March: A Tale of Salmon and Swedes (The Glothic Tales Book 4) Page 12

  ‘Oops, I think I forgot it.’

  Finally, after a return trip in the elevator to fetch his forgotten bag, Trys and March were in the back of the van.

  ‘Ready, m’am?’ the driver asked; who like his associate, was wearing dark sunglasses, which Trys thought was a little peculiar, as it was one a.m., drizzling with rain, and pitch dark.

  ‘Yes, we are.’

  March was still humming, and although it may have continued to annoy the dark bespectacled spooks in the front of the black van, Trys knew it was a sign of March’s apprehension about his return shuttle flight, as she was sure he knew it was far more dangerous to exit the force field, than enter it. She was apprehensive about her own return – one day.

  Silently, except for March clearly getting to W in his alphabetical ordered humming of Abba tunes, as he was now humming Waterloo, the van hummed its way out of London, and by the time March had worked his way back though to the start of the alphabet again, he was up to Chiquitita as the van turned slowly into Warburg Nature Reserve.

  ‘Go straight on, and I will tell you when to turn,’ Trys told the driver, as she studied her Q’muniktor, which was blipping in her hand, and guiding her to the precise location of a narrow path that led to a small grassed clearing, which was conveniently surrounded by thick woods.

  ‘Left in 100 meters, and then right in seventy meters,’ she said, after a few minutes.

  ‘Yes, m’am.’

  With two more turns, the van was heading down a rarely used track.

  ‘Very slowly now,’ she said, as she craned her head to look through the windscreen, between the two men, searching in the van’s headlights for the small grass path she wanted.

  ‘Yes, there! Just on the left,’ she said, pointing to the path entrance she could vaguely make out. The driver pulled to a halt.

  ‘Can you let me out so I can check, please,’ she asked the man in the front passenger’s seat, who did so immediately. March was up to humming Dancing Queen, as Trys got out of the van to check. As the man shone his torch, Trys was sure that it was the correct track.

  ‘It’s about a fifteen minute walk. Well, at my pace anyway,’ Trys said. The man nodded. ‘But with all we have to carry, perhaps it would be better if I show you the way on the first trip, and then you and March can return for more packages.

  ‘I have a tall hand trolley in the back of the van, M’am, so it shouldn’t take us more that two trips. I’m sure we’ll manage.

  ‘Good. Well, we only have an hour, so we’d better get moving,’ Trys said, and beckoned for March to get out of the van.

  The driver came around the van and handed two torches to Trys. I’ll need to stay here to guard the van, m’am, if that is ok with you.’

  ‘Of course, I understand. Right March, carry as much as you can, and our friend here will take what he can manage on his trolley. Now, pass me your bag. I think I can manage that on one shoulder with my stick, and a torch.

  ‘Um, yes, ok,’ March said, and finally ceased humming, for a moment.

  In all, it took three trips to have all the packages in neat piles on the grassy clearing, but as March and the MI6 man could walk much faster than Trys, it only took a little under half an hour to complete the task.

  ‘Is there anything else, m’am,’ the man in sunglasses asked.

  ‘Thank you, no. If you could wait for me back at the van, I should be with you in an hour or so.’

  ‘Certainly, m’am,’ the man replied, and quickly turned on his heels, with his empty trolley in tow.

  Once out of earshot, Trys asked March, ‘happy to be going home?’

  ‘Home, yes. But the going? Not so crazy about that part.’

  ‘Don’t worry; it will all be smooth sailing, I’m sure. I never have a concern when I travel anywhere, by any means, when a handsome Lacertilian pilot is in charge.’ March didn’t look entirely convinced, and Trys was sure he wasn’t, when he started humming Does Your Mother Know, and somewhat amazingly, had not lost his place in his alphabetical nervous humming.

  The minutes passed, as Trys monitored her Q’muniktor, until finally she saw the signal from the shuttle, announcing its final descent. ‘Now, keep your eyes peeled for the shuttle.’

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘All we will see is a dim blue circle of light on the ground, which will be the entrance to the teleport.’

  March turned around slowly, completing a full circle, twice, as he scanned the grass between them and the woods. ‘Oh, like that one?’ he said, pointing to a dim blue light, only about twenty metres to their left.

  ‘Well spotted, March. Right, now very carefully, place one package at a time into the blue light. Start with the gold, so the pilot can secure the heaviest items first. But be very careful not to put more than your fingers into the light, as you will be sucked up along with the package, and then I’ll have to do the rest of the heavy lifting.’

  ‘Um, ok,’ he said, sensing that this may not be as simple as he had thought. He took the first five-kilo bundle of gold, and gingerly approached the one metre wide blue circle of light, shimmering on the grass. He placed the package down carefully next to the very edge of the light, and then as he was about the muster the courage to try his first attempt at sending a package up to the shuttle, without him also going up, he noticed a thick long stick on the ground. He broke it in half to make it a manageable length, and then pushed the package, gently and slowly into the light.

  It made a sudden whooossh, then a heavy tthrrruppp sound, as the package instantly disappeared.

  ‘Good work, March. A very clever solution indeed, Trys said, as she walked over closer to him.

  ‘More gold, huh?’

  ‘Yes, all of it, as quick as you can.’

  March set about his task, and within ten minutes, had watched all the bundles of gold, and every package of Abba valuables disappear into nowhere, from the end of his trusty stick. Trys passed March his bag.

  ‘I’m not one for long goodbyes, March, so give me a quick hug, and off you go.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say. Thank you I suppose,’ he said, and then gave her a quick little hug.

  ‘Off you go now. Put your hands and arms into the light, and you will arrive in the shuttle, right way up.’

  ‘Yes, well, um, I’ll see you soon at home on Gloth then.’

  ‘Definitely. Now, off you go.’

  March knelt down, with his bag slung across his shoulder, and timidly pressed his palms on the grass, and then slowly slid his hands, across the grass, into the circle of blue light. Before his wrists had even become illuminated, he felt his whole body being sucked violently upwards, as if he was a grain of dust being eradicated by a vacuum cleaner. Before he had time to think, he was bobbing up and down, on nothing, with the upper half of his body inside the shuttle.

  ‘Welcome aboard again, sir,’ said Lieutenant Slicketty Clikk, who was smiling, with his split red tongue licking at his lips.

  ‘I thought my delivery was your last shuttle mission.’

  ‘It was supposed to be, but as you are returning so soon, I was still aboard our Hoog destroyer waiting for my transfer. Anyway, let me help you up,’ he said, as he offered his hand to March to pull him fully from the teleport. Once the lower part of March’s body was also aboard, Clikk secured the teleport hatch, and made for his pilot’s seat.

  ‘I have to gain some altitude right away, and then get into orbit quite quickly, but it won’t take long. So take a seat, and once we’re in orbit, I’ll secure our payload, and then we’ll have a drink and a nice chat about your holiday.’

  March sat in one of the passenger’s seats, and let Clikk get on with his job. He didn’t want to say so, but he was pleased to have Lieutenant Clikk as his shuttle pilot again. So pleased and reassured in fact, that although he hadn’t noticed it himself – he had stopped humming. He was also quite sure that Lieutenant Clikk was horridly aghast, if not deeply offended by his unfashionable, shabby and downright u
gly Earth attire, but being a Lacertilian, and an absolute gentleman, his face had not given even a hint of his certain displeasure. March made a mental note to formally apologise once they were in orbit, and ask if he might get changed, into something more appropriate.

  ‘Coffee?’ Clikk asked, after he rose from his seat twenty minutes later.

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you.’

  ‘So how was Earth?’ Clikk asked, as he reached under the farthermost rear seat for the green plastic sachets of instantly hot, milk with one sugar industrial beverage.

  ‘Odd,’ was all March could think of saying, as he accepted the sachet from Clikk and concentrated on preparing it without burning himself. ‘Very strange,’ he added, as he successfully pulled on the white heating tab, before carefully tearing open the perforated tab.

  ‘The place or the people?’

  ‘Oh, definitely the people. They cut their hair, you know!’

  ‘How terrible. Why?’

  ‘I have no idea. But almost all of them do it. I was so totally shocked. They also have funny eyes, and oddly small noses. But, the police are very nice. I had a very pleasant stay with them for nearly a day in one of their stations, and in fact, I had the best meal of my entire stay there. I believe it was called, um, let me remember now. Oh yes, Stew. Delicious! I also met a very intelligent man, who shared my lovely barred room with me. I think he must have been a philosopher, or at least, philosophical.’

  ‘But it was a very short stay.’

  ‘Because of all this,’ March said, pointing to all the packages Clikk had stacked quickly at the rear of the shuttle.

  ‘I gathered something important was happening, as I was informed before I left that a platoon of Gregorian Guards were on standby to meet us upon our arrival back at the Hoog. I don’t see them very often. In fact, I can’t recall the last time. Oh yes I can, now that I think about it. It was more than six years ago, when I co-piloted a flight carrying the Supreme Potentate to Sali Houri Five.’

  ‘Well, they will only get to do all their grunting, and pulling mean looking faces if we manage to arrive in one solid piece aboard the Hoog.’

  ‘Are you a little concerned about the exit from the force field?’

  ‘No, only petrified. Especially dressed like this! Do you think it would be possible for me to get changed before we try for the Hoog? I would feel so ashamed to be incinerated, looking like this.’

  ‘I can assure you that we won’t be incinerated, but you can certainly get changed. Finish your drink, and you can change while I balance and secure our cargo.’

  ‘Thank you. But maybe not incinerated, just blown up.’

  ‘I have done it before, so I can assure you that we will exit the force field successfully. Perhaps a bit bumpy, that’s all, so, don’t panic.’

  March changed into something more appropriate, while Clikk laser lashed all the packages, after carefully weighing and calculating where each package should be placed to ensure that the weight was evenly distributed across the girth of the shuttle. He didn’t inform March, but one minor miscalculation could have the shuttle missing its navigation coordinates by a few metres, which is not a lot in the vastness of space, but when aiming at a very small hole, within spitting distance of an explosion from an extremely nasty ballistic missile, it would be far enough to meet the missile head on, and easily fulfil March’s dread of being incinerated. Clikk looked up from his work for a moment, to notice March had changed into his jumpsuit and pixie slippers. At least now, if his calculations were a little wrong, March would not die, embarrassed.

  Clikk was finally satisfied, and secured the last laser lashing.

  ‘Ready then?’ he asked March, as he strode, although bent over due the lack of head room the shuttle offered, towards the pilot’s seat.

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Well, you know what to do. Strap yourself in next to me, and fit your helmet and visor securely. The flash will be a little bit brighter than on entry, so maybe get ready to close your eyes much tighter as well.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Not really, except it will be quite loud for a few seconds when we cross paths with the missile, as it detonates to open our exit route.’

  ‘Right,’ March said calmly, but inside he was screaming, ‘Ohhhhh noooooo! I’m going to die! I’m going to die!’

  Clikk made a few adjustments to his instrument panel, and checked his joystick. He looked across at March and gave him a reassuring Lacertilian smile, complete with a few licks of his lips with his red tongue. ‘Hold on, only four minutes to exit.’

  March could only manage a pathetically pessimistic nod, as he did at Clikk’s three minute, two minute and one minute warnings.

  ‘All right, hold on as tight as you can. Thirty seconds to exit.’

  March dug his fingernails into the armrests of his seat.

  ‘Fifteen…..ten…….five….’

  The explosion ripped through March’s protective helmet, crashing violently into his eardrums as a blinding flash of hot light, burnt through his visor, and eyelids. At the very same time a horrendous crunching, crashing type of hitting a brick wall at the speed of sound kind of feeling ripped and reverberated through his body.

  As suddenly as it had happened, everything turned dark and silent.

  ‘Are we dead?’ he asked.

  ‘No. We just missed the exit hole, and bounced off the force field, that’s all. We’ll try again in five minutes’ Clikk said, rather too calmly for March’s terror ridden, whole of body shaking violently, state.

  ‘Oh, and if we miss again?’ March said, in the most nonchalant voice he could manage, which more closely resembled screaming in panic, rather than anything remotely close to sounding nonchalant.

  ‘I usually manage it in less than four tries,’ Clikk said, without any sense of the out of the ordinary in his voice. ‘I’ll just make a few minor adjustments for the next attempt.’

  March didn’t at all like the two syllables in the word, attempt. He liked the whole word even less. Clikk started a new countdown at three minutes, and March readied his already broken fingernails for another panic filled grasping of his armrests. At Clikk’s thirty-second warning, March pushed his shiny golden pixie slippers as hard as he could against his footrests.

  Once again an explosion ripped through March’s protective helmet, thudding murderously into his eardrums, accompanied by a blaze of searing light that again penetrated his visor, and eyelids. The only difference this time was that there was a noticeable lack of crunching, crashing and seemingly hitting large immovable objects. The other subtle difference was that he believed he hadn’t broken any more fingernails, and that there was a massive and extremely ugly Hoog, looming large in front of the shuttle’s forward viewing ports.

  When it comes to brute ugliness, on a scale of one to ten, a Hoog destroyer ranks at around a factor of seventeen. Although massively, hugely big, and equipped with enough firepower to obliterate asteroids, moons and blast large chunks out of planets, its designers clearly had one other criteria in mind, which was to scare the living daylights out of anyone who happened to be unlucky enough to see one.

  With hundreds of nasty pointy bits protruding at grotesque angles from its superstructure, it is not easy to recognise that a Hoog is actually shaped somewhat like an egg, but with the sharp end lopped off to make room for its four enormous light thrusters. While Noorlac interceptors are very attractive and stylish in their blue and gold livery, and Glothic Cosmic Cruisers shimmer in luxurious silver, the Hoog is sort of blackish, brownish, darkish and altogether disagreeably gruesome.

  ‘We’re through?’

  ‘I told you I usually managed to exit in less than four tries. But two is my record … so far,’ Clikk said, in a very calm manner, which March noted, and understood that he had yet to learn how to apply to his own voice in the face of extreme danger. ‘Work in progress,’ he thought to himself, albeit with the benefit of being altogether out of danger, safe and very much alive.


  ‘The bumpy bit is over, so relax and take in the view,’ Clikk said, as he pulled off his helmet and sat back, and then stretched his arms and legs.

  ‘Don’t you need to land the shuttle?’

  ‘The controllers on the Hoog will manage our landing. It should be in landing bay five; over there on the very left of the Hoog.’

  ‘The one with the big number five painted on it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Clikk said, as he was far too Lacertilian, gentlemanly and polite to have said the obvious, ‘of course it is, you bloody idiot!’

  March had already lifted his visor, but was still struggling to get his helmet off, as Clikk checked an instrument or two. With a little tthhruupplop sound, March finally succeeded.

  ‘After we land, we need to wait for the bay to be secured and pressurised, and my orders are to then stay on board until the Gregorian Guards have boarded and taken possession of your cargo,’ Clikk said, and March nodded.

  The Gregorian Guard are the most elite military unit in the entire Twelve Sun Systems of Gloth. They are feared, fearless, focussed and faithful to their one and only sworn duty, which is to protect the Supreme Potentate with their lives. They are also unique in that they are the only Glothic fighting force that is not under the authority of Glothic High Command, which is in charge of anything and everything else that explodes, kills, destroys or renders useless, people, populations, planets or even a sun system or two, if they had the need to do so, that is.

  The Gregorian Guard answer directly, and only, to the Supreme Potentate, and have done so ever since the beginning of time. Well, as far back as anyone could remember anyway. Even the few rogue Supreme Potentates that dotted Glothic history, though they were rare, could always count on the undying loyalty of the Gregorian Guard. Well, until they were dead that is, and then the Gregorian Guard immediately moved their undying loyalty to the new, living, nicer Supreme Potentate.

  March was not keen on the Gregorian Guards, as they weren’t very friendly, never smiled and tended to have a look in their eyes that could be read as being ready to go insane and kill at a moment’s notice. He did quite like their military band though, which played on Royal Procession days, as it was the only military band on Gloth that included saxophones.