CHAPTER 1

"Any luck with the anti-gravity field, Sparg?"

"I'm afraid not, Zarkos. I cannot get it to functioneffectively. We will have to land somewhere in order to carryout the necessary repairs."

"Are there any inhabited planets nearby?"

"Why? Do you want to buy one?" asked Sparg.

"Could we spare the humour for a more relaxingmoment?"

"Seeing as you insist," said Sparg as he exited the `CheapPlanets' catalogue on his Galaxy-wide web.

"Good. What can you tell me about our immediateoptions?" queried Zarkos as he eyed the increasinglyerratic signals being emitted from the malfunctioning fieldactivation, pulsator unit.

"I was never very impressed with this version of theQuark-up-down-GT although it did have a lot of charm—upuntil now, that is. I have much more faith in the HadronInterstellar Automatic," said Sparg.

Zarkos was too busy to absorb Sparg's personalpreferences when it came to the choice of interplanetaryspacecraft. Priority number one was, after all, to findsomewhere to land—with no functional landing gear, anadded bonus to having the anti-gravity field malfunction.

"We can try Earth. It is within range and its inhabitantsare to our knowledge non-hostile and their technology isfairly advanced. With a little luck, we may even gain someassistance in our plight," said Sparg.

"Well, in that case, the best we can do is turn off the maingyro-thrusters and aim for your chosen planet. Once withinits atmosphere we can head for the nearest source of waterthat is in close proximity to the resources that we will require.We will need to hope for a gentle belly-flop not too farfrom the edge. We cannot chance landing on solid groundnow that the anti-gravity field has lost its full functionality;this craft will never survive the impact," said Zarkos, "not tomention the import tax!"

[chuckle]

"And not too deep either. If we are stuck there for anylength of time, we will need to replenish our oxygen supplyby sending up the enviroprobe. Mind you, I don't think thattheir atmosphere will really notice a wee siphoning off of itsprecious gases," said Sparg.

Although time was effectively everywhere, it was noton their side. They fed the data into their computer. Therewere six sets of co-ordinates that had come up on theirscreen suggesting possible locations within their range for acontrolled, forced landing.

"Choose one quickly!" said Zarkos, "you have twentyseconds."

"Okay. I think that this one looks the safest," said Sparg ashe stretched his long skinny index finger towards the targeton his 'touch screen', just off centre of the main control panel.

True to fate, as his anorexic digit was within a hair'sbreadth of the screen, the craft gave a sudden jolt. Jolts are bynature, sudden, regardless of where you are in the universe.

"Oh no! By Beezonk! I've hit the wrong set of co-ordinatesand the choice is effectively irreversible. There is not enoughtime left to reset the options. We are heading for Pond 51,wherever that is! Hold on guys," said Sparg as the craft leaptinto a new trajectory. "We could be in for a rough landing."

"Does that mean that we have the choice?" asked Zarkos.Nothing rattled this guy. Here he sat nibbling on a grotslichsandwich while their seriously compromised 'flying coffin'hurtled towards this strange, bluish-green planet with itsinterspersed patches of arid brown.

They were already within the stratosphere. Luckily, theirspacecraft was not threatened by excessive heat build-upon entry into the atmosphere as were the far more primitiveEarth versions.

Meanwhile, down below ...

"Where are you, Scott?" shouted Britsie.

"I'm down at the pond," replied Scott.

Scott and Britsie Wright are brother and sister, born oneyear apart and on the same day of the year. They were eachborn with a caul, a fairly unusual finding within one family—Afairly unusual finding, period.

They had both just celebrated their tenth and ninthbirthday respectively. They would have no doubt preferred tocelebrate them irrespectively.

The two were inseparable. He was tall for his ageand slender with wiry legs and arms. Amongst his otherdistinguishable features were ginger hair and grey eyes. Itcould have been worse. He could have been born with greyhair and ginger eyes. As a sign of divine generosity, God hadthrown in a few freckles for good measure. Luckily, most ofthem missed.

She was also slim but had inherited her mother's browneyes, genetically speaking of course, and wore her longblonde hair in a pony tail most of the time.

Their father, Austin, is an aeronautical engineer when notbeing badgered by his attractive wife.

Their mother, Dorothy, is a disgruntledshopper-cum-housewife who has somehow missed theplane to undisputed plutocracy. To add insult to injury, being'born again' did not provide her with a second opportunity.Regardless, they all led a more than comfortable existence intheir more than comfortable home.

"Suppertime!" commanded the self-proclaimed, yetmediocre, master of their cozy, downstairs kitchen.

"Coming!" shouted Scott.

"Any idea what we are in for tonight?" giggled Britsie.

Just then they were overcome by a loud 'electrical type'crackle in the air, followed by a huge, widening plume ofwater spraying upwards and outwards from the pond likea gigantic, liquid golf tee directly ahead of them. This wasfollowed by an instant wall of water at ground level thatflooded the entire area where they stood with considerableforce. Within seconds they were both washed all the way upthe embankment and onto the lawn directly in front of thehouse.

"Gesundheit!" shouted Britsie.

"Wow! What was that?!" said Scott as the water recededdown the slope and back into the pond. They clamberedquickly to their feet.

"Whatever it was, mum is not going to believe us," saidBritsie. "Oh no! We are soaking wet. Are you okay?"

"I think so. Nothing's obviously broken," said Scott as hefished out a few pieces of water weed and a confused carpfrom inside his sagging jersey.

"I guess that it is time then, to face the music," sighedBritsie as she shook out the last of the water from her shoeswhile Scott prepared to return the gasping filter-feeder to itsnatural habitat.

Sure enough, just then the resident matriarch migratedout onto the porch displaying that familiar 'posture with apurpose' ...

"I am not going to call you again. Your supper is r ...Good grief! Look at the two of you. Catching frogs again Isuppose. Well? Who pushed who in this time?"

They had both learned by now that the best thing wasto plead ignorance and practice their sweetest, apologeticsmile.

"Well, I give up," said their mother with a long-sufferingsigh.

They were, after all, a close-knit family and love was notlacking within their home.

Trying hard to hide a smile whilst remembering her ownyouth she said, "Get yourselves into the shower and put onsome dry clothes. I shall put your supper in the oven to keepwarm ... Look at me when I am talking to you." She got thislast bit from a religious book that she had just read called'How to grab your child's attention, for Christ's sake'.

This was all very easy for her to say. In fact, they found itextremely difficult, considering what they had just witnessed,to remove their gaze from the pond for even one politesecond.

There was also no point in trying to tell her what they hadrecently witnessed and how they had managed to become sosoaking...