A WORLD NOT MEANT TO BE or: Survival Through A Sequence of Highly Improbable Events by Gregory Grainneog ( with additional material by Sean Campbell, John Brennan, Prof. Harold Tinkering & Fifi La Fume ) This section takes place 10 years after part one. Any queries as regards the gathering of information for this account may be addressed to Mr. Grainneog at doctorsolar@hotmail.com Many of the featured characters appear without the permission of their agent. I tried to get in contact with the fox but he wouldn't answer the phone. ******************************************** PART TWO: IN WHICH MR. BRENNAN FINDS HIMSELF DEPARTING ON AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY CHAPTER FOUR: NOVEMBER 23rd 2001 "Have you seen what the skunks have done to Paris?" A faded postcard was passed along the top of the bar, a smudge of black ink forming a dark circle upon the lower portion of the picture. The image was still quite distinct however, a typical tourist photo of the Eiffel tower. The flag that Le Neuf had designed still fluttered in the breeze above, the wonderful gold paint that had been applied to the tower in 1997 gleaming brightly in the sunlight. In the background you could see a large, bronze coloured skyscraper and in the sky just above it, a bizarre looking flying machine. The Sky Buzzer had all the major hallmarks of the Franco-Skunk Empire. It was elaborate in design almost to the point of impracticability, looking for all the world like some kind of huge brass bird. Its great shining wings were fully outstretched, landing supports that looked like polished talons glinting in the sun. The frame was covered in a stunning golden mesh, a flower pattern that looked as if it had been moulded by a sculptor rather than an engineer. Whichever way the photograph had been taken, it was quite impossible to tell if the machine was taking off or coming in to land. Either way, it looked spectacular. The guy who had handed me the postcard sighed, sitting back on his stool and taking a sip of beer. Douglas Powell looked glummer than usual tonight, eyes clouded by excessive alcohol. Behind us, the small crowd was mostly silent, cigarette smoke hanging heavily in the air and glowing oddly in the light from neon signs. "Fantastic isn't it," he continued after a few moments. "The whole city is built like that - and all in the space of ten years." "You been there?" I asked. "Me?" He seemed quite amused at the question, a faint smile forming on his lips. "I've no way of getting a travel permit," he replied. "Skunks won't let you into France if you've got a criminal record and since I already have two there's very little hope. The card came from my daughter Sarah. She works as a tour guide in the Le Neuf museum, one of the few humans who has a good job there. Gets on well with the skunk kittens I'm told - as well as can be expected for a human anyway." His eyes suddenly grew cold, colour fading from his cheeks. "Blasted skunks," he hissed. "They started it... they got us where we are today. I've never liked their kind. Even before all this I never fully trusted them." "I reckon we had it coming," I replied. "It was bound to happen sooner or later." "Had it coming!" he exclaimed, eyes filling with disbelief. "Well we all know how you feel about it. It's common knowledge that you like them. Not all of us get to see President McLoon on a daily basis though!" "I've only been to see her twice," I muttered, sighing as an old argument was once again raised. "It's not like we're best friends or anything. We knew each other in the old days, that's all." "Only twice!" he said sarcastically. "You've been in the Presidential Palace John! My boss won't even allow me in his office." He then mumbled something incomprehensible about his boss, raising his hand in the general direction of the barman while at the same time desperately trying to maintain his balance on the stool. I'd seen him like this many times before, the drunkenness seemed to just creep up on him like a predator and grasp at his senses in the blink of an eye. I don't think I'd ever seen anyone go from sober to intoxicated quite the same way that Douglas did. "Hey Jim," he called with a voice that was now obviously slurred. "Give me another." "Go home to your wife Doug," replied Jim. "You've had enough already." Jim was the owner of the bar, a slightly overweight man with a glass eye. Local legend had it that he had lost his real one during the battle of Acme Acres in 1993 but I knew he'd had the glass eye long before that. In fact, I couldn't remember him without it. He was mainly the one who was keeping the old legend alive, feeling that he might be more respected if it was known that he had been injured in a last ditch attempt to put humans on top again and not in a mundane car accident. "I was there," he would proclaim to strangers. "There on the front line when Roddy and Max sent out their forces. They thought they could flatten us, thought that us humans had had our day. We showed them though... we showed them!" And myself and the other regulars would laugh quietly into our drinks, once again hearing the tale that always left the visitors wide eyed in awe. But regardless of whether Jim had actually been there in 1993 or not, the minute band of human rebels hadn't beaten 'Toon Power' at all. Most of the work had been done by Shirley and her right hand pig Hamton. 'Toon Power' may have fled the US, driven out by their fellow toons, but they were still operating in Europe. Not only that, but they still had supporters amongst the government here - even amongst President McLoon's own personal staff it was thought. No one really knew for sure though and it wasn't healthy to blindly speculate on such matters. You'd end up not trusting anyone that way. I was cut off in mid thought by the sound of a creaking door, all heads quickly turning towards the entrance as a wave of silence crept across the bar. Drinks were forgotten and cigarettes left burning in ashtrays as we exchanged worried glances between each other. The newcomer was a tall figure dressed in a black overcoat and hat, face hidden by a multitude of white bandages. He slowly scanned the bar, gaze coming to rest on each and every one of us. Several people gulped, a tense atmosphere that you could cut with a knife. Then, as the silence and stares continued he strode into the centre of the room, climbing up onto a chair and then balancing himself on a tabletop. "I have an important announcement!" he expressed. As if we weren't already thinking about 'The Invisible Man', the stranger had decided to speak in a voice that was about as close to Claude Rains as you could possibly get without bringing the guy back to life. More worried glances, more gulps. Jim reached under the counter as if ready to grab the shotgun we all knew was there. And then, in a sudden flurry of bright colour, the stranger's black overcoat fell away to reveal two short bunnies, a pink female balanced atop the shoulders of a blue male. Babs and Buster Bunny! "An important announcement indeed!" shouted Babs, substituting the Claude Rains voice for a cod British accent. "For you are about to witness the wonder and excitement of.... dum de dum de dum..." The two bunnies leapt down onto the floor, both speaking in unison. "The Amazing Bunnyfield Travelling Circus!!!" "Circus?" expressed Jim. "What? All two of you?" "Never underestimate the entertainment power of the little guy!" replied Buster, removing a large black bag from out of thin air. As he spoke he began to remove a multitude of items - a miniature unicycle, a pogo stick, a sword, two chickens and something that looked like an old wooden puppet. The items all went into a disorderly pile on the floor as he began pulling at something rather large. "Come on!" he hissed. "Come on out for Frith's sake!" The bag suddenly grew to an enormous size, a strange bellowing coming from within. Then, with a great pop, a huge toon elephant appeared. It stood there dumbfounded for several seconds before grinning broadly, standing upright as Buster threw a peanut into its mouth. At this point Douglas turned his back to the action, his eyes cast downwards. Everyone else seemed captivated though and, for the next half hour, we were subject to what could only be described as a bizarre variety show, everything from bicycle juggling to magical dismemberment played out before our eyes. Babs performed several of her famous impressions and at one point Buster did a tightrope walk across the room - without the aid of a tightrope. For a brief moment we all forgot about our current problems, delightful glee bringing us back to the carefree days of our childhoods. The old days... back before all this toon revolution nonsense. Towards the end of the performance Buster dressed himself in a top hat and tails, the final ten minutes filled with a variety of magic tricks that played havoc with the laws of physics. At one point he asked for a volunteer from the audience, Jim quickly springing to attention and getting a spot in the limelight. When he saw Buster approach with a chainsaw he kind of regretted it though, yet despite the rivers of sweat, no harm came to our friendly neighbourhood barman. Well, no serious harm anyway. All good things must come to an end though and as quickly as the performance had begun, it came to an abrupt climax. Everything somehow managed to fit snugly back in the sack, Buster gurning as he pushed the elephant inwards. "Thanks for being such a great audience!" grinned Babs. "Maybe we'll come back here sometime." "Babs!" I shouted as the crowd applauded. "Nice to see you again." She looked towards me for several seconds before recognition dawned. "John!" she exclaimed. "Long time no see." "Why have you done this?" I continued. "I didn't think toons liked to do this kind of thing anymore." "Why?" she replied. "Does one need a reason? In today's world the concept of toons performing in front of humans is frowned upon... but I thrive on entertaining people. It's my life and I need it. I can't go without the thrill of being a star. Maybe the world has changed, but I'll never let them take the fire from me." And with a final smile, the two rabbits left the bar as quickly as they had arrived. I made my way home through the darkened midnight streets, the sky above free of clouds and studded with the gleaming light of a thousand stars. In the distance and just above the outline of the Looniversity clock tower, a bright full moon hung low against the starry backdrop, illuminating everything in a pale silvery light that gave Acme Acres an odd, ghost like quality. It was far from being a ghost town though. Despite the silence of the streets at this late hour, Acme Acres was now one of the busiest places in the world, the seat of government for the United States. In April 1995 the refurbishment work on the Acme Loo had finally been completed, the finishing touches placed on the former school that was now the Presidential Palace. Shirley had moved in soon afterwards, elected President for an eight year term. Much like during the toon revolution of 1991, America had been the final country in which toons had made their dominance felt. Japan and France had been exclusively governed by toons since late 1992, the UK, Australia, Mexico and Brazil following the year after. One by one the old human governments had fallen, Presidents and Kings simply surrendering power rather than face further toon riots or in a worst case scenario, an all out war that they were bound to loose. And then it became clear that Charlie's speculation that a toon governed world would be a better place was very close to the truth. Under the toons there hadn't been a war in almost a decade. Pollution was down more than 45% since the banning of cars in 1997 and there were far more renewable energy sources now in use. Most of the California power grid was now fed by a gigantic offshore windmill plant on a floating atoll eight miles out in the Pacific. I hadn't seen the complex, but from what I had heard it looked thoroughly spectacular, three rows of giant windmills with each row stretching almost twenty miles in length. The toons were brilliant engineers, capable of building more or less anything in a remarkably short amount of time. They could move much faster than us, could even make tools and materials appear out of thin air ( another mystery that nobody had ever been able to solve ). With them in control the world had suddenly taken a massive leap forward. But in this sudden rush ahead humanity had been left behind. No longer the dominant species, many humans were now feeling obsolete in the new world. Now we were the ones having trouble finding good jobs, most big companies run by toons who were quite unwilling to pay the high insurance needed to employ humans. Why hire twenty delicate humans when one indestructible toon could do the job just as well and in less than half the time? And given their new found dominance, the toon birth rate had soared, their numbers now almost triple that of a decade before. My breath steamed into the crisp November air, hands fumbling in my pocket for the key as I approached the ice cream parlour. Since Charlie's death two years previously, I had been living in the room above the store and trying to run the place single handily. It was tough going, but without it I seriously doubted if I could ever find another decent job. There were now millions of unemployed humans, well looked after by the toon government but at the same time feeling a distinct emptiness in their lives. There were still some humans lucky enough to be in unique positions however. Humans tended to make better scientists than toons, their experiments less likely to explode. The majority of toons were also poor at maths it seemed, the numbers not making much sense to them and when it came to teaching languages, humans made for far better tutors. I wasn't qualified in any of those fields. I paused in my thoughts as I noticed some broken glass on the sidewalk directly outside the ice cream parlour, my eyes following the outline of the door and coming to rest on a large indentation just below the handle. It had been forced open. I stepped forward and pushed at the door with my left hand, my suspicions confirmed as the door slowly creaked open. Quickly moving inside and switching on the lights, I came across some more broken glass upon the floor, an interior door that led to the staircase also visibly forced. I cursed under my breath, furious at what appeared to be my third robbery since Christmas. Although the toons had stamped out many social ills they couldn't alter the crime rate. Ever since the toons had taken power, more and more humans had been turning to crime in order to sustain themselves. Despite the fact that the toons were providing more than generous amounts of unemployment benefit, many humans couldn't live without the luxuries of their old lives. I glanced around, eyeing the place carefully as I wondered whether to call the police or not. Probably not much point as the thieves were probably long since gone. Thankfully, with the exception of the forced doors, there didn't appear to be much damage. Strangely enough, the safe was still locked and untouched, the till just as full of cash as it had been when I closed up some five hours previously. Why break in but not steal anything? Perhaps the thieves had been disturbed. Or maybe... I suddenly felt a wild stab of fear. Nothing had been taken because the thieves were still here! I glanced towards the ceiling, heartbeat intensifying as I pondered my options. They were probably going through my things up there. They wouldn't find much but that wasn't the point - they were intruding on my privacy and that wasn't acceptable. Reaching down below the counter I removed a baseball bat from its secluded hiding place, holding it firmly in my hands as I approached the staircase. I was absolutely terrified but at the same time determined not to let them win. My third break in since Christmas and this time I was going to do something about it. I stood in silence at the foot of the steps for several minutes, bat clasped tightly as I stared upwards into the pool of inky darkness that was the landing. If there was really someone up there then I'd have to face up to them, have to make an effort to do something or else spend the next six months cursing myself for not having the courage to protect my own home. And with this thought lingering on my mind I took my first, tentative steps upward. On reaching the landing I didn't hesitate, fingers quickly finding the light switch and bringing instant illumination to the hall. And there I stood for almost a minute, bat raised high against the horrors of the unknown. My bedroom door was half ajar, the light on inside. I knew I hadn't left it like that on leaving, my heart giving a mighty bound as I quickly pushed the door fully open. And there, framed in the doorway, I froze. There were two toons sitting at the end of my bed, one male and one female. As far as I could tell they were both ducks. The male was dressed in a tightly fitting brown suit and tie, a limp and sinister grin beneath a carefully sculpted mop of hair. His eyes blazed with a distinctive sense of self superiority, looking down on me like I was dirt. The female was more scantily dressed, possessing that same look to her eyes but with her purple coloured hair a distinct contrast to the decidedly drab look of her companion. It was several moments before I spoke. "Who... What are you doing here?" I shouted, holding the bat high. "I'm armed so don't try anything stupid!" "Ha!" expressed the male, standing up to reveal his full height of three feet. "As if you could actually harm us. You fool Mr. Brennan, you pitiful human fool." "You tell him Danny," smiled the female. "Let him see who's boss." It was only then that I noticed that the male was pointing a handgun at me. "How do you know my name?" I asked, the bat falling from my hands as fear overtook me. "Oh we've been watching you for quite a while Johnboy," answered the female. "Just waiting to make our move." "I haven't done anything," I replied. "If you want money I haven't got any... just what's in the till downstairs." On hearing my words both ducks exploded in laughter. "He really hasn't got a clue!" grinned the female. "He doesn't realise at all!" "For what it's worth Mr. Brennan," explained the male. "My name is Danforth Drake and this young lady by my side is Margot Mallard. Don't remember us do you?" "I've seen a lot of faces," I replied. "Never yours." Margot shook her head slowly and grinned yet again. "Of course he remembers us," she said. "How could he forget perfect specimens like ourselves?" At the back of my mind vague memories began to surface, memories of a very different life ten years in the past. "Perfecto," I finally muttered. "You were both Perfecto students..." "Correct," exclaimed Danforth, nudging me towards the door with his gun. "Hardly matters now of course." "If you're ex Perfecto then..." "The penny drops," said Margot. "Pretty quick for a human. Yes - we're both Toon Power supporters, foreign agents you might say." "But Toon Power were chased out of the States," I expressed. "You were all driven out years ago." "A temporary exile," explained Danforth. "Even now in Oslo our leader plots an overthrow of Shirley's government. Her days are coming to an end and there's nothing that her or her fancy human sympathising government can do about it." "But why threaten me?" I asked. "A human friend of the President!" hissed Margot. "Don't you realise your unique position?" "I'm just a bloody ice cream salesman!" I replied shakily. "It's true that I know Shirley but we're not exactly friends." "No matter," replied Roderick. "You two know each other and that's enough. I wonder how she'll react when she discovers that the human she trusts most has just assaulted a toon?" "Assaulted a toon? Me?" "It's already been arranged Mr. Brennan," he smiled. "This time tomorrow you'll be a villain in the eyes of both the media and your spooky Loon friend. Can you imagine the hatred that's going to create? The backlash against Shirley when it's revealed how highly she thought of you? That kind of thing could seriously effect her chances of getting re- elected next year." He descended into laughter, glancing at Margot with a twinkle in his eye. I was speechless, realising for the first time that perhaps he was right. Being the human friend of a high profile toon was a unique position these days. I'd never even considered that Shirley's friendship might be a danger to me. "You can't do this!" I cried. "I haven't done anything." "Oh but you already have," said Margot, picking up my baseball bat. "Here's the weapon. Our friend is already talking to the police now... reporting your senseless attack on her. Imagine that John, you not only attacked a toon but a female one. That's the actions of a true beast." As she spoke she raised the bat high. I didn't even feel the impact. I awoke to find myself in a small rectangular room, a single, unshaded light bulb casting dark shadows across the grey, unpainted walls. It only took me a few moments to realise that I was in a prison cell - one in the Acme Acres police station from the look of it. I had barely come to my senses before I heard the jingle of keys, a few seconds passing before a blue uniformed aardvark appeared in front of me. He was perhaps four feet tall, his fur a glowing orange. He eyed me with an expression of pure disgust, tutting softly as he approached with a pair of handcuffs. "If I had things my way I'd have scum like you shot!" he hissed as he forcefully manacled my hands behind my back. "Whatever you think I've done I'm innocent!" I exclaimed. "It was the ducks... the ducks have made it look like it was me." But the Aardvark didn't listen, simply pushing me ahead of him through the doorway. We moved down a narrow corridor, a couple more uniformed toons passing us by before we ended up in a long, white walled room. There were four other humans standing up against the wall, all of them roughly the same height and build as myself. An identity parade. I felt my stomach churn, heartbeat intensifying as it suddenly dawned on me that I was in seriously big trouble. I'd known it already of course but it was only on seeing the line up that the terrible truth really hit home. What did they do to humans who assaulted toons? Before I had a chance to contemplate this terrible question I was instructed to stand at the end of the line, told to remain still and face forward. The handcuffs were removed, but two other police officers entered the room to ensure that I didn't try anything. A rabbit and a racoon, both of them glaring towards me with eyes that burned with rage. I stared towards them and they stared back unflinchingly. Eventually, I cast my eyes downward. I don't think I'd ever been more scared in my life, even during the darkest days of the toon revolution. I now felt as if I was standing on the edge of a vast pit, a pit with no bottom and very little hope of escape. There would certainly be a conviction, I knew that for a fact. Danforth and Margot were connected with a highly powerful group and they wouldn't arrange all this just to see me walk free. But a conviction of what sort? I knew all about the fair trial bill. It had been introduced in 1998 to ensure that all juries had an equal amount of toons and humans. Would it be enough to save me? Then again, assault was a very serious offence. Even the human jurors would have a certain bias towards me. I was cut off in mid thought by the sound of an opening door, a patter of shoeless footsteps as a young hedgehog entered the room. She was visibly shaking, eyes filled with fear as she scanned the five humans before her. From the look of her I suspected that she was quite young, well, quite young in spirit anyway. Toons didn't age quite like humans and for all I knew she was older than me. Based on her mannerisms and the way the police officers treated her though, I suspected that she was a child. Either that or a very good performer. She stared intently towards us all, her large green eyes finally coming to rest on me. I had already known that this would happen, had been waiting for the moment with dread. Even so, I still shivered internally, feeling a slight wetness around my eyes as I found myself on the verge of an emotional outburst. She laid a paw on my arm and nodded. The three police officers quickly exchanged glances, the aardvark who had been my escort quickly walking forward and laying a paw on the hedgehog's shoulder. Together they left the room, the two other officers approaching me swiftly. My hands were once again cuffed, the racoon digging his paws in tightly as I was led back to my cell. As I was half pushed, half shoved down the corridor I closed my eyes and prayed quietly - prayed for the nightmare to end. I had been locked in the little cell for close to two hours when I once again heard the jingle of keys, my eyes darting upwards in hungry expectation of a meal. I was extremely surprised at the sight that greeted me. A tall squirrel dressed in blue robes, face partially obscured by a gleaming bronze helmet. A Presidential Guard! Behind him came another, both of them simply staring towards me without speaking. I could tell from their eyes that they wanted me to accompany them. I quickly clambered to my feet, far too worried to even ponder the question of why they would be interested in me. There were no handcuffs this time but I could still sense the atmosphere of imprisonment, an oppressive feeling that seemed to permeate the very walls of the police station. There was another Presidential Guard in the corridor, two toon police officers standing directly behind them. "Well he's yours for the next few hours," said the aardvark. "Although I don't know why the President would want to talk to scum like him." My spirits instantly rose. Shirley wanted to see me! All was not yet lost. I was quickly escorted down the corridor and into the reception area. A couple of forms were signed by the Presidential Guards, the large dog behind the desk not even giving me a glance as he authorised the temporary transfer of custody. Then I was brought out into the brightening street, the early morning sun low in the sky as I was placed in a red and gold painted carriage. The seats were of crushed velvet, heavy curtains adorning the thick glass windows. Two of the Guards sat on either side of me, the third clambering up onto the exterior seat and barking the commands that lurched us into motion. We were drawn by two black horses, not toons but of the regular flesh and blood variety. It would only be a short journey to the Presidential Palace, ten minutes at the most. "Why does she want to see me?" I asked, directing the question at both Guards. "She knows about the 'Toon Power' plan doesn't she?" Predictably, there was no reply from either of them and after asking the question for a second time I gave up. I would have to wait it would seem. Externally, the Acme Looniversity hadn't altered much at all. It still had that indefinable feel of being a place of education, a sense of learned antiquity that hung about it like some invisible mist. The statues of Bugs and Daffy were still in place, much cleaner now that they had been recently sandblasted. On closer examination however, minute changes became apparent. The red lettering had been removed from above the main entrance, now replaced with a large relief sculpture depicting a toon of undefined species holding a globe in his paw. Just above it, the four fingered symbol of the new toon age fluttered as a brightly coloured flag on the breeze. Then there was the high security. The carriage had to pass through three high wire gates before being allowed access to the Looniversity grounds and even now, as we pulled up at the base of the steps, there was a group of ten Guards waiting to check authorisation once again. Once this final check was complete I was quickly taken from the carriage, escorted up the high stone steps and in through the circular entrance. I ducked my head slightly as I entered, the building having been designed with much smaller visitors in mind. Then, still without any explanation from the three Guards, I was brought across the chessboard floor tiles of the main hall and up a tall flight of red carpeted stairs. At the top stood a familiar face, a smiling green duck in a pretty expensive looking grey suit. His bright red bow tie seemed bizarrely out of place alongside the formal feel of the rest of his clothing. "Plucky?" I asked slowly. "Ahh... Mr. Brennan I presume?" he replied. "You got that right. Plucky Duck is the name - or Minister for Publicity to you." As he spoke he grinned broadly, adjusting his bow tie. Although seemingly friendly, his words held within them a distinct sense of self superiority. Despite the fact that I was a good three feet taller than him he was still clearly looking down on me. "We've met," I replied. "A long time ago. You used to be a regular customer of mine." "Spare me the history lesson Jack," he continued. "I remember you too, remember you pretty well in fact. How appearances can be deceiving." "I didn't assault-" "Not for me to say," he replied quickly. "That's for the courts to decide. I'm just here to meet you." "Putting on a good face?" I snarled. "A face for the cameras?" "Just acting naturally," he said, beckoning me forward. "Come on. Shirl... er... Madam President is waiting." CHAPTER FIVE: IN IMPORTANT COMPANY Plucky led me down a long, lavishly carpeted hallway, the three Guards following close behind. As we moved I scanned my surroundings, seeing little that gave away the former use of the building. Unlike the exterior, there was no sense of learning to this corridor, a distinct lack of academic atmosphere. It felt more like a very upmarket hotel, a smell in the air that seemed vaguely like incense. Plucky spoke little as we walked, nodding once or twice when I muttered something but otherwise moving without a sense of interest. His mind seemed to be on other things. We came finally to a large, brown wooden door, two more blue robed Guards on either side. Plucky knocked once, waiting a couple of seconds before opening the door inward. Red carpet gave way to a deep blue, the morning light blazing from a wall encompassing window. I was instructed to follow Plucky inside, finding the smell of incense growing as I moved across the threshold. The room was huge - probably made by demolishing the walls between at least three of the old classrooms. Despite it's size it was sparsely furnished though, the floor a seemingly endless sea of thick blue carpeting that spread out towards a long wooden desk in the distance. There were a few bookshelves attached to the otherwise bare blue walls, a small tree adorned with glittering crystals in the far corner. "John?" I looked ahead, towards the wooden desk and the little Loon that was seated in the high chair behind it. She was gazing at me intently, a look of strong concern in her large blue eyes. "Leave us," she said, referring to the Guards. "I think I can handle him." Without a word the Guards simply saluted and left the room, the door clicking shut behind me. She gazed towards me for a few seconds more, a slight frown appearing as she tilted her head to one side. "Like, you too Plucky!" she exclaimed. Plucky smiled and quickly ran up to her desk. "Now now Shirl," he grinned. "You know it's my job to make you look good in front of others." He then made his way behind her, fingering the large bow in her yellow hair. "You should wear your hair long sometimes," he continued. "Give yourself a certain, how should we say, delectable quality? Not that you lack it of course." There came a sudden yellow flash from the Loon's fingertips, Plucky falling back against the wall with a loud thud. When he stood up again his green feathers had turned black, some of them falling away to reveal pink skin beneath. Despite this he was still smiling. "That's eight times this week Shirl," he smiled as little stars formed around his head. "I'm beginning to think you like me." And with his fallen feathers in hand, he strode past me and made his way outside. "Like, that's Madam President to you!" she called after him. "And don't you forget it! I like, totally hope you come back as a sunflower seed er sum junk!" Despite my fear I found a brief moment to inwardly grin. Despite being the top players now, toons were still toons. It was just in their nature to act the way they did. I walked slowly towards the desk, not too sure what to say. I was really hoping that she would speak first. After several seconds she did. "John," she said slowly and with dead seriousness in her voice. "Did you do it?" I hesitated, simply shaking my head. "Like, be truthful with me John," she continued. "Remember that I can read your mind." "Then you'll know I didn't," I replied. "I've never attacked anyone in my life and I'd certainly never try and assault a toon." Shirley squinted, as if trying to see inside my head. "It's just a total haze," she said after a few moments. "The past few hours of your life are totally clouded." "That's because I was unconscious!" I replied. "Danforth knocked me out cold." "Danforth Drake?" "That's him! Him and Margot Mallard." "Accusing a toon of something like that is pretty serious," she continued. "Are you sure they did that?" "You don't believe me?" "You have to see it from my point of view John," expressed Shirley. "Like, what's going to happen if it comes out that I'm aquatinted with a guy who attacked a toon?" "But I attacked nobody!" "So you say, but how can I know that fer sure?" I tried to calm myself down, taking a couple of deep breaths as I paced slowly up and down in front of the desk. "Look Shirl," I said in a low voice. "How long have you known me? Ten years? More? You know I wouldn't do a thing like that." She stared at me long and hard before shaking her head slowly. "I'd like to believe you wouldn't," she said finally. "But... but things are different now." "You're not going to help me are you?" I asked slowly. "I can't just ask for the charges to be dropped John. If I did that I'd have no hope of being voted in again next year." "Is that all you care about?" Her eyes opened wide, face loosing all expression. "Listen John," she hissed. "Look at all I've achieved these past few years. There's finally a lasting peace between humans and toons. The economy is back on its feet and pollution is down. Next year I'll be running against three other candidates. Hamton J Pig is one of them and he's about the only one I trust. He's my current minister for the environment and if elected, he'll carry on where I leave off. But as for the others... there's Professor Gantrod, a Racoon who used to be one of the Perfecto tutors and Sally Toulette, a French poodle. They're both 'Toon Power' supporters John. You want to see either of them running the country?" I shook my head slowly. "Then you'll understand why I can't just let you off the hook here. You'll need to go before a jury." "Then why bring me here today?" I cried. "Why bother speaking to me now if you're not going to help?" "Well..." She paused, as if unsure of what to say. "Well, I suppose I just wanted to see you again, try and find out the truth even if it was only for my own benefit." "And?" "Like... I don't believe you did it." I found a brief moment to smile. "Thank you," I muttered. "Even if you can't help me directly I feel a lot better knowing you trust me." A few seconds later the guards re-entered the room and I found myself once again a prisoner. "I'm totally sorry John," whispered Shirley. "But for what it's worth, good luck. I'll arrange to have Danforth Drake watched for a few days. It may not achieve anything but then again..." I nodded slowly as I was escorted from the room, still a man with no hope but a man feeling slightly better all the same. "We find the defendant guilty as charged." The words didn't provoke any other response than to cause me to lower my eyes to the courtroom floor. I closed them tightly, perhaps thinking in a childish manner that everything around me would vanish if I couldn't see it. The well dressed Emu judge. The two police officers on either side of the door. The twelve suited jurors, only four of whom were human. All would be instantly gone and my life could continue on as before. But when I opened my eyes several seconds later they were all still there, all looking towards me and awaiting a reaction. "Do you have any words before I pass sentence?" I ignored the judge's question, not even so much as shaking my head. He frowned, holding a feathered hand to his beak before speaking again. "Very well. A crime like this is very serious business indeed. The female in question may be perfectly okay now but she'll have to deal with the memory all her life. Do you even have any remorse?" "I didn't do it," I whispered. "So you say Mr. Brennan, but I'm afraid the evidence seems to prove otherwise. Your skin fragments were found on the victim's clothing, the three witnesses have told their stories and even several photographs clearly show you at the scene. To be quite frank, your claims that this was all arranged by the 'Toon Power' organisation speaks of a both highly dangerous and paranoia prone personality." I replied only with silence, once again lowering my eyes. The judge cleared his throat, a rustle of paper from his desk as he raised his small hammer high. "The sentence is ten years imprisonment in a Tasmanian labour camp. There you will work on the construction of windmill components, your unpaid efforts being used to help make this world a better place. Case closed." The crack of the hammer seemed to vibrate through my very soul. I was still in complete silence as the police officers led me from the courtroom. Ten years? The ruling had been far harder than I could have possibly imagined. I knew that I was going to be found guilty regardless of my pleas but ten years? I had expected four at the most. I'd be in my early forties by the time I got home. If I ever got home. I was well aware of the practice of sending dangerous criminals to Tasmania. Soon after the final victory by the toons in late 1993, a new legislation was rushed in by the embryonic world governments that gave local authorities the option of sending people who had participated in violent acts towards toons into exile. It was generally agreed that these prisoners would be put to work building components for renewable energy devices, all oil and coal usage now carefully monitored with the intentions of phasing them out within twenty years. There were three world spots that were considered favourable locations for these labour camps - Siberia, Alaska and Tasmania. The Siberian camps had been closed in 1999 after numerous complaints from human rights organisations that people were close to death from the cold. It would seem that the toon warders, so used to their own indestructible nature, simply didn't realise how delicate humans were. At least I was heading for a warmer climate, a thought that gave me slight comfort in a sea of anguish. Prisoners were usually transported to Tasmania by ship, a very long journey that involved four stops. La Baule in France was to be the first, followed by Cape Town, Sri Lanka and Java. Prison vessels doubled as cargo ships and supervised criminals were expected to help the crew in preparing goods for distribution. I'd read about them many times of but had never even considered the fact that I might find myself on board one of them someday. On the morning after my trial I was awoken at six thirty and instructed to wash in a very small basin, a guard entering my cell and laying a green set of overalls on the bed. He was a tall rabbit with a slight purple tint to his fur. His eyes seemed friendly enough but his stern voice betrayed a deep mistrust of humans and he shouted at me several times as I washed, almost throwing a bowl of porridge towards me. I left most of it in the bowl, far too nervous to eat despite my hunger. As I dressed in the overalls my old clothes were taken from me, and I was then handcuffed and placed alongside three other prisoners in the back of a darkened railway carriage. I don't recall much of the journey to Florida other than the fact that it was long and torturous. There were no windows in our carriage and after the first few hours, none of us could tell if it was day or night. The constant rocking motion made more than one of us sick and by the time the journey came to an end, we had grave difficulty getting to our feet. My fellow travellers never spoke to me or even amongst themselves. It was almost as if we were all lost in our own private little worlds - each of us awaiting the miracle of a derailing or collision that would set us free. We arrived in Florida without such incident, quickly escorted from the darkness of the carriage into a bright sunlight that hurt our eyes. From there we were briskly brought into a well lit warehouse, receiving several injections from toon doctors before being submitted to full medical tests. Gleaming sunlight poured in from long high windows, the various doctors not even speaking to us as they prodded various joints for reflexes. The particular doctor who ended up examining me was a tall human toon who went by the name of Scratchinsniff. He was balding slightly but still had a decent amount of grey hair, a permanent expression of intense stress on his heavily wrinkled forehead. His eyes lay hidden behind very thick glasses and I couldn't make them out at all. Although we never spoke, he occasionally mumbled as he worked, asking the nurse who helped him for a certain instrument or simply reflecting to himself. I came to ignore him after a while, simply staring towards the ceiling as the world around me seemed to fade away. My mother would have no idea what was happening to me. In fact, I hadn't spoken to her in quite a long time. The phone lines between Ireland and the US had never been fully restored after 1991 and over the last ten years, we had been communicating mostly by writing. But the gap between our correspondences had been growing all the time and it was now almost a year since I had written last. Would I tell her? She would be bound to find out on seeing letters postmarked in a Tasmanian prison. Perhaps I could pretend to her that I was working as a warder... I was distracted in my thoughts by a nudge to my shoulder, looking down to see that two guards were instructing me to head for the door. The medical was over and the open sea awaited me. CHAPTER SIX: THE VOYAGE I won't trouble you with tales of our final view of the Florida coastline disappearing into the misty horizon, nor of the rough seas that plagued us in the North Atlantic that led to constant days of seasickness. Although we were treated fairly well by the toon guards we were still in a constant state of depression and the warm, clear skies that gradually became dull and overcast the closer we came to Europe only seemed to emphasise that fact. The vessel we sailed on was called the Saint Killian, a large paddle steamer that was relatively new at four years. All white paint and brass rails it was, the inner compartments decked out in an almost antique wooden style. The toons seemed to have a great love of quaint technology and in the late nineties they had overseen a great re- emergence of many old modes of transport once thought lost forever. The absence of cars had warranted the return of the horse and carriage to the streets while above our heads, giant multicoloured airships were gradually taking over from jet aeroplanes, making air travel slower perhaps but far more spectacular. Many humans had welcomed this new state of affairs, psychologically finding the old fashioned style a welcome relief from the overtly technical and bland society that humankind had been building. The morning of the fifth day appeared at first to be just like the four that had preceded it, up at six, inspection on deck at six thirty followed by several hours of work in the cargo holds. It was only after ten minutes on deck that I noticed that something was different - there was a misty coastline in the distance. I squinted my eyes, grasping a hold of the nearest brass rail as I attempted to focus in on the contours of the land. My overalls weren't much help against the breeze and I had to shift slightly in my position until my back was taking the brunt of the chill. I could just about make out a couple of small cottages in the distance, a red painted boat in a deep blue bay. "Thinking of jumping over the side mate?" I looked up towards the deck above, to where a yellow dingo smiled as the breeze brushed his neatly trimmed fur. He was gripping the rail with both paws, large saucerplate eyes fixed directly on me. He wasn't one of the guards, just a representative from the Tasmanian prison colony who was getting a lift back home on the ship. The other prisoners and myself had seen him wandering the decks a lot during the past few days, more kindly than the guards perhaps but still someone to be avoided if at all possible. "Jump over the side?" I replied with a frown. "I've no intentions of resorting to suicide if that's what your implying." "Ain't that your homeland Brennan? Southern Irish coast that is." I glanced back towards the distant green hills, shivering slightly in the breeze. "Yes," I finally muttered. "I suppose it is." "Too far for you to swim eh?" "I don't know how to swim," I whispered. "That's too bad," he replied. "Cos if you did I could always pretend I saw nothing you know. A lot of guys decide to jump the rail on these long haul slogs. You'd just go down as another suicide - no investigation or nothing. Have to do it now though mate because we ain't going to be getting any closer." "I couldn't swim that far even if I wanted to. It must be more than three miles." "Ah well, don't say I didn't try and help you out mate." I didn't reply and after a few seconds he slowly walked away. But deep inside, I suddenly felt a lot better. Although there were fifteen of us sleeping in the lower decks, the only other prisoner I regularly spoke to was a well built man called Stanford. He had been heavily involved in an anti toon movement based in Southern California, supplying them with the premises to design and print propaganda leaflets. He had no regrets for his actions as he hated toons with a vengeance, becoming quite disgusted with me when I told him that I had never actually carried out the assault of which I had been accused. Before that he had looked at me with what seemed to be respect, thinking he had at last found someone he could identify with. Now he simply considered me to be the lowest form of life. "You a toonduster?" he hissed late on the evening after my encounter with the dingo. The lower decks were cold, creaking slightly as the ship churned it's way through a choppy sea. Above us, the hanging lantern which served as our only light source rocked gently in motion with the waves, casting our blackened shadows high and low. Most of the prisoners were already sleeping in their bunks, only Stanford and myself still awake. I didn't reply to his insult, simply resting my head against a wooden beam and closing my eyes. I was certainly wary of Stanford, anyone in their right mind would be, but since my life had seemingly reached a very low ebb at present I didn't particularly care if he attacked me or not. "Why do you hate toons so much?" I asked after a long silence. "You loose family during the war?" "Toons are invaders on our world," he replied savagely. "Unwanted and uninvited. They're nothing but filthy vermin." "What have they ever done on you?" He laughed out loud, expression suddenly becoming stern as he slammed his fist down powerfully against the floor. "I'll tell you what they've done!" he bellowed. "About twenty years ago I was sitting at home waiting for my parents to get back from a party they'd spent most of the night at. I sat there waiting... hour after hour but still no sign. Finally some cops came to the house and told me that my parents were dead - the bus they'd been on had crashed after hitting a fence by the side of the freeway. Eight people had been killed instantly. You want to know the worst part?" I knew what was coming. "There was a toon squirrel on the bus that night and she wasn't even scratched. Why did she live and my parents die? You tell me that!" He slammed his fist against the floor for a second time, forcefully enough for me to feel the vibration. "They don't obey the rules of nature," he continued. "They're not right... they shouldn't be here. They don't belong!" "They're just a part of the world," I replied. "Just because we don't understand them doesn't make them evil." "It's people like you who got us where we are today," he muttered. "I bet you never even lifted a finger during the war." I didn't reply. "I thought so. I know your sort - stupid toonduster." I closed my eyes once again and tilted my head to one side. People with a deeply ingrained hatred like Stanford couldn't be reasoned with no matter how hard one tried. "I'll tell you something else," he said after a few moments. "They ain't dragging me all the way to Tasmania. As soon as we dock in La Baule tomorrow I'm making a break for it." "They'll have guards all over the deck," I replied. "You won't get far." "Then I'll die," he expressed. "I'd rather be dead than give them the satisfaction of locking me up for the next five years." "You do that and do us all a favour," I muttered under my breath. I heard him move around violently and for a brief second I feared that he'd heard me. But he was just taking out his inner rage on the support post behind him, smashing his hand against the hard wooden surface until a small trickle of blood appeared. The sturdy door tilted open slightly, the head of a large duck gazing inward with round eyes glowing brightly in the dimness. He glanced directly towards Stanford, saying nothing but the eyes telling all. Stanford simply stared back with eyes aflame with rage, eventually turning away and burying his head in his pillow. A few more seconds passed before the guard withdrew his head and the door clicked shut. I had a strange dream that night. I was in some sort of large cavern, fully illuminated despite the fact that there was no daylight or openings to be seen. On the stony walls to either side of me there hung several painted portraits of toons, some of them dressed in the clothing of times long past. Rabbits, ducks, skunks - both male and female. Here and there were small tables covered in metallic trinkets, a large globe with the continents in the wrong positions. And then, as I scanned my environment I saw a flutter of movement from up ahead, the flash of exotic colours from a long, feathered tail. There was someone standing before me now, a toon of about four feet in height. He was well dressed in a black suit and bow tie, light gleaming from large green eyes. I couldn't tell what species he was as he was quite unlike any other toon I'd ever seen before. He didn't seem to be a bird yet he had multicoloured feathers both on his tail and on the crest above his head. He seemed more like a mammal, the visible parts of his body covered in light brown fur and with a head vaguely like that of a skunk but at the same time different - hard to describe. I stared at him and he stared at me, neither of us saying a word. Then, quite slowly, he raised his right paw towards me. "Stanford was right you know," he smiled. "The world was never supposed to be like this. We were never supposed to be here." Then he melted into enveloping darkness. I stood in silence for a few brief moments, wondering where he had gone. And then, like an old movie, I began to see jerky images before me. A short, moustached man standing before a huge crowd and shouting in a language which sounded like German. Behind him was a large insignia, a bizarre looking black cross that looked oddly crooked. Before I had a chance to see anything else his image melted away, replaced with that of a giant explosion that was shaped like a mushroom, oriental style buildings collapsing before a mighty shockwave. It too faded, replaced with an image of a helmeted figure standing in what appeared to be a grey desert, a bright blue sphere hanging in the sky that looked oddly like a globe of the Earth. The surface of the moon? A war in a dark jungle, helicopters screaming across a cloud streaked sky. A man who looked like an elderly version of the movie star Ronald Reagan standing outside the White House. Bizarre flying machines hovering in the atmosphere above the Earth itself. A crumbling wall... My eyes flickered open to the creaking of the cabin, very low sunlight emanating from the crack below the door. Stanford snored loudly in the next bunk, a cold chill in the air. I was briefly disorientated, blinking a few times as the memories of the dream became hazy. Then I closed my eyes again. It wouldn't be long now until the arrival in La Baule. The dawn sky was cold but clear, a crisp chill in the air as we were assembled on the wooden deck for a rolecall. "Niven, Stewart, Welles, Grant, Brennan..." A well built bulldog read out our names without any emotion, not even looking towards us with his tiny red eyes. Like ourselves, it was clear that he was bored with the monotonous routine. We all raised our hands at the mention of our names, simply repeating the same motions we had made every morning for the past week. But there was something quite different on this particular morning. For beyond the ship's rail lay not open sea but a vibrant, thriving stretch of docklands. There were several large warehouses directly before us, a group of young skunks gathered on a jetty and looking gleefully at the ship. Behind them, a steam train was slowly emerging from an open siding, tooting once as it pulled several freight carriages behind it. Above our heads, seagulls wheeled and cried in the windy sky, a large airship moving slowly across the light blue vastness. In the distance lay some tall buildings, the upper part of a large statue visible just in front of them. Based on the distinctive striped patterns of the head it was clear that it was a depiction of Jean Le Neuf. Le Neuf was fully responsible for the modern Empire that was France. He had been the first Emperor, beginning his reign in late 1993 and overseeing the redevelopment of Western Europe as a mainly skunk dominated territory. In many ways he had also been responsible for bringing Europe out of the anarchy it had been plunged into during the war and for that he had become a highly respected public figure, not only by the toons but by the millions of humans he had ultimately saved from starvation and misery. But the stress had been far too much for him and in late 1999 he abdicated, replaced by his own personal choice of Pepe Le Pew, a toon who ultimately turned out to be a far more media friendly individual. No one was exactly sure why there were so many skunks in France and their presence in vast numbers there had been the subject of much speculation and fierce debate. There were skunks in most countries of course, but the sheer number of them in France was simply staggering. Indeed, as I gazed out across the docklands, I could only see a few toons that weren't skunks. There was a poodle hidden amongst the group of watching kids and an aardvark in a blue uniform pointing a camera towards the ship. Other that that it was striped tails aplenty. I was distracted from my thoughts by the arrival on deck of a large Warthog, a five foot high individual with massive tusks and very dark eyes. We all knew him well despite only having seen him once before. His name was Wilmix and he was the captain of the guards. "We shall be docked here for the next nine hours," he snorted. "During this time you will be expected to help out with the unloading of cargo." He glanced sternly at Stanford, tusks gleaming in the daylight. "You will all be on your best behaviour!" he shouted. "Any insubordination will be dealt with in the usual manner - full retraction of privileges and isolation for the remainder of the voyage. Is that understood?" There came a murmured answer from my fellow prisoners, all of them seemingly grateful for the chance to do something to break the monotonous routine. All except Stanford that was. He simply grinned, taking one step towards Wilmix. "Do you have a problem?" snarled the Warthog. "Yes," replied Stanford. "The problem is you." Suddenly Stanford removed a long thin object from inside his overalls, a couple of seconds passing before I realised what it was. One of the guard's batons, a gleaming razor blade attached crudely to the end of it. Just how he had managed to obtain the blade and baton I'd no idea but even as I saw him produce it, I realised that such a weapon would be useless against a toon. A toon couldn't be injured by a blade no matter how sharp it was. But much to my surprise he quickly grabbed a hold of the prisoner next to him, a guy called Gary Niven, and held the blade to the shaking man's neck as he stated his demands. "Want a death on your watch Pig?" he snarled. Wilmix glanced towards his guards, as if unsure what to do. "Either you drop me off here or this man dies," continued Stanford. "It's your call Wilmix." The Warthog snarled, taking one step forward and focusing his tiny eyes directly on Stanford. There was already a small cut on Niven's neck, the young guy looking at the toon guards with a pleading expression. "Listen to me human," said Wilmix in a low tone. "You kill your fellow prisoner and you won't be coming home from Tasmania. You'll have a murder charge added to your crimes." I stepped backwards until my hands were resting against the ship's rail. I gripped the cold brass tightly, the chill of the breeze against my back. The young skunks on the jetty had fallen silent, all eyes facing the action on deck. I glanced to my left and then to my right. Everyone was watching the action on deck it would seem. The Guards, my fellow prisoners... And then, so suddenly that I even surprised myself, I swung my left leg over the rail. "What are you doing John?" I asked myself. "You'll be caught." I shook my head, knocking all doubts out of place. This would be the only chance I would get. I swung my right leg over the rail, feet now perched on a tiny rim of metal some twenty feet above the water. I released my right hand, a blast of wind chilling my back and tossing my hair. And then, on a sudden impulse I glanced upward. Standing at the rail on the upper deck was the yellow dingo, his eyes staring blankly towards me. To my great surprise he smiled and nodded. "Go for it mate," he grinned. "Might as well." I released my left hand. It took what felt like an eternity to fall twenty feet, the whistling of the wind in my ears abruptly silenced by my impact with freezing cold water. For about five seconds I was completely submerged, hands and legs clanging against the side of the ship. Then with a gasp of air I surfaced, eyes immediately looking upwards to see if I'd been spotted by any of the guards. There was nobody looking down on me, not even the dingo. I kicked against the hull in an effort to propel myself towards the pier. I couldn't swim but the force of the kick was enough to get me about a third of the way. I bobbed up and down aimlessly for the next twenty seconds or so, madly kicking with my legs as I attempted movement. I was finally dragged away from the ship by the force of the current, grabbing hold of a protruding pipe and pulling myself towards the tall stone wall that was the last border between cold sea and dry land. Then, standing up on the pipe, I hauled myself upwards to lie dripping wet on the cold concrete above. After a few moments I glanced back at the ship, just in time to see Wilmix forcefully knock Stanford onto the deck and Niven scurry away holding his neck. I'd have to make a run for it. It wouldn't be long before they realised that someone was missing. Getting to my feet I bolted towards a gap between the two nearest warehouses, noticing as I did so that there were three large skunks staring directly at me. They were all wearing orange hard hats and holding shovels, roadworks lying temporarily relinquished as I caught their attention. Instinctively nodding towards them, I kept on running. To be Continued...