No Time For Earth

By Isaac Hunt

An original science fiction story, with a strong plot, interesting charecters who use good original dialogue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Davenport
• Release date: Jun 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201385477

Book preview

SEE THE STARS

One

I know not what the future holds, I know not what it brings, I only know what has passed and what tears that would bring. Now we must go forward with our heads held high, together in our belief in God and what we know is right.

This was the last entry in the journal of a soldier serving in the Solaran Commonwealth’s Army before he went into battle with so many of his comrades. Yes, this was our Galaxy, where a terrible war was being waged between the Solaran Commonwealth and its allies, the Hellertron Empire, and a vicious, evil, despotic race, the Kayton Empire, intent on conquest and enslavement of the entire Galaxy. To this end, on the Keltar battle front on the Godforsaken planet of Ganeymon, the Solaran were facing the Kaytons and their Drone armies in deadly combat. The Kaytons were getting stronger by the day whereas the Solarans were getting weaker, being drained by the need to send reinforcements to stem the recent Hellertron defeats. How much longer could the thinning crest of the Solaran defence line hold out against another concentrated Kayton attack? They were about to find out as the alarms sounded all along the Solaran front lines.

The Unknown Soldier, who made the journal entry, and all his comrades advanced from their dugouts and into the front-line trenches proper to prepare themselves for the coming onslaught.

A young Second Lieutenant, who was standing next to the Unknown Soldier, shouted to his platoon, Open fire! as wave after wave of Kaytons and their Drone armies came at them.

The Solarans held out... but for how much longer?

The Major in charge told the front-line radio operator to call for air support.

The Air Force is spread very thin, replied the radio operator. Can we hold out without air support?

Grabbing the radio receiver, the Major shouted, I’m telling you, if you don't get me an air strike, and soon, we are going to collapse!

There was no reply; just silence at the other end of the line.

As things deteriorated, the Major gave the order to prepare to retreat. At least that way some men would be saved, whereas if they stood firm they would all be killed or captured.

At that very moment the radio operator said, Listen, as the unmistakable sound of Solaran fighter bombers could be heard in the distance.

On board the lead strike aircraft, the Squadron Leader radioed to his pilots, We are approaching the front line, T.A.R.D.S on now.

Tactical All-Round Defence System was a force field which enveloped the whole plane. It was a good system but as it was a huge drain on the power, it was only used when absolutely necessary. That time had now come as the anti-aircraft shells exploded harmlessly on the force field, lighting it up as they struck.

As they approached No Man’s Land the squadron leader said to his pilots, Make them count, these lads are desperate.

They swooped in low and fast on the unsuspecting Kaytons, dropping their delayed action cluster bombs which exploded with devastating effect, breaking up the attack in its tracks. The surviving Kaytons retreated back to their front lines as the squadron made its escape back to its forward operating base to re-arm for the next expected mission, such was the pressure being exerted all along the front line.

The men in the Solaran trenches reacted with cheers of relief at having repelled the attack, the Major’s Adjutant saying gleefully, We did it, we held.

This time, yes, the Major replied. Next time we might not be so lucky. I don't know how much longer we can hold on.

The young officer standing next to the Unknown Soldier turned to him and said, We did it; we held... But then his expression turned to sadness as he realised the Unknown Soldier had taken a stray bullet and died at his side. After composing himself, he said, I didn’t even know your name, soldier, but I am going to find out now who you are and who your loved ones are. He ever so carefully and respectfully went through the soldier’s pockets to try and give a name to this brave man who had sacrificed all in the name of freedom. But the soldier must have left his papers in his dugout because all he could find was a photograph of his girlfriend in his top left-hand pocket, literally next to his heart. On the back of the photograph it read, Please, my love, keep me close to your heart. As you are to mine, always. To remind you of me throughout these hard times. And when the war is at an end and victory is ours, we will be reunited again, happy and free. My dearest love, Otterley.

The young officer thought, I won’t let you be forgotten. I will find out who you are and when the war is over I will return your private belongings to your devoted girlfriend and tell her that I had the honour of serving by your side.

Two

Life on earth continued as normal, oblivious to what was going on around it. In England, in a city called Leeds, John was sitting in the bookies with his friend, Bob, who looked like the shepherd in the Specsavers advert who sheared his dog by mistake. He was the spitting image of that character. I was thinking to myself, look at all these people deceiving themselves they are going to win some money.

My mother once said to me when I was young, You never see a poor bookie. What a way for a company to make a profit, by living on people’s addictions.

I remember when I first met Bob in the bookies, with his shirt hanging out and his shoe laces undone. Placing his ten pence each way bets every few minutes until his pennies ran out. I keep saying to him. You remind me of the dead-end kid of Leeds.

Now I don’t get much intellectual or mental stimulation at work. And I don’t get much more with my friends in the bookies. Bob keeps saying I know, tell me about it. And my mate Brian is always saying as an answer to my conversations: It is, isn’t it? over and over again. It’s just like Groundhog Day. One day I said to Bob. If we had both stayed on at school, we could have been contenders, we could have been somebody. His reaction was. I know tell me about it Johnny boy, it’s like having your growth, your development stunted at the age of 15. I think he does have a valid point, once we all went to a restaurant for our Christmas dinner. The waitress said to me What about the vegetables.

I said, Give them the same as me.

It is all go in the bookies, never a dull moment. Yes, at times my behavior can be as byzantine as my compatriots’. But on the whole, with me it is more a case of deep contemplation rather than hectic activity.

Me and Bob were sat in the 99p a cup coffee shop. There were two flies running up the window. Bob said I bet you ten bob the fly on the left-hand side gets to the top first.

Make it a pound and you’re on, I replied.

Needless to say, Bob won the bet.

In the summer months we sat outside, watching the world pass by. As the shop was on a main thoroughfare near Boots the chemist, it was always busy.  I was watching as hundreds of people walked by. I recognized so few that I realized just what a small number of people I actually knew.

For Bob it’s like the classic old film, They Died with Their Boots On starring Errol Flynn and made in 1939. I’m sure old Bob, when he heads up to heaven, will be clutching a pint in one hand and a betting slip in the other.

During the summer months the coffee shop leaves the doors open. Once I noticed the little sparrows hopping in one by one, I looked under my table. And guess what, one little sparrow was looking at me with its beak open. Waiting for the crumbs off my muffin, so I duly obliged. After they had got their fill, I watched them one by one hop out of the shop.  

One time his gambling and drinking was particularly heavy. He called into the Building Society at least three times in as many hours. Each time he drew out money, not a surprise then that the staff got fed up with him. According to his own words, they gave him a mild rebuke, but how embarrassing to get yourself in that position.

Booze and Bookies, Bob’s deadly sins

All-consuming of his very limited kerching

Locked in a vice with no end in sight

The cycle only broken

When death do part them.

I remember him being so drunk once that he attempted to chat up a young woman. His line was Hello sweetheart, do you work in that coffee shop love? Talk about a showing up, then to make matters worse her husband appeared.

Hey grandad, he said, can I have my wife back? Most humiliating of all, you could see them both laughing as they walked away.

Bob is an acquired taste, but so is arsenic and you wouldn’t want to sprinkle that on your cornflakes every morning. One misplaced soul told me she thought Bob was cute and cuddly. I thought he was about as cuddly as a hedgehog with the runs. As I watched him wobbling sideways, intoxicated, it struck me he could have his own toy doll franchise, with the slogan Get Yourself a Stretch Bob Doll.

As good as any toy

You’ll buy in the mall

The more you stretch him, the more he drinks.

You’ll then be able to watch him

Be sick in the sink

So, he can show you what happens

When you overindulge

On the demon drink.

I’ve noticed in the last year or two how his alcohol consumption has markedly increased. He says it hasn’t, but it’s being fueled by cheap booze from the Angel pub. Apparently, you can get a city center pint from there for only £1.34. He’ll buy that, but not the cheap booze from supermarkets, in fact he claims he doesn’t drink at home.

We were all playing darts once in Paul’s shed, Bob was so drunk, Dave said. If Bob collapses we all have to throw one dart each. The furthest one away from the bull has to give Bob the kiss of life. I am not joking I have never seen a set of darts finish so close to the bull in my entire life. And would you believe it, yes you guessed wright, my dart was the furthest away. Mercifully Bob managed to stay on his feet for the duration of the session. So, I was spared the indignity of having to revive him if he had toppled over, poor old Bob.

Nobody wants to know you when you are old and grey. Now you have past your best of days. Time is now passing ever quicker. With nothing to show for it but a dodgy ticker. As the curtain comes down on the performance of life. At least it will be an end to all his trouble and strife. Could you imagine adopting a pensioner for Christmas and getting Bob. Everybody sat in anticipation at the table, in awesome dread, as they drew straws for who is going to have the misfortune to have Bob for Christmas dinner. Imagine the shock if you found out that you were Bobs love child. It would be enough to traumatize anybody, having to carry that burden around with you for the rest of your life.

He keeps saying to me I can’t manage on this pension credit chicken feed. I need at least another fifty pounds a week coming in. He’s got no savings. Brian says he’ll end up in a pauper’s grave.

Actually, he is not without ability as far as betting systems are concerned. He won £17,000 on a football bet many years ago, it could have been £30,000. But he dithered for a week or two and some of the prices shortened, now he tends to fritter his money away in piecemeal destruction. Instead of holding back and concentrating on a few stronger bets, even if they only occur a hand full of times a year. Although this year he won £700 on a football bet, last year he won £600 on West Ham coming in the top six of the Premier League, they just made it by coming in sixth place.

He was looking through the jobs pages of the Evening Post one Thursday, when he said to me, Oh look at this job for a barrister. It’s not paying much. I thought they were better paid than that.

Give me the paper, let’s have a look, I responded. On closer inspection, it turned out the job was for a Barista.

Time for some new glasses, I said, to save him his embarrassment.

He’s started calling me geezer recently. He said he picked it up while living down south, he calls a woman a geezeress. Anyway, in retaliation, I joked "What do you call Bob when he’s wearing a suit? The accused! One of my neighbors has been calling me buddy recently, so I suppose you could call me a geezer’s buddy. Although, on the whole, Bob has been a model citizen. His only brush with the law came when he was a teenager. For a laugh, he stole a photo album from Boots, and got caught. What’s more, he had the misfortune to commit his caper on a Friday so the police kept him in the cells until the Magistrate could deal with him the following Monday morning. He got a fine of more than the album’s worth. That was the end of his fledgling criminal career. Thanks to the double whammy he received he learned that crime does not pay.  

Where are you from, Chuck? I asked the manager of the coffee shop once.

Italy, he replied.

I asked whereabouts.

You wouldn’t know, he fired back, it’s only a small place.

I pushed him further, and he said Bari.

That’s a town in the south, I said, on the Adriatic part of a triangle. Bari, Brindisi and Taranto. Part of the Italian fleet including three battleships was crippled at Taranto on the night of 11th/12th November 1940 by 21 Sword Fish torpedo bombers operating from the Aircraft Carrier Illustrious, British losses were only two of the attacking planes.

Yes, you know your history and your geography, he replied. In fact, he was so impressed he gave me and Bob our coffee for free, he was a fine young gentleman.

There was a young man from Bari

Who we all thought was a little bit barmy

For leaving the sun

And even his dear old mum

To make tea and coffee cor blimey.

There is also a girl in the coffee shop who told me she was from Poland. Gdansk, on the Baltic coast. It was formerly known as Danzig, part of the prewar corridor that separated Germany from East Prussia. The fact that two areas of Germany were physically apart is the excuse Hitler used as a pretext for invading Poland.

There was a young girl from Gdansk

Who led me a merry old dance

By moving so fast

And working so hard

She left me in a bit of a trance.

I must mention some of the friendly staff who work in the Compton library, like Andy and Simon. They both have nice long curly hair, lovely locks. Andy’s looks like a lion main, once I saw Simons hair blowing so vigorously in the wind. It made me so jealous, that I felt like getting a pair of scissors and cutting the lot off. When I was a teenager I cut my hair short, my Mother said. Oh, you have cut all you lovely curls off. The girls go for that because they know their babies will have nice curly hair. Andy supports Huddersfield Town, who I call Huddersfield Clowns.

There was a young man from Huddersfield Town

Who supported the football team through their ups and downs?

One season wonders in the Premier League

And when they were relegated he started to grieve.

Or perhaps

Andy’s fair team of Huddersfield town

Continue to spiral down and down

Collectively not even worth half a crown

At the bottom end like a cow’s udders

Hence the name Udersfield town.

––––––––

Simon is from Trinidad and Tobago.

There was a young man from Trinidad and Tobago

Who every now and then suffered from lumbago.

He worked in the library, reading short stories to kids

Who all affectionately loved him to bits.

Lastly, we have Jackie. She works in the job shop within the library. She reminds me of counsellor Troy in Star Trek, the Next Generation.

Jackie, Jackie Job shop Jackie

Here to help you find a job,

CVs done, cover letters written

By the time she’s finished you’ll be so smitten

With a job in the bag.

While everyone else is having kittens.

One of the librarians is called Sophia. When I see her I always think of the capital of Bulgaria. Another is called Cameron, he makes me think of Cameron Mitchell, star of a 1960’s Western Serial that made such an impression on me. That was the High Chaparral. Somebody told me once that I looked a bit like the rancher’s son, Blue. That was partly because of my deep blue eyes. I told them that flattery would get them everywhere. I was returning a book once and the guy behind the counter was a relief librarian. He was just there for the day. As soon as I saw him I raised my voice and declared I’ve found Jesus and he's mine.

I’ve been called John Lennon, said the startled man, but never Jesus. One of the older librarians burst out laughing. She knew what I meant. I was re-enacting a scene from the 1961 film, Whistle Down the Wind, which starred Hayley Mills. It was the little boy in the barn who said those words to an escaped convict played by Alan Bates. It’s a classic of the post war era, and definitely in my top fifty films. Jenny works in the job shop, where obviously you can only look for jobs on the computers, not use them for personal matters. She can sniff out a face book user at 20 yards away. When she was on holiday I said. While the cat is away the face book mice are at play. In the play-off final recently Huddersfield failed to get promotion to the premier league, they lost 1-0 to Nottingham Forest, in a very close, tense game. Huddersfield Town went to Wembley Town. With high hopes of winning the ultimate crown. But Forest dealt them a deadly blow. By scoring that all important goal. Sentencing them to ever more grief. To play indefinitely in the lower leagues. I later said to a distraught almost inconsolable Andy. Never mind love there is always next season to try and win promotion to the big man’s premier league. I couldn’t get rid of a fly once when I was on the computer, without a news paper to swat them you have no chance. In the end I gave up and left it to its own devices. The cheeky little monkey went to sleep in the fur collar of my coat, where it must have been quite comfortable, wrapped up nice and warm. In its own little home from home for the duration of my stay in the library.  

On a Wednesday Bob used to go to the Roundhay pub as they had a special offer of five pounds for a bottle of wine. He got so drunk, he collapsed on the floor, when he came around he went home. But he’d lost his house keys somewhere on route. So, he had to sleep in the porch that night. He’s got respiratory problems, but yet he is still smoking cigars. I said to him once the Devil will be rubbing his hands and saying come on Bob, carry on like this and I will soon get my hands on you. Bob said he didn’t believe in all that rubbish. When you go, you go and that’s that, the Doctor keeps telling him to stop smoking, but to no avail.

A mutual friend of me and Bob called Raymond said to me once that Bob is the sort of guy that if you saw him in the street you would cross over the road to avoid him. He really is an unloved and unwanted pensioner. Now Raymond is a very interesting character. He has never set foot into a bookie in his life. When he got his pension credit he sold his car and flat and relocated to Tenerife. Nice, all year round, sunshine. Very low utility bills and you can eat out every night very cheaply. It just goes to show you what can be achieved by keeping out of the bookies and saving your money. Bob said to me quite seriously once. If I moved to Tenerife do you think the government will pay the rent. I replied. "Oh, I don’t think so Bob, but you can always give them a try.

My father was from Holland, but I never saw a bookie in Holland when I was a teenager. I think they must have had more sense. Mind you, I suppose it is no worse than selling cigarettes or alcohol. Someone asked me for a tip once, my answer was don’t bet in the first place.

Poor old Bob gambling all his working life. He was born of a mortal woman and lives a wretched existence. He has no cooker, fridge, microwave or television, he has been on Pension Credit since July 2012. And all he bought in that time is a new mattress and radio. In fact, I created a new word in the English language to describe him: the WRETCHIDITY of Bob’s life. Sitting there with his shirt hanging out and his shoe laces undone, I called him the dead-end kid of Oakwood.

His father’s brother emigrated to New Zealand before the war, Bob still keeps in touch with that side of the family. He always gets a Christmas card and a calendar every year from them. I said to him once, Do your relatives in New Zealand know what a wretched life you lead?

Bob just laughed. I hope not, he replied.

He showed me a news paper clipping once of one of his relatives from New Zealand. She was training in Florida to be an Astronaut. Just think Bob relative could have been the first person from New Zealand to go into space. Alas it was not to be, the whole project was cancelled due to the financial crisis.

You are not going to believe this. He sits in the stockbrokers next to the army careers office in Leeds City Centre. There he reads the Financial Times, as though he is a player. He advised me to buy Halford’s shares. He said he thought they would do well over the long term. I bet he hasn’t more than two or three hundred pounds left in the bank.

He liked the girl who worked behind the counter in the bookies. Bob said he thought she looked a bit like Cheryl Crow. In my opinion more like Russell Crowe. As the TV advert says, he should have gone to Specsavers.

She said to me once, Where did you dig Bob up from?

I replied, I think he is a little treasure.

She said, I wish you’d left him buried.

Another time, I said to her, Why don’t you have Bob for Christmas dinner?

I’d rather have a turkey.

Bob said. I don’t think I like that woman anymore.

Never mind Bob, I replied, there are plenty more fish in the sea. I used to sing to him, Bobby, Bobby, Bobby’s in love.

In the bookies once, he said. I haven’t eaten for two days.

Someone shouted back, Well force yourself, Bob!

Another time, after he had lost a lot of money, he said he was thinking about ending it all.   

I thought to myself, poor old fellow, he deserves a bit of luck. I whispered quietly,

"Horsey, horsey don’t you stop

Cliperty, cliperty, cliperty clop.

Give my friend Bob a winner

For he is always going to be a sinner.

Living life without a hope or a glimmer.

Walt shouted from the back of the room, I wish you would, Bob, and do us all a favour! I’m afraid in the bookie you are going to get no sympathy, you are only as good as your last set of results.

Bob might do his best, but I am sad to say, he is mad, bad and very dangerous to know. He was born in a barn, raised in a cave, boozing and gambling is all that he craves. Oh, he can be a very cruel man. A big guy in the bookie who had been on benefits for many years, passed away suddenly from a heart attack in 2018. Do you know what Bob said, well he didn’t die from over work did he? Preah in Emmerdale has got a bad back, Bob is the sort of guy who would say to her, Give us a piggy back love. 

Walt has a shiny, bald head and black teeth. They were all lined up like little black dominoes ready for action. I always remember the highest mainline railway station in England has something to do with the back of Walt’s head... Dent, on the Carlisle to Settle line, because of the dent in the back of Walt’s head.

Bob shouted back, What hair shampoo do you use, Walt? Wash and go? Every time you wash, a bit more hair goes.

Walt replied. Yes Bob, it’s like your money... here today and gone tomorrow.

It’s a tough life in the bookie, no place for the faint hearted.

I remember my first big win on the virtual racing. It was called Wonky Donkey, and it came in at 20-1. I had £5 on it. But as fast as I made money for my friends, so they spent it. I had been hoarding my share, putting it into a safety deposit box. Then, once a month, I would buy a gold coin, and add this to my collection. The bookies is one place where I am a somebody. A place where even the teenagers call you Mister, and ask if I want anything from Greggs.

I took up the offer once. Get me and Bob a steak slice and a can of diet coke each, I asked. But the young man frowned at Bob, and called him a horrible ugly little old troll. Bob said if he was twenty years younger he would take the teenager out and give him an ugly face.

In your dreams, grandad, had come the response.

Walt asked me once if I liked opera. I said, I watch that Oprah Winfrey on TV. Needless to say, Walt was not amused. He worked in tailoring, once in the car park he told me to raise my arms. I thought he was going too pat me down like they do at the airport. Actually, he was measuring me up for a suit, he also worked as a traveling salesman.  

I used to go to pub quizzes with Walt and a couple of his friends, once we were in the Hope Inn on York Road, collectively I call them the Barder Minehoff Gang. The quiz master at the Hope Inn reminds me of a weasel. He just looks the part, very slippery and sly. He called people who played Take a parters. Once he tried to con us out of the jackpot on a technicality, Walt was mad. He just stood up and called him a cheat. Anyway, it went to the landlord for adjudication, and he awarded us the winnings after all.

I bet he’d like to take you apart bit by bit, I said to Walt later, eyeing the quiz master.

Do I look worried, John? came Walt’s reply.

Once Walt was arguing with a guy and called him semi-illiterate.

The guy then stood up. Don’t you call me semi–illiterate; I am totally illiterate.

I swear that is exactly how it happened.

Walt brought his neighbor’s son Dick with him on one occasion. Apparently, he didn’t get out much and Walt offered to bring him along. I’m not kidding you he looked like the Tiger Tank Commander from the film Kelly’s Heroes. Clint Eastwood and his gang had to give him and his crew a cut of the gold bullion after a protracted fire fight resulted in a stalemate. After we had got the drinks in and settled, Dick asked me:

Do you play a lot of quizzes? Do you win every week? Do you share?

Yes, with those people who make a contribution, I replied.

I’m not sure Dick was all there, as Bob would say, I think he was a sandwich short of a picnic.

If I got the question that got us over the wining line. I would sing. You would have lost last night if it had been anyone else but me, anyone else but me.

Walt wife joy is so skinny she reminded me of olive oil out of Popeye, she always seemed to have a cigarette hanging out of the side of her mouth. I always wondered if she went to bed with a cig in her mouth. When we were sat around the table I would point at each of them in turn and sing. Pugh Pugh Barney Magrew Cuthbert Dibble Grub. Joy would always say. I don’t want to be Grub, Jim reminded me of Joe 90 because of his spectacles, he stutters on occasion, so I call him machine gun Kelly. And then there was Ken he looks like Clark Gable, he worked next door to the Hope Inn at Great Cloths, on the sales team. His son in law has a car dealership on the Isle of Wight, he looks like the actor William Devine. Ken was a club singer in his spare evening time. In October 1962 he met Tom Jones before he was famous, they were on the same bill at the Pegasus Pub in London. He was so precise because the Cuban Missile crisis was dominating the news. I think the Americans went to a Defcon Two the closest they ever came to all-out war with Russia. I know our Vulcan bombers were ready to take off at only four minutes notice, just enough time to get airborne if Russia launched a first strike. Our job was to take out the Radar and missile installations in Poland and western Russia. The American B.52s would then have swept in and destroyed 80 Russian cities, Yes, he was a very wise man Mister Khrushchev. Although as a face saver America said we will take our missiles out of Turkey, if you take yours out of Cuba, they also gave an undertaking that they would not invade Cuba. All this was negotiated by the president’s younger brother Bobby Kennedy, the Attorney General. Who travelled back and forth between the White House and the Russian Embassy in Washington D.C. Using the back entrance, so he was not seen, he and his brother played the good cop. He portrayed the U.S military as the bad cops, who wanted to do bad things to Russia. So, come to a deal with me and my brother, to avoid any nastiness. Many years later I saw the retired Russian General who had