The three other locals removed the shackles and seized Elwood by his arms.
"Jiwomba dee osoo en bikuko gem chop!"
"Take the reptilian...and chop off her head?"
Rodeena swallowed her own words. One local held Elwood back as the other two released her arms and took her down.
"I'm sorry about muting your speech, Elwood. Save yourself. Get back to the ship and get off this planet."
"No! I'm not leaving without her!"
Elwood's protests gradually dimmed to silence as the third eye reactivated and dulled the volume of his speech to a minimum The volume in his voice returned once Rodeena was taken away.
**** **** **** ****
Elwood could not believe his earphones. The automatic voice to text translation phenomenon, ancient and primitive in design yet flawlessly effective in his current predicament, sent a wave of irritation through his joints.
"Run the previous paragraph by me again," he said, looking the local leader up and down.
"As we tracked your ship, we used our transparency beam to inspect the contents. We found a special item hidden in the cargo hold that is precious to us, even more valuable than your market worth as a treasured Earth northern slave, and even more precious than your skilful reptilian companion."
"What is this so-called special item?"
"Zolgahoik beer. It is more precious here than oil. As we operate a gift-exchange based economy rather than the typical galactic monetary model, we would appreciate if you bring us a bottle of this and not tell any other planet of our existence in exchange for the repair of your ship and the sparing of your lives. I believe this is a fair swap."
"Where is Rodeena right now?"
"She is being used as leverage."
"In what way?"
"She has a long tail that can reach higher shelves."
"I see. So I steal this beer, keep your existence a secret, then you repair our ship and we are free to go?"
The local leader placed a tiny critter called a monkle - fleshy and hairy in nature, jumpy and flexible, on Elwood's shoulder. It crawled all over his body, giggling and gargling.
"This creature is a tracking device. If you try to flee, we will know instantly. If you break the deal, not only will your reptilian companion die, but we will fire a warhead at your captain and his effeminate assistant's location. You have twenty four hours."
"Huh. I only need twenty three and a half."
"All right. How about eighteen hours?"
"Sixteen."
"Ten."
"Nine."
"Four."
"Three hours."
"You have one hour."
"Ok. I really do need about nine hours."
"Nine it is. Don't be late, Earth northern slave."
**** **** **** ****
Elwood ran as quickly as his underdeveloped hairy Viking Yorkshire legs could carry him. An evolutionary flaw in the great plan, his legs were more designed for bog swimming through gigantic wells filled with gravy inside the giant Yorkshire puddings that covered the moors, than for full-on rapid coverage of multiple terrains over short periods of time. Despite this, he leapt and skirmished as the flora tried to kiss him and the insects tried to urinate on or reproduce with him in a demented fulfilment of their sexual fantasy. Escaping the spray of sperm colonies and bladder waste, Elwood heard the sound of a ship's engine starting up and recognised it to be the same one that flew overhead before he fell into the tunnel. He raced into the woods to seek it out.
The birds and insects were silenced over the humming and reverberation that terrified and cleared an area of wildlife. Elwood felt the trees and sensed the buzz of engine vibrating the life out of the endangered wood. Home suddenly seemed far away, even further than where it was at the opposite end of the galaxy. Clearing bush branches from his clothing, he saw a ship blackened, burned, semi dissolved by fire and in desperate need of repair. It could have been the ugly twin sister of The Chromium Bullet. Elwood sneaked up to its elongated front leg that held the cockpit aloft. He peeked around the obstacle to see Wingclipper and a dishevelled spaceman in a military uniform drinking a beer and cursing loudly.
"This...this isn't Zulgahoik!" said the uniform torn madman. "This is fake. Zulgahoik tastes like little urinated pellets of gold with apple segments. This is watered down cheap beer with detergent! How dare you try and swindle me again, Chicken Wing!"
The spaceman drew his pistol and with instinct Elwood ran forward and used all the might in his scrawny legs to pounce onto the assailant, wrestling with him and causing the bottle of beer to fly. Wingclipper expertly flew and caught the stray bottle, replacing the cap and managing not to spill a drop.
"Get him, get him!" Wingclipper bravely yelled at Elwood from a distance.
"Don't just stand there," said Elwood between breaths as the madman tried to bite down on his arm. "Do someth - aaaggh!"
A shot rang out and both men slumped to the ground. Wingclipper ran over to inspect the scene. Elwood stared upwards then kicked Wingclipper hard in the shin, forcing him to leap around the grass like a constipated grasshopper. A portion of the madman's head emitted smoke and it was clear that his brain had been fried. Elwood dropped the pistol in disgust.
"I didn't mean to," he said. "He bit my arm so hard my first reaction was to press the trigger. I couldn't have gone for any other option. It was the sensible thing to do, given the scenario, given I was trying to protect you from -"
"It's all right," said Wingclipper. "In cases like this, the military leaves the pistol in the assailant's hand. See? Like this. Now it looks like accidental death. But when you place the bottle of beer in his other hand, like this, you have suicide. Choose one."
Elwood took the beer and zipped it inside his rucksack. "You're sick," he said. "I don't have time to explain, but we need to go somewhere."
As soon as BX-7 walked down the ship's ramp dressed in an apron and carrying a tea set, they peddled their human legs into the thicket.
**** **** **** ****
The Chromium Bullet weaved like the first point of realising you are driving on the wrong side of the road, or when too much alcohol has entered the bloodstream, smacking down a row of trees as it tilted towards its target. To aid the ship in stabilising and landing safely, the locals unleashed a tractor beam connected to an attractor tractor out in a field, highlighting the ship and helping it descend on to a prepared landing platform.
Elwood and 234 approached the locals and soon their leader and Rodeena appeared from a hangar. There was a colossal crashing noise and everybody turned to see Wingclipper roll down the ramp, hoist himself upright, stagger and hiccup. Before he could wave a greeting, a case of homemade Zulgahoik detergent beer rolled into him like a ten pin bowling alley and he became a spare. The leader checked his watch and muttered, "Eee jowak the faaa pappap. Ru nanush yuk i gi gigino Zulgahoik bob en fet tetihahua no sinko."
"Eight hours. So you stuck to your word," translated Rodeena. "Hand over the Zulgahoik bottle and we will release Princess Scaly."
Wingclipper stumbled into Elwood who immediately wrapped an arm around him for support. The leader's face remained neutral as the notorious captain offered him an already opened bottle. Wingclipper accidentally dribbled some beer on the leader's glove, and realising what he had done, started to giggle uncontrollably. Rodeena covered her eyes and sighed.
"I'm sorry," said Elwood. "It is a custom on my planet to wash the hands of a superior with warm beer and then to begin negotiations as a warbling inebriated twatnoid."
Rodeena translated his words and narrated the reply.
"I will not interpret this as disrespect, Earth northern slave. My men will get to work fixing the tampon vessel. Of course, you don't mind waiting?"
"No."
"Good. We will return with your repaired ship in four years."
"What?"
The locals almost collapsed with laughter.
"It's an old joke. Four of our years is like
four of your regular minutes. Give us a few centuries and we'll be back in a millennium."
**** **** **** ****
As with most mechanics in the galaxy, the Chromium Bullet's repair was put off for more than a day as the locals ventured off on an extended lunch break. When they returned, they replaced a few components in the engine, tweaked a few switches, gauges and settings, damaged the bodywork then prodded Wingclipper awake after approximately four minutes of hard graft.
"It's finished," said Rodeena as Wingclipper trembled in his hung over state. "Come and take a look."
The crew went outside and saw the Chromium Bullet standing pristine in its new, improved splendour.
"Not sure if I'm still drunk, but I can't see the difference," said Wingclipper.
The locals grunted and allowed 234 to walk close to the ship, making a thorough scan and assessment with his molecular vision software.
"Oh, I see it, I see it!" 234 said, jumping up and down with pure glee and clasped fingers. "There was an indent on the hull about five millimetres in diameter and it has been filled with liquid metal. I say, what a wonderful job and such meticulous attention to detail. Can you use the same method on my nails?"
The leader placed a long arm around Elwood and spoke at great length while Rodeena interpreted:
"Thank you Earth northern slave. You have singlehandedly assured the future survival of our species. With eternal grateful thanks, we will always remember your valiant efforts until we reach old age. Having made a thorough inspection of your ship, we found the following abnormalities: your ship's engine has a 20 per cent chance of suffering failure and your ship's wings have a 35 per cent chance of falling off. We wish you farewell and a safe, pleasant journey."
"So the probabilities are back to normal," cheered Wingclipper as they ascended the ramp and bid the locals farewell. They took off, finding Bink in a green field painting a watercolour of the spectacular imagery, only to have it fired into cinders with the ship's cannon and for Bink to return onboard dejected and browbeaten. Unfortunately for the artistic little round droid, no depictions of the planet and its locals were allowed following the secrecy agreement accepted by Elwood.
**** **** **** ****
Wingclipper and 234 sat at the controls and slowed the ship to navigate through a minefield of small asteroids. Wingclipper flicked on the enhanced display so that obscure rock would appear luminescent on screen, and with the aid of Elwood, they flipped and turned as the rock rained towards the ship.
"I'm just curious about something," said Elwood. "It's wonderful to have helped an alien race survive by providing them with the necessary tools to ensure their future, and as a Brit I feel proud to be preserving a race rather than eradicating one. But there's something else. I didn't want to say it during the moment and ruin the praise we were receiving for our heroics."
"My heroics," said Wingclipper. "Please continue."
"Well...when the crate bowled you over, I couldn't help but hear a faint ticking noise afterwards, as if an item inside the crate had been activated."
"Ah, of course!"
They turned to the excited 234.
"It's a safety mechanism. You see, I wanted to make sure a deterrent was in place in case the fake Zulgahoik was stolen. Violent rattling or a sudden cracking of the crate would cause a timed explosive to detonate shortly afterwards."
It was too late for them to turn back.
**** **** **** ****
As the leader and the locals celebrated the courageous adventure of Elwood Makepeace in bringing them a long awaited and much needed supply of Zulgahoik beer, they revelled in delightful thanks of the crate before them.
"Wonkidonkwank! (Cheers!)" shouted the leader.
"Wonkidonkwank!" they all agreed.
But in a millisecond their voices were silenced by a huge explosion of detergent and weak watered down beer. The taste on their lips was bitter sweet. They had been fooled, and in a flash of soapy horror, the Chromium Bullet and its crew suddenly became their race's biggest enemy. They swore to take out their vengeance sometime over the next century, millennium or perhaps million years. But first, lunch.
**** **** **** ****
Written by Richard C. Parr
* * * * *
About the Author
Richard C. Parr was born in 1986 in England and lives in Nottingham. He has travelled to 20 countries and runs a blog at HumanEmbodiment.com.
Contact Me
Email:
[email protected] Twitter: @HumanEmbodiment
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