Free Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom by S.B. Davies

kept
the grass trimmed.
    ‘Atherton?’
said Fergus. Large blue words shimmered in the air.
    REQUEST FOR
COMMUNICATION – CHIMERA NOT DESIGNIGNATED
    RESPONSE – WHAT
IS YOUR ORIGINATION?
    ‘Hold on a
minute, we need to make a deal. I need to know how to save the
allotments.’
    RESPONSE – MORE
INFORMATION.
    ‘How can we
fight off the spiders and save the allotments? If we call up the
army, the allotments end up as part concentration camp, part
science experiment.’
    RESPONSE –
ASSESMENT INDICATES FAILURE TO REPULSE INVASION. HUMANS AUTHORITIES
NOT RELEVANT. INVADERS NO THREAT TO THE CONCLAVE.
    WHAT IS YOUR
ORIGINATION?
    ‘You assessment
is flawed. If the Army get involved and the spiders are not
repulsed, Huddersfield will be a battlefield for years to come. If
things get really bad and they decide to drop a nuke, our
assessment is that the machine will blow up, taking the planet with
it.’
    RESPONSE –
HUMANS DO NOT HAVE NUCLEAR FISSION TECHNOLOGY.
    WHAT IS YOUR
ORIGINATION?
    ‘Ha, I thought
you were well informed. Humans have had nuclear fission technology
for sixty year and basic fusion technology for thirty. We are on
the verge of creating fusion reactors.’
    There was a
long pause.
    RESPONSE –
INFORMATION CONFIRMED. RE-ASSESSMENT INDICATES SITUATION DISTURBS
HARMONY OF CONCLAVE.
    FETCH A
STONE.
    Fergus puzzled
by the request, scrabbled in the earth until he found a small lump
of limestone. He held it up.
    ‘Here will this
do?’
    Suddenly the
stone became very hot. Fergus dropped it on the ground and sucked
his singed fingers. He wished he hadn’t; they were covered in
soil.
    INFORMATION –
THIS KNOWLEDGE WILL PROTECT THE CONCLAVE. USE IT.
    WHAT IS YOUR
ORIGINATION?
    Fergus was
confused for a moment and looked at the hot stone lying on the
ground. It looked normal, so he turned it over with his foot. The
other side was perfectly flat, glazed and covered in minute
writing. It was too small to read. Fergus took off his leather
belt, wrapped it around the stone and set off back to the
pavilion.
    After three
paces before he felt an excruciating pain in his back. He stopped
and turned around to see more blue letters written in the air.
    WHAT IS YOUR
ORIGINATION?
    Fergus sighed.
A deal of sorts had been struck and despite his impatience he sat
down and started talking about his parents. It upset him and he was
surprised by the bitterness in his voice.
    It took much
longer than expected; the Murgatroyd demanding details on all sorts
of trivia. Birthday celebrations, schooling, relatives, and the
like. By the time it finished, the afternoon had turned to
dusk.
     
     
    Fergus hurried
back to the Pavilion hoping that Dave had a magnifying glass. As he
strode across the lawn he noticed someone sitting on the edge of
the allotment, their feet hanging over the drop to the lower
terrace. It looked like Boadicea, except the dungarees were gone
and she dressed in brown biker leathers.
    One half of
Fergus wanted to read the stone and avoid the awkwardness of
meeting Boadicea again. The other half wanted to bounce over like a
puppy and say hello. The puppy won.
    Before he
reached Boadicea, she turned round and smiled.
    ‘Hi, I was
looking for you. I saved some decent wine; come and sit down.’
    Fergus sat down
next to Boadicea and she shuffled over till their thighs touched.
She handed him a glass and filled it from a bottle perched on the
wall.
    Fergus sat
watching the last of the sunset, enjoying the wine and the feel of
Boadicea’s thigh next to his.
    ‘This is lovely
and so are you,’ said Fergus.
    ‘Thanks,’ said
Boadicea, ‘you’re quite interesting yourself.’
    ‘Handsome
surely? Interesting is for books and ancient monuments. Why am I
interesting?’
    Boadicea turned
to face Fergus and looked him up and down.
    ‘You’re like a
wolf in a dog pound. You don’t look that different, but you have a
dangerous feel, a certain wildness. When someone says ‘sit’ all the
other dogs obey, but you think