by Mark Roman
“See? You’re at it again.”
“Because it’s not fair.”
“No.”
“And I’ve come all this way to Mars, done all the donkey work for eight hellish months, and I don’t even get to set foot on the planet!”
“That’s tough.”
“And now I’ve developed a verruca – because of that unwashed scumbag Johnston.”
“Poor you.”
“I need to prove that Dugdale’s a serial killer, but can’t find any convincing evidence.”
“Tricky.”
Willie shook his head as he stowed the last of the suitcases in the lift and closed the door. “What would Hercule Poirot do?”
“Who?” HarOld asked.
“It’s always so easy for him. He confronts the murderer with the facts, and the murderer confesses. Simple as that.”
“Perhaps you should try it?”
Willie mused for a while. “Yes, perhaps I should. I’ll accuse Dugdale to his face and see how he reacts!”
“I’m calling up his personality profile right now – maybe I can predict his reaction for you.”
“Hmm.”
Willie pressed the Down button to send the space elevator back down to the surface.
But as he floated by the lift door, a thought struck him. What if Dugdale wasn’t, in fact, the murderer? What if he’d got that wrong? And suddenly, he had it. He knew who had killed Penny Smith and Chad Lionheart.
6. The King of Rock and Hole
It was like present-opening time on Christmas Day as the colonists were reunited with their luggage. Harry Fortune had his awards and framed photos, Zak Johnston had his prohibited substances plus the apparatus for making more of the same, the Brushes had their lab coats and scientific equipment, Adorabella her doctor’s black bag, and the teenagers their wall posters and scruffy clothing. Most excited of all seemed Emily Leach as she followed her trunk which was being towed by Dom’s towing arm, to her cabin.
“Careful not to jar it,” she instructed, tripping gaily behind him. “Mr Darcy’s very sensitive. He inflates at the slightest touch.” She blushed at the thought, her eyelashes fluttering wildly.
But then she halted as a thought struck her and she was suddenly all a-tizzy. “Oh my goodness gracious!” she exclaimed. “George Clooney! I’d forgotten all about George. What am I like?” She put a hand to her mouth, while the other fanned her reddening cheeks. “What will Mr Darcy make of him?”
She kept fanning her cheeks as Dom trudged on up ahead. Gradually a smile curled her lips.
“Hmm. How about two literary companions. At the same time. Now that’s something I’ve never tried before.”
She set off at a trot to catch up with her precious trunk, quivering in anticipation of her experiment.
*
Dugdale was unpacking his Club 18-30 case while his ladybot preened herself in front of the cabin’s full-length mirror. He slipped on a pair of flip-flops and donned one of his favourite Hawaiian-print T-shirts. Then he spotted the ‘Kiss me Quick’ sombrero in the case, and the memories flooded back. It was a souvenir of a love found, and then lost, under Blackpool’s North Pier. He picked it up and toyed with it a little. Then, with a smile, he leaned down and gently placed it on Disa’s curly-mop head. The little cleaning-bot jumped, startled, but then observed how the sombrero gave her a kind of raffish sexiness which she found appealing. Her motor purred.
Watching her adjusting the sombrero this way and that, Dugdale told himself that she never need know how he had come by that hat. Nor about the evening under the pier. Nor indeed about Dobbin the Donkey.
As he turned back to his suitcase a reflection of sunlight from outside caught his eye. There was something out there. He flip-flopped over to the window and peered out.
Approaching the base was the most bizarre, nightmarish mechanical contraption he had ever seen. Over two storeys high, it half-trundled, half-limped like a giant metallic Quasimodo, a vast battery-pack hump on its back and a pair of long johns flapping from a flagpole. It appeared to be a mishmash of spare parts that had been blown apart and then reassembled at random.
In its wake, and dwarfed by it, trailed several other robots, including his dart playing partners. But Dugdale’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open on recognizing the bullet-shaped head of the tallest of them.
“By ‘eck, t’InspectaBot!” he yelled, banging on his window. “What the friggin’ ‘ell are you doin’ out there, you useless, lyin’ bugger? Wait till I get me ‘ands on yer! I’ll teach yer to certify this ‘ovel as habitable!”
As Dugdale stared at the approaching group, the monstrous Frankenbot came to a halt and reached down to gather some rocks. After drilling a hole in each one, he dropped them to the ground. In no time at all, the other robots, including InspectaBot with his amber light flashing, had hurried over to study the rock cluster at the wheels of their master. The giant robot’s lights flashed as though it were communicating with its followers. To Flint the robots seemed momentarily stumped by their leader’s message. They gathered around a partly open grille in the giant’s underbelly and began nodding their heads as if some profound truth had been revealed that would help them better understand their place in the Universe.
Dugdale thumped on the window glass again. The smallest of the robots turned towards him and gave him a cheery wave before refocusing its attention on the monster bot, eager to receive the next cryptic nugget.
“‘arVey. Where are yer, ‘arVey?” bellowed a frustrated Dugdale into the all-hearing ether.
Next to the door, appeared the upright holographic figure of Greeves, with an umbrella hooked over a horizontal forearm.
“May I be of assistance, sir?”
“What in t’name of Boycott’s bollocks is goin’ on out there?”
“Ah, that’ll be Karl Eckrocks, King of the Robots, apparently. Plus his followers.”
“You wha’?”
“Precisely, sir. I am as mystified as you.”
Flint was still growling at InspectaBot when his attention was distracted by the front doorbell sounding its Big Ben chime.
“That will be our German friends,” announced Greeves.
“‘Appen our ‘friend’ Fritz’s got some serious explainin’ to do. Like: what the frig he’s been plannin’ to do with all that dynamite!”
7. His Awful Wedded Wife
By the time Dugdale arrived in the entrance hall, the Germans and Brokk were already hanging their space helmets on the hat-stand. Otto Bungelly’s helmet, being a modified rectangular water storage tank, was turned upside down to form a useful table for their luggage. Among their black-and-white, wartime suitcases was a curious piece of space-age machinery, about the size of a pram and resembling a high-tech weapon. As Dugdale wondered what it might be, a swarm of robots rushed in from all doors, bustling around Helmut and reaching greedily for the various-sized washers he was doling out.
“Ah, Herr Kapitan. So nice it is to be seeing you. Very windy outside today. Mars must be unhappy we are leaving. Ha, ha.”
“Whatever, Fritz,” said Flint. “More importantly, ‘ave you brought keys for t’base?”
“Ja, of course.” Helmut reached into a pocket and withdrew a heavy metal bundle which he handed over. “Do not be forgetting to feed ze chickens. They are becoming most irritated if they don’t receive a sack of corn every day. Oh, und always double bolt the front door before bedtime. And remember to disinfect Andy’s bed mattress before using it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Dugdale, too busy inspecting the keys with a sceptical eye to pay much attention to Helmut’s ‘To do’ list. “Sure these are t’right keys?”
“Of course, of course, Herr Kapitan,” assured Helmut. “Surely you are not suspecting me of the dirty trickery after all we have been through?” He glanced around at his compatriots for support but they all seemed to be shiftily looking away.
“Well, that’s alright, then,” grunted Dugdale. “Time you were ma
kin’ tracks, Fritz. You’re in good ‘ands with Lieutenant Wibbler. Just remember to point ‘im in t’direction of t’big blue planet.” He disguised his smirk by pretending his eye was in need of a rub.
“Oh, ja? We are all so very excited about our trip back to ze homeland.”
The other Germans nodded. Hovering at the back of the group, next to the airlock, was the colonist formerly known as Brokk. His nervy eyes scanned the entrance hall for any sign of his wife.
“Before you go, ‘Ermann. What’s t’meaning of that?” Dugdale pointed at the crate labelled ‘HIGH EXPLOSIVES’, sitting by a wall where the robots had left it. “It were found up at that there Wanki festival.”
“Ah, is that where it got to?” asked Helmut, with a cheery laugh. “You are more than welcome to have it, mein Kapitan. We will be having no needings for it where we are going. With the dynamite sticks we are excavating the tunnels in the crater walls, but that is all done now. But a word of advising. You might find it safer not to be keeping it here where there are kinderlings and robotonautens running around. If that were to blow ... big bang, ja?”
Flint eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing.
At that moment a door flew open. Through it burst Adorabella, nostrils flaring. Looking more crazed than ever, her hair frizzed out, her eyes popping with rage and madness, she raised her clawed hands as though about to launch a frenzied, eye-gouging assault. “Brokk!” she screamed, her bosom heaving with heavy breaths and her fiery eyes drilling into her husband like lasers. “You are not leaving Mars! You are not leaving. Ever! I forbid it!”
“Er ...” started Brokk, looking around for a means of escape. Before he could take a step in any direction Adorabella was rushing at him, a horrific scream rending the air and freezing everyone in the room. Fortunately, Hansie Wankmüller and Andy Marsman were first to recover their composure and, with lightning speed, grabbed and restrained her before she reached her husband.
“Let go of me!” she wailed. “He can’t leave me. It’s not fair. It’s not right.”
Brokk stepped out of the shadows, arms raised in surrender and an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry, fluffy bumps. But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
“What about me? Don’t you love me?”
Brokk dodged the second question by focusing on the first. “You’re an attractive woman, honeydew. You’ll find someone else.”
“Who?” she screeched.
Brokk’s mind scrolled through the list of unattached men at the base and he could see she had a point. “But, sweet cheeks,” he said. “This is too big an opportunity for me. Once in a lifetime. It’s massive.”
Dugdale had become interested. “What chuffin’ opportunity?”
“Just think of the story when we get back to Earth! A group of German rocket scientists. On Mars. For 80 years! Be worth millions. Ever since I heard about them I knew I was onto a goldmine.”
“’Ow did you hear about ‘em?” asked Dugdale.
“Rumours, at first. That a bunch of German radio hams, living in South America, had made contact with people on Mars. I did a little investigating. The evidence was pretty compelling. That’s why I had to get on this mission.”
“You used me!” yowled Adorabella.
Brokk shrugged. “We had some good times.”
“You callous bastard.”
Brokk turned to Dugdale and continued what he’d been saying. “What’s more, the Germans have this idea for a multi-billion business empire on Earth: MFC – Mars Fried Chicken. My ‘grandfather’,” (he winked at this point), “has asked me to be the manager of the first MFC fast food outlet.” Brokk pointed at the space-age weapon thing next to the German luggage. “With Otto’s ‘Enlarging Ray’ we’ll be able to generate giant chickens, giant sheep, giant cows. Even giant vegetables. It will revolutionize food production on Earth!”
But Adorabella was glaring at Brokk with hate-filled eyes. “You will stay here with me, or you will regret it!”
Brokk sighed. “Why don’t you come back with me, honey puff cakes. Come to Earth. We’ll be rich. We can live in luxury for the rest of our lives.”
“I will never leave Mars,” blubbed Adorabella. “I cannot leave Oberon’s spirit behind. He is here on Mars, his spirit whistling around the Martian deserts with the long-dead Wind people. He talks to me constantly. If I leave him, it would be a betrayal.”
“Fair enough,” said Brokk with a nod.
As Dugdale led the Germartians and Brokk off for a final cup of tea, Adorabella bristled at her retreating husband. “You will regret this,” she shrieked, struggling against the restraining grip of the two Germans. “You will regret this!”
8. Before the Big Bang
After Hansie and Andy had released her, Adorabella dropped to her knees, sobbing. Left alone in the entrance hall, she let the pent-up rage, grief and pain flow through her.
Gradually she calmed, and raised her head. As she did so, she found herself staring at the huge crate up against the wall; the one with ‘HIGH EXPLOSIVES’ emblazoned on the side. The more she stared, the more an idea formed in her mind and the more crazed the look on her face became. Without rising to her feet, she crawled on hands and knees to the crate. As she peered inside at its contents the details of a plan took shape.
Then, with a burst of renewed energy, she pushed herself upright and headed for the spacesuit changing room. Twenty minutes later she was back, fully suited and carrying a large bag. Working with exaggerated care, she started filling the bag with sticks of dynamite.
There was a throat-clearing sound from a ceiling loudspeaker. “May I ask what madam is doing?” HarVard said in his Greeves voice.
Adorabella jumped. “Ah, HarVard,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Er, these explosives. I’m not comfortable with them being here in the base. You know what those children are like. I’m just taking them outside.”
“Well, madam only needed to ask. I’ll get one of the bots to remove them.”
Adorabella gave another nervous laugh. “No, no, it’s fine. Part of my duties, you know. Ha, ha. Saving human life and all that. Ha, ha.” She coughed.
The bag was now full, although the crate was still far from empty. She lugged the haul of explosives over to the airlock and then outside. Crunching across the Martian sand she unloaded the dynamite next to the space elevator which was humming on its newly-engineered base platform.
Three more trips and everything, including the crate, was next to the space elevator. Breathing heavily from the exertion, she refilled the crate with the sticks of dynamite, wired the detonator charge to the plunger, and, trailing the copper wire, retreated behind a large boulder to wait.
“Let’s see if this will persuade you to stay, Brokk, my ‘fluffy bumps’.”
9. The Mars Debating Society
“Dad. Urgent!” read the text message from Tarquin. “Meeting Room. Now!’
Brian Brush nearly dropped his blablet. “Gung!”
“What’s up, dear?” asked Delphinia, test tube in hand as she poured a sticky, smelly mix of human waste and chicken droppings into a beaker.
“Tarquin. He’s in danger!”
“Oh, my goodness!” screamed Delphinia, dropping both beaker and test tube to the floor where they smashed, spraying glass shards and steaming sludge onto her shoes.
With no time to waste on the mess, Brian grabbed his wife’s hand and pulled her out of the laboratory, both skidding on the slippery brown droplets as they ran. White lab coats flapping and safety goggles dangling, the couple raced across the balmy rainforest biome of Botany Base. They crashed through the Meeting Room door and stood panting, scanning the room for signs of their son.
There he was. In a corner of the room. Sitting on the floor, calm and quiet, and in no apparent danger, playing dominoes with Mr Snuggles. Most of the other colonists were also in the room, seated around the meeting table, with Lieutenant Zak Johnston at the head.
Brian stood blinking in puzzlement while
Delphinia bounded over to snatch the boy into her arms.
“Are you alright, my little space-cub? I was so worried that something might have happened. Tell me you’re OK.”
“Mwwphnghrm,” was the best Tarquin could manage with his mother’s lab coat smothering his face.
“Excuse the ruse, dudes,” said Zak Johnston raising his hands in apology. “The text deception was my inception.”
Brian turned to Zak and blinked at him.
“Park yer bums, my geeky chums.” Zak indicated two free chairs.
“We can’t start without our heroic Commander Dugdale,” objected Emily Leach, her face flushing pink at the very mention of the name.
“Dugdude not required,” said Zak. “Tune in to the guy in the sky ‘n you’ll find out why.”
There were puzzled looks all round. “God?” asked Harry.
“Not quite so high, poetry-man. The dumb twit in the spaceship.”
“Ah, that guy in the sky,” chorused a number of voices.
“Dr Faerydae’s also absent,” pointed out Emily.
Zak nodded. “Still sufferin’ from Brokk shock, I guess.”
“What’s going on?” asked Brian, approaching the table. “What’s this about?”
“Inaugural meeting of the Mars Debating Society, innit,” said Gavin with a smirk.
Brian shot him a disapproving look while Delphinia pulled Tarquin deeper into her bosom to smother his ears as well as his face. Tracey giggled.
Brian sat down at the table. Delphinia finally released her son and she, too, sat down, leaving her boy gasping for breath like a beached halibut. The moment he was breathing again, his face screwed up in disgust at the terrible smell coming from his mother’s shoes. “Phwoar, what’s that stink, Mummy?”
“Mummy stepped in something she shouldn’t, that’s all.”
Several chairs scraped as they edged away to a safer distance.
Fanning his nose, Tarquin returned to his game with Mr Snuggles. Seating himself on the floor he plugged in his blablet earpieces to drown out the tiresome adult chatter that was undoubtedly about to commence.