Daring Dooz (The Implosion Trilogy (Book 2)) (31 page)

Chapter 75

The Amazon is a long way from anywhere. And after a few hours, and given
the events of the day, it was little wonder Mrs Hathaway was becoming tired. It
was dark, and she was still trying to come to terms with Aubrey’s sudden disappearance.

Normally, this would be a lovely night for flying. There was no moon to
speak of, and you could clearly see the Milky Way, an immense streak of
stardust splashed across the sky.

Giles and Digby looked out of the Plexiglass blisters and agreed. It was
wonderful. Mick and Jim had a great view from the cockpit, although they always
kept two, and sometimes four, eyes on Mrs Hathaway’s condition.

Suddenly, she straightened up, and breathed in sharply though both nostrils.

‘Right!’ she said. ‘That’s it! My eyes are closing. I’m going to have to
put her down for the night. Don't worry, I have safe havens plotted on the sat
nav.’

But Mick and Jim
did
worry. So
did Giles and Digby. And so, a few seconds later, did Mrs Hathaway.

Because, as soon as she had spoken, there was a blinding flash of
lightning. The night sky had gone, the Milky Way had gone. In fact, everything
had gone.

The light was so bright, it hurt their eyes. Jim put his head down to his
knees and covered his face with his hand.

‘If it’s another fucking tunnel, I’m getting out and walking.’

Mick instinctively picked up his videocamera and switched on. He pointed
it at the cockpit window, although, as he squinted down the eyepiece, there was
clearly nothing to see. Just this incredible, intense whiteness.

Mrs Hathaway switched on the intercom.

‘We’ve lost control,’ she said. ‘No engines.’

There was a slight pause while she calmed down a little and checked the
instruments.

‘It’s not like the tunnel. I’m not sure how to say this but - we appear
to be floating, straight up.’

By now, everyone was wide-awake. Giles and Digby squeezed into the
cockpit, which was just as well, because the sight that was about to be revealed
was nothing short of stupendous.

Imagine being inside a Super Bowl stadium, with a curved luminescent roof,
then you’d have some idea of where they were. But it was difficult to see details
clearly, because everything was incandescent.

After a minute or so, their eyes adjusted, and they could make out strips
of flashing pink and gold lights, pulsating in zigzag patterns round the huge
perimeter. There were immense vertical panels that throbbed green and blue and
circular doors which, occasionally, opened to let out small silver craft which
looked like - well - flying saucers, which skimmed silently from one part of
the ship to another.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Mick.

‘Keep filming,’ said Mrs Hathaway.

‘I’m taking stills, as well,’ added Jim.

The Catalina was just a speck in this unbelievable space. But using the doors
and coloured panels as reference, they could tell they were now drifting
towards one end.

In the distance, they could see a horizontal band of light. There was no
doubt, the Catalina was moving slowly towards it. It was as though whoever was
doing the moving was being very careful with something very precious.

There was no sense of danger. Just a wonderful sense of peace. Almost a
sense of spiritual awareness.

Even Jim came under the spell.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘if I was religious, this is what I’d want heaven to
look like.’

Just then, the um-pah band started.

Well it wasn’t exactly an um-pah band, more a weird synthetic interpretation
- but, despite the ear-busting volume, there was no mistaking the tune -
Rule Britannia!

By now, they were getting close to the horizontal strip of light, which
turned out to be a floor-to-ceiling window about 30 yards long. They could see
small figures moving around and waving behind the glass, or whatever it was.

Then the messages started to arrive. Massive, three-dimensional, hologram-type
phrases, flashed into the space between the Catalina and the observation window.
The messages came fast, furious in all sizes and colours, holding for a few
seconds in space, before exploding in huge balls of synthetic fire stuff. To say
the least, they made interesting reading.

UGGLON W42:3 WELCOMES TALLULAH

AND FRIENDS

ENFIELD-BINERAMA!!!

BASH THAT SHARK, BABY!!!

WE LOVE DARING DOOZ!

NO MORE SHEET LIGHTNING LOL!!!

SORRY ABOUT THE TUNNEL!!!
J

NICE BOOTS JIM - UR GR8!

MAKE MINE A MICK-MOBILE!

WWDDDDDDDDDDDD!

YOUR BIGGEST FANS ARE 4 FEET HIGH!!

MICK
EL VIDEO SUPREMO! (CHATS VIDEO FFS!!)

NEXT CHALLENGE? SPILL THOSE BEANZ, GILEZ!

AUTOGRAPHS PLEASE MRS H!

IT’S NOT FOR ME. IT’S FOR MY FRIEND IN ALPHA
CENTAURI (AS IF!)

By the time the barrage was over, the Catalina was right up close to the
observation window.

The representatives of two civilisations a million light years apart looked
into each others’ eyes. If a great philosopher had been present, he would, no
doubt, have commented eloquently on this unfolding interaction.

However, it was left to Giles, who came up with, ‘Bloody hell, they really
are
green!’

‘Know what?’ said Jim, ‘I bet they’re saying, “Bloody hell, they really
are
pink!”’

Jim was about to say that Mrs H was nut brown, but wisely decided this
was not the time to start a squabble.

The little people were excitedly hopping up and down, clapping their three-fingered
hands. The Catalina occupants smiled and waved back. Several were holding what
looked like titanium autograph books and pointing to the pages. They had large,
yellow, almond-shaped eyes, but unlike the standard illustrations of alien
beings, they
all
had welcoming
smiles. Perhaps it was because, down on the Earth, there wasn’t that much to
smile about.

The whole thing had been a mind-warping experience for everyone.

To be fair, Mick and Jim had seen similar scenes in their Soho office -
namely when passing through the twilight zone involved in recovering from a
heavy night on the
Woomera, seven-star,
unleaded,
bring-your-own-bottle sherry. Nevertheless, they
kept shooting.

Giles’ eyes were popping out of his head - and having popped out, all
they could see was
Daring Dooz and UFO News
International
taking over the world. This was the big one he’d been looking for - only
it was a million times bigger - the most incredible scoop ever!

For Digby, it
was a thrilling, but quiet moment. He’d lost Tallulah, but here was a million boyhood
dreams coming true. If only Dan Dare could have been around to see it.

Mercifully,
Rule Britannia
stopped.

Then, suddenly, massive flashes of pink and purple light radiated from
side to side, across the observation window. After about 20 seconds, a booming synthesised
voice announced.

‘
1943
PBY Catalina
flying boat
occupants, we present
our big, and, following some on-board clinical examinations, I really
do
mean big. The one and only - I know
he’s
our
favourite, I know he’s
your
favourite and I know Tallulah’s
taken a shine, please welcome the four-stringed wonder boy, Aubrey Capability
Brown!’

The 1960’s hit,
Mister Bass Man
by
Johnny
Cymbal,
began to blast out, and into
the observation window stepped the recently abducted Aubrey, complete with
oversized Hawaiian shirt and oversized baggies, with an oversized, shiny, red
bass guitar hung around his neck.

Everyone on board the Catalina cheered and whistled. Mrs Hathaway looked
as though she would burst with happiness, although she had to double-check to
make sure it
was
Aubrey, what with
the greased-up quiff and wrap-around shades.

As the disembarkation tube slipped smoothly out to meet the Catalina, no
one was the slightest bit worried. Everybody, no doubt for different reasons,
was looking forward to whatever was going to happen.

Mrs Hathaway let them go. Alone in the cockpit, she looked straight ahead
at Aubrey. He was only about six feet away. After all that worry,
nothing
could make her happier than she
was at the moment.

Then something managed to do
exactly
that. Aubrey pressed his nose to the observation window and gave her the double
thumbs up and a huge smile. With everything that had happened, she’d
almost
forgotten.

She smiled and waved back at him, and Aubrey made some rather vulgar
movements with where she guessed his hips were. There would be words about that.

Nevertheless, she was absolutely overjoyed. She turned and walked into
the disembarkation tube. Her head was floating and she couldn't feel the floor.

An interplanetary spacecraft
and
a revitalised Aubrey. She knew she was definitely heading for one mind-blowing
experience, and, if Aubrey’s gestures were correct, it could easily be two. How
much neater and tidier could things get?

THE END

Finally, a thank you…

Thanks for reading this book. I hope it
gave you a few fair laughs along the way. I certainly had a lot of fun writing
it!

Daring Dooz is the second book in what I
grandly/mistakenly call The Implosion Trilogy.

The third and final book in the series (for
the moment) is Sea View Babylon.

I suggest to avoid brain scrambling,
that you read them in the right order!

For more details, my website is:
http://www.stanarnoldbooks.com

My facebook page is:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Stan-Arnold-Books/114708918620865

I have no idea how Twitter works, thank
goodness.

Here’s a chapter from Sea View Babylon.
It’s not the first chapter, as that might give the game away.

Hope you enjoy!

Sea View Babylon (bit of chapter 14)

Mick and Jim sat on the small sandy
beach eating ice cream in the hot sun, and discussing their abject failure as
human beings.

“I dunno,’ said Mick. ‘I tried, but that
Jimmi is a slippery customer. It was like juggling kangaroo sperm.’

Jim stopped licking, stood up suddenly,
and went to deposit his unfinished ice cream cone in a nearby waste bin.

He came back looking a little nauseous.
‘Why do you go in for disgusting similes? You do it all the time.’

‘No, I don't,’ said Mick, ‘I could have
said slippery as juggling with a bull’s recently removed testicles, but I didn't,
because you were eating, and I’m always sensitive to the fact that other
people’s constitutions may not be as cast-iron as mine.’

‘Anyway,’ said Jim, anxious to change
the topic, ‘I don't think Moira loves me.’

‘Course she doesn’t,’ said Mick. She’s the
most gorgeous creature on the planet and you’re a depressing, scrawny,
alcoholic, with no prospects, who last had sex seven years ago, and still has
difficulty in remembering what happened.’

‘That’s quite unnecessary,’ said Jim.
‘In fact, that really hurts.’

‘Sorry, my old mate,’ said Mick, ‘it
was
out of order,
and
it was untrue. I reckon it’s more like
ten
years.’

‘Right, said Jim, ‘I’m off to get
another ice-cream, but you’ve got to promise not to move on to snails’ penises,
red-arsed baboons mating techniques or the way vultures vomit intestines and
faeces when threatened.’

‘You have my word, dear boy,’ said Mick,
‘and anyway I think I threw all those into the small-talk session with Moira,
last night.’

‘You were right over the top,’ said Jim,
even though he had no recollection of the evening, whatsoever.

‘No I wasn’t,’ countered Mick. ‘When
that bloke came round selling individual roses, I bought one for her and even
managed to recite a rather lovely poem.

‘
O Love,’ he said, and kissed her
mouth

Heart, heart, remember thou the
bliss?

In east or west, in north or south,

I know no finer rose but this!’

‘Then I followed it up
with a few choruses of ‘
Who stuck the
dick on the snowman, and made it look a lot like me.’

Jim had had enough, so he wandered off
to get an ice cream, and, against his better judgement, bought one for Mick as
well.

So they sat on the beach in the blazing
sun, eating ice cream, checking the exhibitionists and reminiscing about their
time on the mother-in-law ship.

‘You know,’ said Jim, ‘despite the sheer
mind-bogglingness of everything, my favourite was the In-Bedroom Personalised
Celebrity Hologram Service.’

‘Absolutely, my old logistics expert,’
said Mick acknowledging Jim’s willingness to trek off across the baking sand to
keep the supply of ice-creams flowing…