h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

The clock strikes one, even if most people are asleep and don't hear it. The raccoons keep prowling, but the squirrels are asleep and dreaming about stealing nuts from Fireman Fred. (You don't think Fireman Fred has nuts in his firehouse? Have you read this stuff?)

Wlad wakes Zbig up, and the two of them go back to Wlad's house and climb into Zbig's pickup. Zbig does the driving, because it's his pickup. Besides, Wlad has never driven a stick shift in his life, if you don't count the time his Georgia cousin let him shift the gears all the way through South Carolina. (His cousin likes to live dangerously.) The pickup turns left onto Fifth Avenue, past the Town Hall and over the hill, in a southerly direction. There's no traffic other than the occasional Nite Pirate – after all, all the stores are closed except for the one they're headed for: ShopTilYouDrop, which in defiance of all logic is open 24 hours a day.

The parking lot is empty except for employee cars and a couple of battered pickups. They enter the garishly-lit ambience of ShopTilYouDrop. The coffee shop, bakery, optician and beauty parlour are closed, their metal barriers down. No employees are visible, save for a lone checkout clerk yawning at her cash register. Wlad and Zbig, who are tall, can glimpse a couple of farmers in bib overalls across the store in the grocery section, looking at canned goods. They grab a shopping cart and head in the direction of the garden section.

'I'd get this stuff from Tractor Supply, but they don't open until eight,' is Zbig's explanation. 'Since I'm here, I might as well get it so I can start work right after milking.'

They hunt down a ShopTilYouDrop employee, recognizing him by his distinctive vest of blue and yellow. They exchange pleasantries, and he helps Zbig locate two 50--pound bags of mulch. He pays, gets a receipt, and arranges to drive around for pickup. While he's doing that, Wlad browses among the captive floral matter. ShopTilYouDrop always has such nice seasonal potted plants with force-bloomed flowers. These provide a supernormal stimulus to the gardening-challenged. Wlad picks out the biggest, gaudiest pot of bright orange chrysanthemums he can find and puts them in his cart. Then he goes past the plastic garden gnomes, resisting their siren call, and picks up a couple of bags of birdseed. His little friends are always hungry.

Zbig points to the mums. 'A romantic gesture?' he asks. Wlad gives him a dirty look, and says nothing, because he refuses to give away the plot.

While they're there, Zbig picks up some yarn for his wife. Wlad says nothing, though privately convinced Mrs Przewalski may have a fit, as her husband is colour-challenged. 'It's on sale,' is his defence. They can't resist grabbing some hot pizza from the warming case near the checkout on their way out. ShopTilYouDrop has got its customers figured out.
They load up the pickup and drive around to the garden department door to retrieve the mulch. 'The wife needs to replant some split bulbs before winter,' is the explanation. They drive back to Wlad's, eating pizza on the way. Zbig drops Wlad off with a cheery wave, and Wlad, a last pizza slice hanging from his mouth, carries his purchases to the side porch. As he does, he startles away a deer that was investigating his apple tree – which, fortunately, has been sprayed with that organic deer repellent patented by a biology professor from Pennsylvania.

'Go away, Bambi,' says Wlad. 'Go eat the parish office petunias.' He thinks that's unfair. He doesn't know whether Bambi likes petunias.

The calendar next to the front desk said that it was some time in April, 1974. Out on the front veranda, Arsenio and Fuller were tossing a ball back and forth. This was strictly forbidden at their grandmother's bed and breakfast in Punxsutawney, but no one was there to stop them.

A phone could be heard ringing in the distance. Suddenly Aunt Aganista abandoned her post at the coffee shop next door and came flying up the front steps. "Get out of the way, boys!" she told them. "Your grandmother's having one of her spells. It's the worst one yet. We expect ambulances and doctors to come through here any minute."

Arsenio and Fuller looked at each other. They were ten and eleven respectively, but they knew what was going to happen if Grandma died: the Waking Woodchuck Bed and Breakfast would be sold, and the rest of the family would end up with money but have to find somewhere else to live. Aunt Aganista would inherit the coffee shop directly, though she really didn't want it. Nunitol, Arsenio's father, *did* want the coffee shop.

Arsenio smiled in his sleep. He was familiar with this dream, as he had had it many times before. This was the last memory he had of what was a happy, golden childhood. Arsenio fell asleep again, and dreamed briefly of events after that: his father had bought the coffee shop from Aganista, who in turn had bought a china shop in Hooverville from N. O. Bull, who wanted to retire from the business. Aganista's
business acumen turned out to be much greater than that of Nunitol, who had had an up and down struggle to make the coffee shop more profitable by offering lunches and light suppers. By the time Arsenio and Fuller were out of high school, Arsenio had to play alone, as Fuller spent most of his time with Philomena Voyed, who lived just up the street, next to the Christmas tree farm.
But at least the cousins ran into each other often. Then that changed. By the time Arsenio got out of college, Fuller had bought a pottery factory in Hooverville and moved away.

Not long after that, the Holtzinger family turned the Christmas tree farm into a garden center, and Arsenio began hanging out with Elias, their teenage son. Despite the fifteen year difference in their ages (Arsenio was the older one), they had a solid connection with each other. They began organizing civic events, ran for the town council (Elias won a few times, Arsenio never), and held down the
tenor section in their church's choir. Nunitol died, bequeathing the coffee shop to Arsenio. This was a turning point for the business. Arsenio had a business degree. He could spot areas where profit levels could be improved. He also had an all but flawless knack for picking the best coffee beans. Once the February groundhog mania was out of the way, he supplemented his income by doing people's taxes, hiring himself out as a bookkeeper. Whenever things slowed down, he offered to coach struggling businessmen in ways that might improve their businesses. It was lucrative enough, but boring. His social life consisted of whatever he happened to be doing with Elias.

Arsenio found himself awake again. He had had this dream many times. If he was lucky, this was the only dream he would have. But if he wasn't, there was a dream of a later time, a much darker and more disturbing dream, that he was afraid of even thinking about. The risk of having that dream made him reluctant to fall asleep again. Still, he was very tired -- it had been a busy day. Soon he was asleep again.

Anyone care to check the result, at the risk of having forgot to put any pants on? Nobody? How about you Reverend Beaches?

NEXT!

Jury member Winzekowski. What is your charge?
I Charge Fred with compensating a lack of musical snobbery with the fire siren.
To show his worth, I challenge Fred to sing those edible scales in Latin!

OK, ready your organ Wlad!

Let's see...

CIR-culum subcinericios panes!
LO-tis Francorum mixta casei!
PI-la terram de porcis!
PLA-na saturitatem panis et pullum!
AE-mulantur tosti centurio!
PLA-na sunt condimentum adipiscing laminis!
PLA-centa cum caseo bibitor saporem capulus!
CIR-culum subcinericios panes!

Do you want it in reverse as well? There is an excess of PLA in this version.

NEXT!!

Jury member Rowdybush. What is your charge?
I Charge Fred and Paula with gross misleading of the local constabulary to conceal a possibly illegal event.
To show their worth, they have to balance the scales they are standing on, only using this stack of jack-fish-o-lanterns and buckets of porridge bordelaise.

OK Paula, you stack up on jack-fish-o-lanterns and I will take one bucket of porridge bordelaise after you go down. Then I will spill porridge in an ecofriendly manner until we balance out...


NEXT!!

Jury member Philpotts. What is your charge?
I Charge Fred with creating sounds like three little pigs and various farm implements being sucked through a running jet engine with the afterburner on and calling it music.
To show his worth, I challenge Fred to sing a madrigal on his own...

Tricky, that...
Renaissance or Baroque? Or would you like me to go back all the way to Trecento?
Not sure how many voices I can maintain simultaneously, though... Never tried soprano except last year when the bath water was way too cold. That wasn't even multiphonic.
Have you ever tried to sing a so/la/mi or a so/do/mi chord? They always put them in to annoy.

OK then, let's try Nicholas Yonge's "Pordenone: Lady that hand of plenty." That has only 4 voices and is in English.
Come to think of it, I wonder if Charlotte is related.

(Anyone able to find the lyrics, feel free to put them here, otherwise just imagine them to be here anyway)

Not bad for a baritone, I would say. I may have just removed the core of my Adam's apple though.

NEXT!!

Jury member Reverend Beaches. What is your charge?
I Charge Fred with causing me to be stuck with a complaining neighbour while trying to avoid the statue fire.
Nothing can be done to atone for that. Except maybe walking that pack of little yappy pomeranians left by the former preacher.

NEXT!

Jury member Doe has been banned to bring in any charges or challenges involving high explosives, not wanting to risk a conflict of interests, but will now testify in order to clarify the question of Liability.
DOE: After due consideration, taking into account the Weird anomalies act and precedent, the federal government has decided to blame 2Legs. Hoover be praised!

ORDER!!!! ORDER!!!!

The members of the jury wil now go in retreat to discuss their verdict. Please continue sleeping or you will miss it and we will have to start all over again...

Twenty four hours and I was back in almost the same spot! On the river road, but this time the bridge and the town lights were in my rearview.

That nagging voice in my head insisted I turn around, that I was close, that it would be better to die a Horrid death than simply turn tail and run. What was I thinking?

Ok, I still had no definitive answer as to whether Caroline was even in the town, but those hints and threats were playing over and over in my mind.

If she wasn't there, it was a stupid move. But what if?

Another ninety-three point turn on the narrow road. My mind made up, I would rather be sure than safe, rather be a stupid English biker than a regretful chicken.

The town was quiet. A few locals, two guys eating pizza in a pickup, but mostly locals of the four legged variety. I risked a quick circuit, the Harley crawling on tickover to keep the noise down and allow a peep into every parking lot and alleyway. No sign of the candy red knucklehead.

If Horrid had her, maybe they'd moved out of town after my escape, why risk staying in the derelict building?

A few lights twinkled in the trees on the slopes of the Misty Mountains - surely a better spot for a kidnapping?

The Harley grumbled as I resumed the search, track after track, dead end after dead end, scaring the wildlife and nearly dropping the bike on the dirt roads.

Then, flashing past me on the main mountain road, a pickup truck, an old red pickup truck! Definitely not the one I'd seen in town.

A split second glimpse of the female figure in the passenger seat. A look of worry etched into that beautifully familiar face.

My heart leapt as I twisted the throttle, the Harley roaring as I pulled onto the road and accelerated after the truck.

Fear and joy competed for attention as the driver realized I was behind him. The Ford accelerated, skidding wildly around a bend.

Now there was no doubt. Revs climbed in concert with adrenaline.

Whatever the outcome, I swore that this would end tonight!

[Jury member Philpotts is graciously willing to let Fred sing something ancient but simple, like maybe "Now is the month of Maying"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EwJLKdU50KE

or perhaps "Sumer is icumen in"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B2Tk1JseYkU

Even "Three bind mince" would be appreciated. ]

[You can insult me, Fred, but lay off the ground hog. ]

[At last...will these bikers find each other in time? I can't stand it.]

[Luckily Wlad will never know, it is all a dream. Anyway, it is Fred thinking, so snob away as much as you like.That keeps the world interesting]

[Fred will probably go for the maying song, as that is more suited to his vocal range. His bathroom is not big enough for the acoustics needed for the second song. Now he just has to learn songing and playing the flute simultaneously...]

[I vote for a shower accompaniment, too - the rushing water would make a great backdrop...]

[Arsenio would have liked the followin song, but it is in French
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-E2_iNmYOE]

It was late before Hermione crawled into her bed. She'd spent an hour talking to her son, or rather listening to his accounts of travelling the world, and looking at the photos on his phone. Her mind was full of images, of temples, rivers, cities and people in a variety of costumes. When she fell asleep, she saw them again, all jumbled up. The blue birds went swimming in a river until they found a pool under a waterfall. The bronze figures in the museum came alive and started walking down the street. The city dissolved in a shower of red leaves. Then the images got confused with events in Hooverville. A golden Buddha became the Lady of Justice melting in the heat of the fire. A monkey became the big cat she had seen by the river. Fireman Fred was spraying water over a group of dancers, who suddenly drew swords and chased him away.
Suddenly Hermione woke to a crescendo of sound. Wondering if she was still dreaming, she struggled out of bed, sending Minx sliding onto the floor, mewing in protest. She walked to the window and looked out. The crescent moon was high above the roof and the skies were scattered with stars. The sound resolved itself into music and she realised it was Wlad playing the organ. She gave a sigh of relief, then smiled. Hooverville was peaceful. She thought of the conversation she'd had with Chris about the best places to live, if you had the choice. She'd remembered her childhood in rural Warwickshire, but Chris preferred the mountains of Scotland. They'd debated the merits of London and Paris, compared Greek islands to those of Indonesia. She laughed when she thought of Hooverville, with its river and woods, and the eccentric people who lived there. Whatever its peculiarities, it was a good place to live.

When the organ music stops, Wilhelmina has searched through the whole park, but the potted plant is nowhere to be seen. She is now far too tired to go on searching. It is dark and the streetlights seem to make the shadows in the park even darker. She will find the plant tomorrow.

Exhausted and still hurting all over, Wilhelmina hobbles back to the Waffelhaus, always keeping an eye on her surroundings. She reaches the door and again makes the difficult way upstairs. She unlocks her door, hangs up her coat, puts away the umbrella and sits down on the sofa. Only now she notices how cold she is. When she convinces herself that she should not fall asleep on the sofa, she goes to have a hot shower and changes into a fresh pyjama. One that wasn't dirty from nightly adventures in the street.

Before finally going to bed, Wilhelmina checks the bedroom window, but Cassy isn't there. She just hopes her cat is alright. She closes the curtains and goes to bed. She still hurts all over but the warmth andy cosyness soon let her drift off to sleep.

Down in the Waffelhaus leaves rustle in concern. Flowers shudder and frens tremble. One is missing.

Cassy meanwhile sits somewhere in a garden under a wooden deck. The small creatures of the night make leaves rustle. They search for the snacks of late autumn, they build up stocks, they improve their nest. One borrows a wrench, which wil magically appear at some other place around the house probably tomorrow. Cassy just sits there for a bit longer, just to be on the safe side.

Sheriff Rowdybush finishes eating his toast and jam. He feels strangely thrilled after all the excitement of the day, so he doesn't feel ready to go to bed, but he is also tired after all the exertion, so he falls asleep on the sofa after settling down to watch a bit of TV. He doesn't dream, but if he had been able to share in the dream of Fred that he was an unknowing participant in he would have been very amused.

He would have been especially amused by the edible scales and the gratuitous reference to Charlotte Yonge A87865627 whose books he sometimes enjoyed reading because they made a change from detective novels. He would also have ed at the phrases “I may have just removed the core of my Adam's apple though. “ and “Please continue sleeping or you will miss it and we will have to start all over again...”

The Sheriff would also have laughed at the phrase “Anyone care to check the result, at the risk of having forgot to put any pants on?” as it would remind him of dreams he did often have, where he would be desperate for the toilet but every time he tried to go, something would happen like the walls disappearing, or someone else trying to use the loo at the same time as him. If he genuinely did physically need to go to the toilet, he was lucky that these dreams would wake him up so he could do something about it, but usually the dreams were more related to mental worries arising from events that happened during the day, so he could settle back into sleep once the dream had finished.

He is comfortable on the sofa as his head is well supported by the cushions, but he is not as comfortable as he would be in his bed with warm blankets so he starts to get a bit restless but does not wake up enough to move from his seat.

Lola heads downstairs to see what the thing in the street is. On her way, she remembers the conversation she had with her friends earlier, and grabs the broom from the cupboard, for protection.

She walks to the door, unlocks it, opens it slowly.
There, a few feet away, is a potted plant. It looks familiar. What would Wilhelmina's plant do in the street in the middle of the night?
And more importantly, would it survive a night outside at this time of year? Better take it to safety.
Lola takes a step outside, looking around.
She takes the remaining steps and bends down to pick up the plant.

Purrrrrrr, she hears behind her.
Something pushes her to the ground and proceeds to snif the plant.
It's a cat. A big one. Like a smiley-don cat.
And it's about to munch on the plant.

- Oi! Step back, you!

The beast looks at her (Purrrrr!).
She gets back up and holds her broom out.

- Bad kitty! Go to your basket! Now!

The animal doesn't look impressed.
She looks around, careful not to turn her back to it. There is an empty pot in the corner of the window sill, and it is filled with rain water.
She takes hold of it and shows it the animal.

- Away with you, kitty, or I swear, I will spray you! Shoo!

The cat gives her a quizzical look (Purrrrr?), a shrug (Purr.), and turns around.
(Don't ask how a cat can shrug, just trust us, this one did).

She brushes the dirt off her clothes, picks up the plant and goes back inside.

The plant goes on the display table. That way, if its owner walks by looking for it, they will see it.
The broom goes back into the cupboard.
The Lola goes to her apartment.
The Lola comes back downstairs to lock the door.
And up to her bedroom.

She changes into clean pyjamas, chucks the dirty ones into the washing machine.
And climbs into bed.

And out of bed, and to the desk.
She looks for a sticky note. There still aren't any. She finds a piece of scrap paper.
"Call/text Wil' about lost plant. See about breakfast at Waffelhaus if open".

And with a sense of a job well done, she finally climb into bed (for real, this time), and settles comfortably.

According to Tavaron, the Editor gets points for the 'siren call of the garden gnomes'. Thank you. Tavaron gets points for 'the snacks of late autumn'.

Superfrenchie gets the Fearless Fosdick Award for facing down what may or may not have been a very dangerous kitty.

Caiman Raptor Elk gets the Groundhog Day Award for mentioning the furry rodent in a song. In Latin, no less.

Minorvogonpoet gets the Stray Moonlight Award for today. (It set at 10 pm.)