Space Crime Conspiracy Page 6

  ‘Why are we . . .’

  Dram put a finger to Stanley’s lips. ‘Journobots,’ he mouthed. On the other side of the door a humming noise grew louder, accompanied by two voices.

  ‘Old Kevolo’s a tricksy one. All you ever get is the usual sound bites,’ said one.

  ‘I’d still like to ask whether it’s true that the Planner didn’t have any effect on him as a boy,’ said the other.

  ‘Good luck – he never answers that one. Besides, I heard that he’s started paying journobots to ask the questions he wants asked.’

  ‘I’d never do that.’

  ‘Depends how much he paid.’

  ‘Of course.’

  The voices disappeared round the corner and Dram opened the door.

  ‘Is that true that the Planner didn’t work on Commander Kevolo?’ asked Stanley, following him out.

  ‘Sometimes it doesn’t work on people. No one really knows why.’

  ‘Was it the Planner that turned you blue?’

  Dram stopped in his tracks and turned round. ‘No. It’s only used for mainland Armorians. I’m a moon dweller.’

  ‘Is that why they called you moonboy?’

  Dram’s eyes turned flame red. ‘Don’t say that. OK? Even if you’re just asking. Don’t say it.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  They walked in silence for a while, then Dram sighed. ‘Those born on Armoria’s moon don’t get the same rights as the mainlanders. They think they’re superior to us. I had to work pretty hard to join the cops, but they still never saw me as an equal.’

  ‘So you left?’

  ‘Enough with the questions. We’re here now.’

  They had come to another door, identical to all the others and, as far Stanley could tell, unmarked.

  ‘Through there is a hangar where my ship is parked. When I open the door, we’re going to make a run. The journobots will be watching all the spaceports, so there’s likely to be at least one in there.’

  ‘What’s your ship look like?’ asked Stanley.

  ‘Mine’s the purple turtle.’

  ‘Why’s it called that?’

  ‘Because it’s purple and it looks like a turtle.’ Dram pressed a button and the door slid open. ‘Go,’ he said.

  Stanley set off towards the bright purple ship with a turtle-shaped back and a glass cockpit protruding from the front.

  As they neared, three journobots appeared over the top of it.

  ‘Stanley Bound!’ called one. ‘Z1 Sector News. Is it true that you’re planning to plead not guilty?’

  ‘Universal Crime Time. Can you confirm that Eddington Skulk will be acting as your lawyer?’

  ‘The Salon Channel. Who cuts your hair?’

  Dram led Stanley round the back of the ship and pressed his hand against its surface, causing the curved back of the ship to open and form a ramp. Stanley ran up it with Dram close behind. One of the journobots tried to follow them, but Dram stopped, turned and karate-kicked, sending the journobot spinning backwards, crashing into the other two. The door closed as the journobots bickered angrily with each other.

  ‘Watch where you’re going.’

  ‘You shouldn’t even be here, hairdresser.’

  ‘I’ve got as much right to be here as you two.’

  ‘Oh yes, that was a killer question. Well done.’

  ‘My viewers will want to know . . .’

  Their voices cut out as the door clicked shut.

  .

  15

  ‘We’re on TV’

  Stanley climbed into the seat next to Dram while the private detective flicked switches and pressed buttons on the control panel. A row of small TV screens showed charts and technical information about the ship, but Stanley’s eyes were drawn to one which showed a newsreader sitting behind a desk with scrolling text at the bottom of the screen in a language he didn’t understand. Stanley pressed the screen and the volume came on.

  ‘. . . as we go over live to the scene now.’

  Stanley saw himself on the TV. Or rather, he saw the top of his head. He lifted a hand and saw himself do so on the screen. He looked up and saw a journobot hovering outside the ship, its camera pointing at him.

  ‘As you can see, Stanley Bound has been released on bail and is currently leaving under the guardianship of former Armorian Interplanetary Police Officer, Armorian lunar-born, Dram Gurdling.’

  The camera swung to the left to reveal Dram.

  ‘We’re on TV,’ said Stanley.

  Dram looked up and saw the journobot. ‘Great. Interactive TV.’ He jammed a lever back, lifting the ship off the ground and knocking the journobot sideways.

  On the TV screen the footage went blank for a second, then cut back to the studio.

  ‘I’m sorry. We appear to have lost that link,’ said the newsreader.

  ‘Good. Now let’s get out of here.’ Dram turned the ship towards the exit and flew it out of the hangar.

  ‘Lawn Waxy is here in the studio to discuss the latest in this story,’ said the newsreader. ‘Lawn, there’s been a lot of speculation about who Stanley may have been working for. Can you tell us what kind of questions the police might be asking at this point?’

  ‘Thanks,’ said a grey-looking man, sitting beside the newsreader. ‘Many eyes will be on the Planetary League against Armorian Interstellar Domination, most commonly known as the League. This was set up by two men: Quil Tisket of Therapia and Gustovian General Endal P’Tang. Until recently the League’s activities have involved protests and stunts designed to garner support, such as this temporary graffiti on the Armorian sun using lingomorphic writing.’

  The picture showed a sun with the words ‘IT’S NOT YOUR UNIVERSE’ in black writing.

  ‘Apart from these easily repairable acts of solar vandalism, the League has done nothing big until now. However, some say that General P’Tang has recently formed a splinter group favouring more militant tactics. This group is known as the Brotherhood and many are suggesting that they are probable culprits of this assassination.’

  ‘So it’s more likely that Stanley Bound is working for this second group?’ asked the newsreader.

  ‘So far there has been nothing to suggest a link. Perhaps he was just a disgruntled loner. The question then would be how could he have penetrated the tight security surrounding the president without help?’

  ‘And that’s a question we’ll be looking at right after these commercials.’

  Dram switched off the TV. The ship had reached the edge of the space station. Stanley felt himself being pushed backwards into his seat as they shot out into the starry sky.

  .

  16

  ‘No one takes on the Black Horizon and survives’

  They had been travelling through space for some time, moving at ten times the speed of light, which seemed pretty fast to Stanley, who was enjoying the way it made the stars look blurry, but Dram kept grumbling about not being able to jump into cutspace because of Stanley’s bail restrictions.

  ‘Before Professor NomVeber discovered cutspace, all space travel was like this. It took years to get anywhere.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Stanley.

  ‘I’m taking you to my home on Armoria’s moon. It’s the nearest place, but it will still take a few days to get there.’

  ‘Have you got anything to eat on board?’ asked Stanley, who still hadn’t eaten anything since he had left Earth.

  ‘Sure,’ replied Dram. He handed him something that looked like a chocolate bar.

  Stanley pulled the wrapper off and sniffed the bar. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a sustenance bar. It’s got all the nutrients, vitamins and energy your body needs to keep you going for weeks.’

  Stanley took a bite. It was stodgy and tasteless. ‘Eurgh.’

  Dram laughed. ‘You can live on them, but they’re no substitute for real food . . .’

  However, Stanley suddenly felt much better, as if he had eaten a large meal. He placed the rest of t
he bar in his pocket and noticed something flashing on the control panel. ‘What’s that mean?’

  ‘Someone’s hailing us,’ replied Dram. ‘It’s probably just a journocraft. I’ll see what they want, but I’ll only open up one-way communication, otherwise we’ll be back on the news again.’

  He pressed a button, but instead of a journobot appearing on screen, a large mangy parrot’s head stared at them. Its grubby, dishevelled feathers were blue and white with yellow around its neck and a patch of black under its chin. Thin black stripes ran below its bulging eyes, above which it wore a black bandanna. Down one side of its large orange beak was a jagged crack.

  Beneath this terrifying head was a man’s body, wearing brightly coloured, loose-fitting clothing that looked as if it had long since seen its best days.

  ‘This is bad,’ said Dram.

  ‘It’s Captain Flaid,’ said Stanley, recognising him from the picture in the police station.

  ‘This is real bad,’ said Dram.

  ‘Hello there, fellow space travellers. My name is Captain Flaid and your ship has been specially selected by the Black Horizon for the looting and pillaging treatment. Please prepare for docking or I’ll blast you to smithereens.’ Flaid threw back his head and laughed.

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ muttered Dram. ‘Hold tight.’ He took the steering stick and turned the ship round. ‘Computer, full thrust. We’ll outrun them.’

  Suddenly the ship rocked violently. The control panel went blank, then came back to life.

  ‘Thrusters hit,’ said the computer.

  ‘You OK?’ said Dram.

  ‘Yes. What happened?’ asked Stanley.

  ‘They knocked out our engines.’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Flaid on the screen in front of them. ‘Was I unclear when I gave you the choice between preparing for docking or being blasted?’

  ‘Sorry, kid. We got no choice,’ said Dram.

  ‘Can’t we fight back?’

  ‘No one takes on the Black Horizon and survives. That thing’s armed like seven Armorian contact ships.’

  ‘So we just give up?’

  ‘I don’t like it any more than you do, but I got to protect you, and right now that means letting them walk in and take what they want.’

  ‘Hello?’ said Flaid. ‘Am I talking to myself? I’m not known for my patience. My violence, yes, but not my patience.’

  Dram hit the communication button. ‘We’ve nothing of value on board, but go ahead and dock if you like, Captain Flaid.’

  ‘Thanking you kindly.’ Captain Flaid turned his head and cried, ‘Marauders, prepare a boarding team.’

  The screen went blank.

  .

  17

  ‘It’s called an agoniser, lad. Have a guess whys it’s called that’

  Dram climbed out of the cockpit into the main body of the ship. As Stanley followed, the ship lurched to the side again and he lost his footing.

  ‘They’re still firing at us,’ he said.

  Dram shook his head and helped Stanley back to his feet. ‘No, that’s the connecting tube from their ship. I’d better open the door. The last thing I want is them blasting it open and leaving a big hole in my turtle. If we get out of this in one piece, I want to be able to fly away in this thing.’

  ‘Do you have a plan?’ asked Stanley.

  ‘Try to stay alive.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘What do you suggest? The Marauding Picaroons aren’t exactly coming aboard to throw a surprise birthday party for us, are they?’

  ‘You’ve got a gun, haven’t you? Can’t you fight them off?’ Stanley pointed to the gun that Dram kept in his holster.

  ‘One shot from this would blow a hole in the side of the ship and we’d all have a whole lot more space than we could handle. Just stay close by and keep your mouth shut.’

  Dram pressed a button and the door opened, revealing a bright orange glow behind it, out of which appeared three silhouetted figures. As they stepped into the hull of the ship Stanley saw that two of them had large straggly parrot-heads like Captain Flaid. One was red-feathered with blackened cheeks, while the other was green-faced with a bright blue beak. They both wore ragged clothes and red bandannas. The third figure was dressed the same as the others, but his face was that of a teenage human boy and he wore a yellow bandanna above his cold, grey eyes.

  All three pirates carried long black sticks, which they waved around threateningly.

  ‘You two, tear the place apart. We wants loot’ns and stealables,’ said the red-feathered picaroon.

  They set about searching the ship, opening boxes and drawers, rooting through cupboards, without caring about the mess they were creating.

  ‘Doesn’t look like there’s much for the taking,’ said the green-faced one.

  The red picaroon pointed his stick at Dram. ‘You the cap’n of this here vessel?’

  ‘It’s my ship, yes,’ replied Dram.

  ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Conur. These are my colleagues. That’s Lory.’ Conur pointed at the other picaroon.

  ‘Pleasure to pillage you,’ said Lory.

  ‘And this soft-beaked lad is Hal. What you got that’s worth havin’, then?’

  ‘I told your captain already. We don’t have anything of any value.’

  Conur pushed his stick into Dram’s chest. The picaroon’s finger twitched on the trigger. ‘You givin’ me cheek, cap’n?’

  ‘Just take what you want,’ growled Dram, his eyes a deep maroon.

  ‘I see, so you’re givin’ me permission. What right you got to give me permission to do anythin’?’

  Dram stared back angrily but said nothing.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ said Stanley.

  Conur turned to Stanley. ‘Who rattled your cage, little one?’ he asked with a sneer.

  ‘Stay quiet, kid,’ said Dram out of the side of his mouth.

  ‘They giving us trouble?’ asked Lory, the green-feathered picaroon.

  ‘Watch this one.’ Conur gesticulated at Dram, then bent down to take a closer look at Stanley.

  ‘What’s your name? You look familiar,’ he asked.

  ‘My name is . . . it’s Lance Martin, sir,’ he replied.

  ‘And do you know what this is, Lance Martin?’ asked Conur, lifting his stick up to Stanley’s face.

  ‘No,’ admitted Stanley.

  ‘It’s called an agoniser, lad. Have a guess whys it’s called that.’

  ‘It causes pain?’ guessed Stanley.

  The red-feathered bird-headed pirate laughed. ‘That’ll be right, lad. Pain. Agony. Even death, if I sets it high enough. You want to see how it works?’

  ‘Leave the boy out of this,’ said Dram. ‘I already said, you can take what you want.’

  Conur swung his head back to look at Dram. ‘Take? Take?’ he squawked. ‘I wants to take this boy’s life. That all right with you, cap’n?’

  ‘Let’s kill ’em both,’ said Lory.

  ‘You touch that boy and killing me won’t be enough to keep you safe,’ snarled Dram, his eyes darkening.

  ‘You threatenin’ us?’ Lory swung the agoniser at Dram’s head but Dram ducked and kicked away his legs. Lory fell, dropping the weapon. Conur lunged at Dram. Dram dodged the attack and elbowed him in the beak. He grabbed the agoniser that Lory had dropped and kicked Conur in the stomach, sending him down.

  ‘Grab his weapon,’ shouted Dram.

  Stanley reached for the agoniser but felt something cold against his throat and a hand gripping his chin.

  It was the third pirate, the human called Hal.

  ‘Leave it,’ he whispered in Stanley’s ear.

  ‘Do as he says,’ said Dram.

  Stanley dropped the agoniser.

  ‘Let’s all stay calm,’ said Dram. ‘Stanley, he’s got a volt-dagger held against your throat. Don’t do anything rash. Listen, Hal, is that your name? We can sort this out without anyone getting hurt. You don’t want your two shipmates to get hur
t, do you?’ He waved the stick at the two picaroons who were still on the floor.

  ‘Drop your weapon,’ said Hal. Stanley could feel his breath on the back of his neck.

  Then Stanley felt Hal’s grip loosen. In fact, it was as though reality itself was loosening its grip. The scene in front of him whitened, like a camera flash in slow motion. Sound ebbed away. He could see that Dram was speaking but he could no longer hear his words. Sight and sound were replaced by pain. It seared through his body.

  He realised what must have happened. Hal must have squeezed the trigger of the volt-dagger. Stanley could think of no other explanation except that what he was experiencing was death. Everything was white. All form had gone. Stanley was alone. He was no more.

  .

  PART TWO

  ‘Let’s take a break,’ says DI Lockett. ‘Stanley, do you want something to eat or drink?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ replies Stanley.

  ‘Well, I’d like a cup of tea. Are you sure I can’t interest you in a biscuit or anything?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

  ‘OK. We won’t be long.’ DI Lockett motions to PC Ryan and they leave the room together. The room has a two-way mirror, which enables the two police officers to look in on Stanley, who remains seated behind the desk.

  ‘What do you think?’ asks Lockett.

  ‘He’s clearly making up these stories instead of telling us what really happened,’ PC Ryan replies.

  ‘He doesn’t appear to be making it up. And look, he does have a stud in his ear.’

  ‘Well, that proves it. A stud. He must have been to space. It’s the only explanation.’

  Lockett doesn’t like the tone of PC Ryan’s voice. ‘Sergeant, don’t make me remind you that I am your superior officer.’

  ‘Sorry, ma’am, no disrespect intended. It just all seems so incredible. And remember that he said something about a stud in his tongue, but that’s not there.’

  ‘Of course not. That was a tag which prevented him from travelling through cutspace and, without cutspace travel, he would have taken years to get back to Earth.’