Dead Men Don't Disco

by Michael Campling

  CHAPTER 26

  Earth

  “Goddammit!” Brent slammed his hand against the workstation. “Can you get him back, Vince?”

  Vince’s fingers rattled the keys. “No. His handset’s been switched off.”

  “I need to get up there,” Brent said. “What about it, Doc? Can you find me a shuttle or something?”

  “Not in a million years,” Cooper replied. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “But…your friend is already on a GIT shuttle,” Ellen said. “At least, he was a second ago.”

  “So what?” Brent demanded. “Pointing out the obvious doesn’t really help, kiddo, so if you don’t mind, maybe you could stay out of the way while we figure out what to do.”

  Ellen stared at him. “Kiddo? Are you for real?” She looked away for a moment as if struggling to restrain her temper. “You know what? Forget about it. I was going to tell you how to get on that shuttle, but you can go to Hell.” She turned and stalked away, muttering under her breath.

  “I hate to say this,” Cooper began, “but if anyone can transport you up to that shuttle, it’s Doctor Granger.”

  “You’re damned right,” Ellen called over her shoulder, her hand already on the lab door.

  “Wait!” Brent jumped to his feet. “Ellen–Doctor Granger–I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked down to you like that, but time is tight here, and our friend is in danger.” He held out his hands. “Please, if you can do something to help, that would be wonderful. And I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Anything you want.”

  Slowly, Ellen turned to face him. “Anything?”

  “Of course.” Brent forced a smile. “But listen, can we work out the details later? We have to act fast.”

  Ellen ran her gaze over each of them in turn, then she strode back across the lab to join them. “All right. Vince, what shuttle was your friend on.”

  “MHal01,” Vince replied, glancing at the screen. “According to this, it hasn’t docked yet, so it must still be en route to The Gamulon.”

  “Excellent. That’s Mark Halbrook’s personal shuttle.” Ellen flapped her hands at Vince. “Well, get out of the way then. Let me get to work.”

  Vince looked as though he’d like to argue, but he stood obediently, stepping back from the workstation. “What are you going to do?”

  “Yes, I’d like to know that myself,” Maisie put in. “No offense, but a few minutes ago you were wielding a mop.”

  “Offense well and truly taken,” Ellen replied without looking up. “And considering what I’m about to do, I have to tell you that it’s not very smart to piss me off right now.”

  “Doctor Granger has been working on a new form of personal transporter,” Cooper said. “It’s still top secret, but her system has already been fitted to all the shuttles at GIT.”

  Ellen was typing rapidly, her fingers a blur. “Technically they’re called Generation Three Personal Transport System Devices, but since that winds up being shortened to PTSD, I prefer the term hyper-zinger.”

  “That’s all very impressive and everything,” Vince began carefully, “but how will that help? Brent, you heard Rawlgeeb–he was taken from the shuttle. He’s not there anymore.”

  “It’ll get us close,” Brent insisted. “With any luck, we’ll get taken onto the space station, then we’ll see what we can stir up.” He exhaled noisily. “Anyhow, it’s the best we can do, and that’s that.”

  “Almost ready,” Ellen announced. “How many to zing up?”

  “Me and Vince, for sure,” Brent replied. “Maisie, it’s up to you. You might be able to handle the Gloabons better than we can.”

  Maisie glanced at Ellen, receiving only a sly smirk in return. “All right, Brent. I’ll come with you.”

  “I should probably stay here,” Cooper said quickly. “I’ll need to look after my dogs.”

  “Fine, you can press the button,” Ellen said.

  Brent frowned. “Aren’t you doing that? I thought you were the expert.”

  “I am the expert,” Ellen replied. “But I’m coming with you.”

  “What?” Maisie folded her arms. “Much as I admire your youthful enthusiasm, this isn’t a pleasure cruise. We’re not doing this for kicks.”

  “Tough. Either I come along, or nobody goes anywhere.” Ellen took her hands from the keyboard. “In case you hadn’t realized, this deal is non-negotiable.”

  “Fine,” Brent said. “Set us up, but make sure the Doc knows what to do. I’m in no hurry to find myself zapped into the cold void of outer space. Not in these shoes.”

  Ellen’s wicked smile was back. “The Doc can get us there all right. It’s foolproof.” She chuckled darkly. “Seriously, I have every faith in my esteemed colleague. But don’t rely on him to pull our asses back if we do end up aboard the space station. Once we leave the shuttle, he probably won’t be able to get a lock on us.”

  “Probably?” Vince asked. “Does that mean he might be able to zing us back?”

  “No,” Ellen replied. “I was trying to be encouraging. You know–give you a sliver of hope that we might get rescued. But then, I guess I just whisked that hope away again.” She shrugged. “Note to self: No more trying to be nice to people. It doesn’t work out.”

  “Okay, Ellen,” Brent said slowly. “It’s time we got going. Should we stand still or do something special?”

  “Do you know yoga? The vrikshasana is good.”

  “The tree pose?” Maisie asked. “How will that help?”

  “Oh, it won’t,” Ellen shot back, “but it would look hilarious.”

  “Just press the goddamned button,” Brent muttered. “The cold void is starting to look like it might not be so bad after all.”

  Ellen jumped to her feet. “Okay, Doctor Cooper. It’s all ready for you. All you have to do is hit the return key. Oh, and you might want to keep your dogs out of the way. I’d hate for them to be caught in the beam. All our particles might get smushed together, and then who knows what we’d wind up like?” She looked Maisie up and down. “In your case, you’d be one of those Labradoodles.”

  “Ha-ha,” Maisie drawled. “Keep that up, and you’ll soon find out that my bite is worse than my bark.”

  Vince let out a low groan. “Man, I’m not sure about this. It’s like that movie where the poor fly gets turned into the seventh Jeff Goldblum. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go.”

  Brent patted him on the arm. “It’s all right, Vince. For a start, if anything happens to Jeff Goldblum, they can always grow another. And more to the point, Ellen was making a joke. There is no beam, right?”

  “Sure. I was kidding. No beam. No risk of getting smushed. None whatsoever.” Ellen inspected her fingernails before adding, “Keep telling yourself that and everything will be fine.”

  Doctor Cooper interlocked his fingers, cracking his knuckles as he studied the keyboard. “Here goes. I’ll see you…eventually, I expect. One way or another.”

  “Hang on, I just thought of something,” Brent began, but Doctor Cooper had vanished along with the lab. “Holy shit!” Brent stared at the shuttle’s luxurious interior then turned to the others. Ellen, Maisie, and Vince were standing right beside him. “Impressive. Very impressive.”

  “Thank you,” Ellen replied. “It’s the fastest personal transport system in the galaxy.”

  “I meant the seats,” Brent said breathlessly. “Are they real leather?”

  “Er, Brent,” Maisie said, “this might be a good time to knock off the wise-cracks.”

  Brent flashed her a smile. “I don’t know. I kind of like these life-and-death situations. It’s in moments like this that I produce my best work.”

  “It was just a suggestion,” Maisie replied. “Only, that guy with the gun looks none too amused.” She tilted her head toward the front of the cabin, and Brent spun around.

  “Ah. Hi there,” Brent said to the armed man standing in the gangway. “We’re here on official GIT business with–”

/>   “Shut the hell up!” the man barked, leveling his pistol at Brent. “All of you, turn around. Hands against the wall.”

  Brent paused for a moment before doing what he was told, planting his hands firmly on a smooth, white wall panel. He made a point of not flinching as the man stepped up close and began frisking him down. “You know, you’re making a mistake here,” Brent said.

  “Why’s that?” the man snarled. “Something to hide?”

  “No, but our hands are leaving fingerprints all over this wall. You know how it is with these polished surfaces.”

  “Can it, Bolster,” the man snapped. “And yes, I do know your name. I was there when we saved your ass from that Gloabon.” He moved on to frisk Vince, intent on his task, and Brent watched him carefully, deciding that the goon was enjoying his role a little too much. The guy was a bully, plain and simple, and there was only one way to deal with bullies.

  Brent stepped back from the wall and faced the man, reading his name from the badge on the front of his EVA suit. “Carter, stand down. That’s an order.”

  Carter wheeled around, his face twisted in rage, his pistol raised. “Back against the wall, asshole!”

  Brent smiled, and his gaze flicked past Carter to meet Vince’s eyes. Brent dipped his chin in a barely perceptible nod toward Carter, but although Vince turned around, he held out his hands, his expression a mute what?

  “For God’s sake,” Brent muttered. “Do I have to say grab him before you leap into action like a coiled spring?”

  Vince shrugged. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the guy has a gun, Brent. If that thing goes off in here, it might breach the hull, and he’s the only one in a suit.”

  “Fair enough.” Brent’s brow furrowed in a frown. “Something else just occurred to me. Aren’t all springs coiled? It’s kind of a defining feature, isn’t it?”

  “No, that’s a misconception,” Maisie said helpfully, turning around. “Some springs are flat.”

  Ellen also moved back from the wall. “Yeah, what makes a spring, is that it’s…springy. But you can’t simply coil a flat spring, and coiled springs won’t work if you press them flat.”

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Brent murmured. “You learn something new every day.” He looked Carter up and down. “Well, some of us do.”

  “Quiet!” Carter hollered, waving his pistol wildly. “Every single one of you, back against the wall.”

  Brent looked Carter in the eye. “Call GIT. Get a message to Mark Halbrook. Tell him that Rawlgeeb’s been snatched by the Andel-Kreit Coalition.”

  Carter hesitated. “How do you know that?”

  “Because we called Rawlgeeb up, and he told us himself,” Brent said with exaggerated patience as if speaking to a misbehaving toddler. He gestured to the empty seats. “Do you see him here? Do you believe that he’s playing hide and seek in a luggage locker? Is that what you think, Carter?”

  The shuttled swayed, and they all shifted their positions to keep their balance. Carter’s eyes rounded in fear, and he bared his teeth, but before he could begin snarling again, a calm voice came over the cabin’s intercom:

  “Carter, report back to the cockpit. And Mr. Rawlgeeb, sir, I’m pleased to say that the shuttle is now free, and The Gamulon are taking us in. Please remain in your seat until we’ve fully docked.”

  The intercom hissed for a second, then gentle music filtered across the cabin, its melody vague and yet strangely familiar, its rhythm jaunty and upbeat.

  “What next?” Brent drawled. “Is our friendly pilot going to wish us a pleasant onward journey? Do we have to return our seatbacks to an upright position?”

  Carter lifted his aim, pointing his pistol squarely at Brent’s head. “Luckily for you, I have to go up front, but know this: I’m not done with you yet, Bolster. We’ll meet again, wiseguy. Mark my words.”

  “Looking forward to it,” Brent shot back. “I’ll pencil you in for next Tuesday. We’ll meet for the cocktail hour at Faleena’s, grab a bite, and then afterward, if everything’s going swimmingly, we might take in a show. Or we could go dancing. I’d guess you do a mean Brooklyn Hustle, but it’s up to you. No pressure.”

  With a low growl, Carter turned away and hit a touch panel next to the doorway, disappearing inside as soon as the door slid open.

  “Poor misunderstood kid,” Brent said, shaking his head sadly. “His mother was the town drunk, and his father was too interested in polishing his collection of twenty-first-century flagpoles to spend any time with the lad.”

  “You know that guy?” Ellen asked. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  “Oh, we’ve never met before,” Brent replied breezily. “But I’m an investigator, and I have my methods.”

  Maisie sighed. “Please, Ellen, don’t encourage him. It only makes him worse.”

  “Anyhow, we’re on our way.” Ignoring the reproachful looks he was getting from Maisie and Ellen, Brent threw himself down onto the nearest seat. “We may as well make ourselves comfortable because once we dock, there are going to be some questions asked. And believe it or not, even though we’ve come all this way to help, the Gloabons may be somewhat less than thrilled to see us.”

  “You think?” Ellen asked, taking the seat next to him. “Brent, is it always like this with you around?”

  “No,” Maisie said, making herself comfortable in a seat across the aisle. “It’s generally worse. Much worse.”

  Ellen nodded thoughtfully. “Okay.” She looked Brent in the eye. “Just so you know, I kind of like it.”

  A dull thud reverberated through the cabin, and Vince sat down heavily. “I think we’ve docked.”

  “Yes,” Brent said, sharing a smile with Ellen. “I believe we did.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Gloabon Space Station The Gamulon – Earth Orbit

  Seated in his executive office, Fleet Admiral Squernshall drummed his fingers on his desk and stared hard at the prisoners who’d been brought before him, then he fixed his watery gaze on Captain Jamangle. “Tell me again–how can a group of strangers board our station, even though we’re locked down and preparing for a war.”

  Jamangle bowed his head and spoke as if addressing the admiral’s desk. “They were able to zing onto the shuttle moments before it was brought into a docking bay.”

  “Not possible,” Squernshall stated. “Our shields are up, so the shuttle must have been locked in our tractor beam.”

  “The shuttle was fully locked in our beam,” Jamangle said unhappily. “Protocol was followed to the letter, but…”

  “But what?” Squernshall roared. “But nothing! Someone made an error. Someone bungled, and I want to know who is at fault. Then I want them thrown in the brig, flogged, and banished, preferably in that order. Do I make myself clear?”

  Jamangle snapped to attention. “Yes, Admiral. Consider it done.” He turned and made to leave, but one of the prisoners, a female, raised her hand and said, “Excuse me, but you have it all wrong.”

  Squernshall’s eyes bulged as he glared at the woman. “And you are?” he said slowly, his voice dangerously low.

  “Doctor Ellen Granger. From GIT.” She smiled. “If you give me a minute, I can set you straight.”

  “Is that so?” Squernshall glanced at Jamangle. “Can we consider these interlopers as enemy combatants, do you suppose? Or better yet, they could be spies. We can execute spies, can’t we?”

  The other woman stepped forward. “No, you damned well can’t. I have to warn you, I’m with the UN, and your actions today will not go unnoticed.”

  “Ah well,” Squernshall said with a sigh. “Perhaps we’ll leave the executions until later.” He eyed the other prisoners. “And what about you…men, if that’s the right word? Are you capable of speaking for yourselves, or do you rely on your womenfolk to defend you?”

  “We speak plenty, but at times like this, it’s a question of getting a word in edgewise,” one of the men said with a smile. “I’m Bolster. Brent Bolster. And I’m
with the AGI–a platinum member by the way–and I’m here on official business, so you’ll need to bear that in mind when you’re handing out the draconian punishments. The Association of Galactic Investigators has pretty long arms, so if there’s going to be any flogging, I’ll stand quietly out of the way and watch.”

  “And I’m with the AGI too,” the other male said. “Vince Claybourne. I’m an associate of Mr. Bolster. So, likewise with the approach to the flogging and such if it’s all the same to you.”

  “It is not the same to me,” Squernshall barked. “If I say you will be flogged, you will be flogged. That’s all there is to it.” He scanned the faces of all four prisoners before letting his gaze settle on the taller of the two women. “Name?”

  The woman stood tall, and despite her pale skin, he had to admire her bearing. She had the dignity and poise of a high-ranking official, so perhaps she may prove to be useful after all.

  “Ms. Richmond,” she said. “And I protest, I really do. And I want that on the record.”

  Squernshall allowed himself a grim smile. “We are Gloabons. Everything is on the record.” He raised his chin and looked down his nose at her. “But for the record, about what do you wish to protest? Do you disapprove of everything in general, or is there some specific complaint that you wish us to note down for posterity? Are you upset by the price of iguanas, perhaps?”

  Jamangle laughed dutifully until Squernshall silenced him with a glare.

  Maisie looked the admiral in the eye. “Our unlawful detainment, to begin with. We came here to help. We know that Rawlgeeb has been captured, and we’re here to bring him back to your space station.” She drew a haughty breath. “We are wasting time, Fleet Admiral. Either you help us, or you’d better stand aside and let us get on with our mission.”

  Squernshall’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he thumped his desk with both fists in a blow that boomed across the room and set his console’s screen wobbling precariously on its mount. “By the stars, this one has spirit!” He let out an explosive burst of raucous laughter, and when Bolster flinched, it amused Squernshall so much that he laughed even harder.