Chapter 16
'I just can't get it out of my head, pal,' said Foreman, putting clean sheets on the bed, because frankly, Monkley was rubbish at it. 'I keep trying to come up with some logical explanation. If it was deliberate, what's the motive? How could anyone possibly gain from it? Pass me that blanket. Thanks. Could it be political? I don't see it. Mars belongs to nobody and everybody. Just about every nation on Earth contributed, and those who couldn't afford to, gave it moral support. The project was so huge, it stopped war in its tracks. For the first time in human history, the whole world was working together.'
He sat on the bed, and Monkley jumped up beside him. Monkley stroked Foreman's beard. In all the years together on Earth, Foreman had been clean shaven. The hairy face intrigued the GenMoP. He stroked Foreman's beard and then his own hairy face.
'Don't worry. I'm not turning chimp. You're the king of the jungle.'
'Monkley. King.'
'But you just remember, pal. You might be king of the jungle, I'm still emperor of Mars. Hey. I kinda like that. Andrew Foreman, Emperor of Mars. And my teachers at school said I'd never amount to anything. Hmm. Not much of an empire. A dirty red rock floating around in space. Maybe we should open up a bed and breakfast place. I can just see the blurb. “Tired of the same old resorts? Reinvigorate yourself on the Red Planet. Miles of uninterrupted beaches. Bungy jumping off Olympus Mons. Plenty of parking. Five star cuisine by our experienced chef, Monsieur Monkley. Speciality dish, raw banana.”
'Banana.'
'Of course, we'd soon have to franchise. Venus, Neptune. Today the solar system, tomorrow the galaxy.'
'Oooh!'
'That's your answer to everything. Oooh!'
'Oooh!'
'Come on. I've got a special little job for you, pal.'
In the maintenance room, one area was dedicated to the storage of seeds and potting. From a storage locker, Foreman took out a plastic container from which he removed a small soft tipped paintbrush.
'Brush.'
'Brush.'
'Good. Now. I recently discovered, we've been damned lucky to have the fruit that we have had. I just sort of took things for granted. No bees in the base. It turns out, we need to give nature a helping hand.'
'Hand.'
'Exactly. To be more specific, your hands. This is a job eminently suited to you, my little tree climbing friend.'
'Oooh!'
'I thought you'd be impressed. Now come with me.'
Foreman led the way to the jungle. On one of the apple trees, many of the branches were in blossom. 'Flower. Pretty.'
'Pretty.'
'Now watch very closely. Take the brush...'
'Brush.'
'And with the tip, carefully touch this bit. That's the female part.'
'Oooh!'
'Now rub it over this part of the next flower, the male part.'
'Pretty.'
'Then go onto the next one, and the next one. Here. You try.'
Monkley handled the brush with the dexterity of a skilled artist, delicately brushing each blossom in turn.
'Okay. See all those flowers?'
'Pretty.'
'Do this to all the pretty flowers. Off you go.'
Deciding the mission was sufficiently important for the king of the jungle, Monkley set about his task with single minded determination. Foreman knew he wouldn't stop until every blossom had been pollinated. With Monkley fully occupied for several hours, Foreman braced himself for more disappointment at the controls of the radio.
'Foreman to Earth. Foreman to Earth. I just wanna know. Is it something I said? If it is, I'm sorry. But I formally invite you to my birthday party in a couple of weeks. No. Don't bother sending cards. Just come and have a good time. We have all the processed pap you can eat and we do a wicked fruit sundae, minus the ice-cream. We have have a very interesting wine and not a bad organic mind bender. Oh. And if there are any single ladies out there looking for a good time, I have all of my own teeth and I might even shave for the occasion. This is definitely R.S.V. P.'
He sat back and waited. Twenty excruciating minutes rolled by and he was about to turn off the set when he got a reply.
'Foreman. This is Captain Mike Mitchum of I S F S Moonstruck. Boy, you're hard to get hold of. We accept your invite to the party and should be there in about ten days. Shall we bake a cake?'
Foreman wondered if it was a delayed reaction to a combination of his wine and dope. The radio had spoken.
'Captain Mitchum. Are you for real?'
This time, only a minute went by. 'Last time I looked in a mirror. The radio signal to Mars has been interfered with by solar storms. It's the same from Earth. No idea what the hell is going on down there.'
'Yeah. I've been worried sick. I was beginning to think Monkley and I were the only ones left.'
'Monkley's the GenMoP, right?'
'Yeah. Don't tell the little guy, but I'll be damned glad to see a human face.'
'You might change your mind when you see mine.'
'Have you come all this way just to rescue me?'
Mitchum laughed. 'Yeah, like you're that important. We were already on our way for some work we have to do. I'll explain when we get there. Hello? Hel...Forem...damn sol...inds...dio breaking up. We'll keep ...ing to con...see ...soon, Foreman.'
'Hello?'
Finally. Something good happening. Foreman practically danced out of the room. 'Hey, Monkley. Come down here.'
Monkley dropped down from the trees, with a “What? I'm kinda busy, you know?” Look on his face.
'We got people coming. Visitors. People coming here.'
'Oooh!'
'This is going to be one hell of a party, pal.'
'Party.'
'Oh. Yeah. Damn. I can hardly believe it. I can hardly wait. A bit odd though. Why send another ship here so soon after us? That's what Mitchum said. They were already on their way. With the cost of these flights, you'd think we would have all come together. But, hey. I'm not knocking it. It may well be a cock up in planning, but it means we get to go home.'
'Home.'