Dead Men Don't Disco

by Michael Campling

  Jerry’s voice deserted him as a dark figure silently unfolded itself from the wooden crate, the creature’s spidery limbs untangling as it took on a recognizable form, emerging like some nightmare contortionist from the world’s most terrifying circus. “God help me,” Jerry breathed, the words almost inaudible but far more heartfelt than they’d been for a long time.

  “That isn’t likely,” Surrana whispered as she stalked toward him. “From what I know of the deities on this stinking world, none of them are going to be very pleased with you.” She stopped while she was still wreathed in shadow. “There are a wide range of demons, on the other hand, who will no doubt greet you with open arms.”

  Jerry could frame no reply. He was too busy cursing himself for walking so far into the alley. If he turned and ran, there was no way he could reach the relative safety of the street before she could catch him. Not one chance in Hell.

  “Take out your handset,” Surrana said. “Very slowly.”

  With trembling fingers, Jerry did as he was told.

  “Drop it,” Surrana said. “Don’t throw it. Let it fall at your feet.”

  “What? But it’s practically brand new.”

  “Drop it now,” Surrana snapped, “before I’m forced to take it from you.”

  Gritting his teeth, Jerry let the handset slip from his fingers, and when it met the ground with a sharp crack of splintering glass, he winced.

  “Good,” Surrana purred. “You have the pills?”

  Jerry shook his head. “You didn’t give me enough time.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll get them tomorrow,” Jerry said quickly. “I need to find another pharmacist. If I go to the same place so soon, they’ll get suspicious. Maybe they’ll tell someone, and then I’ll be screwed. They’ll put me on a list or something, and you don’t want that. You don’t want them to cut me off completely, do you?”

  Surrana let out a low growl. “I need that medication. I need it now!” She raised her hands and stepped closer to Jerry. “You want to know why we couldn’t meet somewhere public? You want to know? Then look at me, Jerry. Take a good long look.”

  The shadows fell away from her face, and Jerry’s guts turned to ice. His hands went to his mouth, stifling a cry.

  Surrana’s face, once smooth and sleek, was in ruins, the skin hanging from her finely sculpted features in ragged strips. Deep cracks, sore and livid, lined her cheeks, and her eyes were rimmed with red. “Get me those pills, Jerry!” she snarled. “Get me some tonight. I don’t care how you do it, but get that medication back here in the next two hours, and I’ll give you more information. You’ll get your story, but only if you get back here in time with my pills.”

  “All right, I’ll try.” Jerry took a step back from her, though he couldn’t take his gaze from her face. “I mean, I’ll find somewhere. Definitely. I think I might know a place. I’ll take a cab.”

  “You’d better come through for me, human. I’ll be waiting.”

  Jerry took a breath. “Okay. But listen, what’s the story? You’ve got to give me something.”

  Suddenly, Surrana was close, grabbing his coat, lifting him from the ground. “I don’t have to do anything, Jerry. Not one damned thing.” She set him down heavily, chuckling darkly under her breath as Jerry fought to regain his balance.

  “No need for that,” he spluttered, a hard ball of anger rising in his throat. “Do you want those damned meds or not? Because I might just walk away and forget I ever saw you. Believe me, that would make me very happy right now.”

  “No, you couldn’t forget me,” Surrana said softly. “Not for long, anyway.” She laughed. “You see, it’s not simply the pills. I could steal those if I wanted. But, Jerry, you’re providing a valuable service to me. Think about it. Mayor Enderley was my enemy, and you paid him out in a way that I could not. It had to be a human that spread the story. He had to know that his own kind had turned on him, and I rather enjoyed that.” She paused to inspect her hands, her fingers curling as if to grasp an imaginary enemy. “Plus, I can always kill him later if I want.”

  “So who is it this time?” Jerry asked. “Who’s the target?”

  Surrana thought for a moment. “I’ll give you a hint, Jerry. There are five of them, and they were all Enderley’s stooges. One of them is a Gloabon, one works at the UN, one is a scientist at GIT, and the other two are a private investigator and his assistant.”

  “Sounds like an unlikely bunch,” Jerry said thoughtfully. “Are you sure you can link them to Enderley’s schemes? Only, the connection will have to stand up if we publish.”

  “Oh, it’ll stand up all right,” Surrana assured him. “And after it’s over, when you’ve had your fun, I’ll have mine. I should’ve recovered my health by then, so I’ll be ready to deal with them in my own way. You see, there’s an elegance to this arrangement that I just couldn’t resist.”

  Jerry didn’t hesitate. “It’s a deal.”

  “Excellent. Now, go and get those pills.” Surrana dismissed him with a grunt and an imperious wave. “But don’t take too long, Jerry. That would be unwise.”

  “Sure. No problem.” Jerry backed away a few steps before he dared turn his back on Surrana, then he hurried away, marching as fast as he could without breaking into a run. He didn’t slow down until he was three blocks away, and by then his heartbeat had almost returned to normal. But one thought kept creeping back into his mind: When you sup with the Devil, always take care to use a long spoon.

  CHAPTER 9

  Aboard The Kreltonian Skull – Andromeda Class Battle Cruiser

  Official Status: Assigned to Andel-Kreit Coalition Fleet.

  Ship’s Log: Earth Orbit – Temporarily Reassigned as Andel-Kreit Coalition Flagship.

  As the conference doors slid open, Dex and Zeb snapped to attention. Beside them, the ship’s counselor, Lieutenant Grulb, whispered, “Oh shim!” as he tried to emulate their upright posture.

  “Quiet, Grulb!” Dex muttered then silently cursed his luck. Grulb, it turned out, was the ship’s official translator. According to his profile, he was fluent in both Gloabon and Kreitian, but by the way the man was quivering in his boots, Dex doubted whether he’d last beyond the polite introductions. Poor old Grulb, he thought. You’re not the Andelian you once were. Grulb had earned a worthy reputation as an excellent officer until Admiral Norph had assigned him to the role of ship’s counselor. In theory, the important posting to the bridge had been a promotion for Grulb, but it had been his undoing. This was partly due to the strain of serving under Norph, who everyone agreed was a narcissist and a tyrant. But in truth, the real damage had been done by Grulb’s first task as counselor, which had been to sweep up the charred remains of his predecessor.

  Dex fixed his expression as from the corridor, the voice of Captain Stanch rang out: “This way, please. We’ve had the conference room made ready for you.”

  Lord Pelligrew was the first to enter, his brow deeply furrowed as he scanned the room. All Kreitians had wrinkled skin, its coarse surface tough enough to survive the harsh mixture of acidic gases that passed for an atmosphere on Kreit, but Pelligrew’s rugged features seemed to have been sculpted from the hide of an Andelian devil moose, the sculptor afflicted with a monstrous hangover and a deep-seated hatred of anyone over the age of nineteen. “You call this a conference room?” Pelligrew demanded, his voice gruff but his Andelian pronunciation flawless. “Oh well, I suppose it’ll have to do.” Acknowledging Dex and Grulb with a nod, his gaze lingered on Zeb. “So, you’re the fellow that plugged old Norph, are you?”

  Zeb inclined his head forward. “Sir, in those unfortunate circumstances, I acted for the greater good.”

  “Did you, indeed?” Pelligrew stretched his eyes wide. “And who defines that, eh? You? Is that it? Will you finish me off if I step on your toe? Am I a goner if the fancy takes you?”

  “At present, that remains unlikely,” Zeb replied. “However, if it became necessary to take drastic action in order
to preserve the fleet and the coalition, I should not hesitate to act.”

  For a moment, no one spoke. Behind Pelligrew, his adjutant, Captain Dunworthy, glared at Zeb as if mentally tearing him limb from limb. But Pelligrew’s sour expression creased in a huge smile, and he laughed, letting fly with a great, bellowing guffaw. “By the gods, this one has a fighting spirit.” He winked at Zeb. “I could use an officer like you on my staff. Ever see yourself serving on the flagship?”

  “You do me a great honor, sir,” Zeb said smoothly. “However, I prefer to stay on The Kreltonian Skull at present.” He glanced at Dex. “For personal reasons.”

  Pelligrew pushed out his lower lip. “What a strange beast you are. Ah well, perhaps we’ll talk later.” Pelligrew turned to Captain Stanch and said in an undertone, “I’m afraid you’ll have to actually invite our Gloabon friends inside, otherwise they’ll stand out in the corridor all day.”

  “Certainly, sir.” Stanch made for the door. “Grulb, you’re with me.”

  “Aye, sir.” Grulb hurried to join the captain, then, facing the pair of Gloabons in the corridor, Grulb licked his lips and said, “Honored guests, please step within and make yourselves at harm.”

  “That should be, Make yourselves at home,” Zeb called out in perfect Gloabon, dashing to Grulb’s side and adding, “Welcome to our ship.” The Gloabons did not step forward, so Zeb repeated his welcome, enunciating each word carefully.

  “Introduce us!” one of the Gloabons hissed. “The Fleet Admiral will not step into this meeting without a formal announcement. Do you know nothing?”

  Grulb whimpered and turned to Zeb, his eyes round with fright. “What do I do?”

  “Allow me,” Zeb said. “My apologies, Fleet Admiral. Please, may I have your names so that I can complete the formalities correctly?”

  “This is Fleet Admiral Squernshall, and I am Captain Jamangle, the Admiral’s adjutant.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Zeb turned to address the room, and in Andelian, yelled, “Here we go, everybody. Make some noise because here they are! All the way from their ongoing mission on that groovy space station, The Gamulon, please welcome into the room, Fleet Admiral Squernshall and his support act, Captain Jamangle!” He clapped his hands together once and added, “Yeah! That’s right! Make some noise!”

  Dex mouthed the word, “No,” several times, but Zeb didn’t seem to notice. Stanch and Grulb simply stared at Zeb in horror, but the Kreitians, Dunworthy and Pelligrew, exchanged puzzled looks.

  “Is that the correct protocol?” Captain Dunworthy asked his superior.

  Pelligrew shrugged. “I’ve no idea, but Zeb seems to know what he’s doing. Anyway, the silly buggers are coming in, so I guess it did the trick.”

  “Sir, would you like me to translate your remarks into Gloabon?” Zeb asked as he rejoined the Kreitians. “The phrase silly buggers is quite hard to translate, but I can have a stab at it.”

  “No, no,” Pelligrew said. “It was merely an aside. No need to pass on every damned thing I say.”

  Dunworthy turned to Stanch. “At first, I thought it was insane to try these talks without a universal translator, but now I can see how it might actually help. Some comments are best left untranslated. Good thinking, Stanch.”

  Stanch smiled modestly. “Thank you, sir. We do our best.” He looked around the room as if anxious to change the subject. “Perhaps everyone would be more comfortable if they took a seat?”

  “Yes, yes,” Pelligrew said, pulling out a chair and sitting down with a grunt. “Let’s get on with it.”

  Zeb addressed the Gloabons in their native tongue: “Hey, guys, how about y’all pull up a pew and take it easy for a while.”

  “Thank you,” Squernshall said uncertainly, and as he and his adjutant took seats on the opposite side of the table to Lord Pelligrew, Dex sidled up to Zeb and grabbed his arm.

  “Take it down a notch, Zeb,” Dex said. “Your Gloabon is too fast for me to follow, but from the way you’re talking, I know you’re going over the top. Just be polite and don’t get over-excited.”

  Zeb nodded solemnly. “Perhaps I have inadvertently activated a linguistic module that is too basic for the occasion. I will search for something more specific.” His eyes darted from side to side as he murmured, “Let me check. The Gloabon modules I have installed are: At the Beach, At the Hospital, At the Spaceport, At a Business Meeting, At the Bar.” He blinked. “There are a few more, but although I have searched my databanks, I have not been able to locate a module labeled: At the Interplanetary Peace Talks. I suspect that no such program exists.”

  “You’re telling me this now?” Dex demanded.

  “Apparently, yes.” Zeb tilted his head to one side. “If you wish, I can disable my translation mode. I’m sure Lieutenant Grulb will perform the task to the best of his abilities.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about,” Dex muttered. Grulb was standing by the door, apparently doing his best to pretend he was elsewhere. He seemed to be swaying back and forth, his lips clamped tightly shut, his gaze fixed intently on the middle distance. “It’s no good,” Dex went on. “Grulb looks like he’s about to throw up. You’ll just have to do your best, Zeb. Try one of your more formal modules.”

  “Very well. I have one called At the Criminal Courts, perhaps that will suffice.”

  Dex patted Zeb on the arm. “Good idea. Try it, but keep it simple. No rambling, and no…” He waved his hand in the air. “No flights of fancy.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Zeb said. “I’d better take my place.” Crossing to the table, he took a seat facing the Gloabons and offered them an encouraging nod. Dex sat by Zeb’s side.

  When all were seated, Lord Pelligrew said, “If I may begin, I’d like to thank you all for attending this important meeting. Andelians, Kreitians, and Gloabons—all are welcome.”

  Zeb translated quickly, his tone level, and Dex relaxed a little. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

  “Agh!” Squernshall yelled, and even Dex could understand when the Gloabon admiral added, “My foot!”

  Everyone began talking at once, but Stanch raised his hands for silence. “Zeb, ask him what’s wrong. Quickly.”

  “Sir, please state your case,” Zeb said smoothly. “What is the nature of your complaint?”

  “My foot, you idiot!” Squernshall snapped. “I stood on something sharp, and it went straight through my boot. What the hell is going on? Is this some kind of joke?”

  Speaking rapidly, Zeb relayed the Admiral’s words, and Dex clapped his hand to his brow. The universal translator! He’d completely forgotten to have the wreckage removed, and now, the Gloabon must’ve stood on a piece from the damned thing. Dex jumped up and hurried around the table, saying, “Let me clear that up.”

  But Captain Jamangle leaped from his seat and grabbed Dex roughly by the arm. “Get back! Do not dare to approach the Fleet Admiral!”

  “What? I don’t understand,” Dex said. “Zeb, tell him I can explain. It’s some broken equipment that I need to clear away.”

  “If I may be permitted to address the court,” Zeb began. “My learned friend has vital, er, evidence which he must disclose.”

  The Gloabons stared at Zeb. “Evidence?” Squernshall asked. “Evidence of what? What’s going on? Is there some treacherous plot to derail these talks?”

  “No, not at all,” Zeb said. “Perhaps I’d better try, At a Business Meeting.” He blinked. “Colleagues, taking current performance indicators into account, the results for the first quarter of this meeting show a marked decline in productivity.”

  “You can say that again,” Captain Jamangle growled. “I’ve seen better-organized riots.”

  Stanch leaned forward. “That’s one Gloabon word that I do recognize. Why did he just say riots?”

  Pelligrew slammed the table. “Riots? Are the Gloabons threatening us?”

  Lieutenant Grulb stood stiffly, and all eyes went to him. He mashed his lips together then took a
deep breath. “Please,” he began in faltering Gloabon, “everyone must remain calm. We can begin afresh. Everything depends on it.”

  The Gloabons exchanged a conspiratorial look. “Scaly little chap, isn’t he?” Squernshall murmured. “Are the Andelians related to reptiles?”

  “Very probably,” Jamangle replied, eyeing Grulb up and down. “You know, I don’t mind Andelians really, but I couldn’t eat a whole one.”

  Squernshall laughed, slamming his palm against the table, and for Grulb, who’d understood every word they’d said, that was the last straw. Whimpering, he dashed for the door, disappearing into the corridor with a yelp that echoed across the silent conference room.

  Captain Dunworthy stood slowly, forcing a smile. “It’s all been very…interesting so far,” he said bravely. “Interesting and informative. But I think it’s time we had a short break for refreshments.” He waggled his hand in the air, his fingers curled around an invisible glass in the universally accepted mime for a drink. “Brahmian liquor, anybody?” Without waiting for a reply, he nodded to Dex. “Do the honors would you, Chief Engineer? I left the flasks in the galley.”

  “Sir,” Dex began, “Brahmian liquor…do you think–”

  But Dex was interrupted by an abrupt cheer from Admiral Squernshall. The Gloabon had apparently heard a word he understood, and he was rubbing his hands together, his eyes bright. In an attempt at speaking Andelian, he said, “Make mine a large one.”

  Dex nodded. “Of course. Zeb, perhaps you’d better come along with me.”

  “I should stay here,” Zeb replied. “I may be needed.”

  “No,” Dex said firmly. “You must come with me. Right now. That’s an order.”

  “Very well,” Zeb replied, getting to his feet. “But I can be trusted not to mess up the translation. I was really getting the hang of it.”

  “Yes, weren’t you just?” Dex asked archly as they made their way into the corridor. “Zeb, on the way to the galley, I might make a stop. There’s something I want to check.”

  “Is there a problem with the ship’s systems?”