Space Trip II Excerpt

Here is the first chapter of Space Trip II: The Journey to Find the Secret of the Thing in the Box. Sign up to my newsletter to stay informed about the Space Trip Universe and other projects— you get a FREE short story too!

Chapter One: The Strange Box

The air swirled thick in the antique shop. It was an old and cramped building, filled with aged furniture and interstellar oddities, and it was precisely Dave Winkle’s cup of tea. After travelling extensively on Liberty, becoming a resort city’s new chief financial officer, and spending every day with his friends, Dave just wanted to rest. He resigned himself to being a hermit just as soon as he returned to Haven Resort on the garden world of Paradise, and there was nothing more hermit-like than real timber furniture, shelves of fragrant books with actual pages, and a good brown cardigan. He already had the cardigan.

The shop was not big, but there were so many little rooms to discover, each hiding new trinkets and secrets. Dave often lost his friend, James “Jimmy” Jonathon Jones, only to spot him again as the energetic Irishman trudged past a doorway or spoke louder than antique shop etiquette allowed.

The shopkeeper was an enthusiastic Bejeklan originally hailing from a quiet corner of the galaxy. He hovered around, casually watching Dave and Jimmy with multiple eyes on the ends of twirling Medusa-like tendrils. In reality, only Dave was seriously shopping. He had dragged Jimmy along while their friends Chuck P. Simpson and Eddie Harrison led an investor’s meeting for the rebuilding of their newly acquired resort city. Jimmy made a good show of enjoying himself with the antiques.

Dave inspected a fading leather chair he knew would look perfect in his new house on the outskirts of Paradise Central. He planned to name his house The Hermitage. He ran his hand along the chair’s smooth surface before dropping into it, the leather farting as he sunk into the plush cushion. He breathed a sigh and put his arms on the wide armrests. Yes, he could sit in that chair every afternoon while he relaxed from doing hermit stuff. From this throne, he surveyed the main room of the shop and felt truly at peace.

It was at this moment that Jimmy crossed Dave’s field of vision, ruining said peace. The erratic man, freshly appointed as Haven Resort’s marketing director, stopped at a wall reserved for sporting equipment from days gone by. Dave watched as Jimmy eyed all the old clubs, bats, racquets, gloves, and balls before picking up a powered tennis racquet that could have been a hundred years old. Tennis in its original form was a dying sport, still played only by the most pompous of prep school kids and business executives, but Jimmy had apparently seen or known enough of it to find an accompanying tennis ball and occupy himself.

What Jimmy didn’t realise was that he had picked up one of the first models of powered tennis racquets ever produced. With the introduction of the Robotic Tennis League, officials saw the potential to make the sport more interesting. Thus, the powered racquet was born, a design that was completely identical to standard racquets, but which included a special power supply to add artificial power to the strings. This was deemed too dangerous for sentient players. Several incidents involving powered racquets—such as two players suffering concussions, one getting a broken wrist, and another catching a ball in her mouth at the expense of her front teeth—led to the banning of such equipment by the Galactic Tennis Federation. A new robot league became the sole exhibit for powered racquets, and eventually the normal game declined as audiences preferred the faster and more destructive version where robots would be smashed to bits by hardened tennis balls.

Back to the scene at hand. Jimmy, happy now that he had something with which to amuse himself, warned Dave to catch the ball that he would gingerly volley from the other side of the store. Dave sat in the chair shaking his head, wondering if the shopkeeper knew what was brewing.

Jimmy, ignoring the headshake, tossed the tennis ball up with gusto and then lightly swung the racquet in Dave’s direction. But when the ball met the racquet’s strings, a furious artificial force sent it flying across the room. Jimmy hadn’t noticed the powered mode was active. Dave, with reflexes he attributed to his strict exercise regimen, screamed and pushed himself out of the way, toppling the leather chair. The ball crashed through a large vase on a table, shattering it, and then knocked over a carved pedestal supporting a wooden box.

Of course, the shopkeeper had entered the room just as the episode happened. His mouth twisted open and his multiple eyes blinked at the damage. Dave shook his head again before getting up, crossing the room in a few quick bounds, and snatching the racquet out of Jimmy’s grip.

“I’ll take the racquet,” Jimmy told the shopkeeper with a nod. “And the pieces of that vase,” he added, pointing to the mess at the other end of the room. “And that box on the floor.”

“And the pedestal?” the shopkeeper asked.

“What am I going to do with a pedestal?” Jimmy replied, but the shopkeeper stared him down. “And the pedestal too.”

The shopkeeper mumbled something in his alien tongue and waddled off to the paystation.

“Well, get over there and clean up your mess,” Dave said. He deactivated the racquet’s power mode and went for the simple wooden box that had sat so regally atop the toppled pedestal. But it was deceptively heavy. Dave was the strongest of his little group of friends—a fact he humbly kept quiet under loose-fitting shirts—but the weight of the thirty centimetre-square box surprised him.

“What’s wrong?” Jimmy asked, watching. “Muscle man struggling with a little box like that?”

“Here, you have a go,” Dave said, handing it to Jimmy. The Irishman tensed and his arms sagged when Dave dropped it in his outstretched hands.

The shopkeeper gave a harsh laugh from his counter. “That box is, indeed, heavy. It was donated by a random customer who I only saw once—a strange creature. She came in, placed it on the pedestal, and it hasn’t moved since.”

“Well now, what interesting goodies have I found?” Jimmy asked. He tossed it up and caught it, getting comfortable with its weight and shape, then waltzed over to the shopkeeper at the counter.

Dave squinted and scratched his chin. “What’s in it?”

“I don’t know,” the shopkeeper shrugged. “It won’t open. And believe me, I’ve tried.”

The shopkeeper handed them a magnifying glass that was probably older than all their ages added together. Jimmy inspected his loot. There was a fine join running all the way around the middle of the box, barely perceptible even with the aid of the magnifying glass. It was clearly the connection of two halves, but there were no archaic hinges, nor an old-fashioned lock or modern keypad or touchscreen. It was just a perfect wooden cube with something inside. Or nothing. It could have been hollow, or it could have been solid timber. It was a sort of Schrödinger’s cat scenario: until Jimmy opened the box, he was simultaneously lucky and unlucky in his decision to purchase it.

Jimmy clawed at it, but to no avail. He shook it and smacked it, looking much like a skinny monkey trying to bash open a coconut. Defeated, he set it on the counter with a thud and waved at it so Dave’s more meticulous eyes could inspect it. Dave put his hands on his knees and bent for a closer look.

“Go on, muscle man,” Jimmy taunted, “crack it open like a walnut.”

Dave arched his eyebrows and looked up at his friend. “This is a big walnut.”

“The price is two hundred EsCes,” the shopkeeper said.

Jimmy nearly choked. “Two hundred Standard Credits? Why so much?”

The shopkeeper’s long eye tendrils danced around before aiming at Jimmy’s face. “I don’t know what’s in it! The contents could be worth ten times that.”

“And yet, there could be nothing in it at all,” Dave said.

Jimmy turned to his friend. “Do you think it’s worth it?”

“I don’t know,” Dave replied, ever in a quagmire of doubt. “I’m an accountant, so I am normally against such wasteful purchases. But I am curious to see if there really is something inside. You won’t know until you find out.”

Jimmy smiled, needing no more discussion. “I’ll take it.”

♥♣♦♠

The other half of our quartet of hapless adventurers busied themselves in a much more important activity. Half an hour away from the antique shop, on the top floor of a glass skyscraper in the busy city centre, Chuck P. Simpson and Eddie Harrison wore their best suits and smiles. Chuck had combed his hair into his usual perfect pompadour, while Eddie shaved his strands a bit shorter so he wouldn’t have to comb them at all.

Lined up in front of them were half a dozen of the planet’s wealthiest investors. They wore expensive clothes, their jewellery glittered against the room’s natural light, and their high-quality colognes and perfumes tickled the nose. They were too rich for Eddie—an entirely different social group compared to his humble beginnings. Even though he became a millionaire towards the end of his twenties, he’d started in the slums of Greater Manchester and worked himself out of poverty through sheer hard work and, unfortunately, some criminal activity. Chuck, at one point the most highly sought-after barrister in London, was in his element, which was why they both agreed that Chuck should do the schmoozing.

“In conclusion,” Chuck said, “Haven Resort—and, by extension, the planet Paradise—represents a golden opportunity for investment in the resort sector. Its natural beauty is a fine attraction. The ecology is unheard of. Its history is unique in the entire galaxy. And our eco-friendly reconstruction plans are a huge step forward in city planning. Haven Resort was a profitable location in the past, and it has the potential to draw in three times as much income according to our forecasts. You, as investors, are what we need to succeed. And we will succeed. And with that success comes a sizeable, regular return on your investment. All we ask is that you make the right decision. Thank you.”

Chuck took a deep breath and turned off the projector. His last slide, a simplified line graph, flickered out. Eddie stepped forwards and shook Chuck’s hand while the audience talked among themselves.

“Nailed it, mate,” Eddie said, then cringed. “Now dry your hands before they seal the deal.” He wiped Chuck’s palm sweat on the side of his trousers.

“I don’t like the look on their faces,” Chuck said. He turned around and dabbed his hands on a handkerchief. “Something is wrong.”

“You’re just imagining the worst,” Eddie told him. Between Chuck and their introverted friend Dave, it was hard to know who was more pessimistic sometimes. But Eddie had to admit that none of the investors seemed in any hurry to shake their hands and offer money. They all sat in their chairs, reading through preliminary reports or whispering to each other. He gulped. Chuck’s pessimism was spreading to him already! Maybe they should have brought along the greatest spin doctor they knew: Jimmy.

Eddie cleared his throat, determined to stay positive. “Any questions?”

All six investors raised their hands.

Chuck turned around and raised his eyebrows. He pointed to the lady on the left end. “Ms Amidane.”

“I am worried about the safety of this world,” she said. “If what you say is true—that the original resort was destroyed by the planet’s living, thinking vegetation—then how can we be sure that it won’t happen again?”

“We have a signed agreement with the Emissaries of Paradise,” Chuck said. He tried not to get flustered, because he had already explained this point earlier. “The planet suffered severe ecological destruction during the Green Rebellion and the Emissaries can only repair so much. The income from our tourist venture will help repair what nature cannot do alone.”

“So part of the profits will go into the environment?” Amidane asked.

Chuck heard her tone. “Yes.”

She dropped her head and made notes on a digipad.

“Mr Ragowicz?” Eddie asked, making sure to pronounce the Polish billionaire’s name exactly as he was told by the man’s assistant before the meeting.

“How insistent are you on rebuilding environmentally friendly?” Ragowicz asked.

“The term you used was . . . ‘walking lightly’ or something.”

“Touching the planet lightly,” Chuck said. “Yes, we are very interested in blending our resort as much as possible into the planet’s ecology. We will make the most use of passive design features, sustainable work practises, eco-friendly materials, and technological innovations to reduce pollution and other impacts on the environment.”

“That will make this project quite expensive,” Ragowicz mumbled.

“Hence the investment target,” Chuck said. “But the expected return outweighs the initial investment.”

“If the planet doesn’t revolt again,” Amidane said.

“If anyone dares to visit it again,” said a tall, narrow-framed alien named Ebbe. “All your projections assume that tourists will want to return. And what are you doing for the families who lost relatives in the first disaster?”

Chuck felt himself getting overly warm and resisted the urge to tug at his collar. He felt so tiny in this meeting. It was a far cry from his heyday as London’s top civil litigator when he’d dominate a courtroom with his presence alone. These people gobbled up interstellar businesses before breakfast.

“The Green Rebellion occurred while Haven Resort was under different management,” Chuck explained. “We bought them out after the incident, but compensation is still their responsibility. None of those expenses have anything to do with us.”

“But they do,” Ebbe said. “I asked about families who had lost relatives. That is not limited to relatives who died. You said there are several hundred Emissaries on Paradise—people who were subsumed into the planet, who became the planet. I admit I was sceptical about the existence and nature of these Emissaries until we watched that introduction video by Chief Emissary Sequoia. Regardless, these Emissaries cannot leave the planet, because they are the planet, so their whole lives have changed. What about their families? What will their families want in exchange for losing their loved ones forever?”

“They haven’t lost their loved ones at all,” Eddie said. “The Emissaries are alive and well. They chose to be united with Paradise. Their families can come and visit them anytime they want.”

“And we offer families of emissaries free passage to Paradise and free accommodation while they are on-planet,” Chuck added. “It is the least we can do to help them stay in close contact with their plant-based relatives.”

Amidane grunted. “More money lost.”

The investors descended into a loud discussion, but from Chuck and Eddie’s perspective, it sounded more like an opposing army ready to pounce. Chuck’s heart sunk.

One of the investors who hadn’t said anything for the whole meeting stood, shook Chuck and Eddie’s hands, dried his now damp hands on his clothes, then apologised, saying that he would not be buying into Haven Resort. But he wished them luck before leaving the room. Amidane didn’t bother saying goodbye at all. Ebbe and another investor offered suggestions on how to improve their project’s chances of success, which mostly included stripping the requirements for ecological sustainability.

The sound of silence whistled in Chuck and Eddie’s ears once everybody had left, and the odour of expensive fragrances lingered. It smelled of lost money.

“Three failed investment meetings in a row,” Eddie said.

“Yep,” Chuck replied.

“Where are we going wrong?”

“It’s not us,” Chuck told him. “It’s these rich bastards who don’t want to see some of their profits go into the environment.” He pulled out his phone. “Dave sent me a message.”

“What’s it say?”

“Two seconds. I have to call Wayne first.”

Wayne Harris was Chuck’s long-time work colleague and the man whom Chuck had selected to inherit the reigns of his law firm. Harris was a senior partner when Chuck was owner and CEO of the firm, but since having his mid-life crisis and taking on the Paradise project, Chuck stepped down from his position as CEO and asked Wayne Harris to take over. Chuck still owned the company and served on its board of directors, but Harris now controlled much of its operations.

A shimmering 3D hologram of the bespectacled Harris grew out of Chuck’s phone.

“Wayne! Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” Wayne replied groggily. His hair was a mess and he had bags under his eyes. He flashed one of his two signature smiles—the genuine one reserved for friends, not the one for clients, courtrooms, and boardrooms. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to set up another investment meeting.”

“How did today’s meeting go?”

“Best not to ask.”

“Ah. I’m sorry. Okay, I’ll see what I can do. There is no shortage of investors in the galaxy. But it will wait until after I officially wake up. It’s three in the morning here.”
Chuck slapped his forehead. Without Dave’s mathematical mind, he could never figure out interstellar time zones. There were enough apps and websites that could do the calculations for him, but if Dave wasn’t around he preferred to wing it.

“Sorry! And thank you, I appreciate your help.”

“Anything for a friend.”

When Chuck hung up, Eddie asked him what Dave wanted.

“Oh, yeah.” Chuck looked. “He says Jimmy’s bought a weird cube from an antique shop and that we should check it out. Reckons it’s like nothing he’s ever seen before.” He showed Eddie a photo.

“It’s certainly a cube. What’s so great about it?” Eddie asked.

Chuck texted the question to Dave and got a reply seconds later. “It weighs a tonne and they don’t know if anything is inside. They can’t open it.”

Eddie grinned, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out the solution to many of his problems. Yes, even while wearing a suit, he carried his favourite object in the galaxy—his screwspanhamulesawilevelplifench multi-tool.

Thanks for reading this Space Trip II excerpt. Stay tuned for pre-order links!

Space Trip II picks up where Space Trip left off. Check out the excerpt for Space Trip and see how it all began for Dave, Jimmy, Chuck, and Eddie.