by Cas Lester
‘We’re all going to be arrested!’ cried Yargal.
‘I’ll be banned from flying forever and it’s your fault!’ Maxie bawled at Harvey.
‘When they find the Explo-Foam we’re all doomed!’ wailed Scrummage.
‘No, you are,’ said Gizmo. ‘You loaded it onto the ship.’
‘Oh yeah? Well, I’ll tell them you did!’ retorted Scrummage.
It wasn’t exactly a fun game but at least everyone could play. Anyhow, they were interrupted by the bossy voice booming out again:
‘WE ARE BOARDING YOUR SHIP.’
Maxie grabbed Harvey’s arm and whispered, ‘Just don’t try telling them you come from Earth.’
Harvey wanted to ask why, but the crew were too busy panicking.
‘My career is over!’ cried Gizmo, pacing the deck. ‘I’ll never make captain now!’
‘We’re done for.’ Scrummage slumped forwards and sat with his head on the garbage desk.
Yargal chewed her tentacles, and Snuffles whined.
‘We may as well just give ourselves up,’ said Maxie.
Harvey took command. ‘No!’ he ordered. ‘Never say die! It’s not over till the final whistle.’
‘Er … whistle? What whistle?’ asked the crew, totally confused.
The Intergalactic Traffic Police
But before Harvey could explain, a familiar high, whining drone drilled into their ears, and two Intergalactic Traffic Police Officers transported onto the command bridge.
They wore black uniforms, dark glasses and mean expressions. Both of them wore their short multicoloured hair gelled into sharp spikes.
There’s something about the Intergalactic Traffic Police that can scare the pants off you. It’s probably the multifunctional ray guns tucked in their belts. These have three settings: ‘Lightly Sting’, ‘Badly Bruise’ and ‘REALLY, REALLY HURT’.
The officers stood on the command bridge and looked about ominously. One of them was a giant of a man who loomed over all of them – even Gizmo. But it was the shorter one that bothered Harvey. He had a nasty look about him. Very nasty.
Harvey knew the type – the worst sort of bully. You know, one who really does have power over you, and likes to use it. Harvey had met a referee like him last season. The Highford All Stars were one-nil down in the semi-final, and then Harvey scored. But the ref said he was offside when he wasn’t. And when Harvey appealed, he got the red card. The All Stars lost.
‘Remember, we’re all in this together,’ hissed Harvey. ‘We’re a team.’
‘Which one of you idiots is responsible for flying the wrong way along the HyperspaceWay and smashing into the side of our ship?’ growled the smaller, mean-looking officer.
In one swift move, everyone pointed at Harvey and said:
‘He is!’
Harvey rolled his eyes. Thanks a bunch, he thought.
Chapter Sixteen
Earth: again, does it exist?
Slowly but menacingly, the Intergalactic Traffic Officer walked over to Harvey sitting in the captain’s chair and gave him a hard stare. Without taking his eyes off Harvey, he unclipped a digipad from his belt. He managed to make it a very threatening move.
‘Zippit,’ he growled.
‘I haven’t said anything,’ said Harvey calmly.
‘No, I’m Zippit. Police Officer Zippit to you. Is this your ship then, sonny?’
Harvey wasn’t going to let this man scare him. He stood up, flicked his curly red fringe off his face, looked him straight in the eye and answered coolly: ‘Yes. I’m Harvey Drew, Captain of the Toxic Spew.’
‘SNORT! HUR … HUR … HUR!!’
Both officers exploded with laughter.
‘You’re the new captain of the Toxic Spew! They must be desperate!’
‘HUR … HUR … HUR!’
‘Where did they find you?’
Maxie shot Harvey a warning look but he ignored her.
‘Earth,’ said Harvey and the crew gasped softly.
‘Where?!’ Police Officer Zippit pushed his face right into Harvey’s. Harvey could smell what he’d had for lunch (a garlic and apricot jam pizza followed by a mackerel and caramel doughnut. No wonder Harvey could smell it. Thank goodness he didn’t have to taste it too).
‘I’m from Earth,’ said Harvey trying not to breathe in too deeply. ‘It’s a small planet in a galaxy called the Milky Way … ’
‘Never heard of it,’ Zippit butted in rudely, still eyeballing Harvey.
Harvey stared him out. ‘Just because you’ve never heard of it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,’ he said. And the crew gasped again, but loudly this time.
(I’m sorry to keep mentioning it, but since you’re from Earth you probably don’t know that getting clever with the Intergalactic Traffic Police, isn’t very … er … clever. Neither did Harvey.)
‘Now listen, “Captain”. If you’re from a planet we’ve never heard of, then that makes you a new type of alien. And if you’re a new type of alien then we might just have to take you away and do a lot of very painful experiments on you to see what sort of new type of alien you are.’
Harvey didn’t even flinch – he carried on the staring contest. This wrong-footed Zippit. He wasn’t used to people standing up to him. Then a new thought struck him.
‘Wait a minute … There’s no such place as planet Earth … you made that up!’ His turquoise eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What’s going on? You’re up to something aren’t you?’ He turned to his mountainous mate. ‘Officer Org, look up the Toxic Spew on the Pangalactic Criminal Records Database, and check for any traffic offences, wilful wrongdoings and downright dodgy dealings.’
A frankly appalling record
Slowly, and with some difficulty, the enormous officer prodded his digipad with his outsized fingers.
It took less than a nano-second to access all the records of the Toxic Spew. Which was remarkable really, because it was a very long list.
Traffic Police Officer Org read it out, very slowly. Reading wasn’t his best skill.
(If you don’t like lists you can just skip on … I haven’t put the whole list in anyway – it’s much too long.)
• Parking in an orbit zone
• Flying without lights
• Flying without brakes
• Not having a space tax disc
• Jumping a red light
• Carrying toxic waste without a licence.
Harvey was gobsmacked. The crew cringed as the list went on … and on … There were forty-seven fines to be paid.
If you added them all up they were worth more than the Toxic Spew itself. But then that’s not surprising. A party-sized pizza order would probably be worth almost as much as the Toxic Spew, especially if you had it with chips, dips and a drink.
‘Which one of you is the Rubbish Officer?’ demanded Zippit.
‘They’re probably all rubbish!’ snorted Officer Org, sniggering childishly at his own joke.
Scrummage was far too nervous to point out he was actually the Chief Rubbish Officer. He stood up weakly. ‘I am.’
‘Well, I think we should have a little look in the garbage hold. Make sure you’re not doing anything … dodgy.’
Scrummage gulped, and the rest of the crew looked petrified.
But Harvey stepped boldly forward. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’
‘Multicoloured upchuck!’ spluttered Scrummage softly.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Flickering vomit!’
Outside the massive metal doors to the cargo hold the orange warning lights still flashed, making the grimy corridor the kind of sickly colour that can give you a headache.
Traffic Police Officer Org stood grinning stupidly, holding his digipad in his huge hands, and looking forward to adding (yet) another report to the long and dismal record of the Toxic Spew.
‘Right,’ said Police Officer Zippit to Scrummage. ‘What’s in there, then?’
‘Um … er … ’ stammered Sc
rummage helplessly.
But Harvey came to his rescue and said, ‘We’ve got six large tubs of … ’
Scrummage gasped softly. Flickering vomit! he thought. Surely Harvey wasn’t going to tell them about the Explo-Foam? But Harvey didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.
Zippit spun round and snapped, ‘I asked the Rubbish Officer, not you.’
Harvey didn’t bat an eyelid. He might not have much experience as a starship captain – but he’d captained the Highford All Stars for two seasons and he knew the rules.
‘I’m the captain,’ he said. ‘And you talk to me – not to my crew. Leave this to me, Scrummage. And that’s an order!’
(I’m not sure which of the four people standing in the dirty, dimly-lit corridor was the most amazed. It could have been the two Intergalactic Traffic Police Officers and it might have been Scrummage. But I reckon it was Harvey).
He honestly had no idea he could be that brave. But, knowing that he was dominating the game, and with everything to play for, he kept up the pace.
Cosmic muck and maggots
‘Behind those doors,’ he said, ‘we’ve got … ’ and he counted the imaginary list off on his fingers as he spoke:
‘Six large tubs of toilet waste from a starline cruiser. Unfortunately a couple of them are leaking … You might want to watch your step.’
‘Oh, yuck!’ said Org.
‘A large vat of unidentified steaming yellow space muck. We’re not sure what it is, but it smells so bad it might make you actually vomit your guts up.’
At this, Police Officer Zippit went a very pale purple and Org looked distinctly queasy.
‘And twenty-five bottles of toxic cosmic gas,’ said Harvey. ‘It’s deadly! Just one whiff will melt your nose clean off your face. I’d try not to breathe in. Anyhow, could be worse. Sometimes we get some really dangerous garbage in there, don’t we, Scrummage!’
‘Er … yes, sir,’ said Scrummage weakly, and tried not to even think about the Explo-Foam in case he gave anything away.
Harvey punched buttons randomly on the cargo hold keypad lock in a way that looked like he knew what he was doing.
‘By the way,’ he said coolly, ‘are those uniforms maggot-proof?’
The two officers exchanged worried looks.
‘No, er … why?’
Harvey grasped the huge door handles as if he was about to haul them open.
‘Only we’ve got a bit of a problem with maggots,’ he said. ‘But I can’t imagine you two brave officers would be scared by a few tiny little, deadly poisonous, pink killer maggots from Venomoid Flux.’
‘Deadly poisonous, pink killer maggots from Venomoid Flux?’ they cried.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Harvey, picking up the yellow fire extinguisher type thing Maxie had used on Scrummage. ‘We’ll be right here with the anti-maggot spray. Of course, it won’t save you if you do get bitten, pumped full of acid and slurped up like soup. But you might die a bit happier knowing that the maggot that killed you isn’t going to get away with it.’
He handed the yellow sprayer to Scrummage. ‘Stand by, Scrummage.’
‘Yes, sir!’ By now, Scrummage was completely dazzled by Harvey. In all his multiple intergalactic missions he’d never, ever met anyone as bold and fearless. If Harvey had told him to shove a slice of pizza down his trousers, howl like a Hazard Hunting Hound and clean the entire cargo hold with a toothbrush he would have done it. Even if he had to use his own toothbrush.
Intergalactic Traffic Police Officers are not known for their bravery. And neither are bullies.
‘Do we have to go in?’ whispered Officer Org to his mate. Zippit didn’t answer. He was thinking, and couldn’t do two things at the same time.
Harvey took his hand off the door handles. ‘But what about your report?’ he said, pointing at the digipad.
The police officers looked as panic-stricken as a bad goalkeeper facing a penalty shoot out. They were no match for Harvey.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘you can either put:
a) You didn’t go into the cargo hold because you were scared of the maggots, or
b) You did go into the cargo hold and everything was OK. Nothing dodgy to report.’
And he smiled his most innocent smile.
The officers considered their options and then Zippit said, ‘Option b.’ And then, because he didn’t want to look like a wimp, he added darkly: ‘We’ll let you go for now, but we haven’t finished with the Toxic Spew, so watch it, Captain.’
And they transported back to the police ship.
You know what it’s like when you’ve just seen someone do something incredibly brilliant (or incredibly bad) and you can’t wait to be the one to tell everyone about it?
Well then you’ll get why Scrummage burst onto the command bridge dying to give the others a full match report.
The crew were hugely impressed but Harvey shrugged it off.
‘I just don’t like bullies,’ he said, casually taking up his post in the captain’s seat.
‘Oh, and Scrummage.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Get rid of those maggots!’
‘Yes, sir!’ cried Scrummage and he actually saluted.
‘I hate to spoil your trophy moment, Captain,’ said Maxie cuttingly, ‘but we still have six barrels of Explo-Foam to get rid of. And we don’t have much time.’
‘Computer, give me an update on the cargo,’ ordered Harvey.
‘Of course, Captain! But can I just say, well done! I honestly thought you’d all be dead by now! But let’s not get too cocky,’ it said. ‘Because, right now, there’s a 96% chance of the cargo exploding and blasting the ship into approximately 26,000 teeny tiny, little itty bitty pieces … in around, oh, forty-nine minutes or so.’
‘Forty-nine minutes!’ gasped Maxie.
‘Oh, Captain!’ cried Yargal, flinging herself hysterically at Harvey. ‘I’m too young to be blasted into twenty-six thousand tiny little itty bitty pieces in around forty-nine minutes or so!’
Chapter Eighteen
Forty-nine minutes or so
‘Fluttering chunder!’ cried Scrummage.
‘You said we had six and a half hours!’ cried Gizmo.
‘Yes, but that was before you:
a) zigzagged the wrong way up the B16 HyperspaceWay,
b) got zapped by the most powerful NovaBlaster ray guns in the entire universe, and
c) zoomed into the back of an Intergalactic traffic police ship.
All of which shook up the Explo-Foam like ketchup in a bottle! So now you have forty-nine … no, wait … make that forty-eight minutes!’
There was a horrible silence on the bridge of the Toxic Spew.
Harvey forced his head to work clearly.
‘How far are we from the Toxic Garbage Dump?’
Maxie quickly called up the 3D star map. ‘If we don’t have any hold-ups we can get there in around forty minutes.’
‘Right, let’s go!’ said Harvey. ‘And, computer, use a calculator to plot the route and check your sums!’
I’m not sure that I can convey the mood of utter terror on the command bridge of the Toxic Spew as the minutes ticked by …
It was the longest forty minutes Harvey had ever experienced.
Maxie focused on flying the ship as steadily as possible and Harvey ordered Scrummage to calmly check the state of the Explo-Foam every minute (instead of frenziedly checking it every two seconds).
Yargal made everyone more nervous by rushing around collecting piles of emergency medical equipment, while the computer asked if anyone wanted to record any ‘famous last words’ before they died.
Eight minutes, give or take
At last they could see, through the grimy front vision screen, the distant lights of some sort of space station up ahead.
‘That’s it!’ cried Scrummage.
‘Computer, update report,’ ordered Harvey.
‘Well, the galley fridge could do with a bit of a clean …
’ it started in a jolly tone.
‘Not funny! How long have we got?’
‘About eight minutes, give or take … probably … ’ said the computer, bleeping off in a sulk.
‘Eight minutes!’ cried Yargal.
Scrummage rapidly pressed buttons on his control desk. ‘We have to get permission to offload the cargo, and get a dumping bay number.’
Seconds later a polite digital voice said: ‘Hello, and thank you for visiting the Toxic Garbage Dump in the Dork Quadrant. What is the purpose of your visit?’
‘We-want-to-dump-a-load-of-garbage-including-six-tubs-of-Explo-Foam,’ garbled Scrummage.
There was a beat of silence and then the digital voice said, ‘Pardon?’
‘Flickering spew! We’re doomed!’
‘Steady, Officer Scrummage,’ said Harvey.
Everyone was only too aware of the time ticking away – especially since the computer kept reminding them.
‘I hate to worry you, but you’re down to six minutes … ’ it said.
Six minutes
‘Thank you,’ said Harvey. ‘But we don’t need a countdown.’
Scrummage repeated slowly and with great self-control: ‘We … want … to … dump … a … load … of … garbage … including … six … tubs … of … Explo-Foam.’
‘If you already have a toxic cargo dumping licence please press 1 on your keypad now,’ said the voice. ‘If not, please press 2.’
Scrummage pressed 2.
‘There is a fifteen-minute delay in issuing toxic cargo dumping licences. Please try later.’
‘For crying out loud!’ spluttered Scrummage, and he started repeatedly banging his forehead on the garbage control desk in despair.
THUD, THUD, THUD
‘Fifteen minutes? We’re all going to die!’ wailed Yargal, doing the frantic thing with her tentacles.
‘What are we going to do?’ cried Maxie, and everyone looked at Harvey.
