The Legend of Dan

by Robert Wingfield

  “Ruddles, are you here?” He slammed the door behind him and scanned the vessels in the room, searching for his creation.

  “You must escape.” A faint message came from one of the many bubbling vats.

  “Ruddles, what have they done to you?”

  “I would not give them our secret,” whispered the vat, “and they have killed me. You must avenge.”

  “But I have no power without you.”

  “Yes you have. The MUPPET you used to get out of the prison is only a tiny proportion of your strength. You have passed the test. You can even use the letters after your name, as a qualification if you need to apply for jobs. You will find you are now completely independent. I was only the catalyst to release and hone your skills. You do not need me anymore. Now, escape while you can!” The liquid in the vat heaved violently, and with a final cry of anguish was still. An evil-looking spider sank to the bottom.

  The Magus screamed with anger, and grabbed the first weapon he could lay his hands on. This turned out to be an acid-jet spray, used to clean reaction vats after unsuccessful experiments. He soon realised that it was virtually uncontrollable, because he needed a few more arms to operate it correctly, and it gushed the corrosive liquid randomly round the room. Several guard robots that burst in to restrain him dissolved instantly under the torrent. The Magus cut power and dropped the nozzle.

  “I will return, and destroy you.” The cliché, along with customary fist waving, escaped before he could stop himself. The thunder of security guards’ boots sounded in the corridor.

  An emergency MUPPET took him out of the way of a hail of rifle fire, as a squad of troopers blasted their way in. Any remaining facilities in the laboratory were quickly obliterated, and the Magus had time to escape as the troopers started poking about in the remains to see what they had actually destroyed, and if he was part of it. They were forced to beat a hasty retreat, as the soles started peeling off their boots.

  In the relative safety of a docking bay, the Magus raced past rows of small spacecraft. He fended off the few technicians stupid enough to try to block his headlong flight, and vaulted into the cockpit of a ship with engine running. This disturbed a recently-promoted, fifty-watch quadrillipod, who was busy warming up the drive, ready for a test flight. The Magus hit it with a spanner. He grabbed a familiar, novelty chronometer from one of the limbs, and flung the animal on to the bay floor to make room in the cockpit. He hit the launch control.

  The ship burst into life. All pre-flight checks abandoned, it hurled itself upwards, as the main engines cut in. The whole process was over, before the Magus even had time to read the instruction manual. Some thirty technicians, and everything else in the docking bay, vaporised in the heat from the engines. It was some time later, after reading the manual, that the Magus realised he should have used the anti-gravity mechanism to get to a safe distance, before engaging the main systems.

  * * *

  The Magus leaned back in the pilot’s seat and stretched his arms upwards. As he looked at the rear-view camera display, he saw that he had escaped from a large black disk of a space station. He sighed with satisfaction at his luck, and then his eyes alighted on the control for the weaponry system. It was simply labelled, ‘Anything’. A sadistic smile curled his lips. He thumped the button and the ship armed and fired a salvo of its payload back towards the station, the only target within range. The missiles struck, and before the defence shield could engage, the station fragmented. “That one is for Ruddles,” said the Magus, grimly. “Shame about the nuns, but it would have been a considerable task to deflower them all, in the manner detailed in the Book of Norbert, in the specified timescale.”

  He checked the ship for provisions and was pleased to discover that there was plenty of food and the fridge was packed with alcoholic drinks. Too tired to bother checking the navigation, the Magus left it on its present course, and broke the lock off the mini-bar. Undisturbed, the ship winged its way under automatic control along the flight-path the quadrillipod had been programming.

  Neither ship nor Magus noticed a capsule, about the size of a beer mug, which ejected itself from the doomed laboratories, moments before the station blew up.

  Holiday in Eden

  Tom and Suzanne get some exercise.

  B

  ack at the Skagan village after the celebrations and chanting had ceased, and the sounds of snoring and orgasms, and sometimes both, emanated from most of the huts, Bluben9, came back to consciousness in his loft hideaway by a resonating low frequency vibration, tuned into his nervous system. He rummaged through one of his pouches and withdrew a communications device. A tiny screen lit up, to reveal a face with a total lack of features. Bluben recognised it immediately as the head of ‘Janet Ward Stores Universal’.

  The voice was quiet and conciliatory. “Sorry to disturb you, Bluben but I was wondering what, perchance, you were up to.”

  “I am on holiday, sir.”

  “Oh, good, I hope you are having a nice time.”

  “Er, yes sir.”

  “And the weather is clement?”

  “Yes thank you. Um, did you want something?”

  “Actually yes. We have a slight problem at this end—computer failure sort of thing. It might be a little while before we are able to forward your compensation.”

  “Not to worry, these things happen.”

  “In fact, we may need to go out of business.”

  “Shocking.” Bluben held his voice level. “What seems to be the problem? Anything I can do to help?” Icy fingers started clawing at where his back would have been, if he actually had one.

  “It appears that somehow our main systems have gone into a shutdown state, and this has destroyed all our data.”

  “Can we not restore from backups?”

  “They have been corrupted too, I’m afraid. I’ve contacted our outsourcer, but there seems to be some sort of national holiday, and they are not due back until next month. There was also some problem with a toaster that went critical, we are led to believe.”

  “Disgusting. Whose idea was it to outsource in the first place. I said it was wrong, but does anyone listen?”

  “I believe it was me,” said the Head, “working on recommendations from an expert in the field: Montague Errorcode, I believe his name was. I can’t find him either... But I digress. It might be of interest to you to know that the fatal commands came from your terminal.”

  Bluben quivered. “I can’t believe that. It was probably some government agency, spoofing my credentials. They do that all the time. I blame the Temporal Conduct Agency. They like to get involved in everything.” He tried to sound nonchalant.

  “Yes, the TCA,” mused the Lack-of-Features, “mucking about with timelines, and eliminating people at random. That is actually our job. I must get something done about them.”

  “Quite right. If that is everything, sir, I’ll get back to enjoying my vacation.”

  “Alas, that is not everything. First I would like you to tell me, who else had the access codes to your system?”

  Guilt showed in Bluben’s face. The answer ‘no-one’ formed on his lips as he fiddled with his blankets. “My secretary,” he lied. “Oh, and a couple of ‘thought travellers’ who popped in to place an order. I wasn’t able to see them, but I did hear that the gardener was annoyed about something.”

  “So, they would most likely be the culprits who used your access codes and shut down our system?”

  “Definitely, certainly, absolutely, indeed... Probably egged on by my secretary. That’s exactly the sort of spiteful girl she is. It must have been her.” Bluben relaxed. “I sacked her of course, before I took my holiday.”

  “So, perhaps you can advise me. If we catch the culprit, would death be a suitable punishment?”

  “At least, and perhaps a little bit of torture, humiliation and subjection to a TV channel that only does re-runs of reality shows.” Bluben relaxed. “I mean, she has dest
royed the livelihood of millions of beings. Her punishment should reflect that.”

  “I’m glad you agree with the forfeit. I checked on your secretary. Her intelligence scan indicates she is below the minimum level needed even to complete the interface to that level.”

  “Then it must have been those others.” Bluben started to sweat, the pink perspiration clashing with his mugrey skin. “They must have hacked the terminal. I logged out before I left.”

  “Sorry Bluben, but we are certain that they used your credentials to destroy the Company. If you did log out, you must have left your terminal unlocked. In both instances, you have contravened company guidelines.”

  Bluben gulped. “But sir, it was our defences that let the intruders in. It’s not my fault!”

  “I’m afraid it is, old boy. We have to hold somebody responsible–shareholder accountability, due diligence, equity, blah, blah, oh, and the ‘no blame’ culture we like to promote in this company. Have you anything to say?”

  “It was those thought travellers!” Bluben protested. “It must have been. Find the girl. She will support my story.”

  “She seems to have disappeared, inconveniently for you. And as for ‘thought travellers’, you are babbling about something that has not even been proved…”

  The sound of alarm bells rattled through the communications link. The Lack-of-Features turned away to answer someone outside Bluben’s view. “I don’t care if he can walk through walls,” he said. “Find the Magus and kill him!” He turned back to Bluben. “And I’m afraid we are going to have to ‘let you go’, from what remains of the company.”

  “Unfair,” shouted Bluben, “I am innocent.”

  “As you know, someone in your position knows too much to be allowed to find another job, even if you did sign a confidentiality agreement, so in the interests of security, you will cancel yourself. Is a minute sufficient for you to make your peace with whatever deity you worship?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know you have to do it, Bluben. It is in your contract that any action you perform, having a negative effect on the Company, results in capital punishment. Would you like to see the document, including your signature?”

  “I didn’t read all the small print.”

  “You should always read the small print. Do you have a sword to fall upon? If not, we could always send you one by next-day delivery. I believe the warehouse is still operational. Our contractor never did get around to automating those systems, because they were too busy milking the government for the same task.”

  Bluben snarled, his temper exploding. “No way. You don’t even know where I am, and now you’ll never find me. Phoist off, bogey face.” He smashed his communicator with a rock. “There, that’ll show them... No Phoisting gratitude... After all those years I worked my appendages off...”

  Bluben would have been pleased to know that, not long afterwards, the Lack-of-Features, and the rest of JWSU, having been destroyed financially by Kara, were destroyed physically by missiles from the ship the Magus had borrowed. Despite his ignorance of the fact that he was safe, Bluben went contentedly back to sleep. He was relieved that his years of deceit were over. He could have a new life, here, on this idyllic planet, and who knows, maybe start a mail-order company of his own.

  He would have slept less easily if he had been aware that moments before the organisation ceased to be, a message had been transmitted from the space station to a marauding band of paid JWSU Smorgs in the vicinity of the Skagan village.

  * * *

  The planet, Skagos, was a strange mixture of primal forest and open scrub, interspersed with large lakes and the occasional sea. Strange things had been happening there, so it hardly would have surprised anyone, when a large metal cylinder materialised on top of a patch of dog-roses desperately struggling to survive against the Tide of Evolution. The Tide itself had been programmed to remove anything that you might snag your clothing on, to keep the Skagans as content as possible. A happy Skagan, without ladders in its tights, was a Skagan who was less likely to cause trouble. The plant gave up its struggle under the weight, and its DNA reorganised to evolve into a bed of nettles.

  There was a brief flurry of activity inside the cylinder, and then the occupants were out, fully dressed in the local clothing. Tom was wearing the full costume of a Skagan chieftain, complete with a leather tunic, a sleeveless overcoat of linked chainmail, laced leggings, and massive furry boots. A dull metallic helmet, with curved synthetic animal horns projecting on either side, protected his head. He carried a round shield with a central boss of a brass-coloured metal, a short dagger tucked into his belt, and a long engraved sword with a blade of a bluish sheen, which despite its heavy appearance was quite light, and very sharp.

  Suzanne had a similar sword and shield, and wore the coarse woven miniskirt favoured by the warrior women of the planet. Strong leather boots protected her feet and lower leg, and a leather bag with a stretchy mouth was attached to her belt. She wore the armbands and neck amulets of a noblewoman, and had rearranged her long golden hair into the smooth style preferred by the locals. Her eyes reflected the sunlight dappling the leaves, and her appearance brought a lump to Tom’s throat, and stirred other places. The whole ensemble was designed to give the two of them the appearance of nobles, on an official nature ramble.

  Suzanne smiled as Tom broke his stare away from her outfit. “I’m rather looking forward to this, a complete change from my usual life.”

  “Bye then,” said Kara, waving from the hatch of the cylinder. “Can’t stay.”

  “You’re not coming with us?” Suzanne asked.

  “I have other things to do.”

  “Are you sure?” said Tom. “What if we need you?”

  “A big strong man like you can handle a little job like this, without me to hold your hand, can’t you? All you need to do is follow the detector needle. Bluben’s not far away.”

  “All right, all right. This way then?” Tom started off northwards by the direction finder in his shield.

  “South,” said Kara. “You’re looking at the wrong end of the indicator needle. Chin up, follow your nose, keep going. Call me on the communicator in your helmet when you locate Bluben. We still need a load of answers.”

  The door sighed closed, leaving Tom and Suzanne exchanging glances, and then the cylinder vanished.

  “I guess we’re alone,” said Tom. “No backup.”

  “We won’t need it, Kara said. There’s nothing dangerous here. Thanks for letting me come along.” Suzanne smiled at Tom as he puzzled over the indicator.

  He looked up. “She is really lovely,” he thought, “now that those tearstains have gone. Not sure if she isn’t sexier than Kara.” He stole a glance at her body while she gazed out across the plains. “Slim legs, less rounded figure, but where Kara is the ‘fit’ curvy blonde, Suzanne has got that little bit extra.” Svelte was the word that came into his mind, but he had no idea what it meant. It did seem to fit the girl rather nicely though. “I can’t put my finger on it, but I would like to. How old is she, I wonder? A few years younger than me, or maybe older? Difficult to tell. I guess she’s an alien, so it will be interesting finding out... if she will let me.”

  Suzanne grinned at his expression. “Yes, alone at last,” she said brightly. “Lead on, my lord.”

  Tom smiled back. Her new bubbly personality was infectious, a direct contrast to Kara’s business-like precision. “If I wasn’t infatuated with Kara...” he thought, “but am I? God, she’s lovely!” and then he said out loud, “Good to have you along. This way?”

  “I like these clothes,” said Suzanne, following Tom’s erratic course as he crashed through the undergrowth into the forest, “but do the people here really wear this sort of thing?”

  “Of course they do. I read up on it on Wonkypedia, in the cylinder.”

  A shuffling sound of something large sounded, away to their right.

  “Bet
ter hide. We don’t know what to expect.”

  He pulled Suzanne off the path, and they lay together on the ground beneath a bush.

  “You’re being a bit bold, aren’t you?” she started, but Tom clamped his hand over her mouth, and pointed up the path, as a group of swarthy, thickset soldiers came running out of the forest. They were past in seconds, and disappeared along the track. Tom climbed out of hiding, and brushed himself down. They inspected the trail through the undergrowth.

  Suzanne stamped her foot in mock petulance. A cloud of black dust billowed up from where the men had been. “If those are Skagans, we look nothing like them. Where did you get the ideas for the clothing? Was is simply so you could look at my legs?”

  “I wasn’t... Anyway, that’s what it said in Wonkypedia, and everything is always exactly right in there, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Suzanne. “It must be the Skagans who have got it wrong. Perhaps it is ‘dress like an ogre’ day, today. We did right to hide. Come on, we can follow them if we’re quick.” She started off at a rapid jog, moving faster than Tom thought possible.

  “Wait.” Tom started to run after her, and directly caught his toe in a projecting root. He pitched forward into a small clearing, staggered trying to right himself, tripped again and fell headfirst into a sturdy, solitary tree in the centre. The horns on his helmet plunged deep into its bark. “Now look what you’ve made me do! I’ve got my helmet stuck in a tree.” His head popped free, leaving the item stuck fast. He slipped to the ground and lay face-down in the turf.

  Suzanne shook with mirth, and ran back to him. “Come on, you idiot.” She touched his shoulder. “Let me help you up. We’ve lost those soldiers now. Who were they? Are we in the right place?”