22

When Franklin’s cell door next opened, Ross introduced himself to the room.

‘Mr Franklin, I’m John Ross. We met briefly back before you departed on your expedition.’

‘Yes, I remember you. Nice of you to come and see me.’

‘I’m helping Ursula with some projects looking at this teeping shit and what it’s doing to our bodies. There’s a theory I’m working on and I think you present a great opportunity to have a look at it.’

It is unclear how much of this theory Ross explained to Franklin, but he managed to convince him to disrobe and allow an examination of his posterior.

The following events almost feel as though they were contrived, and yet the results are an undeniable part of the historical record.

I have said before that Franklin was short and stocky. Even during the months of his long starvation on board the Investigator, some aspects of his body retained their fulsome appearance. In particular, Franklin’s hindquarters, which had always been substantial, still exhibited his inner health. It was therefore inevitable that Ross should find in Franklin’s backside the apotheosis of all backsides, the true form of the Martian bottom. Ross became so excited that he practically rushed out of the cell to tell Welles before Franklin had even put his clothes back on.

‘Look,’ Ross said to Welles. ‘I told you I didn’t like the idea of taking that man, who’s never been exposed to teeping, and screwing him up like that, even if he agrees to it as his patriotic duty, but now there’s proof that you cant do it.’

‘Who’s ass are you going to show me now?’

‘Too small ass is unfit for any kind of leadership.¹ Everyone who’s ever made a real difference for people has had a large bottom.² Now look at this! This is Franklin. Look at the size of that! It’s incredible! It’s got to be the best...the most perfect...'

‘So he’s got a nice ass. What are you saying? You want a threesome?’

‘No. I’m saying you can’t ruin him by making him teep. It’d waste away to some scrawny, stringy thing in less than a year...less than six months. He’s too valuable.’

‘Johnny-boy,’ said Welles. ‘I’m trying to go there with you, but I got to say, I don’t get it. How’s having a big ass make him valuable?’

‘Okay, okay, listen. Look at a child: they’ve got tiny backsides, and they’re brains are obviously weak. As the backside grows in size and becomes mature, the mind also increases in vigor. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.’³

‘Lots of adults are idiots,’ said Welles.

‘Sure, a small ass is just one of the causes of being an idiot. Maybe they have sat around like some kind of lazy turd and gotten a big ass that way—obviously that would make them an idiot, despite the size of their ass. But if the ass is too small, even if they’re an otherwise healthy person, idiocy is unavoidable.⁴ True intelligence is only possible with a large ass. If you’ve got a small ass, you’re pretty much doomed to be an idiot, and I don’t think there’s ever been an exception to this rule, nor is there ever going to be.⁵ So when you’ve got someone like this Franklin...with an ass like that...he could do anything. You should put him in charge of the penal colony.’

‘You might be on to something there,’ said Welles.

This may sound unreasonable. Indeed, Ross’s ideas were usually quite outlandish. But Welles believed in carnal knowledge—which is to say, she gave an ear to the people she slept with, figuring that if her body was interested in them, her mind ought to take a look as well. And so she tried to approach Ross’s proposition with an open mind. She lived by the maxim: if you’re going to open your legs, you ought to open your mind as well.

‘John Ross,’ Welles continued. ‘I think you may need to palpate me again, to see if those Alien bastards have messed with my brain.’