Othello sat naked on his camp bed and licked his ball point pen before writing this report.

"The fault was Iago's.

The tendril unzipped his waterproof, insect proof, heat resistant trousers (with built in waste disposal facilities) and slowly caressed his lower abdomen.

(Othello began to stir with the memory. His dog who lay on duralumin foil on the tent floor looked at him coldly)

I sensed that all was not well.
 

'Cut it off!' I shouted.

Iago hesitated. He looked at me in alarm.

'The branch, man! The branch!' I cried. 

But it was too late. 

The tendril was caressing him with the rough bark. 

I saw Iago's eyes cloud over and roll back in his head.

I thought of going to the rescue but conditioning by Acme Space Survey's psychologists was too strong.

I tore out my trusty 35mm, automatic focus, no flash required, incorporating free floating steadicam, camera and commenced photographing. This is what I saw.

The branch moved slowly at first; then faster, faster, faster. Iago clung to the bole of the tree which shook with the motion.

Down came pollen, yellow and sticky, which clung to Iago, making him a yellow homunculus from space helmet to anti gravity boots.

The climax was not far off and I tried to pull my eyes away to prevent embarrassment.

('I really did,' said Othello to his dog. 'I've not lost all standards despite this very rough life.')

It was useless. Conditioning was too strong.

I need not have worried because a bright red flower descended on a thin branch and, with a gulping noise, enveloped Iago.

It was all over.

Iago zipped himself up and, a completely yellow man, approached me.

'Will this mean an adverse report?' he asked.

'I don't think so,' I replied. 'I don't view you as a rival.'

'The photographs?' he asked.

'I'll have to turn them in,' I said. 'I can't help myself. I've had the operation.'

'People will mock,' he said.

'Let them,' I replied. 'We're here for a noble, scientific purpose.'

A mobile tendril then came down and a bright red fruit was dangled in front of Iago's face.

'God, I'm thirsty,' he said.

'Don't!' I cried but he had already plucked and bitten the fruit. 

'Delicious,' he said.

Nothing untoward happened. Everything seemed hunky dory. We shouldered our packs, picked up our sensors and recorders and marched on.

But only as far as the reverse side of the tree.

There lay fruit pods which looked like human females; not the full works, you understand; something like breasts; something like wide hips; something like the curvature of a leg; a wisp of underwear or maybe that was a delusion; a smell of musk; a throaty murmur from the leaves and branches of the tree.

Iago stripped. Off went his clothes; his helmet; his breathing apparatus. Down went all his expensive scientific equipment He was exposed to an atmosphere with a dangerous excess of carbon dioxide; goodness knows what bacteria had free access to his vital parts, one of which was extending and distending till it was parallel with his hairy belly.

I tried to look away...

('I did really,' said Othello to his dog who yawned and licked his chops.)

'….but my conditioning held and all I could do was to take snapshots.'

As Iago was copulating like a mad thing with one fruit pod after another, sticky stamens from the tree bowed over and sucked up the pollen he was covered with.

At last he lay back, sobbing and spent. My roll of film was also exhausted so I was able to help him on with his gear, give him extra oxygen and wakey-wakey tablets, and half carry him to the sledge which took us back to base camp. I took a sample of the fruit he had bitten.

Under the electron microscope the fruit genes told a plain story. They were instructions, as plain as blueprints, to go and copulate; to fuck your brains out; the stimuli were there too; all the ones we saw on the fruit pods.

We sent back our report and they pulled us out, after telling us to take cuttings, collect seeds, sample pollen and so on.

When we got back to Earth we were debriefed; Iago literally; and made to re enact the whole unpleasant business.

It was only when Iago said he had sent a clandestine letter to the Human Rights Commissioners at Strasbourg that the experiments stopped. By then they probably had all the data they needed.

They didn't say what for. One could speculate; the pleasure industry; something for beastly sensualists who have seen everything and done everything; chemicals for manipulating people; interrogation made easy; a stocking filler for policemen, soldiers and politicians; even agriculture; plants which would act with more self awareness than was customary among the leafy hedgerows of jolly old England.

We wished them luck. We were part of the sorry set up but at least we were fairly clean explorers.

So we went home; Iago and I; me to Desdemona; he to Emilia; to the garden suburb Acme Space Survey housed its employees in.

I met him while walking my dog.

('Yes I did,' said Othello to his dog. 'You remember.' The dog wagged his tail with an effort and closed his eyes.)

I invited him to my house for a drink.

Desdemona was doing embroidery when we came in. She chatted to Iago when I went to the cocktail cabinet in the next room to make three Manhattans. 

I heard a slither and presumed that a cushion was being adjusted.

When I came back with the drinks I found Desdemona up ended on the settee; Iago on top of her.

'Help me!' came from Desdemona's flushed face. 'He took me by surprise.'

I tried but I couldn't. Instead I fumbled in my desk for my camera and took photographs which I later faxed to Acme Space Survey's lab.

Security men came and took Desdemona away.

Three months later she gave birth to the first human/tree cross; a miserable, unhappy thing; but the bosses think it will explore the barren regions of Space admirably.

Iago was sent on a special mission; where I know not; nor do I particularly care.

What is more important is that I have been sent to this pimple on the arse of the Universe to die, away from the media.

This I do not intend to do. This is the first instalment only.

More will follow!"

*** 

"Interesting," said the Vice President. 

Shows a corrupt mind," said the President. 

"I agree," said the Vice President. 

"Congratulations on making the intercept," said the President.

"A known trouble maker," said the Vice President. "He was monitored. We couldn't let his missive reach the newspapers.."

"Or the TV," said the President. "The Pliocene?"

"Good thinking, sir," said the Vice President. "The Pliocene it is."

He then activated the classified Acme Space Survey Time Dilation Facility which plucked Othello naked from his camp bed in the minimal comfort camp on the barren moon and deposited him in the warm waters of the Pliocene sea. His dog was taken too but this was the effect of the broad beam rather than anything humanitarian.

***

Othello splashed down rather pleasantly in the tepid water. Iago was in a capsule, observing intently and making notes. He saw Othello and his dog and waved cheerily. Othello and the dog swam to the capsule and lago let them in. 

"Delighted to see you," said Iago. 

"What are you doing?" asked Othello.

Iago pointed to white, hairless anthropoids who were splashing in the shallow, off-shore waters.

"Our remote ancestors," said lago. "I'm making notes on them."

"With a view to what?" asked Othello.

"With a view to nothing," replied Iago. "This is pure research."

Othello laughed shortly. The dog barked in sympathy.

"Our company doesn't do pure research," said Othello.

"Look!" said Iago. 

The white apes in front of them up-ended, with their legs in the air and their blue and purple bottoms displayed.

"Diving for fish," said Iago.

"I think not," said Othello. "Write this! Copulation occurred. That is; C 0 P U L A T I 0 N."

Indeed the writhing bodies in front of them did not suggest the calm of a fishing party.

"You're wrong," said Iago, handing binoculars to Othello.

Othello stared and paled beneath his tan. His jaw tightened. The dog, sensing his tension, wagged its tail.

"They've no..." said Othello, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the anthropoids and his own crotch.

"Precisely," said Iago. "Now you're getting the message."

"How do they manage?" asked Othello.

"Just contact," said Iago, "like birds. Care for another look?"

He flourished the binoculars in front of Othello's face.

Othello waved them away irritably.

"They can't be our ancestors," said Othello. "Lacking...Without one, one is scarcely human."

"They are our ancestors," said Iago firmly. "Lots of corroboration. The watery environment accounts for the lack of bodily hair..."

He glanced at Othello's pelt.

"In most cases," he added.

"There is also the question of subcutaneous fat," continued Iago. "A very useful adaptation in chilly water."

"It's quite warm here," said Othello.

"There is no guarantee that it will so remain," said Iago. "Seasons come and go." 

"I still can't get over the lack..." said Othello. "How did we . . .?" 

He gestured vaguely to himself.

"Maybe we developed it," said Iago. "Ducks did."

"Ducks did what?" said Othello.

"Ducks have one," said Iago. "Very convenient for fucking under water."

"Oh," said Othello. "I didn't know that. I'm not really a biologist."

"Interesting though," said Iago.

Othello nodded. The dog barked.

"If you had been here earlier," said Iago, "you would have see a birth."

"In the water?" asked Othello.

"Yes," said Iago. "No problem. A positive help. Trendy gynaecologists have been doing it for years in our time."

"Incidentally," he continued, "why are you here? I thought you were in exile in some out of the way place."

"I was going to blow the gaff," said Othello; "spill the beans; tell all to the world's press."

"You would forfeit your pension," said Iago. 

"*** my pension," said Othello and Iago moved slightly away from him.

The dog looked on disapprovingly.

"I was kidnapped," said Othello; "snatched up by a tractor beam and dumped here."

"It will all go in my report!" he said loudly looking for spy lenses and finding none.

Nothing happened. The dog looked bored.

"What do you do for...?" Othello asked.

"Recreation?" queried Iago. "I have a voluminous tape deck; and a fine collection of vintage videos; Casablanca..."

"*** Casablanca," said Othello. "You know..?"

"I have iron self control," said Iago.

Some anthropoid females started to dive for fish. They jack-knifed and displayed blue and purple hindquarters which triggered off a conditioned response in the cold reptilian part of Othello's and Iago's brains. 

Othello was first out. A few zips later Iago followed. The dog tried to follow but Othello shouted,

"Stay!"

"Have you no scruples about the species difference?" he asked Iago as they swam with a butterfly stroke towards the females.

"It didn't stop me with the tree," said Iago as they neared the females whose mouths were full of fish. "Why should it bother me now?"

"True," agreed Othello as he grappled with the first female.

"You are in no position to criticise," said Iago as he grappled with the second.

"He's been doing this often during his tour of duty," thought Othello. "Jammy bastard."

Then it dawned on Othello. This was the whole purpose of Iago's presence. Acme Space Survey wanted a crop of human/tree crosses from the Pliocene. They must be developing a marine planet and creatures happy in water would be useful. 

He broke off what he was doing.

"Stop!" he cried to Iago. "Back to the capsule!"

When Iago had done his duty he would be expendable. The accountants would say, with a shy smile, that it would be cheaper to leave him bonking in the Pliocene than pay for the enormous energy needed to bring him home. Othello would be left with him. After a few decades, even Casablanca would pall. They could crop the tree/human crosses and leave him and his colleague to rot.

The two men started to swim at speed for the capsule. The dog barked.

***

"Drat the dog!" said the Vice President. "If it weren't for it we could bring the capsule back without them."

The dog was unkillable and would be a living witness that something unkind had happened to Othello.

Desdemona would peach. 

"Surely there is some place in our vast organisation where these two chaps will find useful occupation and personal fulfilment," said the President.

The Vice President laughed happily.

"Sir!" he said. "I have just the place for them. We have always supported the sanctity of the family."

"Good," said the President. "Family values. Good."

The Vice President typed happily at his keyboard. He smiled. Things always worked out right at the end. You had to have faith.

"Daddy!" screamed the green thing in the pot.

"My God!" ejaculated Iago.

"No, Daddy," said the humanoid figure digging its toes sensuously into the compost and sucking up delicious nourishment through its nails. "I'm your son."

"Steady, man," said Othello, as lago staggered to the padded seat with the free hanging straps and sat down. 

"Mummy!" said the green thing.

Desdemona had entered. She was dressed in a silvered suit, padded at vulnerable points.

She went towards the green thing.

"Steady, old girl," said Othello. "Is the thing dangerous?"

Desdemona uttered a laugh, as silvery as her suit.

"Oh dear me no," she said. "We're the best of chums. Very close."

She leaned towards Othello and whispered,

"Don't say thing. Say Walter. Much nicer. More friendly."

"How did it know?" croaked Iago.

"Has it..Walter psionic powers?" asked Othello." Has it..Walter some kind of vegetative intuition?"

I showed Walter snapshots," said Desdemona. "Emilia lent me them. A chap has a right to know what his Dad looks like. Isn't that right, baby?"

She went across to Walter and tenderly pruned one of his toe nails.

"Yes, Mummy," said Walter.

"Anyway, I had to do something," said Desdemona. "You two were off enjoying yourself in the Pliocene."

Othello gave a hollow laugh. Iago echoed him.

"They’re out to get us," said Othello. "Will you lend me one of your nether garments, preferably without lace. Iago and I have to take it on the lam."

"Can't be done," said Desdemona.

"How very stingy," said Othello.

"Look!" said Desdemona, pointing to the observation port.

Outside was the absolute blackness of space, mottled from time to time by Winterfludde vectors.

"You can't escape," said Desdemona.

"They shanghaied you too," said Iago. 

"They played upon my maternal feelings," said Desdemona. "They are master psychologists."

The dog could sense the tension. It urinated upon Walter's feet.

"Sorry," said Othello.

"Delicious," said Walter, wriggling his toes.

Ideally adapted for space travel," said Iago, with paternal pride. "Uses waste products directly. No energy wasted in reconstituting waste into synthetic fried chicken."

"And," said Desdemona, "he can use photo synthesis when passing suns; and use up excess carbon dioxide in so doing."

She flashed a bright smile at Walter who responded by rustling the leaves which hung suspended from his upper torso.

"So you were sent for company," said Othello to Desdemona,"and we were dumped to keep us from spilling the beans."

"A bit more complicated than that," said Desdemona. "The dear boy prefers waste from those to whom..."

"He is genetically linked," murmured Othello.

"Or close friends," said Desdemona, to rob her remarks of any sting.

"Where are we off to then?" said Othello changing the rather unpleasant subject.

"Somewhere in the region of Alpha Centauri," said Desdemona. "They were a bit vague."

"That sounds bad," said Othello. "If they're concealing something it could be dangerous."

"All space is dangerous," said Desdemona.

"There's dangerous and DANGEROUS!!!" said Iago.

"I am related to the black walnut," said Walter. "I can secrete hydroxynaphthaquinone which is inimical to hostile life."

"That's a great comfort," said Othello and Desdemona frowned.

To;
Acme Space Survey,
Gorbachev Garden City,
The Earth.

Sirs,

I beg to report that the planet is now covered with Walters.

They are doing very nicely and extracting nourishment from the red oxide dust during the night.

During the day they go walkabout and practise photo synthesis by the light of the red sun.

They are, however, badly in need of waste as the humans on the mission are sadly deceased some decades ago.

The nocturnal emissions from the sun which have proved so nourishing for the Walters caused to the humans to become blotchy and expire.

These same emissions altered me, for the better I trust.

If you are still in business I hope you will respond to this distress call.

I whuffle this message into my favourite Walter's sensitive leaves and watch them whirl in the eddies which take them above planet's exiguous atmosphere and into space where they will no doubt, in the process of time, reach your good selves.

You've got to have faith.

Sincerely,
 

The Dog.
 

THE END.