Authors: Irvine Welsh
The gathering of the posses and the tribes in the non-salubrious area of old Midlothian and south-east suburban Edinburgh had puzzled the travellers themselves as much as the authorities. Various New Age sages and pseudo prophets had advanced their theories, but the local authorities could do nothing and the government would not intervene as the population in the makeshift camps rose to over twenty thousand.
The local dealers were having a field day and Jimmy and Semo, high from an anticipated success with Clint Phillips in the criminal injuries scam, thought they'd try their hands at more private enterprise. Semo had a good contact in Leith and they went into town in a nicked car to score some acid, in the hope of punting it to the travellers. They drove into the port and picked up their friend Alec Murphy, who took them down to a flat in the Southside, telling them that they were going to meet a guy Murphy simply referred to as the 'Student Cunt'.
— The Student Cunt's awright. Eh isnae really a student at aw, Alec explained. — He's no been tae a college or nowt like that fir years n years. Bit ehs goat a degree: economics, or some shite. But it's like, eh still sounds like a fuckin student, ken?
The boys nodded in a vague comprehension.
Alec warned them about the Student Cunt, who, he felt, tended to formulate the most banal observations as rambling, philosophical propositions worthy of further speculation. On his day, Murphy observed, in optimum conditions, and in the right company, the Student Cunt could be mildly amusing. Such days, circumstances and companies were, he felt, increasingly few.
Mounting the steps of the dealer's flat with growing anticipation and excitement, Jimmy Mulgrew felt that he had made the big time. He swaggered in like a gangster, checking his look in a mirror in the hallway. He would see Shelley down the chippy later, drop a few hints about 'business'. She couldn't fail to be impressed. Alan Devlin was yesterday's man, Jimmy thought, with a vigorous rush of confidence. A fuckin garage attendant! Top boy my hole! He'd lost it, and the cunt was just treading water. Jimmy's time had yet to come.
Jimmy's fantasies deflated quickly as a guy with a mop of curly hair and black-rimmed glasses ushered them into the front room. There was a woman with lank brown hair and a vesty red top who was feeding a baby from a bottle. She didn't even register their presence.
— Alec . . . hi . . . said the Student Cunt, seeming a little put out at the observation of Alec's friends' relative youth. — Can I have a private word?
Alec turned back to Jimmy and Semo.— Hud oan a minute, boys, he said, disappearing into the kitchen with the Student Cunt. Alec knew he shouldn't have brought them up to the Student Cunt's pad. He hadn't really been thinking.
— How old are these guys? the Student Cunt asked.
— Sixteen and seventeen, Alec said. — Young team, fae oot at Rosewell, but sound cunts, like. Ah mean, ah mind you said that ah could jist bring any cunt ah wanted sorted up here.
— That's all very well
ceteris paribus
, Alec, the Student Cunt said, — but it's a truism that youth are always impressed by new things and therefore tend to run off at the fucking mouth and I can do without labdicks up my fucking arse.
— These boys ken the score, Alec shrugged.
The Student Cunt's eyes rolled doubtfully behind his spectacles.
In the living room, Jimmy was feeling the embarrassed silence with the mother and the baby. He reckoned Semo must have been too, because he was compelled to break it. — How auld's the bairn? he asked.
The woman looked up at him, her eyes cold and detached. — Three months, she said uninterestedly.
Semo nodded thoughtfully. Then he pointed at the woman. — Listen, see whin ye hud the bairn, he asked, — wis it sair?
— What? The woman looked at him in a more focused manner.
— Whin ye hud the bairn, wis it sair?
She looked him up and down. Jimmy gave an involuntary snigger, feeling as if a small motor which he couldn't switch off was oscillating his shoulders from a space in his chest cavity.
— Naw, Semo began seriously, — it's jist, like, ah cannae imagine what it must be like tae huv tae dae something like that . . . it's too freaky, eh? Ah mean, ye cannae really think aboot a livin thing growin inside ay ye, cause it wid like freak ye oot, ken what ah mean?
— Ye just git on wi it, the woman shrugged.
— Ye jist git oan wi it, Semo repeated, nodding reflectively. Then he turned to Jimmy. — Ah suppose ye fuckin well huv tae, eh! He laughed. — Cannae take it back! He looked at the woman. — It's true bit, eh?
Jimmy started sniggering again, as the woman on the couch shook her head and picked a bit of fluff out of the baby's ear. The Student Cunt came through and, with a startled, apologetic expression aimed at the woman, ushered the boys from the Rosewell young team through to the kitchen.
Alec winked at them as the Student Cunt opened a cupboard, pulled out a clay jar marked SUGAR, lifted a bag out of it and rummaged inside, producing some tabs. — Fifty strawberries, he smiled.
— Sound, Jimmy grinned, and settled up.
They went back through to the living room and sat down. The Student Cunt put a tape on. As it started, Jimmy stole a glance at the woman with the baby, before clamping his jaw shut to stop himself from sniggering. He thought of Clint's jaw wired up, and heard soft, appreciative wheezes coming from inside his chest as he vibrated softly on the couch.
The Student Cunt thought that Jimmy was vibing to the music. — East Coast Project, he said, then, turning to Alec, added with great sincerity, — Some pri-tay interesting things going down there.
— Mmm, Alec said non-committally.
The Student Cunt then turned to Semo. — Your neck of the woods, that's where all those posses have gathered, isn't it?
The woman feeding the baby looked up with interest for the first time.
— Aye, Semo nodded. — It's too fuckin radge.
This was the Student Cunt's opportunity to launch into a spiel concerning his view of what was happening in contemporary society. It was the others' cue to make their excuses and go. Jimmy winced when he heard the Student Cunt describe himself to Alec as 'working class' , making it sound like 'wehking closs'. They departed as quickly as they could, going on to a snooker club for a couple of frames and a few beers. Then Alec left, so they thieved another motor to get back out to the sticks.
In the car, Jimmy couldn't resist trying one of the tabs. After a few minutes, the whole place seemed to go crazy and he could barely see Semo sitting next to him in the driver's seat.
— Just as well you never took any ay these, Semo, Jimmy gasped, as the car turned and sped down the city roads into a wall of blinding light which shot up from the catseyes. They were flying. — Ah'm sayin, jist as well you never hud yin, eh, Semo?
— Shut the fuck up . . . ah'm tryin tae concentrate oan the road . . . ah necked yin ay they tabs n aw n it's kickin in fine style! Semo moaned.
— STOAP! STOAP THE FUCKIN CAR! Jimmy felt the unremitting pulse of raw terror in every cell of his body.
— Fuck off! Ah kin see fine. Dinnae fuckin nudge ays! Semo snapped as Jimmy gripped his arm. — Ah kin see by the catseyes in the road . . . pit oan the fuckin cassette . . .
Jimmy clicked on the play button.
Wonderwall
by Oasis came on, Liam Gallagher singing about winding roads and blinding lights.
— GIT THAT OAF! Semo roared. — Switch oan the fuckin radio!
— Right . . . Jimmy shivered. He switched oan the radio, bur Liam kept singing about those winding roads and blinding lights, the song Jimmy's old man claimed was a Beatles ripoff, although he said that about all Oasis songs.
— Ah said switch it oaf! Pit oan the fuckin radio! Semo hissed.
— Ah did! That is the radio! It's oan the fuckin radio n aw! Same song!
— Fuck sakes . . . How mad is that, man, eh? Semo groaned. He couldn't stop the car. Try as he might, he couldn't stop it. — This fuckin car willnae fuckin well stoap!
Jimmy had his hands over his eyes. He looked through them. They weren't moving. — It . . . it hus stoaped. Wir no movin. Wir stoaped, ya daft cunt!
Semo realised that he had parked the car by the side of the road. They got out and made their way tentatively down the street. He looked at the objects that littered the urban landscape through a distorted lens. His limbs were leaden; it was like everything was an effort. Just to keep walking. Just to keep moving. Then they stopped dead.
Tazak and Mikey walked down the three-dimensional film set that was Princes Street, absorbing the frozen stillness of the humans, their pets and their vehicles.
Mikey observed some girls, shopping smiles caught in suspended animation. — Hmmm . . . no bad . . .
This was one of the best things in this space game for Mikey Devlin: to just stop Earth time and check every cunt out. Tazak was getting impatient though. It was too much of a psychic energy outlay and it could even send a vibe to the Elders who would investigate and their game would be up before it really started. The best way to halt Earth time was to pick a small, rural spot at night and freeze proceedings in the locality. Operating on this sort of scale was crazy. Tazak was growing irritated with Mikey's fannying about. — C'moan, ya cunt! he shouted. — Wuv goat tae fuckin nash!
— Aye . . . aye . . . Mikey was looking a slim, dark-haired girl up and down. — No bad, he commented, no bad at aw.
Tazak stared with disgust at this chunky, hairy Earth female, with its ugly strips of fur above its tiny eyes; its weird head, with its large, protruding nose and that horrible swelling around the lips of the big mouth. They were truly a repulsive-looking race, yet biologically not so different from his own people. He remembered back to his studies at the Foundation as a Younger, where the others had mocked his small eyes and called him the 'Earthling'. It was ironic that he should be down here now, mixing with them.
He shuddered in recall at the occasion, when, with Mikey, he had coupled with one of these creatures, a small, almost hairless female. They were all in a very high transcendental state at the time, but he had felt disgusted with himself afterwards. Even more irritated at this recall, he hissed at his Earth host, – Ah sais nash! Wuv goat things tae dae!
— Aye, right then, ya cunt, Mikey moaned. He had to concede, there
were
things to do.
Shelley was dreaming again. She was on the ship and the alien was standing over her. There was a man there this time, a human being. It wasn't Liam. It looked a little bit like Alan Devlin.
Ally Masters was having the dream also. He was coming home with Denny McEwan and Bri Garratt through the city centre. Soul Fusion had been a good one but the fanny werenae biting and, if the truth be told, the Es were a bit smacky. He was feeling them. Everything seemed to be slowing down. Then, through a blurred haze, a strange light flooded into Ally's eyes. At first he thought it was just the inappropriate appreciation of a distant street lamp brought on by the pills, but its intensity and ubiquity was too overwhelming. This was growing into an amorphous mass of protoplasm and he was heading through it, even as it seemed to be forming a structure around him. He sensed that others were walking alongside him, but he couldn't turn his head. He tried to shout to Denny and Bri but nothing came out.
Then, in a strange instant, he found himself fully awake and in what seemed like an immense white amphitheatre.
— Is this the fuckin whitey tae end aw whiteys or what? Ally asked, looking at Bri and Denny. His friends' eyes had shrunk to pinpricks. He felt a strong ammonia-like sting in his nostrils.
— No fuckin real, man! Denny said, tentatively touching the white walls, which had looked smooth but on closer examination and touch seemed to be composed of tightly packed, glowing encrustations.
Then, where there had previously only seemed to be a wall, a door opened and two large aliens, naked save for a loincloth to cover their genitals, and devoid of bodily hair, walked into the huge amphitheatre. — Awright, boys. How yis daein? one of them said.
The Earth thugs were too shocked to reply. Then, without looking at his friends, Bri Garratt asked, – Aw, fuckin hell, man . . . what the fuck've wi goat here . . . ?
— Fuckin aliens, man! Wild! Denny McEwan gasped.
— Well, fuckin aliens or nae fuckin aliens, nae cunt fucks wi the Hibs crew, Ally snarled, then turned to the Cyrastorian youths. — Ah dinnae ken what youse cunts are aboot, but if yis fuckin well want bother yis uv came tae the right fuckin place . . . The East Terracing top boy pulled out his Stanley knife and advanced towards the tall, thin creatures.
The aliens remained unfazed by Ally Masters' approach. The Earth Casual sensed his hosts' dismissive arrogance. He lashed out at the spokesperson, only to feel his blade bounce against an invisible wall which the Hibs boy could just about visualise as a quivering and pulsing translucent membrane, just a few inches from his would-be victim.
— Yir shitey fuckin Stanley knives are fuck-all use against oor force field, eh, Earth cunt?! the alien sneered.
— Fuck . . . Ally moaned.
— No sae fuckin wide now, ya fuckin Earth tube, another alien laughed.
The top alien gestured languidly and the Stanley knife tore out of Ally's grip and stuck in the wall. — See, Earth cunt, youse think thit yir a hard crew but yir jist a bunch ay fuckin shitein cunts in the whole intergalactic scheme ay things. We've no even started here yit. Whaire's yir top boys hing oot?
— What the fuck dae youse cunts want? Ally demanded.
— You tae shut yir mooth fir a second, the alien smiled through his thin lips. — Ah'm Tazak, by the way. Ah ken youse cunts so dinnae bother wi the introductions. Tazak lit up a cigarette. — Ah'd crash the ash, bit ah'm runnin a wee bit low. Anywey, here's how it is: thaire's nae fuckin wey that youse cunts'll run us, so dinnae even think aboot it. But we're here tae help youse. We need cunts doon here tae run the fuckin show fir us. We want youse cunts, cause youse speak oor fuckin language. Could've landed in California in the desert like in aw they crap films ay yours, but we went tae Midlothian but, eh.
— How here but? Ally asked.
— Goat tae land somewhere. Might as well be here as anywhere else, eh? Besides, we ken the score. It's only Scotland. Nae cunt listens tae youse dippit fuckers. Anywey, we'll make every cunt listen tae us. Whae runs things doon here now?
— Like, the main men n that? Ally asked.
— Aye.
— Well, that's like in London, or Washington, eh? Denny turned to Ally, who nodded.
— Fuck off, these cunts dinnae rule us. Bri tapped his chest.
— Aye, but that's the fuckin government, ya cunt. Like Westminster . . . or the White Hoose. That's whaire the real power is.
— The only fuckin White Hoose ah ken is the one in Niddrie . . . Denny laughed.
Tazak was growing impatient. — Shut it the now, Earth cunt! Wir talkin serious business here! We'll fuckin gie they cunts a wee demonstration ay what we kin dae. They kin pit the polis oan as much fuckin OT as they like – this is the mentalist crew in the universe thir dealin wi here! They've no seen real fuckin swedgin yit! We'll fuckin show thum swedgin! Swedgin thit could tear a fuckin solar system apart!
The top boys looked at each other. This alien cunt, this Tazak, talked a good pagger. They would bide their time and see if the cunt could deliver. They could feel the adrenalin pumping through their bodies. Masters and his crew sensed that they had been preparing themselves all their lives for something like this to go off, and they were determined not to let the colours down.