ROGER'S FABULOUS VOYAGES, PART 3, CHAPTER 4. (standard:humor, 1679 words) [4/10] show all parts
Author: Danny Zil	Added: Jun 16 2012	Views/Reads: 2030/1447	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
There's trouble brewing on Klyzemadex when the Germans who live there take over the mines and force everybody to start speaking german.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

“So what'll happen now, our Valory?” Doris asked, nervously wringing her
hands round the cat's neck. 

Valory shrugged and slumped down at the table. “Ah've already contacted
Arthur Ackley, union leader, he told her. “He's comin round later.” 

“Let's go an see if there's owt about it on tv,” suggested Thropely. 

“TV?” said Roger, surprised. “I didn't think you would have had that
here.” 

“Just basic channels,” Stan told him. “News, sport an porn.” 

They all strolled through to the lounge and Doris switched on the tv. As
it happened, a news programme was on, being presented by a four-armed 
alien newscaster. 

“....said he'd like to give her one himself,” the Newscaster said and
picked up his next sheet of paper. 

“Its funny how all these aliens manage to speak english in science
fiction stories, isn't it?” Roger remarked and sniggered. 

“Shutit smartass,” the Newscaster said to him. 

Roger flushed. 

“Reports coming in,” the Newscaster went on, “suggest we might be having
trouble at pit. Sorry about the cliché. For an on the spot report, over 
to Sir Ashley Whig who is outside Klyzemadex's main mine.” 

The picture changed to a scene outside the pit. In the background,
four-armed aliens wearing cloth caps, work clothes and work boots could 
be seen walking about. They were all wearing swastika armbands. 

In the foreground was a three-quarter drunk Sir Ashley who was propped
up by a couple of the aliens. Behind him were some alien children who 
were jumping up and down and waving four-handedly at the camera. 

An alien technician strolled into the picture and handed Sir Ashley a
microphone. The aliens who were propping him up on either side stepped 
away. This was a mistake. Sir Ashley fell backwards. The aliens got him 
to his feet again. His dark brown wig was now on sideways. The aliens 
got behind him and tried to support him from the rear. This was a 
mistake. Sir Ashley fell forwards. 

The aliens got him to his feet again. He was now clutching his wig and
had dropped the microphone. He spoke into the wig but nobody could hear 
what he was saying. 

The same technician came on again, took the wig and gave him back the
microphone. Things now straightened out, this true professional 
broadcaster was ready. 

“Hi!” he shouted and waved at the camera, his bald head shining
brilliantly in the lights. “An if you're watchin, h'lo Doris ole girl!” 


In the lounge, Doris beamed and waved to him. 

Sir Ashley searched through his jacket pockets, perhaps for some notes
he had made on the current troubles at the mine but no, it was a 
half-bottle he brought out. He began strolling along a path, drinking 
from the bottle and the camera followed him. He came to a small, knee 
high wall and decided to sit on it. This was a mistake. He toasted the 
viewers with the bottle, took a swig and fell backwards over the wall. 

The two aliens who had earlier supported him rushed on screen and hauled
him up. They leaned him over the wall so he was facing the camera. 

“Sorry bout that,” Sir Ashley slurred, “spot o bother with the ole
vertical hold...anyway, seems there's some nonsense in the damn pit 
here, Germans takin over an forcin everybody t' speak their lingo or 
some ruddy crap like that. Strikes me as a bit silly when there's more 
serious matters afoot, I mean, have you ever tried to get a half-way 
decen brandy on this planet or a half-way 'ceptable burgundy?” 

He took another swig from his bottle then tossed it over his shoulder.
“Ratpiss,” he muttered, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. “Where was 
I? Oh yes, is young Valory watchin?” 

“Hallo Sir Ashley!” Valory called, waving at him from the lounge. 

“Lo Val,” Sir Ashley replied. “Be a sport an come roun an we'll do a
spot of interviewin, there's a good chap.” 

“He wants t' interview ye, lad,” said Thropely. “Best get round there.” 

Valory put on his cloth cap and rushed out. 

“Oh my, our Valory's goin t' be on television!” exclaimed a proud Doris.
And a minute later he was. On screen, a nervous Valory could be seen 
shuffling in towards Sir Ashley. He grinned and waved. 

Everybody in the lounge, including Roger, waved back. 

“Bring anythin with you?” asked Sir Ashley, lifting his hand towards his
mouth. “Spot of anythin?” 

Valory crouched down beside him. “Sorry Sir Ashley, Ah rushed out when
ye said ye wanted t' interview me.” 

Sir Ashley cursed. “Well I'm off for a drink before they close.” He
fumbled the microphone into Valory's hands. “Tell everybody what 
happened at the pit. See you later, ole boy,” he muttered and crawled 
off. 

Valory was still crouched down by the wall. He smiled again at the
camera, nervously took off his cap and clutched it to his chest. 

“Get on with it!” the Director ordered from off camera. 

“Oh, right,” said Valory. “Well whole thing started in number four
shaft.” 

“You can stand up,” the Director told him. 

“What? Oh right,” said Valory and stood up. 

The camera stayed where it was. 

“It was just gone half past one,” said Valory's knees, “an there we was
at coal face.” 

“Up camera!” the Director ordered wearily. 

As the camera shot moved upwards, the brass band rushed in behind
Valory, set up and began playing softly. 

“Well we'd just hacked out big load o coal,” Valory went on. “Real
bastard it were too. We were just havin lunch break when Germans 
appeared. Wearin pit clothes an swastika armbands they was. One o them, 
must have been leader, tells us that Germans have bought all pits on 
Klyzemadex. That they'll be runnin them from now on an anybody that 
wants t' keep workin down pit has t' learn german an wear armband.” 

Valory paused and wiped the sweat off his brow with his cap. The brass
band continued softly in the background. 

“Christ, ma blood ran cold,” Valory went on. “Before Ah knew it, aliens
in pit were startin t' say a few german words. Soon they were all at 
it. Collective madness seemed t' seize 'em. Ah froze. Didn't know what 
t' do. Hair inside ma nose was standin on end. Balls were like two 
prunes. Black puddin yoghurt tasted like dead cow's blood in mouth.” 

Valory wiped more sweat away from his brow. 

“Before Ah knew what Ah was doin Ah panicked an ran home t' comfort o
family,” he told the rapt viewers. 

“Quite right, our son,” said Doris in the lounge. “Ah always said,
discretion was the better part o Valory.” 

Thropely nodded in agreement. 

“So as tune brass band's playin is conveniently drawin t' close, Ah'll
hand ye back t' studio,” finished our man at the pit. 

Thropely got up and switched off the tv and shortly afterwards, Valory
came back into the lounge. 

“So what happens now?” a bemused Roger asked. 

“Well have t' wait for Arthur Ackley, union leader,” Valory told him. 

Thropely and Stan brought out their pipes. Doris brought out her
knitting. Roger sat wondering why he hadn't figured much in this 
chapter so far but his thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock at one 
of the French windows. Young Wilf strolled over to open it. 

A man was standing outside. Momentarily a shaft of sunlight shone on
him. It shone on his head, seemed to be absorbed into his body and left 
via his buttocks. 

“Afternoon brothers!” he announced, striding into the room. “Arthur
Ackley, union leader, as mentioned a few sentences ago!” 


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