"When he had enough, he'd make ice cream sundaes and put the eyes on top … like cherries!"
"Eeeeewwww!"
The boy in red put his hand up. Alice ignored him, and leaned forward, eying the other kids. "And do you know what?" she whispered.
They leaned forward too, breathless.
"He only went after kids in red!" finished Alice. She saw her adversary go pale, and silently gave herself a high five. That'd teach the little horror.
The rest of the kids screamed with laughter.
"Anyway, when I arrested this guy … it turns out he was an alien, wearing one of his victims as a skin!" She made a wrenching motion. "I tore it off him, and he tried to bite me. So I pulled my gun and … blam! Blood and guts everywhere!"
There were delighted gasps.
"And then all the pieces started joining up again, and the alien smiled with its horrible fangy mouth, and said—"
The door opened and the teacher looked in.
"—that's how we fill out a missing persons form," said Alice smoothly.
The kids cackled with laughter, some of them even clapping her, and Alice felt a burst of pleasure.
"My, you certainly have a way with children," said the teacher.
"Oh, you know. It's easy really." Alice still had the crumpled speech on obedience in her pocket, but she'd spent so much time writing it she realised she didn't need it. Instead, she ad-libbed the rest of her talk, keeping the kids spellbound as she threw in hair-raising anecdotes from her own childhood to liven things up.
When she was finally finished she'd run twenty minutes over time, but nobody noticed. The teacher came to join her at the front of the class, giving her a huge smile. "I'm so happy you could make it today. Come on, everyone. Let's thank Officer Alice Walsh of the Dismolle Peace Force!"
There was a cacophony of applause, and even the boy in red joined in. Alice gave him a wink, their verbal jousting forgotten, and then she turned to the teacher. "My boss said I had to come, so I was only obeying orders," she said honestly. "But I really enjoyed myself, and … thanks. Thanks to all of you."
Chapter 13
Harriet waved her badge at spaceport security, and they raised the barrier to let her drive onto the landing field. Before she drove off, she beckoned to the guard. "Which ship is on pad forty-seven?"
"Let me check." The guard returned to his cubicle and inspected a screen. "That's the Latimer. Do you have business with them?"
"Might do. Who owns it?"
The guard checked. "It's listed under a leasing company. You'll need a proper warrant to dig deeper."
"Never mind."
"Er, there is one thing."
"Yes?"
"The ground crew tell me it's a Family ship. They can be a bit, you know, protective of their privacy. I'd just … take care."
"Thanks, and I will." Harriet drove under the barrier. Bernie would be there shortly, but there was no harm in having a quick look around.
The field was busy, with concrete landing pads dotted around like crazy paving, each with a cargo ship perched on top. They were all shapes and sizes, old, new and everything in between. Harriet could smell the tang of burnt fuel, and it brought back memories of her childhood when she'd managed to convince Auntie to bring her out and watch the ships. She enjoyed the landings, but lift-offs were the best. She had no idea where all the ships were going, but the thundering noise and the sight of that bright little spark rising into the sky was always enough to get her pulse racing. One day she'd roam space and travel to new systems, she was certain of it, but right now she had a mission.
They drove along a row of landing pads, with Steve negotiating the refuelling clusters, cargo trucks and ground crew. A lot of the workers were robots, some of them big and sturdy, for lifting cargo, while others were slender, and much smaller. Each had their own speciality, and they worked fast emptying or loading ships, attaching fuel hoses and performing minor repairs.
There were big loaders, too, with huge rubber-shod wheels and long metal forks. They'd vanish into a cargo hold with a roar from their engine, then reverse back out again carrying huge pallets or containers crammed with goods, placing them on the waiting trucks before heading back for another load.
"Don't get too close," advised Harriet, as one of the loaders tore past. It towered over the car, and she put her window up as black fumes billowed from the exhaust, making her cough.
Pad forty-seven, by comparison, was peaceful and still. A graceful ship sat on the concrete landing pad, balanced on three heavy legs. Her lines were good, with a graceful curve from the tip of the nose cone to the tall, swept-back tail fin at the rear. She had a pair of huge exhaust cones at the back, and she looked fast and powerful.
High above the ground, just under the tail plane, was the ship's name: Latimer.
"Bet you ten credits that's Tyron's ship," said Harriet.
"I don't have any money," said Steve. "But even if I did, I'd be daft to take that bet."
There was no sign of any suspicious package, beeping or otherwise, and Harriet was glad she hadn't ordered the entire spaceport cleared. Her plan was to get people to move back from the landing pad, but as it turned out there was nobody here.
If there was a bomb, which was highly unlikely, it wouldn't damage the armoured hull of a spaceship … or at least, she hoped it wouldn't.
Steve's exhausts burbled as he circled the ship, and Harriet hoped those aboard were getting a damn good look. So they wanted a Peace Force officer, did they? Well, let them come and get her. Once Bernie got there, the two of them would force the airlock, if necessary, and drag the whole sorry bunch down to the station to answer some very
