Heroes - Part 2

The fossilised remains of Emperor Clunk the One’th of universe 1(2) are missing seven sacred testicles. Two have turned up in the Beaudesert township of universe 236(237) but the others are still not accounted for. An alliance of the 12 most advanced universes have formed a task force of remarkable beings who have been charged with recovering the sacred items. These special agents intend to enter 236(237) via a dimensional instability generated by a Jimboomba shopping centre ATM machine. But first, they must sort out their tactics at a special operations meeting. Alliance Agent Windy Woman from universe 4(5) is chairing the meeting.

(The meeting room is a vast dome filled with gasses and volatile liquids that could strip a normal being to whatever kind of structure they call their skeleton. But the occupants are not normal beings. They sit patiently waiting for the dimensional paradox software to complete the link between their respective universes allowing them to communicate in a common real-time. [This is particularly important for communicating with Boulders that would otherwise just be something to sit on.] There is an electronic ‘bong’ followed by a ‘bing’ and the link is complete.)

Windy Woman: Welcome and Parsnips to you all. I am Windy Woman and I will be leading this task force. I (oh, I do beg your pardon) will begin by explaining the basics of our operation. In order that we can be free to search the prime target area in universe 236(237) for the missing artefacts, we will need suitable undercover identities. These identities must enable us to move freely in the target area and be exempt from any responsibilities that may limit our actions. (Oops, sorry about that.) The Alliance has chosen a minor group of officials from the Bogan region of 236(237). This group is a local government council with limited authority and very few duties therefore they will suit our requirements as a cover group perfectly. It has been arranged for this group to be abducted and incarcerated for as long as we need them to be. A time displacement zone is to be set up near the dimensional instability in Jimboomba. Into this zone, (Phew, that was wicked) a prison camp from a similar time segment will be temporarily linked to a location near Jimboomba. This will re-create a prison camp hidden in plain sight. To those in Bogan’s contemporary time segment the camp will be in an impossible position and, therefore, will not exist. In the meantime, we will replace the imprisoned group and the briefing paper in front of you indicates which particular councillor you will individually replace. We will quickly despatch the councillors’ duties and then get on with finding the missing gonads. Any questions?

Elastic Lass: Yes, what the hell have you been eating?

Windy Woman: I did have a couple of rounds of Barked Beams on Toazd with a little bit of Cabbage Surprise but nothing else. Look, it’s part of my physiology - not a thing I can do about it. My home world is a chaotic tumult of hurricanes and we survive by adapting our bodies to stream in the wind like windsocks. The gales pass through us like gas through a ramjet and it doesn’t help when our atmosphere is methane based either. So, live with it. For now, I think it would be an idea if we go around the table and each of you introduce yourself to the others, describe your special gifts and let us know who, on the Bogan Council, you have been briefed to replace. Starting with you, Elastic Lass.

Elastic Lass: I can change size at will which is jolly useful if I see a lovely little party dress that’s a size too small for me. I can also reach things on the top shelves in the supermarket. I don’t actually replace anyone on the council because I have been in situ for a few years now and it was me that found the first two knackers. This, of course, begs the question - ‘Why am I not chairing this bloody meeting?’

Super Chook: I will replace Sean Bean and my special skill is my fowl mouth. This is used to intimidate others, I can also lay exploding eggs, and if you ever have one of those bastards stuck up your birth canal, you’ll understand the fowl mouth thing.

Blob the Boulder: I’ll take the place of Madigan Axeman and I can get cooperation from anyone by leaning on them. I am also able to out wait anyone in the 236(237) universes, so if any of you hate queuing up for test match tickets – I’m your man.

Mighty Mouse: Ann Appuladay will have to make room for me. I can search the most miniscule crevice. It has been said that I can crawl up the arse of a swimming duck without sinking it.

Cyclotron: I can ride a tricycle faster than light. I have just got myself a new, very expensive machine that has a little titanium bell and training wheels made from carbon fibre. I will replace Lizzie Borden.

Bogie Man: I have all the power of an express train and I replace Roscoe Lunchpack. I can also do many of the things while standing in the station that others cannot do.

Green Garbo: I replace Grimy Hobo and my speciality is rubbish disposal. I am a trained assassin.

Bishopric: I can make people believe anything except Channel 7 News, nobody can do that. I take over from Luke Skypilot.

The Mafia Hatman: Like Green Garbo, I am a trained killer. I kill by ramming my hat over the victim’s head and suffocating them. I replace Phil Shidehawk.

Action Man: I can disguise myself as a little plastic doll without genitals. During the operation, I can provide a genuine excuse for the search for testicles. I come with many plastic accessories, which is unnatural, but given my physical limitations, my only option. I will substitute for Dicky Mower.

Invisible Woman: I replace Winnie Quark.

Action Man: Who said that?

Invisible Woman: I did.

Action Man: Did you just say something?

Windy Woman: No, I didn’t say anything. Did you say something?

Elastic Lass: I didn’t say a word; it must have been Super Chook.

Super Chook: Not me. Must have been some other cunt.

MEANWHILE. JOHANNA STREET, JIMBOOMBA

(A series of time displacement cannons have been set up around the perimeter of a kindergarten near Jimboomba. This area is due to contain the prison camp, Stalag Luft Funf, which is even now being shifted hour-by-hour, month-by-month and year-by-year away from its position in the eastern Germany of 1943. The camp is due to consolidate at Johanna Street in fifty-four minutes. The kindergarten will continue to exist and operate normally and the Stalag Luft Funf overlay will be invisible to any except those processed through a specially adapted dimensional perception anomaly.)

MEANWHILE AT THE BOGAN COUNCIL OFFICES.

(A man in a dark suit interrupts a full council meeting.)

Dark Suit: Forgive me, your Mayorfullness, but the State Premier requires your presence at a special function in Jimboomba. It is very urgent, so if you and the rest of the councillors can move to the car park we can board the specially chartered luxury bus waiting to take you to the function.

Mayor Porker: How dare you interrupt a council meeting in this way! We are dealing with important local business and the interests of our residents comes before those of any State bureaucracy I can assure you.

Councillors: Hear, hear. You tell ‘em Primmy. Good on ya Porky – get stuck into the bastards.

Dark Suit: There is champagne on the bus and national press photographers will be at the function. TV cameras as well.

Mayor Porker: National Press?

Sean Bean: TV?

Winnie Quark: Champagne?

(There is a mad scramble as the councillors rush the door. There are protests from the public gallery.)

Lin Emhall: What about the interest of the residents?

Bistro Waiters: What do I tell our readers about the important local business?

Mayor Porker: Oh …. Um … tell them that State business can seriously affect us all and we need to be represented.

Sean Bean: Yeah, and if that doesn’t work, tell ‘em to fuck off! Wahay! TV and shampoo. Let me at it!


LATER, ON THE BUS AS IT NEARS JIMBOOMBA.

(The councillors are three parts pissed. They are plastering themselves with make up and fiddling with their hair. Even the female councillors join in the general prinking and preening.)

Sean Bean: Do you think I should gel my hair, you know, make it stand up all wild and that?

Dicky Mower: You used to do that before. It looked like you just pulled your head out of your arse.

Sean Bean: Fuck you, Mower.

Dicky Mower: You wish.

Winnie Quark: Any more of that champagne?

Dicky Mower: Who said that?

Mayor Porker: Shut up you lot. We’ve just got to Johanna Street. What’s this? I don’t remember a tunnel being here. What are all those lights? ……. Jeeeeeeeeesus!!!!

(Suddenly the luxury bus is no more. They are in a stinking, rattling, box-like truck. It shudders to a halt and the doors are wrenched open. Burly, grey uniformed men leap into the truck and begin herding the councillors out. There are screams of rage and fear. It is bitingly cold and raining. Mower begins to shout and struggle but is felled by a rifle butt to the face that breaks his cheekbone. Everyone hears the crack and Mower’s scream of agony as another of the thugs grinds his boot into Mower’s ruined face. The councillors are dragged, shoved, pummelled into a line. They are quivering – terrified. Another uniformed figure struts before them. He speaks.)

Grey Man: Gooten Morgan mine friends. Mine naben ist Ober-ointment Otto Pishfeeler unt you are mine prisoners. Welcomen to Stulag Luft Funf. If you try for escapunt, you will be shottunt. Heil Hitler!

(Christ! This writing in fluent German really fucks me up, you know.)

TO BE CONTINUED.