Роберт Грант - The Quanderhorn Xperimentations

‘ Come in, Lab Busters…’ It was unmistakably Old Bulldog himself! I felt myself come to attention, even though I was sitting down.

‘Yes, sir, Prime Minister, sir.’

‘ The urgency of the situation demands I speak to you directly. Do you acknowledge my commands?’

‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’

‘ Now listen carefully: I’m making an alteration to your orders ’

Much as I ached to obey my de facto Commander-in-Chief, there was a complication. ‘Sir, your standing orders were to ignore any deviation from the mission, no matter what efforts were made to the contrary.’

‘ And now I’m changing that standing order.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Sir, I’m most terribly sorry, but I cannot disobey the standing order without your giving me the top secret termination phrase.’

‘ Yes, you’re right, I remember now. I rather cleverly devised a phrase that no one else would think to utter it in these circumstances.’

‘Understood, sir.’

‘ Very well, open your sealed envelope now.’

I nodded at the co-pilot and he dialled in the combination of the tactical security locker, and handed me the sealed envelope within.

I tore it open and scanned the code in dismay.

It read: ‘Proceed with the bombing’.

‘ Wing Commander, have you read it?’

‘Yes.’

‘ I now say to you: Proceed with the bombing. Do you understand?’

I didn’t. ‘Not entirely, sir.’ I could feel my heart pounding under my shirt.

‘ Proceed with the bombing. I couldn’t be any clearer than that, could I?’

My mouth was dry and I had difficulty speaking now. ‘Are you saying “Proceed with the bombing,” meaning I should proceed with the bombing? Or “Proceed with the bombing,” meaning “don’t proceed with the bombing”?’

‘ I’m saying “Don’t proceed with the bombing”.’

‘But, sir – that’s not the phrase.’

‘ I know it’s not the bloody phrase. The phrase is: Proceed with the bloody bombing .’

‘No, that’s not the phrase, either, sir.’

‘ All right, all right: Proceed with the bombing. Clear?’

‘I’m… sorry, sir. I’m still rather confused.’

‘ I don’t know how to make it clearer to you: Proceed with the bombing! Don’t proceed with the bombing!’

My head was spinning now. ‘Sir, we’re approaching the point of no recall. Bomber Command will automatically switch us to radio silence.’

‘ For the love of mercy, man, listen to what I’m saying: Proceed with the bombing! Proceed with the bombing! Proceed with the bombing!’

I gulped back the lump in my throat. The radio silence light above the cockpit blinked on. ‘Acknowledged. Over and out, sir.’

I wasn’t sure but I thought I caught the final faint words as the radio faded out. ‘ The idiots are proceeding with the bombing…’ But it was drowned out by the pipes striking up ‘Old Man River’.

There was no turning back now.

I had my orders and, whatever my personal reservations, I intended to carry them out.

Outprint from Gargantua, the pocket Quanderdictoscribe. Dateline: Sunday the 6th of January, 1952 02.12 hours

NEW BRIAN: We seem to have lost signal for a few moments there. To bring you up to date: we negotiated the Riddling Sphinx of the Living Flames with consummate ease, and now find ourselves in an immense, echoing, airy chamber. Clearly, this is the heart of the ziggurat. The walls are glowing with a gentle amber phosphorescence of some kind – it’s magnificent! There are fluted columns of gold and other lustrous metals I’ve never seen nor heard of, and glimmering crystals embedded in the vaulted ceiling—

NEW GEMMA: Look, Bri-Bri! Tell them about the—

NEW BRIAN: Yes, yes, I’m getting to it, darling. Please don’t interrupt.

NEW GEMMA: Sorry, darling. Do forgive me.

NEW BRIAN: (CLEARS THROAT) As I was about to say: ahead of us is a wide flight of steps. We’re mounting it now. It leads to an altar-like platform… Half a tick! The chamber’s entrance is opening again behind us…

From the journal of Brian Nylon, 6th January, 1952 – [cont’d]

Bruised, singed, half-choked and exhausted, we staggered into the welcome coolness of a rather grand corridor with an enormous carved and gilded door at the far end.

Guuuurk was still moaning. ‘Oh, the untrammelled ecstasy of answering riddles where flames shoot out of the floor every time you’re wrong!’

‘We weren’t wrong many times,’ Troy protested.

‘We were wrong all the times! We didn’t get one right !’ Guuuurk exploded. ‘Not even that one where it was obviously a penguin in a lift! Whatever possessed you to say “a skunk on a trampoline” ? My co-respondent shoes are still smouldering!’

‘Shall I stamp them out again?’

‘ No!’ Guuuurk snapped. He was right at the end of his tether. We all were.

On the bright side, at least my trouser legs were no longer glued together. On the dark side, my trouser legs had been entirely burnt off. Along with my leg hair. Not to mention, the elastic in my pants had slightly melted. Gemma had offered me a safety pin, but it wasn’t very effective in keeping them up. I had to walk with my legs ludicrously far apart in order to maintain my dignity.

As we approached them, the palatial double doors swung open grandly, bathing us in a brilliant golden glow from the chamber beyond.

A thought suddenly struck me: could it be we were actually approaching the culmination of the quest? Did we dare to hope?

We stepped through the arch into an immense, echoing cathedral-like vault, and stood blinking in the unaccustomed light.

‘Oh my goodness! We’ve made it! We’ve won!’

‘Brian…’ Gemma warned.

As my sight adjusted, I could see an immense staircase at the far end of the vault, and a group of figures just about to reach its top.

The duplicates had got here first!

‘We’ve lost!’ My face collapsed. ‘They’ve beaten us fair and square.’

‘There is no “fair and square”.’ Guuuurk shoved me aside roughly. ‘Haven’t I taught you shower anything ? If we’ve lost fair and square, then we cheat !’ And he and Troy raced off towards the prize.

I looked over to Gemma. She was following them. ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ she barked over her shoulder. ‘Pull up your knickers and run!’

Outprint from Gargantua, the pocket Quanderdictoscribe. Dateline: Sunday the 6th of January, 1952 02.16 hours

NEW GEMMA: Brian! It’s those dreadful coarse people from outside!

NEW BRIAN: They’ll never reach us in time Just two more steps, poppet…

NEW GEMMA: What’s that peculiar ethereal music? Where’s it coming from?

NEW BRIAN: Good heavens! An astonishingly bright light has just fired up right above us, illuminating an intricately carved plinth, which is rising from the floor… and displayed on top of it is—

NEW TROY: A dirty old bucket?

From the journal of Brian Nylon, 6th January, 1952 – [cont’d]

Guuuurk and Troy had reached the steps, but my splay-footed jogging had left me seriously behind Gemma, who stopped and turned to urge me onwards. ‘I think they’ve found it, whatever it is!’

‘Why are we doing this?’ I panted, ‘We’re honour-bound to enter the Obliteration Chamber.’