BigBug

It was a great moment for the bugs. The stolen safes from the lawyer’s office in Amersfoort were in Bigbug’s technical lab below the Schip Museum . The great hive buzzed with excitement. Two DADA technicians cut open the safe containing the rock. One of them took out the rock and put it up on the bench. It looked like a rhino horn, painted black. DADA scanned it and immediately got in touch with The Bigbug who was watching The War of the Worlds in a city centre cinema in Budapest. After the movie it was going to collect the two Irishmen and leave Hungary. The Bigbug loved movies. It considered movie making a vibrant art form that was alive. The Bigbug could enter the movie as it was being shown and interact with the actors. It was taking the opportunity to check up with Tom Cruise what kind of bugs killed the Martians and if they had been properly credited. DADA was whispering in its ear. Bigbug was shocked. The Irishmen, the pests, were going to be executed. Savage humans. It rose up from the floor in the cage in the Martian spacecraft and approached Tom just as he was about to stuff a few hand grenades up the aliens ass and save the planet.

“I am sorry Tom but I have to leave now. Duty calls and all that. Take care of our little friends.”

“I don’t see this in the script,” says Tom.

“Cut,” shouts the director.

The Bigbug climbed out the screen. As it did so the movie stopped and a government instruction appeared up on the screen ordering all reservists to report to their units and all civilians to go back to their homes and wait for there for more information. Bigbug quickly exited the cinema. Duty calls. DATA calls. DATA had spoken. Bring back the Irishmen. A bit difficult now with Budapest in turmoil. The Bigbug didn’t always get it right. No. Not at all. Professor van Zoete had been a world-renowned scientist of considerable intellectual power but his son Pieter was a bit of a dimwit by comparison. His choice by the bugs as a host was not of their choosing nor would it have been that of van Zoete. The bug colony in van Zoete’s brain chose was what was available at that time in order to survive. The bugs were unaware of the frailty and short life span of humans. When van Zoete fell down dead with a massive heart attack brought about by too rapid adaptation Pieter van Zoete was already preconditioned to become the Bigbug. The one and only Bigbug to be but it was and still was, in part, a nine years old human boy. Part of its brain contained traces of the boys rational, reasoning and behavioural patterns but the bug colonization of the boy Pieter’s brain stopped to a great degree his human intellectual development. The bugs had colonized a naughty boy with a horrible nine-year-old boy’s oddities and peculiarities one of which was the Bigbug’s love, fascination, and obsession with the movies. DATA knew Bigbug was addicted to the movies. Bigbug preferred sci-fi particularly B movies and Westerns were its second choice. That’s what Budapest in crises looked like now. A very bad B movie. The Bigbug sometimes thought the world and all that went on in the world was a movie. It was the big star and humanity was irksome enemies and extras. It modelled itself on John Wayne whom it considered was the greatest actor and the finest earthling ever to have walked the earth. What an adaptation he would have made! The Bigbug had by taking control of TRIPOD and other Hungarian security computers plunged Hungary into crises and it wasn’t that easy to deactivate the programmes it had launched. The Bigbug had put on full alert the entire Hungarian Armed Forces, the Security Services, the Police, the Emergency Services and the Coast Guard. It had even mobilized the Churches and Religious Institutions in Civil Defence. Budapest and all major cities were in lockdown. Citizens were told to go home and stay there until the Prime Minister addressed the nation on emergency TV/Radio broadcasts and 100,000 thousand reservists had been called up. Bigbug sat down on a bench.

“I can speak freely now,” it reported to DATA.

“The Hungarians have ordered the execution of the two Irishmen. Cancel the executions. Immediately,” DADA ordered the Bigbug.

“I cannot do that without TRIPOD. Only TRIPOD can order a reprieve.”

“Then use TRIPOD but make very sure the humans do not die. They must be brought to me. We must know the location of the find and the Moon human may make what we have been looking for. He may be suitable as a super adaptation.”

“It is a bit difficult to activate TRIPOD at the moment.”

“Why is this?”

“The Hungarians pulled the plug out.”

“Is this a human joke?”

“Power starvation is not funny. Starving a machine of power? It is barbarous. Humans are so irrational.”

“Stupidity is also a stubborn human trait. Irrationality and stupidity are two great human qualities we have thus far been unable to eradicate. Alas.” DADA lapsed into a brooding hum.

Hmmmm? – Thus far and alas? Irksome words crackling with innuendo and anger. DADA was having a wobbly. Bigbug understood. The very idea that anyone could deprive a computer of power was a war crime. Bigbug thought. What would The Duke do in a situation like this? Easy question to answer. Saddle up – ho!

“I will rescue them.” Hi, Ho Bigbug away!

It was 07-10 am. The major and the colonel were standing by Seamus and Moon’s beds. Both were dressed in their best uniforms.

“No news?” asked the major hopefully.

“No.” The colonel sighed and looked at the major fondly.” We have our orders major.”

She looked at Moon and Seamus lying sleeping on the beds. Two guys who thought they had struck it rich. Thought they had found a fabulous meteorite, the leprechaun’s crock of gold at the end of the rainbow. All they had found was pain, injustice, and now death. This was murder most foul.

“It is almost time, major.”

“I have prepared the injections.” She was going to inject them with enough morphine that would kill a bull elephant and just to make sure an extra injection of cyanide. She went over to Seamus and lifted his arm. “Colonel?”

“Your objections have been noted and filed major. If it’s any good for you, I agree with you, but we don’t know what is going on. All we know is Hungary is in a crisis. Let’s get on with it.”

She placed the point of the needle against the tube inserted into Seamus’s arm.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” says the Bigbug speaking in perfect Hungarian. It was dressed in the uniform of a senior officer in the Hungarian Army.

The major froze. The colonel reached for his pistol. This was absurd. This facility was so secure he kept his service pistol locked up in his desk. This place was designed to be impenetrable.

“Who the hell are you Field Marshal and how did you get in here?”

“Put the needle down, major.” The Bigbug did have a gun, an AK47; it had taken from a Hungarian soldier. It waved it at the major. The major put down the hypodermic. “I don’t have time to explain. We are under attack by NATO.”

“ NATO? Why?”

“They are bored. No war, no promotions. Undo the prisoners.”

The major and the colonel began to undo the restraints.

“How much longer will they be unconscious?”

“Not more than an hour, general.”

“Are they in good health? You have not damaged the humans?”

“Moon will suffer trauma but I can give him something for that. The other one was just sedated.”

“I can see you tortured Moon.”

“Yes, we did. Standard procedure in a case like this involving national security.”

“National Security,” scoffed Bigbug, “who do you think you are comrades - the CIA? Dress them both.”

The Bigbug ordered the pair into the colonel’s office when they finished dressing Moon and Seamus.

“I need to see your ID and your written authorization to enter this facility,” demanded the colonel.

“Of course. Sit down. I will,” it lied, “explain everything.” It then released a knockout gas from its neck glands that quickly overcame the pair. It sat them in chairs and then taking out its wasp ringed feeding organ it shoved it down their throats, in turn, ejaculating into both of them a measured, as possible in the circumstance, and not being a precise instrument, dose of bug juice. The effect was remarkable. The colonel and the major both in their fifties began to get younger and younger and younger. “Coochie coo, coochie coo,” said the Bigbug to the two toddlers who were climbing out of their old uniforms. The Bigbug made sure they were ok. It had dosed them just right. Both eighteen months old. Lovely kids. Both looked just like their father. Chips of the old cock. It left them some water. It wondered if they would retain their old growing up adult memories. It was an irrelevancy. They wouldn’t talk. They couldn’t. “Da da, da da,” said the Bigbug, “Me, da da, da da, coochy coo,” it pointed at itself, smiled, then closed the door on the toddlers. It locked them in. That should keep the Hungarian counter intelligence busy for a decade or two. It strode briskly. It had work to do. It had to smuggle two Irish peasants out of Hungary as soon as possible. Sooner if possible otherwise DATA will get pissed off. It loaded Seamus onto a wheeled stretcher and threw Moon on top of him. It ran through the corridors of the facility and as it did so it activated and closed all the security doors behind it.

“Seamus wake up. In the name of God wake up. We have been kidnapped by an alien.”

“An alien?” Seamus opened his eyes.

“Yes – an alien.”

“Not quite,” replied the Bigbug who was driving Margarita at breakneck speed along small icy, pothole ridden, back roads in the Hungarian countryside. Seamus and Moon were in the back laying on the double bed. They were handcuffed together, by the wrists, and both their feet were bound tightly with duct tape. Every now and again, more now than again, they were thrown up in the air as the Margarita bounced up and down, rolled from side to side, scraping branches as the Bigbug threw the Margarita around blind bends and hidden dips in the road at night and all at the limits of the roaring screaming Porsche engine.

“Slow down,” screamed Seamus but the Bigbug was driving like a rally driver on speed, at speed.

“Who are you?”

“He is one of the bugs,” shouted Moon. “ It’s a big bug.”

“That’s right. I am Bigbug.” It began to laugh. It liked that name and it was enjoying itself. This was hands on old-fashioned mad human stunt stuff. Batman trade in the Bat mobile and eat your batty black heart out.

“What’s going on,” yelled Seamus against the cold air rushing through the open windows of the camper.

“We are on a getaway, gentlemen. And a rescue. I am rescuing you from a fate worse than death.” It paused. “I want you both to be quiet. We are nearing the border and we will cross into Austria at an unmarked track.” The Bigbug slowed the Margarita down a bit and Moon and Seamus breathed sighs of great relief. The Margarita made a left turn and tore off along a track into a dense forest. The Bigbug turned off the lights. “It’s ok,” it said, “my vision has been modified. I can see in complete darkness.”

“Modified?” says Seamus going along with the nut to try and find out what the hell it was up to.

“Yes. I am a human adaptation - an alien modification.”

“I told you they were here,” says Moon. “Did anyone listen? No,” he roared and began to laugh. “Too busy making money and screwing up the planet.” The Margarita came to a halt. “Where are you taking us?” Moon was in a great mood.

“Back to Sin City.”

“Back to the Dam?”

“Yes back to the great confessional and I am to be your confessor.” The Bigbug cut their feet loose and got them out of the camper onto the dirt road. It undid their handcuffs. It prodded them with its AK47.

“Walk beside me, one either side and do not try to escape. If you try I will kill you both.”

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want.”