The Power Of Erotic Suggestion

Terence is not allowed to do the alteration.

He walks to the edge of the cliff.

Blowhole! says Terence.

Gaius said everyone has one.

Terence looks out to sea, where Arthur and Sweezus are both riding in on a wave.

He tries to picture their blowholes.

But he isn't sure where they would be.

.......

Sweezus paddles out again.

Arthur follows.

They bob up and down.

Cold salt water drips from their hair down their noses and onto their surfboards.

Drip, drip, drip.

What day is it? asks Sweezus.

Arthur says he doesn't know.

.......

Gaius and Marx are drinking tea out of cracked melamine tea cups.

Just look at Arthur out there, says Gaius.

The energy of youth, says Marx. Sun, sea and exercise. Commendable.

What I mean is, says Gaius, that he has no right to be out there when I need his assistance.

Can I help? says Marx. I'm not young but I do like to keep myself occupied.

I need a fridge, says Gaius.

Oh, says Marx. Isn't there one in the camper?

No, says Gaius. And because there isn't, my specimens are compromised.

May I say something? says Marx. I'm not being critical.

Go ahead, says Gaius.

For a scientist, you are woefully short on equipment, says Marx.

I seldom need it, says Gaius. And when I do, Arthur.....

I should like to see him come up with a fridge, says Marx.

What's this about a fridge? says Rosamunda.

Arthur is to acquire one, says Marx. Out of nowhere.

What nonsense, says Rosamunda. A fridge isn't a knife. Or a pencil. Why don't you just get some ice?

Ice! There's a simple solution.

..........

Sweezus and Arthur leave the water and make their way up to the car park.

You guys look a bit green, says Zak, taking charge of the surfboards.

It only needs someone to tell you you look a bit green.

Brupghh!! says Sweezus, burping up fish paste.

Arthur turns pale as a turnip.

You guys are not riding bicycles, says Rosamunda. Get in the camper. We're going back to Marrawah for ice.

I'll ride Arthur's bike, says Ying, looking up from her work on the SPHINCTER.

And I shall ride with you, on the other one, says Marx. Don't be alarmed! I have no ill intentions.

Ugh. The idea of riding Arthur's bicycle suddenly becomes less erotic.