Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson have traveled through space and time for reasons yet to be fully determined. One of their hosts has said that bringing Dr Watson to the future was the primary objective of the mission. Watson suspects they really need Holmes, but have yet to realize it.
Below the Orange antimacassar, is a continuation of the story, including the roughest, toughest docents in outer space.
And just a reminder, while Holmes will have his memories of the future erased, the situational problem that Dr Watson faces is that, unlike Holmes, he will be allowed to return to his original time with his memories of the future. And he must not alter the time line.
Other Chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Sherlock Holmes in Space -- The Knower -- Chapter 17
a story by jabney based on (the now public domain) characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
"Holmes," I said into the helmet's built-in microphone as we journeyed via motorcycle to the cookout at Number One Baseline Road. There was no answer. It was disconcerting not being able to gain the attention of someone who was seated so close behind me that he was literally holding on to my waist. Sherlock Holmes, who, unlike me as archivest, was scheduled to somehow have his memory of this entire excursion through time and space erased as part of our protocol for the return to London, had a feature in his helmet that mine lacked: the ability to emulate the sounds of various petrol-powered motorcycles. Perhaps he was listening to one of those, probably that of a Norton or a Harley-Davidson.
I was not mistaken. "Watson," the headphones in my helmet suddenly said, "I wish you could hear the sound of the Harley's exhaust. Do you realize that the copyright was registered by the manufacturer?"
"No I did not," I said, "I suppose it is fortunate for the horses of London that the sound of their hoofbeats wasn't controlled by some interested party."
"You laugh, Watson, but the song of at least one bird of Australia is still protected by copyright. While you were decorating the kitchen ceiling with egg-whites, I spent the afternoon researching what is broadly classified as, "Intellectual Property." As a result of this research, I shall have some questions for our fellow guests at the cookout. I think, without meaning to, everybody aboard the SS Oligarch has withheld a fundamental truth from us."
This provocative statement went unquestioned because Otis and a passenger turned onto the street we were traveling and indicated, through a combination of gestures and facial expressions, that he wished to challenge us to a race. "Go for it, Watson," said the voice of Sherlock Holmes through my helmet's headphones, "I'll protect the meringues."
Otis's riding skill and experience demonstrated themselves and they pulled up in front of Number One Baseline Road slightly ahead of us. But only slightly. "Good job Watson," said Holmes as we removed our helmets, "I'm looking forward to a re-match."
"Good job, indeed," said Otis as he and his passenger, Control, dismounted his bike. "You really didn't have to bring anything, you know," he said, spying the basket of meringues. "I predict that there will be a mountain of food today. Word seems to have gotten out that the famous Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson might attend."
"Our pleasure, I think," said Holmes as he flicked off a bit of egg-white foam that had managed to remain in my hair.
"It must have fallen off the ceiling when I went to pack the meringues," I said, somewhat sheepishly. "What did you bring," I said to Otis and Control, anxious to change the subject.
It was too late. "First time with an electric mixer, Dr Watson?" said Control. I nodded. She said, "That's alright, you should have seen Otis learning to use the deep-fat fryer. At least in your case I presume a visit to the emergency room wasn't required."
"Today?" I said.
"No, that was ages ago," said Otis. "Control only lets me do cold food in the kitchens of The Sir Alec Guinness these days. But I make a mean dilled cole slaw with no heat required, whatsoever."
"I do let him prepare that, but only if I supervise the slicing of the cucumbers. Otherwise it would be half-inch thick slices."
"Don't fret, Control, you should be able to read a 20 point bold typeface through most of the slices," Otis said. He and Control made for a most agreeable, though most unlikely, couple. She appeared not only old enough to be Otis's Mother, she may well have been. I wasn't about to ask.
Doxy was beaming as the door opened. "I am so glad you came! Put the cold perishables in the 'fridge and grab a beer. Jerome is already here and he has a head start on you. And you, young lady, I don't believe we've been introduced, though I think I've seen you somewhere. I'm Doxy."
Otis said, "This is Control, Doxy. She is the voice of Chalfont, the disembodied head at entrance to The Sir Alec Guinness, when Chalfont finds it necessary to be in a really bad mood."
Doxy drew back a little, then said, "I hope the dress code here at our picnic is not too relaxed for your tastes."
"Honey," said Control, "You could be be buck-naked as far as my tastes are concerned. That whole velvet-rope thing is Amec's idea. And it only applies to the Lucas Lounge. The George Smiley Grill is anti-trendy in the extreme."
Otis said, "Doxy's not been to the Smiley, yet. We're working on that."
Doxy said, "I'm looking forward to it. Do come in, all of you, and make yourselves at home. Oh, and by the way, Dr Watson, I've prepared a special treat in the den for you and Mr Holmes's listening pleasure, a mostly UK sound system. Quad ESL loudspeakers, original models, with Quad model 22 amplification, and a Linn-Sondek LP-12 turntable with a late model SME tone-arm. The pre-amp is my own design using German and Dutch tubes, and a cartrige that, well I'm not sure where it's from but it sounded good, so I mounted it in the SME. Jerome was just starting to listen to a side of, "Off the Wall" by Michael Jackson when I left. If you hurry, you should catch the beginning of, "Don't Stop ('Til You Get Enough)."
Otis said, "Let's go! I've got to hear it on one of Doxy's hi-fi's. That song has kept my dance floor going more than once when I was DJing and couldn't think of anything else to follow what I was playing."
Control said, "Otis losing a dance floor is tantamount to Sherlock Holmes losing a clue. Unthinkable."
Holmes said, "I couldn't say one way or the other. You would have to ask the company thar currently controls the rights to my name."
Otis stopped, turned to Holmes and said, "What the..."
"Watch your language Otis," said Control. "The pavilion is still open. And don't worry Mr Sheer luck homes, we'll get that straightened out for you ."
Otis said, "Or would you prefer we call you Joe Shmoe. Angela might like that."
Holmes raised an eyebrow, ventured a semi-smile and began to relax into a mood a bit more appropriate for a picnic. These people seemed to be good company for him. We walked through the kitchen, Otis stopping at the cold box to deposit his dilled cole-slaw and to withdraw some chilled beers. Doxy said, "Mr... ah, that is to say, our English friends may prefer bottles from the red 'fridge in the pantry. I have the thermostat in it turned up a little." I saw Control type something in her tri-fold in response. I caught only a quick glimpse, but it looked as if it said, "english = warm beer!"
Our beers seemed about right. Finally. I turned to thank Doxy, but Doxy was busy talking with a person that I recognized. It was Dixie, the docent of the "Remodeling Mistakes Pavilion." I thought she nodded in my direction, but it may have been an acknowledgment to Doxy's direction for where to put the large bowl she was carrying. Holmes said, "Patience, Watson. I intend to find a single seat when we dine. I suggest you do the same. And if you should wind up seated next to Dixie, I am confident that you will represent the gentlemanly standards of a worthy subject of the King and a true citizen of our era."
Holmes then headed toward the den, seemingly intent on demonstrating his commitment to my independence for the evening. Otis walked over to me and said, "That is what the teenagers of this era call, "The lecture.""
"Then our times are not that different," I said. We both laughed, though in fairness to Holmes I also said, "He is right, you know. Especially because I sense that Miss Dixie, for all her exhuberence and confidence, may have a fragile core."
Otis appeared to be weighing his words. Finally, he said, "There are many adjectives that I have heard people apply to Dixie, but I can assure you that, "Fragile" is not one of them." I started to ask how well he knew her but he said, "I've not had the pleasure of meeting Dixie personally, but she is a docent. Here."
"My dear fellow, in my time, being a docent merely required durable shoes and a sharp eye to keep visitors from running off with the displays. Has it changed that drastically?"
"It's not so much doing the job, it's getting the job," said Otis. "The docents are all former asteroid wranglers. And since this is supposed to be the most backwater installation on the Oligarch that still manages to require docents, the docents here are the ones that avoided death the most often in the most noteworthy ways. You and Dixie have something in common Doctor, you both returned as heroes deserving of respite: you were in battle with hostile peoples while trying to secure a theoretical strategic advantage on the ground for your society; Dixie was in battle with hostile elements while trying to secure us the stuff that gives us a theoretical strategic advantage for building our society."
"Theoretical?" I said.
Otis did not reveal any war news that I might inadvertently take back to London. He simply said, "Every victory contains seeds of a loss, Dr Watson, just as in the practice of medicine, every cure, no matter how successful, eventually ends in the death of the patient. It's all a matter of time."
Holmes had wandered back and I presume he overheard at least part of our conversation because he said, "When you two finish discussing the ultimate futility of all things, you should come into the den. Jerome is holding up the program so you won't miss the song you had mentioned you were anticipating, Otis."
Otis said, "Don't judge, "Don't Stop" on how it sounds on the electrostatic loudspeakers. The song is meant to pack a disco dance floor, so I'm not sure how well it will translate to such refined transducers as the Quads, Mr... whatever the hell we are supposed to call you. I do apologize on behalf of our entire way of life for this absurdity, by the way. Not letting a man use his own name, indeed! But I am glad, in a way, that it is happening to you. It may be that it is the only way to get you to realize the profound stagnation that we've reached here."
The UK sound system was up to the task, it seems, as all those experienced in such things pronounced themselves quite satisfied. Holmes said afterward, "The thing that impressed me the most was the coherent sense of drive and rhythm that the system conveyed. Especially on the "American Salute March." Hard to believe that was a military band."
"People often say how well the Linn-Sondek LP-12 turntable preserves the rhythm," said Doxy.
"English?" said Holmes.
"Scottish, in fact," said Doxy, displaying what looked to be a flash of pride. Perhaps there was a Scottish clan tartan in Doxy's background.
On our way to the backyard, we passed a stack of guidebooks on a table underneath a sign which read, "Please take ONE!" and Holmes said, "Doxy, may I prevail on your hospitality and take another of these. I have already made use of the one I acquired on our first visit. I believe these are from the same press-run, correct?"
Doxy looked a little puzzled but said, "Take as many as you like Mr Holmes. I couldn't vouch 100% as to the press-run, but I'd venture to say they are all "First Printings. Considering the paucity of traffic we get at Number One Baseline."
"Oh please," said a woman's voice, "To hear Doxy tell it, you would think the other pavilions here are have the fire-marshal restricting access to avoid exceeding room-occupancy limits, while poor Number One is neglected like a poor relation with an infectious disease. I'm Dixie, by the way. I'm the docent at The Parade of Homes freak show. More formally called, Remodeling Mistakes. And you must be Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson. I was wondering who you two were when I saw you the day before yesterday."