ROGER'S FABULOUS VOYAGES, PART 1, CHAPTER3. (standard:humor, 1589 words) [3/6] show all parts
Author: Danny Zil	Added: Jun 08 2012	Views/Reads: 2277/1665	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Roger meets Norman Penge, Caretaker of planet Earth.

THREE 

When they landed, Roger readied himself. He removed his smoking-jacket
and brushed down his Fleet Pilot's dark blue jump suit then strode to 
the Exit Bay. 

He could picture the scene outside after they'd received his message.
The full Fleet Command would be there waiting impatiently. The Fleet 
Commander would probably rush up to him as soon as the door opened, in 
which case he'd better adopt a pose. 

Eventually he decided on a ‘leaning against the wall pose' and an
opening line – after all the Commander would probably be desperate for 
news about the Black Cloud. 

He'd pretend it wasn't such a big deal to him, as if he made such
discoveries regularly. He'd ask if Keith had kept those back copies of 
‘Astronomers Weekly' for him. 

“Door opening,” the Computer announced. 

Roger added some nonchalance to his pose. A collage of medals, speeches,
Amanda, being the Hero of Earth and being in bed with Amanda flashed 
across his mind. 

The door slid open. 

“Did Keith keep those back copies of--” 

“Welcome to Greater Albania!” a voice said. 

“...‘Astronomers Weekly' for me? Welcome to where?” 

The small balding man in the cardigan and glasses smiled
understandingly. “Greater Albania,” he repeated. “Your Visa please.” 

The Computer sniggered in the background. “Told you!” it muttered
gleefully. 

“Visa? What Visa? This is Earth!” Roger said indignantly. “Where is
everybody? Where are the top chaps from Fleet Command?” 

“Everybody's gone,” the small man told him. “Something about a Black
Cloud which is going to destroy Earth, I mean Greater Albania. Visa 
please or you can't come in.” 

Roger slumped against the Ship's doorway, his vision of a Hero's Welcome
vanishing quicker than an ice cube on a hot rock. 

“Everybody's gone?” he asked, deflated. “Absolutely everybody?” 

The small man nodded. 

“Why haven't you gone then?” Roger asked him. “Who are you?” 

“Who am I ?” the small balding chap said. “Who am I ?” 

Proudly he drew himself up to his paunchy five feet three inches. A
shaft of sunlight fell on him and for a moment, the shabby cardigan, 
the bottle-bottom glasses and the sparse moustache all disappeared. He 
stood there at attention this citizen of Greater Albania and for just a 
moment with the sunlight falling on him he looked even worse than 
before. Then the sun went behind some clouds and he only looked bad 
again. 

“Who am I?” he repeated. “I'm Norman Penge, citizen and ruler of Greater
Albania and I'm warning you,” he went on, removing his thick glasses 
and cleaning them on his grubby shirt, “I can be a real bastard, a 
tyrant. So watch it,” he warned, myopically addressing a shadow away to 
Roger's right. “Understand?” 

The shadow didn't answer. 

“I'm over here!” Roger shouted, waving and trying to attract his
attention. 


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