Long before those silicon superstar earplugs appeared on the scene, my comedic desires were assuaged by stories about sentient hamsters that lived in a parallel universe to our own. Hence the Hamster-Sapiens series of e-books.
In this, the sixth excerpt from my somewhat unique book series, I bring you a taster from the inexplicably unpopular The Abduction of Wetpatch Wilson – a book, I might add, that a test reader considered the funniest yet (until the fifth and final book – Danglydong Dell Diaries, arrived, of course).
Well naturally not one of those present in the former Federation Council Chambers could make any sense of the seared and ruined notice that Droop so painstakingly reassembled over the next five hours. It was simply too damaged to read – even after holding a candle behind it, and peering really hard. But the time hadn’t been totally wasted: Desmond had invented a highly interactive Education Computer so that Wetpatch wouldn’t fall too far behind in his studies for the Right to Adult Existence Examination that was due later in the year. And the fact that he’d managed to utilise some advanced Crustacean technology for it made it seem exotic and exciting – and Wetpatch had it follow in his wake everywhere that he went – even to the toilet.
“Hey, Wettie. The Education Computer, which naturally Wetpatch had named Kevin (despite Sally’s assertion that it should be known as Eddie) called, as it trundled behind the young hamster upon a multitude of tracked wheels, “Can you slow down? I got just the one ocular unit: I don’t got no depth of field. These walls get real hard sometimes: I done scratched my paint-work a thousand times already.”
As an education computer Kevin was a mine of information – most of which had been gleaned from the central computer of the Federation Council. Naturally the folk of Hamster Heath had added their input, and generally speaking it had been a worthwhile endeavour. But the machine’s use of the spoken language was flawed, and everyone was concerned that (upon Wetpatch’s eventual return to hamster civilisation) he’d sound like a single-brained-celled idiot to the populace of that fair town.
“Can’t you do something about it, Professor?” Sally had asked. “The thing speaks abominably.”
“I’m sorry, Sally dearest.” The hamster genius had replied, “I share your concerns, but really I don’t have the time: There’s just so many things to study if we’re ever to find the whereabouts of the Federation Council members. I’m afraid that it’s a matter of priorities.”
“Sure, Sally.” Ho had offered, when the ambassador mentioned it to him, “I got time between baking cakes and things: How ‘bout I try fix computer talking stuff?”
It had been a genuine offer, and Sally was grateful for it: But she must refuse.
“I’m sorry, Mister Ho.” She said as she patted his paw, “That’s very kind; but your Hamster-British is complete shit. With your verbal input we’d have Wetpatch talking like a Chinese chef by the time we get home. Now run along and knock me up a nice bowl of something vaguely edible. Can you do that for me?”
Of course there wasn’t anything that Ho wouldn’t do for Sally – even accepting horrendous insults without reply. “Sure, Sally.” He said chirpily, “How does sea-slug burger sound?”
Moments later Wetpatch flung himself into the tiny room that he called his ‘cabin’. Naturally Kevin followed him in, and settled down upon its suspension in the only free corner of the room. The remainder of the room was stuffed to the gunwales with ‘stuff’ that Wetpatch had ‘liberated’ from various places throughout the vast building.
“Sorry, Kevin.” Wetpatch began. But his mind quickly wandered when he heard Droop Van Dong shuffling past his door. He could tell it was Droop by the sound of the ball and chain that Roman had manufactured and affixed to his chubby leg.
Kevin recognised the sound too. “Hey, Fat-boy; get your blubber in here, will ya: I got somethin’ real important to tell ya.”
Wetpatch was surprised at this invitation by the quasi-automaton. He couldn’t imagine what an education computer would have to say to an imprisoned Dutch hamster clone. But he was about to find out…
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2013