Chapter 20: Take Me to Paradise
July the 20th came, this place, this day, this date would be remembered by the world;
well at least until they put something better on TV anyway.
The Broomanator sat on its launch pad in Cape Canaveral, ready to take its
place alongside either the Spruce Goose or the Titanic. Hundreds of news coverage
crews from all around the world locked their cameras steadfastly on the vessel, poised
to capture every moment of history in the making.
The dawn of man’s greatest adventure saw hundreds of thousands flood into
the country, all wanting to be able to say they were there when the mystery of space
got exposed, conquered and raped. This seething mass stretched on as far as the eye
could see; all of them eating, drinking, breathing, consuming, defecating, and all those
other things people do. A celestial being looking on from above and that possessed no
knowledge of the human race, may have assumed that that particular area of North
America had some kind of parasitic infestation.
This event was the most-watched happening in the history of the Earth. Even
though only a relatively lucky few would actually get to observe the Broomanator’s
flight without the aid of a television set, you could be sure the entire civilised world
were watching. Even the majority of the crowd at Cape Canaveral were viewing the
dawn of true space travel through gigantic TV screens, setup to allow the ones at the
back of the rabble (the back being a number of miles away) the opportunity of seeing
what was going on.
To make sure every angle was covered and not a single historic moment
missed there were cameras not just outside, but aboard the Broomanator itself, placed
there to record the Captain’s journey and the wonders he was expected to encounter.
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Television company executives kept their fingers crossed in a hope these
cameras would catch footage of Rico getting his brains sucked out by aliens: they
knew such a gift of gore and melancholic disaster would only send the ratings further
through the roof.
The nature of Barry’s ship allowed those at the front of the crowd to get fairly
close to it rather than be forced to stand miles back like they’d be with the now oldfashioned and dangerous rocket-propelled spacecraft. Still, the absence of rockets and
their accompanying awe and shock factor was a disappointment to many of the
spectators. One consolation for these poor devils was that they got to marvel at all the
space-age guns the black saucer carried. Those implements of death did a lot to
increase the Broomanator’s appeal.
Unknowingly, while everyone’s eyes were pointed at the spacecraft, which a
lot of the ignorant were deeming rather small and unimpressive for a vehicle that was
to take man to the stars, Barry and Kredendum smuggled themselves into the heart of
the Kennedy Space Centre. They had achieved this by employing the services of a
portable cloaking device that had been developed on Kredendum’s home world. This
wonderful piece of technology had the ability to control atomic structure, stopping the
natural process of atoms reflecting light, and thus making the two unlikely
companions close to invisible.
This handy gadget was carried in a rucksack upon Kredendum’s back. The
Greys aren’t accustomed to moving at a fast pace or very far under their own steam
though, which meant Barry had to carry the rucksack-wearing alien upon his back.
Alas, Barry wasn’t accustomed to moving very far or fast himself. Kredendum, as if a
jockey upon a horse, had to kick his heels into the human’s ribs a few times to get his
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tired animal moving. He cursed himself for not bringing a whip to spur his transport
onto greater efforts.
With sophisticated alien technology at their disposal, the improbable pair
managed to get inside Captain Rico’s quarters unnoticed. The fighter pilot was busy
practicing his farewell speech in the mirror.
‘When I press this button I shall traverse the endless chasm of space for the
glory of mankind, but before I do I’d just like to say a couple of important things. To
my wife and kids at home, I love you each so very much. To my mistress in your
dungeon of despair, don’t throw away my handcuffs and dog collar yet, coz I’ll be
back for those ten lashes baby.’
Rico looked incredibly heroic in his silver spacesuit with the Stars and Stripes
emblazoned on his right arm and a thick bristly moustache a porn star could be proud
of above his upper lip.
If Barry had been a woman he may have fallen in love with this Adonis,
luckily he wasn’t and so instead whispered to Kredendum: ‘Let him have it.’
The Grey pulled out the ray gun he’d threatened Barry with in the Hickey
Woods and set it to stun before shooting Captain Rico in the back. The veteran fighter
pilot crumpled like a piece of tissue paper under the force of the blow and his once
beautiful hair now stood out on end.
‘WHERE THE HELL IS RICO?!!?’
Mission control was starting to get worried as it looked like their brave war
hero had transformed into a coward at the prospect of going through a manmade black
hole, and had decided a much better course of action would be to do a runner.
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With Captain Rico nowhere to be seen and the watching world beginning to
grow restless at the hold up, the Head of Mission Control turned to Professor
Schriever who also happened to be looking extremely anxious.
‘If he doesn’t show this’ll be the most embarrassing fiasco of all time. We’ll
be a laughing stock.’
‘I know,’ answered Schreiver, already envisaging the headlines.
‘Wait, there he is Sir,’ shouted a sharp-eyed young woman.
‘Oh—thank God.’
Captain Rico casually strolled out to the Broomanator wearing his silver
spacesuit and matching helmet. It was one of those great TV moments, and would
have been even greater if Rico hadn’t ingloriously tripped over and fallen flat on his
face a couple of times.
With elated relief Professor Schreiver clasped his hands and said: ‘He looks
great doesn’t he?’
The Head of Mission Control wasn’t so sure; crinkles formed on his brow as
he observed the astronaut’s profile.
‘Does he look—shorter and slightly, well fatter to you?’
‘No no, he looks great; he looks magnificent, he looks like a hero.’
The rest of the audience agreed with the Professor, cheering with unfaltering
enthusiasm at their perceived triumph over the universe. Captain Rico continued to
march out to his waiting vehicle amidst the raucous applause and showering of female
underwear. Staying true to his Hollywood persona, he conjured up a gallant wave for
his loyal fans before stepping inside.
Billions attentively watched on as the broadcast switched to the spaceship’s
internal cameras. Rico, wasting no time made his way directly to the cockpit, sat
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down and removed his space helmet. The Head of Mission Control feinted while the
rest of the world gasped: the revealed face was not the moustached handsome one of
Captain Rico but of an impostor, an impostor with ugly features and a balding head.
The reason Barry had been late boarding was because after he and Kredendum
had knocked out the Captain, they’d set about destroying all the information on the
warp drive and anti-matter reactor. Erasing this library of data from computers and
burning the masses of paper documentation had taken longer than they’d expected.
Also, the amount of security guards they’d had to stun with Kredendum’s ray gun was
nigh on ridiculous. It was imperative however that they made certain, for the sake of
the universe that humanity could not be allowed to build another Broomanator.
Within a millisecond of Barry revealing his podgy mug, pilots were being
scrambled to their fighter planes to intercept this madman. Those inside Mission
Control were not quite as fast to react, for a significant moment of time after the
unveiling everyone was at a loss for what to say. The Head of the control centre
certainly wasn’t about to say anything because he was still lying on the floor
unconscious.
Professor Schriever’s voice was the first to be heard through the
Broomanator’s onboard radio.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing Broomfield?’
Barry ignored the question and said: ‘If anyone tries to attack me or board my
ship they’ll be toast.’
He had his hands poised purposefully on the controls of the phase beam
turrets.
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It’s a fairly safe bet to say that at about this point in time the US government
was regretting their decision to appoint a convicted armed robber as their Chief of
Advanced Propulsion.
‘I’d just like to leave the world with a few words of my wisdom, now that I
know you’re all listening.’ Barry sighed. ‘I guess I’ve reached—a sort of, what you’d
call enlightenment after realising there isn’t a single person that cares now, or ever
will about my being alive. It’s true I’ve always been an outsider, a loner, but now I
see there was a reason for my solitude. Have you guessed what it is yet? No? Well let
me tell you. It’s because the human race is a dead duck, a dead, cantankerous,
disease-carrying dirty duck. So; I’m off. If I make it into deep space I’m getting my
own place, it’ll be called Barry’s World, and none of you are invited.’
During Barry’s address almost everybody thought this was the ramblings of a
man clearly suffering with psychosis, and they’d be right, but a miniscule number
were sort of able to grasp what this incoherent shambles was about.
Peter, Barry’s ex-window cleaning apprentice, now a multimillionaire,
watched the unfolding events on a giant television inside his country mansion. The
opulent wealth that surrounded him wouldn’t exist if it hadn’t of been for Barry,
taking him as a youngster under his spicy chicken wing. The way he’d repaid the man
that’d made such a positive impact on his life, by robbing his livelihood, made him
feel very naughty.
Big Tobias Robinson, Barry’s first cellmate inside Weirdways Prison watched
the broadcast at home with his budding family; his wife was smiling as she held their
beautiful baby daughter. The friendship he’d had with Barry had stopped him from
going the same way as his previous cellmate. It was Barry who’d given him hope and
made him think was it really worth killing himself. He now knew taking his own life
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would have been the biggest mistake he could have possibly made. Tobias wished
he’d told his old friend just how much he was in debt to him, he was going to, but
he’d gone and forgotten, having been so busy running his spectacularly successful
drug cartel.
Sammy Nammy, now a Bricklayer, was watching Barry’s outpouring of pain
on a portable telly while he laid bricks. Sammy had been Barry’s second inmate at
Weirdways and was aware his old cellmate had fought desperately with Mr
Merryweather to grant him a psychiatric evaluation. It was then with deep regret that
he’d never been able to thank the man who’d gotten his life back on track. Thanks to
Barry he’d overcome the mental illness that had afflicted him so terribly and
subsequently found life to be full of delight. Because of this newfound joy in
existence he desperately hoped nobody noticed the foul smell emanating from under
his floorboards, the source of which being the dismembered bodies of his latest
murder victims.
Jenny Daft, the only woman to ever fall in love with Barry watched through
teary eyes, wishing now she hadn’t abandoned him on that night in London’s Empire
Hotel. She lamented not having made her feelings clear to him, knowing he was
different and couldn’t read the emotion of others. But it had all been just too painful
after seeing him in that hotel room with dirty, dirty Sandra.
If I had just told him how I felt, thought the stringy geekette abomination.
Mr Merryweather, the Weirdways Prison Warden and Barry’s greatest enemy
during his incarceration, had Barry to thank for showing him that there can be
goodness even inside the most dangerous criminal. Inmates at Weirdways no longer
had to tolerate the same level of inhuman treatment and conditions that were once the
norm. Mr Merryweather would never forget Barry’s selfless act which restored his
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faith in the prison system, and he now saw no need to keep his office in such
immaculate condition. Sometimes, when the mood struck, he’d even have a roll
around in his own faeces.
Grace Honeysuckle, who’d grown up into an average, well-adjusted teenager,
the spoilt brat she’d once been a thing of the past, remembered how Barry had taught
her one of the most important lessons a person can ever learn. He’d shown her that
failure is an important part of life and that it’s not something to be ashamed of, it’s
how you come back from it that counts. Grace had gone on from her defeat at the
hands of Barry’s chess-playing genius to become a better chess player, but more
importantly, a more rounded and wholesome person. Of course, this didn’t take into
account the addiction to crack, crystal meth and heroin she’d since developed, but
then no one’s perfect.
Joe Kearns, the slimy manager from hell who’d handled Barry’s chess-playing
career had spent most of the day reclining on his private beach in the tropics,
occasionally exerting himself to sip on cold mango juice. In fact this was how he idled
away the bulk of his life now. After another hard day’s work he forced himself to
catch the genesis of interstellar travel, despite his absence of interest beyond his own
personal paradise.
Now sitting, listening to Barry’s words of wisdom, he unenthusiastically
trawled his mind back to how he’d sucked his vulnerable employer dry for everything
he was worth, before tossing him away like a used handkerchief. Kearns’s cold
exterior was pierced with guilt, but then Barry had never far been away from him,
constantly haunting his thoughts day and night.
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Yet before we get carried away with Kearns’s feelings of remorse, we must
remember that the buxom wenches that now waited on him hand and foot because of
the money he’d stolen did help to ease the pain somewhat.
Maggie Broomfield, Barry’s Mum, had a wall inside her house covered in
newspaper clippings that documented her son’s incredible achievements: the glorious
chess career, the revolutionary scientific discoveries, the genius—she couldn’t be
more proud. Seeing his face being broadcast across the airwaves and into her home,
made her feel closer to him than she’d felt for years. She got on her knees to bring her
face only inches away from his. It was heart wrenching for her to be so close when in
reality she was so far from him.
And nothing tore at her more than seeing him as lost as he was, other than
when Joe Mangle’s wife died on Neighbours. She just wanted to hold him the way she
had when he was a child but their relationship had long since fell apart; besides, she
now had two meat hooks for arms after been involved in a moped collision.
The real tragedy of Barry Broomfield’s life was not the unsettled and
demoralising childhood, his father’s abandonment, the frustrating adolescence, the
countless female rejections, the failure of his window cleaning business, the
disintegration of his sanity, the period of homelessness, or even the time spent in
prison: the real tragedy was that he didn’t realise there were people who’d miss him,
who cared for him—and he would never know that he had affected the lives of others
for the positive. People did remember him, thinking about him every day, recognising
that he was a unique kind of freak.
Kredendum was watching Barry’s sob story on one of the big screens, still
cloaked by his invisibility backpack he thought: Boohoo Broomfield, just get the hell
on with it.
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‘I have something else that I feel I must say before I go. There’s an
underground military base in the New Mexico desert at approximately these
coordinates.’ Barry held up the to the cockpit camera a piece of paper that he’d
written The Complex’s location upon. ‘Down there illegal genetic experiments are
being performed on thousands of innocent people, one of them I know personally, a
