13

By the time they had reached the Engine Room, Lucy had managed to convince The Journalist that her name really was Lucy.

‘But you know what that means in Blerontin?’ The Journalist was in some pain from the laughter. He’d managed to stop at last, and Lucy was feeling a bit piqued.

‘No,’ she said coldly. ‘What does it mean?’

‘I can’t tell you,’ he replied.

‘I’d like to know.’

‘No no no no no - I just couldn’t!’

‘What’s so funny? Go on, you’ve got to tell me!’

‘Maybe when I know you better - oh! argh! ha ha ha! It hurts!’

‘Well, what’s your name?’ she asked.

‘The Journalist,’ replied The Journalist.

‘That’s not a name, that’s a job description,’ objected Lucy.

The Journalist shrugged. ‘On Blerontin news-hacks aren’t allowed individual names - it’s an ancient law - something to do with avoiding the cult of the personality or something.’

‘I can’t call you The Journalist!’

‘Just call me “The”,’ he said, and opened the luminous blue doors of the Engine Room.

A quick look inside drew his attention immediately to the small cabinet in the corner. The Journalist strode straight across to it, opened the doors, glanced at the two buttons, and without hesitation pressed the one marked: ‘Press To Arm’..

Immediately a flap opened and a large black steel egg with fins rose up out of the top of the cabinet. At the same time a voice boomed out ‘You have just activated the SD-96 Full Force Mega-Scuttler - ‘A Bomb To Be Proud Of’ - created especially for you by the Mega-Scuttler Corporation of Dormillion. This will be a fairly big explosion so please stand well back - about 22,000 miles. Countdown to detonation commencing at once. One thousand… nine hundred and ninetynine… nine hundred and ninety-eight… nine hundred and ninety-seven.’

Lucy couldn’t believe what she’d just witnessed. She looked at the two buttons again through her translatorspecs. ‘What, for crying out loud, did you press the button that says: “Press To Arm” for?’ she exclaimed,

The Joumalist was hopping round the Engine Room kicking himself.

‘I didn’t know it was a Dormillion bomb!’

‘What difference does it make? A bomb’s a bomb!’

‘I can’t explain!’

‘I need to know!’ insisted Lucy.

‘No you don’t!’

He was perfectly right Lucy, herself; wondered why she was pressing this point. She grabbed hold of The Journalist’s shoulders and shook him.

‘Look, you stupid berk! You’ve just done something really stupid and I have a right to know why!’

‘All right!’ The Journalist seemed to calm down. ‘It’s just that the Dormillion for “Press To Arm” is very similar to the Blerontin for ‘Please Press Dog”. It was just a simple mis-translation!’ he groaned. ‘I was wondering what the dog had to do with it!’

‘Great!’ said Lucy. ‘So now we really are up shit-creek without a bucket!’

‘Nine hundred and ninety-three… nine hundred and ninety-two… nine hundred and ninety-one’ continued the bomb.

‘WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?!’ she yelled.

‘We’re going to keep calm,’ said The Journalist.

‘Good thinking, The!’ snorted Lucy, summoning up her not inconsiderable reserves of sarcasm. ‘You clearly have a mind the size of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s humeral ligament! We’re running out of oxygen. The temperature’s rapidly becoming suitable for an Arctic Winter on Pluto! You’ve just activated what was otherwise a harmless bomb and now you have the nerve to tell me to stay calm!’

‘Who’s Arnold Schwarzenegger?’ asked The Joumalist.

‘Arrrrghhhhhhh!’ Lucy decided that a good scream was probably the wisest course of action under the circumstances.

The Journalist suddenly screamed as well. Lucy stopped her screaming and looked at him. ‘I’m sorry.’ he said. ‘It’s just I can’t think when you do that.’

‘I’m sorry too.’ Lucy felt stupid. The Journalist smiled, and then - for no apparent reason - gave her a kiss on the cheek. Lucy was so surprised to be kissed by an alien, with beautiful orange eyes, she simply stood there, and heard him say: ‘The dock is counting once every innim! That gives us about sixteen edoes before it gets to zero!’

‘How long’s an innim?’ Lucy wanted to say but her mouth wasn’t working. All she could do was stare into those strange and beautiful eyes as she heard him say:

‘What we must do is find the life-boats!’

Dan was still deep in argument with the desk lamp in the Embarkation Lobby. It was an argument he had become familiar with over the years with Top Ten Travel. But there was something wrong. Somehow he just wasn’t getting his points across. This damned desk lamp seemed to be coming out on top every time. Then Dan realized the problem was the air - or rather the lack of it - he just wasn’t getting the amount of oxygen into his brain that a travel agent needs to argue for a free upgrade.

He was panting and gasping. He was also on his knees and his head was beginning to spin.

‘If you want me to go to the Press and blow this story up - I’m quite happy to do so .. ‘ He knew once you were reduced to this line of attack the cause was probably lost. They’d never get into First Class, they’d never get to the Captain, and they’d all die of asphyxiation and cold. Great.

At that moment, he heard footsteps running across the loggia of the Central Well and an exhausted Lucy, accompanied by a strange man with bright orange eyes, staggered into the Embarkation Lobby. The two of them collapsed next to Dan and lay there trying to get their breath.

‘Who’s this?’ Dan was surprisingly indignant for someone who was in the process of dying of asphyxiation.

‘Bomb!’ gasped The Journalist.

‘You’re a bomb?’ said Dan.

‘No!’ Lucy felt she had to explain. ‘The, this is Dan. Dan, this is The.’

Dan blinked a few times.

‘There’s a bomb on board! It’s about to go off!’ The Journalist managed to get out. ‘We’ve got to get to the life-boats!’

‘They’re in First Class!’ explained Lucy. ‘Naturally.’

‘Now that is outrageous!’ Dan received this new ammunition gratefully and turned on the Deskbot. ‘If I tell the Travel Association that, they’ll blacklist your whole flicking fleet forever!’ Wow! That was some threat. Dan knew, they’d had it levelled against the Top Ten Travel Co. Inc. countless times.

The Deskbot tapped its fingers on the desk and gazed up at the ceiling.

‘D’you hear?’ exclaimed Dan. ‘I’ll close this whole goddamned company down!’

‘Listen you Dumbbot!’ The Journalist had grabbed the Deskbot by its scrawny stand. ‘This is a matter of life and death! There’s a bomb about to go off in. He checked his watch. ‘In ten edoes! Pangalin!’

‘How long’s that?’ asked Dan, but The Journalist wasn’t listening. He was too busy shaking the robot.

Suddenly there was a crack and a flash and all the lights went off for an instant.

‘Hey!’ cried everyone, and the lights came on again - although there was no cause and effect between the shout of ‘Hey!’ and the recommencement of illumination,

‘I’m sorry. There is nothing I can do unless you have a Galactic Gold Credit Card,’ replied the robot in a simulated strangled voice.

‘Pangalin!’ repeated The Journalist.

‘Please mind your language,’ croaked the Deskbot. ‘Don’t you have a credit card, The?’ asked Lucy - appalled to think her new friend might be not the most solvent character on Blerontin.

‘Not a Galactic Gold!’ he said.

‘Who is this?’ Dan had switched back to ‘Indignation Mode’.

‘You’ve got to earn over seven pnedes a week to get one of those beauties!’ The Journalist was still trying to strangle the Deskbot.

‘It’s getting really hard to breathe!’ choked Lucy.

Ice was now forming on the edge of the desk. Dan pointed at it. ‘You call that Super Galactic Class comfort?!’ he choked.

‘Take your hands off my flex!’ choked the Deskbot. ‘You’ll short me again!’

‘Get us into First Class NOW!’ choked The Journalist. ‘Or I’ll smash your lampshade!’

Lucy had collapsed on the floor, and Dan rushed to her, ‘Where did you find that guy? he whispered into her ear.

‘Save… your… breath…’ panted Lucy. ‘Argh!’ screamed the Deskbot. ‘Security!’

‘May you rot in Pangalin!’ yelled The Journalist

It was at that moment that an extraordinary thing happened. Or, rather, it was at that moment that an extraordinary thing crawled into the Embarkation Lobby, across the highly polished floor and up to the Deskbot.

It was clearly alive - although only just - and it was very old - very very very old. It was wizened and blackened. In its twig-like fingers the creature held a Personal Electronic Thingie. It waved this under the Deskbot’s nose and croaked in an ancient voice:

‘Upgrade… All of us!’

The Deskbot immediately sprang to attention and became perceptibly brighter.

‘Of course! Madam! What a pleasure to welcome you to the First Class facilities of the Starship Titanic, You will find them without equal anywhere in the Galaxy! Please go through and have a pleasant trip!’

There was a hiss of air returning to the cabins and an instant rise in temperature, as the ship registered the arrival of four First Class passengers. The door to the First Class Area swung open and Dan and Lucy, The Journalist and the Ancient Creature stepped through into another - and even more amazing -world.