The two sub-zero golfers did not need telling twice, and in a matter of seconds two bottles of vintage Rhine wine had vanished away into the nether regions of two stomachs. “The floor would seem to be yours,” said Jim wiping his chin. “Is there any more of this?”
Soap handed over two more bottles and positioned himself in a dignified pose against the stucco fireplace.
“As you will remember,” he said, “I have spoken to you many times in the past about the family Distant’s conviction that an entire world exists here, beneath the Earth’s surface, and that it is peopled by superbeings, benign and benevolent, who would bestow the great wealth of their knowledge upon the man from above who came in peace to speak with them.” John and Jim nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I was wrong.”
“Tough luck,” said Omally. “Say la vee as the French say.”
“Are you certain?” Pooley asked. Soap had always spoken with such conviction that even though Jim considered him to be three-halfpence short of a shilling, he had half romantically wondered whether his tales might be true.
“I am indeed certain,” said Soap. “It is the exact opposite. There are dwellers beneath, but far from being benign and benevolent they are foul and evil and intent upon one thing only: to leave this world of darkness and conquer the sun-soaked realm above.” Soap’s pink eyes travelled upwards and John and Jim’s followed them.
“Now, now,” said Omally. “I cannot believe all this. Surely if it were so, these fellows would have emerged years ago. They could surely have dug their way out. How did they come to be here in the first place?”
“Ah,” said Soap, giving his nose an annoyingly significant tap. “That is a tale indeed, and if you have time I will tell it.”
“It would seem,” said John, “that unless you feel so inclined as to lead us skywards, then we have all the time in the world.”
“Certainly you are a captive audience, but I must impress upon you that this is a very important business, and that your help is sorely needed. I have no wish to return to the surface, my world is here. But neither do I have the wish to see mankind destroyed by these beings, or worse still, driven here to plague me.”
John took off one of his boots and emptied the contents into a nearby aspidistra pot. “Go on then,” he said, “let’s hear it.”
Soap withdrew a shining disc from an inner pocket and held it towards his guests. “You recognize this, no doubt?”
Pooley peered at it and nodded. “The symbol is the same as those on the allotment. You wouldn’t happen to know what it means, by any chance?”
“I would, and so would Professor Slocombe.”
“Well, he certainly didn’t feel fit to confide in us. ‘C’ the fifth of the ten was all we got for it.”
“I was in the room when he told you,” said Soap. “The Professor and I have known about the symbols and the plans of the Cereans for some time. We agreed that we should enlist help to assist with their destruction. Men of enterprise, we agreed, men of sterling stuff, good men and true, hearts of oak, valorous men with big…”
“Yes, yes,” said Omally, “naturally you thought of us.”
“Actually no,” said Soap, “we had hoped that Small Dave might be passing, but as you turned up…”
“Thanks a lot,” said Omally.
“I nearly drowned,” said Jim.
“Just my little joke,” said Soap, smiling sweetly. “The Professor said that you two were his first choice.”
Pooley groaned pathetically, “It would seem, John,” said he, “that we have been press-ganged.”
Omally nodded bleakly. “As running is obviously out of the question, I suggest that we waste no more time. Tell your tale, Soap.”
“Thank you, John, I expected at least a blow or two to the head. I am glad you are taking it so well. What I am about to tell you might seem a little hard to believe, but I can assure you it is all true.”
“No doubt,” said Omally.
“The symbol upon this disc” – Soap held the glittering item aloft – “means literally what the Professor told you. ‘I am “C” the fifth of the ten.’ It is the insignia of the planet Ceres which was once the tenth planet in our solar system, fifth from the sun. Ceres was the home world to a most advanced race of beings who commuted between the planets much in the way that you or I might take a sixty-five up to Ealing Broadway. Their world was small and their population large. They needed another planet similar to theirs for colonization. Naturally enough their eyes turned towards Earth, a world at that time only sporting a primitive society which offered little opposition to such an advanced race. They sent out scout parties, who were pleased to discover that the simple Earthers hailed them as gods. No doubt the Cereans would be running the place even now had not their warlike natures got the best of them. A great war developed upon Ceres and whilst a considerable number of the lads were here arranging matters to their satisfaction their entire planet was totally destroyed, leaving them marooned.
“The cataclysm was, if you will pardon the expression, somewhat earth-shattering, and the shocks were felt here. A travelling asteroid, the Moon as we now know it, was blown into orbit around the Earth causing absolute devastation. Half of the world was flooded. Those Cereans who survived the holocaust did so by withdrawing here and sealing themselves in. Little remained to ever prove their existence but for legend.
“The Cerean survivors never lost hope, although they were few in number and the centuries which passed saw mankind’s development slowly approaching that of their own. Still they remained, waiting and plotting. For they had one thing to wait and plot for.
“Shortly before the planet’s destruction the men of Ceres had sent a great strike force out of this solar system to seek other stars and other worlds. The Cereans knew that they would some day return and, finding no Ceres, would put two and two together and revisit the Earth. Thus they have remained, waiting and waiting, preparing for this return. They are doing so still and their time has almost come. Even as I speak the Cerean strike force is streaking across the Cosmos bound for Earth. And they have only one thing upon their minds.”
Soap ceased his fantastic monologue, and Pooley and Omally stared at him dumb and slack-jawed. “If you don’t mind me saying so,” said John at length, “and please do not construe this as any criticism of yourself or your character, that is the most absurd piece of nonsense I have ever had the misfortune of listening to.”
“I have seen the film of it,” said Pooley, “dubbed from the original Japanese it was.”
“And the lights upon the allotment,” said Soap, “what would you take those to be?”
“The work of the council,” said Omally firmly, “another plot to confound honest golfers.”
Soap burst into a paroxysm of laughter. Tears rolled down his pale cheeks and he clutched at his stomach.
“Come now,” said Pooley, “it is no laughing matter, those lads have it in for us.”
“Have it in for you?” gasped Soap between convulsions. “You witness a test run of laser-operated gravitational landing beams, the product of a technology beyond comprehension, and you put it down to the work of Brentford Council?”
“If you will pardon me,” said Pooley, somewhat offended, “if it is the product of a technology beyond comprehension I hardly feel that we can be blamed for finding it so.”
“Quite,” said Omally.
“And your journey here through the solid concrete floor of an empty allotment shed?”
“I have been meaning to ask somebody about that,” said John.
“It was a hologram,” said Pooley, matter-of-factly.
“Oh, of course, one of those lads.”
“I must apologize for your rapid descent,” Soap explained. “I had a great deal of trouble in keeping the door open long enough for you both to enter. I was unable, however, to stop the Cereans bringing down the lift.”
“Come now,” said Pooley, who had always been fond of the phrase, “be fair Soap, all this is a little hard to swallow.”
“Nevertheless, it is true. As true as the fact that you are sitting here, a mile and a half beneath Penge, drinking one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old Rhine wine.”
“Penge?” Pooley shook his head once more. “Where the hell is Penge?”
“I’ve never been quite certain myself, but I’m told that it’s a very nice place.”
John and Jim finished their second bottles and sat in silence wondering what in the world they were to do next. Omally sat glowering into the carpet. Pooley took off his jacket, which was starting to steam at the shoulders. “All right,” he said at last, “say that we do believe you.”
“I don’t,” Omally interrupted.
“Yes, well, say that we did. What do you suppose we can do about it? How can we -” he indicated himself and
