How To Save The World: An Alien Comedy (42 page)

Azleev gave one more knock on Jixyl’s door, again without answer, and was just about to give up when he had a stroke of luck.  At that moment the toilet seat fell towards the down position, striking Jixyl on the head, who let out a loud ‘ow!’

Azleev’s eyes lit up.  “Jixyl?  Is that you?  Are you in there?” he screamed, this time twice as loud as he had previously shouted.

Jixyl heard him this time, but was in no fit state to deal with visitors and so he decided to just keep quiet and hope Azleev would go away.  He also decided to clutch his head in his hands to try to make the pain from the toilet seat incident go away.  It didn’t work.  Instead the toilet seat pain just sort of mingled with his hangover pain and merged into one big massive pain that was greater than the sum of its parts.

His ‘keep quiet and hope he’ll go away’ strategy, however, also proved as unsuccessful as his ‘clutch his head to make the pain go away’ strategy, because Azleev banged on the door once again.  “Jixyl, man!  Open the door, you spoon!” he demanded.  “If you don’t open the door I’ll break it down,” and to prove that he wa
s serious Azleev flung himself against the door.  The frame and hinges soaked up the force quite easily but it made a suitably loud bang which proved it was a serious threat and jolted Jixyl into action.  He opened the door to his friend then slumped back against the wall and rested his head in his hands once again.

“Hey, you look rough,” Azleev observed.

Jixyl just groaned.

Azleev wasted no further time and got straight to the point.  “That Supermail message you sent to Stymer … you also sent it to Monty.”

The information seemed to swim around inside Jixyl’s brain for a few seconds, until suddenly his eyes sprang open.  “What?” he asked, looking particularly shocked.

“You also sent it to Monty,” Azleev repeated.

“How do you know that?” Jixyl questioned.

“Cos luckily you also sent it to me,” Azleev revealed.

“Fuck!!!” Jixyl exclaimed.  Actually, the actual Fyraling profanity that he actually exclaimed was about six times stronger than the word ‘fuck,’ but since no equivalent word exists in English, ‘fuck’ is the word that any English person who was listening on G.O.T. would have heard.

“Yes, ‘fuck’ indeed,” Azleev agreed.  “So I’m afraid there’s no time for you to sit around feeling sorry for yourself.  You need to log into your A.T.S. account straight away and recall the message.”

“So he hasn’t read it yet?” Jixyl inquired, hopefully.

“I can’t be one hundred percent certain, but no, it doesn’t appear that he’s read it yet,” Azleev replied.

Jixyl suddenly found some energy from somewhere and jumped up and ran to his computer.  Working on the theory that ‘the less people that know, the better’ they decided it was best to attempt to recall all twenty of the unintentionally sent Supermail messages.  Eighteen were showing as unread and therefore recalled without any problems, but two of the messages were marked as read and therefore couldn’t be recalled.

“Phewf!” Jixyl exclaimed, as he scanned the list of recalled messages and discovered that Monty’s A.T.S. account no longer contained plan-threatening revelations.  “He hasn’t read it.”

“He
probably
hasn’t read it,” Azleev corrected.  “That’s how it appears but we can’t be completely certain that he hasn’t totally covered his tracks.”

“So are you saying you reckon we should silence him?” Jixyl asked.  “Like, just to be on the safe side.”

“We can’t do that,” Azleev remarked.  “Eric would get suspicious if Monty stopped messaging him.”

“What about after the mission, then?” Jixyl suggested.

“Maybe,” Azleev replied.  “It shouldn’t really be a problem then though, cos the Femlings will already be dead.  I was mainly just concerned about Monty warning Eric about the contents of the message, more than anything which might happen after the mission.”

“I just meant to make absolutely sure that no-one can trace the Telix-17 virus back to us,” Jixyl explained.

“Well Earth is a non-contact planet in any case so I can’t see us getting caught,” Azleev commented, “but there’s no harm, I suppose … although depending on what course of action we decide to pursue once Fem is taken care of, Monty’s silence might not be an issue in any case.”

“True,” Jixyl agreed.

“Anyway, what about the two messages you couldn’t recall?” Azleev quizzed.  “Are those two blokes gonna be a problem?”

“Nar, they’re sound,” Jixyl
declared.  “Ando Wirex has been a member of the Underground Anti-Fem League for years now, and I don’t know Flon Savion that well but I’m pretty sure he’s a member as well.  So they’ll have been as pleased as we were when they discovered what’s going on.”

“You still better tell them to make sure it goes no further, though,” Azleev counselled.  “The less people that know, the less chance of anyone accidentally letting anything slip.”

“Trust uz.  They’re totally sound,” Jixyl reassured him.

“Yeah, well just make sure they don’t get drunk one night and send out a load of random Supermail messages,” Azleev jibed, having a sly dig at his friend.

Jixyl looked suitably guilty and apologetic, then placed his head in his hands and thanked his lucky stars that he only had a scale ten hangover to deal with, and not the failure of the mission.

. . . . . . .

Eric was the last to arrive at the agreed meeting point on the steps at The Hang Out Club.

“Another new t-shirt,” Kesta observed.  “How many t-shirts have you actually got?”  This was more an acknowledgement that Eric seemed to have worn three different t-shirts every day since they had met him, rather than an actual question, but Eric answered it anyway.

“Twenty three,” Eric revealed.

“Twenty three!” Kesta
exclaimed.  “Eh!  What do you need twenty three t-shirts for when you’re on holiday?”

“Fashion isn’t about necessity,” Eric explained.  “Fashion is about indulgence.”

“Is that a quote off one of your t-shirts?” Hex asked.

“Nar … but it mebbees should be, though,” Eric replied.  “It could be the basis of a pretty cool t-shirt.  Mebbees it would involve a canny few colours to fit in with the indulgence theme … but, like, dull colours.  Not bright colours.”

“Why not bright colours, like?” Kesta inquired.

“Cos then it would look a bit gay,” Eric opined.

“I thought you said gayness was about bumming dudes,” Kesta reminded Eric, “not about fashion.”

“Well, aye,” Eric admitted, “but you can still have clothes that look a bit gay, like.”

“Like what?” Kesta quizzed.

“Well, say … a blue and white polo shirt, with khaki shorts,” Eric joked.  This was the exact outfit Kesta was wearing.  “I’d imagine an outfit like that would look extremely gay, like.”  He then pretended to peruse the club before exaggeratedly noticing that Kesta was wearing the exact same outfit he had just described.  “Ee … sorry!” he exclaimed, in a mock comedy fashion.  “I hadn’t noticed!”

“Cheeky git,” Kesta grunted.  “But she’s not here if that’s why you were looking around the club.”

“Huh?” Eric shrugged, pretending not to know who Kesta was on about, but in reality Kesta had got it spot on.  Eric’s exaggerated perusal of the club was actually an attempt to conceal his search for Sveltish Indie Chick beneath a joke at Kesta’s expense.

“Sveltish Indie Chick.  She’s not here,” Kesta clarified.  Not that any clarification was needed.

“Ar … right.  To be honest I hadn’t really thought about her,” Eric replied.  Like virtually all sentences containing the phrase ‘to be honest,’ this was a blatant lie.
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“Yeah, right,” Kesta smirked.

Eric just chuckled, before replying, “Actually, I’m sort of pleased that she’s not out tonight.”

“Yeah, course you are,” Kesta replied, disbelievingly.

“Nar, honestly,” Eric insisted.  “Cos if she
was
out then I would definitely bottle it, and then I’d be, like, totally annoyed at myself for being a complete feebloid.  But cos she’s not out that’s okay cos it means circumstances are to blame for nothing happening – not my feebleness – and I can handle circumstances being to blame easier than I can handle my feebleness being to blame.”

“Is Nine Out Of Ten out?
” Hex inquired.  He was eager to put a face to a name.

“Huh?  Ar … I haven’t really noticed, to be honest,” Kesta lied.

“She’s not,” Eric stated, before adding, “I’m just gonna get a drink.”

“Are you on the water again?” Kesta asked.  “Or is that a stupid question?”

“Nar, I think I might go crazy and treat myself to a lemange
[80]
juice tonight,” Eric revealed.

“Woah!  Are you sure that’s wise?” Kesta joked.  “You don’t want to go
too
wild.”

Eric grinned and headed off to the bar.

“Hey, we definitely need to spike Eric tonight, like,” Kesta suggested to Hex.

“Here, Kesta.  You can’t go round spiking people,” Hex
admonished.  “That’s totally out of order.”

“Aye, but it’s for his own good,” Kesta argued.  “He
totally wants to score and it’s never gonna happen if he stays sober.”

“He’d notice the taste anyway,” Hex pointed out.

“Not if I gave him saiju
[81]
,” Kesta reasoned.  “That’s pretty tasteless.  And especially if I mixed it with an energy drink.  All he’d taste is the energy drink.”

“Look, if Eric doesn’t want to drink then that’s his choice,” Hex asserted.

“Aye, you’re right … I suppose,” Kesta begrudgingly accepted.

His reply didn’t contain the phrase ‘to be honest,’ but if it had
of done it would have provided a more accurate clue as to the sincerity of Kesta’s response.

. . . . . . .

Flon Savion lay on his bed and contemplated what he had just learnt.

Eight billion Femlings were going to die.

In fact … eight billion Femlings were going to die!!!

Like … flip!

The entire population of Fem would soon be wiped out within a few years.  At least, that’s what Jixyl had just told him via an A.T.S. chat conversation.

Jixyl had explained all about the Telix-17 virus and how it was soon to start spreading throughout the Femling population.

Flon had raised the same point as Eric, namely, ‘What about the ugly ones?  Surely some of them will slip the net?’

Jixyl had eventually conceded this point, but remained insistent that the vast majority of the Femlings would soon be dead.  The planet Fem would be decimated.  All the variables were loaded against the Femlings.  Furthermore, Eric was located on a holiday resort.  And backpackers on a holiday resort are probably the least monogamous of any section of society, which was perfect for ensuring a rapid spread of the Telix-17 virus.

And even if, like Flon had pointed out, there were some Femlings that slipped the net, the cream of the Femling population, i.e. the fit young healthy energetic motivated creative Femlings, would most certainly not slip the net, as fit young healthy Femlings are the most attractive and therefore the ones that do the most snogging.  So any Femlings that survived would almost certainly be the old, the very young, the weak and the unhealthy.  In a nutshell, any survivors would be the percentage of the Femling population least likely to present a threat or to be able to defend themselves, so once the Telix-17 virus had decimated the majority of the Femlings, the worst case scenario is that a simple mop-up operation would be required to take care of the stragglers.

So at the end of his conversation with Jixyl, Flon was pretty much convinced that the Femlings were in trouble.  Big trouble.  On a scale of one to a hundred the Femlings were facing a trouble rating of seven hundred and fifty six.
[82]

And as a member of the Underground Anti-Fem League that should have brought Flon a great deal of satisfaction.

But it didn’t.

Because, you see, Flon had only ever saw this Anti-Fem malarkey as a bit of a laugh.

To him, for example, it was a bit like the rivalry between Newcastle and Sunderland.  Like, you want Sunderland to get beat and it’s really funny when they get relegated and stuff, but at the end of the day you don’t actually want anything bad to happen to any mackems
[83]
because that would be crossing the line into the realms of evil.  Singing, ‘We hate Sunderland and we hate Sunderland.  We hate Sunderland and we hate Sunderland.  We hate Sunderland and we hate Sunderland.  We are the Sunderland … haters,’ at the match is just harmless banter, and harmless banter is fine.  But crossing the line and hoping for actual bad things to happen in real life is another thing altogether.

And so this was a bit like the attitude Flon had towards the Femlings.  He was all in favour of joining an anti-Fem group when he thought that all this entailed was making a few snidey comments about the Femlings, but when he discovered that the work of the group actually entailed the genocide of the Femling population, which, whichever way he looked at it was definitely a canny snidey thing to do, like, he was more than a little disturbed.