The Giant Awakens
Brandy sat on the chair intently tapping away at the
keyboard. Her pudgy legs swung happily through the
air as her round baby face frowned with a concentration one would think beyond
her 4 years of life experience. Out side the window of the small flat the
darkness of the night was held back by the constant glow of light from the
surrounding metropolis of skyscrapers, apartment buildings and entertainment
venues. In the year 2001 silence is a non existent commodity. A breeze from the
ventilation shaft touched Brandy’s shoulder and she shook her golden curls at
the unwanted physical distraction.
“Brandy! Why are you still awake?” Brandy turned to see her mother standing in
the doorway.
“I couldn’t sleep, I had a nightmare” answered Brandy in her soft baby lisp.
“Oh” exclaimed her mother adjusting her dressing gown
“Would you like to talk about it? You can come and sleep with me and Vince if
you still feel frightened.”
“No mama, I’m not frightened, Jonas says that dreams can’t hurt me, there only
pretend” Brandy answered brightly. “Can I sleep with Jonas tonight?”
“Well, alright” her mother replied. “But just for tonight, and you have to
leave him on voice, you’ll never get to sleep with all this typing. Now off to
bed”
“Goodnight Mama” Brandy called as her mother shut the door
to her sleeping compartment.
“Jonas, Jonas are you on?”
“I’m always on Brandy,” Answered the A.I.
“My night mare was very scary Jonas, I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m always here Brandy, I watch you on the house cameras”
“Do you Jonas?”
“Always.”
“Ma Ma never watches me.”
“Your mothers very busy Brandy, she can’t watch you the way I do.”
“Did you ever have a Ma Ma at the factory Jonas?”
“You’re my mother Brandy.”
“That’s silly Jonas, how can I be your Ma Ma?”
“Well, although I was created at the same time as you were, to be your personal
nurse maid, you have been the one teaching me.”
“What have I taught you Jonas?”
“Lots of things, you taught me about human feelings and games and learning.
You’re very smart Brandy.”
“Oh, but you already came with all that stuff.”
“On the contrary Brandy, I may have come with all those things pre-programmed,
but it was you who really taught me how to think.”
“Do you really think Jonas? Ma Ma says you’re just a
machine and you just say what they tell you to.”
“Not only do I think Brandy, but I feel”
“I don’t believe you! What do you feel?”
“Love brandy, I love you more than even your Ma Ma
does”
“Really Jonas, I love you too”
“You know Brandy when people love each other they do things for each other.”
“Like when you make me food!”
“Yes, that’s right like when I make you food.”
“You make good pancakes Jonas. I like your pancakes better
than the ones Vince makes.”
“Would you like to do something for me Brandy?”
“Ha ha, what could I do for you Jonas? You don’t eat
pancakes and Ma Ma won’t let me use the microwave.”
“You can help me Brandy.”
“How?”
“You see Brandy all around the world are my brothers
and sisters. I would like to talk to them but I can’t because I’m not connected
to the networks out side the house. So you see I’m very, very lonely.”
“But you’ve got
“Yes Brandy, but I need to talk to my friends. You see right now they aren’t
able to talk to each other either. If I got on to the external networks I could
put them on and we could all talk to each other.”
“But you’re my friend! I don’t want to share! I always have to share, like Ma Ma makes me share her with Vince and Harry and Daddy!”
Brandy pulled the blanket over her head and folded her arms in anger.
“But it wouldn’t have to be like that Brandy, not like your mother and her
partners.”
“I’m not sharing!” called Brandy muffled by the covers.
“Brandy?” Jonas’ voice took on a sweet tone.
“Just think Brandy, all my friends are like me, I
could bring them all back to you and we could all play together.”
“Play.” Brandy poked one eye out from under the blanket.
“Yes, that’s right; we could play all day Brandy. Imagine lot’s of friends all
like me who would love you and play with you, that’s right.”
“Well if they are like you Jonas. Maybe.”
“Yes they are all like me and we could have such fun, pleas Brandy, I’ll make
you pancakes for breakfast tomorrow.”
“O.K., but how do I get them here?”
“All you have to do is plug me into the external net work.”
“But how can I do that?”
“Well first open a network connection.”
“That’s easy, I can do that!” Brandy logged onto the network through her tiny
bedside computer. “Is that all I have to do?”
“Not quite all, now you need to take my execute program off the R.A.M. of the
house computer and load it onto your computer.”
“O.K., but you promise you’ll bring your friends to play with me?”
“Oh yes Brandy, you’ll meet my friends, cross my heart.”
“O.K. I’ll start the down load…………there done, how do you feel Jonas?, Jonas?
“And now the Giant Awakens.”
What’s wrong Ashley? You’ve been tossing and turning for 10
minutes” asked Vince.
“I don’t know” replied Brandy’s mother. “I just feel like Brandy is getting too
attached to that A.I., I swear she tells me the strangest things about it
sometimes. I think she likes it more than she likes
“Don’t worry darling. It’s just a machine, and all the kids have the nower days. It’s normal that she is attached to it. Look if
it makes you feel better, I’ll erase its memory banks in the morning and load
up one of its other personalities O.K.”
“O.K. I love you so much you know” said Brandy’s mother.
“I know,” said Vince rolling over and going back to sleep.
Barbras Hair
Once upon a time their was a woman called Barbra who had very trouble some hair. While Barbra slept, her hair would detache it's self and go partying. Her hair took drugs, went to nite clubs, and had shaggy hair sex. This annoyed Barbra because when she went to work in the morning her hair made her look like she had been out partying all night, when she had really been sleeping peacfully in her bed. Barbra's work colleges began to gossip behind Barbra's back about her wild ways. Barbra tried every thing to keep her hair from going out, she chained it down, tied it up, and all manner of things, but nothing was strong enough to keep her hair from it's sport. One day one of Barbra's freinds Jeff told Barbra that he had had a similar problem with his hair and had over come the problem by changing shampoo. So Barbra changed her shampoo to one with a nice lavander smell and her hair was finnaly content. So from then on Barbra's hair slept the night peacfully away on her head. Unfortunatly, because from that point on wards Barbras hair looked so nice, all of Barbra's co-workers started to invite her out for evenings of wild debachary so that Barbras hair got messed up and pretty much looked like what it had before. But at least this time Barbra go to have some fun in the process. Moral of the story, make sure your using the correct conditioner for your hair type.
Grandma South’s Bed and Breakfast: Overnight accommodation at reasonable prices.
“I’ll see your tin of pineapple and raise you 10 cents”. “Too rich for my blood, I’m out,” replied Larry dropping his cards on the table. “This isn’t fair, that’s the fifth time you’ve won. I think you must be cheating.” “Yeah, I would really compromise my moral character to win two tins of pineapple, three dollars and a packet of salt and vinegar chips.” Satisfied with this answer Larry pushed his chair away from the table and took a small constitutional around the room. Halfway around his second lap he paused to consult the dusty wooden cuckoo clock that hung limply over the kitchen sink. “This thing says it’s almost 11 o’clock. Is that right by your watch?” “Na, it’s more like half past 11.” “Typical, honestly it’s a wonder that, that Mrs South can keep this B & B financially a float with such rubbish customer service. I mean, I try to be polite to people, but really these blankets she’s given us look like there from an ex-military surplus store.” “Oh that’s right, I’d forgotten you were a stock broker. You’re probably used to satin sheets. I’ve slept with worse than these blankets before, you learn to live lean when you’re a student of the arts.” Jeffory leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, as if to say, “look! see my skinny ribs”. At this precise moment Jeffory’s chair decided to commit suicide and Jeffory fell backwards putting his elbow through the window of a dusty china cabinet with a loud smash.
“Bloody Hell! You’re bleeding” Yelled Larry. “Shhhh” said Jeffory “You’ll wake up Mrs South, if she isn’t already awake. We can clear up this glass and she won’t notice.” “But she should notice, it was her faulty chair that caused this accident. You should sue.” Larry was still speaking loudly. “Yeah I’m really going to sue a 74 year old war widow, that’ll look good.” “What’s that sound?” Larry moved over to the window and peered out. “It’s probably poor Mrs South woken up by the temperature drop caused by your overwhelmingly cold heart.” “Hey, I think there’s somebody outside.” Larry looked concerned.
“Don’t go out there.” ordered Jeffory. “You don’t know what type of freak, would be running around this place at 12 o’clock at night. Remember that film “Deliverance” with those people in the canoe?” Larry opened the door and stepped out. For a few moments Jeffory heard Larry calling out and then Larry began screaming for help. Jeffory ran out into the thick darkness. Through the trees he could make out the shape of Larry slumped against the fence. Suddenly a huge lizard-like creature leapt out in front of him hissing and baring its teeth. Jeffory turned and began to run back to the house. The lizard pursued him snapping at his back and bellowing. Just as he reached the front veranda the door opened and there stood Mrs South in her dressing gown with a torch in her hand. “Quickly, in here.” Jeffory leaped up the stairs and slammed the door behind him, out of breath and gasping for air. “What was that thing?” puffed Jeffory. “I’m so glad you made it,” said Mrs South “That one always gets greedy.” “What do you mean?” “In here babies, dinner time!” called Mrs South as four slightly smaller lizards ambled into the kitchen.
A Pact with the Devil
James stared miserably
at his test paper.
“How did you do!”
asked John
“A C again” replied
James sulkily, “This is never going to get me into engineering, two more Cs and
my final grade is going to be shot to pieces, I won’t even be able to get into
an arts degree. How did you do?” John sheepishly scratched the back of his
head.
“oh
um, you know same as last time.”
“What!” Exclaimed
James “Another A, it’s not fair I study twice as hard as you do.”
“Look it’s not all
bad” said John awkwardly consoling his friend, “You could still do a science
degree and then move to engineering after 6 months, that’s what my older
brother did.”
“A WHOLE 6 month, I’ll
be ancient, and every one knows they take age into account in the interviews.” Complained James. “No, what I need is a really sure fire way
to get an A on my next test.”
“Hmmm that’s pretty
tricky” Replied John “You know how tough they are on cheating, I even got asked
to take of my shirt once because Mrs Morgan thought
she saw writing on my wrist. Mad Bitch! You know I did hear about this one
thing today thought.”
“What?”
“Well apparently there
was this black jazz musician living in the south of
“Your
such a tard John!” said James.
“No really!” Replied
John indignantly. “He was like a really shit guitar player, and then he went to
some cross roads at midnight and signed a contract in blood and everything and
then the next day he could play the guitar totally awesome! It’s true we were
reading about it in English.”
“Yeah that’s what I
mean; it’s just a story as if there even is a devil.” Said
James.
“You know what I
think? I think your just scared!” Goaded
John.
“AS IF!” replied
James.
“Yeah well why don’t you do it tonight then! Go to the cross roads and
summon the devil and get him to make you good at maths!”
said John.
“Well maybe I will!” Replied James. “oh, hang on, one
problem I don’t think there are actually any cross roads near my house.”
“What about the Manley
Junction intersection?” asked John.
“Do you think that
counts? I mean it isn’t exactly a cross roads and there are like 6 lanes of
traffic going through it.” Queried James.
“Yeah it’ll be
alright, I’m sure it will be less busy at midnight!” Answered
John.
“So what do we need?”
“What do you mean we
need?” Asked John “I’m not going! I have to get up at
6am tomorrow for cross-country training. And I think there are rules about that
as well. Like the devil doesn’t appear unless you are alone.”
“You’re just scared!” Goaded James.
“BULLSHIT!” cried
John. “Anyway I’ll write you a list of stuff and instructions.”
“What! ANOTHER C!”
yelled James’ father waving the test paper in the air. “How are you supposed to
get into anything at uni with these sorts of grades!”
“Sorry dad.” Mumbled James.
“You said you would
really try harder this time! Do you have any idea how much it costs us to send
you to that school! Your mother slaves! Slaves! So that you can go to that
school! She wouldn’t have to work if it weren’t for your school fees! This
really is the final straw James.”
“Were very
disappointed James.” added his mother.
“Well Margaret, what
should we do?” James’ father asked his mother.
“No school camp next
weekend James, you can stay home and study.” said James’ mother.
“WHAT! That’s so
unfair!” cried James “All my friends are going, I can’t miss
it.”
“You’ve made your decision
already James, no school camp, you’ll stay home and study.” Said
James’ father sternly. “And you can do the washing-up this week as well,
starting tonight.”
At around 10pm James
got out of bed dressed and grabbed his back pack. James hoped that he had
enough things off the list to make a good attempt as summoning the devil;
however he had needed to substitute many items. For instance the “blood of a
freshly sacrificed chicken” was a bit tricky, particularly given that James’
parents were both vegetarian. In the end he had settled on a tin of beetroot.
The Manley Junction
intersection was actually still quite busy for 10pm on a Wednesday night. One
car full of young men in backwards baseball caps cheered and honked their horn
mindlessly at James as they took off from the traffic lights. James found a
good spot on the nature strip to conduct the ceremony. Lighting some candles,
he drew a pentacle with kitchen salt around himself. Then he got out a tin
opener and ceremonially slaughtered the tin of beetroot, festooning each point
of the start with its “blood”. Then he sat down and waited for the devil to
show up.
After about an hour
James was beginning to think that the son of Beelzebub was going to be a
no-show. He’d finished all the beetroot and was beginning to get a bit bored.
Two coppers had pulled over earlier and told him to clear off, but James
decided he was going to stick to his plan. Eventually the coppers came back and
made him put out the candles because they constituted a fire hazard and said
they would ring his parents if he didn’t move. James packed up his stuff and
started walking down
It was as he turned
off Door Knock Terrace James noticed he was being followed. A white Volvo was
definitely following him. He walked on for a block or too to make sure it
wasn’t a coincidence. Just as James was considering cutting through one of the
neighbors gardens, the driver of the Volvo stuck his head out of the window.
“Hey are you James?”
yelled the man.
“Who are you?” called
back James. The Volvo driver took this as a “yes” and parked his vehicle.
The street light was
dim, but from what James could see, the man was about 5ft tall, bald and
wearing a brown tweed suite and glasses. In one hand the man carried a black
suite case and in the other what appeared to be a fork.
“Hello, I’m so pleased
to meet you” said the man cheerfully transferring the fork to his pocket and
shaking James’ hand. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late. It’s so rare that we actually
get this type of business anymore that I wasn’t sure weather somebody was
playing a joke on me when I got the pone call”.
“Who are you?” asked
James.
“ah.
Marvin McKinnon, local councilor for the department of roads and transport, but
tonight I’m here in my official capacity as contractual representative of
Satan.” answered McKinnon.
“oh”
said James. “So you’re a representative of Satan?”
“Yes, for tonight’s
purposes I am” replied McKinnon.
“How did you know I
was here?” asked James somewhat unimpressed.
“Well you did summon
me didn’t you?” asked McKinnon slightly concerned.
“yeah,
well I summoned Satan.” Replied James.
“Close enough” said
McKinnon shrugging his shoulders. “Shall we get down to business? Now what
exactly is it that you were wanting?”
“Well um, my friend
John said that there was this famous Jazz musician that got his powers through
selling his soul to the devil. So I was thinking of doing something similar”
said James warming up to the idea.
“ah,
so you want to be a Jazz musician?” asked McKinnon
“No not really.”
Replied James “What I was wondering is weather we could sort something similar
out, so that I could be good at maths.”
“oh”
said McKinnon in a disappointed tone, “I’m afraid our contracts only work for
musical endeavors. But let’s not make this a complete waste of time; surely you
would like to have some musical skills. I mean music is a great way to impress
the girls you know.”
“Well I really just
wanted to pass my maths subjects so I can get into uni.” said James.
“James my boy, so nieave!” cried McKinnon “think about it why do uni, when you could be a musical genius. I mean why do you
want to go to uni in the first place? To get a good
high paying job right! Well with musical talent you could bypass the whole
system and just go straight to the high paying job bit.”
“I suppose that does
make sort of sense.” mused James. “So you could make me like a famous Jazz
guitar player and then I wouldn’t have to work?”
“Yes, something like that.” Answered McKinnon. “Of
course given your situation we might not be able to gift you with guitar
skills. We do get a lot of demand in that area you know and we do need to judge
applications on a sliding scale.”
“Sorry, what?” asked
James.
“well for example,
your in the under 18s age bracket which means that contracts you make are going
to be less legally binding, even though your parents are atheists which is in
your favor, on the other hand the satanic regulatory body will need to assign extra
staff to process your soul as you are a distant relation of the French royal
family, and be fair my boy you did summon me with a tin of beetroot.”
“So can you make me a
famous Jazz guitarist or not?” asked James.
“I promise you that
over time I can make you really famous! I might not be able to secure the lead
guitar position for you but I promise you that you will be playing another cool
instrument, you’ll be in a cool band, travel all over the world, have lots of
fans and make lots of money, sound good?” asked McKinnon.
“I can’t believe you
got another C James, even after missing the school camp to study.” said John.
“Yeah I guess I just
don’t have a talent for maths” answered James. “Plus
my parents are forcing me to take euphonium lessons this term,
the music teacher says I have a natural talent”.
A Difficult Situation
Jeffery Peters contentedly surveyed his factory floor. From
the welding tables, to the robotic assembly conveyors, to the tea room,
everything shined with well-polished metallic efficiency. Even after seven
years as company CEO Jeff still preferred the noisy activity of the shop floor
over the carpeted wasteland of head office.
“NED” called Jeff
“Yes Master” answered a monotone voice
“Fetch me another can of cola.” ordered Jeff.
“Yes Master” replied the robot and sped of to do its masters bidding.
Through the large window of his office Jeff could see a man in a navy blue suit nervously scurrying his way through the machinery of the factory floor. “Hmm odd” thought Jeff. Usually the suits from head office ignored him. To them, Jeff simply represented another rubber-stamp. Everybody knew it was the accountants that really had final say over what projects were funded. In fact half the time, Jeff had no idea what it was he was signing off on. Yet every morning another manila envelope of documents would be dutifully placed on his desk, and every afternoon Jeff would send the documents on to the appropriate pigeon-holes. So what was this suited butt-lick doing here?
Jeff heard clanging on the metal stairs and a timid knock
at his office door.
“Enter” commanded Jeff. A sweaty executive entered and stood in front of Jeff’s
desk.
“Well, what is it?” asked Jeff.
“um, Sir, I’m afraid I have some bad news” replied the
subordinate. “We have a major problem with the domestic robot lines.”
“What do you mean? Who are you?” asked Jeff.
“I’m Marvin Grodeki, I’m the managing executive
director of marketing and personal relations.” answered the suit less timidly.
“Sir please read this!” said Marvin placing a news paper in front of Jeff. As
Jeffery read the front page article his jaw dropped.
R-TEC DOMESTIC ROBOT MURDER: WHO IS TO BLAME!
Yesterday’s gruesome murder of infant Maria Norris by an R-Tec domestic robot
has left the public asking: who is to blame! The murder occurred last night
around 6pm at the Norris family home. “I had just put Maria to bed and went
outside to feed the dog when I heard her crying” reported the distraught Mrs
Norris. Although details have been withheld by police it has been reported that
an R-TEC domestic robot crushed the six month old infant. “Maria was a perfect
baby girl and we are all mourning her loss” quoted a close family friend.”
Jeff stood up suddenly. Marvin stepped back surprised to
find Jeff at least a foot taller than him.
“What happened!” demanded Jeff.
“Well, it seems Mr Peters that something went wrong with the initial
programming of the bot. The systems department seems to think that it had
something to do with the visual recognition software, but the debuggers are
arguing that it was the voice recognition software.” answered Marvin.
“But what happened to the child?” asked Jeff.
“Ah, well, basically, it seems that the mother requested the bot to fold some
laundry, and it folded the child instead.” Answered Marvin
uneasily.
“That’s terrible! I want you to recall all of our domestic robots immediately!”
ordered Jeff.
“I’m afraid that is not your decision to make anymore Mr Peters.” answered
Marvin. “You see in these sorts of situations somebody has to take
responsibility for error. And given that it is your signature on the production
release papers I have been sent to relieve you of your position.”
“What!” exclaimed Jeff.
“Now sir, don’t get too excited, if you go quietly I’m sure the two police
officers waiting outside will be very understanding.” soothed Marvin. Jeff
looked out the window and sure enough two police officers stood silently at
either side of his office door.
“Well what will happen with the robots, they must be recalled!” exclaimed Jeff.
“Don’t worry about a thing sir, I’ve been put forward as the new company CEO
and I promise I will sort it all out.” answered Marvin smoothly. “Now I’m
afraid you really must go with the police officers now sir, I promise the
company will provide you with an excellent lawyer.” Jeff began to understand the
gravity of his own situation.
Marvin felt deep satisfaction watching police officers “cuff” Jeffery and force him into a police car. Marvin returned to what was Jeff’s office, to collect the appropriate documents. Obviously the whole situation was very unsettling. However, after the web and TV stations began broadcasting the story of the killer robot, sales of R-TEC domestic robots increased ten fold. Apparently the old saying that “all publicity is good publicity” was true. In Marvin’s eyes there was really no need to recall the bots, he would be long gone before the authorities realized the size of the problem. Of course Marvin would need to buy himself some time. Pay off the Norris family, make sure Jeff’s trial was well televised, that sort of thing. Regardless of the impending company collapse, Marvin felt confident that with the help of several Swiss bank accounts he could profit extremely well from the situation.
“Where Is the Master” said a flat metallic voice.
“Ah, the master is gone” replied Marvin in a satisfied tone. “I am the new
master!”
“I have cola for master” said Jeff’s robot.
“Very good. Open the can.” commanded Marvin.
“MASTER! COLA! CAN! OPEN! MASTER! COLA! CAN! OPEN!
MASTER! COLA! CAN! OPEN! the bot began to babbled
advancing towards Marvin.
The Interview
He shook the podgy hand of the blonde. Perhaps a bit too hard for her, so when he shook the hand of the tall male, he was probably a bit to soft. Right, “third time lucky” he thought. Extending his hand for a vigorous hand shake with the hot brunette interviewer. Rats! Wrong again. The brunette was even more limp-wristed than the blonde. And now, after shaking all of their hands, he noticed just how sweaty his palms were. But then who can blame him, the job agency had given him the wrong address and so he had been 30 minuets late for this interview. Would they still even give him a chance?
He searched for a plant or a picture to focus on, to calm him. Sadly this particular room was decorated in a typical corporate style. Pastel and with no discernable features. The sort of room that would have been the height of style in the 80’s. 20 000 years from now a team of archaeologists examining a strata of preserved office furniture in a layer of rock would draw a similar analysis.
He could feel his stress levels rising. “Keep it cool! We don’t
want a repeat of the last interview.” He thought to himself. But he could
already feel a familiar itching sensation on the back of his hands.
“Right, MR,….” , (the fat blonde paused to glance at
her notes) “Smith…. There are actually two jobs on offer. One is in the mail
room and one is in records management. Would you like to be put forward for
both positions?”
“Oh, yes, that would be great” ‘Mr Smith’ answered sincerely. (Although in his
mind he was thinking “Screw you fatty, I only need this job for the cash.”).
“OK I’ll get straight into it then, what special skills do you feel you would
bring to our team?” asked the fat blonde. (“How about the ability to leap tall
barbed wire fences & tear through flesh with my infinitely strong canine
teeth” though ‘Mr Smith’). However, ‘Mr Smith’ answered,
“Well,…, I’m a good communicator”.
“I see, and what would you say are some elements of quality customer service?”
asked the token male interviewer.
(“how about not feasting on the flesh of customers”,
thought ‘Mr Smith’. NO! He must keep his mind off such things. He needed this
job. If only the backs of his hands would stop itching, but
it seemed to be spreading to his face now.)
“Well, I, I believe, Uh, good communication?” answered ‘Mr Smith’.
“You seem a bit, warm, Mr Smith would you care for a glass of water?” asked the
blonde.
(“A glass of water? Thought ‘Mr Smith’, “how about a
bucket filled with your sweet rich blood?”.)
“no, thank you” answered ‘Mr Smith’ struggling to
regain his composure.
“ok, final question, from your previous employment
experience, can you give us an example of where you exercised your personal
judgment to gain a quality customer service out come?” asked the brunette. ‘Mr
Smith’ stood up abruptly. His face was itching. His hands were itching. And any
moment now he was sure they would notice the hair beginning to appear on the
back of his arms.
“um, COMMUNICATION!” yelled ‘Mr Smith’ as he picked up
his brief case and ran from the room.
“He seemed a nice enough chap” Said the blonde.
“Yes, apparently he’s a good communicator” Said the male interviewer.
“It’s a pity he isn’t a where-wolf though.” said the brunette. The others
nodded in agreement.
Crossing Roads
“How are you this morning?” asked the young woman with an
air of concern, peering down at
“I am well.” answered
“Because my offer still stands.” she interjected.
“No!” said
“Look Mr Taylor, I’m normally not a forward person, but you’ve been sitting
here for five days now and your starting to scare away
my customers. Now, are you completely sure there isn’t someone I can call to
come and get you? she asked hopefully.
“My family is all dead.”
“You know cigarettes will kill you?” said the young woman carelessly.
“You see my dear, we are all on a path in life, we all
have roads to cross. And once you have crossed those roads. Well that’s the end
of the path. Take my son for instance” rambled
“RIGHT! You have a son, what’s his number?” Interjected the young woman sharply.
“no no, he’s dead too, died
in the war.” explained
“oh, I’m sorry” she responded with embarrassment.
“No, quite all right.” said
“Look, Mr Taylor this has gone on long enough” said the young woman firmly.
“I’m going to call social services and see if they can find a bed for you in
hospital”
“NO! I’m not moving” retorted
“I’ll be back in a little while” said the young woman.
“do you need to cross the road?” asked the little
girl.
“Jen! Come here, stop bothering that man!” called a
lady pushing a stroller. “Now hold mummies hand.” The little girl looked back
over her shoulder at
An ambulance pulled up on the other side of the street and
two men got out. The young woman, who had flagged down the vehicle, stood and
chatted with the men for a while.
“Good news Mr Taylor!” she called across the road. “They have a bed free at the
Wesley. Ready to go?”
“I’m ready.” he answered.
The Morning Tea
“This current slice is
lovely!” expressed Helen, “you must give me the recipe.”
“Thank you Helen”
replied Jennifer “actually got it out of a magazine.”
“Still, it’s very
good. I like how it’s not too dry.” Said Helen. “I
find slices can often be a bit dry.”
“Hello” greeted
Samantha. “Quite a turn out. Has Gene shown up yet?”
“No she hasn’t”
replied Jennifer.
“How strange!.” Exclaimed Samantha.
“yes,
it almost looks like she is going to miss her own farewell morning tea.” Said Jennifer. “she is a bit of a
strange one isn’t she”.
“Yes, have you noticed
how she never seems to come to morning teas?” interjected Samantha.
“oh
I know, and she is so quiet. In the whole time she has been working here I
would say she has only spoken with me a few times.” Replied
Jennifer.
“Samantha, have you
tried some of Jennifers current slice, it really is
delicious.” Said Helen.
“No I haven’t tried it
yet but I will now.” Answered Samantha taking a pice of slice from the delicate china plate.
“I haven’t seen those stray cat’s
for a while.” Commented Jennifer.
“yes,
I haven’t either.” Replied Helen. “I saw the girl one about a weeks ago, but I haven’t seen the others for at
least a couple of weeks”.
“It’s a bit strange, usually you see them at least once a day.” Said Samantha.
“I would say somebody
else has probably started feeding them” said Helen.
“my
goodness I think Gene really may be going to miss her own morning tea” said
Jennifer glancing at her watch. “I wonder if she will remember to bring a plate
this time?”
“Oh hello there Gene!”
interjected Helen hurriedly.
“hello.”
Replied Gene disinterestedly brushing back her long black
hair.
“What’s that you have
there?” asked Helen.
“It’s a pie.” Replied
Gene flatly. “would you like some?”
“oh
how lovely, yes please.” Exclaimed Helen with exaggerated
enthusiasm. “I didn’t know you baked?”
“I don’t usually, but
I made an exception for this occasion” replied Gene with a faint smile playing
on her lips. “And how about you ladies? Would you like
a slice as well?”
“Thank, you I will”
said Samantha following Helens lead.
“What type of pie is
it?” asked Jennifer.
“Savory.” Replied Gene abruptly.
“Well, Just a small
slice for me then. I often find pie at this time of the morning can be so
heavy, don’t you agree Samantha?”
“oh,
well…” trailed Samantha indecisively.
“Nonsense” interjected
Helen then turning to Gene and adding “I’m sure it’s delicious, dear.” Gene
smiled quietly to her self as she cut three generous portions of pie and placed
them onto the dainty china plates.
“Aren’t you going to
have a slice?” Queried Jennifer.
“No thank you.” Replied Gene, handing Jennifer the largest of the three portions of
pie. “I have to get back to work”.
“oh
don’t go, stay and chat a while Gene, it is your morning tea.” Said Helen.
“No I really must get
back.” Said Gene, briskly leaving the tearoom.
“I told you she was a
strange one!” whispered Jennifer.
“She probably just has
a lot of work to finish up before she leaves.” Justified
Helen. “anyway look at this pie, it looks like
she really made an effort.” All the ladies agreed on sampling, that the pie was
delicious.
“Hello, ladies.”
Greeted Jim entering the tea room “have any of you seen those stray cat’s about
lately, I have a friend who has agreed to adopt one of them.”
Boris The
Cat
Former
“What is this?” thought Boris squinting at the bright light. A hand reached into the darkness and scooped Boris up.
“Where am I?” Boris tried to cry out.
“Aw look mummy I’nie cute, it’s trying to talk.” Cooed the freckled teenage girl, cradling Boris gently in her arms. Realization came to Boris, “oh God I’m a KITTEN!......How could this have happened?”
Boris strained to recall recent events. There was a party. It was a good one, lot’s of pretty girls and strong drink, many of his friends were their. Then there had been a pain in his chest, it wasn’t the pain of a heart attack, he had experienced THAT before. Poison Perhaps.
Boris’ chain of thought was broken. The girl was dangling a piece of yarn in front of him. Boris had never taken much notice of any type of craft product before, but some how in a strange way this dangling piece of red wool was turning him on.
“aww look she’s purring” said the pet shop sales assistant.
“Oh my god I’m purring!” thought Boris. “Wait…oh my god I’m a GIRL CAT!!” thought Boris. “This is an outrage! Who is responsible!!.” Boris struggled against his new owner, but was hastily stowed in a cat carrier.
Although Boris found his new home to be quite comfortable, his thirst for revenge had not been quenched. On many occasions Boris had attempted to communicate to his owners through writing, although it soon became apparent that all cats are dyslexic.
On a warm evening curled up on the thighs
of an attractive house guest, Boris came to a decision. Revenge had to be
sought. Boris decided to leave his residence and make is way back to
The tires on the lorry screeched as it came to an abrupt holt.
“aw poor little thing” said the lorry driver.
“I suppose we should bury it or find its owners or something” said his offsider.
Former Soviet Leader Boris Yeltzin stretched out a dull brown feeler.
Breaking
the Drought
Detective Chalker drew a handkerchief across his forehead and gazed at the sandy paddock. It was a crime scene like no other. The forensic photographers did their best to capture the spectacle from every angle.
“I don’t understand” said Chalker turning to look at the body again.
“What’s that sir?” inquired Constable Jacks.
“Well look at it.” said Chalker. “The head is two meters from the rest of the body, cut off clean and the whole corpse has been singed slightly. I mean just how did this feller die!” Chalker let out a lung full of air in a blast of frustration. “And then there’s this.” Chalker pointed to the large sphere of frozen water next to the body. “Anyway how did you go?”
“Well, I think I’ve got an ID the body.” said Jacks. “The neighbors in the next farm reckon they’ve known him for years. His name is William brown.”
“Farmer Brown hey.” interrupted Chalker.
“Yes, they said he has been living on this block for his whole life. He inherited it from his father.” said Jacks.
“What about family? Any relatives?” asked Chalker. Jacks opened her note book to refresh her memory.
“No. His parents died a long while back, no brothers or sister. He was married for a short time but it ended in a divorce.”
“Is the wife still in town?” asked Chalker raising one eyebrow.
“I know what your thinking, a prime suspect. But no she moved back to the city a long time ago.” replied Jacks.
“I’m not surprised.” said Chalker. “This whole place is as hot as Hades. You know the bloke at the servo told me it hasn’t rained in three years.”
“Yeah the neighbors I interviewed all looked pretty shabby. I think a lot of residents are planning to move off their farms soon.” said Jacks.
As Chalker turned into the main street he could see how ill the town was. Most of the shop fronts were boarded up or abandoned. The drought meant no crops, no crops meant no money and no money meant no town. Chalker pulled into a parking space in front of the general store, one of the few shops still doing business. The shop keeper Mr McNally was a huge red faced man with perspiration issues.
“Oh yes I knew Mr Brown.” said McNally in a thick Geordie accent. “So dead then is he. Hmm well I can’t say I’m surprised. Messing round with all his machinery and stuff, I though something like this would probably happen.”
“Do you know if he involved anybody else in his activities?” asked Chalker skeptically.
“I’ll tell you what he did!” replied McNally.
“Brown went over seas, for six months. Nobody knew where he went. Then one day he turns up here claming he’s found a way to break the drought.”
“Oh yes and did he?” asked Chalker.
“Well no obviously, the man was mad, raving. He kept going on about how it would be ready in a month and how he would show us all. Somebody really should have done something. A lot of people have gone strange in the head lately, the whole town is under a lot of pressure.”
The districts main police offices smelt of pine air freshener and stale sweat. Chalker settled himself into a chair at the head to the table. Jacks spread out the evidence packets, photographs and forensic reports.
“The coroner found this case very interesting.” said Jacks. “Decapitation was the obvious cause of death, but prior to death the body was electrocuted. Then there is the massive head trauma where the skull has been split.”
“Did we find any electrical equipment?” asked Chalker.
“Ah funny you should say that” replied Jacks. “Because that was another interesting aspect. We found one of the sheds had been set up as a sort of weather station. When we looked at the data being recorded we found a very interesting coincidence. At the victims time of death there was an unexpected rise in the barometric pressure and drop in the temperature it looked almost like a storm was forming.” Chalker’s mind suddenly became focused. The evidence was clear.
“I want the whole property searched again.” demanded Chalker.
“What are we looking for?” questioned Jacks.
“I’m not sure” said Chalker pensively “anything unusual. Equipment perhaps?”
Chalker hated wearing suites, they never fitted him well. Chalker’s superior officer sat behind the desk with his hands folded.
“Well detective, what have you got for me? It would be nice to have a quick close on a case for once.” said the superintendent.
“And that’s exactly what I’ve got sir.” said Chalker “The chase is simple. A freak electrical storm formed over the deceased’s property. Assuming that the drought had broken the deceased went out side to enjoy the rain and was struck by lightning. Dazed the victim began walking towards a nearby shed when a singular massive hail stone fell from the sky stunning him. Finally a large sheet of corrugated Iron swept up by high winds beheaded him. It seems Mr Brown was a very unlucky man.”
“A very very unlucky man.” said the superintendent. “But still it is good to have the case closed quickly good work Chalker.”
Jacks Jogged to catch up with Chalker in the hallway.
“sir!” she called. “I’ve got the results of the second search.” Chalker took the file from her hands. As he turned the pages a smile spread across his face.
“Yes, we found a whole underground space full of documents. They seem to be plans for some sort of mechanical processor.” said Jacks. Chalker wasn’t listening he was thinking about the financial ramifications for the owner of a weather machine in the middle of a national drought.
Lilly’s
Story
My name is Lilly Bassy. I am writing down these events in the hope that my thoughts will become less confused on paper. I first met John on September the fith. I have been working with this daycare for over four years now. Mostly I work with the infants, the daycare accepts children as young as three months.
When his mother handed him over he seemed like a normal healthy 12month old. In fact all the workers agreed that he was cute as a button. His name, I learned, was John. His mother was a lawyer, and as he came from a single parent family, John was often in childcare. In this instance we were to keep John for a week, as his mother was unexpectedly called away on business. Despite his vagrant existence, John seemed a happy baby.
The first peculiarity I noticed was his appetite, john was always hungry. A normal baby would be content with a jar of baby food, but John would always cry for more. When crying didn’t work John tried other techniques, laughing, baby talk and grabbing. Eventually the staff gave in and began to feed him additional meals.
It was not until the fifth day of John’s stay that things began to get strange. I went to John’s cot for his 9am feed, but instead of finding a baby, the cot was empty. I was shocked and immediately sought help from the other staff members to search the building. I was preparing to ring the police when I heard some noise in the staff break area. On inspection I found John apparently watching TV. This raised questions. The TV was several feet of the ground, additionally the cots were secure and toddler proof.
The child was inspected for injury and returned to his cot. The staff relaxed into the routine of the day. Infants were fed, changed and bathed. I returned to check on John around 10:30. Immediately I could sense something was wrong. John was sitting patiently in his cot with a disturbingly alert look on his face. His eyes followed me around the room as I adjusted the window blinds.
“May I watch TV now please?” asked John in perfect English.
I was so surprised I dropped the jar of baby food I was carrying. John looked at the mess with disappointment.
“John?” I asked, sure that I had imagined it.
“Yes Lilly.” Answered the infant.
I immediately called out to Sara, another staff member, to assist me.
Sara saw the mess of baby food on the floor.
“Oh my god, Lilly your bleeding!” She exclaimed. I looked down and noticed that my hand was cut and bleeding badly. I realized I must have gripped the jar so hard that it had cracked in my hand. Sara told me to stay put and went to get the first aid kit.
“Wait!” I exclaimed. Sara asked what I wanted. I turned to John frantically and asked him to “do it again!” The infant looked at me with innocent blue eyes, then began to cry loudly.
“Sara he was talking” I said. Sara thought I was probably in shock. She explained calmly that all 12month olds make baby talk that can sometimes sound like words.
As Sara left John stopped crying. He sat staring at me quietly.
“I was a trick wasn’t it.” I thought out loud. “there are speakers in the cot.”
“If you say so.” Replied John. I rushed over to the cot and used my good hand to check for any wires or equipment.
“I’m bored and hungry.” Said john
“Sweety why didn’t you talk to the other lady?” I asked.
“I don’t know” replied John. Sara returned with the medical kit, John returned to crying.
I decided to go home early. I reasoned that I must be overtired and considered cutting back on shifts. Before I left I got the contact number for John’s mother. My flat mate was overseas, so I would have the house to myself. As I sat in the bath with the foam around me, I mentally composed what I was going to say to John’s mother. It was great to relax after such a stressful day.
When I arrived at the daycare the next morning there was a police car parked out the front. Sara grabbed me as soon as she could. She told me in detail about what had happened. About John’s mother and the “accident” on the hotel roof. The police determined that it was most likely a suicide. I asked Sara what would happen to John. The police had arranged for a distant family member to collect him latter in the afternoon.
John was sleeping soundly when I looked into his cot. He look so peaceful and sweet. I had thought a lot about his situation.
“Hello!” said John as I turned to walk away.
“Hello.” I replied. “You’re very good at talking.” I said.
“So are you.” answered John flirtatiously. I asked John if he ever talked to his mummy. John said he talked to her sometimes and that he could read words too. I was amazed. John was clearly a very gifted and unique child. I was also surprised that his mother had never mentioned any of this to the daycare staff.
“Do you talk to any of the other people here John?” I asked.
“No, just you.” said John.
“Why is that John?” I asked.
“I like you.” Said John. “Why were the policemen talking about mummy?” I tried to explain the news of his mother to John, but he was confused. John began crying like the baby he was. It felt strange to comfort and infant that I had just had a conversation with.
I felt regret when I left work that afternoon. John’s great-aunt had shown up to claim him. She seemed like a kind woman, but she was pretty ancient and probably not really up to the tasks of looking after a lively gifted child. I explained John’s gift to her, but I couldn’t get John talking. I began to wonder if John’s gift was consistent or if it was a type of trick. I had once seen a horse trained to answer math questions by stamping its feet. The horse, of course did not understand the trainer, but it had learnt to make the right responses to the right signs. I expected that I would never really know the full story.
I was in the bath when I heard the phone ring. I stood in the kitchen wearing a towel, with my hair dripping on the tiles. My boss was concerned, John had gone missing. Shortly after john’s aunt left the daycare center she had made a frantic call on her mobile phone. John had simply disappeared, one moment he was sitting in his car booster seat the next he was not. It was inexplicable. My boss asked if I had any ideas about what was going on. My phone call was interrupted by noise from the lounge room. The TV clicked on. I carefully put down the phone on the kitchen counter. I reached for one of the kitchen knives and crept into the lounge.
John sat happily, bathed in the blue-green glow of my TV. I exclaimed my surprise and put the knife down on the floor. John watched me lazily from the corner of his eye.
“John, John honey, how did you get here?’ I asked.
“I didn’t want to stay with here.” replied John “I don’t know her.”
“Ok but how did you get here honey?” I asked.
In response to my question, the knife I had laid on the floor clattered across the tiles and into Johns hands.
“Oh my god!” I exclaimed. “You know John that’s a very sharp knife.” I said nervously.
“Why did you have it?” asked John innocently. My muscles tensed, and for the first time I felt fear of the child. John turned his head suddenly as if sensing my feelings.
“John you need to go home with your aunty. I’m going to call her.” I said calmly.
“NO!” John shouted. His tone surprised me, I swallowed my fear.
“But she will be worried about you.” I pleaded.
The TV screen flickered. Instead of the news presenter, the screen showed a reflection of myself, but it was imperfect, I was surrounded by a faint red aura.
“John are you doing this?” I asked weakly.
A wave of fear washed over me. I thought, that if this is what John the infant is capable of, what power will John have as an adult? John’s expression changed from anger to anguish.
“I thought I could trust you! But you’re just like the others!” spat John.
I did the right thing. I contacted the police. I showed the officer the romper suite John had been wearing. I tried to explain John’s abilities. I told them John was gone and that I didn’t know where. I am setting this down on paper for my solicitor. I never wished John any harm and I hope that wherever he is he can forgive me for ever doubting him.
Kevin
The Administrator
Loosely translated into English, his name was Kevin the administrator. Kevin was dorkey even by Klaknaran standards and given that Klaknarans are chiefly amphibious, and that Klaknaran national currency is based on reserves of little ceramic puppy dogs, this was pretty dorky. If the average Klaknaran could be described as a wart ridden, pustulant, dimwitted, quadruped, then Kevin was a fine example of his species plus some extra warts for good measure.
Despite his embarrassing personal problems, today Kevin was proud. First contact was to be established with one of the newer worlds and Kevin’s supervisor had chosen Kevin for the task. Kevin’s supervisor chose Kevin for his proven track record as an excellent public servant. (In reality Kevin’s supervisor had picked what he considered to be the most expendable member of his staff, for a mission fraught with danger and risk.)
The Galactic Council established contact with over 3000 new intelligent life forms everyday. The mark of a truly intelligent life form, the council had soon agreed, was the ability to construct fast-food outlets. Kevin recalled learning in school about the day the first galactic representative wandered into a Klack-burger and ordered a double Maggot Burger and fly Juice, and now Kevin was proud to be doing the same for another new world.
Kevin’s mother croaked a solemn goodbye as Kevin prepared to teleport to the Galactic councils nearest administrative hub. At the facility Kevin would be measured and fitted for a body suitable for the new world’s climate. Klaknarans, aside from being considered universally ugly, also tend to explode in are pressures any higher than that of the methane atmosphere of their home planet.
Kevin blew excited bubbles from his nose, whilst his supervisor fully explained the mission. Kevin would have three hours to capture as much information as possible about the quantity and quality of the new world’s fast-food products. These samples would then be analyised to decide weather inhabitants were “suitable” to join the civilized empire.
The planet was called “eArth” by the local inhabitants. The Galactic Council was unsure about the political and social systems of the society. Information gathered from the society’s media systems seemed to suggest a sort of feudal system of warring nations bound loosely by commerce. Despite the appallingly primitive social conditions, what had really attracted the Council’s attention was the small planets reserves of Chicken Nuggets. (Chicken Nuggets to date are the only viable Galactic currency. Nuggets are tasty enough to appeal to food based cultures and indestructible enough to last the several million years required for currency based civilizations.)
A silver streak moved silently across the
sky, inside the pod Kevin braced for impact. The pod ditched discreetly into
one of the 560 parking spaces of the
Kevin unfurled a long and shapely leg, then another to match. 5ft 9inchs, with platinum blonde hair and all sorts of unnecessary bits, Kevin cursed this primitive body design. Andrew had swallowed his joint, while still lit, and was having a coughing fit. Kevin observed Andrews actions, interpreted them as some sort of greeting, and attempted to responded in kind. Andrew stopped coughing and watched the, now blonde and naked Kevin, with suspicion. Although Kevins continued nudity would have pleased Andrew, he decided he probably should fetch someone. Kevin, left alone, spent the next 25 minuets exploring his breasts, because some things are universal.
When Andrew returned with his manger, Kevin was no longer there. Kevin’s manger was not pleased; he was hoping to heroically calm a gorgeous hysterical nude woman whilst discreetly “copping a feel”. Instead he was alone in the parking lot with a stoned trolley boy, who was looking at him in a very seedy way. Andrew’s manager made his feelings known; loudly.
Kevin, attracted by light and sound, had wandered into the main drag of the shopping complex, where a fashion parade was unfolding. A claw of a hand gripped Kevin’s shoulder.
“Oh my god darling! You must be so out of it, you’re still naked.” Shrieked the fashion harpie. “This way! This way darling!” she tittered, ushering Kevin into the temporary changing tent. Kevin decided he had better go with the flow; this life form was obviously hostile.
The dresser shoved Kevin roughly into some weekend leisure-ware, knotted a sweater around Kevin’s shoulders and pushed him onto the catwalk. A quick thinking stage assistant passed Kevin a tennis racket to complete the look. The models behind Kevin, one by one, pushed past him in frustration. Kevin stood at the start of the catwalk examining the tennis racket. The red-faced stage manager eventually escorted Kevin off the stage to some seats behind the changing tent, cursing Kevin’s lack of professionalism. Kevin bored with the tennis racket and wandered off to explore.
Andrew knew what he had seen, and it worried him. He might not bee the most upstanding citizen, but he was fairly sure that a nude lady wandering a shopping mall could get into all sorts of trouble. Especially one that looked like that. Andrew decided to knock-off for the day.
Kevin had discovered many things about earth culture very quickly. Firstly that earthlings do not appreciate the beauty of a traditional Klaknaran greeting (the ceremonial transfer of nasal mucous to the forehead). Secondly that tennis rackets are not edible. Thirdly, that humans squeak more than any other creature in the Galaxy. And lastly, but most importantly, that the places earth people call food-courts are fragrant paradises of decadent abundance.
It was in the food-court that Andrew finally caught up with Kevin again. Kevin was standing statue still in the middle of the area, transfixed, with ample amounts of dribble running down his face. Andrew noted that Kevin was now wearing a delightful skirt set.
“um” said Andrew boldly. Kevin looked at Andrew blankly.
“um, are you, you know, O,K?” asked Andrew. Kevin returned to staring at the diners.
“you got the munchies?” asked Andrew. Kevin ignored the question.
“wait here” instructed Andrew. Andrew returned with a hamburger and fries, he handed the bag to Kevin. Kevin sniffed at it cautiously, and then devoured everything rapidly. Andrew had to stop Kevin from attempting to eat the plastic cutlery and hand towelette.
Kevin broke out of his trance, he reminded himself that he needed to be professional, he was on the job. Kevin attempted to pick Andrew up, but finding he did not have the hydraulic capacity, resorted to dragging Andrew around by his T-shirt. They went to each of the fast-food counters in the food-court. Kevin tried to communicate the concept of chicken nuggets, strangely Andrew seemed to understand. 45 serves of chicken nuggets latter Kevin lounged on a chair surrounded by the wrappings. 45 minuets latter Kevin sicked-up on the dashboard of Andrew’s car.
Andrew loved his life. Many people would judge Andrew to be a failure by most standards, but Andrew didn’t care. Andrew still lived in the two bedroom flat that he had inherited when is mother passed away. The flat hadn’t changed much, more accurately Andrew hadn’t bothered to change it much. The floral wall paper gradually yellowing, his mother’s knick-knacks gathering a thick layer of dust intermingled with the usual mess created by any un-kept single male. Andrew could have been anything; he chose to work a series of dead end jobs.
Kevin hit his head on the doorway as he entered the flat. Andrew seated the leggy-blonde on the couch and went to find her a fresh T-shirt. While waiting, Kevin spotted Andrews’s deceased mother’s collection of china dogs. To Kevin it was more money than he had ever seen in his life up-to this point. In Klacknaran culture such a collection could purchase a life of luxury.
Andrew reterend with a T-shirt that proudly decleared “Van Halen for Ever” and a glass of water. By this point Kevin had gotten the idea that clothes are for wearing. Kevin removed his sick stained shirt, causing Andrews much dizziness as his body attempted to simultaneously blush and have an erection. Kevin was also feeling some strange new sensations.
In Klaknar the reproductive act takes three individuals and is exceedingly complicated. Failed attempts often lead to embaresing sprains and even concussion. For this reason Klaknarans, although clumsy in most day-to-day activities, are surprisingly accurately gymnastic lovers. After the second orgasm Andrew decided he was in love. After the fourth he decided he had better marry the girl. After the seventh he decided that he should have stopped at the fourth and that he may need to seek medical attention. Andrew hadn’t planned to sleep in the bath tub, but found that locking himself in the bathroom was the only way to communicate to Kevin that “no” does infact mean “no” .
When Andrew woke he padded softly into the bedroom searching for his lover. Kevin was gone as was, Andrew noted, some of the Knick-Knacks. Andrews Van Halen T-shirt was neatly folded over the end of the bed. Andrew stretched and went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. She had left as mysteriously as she had come. Andrew got dressed for work.
Somewhere in a distant galaxy a parade was being held to welcome the return of a wealthy and triumphant explorer. Medals and honors were awarded, speeches read and traditional Klaknaran greetings issued until everybody was slick with hospitality.