Harry Cavendish (3 page)

‘Glenrushen. Save it for the special occasions,’ said Proton.

Cormack was not much acquainted with Glenrushen but he could see it had a raw, lubricant quality, like engine oil, and sloshed around Proton’s glass viscously.

‘A sort of flamboyant bouquet infused with rose petals and chilly oakenness, redolent of gloomy lochs.

Really rather delicate, unexpectedly, given its chilly provenance. Gives a sort of fructosal tickle on the tongue. You wouldn’t imagine a blend capable of such subtlety. Taste like that’s lost on a lot of people, Cormack. The non-connoisseurs. I should think most of them round here fall into that category,’ he said sadly, looking about the flight deck.

Then he looked back at Cormack and a friendly smile formed around his slightly opened mouth.

‘You look like a chap that knows his whisky though,’ he said.

‘I do?’ said Cormack. He was flattered by the suggestion.

‘Yes. Read a lot too I expect?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Cormack.

‘Went to university?’

‘Not yet, but I want to,’ he said, and there was a silence, which Cormack took to mean that Proton wanted him to volunteer more information so he added, ‘Probably York,’ quietly because he was ashamed.

‘That’s a good one, I suppose,’ continued Proton unfazed. ‘Liked to have gone to university myself - any university - but didn’t get the chance. Never really had the opportunities that a chap like you would have had. I come from a small mining town in the low valleys outside Manima in the Guerdan Province. My mother’s family - proud but poor. But it’s not stopped me, Cormack. I’m a natural auto-didact.’

‘Really?’

‘A quick study with a love of the ancients. I could quote you whole passages of the Ancient Texts. I could regale you with many an antique tale of bucolic sharecroppers. Stuff I’ve found in those books, I don’t think many scholars would have come across. My background might not be the most privileged but it’s not stopped me from getting ahead.’

Proton leaned back some more in his chair.

‘See, the Guard is just a means to an end, Cormack. Don’t let the rubberization and the laser guns and the executions and everything lead you astray. It’s not really me at all. I tend to live for the weekends.

The kind of people you have to rub up against in the Guard, you have to put on a bit of a show. A chap like you would understand. Wouldn’t you?’

‘I suppose, Captain. Should I call you Captain?’

‘No, no, no. Proton’s the name. Call me Proton. I’d like you to hang around a bit up front. We can talk some more. Don’t get much chance to talk up here.’

Proton mouthed the word, ‘Riff-raff.’

Cormack looked about him at the crew on the flight desk - four men and three women wearing tidy bodysuits, efficiently drumming at consoles, reviewing hieroglyphics flying across computer screens, twiddling knobs. He sensed they were listening surreptitiously and busying themselves unnecessarily.

‘Keep the cow in the hold though,’ continued Proton. ‘She’ll be better off back there. We’ll take good care of her for you. Into politics, Cormack? Article I was reading on the uniSwarm last night on proportional representation. Couldn’t really get the gist of it but maybe you have an opinion? After you get some rest perhaps. Anyway, don’t let me prattle on like this too long. Heard you had a bit of an adventure…’ Proton raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes excitedly. ‘Met the Big Chap - that’s what it said on the communiqué.’

He sipped a little more from his glass.

‘Course it wasn’t really Him, was it? It was His avatar, him being in the sixth fold and you in the seventh, but I suppose it amounts to the same thing. Did He seem friendly though? You know, we all have this impression of the Supreme Being, the Creator of the Universe, as being a bit intimidating but I bet He’s not when you get to know Him, is He?’

Proton leaned towards Cormack.

‘I heard He touched you,’ he said. ‘Can I see?’

‘What do you want to see?’

‘Your burnt nipple.’

‘My what?’

‘Consider it a Zargonic affectation. See, we have these Ancient Texts that mention…’ he started but didn’t finish because Cormack had opened his shirt to expose the burn that he had got from the cocoa.

‘Oh yes!’ said Proton. ‘Very, very good. In just the right spot.’

He turned to the navigator, a tall, elegant looking woman with a huge bouffant head of hair who looked back at Proton with undisguised disdain.

‘See, Pranzi,’ said Proton, ‘We’re good to go!’

He gave her the thumbs up and a big grin.

‘Ummm, how long is it until we get to the Palace?’ Cormack asked.

‘Palace? What Palace, Cormack?’

‘The Palace of the Emperor,’ said Cormack.

‘We’re not taking you to the Palace, Cormack,’ said Proton.

‘You’re not?’ said Cormack. ‘I thought that’s what you said when you captured me outside the Prison Whale. I thought you had orders to take me to the Emperor.’

‘I do. But I’m ignoring them. I’ve requisitioned the ship and I’m taking you to Foul Ball.’

‘Foul Ball? What is Foul Ball?’

‘Cormack, my boy,’ said Proton. ‘You are going to love Foul Ball.’

***

‘Indeed it is, Sire,’ replied the hive-mind.

‘I thought the Praetorian Guards were beyond reproach.’

‘They must be executed for their treason.’

‘Where have they taken the McFadden creature?’

‘They are moving through the Dertigon Nebula towards the Asigate Star System.’

‘They are perhaps headed for Foul Ball, then?’

‘It is too early to say, Sire.’

‘We must stop them.’

‘Of course. We are sending the battle-cruiser. We will intercept them in the next twenty-four hours and attempt to recapture the McFadden creature alive. But if it is not possible, I have issued instructions that their transporter ship be destroyed.’

‘Good. We must take no chances, hive-mind.’

Proton had the Emperor’s battle-cruiser on the ship’s scanner. It would catch them in twenty minutes unless they did something.

‘Pranzi, you have the model?’ he asked the navigator.

‘Yes, Captain.’

‘Perhaps I could take a look at it.’

Pranzilla spoke perfunctorily into a microphone on the console in front of her – ‘Captain, wants to see the model.’

Through the sliding doors came another Guard, bearing in his huge arms what looked like a toy spaceship, all airfixed and globbed with glue. Cormack looked at it carefully and thought it was wonderful, enormously elaborate detailing. In fact, although he couldn’t be sure because he didn’t get much of a look when they were taking him inside, it could well be an exact replica of the transporter ship they were presently in.

‘Excellent,’ said Proton. ‘It’s really very good, isn’t it, Cormack? Beautiful work around the undercarriage. Very fine craftsmanship. We could probably hang it out now.’

‘Captain says deploy the decoy,’ said Pranzilla.

A great show was made as the model was surrounded by a squad of five Guards. The most important of these had a clipboard, and he ran his finger down it, barking out orders, whilst the other four ministered to the toy, inspecting it according to his instructions. When they were each satisfied, they called out in turn, a crisp ‘Check!’

Eventually it was deemed fit to proceed, and a long fibrous thread was attached to its prow. Then it was carried out of the cockpit towards the hold, where the cow, shivering and frightened, saw it into the escape hatch with a ‘Coo!’

The senior Guard returned after five minutes and confirmed to Proton that the decoy had been successfully deployed.

‘Good,’ said Proton. ‘Let’s take a look on our screen.’

‘Bringing it up now, Captain,’ said Pranzilla.

The large black screen to the front of the cockpit flickered into life and Cormack could see a fuzzy image that might have been the front of the ship, pictured from a camera on its top.

‘Turning the camera to the decoy,’ said Pranzilla, and the viewpoint began to move, picking up at first nothing but blackness interspersed with flecks of distant light, but, as it reached the end of its arc, Cormack could see the decoy trailing from the transporter on its thread like the float on the end of a fishing line strung from a boat.

‘Very good!’ said Proton. ‘Convincing, isn’t it, Cormack? Now let’s begin the cloaking procedure.’

‘Captain says start the cloaking procedure,’ said Pranzilla.

The senior Guard went back to the hold with his crew of five and returned, with what to Cormack looked like a handful of black bin liners.

‘We’re going to start at the front,’ he said to Proton, pointing towards the prow.

The Guards put on hefty looking spacesuits and moved to the side of the cockpit where there was a small door that led to an airlock. Proton wished them well. Then they went through the door and into the chamber and it was locked and sealed tight.

Then he went back to the scanner and started thrumming his fingers on the armrests of his chair, impatiently waiting for news.

‘How are they doing?’ he said, when he could bear it no longer, and Pranzilla swung the camera round from the model so that it pointed towards the front of the transporter ship.

Cormack could see two of the Guards straddled across the front of the ship, fitting the bin liners over the ship’s white panels. They had already finished the bit at the top over the nose cone.

‘Goodness, they’re slow,’ said Proton.

It all seemed very lo-tech to Cormack, but Proton was reassuring.

‘Sometimes you can out-smart yourself, Cormack. Don’t worry – special material. Very clever stuff,’ he said. ‘I’ve been planning this operation ever since I heard about you. There’s more complexity in it than you can imagine. For instance, between you and me, the model has seventeen moving parts…’

Cormack sneaked a look at Proton’s scanner, and saw that the blob that represented the Emperor’s battle-cruiser was getting very close to the centre of the screen.

At last there was a signal from Pranzilla and the airlock door was opened and the Guards came back in.

‘Slight problem, Captain,’ said the most senior.

‘What?’ said Proton.

‘Ran out of material on top.’

‘Oh gosh!’

‘There’s a panel we haven’t covered. We need some extras.’

‘There aren’t any more in the hold?’

‘Not when we checked. We could look again.’

‘Yes, do that. Look again.’

But there were none to be found.

‘Could we use the cow?’ asked Proton.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ said Cormack.

‘She’s leathery. She’s mostly black. I think she might work very well.’

‘We could paint the spots, Captain,’ said the Guard.

The cow was glad to be out of the hold, which was very cold, and didn’t mind the paint at all.

‘You’re tickling me!’ she said to the Guard with the paintbrush.

They gave her a helmet to put on her head and she was led on a leash to the airlock, giggling at her reflection in the mirror glass at the top of the door.

When she was outside, Pranzilla moved the camera to observe her. They could see she was comfortably settled, secured on the fusillade with magnetic straps, and she gave Cormack a little wave with a hoof.

Proton sat staring at the scanner with a look of deep concern on his face.

‘Battle-cruiser imminent. There going to have a lock on any moment.’

‘We’re getting signals from them, Captain,’ said Pranzilla.

‘Let me hear them.’

Across the speaker system came a tinny voice.

‘Praetorian Guard and all aboard the Zargonic Transporter!’ it said. ‘Surrender immediately! Return the McFadden Creature! It is your Emperor’s command!’

‘Ignore them for now,’ said Proton.

‘Praetorian Guard!’ continued the voice. ‘We have orders from the Emperor to destroy you and your craft if you do not surrender immediately!’

‘I think they’ve got a lock on, Captain,’ said Pranzilla, and she flicked at the dial that turned the little camera on top of the ship. It was facing backwards towards the bow, and Cormack could see on the large screen ahead the toy spaceship still pulled by the thread attached to the transporter.

‘OK, cut the wire!’ said Proton, and the thread came away and the toy tumbled from the camera.

‘They definitely have a lock on,’ said Pranzilla, ‘but it’s too early to say if it’s on the transporter or the decoy.’

‘Time will tell! Time will tell!’ said Proton.

There followed a nervous few minutes as Proton led the crew through a series of rapid turns and accelerations - the effect that they might be having on the cow, strapped to the outer casing, Cormack found hard to imagine – until at last they levelled off and Proton signalled that they should maintain a steady course, full speed ahead.

‘Praetorian Guard – your time is up!’ boomed the voice from the speaker system. ‘We have full lock on the transporter. We will be firing on you in five, four, three…’

‘You know, now that Cormack’s mentioned it, I wonder if bin liners really are effective as a cloaking device for a transporter vessel in outer space…’ said Proton.

‘…two, one,’ came the voice from the speaker system, and Cormack and Proton and the crew braced themselves for the explosion that would blast them into nothingness.

‘Detonation, three hundred clicks to our south,’ said Pranzilla. ‘They hit the decoy!’

‘Yeah!’ screamed Proton. ‘They took the bait! My regards to the cow, Cormack!’

‘Rather tame,’ came the voice over the speaker system, still broadcasting. ‘Thought it would make a bigger bang than that.’

When they got the cow back inside the cabin, she was dizzy from the cold, and was panting and delirious, but they all congratulated her on a job well done, and let her sleep that night in the warm galley, feeding her straw as she lay spread-eagled on the floor.

***

‘You have the McFadden creature?’ said the Emperor.

‘No, Sire. We had to destroy the transporter – they wouldn’t surrender.’