Part 1, Chapter 4, of RFV

FOUR

 

    The Control Room was a shambles. Dirty dishes, half-eaten meals, unwashed clothes and hastily discarded personalities littered the place. Everywhere the word ‘EARTH’ cropped up on signs or notices it had been scored out and ‘GREATER ALBANIA’ crudely lettered above it in red paint.

    Depressed by the state of the place and that his dreams were in tatters and that all his friends were gone, Roger slumped into the doldrums.

    “I thought you were going to slump into a chair,” Norman said conversationally.

    Roger grunted. “So everybody’s gone,” he moaned.

    “That’s right,” Norman said. “They all left weeks ago. A Fleet Pilot came back with news about the Black Cloud. He became the Hero of Earth for awhile and they gave him a medal. He had to give a speech to all his fellow Pilots.”

    Roger sank deeper into the doldrums.

    Norman pulled up a doldrum next to him. “There are a couple of messages about your Mother and Amanda,” he said, trying to cheer him up.

    “Oh yes?”

    “They’re both safe. Your Mother was already away at an old folk’s trip to Pluto and Amanda was at a work’s outing to Titan.”

    Roger brightened. “Oh that’s good. I’m glad they’re safe.”

    “And a chap called Keith said to tell you he’d kept all the back copies of ‘Astronomers Weekly’ for you.”

    Roger grinned. “Any news about a Mr Entwhistle?”

    “The Mr Entwhistle?” Norman asked, an eyebrow ascending above his glasses.

    Roger nodded.

    “Bit of an accident there I’m afraid,” Norman said regretfully.

    “Don’t tell me he was hurt?”

    Norman shook his head. “Not that kind of accident. He managed to get himself onto a Ship full of teenage girls when they left Earth.”

    “Oh well that’s alright,” Roger said, looking relieved. “He likes teenagers.”

    Norman hesitated. “I don’t think it’s quite as healthy as that,” he said tentatively.

    “Healthy? You don’t have to worry about Mr Entwhistle. He’s one of the fittest chaps I know and he likes doing things with teenagers.”

    “Hmmm,” muttered Norman and was about to tap his teeth again but remembered what happened last time with his dentures and desisted.

    “So that leaves you in charge of Earth does it, I mean Greater Albania?” Roger asked.

    “That’s right. Used to be called Earth. Now it’s Greater Albania. Named it after the mother country,” Norman said, beaming with pride.

    Roger considered this. “You named it after Greater? I’ve never heard of a country called Greater.”

    Norman peered at him through his thick glasses. “I named it after Albania,” he explained.

    “Albania?...Oh Albania! Right. Ah yes. That’s what I meant to say. Silly mistake...Wait a minute, isn’t Albania that small country which refused to join everybody else hundreds of years ago when all the countries on Earth united?”

    Norman beamed. “The very place! Always admired it. Hence the new name for Earth.”

    “Well if you like Albania so much why didn’t you go and live there before?” Roger asked.

    “I tried to,” Norman said, “but the Boss told me to piss off.”

    “That wasn’t very nice of him,” Roger sympathised. “It must have hurt your feelings.”

    “Hurt my feelings!? It ruined my life. I was never the same after that. I think that’s why my wife left me.”

    “What a pity,” Roger consoled. “Did she go off with another chap?”

    “He was a toilet cleaner,” Norman admitted.

    Roger raised his eyebrows and lowered his snigger.

    “Funny thing was,” mused Norman, “they got into Albania. Seems they needed skilled workers like him so they were welcomed.”

    “Well they won’t be there now,” Roger said consolingly. “I suppose even the Albanians have left.”

    Norman smiled proudly. “That’s where you’re wrong. They refused to believe this story about the Cloud. Thought it was a trick to get them out of Albania.”

    Roger sat up. “You mean they’re still here?”

    “Of course.”

    “Well hadn’t we go and warn them?”

    “We can try,” Norman replied. “But you’re wasting your time. The Fleet Commander himself went to see them but they wouldn’t move.”

    “Maybe they’ll believe me!” Roger said excitedly. “I’ve actually seen the Dust!”

    “Let’s go then. We can take an air-mobile. Won’t take long. But I’m telling you now �" you’re wasting your time.”

    “Nonsense! I’m sure I’ll be able to convince them!” Roger enthused as they left the Control Room.

    Norman smiled. “No harm in trying again,” he murmured and followed Roger out.

    There was a line of sleek air-mobiles parked alongside the Control Room and the door of the first slid open as they approached.

    “Hi guys, I’m Annie. Where to?” the attractive female android driver asked.

    “Albania,” Norman answered.

    “What again?”

    Norman looked a bit uncomfortable.

    “You know what they told you last time?” Annie reminded him.

    “This is different,” Norman replied confidently. “Roger here’s actually seen the Dust. They might believe him.”

    “Suit yourself,” Annie said, starting the air-mobile.

    Roger and Norman strapped in and the air-mobile drifted along then gathered speed and rose to its cruising height of one hundred feet.

    “For your pleasure and enjoyment,” Annie said, turning to them, “would you like classical music, modern music, bloody Albanian folk music or a hand-job?”

    Roger flushed.

    “Nothing thanks,” Norman told her. “We’re going to talk.”

    “Kinky, eh?” Annie said, leering at them.

    The air-mobile picked up speed and soon they were being whisked towards the fabled land. Roger gazed down at the scenery mosaic awhile then turned to Norman.

    “So is this Boss chap in charge of Albania then?” he asked.

    “Ah yes, the Boss,” Norman gushed, proud to be able to even mention his name. “Marvellous chap he is, the Boss of Albania.”

    “What’s so marvellous about him?”

    “The way he’s dragged Albania into the 21^st Century.”

    Roger frowned. “But we’re in the 41^st!”

    “Well…” Norman said, shrugging. “You don’t want too much progress all at once. Bad for the country. Best to take things slowly, that way people can get accustomed to change gradually. That’s the Boss’ theory.”

    Roger nodded. “Is he a popular ruler then, this Boss chap?”

    “He certainly is,” Norman said expansively. “He won by a landslide victory at the last election.”

    “So he won easily?”

    “Sort of. All his opponents were buried in a landslide a few days before voting. Shrewd, eh?”

    “Oh yes, very shrewd. Well if he’s so clever what has he done for the country? I saw a documentary about Albania once. It said that most of the people were starving.”

    “Weeds out the weaklings, doesn’t it!?” Norman told him, eyes twinkling behind the bottle-bottom lenses. “Sort of natural selection if you like. Clever people, the Albanians.”

    “Hungry people, the Albanians in the documentary,” Roger responded.

    They watched the scenery awhile as the air-mobile whizzed along. Everywhere there was evidence of a once mighty civilization now abandoned �" forests grew thick and luxuriant, flowers and grass were lush and plentiful, rivers and streams sparkled, the air was smog free and endangered species breathed sighs of relief behind bushes and trees.

    “So what sort of things has the Boss done for Albania?” Roger asked, after the above paragraph had conveniently broken up their dialogue.

    “Well his first move after he came to power was to break off relations with other countries, including itself. The Albanians couldn’t speak to each other for weeks.”

    Roger looked puzzled. “So how did they communicate?”

    “They didn’t,” Norman admitted. “So that law was dropped. But the Boss was just new at the ruling sort of thing so you have to make allowances. After that, Albania was declared a no-go area and people could talk to each other but they were forbidden to move from the spot they were on.”

    “That’s a bit silly,” Roger remarked. “Didn’t they get cramp from standing in the one place?”

    Norman shook his head. “The law wasn’t as strict as that �" they could jump up and down, flex their legs a bit, so they didn’t have too much to complain about.”

    “I suppose that law was scrapped as well?”

    “It was,” Norman admitted. “But it had given the Boss time to work out his Modernisation Programme.”

    “So what was that?”

    “A two-part programme,” Norman explained, taking off his glasses and cleaning them. The early afternoon sun sparkled in his watery myopic eyes, making them look like two tired pale blue buttons in runny egg white. “Oh you’ve moved,” he said to Annie, thinking it was Roger. “Well his first plan was the Construction Project,” he went on, still addressing the Android. “Sweeping modernisation took place all over Albania when a transport café was built near the border.”

    He put his glasses back on and thought Roger had moved into the back seat again. “Sorry, I thought you were having a go at piloting. Airmobile a bit tricky to handle, was it? Not to worry. Where was I?”

    “Psychiatrically disturbed,” Annie muttered.

    “The Modernisation Programme,” Roger reminded him.

    “Ah yes �" part two of the plan was the Illiteracy Project. Did you know that when the Boss came to power, 10% of Albanians were illiterate? Within two years, only two years mark you, he had it up to 20%.”

    Roger looked at Norman anew. Was there a trace of something unbalanced behind those thick lenses?

    “So how did the Boss raise money for these Projects �" by raising taxes?”

    “Initially yes but the people started complaining when taxation went up so that was when the Boss pulled one of his master strokes. He dropped all taxes completely.”

    “That was his master stroke?”

    Norman beamed and shook his head. “He abolished salaries as well. That was his master stroke!”

    Roger was mercifully spared further details on the glories of the Boss and his subjects as the airmobile slowed then coasted down to a halt.

    “We are now one hundred yards from the Albanian border,” Annie announced. “Which means we are just outside official Albanian wind-breaking space. Passengers to be humiliated please alight.”

    “Here, you better carry this,” Norman said, handing Roger a white flag which had been conveniently lying on the floor. “Just in case they think we’re invading.”

    He jumped out and Roger followed.

    “The border!” Norman told him, pointing to a dilapidated fence not far away. “Albania!” he said and sighed ecstatically.

    Roger looked towards the fence. It ran crookedly across the countryside, wasn’t very high and bits of it were missing. Some sheep were grazing along it and they wandered through the gaps at will.

    “It’s not much of a fence,” he remarked.

    “Ah but wait till you see the warning notice,” Norman told him. “Let’s go.”

    They strolled on till they came to the sign. It said, ‘YOU ARE APPROACHING THE ALBANIAN BORDER. YOU CAN’T COME IN UNLESS YOU’RE AN ALBANIAN. SIGNED, THE BOSS OF ALBANIA’.

    “How’s that for defence?” Norman said proudly. “You see, nobody can get in now unless they’re an Albanian.”

    “Stunning,” agreed Roger as they walked on.