to explode any second and she just kind of… Hey! Come to think of it! D'you think your other friend — what's her name?'
'She suggested… you make love?'
'The blonde one — Nightie!'
'Nettie.'
'D'you think Nettie knows about talking to the bomb?'
'I don't believe Lucy "suggested" you make love!' replied Dan.
'That was when I first realized how different sexual attitudes must be on your planet!'
Dan went a bit quiet. In all the years he had known Lucy, and what was it? Oh! it must be all of thirteen years now (probably more since they'd been travelling at the speed of light!) and in all those years he couldn't remember Lucy initiating a single sexual act. In the early years, he would sometimes lie awake at night, waiting to see if she would start, but he finally gave up. She was always perfectly happy to make love — but he had to make the first approach. He'd always assumed that was just how she was.
'Hey! Jailer!' The Journalist was yelling out of the bars.
'The! Is that you?' Lucy's voice came from the cell down the row.
'Lucy!' cried The Journalist. 'Pipes of Pangalin! I want to screw the arse off you!'
'STOP IT!' screamed Dan, and he threw himself at The Journalist. The two of them rolled around the sodden floor of their cell, with Dan punching and kicking and The (surprised) Journalist trying to defend himself.
'Dan! DAN! Is that you?' Lucy was yelling. She could hear them fighting. 'Stop that! We've got to save our strength! We've got to get out of here!'
'Lucy's right!' The Journalist panted, and suddenly the fight went out of Dan. Suddenly he found himself wondering why he was so jealous.
'Why did you attack me?' asked The Journalist.
Dan was just about to explain about the history of sexual mores on Earth, but he stopped himself. 'Look!' he said instead. 'Let's call a truce. Just don't talk about sex for the rest of the day, all right?'
'If you'd rather… But don't worry about me. I'm not shocked by the laxity of your Earth morals…'
'Just shut up about it for a few minutes!'
'OK!' replied The Journalist.
'Now,' said Dan. 'Suppose you tell me everything you know about this Starship that we're all stuck on, and then maybe together we can figure a way to get off it.'
'Dan! I love you!' shouted Lucy from her cell.
'I love you too!' Dan shouted back.
'Me too!' shouted The Journalist.
Dan fought back the urge to hit him and said: 'Tell me what you know.'
And so The Journalist told Dan about how the construction of the Starship Titanic had bankrupted the planet of Yassacca, and how Star-Struct, Inc., had then removed the construction work, without paying their debts. He told Dan of the rumours of financial trouble that had dogged the building of the ship on Blerontin, of the suspected shoddy workmanship of the Unmarried Teenage Mothers employed on the work, and how corners had been cut. He told Dan of Leovinus, the architect, engineer, artist, composer and greatest general all-round genius in the Galaxy, and how he had met him on the night before the launch. He told Dan of his meeting with Scraliontis, the accountant, who had told him of the bomb and the plot to scuttle the great Starship and claim the insurance, shortly before plunging to his death after being attacked by a parrot.
The Journalist then told Dan how, despite his wounds, he had decided to stow away on board in order to get the great scoop that had always hitherto eluded him in his career as a journalist he'd expose the full story behind the construction of the Starship and, at the same time, give a first hand account of what it was like to be the only passenger on board. (The idea had been to launch the ship on automatic, before flying her to Dormillion, where she was to pick up her first crew and passengers.)
The Journalist then told Dan about how the ship had suffered a SMEF (Spontaneous Massive Existence Failure) shortly after launch and how it had crash-landed on some unknown planet in the unexplored backside of the Galaxy. He finally described how, after the crash, he had heard cries coming from one of the curtains in the First Class Dining Room. He had then discovered Leovinus where he had been left for dead by Scraliontis. The Journalist had freed him and then tried to stop the old man from rushing off the ship — but to no avail. Despite his age, Leovinus had overpowered him (The Journalist had still been losing blood at this stage) and — screaming for revenge, waving, a glowing silver shard in his hand and presumably imagining he was still on Blerontin — the great genius had disappeared into the darkness of an alien world…
'Captain Bolfass wants to see you.' Their jailer suddenly cut across the long story. He jangled his keys as he opened the door to the wretched cell, and pulled The Journalist out.
Captain Bolfass had escorted the beautiful Nettie to the Captain's Bridge. There he had invited her to take a little tea and some cinnamon biscuit, while he made the necessary arrangements to fly the great Starship back to the planet Earth.
'Without wishing to sound disrespectful,' he explained to her, 'it is not a planet with which I am familiar — though, of course, it must be the most delightful world, to be the home of someone as lovely and as charming as yourself.' He bowed, and Nettie felt the thrill of being treated like the heroine of Northanger Abbey.
'I am sure you are more than capable of guiding us home,' she said, lowering her eyes.
'Ah! My dear lady!' exclaimed the Captain. 'It is not I who will guide us but the ship itself. The exact location of the planet Earth will have been recorded in the Starship's central intelligence core. Although none of us have any idea of where your planet is to be found, all I have to do is to tell Titania — that is what Leovinus na
med his cybernautic system — and she will locate it and take us there.'
Captain Bolfass pressed a small button on one of the consoles, next to a video game based on a recent Blerontinian film… and that is where the novel suddenly ceased to be one by Jane Austen or even Catherine Cookson.
'Barthfarthinghasts!' exclaimed Bolfass. 'Something's wrong! I'm getting no response!'
Nettie, who had felt the Earth and home to be very close indeed — a mere button-push away — now saw it suddenly recede into deep space.
'Captain Bolfass!' Corporal Buke-Willinujit (the cousin by marriage of Corporal Buke-Hammadorf) had just arrived out of breath and nervous.'The central intelligence core! Someone's removed the vital functions!'
Bolfass turned to Yellin, who was busy with one of the shoot-'em-up games. 'This is the work of that Blerontinian vandal! Bring him up at once!'
By the time The Journalist was thrown at his feet, Bolfass had become quite angry — not as angry as if he had known about the substandard materials used for the railing around the Central Well, or if he had known about the scandalous lack of finish in the bilge and rubbish-disposal wastes (where the Unmarried Teenage Mothers had been told not to rub down or even apply any varnish!), but still pretty angry.
'What have you done to Titania's brain?' he roared.
The Journalist stuck his chin out and said: 'I can only give you my name, rank and number.'
'This isn't The Great Escape!' [The Great Escape — the name of a famous Blerontin film celebrating the true story of how the cream of the Blerontinian space fleet, held prisoners in the supposedly impregnable fortress of Drat-Kroner, contrived a mass escape. Oddly enough it also starred Steve McQueen.] exclaimed Bolfass, swivelling a light into The Journalist's eyes. 'Tell me what you know! Or I shall let Horst here do his worst!'
'My lips are sealed!' countered The Journalist, turning his head away.
'Very well! You leave me no choice!' snarled Bolfass and he struck The Journalist across the face with his leather glove.
'All right!' said The Journalist. 'I'll tell you anything you want! Anything!'
