A Toaster on Mars (14 page)

Nicki stroked her chin. ‘It's estimated that holes leading into pocket dimensions close once every 2183 times,' she said. ‘Looks like this is one of those times.'

‘What are we going to do?' Astrid asked.

‘I'm not sure,' Blake said.

‘You said there'd be a way out!'

‘I'm sure there is, but we've got to find it!'

‘Excuse me,' Nicki said.

‘What if we don't?' Astrid asked.

‘We will,' Blake said.

‘But if we don't—'

Nicki intervened. ‘We may have a problem.'

To Blake's way of thinking, being stuck on an alien world in an unknown part of the galaxy with no means of escape and only twelve hours to break into the most secure facility on Earth was
already
a problem.

‘A person just came out of that house,' Nicki said, pointing. ‘And he has a weapon.'

Blake had not noticed the house, nestled between trees halfway down the hill. From this distance it looked like some kind of ancient log cabin.

‘You're right,' Blake said. ‘He
does
have a weapon. An axe, I think.'

‘This'll sound strange,' Astrid said. ‘But he looks… familiar.'

On the other side of the field, the man who had just stepped from his woodshed to chop some logs peered up to see something unusual. Three people were standing in the middle of his field. One of them was a golden robot. The other two were humans—a man and a woman.

It had been a long time since the man had seen anyone different, and this made him feel a little scared, but also hopeful. He started up the field.

‘He's coming this way,' Nicki said.

‘I can see that,' Blake said.

‘Maybe we should shoot him.'

‘
Whaaat?
'

‘A study conducted last year by the First Contacts Public Review Board found that violence was the outcome of some eighty-two per cent of first-contact situations. Its main recommendation was to shoot first.'

‘And ask questions later?' Astrid said. ‘Keep your blaster holstered, cowgirl.'

‘I agree,' Blake said. ‘No shooting unless we have to.'

‘What if he does something threatening?' Nicki asked.

‘Like what?'

‘Oh, you know. Looks at us funny.'

‘
Looks at us funny?
'

‘You know, funny I-want-to-chop-you-up funny.'

Blake sighed. ‘Don't do anything.'

The man continued towards them. The occasional word was carried by the breeze to him, words like
shoot
and
funny
, and then he heard the word
cannibal
. But he
was not unduly concerned. He had lived a long time—long past his time, truth be told—and he didn't fear death.

He stopped about ten feet away. Their surprise was understandable. He was probably the last person they ever expected to see.

‘Howdy, there,' he said. ‘I'm Elvis Presley. Welcome to Elvisworld.'

21

‘It was a dark and stormy night,' Elvis began.

They were sitting on the deck of the cottage on the other side of the hill. From here they had a clear view of a narrow valley. A few purple cows stood in the field, thoughtfully chewing grass. Something that looked like a red parrot with four legs coasted on the wind overhead and landed on a tree.

Elvis had made them sandwiches, which they'd devoured. Now he poured them drinks of cold lemonade from a jug.

‘I was at Gracelands making a deep-fried peanut-butter sandwich,' he said. ‘It was late and everyone else had gone to bed. I was feeling poorly, which was not
unusual back in those days.' He slapped his trim belly. ‘I went through a bit of a bad patch, you might say.'

Elvis went on to explain that he had been about to head upstairs to catch some shut-eye when he'd heard an odd sound behind him. He'd turned to see a small black hole appear in the air on the far side of his kitchen. Within seconds it had taken up half the room, and then a man in a laboratory coat had stepped out, clapping his hands in delight.

‘Hello, 1977. Goodbye, 2082.'

Elvis had been so surprised he dropped his deep-fried peanut-butter sandwich. ‘Who in tarnation are you?' he asked.

‘I'm Professor John Galwick and I'm here to save you.'

‘From what?'

‘From yourself.'

Galwick explained that he had come from the future in a time machine of his own invention to save the king of rock 'n' roll because he didn't have long to live.

When Elvis asked, he wouldn't say how long.

‘I can offer you salvation,' Professor Galwick had explained to Elvis.

‘You mean like Jesus?'

‘Better than Jesus.'

‘No one's better than Jesus,' Elvis said. ‘Except, maybe, Little Richard.'

The plan was simple—or, at least, simple to someone travelling backwards in time from the year 2082. Galwick wanted to scan Elvis's body and take a DNA sample. After returning to his own time, he would introduce Elvis to a whole new generation.

As Elvis saw it, he didn't have too many choices—
especially if he was about to become a lead singer with the band upstairs.

So John Galwick scanned Elvis with his Hyper-Tensile DNA Reader. After taking the sample, Galwick produced a copy using a portable matter creation synthesiser, and Elvis soon found himself staring at his naked doppelgänger.

‘I've never looked better,' Elvis said.

The Hyper-Tensile DNA Reader had recreated his body just as it would have been without all the deep-fried peanut-butter sandwiches and prescription drugs.

‘I
feel
better,' Elvis Two had said, staring in amazement at himself. ‘Like I could live forever.'

‘And you will,' Galwick said.

‘Sounds like a good deal all round,' the real Elvis said, rubbing his stomach. He let out an unruly burp. ‘Pardon me, folks. I might go upstairs. I'm feeling a mite poorly.'

‘A trip to the bathroom might be in order,' Galwick gently suggested.

‘I might just do that.'

‘Then we'll be on our way.'

They said their goodbyes, and Galwick and the clone skipped back to the 21st century while Elvis hobbled up to the bathroom to claim his throne for the final time.

The rest is history. Or should have been.

‘I remember reading about the Elvis craze in the history books,' Blake said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. ‘There were said to be upwards of a million Elvises on Earth.'

‘There were more,' Elvis said. ‘Many more. Eventually, we were herded up like
hound dogs
and brought here.' He paused. ‘That's a little Elvis humour for you.'

‘Yeah, that's great. Where is here, exactly?'

‘We call it Elvisworld,' Elvis said. ‘But it's actually an inter-dimensional pocket in time and space.'

‘We need to get back home,' Astrid told him, and explained about Lisa's kidnapping and their need to break into GADO.

‘I'd love to help you people,' Elvis said, ‘but I don't know how. If we could leave here, we would.'

‘Actually, I've been working on this,' Nicki said. ‘I think there
is
a way out.'

‘We'll do everything we can,' Elvis said, giving Astrid a small smile. ‘Though I gotta admit, little lady, I'm kinda
stuck on you
.' He paused again. ‘That's Elvis humour, with a touch of flirting.'

‘Why, thank you, Mr Elvis.'

‘Just call me Elvis. All my friends do.'

‘Talking about your friends,' Blake interrupted. ‘How many of you are there?'

‘I'm not rightly sure,' Elvis said. ‘All the different types are here.'

‘The
different types
?' Astrid repeated.

‘There have been lots of mutations since we arrived,' Elvis said vaguely. He turned to Nicki. ‘Do you think we could leave too?'

‘If we can, you can,' Nicki said. ‘But aren't you happy here?'

‘We're not unhappy. But we'd love to see what Earth is like now. Especially if it's part of some intergalactic club. It's fair to say we'd like to
return to sender
.'

Elvis winked.

Leaving the valley, they followed a trail towards a town on the coast. Here people worked in the fields, planting crops and harvesting grain. They were all different kinds of Elvises. Fat Elvis, thin Elvis, tall and short Elvis, male and—

‘What the sprot?' Blake exclaimed.

A woman gave them a wave from a doorway.

‘Like I said,' Elvis said. ‘Mutations.'

There were people who looked a lot like Elvis—and plenty who only slightly resembled the King. Blake began to think of their Elvis as Woodsman Elvis.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached a town. ‘We're going to see the King of Kings,' Woodsman Elvis explained.

‘God?' Nicki asked. ‘Good. There's some stuff I want to complain about. Hunger, pestilence, drought—'

‘No, no. The king of Elvisworld.'

‘So where do we find him?' Blake asked.

‘Just down the end here.' Elvis motioned to a sign that read
Lonely Street.
‘At the
Heartbreak Hotel
.'

Another wink.

Blake sidled up to Nicki. ‘I'm not sure how much more of this I can take,' he murmured.

‘What's wrong with you, Blake?' Nicki asked. ‘What
have you got? A
wooden heart
? Get it?
Wooden heart
?'

‘I'm in hell,' Blake groaned. ‘Elvis hell.'

At the hotel, another Elvis clone led them to a penthouse overlooking the coastline. The ocean was sparkling blue. A school of animals that looked like dolphins—only with six fins—frolicked in the water. Seagulls as big as albatross dived for fish in the ocean.

Elvisworld was one of the more genial places Blake had seen. The world had been selected to imprison the Elvis population, but not to kill them off.

Still
, Blake thought.
Marooning these people here for all eternity is cruel no matter how you swing it
.

The king of Elvisworld sported a handlebar moustache. ‘Howdy, folks,' he said. ‘It's nice to see a new face for a change.'

Blake explained their dilemma.

‘So what can we do?' the king asked.

‘I have a plan,' Nicki said. ‘I've identified an exit portal off the coast. We can use it to return to Earth.'

‘I've never seen any sort of portal,' the king said.

‘It can only be opened under the right circumstances,' Nicki told him. ‘A sonic resonance blast would force it open long enough for us to jump through and return.'

‘How do we make this blast?' Woodsman Elvis asked.

Nicki explained.

‘You've got to be kidding,' Blake groaned.

Later that afternoon, they all assembled on a cliff overlooking the coast. A stiff wind blew sea spray onto
Blake's face as he peered over the edge. Hundreds of feet below he spotted a rocky platform.

Blake swallowed.
If this plan doesn't work, there'll be no second chances.

Speaking of second chances, his gaze crossed to Astrid. Woodsman Elvis seemed to have taken a real liking to her. Blake drew her aside.

‘How're you coping?' he asked.

‘Fine.' They had been married long enough for her to know when something was up. She peered at Blake suspiciously. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Elvis seems to have taken a shine to you.'

‘He has a certain attraction to me,' she admitted. ‘He describes it as a kind of
burning love
.'

She stifled a laugh.

‘Astrid,' Blake said. ‘Think of what you're doing. You can't just go batting your pretty eyes at every Elvis that comes along.'

‘Jealous?'

He didn't reply. He
was
jealous. Old feelings died hard and it wasn't easy seeing his ex-wife being wooed by one of history's greatest performers.

‘Just don't start anything you can't finish.'

‘I won't,' she promised. ‘But you know how it is. Sometimes you just
can't help falling in love
.'

‘Dear God…' Blake peered up at the sky. ‘Take me now. Please.'

Over the next hour, thousands of Elvises gathered at the headland. The king had sent the word out and the people had answered. Blake hoped Nicki's plan was not just a figment of her mechanised imagination.

‘Are you sure this is going to work?' he asked her.

‘We've got a seventy-thirty chance.'

‘A seventy per cent chance of survival?'

‘Um…'

‘Forget I asked.'

Woodsman Elvis gave Astrid a kiss on the cheek. As he gently released her hand, he gave Blake a guilty look. ‘Just saying goodbye to a beautiful woman,' he explained.

‘That's fine,' Blake said. He didn't have anything against Elvis. He'd gone out of his way to help them, and Blake wanted the best for him. ‘I want to thank you for everything.'