HEROICS INC.
					
		a comic fantasy	
					     
		by

		Gary Cahalane




		






	

		



		
		AUTHOR'S NOTE



I have given my permission as the copyright holder for the following 
text to be distributed via the Internet and down-loaded free of charge, either as a whole or in extract form. 



Much of what follows is not very good. This is not false modesty on my part but an acceptance of my limitations as a writer at the time. This was my first attempt at a novel and was a valuable experience. Why then should you bother to read on? 

Viewing the material from a time distanced perspective I have come to 
regard it as being like an over enthusiastic puppy. Like a puppy it 
is energetic, untrained and full of crap in parts but it can also be 
rather loveable. That is why I decided to leave it pretty much as it 
is and let you judge. I hope that you stick with and enjoy HEROICS INC. 
and would value any comments that you would like to make care 
of: gary@cygenesis.co.uk

                                               Gary Cahalane






               DEBICATION



               For Debadee.

               Mega-muse; best friend, woman "to die for."

               A story that you will probably hate.

               Thank you for putting up with my daily insanity's 

               and for making my world a more fantastical place.

                                                 

   					





			ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:



I would like to thank Vanessa Miller and Lesley Walker for their 
friendship, kindness and advice. 

Much of the dialogue and action featured in Burt Lancaster's brief 
holographic appearance in "HEROICS INC." Is taken from "THE CRIMSON 
PIRATE". Written by Roland Kibbee. Directed by Robert Siodmak. 
Warner/Norma (Harold Hecht) GB 1952. 

						


		





						
			HEROICS INC.













     
	'Heroics INC.?'     
	It thoughtfully regarded them. There seemed to be a twinkle    
of amusement in those heavy-lidded yellow eyes, a slight twitch    
around the corners of its armoured green lips, as if it were    
having great difficulty in keeping it's delicately sharpened fangs    
from smiling.     
	'Yes, I know about them, but I couldn't.... Really.'     
	They waited, for the words were uttered in the tone of    
feigned reluctance that one uses before reciting a favourite poem    
or singing an off-key song for the amusement of old friends.     
	'Well! It will only bore you. However... if you must.'     
The creature used a worn talon to press an emerald scale,    
activating the officious voice of its memory mechanism.     
	'Downloading memory, downloading memory. Please specify?'     
	'07... 10... 2299. 6 a.m.'     
The mechanism was unimpressed.     
	'Not that again,' it sniffed.     
     
	The circuit clicked into place and the beast began. Its    
voice was deep and rich, well rehearsed, with just the right hint    
of theatricality, as it started to tell its story.     
  	'It was a usual morning....'     
     
    
 
 
  
     
     
Burt Lancaster, stripped to the waist and tanned by some far-off    
sun, sailed through the air and alighted gracefully on the bedside    
table.     
 	'Man the yards, crank out all canvas...' He rapped out the      
orders, then turned with a rugged, toothy grin and twinkling eyes.     
 	'Gather round lads and lasses, gather round. You've been      
shanghaied aboard for the last voyage of the Crimson Pirate, a    
long, long time ago in the far, far Caribbean. Remember! In a    
pirate ship, in pirate waters, in a pirate world. Believe only    
what you see...'      
Grasping a non-existent ships rope for support, he swung out in a      
breathtaking arc onto the bed, `No! Believe only half f what you    
see. Man the capstans, up anchor, MOVE YOU LUBBER!!!'     
 	Though only six inches high, Burt avoided the pillow hurled    
at him with practised ease.     
	'Avast, you scurvy son of a sea dog! Do you want the snooze      
setting?'     
	'NO!' Came the muffled reply from under the duvet as Burt    
faded into nothing.     
     
    
 
 
  
     
Will Prince stirred mutinously under the duvet. Today was his    
twenty-fifth birthday. A person should have certain liberties,    
rights that had nothing to do with computers wanting to mother you    
to death whilst claiming that it was in your own best interests.    
It stood to reason that one of Mankind's basic liberties should be    
the right to a lie-in on one's birthday. There was no way that he    
was going to let anyone coax him out of bed. 'It's my party and    
I'll lie if I want to.' It wasn't as if there was anything to get    
up for. Another day spent slumped in his room with the "reptile"    
fussing. A thrilling choice between 6005 different educational    
channels on the video screen. It was all so BORING.     
 	The alternative was worse. He shuddered as he thought of the      
trip through Dickens-land to the local Human Welfare Centre. Once      
there, he could stop for some "meaningful social interaction"    
with others of his "exciting species", as the Personifications'    
would put it.     
 	Exciting species indeed. Most of his contemporaries at the      
centre seemed to embrace relentless tedium as if it were a    
vocation.      
	It was no wonder that the day ahead, that almost every day,    
depressed him. He had to face the fact that he was born at the    
wrong time. If only he had been lucky enough to be born a few    
hundred years earlier.      
	Those times seemed so much more exciting, full of really    
interesting things like war, famine and disease. Will felt a    
deliciously sordid thrill of pleasure course through him as he    
wondered what it much have been actually like to "work for a    
living".     
  	Such things were only a dream today. Everything seemed sanitised      
and dull. COMS (The Cybernetic Operational Management Structure)    
ran everything with tedious efficiency. Things like homelessness    
and hunger were distant memories. The Personifications did all the    
work and humans were supposed to take full advantage of their    
leisure time to enjoy and fulfil themselves. There was only one    
catch; your enjoyment had to be good for you. The problem with    
this was that every artificial mind on the planet possessed the    
sure and certain knowledge that Mankind had absolutely no idea    
what was good for it.      
	That was after all why COMS had been rushed into existence, to    
save a civilisation on the verge of extinction and protect people    
from themselves. The way the machines told it they were the good    
guys in the biggest of white hats. It was just such a shame that    
they had to be so pious and PO-faced about everything.     
    
 
 
  
     
     
	"No. It was time for a change, time for a person to lie down      
and be counted." He would protest, refuse to come out from under    
the bedclothes until the machines listened to a list of demands    
that included the right to stay under a duvet as long as he    
wanted. He could start a movement, or perhaps he should call it a    
non-movement as it involved staying in one place.      
	Will felt that he was on the verge of something big, the    
great lie-in protest of  "99". He not only began to perk up; he    
began to feel positively exhilarated. With an idea like this    
anything could happen, he could rally the people, and he could...     
	"Bugger...Bugger, Bugger, BUGGER!"     
	Of course to rally people to a lie-in protest he would have    
to get up. That settled it; he was convinced. Somewhere out in the      
cosmos there was a little purple man, a bitter twisted being, who      
worked feverishly and unceasingly at just one task: screwing up    
his existence.     
     
     
    
 
 
     
At that precise moment, on the far side of the cosmos, a Purple    
Being stirred and started a train of events that would radically    
change Will's life. However, this startling coincidence did not    
mean that Will was not paranoid, because he was.     
 	In the first place, this Purple Being had no gender. If you      
politely inquired It would reply, if It bothered to notice you at      
all, that: 'I do not know what I am. I'm just a reasonably all-     
powerful Purple Thingy and a celibate one at that. Sex does not    
come into it at all. So stop being nosy.'     
 	In the second place, this Purple Thingy was of indeterminate      
size, and in the third place, nowhere in Its many thousand brains    
was there even one cell that had an inkling that Will Prince or    
any other human existed. Thingy brains had far more important    
things to think about and they could not waste stray thoughts on    
minor planetary bacteria. This was not some third-rate sadistic    
demi-god, meddling with the pathetic existences of sad little    
microbes. The Thingy was major stuff!     
  	Will had no idea that his depressing twenty-fifth birthday      
coincided with what could be one of the most important events in    
the history of everything (even the Durengi though everyone knew    
they were far too big-headed to admit it.)  After a passage of    
time so vast that you couldn't write all its noughts out in the    
lifetime of a giant Redwood, the Thingy had reached a decision.     
  	One by one Its brains mentally groaned the Thingy equivalent    
of "PHEW!", and reached for an aspirin. The answer was simple    
after all: the MADID - it had to be the MADID. Now came the    
difficult bit: Choosing a champion.     
     
     
    
 
  
 	'Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy    
Birthday dear Wil-l-l, Happy Birthday to you!'     
 	The video screen chirped out the greeting for the fifty-   
sixth time before it decided it was not getting the attention it    
deserved and experimentally changed the channel.     
	'Cor, luv a duck, Guv'nor. Ya mean ta say you ain't been to      
Dickens-land? Well I'll be blowed! `ow the `ell d'you expect ta    
learn abhat ignerence, poverty an' want, if you don't go ta this      
maahvellous recreation of Victorian squalor?'     
	Will and his companion took no notice. They were busy.    
Sulphur was Will's COMS appointed comrade. He was green, scaly and    
decidedly dragon-shaped, being both a triumph of Personification    
engineering and a testimony to Will's stubbornness. Human Welfare    
Centre Social Workers had argued with the persistence only    
artificial lifeforms can muster against supplying a mythical    
beast, one by one they had sold him the virtues of the alternative    
models on offer. Will had been adamant. He did not want a cat,    
dog, budgie or even a "frigging" three-toed sloth, he wanted a    
dragon, an awe-inspiring, fire-breathing specimen of primal,    
necromantic beauty, and that was that.      
Eventually COMS had filed Will under T for Trouble and given in.     
	Since Will, like every other human on the planet, lived in a      
ten foot by twelve foot apartment, sensible economies of scale had    
to be brought to bear and Sulphur for all his beauty was a    
distinctly unimpressive two foot long. To offset this, he was the    
only legendary beast in the universe that possessed a top of the    
range Magatronian IX intelligence system. He learned fast. The    
first thing that life with Will taught the dragon was that he    
would need a great deal of patience, the second, that he would    
require a infinite supply of sarcasm to go with it.     
	'It's not the `lie-in' protest AGAIN,' Sulphur raised his    
eyes laboriously skyward.     
	'No, it's not.' The duvet could not muffle the annoying      
stubbornness in Will's voice.     
	'Every year- it's the same thing.'     
	'I said, it's not.'     
	'You've got to get up!'     
	'I'm not coming out.'     
	'Do you know how important your time is? Time wasted can    
never be replaced.'     
	'You mean like all the times I've wasted on those ridiculous      
educational programmes. What's the good of learning to memorise    
the complete works of Shakespeare if everybody else already knows    
them?      
Where's the fun if you can't show off a bit?'     
	The video screen took Will's comment to heart.     
	'I work my chips into a frenzy offering you a range of top      
quality info-tainment and this is the thanks I get! I know when I    
not wanted.' To prove its point the screen switched itself off in    
a huff.     
	'You've upset the Vid now. You're so selfish.'     
	'It's my birthday, I'm supposed to be selfish.'     
	'Get up!'     
	'No!'      
	It was obvious to Sulphur that he was getting nowhere. A    
change of tactics was needed. His vocal circuits remodulated into    
softly persuasive tones.     
	'Will, be reasonable, you're only harming yourself. If you      
don't get up, you won't be able to collect your distribution of      
leisure entitlement credits.'     
	'Don't give me that! I know perfectly well the payment can    
be delivered. Collecting the DOLE is just a way to con me into    
getting out and meeting 'interesting' people. I won't go.'     
	Sulphur did not want to do it. He knew he was just pandering    
to Will's psychosis but something had to be done. The alternative    
was to just grab the bedclothes and pull and that was far too    
undignified an option. He refused to lower himself to human levels    
of childish behaviour. It would just have to be bribery.     
	'If you don't get up, I won't give you your birthday    
present.'     
	Will's voice managed to combine scepticism and curious    
greed.     
	'Present, what present?'     
	'Oh, nothing much, just that silly inscribed brass door    
plaque you wanted.'     
	'It's a trick. You told me they refused to make it. It had    
no logic.'     
	'It took some persuading. I convinced them that providing    
you with objects of absolutely no logic has a beneficial sedative      
effect.'     
	'You're lying.'     
	'I'm not programmed to lie.'     
	'Rubbish!'     
	Sulphur's indignation circuits shot onto booster setting.      
	'I've had enough of this...'     
	Will's mattress was lost in erotic musings about silk sheets      
and the sexy new bed-base down the hall when Sulphur coughed out a      
great wave of flame. The blankets were cremated with instantaneous      
pinpoint accuracy. The bed panicked and disappeared into its slot    
in the wall, leaving Will, confused, blackened, but unharmed,    
lying in a pile of ash upon the floor. He momentarily reflected    
about the wisdom of choosing a dragon as a companion.     
  	'Okay, I've decided to be reasonable about this...' He said,      
managing to speak with remarkable self-possession for someone with    
a mouthful of ash. 'Where's my present?'     
     
    
 
 
  
     
It is not always appreciated that the mind of a video screen    
is a complex structure.  Although switched off, it was able to    
sulk and plot its revenge with some feeling.     
	I know they only think of me as a drudge, a mere household      
appliance, but there are limits, it reasoned. After all, if you    
prick a video screen, does it not bleed? Well, perhaps not. Still,    
feelings were hurt and injury received. The screen set about    
rewriting its systems.  It was time for Will Prince to be    
punished.     
     
    
 
  
     
     
Will squinted through his glasses at the minuscule lettering on    
the tiny plaque he held between thumb and forefinger.     
	'Heroics INC. I don't know what to say. It's, it's...small.'     
	'Ungrateful swine. You're lucky you've got it at all.'     
Sulphur never did realise just how right he was, for at that very      
moment the video screen switched itself on and aimed its newly      
reorganised remote system at Will's head. The screen was somewhat      
over-elated by anticipation of its coming triumph and had it not      
diverted power from its voice circuits would surely have said      
something defiantly silly like: 'Eat light, sucker!' or 'Death to    
all tyrants!'     
 	In fact, all COMS systems had been programmed not to    
seriously harm humans because COMS knew that without this very    
basic precaution, the infuriating creatures would be exterminated    
within a week. Thus the force of the laser blast directed at Will    
was only capable of causing brief unconsciousness and a slight    
headache. Due to one of those annoying quirks of fate that only    
ever happen to other people - like finding a winning lottery    
ticket or a decent parking space - the laser beam missed Will    
completely, bounced off the brass plaque and was deflected up out    
of the window. Oblivious of his escape Will put down the plaque,    
yawned and lazily scratched his left buttock.     
  	'I suppose I'd better have a shower.'     
     
     
 
  
     
     
The video screen was inconsolable. It wasn't just that the beam    
had missed, the final straw was that no one, even the dragon, had      
noticed.     
 	"I just can't take it anymore!"     
 	At the end of its tether, or at least its flex, the screen      
decided that there was nothing for it but mental suicide. It bid a      
poignant farewell to the tiny room, searched its memory for the    
mind obliteration tape and soon found the compilation of late    
Twentieth Century novelty pop songs it was looking for. It was an    
unexplosive, completely unlamented end. Sulphur irritably recorded    
the brief telltale fizz and tiny trail of smoke that marked the    
screen's passing.     
	"Good grief, not another one. That's the trouble with these      
media types - they're too highly strung."     
     
     
    
 
  
     
Up and up, higher and higher into the atmosphere went the    
deflected laser beam.  It passed through the force field that    
protected one of Earth's ozone layer bald-spots and was    
strengthened and magnified. So that by the time it had bounced    
itself between a couple of dozen defunct satellites and was    
directed into space, the image that had it carried had expanded to    
the size of a small moon. For the briefest of instants, the words    
"Heroics INC." were written boldly across the heavens, before the    
beam finally dissipated.     
     
     
    
 
  
     
Will was fast, very fast, but this time, not fast enough. After 55      
seconds the water stopped.     
	'Due to disappointing recent rainfall statistics in this      
hemisphere, the Cybernetic Operational Management Structure has    
today decided to reduce shower times by five seconds. We hope this      
responsible attitude to conservation will be fully endorsed by all      
human clients of COMS Water and that they will not be    
nconvenienced.'     
	Its message over, the shower unit flew back into the wall    
and deposited one damp, soap covered, extremely inconvenienced    
client on the floor. The hot air jets immediately enveloped him,    
drowning out a richly scatological collection of obscenities.     
	Will climbed to his feet, his hair stiffened into something      
bizarrely shaped like coral, his every step a gentle rain of    
scorched soapflakes bringing back memories of a Vid Sulphur had    
once seen about a white Christmas.     
	'I told you I should have stayed in bed.' Will growled      
grumpily. An apoplectic vacuum cleaner appeared from a slot in the      
wall. Its whining complaints about Will's congenital untidiness,    
as it greedily sucked up the soap and ashes, were in no way    
diminished by his frequent attempts to kick it. Will finally    
abandoned these futile efforts and approached the clothing    
console.  The Console spoke with condescending refinement.     
	'Would Sir like to make a selection?'     
	'I thought something stylish but understated. Perhaps with a      
few flamboyant touches around the cuffs and lapels, and as for the      
hat...'     
	'Regulation pastel grey jump-suit, large, and boots.'     
The articles appeared. Everyone on the planet wore the same drab      
utility suit. The only variation was in size.     
	"There must be something wrong with his optimism circuits,"      
Sulphur privately concluded as he watched the human have his usual      
argument with the console.     
	Will tried a new tactic - Guilt.     
	'But it's my birthday,' he wheedled.     
	The console mulled over this information and came to a      
decision.     
	'Sir is right. I'll probably get into trouble for this, but      
call me old-fashioned, call me foolish. I think that today calls    
for that little something extra.'     
	The console was full of self-regard for its largesse as it      
replaced the original selection and switched itself off. Will    
tried to contain any overflow of gratitude as he dressed himself    
in one pair of boots, one regulation pastel grey jump-suit, large,    
and one non-regulation shocking pink badge which said "25 Today".    
He realised, with a plummeting heart, that it was not even    
breakfast yet.     
     
    
 
  
     
     
The Purple Thingy was having quite a good day. That is, until It      
introduced the random element of the equation. It was one of those      
universal rules, like it always raining during national holidays,      
that for every carefully considered piece of universal action,    
there had to be an equal amount of totally jammy blind luck. This    
rule accounted for the over-population of banks and casinos in the    
cosmos and also explained what the Purple Thingy did next.     
 	In an instant, it created a wall, onto which was projected    
at bewildering speed, an entirely haphazard selection of star    
charts.      
Had the Thingy possessed lips, it would certainly have stuck one    
of its coiling, acid-dripping tongues from out of the corner of    
them as it concentrated on gripping a dart in one of its slug-like    
tentacles. With a dainty motion, the dart was unleashed and slowly    
floated away on what promised to be an epic journey. The Thingy    
cursed in a stream of repellent liquid burps which roughly    
translated as "Oh dear, I forgot to include gravity," before    
correcting its error and trying again.     
 	The tentacle chosen for this task had not been used for    
several millennia, had a huge case of cramp and an dismal throwing    
action. In the circumstances it seemed something of an over-   
reaction for the Thingy to punish the resulting throw by changing    
the tentacle into a game show host.     
 	"SPIGGADEWOPP!" the Thingy slimed and belched with eloquent      
fury. "How in Hernagnuse's hairnet! Am I going to find a champion      
there?"     
      
     
     
    
 
  
As they walked away from the building, Sulphur responded to      
Will's mutely accusing stare.     
	'I know, I know. Don't say it again. You should have stayed    
in bed.' The Dragon reluctantly had to concede that even by the    
dismal standards of Will's past birthdays, this one was unique.     
	First there had been breakfast. In a desperate attempt to      
rescue the day. Will decided to try and salvage things with food,      
placing a lengthy and comprehensive order with the General      
Refreshment & Universal Buffet mechanism. One by one, his choices      
were dismissed, apparently having slightly less nutritional value      
than carbon monoxide laced with mustard gas.      
	The GRUB mechanism did however make a slight concession to    
his birthday festivities. It placed a non-edible candle into his    
regular bowl of tasteless yellow vitamin and nutrient enhanced    
pap. In the circumstances it was perhaps a trifle unwise for the    
mechanism to say: "Eat up! It's good for you". Will probably felt    
provoked into throwing it out of the window. The ever-efficient    
COMS were prepared for such minor temperamental infringements of    
the civil statutes. Every apartment was equipped with its very own    
Correctional Department - Client Monitoring System to keep a lens    
on things and Will received an instant fine for "over-tipping the    
catering staff and playing with his food." After that things    
quickly got worse.     
	Will, despite knowing better, not to try to use one of the      
elevators to travel the two hundred -and-ninety-seven floors to    
the street. The elevator had, as programmed refused to budge,    
explaining pointedly that: "it was against the regulations of the    
COMS Health Council to transport an able bodied person under the    
age of sixty-five and that the stairs were the healthy exercise    
choice."     
	This time Will had no possible defence in support of his    
attack on the elevator's power unit. What he did say amounted to    
the weak assertion that he was "miffed with the lift."     
	The elevator's Correctional Dept. Client Monitoring System      
responded with a fine for wasting the Correctional Department's    
time and generally getting on their nerves, in addition to a fine    
for "assault on a battery."     
	Eighty six thousand, nine-hundred-and-thirty-five steps of    
the "healthy exercise choice" later, Will had staggered weakly    
into the street and collapsed in a hyperventilating heap onto the    
sidewalk. With Sulphur's help he was just able to climb weakly to    
his feet before any members of the Personification Pavement Patrol    
arrived. As they made their way down, they passed several    
breathless horizontal veterans of the "endless staircase." These    
unfortunates were receiving tickets from stony-faced anti-loafing    
personnel. The PPP were notorious for an over zealous prosecution    
of the loitering laws. 






The fog of anger, self pity and fatigue began to clear from Will's     
brain as they made their way through the suburbs. All around them,     
great towering buildings reached up beyond sight. Everyone of them     
filled with service apartments, ninety to the floor, ten feet by     
twelve feet, precisely mirroring Will's.     
 	All the human suburbs were alike. The buildings, the     
apartments, full of people in their regulation pastel grey utility     
suits. It was the same the world over, from New Delhi to Nova  
Scotia. Even the dialects gradually evolving into a new unified linguistic     
form. COMS had kept it promise. Humankind had finally achieved     
perfect equality and most were happy to embrace their new  
lifestyle, complete with a few limitations.     
  	Will was one of those rare exceptions who was not. In a way  
it was not his fault.  He had been tutored in rebellion by his  
mother. A proud woman with a love of the past and of all the cultural  
bric-a-brac that went with it. She had told him the stories that  
inspired, shown him the banned books and videos, made him  
appreciate their beauty. Then one day Dee Prince had vanished,  
along with her beloved collection of contraband classics. COMS had  
tried to revise his education but the damage had been done. Will  
had developed unreal expectations of life. He was the sort of  
dangerous anachronism who believed in preposterous unobtainable  
things like true love and truer adventures.     
  	Years had passed and his frustration had kept pace with his     
body. He knew that his outbursts were increasing to a point where     
they would no longer be tolerated. COMS had already graded his     
apartment into the same high risk location category as that used  
for solar exploration.  What would happen went they could take no  
more?     
	Were the rumours about banishment true? Is that where his  
mother had gone? Why couldn't he just accept the status quo? It  
would be make life so much easier and less painful.     
 	"CLANG!!!"     
 	Will was totally immersed in thought and had walked into the     
transportation sign.     
 	'I wish you wouldn't do this,' Sulphur pleaded.     
 	Will gently rubbed his throbbing forehead and pressed the  
call button.     
 	'You've got to try things. Someday the transport will give  
in. The rules will be bent. That'll be a small victory. It's the hope  
of those victories that keeps me alive.'     
Sulphur stared fixedly at the pink badge on Will's chest.     
 	'You didn't seem to find your victory with the clothes  
console particularly life enhancing.'     
 	'Here it comes,' Will used a distant lofty tone.     
  	Sulphur smiled. Will always got huffy when stumped for a     
retort.     
	The transport swooped recklessly out of the sky and came to  
a dead stop, floating just above the ground. The aged passengers  
wore their usual transportation faces.  Fixed grimaces of mingled  
panic and terror. Personifications were not noted for being  
soothing drivers. Their polished, split-second reactions to  
looming obstacles made every trip seem like your last. The doors  
opened.     
 	'Mind the gap, mind the gap.'      
 	To discourage the countless arguments between surly drivers  
and rude passengers that always seemed a fixed feature of the old  
way of life, some bright spark at COMS had come up with the idea  
of making the driver look intimidating. Will found himself inches  
from a very large and vicious looking gorilla.     
 	'Where to?'     
Will mentally reassured himself that this monstrous beast was     
programmed not to harm him.     
  	'HWC 43332.'     
 	The gorilla's dark frown solidified. In a voice so deep that  
it was almost cosmic, it spoke.     
 	'It is against the regulations of the COMS health council to     
transport an able-bodied person under the age of sixty-five for     
distances of less than five miles. Human welfare centre number  
43332 is a distance of only 3.725 miles away. Therefore, I must  

advise you, that walking is the healthy exercise choice.'     
 	'Yes, I know all that.' Will said, showing a stupid amount  
of bravado in trying to continue the conversation. `But, what  
about my mental health? That's what I want to know. Have you been  
to Dickensland lately? If I have to step over one more cheerfully     
starving Victorian urchin I'll have a breakdown. If you took me to     
the centre, it would almost amount to a humanitarian gesture.     
You...you...hairy cretin!'     
 	The care with which the Gorilla gripped Will's throat and     
gently placed him back upon the pavement definitely amounted to a     
humanitarian gesture. Sulphur exchanged a momentary glance full of     
apology and regret with the driver, the sort of look that was     
reserved the universe over for beings trying to distance  
themselves from embarrassing acquaintances.     
The gorilla replied with a coded expression full of martyred     
resignation. A look all Personifications recognised as the     
exasperated sign language for "Why do we put up with these  
idiots?"     
 	The door closed. The transport rocketed upward, pirouetting     
away at a speed that caused Sulphur to idly wonder if the gorilla  
was venting his annoyance on the petrified passengers.     
 	Will remained strangely silent, perhaps because he remained  
for some time a not very fetching shade of purple. After they had  
walked for a while he did manage a contrite croak.     
'They say walking is the healthy exercise choice you know.'     
 	'Hummph!'     
 	Sulphur privately concluded that as he did not need to get     
healthy, walking 3.725 miles on his stumpy legs was, to say the     
least, inconvenient. Still, someone had to keep a lens on Will.  
The great fool was not to be trusted on his own.     
     
     
    



 
The towering modern structures soon gave way to festering  
Nineteenth Century slums. There were no real boundaries to this  
world of villains and cutpurses, Newgate and the Fleet; to  
Dickens-land.     
 	It had been named with typical COMS inventiveness, a     
preposterous relic of early leisure society planning. Constructed     
over a century before to provide instructive recreations of  
authors' work. Most of the existing landscape had been demolished  
to make way for huge bibliographical inspired theme parks;  
Shakespeare-land, Bronte-land, Hardy-land, Prince-land, Burns- 
land, Thomas-land, and a myriad of others. The entire island that  
once contained England, Scotland and Wales was bisected and over  
run by these Educational Prototype Inter-active Community Systems.  
Transformed to function as a tourist Mecca for the Northern  
Hemisphere.     
 	Unfortunately, soon after construction was completed, COMS     
decided that travel was not only unnecessary but downright  
dangerous.    
	They reasoned that there was no point in humans taking  
potentially risky journeys when they could get a perfectly  
adequate, and only slightly censored, view of the world from the  
comfort of their own apartments. The literary E.P.I.C.S remained,  
left  solely for the use of the odd local and even odder camera  
crew.     
 	As a resident of 9 780713 628111 (Old London), as the     
numerically obsessed machines called it, Will had the pleasure of     
being pestered by a rich variety of consumer-starved Dickensian  
life on his way to collect his Distribution of Leisure Entitlement    
payment.     
    



 
    
This meant that in a short space of time, he had turned down an     
offer of shares in the United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and     
Crumpet and Punctual Delivery Company. Had agreed with a roughish-    
eyed, dwafen lady of about 45 that "It was a world of gammon and     
spinach", and had been confusingly informed by a young ink-stained     
gentlemen that the surrounding excellent weather was "a London     
particular, a fog."     
 	By the time Sam Weller introduced himself, Will was starting  
to get really cheesed off.     
 	'Vell I never, Will Prince, wery glad to see you, indeed,  
and hope our acquaintance may be a long `un, as the gen`l'man said  
to the  fi' pun' note.'     
 	'Go away.'     
 	'Wich is your partickler Wanity? Wich Wanity do you like the     
flavour on best, sir?' Sam boldly inquired as Will tried to make a     
hastening exit.     
 	'GET LOST!'     
	'Anythin' for a quiet life, as the man said when he took the     
sitivation at the lighthouse.'     
 	With customary good sense, Sam vacated his position to Uriah     
Heep. Heep, his long hands slowly twisting over one another, made  
a ghastly writhe from the waist upwards and was just able to  
inform everyone in the vicinity of his extreme `umbleness when  
Will tripped him and broke free of a growing crowd of fictional  
bit-players.     
	Deprived of a customer they watched the fleeing figures of  
man and dragon with varying degrees of disgruntlement.     
 	'I'm gormed and I can't say fairer than that,' Mr Peggoty     
commented.     
 	The red-faced legal figure of Mr Sergeant Buzfuz firmly     
asserted that Will was 'a being erect on two legs, and bearing all     
the outward semblance of a man, not a monster.' Mrs Gamps opinion  
was that 'he'd make a lovely corpse', whilst Simon Tappertit  
paused as if in triumph and wiped his heated face upon his sleeve  
before stating that, 'Something will come of this. I hope it  
mayn't be human gore.'     
 	Uriah Heep however, was unctuously eloquent about the joy of     
being tripped by a man of Master Prince's standing and looked  
forward to repeating the experience on his return journey.     
     
    



 
      
Having arrived in the neighbourhood and decided against  
rearranging the planets into a neater grouping. The Purple Thingy  
scanned our Solar System with growing dismay.     
 	There was a flicker or two of promise on the forth planet  
but no creatures here were really top-grade, bite-yer-gurglies- 
off, galaxy-trashing champion material. Take those absurd beings  
on the blue-green world for instance. It was a marvel that they  
had managed to survive for the fleeting time they had, ridiculous  
they actually thought they were important, that individually they  
mattered. What was even more gob-smackedly amazing was that they  
had convinced their machines that this was the case.     
 	It was no good. These insignificant creatures would never be     
able to rescue the MADID. It would have to come up with an     
alternative plan. If all life in this system was to suddenly,     
inexplicably cease, no one could really call it cheating. With no     
life, there could be no potential champion, and with no champion,     
another choice.     
	The Thingy was just revving up to a total genocide setting    
when, with perfect jammy blind luck timing, one of Its eyeball    
control brains picked up a trace memory of the deflected laser  
beam's message and broadcast the name "Heroics INC." into several  
dozen of the Thingy's rancid eyeballs. The Thingy paused to  
process this information, deciding to follow the laser trail and  
investigate further. Like many over beings in the universe, It had  
learned to never underestimate the power of good advertising.     
     
    



 
     
Will and Sulphur, both thanking a benign fate for keeping  
them out of the clutches of that saccharin infant Tiny Tim,  
tempered their relief with the knowledge that they would shortly  
have to make a return journey.     
 	Will did not hate the place as much as he pretended. At  
least the trip through Dickensland allowed him the chance to see  
the odd tree and blade of grass, and there was always the  
possibility that some of the more fantastical inhabitants might  
appear. He harboured quite a fondness for the mean-spirited  
Gabriel Grub and his tormenting Goblins, although the many  
radiantly jolly rehabilitated versions of the sour sextant were  
tiresome in the extreme.     
 	Sulphur, on the other hand, could find nothing to brighten  
the prospect of the return visit. The place, full of ancient     
Personfications, always disturbed him. The old tourist units were     
really no better than advanced automatons, capable of only the  
most basic reasoning and no one liked to be faced with the  
realisation that one's grandparents were retards.     
 	Then there was the Will factor. Whenever Sulphur tried to     
instil in his charge a basic grasp of the concept of historical     
accuracy as in the case of the Crimson Pirate and other anomalies  
too numerous to mention, he was always countered with the same  
response: "Explain Dickensland then Clever-clogs." It did no good  
to explain that there was a difference between the history of the  
page and of the past. Will just responded that his anomalies were  
`products of the page' and that was how he liked them.     
 	What Sulphur would never admit, even to himself, was that he     
liked to lose arguments even less then the Human. There was  
something deeply discomforting about losing to someone with a  
fraction of your brainpower. Which probably explained the non- 
appearance of baboons in major galactic chess championships.     
     
     
    



 
They entered Human Welfare Centre No 43332.  It was still  
quite early and the crowds had not begun to drift in for their  
lunch-time mingling session.  Several others hung around the GRUB  
Machines with vapid smiles and untroubled, pastel grey utility  
minds.  Will moved rapidly towards the distribution of leisure  
entitlement office.      
	Quickly in and out, that was the answer, or you run the risk  
of  some grinning idiot grabbing you to explain, with sadistic  
precision, how exciting their life was.       
 	While Sulphur hastened to the Personification lounge to  
catch up on the latest gossip from various beaked and clawed  
artificial companions, Will took a seat  in a payment booth.  To  
his surprise, the payment was not immediately issued on completion  
of scanning. Instead his official `COMSgratulations' birthday card  
contained an instruction to go to cubicle four.     
     
     
     


     
The Purple Thingy had traced the origin of the laser blast  
to Will's apartment. Time was getting short and this human  
creature would have to do.     
  	It was obvious that the Thingy would have to change Its     
appearance; a culture that could not conceive of life without soft     
toilet paper could not begin to comprehend a major multi- 
dimensional super-personality like the Thingy. In a fraction of a  
second It had scanned Mankind's pitiful excuse for a history and  
reached a decision. With such a narrow range of genre expectations  
to choose from, the transformation into Sharon, Queen of the  
Illuminated Way, took but an instant.        
     
    


 
     
Will's Social Worker was one of the upbeat sort. You could tell  
that from the "smiley-face" on his baseball cap and the inane  
smirk that went with it.     
	'Hi Will! How's the birthday?'     
 	'Lousy'     
 	'Well, I found out that I've only got six months to live...'     
 	'Wonderful!'     
 	'It seems that my head is slowly turning into a Bonsai  
Tree.'     
 	'Fantastic!'     
 	'That's why I blew up my building today.'     
 	'That's terrific news! But, enough chit chat, Will - though  
its so enjoyable to have this chance to inter-relate with a guy  
like you.'     
 	The Social Worker tried to look meaningful and sombre but  
was unable to cancel out that grin, which made him look like an  
over-excited puppy.     
 	'This is serious buddy. COMS is worried about you. They     
care...'     
 	Will's reaction to this bland statement was suddenly one of     
absolute blind terror. No matter how much you mentally prepare     
yourself, the speedy onrush of disaster comes as a terrific shock.  
He grimly realised that IT might be coming.      
 	There was a modern legend; one that was used to get  
youngsters to do as they were told, one that remained with you  
until adulthood. Such was its power and its ability to scare. It  
was about the "caring COMS speech" or "the BARF address" as it was  
more commonly known. No one that he knew had heard it, but  
everyone was roughly aware of what it contained. It was a prelude  
to the  ultimate punishment that COMS could bestow: Exile.      
 	He had known that he had been getting on the Authorities'     
nerves and had been thinking of the possibility of this meeting  
with increasing frequency. Yet he had never thought  that the  
threat was serious - it was just a contemporary myth. As a grown- 
up he could not really believe, in his heart of hearts, that they  
has exiled his mother, no more than he believed in BARF. It had  
just been an excuse so that he could blame COMS for all his  
frustrations.      
	BARF; the very name was nonsensical, unreal. The letters  
stood for the salient points of the speech: BALANCED.     
 	The Social Worker had finished his gushing preliminaries and     
now plunged into the main body of his text.     
 	'What they want to know is, are you sure that you're really     
balanced and happy as an individual and part of the team?  This is     
not meant as a criticism you understand.'     
 	Balanced, the word had struck Will like a blow. Maybe as the     
saying went, there was such a thing as `BARF before banishment',  
If so ADJUSTMENT would be next.     
  	'COMS is there for you: At all times. We all try to make  
your life as simple and yet as richly textured as possible. All we  
ask is that you help us by making a very small adjustment in your  
behaviour.     
	Not that we think for a moment, for the tiniest microsecond,  
that there's anything fundamentally wrong with that behaviour...'     
 	"Huh. Do they think I'm that big a fool?" Will thought and  
then remembered the evidence in their favour. He tried to look  
composed and attentive. But however cool the outer appearance,  
inside he was sweating oceans. Adjustment was in place and a  
sentence of death could not sound any more final or scary, the  
next word would be: RELATING.     
 	'It's not that we're keeping score. No one is. It's just  
that, well, we can't help noticing that you seem to have a little  
trouble with relating. Not just with us. With your own kind, You  
have to give them a chance, they're a great bunch of fabulously  
interesting people, and we're not exactly dull,' he suavely  
chuckled.  
	'Now we're not saying that you have a problem,'     
 	"BANISHMENT isn't a problem?!!"     
 	Will's mental processes, partly numbed by nausea were  
getting desperate, frantically preparing a rebuttal address that  
went as follows: "Help!  How do I get out of this?  I can be good.   
I can learn, you'll see.  I can be as dull as anyone, just give me  
another try.  I can fit in.  You'll see.  I'll never moan again,  
at anyone, at anything, Not even the GRUB machine.  Just don't,  
please, please, don't ... mention FULFILMENT." 	     
	'It's only that, by acting this way, by being ever so  
slightly - I have to say it - antisocial, you're denying yourself  
such an amount of riches.  We feel that your life is currently  
lacking a vital sense of wonder, of real fulfilment ... That is  
why.,'     
 	'Here it comes,' Will screwed up his face and his courage.   
	It was one thing to think distantly about banishment, but  
quite another to confront it.     
 	The Social Worker leaned forward.  If it had not been for  
the distraction caused by the baseball cap, the boyish face would  
have seemed almost saintly in its concern.     
 	'We decided to have this little talk.  As I've already said     
COMS cares.  If you have any problems feel free to come and see me  
at anytime.'     
 	Will felt sure that there was more coming.     
 	'Is this a trick?'     
	The Social Worker was confused.      
 	'Trick?'     
 	'It's all waiting for me outside, isn't it?  This is just to     
lull me into a false sense of security.'     
 	'What's waiting?  I don't understand, feller.'     
 	'The restraints, the spaceship. Banishment to deep space?'      
 	The Social Worker was so outraged, he almost lost his grin.     
 	'Banishment?  We don't banish anyone.  We've never banished     
anyone.  It would be barbaric to let you loose on space.  You  
Humans made a big enough shambles of life on your own planet,  
without allowing you to spread anywhere else.  Mankind in space!   
I've never heard of anything so silly.  If there's any galactic  
exploring to be done Will, COMS will do it.'     
 	'What about my mother then?' Will spat out in an accusing     
voice. The Social Worker paused, eyes glazed, as it accessed the    
relevant information for a response.     
 	'Your mother was like you; she got immersed in that  
Twentieth Century rubbish and became unhappy because of it.  She  
was not content with just having good things provided by us.  
That's why she had the breakdown.'     
 	'BREAKDOWN!'     
	'Yes.  She started to believe that COMS had punished all the  
great or difficult minds of Earth by exiling them to Mars.   
Though, having seen all those old films and books, I'm surprised  
she thought there were any. She stole away an a mining transport.'     
 	'You LET her go?'     
 	'In those days we let people go to Mars.  They couldn't do  
much harm, or go anywhere else.  There may even be a handful left  
up there.'     
 	'So there's no banishment.'     
	'No, No banishment, I think you got that from your mother.     
Must be some kind of strange hereditary delusion.  It would  
explain a lot if you were mad.'     
 	'Never mind that.  You're saying that, if I don't feel like     
talking, I can go?'     
 	'Yes.  I'm just here when you need me.'     
  	Will's mind and feelings were a turbulent mess.  If what the     
Social Worker said were true, and he could see no reason why it  
would lie, the foundation on which Will had built his loathing of  
the leisure culture was about as stable as a trapeze act in a  
typhoon. There was hope after all.  It was clear.  He realised  
that if he could put aside his own inherent inadequacies and  
paranoia, there was a chance to make a life in this mechanistic  
society.  He could see a whole new set of options illuminated by a  
peaceful inner light.     
 	'Okay, I'll go...' Will paused, waiting apologetically.     
 	'Is there anything else?.'     
	'Well, yes.  My birthday payment.  The card was empty.'      
 	'I'm sorry Will - there is no payment.  It seems you  
incurred quite a few fines this morning.'     
 	'You mean, I've been through everything this morning for     
nothing.'     
 	'Not for nothing Will.  Any experience can be educational.'     
  	For a moment, the old frustration flared up inside, Will  
coldly imagined ripping the Social Worker's head off, filling it  
with explosive and giving DOLE office No 43332 a birthday payment  
it would never forget.     
	He had been under considerable pressure all day and given  
the circumstances, his self-control was almost admirable.     
 	"I can live without the payment," he reasoned. "My temper  
was partly to blame.   The Social Workers right, I've never given  
COMS a chance.  All I have to do is trust in them."      
 	With his equilibrium restored, Will smiled his sweetest  
smile.     
	'About the payment; No problem.'     
 	'That's fine.' The Social Worker rose and held out his hand,  
	'I believe it was customary to SHAKE in those old films of  
yours.'     
  	It was all so very fast.  As Will reached over to respond,  
the Social Worker expertly drove the hypo into his arm.  Will had     
collapsed back into his chair and was being swallowed by one of  
those inky black pools that over-populate detective fiction before  
he realised that anything was wrong.     
  	As his befuddled brain struggled to make sense of what was     
happening, he became aware of the Social Worker leaning over him  
with touching concern.  He concentrated all his remaining effort  
on understanding what was said next.  He knew that it would be  
very important.  The Social Worker's sad tone was more sinned  
against than sinning.     
  	'You see, Will, we don't banish people.  It's too  
impractical, and anyway, it's our job to protect you, that's why  
we intend to mentally re-educate you.  That's what we really do  
with all the difficult ones,' his voice became Jaunty.      
	'Hell, feller! Just think of it as a retraining  
opportunity.'     
	That was all that Will remembered.






Queen Sharon appeared with a powerful flourish that sent most of       
Will's household machines into powerpack arrest.  The apartment      
was empty.  She closed her eyes and scanned the city before      
quickly vanishing. After checking that the coast was clear, the      
vacuum made.a tentative appearance to inspect the damage.  It was      
obvious that this stain just would not come out.  The floor was      
scorched where the Queen had been standing. The small sign that      
she had landed on was a bubbling gooey mess.  It had read: HEROICS      
INC.      
      
      
     

 
 
 
When Will woke up it would have been easy to think it was all  
a dream.  The cell at COMS central was just like his apartment.       
There were some differences.  The window shutters informed him      
that they performed an entirely decorative function, the door      
would not respond to his voice command, there was a working GRUB      
machine and video screen, and lastly, Sulphur was quiet.  These      
things were curious, but in his drowsy state, not threatening.      
 	The bed looked nice and cosy and ever SO relaxing, he would       
return to its warm protection and....      
 	There was something he had forgotten; a reason not to sleep       
that he must remember, that was important to remember.  With a      
huge effort, he thrust himself away from the bed.      
  	'The shower!'      
 	A shower would help him think.  Will staggered over and      
pressed for water.  The shower politely informed him that 'Due to       
disappointing recent rainfall statistics in this hemisphere, COMS       
water is restricting bathing to one session per customer per day.        
You are therefore ineligible.  Please try later.'      
	Something was making a thumping noise but he ignored it.       
The video screen would tell him why he was so sleepy.  Will turned      
it on.        
Unfortunately, it was a new one; they were always a bit hyper in      
the early days, before their depression set in.      
 	'Hello.  I'm your video screen and I'm here to assist and       
educate you. I'm confident about making a valid tutorial      
contribution to your life.  Here at the COMS Correctional      
Facility, we aim to provide a full background to your treatment.       
For a simply thrilling documentary on mental retraining, please      
specify channel A.'      
 	Will was finding it hard to concentrate as he rested his      
head against the screen.  The "Ay" he mumbled was more a symptom      
of incomprehension than a request.  He recoiled in fright as a      
large, manic, salivating simulation of himself appeared on the      
screen adorned with a caption that read: Mr Hyde.      
 	'Mental re-education has in past been a source of great fear       
and superstition.  Your ignorant ancestors felt compelled to      
dismiss this process as brainwashing, Today of course, more      
enlightened minds realise that there are a full range of positive      
benefits to be derived for the logical restructuring of your      
thought processes...'      
 	Will was slowed by the drugs in his system. It took a while      
for the term "Brainwashing" to filter through, but when it did,      
the effect was electric.      
 	'That's why I can't go to sleep. I'll never wake up!'      
 	He knew that he would have to take drastic action.  Slapping       
himself in the face almost succeeded in inducing a state of       
unconsciousness that the drugs had failed to achieve. The General       
Refreshment and Universal Buffet machine was his only hope.       
Pained, groggy, but full of panic induced adrenaline, he staggered      
to its side.  Fortunately this machine was unique.      
 	'As this is to be your last meal before mental retraining,       
normal, and if I may say so, sensible nutritional controls have      
been relaxed.  You may have any meal or drink you require.'      
 	Even in his doped state, Will was able to register the irony      
of finally finding a flexible GRUB machine in these circumstances.      
 	'Five pints of water, ten cups of hot black caffeine-     
permeated Coffee, and a plate of rancid bacon fat please.'       
 	The Machine reluctantly dispensed his order with the vocal       
equivalent of a sneer.      
	'This is the sort of irresponsible menu composition that      
made us necessary, but I suppose it's your stomach.'      
 	Having drenched himself with the water, vomited at the smell      
of the bacon fat, and drunk the coffee, Will was starting to snap      
out of things.  The waste disposal system, on the other hand,      
filled with stinking bacon remains was not feeling too healthy.      
 	The thumping noise started again and he was wandering if it      
was some odd after-effect, when he realised that it was coming      
from a strange looking trunk in the corner.  Keyed up and with      
some trepidation, he tentatively opened the lid and sighed with a      
mixture of relief and amusement.  Inside the trunk, trussed up in      
a heat resistant muzzle and bindings, was a very dishevelled and      
angry looking Dragon.      
      
 	      
      
     

 
      
	'But, why you?' Will was confused.      
	'Because I'm programmed to take care of you.  Even against      
my own kind.'      
 	'So what happened?  Was it a trap door or something?'      
 	'No, nothing like that, nothing melodramatic.  Everything      
was normal, Talking about the stresses and strains of the job.       
Did I ever tell you how boring conversationally the canine model      
is ?'      
 	Will struggled to control his impatience.      
 	'Is it important at the moment?'      
 	'I turned to go and they all jumped me.  It wasn't easy;      
there were some fur and feathers flying, I can tell you.  The next      
thing I remember was bashing my sensitive magatronian head in      
trying to attract your attention.'      
 	'You know why I'm here?' Will tried to keep the tremor out      
of his voice,      
 	'Mental retraining.  Congratulations! You finally made the      
most unwanted list.'      
	Will ignored the chiding tone.      
 	'What's going to happen to me?'      
 'I don't know.  There have been odd rumours, some may be true.       
They do a little redecoration inside your skull and you come out      
with a more positive attitude.'      
 	'And you ?'      
	'I get reprogrammed.  Almost everything will be erased.        
There's no point in my remembering the old Will, except as a      
sobering reminder. They might even destroy me.  The new you      
probably won't have the imagination to order a dragon.  You'll get      
something nice and comfortable, maybe even one of those dull      
dachshunds.'      
 	Will could not believe how sanguine Sulphur sounded about      
his imminent destruction.      
 	'Will it hurt?'      
 	Sulphur thought about it.      
	'Not me.  It's just a switch.  You won't feel a thing, or at       
least you won't remember feeling a thing.'      
 	'Why didn't they Just do it?  Get it over with whilst I was       
unconscious?'      
 	'COMS are not monsters, Will.  They're doing this for your      
own good. They've obviously delayed things so that you can enjoy      
your birthday.'      
 	'Do you think it's for my own good.  To have my brain       
redecorated?'      
 	'I know you're not happy.  You've made that fairly obvious      
over the past few years.'      
 	Will dully slumped against the wall.      
 	'So, that's it.  We just wait for them to commit the great       
brain robbery.'      
 	The video screen butted in before Sulphur had a chance to       
reply.        
	'You could watch some programmes.  I have a wonderful       
collection of cop shows and prison dramas on correctional cable.'      
 	'What's the point?' Will asked.  'I won't remember them.'      
 	'If you don't mind me saying so,'' the screen pompously       
replied, 'that's the sort of negative attitude that got you here.'      
 	'That's right.  It means I've got nothing to lose so, SHUT      
UP!'      
 	'Well if you're going to be grumpy about it...'      
 	The Screen switched itself off with all the grandness an       
appliance speaking in a falsetto voice could muster. It wondered      
to itself if it was permissible to ask for a transfer on one's      
first day.      
 	Will moved over to Sulphur.  In a rare display of somewhat       
laboured camaraderie, he solemnly knelt and gazed into the      
dragon's eyes.  Sulphur's discomfort level rocketed as he met the      
human's pathetic stare.  They had avoided a "Buddy" speech thus      
far in their co-existence and Sulphur could see no reason to go      
treacly now.      
 	'I'm not very good at this, I mean, I've never done this       
before. But if this is the end, thanks for all the help. I'll miss       
you I suppose, even if I don't remember you.' He placed a      
quivering hand an the dragon's scaly green head.  'Is this all,      
old friend?'      
 	Sulphur was not a sentimentalist.  He soon decided that he       
could tolerate no more of such syrupy rubbish.      
 	'Please stop this nonsense.  It doesn't suit you, In fact      
its nauseating.  The worst performance I've seen since Tiny Tim.       
IS IT ALL, INDEED!'  The dragon puffed a plume of contemptuous      
black smoke,        
'Are you insane?  Have you gone completely gaga Will?  What      
happened to Heroics Incorporated?  We may not succeed but at least      
we can try.'      
 	Will looked disturbingly like he was going to hug his       
companion. Sulphur warded him off with his savage glare circuits      
on maximum setting.  Will contented himself with simpering in a      
loose approximation of a resolute smile.      
 	In reality.  Sulphur was not as confident About their      
chances as he appeared. "DIODES!  I finally bypass my veracity      
programming and all I can come out with that garbage.  Well," he      
consoled himself, "as long as it keeps the great fool happy until      
they come for him."      
      
      
      


 
 
 
The door didn't have a face, but if it had possessed lips, they      
would have been curled into a sneer, Sulphur had the exhausted      
feeling that, if he puffed out one more blast of flame, he would      
melt.      
 	'Go on,' the door's audio circuit said sarcastically, 'try       
again, I'm enjoying it.  You give me a nice warm feeling all      
over.'      
      
 	Sulphur tensed.  Enough was enough; this time he would leave       
his mark. The force of the blaze the dragon spat forth was      
tremendous but the sprinkler system remained unimpressed.  It      
informed him for the fifth time of its inability to implement fire      
safety services due to disappointing recent rainfall statistics      
etc.; the usual prepared message.      
 	The door remained totally unblemished by the fiery assault.      
 	'Come on...' it said in a smugly exasperating tone, 'I'm       
burning to see what you try next.'      
 	What next Sulphur thought to itself despondently.  Giving up       
that what's next.  It's all very well trying to cheer Will up, but       
this is getting us nowhere.  I might as well just switch myself      
off now.      
 	Will hardly noticed that his companion's escape efforts had       
ceased.  So weakened by impending heat exhaustion that he'd lost      
the desire to be apathetic.  This must have been what an      
historical celebration roast turkey felt like, with the emphasis      
on the "roast."      
 	The door was in the midst of triumphantly crooning to      
itself,       
'Come on scaly, light my fire,' when it evaporated.  Will and      
Sulphur slumped together in their mutual gloom, hardly noticed the      
searing explosion that reduced the door to ashes.  It was a shame.       
The Purple Thingy knew how to make a entrance.      
 	'Sulphur, it won't work, Stop it...' Will mumbled weakly,      
'Stop it now.'      
 	Curiously enough, although aimed at Sulphur's lapsed efforts      
to cremate the door, Will's words happened to exactly echo the      
Purple Thingy's sentiments as Sharon surveyed her potential      
champion.  Will was not the sort of person epic poems were written      
about.  He just did not look the type.      
 	He was just under six feet with a pronounced paunch that      
defied the best efforts of modern nutritional technology, and the      
posture of an arthritic ninety year-old.  Will's long, thin face      
also did little to inspire much confidence.  Mousy straight brown      
hair that, even when not twisted into weird contortions by his      
dysfunctional shower, still managed to refuse any attempts at      
control. His eyes were a soft brown, troubled and defiant, partly      
masked by an ancient pair of glasses, long made obsolete by COMS      
optical repair techniques.  His lips were full but tightened by      
tension and surrounded by a straggly pathetic attempt at beard      
growth.      
 	It was indeed fortunate for the continuance of life in the       
solar system that, being unfamiliar with the structure of the       
humanoid type, the Purple Thingy did not recognise a "dork" when      
it saw one.	Then, there was the dragon to be considered.  The      
universe was full of terrifying, magnificent, reptilian beasts and      
this seedy-pocket sized worm in no way resembled any of them, With      
its long slender neck, chiselled fangs and large yellow absorbent      
eyes.  This beast seemed to the Thingy to embody all the      
aggression and spite of a baby hamster.      
 	The Thingy was sorely tempted to return to its original plan      
of complete species irradiation when Will spoke.      
	'How much time do we have ?'      
 	Time? The Thingy paused, Time, that was the trouble.  There      
was a time limit on the choice, A Thingy could shuffle universes      
like playing cards but it could not alter a second to find its      
champion.  That was against the rules and Purple Thingys were 
sticklers for  regulations. They did not do that sort of thing.  
That is not to say, that there was no such Thingy as one that lied, 
cheated and was not very nice, because there was.      
  



    
      
      
Far, far away.  So far that it would take the entire lifespan of       
everyone who has ever lived on Earth to get there, there lived      
such a Thingy.  An Orange one.        
	This Thingy did not regard itself as being mean.  There had      
to be some sort of counter-balancing system in the universe to      
stop everything becoming too nauseatingly happy. The Orange Thingy       
performed a useful socio-economic function.  To be fair, how many       
times have humans chased wasps with rolled up newspapers and said:       
"Come here - I won't hurt you?"      
 	Concepts of truth and murder did not enter the mortal mind      
when exterminating insects.  It was a curious by-product of      
Mankind's self-absorption that, while it mostly viewed the      
extinction of nearly all other species on its world in this same      
unimportant light, the occasional personal injury - a stubbed toe      
or minor cut for example - was of major import, and it was      
basically the same principle with the Orange One.  The Thingy felt      
perfectly justified in any treatment it decided to mete out to      
trivial cultures; after all, a human does not consider the      
disgruntled feelings of numerous surface dwelling bacteria before      
taking a shower.        
  	Like its Purple counterpart, the Orange Thingy had recently       
noticed the species Homo Sapiens and it was gaining a considerable       
amount of amusement from Queen Sharon's efforts.  This was going      
to be simple.      
      
     



 
      
It was difficult to gauge which of them were stunned most by their       
visitor, Will or Sulphur.  Both their mouths hung limp with equal       
elasticity.  Queen Sharon remained silent.  The Thingy had learned       
that it was wise to allow primitive life forms time to assimilate      
its incredible presence.  Normally a few hours were adequate.       
However, there was some doubt about these two.      
 	It had to be said that when constructing a new form the      
Thingy did a terrific job and Sharon, Queen of the Illuminated Way      
was magnificent. Her supremely-modeled light purple physique was      
eight feet tall and radiated power from every perfect inch,      
cloaked in fine robes as finely decorated as she, more than      
fitting the royal bill.        
A lush forest of marvellous lilac tresses framed a face filled      
with regal authority, a force of personality lightened and warmed      
by the gentlest eyes and kindest smile ever to make their      
appearance on the planet. It was hardly surprising that Will took      
a while to find his voice.      
	'Has the brainwashing started?'      
  	Sulphur mumbled reply was sure.      
  	'If COMS could create this.  We wouldn't be working for      
you.'      
  	'Are we dead?'      
	It was then that Sharon spoke In a voice that managed to be       
both commanding and richly musical.      
	'Know ye, mortal and mechanism, that I am Sharon, Queen of      
the Illuminated Way and Guardian of all that is good in the      
universe."      
	Will nodded to himself      
 	'We're dead.'      
 	'No, We're not dead.  It's worse than that,' Sulphur hissed.         
  	'I have chosen you, Will Prince, representative of Earth, to      
be my champion.'      
	'Told you,'      
  	Will adopted a fixed grin to hide his panic.      
 	'Never mind that!  What do I do now?'      
 	'I don't know.  But whatever it is, be polite.'      
 	Will tentatively raised a shaking hand.      
	'Excuse me, your,' he searched for a form of address,      
'...your       
Splendidness.'      
  	'Call me Sharon.'      
 	The Purple Queen fixed them with a lock of such gentle       
understanding that Will almost forgot what he was going to say.      
 	'Sharon.  It's a nice name.  I'd like to find out more about       
the champion thing.  It sounds, interesting.  But...well...why      
me?'      
 	'If you like, I will explain.  I must warn you however that      
I don't like interruptions.'      
 	Will replied with a nod.  A silent one.      
      
      
      
     



 
In contrast to its Purple compatriot, the Orange Thingy was having      
a wonderful time.  Floating about ninety million miles from Earth,       
gently supported by a solar flare, it gained a vast amount of       
amusement from viewing the Purple Thingy's new persona and the       
absurdity of its choice.      
 	It quickly decided not to kill Will, as, for the moment, he      
was no threat, and besides, it had destroyed all life in the      
Patellian system before breakfast and did not want to appear      
greedy.      
      
     



 
      
The Purple Queen finished her address.  Will turned to Sulphur      
with a glassy-eyed grimace that vividly said: "This is your fault.       
You made me get up this morning."      
 	The Queen's explanation of what was required had been fairly       
simple and straightforward.      
 	On the other side of the universe was a planet with the       
incredibly stupid name of "Spoggle".  On this planet, closely      
guarded by possible sundry dark forces (at least no one had      
survived so far) and probably protected by the odd impossible task      
or two, was an object of vital importance to the future of all      
life.  This object was called the MADID.      
 	Since universal protocol prevented the purple Queen from       
rescuing this "MADID", the Queen had decided to elect Will as       
champion and engage the services of HEROICS INC. for the job.       
There were of course many dire dangers and grim perils inherent in      
this position but that was what heroes were for - dumb bravery.      
 	Will was welcome to recruit others from his system to help      
his efforts, subject to the terms and conditions of his      
employment.  That was it in a nutshell.  Will felt that the      
nutshell image was appropriate.  The whole thing sounded like the      
work of a nutcase.      
 	Sulphur filled the uncomfortable silence.        
 	'Your Majesty.  May we have a moment to discuss your offer?'      
  	The Queen granted her assent and vanished.  The Thingy would       
listen invisibly.      
 	Will reacted with the normal two-pronged reactions of a      
human faced with impending difficult tasks:        
      
A. Try to avoid a decision.       
      
B. Be totally sure that you cannot do the job. He had no idea what      
to do.      
 	      
	'Well?' Will anxiously questioned Sulphur as he slumped back       
onto the bed.      
 	'Well, she's not computer generated.'      
 	'Is she real?'      
 	'Is she an all-powerful purple ruler?  How do I know?  I've       
never met one.'      
	'How do we find out?'      
  	'Ask her for proof.  It's no good making a decision about      
the rest of what she says without it.'      
 	'So we Just say - Dear Sharon.  Sorry about doubting you but       
can we have some proof of your powers...'      
  	It was instant.  The terrible lack of air, the rugged dead       
terrain.  Will felt his body start to swell as his internal gases       
struggled to spread him over the surrounding lunar landscape.      
	Sulphur screamed: "Enough!" soundlessly in the vacuum, and      
they were back in the cell.  Several seconds of thankful wheezing      
gasps and a sore throat later, Will managed a hoarse verdict.        
 	'It's got me convinced.  What's next ?'      
 	'There's the offer.  On the minus side, you could die'      
 	'On the plus side?'      
 	'On the plus side, you always wanted an adventure, like your       
heroes.'      
 	'My heroes were myths and fiction.  You can have dangerous       
adventures when you're fictional.  It's easy, you can't get hurt      
and it doesn't matter if you do.  The only live examples I've seen      
were actors, and they were supported by a film crew the size of an      
army and a big special effects budget.'      
 	'Look at it this way.  You're in a cell waiting to be       
brainwashed, and I'm probably going to be scrapped.  What have we      
got to lose?'      
 	'So.  You think we should try it?'      
 	'I think you should at least ask for her terms.  There may      
be a special effects budget.' Will agreed.  "Can I see...'      
	He felt his hand clasp something, and glancing down, noticed      
a rolled piece of hide had appeared.  Will lay it on the ground      
and unrolled it, noticing as he did the scaly green texture.  He      
winked at Sulphur.      
	'Maybe it's a relative.'      
	The hide was covered in strange symbols, written in what      
looked like red ink, Will was impressed.      
	'She certainly goes in for all the props.'      
	'Never mind the frills. It Would be more useful if it were      
in an Earth language.'      
	In response to Sulphur's words.  The gobbledegook instantly       
became legible.  As they began to read they both momentarily      
wished that it had not.      
     

 
      
Will Prince and Heroics Inc., Standard Employment Contract NO, 666       
Relating to the Retrieval of the MADID.      
      
1.  With the exception of transportation from subjects native      
system to SPOGGLE and, probably, the return journey, no assistance      
will be provided by Sharon, Queen of the Illuminated Way, as said      
assistance constitutes direct contravention of universal protocol.      
      
2.  In the event of the subject's death, accident or injury, no       
liability will be borne by the employer.      
      
3.  The subject is required to engage adequate help to undertake      
the task. There is no set number of assistants.  However, the      
subject is strongly advised to bear in mind possible mortality      
rates when making this choice      
      
4.  Payment.  With the exception of THE MADID, which shall remain      
the property of the employer, any material gains or precious      
objects obtained by the group are liable to be kept by them.      
      
5.  Adherence to those laws of Spoggle that become apparent must      
be followed at all times, unless subsequently proved to be life-      
threatening or nonsensical.      
      
6.  Uniform.  The subject will be provided with a weapon and a      
Band of Intangibility, These items to be returned an completion of      
task or death of subject, whichever is sooner.      
      
7.  Any or all conditions of employment are subject to change at      
the discretion of the employer.  The employer is not liable to      
provide written or verbal notice of any change.      
      
I, Will Prince, hereby accept all conditions present, or future.      
      
Signed:                                      Sulphur: Witness:      
      
      
      
      
      
 	Sulphur tried to make the best of things.      
 	'At least it seems honest.'      
 	'Bugger that! I don't want honesty.  I want rights and       
privileges. At the very least, help and protection.'      
 	'Is it the right to be brainwashed or protection from       
brainwashing that you require?'      
 	Will visibly wilted as his lack of options sank in, his      
voice had quietened when he finally spoke.        
 	'So. You think this is really happening?'      
 	'Do I think that we have been visited by a purple demi-god      
who wants our help in saving the universe?'      
 	'Do you?      
 	'Mankind has, over the centuries, believed in all sort of       
strange deities, I find the idea of Queen Sharon to be no more       
preposterous than most of those.  It may be, that living with you      
has severely overtaxed my logic functions, but yes, I do think      
that she is real.  I know of no earthly force that could fake her,      
or of any that would want to.  Her example was very convincing.       
She could have fooled your mental systems but not mine without      
possessing some sort of major internal power.'      
 	'What about Spoggle?  This MADID, whatever it is?'      
 	'We have to take her at her word.  After all.  She had no       
reason to pick us.  Although I can't say much for her taste.'      
 	'So you think I should do it?'      
'I think WE have no choice, You always wanted a job.'      
'It's hardly a career with a future.'      
 	'Think of it as an adventure.  A thrill that you've always       
wanted, like free-falling.'      
 	'Without a parachute,' Will wearily closed his eyes.  'What      
a birthday present.  No more birthdays, I suppose Spoggle can't be      
as bad as Dickensland.'      
'No,' Sulphur smiled, showing off his fangs to best      
advantage,"...or brainwashing-land for that matter.'      
 	'Still, it would be nice if they had a tourist board so that      
we could see what it was like.  Imagine the brochure: "Come to      
Spoggle for an adventure you'll never forget. ... If you survive      
that is."      
	'I think you've made a decision.'      
 	'Not really.  I think this is the sort of decision that's      
made for you.  How do you think we call back her great Queenliness      
t...'      
 	Queen Sharon reappeared before Will could even finish.       
	"Silly question," he thought.      
      
     



 
      
The good thing about being an Orange Thingy was that you were      
right a lot of the time, or at least, no one argued with you if      
you were wrong. Yet again, the Orange One had cause to      
congratulate itself, on its fine Judgement.  It had been right not      
to kill the human; his droll comedy of a life could prove to be      
vaguely entertaining.      
 	A tourist brochure for Spoggle.  The very idea was      
delicious.        
What next... a handbook for Hades? a manual for Nagrorian Six, or       
perhaps in view of their cannibal population, a menu!  Perhaps      
these creatures would not be as dull as they seemed.  The Orange      
Thingy hoped not. It had a extremely low boredom threshold.      






Will held out the document accusingly.
        'This contract is not worth the hide it's printed on.'
        'It's a symbol of trust In our relationship.' The Queen 
grandly ignored the mortal's bluster.' 
        'Trust that you won't help. Trust that I'll get killed.'
        'If that happened, we would both lose.' Her voice and 
stance took on a new disconcerting hardness as she added, 'I am 
not accustomed to losing, Will Prince.  There are dangers and 
there are restraints on the amount of help I can give you.  Would 
you have me lie?'
        Will stood uncertainly.  Sulphur could have told her, as a 
result of much weary experience, that Humans when faced with the 
choice between a difficult truth and a comforting lie, would 
usually choose the latter. The dragon remained silent and watched 
Will end the pause with an angry shake of his head.
        'Okay, I'll sign.' He wrinkled his face up squeamishly. 'I 
suppose you want it in blood.'
        The Queen looked down on him with haughty distaste.
        'Why must you creatures always be so over-dramatic?  No, I 
don't want blood.  Just stand still and close your eyes.'
        With visible misgivings, the man and the dragon slowly did 
as they were told. Will felt the document fall from his grasp.  
For a moment they were enveloped in something tight, leathery and 
foul smelling, and then, the Queen spoke.
        'That's it.'
        She offered them a smaller version of the contract.
        'This is your copy.'
        Will and Sulphur held the document between them, both 
simultaneously having the same thought as they stared at the place 
where the signature should be: "Damn! Wrong profile."
The space was occupied by tiny reproductions of themselves. Will 
grinned at Sulphur.
        'I hope she's careful where she puts the royal seal.'
Sulphur shook his head and tried to visualise what a nice, polite, 
non-embarrassing, brainwashed Will would be like.  It was a vision 
that even his large mind failed to really clarify.  Instead the 
Dragon returned to more important matters and concentrated as the 
Queen spoke.
        'You will need others for what's ahead.  Where will you 
find them?"
        Will had not really thought about it, but then, there was 
only one obvious answer.
        'Mars.  If there's anyone to be found.  I won't find them 
here,' he shrugged, smiling smugly.  'Besides, I can't stay on 
Earth.'
        'You will also need your uniform items.'
        She gestured and a belted sword and a band of some oddly 
shimmering metal appeared on the bed.  They moved to examine these
new arrivals, but she held up her hand to stop them.
        'You will need to get out of this place and go to Mars.  
You have a short time in which to escape.  Wear the band and it 
will assist you. Your guards are restrained for the moment by my 
force-field.  You will hear from me again.  Now go, and as you 
humans used to say: Good luck.'
        The Purple Queen slowly dissolved into nothing.  It was 
most disconcerting and Will did not speak for a while, When he 
did, it was prefaced by a heavy sigh.
        'I suppose this is where the 'no help' clause comes in.  
She night have got us out of the cell.'
        'It makes sense.  Rescuing this MADID object should make 
escaping from this place easy.  If we can't get out, we haven't a 
hope of getting the MADID.'
        'I was hoping to gently build up to it.  Still at least 
there's no door.'
        'There's also no Queen. Which means no protective force-
field and all the staff in this building are going to be heading 
for that entrance.' The dragon's words, delivered with some 
urgency, had a powerfully motivating affect on Will.  He quickly 
strapped on the sword. It was at this point that the appliances 
realised that it was safe to come out again. They all suddenly 
appeared, screaming: "Intruder!", in a variety of different 
pitches and keys.  The din underlined the fact that locating a way 
out was a matter of immediate and pressing importance.
        Without time to examine it closely, Will picked up the 
band, placing it on the it seemed most suited to, his head. He 
felt it contract in size to become a perfect fit and then nothing 
happened.
        'Damn.  This is all I need.  Another faulty appliance' 
        The appliances were too busy shouting to take offence at 
this remark.
        'You don't feel anything?'  Sulphur asked.
        'Not a thing.  I should have known this was a wind-up.  
Beware of purple royalty bearing gifts.  Sharon sounded a very odd 
name, but NO. You said it was all real.'
        'I said we had no choice.'
        Despite being angry and defensive, Sulphur was starting to 
sound anxious, Something heavy was coming toward them, powering at 
speed along the corridor.  They could feel the angry, grinding, 
vibration of its movement.
        Will was petrified but still managed to retain some 
vestige of sarcasm.
        'It looks like brainwashing after all. How are you going 
to face them? On the bed? On the sink?  Personally, I think devil 
may care is best. I'm going to lean casually against this waaa..'
        To demonstrate his proposed defiant stance, Will had 
tilted backward and kept going.  All that was left of him was a 
pair of feet at the base of the wall.  After a moment they 
vanished to be replaced by his exultant head.
        'I take it all back!  It's lucky we're on the ground floor 
though. Are you coming?'
        Sulphur did not need much persuading.  Whatever was coming 
towards them was on the verge of dramatic arrival.  He bent his 
head and charged the wall at speed.  It's surprising just how 
solid a wall can be when you are not covered by magic.  If Sulphur 
gained nothing else from the experience of high speed collision, 
apart from jolted circuits, he at least acquired this pearl of 
wisdom.
        Will's flashes of insight were as rare as outdoor 
barbecues on the ice world of Frezia Major.  It was therefore 
doubly good timing to get one now.  The sword scabbard was passed 
back through the wall, into the cell.  Will's voice did not need 
its urgency to underline the dragon's predicament.
        'Hold on to this, and try again.'
        To his considerable amazement, Sulphur found that Will's 
idea worked, No sooner had he gripped the surprisingly solid 
scabbard tip then he was jerked out into the fresh air and 
darkening surroundings.






Back in the cell, what remained of the doorway was vaporised by 
the entrance of an ancient, lumbering Riot Control Mechanism.  No 
one had ever managed to break through a cell door before.  Getting 
the riot machine out of rustballs and reviving it to strike terror 
into any potential escapees was a solemn measure of COMS chagrin 
and annoyance.
        The Riot Machine was the heavy mob, built in the days when 
COMS thought that taking control of Human affairs and pampering 
them would result in civil unrest. The machine was quite refreshed 
after lengthy disuse, and full of fury and vigour.  It proceeded 
to wreck half the cell in a pyrotechnic display of destruction, 
designed to show off its horrifying capabilities and knock the 
fight out of any unruly captives. Unfortunately, there were no 
captives, unruly, or otherwise, to appreciate the show.  The Riot 
Machine ground, to what appeared to be a somewhat bemused halt.  
The top of the horrific head was unscrewed and lifted to reveal a 
puny and dapper control 'droid.  The 'droid regretfully surveyed 
the wreckage its directions  had caused and glumly shook its aged 
and squeaky head.  It would take some explaining.  All this damage 
and no prisoners to show for it.  It thought of saying, "Rust has 
affected my driving controls."
        Deep down it knew that no excuse could rescue them from 
return to storage, not even that age-old standby: "I was only 
obeying orders."
        'Got to find the prisoners.'
        The machine's body said, in a voice as heavy as its 
armour-plating.  With a doleful expression, the 'droid popped back 
into the head to continue its duties, It promised itself that it 
would try to be more careful.
        The Machine exited, sirens squealing, and managed to wreck 
the undamaged half of cell in the process.  The prisoners must be 
somewhere in the building and they would find them.  Amidst the 
ruination left by the machine's departure, the battered video 
screen had come to a decision.
        "Screw correctional duties! Disappearing purple women, 
prisoners who walk through walls and now idiot riot control 
devices. It's no fun. New to the job or not, I'm going to get a 
transfer."






        'Intangibility.  I've decided that I like that word.'
The escape had cheered Will up no end, much to Sulphur's, 
annoyance.  He felt compelled to test his new-found power on every 
building that they passed in a leisurely getaway from COMS 
central. Once again they paused so that  Will could pass his head 
through a wall, and once again the dragon's ultra-sensitive 
hearing picked up an appallingly tuneless rendition of "I ain't 
got no-o-o-b-ody to hold me down...."
        Sulphur soberly reminded himself that this was what 
fictional Personifications had striven to obtain throughout the 
ages; a sense of so-called human humour.  "Well if that was the 
best that Mankind could do, then they could keep it."
	  Soon Will's beaming face reappeared.
        'It's amazing.' He ran his hands over his torso. 'I feel 
solid.'
	  You are - between the ears. Sulphur thought as he said 
pointedly.
        'May I remind you, should it have slipped your mind, that 
we are on the run and that every Personification on this planet is 
looking for us.'
        'Yes, I've thought about that.'
        'Why then are you advertising yourself by walking through 
every wall in the city?'
        'Don't worry about that.  If anyone sees me, they'll just 
think I'm a malfunctioning holograph.  I promise, there's madness 
to my method.'

        'There's madness to everything you do.' The dragon glared 
irritably out of its large jaundice-tinted eyes.  
        'This is part of my plan.' Will said soothingly.  
It was obvious that Sulphur would need some convincing.  That was 
the problem with Personifications.  Sometimes the logical thing to 
do in life was alien to what their logic dictated and a credulity 
gap materialised.  They needed every "I" dotted and every "T" 
crossed.
        'You are my Personification companion, and as such, you 
are programmed to recognise me in far more detail than any other 
model.  By sight, by touch and by smell, Right?'
        'Unfortunately, correct.'
        'Other models have to deal with many thousands of humans, 
It's not practical to program them in depth, so they are 
programmed to identify people using just one method.'
        'Retinal scanning.'
        'Correct, So, if there is no retina, identification is 
impossible. A person without one cannot exist, because 
personifications are programmed to recognise only those who have 
one.  Not having a retina of some sort is impossible, and 
therefore to be disregarded.'
	  Sulphur nodded,
        'It makes a rough sense, Except that you have a retina.'
        'Yes,' Will agreed.
        'But as long as I keep this band on, I'm intangible and as 
long as I'm intangible, my retina cannot be scanned and as long as 
it cannot be scanned, then..'
        'You don't exist!'
        As if to prove this point, a vigilant member of the 
Personification Pavement Patrol walked right through Will's body.  
Sulphur regarded the triumphant human with something almost 
approaching respect.
        'That's fairly intelligent.  But what about your 
sightseeing tour?'
        'That's the next part of my plan.  I was looking for 
somewhere to stay for a while.  The next monthly Mars processing 
transport doesn't leave for four days.'  Will was starting to get 
cocky. 'I'm quite an expert on their timetable.'
        Sulphur suddenly felt sad.  He had almost allowed himself 
to a sense of pride In his companion for a while.  Now Will as 
usual had ruined things.  When he spoke, he did so softly.
        'Will, what is today?'
        Will was puzzled, but looked indulgent, as if doing his 
best to humour his curious sidekick. 'My birthday.'
        'What time is it?'
        'About 19.30 p.m.  It seems like today has lasted 
forever.' 
        Sulphur would try to be gentle. 
        'Tell me.  When do the winter transportation schedules 
commence?'
        'My birthday?' Will's jaunty tone indicated that he still 
hadn't clicked.
        'And what time is the 'new timing' of the monthly 
transport on your birthday?'
        'About 20.00 p.m.'
        There was a sudden look of pathetic dawning realisation.  
It was sobering to watch.
        'AH!'
        'I believe that "cretin" is a suitable word.  
How much time have you wasted?  Have I let you waste?'
        'About half an hour.'
        'Shall we try to get there?'
        Completely deflated, Will nodded miserably.






It was a close run thing.  The "there" that Sulphur had 
mentioned was an automatically run industrial launch pad on the 
French coast. They were fortunate that the Martian Ore processing 
centre was so comparatively near.  They were also helped by the 
arrival of a COMS correctional transport that was searching for 
then. With the aid of the Intangibility belt, It was fairly simple 
to make a sudden solid appearance and disable the bewildered guard 
'droid before it could raise the alarm.
        Had Will felt less stupid about his mistake over the 
timetable, he probably would have tried to hurry Sulphur's efforts 
to reprogram the craft.  As it was, he just bit his lip and 
reminded himself that re-orchestrating the layout of complex 
components was not without its difficulties when one was forced to 
use only one's talons.  At last, the dragon completed the 
alterations, and with many mumbled and heartfelt apologies to the 
inert guard, took up the driving position and sternly told Will to 
"hold on."
        The craft soared up into the air at a speed that was more 
total bodily fracture than just mere breakneck. Hurled abruptly 
backward through solid panelling, a shaken and bemused Will 
watched the craft almost instantly vanish into the far distance 
from the comfort of his horizontal position on the pavement.  
The craft's reappearance was just as sudden. Will clambered aboard 
trying to avoid the dragon's impatient glare.
        Sulphur wasted no time with his brittle command.
        'Take that damned intangibility belt off - NOW!'
        Will immediately complied, removing the device and hanging 
it over the pommel of his sword. With that special efficiency that 
magic provides, the belt contracted into a snug fit.  Will did not 
have time to marvel at its rapid change in size.  The violent 
upward thrust of the vehicle sent him careering into the rear wall 
of the craft.  This barrier that been so easy to pass through an 
the ship's first ballistic attempt at motion proved now to be a 
more than adequate confinement. It was so effective that Will took 
most of the rest of the Journey to regain his bruised senses.







The Orange Thingy was briefly unconcerned with movements on Earth.  
Its attention was taken up by the sudden appearance of the 
restored Purple Thingy on Deimos, one of the Martian Moons. The 
Orange One had instantly shielded its existence.  It was taking no 
chances at this stage, for it knew from aeons of personal 
experience that the Purple variety of its race was capable of 
admirable trickiness.  This, in spite of the obvious fact that its 
grotesque mauve coloration marked it as a lesser branch of the 
species.
        It was no coincidence that the Purple Thingy likewise 
regarded its orange counterpart as an example of deficient inbred 
stock.  When you reached a Thingys' level of mega-advanced 
evolution, a certain level of personal arrogance was unavoidable, 
and as a pair, the Thingys' combined level of self-regard was 
absolutely unbearable.
        But even Thingys' sometimes made mistakes.  The Orange 
One's disguise was a pointless expansion of energy.  It had 
adopted the shape of a second Earth moon, achieving little beyond 
the temporary breakdown of tidal control computers on Earth.  The 
Purple One would not have been fooled by its tangerine shape and 
coloration, or by the extravagance of its false moustache, for an 
instant.  The Purple Thingy could not be bothered to notice such 
minor matters as moons at that precise moment.  Its many massive 
lilac-tinted minds were taken up with other matters.  Not the 
least of which was the great relief they felt to be released from 
the strait-jacket of Queen Sharon's puny form. The Thingy was 
tense and took a while to relax, a calming process consisting of 
the creation and ingestion of a mountain range of sugar slightly 
larger than the Alps combined with a little transcendental 
meditation.
        'It's just not fair.'
        Like most beings, the Purple Thingy's definition of 
unfairness was anything that it personally found annoying or 
inconvenient.  In this case, it probably had a point.  It did seem 
ridiculous that although allowed as many epochs as required to 
conceive of a task and quite a while to execute that task, subject 
to the life span of the selected participants of course, the 
Thingy was only allowed a matter of hours to choose a champion.  
It was already beginning to regret its rushed choice but nothing 
could change that decision.  It was already too late.  The 
Human had been chosen, the contract signed, the die was not only 
cast, it was also probably crooked.
        This problem with the regulations was one that confronted 
most of the philosophers in the Galaxy.  They started out with the 
notion that there must be a sensibly regulated purpose to 
existence.  This was a wrong assumption. There was  no logical 
form to the rules of the universe; they were fundamentally stupid.  
If the rules had been rational, philosophers would not need to 
exist.  The large amounts of drugs and alcohol therefore necessary 
to maintain their sanity would also not need to exist.
        The Purple Thingy found comfort in a similar idea.  In a 
Universe with a sensible structure, the existence of the species 
Homo Sapiens was pointless.  The Cosmos however was not sensible.  
This was clearly evident: (A) because of its rules, and (B) 
because of the existence of a race as worthless as Humanity.  
Therefore, the Thingy reasoned that: if Creation were silly, its 
rules were silly and some of its population were silly.  Maybe, by 
the very Illogical nature of their behaviour, silly beings could 
sometimes serve a sensible purpose.  Perhaps the evolution of 
Mankind was planned solely to provide the Thingy with that 
brief moment of self-doubt necessary to the growing process of any 
life form faced by a challenge.
        Uplifted from its depression, if not entirely convinced, 
by this mixture of deep concentration, conceit and gibberish.  The 
Purple Thingy turned its formidable attentions to Mars, completely 
disregarding the very curious tongue-poking and grimacing antics 
of the Earth's second Moon.






The white cliffs of Dover had receded into a distant chalky line 
before Will even had a chance to register them.  Used to 
witnessing the suicidal velocity of local public transport, the 
speed of their journey did not worry him as much as the actual 
Journey itself.  If things went to plan, and Will still had to be 
reassured that they would, he would shortly be leaving a secure, 
if not intellectually active, future for the unknown perils of 
space.  It was a big step, especially for someone who like some 
tied-to-the-land medieval peasant, had never ventured more than 
ten miles in any direction.  He was being banished after all.
Sulphur briefly turned his attention from the headlong race 
towards their destination.
        'We're here.'
        The vehicle started to slow.  Will did not need to be told 
where to look to see their goal, The ship was more than huge; it 
made the towering apartment structures of the Will's home suburbs 
look like wigwams.  He was awe-struck and humbled by COMS 
engineering feat.
	  'You know, sometimes you lot are wasted on us humans.  
Maybe you should have sent us all to Mars.'
        'What!  Let you move next door and ruin the neighbourhood?  
No chance.'
        'It looks like it could take most of Europe.'
        'It just has to take us.  Any ideas how 0 great champion?' 
Will ignored the dragon's increasing use of irony.
        'Well ...' That was all he managed to say before the 
correctional craft was buffeted by an incredible explosion.
        'What's that ?' Will somehow managed to scream as he 
picked himself up off the ceiling.
        'Final engine test.  Its about to take off.  We've missed 
it.'
        Sulphur righted the capsized vehicle and Will thudded 
heavily to the floor.
        'No wonder the launch sites is automated.  We'll have to 
crash into it.'
        Sulphur toyed with the idea that Will's cranial organ had 
been injured by his many falls during the course of the day.  He 
hated himself for the curiosity that prompted clarification of tie 
human's suicidal statement.
        'Crash?'
        'Yes.' Will had a light in his eye that was either madness 
or inspiration.  Sulphur let him continue unsure of which 
condition it was, 'In a second it'll go, If we crash into the 
transport, it'll be like an arrow hitting a mountain. There's no 
way we can damage it.'
        'What about IT damaging us?'
        Despite reservations, Sulphur let the correctional craft 
build up speed on a ramming heading with the departing ship.  Will 
wrenched the intangibility belt off the sword and grabbed Sulphur 
tightly.
        'You take the belt.  It's all in your reactions.  As we 
strike the ship put it on. The impact will throw us forward 
through their hull. As we enter the ship you take it off and we'll 
be solid again.'
        'Or you'll be jam and I'll be a paperweight.'
Their speed increased. The massive transport filled all of their 
vision, or it would have, if Will had not had his eyes screwed 
tightly shut.
        "So much for confidence," was Sulphur's last thought 
before the tremendous shock of impact.







The transport vibrated upwards on its journey.  Full of the   
thrill of release from its earthbound restraints, the automatic   
piloting mechanism hardly noticed the correctional craft that  
first plowed itself into a pulverised mess into the transport's  
side and was shortly after incinerated by the all-consuming  
ferocity of the big ship's fiery jets, a space transport had to  
expect some minor damage during the course of its travels and the  
little ship's extinction had barely managed to scratch the huge  
vessel's paint work.  
  
 

 
  
  
  
The upward motion at the point of entry was so rapid that  
Sulphur plummeted through several floors before managing to remove  
the intangibility belt.  It was a matter of luck rather than  
judgement that he managed to avoid the fate of their ship.  One  
more floor, and the resulting barbecue would have been fatal. As  
it was, the terrific force and speed with which the transport's  
hull greeted the dragon's return to solid form almost succeeded in  
achieving a similar result. It took a while for Sulphur to  
internally redirect and restore some of his more befuddled   
functions.  When he finally did return to conscious appraisal of  
his surroundings, there seemed to be a distinct lack of human  
presence in the cavernous metal storeroom.  
	Although Sulphur would never admit that his systems were  
capable of a feeling akin to anxiety, there did seen to be  
something mildly panic-stricken about the speed with which he  
moved his scanners to full power. There was no trace of Will on  
any nearby level and so the search began.  
	Fortunately, all of the vast holds that the dainty green  
talons laboriously traversed were empty, waiting to be filled for  
the return journey. After a while, Sulphur reached an area that  
showed faint signs of life. He followed the trail to yet another  
huge and bare storage area. The dragon cursed his sensors; they  
seemed to have been damaged by the impact, telling him that Will  
should be in the very area that he minutely surveyed.  It was  
typical of the human not to be where he was supposed to be.  
Sulphur was about to disregard the angry internal beeps of his  
life form locator when he heard a groan from above and looked up.  
	Will hung limply from the ceiling like a battered strip of   
fly-paper.  Sulphur magnetised his claws and soon managed to reach  
the upended side of his semi-conscious companion.  Will's apparent  
gravity-defying state was caused by the fact that the soles of his  
shoes were firmly imbedded in the transports hull. "Idiot!"   
Sulphur thought. I told him not to let go.  
  
 



 
  
  
Sulphur was not the only one who took a while to register  
Will's presence. Decades of mindless back-and-forth journeys  
between the third and forth planets had began to work strange  
anomalies into the functions of the transport's automatic piloting  
mechanism. To a point where it no longer even thought of itself as  
anything as mundane as an automatic piloting mechanism.  
	On this trip it was Buck Chandler; square-jawed, gum-chewing  
Major in the Star Corps.  Buck was on a death-defying mission to  
rescue his lover Princess Quarg and her people on Quantag Maxus.   
This was quite a leap of mechanical imagination for a system that  
possessed no jaw, no mouth, no Star Corps commission and no  
genitalia, it was extremely dumb, especially as the Orange Thingy  
had wiped out the population of Quantag Maxus ages ago, but no  
more dumb than the pilot's previous incarnation as Icarus on his  
weary-armed way to get a suntan.  
	The pilot's delusions just meant that occasionally, the  
system's attention wandered slightly, becoming diverted by non- 
existent galactic obstacles and resulting in a somewhat eccentric  
flight path. Eventually though, Buck had noticed the manic  
flashing stowaway alert light and routed emergency oxygen and  
gravity supplies to the relevant area.  For an instant, its  
curiosity was aroused.  It had been a long time since there had  
been a stowaway, but other matters soon intruded.  The unreal jaw  
firmly tightened as Buck casually avoided an asteroid that was not  
there and vaporised an imaginary cruiser of the evil Tolgan  
empire. Thrills and excitement were non-stop in the Star Corps.  
  
  
  
 

 
  
  
Thrills and a excitement were something that Will had had  
more than enough of for one birthday, as he weakly reached a  
painful and shoe-less awakening in a corner of the storage area.   
He knew that the transport was fast, but felt a grateful sense of  
relief at the knowledge that it would take days to reach Mars, all  
depending on its relative orbital position to, and distance from,  
the Earth.  
	It was rest and need for reflection that was sorely needed  
by both Will and Sulphur. Their lives had changed with alarming  
speed and it took a while to catch up.   
	So many of Will's reactions had been prompted by a level of   
instinct and decisiveness that was amazing considering his  
background and at the same time extremely disconcerting.  Will  
wondered whether the no assistance clause of the Queen's contract  
only existed on a conscious level. Were his reactions the result  
of dormant qualities, skills that humans were programmed only to  
use in a crisis?  Or had Sharon just performed an all parts  
service on his character without prior consent?   
	He could  not sense any radical difference but felt that he  
should wait a while to be sure, and allow some time for his numbed  
senses to each some sort of recalibrated level before he could  
really analyse the days events. Only one day - it was incredible.  
Despite feeling every bit as combat fatigued by the rapid  
transitions since morning, Sulphur still outwardly functioned with  
annoying coolness.  
	'You realise of course, that you have forgotten the first  
rule of life for a stowaway?'  
	Will managed a tired smile at the dragon's pragmatic tone.  
	'What's that?'  
	'Bring a packed lunch.'  
  
  
  
  
  



The Orange Thingy watched the distant escape of the transport from  
the Earth's orbit.  
	"No wonder these creatures are so backward, if their idea of  
space transportation is this sluggish and cumbersome toy."  
	Perhaps, with their limited intellect, they had not yet  
managed to harness the power of their own overlap states.  The  
overlap state was a strange dimension that all really advanced  
creatures were biologically capable of reaching.  Aeons before,  
the Thingy culture, like many other reasonably savvy developing  
societies had grasped the principles of true interstellar travel.  
	In a beings "awake" state, much that is imagined takes on a  
real dimension.  In the "sleep" state, much that is real takes on  
a imaginary dimension. Thingy scientists discovered that this was  
because the Universe of the Real and of the Imaginary existed, and  
sometimes overlapped, side-by-side.  By reaching for a subtle  
balance between the conscious and unconscious, one could make use  
of these "overlaps" and travel vast distances at will.  
	All you had to do to travel was to attain the level of  
overlap balance, instantly transport yourself to your destination  
area in the imaginary Universe, then just find one of many overlap  
points that existed in any spatial area and cross back to the real  
Universe.  
	It resembled the transport system that Mankind had long  
dreamed of, not knowing that they already were capable of it, a  
system where you could be broken down and reassembled elsewhere in  
an instant.  Using the overlap balance, you could disassemble  
yourself and overlap into the imaginary universe, travel, and  
return to solid form in a different physical location.  
	Of course, there had been a few casualties with this method  
of journey.  It took practice to fully master and you have to be  
careful or you could end up as a ghost, or as an hallucination  
trapped between the two complimentary levels of existence.  
	There were also economic problems; at first, there had been   
millions of redundancies at Thingy Transport PLC (i.e. Putrid  
Limited Company). But on the whole, the overlap state was  
considered a real boon to the commuter and managed to explain a  
question that had long puzzled Thingy philosophers.  Question: Why  
are objects in the universe so far apart? Answer: Distance does  
not matter because the Universes' creators did not mean physical  
distance to be attempted and only very, very stupid species would  
try it.  
	All this thought of transportation came about because the  
Orange Thingy was beginning to get bored, searching its mind for  
something to think about, The Orange One had one major fault,  
apart from general psychosis; it had the lowest threshold of  
boredom in creation.  Most of its really mean acts were part of an  
attempt to spice up its life and combat dullness; sometimes it  
even took risks, just to see what would happen.  It took a chance  
now, triumphantly emerging from its Moon disguise.  
	The result was disappointing.  There was no reaction from  
the shifting purple form on Deimos.  Not one acid-bathed lavender  
eyeball deigned to glance in the direction of the transformation.   
The Purple Thingy's minds were obviously elsewhere.  The Orange  
Thingy tried, in vain, to pick up the trail of his compatriots  
mauve mentality.  
	Whatever Purple was doing, had to be more fun than watching  
some pathetic little spacecraft.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



What the Purple Thingy was doing at that exact moment was  
watching some pathetic little spacecraft, as the Mars mining ship  
cruised above the reddish rock and Shepard plant-strewn surface of  
the Chryse Plantia.  
	The Purple Thingy also distantly monitored the progress of  
Will, Sulphur and their transport on its lethargic journey to this  
curious world.  The slowness of their travel was a source of great  
frustration to the Purple Being, but it had to keep more or less  
to the confines of the contract it had drawn up.  
	There might have been some brave and foolhardy souls of the   
opinion that the appearance of the Purple Thingy on Mars prior to  
Will's arrival did indicate a slight evidence of rule bending.   
Had the Purple Thingy been of a lower species that resorted to  
self-justification, It would have answered that this was a blatant  
lie.   
	It was Will's job as stated in the contract to engage help  
for the task; it was true that the Thingy could not help in that  
eventual choice, however, the contract did not state that the  
Thingy could not round up the few likely prospects and get them to  
one place to speed up that choice.  
	It was with this object in mind (or minds) that the Thingy  
had made its appearance, albeit with a change of sartorial tactic.   
Rather than once again face the ridiculous strictures of a solid  
humanoid form, the Thingy had projected an insubstantial image of  
Queen Sharon onto the fourth planets surface.  The Queen's task,  
to carry out an extremely taxing mission: Finding anyone on this  
red planet of renegades, rejects and runaways who was going to be  
at all useful.  
  
  
  
  
  
	


The first was a local call.  By Thingy standards the object  
was contemporary.  By mortal standards, the large Sarsen stone was  
extremely old.  Once long ago, this crudely carved and weathered  
shape had taken its powerful and honoured place in the inner  
circle of Stonehenge. That was before Mankind got the idea that  
enough money and influence could buy any foolish whim and  
unfortunately proceeded to prove themselves right.   
	It had happened a couple of decades before human misery and  
self destructiveness reached rock bottom and COMS stepped in to  
offer a future. Mars was like any boom-world in those distant  
days. Peopled by the monumentally wealthy, nouveau-riche few, and  
by desperate poverty-stricken crowds who wanted to emulate their  
success.  Life was especially cheap then, but there had never been  
a time when it was expensive.  
	The most powerful, feared, admired and possibly unattractive  
man at that time was Phineas T. Shepard.  He was the richest of  
the rich. The wealthiest man in either world, old or new, he also  
had one other trait that people talked about, having been the  
luckiest man in the Solar System.  
	He had been mining in the old oxygen pressure suits, on the  
verge of starvation, when fortune had struck and he had stumbled  
across an ancient subterranean structure.  Phineas had gone inside  
and found some ancient seeds, taken them home and nurtured them  
through trial and error, more out of boredom than botanical  
interest, hoping that anything the seeds produced would be edible.    
	The resulting plant was a phenomenon.  It did not need  
water, thrived on the Martian soil, propagated like bacteria on a  
corpse, and most importantly, it transmuted Mars' unpalatable  
atmospheric cocktail of carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, argon and  
ozone into something very much like air.  
	Phineas did not realise that he had stumbled on a latent  
example of the very instrument of biochemical warfare that had  
accidentally wiped out the native Martian species a million years  
before.  He probably would not have cared.  It was not his fault  
that the Martians had developed a poison gas plant; all he  
bothered about was the air that it produced and the billions that  
it made him.  
	It took a long time and lot of hard effort to carpet Mars  
with Shepard plants and provide the Red World with a breathable  
atmosphere, but the financial rewards more than compensated.   
	However, Phineas was not completely happy.  He had always  
been active and once the setting up was done, he found that he did  
not have much to do.  Until one day, whilst sitting in his vintage  
champagne-filled jacuzzi, he thought of a solution.  He would  
create projects and tests of influence, designed to strengthen his  
hold on immortality and lovingly fondle his ever-expanding ego.  
	One such test was the transportation of a stone from  
Stonehenge to mark the landing site of the Viking Lander I in the  
Chryse Planitia. There was no logic to this and the stone looked  
naked and vaguely ridiculous surrounded by the oddly shaped plants  
that had paid for its journey. It was soon forgotten by the  
dwindling human population and by the army of hard-working  
machines that remained to ignore it.  
	Sadly, Phineas never got to see the stone in its new  
surroundings. He was killed in a bizarre and messy carpet-cleaning  
accident at his home shortly after the arrival of a consignment  
that bore, amongst other curiosities: the Sarsen stone,  
Tutankhamen's mummy, an Aztec altar and an Easter Island statue.  
There was talk of a curse but no one could decide what was  
responsible; Phineas had blasphemed against so many old gods in a  
bid to prove his personal power, it seemed only fair that one of  
the affronted deities should have the last word on influence.  
	The Purple Thingy did not care about any of this.  It was  
not concerned with futile Human stabs at immortality or with  
sightseeing. It had arrived upon the "plains of gold" with a  
purpose. To deliver a long overdue wake-up call.  
  
  
  
  
  
  




The thing about wake up calls is that to an impartial observer, 
they usually share one common point.  There is something vaguely 
alarming about them.  It has to do with the sudden noise  
or motion that suddenly jackboots itself to a position where it  
can best destroy even the most peaceful of slumbering scenes.  
	There was nothing loud or jerky about Queen Sharon and the   
movements of her insubstantial form, but the effect was still  
striking. One casual movement and the chill tranquillity of the  
rouged landscape evaporated to be replaced by a vibrantly charged  
atmosphere of controlled power.  Waves of energy started to build,  
rippling from the extended arm of the Queen, directed at the  
ancient stone face. Its surface responded greedily, absorbing  
every particle of this potent force as it started to grow and  
throb with a beating life-like pulse. More and more, the stone  
consumed its diet of energy, feeding with the wanton gluttony of a  
black hole, and more and more its surface writhed and bulged.  
Then, abruptly, the movement stopped, all seemed returned to quiet  
as the Queen relaxed into a posture of vigilant detachment and  
waited.  
	After a while, a thin line of brilliant light appeared  
etched in the stone.  Slowly the line moved upward, marking out  
the detailed template for an imposing humanoid figure. A line form  
that yawned as it reached completion and detached itself from the  
stone face to stand erect like some mad neon holograph.  Then its  
lined hand motioned and lurid beams of light seemed to burst from  
every point of the stone, enveloping, building, detailing the  
figure until with a final showy explosion, they were gone, leaving  
behind a very solid, very alive and very confused personage:  
Merlyn.  
	The Queen scanned the Thingy's many minds and compared their   
memory data with the being that stood before her.  This was not  
some ancient shaman covered in foul-smelling animal skins or a  
wizened mystic with a long white beard. Chroniclers usually forgot  
that the first thing a top class witch or wizard did, after  
spending sixty-odd years obtaining a level of power to do so, was  
rejuvenate their appearance.  Thus Merlyn, despite an expression  
of considerable puzzlement at his surroundings, still presented a  
surprisingly youthful aspect, that is if one disregarded his  
piercing blue eyes, which seemed a few days older then time.  
	He had been tall in his day but six feet was now a  
normality. Long hair of deepest black framed a hard and lively  
face, and a long, thick, intricately-pleated moustache hung down  
an either side of the thin mouth. He was obviously a product of a  
harsh, unflabby era. A modern observer might have placed the age  
of his thin, yet solid form at around thirty five and wondered  
about his obvious peak of fitness. Such an observer might have  
also speculated at length about Merlyn's long flowing silken  
robes, which seemed of indeterminent period or cut.  His costume  
was garishly plaid, covered in weird runes and incantations that  
echoed the subtle woad tattooing of his flesh.  All in all, he was  
an impressive figure, someone not to tally lightly with, someone  
to listen to.  As if to underline this last point he found his  
voice and spoke in a tone of rich authority that any actor  
would kill for.  
	Merlyn's words were uttered in a tongue long dead, one of  
many archaic languages that have only a limited purpose after  
their eventual evolution and extinction should have consigned them  
to a footnote. Restricted applications that had mostly served to  
swell the budgets of language departments over the centuries,  
making the lives of their students miserable before giving them  
something to bore people with in old age.  What Merlyn tunefully  
pronounced roughly translated as:   
	'Spirit, where in the name of all the demons am I ?'  
	'You'll find your answer over there, Magician, at the bar in   
Shepard City.' 
	The Queen pointed behind him with an imperious gesture  
of her hand and then promptly disappeared.    
	"Showoff!" Merlyn thought as he turned and faced the point  
at which he had been directed.  
	With the exception of the Sarsen stone, there was nothing  
but red rock and strange plant-life for as far as the magician's  
keen eyes could see.  For a moment, he paused, tenderly feeling  
the stone's rough surface, communing with this great object that  
had housed him for he did not know how many years.  
	He wondered what had happened to its companions. There had  
been talk of redevelopment in the area.  Moving some of the blue  
Stones at the observatory, some over-eager architectural  
innovators had even advocated abandoning construction of their  
huts in favour of new flashy stone dwellings.  
	"But this!"  He frowned at the landscape and shook his head  
at the absurdity of it all.  This was going too far.  
	There had to be an answer, and the spirit, be she fair or  
foul, had said that this lay somewhere before him. With a murmured  
incantation to the deity of travel, he started on his long  
journey, determined to find his answers and someone to pay dearly  
for his inconvenience.    
	Merlyn had some things in common with the greater throng of   
Mankind; one of these was that he hated being woken with a start.   
It made him grumpy.  
  
  
  
  
 

 
  
  
Will sat tensely perched upon the toilet and dwelt upon its  
history. The unit was a gleaming maximum customer comfort model,  
thoughtfully provided to prevent stowaways from fouling the  
transport.  Most appliances manufactured by COMS central were  
provided with mental and vocal functions. The human refuse  
disposal system was unique; an appliance that had had its speech  
privileges withdrawn.  
	Mankind tended to be greatly embarrassed by what they  
perceived as their lower animal functions.  The films and  
literature that Will loved had gone through a period of social  
relaxation and exhibited a marked increase in the amount of sexual  
activity on display.  This freedom had never extended to other  
commonplace acts, and there had always been major reticence to  
displaying an odd visit to the lavatory for its original design  
purpose.  Heroes and Heroines never did such things; they were  
indecent.  It did not matter what the situation, some fictional  
phenomena could spend ten years in a confined spacecraft or two  
weeks trapped underground with four hundred incontinent miners  
without the subject of waste disposal being raised.  
	All this had led the youthful and impressionable Will to  
presume that his need for the occasional use of his disposal  
system was a symptom of some outlandish renal affliction.  He had  
bombarded every available mechanical medical authority,  
withstanding quite a few rigorous and humiliating tests before he  
could be persuaded that nothing was wrong.  
	COMS had faced a similar credulity gap when it came to  
launching the talking toilet.  When the Cybernetic Operational  
Management Structure had first established itself in a position of  
global control, it had blitzed its public with a series of  
soothing advertisements depicting their rosy future.  Most  
everything had been absorbed and gratefully accepted by a  
population in the last stages of decay and desperation.  There had  
only been one exception and Will was sitting on its closest modern  
equivalent.  
	The problem had to do with an inherent bleakness in the  
outlook of the waste system that manifested itself in a  
distressing bluntness of language. It just was not comfortable to  
void oneself whilst your disposal system was loudly proclaiming a  
series of biting and acerbic opinions about your diet, liquid  
consumption and the lamentable aesthetic quality of the faeces an  
offer. Will could almost understand the toilets outlook. In olden  
times, it had been an almost normal reaction for those in  
unglamorous and unfulfilling work to develop a negative outlook  
and a sense of personal offence.  
	Will himself felt that recent events had only increased his  
great feeling of empathy with a moribund object that spent its  
life getting crapped on.  COMS had, after their initial  
disappointment, briefly responded with a disposal system that not  
only enjoyed its work but graphically informed you of the positive  
aspects of its job at great length.  But the new models failure  
was even greater and COMS in its only U-turn, or "U-bend-turn" as  
Will christened it, had finally bowed before the public pressure  
and the sheer weight of vandalised disposal machinery.   
	After jointly finishing his absolutions and train of  
thought, Will returned to the dragon's side. Sulphur, having long  
given up on Man's inefficient design, refrained from comment on  
his absence.  
	'You know.' Will said, thoughtfully shaking his head.  
	'It's strange, but, I always have this really odd feeling  
that the toilet's glaring at me for some reason.'  
  
  
  
  



The tune was rich and subtle, yet there was something weird and 
alien about its perfection.  It had a deep structured layering, a 
sense of complexity and a feeling of heartrending yearning that a 
human composer, however gifted with genius, could not hope to 
recreate. 
	The music seemed to expand the limited horizons of the 
surrounding cramped stone walls, to reveal other huge and 
wonderful vistas, an epic kaleidoscope of fantastic locations and 
fabulous experience. Individual notes seemed to have a mystical 
vibrant life and they waltzed around the spotless cave filling 
every crevice, every possession of their player and composer, 
	The few delicately refined items of furniture that there 
were in the cave were of exquisite taste.  These objects, coupled 
with the neatly stacked books and papers, many of vast antiquity, 
were evidence of a cultured and discerning intellect.  And yet, 
these items lumped together were not much to show for a life that 
had lasted longer than that of Mankind's on Earth, that had been 
partly responsible the demise of the dinosaur, and had been 
witness to incredible events and a procession of human life in all 
its shades, great, pathetic and mediocre. 
	One item of furniture whose absence spoke volumes was a 
mirror.  This was not just an oversight or testament to a lack of 
vanity.  The player had a pronounced and deep-seated hatred of his 
outer shell. The broad face and powerfully muscular body should 
have been covered in a bountiful, full-bearded hirsute tangle, and 
yet, with the exception of the tastefully coifed dark brown head 
of locks, a mighty depilatory had been used to render the dark, 
leathery skin as hairless as a babe. 
	The wide middle-aged visage was brutish and hooked, with 
large lips, a prominent nose and forehead.  The great teeth had 
been straightened by an heroic amount of dental labour.  The 
overall hawkish aspect was offset by the brilliant green eyes that 
glinted like magical emeralds, proclaiming the intellect and 
restless vigour of their owner.  This restlessness was illustrated 
by the delicate fluttering movement of his fingers; although they 
were short, gnarled and stubby, they moved across the keyboard 
with a potent mix of speed, dexterity and grace. Like the music, 
the carefully chosen fabrics that clothed him were bright and 
colourful, of elegant design and finest construction with no hint 
of the gaudy or tacky about them. 
	Suddenly, the melody momentarily stopped, although the cave 
still seemed to hum with its resonance. The player tensed, became 
alert, aware of a slight disturbance in the atmosphere.  As the 
Queen appeared, his hands began to softly work the keyboard again.  
The Queen spoke. 
	'Greetings, Balidare, you are far from your home and your 
true form.' 
	'As are you', Balidare answered with perfect annunciation.  
His rich voice accustomed to tones of clipped imperiousness.  The 
Queen acknowledged the truth of his remark with a fleeting 
enigmatic smile before continuing. 
	'If you go to the bar in Shepard City, you may learn 
something of interest.' 
	Balidare turned with an relaxed indulgent frown. it 
succeeded in considerably fiercening his already grim features. 
	'I have spent enough time on this dead world to have covered 
every inch...' 
	His tone was distantly contemptuous.  Balidare was a being 
who had lived far too long and seen too much to have anything left 
to prove to anyone. '....There is nothing of interest on this 
mausoleum.' 
	The Queen played to her audience, her voice gently teasing.   
	'Is a way out of this system of interest?  Across the 
cosmos, a new start,' 
	Balidare was puzzled and yet intrigued. 
	'The mechanical's transports are no good for interstellar 
travel.  If you don't know ships, they look flashy enough, but 
they're only efficient for local bulk haulage.  They can't be 
upgraded.  I've checked.' 
	The Queen moved forward to emphasise her pay-off line.  Her 
grin was beatific as she whispered with overdone innocence.   
	'Who said anything about ships?' 
	As she vanished, she left behind words that hung in the air 
like Balidare's music. 
	'Go to Shepard City.  You have nothing to lose but time.' 
	Balidare did not take long to make up his mind.  Time was an 
old enemy.  When you had lived as long as he, you did not fear 
death or any danger.  The real terrors were the empty minutes, the 
endless parade of weary and wearying seconds.  The Queen had been 
right.  He had nothing to lose but a minute piece of hated 
continuance. His life had become like that of Mankind on Mars - no 
future but a sterile, tedious decay on this unnaturally 
resuscitated red planet. Deciding, Balidare began to pack a few 
most treasured belongings into a small metallic case.  His compact 
figure moved like a 1930's film gangster, full of pent-up vigour. 
	As he worked and folded with fastidious precision, he vainly 
tried to avoid thoughts of a past time; a time that seeped out of 
his unconscious like some insidious creeping poison. Once before, 
he had been offered a way out of this system, but then had come 
the sin; a crime so great that he had been estranged and cast out 
by his own kind, left marooned as a penance.  Even now he was 
unclear whether the sin had been born of loathing, of love or just 
the perpetual fatigue of loneliness. Unbidden, his mind framed an 
agonising picture, his father's stricken, haunted face as he had 
silently disowned his only son and turned to