Space Crime Conspiracy Page 3

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Stanley.

  ‘Explanation mode enabled,’ said an electronic voice.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Stanley.

  ‘It must be a feature of the car,’ said Officer Grogun. ‘Oh yes, look, you’ve activated an infogram. I hate these things.’

  From the top of the gearstick a hologram had appeared of a man’s head with perfect, tanned skin, immaculate hair and a permanent grin.

  ‘Hi there, my name’s Vik Noddle, voted Armoria’s Most Endearing Smile five years running, and I’m here to answer any questions you have.’

  ‘I want to know how I’m supposed to have murdered the president when I’ve never even left my planet.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Vik, still grinning. ‘I can’t answer that question as it involves information I can’t access. Do you have any other questions, perhaps about science, history or general knowledge?’

  Stanley thought. There was so much he didn’t understand, he didn’t know where to start. He looked outside the window at the swirling patterns and said, ‘Where are we?’

  ‘You’re in cutspace,’ said Vik.

  ‘That’s what he said,’ said Stanley. ‘What is cutspace?’

  ‘Good question. One of my favourites. Well, young man, cutspace is a seven-dimensional universe which runs alongside our conventional four-dimensional universe but, unlike our own, it is not governed by the same principles of space and time. Prior to the discovery of the cutspace drive, the quickest most life forms had managed to travel was ten times the speed of light, which is fine for short hops but far too slow for proper intergalactic travel.’

  Suddenly the man’s hologram was joined by a woman.

  ‘Talking of travel, Vik,’ she said, ‘have you ever thought about taking a holiday to the party planet Megaloon?’

  ‘Hey, Dana – no, I haven’t,’ said Vik. ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘These adverts are getting worse,’ moaned Officer Grogun.

  ‘Thanks, Vik,’ said the woman. ‘After an atmospheric entry fee of only twelve thousand Armorian dollars, you won’t have to pay a thing.’

  ‘Did you say only twelve thousand Armorian dollars?’ said Vik.

  ‘I did, and after that your accommodation, your food and drinks, your nights out will all be free.’ The woman smiled and then said very quickly, ‘Please note this offer does not include local tax, universal tax, tips or cocktails. Megaloon is not responsible for your personal safety during your stay or your safe return to your planet.’

  .

  7

  ‘Cutspace this, cutspace that. If I had an Armorian dollar for every time someone asked me about cutspace I’d have . . .’

  The holographic woman disappeared and Vik Noddle asked, ‘Where were we?’

  ‘Cutspace,’ replied Stanley.

  ‘That was it. For most of us, cutspace can only be accessed using a spaceship with a cutspace drive. This enables us to stabilise and manipulate the numerous multidimensional factors. It was scientist Professor NomVeber who invented the cutspace drive, enabling us to use cutspace as a route to distant destinations. Let’s go over live to his laboratory on Armoria to ask him to explain it himself.’

  On the windscreen a wild-haired man in a white coat appeared, his head hugely out of proportion to his body. He stood with his back turned in a room full of bubbling test tubes and strange models.

  ‘Hello?’ said Stanley.

  ‘What now?’ said the man, turning around with a bowl of what looked like cereal in his hands.

  ‘Professor NomVeber, this young man would like to learn about cutspace,’ said Vik Noddle, grinning.

  ‘Would he indeed?’ said the professor grumpily. ‘All anyone wants to know about these days is cutspace. What is it? How’s it work? How did I come up with the idea for the cutspace drive? I tell you, I wish I never had. That way I’d be able to enjoy my breakfast in peace.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Stanley.

  ‘Professor, your contract with us requires you to explain cutspace to this young man.’

  ‘Cutspace this, cutspace that. If I had an Armorian dollar for every time someone asked me about cutspace I’d have . . .’ The professor paused. He grabbed a small electronic device and thumbed in some numbers. He looked up. ‘I’d have four million, sixty-two thousand and twenty-one Armorian dollars,’ he said.

  Vik Noddle’s grin seemed to be wearing thin. ‘As it is, Professor, you have a contract with Armorian Information Services to answer any questions put to you,’ he said.

  ‘Oh very well. You see this bowl of cereal?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Stanley.

  ‘Imagine this is the universe. These rather tasty Solar Fruit Twisties are planets and stars, and the milk is the vacuum of space that lies between them. Until I discovered how to use cutspace, we had to swim through the milk to go anywhere.’

  ‘At ten times the speed of light,’ said Stanley.

  ‘Exactly. And seeing as the average distance between inhabited planets is around sixty light years, you can imagine it took rather a long time to get anywhere. Now, see this spoon?’ Professor NomVeber held it up and dipped it into the bowl. ‘Like this spoon, cutspace can dip in and out of the universe. All I had to do was chart which spoons touched which bits of the galaxy and then we could use them to travel great distances at great speed. See?’ The professor put a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

  ‘So we’re on a spoon?’ said Stanley, feeling a little confused.

  ‘You’re riding a seven-dimensional wave that cuts through the universe at speeds inconceivable within the boundaries of our laws of physics.’ The professor spat bits of cereal out as he spoke. ‘It may or may not be spoon-shaped. Now, please say you understand so I can get back to eating my Solar Fruit Twisties. Since discovering cutspace it’s all anyone cares about, and frankly I’m sick to the back teeth of talking about it.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Stanley.

  ‘Excellent. Goodbye.’ Professor NomVeber disappeared and Vik Noddle said, ‘I hope that was helpful. Do you have any other questions?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Stanley. ‘If you and the professor are both from Armoria, why do you look so different?’

  ‘That’s another excellent question. It’s because the professor and I are both children of the Planner.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Not who. What. The Planner is a machine built several generations ago by Armorian scientists, which enables all us Armorians to realise our full potential. All Armorians visit the Planner in their formative years in order to experience evolution acceleration.’

  As Vik spoke there appeared on the screen footage of a machine that looked a lot like a photo booth, except it was black with two white lights at the top, positioned like eyes. And instead of a curtain a door slid open and shut. Each time it did so a teenager stepped out and another stepped in from a long queue at one side. Those going in looked normal, but those coming out had changed. Some were taller. Some were shorter. Some had long arms. Others had bigger heads or tiny hands or a long trunk where their nose had been. When each person was inside the machine there was a flash of light behind the door, and no one came out without some kind of change.

  ‘What’s evolution acceleration?’ asked Stanley.

  ‘I take it you’re familiar with the notion of evolution?’ asked Vik.

  ‘Yes. It’s how animals change and adapt to their environments over thousands and thousands of years,’ said Stanley.

  ‘Ten out of ten.’ Vik Noddle pointed his index finger at Stanley and winked. ‘The Planner is a highly intelligent supercomputer filled with knowledge gathered from all corners of the known universe and programmed with one basic command: to maintain and improve Armoria’s position of dominance in the universe through the accelerated evolution of our race.’

  ‘How can you accelerate evolution?’

  ‘The Planner takes into account physical attributes as well as brain activity. Using sophisticated brain-scanning te
chniques it can examine us physically and mentally, in essence reading our minds in order to uncover our full potential. By enhancing certain chemicals and improving natural abilities it condenses what would take nature millions of years down to the blink of an eyelid.’

  Each time someone stepped out, the machine said in a dispassionate female voice, ‘Next component, please.’

  ‘So whatever you’re good at, you get better at it?’ said Stanley.

  ‘That’s right. Whether you are destined to be a politician or a toilet attendant, each Armorian is given the biggest push in the right direction.’

  On the screen the Planner spoke in its emotionless voice: ‘With accelerated evolution I’ll put Armoria at the centre of the galaxy, then at the centre of the universe.’

  The footage came to an end and Vik said, ‘Currently the Planner has been taken offline, but I’m sure it will be back in use soon. Our sports players are faster, our singers can sing harmonies on their own and our teachers all have eyes in the back of their head. It’s hailed as the best invention in the history of our planet.’

  ‘And this is why the professor’s head is so big?’ asked Stanley.

  ‘Yes, his already large brain swelled to three times its previous size,’ said Vik.

  ‘What about you?’ asked Stanley, looking at Vik’s tanned skin and immaculate hair.

  ‘As you can tell, my natural confidence and good looks made me ideal for the world of entertainment. Since I stepped out of the Planner I haven’t once had to visit the solarium or the hairdresser. I look this good from the moment I wake up till bedtime.’

  Stanley laughed. ‘So the professor got three times smarter and you got a tan and a haircut?’

  ‘I know.’ Vik laughed too. ‘Lucky me, yes? Did I mention that I won Armoria’s Most Endearing Smile five years in a row?’

  ‘You did,’ said Stanley.

  ‘Great. I’ll see you next time. Thank you for using the Armorian Information Service,’ said Vik, before adding quickly, ‘The Armorian Information Service is a copyrighted format. All information is checked, approved and certified by the Armorian Department of Truth. Bye for now.’

  The hologram disappeared.

  ‘What about you? Did you go hairy because of the Planner?’ asked Stanley.

  Grogun snarled. ‘The Planner is only used on Armorians. This is all my own hair.’

  ‘Where are you from then?’

  ‘The planet Yerendel. It’s a nice place. Lots of shrubs.’

  ‘Why do you work for the Armorian police if you’re not from Armoria?’

  ‘My planet got into a big debt with Armoria so every healthy adult Yeren is conscripted into their police.’

  ‘So you never had any choice what to do?’

  ‘I chose to get my planet out of debt. We work for the police so that our children’s children won’t have to.’

  ‘And all Yeren do this?’

  ‘You do get some rogue elements like my cousin Curlip, who ran off to join the League, but most of us just get on with the job, yes.’

  .

  8

  ‘Restful slumber or brief snooze?’

  In spite of the initial excitement of being in space, it wasn’t long before Stanley found himself yawning. As the police car made its way through cutspace it vibrated gently, lulling him into a series of unsatisfactory naps, from which he woke himself each time his head nodded forward, until he was awoken properly by something beeping. He opened his eyes and saw a flashing red light.

  ‘We’re almost there. You ready for your big entrance?’ said Grogun.

  ‘Not really,’ yawned Stanley.

  Grogun looked at him and said, ‘You need some proper sleep.’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’

  ‘Restful slumber or brief snooze?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Or deep sleep?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Here, start off with a doze.’

  Grogun flicked the lever that would normally turn the indicators on, and a plastic cup filled with clear liquid dropped out of the dashboard. He handed it to Stanley.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Stanley.

  ‘It’s liquid sleep. Try it.’

  Stanley took the glass and sniffed. It didn’t smell of much, but it tasted like cocoa, strawberries and freshly buttered toast. It was cool as it slipped down his throat, and then suddenly there was more energy in his arms and legs. His eyelids felt less heavy. He was more alert. In fact, he felt exactly like he had just had a nice, refreshing doze.

  ‘That’s amazing,’ he said. ‘Can I have another?’

  ‘What would you like?’ asked Grogun.

  ‘A good night’s sleep,’ replied Stanley.

  ‘Coming up.’

  This time the glass was bigger and there was almost a pint of the liquid. It tasted of sugar, lemons and strong coffee and each gulp made him feel more refreshed and invigorated.

  ‘That’s amazing,’ he said.

  ‘Glad you like it. You’ll need all the energy you can get. Your arrival is going to be a big occasion,’ said Officer Grogun. ‘The commander will want to be there when you’re brought in. He loves a good photo opportunity.’

  ‘Photo opportunity?’

  ‘Of course. You’re the most famous criminal in the universe. Brace yourself. I’m switching off the autopilot. Going in and out of cutspace differs each time, but it’s never a nice feeling.’ Officer Grogun took control of the steering wheel.

  Stanley felt as if his internal organs had remained still while the rest of his body did several loop-the-loops. When he opened his eyes the swirling colours had been replaced with millions of stars in a jet-black sky. This was space as he had always imagined it and even if he was being arrested, it was still an amazing sight.

  ‘You’re approaching the Armorian Interplanetary Policing Station. Identify yourself,’ said a voice through the radio.

  ‘Come on, read the licence plate. You know who I am,’ said Grogun.

  ‘Procedure is that you identify yourself.’

  ‘Oh, all right. This is Officer Grogun, bringing in the suspect Stanley Bound, seeking permission to dock.’

  ‘Permission granted. Please switch off your engines, Officer Grogun. We’ll bring you in.’

  Grogun took the key out of the ignition. The car turned, bringing a space station into vision.

  ‘The Armorian Interplanetary Policing Station,’ said Officer Grogun. ‘The epicentre of all law and order in the galaxy, the headquarters of the largest and most powerful police force in the known universe. We call it the Bucket.’

  Stanley could see why. The curved walkway at the top of the enormous cylindrical space station looked like the handle of a huge bucket slowly spinning in space.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Grogun.

  ‘I’m not sure about the colour.’

  Presumably in an attempt to hide its ugliness, some bright spark had decided to paint the space station a sickly pastel yellow.

  ‘It’s better than it was. When I first started it was pink.’ Grogun chuckled.

  As they grew closer, Stanley realised just how big it was. Hundreds of smaller ships whizzed around, flying in and out of the station. Unlike Grogun’s police car, these gleaming vessels of various shapes and sizes were more how Stanley expected spaceships to look.

  Stanley checked his watch. It was half past midnight. He realised that it was only this morning that he had first seen the strange man with the beard on his head. It felt like forever ago. Doug would have rung the last bell and everyone would have left The Castle, unless the regulars had persuaded him to lock the doors so they could stay for a couple more. Or perhaps Stanley’s sudden disappearance had changed this routine. Perhaps Doug had called the police. Would they be searching for him now, asking Doug where his usual hang-outs were, only to find that he had no idea?

  They were so close to the station now that it was taking up the whole view, a wall of yellow.
r />   ‘Can I contact my home?’ asked Stanley.

  ‘You’ll get your call when you’re at the station,’ said Officer Grogun.

  .

  9

  ‘My advice is don’t say anything’

  The police car glided into one of the giant bays and two huge doors closed behind it. They landed inside the hangar with a bump and a skid. Officer Grogun grabbed the steering wheel. They were inside a huge metallic tunnel with sloping sides and green arrows flashing along the ground. The car radio crackled and a voice spoke.

  ‘Officer Grogun, please take the prisoner to arrival bay 271.’

  ‘On my way,’ replied the hairy police officer.

  The car came to a junction with arrows on the wall. Grogun deftly turned the car up on to the wall in the direction of the arrows, so that what had been the wall became the ground. Stanley put his hand to the top of his half-full glass of sleep, but to his surprise the liquid didn’t spill. It didn’t even splash.

  ‘Why doesn’t it spill?’ asked Stanley.

  ‘The station has a multi-gravitational stabiliser so it pulls in different ways, depending on the tunnel. The arrows indicate which way up you need to be,’ said Grogun.

  ‘Cool,’ said Stanley.

  He lifted the glass to take a sip, but Grogun suddenly slammed on the brakes and the liquid splashed out, soaking Stanley’s trousers.

  Grogun laughed. ‘Sorry.’

  In front of them was another hairy Yeren officer, sitting on a hovering bike and holding a large sign with a black cross on it. He floated over to Grogun’s window. Grogun wound it down.

  ‘Please state your name and destination,’ said the officer.

  ‘Officer Grogun. I’m going to arrival bay 271 to deliver this criminal.’

  ‘Please take the western tunnel diversion. This is a restricted area.’

  Grogun wound the window back up and headed off in a new direction. ‘They’re always changing things around in this place. Sometimes I think it’s just because they haven’t got anything better to do.’

  For a few minutes they drove in silence.

  ‘You ready for your big moment then?’ said Officer Grogun.