Trouble in Warp Space

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Everything they’re saving there, they’re losing in sabotage and stolen goods,” Iola said.

  Frank and Joe both nodded. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight,” Frank said. “Maybe we’ll have some new ideas in the morning.”

  “I’d settle for some old ideas,” Chet said, “just so long as they explain what’s going on around here.”

  • • •

  The morning was gray and overcast. Chet woke up early for his makeup call, only to find that Peck Wilson had returned from the hospital. Chet’s stint as the Slayer from Sirius was over.

  Chet returned to the trailer and moped. “I’m out of showbiz before I’ve hardly begun!” he said.

  “Go back to bed,” Joe said sleepily. “You’ll feel better after some more rest.”

  Neither Joe nor Frank could sleep after Chet came back and decided to get up. They ate a quick breakfast in the commissary, then headed to the set.

  If the pace around the show had been heated previously, this day it could only be described as feverish. Stagehands and technicians worked frantically to repair the damage to the sets.

  Rod Webb had come up with a scheme to shoot around the damaged sets, and Sandy had rewritten some scenes to accommodate the changes. The dark-haired writer/creator looked as if she’d gotten little or no sleep.

  Iola got made up as a different character again and did some more walk-throughs during scenes set in the ship’s corridors and infirmary.

  The show’s actors had put aside their differences and were working smoothly as a unit, even the combative Geoff Gross.

  “Probably he’s happy to have me out of the Slayer suit,” Chet said quietly.

  “What about you?” Joe asked. “Still missing the hot lights?”

  Chet shook his head. “Nah. Let Peck Wilson brawl with Gross next time. My bruises haven’t healed yet.”

  During a break in shooting, Peck Wilson came over to congratulate Chet for his work in the show. “You really helped out,” Wilson said. “And you don’t look half-bad as the Slayer from Sirius. You might consider doing some stunt work when you get out of school.”

  Chet grinned. “Maybe you’ll need an apprentice Slayer by then,” he said.

  Wilson laughed. “Let’s hope the show lasts that long.”

  “We’re just glad to have you back in action,” Frank said. “The fire could have killed you.”

  “That’s what they tell me,” Wilson replied. “I don’t remember much of what happened, to tell you the truth. I went over the hill and then—whammo!—Next thing I know, I wake up in the hospital.”

  “Did you slip and fall, or what?” Joe asked.

  “I guess I must have,” Wilson said. “I still have a big bump on the back of my head. I must have cracked my skull against a rock.”

  “Yeah, probably,” Joe said, but the look he gave Frank said that he didn’t believe it.

  After Wilson went back to work, Frank said, “Are you thinking that he was probably hit from behind?”

  “Yeah, just like Pekar—by the kung fu alien,” Joe said.

  “Why, though?” Chet asked.

  “If we knew that, we’d have this mystery solved,” Frank said.

  The morning flew by with the crew shooting pages almost as quickly as the rewrites could be printed from Sandy’s computer. When Jerri Bell and Claudia Rajiv finished their morning scenes, they invited Chet, Frank, and Joe to join them for lunch while Iola continued working.

  “I don’t see how we can make up for lost time without shooting this weekend,” Claudia said. “And even then, getting back to the park will be tricky.”

  “Maybe Sandy will rewrite those scenes,” Iola suggested.

  “Poor Sandy,” Claudia said. “She’s working herself to death.”

  “And the rest of us, too,” Jerri said. She sighed and ran a hand through her blond hair. “I guess I’d better cancel my plans for Saturday and Sunday.”

  “The price of fame,” Frank said.

  Jerri smiled and laughed. “Listen to me!” she said. “The show’s in trouble and I’m worried about a weekend getaway.”

  “I’d tell you to get a life, but I think that may be your problem,” Claudia said.

  Lunch soon ended, and the women went back to work. Frank, Joe, and Chet lingered for a few moments, finishing their desserts.

  “Did you notice that Geoff Gross and Matt Stiller had their eyes on us the whole time Jerri was here?” Frank said.

  Joe nodded. “And they left just as soon as Jerri and Claudia did.”

  “Well, it’ll be harder for Gross to take a poke at me now that I’m out of the Slayer outfit,” Chet said.

  Shooting stretched late into the afternoon, with technicians and actors flying around in a state just short of chaos. Stiller kept busy running errands for the cast, especially Jerri Bell, and stayed out of the way of the Hardys and Mortons except to toss them an occasional sneer.

  “He’s an excellent gofer . . . for a creep,” Iola commented.

  “I don’t think Gross is too pleased with him, though,” Joe said. “Look.”

  As they watched, Geoff Gross drained the coffee cup in his hand and violently crushed it. He tossed it aside and called, “Stiller! Where’s my coffee?”

  Stiller looked annoyed but said, “Coming, Mr. Gross.” He took his tray, piled high with coffee and soft drinks, and ducked behind a flat to cross to Gross’s chair. Webb was working nearby, setting up the next shot. Suddenly he turned and yelled, “Hey! Look out!”

  He rushed behind the flat, and a moment later there was a loud popping noise, and the lights on the set went out. Immediately, the emergency lights kicked on, and chaos erupted on the set.

  Jerri Bell screamed, “Somebody call an ambulance!”

  13 The Final Straw

  Frank, Joe, and the others raced to the sound of Jerri’s voice. They found her behind the flat, next to the prone body of Matt Stiller. He lay in a pool of spilled coffee, next to a fallen electrical cable. Stiller’s eyes were wide open, and his body was shaking. His mouth moved, but no intelligible words came out.

  Rod Webb, who had been standing next to a nearby circuit-breaker box, dashed to Stiller’s side. “Is he all right?” Webb asked. “That cable must have fallen,” he said. “I tried to warn him, but . . .”

  Frank kneeled next to the quivering gofer. “It looks like he’s had a pretty bad shock. We should keep him quiet until the EMTs get here.”

  “It’s a good thing I knew where the breaker was,” Webb said, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his sleeve.

  “He might have been killed,” Jerri said, tears streaming down her face. She held Stiller’s hand and tried to calm him. Stiller’s eyes darted around frantically, but he still couldn’t talk.

  A large group of cast and crew members began to gather. Joe stepped in and said, “Keep back, everybody. Give him room.”

  A few long minutes later the EMTs arrived. They quickly stabilized Stiller and put him on a gurney. As the emergency workers rolled Stiller out of the soundstage, he kept his hand clamped tightly around Jerri Bell’s. She followed him out to the ambulance.

  On the set, silence reigned for a few moments. Then Rod Webb spoke up. “I . . . I don’t know what to say,” he said. “Everyone take thirty. We’ve still got a schedule to meet.”

  Shaken, everyone quietly filed out of the stage. The Hardys and the Mortons retired to their trailer.

  “Another accident,” Iola moaned.

  “I’m not buying it,” Frank replied.

  “If it wasn’t an accident,” Chet said, “how did the perpetrator set it up?”

  “You’d need intimate knowledge of the cast and crew,” Joe said. “For example, the alien we fought clearly knew the stage and sets better than we did.”

  They pondered the situation but came up with no new ideas. Finally, Frank said, “The only thing we can do is keep our eyes open. Maybe whoever’s doing this will tip his or her hand somehow.”

 
They quietly made their way back to the soundstage. When they arrived, they found Sandy, Rod Webb, Claudia, Bruce Reid, Peck Wilson, Ramon Torres, and a number of extras standing near the infirmary set. A larger circle of stagehands and crew members stood beyond the ring of cast members. In the center of the ring was a well-dressed man in a business suit.

  The well-dressed man pushed his black-framed glasses up on his nose. “Some of you may know me,” he said. “My name is Mr. Mycroft, and I work with the studio’s business department.”

  He looked gravely at everyone gathered as he spoke. “As many of you are aware, Warp Space has had a number of difficulties lately—both with ratings and production. In light of today’s accident, the insurance company has suspended our policy, pending a full review.

  “With no insurance, we can’t produce this series,” Mycroft said. “Therefore, I am suspending production of Warp Space effective immediately. I’m very sorry. The main office will be in touch with all of you regarding settlement of your contracts.”

  “You . . . you mean we won’t be starting up again?” Sandy O’Sullivan asked.

  “I can’t say for certain,” Mycroft said, “but resuming production seems unlikely at this time.”

  Sandy’s lower lip trembled, and she wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. Geoff Gross pounded his fist into one of the set’s walls. Some members of the crew groaned and turned away. Rod Webb tensed. “We’ll fight this,” he said.

  “You bet we will,” said Bruce Reid. Claudia, Ramon Torres, and several others grumbled their agreement.

  Mycroft took off his glasses and wiped them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do. You should all go home and calm down. The main office will be in touch with every one of you shortly.”

  • • •

  The mood in Stan Pekar’s studio was as somber as on the rest of the lot when Iola went to have her makeup removed. Pekar and Nelson completed their jobs without much talk. Then Iola and the other crew members went their separate ways. The Hardys and Chet waited for Iola and walked back to the trailer with her.

  Just before they went inside, Sandy O’Sullivan dashed up. Her eyes were red from crying.

  “I am so sorry about this,” she said. “It’s not the kind of prize we had in mind for the contest.”

  Iola gave her a hug. “Oh, Sandy,” she said, “don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.”

  Sandy bit her lower lip to stop it from shaking. “You can stay in the trailer the rest of the week, of course,” she said. “And I want you to know that we’ll find some alternate prize—perhaps an appearance on another UAN show.”

  “We’re not much concerned with the prize at the moment,” Chet said. “I just wish there was some way we could help.”

  Sandy shook her head. “There’s nothing you can do,” she said. “If it’ll make you feel better, though, Claudia’s still getting people together at her place in an hour or two because . . . well, I’m afraid it may feel more like a wake than a celebration.”

  “We’d be happy to come,” Joe said.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” added Iola.

  “Great,” Sandy said. Fumbling with her purse, she pulled out a small photocopied sheet with directions on it and handed it to Iola. “We’ll see you there, then,” she said. “Keep your chins up.”

  “You, too,” Chet said.

  Sandy gave them a final weak smile. She dashed off toward the main studio building before her emotions could get the better of her.

  Frank frowned. “There is something more we can do,” he said.

  Joe nodded. “We can get to the bottom of this mystery.”

  • • •

  The Hardys and the Mortons poked around the lot as much as they could before the “party.” They didn’t find any clues, though, and their investigation was hampered by the police looking into the accident.

  Around four o’clock, they piled into the van and drove to Claudia Rajiv’s home in the northern suburbs of Jewel Ridge. Claudia’s place was a new condo near the Jewel River. The home featured a split-level living room with a nice view of the river and the city skyline.

  Jerri Bell, Bruce Reid, Peck Wilson, Ramon Torres, Marge Nelson, and a number of other cast and crew members were milling around aimlessly.

  “Thanks for coming,” Claudia said to the teens. “To tell you the truth, given what happened today, I wasn’t sure if anyone would show up.”

  “How are you handling it?” Iola asked.

  “Okay,” Claudia said. “Better than a lot of the others. I’m sure I’ll find more work, and I’ve got enough stashed away to pay my bills for the next year and a half.”

  Bruce Reid walked over to them, a drink in his hand. “Yes, Claudia, my dear,” he said morosely, “I’m sure you’ll land on your feet. I wish I could say the same for the rest of us.”

  “I can’t believe they shut us down,” Ramon Torres said. “We were doing good work.”

  “Money talks, Ramon,” Reid replied. “Don’t think it was anything else.”

  Jerri Bell stood up, her hands fiddling nervously with a large ring of keys. “I can’t believe that you’re thinking about yourselves when poor Matt is in the hospital!” she said. “He could have been killed.”

  “I was nearly killed, too, remember?” Peck Wilson said. “Maybe shutting down for a while is the best thing to do. Maybe we’ll have better luck if we make a fresh start.”

  Jerri looked as though she might burst into tears. Claudia walked over to her and gave her a hug. Both of them sat down on the large sectional sofa in the middle of the room. Iola, Chet, and the Mortons took seats nearby. The other members of the crew drifted into small groups and talked quietly among themselves.

  “I’m sure Matt will be all right,” Claudia said to Jerri.

  “He . . . he just looked so scared when they took him away,” Jerri said. “I felt so helpless.” Her fingers continued to fiddle with the key ring as she spoke.

  The Spacefleet insignia on the ring caught Iola’s attention. “That’s a nice key ring,” she said, trying to get Jerri’s mind off the accident. “Do you think I could get one like it as a souvenir?”

  “This?” Jerri said. “It’s not mine. Matt pressed it into my hand before they took him away. He said I should keep it until he got out of the hospital. At least, that’s what I think he said. He was pretty delirious at the time.”

  “Wait a minute,” Claudia said. “Matt gave you that? Can I look at it?”

  Jerri nodded and handed the key ring to Claudia. The ring had keys of various shapes and sizes attached to a central Spacefleet insignia. Claudia’s brow knitted together as she studied it.

  “What’s wrong?” Frank asked.

  “This is one of the limited-edition key rings,” Claudia said. “Only the people who were onboard when the show was greenlighted got one. Matt wasn’t one of those people. Even Jerri didn’t join the cast soon enough to get one.”

  “Then how’d Matt get it?” Joe asked.

  “Maybe it’s one of the things that went missing from the set,” Frank said. “I wonder if Stiller knows anything about it. It might help the show if he did.”

  “But Matt’s in the hospital,” Jerri said, wiping a tear away. “You can’t ask him.”

  “We wouldn’t have to,” Joe said, catching on to Frank’s plan. “If you’ll lend us that key ring, we can check out his apartment. He might have been doing some investigating on his own.”

  “Then we might know if that electrical shock Stiller got was really an accident, or if someone meant to hurt him,” Frank said. “We might even discover what he was trying to tell you.”

  “Well, okay,” Jerri said. “So long as you get the keys back to me before morning. Matt might want them tomorrow, if he’s feeling better.”

  “No problem,” Joe said. He took the keys and headed for the door.

  “Sorry we can’t stay,” Frank said to Claudia. “I just hope we’ll have good news the next time we see you.”


  “I hope so, too,” Claudia said.

  • • •

  A quick check of the phone book turned up an address for Matt Stiller. He lived in an apartment close to the studio. The blanket of clouds made the evening almost as dark as night by the time Frank parked the van in front of Stiller’s building.

  “Won’t the police have Stiller’s place sealed off?” Chet asked as they went to find the apartment.

  “The police think that Stiller’s getting shocked was an accident,” Frank said. “They’d have no reason to seal the apartment.”

  In short order they found the right door, opened it, and stepped inside. The floor of the apartment was covered with papers, clothes, and other personal items.

  “What a mess!” Iola said. “How can he live like this?”

  “This is no normal mess,” Frank said. “Someone’s ransacked the place.”

  Joe pointed to the window. “And there he is!”

  14 The Secret Number

  Sure enough, a fleeting shadow moved across the surface of Stiller’s first-floor window. Joe and Frank dashed toward the window and threw it open.

  As they peered out into the darkness, they caught a brief glimpse of a figure disappearing into the lush landscaping.

  Joe pounded his fist on the window. “No way we could find him,” he said.

  “Could you see who it was?” Chet asked.

  Frank shook his head. “No, he was much too far away, but this confirms that something rotten is going on with the show. It’s too big a coincidence that Stiller’s apartment should be broken into otherwise.”

  “Do you think he got what he was looking for?” Iola asked.

  “No way to tell,” Joe replied. “We’ll just have to look around a bit and see what we turn up.”

  Papers littered the floor of the efficiency apartment. The drawers of the dresser had been turned out and the clothes scattered. The closets had been rifled, too, and their contents spilled. A smashed computer lay atop the other items, but everything else seemed intact. Among the refuse was a large number of Warp Space souvenirs.