.....vrooooooooooooooooomshkreeeeeKERANG!!!
Cocooned as he was in the stasis field in the rear compartment of the 'car, Doyle was nevertheless shaken violently awake as the vehicle came to a juddering halt. He rubbed his eyes and groaned. What had the dumb crud done now?
Bodie twisted in his seat and grinned - somewhat shamefacedly - at his partner.
"Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep, sunshine - know how badly you need it..."
Doyle bounced an empty beercan off Bodie's head and squirmed out of the stasis field, half-sliding, half-falling into the 'car's passenger seat and managing to kick Bodie in the process. Ignoring his partner's outraged protest, Doyle peered out of the window.
The usual pre-dawn traffic snarlups spread out below them. Before them, outlined against the brightening morning clouds, a black and yellow striped hire 'car hovered uncertainly, its offside jet slightly crumpled from the force of the impact that had jolted Doyle awake.
"What the bloody 'ell did they think they were doing? This lane's s'posed to be for official 'cars only!"
Bodie shrugged. "Perhaps they're tourists...."
"Don't care what they are, they shouldn't be in our airspace. Open a channel."
Bodie obliged. The vidcam warmed up, but the other car remained quietly, obstinately blanked.
"S'pose we should be grateful they're not tryin' to make a run for it." Doyle grumbled, switching on the flashing CI5 logo on the roof of the 'car and thumbing open the mike. "Oy! You in the WasP. Switch on yer camera."
Static swirled across the small screen for a moment, then a face appeared. It was a pretty shade of blue-green, had three eyes, and a pair of antennae sprouting from the delicate bony whorls of its forehead. It would probably have been an attractive face - to another Fnig'hickian.
Doyle cut the mike for a moment and sighed, glancing sideways at his partner. "Great. That's all we need... How's yer 'Hick these days?"
"'Bout as fluent as yours. Let hope he speaks Terran."
"Most of 'em do..." Doyle frowned at Bodie. "Whose turn is it?"
"Yours."
"How come it's always my turn?" As Bodie opened his mouth to answer, Doyle shook his head. "OK, OK, I don't wanna hear it. You check out who it is and whether he's important. I'll do the talking. Again." Bodie tapped the 'car's registration into their onboard computer. Doyle flicked the mike back on.
"D'you know you're in a restricted lane, esteemed fellow-sentient?"
The Fnig'hickian smiled - at least, Doyle assumed it was a smile. "Goodhellos, dearest co-friend, and top of the morning to your sweetheart too. Indeedly, did not at the least realise was inbreaking of your rulerships and regalhations... So apologising am."
Doyle groaned inwardly, trying desperately to ignore Bodie, who was doubled up in the seat beside him laughing silently, and fortunately out of view of the vidcam. *I'll get you later*, Doyle promised him telepathically.
*Only if you can catch me!* Bodie replied. *And get off the 'path-link. You know it's for emergencies only!*
Doyle returned his attention to the viewscreen. The Fnig'hickian seemed to be winking its eyes one after the other at him in a complicated sequence that would no doubt have spoken volumes to another 'Hick. Doyle inconspicuously ran it through the translation program and winked back at the vidcam - which led to a flurry of winks and blinks on the part of the other being. A sudden feeling of foreboding came over Doyle... What had he just agreed to?
Bodie nudged his arm and pointed to the readout on the computer screen. The 'car had been hired to one Kitundu Ojuka, consort and current favourite of the Fnig'hickian Ambassador Hashshimm Ojuka, currently on earth negotiating a vital trade treaty. Oh great. At that moment a detailed reading of the precise meaning of the Fnig'hickian's facial language spewed from the printer. Doyle read it, his jaw dropping.
Ojuka had been inviting him to indulge in some very specific - and, for a human, impossible - intimate physical practises, prior to taking employment as something that translated as a cross between concubine, personal masseur and garden ornament... and, by winking, he had given his agreement...
Bodie was practically on the floor, his face bright red with suppressed hysterics. Doyle kicked him.
*'Elp! What do I do now?*
*Oh, I'd just lie back and enjoy it! You'll make a cute couple...*
There were times, thought Doyle to himself, that he could cheerfully throttle his partner. Bodie took pity on him and, swallowing his laughter, swung the vidcam around to face himself.
Doyle watched in amazement as, for the next three minutes, Bodie's face went through an extraordinary assortment of expressions and grimaces, culminating in the Fnig'hickian ambassador's consort apologising for the misunderstanding, graciously thanking them for their forbearance, promising to stick to the rules of the air in future, and heading off sedately on its way. Not in those words, of course, but that was the overall import. Doyle turned to Bodie, frowning suspiciously.
"And just 'ow and where did you learn to do that?"
"Interstellar SAS. Spent some time on Fnig'hick. Nothing else to do on those long cold nights, so I learned the lingo."
"You never told me."
"You never asked."
A spluttering sound from the cam distracted them. The blur on the viewscreen resolved itself into the irascible visage of Cowley.
"Ye'r late."
"Sorry sir. We got held up."
"Aye, well...." Cowley's face assumed an expression that was half-pain, half-annoyance as a variety of strange squeaks and grumbles floated up from below his desk.
"Och, dammit..." They watched as he picked up a hammer from beside the keypad and applied it vigorously to something out of their view. Familiar metallic clangs reached them faintly from the speaker. The Cow's bionic leg must be playing up again...
"Perhaps you ought to have it serviced, sir." said Bodie sweetly, knowing full well it had been due for a service a year ago but that Cowley, the miserly sod, was waiting until the very last minute to have it done. "Won't you void the warranty or something if you leave it too long?"
"I'll have no mair o' that from you, 3-7. Now, whit's ye'r ETA?"
"'Bout another half hour, sir." Doyle checked out of the window. "Better make that thirty minutes. Traffic's got worse."
"Aye, well in that case, best go straight to ye'r next assignment."
"Anything exciting, sir?"
"Babysitting. Ye'r to guard the Fnig'hickian Ambassador during the trade talks... Bodie? Is something wrong?"
"No sir." Bodie managed to get out in a strangled voice, shaking with the effort of not collapsing into hysterics again. Cowley looked unconvinced but was obviously not prepared to argue.
"Weel, if you say so. Ye'r tae make ye'r way to these co-ordinates..."
As the screen went blank, Doyle fed their route into the computer and glanced at his partner. Convulsed with laughter, Bodie was hard put to control the 'car. Doyle glared at him and slammed his hand down on the autopilot. As their flight evened out, he hissed, "Just don't say anything. To anyone. Ever..."
Bodie grinned. "What's it worth?"
"How's about me not killin' you?"
"It'll do. For now."
They sped on into the sunrise. It looked like it was going to be another wonderful day in the hallowed ranks of CI5...
© 2000 WordWrights.