ROGER'S FABULOUS VOYAGES, PART 1, CHAPTER3. (standard:humor, 1589 words) [3/6] show all parts
Author: Danny Zil	Added: Jun 08 2012	Views/Reads: 2080/1540	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Roger meets Norman Penge, Caretaker of planet Earth.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


“What?” Norman said, replacing his glasses. “Ah! So there are more of
you, eh? Trying to get in without Visas? Where did that chap go?” He 
peered round about but the shadow had gone. 

“There's nobody else,” Roger told him. “Only me.” 

“Ha! Trying to cover up for him, eh? Wait here and don't move. I think
he ran round the other side of the Ship.” 

Norman trotted off to search for the illegal illusion. The Computer
sniggered again in the background. 

“You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?” Roger said resignedly. 

“Affirmative,” said the Computer. 

“Why didn't you warn me?” 

“You wouldn't listen.” 

Just then Norman reappeared from the other side of the Ship. “Who were
you talking to?” he asked sharply. 

“The Ship's Computer,” Roger explained. 

Norman looked at him suspiciously. “Sure there aren't more of you in
there? One of you's escaped already.” 

“No, there's nobody else,” Roger said, irritated. “Look, I'm coming off
the Ship.” 

“You can't,” Norman said quickly. “You haven't got a Visa.” 

“But I live here!” Roger said indignantly, stepping off the Ship. “I
don't need a Visa.” Norman's eyes, for years dull and lifeless because 
of their owner's lowly unimportant existence, now glittered feverishly 
as they caught sight of Roger's feet on the ground. 

“So you don't have a Visa?” 

Roger shook his head. 

Norman veritably glowed. For such a moment as this with its attendant
implications he had waited almost a lifetime. He savoured the moment 
and a smile of triumph slowly spread over his face. 

“I hereby arrest you feet for being in the territory of Greater Albania
without a proper Visa!” he announced. 

Roger glanced down at the offending feet. “How can you just arrest my
feet?” he questioned. “That's silly.” Then he jumped back into the 
Ship, just to be on the safe side. “What about the rest of me?” he 
asked sarcastically. 

Norman pursed what passed for his lips at this interesting technicality.
He decided on the magnanimous approach. “Since the rest of you hasn't 
exactly touched the ground, it's free,” he announced grandiosely. 

“But this is silly!” Roger said, stamping his foot. 

“Stop stamping that foot,” Norman ordered. “It's under arrest. I'm
impounding it and the other one.” 

“It's my foot. I'll stamp it if I like,” Roger replied petulantly. 

“Go ahead,” Norman said generously, knowing he held the trump card. “But
you won't get your Visa.” 

Roger froze in mid-stamp. “Visa? You mean I could get one?” 

Norman considered this second technicality in the space of a few
minutes. Hmmm, there was a lot more to being a tyrant than people 
thought. He tapped his teeth but had forgotten they were false and 
dislodged the upper set. There followed some undignified, untyrant-like 
fumbling while he tried to right them. Not wishing to prejudice his 
possible host by witnessing his embarrassment regarding his dentures, 
Roger pretended a sudden and temporarily all-consuming interest in a 
distant  fluffy cloud. 

His teeth back in position, Norman coughed and tested them for firmness.
They held. “I suppose I could issue you with a temporary Visa,” he 
conceded. “Except for your feet. They're still under arrest and they'll 
have to be imprisoned.” He turned and began strolling away from the 
Ship. 

“But I wouldn't be able to get around without my feet,” Roger said after
him. 

Norman ignored him and strolled on. 

Then for once Roger managed to say the right thing. “I'm sure an
important chap like you could find a way round it!” he called. 

Norman halted. He glanced round about then turned back to Roger. “Are
you talking to me?” he asked, trying to disguise the hope in his voice. 


Roger nodded. 

“Sorry, I thought there was somebody else.” He eyed Roger anew and
flicked some dandruff from his moustache. “An important chap like me, 
eh?” 

Roger smiled and nodded. 

“A way round it, eh?” Norman said. He scratched the back of his head and
a clump of hair fell to the ground. “Any ideas?” 

“How about just arresting my boots?” Roger suggested. “I mean it wasn't
really my feet that touched the ground.” 

“Your boots?” Norman said and considered the idea. “That sounds okay.
Take them off and I'll imprison them then I'll get you something else 
to wear.” 

Roger quickly slipped out of his boots and handed them over. Norman
strolled off with them, disappearing into a Control Room. He reappeared 
a couple of minutes later carrying a pair of yellow slippers which had 
bright pink pompoms on them. 

“Sorry,” he said, handing them over, “they're all I could find. But I
brought your Visa as well.” 

“Thanks awfully,” Roger said, taking the Visa and pulling on the
slippers. 

“You can come off the Ship now if you want to,” Norman told him. 

Smiling, Roger stepped off. 

“Visa!” Norman demanded instantly. 

“But you just--” 

“Visa!” Norman barked. 

Roger handed it over and Norman inspected it. He took a long time
inspecting it. Eventually his eyes left the paper and travelled slowly 
up to Roger's. 

“Where did you get this Visa?” he asked coldly. 

“You just gave me it,” Roger said. 

“Me sir?” Norman said. “I've never seen you before in my life, sir.” 

“But--” 

“It's out of date, sir and it's a forgery. A bad forgery at that. You
could be in trouble here, sir. A lot of trouble.” 

Cold watery eyes stared at panicky blue ones. 

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?” 

“Serious trouble. Imprisonment for a long time kind of trouble.” 

“But you--” 

“Of course, there is a way round it, sir.” 

“A way round it? What? How?” 

“Well sir, I'd be prepared to overlook this demeanour if you stood on
one leg, flapped your arms about, spun round and sang, ‘Maybe it's 
because I'm an idiot! That I love spinning round!'” 

“Is this a joke?” Roger asked. 

“Guards!” yelled Norman. “Bring the dobermans!” 

“Maybe it's because I'm an idiot!” sang Roger, standing on one leg,
flapping his arms and spinning round, “That I love--” 

Norman burst out laughing. In the background the Computer applauded and
laughed too. Roger stopped singing. 

“It is a joke,” he deduced. 

“Always wanted to do that to somebody!” Norman confessed then was
repossessed by hysterics. 

Roger tried to remain aloof. Suddenly he remembered what his old
psychologist had taught him about how to handle situations like this – 
nothing. It didn't help. 

“You were very good,” Norman conceded, hysterics abating. “Come into the
Control Room and have some tea. Your Visa's fine.” 

He strolled off and after hesitating a bit, Roger plucked up his courage
and remained where he was. Then frightened of being reduced to a minor 
character, he pompom'd his way across the Greater Albanian soil after 
Norman. 


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