Grand Theft Planetary & Other Stories

Grand Theft Planetary

& other stories

HL Jones

Copyright 2013 HL Jones

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Table of Contents

1. Grand Theft Planetary

2. My Life is Saved

3. From Afar

4. Technology Fails Me

5. Modern Glass

6. Man Alone

7. Barriers

8. Murve's Dog

9. Bud and Rufus Play Dare

10. I Rule

11. A Theoretical Question

12. Time and Punishment

13. Farming

14. A Visual Masterpiece

15. Ticket

Grand Theft Planetary

The tiny starship Hasslehog crawled through space, towing an enormous planet behind it. Casper Dee, galactically-reknown Pretender and bored hyper-celebrity, hummed as he worked the controls of the tiny-but-priceless craft, ignoring the frantic messages from the planet. He didn’t need to steal the planet Happy 18th Birthday Sophia Love Daddy (probably the most unfortunate example of the lasting damage a hangover can do when trying to fill out official planetary documents and birthday cards at the same time), but there was simply nothing left to him to do in the universe. Gene therapy had made him immortal, and his Pretending career had made him a willionaire - a willion dollars being defined as the amount of money which, if calculated, would make any computer display #########.

The communicator would not let-up its infernal chiming, so he checked his perfectly trimmed goatee, powdered his already flawless skin, and pressed the green button. A pompous-looking man, swathed in blankets and coats looked momentarily surprised to see none other than Casper Dee staring back at him.

Oh… I… are you…? shivered the man.

I am he, replied Casper with a flourish and launched into his pandering routine for the masses. It’s simply amazing to be here, with my amazing fans. Eat fast food. He waited for the usual applause and adulation, but then remembered he currently had an audience of one. Oh right. What do you want?

I was wondering, Mr Dee, why you’ve pulled us out of orbit and across cold space?

Oh that! It’s… he frantically thought back to the excuses his agent had used in the past, …a wardrobe malfunction caused by stress, dehydration, and vicious rumours.

Oh. The man shivered violently. It’s just that we’re detonating our nuclear weapons just to keep warm! If it’s not too much trouble, could you, y’know, put us back where you found us?

Casper dashed a wine flute at the monitor in an explosive rage. For God’s sake, can’t you parasites leave me alone? All I want is my own life! Go bother someone else!

Outside the main window, the blankness of space suddenly erupted into red-and-blue strobes – it was the police! Casper felt the blood run from his legs; bad publicity beckoned, and with it a loss of money from his sponsors. Not good. Outside, the Sheriff and his deputy descended into view and beckoned him out, notebooks in hand. Casper sighed and suited up.

Good morrow officers, floated Casper in his most respectful voice, and what can I do for you?

Name? said the gruff Sheriff, his moustache filling half of his spacesuit’s visor.

Casper Dee, he replied, waiting for the usual shouts of disbelief, handshakes, and the obligatory pictures to prove that these little people had actually touched a god.

Surprisingly, the cop simply made a note, clearly unimpressed. Can you explain to me, Mr Dee, why you’re towing an inhabited planet across deep space? Behind them loomed the black sphere of the planet in question, the occasional nuclear fire blossoming across its frozen surface.

Planet? What planet?

Say, said the Sheriff’s deputy slowly, his jaw dropping open to display a mess of crooked teeth, you’re Casper Dee! Wow!

Hot dog, mumbled the Sheriff, and stared closer at Casper. Is that a tattoo on your forehead, Mr Dee?

Sponsor’s logo, corrected Casper. As the biggest company in the universe, McWalFord ApSung-MicroPep pay me to be an ambassador for them.

I do like their 400 horse-powered computer in a bun, admitted the cop.

Don’t forget fries, added Casper, remembering his contractual obligations.

A pink buzzbot zipped up between the trio, its bug-eyes rolling crazily. Dear valued consumers, I heard you mention a 400 horse-powered computer in a bun with fries! Would you like to purchase one?

Yes please! said the deputy, licking his cracked lips. A gigantic beige polystyrene box materialized next to him.

Anyway Mr Dee, said the Sheriff, you haven’t explained what you’re doing out here with a planet in tow.

Nothing. I was just flying around and, er, the planet’s just flying around here too.

The Sheriff took notes, then opened up a commlink to the planet. It’s the police. What are you guys doing out here?

Freezing, came the reply. That madman has twocked us! Arrest him, Sheriff!

The Sheriff pulled his gun on Casper as the deputy finished riding his supercharged meal around. Freeze scumbag! Don’t move or I’ll shoot!

I’ll come quietly, officers, started Casper, then pointed theatrically behind the cops, a look of mock-horror on his face. Look! It’s a runaway giraffe going supernova!

Both officers turned, the deputy already screaming in preparation of this dangerous-yet-highly improbable event. Casper scooted back to his ship, disengaged the gravity beam, and the craft dropped into the planet’s atmosphere.

Eventually, the two cops turned back. There’s no giraffe, said the deputy dumbly. Hey, he’s escaped!

He was Pretending, replied the Sheriff, and is now probably hiding somewhere on that planet.

Well let’s go get him!

We can’t, replied the Sheriff, unwinding a long whip-like device, because that planet is evidence. If we go down there after him, the courts will say that the police contaminated the planet and therefore all evidence will be rendered irrelevant.

So now what? asked the deputy.

Like all corporate celebrities, Mr Dee is contractually obliged to update his online Scratterbook profile at regular intervals for his emotionally-bereft fans. I have a hunch that escaping the police might prompt a small update, and with it, his location.

The deputy studied his hoop-shaped mobile phone. "You’re right! Casper’s just posted, Escaped the dumb police lol! He typed like a madman. Ha! I’ve replied fuck da police!" He showed the Sheriff, who programmed the tell-tale 84-digit Galactic Co-ordinate accompanying Casper’s insult into the whip, then flicked the tail towards the planet. The rope floated around lazily, then suddenly hammered off towards the black disk of the world, stretching impossibly. After what seemed like hours, it pulled taunt, then retracted quickly until Casper Dee hovered before the policemen. He looked absolutely terrified from the sudden trip through the planet’s atmosphere.

Casper Dee, said the Sheriff haughtily, You are charged with Grand Theft Planetary. You’re in for one long stretch.

****

Seventy years later, Casper Dee sat up in bed and looked at the empty courtroom for the 25,158th time; the government had proved it necessary to move Casper into the court as a permanent resident in order to slow the depletion of Earth’s petroleum reserves. 50,316 trips to ferry Casper back and forth between the orbiting prison and the court had meant a saving of billions of litres of precious fuel.

Casper washed in the small men’s room sink, dried himself awkwardly using the wall-mounted dryer, dressed himself in thin paper disposable clothes, and then waited for the day to start. The first two years had been pure hell. The bailiffs had read out every offense he had committed, in three hour blocks, to charge him with the theft of the entire planet - from all the small pink buttons in the world to the emotional damage caused by people (believing that the end of the world was nigh) indulging in some sinful but highly enjoyable base pleasures. All the illegitimate babies born nine months afterwards on the planet Happy 18th Birthday Sophia Love Daddy were informally named Casper’s Bastards in honour of the reason and fathers of their conception.

The next 68 years of the trial had been even worse than listening to an inventory of an entire planet, each single theft treated as a separate case, and after seventy years he had been found guilty of the theft of 42 marbles, small. He’d paid the £55 fine in pennies, just for a laugh.

The clock touched nine a.m. and the jury entered, whooping and screeching, most of them sent insane by the boredom of the case. When the jury had been tasered into silence by the guards, a young sharp-faced man entered and sat down in the judge’s chair. Living a life where breaking wind was a pleasant change from the norm, a new face was comparable to seeing aliens rodgering a cow. Casper sat up, his interest at an all-time high.

My name is Justice Nutts. My predecessor Justice League shot himself last night. Casper grinned, knowing that it was probably his three week-long presentation on the meaning of the word the that probably sent League over the edge. Nutts studied the forms on his desk, his hawkish features crumbling in on themselves as he comprehended the case together with the fact he’d probably shoot himself too after a few years of listening to Casper’s presentations. He popped some headphones over his wig and pointed as Casper. So you stole an entire planet. Seems simple enough. Prosecution, let’s hear it. And speak up – I’m wearing headphones.

The lead prosecutor, a slobbish bore named Bertrund Tabby, answered before Casper could reply. We are discussing the 43rd theft of a marble - small, by Casper Dee.

Nutts stared at Tabby. A marble? That’s moronic. He banged his gavel around his desk randomly. Case dismissed. Next?

"The people of H18BSLD versus Casper Dee, the theft of a 44th marble - small."

Dismissed. Next!

The prosecutor shuffled his papers, bacon bits flying everywhere. "The people of H18BSLD versus Casper Dee, the theft of a 45th marble - small."

Nutts sighed. How many marbles - small, is Casper Dee alleged to have stolen in total?

Almost four billion, my lord.

Fair enough. Mr Dee, I find you guilty of stealing all marbles - small. Pay ten thousand dollarpounds. He banged his gavel again. Next!

"The people of H18BSLD versus Casper Dee, the theft of a marble – large," said Tabby, with a straight face.

Nutts pulled his headphones off slowly. I see where we’re going with this, Mr Tabby. How many cases does Mr Dee face in total?

"Mr Dee will be tried for the planet H18BSLD’s constituent parts, said Tabby haughtily, for example, the people of H18BSLD versus Casper Dee, theft of forty-five trillion trillion gallons of oil split between one hundred and one thousand and three owners; the people of H18BSLD versus Casper Dee, theft of fourteen billion tons of coral; the people of H18BSLD versus Casper – "

Thank you Mr Tabby, I get the idea. Nutts doodled on the table, and then turned to Casper. I’m already bored of this. Are you?

I’ve spent the last seventy years of my life in this courtroom, my lord, croaked Casper sadly.

Exactly, and I’m afraid of doing the same. How much would you pay to get out of here?

Casper considered how much he was now worth; a willion dollarpounds accruing interest over 70 years meant that he now owned most of the galaxy, even in his incarcerated state. Fifteen planets? he offered.

Nutts banged his gavel again. Done. Don’t do it again. The jury applauded and dribbled, the guards hugged each other, and Tabby updated his Scratterbook status frantically while stuffing a McWalFord ApSung-MicroPep High-Def Investment Processor into his mouth. Casper smiled, Pretended to thank everyone as humbly as possible, then left the court a free man. In the bright sunlight of a fine day, he looked up at the sky; he was still healthy, and still a willionaire. Don’t do it again, the Judge had said. So what should he do with his immortal life now?

In the silence of the empty courtroom Justice Nutts tapped along with the threcno-beatslash tune. He’d cleared up a 70 year trial and secured the fortunes of 15 planets for the government. Not bad for a morning’s work. Being a judge was easy. Lock away the poor bad guys, fine the rich bad guys. It was a wonder no-one else had realised this successful method of keeping order in the universe. He stood up to dance to his favourite seizure bass riff when he stumbled over, giddy and dizzy. He struggled back into his chair and reached for the monomolecular-thin phone handset that he assumed would be there, but his hand grasped at empty space. It must have fallen on the floor, obviously now lost forever. Before he could fumble his mobile phone out of his trouser pocket, he watched the scene unfolding outside the courtroom window; the sun was setting, picking up speed until it dropped below the horizon. Stars jumped into life and became streaks of white flame in the night sky.

Nutts slapped his forehead in disbelief; the Earth was being stolen!

My Life is Saved

There was a smash from behind the bar, and a few drunken patrons cheered in the expected manner. The barkeeper took a mock-bow, then fetched a dust-pan to clean up the shards. Simon took the top off the beer he was holding and scanned the bar once again, more out of habit than anything. Dark, leather-red, and almost unpleasantly crowded. Outside, orange street-lights were trying to illuminate the darkness. Simon had been in this room dozens of times, yet this was always the first. His gaze fell on a blond woman standing by a raised table, talking to a friend. She was definitely Simon’s type; big tits, tall, large full lips – a good night in.

He took a piece of paper and pen from his pocket and wrote Hi gorgeous, fancy some fun?, then jumped off his stool and handed it to her. She read it, and then slapped him hard. Fuck off. He sighed; always worth trying. The direct approach was like a cash-or-bust option. He restored.

There was a smash from behind the bar, and a few drunken patrons cheered in the expected manner. The barkeeper took a mock-bow, then fetched a dust-pan to clean up the shards. Simon jumped off his stool and wandered over to the blonde lady again. Hi, he said. What’s your name?

She surveyed him cautiously. Fuck off, she said at last, then continued her conversation with her friend. Ah, thought Simon, she’s one of those. Tough nuts needed the appropriate sledgehammer to crack.

There was a smash from behind the bar, and a few drunken patrons cheered in the expected manner. The barkeeper took a mock-bow, then fetched a dust-pan to clean up the shards. Simon jumped off his stool, knocked the blonde out with an upper-cut, and then snatched her handbag from the floor. Before anyone could react, he launched himself off a table and barrelled through the glass window, rolling as he hit the concrete. He sprinted across the road and into the alley opposite, scampered up the wall until he could grab hold of the fire escape above him, then ran up the metal steps until he was on the roof. He could hear screams and raised voices from the bar below, but he was safe for now. He upended the bag and sifted through the assortment of personal belongings; a small flowery diary, a stylish smartphone, bits of make-up, and other female essentials. Simon absorbed the contents of the phone and diary quickly, looking for clues to her personality, a way into her, anything he could use to get her into bed