by G. P. Moss
He is furious.
And his arms hurt.
“Why did you not challenge these invaders before they breached our atmosphere? They should have been shot down!”
The space traffic controller looks bemused.
“Because Alex asked us not to.”
A flustered Percy looks askance as the meaning of the controller’s words hit home like a thrown overcooked sausage.
“But that is impossible; Alex is dead, dragged off by the massive marauding, Ghost Blue!”
“Look for yourself, Percy; the prodigal nephew returns!”
From behind the 2 Beta cruisers emerges his half-owned Explorer, looking in remarkably good condition.
“Get security! Upon landing, I want Alex and the other crews arrested and thrown into jail!”
The controller has a valid question.
“What for?”
Percy screams, his high pitched whiney warble causing the controller to cover his stinging ears.
“For theft of weapons chips and my Explorer!”
Security pipes through.
“Negative, Percy. All weapons chips are accounted for and technically, Alex owns half the Explorer anyway.”
“Well, he stole my other half!”
“Percy, there will be no arrests today. We have a medical emergency, in the form of 2 unconscious Earthlings aboard one of the Beta cruisers.”
“What is the name of their leader?”
He holds his breath but knows the answer already.
“Captain Ariel Hope.”
“Okay, thank you, security.”
“Always a pleasure; over and out.”
As the 3, unexpected spacecraft come in to land, Percy’s undignified indignation turns to opportunistic joy as his eyes perform a merry jig of kaleidoscope-like proportions. He will have Ariel Hope in the palm of his hand. Mr Whistler will pay him handsomely for this information.
Rushing to the communications centre, he darts into a side room, selecting a frequency he hopes his new lord and master will pick up.
“Yes?”
“Mr Whistler, my lord, something incredible has happened. Ariel Hope was not destroyed by Ghost Blue; I repeat, Ariel Hope was not...”
“Yes, yes, I got it the first time. Where is she?”
“Here on Bump Minor; she flew in with a medical emergency, along with my thieving cousin, Alex.”
“Have him arrested then; in fact, have all of them locked up.”
“Alas, I cannot; he’s returning the weapons chips. I shall keep the crews here until you land, my lord.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Percy. I cannot possibly make such a daringly dastardly move on a foreign planet. You will have to lure her to me!”
“How?”
“Start by being nice, lull her into a false sense of warm fluffiness then POW! You can do that, I presume?”
“Of course, my lord. I shall start right now, being nice and everything!”
“Good lad. Goodbye.”
*
As Stevie Lo and Yvette are transferred to Bump Minor’s mini medical centre, Percy rushes to greet his returning cousin.
“Hail, my long-missed cousin, so you have returned; what a glorious moment!”
“Stop being weird, Percy.”
“I am just glad you returned, you naughty rascal, stealing my precious spaceship like that!”
“That piece of space junk is half mine. I was trying to make some profit for us but became caught up in a planet rescue. Anyway, it’s a long story of heroism and perfectly dashing behaviour; I won’t bore you with it now, Percy.”
Percy slaps him playfully on the back.
“Never mind, old pal; great to see you!”
Alex sniffs a rat but keeps it to himself.
“Okay, for sure, whatever. Where’s your father?”
“Ah, had to leave for a conference somewhere in the Bounty galaxy; took my brand spanking new Explorer Deluxe with him too!”
“Where and how did you manage to get your grubby hands on one of those?”
“Ah, well, a very nice rich space traveller needed extensive repairs; had to rebuild it from scratch, I did.”
“Something dodgy more like, knowing you.”
Percy brushes off the disparaging but true remark.
“Anyway, old matey, introduce me to your new friend, Ariel Hope!”
“She’ll be in the medical centre with her sick friends; you’ll see her in good time.”
Percy turns away to hide his jigging eyes.
Oh, yes, that he will.
The handing over of Ariel Hope can and will make him rich.
It’s all he can think about.
Manky, minging toe rag.
Chapter Five
Planet Whistler (Still out of place)
Maurice Mickleby, most likely candidate to succeed deposed Ambassador Hunter as interim leader of Whistler, finally plucks up the courage to leave the toilet, following various softly spoken reassurances that he is not in any trouble.
He looks up at Admiral Hope, fear still dominant in his slightly vacant eyes, like an accused dog with its head still stuck in the waste bin.
“But why me?”
It’s a great question.
“My dear Maurice, you have, over the years, proved yourself to be a loyal friend to my family and myself. I trust you to make the right decisions for the continued prosperity of Whistler.”
“Well, I must admit, I am a little shocked. I always thought you thought I was merely a rather meek and kind idiot!”
“Nonsense, my dear man. You are perfect; Gerry agrees too.”
“But how will I make decisions? I mean, I might mess everything up!”
“No, you will not, Maurice. I will tell you what to do and you will do it. There, simple, is it not?”
“Well, in that case, my dear and noble, trusted without question Admiral, we have a deal!”
“Splendid, Maurice. One other thing you could help me with. My son, Gob...er, Johnny, he runs a fine organisation called the Spacies. He is coming on in lengthy leaps and the best of bounding bounds but his requests are becoming a little tiresome; I have so much to do, if you understand?”
“Yes, of course, I will be delighted to help him where I can!”
*
Mr Senior’s startling words continue to ring through Johnny Hope’s gullible ears.
He knows the only person able to grant his request to begin arming the Spacies, is his father. If this fails, he will, by default, be granted his wish to try the much-lauded method used by secret agents and engineers of destiny throughout the ages; guile.
Before he visits Admiral Hope, he knows he must consult The Book of Space, to see if the old white-haired man’s predictions are shared by Horace Strange.
Rushing to grab the book, carefully hidden under a secret cape of blankets and a spare Spacie uniform, his hands shake like a petunia in a strong wind.
As hoped, the book sparkles, throwing miniature glitter-like stars in a localised mini vortex before settling, allowing Johnny to access the latest revealing page.
His eyes focus like laser pointers as a single word dances across the new page.
‘PREPARE!’
Prepare for what?
Instead of the expected legions of invading spaceships, he’s presented with an array of images, featuring icy mountains, fearsome space pirates, and a hot town full of giant factories.
Blinking to make sure he is not dreaming, he is presented with a new line of text, gliding across like an old fashioned digital railway platform sign.
‘BEWARE OF BANANAS!’
Johnny slams the book shut, upset at the obvious joke being played upon him by Horace Strange.
Does the man not realise how serious he is about cosmic glory and building a youth army and generally making himself look great?
Realising nothing in the book makes sense, he heads off to find his father.
*
“I have never heard anything so r
idiculous in my life!”
“But father, Mr Senior is a seer, and along with our new fragile planet status, I think we should be as prepared as we are possibly able!”
“That crazy thinly white-haired old man is a fool and a nincompoop; he is in cahoots with his younger brother, Mr Whistler, that is why he wants you arming Whistler citizens. Yes, that is it, indoctrinate the young using someone they trust!”
Admiral Hope stares at his son, leaving no room for ambiguity as to how he is dealing with this ridiculous request.
“And that person they trust, my boy, is YOU! Do you see where I am coming from now?”
Johnny fake bows his head in uncharacteristic fake submission.
“Yes, father; as you say, a ludicrous proposition. I shall take my leave as now.”
“And what is with all these ancient mumbo jumbo phrases you keep coming out with? ‘I shall take my leave as now’ for goodness sake. Just say, ‘okay, I’m off’, or ‘okay, I’ll be off then’! Any future, sensible requests, must now be presented to Maurice Mickleby, the new man in pretend charge of Whistler.”
“Okay, see you later, dude.”
“Gob...er, Johnny; that is not what I meant!”
Johnny Hope has already gone. He knows now why Mr Senior mentioned the use of guile; it is now the only avenue left open to him.
*
Maurice Mickleby sits behind a huge, empty marble stone desk on the ground floor of Whistler Castle. Since he took office, he has had nothing to do.
Standing to stretch his medium-sized legs, he contemplates having a relaxing stroll in the gardens when Johnny Hope enters following a brief knock on the open door.
“It was open, Mr Mickleby.”
“Ah, yes, I need to get it fixed; the whirring, sliding part has a fault. How may I help?”
Maurice’s eyes light up as he prepares to accept the first request since he came to power.
“My father suggested I come to you with this most urgent request, Mr Mickleby, sir. In case of invasion, it has been suggested I arm the Spacies, sort of like a back-up ground defence force, adding to the numbers, if you get my drift.”
“But we already have Space Marines to protect us, young Gob...er, Johnny.”
“But these fine youngsters are like an academy of future Space Marines, and as such, require some training, sir.”
“Well, erm, I see, yes, quite, indeed. Well, erm, your father did say I should not bother him with Spacie business so I do not see why I cannot grant your request, young man. On one condition, though. No laser cannon, at all; they are far too dangerous in inexperienced hands, and I should know haha, I almost blew my foot off with one as an over-excited teenager!”
“Thank you, Mr Mickleby, sir; I am grateful and humbled by your request!”
“My pleasure, young man, and may I say, I am jolly impressed by your use of such ancient, flowery language!”
As a triumphant Johnny Hope leaves the new leader’s office, Maurice Mickleby gets straight on his communicator device.
“Hi, Chief Technical Officer? Yes, it’s me, Maurice Mickleby. Johnny Hope will shortly come to you with orders for weaponry for his Spacies. Make sure he has what he needs but also ensure the weapons are useless when fired. Yes, just between us, thank you Chief.”
Yes, people may say Maurice Mickleby is just a kind old idiot who hides in toilets when faced with responsibility.
He’s not.
The man ain’t daft at all.
Chapter Six
Planet Bump Minor
Percy stares down at Yvette while keeping a beady eye on Ariel.
She looks worried.
This is great news for Percy who has only heard the rumours she’s a vicious space warrior who stops at nothing to destroy and conquer.
You know what rumours are like.
Ariel looks to the doctor in charge for any sign he can diagnose and help.
The ‘doctor’ is a hastily fetched janitor, quickly given a white coat for the sake of appearances.
He looks at Percy for any sign he will help him out here.
Percy is more than happy to oblige, having hastily but cunningly devised a monstrous plan to get Captain Hope within the reach of the glorious tyrant, Mr Whistler.
“Captain Hope, it has been my fortune to refit a medical scientist’s spaceship recently. Unfortunately, it has not been possible to contact him but if you hurry, I am sure you can catch him at the top edge of Minstrels, before the gas clouds.”
Ariel perks up at the news.
“Are you sure he is a proper medical doctor? No offense towards this fine gentleman of course, but it does make me question his credentials when I see dirty space boots poking out from an oversized lab coat.”
The janitor walks away, his cover blown.
Percy, no stranger to controversy, with skin as thick as a rhino’s bottom, plays down the janitor/doctor misunderstanding.
“Worry not, Captain Ariel. The man you seek is Doctor Diggedy, on his way to a not too urgent conference for specialists specialising in the treatment of space crews who have mysteriously become unconscious for no apparent reason.”
“That’s a rather long title for a medical conference!”
“I agree, Captain Ariel Hope, that it is so. The length of the title bears testament to the level of utmost seriousness attached to this mystery illness.”
Alex eyes his cousin with warranted suspicion.
“Ah for sure, Percy, don’t be having the lady on now, at a time of seriousness and all.”
“I swear on your life, cousin, it is the truth.”
Yvette’s right eyebrow flickers slightly.
No one has noticed.
Yvette has noticed as it’s her eyebrow and she senses that no good at all is coming from the mouth of Percy Bump.
She tries to speak but her lips refuse to move.
Ariel needs help.
“Okay, will you come with us, Percy, as a guide I mean?”
He shuffles his feet, wiggles his fingers and twitches his nose, while his eyes are racing like collider particles.
“Unfortunately, my father has taken my spaceship so I am without a ride.”
“No problem, you can come with me.”
“Ah, unfortunately, since my father is away, I must remain to assist with Council duties.”
“I’ll come with you, for sure, Ariel.”
“Thanks Alex, we’ll all go in Beta 2. I wish we could take Stevie and Yvette with us but I cannot risk them on any further journeys; it will be best if Doctor Diggedy attends to them here.”
Yvette can hear the conversation and knows Percy is sending them into a trap.
She is powerless to help.
As anxiety creeps in, the urge to turn into her lovely white bird is strong but nothing at all is happening.
Percy rubs his dishonest hands and bids the visitors farewell.
Alex catches up with his cousin at the door.
“This had better not be one of your games, cousin, or there will be consequences!”
“Hahaha, whatever could you mean? I am merely trying to help!”
Alex points towards the toe rag’s chest.
“You, cousin, have never done anything in your life without wanting something in return!”
“Well, perhaps Captain Hope will pay me when she returns with the good Doctor; that is my risk to take; if she does not, then so be it!”
As Percy leaves, he smiles at the thought that he will never see Ariel or his bolshy cousin ever again.
His manky smile widens as he thinks of the payment from Mr Whistler.
Alex has 1 more task before they depart.
“Ariel, get your ship ready while I try to find someone more suitable than that pretend doctor to look after Stevie and Yvette while we’re gone.”
Yvette tries to turn her head so she can see Stevie Lo in the next bed.
She cannot move a muscle, nothing, zero.
All she sees is her glorious friend, colleague and
leader, Captain Ariel Hope, setting off on a journey that is likely to claim her life.
A solitary tear, escaping from her right eye, evaporates before anyone can bear witness to her sorrow.
Chapter Seven
Minstrels galaxy (Close to Bump Minor)
As Beta 2 leaves Bump Minor, Beta Zero and the failed Whistler pilots are homing in on the alien planet, far from the unsuspecting eyes of Ariel Hope.
Percy Bump is as miffed as a rabid shopaholic accidentally oversleeping on Black Friday.
Bump Minor Control has just reported 3 unidentified, alien spacecraft about to smash through the atmosphere.
“Get me through to their leader, at once!”
The controller sneers.
“Say please.”
“NOW! PLEASE!”
“Better; you are through now.”
“Who are you and what do you want? This is Bump Minor sovereign territory and I demand you turn around this instant!”
Patricia’s having none of this upstart’s bolshy behaviour.
“Ah, so you have a queen, or perhaps a king, eh? Well, let them know Patricia is coming for tea, there’s a good lad.”
“How dare you! We will shoot you down!”
“Then you will not collect on your glorious prize, will you?”
Percy is definitely paying attention now.
“What glorious prize?”
“You shall have to wait and see, but first you shall welcome us with open arms!”
“Okay, you may land; I won’t shoot you down, this time.”
“There’s a good lad.”
The Space Dogs Tricycle Gang look at her in collective awe.
If only they knew of her real plans in coming here.
*
Percy waits for Patricia to emerge from Beta Zero.
Pedro and Damien walk up to introduce themselves.
“I want the engineer, not the manky oil rags!”
Damien puts him straight.
“If you mean Patricia, alas, she is Artificial Intelligence and will not be joining us.”
“So, she flies that huge cruiser on her own, with no crew, like a ghost ship?”
Percy’s question is answered as the mankiest men to have ever exited a spaceship, zigzag their way down to the ground, shielding their eyes from a rebellious sun determined to force its way through the remaining remnants of dust clouds and ice sheets.