Terry Jones: Starship Titanic

At that very moment, however, there was a terrible screech and a flash of colours as a large parrot suddenly hurtled out from the arches straight at Scraliontis. The accountant tried to beat it off, but the creature's wings kept beating at his face and its beak was tearing at his nose and the accountant scrambled back against the barrier-rail, flailing with his arms and screaming: 'Get it off! Get it off!'

And then it happened.

It was one of those ironic moments that fitted perfectly into Leovinus's current architectural style, and it gave The Journalist his first piece of hard evidence that corners had indeed been cut during the construction of the Starship Titanic.

Scraliontis had, of course, been the main instigator of the plan to reduce the construction costs of the Starship. It had become clear that the whole project could never break even - let alone go into profit. It was, in fact, heading for total enormous financial disaster. His and Brobostigon's reputations and personal fortunes were both on the line. There was only one clean, simple, rational solution - and that was to scuttle the ship, and claim the insurance.

The ship was, of course, already heavily insured, and Scraliontis made sure that those policies were beefed-up and that all moneys repayable were routed through companies owned by himself and Brobostigon. Construction costs had to be cut to the bone, and building restricted to the merely cosmetic. He had, unbeknownst to Leovinus, instructed contractors to halve and then quarter the specifications of any number of elements on board.

One of the materials that had been severely cut back was the metal employed in the barrier-rail surrounding the Great Central Well. 'After all,' Scraliontis had remarked, 'there aren't going to be any passengers to lean on it so why make it unnecessarily strong?'

The reason, he now realized, was that it might not be a passenger who leant on it; it might actually be the project accountant who, in a moment of forgetfulness, whilst under assault from a parrot, leant back against it. But the realization came too late. Scraliontis heard the feeble metal crack and next moment found himself falling backwards into the abyss.

By the time the horrified Journalist had made it to the broken rail, and looked down, Scraliontis was a tiny figure - still no more than a third of the way down the Great Central Well - turning gently in circles, waving his arms and shouting up ever more faintly: 'Bloody parrots!'

The parrot in question alighted on The Journalist's shoulder.

'Bloody accountants!' it said.

The vicious rabbits had been brought back under control. The over-excited dot police had been calmed down by their Chief, and the Yassaccan protesters lay groaning in mangled bloody heaps on the ground. It had been a totally successful exercise in crowd management. Flortin Rimanquez saluted smartly as he reported back to the Gat of Blerontis.

'Everything under control, your Magnificent Beneficence,' he said. 'You may proceed with the launch.'

'But Leovinus is still missing,' replied the Gat, who was extremely concerned that he might miss out on the great photo-opportunity of being seen arm in arm with the Greatest Genius the Galaxy Had Ever Produced. It was exactly the sort of thing his sagging poll-ratings needed, said his publicity agent. 'Whatever you do, get your photo next to Leovinus.' It was, indeed, the single most important thing on the Gat's mind throughout the whole proceedings.

'With regret, Your Ultimate Lordship,' said the Chief of Police with another sharp salute, 'the crowd down there is fifty million. They are getting extremely restive. I humbly suggest that we get this launch over and done with so my boys can start dispersing them at once -otherwise we might all be sorry.'

The Gat could see what he meant. The crowd had already closed in over the bodies of the unfortunate Yassaccan demonstrators, and he could see fights breaking out all over the launch area.

'Very well,' he sighed. 'No thank you!' he added, as the minor official offered him a 'fish-paste' sandwich.

'I'm afraid you have to, Your Magnificence, it's all part of the ceremony!' whispered the minor official hurriedly.

The Gat groaned and took the 'fish-paste' sandwich. The band struck up the Blerontin National Anthem and the crowd all stood on their heads - as they always did as a mark of respect to the monarchy.

'Sirs, madams and things,' intoned the Gat of Blerontis into the ceremonial microphone. 'This "fish-paste" sandwich is delicious!'

A cheer went up from the crowd. The Gat sighed again, it was such a pathetic ceremony, he thought. 'And now it is my privilege to launch this - the greatest Starship ever built! Fellow Blerontinians, this is a proud moment for all of us. I name this Starship... Titanic... May luck be with all who fly with her.'

And so saying, the Gat let swing the be-ribboned bottle of French champagne* so that it smashed into the bows of the ship. At the same moment, the minor official pulled a cord and the sheeting that hitherto had covered the great Starship fell to the ground in a gentle cascade of pink silk.

- - - - - -

* It may seem odd that a civilization that had never even heard of the planet Earth and certainly had no idea of its existence should use French champagne for such an occasion. The explanation is rather complicated and involves a lot of stuff about time-warps and Black Holes and an Inter-Galactic Smuggling Ring. If were you I simply wouldn't worry about it and just get on with the story.

- - - - - -

There was a gasp from the multitude. Even a people used to the sight of great Starships had never before witnessed one of such vast structure, such flawless design.

'Isn't she beautiful?' sighed countless male Starship spotters, scanning their bino-scopes over the hull for the registration number.

'Your mummy built that...' murmured countless unmarried teenage mothers to their infants.

'It's a triumph!' exclaimed the Head Reporter, suddenly remembering what his script had written down for this point.

There was a ghostly roar, as if of seas beating on a distant shore that lies beyond the horizon of thought, as hugely, magnificently, the fabulous ship eased its way forward from its construction dock. It then picked up speed, swayed a bit, wobbled a bit, veered wildly and, just as the crowd were about to scream out in disbelieving terror, it vanished. Just like that. It had undergone what was about to become famous as SMEF (Spontaneous Massive Existence Failure).

In just ten seconds, the whole, stupendous enterprise was over.

'We're going to put the bathroom here and the door over there,' said Dan.

'It's terrific,' said Nettie. 'But I thought the bathroom was going to be there and the door was going to be over here?' said Lucy.

Why did he always get it so wrong? Dan always made the effort and yet - no matter how hard he tried - the things he and Lucy had discussed only the day before entirely eluded him or came out all garbled.

'That's what I meant,' said Dan.

'It's terrific,' said Nettle. 'But, I have to tell you something...'

She was interrupted by Nigel, who was sniffing around the cellar. 'You can smell the centuries of vinous pleasure oozing from the very brickwork!' he shouted up.

'The place is only a hundred and eighty years old!' Lucy shouted back down.

'It was built as a rectory,' Dan murmured to Nettie.

'Mmm, terrific,' said Nettle. 'But, look, Dan...'

'You're not kidding!' Dan felt the enthusiasm welling up from deep inside him the way it always did when he needed it to. 'We're going to have the restaurant here, on the right as you come in - not your nouvelle cuisine but state-of-the-art Californian. And here there'll be a bar.'