19

‘Who set fire to the curtains?’ demanded Bolfass the moment he burst into the Crew Room. He nodded, and a couple of Yassaccan repair workers hurried over to replace them. Bolfass had led his Special Assault Group along a back service corridor to the crew’s quarters, while Yellin and Assmal led the frontal attack along the main arteries of the Starship.

Bolfass loved the finish they had obtained on the service corridor ceiling. It gave him much quiet satisfaction, in the dark of the night, to reflect on the craftsmanship and the high quality of material lavished on even the working areas of the great Starship.

‘Never was there another such construction in the entire history of our people,’ he used to tell his grandchildren, as they sat around the evening hearth, eating their dumpling stew and snork crackling. ‘Even the curtains in the Crew Rooms were woven from the hair of the silky canadil, which lives high up in the Mountains of Merlor, and can only be caught with love and kindness. The hair of the canadil is so fine you must weave it by the light of the moons, for in sunlight it will disappear like snow.’ The children loved these tales of craftsmanship and daring feats of engineering.

It cut Bolfass to the quick to see how someone could mistreat such workmanship. In fact it made him very cross indeed.

At that very moment, a figure wearing a VR helmet stumbled into the room, followed by two others - one of whom was clearly a treacherous Blerontinian. A black rage swallowed Bolfass whole, and the next moment he had swivelled out his SD handgun and blasted the three newcomers to cosmic dust - their bodies exploded in a supernova of entrails and mangled flesh that quickly reached white-heat and, happily, burnt out before they could besmatter or stain the beautifully hand-lacquered walls.

Lucy was aware of a violent cacophony of noise and her eyes were whited-out by the most piercing light. She screamed, grabbed onto The Journalist and fell in a faint upon the floor. It was that terrifying.

Bolfass grinned and blew away the smoke from his SD handgun. His anger assuaged, he twirled the gun on his finger and slipped it back into its holster.

It has to be explained at this point that the Yassaccans were a peace-loving, kindly race - dedicated to craftsmanship and sober industry. Many of them, however, were also prone to blind, blood-lusting rage when confronted by certain things - such as sloppy workmanship or a disregard for fine hand-crafting. In the distant past these rages had led to terrible destruction of life and property, and, since the moods went as quickly as they came, they had also led to unendurable remorse for many thousands of these otherwise benign and caring folk. The Yassaccan scientists had, therefore, developed the SD weapon, which - unlike the sort of hardware that most military scientists come up with - was designed to reduce death and destruction rather than increase it. The Simulated Destruction weapon - or SD gun - gave the user the momentary impression of having wreaked the bloody revenge that his crazed fury craved - without actually doing any damage. It always surprised and stunned the enemy, but that was all.

Lucy, not knowing any of this, was more than astonished to find herself still alive enough to hear the leader of the invaders demand: ‘You are under arrest! Where are the others?’

‘Hey! This is great! I’m going down one of the cybernautic neural pathways! It’s like a water-slide! Wheeee Excellent!’ exclaimed Dan.

‘Take that stupid thing off his head!’ snapped Bolfass. The Yassaccans had no time for Virtual Reality exercises. Their business was exclusively MatterSide. Two of the invaders grabbed Dan and yanked the helmet off his head.

‘Hey! I was enjoying th-! Jeepers! What’s going on?!’ said Dan as he experienced SRM - Sudden Return to MatterSide.

‘I said: where are the others?’ repeated Bolfass.

‘There aren’t any others,’ replied The Journalist, truculently.

‘Come on! I wasn’t brought up in a Blerontinlan State Nursery! Who’s running this ship?’ Bolfass was getting irritated again; he’d just noticed the wretched finish on the mess-tables: the Blerontinian furniture makers had used unseasoned Lintin Pine from Northern Blerontin - an inferior wood which would warp badly after a couple of decades in use… and… by the Falls of Faknik! They hadn’t even concealed the end grain with housed joints! In fact, when he looked closer, he could see the tenons were barely haunched - leaving scarcely enough timber at the top of the stile for wedging! Had these people never learned even the most rudimentary basics of the art ofjoinery? Bolfass reached for his SD gun…

- - - - - -

These institutions were infamous for turning out individuals of less than avenge mental agility - possibly owing to the fact that, for generations, Blerontinian Governments had saved money on these establishments by forbidding any teaching to be done in them.

- - - - - -

But before he could wreak his terrible and destructive revenge on the perpetrators of this slipshod botch-work a miracle happened.

The door of the Crew Room opened and a vision entered - someone so compellingly and so unutterably beautiful that Bolfass fell heavily and permanently in love. His life was never to be the same from that moment forth.

He lowered the SD gun and stared in childlike adoration.

Nettie, who had just completed her course of rejuvenation in Leovinus’s extraordinary beauty parlour, had not only regained her youthful complexion, her body also had returned to its former proportions. In fact, if anything, her waist was just that little bit thinner, her breasts just a tiny bit firmer, the swell of her stomach just a tad more rounded. She looked more lovely than ever for, despite the fresh bloom of youth that had returned to her cheeks, her face was also suffused with the wisdom that comes of having lived for several million years. Old Leovinus certainly knew what he was doing.

‘Nettie!’ murmured Dan.

‘Who d’you say?’ asked Bolfass absent-mindedly.

‘Hi! Everybody!’ said Nettie. ‘Supposing we all introduce ourselves? I’m Nettie.’

‘Captain Bolfass at your service!’ said Bolfass, springing to attention ‘And these are Corporals: Yarktak, Edembop, Ragtiliten, Desembo, Luntparger, Forzab, Kakit, Zimwiddy, Duterprat, Kazitinker-Rigipitil, Purzenhakkken, Roofcleetop, Spanglowiddin, BukeHammadorf, Bunzlywotter, Brudelhampon, Harzimwodl, Unctimpoter, Golholiwol, Dinseynewt, Tidoloft, Cossimiwip, Onecrocodil, Erldehammerdrat, Inchbewigglit, Sarniliftodft, Buke-Willinujit (he’s a half-cousin by marriage of BukeHammadorf)…’

‘Hi, Nettie!’ said one of theYassaccan invaders.

‘Barnzipewt,’ continued Bolfass, ‘Spighalliwiller, Memsiportim, Itkip, Harlorfreytor, Pullijit, Beakelmemsdork, Uppelsaftat, Bukhumster, Rintineagelbun, Bootintuk, Poodalasvan, Sumpcreetorkattelburt…’

‘Look! I hate to interrupt,’ interrupted The Journalist, ‘but there’s a bomb on board this ship which is about to go off in…’ He switched on the mobile phone.

‘Ten… nine ..’ counted the bomb.

‘Hot shit!’ exclaimed The Journalist.

‘Silence! Blerontinian Purveyor of Shoddy Goods!’ shouted Bolfass, grabbing the mobile phone.

‘He’s not a Purveyor of Shoddy Goods!’ exclaimed Lucy (who, if the truth were told, was a bit hacked off by the reaction to Nettie’s entrance).

‘Eight…’ said the bomb.

‘Give me that!’ screamed The Journalist, flinging himself at the phone. Bolfass tossed it to Corporal Inchbewigglit.

‘Seven…’ counted the bomb.

‘It’s down to seven!’ yelled The Journalist. ‘Take this Blerontinian Bodger to the cells!’ commanded Bolfass, and Corporals Spanglowiddin and Rintineagelbun grabbed The Journalist in a half-nelson and marched him out of the Crew Room.

‘Six…’ said the bomb, and Corporal Inchbewigglit flicked the mobile phone off.

‘These two as well!’ Bolfŕss was pointing at Lucy and Dan.

‘No!’ cried Lucy and Dan. ‘The bomb!’ but they were hustled out.

‘Captain Bolfass,’ said Nettie in a cool voice. ‘There is no time to explain. Please give me the phone.’

‘I am afraid I cannot allow you to use it, Nettie,’ said Captain Bolfass, ‘for security reasons.’

‘Such as?’

‘You might call for reinforcements.’

‘Captain Bolfass, you have my word that there is no one else on this ship, as far as I know. You also have my word that there is a bomb about to blow us all to cosmic dust, unless you give me that phone.’

Bolfass hesitated a fraction of a second, and then nodded to Corporal Inchbewigglit. Corporal Inchbewigglit hesitated even less than a fraction of a second and handed the phone to Nettie. Nettie switched it on.

‘Two…’ said the bomb.

‘Oh, bomb!’ said Nettie. ‘This is Nettie. Remember me?’

‘Er… One…’ said the bomb. ‘How many fours make eight?’

‘Er…er…Zeee…’

‘No… How many fours make eight?’ ‘Er… er… Two?’ said the bomb. ‘How many twos in six?’ ‘Three…’ said the bomb.

‘And how many times does three go into twelve?’

‘Four…’ said the bomb. It paused for a moment and then continued: ‘Five… Six… Seven…’

‘Phew!’ said Nettie. ‘That’ll buy a bit of time…’

‘Why have you put this bomb onto our ship?’ demanded Bolfass.

‘Your ship?’ exclaimed Nettie.

‘Why do you sound so surprised?’ cried Bolfass. ‘Do you think we’re not skillful enough to have built such a wonderful thing?’

‘Oh no!’ replied Nettie. ‘I didn’t mean anything like that - it’s just that you attacked the ship. It didn’t seem like you owned it.’

‘Of course we own it!’ Nettie thought Captain Bolfass appeared a trifle defensive. ‘Legally and morally! This ship is our rightful recompense for all the misery and hardship that we have suffered at the hands of the Blerontinians!’

‘Look! I don’t want to appear stupid…’

‘You could never look that, Nettie,’ the Captain assured her.

‘Thank you…’ Nettie felt herself charmed by this short, fair stranger, in whose hands her fate apparently lay. ‘But I don’t know the background history to all this…’

‘And I will be delighted to tell you the whole story, dear lady-‘ Bolfass gave her deep bow - ‘but first it is my unpleasant task to ask you once again: Why have you placed a bomb on this ship?’

‘We haven’t!’ Nettie gave a little laugh that sent the Captain’s heart reeling after his wobbly knees. ‘We’re on this ship by accident…’ and she told Bolfass the whole story; how Dan and Lucy were about to turn the old rectory into a hotel, with the money from the Top Ten Travel Agency, and how the Starship had crashed into the house; how they had been invited aboard by a polite robot, and of all the things that had passed on the ship up until the invasion by the good Captain’s forces.

When she had finished there was a long pause, until Nettie eventually added: ‘And that’s it… really.’

Bolfass seemed to suddenly recollect himself - as if he’d been in a dream while she’d been talking. He jumped to attention, and clicked his heels in a most courteous manner.

‘I understand perfectly, dear lady,’ he said, bowing and kissing her hand. Captain Bolfass increasingly looked as if he had just stepped out of a Jane Austen novel.

‘All we want to do is to get back to Earth,’ said Nettie.

‘Of course!’ Captain Bolfass clicked his heels again, in that way that made Nettie wriggle inside with delight. ‘I am entirely at your service. Come!’

And Nettie followed the Captain, her high heels clicking on the beautifully laid floor of the work area.