Ticklers Page 3

  Well, to cut a long (albeit engaging) story short, Renton's plans for a new life and a new outlet for his libido didn't really get off the ground. Well before they were airborne, they fell through a small hole in the runway and slap bang into the middle of a big adventure. And why a big adventure should be lurking at the bottom of a hole in a runway was something he never resolved. Nor why two other unsuspecting victims fell into the adventure's swirling maelstrom with him, a traffic police-lady by the name of Madeleine Maiden, and a reptilian spaceport check-in supervisor called Boz - who was one of the nicest reptilian spaceport check-in supervisors you could ever wish to meet. But what he did resolve was the problem at the centre of the adventure - on a world called Dumpiter - with, it has to be admitted, more than a little help from his co-adventurers.

  And therefore, at the conclusion of the adventure, he had one big resolution in his pocket, to say nothing of two new relationships, one with Boz, which was that of a brother, and one with Madeleine, which was that of a lover. Oh, and all three of them were now firmly hooked on adventure for the foreseeable future, and preferably adventure of the sort where all three of them could venture together. They'd all had a large dose of excitement like nothing they'd had before, and they now wanted more of it - to enjoy indefinitely and to enjoy with each other.

  Well, that idea didn't get airborne either. Not because of holes in the runway - but more because they just couldn't organise it. After all, having shared adventures isn't like having shared orgasms. You can't just rub something and up they all pop. You have to work at it. You have to seek them out. And then, even if you find one, there's no guarantee that there'll be room for all three of you. In fact, it's far more likely that you'll be sucked into it on your own - or with whoever else happens to be around at the time. And any pre-allocation of seats business will prove to be a complete non-starter.

  So the trio broke up.

  It wasn't easy. But all three of them convinced themselves that this was the right way to proceed - for now. They'd obviously get back together again in the near future. But just for a while, they'd have to go it alone. Get a bit of experience under their belts, and then see where this led them - and how they might then be able to return to their original plan - of becoming the modern-day manifestation of the Three Musketeers - whoever they might have been…

  Boz started his own detective agency. It didn't, on the face of it, offer much in the way of adventure - and certainly not of the sort they'd experienced already. But it did offer the promise of some income - for somebody who was now a former check-in supervisor without private means. And who could tell? It might well lead to all sorts of new excitements. And if not new excitements, then at least new experiences - and maybe some new expertise as well…

  And the prospect of acquiring some new expertise, along with maybe some unique new skills, was clearly in Madeleine's mind when she chose what she wanted to do. For Madeleine chose to join a very select security force, a small band of highly trained agents who provided protection to a handful of tiny communities and their special treasure - a special treasure that demanded the exercise of a range of skills that were as unique as they were demanding… And as these communities were spread throughout the furthest reaches of the cosmos, and after her induction course, one of these far-away places would be Madeleine's home for at least twelve months, Renton had wondered whether getting away from him for an extended period was also in Madeleine's mind when she'd plumped for this choice.

  She assured him it was not. And she promised her lust for him would remain undiminished until she saw him again. And she knew he would save himself for her, just as she would for him, no matter how long they were apart. And anyway, hadn't he heard that old saying about how 'abstinence makes the part grow longer…'?

  He responded to that quip in a similar vein, with a reference to: 'a fool and his honey are soon parted'. Not that she'd understood it and not that it reflected what he really thought. And that was that possibly Madeleine did want to back off for a bit. That she wanted to gauge how much her lust for him was succumbing to love. And a twelve-months-plus retreat to a remote corner of the universe would allow her to do this.

  Only a suspicion, of course, but one Renton responded to by committing himself to the possibility of an even longer period of estrangement. And he did this by applying to join not the security force Madeleine had selected, but another one, one that when it accepted you tended to accept you for the rest of your life! Yes, Renton had applied to join an enterprise that could genuinely claim to be the closest thing in the universe to organised, professional adventuring. He had applied to become a “Tickler”.

  Set up when the colonisation of space was just in its teens, these Ticklers were originally a very small band of “guardian angels”, mostly ex-servicemen motivated by a liking for action mixed with a desire to help and protect the innocent - in what was then a disorderly and very often dangerous universe. It was informal and unorganised - but stuffed with enthusiasm and resourcefulness. They were, even then, a force to be reckoned with.

  It wasn't long before one of their number, Harry Patheringfan, answered the call for some leadership in the group. As it grew it needed some direction in what it did, and to a degree, some element of discipline. Harry provided both. And he did this through introducing a structure within its ranks, but more importantly, by imposing an elaborate code of conduct to which all its members were required to submit. And Harry, being something of a student of ancient history and some of its more mythical traditions, based this code on the concept of chivalry. So his little band of warriors became burdened with the rather ridiculous and entirely inelegant sounding title of “The Intergalactic Chivalrous Knights' League”. And Harry assumed the mantle of Senior Knight.

  The League flourished. It provided the ideal opportunity for all those free spirits in the universe who sought excitement and an outlet for their buccaneering ambitions for the good of all. And it served as an ever more effective police force of last resort for the frontier universe of the time. Wherever there were raiders to trap or bandits to chase, or wherever people needed protection in the most hostile of environments, the knights would be there.

  But gradually it began to grow into something else: a much larger elite force that was capable of taking on any assignment of any sort - and delivering a successful outcome on virtually every occasion. And the assignments really could involve anything: reconnoitring new worlds, conducting escort missions, mounting “pre-emptive protection sorties” - and even undertaking a bit of espionage when required. Then ultimately, what might be termed general security services, where property as well as people needed protecting. Even though the universe wasn't as wild as it used to be, and large tracts of it were painfully safe, there were still enough villains about and enough out of the way dangerous places to keep the knights very well occupied.

  And by this time the knights had a new name. “The Intergalactic Chivalrous Knights' League”, as well as being a rather formal title, was also a bit of a mouthful. And it was rarely used in full. But it did provide an acronym, which happily replaced the stuffy with the stiffy. For throughout the galaxies, Harry's brave knights had now come to be known as “Ticklers”.

  Now, generations later, they are still known as Ticklers - and there are more of them than ever. Nearly five thousand. A huge number compared to Harry Patheringfan's original gang, but still microscopically small compared to the teeming gazillions in the universe. And to be effective and to meet the demands now placed upon them, they employ ten times their own number to work as the “foot soldiers” of the League: the troopers. The troopers who share their adventures and, if good enough, who are promoted to the ranks of the Ticklers themselves - to join that partnership which is the League of Knights.

  Periodically the League recruits new blood to renew its ranks, either as new troopers or, exceptionally, as direct entrants into the partnership - as new knights. These will be men and women who show outstanding promise and who are jud
ged to have the unique abilities needed to meet the demanding standards of the League. Special people, rare people, enviably gifted, daring people. And sometimes people who have already made their mark as “private” adventurers. People like Renton.

  Yes, Renton had been accepted on the basis of his Dumpiter credentials, on the basis of what he'd achieved during that singular previous adventure. They had warned him that he was a bit older than the other League trainees, and he'd soon discover that he was a little short of their disturbingly impressive qualities - especially in the physical abilities department. But he was prepared to give it a go. And he was naïve enough to believe that, despite everything, he could succeed, that he could graduate from the prep-course and become what he yearned to be: a fully fledged Tickler!

  But that was at the beginning of the course - of course.

  5.

  Now it was all very different.

  He had capitulated. He had realised just how stupid he had been, how futile his ambitions to join the League really were. He had to quit. There was no question about it. But when? Now? Tomorrow? The day after tomorrow? He needed to decide, not least because he needed to tell somebody. And that was an appalling prospect, but one he had to face…

  Of course! At the end of the week it was Pentium Hepta Day. He could slip out in his monoflight while they were all still celebrating. He'd tell his tutor before then - but nobody else. They needn't know. It could be kept quiet. He was sure it could. Then he could just melt away. And the others would hardly miss him.

  That meant a few more days of course work. But that was OK. The pressure was off and he didn't need to try any more. And anyway, the modules he was completing this week… well, he was actually quite enjoying them…

  The first was fraud studies. He came top of the class. Then there was an optional module on custom abuses. And he topped on that one as well. And the hat-trick was sealed with his first place on the Logic I module.

  By now, Renton was confused, and he'd still not spoken to his tutor.

  Then on the day before Pentium Hepta Day it was long-range maser craft. All his fellow students, all those urgent young athletes, all those oiled and coiled springs of earnest zeal - they simply screwed up. They just couldn't cope with the calm stillness required for accurate shooting over a distance of five miles. But for Renton it was different. His snail-like metabolism and his cadaver-like inertness in the firing position made him a natural for distance shooting. It was bull's-eyes all the way, and he set a new range record as well as topping his fourth module of the week.

  On the eve of Pentium Hepta Day, Renton thought he might just defer his discussion with his tutor - for a little while at least - so that he could be absolutely sure of his decision to quit the course. But when, after Pentium Hepta Day, he continued to bag more modules as the cerebral elements of the course began to overtake the more physical, he finally decided not to talk to his tutor after all.

  Also, it was long enough now for that strange intrusion by Kanker to have become merely a vague memory, and Renton's own picture of the League had begun to re-assert itself.

  He was back on the course track again, racing along like a turbo-charged jeepster - and enjoying it. The successes mounted. And as they did, his dead-act sleeping returned and his appetite grew. And he was a model of restraint with his instructors and his fellow students. All the aggression and tension had gone. He was the normal Renton again. And that made him a very happy chappy.

  Some of the other trainees had started the course well, but their performance had petered out slightly towards the end. Others had sustained a fairly constant level of achievement over all the modules. Only Renton had started with mediocre results and then surged through to the excellent in the latter part of his training. So it was no surprise that amidst all those delighted graduands waiting to be formally admitted into the League on graduation day, there was just one who was more ecstatic than delighted. Renton was soaring out of his training in an upward arc of success and achievement. He was on a high, a very high high. And he'd get higher yet. He knew it.

  Although the actual moment in the graduation ceremony when graduand Renton, formerly a bean counter, graduated to Knight Renton of the League, would sure take some beating…

  And if only his friends had been there…

  6.

  The League's largest office - which was also its head office - was on the giant planet of Korpulund. If there was one commercial centre that could claim pre-eminence throughout the galaxies, it was this enormous world and its cluster of satellite planets. They were all swarming with people. People engaged in business. All sorts of business. And all of the sort that generated a huge demand for the services of the League - and all of the sort that generated the wealth necessary to pay for these services. Yes, Korpulund was a real honeypot of a place, and the obvious location for the Ticklers' number one office - and for its management centre, where all the top knights were based. Kanker and all his principal helpers lived on and worked on Korpulund.

  Renton was posted to Pandiloop, where the League had one of its smaller offices. And Pandiloop was not Korpulund. It was not big, and it had no cluster of planets about it to swell its commercial importance. Indeed, one had to search quite carefully to locate the limited and very local commerce it did claim to have. And one had to search even more carefully to locate the planet itself. It was certainly not a well-known regional centre. And if it was at the centre of any region at all, it was one at the very arse-end of the populated galaxies - well out of sight and well out of mind - and well out of kudos as well.

  Yes, Pandiloop was an outpost posting. Renton was going to work in an office of the League thousands of light years from its main office, and far from any of its other offices. It was an office that any observer might conclude should be positively bonsai'd from the lack of a nutritious market for its services - from the absence of anything approaching the trough of opportunities that existed on and about Korpulund, for example. But none of this concerned our new knight. He was en route to his new life in his cherished monoflight, and he was still on his graduation high. They could have posted him to an asteroid belt, even a thin asteroid belt, with or without a blindfold, and he wouldn't have minded. And, in any event, he had a few more immediate concerns to occupy his thoughts. For example, what to wear on Pandiloop?

  He hadn't been given any guidance on this matter, and had no idea of what to turn up in when he reported for duty at his new office. All he knew was that there wasn't a uniform and that formality was unlikely. He remembered that even Kanker's holo image had turned up in casual gear - if, of course, anything topped with a blue and yellow cravat could ever be called casual…

  Here, in his monoflight, he was wearing a pair of worn jeans, a black T-shirt, and one of his countless pairs of desert boots. Ideal attire for his long lean body and his short lean feet. And eminently casual. But suitable for work? He just didn't know.

  He wanted to create the right impression. But what would that be? The last thing he wanted was to be overdressed. But would jeans and a T-shirt be too underdressed? Maybe if he wore the jeans with a shirt. A short-sleeved shirt? Or a sweater? But would that be too hot? What season was it on Pandiloop anyway? Did they have seasons on Pandiloop? God! Was Pandiloop a tropical planet? Or an ice planet? He couldn't believe he hadn't found out. But he hadn't. It was all this ecstasy and enthusiasm stuff. He wasn't thinking straight. He'd better ease off…

  But then he thought about his shoes. He'd only brought desert boots with him, not even a single pair of trainers. And what if it was wet on Pandiloop! Oh God!

  He closed his eyes and made a conscious effort to breathe slowly, to allow himself to calm his thoughts and to take stock of his situation. Maybe even a little mental list making… But no! He knew what he was really concerned about. The clothes worries were just a symptom. What really concerned him was meeting his new colleagues, the two Ticklers and their staff on Pandiloop who would soon be his official comrades in arms. People
he would be depending on and people who would be depending on him. How should he present himself to them? How should he deal with the all-important first-impressions scene? Just how did he want to portray Renton Tenting to the Pandiloop brigade?

  Should he be coolly confident? Jaw hard-set and eyes narrowed slightly? Or matter of fact, unshockable, surprised at nothing, a “takes everything in his stride” sort of chap?

  Or maybe cheery? Happy-go-lucky? Always a smile, always ready to laugh at anything - even in the face of danger and generally perilous situations.

  And then it occurred to him that he was engaged in a totally futile exercise. He didn't have a choice in how to present himself. Whatever he tried to do, if it wasn't true Renton, it would fail miserably and he'd default to norm within seconds. It would very quickly end up in the usual mix of laid-back good nature ringed with apprehension and forgetfulness, and an unsurpassed ability to be taken by surprise by the events of life. So why bother to do anything other than be himself? And why bother about the clothes?

  Why indeed when he could be bothered about what he might be expected to do on his first day in the office? Now there was something to be really apprehensive about - even if he was still in a bubble of excited anticipation. Something that the worry-circuits of his true character could really get to grips with.

  They could ask him to do anything. He might be sent anywhere. Straightaway. It might well be dangerous. He was a Tickler now. Dangerous stuff was their every-day business. Hell, what had he joined the League for? Adventure and excitement; that's what for. But did that extend to danger of the real hostility variety? Other sentient beings actually trying to harm him type danger? Ending up hurt or even dead type danger?

  Well, no, not really. If it got that serious he would at least like a little time to adjust to the idea. He certainly wouldn't like that sort of stuff on his first day at work.