Dangers Among the Dancers (Troubleshooters 6)

By Dr E J Yeaman

Hi. I’m Tony. Bea (my girl cousin) and I are training to be agents of the Galactic Federation. Our last task was a three-day trek to the base on the planet Dancer 88. But we found it trashed, and the Scientists gone. And, while we were looking around, a boy transported from Dancer 61 and collapsed in agony.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dr E J Yeaman
• Release date: May 12, 2020

Dr E J Yeaman

I retired (early) and started a new career as a writer. I wrote short stories and articles. Some were published; some won prizes; some sank without trace.Having heard my stories, two friends suggested I should write for children. I’d never thought of that, although I’d spent my first career communicating with young people – as a Chemistry teacher, and running clubs for badminton, chess, table tennis and hillwalking.I tried writing for young people – and I loved it. It became my main occupation. I sent samples to publishers. One asked to see a complete story. In excitement, I sent it off. Then nothing. After four months, I rang, and was told the manuscript was being considered: I would be notified. Then more nothing. Now, after eight years, I no longer rush to the door when the letter box rattles.But I kept writing the stories because I enjoyed it so much. Until, in late 2013, I learned I could publish my stories and games as e-books. Since then, I’ve been polishing and issuing some of them. I hope everyone enjoys reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them.Check out the series:C: Charades – party game – a new twist to the traditional game.D: Diagags – party game – gags written as plays for two people.M: My Story – novels – classical stories, told by the heroes.O: One-Offs – party game – guess the titles, not quite the classical ones.P: Pop Tales – short stories – inspired by 60s and 70s hit songs.Q: Quote-Outs – word games – can you deduce the missing words?S: Inside Story – novels – a boy’s adventures inside classical stories.T: Troubleshooters – novels – space adventures for young people.

Book preview

1

LOOK OUT, TONY SIR!

Look out, Tony sir! Carrington called the warning.

Falcon whipped out his stun-gun and fired over my shoulder. An apeman, bursting from the bushes, dropped his club and fell at my feet. With grunts of rage, another four charged, but my gun was out now, and they didn’t reach us.

Falcon and I were trainee agents of the Galactic Federation. For the last part of our training, a spaceship had left us in a remote part of the planet Dancer 88. We had to find our way to the Federation base, thirty-six kilometres away.

The place had no trees, but big clumps of bushes – with black leaves. In the gaps between them, pale grey rocks stuck out from cream-coloured grass. Even on a sunny day, it looked like a black and white picture.

Over our uniforms we were wearing thin, tough expedition suits. We carried backpacks containing everything we might need, from a First Aid kit to an inflatable tent. We had stun-guns and big knives on clips at our waists.

And we had Carrington, our flying robot – like a flying saucer about a metre across. He could see and hear and speak. He could also go for help if we got in too much trouble.

The base was on the top of a hill. We hurried up the slope, hoping to reach it before dark.

That was Falcon’s idea. Dancer 88 had a short day – less than six Earth hours. We could’ve done the trip easily in three days, but Falcon had suggested we should try it in two. For one night, we liked sitting outside our tent, looking at the silver planets dotted across the sky, but the base was more comfortable.

Falcon asked, Carrington, how far to the base?

About half a kilometre, Falcon sir.

Falcon checked his wrist unit. We can do it. Come on, Tony. He jogged off, up the hill.

Coming. I hurried after him, trying to be patient.

Falcon was a big fourteen-year-old, and I was an average-sized nearly-thirteen-year-old. So he took charge. I could’ve argued. As a trainee agent, his Federation rank was 1. I’d done two missions before the training, so my rank was 337. Federation rules say the agent with the highest rank is in command of the mission, but that didn’t bother Falcon.

He did listen to me once. I suggested sending Carrington to find a way round the patches of bushes. That helped us to make good time.

He should’ve listened to me again. The darkness fell quickly – before we reached the base, although we could see its square roof over the tops of the bushes. As usual, Falcon was about ten metres ahead of me.

Wait, Falcon, I called. It’s so dark I can’t see my feet. Let’s use our torches.

It’s not worth it, he called over his shoulder. We’ll be there in a couple of minutes.

I took another ten steps before I got sensible. I was kneeling beside my pack, getting out my torch, when his voice came from the dark bushes ahead. What’s…? Hey! Tony, come and give a hand. Carrington! Tony! Help! Help!

2

TONY! HELP!

Falcon’s shouts rang through the darkness. Carrington zoomed ahead as I fitted the torch to my helmet, swung the pack over my shoulders and ran forward with my stun-gun in my hand.

Tony! Help! His voice was louder, desperate, mingling with a chorus of hoots, like a bunch of excited owls.

I ran through a gap and found him, stuck in a huge web, stretched between two bushes. His right arm was at his side, and his left arm was in the air. The hooting came from a swarm of huge flies, fluttering round his head with their wings flashing like sheets of light in my torch beam.

Carrington was swooping around, trying to shake two of them off.

Tony! Falcon’s voice was a scream. The hooting grew louder as the flies settled on his shoulders, round his face.

I fanned everything with the gun – including Falcon because the flies were so near him. He sagged in the web, and his shouts faded.

Thank you, Tony sir, said Carrington as the unconscious bodies slid off him.

I stood, heart thumping, swinging the gun round, searching the darkness for more flies. The only movement was the fluttering of the leaves, shining black where my beam hit them.

Carrington, I said. Are these the Kuk?

Yes, Tony sir. I urged them not to attack Falcon, but they wouldn’t listen to me.

Tell me if you see any more of them.

Certainly, Tony sir. He soared up. His camera eye could work in the light of the planets which were now gleaming in the black sky.

Stevenson, the leader of the scientists in the Dancer 88 base, had warned us about the Kuk (– which sounds like ‘cook’). They were the intelligent life of the planet. Their bodies were sausage-shaped, about the size of a rabbit and the colour of old newspaper. They had six legs like black wire. Their heads were triangular, with big bulging eyes in the top corners and, in the bottom corner, a thin tube like a syringe needle which they used to suck the blood of animals, usually the apemen, which they caught in the webs.

About ten of them were lying around Falcon’s feet. I couldn’t bear to touch them, so I put my boot under them and rolled them aside.

Falcon was sagging in the strands with his eyes shut and small beads of red on the soft skin at the sides of his throat. I took a reanimator from the First Aid kit and, keeping away from the sticky strands of the web, put it to Falcon’s forehead and pressed the green button.

His eyes opened. Thanks, Tony.

Sorry I’d to stun you.

Forget it. Thanks again. D’you have any water left? Stevenson had told us the webs softened and dissolved in water.

Enough to free your right arm. Then you can defend yourself while I go up to the base for more. I splashed the water from my drinking flask over his right arm and gun. How’s your neck?

My neck? He tried to lift his hand to it, and swore when he couldn’t. It feels OK. What does it look like?

I think it’s stopped bleeding.

He spoke more quietly. Tony, d’you think these are the Kuk that Stevenson told us about?

Yeah.

Stevenson had warned us to keep away from the webs. Dancer 88 was a member of the Federation, so agents mustn’t do anything to disturb the intelligent life. These flies were the intelligent life. And I hadn’t just disturbed them; I’d stunned about ten of them.

Falcon said, Sorry, Tony. I’ve got you in trouble. D’you think these Kuk will complain?

If they do, the Federation’ll have two less trainee agents. But I don’t think these are the civilised Kuk. We’ll have to hope they don’t know about complaining to the Federation. Some of the Kuk were civilised – they kept herds of apemen like we keep cows.

Yeah. If they do, I’ll say it was my fault.

Carrington, I called. Would you guard Falcon? Tell the base I’m coming for water.

I’m sorry, Tony sir. The base doesn’t answer. I fear something is wrong.

Nonsense, Carrington, said Falcon. They’re asleep.

Not all of them, I said. There’s always somebody on duty.

These planets are called the Dancers because they whirl round their sun in a crazy waltz. There are billions (that means billions) of them, of all sizes from planets to specks of dust. The base had a special computer which tracked the biggest ones. A scientist had to be on duty, to send out a ship to shift any lump of rock if the computer calculated it was going to hit one of the two inhabited planets.

Using the torch, I walked cautiously up the hill. No doubt there was a simple reason why the base didn’t answer, but….

I faced the door. Open. It slid aside.

The travel centre was dark and silent but, when I stepped in, the glowing ceiling came on, showing the entrance to the transporter corridor at the left, the door to the base at the right – and, between them, a screen of Victor, the Federation computer, smashed, with the broken pieces glittering on the floor.

I whispered, Close. The door slid shut. Everything stayed quiet, eerily quiet.

I crept across to the base. The door was open, and the entrance hall was empty. My Federation boots made no noise on the soft floor as I crossed to the control room.

It looked like it had been hit by a whirlwind. A whirlwind with an axe. The big screen, which should be showing a picture of that solar system, was shattered. Under it, the computer unit was smashed, with big holes showing wrecked circuits inside. My feet crunched over broken plastic from the screen.

Since we left, the base had had visitors. Unfriendly visitors.

3

TONY, GIVE’S A HAND.

With my stun-gun in my hand, I checked the rest of the base. The store looked OK, but, in the accommodation corridor, every door was open, and every screen was smashed. Even the screen in the dining room was broken.

I went into a bathroom, where the tap was working. I filled my flask and the empty food canisters I’d used on the trip. I tipped everything out of my pack, loaded these and ran down to Falcon.

Tony! Where have you been?

I’m sorry. The base has been trashed.

What!

Yeah. And the scientists are gone. I used the water to dissolve the strands that held Falcon to the bushes – and to free his legs so he could walk. Leaving the stunned Kuk, we hurried to the base.

We ordered Carrington to guard it, and ran to the transporter corridor. A transporter is a little metal room like a lift, used for going instantly from one planet to another (nearby). Dancer 88 had three transporters. One led to another part of Dancer 88, where the civilised Kuk lived. One went to Dancer 61, the other inhabited planet. The third led to the Federation base on Ookle Alpha 4, where we could report to the commander.

As we went into the corridor, the Dancer 61 transporter door opened – and the agony hit my mind. The Federation likes young people from Earth as agents because we can sense the feelings of people and animals of other planets.

A boy staggered out of the transporter, gasping. His mind was giving out so much pain that mine couldn’t stand it. I sank onto the seat in the bay on the other side of the corridor, and covered my face with my hands.

The agony faded. The boy had fainted. I took deep breaths while the echoes of that pain rang in my head.

Tony, give’s a hand. Falcon’s voice roused me. The boy had collapsed, and Falcon was kneeling beside him. I helped him to roll the limp body onto its back.

He looked about my age, with a round face, red-brown skin and short black hair. He wore a faded blue sweatshirt and trousers. His pulse was strong, as far as I could tell.

More feelings, cruel feelings, made me look up. While we were helping the boy, five men had come out of the same transporter, the Dancer 61 one, and were looking down at us.

Like the boy, they were red-brown, but their sweatshirts and trousers weren’t faded blue but bright red, the colour of a tomato. Round their waists they had black belts – with a gun on the right hip.

Falcon kept kneeling beside the boy, but I backed away. One of the men, with three white bands round the upper arms of his sweatshirt, shouted a command. It was in his own language, but I knew what he meant – partly from his thoughts and partly because he was waving us away from the boy’s body. They’d come to take him back to Dancer 61.

Their cruelty. The boy’s agony. He must’ve been trying to get away from them. With his last strength, he’d made a desperate bid to escape. I couldn’t let them take him away. I couldn’t!

4

I AM LICHU.

I couldn’t let these men take the boy back, when he’d tried so desperately to escape from them.

I called, Leave him alone!

The leader wasn’t wearing a wrist unit, so he wouldn’t understand what I said, but he ignored me. He called orders to his men. They moved towards the boy – and Falcon who was looking back and forward between the men and me.

No! I drew my stun-gun and pointed it at them.

The leader looked at me with a nasty smile on his face. He gave a sharp command, and two of the men came towards me.

No! I had enough courage (or fear) to pull the trigger. Without a sound, they collapsed, and their minds faded.

With a shout of anger, the leader jumped behind Falcon, putting his arm round Falcon’s throat and bringing out his gun.

I rayed both of them, then the other two soldiers, who’d started to draw their guns. They fell too.

I stared at the bodies, my heart thumping. What had I done now? I’d stunned five soldiers from a Federation planet.

I used the reanimator on Falcon – again. He scowled at me. Tony, what d’you think you’re doing?

I’m sorry I had to stun you again. Didn’t you sense it?

Sense what? I sense you’ve got yourself in more trouble. Real trouble.

Something’s wrong, Falcon. What d’you sense in these men’s minds?

I wasn’t paying attention. They were grim. No fun. I wouldn’t invite them to a party.

Didn’t you notice? They were cruel? Ruthless?

Yeah. I suppose. He picked up the leader’s gun and studied it – dark brown and T-shaped. They certainly weren’t friendly. He turned it over in his hand. Sure about that?

Yeah.

He stared at me for a few seconds. Fair enough.

Thanks, Falcon. He was taking my word. During our training, we’d found I was better at sensing minds than the others.

He threw down the gun and stood up. Let’s get the boy to hospital. What should we do with them? He prodded the leader with the toe of his boot.

Leave them. I’ll have to report.

We carried the boy carefully into the Ookle Alpha 4 transporter. Close. Operate. My guts jumped. Open.

The Ookle Alpha 4 travel centre was empty. We left the body in the doorway of the Dancer 88 transporter. If the door couldn’t shut, the transporter couldn’t be used, so the red soldiers couldn’t follow us.

In the base, Falcon checked the accommodation corridor while I did the control room – empty. Strange. In an important base like this, I would’ve expected to find somebody on duty all the time.

I met Falcon in the doorway of the accommodation corridor. Zilch?

Ditto. He bawled, Hoy! Anyone there?

The cabin doors had been shut, but one opened, and a grumpy voice asked, What do you want?

Falcon said, We must see the commander of this base. At once.

Who says? From the cabin came a guy in an Administrator’s uniform – like a grey tracksuit with purple bands round the chest and cuffs. He looked about seventeen, tall and bony with one of these long thin faces that always looks miserable. His chestband had his name, Rolf, and his rank, 265.

Falcon told him, We’ve run into trouble. We have to report to the commander of this base.

I’m in command of this base. And who are you? He frowned at me – and his eyes narrowed as they spotted the, Tony 337, on my chestband.

I said, Hi, Rolf. We’re trainee agents. As Falcon told you, we found trouble on Dancer 88. The base is trashed, and we’ve brought an unconscious boy. Would you tell the base commander we’d like to see him?

I told you – I’m in command here.

I know, but it’s complicated. We’d rather explain to the commander. With a rank of 265, this guy couldn’t be the commander of this base. And I didn’t like him. If I had to admit I’d stunned the citizens of two Federation planets, I wanted to do it to somebody sensible, not this grumpy git.

So I’m not important enough to speak to two trainee agents.

Falcon said, Come on, Tony. Don’t waste any more time on this….

Wait, Falcon, I interrupted. I was getting impatient, but I tried to speak calmly. Rolf, we have important information. Would you tell the commander we want to speak to him?

Is that an order? He leered down at me.

My patience went. Yes, it is.

Now we know. A kid, a trainee agent, pulling rank on me! For your information, I have my orders from the base commander – whose rank is higher than yours. Sir. She is busy tonight, and she ordered me not to disturb her.

"Can’t