“HELLO?” said everyone at once. Everyone that is except a very shocked looking Henry Neville. Then the hubbub returned. All the conversations, and arguments and 'bantz' of a London watering hole.
“That was weird”, said Henry, with his well-known gift for understatement.
“What was weird, knobhead?”, said his friend, Jacob, with his equally well-known gift for being a bit of shit, if we are being honest.
“That. Just then. Everyone said hello.”
“Hmm”, said Jacob. “I didn’t hear them. You sure it wasn’t on the jukebox? Sounds like Lionel Richie. Or Adele? They should probably do a mashup, right? That would be the bollocks, wouldn’t it?”
Jacob carried on blathering about how this idea would make him ‘go viral’ which seemed unlikely given his almost total lack of tech-savvy. Then again, Henry supposed that savvy was not all it was cracked up to be based on the sort of people he saw on the TV now.
He looked around the pub. No-one else seemed to be concerned or more confused than anyone would have to be, given they were drinking in a dive like this on a weekday evening. He caught the eyes of a moderately attractive young woman, and then the frown of the significantly less attractive young man that she was sitting with. Perhaps he imagined it, he thought. He tried to dial back into whatever Jacob was saying, desperately resisting the urge to look over and see if the frown was still pointing his way.
“So if I do a simple first pass on the track, right? Then get it to blow up on like TikTok or whatever, then the stars will want to get on board.”
“Isn’t Lionel Richie dead?”, Henry suggested incorrectly.
“Fuck off!”, said Jacob, pulling out his phone to prove to Henry that his plan had legs, or at least still living constituent parts. “See, its right here, he’s still going st… HELLO? TESTING. IS THIS THING ON?”
Jacob was joined once more by a chorus of local boozer reprobates.
“Um. Yes?”, Henry replied.
“GOOD”, said the pub. “HELLOOOOOOO GLASTONBURY!”
“It’s Hammersmith actually.”
“BLOODY HELL. NOT MUCH OF A SENSE OF HUMOUR HAVE YOU?”
Henry bristled. “Actually, people tell me that I can be rather funny.”
“THAT SOUNDS LIKE WHAT PEOPLE SAY ABOUT PEOPLE THAT AREN’T FUNNY”.
“Well not in this case.”
“OK.” The pub sounded unconvinced.
“Whatever. Look, I am losing it here? Or is this a very cruel hidden camera thing where you taunt a poor unsuspecting pub regular.”
“NO, I JUST NEEDED TO SPEAK TO SOMEONE ON EARTH. IT'S FAIRLY URGENT.”
“And you chose me? Am I important?”
“I DON’T KNOW. WHO ARE YOU?”
“I’m Henry Nev…. Wait, you don’t even know who I am? That doesn’t sound like I’m important.”
“I REALLY THINK THAT IS REALLY SOMETHING FOR YOU TO DECIDE. I MEAN, IF YOU ARE VALIDATED BY OTHERS SAYING YOU ARE IMPORTANT THAT’S YOUR LOOK OUT.”
Henry looked at the blank face of his friend and tried to block out all the other voices repeating the sort of passive-aggressive pep talks his stepmother used to give him.
“Who am I talking to? Because it seems like the whole pub.”
“THE WHOLE PLANET IS TALKING ACTUALLY. ITS EASIER THAT WAY. BUT THAT’S OBVIOUSLY NOT WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO. IF YOU CALL SOMEONE, YOU’RE NOT TALKING TO THE PHONE ARE YOU?”
Henry took a sip of increasingly flat medium-strength lager. ‘Sessionable’ the barman had called it. Which rather suggested he’d not actually tried it. It was barely palatable. A session on it sounded like torture.
“Sure. But I did ask who I was talking to didn’t I? So your come back was stupid.”
“FINE. MY NAME IS BOND. JANE BOND. I’M THE AMBASSADOR OF…”
“Jane Bond? Is it a reboot? I hope its better than Ocean 8.”
“I’M THE AMBASSADOR FOR EARTH HERE ON HARLAX-2. AND IT’S SHIT LIKE THAT JOKE THAT MADE ME ACCEPT THE JOB OFF WORLD IN THE FIRST PLACE. PATHETIC.”
Henry chuckled happily into the terrible beer. Now we’ll see how the turntables.
“Sorry. Sorry. I’m sometimes like that after I spend time with Jacob. He’s a bit of a prick actually and staring at his face while talking to you, it's hard not to drop into his level of chat.”
“OK, WELL GO FOR A WALK. YOU DON’T HAVE TO TALK TO HIM. YOU CAN TALK TO LITERALLY ANYONE AND IT WILL WORK.”
On shaky legs, Henry walked out of The Nag and Trap, carrying his beer for safekeeping. Outside people were carrying on their daily business, in eerie silence.
“Hello?” he said.
“HELLO!”, said the street exasperatedly.
“How come they are all moving?”, asked Henry.
“IT’S A FEATURE IN THE HARLAX PA SYSTEM. BASIC BRAIN FUNCTION CARRIES ON. PILOTS KEEP FLYING, SURGEONS KEEP OPERATING ETC. I JUST ACCESS SPEECH.”
Henry dropped into step with two Indian men on their evening constitutional to continue the conversation.
“So why me?”
“JUST CHANCE. YOU WERE IN HAMMERSMITH, NEAR THE CONSULATE. I RANG A PHONE BOX, YOU JUST HAPPENED TO PICK UP.”
Henry changed direction and started to walk with a group of teenage girls.
“There is no Consulate near here. There is nothing political.”
“YOU EXPECTED TO SEE A BIG SIGN DID YOU? SPACE AMBASSADORS RECEPTION? WAKE UP AND SMELL THE FERRERO ROCHE!”
“Well, I assume you can tell me the address? If you want me to tell them something.”
“THEY’LL FIND YOU”, said all the girls to Henry. “AS SOON AS THIS CALL IS FINISHED THEY WILL COME LOOKING FOR THE MESSAGE.”
“So what is the message?”
“OH. YES. SILLY OF ME. IT IS THAT THE EARTH IS GOING TO BE DESTROYED AND THAT THEY SHOULD MAN THE ARKSHIPS, AND GET AS MANY PEOPLE AS POSSIBLE OFF WORLD IN THE NEXT 48 HOURS. OK? YOU GET ALL THAT?”
“What the fuck? Seriously?”
“YES, SERIOUSLY. YOU THINK I’D HIJACK THE PLANETS BRAINS TO TAKE THE PISS?! YOU NEED TO FIND THE DIRECTOR OF THE CONSULATE. HIS NAME IS… FUCK!”
“His name is what?”
“I’VE GOT TO GO, SOMEONES COMING. BOND, OUT.”
“Who’s name is fuck?” shouted Henry at the girls.
“You wot mate!? You pissed or what?”, said one.
“I’ll taze you in the fucking nuts, perv!”, said a second and the group walked away from Henry, laughing.
Henry looked at the dregs of the horrible pint in his hand, and set it down carefully on the window ledge of the betting shop, with all the other empties.
“What the fuck am I going to do now?” he asked the world.
This time the world ignored him.
