The Space Dogs Tricycle Gang: Ariel Hope Chronicles 3

by G. P. Moss

  And remember, those patrons were mainly idiots.

  Patricia raises an eyebrow to the stars and back but decides to have a bit of fun watching the Duke mess things up.

  On a small, non-damaging scale, of course.

  "Billy Duke, I shall give you basic instructions. After that, I will say, 'you have control'. You will then say, 'I have control'. Got that?"

  "Hahaha, as easy as riding old Jasper's bull after a few dark and wet ones!"

  "Sit in the cockpit, Billy. Without trained StarTapped officers to help you, you will need to see where you are going."

  "Hahaha, who needs those jumped up cosmic toffs, eh? Eh?!"

  "Concentrate, please. Big stick, arrow keys, extra thrust button. That one there, stupid speed, is not to be touched. It is untested and could kill us. Well, probably not me, but you lot probably, or definitely, depending on how long it is pressed."

  Billy Duke jigs around excitedly, like he has ants in his under crackers.

  Probably not a good analogy.

  "Billy Duke, are you ready?"

  The rest of the gang huddle around.

  "Give the crazy dude some space, will you?!" Patricia shouts.

  They retreat, suitably scorned.

  "I ain't crazy, lazy or hazy, I'm a spaceman and I can! Do! This!"

  "Billy Duke, you have control."

  "Patricia, you have control."

  "NO! Say, 'I have control!'"

  "I just said you did!"

  "Do you have control, Billy Duke?"

  "Yes, ma'am, Captain Duke is in the hot seat and cooking on antimatter."

  Nothing happens.

  Beta Zero continues its course, smooth as you like.

  The Space Dogs Tricycle Gang look through the cockpit window and know their mammas would be proud.

  Billy Duke is bored.

  He glances at Patricia.

  She's busy studying angles.

  He winks at Rocky Hoggreaser, using his trainee pirate's eye.

  Rocky grins.

  Buck B Tucker shakes his head.

  Woody Carson runs to the toilet.

  The rest just stand there, mouths open as the Duke's right hand rises in the air, briefly suspended like a talent show judge about to crush a contestant's dream.

  Billy Duke, currently the Milky Way's most idiotic, irresponsible spaceship pilot, crashes his manky hand down hard on the stupid speed button.

  As every face is ripped back, Patricia screams.

  "Hit it again. Quick!"

  How he manages, no one knows.

  They're in shock.

  In deep fog.

  *

  As the unusual, straggly crew of Beta Zero stare in astonishment, a brutal, icy wind reminds them this is really, definitely not the place they want to be, or, indeed, should be.

  Patricia manages to convey a choked, cracked instruction.

  "Billy Duke, I have control."

  There is no response.

  The Duke has been in the toilet for the last 10, terrifying minutes.

  If this is under crackers wash day, let us hope Beta Zero is well stocked with detergent.

  Patricia turns the cruiser around while the Space Dogs Tricycle Gang gaze in stupefied silence at an endless vista of white blue crystallised space, like the grand driveway to an invisible palace of a Snow Queen with an unknown temperament.

  All 3 of them want to ride the snowy cosmic trail.

  The other 6 are in the toilets.

  Wayne Duane raises his hand.

  "What is it, Wayne, I am trying to concentrate!"

  "Perhaps, Miss, we should see where it leads?"

  "I shall hazard an educated guess at where it leads to, Wayne Duane and that is to a place where your worst nightmares are realised before your naively trusting rheumy eyes."

  "So, I'll be told there's to be no more sausage and beer, ever?!"

  "Exactly! Now, I have to go stupid speed for 2 seconds; hold on tight."

  As the cruiser blasts through space, the 3 gang members lose their faces to the back of their heads.

  It is not a great look.

  Thankfully, it's temporary.

  Some may say the aesthetics haven’t changed that much.

  Don’t listen to them; catty, ignorant folk.

  As Beta Zero settles, Patricia notices that 6 straggly men are missing.

  "Wayne, go and check the toilets."

  5 minutes later, he returns, sweating, and panting with exertion.

  "What in space have you been doing?"

  "Ah, Miss, I've been trying to pull Billy Duke out from the toilet. There are 6 of them, Miss, all thrown backwards; their heads are stuck."

  "No luck moving them yet, then?"

  "No, Miss, they're stuck but they're all breathing."

  "I'll send my techie tech droid to free them soon. First, I need to find out why Damien and Pedro refused to follow!"

  *

  The 2 Whistler fighter ships are waiting as the cruiser slams out of stupid speed.

  Damien and Pedro are beyond disappointed, believing Mr Whistler would have annihilated Patricia and her motley crew as soon as they showed their grizzly unwelcome faces.

  They should have just sped off like disturbed bats in an Earthling belfry when Beta Zero unexpectedly hit the dizzying speeds of lunatics and people in a genuine hurry.

  Too late now.

  Patricia's furiously indignant voice bellows into their cockpits.

  Something will have to be done about the interconnecting communications system.

  Like ripping it out, for example.

  "And why did you not follow, eh? Do not forget, alien features, you are both under my command!"

  This is where Billy Duke should argue it is his command, not hers.

  Unfortunately, he is otherwise engaged, head jammed in a spanking new toilette.

  Yes, made in France of course.

  Pedro answers, sounding as nervous and unconvincing as a freshly caught escaped prisoner saying he fell in grease and slipped between the bars.

  "We were not expecting your sudden and unconventional manoeuvre, especially as it took you wildly off our intended course."

  This does not satisfy the bolshy AI at all.

  "Nevertheless, flying under my flag, you are required to follow without question!"

  Damien is straighter to the point, with the more genuine and understandable reason for not tripping the cosmic light fantastic.

  "Patricia, if we had followed you, I would have been captured by my former tyrant master commander and imprisoned forever, forced to mindlessly slave away my guts out in the Sparkling Minerals Mine, or possibly worse."

  Pedro agrees.

  And disagrees.

  "It wouldn't have been worse, it would definitely be the Mine; Mr Whistler is always looking for cheap, unwilling workers."

  "You think you 2 alien faces can lie to me and just get away with it?"

  Pedro's voice shakes like a nervous canary.

  "It is true, Patricia! We have no idea how you came back alive after going that predetermined distance at stupid speed, straight into Whistler space-space."

  Patricia roars.

  A mini roar, like a lion cub, but much angrier.

  "We encountered no one; negative resistance; not an obnoxious moon beam in sight!"

  "But, you were in the fog?"

  "We were, and what of it?"

  "As the fog cleared, you must have seen planet Whistler?"

  "Believe me, you alien undesirables, there was nothing there, except icy fog, battering winds and a sparkly white blue vista stretching far ahead!"

  "But it cannot be true!" Pedro cries.

  Damien is kind of hoping it is true but decides to check the coordinates.

  "Patricia, how long were you in stupid speed for?"

  "2 seconds, thereabouts, why?"

  "According to my highly accurate calculations, you should have run straight into Mr Whistler!"

  "Well, I did not, so
there. From now on, you 2 are to stick to Beta Zero like glue; in fact, I have a better idea. I want you both to dock with my cruiser, now."

  "Patricia, it will be better if we locate the warp hole wormhole ourselves, and you follow us in; we have already been through."

  "Oh, alright then, but no funny hanky cranky business! Give me 5 minutes; I need to instruct my techie tech droid to unstick 6 straggly lunatics from the toilets.

  Chapter Twelve

  Planet Whistler

  Gobby Johnny Hope sits in his room, high in Whistler castle and stares at The Book of Space in confusion.

  It’s also rather wonderfully awesome, in that weird kind of way when confusing things are not meant to be great.

  A new page has appeared, illustrating the giant fog they came through but instead of thick, general fogginess, white blue icy swirls whirl and twist like the scariest rollercoaster imaginable.

  Not only that but Whistler is missing.

  He looks out of his window, to the sky above.

  It looks very different, today.

  As he looks across the planet, it does not, however, look anything like it does in Horace Strange’s book.

  He looks around his room.

  He looks over City Square, where the Spacies are practicing marching under the watchful gaze of Denny, Kenny, and Lenny.

  He looks towards the cruiser hangars.

  Finally, he looks far to his left, to the Sparkling Minerals Mine.

  Yes, Whistler is still definitely here.

  The illustrations in The Book of Space, therefore, must be false, or in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Perhaps this is ancient history being shown here?

  The sky really does look different though.

  As if planet Whistler has been moved!

  Gobby Johnny ponders a dilemma.

  On a previous page, he was strictly instructed NOT to share any of the book’s contents, or even existence, with Lenny.

  He stares at the latest page, willing his thoughts into the book.

  No message appears.

  Returning his gaze to the City Square, he sees the Spacies walking home after marching drill practice, their heads high with pride.

  Unless they have noticed a different sky, too.

  He sees Lenny, chewing on a carrot kebab, on his way to hang out with the Beta cruiser engineers.

  Weaning the Whistler population off those kebabs is proving difficult, even with the vastly improved rations available, like a newly released prisoner of war being unable to sleep in a comfy bed.

  Bad analogy.

  Moving on...

  *

  “Lenny?”

  “Ah, yes, young Gob...er, Johnny; what can I do you for?”

  “It is ‘what can I do for you?’ actually.”

  “I’m fine thank you; I have all I need. Can I help?”

  Johnny gives up on the ‘question as an intro approach’.

  Then he forgets he’s given up.

  “Have you noticed the sky today?”

  “Ah, now mindfulness, young man, is a glorious and sensible thing indeed!”

  “Have you noticed anything different about it?”

  Lenny stares at the sky for a long time.

  Johnny checks his watch.

  Which, is ridiculous as nowadays, night is day, dawn is lunchtime and midnight can be time for Gerry’s afternoon tea.

  Time is in a proper mess.

  “It is different; you are quite correct!”

  “And?”

  Johnny holds his breath.

  He wishes he hadn’t; it hurts.

  “There can be only one reasonable scientific explanation!”

  “Which is, Lenny?”

  This time, Johnny breathes normally but hangs on Lenny’s each, and every, agonising, pause.

  “We will have to visit someone who knows all about the weird and wonderful things that happen around Whistler!”

  “Will it be a long and arduous, hero-inspiring trek along high ridges and monster-filled valleys?”

  “No, his name is Senior and he lives and works in the Sparkling Minerals Mine. Rumour has it...oh never mind. Shall we go?”

  Johnny is intrigued and a little startled but is determined, as all nosy and inquisitive people are, to uncover the truth of the different sky.

  *

  Mr Whistler Senior looks up from his desk.

  On it are his latest batch of ‘samples’ he intends to steal.

  “Ah, young Lenny, and even younger by far, Gob...er, Johnny! And to what do I owe this unexpected, dubious but nevertheless distracting and delightful visit?!”

  Lenny whispers to Johnny.

  “See, I told you he’s clever; he knows loads of words and, everything!”

  “Come on now Lenny, do not be shy. I am a busy man and cannot be held up all day, wonderfully grateful for the company though I am.”

  “We were wondering, Sir, if you had noticed a change in the sky today?”

  The white-haired old man looks through a periscope.

  “Ah,” he sighs.

  Johnny needs a slightly more detailed explanation.

  “With respect, Sir; ah what?”

  “It looks very much like we have been moved, no doubt to facilitate the icy blasts needed to cleanse the galaxies every once in a long while.”

  This sudden revelation flabbergasts Johnny, almost knocking him off his feet. The slippers save him.

  “How often does it happen?”

  “Oh, once every Whistler millennia or so, give or take a few hundred Whistler years.”

  “Why does it need cleaning?”

  Mr Whistler Senior eyes Gobby Johnny with a curiosity usually reserved for a scientist in a lab studying a specimen in a jar.

  “Well, there are some extremely nasty, grabbing rogue planets that, well, smash, grab and run with their cosmic trophies, causing population displacement and all sorts of debris and general mayhem.”

  “Population displacement? Where do they go?”

  “They go, dear young naïve and innocent youngster, to a cosmic place reserved for the souls of the departed.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, indeed, that.”

  “You mean like Ghost Blue?”

  As soon as he said it, Johnny regretted the unfortunate slip.

  Mr Whistler Senior’s eyes narrow to menacing slits.

  “And how, may I ask, do you know of such things?”

  “Just heard, that’s all. It was recently active in the Minstrels galaxy; claimed a small planet there, close to Minstrels Gate.”

  Too much information.

  “Um, just heard, eh? Where do you hear such things, eh? Some interesting kind of magic fortune telling book? Eh, eh?”

  Johnny, realising his gobby gob has already uttered too much, does not bite at such blatant provocation.

  “I do not remember.”

  “Well, anyway, there is nothing to worry about. Once it is ready, the powers that sometimes but more often than not be, will just ping us back to where we belong.”

  “Where are we now?”

  “Oh, well, quite far, far away at the edge of another galaxy probably. Any visitors to our old site will have quite the shock, I’m sure. Nice to meet you. Goodbye.”

  The white-haired old man waves a dismissive arm, returning his fake gaze to the about to be nabbed Sparkling Minerals.

  As soon as Lenny and Johnny are away, Mr Whistler Senior grabs the secret whistling code machine, hoping it will work, wherever they are now.

  *

  “What is it? New news?”

  “Oh yes, younger brother.”

  Mr Whistler drums an impatient stubby finger on the back of the luxuriously upholstered chair.

  It makes no sound at all, being luxuriously soft.

  “Well go on then!”

  “We have moved; been elastimacated across the galaxy by a cleansing ice storm. Another thing; Ghost Blue has been active in Minstrels so be careful.
I believe it has grabbed at least 1 of the 5 planets near to Minstrels Gate; perhaps all of them.”

  “Hmm, interesting news, older brother. In the meantime, I shall sniff out some tyrannical opportunities around here. On the brightest side, it looks like Ariel Hope and Poppy would have been on one of those planets; saved me a job. Over and out.”

  “But I thought Ariel was back on Earth?”

  Too late.

  It looks like Mr Whistler did not swallow all that fake news after all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Milky Way (Edge of warp hole wormhole)

  Damien lines the trio up correctly just away from the edge of the warp hole wormhole.

  His last instructions before entry must be followed to the letter.

  Or syllable.

  "Keep the set distance apart. Do not be tempted to use engine power to influence the outcome of the journey; it will not work."

  With the grateful and loving assistance of the techie tech droid, Patricia finally empties the toilets of the head stuck Space Dogs Tricycle Gang.

  She is now piloting the cruiser while the gang are at their new positions, laser weaponry at their fingertips. The techie tech droid disarms the cockpit stupid speed button.

  He places a used, washed out garden peas can upside down over the big red button, removing its visual temptation to be tampered with.

  Patricia also has her own instructions.

  "On exiting the warp hole wormhole, there may be military resistance, with up to 5 cruisers in attendance. You shall fire at will, bringing all 5 to their shivering knees!"

  Billy Roscoe has a question.

  "Miss, what about Damien and Pedro? If we fire at will, we may hit them by mistake; friendly fire, like. Just a thought, Miss."

  The expected tirade of abuse fails to materialise.

  "Billy Roscoe, do not worry about the failed Whistler fighter ships. Remember, they are alien faces so not our problem. Once we are through that hole, we will no longer have need of their services."

  One day, Patricia will learn to turn off the interconnecting intercom.

  Damien is the unhappiest bunny in the cosmic bunny hole.

  "Do you know what, Patricia? After your latest tyrannical outburst, because that is what it was, I have no desire to see you safely through this hole."

  "Nor I,” Pedro adds.

  Patricia's temporarily shaken by her stupidity but advances with customary gusto.