The Legend of Dan

by Robert Wingfield

“The room is furnished with cheap, foam-backed carpets, the toilet has no gold leaf, the bar is stocked only with ‘Special Brew’. I think it’s a torture chamber.”

  “As bad as that?” Suzanne peered round nervously.

  “Can you hear that muzak? It’s bloody awful. I’ll see if I can find the amplifier and kill it. Who’s there hiding behind the bar? Come out now.”

  “Hi.” A man stood and extended his hand. Suzanne gave a cry.

  “It’s the Chief of Police,” she said. “How did he get in here? Hit him Tom!” She picked up a bar-stool and swung it around dangerously.

  “Whoa lady.” The Chief held his hands up in surrender. I am the Chief of Security. What’s the problem? What are you in for?”

  “Being killed eventually, I suppose.” Tom sighed. “I understand now. You must be the real chief. No, please don’t hit him, Suzy.”

  Suzanne reluctantly put the stool down, and sat on it, giving their cellmate murderous glances.

  “What do you mean, real?” said the Chief. “All I know is that I was marched down here in the middle of the night by some of my own guards, and locked in. I thought it was some sort of joke. At the end of Time it’s always April the First, and they do enjoy a laugh. They’ll be along soon, to let me out, and we’ll all have a good laugh.”

  “Great!” Tom stamped over to the bar to help himself to one of the drinks. “Ugh.” He spat it out, “Even the lager is warm. Got any wine?”

  “I think there’s some cheap 1865 Chateau Lafite here,” said the Chief. “Try it. If you can’t drink it, you can always use it to wash your feet.” He handed Suzanne a glass.

  “What’s wrong with my feet,” she said, lifting her robe to look.

  “Nothing.” The Chief backed away. “Figure of speech. What was your monkey on about?”

  What he means is…” Suzanne sipped her drink, and sat, patiently explaining what was about to happen. His expression became as grave as the bogus Chief’s upstairs had, though for different reasons.

  “We have to escape!” he said with conviction.

  “Great,” said Tom, “how?”

  They inspected the door in the half light.

  “I know this type of door,” said Suzanne. “It’s held by psycoflux.”

  “What?”

  “A combination of magnetism and wishful thinking.”

  “I know of nothing that will open this sort of door, other than the guard who set the lock,” said the Chief.

  “One moment.” Suzanne rummaged about in her hair, and produced a wire hairgrip.

  “What are you going to do, batter it down?” said Tom, from the bar.

  Suzanne ignored him, and opened the clip so that it was one long piece of wire. She slipped the end down the crack of the door. The wire glowed red-hot, and then there was a flash and a bang. She was thrown across the room. She sat up, dazed, as the door slowly opened.

  “Ow! Burnt!” Suzanne shook her hand, and blew on her fingers, “Hot! Lost my drink.”

  “Nice one Suzy,” slurred Tom. He bent to help her to her feet. “Have another glass. But how…?”

  “An old trick I learnt from a girlfriend.” She grinned. “The ladies’ loos are held shut the same way back home, perhaps not with quite so much energy, though. Saves spending the odd Drachma for a pee.” She dunked her burnt hand into Tom’s lager. “That’s better.”

  “Good show,” said the Chief. “Now let’s go and sort out this takeover, before it happens.”

  The real chief of security led them stealthily back through the corridors towards the main citadel. Tom took his arm. “According to the fake chief, he already has replaced your guards with many of his people. How do you know who to trust?”

  “We are going to the lab,” said the chief. “Now that I know there are aliens about, I can use one of our bio-scanners to identify them.”

  The laboratory was deserted, so they helped themselves to scanners and weapons from a test rack.

  “Not sure if these guns will work,” the chief said. “They are probably still under development, but we’ll give them a try.”

  “One way to find out,” said Suzanne. “I’ll do that thing where you pull back something underneath, and then push it forward again for effect. No idea what it does, but it feels good. Ready?”

  “Botty-burp subversives here we come,” said Tom. “Where do we go?”

  “There are secret ways,” said the chief. “Follow me. This way for the main auditorium.” He pressed part of the wall, and it slid open to reveal a small lift. They squeezed in together. There was a faint impression of movement, and the door slid open again. The guards by a large set of doors stood to attention as he approached.

  “Chief.”

  “Where is Number Two?”

  “Here, sir,” said a man, emerging from one of the doors. “Everything is ready. All the security guards are at their stations. We’ve got everything covered... What’s going on?”

  The chief ran a bio-scanner over those present. “All clear,” he said with relief. “They haven’t got to you yet.” He outlined the situation, and his second in command shook his head in embarrassment.

  “Sorry, Chief. We should have been ready for this.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” said Tom. “You have been betrayed. I don’t know who the guy was that got knifed, but good riddance to him.”

  “The quartermaster,” said the chief. “He was up for becoming the new Dull Combatant, but the popular vote went against him, and we refused another referendum. I thought he was a bigger man than that. Now, Number Two, call our men in squads to the ticket office. I’ll vet them as they come in. If I nod, that means you have to deal with an alien, disguised as one of our people.”

  “How, Chief?”

  “Kill them of course.”

  “Make sure you don’t accidentally sneeze or something,” said the man. “Wouldn’t it be better if you said, ‘This one’s an alien, kill him’? Less chance of a mistake.”

  “If it will make you feel happier.”

  The troops arrived in response to the summons. As each one was shown into the room, the chief filtered out the alien duplicates, and then, over the pile of bodies stacked in the corner, briefly outlined the plot against the Sombre Warrior to the survivors.

  “Stay in groups of three,” he concluded. “Go to the armoury. Collect scanners and nerve lances.”

  “You have done your duty,” said the chief to Tom and Suzanne, when the guards were all deployed. “Leave the clearing up to the rest of us. Please go with this usher, and enjoy the show.” He indicated a small robot hovering in the doorway. “I’ve booked you some good seats.”

  Tom and Suzanne were shown to a private box overlooking a huge stage. From there, they watched as the guards mingled with the crowds below. “Very efficient,” muttered Tom. He nudged Suzanne to watch, as the men detected and moved behind the unsuspecting aliens. As the nerve lances were plunged in, the aliens crumpled, and were carried discreetly out.

  “That about wraps it up.” The chief entered their box, rather breathlessly. “We’ve got most of them. There won’t be a revolution here tonight. Sit, and enjoy the spectacle of the investiture of the Dull Combatant, er sorry, Sombre Warrior. You’ll see better through these.” He opened a cupboard under Tom’s seat and handed him an opera glass. Tom squinted through and it seemed as though he was actually in the front row. They even filtered out such obstructions as the woman in the large floppy hat, who was standing up near the stage. “There is another one under your seat, my lady. Enjoy…”

  The chief closed the door behind him. The lights dimmed, and the ceremony began, in a burst of sound and light. Tom settled down to watch. He felt for Suzanne’s hand in the darkness, and received a squeeze in return. She swivelled her seat towards him, and draped a shapely leg across his. He stroked her knee, and tried to concentrate on the show. The spectacle had everything: fireworks, strobe lights, depictions of gr
eat space battles, dancing girls, lavish doku-leather uniforms, mobile phones ringing, popcorn, ice-cream and so on.

  After an impressive crescendo, the stage darkened, and the crowd buzzed with expectation. “The Warrior, the Warrior,” they whispered to each other. Tom turned up the magnification on his glasses. A fanfare of trumpets sounded, and a dozen spotlights burned down on a richly-dressed figure, who had appeared on the stage. The crowd went wild. The figure stood, arms held wide above his head, his chin on his chest acknowledging the ovation.

  He let the applause fade before he raised his head, and a voice boomed out from speakers under every seat. “My people.” The force of the words drowned the remaining cheers. “Greetings.”

  There was another roar of appreciation.

  “As you know, I am soon to become keeper of the Time Barrier...”

  More cheers.

  “...and it is now right for me to be officially invested...”

  Another roar from the crowd. The Warrior bowed to his audience again.

  “...to be invested with the Key of Wisdom required to maintain the Barrier, and keep our own universe safe.”

  Whistles and roars this time. One or two people stood up on their seats, only to be walloped back down by the guards using what appeared to be long thin balloons. The crowd control did not appear to harm the guests, but had the desired effect.

  “The last Warrior passed his knowledge to me, many years ago, and I think most of you know me already.”

  Cheers and stamping of feet.

  “Do you accept me as your leader?”

  The crowd went wilder in the affirmative.

  After a pause, the Warrior continued. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then.”

  Whistles and more applause.

  “In that case, there is nothing more I can do... but sing you a little number I knocked up this morning. It is called ‘Cool the Void’, and is dedicated to a recent failed invasion by the N’ixn’g29 Universe.”

  The crowd went wild, shouting and stamping, until the sound of the backing band drowned them out again. The Warrior launched into a heavy rock number. The audience leaped to their feet, and started the head-banging dance that Tom remembered from his motorcycling days. This time the guards joined in. One or two of the longer-haired guests held up small flames, and were immediately escorted out of the building in tanks of water.

  “I’m not that keen on this sort of music,” shouted Suzanne.

  “I love it,” yelled Tom, leaping up and down with the rest of the crowd, “don’t distract me.”

  “I want to have sex with you,” hollered Suzanne.

  “Pardon?” Tom threw her a quizzical sideways glance.

  “You heard.”

  “What now? Can it wait?”

  She slipped her hand up inside his robe. “Yes and no; your choice.”

  “I’ve gone off the music.”

  “There’s a small room outside in the foyer. It looked empty. We can go in there. Hurry, I need you now! Your fault, you shouldn’t have touched my leg. You made me all goose-bumpy.”

  Tom needed no further bidding after their earlier interruptions. Suzanne led him across the foyer, and into the chamber she had seen. It appeared to be some sort of sitting room for pre- or post-concert drinks and chat, or in this case, in-concert sex. They sank into a deep sofa, and their lips met. Tom slid his hand under Suzanne’s velvet robe, and up the softness of her thigh. The girl lay back, opening her legs wide, and moaned. His hand burrowed inside up inside her. “God, you are wet.”

  “Can’t help it,” she breathed. “You should know better than to touch me.”

  The music suddenly went quiet. There was a crash from outside. Suzanne sat up and let out a sigh of irritation. “Would you believe it, peeping toms!”

  Tom groaned. “Oh never mind them, they won’t even know we’re here.”

  “I can’t settle if I think we could be disturbed,” said Suzanne, prising his hand away. “Go and sort them out for me, Two-Dan my hero. Send them on their way.”

  “If I must.” Tom sighed and crept uncomfortably up to the offending door, smoothing his robe as he went. He peeped out. The music burst forth again, the cacophony drowning any noise he made. Tom’s mouth dropped open as he registered the chief of security training a laser rifle on the now Not-So-Sombre Warrior, from their own private box.

  Suzanne peered through the door beside him. She pushed one of the weapons they had taken from the laboratory into his hand. “It must be the bogus chief,” she whispered into his ear. “Have you got a bio-scanner handy?”

  “No.”

  “Shoot him in any case.”

  “But suppose it’s the real chief.”

  “Can we take that risk? I mean, he is pointing the gun at the Warrior.”

  “Perhaps he’s aiming at someone in the crowd?”

  “Don’t give me that. Shoot him!” Suzanne poked Tom in the back. “Easy target.”

  “But, suppose...”

  “Oh bugger you then…” Suzanne grabbed the gun, pointed and squeezed the trigger. Tom stood, open mouthed, as a jet of fire leaped towards the chief. It hit him full in the back, and blew him over the balcony in a ball of flame. He plunged into the audience below. Suzanne rushed forward. The crowd went silent. The music stopped.

  “Oh dear, look what we’ve done. The new weapon worked then.” Tom put his hands up for the troop of guards, who had rushed in.

  “Murderers!” screamed someone from the audience.

  “Kill them,” shouted another, pointing accusingly. The laser rifle clattered to the floor from Suzanne’s nerveless fingers. She retreated to the edge of the balcony as more blasters levelled at her.

  Tom moved in front, protecting her with his body. “Look, I can explain...” He stuttered. “She had nothing to do with it.”

  “I expect you are in this together.” One of the guards seemed to take the lead. “Have you any last requests?”

  “What’s going on here? Let me through.” The crowd parted to admit the figure of the chief. “Oh, I see. That is splendid, you people; got the bounder at last. Who did the deed?”

  Suzanne raised her hand, and pushed Tom to one side. “We thought we saw something from our box, and went to investigate. Lucky we did.”

  “It’s all right, you guards. Release these heroes, they’ve only saved the life of the Sombre Warrior… again.”

  In a single movement, the weapons were lowered, and the guards gave a cheer.

  “Can I borrow that please?” Tom took one of the bio-scanners off a guard and pointed it at the chief. A green light came on, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

  The chief smiled. “Yes, it’s me. Now come and watch the rest of the show,” he said.

  Tom and Suzanne made a quick trip to the cloakroom to freshen up. Almost before the door closed, the girl was on him, her tongue forcing its way down his throat. They made love, passionately on the washstand, clearing the frustrations of the last few hours. When they returned to their seats, there was a rousing cheer from the audience.

  “The heroes of the hour,” said the Warrior. “We waited for you before restarting the show. Didn’t want you to miss anything.”

  Tom slipped guiltily as low as possible in his seat, to avoid the quizzical stares from below. Suzanne sat bolt upright and waved cheerfully to anyone she saw gawking at them.

  The speakers burst into life again, and an announcement was made to the crowd, explaining the recent events more fully, and how they had been thwarted by the red-skinned people in the box. There was another cheer, and extended clapping until the music continued.

  The Warrior had changed into even richer robes in brilliant sparkling colours, bedecked with many jewels. As he completed the last number, he slowly approached a massive throne, set in the centre of the stage. He passed a row of priests who had gathered at the back, and each of them removed a cloak or a jewel. When he sat on the throne, he was dresse
d only in a slim black suit.

  One of the priests knelt before him, and with head lowered, offered a red box. The Warrior took it, and stood, his eyes glowing as spotlights narrowed on to his custom contact lenses. “Shall I open the box?”

  “Take the money,” shouted a wag at the front. He was collected by a pair of guards, and escorted to the exit.

  “Open the box,” the audience roared.

  “Right you are,” said the Warrior. With theatrical flourishes, he prised open the container, and withdrew a key. The audience gasped as he held it up. Its crystalline beauty shone like a tree of diamonds.

  “Behold my people, the key to the time barrier. I accept your nomination as the Sombre Lord, Holder of the Key, Keeper of the Golden Void, Sombre Warrior on the Edge of Time!”

  The whole audience were now on their feet, despite the balloon beating of the guards. They raised their arms high, and shouted repeatedly, “The Edge of Time!”

  “Our Universe is safe again,” thundered the Warrior. The crowd boomed, and the hall shook with cheers. The firework display resumed, and the sound and light-show went into meltdown. There was a stunning crescendo, which echoed around the auditorium, and went on echoing. When the glare finally died, and people regained consciousness, the stage was empty. The crowds started to disperse, with the notable exception of a small group, who stood, stamping, and shouting “More!” These were eventually removed by security guards and pacified with an issue of free joss sticks and aniseed balls.

  “Where to now, lover boy?” asked Suzanne, as they joined the queue for the exit.

  “I get the feeling that we may be here for a while, judging by what they were saying about the universe. Back to the room for more wine?”

  “Or something like that.”

  Two guards blocked the way. “You will come with us,” grunted one.

  “We will have to search you,” grunted the other.

  “Not again?” Suzanne sighed. “Why doesn’t anyone ever trust us?”

  “They don’t search me too often,” observed Tom, as they frisked Suzanne with grins on their faces. “Perhaps I wear the wrong cologne. Still, I’m not complaining.”