Chapter 7
The Pres glanced playfully at Chris. "Chocolate. Chocilate. Chocklate. Yum. Yim. Yumm. He. He. He. Ha, ha tum, de, dum. LOVES me, me, me". The Pres pranced into the Viscountess's inner sanctum; his hands filled with Chris's chocolate stash, and slammed the door hard in Chris's face. Chris glanced around furtively and sidled up to the door. His ear went to the door. He heard: "Now My Precious. My Sweat. Chocilate. Chocklate. Chocolate. Yummies for Her Yumminess." Her Royalness guffawed in a high womanly tone. A shiver went down Chris's back as it always did when he heard the Light of His Life. Only noisy munching could be heard for some minutes. Then the Pres said "Oh Shining Light. All of my chocolite I gladly give to My Queen".
Chris saw red. Before he knew it, he was inside the inner sanctum. The sanctum where none but programmers and the pres were permitted to go. "For sheep’s sake, it was my chocolate, my chocolate, my...". Chris's brow broke out in a sweat. He had never seen such a glare as the angry, high-pitched glare of the Viscountess CariElf. Her eyes were like thunder. Her fist a dreadnought. Her snear ripped his heart out. Her pouted mouth ate it.
The Pres shook his head slowly and quickly saw Chris to the door. After the door had closed, the Pres said, simply, and fluently, "The VP TerrorStar may have to depart and soon, eh Your Computerness? And what is that you say, perhaps he needs to be helped along?" He nodded and looked thoughtfully intelligent, despite his very, very young age. "Yeees, whatever you say mommy".
Chapter 8
Chris looked at the report, again. The report was titled "The Psychic Purple Duck of Skowbo Incident" and described in quick, precise prose how the unarmed Head of the Secret Order of Cari-Elf had been grossly injured in cold blood, just before the last out-of-control party. Chris looked up at Quack, who stood numbly at attention before him.
"Oh really?" said Chris, with a sneer. "And that is how it really happened?” A drop of sweat crawled down Quack's brow and inched toward his left eyebrow, which as it happened had been scorched away. Quack nodded dumbly. He was always tongue-tied around his hero. Short in height but huge in intellect he thought admiringly, looking at Chris.
"You can't be serious. The Purple Duck zorched by a tramp named Blue Ocean?? Next we'll have people coming here calling themselves the Yellow Sign or the Lilac Pussycat". Chris's thin lips distorted in an unhappy rictus. "I'm sorry Quack, but you should rethink your position in our happy, swampy Temple. Why, a dirty, little chimp could have done better. Get out. Get out now". Quack's somewhat handsome face twisted with shame as he fled Chris's office, holding back his tears. Quack felt grievously betrayed by the person he looked up to the most. His heart was torn. He couldn't live with this shame, or at least....
Chapter 9
Bluey's funeral was somewhat well attended. The four mourners chatted for a bit until one said "Coffee?". They grinned and nodded and without a backwards glance, left the room.
A slow minute ambled by. The back door softly opened and a hooded figure entered the room, a hammer and chisel clutched in his hands. Minutes later the coffin lid was ajar and Bluey climbed out of the coffin. The men hugged each other in a manly embrace and then sprang apart with a chuckle.
"You know I love you, man!" said bluey, "Although not in that way!". They laughed and playfully punched each other four or five times.
"Well, that ruse worked almost too well. At least now the Secret Order thinks I'm dead". The men laughed again. "But really man, I’ve gotta get out of here. This marsh is killing me,” said Bluey. "Is there a ship hereabouts, unguarded?".
The other man shook his head ncertainly. "Although... VP Christopher Packer does have his space corvette 'The CariElf' always ready to cruise". The men looked at each other speculatively. "Where does he keep the corvette's key rod?".
The other man grimaced, and said, with eyes downcast, "around his neck". Bluey nodded and punched the other man roughly. "You know what we have to do".
The other man sighed. “Yea I suppose you’re right. If we get caught...well. Might as well hang for a sheep, as for a lamb”. He waddled, wombat like, towards the door.
Chapter 10
Chris mused. How could he become well liked? How could he get CariElf’s highest awards: The Sash of Programming Deftness, or the Badge of Even Integers. How could he get the blokes to accept him as a mate. Chris wept, and reached for his empty wine glass. But his last bottle of South Island Pinot was empty. His eyes were heavily glazed. As Quack would so innocently say, he was smashed. He had a thought, but lost it. Then another, and this one he held on to. I know, I know, he thought. Chris sprang from his chair and dashed from the villa. He was filled with purpose.
Chapter 11
The new recruits brought in the beer barrel. They were now bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after their quick re-education. Their former lives in the cold, dusty plains of their home planet were now a distant nightmare. “Ho, ho, ho, and a barrel of rum” they sang, somewhat incorrectly. The gathered Overlords and adulators rolled their eyes at the grossness of the new recruits.
Viscountess CariElf had left the gathering earlier, ‘to get a bit of fresh air’ she had said. The Pres was seated on his pile of soft pillows, swaying gently to the chirpy sounds of Black Sabbath coming from W.C.A.R.I.E.L.F. Gunner Gerakken had been invited to the gathering to tell his tall yarns, but was now in his cups, staring disbelievingly at the mug of high proof Aussie beer, whilst swaying ever more dangerously and muttering “Arr, Arr, Arr”, and so on.
Sergeant Hard and Quack sat quietly together at the rear, their sharp, highly intelligent and handsome eyes darting around the room. Nothing escaped their sharp gaze. They knew all the questions and all the answers. They wondered, not for the first time, who the cowled, silent and stooped figure really was. The man was clothed in a motley tie-dyed robe and sipped the pomegranate sherbets with abandon. Mutton dressed as lamb they thought. Quack speculated on why the Viscountess had invited the mystery man to the gathering, but he had no answers.
A recruit tapped the keg and began to pour a beer. The recruit stopped in confusion and sniffed the beer, then slowly opened the loose keg lid. He screamed and with a gasp, fainted. Or as Sergeant Hard noticed, pretended to faint.
Quack limped to the barrel and looked in. Floating in the frothy beer was what appeared to be VP Lord Christopher Packer, with an angelic smile, or perhaps a grimace of horror on his pale, still face. Quack tried to look a little surprised. He caught the Pres’s eye. The Pres had sat back with a smirk and was waving indecorously. “Somethink soured the bieer?” he cackled, and smirked some more.
The pirate shivered, for he was very nice at heart, and not as cutthroat as his absent Captain. He edged towards the door, slowly.
The party soon got into full swing.
Chapter 12
The trial started a week later. But that is another story.
THE END
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