Dead Men Don't Disco Read online

  DEAD MEN DON’T DISCO

  Brent Bolster Space Detective

  by

  Michael Campling

  Brent Bolster Book II

  This book is dedicated to all Trek fans, especially those who know in their hearts that the original series will often be emulated but will never be beaten.

  With Special Thanks to the JIT Team:

  Janette Mattey

  Steve Frederick

  Rosemary Kenny

  Ruth Badgramslayer

  Julie Blaskie

  Saundra Wright

  Josie Ingle-Vail.

  Your help was invaluable in improving this book.

  Thank you.

  Michael Campling

  michaelcampling.com

  Two very simple rules: A. You don't have to write, B. You can't do anything else. The rest comes of itself.

  -Raymond Chandler.

  The Awkward Squad – The Home of Picky Readers:

  All Members Get a Free Starter Library & Much More

  Table of Contents

  Cast of Characters

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  Thank You For Reading

  Also try

  Coming Soon

  Also by Michael Campling

  About the Author

  Copyright

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  On Earth

  At Bolster & Associates Investigations:

  Brent Bolster – PI and member of the Association of Galactic Investigators(AGI)

  Rawlgeeb – Gloabon and Ex-employee of the Earth Liaison Unit (ELU)

  Vince Claybourne – Assistant to Brent (AGI Membership Pending)

  Algernon – A fish who lives in an upturned diving helmet.

  Other Humans:

  Maisie Richmond – A researcher employed by the UN

  Bryan – An android employed by Bot-the-Builders

  Culler – An android enforcer employed by Bart

  Bart – Kingpin of various enterprises and bird-lover

  Mayor Enderley – Ex-City Mayor.

  At GIT – the Gloabon Institute of Technology (an Earth institution funded by the Gloabons):

  Doctor Herbert Cooper – Scientist

  Doctor Ellen Granger – Scientist

  Rachel White – Receptionist / owl keeper

  Mark Halbrook – Head of Acquisitions

  Captain Levinson – Special Operations Wing

  Sergeant Carter – Special Operations Wing

  Sergeant Kenny – Special Operations Wing.

  At The New Earth Times:

  Jerry Martellini -Senior Reporter

  Kevin Larch – Photographer

  Doug – Security Guard.

  The Gloabons

  On The Gamulon:

  Breamell – Administrator (Sampling Records)

  Shappham – Head of the Sampling Records

  Fleet Admiral Squernshall – Commanding Officer

  Captain Jamangle – Adjutant to Fleet Admiral Squernshall

  Zorello – Former Adjutant to Squernshall – Banished

  Beetfrump – Operative (Earth Liaison Unit).

  On Earth:

  Surrana – Member of the Guild of Assassins.

  Andelians

  Officers and crew of The Kreltonian Skull:

  Admiral Norph – Previous Commanding Officer (deceased)

  Captain Stanch – Commanding Officer

  Lieutenant Commander Zeb – Science Officer and cybonic lifeform

  Lieutenant Turm – Senior Navigation Officer

  Lieutenant Commander Dex – Chief Engineer

  Ensign Chudley – Communications Officer

  Lieutenant Grulb – The Ship’s Counselor.

  The Skeleton Crew:

  Chief Petty Officer Nailsea – Chef

  Chief Petty Officer Cricklade – Chef

  Klegg – Chef de Partie

  Langan – Chef de Partie

  Shreve – Chef de Partie

  Stimps – Kitchen Porter.

  Kreitians

  Lord Pelligrew – Commanding Officer of The Star of Kreit, Pelligrew commands the Andel-Kreit Fleet.

  Captain Dunworthy – Adjutant to Lord Pelligrew.

  PROLOGUE

  Earth

  Brent pushed the joystick to the right and pulled back hard, sending his skimmer into an elegant banking turn, the trim craft dodging neatly between two heavily armed delivery drones. “Damned things cluttering up the sky,” he muttered, “I blame Jeff Bezos the Third.”

  In the passenger seat, Maisie Richmond sighed happily. “Oh, Brent, I do love the historical references in your quips.” She turned her smile on him, her eyes glistening. “But you needn’t worry about a few drones and their silly heat-seeking missiles, you’re such a good driver.”

  “If you say so,” Brent replied, “I don’t like to boast.” He managed a nonchalant shrug despite the constraints of his safety harness, and on the skimmer’s entertainment system, the gentle strains of a piano gave way to the voice of the classical composer Sir Elton John.

  “Volume up,” Maisie called out. “I love Your Song.”

  Brent glanced at her, bathing in the warmth of her smile as the gentle melody filled the cockpit. “Me too. Ain’t that the darnedest thing? It’s my favorite.”

  “Brent,” Maisie began, laying her hand gently on his arm. “There’s…there’s something I want to tell you.”

  “Really?” Brent’s voice caught in his throat as the piano music swelled to a soaring crescendo. “Because, there’s something I want to say to you too.” He grinned. “But please—ladies first.”

  “Always the gentleman,” Maisie purred. “Very well. It’s just this.” She took a breath, a coy smile quivering at the corners of her silky lips. Then she threw back her head and bawled, “You’re late for work!”

  Brent stared at her, his hands frozen on the joystick. This couldn’t be happening, but Maisie was changing before his eyes, her skin growing green, her delicate bone structure morphing into broad curves, her lips receding into thin lines as she opened her mouth to reveal a row of pointed teeth.

  “No,” Brent whispered, but there was nothing he could do. As Sir Elton crashed out a melodramatic chord, Maisie’s dark eyes hardened and the transformation was complete. She had become a Gloabon.

  “Wake up, Brent!” she shouted, and Brent’s eyes snapped open, his horrified howl still ringing in his ears.

  “Oh my God,” he moaned, wiping the sweat from his brow with back of his hand. “Not again.” He fumbled on the nightstand, grabbing his handset and bringing the screen close to his bleary eyes. Damned dream gets weirder every night, he thought. Elton John? Seriously? He checked the time without really taking it in. One of these days, I might figure out the alarm clock function
on this contraption, he told himself. Maybe his assistant at the agency, Vince, could help him out; he was good with anything technical. The agency. Brent glared at his handset. Was it really past noon?

  Sitting up, he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, then he stood, stretching his back. And someone tapped on the window.

  Brent spun around. Who could be outside? His apartment was on the third floor.

  But his wall was gone, replaced by a huge window, and beyond the gleaming glass, a crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. They peered in at him, their expressions ranging from mild interest to outraged horror. “Young man!” an elderly woman shouted. “Put some clothes on! This is a decent part of town!”

  Brent glanced at the showroom dummies standing alongside him. Right. The old dream-within-a-dream scenario. Naked in a department store window. It’s a classic. He waved cheerfully to the crowd. “Hi! Don’t mind me. I’ll be waking up in a second, and then I’ll be out of here. Have a good day.”

  He smiled, waiting. Any minute now. Yup. Right about… Oh shit! Brent sat down heavily on the bed, grasping the sheets to cover his naked body. This was real, but how could it have happened?

  The answer was already racing through his mind. The night before, he’d been working a case, investigating the theft of high-end corneal implants from Gloabondale’s department store. I was tired, he thought. Real tired. I lay down for five minutes. Five goddamned minutes! He scrabbled through the tangle of crumpled sheets, searching for his clothes. “Goddammit! Where the hell are my pants?”

  Somewhere behind him, gruff voices rang out. Brent’s fingers closed around a bundle of clothes and he clutched them to his chest. There was no time to get dressed. He fled, bursting out through the wooden door at the back of the display and barging through the startled shoppers. He glimpsed movement on his right and heard boots thudding against the floor. A radio crackled static, and Brent picked up his pace. Angling to his left, he spotted a sign for the fire exit and headed toward it, diving between the colorful displays of stacked bed linen and fluffy towels. But before he could reach the door, a burly security guard stepped in front of him, his arms folded across his chest.

  Brent staggered to a halt. “Vince? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Sorry, Boss, but you never paid me my salary, so this is my new gig.” Vince shook his head. “I have to take you in. I can’t let you get away. I can’t afford to lose my job. Dead or alive, you’re coming with me.”

  Brent narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute.” He turned around slowly. “I’m still dreaming, aren’t I? Dammit! There’s never a spinning top around when you want one.”

  Vince stepped closer, holding out a pair of handcuffs. “Make this easy on yourself, Brent. It’s time you woke up—to the truth.” He laughed, but the sound that came from his lips was the harsh bark of Gloabon laughter, and already, Vince’s cheeks were blushing a deep shade of emerald green.

  “Get away from me, you lousy alien!” Brent yelled. “Leave me alone!”

  He opened his eyes, and this time, his strangled cry echoed from the bare walls of his bleak bedroom. Thank God for that, he thought. Dwelling unit, sweet dwelling unit. He exhaled noisily and allowed himself a smile. He’d never been so pleased to see the paint peeling from his cracked ceiling. He was home.

  “It’s showtime, folks!” he said to the refreshingly empty room, and as he sprang from his bed and headed for the bathroom, he whistled a jaunty tune. “Sat on the…roots or something,” he sang under his breath as the shower sputtered into life, then he stepped under the stream of lukewarm water. No, he thought. Not my style. Not my style at all.

  CHAPTER 1

  Earth

  Jerry Martellini tidied his desk at The New Earth Times, tuning out the hubbub of background noise in the newsroom. At least, he tried. A dozen keyboards clattered, cooling fans whirred, and the handsets of fellow hacks blared out their raucous ringtones: the new, death-rap funk-metal version of In the Mood apparently a firm favorite among the young Turks in Gloabon Affairs.

  Jerry heaved a sigh that could kill a bluebird at fifty paces while erasing a rainbow at the same time. It’s been one hell of a day, he told himself. If I didn’t have such a goddamned sunny disposition, it might’ve got me down. He managed a grim smile as he bundled his notes together, running his eyes over the stories he’d worked on during his long shift:

  Glen Miller Comeback Tour A Sellout Success

  Area 51 – Gloabons Apologize For Teenage Weather Balloon Prank

  Anal Probing – The Unexpected Health Benefits

  The Gloabons Changed My Life – For The Better

  This last story was from a guy they’d found working as a high-flying trader down on Old Wall Street. Before the Gloabons took him, Darren Snade had been a janitor in a state hospital. Afterward, he’d discovered an uncanny ability with advanced mathematics. Courted by all the major universities, he’d turned his back on them all, opting instead for a career in high finance. Since then, he’d bet big on emerging Gloabon tech and accumulated a fortune in credits. But this story had a human interest angle too. It turned out that Darren’s luck had extended to his love life, and he’d won the heart of the talented neurosurgeon from his old workplace. After a whirlwind romance, they’d held the wedding of the year before jetting off to honeymoon at an undisclosed location in the Bermuda Triangle. A quote in the piece caught Jerry’s eye and despite himself, he started reading:

  “It was a marriage made in heaven, quite literally,” Darren says. “I met my wife up on the space station when she was taken on the same night, so we already had something in common. Plus, she helps me with my seizures.”

  Seizures! Jerry tried very hard not to growl the word aloud, grinding his teeth and clamping his lips shut tight. If, as seemed likely, the guy was carrying a Gloabon implant in his skull, seizures would be the least of his problems. But by the time the side effects came into play, dear old Darren would warrant no more than a one-line mention on page thirty-five: an unfortunate footnote hidden among the stories of success. The reason for Darren’s sudden absence from the trading floor would no doubt be attributed to a sudden desire to spend more time with his money.

  Jerry tossed his crumpled notes into the trash can labeled recycling. He almost smiled. Recycling was right. The disposable epaper would be reused within twenty-four hours, and the stories it held would reappear soon after, albeit with a few different names and an altered detail or two. I don’t know what kind of crap we’re churning out these days, Jerry thought, but it sure as hell isn’t news.

  He stood quickly and headed for the door. The younger reporters didn’t notice him passing, but there were plenty of long-time staffers who raised their heads to say a few words:

  “See ya, Jerry.”

  “G’night, Jer. See ya tomorrow.”

  Jerry acknowledged each salutation with a taciturn nod. Business as usual. He took his role as The Times’ senior newsman seriously, and it wouldn’t do to let his facade slip; especially not today. It was vital that he keep up appearances, but it surprised him how easy it was to conceal his plans. When did I get so stony-faced? he wondered. Was I always such a serious old bastard?

  The elevator doors slid closed and Jerry rode down to the lobby alone, studying his reflection in the mirrored wall. He nodded in weary approval. He wore his professional detachment like an old but beloved suit, the fabric stretched and creased until it had become his second skin. And it was too late to change now, wasn’t it?

  He’d been in the news game for decades, filing stories long before the Gloabons showed up, and there was no way that he could stop. He’d keep writing until they prised the keyboard from his withered fingers. The kids upstairs don’t know they’re born, he thought. Spoon-fed by the Gloabons, every one of them. His colleagues had no idea what it took to chase down a real story, and he was growing tired of taking them to task. They never listened, and anyway, they wouldn’t be convinced by words alone. They’ll see, Jerry told
himself. They’ll see the truth soon enough.

  In the lobby, he said goodnight to Doug, the security guard who’d been manning the desk by the front door for as long as anyone could remember, and for a second, the two men exchanged a guarded look.

  “Tonight?” Doug asked, his gruff voice as low as he could make it.

  Jerry nodded. “Tonight.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Doug said loudly, his gaze darting meaningfully toward the CCTV cameras before coming to rest on Jerry. “Have a pleasant evening, sir.”

  “You too.” Jerry made for the door, and when he hit the street, he turned left on an impulse, changing the habit of a lifetime. The Irish Pub, his usual haunt for a beer after work, was in the opposite direction, but the place was always crammed with journalists. If he so much as walked past the window, he’d be recognized, and that wouldn’t do for what he had in mind tonight. It wouldn’t do at all.

  In his pocket, his handset buzzed, and he took it out, squinting at the screen. The text message was from Doug:

  The owner of Bar 24 called to say you left your scarf in a booth last Tuesday. You can pick it up in fifteen minutes.

  Thanks, Jerry replied, then he pocketed his handset and altered his route. If he picked up his pace, he’d make it in time. Perfect, he told himself. I’m going to shake up the Times from the basement to the rafters. And already, he could picture the headline, his headline: COLLUSION! THE TRUTH REVEALED. Now that would be a story.

  CHAPTER 2

  Aboard The Kreltonian Skull – Andromeda Class Battle Cruiser

  Official Status: Assigned to Andel-Kreit Coalition Fleet.

  Ship’s Log: Earth Orbit – Awaiting Deployment.

  Commander Stanch stepped out of the executive office and crossed the bridge, his spine straight and his hands clasped behind his back. The eyes of every officer followed his path, and when he reached the captain’s chair, Stanch turned to address all those who sat waiting at their stations. Zeb, the cybonic science officer, caught his eye and offered an encouraging smile.

  “You’re probably all wondering about my meeting with the Andel-Kreit High Command,” Stanch began, the thick skin of his scaly cheeks creasing as he forced a smile. “We’re not out of the woods yet, but thanks to the vid recordings made by Lieutenant Commander Zeb, Lord Pelligrew was happy to accept my testimony, and they understand that Admiral Norph was to blame for the unfortunate recent events.” He paused, the silence broken only by the gentle hum of the dehumidifiers and the incessant beeping of the comms console. “I’m pleased to say that we’ve been offered a chance to redeem ourselves and to prove our worthiness as a crew. I have been appointed Acting Captain of The Skull, and my orders are to lead the diplomatic effort to restore good relations between the Andel-Kreit Coalition and the Gloabon Government.”