Forum Replies Created
-
Replies
-
“Pssst, Vincentius.”
Vincentius swung around in alarm, dropping his feather duster in the process. The potted spider plant appeared to be talking to him.
“It’s me, Arona,” said Arona, peeping up from behind the plant and barely managing to suppress an eye roll at the sight of Vincentius.
“Tsk, tsk, what in Flove’s name have you done to yourself?
Vincentius continued to gape silently at her.
I see the sight of my beautiful self has rendered you momentarily speechless; well, don’t worry about that now. I’ve come to rescue you!”
She beamed proudly at him.
“Sorry to bother you again, Ed.”
This was a lie; Evangeline wasn’t at all sorry. There was nothing she loved better than to be the bearer of bad news and she was rather pleased to have an excuse to call Ed Steam so soon after their last conversation.
“The Cackle Insanitization Committee contacted me. Their spies reported that Gustave had a meeting with that awful whinging Bea woman from Cackletown.”
Ed was shocked. “Gustave? Gustave Butterworth, the scientist? He’s supposed to be working for us, isn’t he?”
Evangeline sniffed dismissively, eager to pass on her next tantalising morsel. She tried to keep the excitement out of her voice and sound appropriately serious.
“The other concerning thing is that the Contumacious Cackler is in town. There have been several verified hearings of him.”
“The Contumacious Cackler!” Ed’s horrified reaction was music to Evangeline’s ears, although she was not entirely sure who the Contumacious Cackler was or why the mention of his name elicited such horror. She decided to ask.
“It’s rather a sad story. His mother ran away from home when he was just 3 years old, due to his father’s incessant cackling. The Contumacious Cackler never saw his mother again and he grew up with an obsessive hatred of cackling. He vowed to put an end to cackling. He cackles so evilly that he stirs up trouble wherever he goes. His dastardly plan is to create so much resistance to cackling that the people are inflamed sufficiently to rise up against cacklers. He is reported to be responsible for the demise of cackling in 2 of the provinces.”
Gustave felt a wave of anxiety as he put the key in the lock to open the door of his apartment.
Something felt wrong.
It was nothing he could immediately put his finger on but he had learned to trust his intuition in these matters.
He stood still and listened, his senses heightened and alert.
Was that a faint cackle he could hear in the distance?
He held his breath. There it was again. A cackle. Definitely a cackle, but an unusual cackle. His scientist brain began to assess the parameters of the cackle. It was a dry, reverberating cackle. A non-conformist, discordant cackle. It was a cackle with intent.
Evil intent.
“Good God,” he whispered , “It’s the Contumacious Cackler”.
“Oh, what a perfectly splendid idea.You are a genius.” Evangeline smiled to herself as she imagined Ed fingering his moustache—a sweet little habit he had whenever he felt embarrased— and blushing at her praise.
“Well I don’t know about that; let’s see if it works first,” said Ed gruffly. “Insanitization en masse at a bake sale is no piece of cake.”
He paused significantly but when nothing was forthcoming from the lovely Evangeline he added a little impatiently: “No piece of cake. Get it?”
Evangeline (who had not got it) quickly tried to make amends. “Hahahahahaha you are a droll fellow!” she chuckled, just a tad too loudly. It almost sounded like a cackle and if there was one thing Ed Steam was renowned for it was his ability to sort out the chuckles from the cackles.
There was a strained silence.
“Anyway, Evangeline, who made this latest cackling complaint? Are they going to cause any trouble or are they just your usual run of the mill cackle complainer?
“Bea somebody. She just moved to Cackletown recently and we don’t know much about her yet. Or what she is capable of. I think we need to keep a close eye on that one.”
“We have registered your complaint and our Noise Control Officer will be around shortly.”
The smooth voice of the woman on the other end of the line did little to placate Bea. In fact, she could feel herself working up to a frenzy.
“The damn officer will come around and that cackler will stop cackling and your officer will say: we can’t do anything about the cackling if we don’t hear the cackling for ourselves. Because we have to measure the decibels of the cackle and we have to ascertain the cackle is indeed loud enough for us to warrant confiscating the cackle.
Bea knew she was getting agitated and took a deep breath. Just breathe. Calm down.
“It really is most annoying to be woken up continually by cackling. What would you do in my situation? she asked, miserably imagining the red manicured fingernails and perfectly coiffured hair which surely must be attached to a voice this calm and imperturbable.
“Have you tried talking to the Cackler? It’s always best if people can work it out between themselves. Point out to them how their cackling is impacting on your quality of life. I am sure they will be reasonable.”
“And what is the way out?”
Lord R’eye felt a stab of anxiety. It was that voice again. Always asking questions. Prior to first hearing the voice, he believed he knew all there was to know of the known universe, but this voice was beyond his comprehension. He could not define its source nor understand its intention.
“Damn it, R’eye! Stop prevaricating and pontificiating, will you. How many more aeons will it take for you to give me a straight answer. Goddamit, I demand an answer. What is the way out?”
The problem with words, mused Floverley, is that people use them far too much.
She could feel the build up of energy summoning her for yet another channeling session. Of course, she could block the call but given that she was up for Ascended Lady Master status that may not be seen as quite the done thing. She didn’t know if she could handle another lecture from old Medlik and see the disappointed look in his eyes as he rambled on about the virtues of balancing wisdom with compassion. He really had a bee in his bonnet about that subject.
And truth to tell, her own kind heart found it difficult to turn away their requests for guidance and reassurance.
But It’s word clutter. So many things don’t need saying. And so many other things don’t need repeating. If they would look at the transcript from my last session, really absorb it, they wouldn’t be asking for another channeling so soon.
Floverley wondered, not for the first time, if being an Ascended Lady Master was going to be all it was cracked up to be.
The chair in the center of the bare white room was shaped like an egg. Kale wasn’t a big fan of the current trend in zen minimilism; he stood up and wandered around restlessly.
He hadn’t been going to take the job, no matter how much data about unemployment and job probabilities Flynn ranted on about.
But then he had seen her again. The dark haired woman. Just call me Agent T, she had said mysteriously when he asked her name.
He had been putting out the garbage—Flynn’s job but he was still sulking about the job situation—when she, Agent T, popped out from behind the purple Amelia bush.
“Please take the job,” she had said pleadingly. “It’s my first job and if I stuff it up they won’t give me another one. And it really is important. And all you have to do is play along and do what they say and wait for instructions from us.”
She had refused to give any further details about who “us” were, but Kale’s curiosity was well and truly piqued.
He was thinking about this when the wall slid open and a gorgeous creature appeared before him.
“You must be Kale.” she said in a silky voice. “I am Fin Min Hoot. How good of you to come.”
“Hahahahaha!” snorted Becky. “You have been chosen! Good grief, Tina, you didn’t really say ‘you have been chosen’ did you?”
Tina rolled her eyes. “Yes, I am a bit embarrassed now actually. It was over the top, I admit. But I was caught up in the moment and the whole spy thing. I hope it doesn’t put him off.”
Becky snorted again.
“You know, Becks,” Tina sounded hesitant, “I am not supposed to be talking about any of this. So you have to promise you won’t breathe a word to the others.”
“Ah, here you are at last.” said the dark haired woman, a trace of impatience in her voice.
Kale looked at her quizzically, trying to place her. Up close, she seemed older than he had first thought.
“I’m sorry but do I know you?”
“No, Kale, you don’t know me. But I know you”.
She looked at him intently for a moment and gave an enigmatic smile before continuing:
“You have a job interview tomorrow. You must accept the position.”
“Okay, this is getting really weird now. How do you know me and what business is it of yours whether or not I take the job?”
“You have been chosen.”
“I must say all this bending is jolly awkward.” grumbled Tinia-Tiffany Bloo. “The sooner we get these aliens escorted back to earth and we are able to return to Thereon the better.
“Stop whining will you!” snapped Betty Bloo, her antagonism in large part due to intense jealousy at Tinia’s gorgeous pale robin egg blue colouring. “It is totally unprofessional.”
Tinia smiled sweetly as she ducked her head under her arm. That poor Betty, she really drew the short straw with that awful pigmentation.
It was already warm and Kale was glad for the shade the large oak trees offered as he walked along the sidewalk. He was heading for the Tangy Pickle cafe; his favourite breakfast spot just a few blocks from where he lived.
A song had been running through his head all morning: a big hit from a robot band which were popular in the late 2030’s: “Sour Tart and The Denouements.” He hadn’t even like the band at the time— just the name was depressing —but for some reason the tune and a few of the words were looping through his head like annoying little ear worms.
… bugger current information planet robot key bugger current information planet robot key bugger current information planet robot key…
So Kale was busy pondering the implications, if any, of endlessly looping ear worms when Flynn messaged him:
“Interview scheduled for 9.30am tomorrow.”
“Blimey, that soon? Okay, well what else can you tell me?”
“The ad has been taken off the network and all associated information shut down.”
Weirdo.
“But your interview is scheduled with a Mr Eb Ruide. And I’ve got your outfit ready.”
“Hang on, Flynn. This all sounds a bit odd don’t you think?”
“Oddness factor 57%. Probability of success 22%. If I may quote the famous robot philosopher Monenole: The point is the exploration. So gird your loins and stick your chin out. You can do this! What fun! See you later!” messaged Flynn
Gird my loins? That robot really needs rewiring.
He was nearly at his destination. There weren’t many people around this early in the morning, just a few stalwart joggers and the occasional dog walker. Most people, the lucky ones who had employment, worked from home. So Kale was most surprised to see an attractive dark haired female—oddly attired for the hot weather in fishnet tights and knee high boots—standing outside the cafe.
Eb was rendered temporarily speechless by the milling throng of rainbow blue aliens he was viewing through the monitor.
“So they …. so they have been built to be aware of themselves as aliens?” he eventually managed to ask.
“Correct. It is very sophisticated technology, but to put it in the simplest of terms” — Finnley 22 stopped short at adding even a simpleton like you could understand —“a whole history on the planet Thereon from the galaxy Cosmos Redshit has been programmed into their memory banks.”
“Wow. And what about the different shades of blue?”
“Ranking.”
“Ranking?” repeated Eb quizzically when no more information was forthcoming. “I am not sure I follow.”
Finnley sent an amused eye roll through the network.
“Let’s just say that creating hierarchy is an elegant way in which we can maintain order within the group.” She gave her trademark immodest smirk. “And of course, the various shades of blue are so creative and attractive, if we may say so ourselves.”
“Oh yes, beautiful. Fantastic. Absolutely phenomenol.” Eb wondered if he was laying it on a bit thick, but he was anxious to atone for the termitation fiasco. To be honest, he found the mass of blue creatures a little disquieting. He was also a little puzzled by something but knowing the Finnleys’ propensity for succinctness—and Finnley 22 in particular was renowned for her impatience with foolish questions— he wondered if he dared ask.
Deciding it would come back to haunt him if he did not find out now he plucked up courage.
“And … just one more thing … why are they bending like that?”
“Strictly speaking, someone’s stolen several silly senseless sheep since Saturday,” said Sally Salamander sagely.
“The probability of finding you sober nowadays is approximately 5.797101449275362%” said Finnley sternly to a glum faced Eb. “I said terminate. I am programmed to craft my words carefully. I did not say obliterate. Neither did I say eradicate, repudiate, eliminate, annihilate, invalidate or any of that other shit. And I certainly did not say termitate. And yet, you have now created a serious termitation situation.”
Before Eb could defend his termitation actions, Finnley continued.
“Fortunately, I immediately activated the termitation damage control protocol and have minimised termitation damage to just one applicant.”
Finnley paused to send an immodest smirk via the network for the other Finnleys to appreciate.
“Now, try not to stuff up the interview.”
Kale yawned and, pouring himself a large cup of steaming hot coffee which was already brewing on the stove, asked Flynn to check the situations vacant. Kale had built Flynn himself in 7 days —7 long days living off sleep and coffee and not much else. Sure, Flynn might not be as pretty or as high tech as some of the robots out there nowadays but he sure did the job. He was a dab hand at research and could communicate with other robots on the network system. He would watch the house when Kale was away, start appliances, open doors and of course make the coffee. Also, most of the time, Flynn was damn good company.
“I thought you might be interested in this,” said Flynn. “In fact, I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of sending in your application.”
Kale did mind a bit and wondered if Flynn might need some rewiring. That was tricky—last time he had done some maintenance work Flynn had sulked for days.
Still, he had to admit after hearing the ad, the job sounded intriguing.
ARE YOU SPECIAL?
We are looking for special people to join our team.
We need people who love travel, are flexible, physically agile and have a passion for adventure.
This is a short term position initially, but could lead to permanent work in the future.
We are an innovative company with big ideas, and we are looking for special people to help us get there.
All applications will be treated in strictest confidence.“No I have not seen the dragon tree in the park,” said Finnley. “What about the dragon tree and what has started already?”
She was determined to keep the conversation flowing in a continuous manner.
On earth, during the time of Atlantis, Floverley served as a priestess in the Temple of Light. In many other incarnations she was a healer, sometimes to the wealthy and sometimes to the poor and illiterate. In her final incarnation, 300 years ago as measured on earth, she was crippled with leprosy. She learned much through that life. Master Meldik appeared to her —although she did not know him by that name then, only as a beautiful being of light—and taught her how to draw the light in to her heart so that she did not become bitter, her insides as twisted and deformed as her poor body. Instead those who came across her wondered at the love that radiated from her.
But was she ready for Asended Lady Master status?
“Buggered if I know,” she muttered to herself.