![[03] Elite: Docking is Difficult](https://fs.ageofbook.com/592857/thumbs/152x264/03-elite-docking-is-difficult.jpg)
Self Doubt”. And here’s the Cup of Creative Empowerment from season nine!’
‘So what’s the deal with this Cliff Ganymede guy, anyway?’ said Glen. ‘Why’s he so popular?’
‘He was the first person to really try to meld the two genres of “self-help” and “spaceport thriller”,’ said Misha enthusiastically. ‘It’s actually a brilliant idea – you get to transform your drab life into something much more dynamic and goal-orientated, whilst at the same time reading about Thargoid invasions and smuggled narcotics.’
‘Sounds dumb,’ said Glen. ‘You know what’s a good TV show? That one where they do surgery to make people look like zoo animals.’
‘Hi,’ said Phoebe, walking up to the ticket desk. ‘Three tickets to the Ganymede convention, please.’
The man behind the desk laughed. Then he looked apologetic when they didn’t laugh along with him. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you were doing a funny joke. The convention is sold out. There’s a twelve-year waiting list.’
‘The thing is,’ Phoebe leant forward, and dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘we’re here to investigate a murder.’
‘Sorry,’ said the man again, as unmoved as if he heard that six times a day. ‘Perhaps you’d be interested in one of the other events? Are any of you in plastics? There’s a plastics symposium on deck three. Or, if you’re fans of Zargella Lombard, the movie star, she’s doing a cabaret this evening. I hear there’s an amazing bit where she duets with one of the singing civets of Proxima Five. It’s actually a very cruel process because the “singing” is just a side effect of their unsuccessfully trying to digest Lavian gin berries. That’s what makes it so brilliant. Your hen would get in half-price, by the way.’
Phoebe pouted. She hadn’t been expecting to fall down at the very first hurdle. ‘This sort of shit never happened to the Three Investigators,’ she said, scowling.
‘Do you think we could break in?’ suggested Misha, trying to be helpful.
‘I don’t fancy our chances much.’ She jabbed a thumb towards where a security robot with a laser for a face bobbled about near the doors.
‘Leave this to the G-Dog,’ said Glen, cricking his neck, and striding over to a small crowd of people standing behind a velvet rope. They were all holding up little signs, waiting for recent arrivals.
One of the signs had ‘Cliff Ganymede Theatre Troop’ written on it. It was being held up by a girl in a T-shirt emblazoned with the slogan ‘BE AN AUTHENTIC LEADER, NOT A THARGOID CLONE’.
Glen walked straight up to her, and stuck his hand out. ‘Hi there,’ he said.
‘Are you with the theatre troop?’ said the T-shirt girl, looking him up and down.
‘Yes, we are. Theatre. Greasepaint. Roar of the crowd. All that stuff. I’m riddled with neuroses, because I’m an actor, and she’s quite easy,’ he pointed to Phoebe, ‘because she’s an actress. And this guy’s here too for some reason.’
‘Oh! Well, what a relief!’ the girl beamed. ‘You’re even slightly early.’
‘Yeah, about that,’ Glen sauntered back to the ticket desk. He leaned over and read the man’s name-badge. ‘Hey, Dan. There’s a chance another lot will turn up here claiming to be the
real
theatre troop, but they are, of course, impostors.’
‘Impostors?’
‘Terrorists,’ whispered Glen conspiratorially. ‘You should neutralise them before they have a chance to activate their exploding shoes, or whatever it is they use these days. Aim for the head.’
‘Thanks,’ said the ticket booth man, smiling. ‘I’ll let security know to be on the lookout.’
‘I like your hen – is that an actor thing?’ said the girl, ushering them towards the big double doors at the far end of the arrivals lounge. ‘I’m Denise, by the way, society treasurer, and I’ll be looking after you. Actually, I don’t want to boast, but this performance was my idea.’
‘Well, it was a
great
idea,
‘So what’s the deal with this Cliff Ganymede guy, anyway?’ said Glen. ‘Why’s he so popular?’
‘He was the first person to really try to meld the two genres of “self-help” and “spaceport thriller”,’ said Misha enthusiastically. ‘It’s actually a brilliant idea – you get to transform your drab life into something much more dynamic and goal-orientated, whilst at the same time reading about Thargoid invasions and smuggled narcotics.’
‘Sounds dumb,’ said Glen. ‘You know what’s a good TV show? That one where they do surgery to make people look like zoo animals.’
‘Hi,’ said Phoebe, walking up to the ticket desk. ‘Three tickets to the Ganymede convention, please.’
The man behind the desk laughed. Then he looked apologetic when they didn’t laugh along with him. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you were doing a funny joke. The convention is sold out. There’s a twelve-year waiting list.’
‘The thing is,’ Phoebe leant forward, and dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘we’re here to investigate a murder.’
‘Sorry,’ said the man again, as unmoved as if he heard that six times a day. ‘Perhaps you’d be interested in one of the other events? Are any of you in plastics? There’s a plastics symposium on deck three. Or, if you’re fans of Zargella Lombard, the movie star, she’s doing a cabaret this evening. I hear there’s an amazing bit where she duets with one of the singing civets of Proxima Five. It’s actually a very cruel process because the “singing” is just a side effect of their unsuccessfully trying to digest Lavian gin berries. That’s what makes it so brilliant. Your hen would get in half-price, by the way.’
Phoebe pouted. She hadn’t been expecting to fall down at the very first hurdle. ‘This sort of shit never happened to the Three Investigators,’ she said, scowling.
‘Do you think we could break in?’ suggested Misha, trying to be helpful.
‘I don’t fancy our chances much.’ She jabbed a thumb towards where a security robot with a laser for a face bobbled about near the doors.
‘Leave this to the G-Dog,’ said Glen, cricking his neck, and striding over to a small crowd of people standing behind a velvet rope. They were all holding up little signs, waiting for recent arrivals.
One of the signs had ‘Cliff Ganymede Theatre Troop’ written on it. It was being held up by a girl in a T-shirt emblazoned with the slogan ‘BE AN AUTHENTIC LEADER, NOT A THARGOID CLONE’.
Glen walked straight up to her, and stuck his hand out. ‘Hi there,’ he said.
‘Are you with the theatre troop?’ said the T-shirt girl, looking him up and down.
‘Yes, we are. Theatre. Greasepaint. Roar of the crowd. All that stuff. I’m riddled with neuroses, because I’m an actor, and she’s quite easy,’ he pointed to Phoebe, ‘because she’s an actress. And this guy’s here too for some reason.’
‘Oh! Well, what a relief!’ the girl beamed. ‘You’re even slightly early.’
‘Yeah, about that,’ Glen sauntered back to the ticket desk. He leaned over and read the man’s name-badge. ‘Hey, Dan. There’s a chance another lot will turn up here claiming to be the
real
theatre troop, but they are, of course, impostors.’
‘Impostors?’
‘Terrorists,’ whispered Glen conspiratorially. ‘You should neutralise them before they have a chance to activate their exploding shoes, or whatever it is they use these days. Aim for the head.’
‘Thanks,’ said the ticket booth man, smiling. ‘I’ll let security know to be on the lookout.’
‘I like your hen – is that an actor thing?’ said the girl, ushering them towards the big double doors at the far end of the arrivals lounge. ‘I’m Denise, by the way, society treasurer, and I’ll be looking after you. Actually, I don’t want to boast, but this performance was my idea.’
‘Well, it was a
great
idea,
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