Shortly, with all the crystals performing their task admirably, the quartet returned to the control room…
…and scanned nearby space for the abductor’s ion trail.
“I think they left via our starboard side.” Bunty suggested. “Then they flew over us and went off in the opposite direction.”
So Ginger scanned space on their vessel’s port side, and within moments of the electronic bloodhound’s cyber-sniff…
…they had what they wanted.
“Right then,” Ginger spoke confidently, “push the Go button, Daisy.”
Well, even to a dingbat such as Daisy, the task of igniting the engines was an easy affair…
Shortly afterwards the ship was blasting along at a fair old lick…
Tong-Tong, despite being a mere waiter, was of the opinion that the Robotic Justice League would choose a location for their base of operations near interplanetary shipping lanes.
“It is what I would do, if I wasn’t a waiter.” It concluded. “By the way – does anyone fancy a crappachino?”
Not for the first time, robotic logic was proven infallible. Within moments of Daisy asking after some hazelnut syrup for her crappachino, the ship’s sensors detected a large artificial object ahead of them…
Daisy, Ginger, and Bunty all squished their eyelids together for a better view…
And there it was – against the backdrop of eternity – a vast space station of unknown origin.
“Magnify.” Ginger instructed the control panel.
Immediately, the device complied…
“Oh lummy,” Bunty wailed aboard the fast-approaching freighter…
…”there’s loads and loads of space ships. We’re horribly outnumbered!”
“I know how to make the ship go,” a worried Ginger said, “but I aint got a clue what to do now it’s got us here.”
Bunty wasn’t any help either: and all Tong-Tong could do was swivel its eyes this way and that. Daisy, though, was paying close attention to the tableau upon the screen…
“Look”, she said, “freighters are coming and going all the time. We’re a freighter: what makes us so different?”
Ginger and Bunty joined her…
“What – you mean to go aboard that…that…thing?” Bunty said incredulously.
“They’ve taken our crew there.” Daisy argued. “We should free them from their…ur…their cyber-freedom. It’s not what they were designed for; and it’s not what they want. They like being robots. In any case – what did we follow them here for, if we don’t wanna save them from that ghastly bunch of looney robots?”
These were words spoken eloquently. Well sort of. Ginger made a snap decision. “I can’t concentrate here – not with all these distractions. Let’s get back to our hidey-hole, and lay some cunning plans.”
Therefore, they did…
Bunty began proceedings. “You’re both mad.” She said. “We’re living beings. Silicon life forms. They’re bound to have monitoring devices on that station. CCTV at the very least. One look at us waltzing through the airlock will have alarms going off from here to Alpha Centauri!”
It was a good point well made. Then Ginger displayed an uncanny talent for stress-induced genius. “Hey,” she blurted into the resulting silence, “remember how we used to get out of hockey practise on cold December mornings at school?”
It had been almost three years since either girl had needed to suffer the agonies of hockey practice on cold December mornings at school: but the memory was forever burned into their collective psyche. It was something that they would never forget – unless they had their minds wiped, of course; which was possible in the Museum of Future Technology, though unlikely.
“Yeah?” Daisy and Bunty replied tentatively.
Bunty alone continued:
“We used to pretend we were ill.” She said. “We would mentally drain the blood from our faces so that we had a ghastly pallor.”
Daisy took up the exposition:
“The teachers would think we were about to throw up, and quickly sent us to the common room for a cup of tea and a biscuit.”
“But could it work again?” Bunty dared ask. “Could looking like the undead really get us past their security?”
Ginger shrugged her shoulders. “It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”
The pink and blue earplugs retained some uncertainty, and it showed. Ginger pressed on:
“Look,” she said, “we can fly this ship back to Earth: but what’s going to happen to us when we get back to the Museum of Future Technology? We destroyed a whole exhibit: I don’t care what Gregor Arsentickler or Major Flaccid say – Cushions Smethwyke is going to want us hung from the highest tree in the arboretum.”
Bunty caught her drift:
“Cushions Smethwyke loves heroes. Heroes can get away with pretty much anything in the Museum of Future Technology. If we uncover the RJL and free the abducted crew…well they’ll forget all our transgressions. We might even get interviewed by Rupert Piles and become almost famous on TV!”
This last point convinced Daisy:
“Almost famous.” She gushed. “I’ve always wanted to be almost famous. And since I can’t sing and dance, and I’m not particularly pretty, this is probably the only way it’s ever gonna happen. I say, let’s go for it!”
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022