March: A Tale of Salmon and Swedes (The Glothic Tales Book 4) (12 page)

I Have A Dream

As Trys and March made the stop here, dropped off there, picked up here, and dropped off somewhere else again, before being picked up again, and then finally being dropped off journey to meet with Prescott-Jones, March did a final double, triple and quadruple check of the messages and notes he had on his Q’muniktor. The most important of which, were the ones from Humff and his father. Humff had replied surprisingly quickly, in less than twenty-four hours, which was longer that March had given him, but much quicker than March had expected he would take to reply.

His message was extraordinarily long and riddled with bureaucratic double-speak, but the essence was that a force field upgrade and installation of two entry ports would cost in the vicinity of three and a half Centuries. An alternative option, which had been costed within recent years by a subcommittee, for only one Northern entry port, due to the fact that most exportable produce originated from the Northern hemisphere of Earth, was estimated to cost in the vicinity of a little over two Centuries.

The reply from his father, after March had decided to advise him of the opportunity that had presented itself, was short, curt, yet encouraging. All he said was that if there was any possibility of a profit, he would personally conduct the negotiations with Mr. Diddle and Mr. Simmer.

There were other messages, but they could wait. Outcut wanted to know how he was going to get a cut from the deal, of course, and Diddle wanted to know when he could get his hands on hard copies of all the Abba material, so he could hologramatise every single shred of it.

He slipped his Q’muniktor back in his pocket as he saw that they had reached their destination, and got out of the car and readied to help Trys down the long flight of stairs. Once down at the bottom of the stairs, Prescott-Jones’ greeted them with his warm welcoming smile, and equally beaming dome.

‘Please, come in. I must admit to being very curious about all this … how did you call it? An opportune opportunity, I recall you wrote in your note, Madam Gregorian.’

‘Well, I’ll let March explain.’

‘Good evening, Mr. Gregorian. So nice to meet with you again, and so soon’ he said, as he shook March’s hand.

After taking their seats, and of course being offered sherry, which March was now quite partial to, they got down to the matter at hand. March briefly outlined the Abba proposal, but was quite careful to mention that it was still very early days in the negotiation, but perhaps there may be a profitable opportunity. He held back his thoughts about financing an upgraded force field and entry ports for the moment, as that was a matter for his father should any progress be made. His main question, after his brief explanation, was how the Rights, or whatever they were called, could be secured to take the negotiation further. Prescott-Jones took a few notes, before looking up and offering his thoughts.

‘Well, it’s a very interesting proposal. If my rough calculations are close, an EdErg Century is worth what? Around five billion Pounds?’

‘Around six and a half,’ Trys said.

‘Then that is an awful lot of money,’ he said, nodding thoughtfully toward Trys.

‘By any measure,’ March added.

‘Yes, indeed. Well, let’s look at the basics here first,’ Prescott-Jones started. ‘Firstly, any copyright, intellectual rights or such are only legally enforceable here on Earth. There is absolutely no legal basis or restriction that would stop you from using, copying, distributing or broadcasting this material for profit, anywhere, except here on Earth. After all, no one here even knows that anywhere else exists.

Secondly though, if any income was derived from the use of this material, it could not, well at least morally if not legally, be distributed to, or earned by, any entity on Earth. This would make it difficult for me, or should I say the Camera Stellata, as should a transaction such as this proceed, it would be impossible for us, at least morally, to share in the proceeds.’

‘So if I understand you correctly, I could buy any amount of CDs, DVDs or videos from here, take them back to Gloth, have them processed for distribution and broadcast throughout the entire Twelve Sun Systems … but pay absolutely nothing to be able to do so?’ March asked.

‘In one word, yes. It may not be fair or equitable, but legally there is nothing to stop you from doing so.’

‘Even though we are talking about vast amounts of wealth, or money in your language? And then there are the artists themselves. I had imagined that they may be able to be compensated in some manner,’ March added.

‘Oh, as far as wealth goes, I believe the four members of Abba have sufficient. They are the most exported product from Sweden. More than Volvos,’ Prescott-Jones said, with a little laugh. March didn’t understand though and looked towards Trys for help.

‘Volvos are cars, and until Abba, were Sweden’s biggest export by far,’ she explained.

‘Oh, right,’ March said, without really understanding the importance of this Volvo car. He thought it better to move on.

‘I only have one real problem with all this though,’ Prescott-Jones said, as he politely topped up the glasses of sherry.

‘Yes?’ March asked.

‘I’m sure I can speak for the other executive officers of the Camera Stellata on this. In all our dealings with Gloth, the Grand Council and even the Supreme Potentate, when the occasion has been of great importance, any transactions agreed between Earth and Gloth has been mutually profitable. Of course we understand that it is not always an equally shared profit, but in this case, and with due respect to you…..’

‘I fully agree,’ March said, interrupting, which he knew was quite impolite, but he realised that he had to allay Prescott-Jones’ rightful feelings of indignation immediately, even if it meant going an inch or two into what was clearly his father’s responsibility to decide. But he sensed a touch of sensitivity, or even mistrust developing in Prescott-Jones’ tone of voice. ‘And if this opportunity realises what could be a sizeable profit, I believe I have a means of ensuring that you, that is the Camera Stellata, and Earth for that matter, are appropriately compensated.’ Prescott-Jones looked at March, in silence, sipping his sherry, clearly waiting to hear about March’s plan. ‘Now, let me first say, as I said earlier, that this negotiation is in its infancy. So there is no certitude whatsoever at this point in time. But, should it ever come to fruition, it could be worth a vast amount of wealth.

With this in mind, I have asked for, and received estimates for deploying an upgrade to the force field surrounding Earth, which would then permit the installation of either one, or perhaps two polar entry ports. From the estimates, and in discussion with my father, the Supreme Potentate, the possibility may exist, should the proposed transaction be of sufficient wealth, to fund this project. So, as you say, it may be legally or morally wrong for you, that is the Camera Stellata to profit from what would be illegal here on Earth, but should Gloth decide to invest its potential profit in its own infrastructure, which would permit you, Earth and the Camera Stellata to reap almost unlimited rewards from the hugely increased potential to freely and conveniently export almost unlimited volumes of produce, precious metal or whatever you decide is saleable from Earth, to the Twelve Sun Systems, then perhaps, this would be viewed as a profit that was equally shared.’

Prescott-Jones waited a moment, taking a couple of sips of sherry before he replied. ‘Yes, a profit in kind, is still very much a profit, Mr. Gregorian.’

March raised his glass towards Prescott-Jones. ‘I think we have an understanding then, Mr. Prescott-Jones.’

‘Yes. Indeed we do, sir,’ Prescott-Jones said, raising his glass in return.

*****

Back into the rear seat of their first black car to start their stop-start journey home, Trys could see March was grumpy, perhaps irritable but definitely sulking. She let him be. After a few minutes he mumbled, ‘he’s a nice enough man, but his shining head really irritates me – and the glare hurts my eyes. Well, in fact a lot of people’s heads here irritate me. Why do so many cut their hair? It’s awful. Hair is wonderful and a sign of good health, as well as looking beautiful, so it should never be cut. Only beards on young men need to be cut to look neat. But as a man gets older, a long beard indicates the acquisition of wisdom. I don’t think I’ll ever get to like these horrid Erdeans.’

‘Earthlings.’

‘What?’

‘Erde is no more, so they are Earthlings now. Because they live on Earth,’ she said, then cursed herself for stating the bleeding obvious.

‘Whatever. I don’t like them, and anyway, they are still made from Erdean monkey genes, so they are Erdean. I could do with a Draft Sunk or three right now, to calm me down, but of course there’s no hope of finding anything so normal on this horribly abnormal planet.’

Trys didn’t reply, as the car pulled to a halt, and they had to get out to wait for their second black car. Standing on the dimly lit street corner, Trys whispered, even though there was no one in sight, ‘would a beer do? We can stop off at a pub on the way home. Not that I frequent pubs, but if it would help you calm down, I’m sure I could manage a lemon squash with you.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said, with his shoulders drooped, clearly still sulking.

The next car arrived, and they got in and sat in silence. There would be one more change of black car before they would need to hail a taxi for that last leg home. Their silence continued until they had finished with black cars, and were trying to hail a taxi, near Trafalgar Square.

‘Is beer anything like Draft Sunk?’

‘I don’t drink either, March. But both are liquid, yellowish-brown, with small bubbles and a creamy white froth on top. Oh, and from my limited experience of being around people who drink either, they usually belch impolitely and uncontrollably after little more than half a glass.’

‘Sounds close enough to me. So I accept your invitation then, to stop at a pub on the way home.’

Trys let out a sigh. ‘Very well, but we shan’t be staying for very long.’

‘Just two …. or three perhaps.’

*****

It was well after ten-thirty when they finally arrived back home, and March was in a much better mood, thanks to four pints of different ales and stouts he had tried. Yet, although they were successful in rendering a calming effect on him, and eradicated his sulking, they increased his wont to talk, a lot, and fertilised his penchant for complaining about Erdeans and wishing he could go back home – where things made sense.

Trys took all this as a very good cue to make some coffee.

‘Coffee? At this time of night?’ March asked.

‘Yes. It will help reduce the effects of the hangover you are surely going to suffer in the morning.’

March laughed. ‘My method is much better. I avoid mornings, and don’t wake up until late afternoon, by which time any remnant symptoms of a hangover have time to get very bored, and go away before I wake up.’

‘Very logical, March. Now, I’ll go and make the coffee, and you can try both methods in unison.’

Wake Up, March!

There was no chance of March using his usual hangover cure, and waking after four in the afternoon, as his Q’muniktor woke him a little before seven in the morning with a loud clanging-cum-siren-cum-wailing dog sound, which only occurred when a message from his father had arrived. Rubbing his eyes, shaking his head, and then discovering that doing so was an extremely bad idea, as it only alerted him to the fact that he had a terrible headache, preceded his grabbing at his Q’muniktor, fumbling, and promptly dropping it on the floor. Once on the floor, and out of his reach, he was forced to get out of bed, which confirmed that mild dizziness was probably a symptom of a hangover, but as he had assiduously avoided hangover symptoms until they got bored and went away, it was one he was completely unaware of until that moment.

Finally managing to grasp his Q’muniktor, he sat back down, securely, on the side of his bed and began to read the message.

‘Good work. The Camera Stellata are pleased. I have just spoken to Mr. Diddle. Get back here urgently, with all the recordings he requires. Contact Major Amnya Trimli at Glothic High Command to arrange your return voyage.’

March read the message again, to be sure he understood, but didn’t know how his father knew about his meeting with Prescott-Jones, or how the Camera Stellata had contacted him to say they were pleased. As far as he knew, there was no direct contact between them.

A tap at his door broke his thoughts, but it would in the end, lead to solving his little mystery. ‘Are you awake, March?’ he heard Trys ask.

‘Yes, just a moment,’ he replied, and quickly threw on his dressing gown, before opening the door.

‘I hope the coffee last night helped,’ she said, as soon as he had opened the door.

‘A little, thank you. Look, I just got a message from my father and ….’

‘Yes, I thought you might. It’s been a busy night for me. The president of the Camera Stellata contacted me shortly after you went to bed last night, asking me to contact Gloth to ensure your idea, which Mr. Prescott-Jones had relayed to him immediately after our meeting with him, went ahead. He was very keen on the plan and most insistent that it should proceed.’

‘So you contacted my father?’

‘Yes, that’s my job; to be the communications link between the Camera Stellata and Gloth. But in this case, it was so important, I went directly to your father.’