The mind was within its box, perched besides him, buzzing fearfully, frightened of electrocution.
‘Don’t pull so hard on the cable now, Sire,’ the million nano-bots said. ‘If our box were to fall into your tub, the results would be catastrophic.’
‘You would blow up.’
‘And you would be electrocuted.’
He continued his song but with less vigour now, the hive-mind having disturbed his good mood.
After some exaggerated movements with the loafer, so as to confuse the hive-mind into thinking he might snag the throat cable, he rose with a sigh from the tub and rubbed down the small Imperial Personage with the small Imperial Towel he had left on the floor earlier. When he was dried, he pulled on his purple stockings, the Imperial Codpiece modelled for a conch shell that hid a winkle, the long robes of green and gold - the vain trappings of State, as they seemed to him now, in his forty-eighth year - mere baubles and rags.
His mind, or at least the part of it that he controlled, returned with displeasure to the serious matters of State.
‘What have we done with that McFadden creature?’ he said at last. The thing had been bothering him. He was so excited that someone else had got a message from God, a confirmation of his sanity as it were, and then, when the McFadden creature hadn’t talked, it was so disappointing.
‘He is in the Prison Whale.’
‘Is he talking?’
‘Only to the cow.’
‘There’s a cow?’
‘The Prison Whale insisted on consuming a cow as a complement to the main course. We had to comply. The Whale has such a sensitive digestion and is so gigantic. We didn’t want it to break from its moorings.’
‘I did so want to hear what God had told the McFadden creature.’
‘Yes, I did too. We all did. Always good to hear from God. And the burn on the McFadden creature resembles exactly the mark that is mentioned in the Ancient Texts, Sire.’
‘So he could be the one?’
‘It is best not to take chances. If word were to get out, it might cause us problems.’
‘We must kill him then. But torture him first. Make him talk. Do you think a Prison Whale is really up to the task? They’re such dreadfully slow-witted creatures.’
‘You yourself commanded he be eaten, Sire.’
‘I did? Well, I’ve changed my mind.’
‘To what, Sire?’
‘Quite like to torture him myself,’ said the Emperor, floating the suggestion quietly, and it hung in the air for a little while as though it were contained in a soap bubble blown from his mouth, until the hive-mind got a grip and said, ‘But how would we get him out alive, Sire? Nobody has ever been removed from a Prison Whale alive before.’
‘Let’s ask the Whale for a favour,’ said the Emperor.
***
Chapter Five
‘I’m not going anywhere without the cow,’ said Cormack.
‘You know this is not going to be very pleasant for me either,’ said the Prison Whale. ‘I am almost certain to die from a gastric rupture with you half way down my lower intestine. But orders from the Emperor are one thing, and orders from my organization quite another. And I have confirming orders from my organisation.’
‘The cow cannot stay here. If I have to go, she is coming with me.’
‘Why, thankee,’ said the cow. ‘We have only met for such a short time, and you does be so pleasant and warm toward me, innit.’
‘I have come to think of you as a friend,’ said Cormack. ‘In spite of your udders, and your stupidity, and the other differences between us. I will not leave without you.’
‘Why, thankee,’ said the cow again. ‘You does be so pleasant and warm toward me, innit.’
She started rubbing her pale, bony flank against Cormack’s leg.
‘You know, one does one’s level best as a prison whale,’ said the Prison Whale, his voice as loud as ever but now with a tremulous overtone. ‘One ingests and digests, and really one is doing an awful lot of the Zargons’ dirty work for them, and one tries to maintain a positive mental attitude throughout the whole disgusting business, keep the whole act going, you know: the barking out of the commands, the military bearing, the contempt for the clientele. One tries to do it all with a very real conviction, and it really can be a lot to ask, to act in that dignified manner, whilst performing the whole messy, confused and painful process of the actual administration of justice, far removed from your lawyering and your soliciting and your judging; and in spite of it all, being a prison whale can be a rewarding life…and to die like this, like a goat who’s swallowed knicker elastic – damned undignified! A rotten end to a distinguished career!
‘However, orders is orders.
‘I will erupt you, and your friend, the cow, through my lower intestine, explode you from my backside, and suffer the consequences.
‘May God spare your insufferable little lives and may He have mercy on my poor, benighted soul.’
And so saying, the Prison Whale distended its stomach in one almighty flatulation, and Cormack fell to the floor and felt himself being slimed from above and below and the side as well, and there was an roar as though a jetliner were passing close to the side of his head, and then, thankfully, all went black until he woke up on the floor of a vast ice-lake in the Sumerian district of the state of Palanka, Zargon 8, and saw his friend the cow standing strong amidst the ruptured entrails of the dying Prison Whale, which had been dragged onto the ice from its berth in the sea and was howling and moaning and writhing in its agony.
***
‘Don’t come at me with no straw,’ said the cow angrily.
‘Leave the cow!’ said the largest and closest of the eight Zargonic Guards. ‘In fact, where the hell did the cow come from? It’s him we want,’ he said, pointing at Cormack.
Cormack was flat on the ice.
The Prison Whale was still in its death throes, thrashing about on its side and spilling a vast pool of blood all around Cormack and the cow, making it hard for the Zargons to get close.
‘Don’t you worry,’ said the cow to Cormack. ‘See there!’ She was pointing to a point on the horizon where Cormack could make out nothing except small twiggy trees that formed a spiky halo around a pool of water. ‘Pantheistic Syllogists!’
Cormack looked closely and thought he could make out a single cow.
‘Get back from the cow!’ said the leader of the Zargonic Guard.
‘Have no truck with the cow!’ said Cormack angrily.
‘We have orders to take you to our Emperor.’
‘I will come quietly. With my friend the cow.’
‘I say,’ said the cow. ‘You does be so kind to me. I really does appreciate it.’
The Guard approached the pair of them, but backed away a little when he caught a whiff of the stench that surrounded them.
‘Guards!’ he shouted to a group of men around him. ‘Arrest the prisoners!’
The Guards made to go forward, but as they did there came an almighty trembling and a rushing of wind, and it was as though the horizon had blurred and shattered and become a wave, rolling out across the splintered ice.
‘The final flatulation of the Prison Whale!’ shouted Cormack to the cow. ‘It’s now or never! Come on, cow!’
Cormack jumped on the cow’s back and pumped her thighs with his ankles.
‘Well, well I never!’ said the cow. ‘Never in all my years!’
‘Move cow!’ said Cormack.
‘Well, I never…’ repeated the cow, still not moving.
‘Let us get out of here!’ shouted Cormack
‘Not so hard with the ankles,’ said the cow.
The Captain of the Zargonic Guard sucked in icy breaths and watched the performance for a while: the boy on the cow; the cow standing still and transfixed in a kind of ecstasy; the boy kicking the cow; the cow cooing soft moos; the boy beating the cow in frustration; the cow panting hard. And when he could bear it no longer, he reache
d for Cormack, handcuffed him, and led him into the small spacecraft that was prepared for them.
***
Chapter Six
They didn’t bother restraining Cormack in the spaceship, there being little he could do by way of escape, but the cow they were more wary of. The Guards had identified her as something malevolent, and, much to her protestations, they confined her in a section of the hold right at the back, near the escape hatch. Cormack had been given special treatment and was dressed in a grey jumpsuit and given boots to wear. He sat towards the front of the main bridge, in a huge commander-style chair, tempted to bark orders and play with the consoles.
The Captain of the Guard sat opposite on a similar chair.
His name was Proton, and, shed of his enormous rubberized armour, he was surprisingly affable. He sat with his legs lifted on the console, a glass in his hand, wiggling it so that the ice made a merry chink.
He was a Zargon, which is to say a human, perhaps forty years old, with close-cropped brown hair, flecked with grey, and a small military-style moustache. His eyes were distant and glazed, focused on something far behind Cormack's head.
‘Care for a drink?’ he said. ‘Cormack, isn't it? Mind if I call you, Cormack?’
Cormack said he didn’t, and he wouldn’t mind a water, which Proton ordered from the galley.
‘Only water? Nothing stronger? Shouldn't really myself, of course, especially not on duty.’ He had a pleasant tone to his voice, Cormack thought. Confidential. A bedside manner.
‘Hell of a day though,’ he continued. ‘Needed a little snifter. You know, sometimes you've got to bend the rules to suit the occasion. Are you sure you're OK, though? Expect you really want one too. It's quite all right. Would appreciate the company.’
‘No, no. I'm fine,’ said Cormack.
‘Glenrushen. Save it for the special occasions,’ said Proton.
Cormack was not much acquainted with Glenrushen but he could see it had a raw, lubricant quality, like engine oil, and sloshed around Proton's glass viscously.
‘A sort of flamboyant bouquet infused with rose petals and chilly oakenness, redolent of gloomy lochs. Really rather delicate, unexpectedly, given its chilly provenance. Gives a sort of fructosal tickle on the tongue. You wouldn't imagine a blend capable of such subtlety. Taste like that's lost on a lot of people, Cormack. The non-connoisseurs. I should think most of them round here fall into that category,’ he said sadly, looking about the flight deck.
Then he looked back at Cormack and a friendly smile formed around his slightly opened mouth.
‘You look like a chap that knows his whisky though,’ he said.
‘I do?’ said Cormack. He was flattered by the suggestion.
‘Yes. Read a lot too I expect?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Cormack.
‘Went to university?’
‘Not yet, but I want to,’ he said, and there was a silence, which Cormack took to mean that Proton wanted him to volunteer more information so he added, ‘Probably York,’ quietly because he was ashamed.
‘That's a good one, I suppose,’ continued Proton unfazed. ‘Liked to have gone to university myself - any university - but didn't get the chance. Never really had the opportunities that a chap like you would have had. I come from a small mining town in the low valleys outside Manima in the Guerdan Province. My mother's family - proud but poor. But it's not stopped me, Cormack. I'm a natural auto-didact.’
‘Really?’
‘A quick study with a love of the ancients. I could quote you whole passages of the Ancient Texts. I could regale you with many an antique tale of bucolic sharecroppers. Stuff I've found in those books, I don’t think many scholars would have come across. My background might not be the most privileged but it's not stopped me from getting ahead.’
Proton leaned back some more in his chair.
‘See, the Guard is just a means to an end, Cormack. Don't let the rubberization and the laser guns and the executions and everything lead you astray. It's not really me at all. I tend to live for the weekends. The kind of people you have to rub up against in the Guard, you have to put on a bit of a show. A chap like you would understand. Wouldn't you?’
‘I suppose, Captain. Should I call you Captain?’
‘No, no, no. Proton's the name. Call me Proton. I'd like you to hang around a bit up front. We can talk some more. Don't get much chance to talk up here.’
Proton mouthed the word, ‘Riff-raff.’
Cormack looked about him at the crew on the flight desk - four men and three women wearing tidy bodysuits, efficiently drumming at consoles, reviewing hieroglyphics flying across computer screens, twiddling knobs. He sensed they were listening surreptitiously and busying themselves unnecessarily.
‘Keep the cow in the hold though,’ continued Proton. ‘She'll be better off back there. We'll take good care of her for you. Into politics, Cormack? Article I was reading on the uniSwarm last night on proportional representation. Couldn't really get the gist of it but maybe you have an opinion? After you get some rest perhaps. Anyway, don't let me prattle on like this too long. Heard you had a bit of an adventure…’ Proton raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes excitedly. ‘Met the Big Chap - that's what it said on the communiqué.’
He sipped a little more from his glass.
‘Course it wasn’t really Him, was it? It was His avatar, him being in the sixth fold and you in the seventh, but I suppose it amounts to the same thing. Did He seem friendly though? You know, we all have this impression of the Supreme Being, the Creator of the Universe, as being a bit intimidating but I bet He’s not when you get to know Him, is He?’
Proton leaned towards Cormack.
‘I heard He touched you,’ he said. ‘Can I see?’
‘What do you want to see?’
‘Your burnt nipple.’
‘My what?’
‘Consider it a Zargonic affectation. See, we have these Ancient Texts that mention…’ he started but didn’t finish because Cormack had opened his shirt to expose the burn that he had got from the cocoa.
‘Oh yes!’ said Proton. ‘Very, very good. In just the right spot.’
He turned to the navigator, a tall, elegant looking woman with a huge bouffant head of hair who looked back at Proton with undisguised disdain.
‘See, Pranzi,’ said Proton, ‘We’re good to go!’
He gave her the thumbs up and a big grin.
‘Ummm, how long is it until we get to the Palace?’ Cormack asked.
‘Palace? What Palace, Cormack?’
‘The Palace of the Emperor,’ said Cormack.
‘We’re not taking you to the Palace, Cormack,’ said Proton.
‘You’re not?’ said Cormack. ‘I thought that’s what you said when you captured me outside the Prison Whale. I thought you had orders to take me to the Emperor.’
‘I do. But I’m ignoring them. I’ve requisitioned the ship and I’m taking you to Foul Ball.’
‘Foul Ball? What is Foul Ball?’
‘Cormack, my boy,’ said Proton. ‘You are going to love Foul Ball.’
***
‘The whole situation is very worrying,’ said the Emperor to the hive-mind.
‘Indeed it is, Sire,’ replied the hive-mind.
‘I thought the Praetorian Guards were beyond reproach.’
‘They must be executed for their treason.’
‘Where have they taken the McFadden creature?’
‘They are moving through the Dertigon Nebula towards the Asigate Star System.’
‘They are perhaps headed for Foul Ball, then?’
‘It is too early to say, Sire.’
‘We must stop them.’
‘Of course. We are sending the battle-cruiser. We will intercept them in the next twenty-four hours and attempt to recapture the McFadden creature alive. But if it is not possible, I have issued instructions that their transporter ship be destroyed.’
‘Good. We must take no chances, hiv
e-mind.’
***
Chapter Seven
Proton had the Emperor's battle-cruiser on the ship’s scanner. It would catch them in twenty minutes unless they did something.
‘Pranzi, you have the model?’ he asked the navigator.
‘Yes, Captain.’
‘Perhaps I could take a look at it.’
Pranzilla spoke perfunctorily into a microphone on the console in front of her – ‘Captain, wants to see the model.’
Through the sliding doors came another Guard, bearing in his huge arms what looked like a toy spaceship, all airfixed and globbed with glue. Cormack looked at it carefully and thought it was wonderful, enormously elaborate detailing. In fact, although he couldn’t be sure because he didn’t get much of a look when they were taking him inside, it could well be an exact replica of the transporter ship they were presently in.
‘Excellent,’ said Proton. ‘It’s really very good, isn’t it, Cormack? Beautiful work around the undercarriage. Very fine craftsmanship. We could probably hang it out now.’
‘Captain says deploy the decoy,’ said Pranzilla.
A great show was made as the model was surrounded by a squad of five Guards. The most important of these had a clipboard, and he ran his finger down it, barking out orders, whilst the other four ministered to the toy, inspecting it according to his instructions. When they were each satisfied, they called out in turn, a crisp ‘Check!’
Eventually it was deemed fit to proceed, and a long fibrous thread was attached to its prow. Then it was carried out of the cockpit towards the hold, where the cow, shivering and frightened, saw it into the escape hatch with a ‘Coo!’
The senior Guard returned after five minutes and confirmed to Proton that the decoy had been successfully deployed.
‘Good,’ said Proton. ‘Let’s take a look on our screen.’
‘Bringing it up now, Captain,’ said Pranzilla.
The large black screen to the front of the cockpit flickered into life and Cormack could see a fuzzy image that might have been the front of the ship, pictured from a camera on its top.