[montsnmags]

Lieutenant Biggles sat at his desk, rubbing his temples. A knock, and NekoChan wandered in with a silver platter decorated with "Tea and a scone, sir?".

"Oh, yes, that'll do nicely".

For some reason, the tea tingled the roof of his mouth, and had about it a hint of rose petals and citrus with a streak of vanilla, simultaneously tasting ""almost, but not quite, entirely unlike tea". The scone was good, with proper, fresh cream and nice chunky llamaberry jam ("What's a llamaberry?" momentarily shot through his forebrain, but was tingled into the background by another slurp of this quite delightful "tea").

"Send in the New Guy!"

For a moment Biggles saw the new recruit as a hazel-eyed fat lady in a bustle looking mightily callipygous, but it was just a trick of the rainbow lights flashing from his own pupils, and as the new recruit straightened from his efforts at laying a trail of bananas into Biggles' office, the salacious fantasy crumbled into crumbs that looked like the crumbs on his plate.

"NekoChan! More scones!"

"So," he said looking over the New Guy, "name?".

A look of terrified whimsy (or was it whimsical terror?) shot through the new guy's startlingly blue eyes quicker than you can say,

"Adrian, SAH!...No, sorry, that's...Marc, SAH! Adrian's the new guy, him on the left, next to the fish, SAH! What? SAH?!"

"Now, calm down, New Guy, this is not an interrogation. Please, sit. Neko-Chan will strap you in, and adjust the lamp. Right, first order of business...my, you've eyes the silver of a razor's edge...umm, what, where were we?"

"Permission to speak, SAH?!", battering his beer-brown eyes with deep-fryer abandon.

"Not granted", said Biggles, "NekoChan, poke him with my stick, will you?"

NekoChan rolled here mauve eyes, put the platter of scones down and poked the NewGuy with Biggles' Poking Stick. The New Guy looked perplexed. NekoChan, again rolling her saffron eyes, handed the Poking Stick to Biggles and left briefly to get more tea and scones.

"Ophhkay, nowff fu mayff sffffeaK", said Biggles in a arc of scone-crumbs.

"Whats?" said NekoChan and the New Guy simultaneously.

"Speak, my dear boy!"

"Oh, yes, SAH! I bring this new recruit to you", pointing at the empty space to his left, in front of the banana on the desk.

"Ahh, you must be Adrian", said Biggles, and shook hands with, to NekoChan's red-rose eyes, the empty air space in front of the banana skin on the desk. "I've been looking forward to meeting you. I understand that you are invisible, a gibbon, and inadvertently violent. You are just the primate I have been looking for to lead my new Banana Death From The Skies Squadron. I assume this 'Marc' fellow is your handler".

"No, we're just good friends", said Marc, and for his troubles got a couple of jabs in his lazy hazel eye with Biggles' Poking Stick.

"Unstrap the Handler, NekoChan. Have him show Adrian to his private quarters, and give Adrian his Captain's uniform. You may have to get the tailor to make some adjustments. Get the Handler some uniform underpants to wear on his head, and a nice set of sunglasses to compliment his piercing green eyes".

"Thank you, SAH!"

"Shut up, Handler. If I want to hear from you I'll poke you with my Stick".

"Yes, SAH! Thank-you, SAH!", he said through the tears in his alabaster eyes. Maybe it was the emotional gratitude of full military acceptance and a proud post that even gave him some uniform underpants to wear on his head, or maybe it was the torn cornea from the optical poking he was currently getting from the smiling and satisfied Biggles, but it was a happy day for the New Guy, now known as The Handler.

Captain Adrian sat in the corner on top of the credenza, scratching himself and flinging the occasional pellet of faeces at the overhead fan, until NekoChan grabbed his hand from across the room (Captain Adrian had the kind of reach spider monkeys admired from afar), and, with grey-sky-eyed Handler in tow, they all defenestrated to the Captain's new quarters high in limbs of the Airforce Base's requisite Bodhi Tree.

Biggles sat warmly in a hallucinogenic haze. "Mmm, these llamaberries go straight to my neocortex. Why if it wasn't for the silliness-transcendent visions of scent-installed sinners in my hindbrain balancing out the whole 'I can see through time' reality shock in my forebrain, I'd probably be screaming into the black vacuum between the stars right now, but instead I'm sitting here urinating relaxedly into my commode office chair and thinking about my forthcoming triumph", said Biggles in a monologue that would have been a soliloquy if the shiny, white robot leaning against the wall and shaking his head hadn't suddenty looked up, drawn from his reverie on ways to slow-cook South American camelids to say...

"What?"