The End of All Songs

"Kroofrudi." Captain Mubbers was unrepentant. Significantly, he patted his elbow. "Kwot-kwot?" He glanced back at the frond forest. "Nizzle uk?"

Inspector Springer's sense of decency was offended. He listed forward, one boot still in his hand. "Law or no law…"

"Fwik hrunt!" spat Captain Mubbers. The others laughed, repeating the witticism to one another; but the policeman's objection had lowered the tension.

Mrs. Underwood said firmly: "They are probably hungry. We have some biscuits back at our camp. If we were to lead them there…"

"At once," said Jherek, and he began to walk. She linked her arm in his, an action which served to confuse both Jherek and Captain Mubbers.

Inspector Springer kept step with them. "I must say, I could do with a nice Rich Tea!"

"I think I've eaten most of those." Jherek was regretful. "But there's a whole box of Fig Rolls."

"Ho, ho!" Inspector Springer performed a cryptic wink. "We'll let them 'ave the Fig Rolls, eh?"

Puzzled, but temporarily passive, the Lat trailed behind.

Relishing the delicate touch of her arm against his rib, Jherek wondered if a police inspector and seven aliens could constitute the "society" Mrs. Underwood claimed as the influence upon the "morality" and "conscience" thwarting the full expression of his love for her. He felt, in his heart, that she would so define the group. Resignation, once more, slid into the space so recently left by anticipation.

They reached the rock and the hamper; their home. Kettle in hand, he set off for the spring they had discovered. Mrs. Underwood prepared the primus.

Alone for a moment, Jherek reflected that their provisions would soon expire, with eight fresh mouths to fill. He foresaw, indeed, a dispute in which the Lat would attempt to gain possession of the food. It would mean some relief, at least. He smiled. It might even mean a War.

A little later, when the primus stove had been pumped and lit and the kettle settled on its flame, he studied the Lat. It seemed to him that their attitude towards Mrs. Underwood had altered a fraction since they had first seen her in the frond forest. They sat in a semi-circle on the sand, a short distance away from the rock in whose shadow the three humans crouched. Their ma

The kettle began to steam. Inspector Springer, with a courtly gesture to Mrs. Underwood, reached for the handle. Accepting the metal tea-pot from his hostess, he poured on the water. The Lat, like witnesses at a religious ritual (for Inspector Springer certainly conveyed this mood — he the priest, Mrs. Underwood the priestess) were grave and wary. Jherek, himself, shared some of their feelings as the ceremony advanced with formal grace.

There were three tin cups and a tin basin. These were laid out on the top of the hamper (which contained many such comforts). A can of milk was set beside them, and a box of sugar, with a spoon.

"A minute or two to let it brew," intoned Inspector Springer. In an aside, he told Jherek: "It's what I've been missing most of all."

Jherek could not guess if he meant the tea itself or the ritual involved.

From a box at her side, Mrs. Underwood made a selection of biscuits, arranging them in a pattern upon a tin plate.

And at length the tea was poured. The milk was added. The sugar was added.

Inspector Springer was the first to sip.

"Ah!" The sense of occasion remained. "That's better, eh?"

Mrs. Underwood handed the large bowl to Captain Mubbers. He sniffed it, blew at it, then sucked up half the contents in a single inhalation.

"Gurp?" he enquired.

"Tea," she told him. "I hope it's to your taste. We have nothing stronger."

"Tee-ee!" Captain Mubbers, quick to mine i

"That's for all of you to share," she said firmly. She waved, to indicate his men. "All of you."

"Frit hrunti?" He seemed unwilling.

She took the bowl from him and gave it to the man next to him.

"Grotchit snirt." Captain Mubbers snorted and touched his comrade's elbow with his own. "Nootchoo?"

The Lat was amused. The tea burbled as he exploded with laughter.

Inspector Springer cleared his throat. Mrs. Underwood averted her eyes. Jherek, feeling a need to extend some sort of friendship to the Lat, bubbled his tea and laughed with them.

"Not you, Mr. Carnelian," she said. "You, surely, know better. Whatever else, you are not a savage"

"They offend your morality?"

"Morality, no. Merely my sensibilities."

"It strikes you as unaesthetic."

"Your analysis is accurate."

She had withdrawn from him again. He swallowed the stuff down. To him, it seemed crude, in taste and texture. But he accepted her standard; to serve it, and to win her approval, was all he desired.

The biscuits, one by one, were consumed.

Inspector Springer was the first to finish; he withdrew a large white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his moustache. He was thoughtful. He voiced Jherek's concern of a short while before:

"Of course," he said, "this grub isn't going to last for ever now, is it?"

"It will not last very long at all," said Mrs. Underwood.

"And the Lat will try to steal it," added Jherek.

"They'll 'ave a job there." Inspector Springer spoke with the quiet confidence of the professional protector of property. "Being English, we're more fair-minded, and therefore we'll keep strict control of the supplies. Not, I suppose, that we can let them starve. We shall 'ave to eke 'em out — learn to live off the land. Fish and stuff."

"Fish?" Mrs. Underwood was uncertain. "Are there fish?"

"Monsters!" he told her. " 'Aven't you seen 'em? Sort of sharks, though a bit smaller. Catch one o' those beggars and we could eat for a fortnight. I'll put me mind to it." He had brightened again and seemed to be enjoying the challenges offered by the Lower Devonian. "I think I spotted a bit o' line in the 'amper. We could try using snails for bait."

Captain Mubbers indicated that his bowl was empty.

"Crotchnuk," he said ingratiatingly.

"No more," she said firmly. "Tea-time is over, Captain Mubbers."

"Crotchnuk mibix?"

"All gone," she said, as if to a child. She took the lid from the pot and showed him the sodden leaves. "See?"

His hand was swift. It seized the pot. The other dived into the opening, scooping out the tea-leaves, cramming them into his mouth. "Glop-pib!" he spluttered approvingly. "Drexy glop-pib!"

Fatalistically, Mrs. Underwood allowed him to complete his feast.