![[03] Elite: Docking is Difficult](https://fs.ageofbook.com/592857/thumbs/152x264/03-elite-docking-is-difficult.jpg)
Denise,’ Glen fixed her with the full-beam of his grin. Denise blushed, swiped an ID at the security bots and took a deep breath. At the same time she pulled a pistol from her belt and flicked off the safety.
‘Can’t be too careful,’ she said, with a grimace. ‘Stay close, just in case.’
They stepped inside a vaulted function room, built on such a gigantic scale that it made everyone feel as if they’d been hit by some kind of impossible shrink-ray. Aside from the size, though, it was kind of disappointing. If the décor had maybe once demonstrated a passion for elegance and today’s modern lifestyle, it now looked, to Misha’s dismay, as if all it was demonstrating was a passion for bloodstains and bullet holes. There were lots of stalls and merchandise booths, but most of them were on fire. The statue built out of collectible soaps was half melted. A few hollow-eyed convention goers loitered around, buying hats and bandaging wounds, but they all seemed twitchy and shell-shocked. There were evil-looking scorch marks all over the place. It smelled of explosive and discharged plasma rifles and death.
‘There are more corpses than I’d expected on a fan cruise,’ said Phoebe, nervously looking at a big stack of body bags piled up in one corner.
‘Sorry,’ said Denise. ‘Somebody should have put those in the incinerator by now. It’s been a difficult time, as you can imagine. I can’t tell you how important it is that this evening’s performance goes well,’ she added, guiding them through the smoking wreckage. ‘The peace treaty was only signed last week, so things are still pretty fragile.’
‘Peace treaty?’ repeated Phoebe, confused.
‘I’m afraid the shipping wars have been going on for as long as anyone can remember,’ said Denise with a nod, as if that explained everything. ‘But it’s so exciting to have you here! We could have just used avatars, I know a lot of people say you can’t even tell the difference nowadays, but I think it’s so much better to use actual actors. You can’t fake the twinkle in the human eye, can you? I just know that you’re really going to bring the piece alive. Obviously when Cliff died so unexpectedly we were robbed rather of a
Galloping Ganymede!
season finale, so the hope is that this enactment of what it might have been like will help bring about a much needed sense of closure for everyone.’
A small gaggle of fans inched in their direction, but Denise shot a warning stun blast above their heads and they backed away. She swiped the trio through another door. ‘Right, this is your dressing room. The show doesn’t get going for another two hours, so you’ve got a bit of time to relax.’ She frowned, suddenly noticing something. ‘Where are your costumes?’
‘We had some trouble on the way over,’ Glen rolled his eyes. ‘Asteroids. Bloody asteroids, man, am I right?’
‘Oh well, I suppose that shouldn’t be a problem, it’s not like there’s a shortage of the stuff around here. I’ll have some delivered to you. Who is playing who? No, wait, let me work it out. Obviously, you must be Princess Francine, because she’s the woman one–’ Denise nodded at Phoebe – ‘and of course you must be “Clive” Ganymede, that goes without saying, because of your easy charm and toned musculature.’ She grinned at Glen. ‘So I suppose you must be Skrag? Ganymede’s ratty, but well-meaning, half Thargoid ward-come-butler?’
Misha pulled a face. ‘Yes, that’s me, I guess.’
‘I’ve got to check on a delivery of commemorative plates. Anything you need before I go?’
‘As it happens, there is, Denise. We were hoping we might get a chance to have a quick word with Marty Zeevon?’ said Phoebe.
‘Why do you want to talk to Mister Zeevon?’
‘Actor stuff,’ said Glen. ‘I think speaking to someone who actually
knew
Cliff would really help me inhabit the character.’
‘Of course! But I’m sorry, Mister Zeevon won’t be
‘Can’t be too careful,’ she said, with a grimace. ‘Stay close, just in case.’
They stepped inside a vaulted function room, built on such a gigantic scale that it made everyone feel as if they’d been hit by some kind of impossible shrink-ray. Aside from the size, though, it was kind of disappointing. If the décor had maybe once demonstrated a passion for elegance and today’s modern lifestyle, it now looked, to Misha’s dismay, as if all it was demonstrating was a passion for bloodstains and bullet holes. There were lots of stalls and merchandise booths, but most of them were on fire. The statue built out of collectible soaps was half melted. A few hollow-eyed convention goers loitered around, buying hats and bandaging wounds, but they all seemed twitchy and shell-shocked. There were evil-looking scorch marks all over the place. It smelled of explosive and discharged plasma rifles and death.
‘There are more corpses than I’d expected on a fan cruise,’ said Phoebe, nervously looking at a big stack of body bags piled up in one corner.
‘Sorry,’ said Denise. ‘Somebody should have put those in the incinerator by now. It’s been a difficult time, as you can imagine. I can’t tell you how important it is that this evening’s performance goes well,’ she added, guiding them through the smoking wreckage. ‘The peace treaty was only signed last week, so things are still pretty fragile.’
‘Peace treaty?’ repeated Phoebe, confused.
‘I’m afraid the shipping wars have been going on for as long as anyone can remember,’ said Denise with a nod, as if that explained everything. ‘But it’s so exciting to have you here! We could have just used avatars, I know a lot of people say you can’t even tell the difference nowadays, but I think it’s so much better to use actual actors. You can’t fake the twinkle in the human eye, can you? I just know that you’re really going to bring the piece alive. Obviously when Cliff died so unexpectedly we were robbed rather of a
Galloping Ganymede!
season finale, so the hope is that this enactment of what it might have been like will help bring about a much needed sense of closure for everyone.’
A small gaggle of fans inched in their direction, but Denise shot a warning stun blast above their heads and they backed away. She swiped the trio through another door. ‘Right, this is your dressing room. The show doesn’t get going for another two hours, so you’ve got a bit of time to relax.’ She frowned, suddenly noticing something. ‘Where are your costumes?’
‘We had some trouble on the way over,’ Glen rolled his eyes. ‘Asteroids. Bloody asteroids, man, am I right?’
‘Oh well, I suppose that shouldn’t be a problem, it’s not like there’s a shortage of the stuff around here. I’ll have some delivered to you. Who is playing who? No, wait, let me work it out. Obviously, you must be Princess Francine, because she’s the woman one–’ Denise nodded at Phoebe – ‘and of course you must be “Clive” Ganymede, that goes without saying, because of your easy charm and toned musculature.’ She grinned at Glen. ‘So I suppose you must be Skrag? Ganymede’s ratty, but well-meaning, half Thargoid ward-come-butler?’
Misha pulled a face. ‘Yes, that’s me, I guess.’
‘I’ve got to check on a delivery of commemorative plates. Anything you need before I go?’
‘As it happens, there is, Denise. We were hoping we might get a chance to have a quick word with Marty Zeevon?’ said Phoebe.
‘Why do you want to talk to Mister Zeevon?’
‘Actor stuff,’ said Glen. ‘I think speaking to someone who actually
knew
Cliff would really help me inhabit the character.’
‘Of course! But I’m sorry, Mister Zeevon won’t be
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