The Time Trousers of Professor Tempus: A Captain Space Hardcore Adventure

by Michael Ronson

  “We’re going.” I said firmly.

  He looked at me with pleading eyes. I went to open my mouth but was interrupted with another computerized reminder.

  “DOCKING STATION 12A EXTENDING CLAMPS. BOARDING VERIFICATION REQUESTED.”

  “Sir-”

  I waved a hand. “Verify that will you, Funkworthy? I have a party to attend.”

  He shifted uncomfortably again. I pulled my pantaloons in place with a brisk gesture of authority.

  “Very well,” he muttered.

  I paused. Perhaps I was being too harsh on him. He worries after me, I thought, that’s all. I softened my tone.

  “Listen, Ebenezer, your objections have been noted for the record. And you will note that I am making myself as ready for any possible action as I can,” I said, fastening the buckles of my thigh-length boots, “but as ever, I think we both know that your worries are completely out of proportion. It was just an anomaly, nothing more.”

  “Sir,” he hovered still at the mouth of the door.

  “You assume every little thing is a catastrophic, world ending temporal attack. Well it simply isn’t.”

  “Perhaps I am over thinking things,” he admitted, turning to go.

  “There you are! Just try to enjoy the party. I promise you; there may be some wine and dancing and maybe even those little sausages on cocktail sticks but one thing there won’t be is a catastrophic, world ending temporal attack!”

  Ebenezer nodded, placated and the door whooshed closed.

  Chapter Three

  A Catastrophic, World Ending Temporal Attack

  * * *

  There are two great tragedies in life. One is never getting what you want in life. The other is an orphanage exploding.

  Lawrence Leroy Cooljay

  The Last Day of Neveruary

  Ѻ

  As we waited for the airlock to cycle open I worried. I usually do in this circumstance (airlocks are dangerous (and filthy) places) but today I was worrying even more so than usual. I was worrying for two since the Captain was more concerned with my appearance than with unexplained disturbances in the fabric of spacetime, and that was a worry.

  “So... That’s what you’re wearing is it?” Space asked me for the fourth time, casting a critical eye on my garb. I stayed silent. He waited for a beat before offering, in his most reasonable tone; “I could lend you something from my wardrobe, I suppose... Then again maybe some of my items of apparel would be too large for you like my capes or shirts or-”

  “-Or your codpieces,” I finished the joke for the third time. He roared with laughter at his own joke and slapped my back heartily as the airlock finished its clunking cycle. Docking with the station had been standard, but I was still on edge. I imagined the ship’s doors opening up to flashing gun muzzles, trained attack hounds or some new diabolical trap. My hearts only settled slightly when the bay door opened before us with a clunk to reveal the drab and uniform blankness of an empty hangar bay. All hangar bays looked the same- morbid cubes drained of all colour. I rather think they look like where hospitals are birthed. Inside of it, I felt too small, too colourful- a target.

  I looked at Space from the corner of my eye. He had been trying to force joviality into the situation through the usual method of good naturedly spoofing my genitalia and hitting me on the back whilst laughing, but I fancy there was something a little strained about his cheerful belittlement today. I stepped through the airlock and looked around the cavernous bay. It was empty, devoid of the usual buzz of maintenance workers, security droids and overtly amorous customs officers. The silence hung in the air like a life form all of its own. I did not like it.

  We crossed the echoing grey tube and found a smaller one waiting for us at the end of the cargo hold- a personnel elevator was sitting there with its jaws open and its consoles blinking an array of numbers at us. Space didn’t hesitate. When does he?

  The doors of the lift closed around us like a coffin and started its slow ascent up the shaft toward the station disc (unlike a coffin). It was a long crawl up the leg of the station and we stood awkwardly in in the humming quiet before Space started to fuss and pat himself down, suddenly concerned.

  “Oh, confound it all!” he exclaimed, “with all this buffer nonsense I completely neglected to pick a winner for the most flattering chronicle of my adventures!”

  “Can’t you just point to someone at random?”

  It was Space’s turn to bristle, “Well that’s hardly the spirit of the thing, is it?” he asked incredulously, “These people work hard to win the honour of dining at the head of the table with me. I must be fair to my public and besides, last year I took the gambit of closing my eyes, spinning and pointing and I ended up sitting next to you the whole evening. I was bored out of my mind! No, it won’t do. Remember, it has to highlight my CALAPAW.”

  “Is there much for the ‘W’ part?” I asked, casting a look at his monogrammed cowboy boots.

  Space let a few seconds of elevator silence answer me before he deigned to frown at me.

  “Plenty. I am an exceedingly smart man. For example I could select that report of the time I beat that cutting edge chess computer, remember? The best tactical minds all tried to outwit that infernal machine but it was my gambit that defeated it.”

  “I do remember, sir, but I think the point was to defeat it at chess.”

  He snorted, “And play it at ITS game? I know a trap when I see one, Funkworthy. No, I pick the field of battle and my choice was-”

  “Twister.” He seemed glad I remembered, smiling fondly into the middle distance.

  “Twister, yes. An ingenious move, if I may say so myself. That machine couldn’t match my sheer lithe grace nor my colour recognition. Tipped over like a dumb old bloody fridge freezer, didn’t it? But perhaps you’re right, one of the many- many- stories of my wits could be dull. An exciting winner to showcase my PA- my Punching- could be the tale to win the day. My eradication of the damned Graton’du tribe on Planet X-43?”

  “I’m not sure it reflects quite so gloriously considering that they were a pacifist sect.”

  “Well in any case, I sorted them out alright. You can’t be a pacifist if you’re dead. Well, if you balk at that one maybe professor Bathby would be a pleasing winner. She seemed delightful company while I was on her station, but I couldn’t seem to get the conversation going with her. That damned AI kept interrupting us. I can’t stand a jealous computer, Funkworthy, there are few things less attractive than a cutting edge synthetic overmind construct who is needy. What did that name mean anyway? ‘EVA’: what did it stand for?”

  “Electronic Virtual Advanced-planetary-monitoring-and-cognitive-system325.7”

  “Well that’s just lazy,” Space observed, “Still, hyphen abuse aside, whatever became of her?”

  “She was scrapped and her core programming was recycled and put to use in a program that controls traffic lights.”

  Space let out a weary sigh. “Ah, such is the fate of far too many of my conquests. Anyway, that aside, I think that the learned lady will have to be the victor of the prize tonight.” He concluded, looking above the door at the array of lit numbers which were dimming as our elevator sped upward to its destination. He bounced expectantly on his heels and I gritted my teeth.

  A thought seemed to occur to Space.

  “How come I’ve never seen you try to win this contest?”

  “What?”

  “It just occured to me- you’re with me almost round the clock. Twenty four seven, three sixty nine, four twenty, three point one four. And since I cut your holiday allowance you’re with me almost every day. I can’t think of anyone or anything- except for the mirror above my bed- that is in a better place to appreciate me, yet you have never written a tale about me.” he looked momentarily hurt.

  “I....I am a poor wordsmith, Captain, I just don’t think that I could write anything that would capture the...complex stew of things that I think about you.”

  He eyed m
e suspiciously, as I looked back to the elevator display, then he moved his face to within an inch of mine so he could eye me suspiciously more obviously.

  “Seems like a wasted opportunity, Funkworthy,” he said in a low voice.

  “Perhaps some day I will,” I said. I had to change the subject.“You do have your gun, don’t you?”

  “Funkworthy, I’m going to a party held in my honour by my fans on a peaceful space station in neutral space. Of course I have my gun. I am never without arms, or guns for that matter. Or my guns.” He patted the holster on his hip, flexed his biceps and shot me a reassuring look as I eyed the elevator dial. “Relax, Ebenezer, that’s an order.”

  We both turned our faces and the eyes of our faces to the procession of numbers, the last of which blinked out of existence with a barely audible ding. The elevator slowed to a halt and a soft computerized voice announced our arrival. As the door slid open I dropped my hand to my own concealed weapon as Space thrust out his chest and codpiece proudly and equally, striking a kind of odd C-shaped pose for his audience as the doors opened to the main hallway.

  -Which was entirely empty.

  We stood there for a long second, me cringing and handling my pistol and Space sucking in his stomach and beaming vacantly at the abandoned room.

  Still nothing stirred, no person appeared. The lift doors began to close so Space jammed his arm in the way of the closing doors and stepped outside. I followed.

  The station hall stretched before us, its beams garlanded with balloons, its walls plastered with the busy colours of a thousand banners announcing the arrival of the Captain, the floor was even thick with a lush red carpet that (in accordance with the Captain’s request) had been laid on top of another red carpet so that “even the red carpet will be getting the red carpet treatment’. Every column was adorned with pictures of Space and at the opposite end of the chamber I could make out a long banquet table groaning under the weight of the dishes of sandwiches. Even the bandstand stood abandoned, the instruments piled on the dias haphazardly. I could see a harp, a harpsichord, an oboe, an oboesichord, a saxophone, a sexophone, a rusty trumpet, a french horn, a swiss flute, a Bulgarian tuba, two turntables and a microphone; all of which looked to have been laid down in a hurry, almost as if the band had fled. I unlatched the holster of my pistol and heard the clack echo around the chilly room.

  It was the sound of a trap closing.

  We kept wandering slowly down the length of the enormous hall.

  “Oh well, Funkworthy,” Space suddenly bellowed in my ear and causing me to nearly jump onto a table laden with themed jellies, “it looks like everyone has gone! What a SURPRISE it would be if they all leaped out now…I said, what a surprise it would be if everyone leapt out NOW…” He looked over at me and winked, his smile only faltering slightly as the silent seconds ticked away. “Better go now I suppose” he announced after a long pause and started to march loudly on the spot, dropping his feet incrementally softer with every step, “I was looking forward to a party but it seems nobody else wanted to stick around, I should just get out of here and-”

  “Sir, I think-”

  Space silenced me with a gesture, a wrinkle of worry appearing on his brow. He stabbed his fingers out in a button-pushing mime “”Boop beep boop! Well, that’s the elevator coming! Hmmmmmm. Should be here any minute. HMMMMMM!” Suddenly he affected a high and reedy whine. “‘Oh, yes, Space, I agree, let’s get out of here and do something boring.’ All right, Funkworthy, whatever you say.”

  “Are you imitating me? Is that supposed to be me?!” I asked, flabbergasted. He clapped his hand over my mouth.

  He straightened his jacket and cupped his hands around his mouth, directing the rest of the pantomime to the very edges of the room. “DING! Fwhoosh. Ah, that’ll be the doors then, Let’s get in the lift. ‘Capital idea, Captain blah blah blah rules and regulations’ Boop beep boop. I say this lift is descending marvellously! Almost to the docking bay now! ‘Oh yes, Captain, whatever you say, captain, you are much more handsome than I, Captain’ Oh, come now, Funkworthy, there’s no need for that. HMMMMM. Almost there now. Fwhoosh.” He looked around the still-deserted room desperately then made the noises of hydraulic airlock doors opening, his playacting speeding up as desperation creased his face. “Gajoooooovh! Well, here we are back on the ship! Time to pilot out of here. ‘blah blah boring blah’, Yes, you’re quite right, Funkworthy. Bloop bleep bloop. Punching in coordinates now! Engaging hyperwarp drive! Fwhaaamp! And we’re off to the-”

  ‘Blah blah boring blah’? I swallowed a bitter pill of anger. If his act was a peek inside his mind and he truly did just respond to my cautions, sensible warnings and vital health and safety reminders with bland platitudes then it would explain an awful lot. I decided not to press the issue and instead took his arm and interrupted his story as he was describing our passage through an asteroid belt in the crab nebula. “Sir, I believe that by the point that we have gotten in our spacecraft and piloted it into the vacuum of space, the people in this room would no longer be able to eavesdrop effectively.” I noted.

  Space dropped his cupped hands from his face and looked perplexed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But if they aren’t hiding then where the devil are they all?” It was an uncharacteristically good question. I looked around the hall, which looked as if a party had been teleported out mid-revel scant seconds before we had walked in.

  “I think we should find out.”

  He nodded and we began our search of the room, splitting up and cautiously peering behind the room’s many pillars and numerous lifesized cut-outs. We sifted through the bandstand then made our way to the buffet table. Still no signs of life and a tingling sense of unease was creeping up my spine. I turned to Space. I had to get it out before whatever was going to happen here, happened here. “’Blah blah boring blah’?” I repeated back to him in my most accusatory of accusatory tones.

  “Yes, you’re quite right Funkworthy,” he called back as he filled his pocket with biscuits, “but I’m sure I’ll be fine”

  “What?!”

  Before he could answer a loud clap sounded from behind us. I spun on my heels as another clap sounded and another. The sound sped up until it was clear that it was a sarcastic round of applause. From behind a pillar near the entrance elevator a diminutive figure strolled out. I shot a look at Space but he was already closing in on the man.

  Now, I hate to judge based on appearances but the man was no oil painting, that was for sure. He was barely a crayon doodle. He was a squat homunculus of a man that gave off an air of sadness and barely restrained menace at the same time, like a geography teacher only more so. The face was the only thing that was not quintessential middle management- it had a delicate, snooty look to it, like a librarian who was disappointed in you, but there was something rough there too, like a librarian who had seen too much. He was battered and scarred up as though from numerous battles. He was dressed in an anonymous but baggy jumpsuit, though I felt like he wore this with a certain disdain, as though he was better than it. He swivelled one eye round at me and kept up his slow and sarcastic clap.

  “H-Have you come to take me to the party?” Space asked. One had to admire his optimism.

  “Oh, we’re going to have a party alright,” the stranger called in a quavering adolescent voice, “I’ve been planning this shindig for years Captain Space Hardcore. Yeeeeears! And I intend to enjoy every minute, every second, every picosecond!”

  “Me too!” agreed Space, matching the stranger’s tone.

  The stranger took an annoyed second to look at me. He looked back at Space and coughed slightly, then poured more sarcasm onto his voice.

  “It will be a party to end all parties! Oh, but I have so many party games for you to try out! It’ll be so much fun it might just prove too much for you to handle!”

  “That sounds delightful!” Space returned, forcefully.

  Another look to me. I gave him an apologetic shrug and he frowned.


  “You’ll be dying for it to start, Captain, but soon you’ll be dying for it to end. It’ll be a real blast!” he cried, before launching into an approximation of a booming cackle.

  “I’m looking forward to it!” Space replied archly before matching the man’s bloodcurdling laugh. Midway through he broke off and turned to me urgently. “Ebenezer, “ he said in an undertone, “you have to help me out here, this moron won’t take me to the party. Can you have a word with him?”

  “Sir, I believe that he is trying to menace you. Note, for example, the double meaning that can be applied to the word ‘dying’. Also, I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that ‘blast’ can also be pejorative, as when it applies to an explosion.”

  Space received this new information with a serious nod and seemed to think it over for a minute. He turned from me to face the stranger who was still very much enjoying a long cackle and cleared his throat until he caught the man’s attention. “Can you clear something up for me and my colleague here? You see, Ebenezer here seems to think you mean to do us harm in some way but I think you’re here for the celebration. So what’s it to be? Which one of us is right?”

  He smiled strangely at us. “In a way you’re both right. I’m here to celebrate you. All of your past glories, all of your adventures and triumphs, your seemingly bottomless luck and good fortune. I am here to celebrate your legacy, Captain.”

  Space smiled broadly around at me.

  “-I think I’ll destroy that before I kill you.”