The Gang of Four

There was a knock at the door and Russell flew towards it at great speed.

  ‘Ughh!’

  ‘Goodness, whatever was that?’ came a voice from beyond the door. Russell recognized it. He opened the door to find himself facing Ceres and Kerstin. They were tightly gripping each other, and both seemed to be flushed from a night of exotic lovemaking. Russell glowered at them.

  ‘What do you want?’ he demanded.

  ‘Just wondered if you cared to join us for breakfast,’ Ceres enquired. ‘My god, what the hell are you wearing?’ she added, giggling at Kerstin who giggled back.

  ‘Pyjamas!’

  ‘Are you going to wear them all day?’

  ‘No!’

  Kerstin was still giggling but as she leaned in to inspect Russell’s bedroom the laughter suddenly stopped: ‘How can you sleep with that thing directly above you!?’

  ‘Above me?’ Russell glanced back and spied Michael: once again the explosive release of the Gordian knot had sent him to the ceiling where he remained, static, and positioned over the bed. Kerstin had a point, who would want to sleep with that thing directly overhead. The reality, of course, was far more horrific.

  ‘I didn’t realize he’d clambered up there. He does tend to wander about at night.’

  Kerstin shuddered and turned to Ceres: ‘Let’s leave. We will see you downstairs, Russell.’

  Russell nodded and slowly closed his door. Through it he could hear yet more giggling; those two were going to be insufferable today. He turned and once again studied the spider on his ceiling:

  ‘Why, of all the spiders, do you have to be a trapdoor? You look like you’re made out of flexible black rubber!’

  Michael suddenly dropped from the ceiling, skilfully reorienting himself as he fell to land feet-first on the bed; he glared at Russell: ‘I am not having this conversation again!’

  Russell smiled benignly at Michael and then departed to take a quick shower and make himself ready for breakfast. He returned to the bedroom. ‘Will you be joining us?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ replied Michael, ‘I do not wish to traumatize Ms. Wahlmann any more than I already have! …Or the other diners.’

  Michael still sounded peeved. He never liked being challenged on his appearance but, nonetheless, it was starting to cause real practical problems: he was now “observable” to much of the clientele in the hotel and this had placed significant restrictions on what he could, or could not, reasonably be expected to do. The perception filter made it – almost – believable that he could play the drums and answer a few idiotic questions, but having him saunter down to the dining room and then order a breakfast was pushing it too far. The filter would snap, or burst like a balloon. Pandemonium would ensue.

  If Michael hadn’t been so prickly on the subject Russell might have considered lobbying for a change of physical form: “human” would be ideal! But, instead, he let it slide and turned to Mr. Waterstone: ‘I guess it’s just us. You ready, fella?’ The cat nodded and licked its lips. Stupid question really, that cat was always ready for breakfast!

  ‘What will you do, Michael?’

  ‘I think I’ll head over to the Bentley and fire up a drone; see how “part three” has turned out.’ Was that tension in the spider’s voice or was Russell just imagining it?

  ‘If it is just “gibberish” again, like the others.., is that it!?’ Russell asked, nervously.

  ‘Not quite. “It” arrives shortly after noon, when we finally get to see the three segments together: amalgamated under identical lighting conditions, fused into a single narrative. However, if there is no narrative.., well, then I suggest you practice swinging from trees.’

  Russell and Mr. Waterstone joined Ceres and Kerstin in the dining room.

  ‘What can I get you, sir?’ asked the waitress, with a smile.

  Mr. Waterstone deftly sliced open a bread roll and applied butter as he perused the menu.

  ‘Bacon and eggs, please,’ replied Russell.

  ‘And how would you like your eggs?’

  ‘Umm, scrambled.’ He glanced at Mr. Waterstone. ‘And he’ll have the full English.’

  ‘With sautéed wild mushrooms?’ asked the waitress.

  The cat nodded.

  ‘Free-range sausage?’

  ‘Just give him everything,’ suggested Russell.

  Mr. Waterstone nodded in agreement and handed back his menu to the nonplussed waitress. Russell watched as she left the table; she exchanged a quizzical look with one of her colleagues who glanced over and regarded Mr. Waterstone for several seconds. Russell felt sure that some sort of “no pets at the table” order was about to be dispensed but, apart from some eye-rolling, nothing happened.

  ‘The perception filter is barely holding on today. They’re all noticing him.’

  ‘He is very noticeable!’ replied Kerstin, reaching over to give Mr. Waterstone a stroke.

  ‘Yes, and Michael, is getting a bit too “noticeable” as well. I could say the same about you, Ceres, but maybe your preternatural glow has a, err–’

  ‘Has a what?’ demanded Ceres.

  ‘Yes, Russell. Whatever are you prattling about?’

  Russell sighed: ‘Nothing, forget I mentioned it. So did you two have a, err–’

  ‘Have a what?’ demanded Ceres.

  ‘Pleasant night?’

  Ceres and Kerstin exchanged glances and began giggling again.

  ‘I’ll take that as a “yes”.’

  The conversation over breakfast remained awkward, at least for Russell. Every time he made an utterance it was invariably interpreted as innuendo and would be greeted with sniggers and guffaws. Eventually Kerstin appeared to be at the point of hysteria so Russell gave up. He turned to the cat:

  ‘How’s your sausage?’

  Now Ceres seemed to be at the point of hysteria.

  ‘Oh, for god’s sake! Not everything’s about sex!’

  At that moment Michael came scuttling into the dining room:

  ‘Problem?’ asked Ceres, still laughing.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, it’s the problem we anticipated yesterday.’

  ‘Did Gerry screw up part three!?’ asked Russell. Kerstin burst out laughing and Ceres followed. ‘What was funny about that!?’

  ‘Oh, he’s made it,’ replied the agitated spider: ‘I was talking about the other problem.’

  ‘What other problem?’

  ‘The one we discussed yesterday.’

  The demeanour of Ceres’s face altered abruptly: ‘What are you talking about, Michael?’

  ‘Combine harvesters, ma’am, specifically one combine harvester: a Massey Ferguson MF Delta, with the 496 HP AGCO power engine and featuring a 10.74 metre cutting width – nice bit of kit! It also merges conventional and rotary technology, and incorporates–’

  ‘What about it!?’ shouted Ceres.

  ‘It’s currently bearing down on the new segment, ma’am. Sorry, I thought I’d already made that clear.’

  ***