“Damn. Let's hope we get back before my mum to clear up. Come on let's go and see Quill.”
The Spaceship Department was housed in a mock Tudor building with a large portcullis-like entrance, either side of which were stone pillars with gargoyles on top. The motto “Nous achetons le bateau de l’espace” was carved into the stone above the entrance, along with “AD 1974”.
“What does ‘Nous achetons le bateau de l’espace’ mean?” asked Tim.
“I think it means ‘we buy spaceships’. It’s almost as if the builders of the buildings did not know any Latin …or French very well either.”
They entered the building and found themselves in a small dark room lit only by 2 seven thousand watt floodlights. In front of them was a large desk with a sign saying ‘receptionist’ on it. At the desk sat an old woman dressed as a witch.
“Are you dressed like a witch for a Halloween party?” asked Alex.
“No I am a witch.”
“A real witch?”
“Yes.”
Alex and Tim looked at each other, “A real witch wouldn’t wear a pointy hat.”
“How would you know? Do you think I should remain a closeted witch? Anyway, may I help you?”
“Yes we are here to see Dave Quill.”
The witch pulled an ancient looking book from a drawer. Opening it with great care she slowly scanned page after page. Eventually…”Aha! Yes your appointment is… right now. First door on the left down that passage,” she pointed to a passage way lit by several 60 watt bulbs.
“Thanks.”
They walked down the passage way and stopped at the first door on the left, “Professor Dave Quill, Prof of Spaceship Building and Churches” a sign said on the door. Alex knocked, “Come in.” They entered. Before them stood Professor Dave Quill. He was wearing a red anorak: the same one he had worn since he was 15.
“Hi Dave,” said Tim.
“Hi Tim. Hi Alex.”
“You alright Donald?” responded Alex.
“Listen I’ll get to the point. We need you to build us a spaceship.”
“Manned or unmanned?”
“Manned.”
“Hmmm let me see. A spaceship eh? The USA spends Billions of dollars and takes years to build manned spaceships. How much budget do you have?”
Tim looked in his pockets, “Eight pound seventy.”
“Er, we’ve got some foil if that will help,” Alex said, helpfully.
“You’re a bit short budget-wise” The professor’s anorak was glowing, “When do you need it by?”
“Tomorrow. We need to sail it to the moon then.”
“OK I’ll see what I can do. Do you like chutches?”
“What?”
“Do you like chutches?”
“Churches? Yes lovely some of them I suppose.”
“Good. I like chutches! I like chutches!”
And with the Professor’s church excitement ringing in their ears, Tim and Alex went back to their car to drive back to Aylesbury. On the way they scored the disciples and Dave Quill came in, a new entry, at number 12.
“So we are one short. Roy said to find 13.”
“Doesn’t matter, he won’t notice.”
“Yeah we can just say the thirteenth disciple is in the toilet or something, if Roy calls, or appears before us as an energy cloud.”
***
Olander’s video communicator beeped. The video communicator had been designed by Rastas’s Head of Scientific Weaponry, Mr Larking. It was a portable device about the size of a small football pitch, which allowed communication via the form of short messages. The messages were encoded by a powerful computer running MS-DOS 3.0, and then sent through space to another similar machine, by special space technology. The received message was displayed on the screen of a television which had to be tuned to channel 8, and if that does not work try switching off the VCR.
The bleeping sound signalled that a message was arriving. Olander turned on the TV. The message read “It’s Rastas. Come to my palace now.”
Olander switched off the video communicator, placed it carefully in his garden, and set off to meet Rastas.
Rastas’s palace had been built by slave labour: the first born male of every family from Great Missenden, had been marched to Aylesbury and forced to build the palace on Buckingham Road. It was magnificent to behold: the flowing lines of its gleaming metal roof matched perfectly its breeze block walls. Three estate agents had valued it and if Rastas sold today for an average of the three valuations, he would make over £10,000.
Olander rang the bell. Rastas answered the door dressed only in some clothes, “You’re late,” he said curtly.
“I only got your message ten minutes ago.”
“I sent it three days ago. That video communicator is rubbish.”
“Can I come in?”
“Yes. I’ll give you a tour.”
Olander stepped into the hall way.
“On the left: down stairs toilet.”
“Classy!”
“Yeah. This place is an executive palace. Kitchen through here.”
“It’s a bit small.” Rastas gave Olander a look that withered his soul, “Well I mean…it’s compact I suppose.”
“Yes it is compact.” Rastas quickly showed Olander the other rooms, as time was of the essence. The longer he waited, the stronger Roy and his disciples became.
“Right that’s the house. Now down to business. I know amongst Roy’s disciples are men that know the art of disco.”
This worried Olander. He knew the power of DJs, he knew the sacrifice and dedication such men gave to their order, and he feared them, “The only way to fight a disco is with… an evil disco.”
“I know. I called every disco in the phone book, but none of them are evil.”
“Have you tried Phil Badd?”
“Is he evil?”
“I think so, he’s sort of got a slightly evil name. But more importantly he hates all other discos.”
“Good let’s go see him. Where does he live?”
“In a caravan, in a field somewhere.”
Rastas drove Olander in his pink Viva to Phil Badd’s caravan, in a field somewhere. There was a loud noise coming from inside. Rastas opened the door. Phil Badd was inside, sitting behind his disco, “Hi this is Phil Badd.” He announced into his mike.
“Do you know who I am?” sneered Rastas.
“The milkman?” asked Phil Badd.
“No. I am Rastas, Dark Lord of Aylesbury.”
“Dark Lord of Aylesbury? What does that mean?” laughed Phil Badd.
“Be silent! I need an evil disco to defeat Roy, Tim, Wilf, Parsons and assorted other disciples”
“When?”
Rastas looked at Olander, “Er…June 7th?”
“Let me see.” Phil Badd opened the Big Book of Phil Badd Bookings, “Hmm you're in luck: I've not got a booking then. It will be £80 plus drinks.”
Rastas and Olander huddled, “We’ve only got £70.”
“OK then, but £70, I want food too.”
“OK.”
“Fine. I usually get to a gig at six to set up. Where is it?”
“Aylesbury College Mountain. But we need you there at first light.”
“Sorry. For £70 I’ll be there at six.”
“Oh…OK see you at six then.”
Rastas and Olander left the caravan, “Let’s hope they can wait to fight the battle until 6pm then,” said Olander sarcastically, “Some Dark Lord of Aylesbury you are.”
Rastas looked at Olander, and then killed him.
“Right Olander now drive me home…oh yeah.” Rastas thought that he had maybe been hasty in killing Olander, and so brought him back to life by voodoo.
“Sorry I killed you, but I was angry. Now will you drive us back to the palace?”
“No,” said living dead Olander.
“Please?”
***
After dropping off Alex at his house so he could round up
the disciples, Tim drove to the nearest supermarket to buy provisions.
“Hello” he said to a supermarket employee.
Silence.
“Hello. I am going on a space journey and I need to buy some provisions for up to fifteen people. Do you have any space food?”
The employee looked disinterested. A pause, then “Dunno. Don’t think so.”
“OK, thanks.” Tim pushed his trolley from the aisle with the employee, down to Aisle 7. which had a sign above, saying: “Sweets, Chocolates, Crisps, Eels.”
“Hmm”, thought Tim, “I need all those things except eels. I already have eels. Let’s see how much chocolate for, let’s say, 15 people for a trip to the moon?” He realised that he did not know how long they would be gone.”I know I’ll play it safe and buy 700 bars of chocolate.”
***
Meanwhile at Tim’s house Alex had been preparing himself to enter the disciple den (living room). For protection he had a taser in his hand, and had placed a rolled up newspaper down his trousers. He opened the living room door and what he saw filled him with horror. Virtually all of the disciples were sitting around the room, appearing to be a bit thirsty; they had been without water for over 2 hours. Alex stood there for a long moment, and finally managed to speak: “Are you alright?”
“Wouldn’t mind a drink,” said Mungo.
“Why didn’t you help yourselves?”
“Brrr…nothing,” said Mungo.
Alex went to the kitchen and made eleven lemon squashes. He went back to the living room and handed one to each disciple. Parsons spilt his.
“Right Wilf, Wilf, Graham, Adrian, John, The Mulligans, Ray-mond etc. We need to pack as we are going to Oxford tomorrow.”
The disciples got very excited, randomly jumping up and down. Alex dropped the bombshell, “And then we are going to the moon,” silence.
Adrian broke the silence, “Alright! Where?”
“The moon.”
“You mean in the sky?”
“Yes.”
“How will we get there?” asked Mungo.
“Will we be able to eat space food?” asked the Mulligans.
“I expect so. Now you need to pack…”
“Space sausages?”
“Yes if you want. Now go and pack…”
“Space cheese?”
“What is space cheese?”
“Er..it is cheese for astronauts that floats around in zero gravity.”
“Whaaat happens when we go to the toilet?” asked Honest John.
“What?” asked Alex.
“In de space ship oi mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“Won’t it all float around? Like the cheese?”
“Listen don’t worry about the details, just pack.”
“Will we have space bread? And, if so, how will the space cheese stay on the space bread?”
“I expect some space butter will stick it on.”
“Will we have space plates?” asked the Mulligans.
“Why would you need them?” asked Ray-mond sarcastically.
“If oi’ve had one too many and I’m sick, what happens to the sick?”
Twenty one minutes later: “…yes, we’ll have space chairs, but they will be the same as normal chairs. Yes, space toothpaste will be needed as, no, space food won’t float away from your teeth. No, space stamps won’t be necessary since we won’t be away long enough to send space postcards. OK is that everything covered? Yes? OK so please pack and I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Seven space time?”
Book of Scoring the Disciples, Chapter 1 Verse 1
And they realised that X would be a 14th disciple. Tim spoke unto Roy from his heart, “Roy though has asked for thirteen, yet I find many people could be classified as disciples. What should I do? And Roy said “I DOUBT ANYONE WILL NOTICE OR CARE, BUT WHAT YOU MUST DO IS SCORE THE DISCIPLES AND DETERMINE WHICH THIRTEEN ARE MOST WORTHY.” Tim pondered this knowing Roy’s word was right, yet thinking how could he score the disciples specialness and could he, one man, possibly do such a task alone? And Tim sattath down in his bedroom pondering this for forty days and forty nights. And in those forty days and nights he did eateth many cakes.
The next morning Tim awoke with a start. His phone was ringing. He trudged downstairs to the kitchen. It was 7:38AM. He answered the phone, “Hello”.
“Tim. Dave Quill here. I’ve finished the ship.”
“But we only left about…er…18 hours ago.”
“Yes. I had one nearly completed that I’d been working on. I hadn’t been able to find it inside myself to finish it, but you gave me reason to do it.”
“Great! Can we come and look at it?”
“Yes. Come round now.”
So Tim hopped into his car, picked up Alex, returned home, got dressed and left for Cambridge. The trip to Cambridge was one of the most terrifying and eventful of their lives: much too terrifying to describe for at least another year. So when they got to Cambridge they bought themselves some ice creams as they felt they deserved them. Alex had a Big feast and Tim had a Big Feast and 800 Cornettos.
They parked in the Spaceship Department’s car park and ran into Dave Quill’s office. Quill was sitting at his anorak.
“Hello gentlemen. How was your journey?”
“It was terrifying. As soon as we left Aylesbury we saw the most…” began Alex.
“Never mind that now,” interrupted Tim, ”Where is the ship?”
“It’s in the car park.”
“We didn’t see it.”
“You probably parked in the main car park. There’s an overspill car park at the back for buses, spaceships and so on. Let’s go.”
They left Quill’s office and passed through several corridors lit by a variety of 40, 60 and 100 watt light bulbs, and they exited through a door to the outside and the overspill car park.
Before them stood a magnificent spaceship, which resembled Thunderbird 1 crossed with Thunderbird 2, whilst Thunderbird 4 watched. Alex and Tim were stunned into silence.
Tim broke the silence.”It’s magnificent. Does it fly?”
“Yes of course. And it will do over 80 mph, or 8000 in outer space.”
“Fantastic. I hate to ask, but did you spend all the budget?”
“Yes.”
“OK. Well thanks, this is fantastic. Now we need to come back with the supplies, and the other disciples.”
“What do you mean other disciples?”
“Burr nothing,” said Mungo, who wasn’t there.
“We’ll be back this afternoon.” Reassured Tim.
Excited Tim drove back to Aylesbury as fast as he could. He screeched to a halt outside his mum’s house, “Quick Alex get the disciples.” Alex ran into the house while Tim waited in the car. Alex came back with 11 disciples, “Right put the Mulligans in the boot, Mungo on the roof rack, Adrian, Parsons and Ray-mond in the back. Honest John also in the boot, and the other 5 in the boot too.” Alex quickly stowed the disciples and got back in the car, “Right Let’s go to the moon!” shouted Tim enthusiastically. Silence. Then: “Are we going to the beach?” asked a generic disciple.
“No we are going to THE MOON!”.
“Oh,” said Parsons, “Are we there yet?”
Tim drove as quickly as he could back to Oxford; while Alex threw fish to the disciples to stop them talking.
They arrived at the Spaceship Dept car park (the one out the back for buses etc) and Dave Quill was already there, pointing at the spaceship. He let out a cry of dismay, “Oh my god!” he shrieked.
“What is it Dave” asked Tim. But then he saw it. In letters over 6 inches high someone had written ‘Poof’s Spaceship’ on the spaceship’s body work. It was the second of Roy’s miracles, but a bad one, so probably not a miracle then, in fact it was the opposite of a miracle.
“We’ll have to abort the mission,” said Alex.
“No.” Tim had a defiant look in his eye, “Roy commanded us to go to the
moon, and go to the moon we will. Alex give the disciples cleaning implements. We are going to clean this spaceship!”
And Tim, Alex, Quill and the disciples set to work cleaning the obscenities from the ship. After 7 hours of scrubbing only one faint letter “p” was left.
“That’ll do won't it Tim?” asked Mungo.
“No! We need the ship to be clean. Keep scrubbing.”
Four minutes later they had finished, just as it started to rain.
“Ok. No time to spare,” said Tim. Who made him in charge? “Let’s get on board.” He climbed up the space ladder into the space ship, and Alex and Quill followed him up. Then the disciples followed, two at a time, just to get out of the rain. Hurrah, hurrah.
Tim found himself in a small corridor. At one end was a door marked “cockpit” at the other a door marked “cabin”. Alex and Quill entered the corridor too.
“Right. Quill round up the disciples and take them to the cabin. Alex come with me.”
Alex and Tim entered the cockpit. There was a large glass screen, in front of which was a control panel which consisted of a knob marked “speed” with the settings “slow” and “fast”, and three levers. There were three stools next to the panel and Alex and Tim sat on one each.
“OK lets go,” said Tim.
“But we don’t know how to fly it. Quill!” shouted Alex. Quill arrived in the cockpit.
“Yis?”
“How do we fly this ship?”
“It is simple: the knob is for speed and the levers are directions, horizontal and vertical and the larger one is the handbrake. And that’s it really.”
“OK. How do we start it?”
“Push the start button.”
“Where is it?”
Quill looked at the control panel.
“It’s missing! It should be next to the levers. I’m sorry I was finishing up late last night, and I forgot to include it.”
“So what can we do?”
“Well we can bump start it, same as a car. Put the speed on slow, and release the handbrake. We’re parked on a slope so we should start to roll down and the engine should fire.”
Tim turned the knob and released the handbrake. Slowly the ship began to roll slowly picking up speed. Suddenly the engines burst into life with a roar.
“OK now what” asked Tim.
“Best to hold on. In about 5 seconds we will automatically take off.”
“But we are pointing at the buildings. Don’t we…”
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH. The engines caught and the ship accelerated blindingly fast towards the moon. Alex and Tim fell off their stools. Quill stayed on his by gripping it quite tightly. The ship shook violently and the noise of the engines was deafening, but after a few seconds the engines quietened and the shaking stopped.