BigBug

It was dark when Seamus and Moon arrived at the camping site in Vienna. They were in good time for a meal in the camp canteen. Schnitzel and potato salad for Seamus and burger and chips for Moon and all washed down with steins of ice-cold Austrian beer. Aaaaaah! - the glorious slurp burp and dodgy squidgy booms of the grateful contented beer swilling plebs! The camp was 15 minutes by tram from the centre of Vienna and located on the grounds of an old noble man’s estate. The moon and stars were visible in the clear night sky. Even in the dark it was evident the trees in the estate were well situated planted with loving care and their very old tall frosty branches, silver fingers, arched up stretching out with elegance greeting the twinkling stars. They turned in early, looking forward to the visit to the museums in the morning. As soon as he got his head down in the overhead bunk Moon began to snore and snore with such gusto and intensity the Margarita began to vibrate and her springs began to creak. Seamus put on his headphones and he listened gratefully to Bach, the great man’s masterpiece muffling out the discordant Moon snorts. Eventually because of the long hours driving and with the help of beer and a Black Bush nightcap he fell into a pleasant exhaustion. When he awoke Moon was snoring blissfully away. Seamus left the hopeless but indefatigable, optimistic dreamer to roam whichever planet he was visiting in his extraordinarily complicated Moon head and went off to shower. He was having breakfast when Moon shuffled into the canteen. As usual, Moon looked as if he had been on the binge of all binges. He was a discarded human specimen, a rejected alien abductee, a visual cross breed between an alien of indeterminate persona and a scarecrow. Seamus immediately complained to Moon about his dreadful snoring. He poured Moon a cup of coffee.

“I am sorry Seamus. The snoring is a big problem. It ruined all my relationships. My women all wore earplugs. Even after nookie separate bedrooms, ANSB. It did no good. They all left there, me snoring away, in the dead of night. Only good thing about the snoring is that I was excused night fighting patrols in the Legion.”

“There is nothing good about snoring.”

“The enemy,” whatever kind of bewildered indigenous life form that may be, Moon called them, drone bait, DB, “could hear you half a mile away–”

“The racket you make the DB would have no difficulty hearing you on Mars. You sounded as if you were communicating with earthquakes and trying to appease the angry gods of the inner earth by tap dancing on the tectonic plates.”

Moon grunted. He was in no mood for geological repartee. The only plate he wanted was the one with his breakfast on it.

“I have been on the web” Seamus tapped his Apple, “and booked us into a hotel in Budapest. I got a great deal. It’s a beautiful hotel and only 100 Euros each. That includes breakfast. Separate rooms of course. All courtesy of the most flexible material in the universe.”

Moon grunted, raised an eyebrow and began looking about for the waiter.

“Plastic,” replied Seamus, “as in the good Lord's everlasting credit card. Do not attempt a miracle such as we beseech, from the great god of geology, without one.”

The young lad came to the table. “Would you like to order breakfast, sir?”

“Two double cheeseburger and chips with baked beans. Brit baked beans.”

“Two cheeseburgers and chips,” repeated the waiter. “What are baked beans?”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Moon, “that’s impossible to explain. Cheeseburgers and chips on their own will do and tea and toast. White bread toasted. Loads of butter.” He looked at Seamus, who was trying to keep the weight down and grinned. “They called me The Cholesterol Kid, CK, when I was at school. Vitamins and fibre are carcinogenic agents designed by world governments to kill us off. It is just another population control conspiracy, designed to keep their buddies in the pharmaceutical companies rich. Work, eat, shit, drink and die on schedule.” Moon lowered his voice. He spoke softly and with concern. “Must be a very backward society that doesn’t know what baked beans are and I always thought Austria was a beacon of culture, and the arts, with composers falling over artists, and psychiatrists picking both of them up off the streets of Vienna and dusting them down in harmony without billing them. Day and night. How they manage to do it without the beans I don’t know. The men in white coats, the MIC,” he confided, “cannot fuck about with the bean. Do you know about Einstein’s bean theory?”

“String bean theory?”

Moon paused but he wasn’t listening to Seamus. He continued in the same breath. “He worked it out in 1937. It’s one of the greatest and best kept secrets of all time. Free power. Bean reactors.” He lowered his voice. “The bean is the only vegetable that when baked in tomato sauce is resistant to any form of degradation, alteration or genetic manipulation and they are pure brain food. For E=Mc2, thank the humble bean.”

Seamus finished his omelette. His breakfast had been delicious. Fresh fruit and yogurt, a mushroom and tomato omelette, sprinkled with tiny slivers of truffle. Hot croissants. He was not unduly upset the baked beans were off the menu. Moon had an unvarying basic diet. Burger, chips and baked beans. Hamburger Man Moon. HM Moon.

“I have an email from the German professor. He likes what he hears about the rock and he too will be very pleased to examine it for us. He is the world expert on impact craters and impact melts rocks. Definitive shock features. They should find these signs of impact in our rock.”

Moon grunted. He wanted his breakfast and was entirely uninterested in shock metamorphic glass, planet deformation features and the like. As far as Moon was concerned maskelynite, K-feldspar converted to glass by shock metamorphism, was just another Zorro film.

“Maybe we can go see this professor on the way back? In the meanwhile, we are going sightseeing today. First of all, the Military museum and then the old observatory.”

Moon saturated his cheeseburger with tomato ketchup and attacked it with relish. He waved a chip at Seamus and nodded in agreement. After breakfast Moon showered and pulled himself and a spliff together. Seamus locked up the Margarita and immobilized her. They caught the 18 tram to the Museum of Military History located at Objekt 1 down town Vienna. Moon loved the Military museum so much he was quiet and very well behaved for a post-traumatic stress or, PTS. They spent the day there. Moon put his fingers into the bullet holes of the Arch Duke Ferdinand’s uniform, the one he was wearing when he was assassinated.

“Point .32 or 7.65 mm,” he whispered. “ We learn to differentiate the different calibers on grave detail to sort the corpses into heaps of who shot who.”

They left the museum and after a dreadful meal of highly suspect Celtic cottage pie in Scabby Mary’s, an exported flat pack plastic Irish bar, they made their way to the Kuffner Observatory at Johan Staud-Strasse. It is a magnificent old building.

“It is a clear night Herr Moon,” said the astronomer Herr Fronert, “Please be pleased to look zoo our telescope.” Herr Fronert was teasing Moon to whom he had taken an instant liking. The affection of the afflicted. Herr Fronert sported an enormous grey-waxed handlebar montage that hid most of his ruddy face. Fronert was in his seventies and was wearing a long dark green velvet frock coat, a monocle dangled from a thick golden chain, and he held in his hand an enormous porcelain pipe with a bowl the size of a small tea pot topped with a perforated silver cap. The front of the bowl was carved into a horrible Teutonic imp or devil or politician or all three, as is the latter. Moon thought at first this pipe was a musical instrument perhaps a miniature alpine horn as Herr Fronert didn’t actually smoke the pipe but waved it about the place conducting matters astronomical. His fondness for Moon grew after Moon divulged to him top-secret insider data about the extra planet in our solar system that only became visible every five thousand earth years having such a long erratic orbit around the sun. Moon told Herr Fronert the name of this planet was Thor as it had last been seen in antiquity by the Vikings. The dark weeks of Norse lore.

Bigbug, hovering above the observatory in Turtle 1, was listening to Moon with great interest, mounting incredulity, and confusion. It did not understand this weird human at all and it was impossible to predict what he was going to say, and ergo do next. He was, to coin a human phrase, a loose cannon. A loose cannon charged with explosive force.

“Thor has such a wide orbit,” lectured Moon, “because it is equipped with a heavy-duty gravity regulator. The heavy-duty model can regulate the gravity it generates in such a way as to impel gravity propulsion as it slingshots Thor out and across the sun in a long elliptical arc. To be a bit more technical it is a heavy-duty gravity modulation disrupter -”

“Equipped you say? By who?” Herr Fronert paused, put in his monocle, looked wistfully into the bowl of his great pipe, sniffed, nodded his head and blew the contents a kiss, whispering, ‘later my darling’. He snapped home the cap of the pipe and then let the monocle fall from his eye. “Or should I ask, equipped by vat?”

Moon looked at the astronomer as if he were in the know. “By what indeed? You know Her Fronert! Ya, ya and oui oui. Artificial life forms. No intelligent race would dare waste sending a biological entity on interstellar travel.”

Bigbug nodded in agreement. Moon was absolutely right.

“They eat, they drink, and they breathe. They gasp, piss, and shit it all out. Ad infinitum. What is the inevitable consequence? Death.”

Bigbug was once again, to its mild amusement, agreeing with Moon. Yes, Mr Moon, the consequence of human existence is indeed death. DATA was also listening and analysing.

“A biological entity needs shelter, food, water and oxygen and, in the case of we humans, an enormous waste recycling system. The biggest drawback however to biological creatures engaging in interstellar travel is that they age. Humans decay from birth. The mission is dead before it begins. The gravity engineers are servants of the Cyborg engineers. The creatures who built the pyramids. The stupendous gravity engineers from the Orion nebula.”

“And have you met zee Cyborgs personally, Herr Moon?”

“You know I cannot answer that question Herr Fronert for reasons of universal security.”

“Of course. Of course, but gravity engineers from the Orion nebula!”

Herr Fronert was so excited Seamus thought he was going to pee his pants. “Vat a theory. Vonderbar! Vonderbar!” He was clapping his hands and politely hopping from one great wobbly leg to the other.

“It’s not theory,” declared Moon, “it's fact. And can be proven very simply.”

“Fact? I love facts!”

“Rudimentary earth physics. Why don’t we float off the planet? Gravity holds us down - holds everything down. But why do we have gravity and other planets do not?” And in the time honoured mode of many a misunderstood, alternative, wayward genius, an MAWG, pronounced mawoggle, he answered his own question posed, as clearly, no one present possessed the intellectual acumen needed to reply. “Because these other planets are not equipped with a gravity generator/regulator. Easy poxy peasy. EPP. Our gravity generators were installed here by the gravity engineers until the earth produced sufficient power as to make its own gravity.”

“But vere are ze Orionians now?”

“I would have thought that was obvious,” said Moon, “they are on Thor spinning about our galaxy. They are on a survey/ vacation. They are entitled to a bit of a break after all the work they have been doing. Installing gravity modulation disruption generators is bloody hard work.”

“Of course of course and ven do ze engineers come back?”

Moon consulted his I-pod. “17th March, St Patricks Day, three thousand and ninety-nine. Jesus to throw first.”

Seamus did not realise Moon had MDMA crystals, and ecstasy pills, with him until he watched Moon rave hopping and festival flickering about the observatory. Moon was totally irresponsible. It was not cool to carry Class A drugs all the way through Germany, Austria and into Hungary. It was stupid. Moon was oblivious to the serious consequences he would face if he were caught. They would end up in jail and the Margarita would be seized. Moon didn’t care. He was off the head and enjoying himself.

“It is a clear night Herr Moon,” said the astronomer Herr Fronert pointing at something somewhere with his great pipe, “please be pleased to look zoo our telescope.”

“Did you get all that?” asked Bigbug.

“Yes,” replied DATA, “This is scientifically impossible. Moon is speaking without thinking and it would appear he is bypassing his own memory banks. The creature is discoursing without using his own brain. I cannot detect where these utterances originate. He is also, without being aware, consuming some sort of creative energy that rebounds and comes back to him from the other humans' mind but the utterances do not stem from there. Investigate. This behaviour is an affront to logic.”

Seamus suspected Herr Fronert wasn’t actually an astronomer but one of the dedicated geeks, usually retired folk, who do such wonderful work to keep up and maintain historical buildings and equipment like the Kuffner Observatory, and he was, very obviously, more than a wee bit potty, maybe even in an advanced stage of senile eccentricity. SE. Moon’s granny as a very old lady kept chickens. Seamus wouldn’t say she suffered, he would say she was smitten, by SE. She held long conversations with her fresh eggs and became so attached to them that instead of boiling or frying them she would bury them so they could hatch and rise up with her on the Last Day to keep her company. She also dreamed in a very pious way about making Jesus a full Irish breakfast.

“Me granny always thought Jesus was very skinny for the son of a god. She thought he suffered from neglect and she also believed a full Irish breakfast was a certainty to get her through the pearly gates. I can’t imagine Jesus taking to the black pudding though. Beans, granny believed, give him plenty of baked beans, and kick start the heavenly thunder.” Moon once told Seamus all this as they discussed their mutually weird childhoods.

Herr Fronert warned Moon “Beware Herr Moon, your theory will be seen as scientifically shaky, believe me. My own great theory on the provenance of extra-terrestrial coconuts, which seeded the South Pacific islands with intelligent life, was dismissed. Out of hand. Yet it is so obvious.” There were tears in his eyes.

Bigbug, even with the aid of its advanced analysis from its scanners, which were reading the humans below, was uncertain as to who was the more anomalous human, in this case, but it could see, quite clearly, Heer Fronert’s thoughts as they were fashioned in his brain. It could read what he was going to say next quite clearly and also predicted his private thoughts. Moon’s brain was a much different process. It was a wild maelstrom. A cauldron of unreadable energies and diverse thoughts. Logic was shattered into billions of tiny mysterious impulses. What in the name of the universe was going on in there?

“Of course,” agreed Moon kindly. Moon put his arm around Herr Fronert’s shoulder and let him into the secret of science and life.

“Herr Fronert everything has a rational scientific explanation no matter how abstract or absurd. If a theory doesn’t fit the facts reality is playing tricks with the facts. Reality is presenting an alternative reality. Are you with me?”

Bigbug nodded. Absurd Reality Theory (ART) but only relevant in non-nonsensical sequencing and random reckless rational. How would this stupid human, who did not appear to be thinking at all, how could he know about ART? Bigbug had to have its nutrients. It shoved a long thin silver toot tube pipe into its wasp ringed erect cock and sucked out and swallowed a dose of bugjuice.

Herr Fronert was bog smacked at Moon’s pearls of Irish wisdom. Moon and Fronert got along then like two peas in a pod, no that’s wrong, two oddballs in a bag is more apt and Seamus did not refer to two seeds in Moon’s scaly scrotum. Seamus sat down and drank his coffee as Moon was peering wisely through the telescope and filling Herr Fronert in on the Alternative Astronomy, (AA). The telescope was focused in on our Earth Moon and our other human Moon was delighted.

“And vat brings you to Vienna?”

“We are on our way to Budapest to have a rock examined. We have discovered,” said Moon, “a meteorite. A very rare meteorite. We have two pieces with us. One piece is going to be examined by the professor in Budapest University and the other piece we hope to give to the NASA scientists who will be there.”

Bigbug jolted up. It started talking to DATA. “Yes, they have two pieces, not one as we thought. They cut the end piece in two. I agree there is no possible way we can let NASA anywhere near the rocks. The problem is this Moon human. I cannot read him and he is blocking out the other Seamus human. Whenever I scan him our probes go wild and I malfunction. I can listen to him but I cannot intervene or influence his brain. His presence close to the other human also disrupts my scanning and remote examinations of him too. Their irrationality combines and is creating a firewall. I cannot locate the two pieces of rock by thought extraction. I will have to do it physically. I will have to use my human assets. Yes, I agree with you, it is a most strange anomaly that must be rectified.” Bigbug was looking at Moon and Seamus exiting the observatory. DATA will soon find out what makes these anomalies tick.

“A meteorite?” replied Herr Fronert staring at Moon with some alarm. “All meteorites are rare. What kind of a meteorite?”

“A Martian meteorite,” declared Moon emphatically.

“You are crazy,” replied Herr Fronert without the slightest hesitation. He was angry at Moon’s ridiculous claim. We were escorted shortly afterward out of the observatory.

“What did I tell you to say about the rock?” Moon didn’t reply. He was as high as a satellite. “About the rock being worthless? Do you have any idea how much a six kilo Martian meteorite is worth? Millions, fucking many millions! We agreed to say we did not know what it is. Might it be a lump of slag? It might be worthless. Are you fucking listening to me?”

“Only the good bits.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Have you got a couch and a week off work?”

They travelled back to the campsite in silence. Seamus knew there was something agitating Moon. Eventually, he came out with it.

“There is a Foreign Legion base on the Moon, Seamus. No really. I knew a Legionnaire guy who was up there. He was the regimental bugler. Played reveille every morning in the Sea of Antiquity. I would have loved to have seen the base but I just could not find it. Not surprised,” Moon told Seamus in the camper, “the camouflage in the Legion is perfect. Perfect.”

It was Seamus’s turn to grunt. Moon was flickering and restless. There was something else on his mind and he was still zooming high on the MDMA crystals.

“What is it?”

“What I did see was a football training camp up there. Fully floodlit too. Keep that to yourself. I don’t want Chelsea or Liverpool to find out.”

Seamus grunted - twice loudly.

Moon smiled. He was delighted. “It must belong to United. We are the only club with enough money to have a training camp up there. Fergie’s Crater. No nightclubbing up there. No distractions. Only pure football. None of that racing Ferraris around Marble Arch full of counterfeit drugs cut with shit.”

“You have a brass neck preaching about drugs Moon.” Seamus took the opportunity to have a go at Moon. “It’s crazy to have ecstasy crystals with you down here. The Austrians will throw you and me in jail and confiscate Tony’s camper. Why did you bring ecstasy with you, you crazy bastard? I told you to stash it back in Amsterdam.”

“I didn’t bring the big crystal with me,” protested Moon, “I stashed it like you asked me to. I found a few Es in me jacket pocket that were left over from that last rave in the Gasfabrik.”

“That is great. The police will never think to look in your pocket when they bust you.”

“There was only a few. Just enough for a decent trip or two.”

“You are not travelling with me carrying ecstasy or any other Class A drugs otherwise this trip, the real trip, ends here and now and you are walking back to Amsterdam. You can be a selfish, irresponsible, asshole at times.”

“What do you want me to do with the tabs? Throw them away?”

“Yes, and I want your word as an EWAB you don’t have anything with you but the grass.”

Moon stiffened up. “You have my word. Are you serious about throwing away the ecstasy?”

“Yes. Throw it down the toilet.”

“That’s pollution man. Ecstasy was made for humans to get high not to get the turds stoned. If you want to get rid of drugs the best thing to do is take them. Old fashioned recycling and you get high while saving the planet at the same time.” He smiled and sang, “And everyone’s a winner baby that’s for sure.” He went off to the toilet and came back. He saluted Seamus. “Done.”

Seamus did not reply. He was satisfied Moon had no more Class A drugs. Moon would never lie in the EWAB’s name. He put on his headphones and made himself comfortable. Mozart invaded his being. He looked forward to the Grateful Dead.

“Go to snoring.”

Moon went out the Margarita to have a spliff and piss behind an oak tree. He liked pissing behind oak trees. Some primitive deep-rooted Irish bog oaky impulse Seamus suspected. Moon says it is better to piss behind a tree than preferring to piss on some friend or clients back and then tell the unfortunate that it’s raining. A work conditioning training method now used by all the major banks. Amen, a moon.

Next day in the Margarita, rolling towards Budapest, Moon let go of another three-second fart. Seamus rolled down the driver’s window letting cold fresh air rush into the cab. Moon didn’t snore when he travelled by car but engaged in a form of melodious wind breaking. One of his tuneful efforts sounded much like the first four notes of Ba Ba Black Sheep played on the bassoon. Try it – putt putt putt puuuuuut! Life is a series of small mercies bordering on the miraculous at times. No baked beans in Austria. Is that a title for a futuristic novel or a nomad chef seeking fame and fortune in an exotic flatulent society?

It was a smooth and uneventful trip to the great city of Budapest. Seamus was enjoying driving the VW bus. He appreciated why his good friend Tony was, for want of a better state of descriptive existence, in love, with the marvellous Margarita. As they pulled into the hotel car park Moon woke up and ceased wood winding. It was a fine cold, clear, day.

“Are we there?”

“No. We are here. The university is on the other side of the Danube there. Not more than a couple of tram stops. We were lucky to find rooms. The hotel is almost fully booked out with the Mineral Fair. A lot of scientists staying here. Russian delegation.”

Moon looked about him for the first time since entering Hungary. He stretched and began rolling a spliff.

“I’m starving,” he said looking around across the Danube at the ancient centre of Budapest, “and never mind the inedible Irish. Where’s the McDonalds?”

“McDonald's? An EWAB commander eating in McDonald's?”

“ I only eat the burgers. I never touch the fries. The only thing I have against them is they don’t do the baked beans.”

“There is great local cuisine here in Hungary.”

“McDonald's is great food. Cheeseburgers are forever.”

Seamus wrote that down. Cheeseburgers Are Forever. One never knows, does one, old chap? 007 might give up the diamonds, the Aston Martin, gambling, his PPK, the Martinis, even the beautiful women. They booked in and were given rooms on the fourth floor. The rooms looked out across the Danube and they could see the old University where they had an appointment with Professor Brezini and his assistant geologist Dr Szabolcs Nagy late in the afternoon after lectures had ended for the day. Seamus went online to check up on the progress of the meteorite.

The Bigbug read everything Seamus accessed on his Apple. He was sitting in a hotel room on the floor above Moon and Seamus briefing his human resource Suzzi Pong. It was dressed in the uniform of a general in the KGB.

“You will take the place, at very short notice, of Helena Rodinski, the administrator of the Russian delegation, who last night went insane and jumped into the Danube. Don’t worry her body will never be found. This is the responsibility of comrade Fat Don who I have turned into a hungry shark. He is grateful to escape his house bound, bloated body and dine out comrade.”

Suzzi Pong smiled in gratitude. She sat on the edge of Bigbug’s bed and nodded her head. There was such hope, a massive longing in her eyes. Bigbug needed to change her too for this mission. Mission change was exciting. Who, or what, would she be?

“You will become Dr Tanya Gagarin, a geologist from the University of St Petersburg. You are the new administrator to the Russian delegation. I have invaded the mind of the delegation chief scientist Professor Medelev and confirmed your position in there. Your mission is to take complete control of every aspect of the humans Moon and Seamus’s visit to the mineral fair here in Budapest. Any questions?”

“This Tanya Gagarin is she young?”

“Twenty five years old.”

“Is she beautiful, Comrade General?”

“See for yourself, Tanya.”

The cocktail of bugjuice and rejuvenation liqueur was pre-prepared. The potion had to be in perfect proportions. It handed Suzzi Pong the glass. As she drank a tendril from Bigbug’s forefinger entered her ear and went into her brain. Bigbug downloaded the mission program into her mind as she changed into the wonderful secret agent Tanya Gagarin. The Emperors Affliction, the terrible disfiguring nose, vanished. Suzzi Pong gasped. What a beautiful creature she had just become. In less than one minute she was a tall, blonde, stunning blue eyed woman. She stood up and took off her clothes and there stood a young creature with a perfect figure notwithstanding the Bigbug black and yellow rings that ran around her bust and her bum. A bumble bee bikini. It was incredible how intelligent she now was. Tanya could speak every language on Earth and her I.Q was not measurable by any human. She was so happy and relieved, even if it was only for the duration of the mission, to be free of the Emperors Affliction.

“How long does the mission last?” She spoke in Russian.

“Until we have recovered every last gram of the meteorite and eradicated all memory of its existence. I must warn you that this agent disguise is not permanent. If you feel yourself reverting do not panic, I will know, and come remedy the situation.” Bigbug was smiling, an evil, sadistic grin.

“Reverting to who, comrade general?”

“To the person you really are. The human you were when I first found you and you will revert back to the age you should now be if I were not your saviour. You are ninety-four years old. Do not fail me.”

Tanya was horrified. “I will not fail. And if I succeed?”

“Then I will free you as the young woman you want to be. This I promise.”

Tanya lifted her arms above her head and looked at Bigbug with mischievous eyes. She was smooth, supple and sexy. “Am I ready for my mission, comrade general?”

“Mr Moon will find you most attractive. In fact, any human male will find you not only most desirable but irresistible. Be assured.”

Tanya looked at herself in the mirror. She liked Bigbug’s words. She stroked her bug stripes. “ What happens if Mr Moon sees these rings?”

“Do him in the dark.”

Moon and Seamus arrived outside the university by tram. Seamus belled Dr. Szabolcs who came down to meet them by the reception in the entrance hall. They introduced themselves and Dr. Szabolcs took them up the ornate marble staircase and the portraits of the long dead Hungarian academics glared down at them from their perches in their intricately carved gold gilded frames. Seamus wondered how many of them ended up in Uncle Joe’s concentration camps. Professor Berzini was waiting for them in his lab. Dr. Szabolcs did the introductions. He and Berzini both spoke good English.

“Good evening gentlemen. I trust you had a good flight?” He peered at Seamus and Moon from behind very thick glasses that were stuffed into, and about to pop out from, tortoise shell frames. He was a tall thin man with enormous hands.

“Yes,” replied Seamus, “flight was good.” Ah, sure little white lies confirming the mundane never hurt anyone.

“If we could see the sample,” said Dr. Szabolcs, “the professor, as always, is pressed for time.”

The Hungarians already knew the history of the rock from e-mail correspondence with Seamus and Moon. Seamus handed over a 120-gram piece of the rock. The Hungarians became animated examining the sample.

“Excellent,” said Brezini. He unwrapped the piece of rock and went over to one off of his powerful microscopes. The lab was fully equipped with state of the art high tech machinery. Technicians peered wisely at their instruments and went quietly about their business. Brezini placed the cut and polished face of the rock under the lenses, focused in and a great detailed microscopic picture of the matrix of the rock came up on the monitor. Amazing AP came into view, perhaps the first alien picture, AP, in Hungary. The rock was composed in most part of a mass of what looked like tiny eggs that had been sliced in half. They were concentric like the rings visible in a felled tree. Brezini and Szabolcs muttered quietly away to each other in Hungarian.

“Did anyone examine this specimen?” asked the professor. He was agog. He rubbed his eyes in shock perhaps initial disbelief.

“Yes. A Russian geologist. He said those small egg shapes, or spherules, in the rock are ooliths and this is a piece of oolithic ironstone.”

The Hungarians began to laugh. “No. No,” said the Professor, “you see here,” he zoomed in on a spherule, “these are crystals. Millions of even more minute crystals within the spherule. I have never seen anything like this before gentlemen.”

“O yes,” agreed Moon wisely, “chock a block with cosmic crystals.”

“Ooliths contain grains, not crystals,” explained Szabolcs.

“Whatever this sample is gentlemen I can tell you one thing for certain. These spherules are igneous in origin, not sedimentary, and from my reading of the chemical composition report, you sent me I am somewhat intrigued. The sample contains an iridium anomaly. There is no quartz in this sample and perhaps even more amazing for something that was made in and off the shallow sea bed there are no marine microfossils.” He pointed up to the monitor. “How can any rock created in a shallow marine sludge sediment not contain sand, quartz, fish eggs, and all the many tiny microscopic marine organisms? No quartz? Oolithic ironstone must be ruled out. Whoever told you this is oolithic ironstone has not examined this rock or they are deceiving you. Any one of my first-year students will tell you the same thing.” He paused. “See here. The sample quite clearly contains glass. High temperature and these cracks. Produced by shock. Hmmm? Very high temperatures.” The professor was intrigued. He zoomed into maximum magnification on the crystals inside small spherules. “How extraordinary.” The picture shown up on the big monitor showed thousands of the crystals packed close together in an odd interlocking interwoven geometrical pattern. “There are many different types of crystals in these eggs. I have never seen a construction like this before.” Their shape was something never seen before by the professor. They fit perfectly together. “Any idea what these are Szabolcs?”

“I have no idea, sir.”

“Each type of crystal appears to have its own distinctive shape but the arrangement of the crystals within the spherules are all completely uniform. They are identical. All the one thing. Such precision. Are they artefacts of some kind?”

“No,” replied Dr. Szabolcs “Neither man or any known machine can create anything like this at such a molecular level. Frankly, I am amazed, so much so, sir, I confess to being astonished.” Both the geologists went silent staring at the picture.

Moon grabbed Seamus by the shoulder and whispered urgently in his ear.

“They are bugs and they just moved.”

“Knock it off.”

“I am telling you.” Moon was shaking. “They are bugs. The rock is alive. It’s moving. It’s crawling with bugs.”

“Go away in short sharp jerky movements. You will get us thrown out.”

“It is alive,” insisted Moon. “and they are communicating with each other.”

Seamus was angry. “Knock it off. I want the rock examined.” The screen flickered. “You see? It was just the screen flickering. That’s all.”

“I saw them move,” insisted Moon staring at the screen with his eyes shut. “They give me the creeps. They are evil, Seamus.”

“How can you see them with your eyes closed?”

“I can see them with me head. In my head.” Moon opened one eye. “They have stopped moving.” He glared at Seamus. “They are playing dead.”

“You will be very dead if you don’t stop talking bullshit.”

“Alright,” said Moon, “but they are alive and watching us.”

The professor beckoned them over. “What else can you tell us about this sample?”

“The Russian who first examined this rock initially said the rock was a meteorite. He changed his mind stating it was oolithic ironstone and he had made a mistake in his examination. He says all the compositions of the rock, the structure itself, have been changed by metamorphism and that’s why you cannot see the features of oolithic ironstone anymore. He said that’s why the ooliths don’t look like ooliths, the micro marine organisms, the organic matter, the sand and sediment, the quartz, they have all vanished, and this metamorphism also changed the chemical composition.”

There was silence while the Hungarians digested this neat and ingenious hypothesis and then they began to chuckle.

“Miraculous form of metamorphism. I think this Russian is practising a modern day form of Soviet alchemy. Is he a geologist?”

“Yes. He is a Doctor of Geology working in the VU in Amsterdam.”

“Good God!” The professor was holding a print out. “We ran a quick analytical scan on the rock. The scan tells us the major elements contained in the sample. This is much different to the chemical composition report you e-mailed to us. They do not tally.” He pointed up at the screen. “Our scan has detected regular meteoritic elemental deposits within the matrix of the sample, the glue or cement of the rock is rich in carbon cobalt and iridium, but the scan does not recognise any elements, or minerals, which make up the composition of these spherules. There are many completely unknown elements in this sample. This is bizarre. These spherules were not formed when this rock was created. They came into the rock at a later stage.” He held up his hands in ignorance. “How did they get into the rock? By what possible process?″ The scan recommends detailed and advanced further analysis. We will be delighted to examine the sample for you and give you a report. It is interesting. Most interesting. My colleague here Dr Szabolcs will make you out a receipt for the sample. I am afraid I cannot offer you my hospitality, as I should, my diary is totally full for the next eleven years when I shall retire to the Urals. Good day. It was nice to have met you. We will make a preliminary examination when the technicians go home. When the lab is a bit quieter.”

That’s handy thought Bigbug. I will come along and give you a claw.

“Anything further, gentlemen?”

“Yes, professor. Myself and Mr Moon came to Budapest to attend the Mineral fair. We hoped to meet the NASA scientists and give them this small piece of the rock for examination.” Seamus held out the one hundred and six grams end piece.

Professor Brezini smiled. “We are indeed cooperating with the NASA people in the moon rock and meteorite lectures. You would like us to give this rock to the NASA people for you and arrange a meeting?”

“Yes, professor that would be very helpful.”

“Szabolcs arrange this for them. Gentlemen this rock, this meteorite, is so unusual it deserves to be studied worldwide. Now I really must get along. Thank you.” Brezini shook their hands and off he went, white coat flapping briskly into the stony corridors of post-cold war Hungarian geology and the highly visible benefits of western democracy. There was a coca cola dispenser on each floor. Szabolcs and Brezini both knew the NASA people very well. Szabolcs was confident they could get them an interview. He gave them his mobile number and arranged to meet them at the Mineral Fair next day. They collected the receipts from Szabolcs and left. Outside Seamus rounded on Moon,” What’s all that shit talking about the chondrules moving?”

“They were moving. Rotating this way and that sending out the vibes. Rubbing against each other. As if, as if they were saying hello and hugging each other.”

“Moon grow up! I know you hate the scientists, the weird men in white coats, but we are dependent on the good will of these people to examine the rock. If they think we are nutters who can see minerals massaging each other and smooching, we won’t get past the front desk of any lab on the planet. We cannot afford to have private research carried out. So knock it off. What did you think of the meeting?”

Moon started to laugh. “It was amazing. Did you see those technicians? They were pure KGB straight out of a Senator McCarthy nightmare.” He became serious for an instant. “I think it was a great meeting. They seem to know their stuff and they have all the latest equipment. Where is the Mineral Fair?”

“Just over there in that building there. Let’s go over and see if we can get tickets for tomorrow and maybe buy a programme.”

“I can’t wait,” said Moon, “to talk to the professors from NASA and the Johnston Space Centre.

Seamus grunted and smiled.

“They will be all ears I am sure.”

It was very expensive to attend the Mineral Fair as a walk in visitor. A full ticket was fifty five Euros each and even then some lectures were restricted to invitation only. The credit card was cracking. They didn’t buy tickets but walked back to the hotel strolling through Budapest stopping off every now and again and again to drink the great Hungarian beer. There were lots of lovely women about. Moon’s head was swivelling to and fro and Seamus dearly wished he were thirty years younger. They got back to the hotel just before six and Moon went up to the bar to get the drinks before dinner. Seamus found a table by the window. The bar was full of Russian scientists and technicians. They were boisterous and babbling loudly in Russian. Seamus had the impression, which means nothing says Moon, as impressions are quite often deceptive and delusional, based, as they are, in the dimensionally subjective, reality being in the eye of the beholder, and the Russians not getting out a lot. Within a couple of minutes Moon was talking to a beautiful young Russian woman sat up at the bar. Her name was Tanya and she had recently graduated as a geologist from St Petersburg University. She was the administrator for the Russian delegation. Her specialist subject was drilling for oil and gas. Moon bought her a beer and brought her down to the table. He introduced her to Seamus. A very beautiful and highly attractive woman. A tall blonde Russian.

“And,” she said to Moon, “You have pot? Real pot?” Her sparkling flirty blue eyes were full of wondrous disbelief and happy hope.

“I do,” said Moon, “Northern Lights.” He stood up. “Shall we spliff?” He offered Tanya his arm. She accepted.” Fancy a MacDonald’s?”

“This is true glasnost,” she whispered as she and Moon disappeared out from the restaurant, “with French Fries.”

“Later boss,” smiled Moon. Much later Moon hoped.

Ten minutes in the bar and Moon leaves with the most beautiful woman in the hotel and the place was full of sensuous smiling Slavs. All tasty women. How on Earth does Moon do that? Seamus resolved to start his own marijuana plantation. Maybe Moon would give him a few of his Northern Light clones. In the meantime, the dinner menu was an interesting distraction.

“Just yourself, sir?” asked the waiter.

“Only me,” replied Seamus and ordered a smoked trout and avocado starter with a half bottle of fine Hock followed by a delicious wild boar goulash. Life does have its compensations for the over sixties.