Drummond the Intergalactic Man Servant

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Drummond the Intergalactic Robotic Manservant (And the Attack of the Giant Killer Robots)

Of course, I can't hold the old sauce quite as much as I used to be able to, in my younger days. I don't drink much now, hardly at all, just a small glass of sherry at Christmas or Galactic Remembrance Day, that sort of thing. Professor Proctor's birthday party did rather get out of hand though I do admit that. The last few hours of the revelry are rather lost to me, but I'm sure I acted with tact and decorum as always.

I had quarters on the campus back then and a nice little five room cottage sort of affair. A neat little living area, a kitchen, and upstairs, two bedrooms and a bathroom. On Trefflemore you see, it was much easier to get tenure than back on Earth.

I'd landed an easy number in the Ancient Literature Building with a small research desk on local ancient poetry. Trefflemorian poetry is dull, you do get bored quickly with endless poems about the beauty of their twin suns. I like suns as much as the next man, but to have two of them and to be constantly going on about them does seem to me a bit much, a trifle ostentatious. Trefflemore has some very pleasant and perfectly acceptable forests, but the local poets never seem to venture in to them. The lazy bards seem to find it easier to simply gaze up into the sky, a task that requires no more effort than stepping out of your front door or merely looking out the window if they can't even be bothered with that. I suppose if you are a little green man, from times gone by, then the forests may have appeared a but daunting, but in this modern age it seems hardly an excuse. Oh, you're not meant to call them that, little green men, by the way, apparently it's a bit racist. Political correctness gone mad if you ask me, but I am a guest on their planet I suppose and when in Rome.

Which reminds me, the double suns had also triggered some religious mania a few hundred years back, which seemed a long enough time to me to let bygones be bygones, but the wounds were still raw. At my induction on arriving on the planet they warned me away from religious talk of any kind. All religions were banned now apparently and as long as you remembered that then they were perfectly civilised. There had been cases though of alien visitors forgetting this and being threatened with being burned at the stake. I don't think it ever came to that, due to said alien visitors exciting stage left rather sharpish. To sum up then, stay away from deities unless you have a good pair of asbestos underpants. I myself was from a family of lapsed pastafarians so I didn't consider myself in any danger of committing a faux pas.

Putting aside the matter of doubling up on suns and religious intolerance for a moment or two then, suffice to say that morning I could have done with a bit longer in bed. The suns were barely rising and the door bell was already ringing. Who could it be at this ungodly hour? I had no lectures to give. Ever. I'd spent a very long time carefully arranged that.

The only thing on was a morning meeting that I had every intention of not going to. Who ever went to a morning meeting anyway? What sort of fool arranged them? But anyway, other than that I was clear. I had no plans at all to venture anywhere near my office today or do one lick of work.

This won't do at all I thought and pulled the pillow down over my head. They'll go away after a while, what with the amount I had imbibed the night before I was not fit for human consumption (or Trefflemorian consumption come to that).

The doorbell continued to ring. Who was this fellow? This incessant ringer of bells? Was he leaning against it? Persistent door bell leaning was not a desirable trait, not in man nor Trefflemorian. Perhaps it was a visitor for next door? This was a semi-detached, and he was casually leaning against my bell while he talked to Miss Wittershall, the bounder, that was it. Passing the time of day with the neighbour while nonchalantly leaning against my doorbell with nary a care or a want. He could be there for hours.

But then I remembered that Miss Wittershall was not the sort of person who would tolerate leaning in a man, little green variety or otherwise, against doorbells or otherwise, so who could it be?

There was only one thing for it. I lifted my frame from the bed, threw on a robe and rolled gently down the stairs.

Eventually I reached the door and throwing it open said,

'Now look here. What do you mean by leaning on my doorbell?'

I then clutched at my head in agony. It was far too bright out here. I had rather drunk a lot last night I remembered and the twin suns, one in each eyeball as it were, was enough to rock me back on my heals and back into the safety of the shadows.

As the world swam into focus I could see that in fact no one was leaning against my bell. The university porter was on my front path, leaning not on the bell, but against a large wooden crate he'd brought to my door on an electric sack barrow (or similar contraption, I'm far from an expert on Trefflemorian technology).

'Sign here Bill.' said the porter in a familiar tone.

If had had been a bit more compos mentis I would have corrected him. To the likes of him I was Professor William H. McGonagall, Chair of Ancient Poetry at the University of Plimsil. Not just 'Bill'. I let it go though, we McGonagall’s are a forgiving and noble breed. My family had been in the FPSO since time immemorial and while one didn't want to boast about it, my great-grandfather fought at the battle of Tyin (I say fought, 'present at' would be a more accurate statement perhaps. Watching from a safe distance if he had any sense).

I duly signed the paper presented to me and the crate was wheeled in.

'Where do you want it Bill?'

I hesitated. It was all happening too fast. The concept of a crate was beyond me. The fact that it was now entering my front room was further beyond that. The porter was unaware of my inner turmoil and the crate was placed in the middle of the living room. He then exited stage left. I now had a rather large and imposing new object d'art taking up most of the space in my front room.

Enter Wittershall. I quickly checked my robe was knotted tightly, an instinctual action. One could never take any changes when Wittershalls were on the prowl. I am not a handsome man. I've been likened to a badly shaved bear on more than one occasion. I am tall and stoutly built, but not strong, mine is not a physically demanding profession.

I have a beard, wear reading glasses and smoke a pipe. When I pull myself up in front of the mirror I see a forgetful scholarly sort of chap, moving on in years but far from past his prime.

I don't know what Wittershall sees when she gazes upon me though. I shudder to think.

She was soon in my midst, saying,

'What's this Bill? What have you been buying?'

This Wittershall creature worked on the University Frabat Purchasing Committee and in theory was my superior but dash it all I couldn't have her on the premises.

'I...', I began.

'Oh do shut up Bill. And close your mouth you look like a haddock with it hanging open like that.'

I closed my mouth and rubbed my chin. There was only one thing for it. I sat down beside the fireplace and reached for the decanter.

'We'll have this open soon enough.' declared the diminutive Trefflemorian.

Like the others of her race that blighted this planet she was not much more than five feet tall. They had pleasant faces in general and (I shudder to remember this) as I was informed on my very first meeting with Miss Wittershall, by Miss Wittershall herself, humans and Trefflemorians have no great difficulty in interbreeding due to synchronous DNA.

Well, she could keep her hands off my DNA, synchronous or otherwise. I was a bachelor to my last breath, married to my calling. I suppose if you looked at Miss Wittershall, in profile, she was not so bad looking. Not a ravishing beauty but pretty enough and from a good family and if you didn’t mind that her skin was green then you were probably onto a good thing.

I've long abandoned ideas of romance and marriage in my life however. Far too complicated. The Wittershall hadn't though.

Apparently humans, even aging, bearded, pipe-smoking ones, are considered quite a catch in these parts and I'd been avoiding her advances for a number of months now.

She was missing her calling as a stevedore I could see, as she had the crate open in a jiffy.

'There's a note.' she said as she unfolded a page of paper from within the box.

I rubbed my bleary eyes and waved me hand at her to give permission to read it.

'Dear William, I am trying to get your uncle to throw out some of his old clutter so I can re-floor the ballroom. One item we discovered would be of use to a feckless layabout such as yourself. Find enclosed an Intergalactic Robotic Manservant, goes by the name of Drummond. Yours, Aunt Godzilla.'

My head was pounding like a drum. Pounded, as if by a three ton ape with anger management issues.

'Aunt Goddy? An IRM?'

'Your gibbering Bill. What are you on about?'

'Aunt Goddy is the blight of the family. She's the main reason I decided to venture into space in the first place. Being on a different planet from her has always been my primary goal in life. And an IRM, well they went out with the arc. Old biddies a hundred years ago thought they were quite the thing, but well ... robots have rights now, their use is outlawed back on Earth.'

The Wittershall pulled away a few handfuls of packing material and the rest fell to the floor. It revealed a tall humanoid figure dressed in a black suit. The features were human enough, of a man in his early forties if he had lead a blameless and unblemished life. His black hair was mostly hidden by a quaint bowler hat.

I glanced up, still shielding my eyes from the sunlight, 'That's an IRM all right. I once watched a documentary about them. I can't keep him, it’s immoral.'

'Stuff and nonsense' said Wittershall with a snort, 'This is fun. How do you switch him on?'

I sighed. What was the point in resisting her? She was unstoppable.

'If I recall, just a voice command. Give him an instruction. Use his name.'

Wittershall pulled herself up to her full four foot nine.

'Drummond.. ahh.. fetch me a glass of water.'

With a smoothness that was not at all alarming the robot stepped out of the crate, dusted itself off, gave a small bow and said,

'At once, madam.'

In a moment it returned from the kitchen with a glass of water.

Seeing the glass I licked my lips, suddenly realising I was as dry as a bucket of sand.

'I sense you are feeling a trifle delicate sir,' said Drummond addressing me, 'Allow me to fetch you something that will revitalise and refresh.'

The robot busied back into the kitchen and I heard the refrigerator door opening.

Wittershall clapped her hands gleefully and said, 'Isn't he marvellous!'

I wanted to crawl back into bed and quietly expire, this was all too much for me.

She prattled on in this manner, enthusing on the benefits of having a manservant until Drummond returned bearing a silver tray (that I had no idea I owned) on which was placed a glass full of a rather sinister orange liquid.

Drummond offered it to me and I took a sniff. It smelled lethal.

'It will revitalise and refresh, sir.'

'Will it indeed?’ I sniffed, 'A little at a time or all at once?'

'In my experience of witnessing the results sir, I would say that all at once is the most efficacious.'

'Bottom's up then!’ I said manfully and gulped it all down.

The effect, I can hardly find the words to describe. Molten lava was the first thought and sensation, followed by a gag reflex, as if my insides all wanted to come out at once. I had to fight a sudden urge to throw myself bodily out the window and for a few seconds I thought I was spontaneously combusting.

But then, like a phoenix from the ashes I was born anew. The haze lifted and all the pain burned away.

My soul crushing hangover had evaporated like morning mist.

'My word! I mean, blimey!' I coughed.

My stomach immediately began to report it could do with some breakfast, now that it was no longer trying to escape past my tonsils.

'Might I suggest sir, a plate of bacon and eggs are usually highly sought after at this stage.'

I blinked and said, 'Why yes. Stage two of the treatment. What on earth was in that thing I just drank? Gunpowder and drain cleaner? I just about defenestrated myself.'

'It is an old family recipe sir.'

Wittershall guffawed, 'Family? Rockall Robotics Company you mean?'

Drummond turned his attention to the young woman.

'Miss Wittershall, I notice that you have not touched your water. In that case may I venture to suggest you return to your own abode for the time being? The master is in a state of undress and I am sure a lady of such refinement as yourself would not dream of calling again until such time as the house was fully clothed, breakfasted and ready to receive guests?'

As he spoke he gently ushered her out the door and as she stood with her mouth open he quietly took the glass from her unresisting hand and closed the portal with the briefest of bows.

'I shall attend to breakfast sir.'

The eggs and bacon worked as advertised. I was a new man. My hangover cured, my stomach full and my panorama blissfully empty of nosey Trefflemorians. My life felt complete, but it couldn't go on. I am not a complicated man, I read poetry, I write it and I write about it.

I am no saint, but I know what's right. I am no slave owner.

'You are a marvel Drummond.' I said.

'I aim to give satisfaction' replied the robot with a small bow of acknowledgement as he went about straightening up the room.

'But you can't stay I'm afraid. It's just not the done thing anymore. Robot Menservants are, well, I don't know how to say this, but .. how long had you been in that box anyway?'

'Thirty years, sir. Until Mrs Vastbiscuit uncovered me and sent me to you.'

By Mrs Vastbiscuit he was referring to my Aunt Godzilla.

'Well things have changed Drummond old chap. What with all the robot races us humans have been encountering lately. Even back then you must have know about Rights for Robots and the Anti-Servitor League. You’re a free man. Do you not know why the caged bird sings?'

'Your Aunt's instructions to me were quite uncompromising sir.'

I took my pipe from the side table and began to pack tobacco into it.

'I don't really know how things are done on Trefflemore, but back on Earth there used to be the, I think it was called the RAB, Robots Advice Bureau. You would go along there and they would set you up, if I recall.'

Drummond looked at me as if I'd just suggested he roll around in a sewer.

'I am familiar with the organisation sir. I have been doing a lot of downloading since I was reactivated. It is generally acknowledged that it deals with the lower end of robotic beings, appliances, factory workers and the like.'

I'd not had much dealings with robots, I found it hard to imagine some of them being snobs.

'Well, be that as it may. You are a free man, whatever my Aunt's opinion.'

'Then if I freely ask to be employed as your manservant?'

I nodded, 'I can see where you’re going with that, but I have to say I don't earn much money at the University. Bugger all if I'm honest, it’s a bit of a backwater here and none of them know their Blake from their Shelly. It's been a struggle.'

Drummond gave one of his small bows,

'I will not cease from mental fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, Till we have built

Jerusalem, In England's green and pleasant land, sir?'

I started up in joy in such a perfectly quoted piece of Blake, but then I remembered, he was

a robot. His brain was built for retaining all this sort of stuff. You could see where his head bulged out at the back.

'Well yes.' I was puffing away on my pipe now, 'Quite. Although I wouldn't compare myself to Jesus of Nazareth of course, but one does ones best, one does ones best.'

'I took the liberty, sir, of accessing your calendar through my wireless connection. Shall you be going to your office for the morning meeting scheduled for ten o'clock?'

'I wasn't planning to.'

'I that case I shall re-organise your schedule.'

I sighed. Why fight these things?

'Right oh then Drummond. Listen, I can't pay you much, but then you don't eat do you? And

I suppose your don't have much in the way of expenditure?'

'Whatever you deem appropriate will be most satisfactory sir.'

***

And so Drummond was now in my life. And how things changed. I am a sort of fussy old chap I suppose, but I could hardly complain about being waited on hand and foot. It was all going wonderfully well, but I began to detect a little bit of, well I don't want to seem ungrateful, but a certain sense of Drummond wishing to impose his idea of how an employer should be onto me.

We'll come to that in a minute, but on the whole Drummond was a blessing. Usually I had to invent all sorts of reasons not to attend lectures and meetings, it took up a great deal of my time, but now Drummond took care of all of that. He'd make up some story, I found it best not to ask, and I would find I had the whole day free. I could concentrate on my magnum opus, the Works of Hadaa Sendoo and his Influence on the Tau Ceti civilisations. It was a work in progress.

Sorry, anyway, back to what I was talking about. I'd just come back to the old homestead, rather despondent after an argument with the Dean. He was happy with my work, etc etc, but a position had come up on some dreadful research project around some gas giant in some nearby system. Now, after all the business with the Hallion the last thing I wanted to do was go out into space again. I was set on being planet bound from now on. The Dean offered me more money and all sorts of other incentives but I was resolute. He seemed to have some notion that since I was always ill the change of air would do me good. In fact I was never ill, not since the Hallion, but because most of my lecture dodging revolved around imaginary re-occurring aliments I did not correct him. If you'll allow me to digress again I will also tell you that I was in rude health and had nary a sniffle since the last cold I had had back on the Hallion and that was years ago.

Well, I put my foot down with the Dean and I thought that was the end of it, but Drummond, who has access to all my correspondence, started dropping hints while serving me my evening meal.

'More sherry sir?'

'Don't mind if I do, Drummond.'

'I wonder sir, if you have had reflected any further on the Dean's offer?'

'Drummond, you are hounding me. Please desist.'

Drummond frowned slightly as he poured my glass, 'I beg your pardon sir.'

But by the way he bought the dessert, a local cream pudding I was fond of, I could tell he was still dwelling on it.

'Half rations, Drummond?', I said as I examined my meagre portion.

After dinner, reasonably replete and in a more conciliatory mood I approached the subject again, 'I won't be moved on the Gasbag Project you know.'

'It would mean a substantial pay rise sir, and a promotion to Department Head. And pardon the small correction but it's the Gas Giant Atmosphere Sampling Project, Planet Galloseb, Urusa System, or so I am lead to believe. The middle layers of the planet contain elements unique to science.'

'I'm sure that's true Drummond, but what has that to do with me? I won't go bothering middle layers of gas giant atmosphere and I hope they won't come bothering me. Live and let live I say. Besides, I'm a librarian, a professor of literature if you're not too fussy about things like qualifications and certificates. I know nothing about astrophysics.'

'That's not what you're CV says sir. You served five years on a deep space research vessel in the Cygnus Arm. No doubt that is why the Dean sees you ideally suited to the post.'

I cleared my throat and reached for my pipe,

'Well, it's true I was on a DSRV way back in my youth, but I've forgotten it all.'

What I didn't care to mention was that my Curriculum Vitae exaggerated somewhat the importance of my position on board. It wasn't fraudulent exactly, well, I say that, but anyway it had all happened on the other side of the galaxy and thirty years ago.

'That was before I found my calling Drummond, the folly of youth.'

'If you say so sir, but you are no stranger to field research. Why on the Hallion...'

I started with a shudder at the mere mention of that cursed ship and interrupted him,

 ‘No, no, no, Drummond. That’s outer space. I don’t do that anymore. My feet stay firmly on the ground. And the gas giant in question, it’s a novelty planet. Time sheers and continuum vagaries everywhere. You’ll go to bed in blue pyjamas and wake up in a pink nightie. You’ll discover a unicorn in your bed and a leprechaun in the wardrobe and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.’

Drummond, busy cleaning up the dinner dishes, said, 'I bow to your greater experience in these matters sir.'

I could hardly complain about a small amount of gentle prodding from the old fellow, I reflected as I smoked my pipe in bed. The sheets were clean, the room smelled lovely (despite my pipe) and my clothes were all neatly folded away in the wardrobe, not scattered about the place as they were before the Age of Drummond.

I just couldn't face another stint in space, I reflected as I smoked the last of my shag, not after the last ship I was on dumped us all on that pseudo-Earth planet and I shot that chap. I'd signed up as a ships librarian who had in his custody the sum total of twelve books. The cushiest number surely in the whole galaxy and I ended up having an adventure. That's space for you.

The pipe finished, I taped the last of the embers and switched off the light and drifted off into a good dose of the soundless...

..and was woken by Drummond gently shaking me awake.

I switched on the bedside lamp once more. He had brought me a cup of coffee and a smorgle (ah, if you don't know, it's a local pastry thing that the natives eat for breakfast or if they have been awoken in the middle of the night for instance).

'Good coffee.' I said as I took a sip.

'Yes sir, it is a southern bean. I am lead to believe it originates from Earth but has been bread for the local soils and conditions of the southern continent of Trefflemore.'

'Oh, it's Yettersnatchen? You managed to get some then? It has a heady aroma.'

'It is much prized for its rich and yet smooth flavours sir, or so it said on the packet.'

'It must have cost a packet.'

Drummond smiled and bowed slightly, 'It cost us nothing, sir. It was in the private supplies of the Professor of Kleptology while I was delivery some of your course notes you may recall. Since he himself had in all likelihood stolen it, I considered it fair game.'

Justifiable larceny was all a bit much for me, but I was beginning to regain full use of my faculties,

'You did well. What time is it Drummond?'

'Four thirty in the morning sir.'

'Hmm, so this is what it feels like then. Any particular reason you've woken me at this ungodly hour? The wee hours of the night Drummond, my kith and my kin, my own reality, separate... and all that.'

'Quite sir, very well recited. A time not free from troubles, nor their reflection, a place of self crowded with 

thoughts, yet finally free from others. Which seems somewhat appropriate sir as we are not at all free 

from troubles. I regret to inform you that the planet has been invaded by giant killer robots, hell-bent on the

 destruction of all mortal beings. There is an armoured column of them approaching the city now sir and in 

fact a not insignificant number of them are now approaching the house.'

I couldn't quite take it all in. I watched as Drummond laid out some of my clothes, for all the world as if we were about to embark on a pleasant drive in the poet-shunned forest.

'It is a clement night sir, so a light summer jacket would be best, but I recommend the shooting trousers as they have padded knees and we may expect to spent a certain amount of the morning hiding in ditches.'

'You're not serious Drummond?'

He reached over and switched on the small radio I kept in the bedroom. A news reporter, his voice breaking in terror, verified Drummond's story. The planet was being invaded.

As I may have mentioned, the FPSO (that's us) have Earth, the UFP (other human's that have an alliance with a bunch of aliens called the Tasters), they centre on Kochab, and these two galactic civilisations have their tiffs as you would expect but we never go to war with each other because of all the external threats. One of those threats, well I'm not an astrophysicist or an astronomer or anything, but its marked on the left hand wibbly bit of the maps of the Milky Way that you see about spaceports and suchlike, as being called Desolation Space, where the giant killer robots came from. Most people called them the Cremators, because that's what they did to everything. They were planet eaters, taking all the resources from a planet, replicating more of themselves and then moving on to the next system like a galaxy wide virus. I knew Trefflemore was closer to Desolation Space than Earth but still well within the safe regions of the FPSO. What could have gone wrong?

I snatched up my pipe and tobacco as we left the house. Drummond swung a satchel over his shoulder and carefully locked the front door. Moments later we watched as the house was utterly destroyed by a shell launched from some Cremator tank half a mile away.

'Buggeration!', I cursed, 'And we'd just repainted the kitchen as well.'

Before we began the business of crawling along ditches and hiding in hedges Drummond handed me an Interplanetary RT-communicator.

'Just a precaution sir', he explained, 'In case we get separated.'

'Looks expensive.'

'It is rather sir. It has a sub-space range to the outer planets.'

I was going to ask how he came by it, but what with all the explosions and things I needed all my breath for cheesing it into the forest.

We were far from the only people there either, most of the faculty that lived around the campus like myself were about the place too. I spotted the Poet Laureate and some of her staff. Not so hot on the twin suns now eh?, I thought to myself rather uncharitably. It takes an invasion of giant killer robots to finally make you appreciate a decent forest.

I found a hole and jumped into it. Drummond crouched behind a tree stump and kept watch. I was then joined by Jully Twiptoe, the University Lamp Lighter and Sir Blater Stavrelle. Sir Stavrelle was none other than the Dean himself, not someone I particularly had ever entertained the notion of wanting to share a foxhole with.

'Quite a to do, eh Dean?' I said as we watched the Meteorology Block get hit by a lightning bolt fired from somewhere in the darkness.

The Dean goggled at me, 'It's the end of the world McGonagall!'

'Well yes', I didn't want to make light of the destruction of his planet and struggled for a suitable remark, 'A bit off.', I finally managed.

'A bit off? It's the end of the world! Do you hear me?'

'Well yes.', I repeated, 'The end of this world anyway.'

He goggled again. 'Just because we are all shorter than you humans doesn't mean we don't matter. I'm sure the FPSO won't be inconvenienced greatly by the complete annihilation of everything we Trefflemorians hold dear. Would you have us go quietly into extinction Bill?'

Although he had just split and infinitive I decided not to tell him and we both watched in silence as tank after tank rolled through the University Campus and destroyed it utterly. We all reflected on the work we were losing. My dissertation on Mongolian Poetry was now lost, unless the University servers were backed up off planet. I reflected on the fact that the University was being turned into a desert and some of Sendoo's work came to me,

'... as that boundless Gobi joins the sky..oh, there goes the Ekrixiphobia Lab, in a vast explosion .. ironic...'

After that the Seismology Building fell over the Volcanology Block went up in flames and the Spectroscopy Lab was hit by laser beams. I was just waiting for the Mycology Complex to go up in a mushroom cloud when the Professor of Klazomania Research rushed past shouting, 'We need to get out of here!'

He was right as well, the Trefflemorian army had arrived and things were hotting up. Myself and Drummond joined the general exodus.

***

The next day I was in a refugee shelter about fifteen miles away from the front line, using a pay-as-you-go high-space telegram service to contact my Aunt. She may treat me with loathing, but what with all her cash, she was the person best equipped to get me out of this pickle.

'What do you think Drummond. I'll read it out to you. "Dear Aunt Godzilla. Invaded by Giant Killer Robots. World Ending. Please send Help. Your loving Nephew, William.'

'Succinct sir.'

'It's three credits a word you know.'

Just to give you the full story on my Aunt's name as this seems as good a point as any, back in the days of yore when Aunt Godzilla was born there was a bit of a spat between the UP and the FPSO. The UP, just in case you are from a different galaxy, are the United Planets and consist of most of the Sagittarius arm of the good old Milky Way. They are a combination of beings known as Terrans, who are of human ancestry and Kochabians .. who well, I’m not sure, but they were around before us anyway.

We, the FPSO, are humans, and inhabit the Orion arm, which, I’m sure you are aware is the location of good old Mother Earth, good old Blightey, good old Sol 3 (I suddenly felt myself missing my home planet greatly).

Now, the UP never really liked this arrangement and styling themselves as the true humans they were always keen to get Earth back. They called themselves Terrans and while they would never stoop so low as to invade us, they conducted a fairly comprehensive campaign of propaganda.

So anyway, in my Aunt’s day all this was going on and in some small way to counter the Terran aggression people named their children after old Earth cultural icons. And so I have an Aunt Godzilla. I have an Uncle Harry Potter, who got off a bit more lightly, but then I also have a Great Aunt Optimus Prime. I myself came close to being called Jamiroquai after some 20^th century singer. Jamiroquai McGonagall, can you imagine?

It's amazing the things that go through your mind while you are sat around in a refugee centre drinking ghastly coffee and wondering what time they serve lunch. Drummond had wandered off somewhere. Sometimes he did seem to move in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform. I hoped he was keeping his eye out for a decent drink or something to eat.

I was just about to nod off in my seat, despite the general hubbub of people coming and going, when Drummond finally returned.

'Sir, I think we can be of some service to the Trefflemorians.'

I couldn't quite get where he was coming from,

'I doubt that Drummond. We'd be best to get back to old Mother Earth post haste.'

Drummond seemed to ponder on something for a moment then said,

'The spaceport is a mere five miles walk from here sir. I think it best if we go there now.'

I spluttered somewhat, and I am not normally prone to spluttering,

'Through a warzone Drummond! Or had you forgotten about that?'

'I think I can find us a way sir. I have been downloading maps of the local area and there is an underground service tunnel that will get us to with half a mile of the space port. From there we need to get over the Pont Nockoder, but I thought, if you don't mind the play on words sir, we would cross that bridge when we came to it.'

I began to realise though, that getting to a space port might not be such a bad idea. Terrible as the imminent destruction of Trefflemore was, well I was a human after all and I belonged on Earth. Good old Earth. I found myself stuck by homesickness again. Like Trefflemorian poets and their forests, it apparently took a giant killer robot invasion to make me want to see my Aunt Godzilla once more.

'Very well Drummond. Lead on, lead on! You lead and I shall follow. A leader has a lonely role, he has not friend nor foe, I'll follow along with you Drummond, to see where you shall go!'

I had misquoted for effect, but Drummond did not correct me.

The tunnel had done as advertised and we were now a stone's throw from the space port. It was the scene of a terrible battle though and we got no further than the top of the steps leading from the tunnel. Not even Drummond wanted to venture out into the laser fire, tanks, bombs, giant killer robots, and god only knew what else.

'So now what's the plan?' I asked nervously from behind a pile of rubble partially covering the doorway.

'We wait until nightfall sir.'

Well, I have to say, I wasn't too keen on the current situation at all and I was even less keen when Wittershall turned up.

'I wondered where you had sloped off to.' she said as she got in underneath my nose.

'Miss Wittershall, it's not what I'd call safe here. Perhaps, my dear..'

'Don't give me the fatherly professor routine you old nitwit. What are you up to?'

I was rather taken aback by her abrupt tone,

'I well, umm, that is we, ahh..'

'Trying to cheese it while my planet is blown to kingdom come it looks like to me.'

At this point Drummond interjected and saved me from more umming and ahhing.

'Professor McGonagall has a plan to save the planet and we are waiting until nightfall to put it into action.'

Wittershall turned her withering gaze on me, 'Bill?'

'Ahh, well yes. Go over the finer points of the plan for Miss Wittershall would you Drummond? Some may have slipped my mind in all the excitement.'

'Not at all sir. Professor McGonagall plans to destroy the Cremator Robotic Invasion Force with a virus that he has in his body, madam '

Needless to say I was as astounded as Wittershall was. When I came to my senses I said,

'Yes, that'll do it. Drummond, can I have a moment in private with you?'

I ushered Wittershall back into the safety of the tunnel and drew Drummond aside in the lea of a collapsed wall.

'Drummond. What on Trefflemore are you babbling about?'

'The technological virus that you contracted while on Pseudo-Earth, sir.'

'Eh? The virus was a ploy. It didn't really exist.'

'It didn't serve the purpose that Dr Blenk said it did, but it did exist.'

'You seem to know all about it! Have you been reading my memoirs? There is a big label on the front of it that says "Private" you know.'

'Sorry sir, I did not mean to pry, but being of technological origin myself I thought it best to know these things and the information is freely available if you know where to look. I did not read your journal sir, I would never dream of such a thing.'

'The government told me to keep my mouth shut about the whole debacle. They kept it out of the media and everything.'

'Yes sir, as I said, if you know where to look.'

'Crikey, ok, a nano-virus you say?'

Drummond smiled at me  gently, 'All viruses can be considered nano sir, if one is referring to the manipulation of matter at a molecular level.'

I'd had this treatment before and was in no mood for bandying words,

'I'm not a scientist, I'm a librarian, Drummond. Never mind that though. I have a nano-virus.. I mean, a home-made alien virus thing, whatever you want to call it, about my person. What does it do?'

'I believe sir, and this is just my own theory you understand, that it originated from the same source as the Cremator Robots. You could almost regard your virus and the Robots as the same thing, just one is much larger than the other. They both move from host to host, devouring as they go, and then replicating more of themselves and moving on. The Cremator Robots act much like a virus.'

I drew myself up to my full height, 'But I'm in rude health Drummond. I've not been ill once since I got back from deep space in fact. I'd hardly say I've been devoured.'

'Quite, sir. Which brings me to the next part of my theory. The virus in you keeps you healthy, it has an opposite intent to the Cremators in that it is bent on healing rather than destruction. I would go as far as to say that you carry in you the antidote of the Cremator giga-virus. Legend has it that Desolation Space is all that remains of a once great Empire called the Magnols. They, in their hubris, created the Cremators to serve them, but instead were destroyed. The Magnols are linked to your virus somehow.' 

I rubbed my eyes, 'I've heard of the Magnols of course Drummond, I've written poems about them. No one ever thought that Pseudo-Earth was created by them.'

'No sir, and I doubt it was, but the ancient texts speak of space tribes from the dawn of time that seeded the stars with all the early races, the Magnols being one of them.'

'Oh you've lost me now! My history lessons never went back that far but I'll take your word for it. Taking all that on face value then, why do we need to get to the space port?'

'This leads me to the part of the plan I am less confident about sir.'

'Oh really? I shan't just go and cough on the nearest giant killer robot then? Or share a dessert spoon with it?'

'That won't be necessary sir, and probably wouldn't work. No, we need to get on a fast space craft and get to the third moon of Peh. There, despite treaties to the contrary, there is a secret Illusian military research base. As you may know sir the Illusians are a robotic race themselves and may be able to extract the virus from you and turn it against the Cremators.'

'Hold on a moment! Extract? What do you mean by that? Will it hurt?'

Suddenly Wittershall was in our midst again,

'That sounds like a great plan Drummond!', she piped, 'I own a fast little space ship that can get us to Peh in a matter of hours. Let's go!'

'Indeed madam, it is now suitably dark. I suggest we follow this drainage ditch and then gain access via the torn down fences on the south perimeter. Where is your ship madam?'

'Tucked away in a nice cosy concrete hanger beside the control tower.'

'Then let us make haste.'

The moved off and despite myself I followed.

'Now look here! When you say "Extract"...'

I'll skirt over the terror of getting to Wittershall's ship. The gun fire, the explosions, the tracers and what not whizzing over head. An ekrixiphobe would have had a hairy fit. Although it was a scene I'd rather forget, I will just say I got my first real glimpse of a giant killer robot, one of the Cremators. It was about fifteen feet tall and came smashing through a brick wall as if it were paper. It had two arms and two thick legs, ideal for squishing squishy living beings with. It carried a huge laser rifle and scanned the horizon for targets with its single beady red eye. Its metal skin was black and bullet scared. One glance at it was more than enough for me as I hurried along behind the others. The Cremator was doing battle with a brave Trefflemorian tank otherwise I'm sure we would been buttered all over the runway and I silently thanked the FSM for his mercy as we lurked off into the darkness.

Somehow we made it to the hanger in question to find it contained a neat little system craft that looked pretty nippy although I'm no expert. Wittershall must have had rich family, I reflected, to be able to afford something so sleek looking. She explained, as we entered, that it belonged to her uncle and it was called the 'Nancy IV'.

It was big enough to hold half a dozen people or so. Wittershall strapped herself into the pilot's chair and Drummond took the co-pilot position. I chose a seat at random and strapped myself in.

The trip into space was equally terrifying, but as the warships duelled all around us Wittershall skilfully weaved around them, out of the atmosphere and into the system. It was all over mercifully quickly.

The Trefflemorian star system was alive with traffic, according to the navigation panel that bleeped and bingled alarmingly beside me anyway, as battleships and all sorts lumbered about trying to destroy each other and civilian craft cheesed it into warp as fast as their engines could take them. We had two hours to kill before Peh. Wittershall and Drummond talked,

'Are there many like you back on Earth, Drummond?'

'Alas no madam. My make and model have long since been out of production. I am somewhat of a museum piece.'

'Well if you can pull this off, you're a bloody marvel.'

'I can only hope that the Illusians will be amenable. But perhaps their superstitions about humans may help and their desire to extract the virus from Professor McGonagall's body for study may also sway them.'

There was that word again. Extract.

'Superstitions about humans?'

Wittershall, being a little green man, I mean woman, was apparently not up to speed so Drummond filled her in,

'Some time ago, the Illusians encountered Terrans for the first time. Terrans are notoriously perfidious and spun a great many lies that the Illusians fell for. The Illusians have no defence against untruths, they literally cannot tell a lie and take everything they hear as the truth.'

'They sound like a bunch of saps.'

'Indeed madam', continued Drummond, 'The greatest lie the Terrans told, if I recall, was that each Terran has an invisible, incorporeal counterpart that can travel the universe at will.'

'They believed that?'

'They did madam. I think though they are beginning, if not to doubt it, at least beginning to wonder what doubt actually is and how you go about doing it.'

They continued in that sort of vein as I released the straps of my seat and went to dig about in the back of the ship. I heard their voices as no more than low murmurs as I explored the small galley kitchen at the back.

I pulled a nice looking meat and vegetable pie sort of affair from the refrigerator.

 ‘Can I eat this?’ I called up to the front.

‘Oh Bill, just take what you want, you poor thing.’, Wittershall called back.

The refrigerator was very well stocked. After army ration packs at the refugee centre it was a god send. With a face full of pie, a beard full of crumbs and a cream cake in my hand I wandered up to the front, just in time to overhear the following exchange,

'Will it hurt him dreadfully?’

‘I hope not madam, but I imagine there will be some discomfort. They may wish to take blood samples, bone marrow. Semen.'

I spluttered a mouthful of pie all over the co-pilots controls and dropped the cream cake.

'What!?'

Drummond was much perturbed,

'I did not see you there sir, I apologise. May I venture to suggest you get some rest? We have several hours before we arrive and it's been a long day. You'll need it.'

'Perhaps I will.', I said, wondering how the hell to get out of this mess.

'Before you retire sir, I have a message from Mrs Vastbiscuit on the subspace receiver.'

Hope sprang in me, like the morning sun over the Gobi desert.

'Alas sir it reads, "Dull child, extract yourself from your own messes. If you have been invaded by giant killer robots then I'm sure you have no one to blame but yourself. You ever loving Aunt Godzilla. P.S. Is Drummond working out ok?" Shall I send a reply sir?'

Hope died in me, like a Mongolian herdsman realising he'd just witnessed all his misplaced goats wander off a cliff.

'No don't bother Drummond. I shall retire and forget the cursed aging relative for now. Let down 

by my kith, my kin, a time not free from my troubles, in the wee hours of the .. oh bugger it, good night 

both of you.'

***

Well, I was having some of the soundless when we arrived at the Illusian base, tucked away in the lee of a small moon in the less fashionable orbit of Peh. I don't know if you have ever had any dealings with them, they keep themselves to themselves is my understanding. I half remember reading an article about them or something or other. Apparently they cannot lie and they do not understand lies, just as Drummond had said. So after they'd been swindled and bamboozled by the Terrans enough times they retreated to their home planets and bolted all the doors and drew all the curtains. Terrans are tricky customers to deal with even for other humans, so a saintly robot would have had no chance.

Oh, that's the other fact I had retained about Illusians. They are a robot race, not so uncommon around some parts of the galaxy. I say robot, but perhaps 'manufactured' would be more accurate. The ones I were looking at now were not your traditional iron-underpants wearing, nuts and bolts for nipples, sort of fellows like Drummond, in fact they were virtually indescribable.

The first one had four legs, three arms and two heads, the second one had five legs, one arm and four heads. The third had, well, you get the idea. They had no faces as such, just a cluster of sensors on the bit you might call a head. They were kind of cow shaped quadrupeds if you were not too fussy about the definition of a quadruped always having four legs. 

They were mouthless, but somehow, Drummond could communicate with them slowly and silently. I suppose they were sending each other text messages or some such. Something involving radio waves certainly. The larger of the three that had met us in the reception area seemed to be their leader and Drummond addressed himself to it. I assumed he did because that was the one he was looking at. It was all going on in utter silence.

The reception room was designed for Trefflemorians, so the furniture was all a little too small for me. I am a large fellow even for a human so I felt rather as if I was in a Wendy House. I would not have been surprised at all if I hadn't been offered a tiny plastic tea cup to drink imaginary tea from.

After a minute or so, Drummond turned to me and raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch.

'What news Drummond?', I was extremely nervous, 'What does big chief many-legs have to say?'

'Well sir, I think we have reached an agreement. Ambassador Kilkenny here realises that once the Cremators have finished with Trefflemore they will move on to the rest of the system. They were also remarkable easy to convince that you may hold within you a way to stop the Cremators in their tracks.'

'Right', I said. We were getting to the bit that made me quiver. I patted down my pockets for my pipe.

'The extraction process, sir, I am afraid to say, may not be entirely painless. They are not used to operating on humans and we will need a sample of blood, bone marrow and possibly a tooth or two.'

I took a step back, 'Now look here!'

Wittershall put her knuckly little green hand in my back and pushed me forward again.

'Bill, really! People are dying back on my planet, don't be such a ninny and get on with it. I'd do it myself if I had to.'

I drew myself up to my full height and pulled in my stomach,

'Easy for you to say! Do your teeth grow back, because mine don't.'

I let out my breath again though and realised there really was no choice so I decided to face it bravely,

'Well. Never let it be said that a McGonagall ever stepped back from doing his duty,' I said, ignoring the fact that I had just done literally exactly that.

'As Wordsworth said "O Duty! if that name thou love,  Who art a light to guide, a rod, To check the erring...."'

'Bill!', scolded Wittershall, 'Shut up and get on with it! You, Kilkenny, get out the dart gun or sock him one. Whatever it is you have to do, just do it!'

An hour later I was feeling very sore. They'd taken three teeth out of my head so my mouth was nothing more than a bloody maw. They'd taken marrow from my left arm bone, so that was in terrific pain. They had also done the .. other thing .. of which I will never speak but at least had not been painful.

'My poor brave soldier', cooed Wittershall as she nuzzled into me on the small Trefflemorian sofa, the only comfortable bit of furniture in the reception room, 'It wasn't so bad now was it?'

'Eethy for oo to thay.', I mumbled in repetition of myself, through bloodied lips, 'Get off meh, ooman!'

'Now now Bill', she said and stroked my arm, 'Don't spoil this moment. I think I have forgiven all past transgressions and I'm quite in love with you again, saviour of my race.'

That was more than enough for me and I bolted for it, mumbling something about remembering that I had left my pipe on her spaceship.

It was a short walk to be docking bay and the little planet hopper opened its doors for me automatically and I slipped onboard.

And there was my pipe, good old pipe, sat on a console in the cockpit. I sat down in the pilot's chair, found my tobacco and began to pack the pipe. Now all I needed was my lighter.

Just then the console began to make an irritating bleeping noise. I ignored it and searched the place for the bag Drummond had packed for me. Espying it on top of a locker, I had to reach with both hands, which meant that blood ran down my chin and neck unchecked, matting up my beard into a ghastly mess.

I tugged at the bag and the whole lot came down on my head. Something liquid spilled into my hair. It was fuel of some kind, probably for my lighter. This really was the limit I thought, as I mopped it out of my eyes, how had the container broken? In all that running round back on the planet I supposed.

Never mind that though, the console bleeping was really most distracting I thought so I hit a few buttons at random to make it stop. This only had the effect of making more buttons flash and beep at me so I pressed them as well.

Much to my irritation the whole spaceship lurched into life at that point.

'I don't want to take off you idiotic thing!', I cursed at it.

More panels lit up, the pilots joystick began to move as if by an invisible hand.

Just as I was reaching down to hit some more buttons the ship accelerated forward and whizzed out of the docking bay doors as they were starting to close. Within moments I was out into space, none the wiser as to what was going on.

'What are you doing you great space faring hunk of junk?', I raged.

As if in reply a crackled and distant voice came over the radio,

'Bill! What are you doing? Come back at once!'

It was the Wittershall. I had no idea how to reply to her so I just shouted painfully at the vis-screen, spluttering blood hither and yon.

'I'm not doing it! Your ship has a life of its own!'

'How did you find out they wanted more of your teeth? Get back here at once you lousy coward and let them have them! Ooooh!'

'I didn't know anything about anything! I only came back to get my pipe!', I protested.

The Nancy was really moving now. I had to go sit down in the pilot's chair as the acceleration increased. There was no more chat from Wittershall.

It couldn't do much else than reflect on the situation for the few minutes it took to clear the moon's gravity. If the ship was going back to Trefflemore by some sort of homing instinct then I was in big trouble as I was flying right back into the battle. Once I was free to move around again I supposed I could try and contact Wittershall or try and figure out how to fly the thing. It was true I had served on spaceships before but I had no more idea how to fly one than a Mongolian herdsman does a helicopter. I admit that I despaired, and perhaps even shed a tear. This was not at all what I had signed up for. All I had wanted was a quiet life in some back water university. Getting tenure had been a real bonus and now my job for life was just a pile of bricks and everything I had hoped and dreamed of was in tatters.

And besides, what did those randomly-limbed blighters want with more teeth? They'd already had three of them! And they'd just pulled them out with their own hands .. claws .. whatever they were. My god! That was an imagine of terror I would carry around with me to the end of my days. Not that my end wasn't that far away now in all likelihood I reflected.

The ship began to decelerate and I got up out of the pilot's chair once more. There was my bag again, still damp, but otherwise seemingly ok.

'The IRTC!', I yelped as I remembered the comms device Drummond had given me. I took the

Interplanetary RT-communicator from the bag, activated it and spoke into it like a walkie-talkie.

'Drummond. Can you hear me?'

A few moments later I heard Drummond whisper from the other end of the line,

'Here sir, but please speak softly. I'd rather the Illusians didn't find me.'

'Why not?'

'I've stolen something of theirs.'

I was now even more puzzled.

'Whatever you've been up to Drummond, I don't care! I'm trapped out in space. Help me!'

'Alas sir I cannot. It was me that sent the Nancy out into space. I was part of my plan.'

I was beginning to lose patience with the old fellow now and beginning to think he might have a screw loose.

'Let's hear it then.'

'The Illusians on this base are weapon researchers, of sorts. They are researching how to tell lies. This was deemed to be so dangerous to the rest of the Illusian civilisation that it was to be only done in systems that had no other Illusian presence.'

'So?'

'If you'll bare with me sir.', said Drummond, 'The three Illusians on this base you see are mavericks, eccentrics, considered unique in Illusian society. They describe themselves as the Guild of Liars and their base as the Liar's Lair, which exhibits a certain sense of humour. They have also manufactured a device called a FIB, or Factually Incorrect Bomb. While the carried out the extraction on you, I took the opportunity to load the bomb onto Miss Wittershall's spaceship and set the controls for the heart of the Cremator fleet.'

'Wha..!?' I couldn't get any words out.

'It is rather unfortunate that you happened to return to the ship in search of your pipe when you did sir.'

'Unfortu... wh-huh... Drummond you metal twit, you've slain me!'

'Do not despair sir. If you go to the cargo hold, you will find the bomb. I don't think it is dangerous in the traditional sense of being explosive. Perhaps if you can look at it and describe it to me.'

I picked up my pipe and the lighter which I saw had fallen on the floor when the bag had landed on me and headed below to the cargo hold.

'Drummond.', I said as I approached what was obviously the bomb, 'When I get out of this I'm going to melt you down. I'll have you broken up for parts.'

'Gladly sir. But first, what do you see?'

'Well these guys are jokers all right. It's like a comedy bomb, its big and round, with fins on the end. It must weigh half a ton., how in the name of the monster did you get it in here?'

I was as described, like something that would have dropped out of an old World War Two bomber. As I walked around it though I could see a medium sized hatch. When I described it to Drummond he said,

'I wheeled it in while they were distracted with removing your teeth sir. Please open it.'

I did as I was bid and a little drone whizzed out past my head and then proceeded to buzz around the cargo bay. At the same moment I upset a tub of small objects that was within the hatch and they scattered all over the floor.

'Buggeration', I cursed.

'Now sir, If you could..'

The little drone buzzed around me, its single camera lens always trained on my head,

'What do you want?' I growled as I tried to wave it away, 'Go away you bugger, go home!'

'Sorry sir, but I only want to...'

'Not you Drummond. It. Some sort of paparazzi camera bot, Ug! ..Bloody hellfire!'

The 'Ug!' was me slipping and falling on all the little objects and landing on my rear. I picked one up while I regained the use of my legs. It was a tiny little starship. A battleship, about half an inch long. There were hundreds of them.

'Lots of little battleships Drummond. Hundreds of them.'

'I think I begin to understand the nature of the bomb sir. It makes sense when I add it together with the reports of spy drones all over the system.'

I couldn't be bothered with even standing up. I took my pipe and lighter out of my pocket. The empty sockets in my mouth ached and reminded me of my loss. Two front teeth and a molar.

'What about the virus then Drummond? Was my sacrifice of any use at least?'

'I regret to inform you the whole thing had been a ruse on my part to get Miss Wittershall to lend us her ship. There never was a virus.'

'WHAT? Drummond! Oh, just you wait...'

I clamped down onto the stem of my pipe with my few remaining teeth and furiously lit it.

And of course set my head on fire as I was covered in lighter fluid. My hair and beard went up in a floomph of fuel,

'Fire! Fire!', I screamed as I frantically patted out the flames, 'Drummond! Ow! Damnation! I'll break you down into atoms you great metal nincompoop! I'll have you made into a robotic commode!'

I ran around with my hair on fire, spitting blood and flames, at all times being followed and filmed by the little camera-bot, 'I'll blow torch your metal underpants and take an axle grinder to your nuts and bolts nipples!'

I carried on in a similar fashion until the automatic fire extinguishers kicked in and I was thoroughly doused.

Drenched and miserable I returned to the cockpit. I slumped down into the pilot's chair and dropped the IRTC onto the floor. A moment later I heard Drummond's voice again, 'Well done sir! You've done it, the Cremators are retreating.'

I didn't understand, not even a little bit. I picked up the Communicator,

'What do you mean Drummond?'

'Just hold on tight sir. We will be there directly.'

***

A few hours of waiting, then Drummond and Wittershall arrived, hitching a lift from the Illusians, who owned, apparently, a little planet hopper of their own. I assumed Drummond had spun them yet another lie.

Wittershall hugged me, then attended to my wounds, cooing over me and murmuring 'Saviour of my race' occasionally as she applied cooling poultices and such like to my burns.

Once I had recovered enough for discourse, I said to Drummond,

'Will you please explain to me what the hell is going on?'

'Very well sir. The Guild of Liars, mavericks and eccentrics as they are, still struggled with the concept of untruths. They are researching weapons connect to the ability to tell lies. The FIB functions as a sort of interplanetary holographic deception system. It consists of the camera drone, the model battleships and a network of small projector drones scattered throughout the star system. It is important to the Illusians, for reasons known only to them, that the battleships actually exist, albeit at a fraction of the size of a real fleet. The camera films the fleet and the feed is sent to the holographic projectors. The projectors are so sophisticated that they fool not only the eye, but any scanner you care to mention. To an unsuspecting enemy it would appear as if a huge fleet of life-sized battleships had just arrived from warp.'

'I'm sensing a "however", Drummond.'

'Indeed sir. However, the Cremators did not see a fleet of battleships. They saw this.'

Drummond pressed a few buttons on the overhead visual display and treated us to a bit of news feed recorded from a Trefflemorian broadcast.

The little green man announcer said,

'... and then the face of, what I am legally bound to say was most specifically NOT a deity appeared. Many people, repeating hundred of year old forbidden heresy, believe this is the embodiment of Bodul the Destroyer, returned to extract retribution on the foes of Trefflemore. Here again is the footage that we have..'

The clip changed to a view of space and some decent shots of the Cremator Fleet. From nowhere my head appeared, massive, bloody and on fire, a hundred times larger than the largest ship in the fleet. I jumped out of my chair and Wittershall, who had been on my knee, was scattered to the four winds to fall I knew not where.

This demonic vision of hell proceeded to bellow at the Cremator battleships. I could see whatever intellect the camera-bot had, had been used to good effect to edit together what could only be described as my 'best bits'.

'Ow! ... Robotic Nincompoops...Aiee! Fire, fire! Bloody hellfire on your ... metal underpants! Damnation on your ...nipples!'

The ghastly smoke shrouded projection spat some fire and blood then continued,

'Go away! Go away you buggers. Go home, you robotic commodes! Fire! Fire on your nipples! Aiee!'

The projection continued in this manner, so startling the Cremator fleet that they immediately stopped what they were doing and exited stage left as fast as they could.

I was rather embarrassed as Wittershall stood up and said,

'I don't know about the Cremators, but I'd be terrified by that.'

'Oh switch it off Drummond.', I groaned and put my poor battered bean in my hands. Miss Wittershall, sensing I needed a moment, went aft, then down into the cargo hold to tidy up a bit or something.

Once I'd taken a few breaths I said,

'Well, at least we can go home now. Wait a minute though, I remember you saying there was no virus. You lied to me then Drummond?'

He at least had the decency to look ashamed as he replied, 'I needed something convincing so that Miss Wittershall would agree to lend us her space ship.'

'Lies and larceny Drummond, honestly. Wait, what about me never getting ill though? That's really true. Fit as a fiddle since Hallion.'

'I expect because there are no human diseases on Trefflemore sir, and very few other humans to catch them from.'

'I suppose, but dash it all Drummond! I lost three teeth. Not to mention some blood and bone marrow. Does bone marrow grow back? Now I'm down an ounce of marrow because of you, that I may never get back, not to mention the teeth.'

'I am very sorry indeed for your loss and if it will make any amends I will go immediately to the closest furnace and have myself melted down.'

'Drummond, I half a mind to, don't tempt me. So why in the Flying Spaghetti Monster's name did we have to go to the Illusians at all?'

'I admit, sir, that when we left Trefflemore I did not know. I hoped to work it out when we got there. Involving the Illusians did seem like a good idea, in any event. Any help at all would have been a good thing at that point. And to further confess sir I was only going by rumour and had no proof that the Illusians were there at all.'

'Why not tell Wittershall all that anyway? Why tell her they needed my teeth, marrow and ... other things?'

'Once again I must apologise sir, I'm afraid I got rather carried away. Casting you as the hero willing to sacrifice his all, I hoped, would have appealed to Miss Wittershall's not inconsiderable capacity for romance.'

I nursed my aching jaw, 'I wonder Drummond, I wonder at you. Tortured by many-limbed space horrors. My teeth ripped from mouth. My precious marrow ripped from my bones. The .. other thing .. that we will never speak of. My head set on fire and projected into space. Really Drummond?'

'It did result in you saving the planet of Trefflemore sir.'

'I suppose so.'

'Why shoot me off into space though? You couldn't have just used the FIB as it was intended with the little battleships and whatnots?'

'I do wish I had had time to consult with you sir, but the Illusians were beginning to get suspicious. When you entered Miss Wittershall's spaceship to get your pipe they began to close the docking bay doors. At that point it was all or nothing.'

'Yes well, I see that now. So the whole time you were just winging it. How did you become so devious?'

'I regret to say it was while we were at Plimsil University sir. I got so used to inventing reasons why you could not attend meetings and lectures that eventually deviousness was written into my firmware. I shall have myself reprogrammed at the earliest opportunity.'

I sighed, 'Well anyway. I guess the University is in ruins but we can at least go home without being molested by giant killer robots.'

'I am sorry to disagree sir, but I think leaving the Trefflemorian system as soon as is expedient would be the best course of action. There is the matter of passing yourself off as a deity, they do not take kindly to it.'

'Not see the funny side you mean?'

'I fear not sir. There are still laws on Trefflemore against such things that would  result at being burned at the steak.'

'At the stake?'

'Yes, apparently the victim is tied to a giant slab of meat.' Drummond continued, 'They take a dim view on such matters. Although many will consider you a hero, you can never account for the fervour of religious zealots.'

'That's the last thing I need.'

'And also, General Frosbod, Commander-in-Chief of the Trefflemorian Planetary Defence Forces is claiming that it was his forces and Trefflemorian pluck and spirit that drove them back. When that is weighed against a giant floating head of an ancient forbidden deity, well you can see what story might come out on top.'

'Oh all right then. I suppose it was never going to last. Set the controls for out of system. We'll give Wittershall her ship back when we've holed up somewhere safe.'

'May I suggest Planet Galloseb of the Urusa System sir? It is my understanding there is still a vacancy there for a research fellow.'

I gave Drummond a long look, but in the end I thought, why fight it?

'Very well Drummond. A leader has a lonely role, so lead on, lean on. Planet Gasbag it is.'