I woke up this morning

"I woke up this morning . . ."

Carey's nose twitched. It was the first thing about him that gained
consciousness each and every morning like a submarine's periscope
breaking up through the surface, searching for pleasant aromas or
dangerous odours. The warm fragrance of Lucy, his ladylove was first to
arouse his nostrils and automatically his hand slid towards her warm
form as total consciousness dawned.
His eyes opened to greet the familiar scene, the cosy back cabin of
their old ex-working narrowboat, 'Achenar' a Star class motor late of
the Grand Union Canal Carrying Fleet of the 1930's their home for the
last few turbulent years. His hand gently stroked Lucy's warm back
hoping she would awaken and not be adverse to a little light exercise
until he remembered their current plight.
They were on the run from the British Waterways Patrolman. That thought
hit Carey like a dousing of cold canal water shrivelling any lustful
thoughts. Melodramatic perhaps but to Carey, Lucy and even for his
beloved narrowboat 'Achenar' it was serious. A revitalised British
Waterways threatened their aquatic existence. The canals of merry old
England were no longer being ignored and shunned by the twentieth
century, permitting travellers such as Carey and his ilk to waft like
ghostly wraiths upon the muddy ditches of his homeland as a dweller on
the threshold of society.
Enter the Blairite baddies stage left upon this forgotten territory and
a whole new frontier of the leisure industry is discovered, ripe for
exploitation by the middleclass entrepreneurs financed by golden grants
from Brussels. The third way, just what a two hundred year old
transport network hasn't been waiting for all these fallow years. New
legislation for boat safety standards and romantic propaganda fed by
the information technology industry fuelled mass floating bungalow
manufacture, regulating and pricing the ghostly wraiths off the
water.
Poverty hampered the necessary alterations to Achenar, to gain a safety
certificate and without the certificate they couldn't get insurance or
a license. They were canal outlaws and it was only a matter of time
before the patrolman impounded 'Achenar' making Carey and Lucy
homeless, left standing on the towpath clutching their few possessions
in plastic carrier bags, Carey's worse nightmare. Time to get up and
move on.
Carey gently propelled himself out of bed. He grabbed his pile of
clothes on the way out the cabin door and navigated his way through the
cramped engine room to the main cabin that once was Achenar's carrying
hold before her conversion to their home. As he fumbled himself into
his trousers Carey peered through one of the little brass framed
portholes that lined both steel plated cabin walls. Greeny brown muddy
water, trees, hedges and the rising fields of the Chilton hills was the
sight he was expecting he blinked in disbelief.
No it couldn't be, his eyes were lying to him surely? The vista that
greeted Carey's sleepy countenance was one that any self respecting
science fiction addict would instantly recognize and revel in. Carey
couldn't believe it he was looking out into Space. His beloved
narrowboat was apparently orbiting in space around a big yellow blue
and red planet with a brightly glowing cosmic dust ring around it.
Carey blinked and stared through the dusty circle of glass again.
The perplexing image was still there as further details penetrated his
bedazzled brain. Achenar was not alone in her orbit around the planet.
He counted thirty space ships constructed in the style of giant house
flys keeping silent orbit with his narrowboat.
He was gripped by panic his head swimming in dizzy confusion Carey
slumped into his familiar battered old armchair unable to comprehend
this incredible view, this was not the Grand Union canal. On the verge
of hysteria Carey took several deep breaths as he fought back an
overwhelming urge to scream. Then calmness came over him like warm rain
landing on the tranquil surface of the canal, it's ripples soothing his
terrorised mind.
No some one was playing a trick on him; during the night they must have
pasted pictures taken from science fiction magazines, over Achenar's
portholes as a joke, that was it! He was just about to get up from his
comforting armchair to check out this reassuring theory when the next
mind-blowing hallucination appeared before his shell-shocked
eyes.
A three dimensional holographic image of the supposedly faked scene
outside his porthole appeared. It was about the size and shape of a pet
shop aquarium; words were swimming about the holographic scene in a
trail of sentences. In miniature before his eyes Carey could see his
little narrowboat dwarfed by the rest of this astonishing fleet of
battle craft for that's what they appeared to be, bristling with
futuristic weapons of mass destruction all in a menacing orbit around
this defenceless planet.
He could now see all this in detail on this three dimensional tele
screen that had materialised before his incredulous eyes. The words
swimming about in this holographic fish tank were reassuringly in
English but Carey's brain could only find space and concentration
enough to read a few phrases like "Channel Nine's Intergalactic News
Bulletin" and "Sponsored by Coca Cola Galactica Corporation." The two
familiar words "Coca Cola" registered in Carey's mind but gave him no
feeling of reassurance, generations of subliminal product placement
were wasted on Carey's mind right now. He was still struggling with the
unbelievable fact that his non-certificated unlicensed narrowboat was
out in space orbiting an alien planet, which was surrounded by shark
like monolithic spacecraft of demonic destructive power.
Was this a 'friend's' idea of a joke gone too far? Had someone not only
pasted science fiction pictures on the porthole glass but also slipped
several tabs of L.S.D. in to their drinking water tank? No Carey knew
he didn't have friends that stupid or that generous with their drug
stash come to think of it! No he would have to come up with another
solution for this nightmare.
When the female newsreader's animated portrait appeared in all her
glossy sensual imagery with a bust that so obviously contained a bonus
prize. Carey's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. The garment's
budging curvature emphasized that this lady had an extra mammary where
a normal woman would have a cleavage. But that was nothing compared
with the revelation that was to come from the lips of this triple
breasted power dressed newsreader.
In a lilting singsong transatlantic voice she set about explaining the
political reasoning behind this planetary siege. The gist of which
Carey managed to grasp. The Galactic Empire over a period of time had
been hunting down the leaders of an extreme fundamentalist group of
terrorists who had been tracked to this uninhabited planet. Hence the
vast fleet of star ships surrounding the planet. The sudden appearance
of the ring around the planet broadcasting the powerful message that
God the Creator of all, was in residence on the planet on a spiritual
retreat from his creation had stunned the whole empire and halted any
further provocative action from the authorities. Believers and
non-believers alike from the Empress herself down to the lowly Star
trooper from all over the galaxy were frozen to the very core of their
being, struggling with the thought of the existence of God. In short
they did not know what to do next. If God really did exist the
terrorists were hiding behind the cloak of the Almighty and if God
didn't exist then it was a pretty elaborate hoax that had brought the
Galactic Empire to a very dramatic halt. Humanity was holding it's
collective breath awaiting developments.
After this brief outline of the situation the newsreader went on to
describe the major players in the drama showing holographic images of
each key player as she described their role and merits. When she
announced the name of the Commander General of the mighty Starfleet who
was entrusted with carrying out the seek and destroy mission and the
holographic image of Carey himself in full military uniform appeared
before his bewildered eyes. Carey's overloaded brain couldn't take
anymore, he fainted on the spot.
Carey's nose twitched at the aroma of travelling juice that roused him
back to consciousness. His eyes were drawn to the reassuring jam jar
full of red diesel, which was held below his nose by nurse Lucy. He
gently brushed her inspired first aid remedy away from his nostrils and
looked deeply into her large brown eyes. Her concern for him was
obvious, "How are you feeling?" she enquired. "Fine, I don't know what
came over me," he whispered. He was still staring into her tranquillity
inducing eyes too frightened to look elsewhere for signs of
unreality.
"Well lover do you think you could handle a little surprise or three?"
She said this as her face slowly retreated from his close field of
vision. 'A little surprise or three?' Such strange phraseology, Carey
thought as he looked up at Lucy standing before him. The meaning of her
choice of words hit him almost literally as she seductively opened up
her green silk dressing gown. He stared agog at the most beautiful
trio, yes his eyes took the trouble to count again, trio of breasts
with three lovely dark nipples all pert and pointed.
"Oh Lucy!" he gasped half in horror half with the deep throaty growl of
sexual arousal that had worked so well on Lucy's ears in the past. She
moved down on him and sat astride his lap whispering, "they're lovely
aren't they?" Carey was stuck for choice as she thrust out her trio of
mammaries before his lips; he kissed each pert little nipple slowly in
turn from left to right.
"Honey I hate to tear my self away from all this," he announced
smothered in cleavage "but have you noticed any other little
irregularities?"
"Little irregularities! I'd hardly call them that." She answered
huffily, "They're beautiful. But no I haven't." Then the possibility of
further outrageous treats dawned, her eager hands swooped down to the
zip on Carey's jeans. Frantically brushing her hands aside he said "No
I mean have you taken a look out of a porthole yet this morning?" Lucy
raised herself up off Carey's lap thus depriving him of any further
view of her new found bosom and closed her silk dressing gown very
primly in the true Doris Day fashion.
She stood up and stared through the nearest porthole for a full minute
without commenting, giving Carey enough time to doubt his own earlier
observations. When she eventually turned to face him her eyes as wide
as saucers her fulsome mouth hanging open he knew Lucy had seen the
same as himself.
"So who untied our mooring ropes in the night and let us drift off like
this? All right so I'm not going to panic, I'm not. Actually I am going
to panic, Carey!" He stood up and embraced the now sobbing Lucy the
mounds of her buy two and get one free breasts pressing into his chest
was a sensuous if somewhat surreal comfort.
There was then a tap upon the engine room door, which sliced into their
comforting embrace like a razor. They both stared at the slowly opening
door as a uniformed officer stepped into the cramped confines of their
main cabin. He was not the British Waterways patrol officer that they
had previously dreaded encountering to serve legal documents on them.
His entrance would have been welcomed enthusiastically with open arms
as the saviour of their sanity.
No this young figure had a more military bearing than the B.W. patrol
officer could ever muster. He was wearing a uniform similar to the one
Carey had seen himself wearing in that astonishing holographic display
just before he had fainted.
"Er sorry to interrupt you Commander General sir but there have been
further developments," the young officer announced. "A delegation of
all the major religions has arrived and joined orbit. They er are
demanding an audience with you Commander General sir, concerning 'God's
Postcard' sorry sir, the communicating ring around this planet I mean
sir." More puzzling to Carey than the appearance of this officer or his
announcement, was the fact that the officer didn't seem to notice that
he was standing in the hold of a seven foot beam steel riveted
full-length converted narrowboat more at home on the southern reaches
of the Grand Union canal, England, Earth, circa 1999 A.D. Never mind
the fact that he was addressing an ageing hippie and his girlfriend who
were both suffering from post transitional universal shift trauma. No
this young man's behaviour was more in keeping with an officer
addressing his commander, someone like Jean Luc Piccard in his private
quarters aboard the Star ship 'Enterprise' or some other science
fiction character dredged up from the fertile minds of Robert Heinlein,
Frank Herbert, Alan Dean Foster or others of that genre so Carey
thought.
What Lucy thought on the other hand was Arrrrrrrrrrgh! Lucy didn't like
leaving the towpath for the streets never mind planet Earth!
Carey having calmed Lucy down as best he could by showing her the 3D
holographic television for which apparently you didn't need a remote
control, you just 'thought' the adjustment you wanted. She was soon
engrossed in some glossy daytime 'soap' where to Lucy's initial
disappointment all the female characters had three breasts but she
didn't let a little thing like that get in the way of her enjoyment of
the number one soap 'Solar System Row' an everyday story of
interplanetary trillionaires, high fashion, wheeler dealing and sex,
lots of sex!
Lucy had never quite forgiven Carey for the day that he threw their
little portable television out the side hatch door declaring television
to be the number one corrosive influence of the western world. So
'Eastenders' and 'The Weakest Link' weren't dripping with culture but
there was no need to dispatch the weakest link into the canal. But you
can't get rid of Ms. Robinson that easily televisions don't sink. Lucy
had watched with ever increasing withdrawal symptoms, the little
portable floating backwards and forwards past their boat for days like
a wing damaged Albatross before some kids humanely put both Lucy and
the TV out of it's misery with a flying brick to the screen.
So having placated Lucy with the all pervading hypnotic tranquilliser
of the electronic medium Carey could finish dressing and slip away to
the attentive officer waiting in the cramped engine room to escort his
Commander General to an audience with all the religious luminaries the
empire could muster to face the age old question. Does God exist? And
if so is he allowed to be on holiday in a war zone?
Spaceships were all of a much of a muchness, big gleaming futuristic
dream machines or so Carey thought as he moved through the back cabin
doorway of his narrowboat and stepped directly into the corridor of one
such big gleaming spacecraft. Almost a lifetime's exposure to the genre
of science fiction in all it's forms from watching as a child in
terrified excitement 'Dr Who' from behind his parents' settee. To his
days in Milton Keynes and his courtship of Lucy. Endless hours alone
together in one of the darkened screening rooms of the multi-plex
cinema 'the Point' watching a season of the best that Sci Fi celluloid
could offer as an aphrodisiac. The cinema it's self more like a
spaceship than a building, as central Milton Keynes is said to be more
like a space port than a city.
All this exposure to the genre had blunted Carey's appetite to be
amazed by shiny pieces of technology, large or small. Why there was no
gap between Carey's boat and the sealed interior to the spacecraft was
as Carey put it later to Lucy a bit of an Alice in Wonderland conundrum
besides did Alice stop to contemplate the physical dimensional
impossibilities as she fell into the rabbit burrow?
The uneasy thought that made Carey's brain wobble as he was being
escorted to the quarantine hanger for a meeting with all the spiritual
leaders of the universe, was this great cosmic bluff that everyone
around him seemed to be conspiring in. Their belief that he was their
General Commander! He felt like the naked king of the fairytale waiting
for the cry from the naive urchin denouncing his public nudity but
every officer and trooper he encountered on his journey along the
corridors saluted him with the dignity of his presumed rank. Was there
no end to this nightmare?
As the great carbon fibre doors to the hanger slid open and Carey and
his escort entered the huge cavernous hanger the rich musty perfumed
scent of incense assaulted his nostrils. High church indeed Carey
thought, as his eyes grew accustomed to the strange unworldly lighting
and the holographic scenes that it illuminated. Perhaps he had
inadvertently stepped into Dante's Inferno?
The 3D holographic viewer that had appeared to Carey aboard his
narrowboat had nothing on these giant vision cubes. Every religion ever
conceived by Man was represented each in it's own full-scale
holographic cube. In this futuristic world the one and all-pervading
concept was that the visual image was omnipotent! Carey particularly
liked the two android cherubs hovering above the shoulders of the
current Pope seated in his opulent throne surrounded by his attendant
cardinals, virtue written on every fat face, nice touch that Carey
thought. As Carey was guided along this religious display he couldn't
help but think it was some sort of surreal beauty pageant and he was
the new Eric D. Morley.
One particular 'exhibit' that was drawn to his attention was introduced
to him as Jesus Christ himself! A group of highly skilled cloning
technicians had been tasked with the job of scraping DNA samples of
J.C. from the remains of the Turin Shroud to clone an exact copy of our
Lord himself. Carey could see by looking at the exhibit that the
cloning technicians had soon realised that they had been dealt a
poisoned chalice. So a little surreptitious cheating had occurred with
the secretly donated DNA of certain Hollywood stars, hence the western
facial appearance of our Lord Jesus Christ as he stood in a pose of
total humility before Carey's bewildered gaze.
Carey's return to the Commander General's private quarters or rather as
he and Lucy alone saw it, their Star class narrowboat 'Achenar' after
the religious geek show, was a classic 'Hi honey I'm home' situation.
Carey was even tempted to say the classic line as he gazed at his
beloved.
It was like a domestic scene from the Hanna Barbera TV cartoon series
'The Jetsons', 60's american suburban life set in the Sci-fi future.
There was Mrs. Jetson still in her green silk dressing gown, hair tied
back in a ponytail, face coated in a mask of some sort of beauty
treatment cream, cocktail glass in one hand, gold tipped cigarette in
the other, still gazing transfixed at the 3D holographic cube floating
in the air at a discreet distance before her eyes pumping out yet
another glossy episode of a soap opera. While all around her in the
cabin was a hustle of mechanical domestic servitude, little robotic
machines were hovering about in some sort of anti-gravity field some
polishing the brass portholes, others dusting and polishing items of
furniture while rearranging books cassettes and old newspapers. One
poor robot had drawn the short straw and was manfully or should that be
robotically attempting to black the rusty old caste iron stove, a task
that both Lucy and Carey had long ago given up as a lost cause. Carey
stepped round one hovering mechanical munchkin that was preparing a
fresh martini for the queen bee and slumped into his comfy old armchair
beside Lucy's. Without tearing her eyes away from the 3D cube Lucy
announced, "God you look tired!"
"You just don't know what I've been through today Luce."
"They haven't sussed out you're not their Commander General yet then
have they?" "No, no I'm still in charge of Darth Vadar's Star fleet.
Could declare all out war on Mars tomorrow if I wanted to. No I seem to
be stuck in charge of this nightmare. Oh where's the stash? I could do
with a really big joint now to blow away the cobwebs."
"Here," Lucy said passing their precious little stash box that a
munchkin had only just finished polishing. "Why don't you get one of
the little robots to roll it for you?"
"Christ Loose if I can't roll my own joint then reality has really got
the better of me."
Carey managed to fit the papers together and build himself a joint
worthy of his position as military leader of the galactic empire; he
lit it and started to suck on it contentedly. Lucy managed to 'think'
the domestic munchkins into taking a break from their chores all except
one little munchkin that with puppy like devotion hovered close by
Carey's burning joint with ashtray and miniature fire extinguisher
attachment.
"I saw you on a newscast earlier today," Lucy interrupted his silent
revelry. "Right in the middle of an episode of 'Coronation
Street'."
"Your joking you mean old Corrie street is still running now, after all
this time? I bet William Roache is still in it, probably in a cryogenic
suspension machine and they thaw him out for a few episodes every time
the ratings drop."
"No don't be silly, no I found it on a twenty-first century history
channel. A group of media archaeologists had dug up about three months
worth of videotapes from 2016 and had managed to process them into 3D
holographics for broadcasting. They won a GAFTA award for it. Trouble
was I didn't recognise any of the characters in it, being episodes from
seventeen years into the future for me."
"Still when we get back to our time you'll know more than the average
Corrie fan, which isn't saying much!" Carey answered her as he tried to
push the insistent ashtray munchkin away from his face.
"I'm not sure I want to go back to our time Carey love, I quite like
being the concubine to the Commander General of her Imperial Majesty's
Space fleet. You looked so smart in your uniform on the telecast." Lucy
smiled at him salaciously as she undid the cord to her dressing gown
and wiggled her three breasts at her lover provocatively. Carey grinned
at the fashionable perks of twenty-third century cosmetic surgery;
right now he wasn't too sure whether he would want to return to their
own time either. Returning to 1999 to endure further persecution by the
austere offices of British Waterways wasn't as life threatening as his
present predicament, but Lucy seemed to be enjoying the high life that
his position offered and Lucy was everything to him. It was just the
thought of the weird task that the religious leaders had unanimously
proposed at the meeting, which he the Commander General must undertake
on their behalf that made him quake inside with terror.
But tomorrow was another day. Ignoring the panda like appearance of
Lucy's beauty cream coated face he took his overtly endowed concubine
by the hand and romanced her towards bed, to join the more than 'Mile
High' club, even Albert Einstein and Marilyn Monroe didn't get this far
out on a date.
Carey stood on one of several round glowing daises that were housed in
the transporter room, he was about to be transported down to the planet
that apparently was playing host not only to a band of wanted
interplanetary terrorists but also as the communicator ring around the
planet proclaimed, was host to God Almighty on retreat, on a spiritual
holiday, taking a break from his creation. Religious petitioners not
welcome!
Carey was not a religious man he had been brought up in the cosy world
of state school and Church of England indoctrination watching in
disbelief at the sickly Sunday school image of a great white bearded,
all powerful God on his throne in heaven dispensing his patriarchal
judgement over puny little man. The image slowly dissolving in the
common consciousness of his fellow Christians, as greed and materialism
took a hold, as the Evangelists and the Happy Clappy's danced
enthusiastically to the new tune.
The Catholic Church slowly putrefying in it's own arrogant attempt to
stem the tide of humanity's spiritual growth and flowering. The Jewish
faith with its newfound fight against Nazi led extinction intent upon
self-preservation first and last whatever the cost.
The eastern religions Hindu or Muslim like tapestry threads that could
be woven into a nation's banner by crazed despotic weavers thus
ensuring subservient faith and politics were intertwined in the same
bloodstained cloth.
No Carey wasn't a religious man, a spiritual man perhaps, more akin
with the instinctive beliefs of the native American Indian or the
Australian Aborigine and their natural attunement to creation and
existence. Which is probably why up until yesterday at least he lived
as a dweller on the threshold of twentieth century society floating
gently on water.
So why was he here now in this particular quadrant of the universe with
twenty-third century interdenominational approval, about to be launched
on a quest to find the answer to humanity's eternal question. Does God
really exist? If so, would he mind cutting short his holiday and
evacuate the planet so her Empirical Majesty's Starfleet can dispense
justice by blowing up the planet thus carrying out the death sentence
on a band of interplanetary criminals?
Carey looked across at the white-cloaked clone standing on his glowing
dais; his eyes were closed with his hands clasped together in prayer.
Great thought Carey, he has no faith in the technology either! Then the
hum of the machinery increased and with the feeling of dirty swirling
bathwater being sucked down a plughole his body dematerialised and
vanished from the dais.
He rematerialised in the air two feet above the bright yellow sand of
what appeared to be a beach and fell knees first onto the soft dunes.
He looked around for his travelling companion who was behind him
kneeling on the sand his hands still clasped together in prayer
muttering under his breath some incoherent incantation.
Carey stood up and looked around, the sky, which was dark blue, coated
with little twinkling stars. He gasped when he saw the great arch of
rainbow light cutting across the sky, which was the communicator ring
around the planet. There was a sea of what appeared to be liquid
mercury slowing lapping at the edge of the beach accurately reflecting
a mirror image of the heavens above, a light scented breeze was gently
blowing in from the sea. The whole vista was achingly familiar in
structure yet alien and awesome in texture and scale. It just took his
breath away.
What this place needed to make it perfect was a visitation from the
members of the ageing psychedelic band the Pink Floyd who would be
inspired enough to score music for this amazing location. Almost as if
on cue the air was filled with the sound of music meticulously in the
style of the very band in question. Carey couldn't help but smile this
was all beginning to be too much. It certainly was for the robed figure
of Jesus Christ as at the start of the music his babbling incantations
had increased in frantic ferocity, hands still clasped together. Carey
spoke to him trying to break though the babbling, "Come on Jesus let's
go find God!" His spirits emboldened by the music, he started walking
along the shore towards the source of the sound with Jesus tagging
along behind like a nervous puppy dog.
On their journey along the beach they came across a great red coloured
mound of jelly. It was like a very large beached jellyfish glistening
in the silver blue light. It wasn't until he was almost touching the
quivering structure that Carey could see through it and gasped. There
embedded in the centre of the red gel was what could only be the
landing craft of the terrorist gang. Looking closer he could see the
terrorists outside their craft setting up a base camp. Their movement
and actions in slow motion, their whole existence inside the giant
jelly, was ticking away on a vastly slower scale, oblivious to the two
men on the outside looking in. So God had painlessly neutralised his
uninvited guests, thought Carey as he continued along the mercury's
edge.
When they came to the jetty built from scaffold poles stuck in the sand
with pallet wood, as a walkway Carey knew this was it. He looked out to
the end of the jetty and saw the boat moored up gently bobbling in the
mercury sea. It was a posh sea going Gin palace, one of many seen
'lording it' on the waters of the river Thames, all white fibreglass
with brass fittings, bikini clad blondes wearing sunglasses and fixed
smiles lounging on deck, whilst some balding lobster red, fat bellied
middle aged man wearing a gold braided white cap sat surveying all that
he owned and controlled.
As they walked towards the end of the jetty Carey could see that this
particular Gin palace didn't have the ubiquitous bikini clad blondes
but it did have the white capped lobster red figure in bermuda shorts
and sandals who was standing on the deck before him with a smile on his
face and two glasses of gin in his hands. One of which he handed to
Carey upon boarding the boat.
The stranger clinked glasses with Carey winked mischievously and said,
"Welcome aboard son! And who's that pious mongrel dog with you? Should
I know him?"

Copyright 2002. davyferguson