In which Pete doesn’t get a pizza
S
uzanne struggled to straighten her leg, “How the hell do we stand down?” she said. “I can’t even get upright at the moment.”
Tom whimpered. “Your foot, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind, but aren’t you going to do something?”
“Stop the engine perhaps?”
“It is stopped,” said Pete. “I think the Belle, or whatever it’s called this week, is matching our speed. Mr Magus, do you think you can park in their cargo hold? Someone’s left the door open. If we’re in there, they can’t shoot at us, can they?”
“Do it, Magus,” said Tom.
“But what about all the standing down and stuff?”
“If I knew what that was, we might try it, but probably go for Pete’s plan to get away from their artillery.”
“And then we can ask them in person,” said Suzanne helpfully.
“Right,” said the Magus, “I’m turning the wheel.”
“We don’t need to know that. Just park, if you would be so kind.”
“Yes, Boss.”
As the car settled gently to the floor of the cargo bay in the Belle, the doors behind them drew slowly together, and the hanger lights came on.
“Can we please get out now?” panted Tom. “I really can’t breathe.”
“Do you think the bay will be pressurised yet?” Pete looked worried.
“Hopefully,” said the Magus, “or that rather statuesque lady over there with the automatic rifle is simply an illusion. She looks familiar though.”
“It all looks familiar,” said Tom, finally getting his head free. “This really is the Fukeds Belle, somewhat upgraded. And that is Spigot, one of our engineers from SCT. I also knew her from the first Skagan War, or at least the first Skagan war I was involved in.”
“First Skagan War?” said Pete nervously. “I thought there had only been the one.”
“Where the Skagans are concerned, there will always be another, and with this ship, I can see how it’s going to start.”
The Magus opened his door and they gulped in the fresh air. Pete got out and started to drag Suzanne through the gap between the front seats. Tom shoved her from behind and then climbed out after. By now, the Magus had already greeted Spigot, and clothes were starting to be removed, in the first of the traditional greeting processes.
“Stop it, you two,” said Tom. “Spigot, I thought you were going to destroy us.”
“We would have done,” she said, looking slightly embarrassed, “ but I couldn’t work out how to fire the guns.”
“I’m pleased to hear it, but don’t you have anyone in the crew who could help?”
“I am the crew,” she said. “I’m engineer and cleaner too.”
“But there were enough people when you rescued me from the planet Out during our last ventures. As I recall, you had the entire Swedwayland Ladies’ Football team on board, and the reserves and the second reserves.”
“They deserted. Apparently, the head of the Swedwayland Football Alliance had been taking bribes from the Beauty Industry to install their models in the teams. That’s why whenever you watched the matches, there were always adverts for haircare products and face cream.”
“Were there?” said the Magus. “I really hadn't noticed... I was focusing on the skill of the players,” he added quickly.
“They were given amnesty, and have returned to their original jobs as fashion models and companions for rich old men, so we lost the crew. There’s just us two.”
“Poetry in motion,” said Tom, as Spigot led the way across the hanger. He received a dig in the ribs from Suzanne. “What?”
“You’re supposed to be my husband. Take your eyes off the woman.”
“I thought we agreed we were going separate ways, now that I’ve lost the company and aren’t worth anything to you.”
“While you’re with me,” she said haughtily, “that does not apply. Behave yourself.”
Tom gave her a sideways glance.
“And I need a shower,” she said. “And something to eat. Spigot, do you have anything in the way of chocolate aboard?”
“I think we have smelly fish and meatballs, but it’s okay if you don’t look at it or taste it at all. We really should stop up for a top up.”
“Ship’s meeting in the ‘Disarray’ in ten minutes,” came a voice through a panel on the wall.
Spigot pressed a button and a light came on to show that she had pressed a button. “Groat, we'll soon be there; we have news we can share,” she said into a communications grille.
“This rhyming is going to get annoying,” said Tom, “but show us the way.”
Spigot took a breath. “Whatever you say.”
The Skagan woman left them sitting in the Officers’ Disarray of the renamed Fortune. Tom looked around curiously at the large table with the chairs, the whiteboard and the comfy sofas. The Magus gave a grunt as he opened a cupboard.
“Perfect, they even have a drinks’ cabinet.”
“On a deep space cruiser?” said Tom.
“Don’t knock it.” Suzanne joined the little man at the cabinet and poured herself a glass of amber liquid. She sniffed. “It’s a good one.”
“Everything is a good one to you,” said Tom.
Suzanne shot him an injured look. “I’ve given that up,” she said. “I’m only investigating this… for medicinal purposes. All that stale air, and your armpits in ‘Fireball’ has given me a sore throat. Don’t you realise when you need a wash?”
“I’m investigating it for alcoholic purposes,” said the Magus. “I’m not proud. What will you guys have?”
“I don’t drink shorts,” said Pete. The others stopped in mid action and gaped at him. He reddened. “They, er, fog the mind, destroy the kidneys and make your breath smell,” he said.
“Thank goodness for that,” said the Magus. “For a moment there, I thought there was something wrong with doing it.”
“What’s this meeting about?” said Tom, sipping from a glass now containing what might have been a rather good Scotch had it not tasted disgusting and been nothing like Scotch. “Where did they get this stuff?”
“It says ‘Nishifiddich’ on the bottle,” said the Magus, squinting at the writing, “and is described as a whisky having ‘a delicate floral nutty verdant neatness, with pungent murky, and fresh fruit connotations, comprehensive with a rich spiced arboreal difficulty.’ Made on the verandas of Musoketeba, apparently.”
“That would explain it,” said Tom, shaking his head. “Ah, this would be our host then,” he added as the door hissed open and the man he knew as Groat entered.
“Greetings,” said the Skagan, undoing his belt buckle and eyeing Suzanne with interest.
“Not right now,” said Tom. “What’s going on?”
“And who are you to interrupt the greeting ritual?” Groat rounded on him angrily.
“Your boss, Two-Dan $mith (sic), if you remember,” said Tom, standing up and breathing whisky fumes in his face. “You got a problem with that?”
“I have no boss,” said Groat.
“You do now. This is my ship, so stand down, mister.”
Groat’s eyes narrowed. “It is my ship,” he said icily.
“You stole it from SCT. This was to be the first of our luxury cruisers and you lot seem to have turned it into a ship of war.”
“Is there any other kind?”
“If I have to fight you for it, I will.”
Groat snarled and drew out an evil-looking serrated knife.
“And that’s not even your knife. You stole it from the kitchen. Put it back in the drawer and do what you’re told.”
“Righto then,” said Groat with a sigh. “It will be good to have someone in charge at last. To tell you the truth, Spigot was beginning to get on my nerves, what with her rhyming and curves, and all that telling me what to do.”
“What happened? What’s with the office furniture in the Officers’, er, Disarray?”
Groat gazed around the room. “We had to refit the ‘Mess’ after the ladies football teams left,” he said. “They might look lovely, but they don’t know how to tidy up after parties. Anyway, for expediency, we just took what we could get, to replace all the broken furniture and fittings: chairs, tables, consoles, and the odd coffee machine.”
“I like odd coffee,” said the Magus, swilling his drink pensively. “I could really do with one now.”
“I thought I recognised it all,” said Tom. “So, that’s where all my new equipment went. No wonder we could never get the conference room refitted after that assassination attempt on me.”
Groat brightened up. “Insurgents, Milord. I remember. I think we got them, but they stole your furniture. Best time we’d had for ages... especially as you survived, Milord, of course.”
“Of course. So about this equipment, Vac told me the supplies had been held up by pirates.”
“In a way, they had,” said Suzanne, helping herself to another glass of Nishifiddich. “If you count this wretched specimen as a pirate.”
“We are pirates,” said Groat plaintively. “There may not be that many of us, but we do what we can.”
“And how many are you then?” said Tom. “If we are going to regain SCT Island, we will need a good crew.”
“Not that many, Milord.”
“And how many are left after the ladies departed?”
“Me and Spigot only,” said Groat. “All the other men followed the ladies, saying that they had been employed as masseurs and lifestyle coaches. I couldn’t stop them.”
“Actually, we missed it because Groat and I were engaging in our morning rituals,” said Spigot, as she reappeared, pushing a trolley. “We didn’t realise they’d gone, until a couple of days later. Coffee and pizza anyone?”
“Rather,” said Pete, jumping to attention.
“Alas, we don’t have any. Supplies are running low. We were hoping your ship was carrying something to eat. That’s why we held you up.”
“You were going to destroy us,” said the Magus. “We couldn’t have given you anything in that instance.”
“We weren’t really. Nobody knows how to operate the doku-shunt battery, so we couldn’t hurt you. Previously, it hasn’t mattered. The targets usually give up and send over what we ask for, without getting splattered. Anyway, Groat, you waste of skin, why aren’t these people in the brig, like I told you to rig?”
“Not my call,” said Groat smugly. “Our leader, Milord $mith (sic) has taken charge.”
“Didn’t you challenge him to a fight to the death as is required by tradition?”
“You were the boss. It’s your job.”
“I thought you were the boss.”
“It’s fortuitous I’m here,” said Tom. “Let’s have some order, shall we?” He sat at the head of the conference table and ran his hand lovingly over the smooth mahogany-substitute veneer. “It’s good to be back at the table. Pete, can you check out the doku-shunt? We need to get some defensive capability to start with.”
“I’m on it,” said Pete. “Is there anything to eat?”
“Carrots, celery and gripe water,” said Spigot.
“I don’t know whether my body will accept that sort of thing, but I’ll give it a try.”
“How long do you need, Pete?” Tom helped himself to a carrot.
“I should have it operational in three days.”
“Make it twenty minutes.”
“No problem.”
“Then why did you quote three days?”
“I’m an engineer,” said Pete over his shoulder, as he departed.
“I’m none the wiser,” said Tom. “Now, who’s driving?”
“We’ve stopped,” said Groat.
“I know that, but someone needs to drive. Set a course for somewhere and get us moving. It will not be long before TBP come after me. Once they issue a parking ticket, they never seem to let go. Spigot, what do you do?”
“The main engine,” said the Skagan woman. “I keep it alive.”
“Then go, and go now. Judging from the sound of that starter motor, or is it someone shaking up bean cans in a metal dustbin, Groat will need your help to get the ship moving.”
“You are declining the Skagan launching sacrament? We can’t really get the ship moving before that is spent.”
“Put me one on credit. We can catch up later. I think we will need all hands to get this crate operational.” Tom regarded the Magus and Suzanne. “What can you bring to the table?”
“Another drink?” said Suzanne.
“Always need another drink,” agreed the Magus.
Tom shrugged. “Then I’ll leave you two to get acquainted with the alcohol supplies, and I’ll go and check out the rest of the ship.”