Sister Ships and Alastair - Chapter 11

11. Do Not Push This Button If You Wish To Live

Tweedledum and Tweedledee were currently standing behind Cleo and Farthing as they sat in the bridge. Farthing sat upright, whilst Cleo was twirling her swivel chair boredly. Acting Captain Jenkins, still being more or less obeyed by his crew, was sending a report on a hand-held communicator, muttering to one of the NCO's. Despite the fact that he'd requested Cleo and Farthing's presence, he seemed to have far more interesting things to do than actually talk to them.
"You do realize", said Cleo to Jenkins' back, "that this is cutting into our valuable escaping time. I've been making a space suit out of my own earwax for the last two hours, and Penelope is making an intergalactic battlecruiser, though modesty forbids me to tell you out of what. Later on, I plan to dig my way to Altair with a spoon."
Lieutenant Jenkins didn't respond. Whilst he was not responding, Mr. Karg and Mr. Drague were led in by further soldiers. Cleo was unsure whether or not the Lieutenant had dared to put Mr. Drague under armed guard.
"Ah", said Jenkins, seeing Drague, "we have a quorum."
"What's a quorum?" said Cleo.
"A terrible thing", said Drague. "It has an indeterminate number of feet, though it usually has at least four, and at least two heads. It is sedentary, indolent, and incapable of coming to a decision. It is responsible for most of the evils of modern society." He looked up at his own guard, who Cleo mentally christened Tweedledorum. "I do hope, Mr. Jenkins, that I am under guard for my own safety."
"We may have a t-traitor on board", said Lieutenant Jenkins. "And if I allowed a Special Investigator to be ass-ass-assassinated, I'd end up on Alph-Alpha Four." He nodded at Callaway.
Callaway cleared his throat. "We've discovered the transmitter, Mr. Drague. Or rather, we've discovered how the transmission was done. It was rather an ingenious splice into our main comms trunk. They were hiding their own messages in our transmissions. We only noticed it after we'd been combing through the ship for a transmitter for ten hours straight without finding anything, and one of the crew had the idea of suiting up and going outside the hull. A lot of the wiring runs outside, sir. It doesn't corrode in space, though we have problems with it if we're laid up in atmosphere too long -"
"I see", said Drague. "And who is 'they'?"
"We've no idea, sir", said Callaway. "But the signal switched off the minute I said I'd discovered it -"
"- Implying someone was listening when you said that", finished Drague. "Have you checked the bridge area for bugs?"
"Yes sir. Unless they're capable of hiding a microphone in a grain of sand, we found nothing. If anyone was listening, they were standing in the bridge area at the time."
"Can you show me the device you found outside the hull?"
Wordlessly, Callaway passed over a small coil of wire ending in a limpet-shaped device with a delicate fan-like spray issuing from the limpet's tip.
"Quite beautiful", said Drague, turning it over in his hands. "More organism than machine. But this is a fibre optic cable, this is a magnetic clamp for fixing it to Black Prince's hull, and this floaty wispy thing here is a radio antenna. Whoever planted this uses the same technology as we do. These are not fearful monsters who are immune to radar and can be killed only with a Drano bullet. They are enough like us to be sure that if we prick them, they will bleed." He moved to hand the transmitter back to Callaway. "Mr. Jenkins, we must make sure, when we get back to port, that all the other vessels in the fleet are inspected for such devices -"
Then, almost as soon as Drague had picked it up, the assembly crumbled to ash in his hands. The long fibre optic cable pulverised first, followed by the delicate fan. Finally, he held only the limpet-like main unit in his palm. Experimentally, he closed his fist, and it disintegrated, leaving only powder.
"Ingenious", he said. "Designed to destroy itself, leaving no evidence."
"Is that a technology we're familiar with?" said Farthing mockingly.
Drague shrugged. "I have no doubt we could do it if we wanted. The great trick wouldn't be making it disintegrate, but making it stay intact and work perfectly just long enough..."
Jenkins held up a heavy glass cylinder. "We m-might also want to have the other sh-ships in the fleet checked out for th-this stuff."
This stuff was a blob of royal blue jelly at the bottom of the cylinder, clinging to the utterly smooth glass walls by some unknown means.
"It'll be out of this c-container, given time", said Jenkins. "It appears to stick to the s-sides by c-cold-welding itself onto the g-glass."
"It's lying around in pools inside the Beria, sir", said Kay, who had led the boarding party. "Open up an inspection hatch, and it drains out like blue snot. Tons of that stuff, but not a human body to be seen. Hardly any blood, even."
"No b-blood at all?" said Jenkins.
"There was a big patch near one of the airlocks, but it had bulletholes in the bulkhead nearby. Russian bulletholes. I prised out a TP-82 shell out of one with a knife. I think one of the Russkie crew shot one of their own by mistake."
"When you say it will it be out of the container soon," said Drague uncomfortably, "how soon is soon?"
"Oh, a few m-months", said Jenkins. "And v-vacuum kills it easily. We've not tried any of the solvents or drain cleaner on it yet. C-coca-c-cola just m-makes it mad."
"Is its DNA alien?"
"We h-have no DNA typing equipment on b-board, I'm afraid. This is a w-warship, not a p-police station." Jenkins held the cylinder up to the light. "But it looks p-pretty alien to me. And alive. If you drop a p-piece of meat into it, it grows."
"What about plant matter?" said Drague.
"N-no. Just meat. It's c-clearly c-c-carnivorous."
"But it can't eat human skin, or it wouldn't move towards orifices. Trying to find a way in."
"W-we haven't verified that experimentally, sir."
"Well, we can do so now." Drague looked up at Cleo. "Miss Shakespeare, would you mind awfully coming up here and putting your hand in this jar?"
"What?" said Cleo.
"It's perfectly safe. You said so yourself. Drain cleaner will kill it. You were telling the truth, weren't you?"
Farthing tried to rise from her chair, to find two soldiers' hands on her shoulders, impassable as railway buffers.
"This is against the Rules of War", she complained.
"As I've said before", said Drague irritably, "Miss Shakespeare and yourself are not prisoners of war, hence not covered by your so-called Rules."
"So I suppose I'd be hallucinating if I insisted I were being held prisoner by two members of the Army", said Farthing.
"Absolutely correct", said Drague. "These gentlemen would be quite hurt to be called members of the Army. They are in fact members of Her Majesty's Royal Terrene Commandos, an elite corps who serve only on board spacecraft. Miss Shakespeare, your hand, please."
Cleo walked forward to the jar.
"CLEO", said Lieutenant Farthing.
"You've got all the ingredients of drain cleaner ready to try", said Cleo to Jenkins as she looked into the jar. The ooze seemed to sense her presence, moving around the walls of its prison to be closer to her.
Jenkins nodded. "S-sodium salts and b-bases."
Cleo nodded back. "I was telling the truth", she said, unscrewing the lid of the jar. As the lid popped open, the blob in the jar changed direction, flowing higher up the cylinder, as if anticipating an opportunity to escape. Keeping her eyes fixed on Drague's, Cleo thrust in her fist
"Excellent", said Drague. "Mr. Jenkins, your sodium compounds, if you please."
Jenkins glanced at a rating, who took the hint and vanished from the room.
"I wonder", said Drague, beaming at Cleo, "if this will hurt."
"SIR", cautioned Petty Officer Kay, looking at Jenkins in horrified disgust. Jenkins refused to meet his gaze.
It was cold, like pulling on a thick rubber glove and plunging her hand into icewater in the same movement. It enveloped her wrist. It moved upwards to her forearm.
"Sir, I really must protest", said Petty Officer Kay. Jenkins pursed his lips and continued to stare at the spread of the blue tide over Cleo.
"Now, Cleo", said Drague gently, "or Lieutenant Farthing, I really don't care who - what is the precise location of Gondolin?"
Cleo gasped against the cold. "I thought you already knew."
Drague shrugged. "I have a source of information. But that source of information might have been lying."
"Quantrill", said Cleo. "Mr. Quantrill. You arrested him a year ago." The circle of cold had risen past her elbow now. Drague did not react.
"For god's sake", said Farthing, “she doesn't know."
"Possibly not", said Drague, looking up at Farthing, "but you do."
"M-Mr. Drague", said Lieutenant Jenkins warningly.
"This is an internal security matter", said Drague. "I'll thank you not to interfere." All round the bridge, crewmen's faces were looking death at Drague; but Drague did not die.
A blue film now completely coated Cleo's arm. A crewman clattered up the companionway into the bridge, clutching a beaker of what Cleo fervently hoped was an ingredient of Drano.
"I'm very interested to see what happens once it finds a way in", said Drague.
"For heaven's sake, why can't you figure out where Gondolin is for yourself?" protested Farthing. "It's closer than you think!"
Cleo gritted her teeth against the cold. "Either you hit me with the sodium compounds right now, Alastair, or I am going to shake you warmly by the hand."
A flicker of uncertainty appeared in Drague's eyes. "Hold her."
Cleo cackled with difficulty; her own voice sounded strange now. "Who's going to hold me? Which arm are they going to hold?" Spreading itself thinly, the goo rippled out along her collarbone, searching for her face.
"Shoot her, then", said Drague. He backed away, putting a chair between Cleo and himself.
"M-Mr. Tyler", said Jenkins to the rating. The rating nodded and poured the clear solution over Cleo's shoulder. Her arm steamed. Cleo shrieked. The blue goo, meanwhile, bubbled, crisped and fell away from her arm onto the deck. The rating continue to pour the solution onto the deck, and on Cleo's neck, forearm and hand.
"OW! OW! OW! Watch where you're doing that!"
"M-make sure you get all of it", said Jenkins. "Mr. Callaway, another b-beaker, quick. W-water this time, and p-plenty of it. Mr. Drague - Special Investigator or no, if you endanger my c-crew again like that, I c-can and will have you sh-shot. Her M-Majesty's forces do not indulge in t-torture."
"If you say so", said Drague quietly.
Jenkins looked up at Cleo. "D-does it hurt?"
"YES OF COURSE IT BLOODY WELL HURTS."
Callaway returned with a hastily-filled beaker. Jenkins took it and began pouring it over the affected areas.
"Th-this convinces me", he said, "th-that the Beria is too d-dangerous an environment to be d-directly connected to us. We'll d-disconnect the docking tube and b-back off to a d-distance of thirty metres. Keeping vacuum b-between it and us."
"Lieutenant", said Drague, "inspecting that wreck is a heaven-sent intelligence opportunity. We have no idea how the Soviets' N-PAWS system works. How do they accelerate the neutrons? How do they aim them? How do they shield the rest of the ship against residual radiation?"
"M-meanwhile", continued Jenkins, as if Drague had not spoken, "a j-jollyboat will be sent down to the p-planetary surface to investigate the signal. A p-pilot will be required, along with two g-ground observers." He turned to Penelope Farthing. "W-we're still in Soviet space. I c-can spare no pilots."
Farthing thought this over, then nodded curtly. "I insist on checking the vessel over myself", said Farthing, "before I take charge of her."
Jenkins nodded. "I w-would expect nothing less."
"And I have one more condition."
Jenkins frowned. He had an unfortunate forehead that creased like a washboard when he frowned. "Which is?"
"We don't take Black Prince's jollyboat. We take the Beria's. There may be automated defence systems down there, and they may fire on a NATO ship. A Russian ship will contain friendly IFF transponders. They won't fire on it."
Jenkins considered this.
"The b-boat will need to be d-de-gooped", he said.
"We'll be wearing suits", said Farthing. "And I'll evacuate the cabin. No goop will be able to touch us. It'll make it easier for you to shoot us down too", she pointed out, "if you need to."
Jenkins considered some more.
"All right", he said. "You w-will, of course, b-be bringing the B-Beria's jollyboat back, because M-Miss Shakespeare will be staying here."
"With him", said Farthing, glaring at Drague.
"N-no", said Jenkins. "I c-can't spare any ground observers either. Mr. Drague will be g-going down with you."
Even Petty Officer Kay's eyes boggled. "Say again, sir?"
Drague's eyes narrowed. "Lieutenant, I must protest."
"P-protest heard", said Jenkins, "and d-denied. B-based on what I have just seen, the p-planet is a lower risk environment. I am k-keeping you safe, sir."
"Do you really think a court martial will believe that, Lieutenant?"
"I f-fail to see how I could become the s-subject", said Jenkins, "of a court martial."
"Lieutenant, you have a dangerous enemy agent on board this vessel. You need to identify and neutralize that agent before he or she does serious damage. With respect, none of your men are trained to do this. I am trained to do it. It is what I do all day, every day."
"And w-we have s-seen your methods in action", said Jenkins. "You are going down to the p-planet, sir. I am sure your intelligence gathering s-skills will be very useful there."
Drague glared at Jenkins, but made no further protest.
***
Black Prince's jollyboat was a glorified, enlarged version of Jervis Bay's lifeboat, more a flying fingerbowl than a flying saucer. The crew compartment was a Lexan dome with space for three heads inside it.
"Lieutenant Farthing", said Cleo, as Farthing familiarized herself with the controls in Black Prince's boat deck, "you will return safely, preferably after finding a pool of goo to dump Alastair in. That is an order."
Farthing grinned. "I don't take orders from civilians. But I'll bear it in mind. Black Prince has no maps of Krasnaya 3's surface - the Russians are very secretive about this system. But long range radar seems to indicate the signal is coming from a high plateau on the equator. That would be a prime position for the Soviets to put a settlement. At the equator, it costs less energy to launch payloads into space -"
"- because the planet is rotating faster", finished Cleo. "I read up on it."
Penelope grinned. " Have you ever considered learning to fly one of these things? We need all the pilots we can get. How good are your maths? What's x minus one times x plus one?"
Cleo thought a moment, then said: "That's easy. X squared minus one."
"You'll go a long way. Ask me about flight training when we get back to Gondolin."
Cleo tried to smile back. As if we're ever going back to Gondolin. "Rating Tyler is trying to locate Krasnaya 3 maps inside the Beria's computer system. He says he'll transmit them to you on the way down if he finds any. Good luck, Lieutenant."
"Call me Penelope", said Penelope. "Now you need to clear the deck. I'll be closing the canopy as soon as my passengers get on board, and then they'll be pumping the air out of the compartment for launch." Without looking round, she said: "How many of my passengers have guns?"
Cleo looked to Drague and the other ground observer, a Terrene sergeant called Crawshaw. "Only the big stupid one. Alastair would probably consider carrying a weapon undignified."
Penelope nodded. "I could throw the ship into a fifteen-gee turn as soon as we hit atmosphere, black them out, turn the ship upside down, pop the canopy and pull the quick releases on their harnesses. They'd wake up hitting the ground head first at three hundred kilometres per hour. But I won't do that", she added, "because I am a nice person."
"I don't think Captain Jenkins or his crew would care much if you did it to Alastair", said Cleo. "Why did you want to check the boat over?"
"I aways check a vessel over before flying it", said Farthing. "It's the telling everyone I'm going to that's uncommon. It discourages foolish people from thinking they might interfere with it in some way. Our Acting Captain Jenkins probably thinks he's in big trouble with the Shadow Ministry when he gets home, and he's probably right. That trouble might be seriously reduced if Mr. Drague were to suffer an unfortunate accident."
"I don't think an accident will be needed", said Cleo. "It's going to be dangerous down there."
"Not as dangerous as I am", said Farthing. "I am coming back. And when I do come back, you'd better be ready to escape. We have more friends out there than you think."
With that cryptic comment, she fell to checking the warning lights on the console again. A crewman put his hands on Cleo's shoulders, ushering her away.
"See you soon."
"I certainly hope so."
"ONCE YOU G-GET DOWN TO THE SURFACE", said Jenkins, "S-STAY IN YOUR S-SUITS. IT'LL BE UNCOMFORTABLE, B-BUT THE GUNGE ISN'T CAPABLE OF PENETRATING S-SUIT FABRIC -"
As Penelope's passengers climbed into the skiff and settled into their seats, the canopy closed over their heads. Valves hissed open in the boat deck walls. A red sign flashing on the wall told everyone: LAUNCH IN PROGRESS.
Cleo allowed herself to be led away.
***
"Atmospheric entry relatively gentle", came Farthing's voice over the bridge intercom. A 1960's-sized television screen in the forward bulkhead showed the jollyboat's pitot needle glowing red hot and vibrating like a tuning fork against a crimson horizon. "Estimations of wind speed were correct...weather systems seem very sluggish in line with planetary tilt and rotation..."
Disbelief entered her voice. "I'm picking up a landing beacon...I have no idea what it's telling me..."
"Let me see", said Drague's voice. "It says 'Alter course to eighty-nine degrees, maintain current height, and reduce speed to Mach Two.' I suggest you do so if you don't want to be shot down."
"Are you s-still picking up the distress signal?" said Jenkins.
The transmission broke momentarily; then Farthing's voice replied: "Yes. On the same bearing as the beacon."
"That makes s-sense. They're p-probably using the t-traffic control comms at the s-spaceport. Keep in touch. Every ten m-minutes, without fail."
"Don't worry. I want to be rescued quickly in the event of attack by brain-gobbling nightmares."
"Remember", said Lieutenant Jenkins, "brain-gobbling nightmares are m-more afraid of you than you are of them."
"Golly", said the intercom, "they must be terrified. Out."
The radio went dead.
"What happens to me now?" said Cleo. "Do I have to go back to my cell?"
"D-do you want to go back to your cell?" said Jenkins.
"Not really."
"D-do you promise to behave and n-not get in anyone's way?"
This was dreadfully unfair, as it put Cleo on her honour. She had already thought of three separate ways of leaving the cell, though many of them, to be fair, involved Pretending To Be Ill And Somehow Overpowering The Guard. "All right."
"Th-then treat the ship as your own, APART FROM the r-reactor room, the c-computer room, the armoury, the pharmacy, all the airlocks, and the c-communal space toilet."
"COMMUNAL SPACE TOILET???"
"It's all right, it's all right, you can use the c-captain's. He h-has his own, you know. H-he's not going to be using it for a while."
"Thank you." Cleo shifted nervously from leg to leg. "Actually, I was beginning to worry about the toilet thing. Could you tell me where it is?"
Jenkins looked gravely at Petty Officer Kay. Petty Officer Kay whistled through his teeth, fished a key from his pocket, and walked over to the aft bulkhead, where he opened a storage compartment and took out two heavy binders. He handed one, a blue one, to Cleo. Its title read: MCDONNELL DOUGLAS TWYFORDS M382117 AUTOMATED FREE FALL TOILET, USE AND MAINTENANCE OF. It was as thick as a brick, and twice as heavy.
"Is this some attempt at humour?" said Cleo.
Petty Officer Kay looked more closely at the binder.
"Sorry, ma'am", he said. "That's the Men's version." He blew the dust off the other, pink binder, which appeared to be as thick as a house wall. "This is the Ladies'. It hasn't been updated in a while, not since Her Majesty come on board."
"Her Majesty The Queen?" said Cleo in surprise.
"Yes", said Petty Officer Kay, sniffing back a tear of fierce pride. "Her Madge took a dump on my ship. Of course", he added darkly, "it had to be on that occasion that we first encountered M382117 Design Feature Number Three Hundred And Fifty Three. Took us a good few hours to jemmy her free."
"Does the Queen know about these ships, then?" said Cleo.
Petty Officer Kay shook his head. "We landed her in a dry dock in Tyneside overnight. The Queen was told she was a top secret new type of minesweeper. The champagne smashed on the hull right enough, and the lads got to see Her Madge launch the ship." His voice quavered with heartfelt emotion.
"I'd better take both manuals", said Cleo. "In case there's no paper."
***
Cleo was sitting, her pants round her ankles, in what the manual described as The Evacuation Cubicle. The Evacuation Cubicle contained a button marked TURBO FLUSH. Underneath the button, someone had sellotaped a message saying DO NOT PUSH THIS BUTTON IF YOU WISH TO LIVE.
She had read through chapters one to five of the pink manual, up to IN-FLIGHT PRE-CLEANING OF THE UNIT. It had taken some time for her to realize that 'The Unit' meant the toilet. Use Of The Unit involved on no account making a vacuum in the seat / buttock interface and advised sitting in position A at all times. The manual illustrated several other possible sitting positions. Position A looked highly uncomfortable. Position B was closer to Cleo's habitual sitting position, since it involved a good deal of slouching. The book, however, cautioned against slouching, advising that POSITIONS THAT SLOUCH MAKE YOU GO OUCH, and added ominously that this may force parts of the End User close to the turbine blades.
Position C looked unattainable by any actual real human being. Positions D and E were insanitary, Position F was definitely for men only, position G could theoretically be accomplished by a woman though Cleo was aware of no woman who would want to, and position H, whilst being marginally physically possible, would involve artful use of ricochet to actually land anything in the toilet bowl. However, Cleo reminded herself that the manual had been written for people from the Armed Forces.
Her mobile phone rang. Cleo answered it, and spent several seconds talking to a dead piece of plastic whilst continuing to listen to an unfamiliar ringtone before she realized that the phone ringing was the new one given her by Drague.
"Alastair", she said. "This had better be good. You have caught me at a difficult time."
"The M382117 Evacuation Cubicle, I take it? Personally, I always hold it in."
Cleo peered at the control panel. "Do you know which stool density to set it for on a high-fibre cereal breakfast?"
"It's yesterday's lunch you need to consider. Solids take eighteen hours to work their way through the system."
"You are a mine of information. What can I do for you?"
"Unlikely as it seem, Cleopatra, you are the only person I can trust."
Cleo almost fell out of position A in indignation. "Alastair, you just tried to kill me."
"I said I could trust you, not you could trust me. Lieutenant Jenkins has persisted in his foolish idea of sending me down to the planet, but there is still a potential saboteur on board Black Prince, with Lieutenant Jenkins, and with you. Captaining starships is not my forte. Catching saboteurs is."
"What the pooping heck makes you think you can trust me? And where is the paper in this thing?"
"There is no paper. I only report this; I do not condone it. There is a set of five buttons on your right, going up from COMBAT WIPE to FULL GROOVE AUDIT. Do not under any circumstances press FULL GROOVE AUDIT. COMBAT WIPE will do fine. Whoever planted the signalling device on Black Prince did so in order to make sure the attack on the Krasnaya system happened just before we arrived."
Cleo selected COMBAT WIPE and shifted her weight around on the seat. "I can't feel anything. Are you sure anything has happened? And how do you know why the signalling device was planted?"
"What part of COMBAT WIPE did you not understand? I don't believe in coincidences any more than you do. The Russians just happen to arrive just after New Dixie is attacked? We just happen to arrive just after an attack on Krasnaya? There's only one answer to that - they already knew we were on the way here before they attacked. Whoever is doing this had a ship parked just outside the Krasnaya system, waiting for a coded signal that a British or American ship was about to pass close enough to Krasnaya to pick up a distress call. That coded signal was, of course, sent by our saboteur."
"I hope you realize I'm now having to use up my entire collection of till receipts. And they're not very absorbent...so why would anyone want to lure us to look at a disaster they'd created themself?"
"In order to set off a war between America and Russia. And if we accept that this is true, then we also have to accept that the saboteur has to belong to a third party who would benefit from such a war. And I'm looking at the United States of the Zodiac."
Cleo was enraged, not least because her till receipts were exceptionally small.
"WILL you leave the US Zed alone? Lieutenant Farthing is brave and good and nice. And, and, and her hair looks really nice the way she's done it."
"She had both the means and the opportunity to put that signalling device on board Black Prince. As did, erm, everybody currently on board, I have to admit, apart from yourself and, I hate to say it, Hammond Karg. Karg was under close arrest the whole time; he could not possibly have placed the device. You are the only two people I am absolutely sure cannot be the saboteur. Apart from myself. You are now thinking of pressing the TURBO FLUSH button. Do not do so."
Cleo gulped. She had been about to do just that, despite the warning notice. "What do I do instead?"
"Press the SUMMON ENGINEER button. The member of the crew the Petty Officer most dislikes will be along to take care of things with a Manual Workaround."
"A Manual Workaround?"
"A plastic bag and a trowel."
Cleo was incensed. "You call this Space Age technology?"
"I'm afraid the Nine Thousand was designed as part of the Anglo American Onwards and Upwards Outer Space Cooperation Programme in the nineteen sixties. It's a glorious example of what two nations can achieve when working in harmony." The phone was silent for a second as Drague paused for thought. "How clean is it in there, by the way? Is it booby-trapped at all? Clingfilm under the seat? Altairean Death Scarabs hidden in the bowl?"
Cleo's hand shook on the mobile phone. She looked down into the bowl very, very slowly. "I have no idea. What does an Altairean Death Scarab look like?"
"You'd notice it if there was one. It's just under the diameter of the human bottom. Lives on poo and will go to surprising lengths to get it."
"There is no such creature. And it seems fairly clean in here."
"That probably means he's a fairly popular captain. They say the quality of a commander's private toilet is an indicator of how he stands with his men."
"How's your private toilet?" said Cleo sarcastically.
"Terrible", said Drague. "Now - will you help me? Even if the trail leads to your confederates in the US Zed?"
"If they're trying to start a nuclear war", said Cleo, "they won't be my confederates any longer."
"That's the spirit."
"But the trail won't lead to them. Because they're on the level. Where are you at the moment? Did you land safely?"
"Yes. At the Soviet equivalent of a starport terminal. All their personnel transports look like redesigned attack craft. I had thought this place stank of the fetid stench of Death, until I realized it probably smelt this way to begin with. The woodland location is nice, though."
"Woodland location?"
"Yes. The terminal and town are just clearings in the middle of a sea of trees. Weird black trees like wooden seaweed, I'll grant you, but trees nonetheless. Lieutenant Farthing is walking around outside attempting to get a second bearing on the distress signal so we can triangulate -"
"Penelope's outside, on her own? You split up? Mr. Drague, that's what they always do in movies just before they DIE."
"Penelope is outside with a big strong Royal Terrene Commando. I am in here on my own, hoping I am not being crept up on by something blue and gooey. You need to find Hammond Karg, Cleopatra. You have work to do. It may affect whether or not we all leave this place alive -"
Cleo clicked the phone off, and waited, staring at it. It did not ring again.
A knock sounded on the door.
"Yes?" said Cleo.
"Uh, begging your pardon Miss. Manual workaround."
"Oh. Oh yes, of course. I'll be out in a minute."