Part 31 (1/2)

'So you said wait, but that was not what you meant?'

'Yes, Prostetnic. Exactly.'

'This is disturbing, Constant. I expect my crew to mean what I want them to say.'

'I do do mean what I say,' said Mown miserably. mean what I say,' said Mown miserably.

'So you meant wait?'

'No, Daddy! I didn't.'

The ultimate transgression! Grasping at familial bonds for clemency. Vogons had only one loyalty: the job.

Prostetnic Jeltz's torso bubbled with swallowed anger and his ear actually tooted.

'Well then, my son son. If you don't mean what you say, and you will not say what you mean, I don't have much use for you on this s.h.i.+p. Not inside it, at any rate.'

Mown fell to his knees and begged. 'One chance, Prostetnic? One chance is traditional.'

Jeltz's bottom lip jutted out like a sun-seal lying on its belly. One chance was was traditional. He himself had been given one chance to redeem himself by his mentor, Field Prostetnic Turgid Rowls. traditional. He himself had been given one chance to redeem himself by his mentor, Field Prostetnic Turgid Rowls.

Guide Note: On Jeltz's virgin voyage at the elbow, he had mistakenly obtained Turgid Rowls's thumbprint on a BD140565 instead of a BD140664, which caused more of a furore than might be expected, as a BD140565 was a confiscation of atmosphere order and a BD140664 was a late movie rental charge. In essence, a student from Blagulon Gamma had a sleep-in and forgot to return obtained Turgid Rowls's thumbprint on a BD140565 instead of a BD140664, which caused more of a furore than might be expected, as a BD140565 was a confiscation of atmosphere order and a BD140664 was a late movie rental charge. In essence, a student from Blagulon Gamma had a sleep-in and forgot to return King of the Firefly Warlords II, King of the Firefly Warlords II, and the next thing he knew he was waking up on a dying planet with thirty seconds to live. and the next thing he knew he was waking up on a dying planet with thirty seconds to live.

Old Turgid Rowls wasn't too hard on me, thought Jeltz. In fact, we had a good laugh about the whole thing In fact, we had a good laugh about the whole thing.

'Very well, Mown. One chance.'

Mown's blood pump slowed down a few sloshes per minute. 'Qualifier?'

'Yes. I need a rhyme for violent obsession violent obsession. And not just an end rhyme, I want internal too.'

Mown tapped invisible words in the air. 'Ah... soya rant... hessian...'

'Quickly, boy. Quickly.'

'Okay... violent obsession... um... cryo-plant impression.'

'Explain.'

'It's an art form on Brequinda. A type of mime where the artist impersonates frozen shrubs.'

'Not really? If you think you can... Really?'

'Really. Look it up... If you like, Prostetnic.'

Guide Note: Cryo-Plant Impression was an actual compet.i.tion category in the Brequindan Arts' Fair. The record holder for consecutive wins was a young actor, Mr E. Mowt, who claimed his secret was to sleep in the foliage during the winter. He was denied an eighth t.i.tle when wood poachers fed him into a shredder.

Jeltz digested this nugget and ran through the poem in his mind. It could work. It was probably buffa-pucky, but the poem was leaning towards the absurd anyway.

'Very well, Constant, on your feet. You have your one chance. Now use it to tell me why you ordered my gunner to hold on the torpedoes.'

Mown's blood pump cranked up again and he stumbled to the readouts. They hung over him like a crackling tidal wave. He searched for something, anything, that could justify his involuntary command.

There was nothing on the screens but heartbeats and blood pressure and tumours and calcium deficiencies. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then he noticed a strangely impenetrable blip inside one of the structures. Mown zoomed in and checked for vitals, but every ray he sent in was bounced back without so much as a smeg of information encoded in the beams.

Salvation.

Mown scuttled back to his sub-ulnar position with renewed confidence.

'Prostetnic.'

'This had better be good. Otherwise I have a dozen eager greebers who would gladly kill to stand at my side. Kill you you, I might add.'

'This is is good, Prostetnic. I can explain my actions.' good, Prostetnic. I can explain my actions.'

'That's just fabby, Mown. So you ordered my gunner to hold the Unnecessarily Painful Slow Death torpedoes because...'

'Because torpedoes won't be enough, sir.'

'You are milking this, Mown.'

'They won't be enough because we have an immortal on the surface. Cla.s.s one.'

'You're certain?'

'Absolutely. There can be no mistake. The scans are bouncing off him, sir.'

We will have to retreat, thought Mown, resisting the urge to skip with delight (delight being expressly forbidden on board the Business End Business End and skipping being generally impossible). and skipping being generally impossible). We have no defence against a G.o.d We have no defence against a G.o.d.

'A G.o.d,' said Jeltz, clapping his hands.

Clapping his hands in terror, Mown hoped.

'This is the chance we have been waiting for!'

The chance to run away as quickly as we can get the drives fired up, thought Mown, the optimist.

'Gunner, fire at will in the general direction of that immortal.'

Mown cleared his throat. 'Sir. Our torpedoes cannot harm a G.o.d.'

Jeltz attempted a crafty grin, dousing Mown with half a jug of spittle. 'Harm, no; distract, yes.'

'Distract?'

Jeltz smugly indulged this parrotry. 'Yes, son. Distract this G.o.d, whoever he is, from the secret experimental weapon we are about to carefully load into a tube.'

'Experimental weapon?' Mown squeaked.

Jeltz winked. 'Secret experimental weapon,' he said. experimental weapon,' he said.