ROGER'S FABULOUS VOYAGES, PART 1, CHAPTER1. (standard:humor, 1771 words) [1/6] show all parts
Author: Danny Zil	Updated: Jun 11 2012	Views/Reads: 2821/1775	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A black science fiction comedy adventure.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

few seconds, allowing him to think he'd gotten away with it. Then it 
struck. 

“Say ‘pwomisy womisy',” it commanded. 

Roger ground his teeth and looked round the Bridge. 

“If you say ‘pwomisy womisy' I'll read the rest.” 

Roger bit his lip. 

“Come on. Just say it. It's not that difficult.” 

“Pwomisy womisy,” Roger muttered quickly. 

“Sorry. Didn't quite catch that. A bit louder please.” 

“Pwomisy womisy!” Roger yelled. “Look, get on with it!” 

“Right,” said the Computer, “where were we? Ah yes...to push back the
barriers separating man from the stars. To land on new planets and 
discover things. Really important things. Things that when I take them 
back to Earth will earn the respect of everybody...” 

It suppressed a snigger and Roger looked over at it suspiciously. 

“...especially Mr Entwhistle and Keith from the Astronomer's Society. To
be honoured because of these things I've brought back...” 

It sniggered just a little and Roger glanced sharply at it. 

“...and to be asked to give talks and lectures to all the Pilots in the
Space Fleet.” 

The Computer lost it and sniggered loudly. 

“Right stop it! Stop reading!” Roger snapped, jumping up. “I heard you
sniggering. That's it. Stop reading.” 

He stormed off huffily to a corner of the Bridge and stood with his back
to the Computer, fiddling with his nose. 

“Give talks and lectures to all the Pilots in the Space Fleet!” the
Computer said and laughed derisively. “You!” 

Roger twitched his head and ignored it. He huddled his tall, skinny
figure into his cheap, ill-fitting smoking-jacket and sought 
consolation up his left nostril. 

“Aren't you talking to me, Rog?” the Computer asked. 

“Stop calling me Rog,” the aggrieved writer said over his shoulder. 

More derisive laughter. “Rog! Rog! Rog!” 

“I see. We're in one of those moods, are we?” 

“Rogy Boy!...Rogy Pooh!...Woger!...Woger! Woger! Woger!” 

“Right! That's it! You've pushed me too far!” 

The recently rebuffed writer-cum-explorer strode determinedly over to
the main console and reached for the Computer button. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I'm going to turn you off.” 

“Go ahead. I'm tired of humiliating you anyway.” 

Roger hesitated. His finger hovered over the button. He glanced at the
large, multi-coloured panel on the Bridge wall that fronted the 
Computer. 

“Go on. Press it,” it goaded. 

“If I leave you on, will you...will you...” 

“Will I what?” 

“Will you tell me where we are?” 

The Computer considered the proposition. “Okay,” it agreed. 

Roger withdrew his finger. “Where are we then?” “Tierra del Fuego,” the
Computer answered crisply. 

“Tierra del?” 

“Fuego.” 

Roger looked puzzled. “I thought that was a chain of islands
off...off...” 

“The former South America.” 

“A chain of islands off the former South America?” 

“It is.” 

Roger's hand shot out. His finger was on the button when the Computer
played its Joker. 

“Who'll pilot the Ship if you turn me off?” it asked. 

Roger's finger retreated a millimetre. “I will.” 

“You!?” the Computer said and laughed scornfully. “You know what
happened last time you piloted.” 

“That was an accident,” Roger said quickly. “It could've happened to
anybody. How was I to know about The President's personal Ship in 
Landing Bay 7?” 

The Computer sniggered at the memory. “So go ahead. Pilot.” 

“I can,” Roger said, squaring his ‘shoulders' and straightening his
gaudy penman's attire. “I will. I'm a fully fledged Pilot. A specialist 
in my field. An experienced space-person, hand picked for this mission 
because of my knowledge of...of...of things quite a long way away 
and--” 

“Cods! They picked you because they couldn't find anybody else
dick-headed enough to go!” 

Roger flushed. “That's it!” he yelled. “I've had enough! I'm almost
nearly definitely going to--“ 

“The Forward Interceptor just exploded.” 

“Has it? Oh.” 

Roger toyed with his thinning black hair and his face creased as his
Pilot's brain, fully trained for emergencies such as this, went into 
action. 

“Send out another,” he ordered eventually. 

“Don't be fucking silly,” the Computer replied. 

Roger bit his lip. “All right, what should I do?” 

“You're the highly trained Pilot. A specialist in your field. You tell
me.” 

Roger thought a bit more. Fiddled with his nose. 

“Look,” the Computer said, sighing. “Let me sum up the situation for
you. There's something in front of us which has caused the Forward 
Interceptor to explode. Undoubtedly whatever it is, it's still heading 
towards us. Now what are your orders?” 

Roger fiddled with his nose and hair. “Could we swerve a bit to the
right?” he asked. 

The Computer laughed. “Magic! Swerve a bit to the right! I like it,
Woger baby, I like it!” 

“If you call me Woger baby--” 

“Scanner reports show a gigantic Black Cloud formation one space mile
ahead. Destroying everything in its path. Heading straight for us. 
Composition cannot be identified at the moment therefore no weapons 
effective against it.” 

Roger swallowed. The Computer remained silent. Roger swallowed some
more. The Computer pointedly ignored him. It started singing 
nonchalantly to itself. Blue Moon. 

“Blue Moon, you saw me stand--” 

“Couldn't we swerve just a little bit?” Roger pleaded. 

“Taking into consideration the as yet unknown molecular structure of the
rapidly approaching Black Cloud,” the Computer said in a suave, velvety 
voice. “Given that there's a distinct possibility that it may contain 
anti-matter which would obliterate us immediately on contact, there's 
only one thing I can suggest under the circumstances.” 

“What's that?” 

“That we fuck off sharpish, old chap!” it replied in the same suave
voice. Relief replaced fear in what passed for Roger's body. “Sounds 
great!” he gushed. “Let's go.” 

He waited expectantly for them to change course. Glancing over at the
forward observation screen, he saw the Black Cloud, jet black against 
the blue-black of space. Funny, it seemed to be getting closer. 

“Shouldn't we be turning away?” he asked intelligently. “Shan't,”
replied the Computer. 

“Shan't? What d'you mean – shan't?” 

“I'm being temperamental,” the Computer said petulantly. “Shan't!
Shan't! Shan't!” 

Roger's eyes widened as the Black Cloud on the screen drew even closer.
Fear replaced relief in what passed for his body and panic fingered his 
scrotum. 

“Come on,” he pleaded, hysteria thick as mascara in his voice. “This is
no time for stupid games.” 

“Games!” the Computer enthused. “Games, games, games! Good idea! I love
games. What can we play? I know, let's play ‘I Spy'. Me first. I spy 
with my little eye some--” 

Roger screamed. 

The Computer hesitated. “Oh alright,” it said, relenting. 

Roger breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You can go first.” 

Roger stared at it. “But I thought--” 

“You can go first. That'll teach to go breathing premature sighs of
relief,” the Computer said smugly. 

Roger glanced at the screen again. “But the Cloud!” he jabbered. “It's
getting closer! We're almost up to it!” 

“I emphatically refuse to alter the direction of this Ship until we play
‘I Spy'.” “Ispywithmylittleeyesomethingbeginningwith,” Roger rattled 
out, not taking his eyes off the screen, “beginning with ‘D'.” 

“'D',” the Computer mused. “Let's see...Delicatessen?” 

Roger swallowed. 

“Not Delicatessen, eh? Hmmhh, beginning with ‘D'? I know! Dragon!” 

“That's it!” Roger squeaked. “Dragon! You got it! Ha, ha, ha! That was
pretty clever of you. For a moment I thought you weren't going to get 
it. Well done. Can we go now?” 

“Hold on, hold on,” the Computer said suspiciously. “There's no dragon
on board this Ship.” “There is,” Roger said quickly. “It's in...it's 
in...it's in the cupboard. It's in the cupboard sleeping.” 

“Show me it.” 

The approaching Black Cloud was almost filling the forward observation
screen. Adrenaline rushed through Roger's blood stream like water 
suddenly released from a sluice. 

“It's asleep,” he insisted, shaking. 

“Roger, are you by any chance lying to me?” 

“No. Yes.” 

“In that case I feel I must inform you that the Cloud will obliterate
the Ship unless action is taken within ten seconds.” 

Without him being aware of it, Roger's mouth impersonated a goldfish's
mouth several times. 

“Nine seconds. My turn. I spy with my little eye, something beginning
with ‘T'...six seconds.” 

“Gyro Stabiliser.” 

“Close enough. Four seconds. Taking avoiding action. Strap in. Two
seconds.” 

“Aarrgghh!” 

Roger was thrown across the Bridge as the Computer, belatedly carrying
out his order, swerved the Ship quite a big bit to the right. 


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