Exceptional Akira Diaries - Part Five

Hands up those who are still with me??One, two?um?three
(sigh)


Anyhoo, let me take you back to those halcyon days of
Christmas 2003, when we were younger, more innocent and the European
Space Agency were still looking forward hopefully and with shiny,
bright eyes.


Then Beagle 2 disappeared and our distopian future opened up
before us.


?.And so there I was on Mars, looking for WMDs (Weapons Of
Martian Destruction), facing a group of local bods battling some nasty
Earthlings. The boss local bod spoke?..


Day thirty-one


(By the way, the following entry may be offensive to anyone
sensitive about speech impediment - or any Martians)


"There ith really no need for all thith fighting. We are in
general a peath loving people and thith untheamly dithplay of
fithtycuffs ith ekthtremeley out of character. I do believe that you
Earthlings may have infected uth with your aggrethive
tendanthies."


At this point, one of Blohard's deputies stepped forward to
speak. "That is awwant and widiculous wubbish. We are here to wecover
your vewy powerful weapon, which we know exists somewhere on this wed
planet. If you don't weveal its whereabouts to us immediately we shall
be forced to weconoitre further until its whereabouts is, um, wevealed.
I weally weally wecommend that you do as I wequest."


"Thtop thweatening uth, you thimpleton. Do you not realithe
that the weaponth of which you thpeak were dethtroyed yearth ago and
the rumourth of their ekthithtence are jutht that?.rumourth. Now leave
our planet in peathe and return to yourth."


Could this be true? Were there relly no weaponth - er,
weapons? Had Blohard, the Europeans and the Americans all spent all
this time and money chasing a crazy dream? I found this hard to believe
and so I decided to go and look for myself. That is, I decided myself
to go and have a look, not go and have a look for myself. I knew where
I was, of course.


While the two sufferers of tragically unfunny (I discovered)
speech impediments continued to argue, I slipped away into the shadows
to investigate further??


Day thirty-two


This was a weird place (well, I was on another planet, for
goodness sake)?I wandered down a passage that was long and straight
with a roof I could hardly see (Note to self: put on glasses next
time).


Soon I started to hear the sound of what seemed like chuffing
and banging in the distance and eventually the passageway opened out
into a massive cavern full of machinery which clanked and shuddered
like an old steam engine in painful death throes. In fact, as I watched
the whole place started to fill with smoke?.Something was wrong.



Instantly dozens of the little green men started to run past
me, screaming and pushing each other out of the way in their dash for
the exits. I thought maybe I should be somewhere else?


I grabbed one of the running men and, as he struggled to get
away from me, I shouted in his ear over the noise, "What's happening?
What's going on?"


"It's that Earthlings' Beagle craft! It's got stuck in the
remanufacturer and is going to explode!"


Quickly I cut a deal with him. "Look, I can run much faster
than you with my lovely long Earthling-type legs compared to your diddy
little Martian legs. If I carry you out of here as I run away in panic
and confusion, will you tell me what the hell is going on around
here?"


"Deal"


I picked him up and dropped him onto my shoulders and, as we
jogged down another passageway that was marked "Exit" in nice big
comforting letters (Hitchhikers' Guide reference there), this is what
he told me?.


Day thirty-three


Many, many years ago (long before you Earthlings had invented
WMDs, scud missiles and "Neighbours") there was a devastating war of
attrition on Mars that ended in a stalemate between four separate
nations - North Mars, South Mars, East Mars and West Slough, the last
named after our evil God of Concrete. Finally the scientists developed
the ultimate "doomsday" weapon. We called it "Saturday Night
Television" to try and describe how incredibly terrible it was. Of
course, we thought that it would never be used, the very knowledge of
its existence would be enough to stop anyone trying anything. Then, of
course, somebody tried something??


After the dust had settled, all that was left was the bomb, a
lot of dust and a few of us fortunate enough to be wearing protective
clothing when the balloon went up. The protective clothing, by the way,
was a dressing gown, pyjamas and slippers - we still don't know why
this worked. None of us who survived were scientists so we had no idea
how to dismantle the weapon, so we've spent the years since dedicating
our lives to stopping any other race taking it away and destroying
their own planets. So far we have saved the lizard people of Saturn,
the intelligent amoeba of Venus and Jerry Springer (our only big
mistake).


Now we find that you Earthlings have discovered the existence
of our greatest shame and want it for yourselves. This cannot be
allowed to happen and we shall fight to the last man to stop
you.


Unfortunately, the machine you call Beagle 2 went way off its
planned course when it arrived and it landed directly on top of the
trigger mechanism and we now only have 30 minutes to get into our
pyjamas before it is activated - and, double unfortunately, we don't
have enough pairs to go around??


Day thirty-four


By this time we were back in the main hall where the others
were still discussing the existence or not of the SNT
(SaturdayNightTelevision) bomb, except that the conversation had now
somehow progressed onto Tim Henman's chances at Wimbledon this year. As
we burst in breathlessly all heads turned in our direction. (Well, an
incredibly good-looking Englishman with a small Martian on his
shoulders is pretty unusual, even in this story)


"You may as well stop arguing. There really is a bomb and it
is going to go off in about?." I shouted


"?.twenty-three minutes," finished my Martian friend, looking
at his watch.


"What?.what happened?" gasped one of the tall Martians, too
surprised to even use words that involved speech
impediments.


"This little chap here, " I said, helping the little chap
down from my shoulders, "informs me that Beagle 2 has managed somehow
to get trapped inside the bomb and trigger the, um, trigger
mechanism."


"Oh, oh, sir, sir," cried one of Blohard's guys, waving an
arm wildly in the air to attract our attention. "That would be our
fault. When we were trying to get rid of the European's Mars vehicle,
the easiest thing we could think to do with it was to chuck it down a
nearby pot-hole."


"That wath no pot hole!" The Martian remembered his lisp this
time. "That wath an air-vent, you fool. It was directly over the bomb
bay. (Did't you see the sign that said "Bomb Bay. Duck When Entering"?)
We're doomed, all doomed!"


"Actually we may not be." I had to speak loudly to be heard
over all the weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. All went quiet
as they turned to look at me. "I may have a cunning
plan???"


Day thirty-five


Again I was talking through my nether regions?.I had no idea
what to do next but someone had to stop all this unseemly panic. I had
to think quickly.


Five minutes later my audience was starting to get
restless.


"Well?"


"Hang on, it's coming." I screwed up my eyes in concentration
and everyone took a careful step backwards.


"Boss!" I'd completely forgotten about my trusty and
stunningly beautiful assistant dressed in her skin-tight spacesuit. As
Meghan ran gracefully out of the corridor that led from the bomb, her
blonde hair flowing out behind her and her gorgeous features all
a-glow, everyone turned expectantly to ogle - er - to look in her
direction. "I've just stopped that silly machine down there making all
that awful noise. It sounded as if it was going to
explode!"


"But - how?"


"I pulled the plug out of the mains, of course. And you men
say that we girlies are no good with electrical
things!"


"Meghan, you've saved us all."


A loud cheer went up from the assembled antagonists and
instantly, in their relief, they forgot that they were all at each
others' throats a moment before and, clapping loudly and patting each
other on the back, they all decided that all this world domination and
bomb stuff was just daft and went off to the pub to get all
pissed.


I smiled at Meghan and she smiled at me and I said, "It seems
that our work here is done, my dear. We've saved Mars and Earth and put
Blohard back in prison where he belongs. I wonder what will happen nex
- "


Instantly I found myself on a horse in the middle of a
battlefield with bullets wizzing around me, men screaming in agony and
cannon blasting in my ears, as someone with a "Duke Of Wellington" name
tag on his hat glared at me and said, "Well, Major Akira, are you going
to attack Napoleon's cavalry or not, sir?"


Oh bugger?.


Day thirty-six


Now, I've been to Waterloo many times and it's never looked
like this?.I'm used to seeing trains, passengers, Eurostars and such,
not funnily dressed men on dirty great horses charging around and
lethal bits of red hot metal flying around my body.


All around me were officer-types who were staring at me and
tutting, clearly annoyed that I hadn't galloped off down the hill yet
at the head of a couple of hundred suicidal idiots into the face of
certain death. Then the person on the horse next to me leant over and
whispered (loudly) in my ear.


"Akira, it's me, Meghan, disguised as a dashing young
lieutenant of the Household Brigade (which you seem to be in charge of)
and which the Duke Of Wellington has just instructed you to chase the
retreating troops from D'Erlon's four divisions, whose attack we have
just repulsed."


"But if I do that, Meghan, the horsemen, in the excitement of
the charge, will overrun their target and get destroyed almost to a man
by the forces of the Belle Alliance" (History A Level, Grade
C)


"There is one possible solution to this seemingly
impenetrable problem, sir," replied my cleverly-diguised assistant,
"Use some magic."


"Magic? What on earth are you talking about, girl - er -
boy?" And then I noticed something very strange; no one on the
battlefield appeared to have anything resembling a conventional
firearm. Instead of rifles and pistols, some of them seemed to be
carrying black sticks with white ends from which was crackling
zigzagging flashes of light while others were just muttering
incantations and pointing their fingers towards the
enemy.


Clearly this wasn't the Battle Of Waterloo I recalled from my
school days??.


Day thirty-seven


"Well, Major,"growled the Duke. "I'm waiting"


"Um, so am I." I decided to take a chance. "Do you not think,
sir, that it would be better to wait until after lunch to advance? They
do say that an army marches on its stomach?"


"I don't want you to MARCH sir! I want you to
CHARGE!"


I sensed that Wellington was getting slightly tetchy. I
shrugged; there was only one way forward. It appeared I had to lead the
troops into the maelstrom of magic down the hill?..


"Ready men! Swords - er - wands at the ready!
Chaaaaaaarge"


My horse leapt eagerly forward - luckily I stayed on its back
- and away we went. The next few minutes are a bit of a blur. I was
surrounded by my men (and one cleverly disguised woman) all hurtling
along, screaming out murderous oaths and blood-curdling
cries.


"Murderous oaths," they went, "Blood-curdling
cries"


Magic spells crackled over our heads. When one would hit a
soldier there was a flash of bright, white light, a nasty smell and
suddenly there was a startled frog (or a llama in one case I noticed)
sitting in its place, wondering what was going on and desperately
trying to find somewhere to hide. The casualties were
horrendous.


I found myself galloping into a thick, acrid cloud of purple
smoke and when several minutes later, I came out the other side,
coughing and wheezing - horror of horrors - I was on my own. All of my
men seemed have got lost just back behind me - or possibly something
worse had happened to them?.


"Akira!" shouted Meghan, "Here I am, major, my
major"


(Badly thought-out "Dead Poets Society"
reference)


Before I could turn around to investigate this peculiar
happening (the disappearance of the horsemen; not the survival of
Meghan) I was surrounded by French infantrymen brandishing their wands
(which looked not unlike French sticks of bread, oddly) and forcing me
to stop in my tracks.


"Well, well, the famous Major Akira?. Here is a prize
indeed," smirked their captain. "I expect my Emperor will be wanting to
meet you straight away."


I seemed to be out of the cauldron and into the fire. Sacre
bleu, le bugger?.


Day thirty-eight


Napoleon wasn't at all the figure I expected.


He was taller for a start, and his height was accentuated by
the wizard's hat he was wearing and he was considerably thinner than
his pictures. He had a prominent hooked nose and?..just a minute?.Now I
think about it, the Wellington I'd just left on the other side of the
battlefield was a short, barrel-shaped man with one hand stuck in his
jacket?..


I could see there was more to this place than just magic that
was different.


I needed time to think about this, so before "Napoleon" had a
chance to speak, I used my old tried and trusted ploy to escape from
him.


"Sir," I began. "It is indeed a great honour to finally meet
you and - good grief! What's that over there? All of your trusty
Imperial Guard are in fact naked young ladies!"


In the confusion, Meghan and I made good our escape, spurring
our horses into a frenzied gallop and putting enough distance between
ourselves and the deadly battleground as we could before slowing to a
trot and starting to look for a friendly-looking Belgian farmhouse that
we could rest in.


Little did I realise that we were being followed. And not on
the ground?..


Day thirty-nine


"Look, boss," cried Meghan, pointing upwards. "We're being
followed"


Sure enough, there were four small figures on broomsticks
tailing us at a height of about two hundred feet. No?..they were four
very small figures on tiny broomsticks tailing us at about 6 feet.



"What are you?.? Who are?.? Why??" I asked the little flyers,
as articulately as possible.


"We are your good angels and bad devils, of course.
Everywhere you go, we go. If you need to make a decision one of will
give you wise, helpful choices, the other will try to get you to make
mischief . You must have seen us before, surely"


Such a potentially simple story?.and so much to
learn.


"Okay, but keep a low profile, can't you? We're trying to
slip quietly away from the battle without being
followed."


"Oh, that's alright," smirked my little devil. "Only you can
see us."


I was getting confused. "But I can see Meghan's pair as well.
Why's that?"


"You're not from around these parts are you? Surely you know
that when two people become an -er- item they can see all of each
other's demons, angels, devils, spellbinders, protectors and what have
you."


As Meghan blushed shyly and pretended to be fixing her
horse's bridle, I tried to make sense of all this.


"So you're saying we are carrying around a horde of you
little guys all the time?"


"Well not all the time, obviously. That would just be silly.
We're only here at the moment because you need us to help you decide
what to do next. How's that going by the way?"


"God only knows," I sighed.


"Oh, don't drag him into it. We'll be here arguing all day if
he turns up to help!"


I didn't know if I'd be able to handle this
place??



That's it for now! Part Six to follow soon! Keep smiling! Send food
parcels!