Renegade T.M. (30 page)

“
Yes, more or less
,”
replied Crinkle before anybody
else
had a chance to speak.

“
The reason I have to kill you goes like this, I got to purgatory by dying, I then got to Hupa Hool by dying again, it should follow then that if I kill myself again, I would then go full circle and return to life, as in the circle of death sorta thing
!”

“
Brilliant
,”
replied Slip, thinking about how marvellous it was t
o be him,
and not listing to a word that was said.

“
I’m with you Fends
,”
agreed Crinkle
,
“
what about you Pete
?”

“
Yeah
whatever
,”
he replied
,
“
it’s gotta be better than living in this fishbowl anyway
.”

“
The
n
we’re all agreed
,”
continued Fendel
,
“
I’ll shoot you all in the head with this harpoon gun, and then turn it on myself and take my own life. Once we’re all dead again, we should all be
returned to life, I mean, where
else is there to go?
!”

“
You’re not going anywhere
,”
growled Ben all of a sudden
,
“
not until I get those shears
!”

Ben looked every bit the killer shark again as he advanced upon the Renegadeers. It now appeared, that the dysfunctional upbringing and debilitating daddy issues, had all been an act, an act designed to fool them all into trusting him, so he could reclaim the sacred sheers he so wantonly craved.

“
Now I’m going to eat you all
,”
declared Ben in brutal earnestness.

“
Un moment ce tu plait
,”
said
Pierre
leader of the Co-leen Resistance, who suddenly materialised out on nowhere between them, holding aloft the shears
,
“
I think these are the shears you seek n’est pas
?”

Fate worse than death door

“
Yashcoo y’all, it’s Slip the trip he
re, pumping out beats faster tha
n a quasar, turning around tunes like a true moon lune, and generally dropping down tracks in a lyrical attack! That was Meteor Strike by It Ain’t Half Hot, and now it’s time to go over to our very own music muse, here’s Crinks with the weather
.”

“
Space is still a vacuum Slip
.”

“
So there you have it you beautiful Renegade revellers, there is literally no atmosphere out there, so why not get comfy, turn the kettle up to max, and ready yourself for the next cycle of perfect pop that will bring only smiles to those eyes, and tears to those lips
!”

That said, Slip pushed go on the next segment sel
ection, and Renegade T
M came momentarily off the thought waves.

“
Nice job dude
,”
praised Fendel, making his way over from the computers
,
“
five clicks until we go back on
.”

“
Does anybody want a cup of tea
?”
o
ffered Pete.

“
Nobody wants your weird stewed plant with added cow
,”
replied Crinkle
,
“
what’s wrong with your species exactly
?”

“
Exactly
,”
he began in reply
,
“
then I’d have to say that it’s the distinct sense of unworth cultivated in us from the very earliest age, that or the fact we need something to occupy our hands and mouth, lest we get ideas above our genetic station
.”

“
Well put Chimpmanzee
,”
commented Fendel.

“
Everybody listen up
,”
said Crinkle
,
“
today is the big day
.”

“
How big can a Tuesday get exactly
?”
asked Pete seriously
,
“I mean,
I could never get the hang of Tuesday
.”

“
Today is the day when
,”
she continued, quite completely ignoring the question
,
“
they release the thinking figures, and we find out how many people are tuning in and listening
!”

“
Ah don’t sweat it my Crinky dink panther
,”
replied Slip
,
“
we’re the most listened to radio station in the whole wide universe, I mean, all yo
u have to do is think Renegade T
M and, bang, we’re there
!”

“
Like a bullet to the brain
,”
remarked Fendel, adopting his usual cheery tone.

“
Don’t get cocky Groovy
,”
she said
,
“
just because people can tune in by thi
nking it, doesn’t mean they necessarily do
.”

“
Yeah
,
yeah
Crinks, I hear you
,”
he replied casually
,
“
Fends, fetch me my neutrino cigar, its time to get victorious
!”

“
Okay, they’re coming in now
.”

“
How many people are there now in the universe anyway, this number could break the comms
!”
“
Hang on Slip
,”
she said, turning pale
,
“
no that can’t be right
.”

“
What is it Crinks
?”
a
sked Slip
,
“
the number’s yet to have been invented
?
!”

Crinkle had turned so pale that it was now difficult to discern her, from the white walls of the Humdinger itself. After a lengthy agonising silence, she finally said, in
a
voice no louder than a whisper
:

“N
obody’s listening
.”

“
Speak up Crinks
.”

“
Nobody’s listening
,”
she said again, a little louder this time.

“
What do mean nobody’s listening
?”
asked Slip perplexed.

“
I mean
,”
she said clearly this time, having found her voice again
,
“
the number of people
who are listening to Renegade T
M in the entire universe, adds up to the grand total of none
!”

“
But that can’t be right
,”
replied Slip
,
“
we’re the most listened to station ever
.”

“
If by listened to, you mean flagrantly ignored, then absolutely, totally agree
,”
remarked Fendel rubbing
metaphorical
salt into the wound.

“
Not to worry big guy
,”
put in Pete
,
“
fancy a nice cuppa
?”

“
But this is my life
,”
began Slip in low tone, staring through the window out to space
,
“
ev
erything that I am is Renegade T
M. If nobody’s listening, then nobody cares about the music, about the Renegade message, or about me
.”

“
Aw come on Groovy
,”
said Crinkle reassuringly
,
“
we’ll bounce back, maybe we could play some newer bands
?”

“
Sure
,”
he replied not really listening
,
“
newer bands, absolutely. Listen guys, I’m gonna stretch my legs, hold the fort for a mo
’
will you
.”

“
No worries
,”
replied Crinkle, looking anything but.

Slip made his way out of the Control room and started wondering the maze of corridors onboard the Humdinger.

“
Nobody’s listening
,”
he repeated to himself, as he opened an airlock door.

“
Not one person cares
,”
he said, stepping inside.

“
I have wasted my whole life
,”
he thought, pushing the button that sealed the airlock behind him.

“
Think I’ll get some air
,”
he decided, opening the hatch that lead outside the ship.

WARNING 30 PINGS
UNTIL DECOMPRESSION.

Slip did not even hear the computer warning as he stood there waiting for the compartment to decompress. What he did hear, was a maniacal laughter that suddenly seemed to fill the ship. A laughter that seemed to welcome his death, and take a dark, twisted pleasure in doing so.

Abandon hope all ye who enter here door

“
Five clicks
till you’re on Crinkle
!”

“
Yeah
,
yeah
, I hear you
,”
she replied, adjusting her hat angle in the mirror for the
umpteenth
time.

Ladies and gentlemen it is my great delight this night to welcome you all to the most fashionable event of
yea
r, Style. This
yea
r, Style is sponsored by Image is Life from
the fashion houses of Barutha S
even
, and if you all take a look in your gif
t bags you’ll find some free
low fat water, and a
gratis online subscription to HeadN
ovel
©
- the online universe where your real social
skills are immaterial
. After a moments ado, we will begin tonight’s fashion show, I would just like to take a moment to remember all those forgotten and underprivileged parts of the universe, where an understanding of style amounts to little more than a t-shirt and jeans combo. Our giant hearts go out to you, we only hope that some of the love spread here tonight will help brighten the darkness that is your meagre existence. So, ladies and gentlemen, this is it, I can now officially declare that… Style… Is… Now!

“
Two clicks
Crinkle
!”

“
I’m ready
!”
s
he bellowed back, approaching the wings that lead onto the catwalk.

Crinkle was dressed in some of the latest Barutha fashions, and was about to make her model debut on the catwalk of the
yea
r’s high fashion event, Style. This was her big moment, the moment when she would at last hold her head high and shout at universe
“
look at me, I am beautiful
!”
She was next up, once the last model returned back from the catwalk, it was her turn, a turn in which she intended to shine as bright as a newly born proton star. The last model returned back to the wings and she stepped out onto the catwalk.

Wearing the latest Barutha midnight sun line, Crinkle is dressed in the organic tones of the by the pool, business executive, narcolepsy range. As you can see, she is wearing…

Crinkle was now half way down the catwalk, doing her best model walk, and really pouting it up for the cameras.

She is wearing…

She had done it, realising all her dreams in way fell fashion swoop. Tomorrow she would be the talk of the universe, the face on all the glossies, and a topic of awe and wonder discussed only in whispers, lest something so precious could break.

She is wearing…

Something was wrong, why did he keep repeating the same thing. There was nothing for it now, she just had to keep going, and hope
that her adoring fans would
not notice.

Where is she? Where is Crinkle?

She was right there. Right at the end of the catwalk now, holding her best
“
I know I’m beautiful, I was born this way
”
pose.

This is hopeless, send out the next model!

They couldn’t see her. She was so short that is was impossible to see her tiny frame. Even though she stood at the very end of the catwalk, under the brightest of spotlights, not one of the guests there had spotted her. It was as though she was so tiny as to have been rendered invisible, so unimportant as to have become unnoticeable. She may well have been a grain of sand, lost in the magnitude of space, with no purpose, no direction, and about as meaningful as an unbalanced equation.

Chantisca is dressed from head to toe in accelerated ice, fashioning the latest liquid cut range from the Diatribe Brothers…

They had gone on without her. Her big moment had passed, and she had burnt about as bright as a wet sneeze. It was then that she decided to kill herself. Reaching inside her dress for the bottle of turbo metabolisers, which she always kept
in case of an attack of
over cake indulgence, she figured that about half the bottle would be enough to burst most of her major organs. Unscrewing the lid and putting the bottle to her lips, all she could now hear, was an insane laughter that suddenly seemed to fill the entire room, the kind of laughter that, if it were possible, would take a great delight in drowning tiny kittens.