by L. T. Hewitt
“You’re very forgiving,” said Dave. “I’d have held a grudge. I’d have held a few grudges. In fact I think I am.”
“Oh, don’t revel in distress; it does nobody any good,” Mike said. He smiled at Dave. “Would somebody mind – if it’s no hassle – removing my handcuffs now?”
“Oh, Quack, I did that‽ I really am insane.” The Space Chicken removed Mike’s handcuffs.
“Don’t worry yourself. It’s no big deal, really. You just did it earlier when you weren’t feeling so well.”
‘Where do you live, Michael?’ asked Fred Jr.
“Over in Garfford, in the Nord-Luc.”
“Great,” said the Space Chicken. “We’ll head over there now. We just need to find some transport.”
“Who are you, may I ask?”
“Me?”
“No, the flying Egg.”
‘I am Fred Jr, son of the Space Chicken.’
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Mike.
“Are you called Fred?” asked Dave of the Space Chicken. “I wish I’d known that earlier. It’s so much effort to say, ‘The Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack’.”
“My name’s not Fred, but I wish it were.”
“Then why isn’t it?”
“It’s a difficult process for prophets. The naming office is right at the centre of the Ache.”
“What’s the Ache?”
“It’s this region of this spiral arm of the Milky Way.”
Dave’s eyes widened. “The Milky Way? You mean I haven’t left this galaxy?”
“You’re an alien?” Mike asked.
“Yes. I just assumed I’d travelled across the universe to come to somewhere so different. But the same galaxy?”
“Really? You look a lot like us Glix’ns. Except you’ve got something like claws on your hands, now I’m thinking about it.”
“Yeah, but I’m an alien.”
“In the grand scheme of the universe, you and I are as close as brothers.”
Chapter 49
“How do we get to Garfford from here?”
At the moment the question was asked, the Incredible Spaceboat appeared before them. “Welcome!” a large, togaed, blonde lady announced, stepping off the the vehicle. “Have we met somewhere before?”
“Yes, countless times.”
“No, actually,” said Mike. He extended a hand. “I am Michael Rowland Daffodil. Nice to meet you.”
“I am Oprah, that is all. The mononym defines me and I define myself. We have discovered there is a Speedvan in our cargo hold. If you’re in need of transport, we’re happy to give it to you.”
“No!” the Space Chicken shouted. “That Speedvan has caused us enough hassle as it is.”
“But we haven’t given it to you yet. It came with the Spaceboat when we bought it.”
“Look,” said Mike, “if I understand correctly, that Speedvan needs to be handed to my group of friends at a different point in time. The Spaceboat can travel in time, so you can go from there.”
“He’s right,” said the Space Chicken, having recovered from his distress. “You need to take yourselves, your Spaceboat and your offer of a Speedvan back to the 85th Quadquomber. The location is approximately 40 km Nekken on the England-Wales border. There you should meet me. I’ll be more than happy to accept the Speedvan from there.”
“Okay, then,” Oprah accepted. “After all, I owe you one for having given a Speedvan to me in BongVe Bong, just a few dozen kilometres Nord of here, and then this lovely Spaceboat to me on that bright blue planet. What selfless kindness.” She smiled warmly, then got into her Spaceboat again and flew backwards in time. The Space Chicken saw.
“You did all that for her?” Mike asked. “That sounds lovely.”
“It’s really not as nice as it sounds. It was all for the sake of paradoxes.” The Space Chicken thought about all the stressful paradoxes he had encountered in an attempt to preserve the timeline of various vehicles. “Actually, would anyone object if I proposed we take the bus?”
Chapter 50
“So how have you been since I last saw you?” Dave asked the Space Chicken as they headed for Garfford.
“Well I took Mike hostage.”
“Ah.” Dave nodded knowingly, letting the ‘ah’ subside into a warm sigh. “I nearly ate a prophet.”
“I see.”
“You are a prophet, aren’t you, jam?”
‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’
“Who’s this latest prophet?” the Space Chicken asked.
“It’s a jam sandwich I keep in my backpack.”
“Ah.”
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Space Chicken.’
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, wherever you are,” the Space Chicken said. He turned back to Dave and continued, “He speaks in the back of your head, just like Fred Jr. His voice appears not in your ears, but directly into your mind.”
“It does indeed. So, how did you meet Mike?”
“He was on a train with Fred Jr and me. He said his name, I handcuffed him – the usual stuff.”
“I met the jam between two slices of bread. Oprah bought him at the supermarket.”
“Why do you call it ‘him’? Does the jam have a set gender?”
“I haven’t decided again.”
“Isn’t androgyny beautiful?” said the Space Chicken. “Why did Oprah buy you the jam?”
“I lived with her for a week.”
“It figures. She was probably quite lonely after her children left.”
Dave frowned. “She has children?”
“Clint and Clein. I thought everyone knew this.”
“No. I had no idea. Anyway, I have a bone to pick with you.”
“I hope it’s not a useful bone. You can take my wishbone if you like; I’ve heard people like them.”
“Last time I saw you, you called me David Gratton. The jam won’t tell me what you meant by that.”
“David Gratton – or so Quack tells me – is a man who will found a new country.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“The assumption is that it will replace all existing nations.”
“Ah.”
“Quack sent me to stop David Gratton.”
“Does He regularly do things like that?’
Mike chipped in. “The Space Chicken was sent after me.”
“Really?” asked Dave, alarmed. “Quack asked you to do that?”
“Well, sort of. I guess I just misinterpreted him.”
“A lot,” said Mike.
“But Quack hinted I should kidnap Mike. Or, at least, that’s what I thought He hinted.”
“Why?” asked Dave.
The Space Chicken rang up Quack to ask why.
“It says in my notes,” Quack explained, “that Michael Rowland Daffodil—”
“He’s called ‘Mike’ now.”
“That Mike is an accomplice of David Gratton.”
“Am I?”
Dave said, “The jam knows about this, but it won’t tell me.”
They all turned to look at the jam in the sandwich in the box in the bag in the seat on the bus.
“Jam,” the Space Chicken said, “are you from the future?”
‘Who isn’t?’ he replied.
“I’m not. I was born in space, but I’ve never been into the future.”
Dave changed the topic. “So, how’s your Cantaloupe challenge coming along?”
“What’s a Cantaloupe?” Mike, the jam and Fred Jr asked, though only Mike asked vocally.
“It’s a big, purple hole that transports people through time.”
‘Sounds strange. Though I think you could have called it something better,’ the jam said.
“Don’t start.”
“Wait,” said Mike, “did you name it that?”
“Well, a group of us did. The Space Chicken and the twins included.”
“I really need to organise my schedule,” said the Space Chick
en. “I have so many things I’m meant to be doing.”
“I recently made myself a list of what I need to do,” said Dave. “It was this:
“1: Rescue Michael Rowland Daffodil.
“2: Chastise the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack.
“3: Go to the Fez.
“4: Merge the jam sandwich with the Great Oak Tree.
“I guess now I’ve rescued Mike and chastised you, I only need to focus on returning the jam to the Great Oak Tree.”
“Wait, did you say you need to get to the Fez?”
“Yep. That’s where the Great Oak Tree is.”
“I’ll head there with you.” The Space Chicken sat and thought for a moment. “I suppose my list would be this:
“1: Stop David Gratton.
“2: Stop Michael Rowland Daffodil.
“3: Solve the Cantaloupe crisis.
“I suppose now we’ve discovered that Mike isn’t a problem, I can remove number 2 from the list.”
“Yes. But how do you aim to stop David Gratton?”
“I’ve already solved that one. Gratton can’t open the Fez if he can’t get to the Fez. Clint and Clein have taken the Fez away from Britain and are going to make sure they open it themselves in solitude.
“I suppose my list has now transformed to this:
“1: Take Mike home.
“2: Solve the Cantaloupe crisis.”
The Space Chicken pondered upon this. He almost tired of having only two goals. He knew how to take Mike home. That one shouldn’t take too long. It would be gone soon. How to solve the Cantaloupe crisis was a difficult one. He knew it was something to do with the rifts. They were letting the Cantaloupes slip through. All it took was the flick of a switch to change this.
“Quack,” the Space Chicken announced on the phone, “I have solved the problem of David Gratton opening the Fez. Now how do I solve the Cantaloupe crisis?”
“It’s just the flicking of a switch.”
“I could have worked that one out by myself.”
“Then why didn’t you set off?”
“I have no way of getting to the rifts, I’m in the process of taking Mike home (sorry again, Mike) and I’m going to plant a jam sandwich under the Great Oak Tree with Dave. I don’t mean I’m going to plant Dave and the sandwich, I mean I am going to assist Dave in doing so.”
“I see. Under the circumstances, I’m going to suggest that Fred Jr heads off to the rifts, while Dave and you head to the Fez.”
“Fred Jr leave without me?” The Space Chicken was alarmed.
‘I am okay with that.’
“But I don’t think I am.”
“Space Chicken,” Dave said, “you’ll have to let him go places without you eventually.”
‘I shall only be gone a day.’
“But you’re just a baby!”
“Space Chicken, there’s no need to get hysterical.”
“I’m not hysterical!”
‘False. I am not a baby, I am at a pre-infant state wherein I have not yet revealed my body to the dangers of the external world.’
When they got to Garfford and located Mike’s house, there was a long, sentimental pause as they left him at his home. It was just a small apartment. He invited them in for drinks. They accepted.The Space Chicken and Dave informed him that they had gone off tea. Mike didn’t have any gone-off tea, so he provided them with coffee instead. The three rooms had little content – the items could all fit inside a backpack – and looked designed as though Mike were ready to get up and leave any moment.
It was from here that Fred Jr left through the window and headed up to space. Dave gave Mike a long cuddle and a reluctant Cockerel did too, through sobs at his only child leaving (someone else’s) home.
Outside, the Space Chicken, Dave and the jam sandwich set back off walking into the great unknown: the rest of the universe, that which exists outside a home, or which acts as a home. Mike watched from the window.
“Goodbye, Mike,” said the Space Chicken. “The world is a strange place; we’ll probably meet again somewhere.”
“Goodbye,” said Mike. “I’ll miss you, Dave and the Space Chicken. And hopefully I shall come across the Great Oak Tree and You’ll remember me, Jam.”
“You don’t need to capitalise his name or pronouns,” Dave, the Space Chicken and the jam all said.
As he was leaving, Dave added, “Oh, and I’ll probably be on a different planet, so I’ll never see you again.” This gave Dave a pang of sadness, which he tried to ignore. “Goodbye.”
“Sorry for taking you hostage!” the Space Chicken called as the three left wandered off down the road.
Chapter 51
“So, what’s the plan now?” Dave asked.
“I’d say we should walk towards the Luc coast. From there, we can take a boat out to ocean and board the Fez.”
“Which one’s Luc?”
“That one,” the Space Chicken said, pointing at the coast ahead of them.
There was a moment’s silence before the Space Chicken couldn’t take the sound of his own thoughts any more. “So, jam, what are you, exactly?”
‘I’m just that.’
“Just what?”
‘Jam.’
“Yes, I know that, but where did you come from?”
‘In the future, Quack will send an Acorn back in time.’
“Like the one Clint and Clein had?” Dave asked.
‘Exactly the one Clint and Clein had. This is to be the Great Oak Tree. Unfortunately, something goes wrong in the process. A part splinters off and becomes some jam. I don’t know why, it just does. And now I must be merged to complete the Great Oak Tree.’
“That should be simple enough.”
They eventually reached the boat rental shop on the coast. Ahead of them, they saw many young hopefuls who had heard of all the excitements and wonders away from Britain. The world was a wonderful place, and part of its wonder lay in the knowledge of its unreachable immensity. It is one thing to know that some day you could leave your home and view the world as a list to tick off, but quite another, more exciting one to know that there is more to the eye that meets the mind, and the mind conjures more images than meet the eye with all the eye sees. But teens and young adults in their droves took their boats and fled the isle. All they had was themselves, their backpacks and their freedom. All they left behind were the gentle splashes of the oars into the water which touched the coast as they left Britain.
Chapter 52
It was cold. The coldest, harshest winds whipped around the European ocean. This was always the case. The convection currents of wind and water shifted heat from place to place around the globe. There were parts of Glix which differed wildly in climate. The environment of the Nord pole was harsh, cold, cruel, icy winds and frozen clime. The environment of the Nekken pole was hot and steamy, owing to its proximity to Ra, the third star in Glix’s astronomical neighbourhood. The environment of Greece was a sandy, vibrant, stone, hot world.
The waves of Europe developed in the changing ocean around the countries. From Nekken Europe, the waves built and built, then crashed into Britain. The cold climate got colder and colder. The normally absent region was at this point inhabited by the Fez, which silently and slowly drifted on in the freezing mist.
Clint, Clein and David Gratton II woke up on told of the Fez. Clint and Clein were cold. David Gratton II had, in fact, applied logic to the situation.
Without looking up, Clint said, “He brought a tent, didn’t he?”
It was a big, dark green one, too. It was insulatory and wind-resistant and Two loved it very much. He had offered it to Clint and Clein, but – in their ignorance, arrogance and antipathy towards elder generations – they had rejected it. This rejection may have owed some of its origin to the fact that they were unconscious. Nevertheless, Two was snug and the two were cold.
“Um, Dave?” asked Clein through the zipped entrance to the tent.
“Don’t call me Dave,�
�� came the reply. “Nobody’s called me that in a long time.”
“Okay then,” said Clein. “Two, why are you in a tent?”
“What a foolish question. Why aren’t you in a tent?”
“We didn’t have one.”
The tent door unzipped. “Get in here, then.” It was Two who said this, not the tent.
The twins stepped inside. It was very homely. There was a small footstool. Two had conjured from his bag, and on it he had a loaf of bread and some cheese.
“So,” said Two, “where are you on your journey at the moment?”
“This is it. This is the ultimate goal – to be travelling on top of the Fez. Are you here to try to open the Fez?”
“No, I’m here to see you.”
“Why?”
“Where do you see this all going?”
“All what? Can’t we just open the Fez?”
“And what if you don’t?”
“But we will.”
“Supposing you don’t. Supposing there isn’t the Fez to fall back on. What do you do then? Do you get a job? How will you live?”
Clint and Clein thought about this for some time. “We want to be good. If everyone were good, we wouldn’t need to be so focused on status and wealth. Do you know of the prophet the Space Chicken?”
“Yes.”
“He once asked us what we need to live. And you know what? It boils down to two things: fuel and place. We need our fuel, not petrol or gasoline, but air, food and water. And we need a place to live.”
“But you need to be part of the system. You can only get anywhere in life by affirming your place in society.”
Two left the tent and lit a small fire on top of the Fez. He returned and got a teapot and some ground up leaves. Clint and Clein followed him outside as Two turned away from them and made his morning cuppa.
“Do you really believe that, Two?”
“No. Do what you like. Be good. If everyone made it their goal to be good, if everyone were nice and put in a little effort to make fuel and accommodation, there would be very little harm in the world.”
Clint and Clein thought about this for a while. “I think I might be a scientist.”
“Me too.”
“If we had a place to live and grow food, we’d just be free to help others. Efficiency is key. I mean, look at the Speedvan. If space travel advanced a little more, we’d be able to travel to other planets and pick up all the wonders and medicines there.”
“Also,” said Clint, “chemicals are cool.”
Chapter 53
Quack, it’s dreary to be alive.
