'What are we going to do with
the fang?'
'Keep it in your pocket and use
it as a worry ball, open tin cans with it and use it's secret
powers to murder the evil Hades when he attacks.'
Twiddling with Enzo in my
pocket, I almost say that I already have a worry ball but think
better of it; somethings are best kept secret.
'Might it not have secret
powers of evil?'
'It might but I'm sure your
secret powers of good are stronger!'
So we go
looking for the fang. I threw it in the sea in front of my cottage
but that was weeks ago. We launch
Olive
and peer over
the side using empty jam jars.
After an hour of fruitless
searching, Pollux says, 'Do you give up?'
'Are we warm?' I ask.
'No, miles away.'
'Okay, we give up.'
He fires a laser, way down the
other end of the beach. We stroll along then dig in the blackened
sand until we find the fang.
I don't want to touch it
at first. When I do, I imagine that it's sucking all the good out
of me. 'I'm going to turn into an evil witch and it’ll be all your
fault,' I say to Freud.
'When you do, can I ride on
your broomstick?' answers Freud.
'Only if you come and
visit my witch's lair,' I answer, hitting him, then add, 'Negrita
will make a great witch's cat.'
I stick the fang under my
belt like a dagger, and there it stays. I get quite attached to it;
I twiddle with it, I use it for weeding in the garden and for
killing fish, and when my hair grows long again, I pile it up in a
bun on top of my head and use the fang to hold it in
place.
Freud cooks up slimeball. It's
like toasted marshmallows, just a bit meatier and not so sweet.
Everyone else up here seems to adore it but it just doesn't do it
for me. It has the same appeal as eating slugs.
After a week Freud heads back
to Juno. It's been nice having him stay and the slimeballs aren't
as scary as they were a week ago.
My nightmares go and are
replaced by dreams of ponies, unicorns and princesses. It's all a
bit too nice, too mushy. I get suspicious because it's just not me.
I'm just not into all that sickly, gooey stuff. It makes me want to
throw up.
'Who's messing with my dreams?'
I demand.
'It's me,' says Castor
guiltily.
'Really Castor; unicorns
and princesses. What sort of girl do you think I am? Stop messing
with my dreams!'
Zeus arrives with some scones.
They're a bit chewy and the chocolate chips look a lot like
weevils. 'I baked them myself,' he says proudly.
I have mine with lashings of
butter and jam, spit out the weevils when he's not looking, then
wash it down with lots of milky tea.
'Thanks for sending Freud,' I
say. 'I'm sleeping much better now.'
'My pleasure,' he says. 'I'm
here to take you on patrol.'
'Patrol?'
'Yes, patrol. We're going
up in fighters.'
Zeus takes my
hand and clicks his fingers. We arrive in a hanger fill of little
space ships. Some are obviously fighters, festooned with canons and
missiles and parked in neat lines, others are simply clear bubbles
and cubes with nothing but a bean bag inside. I've been here
before;
we’re on Psyche, the
factory moon. There's lots of activity with zinodes repairing
damaged ships and loading missiles and ammunition. I have to cover
my ears as fighters taxi out through the massive outer doors and
shoot off into space.
Stopping beside a fighter, Zeus
says, 'Climb on in.'
'But don't we do training
first. On Earth, only the best of the best get to fly fighters and
go through years of intensive training before they get
airborne.'
'Not here,' replies Zeus. 'I'll
give you a leg up.'
I find myself sitting in a snug
cockpit. It's designed for Anodes so is a perfect fit for me, as
long as I don't grow too much more. Much to my surprise there's no
controls, just a blank screen, a stereo system and a coffee
machine.
Pishit.
The clear cockpit cover slides
into place.
'How would you like you
coffee?' asks the coffee machine politely.
'N
o thanks,' I say,
'I've just had a tea.'
'Well don't hesitate to ask if
you need something.'
I turn to Zeus, who has climbed
up and is pushing his face against the window.
'How do I fly it,' I ask.
'There's no controls.'
'It makes life a lot easier.
You think, it flies.'
Suddenly the fighter lurches
forward a couple of meters, knocking Zeus over.
'Great,' he says, picking
himself back up. 'You've got it.'
He climbs into the next
fighter and off we go. I'm a little jerky at first and knock over a
pile of missiles and clip the tail of another fighter while I'm
taxiing but get the hang of it in no time.
'What weapons do we have?' I
ask.
'Don't worry about that,' says
Zeus.
'But if we see a slimeball, how
do I fire my canons?'
'You don't like
slimeballs?'
'No not at all,' I reply.
'Good, well neither does the
fighter. It's an extension of you. It goes where you want it to go,
it attacks things you don't like.'
'Cool!'
We fly off into space, leaving
Psyche far behind.
The stereo, which has
been playing inane alien elevator music, suddenly puts on the Star
Wars theme tune.
'Star Wars, that's a bit tacky,
isn't it?'
'It's trying to figure you out,
give it a few minutes,' says Zeus.
He's flying along
parallel to me, just far enough away that I won't hit him when I do
something daft.
'Where are we going?' I
ask.
'Here,' says Zeus stopping
suddenly.
I back up a hundred klicks
until I'm upside-down above him. My stereo starts playing some
classical music. It's bright and cheerful like a spring day and
relaxing at the same time. I would never of picked it myself but
it's just perfect. I wonder if they'll notice if the stereo goes
missing.
'Why here?'
'Because-,'
The music suddenly
changes to loud rock & roll and my fighter lurches to the left,
firing its lasers into the darkness. There's an explosion and bits
of flaming slimeball spin past, bouncing off the fighter.
Slimeballs appear on all sides, travelling so quick that they're
just blue blurs. My fighter sets off in pursuit of one, getting
right up behind it before letting loose a photon torpedo, then
loops back and blasts another one. There's too many for us to pick
them all off.
'They're getting away!' I
shout.
'Don't worry,' says Zeus.
'We're just the first line of defence.'
We mosey on back to where we
started, and stop.
'As I started to say before,
we're waiting here because it's the e-zone, the entry zone for
incoming slimeballs aimed at our sector of the Asteroid Belt.
'Why do these fighters even
need a pilot?' I ask. 'I'm not doing anything. I'm hardly the best
of the best, caressing the controls to make it loop de loop.'
'That stuff is best left to
machines. The fighter needs your passion and emotions. They get to
know you after a while. It can be quite upsetting when a fighter
refuses to fly for you.'
'Has it happened to you?'
'Well yes, once or twice,' Zeus
admits, reluctantly. 'They'll like you, I know they will.'
The beat of the music
slows down and becomes Buddha-bar. The fighter must sense that I
need a bit of Zen. I nod off, then jerk awake to the rousing sound
of what Zeus tells me is Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. My stomach
feels like it's being pushed out my behind and my eyeballs head for
my ears as the fighter does it's best to turn me inside
out.
My fighter starts firing
its lasers even before Daisy's little asteroid, Panacea, comes into
sight. We swoop down and atomise a slimeball that's on the football
pitch heading for the crowd. Zeus, riding on my wingtip, picks off
another then we set up station above the asteroid and pick off
incoming slimeballs.
'It's that Renard again,'
says Zeus. 'He's standing in while Aeolia, Panacea's normal sentry
slug, is getting her moon upgraded. He's shirking round the back
claiming he's got winkles.'
My fighter shoots off to get
him, but Zeus calls me back, 'Control yourself girl. Stay on
station and protect the footballers.'
The game resumes down below and
I watch the two local teams playing their weekly match. Brazil
versus Dead Footballers, makes great viewing. I wish I could be
down there cheering for Brazil from the side-line. They've been
beaten four matches in a row. Zeus says that they're on top form
but with a spate of dead football stars in recent months the
opposition has got stronger.
After the match, Renard
reappears.
'All in order now, you can
go,'
No word of thanks or
anything.
Pratt!
Back out at the e-zone things
are quiet. We're half way through our third game of virtual
backgammon when...
Splat!
My fighter takes a massive blow
and everything turns blue.
'Ha, ha, ha,'
chortles Zeus.
'You got
splattered! We'll return to base and get you cleaned
up.'
Once
we’
re back on Psyche and my
fighter is in the cleaning bay, Zeus explains, 'The slimeball
materialised right where you were. You either need to shout the
clean-up team a round of beers or sing them a song. It's
tradition.'
I sing them a song. They beg
for mercy half way through and then pass the hat around and pay me
to stop. I thought my singing was okay but they suggest that I
spend the money on lessons. The cheek of it!
Zeus says he knows just the
person, one of Azziz's girlfriends, Janice someone. I've never
heard of her. She's probably from the fourteenth century.
4
The early
morning sun slices through the dust and smoke
and paints a golden rectangle on the opposite
wall. As the sun rises I watch the rectangle slowly move down and
make its way across the floor. As it passes the door it lights up a
letter. I jump out of bed and grab it, then snuggle back under my
duvet and inspect it. It's simply addressed to 'Emily'. Tearing it
open, I find a note,
Azziz's
cafe tee time toddy.
No prizes for spelling, it must
be written by Azziz.
I wonder what's going on. I
haven't been out for weeks, it's that quiet time of the year at the
tail end of winter when the whole world seems is slumbering,
waiting for spring to awaken it from hibernation. Maybe they're
having a party and need a barmaid or a waitress.
I can't decide what to wear, my
clothes are either too small or look too girly. I've grown so much
in the last year that clothes either don't fit or I don't like them
anymore. I'm a whole lot taller and I've got boobs.
The surf's up and waves wash
right to the top of the beach. At first I run ahead of the waves to
try and stay dry, but after a sneaky one catches me out, I splash
along and arrive at the cafe half soaked.
Jesus makes me a hot choccy and
I sit in front of the fire, my clothes steaming as they dry
out.
It's busy in the cafe, the
tables and sofas have been arranged on both sides and zinode
carpenters are just putting the finishing touches to a raised
boardwalk that runs down the middle from the stage. Loud speakers
whistle and hum, as a sound engineer and his assistants set up
their equipment, run wires and connect things up. Elegant girl
anodes are arranging masses of ferns and orchids that make the
stage look jungly. Little hummingbirds flit from flower to flower,
giving an occasional twitter. I throw a jug of water at Negrita
when she jumps up and catches one. That'll teach her.
Once I've warmed up, I ask,
'Azziz, can I help?'
'Yes, you can help me put this
up,' he says, unrolling a long banner. 'Grab that end.'
We hang the banner up behind
the stage and adjust it to get it straight. Once it's up, we stand
back to admire our handiwork.
1st Annual Camillo Fashion
Parade.
A fashion show,
Cool!
Maybe I can get some new
clothes.
As the afternoon draws to a
close the guests start arriving. Jesus and Azziz's friends give me
big hugs and kisses when they see me. They all want to hear about
the slimeball attack. I really like them. Maybe some of them will
come and visit me sometime. I should invite them.
A flying saucer lands and some
human models climb out, followed by an elegant woman with a long
dress and pearls, like something out of the movies. By the looks of
the models, they all died of skinniness. I say hi to the models but
there's nobody home. They have that same vacant look as the ones
you see on tele. Maybe I'm just not cool enough for them to talk
to. The woman looks me in the eye and gives a cold smile.
As the sun is setting, torches
that line either side of the boardwalk are lit and, after a
respectful moment's silence as the rim of the sun vanishes behind
the hills, a clash of cymbals kicks the show off.
I make myself comfy in my
favourite sofa, sitting between a couple of girls I met here at
Christmas a couple of years ago.