[Cyclefrance]

(In memory of Robert Rankin – he’s not dead yet, it’s just a long time since I’ve read any of his books!)

The limousine glided to a halt outside the chosen bar. It was an interesting establishment, multi-sided architecture from the Geometric school. From one angle it seemed to have five sides yet from another you could definitely count seven. Viewed from above, however, as Plthjinx could testify, it clearly had six sides. Hence the name the locals gave this establishment: The Dead Parrot (more correctly the Polygon).

Five figures and a d-o-g emerged and entered the bar, just as a darkened-windowed Hummer throbbed slowly past.

The place was almost empty, save for the temporary barman who was polishing a few glasses - holding one up to the rather poor light, deciding there was still a speck of dirt somewhere on it (even if he couldn’t see it, there was certainly one, it was just a matter of degree of magnification) and taking to further application of his tired looking tea-towel (as that cloth is so called, he very well knew, in the merry country of England) - and a spotty looking youth who was entranced by an old–fashioned Wurlitzer Juke Box, which now sat in the corner of the bar, the corner that had been Brianna’s favourite place to relax….

Brianna approached the bar: ‘Still here then?!’ it was both a question and an exclamation.

‘Of course.’ Clodfobble carried on polishing.

‘How long exactly have you been here?’

‘Five years, seven weeks, three days, four hours and……' he stopped polishing and looked at his watch, '...twenty three minutes’

‘That’s some temporary job!’

Clodfobble had heard it all before: ‘What can I get you?’

‘Six Jagermeisters – large ones’

‘I can count only five’

‘Sheila likes a Jagermeister too. So what’s with the Wurlitzer. That wasn’t here last week.’

‘I came in Monday and there it was. I guess the brewery decided we needed something to liven the place up. Not sure the selection of records is going to achieve that mind you. There’s actually only one record. A hundred of them but all the same record. You’ve arrived when it’s stopped playing it. Fair driving me round the bend it is. Plays it automatically every five minutes, non-stop. I’ve tried pulling the plug out but it makes no difference, it keeps on playing. Must have one hell of a back-up battery is all I can say. I’ll bring your drinks over.’

Brianna joined the other four plus d-o-g at the table by the door.

‘Buster, you mentioned a lady driver in a Hummer. Did you get to see her face at all?

‘Briefly, just as the floodlight hit. Looked kind of familiar. Like someone I know or have seen somewhere, but I can’t put a name to her.’

‘I think I might be able to help there.That person, her name, it wouldn’t be Monica Lewinsky would it?’

‘That’s it, that‘s who she looks like. Monica Lewinsky. Spot on. Hey, wait a minute how did you know?’

‘I can tell you that…’ another woman’s voice. The five turned agog to look at Sheila. Surely this wasn’t to be one of those talking animals in the bar jokes….?

BusterB broke the stunned silence. ‘Err, Sheila, did you just talk?’

‘I did.’ Sheila sat at the table, paws extended looking at the surrounding people she already knew so well, making individual eye contact like all the best speakers do. ‘I’m sorry Buster. It’s all a bit complicated. I’ll try to explain as best I can. You see, I’m not a dog – quaint the way you spell the word rather than say it, I’ve always thought – in fact I’m not from this planet. If you saw me in my true form then doubtless you would find me quite repulsive. I took the identity of a dog because they seem to be so well accepted by you earth humans. And being so well accepted, I could go about my business without creating any concern…’

‘And your business is?' from Elspode

‘Your drinks, gentleman. I say Buster. When did you teach Sheila to sit like that? Amazing trick, I must say.’ Sheila wagged her tail and barked.

‘Yes, she ‘s full of surprises.’ Said Buster ‘’Put it on the tab will you?’

‘Sure!’, said Clodfobble and went back to clean his glasses (this time the ones he should have been wearing when he delivered the drinks – he might have seen and learned more if he had!)

‘Sorry about that,’ Sheila continued, ‘I’m not sure who I can trust outside of our little group just yet. My business. Yes, well it might take some explaining. A stiff drink beforehand might not go amiss.’

To a man (well, four men and one woman – Sheila declined to participate) each simultaneously raised their jug of Jagermeister and downed it in one, Then, wiping froth from their lips in unison they gazed as one again back at Sheila.

Sheila’s voice dropped an octave and became rather powerful and low: ’My name is Phtrethnog, of the race of Drarth that dwells upon the planet Snagell 3 in the constellation Kryngax. We are a cultured, hmmm… I’ll use the word… people. Our task is to preserve inter-galactic peace and harmony. This we have done for many millions of your Earth years.

‘I am here because your planet is in danger. Brianna, you are right about the lady – or rather creature – resembling, Monica Lewnisky. The earth is being invaded, or about to be invaded. That juke box is not what it seems. It is sending a homing signal to the Klarnak fleet, to the mother ship where the commander is waiting for the coded message to attack. It is not going to happen yet, but it will happen. There is still time. The Klarnak are a foul race who suffer from perpetual flatulence. They wish to take over the earth because their own planet is now uninhabitable – the smell is even too much for them. They have sent ahead scouts who have taken over the form of Monica Lewisnky. They acquire new bodies from you earth folk, but only the men. The women are of no interest to them at this time.They don’t seem to have much trouble, either. The Lewinsky approach does it you see. When it comes to body transfer you don’t need much imagination to guess what part of the body she latches her mouth to, sucking out human life and implanting that of the Klarnak.

Four men went ‘ooooooooh’, their hands moving simultaneously and protectively between their legs.

Suddenly the juke box whirred into life. And the mechanical arm stretched across the line of records, carefully selecting one about five in from the left and placing it on the turntable, which began to turn at the prescribed 45 revolutions per minute. The needle dropped to the record’s edge, a few second’s hissing and then….

The distinctive voice of David Bowie:
’Ground control to Major Tom, Ground control to Major Tom:
Take your protein pills and put your helmet on….’