Роберт Грант - The Quanderhorn Xperimentations

‘No,’ Gemma insisted. ‘Pure rationality: who doesn’t get the relic gets obliterated, and it isn’t in their hands yet.’

We started up the vertiginous steps.

Guuuurk, already halfway up, yelled: ‘No! Wait! Stop! Don’t touch it!’

‘Too late!’ My doppelgänger (excuse the German!) did that annoying Robin Hood laugh again and nudged his Gemma. ‘Look at them: the Losers’ 800 yard relay! Truly pathetic. And why is the other me waddling like a platypus ?’

‘He isn’t wearing any trousers!’ she squealed, staring incredulously.

‘The man’s a downright pervert! Don’t look at him, darling.’

‘I can’t help it! His legs are smoother than mine ! He looks like Betty Grable—’

Guuuurk, almost at the top now, shrieked breathlessly: ‘Keep your filthy hands off that bucket!’

‘And what if I don’t?’ My duplicate reached out, hand teasingly hovering over the relic, but not quite touching it.

Guuuurk cried, rather desperately I thought, ‘You realise it could be dangerous!’

Guuuurk’s other shook his head. ‘That’s a scurrilous lie. As usual.’

The smile died on my other self’s face and he drew back his hand. ‘Actually, he could be right.’

Troy stepped up to the platform. ‘But it’s only a bucket!’

I still had at least twenty steps to go, and my calf muscles were cramping up like billy-o.

The other me smiled patronisingly at Troy. ‘Only a bucket? Look at the symbols running round the dais: they can only mean one thing…’

‘What’s that, Brian?’ his Gemma simpered.

Meanwhile, my Gemma had reached the others at the top and was peering intently at the inscriptions. ‘It can’t be! I’ve heard tales of it, but I never dreamt it was real .’ She straightened, her eyes wide. ‘It’s the Gaulus Tempus .’

New Gemma looked at her with faux innocence. ‘Which, translated for all us Latin duffers, means…?’

‘Oh, for pity’s sake,’ Gemma snorted, ‘you’re me ! You have a double first from Oxford!

The other Gemma smiled with a superior air. ‘There’s nothing worse than a self-important clever clogs, is there, though?’

‘Well, let me see… There’s a self-denigrating, simpering man-worshipper?’

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’

‘And I’m absolutely certain you do.’

I reached the platform, wheezing and holding up my pants. My namesake ended the incipient catfight. ‘It’s the legendary Gaulus Tempus . Literally translated: the Bucket of… Chicken.’

We all stared at him.

‘Chicken?’ I echoed.

‘Bucket of Time !’ He was suddenly sweating a little. ‘What did I say? I seem to be feeling rather peculiar—’

‘We came through all that for a bucket ?’ girly Gemma pouted. ‘Why?’

The other me seemed to have recovered somewhat. ‘You scatterbrained lovely! It’s no ordinary bucket: It holds time, and it’s bottomless.’

Troy’s duplicate frowned. ‘But if there’s no bottom, won’t the time all fall out though it?

‘Ha!’ our Troy laughed. ‘You’re so stupid!’

‘No, you are!’

‘No, you are!’

‘No, you are!’

‘No, you are!’

‘No, you are!’

‘No, you are!’

‘No, you are!’

Sensing victory, our Troy announced triumphantly: ‘No, you really really really are!’

‘I’m not.’

Troy was crestfallen. ‘He’s done it again!’ he yelped. His brow creased. ‘But he is right: if there’s no bottom, the time would fall out through it.’

My duplicate explained: ‘Not literally bottomless, Troy, figuratively barnacles.’ He blinked and shook his head to clear it. ‘ Bottomless . I’m getting a little confused.’

Both he and the ersatz Gemma were indeed looking distinctly peaky. ‘I’m feeling a bit queer myself, darling,’ she trilled, wiping her brow, ‘but at least the Gaulus Tempus is ours.’

True enough. In a moment, the Bucket would be in their hands, and it would all be over for us.

Amazingly, inspiration struck.

I turned to our Guuuurk and raised my eyebrow meaningfully. ‘Guuuurk, old chap,’ I crooned, casually, ‘this may be the time for you to show us all that delightful childhood game from your homeland…’

He looked baffled. ‘What? Pin the Tendrils on the Blubber Beast?’

‘No!’ I smiled. ‘The other game.’ I squinted with one eye and pointed to it inconspicuously. Everyone stared at me strangely for some reason.

‘What?’ Guuuurk frowned. ‘Hop Round the Snakes? 1-2-3 Stab?’

‘No!’

‘Children Skittles?’

‘No, I mean…’ and I hummed through my teeth, ‘Mnnhun clurzee urszey.’

‘ Martian Closey-eyesy ? Oh, no. Martian Closey-eyesy would be totally inappropriate at this moment.’ A thought appeared to strike him. ‘Just a minute, though – how foolish of us!’ He peered at the relic. ‘It’s the final trap! Obviously this rusty old bucket isn’t the true Gaulus Tempus at all. Clearly, it’s that splendid golden thing right over there in the other direction!’ He pointed to the far end of the chamber, and naturally we all turned to look, before we realised we’d been had!

We heard an odd clicking sound and all turned back to see Guuuurk with his hands in the air, frozen in the act of reaching for the relic.

Slowly, he stepped back, revealing his counterpart brandishing a rather fearsome-looking Ray Gun.

‘Hands up, everybody, and keep absolutely still,’ Copy-Brian warned, arms akimbo.

There was a blinding green flash and a deafening zap !

My duplicate’s recording device was blasted off his shoulder, leaving only smouldering wires and a metallic stench.

‘As your pathetic Earth “hero” says,’ the alternate Guuuurk snarled, ‘put your hands up.’ He carefully edged his way over to the bucket, keeping his weapon trained on us. ‘With this relic, the Glorious Martian Attack Force can turn the clock back to the last invasion – only this time, victory will be ours!’

‘Great plan, Martian brother!’ Guuuurk stepped forward again with seemingly genuine enthusiasm. ‘I say, is that the Blast-O-Matic E-Z Kill DeLuxe? That’s my favourite Ray Gun!’

‘Get back in line, you nauseating spuuung-deng-bankkerrtt !’

I’ve no idea what it meant, but Guuuurk visibly stiffened and stepped back immediately. [25] It means literally ‘mushroom in the sandwich’, a reference to a particularly virulent fungus which disguises itself as one of its more delicious and rather less deadly cousins. Once consumed, it immediately spores voluminously, causing its unfortunate host to expand rapidly and explode, usually before pudding is served. Besides spoiling many dinner parties, the fungus was also reputedly the method by which the legendary Empress Bazzzogg the Fairly Unpleasant secured so many successful ‘divorce’ settlements.

‘Brian – do something!’ replacement Gemma pleaded.

‘Do what, darling?’ other me replied. ‘The Martian devil’s beaten us fair and squirrel. Square!’

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Gemma surreptitiously sliding her hand towards the clasp of her duplicate’s handbag, in which there would certainly be a compact mirror…

As I made to step forward to distract the mad Martian, there was another blast and the handbag blew to bits with a shriek from substitute Gemma, and a resigned sigh from the proper one. I noticed, with some horror, that the blast had scorched her hand. I began to feel real hatred for this ignoble alien fascist.