Spaced Out part 4 of 7

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The morning sun rose bright and bubbly over the bay, and bathed all below in its warming splendor. One particular stream of rays, hell bent upon a bit of mischief, penetrated a small gap between the curtains that had been pulled across a large set of magnificent full length windows expressly for the purpose of keeping such errant beams out. With great delight they raced across the bedroom and, landing squarely on Bob's unconscious face, started to do a jaunty little jig atop of his eyelids as the loose drapes wafted leisurely in a gentle sea breeze. This appeared to irritate Bob somewhat, and he turned over to avoid his tormentors. Such semi-perceptive movement, however, created two very different and completely unrelated outcomes. Firstly, it disappointed the diminutive sunbeams, cutting short their fun in an instant. The infuriated photons tried in vain to get him to roll back in order to continue their game by attempting to burn themselves into the rear of his head. Even if they could singe just a few hairs they might reap success, and have more sport at his expense. The wee shafts of light soon realized though that they were much too feeble at present to raise more than a localized warmish glow, and so became sullenly resigned to waiting for Bob to eventually re-flip on his own accord.

The other result was that of slowly bringing him back from the deep slumber in which he was indulging to the realm of partial awareness. Not quite as near to here as wakefulness, this is the place we visit in those few surreal moments when we are not quite fully up and about nor while completely asleep. A sort of snoozal 'twilight zone', of whose boundaries we traverse on our way to and from the wide eyed wonder of this world, and there it was that he found himself at that peculiar instant.

As he wandered aimlessly through this strange landscape of shattered and disjointed dreams he gradually became privy to the fact that for some unfathomable reason a mean spirited prankster seemed to have snuck up behind him, placed a large clamp on his head, and was steadily tightening it. He glanced around but couldn't spy the offender anywhere. Yet the cramping continued, gaining in strength all the while, as he stumbled along searching for the way out of this odd abode. The hind part of his noggin seemed to be heating up slightly also, and back in the real world the glare-dazzlers smiled sensing their playmate's displeasure. Then, just as Bob was about to give up and sit down on an upturned milk crate that had surreally materialized out of nowhere, the Mack truck of reality roared around the corner and smacked him squarely right back into the land of the living.

One eye hesitantly opened for a second then snapped shut again, not being quite sure of what it had seen or even if it had processed the image properly. Deciding upon having another crack at it he figured that if he could somehow get his body onto its back and try both peepers at once things might become clearer, and he'd perhaps be able to make more sense of his unfamiliar surroundings. Yet as soon as the manoeuvre was completed he quickly found, much to his dismay, what a huge mistake that course of action had been. The head twister was suddenly joined by a thousand rivals, each intent on outdoing the other. Quickly giving up on the previously planned reconnaissance he tossed over onto the original side so as to help take as much of the constriction off his brain as was hopefully possible, and the sun drops danced with gleeful delight as they fairly darted across his clamishly closed eyelids. This was all far too illuminating for Bob and, in a fit of utter confusion, he sat bolt upright.

If his earlier movements on the horizontal had proven to be big enough misdemeanors, they were all to naught when compared to the scale of this latest act of spontaneous recklessness. It was as if the world had exploded in spectacular fashion. He flopped backwards, rolling into the feotal position and desperately clutched his head with both hands while emitting a stifled whimper of surrender.

He became vaguely aware through the mists of near mortal mega pain that the condition he now found himself in had something to do with the night before, and was what Earthers casually called a 'hangover'. "A hangover? That's rich!" he would later muse, once he had managed to get all his faculties in order again. The word didn't quite capture the moment, did it? A 'living death by having a herd of micro-elephants stampede trumpeting across the savannah of your mind while an extremely well muscled weight lifter bangs away at your cerebral cortex with a pair of very large hammers to a heavy metal beat and a troop of nano acrobats perform a rather tricky routine using the pit of your stomach as a trampoline' might come some way closer to properly describing this absurdly agonizing affliction.

Still, a 'hangover' was indeed what he had at that very point in time and he wasn't quite sure what to do with it, not ever having experienced one before despite being a veteran of countless nights of high volume drinking. It was pretty clear that it didn't want to be in any way to be his friend, so if he could just convince it to go away and not annoy him any further he thought that things might turn out alright and he'd be back to his usual self, a happy-go-lucky galactic camper. This was a unique position to find himself in as he had, for once, not initially intended to get quite so seriously drunk, but sadly did so anyway due to unforeseen circumstances. It was because of this, therefore, that he had neglected to take one of the pills that he routinely used to successfully avoid this very situation all those many times before.

[Story note: Back on Bob's home planet the sensation that was drolly dubbed a 'hangover' here on Earth had long been eradicated, and hence taken off the galactic medical list of preventable diseases, by some pretty nifty research into the problem with financial backing from the Commerce Guild of the Central Hub for their own obscure reasons. Its corner stone was the discovery, after much dedicated field study, that the key to avoiding the dreaded 'morning after' was not to stay drunk, as some die hard dipsomaniacs would proffer at any given chance, but rather to take the newly formulated cure before indulging in your first drink. This eliminated the pitfall of forgetting to do so when you got home, or wherever it was that you usually hung out at afterwards. Therefore, time release capsules were invented which, when swallowed, stuck harmlessly to the inner lining of the belly and began to gradually dissolve throughout the course of the night. They continued to release the antidote for a good while after the drinking had ceased, and the reveler was well and truly asleep, as an added safety precaution. Thus when the time came to arise the pill had completed its task, and no major traces of any alcohol-infused side effects could be detected. Such was the high level of inquiry involved that many varied factors were taken into account when deciding upon its strength and design, including body weight, drinking ability, and length of planned participation. A range of magic bullets was then produced in large, medium, and small sizes corresponding roughly to a big night out, an average elbow bender, and just a few quiet ones down the pub for those who still couldn't take that sort of pressure.]

The ranting that had earlier consumed him further clouded his reasoning at the time, ensuring that the current afflicting events would surely come to pass. A dead certainty really considering the serious situation at hand, and the highs of the night before were now being neatly cancelled out by the lows he was enduring under great sufferance. After a lengthy period of this painful punishment the solution to the unwanted complication presented itself at a snail's pace, and eventually he remembered his pills. Of course! A large one should do the trick nicely. A bit of over kill perhaps, but he was determined to rid himself of this short term retro-virus once and for all. 

Bob gently dropped one arm to the floor and gingerly fished around inside his jacket, which was lying in a crumpled heap next to the bed along with his other clothes, until he found the small container and slowly pulled it out. Propping excruciatingly onto one elbow, and bracing himself against the tidal wave of nausea this motion caused, he flipped open the lid, plucked out the desired symptom reliever, and popped it into his mouth. The irony of this action completely escaped him at that moment, yet it was this tiny life saver, and loads more like it, that had led him to be placed in this predicament in the first place. Interestingly, at least for those who might perversely find it so, by undertaking this course of action he was unknowingly joining with millions of Earthers who were enduring the same time honored tradition of self-inflicted suffering along the rack and ruined road to recovery, and vowing, with tongues firmly in cheeks, the infamous and hugely overused utterance of “Never again!”

[Story note: One of the problems encountered with modern scientific exploration is that of hidden side effects. These can sometimes be a consequence of the process and, as such, are completely unintentional. However, very occasionally, they are the product of deliberately well meant, though ultimately fatally flawed, analysis. Bob's present dilemma was the end result of the latter approach. Put simply, the extremely clued up 'hangover cure' boffins just would not sit back and rest on their well earned laurels, as they found them rather spiky and not at all the sort of things that respected scientists would be seen dead sitting on in the first place. Having already come up with the award winning intoxi-alleviant they decided to push it to the limit and go for broke. The innocent enough reasoning behind this came from constantly hearing boozers 'complain' that they couldn't account for what they had gotten up to the night before, and so took them quite literally at their word. Indeed, the individual members of the team weren't always able to readily access the full data that they had collected previously either and ergo wholeheartedly agreed. Thus a gap still existed, a void had exposed itself for the filling, and an answer needed to be found to correct this oversight. Future glory beckoned! Unfortunately, the fact that they had totally failed to grasp the concept of selected amnesia, as being a subconscious response of the mind to avoid taking responsibility for undesired actions committed whilst not in full control of one's faculties, had totally escaped their notice, and did not even remotely look like threatening to bother the logic lobes of their over exercised brains. The immediate reaction, as usual, was deceptively simple and swift. They merely added a memory restorer to the cure and then stood around the lab slapping each other on the back, feeling pleased as punch with themselves. Just think of all the research grants that would surely come flowing their way now! However, all did not go nearly as well as was expected when the new 'improved' pills hit the space bars. The recollection retrieval part stripped away the last bastion of defence from chronic over-indulgers, causing them to confront the harsh reality of their drunken deeds, and they were forced to start looking for other excuses pronto! This they didn't like one little bit, and so the initial hugely fantastic sales faltered and crashed accordingly. Oh well, back to the old drawing board! A fresh rerun of the original formulation, minus the added conscience pricker, was quickly released, and sold like very tasty and addictive hot cakes. Everyone could go back to their old habits and get wasted once more, quite safe in the knowledge that they wouldn't be able to recount a thing the next day ever again. They were all in the same blurry booze boat, the 'G.S.S. UNRECALLABLE', with not a neuronal ice berg in sight to spoil their party. All this, of course, was of little consolation to Bob who still owed the I.G.B. for the rather large batch of enhanced type merchandise that he had bought for further resale, with a loan of its credit, and then later abandoned once he was unable to off load the majority that he had left over when the bottom suddenly fell out of the market. It sat silently in a warehouse on the capital planet, blissfully ignorant of its place in the scheme of things, and continued to wrack up massive storage fees. Even the bank wasn't at all interested in repossessing it, since by this stage it had become less than worthless.  This was one 'get rich hyper fast' plan that had surely backfired on him. With the malicious money lender unwilling to extend him any further leniency on the subject of repayment he hot footed it with Zed, finally ending up in the very bed that he now found himself.]

Fortunately, some kind soul had left a glass of water on the bedside table, for Bob soon found that his mouth was as dry as a dead dingo's donger and tasted like the bottom of an incontinent cocky's cage. The capsule had stuck to his tongue and refused to budge. Reaching out, his hand wrapped around the crystalline container. Dislodging and washing the stubborn troublemaker down in one long gulp he tossed the pill box onto his jacket and flopped back, allowing the remedy leave to do its thing over the next few harrowing moments and quietly cursed himself for such a visible lack of foresight in failing to take the crucial panacea the night before. However, it was only after reclining fully, and feeling the water slosh around in the uppermost of his dual stomachs, that he realized drinking the whole lot was just the latest in a long line of enormous blunders. This caused him to swear again. Queasiness surfed over him in one huge wipe-out, and it took all his guile to keep the contents exactly down where they belonged. It was the longest and most horrible half hour that he had ever sustained, fighting his body on two fronts and with a third periodically threatening to erupt for good measure. Yet all fine things must eventually come to pass. The massive throbbing and total feeling of debilitation that had lashed him so badly finally vacated his wracked body, having imparted a very timely lesson in their wake.
The transformation was truly amazing. Bob leapt out of bed and looked around in the dimness for clues as to where the Pleiades he could possibly be, and how he might have gotten there in the first place. Even in the gloom it was apparent that this room was tastefully decorated, with a feminine theme running throughout. Patches of the past evening started to trickle back through his mind as the second stage of the cure-all set to work, though not having enough effect as yet for placing them into any chronological perspective. At a loss of what to do next he wandered over to the curtains and tentatively pulled them open while awaiting for his recurrence to put in a properly ordered appearance, painfully adjusting his eyes to the sudden blinding brightness as the little sunbeams and around a gazillion of their mates joyously rushed to jam pack themselves into the back of his retinas. Once focused, the scene before him coaxed a soft whistle through his lips. The house he was in overlooked a small bay that joined a large and busy harbour, its immaculately kempt gardens gently sloping down to the water's edge where a short wooden jetty stood cuddling an expensive looking midnight blue speedboat (rumours regarding the relationship between the pair appearing to ring true). The grounds were vast, and large bushy trees blocked out any signs of the other buildings that resided nearby. This was serious money. He stood there for a good while admiring the view, watching various nautical traffic plying the placid waterways. So totally engrossed was he in the panorama set before him that he failed to hear the door open softly on the other side of the room.
A woman stood quietly within its frame, also appreciating the spectacle before her. "Clearly, clothes doesn't always maketh the man!" was her singularly silent observation. After a short while she coolly cleared her throat. "Ahurrughm". Bob spun around at the intruding sound, his nerves still jangling from the ordeal that they had torturously been put through. Instantly he realized that he was completely naked, as if in one of those dreams where everyone else is fully clothed and are pointing snickeringly at you standing there in all your birthday suited glory. However this was no fantasy, as far as he could tell anyway, and, self-conscious of this rather bare fact, shot his hands down to cover the source of his embarrassment. "Aw, don't be shy", she teased with smiling eyes, "It's not like I haven't seen it all before, and, I must say, I'm impressed!" Bob struggled to reply but the turmoil in his mind only allowed snatches of the most basic vocabulary to escape.
"Huh?"
"Why, who do you think it was that helped relieve you of those burdensome clothes last night?" she asked with a tinkle in her voice.
"Y, y, you?" was all he could stammer as he sheepishly transferred weight from one foot to the other, and back again. A thousand possible scenarios flashed through his mind as the confusion stepped itself up another notch. He struggled with this strange development, discarding as many as he possibly could while trying to piece together anything that might help grab a handle on the said previous events. At the back of his head his ego smirked, while all else raged in utter bedlam. Who was this person? It sure must have been some party! Finally, finding himself at a loss for words, which was totally out of character (especially after all the ones he had bandied about only a few short hours before), he grinned at her rather apologetically, having at least regained the use of his facial expressions by this time. For her part she didn't miss a beat, and giggled as she noticed the reddening of his blush. "I find that the average bloke is quite enjoyable enough, if directed properly", she continued, gyrating seductively towards him. "Not that there's anything the least bit common about you", she further flirted. While she had him at such a disadvantage she was going to milk it for all it was deliciously worth. This caused Bob to back away rapidly, so much so that he slammed hard up against the windows causing them to shake violently in their frames. However, they were no where near as rattled as he was when his buttocks simultaneously came into contact with the finely wrought iron handle set pointedly outwards in the panel. With a yelp he shot across the room and dived over the bed, landing with a muffled thud on the floor behind it. Tears of laughter coursed down her cheeks as she grappled against her mirth to remain upright. "That's not funny!", was all she could hear coming from his hidden refuge, which only added to her now uncontrollable fits of hilarity. "I, I, I'll let you get yourself together an, an, and see you downstairs for brunch", she eventually managed to get out between bosom heaves, then turned and near waltzed out of the boudoir and down the hall. Bob lay prone on the floor as the sound of teasing giggles and soft footsteps slowly receded until they were barely audible, and desperately tried to remember her name.
He dressed quickly and, finding the stairs to the lower level, followed his nose to the kitchen where the tantalizing aroma of a frying breakfast filled the air. Along the way he rapidly became aware of just how hungry he was. Poking his head through the doorway he spied a veritable vision splendid. Standing at the stove, spatula in hand, she was busily engaged in stirring diced onion and sliced tomatoes while keeping a loose eye on the whole menagerie of toaster, jug, and another frying pan in which rashes of bacon and a clutch of eggs noisily frizzled away. "Sit down", she invited, pointing to a chair tucked under the table, after having noticed him leaning, leering, and almost drooling against the portal to gastronomical pleasure. Quite a sad sight by any means, and one that invited instant pity. Meekly he complied, and waited awkwardly for the right moment to speak where he felt that he wouldn't distract her from conducting the culinary symphony before her. Sensing his reluctance to communicate she decided to break the ice with a little small talk.

"Hope you're hungry?", she inquired, her voice raised slightly over the aurally delicious din of splattering skillet fat, rush of boiling water, and, topping it all off nicely, the popping of golden browned bread. "Starving", he broke into a wide grin of expectation, and followed her cue.
"Funny", she replied, "Most of my dates don't usually feel much like eating first thing in the morning, they're more interested in trying to find the front door along a path of hollow excuses and vague promises". A touch of bitterness edged in her voice.
"Perhaps I'm a little different", he smirked, half innocently.
"I'll say", she turned and winked at him, at once putting the crimson back in his cheeks. "You probably don't know a lot about last night, but you were out of this world!" she laughed wickedly.
"You might be right on both points", he agreed, guiltily glancing away to avoid eye contact, having mentally retrieved fair splotches of his evening out, though still not in any particular order as yet.
"I'll bet you can't even remember my name", she playfully challenged.
"Of course I do", he protested with fake indignation, all the while stalling for time. "It's, ah, er?" Suddenly, and most fortuitously for Bob, somewhere deep inside his pickled brain two storage carriers had a chance encounter and generated the all important bit of information. A single word flashed up onto his temporal viewfinder and he grabbed at it with relief. He made a jest at not being able to prove her wrong after all. Then just as she was about to triumphantly shout "Ah-ha!" he added "Lisa!"

Her smile fell away, being replaced quick time with mild annoyance at losing the game. This in turn was shoved over by a look of begrudging admiration, since retaining her moniker the next day was something else her string of beaus usually couldn't manage to do all that well either. This bloke was certainly some strange fish, and may yet prove to be the catch of the week. Were she to know the full truth there and then she might have been tempted to throw him back again. Still, live and learn! 



CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sitting down opposite Bob after having placed the feast between them, Lisa decided to smooth over the uncomfortable gaps that had potholed their partially stilted conversation. "So, you're from outer space? What's it like?"
Bob spluttered. "Wha, wha, what makes you say that?", he asked, shocked that she might have some inkling of the truth, and rapidly searched his recovering brain for any trace of what he may have told her regarding his extra-terrestialness during his alcoholic daze the night before. It was all still quite a messy blur, with sentences and pictograms lying around whilly nilly and jumbled all over the place. In the end he realized that there was no other way out of it. He’d simply have to resort to denial, and he wasn’t just thinking about that river in Egypt. However, before he could put his plan into effect she ploughed on. "You told everyone at the pub. Then you complained loud and bitterly that someone had pinched your spaceship to those who were still near enough and cared to listen to you." Embarrassment hit him in the side of the head for a six, and he groaned silently inwards. Well then, no use trying to keep the pretence up any longer. The feline was well and truly out of its cloth carry-all, and was bolting home right that instant for some kippers and a good lie down in the sun.

"Is it true?" she continued her line of enquiry, as much to provide small talk as for any deeper reason.
"Yes, unfortunately it is", he coyly admitted in a faked off-handed fashion, more for the awful mistake of revealing himself so freely than for the actual fact of the matter.
"Really?" she persisted in the probing, and her skepticism started to poke its head through the timbre of her voice. Bob picked up on this and took some umbrage at her semi-mocking undertones. He didn't mind so much when he was flatly lying but, by Andromeda, this time he happened to be telling the truth! "There's a bit more to the story", he added huffily in an almost conspiratorial whisper, as if there was a chance that anyone lurking about might perhaps overhear the next part of the conversation and think it all just a tad screwy.  "Really? Do tell," she echoed, her inflection daring him to go on with his fascinating story. There wouldn't be a shred of fact to it, of course, but as a more unusual pickup line this one was priceless. Rarely were such come-ons delivered with this level of conviction, and certainly never continued after the conquest into the next day. Man, this guy was good. She waited with baited breath for his next installment of the unfolding ‘Star Wars' type tale.

"Yes, I think someone might be after me", he half fibbed, knowing full well that he was indeed being sought after and, more to the point, who was doing the seeking. No doubt about it in the least. He continued, digging deeper the verbal hole he found himself standing in.  "I'll have to keep my head down for a while till I can get a lift back to the mother ship". He had hoped that the usage of this terminology, gleamed from watching endless reruns of 1950's Earth sci-fi movies on the Mega Spatial movie channel while in stasis, would win her over. Sadly, it didn't. She stifled a sudden involuntary guffaw before realizing that he was serious, and slowly moved her chair back while trying to appear unconcerned. Questions flooded her mind. Was this guy the full quid? Did he really believe his own cock and bull story? And, most importantly, how could she get rid of him without causing a scene to develop that may turn ugly? Bob noticed this and rapidly rose to placate her newly acquired concerns, inadvertently heightening them even further in the process. “Oh no, it’s okay. I'm not mad, nor am I dangerous. I'm just stuck, that's all, and I don't want to involve you in any of this so I'll let myself out. Thanks for the breakfast, and," he smirked, "a wonderful night".

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and made moves to leave. All she could do was put a hand out, imploring him to hang on a minute. Her mind flashed back to the previous evening and as it speedily unfolded she took stock of everything that had happened, in all its graphic and glorious detail. Bugger, wasn't it always the way? She had finally found someone half decent and he turns out to be a possible nutter. Yes, sure, the sex was unreal (she had to admit it was the best that she had ever experienced), and, yes again, he had caused only minor annoyance at times in his inebriated state. He certainly was a little strange, that much was true, but what man she had ever known wasn't in one way or another? A trifle expensive perhaps, after his meager amount of moolah had run out and then bludging on her by claiming that he had left his wallet in his space ship. That joke was endearing at first, until continued repetition effectively tarnished its punch line towards the end. Still, money ran like very athletic water in her family so she never felt inconvenienced at all in that department. He was undeniably funny, and she hadn't laughed so much in ages, especially at another person. Then finally, he turned out to be a pretty good, if innovated, dancer, again keeping in character by claiming that he had studied film clips of all the Earth's dance crazes from watching what he called 'Mega something tv.' Indeed, he held a vast repertoire and proceeded to run through them all on the floor. Quite understandably everyone had cleared to the edges to give him room, and she was dragged on to become his half willing-half reluctant partner. However, the alcohol in her system rapidly came to the rescue and helped to blunt her shyness. She soon found that the crowd clapping and cheering gave her a warm and fuzzy feeling, even if most of their adoration was for him. In short, a quick tally of the proceeding attributes fell firmly in his favor and showed that she had never had such a good time before in her fairly short life. She decided there and then that she wanted more of it before they eventually parted company.

"Wait!" she blurted out, "You don't have to go. Stay a while, please".
"I'm sorry but I have to, they're sure to track me down here if I don't keep on the move. You'll be in grave danger!" Okay, the paranoia would have to be worked on a tad, but she felt that it was a small price to pay for such future pleasure. 
"And you aren't?" Lisa retorted.
"I can handle it. I've had a fair bit of practice dodging them in the past. Besides, they want me alive". Bob's hurried explanation seemed not to be the least bit reassuring.
"By the way", she tried to appear calm and in control, despite her growing frustration, "just a minor point, but who's the 'they' that you're so worried about?"
"Debt collectors".
"Debt collectors?"
"Yeah, from the I.G.B. I, er, owe them a swad of dosh, and they're keen to see me give it back".
"Ahhh!" she soothed, deciding to let all inquiry as to what 'I.G.B.' might be to slide and just go with the flow for the moment. In the back of her mind was the niggling feeling that she might be getting set up for a big time scam, and it started to worry her. He wouldn't have been the first to try it.

"It's alright. You've got me already. You can drop the act". She looked into his eyes, and for a brief moment saw a glimmer in them that convinced her that he really believed what he was saying was true. At that same instant an explosion was heard coming from the direction of the front gate, down her long drive way. Obviously the act had no intention of allowing itself to be let go anytime soon, and had determined to inform them all about it in no uncertain manner. Bob was the first to reach the living room windows and anxiously peered out with worry etched all over his usually placid face. "What the hell was that?" exclaimed Lisa, who wasn't far behind him.
"They're here! Quick, we've got to go!" If there were any lingering doubts that at least somebody was after him they were now permanently erased from her mind.
"Can't we hide?" she found herself beside him in a flash, clutching his waist in growing angst.
"No, they'd smell us out", he factually replied. A momentary rift in the space/time continuum opened up just long enough to allow her to do a double take.
"Smell?"
"Yeah, these are reptoid hunters from Rakad. They have the keenest nasal receptors in the outer sector, especially when it comes to live meat". She felt a wave of revulsion crash over her from that last remark, but was instantly snapped out of it by the unexpected pain of having her right arm nearly dislodged from its socket as Bob, grasping the other end, took off for the back door at a great rate of knots. "Okay, I'm coming!" she protested, pulling her hand free and rubbing at the ache in her shoulder.

They reached the rear garden just as an old dilapidated Leyland P76 rumbled up to the front entrance. "The boat!" she yelled, half breathless. In an instant they had made it along the narrow wooden pier and into her runabout, the 'Luscious Lisa', as the collectors appeared on the lawn. Kicking the engine over Lisa took the wheel while simultaneously directing Bob to unhitch the line binding craft to timber, and then gunned it out into the bay. A second later the small structure behind them seemed to self-explode in a mist of splinters, sea spray, and smoke. "What the hell was that?!!" she shrieked, repeating her earlier question of some moments back, though with much more gusto this time around.
"Probably an atom disseminator", he raised his voice over the combined noise of the motor and accompanying sonic shockwave of the blast, visibly impressed by its work. "It's just to get my attention".
"Well it certainly got mine!” she shot back as panic started to set in. "They blew up my bloody jetty!"
"It's okay", Bob hugged her to him. "They won't use it on us. Not yet anyway", he grinned, his calm demeanor and weird sense of humour seemingly way out of proportion to the level of threat that they appeared to be in at that particular juncture.
"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" she glared at him, starting to shiver from the dual effects of the cool wind and a large dose of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Meanwhile the boat traced lazy circles out in the clear blue water. Somehow she felt oddly safe when in his reassuring arms. Odd, that was, for one who had recently had had her peaceful Saturday morning interrupted with exploding gates and wharves by a couple of allegedly acutely scent receptive alien lizard men hell bent upon making their lives all that much more difficult.

After what seemed to her like an age, but was in fact only a few minutes, a nagging thought worked its way to the fore and she gave it voice. "Can they reach us out here?" Her question was answered immediately by another K-POW, this time sending a wall of salt water geyser-like up beside their small vessel and nearly swamping them on its return to the sea. "I guess so", he mused, wiping the stinging fluid from his eyes in the resigned fashion of one who constantly faces such adversity and still isn't quite sure how to properly get out of its way. Lisa was much more forthcoming in this regard.
"One of us had better grab the controls and get us the blazes out of here!" As Bob dithered further she shouted "You do it!", and pushed him across as her legs turned to jelly, forcing her to collapse into a nearby bucket seat. For some, being shot at takes a wee dollop of getting used to.

If she had been cold before, the recent drenching maliciously added several degrees to the negative side of the thermostat and, along with her mounting hysteria, caused her to lose it completely. The last of her resolve broke down into a steady stream of tears and rib wrenching sobs. Bob was torn between the desire to comfort her and the need to place as much distance between them and their chasers as possible. He settled for what he thought was a nice compromise, steering with one hand while patting her on the closest shoulder with the other in a sort of 'there, there' fashion. Later on he could give her all the proper consoling that she would require. He deftly plied a course up harbour and under the famous old 'coat hanger' bridge. Meanwhile, back on terra firma all the attackers could do was jump up and down in anger, and glare alternately between their rapidly receding prey and each other. Another lucky escape for Bob, but how much longer could he keep it up? Each passing hour shortened the odds uncomfortably.


CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The taxi ride from the Darling Harbour docks to her town residence in Glebe was a reasonably uneventful, though tense, affair, with little said between them along the way. Sitting in the backseat they exchanged meaningful glances while Bob stole the occasional one out the rear to ensure that they weren't being followed, mindful at the same time not to attract the cabbie's attention to his activities. They kissed and fondled like love struck teenagers for most of the trip, partly as a cover for the driver's benefit though mainly because they really were becoming attracted to each other. This time there was no need for intoxicating fluids as shared mortal danger filled that void rather nicely.

Eventually arriving at their destination Lisa paid the fare, and they hurried up the front stairs as their ride disappeared down the street. She effortlessly fished out a set of keys and manipulated the lock, swinging the heavy door inwards. They almost fell inside in their haste and Bob went straight to the lounge room windows to observe the newly deserted roadway from behind a set of plush floral curtains, while she deactivated the burglar alarm. Joining him at the glazed casements she enquired, as casually as she dared, "What do we do now?"
"Well", he ventured while seeming to be deep in thought, although by now she had known him just long enough to realize that this was simply a ruse, a way of buying time when in search of an answer, since he appeared incapable of ever being in any such thing. "I guess I need to contact Zed and get him to come pick us up."
"Us?” she gasped, completely disregarding who or what Zed might be for the moment. Things were now getting well out of hand and she was starting to feel that she probably could do without this much mayhem in her life after all. She quite liked her lifestyle and property just the way they were and didn't care for any undue complications messing them up. It was time to cut and run, irrespective of how many thrills he had brought her lately. "What us?"
"Us, you and me, us!" Bob discarded his laid back air and stared her straight in the eyes, grabbing her upper arms for added effect so as to make a point of the seriousness of their situation. "You can't stay here now. They'll have surely picked up your scent as well, and there's no guessing what they might do because of me. I’m really sorry about all of this." His blatant honesty however was no match for what was to come, and went swiftly down early in the first round.

"You're sorry?” she exploded in a rage most unbecoming of her normally measured manner. "You barge into my life and turn it completely upside down with bullshit space stories, have a trigger happy goon squad from who knows where proceed to demolish my home, and then simply say you're sorry?" Her indignation bubbled to the surface and splashed forcefully against him as though he was standing on the hardened edge of a Bellitrixien blow hole.
"I did say that you can come with us", he protested in his defense, pushing his concern down inside for a moment while trying to look a little more dignified than he was actually feeling. Unfortunately she wasn't buying any of it.
"Oh, thank you very much. That makes it soooo okay then!" The sarcasm fairly dripped from her reply, yet deep down part of her desperately wanted to believe him. This created further confusing annoyance in her thought patterns, for while we may secretly yearn for the freedom to just pack up and go off on some wonderful new adventure the hardest part of changing our stolid lives is shaking off the mundaneness that we cherish and cling to like a well worn and much loved security blanket. Even Bob could sense this deepening mood swing and deftly ducked it.
"Listen. As long as you stick with me you'll be safe." He tried again to allay her mounting hysteria, though his tone sounded much weaker than he would have liked. She nearly choked out the words.
"Safe? You call getting shot at safe?"
"They were only warning blasts", he defended, with the dark hound of dejection all but nipping at his heels.
"That's just a matter of opinion", she huffed, and jabbed a hard nailed forefinger into his chest to make her point felt this time.
"Ow!" He backed off a little to avoid any further potential pain, and then continued as his optimism pushed its way to the front to try and save the day once more. "Anyway, we have to keep on the move. I think they must have a way that they can track me."
"How?” By now she didn't really want to know, yet her curiosity wasn't going to easily let this one go by unencumbered. Bob puzzled over this latest conundrum, wracked his brain to its limit, and naturally came up with nothing. He was about to reluctantly admit as much to his inquisitor when he felt a rigorous itch behind his left ear. Of course! An unintelligible sound shot forth from his lips before the language converter in his cranial implant had time to compensate with the relevant Earth translation.

[Story note: It has previously been noted that the main problem encountered with long distance intergalactic travel was that beings tended to expire well before getting very far at all, cosmically speaking, due to their limited life spans and the vast numbers of light years between most space ports. This concern was subsequently countered by a fair bit of pretty sharp figure fiddling and gauge twigging, and so the leading scientists from that particular field of research had come up with a radical and yet simple solution: Crybernation (Cryogenic Hibernation), of which the principal method employed was Icermatosis - the near freezing of the body while keeping it palpable enough to be properly revived when required. After a few precautionary and mostly successful mini test runs they duly announced that the problem had been soundly licked, and that all was 'go'. However, it was only much later on that they stumbled across the next vexing obstacle to the smooth transit of the spatial dimensions, that being one of extreme, near terminal, boredom endured over extended periods of isolation coupled with total deprivation of all mental stimulus. This meant that although the travelers bodies remained in good nick, their minds were exposed to the ravages of the passing ages. They had racked and raged against this cerebral agony, all to no avail. The end result was that the original batches of intrepid space aces had disembarked in not quite the same condition as they had left. True, they were one hundred percent alive and intact, which was a vast improvement on the earlier less successful experiments and vindicated all the brain sweat that had gone into producing such an outcome. The Yang to this Yin unfortunately was that they all, to an individual, appeared to be also one hundred percent stark raving mad. This new hurdle indeed perplexed and annoyed the uppity physio-analysts who felt that they just weren't getting an even break. Later on, when things had calmed down a bit, they called for several ladders in order to get off their moral high horses, thought long and hard (indeed a lot more than their original 'guinea pigs' were able to do), and finally came up with a revised plan along with the explicitly implied suggestion that this was the last that they cared to hear on the matter. All that was needed was the mentally inputted version of a mega supply of in-flight movies, along with surreal popcorn, daydreamt cola, and psychic ice creams thrown in for good effect. Since it would be useless to apply such a remedy from outside the braincase, as their eyes and/or other ophthalmic devices were taped shut to protect delicate membranes from any possible damage, and their ears, mouths, noses, and other sensory receptors plugged for the same reason, it was decided that the time killer would have to be internally injected. Thus the CISED, or Cranially Inserted Stasis Entertainment Device, was created. Comprising of nano chips encased in tissue taken from the wearer's own bodies to prevent immune system rejection, the units were placed inside the skull just behind the ear of choice and had a velcro-like flap of skin covering the access jack. When set in place, nerve fibers that had been grafted onto the chips grew and linked up to the corresponding encephalitic synapses allowing the operator to utilize any program by simply thinking through the channels, or choosing from an extensive menu board. The core memory was loaded with enough material personally chosen by the wayfarer to last the entire trip, with a healthy side reserve in case of delays or emergencies. A prudent safety feature involved a compulsory eight hour down time in any given twenty four hour period to ensure that the sensation of 'sleep' was still experienced. As a side bonus, CISED could also contain up to one hundred thousand individual languages and dialects depending upon the travel plans of the user, and automatically calibrated itself to mimic the majority accent of the region visited as an inbuilt defense mechanism to help star hoppers blend into the local population. They became so fantastically popular in fact that the central galactic council intervened, spying another avenue for trumped up taxation, and gave space port custom officials sole responsibility for activating the units prior to the commencement of a journey and deactivation upon disembarkation (for a small 'administrative charge', of course). Medically, this was a wise move as prolonged use of these devices when exposed to the additional environmental stimuli out of the stasis booths resulted in mental overload and neuronal fatigue, paradoxically the end result that the CISED was designed to prevent. The language chip was the only section left operational, purely for planet visits, until the owners completed their odyssey and had the whole lot erased. Some minor level of corruption naturally occurred, though rebel wearers who managed to bribe their way to continued employment of the system after journey's end were simply mistaken for burnt out galactic rock stars and suitably ignored.]
"My travel chip! It's been tampered with! They've bugged me!" Lisa felt that she really needed to sit down for this one, and promptly did so.