Saucerers and Gondoliers - Chapter 18

Chapter 18
A School of Mullets

Men in uniform were dashing about here and there, so it did still look a little like a military base, but there were also people in what looked like a poor attempt at civilian clothing. Men were wearing shirts that had plainly been military at some point in their existences, but which had been dyed, had their sleeves cut short, and had DE LA MAISON DE CHEZ MADAME MICHELLE, GONDOLIN sewn onto the pockets. There were occasional pieces of Earth clothing, worn proudly. Cleo saw a girl in a KIDS FROM FAME T-shirt, and another in a faded parka which read !!!ACIIIIIIID!!!

"These people", said Cleo as they followed the Commodore through a cramped corridor, "are in need of about one hundred good haircuts."

"Too many military buzz cuts", agreed Ant.

"It is not", said Cleo, "the military buzz cuts I mind. It is the attempts at fashion I find most disturbing. Somewhere in this benighted anthill is a barber who learned how to do the Farrah Flick from a TV signal transmitted in 1979 and liked it so much he did free ones for all his friends and neighbours. Even", she stressed, in a quivering voice, "the men."

"What's a Farrah Flick?" said Ant.

They came out in a chamber which, by Gondolin standards, was huge - at least the size of a normal comprehensive classroom - and filled with maps, charts, and black-and-white silhouettes of saucer-shaped space vessels labelled KNOW YOUR ENEMY. Oil paintings also lined the room, though Ant imagined it must be difficult to attach them to the over-arching walls. There was a painting of the Jervis Bay, looking rather shinier than she did in real life, and for some reason, opposite it, a picture of a warship at sea, firing guns. In a dark corner of the ceiling, among a number of paintings of men in full dress uniform, was a picture of Commodore Drummond in full dress uniform. Underneath this picture was a photograph of a rather younger man shaking hands with a grumpy-looking lady in a Marks & Spencer’s dress.

“Welcome”, said the Commodore, “to my office. We’ll try and make this debriefing as informal as possible.”

He sank into a chair with a weary sigh, reached down to his knees, and, completely without embarrassment, began unscrewing his legs again. Ant didn't like to pry into what the ends of his thighs looked like. Once he'd unfastened both his legs, which looked like what Ant had always imagined a robot’s legs should look like, he threw them into a corner, where they rattled straight into an umbrella stand which already contained several pointing sticks and dismantled rocket rifles.

"SHOT!" cried the Commodore, and raised his fist in the air victoriously. His eyes twinkled as he produced a cardboard box from a desk drawer. “Anyone for a Dairylea Slice?”

“Yeuch”, said Ant with feeling.

“Oh dear”, said the Commodore. “I always keep a box of these in my desk. Mr. Turpin informs me that they are very popular on Earth. ‘Kids will do anything for a Dairylea Slice’ were, I believe, his exact words. Capital fellow, Turpin.”

“Mr. Turpin”, said Ant, “has been watching too much television advertising.”

“Kids”, said Cleo, “will do a great deal to avoid a Dairylea Slice.”

“Oh dear”, said the Commodore, sounding quite upset. “Ah well. Be that as it may - allow me to introduce Captain James Yancy, our liaison with the Zodiac Fleet.”

The chamber also contained a man of the Commodore's age, dressed in a similar uniform, though one that looked a bit better turned out, and cut from cloth of a slightly different colour. The man's hair was greying, though his shoulders were still thick as a bricklayer's, and his neck was disconcertingly wider than his head.

Far more interestingly, though, he was black.

"Obviously Gondolin doesn't have enough of a fleet yet to be able to contribute to the cut and thrust of operations”, said Commodore Drummond, “but we hope to pull our weight in time."

"Honoured to meet you all", said Captain Yancy, who appeared to be an American as well as being black.

Glenn Bob stared at Yancy in horror. "They done made a negro a Captain?"

"I'm from King", said the Captain. "Our world was first colonized in 1967, using Vietnam veterans reported Missing In Action. It's 95 per cent black. Originally I believe the plan was to call the planet Nixon, but after the revolution -"

"Rebellion", corrected Glenn Bob.

Ant saw the Commodore mouth 'New Dixie' at the Captain. Captain Yancy mouthed a silent 'oh' back, nodded, and shut up, staring hard at Glenn Bob. Glenn Bob stared hard back.

"Now", said the Commodore. "As I promised, I suppose I'd better explain how British and American people come to be in space."

"We've already heard the USA version", said Ant.

"But we've heard their version of the Second World War too", said Cleo. "And that stinks."

The Commodore and Captain exchanged grins.

"Well", said the Commodore, "the US Zed version is as follows. The United States of America originally discovers Saucer Drive in the late nineteen forties. No-one else knows they have it. They plant colonies in thirteen star systems before Communist sympathizers hand over blueprints of the Astromoke Mark 1, America's first mass-produced spacecraft, to Soviet Russia."

"The Soviets are are dismayed", continued the Captain. "Don't forget, they've just spent enough roubles on their space programme to pay God's wages; and they don't even believe in God. They put everything they have into saucer research - don't do much new in rocketry for the next ten years. After a little while, US saucer pilots start seeing other vessels on their long range sensors - ships that reply to radio hailing in Russian."

"Meanwhile", said the Commodore, "the British Secret Service are dismayed to discover that one of their country’s diplomats, a man called George Blake, is a Russian spy. They are doubly dischuffed when he tells them that their Russian Cold War enemies know more about a top secret American space exploration programme than they do."

"The British Prime Minister of the time, Harold Macmillan, threatens to go public with the whole thing and use it as an excuse to pull out of NATO", said the Captain. "The Americans have no choice but to hand over a working Astromoke Mark 1 to the British too. Soon the Brits have their own little colony orbiting Lalande 21185, a snug little place where the daytime temperatures reach one hundred Celsius and it occasionally rains sulphuric acid."

"They transfer a small boy who was quite happy at his toys at Winchester College to a set of ceramic-tiled bunkers underground 8.1 light years away", said the Commodore sadly. "Rather like an enormous Gents', it was."

"And a few years after that", said the Captain, "they transfer another small boy from a military college in Virginia to a new school somewhere in Canis where you can't play hookey to see a movie unless you're prepared to steal a starship; and no-one is allowed outside to play, because there is no air outside."

"Surely you were allowed some movies?" said Ant. Somehow, it was the lack of movies that disturbed him more than the lack of air.

"We were", said the Captain grimly. "John Wayne movies."

Ant fell silent, appalled.

"So how did the British and American colonies come to revolt, sir?" said Cleo.

The Captain and Commodore exchanged glances. The Commodore nodded to the Captain.

"We have to wind time backwards slightly here. In 1960", said the Captain, "a new President of the USA was elected. His name was John F. Kennedy, and you may have heard of him. Although he actually increased defence spending during his time in office, he was what Americans call a ‘Democrat’, a sort of natural enemy of the military. He was also the first Democrat to be president for eight years. The military didn’t trust him - eventually, as you probably know, they had him assassinated. They certainly didn’t trust him enough to tell him flying saucers had existed for ten years and were crewed by Americans.”

“That was when it started”, said the Commodore. “From that time on, no American president has known. Only a handful of people Americans call ‘five star generals’ and 'chiefs of intelligence' have been in on the secret. Things seem to have been similar in Russia - our best information indicates that Andropov was the last Premier to know anything about Soviet Russia’s colonies in space. Hence Russia’s colonies in space are still Soviet.”

“Then a thing happened”, said the Captain, “called ‘The Vietnam War’”.

“I know about that”, interrupted Ant.

“Sylvester Stallone and Mr. T were in it”, agreed Cleo.

“The Americans won it”, said Ant. “With their shirts off, for the most part.”

Captain Yancy and Commodore Drummond exchanged confused glances.

“Our information was rather different”, said the Commodore. “In any case, the American military felt, as the Vietnam War ended, that it was feared and distrusted by many of the citizens who were supposed to be grateful for its protection.”

“Right about that time, too”, said the Captain, “another thing happened called ‘The American Civil Rights Movement’. You may have noticed that I am a black man.”

Ant shrugged.

“He’s always been observant”, said Cleo acidly.

“Well, back in the nineteen sixties, a man like me would have been unable to ride the same bus as a white man in some southern states of the USA; and around that time a lot of black men and women joined together to say a big No to all of that. A lot of changes were happening, and a lot of military and government people didn’t like it. And those military and government people who were in charge of America’s secret colonies in space thought it would be just dandy if they could keep those colonies just the apple-pie way America used to be, with no uppity blacks, no hippies, and no gook-loving liberals.”

“That’s terrible”, said Ant. “Except about the hippies, of course.”

“Ant!” hissed Cleo. “This is serious!”

“Word started to get about”, said the Commodore. “Lists of troublemakers were being drawn up. Arrests were being planned.”

“And it’s at about this time”, said the Captain, “that we stop talking about ‘the troublemakers’ and start talking about ‘us’.”

“The twelve most populous American colonies were the first ones to revolt”, said the Commodore. “Then the British colony at Lalande was ordered to give support to US vessels fighting the rebellion - effectively, to fire on the same crews who’d been their NATO allies only the day before. They refused, declared their world independent, and threw their lot in with the rebels.”

“America counterattacked, of course”, said the Captain. “Their oldest and biggest colony at Alpha Centauri, which you may know better as Newer England, was recaptured within days. The rebel worlds had no means of fighting back at first. But soon they learned strength in numbers. Under Doctor Levi Morgan, they formed the United States of the Zodiac on St. Jude’s Day, 1974, and elected Dr. Morgan their first President. Since that day, the USA hasn’t dared attack further.”

“Why not?” said Ant.

The Captain chuckled. “Dr. Morgan threatened to land a saucer on the White House lawn and tell the truth about America’s colonies in space to every journalist in DC. It was the only card he had to play. But it worked. The generals were terrified. The USZ has been left to its own devices for the last twenty-five years.”

“What happened to the American rebels on Alpha Centauri?” said Cleo.

“We don’t know for certain”, said the Commodore uneasily. “But intelligence sources tell us that one of Alpha Four’s largest continents now has several large, regular structures in its central desert - structures that could house up to ten thousand people. It’s in about this area that early surveys of Alpha Four indicated deposits of uranium oxide so rich that they could probably be mined by a man with a shovel. Certain evidence - incoming shovel quotas, outgoing uraninite shipments - suggest to us that the prisoners on Alpha Four are doing just that.”

Glenn Bob’s jaw dropped. “Pitchblende? Being mined by hand, by men?”

“And women”, said the Commodore. “And children.”

“But - but - they’d die”, said Glenn Bob.

“Intelligence reports indicate that the amount of activity on the site has been decreasing in recent years, yes”, said the Captain drily.

“And Lalande 21185?” said Cleo.

“American forces helped the British recapture it”, said the Commodore. “They met with little resistance. However, by that time the Lalande 2 colony had been independent for nearly a year, and during that year, a British long range exploration vessel had come limping back in to Lalande 2. The Lalandese had given up all hope of seeing the crew of that ship alive again. I was particularly happy to see at least one of them, as he was my father. He told us a story of a habitable planet in a location nobody would ever find us, or even think of looking. The reason why the British and Americans met little resistance when they recaptured Lalande 2 was that the Lalandese had already left the planet and come here, to Gondolin. And hence those Lalandese became Gondoliers.”

Then, the Commodore turned his attention to Glenn Bob, who had the uneasy expression of someone trying to find a way not to believe what he was being told.

“We’ll find your family, Captain”, he said. “If they can be found.”

“The United States AeroSpace Navy will find them”, said Glenn Bob.

“The USASN”, said Captain Yancy, “has been lied to. It will not even begin looking for your family. It’s been told the Soviets killed them, and that’s the sort of lie the USASN likes to believe. The Soviets, meanwhile, have been told the Zodiac Navy killed them, and they probably believe that. The only people likely to look for your folks, right now, are looking at you, right now.”

Glenn Bob stared at the floor sourly, but said nothing. Captain Yancy walked over to him, clapped his arms on Glenn Bob’s shoulders, and said:

“I know you don’t believe me, son. You believe the US Zee are a bunch of pinko Commie man hippy good for nothings, don’t you. You probably feel dirty just being touched by a big old piccaninny like me. But I’m going to do a deal with you. I am going to give you the skills and the tools to be a US Zee flight officer. Only a US Zee officer, you see, is going to have any chance of finding your mom and dad, and to be frank, I need all the US Zee officers I can get. In particular, I need the sort of man who can steal an advanced fighter from under the noses of the Soviet military. After all, I’m only a piccaninny, after all, albeit one with a PhD in n-dimensional geometry.”

At the words ‘n-dimensional geometry’, Ant was sure he saw Glenn Bob’s eyes flicker; but the New Dixier said nothing. Captain Yancy clapped Glenn Bob on the shoulders again and stood up. “Do we got that deal?”

Glenn Bob was still looking at the floor, but nodded sullenly.

Captain Yancy looked round at Ant and Cleo. “Since we’re talking about the attack on Croatoan”, he said, “I’m confused. If you claim neither the Soviets nor the USZ carried out the attack, then who did?”

“Someone whose ship looks like God’s clean air on radar, and a big old Cuban cigar to the naked eye”, said Ant. He looked at Glenn Bob. Glenn Bob looked back at him and nodded slowly in agreement. “And someone who leaves a weird blue paste behind that flows over any living stuff it touches.”

The Commodore exchanged glances with the Captain. The glances were not encouraging.

“What?” said Ant. “What have I said?”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“There’s, ah, only ever been one recorded instance of ships that don’t show up on any form of radar”, said the Captain slowly. “Certainly in combination with any evidence of a substance of the sort that you describe.”

“Well”, said Cleo, folding her arms and settling into a chair, “we’re waiting.”

“In 1947”, said the Captain, “a flight of USAAF P-80 jet fighters encountered an unidentified aircraft which they then engaged and, uh, neutralized.”

“Yes, we heard all this in Croatoan”, said Ant. “They were attacked by it and shot it down.”

The Captain shifted from foot to foot uncertainly.

“Are you saying they weren’t attacked by it?” said Cleo.

“That is”, said the Captain, “the official story.”

“And the unofficial story is?”

“I can only suppose”, said Captain Yancy uncomfortably, “that it behaved in some manner that they imagined to be threatening.”

“But it didn’t fire on them.”

“I am ashamed to report”, said the Captain, “that it didn’t. There’s little wonder the USAAF pilots were spooked, mind you. They almost flew straight into it. Reported that they saw no trace on their radar screens throughout. Examination of the ground wreckage revealed, among other things, a curious organic paste of exactly the same type that you described, which seemed to possess a curious affinity with living tissue. One of the examining technicians was killed by the material, and it was decided after some deliberation to destroy it.”

“Wise decision”, shuddered Ant.

“You’re absolutely sure this...paste was present”, said the Commodore.

“It was present all over Ant”, said Cleo.

“Ah”, said the Commodore. He and the Captain exchanged another meaningful glance.

“Quit exchanging meaningful glances there”, said Glenn Bob, “and tell us what you’re thinking.”

“Well”, said the Captain, “several weeks ago, a USZ deep space frigate, Xenophon, was discovered drifting in unpatrolled space, completely undamaged, but completely deserted. Meals were half eaten on the tables in her galley. A computer game was still playing on a monitor. And the same sticky residue was everywhere, on all surfaces. Luckily, this time the boarding party were wearing space suits.”

“And you think that whatever attacked Croatoan, attacked that ship as well.”

“Either that”, said the Commodore, “or we are the victims of a particularly vicious hoax. I’m not sure which.”

“Why a hoax?” said Cleo.

“Because someone might have a lot to gain by ensuring the USA and USZ, or the USA and the Soviets, declare open war on one another”, said Ant grimly.

“Very perceptive”, said the Captain. “Everyone in space, you see, knows the Roswell story, and for this reason, everyone in space has been searching for the Saucerers, the intelligent aliens who must have built that vessel, for the last fifty years. And they’ve found nothing. Not so much as a discarded alien mind probe. We’ve found life in abundance on over thirty Earthlike worlds. But nothing intelligent. Many of our scientists have begun to openly doubt the Saucerers ever existed. But the Saucerers are still ideal raw material for any hoaxer looking to conceal his identity.”

“But why would anyone pretend to be an alien to start a war?” said Ant. “Surely he’d pretend to be a Zodiacker or an American or a Russian.”

Captain Yancy nodded shrewdly, as if he hadn’t actually considered this.

“There is, of course”, said Cleo, “another possibility.”

The Captain and Commodore nodded.

“The Saucerers exist. You shot down their ship back in 1947, without provocation. And now they’ve come back looking for it.”

The Commodore cleared his throat. “Ahem, yes, that is a possibility, as you say, but of course, hardly likely.” He slid back the top of his cane, which seemed to have a number of small, home-made buttons inside it. Ant was intrigued by the fact that the button he pressed was labelled SUMMON BATMAN.

After a few seconds’ wait, a man in USZ uniform marched in. He moved like a castle on a chessboard, seeming to be unable to walk diagonally. He stamped up to the Commodore and saluted him extravagantly.

“Splendid”, said the Commodore. “This is Mr. McNaught, my batman.”

“Your what?” Ant could not keep a straight face.

The Commodore was puzzled. “My batman. Is there anything odd about that?”

Ant scratched his head. “Well, sir, it’s just that, on our planet, a Batman is a crime-fighting gentleman with a big rubber chest.”

“I see. How extraordinary. Well, on this planet, a batman is a senior officer’s assistant.” He peered at Mr. McNaught accusingly. “Do you fight crime, Mr. McNaught?”

Mr. McNaught stood to attention with painful smartness. “EVERY CHANCE I GETS - SAH!”

“Jolly good. Be a brick and take these ladies and gentlemen and their, ah, mollusc to the OC’s Nursery, will you, please?”

Mr. McNaught stiffened. “Are you sure, sir?”

“Oh yes, quite sure, quite sure. Nobody using it, after all. Carry on.”

Mr. McNaught saluted, turned on his heel and stamped out of the room. When he reached the doorway and realized no-one was following him, he relaxed, slouched back into the room like a civilian, and said, “Well, come on, then.”

“Do we have to do the hand-swingy-marchy-saluty thing?” said Ant.

“Not if you don’t want to”, said the Commodore.

Ant tapped his forehead with his fingertips and scurried from the room. Glenn Bob did a full military salute, and Cleo curtsied. Even Truman J. Slughound waved his eyestalks gently. All three of them followed Ant and Mr. McNaught.

***

The Commodore’s batman showed them into a room the size of a rich man’s wardrobe. Despite the fact that it had obviously been cut out of solid stone, though, the floor was even and the walls were smooth. They also had pictures of mermaids and sea horses on them.

“Mind the roof”, said Mr. McNaught. “The CO used to ‘ave a special pair of walkin’ legs for coming in here. Looks like Mrs. Drummond’s put you some grub out an’ made your beds up, an’ I ‘opes you’re grateful.”

Cleo regarded the grub critically.

“It’s blue”, she said.

Mr. McNaught shrugged. “Instaraquae is this week’s experimental lichen of choice”, he said. “Accordin’ to Catering & Nutrition, it contains nothin’ that will actually kill you. Well, kill ‘amsters, anyway. They always tests it on ‘amsters.”

Cleo stared at the food. “Has this food been tested on animals?”

“Certainly ‘ope so, Miss.” Mr. McNaught swung his head back out under the doorway. “I’m ‘avin’ some meself in ‘alf an hour. You can always not eat any food if you wish.” He looked round at the walls. “Never seen a sea ‘orse meself”, he said. “Can they be ridden?”

“Of course”, said Cleo haughtily, as if Mr. McNaught were very very stupid. “Or else what would mermaids ride to play water polo?”

Mr. McNaught absorbed this information sagely. “A great honour, the old man allowin’ you into these quarters, mind”, he said. “’E’s kept ‘em more or less the same since the Accident.”

Cleo looked at the triple-decker bunk bed warily. “Would that be the sort of Accident that takes away more than just one child?”

McNaught nodded. “Very perceptive, miss. The CO ‘ad three little girls. Would’ve been your age by now. They used to sneak on board diplomatic ships, get a free ride out to other worlds - King, Laputa, Elysium. One day they snuck on to one ship too many. That ship never come back, an’ because their names never got entered on the passenger roster, we didn’t even know they was on it for five days. The ship was in good condition, the pilot was an old ‘and, no navigation ‘azards was reported along their course. Not a speck of wreckage was ever found. Fair broke their mother’s heart.”

Cleo stared glumly at the sea horses, flowers and fairies dancing round the walls.

McNaught cleared his throat. “The shower roster’s been cleared for all three of you, by the way, ladies and gents, on account of your dire state of need.”

“DIRE STATE OF NEED?”

Glenn Bob and Ant sniffed their armpits, hugely offended.

“Yes, young sirs and madam, I’m afraid it is that bad.”

“AND MADAM?”

“And madam, ma’am.” McNaught pointed to a locker by the three-man bunk bed. “You’re honoured. Central Stores’ve allocated you one ‘ole cake of soap.” He stared at the soap hungrily, as if this was the most outlandish luxury. “Oh, an’ memsahib Drummond also thought to provide for your, erm, animal.” He nodded at the locker on the other side of the bunk. A battered Mr. Potato Head doll was lying on the locker in a plastic bowl into which someone had taken the trouble to burn the letters TRUMAN J. SLUGHOUND.

“I hope it’s not polyethylene”, said Glenn Bob. “Polyethylene gives him the guts.” He looked up at McNaught. “You do realize he’ll eat the bowl as well, sir.”

McNaught nodded. “That thought ‘ad occurred to me, but does not seem to ‘ave occurred to Mrs. Drummond.”

Glenn Bob grinned. “I’ll hide the bowl in the locker. Tell the lady thanks.”

McNaught smiled and left.