The Quokka Menace

Hercules Bantas

Published by Reluctant Geek, 2018.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

THE QUOKKA MENACE

First edition. January 15, 2018.

Copyright © 2018 Hercules Bantas.

ISBN: 978-1386172000

Written by Hercules Bantas.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Also by Hercules Bantas

Writers Disrupting Publishers

Writers Disrupting Publishers: How Self-Published Writers Disrupted the Publishing Industry

Love Lust & Petty Crime

Gods and Heroes

Computers and the Internet for the Modern Luddite: A Guide

Child of Zeus: The Legend of Herakles

The Quokka Menace

Watch for more at Hercules Bantas’s site.

Chapter 1

WARNING: The characters in this book are all CRIMINALS and PIRATES and use really, really bad language

––––––––

The afternoon sun was high and burning bright in the clear blue skies above Rosetown, a shabby suburb at the very heart of the upwardly mobile city of Melbourne. Its hot rays caused beads of sweat to accumulate on the upper lip of an auctioneer who was hollering at a crowd gathered outside an old hotel. To a casual observer, the auctioneer was ranting incoherent gibberish, but the crowd seemed to understand. Every so often, one would raise a hand and the intensity of the auctioneer's verbal torrent would renew.

Across the road from the pulsating auction, in the cool shadows offered by the shuttered doorway of a defunct haberdashery store, Metho lurked and watched. Auctioneers selling Rosetown properties to non-Rosetown folk had become a common sight of late, which had come as a bit of a surprise to Metho and his crew of ne'er–do–wells. As a destination, Rosetown's one redeeming feature was its proximity to the city centre, and its one saving grace was the cheap and plentiful supply of narcotics on its streets. People actually wanting to live in the place was a novelty.

As far as Metho knew, your average Melbourne citizen saw Rosetown as an unpleasant but necessary stop on the way to the rave. And the newfound desirability of his home town couldn't have been due to the wave of chrome and glass bars that had been popping up wherever there was an empty shop front. Customers rarely crossed their excitingly minimalist thresholds, probably because they weren't a patch on the traditional Rosetown drinking establishment.

Your average Rosetown drinking hole was a dark and dingy cave, where the no-smoking signs had been torn from the walls and converted into ashtrays. They invariably had a bar against a wall at one end—so the staff could have solid brick at their backs—and a host of denizens who gathered to fuck, fight, or play pool with one another. Such was the place that was being auctioned off before Metho's eyes—the infamous Belgradia Hotel, one-time King of Rosetown drinking holes and formerly his favourite pub.

Unlike the non–descript nature of the auctioneer and his audience, Metho was very descript. There was no way that anyone who laid eyes upon him could ever mistake him for someone else, even if they shared the same face. The combination of clothes he wore marked him as a unique individual because they could not possible exist in any other wardrobe.

The visible layer was a blue button-up shirt that had seen better days, matched with pale blue slacks that were far too tight and had a faded white patch over the groin. Decorating his torso was a white tie with a pink silhouette of a naked woman at its centre, and his feet were covered by huge black boots with prominent steel caps over the toes. The overall effect would make your average fashionista either cry out in horror or bow down in supplication to a fashion god.

Another of the old–time residents of Rosetown—obvious by his descript nature—skulked his way into the shadows beside Metho. The new denizen of the darkness was dressed in a paisley outfit that was, remarkably, even more tasteless than Metho's blue ensemble.

'Well?' Metho asked without taking his eyes off the activity across the road.

'Fuck all,' muttered the paisley wearer. People whose doom it was to have regular dealings with him called him Tits, but no one had had the gumption to ask him where the name came from. He was obviously unhappy.

Across the road, the auctioneer brought his gavel down onto his free hand. 'GOING HW–ONCE,' he screamed at the crowd.

'They're gunna turn the Belgradia into fucken apartments, did you know that?' Metho said. 'An' they'll probably stick a shitty cafe in at the bottom so the fuckers can buy their fucken deconstructed fucken coffees.'

Tits shrugged. 'Could be a good thing. More customers.'

The shadows sprouted a third occupant, but unlike his fellow lurkers he wasn't dressed like an extra from a bad eighties film. Skip was his name and he liked to think that he had a little more taste and elegance than his peers. 'You know, I don't reckon the smart casual thing is working,' he said, and pulled a cigarette from the packet he kept in the sleeve of his shirt.

Metho looked at Tits and sighed. 'Yeah, I reckon you're right,' he said. 'How'd you go?'

Skip lit his cancer stick and drew a deep lungful of tainted air, then launched into a stupendous fit of coughing.

'You know they puts cough suppressants in cigarettes now?' Metho said.

'Really?' Skip wheezed between coughs.

'Yeah, and when did you start smoking?' Metho asked, and then raised his hand to stop an answer that wasn't forthcoming in any case. 'Actually, I don't care. The important question is, did you make anything?'

'Nah. Place is full of them new aspirational fuckers that Little Spaz keeps talking about.'

'Yeah, same as where I was,' Tits said.

'An' it looks like there'll be more here soon,' Metho said, 'one of 'em just bought the Belgradia.'

'Not surprisin' considerin' how much houses costs around here these days,' Tits said. 'My uncle sold his place for a bomb last week.'

'Wot, Big Tits?' Skip asked.

'Nah, nah, wrong uncle. This one's from my mother's side. Mr Fithopoulos. He's Snake's old man.'

'Oh wow, is Snake moving out of Rosetown?' Skip asked.

'Snake moved out years ago. Got married an' had kids an' that. Lives in one of those posh places over the other side of the river. It's his parents that just sold out.'

'Bloody hell! Snake? Kids? How?' Skip exclaimed. 'He would shit himself every time a girl talked to him.'

'He found it easier to meet women after he got his law degree.'

While Tits and Skip had been chatting, Metho had been glaring at the non-descript crowd outside the place he had once loved more than any other in all of Rosetown. 'The bastards are fucking up my neighbourhood,' he said and gestured towards his two comrades, then pointed to one of the auction participants who had broken away from the crowd. 'It's time to get us a little profit the old fashioned way,'

'Watch out, there are cops,' Skip said.

'What? Where?' Metho said, then looked to where Skip was pointing. 'Fuck me, so there are. I wonder what's happened.'

The three watched as the police officers strolled along the road.

'You know,' Skip said, after a few moments, 'I don't think anything's happened. I reckon they're just, like, walking around.'

'Nah, that's stupid.'

'Yeah, I know, but I seen it before. In Brighton.'

A perplexed look crossed Metho's face. 'What, just walking around? An' who're they gunna catch in Brighton, anyway? All those fuckers come here to score.'

'They call it patrolling, and they're not after anyone in particular. Not specific, like. Just wandering around to prevent shit happening.'

'But they're in uniform,' Metho protested, 'even someone like Tits could see that they is cops.'

Skip shrugged. 'I know, it's stupid but they do it over there, and it looks like they're going to start doin' it over here too.'

'Fuck me,' Metho said, and smiled a crooked smile, because everything about Metho was crooked. 'If they wanna walk around like dicks in uniform, let 'em. 'Snot like they's gunna catch anyone.'

'Except Tits.'

'Fuck you both,' Tits said, but without rancour. He was bright enough to understand his own intellectual shortcomings.

'Okay, I'll give ya that one,' Metho said. 'We'll just make sure Tits is on runner duty whenever we spot strolling cop–cocks.'

'Problem is, right, problem is, if these fuckers start doing this regular, they could scare off the customers. Most of 'em are scared enough already without having to worry about wanderin' coppers.'

Metho considered the ambling policemen. 'Yeah, I see wot you mean. So wot are we gunna do? First we gets disrupted by the internet and now we get aspirationals and their strolling cop friends fucking up business.'

'We could move the business to Sunni, I s'pose. No one wants to live there,' Skip said.

'Of course no one wants to live there. It's a shit hole full of fucked up fuckers,' Metho said, with feeling. He pondered the thinning crowd across the road, some of whom were chatting to the patrolling police officers. 'Sunni is too far from the city. If we wanna stay in business, we has to stay here, which means we're gunna have to put a stop to this gentrification bullshit.'

'Yeah, right,' Skip said. 'Not even you can beat progress, mate. What are you gunna do? Break the kneecaps of everyone who comes here to buy a house?'

Metho smiled his crooked smile again. 'Mate, I like progress, I just don't like it when things change. And I got nothing against these aspirational fuckers, I just don't want them coming into our suburb and buying our houses. You both know I'm a reasonable man who would rather have peaceful relations with everyone,' Metho said, and his eyes dared either of them to refute his statement, but neither man thought it worth the hospital stay. 'I don't wanna beat the fuckers up, I just want to make them not want to live here.'

Skip considered telling Metho that progress was all about change, but decided against it. Metho was famed for punching people in the head if they said something that annoyed him. 'How you gunna do that without violence?' he asked instead.

Tits, who had been staring at the auction crowd, cut in before Metho could answer. 'Ya know what's strange?'

'Apart from your face, you mean?' Skip said, always ready with a witty witticism.

'Na,' Tits replied, completely missing Skip's insult. 'Look at 'em. The empty eyes, the shallow smiles. They is all off their faces.'

Metho's face suggested he was very close to a violent outburst. 'Big Spaz wouldn't let anyone else operate this side of the river, you dumarse.'

Tits was adamant, even in the face of a beating. 'Just look at 'em, for fucks sake. They're fucken stoned.'

'Maybe they is mail ordering 'em on the internet,' Skip said.

'Nah, I got a cousin who's a postie,' Tits said. 'He's been on the lookout for that sort of thing cos it's a free score as far as he's concerned. He reckons he was finding one a day for a couple of months, but it's dried up.'

'I heard they shut them drug sites down,' Skip said. 'The idiot who was doin' it all put his actual address on the website by accident.'

'Strange as this may sound, I think Tits is right,' Metho said, 'those fuckers have got to be on something.' The tone of his voice made it abundantly clear that he was displeased with the fuckers and was planning on doing something painful to them. 'Let's go talk to Big Spaz.'

(ii)

As Metho, Skip, and Tits hurried through the streets of Rosetown towards the home of Big Spaz, a strange scene was unfolding in a cavern deep beneath their feet. They were not alone in their ignorance, however, because it was a secret cavern, unknown to the civil authorities and therefore a cavern that did not have the requisite permits and licences to exist.

This is unusual in Rosetown, which is governed by a local authority that is scrupulous in the collection of licence fees and penalties because experience had shown that separating the average Rosetown resident from their—usually ill-earned—cash was no easy task. As a result, Rosetown City Council Inspectors were an elite workforce, specially trained to find licence and permit requirements in almost any situation, and to extract maximum cash with minimum resources.

Any Rosetown inspector who accidentally discovered the secret cavern would instantly start a report on his specially designed notepad, where each page is split in two. On one side he would list of licenses and permits that the no-longer-secret cavern would require, and the penalties that had accrued for not them prior to commencing construction. The other side is to count how much money the council was owed.

After making his way inside (Rosetown inspectors are renown for being sneaky), the first thing the inspector would note in his report would be the sheer size of the place; it was so vast that the far end was lost to view (Large Structure License $320, Underground Structure License $280, penalty for operating a large underground venue without a license $1000), and that it was filled to the brim with all manner of mushroom (Commercial Agriculture License $1200, penalty for growing mushrooms without a license $1000). Wooden garden beds, stacked ten high, stood like high rise towers of fungus. Strange tubular mushrooms grew down out of sacks that hung from the ceiling, and long thing mushrooms grew up out of low tubs scattered across the floor. Finally, just before taking to his toes and fleeing, the inspector would have written about the unworldly squat figures, wandering between the mushroom beds and wearing what appeared to be space suits (Foreign Worker Permit $870, insurance and indemnity fee $125, penalty for having unregistered foreign workers $1000).

Although he probably would not have put it in his report, the fleeing inspector may have seen that three of the figures were standing apart from their fungus-tending peers and appeared to be arguing amongst themselves. Despite the fact that the voices were not human and the language they used had never been spoken by a native of the planet Earth, it would have been obvious to anyone in the vicinity that the discussion was not a happy one. The following conversation is a translation of that argument, and would not have been understood by the terrified inspector, even if he had bothered to stop and eavesdrop.

'We've set it all up like you said, sir, but it's not working. The humans are not patronising the new establishments,' said the first unworldly squat shapes. Even with a suit that covered its entire body, it gave off the air of an individual that was getting blamed for something that was not its fault.

'I told you that's what would happen,' said the second unworldly squat being. 'Humans are too stupid to appreciate a good eating establishment. Back home, they'd be breaking down the doors!'

'But this isn't home, you daft bastard. We have to come up with another plan otherwise the acquisition program will stall,' said the third unworldly squat being, in a tone that suggested it wanted to kick the second being's arse clear up through its earhole. Assuming, of course, that it had both an arse and an earhole hidden somewhere in its suit.

'Maybe we're over extending ourselves,' suggested the second of the three. 'Let's pull back a bit and focus on the shrooms.'

'Listen, you dopey fuckwit, this isn't the heart of the home forest, you understand?' said the third of the three. 'We've got to take every advantage while we're here cos we don't know how long we're gunna be here.'

The second of the three appeared ready to respond but was interrupted by the first of the three, who was concerned because they had all partaken of mushrooms prior to their meeting and weren't thinking clearly. 'Well, if they won't go to the flabby,' it said, 'why don't we take the flabby to them?'

'Wow, what a good idea,' said the second of the three. 'We'll just go topside, find a nice human and say, hey there primitive idiot, you wanna buy some alien drugs?'

The third of the three stood stock still for a moment and then did a small, but joyous, jump in the air. 'You are a fucking genius,' it said to the first of the three, then kicked the second in its midsection. 'Why didn't you think of that,' it said as the second rolled on the floor in pain.

(iii)

The sculptures in the front garden of Big Spaz's house were legend in Rosetown, but Metho found them a little disturbing. Pride of place was given to a tiger sculpted from white marble. It sat on a huge rock behind the box hedge fence and stared imperiously out at the street beyond. It was, Metho thought, a stone masterpiece and was so realistic that neighbours out dog walking avoided the house because the sight of the giant cat drove their pets out of their tiny canine minds.

As a symbol of power and prestige, Metho considered a stone tiger exactly what a crime lord should have in his garden. It was the other statue that was the source of his discomfort. After all, theirs was a dangerous business where reputation and image meant almost everything. Only an idiot or a complete psychopath would have a giant chicken in his front yard, and Metho knew that Big Spaz was no fool.

'What sort of a stooge has a giant fucken chook in his garden,' Skip whispered as they waited on the doorstep.

Metho glared at his friend. 'Shut up dickhead, he's not the sort of bloke you piss off.'

'Who shouldn't we annoy?' Tits asked loudly, just as the door opened to reveal a stately, middle aged woman wearing an evening dress that she could have worn to the wedding of a princess.

'Hello boys,' she said, 'it's a little early in the day for a visit, isn't it? Shouldn't you be at work?'

'There's been a problem, Mrs Spazevski,' Metho said, in a voice that he intended to sound gruff and commanding but which came out strangulated and squeaky. 'We need to speak to your husband.'

'You better come in then,' she said, and stood aside to allow them to pass.

Unlike the cluttered yard, the house inside was spacious and sparsely furnished. A herd of miniature bronze horses galloped along the far wall where the plaster ducks would have been in times gone by. Under their hooves sat a bar made of fake walnut wood, with knots and swirls that reminded Metho of all the creepy stories his older brother had forced upon him when he was a child.

The man himself sat on an aging recliner at the exact centre of the room, watching cartoons on a huge television set. 'How can I help yous gentlemen?'

'Things have been sh...' Metho began, and then caught himself. It was a bad idea to swear in front of Mrs Spazevski because she had enormous influence with her husband and hated people with potty mouths.

'It's okay Gordon,' she said, and sat down beside Big Spaz. 'Sometimes curse words are the only way to express a thought.'

'It's the new residents,' Metho blurted out. 'They're buying everything except our products. We was wondering, cos they always looked smashed and that, whether you'd made distribution arrangements with someone else.'

'In any other situation, I would have taken offence at such an accusation,' Big Spaz said, and turned off the television.

'It wasn't an accusation,' Metho hurriedly tried to explain, but stopped when Big Spaz raised his hand.

'Not to worry, my friend. To be honest, I was expecting to see you and your boys here sooner or later. I know it's not your fault that the take has been down. And it's not just in Rosetown either, although this is the worst. The money has stopped flowin' in every suburb across the country that is gentrifying. The new residents just aren't buying. It's as if they go straight as soon as they move house.'

'But the fuckers are all stoned,' Metho said. 'We saw 'em at the auction just now. They was so wasted even Tits noticed it.'

'Gordon! What would your mother say?'

'Sorry Mrs Spazevski,' Metho said, sheepishly.

'She'd probably tell him off, and then ask what that wonderful smell is?' Skip said. 'It's making my mouth water.'

'That's my son,' Big Spaz said, and sighed like a defeated man. 'He should of been at work with yous, but instead he's stayed home to cook for us.' He looked meaningfully at his wife.

'I'll get him,' she said and rose from her seat. 'Say hello to your mother for me, Gordon. It's been such a long time since we've caught up and I do miss her.'

'She hasn't been out of the house for a while,' Metho said. 'Can't really get about much these days.'

'This gentrification has become a big problem,' Big Spaz said when his wife had left the room. 'Some of our biggest markets have become dead to us. But it's here we is feeling it most. Nearly everyone in Melbourne comes to Rosetown to score, but the new residents, wot do you call 'em?'

'Aspirationals?' Skip said.

'Yeah, them aspirationals. Not only do they not buy our products, but their presence seems to discourage others from buying as well. The only thing people want to score in Rosetown these days is real estate.'

'So what are we gunna do. We can't just sit around playing with ourselves while everything we've built over the years goes down the toilet,' Metho said.

'I agree, and I've been giving the matter considerable thought. I think the answer isn't all that complicated,' Big Spaz said. 'We just has to remind people why they don't wanna live in Rosetown.'

'How? It's fucken paradise and the rest of Melbourne has finally figured it out,' Metho said.

'For you and me, and the rest of your loyal Crew, this may be the case. But not everyone agrees. Or, at least they didn't agree until now.' Big Spaz said and leaned back in his chair. 'I want you to gather all the lads and go to every auction this weekend, and I don't want you to hide in the shadows. Get out there in your Sunday best, just like you is dressed now, and let all the potential buyers know just what sort of people live in our beautiful suburb.'

'For fuck's sake, what the fuck is that gunna do?'

'Trust me Gordon,' Big Spaz said, and then turned to greet the room's new occupant. 'And here is the master chef himself.'

'Don't be mean, Popy,' Little Spaz said. He was his mother's spitting image, but hid it behind a ridiculous beard.

'Nice glasses,' Tits said, and he and Skip tittered like school children.

'Don't be like that, lads,' Little Spaz said, and waved the tray he was carrying towards the three men, 'or I won't let you have any of these freshly made donuts.'

'Sorry,' Skip said, and was quickly joined in his apology by Tits. Whatever was on that tray smelt unbelievably good and they didn't want to miss out.

'Have a seat and I'll serve them out. Popy? You want one?'

'They do smell fine,' Big Spaz conceded.

'And they taste heavenly,' said a voice that bypassed the male brain and talked directly to the libido.

The three visitors to the Spazevski household turned as if mesmerized and stared at the newcomer.

'If you have any more of these, sis, you'll split your pants,' Little Spaz said.

'I hope not,' TS said, 'that would be very unladylike.'

Skip had carnal images pass before their mind's eye almost instantly. Tits, who wasn't as mentally agile, got them a moment later. 'Hi TS,' they chorused.

Big Spaz shook his head, Little Spaz turned red, and TS giggled.

'Like I said, I was expecting you to call and I has a bit of a surprise for you,' Big Spaz said. 'Tiny is joining your Crew. I've spent a fortune sending her to college, but it's time she does some real learning. That's your job, Gordon my friend, I want you to teach both my children all you can about the practical side of our business.'

Metho, who hadn't been taken in by Tiny Spaz's glamour, almost got whiplash spinning his head to face Big Spaz. 'What? But she's a girl. I mean, Little Spaz is a bit of a wuss, but we can work with that. But TS? She's a girl.'

'She'll be your best operator within a few months, believe me.'

'But, but, she a girl,' Metho repeated, in case Big Spaz was unaware of the sex of his only daughter.

'You will not be disappointed in her performance.'

Metho looked from Big Spaz to Tiny Spaz and back again. 'But, she's a girl,' he repeated.

'I said, you will not be disappointed,' Big Spaz said, and this time there was an edge to his voice.

Metho was about to point out that TS was a girl, but thought better of it when he saw Big Spaz's expression. 'Fine, oh–fucken–kay, so we'll have a fucken girl in the fucken Crew. It's not as if we fucken do anything these days anyway. But I ain't gunna look after her. She's on her fucken own, understand?'

TS giggled and came to stand beside Metho's chair. 'Thanks uncle Gordon,' she said sweetly.

'And to people who work for me, my name's fucken Metho, you got that?' Metho said angrily, and stood up. 'We better go. Got work an' that. Thanks for everything.'

Skip stood up and, because he thought himself a lady's man, he slapped TS on the backside. 'Welcome to the Crew.'

TS smiled sweetly, kneed him in the groin and then, for good measure, extended her foot to kick the still seated Tits in the head.

Metho looked, mouth agape, at his two incapacitated gang members, then turned to Little Spaz, who was trying to sneak back into the kitchen. 'Where the fuck do you think you're going, you bearded freak? Come back here and help these fuckers up. It's time to go to work.'

(iii)

Some animals retreat to their lair when they feel put upon, and Metho and his comrades were no different. Now that the Belgradia was destined to become medium density housing, they had retreated to the Plato'n'Friends cafe, which was owned by one of Tits's uncles.

'And then she kicked me for no reason,' Tit's said, as he tried to explain what had happened to his eye.

His uncle Taki—who was the intended audience for Tit's explanation—looked at the hulking brute that was his nephew, a young man with knuckles so scarred that he couldn't close his hands properly. Then he turned to TS, who was a slip of a girl with sparkly eye makeup and green and pink streaks in her hair.

'Is true what Soula says about you, then,' he said. 'You like to do what they do in that movie that has those sex games, eh? How you say in Australia language, pininda shades?'

Tits blushed crimson. 'Shutup re, she just kicked me, okay,' he said, then turned to TS for support. 'Tell him, you just kicked me for no reason.'

TS smiled a delicious smile and shrugged.

'See, this is what I thought would happen,' Metho said, triumphantly. 'Stop fucken flirting you fuckers, we gotta think of a way to get our business back on track.'

'We're not flirtin',' Tit's said, in a hysterical voice. Again, he turned to TS for support. 'Tell him we're not flirtin'.'

Again, TS let him down with a smile.

'You wish you were flirting,' Skip said. He had chosen to sit as far away from TS as was polite and was keeping his knees close together.

'I do not wish it!' Tits exclaimed. 'She's a fucken psycho. Who the fuck wants to flirt with a fucken psycho?'

'Hey, hold on there, fellow, that's my little sister you're talking about,' Little Spaz said.

'And who's gunna stop me, four eyes?' Tits said. He didn't even notice TS's foot arcing through the air until it thudded into his ear.

Metho looked down at his unconscious henchmen, then looked at TS, who tucked an errant pink hair behind her ear.

'What?' she said. 'I didn't hit him that hard. Maybe he's got a soft head.'

Tits groaned and shook himself back into consciousness. 'So, do you believe me now?' he said to his uncle as he retook his seat.

Taki smirked. 'You young peoples today,' he said. 'You can't take one joke.'

'Would you please stop kicking my Crew in the fucken head,' Metho said to TS, then turned to Skip. 'And you, what the fuck were you thinking, slapping Big Spaz's daughter on the arse in front of Big Spaz his-self. You're fucken lucky she laid you out cos if he hadn't been laughing, you wouldn't be breathing. Now shut up, the lot of you, an' let me think. I gotta figure out what we need to do.'

Both Skip and TS looked suitably chastened.

'I was only having some fun,' TS said, doing a credible display of affronted innocence.

'Kicking someone in the head is fun?' Metho said, in an exasperated tone.

'It is in my family,' Little Spaz said, cutting in to defend his sister. 'Anyway, I thought Popy said we have to gather all the Crew and get them to intimidate buyers at auctions.'

'What? Us? Intimidate?' Skip said. 'That's not gunna work, mate. We can't even frighten a pink haired girl.'

'Tiny is a special case,' Little Spaz said, diplomatically. 'But your average person would probably find members of our group disturbing, especially if they were standing really close.'

'I dunno, it's not like we is hidden or anything when we is at work,' Metho said. 'We're right out in the open an' that, where everyone can see. If we was so intimidating, we wouldn't of ever made a sale. The druggies would be too scared to come close enough to buy anythin'.'

'Wot you talking about, re stupid,' said Taki. 'Is you an' you boys that is making everyone leave.'

The Crew all turned and stared at Taki. 'What did you say?' Metho said, with furrowed brow.

'You no hear as well as no think?' Taki said. 'People leave because of you druggies. My cousin, he selled his house last week, and if my business was not here I would go too. Bloody druggies everywhere. Fuckin' dangerous place, this one.'

'But theo, you make your business from us,' Tits said. 'How could you say such things, especially with Big Spaz's children here and everything.'

'I tell the big man his-self,' Taki said. 'I said to him when he came last week for business, I said to him it was yous that make Rosetown so cheap before. You is always walking around like you is boss of the world or something. People always want to leave but no one would buy their houses in the old days. Now stooges from outside wanna live in Rosetown, so all of them who was here before sell fast before stooges wake up and not want to live in Rosetown anymore.'

Metho took a while to figure out what Taki had said in his thick Greek accent, but when he did, his brow furrowed deeper. 'That's bullshit.'

'It's true. Our activities, while not the sole cause of Rosetown's previously undesirable status, played a considerable part in depressing property values,' Little Spaz said, 'and it's a bit of a mystery why people suddenly want to live here. But there's no doubt that existing residents of Rosetown are selling their homes in unprecedented numbers. That's why Popy wants us to get out and mingle with the auction crowds on the weekend. Just to remind people why property values were so low in Rosetown not that long ago.'

Metho took a while to figure out what Little Spaz had said in his grammatically correct, accent-free English. 'Is that so?' he said, eventually. 'Well, I reckon you're all wrong and I'm gunna prove it. We is going to give those aspirational fuckers at the auctions next week a real Rosetown experience, and I reckon it's not going to make a spit o' difference.'

'You talk all bullshit, my friend,' Taki said. 'I tells you truth, and is the truth even if you say it's bullshit. Truth is truth, my friend, it doesn't care what you think about it.'

The look in Metho's eyes spoke volumes about what he thought of Taki's truth, but he was reluctant to push the matter any further. Apart from being a giant of a man, Taki was a part of Rosetown's vast expatriate Greek community and had more relatives than Metho's limited numeracy skills could deal with.

While the Greeks spent most of their time bickering with one another about who had the most goats in the old country, they had been known to unite against the "varvari", which is what they called anyone who couldn't speak Greek. Insulting Taki would guarantee Metho a legion of garlic–scented enemies. 'You're probably right,' he said, 'but we'll see for sure this weekend.'

'So, theo,' Tits said in an effort to ease the tension between his uncle and his boss, 'can we order some baklava? A piece for everyone, except TS. We wouldn't want her to split her pants now, would we?'

Chapter 2

Taki's belligerence had cost him the Crew's business, and they now gathered at another of Tits's uncle's cafes, Socraties'n'Friends Lunch House. There were considerably more of them this time, clustered in cliques dotted around the cafe. Uncle Tasos—a short man with huge, muscular arms that were nearly as thick as Skip's torso—was busily ferrying bitter Turkish coffees and sweet Greek pastries to the dozen or so thugs who had unexpectedly descended upon his dinning establishment. He was not a happy man and yelled angrily in Greek at Tits every time he walked past.

'What the fuck's up his arse?' Metho asked, after Tasos had thrown the galaktoboureko he'd ordered onto the table and stomped away, grumbling.

'He wasn't ready for such a big crowd at lunchtime,' Tits said

'But isn't more business a good thing? I would of thought he'd be happy.'

'Nah. My uncles don't really make their money from selling food.'

'They don't?' Metho said, and looked about him. 'This is a cafe, isn't it? And it's owned by your uncle, right? How else can he use it to make money?'

'You know how the casino sort of caters to all them high rollers? Well, my uncles kind of cater to the low rollers, if you know what I mean.'

'They run illegal games in the back,' Little Spaz translated. 'And they also help my father with cash flow. He has a stake in most of the restaurants in Rosetown.'

Metho looked astounded. He was in the supply game and had little interest in other forms of criminal endeavour. 'Really? And Taki too?'

'Yeah, him too. Why do you think he was such an a-hole last week. The last thing he wanted was for us to become regulars,' Tits said.

'An' here I was thinking the Greeks were all on the straight an' narrow,' Metho said, 'except for you of course.'

'Nah, everyone on my father's side is a bit bent. My old man and Taki and Tasos used to run a delicatessen at the market when I was a kid. Always complained that the thieves made more from their shop than they did, which is why they hate crims so much. What shits mean is that all the Greeks are dodgy, right, but they all reckon they hate crims and druggies. Except me, of course.'

'What, you don't hate crims and druggies, or they don't hate you cos you is a crim and druggy?'

Tit's did a brow furrow and then took a sip of his coffee.

Metho got impatient when the silence extended beyond what he thought was reasonable. 'Well, what is it?'

'What's what?'

'You know, what we was just talking about.'

'Oh,' Tits said and took another sip of his coffee.

'I think you've broken his brain,' Skip said, when Tits's silence extended again.

Another few minutes passed, and Tits spent it staring into the middle distance.

'Hey, dumb fuck, are you there?' Metho said, which was his version of expressing concern.

Tits just sat, his tiny coffee cup held in huge fingers and suspended halfway between the table and his lips. It wasn't until TS stood up suddenly—which caused Tits to instinctively bring up his hands to protect his head—that he re-joined the land of the sentient.

'What the fuck is up with you?' Skip asked.

'Just thinking about the past an' that,' Tits said, wiping coffee off his face.

'That explains it, then. Thinking's not easy for someone like you,'

'It's just that, when I was a kid I always thought I'd grow up to be one of the good guys. My dad and my uncles were always complaining about how bad the crims were, and how they wished Batman would come and clean the place up. Like in the movies an' that. They were just havin' fun with me an' my cousins an' that, but, you know, being the good guy kinda stuck in my head.'

'Yeah, but this isn't a movie,' Metho said.

'But if it was, right, we'd be the bad guys, wouldn't we? Like, Chuck Norris the Texas Ranger would be coming after us, wouldn't he? If this was a Batman film, we'd be on the Joker's side.'

'Yeah, but this isn't a fucken movie, is it, dipshit?' Metho said, a bit more harshly than he'd intended. He was a fan of Batman, especially the old television series that he used to watch with his mum on the weekends when he was a lad, and he'd been shaken by the realisation that in life, he was more Joker than Bruce Wayne. He looked about him, at all his brothers (and sister) in crime, and let out a deep sigh. More like the Penguin, actually. There was no way that the Joker would have this lot. 'Right, listen up,' he said loudly, and stood up.

The Crew, some of whom had discovered that Tasos sold his own home brewed spirits for a reasonable price, continued chatting merrily amongst themselves.

'I said, listen up,' Metho said, and was ignored. He sighed, picked up a chair from the empty table behind him and brought it down hard on the full table in front of him. 'WOULD YOU FUCKERS SHUT THE FUCK UP!' he screamed.

The Crew fell silent. Even those injured by flying bits of crockery and baklava muffled their anguished cries of pain. Metho was pissed, which usually meant that someone was going to get hurt. In the case of those already injured, they would get hurt more.

'What you do, you crazy fuck?' Tasos said, drawn out of his kitchen by the almighty noise Metho had made. He retreated at double speed when he saw Metho pick up the leg of the shattered chair and bring it down hard onto the broken table.

'THIS IS NOT A FUCKEN WORKING LUNCH FOR CONCERNED FUCKEN CITIZENS,' Metho screamed, and the spittle flew from his lips and the veins stood out on his neck. 'The next fucker who speaks when I is trying to get stuff done will be picking splinters out of his ball sack for a fucken week!'

There was a moment's silence during which no one dared breath.

'That's me off the hook, then,' TS said, and smiled. 'And this is a meeting of concerned citizens, just not very clean ones.'

Metho smiled back, and then smacked her in the head with his chair leg. Not hard enough to cause serious injury, but hard enough to cause considerable pain. 'Weren't you listening to your boyfriend, you stupid fucker? We is the fucken bad guys.'

Little Spaz jumped up and ran to his sister's side. 'You stupid arsehole,' he said, as he helped the dazed TS back onto her chair. 'My old man is going to fuck you over when I tell him what you've just done.'

'Oh will he now?' Metho said, in a quiet voice. 'You better let him know right away cos you might not get a chance later on. Pick up your phone an' call him.'

'In good time.'

'THERE IS NO GOOD TIME, YOU FUCK, WEREN'T YOU LISTENING?' Metho screamed. 'WE IS THE BAD GUYS AND WE DON'T DO GOOD STUFF. CALL YOUR OLD MAN NOW!'

'No.'

Metho threw his chair leg and caught Little Spaz right between the eyes. 'And you can tell him I broke your fucken glasses while you're at it.'

Little Spaz, who had never seen Metho like this, looked about him and realised that everyone else was trying to minimise their physical presence in the world. While they'd been trying to be inconspicuous, he'd been gibbering like a baboon. In a room full of belligerent arseholes, he realised, he'd been the only stooge to poke the psycho.

Without taking his eyes off Metho, Little Spaz slowly pulled his phone from his shirt pocket and called his father. 'Popy, Metho's gone crazy. He hit TS in the head and then chucked a chair leg at me and smashed my glasses.'

The Crew couldn't hear what Big Spaz said in reply, but they could make a guess based on the expression on Little Spaz's face. Without saying another word, he put his phone away and sat down. When he finally did speak, his voice had the hollow quality of a man betrayed. 'Big Spaz wants you to know that he apologises for his children's bad behaviour.'

'Of course he does, cos I'm tryin' to teach you fuckers about the real world. This ain't college, you understand? Look around you, do these people look like they have ever attended a fucken lecture?'

Both the Spaz's mumbled something incoherent.

'Look, right, if you piss one of these blokes off by kicking 'em in the head, for example, or by not doin' wot you is told, then they is going to retaliate. An' they won't walk up to you and explain wot they is gunna do. They'll wait till you're back is turned and then clock you from behind. If you're lucky, you'll wake up in a hospital.'

'Actually, I'd never hit anyone from behind,' Tits said.

'Okay, all these blokes apart from Tit's will wait until your back's turned before thumping you, an' we all think he's a bit soft because of it.'

'Actually, neither would I,' Skip chimed in, 'an' I don't reckon you would either.'

'Okay, maybe me an' Skip wouldn't either,' Metho conceded.

'Or me,' said a voice from the back of the cafe.

'Nah, it's not fair, is it?' added another voice.

Metho looked about him, defeated. 'Okay, so they is all pretty good blokes, actually.'

'Except when I'm on the piss,' said a small Crew member called Tubsy, who was sitting at a table to Metho's right. 'My mum reckons I'm a real bastard when I'm pissed.'

'Would you fuckers just shut the fuck up?' Metho said, 'I'm trying to teach the neubs about life on the street, okay?'

'Sorry,' chorused the Crew.

'An' that's why your old man sent you to me, see? It's my job to toughen you up a bit and get some street smarts into ya,' Metho said, with an air that suggested it was his concluding statement, and his 'life-is-tough-on-the-street' lecture to the battered Spaz's was over. He sat back down and realised that his galaktoboureko had been a victim of his recent outburst, which deflated him further. 'Anyway, now that's sorted, let's get down to work. We has nine auctions to go to tomorrow, they is two or three at a time, so we're gunna have to split up if we wanna get to 'em all.'

Metho paused to retrieve a wad of papers from the front pocket of his overly tight slacks, which caused some of the more prudish members of the Crew to turn away in embarrassment. 'Dago, take your boys an' go to these two,' Metho said, and held out a slip of paper towards a horrified thug. Dago, to his credit, hid his distaste quite well and accepted the paper with barely a hint of revulsion.

'Wozza, yous have got the ones near the oval, and Wingnut, the ones near the hospital is for yous,' Metho continued, and handed slips of grubby paper to the appropriate Crew member. 'Me and Skip are gunna take the last three, while Tits and the Spaz's will try an' make some sales at the market cos it'd be nice if we could actually make some money for a fucken change.'

'Oh come on, Metho mate, I don't wanna babysit,' Tits said, and made a sad face. 'Can't we come with you? It's not like there's all that much going on in the morning anyway.'

Metho always felt a bit of a bastard whenever he had a temper tantrum. 'Alright,' he said, letting his heart soften a little in the hope that it would drive away the guilt, 'but you gotta remember this next time you're thinkin' of bitchin' about me being a slave driver, okay?'

'Thanks mate,' Tits said, and made a happy face.

'Okay, what we is gunna do is fill our coolers with beer an' food, and then take them along to the auctions to have a bit of a party with the folk wanting to buy a house in Rosetown. An' we'll push products hard to 'em because there's nothing that's more Rosetown than good drugs at good prices,' Metho said, and his face hardened. He stood up and stared out of the cafe window to the streets beyond. 'This is our place,' he said, softly, then turned suddenly towards his Crew. 'And those fuckers want to take it off us. But they don't just want our houses. No, no, my friends. They don't just want our streets. They don't just want our suburb. They want our souls,' he said dramatically and paused. 'We are Rosetown,' he continued, his voice shriller and louder. 'Not the houses. Not the streets. Us. We make Rosetown wot it is, an' we aren't the sort of pussies that rolls over at the first sign of a fight. If they wants our suburb, then they is gunna have to take it from us. Tomorrow, we is gunna go out into the streets and make these aspirational fuckers understand exactly where it is that they is gunna buy a house. So get out there an' do wot you do best. Sell drugs. Drink beer. Eat like a pig. Fart like there's no one there.'

'Um, Metho, can I bring me missus?' Dago asked. 'She's always complainin' that I never take her anywhere an' that.'

An image of Dago's significant other floated through Metho's consciousness, which caused a shudder to run down his spine. 'Yeah, no worries,' he said. 'Make sure she gets plenty to drink.'

'Ain't that the way, with misseseses,' Skip said, almost tripping over the stream of esses. 'I took Steph to one of them fancy new aspirational places the other day, but was she satisfied? Nah. She's still going on about me not making time for her. What am I...'

'You back with Steph again, are ya?' Tits asked, cutting off what he knew would be one of Skip's famous—and tiresome—Steph-related whines. 

Skip looked shifty for a moment. 'Yeah, we is together.'

'So what was this place like?' Metho asked.

'It was shit, mate, absolute shit. My chicken parma was fucken tiny. And there was only four chips, and the whole thing was covered in this horrible red stuff that I thought was tomato sauce, but it tasted like arse. An' it was forty dollars each.'

'Did you pay?'

'Nah, but it's the principle of the thing, isn' it? Forty bucks for a tiny chunk of chicken and four chips? Fucken rip off. And they should have to pay people to eat that fucken horrible stuff they puts on everything.'

'Jus,' Little Spaz said.

'Nah, it wasn't religious or nothin'. Just expensive.'

'Not the religion, you stooge, the sauce. It's called jus.'

'Is it? It should be called crap,' Skip said, with feeling. 'You know, you look funny without your glasses.'

'Do I?'

'Yeah, I can see more of your face, which is not a good thing,' said the ever witty Skip.

(ii)

The following morning found Metho and part of his band of merry scofflaws lurking in the shadows of the defunct haberdashery store at the very heart of Rosetown. He'd allocated himself the three closest auctions to his home which, in hindsight, wasn't the best idea.

'The fuckers won't be happy till they takes it all,' Metho said, in a loud and slightly unhinged voice. 'They is gunna sell the toy shop. They used to have all those little robot men in there, the ones we used to steal when we was little, remember Skip? Do you remember?'

'Yeah,' Skip said, 'but it hasn't been a toy shop for a long time now.'

'I don't fucken care if it's not a toy shop anymore, it's still the fucken toy shop,' Metho said, his voice becoming even louder, 'an' I don't want no aspirational fuckers selling jus covered shit in there.'

'Well, we're here to stop the auction,' Little Spaz said, trying a to use reason to walk Metho back to sanity. 'Let's execute our plan and, hopefully, we can unnerve them enough to prevent anyone placing a bid.'

'The fuckers are gunna fuck my toy shop, an' that means they'll get the train set an' I won't ever get it.'

Skip and Little Spaz looked at Metho, then at one another, then back at Metho.

'Um, there hasn't been nothin' in that shop for five years,' Skip said, acutely aware that he was closer to Metho than Tiny Spaz. He tried a backward sidle, but Little Spaz had read the situation and was moving backwards as well.

'What the fuck are you two fuckers doing?' Metho all but screamed. 'Get back here.'

All three turned at the sound of a two-stroke motor and saw Tits approaching fast on a motorised icebox with TS hitching a ride on the back. Skip and Tiny Spaz, seeing that Metho was momentarily distracted, took the opportunity to sidle further from the danger zone.

'You sure know how to make a splash,' TS called out when they were within earshot. 'Check 'em out! All the aspirationals are staring.'

'Yeah, that's what I was doin',' Metho said, 'making a fucken splash. Does unnerving mean I get to rips their fucken spines out?'

Little Spaz shook his head. 'Nah.'

'Pity,' Metho mumbled, and then sighed. 'I loved that toy shop when I was a kid. Used to look in the window for hours while me dad was in the Belgradia. Me mum said that one day we'd open a toy shop of our own, just like that one, an' I could play with the toys all day, an' we wouldn't have to sell me favourite ones, an' me dad would visit us every week to help with stocktake an' that.'

'It'd be just like your old man to escape from jail every week to come over and smash up your shop,' Skip said, and snorted a laugh.  

'Yeah,' Metho said, and his face hardened, 'he woz a bit of a mad fucker, wasn't he?'

Tits—who was probably better at reading people and moods than anyone gave him credit for— flipped open his icebox and tossed a chilled beer to Metho, which he caught, opened, and drank it in one fluid movement.

'Okay lads, let's get to work.'

'Hey, we aren't all lads y'know,' TS said

'Here, on the job, we is all lads,' Metho said, 'so you got a choice to make here an' now. You is either one of us or you isn't.'

TS paused just long enough for her hesitation to be noted. 'Do we all get to drink or is it just you?'

'Tits, I think the rest o' the lads would like a beer as well.'

(iii)

Armed with beer and a variety of snack treats, most of which were an unnatural yellow colour, the Crew set about their work.

Metho went from aspirational to aspirational, alternating between glowering or offering 'The best fucken drugs at the best fucken prices in all of fucken Melbourne.' Angry and unrepentant, he moved through the crowd like an enraged tomcat shouldering its way through a pack of neutered pussies.

Skip oiled his way through the mass of property buyers, cajoling and pleading, offering a free tale of woe with every bag of dodgy powder purchased. 'I don't like doin' it, right, but me mum's got fucken cancer and the fucken government doesn't subsidise the fucken drugs she needs to keep her alive, so I'm selling good-time drugs to you so I can buy life-saving drugs for me mum.'

Little Spaz took on the part of a crazed drug addict and vibrated his way through the aspirational crowd, drooling and growling. 'Look, right, I don't need this shit anymore. I just wanna get rid of it, so I'm selling it cheap to you. Seriously, it's fucken amazingly pure, mate, worth twice as much as what I'm selling it for, I just don't need it anymore, believe me.'

But no matter how much they threatened or how hard they begged or how disgusting their physical demeanour, the aspirationals just looked through them like they weren't even there.

'Told ya it'd be fucken useless,' Metho said, when they had gathered to replenish their beer and snack supplies. 'They know where they is buying, an' they don't care what we do.'

'This is fucken creepy,' Little Spaz said, and helped himself to a beer from Tits' cooler. 'I don't know what it is about those people but they make my skin crawl.'

'It's just cos you're used to dealing with normal people here in Rosetown,' Metho explained, 'these fuckers come from all over Melbourne and most of 'em don't know how to behave in public. It's not their fault, really, it's the way they wos raised. This is wot happens when parents let their kids get away with murder when they is little.'

'Yeah,' Skip said, 'not like us. I still got scars from where my old man took to me with his belt. Taught me right from wrong, those beltings, and how to be respectful an' that.'

Little Spaz looked like he was about to say something, then frowned. 'Hey, where's Tits? And where the hell is my sister?'

Metho looked this way and that. 'I knew it, right, I knew it,' he snarled. 'The fuckers are abandonin' their fucken duties to have a fucken roll in the hay.'

'You think so? You think they is fucking?' Skip said, in an incredulous tone.

'How the fuck do I know?' Metho snapped.

'You just said it,' Skip said, pointing out what he thought was obvious.

'Oh my God,' Little Spaz said, and pointed to the roof of the defunct toyshop where Tit's had appeared, precariously perched and undoing his fly. Below him, the auctioneer was raising his gavel.

'Wot's he gunna do?' Metho asked, trying to deny the evidence of his eyes.

'That's one way to get their attention,' Little Spaz said, as Tits began to empty his bladder onto the crowd below.

'Yeah, but is it Rosetown enough?' Skip said, as the stream of steaming yellow liquid splashed onto the auctioneer's head. 'I mean, you can piss on someone's head almost anywhere in Melbourne. All you need is elevation, really, and a few drinks beforehand.'

'How can he not know that someone is pissing on his head?' Metho said, but quietly and in a distracted voice, as he watched the auctioneer completely ignore the liquid drenching his hair.

'Eeeeew,' Little Spaz exclaimed, as he watched the auctioneer explain the terms of the sale to the crowd as if there was no stream of yellow liquid falling on his head and streaming down his face. 'Look at that colour. Tits definitely needs to drink more water.'

'You'd think he'd at least close his mouth,' Skip said a moment later, as the auctioneer started the bidding at what Metho considered an already stupidly high price.

'It hasn't even slowed him down,' Metho said. 'The fucker's got piss flowin' down his fucken face, and it hasn't even slowed him down! What the fuck is wrong with these people?'

(iv)

The Crew were so shaken by their encounter at the auction that they bolted right past Socrates'n'Friends to the home of Vera, Metho's mum and unofficial matriarch of this band of belligerent bandits. From the outside, Vera's home was a small, non-descript timber cottage near the centre of Rosetown. There was a tidy rectangular lawn bordered on three sides by beds of roses. A covered concrete driveway ran along the fourth side, upon which sat a rarely driven but always washed midnight blue Holden Kingswood station wagon. On the inside, however, the house was anything but ordinary. On the inside, Vera had transformed her home into a temple devoted to the worship of the Rosetown Football Club.

Every flat surface supported a Rosetown FC ornament, every inch of wall space was covered by a photograph, or a framed guernsey, or a pastiche of past glories. Everything was red or white or blue, or red and white and blue. And where nothing would stand or hang, there lurked stuffed bullfrogs—the club mascot—of wool and cotton.

Vera had greeted her son and his associated wearing a shapeless blue dress that had the Rosetown Bullfrog emblazoned proudly across the chest, and bullfrog slippers on her feet. Red, white, and blue rectangles dangled from her earlobes, which matched the tri-colour varnish on her fingernails.

'Hello boys,' she said, and then caught sight of TS. 'Tiny! what are you doing here, love? Has your father finally seen some sense, has he? Gotcha working out in the field like you always wanted?'

TS blushed and nodded.

'Mum!' Metho said, in a frustrated voice. 'Don't you start, now. She may be clever and can take care of herself in a fight an' that, but she's still a girl. She'd be great at the back end, I'll grant you that, but it's a different story on the street. You need respect or the buggers will eat you alive, and ain't no one going to respect a slip of a girl with pink and green hair!'

TS lifted her right leg as if she was going to kick someone and both Skip and Tits instinctively took up defensive positions. She smiled sweetly at Metho and then used her foot to brush the hair out of her eyes. 'My mum says hello and that she misses you. She'd like you to visit one day soon.'

'You tell your mum I'd love to, deary, but I can't really get out much these days. She's more'n welcome to come visit me here. The snacks aren't as good, but the whisky is better,' a smirking Vera said, and then turned to Metho. 'I hear things haven't been going well for you boys of late,' she continued, 'and the fact that you've bought your friends to visit your dear old mum would suggest I'm right.'

'I dunno, Mum,' Metho said, 'these new buggers that have moved into Rosetown aren't buying, and there doesn't seem to be a way to get rid of 'em.'

'Now, now, Gordon, you mustn't get so down in the mouth. I'm sure that you and the lads will figure something out, especially now that you have Tiny here to help you with the thinking. Maybe you need to be a bit more assertive?'

'Yeah, maybe,' Metho said, sounding anything but confident. 'Has that new shipment of your medicine come in yet?'

'It's under the coffee table in the lounge room, dear. You and your friends enjoy as much as you want. They sent me far more than I need again,' Vera said and her eyes sparkled. 'I'm off to have a bit of a lie down.'

The loungeroom was a small affair, but there was ample seating for everyone once all the bullfrogs had been evicted from the various armchairs dotted about the place. Metho began busying himself with a large box he'd removed from under the coffee table while Skip fielded a call from one of the lieutenants in the field. The news was not good.

'Well?' Metho asked when an ashen faced Skip ended the call. 'That was Dago. He and his boys copped the same as us. Not even his missus with a skin full of beer could slow the buggers down.'

'See? I told you but you wouldn't listen,' Metho said. 'These aspirational fuckers couldn't give a fuck what we do. They already know what it's like here and they don't care.'

'Not caring is one thing, but ignoring piss flowing down your face?' Little Spaz said. 'Who the hell can ignore something like that?'

'I dunno, but I better report it to the Man,' Metho said, and extricated his telephone from the unspeakable depths of his pants pocket.

A crowded few minutes passed as Metho and Skip communicated with various members of their evil empire.

'The Man wants us to keep doing wot we is doing,' Metho said. 'Which is bullshit.'

'We is all fucked,' Skip added. 'Same story everywhere.'

Metho let out a world-weary sigh. 'I dunno about you blokes, but I could use a bit of relaxing, and I has just the thing.' He opened the box he'd pulled from under the table and extracted a strange pen shaped object and a recently unwrapped package of wax.

What is it?' Tits asked, always ready for a new experience.

'Medicinal marijuana,' Metho said, and leered. 'For some reason, me Mum always gets more than she needs.'

'What are we waiting for?' Skip said. 'Let's smoke it!'

'Well, you don't really smoke this stuff,' Metho said.

'Oh,' Skip said, and his voice betrayed his disappointment. 'Do we eat it or something, only I'm still full from the snacks and beer and that.'

'No, we vape it,' Metho said, and flourished the metal tube. Settle down folks and get ready to get happy.'

(iv)

While the Crew sought comfort and succour in the waxy residue of healing herbs, a group of strange beings congregated in a dark and musty room deep beneath the earth. It wasn't the secret cavern in which the mushrooms grew, but it was just as secret and no less impressive because of all the electronic gadgetry lining the walls. However, without their space suits the squat beings weren't nearly as intimidating. Their speech was high pitched and quick, and accompanied by quick movements of their furry little arms, twitching of their cute little noses, and grooming of their fuzzy little ears. If a human had been here to observe—a council inspector, for example, trying to find a way out of this underground alien warren and back to the human world on the surface—he would have observed the first speaker say:

'Eeiiuouee' *nose twitch* *left ear flick forward then back* 'iieeeiieaee', which means 'Did that fucking idiot human really piss on my head?'

Of course, translation would have been the last thing on the inspector's mind because he would have been far too busy reeling at the sight of a dozen or so giant rodents, wearing shiny metal harnesses, chatting amongst themselves in an underground room that looked like a Star Wars set, and that reeked of lavender and musk.

What our inspector would not have known is that these strange beasts were not rodents at all, but marsupials. A species of Quokka, to be exact, related to our own Earth-bound Quokkas in the same way that the inspector is related to a baboon or to a hipster. And they were here on Earth for a specific reason: mushrooms.

Heavily controlled throughout the galaxy because of their ability to let intergalactic beings have a good time, mushrooms were highly sought after and very, very expensive. The fact that mushrooms were largely ignored by the human populace of Earth indicated to the galaxy in general that humans were a primitive species who were too dumb to understand the value of the fungus that grew everywhere on their home planet.

The inspector would probably have been even more terrified had he known that the Galactic Government had shut down the Earth as a Galactic destination to protect the delicate environment that let so many mushrooms flourish, and that they operated a limited and secret mushroom harvesting operation for what they claimed were medicinal and research purposes only. This was not that operation. This was the other mushroom harvesting operation. The one run by criminal Quokkas from outer space.

Chapter 3

The tension in the room at Vera's had drained away and been replaced by a strawberry scented cloud of vapour.

'I dunno,' said a relaxed Skip. 'I mean, it's easier on the throat for sure, and me lungs ain't screaming like if this was smoke, but it doesn't feel right. An' does it have to be strawberry? I mean, it's like it was specially flavoured for kiddies who want to get high.'

'Feels a'right to me,' Tits said and passed the vaporiser to TS.

Metho grunted in agreement. He was fast approaching a state where verbal communication was something that other people did.

The television was on and the Crew had arranged themselves in an arc around it, using various stuffed bullfrogs as cushions. A talking head on the screen was chastising the world for the damage humanity had done to their home planet.

'You know, I reckon they dun it wrong. Instead of coming out an' saying "boogey boogey, the climate's coming to get ya",' Skip said. 'I reckon they should have said there was no such thing as climate change. Deny it completely. An' every time some science geek or whatever, says there is climate change, send some blokes in dark glasses to tell 'em to shut up.'

'Boogey Boogey? Really? Who the hell says that? An' what the fuck are you talking about anyway?' Metho said, after a moment's concentration to remind himself how speaking worked.

'You know, how all these climate change deniers keep saying the scientists is talking bullshit about it getting hotter an' that. Of course people are gunna be sus if you tell 'em right to their face. It's like the chem trails an' that, that they always deny but people believe are true. They should have denied climate change as well. Then all those fuckers wot believe in chem trails would believe in climate change as well.'

'It's pretty fucked up, though, the weather changin' an' that,' Tits said, his face going from euphoric to a mask of misery. 'It's like how business has gone shit. Maybe what's happening to us now is a sign that we is doing it all wrong? You know, how the planet is telling everyone that we is fucking things up? Maybe business being bad is a sign that we is doing it all wrong? I mean, do we really want to be drug dealers? It's illegal an' that. I dunno if that is what I should be doing. Do you like being a drug dealer, Metho? Cos I reckon being the bad guys is shit.'

'Of course I like bein' a drug dealer you fuckwit, wot sort of a question is that? An' you should shut up about good an' bad. What the fuck else you gunna do? The only other jobs around here for people like us is stacking shelves or cleaning dunnies, and that's not the sort of work you live your life doing, know what I mean?'

'It's a choice, mate, a choice,' Tit's said, getting as animated as the processed herbs would allow. 'My old man didn't do illegal shit like I do. He made his own business. And my uncles. And Skip's old man is a parking inspector. Why can't we do like our parents?'

'Things is different now, which is why your uncles have become as bent as you an' me. Everyone had a job when I was a kid, and they had real jobs then, not all this service industries bullshit. I remember my dad used to work at the toy factory, and then the company moved the whole fucken' thing to fucken Thailand. And then he worked making shoes, but they shot off as well. It was almost like all the factory owners was offended they had to pay the people that worked for 'em,' Metho said, and reclined further on his fluffy, tri-colour bullfrog. 'For us, there's either wot we is doing now, or we can take a pay cut and wait tables or clean toilets.'

With a monumental effort of will, Metho shook off the dampening effects of the semi-legal smog and leaned forward. 'Listen mate, there's fucken dignity in drug dealin, you un'erstand? People has respect for ya. They want something you got, so they's polite. How do you reckon those fuckers who own the supermarkets treat their shelf-stackers? With dignity and respect? My fucken arse, mate. They sneer at 'em, or be all condescending and politically correct an' that. As far as those fuckers are concerned, their employees are just worms with arms and legs.'

'Oh come on,' Little Spaz said, 'you can't blame businesses for doing the right thing by their shareholders. It's their duty to maximise profits. And anyway, there's plenty of opportunity in the labour market for people with get up and go.'

Metho barked a laugh and accepted the vaporiser from TS. 'Look at you, all holier than thou an' that. You and your sister has had a good life, and why do you think that is? Your old man was a cleaner when I first met him. He never told you about that, did he? I was there when all this started. An' I can tell you things is better now than they was then. You think you would have had as good a life if your dad was still a cleaner? Not likely.'

'It's all pointless in the end,' Skip said, muscling into the conversation with what he thought was a pertinent point. 'Whether you stack shelves, clean toilets, or sell recreational chemicals for a living, you end up spending your whole life workin', and for what?'

'My Yaya told me it was all part of God's plan,' Tits said. 'You work all your life so you can be happy after you is dead.'

Skip pondered this as he waited for Metho to pass him the vaporiser. 'That doesn't make sense, mate,' he said after a moment's thought. 'How can you be happy after you're dead? You gotta be happy here and now, while you can enjoy it.'

'And you're happy now, are you?' Metho asked, after he had exhaled a cloud of strawberry scented fog.

'I s'pose so,' Skip said, then sighed. 'Yeah,' he said, and paused. 'Maybe,' then another pause and a sigh. 'Nah. Not really. No.'

'This happiness bullshit is all bullshit,' Metho said, with feeling. 'I don't know anyone who is happy. Not a single one. As far as I can tell, eight out of ten fuckers are miserable and the other two are idiots. The idiots are happy, I'll grant you that. It's like the only way to happiness is to be a fucken idiot.'

'I is happy right now,' Tits said, 'thanks to medicinal marijuana.'

'There you go then, you're happy now cos the dope makes you an idiot. What about when you're straight?'

'I have a drink,' Tits said.

'That's right, which also makes you an idiot. See?' Metho said, his voice triumphant, 'happiness through idiocy.'

'To be fair, he doesn't have far to go,' Skip said, and looked longingly at the vaporiser.

'Your one to talk,' Metho said and passed on the shiny stick of happiness. 'The only time we see a smile on your face is when you is bent. When you're straight, you're either miserable cos you split up with Steph, or you're miserable cos you got back with Steph.'

It was a testament to the depth of Skips feeling about his erratic relationship with his long term semi-paramour that he was able to break through the numbing effects of the semi-illegal herb and snap at Metho. 'Fuck you,' he said.

'He's right, you know,' Tits said. 'You is always complaining about Steph, irregardless of whether you is together or not.'

'Whatever,' Skip said, 'and irregardless is not a word.'

'Yes it is! I seen it on television.'

'Look, love is hard,' Skip said, 'an' I love Steph. She is the One.'

Metho did another laugh-snort 'Big, fat, hairy deal. I met the One. In fact, I met about half a dozen of 'em. They was all nice when I met 'em, and they were all psycho's when I left 'em. I s'pose I just drive women crazy. What's weird is that each one was the worst.'

'You has no soul, you old fucker,' Skip said, after exhaling a thick cloud of vapour. 'And how can every one of 'em be the worst?'

'Well, when I think about each of 'em on their own, right, I realise that she was the worst relationship I was ever in. Until I think about another one, and then I realise that she was the worst relationship I'd ever had.' 

Skip took a moment to work this out. 'Doesn't that make you feel bad?'

'Nah, not really. I just don't think about them.'

'No, you idiot, I meant that you won't have anyone to share your old age with,' Skip said. 'If you don't meet the One, who are you gunna share your old age with?'

'Do you think my mum needed someone like my dad to share her old age with?' Metho said. 'Him dying was the best thing that ever happened to her.'

'I remember that. You threw a party at the Belgradia,' Tits said

'Cos I was glad the fucker was gone. Once he lost his job at the shoe factory, he became a drunken monster and impossible to live with. It was a blessing he spent more time in jail than at home.'

'Still, he was your old man.'

'Yeah, but I hated him. An' me brother hated him. An' Mum hated him. He was just bad, through an' through.'

'You shouldn't speak ill of the dead.'

Metho burst out laughing. 'Why not? Best time to do it, I reckon. And anyway, I bet there are lots of families like us. Where some mad fucker dies and it's a good thing for all the family. They just put on a bullshit sad face in public but inside they is relieved as hell.'

'All this philosophising is interesting, and a window into the darkness of your collective minds,' Little Spaz said, 'but we must turn our attention to the problem at hand. I think you're right, Metho, pursuing my father's strategy is a recipe for failure. We have to come up with something new.'

'You know what's wrong with Poppy's plan,' TS said, 'it's too local. What we need to do is let all of Australia know that Rosetown is a bad place to live, not just a handful of idiots who have already made up their minds they want to be here.'

Silence fell and all eyes turned to Metho, who stared at TS. 'Wot would you suggest, then?' he asked.

'We need to do like Vera said and be more assertive,' TS said, with a criminal smile on her face. 'Do something that will make everyone take notice. Something that will get us on every television set, on every news feed, and that will keep the bloggers blogging for weeks to come.' She paused for dramatic effect. 'We need to kidnap an auctioneer and hold him for ransom.'

(ii)

The plan hatched by the Crew was so simple that it even seemed viable the following day, when the fog of medicinal marijuana had cleared. They would kidnap an auctioneer, take him to an empty warehouse on the outskirts of Melbourne, and then broadcast to the world that they wanted a million dollars or, as Metho put it, 'the fucka wot sold the Belgradia is fucked'.

'The ransom is all but irrelevant,' TS said as the Crew sipped Turkish coffee at Socrates'n'Friends, 'we just want every news outlet everywhere to carry the video.'

'Video? Where we gunna get video?' Metho asked.

'Basset can do it, and then upload it onto the dark web.'

'Basset? Who's Basset?'

TS looked surprised. 'My brother,' she said and pointed at Little Spaz, who blushed.

'Nice,' Metho said, as Tits and Skip grinned at Little Spaz. 'First donuts, now video and dark webs. Is there anything you can't do, Basset my boy?'

'Pick my work mates,' Little Spaz said, his face red to the ears.

'Wot sort of a name is Basset?' Skip asked.

'It means small, and I got it because I was small when I was born.'

'So we should really call you Small Spaz then, hey? What a turn up. We should change TS's name to Smaller Spaz cos she's your little sister,' Skip said.

'Why? I like my name. Nothing wrong with Tiny,' TS said.

Skip faltered for a moment. 'So, what, Tiny is your actual name?'

TS nodded. 'Yep'.

Skip swallowed. TS was a little too volatile to mock, even casually. 'Really?' was all he could think of saying that would express his surprise while simultaneously not pushing the boundaries of her temper.

'Anyway,' TS continued, 'what we do is steal a couple of cars...'

In the first car, driven by Skip, would be the snatchers—namely Metho and Tits. They would be followed by a second car driven by TS with Small Spaz—the Crew had unanimously voted to change his official unofficial name—hanging out the window and recording the entire event on a fancy digital camera he'd gotten for Christmas the year before.

They practised during the week. The two vehicles came to a screeching halt outside the now defunct Rosetown public baths, where the snatchers grabbed the auctioneer and got the hell out in less than a minute.  

'Why do I has to be the aspirational being kidnapped?' Dago had complained. 'An' I'm a better driver than Skip. I should be coming with yous.'

'Because you're so strong and muscular and everyone listens to you. We need you on the ground to make sure there are no slackers and the path to the target is open,' TS explained and ran her hand down the thug's scarred and—definitely muscular— arm. Dago blushed and beamed a gap-toothed smile.

The entire plan went surprisingly well. Tits and Metho—wearing balaclavas—flew out of the first car with Small Spaz jumping out of the second, camera at ready. They raced through the breaks in the crowd created by hooded members of the greater Crew, snatched the auctioneer and dragged him back to the waiting cars, where he was bundled into the boot of Skip's car. All the while, a hooded Small Spaz recorded and made sure he got a good, long shot of the Rosetown Baths sign so that there was no doubt about where the kidnapping was taking place.

Skip's unmatched knowledge of the surveillance cameras set up by the Rosetown council to catch revenue generated by speeding drivers meant that he led the two-car convoy to a small laneway—where a third car was waiting—with only Small Spaz's camera recording the journey. The next phase of the plan was to torch the first two cars, then use a third to take the auctioneer to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Melbourne, but Metho's phone rang just as they entered the lane.

'What do you mean, he's back,' Metho said and his surprise was evident even through the balaclava. 'Open the boot,' he said when the car stopped.

'But we're meant to get everything ready for the fire before we open the boot, and all the fire stuff is in the other car.'

'Fuck the plan, just open the boot,' Metho snapped, and jumped out of the car.

Skip shrugged, looked back at Tits who shrugged as well, then did as he was told. The scream that followed almost caused him to defecate in his pants. 'What the fuck,' he said, and both he and Tits raced to Metho's side. 'What's happened?'

'Look for yourself,' Metho said. Behind him, Small Spaz kept his camera rolling.

Skip's jaw dropped as he looked down into an empty boot.

'Dago just rang. He said the auction had started,' Metho said, as TS joined them at the back of the stolen car. 'The fucker must have jumped out, but how? I cuffed his hands and feet myself.'

'We were right behind you the whole way, and we didn't see him jump out or anything,' TS said. 'Basset's got the whole trip on video.

'The cuffs are still here, look,' Tits said and reached in to grab the two unbroken plastic ties from the boot. As he did so, he caught sight of a small metallic device, which he grabbed as well. It was fish shaped and had three small protrusions on either side.

Small Spaz lowered his camera. 'He wasn't human, was he?' he said, in a leaden voice. 'That's the only explanation. First, the piss and now this. Almost no human would ignore piss flowing into his mouth, and absolutely no human could have got out of this car without us seeing him. The camera was on the boot for the entire trip.'

'To be honest, the fucker felt weird when I grabbed him, like he was made from plastic or something,' Metho said. 'And he was light as a feather.'

'Yeah, I thought he felt weird too,' Tits said, 'but I thought it was just my imagination.'

Small Spaz shrugged. 'They do amazing things with mechanical devices these days. Maybe he was a robot?'

'What, like the ones that is gunna take all our jobs an' that?' Metho said. 'Only, if I was to make a robot, I'd make one that does actual work. Why make a robot that talks bullshit all day like this auctioneer? It's fucking daft.'

'Maybe it's a prototype. A test to see if robots could fool real humans,' Small Spaz said.

'Yeah, but how did it get out of the boot?' Metho said.

'I know, I know,' Skip said with his hand in the air, like a schoolboy with the answer to a particularly difficult question. 'I saw on the tele that there's these tiny robots that can join together to make all sorts of bigger things. Swarm robots or something like that. Maybe the auctioneer was actually a swarm of little robots that joined together to make a big robot. Then, when we put him in the boot, they came apart again and got the fuck out while the going was good.'

'I know this is fucking impossible, but could those tiny robots look something like this?' Tits said, and held up the little metallic fish. 'Look, it's even got little stubs on each side where it's legs might of been.'

Everyone crowded around to have a look.

'It's got to be the fucken government,' Metho said, after examining the metallic ant. 'Maybe they've found the ultimate weapon for the war on drugs?'

'Oh come on, this is Rosetown. No government fucker is gunna come round here,' Skip said. 'They only ever cross the river to score.'

'Yeah, but this wasn't a person, was it? It were a robot,' Metho said. 'If they fill Rosetown with robots, then we'd go broke cos they don't need drugs, do they?'

'That's an unlikely scenario,' Small Spaz said, 'but then again so are robot auctioneers that can magically get out of a car boot. I don't know what is going on, but I think we should go and talk to my old man. He's got connections that might be able to shed some light on what's been happening.'

(iii)

Deep under the earth, a massive door opened and disgorged a dozen or so humans into yet another cavern. This one was nearly as big as the mushroom cavern, but the walls, floor and ceiling were made of a strange metal that emitted a weird purple glow. If a lost council inspector had stumbled upon the scene while desperately searching for a way back home, his heart would have leapt for joy. 'At last, real people,' he would have thought.

The inspector would have heard one of the people say, in clear, coherent English: 'They're getting annoying. They banged me up real good when they grabbed me. Smashed the translation chip right out of my ear. It was lucky we had a spare topside or the boss would have had our balls for breakfast.'

What happened next, however, would have killed the inspector's joy and sent the poor man into a meltdown because the other humans in the room actually began to melt down. The decay began at the top of every human head in the room—except the inspector's—then moved downward, as heads and torsos disintegrated into a mass of metallic crumbs that scurried towards the floor like a lost colony of fish-shaped ants. But instead of blood and bone under the skin, there were Quokkas in shiny vests, sinking slowly downwards as their human legs disintegrated. The metallic ants raced down and melted into the strange metal that lined the room, until all that remained were a dozen or so marsupials, standing around and scratching at the fur on their bellies.

Had the inspector not fled the scene in terror, he would have heard one of the Quokkas let out a heartfelt sigh and say, in perfect English, 'I hate these fucking suits. I had the sweat glands up as far as they would go and it was still bloody boiling in there.'

Because he was an elite worker, and despite his fear, the inspector would have noticed that the Quokka's voice wasn't quite synced with its words, and there was a high-pitched chattering noise, akin to the Quokka language, just on the cusp of hearing.   

(iv)

The Crew found Big Spaz standing in the laneway behind his house, admiring a newly completed graffiti artwork he had commissioned. Despite all that had happened, their boss' obsession with all things fowl made the Crew pause. Even his children were struck dumb.

'Hey Poppy,' Small Spaz said after a while, 'we've got a bit of a problem. The auctioneer isn't human and we think the aspirationals that have moved in recently aren't human either.'

Big Spaz continued to stare at the wall of art, oblivious to his son's startling revelation.

'Boss?' Metho said, after a moment of silence. When there was no reaction, he tentatively reached out to tap Big Spaz on the shoulder, but the big man raised his hand to stop him.

'This is the only time I'll see this as it was meant to be,' Big Spaz said. 'The vandals will come soon. Small children with cans of spray paint and they will defile it. And even if they don't, time will ravage it. The colours will fade and the joy of creation will drain away.'

Metho looked at the painting, then looked back at the Crew, then back at the painting again. 'What is it about chickens that you love so much?'

'In the place where I was born, chickens kept us alive. Not only did they feed us and fertilise our crops, but they were our friends as well. To see these three dancing like this, without a care in the world,' Big Spaz paused and sighed heavily. 'It reminds me of the place I left behind. It was a hard life, don't get me wrong, but it was also a simple life with simple pleasures.'

Metho looked back at the Spaz siblings, who both shrugged. 'Did you hear what Basset just said?'

'Hmmm, oh yes,' Big Spaz said and turned away from his mural. 'I expected some shit like this when sales started to nosedive,' he said, sounding more like his old self. 'It's probably the government and their war on drugs. The bastards are never gunna give up.'

'That's what I said!'

'Let's go inside and you can tell me exactly how you came to acquire this knowledge,' Big Spaz said.

Metho was about to reply, when Tit's telephone rang.

'What the fuck,' Tits said when he saw who was calling, then answered. 'Hey Snake, how are you cuz?'

'Unless he wants to buy something, hang up,' Metho grumbled.

Tits went white. 'Sure, no worries, we can be there,' he said, and ended the call. 'That was Snake,' he said, to the surprise of no one. 'He's the lawyer for the auctioneer. He said his client wants to meet with us to talk about what happened today.'

Everybody went white except for Big Spaz, who felt like he was missing out. 'What did you do?'

'We kidnapped an auctioneer,' Metho said. 'But he got away.'

'You what?'

'It was my idea Poppy,' TS said. 'I thought it would spread the word that Rosetown is still a dangerous place to live. But, Like Gordon said, he got away.'

'He managed to slip the cuffs on his hands and feet and get out of a locked boot of a speeding car. We watched the video of the whole trip and there's no sign of him getting out after we put him in,' Small Spaz said.

Big Spaz looked as if he was going to say something, but changed his mind. Instead, he turned back to the mural of the three dancing chickens.

The Crew stood around looking at one another for a few minutes. Metho was about to say something when Big Spaz spoke.

'Where does he want to meet?'

'At Socrates'n'Friends. In the back room,' Tits said.

'Do you think we should go?'

Tits turned to look at Metho. 'That's not for me to decide,' he said.

'I think we should go,' Metho said. 'At least we'll find out what the fuck is going on.'

'The city is not a simple place,' Big Spaz said. 'I agree, we should go, but the father in me does not want to put his children in harm's way. Then again, one day they'll have to run this business on their own. So yes, Gordon, we will meet them. And I will come as well, because if I can't keep my children out of harm's way, then I can kick harm in the balls if it tries anything stupid.'

'Snake said 2am tomorrow morning. He's already made the arrangements with Tasos,' Tits said.

(v)

As a space for human interaction, Socrates'n'Friends was never particularly welcoming. It was as if Tasos had found a way to instil a bugger-off vibe into the very bricks and mortar of the building itself. Even on warm and sunny afternoons, customers felt as if they were intruding, and that the cafe didn't like them very much and wanted them to leave. It was even worse during dark and moonless nights, such as the one which found the Crew waited on the doorstep for Tasos to let them in. The cafe had made it abundantly clear that they were not welcome, and the air of sullen menace rose a notch when Tasos opened the door and added the human touch.

'All this secret midnight bullshit is bullshit,' he said to Big Spaz. 'You lucky my nephew want this to happen.'

'Thanks theo,' Tits said.

'Not you, malaka, the other one. The good one that is lawyer,' Tasos snapped.

'You shouldn't forget who your friends are, Tasos,' Big Spaz said. 'Family is wonderful, but it wasn't your family that lent you money when you needed it.'

Tasos harrumphed. 'The room is ready,' he said, and pulled open a section of wall in the kitchen to reveal a large room on the other side. 'There is machine for coffee if you want,' he added. 'Fridge is broken so milk no good. If you has to has milk in you coffee, there is long life stuff in cupboard. I be in back for when you want to leave. Knock on door loud because sometimes I sleep in night. Only those bad ones stay up all night, how you say, things that suck blood?'

'Vampires?' Metho said.

'No, no, starts with one P.'

'Parasites?' Small Spaz said after a moment's thought.

'Yes, yes. smart boy, this one. Yes. I sleep because I am not one parasite. Knock loud so I wake up.'

The Crew and Big Spaz arranged themselves on one side of a huge, round table at the centre of the room.

'Nice place, this,' Metho said, admiring the gaudy furniture and tacky paintings on the walls. Everything was gold plated: picture frames, coffee cups, even the bowl full of wax fruit on a side table. 'So, what, Tasos runs card games in here?'

'Yep,' Tits said. 'Much more lucrative than selling coffees.'

'And it's me that keeps the cops away and makes sure his games continue to run,' Big Spaz said. 'We may have to have a word to your uncles about gratitude.'

'They're just grumpy old men,' Tits said. 'It happens to all Greeks in the end. Their tempers get shorter and their voices get louder.'

'Hopefully that won't be our fate, cuz,' Snake said, as he came through the door followed closely by the auctioneer. 'Gentlemen,' he said, and then saw TS, 'and lady,' he added. He and the auctioneer took a seat opposite Big Spaz and the Crew.

The air in the room thickened. The Crew were still upset at the auctioneer for ruining their kidnapping. They'd put hours into planning and practice, even going so far as to muster the greater Crew, and they were a bit miffed that the auctioneer had just vanished without so much as a by-your-leave.

'Well, well, if it isn't George Fithopoulos,' Big Spaz said. 'How is you father, George? We go back a long way, your dad and I, did you know that? We arrived on the same boat in, when was it, 67 or 68? I always forget the year.' 

'He's doing well, Mr Spazefski,' Snake said, who much preferred being Snake to being George. 'He and my mum moved out of Rosetown recently. Bought a house in Doncaster.'

'I knew he moved out,' Big Spaz said, and there was an edge to his voice. 'I'm sure your sweaty friend here is the one who sold his house. Doncaster is a nice town. A bit far out for my tastes, but I'm a city person these days. So, how did you get mixed up in all this?'

Snake swallowed his nervousness down. Big Spaz was an intimidating figure. 'I'm acting on behalf of my clients, sir,' he squeaked, then pulled himself together. 'First, I'd like to apologise for the lateness of the hour and the suddenness of the meeting,' he said in a more normal tone, 'but we thought it best we act as soon as possible to prevent any...unfortunate incidents that could sour the relationship between my clients and yourselves,' he paused and gave the Crew a brittle smile. 'Now, what I'm going to tell you may sound fantastical and unreal, but believe me, it's all real and true. My client is not, as he appears, a simple auctioneer doing his job in and around Rosetown. In reality, he isn't anything at all like he appears,' Snake paused again and drew a deep breath. 'He isn't even human,' he added, dramatically. 'He's an intergalactic guest on our planet and represents a group of similar beings who are now residing in Rosetown. His real name is unpronounceable by humans, but you can call him Nigel.'

'That's all bullshit,' Metho said in an angry voice. He was convinced that Nigel was a robot sent by the government and it was going to take a bit more than a few words by a slimy lawyer to change his mind. 'We know what you is and we know who you is working for. You can tell your bosses that there is no way they is ever gunna win the war on drugs. You hear me? Never.'

'What we do isn't even a crime in my books,' Skip added. 'We is doing a public service by providin' bloody good products at reasonable prices. You fuckers should be thankin' us, not trying to arrest us.'

'Yeah, that's right,' Metho added. 'An' we're keeping crime down. If we didn't have drugs to sell, we'd have to do something else.'

'Too right. I was always a bit partial to a bit of fraud myself, with the odd burglary to break the week up,' Skip said.

'Please be assured that I do not represent any formal authorities. Quite the opposite,' Nigel said, in the familiar auctioneer's voice that the Crew had grown to hate. Now that they were closer to him and away from the hubbub of the auction, they could hear that his words were accompanied by a faint chattering on the cusp of hearing.

'Well, you would say that, wouldn't you?' Metho said. 'Now that you is rumbled.'

In response, Nigel began to disintegrate. The top of his head broke into a multitude of little black crumbs that looked very similar to the fish shaped object Tits had found. The human melted away and exposed the Quokka beneath, wearing a shiny vest that absorbed the tiny scurrying robots with faint little popping sounds.

The Crew did a collective gasp. 'What the fuck? You is a giant rat?' Metho said.

'A Quokka, actually,' the auctioneer said.

'Nigel is one of a community of galactic citizens who have sought refuge on Earth after their home planets were devastated by war,' Snake said. 'They have been using their advanced technologies to blend in with the native population of this planet.'

'That makes sense,' TS said, 'new immigrants always move into Rosetown when they first come to Melbourne. Ignorance is a terrible thing.'

'I assure you, we mean you no harm,' Nigel said. 'We are the innocent victims of a terrible war that has been raging in the galaxy for decades. Some of us got tired of the bloodshed and decided to come to your lovely planet.'

'It is lovely, but not so good for us anymore,' Big Spaz said. 'Now whether you is a robot or an alien, or just some fucker that is taking the piss, your arrival has disrupted our commercial activities. That is not something that we can tolerate long term.'

'Hang on a sec,' Metho said, as a look of realisation crossed his face. 'Are you lot asylum seekers?'

'Yes, after a fashion I suppose,' Nigel said. 'We came here to escape persecution and war on our home planets.'

'Great, just great. More fucking illegal immigrants. Just what we need right now, with all the jobs gone and the houses already costing too much, we really need more people who want a job an' a place to live,' Metho said. 'You lot are bad news! You're gunna fuck up our economy and tear apart the social fabric. You bastards.'

'Hang on Metho, I think that's only the ones what come here on boats,' Skip said.

'Is it? Well how the did you and yours get here, then, if you don't mind me asking?'

'We came via intergalactic shuttles. I think you would refer to them as spaceships,' Nigel said.

'Ah ha! So you did come by boat! No wonder the whole fucking place has gone to shit,' Metho said.

Small Spaz had been watching the entire exchange with a look of horror on his face. 'I can't believe this,' he blurted out when he could contain himself no longer. 'How can you doubt the evidence of your eyes? Not only is Nigel a talking marsupial, but you've agreed to a sit down with him to sort out some business. And you,' he said, turning from Big Spaz to Metho. 'You have just met a representative of an alien race—a being that has travelled millions of miles to get here—and your first reaction is to yell at him for being an illegal immigrant?'

'Well, yeah, cos he is one. And he come by boat. Or ship, which is the same thing in my book.'

'Well it must be a small book that's written in crayon then, because a spaceship is a vehicle that flies through space, not travels over the surface of a body of water. The name kinda gives it away. How many boats do you know that can fly?'

'I think he's right, mate,' Skip said. 'It's like one of them UFO thingies.'

'Very much like that,' Nigel said. 'Most reported UFO's are Quokkas who weren't being careful enough.' He preened his whiskers and brushed his ears forward, which is a sure sign that a Quokka is getting annoyed. The Crew thought it made him look cute.

'That is why we have arranged this meeting,' Snake said, addressing Big Spaz. 'When my client came and told me that he had been kidnapped in Rosetown, I instantly thought of you and realised it must be because your business is suffering. Together, we came up with a plan that we believe will benefit both parties.'

'I'm listening,' Big Spaz said.

'As I mentioned earlier, the Quokkas have advanced technologies that look like magic to us,' Snake said, in an excited voice, 'and those technologies are not limited to computerised hardware and transportations systems. The Quokkas are also far ahead of human science in the field of medicine, and the manufacture of all manner of pharmaceutical products. These medicines usually only work on Quokkas but there is one that has an outstanding effect on human anatomy. The Quokkas call it "flabby" but that's just a colloquialism because they use it as a weight gain drug for after they've been ill. What this drug does to humans is quite amazing. It provides an outstanding sensory experience, increases a user's cognitive abilities, while at the same time healing damage caused by the long-term use of human drugs such as alcohol and methamphetamine.'

'And how does this wonder drug help me and my employees?' Big Spaz said. 'If this isn't all bullshit, which I still reckon it is, as far as I can tell, you have just told me of a product that could spell the end of our business forever.'

'The Quokkas would like to offer you a distribution deal. They will supply the drug, and you and your network will distribute it,' Snake said. 'You see, their enemies are still looking for them and have spies here on Earth. They need to be able to stay low key but their money reserves are beginning to dwindle.'

'Well maybe they should stop buying houses in Rosetown then,' Metho snapped. 'You're the fucking reason we can't sell nothing cos you is scaring away all the real customers.'

'They will also agree to stop buying Rosetown properties and move their property acquisition program to Sunni,' Snake added. 'Any empty properties they already own or are constructing in Rosetown will be rented out to humans, which will replenish your customer base.'

The Crew all turned to Big Spaz, who looked like he was on the verge of exploding. 'I don't know how the fuck you made that rat talk, but this joke has gone on for long enough,' he said, and pulled a gun from inside his jacket, which he pointed at Nigel. 'Tell me what's happening or the fucking rat gets it.'

Nigel sighed. 'Really, Mr Spazefski, you are very disappointing,' he said. A stream of tiny robots flew out from his vest and snatched the gun from Big Spaz's hands. There was a blur of activity and the robots had returned to their home before the small metallic bust of Big Spaz—which had once been a gun—had hit the table.

'We could very easily just wipe you all out but that might attract attention and would do nothing to solve our revenue problem,' Nigel said. 'George tells us you are a shrewd business man so I would advise you to grab this opportunity with both hands. If you don't, then you and every one of your compatriots will vanish from the face of the Earth. Quite literally.'

Big Spaz picked up the metallic bust. It was a remarkable likeness. 'We split the take 50-50?'

'Of course,' Snake said in what he hoped was a confident voice. The display of Quokka violence had shaken him. They were so cute, it was difficult imaging them doing bad things. 'My clients would like to build a relationship that will stand the test of time. And you have guaranteed exclusivity. There isn't a science lab in the world that can manufacture flabby.'

'It seems that we have a relationship, then,' Big Spaz said. 'Let's celebrate with a drink. Skip, go see if Tasos has any sparkling wine in that fridge over there.'

Skip jumped to his feet, scurried over to the fridge and threw open the door. The stench of rotten food filled the room. 'Cor, what a stench,' he said. 'If it ain't working, why leave the food in it?'

'What's he got in there? A carcass?' Small Spaz said.

There was a small thump and all eyes turned to see that Nigel had collapsed off his chair. A moment later, he vanished.

The eyes then turned to Snake, who looked shifty. This wasn't by design or because he was planning something underhanded. Snake was born looking shifty.

'Where did he go?' Big Spaz said, but there was no menace in his voice. He had put his gun back into its holster even though it was now a metallic replica of his head. It was a very real reminder that he needed to treat these people with respect, even if they were cute marsupials.

'They're vegetarians,' Snake said. 'The sight of blood or the smell of meat makes them ill, and rotting meat is even worse. The harness they wear automatically teleports them back to their medical rooms if they ever lose consciousness, so I would guess the stench from the fridge overcame him and his harness took him home.'

'Fuck that's awesome,' Skip said. 'If you had one of them vests, you could drink till you've passed out anywhere you liked, and you'd wake up at home.'

Big Spaz sighed. 'So, do we get a sample of this flabby stuff so we can try it for ourselves?'

Snake opened his briefcase and handed over a decent sized satchel of pills. 'We'll leave the street price to you since you know more about this sort of thing than we do. Give me a call when you need another batch.'

(vi)

The atmosphere in Socrates'n'Friends was thick with smoke and noise. Unlike the rest of the civilised world who had accepted the science, Tasos did not consider smoking tobacco a health risk and allowed their customers to smoke freely.

The Greater Crew were arranged around a table in the same place where they had met Nigel that morning, but it was infinitely more interesting now. The room was crowded with people indulging in games of chance while they laughed and smiled and nervously smoked cigarettes. There was noise and music, and waiters ferrying complimentary drinks to all the patrons. Skip, who was never one to let a freebie pass by, was well soaked and sat slouched in his chair with an idiot grin on his face. Here and there, knots of men stood quietly, being conspicuously inconspicuous and looking menacing.

'It sounds a bit, you know, weird,' Tubsy said, looking suspiciously at the package in the middle of the table. 'So these are alien drugs? From outa space?'

'Yeah,' Metho said. 'The aspirationals brought 'em. They is fleeing war and destruction on their planet and they've come here to make a new home for themselves.'

'And they is Quokkas?' Dago said, and he could not have looked more sceptical had he painted "THIS IS ALL BULLSHIT" on his forehead in glitter. 'So wot you is saying is that refugee Quokkas from outa space gave you this packet of drugs?'

'Who fucking cares where it comes from?' Metho said. 'I regret telling yous now.' He looked to Skip and Tits for support and they both murmured and nodded, but would commit no further.

Metho sighed. 'Listen, right, this is what we gotta sell, okay? Nothing else is selling like it used to. It's fucking flabby or it's a real job, right, with a real boss and gettin' paid an' that. Your choice.'

'It's not like we know where all the other shit comes from,' Tubsy said, suddenly sounding more agreeable. 'Has you had any?'

'Nah, not yet,' Metho said, and ripped open the package. He withdrew a single pill, looked at it for a moment, put it in his mouth and threw it back with a shot of Tasos' home made tsipouro. A moment later, he smiled. 'It's quite good, actually. Infinitely better than the bitter swill that Tasos sells.'

Dago reached across and took a pill from the packet. 'What the fuck,' he said. 'I met some of the cooks that makes what we sell. Alien Quokkas couldn't be worse.' He swallowed a pill, along with a mouthful of beer.

One by one, the Greater crew reached out and took a pill. Half an hour later, and by general consensus, they went to see a movie. 

Chapter 4

Several months had passed since the Crew had encountered the Quokkas and, from a certain perspective, things were going quite well. Metho and Skip were sitting in one of the Quokka bars, enjoying a drink and planning their respective futures.

'I don't know, it's quite a commitment. And at my age? Is it really worth it?' Skip said, as he reconstructed his deconstructed coffee.

'What value do you put on knowledge?' Metho said, and took a sip of his coconut latte. 'If philosophy is your passion, then I say go for it and practicality be damned.'

At this point, it should be noted that they had been taking flabby on a daily basis since they'd met Nigel many months ago, and the drug had had an impact on their personalities.

'What about you? Have you made up your mind yet?'

'Yes and no,' Metho said, and smiled. 'I want to do it all. Just the thought of diving into a new realm of knowledge makes my extremities tingle.'

It was then that a huge bag of rotting meat sailed through the open door and splatted against a wall. Around Metho and Skip, all the other diners gagged, passed out, and vanished.

'What the heck,' Metho said, as two masked figures—one huge and hulking and the other slim and quick—darted into the cafe. He got up off his chair to defend himself, but hesitated. The thought of committing violence against another human being repulsed him so much that he stood paralysed as the hulking figure pressed a stinking cloth over his mouth and nose.

When Metho awoke, he found himself tied to a chair in Vera's loungeroom. On a chair beside him was tied an unconscious Skip.

'Hey, I think Metho's come around,' said a familiar voice behind him.

'Gordon, my boy, how are you feeling,' said his mum as she came into view. 'I've been so worried about you. Those drugs have made you into a monster.'

'Vera! Why am I tied to a chair? It's criminal to deprive someone of their liberties in this way,' Metho said, and scowled his most fearsome scowl.

It must have been effective because his mother started to sob and collapsed onto the floor. The huge figure from the cafe walked into view and helped her up.

'Don't worry, Vera, we'll have him back to normal in no time,' said the familiar voice.

'Peter, is that you?' Metho said. 'I've warned you before about your steroid use but from the look of you, your body may be beyond repair.'

'My name is Tits, you drug-fucked freak,' the hulking figure said, and truly it was him. 'Nobody calls me Peter. Even my Yaya calls me Tits.'

'Steady on, there, Peter. I find the name you prefer to be borderline misogynistic.'

Vera started to sob again and collapsed back onto the floor.

'Vera? Are you okay?' Skip said in a muzzy voice. He had just come to and was a bit shaky with the nature of reality. Having found himself tied to a chair with his besties' mum sobbing on the floor, he figured things were not going well. 'What the dang heck is going on? Someone untie me now or there will be trouble. Mark my words, there will be trouble.'

'It's a shame they woke up just before the antidotes were ready,' said a feminine voice, and the slim figure from the cafe walked into Skip's field of vision. It was TS, but she didn't look quite like what he remembered. There was something about her eyes and the set of her shoulders that were not like the Tiny who'd kicked him in the nethers so many months ago.

'We'll have you back to your old selves before you know it,' she said and unceremoniously stuck a needle into Skip's arm. He screamed and passed out.

'Your turn,' she said, and stuck another needle into Metho's arm. He screamed a little, whimpered a bit, then passed out as well. 

(ii)

'What the fuck,' Metho said and brought his hands up to rub his aching skull. Or at least he tried to. Reluctantly he opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was his mum, standing in front of him with an anxious look on her face. There are worse things to see when you first open your eyes after a period of unconsciousness, such as the bonds that securely tied Metho's hands and feet to his chair. 'Mum, why the fuck am I tied down?'

He looked up and saw tears streaming down his mother's face, but she was smiling. She hadn't heard her son swear for months.

'Just a precaution,' a familiar voice said and a huge man came to stand by his mum.

'Tits?' Metho said, then six months of memories hit him in the back of the head. 'OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I BECOME? NOOOOOOO!'

Metho's scream woke Skip. 'AHHHHHH! NOOO! NO! NO! NO! AHHHHHH,' he said, quite loudly.

When the two men had screamed themselves out, TS stepped forward and cut their bonds. 'Sorry we had to tie you up, but we didn't know how you'd react when we brought you back,' she said. 'The self-revulsion may have pushed you over the edge.'

'I, I, drank coconut flavoured coffee,' Metho said, and put his head in his hands. 'It tasted like a coconut tree had taken a dump in a cup of coffee,' he mumbled.

'Why have I got a beard?' Skip said, feeling at his face. 'Why?'

'How much do you remember of the past six months?' Tits asked.

'Every fucken moment,' Metho said, and lifted his head out of his hands. 'I think we go find Nigel and fry his furry little arse.' His eyes focussed on Tits. 'What the fuck happened to you? You look like you swallowed a truck full of steroids.'

'It was the flabby,' Tits said, 'we think it may have reacted with the testosterone I was taking.'

'What's with the purple suit?' Skip asked. 'You look like that guy from the cartoon. What's it called? The Inedibles or somethings like that.'

Tits smiled. 'We've had a bit of a metamorphosis,' he said and put on a purple balaclava. 'Meet Multicultural Man and The Nihilist.'

TS put on a black balaclava, which was her only concession to a costume, and took a bow.

'Oh shit,' Metho groaned and clutched at his head again. 'I don't know what's worse, your superhero names or the fact that I know what a nihilist is and what metamorphosis means. I've read far too many books in the past six months.'

'That's what got me worried most, luv,' Vera said. 'Every time I saw you, you had your head in one of those horrible ebook things. It was unnatural.'

'It's just so we don't get recognised,' TS said. 'The last thing we wanted was for the Quokkas to come for us after we rescued you.'

'Where's Small Spaz?' Skip asked. 'I wanna borrow his beard trimmer.'

'He's vanished,' TS said.

'What?' Metho and Skip said simultaneously.

'We think the Quokkas have him.'

'Why would the Quokkas have him?' Metho said. 'What the fuck are they gunna do with him? It's not like they're gunna eat him or anything. The furry shits faint at the sight of a steak.'

'I think I know what they're gunna do with him, and it's gunna freak you out,' Tits said. 'To start with, the Quokkas aren't refugees like they said.'

'Well, go on then,' Metho said, 'tell us your tale.'

Tits moved a couple of stuffed bullfrogs aside and sat down on the couch. 'It all started when I went to visit Nigel yesterday,' he began, and then launched into an amazing tale that was more science fiction than Star Wars and Star Trek combined...

Flabby had given Tits the sort of body that a decade of drug-aided gym work had been unable to. He was huge. He was lean. He was mean. Muscles rippled beneath fat-shredded skin. He was so happy that he'd anointed himself Nigel's best human buddy and sought the auctioneer out on a regular basis. It was on one of those visits to Nigel, at the cafe that had sprung up in the ashes of the Belgradia, that he found the auctioneer in the company of two other Quokkas in human shape. It looked like they were arguing but Tits couldn't be sure because they were speaking Quokka.

Not wanting to barge in on a family feud, Tits waited outside but got close enough for the Quokkas' chattering to be clearly audible. In his jacket pocket, the forgotten tiny robot he'd found on the night of the kidnapping began to translate the speech of the Quokka's into English. Surprised, Tits fished the little robot out and, as he brought up to his face. It adjusted its volume automatically so that no matter how close he held it to his ear, it was comfortable to listen to. He dropped it into his shirt pocket and listened in mounting horror to the chatter of the Quokkas.

'I don't think it's quite time yet,' the translator said while Nigel was speaking. 'They are still too aggressive.'

'You better not be holding out on me, you freak,' the shortest of the Quokkas said.

'Why would he do that, sir?' the third Quokka said. 'He has nothing to gain.'

'He's got everything to gain, you idiot. Everything,' the short Quokka said. 'You're in on it too, aren't you?'

'In on what, sir?'

'I'm watching you both, understand. One slip and you're both fucking fucked,' the short Quokka said, and stormed off. Tits saw him walk right through a wall, which he didn't find all that amazing after months of exposure to Quokka tech.

'Too many shrooms,' Nigel said, and shook his head. 'At least he wasn't violent this time.'

'I agree, sir. What do you think we should do?'

'What can we do? Keep on with the plan and if he becomes too much trouble, we'll have to take measures.'

'Oh, I hope we don't have to do that, sir. Having to disintegrate the pilot may have a negative effect on morale.'

'If he gets any more erratic, we may have no choice. And this plan of his to expand our business is spreading us far too thin. Harvesting humans isn't a bad idea, especially if he already has the market for the testicles, but the mushrooms are our core business. We should make sure that's fully bedded down before we open up new lines,' Nigel said.

'But he's right when he says they would provide the extra income we need to fully exploit the potential of the mushrooms, sir. And it's not too high risk.'

'What do you mean, it's not high risk? It's another thing we have to hide from the cops. Getting humans to distribute flabby was a huge mistake. The cops are already a bit suspicious about Earth's climate getting warmer and if they find humans with flabby then they'll know that someone's operating here. Cops don't like mushroom pirates or human traffickers. If they find out we're doing both, they won't even bother taking it to the council. We'll be executed on the spot and the images broadcast to the galaxy as a warning to others.'

'I thought we'd sorted the climate problem, sir. I thought the humans were blaming themselves.'

'Not all of them, lad, not all them,' Nigel sighed. 'Some of the smarter ones have seen through our fake science and are making noises about it. Let's hope we can stomp on it before it gets too loud.'

'Maybe we can add the climate-denying humans to the testicle list? Win-win, as the humans say.'

'We aren't going to win anything unless the pilot straightens out and stops popping shrooms like a human with a bag of those em-and-em thingies. He's already so crazy that you could mistake him for a real human when he's got his suit on. And it's tough enough to run one complex operation with a shroom-fucked pilot, let alone two,' Nigel said, as he and the other Quokka wandered towards the wall. 'As you progress in your career, lad, you'll learn that growing mushrooms is a dangerous business. If the cops don't get you, then the shrooms probably will,' he said, just before they vanished through the wall.

Tits' curiosity was piqued and, with the confidence that his new Arnold-Schwarzenegger-esk body gave him, he decided to follow Nigel. This crap about harvesting testicles and avoiding cops had an ominous sound about it. Besides, he'd always wanted to see just where the Quokkas hung out when they weren't attending property auctions. He swallowed down his common sense and went through the wall, head first.

Instead of giving him a concussion, the wall flowed around him like it was made of custard and he found himself in a small room that glowed with a weird purple light. It had the look and feel of an elevator and he was not at all surprised when it opened up into a vast cavern with exciting bits of electronic hardware dotted around the floor. Nigel and his companion were nowhere to be seen, so he decided to have a look around and see what he could see.

'Hey, you,' his translator chip said. Tits turned to see a cute little Quokka with hands on hips and making an angry face at him, which quickly changed to shock. 'What the fuck! You're not one of us. How the fuck did you get down here?' it said.

'Sorry,' Tits said, 'I got lost and went through a wall.'

'Bullshit,' the Quokka said and took a step forward. Tits remembered what Nigel's vest had done to Big Spaz's gun and started to back away.

'What are you scared of?' the Quokka said in what Tits decided would have been a mocking voice if the Quokka translating technology had been able to convey emotion. 'You're a hundred times my size. I keep telling people that humans are cowards and won't stand up to a physical challenge and now I have my proof.'

Not knowing quite why, but probably because Tits' subconscious was considerably more intelligent than he had ever given it credit for, he reached into his belt where he kept a small blade and cut a thin line across his forearm.

The Quokka looked at the bloody limb in horror, made a woozy face and vanished before its body had even hit the floor.

'Cuz! It's really you. I thought you were another one of those rats disguised as people.'

Tits turned to the direction of the voice and saw his cousin, the council inspector who had gone missing months ago, peeping out from behind a piece of computerised hardware. 'Spiro? What the fuck are you doing down here?'

'I could ask you the same question. I been down here for fucking ages, mate, hiding from the rats and eating nothing but mushrooms. Do you know the way out? Please tell me you know the way out. If I have to eat another mushroom, I'm gunna fucking explode.'

Tits turned to where the lift had expelled him and saw nothing but wall. 'It's through there,' he said.

'Really?' Spiro said, and ran to the wall. He put his hand out and touched it. 'It's solid.'

Tits went to stand next to him and pushed at the wall. His hand went right through. 'I can get out, ' he said, 'and they're not rats, actually, they're Quokkas.'

'What, like the ones we has in Queensland? No wonder they're so cute.'

'Yeah, and no,' Tits said. He'd had several conversations with Nigel over a beer and a flabby pill, and had become quite knowledgeable about the space Quokkas. 'They is related to Earth Quokkas in the same way we are related to baboons. And they're from Western Australia, not Queensland.'

'Whatever they are, we gotta go warn the authorities.'

'What?'

'They kidnap people and give then anal probes,' Spiro said, and his voice cracked. 'Please, you gotta go and get the cops. Get me outa here. Please, before that little fucker that vanished comes back with friends.'

'They actually kidnap people? Where do they keep them? Show me.'

'No! Just go. I can't wait to get out of here and have a gyros. I NEED a gyros.'

'Show me or I'll go find them myself.'

Spiro looked exasperated. 'Fine,' he said, 'but stay low and follow me. I don't wanna end up in no cage with a probe up my arse.'

The two members of the Greek diaspora snuck stealthily through the Quokka den, slinking from shadow to shadow with Spiro in the lead and Tits being disgruntled in the rear.

After ten minutes or so of slinking about without seeing a single living thing, Tits' patience finally snapped. 'Do we have to crawl around? There's no one here.'

'The little fuckers are hard to see and when you see what they do to people, you'll want to sneak around as well.'

'Okay, okay, just keep moving then.'

'We gotta go through the mushroom room and sometimes there's a few of them in there, especially if they're harvesting,' Spiro said, 'so be extra quiet, okay.'

Tit's rolled his eyes, but followed his cousin as quietly as his new gargantuan frame would allow.

After a few more minutes of sneaking, they came to a large door with a window set in it that reached from Quokka height to human height. Spiro put his finger to his lips in the universal sign of shut-the-fuck-up, then turned and looked intently through the window. Tits did another eye-roll.

'Okay, it looks clear,' Spiro whispered, and pushed open the doors. The room they entered took Tits' breath away. 'What the fuck,' he said, as he looked out over mushroom planters as far as the eye could see.

'Come on,' Spiro said, and followed the wall to another door.

Tits followed as his cousin led him into a strange purple corridor with another set of doors on the other side. When he stepped through those, he lost his breath again. 'Oh my God,' he said, and stepped into a room full of cages. Most of the cages had a human occupant, and every cage with an occupant had a small bag on top. Each small bag had a tube attached, and each tube ran down to the bottom of the cage and up into the bottom of the occupant.

The aroma in the room was unmistakable. 'It smells like flabby in here,' Tits said, and then realisation dawned. 'Holy shit! The poor fuckers are getting flabby enemas.'

'I freaked out,' Tits told Metho and Skip while they sipped at mugs of sweet, milky tea that Vera had made for them. 'It turns out that the little robot I found lets everyone who's touching you go through the wall as well. We bolted back to my uncle's cafe but we didn't go to the cops cos we're pretty sure some of the ones at Rosetown station are Quokkas.'

'It's kinda hard to believe that they kidnap blokes to sell their balls,' Metho said. 'But, then again, it's hard to believe I was about to enrol in an Aesthetic Design course at university. What do they do with the rest of the bloke?'

Tit's shrugged. 'Fuck knows. Probably nothing nice, but you know what's weird?'

'Your face?' Skip said, and giggled.

Tits ignored him. 'There were a fair few women in there. If they just wanted balls, why take women?'

'We think that's where Basset has disappeared to,' TS said. 'He was supposed to meet up with us yesterday, but he never made it. And his phone has been turned off.'

Skip, who was feeling a little groggy and hadn't really been listening to Tits' story, decided he had something to add to the conversation. 'It's obvious what the flabby done to me and Metho, and look wot it did to Tits,' he said, like a conspiracy theorist who had spotted an obvious government cover up, 'but what about you? Why didn't it effect you?'

'Paracetamol,' TS said. 'I get these really bad headaches, so I usually have some paracetamol in the morning. It seems to neutralise the effects of the flabby. That's what we injected into you just now.'

'What, so just paracetamol? I know people who eat those things like lollies,' Metho said.

'Well, not just paracetamol, we tried that first with Poppy but it didn't do anything,' TS said, 'so I added a little bit of vodka, which is what I washed the pills down with, and it worked. The first injection I made cured Poppy, but I overdid the alcohol and it made him really drunk. Your injections had far less vodka.'

'See, Metho, I tol' you she was one of us,' Skip said, happily. 'Vodka is the only way to wash down a pill. Do you have any around the house, by any chance Vera?'

'Now, I un'erstand that we have to rescue Small Spaz,' Meho said, 'but how? Those robot vest things they wear could fuck us right up.'

'With meat,' TS said, and smiled. 'Little bags of rotten meat.'

'But what if they don't vanish? What if they has gas masks or something?'

'Then we'll have to get a bit rough,' TS said.

'That's when you kick their heads in,' Skip said, in an approving tone of voice.

TS rolled her eyes. 'Please, kicking is for barbarians.'

'But you kick Skip and Tits all the time!' Metho said.

'That's just for fun. I'm a civilised person, and civilised people use weapons,' TS said and pulled a gun from the recesses of her jacket.

'I think you have to be really close for the vests to get ya,' Tits added.

'This all sounds so fucking stupid,' Metho said in an exasperated voice. 'I mean, mushrooms and testicles? What sort of a combination is that? Are you sure you haven't been overdoing the steroids?'

'It's not something you can mistake, mate,' Tits said. 'There was a billion mushrooms down there, and at least twenty people being fed flabby through a tube in their arse. The cages weren't locked or anything, but not one of the people was conscious. What we didn't see was many Quokkas. Spiro reckons he never saw more than five or six together at one time, and Nigel was talking about killing his boss because he was always stoned on mushrooms and it was making him insane. From what I seen, these guys are just crims that are making it up as they go along.'

'I hate to tell you this, Multicultural Man,' Metho said, 'but so are we.'

'Look, I don't reckon this is gunna be all that hard,' Tits said. 'We go in, chuck meat at all the Quokkas, grab Small Spaz and get the fuck out.'

'It's not the initial operation that concerns me,' Metho said. 'It's the inevitable reprisals that will follow.'

Skip giggled. 'You sound different now you has read all them books,' he said.

Metho clocked him with the mug.

'But still the same ol' Metho,' Skip said, after he'd climbed back onto his chair.

'So, what are we gunna do?'

'Well, we've been thinking about this and we have come up with a plan,' TS said.

Chapter 5

Night had fallen and the Crew-sans-Small Spaz were lurking in a laneway opposite the Quokka cafe where the Belgradia had once stood.

'When you said you had a plan, I thought it would be more than just break in and grab the fucker,' Metho said.

'I told you, didn't I? Simple an' elegant,' Tits said. He was wearing his Multicultural Man outfit and carrying a huge and very smelly sack on his broad back.

'I dunno about this,' Skip said. He was feeling grumpy and had a headache that was not being helped by the smell of rancid meat that came from Tits' backpack.

'Okay, that's the last one,' TS said, who was the only member of the Crew focusing on the task at hand. 'Let's go.'

Tits raced out ahead with the intention of smashing his way through the locked door, but was disappointed. 'It's open,' he said, and led the way into the deserted cafe, splatting little bags of rotten meat against the walls and floor as he went.

'Do you have to do that,' Skip complained. 'There ain't no-one here.'

'Just in case,' Tits said. 'They're tiny buggers and hard to see without their human suits.'

'He thinks he's fucken Batman,' Metho said, and urged Skip forward. 'Come on.'

Tits led them through the empty cafe to the wall that was really a door. 'Okay, everyone put a hand on me and we all go through together. Ready?'

Metho and TS nodded in assent, while Skip just stood there looking miserable.

'On three,' Tits said. 'One, two, three.'

Three of the four Crew jumped through the wall, but Skip just stood there. As he turned to leave—with a smile on his face—a huge hand reached out of the wall and dragged him through. The others frowned at him in the purple lit room, but Skip just shrugged. 'I has a headache,' he said to his unsympathetic audience.

The door to the Quokka den opened and Tits dived through. He progressed along the floor in a series of acrobatic rolls and jumps, tossing bags of foul meat in front of him and to either side. TS followed, slinking from shadow to shadow with her gun drawn. Metho sighed and slouched his way into the huge room, dragging a reluctant Skip behind him.

Tits came to a halt behind a bank of electronics and looked back disapprovingly at Metho and Skip. 'You two aren't taking this seriously,' he said.

'They're fucking Quokkas,' Metho said. 'Even with their super vests, they're too cute to be a threat.'

'I has a headache,' Skip said.

'Look, this is serious. They could have Small Spaz.'

'For fuck's sake,' Metho said, using his exasperated voice again. 'They're Quokkas! The colour red makes 'em faint. What the fuck are they gunna do with testicles? They can't even wear 'em as earing with those weird little ears they got.'

'But you were all worried about it before,' Tits said.

'I reckon that was the flabby talking. Who could be scared of a Quokka, really? Not me, that's for sure.'

'Listen, you fucking thick headed Neanderthal,' TS said and strode forward until she was nose to nose with Metho, an action made more menacing by the big black gun she was holding, 'these things aren't Quokkas, they are aliens. Sometimes these aliens look like Quokkas and sometimes they look like people. But, to be honest, we don't really know what they look like. They could be giant, salivating monsters with giant fangs and tentacles. They are aliens, got that? From outer space. Have you ever seen any movies with good aliens? Have you? Tits has already seen that they have people in cages down here. And my brother has gone missing a few months after we started doing business with them. Where the fuck else do you think he could be but in one of those cages?'

'Okay, okay,' Metho said. 'We'll take this more serious.'

'What about ET?' Skip said.

'Shut up,' the other three said in unison.

'The place where they had the people is through here,' Tits said, and led the way forward.

After a few minutes of darting from shadow to shadow, Tits raised his hand and brought them all to a halt. 'The mushroom room is just ahead so we gotta be extra quiet. If there are Quokkas in there, it'd be best if we caught 'em by surprise.'

The others nodded their understanding except Skip who, as he had previously indicated, had a headache and moving his head up and down would have been quite painful. Together they ran, doubled over, to the wall, and then carefully moved along until they had reached the windowed door. Four sets of curious eyes peered through the glass into the room beyond.

To Metho's surprise, there were Quokkas in the room. Four of them, to be precise, and they weren't the happy chappies that the Crew were used to dealing with. These Quokkas were shooting laser beams at each other with tiny black guns. Every so often, a beam would be deflected by a stream of tiny robots that shot out from a Quokka vest.

While the Crew watched, a Quokka that looked like Nigel dived forward and his vest lassoed another Quokka, knocking the gun out of its hands and throwing it off its tiny feet.

Metho, Skip and TS were so engrossed in the battle that Tits' blood curdling screech almost made them soil their undergarments. With the single–minded ferocity of a crime fighter in a nest of baddies, Tits leapt through the door and threw two huge handfuls of rotten meat right into the centre of the Quokka pack. Three of the four marsupials gagged for a moment and then vanished, leaving behind their laser guns. The fourth—the Quokka who had been lassoed—spewed forth a stream of green goo with orange chunks but managed to stay conscious. After a moment during which Quokka and human stood frozen, staring at one another in shocked surprise, the little Quokka took to its heels and sped through a door.

'That's where they have the people in cages,' Tits yelled, and raced after the little fellow. He burst into the purple corridor but when he pushed through the second set of doors, a bright flash of light temporarily blinded him. When his vision returned, he found he was standing in a huge, empty room. 'Jesus,' he blasphemed.

The others joined him a moment later.

'Where is he?' TS asked.

'This was the room where they had the people, but no way was it this big last time I was here.'

Metho walked out into the vast, empty cavern. It was so big that it made the mushroom cavern feel like a cramped bedsit in comparison, and it was better lit so its bigness was easier to see. He could see the walls, but only just, and he assumed there must have been a ceiling lurking somewhere in the darkness above because it sure wasn't the sky up there. 'Wow,' he said, but felt it lacked punch. 'Fucken big place,' he added for clarity.

'Well, that's it then,' Skip said, 'time to go home. There are no cages here an' no Small Spaz. He's probably gone on a Pomegranate Margarita bender an' will be back in a couple of days.'

'Let's go find a furry little shit and ask it some questions,' TS said, waving her gun menacingly.

Tits looked around the huge room and suddenly felt very small. 'Not even a Quokka could hide in here,' he said, looking out over acres of flat and featureless terrain. 'I say we go back to the mushroom room and look around there.'

'I'm hungry,' Skip said.

'Shut up,' said the other three in unison.

To Skip's disappointment, there were no mushrooms in the mushroom room but there was general devastation caused by the tiny laser guns. Metho picked one up and took a good look. 'Even their guns are cute,' he said, after a moment. A beam of light shot out from his hand and incinerated a nearby mushroom planter that had escaped the devastation of the battle of the Quokkas. 'Nice,' he said.

A distant humming drew their eyes to the opposite end of the room where two Quokkas were riding towards them on what looked like a floating golf cart. Tits pulled out his last handful of meat, while TS and Metho readied their guns. Skip, having seem what Metho's laser gun had done to the planter, picked up a Quokka gun and positioned himself strategically at the rear of the group.

The Quokkas approached at a rate of knots until they were almost within earshot, which also put them within range of the rotten meat Tits had scattered about. They were close enough for the Crew to see their faces contort in disgust just before they vanished. The tiny golf cart continued on at speed and collided with the door.

Metho sighed and rubbed his forehead. Skip's headache was going viral. 'Come on,' he said and started out across the floor in the direction the Quokkas had come from. The others followed, Skip at the rear

A few minutes later, the Quokkas appeared on another golf cart.

'What the hell do you think you're doing,' an angry Nigel said when they were close enough. 'You let that psycho get away.'

TS strode forward and pointed her gun at Nigel. 'Where are they?'

'Who? The pilot? He's long gone. We had him and then you burst in and fucked it all up. We've lost everything, you know that? Everything. And he locked most of the staff in the panic room. It's going to be a pain to get them out, let me tell you.'

TS lifted her gun a little and fired a warning shot over the Quokkas' heads. Beside Nigel, the little Quokka fainted and vanished.

'What have you done to Basset?' TS demanded.

'Me? I didn't do anything to the poor boy. You're the one who fired that awful canon and frightened the life out of him,' Nigel said.

TS lowered the gun so that it pointed directly at the Quokkas' head. 'Where is my brother?'

'Stop being silly, this is serious. Basset's a Quokka! He can't be your brother,' Nigel said.

Metho stepped forward and put a restraining hand on TS's arm. 'Tell me, Nigel,' he said, in his most reasonable voice, 'what's the name of that little fuzzball that just vanished?'

'Basset, of course. Are you lot the stupidest humans ever, or are all of your race like this?'

'It's just that one of our friends is called Basset and we think you fuckers kidnapped him.'

Before Nigel could answer, there was a bright flash of light and the mushroom planter beside Skip disintegrated. Basset the Quokka had returned on a floating golf cart of his own and was pointing a huge—for a Quokka—gun at the Crew. 'If you lot weren't a protected species, you'd already be dead,' he said. 'Now drop your weapons and point your hands toward the ceiling.'

The words were brave but the delivery left a bit to be desired from a threat perspective. The little Quokka was vibrating with excitement and his hair was standing on end, like he'd just gnawed through an electrical wire and was still trying to decide if he'd enjoyed the experience or not.

'I gather you're after one of the breeding colony humans,' Nigel said, and turned to Basset. 'Put it down lad. They're far too valuable to disintegrate.'

Basset lowered his gun slightly.

'If he's been taken by Terry, then I'm afraid it will be a while before we can bring him back. The crazy pilot that you helped to escaped took your brother as well as our ship and we don't know where he's gone. We got his cousin, but I don't know how useful he'll be. He may not even know where Terry's gone.'

'Um, actually, sir, I got worried when he started getting weird and got my brother-in-law to leave a spare ship on the satellite of this planet. And I put a tracking device on the ship,' Basset the Quokka said. 'He was just too much into the shrooms to be dependable and I didn't want to get stuck on this hell hole.'

'What the fuck are you little fuckers going on about?' Metho said. 'What do you mean, we're protected, and how come we're too valuable to disintegrate?'

'Humans are a delicacy on many planets,' Nigel said. 'A very expensive delicacy, especially the testicles of the male of the species. Disintegrating a whole human would be like setting fire to a big pile of cash. Complete madness. Not even Terry would do it.'

'Is that why you kidnapped Basset, you fuckers?' TS said, and lifted her gun again. 'You're gunna sell him to someone who's gunna turn him into steak?'

'Oh, no, definitely not,' Nigel said. 'Terry's taken him for breeding purposes. It all started when we acquired a plane full of humans by accident and didn't know what to do with them...'

According to Nigel, it had been early in the piece—just after the Quokkas had harvested their first big lot of mushrooms—when the seeds of this disaster had been sown. The Quokka ship was located under the Indian Ocean to minimise the chances of bumping into human air traffic, but on their very first run they'd almost collided with a human passenger jet. Terry was flying the Quokka ship and was off his face on shrooms as usual. When he saw the passenger jet just cruising along in the middle of nowhere, he had an idea that only a drug addled brain could have. Why not start a human colony in deep space and make a heap of risk-free cash? Mushrooms were lucrative and all, but the good ones could only be grown on Earth for a variety of reasons, and the galactic cops were everywhere on Earth. Humans, who were nearly as valuable as mushrooms, could be grown anywhere. You could set them up on a nice planet on the edge of the galaxy and they would all but take care of themselves.

Humans were so valuable, in fact, that they were lucky that scientists had discovered just how special the Earth was. The unusual potency of Earth mushrooms, and the inability to replicate this on any other planet in the entire galaxy, meant that the Earth was put under strict quarantine by the galactic government. Nigel explained that the powers that be had decided that mushrooms of such outstanding quality should be reserved for those who were deserving. The remaining 99% of the galactic population—Nigel called them the Inconsequentials—could all just sod off and make do with the lesser highs of ordinary mushrooms.

Closing off the planet meant that humans became even harder to get hold of, which meant that their value rose considerably. Even human shit skyrocketed in price because freelance mushroom growers throughout the galaxy would pay a fortune for it. They swear by it as a fertiliser, and claim that it grows mushrooms almost as good as those grown on Earth.

The galactic embargo put an end to the large scale human testicle harvesting operations that had popped up all over the planet—the ruins of which were still standing. The galactic authorities had spread the rumour on Earth that they were just burial chambers for important humans.

'Only a human would believe that someone would go to the trouble of building a half mile high pyramid just to stick a couple of dead humans in it,' Nigel said, and wiggled his whiskers in amusement. 'Anyway, I tried to talk Terry out of it but, really, it sounded like such a good idea. So I let the mad bastard nab the jet with its human cargo and take it to his cousin's place to store while he got things organised. And now he's taken our harvest, along with another batch of humans he'd been collecting, and done a runner.'

'We should never have hired him,' Basset the Quokka said. He'd dropped his gun and was sitting on the side of Nigel's floating buggy. 'Hiring a shroom-head to be the pilot in your shroom growing operation is so mad, it's almost human.'

'We had no choice, lad, you know that. Unemployed pilots are hard to find, and he was the best of a bad bunch.'

'But sir, I can pilot a ship.'

'Listen, we've been through this a million times. I told your father that you could work for me but you had to learn the ropes first, and that means working the boxes until you knew mushrooms inside out,' Nigel said, sternly.

'Um, excuse me,' TS said, 'but my brother is in outer space with a mad, drug addicted Quokka. Can you two hold off on your Quokka Resources meeting until after we've brought him back.'

'They're even cuter when they're angry,' Nigel said. 'Of course we'll get human Basset back. But first, we have to free the staff to get the operation going again. We lost a crop, but that doesn't mean we have to lose another.'

'Cute?' Tits said, 'you think humans are cute?'

Basset rolled his eyes in a very human way. 'Why wouldn't we? People like you really piss me off. Just because I'm a Quokka, doesn't mean I'm a hard-arsed criminal who's going to steal your shuttle or sell mushrooms to your kids,' he said and ran his paws over his ears and twitched his whiskers in a most annoyed way. 'We're just like every other species in the universe, just trying to make a living day to day. It's all because of people like you that Quokkas are incarcerated at a higher rate than any other race. I mean, we're not all mushroom pirates.'

'He even sounds like Small Spaz,' Skip said.

'But you are a mushroom pirate,' Tits said, 'and you're kidnapping humans for profit.'

'Oh come on, mushroom dealing is a victimless crime,' Basset snapped, conveniently ignoring the kidnapping element of the Quokka's operation. 'And ours are the bloody best mushrooms you can get. Earth grown and pure, not like the rubbish most others sell.'

'Don't get Basset started on speciesism and bias in galactic society,' Nigel said, and clapped the little Quokka on the back. 'and humans are definitely cute. I mean, you got those big round heads on top of your bodies, and the way you walk. You shuffle along one foot at a time with your long arms swinging to and fro so you don't fall over. Nothing like it in all the galaxy.'

'Listen, I don't give a shit what the galaxy thinks of Quokkas or if humans are cute or not,' Metho said, 'but I got a headache, right, an' I just wanna go home to bed an' stay there for a week. Problem is, a Quokka has kidnapped my boss' son an' I have to get him back before I can relax. So how about you fuckers stop gabbling about bullshit and tell us how we go about catching this Terry fucker so we can bring Small Spaz home.'

'I'll go get the spare ship down here,' Basset said, after the Quokkas had exchanged embarrassed glances.

'And I can give our guests a tour of the facilities,' Nigel said, 'after I've freed the idiots in the panic room, of course.'

(ii)

Nigel, on his floating golf cart, led the Crew through another glassed door on the far side of the mushroom room.

'Big operation you got here,' Metho said, as one professional to another. 'How long did it take you to build all this?'

Nigel smiled a Quokka smile. 'You humans are so quaint,' he said, and preened his left ear in an amused way. 'We have robots for that sort of thing. The whole complex, including the tunnel to the space dock, took three Earth months to make. Bit of a dodgy job, really, but we were working on the cheap. One more crop and we can bring in some decent tech. It's like the prairie-ages down here.'

Metho turned to look at the Crew who all did shrugs and confused faces. None of them had paid enough attention at school to remember when the prairie-ages were, nor what sort of tech was around at the time.

'Ah, here we are,' Nigel said and brought his golf cart to a halt. He took what the Crew assumed to be a tiny tool box from under the seat of the golf cart and waddled over to the wall, which he inspected at great length. He put the box down, traced a section of wall with his finger and a stream of tiny robots flew out of his vest and attacked the wall with tiny drills, saws, and laser beams.

Nigel nodded in satisfaction at a job well done, took a bundle of leaves from the box he'd taken from his cart, and sat down for a spot of lunch.

'I'm starved,' he said when he noticed the Crew's incredulous glances. 'You primitive races have amazing stamina because you have to walk everywhere and do everything for yourselves. Soft bastards from the centre of the galaxy like me don't do nearly enough physical activity.' He took another big bite of greenery. 'Robots do everything, and aren't we happy about that,' he added with his mouth full.

Metho watched the tiny robots work and a thought crossed his mind. 'Are you still gunna give us flabby?'

'If you want it,' Nigel said. 'I thought you'd be dead against the stuff after what's happened.'

'We were selling tons of it. One taste is all it takes to turn a stranger into a customer.'

'It's amazing stuff,' Nigel said. 'The Lizards from the Grus supercluster developed it to keep their livestock young and healthy. The only negative side effect is that it increases cognitive ability.'

'Why is that a negative?' TS asked.

'Their cows started to recite depressing poetry on the way to the slaughterhouse.'

'How horrible.'

'You're not wrong. They cold blooded bastards record it all and publish an annual volume called Poems from the Slaughterhouse. They make an absolute fortune out of it,' Nigel said. 'I'm not into that sort of thing myself, but the younger folk seem to like it.'

The robots had done their work while their masters had chatted, which resulted in an almighty crash when the wall fell open. On the other side, a dozen or so Quokkas huddled in the back of a small room.

'Aeeeiiiii, the humans have found us,' one of them screamed and a handful of Quokkas fainted.

'Shut up you idiots,' Nigel said, throwing down his lunch in anger and spraying bits of masticated greenery about the place. 'You're lucky I didn't leave you in there to rot like you all deserve. Letting that shroom fucked pilot lock you in here was human level stupidity. Now it's time to take your paws out of those nasty places where you keep 'em and get back to work.'

'Where's Terry?' asked the Quokka who had screamed at the humans. Her name was Sherry and she was the one of those employees that appears in every workplace, regardless of where in the galaxy it is—she was angry, belligerent, and not nearly as smart as she thought she was.

'He's stolen the crop and done a runner. Me and Basset would of got him but some humans got in the way and he gave us the slip,' Nigel said. 'Oh, and these humans are here to help, so there's no need to be scared of them.'

'What, all of the crop?' Sherry said. 'So no new teleporters? Or proper pleasure circuits? We have to keep slaving away in those fucking suits? Not a chance, fatboy, not a chance.'

Nigel walked over to TS and motioned for her to follow him forward.

'See this human?' he said when they were both up against the hole in the wall, and then pointed at TS's gun, 'and see that thing she's holding? That's a canon, that is. A human weapon, an' it's too strong for your bots to stop. Now, if we get this crop up and out the door, I might get you bots that can stop it. But until then, she's an angry human with a grudge against Quokkas because Terry kidnapped her brother.' Nigel looked up and wiggled his whiskers at TS, who looked down at him, mystified. 'A demonstration of your ferocity would be nice,' he whispered. 'Just imagine that little shit over there is Terry.'

TS banged her gun on the wall and roared a ferocious roar. All the conscious Quokkas—including Nigel—fainted, but because Nigel wasn't in the panic room, he disappeared.

Metho sighed and rubbed at his forehead. 'This is a fucking nightmare, isn't it? Any minute now, I'm gunna wake up and none of this will have happened.'

'I hope not,' Tits said, and flexed his biceps. 'I like being Multicultural Man.'

A moment later, Nigel returned, huffing and puffing from the exertion of traveling without mechanical aid. 'Sorry about that, but you are soooo scary looking.' He darted into the panic room and touched a small stick to each of the comatose Quokkas, which brought them back to consciousness.

'Okay, you know what you have to do. I'm going to take these humans to get their friend back before they kill and eat us all,' Nigel said, which caused some of the newly conscious Quokkas to almost pass out again.

'I thought you said humans are cute,' Tits said. 'Why are you so scared of us if we're so cute.'

'Quokkas are a foot tall and the favourite snack of nearly every meat eater in the galaxy. We're scared of everything with sharp teeth and a hungry look in its eye, even if it looks like a round-headed human,' Nigel said.

'Is this all of you?' Skip asked. He'd been eyeing the Quokkas in the panic room suspiciously since he'd first seen them. 'What about all them aspirationals wandering around Rosetown? There were tons of 'em.'

'Robots,' Nigel answered. 'We couldn't have houses being empty, now could we?'

'What I don't understand is why normal people stopped coming to Rosetown,' Metho said.

'Um, yeah, we're kinda to blame for that as well,' Nigel said, and twitched his ears nervously. 'We set up an expulsion field around Rosetown to discourage humans from going there.'

'You did what?' Metho said, and there was anger in his voice. 'What for?'

'To keep the investors and speculators away from the auctions,' Nigel said. 'The Melbourne property market is so hot that some people are even thinking of buying into Rosetown.' He seemed about to add something, but paused. 'Ah, the ship's here so the tour will have to wait,' he said brightly, and turned to the Quokkas in the panic room. 'Get to work you lazy fuckers. I want a new crop planted by the time I get back.'

Amidst the groans and whispered mutterings of 'slavedriver', Nigel hopped onto his golf cart and darted off through the door. A moment later, he came back through. 'Are you coming or what?'

'Yeah, lead the way,' Metho said.

'I was,' Nigel muttered and turned his cart back around. 'Humans are so stupid.'

Nigel led them back through the mushroom cavern and into the blue corridor, where he paused for a moment, as if listening to voices in his head.

'What are you waiting for?' Metho asked.

'The ship to land. Basset said he'd tell me when it's safe to enter the dock.'

'Oh, right.'

'Okay,' he said, and led the Crew into a room that was much smaller than the last time they had visited.

'It shrunk,' Metho said.

'Oh, we could only afford a small ship and, as you can see, there's hardly any room for cargo,' Nigel said. 'We're still five or six crops away from getting a proper cargo ship, I'm afraid, but when that happens we'll upgrade the dock. No more shitty little shroom runs for a niche clientele when we get a decent ship, I can tell you. We're gunna go mainstream and that's when the serious money will start to roll in.'

'You mean we're on a space ship now?' Tits said, and looked about in awe. 'Fucking awesome.'

'This is a shitbox that's even shittier than the ship Terry stole,' Nigel said and drove his buggy through a wall. A moment later he reappeared. 'Well?'

'We've only got one chip between us,' Tits said.

'Then how did you get into the den?'

'We held hands,' TS snapped.

'Okay, okay, no need to get angry,' Nigel said. Three small robots shot off his vest and affixed themselves to the foreheads of Metho, Skip and TS. Tits giggled at the ridiculous sight, then squealed when his robot skittered out of his pocket and made its way to his forehead, where it attached itself with a strange "bong" noise.

'That one sounds a bit defective,' Nigel said.

'A more discrete place for them to be attached would be nice,' TS said sharply.

'Fine,' Nigel said and the robots relocated themselves to sit behind the left ear of their respective human. 'Better? Now come on.'

The Crew followed Nigel through the wall, but were underwhelmed when they got to the other side. They had been expecting space age decor with self-opening doors and bizarre alien art on the walls.

'Wood panelling? In a fucking space ship?' Tits said.

'All the rage at the moment,' Nigel said. 'Earth fashions from the era you call the seventies have become quite popular in the galaxy. Consider yourself lucky that this is a cheap rust bucket and there aren't any speakers in the corridors. What galactic civilisation has done to seventies Earth music is criminal.'

'Talking about criminal, I don't get how Quokkas have such a bad reputation in the galaxy when they faint at the first sign of danger,' Tits said.

'Oh, that started on our home planet and sort of stuck,' Nigel said. 'To a Quokka, everything is a threat and our philosophy has always been that the best way to handle a threat is to eliminate it. That's why we developed disintegration rays early in our evolution. You can kill things without all that horrible gore and gristle.'

'That's not criminal, though, that's just psychotic,' Tits said.

Nigel stopped and spun around on his buggy to face the humans. 'We're just good at being bad, okay?' he said crossly, 'and if you want to survive, don't ask Basset those sorts of questions. He might lose his temper and disintegrate you despite your monetary worth.'

'Okay, okay,' Tits said, surprised at the Quokka's reaction. 'I was just curious, that's all.'

'Look, Quokkas enjoy the good life but we don't like to sweat, you understand? Selling mushrooms is easier than being an accountant.'

'I reckon they is criminals for the same reason we is criminals,' Skip said. 'It's good money for not much effort, an' everyone is always happy to see you. An' anyway, how is what we do an' what the Quokkas do any different to what lawyers or bankers do? Or those fuckers what brew beer and make cigarettes? It's all just labels, Mr Multicultural Man, just a way to demonise and marginalise. Some professions got good labels but do bad shit, while other things, like selling mushrooms to eager customers, has got bad labels but don't do much badness.'

Nigel preened his ears approvingly. 'Maybe you humans aren't that stupid after all. Your friend has worked it all out. Now come on and let's get my harvest back from that shroom-fucked bastard Terry,' he said, then paused as he saw the look on TS's face. 'And human Basset as well, of course. The main reason we are going is for human Basset.'

'Keep away from the flabby, Skip mate,' Tits said as they began to make their way along the corridor again, 'I reckon you ain't that far off from spouting poetry.'

'It's too late,' Nigel said. 'If a mammal takes flabby for long enough, the increased cognitive ability becomes permanent. My advice is to keep him away from books.'

'Is that why I has a headache? Is my brain got too big for my head now?'

'Of course, just because someone has an increase in cognitive ability, it does not necessarily follow that he or she will be noticeably more intelligent,' Nigel said.

'So wot you're sayin', an' correct me if I'm wrong, is that it's not an absolute increase in smartness, but one based on a fucker's already existing cognitive abilities?' Metho said.

'Metho's been reading books,' Tits said, and took his Multicultural Man mask off. 'This is getting too weird. Alien Quokkas from outer space I can deal with, but Metho and Skip being all insightful and shit? That's way too much to swallow.'

The wood panelled corridor was quite long, but eventually ended in a timber frame door, painted white and inset with frosted glass panels at top and bottom and on either side of the frame. While quite pretty, it wasn't exactly high tech and left the Crew feeling like they'd been metaphorically robbed. Their first time in a space ship, and it felt like they were visiting someone's grandmother.

'Now remember, Basset is quite tense and the line between fainting and blowing you all to dust is quite a thin one,' Nigel said, and tapped Tits on the kneecap. 'That means no stupid questions from you, okay?'

Tits nodded and put his mask back on.

'Okay, let's go,' Nigel said. He pushed open the door with his buggy and led the Crew into the very essence of what the human's believed the interior of a space ship should look like. There were huge screens on all the walls, although they were all blank at the moment. In between the monitors were all manner of dials and twinkling lights. The cabin itself was huge and cavernous, which made the Quokka-sized controls at the centre of the room seem strange and out of place. Basset was sitting at the controls, fiddling with knobs and looking at dials. Beside him sat another Quokka that the Crew assumed was his brother-in-law. Both were wearing metallic pants and vests so shiny and intricate that they would have been right at home at the Brazilian Mardi Gras parade. While Nigel's vest was also shiny, it looked more appropriate for the German Fasching parade, or possibly even the English Shrove Tuesday pancake race.

'Where did you get the money for those battle vests?' Nigel said, sharply. 'They're not even in the forward estimates!'

'They were borrowed, sir, if you catch my meaning,' Basset said. The Quokka beside him was staring at the Crew with eyes wide and mouth open.

'Oh, that's all right then,' Nigel said, in a relieved voice. 'Humans, this is Gary. You should repay his generosity with a token. Some human faeces would be ideal because Gary here is an enthusiastic amateur mushroom grower.'

'No worries,' TS said, 'Get me a bucket and I'll fill it up for him.'

Great,' Basset said, and a bunch of tiny robots created a bucket under a computer terminal beside Gary. 'That should also cover what we owe him for his help acquiring these battle suits.'

TS, who had been trying to be sarcastic, was taken aback by the Quokka's enthusiasm. 'Um, maybe a bit later.'

'Give me the bucket,' Skip said, 'and show me where I can has some privacy.'

A cubicle appeared at the far end of the room, created almost instantly by hard working micro-robots. Skip grabbed the bucket by the dinky wire handle at the top and walked into the room. He emerged a few minutes later, looking like he'd seen a ghost. 'They cleaned my arse for me,' he said, in response to the quizzical looks he got from the rest of the Crew. 'Then they took the bucket away through a hole in the floor and sprayed me with lemony stuff.'

A moment later, the impromptu privy vanished and the robots that had created it melted into the floor.

Basset looked at the computer panel and let out an amazed whistle. He nudged Gary, who looked at the screen and burst into tears.

'That's enough to pay for a new ship and still leave enough over to fertilise his next two crops,' Basset said. 'Amazing. Do humans usually shit that amount? I mean, you're big and everything, but that that's a serious amount of material you've just expelled.'

'I been a bit constipated lately,' Skip said, and blushed.

'See, Gary, working with us can be very profitable,' Nigel said, 'now let's get going.'

'Cheeky selfie before we go?' Gary said. He jumped out in front of the Crew, extended a furry arm around Skip's knee, and whipped a tiny mobile phone out of his vest. There was a flash of light but, judging from the look on Gary's face, the result wasn't to his liking. He held the phone out again, but this time a bunch of tiny robots from his vest formed a stick that pushed the phone three metres from where he was standing. There was another flash. Gary inspected the result, cooed with delight, and returned to his seat.

'Let's go,' Basset said, and fiddled with the controls. The screens on the walls lit up with all manner of interesting images: oceans, landmasses, the entire Earth, the moon, and empty space. Amongst the images was a planet that Tits—who had been a secret geek when he was younger—had never seen before.

'What planet's that?' he asked, then felt a sensation of movement. One of the screens showed a huge and sleek space ship burst out of a storm ridden ocean and climb into the heavens at an incredible speed.

'That's our destination,' Basset said, 'but it's an old image. That part of space hasn't been mapped for ages.'

There was silence as the three humans watched a space ship fly out of the solar system that had housed them and their ancestors since before they had even been human.

'Fucking hell, is that us?' Tits asked.

'Basset looked up. 'Yep. I know it's not the best-looking ship, but it'll get us where we're going.'

Chapter 6

Space flight soon lost its appeal for the Crew, and not just because the Quokkas greedily collected their waste products, weighed them, and then told the humans what they could buy with the proceeds. It was also that the only meals served on Quokka ships were leafy greens.

'Isn't there some place we can stop at and get some real food?' Metho asked after they'd been travelling for what his telephone—which should have run out of power ages ago but hadn't, probably because the annoying and omnipresent tiny robots charged it when he wasn't watching—told him had been four days. 'There's only so many lettuce sandwiches that a human can take.'

'Nonsense,' Nigel said. 'Those leaves have been specially formulated to provide all the nutrition that you need to maintain good health. You're not the first humans to have been guests on a Quokka ship, you know.'

'But you've been the first that haven't been probed first,' Basset quipped from the control chair.

'Yes, well there are some unsavoury characters in the galaxy,' Nigel said, and his distaste was evident. 'Do you mind, lad? Let's keep it out of the gutter, please. We don't want to give our friends the wrong impression.'

'After telling me that I've produced more than a kilo of, um, waste products since I've been on board, I don't think it's possible for me to think less of you,' TS said.

'What she said, but with more fucking swearing,' Metho said.

'I'm just saying that there are better ways to dose humans with flabby than those weird probes,' Basset said.

'Would you be quiet, please,' Nigel snapped. 'We all know that Terry was becoming ... unusual towards the end. There's no need to go on about it.'

'How much longer are we gunna be?' Metho asked, and peeled back the leafy-green bread of his sandwich in order to inspect the leafy-green filling. His appetite deserted him and he threw the offending foodstuff onto the ground where the tiny robots, which had been doing a job of work as a plate, became a pan and brush and cleaned the mess up.

'Not long now, human,' Nigel said. 'A couple of hours at most. May I challenge you to a game of chess while we wait?'

'Okay, but I don't want the pieces to actually fight. It's kind of creepy.'

'They have to fight! It's part of the experience,' Nigel said and a chess board appeared beside Metho, complete with human chess pieces on one side and Quokka pieces on the other. The Crew gathered around and spent the last few hours of the space flight watching Nigel's Quokka's disintegrate Metho's humans in a variety of amusing ways.

One of Nigel's rooks had just blown the head off Metho's king for the umpteenth time when Basset said the words that the Crew were all desperate to hear. 'We're here! If you look at the big screen, you'll be able to see Terry's landing site. It looks like he hasn't unloaded anything yet and the sensors are telling me that the ship is still operational and ready to go.'

The Crew looked up at the biggest screen on the wall and were amazed by what they saw. A huge, needle shaped space ship was nestled in a clearing in a lush forest, near a series of low buildings. The forest was so Earth-like that even Metho—who had spent his entire life with the concrete confines of Melbourne—was having doubts.

'You're not taking the piss, are you?' Metho said. 'Not the physical piss, I mean cos I know you take that. Are you making fun of us is what I want to know? That looks a lot like Earth.'

Nigel looked at Metho in the same way that an astrophysicist would look at a Flat-Earther. 'There are millions of planets in the galaxy that look exactly like Earth. If it weren't for humans and super-shrooms, the Earth would have been just another shithole in the middle of nowhere.'

'Really?'

'It's weird that humans still think that Earth is the only place with life in the entire universe,' Gary said.

'The galaxy is lousy with life, human, and a fair bit of it is sentient,' Nigel said. 'Stupid, but sentient. And it's all pretty much the same wherever you go. On every planet but one, the dominant sentient species are either Chickens, Cats, Lizards, or Quokkas, with the odd Dog here or there. You got local variation, no doubt, but nothing all that different. On some planets, the Quokkas grow a bit taller while on others, the Chickens are fiercer, but that's about as far as difference goes. The one planet that's different is Earth, which is the only place where humans have evolved, and none of the other species are anything like what they are elsewhere. Earth Chickens are scared of everything and hardly ever fight. It's freaky, and no one can figure out why.'

'I heard it had something to do with your star's radiation,' Gary said.

'Nah, that's all crap,' Nigel said, 'it's just a plain old G2V. The latest theory is that it's something in the water and it affects all the life forms on the planet. Which is why the shrooms are so good and the chickens are so stupid.'

'That means we really are special,' Tits said, and struck a heroic, multicultural pose. 'Let's go an' get Small Spaz back.'

'That's the plan,' Basset said. 'It looks like we've arrived a lot sooner than Terry expected and he hasn't had a chance to unload the ship yet. Gary, you'll drop us off and then wait in this ship. I'll let you know if I can get the Terry's ship back into space again. If I can, we'll meet up on the moon around Earth. If I can't, you'll wait until we've got Small Spaz on board...'

'And had a look for our crop,' Nigel interrupted. 'We can't forget our crop.'

'Of course we'll have a look for the crop,' Basset said, smoothly. 'We'll even try to get it back.'

'Whether we get the crop back or not, Terry has to go,' Nigel added. 'He's too shroom-fucked to let him just rattle around the galaxy telling everyone he'd been a mushroom pirate on Earth.'

Basset got out of his chair and, as he walked towards the Crew, his vest robots built a fearsome machine around him. By the time he was standing beside Metho, he'd gone from being a cute Quokka in a shiny vest to a fearsome, ten-foot-tall war robot-thingy with lasers for eyes and rocket launchers on his chest. 'I'm going to turn Terry into fertiliser,' he said. 'Let's go.'

Robot-Basset led the Crew and Nigel through the wood panelled corridor and out into the non-Earth sunshine. They stopped behind a fin of the ship and took stock of their surrounds. The humans were amazed. The air smelt sweet, the birds sang, albeit in a slightly different way to what the were used to on Earth. There were even strange hoots and whistles that were probably made by the local non-avian fauna.

'It's beautiful,' TS said, looking at the strangely shaped trees.

'I've seen better,' Nigel said, and sniffed. 'The leaves look tasty, though. Too bad we won't have time to try them.'

'Okay humans, make a run for the other ship,' Basset said. 'I'll keep you covered.'

'You're the one with the battle suit,' Metho said, 'you go.'

'We want to flush him out,' Basset said, with hardly a quaver in his voice. 'If he sees me, he'll just open fire. If he sees you, he'll try and capture you.'

'You're chicken,' Metho said.

'What a stupid thing to say,' Basset said. 'Chickens are psycho bastards who would have charged straight in with all guns blazing. I'm a Quokka and I like to think things through. Now go!'

'Oh for fuck's sake,' TS said, and made a break for Terry's ship. No sooner had she broken cover than a stream of tiny robots rose from the ground and encased her in an iron cage.

'No,' Tits screamed and made to run after TS but Metho and Skip held him back.

'Come out little humans,' said a voice, and a giant robot stepped out from behind Terry's ship. 'I won't hurt you.'

'Aiaiaiiieeeee,' screamed Basset, and launched himself—literally—at his adversary. Rocket boots propelled Robot-Basset across the gap between the ships, where he crashed into Robot-Terry and fetched him an almighty smack upside the head.

Robot-Terry staggered back a few steps, but a steam of tiny robots flew out from his suit, formed a device that looked disturbingly like a human foot, and kicked Robot-Basset between the legs.

Robot-Basset crumpled to the ground, but had the foresight to shoot off two laser beams from his eyes that were deflected by Robot-Terry's tiny bots, which then formed into a human fist with two extended fingers and jabbed Robot-Basset in the lasers. The distraction was just long enough, however, for Robot-Basset's tiny robots to form a structure behind Robot-Terry. Robot-Basset lunged forward and pushed Robot-Terry hard in the chest, which propelled him backwards, over the tiny-robot structure and onto his backside.

Metho looked at Skip, who nodded. They released Tits.

Multicultural Man reached into his backpack and withdrew the last remaining handful of rotten meat. After having spent four days in a sealed backpack, it was now so rank that it almost overcame the humans. But while Metho and Skip gagged, Multicultural Man threw himself forward using the power in his mighty legs and closed the distance between himself and the waring Quokkas—who were both trying to regain their feet—at lightning speed.

Robot-Terry was the first to see the approaching purple menace and sent a stream of tiny-robots to intercept him, but Robot-Basset sussed his game and interrupted the stream with his head. He then threw up an arm and scrapped off Robot-Terry's face mask at exactly the right moment for Multicultural Man to shove a handful of rotten meat into it. Both Quokkas vanished.

Nigel, who had been sitting quietly in the wings while the battle unfolded, saw his chance to get into Terry's ship unmolested and gunned his golf cart. His golf cart flew across the gap between the two ships at a surprising speed, and came to rest by the cargo wall. He waited there until Tits and TS—whose cage had dissolved when Terry had lost consciousness—had joined him. Metho and Skip panted up a short while later.

'I'm pretty sure Terry's suit wasn't on the ship when he left, so I reckon it's anchored to the med-room of one of those buildings,' Nigel said. 'Go through and see if you can find human-Basset. I'll follow and try to get this ship off the ground.'

Multicultural Man didn't need to be told twice, he bounced into the ship followed closely by the other humans. Nigel waited a moment and then pushed his buggy slowly through the wall.

Inside, they were greeted by a strange sight. All the humans were still in their cages, and all but one were unconscious. The single conscious human was Small Spaz, who was dressed in a Quokka suit. 'Sis!' he said when he saw TS.

'Basset! Are you okay,' TS said, and ran to her brother's cage. 'Nigel, can you open this cage?' she called, but Nigel had accelerated into the ship proper and was headed for the control room. A 'woo-hoo' echoed around the ship a moment later, which the Crew assumed was Nigel finding his crop.

'I'll go get him,' Tits said, and bounded after the Quokka.

'Where's Terry?' Small Spaz said, 'we gotta stop him. He's gunna blow up the Earth!'

'What? Why?' Metho said.

'He's insane. He's just waiting for the nuke delivery. He thought you were the delivery ship,' Small Spaz said. 'He was really pissed when he realised it was the other Earth Quokkas coming to get him. He'd have blown your ship out of the sky if there hadn't been humans on it.'

'I better tell Nigel,' Metho said, and raced after the Quokka and Multicultural Man. Just as he'd gotten out of sight, there was a sensation of movement.

'I think we've just taken off,' TS said.

A moment later, Tits returned with a small box that he touched onto the cage and caused it to disintegrate into tiny robots. 'Nigel wants to talk to you,' he said to Small Spaz. The humans hurried to the bridge, where a nervous Nigel was waiting for them.

'How do you know he's going to destroy the Earth,' he asked as soon a Small Spaz appeared.

'He told me.'

'Why would he have told you something like that?'

'He was lonely without his cousin so he made me dress up as a Quokka and hang out with him,' Small Spaz said. 'He only locked me in the cage when he saw your ship.'

'Basset my boy, Terry's gunna nuke the Earth!' Nigel screamed.

'I just told you that,' Small Spaz said.

'Look,' Skip said, and pointed to a screen on the wall. A big black ship had appeared above the planet.

'Fuck! That's a delivery van. They must be the nukes,' Nigel said, and the robot translator got the excited squeal in his voice just right.

'Can we stop it?' Tits asked.

'Not really. Those things are almost impenetrable. Parcel theft is a real problem in a galaxy where nearly everything is ordered online.'

'You can order nukes online?' Metho said.

'Of course! It's the right of every sentient being to defend itself and its property,' Nigel snapped, obviously on edge. 'It's not nukes that kill people, it's psychos with shroom addictions that kill people.'

'Basset says he's got an idea,' Nigel said.

'No I didn't,' Small Spaz said, then a look of confusion crossed his face. 'At least, I don't think I did.'

'What are we gunna do? My mum's on Earth! We have to save me mum!' Metho said.

'Basset's reckons that the vans are a bastard to get into, but they can be destroyed with a well-placed missile,' Nigel said.

'Look, is that Basset's ship?' Skip shouted excitedly, and pointed at a screen on the wall to the right of the control panel. 'There's something coming out of it!'

'I have a ship?' Small Spaz said.

'Oh shit, the bastards using priority post,' Nigel said after watching five dark shapes leaving the delivery van. 'Quick, get on the guns, we have to protect Basset from the delivery van's robot fighters.'

'Guns? What guns?' Tits said.

Two large chairs appeared beside Nigel, both with a screen and a joystick mounted on a gantry in front of them.

'Alright!' Tits said, and jumped into one of the chairs, while TS jumped into the other. The screens showed the delivery van, and had a crosshair that was moved about by the joystick. Pressing the large red button on the top of the joystick caused a disintegration laser to shoot out from the ship and disintegrate anything in the crosshairs.

'I'll fly, you shoot,' Nigel said. 'We're going in.'

Basset's fighter shot forward towards the delivery van and was met by the delivery van's robot defenders. His fighter spat a red laser bolt that took out one of the robots, while TS and Tits took out one each with the blue laser beams from the ship.

'Why do the robots look like chickens?' Metho asked, and his mind was taken back to Big Spaz's mural.

'Because Terry's paranoid,' Nigel answered, bitterly. 'The Chickens run the best postal service in the galaxy, with the most heavily armed and armoured delivery vans. They cost an absolute fortune so usually only other Chickens and government agencies use them. If Basset's missile doesn't hit the exact centre of the fuel relay, then we're pretty much fucked.'

The two remaining black robots launched a co-ordinated laser attack, but Basset barrel-rolled out the way and flew past them.

'Get them before they turn around,' Nigel yelled, while bouncing up and down on his chair. 'He's a goner if they get a shot on him from behind!'

The ship lasers took a while to recharge and Tits fired his laser as soon as it was ready, but the beam flew wide of both robots. Beside him, TS swore but didn't shoot.

'What are you waiting for! What are your waiting for!' Nigel screamed.

TS had seen the pattern the black robots had flown and a plan had hatched in her mind. The ships disintegration beams had gone right through the first robot she'd shot, and therefore it should be possible for her to get both robots in one shot if she waited until they crossed over while turning back to chase Basset's fighter. All she had to do was hold her nerve as all those around her lost their minds. Metho was squealing about his mum, Skip and Small Spaz clutched one another and wept, Nigel bounced up and down on his chair, and Tits banged his screen in the mistaken belief that doing so would recharge his laser quicker.

When the right moment came, TS was ready. She fired her laser and the beam flew out across the silent emptiness of space. It burnt a hole through the first robot like a hot wire through a block of inferior cheese, and then melted another hole through the centre of the second. They both exploded into balls of molten metal and fell down towards Terry's planet.

'You got them both! You got them both!' Nigel shrieked and fell off his chair. The screen above him showed Basset's fighter fire a missile that struck the delivery van in the exact centre. Tendrils of white fire crawled over the van's surface and it also plunged down towards Terry's planet. A moment later, there was a massive explosion and a wall of fire and destruction rolled across the planet. Debris flew up into the atmosphere and obscured the surface. Unnoticed by Nigel and the Crew, a small piece of debris broke free of the planet's gravitational pull and flew off into deep space.

'Well, that's the end of Terry,' Nigel said, in a relieved voice. 'He really was a nutter.'

On the screen, they saw Basset's fighter turn towards them while Gary's ship turned back towards Earth.

'What a shroom pirate that boy's gunna make,' Nigel said proudly, as he and the Crew watched Basset's fighter fly into the cargo bay. 'Yes, yes, okay, you can be the pilot,' he added. 'It's not like I can fly this thing back anyway.'

'Can I get out of this suit?' Small Spaz asked.

'Sure thing, human Basset,' Nigel said, and a small cubicle of tiny robots rose around him. When it fell, he was no longer wearing the Quokka suit and was back in his skinny jeans and floral shirt.

TS went and embraced her brother in a touching display that almost brought a tear to Skip's eye and put a lump in Metho's throat.

'I just wanna go home,' Small Spaz said, and burst into tears. Beside him, Skip also burst into tears while Metho coughed and averted his eyes.

(ii)

Metho sipped at his Turkish coffee while Taki distributed Greek pastries to everyone at the table. From the kitchens came the sound of Tasos singing a Greek pop song while preparing trays of Moussaka for the evening dinner rush. To Metho's left, Skip and Steph were staring soulfully into one another's eyes. Sitting opposite, Tits and TS were holding hands and playing footsies under the table. On his right, Small Spaz was extolling the virtues of some new arthouse film he'd seen, or possibly an obscure book written by an even more obscure author. Not even the clarity of mind associated with taking flabby could help Metho understand the convoluted plots and tortured characters of the literature that Small Spaz enjoyed.

The smile on Metho's face was because business had been going quite well since that trouble with Terry had ended. The Quokkas had moved their property acquisition program to Sunni, so there were more human customers out and about. Not that Metho or his customers cared too much for the old-school substances. The word had gotten out about flabby. and it was the poison of choice amongst Melbourne's more discerning substance abusers, which suited Metho just fine. For the first time in his life, he actually believed that he was involved in a victimless crime. Flabby gave a decent high while protecting against all the ills of humanity up to, and including, old age. Even his mum was on the stuff now, and looking ten years younger for it.

All in all, things had turned out quite well. Okay, there was the small matter of obliterating all life on an alien planet, but the Quokkas seemed to be okay with it, so it probably wasn't that big a deal. And the humans who had been in the cages had lost a month of their lives, which wasn't so crash hot. And they never did find out what had happened to the plane load of humans that Terry had spirited away many months ago. But they were all loose ends that he could hardly be held accountable for.

Metho smiled a smug smile and leaned back in his chair. Things were finally back on an even keel and a blanket of self-satisfaction had settled upon his psyche. Unfortunately, Fate—who is a well-known bastard—had other ideas.

Quokka-Basset, wearing his human suit and in a state of high excitement, burst into Plato'n'Socrates cafe—the new venture started by the once warring brothers Tasos and Taki. 'The cops,' he said, jumping up and down on the spot, 'the cops! They've taken Nigel and all the others! And I saw the bastard! He's still alive! I saw Terry! He probably squealed us out.'

'What,' Metho said, and jumped out of his chair. Skip stopped looking into Steph's eyes. TS and Tits let go of one another. Small Spaz began to sob.

'We gotta help him!' Basset said, 'They'll execute him as an example to others. The big wigs don't like when people fuck with their Earth 'shroom supply.'

'Where did you see Terry?' Tits asked.

'The surveillance bots recorded the whole thing,' Basset said. 'Terry and a whole bunch of Chickens rushed in and took Nigel and the staff away.'

'Can't Nigel communicate with you wherever you go?' Metho asked. 'I would have thought he'd have at least got word out.'

Basset looked puzzled. 'The channel's jammed, but the cops wouldn't do that. They'd want to trace any communication,' he said, and then his mouth dropped open and he held out his hand for silence. 'Those weren't cops with Terry,' Basset said, a moment later. 'Nigel's the one who jammed the channel so the psycho couldn't find me. He's says that Terry's in cahoots with some dodgy Chickens and that they are taking the staff to the Wormhold Casino in the Norma Arm.' He sat down beside Small Spaz and again lifted his hand for silence. 'That shroom fucked psycho has convinced them that he can grow Earth mushrooms away from Earth, and that he needed the Quokkas from here because they have Earth mushroom expertise,' he said, a few minutes later.

Metho swore, which is something he rarely did these days. 'No Nigel means no flabby, an' no flabby means we're stuffed. Has your brother-in-law still got that ship on the moon?'

Basset nodded.

'Then let's go,' Metho said.

'Hang on,' Tits said, 'I gotta go get my suit. I'll meet you down at the shuttle.'  

'I'm coming too,' Steph said.

'But Honeybee,' Skip said, 'I was kind of hoping you and me could stay down here and take care of business and let the others rescued Nigel.'

'Fat chance,' Metho said, and dragged Skip to his feet. 'Glad to have you on board,' he said to Steph.

'But she's a girl,' TS said, and smiled a wicked smile.

Metho paused a moment and, not for the first time, an image of Big Spaz's chicken mural floated in front of his mind's eye. 'I reckon we should bring your father along as well,' he said. 'If there's anyone on Earth who'd want to meet Space Chickens, it'd be your old man.'

Don't miss out!

Click the button below and you can sign up to receive emails whenever Hercules Bantas publishes a new book. There's no charge and no obligation.

https://books2read.com/r/B-A-BHHF-LSAR

Connecting independent readers to independent writers.

Also by Hercules Bantas

Writers Disrupting Publishers

Writers Disrupting Publishers: How Self-Published Writers Disrupted the Publishing Industry

Love Lust & Petty Crime

Gods and Heroes

Computers and the Internet for the Modern Luddite: A Guide

Child of Zeus: The Legend of Herakles

The Quokka Menace

Watch for more at Hercules Bantas’s site.