Frank Wood vs Robot Monster vs Plan 10 From Outer Space - Chapter Eight

Return

The cloaked figure cut a swathe through the field of crops as it made its way toward the experimental station. It did not appear to notice the panicked secret agent who was retrieving scattered gun parts from the dark and muddy furrows at his feet.

Eventually Wood assembled his pistol and readied himself for action. There was no one, mysterious or otherwise, to be seen. Wood inwardly triangulated the direction in which the figure had been going and knew that it was heading for the one building that had a light on.

Within the laboratory Lillian finished packing up John Furniture’s work into a small black briefcase. She locked it with a key which she placed in a gold locket around her neck. Keith Whicker stood by the door.

“Izzat ev’ryfink naw, Lillian?”
“Yes Keith, John’s life is in here now.” Lillian patted the briefcase gently.

The door flew open. There stood John Furniture in the clothes he was buried in.

“John, you’re alive,” cried Lillian in amazed astonishment, “how can this be?” She was delighted, yet a confused hysteria struck her. John had returned from the grave. Alive. Yet he was somehow different. He was not usually so pale, almost white. His eyes never burned red, not even on a Monday. It was also out of character for John to stand with his arms up, holding his cloak out like demonic wings while snarling like an animal. It could be down to irritation at being buried but something was not right here.

Keith, initially shocked, ejaculated an involuntary “Oo-arr”. Then as recognition dawned he moved to embrace his friend. John Furniture looked down at the hunchbacked west countryman as he approached and brought his arms down to meet him. He picked up Keith and threw him across the laboratory, crashing through the window to the hard concrete three storeys below, cut off in mid “Oo-…”

Lillian screamed in horror as the apparition of Furniture turned her way and advanced inexorably.

Frank Wood vs Robot Monster vs Plan 10 From Outer Space - Chapter Seven

Welrod

Frank Wood pulled up in his silver 1959 Cadillac Cyclone outside the White Horse public house on the outskirts of Harpenden. He popped the domed lid of the car, slid back the door and clambered out. Wood wore a dark blue three button single breasted suit. The trousers were of a fashionable cut and his black suede desert boots were made specially for him by a forward thinking tailor’s off Carnaby Street. A thin black woollen tie adorned his freshly pressed button-collared shirt. His socks were mid-grey and his underwear was hidden from view.

Just down an extremely dark lane that cut through the woods lay the back route to the research station. Instead of checking into a bed and breakfast and beginning the investigation in the morning, his curiosity had been piqued by the ray of light that had shot from the woods towards some indeterminate destination. The wood way would be the way Wood would walk.

Some preparatory map work had informed Wood that the dark lane he stumbled down was bounded on one side by woods and on the other by a field of crops, tested by scientists for the effects of soil acidity, worm-usage and bird beak. The lane went around the field toward Rothamstead. Wood could see in the distance that a light was on in one of the laboratories. Feeling the reassuring shapes of the two components of the Welrod 9mm ‘assassin’s pistol” in the inside pockets of his jacket he resolved to cut across the field.

An indeterminate crop grew waist high as Wood pushed his way through. The night air had a charge about it, of expectation probably but also something electrical. Was it his imagination or was an electronic whining pulse becoming increasingly audible? He was grateful for the light that the full moon gave, illuminating the field almost as if it were day.

What was that? At the edge of the field to Wood’s right someone or some… thing had stepped into the field. It was man-shaped and strode purposefully toward the building Wood was aiming for. He estimated its height to be approximately 6’8” and seemed to be wearing a cloak. Its eyes glowed redly. Wood started fumbling with the parts of his Welrod.

Frank Wood vs Robot Monster vs Plan 10 From Outer Space - Chapter Six

Night

In the woods outside Rothamstead Experimental Station lurked a silver saucer-shaped saucer. Within, Nimrod sat thoughtfully at his bench.

“Well Sheela,” said he, gazing at his comrade’s shapely form as she tended an oscillator, “The first segment of our plan is successful. The scientist that was so close to discovering the secret of solaronite has been eliminated. So close, yet so not.”

“We must not rest upon our laurels” said Sheela, punching up a megatronic nid, “The scientist’s work still exists and may be taken up by others.”

“That is why we must resurrect the scientist in order that he may destroy that work. It’s funny,” mused Nimrod, “His life’s work will be ruined in but a few seconds while he himself is dead.”

“How is that funny?” asked Sheela “It is surely tragic.”

“The opinions of females are of no value.” said Nimrod.

Sheela tweaked a ploon.


Night. The graveyard. Tendrils of mist weaved through the stone monuments to those long dead, converging on the resting place of one but shortly dead. The black woods flared suddenly bright as a long cylinder of crackling light shot forth, striking the grave of John Furniture. The mists swirled expectantly above the spot as small electrical pulses ran across the newly dug soil, gradually dying away.

All grew quiet. All was dark


Leaving Keith Whicker’s Ford Anglia at the back entrance of the experimental station, he with Lillian Cranwell easily evaded the vigilant gaze of the late night security guards, who were stationed at the front entrance. Lillian unlocked the door to their laboratory and the two illicit particle physicists stole in and turned on the lights.

“This is John Furniture’s work”, said Lillian, indicating John Furniture’s work sprawled across his favourite bench. It had not yet been catalogued and cleared away.

“They do be leaving it be. Out of respec’ to a great man” said Keith reverentially. Lillian suspected it had more to do with the quality of the Norwegian cleaners, one of whom was chamois intolerant.

Lillian scanned Furniture’s most recent notes. Could it be? Yes. There was a long formula scrawled in shaky excited pencil. Beneath it was written a large “EUREK”. Beneath that, a pencil with a broken lead. She checked and double checked the formula. There could be no doubt: John Furniture had done that which he had set out to do, discover the secret of a brand new energy source that would solve many of the world’s problems (and cause some for Texas and the Middle East). Limitless power from the extrapolation of energy from the sunlight particles that entered the Earth’s atmosphere. The energy from just one particle would be immense.

“Keith”, began Lillian, “John is indeed a great man. He has made the discovery he had striven so long for. He has solved Man’s energy crisis for all time.”

“Tha’s be good. It do be a shame him dead an’ no mistaking” said Keith, “’If I know he, him’d like to be alive to see this.” Lillian could only agree sadly.

Frank Wood vs Robot Monster vs Plan 10 From Outer Space - Chapter Five

Calcinator

In Ro-City, capital of the Ro-Planet, the Great Hall was packed with the leading ro-men. Upon the Great Stage, the Great Guidance, pre-eminent of all ro-men, thrust forth his thick hairy arm and pressed the big titanium nodule on the Ro-Viewer Control System. An enormous white horn suspended from the ceiling of the Great Hall gave birth to an equally enormous roseate bubble. This floated down a short way but remained far above the ro-throng. The Great Guidance gesticulated forcefully at his audience.

“Ro-men,” he began, his fulsome hollow voice filling the auditorium “what I am about to show you is data gathered from the planet Earth.”

There were hollow murmurings from the audience. The Great Guidance resembled all ro-men in that he had a powerful apelike body, covered in black fur. His head was encased in a metal helmet with an elliptical window to the front, and his face was enshrouded in white bandages as is the custom of the ro-men. The helmet was adorned with a pair of aerials to enhance the already prodigious ro-senses.

“This data was gathered by Ro-Man, our finest ro-man agent.” The Guidance gave a fierce motion and another ro-man, presumably the aforementioned individual, gained the stage.

“Thank you Great One,” he said, turning to the audience of rapt space apes. “I was stationed in a cave on the planet of the hu-mans. I focused the Dream Factor on a small hu-man and extrapolated what would happen should the Ro-Man Empire gain the ability to create the ultimate weapon and use it against those of Earth.”

More excitable murmurings arose which encouraged a frenzy of movement from the ro-man’s fisted arms as he affirmed: “Yes, ro-men, we are nearer to finding the missing element for our Calcinator Ray. That weapon that will make us conquerors of the universe, and the galaxy itself.”

The audience gave itself over to furious triumphant gesticulation, and Ro-Man the ro-man basked in the glory. The Great Guidance stepped in.

“Tell them what the Dream Factor discovered.” He commanded.

“Yes Great One. I entered the mindscape of this sleeping hu-man thus creating an alternate reality that existed only as long as he remained asleep. What you are about to see is a record of what would happen if I had invaded the planet Earth with the Calcinator Ray.”

All helmets turned to the giant bubble as it played out the dream recording in sound and pictures. It showed the ease in which a divided Earth could be conquered by a lone ro-man with the Calcinator Ray, the entire population destroyed except for a handful of people using their knowledge of science to remain undetected and unharmed by the Ray. They were eventually killed by Ro-Man but not before certain complications manifested themselves in the ro-man schedule of conquest.

The recording finished and the pink orb faded away. The ro-man stood thoughtfully, staring at the place the bubble used to be. The Great Guidance coughed.

“Now does anyone have any questions to put to Ro-Man?”

A number of furry arms shot up. The questions were generally about the efficacy of the Calcinator Ray and the resistance of the hu-men but there were others. One wanted to know why at the end of the mission in this extrapolated future, the Great Guidance saw fit to eradicate Ro-Man. Another wondered why Ro-Man had become fixated on the young female hu-man, displaying emotions not fitting for a member of the Ro-Man Empire. Ro-man’s antennae tingled with embarrassment.

“The recording is imperfect. I would not have behaved like that in reality and neither would the Great Guidance have destroyed me.” A quick look at the Great Guidance out of the corner of his faceplate did not inspire confidence.

“I will prove that this recording is flawed when I visit the Earth in reality. For it has been revealed that the element that we need for the precious Calcinator Ray has been discovered by the hu-men.” The assembled ro-men were stunned and Ro-Man was relieved.

“That secret which the hated Space Authority has long guarded from us has been synthesised on the hu-man planet. I will go to Earth and recover this element: solaronite. Then we shall be the only authority in the universe. We, the ro-men.” and he produced his wildest exultant flourish. To one side the Great Guidance rubbed his helmet pensively.
“And you will have two Earth days to do it or you will be destroyed” added the Great Guidance encouragingly.

Frank Wood vs Robot Monster vs Plan 10 From Outer Space - Chapter Four

Tragic

“And so we lay this gentle man to rest. Clothed in the black high collared (lined with red velvet) cloak, that he so loved to wear on cold dark evenings, no matter how many remarks he received from passers-by.”

Lillian Cranwell sniffed noisily as the vicar hurled a clod of earth at the long coffin of John Furniture, deep within the grave. She winced at the hollow thud it made.

“…dust to dust, hallowed be thy name, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen”

Lillian sobbed upon the misshapen hump of Keith Whicker. He had always been an unusually proportioned shoulder to cry on.

“Such beautiful words for such a wonderful man” she called out to the vicar.

“Yeah, thanks. Bye” said the vicar, climbing into his Supercharged Bentley.

In the cloud of exhaust fumes the mourners dispersed, leaving the grave diggers to their sad yet oh so necessary task.

“He was so close, Keith. So close to the pinnacle of his career. Yet he has been cast down like an aged yak from the slippery precipice of blind fate to the granite foothills of eternal doom.” Lillian used to send poems into the Reader’s Digest magazine. They published one once.

Keith Whicker smiled and nodded to Lillian as they left the cemetery. He held her in high regard but did not know what a yak was. He hopped from one short leg to the other as he gesticulated wildly with his long muscular arms.

“But no. If zur John be so close to findin’ ‘is solution, we do be finishin’ it. ‘E be keeping notes Oi’ll be bound. We do follow ‘em, finish ‘em” said Keith. “Like a yak” he added as an afterthought.

Keith Whicker was from Plymouth.

“Can we? Dare we? Can we?” Lillian brightened and looked keenly into Keith’s asymmetric face. “We must,” she cried, “as a tribute to a great man, and as a service to the world in general”

They both danced around laughing, giving loud hoorahs.

Staring at the pair from their car, Furniture’s parents resolved not to let them into the house for refreshments later.

Frank Wood vs Robot Monster vs Plan 10 From Outer Space - Chapter Three

Harpenden

In the dark mist-enshrouded town that is Harpenden, deep within the Hertfordshire countryside, squatted Rothamstead Experimental Station. It was here that John Furniture worked.

“Well John”, said Lillian Cranwell as she packed away her test tubes, “I’m off for the day.”

John stopped adjusting the equipment on the laboratory bench.
“I’ll probably be off myself soon. I just need to run a few more atoms through the particle accelerator.”

Lillian couldn’t help but notice, not for the first time, Furniture’s uncanny resemblance to Christopher Lee.
“Don’t work yourself to death now John. There’s a fog building up outside and the radio said it was going to be extra dark tonight.”

Furniture smiled. Was this more than just the courtesy of a colleague? Was there real concern? Furniture had always admired Lillian Cranwell and now he and she had moved into the same laboratory, he wondered whether it might be time to make his move. But not tonight.

“Don’t worry Lillian, I’ll be extra careful in direct proportion to the darkness of the night.” He indicated his equipment animatedly, his normally deep voice rising several octaves, “I think I’m onto something here. A breakthrough at last. I just need to collect some more sunlight particles to make sure.”

Lillian loved to see Furniture excited with his equipment. At these times he seemed almost boyish, albeit a boy six foot eight inches tall.

Smiling back at Furniture, Lillian said warmly, “Well you won’t be able to collect any more sunlight particles tonight.”
“True. I’ll just test the ones I’ve got here and then I’ll be going home myself.”
He fixed her with an intense stare, “If I’m right. I won’t need to collect any more particles ever again.”

Later that night, John Furniture left the Station with a look of extreme satisfaction on his face. He began to cross the road, was distracted by a strange electronic noise coming from the bushes and run over and killed by a speeding ambulance.

Frank Wood vs Robot Monster vs Plan 10 From Outer Space - Chapter Two

Dictorobitary

Frank Wood sat in his tiny office gazing out of the window at the brown brick wall with the grubby sign Falconberg Mews set halfway up. Wood was an operative in Military Intelligence, Section One. Or MI-One as it was more commonly known. It had the responsibility for code breaking and secret miscellany. In other words, anything the other secret intelligence departments couldn’t or didn’t want to handle. Usually the latter. It was a testament to the secrecy of the organisation that the existence of departments MI5 and MI6 was common knowledge whereas nobody ever considered that of MI-One. Even despite the fact that by numerical logic it must exist.

The telephone rang. It was ABC’s secretary Miss Nadia Smith. ABC wanted him for an important meeting. At last some action!

The name ABC came from the tradition of military intelligence section chiefs being known by their initials. In MI6 the first head, Sir Mansfield Cumming RN, used to sign himself ‘MC’ or ‘C’. Another more recent incumbent, Sir Miles Messervy, called himself ‘M’. Captain Vernon Kell of MI5 was called ‘K’. The head of MI-One was named Algernon Bartlett-Compton – thus ‘ABC’. Whether this tradition came from a desire for added security, impatience while writing one’s signature or embarrassment at having a silly name, was unclear.

Frank Wood entered ABC’s office, closing the heavy oak door behind him. Wood acknowledged the head of Her Majesty’s Secret Services (section one) with a hearty “Good morning”.

“Sit down”, said ABC who then indicated a reel-to-reel tape recorder. “Play the tape”.

Wood sat down, then immediately got up and went to the table by the window where the tape recorder was. Viewing ABC through narrowed eyes Wood pressed “Play”.

“This is a communication from outer space”, ABC said by way of explanation, “Our boffins have fed it through a universal translation device we borrowed from the Americans.”
Wood raised an eyebrow.
“Now, quiet. Listen to the transmission.”
Wood lowered his eyebrow.

Wood focussed his concentration upon the sounds issuing from the tape recorder. There was a lot of fizzing and popping and something that sounded like a penny whistle being stamped on.
“The translation leaves much to be desired”, observed Wood.
“It hasn’t started yet”, said ABC, “Atmospheric conditions in outer space have obscured the beginning.”
Wood opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it and again gave the tape his attention.

Eventually the random space noises coalesced into identifiable speech:
“ – yes that’s it. Turn that dial there. No not that. That’s a knob not a dial. Yes. Excellent”. There was a pause.
“Greetings people of Earth. I am Nimrod, a soldier of a planet in your galaxy. Although others of your race have slain my predecessor I can assure you that I have inherited his tactical genius.”

The voice of Nimrod, when played through the universal translator had been imbued with a pompous, somewhat smug quality. It had also given him an American accent.

“I know you have perfected the dictorobitary, so I am quite certain you can translate my speech. You know, the people of my planet work together for the good of all. Individual rights are not as important as the needs of society as a whole”.

“Sounds like a damn communist to me”, observed ABC.

Nimrod continued,
“This is why I must warn you before I take more drastic action. Your planet is nearly ready to be accepted into the Galactic Brotherhood but unfortunately it lacks certain qualities. The people of Earth are idiots. You are a planet of barbarians. You are really, really stupid. To a man. How can you even think you are as good as we when you still persist in trying to develop the Solaronite?”

“What’s Solaronite?” mused Wood.
ABC hushed him, “Listen.”

“Take a can of your gasoline”, began Nimrod, while Wood winced inwardly at the Americanisation performed by the translation device.
“This can of gasoline is the Sun. Now spread a thin line of the gasoline to a ball representing the Earth and saturate the ball with the gasoline. This gasoline is the light from the Sun. “
Wood began to take notes.
“Now if you light this gasoline saturated ball, that is to say the Earth, the flame will travel from the Earth or ball, along the line of gasoline or sunlight to the Sun or gasoline can. Which will explode. Now here is where the metaphor becomes strained so I won’t bother to continue with it. There will then be a chain reaction that will explode everything that the Sun’s rays touch. Eventually the entire universe will be immolated and life in all its varied forms will be extinguished. When you explode the sunlight here you explode the universe. So I warn you. Cease your childlike meddling with such things or we will destroy you for your own good and the good of the universe. And another thing -”.

The tape ran out and the recorder clicked off. ABC sat back into his great leather chair, fixing Wood with a cold stare.

“So what do you think?”
Wood vigorously crossed out the diagram he had drawn and took a moment to collect his thoughts.
“Why is the only word that isn’t translated the one that means ‘translation device’?”
“I suggest you take that up with the inventors if you’re that interested. Any other observations? To do with the content of the transmission?”
“Well it’s absolute nonsense. Obviously a hoax. How can you explode sunlight? Impossible.”

ABC sat forward and pointed his pipe stem at Wood.
“Ordinarily I would agree with you. If we weren’t working on exactly such a project at this very instant.”

“Ooh” said Wood.
“Yes” said ABC.