Space Hoppers - Dance of the Guinea Pigs

by Jayne Bartholomew

  He could hear the screaming before he even reached Garth’s corridor. A high-pitched scream that was recognisable as male only because it was interspersed with sobs and indistinct shouting. Xander took a deep breath.

  “Lieutenant? What’s going on here?” Reminding himself that he had recently sent Garth off to check wiring he tried to be a little kinder. “Are you all right?”

  “My hair, my hair!! Did you see where it went?! It’s gone!! It was on my head!!” The lieutenant seized Xander’s trousers and started tugging urgently. “It was on my head!!”

  “Has anyone called Med-crew yet? Lieutenant, you obviously haven’t had much sleep and things are getting to you but I don’t think there’s any reason for you to get hysterical, do you?” Xander took in Garth’s wild eyes and clammy forehead and mentally went down a gear. “Look, lots of people go bald. There’s nothing to be scared of, in some cultures it’s even encouraged.” Xander gave an encouraging smile. “Maybe you should get some rest and think about taking some of the leave you’re due?”

  “It was on my head!! You must look for it!!”

  Xander gently, but firmly, detached the lieutenant’s hands from his knees and took a step back. “Now we all know that you’re… careful about your appearance but I don’t think that this is a particularly helpful attitude on a tour of duty, do you?”

  Garth appeared not to notice and looked up at him helplessly. “It went ‘wheek’!”

  “Your hat spoke?”

  “It went ‘wheek!’”

  “And then what did it do? A tap dance? It’s a hat Garth, hats do not speak. I think that maybe you should go to Med-crew and have a lie-down.” Xander picked up the wig box and looked inside. There were three brown pellets rolling around. Xander, who had already been told that Booker had arranged for a load of pellets to be delivered to the lab, looked back at Garth. “Did your hat have paws?”

  After busying himself with duties all day Derek was feeling optimistic about the evening. When Brelt had eventually managed to override the Slider controls to cut him loose, she had suggested meeting up over a drink to discuss other games they could play. Derek had agreed immediately and had brought with him a detailed list of other competitive sports, to show willing. Even though she had said that she didn’t mind him staying in his pilot’s uniform he had changed because for some reason the suit had a strange effect on women. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable.

  The crew lounge was a large square room with dark comfortable armchairs arranged around coffee tables, it looked a little like a hotel lobby. There was a slightly raised area for diners that encircled the lower bar and serving androids moved gracefully between tables and drinkers.

  He could see a group of engineers on one table and, recognising one of them, walked over. The group, who were already halfway down Faith’s barrel of brandy and making cocktails, happily welcomed Derek and passed him a drink.

  Although Derek had the coordination of an inebriated giraffe on land, he was actually the ship’s top fighter pilot. The group of engineers had reached the affectionate bonding stage and were sharing anecdotes from their experiences. A few drinks into the conversation and people started looking at their new best friend Derek expectantly.

  Derek took a sip and thought back to find a story appropriate for the company. He grinned in recollection and leaned forward. “So, we’re coming out of the landing bay and the lads and I are flying in perfect formation, right?” The group nodded, a few expectant chuckles floated up.

  “This is supposed to be the moment when everything comes together for the aviation display. It’s taken months, and I mean months, to arrange everything and coordinate, this thing is the biggest event that this planet has ever experienced. So, we’re flying out in formation, do our loops and blow up a couple of pin-point targets on the ground, everyone’s loving it. I can hear on my earpiece that the control tower are yelling and whooping because the display’s going so well.

  “Then, some absolute idiot in the tower spills coffee over himself and starts screaming ‘hot, hot, hot’ which is our code-word for the big finale. Within seconds everything’s gone wrong. Someone on the ground was supposed to release five hundred birds to celebrate five hundred years of peace on the planet and as soon as the tower gives the code word their cages are open and these birds that have gone mental with all the noise start attacking the crowd. The hot air balloonist goes to shoot one of them that’s trying to peck him and manages to put a hole in the balloon so starts hurtling to the ground and lands right straight onto the top table killing one of the leading dignitaries. His people call their military and we get involved in an evasive dog fight.”

  He took another drink and waited for the group to stop crying with laughter. “What was that guy’s name from the tower? Thaal, I think. Apparently, even though he was absolutely stupid and it was all his fault, no one would do anything to him because he was a Puffer[5]. He got the nickname of ‘hot-stuff’ and last I heard he had to go back to the Lights to retrain as something else.” A shadow started to creep over the group.

  “Yup, total idiot.” Derek slapped the back of the person next to him who was looking past him with a fixed expression, “I wonder what he retrained as?” The shadow lengthened. One or two members started to slip away.

  Derek checked his watch and saw that Brelt was running late. “Well, must go. Thanks for the drink.” As he got up and turned to go to the bar he came face to stomach with Thaal. Puffed to his full limit.

  “I retrained as an engineer.” He brought his fist back.

  Having left Garth in the capable and sedative-filled hands of Med-crew, Xander was now once more in the quiet sanctuary of his pod. He had been gazing out of the window waiting for inspiration or a transfer off the ship. Picking up his intercom from the desk he started to command the crew. The first call was to security to get them to take Sarah back to her pod and co-ordinate with Med-crew to monitor her and ensure the room had extinguishers in it. He recommended they wear protective gear though, to get past Monty.

  Next he spoke to Booker and discussed what to do about the drop in electricity since they lost the orbs. The Engineer said he would look into finding another source.

  He spoke to Garet and asked him to keep his eyes on Sarah until she was no longer a fire hazard. Xander would see her immediately when she came out of whatever trance she was in, but he wanted someone he could trust monitoring her.

  Finally, Xander spoke to Med-crew to get an update on Garth. Apparently he’d just had his medication and looked as though he would have a dream-free night.

  Xander wondered what his chances were of getting the same.

  Faith felt her way unsteadily back to her pod. She had made many new friends that evening and was thrilled that she was able to offer them the Nisp’chan brandy she’d earned. Someone had been sweet enough to leave a small, furry cushion by her purse at the end of the night, obviously as a thank you. It was surprisingly heavy and she’d accidentally dropped it once or twice but it would probably look quite nice in her pod.

  In pod seven Sarah was leaning over Monty’s basket and pulling a blanket over him.

  She vaguely remembered being helped back to her pod and put on the bed and she definitely had a memory of Monty going to attack the guards carrying her and one of them giving him an electric shock to avoid being mauled. In her heart of hearts she couldn’t blame the guard because when you got down to the basics he was a big dog with sharp teeth. However, the second that Monty had gone down whimpering something in her had woken up and she had delivered a rather stunning right hook. Well, more than stunning actually but they’d been kind enough to put it down to shock and had helped the guard in question back to security until he came round. It was probably a good thing that her hands had been swaddled in a thick bandage.

  The bandages had confused her. Since security hadn’t hung around long enough to explain things to her she had quickly taken them off. Her hands felt fine and looked perfectly normal. Med-cr
ew were probably being over-cautious, she thought.

  Her mind went back to Engine Room One and her heart felt heavy when she remembered Sornath. Do not mourn me, he had said. Easier said than done, she thought. Sarah would have liked more time to get to know him; she felt they could have been friends.

  Security had left something from Med-crew to take the bruising away and she had to admit, looking in the mirror, that it had done an amazing job. A few touches of make-up and you would never know the mess she had been in the night before. Monty started to snore.

  There was a cheerful rap at the door. Sarah gazed at the sleeping form almost enviously. Adjusting her top she opened the door to the cheerful face of Garet.

  “Great! You’re up. Knew you would be. Now, I have been asked to keep an eye on you to make sure you’re OK and I have just the thing to help you over your little episode in the Engine Room.” With one tentacle slipped behind her back he gently scooped her out of the pod. “What you need,” he said while walking, “is a little R&R.”

  Sarah looked back over her shoulder but the door was closing automatically. “I haven’t locked the door!”

  “Trust me, no one wants to go in your pod right now. Your companion is the best deterrent in the galaxy. Look, I feel really bad about the rough time you’ve had on board and I feel that it’s my responsibility to show you the upside of space travel. At the very least I can offer some cheerful company. Can you think of any objections?”

  “Sornath died this morning!”

  “So we should have a drink to celebrate his life.”

  “Doesn’t that seem a little disrespectful?”

  “You think we should have two?”

  Sarah opened her mouth to say something and then closed it. Sornath had simply seen his death as the beginning of the next stage in his journey. She could regret not having more time with him but sadness somehow seemed inappropriate.

  “OK, a drink to absent friends then.”

  “Well said. How are your hands?”

  She held them up for him to see. “Perfectly fine, I have no idea why Med-crew decided to wrap me up like a boxer. Not a scratch on them except for some stuff under my nails that won’t budge. Is that normal?”

  “Depends what soap you’re using. Ah, here we are, the crew lounge, or, as I like to call it – home.”

  A fight was underway around one of the tables with what appeared to be an empty barrel on it. The fighters had generously invited the rest of the room to join them and when Garet and Sarah arrived it was in full swing. The only one not fighting was Garth, who had escaped from Med-crew and was looking miserable tucked in a corner in front of an empty glass the size of his head.

  Garet surveyed the scene with mild curiosity. “You think we should do something?”

  Sarah dodged as a glass flew over her head. “Possibly”, she conceded, “very possibly, but since I’ve only recently been released from a cell it might be a good idea to stay out of trouble. Getting involved in a bar fight doesn’t really fit with that, does it?”

  “True. Y’know, I reckon we could stay out of trouble better with a drink.” He headed in the direction of the bar using his tentacles to move crew members out of his way and into each other.

  The bartender[6] wore a black apron over his uniform and was polishing a glass without appearing too concerned with the bedlam in front of the bar.

  On reaching his destination Garet nodded to the bartender. “What happened here, Fon?”

  “Couldn’t say, sir. One of the female engineers came in with a barrel of brandy, after a few drinks someone suggested trying to make daiquiris out of it and you can guess the rest. What can I get you?”

  “Two of your finest Vodka Stingers please. One with bite and one virgin.”

  “Certainly, sir.” Fon started busying himself with various bottles. As Acquisitions Officer, Garet combined the twin distinctions of being the sole supplier and best customer of the crew bar and was guaranteed excellent service.

  Sarah watched as the barman expertly selected bottles and started to prepare the glasses. “On Earth we can make alcohol out of pretty much anything, mead is made from honey although I’m not really sure how they do that. Probably very carefully.” She saw that Fon was using two different mixing jugs. “You didn’t have to make mine non-alcoholic Garet.”

  “I’m not. We do our cocktails a little differently here,” he said as the drinks arrived. He passed one to her and took the one with a giant scorpion’s tail for himself.

  “Oh. If this isn’t the drink with crème de menthe in, why is mine green?”

  “You really want to know?”

  She stared at the glass. “No, I think perhaps not.”

  Monty awoke to find himself alone. He lay on the floor next to Sarah’s rucksack with his nose pressed against the fabric. It didn’t smell right. He had always trusted his nose and he wasn’t going to change now; something in the rucksack was different.

  Usually the odd smells in the rucksack happened when Sarah forgot to take her packed lunch out or if she’d gone on a rambling weekend and left her socks in. As a general rule he didn’t smell the rucksack too hard on those occasions.

  This time there was an earthy, warm smell. Monty’s eyebrows creased together, wrinkling his face. A sort of mousy, tangy, furry smell. He put his muzzle into the top and started tugging out Sarah’s assortment of what she considered necessities, flinging the contents around the room with increasing vigour as he worked his way down. Soon the pod was a whirlwind of clothing and torn magazines, packets split mid-air and their contents were scattered. A pack of cotton buds burst apart in flight and a gentle cascade snowed down over the bed. Monty was almost at the bottom. He sniffed.

  Picking the bottom of the bag up with his teeth he upended the rucksack and tipped out the rest of the contents.

  He found a packet of tissues, a jumper, mascara, a miniature bottle of ouzo and some strange brown pellets. The hackles on his back stood up and he growled softly.

  Xander strode into the bar taking note of the damaged furniture and the battered crew who were helping others back to their pods. Closing the crew-lounge wasn’t an option and shutting the bar would have caused a riot but he was sure other ships managed to make their way around the stars without this level of alcohol abuse.

  Garet and Sarah were still sitting at their table, which was littered with empty glasses of various sizes. Xander raised his eyes in exasperation and went up to them.

  “Garet, this is absolutely the last straw!”

  Sarah turned blearily to Garet. “Did we use all the others?”

  Ignoring Sarah he turned to the Acquisitions Officer “I asked you to contact me as soon as she was conscious and when I tried to reach you I found you’d turned your intercom off. Honestly, couldn’t you just try not drinking for one day?”

  Garet looked hurt. “We were toasting the life of an esteemed Visitor. Anyway, my last rehab counsellor told me that it was socially irresponsible to drink alone.”

  “You’re still on that charge for drunk and disorderly conduct and if you are with a Visitor there are certain social expectations. I apologise, Sarah, I was hoping to have a moment alone with you before you left your pod. I trust you’re feeling better?”

  She looked up at him. “I feel fine except my legs appear to have gone to sleep.” She giggled. “I’m legless!”

  Xander glowered at Garet. “For Light’s sake, she doesn’t have the capacity of an empty ocean like you think you have!” He put a hand on her shoulder as he saw the way she was starting to slide sideways. Sarah rested her head on his arm and closed her eyes.

  “Garet, I want to see you on the landing bay at eleven hundred hours to lead the next expedition.”

  “Me? I don’t have the rank!”

  “You’ve been promoted.”

  “You can’t do that! You know I’ve got a note from Med-crew excusing me from responsibility on health grounds!”

  Sarah opened her eyes again. “Really?�
��

  “It gives me a headache.”

  “Oh.”

  “The bus is leaving promptly at eleven thirty. I expect you to be there.” Xander looked down at Sarah “And while I understand that you’ve had a traumatic day I would appreciate it if you could try and conduct yourself in a matter that befits an emissary of your planet. I expect it’s what they would want.”

  “I expect I’ll screw things up but you don’t see me getting all huffy about it.” Sarah turned to Garet who was slipping gently off his seat and under the table. “Honestly, some people just can’t drink their hold…” she said before falling forward, asleep, into a bowl of pretzels.

  As her head went down it knocked a spoon that seesawed its way onto another table, hitting an empty glass with a quite pleasant resonating “ting”.

  Xander pinched the bridge of his nose before picking her up in a fireman’s lift and carrying her out of the bar. Back at the table a tentacle found its way up from floor level, curled around a half-empty glass and sunk down again.

  Five

  Monty, still stiff from his shot of electricity, followed Sarah down one of the flights of stairs in the direction of the landing bay.

  When they reached level four they could see small huddles of crew making their way to what the wall markings revealed to be the Contemplation room. As a crew member passed them on the stairs Monty noticed their shadow move imperceptivity away from them. If he hadn’t been looking down he would have missed it. He strained at the lead to follow the strange moving shadow.

  Completely misreading Monty’s tugging Sarah went towards the Contemplation room.

  There was no door to the room so she made her way in hesitantly. Clean white walls without decoration surrounded a small group who were sitting on mats around a seated figure. What the room lacked in decoration it made up for in brightness and every corner was illuminated by hidden lighting in the walls, ceiling and floor. There was so much that not even the figures in the middle cast a shadow. At a discrete distance the circle was crowded by a rapt audience.