One Way To Mars

  Foreman led the way to the jungle. On one of the apple trees, many of the branches were in blossom. 'Flower. Pretty.'

  'Pretty.'

  'Now watch very closely. Take the brush...'

  'Brush.'

  'And with the tip, carefully touch this bit. That's the female part.'

  'Oooh!'

  'Now rub it over this part of the next flower, the male part.'

  'Pretty.'

  'Then go onto the next one, and the next one. Here. You try.'

  Monkley handled the brush with the dexterity of a skilled artist, delicately brushing each blossom in turn.

  'Okay. See all those flowers?'

  'Pretty.'

  'Do this to all the pretty flowers. Off you go.'

  Deciding the mission was sufficiently important for the king of the jungle, Monkley set about his task with single minded determination. Foreman knew he wouldn't stop until every blossom had been pollinated. With Monkley fully occupied for several hours, Foreman braced himself for more disappointment at the controls of the radio.

  'Foreman to Earth. Foreman to Earth. I just wanna know. Is it something I said? If it is, I'm sorry. But I formally invite you to my birthday party in a couple of weeks. No. Don't bother sending cards. Just come and have a good time. We have all the processed pap you can eat and we do a wicked fruit sundae, minus the ice-cream. We have have a very interesting wine and not a bad organic mind bender. Oh. And if there are any single ladies out there looking for a good time, I have all of my own teeth and I might even shave for the occasion. This is definitely R.S.V. P.'

  He sat back and waited. Twenty excruciating minutes rolled by and he was about to turn off the set when he got a reply.

  'Foreman. This is Captain Mike Mitchum of I S F S Moonstruck. Boy, you're hard to get hold of. We accept your invite to the party and should be there in about ten days. Shall we bake a cake?'

  Foreman wondered if it was a delayed reaction to a combination of his wine and dope. The radio had spoken.

  'Captain Mitchum. Are you for real?'

  This time, only a minute went by. 'Last time I looked in a mirror. The radio signal to Mars has been interfered with by solar storms. It's the same from Earth. No idea what the hell is going on down there.'

  'Yeah. I've been worried sick. I was beginning to think Monkley and I were the only ones left.'

  'Monkley's the GenMoP, right?'

  'Yeah. Don't tell the little guy, but I'll be damned glad to see a human face.'

  'You might change your mind when you see mine.'

  'Have you come all this way just to rescue me?'

  Mitchum laughed. 'Yeah, like you're that important. We were already on our way for some work we have to do. I'll explain when we get there. Hello? Hel...Forem...damn sol...inds...dio breaking up. We'll keep ...ing to con...see ...soon, Foreman.'

  'Hello?'

  Finally. Something good happening. Foreman practically danced out of the room. 'Hey, Monkley. Come down here.'

  Monkley dropped down from the trees, with a “What? I'm kinda busy, you know?” Look on his face.

  'We got people coming. Visitors. People coming here.'

  'Oooh!'

  'This is going to be one hell of a party, pal.'

  'Party.'

  'Oh. Yeah. Damn. I can hardly believe it. I can hardly wait. A bit odd though. Why send another ship here so soon after us? That's what Mitchum said. They were already on their way. With the cost of these flights, you'd think we would have all come together. But, hey. I'm not knocking it. It may well be a cock up in planning, but it means we get to go home.'

  'Home.'

  Chapter 17

  Foreman had a new lease on life. He was as excited as a schoolboy going on his first date. He set about a cleaning regime that kept them both busy for twelve hours a day. Poor Monkley was set one task after another. As he was cleaning the buggy, Foreman was doing the really important stuff, like making large quantities of wine and curing the dope. If anybody actually remembered his birthday party he would consider it a flop. With the essentials taken care of, he got busy with the mundane chores, cleaning everything in sight. With a marker, he crossed off each day. Any free time, he was trying to contact Mitchum on the Moonstruck, with only partial success.

  'Damn solar winds.'

  Finally, the day arrived for the Moonstruck to land.

  'Should we wait for them outside?' said Foreman pacing up and down. “You know, be there to greet them? Is that the right thing to do, Monkley?'

  'Monkley.'

  'I think we should. Do you think we should? Yeah. It's only polite. I think we should. Foreman. Calm down.'

  'Andy happy.'

  'You bet I'm happy. You'll be happy when you see all those people. I say all those people, I have no idea how many. I hope there's a single lady with them. You have no idea how long... None of your damn business. Just my luck to be a bunch of hairy assed guys, stinking of sweat and spitting tobacco. No. They won't be red-necks. They're astronauts. Intelligent people. Calm down Foreman. Monkley suit up. We'll wait for them outside.'

  Relieved for Foreman making a decision, Monkley found his suit and wriggled into