Copernican Principle      The scribblings of an insignificant man

  As Gordon entered the Pig, he discovered the source of the deep emanating growl. Before him a cowering Bayleaf was submitting to a beautifully groomed, soft white Scottish Highland Terrier. The bar was otherwise empty.

  As the Terrier stood her ground over the snivelling Cavalier, Bayleaf rolled on to his back with a whimper but her threatening growl continued. Gordon left them to it and walked over to the bar where Vanessa awaited with a watchful eye over the dogs.

  ‘Know your place boy’, the words spoken issued forth like a regal command, but though he was looking directly at Vanessa, Gordon never saw her lips move.

  “Pardon?” Gordon asked her. Her attention broken, she looked across to Gordon.

  “What do you mean ‘pardon’?” Vanessa asked Gordon as he now realised it wasn’t her that had just spoken.

  ‘Hmmmm’, the regal voice again, ‘I see some breeding and possible potential’. It was definitely the voice of a lady, refined and haughty, but, as Gordon looked around, there was no-one else to be seen.

  “Gordon?” Vanessa, puzzled, called for his attention but he didn’t seem to hear her. “I trust that animal is with you”.

  “Oh yes”, Gordon, realising she must be talking to him, turned back to her. “Sorry, yes”, he repeated for good measure, “meet Bayleaf”. I’d introduce you properly but he appears otherwise pre-occupied”.

  “As do you”, she replied.

  “Yes, sorry, perhaps a pint of your lovely Tetley’s will help, and a packet of cheese thingys for the dog”. Just to check, Gordon projected a thought out and behind him to where the dogs were, ‘are cheese thingys good for you?’.

  ‘Who’s that?’ the regal voice spoke again but now Gordon realised it wasn’t a voice but a thought, exactly as Bayleaf speaks to him.

  ‘I’m Gordon’, he thought back, ‘and you are?’

  ‘Snowball’, was the haughty, though very polite response. ‘Is this specimen with you?’

  Gordon turned and lowered himself to Snowball’s level, ‘yes’ he told her, ‘please meet Bayleaf and Bayleaf, please meet Snowball’. Bayleaf had now found the courage to stand but stood rigid as Snowball inspected him with a few sniffs. 'If you don't mind my saying, for a Highland Terrier, you don't sound very Scottish'.

  'And for an Englishman, you don't look very English', was her high-nosed response.

  ‘Mon dieu, she ees delightful, you agree also?’ Bayleaf’s thoughts came to Gordon.

  ‘She is …..’ he considered his response with care, ‘…. a real lady’.

  ‘Are you talking about me?’ Snowball asked.

  ‘Yes’ Gordon addressed himself to her, ‘can’t you hear him?’

  ‘Hear who?’ she asked.

  ‘Bayleaf’, he told her.

  ‘What?’ Bayleaf now asked him.

  ‘He can hear you too?’ Snowball sounded surprised.

  ‘Yes, I can hear you both. Can’t you hear each other?’

  The replies sounded at once in Gordon’s head, ‘No’ and ‘Non’.

  “Gordon”, Vanessa called to him.

  ‘Tell ‘er she ‘as eyes like deep soulful oceans’ Bayleaf requested.

  ‘Has he asked about me?’ Snowball’s thoughts flooded in over Bayleaf’s.

  ‘He likes your eyes’, Gordon threw the thought out.

‘What?’ Snowball was aghast. ‘I’m professionally groomed monthly, have exhaustive workouts at least twice a day, can dance, catch ball and all he can say is he likes my eyes?’

 ‘To be fair’, Gordon tried to redeem Bayleaf, ‘he did describe them as oceans’.

 ‘He can go piss in his oceans, I’m off for my afternoon power snooze for an hour or so’ and with that she trotted across the room, pawed open a door behind the pool table, and disappeared upstairs.

 “Three pounds, twenty please, if you have a moment”. Vanessa had a brimming pint of beer and packet of cheese biscuits laid before her on the bar.

 Bayleaf followed Snowball tentatively to the door, grabbing a last sniff of her rear as she vanished behind it. Gordon called him back before he followed her up.

 “Thanks Vanessa”, he finally replied, “what a lovely bitch”.

 “I aim to please”, she forced a smile and took his money.

 “Carling please”. The request came from an immaculately suited gent making his way to the bar. “How do?” He politely acknowledged Gordon.

 Vanessa’s face lit up. “Mr Ford, of course let me get a chilled glass for you from the fridge”.

 Mr Ford’s attire was casual, though his tailored Balmain Jeans and Gucci shirt adorned his body like an outer skin. His short-cut black hair sparkled with exactly enough grey to crown his manly features and flatter his fifty or so years of age.

 Vanessa continued, her attention now completely absorbed by the mature Adonis before her, “how are you today?”

 “Can’t complain”, Mr Ford replied gently as Vanessa smiled back with a shy look in her eyes. His voice washed over his audience like Yorkshire Tea and freshly baked Parkin. “You have a new dog?” He asked looking over at the Blenheim Cavalier who was still sniffing forlornly around the door which Snowball had gone through.

 “Oh no”, she giggled, “that’s Bayleaf”.

 “Oh right then, I guess he must belong to Gordon”, Mr Ford replied and looked over to Gordon who was now also distracted by Bayleaf.

 “Yes”, Vanessa now replied with a noticeable strain to her voice, “Gordon”.

 Gordon remained distracted, hearing his name mentioned in the distance but still not registering it as his own.

 Vanessa, the smile now gone, repeated louder “Yes, Gordon”.

 Gordon caught Vanessa’s eye and then, in a moment, realised the name referred to him. His hand shot in the air as he almost shouted “Me, yes, I’m Gordon, sorry?”

 “Not as much as me dear”, Vanessa replied tiredly. “Mark was asking about Bayleaf”.

 “Oh yes”, Gordon replied excitedly, “I’m Bayleaf as well. I mean he’s with me”.

 Mark looked blankly back to Vanessa who returned the same look. Gordon extended his hand to Mark, “I’m definitely Gordon and the dog, my dog, is definitely Bayleaf, pleased to meet you”.

 Mark shook Gordon’s hand. His grip was firm and assertive and Gordon melted into it. “I know, we met here the other day, though I’ll understand you not remembering. You certainly had your fill. I’m Ford, Mark Ford”.

 “Oh yes, sorry”, Gordon’s excitement receded, but only for an instant, “I was celebrating” he offered back.

 “Celebrating indeed”, Mark acknowledged. “Tell you what, why don’t you tell me all about it over a game of pool and show me how good you Albanians are”.

 “Albanian?” Gordon asked, confused.

 “Arr”, Mark explained. “When you came in the other day, you wouldn’t give anyone a straight answer to your nationality. You told us the beer here was better than the ‘synth shit on the ship’, so we guessed you’d come over on a boat from Albania”.

 Gordon really hadn’t thought that his skin colour would attract so much attention. “Did anyone at all consider the vague possibility that I might actually be English and that my accent is not foreign but southern?”

 “If you’re not from Barnsley”, Mark answered assuredly, “then, in Barnsley, you’re not English”.

 Gordon contemplated this as he racked the pool balls. Mark’s tone was so persuasive he found it hard not to agree. “Would you like to take the break?” he offered Mark.

 “Arr, will do”, and then Mark offered back, “and maybe you’d like to play for a pint as well?”

 Gordon was surprised, “is that wise? Driving that lovely big Bentley outside, shouldn’t you be careful how much you drink?”

 Vanessa, who was now sat down behind the bar with a magazine, giggled. Mark laughed, “I’m not driving that”, and then Gordon laughed too.

 “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume it was yours”, and Gordon continued to laugh, though maybe now a little too hard.

 “No, my chauffeur drives it”, Mark continued. “I just sit in the back and tell him where to go” and now all three of them laughed together. Gordon looked behind him and then around the room.

 “Is he waiting for you in the car then?” Gordon asked.

 “No, he’s behind you?” Mark told him, pointing over Gordon’s shoulder.

 Gordon looked back round and still saw no-one, but he jumped back quickly when a shrill, nasal voice spoke up at him, “‘ello”.

 Gordon now looked downwards and discovered a smartly uniformed gentleman, complete with a shiny brimmed black hat, stood before him. At around five feet, he was easy to miss at such close range.

 “I’m Micky”, the small, bespectacled and moustachioed gentleman introduced himself. “Friends call me Tricky, Tricky Micky”, he sniggered. “It rhymes you see. Tricky and Micky”, sniggering again, looking up at Gordon with wide eyes, eager for a response.

 Gordon smiled back down at Tricky. The short, stout man continued looking up in anticipation until he finally replied “I’m Gordon, but I have no friends yet so you can call me what you want”.

 Tricky’s wide smile broke into a grin. “I’ll be your friend”. Light coloured wisps of curly hair blossomed out from under his chauffeur’s hat. His small mouth was over shadowed by a broad moustache banded with nicotine stains expanding out from below his nostrils. His eyes sparkled through the round lenses of his spectacles as he reached for the shining black brim of his hat.

 He pulled the brim slowly to one side and a sharp, high-toned squeak resonated outwards as the leather rim swivelled about his crown.

 Gordon’s gaze widened to a picture of pure awe as Tricky now inched the brim upwards. The rotational squeak was replaced with a much deeper tone. Like a cork being teased from its vitreous sanctum, the tone crescendoed to a glorious whoosh of air which now flooded the increasing gap between embroidered, executive millinery and Tricky’s slap-head. Finally, with an explosive, orgasmic pop, the hat sprang upwards. The ring of dancing, ornamental curls, that had at first been drawn into the expanding void, flopped outwards and then down along the edge of a shiny, polished hemispherical globe of exposed cranium.

 “Can I be your friend?” Tricky asked.

 Gordon, still dazed by the separation of hat from head answered dreamily, “of course you can”.

 “Pool Gordon?” The question came from behind and though Gordon heard it, he still didn’t register that it was aimed at him. “Gordon?” The same voice repeated.

 “Oh! Me!” He finally remembered that his new name was Gordon, spinning round and throwing his arm in the air, just to highlight the point that he was the Gordon being addressed.

 Mark looked bemused. An expression Gordon was finding familiar with the earthlings he now found himself among. Mark offered him a cue.

 Gordon was comfortable. Half way through his first beer of the day and in pleasant company, he smiled taking the cue, “let’s go for it”.

 

Three Days Earlier on The Copernican

 Goron’s spirited mood was reflecting in his pool play as he was playing well against Jon, the Copernican’s pool playing automaton. Following his meeting with Marl, The Commander, he had already prepared for his trip to the Surface.

 The faded, old, brown, leather jacket, that he had virtually lived in on his last visit, was waiting in his quarters. The pockets had all been filled with essentials such as tobacco, cigarette papers, filters and a large roll of fifty pound notes. He had memorised the details of his new human persona, Gordon Gilchrist, and all that was left to do was project himself into his human body and be teleported down. Nothing could break his spirit.

 

Marl sat forward in the Commander’s chair, from which he commanded The Copernican. On screen before him was the large and imposing, scaled, lizard head of Barl.

 “This audit should have been completed by now”, Barl growled and his long, thin, forked tongue flicked quickly in and out. “I’m not happy, not happy at all”. The green scales flexed about his dark, deep set eyes.

 Marl forced a reconciling manner in his response “the Council of Three meet soon and we can discuss this then, but for now my team has been assigned”.

 “Then un-assign them”, Barl snapped. Every scale from his short round snout and round his earless low browed head bristled, “NOW!” He shouted for good measure. The explosive growl reverberated around Marl’s chamber. Barl turned his head to someone just off-screen and quietly spoke, “I can’t be doing with this. Be a sweetie and fetch me a Tramadol”.

 

 Goron couldn’t wait any longer. He touched his ear to activate his personal communication device and buzzed Marl. There was no response. He buzzed Miane, Marl’s long-suffering personal assistant. “Hey there, it’s Goron, where’s Marl? I wanted to say ‘bye’ before hitting the bars on the Planet”.

 “Hiya Goron”, she answered, “you might want to hold fire on that. The Reptilian delegation aren’t happy and want to delay”.

 Goron’s heart sank. He thanked Miane and ended the call.

 Jon was at the pool table, but this game was finished for Goron. “Bollocks”, he whimpered despairingly.

 However, Goron had a great dislike for negative situations and immediately realising that he was sinking into one, snapped out of it.

 “Bollocks”, he said again, but this time with a grit of self-determination. He reached to his ear and popped out the tiny, pill shaped communicator. He looked at it with disdain and went to toss it away, but then paused.

 Jon was stretching across the pool table with his left hand extended as he cued up a shot. Goron reached forward and grabbed Jon’s left hand. He took the communicator and squeezed it between Jon’s thumb and thumbnail. “Look after this for me will you? If anyone calls, tell them I’m busy” and with that he was gone.

 About an hour later Goron projected himself into his faithful old human body and Gordon Gilchrist was teleported into Barnsley.