Dead Men Don't Disco

by Michael Campling

  CHAPTER 11

  Earth

  In the afternoon light, the alley didn’t look too bad, but even so, Jerry Martellini approached it with care, his legs growing more reluctant with each step. When he came upon the remains of his broken handset, he scooped them up, cursing himself for not retrieving them the night before. I had other things on my mind, he told himself. Like staying alive.

  He straightened his back and looked around. There was no sign of Surrana. The wooden box where she’d hidden was empty, and he could see no other viable hiding places. Perhaps he was too late. Perhaps she’d cut bait and run.

  Still, he was here now, and he had the pills she’d asked for. It had taken him all night and most of the morning to track down a pharmacist who’d issue the exotic medication without asking too many questions, but he’d managed it in the end. The pills had cost him a packet, but it would all go down on his expenses claim at the paper, so the money didn’t really matter. And anyway, he was about to cash in. He’d put a plan into action that would ensure his name was on the front page for months to come. In the meantime, all he had to do was wait until Surrana showed up, so he strode forward with more confidence than he felt, examining the rusted fire escapes and piles of discarded plastic packaging that seemed to pen him in.

  “Jerry!”

  The single whispered word cut through him like a six-inch stiletto, and Jerry spun around, trying to trace its source. But the alley’s echoes baffled his senses, and he had no idea where to look. “I’m sorry about last night,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I couldn’t come before now, but I’ve got…I’ve got what you wanted.”

  “Oh, Jerry,” Surrana’s disembodied voice murmured. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Where are you?” He squinted into the distance. “Come out, and I’ll give you the meds.” He pulled a pill bottle from his pocket and rattled it. “Same as last time. They’re good stuff, right? You need them.”

  “But what about your little friend?”

  “What?” Jerry tugged at his shirt collar. “I don’t know what you mean. I came alone.”

  “Good. In that case, you won’t mind when this happens.”

  Something hurtled through the air from above, a dark shape flapping as it plummeted to the ground. Jerry knew he should get out of the way, knew he should run, but he couldn’t move. Whatever it was, it was falling right toward him. With a strangled cry, he managed to throw himself to one side, landing heavily on his ass. Just in time.

  The dark mass met the ground with a gut-wrenching slap of shattered flesh, and Jerry stared, his eyes bulging, at the crumpled mound of twisted limbs. His vision swum out of focus, but he knew the distinctive camouflaged parka that was always worn by Kevin Larch, one of the best photographers at The Times: the man he’d sent to capture Surrana in glorious 3-D.

  “Shit!” Jerry whispered, scrambling to his feet. He covered his mouth with his hand, bile rising in his throat. “You bitch! You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes,” Surrana replied. “Yes, I did.” She laughed. “But look closer, Jerry. Go on, there’s a good boy.”

  Shaking his head, Jerry studied the body. And then he knew why she’d been so amused. Stuffed inside Kevin’s coat and pants were plastic bags full of trash, all bound together with duct tape in a cruel effigy. “You goddamned maniac!” Jerry yelled, raising his gaze to the rooftops. “Are you out of your freaking mind?”

  “No, but you must be, Jerry. Did you really think I’d allow your friend to film me? Did you really think you could make me the subject of your squalid little story?”

  Jerry’s chest was suddenly tight, and he kneaded it with his fist, pressing his knuckles hard against his breastbone. “Where is he? Where’s Kevin? What have you done with him?”

  “He’s here.” High above, on the edge of the tallest building, two figures appeared. One was Kevin, bound, gagged, and dressed only in a T-shirt and boxer shorts; the other was unmistakably Surrana, her slim figure resplendent in a tight, violet jumpsuit. “Do you want us to come down and meet you?” she called out. “I can be down in ten seconds, but it won’t take Kevin that long—especially if I give him a gentle shove in the right direction.”

  “No!” Jerry shouted, holding up his hands, his fingers stretched apart. “Don’t do anything stupid. Let him go. I mean, put him somewhere safe, and I’ll give you the pills.”

  Surrana tugged Kevin back from the edge, and he stumbled out of sight. “I’ll leave him up here,” she called down. “And I’ll leave you a memory pod too, although you really don’t deserve it. But I’m feeling generous, so set the pills down on the window ledge behind you, then come up and get your friend. There’s a red door directly below me. I left it unlocked.”

  Jerry hesitated, then turned around and crossed to the nearest window, placing the bottle of pills carefully on the ledge. “Okay, it’s done,” he called out, but when he looked back to the rooftop, Surrana was nowhere to be seen. Jerry took a deep breath and exhaled hard, trying to expel the urge to run for his life. His gut told him to get the hell out of there, but he couldn’t leave Kevin in Surrana’s clutches. There was a distinct possibility that she might be waiting to ambush him as he went to the photographer’s aid, but that was a chance he’d have to take. Here goes nothing, he told himself and dashed for the red door.

  ***

  Back in the newsroom at The Times, Jerry connected the memory pod to his aging computer then rubbed his hands down the front of his shirt, wiping the sweat from his palms.

  An icon flashed up on his screen: Loading…

  “Come on,” Jerry whispered. His mouth was dry, and he plucked a mug from the clutter on his desk. It was empty; left over from the morning. His thirst would have to wait. He’d been champing at the bit since he’d retrieved the memory pod from Kevin’s bound hands, but it had taken an hour to drive the photographer home, and even longer to ply him with enough cheap whiskey to stop his hands from trembling. Poor Kevin. The man’s pride had taken a severe battering, and by the sound of it, Surrana had laid on the threats a little too thickly for Kevin’s constitution. He’d been shaky and withdrawn until the whiskey had done its work, but then he’d started to talk and there’d been no shutting him up. “Her face,” he’d kept saying. “Her ruined face. You know, in the strangest way, she was…beautiful. If only I could’ve gotten her into a studio with the right lighting…but I never got a single shot. Not one.”

  He’ll get over it, Jerry told himself. Kevin had covered climate wars, food riots, and alien invasions; he’d deal with his brief spell as a hostage soon enough.

  Jerry’s computer emitted a soft beep, and as the loading icon disappeared, a folder of files spread itself across the screen. Audio files, vid clips, transcripts: it was all there. Jerry picked a vid clip and opened it. “Wow!” The woman in the vid was a looker; any fool could see that. But what was she doing walking out of the UN headquarters? Jerry went back to the folder and ran his eye over the text files, looking for a woman’s name. “Maisie Richmond,” he read, opening the file. Yes, this must be her. A researcher at the UN, he mused. Researching into what?

  He scrolled through the file, scribbling her address into his notebook. I really need to pick up a new handset, he thought. And maybe one of those shock-proof cases. He focused his attention on the files, whipping through them at a brisk pace. His years as a hack had turned him into quite the researcher himself, and in fifteen minutes he had all he needed to get started.

  Jerry pushed himself up from his desk and headed across the newsroom, paying no attention to his colleagues. It was time for some serious shoe-leather journalism, and the place to start was obvious. Faced with a choice between a scientist, a private eye, a guy built like the side of a house, a gangling alien, and a good-looking dame, Jerry’s mind had been made up for him. Maisie Richmond, here I come, he thought, picking up his pace. It was almost four o’clock, and if he hurried across town, he should be able to station himself outside the UN just as
most of the workforce were launching themselves into the long commute out to the suburbs. And he’d have no trouble picking Maisie out from the crowd. No trouble at all.

  CHAPTER 12

  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.

  Dex raised his head and realized he was slumped over his workbench. He must’ve fallen asleep, but he had no idea how long he’d been out. He sat up slowly, blinking. Why am I in engineering? What am I doing here? He massaged his aching eyes with his knuckles, but though the room became a little less blurry, a throbbing headache introduced itself politely and set about making its presence felt by tapping gently on his skull with a sledgehammer. “Flecking hell,” Dex moaned. “What’s happened to me?”

  Behind him, someone stirred and said, “You have imbibed an unfortunate amount of Brahmian Liquor, and as a result, a range of toxic by-products have accumulated in your system.”

  Moving with exaggerated care, Dex turned around. “Zeb, why am I here? We should be at the talks, shouldn’t we?”

  Zeb pursed his lips. “The talks have…concluded.”

  “What?” Dex tried to stand, but the floor seemed to tip erratically back and forth, and he sat down heavily, clinging onto the workbench for dear life.

  Zeb appeared at his side and placed a large white pill in front of him. “Put this on your tongue and allow it to dissolve.”

  Dex did as he was told, and almost immediately, his headache began to shift. “This is amazing,” he said with some difficulty since the pill had only partially dissolved. “What is it?”

  “Nothing to worry about. I have fully researched the medication, and I’m sure that it will cure you momentarily.”

  “Zeb, tell me what it is, or I’ll spit it out.”

  “It’s a complex compound with many benefits for the Andelian metabolism. I fabricated it myself in the medical bay.”

  “Right, that’s it.” Dex tried to spit the pill out, but it stuck to his tongue. He scraped at it with his talons, but still, the pill refused to budge. “Get it off me.”

  “There really is no need to be melodramatic,” Zeb said calmly. “It’s working isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but that’s not the point. What the hell is it?”

  “All right,” Zeb said with a small sigh. “It seems that, due to their scaly skin, Andelian mothers sometimes have difficulty breastfeeding, and this drug helps them. It’s perfectly safe.”

  “Are you kidding, Zeb?” Dex demanded. “Mothers! It may have escaped your notice, but I am not female.”

  “I know, but the medicine mops up toxins beautifully. It’s just what you needed, although I’ll admit it was a little tricky to work out the dose for a male.”

  Dex rose shakily to his feet. “It was a little tricky are words that no one wants to hear during a medical consultation. No one!”

  “It’s all fine, Dex. There are no recorded side effects for males taking this medication.” He paused. “That’s probably because nobody has ever given it to a male before, but it should all be perfectly safe.”

  “Oh hell.” Dex clamped his hands over his chest, an expression of sheer panic racing across his face. “My nipples. They’re tingling!”

  “And is that unusual?”

  “Yes!” Dex yelled. “Of course it’s flecking well unusual. It’s completely unheard of. What the hell are we going to do?”

  Zeb frowned. “Well, to begin with, we should record all your symptoms in precise detail. That way, whatever happens to you, you’ll still be making a massive contribution to medical science.”

  Dex staggered forward, taking hold of Zeb’s arms. “To hell with all that. Get me to the bridge. I need to find out what’s going on. I’ll worry about my nipples later.” He shook his head. “Did I really just say those words?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Zeb replied. “But listen, you can’t go to the bridge. Not yet. I have something to tell you first. And anyway, all the officers have gone.”

  Dex stared at Zeb with such ferocity there was no need for him to actually frame a question.

  “Give me a minute, and I’ll explain,” Zeb began, then his lips moved soundlessly for a second before he resumed. “No, I can’t make this any easier on you. I’ll just have to go for it.” He cleared his throat. “Dex, Captain Stanch and the other officers, well, they were sort of taken captive by the Gloabons. They rounded them all up, then they zinged over to their space station. The Kreitians were allowed to return to their ship, but all the officers from The Skull and most of the crew were taken.”

  “No. Say it isn’t true.”

  Zeb shook his head. “I’m afraid that I can’t do that. If it helps, I’m sure no one was hurt. The Gloabon boarding party were all very polite.”

  “Go on,” Dex said, his voice leaden. “Tell me why. Tell me the worst.”

  “It all happened very quickly. A few drinks were taken, and the atmosphere relaxed. But then…then you made an unfortunate remark.”

  Dex pointed at his own chest. “Me? I can’t remember any of this.” He held up his hand, his eyes sliding from side to side. “Wait. There was something…some joke I made. No. It was Lord Pelligrew. He asked about Klumzel, and I…I…” The blood drained from Dex’s face. “Oh no.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid you told the Gloabons exactly what you thought of Teal Wednesday.” He smiled sadly. “You spoke at some length. In fact, considering you were standing on a chair at the time, you were remarkably eloquent.”

  “Why didn’t you stop me?”

  “I couldn’t. I had to translate.” Zeb held up his hands. “I did my best to soften the blow, but the Gloabons knew you were being offensive. They could tell from your tone. And from the way you kept jabbing at them with your finger. Captain Jamangle was most put out. As soon as I could, I dragged you out of there and brought you down here to sleep it off.”

  “That’s why I’m in engineering.” Dex clicked his fingers. “But why did they take the other officers and leave me?”

  “I covered for you.” Zeb laid his hand on Dex’s shoulder. “Now, don’t be angry with me, but I launched an escape pod and told them you were on it. The Gloabons were pretty angry, but they believed me. Unfortunately, they insisted on taking prisoners. It was a matter of principle. I convinced them that I could run the bridge on my own if they left me behind.”

  “So, who is on the bridge?”

  “I drafted in the few members of the crew who were left behind,” Zeb said brightly. “They’re from the galley. They seemed quite pleased.”

  Dex pressed his fingertips hard against his temples. “My ship is being run by a bunch of chefs.”

  “I’m sorry, but everyone else has gone. I would’ve asked for someone to be sent over from The Star of Kreit, but they have their comms locked down and their shields activated, so no one can be transported.” Zeb brightened. “Anyway, they’re not all chefs. We also have that jolly fellow who does the washing up.”

  “Stimps? The guy who’s got only one arm?”

  Zeb lowered his head and treated Dex to a stern look. “He may be differently abled, but that doesn’t mean he can’t learn new skills.”

  “It’s not his arm I’m concerned about,” Dex cried. “Stimps is crazy. They have to stop him from eating things.”

  Zeb shrugged. “I imagine there’s always a little illicit snacking in the galley. It probably happens all the time.”

  “Stimps eats the utensils. At least he tries to. I heard they took him to medical last week with a carving fork lodged in his molars.”

  “Hm. Perhaps I shouldn’t have left him in charge of the comms.”

  Dex made for the door, his head clearing rapidly. He was fighting fit now. Perhaps his surge of energy was due to his steely determination to put things right, or maybe it was just the medication; he didn’t know, and he didn’
t care. But one thing was for sure: he was going to knock some heads together. “Come on, Zeb. We’ll head to the bridge and take charge, then we’ll call up the Gloabons and arrange an exchange or something. They can take me if they want, but I’ll not stand by and see the other officers punished for my mistakes.”

  Zeb hurried to catch up with him. “I think we might be able to do better than that. We do have a few bargaining chips at our disposal.”

  “Such as what?”

  “The Andel-Kreit fleet. Lord Pelligrew must’ve called them up. Already, we have twenty-three Andel-Kreit Coalition warships standing by, with more dropping out of warp all the time.” Zeb smiled. “After our officers were taken, the Kreitians forgot all about the trouble with Admiral Norph and swore they’d support us. It seems that there’s one thing they hate more than a treacherous, sociopathic Andelian, and that’s a Gloabon with a clipboard.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Earth

  Standing outside the tall security fence that surrounded the Gloabon Institute of Technology, Brent, Vince, and Rawlgeeb exchanged worried frowns. Brent broke the silence. “We could try to talk our way inside, but it’s a safe bet that it won’t work. The guards will take one look at us and give us the bum’s rush.”

  “I concur,” Rawlgeeb replied. “And this is just the perimeter fence. I can’t even see the building from here. There will be several more layers of security before we could contact Doctor Cooper directly.”

  “Then how do we get to talk to him?” Vince asked. “His number’s been changed, and the switchboard are refusing to put us through.”

  Rawlgeeb heaved a sigh. “There is one thing we could do. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but…”

  “What is it?” Brent asked. “Whatever it is, it has to be worth a try. The Doc’s life could be at risk.”

  “Oh, very well.” Rawlgeeb pulled out his handset and made a call. “Hello? Yes, could you put me through to Mark Halbrook, please?” A pause. “I think he’ll want to come out of that meeting. Just tell him that Rawlgeeb is here, and he’s brought something for him.” Rawlgeeb smirked. “Thank you, that would be most welcome.” He pocketed his handset as he turned back to the others. “They’re sending a car to the main gate.”