The Meteor Problem (3)

I had expected the Happy Island to Antarctica cruise ship to go straight to Antarctica, but as we passed the Big Important Mainland Dock, the cruise pulled in.

 

“Why are we stopping?” I asked the captain.

 

“To load up with plot. We’ve not got enough to last then entire story.”

 

“Haven’t we got enough plot?” I said. “Two rival amateur astronomers, both claiming to have discovered a meteor made of solid gold, and both heading to its predicted landing-point on the Antarctic.”

 

“Na, that’s just a set up. You need a twist. The story needs to take on an additional character who’ll change the direction of the story and enable a satisfying ending.”

 

As the captain had anticipated, an additional person boarded at the Big Important Mainland Dock. He was smartly suited and important looking, and when I greeted him he responded politely.

 

“Off to see the penguins?” I asked. 

 

“No, I’ve no time for such trivia he said. I’m on very important UN businesses.”

 

“Very important UN business?” I said. “What is it war? A refugee crisis? Climate change?”

 

“No,” he said. “Much more important than any of those. There’s a meteor made of solid gold about to land in the Antarctic.”

 

“The golden meteor,” I said. “That’s why I’m here. I’m with Alun and Aaron Davies, co-discoverers of the Davies-Davies meteor.”

 

“Which are they?”

 

“They’re the two men sitting on opposite ends of the deck refusing to speak to each other.”

 

“Oh, are they not friends?”

 

“No, they’re bitter rivals. They’re both claiming that the meteor is theirs.”

 

“Well, I shall put them right. Neither of them has any claim to the meteor. The Antarctic falls under the protection of the United Nations. All the gold is mine. I mean, it’s my burden of responsibility to ensure that gold is used wisely to fund essential UN anti-poverty strategies and measures.”

 

“Oh, what sort of thing, building wells in drought-ridden Africa, buying trucks for isolated communities, supplying geep to isolated island communities that don’t like goats nor sheep.”

 

“Well, maybe, but the first priority is to purchase a poverty-busting yacht. It’s ridiculous I have to take a common ferry and mingle with all sorts of riff-raff when I’m on important UN business.”

 

“It’s not a ferry,” I reminded him, “It’s a luxury cruise ship.”

 

“It’s ridiculous I have to take a common Luxury cruise ship and mingle with all sorts of riff-raff when I’m on important UN business. UN officials need a specially-commissioned yacht so that they are free to travel to crisis zones without the burden of timetables or the general public.”

 

“Who’s that,” Alun asked when I returned to his side of the deck.

 

“It’s a very important official from the UN,” I said. “He’s here to oversee the landing of the golden meteor.”

 

“Excellent, a sensible, neutral third party. I shall go and talk to him to state my claim for the meteor.”

 

I didn’t stop him, thinking it best that he found out the officials’ motives for himself. While he was gone I took the opportunity to move his deckchair along the deck, slightly closer to Aaron Davies’. I was determined to do all I could to end the senseless rift between them.

 

Having done with my deckchair shifting business, I strolled over to see Aaron Davies. Though a bitter and fierce rival of Alun’s, I’ve always enjoyed his company. It is true that Aaron is an eccentric and ill-tempered type, but that’s true of all inhabitants of our archipelago. It’s that sort of archipelago.

 

“Morning Jed,” he said. “Who’s the man I saw you talking to?”

 

“He’s an official from the UN. He’s here to oversee the landing of the golden meteor.”

 

“Excellent,” Aaron replied. “A sensible third party. I shall go and talk to him to state my claim for the meteor.” I didn’t stop him, thinking it best that he found out the officials’ motives for himself.

 

It so happened that Alun had just left the official and returned to his deckchair. I didn’t hear exactly what was said, but from Alun’s gestures he wasn’t happy with the preceding conversation.

 

I quickly moved Aaron’s deckchair subtly towards the centre of the deck, before returning to Alun.

 

“How did it go?” I asked as innocently as I could manage.

“The fiend,” Alun cried. “He’s trying to steal my gold for the UN.”

 

“The UN do good work.”

 

“Baa, luxuriating in yachts, drinking champagne and quaffing caviar doesn’t end poverty, Jed. I’m not speaking to him again, I’m going to position my deckchair as far away as possible from where he’s sitting.”

 

Shortly afterwards we heard Aaron storm away from the official, swearing angrily.

 

Finding a place for the UN official’s deckchair became quite a challenge, with both Alun and Aaron seeking to sit as far away as possible both from each other and the official, the sort of puzzle your maths teacher might set you as a challenge (a practical question, our maths teacher spent his summer vacations on luxury cruises where he would spend much of his time avoiding people).

 

I could see that it was going to be a difficult few days before we landed in the Antarctic.