Renegade T.M. (25 page)

“
Well it’s like this
,”
he
began
,
“
there I was going through my warm up exercises, preparing as I was, to attack and slay the villainous diver giant, when all of a sudden, there he was
!”

King Slip and Queen Crinkle gasped.

“
At first, through the bubbles, all I could make out was two enormous red eyes, hungry for fish, and then I could make out those teeth, like two rows of mountain ranges sharpened to incredible points. Of course, I hid, for my fight was not with him, you see a fish has to pick his battles, not have his battles pick him
.”

King Slip nodded approvingly.

“
I was concealed in some algae
,”
h
e went on
,
“
and he swam right by me, it was then that I heard him chanting to himself
.”

“
He was chanting?
!”
a
sked Queen Crinkle, quite taken aback.

“
He was my Queen
,”
replied Pete
,
“
the same word over and over again, as though in some type of magical trance
!”

“
Well come on then, out with it
!”
d
emanded the king, though his tone suggested that he already knew what was to come.

“
Just one word, over and over
and over
,”
he teased,
before answering
suddenly,
“
Salamaloo
!”

Queen Crinkle shuddered at this
, and King Slip seemed to age ten
years all in one go
at this revelation.

“
So he knows
,”
said the King to himself, though all present could hear his words, before declaring defiantly
,
“
so what of it! He may know of their existence, but he will never learn of their whereabouts
!”

“
Oh well that’s just fab
,”
said Pete
,
“I’ll see myself out shall I?
”

“
I’m not finished with you
,”
growled the K
ing, in so far as a fish can growl.

“
Your fishiness, how can I further be of assistance
?”
he asked awkwardly
.

“
You wish to serve your king and king-tank yes
?”

“
I do
.”

“
And you consider yourself to be somewhat of a swordfish
?”
p
robed the King further.

“
Indeed sire, my first words were said to be
“
you have insulted my honour, prepare to meet thy maker
”
,”
he lied
quite unconvincingly.

“
Excellent, then I have a task for you
,”
declared King Slip
,
“
it appears you have already had a run in with the shark known as Ben
.”

“
Yes sire
.”

“
He is, as you may or may not already know, a royal pain in the fin
.”

“
Indeed my Lord
.”

“
I task you…
“

“
Pete
,”
he interjected.

“
…Pete,
to find the shark known as Ben and…
“

“
Issue him with an official warning
,”
suggested Pete in an ever increasingly tiny voice.

“
Kill
him,”
finished the King
dramatically
.

“
Oh right
,”
he said
, almost physically deflating
,
“
typical
.”

“
Off you go then
,”
he said dismissing Pete from the palace
,
“
now let us have some entertainment, call for the Fendels
!”

At this, a door to the palatial hall swung ceremoniously open, and out swam Fendel, as a fish. Just a catfish’s whiskers behind him, swam a much smaller Fendel, as a small fish. The larger Fendel
fish opened his mouth to speak.

“
Your grace
,”
he began
,
“
it is our t
e
r
r
ific delight and quite magnificen
t pleasure
to entertain his liege and guests present, with an evening of watery wonder! I am Fendel the illusionist, sometimes known as Fendel the Fabulous, or the Fantastic Fendel, sometimes as Fendel the Blower of Minds, and sometimes as Fancy Fendel the Maker of Mystery! And this is my brother
,
Fendel the Tiny
.”

“
Hello
,”
said Fendel the Tiny.

“
I ask only one thing of those of you who are present tonight, that each if you suspend just one thing, your disbelief
!”

“
Get on with it
,”
ordered King Slip.

“
Of course your worship, if getting on with it is what you want, then getting on with it is what we shall undoubtedly do. Nay I would go as far as to say, that even if the mere suggestion of getting on with it was but a whisper on the wind, we will have already have quite literally actioned, reactioned
,
and laid down in
semi—
solid stone, the fact of having quite completely, got on with it
already
.”

The King cast Fendel a daggered glance.

“
Very well
,”
continued Fendel,
getting the message
,
“
if I can ask for a volunteer from the audience
.”

“
Do your worst conjurer
,”
cajoled the King, stepping forward.

“
Ah, no less than the King himself, we are deeply honoured
,”
he declared
, bowing down as King Slip approached.

“
Now
,”
he went on
,
“
my brother here
,
Fendel the Tiny..
.”

“
Hello
,”
int
er
r
upted Fendel the Tiny.

“
…
Will tonight, in front of all you present, twist the most dearly held concepts of reason, bend the very nature of reality, and altogether smash the preconceptions of the self, by…
“

The audience waited on fish tenterhooks.

“
…
Reading the King’s mind
!”

“
Codswallop
!”
rebutted
the King.

“
I assure you not your excellence
,”
replied Fendel
,
“
if you may indulge my brother and I
,
and think of a number anywhere between one and a million
.”

“
Fine, but only to bring this nonsense to an end
,”
said King Slip, thinking of the number four hundred and sixty eight thousand, nine hundred and nineteen.

“
T
er
r
ific
,”
he replied
,
“
now watch my brother very carefully, and do not try to resist
.”

That said, Fendel the Tiny
then swam steadily up to the King, stopping only when he was mere inches from his face. He then locked eyes quite completel
y with the King and for a moment
or so they held there, not making a single sound or movement. King Slip then felt himself fall as though in a dream, and memories, long-held and since forgotten, flashed through his mind. He remembered his teenage
yea
rs and his assent to the th
rone and betrothal to his Queen;
then further back as a mere tiddler prince and exploring the fish tank that was now his kingdom
;
then even further back, when he was the main macdaddy and disc jockey on the most listened to radio stati
on in the universe, Renegade T
M.

“
Fendel
!”
y
elled Fendel the normal-sized, deep into his
brother’s
eardrum.

“
Renegade T
M
,”
muttered Fendel the Tiny coming round from his mind reading trance.

“
What the cod was that
!”
s
tated the King also coming round now
,
“
disc jockey, Renegade T
M, nonsense, utter nonsense
!”

“
The number brother
,”
asked Fendel frantically, keenly aware something had gone wrong.

“
Four hundred and sixty eight thousand, nine hundred and nineteen
,”
declared Fendel the Tiny with complete confidence.

“
Well was it
?”
i
nt
e
r
r
upted the Queen, clearly eager to know.

“
Yes
,”
replied King Slip bemusedly
,
“
actually it was
.”

“
Well bravo
,”
declared Queen Crinkle with delight
,
“
truly you are a maker of mystery
!”

“
Thank you your delightfulness
,”
replied Fendel, before locking eyes with his brother and saying quietly only for his benefit
,
“
truly I am
.”

And so we leave King Slip and Queen Crinkle to their astonishment, the Fendels to their bafflement, and Pete to his murderous task, and as the sun set on another day in the King-tank, so all seemed well with their fishy fate
s. However, the term Renegade T
M refused to leave our tiny friend, and much later that night, when most of our fishy friends were fast asleep, Fendel the Tiny floated there, resolutely awake, trying to dispel the events o
f earlier by reasoning it out, and talking aloud.

“
But it was all so real
,”
he said to himself
,
“
King Slip as a space disc-jockey, Queen Crinkle his number two, Pete was there as some abhorrent apelike species
!”
h
e sighed, before adding
,
“
well what of it anyway, if nobody else gives fig, why should I?
!”

And on that rhetorical question, he closed his eyes and began to fall asleep.

Dink arrived at the Rikorn offices at demi hour past middy
, three entire cycles
late. After dismissing the transportable in what he considered to be a suitably gruff and under-satisfied manner, he marched his way through the front doors, preparing himself for what he imagined would be a particularly unpleasant meeting with his boss, Mr Framer.

“
Mr Mormid
?
”
chirped the cyber-secretary on the front desk.

“
Yes
,”
he
replied back testily, barely slowing his gait.

“
Mr Framer wants to see you
.”

“
I know
.”

“
That was three cycles
ago
,”
she went on unhelpfully.

“
I know
!”

“
Oh Mr Mormid.”

“
What is it
,”
he said back angrily
,
“
I’m late
!”

“
There’
s strictly no fishing allowed on
the premises
.”

“
Oh right
,”
he replied sarcastically
,
“
thanks for informing me
.”

Dink stuffed his fishing rod/broom handle hand as best he could into his coat pocket and pushed the button for the levi-lift. As he waited, he decided that honesty was going to be the best policy, and made up his mind, to be completely frank and open in his meeting with Mr Framer. As the door to the levi-lift closed behind him, three conspicuous characters made their way into the atrium.

“
We tried being completely frank and open with him
,”
began Crinkle
,
“
and that didn’t work at all
.”

“
Sure didn’t
,”
agreed Slip
,
“
so what are you saying
?”

“
We lie
,”
she replied flatly.

“
Hang on Crinks
,”
put in Pete
,
“
we can’t lie to the guy. I mean, Dink’s okay, he’s got the patience of a saint, we all saw him earlier and how he dealt with his psychotic girlfriend
.”

“
He’s okay
now
,”
she replied
,
“
are you forgetting what he becomes Pete
?”

“
Yeah
,
yeah
, I know, evil galactic Co-leen overlord
,”
he answered, wishing he could do more to help the luckless Dink, with whom he felt a shared past and unlikely kinship with.

“
So we’re agreed then
,”
she continued
,
“
teethy grins everyone, we’re about to lie through them
.”

Dink arrived at Mr Framer’s office and knocked hesitantly on the door. Mr Framer was not of Co-leen origin and actually came from the Jolsta Nebula. Entirely unhumanoid in appearance, (as Pete would say), Mr Framer was more like a blob of jelly which hovered in the air with the aid of a levi-chair. Utterly incapable of any physical movement, its words and actions were conveyed through the use of a very technical piece of equipment called a mind-beanie. It was then quite remarkable that he had risen through the ranks of the Rikorn hierarch
, and was currently hi
s immediate superior.

“
Come
,”
Mr Framer heralded from within.

“
Okay, here goes
,”
he
said to himself, opening the door and making his way inside.

“
Ah Mr Momid, at last
,”
said Mr Framer’s mind-beanie, which was sitting unoccupied on his desk.

“
Hello sir
,”
he replied
nervously, before asking sheepishly
,
“
will Mr Framer be joining us
?”

“
I am Mr Framer you idiot, well I am Mr Framer’s brain anyway! Why am I not good enough for you?
!”
shouted the mind-beanie, clearly angered by his comment.

“
No
,
no, not at all
,”
he whimpered
,
“
all I meant to say was
that I expect
ed Mr Framer himself
to be here
.”

“
And I am
,”
replied
the mind-beanie.

“
Yes
,”
he said, realising there was nothing further that he could legitimately add.

“
Now
,”
began the mind-beanie, getting down to business
,
“
it really is a very serious matter you being late like this
.”

Dink
imagined the machine was tut
ting at him, and looking down
on his biological self
,
as he might look down on a calculator if he was asked to compare his existential value against it.

“
Very serious indeed
,”
continued the machine
,
“
and what wonderful excuse do you have for me
?”

He
opened his mouth to answer.

“
No
,
no, don’t say it, let me guess, you were stabbed
,”
suggested the irksome machine
,
“
no wait even
better, you lost a limb, right?
Y
ou lost a limb and had to have new limb transplanted
?”

“
Erm , yes actually
,”
he replied timidly, instantly realising that perhaps honesty is not always the best policy.

“
Ha I knew it
!”
l
aughed the device, mocking Dink for what it considered to be nothing more than I pack of quite extravagant lies.

“
No really, it’s the truth
.”

“
You can’t handle the truth
!”
s
houted the machine, without fully understanding why.

“
Look see
,”
he declared
, revealing his fishing-handle-broom-rod hand from his pocket.

The mind-beanie may well have been completely astonished at this; however, being nothing more than an inanimate object, I guess we shall never know.

“
Going fishing
?”
a
sked the device in earnest.

“
No
,”
he replied
,
“
it’s meant to be my new hand
!”

“
Fascinating
,”
replied the mind-beanie sounding anything but
,
“
look, Mr Mormid, I’m afraid Rikorn cannot be seen to condone tardiness in the office, or in this case, not in the office
!”

This clearly tickled the machine as it simulated a sort of laughter sound, and an orange light flashed up on its display.

“
And after weighing everything up
,”
it went on
,
“
it is with
no regret that I inform you that, you’re…”

“
Wait
!”
shouted Pete, Crinkle and Slip, barging their collective way into the room
,
“
you can’t fire him
!”

“
Oh no
,”
said Dink fearfully
,
“
not you psychos again
!”

“
Yes, it is us psychos
,”
replied Slip unas
hamedly, before adding convincingly
,
“
again
!”

“
Who are you people
?”
q
uestioned the machine, obviously put out at their entrance
,
“
and what the devil are you doing in my office
?”

“
We are from the fut…
”

Crinkle swiftly elbowed Slip in the stomach before he could finish.

“
What my colleague means to say
,”
she said thinking quickly
,
“
is that we are from the futon company, and we’re here to deliver a cushion
.”

“
Well go on then
,”
demanded the mind-beanie
,
“
we were in the middle of something
!”

“
Of course
,”
interjected Pete finding his voice
,
“
right away, all we need is a signature
.”

“
And it takes three of you to deliver one cushion does it
?
!
”
s
neered the machine.

“
Yes
,”
replied Slip, obviously thinking this a most complete and enlightening answer.

“
Least it would
,”
added Crinkle
,
“
if we were actually in possession of said cushion
.”

“
You mean to say, you don’t actually have the cushion with you?
!”

“
Yes
,”
replied Slip, who was really on a role now.

“
So, what do you need a signature for?
!”
b
arked the machine, growing ever angrier.

“
That’s just to say that you didn’t take delivery of a cushion
,”
answered Pete with a wink.

“
What’s wrong with you people?
!”

“
That’s what I said
,”
agreed Dink with the machine, glad that the attention had moved away from him.

“
Oh there’s nothing wrong with us
,”
answered Slip
,
“
it’s the universe that’s at fault here, though it’s nothing that a silken weave, leather trim, Persian plumper couldn’t fix
.”

“
The cushion
?”
queried
Dink
“
Yes
.”

“
The cushion you don’t
have
?”
a
dded the mi
nd-beanie
irritably.

“
Exactly
,”
said Pete.

“
And you know these people do you
?”
a
sked the beanie of Dink.

“
Yes
,”
he replied
,
“
they’re the reason I’m late
!”

“
Is that so
,”
mused the machine enigmatically.

“
Yes
,”
Dink almost yelled, finger-pointing furiously at the trio
,
“
it’s entirely their fault
!”

“
Is this true
?”
a
sked the device.

“
Alas
,”
ventured Crinkle
,
“
it is entirely true
.”

“
See
,”
said Dink, the relief evident all over his face
,
“
they are
all
completely mental, certifiably so!
”