Renegade T.M. Read online

  “And where, pray tell, would I find the underground?” he whispered dramatically, making certain he would not be overheard, even though the bar was completely empty.

  “Underground,” replied the barman.

  “Oh it's like that is it,” he said, reaching for his wallet, “give me a drink.”

  The barman hesitated, but finally deciding it a much safer course of action to simply appease this man, then poured Pete a drink.

  “Thanks Mac,” said Pete, who then surreptitiously slipped the barman a twenty pound note.

  “Keep the change,” he added with an over-embellished wink.

  The barman looked down at the little piece of paper that he had just been handed, and decided to call security. Before he could do this however, he noticed that Pete was winking at him again, and now trying to nudge him over the bar. The difficulty of this maneuver, combined with his evident enthusiasm to do it, was enough to make him reconsider, and after a moment’s deliberation, he concluded that it would probably be a great deal safer to simply accept the piece of paper, along with the fact that he was now called Mac.

  “Thanks,” said the barman, taking the twenty pound note.

  “Right, down to business,” Pete went on conspiratorially, “where do I find the underground?”

  “Underground,” repeated the barman, who was becoming increasingly frightened by Pete and his endlessly repeating question.

  “Yes,” he said, becoming a little irritated now, “the underground,” he repeated, stressing every syllable in “underground” as if they were somehow terribly important.

  “Underground,” said the barman again, who was now on the verge of panic and looking for ways to escape.

  “Now look Mac,” he replied heatedly, “I gave you twenty right?”

  “Okay,” said the barman in a small voice, confused as to what twenty things he had supposedly received from this madman.

  “So you owe me, right?”

  “Yeah, course,” answered the barman in a state of panic, “another drink?”

  The barman then made a wild snatch at a bottle, fearing that if he took his eyes from Pete's, the madman would surely attack. The bottle however, resisted the snatch, and decided instead to fall from the bar and shatter on the floor.

  “Hey cool it man, no need to get heavy,” said Pete, mistaking the barman's fumble for an act of aggression.

  “Just tell me where to find the underground?” he asked again, wanting to get away from this unstable barman as quickly as possibly.

  “Underground!” screamed the barman, who, fearing for his life, then grabbed a shard of broken bottle and brandished it threateningly at Pete.

  “Yeah the underground!” he yelled back, also grabbing a shard of glass with which to defend himself.

  Now the two men stood facing each other as a silence fell over the bar. Less than three feet separated them as they weighed each other over. Their gazes never deviating from the other and their weapons raised in waiting, the two warriors were now locked in a deadly contest of will, where one wrong move would almost certainly bring a quick, remorseless death.

  “One more time,” growled Pete, watching his enemy as a hawk would a field mouse, “where...”

  A bead of sweat fell down from his forehead.

  “... would...”

  The barman blinked.

  “... I find...”

  Someone entered the bar only to turn tail and flee.

  “... the underground?” he finished at last.

  Again a deathly silence descended upon them.

  “For the last time,” growled the barman, “Under...”

  “Yeah,” Pete interrupted, shifting the weight on his feet as he spoke.

  Now the barman, caught unexpectedly by this sudden movement, thought Pete about to attack, and instinctively springing backwards, then hurled his shard of glass directly at his head. Pete however, had not let his concentration lapse, and the moment the barman made his move, ducked swiftly down behind the bar, so that the glass flew harmlessly overhead.

  “FREEDOM!” shouted Pete, finding himself a little too caught up in the moment, and springing up from behind the bar, pounced on the defenseless barman and raised his shard for the kill.

  “Wait!” screamed the barman.

  “Oh now you want to talk,” Pete said, the look of a killer in his eyes.

  “Well go ahead,” he whispered into the man's ear, as he slowly passed his shard directly before his foe's eyes.

  “Under...”

  The barman paused in a desperate attempt to compose himself.

  “... the...”

  Again silence, the barman clearly unable to pull himself together.

  “... ground.”

  He finished and broke down crying.

  “Oh,” realized Pete, “under the ground.”

  “You see, I thought you meant...”

  “Well the thing is, I thought you were saying...”

  “I just thought you were being difficult,” he finished, feeling rather ashamed with himself.

  “Well sorry about all that, no harm done,” he then apologized, getting ready to make a hasty exit.

  “Keep the twenty, and bye then, take care of yourself,” said Pete, who then left the bar.

  The barman, on Pete's exit, picked himself up, grabbed a pen and paper, and scrawling the words “I quit!”, then left the building by the other exit.

  ***

  “Hmmm,” thought Fendel, who had been sliding for over five cylces now, “what next?”

  “Yeeeaaaaaaaaah!” he decided.

  ***

  “Under the ground, easy mistake to make,” said Pete to himself, as he walked along looking for a way underground.

  It was not long before he came across what he imagined to be some sort of man-hole, and removing the cover, promptly jumped in with very little regard for his own personal safety. Fortunately, he splash landed in a tunnel of water, and after a moment’s panic, in which he decided once and for all that he was not a liquid breathing, fish creature, he then surfaced, and was thankful to see a ridge he could walk along. The tunnel was well lit, and he had little trouble making his way through. After a while, he came across a door, and placing his ear up against it, could quite clearly discern voices coming from inside.

  “Right,” he thought, “quick like a cat!”

  With this, he then sharply yanked the door handle and slammed himself against the door with his shoulder. The door however, was locked, and Pete gracelessly rebounded off it, fell into the water, and lost consciousness.

  ***

  Fendel was beginning to feel hungry, and although he had very much enjoyed the last six cycles, decided now to leave off the yelling, and instead look for a way out of the slide of infinity.

  ***

  As Pete came to and opened his eyes, he was rather astonished to find himself sitting in a Parisian cafe. All around him sat devilishly handsome people wearing the latest fashions, drinking black coffee, and talking about art. On second reflection however, he realized that he was still underground, and that rather than being able to sit back and soak up the ambience, he was in fact bound to his chair with rope. As he tried to put this altogether, a man wearing a black polo neck and matching beret approached him.

  “So you've decided to join us mon ami,” said the man, blowing cigarette smoke in Pete's face.

  “What?!” cried Pete, quite taken aback by the language he was certain he had just heard, “what did you just say?!”

  “So you've decided to join us,” the man repeated, casting a meaningful look at his entourage.

  “No,” he said excitedly, “after that?”

  “But that was all my friend,” said the man, pulling up a chair as he spoke, and then sitting on it backwards so that he faced him over the top of the chair back.

  “Now come on, you said something in French didn't you?” he insisted.

  ““Infrench”, what is this “infrench”?” asked the man, a bemused e
xpression on his face.

  “Well it's what the French speak, you know, on earth.”

  “And what monsieur is this “earth”?”

  “There!” he almost shouted, “you just did it again!”

  The man paused, and lighting a cigarette from the one he had yet to finish, then declared quite innocently:

  “I simply asked you what this “earth” you speak of is.”

  Pete allowed himself a moments reflection. He was certain that these people were French, he had noticed that the cigarettes the man was smoking had “Gittanes” written on the packet, and although he could not quite make it out, it certainly appeared that one of the others was reading a book with the title “Le Nausea”. Nevertheless, he realized that these people would never admit to this, and decided that he may as well just get on with defeating the Co-leen and saving the earth.

  “Alors mes amis,” began Pete.

  “What?!” responded the man, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Worth a shot,” he went on, “I'm looking for the Co-leen resistance and the one they call Pierre.”

  The man shifted in his seat slightly.

  “And why do you look for them?” asked the man.

  “Because,” he paused for effect, “I am going to smash the Co-leen into tiny little pieces...”

  The room burst out laughing.

  “... Pieces so tiny that not even the smallest hand in existence would be able to hold a good handful,” he finished confusingly.

  The laughter now exploded, and five minutes later, when the laughter was still uncontrollable, Pete took the opportunity to imagine animal shapes in the clouds of cigarette smoke. Another five minutes passed, and as the laughter subsided, the man who had been so far questioning him, suddenly threw away his chair, cast aside his beret, and announced:

  “Well you have found the man for whom you search, for I am Pierre!”

  There followed a short round of applause.

  “The French,” he sighed to himself, “always the histrionics. “

  “So my little friend,” Pierre addressed him, “to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

  “Pete, Pete Martin,” he answered.

  “And how exactly do you intend to smash the Co-leen?”

  “Well,” he paused to gather his thoughts, before answering perhaps a little too honestly, “dunno really, I thought you could help out there.”

  “Right,” said Pierre, rolling his eyes at his crew, “and why should we help you exactly?”

  “Well,” again he paused to think, “I'm part of the Renegade team?” he ventured.

  “The Renegade team?” queried the Frenchman.

  “Yes,” he replied in a mouse-like voice, not knowing what kind of weight this announcement carried.

  “With Slip McGroovy?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed, holding his breath.

  “Oh we just love him,” said Pierre, “don't we boys?”

  A chorus of “why, but of course!” echoed around the room.

  “Great,” said a relieved Pete, “so you'll help then?”

  Another chorus of “why, but of course,” filled the room.

  “Terrific,” he said, “let's go and find them then,” he went on, trying to stand as he spoke, forgetting that he was tied to a chair.

  “Hold on a moment my eager friend,” said Pierre, who then set about untying him.

  “Pierre,” began Pete, remembering a scene from the Great Escape.

  “What is it?”

  “It could be dangerous,” he warned.

  “But life is dangerous my friend.”

  “Pierre.”

  “Yes Pete.”

  “Bon chance.”

  “Merci mon ami.”

  “Ha, got you!” he declared triumphantly, and left the stage in glory.

  “If only defeating the Co-leen was as simple as making a Frenchman speak French,” he thought to himself, once back up outside on the planet’s surface.

  If Pete did have a secret plan, then it was probably so well hidden, that finding it again would be about as momentous as if the titanic had sunk, hit the sea bottom, and then bounced back up to the surface, only to continue its journey. It is my humble opinion however, that he was about as well aware of his cunning plan, as I am currently aware as to how to end this wibble.

  13.

  Fendel had had quite enough of infinity and decided it was high-time he was on his merry way. Examining his pockets, in the hope of finding some perhaps not altogether convincing exit strategy, he discovered a half-eaten Saturn bar, a pocket-sized time-travelling device that he had bought on Wow, (much more interesting than wearing a watch), a parrot of uncertainty, (don’t ask), and a small nuclear device that he had nicked off Slip earlier when his trousers were around his ankles.

  “Okay,” he reasoned aloud, “I could travel back in time to the moment just before I leapt into this infinite slide, and convince myself that it isn’t perhaps the best-laid plan. However, I’m bound to ignore myself, and the last time I travelled back in time to forewarn myself, we ended up getting drunk and switching places, very confusing. No, instead I’ll use this parrot of uncertainty to... to... what do these things do anyway?! Okay, nothing for it then.”

  And that said, he finished off the remainder of his Saturn bar, activated the small nuclear device, and threw it down the slide ahead of him.

  ***

  Slip stood naked in front of the group of Co-leen feeling markedly smaller than usual. He had imagined that whisking off his swimming trunks and revealing a small nuclear device would have been a rather grand gesture, one that would surely put a stop to any Co-leen plan to capture himself and his crew. However, as things transpired, he stood there somewhat at a loss, with Crinkle doing her utmost to cover his bombless modesty.

  “Now we have you,” declared the Co-leen, “quickly, handcuff the prisoners!”

  That said, some fifty meters away behind the Co-leen, a small nuclear device suddenly detonated. Slip, Crinkle and all the Co-leen were thrown roughly onto the ground, and Fendel came flying through the air, only to land quite ungallantly in a heap of himself.

  “Hello Slip, hello Crinks,” said Fendel.

  “My bomb,” started Slip, “how did you...?”

  Now reintroductions withstanding, the Co-leen had used this time to regain some semblance of what they imagined to be the rulers of everything, and anything else they may have missed in the course of ruling everything.

  “Enough, kill them!” and that said, they opened fire on the Renegade team.

  “Oh dear, what now?” wondered Fendel, as he threw himself on top of Slip and Crinkle, and plunged them all into the water at the bottom of the Slide of Sloth.

  ***

  “Quickly, over there!” shouted Pete, pointing to some laser fire, as he led his French resistance pals in a bid to rescue Slip and the gang.

  “Are you crazy, they have laser guns?!” stated Pierre aghast.

  “Well, you’re the Resistance aren’t you, what do you have?” asked Pete.

  “We have very strong ideals!” replied Pierre.

  “Ideals huh,” he replied, slightly discouraged, “okay that’s great and everything, but perhaps you have something a little more menacing, you know, something with a bit more bite.”

  “Erm, we all have berets you know, and matching polo necks!”

  “Yeah again, something a little less fashion-based, unless that is you’re planning to dazzle the Co-leen into submission?!”

  “Okay, I have it, Co-leen listen up!” announced Pierre suddenly, marching out bravely toward them, “now, if you don’t let our Renegade friends go at once, I will be very unhappy and I will have no other option, other than the option that remains.”

  The Co-leen stopped firing at this, and one of them, (we must assume to be the leader of sorts, as he is wearing a very large hat), stepped forward to address Pierre and his Resistance.

  “So, the Resistance,” drawled the Co-leen c
aptain, “and you must be Pierre?”

  “Indeed!” declared Pierre, flicking aside his trench coat and revealing a freshly baked baguette.

  “Nobody move!” he went on, brandishing his baguette threateningly at the Co-leen.

  Now this took the captain completely by surprise, and staring down the barrel of a freshly baked baguette was enough of an incentive for him to order his troops to drop their laser rifles.

  “But sir it’s only bread!” declared one of his troops.

  “Oh really,” said Pierre in a way that insinuated much, much more.

  “Well yes, I suppose it is only bread,” realized the captain, “troops, pick up your laser rifles!”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned.

  “Oh, and why not?” asked the captain, again convinced of his own superiority.

  “Because of this!” he declared, whipping out a delicious brie from his trench coat pocket.

  “Oh my god, he’s got brie!” shouted the alarmed captain, “everyone retreat, save yourselves!”

  And that said, the Co-leen ran away screaming. It might be added that one of them did mention that it was only cheese, but this was entirely lost to the blind brie-based panic, and in a little less than twenty pings, the Co-leen were nowhere left to be seen.

  “Pete!” declared Slip, rushing over and hugging him.

  “Erm Slip,” started Pete, feeling a little self-conscious,” where are your clothes?”