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    Octavius Mint and the Indigo Dragon: The adventures of an action hero who is all mouth and no trousers
    Octavius Mint and the Indigo Dragon: The adventures of an action hero who is all mouth and no trousers
    Octavius Mint and the Indigo Dragon: The adventures of an action hero who is all mouth and no trousers
    Ebook216 pages3 hours

    Octavius Mint and the Indigo Dragon: The adventures of an action hero who is all mouth and no trousers

    By William Stafford

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    About this ebook

    Irrepressible, intergalactic good-time guy Octavius wakes in a grey room. He has many questions - not least of which is how he came to be there. Making good use of his quick wit and pretty face, Octavius embarks on a series of adventures in which he strives to uncover the secrets of his past and unravel the mystery of the Indigo Dragon. This funny and inventive story will entertain fans of science fiction, fantasy and saucy humour.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAG Books
    Release dateMar 11, 2016
    ISBN9781781663042
    Octavius Mint and the Indigo Dragon: The adventures of an action hero who is all mouth and no trousers

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      Book preview

      Octavius Mint and the Indigo Dragon - William Stafford

      Prince.

      Grey

      Oof, my head! This was the first thought that occurred to me when consciousness returned. I peeled my fingers from my eyes then, with no little effort, forced my eyelids to part. The world was grey. Flat, featureless grey. Which suited me fine; everything behind my eyes seemed to be vibrant red and pulsing like a Hongoolian samba. I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my hangover away - a trick I learned when I was fourteen. What had I been drinking last night? I could remember nothing. Probably Scravotzian mind-wipe, which has often been my downfall. There’s a clue in the name but I never seem to learn my lesson. But then, you wouldn’t, would you? Because of the memory loss...

      I shook my head to clear these musings and glanced down at my lap. I was not wearing a stitch. Hello, old friend. What kind of a mess have you got me into this time?

      My old friend remained silent on this matter. He had a lot to answer for.

      So there I was, buck naked in the thirty-first century. In some kind of box. The uniformity of the greyness made the dimensions difficult to make out. But I seemed to have plenty of room to stretch my legs and, after a few preliminary wobbles, stand up. I consoled myself with the thought that this was probably not a coffin, so I was probably not dead yet, and the grey would bring out my eyes wonderfully.

      Pity there was no one around to see it.

      I did a few stretches, took a few breaths then patted my hands all around the surfaces of the walls like some kind of mime artist.

      Was this some kind of cell, then? Had I been arrested yet a-bloody-gain?

      There were no clues; nothing.

      If I were in jail, wouldn’t there be some kind of surveillance device to keep an eye on me? I flashed each corner my cheesiest grin. Nothing. Nada. Zip. I tried a few coquettish poses of decreasing modesty. Not a thing.

      Tough room.

      I considered shooting my way out. Never mind if beyond those grey walls was the vast empty blackness of space; at least I’d go out fighting.

      But even the most cursory clench of my butt muscles told me what my fingers were soon to confirm: The gun was gone. Unknown hands had removed it while I was unconscious. The worst kind of violation: I hadn’t been awake to join in.

      Strike that option off the list.

      I dropped to a sitting position. The floor was cold beneath my buttocks; normally a welcome sensation but I couldn’t enjoy it. I had some mega-thinking to do to get myself out of this one.

      Now, I like to think of myself as a clever sort of fellow. True I tend to use my body to get me out of situations more often than my brain but then it’s my body that invariably gets me into these situations. Clearly, the mystery of the grey box called for my grey matter to solve it.

      Think, think, think think think...

      I got nothing.

      I played drums on my thighs but even that didn’t help.

      Then, suddenly, the wall opposite me appeared to melt and a tall figure in blue stepped in. The wall solidified behind him/her - it doesn’t matter which. Now there was another body in the room, I had something to work with. I allowed my knees to separate a little more. Let the dog see the rabbit.

      A blank blue visor glanced down at the merchandise. A gloved finger pointed upwards. It took me a while to realise this was not an overture but an instruction for me to stand.

      Hey, I put my eyes and teeth on full beam. How’s it hanging?

      The blue visor tilted slightly. Gloved hands pushed my shoulders roughly. I backed into the wall. One glove tore the other one off. Soon bare hands were ripping at the fastenings on the uniform. Taut muscles were revealed beneath. Within a matter of seconds, the uniform was puddled around our feet and my guard or warden or whatever he was (and he was most definitely male!) was leaning in for a kiss.

      Uh-uhh, I pushed him away. Only one helmet per customer.

      He lifted his visor. It dropped to the floor with a hefty clunk.

      You know, he wasn’t half bad looking. Different circumstances, I might have made a night of it but this time, it was not to be.

      I snogged him hungrily and ran my hands all over him until I was sure I had his undivided attention. I snaked my way around him and pushed him up against the wall. He grunted his approval, urging me to go on. It was so tempting. I don’t know how I restrained myself. So it was with regret that I scooped up the heavy visor and swung it down onto the back of his head.

      Sorry, lover, I winced as he slumped to the floor. Some other time.

      I tugged his crumpled uniform from beneath him and climbed into it. It was an all-in-one trouser suit, the kind that should have died out aeons ago. It was a little tight around my chest, I was pleased to notice. I haven’t been near a gym in the longest time.

      I patted myself down for buttons, devices, and thingamabobs. There didn’t appear to be any weapon. Not even a key to open the door. I leaned a hand, now gloved, against the wall. It melted away - the wall, I mean, not my glove. So that was how it worked!

      I turned to give my unconscious playmate a salute.

      So long, buddy, I sighed. I took one last look at what I was leaving behind. So very long.

      I stepped through the wall and it closed seamlessly behind me. From all-over grey to all-around black. No one would be able to see the striking silhouette I made in that skin-tight uniform. Another wasted opportunity.

      Beneath my boots (which were a little too large - perhaps it is true about men with big feet) was a metal walkway leading in two directions.

      A toss-up - and not the good kind. In the absence of coinage of any kind, I did the old eeny-meeny and plumped for the right. I was soon met by two fellows similarly dressed marching the other way. They stopped. Uh-oh, I thought, this can’t be good.

      Number Five, said one, his voice metallic through his face guard.

      Did he mean me?

      I nodded.

      You were sent to check on Number Five. He was beginning to sound like a pissed-off robot.

      Ah, so he did mean me, the me in the grey room not the me disguised as one of them.

      Everything’s cool, I said. I could imagine their frowns beneath the visors. I searched my mind for something less vernacular and more militaristic. Everything’s A.O.K. All is well. Simpatico. Sweet.

      So he is dead, then?

      Um... This threw me. If things were sweet then I must be dead?

      Is he dead or isn’t he?

      Not exactly...

      Meaning?

      He was alive when I left him. Sir, I added for good measure.

      That’s Ma’am to you!

      Oops.

      Oh, I haven’t got time for your jokes, harrumphed the female behind the mask. Just keep a close eye on his vitals. He’s Prime and we can’t afford any slip-ups.

      Prime? Little old moi?

      It has been said - and not just by me. Even though these people wanted me dead, this was still a boost to the little old ego. I saluted, perhaps a little too jauntily as they marched away. When they were out of sight, I hurried along searching for a whatsit - I want to say ‘ogress’ - Egress! A way out. What I found was a way in to a large room with banks of monitors around an enormous piston-type thing, making humming and whooshing sounds behind a protective grill. I sidled up to one of the monitors to see what I could see.

      There was a pad shaped like a human hand beside the array of keys. It took a few swipes of the ill-fitting glove but eventually the screen blinked alive, displaying the face of the bloke whose uniform it was. He was hot, there was no denying it. Another time in a parallel universe, and who knows what might have happened? (Well, something altogether predictable, knowing me.)

      I prodded keys indiscriminately but not without purpose. I was looking for a schematic of the ship. Something with a big red arrow saying You Are Here would be nice.

      I had to navigate past several security levels - I was lucky no retina scan was necessary - but I soon became aware of a presence at my shoulder. Or rather, at my elbow. A rather short and squat creature in a shiny but dirty boiler-suit affair had approached unseen. His face was flat and circled by a growth of fuzz. His eyes were green ovals, slit diagonally with black and gold. He blinked and revealed beaver teeth in a nervous smile.

      Surprise inspection? he breathed. I got the impression he was trying to be all nonchalant. We weren’t expecting that.

      Well, that’s why it’s a surprise, I murmured. For my part, I affected to ignore him and get on with my work.

      Is there anything I can help you with? the little guy offered, tenting his furry fingertips in a gesture like praying.

      Just let me get on with things! I snapped. He recoiled, blinking. His mouth quivered. I felt terrible, scaring him like that, but needs must.

      A second, identical to him, had appeared at my other elbow. Where had he sprung from?

      The two of them exchanged significant looks, nodded. They seemed to be egging each other on to say or do something. Presently, the new guy spoke.

      We have defragmentalised all portals. All systems are at ninety-eight per cent efficiency.

      Ninety-eight, huh? I shook my head sadly. They both seemed on the verge of tears.

      Good, good, I nodded. Their relief was visible.

      We shall arrive at the appointed time, said a third, who looked the same as the first two but was slightly taller.

      Unless, said the first, with a look of foreboding, the ETA has been brought forward.

      ETA? I hate it when people speak in initials. Gets right on my T.I.T.S.

      We could boost the secondary injection units, added a fourth. He was like the first one but minus the face fuzz. What were they, brothers?

      I allowed my helmet to bob slowly, as though considering their remarks.

      You will give a favourable report? the first whimpered, smiling nervously.

      That depends... I said, significantly.

      On what, on what? they jabbered. They were really hanging on my every word. The power of a uniform! Perhaps I should hold on to this one. It would require a few alterations - you couldn’t see my gorgeous face for one thing.

      On whether you gentlemen can leave me to conduct my... assessment in peace and get back to work! I took a step towards them. Startled, they scurried away back to whatever it was they had been doing.

      If that was the only opposition my exit was going to encounter, this would be a walk in the park, including a frolic in the bushes. I checked the route again and returned the screen to its default menu. Indigo Dragon said a legend in a decorative font. The name of the vessel, no doubt. The letters rotated before reforming into a logo: a dragon, of course, and you can guess what colour. I’d never heard of it. The mystery deepened. My impulse to get the flub out of there became more insistent.

      I marched in quite a jaunty way across the Engine Room. The little engineers kept their gaze pointedly averted. What were they so afraid of? To be honest, I didn’t really care.

      Out in a corridor, I tried to remember the schematic I had only glimpsed. A ship of this apparent size would have escape pods somewhere. The sooner I could hotwire one and bugger off, the better.

      A couple of uniformed figures were approaching. I didn’t want to be intercepted so I looked for somewhere to hide until they passed. The walls were giving nothing away but a little ahead and to my left, billows of steam were escaping from a room. The ship’s galley. My opportunistic brain told me I could stock up with supplies for my escape. I felt better about ducking in there, out of sensible planning rather than being too chicken shit to cope with questions from guys in uniform.

      The doorway was running with condensation. Someone was either doing a lot of boiling in there or was having a sauna. I couldn’t find a knob (not like me at all) and then I remembered the magic gloves. I patted the flashing panel until I found the G-spot. With a hiss, the door melted away and more steam swelled out into the corridor. I couldn’t see Thing One in front of me.

      Doan jes stond theer letting a’th’heat oot ma kitchen! scolded a gruff voice from the midst of the mists. I stepped over the threshold and the door re-materialised behind me. Copper-bottomed pans, suspended on hooks, banged against my helmet.

      Ach, come in, ye timorous beastie, grumbled the unseen speaker. He wasn’t really Scottish. Wasn’t even Earthish. I’m paraphrasing his accent to give a bit of colour. I shuffled towards the source of the voice, stooping and treading carefully. It’s aboot time an’all! He hadn’t even turned to look at me. I could have been anyone. And, I guess, that’s who I was. Heer, a slab of a hand offered me a short, sharp blade. Git to skinnin’ yon tubers. Whan ye’ve finished wi’them, theer’s a moonten o’ tatties o’er yonder.

      He’d obviously mistaken me for some kind of skivvy or galley slave. But he had given me what amounted to a weapon so I was inclined to be grateful. I reached for one of the misshapen, knobbly vegetables.

      Och! came the cook’s disdain at my elbow. Hold it like a wee woman, ye ken? Y’hafta be firrum but gentle, mind? Or else yon woman’s goiny git oota hand. He picked up a tuber and held it in the span of his hand between middle digit and thumb. Then ye teck yon blade, like so... A curl of peel rose up in the wake of his knife. Must be what passes for lovemaking on his planet. I didn’t intend to stick around to test this hypothesis. While he continued his demonstration, my eyes scanned the kitchen for anything that might be of use. Edible, I mean. Root vegetables are not my thing - not for eating, anyway. What I needed was something both portable and potable. Something dried in foil packets. Good old-fashioned space cuisine like Mom used to buy.

      At the far end of the room, there was a recess - the stores? There was nothing else, as far as I could see, through all the steam. Pan after pan of boiled vegetables added to the fog, the obfuscation. This unappetising fare was probably for the crew.

      Ach, ye’re wuss than useless, y’great bollock, ye. A heavy hand pushed me backwards. The cook stepped into my place and began peeling potatoes at warp speed. It was then that I realised he had two pairs of arms, sprouting beneath his neck like the points of a compass. I wondered if his name was Forewarned (because he was four-armed! Hah!) His eyes were far apart - presumably so he could see what his hands were doing. Sturdy little legs supported his stout, barrel-chested body. With such a low centre of gravity, he would take some toppling. But he was standing between me and the storeroom and, on my way back, he’d be between me and the door. He was going down; there was nothing else to be done.

      I glanced at the little blade he’d given me. This was next to useless as a vegetable peeler, let alone as something to poke into his pachyderm hide. Maybe I could reach down one of those copper-bottomed pots... My stomach did flip-flops - it liked the idea. Alternatively, I could just back out of the kitchen and head for the escape pod, empty-handed and empty-bellied. Choices, choices.

      My neglected stummy roared its impatience.

      Down, boy, I muttered. The cook was now absorbed in his work and appeared to have forgotten my existence. I stood

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