Harvey Drew and the Junk Skunks

by Cas Lester

  He’s always telling his team that there’s no point sticking to your game plan, or what you practised in training, if it isn’t working on the pitch. And if you’re playing a forward-attacking game and you’re losing, then you have to stop and fall back on your defence.

  That’s it! thought Harvey, stop and fall back!

  ‘Hit the brakes,’ he yelled. ‘And REVERSE. Maximum cosmic speed!’

  Maxie yanked the supersonic brakes on and shoved the reversing rockets on to FULL. The engines screamed and juddered as 900,000 units of cosmic power (from two really, really big batteries) forced them to go backwards.

  The crew held their breath as slowly, horribly slowly, agonisingly slowly in fact, the grotty little garbage ship gradually reversed out of the powerful pull of the black hole and to safety.

  ‘YAHOO!’

  The entire bridge crew erupted into wild cheering, except Yargal who cried with relief. It was disgusting.

  ‘My hero!’ she cried, slapping Harvey soggily on the back. He tried not to flinch.

  Maxie gave him a huge grin from under her multi-coloured fringe.

  ‘Oh, well done, sir,’ cried Gizmo, coming over to shake his hand enthusiastically.

  ‘Shall I stick the hydrosonic hyperdrive lever back on?’ asked Scrummage, picking up the broken handle and some sticky tape. ‘And we can have another go?’

  ‘NO!’ yelled everyone.

  Maxie switched off the Anti-Pasta Intergalactic Shield 3000 and the force shield surrounding the ship disappeared.

  (I say ‘disappeared’. Actually it popped like a giant bubble, leaving greasy smears on the outside of the ship. But I wasn’t going to put that because it doesn’t sound very hi-tech or space-like does it?)

  Then Maxie plotted the new course taking the longer route to Waitless, on the 3D star map, showing Harvey as she did so. ‘We’ll take the Interstellar Scenic Highway Z98, nip past the Lesser Spotted Nebula, through the Greater Megon Belt, hang a left at these two planets, Caloris Major and Caloris Lite, bear right at the Moons of Dorus and then the intergalactic super store will be up ahead of us.’

  It was quite a wiggly route, marked in bright purple and, worryingly, littered with exclamation mark signs.

  ‘What are those?’ asked Harvey warily.

  ‘Tourist sites. It’s the scenic route.’ she explained. ‘But it shouldn’t be too bad. Unless we get stuck behind an enormous P&O cruise ship.’

  ‘A “P&O” cruise ship?!’ exclaimed Harvey, who was pretty sure his granny had been on one of those.

  ‘Yes. Stands for ‘Pangalactic and Orbital cruise ships,’ said Maxie. ‘They’re massive. Some of the biggest crafts in outer space and horribly SLOOOOOW.’ She ended in a groan.

  Harvey grinned, then sat back in his captain’s chair and braced himself for the gobsmackingly brilliant moment when the plucky little garbage ship careered forward at full cosmic speed.

  ZZZZZIIIIIP!

  This time he hardly cracked his head at all on the back of his seat and there was only a small

  THWACK!

  Chapter Eleven

  Interstellar Scenic Highway Z98

  Maxie wasn’t kidding – it really was the scenic route. Had Harvey and the crew not been so hungry they might have pulled over in a hyperspace lay-by to enjoy the view. It was stunning. But then most of the Entire Known Universe, and Beyond, is pretty awesome.

  (It might be helpful to explain that the Lesser Spotted Nebula, and the mighty Greater Megon Belt are both major tourist attractions in Galaxy 43b. Parking can be a bit tricky at peak times.

  To be honest, the two dwarf planets, Caloris Major and Caloris Lite, are a bit ordinary. I mean, once you’ve seen it raining diamonds, well you’ve seen it, haven’t you? Oh, and by the way, the toilets there are a bit basic so I suggest you bring your own paper. And a disinfectant spray. And a really strong hand cleaner.

  But the multiple Moons of Dorus are breathtaking and well worth a visit – well, that’s if your tiny little planet ever figures out how to go a bit further than your very own little moon.

  Honestly, you have no idea what you’re missing.)

  As the Toxic Spew meandered it’s way along the Interstellar Scenic Highway Z98, heading for the intergalactic super store, Waitless, Harvey added ‘new hydrosonic hyperdrive lever’ to the shopping list. Not long after, he had to add ‘roll of electrical wire’ to the list as well. Gordon had wriggled his way into the engineering desk and treated himself to a good chew.

  BZZZZZZ, DZZZZZ, CRACKLE!

  went the desk as bare wires collided and sparks shot out from the controls, and

  ‘AAAAARGH! OI! YEEOOWCH!’

  went Gizmo as he ducked the sparks, grabbed Gordon and got a mega painful sting from his tail.

  (It might interest you to know that a baby Gordonzola, despite being one of the adorably cutest, fubzy-wubzyist little aliens in the Entire Known Universe, and Beyond, has a sting in its tail that measures 13.4 megahurts on the Pangalactic Pain Scale.

  But since you’re not likely to ever meet one, maybe you don’t care?

  Gizmo does.)

  Gizmo promptly dropped Gordon onto the deck with a yelp.

  ‘Careful! You’ll hurt him,’ cried Scrummage dashing over to pick him up. ‘It’s not his fault – you scared him.’

  ‘He’s eating the wires!’ erupted Gizmo.

  ‘He’s teething!’ cried Scrummage protectively, cuddling the baby alien.

  ‘Well, he can go and teethe somewhere else!’ snapped Gizmo, nursing his throbbing hand.

  Scrummage sat the Gordonzola on his lap. Blimey, it’s a good job Gordon’s small. Scrummage’s belly sticks out so much there’s hardly any lap left. Maxie looked at Harvey and rolled her eyes.

  Another bad game plan

  There were still a gazillion mega-miles to go to get to Waitless and even Harvey was struggling with hunger now. So he asked the computer if it had any games they could play.

  ‘Games?!’ cried the computer. ‘Are you kidding? I am a galaxy-class 75b SpaceCorp computer with a CosmicCore processor and 215 megatronbyte boogle memory – of course I have games! I don’t like to brag, but I’m programmed with the top ten all-time best-selling games in the Entire Known Universe, and Beyond. I’ll just pick one at random.’

  Excellent, thought Harvey and sat back in his seat expectantly.

  ‘I spy with my little eye something beginning with S,’ said the computer.

  ‘Space,’ chorused the rest of the crew wearily.

  ‘How did you guess?’ it cried.

  ‘It’s always space,’ they moaned.

  ‘That’s not true!’ huffed the computer. ‘Sometimes it’s G. G for …’

  ‘Garbage,’ they groaned.

  ‘Or F. F for …’

  ‘Filth,’ they droned.

  ‘Well, don’t blame me,

  a) I didn’t choose the mission, and

  b) you’re bin men, so what did you expect?’

  it finished and bleeped off in a sulk.

  Waitless ahead!

  Finally, hours and hours later, the crew, now almost fainting with hunger, neared the I.S.S. Waitless.

  Harvey watched as the intergalactic super store loomed closer. It looked like a motorway service station but inside a massive snow globe shaker. (Without the snow, obviously. It doesn’t snow in space.) In the centre of the complex, dozens of docking bays sat between a fuel station on one side, and a super store on the other. A giant see-through hangar covered it completely.

  Scrummage crawled to the front vision screen and pressed his nose against it pathetically. ‘Food!’ he whimpered weakly, ‘FOOD!’

  As they neared the enormous see-through hangar doors, Harvey suddenly panicked that they wouldn’t open and the plucky little intergalactic garbage ship would slam into them, shattering the plasti-glass into thousands of tiny shards that would spiral off across the galaxy.

  (Technically speaking, he needn’t have worried. Plasti-glass is unbre
akable so it would have been the Toxic Spew, not the hangar doors, that would have shattered into thousands of tiny shards and spiralled off across the galaxy.

  Or, come to think of it, maybe he wasn’t worrying enough?)

  ‘Er, Maxie …’ he said worriedly as the gap closed to about 100 metres and the doors still hadn’t opened.

  Maxie was busy setting the controls to STANDBY AUTO-PARK. ‘Hang on a mo,’ she said, not looking up.

  ‘But Maxie!’ he warned more urgently, as the gap closed to about 10 metres.

  ‘MAXIE!’ he screamed as the gap closed to 1 metre.

  Chapter Twelve

  Waitless

  Casually Maxie looked up just as, with less than 10 centimetres to go, the massive hangar doors shot open and the Toxic Spew slid inside. The doors immediately closed behind them, keeping as much air as possible inside the dome.

  Harvey didn’t actually see any of that happen – he’d clapped his hands over his eyes in terror. When he peered over his fingers, it was to see Maxie laughing at him from under her multi-coloured fringe.

  ‘Fine captain you’re turning out to be!’ she sniggered. ‘Scared of a pair of auto-opening hyperspace hangar doors!’

  Harvey grinned at her, and then laughed too. You didn’t get to be picked captain of the Highford All Stars for two seasons running if you didn’t know how to laugh at yourself.

  Slowly the Toxic Spew descended towards the deck, Maxie using the ship’s rear parking booster jets to slow them down and steer them towards the docking bays.

  They were all empty.

  ‘Pick a number!’ said Maxie jokingly to Harvey. ‘Any number you like!’

  ‘Er … eight,’ said Harvey, instinctively opting for his shirt number in the Highford All Stars.

  Skilfully, Maxie parked the spaceship in docking bay number eight, slap bang in the centre of the parking lines.

  ‘Food!’ groaned Scrummage again, pitifully. ‘So near and yet so far!’

  Harvey peered out through the smeary vision screens that lined three sides of the bridge. The lights were on, but there were no other spaceships, and no one to be seen anywhere. Waitless was deserted.

  ‘Is it usually this quiet?’ he asked.

  ‘Perhaps they’re closed,’ suggested Yargal.

  ‘They never close,’ announced Maxie.

  Harvey didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

  But with absolutely no food left on the ship, and a ravenous, mutinous crew, he didn’t have any other options, ideas or excuses. There was no escaping it – they had to go shopping.

  Scrummage wanted to take Gordon but Harvey told him to leave him on the ship with Snuffles.

  ‘Snuffles, on guard!’ ordered Harvey, and the hound proudly stood protectively over the little alien. ‘I meant guard the ship, not Gordon!’ sighed Harvey despairingly.

  A painful drop

  The crew headed down to the ship’s exit pod. As the outer doors slid open they stood back politely to let Harvey go first. Well, he thought they were being polite. Actually they were letting him go first to make sure everything was all right.

  Everything wasn’t.

  The instant Harvey stepped out of the ship, his feet lifted off the deck and he floated up!

  ‘Woooaaaah!’ he cried. ‘HELP!’

  Looking on the bright side, at least Harvey was inside an enormous plasti-glass domed hangar, and wasn’t in danger of drifting off into the lonely depths of outer space, dying almost immediately from lack of air and never to be seen again. (Unless he floated near the doors and they opened automatically, of course, which would be a bit, er … dodgy. Well, fatal really.)

  But anyhow, Harvey was too busy to worry about that – he was desperately scrabbling to snatch hold of a sticky-out bit of the ship. He missed.

  ‘Harvey!’ screamed Maxie jumping up and trying to grab him. She couldn’t reach.

  ‘Splattering upchuck!’ cursed Scrummage.

  ‘Captain! Come back!’ cried Gizmo.

  ‘How?’yelled Harvey.

  Suddenly he felt a disgustingly soggy tentacle slap itself round his ankle. Yargal had grasped him. Her giant foot sucker held her firmly on to the deck and she hauled him to safety.

  He never thought he’d be glad to feel Yargal’s sloppy grey slime oozing through his sock and onto his bare flesh. But there you are.

  ‘Why is the artificial gravity turned off?’ demanded Gizmo.

  ‘Who knows?’ shrugged Yargal.

  ‘Who cares!’ replied Maxie.

  ‘FOOD!’ pleaded Scrummage.

  Clinging on to anything they could – the docking bay barriers, advertising stands and mostly Yargal (which was about as easy as gripping a wet bar of soap, and about as pleasant as hugging a slug) they struggled to the shop.

  Gizmo found the artificial gravity controls and switched the system back on.

  THUD! THUMP! PLONK!

  Everyone landed painfully on the deck. Scrummage stumbled to his feet and staggered into the shop.

  Everywhere they looked they saw signs that the intergalactic super store had been abandoned in a hurry – dirty plates and cups lay dropped and deserted in the café area, loaded shopping trolleys left at the checkouts, and full shopping bags just dumped on the deck.

  It was worryingly quiet.

  It was also worryingly smelly.

  Any other crew would have been wary – their highly trained senses and even more highly trained brains would have detected there was something very wrong.

  But this was the crew of the Toxic Spew and

  a) there was nothing highly trained about any of them, and

  b) they were used to the disgusting smell of the Toxic Spew (anything smelled better than that)

  Plus

  c) they were very, very hungry. Way too hungry to worry about anything except how quickly they could rip open food packets and cram the contents into their mouths.

  (Seriously? After all their multiple intergalactic missions they’re too worryingly stupid not guess that something that’s worryingly quiet and worryingly smelly is … er … worryingly worrying?

  Oh, good grief.)

  Chapter Thirteen

  Spookily quiet on the I.S.S.

  Harvey and the crew could hear their space boots clunking on the metal deck and echoing all around them as they made their way to the shop. Spookily, Harvey had a horrible feeling they were being watched. Warning bells went off in his head.

  (No, not literally. Don’t be stupid! He’s not a robot, for goodness’ sake.)

  The store was deserted – and trashed.

  Some of the checkout tills had been left open, and a digital voice kept repeating: ‘Please take your bags … please take your bags … please take your bags …’ It was incredibly irritating.

  The freezer door was wide open and a large pool of water and melted ice cream had dribbled out and pooled onto the deck (possibly mint chocolate chip and raspberry cookie crumble, judging by the colour and texture. Unless it was vomit, of course.)

  A shelf of Spaceghetti in Baked Stars Sauce had been tipped over and the cartons had burst all over the floor. Harvey noticed some weird-looking footprints in the puddle of sauce.

  (Excuse me, but can I just remind you that Captain Harvey Drew is from a tiny little planet called Earth which no one in Galaxy 43b has even heard of? And that up until a few weeks ago, he’d never even left that tiny little planet in its remote corner of the universe?

  So who’s he to decide whether the footprints in the sauce look ‘weird’ or not?

  I don’t mean to be rude or anything. I’m just saying … )

  In the café area, orange and lemon Spaceade drinks were spilled across the deck, tables lay knocked over and a half-eaten Cosmic Cream Cheese Custard and Crackling Cake sat abandoned on a plate. Scrummage scooped it up hungrily and shoved it in his mouth.

  ‘Yummy!’ he spluttered excitedly, spitting custard and cake crumbs everywhere.

  Maxie grabbed a half-empty
pack of Space Radar Crisps, poured them into her mouth and munched furiously. Gizmo, finding that some coins had been left in the Any Food in the Universe vending machine, used it all up to buy a Super Delux Starspresso drink, a Comet Curry and Cabbage Soufflé with Red Custard.

  Harvey headed off to the grocery section. It’s not that he’s fussy. Just that he has more self control.

  Spookily quiet on the Toxic Spew

  Meanwhile, back on the bridge of the Toxic Spew, it was spookily quiet too. Eventually, even the computer noticed.

  ‘Hello?’ it said, suspiciously. ‘Is there anyone there?’

  There was no reply.

  WHIRR, SZCHHHH, WHIRR

  went the computer’s CCTV camera as it scanned the entire ship.

  It searched the command bridge,

  the galley and sickbay,

  the crew’s quarters,

  all the corridors,

  the garbage hold and finally, as a last resort,

  the toilets.

  (And believe me, looking into the toilets on the Toxic Spew was absolutely a last resort.)

  ‘Hello? Coo-eeee! HELLOO-OOO!’ it called.

  But the Toxic Spew was deserted.

  ‘Huh! Typical!’ it snorted huffily. ‘Don’t bother to tell me you’re going out will you? I mean you could have left a note! Just feel free to abandon me here, all alone and deserted, with no one except a stupid Hazard Hunting Hound and a dumb baby Gordonzola on the bridge for company!’

  At that point the computer noticed what the dumb baby Gordonzola was happily doing on the bridge.

  ‘No, Gordon. NO!’ cried the computer in a shocked tone. ‘Don’t do that on the bridge! Bad Gordon. Bad baby Gordonzola!’

  But Gordon ignored it and carried on doing whatever it was he was doing, until he’d finished. Snuffles put his paws over his eyes in embarrassment.

  ‘Oh good grief,’ exclaimed the computer in disgust, and bleeped off in despair.