Spaced Out Too - part 1 of 3

The author’s phone contact number is 0407590484 (business hours please).

                                  SPACED OUT TOO   

                                          SPACE

Dedication: To all my friends and tormentors at the “Poet” who kept me at it when I’d much rather have been doing something else!

Disclaimer: This story is totally fictitious and nothing in it has any basis at all with the author’s life experiences, at least none that he will readily admit to at any rate!

The story so far: Bob, a space faring conman, and his side kick Zed are on the run from the Inter Galactic Bank following a business deal that went sour. They escape onboard a space liner and awake at the outskirts of a small yellowish star, set in the western spiral arm boondocks, to find that they are the only ones left alive on the ship due to a viral contamination accident. Quickly they drink it dry, and Bob pops down to a planet known by its local inhabitants as Earth to get some more booze. However, he gets stranded there when two reptoid bounty hunters who are chasing him find his space scooter and repossess it. Then they go looking for him. He meets a wealthy young socialite called Lisa and promptly gets her involved in his problems. She thinks that he’s nuts but goes along for the kicks. He goads her into getting him a spot on a shonky t.v. show in the hope that Zed is watching and will come to rescue him. Unfortunately, on the way out the thugs catch up with him and make for outer space. With a bit of luck Bob manages to escape and lands in jail through a misunderstanding with the law, and Lisa has to bail him out. Oddly, as it turned out, Zed was indeed watching the Mega Spatial TV Earth Channel and eventually comes to collect them, along with a sizeable stash of alcohol. Then they all make it back to the liner for a rest and a good stiff well earned drink!

Now, the story continues . . .


Chapter Twenty Two
Far ahead, in the inky gloom of the outer solar system, a small dot of light appeared to be rapidly closing in on their star-hopper cruiser. In actual fact though, due to a small quirk of perspective, it was the space craft that was the source of vast majority of the motion involved. Gradually it grew in size and luminosity until A4 applied the decelerators to slip into orbit around what now appeared to be a desolate snow covered ball – Pluto!

[Story note: The status of Pluto has been up for conjecture ever since other larger astral bodies have been discovered floating around the Sun even further out, necessitating its scholarly demotion from that of once regal planet to lowly planetessimal. However, from a traditional softy’s viewpoint the author has decided to spare poor Pluto its embarrassing fall from grace and allow it to retain its important station as the last bastion of the Sun’s offspring.]

After arrival they slipped into orbit around the far side of the pint-sized rock, and as such things go this one was fairly puny by all accounts, Lisa’s eyes all but popped out of her head when she spied the liner parked neatly between it and its half sized moon Charon. She was clearly taken aback, yet another in a growing list of impressing that she had been receiving since leaving Earth, for she had never encountered anything the likes of this before so up close and personal. It was literally out of her world. Huge, sleek, and almost totally impossible for her to comprehend. Sure, she had seen similar things on t.v. sci-fi shows before, but never quite to this scale before. Eerily motionless, it hung there resembling an enormous and very streamlined metallic white whale, the sort that would send shivers down Ahab’s spine and set his heart racing all over again.

[Story note: It is generally accepted, by those in the know at least, that whales by their very nature are reasonably smooth and fairly large animals, so pointing this out may, to some, seem a tad redundant. Yet this craft appeared to be much bigger than the most mega leviathan imaginable, and of a frictionless design the sort that hydronautist’s dreams are made of – wet or otherwise. Therefore this may be thought to constitute a reasonably close parody to the casual observer. The metallic content was a little harder to explain, these sea mammals generally not being made of such alloys, however the narrator feels that such fine nit-picking is probably not warranted here, so it can be safely skipped over. All in all, this rather lame description does seem to beg some small consideration, if you could be so kind.]

Just why the ship was built in this unique way was generally lost upon the countless faces of those who gazed at it in anticipation with berth tickets clutched in their hot little hands, as all other pure deep-space-going liners tended to be of any shape that took their designer’s fancy – usually unimaginative practical expediency being the primary motivating concern. These were constructed to cram in as many passage paying patrons as could be comfortably be fitted, and since they had no atmospheres to plough through smoothness of ride was of next to no concern. Nay, the incredible visually pleasing contouring of the outer hull of this particular craft was purely for economic benefit. It looked like a ship that meant business, one that would absolutely positively get you there come what may, and thus put the minds of its occupants at complete rest with this suggested visual reassurance. That there was no difference in spatial dynamics between this and any other long range mobile motel didn’t phase them in the least. The somewhat more expensive cost of admission to its cryo cabins only seemed to reinforce this view, and the travelling public lined up ten deep to transverse the space lines in it. No one worth their Galactic Credit would be seen frozen in anything less stylish. Soon enough the construction fad had caught on, but by then this particular operator had enjoyed a substantial head start in financial terms. The colour chosen was co-incidental, though general consensus had concurred that white was a nice unobtrusive shade and seemed to lend a certain refined dignity. So streamlined and white it was.

It was only when they swung around its side and were about to enter the mid-deck’s hanger that the true enormity of its sheer size was brought to bear upon her, and Lisa was forced to switch from high admiration to flabbergasting wonderment. “You came in that?” she gasped, without averting her gaze from the gleaming vision before her. In the back of her mind she became aware that she was showing her space travelling naivety, though, in all fairness, this was her first big . . . well she didn’t know exactly what it was that she was observing but figured that it must be one of what those u.f.o. nuts back home continually referred to as a ‘Mother ship’. Certainly, as far as she was concerned, it was the matriarch of all astral transport machines that she had ever encountered to date. Bob, always quick to take the lead, and any residual ego boosting either warranted or otherwise, nodded modestly. “You’ve apparently got more class than I was previously willing to give you credit for”, she murmured approvingly.

“Thanks”, he accepted the back handed compliment with his usual good grace, not wishing to spoil the moment by pointing out that both he and Zed were actually only passengers on it and not very highly thought of ones at that. Indeed, she was so smitten by its curvaceous lines that the question of anyone else being on board simply never crossed her mind, and Bob was quite relieved not to revisit that particular grizzly past as well. She simply assumed that the enormous stellar juggernaut existed purely for their own benefit, and, as A4 had long ago sent all traces of previous organic occupancy down to the garbage compactor at the rear of the ship (deeming that arduous task preferable to wasting time and energy trying to engage Zed in any meaningful discourse), Bob was more than happy to play along.

Once the ragtag group had parked their cruiser in the spacious vehicle hold and the artificial gravity generators had been engaged to help facilitate normal biological movement they made a beeline straight for the bridge. On arrival A4 reactivated the few remaining auxiliary systems he had put into sleep mode in order to conserve power before leaving on the rescue mission, as the liner was now operating on backup battery power supplied by the massive banks in the electron storage room. The main generators had stood idle since the engines had been shut down automatically for the craft’s stay in anchorage. As the main lights flooded the control cabin, replacing the luminous passage strips that they had been following, a soft, slow whistle squeezed itself out from between Lisa’s pursed lips. Now this was more like it! Clearly flabbergasting wonderment was no longer an adequate response for the new sights all around, and her mind was put on temporary pause as  comprehension neurons went scurrying off in search of a larger dictionary. Finally snapping out of it she delivered the only word that they could all agree covered the situation nicely. “Wow!”

“Yeah, thanks A4”, Bob offered vaguely as he wandered about running his hands over the rows of consoles and plush red swivel chairs with growing feelings of proprietorship and pride. The liner was now all his! Nuyha ha ha ha! Oh, and theirs too, sorry.
[Story note: During the short couple of days that it took to return to the liner Lisa had gotten to know Zed and A4 a little better in the brief moments when she was able to prise her face away from the viewing porthole between ogleings of her ‘home town’ planets. Zed, she surmised, reminded her of the type of guy who was once a serious hippy (an oxymoron if ever there was one to be sure) earlier in his youth but had later on mellowed markedly from life’s learning experiences, coupled with more than a dash of  mind altering substance abuse to help him on his way, and now, in spite of his best endeavours, had evolved into a state of semi-normalness with just a tinge of zany retro-regret. On this assessment she was pretty right on the button. He also appeared to be a reasonable type of guy, harmless but no great conversationalist either. Obviously she was yet to meet him on one of his off days! Still, one out of two ain’t bad. A4, on the other hand, she liked, in an odd almost motherly sort of way. She couldn’t quite put a finger on just why, but she found herself empathizing with the sulking cybot more each day for some obscure reason. Could it be something as shallow as his size? Oh well, never mind. Maybe it would come to her later. However, the one thing about him that did trouble her was his name, or, more correctly, the lack of one. It wasn’t a moniker so much as a label, a mere clinically cold description. Very impersonal, as it was probably intended to be. She found this very hard to get her head around, not ever having had to address a living mechanical device in any intimate way before no matter how nearly human it may have looked. Her objection was all about manners and good upbringing, respect for all sentient life forms, and so on. No name for the little guy? Well, she would have to change that right away.]

“Why do they call you A4?” she inquired of him.
“It’s because I am a fourth generation unit of my type’s basic design”, he intoned factually.
“And what does the ‘A’ stand for?” she continued her verbal probing. Bob, who was lurking nearby trying to look like he knew what he was doing by twiddling some knobs that he hoped were of no great import, took an increasing interest in this conversation. Soon he found that he couldn’t contain his growing mirth any longer, and the smirk that had formed on his face broke out into a full scaled grin.
“Arsehole!” he interjected, drawing a dark glare from Lisa. Both he and Zed burst out laughing at this little joke. A4 stood there pie faced, used to this level of constant childish abuse. Lisa returned her attention to the wee tin man with a questioning look.
“Technically, it refers to the slightly obvious fact that I am an android. Therefore I am a fourth generation specifically typed android, hence – A4.” His questioner appeared both relieved and satisfied with this explanation, and noted the subtle dry humour (some might say more arid than a desert nomad’s open footwear!) that was a trademark of her new friend. Maybe that was it? She had always enjoyed intelligently restrained wit, in any of its forms. Good one, A4! Still, she couldn’t bring herself to use his official designation any longer now that she was aware of his cruel nickname, and decided that a good strong sounding Aussie tag would make her feel much better. The other two would just have to get used to it, like it or lump it! “Well, I think that’s just awful, not having a proper name”, she continued, leaping to his unsolicited defence, while at the same time glaring at his detractors and silently daring them to continue their mockery. Guiltily, they looked away. She wracked her brain for a moment, then her eyes lit up.
“I know, from now on I shall call you . . . Bruce!”

“Bruce?” A4 beeped in surprise, and his embarrassment chip once again found itself going into mega overdrive. The resulting flood of amperage rushing through his posito-cranial matrix caused his head to glow a lighter shade of crimson, oddly similar in appearance to a human blush, and, unable to contain themselves any longer, his tormentors erupted into a further outbreak of merriment. This inadvertently ensured that his new label would stick forever more, much to his chagrin.

“Don’t you listen to them”, she soothed, instinctively placing an arm around his shoulders and started stroking his head in what she thought would be a placating manner. Exactly why she was doing this she still couldn’t fathom. Maybe it was because she really didn’t like bullies, having been picked on throughout her school years. “I think it’s a really good manly name.”

The guys guiltily looked away and pretended to be engaged in some task or other, not daring to produce any further titillation that by now was well and truly tugging at their funny bones. Lisa’s protective demeanor clearly just didn’t seem to be worth the risk. However she needn’t have worried that much, for A4, sorry, Bruce was quite capable of absorbing all manner of punishment both physical and mental. His advanced hardwiring and servo software were really quite super doper, and it was all hydromethosulphide off a melodextian’s back to him. Still, he secretly relished the attention that he was getting, especially at the expense of his antagonists, and so played up to it for all it was worth. It was quite a touch of tenderness, and one so rarely experienced between sentient beings so far apart on the galactic evolutionary scale. Deep down something stirred inside the little guy, though in deference to his advanced bio-comp programming he fought off the urge to hump her leg.

Lisa picked up on this new course of events and disengaged slowly from her consoling, clearing her throat with a self-conscious cough before wandering over to where Bob was sitting idly playing with a panel of even more knobs and switches of which he also had absolutely no idea of what their function might be. Deep in his muddled mind he prayed that none of them would turn out to be the auto-destruct initiator, and would have been much relieved were he to find out that space liners carried no such device for rather obvious reasons. “What do we do now?” she asked, open-endedly.

Bob was the first to respond in any positive manner to her query. “We need to have a sit, drink, and think.” Grabbing a can of the precious elixir off a nearby surface he spun around in a semi-dramatic manner and struck an unintended humorous pose, soliciting an involuntary giggle from her. He forged on, unabashed. “What have we got so far?” he asked in a rhetorical sort of way that, despite its nature, begged for outside input. When none was forthcoming he sighed and stopped for a moment to think. A finger shot up, distracting him for a moment until he realized that it was actually his. “One! Bugsy and Mugsy are off somewhere, happily thinking that they have me safely tucked away. When they realize that this is not the case they’ll spin around and come looking for me, and that can’t be a good thing for any of us. Luckily this gives us a little bit of a head start. Two!” he held up a second digit and contemplated it suspiciously for a minute, “We have a snazzy star liner here that could keep us safe and sound for a while but, even so, they would eventually find us, as this baby sticks out like the proverbial sore thumb.” He raised one of his to illustrate the point, briefly allowing it to join with its near neighbours. Then realizing that this major hand appendage wasn’t actually painful after all, he tucked it back into the fold and continued onwards.  “So we’ll have to put some serious distance between us and them. This then leads us to a slight problem, though one that I think shouldn’t cause too much concern. Lisa, you don’t have a cised unit and we can’t go into stasis until we get you kitted out. So we can’t go very far until that happens. Bruce,” he addressed his newly renamed companion with just a trace of a false smile on his lips, “you can fit her up, can’t you?”

“Beep”, the robot affirmed, not bothering to activate his language chip for such a small utterance.
“Hey! Just wait on a darn minute there buster!” Lisa quickly objected, more than a little alarmed. “No one said anything to me about any surgery!” The tone of unbridled uncertainty in her voice was rising rapidly.
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Bob held up his hands in an effort to placate and try to keep her fear in check. “It’s only a small nick behind the ear.” Her fear countered, checkmating him in one fell swoop.
“You can ruddy well nick off yourself!”

“I’ll be gentle.” Bruce softly interjected, trying his best to show empathy towards this bio for some still unfathomable reason. Since this went much against his grain he consulted his logic chip and cross-referenced it against his ego parameters in an effort to make sense of this anomaly. Instantly he had the answer that he was searching for, and it amazed him in its absurdity. He was really starting to like this one!

“No way!” she yelled as she started to back away. Ironically it was Zed who saved the day, and in a most unlikely way, using his usual generic, mono-gender terminology. He tried common sense, something that for him was normally in fairly short supply.
“Whoa, man! Like, it don’t hurt at all. I mean, like, I’ve had it dun an’ it was no biggie! Anyways, It’ll be nuthin’ to what those lizard dudes’ll do if they catch us up, man!”

After a few moments of hard thinking on the pros and cons Lisa finally saw the big picture and reluctantly accepted her fate, even though she felt both physically and emotionally trapped and resented it intensely. In the end she surrendered meekly in the manner that countless women before her have done, being either coerced or forced to go under the knife for procedures that couldn’t in all honesty be said to always be of any real benefit to themselves. This time though she would retrieve something personal from it, even if at point she had little idea of what it might entail. The straw that she was clutching at seemed mighty small all of a sudden. The choice was starkly simple: either consent to do what was required, or go back to Earth and endure the agony of knowing that she would be missing out on all the great adventures to come that the galaxy promised to offer.

[Story note: There’s an old galactic saying that goes – ‘Once you’ve seen one star system, you haven’t necessarily seen them all.’ Not a great adage, true, but one that is full of unsueable wisdom none the less. In its defence, however, the vast and multi-coloured array of sights in the galaxy really is totally mindboggling, and only limited by the range of your rocket!]
“Okay, I’ll do it”, she agreed apprehensively, not sounding entirely convinced even then.
“That’s my girl!” Bob beamed proudly.

“Oh, and just by the way, what exactly does having one of those gizmos stuck inside me entail?” she quickly added, wanting to know, quite rightly, just what she was up against. Bob deferred over to the metal mechanoid. Bruce, being the most knowledgeable of the assembled motley crew in this regard, and most other things as well, dutifully answered her question.

“I simply engage the medical program I have just acquired from the main frame master computer files and select the correct surgical profile for cised insertion procedures. Then I prepare an area behind the ear of your choice by shaving a small circular section, sterilize the skin, and administer a strong local anaesthetic to numb the spot involved. A few moments later I will use the medi-arm to make a minute incision, remove a little of the fatty tissue to provide space to accommodate the unit, and place it in the cavity. It is then automatically grafted to the bone bedrock, and over-sewn to close up the wound. You should only feel a slight sting for a few seconds, and the whole process should take no longer than ten minutes to complete. The device is coated with an ultra long lasting analgesic which is good for up to four days, depending on the being involved, and also contains a combined rapid healing and anti-rejection formulae. By the time the pain relief finally wears off the lesion will be totally healed and you won’t even know that you have had it done, except for the unobtrusive skin flap secured by bio-velcro that covers the access jack in order to be able to program and change whatever is uploaded into it when desired. Rather simple really!” He gave her a quick wink, as if to say ‘trust me!’ Lisa gulped dry phlegm at his precise clinically cold description, and thought otherwise. Still, as has been mentioned before, she had little to no choice in the matter. After all, when you’re stuck on a space ship at the outskirts of your solar system with three of the oddest types you have ever met, the best plan is to just go with the flow. She didn’t have to be too keen on it though.

“That brings us to our next big problem”, Bob flipped up a third pointer and Lisa flashed him a stern look, not liking having been described in such a manner. Bob guiltily grinned and changed the subject slightly to hide his boo-boo. “How do we hide a ship this size from unwanted eyes?”  They all pondered this conundrum, coming up with non-solutions galore, until quite unexpectedly the near impossible happened. Bob had an idea! One that, on the surface at least, couldn’t be laughed straight away. An actually well put together thought process, and in the scheme of things was quite unique given his past dubious track record of intellectual tribulation. A real top ten contender, no doubt. The fanfare and acclaim he received for this little brain churner amounted to much less than he had hoped for, though in all honesty it was more than he usually got, deserved, or could at least remember. His slight disappointment was masked by the optimism of his belief that this one could actually work. The mini-brainwave was this: simply take the bug part out of his cised and, keeping it in active mode, place it on the flight deck in the control room with a note stating something to the effect of ‘nah-nah!’ Then abandon the Red Shift in one of the more up-market space cruisers stored down in the parking bay to make the short journey to their next destination, allowing their previous groovy ride to continue on its way as a decoy, totally unpopulated and in the opposite direction. He banked upon the hope that Bugsy and Mugsy would more than likely be dumb enough to fall for the ruse, and his plan earned some interest from the others. In all due fairness, after a quick discussion they couldn’t see any problems with it, which in itself was somewhat suspicious. As no one could offer any voiceable objections, or better plans, Bob claimed the mental and moral high ground and performed a short but well spirited victory dance. Desperate times beset desperate measures, and relied upon extreme clever-trouseredness to save the day. It would give them a good head start at least, and they could probably make the bar at the Alpha Centauri space port before the bounty hunters finished chasing their own tails. He whooped a self-congratulatory laugh that echoed through the near empty room, startling Lisa and Zed. Bruce, on the other hand, remained steadfastly unfazed by all the goings on, as usual. The thought of it! The sheer bloody brilliance of its simplicity! Lisa smiled for a different and more personal reason as she realized that now she wouldn’t now be the only one undergoing a procedure. Safety in numbers, and all that. Anyway, if Bob could do it, well . . .

[Story note: It’s easy enough to be cavalier about misfortune when the suffering faced occurs to someone other than yourself. This is a condition experienced by most advanced beings throughout the galaxy, and applied equally to Bob, who remained blissfully ignorant of the full ramifications of his new plan. Had he an inkling of what he’d have to face down the track as a result he may not have been so cocky. Still, it was nothing to worry about, surely? “Nothing be buggered!” he would soon be uttering. Funny how it’s a whole different ball game when the boot’s on the other foot!]
So it was settled. The plan was simple and foolproof. It couldn’t fail in a fit! Could it?


Chapter Twenty Three

Reluctantly, ever so slowly, they trudged down to the medi-bay with the noticeable lack of enthusiasm in their step of the condemned. Once there Lisa selected a snazzy looking cised model from the spare parts section. In all actuality it didn’t matter a dried wombat’s willy what the device looked like, as no one would be able to see it tucked away inside her head. However it seemed of the utmost import to her since she quite rightly felt that it was the only part of the process that she would be able to exercise any control over and therefore she was determined to sweat the buggery out of it. Indeed, she would work it up into quite a lather, in her mind at least.

Sitting in the applicator chair she steeled herself against what was to come as best she could with much trepidation and foreboding, despite Bob’s best efforts at reassurance, while Bruce prepared for the immersion of her new galactic passport. “Do I get a last meal first?” she attempted scant feeble humour, and Bob smiled wanly. Then, before she could protest any further Bruce began. In the blink of an eye, albeit a rather tired and slow closing one to be sure, it was all over. True to his word she had experienced absolutely no pain after the initial sting. “I didn’t feel more than a slight prodding”, she murmured in wonderment, and couldn’t resist gingerly touch tapping the area with a fore finger, prompting the mechanoid m.d. to give her an electronic beeping version of ‘I told you so!’ followed by ‘Please don’t do that just yet.’
“You’re lucky,” Bob proffered with a wicked grin, “it’s usually in a whole different area of the body that we aliens do most of our probing!”
Her face turned a deep crimson, and the look of relief that had been across it was rapidly replaced by a stern one of ‘Don’t go there!’ Bob’s flippant mood was short lived though, and was rapidly put to the sword by the metal man’s next pronouncement.
“You’re up!” he blandly intoned, casually waving to the empty chair, the design of which would have given a demented dentist something to think about. Anyone who has made a career of studying robotics might just have picked up on the inner glee that his poker face hid beautifully, but Bob wasn’t one of them. He suddenly had bigger problems to sort out, fast! “What? Right now?” He took a large back step and made a desperate play for time.
“Yes”, Bruce leered condescendingly, “I need to take your unit out in order to remove the bug that’s in it.”
“B, b, but, can’t you just do it electronically?” Bob half pleaded.
“Of course”, his tormentor agreed, extremely dead panned. The relief that had been lurking around since being evicted from Lisa’s face suddenly seized its chance of gaining a new home and sprang onto Bob’s. Sadly it proved to be a fairly short stay.
“Phew, great!” Bob agreed with over inflated thanks. Bruce then rounded with the killer blow.
“But I can only do it, as I’ve previously explained, once I can physically get at it.” Bob’s relief once again found itself homeless. His smile also cut the scene pronto, exit stage left even, and the vacuum left behind was filled with lines of growing worry and alarm etching themselves into his pores. He reflexed a panicked glance around the room for his travel mate to back him up, only to remember a split nano-second later that Zed had been left up on the bridge, sitting behind the wheel in order to keep an eye on their progress away from the solar system that had caused so much upheaval to them all – Bob in particular!

Lisa, thoroughly sick of the medical unit by now, with all its ghastly instruments of good intentioned torture, pushed him gently backwards until he fell into the newly vacated procedure seat. “Now, don’t be such a baby”, she crooned as the surgical cybot set to work on his second case.

A few hours later, after all the bio-medical unpleasantries had been taken care of and Lisa’s new unit’s cyber synapses had been given a chance to graft onto her cerebral cortex as they chilled out in the recovery bay watching t.v., Bruce downloaded all her favourite music, movies, and games into the device and sealed her skin flap over the exposed jack port. Bob, a new man after being given the all clear, along with the promise that that was the end of the whole sticky business as far as he was concerned at least, strode purposefully back up to the control room with the troublesome bug in his hot little hand and the other two in tow.

Entering the nerve center of the liner each found a comfortable chair to sink into. Bob’s bug took pride of place in the Captain’s seat resting on a soft cushion and happily beeped innocently away both to itself and the galaxy at large, at least the area that they were currently in at any rate given its slightly limited range of only a few thousand light years in any direction. Not to be left out Zed had even popped down with Bruce to undergo a minor top up of his unit with the latest Earth tunes gleamed from the Mega Spatial Music Channels, just so that he could keep up his ‘cool’ along the way. As usual the job of drinks waiter fell to Bruce upon his return who, for once, oddly didn’t seem to mind. He was still preoccupied with his future career prospects in the robot corps and so felt that these smaller irritations could wait until he was able to turn his full attention to them later on. He would just bide his time for now.

By general consensus it was decided to while away a few more hours with a wee tipple or ten, and think of what to do next. Bob’s earlier idea of parting company with the liner and  high-tailing it for Alpha Centauri, the nearest star system with a viable space port bar in their current sector, in a much smaller cruiser had seemed an attractive proposal at the time, and was one that still held somewhat dodgy merit (if only because it managed to stand up to the increasing scrutiny of his peers) and this surprised them all, none more so than Bob himself. All, that was, except for Bruce who clearly was not interested in any of their cockamamie plans or piddily little problems. He was much too involved in wrestling with his own thoughts on what course his future should take now that there was an added extra bio-member in the group to look after, in addition to the other two he had initially been lumbered with, and the extra responsibility for her safety seemed to rest rather heavily upon his well rounded shoulders.

[Story note: As has been covered earlier in Book One, a major problem with navigating the vast areas of a galaxy literally teeming with stars, planets, moons, floating rocks, etc., is being able to agree between space going species on acceptable names for all the heavenly bodies due to the multitude of languages and communication devices involved. Therefore a numerical based system was brought into play by the Galactic Government to cut through the whole tangled problem, thus allowing everyone to get to where they actually wanted to go without having to stop and ask for directions along the way. Original celestial names were kept and regulated for both local consumption and the whims of purists who still preferred the old fashioned way. It is in this latter spirit that the author has decided to risk the wrath of the Cosmic Council and use local place names from this point on. It may be of some interest to note that the trio of stars our intrepid group are heading for – called Alpha, Beta, and Proxima Centauri by Earth based space gazers – is in all actually proudly referred to as the Davarian Buster Cluster Triple System – Tri-Stars A, B, and C (in order of importance), by those closer to home.]

In all fairness though, it could be said that Zed wasn’t all that fazed either way since he was just as happy enough to tag along with Bob as opposed to finding something better to do for himself. To put it quite bluntly, he just couldn’t give a frag! Bob had to be ruled out of the contest also as it was his idea in the first place, thus making him naturally biased towards it, and any excess credit that he might sway his way would only serve to hyper-inflate his already overactive ego to semi-cosmic proportions.

In the end it all came down to Lisa to find the lurking loophole though, try as hard as she might, she was unable to succeed in this taxing task, and this gave her some dismay in not being able to bring Bob down a peg or two as a result. On the face of it, and as far as faces go this one was as unattractive as an item of millinery filled to the brim with puckered rectums, she had to reluctantly admit that it seemed to be the most logical course of action, given their current circumstances. Besides, she was getting to really like the spaciousness and clean almost newness of this massive galactic travelling bus (it even still had a residual ‘new liner’ smell about it) and wasn’t too keen to be crammed into a much smaller stellar runabout with these slightly oddball fellow passengers, even if most of the time was going to be spent thankfully asleep. On the other hand though, the memory of her past encounters with the two reptoid bounty hunters currently chasing them was still rather fresh and raw in her mind and she didn’t want to add to it in any way at all if humanly possible. Bob’s plan, as far as she was concerned, appeared to be the least objectionable outcome and therefore she gave it a reluctant ‘go’. Besides, there would always be plenty of other times to belittle him down to a manageable level later on she was certain, and this gave her something to mull over in her subconscious mind during the long hours of stasis to come. A small consolation, to be sure.

So, that was that. Time for one last quick dram before biting the proverbial bullet and parting company with their magnificent ride. Firstly though, they had to make sure that their cruiser of choice was adequately stocked and ready for the short hop to their next pub crawling port of call. Bruce, once again, won that lottery and was sent down ahead of them to perform that vital task. Grabbing a quick snack from the galley on the way they trooped down to the parking bay to check out their new ‘wheels’. Bruce was already waiting in its snug cockpit, and fired up its hover ring once they were all aboard. The craft lifted off the deck floor in response and ever so gently the Star Dancer glided out through the massive landing bay doors. When they had coasted far enough away he remotely closed the liner’s hatch, and cranked up their mini RASPS engine while pointing the diminutive vessel in the opposite direction on a course directly towards their next destination.

[Story note: The mini RASPS was essentially a scaled down version of the huge power plants that pushed the much larger liner between the stars. Every cruiser worth its salt used this reduced type of Retro Astral Ship Propulsion System because it got beings very quickly to where they wanted to go by scooping the handful of hydrogen atoms lurking at any one time in the path of the ship’s front collection scragger and funneling them at increasing speed along its underneath to an aft collision chamber where they were smashed together as they exited the rear exhaust port. The resultant massive bursts of energy created pushed the whole structure along at up to half the speed of light when in full flight. Wow! Pretty big league stuff, eh?]

The Red Shift ploughed blissfully onwards under the guidance of its autopilot into open space with its taddle-tale bug continuing to broadcast its honey trap invitation as planned. One massive decoy that Bob’s scaly nemeses just would not be able to resist.


Chapter Twenty Four

As they headed away from their parking spot at Pluto and prepared to hop over the twin rings of cosmic builder’s rubble left behind from the construction of the solar system, known locally as the Keiper belt and Oort cloud respectively, the anti-collision avoidance radar alarm sounded its shrill cry and Bruce was spurred into taking evasive action. The reason for this was because their craft was rapidly approaching something smallish and metallic ahead of them that was lumbering along in its own good time directly in their path. Had they still been in the much bigger liner this wouldn’t have been a problem, as it was equipped with wrap around matter deflectors designed to gently nudge aside anything up to the size of a small moon. In space travel, time really is money, and the big passenger craft get the right of way in every instant. Another maxim that could have been quoted is ‘might is right’, but the space liner p.r. staff decided, quite wisely they thought, that the former would do rather nicely. No need to ruffle any feathers, especially when you are holding the chicken by the neck. However, in a smaller cruiser it was a much different story. Since they weren’t designed for long distance deep space travel, and all the inherent dangers faced there, they only possessed a weaker forward firing deflector that could shift items not much larger than themselves. This in itself would not have posed a real problem in this case had they been just ticking along at a modest safe cruising rate but Bruce had wound it up to the maximum safe inner system velocity of ten percent light speed in order to put as much distance between themselves and their last known position as was possible. At such a rapid closing pace the deflectors would only have had enough time to push the object ahead of them slightly forward and sideways a few meters at best before the actual body of the cruiser had caught up with it. This would ensure that the slow poke Sunday driver didn’t become part of their nose but instead take a neat slice out along the entire side of their ship. A moot point, when all is said and done, for either result would have been equally disastrous in any case. Therefore the prudent thing to do was to avoid the whole ugly mess, and the space tourist in question, like several disagreeable plagues and give it as wide a berth as possible.

[Story note: The innocent floating metal can causing all the consternation was in fact one of the Voyager probes launched from Earth back in the mid Nineteen Eighties, and had managed to get only this far out due to its modest, some might say paltry, operating speed of around forty thousand k.p.h. However, in order to retain some air of mystery and suspense it’s individual identity shall be kept a closely guarded secret, more for the sensibilities of its makers back at N.A.S.A. than for any other reason.]

Picking themselves up off the floor from this unadvertised abrupt maneuver the rear passengers saw to each other’s slight injuries, either real or imagined, then Bob staggered up to the cockpit to casually enquire just what had happened. “What the hell just happened?” he shouted at Bruce. “I just spilled my drink!” The cyber craft captain turned his humanoid shaped head and looked Bob squarely in the eyes. He did this because his eyes oddly did look a little squarish, something that had put the others off a bit when they had individually first met him. Then he gave his short and concise report concerning the whole matter from cause to effect. Bob made a show of mulling this over for a tad, mostly to hide his own embarrassment, then gave their space saviour a half-friendly half-groveling pat on the back. “Well done, then, boy-o. Keep up the good work!” He knew that he’d played it a fair bit over the top, but then he was about to go into stasis soon and would be handing over care of his body and life to the diminutive mechanoid so it couldn’t hurt to keep on the right side of his protector. He sheepishly wandered back to the others and brought them up to date.

When they had cleared the last stumbling blocks in that region of space Bruce informed the galactic party goers, with barely concealed glee, that it was time for them to hit their cryo cabins for the short hop, astronomically speaking, to the Tri-Star system. Returning to the cockpit to engage the auto pilot he then went back again moments later to ensure that his bio-charges were safely tucked away in their own pods and cooling down nicely. He was on his own now for the best part of the next decade and he relished the mental break he would be getting, albeit a sadly swift one. Not bothering to power down for the duration, as he didn’t see the need on such a piddling minor trip, he instead used the time to do a little light thinking and heavy plotting regarding his immediate future. This invariably involved his oft recurring electro-techno dream of handing his troublesome cargo over to more responsible bio-entities at the space port. Then his baby sitting days would finally be at an end, and he might even be given tasks more befitting and worthy of his mental abilities. His sarcasm node piped in with ‘Some hope!’ but he ignored it. He was in way too much of a good mood, and didn’t want it to be lessened in any way. Taking back control of the cruiser, he opened up the throttles to get the cosmic ball rolling, rapidly reaching the engine’s maximum cruising rate of half the speed of light. Then it was simply a case of waiting.

The Sun Dancer sailed silently on through the inky blackness of deep space, save for the muffled sound of its power plant barely raising a whimper and the almost imperceptible relentless tinkling of Bruce’s warped positronic brain going through the motions.