March: A Tale of Salmon and Swedes (The Glothic Tales Book 4) (14 page)

Bon Voyage

The day of March’s departure passed quickly, as he and Trys finished packing all of the Abba material into ten, small manageable sized packages, as well as strapping the gold bars into five-kilogram bundles; to make it easier when it came time to have them vacuumed up by the teleport. Smaller packages would also make it easier for the pilot to balance the load inside the shuttle. Trys spent an hour buying more digital copies of Abba online, and then spent two hours transferring copies of all the files from the laptop, to the thumb drives and iPads.

When everything was packed and finally sitting in very neat stacks in the hall, it was past nine in the evening.

‘Have you packed your bag, March?’

‘Oh, I think I forgot about that. Um, what do you think I should wear tonight?’

‘As part of an MI6 operation, and with it being a secret and all, I don’t think your green velvet jump suit and golden pixie slippers would be a very good idea.’

‘No?’ March said, somewhat surprised.

‘You can get changed later on the shuttle, or the Hoog, if you think you will feel a little embarrassed arriving back on Gloth in jeans, runners and a sweater, but tonight, I think you should go dark and casual.’

‘Oh, all right then,’ March sighed, clearly not happy, as he was quite concerned that his Lacertilian shuttle pilot for the evening, who like all Lacertilian pilots, would be impeccably uniformed to the very enth degree, may perhaps be offended by him being so poorly dressed for their formal introductions.

‘Well, get a move on. Go and finish your packing and I will order in a pizza.’

‘A what?’

‘Look it up on THE while you’re packing. P.i.z.z.a. It’s food that comes from Rome. Oh, what a pity you didn’t get a chance to go and see the Dodecahedron replica there.’

*****

Dressed in jeans and a dark sweater, the two MI6 agents were only a little surprised by the fact that March had one green eye, and one piercing grey eye. Neither did the large Gregorian ridge on his long royal nose cause much concern. However, they both seemed a little disconcerted by his continual, non-stop nervous humming of Abba tunes; in alphabetical order, as they made alternating round trips, carrying all the packages down to their van parked in the street.

Trys grabbed her dark grey trench coat and black beret. ‘Ready, March?’

‘Yes, he said, as they headed for the front door.’

Once they were in the elevator, Trys asked, ‘where is your bag?’

‘Oops, I think I forgot it.’

Finally, after a return trip in the elevator to fetch his forgotten bag, Trys and March were in the back of the van.

‘Ready, m’am?’ the driver asked; who like his associate, was wearing dark sunglasses, which Trys thought was a little peculiar, as it was one a.m., drizzling with rain, and pitch dark.

‘Yes, we are.’

March was still humming, and although it may have continued to annoy the dark bespectacled spooks in the front of the black van, Trys knew it was a sign of March’s apprehension about his return shuttle flight, as she was sure he knew it was far more dangerous to exit the force field, than enter it. She was apprehensive about her own return – one day.

Silently, except for March clearly getting to W in his alphabetical ordered humming of Abba tunes, as he was now humming Waterloo, the van hummed its way out of London, and by the time March had worked his way back though to the start of the alphabet again, he was up to
Chiquitita
as the van turned slowly into Warburg Nature Reserve.

‘Go straight on, and I will tell you when to turn,’ Trys told the driver, as she studied her Q’muniktor, which was blipping in her hand, and guiding her to the precise location of a narrow path that led to a small grassed clearing, which was conveniently surrounded by thick woods.

‘Left in 100 meters, and then right in seventy meters,’ she said, after a few minutes.

‘Yes, m’am.’

With two more turns, the van was heading down a rarely used track.

‘Very slowly now,’ she said, as she craned her head to look through the windscreen, between the two men, searching in the van’s headlights for the small grass path she wanted.

‘Yes, there! Just on the left,’ she said, pointing to the path entrance she could vaguely make out. The driver pulled to a halt.

‘Can you let me out so I can check, please,’ she asked the man in the front passenger’s seat, who did so immediately. March was up to humming
Dancing Queen
, as Trys got out of the van to check. As the man shone his torch, Trys was sure that it was the correct track.

‘It’s about a fifteen minute walk. Well, at my pace anyway,’ Trys said. The man nodded. ‘But with all we have to carry, perhaps it would be better if I show you the way on the first trip, and then you and March can return for more packages.

‘I have a tall hand trolley in the back of the van, M’am, so it shouldn’t take us more that two trips. I’m sure we’ll manage.

‘Good. Well, we only have an hour, so we’d better get moving,’ Trys said, and beckoned for March to get out of the van.

The driver came around the van and handed two torches to Trys. I’ll need to stay here to guard the van, m’am, if that is ok with you.’

‘Of course, I understand. Right March, carry as much as you can, and our friend here will take what he can manage on his trolley. Now, pass me your bag. I think I can manage that on one shoulder with my stick, and a torch.

‘Um, yes, ok,’ March said, and finally ceased humming, for a moment.

In all, it took three trips to have all the packages in neat piles on the grassy clearing, but as March and the MI6 man could walk much faster than Trys, it only took a little under half an hour to complete the task.

‘Is there anything else, m’am,’ the man in sunglasses asked.

‘Thank you, no. If you could wait for me back at the van, I should be with you in an hour or so.’

‘Certainly, m’am,’ the man replied, and quickly turned on his heels, with his empty trolley in tow.

Once out of earshot, Trys asked March, ‘happy to be going home?’

‘Home, yes. But the going? Not so crazy about that part.’

‘Don’t worry; it will all be smooth sailing, I’m sure. I never have a concern when I travel anywhere, by any means, when a handsome Lacertilian pilot is in charge.’ March didn’t look entirely convinced, and Trys was sure he wasn’t, when he started humming
Does Your Mother Know
, and somewhat amazingly, had not lost his place in his alphabetical nervous humming.

The minutes passed, as Trys monitored her Q’muniktor, until finally she saw the signal from the shuttle, announcing its final descent. ‘Now, keep your eyes peeled for the shuttle.’

‘What does it look like?’

‘All we will see is a dim blue circle of light on the ground, which will be the entrance to the teleport.’

March turned around slowly, completing a full circle, twice, as he scanned the grass between them and the woods. ‘Oh, like that one?’ he said, pointing to a dim blue light, only about twenty metres to their left.

‘Well spotted, March. Right, now very carefully, place one package at a time into the blue light. Start with the gold, so the pilot can secure the heaviest items first. But be very careful not to put more than your fingers into the light, as you will be sucked up along with the package, and then I’ll have to do the rest of the heavy lifting.’

‘Um, ok,’ he said, sensing that this may not be as simple as he had thought. He took the first five-kilo bundle of gold, and gingerly approached the one metre wide blue circle of light, shimmering on the grass. He placed the package down carefully next to the very edge of the light, and then as he was about the muster the courage to try his first attempt at sending a package up to the shuttle, without him also going up, he noticed a thick long stick on the ground. He broke it in half to make it a manageable length, and then pushed the package, gently and slowly into the light.

It made a sudden
whooossh
, then a heavy
tthrrruppp
sound, as the package instantly disappeared.

‘Good work, March. A very clever solution indeed, Trys said, as she walked over closer to him.

‘More gold, huh?’

‘Yes, all of it, as quick as you can.’

March set about his task, and within ten minutes, had watched all the bundles of gold, and every package of Abba valuables disappear into nowhere, from the end of his trusty stick. Trys passed March his bag.

‘I’m not one for long goodbyes, March, so give me a quick hug, and off you go.’

‘I don’t know what to say. Thank you I suppose,’ he said, and then gave her a quick little hug.

‘Off you go now. Put your hands and arms into the light, and you will arrive in the shuttle, right way up.’

‘Yes, well, um, I’ll see you soon at home on Gloth then.’

‘Definitely. Now, off you go.’

March knelt down, with his bag slung across his shoulder, and timidly pressed his palms on the grass, and then slowly slid his hands, across the grass, into the circle of blue light. Before his wrists had even become illuminated, he felt his whole body being sucked violently upwards, as if he was a grain of dust being eradicated by a vacuum cleaner. Before he had time to think, he was bobbing up and down, on nothing, with the upper half of his body inside the shuttle.

‘Welcome aboard again, sir,’ said Lieutenant Slicketty Clikk, who was smiling, with his split red tongue licking at his lips.

‘I thought my delivery was your last shuttle mission.’

‘It was supposed to be, but as you are returning so soon, I was still aboard our Hoog destroyer waiting for my transfer. Anyway, let me help you up,’ he said, as he offered his hand to March to pull him fully from the teleport. Once the lower part of March’s body was also aboard, Clikk secured the teleport hatch, and made for his pilot’s seat.

‘I have to gain some altitude right away, and then get into orbit quite quickly, but it won’t take long. So take a seat, and once we’re in orbit, I’ll secure our payload, and then we’ll have a drink and a nice chat about your holiday.’

March sat in one of the passenger’s seats, and let Clikk get on with his job. He didn’t want to say so, but he was pleased to have Lieutenant Clikk as his shuttle pilot again. So pleased and reassured in fact, that although he hadn’t noticed it himself – he had stopped humming. He was also quite sure that Lieutenant Clikk was horridly aghast, if not deeply offended by his unfashionable, shabby and downright ugly Earth attire, but being a Lacertilian, and an absolute gentleman, his face had not given even a hint of his certain displeasure. March made a mental note to formally apologise once they were in orbit, and ask if he might get changed, into something more appropriate.

‘Coffee?’ Clikk asked, after he rose from his seat twenty minutes later.

‘Oh, yes, thank you.’

‘So how was Earth?’ Clikk asked, as he reached under the farthermost rear seat for the green plastic sachets of instantly hot, milk with one sugar industrial beverage.

‘Odd,’ was all March could think of saying, as he accepted the sachet from Clikk and concentrated on preparing it without burning himself. ‘Very strange,’ he added, as he successfully pulled on the white heating tab, before carefully tearing open the perforated tab.

‘The place or the people?’

‘Oh, definitely the people. They cut their hair, you know!’

‘How terrible. Why?’

‘I have no idea. But almost all of them do it. I was so totally shocked. They also have funny eyes, and oddly small noses. But, the police are very nice. I had a very pleasant stay with them for nearly a day in one of their stations, and in fact, I had the best meal of my entire stay there. I believe it was called, um, let me remember now. Oh yes, Stew. Delicious! I also met a very intelligent man, who shared my lovely barred room with me. I think he must have been a philosopher, or at least, philosophical.’

‘But it was a very short stay.’

‘Because of all this,’ March said, pointing to all the packages Clikk had stacked quickly at the rear of the shuttle.

‘I gathered something important was happening, as I was informed before I left that a platoon of Gregorian Guards were on standby to meet us upon our arrival back at the Hoog. I don’t see them very often. In fact, I can’t recall the last time. Oh yes I can, now that I think about it. It was more than six years ago, when I co-piloted a flight carrying the Supreme Potentate to Sali Houri Five.’

‘Well, they will only get to do all their grunting, and pulling mean looking faces if we manage to arrive in one solid piece aboard the Hoog.’

‘Are you a little concerned about the exit from the force field?’

‘No, only petrified. Especially dressed like this! Do you think it would be possible for me to get changed before we try for the Hoog? I would feel so ashamed to be incinerated, looking like this.’

‘I can assure you that we won’t be incinerated, but you can certainly get changed. Finish your drink, and you can change while I balance and secure our cargo.’

‘Thank you. But maybe not incinerated, just blown up.’

‘I have done it before, so I can assure you that we will exit the force field successfully. Perhaps a bit bumpy, that’s all, so, don’t panic.’