Smith & Jones

This Episode broaught to you by CarolinaC

The dusty space had stood empty for months; it was warm there, the air scented delicately of honey. The space hummed as if with the pulse of heavy machinery, far away; for a long time, that was the only sound. 

The air seemed to sizzle as an orange-edged portal opened, and deposited three human figures onto the floor. With a rippling noise, the portal closed again, and the travellers began to sit up.

The three people included two men, and a woman. The man with dark hair and a monocle was named Smith. The man with fair hair and muttonchop whiskers was named Jones. The woman, whose red hair fell below her shoulders, was named Kris. All three found themselves dressed in black-and-yellow striped jumpsuits. Smith and Jones' jumpsuits were full-length, but Kris' ended at her knees, showing off her knee-high boots. 

Kris sniffed the air. "I think I like this place," she said, "It smells like honey."

Jones was already on his feet, fiddling with his cufflinks. "I'm not sure I like it; we appear to be dressed like convicts."

"Perhaps we're here to save someone who's been unjustly imprisoned," Smith offered, tugging on one of his cuffs. "I can't think of any other reason to dress us in these atrocious stripes; horizontal lines are just not flattering."

"Speak for yourself," Kris said, "I look great in everything. Look, how about you two go figure out what our mission is in this story, and I'll go see if I can cash in on my present from Cyber Santa." She waved a small paper ticket in the air. It was labelled as a coupon for free mead. "Anyplace that smells this strongly of honey has got to be a . . . meadery? Is that the word?"

The hum was louder, now.

"I don't think so," said Smith. 

"I believe it is the correct word," Jones replied.

"No, I mean she can't leave," Smith said.

"Ah," said Jones.

Kris gave the two men a jaunty wave, "You'll manage without me, don't worry."

The buzzing of giant machinery grew louder still.

She turned and walked towards an almost-invisible door. It was curved and matched the dusty-grey wall almost exactly. She was about to reach to try to push it open, when the door opened of its own accord.

The three travellers had mere moments to scramble out of the way and across the room as a phalanx of soldiers marched in, each carrying a dull, bronze spear. Colour-wise, the soldiers matched the yellow-and-black outfits of our heroes. However, unlike our heroes, they were not human. They were huge, bipedal insects – giant bees!

Smith's mouth fell open as the bee-soldiers formed a circle around the travellers. They buzzed menacingly, coming closer and closer. 

Kris, however, smiled. She held out her coupon. "Can you possibly get me my free mead?"

Unfortunately, the bees did not take this well. Their buzzing became louder, and they marched our heroes out of the room and into a hexagonal corridor. Every time one of the three travellers paused, a bee took the opportunity to push, jostle, or poke them with a spear, so that they continued forward.

They walked for what felt like a long time; the hexagonal corridors met and diverged and spiraled off into honey-scented darkness. Eventually, the bees marched the travellers though yet another hexagonal archway, and into a tall, narrow room. 

The walls of the room extended up to dizzying heights, so high that the walls almost seemed to converge overhead. The walls themselves were composed of slightly-recessed hexagons piled upon each other and sealed with wax – honeycomb. Halfway through the enormus room, the bees abruptly stopped.

The bees parted and the three humans approached the near wall. Then the bees began to move, pirouetting and gyrating in circles and loops around the three humans. 

Jones blinked. Smith frowned. Kris asked, "Are they dancing?"

Jones smiled. "Of course! Our own small bees dance to communicate! Why should these enormous, anthropomorphic insects not do the same?"

"To communicate?" Kris asked, "Maybe this is whatever our stupid task is. From the writers."

"Our tasks are not stupid," Jones retorted, "But I can't figure out how we're going to decipher their meaning; I don't know about you two, but I don't speak bee!"

Kris watched the bees carefully. The bee-people spun and waggled, their feet tapping regularly but with no discernible rhythm. "I guess the direction must mean something" she offered.

"I think you're right," Jones agreed. "But what?"

Kris watched the bees intently. "I don't know."

Suddenly, Smith began to laugh.

"I say, Smith, that's rather irritating," Jones said.

"Yeah, knock it off, would you?" Kris added, with a frown.

"You know I spent two summers working for Her Majesty's telegraph office when I was a lad, back home in Steampunk, do you not?" Smith asked.

"Sure," Kris said with a dismissive wave, "a magic-bicycle something-or-other."

"Steam-cyle runner. Which is not the point."

"What is, then?" Kris asked.

Smith smiled smugly, "Everyone in Her Majesty's telegraph office was trained in telegraph codes; there are several different systems; the Schilling; the Cook-and-Wheatstone; the Morse; the Highton one-needle; the Chinese number -"

"Smith, the point?" Jones prodded.

"I don't know what the directions in the dance mean, but the footfalls are words."

"How?" Kris asked, "There's no rhythm at all!"

"No rhythm, no, but there's a pattern. A whole lot of patterns," Smith said. "I think I can tell you what they're saying."

"I say, that's excellent, old man!" Jones exclaimed.

"I thank you," said Smith.

"Well, what are they saying?!" Kris demanded.

"Well, they want us to open one of these honeycomb cells and check the honey. They're worried its poisonous? Or maybe the word is gone bad? That word is unclear to me."

"Does it say which cell?" Jones asked.

"No," Smith shook his head.

"Any cell then?" Kris asked. "All the cells?" She looked up at the dizzyingly high wall.

"Well, we must start with one," Jones said reasonably, and reached to peel back the wax on the cell closest to him.

Instantly, the bee-people ceased their dance. Their buzzing got louder and two of them prodded Jones with their spears, none too gently.

"Evidently not that one," Smith said, as the bee soldiers resumed their dance.

For a while, the travellers stood, morose and unable to figure out what cell, exactly, the bees wanted them to examine. But slowly, a smile dawned on Kris' face.

"What?" Jones demanded, "What is it, Miss Kris?"

"Trust you boys not to notice," Kris said. "The dancing is telling us the direction of the honeycomb cell! Look, left is up, right is down, the circle move indicates the row - "

Smith and Jones both gawped. 

"Oh, here, boost me up, will you? It's that one there," Kris said, tucking her coupon from Cyber Santa into the top of her right boot.

In a mere moment, Kris' booted feet were balanced, one on Jones' left shoulder, and the other right on Smith's head, mussing his dark hair.

"Here we go," Kris said, pulling at the wax that covered the cell.

A deluge of sweet-smelling yellow liquid poured over them. It was not honey; it was too fluid, and smelled a bit more heady and intoxicating.

Smith sniffed. "Gone bad – they mean it turned into alcohol!"

"Ah, this is your mead then?" Jones asked, awkwardly trying to look up at Kris.

"This had better not be my mead!" she fumed, "I am wet and sticky and this is the worst quality mead I ever had the misfortune . . . if this is Cyber Santa's idea of a joke, I'm going to go back to CyberPunk, portal or no, and -"

A bee-soldier had forced the blunt end of a spear to batter Smith's hip. His sudden movement caused Kris to tumble to the floor.

"Hey!" Jones protested. "Now, see here!"

The buzzing grew louder again, and Jones shrunk back.

Smith quickly began to move, flitting like a maniacal tap dancer, his shoes soundly dull on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Kris whispered.

"I think he's answering their question," Jones said, "Telling them it went bad. I hope that was all the writers wanted us to do here!"

As soon as the dance was done, an orange-frigned portal sizzled into existence beside them.

"Oh, thank heavens," Jones said, admiring the interior surface that rippled like water.

"Come on," Kris said, "Let's go!"

They were through the portal before the bees had a chance to so much as poke a spear through it.

As the three of them tumbled out on the other side, Smith looked up.

"What is that huge object?" He asked, "And why is it playing dramatic music?"