‘Just give us that piece of cyberware on the shelf there…’ tried Corporal Golholiwol. But the Barbot simply bit his nose. ‘Ow!’ cried Corporal Golholiwol.
Every attempt to climb over the bar and get at the object was met with a surprising show of force from the Barbot, and the peace-loving Yassaccans were forced into retreat.
By the time all but one of the missing parts were eventually located, the Starship Titanic was within sight of the planet Yassacca.
Returning home was always the Jailer’s favourite thing in life. Soon he would have his feet up beside a blazing hearth. A jug of Old-Fashioned Beer would be in his hand, and his family would be running here and there preparing the evening meal or playing games on the porch in the setting sun.
He was therefore whistling a rather jolly tune as he unlocked the cell door and indicated to Dan that he was a free man.
Had Dan been more musical, he would have recognized the Jailer’s tune as none other than ‘Mademoiselle from Armentiers’ – a French tune popular during the First World War. The reason why the Jailer came to be whistling it is not unconnected to the smuggling of French champagne to Blerontin via the time-warp previously mentioned. For, if the truth were known, the Jailer was none other than Corporal Pillwiddlipillipitit – the notorious smuggler and leader of the infamous Pillwiddlipillipitit Gang, which was one of the unpleasant manifestations of organized crime that had sprung up since the ruin of the Yassaccan economy. Pillwiddlipillipitit had disguised himself as an ordinary corporal in the Yassaccan spacefleet, in order to reconnoitre the Starship Titanic for possible plunder at a later date. But that is another story.
The moment he was free, Dan made a beeline for Lucy, who was standing on the Captain’s Bridge with The Journalist and Nettie, watching the great globe of the approaching planet, through the window.
‘Lucy!’ he whispered. ‘Can we go and talk somewhere private?’
‘Not now!’ Lucy whispered back. ‘Look! Isn’t that the most amazing sight you’ve ever seen?’
‘It reminds me of your breasts,’ murmured The Journalist. Dan fought back an urge to kill The Journalist on the spot, and, instead, grabbed Lucy by the arm and dragged her to the other end of the Bridge.
‘You suggested it! He said you did!’ Dan was trying to sound more indignant and accusing than plaintive but it was coming out more like a total and utter whinge.
‘Dan! It wa sjust a weak moment…’
‘Why have you never had any “weak moments” with me? In the thirteen years…’
‘Just what the hell are you talking about, Dan? We have a great sex-life – don’t we?’ Lucy was getting mad at him.
‘Well…yes…It’s just..’
‘You’re just so goddamned jealous! You think I’m screwing every man who finds me attractive!’
‘I never said that!’ As usual, Dan could feel the conversation spiralling out of his control. As it happened, however, he was rescued from the inevitable dialectical humiliation by a remarkable and dangerous turn of events that was to alter the whole course of this story.
Bolfass had been pointing out the continents and countries of Yassacca to Nettie. He felt his heart beating fast – partly with the pride he felt in his own world but more because Nettie had taken hold of his arm and was gazing out beside him in wonder and admiration. Bolfass could have practically swooned on the spot. He could smell the scent of that beautiful creature beside him, he could feel the gentle touch of her soft hands upon his arm, and he could feel her heart beating behind her firm breast close against him. Bolfass hardly knew what he was saying.
‘And there, dear lady, you can see the Ocean of Summer-Plastering. That is the Land known as Finepottery, oh! And over there, dear lady, if you were to turn your eyes you could see my own country: Carpenters Islands. It is a fine place, peopled by noble craftsmen and technicians of the highest calibre. Or at least… it was before…’ Bolfass’s voice seemed to crack so that Nettie glanced down at him – his rugged features were clouded by a furrow of sadness.