My relief at escaping from the unexpected species mix of the upper levels of the estate was now abruptly turning to anxiety at the behaviour of Louise. First, she was travelling much too fast over the undulating plateau surface and my anticipation of a discontinuation raised my anxiety levels almost to the point I had so recently experienced with the mangabeys, durian trees and tigers. Second, she kept giving unauthorised heel kicks, an expression of a joie de vie that indicated a possible agenda of her own. Again I had the uncertain feeling that my control of her was limited, that my preparations for this dangerous and important mission were inadequate, and that I was rapidly heading towards disaster. Third, she emitted high whinnies while tossing her head from side to a side, a manoeuvre that endangered our stability, risked snagging her antlers in a shrub or tussock and also raised my concerns about the safety of her structural components - what if her antlers were to snap under the torque? How natural was her behaviour? She out-antlered any living cervid and possibly any cervid that has ever existed, so there was little information that I could fall back on for comfort. Fourth, and perhaps this was the most important point of concern as it overrode so many others, I was aware that she was equipped with an educative program that was gradually allowing her to take over the mission. Was I soon to be jettisoned as useless, buried under a kame? If the Desert Fathers had had access to lions capable of excavating graves, why shouldn't a Giant Elk display a similar skill? If she were to bury me alive, then surely I would have a chance to escape - but all such speculation was simply raising my anxiety levels to altitudes where monstrous fauna and flora were to be found. Louise, I found myself repeating, is not homicidal, she is my nurse and ark, my refuge, my disguise. I began to wonder if I would have the time to attempt another tongue sandwich as I had not eaten since early morning, and to this end I began repeatedly to depress the honeydew 4 diode, no longer terrified of a precipitous halt that could injure her legs or even separate them from her body, my knowledge of the physics of artificial Giant Elks was uninformed and instinctual, but I had gradually come to realise that Louise was capable of adapting herself to commands that respected the integrity of her structure. And a tongue sandwich would go down very nicely with a glass of ginger beer, perhaps we could find a convenient kame from which to survey the scene and I could refresh myself, before I became seriously dehydrated, with the lateral and dorsal doors extended. On the other hand I wondered if Louise, who seemed not to be shy of drawing attention to herself with her wild cries, might even now be under the scrutiny of any number of royal binoculars; but of course, her too-big-to-be-seen cloak, which had failed so lamentably under the close confines of the Ghost Glass dome would here, on the wide open spaces of these rolling plains, so reminiscent in their way of Baffin Island and Labrador, operate perfectly, the bigger and more rumbustious she was the better, and as for her too-loud-to-be-heard approach I would just have to content myself with regarding it as the cherry on the cake. Apart from our recent encounter, which must have been an anomaly in her defence system, perhaps associated with my absence from the pod and her consequent diminution of mass which, though superficially undetectable, nevertheless left her vulnerable, I lulled myself into a certain sense of confidence and security. Surely by now the RAF would have been called in and attempts made to dart Louise. None of this was threatened. I had more concerns for stray bullets aimed for those omnipresent "stalkers" should Louise inadvertently pass between a recreational culler and his or her target. The interior of Balmoral Castle was dense, as I knew, with antler trophies witness to many a little tragedy in the cervid world. She finally responded, or stopped, so abruptly that my harness was tested to its fullest extent. And then, on her own volition assumed a hind legged rearing posture that gave the minute lenses at the tips of her antlers a very wide field of vision relative to our position on a heathered kame. The data came streaming in and I realised that she had spotted something - the sight took my breath away! As the zooms arrived, the initial natural-human-eye view showed little more than a smudge, as insignificant as Halley's comet on its recent fly-by, the image was resolved to show a headscarfed figure, partially concealed in a kettle, bent over a book! Could this be HM? My pulse began to race and all thought of that tongue sandwich was forgotten. At such a distance confirmation was difficult, but on my screen there appeared a flashing message: Target Link - status 3: PROBABLE. This was exciting indeed. I ran an eye over the physical statistics as they came in - blood pressure, and this was mildly disturbing, indicated that the subject was in stage 2 hypertension; blood sugar levels were shockingly high. I wondered if she might also be suffering from gout and immediately there came confirmation of severe bursitis. Most disconcerting of all the readings, and one of the simplest, was her BMI which was well into the 30s. Was HM obese like so many of her subjects? But the screen was still indicating that we had a partial match and had not yet downgraded from probable. Perhaps even more puzzling were the alcohol levels, she could not legally be in control of a motorised vehicle on a public road in her present condition, but then there was little likelihood of that being necessary and I began to wonder how she had accessed this remote nook. Perhaps she had been deposited aerially and awaited collection when the mood or her schedule should take her. The alcohol levels were soon explained by the flash of a flask, though the solitary, indeed eremitical, drinking raised other questions that demanded solutions that could not be come by from so far. Much to my relief Louise lowered her forequarters gently to the ground and began, an again unauthorised, silent lope in the direction of the target, who was some one thousand ells distant. The rearing position is extremely uncomfortable for her rider as not only is one's heart forced to overcompensate for the reversed gravity alignment, but one's head is not adequately cushioned against the rear wall of the pod at the very moment it is subjected to the full pressure of the body. I would have to take this up with the engineers after the successful completion of my mission which looked, at this moment, to be nearing its climax. "Target partially occluded" flashed up on my screen in neurotic burntsiena. And there, at no great distance, cantered a large herd of Red Deer, the familiar denizens of the estate, their anxiety levels troublingly elevated. "Target reacquired" appeared in a comforting lawngreen as they passed only to be replaced almost immediately by "Target eclipsed" in a gorge-tightening shade of lightsalmon. A herd of wild boar, not mentioned in any description I had read, up until now, of the estate, was streaming to a higher altitude at an angle of about 25 degrees relative to our position. I was relieved to see that they evidenced no sense of alarm. Their presence might well explain the tigers, whose diet must be of some concern to their keepers, and then in a most satisfying silicon graphics image slateblue: "Target closing!" and there she was in quarter profile, white curls concealed beneath a pleasing headscarf patterned with riding gear, a half smile on her lips, her bespectacled gaze concentrated on her reading matter. Louise crept cautiously forward until I could almost read the words on the page unaided. "Selenium levels severely depleted" flashed across the screen in a rather clinical aliceblue and at the same time up came her reading matter: "The Complete Royal Families of Ancient Egypt," by Aidan, or Little Fire as the apostle of the English was known, Dodson, very possibly a gift from a well-meaning guest, or maybe even a presentation copy from the learned researcher himself. She was engrossed in a study of the reign of Pepi II or Neferkare as he was known rather less familiarly when enthroned. No doubt there were those who still called him Pepi, most notably his tryst prone general, Sasenet, but this monarch is marked out as having had the longest of all reigns in recorded history and it is difficult to imagine a member of our species out topping him - at 94 years his record would appear to unassailable. There is, however the Long Pepi School and the Short Pepi School, the difference between them being 30 years, which would give HM a mere 4-year gap to close and which would also coincide with her personal record as a British monarch, allowing for an inter-jubilee celebration on a massive scale which would give a huge boost to the economy and provide large numbers of an otherwise rudderless population with a reason to live. Interleaved between the later chapters I caught sight of some serious looking papers entitled "The Case for the Long Pepi - the inscriptions cannot lie." A trifle contentious, perhaps, and at the time I could not help but wonder why HM should come down so firmly, if that was how I was to interpret this evidence, on the side of the Long Pepi. A revelatory flash recalled the longevity of saurians. Perhaps, but before I could pursue the thought further, HM had turned. Her pulse rate rocketed, her blood pressure soared, she rose to her feet as agile as a girl of fifteen and with a ghastly cry of "Gah! Gah! Gah!" she scrambled out of her nook, scattering sheaves of learned papers, her copy of Complete Royal Families, its back broken in her panic, and most telling of all, her headscarf attached to a ring of silver curls left still knotted amongst the debris, and ran bald headed and obese, fear driving her to skip lightly through the dense heather, down the slopes in the general direction of the Deva. My screen now read : "Target IMPROBABLE - gender match failure." I had fallen on another hack or had my investigations revealed something more sinister? 5
