JANE’S HOLIDAY

By Bob French

Jane had a huge smile on her face as she realised that Sammy, her daughter, had made her breakfast.

“Oh, you are a dear, love.”

“It’s alright Mum.  I know you’ve been working late these past few weeks and that you are really looking forward to your girl’s holiday.”

All Jane could do was embrace her. “Now you’ll be OK with Dad looking after you?”

Sammy gave he one of her looks.

Jane nodded, knowing that she had brought Samantha Jane, her daughter, up to stand on her own two feet and face any problems regardless.  Nothing seemed to faze her.  

“Now I leave tomorrow, so if there is anything you need, tell me now.”  As she spoke, she gently twisted the gold ring around on her pinky.

Sammy looked down at her hand.  “You always do that Mum when you get concerned about something.  What is it?”

“It’s a family heirloom that my mother gave to me.  She told me that before I die, I must pass the ring onto my eldest child, that’s you.”

“Can I see it please?”

Jane held out her hand and showed her. 

“It’s got a coat of arms or something on it.  Do you know what it means?”

“No. All my mother said was that it should never leave my hand until I pass it on.”

Just then the front doorbell rang, causing Sammy to jump up, grab her school satchel, kiss her Mum and vanish out the door.

As she watched Sammy link arms with Sarika and Jilly, she thought of the little gold ring and how long she had before she had to hand it over to her daughter.

Jane and her five friends landed at Santiago de Compostela airport in the middle of the afternoon and were greeted with a blast of hot air as they stepped down from the Iberian Airliner. Three hours later they were ushered into the foyer of the Pension Casa do Gallo Serria, a pleasant guest house on the south west fringe of the town of Serria, where Nicholas, a handsome young Spaniard from the travel company met them. 

After a brief introduction and a drink, they were shown their rooms and told to assemble in the bar after their evening meal, when he would take them through the itinerary, which entailed a 110 kilometer walk along the old pilgrim way from the church of Iglesia de Santa Maria de Sarria to the Cathedral Basilica de Santiago de Compostela, the burial place of Saint James the Great, one of the apostles of Jesus Christ.

As they assembled outside the Pension the following morning, Nicholas explained that the pilgrim way had existed for hundreds of years, and was used by those who wanted to take the pilgrimage to the tomb of Saint James, the patron saint of Spain and Calicia. The pilgrims would pass through this town and stop at the Church Iglesia de Santa Maria, situated just around the corner. This beautiful church was built between 1205 and 1301 and had been cherished down the centuries by the people of the town; even during the Reconquista, the Muslim Moors had failed to conquer the region of Calicia, due to the tenacity of its people.

As the church bells sounded ten o’clock, Nicholas declared that they would begin the walk. 

The first day’s walk started with enthusiasm by everyone, with a gentle climb, followed by a steep drop into a lush green valley towards Portomarin.  Even though spirits were high, they were starting to feel their tired muscles.  They stopped briefly for lunch, then moved off, a little slower than they had started.  As Night drew in, they crossed the bridge at Portomarin and reached the little la Pension de Mar. That night everyone slept soundly.

It was at lunchtime on the third day that Nicholas called a halt at the town of Melide, and as they ate their sandwiches in the quaint town square, Jane and Harriet decided, on the recommendation of Nicholas, to visit the 14^th century church, Igreza de San Pedro de Melide and at the same time to get their pilgrims card stamped.

It was cool inside the little church and not too many tourists around.  As they slowly took in the beautiful trappings, the smell of incense and the quiet peacefulness of the church, they came across an old nun, sitting next to a silver collection tray.  Jane lent forward and dropped a couple of Euro notes into it.  The nun looked up into her face, smiled, then took her hand and kissed it.  Jane felt very humbled at the kind gesture.

Suddenly the old nun quickly stepped back and looked up into Jane’s face and started to speak quickly at her. From nowhere a younger nun seemed to appear and listened to the rantings of the old nun, then turned to confront Jane.

“Scussy Madam.  Please let me see your hand.”

Harriet stepped forward and tried to intervene, but the younger nun was insistent.  Jane, not wanting to make a scene, stretched out her hand and the nun gently took it and studied the little gold ring on her pinky.

“How did you come by this ring madam?”

“It is a family heirloom. My mother gave it to me, Why?” The nun slowly nodded. “Please to come with me.”

Jane glanced at Harriet, shrugged, then followed the nun into the heart of the church, then off into a small chapel beside the main altar. She stopped, crossed herself, and knelt.

Jane, realizing that she had better follow what the nun had done; crossed herself then knelt as well. The nun turned and spoke to her in a hushed voice.

“Madam.  If you look at the arms on your ring, then look to the arms on the wall over there, you will see they are the same.”

Jane stared across at the coat of arms and realized, they were the same.

“I don’t understand,” Jane muttered.

They were interrupted by an elderly Priest who started to speak rapidly with the younger nun, then, they all bowed low in unison to Jane.

Harriet took all this in as an amusing prank, probably a trick to fool the tourists, but the Priest spoke first.

“My Lady. The ring that you wear.  Has it been in your family for many generations?”

Jane recalled her mother telling her that the ring was probably many hundreds of years old, and nodded.

“Have you ever been to Spain before?”

“No, this is my first time.”

The Priest and the two nuns spoke quickly between themselves again before he took Jane’s elbow and guided her to a seat.

“My Lady.  If what you tell us is true, then you are the descendant of Margarette, Isabella, Maria Jana, de Contessa de Calicia.”

Jane stared at the Priest. “Are you sure?”

“My Lady.  You wear her ring.”  By now a crowd had started to gather around the entrance to the small chapel.

“Margaret, Isabel, Mary and ….. What is Jana in English please?”

It was the young nun who spoke. “My Lady, in English, I think it would be Jane.” Suddenly Jane’s memory went back to the day her mother had passed her the ring.  She recalled the two demands she put upon her.  Firstly, to pass the ring onto the eldest child and secondly, whenever possible, to retain the Christian name of Jane.

Harriet broke the silence. “So, what happened to the Contessa?”

The old nun slowly sat down on one of the pews.

“The story goes that in the 14^th century when the Muslim Moors were threatening the frontiers of Calicia, Ferdinand, Emanuel de Corso, the Count of Calicia, and his army confronted them.  The Moors were too strong and the Count lost his life in the battle.  The Moors pushed on into Calicia until they came to this town.  Here, the Contessa and her ladies were waiting for their men to return.  When she realised the situation, she rallied the towns people and sent word to out-lying towns and cities in Calicia, calling them to arms.  She held off the Moors for three months; long enough for Ramiro, Alonzo, Ricardo, the Duke of Leon to raise an army and defeat the Moors.

Ricardo had wanted access to the sea and Calicia stood in his way, so when he relieved the town, the first thing he wanted to do was to imprison the Contessa and claim the region as his own.  According to the legend, she was smuggled aboard a ship bound for France, and later, she crossed the English Sea to England and was never seen or heard of again.”

Suddenly the noise of the crowd broke into the church and when the Priest and his nuns pulled open the doors to the church, they were surprised to see hundreds of cheering people.

Jane yelled at the Priest. “What are they saying?”

“They have come to witness the return of their Contessa and say thanks to their God.”

As Jane and Harriet stepped out of the church into the sunlight, the crowds instantly fell silent and everyone fell to their knees.

It took Nicholas, the town constable, and the mayor nearly two hours to thank everyone and allow Jane and the party to move on. When they finally reached Santiago de Compostela, Nicholas took them to the cathedral and the tomb of Saint James.

As they approached the steps to the cathedral, everyone was surprised to see that the bishop, in his fine regalia, and his huge entourage of priests and nuns had suddenly appeared from the huge wooden doors of the cathedral.

As Jane, Harriet, and the rest of the party started to climb the steps, the bishop and his party took the knee.  Then the bishop stood and extended his hand.  Jane had seen this on TV and knew that she had to kiss the ring, so she knelt and kissed the holy ring.

“My child.  I cannot say how pleased we all are that you have chosen to return after so long. Will you pray with us a while?”

Jane looked at Harriet, then Nicholas, who nodded at her, then stood and followed the bishop into the cathedral.

At dinner that night, the market square where the pension was situated was buzzing with gossip.  The Contessa of Calicia had returned and chosen this humble place to dine.

As everyone sat and enjoyed their last meal before returning to England, Harriet leaned over and spoke to Jane with a broad smile on her face.

“Well, are you going to tell Sammy about this My Lady?”

Jane thought for a minute then smiled. “No, I don’t think so. Well not until I have to hand over the ring to her. Then she can make up her own mind.”  

Copyright Bob French

Crow

  

Crow 

By Jane Scoggins

 

That wicked bird

That wiley one

Black of heart and wing

 

That hooded thief

With watchful eye

Plumage dark as coal

 

He caws and dives

Like a feathered jet

Soars to scruffy nest

 

Bright clever knave

In parliamentary heights

Grips the swaying branch

 

Watching laughing for the chance

To swoop and scare

The unsuspecting sparrow

 

Copyright Jane Scoggins

THE PROTEST

 THE PROTEST

by Richard Banks

        The decision to relocate England and Wales ten miles off the coast of Florida has been one of the most popular dictates of the Ruling Council in the twenty-second century. While no longer obliged to seek public approval via elections or referendums its informal meetings with regional focus groups are often used to gage public opinion, and the feedback from these was almost entirely favorable; the Proletariat jumped at the chance of living in the warm climes of a holiday location they could not afford to visit, while the economic advantages of closer links to our main trading partner was more than apparent to the CEOs of Footsie companies. Once the Irish Union was moved out of the way by attaching it to the west coast of Scotland there was nothing obstructing the English Republic, south of the Berwick Dyke, from crossing the Atlantic Ocean to its new anchorage. 

         Nothing that is but Aarry Sullivan who likes Britain where it is and would rather not be separated from his brother who lives across the border in the Independent Nation of Scotland. While Aarry should be keeping his opinions to himself he is inclined to share them with his drinking companions at the Boris Tavern, a grade four alehouse for unskilled operatives engaged in non-essential work. 

         Once Aarry had hopes of promotion to a grade three tavern where there was a carpet on the floor and an inside loo, but his application to be upgraded on the grounds that his father had once been a grade three until demoted for unspecified contraventions of the Citizens’ Code was rejected on the grounds that Aarry was unable to prove that the unspecified offence had not taken place. The official notification of this decision had been followed by a further form withdrawing his non-essential food ration for three months. 

         So, here he was at the Boris, drinking cloudy beer in the company of Mase and Albe whose tacit acceptance of the ‘Great Journey’ was based on the assumption that nothing they said was likely to make any difference.

         “It’s bound to be a bit choppy on the way over,” said Mase, who had once been seasick on Southend Pier. “Should be warmer though.”

         “By twenty degrees at least,” agreed Aarry. “Alright in the winter but just you wait until summer. Be hotter than an oven then.”

         Mase who earns a living by pulling a rickshaw absorbed this information with a deepening frown.

         “And then there’s the alligators,” said Aarry. “Big buggers they are, the size of a launch. Won’t take long for them to swim across from the mainland. Heaven help anyone who gets too close to one of them.”

         Mase took another swig of beer while wondering why no one had mentioned this before. “Are you sure about the alligators? There’s nothing about them in the Daily Truth. It will all be wonderful that’s what the paper says. Prosperity for everyone, even us.”

         “So you know that for a fact?”

         “Of course I do. Can’t be anything else if it’s in the Truth. Blimey Aarry, don’t tell me you’re one of those Differentalists. You know what happens to them.”

         “No,” said Aarry, “no one knows. Here today and gone tomorrow, but that’s not going to happen to us if we keep our voices down and no one hears. Why shouldn’t we have opinions that are different from the Government? Bring back Parliament. Government for the people by the people that’s what I say.”

         “But that’s democracy,” gasped Albe, looking in panic at the listening device on the wall above their heads. “Just saying that word is a crime against the state.”

         “Well, you just have,” said Aarry, unable to repress a chuckle, “but don’t worry, Mase and me ain’t going to shop you and neither is anyone else. The listener up there don’t work and probably never did. It’s just a dummy to discourage dummies like us from getting out of line. The only listener in here is Jo behind the bar. A Government spy, that’s what he is. Earns far more doing that than selling this swill. But while he’s there and we’re over here out of earshot, we can say what we like.”

         “Are you sure?” whispered Mase who, like Albe, was peering anxiously at the listener.

         “Of course I’m sure. OK, let’s put it to the test. Viva the revolution, power to the people. Now, if that thing is working, this place will be full of the Guard by the time I get back from the karzie.” And with that, he departed for the shed out back. 

         He returned five minutes later to find his companions still waiting tremulously for the squeal of brakes and the slamming of car doors that usually preceded a Guard raid. 

         “Now, where were we?” said Aarry. “Don’t think that moving the country to the States will be doing us any favours. Whatever happens, we’re always be bottom of the heap. It’s the Plebs at the top that will be cashing in. As for the three of us, it couldn’t be worse.”

         “Not sure about that,” said Albe glancing nervously through an uncurtained window at a passing car.

         “Well you should be,” interrupted Aarry. “Just think about it. You run a treadmill to heat homes while me and the Misses work in a factory making fur coats for those who can afford them. None of that will be of any use where we’re going. As for you, Mase, I don’t fancy your job pulling a rick in the heat of one their summers. Hot work for those who can stand it.”

         “But then,” said Mase as Aarry abruptly changed the subject.

         “Then Spurs scored from a corner and…. Hello Jo, what you doing over here. Come to wipe down the table. That’s very civil of you. Don’t miss that green bit in the middle. Lord knows what that is.” Aarry returned to his commentary on the Spurs until Jo was safely back at the bar. “So, as I was saying the move is not for us. The question is what we’re going to do about it?” 

         “What can we do? It’s Government policy. Their minds are made up. They even asked some of the people.”

         “The people,” scoffed Aarry. “Aren’t we the people? No one’s asked us, and never will while we do nothing but what we’re told. There was a time when people like us had rights when we had a say on who was going to be the Government and kicked them out when we didn’t like what they were doing. It don’t happen now. Why I’ll tell you why we don’t have the vote no more.” 

         “And a good thing too,” said Albe. Don’t you know it was the vote that divided people and set them against each other? Surely you remember what they taught us at school? 

         “Yeah, along with all the other crap. They didn’t bother much with the reading and writing but they were never shy of telling us our place. Citizens’ Rights they called it, two periods every day. Two hours of them telling us we weren’t good enough, that Government was done by those who had the most money and the big estates, that only they were fit to run the country. And us, at the bottom of the pile? What use were we? Not much according to our teachers. That’s why school ended for us at fourteen, and we were set loose to do the jobs no one else wanted, for the doles and privileges that came the way of those who did what they were told.” 

         “Well, that’s the way it is, Aarry,” said Mase. “We can’t be going back to the bad old days of mutiny and anarchy when the gutters flowed with blood,”

         “It never happened,” said Aarry in a raised voice that was heard behind the bar. “It never happened,” he repeated in a gruff whisper. “It’s all lies, there never was no armed uprising, not by our sort, no looting, no burning, no violence beyond the shouting of our grievances.”

         Albe’s mouth sagged open in disbelief. “That’s not what it says in the history books. Where do you get all this stuff?”

         “From my grandad, that’s who. Some of it he saw for himself, most was told him by his father. I also saw it in a book he had. My mother burnt it when he died but by then I had read every page. It was the army that rose up, paid to do it by those at the top of the money tree who wanted to be free of all regulation so they could become richer and more powerful. No more Parliaments for them. At first, they made themselves popular by giving everyone tax cuts but in the years that followed they made sure that the rich got richer and everyone else from the middle down was slowly, but surely, made worse. The Unions that stood up for the rights of their members were suppressed and public services, like hospitals, were starved of the money they needed to keep going. And when the people had had enough, when they were half starved and only paid a pittance, they took to the streets in a great demonstration called the Just Remonstrance, but by then it was too late. That’s when the revolution happened, the bloody suppression of the people by the army. Thousands died and when the newspapers and TV reported what had happened they were shut down and replaced by Truth Media. And since then we’ve done what we’ve been told until no one knows another way. Ours is the hard way, the only way, that’s what they taught us at school, and that’s what we hear and read every single day. And, if the likes of us don’t tell the people what’s really going on it will only get worse.”

         “No, no, Aarry, it’s all going to get better. Once we’re on the other side of the pond it will be…”

         “Worse than before,” interjected Mase.  “Aarry’s right, right about that, and right about the Just Remonstrance. Grandma said those words when she was going silly with the mind rot. Spoke about soldiers shooting down the people and bodies too many to count. We thought it was nonsense, crazy talk. The only thing crazy, was that she was now saying what she had kept inside her when she had her wits. ‘Keep your mind to yourself,’ was one of her sayings. And that’s what she did until the last year of her life when it all came spilling out.” 

         “What about you?” said Aarry to Albe “do you believe me now? Not sure? Well one thing you can’t ignore is that running a treadmill in 40 degrees heat will do you nothing but harm. How old are you? Fifty? Little chance of you making it through to sixty. Is that what you want for you and your son?”

         “But what’s to be done? How can we possibly make things right?”

         “By telling the people the truth, the real truth, that they are poor because they have been made poor, that they are oppressed when they should be free, and that none of this will change until they seize back what is rightly theirs. We must be like the farmer sowing seeds, seeds of truth that will take root and become a mighty harvest. If the people rise up, too many to be denied they will be free. It must happen, we must make it happen. At home, I have leaflets telling people, people like us, what they must know and do. We each take some and hand them out to the workers leaving the second shift tomorrow. It will be dark, keep your faces covered, and as soon as you’re done get yourself out of sight in the back alleys. Any questions?”

         “Where do we go?” Said Mase.

         “Me outside NPI, you at the steelworks, and Albe outside the generating station in Crawley Street. Is that OK, Albe? No need to say anything, just nod your head. ….Good man! OK now, drink up and come back to my place. There’s a bag of leaflets for both of you, one hundred in each. And in case you’re wondering we won’t be the only ones out there tomorrow, there’ll be five more in Sectors One and Three. Come on now, let’s be going, we have a great work to do.”        

                                               *****        

In order not to endanger each other it was agreed by the three of them not to meet at the Boris until the following week, an arrangement that left Aarry free to return there by himself the following evening. Bag in hand he made his way into the back room and, as Jo locked up for the night, poured himself a Scotch from a bottle on the dining table within. Having downed it in one he was in the process of replenishing his glass when Jo entered the room and sat down beside him. 

         “Everything OK? Your mates in position and ready to go?”

         “You must be kidding. Have them hand out seditious propaganda? No way. Even one leaflet in the wrong hands can cause trouble down the line; remember what I said about little seeds. No, they were arrested at dawn, their possession of subversive literature more than enough to make them enemies of the State. We won’t be seeing them again.”

         “No point then in drinking to their good health.”

         “None at all. And to think I use to be like they were, sticking to the rules, rules meant to keep us down. Then I changed, but not like them. If you can’t beat them join them. Make yourself useful. No one goes hungry where I live. So, here we are, in the money again. Your share’s in the bag, in kind, just as you wanted, ten bottles of Scotch and four of gin.”

         “And what about you?”

         “What about me? You mean how much do I get? Maybe more, maybe less. That’s for me to know and you not to think about. But one thing I can tell you is that I’m moving up in the world. Got my grade 3 today, so this will be our last drink together. Soon, I’ll be a regular at the Phoenix, downing grade 3 beer with journeymen mechanics and semi-literate clerks, folks who are keen to get on in life and who might be tempted by those like me fomenting revolution. As for you, you’ll be getting a new man, Suji. Very keen is Suji. I’m sure you’ll do well together. So, here’s to us, to past times and better ones to come.”        

“Cheers.” 

The End.

          

Copyright Richard Banks

                                 

Space Slugs

SPACE SLUG FEST

By Len Morgan

 

Somewhere in the Oort cloud, several light years from Earth, a meteor from deep space collided with a mass the size of a small planet.  It shattered like crushed honeycomb. The impact released a shower of debris in the direction of the solar system.   Millions of years later the first missiles arrived in the vicinity of the asteroid belt, just beyond Mars.                                                                                           

    Gemma and Clive Simmons, a married couple, are partners in private enterprise. They are members of a consortium, together with eleven other craft, prospecting and mining metals in the asteroid belt.  The work is dangerous, hard, and repetitive, but financially rewarding. Their days consist of crushing and grinding the rocks on the surface of a likely asteroid, eating into it with diamond drill bits. Like worms eating into an apple, their 'RockHopper', designated RH09, was assigned to sector 9 of the asteroid belt.  They were mining a group of metal rich asteroids. RH09 was in the process of electronically tagging and disengaging from asteroid R09761. They’d just identified deposits on asteroid R09762, when they were bombarded by a swarm of meteorites.  They were unlike anything they had previously encountered.  The missiles struck the hull of the craft, shaking it like an earthquake. They stuck to the RH09's outer skin as if they were magnetic.

    "There's somebody at the door, Clive. Will you get it?"

    "Huh, funny girl!  I'll suit up while you wind in the snorkel.  Let's see what they're made of, could be worth collecting."

    "Feed em into hopper #3 then we can crush and dissect them at leisure.  Should be enough room in there, we don't have a full load yet."

    Clive suited up, checked the air pressure on his tanks, and said "I’m going out..." The ship sucked air from the airlock and on his return, half an hour later, refilled it.

    "Strange little buggers, pretty uniform, about the size of a tennis ball, flattened on one side.  Had to prize them off the hull like limpets, they left trails cleared of dust as they moved. Fortunately, they only hit us with glancing blows as if they all came from one source.  I collected a dozen, they're in the bin, and there are plenty more scattered around on this rock.  Do you need a hand disengaging the hoses while I’m out here?"

    "No thanks.  While you were out gallivanting with your friends, I kept on working as always."

    "Good girl.  So, I'll catch a little shuteye while you set a trajectory for R09762?"

     An hour later, she woke him up "Clive!  There’s something weird happening in H3, I think it’s sprung a leak.  It was three quarters full when you loaded those globes now it’s only half full.  Are you sure one of those impacts didn't breach the hull?"

    "What?  You’re joshing me; there were just a few minor paint scrapings outside."

    "Well something's wrong!  Get off yer ass and check it out!"

    "Yes boss, anything you say, boss." He made his way to H3 and checked the atmosphere, it was stable.  "Well, we're not leaking air so, are you sure those readings are correct?"

    "Sure as your name is Floyd, It is, isn't it?"

    "You know my name!  So, I'll open H3 and find out what's amiss."

    "Careful man, there's not much gravity in there."

     He rolled his eyes, hauled himself up by the rope ladder, hand over hand, unlatched the hopper, and raised the hatch. "That's odd, those balls have tripled in size, what are they doing eating rocks?"  As he watched, one of the balls moved leaving a silvery metallic slime trail.  “The surface of the scrape is covered in their slime.  I don't believe it, they're excreting pure metals and they’ve increased to the size of basketballs."

    "Can you get them out of there before they grow any bigger?  If they're growing at that rate, they'll soon outgrow the hopper and take over the ship."

    "I'll need some help there, Gem, we'll need to set up a winch outside to haul them out.  I’d really like to know where the hell they came from." 

      An hour later they were both suited up, and standing beside the ship watching a dozen boulders slide slowly away from the ship.  They began collecting the slug slime, which proved to be an amalgam of various metals.

    “They’re moving under their own steam, which means they could be alive.”

    “It would be nice to keep one, eh Gem?  Then we wouldn’t need to cart our ore back to the mother ship to be transported to moon base for smelting.  But, there’s a directive somewhere about reporting extraterrestrial contacts to the ECC back on Earth.”

    “We probably need to consult the others, let’s make a collective decision before we relinquish this find.” 

     Two days later the consortium gathered in the mother ship.  Almost all the RockHopper crews there had encountered the balls.  Space slugs was the consensus, and the best description they came up with.

    “So it’s unanimous, we pass the news on to Moon base.  They take the lion’s share of our scrape, so they can have the responsibility for reporting this to ECC back on Earth,” said Voss, captain of the mother ship.

    “Has anybody else witnessed the larger ones fragmenting?  We saw one separate into twenty-seven, small, golf ball-sized pieces.  I thought it had died but the pieces just kept on eating,” said Lin Chou from RH04.

     Three days later, a report came in from Captain Voss.

    “I’ve contacted moon base, they’ve been bombarded with the little buggers. They’ve been landing on Earth as well but the heat of entry has turned them into glass balls. They are confirmed to be a silicon-based life form.  ECC has named their various compounds as Silicarb’s.  Left to their own devices, they will decimate the asteroid belt in a hundred or so years, depending on their rate of reproduction.” 

    “S’pose we could seal them in metal tanks, and limit their food supply.”

    “Maybe we could fire them into the Sun.”

    “Yea the heat would sure stabilize them,” said Gem.

    “Or, we could fire them back into the Oort cloud where they came from.”

    “What if the Oort wasn’t where they came from Clive?”

    “What if they are left unchecked, what could they do to the moon?  Will they eventually die off, or will they just go on forever, and devour everything…” 

     It was an amateur astronomer, Constatine Christodoulou, who discovered an asteroid, not on the NEO listings.  It will either pass very close to, or collide with Earth.  It’s a rock the size of Mont Blanc.  A hit would have a devastating effect, likely resulting in the extinction of all life on earth.  The asteroid was designated as ‘Christo2175’.

    “Gem, I’ve just received a vid from the mother ship about asteroid 2175.  Did you hear it?” Clive asked.

    “No, What?”

    “According to Voss the ECC have procedures in play to change its course but it’s coming from an unexpected direction.  It leaves little time for them to redeploy their missiles.”

    “Why is he telling us?”

    “Moonbase has an alternative backup plan in the event ECC’s plan fails.”

    “Involving us?”

    “Their plan is for us to gather medium sized slugs and aim them towards 2175,” said Clive. 

    “It’s a shot in the dark.  We have no way of guiding them.  But, we have to find 2175 first, it will be like finding an ant in the Sahara desert.” 

    “Voss says we need to come up with a method of delivery, all suggestions will be considered, we have only weeks to save ourselves and the Earth.”

    “What if we empty our hoppers and fill them with the small ones…” Gemma said.

    “It’s a suggestion, I’ll pass it on.” 

    Two hours later, “There’s a vid from Voss coming through, Clive. He says others have come up with the same idea, but Moonbase doubts we will be able to carry enough Slugs to eat the bulk of the asteroid in the time remaining. They suggest that if they supply us with steel nets we could drag a much larger quantity between us.  At a guess, we could double or even treble our payload.  They think that would help. Your thoughts Clive?” 

    “Well, that might still be marginal, but if ECC’s nukes don’t succeed we might be humanity's only chance of survival. Are our twelve ships the only ones available, Gem?  ”

    “No, apparently they’re sending every available craft including the junkyard collectors.  In all there are over 200 craft; we leave at 1200 SST (Sol Standard Time).  So let’s spread our nets and cart as many slugs as we can carry to the flotilla at the meeting point they’ve given us.” 

    “I bet RockHoppers are the only ones dragging the slugs Gem.”

    “Horses for courses, Clive.  They’ve spotted asteroid 2175 crossing the orbit of Venus.”

    “Let’s get out there and sling our load in its direction.” 

     The flotilla had previously agreed on the slingshot method of delivery.  It took them two days to reach asteroid 2175 and shower it with slugs.  They stood off to watch them do their thing.

     Voss here “Three hours later, ECC has calculated that the metallic mass remaining could still result in an extinction event on Earth.  They can’t give us any further help they used up their stock missiles before we arrived.  They are reduced to praying for a miracle!”  The airways were silent. 

    “Gemma went over the open mike! Does anybody have suggestions of something we could try?  If we don’t come up with a plan, we’ll have no home to go back too” 

      The airways remained silent but RH09 nosed in towards the meteor, and slowly nudged into a crater.  They’re executing a Slo-Ram, a technique routinely used by prospectors to nudge smaller asteroids into a stable state before mining operations could begin. 

     Gemma broke the silence.  “RH09 doesn’t have enough power to change its direction, but if we all Slo-Ram, we might be able to move it!” 

    “Come on RockHopper’s let’s see what our combined weight can do at full thrust.” Voss encouraged.  Then slowly the ‘dirty dozen’ nosed in.  With full jets thrusting they fired for an hour, the asteroid moved, but according ECC on Earth, it was still not enough.

    “Our fuel is getting low,” said Clive.  At this rate, we’ll soon be stranded here in the back of beyond.”

    “Back off!  Pull away!” said Voss.  The RockHooper’s backed away, “Any other suggestions?” 

    “This Slo-Ram is a new one on me,” said Captain Heeney one of the freighter captains, “Let’s give it a try.   

    Within half an hour, a hundred ships of all kinds were doing a Slow-Ram and their combined thrusters moved it several degrees in an hour.  They backed off while the remaining ships moved in to do their stint. 

    “ECC say if we can change its direction by a further 5 degrees, it will miss Earth entirely and be on course for splashdown on Sol.” 

    Heeney drew in a deep breath, and yelled, “Thank goodness for Rockhopper’s; and for prayer.” 

Copyright Len Morgan

Haiku 4U

 Haiku 4U ~ 01

by Robert Kingston

Haiku 4U ~ 02

Haiku 4U ~ 03

Haiku 4U ~ 04

Copyright Robert Kingston

NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION

 NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION

By Bob French

Humphrey sat back and looked down at the Christmas presents he had just received from the tree by the hand of his sister Jean.  As he contemplated them, he noticed that his and all the other presents were wrapped in the same wrapping paper. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dorothy’s face turn to thunder as she unwrapped her presents, but thought nothing of it.  Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by Jim, Jean’s brother, a rough and ready builder by trade, who slumped down beside him.

“Hay Humph, how you doing mate?  Haven’t seen you since we went on that boat trip down the Thames last summer.  You know, when you puked all over Mother and little Christine.”  His voice carried across the room, causing many to laugh at him and some to groan.

Jim was about twenty-five; tanned, with ice blue eyes, and built like an Irish toilet.  His lack of decorum was made up by his fast-talking wit and charm which he used on the ladies, regardless of their age.

“Fine Jim, how’s business with you? keeping busy?” Humphrey knew that when speaking to Jim, it was best to stick to subjects he knew about rather than the cost of living or the war in Ukraine.

“Made a couple of grand last month renovating an old house over in Wickford.  It was owned by some ponce who had retired from the Conservative Party or something.  And you?  Still, pushing your pen around ledgers?

Humphrey was an accountant and had been since leaving school.  He had, as suggested by his father, started at the bottom, but instead of rising slowly through the ranks, he had stayed at the bottom. Overlooked and regularly criticized by his managers as being too slow and a little too honest.  This last misdemeanor had caused him the loss of Mildred, his wife of some ten years.

Mildred was the daughter of Roger Harvest, the manager of the local bank and when Mildred mentioned that her husband was an accountant, Roger thought to push some business his way.  That was the first mistake because after Humphrey had gone through the books, he found that Roger had omitted to declare a number of taxes to Her Majesties Inspector of Taxes.  Secondly, rather than sit down with Roger and explain his findings and then how he could overcome the issue, he informed the tax man, causing the preverbal poo hit the fan.

The first he knew something was amiss was when he was called into his boss’s office, and after an hour of being yelled at and criticized for being incompetent and a dead weight in the company, was told to get out.

That night as he pushed his front door open, he felt the place cold. After calling out for Mildred and getting no reply, started to slowly search his home. He found her letter on the kitchen table.  She had left him, claiming that what he had promised her on their wedding day of being a successful accountant and living in a nice house in Billericay with a car each and a couple of kids, had failed to materialize. Now alone, his sister Jean had taken pity on him and included him in any family celebrations.  He had always found an excuse to duck out of these events, but this year, he had failed to convince her, and so, was duty bound to attend.  Her parting words were “Don’t bother to bring presents, I’ve bought everyone a present or two.”

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of two children giggling behind the sofa but chose to ignore them.  He hated kids, especially those two brats belonging to Jean.  Arrogant, spoilt and rude. He recalled the time when he had been given a plastic bottle of water at the family summer picnic and after a brisk game of football with the family, had sat down next to Jean’s beautifully laid out picnic, took a deep swig from the bottle, only to find it was pure gin.  He had swallowed two or three deep gulps before realizing what he was drinking, then vomited up the foul-tasting alcohol, all over Jean’s masterpiece.

Since then, Humphrey was always on guard when these two miscreants were nearby.

It was nearing nine at night when Humphrey made his apologies and left, taking his unopened Christmas presents with him.  As he left, Jean quietly mentioned that if he didn’t like the presents, he could take them back to the House of Fraser down at Lakeside and they would give him a credit note.

A few days before New Year’s day, Jill popped her head around his door.

“Hey, have you heard?  The boss is throwing a work’s New Year’s party in a restaurant down by the House of Fraser in Lakeside. You coming?”

Humphrey had liked Jill, but being married, felt that she was out of bounds and was about to decline her invitation, then realised that he could pop into the House of Fraser, exchange his unopened Christmas presents, then join the party.

“Jill, I’d love to come.”

The journey down to Lakeside was sadly lacking in Christmas or New Year’s spirit.  As he stepped down from the minibus he called out.

“I’m just going to change my Christmas presents at The House of Fraser.  I’ll meet you all in the restaurant,” and started to walk away from his work colleagues who had already started to window shop.

“Hang on Humph, we’ll come with you.  I have heard that the House of Fraser has a great New Year window display,” yelled one of the girls.  Humphrey spun around to see that the girls, led by Jill from the typing pool, and a few of the senior managers, had decided to join him.

In his defense, he called out that “It’s OK, they always buy me things that I don't need, you know, men’s things.” Thinking that he did not need to explain that every Christmas he always got socks or handkerchiefs.

He finally found the customer care counter and was a little surprised to find it busy, but more concerning, was that everyone seemed to have followed him into the store.

“Good evening, Sir.  How can I help you?”  The woman was in her early twenties and wore a badge that declared her to be a trainee.

“Yes, good evening, Miss.  These are my Christmas presents which I wish to hand back and obtain a credit note please.”

“Certainly Sir, let me unwrap them for you.  By this time everyone had gathered around Humphrey, eager to see what he had received for Christmas. All of a sudden those around him fell silent and Humphrey looked back into the face of the young trainee, who had started to blush.

“What is it?”

Very slowly the young woman pulled out a pair of black stockings, a bright red garter, a matching garter belt, and a pair of scanty black lace knickers.

No one spoke for a few seconds, then Jill, who had been standing next to him quietly whispered to him, with a grin on her face.

“Humph you dirty old man.  If I knew you were kinky, I’d have bought you something like these ages ago.”

Suddenly everyone was laughing at him, but Jill, realizing his dilemma and quietly took his hand and squeezed it.

Before he could snatch the other unopened present from the trainee, she had ripped off the wrapping paper and tore open the box which contained seven pairs of raunch knickers each with the day of the week and a very suggestive logo on each pair.

Humphrey suddenly leaned across the counter and grabbed at the wrapping paper.  Then he saw it.  Those two little devils had switched the labels on the Christmas presents.  It was then that the image of Dorothy’s expression flashed across his mind and he relised what they had done.

Suddenly everyone was laughing at the presents and not him.  Jill, who held onto him, leant into him and gave him a quick kiss, and whispered with a huge grin on her face, “You are naughty, but I like it.”

A couple of the senior managers slapped Humphrey on the back, grinning at him and wishing him a happy New Year. Then the whole party was moving towards the restaurant; the mood had changed; everyone was laughing and chattering and in high spirits. Jill had taken Humphrey by the hand and drifted to the back of the crowd as they entered the restaurant.

“So Humph, what is your New Year’s resolution?”

He smiled at her and then gently kissed her.  “I was wondering if you would like to come and live with me?”

With a huge grin on her face, she whispered into his ear. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Copyright Bob French