Copernican Principle      The scribblings of an insignificant man

Onboard The Copernican

  Marl called to Miane from the games room. “Try Goron again on his communicator, we’ve got to get him back up here now.”

  “But we couldn’t open a line to him three days ago when he left,” she replied, “that’s why we sent the drones down to find him.”

  “Just do it.” Marl was stressing out. He needed something to focus his mind which is why he’d chosen to come down to the games room and shoot some pool. “We can’t send anyone else down to get him, the Council have barred all Watchers from the Surface while they’re in session.” He closed his eyes in thought. “How about we contact him with a direct mind link?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Miane answered, “that can take hours to get the link right and then we’ve got to hope he’s sober enough to reply.”

  Marl returned to his pool game with Jon. Normally, Jon would dash around the table potting balls from all angles and working out strategy, with his computer brain, in an instant, but he’d appeared to slow considerably. “You overdue for a service?” Marl asked him.

  “Not at all,” Jon replied as he arched his hand into a bridge on the table for his next shot. There was an obvious shake in his hand which was distracting him from his shot. Goron’s personal communicator, hidden in Jon’s thumb, was vibrating as Miane tried to connect with it.

  “Can’t we just get a drone to shoot him?” Miane offered,

  “How about we get it to wring his bloody neck?” Rhane had appeared.

  “Don’t be a meany”, Miane defended her friend, “I was just thinking if we killed his human body then he’d naturally return to his real one up here.”

  “Risky,” Marl responded, “we might lose him again, like we did once before.”

  “Lose Goron?” Rhane was back in the discussion. “He’s the proverbial bad penny, he’ll find his way back. I agree with Miane, get a drone and go laser the fuck out of him.”

  Miane wasn’t happy with the way this was going. “I thought you wanted his body back in one piece, expenses and all that?”

  Rhane turned to her and, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, spoke calmly, “if there’s a chance that it’ll bring our dear friend back to us, then I say to hell with the expense, let’s blow his sorry arse to pieces.”

  “No! Don’t you guys remember that time about 30 years back?” Marl had to remind them. “He was on the surface somewhere in South London, stinking drunk. Coming out of a pub, he walked straight into a main road and got killed by a bus. It took us three years to find him. Turned out, his life-force had re-incarnated in a squirrel on Streatham Common.”

[Note to readers … watch out for ‘Gordon – The Squirrel Years’]

  Marl settled back into deep thought as he watched Jon finally play his next shot. “Got it,” he suddenly cried, “we’ll send Jon to get him. He’s a robot not a Watcher. Miane get him over to Teleport now.”

 

Four Pints Later at The Pig

  “Excuse me,” Vanessa called out from behind the bar, “but has anyone seen a leg?” The busy pub mostly ignored the question, but Gordon, who was propping up the bar, was curious.

  “Leg? What a chair leg?” He asked.

  “No,” Vanessa answered, “a false leg. Barry here has lost his prosthetic and thinks he might have left it here earlier.” Gordon looked over to the man who had hopped in a few moments ago and smiled to him in acknowledgement.

  “What’s it look like?” Gordon asked.

  Vanessa frowned, “like a leg, what do you think?”

  The beer was working well on Gordon, who was now in a merry mood. “Did it have a shoe on?”

  Vanessa turned back to Barry who replied “Arr.”

  “Arr? Is that yes?” Gordon asked.

  “Aye,” Barry answered.

  “What then, was it like a shoe or a trainer?” Gordon thought he was doing well trying not to act too tipsy, but was now slurring the occasional word in his bad grammar.

  “A shoe,” Barry was now looking around to see if anyone else could actually help him with a straight answer, but didn’t want to appear rude to Gordon.

  “A black shoe?” Gordon continued.

  “Aye,” Barry replied.

  “Aye? You mean Arr?” Gordon checked.

  “Arr,” Barry now replied through gritted teeth.

  “Good,” Gordon straightened up, “now we’re getting somewhere.” He slapped the bar in a grand gesture, took a big swig of beer and continued. “Was it a slip on or have it got laces?”

  Vanessa exploded, “IT’S A FLIPPING LEG.” The room went quiet. “You’ll identify it by the complete lack of a body attached to it.”

  The quiet was replaced with an awkward silence.

  “Is this it ‘ere?” Everyone looked over to the pool table where a young man held up a leg shaped prosthetic. “We took the shoe off so’s we could use it as a rest.”

  Gordon banged his empty pint glass on the bar and announced “case closed! Another pint of your fine ale, please Vanessa.” As Vanessa filled a fresh glass, Gordon walked over to the much relieved Barry. “Just fill me in on the last piece of this jigsaw please. How, on this planet, did you lose your own leg?”

  Barry, busy re-attaching his returned limb, replied. “Well, I remembered last having it here but then went up to the Rabbit’s Hutch with a few mates. It was only when I got to the bar up there that I realised it was missing, so it had to be here.”

  “Okay, I think.” It was now Gordon’s turn to look puzzled. “How did you manage to get from here to the Rabbit with only one leg?”

  “A beer huddle.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When you’ve had a few and you’re out with your mates,” Barry now explained. “The more you’ve all drunk, the closer together everyone walks, like in a huddle. I must have bounced off my mates all the way up there.”

  Gordon pondered the idea for a moment and then agreed. “Nice one, if you lose it again, give me a shout.” He kindly offered.

  “Well, I did lose me spare un a while back”, Barry ventured.

  “I’ll keep my eyes open for it. Slip on or laces?” Gordon asked with a smile.

  “It attaches with a strap.” Barry answered and Gordon’s face dropped as his joke was lost.

  Barry bid him farewell and headed back up to the Rabbit pub. Gordon grabbed his beer and, as he raised his glass up, a thought came back to him. “Vanessa?” He called, but she was busy dealing with a queue of customers, so he called again but louder, “Vanessa?”

  “Wha’s tha want nah?” Landlord answered as he appeared next to him with a pint of John Smiths in one hand and a pool cue in the other.

  Gordon turned his attention towards him. “Do you know someone, who comes in here, called Don?”

 

Back Onboard The Copernican in the Reptilian’s Quarters

  “As head of this delegation, it’s my responsibility, so I’ll go fetch him.” Hev spoke with authority to the other two Reptilian representatives, Barl and Miel.

  “But you’ve never even been to the planet before,” pleaded Miel. “You’re more likely to get lost down there.”

  “And you’re more likely to end up at Stamford Bridge,” Hev growled back at him. Miel looked at him with a big grin. “Where are your front teeth?" Hev continued. "Great beetle bollocks, don’t tell me you’ve been sat at Council all day without your top set in?”

  Barl stepped up. “If Gums here will allow me a word in edgeways.” Miel shot him a dirty look. “I’ve been to the planet many times and know there ways well. I even know many of their languages.” Just to prove the point he announced, “as salam alaikam.” He smiled smugly. Hev and Miel looked at each other blankly and then back to Barl. “It means ‘you alright then?’” He translated. “Or ‘sambool’, means penis and ‘ya ars’ means… ” Barl was getting on a roll but Hev quickly brought a halt to it.

  “No, I know you have an axe to grind with Goron and I don’t want you bringing him back half digested in your guts.”

  Miel sparked back up. “I was a cobbler last time I went down there. I’d blend straight back in, still got me old knife set.”

  “And you’ll swap it for a ticket to the next Chelsea game. No, I’m going,” Hev was adamant.

  “And when you get lost it’ll be me and Miel who have to come look for you.” Barl was bristling. “Anyway, as Chief Representative, how are you going to explain your presence on the Surface if you get caught? They’ll throw us all out, but if it’s only me then you can wrap my knuckles and just send me home.”

  Hev looked deflated. He knew that Barl made a very good argument. “Okay, good point. I’ll teleport you down from our own ship, I’ll go make the arrangements on The Leviticus now.” Hev, though a little disappointed at missing out on the opportunity for his trip down, was also glad. He’d brought some of his old conjuring tricks with him that he wanted to practice on and the one where he gets people to throw darts at his backside needed a lot of attention. “Right then, where on the Surface do you think he might be?”

  Miel made the first suggestion. “Area 51 in the USA is always popular for short stays or that new facility under Denver Airport.”

  “Miel, please, we all know it’ll be somewhere in England.” Barl spoke. “And you think if I’m on the other side of the Atlantic then you can still sneak down to watch some football.” Miel tried to interrupt but Barl continued over him. “They’re shit now anyway since Mourinho left.”

  “What do you know about it?” Miel protested.

  “I’ve spent too long with you. It’s all you bloody go on about.”

  Hev interrupted. “What’s that place in England we’ve used before to hide the experimental human-reptilian hybrids?”

  Miel shuddered. “You mean those half reptilian, half alien mistakes?”

  “Yeah,” Hev acknowledged.

  “I thought we had them all put down, it was the kindest thing to do. Wow, some of them were really weird.” Barl was pulling a face of disgust as he remembered the experiments.

  “The Sticky Vicky?” Hev was trying to recall. “Yeah, The Sticky Vicky Hotel, Sheffield Road, Barnsley, England. That’s where we sent them. If I’m wrong it’ll be a good start to at least pick up some intelligence.”