Illegal Aliens
Inspired by Mamajamma. This story features the Judoon, a race from the British sci-fi series Doctor Who. However, you don't need to have seen the series to understand what's going on here.
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Chapter 1
Lawrence Limburger swivelled in his chair thoughtfully. Abruptly he snatched up a pen and a sheet of paper, and began scribbling furiously. The scribbling slowly stopped. The Plutarkian stared at the sheet of paper for a moment, then savagely tore it to shreds, screwed the remains into a ball and, cursing, hurled the ball at the wall. It bounced off and struck a thin, red-haired figure, who gave Limburger a reproachful look. Limburger sighed.
“It’s no good, my dear Doctor Karbunkle” he announced. “I must finally admit to being beaten. Every scheme I come up with has some fatal flaw which would doubtless result in my regrettable ruin.”
“Now, now, your cheddar cheesiness!” Karbunkle rebuked him, “Never say die!”.
“Mr surreal cyberneticist, death is presently of no concern – it is bankruptcy which has cast its sorrowful shadow over me. Bankruptcy and an inability to defeat those meddlesome mice! How am I supposed to regain favour with Plutark when I cannot afford to even fund schemes to win it back?!” Karbunkle gave a little cough, and said uneasily,
“If I might suggest, your supreme stinkiness… you could get… a… job?” He cringed back. Limburger stared at him. Then he began to laugh, long and hard.
“Oh my divine Doctor” he exclaimed, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, “you do bring a ray of sunshine into my life! I get a job? From where, precisely?” He sighed. “Ah, the political system… when I had wealth, the world was at my feet. Yet now… I am nothing. I cannot get a job because I am, technically, an illegal – aha – alien!” His smile of ironic laughter hung about his lips for a moment before fading, but was instantly replaced by an evil grin. “Yes… yes… Now there is a scheme… Karbunkle, have you managed to build me a new VidCom system?” The scientist nodded.
“Just a little bit of fine tuning, my fantastic fromagier!”
“Excellent. When it is ready, let me know immediately. I have a crime to report…”
At the Last Chance, the mice were hanging around, idling away the time. Vinnie and Throttle were playing Chinese Chequers, with Vinnie becoming increasingly smug about his winning streak.
“What can I say?” he grinned. “Looks, biker skills, chequers – there ain’t nothin’ I don’t lead the field in!” Charley looked up from where she was doing the accounts and snorted.
“How about humility?” Throttle laughed.
“Whoa, Charley-girl, don’t confuse him with long words!”
“Yeah!” agreed Modo, “he could look it up in a dictionary – but he’d have to look up ‘dictionary’ first!” Vinnie turned his nose up in the air.
“Surrounded by jealousy” he observed. Then he glanced down at the board, gave an evil grin and reached out. “Jump, jump, jump!” Throttle stared.
“Hey – that’s left me with only two men!” he protested as Vinnie smiled triumphantly. Charley rubbed her face and yawned.
“You guys going to just laze around all day?”
“Beats workin’, sweetheart” Vinnie replied.
“You got a problem, Charley-ma’am?” Modo asked. Charley shrugged.
“Just three hungry Martian mice to feed. And the damage caused by Rimfire’s escapades whilst Vinnie and me were back on Mars… I’m not a millionaire, you know.” When the pair had finally returned to Earth, Rimfire had had to explain how he’d demolished half of Charley’s bedclothes in the creation of a fake Vinnie. Charley had wearily accepted his apology, and observed that Vinnie being full of feathers certainly made a change from him being full of himself.
“I’m sorry, Charley” Throttle said, “I wish we could contribute something…” The mechanic smiled.
“That’s okay” she replied, “I realise you’d cause a few raised eyebrows at a job interview.”
“And we ain’t even got visas” Vinnie laughed. “I wonder if saving the world qualifies you for one…” he added thoughtfully.
“With your filthy mind, you’d be refused on grounds of ‘moral turpitude’, Mr Libido” Charley suggested. Vinnie winked at her.
“Hey babe – you know you’re the only one I have dirty thoughts about” he leered. His girlfriend rolled her eyes.
“Me and every other female that crosses your path…”
The VidCom screen flickered into life, displaying a red octagon, emblazoned with a black symbol resembling two capital Es, one a mirror image, in a broken rectangle. After a moment this was replaced with the grizzly image of a rhino-like creature.
“Ko yo cho!” it instructed. Limburger gaped at the ugly visage.
“Er… hello?” he tried. “My name is Lawrence Limburger…” He was interrupted brusquely.
“Universal translator identifies your speech as Earth English. State your business”. The rhino did not appear to be in the mood for small-talk.
“I wish to report a crime…” Limburger tried, but was again cut off.
“Earth is not a signatory of the Galactic Law Enforcement Treaty. We have no jurisdiction over that planet. Human crime is not within our remit. Contact your local law enforcement agency.” The alien reached to cut the link, but Limburger pressed on.
“But, my perisodactylate policeman, these are not human crimes.” The officer hesitated.
“Explain.”
“The criminals are Martians, who have committed crimes against Plutark, and who have taken refuge on Earth.” The switchboard operator narrowed his eyes.
“Nevertheless, there is no extradition treaty with Earth. We have no authority to act.”
“I have obtained a temporary warrant which will give you jurisdiction during this operation, which I can transmit to you if you will take on this case.” The officer pursed its lips.
“Transmit your warrant. We will consider.” The screen snapped off. Limburger sat back.
“Polite, aren’t they.”
Night had fallen on Chicago. The bros were about to take their leave of Charley and return to Quigley Field when the air was disturbed by a deep, throbbing sound.
“What the…?” Throttle gaped. “Charley, got any binoculars?” The mechanic fetched them, and the tan furred mouse watched a group of lights, like the glow from a tower block, descending near Limburger’s offices. “Uh oh…” he murmured. “If that’s what I think it is, someone’s in big trouble.”
“What do you think it is?” Charley asked. Throttle lowered the binoculars, his expression grave.
“Judoon.”
Massive doors at the base of the towering ship slid open and a ramp extended. A column of huge, black clad figures, heavily armoured and with their faces concealed behind heavy helmets, trooped down the ramp. A hobo who had been crouched in one corner of the street stared in utter terror at the apparitions. Panicking, he hurled the bottle he was clutching and it smashed against the head of the lead trooper. The figure turned to look at him, and raised his hands to lift off his helmet, revealing the rhino-like face beneath.
“Witness the crime” he stated in a deep, harsh voice. “Charge: Physical assault. Plea: Guilty. Sentence: Execution.” He drew a gun from a holster at his side and fired. The scarlet beam struck the helpless man in the chest. In an instant his body had been reduced to dust. The Judoon Captain holstered his disintegrator and observed matter-of-factly “Justice is swift.”
“What are Judoon?” Charley asked.
“Bad news, babe” Vinnie replied, and even he sounded uneasy. “Very bad news”.
“They’re police” Modo explained. “Interplanetary cops-for-hire. You got a criminal you want disposing of? Call in the Judoon – they’ll hunt him down across the galaxy. But they’re more than that – they’re also judge, jury and executioner all rolled into one. And I mean executioner – as far as they’re concerned, most crimes carry the death penalty.”
“But you saw where they landed” Charley pointed out. “Have they come for Limburger?”
“I don’t know” Throttle mused. “But something tells me that they’re on the look out for three Martian Cave Mice who bear a striking similarity to us…”