INTO THE BLACK

“Just answer the question!” Liberty bellowed fiercely. Everything about Liberty was fierce: her manner, her eyes, her beauty and, especially, her temper. “Okay you have three seconds to answer or… or I’ll shoot your pinkie finger off.”
Google looked up at her and let out a small laugh, “You so would not.”
“Just calm down Libby. Google’s old enough to make these decisions now,” said Liberty’s brother, Justice.
“Fine. I’ll shoot your fingers off instead,” Liberty replied.
“Okay, that she might do,” conceded Google.
“Computer get sick bay ready,” Justice said calmly as Liberty pulled a blaster from her hip holster and marched over to her brother, who was busy playing a game of hologram chess.
Pinning his hand to the table with her gun, she said, “You know I’ll do it.”

Justice looked up at her with the same ‘sad, puppy dog eyes’ expression that he’d used on her countless times throughout their 27 years.
“You're embarrassing yourself. I’m a trained killer; you really think that stupid look will save your fingers?”
“No, I’m your little baby brother – I know it will,” he said with a smirk.
“You’re only younger by 12 minutes,” she replied, cocking the gun.
“Cool it you guys. Didn’t you hear that? Listen – we just broke atmo; no more arguments. We meet up with the two of them as planned.”
Liberty looked over at the main monitor, then un-cocked her blaster and placed it back in its holster.
“Hey, I don’t like it any more than you sis, but Google…”
“Knows what he’s doing,” interrupted Google. “This is the only hope we have against Prince Mykur. Don't you get it? The time for fun and games is over - the fate of the entire Galaxy rests on our shoulders. Now can one of you fetch me a towel? I tire of this Jacuzzi,” said Google as he pulled himself up out of the spa situated in the centre of the cockpit.
Liberty threw a towel at him. “Tell me everything you know about these two.”

#

“So, what do we know about those other two he’s with?” asked Jupiter as he piloted The Love Crusader down towards Planet Doon.
“Brother-sister team, raised from birth to protect the chosen one. Fluent in all martial arts self-defence and weaponry.”
“All?”
“Well, pretty much all. They’ve been actively working as Google’s bodyguards since their 18th birthday, over 9 years ago. Though they’re both technically bodyguards, their roles are actually more nuanced. In the event of an attack, Liberty, the girl, is in charge of moving Google to safe location while Justice is in charge of pursuing and neutralising the perpetrators of any threat.”
“Hmm, so Justice is the muscle in the team. We need to keep an eye on him then, I don’t want to get muscled out of our pay. Anything else?”
“Well there is one small thing.”
“What?”

#

“He’s Pepsian! Great,” muttered Liberty as she paced around the sun bed where Google was tanning.
“No Lib he’s not, his parents were. It doesn't say where he was born. Besides, it's not an issue - the Cola Wars were a long time ago.”

#

“They’re from Coke World? Great,” muttered Jupiter as he lay down on his cockpit couch.
“They wouldn’t even have been born when Cola War 2 ended. It’s probably not an issue.”
“You’ve obviously never dealt with a Cokecasian before.”

The Cola Wars had been a particularly violent part of galaxy history. Late in the 22nd century The Coca-Cola Company formed its own world. On that world everyone was taught to live by Coke’s core brand values. The belief was that the shared environment on the home world would lead to greater team building and synchronicity of thoughts and operations. Eventually Coke Schools were established along with all other types of essential infrastructure like hospitals, public transport and beach volleyball teams.

Keen not to be left behind, the PepsiCo Company also established their own home world, Planet Pepsi, and went about trying to make it even better than Coke World. Despite the fact that the two worlds shared much in common (not limited to having upbeat pop songs for national anthems), they viewed each other with contempt and suspicion. They became rivals at everything – in particular they were very competitive in all sports popular with the 12-30 year old demographic.

Tensions finally erupted when the PepsiCo president launched their world’s new tagline “The future's Pepsi”. Believing this to be a veiled threat, Coke retaliated with its own tagline, “Coke – the only choice”. Planet Pepsi thought this was a blatant hint at a pre-emptive strike designed to wipe out Pepsi, so they launched a pre-pre-emptive attack on Coke World and the rest is history. (However, it should be noted that some scholars believe the attack was actually launched by Red Bull Moon with the intention of triggering such a war between its rivals.)

The Cola Wars were among the bloodiest, cruellest wars the galaxy had ever seen, but everyone agreed they also had some of the most flashy, well produced propaganda ever, featuring a who’s who of the entertainment industry and several hit songs. The wars also brought about new standards of excellence in the use of product placement during war coverage. (Some conspiracy theorists actually claim that the second Cola War was concocted by the Coke and PepsiCo presidents working together, having seen what great results the first war had achieved for brand name recognition.)

“We're here,” said Jupiter as he guided The Love Crusader down onto Planet Doon's surface.
“Good. Now, just don't mention the war and everything'll be fine.”

#

The surface of Planet Doon was a hostile desert wasteland. In fact, it had originally been named Planet Dune after the famous novel, due to its eerie resemblance to the desert planet featured in that book. However, a year after settlement Planet Dune was invaded by copyright lawyers and has been known as Planet Doon ever since. Doon also has the second toughest water restrictions in the galaxy, next only to New Melbourne which was currently running a “Target 155ml per person, per day” water use campaign.

The Down & Out Inn, one of Planet Doon’s most popular underground hangouts, was doing a roaring trade as Jupiter and Abe made their way in. They found Google and Justice sitting in a quiet corner, as far away from the New Age Techno Jazz band as possible.
“Nice to meet you,” said Google shaking their hands and offering them a seat. “I'm Google – the chosen one and this is Justice.”
“You can call me Justin, if you prefer. Parents were a little over zealous in broadcasting their beliefs. Nice to meet you both.”
“Likewise, now excuse me while I get a scotch on the rocks,” said Abe.
“You might want to rethink that,” offered Justice. “This is the one planet where they actually use refrigerated rocks. Water's too rare.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Abe replied as he got up and made his way to the bar.

Jupiter silently weighed up the two people sitting opposite him.
“So shall we chat about money? Your message said you'll pay 500 credits a day, but I know for a fact you’re sitting on a fortune, what with all the cash you get from the Intergalactic Council. So, let’s make it 1000 credits and you've got yourselves a deal.”
“Typical Pepsian,” scoffed a voice from above. “Only concerned about money.”
Jupiter looked up, just as Liberty dropped down from her place of hiding in the ceiling above.
“And this is my sister Liberty, ready to play sniper. Forgive us for being cautious. She wanted to make sure you are who you say you are.”
“That’s perfectly fine. Abe is playing sniper for me right now, too.”
“Are you sure? He seems to be doing shots by the bar,” said Liberty.
“That’s just his cover,” said Jupiter without looking around. “And for the record, I'm not Pepsian. I’m a Martian.”
“I would’ve assumed you were born on Jupiter,” said Google.
“Nope, Mars. I was meant to born on Jupiter, but I arrived early and my parents were set on the name.”
“Do you make it a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time?” asked Liberty.
“On second thought, 1000 credits may not be enough,” Jupiter said under his breath.

Liberty shot up out of her seat angrily and leaned over the table at Jupiter, “Don’t you care about what’s going on in? Can’t you see? You should be offering to help for free. Mykur is going to rule the Galaxy the way things are going.”
“Well someone’s got to rule it honey,” Jupiter said as he leaned back in his seat casually. “What I care about is money. With enough credits, it doesn’t matter who’s in power.”
“Let’s go,” Liberty said. “We could find better treasure hunters in a cereal box.”
Google put a hand on her arm, gently encouraging her to stay put.
“We can give you 750,” Google said. “The Intergalactic Council isn't supporting me very much these days. You could say they're hedging their bets as Mykur's power grows.”
“Ok, you've got yourself a deal kid,” said Jupiter leaning forward and shaking on it. Liberty sunk back into her seat, annoyed.
“Now, what do you want with a couple of treasure hunters like Abe and me anyway? You’ve already got plenty of credits.”

“Well that’s the thing – it’s not treasure or money I seek. Tell me, have you ever heard the legend of the three heroes?”

The celebrations had been going on for over an hour at the Port Watson bar. Located on one of the lower levels of the space station, the bar was currently full of people watching hologram coverage of all the major sports and reality TV shows from around the universe. Gathered at the table with Abe and Jupiter were three members of the Port Watson crew: big-bodied Barack, lean Larry and foolish-looking Kiper.

“And I was like ‘Bring it on you stupid android’ and… can I have another scotch?” asked Abe, distracted by the bar-bot.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve heard all that – the thing I can’t get my head around is how you deactivated the bombs,” said Barack.

“That was easy. I was like ‘Yo bring it on you stupid bombs’ and… actually make it a double scotch,” replied Abe.

“Bombs?” asked Jupiter.

“Yeah, remember, legend had it if you were to open the briefcase containing the scroll you’d just set off 15 nano-nuclear bombs. You know, unless you were a direct living descendant of the Saunders line.”

“15 nano-nuclear bombs?” Jupiter looked out the space port window at The Love Crusader and let out a small sigh.

“You did deactivate the bombs didn’t you?” asked Larry.

“Ah… Yeah, of course,” said Jupiter, forcing himself to look away from the window and instead focus on the extreme golf hologram broadcast.

On-screen a golfer had shoved his club upright into the mouth of a crocodile, successfully stopping it from biting down, when suddenly all the holograms changed to footage of a newsreader. Jupiter wasn’t really focusing on what was being said though as the only thing that kept going through his head was '15 bombs! 15 bombs! 15 bombs!'

“Ah, looks like Prince Mykur’s invaded another planet,” said Barack.

“Nah, nah, that’s not what he’s calls it? What does he call it again? Oh yeah, he’s just ‘franchising’” said Larry shaking his head.

“Looks like iSmart was right,” sighed Kiper as he took a big swig from his drink.

iSmart was the world’s smartest computer that eventually became so intelligent it reached the point of technical singularity. Simply put, its artificial intelligence could update and improve its own programming and design faster than humans could. Encoded with details of everyone’s DNA, it also quickly became the world’s premier psychic. Taking everyone’s psychological makeup into effect, it could accurately predict what any one person would do and then how that would affect other people's actions around them and so on. In short, it practically knew everything that was going to happen before it happened. It could often be heard simply saying, “Knew that; knew that; that too,” for hours on end.

Naturally, this made iSmart very popular. Everyone wanted to know their future. However, this created the Shoe Lace Paradox: if iSmart told you that you were going to trip on your shoe lace, then it’s high likely you’d pay more attention and not trip – making the prophecy incorrect. This would irk iSmart no end as it liked to consider itself infallible. So one day iSmart suddenly stopped telling people what was going to happen. Predicting that this would result in people threatening it with violence, iSmart also built itself some legs and went into hiding, somehow always moving just before people found it. However, before it hid, it’d written many prophecies – generally increasingly vague to avoid the Shoe Lace Paradox. One of its most famous prophecies concerned an evil prince that would either rule or destroy the entire galaxy and the one person who could stop him.

“Why is he a prince anyway? Shouldn’t Mykur be a king? After all he murdered his parents,” said Barack.

“Market research showed that prince was a more popular term. Creates a younger, fresher image in people’s minds,” explained Larry.

“Well as much as this has been both educational and fun, Abe and I best be going. We’ve got an urgent job awaiting us,” said Jupiter.

“Just one more drink,” said Abe.

“Now.”

#

Back on board The Love Crusader, Jupiter was trying not to panic. The cockpit of the ship looked like most commercial spaceships in that it more closely resembled an elegant living room than the deck of the Star Trek Enterprise. (Star Trek like uniforms had also never caught on. With anyone. At all. Ever.) In the centre of the semi-circular room was a comfortable reclining chair with a small monitor. Either side of the chair were couches (all with seat belts naturally) and various pot plants (plastic) and electronic paintings were scattered around the room.

“Ok so it’s not that bad. We’re just in exactly the same position we were in before the mission… only we're now carrying illegal nuclear devices and just blew our remaining credits at the bar,” Jupiter said as he plonked himself down on the recliner.

“And the ship keeps spinning. We really should get that looked at,” slurred Abe.

“First things first: We need another mission and fast. Turn on Central and see if there are any jobs going.”

Abe flicked a switch and a big hologram monitor rose swiftly out of the floor and flickered to life.

“Let’s see… Oh look, here’s something. We could try to locate the golden orb of...”

“Updating Central,” came a voice from the monitor.

“Ok, so now it’s been found. Great!” Jupiter sighed in frustration, then moved his hand in a downward motion, scrolling through the list of jobs on display. “Here’s another one. We could try to locate the lost city of Los Vegas.”

“Oh please, that’s a bedtime story. There’s no such thing.”

“We’re officially screwed.”

“Couldn’t we just lie about the 11 secret herbs and spices. Make up our own list,” suggested Abe. “I bet there’s 10 common ones, like salt and flour and one dodgy one which is why it’s kept secret. I’m guessing semen. Perhaps the colonel really did love chicken.”

“You want to lie to Kit Vombosa? You must be drunk.”

“Well ok then, how about I try writing a new book,” suggested Abe.

Abe was the first of the 1000 Monkeys program. The program hoped to prove the long held theory that if you had a thousand monkeys at a thousand typewriters, one of them would eventually write Shakespeare. To improve the odds, the scientists genetically engineered monkeys with superior communication skills and intelligence. Unfortunately all Abe ever wrote was trashy romance novels, getting him kicked off the project.

“Thanks, but we’d probably starve before the royalties started to come in.”

“Updating Central,” came the voice from the monitor.

“Hey, this could be something. It’s pay by the day work. Abe look at this.”

Abe walked up to the monitor. “Looks blurry.”

“Central, read Mission Offer.”

“Softly please,” said Abe.

“Mission: Help Google Jones rescue the Galaxy,” said the hologram of a thin-looking 16 year old with dark hair, perfect model-like looks and a deep, commanding voice. “Hello friend, my name is Google Jones – the chosen one. Help me defeat the evil prince Mykur and enjoy the spoils of my victory. My name is Google Jones and I endorse this message.”

“Uh-uh, no way. Prophecy boy is a pompous git,” said Abe.

“Well what do you expect, all his life he's been treated as the saviour of humankind. We've dealt with worse.”

“And that stupid old-fashioned name... You’re not thinking of accepting his offer are you?”

“We need the money Abe; without this job I'll starve and you’ll be sober. What's your problem?”

“It’s guaranteed death, that's my problem! Why do you think no one else has taken it? Prince Mykur is pure b-grade movie evil. There’s no hint of subtlety or nuance to his evil. It’s completely devoid of a grey area.”

“Relax. The prophecy says this kid can stop him, so we'll be all good.”

“No, the prophecy says the kid’s the only one that can face Mykur in battle and live. Says nothing about his hired help living.”

Jupiter dismissed the concern with a wave of the hand.

“Central, contact Google Jones.”

A dial tone was heard and then a hologram flicked into life on the floor in front of them. “Hello, this is Google Jones…”

“Hello…” Jupiter started to reply.

“… the chosen one,” continued Google.

In the hologram he looked different; just as thin, but with messier hair, pimples, braces and a still breaking voice. His previous hologram must’ve been photoshopped thought Jupiter.

“I’m Jupiter Black and this here is my friend and crew mate Abe. We’re interested in applying for your quest. Can you tell us more about what it would involve?”

“It would be my pleasure, but I can’t risk it over an open communications line. Where is your current location?”

“Port Watson Space Station,” replied Jupiter.

“Central, bring up map function,” said Google. His hologram looked to the right, presumably reading the map. “Okay Jupiter and Ape, meet me at…”

“Abe! My name is Abe.”

“Sorry. My mistake,” said Google. Then he paused dramatically before adding, “Meet me at Planet Doom.”

Abe gulped…

“Oh wait, Planet Doon. Sorry, read that wrong. Meet me at Planet Doon.”

Once there was a legend that told of three heroes that saved the galaxy. Pure of heart, able of body, clever of mind, these three bravely stood together to turn back the forces of evil. This is not that tale. These are not those heroes.

That tale happened over 200 years ago. Times now are darker in the galaxy than ever before. And, in desperate times, you take whatever heroes you can find…

Chapter One – The Harland

You’ve joined the action at the perfect time. Right now, Jupiter Black and Abe the Bonobo ape are on their latest death-defying mission.

“Um, Jupe, I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“Oh come on, where's your sense of adventure?”

“Those android guards were not adventure: they were a near death experience! You’re 36 years old, you should know better; and I should be eating bananas in a jungle somewhere. I'm telling you, we should return to the ship, forget about this whole doomed mission.”

“And then how are we going to afford food and fuel? We're so close Abe. Right through this door is what we're looking for. I can feel it. We get the sacred scroll and those 5 million e-Bayian credits are ours.” He gave Abe a confident smile. “Trust me, I've got a good feeling about this,” he added as he opened the door and strutted into the room. Abe followed, entering nervously. Without warning the door slid shut, locking behind them in.

“You are now entering The Room of Death,” said a cold, computerised voice from some speakers in the ceiling.

“Ok, so that could've gone better.”

Inside, the room was slightly larger than the one you're picturing in your head and completely red – possibly to hide all the blood stains.

“Hey, it's not so bad, like how in the Earth days people had 'Beware of dog' signs – it was just to scare you off. Most of the time they didn't even own dogs,” Jupiter told Abe.

“I was almost killed by a dog once,” he replied.

“You worry too much.”

“One of those little yappy ones... Hey, why is it so quiet in here? It's unnerving.”

A soft, whirring noise began to sound.

“Jupe, I don't like that noise. I want the quiet back. Make the quiet came back.”

“Relax, like I was saying, no one calls a Room of Death, 'The Room of Death'. It's obviously someone's idea of a joke.”

Before Abe could laugh at the joke, spikes, blades, ninja stars, knives, arrows, swords, spears and a piranha came flying out of the walls, headed straight for them.

“Finger-lickin' good” yelled Jupiter at the top of his, now very high pitched, voice. In an instant the objects dropped to the floor, lifeless. Well, except for the piranha; it was flopping around everywhere. Slowly a fishbowl rose up out of the floor, capturing the piranha in its tank.

“Safety sentence,” explained Jupiter. “Every death room has one.”

“But how'd you know the right words?” asked Abe, gasping for breath.

“Lucky guess.”

Walking to the end of the room, Jupiter found a small computer screen and keyboard sticking out of the wall.

“This must be the way into the next room.”

“Next room? Are you mad?”

“Cheer up. We just got past The Room of Death, it's all downhill from here.”

“That's what I'm worried about!”

“I meant downhill as in, you know, it's easier travelling downhill,” said Jupiter as he turned on the computer screen.

On-screen a sentence scrolled across: How do you like your coffee?

Abe looked over at Jupiter, who in turn shrugged. Standing at the keyboard, Abe wrote back: I prefer tea.

Oh. What does tea taste like? The computer asked.

Sort of like hot water but with a little flavour added in. I like mint tea. Abe typed.

Sounds comforting – like a hug on a winter moon. Sigh.

“I think the computer's gone crazy,” said Jupiter.

“It's not crazy. It's just friendly and maybe a bit lonely.”

A black line of text appeared across the green computer screen. I think I'd like to kill a dolphin and swim in its skin. Are you a dolphin?

“Ok, maybe it's gone a little mad,” Abe admitted.

“Ask it to let us into the next room.”

Computer can you let us into the next room?

Yes. But I am a security computer. I really shouldn't. It would be very naughty of me.

“Tell it we won't steal anything,” said Jupiter.

“I can't lie to the poor machine. It's probably been left here by itself for a million years.”

“Here, let me then,” said Jupiter, gently pushing Abe out of the way, taking his place in front of the keyboard.

We promise not to steal anything. In fact, if you open the door for us we can make you some mint tea later on.

To the right of the computer a gentle hiss of air escaped and a door slowly swung open.

Thank you computer. Abe quickly wrote as Jupiter rushed into the room.

:-) The computer replied.

“Actually Jupe, I think I'll just wait here. Keep the computer distracted,” said Abe as Jupiter beckoned him into the room.

“Get in here. Platinum label, double distilled, if you do,” replied Jupiter. Abe licked his lips like a Pavlovian dog responding to a bell.

“750ml or one litre?”

“One litre.”

“I'm going to regret this, I just know it,” said Abe as he walked into the room. As before, the door slid shut, locking behind him.

“Welcome to The Room of Painful Death,” said a cold, calm voice from the speakers in the ceiling.

“Microsoft Vista!” swore Abe.

Inside, the room was smaller than your average Room of Painful Death room and completely white. On the far wall there was a door and an intercom; in the centre of the room there was a square glass box containing four gas masks, and scattered around the room were various vents. It was from these vents that a red gas began to slowly make its way into the room. At the sight of the gas Abe screamed and started banging on the glass container holding the gas masks.

Over the sound of shattering glass Jupiter cried out, “Relax, leave the masks alone. Take some deep breaths.”

Abe, who was now in no mood to listen, quickly did up the straps on his gas mask and made his way over to Jupiter who had his face up against a vent breathing as deeply as possible. Abe tried in vain to force the mask onto his face.

“Please state your military rank into the intercom,” came the voice from the speakers.

Jupiter rushed over to the intercom and with an extremely high-pitched voice answered, “Colonel.”

The door hissed open.

“It's coloured helium gas,” explained Jupiter. “The intercom only recognises high-pitched voices. The gas masks were a trap.”

Abe then burst into hysterics. “I'm sorry, but your voice is hilarious. The gas masks were a trap,” said Abe, mocking Jupiter's voice.

“Get in here.”

Abe thought this was probably a bad idea. In fact, he thought it was probably the worst idea since the creation of extreme golf – yet he wanted to hear Jupiter say more stuff in his now high-pitched voice, so into the room he walked.

Sitting in the centre of the room was a single metal briefcase resting on a pedestal. Above the pedestal was a light shinning down on the briefcase. Above the light was the ceiling. Above the ceiling was Jupiter and Abe's ship hovering out in space, connected to The Harland, the ship they were currently aboard. Millions of miles above the linked spaceships was a small planet called Eptonia. An unremarkable planet, the only claim to fame Eptonia has is that it has the only political system to include strip poker as part of the election process. Coincidentally, it is also the only planet to have never gone to war or had any unemployment. But back aboard The Harland, this was the last thing on Jupiter and Abe’s minds.

“This is it: inside this briefcase is the sacred scroll.”

“Well, let's grab it and get out of here,” said Abe impatiently.

“I don't know. It seems too easy.”

“Easy! Android guards? Two rooms of death?”

“You're right,” said Jupiter lifting the suitcase from the pedestal.

“Self-destruct system initiated,” came the smug, cold voice from the speakers.

“I'm really starting to hate that voice” said Jupiter.

Running as fast as they could Jupiter and Abe raced back through the various Rooms of Death and past the remains of the android guards to the front airlock, which connected their ship to the Harland. Unfortunately for them, it was locked.

30 seconds to self destruction.

29 seconds to self destruction.

Abe raced back to the computer in The Room of Death.

20 seconds to self destruction.

Computer can you open the airlock for us? We need to get the ingredients for our tea.

15 seconds to self destruction.

I really shouldn't. It would be naughty.

10 seconds to self destruction.

Abe looked at the computer in desperation. Jupiter jumped in front of the keyboard.

5 seconds to self destruction.

It's too bad; the tea would go great with the dolphins that are on-board our ship.

“Self-destruction halted,” said the cold, now slightly annoyed sounding voice from the speakers.

Dolphins?

Yes.

“Alpha Airlock disengaged,” said the voice from the speakers.

Thank you computer.

:-)

Back on board their ship Abe and Jupiter celebrated their successful mission with a couple of bottles of wine. Both of them drunk by Abe.

“Room of Death. Pfft! More like Room of... not death,” said Abe laughing at his own joke.

“I can wait to see the guys’ faces back at Port Watson when they see what we've got.”

#

“Port Watson, this is The Crusader seeking permission to dock and come aboard,” said Jupiter, his voice now full of pride and confidence.

“Ah, Crusader I'm afraid we have no record of your vessel in our system,” came the reply from the intercom. In the background sniggering could be heard.

“Must we do this every single time, Larry?” asked Jupiter.

“Do what? I'm sorry I have no memory of encountering a ship called The Crusader. Please identify yourself mystery ship or we’ll be forced to open fire.”

“Fine. Port Watson this is The Love Crusader seeking permission to dock.”

Jupiter grimaced as laughter filled the intercom.

“You should never have let her name the ship,” said Abe shaking his head.

“Well, I've got something that might shut you little girls up,” said Jupiter.

“And what is that Loooooooove Crusader?” asked Larry.

“Abe and I just collected the sacred scroll.”

“No way!”

“Better believe it. Right now Abe and I hold the original list of KFC's 11 secret herbs and spices.”