Back to Earth
The fifth anniversary of Lord Switchback’s proclamation had come and gone, and there was still no sign of a mission to Mars. But Steven “Stevezilla” Lock was back in town. His firm has been given the contract to fix the fair’s perennially leaky drains.
‘It was a beautiful dream,’ he said, to anyone who would listen at the bar of the Lucky Drover.
‘It could still happen,’ said Zak Ziyad. ‘You’ve got until the end of the year.’
‘It’s no use,’ said Lock. ‘The sewers will take three months of full time work, and I’ve got no source of rocket fuel any more. Not to mention it takes eight months to get to Mars.’
‘Oh well,’ said Zak, whose natural optimism did have limits, ‘it was a beautiful dream. And the drains are a real nuisance.’
‘I should be having this drink on Mars,’ said Lock, wistfully downing his Dogswaggler.
‘A pub on Mars,’ said Zak. ‘Now there’s a dream…’
‘Ha! You’d have to sell a lot of pork scratchings to finance that,’ said Lock. ‘One packet for me to start you off. And a pint while you’re at it.’
‘I made 500 million dollars yesterday on pork futures,’ said Zak.
Lock stared at him. ‘You’re kidding me!’
‘Would a barman ever tell a lie?’ said Zak.
‘That drink’s on you then,’ said Lock.
‘Tell you what,’ said Zak. ‘I’ll buy you one in 2020. On Mars.’