Copernican Principle      The scribblings of an insignificant man

  Gordon chalked his cue in preparation for his first 8-ball pool game against Mark Ford. Mark stood at the opposite end of the table in deep thought, studying the triangular rack of red and yellow balls before him. Taking a deep breath, which puffed out his manly chest, he took a step forward and, in one graceful movement, his body fell in to a break-off position of such beauty that Gordon had never seen before.

  A quiet sigh, mixed of admiration and excitement, escaped Vanessa’s lips as she watched Mark from behind the bar.

 Gordon’s lips, however, remained tightly pursed as he continued to rub more chalk on to his cue tip. Mark’s easy and debonair style was beginning to grate on Gordon’s nerves. He wanted to both hug him and slap his face at the same time. This first game would set a benchmark and Gordon was keen to impress.

  Mark was now settled in position for the break, like a crouching tiger. His right arm was poised behind him, with a light grip pushing the cue back and forth like a precision piston building steam. His head was upright and forward as he focused his sight down the perfectly straight length of ash cue which seemed to shimmer in a golden aura under the table’s lights. A magical hush engulfed the table. His small audience watched in total captivation. In the distance the song of angels could be heard as Mark now pulled his cue right back and paused. For barely a moment, Mark shifted his eyes towards Gordon and smiled a soft and warm smile and then ……. the explosive break jolted Gordon back a step and a blast of air splashed across his face. The triangular rack of balls had become a swirling pink blur which quickly became more and more yellow as, one by one, the red balls disappeared into the side and corner pockets. A faint breeze brushed back over Gordon from behind as the air settled back over the table.

  An enthusiastic round of applause, provided by Vanessa and Tricky, drowned out the singing angels. By the time Mark had raised himself back to full standing height, the cue ball, black, last single red and all seven yellow balls had slowed to a respectful halt.

  Gordon swallowed hard. “Nice break”, and as he tapped his over chalked cue on the ground, the excess blue dust floated off as a cloud into his face causing him to choke.

  Mark never replied. His concentration on the game was intense. With every muscle in his body attuned to the table he had just the tiniest amount of energy left to ooze with smugness. Having played one of the most powerful breaks that Gordon had ever witnessed, his next was the most delicate of strokes. With a perfectly flat cue, he glided the tip into the lowest possible point of the cue ball, accelerating through the shot and then holding his position on the table. The cue ball giggled in delight as it ran up to the last remaining red ball and kissed it teasingly. The red obliged and dropped itself into the pocket. The cue ball, still energised with back spin the master had endowed upon it, then ran gaily back up the table to align itself with the black ball and corner pocket.

  Now, finally poised over what was likely to be the last shot of the game, Gordon resigned himself to defeat.

  Mark played the shot with apparent flippancy. Way harder than it needed to be played, the black missed the pocket and ricocheted back up the table, but Mark appeared oblivious to the failed attempt and leaned forward to shake Gordon’s hand. Gordon was torn. His heart was raised by the chance of reprieve but the self-assured look in Mark’s eyes, as they bore into his own in anticipation of victory, made Gordon’s face squirm between bright eyed hope and brooding defeat. The black ball continued to run free, laughing in hysterical glee, bouncing off the corners of the opposite corner bag and screaming a final celebratory whoop as it careered back towards its original end point and straight down the neck of the pocket.

  Gordon stood speechless, as did Mark, still waiting for his winner’s handshake. Inhaling deeply, Gordon finally looked back at Mark and made a half attempt at returning his wide, toothy, smile. As he reached over and gripped Mark’s hand a flash of white light sparked from Mark’s perfect white teeth.

  “Two more beers please Vanessa”, Gordon called boldly to the Landlady, “Mark and I have a match on”.

 

Earlier That Morning on The Copernican

  Miane entered the conference chamber pushing a trolley laden with assorted drinks and snacks. She made her way to the first of four curved tables that were so placed to form a circle within the centre of the darkened room.

  The Council of Three convened every thirty years or so to monitor and control the planet’s status. There were a large number of individuals and groups that shared a major interest but only three delegations were able to meet at each routine Council meeting. Each delegation was limited to just three representatives, who now sat together at three of the four tables, with the fourth being occupied by the Watchers, Marl and his crew, who administered all affairs relating to the planet. This meeting’s delegations were from the Reptilians, the Small Greys and the Nordics.

  Miane halted her trolley by the Reptilian delegation, consisting of Hev, Miel and Barl. They had been eager to participate in this tridecadal’s meeting, which had raised concern with the crew of the Copernican. The Reptilians aggressive nature only ever slowed progress and could lengthen meetings by days and weeks as they bullied and tried to subjugate other delegations. Barl, though not the head of his delegation, was the most vocal and demonstrated it now, as Miane served him a bowl of green soup.

  “Peas?” Barl questioned Miane. “Is this what passes for peas nowadays?”

  Miane’s response was cold and sharp. “It’s what they’ve always been. I’ll shove a beetle in there if you want”, she offered sarcastically.

  “I’d sooner shove a beetle up your arse than eat that slop”, he snarled back. “Oh, just leave it there. I’ll take a piss it in later, it might improve the flavour”.

  “I’ll gladly take a dump straight down your neck …….”

  Marl interrupted, “Ladies, Gentlemen”, he threw a disapproving look at his assistant Miane before continuing, “Asexuals, Hermaphrodites and Anthropomorphs, as I call this Council to order, may I invite, from those representatives present, any final additions to the proposed list of discussions, arguments and digressions”.

  The response was immediate as Barl jumped up furiously flicking his lizard tongue in and out ….. but it was Landy Rose who spoke first. “Can I have a cushion please?”

  All eyes turned from Barl to Landy, the head of the Small Greys delegation.

  There are two dominant forms of Grey: Tall Greys and Small ones. Landy belonged to the Small ones and, even by Small Grey standards, she was small, at just three foot in height. Grey in colour, her thin limbs and short body was topped by a large head with huge teardrop shaped eyes. Together with a pert nose and small thin mouth, she had a friendly almost endearing look. With the room’s full attention and standing at full height, only half her head showed above the table.

  Miane ran over with a large pouffe and, having placed it on the chair, lifted Landy like a doll up and on to it. “How about Coanne and Hammy Lou Lou Belle the first? Are you guys okay?” Miane politely asked the other two Grey delegates, who both thanked her back but with their heads just comfortably over the height of the table, declined any further help. Not that there was anything on Miane’s snack trolley for them as Greys don’t eat or drink. They are one of the very few species that have evolved without the need for physical nourishment, deriving their sustenance instead from the fields of energy around them.

  Barl cleared his throat in Barl-style exaggerated fashion and all attention moved back to the giant lizard. “I am Barl, Reptilian Representative …. “, he started loudly and with huge self-assurance, “ …. for the Reptilian Delegation.” He looked about him slowly to make sure he had all eyes upon him. “Yes. That’s me, Barl.” Then slipping into a more natural, gentle voice, he turned towards the Watcher’s table. “It’s great here. I really like what you’ve done with the place”, and then to the other delegates, “and lovely weather we’re having.” Feeling that he’d now applied sufficient charm, he returned to assertive mode, “but I’m not happy.” Again, he looked about him with eyes that tried to give the impression of anger, but really only made him look like he was about to sneeze. He continued. “There’s an unauthorised audit on the Surface, right now and I want it stopped.” His voice was deepening in to a menacing growl, “right now.” Mutters rippled through the chamber. “I mean”, Barl continued, “fair’s fair …… ehh?” He heard the timidity of his own voice and quickly corrected himself by suddenly growling loudly, “RIGHT NOW.” Silence was instant. Though, Barl now thought, he might have just over-compensated and mumbled, “stopping the audit I mean …… thank you” and he sat down.

  Marl now spoke. “For everyone’s information, the audit was not unauthorised”, he tactfully avoided eye contact with Reptiles, “however, aware of some apparent concerns, I have now recalled all auditors and am just waiting on one last Sub-Commander to return to the Copernican”

  “Goron?” Landy blurted out, a little too excitedly, and, with wide, wish-filled eyes wobbled precariously atop her pouffe.

  “Goron?” Barl spat out, surprised at the mention of the name. “I’d watch him”.

  Marl reassured his audience, “Goron’s one of my most trusted men and was in charge of the audit team”

  “Well”, Barl was now simmering, “he doesn’t talk so flattering about you. I mean I could tell you things …..”

  Marl nipped him short. “Thank you Barl. I’ll take your comments on board”.

  However, Barl wasn’t finished. “Then take these comments on board too” and a real menace entered his voice, “if he’s not back on this ship in the next hour”, and a real fire now burned in his eyes, “I’ll go get him myself”

  From across the room, the Nordics kept a quiet presence.

 

Back at the Pig, Three Pints later

  The Pig was now alive with people queuing up at the bar and all the tables were occupied. Gordon, having rescued some dignity in his next few games with Mark, was now stood at the corner of the bar with Landlord.

  “I’m impressed”, Gordon complimented Landlord who was surveying the room. “You run a very nice pub”.

  Landlord’s face, which was always serious, darkened. Carrying a little over sixty years, Gordon was surprised by the number of laughter lines that it wore. Not for the age, but because he never seemed to laugh. “Impressed? Why? Don’t they have ‘nice’ pubs in Albania?”

  “I don’t know”, Gordon replied, wondering how a compliment had generated such a hostile response, “I haven’t been to Albania for ….. well …. since before it was Albania and anyway you probably wouldn’t believe where I’m really from”.

  “I don’t care where you’re really from. You’re not from here, so you’re foreign”, Landlord stared at Gordon.

  “Define what you mean by ‘here’. Do you mean Barnsley, Yorkshire, England, UK or Earth?”

  “Don’t take the piss!” Landlord exploded, “you can fuck off out of my pub if you’re gonna question me like that”, but rather than fronting up to Gordon he walked away, throwing his arms in the air dismissively.

  Mark Ford had finally lost a game of pool and as the pub rules were ‘winner stays on’, he joined Gordon at the bar.”Now then”, he spoke to Gordon. “Don’t go upsetting Landlord”.

  “But I was only paying him a compliment”, Gordon tried to defend himself.

  “A compliment? No lad, we don’t do that round here. We don’t do compliments, we say it as it is”.

  “You mean what ‘you’ ‘think’ it is”, Gordon replied. “There’s a clear difference”.

  Landlord returned. “He”, pointing at Gordon who then politely raised his hand to ensure that there was absolutely no mistake in who Landlord was referring to. “Is comparing my pub to some shit-oyl in Albania”

  “Shitoyl?”, Gordon asked. “What’s one of them?”

  Landlord replied with another hard stare. “It’s an ‘oyl’ ya shit in. For crying out loud, ‘av I got t’teach you English too?”

  Gordon laughed, a polite laugh that could have been interpreted as either ‘oh yeah got it now’ or ‘I still haven’t got the faintest idea of what you’re on about but I’ll go along with it anyway’. Both Landlord and Mark stood staring at him with straight faces. To break the awkward moment Gordon asked, “So, what do you guys do for fun?”

  “We’re having fun”, Mark replied grimly.

  “No”, Gordon tried to explain, “I mean like ‘fun’ fun. Doing stuff that makes you laugh”, he looked at Landlord who was beginning to frown, “or just smile occasionally”.

  “Do you smile when you’re shagging?” Landlord asked him.

  “Can’t remember”, Gordon gave it some thought, “I do seem to recall apologising a lot”.

  “You bloody Cockneys”, Landlord’s voice was getting louder. “You come up here and you haven’t got a clue”.

  Gordon mistook the dramatic pause in breath for a chance to reply “I was ….”

  “Shut up” Landlord’s order was direct and final. “I’ve been listening to you without interrupting, now it’s my turn ….”

  “But ….” again Gordon just wanted to explain himself.

  Landlord erupted, “That’s it, just talk all over me like I’m some thick northern twat”. His hands waved wildly in the air for a moment before landing on the top of his head in mock astonishment. “You just want to hear your own voice all the time, fine. I’ll just throw myself out of me own pub”.

  Gordon’s continuing interjections stopped as a guy hopped in to the bar on one leg. As he turned to the bar it was clear that he wasn’t just hopping on one leg, he only had one leg. The guy was clearly distressed and called for Vanessa.