March: A Tale of Salmon and Swedes (The Glothic Tales Book 4)

March

A Tale of Salmon and Swedes

The Fourth Hilarious Glothic Tale

by Derek Haines

March

Copyright © 2015 by Derek Haines

All rights reserved.

License Notes

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Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The Glothic Tales

The four Glothic Tales are stand-alone stories, so don’t panic if you mess up your arithmetic and read them in the wrong order, as all sense of time or logical sequence has been meticulously warped – for your reading convenience.

February The Fifth

The Adventures of Hal

Septimity and The Blood Brotherhood

March – A Tale of Salmon and Swedes

‘Contrary to beliefs on other planets, being a fool, and especially a young royal male fool on Gloth, carries a great deal of honour and prestige.’

March

At A Loss

‘How long has this been going on?’ March asked, as the Deputy-Under-Secretary for Earth Containment, retired Major Errst Humff, started his first briefing of the heir in March’s office. For a Glothian, Humff was rather short and round, and unusually, had small, deep navy blue eyes. In most other respects though, he was quite normal, especially when it came to having the qualities necessary to keep a job for life in the Glothic public service, with of course, its generous allowances and regular lavish dinners.

‘Apart from a few small tit-for-tat skirmishes in the few hundred years after colonisation, then a couple of minor planet wide wars, it’s been going on for quite some time. They seem to have become rather pacifist in their attitudes.’

‘That’s hard to believe, especially considering their genetics. They should be biting each other’s heads off by now,’ March replied, leaning back a little in his deep red leather chair, and quickly pushing his long blond hair back from his forehead with one hand, as he twirled his pen around his long fingers in the other. ‘Hasn’t any of the historical transfer stuck in their heads?’

‘We’ve tried. We’ve had their libraries and universities filled with their earlier Erdean history along with tribal and religious hatreds, but nothing has seemed to bring them to the point of profitably prosecuting decent conflicts, and therefore, there’s little trade or profit for us. There are so many new initiatives being hatched everyday on Earth to entrench this odd advancement of peace that ...’

‘But if there are no substantial conflicts, wealth can’t move efficiently back and forth and increase in value. This is more serious than I thought. What are our people on Earth doing about this?’

‘They are trying, sir. Endeavouring to ferment hatred between Earth’s continents, countries and islands by whatever means, but no sooner have they succeeded in finding a political, racial or religious difference to exploit, the legislators on Earth gather together in planet wide organisations and usually find a peaceful process to undermine our efforts. It’s becoming quite frustrating.’

‘So, where are we at?’

‘Losses continue to mount. Eleven percent down approximately, year on year over the last sixty Earth years, so it’s down around seventy-nine percent in real terms over this period. If domestic export production from Earth is factored in – that is mostly in the form of salmon and caviar, from which we derive an eight hundred percent gross margin on wholesaling throughout the Twelve Sun Systems, it’s still down a little over sixty-eight percent.’

March leant forward, taking a few seconds to find his next question, as Humff wriggled uncomfortably in his seat under the gaze of March’s piercing grey eye, and his other not so piercing green one. ‘That’s not acceptable, is it?’

‘No sir.’

‘And your recommendations are?’

Humff wriggled in his seat again, unsure whether his answer would satisfy the cocky young heir to the Supreme Potentate, whom he had only met once previously at a Grand Council cocktail party to welcome the new Lacertilian ambassador.

Gloth revered Lacertilians, a mildly reptilian species from the Seventh Sun System, not only for their eternal allegiance to Gloth and the Supreme Potentate, but also because of their fame in training and providing the very best interstellar pilots in the entire Twelve Sun Systems. Lacertilian men were also extremely handsome, which made them quite popular with the ladies, although it must be said in the same breath that Lacertilian women certainly attracted their fair share of admiring male attention too. This thought however didn’t enter Humff’s head as he hurriedly replied.

‘The Grand Council subcommittee on Earth Control is as yet undecided on its recommendations, sir. I have been informed however, that another meeting of the subcommittee has been scheduled for early next year to consider the appropriateness of whether or not to make non-binding recommendations.’

‘Should I point out to you that we are firmly entrenched in early this year at this point in time?’

‘Yes sir, these sensitive matters do tend to move quite slowly,’ Humff said, and then quickly added, ‘but surely, sir.’

‘That sounds like a load of utter hogwash to me, if you don’t mind me being so frank.’

Humff didn’t wriggle at the rebuke, but instead sat taller in his seat and squinted his eyes, as if steeled by the insult. ‘I will have you know, sir, that the subcommittee works assiduously for the betterment of Gloth and in its travails over uncountable years, has served the Grand Council and Supreme Potentate with the utmost distinction.’

‘And returned a seventy percent downturn in current profit, which totally fails to help in starting to offset the considerable losses we have made from this whole Erde and Earth fiasco. Hardly an outcome worthy of defending, I would say,’ March said, leaning back in his chair again, and putting his hands behind his head. A sign that Humff understood immediately as a non-verbal challenge to his authority, and that he had probably got off on the wrong foot with the Supreme Potentate’s young, brash, but eldest, and therefore, powerful son.

‘As you say, sir.’

‘Do you have any briefing notes for me?’ March asked, and Humff took the question to be a precursor to ending their brief meeting.

‘I have this, sir. If you have not read it already, that is,’ Humff said, knowing that March probably hadn’t, as he passed him a centre coil book, which was in fact a notepad sized piece of thin translucent plastic film that, when tapped with one’s thumb, opened the title page to the beginning of a never ending story. March accepted it when Humff handed it to him, and tapped.

‘What’s THE?’ he asked, as the word flashed up in big bold bright blue capitals on the screen.

‘The History of Earth, sir. It’s the highly confidential fully-extended version, so it includes all of the prior references and entries relevant to Erde, with their new adaptation to accommodate the modern and alternate history of Earth, including the coalescence of ancient Erdean and Earth archaeology and how it has been translated to interlace completely with modern human habitation on the planet.’

‘Right, so they believe it all then,’ March said, as he flicked through the first few pages of text, images, graphs and video recordings.

‘We gather so, sir.’

‘Who’s looking after our interests there now?’ March asked, without looking up from the screen, as he watched a video about a famed Earth musical group.

‘Tryskolia Munchk.’

‘Right,’ March muttered, seemingly more interested in the video he was watching than Humff’s reply. ‘And what is Abba?’

‘I’m sorry, have no idea at all, sir.’

‘Right,’ March said very slowly, as he continued to watch the video, turning up the volume a little to listen to the music.

My, my, at Waterloo Napoleon did surrender.

Oh yeah, and I have met my destiny in quite a similar way.

The history book on the shelf,

Is always repeating itself.

Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war ….

March turned down the volume, and looked up at Humff. ‘Would you please inform Tryskolia Munchk that I would like to visit, um, is it a him or her?’

‘She is a very refined, educated and respected lady, sir. She is originally from Lepta Scions, the small belt of habitable asteroids in the outer reaches of Sun System Twelve. After serving as the Lepta Scions ambassador on the Grand Council for many years, she accepted this challenging assignment and has done extraordinarily well for a very long time now.’

‘Yes. Well, anyway, would you please inform her that I will be paying her an extended visit to get an understanding of this awful Earth situation first hand,’ he said, as if dismissing Humff’s comments, with his eyes still glued to the still image of Abba.

‘Extended, sir?’

‘Open ended.’

‘That will require authorisation from Glothic High Command, sir, as any visit to Earth is considered quite a risk to take – for anyone. But for an extended visit, of a few days or more, I would imagine that it would be deemed to be quite an unpredictable situation to manage, considering also the difficulty in simply getting on and off the planet. Um, and if I may say so, one that Glothic High Command may consider to be too perilous for someone in your esteemed position, sir.’

‘I will probably be spending around a year on Earth. Well, an Earth year, that is.’

‘I doubt whether Glothic High……’

‘It’s not up to them. My father, the Supreme Potentate has ordered me to rectify the situation on Earth. Do you wish to argue with his decree?’ March asked, looking up briefly from the paused image of Abba, and in particular, of Agnetha in her sexy blue satin jump suit.

‘Of course not, sir, I will make the necessary enquiries.’

‘Very well, thank you. Let me know as soon as possible,’ March said, and waited for Humff to leave. Once he had, and had closed the door, March resumed his video and turned up the volume, quite loud.

Waterloo - Promise to love you forever more,

Waterloo - Couldn't escape if I wanted to,

Waterloo - Knowing my fate is to be with you,

Waterloo - Finally facing my Waterloo.

My, my, I tried to hold you back but you were stronger,

Oh yeah, and now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight,

And how could I ever refuse…..

He hit the stop button, rolled up the screen, put THE in his pocket, and smiled.

*****

Travelling around the Twelve Sun Systems of Gloth is a relatively simple everyday occurrence. Glothic Cosmic Cruisers, which are massive shining balls of silver that can carry a population of passengers equal to that of a large city, at multiple speeds of light, and offer the finest in passenger service and interplanetary or inter-Sun System travelling comfort, fly between gigantic spaceports, which are liberally located in all of the Twelve Sun Systems. While famed for their speed, efficiency, reliability and comfort, even in Third Class Economy, for those in positions of power or who can afford it, Luxury Class aboard a Glothic Cosmic Cruiser is considered a must, as it is the only place in the entire Universe where one can be served, and savour the epicurean ecstasy of either the divine twice-baked Begrogol fillets, or the extraordinary Onglets of Tirdd with Yuretha Jus. Both sumptuous rarities are always served with frightfully expensive chilled Fozzoxly.

For those who may not be familiar with these culinary delights, Fozzoxly is akin to champagne, but it is made from the fermented liquid contents of the man eating Oxlypyriad flower that is found solely on the planet Sckidd. As the Oxlypyriad blooms only once every hundred years or so, and at last count, the last one hundred and twelve living plants were being kept alive on a modified diet of specially cloned non-intelligent headless humanoids, Fozzoxly is indeed an irresistible indulgence for those who can afford it.

The Begrogol is an elk like animal with six legs and when fully grown, is adorned with four-metre high, spiralled ivory horns, which are considered one of the most valuable materials in the Universe. It is a very rare, wild animal found only on Mengla-Coxa-Mingla, a small oddly oval shaped planet in the Seventh Sun System. Many have tried in vain to raise the Begrogol on other planets, but replicating the gravity and atmosphere of Mengla-Coxa-Mingla has proved impossible, as it is layered, which means that it changes in composition and density with each centimetre or so of height from the ground. While some had very limited success in raising the Begrogol, the normal gravity of other planets acted very badly on the Begrogol’s horns, which, because of the drag of gravity, grew rapidly and vertically downwards, and as a result, pushed at the ground, tipping the Begrogol off its feet with every step its six legs tried to take. There was little future to be had in Begrogol farming when the animal could not stand up after the age of three months. The poor beasts withered away once losing their ability to stand and walk, and therefore died before coming to maturity; hence the rarity of these delectable fillets.

The other choice on the menu is the only known three-legged bird in the whole Twelve Sun Systems. The Tirdd is a large flightless creature with a short stone like beak and dull grey plumage that has the feel of industrial-grade sandpaper. It is hardly a pretty bird, but it is found in reasonable numbers on three planets in the Twelfth Sun System. While its flesh is considered inedible due to the fact that no mater how it is cooked, it smells like raw sewerage and is as tender as concrete, there are quite remarkably, two very small parts of the fowl that are absolutely divine. The Onglets are two tiny muscle pillars that adjoin either side of the diaphragm of the Tirdd, which when sautéed gently, are extremely tender and have a taste not dissimilar to chocolate chip cookies. These small delicacies are traditionally served with a jus, which is made by drying and then steeping the urinal tract from the bird for a twelve-month period in tepid Fozzoxly, and then the resulting curd is strained, reduced and slightly thickened before serving.

While the Glothic Cosmic Cruiser’s interstellar travelling comfort and convenience, or luxury, bordering on insanely expensive decadence for those who can afford it, is available to every living creature in the Twelve Sun Systems of Gloth, it is completely unknown to a tiny minority. For the creatures of Erdean extraction, who populate the planet Earth, they have no inkling whatsoever of Cosmic Cruisers or twice-baked Begrogol fillets. Due to the protective force field surrounding their little blue planet, they are completely cut off from any contact at all with outside worlds. For the scholarly inhabitants of Earth, their rudimentary scientific understanding has led them to identify the Glothic installed force field as a natural radioactive phenomenon and have even given it a name – the Van Allen Belt. Had March looked up this entry in his THE, he may have been surprised that it is fabled that this name was given in honour of a famous rock band. Apparently, Abba has not been so revered as to have a heavenly body named after them yet.