Chapter Three -- Adam J. M. Eagleton (again)

(By the way, I have tried all I can to add indents to this chapter, but the bloody thing won't let me. So you'll have to forgive me for that.)


*


They had moved into the living room, and Quadenhaden was cautiously sipping a glass of brandy. Thatcher had swallowed his in one gulp.
“I find difficult to believe already this not realise of this,” Quadenhaden said calmly.
“I beg your pardon?” Thatcher said, frowning.
“You demand of me a pardon in a type nonspecified?” said Quadenhaden, glancing at Tibsen.
Thatcher stared at him as though there was an alien before him. “What?”
“You are disturbed to rather?” Quadenhaden asked in perplexity.
“Hip wofer laptapasta icy-icy harsle frusker,” Tibsen murmured quickly to her companion. He frowned for a moment, then looked at the floor and nodded.
“Linhakky raffle fusking,” he mumbled.
“You must please forgive Quadenhaden,” Tibsen said confidently to the Thatchers, who looked decidedly alarmed. “There is something unnatural in his use of the English language. I feel certain that mine use is better, for I have studied it for more thoroughly long.”
“Are you French?” Violet asked.
“No, Tibsen. Tibsen is my name.”
“Don’t be rude, Violet,” Thatcher said quietly.
“What Quadenhaden was attempting to say is that he is surprised that you are not already aware of this.”
“Well, we haven’t really had much contact with the rest of the world for . . . a while now,” Thatcher said. “Well . . . no contact, for . . . several years.”
“That would explain it, then. But humans are excellent at communicating. That’s your strong point, we’ve been told. You spent all your time working out new ways to communicate with one another. How is it that you have not heard of this?”
“Miss Tibsen, I don’t have any idea what’s going on in the world. The King could be dead, and I wouldn’t know.”
“Your British monarch is dead, as far as I know.”
“See?”
“What?” Florence exclaimed. “The King’s dead?”
“Yes,” Thatcher said calmly.
“You seem unaffected by this news,” Tibsen said. “You seem unaffected by that news and also the news that your species no longer has power, or any Earth species, for that matter.”
“Oh, I am, I assure you.”
“Forgive me, it is just that I read that humans were very emotional creatures. You don’t seem to be that.”
“To be what?”
“Emotional.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, Miss Tibsen, the thought of the human race in peril doesn’t inspire a terrific amount of emotion in me, no. Animals, yes: they’re innocent. But humans probably got themselves into this problem in the first place.”
“I cannot confirm or deny that, Mr Thatcher,” Tibsen said rather solemnly. “I doubt the humans did get themselves into this problem, as you say, in the first place, because they had no contact with Oharg at all, excepting a few minor broadcasts to them.”
“Yes, well. . . . But what’s different about us, then? How come nothing’s happened here?”
“I can’t answer that, I’m afraid,” she said with a small laugh of disbelief. “We were travelling over this ocean to the mainland, and Quadenhaden spotted your buildings here. We were curious, so we landed, and found you. I can’t explain how you have managed to escape Bernice’s wretched manipulation technique, primitive though it is.”
“I’m sorry, Bernice?” Thatcher asked.
“Yes. He’s the President of Koksmutlop, and the leader of the Nyat-f Party. He’s responsible for the imprisonment of over two hundred planets and their inhabitants.”
“But why on Earth are you here on . . . er, Earth?”
“My friend,” she said, gesturing to a sulking Quadenhaden. “He likes the planet somewhat.”
“Somewhat?” Quadenhaden chimed in. “Hah! Hip lomey hasta wekwester!”
“Futnob. Yes, well. . . . That’s why we’re here, and not back on our own planet. Personally, I am rather fond of humans, too. And I’m incredibly thankful that you all still have intelligent thought, otherwise there’d be no hope.”
“But what’s stopping humans having intelligent thought?” Violet said. “Exactly, I mean.”
“Did you ever read about a meteorite which fell to this planet in . . . ap pof wop, Quadenhaden?”
“Hiss-nerf mau issnee.”
“1733, apparently,” Tibsen said.
“I’m not sure,” Violet replied, looking at Florence.
“I do,” Florence announced. “It caused the tsunami which hit Spain, didn’t it?”
“That’s right,” said Tibsen. “Well, that was from Oharg. It was manufactured by Beaulieu Industries in the Icks-Hilf Valley in western Koksmutlop, and was made primarily from a substance designed by Bernice according to the results from a biological examination of a human being abducted several years before then. It’s been integrating itself into your atmosphere for over three hundred years, and into your water, which is the whole problem. As soon as you drink the infected water, the process begins. Gradually the brain is broken down until it’s entirely helpless, and the Nyat-f can do what they like with it.”
“But what’s the point of all this?” Florence said in a somewhat broken voice.
“War. They need an army to fight their war with another planet, a stronger planet. They got ahead of themselves, invading without a proper army. That’s all this is: the gathering of soldiers.”
“So . . . that water’s poisoned?” Thatcher asked, pointing out of the window at the ocean.
“Yes. What water do you drink? It must be some kind of wonder liquid,” Tibsen said, laughing.
“It’s. . . .” Thatcher hesitated, then sighed. “I treat the water we drink with a. . . . I’m a scientist, Miss Tibsen. A rather famous one, actually. Well, I used to be. . . . I discovered a cure for cancer, back in 2009. Obviously I was rapidly propelled into enormous wealth and prominence; I was awarded the Nobel Prize, given a knighthood, all of that, you know. . . . As expected.
“But the cure I discovered was incomplete. My wife was already profoundly ill with the disease, and I could not stop it. It was . . . ironic, if anything. I left England a few years later, unable to bear the attention.
“By that time, the world was in a miserable state. The atmosphere was decomposing around us, the water was packed with poison, the minds were . . . dying, actually. Losing all sense of reality, and truth. We were better off far away from all of that.
“My grandfather was a scientist, too, of sorts. He, like myself, detested the state of the planet’s water supply, and had managed to develop a frankly extraordinary method of filtering it. I didn’t know this until I moved here. I chose this island in particular on his recommendation, because it was here that he found . . . something which is at the heart of this method. Our water is untainted, Miss Tibsen, as is our food.”
Tibsen was silent for a moment. “You owe your life to your grandfather, Mr Thatcher. Or perhaps just your sanity.”

Chapter Two -- Adam J. M. Eagleton

In 1733 a large meteorite fell upon a very small island on the western side of the Atlantic ocean, Encarlo. I do not exaggerate when I say that it was unthinkably small: one could walk from one side of it to the other, at the widest point, in four paces. Thus when the colossal rock struck it with frankly absurd force, it did not survive. People have said that the chances of the meteorite hitting the island were too small to consider, but that is really quite irrelevant.

Neither did the meteorite survive. When it hit the water it was broken into dust, apart from two particularly sizeable chunks, which proceeded to sink to the bottom of the sea, along with twelve unknown species of butterfly, four unknown species of plant, and the buried treasure of Willow-Legs Jones the Incontinent, much to his regret.

Over the next few years, the small pieces of rock decomposed in the water, filling it with the peculiar elements of which it was composed. As the water evaporated from the ocean, the chemicals were introduced to the atmosphere, and it was gradually altered by them. Through rain, the chemicals were spread across the planet, but the exceptional and alien nature of the elements hindered any form of suspicion, and the effects went relatively unnoticed. For a few years everyone attributed the atmosphere changes to other gases, which was a fairly sensible and intelligent supposition, I suppose, given the circumstances; but after that, humanity no longer possessed that sort of intelligence.


*


The story of the evolution of the Fordarvians and the Tibhadens is a remarkably interesting one. Life began on the planet 7.41 billion years after the birth of the planet, Oharg, in the form of bacteria called enchiladas (which is one of the greatest coincidences in language that has ever occurred). For eight hundred million years, these bacteria evolved into small scaly creatures with flexible wheels for transportation, but these were phenomenally unsuccessful, and almost died out completely. But then the evolutionary line split into two: along the first line, the creatures developed front legs to support themselves, but larger wheels, causing severe back problems, resulting in extinction. But along the second line, arms were developed, the wheels became legs, and the creatures eventually evolved into small creatures with hair, complex thought, and two digestive systems. These in turn evolved into a taller, more sophisticated animal: Hellemsharm.

Hellemsharm were very competent beings. They spread across the planet to become the dominant species, developing over a thousand complex languages and cultures. The average Hellemsharm was unimaginably clever and curious. There was no area of life which had not been scrutinized and analysed by Oharg’s ten billionth year. So advanced were the Hellemsharm, that over nine hundred neighbouring planets had already been visited and catalogued by that time, making Oharg one of the most experienced and sophisticated planets in existence.

The two primary races of Hellemsharm were the aforementioned Tibhadens and Fordarvians, both of which lived together surprisingly well for many millennia. But the Fordarvians developed over time into decidedly more aggressive creatures, and began passing laws on Oharg which substantially reduced the freedom of the Hellemsharm. They began to extend these laws to other planets too, exploiting their superior technology and intelligence to conquer the weak inhabitants of them. Oharg’s immediate neighbour planet, Nyarl Nyarl Incy-Fustular, had developed a primitive form of life over the 4.8 billion years of its existence, but within two years of the Fordarvians’ first invasion the planet was purged of it entirely. At this, Bancy Ramplamp, the king of Ing-Ing — one of the dominant countries on the planet — held a conference with the five world leaders on the subject of the danger of the Fordarvians’ increasing hostility towards other planets. Two of the leaders agreed that Bernice Oscubarlo, the president of Koksmutlop, needed to be stopped before he went too far. The other two disagreed, and offered their full support of Bernice’s ambitions.

The only option for the two Tibhaden rulers was to leave the planet. They announced to their kingdoms that the opportunity to move to the empty planet next door would soon arrive, and urged them to take it. Four months later the two leaders left Oharg with two billion Tibhadens, leaving the remaining four billion under Fordarvian rule.

Two hundred years later, Bernice attempted to invade Shnarfish-Nemmem, a large planet in the Hoodnuff system, but it backfired. They soon found themselves at war with the inhabitants, of which there was a great deal. It also turned out that Shnarfish-Nemmem had excellent connections, and the Fordarvians were very soon outnumbered by several billion. This evidently needed to be rectified if they wished to continue living, which many of them did (except for the Wanklank party of Harsh-Hush, who were an odd bunch). Bernice proceeded to conquer as many other planets as possible (small ones, preferably, with weak residents), in order to build up his army a bit.

He managed this with the aid of a very basic chemical manipulation of the brain via one of the most essential life elements: water. One planet for example, one they called Onkilar, had a good supply of this, and several hundred strong creatures entirely dependant on it. Within three hundred years, the beings had developed into an unintelligent and easily-manipulated life form, and the Fordarvians added them to their army.

(You may be wondering at this point exactly what science the Fordarvians used to manipulate the neurological set-up of these creatures, and such a thought would indeed be justified. Be assured that, whilst I do not know the answer, someone somewhere does, and I’m sure they’re very pleased with themselves. You may also be wondering how it is that an entire race of creatures consisting of many billions decided unanimously upon this extreme course of action. “Surely one of them, at least, disagreed with it,” I hear you wonder. Again, such a thought would indeed be justified. There were, in fact, several groups of people who attempted to stop the planned invasions, but they were unsuccessful in their endeavour. One individual began to make a difference at one point, as he was a popular politician, and managed to build up an impressive campaign against the attacks. He was unfortunately involved in a sex scandal two years in, however, and retired abroad in humiliation, leaving him the butt of several famous comedians’ jokes for many years, including Hiparm Hiznee-Itfeh, a regular on the topical panel show ‘Hip Limey Pastaranka!’ He was dismissed from the broadcasting company, however, after making an offensive reference to Borsny Crikerbom, the last survivor of the Mwarskiub civil war. Hiparm can now be found presenting the late-night radio show ‘Fop Hinty Titular’ and various humiliating advertisements for cereal. His autobiography, ‘Hip Waffer Nyartle mau Nyip-Nyip’, will be released next year.)

Another planet, one they called Bistum-Skock, also had several lovely oceans, and a surprisingly powerful race of creatures who responded and adapted to the slightest changes in the water. Bernice sent a member of parliament to the planet, as he usually did, to assess the population, but they discovered that they had developed a culture so complex that it would require more than the standard chemical manipulation.

So Bernice travelled there himself to monitor the progress of the evolution, but found no problem whatsoever. The creatures were adapting to the changes in a way he had never seen before. For a few years they seemed to be responding negatively: they made several remarkable progresses in technology and science, but then they fell. As one, the entire race descended into a profound depression of intelligence, and were ready to be manipulated any way Bernice pleased. But he was somewhat amused by the odd beings, and decided to remain there for a short while to observe their behaviour. He soon grew bored.


*


Thatcher’s grandfather had been an exceptional man, but unfortunately he had been unaware of the fact. He lived in Wapping, had two dogs, two children, two wives and two gods, all of whom were unfaithful to him. In 1967 he published a novel called ‘The Surgeon’s Probing Instrument of Desire’, an appalling story about a woman who goes into theatre to have her tonsils removed, but comes out with everything she ever wanted, apparently. It didn’t sell well, and Thatcher moved to Hawaii, with which he very soon grew tired. He made friends with a young botanist called William Newbury, and soon discovered that a particular species of plant unique to Pitcairn Island in the southern Pacific Ocean had certain chemical properties, which, according to Newbury, could purge any liquid of all chemicals and minerals. It was the ultimate sterilizer: a small amount of the fluid from the plant added to a supply of the most poisonous and putrid water would make it entirely safe. (He also said that because he wasn’t a scientist he had no idea how it worked. That means I don’t know either, so don’t ask me.)

Thatcher also discovered that Newbury was the only person who knew about this. Soon after this, Newbury was involved in an unfortunate accident involving a tram and three wheelbarrows, and his ashes were scattered at sea.

Thatcher lived a long and happy life, dying of food poisoning at the age of eighty-four.