For Better Or Worse: John Calleghan, #3

By Andrew McArthur

Every once in a very long while, along comes a work of literature which forces us as a society to rehink our goals and re-evaluate our priorities. Such a work can, at times, alter the very shape of our existence. At the very least, such books act as mirrors into which we can gaze in hopes of finding a better reflection of ourselves and our way of life...

 

This is NOT such a book.

 

Director Troth is foaming at the brain

The Rangers hands are tied

The Govenmnet is playing golf...

 

Sometimes an Avon Lady has gotta do what an Avon Lady has gotta do.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Benevolent Elephant Press
• Release date: Aug 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393910497

Andrew McArthur

Andrew McArthur has been writing for a while now; books, short stories, music and sundry. He is currently recording some tunes and working on his fifth book, a Non-Fiction effort. He lives in Canada with his lovely wife Lisa and their two silly dogs.

Book preview

Our story so far...

––––––––

On a beautifully hung spring morning, John Calleghan (ordinary guy extraordinary) awoke to the sound of birds sneezing (Azzzoux). The crash of symphonic sensory abuse came as a direct result of the previous evenings indulgences. It was in this manner that he became the first human being ever to maintain serious contact with a being from another planet.

The beer probably helped...

––––––––

After the army had blown up the immediate neighborhood (for want of a better plan) John, Azzzoux, and their new found friend Anna the Avon Lady escaped from the planet in a spaceship that seemed to have been provided by the powers that be for just such a purpose.

––––––––

Once safely away from the planet Earth, or T-4-2 as it was known to the rest of the civilized galaxy, HAM III immediately took control of the situation and informed them they were on a mission to save the ill-fated baby Globulans from death at the hands of the infamous Bnori Psi pirates. It soon became apparent to the travellers that the mission was not subject to debate.

––––––––

After a few adventures and a little bit of hands on weapons training, our heroes were ready to face the challenge that the ever nebulous GREENFEES organization had selected them for.

The good guys win, and our friends help make the universe safe once again for the Globulans.

As a reward for their efforts, they are given Galactic refugee status, and  allowed to remain at large among the stars. They are also given title to the space ship they have been using the whole time, and are offered employment in the cause of Galactic peace and harmony by GREENFEES; as operatives in the ongoing struggle against tyranny, perfidy and outright stupidity... they accept. Soon it's back to the hotel for a little celebration and a well earned respite...

Brunch the next day at the fabulous pan-galactic eatery 'Four Guys Named Siva’ ends on a bad note when Anna is kidnapped by the awful Kingar Thur through the evil machinations of Ex-Arch Nebula Dastron Phyps.

––––––––

The guys from GREENFEES swing into action with some help from greasy Dr. Von and the rather overly intense Director. Their spaceship EXPORT has been refitted with some cool new devices which will no doubt prove useful in the coming adventures.

The bad news is that Azzzoux is having a puberty! If he doesn't get back to Xanoplidit to consummate his marriage to Grizza and Faboo, he'll be forced to fight the local champion who has been celibate now for thirty years and is often quite moody. He’s also turned into a shrub.

Dastron disappears in the confusion and soon is inflicting his presence on Kingar Thur, Anna, and the Brethren Of The Search.

Through Kingar, Dastron demands delivery of a state of the art, super duper space ship in return for the release of their hostage.

'Four Guys Named Siva' really have no other choice; they arrange for the delivery of the ship... but not before Fast Eddie ( GREENFEES deep cover — part time ) has a chance to fiddle with a few of the more esoteric drive systems effectively sabotaging Phyps' ultimate getaway.

Back on Earth, Sergeant Plist teams up with Tom Cassie after undergoing testing for being an extraterrestrial in disguise, and they both manage to snag a ride aboard VEANGENCE before the ship leaves the planet. Plist swears that he will never again return to his mother planet. Tom just kind of goes along for the ride because it strikes him as a fun thing to do.

The rescue attempt goes almost perfectly. The 'almost' is the creation of an evil Anna twin named Emma. Phyps knows something is up, but figures he likes the company of this 'Anna' better than the original. He is possessed by the idea that if he can only recover the legendary sword of King Arthur, he will be able to conquer the galaxy. Armed with the knowledge of where in time he needs to go, he attempts to avoid the clutches of his enemies by initiating his temporal drive system.

He's not quite sure what happened, but suddenly the VEANGENCE is dead in space. Phyps goes ballistic, and quickly loses what remained of a rather tenuous grip on reality. He starts killing everyone left aboard who gets in his way as he oozes his way down into engineering. When Gohar, the chief engineer, dives out of the way, Phyps accidently shoots one of the fuel piles and the ship explodes; killing the rest of the crew and breaking him up into millions of tiny pieces which eventually find their orbits in the rings around Saturn.

They get Azzzoux home on time, and everyone is happy, although Anna is more than a little shaken by her experience. The wedding goes off without a hitch, and the celebration lasts for three days and nights...

Prologue

––––––––

Jenny Clagg — until recently, First Officer aboard the space cruiser ISS TITAN — was having a bad week. It had all started when that fool Jedlbut Dwezeel had been stupid enough to lose possession of the TITAN just days before she would have been ready to seize it for herself. Hugh Mongous, the immediate benefactor of Dwezeel's outright stupidity, had only served to make matters worse.

Now, thanks to the untimely intervention of the incredibly sanctimonious Ben Himn — and a veritable slew of bad luck — she found herself motoring slowly through the interstellar void, heading for home. She'd had nearly a full week to work up a good head of steam, and she hadn't been wasting a whole lot of time doing anything else. In truth, there really wasn't a whole lot else for her to do — the Ranger Squad Blip being a fairly easy craft to pilot — and so she sat all scrunched up and uncomfortable, and she stewed, and she sat, and she stewed...

After nearly a week of this, she was not only mad at Captains Mongous and Himn... She was pissed at practically the entire universe!

Finally, the on-board computer beeped an alert informing her that she was nearing her destination. Bream, the place where she had grown up and awfully tired of, at roughly the same pace. Needless to say she wasn't particularly enthusiastic about her imminent return. Assuming manual control of the craft, she guided it smoothly down through the atmosphere with the kind of grim determination one usually associates with firing squads, and other state controlled recreational activities.

Jenny's wasn't the only craft making an unscheduled stop at the Breamian spaceport. Not far behind her on the same approach vector (although occupying a significantly larger portion of it) was the renegade Antares vessel VICTOR-E, and her crew of most of the more unscrupulous members of the Antares Rangers — The elite fighting arm of The Guys Who Know What's Best For You.

It would have come as a shock to anyone, to know that there was such a thing as an unscrupulous Ranger, but as the Galactic government had grown fat — and more than a little complacent — the people on top had become a little less vigilant in their recruiting of this special force; and so the rot had begun. As with any advanced organism, the infection had become deeply rooted before it became apparent, and by then there was nothing anyone could easily do to repair the damage; so of course nothing was done...

It was only the most unlikely of coincidences that these two vehicles arrived within minutes of each other on the landing pads of 'Gla-Bream'; the only spaceport of note on the entire planet. Of course, the Universe is prone to just these sorts of coincidences.

Jenny Clagg unfolded herself from the cramped Squad Blip and took a moment to indulge in a few limbering up exercises before deciding upon her immediate objective. It was during these same exertions that she had an opportunity to witness the Antares craft as it made its final approach. She took a moment off from her calisthenics to be mildly stunned. The damn thing was almost as big as the entire landing pad!

Suddenly, almost before she was even aware of it, Jenny had the beginnings of a plan. After all, it had almost worked once before...

All was quiet in the rings. Almost all was as it had been for countless millions of years. Everything was the same as a moment before... except for the addition of Dastron Phyps (or at least countless tiny fragments of being that — until the explosion aboard VEANGENCE — had been the ex-Arch Nebula in question) 

As a result of this same explosion, there were a whole lot of little bits of interstellar goo that previously had been Phyps currently  occupying the empty spots in the rings around Saturn; although in as many pieces as he was, it can't be said that he was concerned about his predicament.

And then they met...

It was kind of like 'Gone With The Wind'... without the wind...

Two bits of pre-Phyps, coming together with only the stars to bear witness... and when they met... it was music.

Okay, so maybe it was only the first note of a minor trumpet concerto... but hey, it was a beginning.

As luck would have it, it was an ‘F'

Not just any old 'F'

This was an 'F' with intent.

PART  I

I

––––––––

Anyone who knows any reason why this union should not take place, let them speak now, or forever hold their piece.

––––––––

—Traditional wedding Ceremony.

––––––––

"Anyone who knows any reason why this union should not take place, if you speak now...

YOU BETTER BE HOLDING A PIECE!"

––––––––

—Mob Wedding Ceremony.

––––––––

In his dream, John reached out for a beer... He popped the top before indulging himself in a long satisfying swallow. His sense of taste had sharpened over the years; honed until it had become a finely chiseled tool. A tool whose sole purpose lay in completely appreciating the delicately exuberant flavour of a cold can of beer. Something was wrong...

He immediately gagged on cool creamy liquid, spitting it out in a viscous little white blob. He heard the sound of cows mooing happily. He was confused...

Slowly in the distance, a goddess shape materialized out of the mist. John could see that She was smiling and wished to speak. She moved closer without appearing to move at all. It was like She was on wheels. The Goddess laughed, pulled a big cow — of mottled countenance — from the ether and shook it by the udders. A process which caused both the bovine in question, and John to shudder. The cow then uttered a soft melodic moo of udder disenfranchisement.

The Goddess muttered something inert by way of apology, and dropped the cow. She opened her arms to John in a primal Earth-Motherish sort of way...

Her voice was like pure maple syrup.

I thought it would help to ease the transition.

John screamed.

In another reality, so did the cow...

––––––––

Anna Gondolas/Calleghan shifted prettily in sleep.

In his dream, John tried to duck beneath the exploding shards of cow. In his dream he knew the cow's name was 'EXPORT', but for some reason he also knew that the cow in question knew its name was Bob. John ignored the discrepancy on the grounds that the cow had been exploding at the time. He thought about it for a bit, then decided to put the whole experience down to ignorance (on the part of the cow of course).

Anna rubbed the sleep from her eyes and gazed proprietarily into John's lids. She sighed satisfied, and stretched languorously.

The cow came skating home...

John screamed; the taste of milk  still fresh in his mind, he was wondering if he would ever be able to trust another can of beer. Fuzzy pain 1 gripped his eyeballs. The Goddess was there above him, staring down...

John looked around wildly, fearing cows. His neck snapped. He groaned.

It was suddenly strangely quiet...

Anna was the first to achieve consciousness. It hurt.

Ordinarily she was the kind of person who really appreciated waking up to the sweet golden kiss of sunlight and the delicate sound of civilian wildlife. Ordinarily... Recent events however could only be described as extraordinary, and truthfully, she was in no mood.

Beside her, John was mooing inquisitively in his sleep.

The ex-Avon Lady briefly considered giving in to slumber, but was too intrigued.

Mooooooooo? He mumbled into her shoulder.

She giggled. She couldn't help it. The sound blended in nicely with the chirping of  birds.

Mooooooooo? John reiterated with a little more feeling.

Anna was in danger of busting a gut. Fortunately the details of her surroundings faded into view through the crusty film of sleep, serving up a nice distraction for her languid thoughts. She started, but only briefly. She had no idea where she was! Then a single heartening thought shouldered its way in through the fog... It didn't matter, she was safe.

Once her eyes adjusted to the morning glare, she could see that she was in a kind of bamboo hut sort of place. Everything smelled of delicious flowers, and the cleanest of cleans. There was nothing constructed about her surroundings; everything had the feeling that it was alive and well, and quite happy to be doing what it was doing — which in this case meant being a guest cabin on the preserve of Zoux: 'Lead Bud Of The Communal Tree'  for Pistil, the Capitol city of Xanoplidit.

This quiet sense of complete well-being did nothing to ease the pounding in her head, but she took a moment to reflect that without it she probably would have felt much worse. Everything around her was soft, green, and frondy... except of course for John He was still mooing softly into the sheets.

He's having a cow.  And now she couldn't help it; giving into the sillies she laughed out loud at the absurd noises issuing forth from the softly thrashing form on the bed beside her.

It was all just perfect. She wouldn't have changed a thing...

John was aware at some level that he must be dreaming. He was also pretty sure that cows only skated in the figurative sense. 2 He tried to give himself an experimental pinch, and discovered that he was the cow. Ahah! He reasoned — rather pleased with himself — that explains the skating. Unfortunately this discovery also left him at a loss as to exactly how he was going to wake himself up. Cows don't have thumbs! Pinching himself was out of the question!

Anna couldn't stand it anymore. She felt like she was going to split trying to contain her amusement. She'd read somewhere that if someone was snoring, rolling them over could sometimes help. What about mooing, she wondered semi-hysterically? Does the same principle apply?

She decided to give it a go...

John felt himself falling over... twice as many feet as he was used to owning, made this a fairly complex experience. And then it was over. He awoke before his cow head hit the ice.

Moo...ourning. he smiled at Anna's face only inches away from his own.

Anna was impressed with his deft recovery; this wasn't the sort of John that she was used to first thing in the morning after any serious attempt at a night before.

He smiled and pulled her face down close to his for a kiss. He smiled some more... Anna collapsed heavily to the bed and buried her head in her pillow.

Oh John! she pleaded quietly, make it stop!

John felt confusion overtaking his unusually attentive mind. He fought it.

He gently rolled her over so he could see her face. Anna quickly — and obviously quite painfully — raised her arm to shield her eyes from the glare.

John was beginning to have an idea of what was ailing her. He was rather stunned to realize that he himself felt better than he had any right to expect. Considering the amount of celebrating they had been indulging in for the past three days, he knew that he should be the one desperately trying to crawl inside the pillow. Fortunately, having undergone similar awakenings on more than one occasion, he was well equipped to commiserate.

He kissed her gently on the top of her head, and told her quietly to go back to sleep.

John got up and walked on his tip toes over to a kind of 'table' plant in the centre of the room. It was piled high with a selection of Xanopliditian delicacies; a rainbow of mouth watering fruits which were the main staple of a Xanopliditian's diet. He chose an  orange something that kind of resembled what he usually thought of as a  banana... except it had no peel and was only a couple of inches long.

He knew from previous experience that the juice from this 'Nabba' tasted like the sweetest golden sunshine as it went down your throat. He finished it in two bites.

Behind him, Anna took her turn mumbling into the sheets.

1 Thanks Tom.

2 It is a little known fact that cows are some of the best figurative skaters in the Universe

II

Outside their hut, a  group of concerned Xanopliditians were growing even more so. Azzzoux was there, returned to his usual blue splendour having survived the rigours of puberty. Grizza and Faboo were there; each showing the first signs that Azzzoux's seed had taken root in their pods where it would develop after three weeks into the new family's first bud. Zoux of course was at the front of the crowd — his social standing not withstanding, this was family.

Someone twittered nervously, followed by a tense silence. Finally Zoux could stand it no longer, and glided forward to open the door.

John still had his mouth full of fruit when Zoux marched ( well actually he floated, but he did so in a very forthright fashion) into the room.

Uh, Hi! he said, a trickle of juice running down his unshaven chin.

Anna found herself unable to sleep through the din. She sat bolt upright quiet suddenly, her eyes snapping open. Then she screamed bloody murder and pulled the sheets up to her chin.

To say the least, this wasn't exactly the reaction that poor Zoux had been expecting. He was puzzled. John of course knew just what to do. He plucked another nabna and took a hearty bite.

John had been impressed by the speed with which most of his hosts had become able to converse with them in their own language. This was fortunate, because after listening to some of the flittering, singing, and wheezing that was Xanopliditian, he realized that it was unlikely he was going to be functional in theirs any time soon.

Zoux ignored him once he'd got over his initial shock; his attention was focused on Anna.  He approached her on the bed. At least she'd stopped screaming. He appeared to study her intently for a few moments before inquiring:

Welcome to the family my dear... as we are uncertain about the nature of your natural functions... could you please tell us if you are yet with seed?

It is important to note here  that Zoux was behaving with an inordinate amount of civility toward Anna.

Anna, being completely unaware of this, was immediately righteously offended. It didn't last long; her head hurt too much. She collapsed with a small groan back onto the bed.

There followed, much consternation within and without the hut.

John offered the Xanopliditians some fruit in hopes of smoothing over what was fast becoming an awkward situation. He mumbled a few random sympathies at his guests, trying to indicate to them that this wasn't normally the way they did things back on Earth — T-4-2 to those in the nose. After a bit, the Xanopliditians left them alone. John had kind of hoped that Azzzoux would stay around after the crowd had gone. He knew it would make Anna feel better to know that Azzzoux was back to his old self. Now that they were alone again, he found himself to be a little bit miffed over this cavalier treatment from someone with whom he had been through so much.

He returned to Anna where she lay unmoving under the plush floral sheets.

Anna dreamed fashionable dreams...

III

Meanwhile in the centre of the galaxy...

––––––––

Just off dead centre of a huge, smooth, glossy black building; behind layers of protective shielding — as well as some nice oak paneling — Lester Troth, The Director, plotted and fumed. To those who knew him best —  had there been any who remained alive and within his grasp — this would have seemed like the normal state of affairs for the director of any organization that was dedicated to preserving galactic peace without really kicking up too much of a fuss.

The Director's plots of late however, had become more than a little twisted, and some folks around him had become seriously concerned that his continued leadership might have a detrimental effect on the overall effectiveness of the organization. Of course they were all