Chapter Seven

Rumble, grumble

Harvey was torn.

On the one hand, he thought, perhaps he was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t that dangerous to cut through a black hole, or the crew wouldn’t want to do it.

He could hardly claim to be an expert at travelling through black holes in deep space.

(I hate to be rude, but frankly, Harvey could hardly claim to be an expert at travelling through deep space at all.

But then no one on your funny little blue and green planet can, can they?

It’s amazing to think that nobody on Earth has ever been further away than your own tiny little moon.

Just what is it that puts you off space travel? Is it the lack of regular flights? Or the lack of loo paper?

Or the lack of oxygen?

Or is it the food?)

But on the other hand, Harvey knew that his crew could be reckless and greedy and frankly stupid, and it was his job as captain to make the right decision – even if the entire crew disagreed and would end up lynching him.

So he ordered Maxie to take the longer, safer route and everyone groaned loudly. Almost as loudly as their stomachs.

RUMBLE, GRUMBLE

WHINGE, WHINE

‘I need food!’ moaned Scrummage, slumped weakly at the garbage control desk, clutching his outsize belly.

‘Stop complaining,’ sniffed Gizmo. ‘You’ve got loads of spare fat to use up.’

Maxie snorted rudely. She’d put the ship onto AutoAstronaut and was sitting with her knees pulled up, hugging her empty stomach.

‘How dare you!’ snarled Scrummage, patting his belly proudly. ‘I’d rather have some meat on me than be a scrawny weakling like you!’

‘Gentlemen!’ warned Harvey. But the two officers launched into an all-out slanging match with insults bouncing round the bridge like ping-pong balls.

‘Fatso!’ yelled Gizmo.

‘Skinny Ribs!’

‘That’s enough!’ cried Harvey. They ignored him.

‘Blubber Boy!’

‘Scraggy Chops!’

‘I’m warning you …’ threatened Harvey, a dangerous edge to his voice, ‘I’m going to count to three and …’

‘Porker!’

‘Weed!’

‘Right, that’s it!’ thundered Harvey. ‘Go to your rooms. Er, I mean quarters!’

Gizmo stormed off. It’s a good job the Toxic Spew is kitted out with sliding doors, otherwise he would have slammed them all so hard they’d have snapped off their hinges.

Harvey had never been in Gizmo’s quarters – but if he had, he would have been gobsmacked. They were clean. They were tidy. They were everything the rest of the Toxic Spew wasn’t. By which I mean they weren’t a health hazard.

Gizmo got to his (spotless) quarters, flung himself onto his (creaseless) bed and stared at the (stainless) walls and ceiling. The tidy, sparse room usually had a calming effect on the Senior Engineering Officer.

He sighed and looked around. There was nothing out of place, nothing left out, but also, crucially … nothing to eat!

He tried to distract himself by memorising The Complete Guide to Intergalactic Travel and Transport Pact Rules and Regulations (Volume 1).

It didn’t work.

GROAN, GRUMBLE, GRIPE …

went Gizmo’s stomach and

GROAN, GRUMBLE, GRIPE …

went Gizmo.

Bad Snuffles!

You’ll be staggered to hear that as soon as Scrummage stomped into his (astoundingly filthy) quarters he forgot all about his hollow belly.

Because the baby Gordonzola had finally hatched!

Scrummage had slipped the egg into his underwear drawer so it would have somewhere safe to nest when it emerged.

(I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure which is the more disgusting thought: Scrummage letting a baby Gordonzola hatch in his undies, or making a baby alien sleep in a pair of Scrummage’s huge and grossly grubby boxer shorts.

Oh, yuk.)

Either way, the little alien now sat watching Scrummage with interest. Its little podgy pink body glowed with bright purple spots. Along its back, soft turquoise spines, which would grow into large spikes, lay flattened in its fluffy fur. Scrummage tickled it behind its tiny pink ears and let its green needle-sharp baby teeth gnaw gently at his fat fingers.

‘Are you hungry? Come on, ickle Gordon,’ he cooed gently, scooping up the baby alien, ‘let’s see if Aunty Yargal has something you can eat,’ and he set off for the galley.

(By the way, if you’re finding it difficult to believe that Scrummage would let Gordon eat food, or indeed anything at all, that he could eat himself, you’re dead right.

Fortunately, Gordonzolas eat curdled milk, rotten food and maggots – and even Scrummage isn’t that desperate.

Well, not yet.)

Uh oh, Hazard Hunting Hound meets Gordonzola

In the galley, Yargal fussed round the new arrival like a midwife.

‘He’s adorable!’ she cried and, scraping up a maggoty lump of soggy pizza crust from the deck with one of her tentacles, she offered it to Gordon who nibbled it cautiously.

Snuffles eyed the food jealously. Then he eyed the Gordonzola suspiciously. In all his multiple intergalactic missions, the huge Hazard Hunting Hound had never come across one before. And he wasn’t sure if he could trust it.

It looked cute enough, but in his experience you could never be too careful. He let out a soft, throaty growl and the baby Gordonzola shrank from the sound, whimpering fearfully and flicking up its little spines bravely in self-defence. (Very bravely when you come to think of it, given the size and sheer quantity of Snuffles’s teeth. It would be like trying to fight off a Great White Shark with a comb.)

‘Steady boy!’ said Scrummage to Snuffles, suddenly concerned that the hound might actually attack Gordon.

‘Relax! He’s only saying “Hello”, aren’t you?’ said Yargal patting Snuffles on the head with a spare tentacle and then adding firmly, ‘Now, play nicely!’

Suddenly two enormous grey shaggy paws walloped onto the galley worktop, one either side of Gordon, as the enormous hound stood up on his back legs and eyeballed the baby Gordonzola. Then he put his huge pink meatball of a nose up to the tiny little alien and sniffed it hard – so hard he almost inhaled it.

SNIIIIIIFFFFFF

And then he stuck out his lolloping great tongue, between his horrifically sharp white teeth and licked Gordon gently.

‘Ahhhh, look, he likes him,’ sighed Scrummage, immensely relieved.

‘Good boy,’ said Yargal proudly.

Then Snuffles opened his massive mouth and wolfed the little Gordonzola inside.

‘NO!’ cried Yargal.