Lurk eased back on the throttle of the hover truck and brought the vehicle to a halt. It settled none too gently onto the sand.
"Why are we stopping, sir?" asked Seepy Weepy.
"Did you hear that?" asked Lurk. He stood up in the hover truck's open cab and looked around. His blond hair had a ruffled, heroic look to it. Unfortunately the effect was somewhat spoiled by the pink pyjamas he was wearing. The novelty fluffy ewok slippers on his feet didn't help much either.
"Hear what?" asked Seepy.
"I thought I heard something over the engine. A rumble, like distant..." Lurk trailed off. The word he was looking for was 'thunder', but Ratatouille had so little moisture in its atmosphere that electrical storms were virtually unheard of; the only one Lurk had ever experienced had been when he was three years old, and he didn't actually remember it. Uncle Rowan may have mentioned thunder once, but Lurk didn't remember that either.
"Like distant thunder?" asked Seepy. "Like a distant explosion? A long low rumble that you feel in your chest more than you hear it, that sounds as though something a long way off has exploded, and the sound has been expanding across the desert for several minutes?"
"Yes," said Lurk excitedly. "Exactly like that."
"Sorry," said Seepy. "I didn't hear a thing."
"Oh," said Lurk, and then, "There..." He pointed back almost the way they had come. Seepy Weepy turned and looked at the dark cloud of smoke which billowed slowly into the air and caught the rays of the morning suns.
"It looks," said Seepy slowly, "as though something a long way off has exploded."
"That must be what we heard," said Lurk. "I mean, it must be what I heard but you didn't. Hear, that is."
"Well, thank you for explaining that mystery," said Seepy.
"You're welcome," said Lurk. He was completely immune to sarcasm by virtue of not understanding it.
He studied the smoke for a while. "We should investigate that, but there's no time. We have to find Arty Farty, if she's still in one piece. I'm sure we'll find out what happened when we get back." Lurk turned, and sat back in the driver's seat. "It's funny," he mused as he restarted the truck's grumbling old engine. "It's probably some old piece of space junk or something. They tend to fall to ground occasionally. A thing like that could sit in the sand undetected for a thousand years, but send up a puff of smoke, and within a day, half the planet will know all about it."
"I see," said Seepy Weepy.
The hover truck lurched drunkenly for a moment, then lifted into the air and began to move forward.
"I mean," continued Lurk as he guided the ungainly vehicle across the flat sandy plain, "if you wanted something to disappear on this planet, all you would have to do is put it out in the sand. After a day it would be buried, and even if it did resurface sometime in the next hundred years it would be scoured clean and probably unrecognisable, thanks to erosion. But you blow it up, say, and every native for a hundred miles will come running to investigate."
Seepy Weepy nodded.
"If you wanted to hide something, blowing it up is the worst thing you could do," continued Lurk.
"Yes sir," said Seepy. "Uh, sir, I think everybody gets the point, sir."
"Everybody?" Lurk frowned in confusion. "I don't know what you mean. I'm just making idle conversation, letting my imagination roam."
"Yes sir," agreed Seepy. "Of course you are."
"I wasn't even trying to make a point. After all," he gestured around the cab, "there's no point. There's just the two of us here."
"Quite right, sir," agreed Seepy.
Lurk settled into silence for a moment. He was about to add something when the beep of the truck's proximity sensor interrupted him. He tapped the display, and it beeped again.
"There she is," he said.
Under normal circumstances, the proximity sensor of the truck would beep if there were a solid object within thirty feet of the truck's bumpers. Between the two of them, Lurk and Seepy had reconfigured it to detect an electronic signature up to five miles away. Since they had started out, sometime before dawn, they had already collided with three large boulders which had not managed to get out of their way in time. Lurk hoped they would be able to get the sensor reset to its old configuration before Uncle Rowan found out.
He gunned the engine, and the heavy truck began to shudder alarmingly as it slowly, slowly accelerated.
Up ahead, the terrain was studded with a confusing jumble of large spikes of rock, jutting from the sand at odd angles. The reading appeared to be coming from somewhere within that rocky formation. Lurk slowed as they approached the outcrop, and finally brought the truck to a shuddering halt beside a towering spire of granite.
"We'll have to go in on foot to look around," he said. "We'll never get the truck in there." He shut the engine off, engaged the steering lock, and clambered out of the cab. Seepy attempted to follow suit, caught his foot on something, and tumbled over the side of the truck to the ground with a loud crash.
"Seepy! Seepy! Are you okay?" Lurk ran around to where the translator 'bot lay in the sand, and helped him sit up.
"I'm done for, Sir," groaned Seepy. "Doomed. You go on, leave me."
"Uh, right," said Lurk. "Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit? I mean, I'm hardly likely to leave you. For one thing, you're right beside my only means of transport out of here. And look at you. You're barely scratched."
"Oh," said Seepy. He looked around. "So I am. Sorry sir, the fall must have damaged one of my emotion emulator circuits." He blinked. "I've shut down the faulty circuit, sir. Now, if you'll give me a hand..."
Lurk helped haul the 'bot to his feet.
"Will you be okay now?"
"Yes thank you, sir. Just a minor glitch, nothing to worry about."
"Right. Well. Let's go find Arty," Lurk suggested.
"Arty," called Lurk. "Arty Farty! Where are you?"
"Arty, please talk to me," called Seepy.
They had been wandering amongst the rocks for several minutes now, shouting the name of the missing 'bot, but so far they had seen no sign of her. There had been no whistled or beeped reply to their cries. The sand here was packed too hard to show any tracks.
"Arty Farty," called Lurk.
"Arty..." Seepy tried again. He stopped. "Uh, sir, are we sure she is here?"
"Well, yes," said Lurk. "Of course we're sure," he added uncertainly.
"Only I'm fairly certain we've covered all the ground in here," said Seepy.
"Well, maybe..." Lurk stopped as a strange, grunting wail echoed around them.
"Um," said Seepy. "What was that?"
"Come on," said Lurk. "Let's find out."
"I'd really rather not," said Seepy, but he followed Lurk up a shallow slope of rock to a good vantage point at the top.
Lurk lay down and lifted his binoculars to his eyes. He swept his gaze back and forth, until finally he saw something large and hairy standing just beyond the rocks.
"I thought so," he said triumphantly. "It's the desert dwellers. Local villagers. They ride around the desert on those hephelumps; you can see from the bridle and the huge ornate saddle that it's not just a wandering wild hephelump. But I wonder where its rider is?"
"Um, sir..." began Seepy.
"Just a moment, Seepy," said Lurk. "I'm trying to find the hephelump's rider." He scanned the binoculars back and forth.
"Sir, I think..."
"Quiet, Seepy. We need to know where the desert dweller has gone. They can be dangerous and unpredictable."
"But sir, Master Lurk sir, I really think..."
"Seepy," said Lurk flatly.
"Yes, sir?" asked Seepy.
"He's standing right behind me, isn't he, Seepy?"
"Yes, sir," said Seepy. "I'm afraid so, sir."
"Crap, crap, crap," said Lurk. He rolled over onto his back and raised one arm defensively over his face to ward off the coming blow. He stared wildly at the strange, robed, dishevelled figure that towered above him, silhouetted against the suns.
"Hello Lurk," said the strange creature.
"Um," said Lurk.
"Don't worry, you're in no danger," said the creature.
"Um," said Lurk again. "You're not the desert dweller," he ventured.
"No, I'm not," agreed the creature. "She is down there somewhere, tending to her hephelump."
"Um," repeated Lurk. "How do you know my name?"
"Because I've been watching you grow up for years, my boy. I'm Bent K'nobby."
"Bent?"
"Come on, we don't have long. Where there is one desert dweller there may well be more, and they often come in here to wait out the noon heat." K'nobby cocked his head. "And we should get out of the heat ourselves."
"Okay," said Lurk. He sat up. "But we need to find our missing 'bot first, before the desert dwellers do."
"Um, this one?" said Bent K'nobby, indicating Seepy Weepy.
"No," said Lurk, "we're looking for a small blue astrobot."
"Well then, your search is over," said K'nobby. "I've got that back at my place..."
Bent K'nobby lived in a small dwelling beneath one of the large rocks, its entrance camouflaged perfectly. As Arty Farty and Seepy Weepy greeted each other excitedly, Lurk settled into a softly cushioned seat. K'nobby sat opposite him, and leaned back in his chair. As they talked, the old man idly puffed on a small, smouldering pipe. Its herbal scent drifted through the room.
"So tell me, young Splitwhisker, what are you doing out here." He folded his arms, slipping his hands inside the sleeves of his dusty brown cloak. "The Jumbled Wastes are not to be travelled lightly."
"I told you," said Lurk, "we were out looking for our 'bot. She, uh, ran away last night." Lurk glared across the room at the stubby trouble-maker. "Actually, she seems to be looking for somebody named 'Obeah Bum K'nobby.' I thought, perhaps, he might be a relation of yours?"
"'Obeah Bum K'nobby'? Now there's a name I've not heard since, well, a long time ago."
"In a galaxy far, far away?" asked Lurk with an inane grin.
"What? No," said Bent. "What are you talking about?" He had a strange expression on his face.
Lurk sighed. "Sorry, nothing. It just seemed to fit, somehow."
"I see," said the old man. He stroked his thin, wiry beard thoughtfully. He seemed to be staring straight through Lurk, as though remembering distant events. Smoke from his pipe curled lazily in the air in front of his eyes.
"Um," said Lurk, feeling a little uncomfortable. He suddenly remembered what his aunt had said about K'nobby having a liking for young boys, and he wondered whether it had been wise to accept the invitation of a crazy old man who, by his own admission, had been spying on Lurk for years. He cleared his throat.
Bent snapped back to the present. "Where were we?" he mused. "Oh yes. Yes."
"Pardon?" asked Lurk, with the politeness one was supposed to extend to the infirm of mind.
"Yes," said Bent. "I know 'Obeah Bum K'nobby'. He's me. Or rather, I used to be him. I haven't gone by that name since, oh, about a week after you were born. Although, strictly speaking, 'Obeah' is more of a title than a name."
"Oh." Lurk thought about this for a while. "So, uh, why did you change your name?"
"Let's just say I was trying to avoid any Imperial entanglements," said the old man evasively.
"Oh," said Lurk again. On the run from the law? Likes little boys... It occurred to Lurk that this line of questioning could rapidly become dangerous if the old man was, as seemed to be the case, hiding out on some back-woods planet because he was on the Imperium's "Ten Most Wanted" list for molesting the child of somebody important.
Lurk hurriedly changed the subject. It might not be wise to let Bent know that he suspected the truth.
"So the 'bot is yours?" he asked.
"Well, I don't seem to recall ever owning a 'bot before," said the old man. He stood up and stepped over to where Arty and Seepy were whispering quietly to each other in the corner. Seepy Weepy looked up guiltily, or rather, as guiltily as it was possible for a 'bot with a permanently frozen expression of surprise on his face to look.
"However," continued Bent K'nobby, "these 'bots do seem vaguely familiar. I remember a couple of 'bots just like these from the days of the Clown Wars. But if these 'bots are those 'bots, and those 'bots are here looking for me, then it means troubled times are upon us. And if those 'bots came here via you, it can only mean one thing..." He stopped and drew deeply on the pipe, then puffed clouds of aromatic smoke into the room.
Lurk frowned. "Troubled times? That would explain why she was asking for..." He gasped. "The message," he exclaimed. "There's a message. The astrobot is carrying a message. For you," he added as an afterthought.
Right on cue, Arty Farty began to project the holographic message, and the lovely semi-transparent lady in the lovely semi-transparent white gown shimmered into existence on the floor between Lurk and Bent.
"I seem to have found it," said Bent.
"General K'nobby," said the projection, "I am Princess Labia Orgasma of Alderbark. I am sorry that I could not deliver this message to you in person, but I am afraid that by the time you see this I will be a prisoner of the Imperium. Even now an Imperial Planetary Dominator is attacking my ship, and we cannot hold out much longer. My father, Balls Orgasma, sent me to ask you to join forces with him as you did during the Clown Wars; we desperately need your help in the struggle against the Imperium—and on a personal note, it would be quite nice if you found time to come and rescue me, too." She smiled prettily.
"I have placed data critical to our success in the memory of this 'bot; please see that it is delivered safely to my father, on Alderbark. Of course, it is data that was transmitted directly to me while I was en route to you. If I had had the data before I left home, I could have just given it to Daddy then! The data, that is. Help me, Obeah Bum K'nobby. You are my only hope!" She glanced back over her shoulder as though she had heard a noise, then leaned down and reached out towards something in front of her.
"Now how do you turn this thing off?" she muttered, moments before shimmering out of existence.
"Hmm," said Bent as he stroked his beard some more. "This is a pretty pickle. Lurk, you must learn the ways of the Source if you are to come with me to Alderbark."
"Come with you to Alderbark?" squealed Lurk. Suddenly the adventure and excitement he dreamed of seemed to be drawing dangerously close, and he was no longer sure it looked as appealing as it had when it was safely inaccessible. "I don't know what's in that pipe of yours, old man, but you're crazy if you think I'm going to Alderbark. I've got to get home." He pointed out the small window in the wall beside Bent's head; outside the sky was beginning to grow dark as the suns sank towards the horizon. "I mean, look, it's getting past my bedtime. I'm already in deep shit as it is! Besides, it's coming up for harvest time, and my uncle needs me."
"That's him talking, not you. Rowan is a good farmer, but he was always scared you would run off on some damn fool mission."
"If it's a damn fool mission," retorted Lurk, "why in Hell's Handbasket would I be interested?"
"Fortune and glory, kid," said Bent. "Fortune and glory." Something looking very much like a shooting star streaked across the darkening sky outside; neither of them noticed.
Fortune and glory. Adventure and excitement. Lurk felt trapped. This moment, right now, could be the turning point in his life. He could follow this crazy old Obeah Bum K'nobby on his mission of rebellion, or he could resign himself to the lonely life of a moisture farmer, stuck on this desolate pit of a planet until he died.
"Besides," said Bent K'nobby, "you can't leave yet. I want to give you something." An excited gleam lit his piercing blue eyes.
"Uh," said Lurk dumbly; he felt his bottom clenching in panic as he remembered his aunt's warning. Suddenly moisture farming looked mighty attractive!
"Stand up," said Bent as he moved towards Lurk. "I need to get in behind you."
Lurk pressed his feet hard against the floor as he tried to squirm backwards through the wall. Unfortunately his fluffy ewok slippers didn't have much grip to speak of, and his feet skidded out from under him.
"Come on," said Bent impatiently, "this won't take more than a minute."
"You stay away from me, you crazy old poof!" yelled Lurk in desperation, waving his arms frantically in the air before him. "My Aunty told me all about you!"
Bent's jaw dropped. His pipe fell from his slack mouth and clattered onto the floor. His lips trembled, and the look of hurt in his eyes was undeniable as he stared at Lurk.
Lurk had the horrible feeling that he had just made an awful mistake.
Bent staggered backwards a couple of steps, one arm groping around in the air behind him, and then he sank wearily into the chair opposite Lurk. He closed his eyes, and the youngster saw light reflect dimly from a drop of moisture on the old man's wrinkled cheek before he raised his arm and wiped his grubby brown sleeve across his face.
"I'm sorry," said Lurk. He felt wretched. "I didn't mean to..." No, that was a silly thing to say. "What I mean is, I didn't... I just thought... Aunt Beryl said that..."
"It's okay," mumbled Bent. "I know what some of the locals say about me. I thought you would be different, but how could you know any better?" He sighed.
"I really am sorry," said Lurk. "I'm just... Everything is happening so fast, and I'm just all confused, and I don't know what I'm saying any more. Please forgive me."
"Sure," mumbled Bent, with just a hint of a quiver in his voice. "Well, it is getting late; you should probably go home now before your aunt and uncle get worried."
"Maybe," said Lurk. After the misunderstanding, he didn't want to just leave. Besides, he told himself, what about the girl? The Princess! Somebody has to rescue her! "What, uh, what were you going to show me?"
"Does it matter?" asked Bent. "You can always come back next week, if you like."
Lurk had a strange feeling, almost a premonition, that if he left now, he would never see the old hermit again.
"No, really," he said. "I'd like to see it, if you still want to show it to me. Really I would. And I really am most dreadfully sorry. Honestly I am!"
"Well, okay," Bent sighed. He closed his eyes again, took several deep breaths, and Lurk could see his old body straightening as he pushed his negative emotions away. When he opened his eyes again, he met Lurk's gaze unflinchingly. It was Lurk who looked away first, racked by guilt.
"It's in that chair," said Bent, pointing towards Lurk's seat with a gnarled old finger. "The cushion lifts up."
Lurk stood, turned around, and leaned forward to grasp the cushion. As he did so, the treacherous part of his mind pointed out that he was now in exactly the position that he had so dreaded three minutes earlier. Shut up, he told himself, but still he lifted the cushion with some haste and looked at the object which lay inside.
It was a torch.
He reached in and lifted it out, then replaced the seat cushion and turned to face Bent. The old man had not moved.
"It's a torch," said Lurk as he toggled the switch.
A dazzling beam of blue light stabbed out of the device and punched a round hole neatly in the ceiling. Lurk yelped and dropped the device; as it fell it automatically returned to the 'off' position, and the silver cylinder clattered onto the floor beside Bent's pipe. A trickle of purple sand fell through the hole. Lurk stumbled back and fell heavily into his chair.
"It's, uh, not a torch?" he ventured.
"It is your father's light rapier," explained Bent. "He would have wanted you to have it. Go on, pick it up. Give it a try."
"You knew my father?" asked Lurk as he leaned forward and gingerly retrieved the fallen rapier.
"Oh yes," said Bent. "Mannequin and I fought side-by-side in the Clown Wars. Your father was an incredible pilot, and a good friend."
Lurk frowned, confused. "A pilot in the Clown Wars? No, that's not right. My father was a murdering psychopathic good-for-nothing scumbag!"
Bent nodded. "That is what your uncle wanted you to believe. He didn't want you following in your father's footsteps. Perhaps, from his point of view, it is true."
"From his point of view?" asked Lurk incredulously.
"You will find, Lurk," said Bent, "that most of the truths to which we cling depend greatly upon our own point of view."
"I guess that makes sense," said Lurk. "So what is the truth from your point of view?"
"A young Jubbly Knight named Barth Vapour, who was a student of mine until he was seduced by the Hard Side of the Source, helped the Imperator hunt down and destroy the Jubblies. As a Stiff Lord, he betrayed and murdered your father."
"I see," said Lurk. "I don't understand some of the terms you're using, but let's see if I've got this straight. What really happened was that my father became this Barth Vapour dude and went on a rampage, at which point you ceased considering him to be your friend Mannequin Splitwhisker?"
"Well, uh..." Bent K'nobby looked down at the floor for a while. His pipe lay there, smouldering. "That about sums it up," he said at last.
"And so my father, this Barth Vapour, is actually still alive?"
"Yes, as far as I know," said Bent. "I actually did think he had died when... Well, before you were born, anyway. But it seems he survived his, uh, accident. Barely. He is more machine than man, now." A haunted expression flitted across Bent's face.
"Cool!" said Lurk. "Tell me more. Tell me about Jubblies, and the Stiff. And what is the Source? I'll need to learn the ways of the Source if I'm to come with you to Alderbark!"
"Patience, young Splitwhisker," admonished Bent. "If you are coming with me, there is a lot you have to be told, and it is getting late. Much better if we both get a good night's sleep before I attempt to explain the things you will need to know."
Lurk yawned. "I guess you are right," he said. He looked over at the 'bots, but they had both long since deactivated themselves out of boredom and they sat motionless in the corner. "One last question, though. One thing I have to know. What happened to my mother?"
"Ah," said Bent. "Your mother loved your father dearly. When he turned to the Hard Side, she lost the will to live. We did our best, but she died in childbirth. We managed to save you and..." Bent broke off.
"And..." prompted Lurk.
"Ask me again sometime," said Bent. "That is a story for another day. We have much to do tomorrow. You will need your sleep."
Lurk yawned again. "Can't argue with that," he said ruefully.
"Come," said Bent as he stood and ducked through a low doorway into another part of the dwelling. "You can bunk with me..."
Lurk froze.
Gay laughter echoed back from down the hallway. "Just a joke, Lurk. The guest bedroom is made up. And I see you're already wearing your pyjamas..."