Intergalactic Terrorist (New Dimension Book 1)

Intergalactic Terrorist

By J. F. Monahan

Copyright 2013 by J. F. Monahan
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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To Katy – thank you for always believing in me.

Intergalactic Terrorist

Prologue

In the beginning there was nothing but an empty black stretch that went on for an eternity. It was a silent, dark, miserable nothing. Not a star or a lump of rock, not a swirl or a whirl or a fleck or a flicker. There was nothing. A deadly, deathly blackness that stretched on forever.

    Of course as nothing yet existed there was no such thing as time or measurements and of course no one there to determine what eternity actually meant. A question often raised in later years, when in fact there were stars and rocks, swirls and whirls and flecks and flickers, was how could scientists
know
that nothing existed? Since they were not there and there was no way to go back there then how could they know? And why is that miserable nothingness believed to be black in colour? Surely if there was nothing there at all then there would be no colour. And how from all this nothingness could there have been a ‘big bang’ that created the universe as we know it? If there was nothing there at all then what could have caused this ‘bang’? Surely there must have been
something
there to cause this phenomenon?

    These were questions that an ageing old scientist living alone on the top of a tall and snow capped mountain, on a planet where the seas were red and the sky was green, considered perhaps too deeply causing his brain to uncontrollably explode. A sad end to a once brilliant yet cold and lonely life.

    Even though everything points to it being impossible, somehow the creation of the universe
was
possible. The as before mentioned ‘Big Bang’, which wasn’t actually a ‘Bang’ as such, more of a fizz and a pop, similar to the squashing of a whoopee cushion followed by the firing of a spud gun. Now, scattered across the heavens were billions upon billions of stars, comets, black holes, wormholes, asteroid belts and of course planets.

    It was on these planets, large dead rocks with no real significance, that life began to spring. Water was formed, plants grew, animals thrived and eventually after a wait that would bore any intellectual being to tears, intellectual beings evolved. Or didn’t evolve according to what social, religious or in some cases sexual groups you talked to. Billions of life forms learning to walk and to talk. Learning to build and to destroy. Learning to make spam and eggs.

    Many of these intelligent beings, in time, ventured into space in great rocket ships. Some of these intelligent beings even met other intelligent beings in the universe, forming friendships, and in some cases bitter enemies. Yet no matter how advanced these various civilisations became, no matter how much knowledge they gathered, there were still two things that they could never fully understand:

a)
     
What the nothingness before the ‘Big Bang’ looked like.

b)
     
If there existed life in alternate dimensions – or indeed if alternate dimensions even existed.

The question of alternate dimensions was something often raised at various scientific conventions and seminars and even at the occasional toga party. Scientists knew that there was something else out there, beyond their space and time, but had no way of proving it was there. Little did these scientists know that as they were sitting around their large clinical table discussing these points, in another dimension that occupied the exact same space as them, another group of scientists were discussing the exact same points whilst putting their car keys into a large bowl in the middle of the room.

    In fact multiple dimensions did indeed exist. Hundreds of dimensions, thousands even. Each blissfully unaware of the other. And in each of these dimensions were thousands of galaxies, millions of planets and billions upon billions of the before mentioned intelligent beings. However in one small corner of the multi-dimensional world was a dimension very different to all of the others. In this dimension, although there were millions upon millions of planets, there was only one that sprouted life. This planet was a small green blue world that orbited a sun and slowly spun on its axis like a chicken on a spit. The inhabitants of this little world named it Earth and compared to many of the worlds in other dimensions, this one could only be called average.

    The people of Earth, or Humans as they were called, had no idea that their planet was the only one with life in their universe. They had no idea that they were ‘alone’ in the galaxy. They liked to think that as they looked up at the stars, on some other world some small green skinned alien with five eyes and four anuses was staring back at them. Many Humans even believed that they had been abducted by aliens, taken back to their flying saucers and experimented on. Of course with no other life in their galaxy this was impossible. An unhealthy amount of vodka and a smoke of something that shouldn’t be smoked seemed more probable.

    So here they sat, the people of Earth, all alone yet with no real idea that they were alone. Working every day to afford the luxuries of life, yet after they have paid for the necessities to live they can no longer afford any of the luxuries offered to them. Mostly bored. And there was no one as bored, as underpaid and as alone as one particular man with messy hair sitting by his desk, his eyes fixed on his flickering computer screen, a headset sat lopsided on his head, in the middle of a busy call centre in an even busier city in a small country called England. And a look of thunder was plastered on his bland and uninteresting face.

Chapter 1

Charlie Pinwright was not a memorable man. In fact if anything he was quite forgettable. His face was round, his eyes were a sort of green/brown mixture and his hair was a similar colour to that of a turnip. Other than the fact that his hair was a constant mess, almost like a scrunched up ball of string sitting atop of his pale forehead, there was nothing remarkable about his face. A fact his mother would often point out, using it as an excuse for forgetting to pick him up from school as a child, saying she would completely forget he even existed!

    Now as an adult of thirty, Charlie still faced the same problem. This was the excuse he received from every company Charlie ever had an interview for. It was the excuse his landlord gave him for allowing a family of Turkish butchers to rent out his bedroom. It was the excuse his girlfriend gave him when he found her in bed with another man, doing things that Charlie didn’t even know were possible. No one remembered Charlie Pinwright. There was nothing special about him at all.

    “As I have already said,” Charlie grunted, “I just work in the call centre. I answer the telephone. I put on my
happy
voice. I pretend to type on my keyboard to make it sound like I am actually interested in the things you are saying to me. I am a monkey doing a monkey’s job. It is not
me
who will be attending your property to repair your fridge freezer. We have paid and apparently trained technicians to do that.”

   
“Very well,”
said the snooty lady on the other end of the telephone.
“What colour hair do you have? It’s just that I don’t trust strange men at my door and I’d like to be able to put a face to your voice.”

    Charlie’s mind cracked. Charlie was similar to an elastic rope. You could stretch and stretch it, but eventually if stretched too far it would snap and slap you in the face. He was, as his girlfriend had told him (previous to the strange tantric sex sessions with the Spanish cake decorator of course) an angry little man. Words, which actually offended Charlie, as he in no way considered himself to be angry or little when in fact he was both. Not tiny in any way, just not as tall as the average man. And his pasty skin and bump of a pot belly didn’t help him look any taller.

    So far at King George’s Electrical Repairs, no one had seen Charlie lose his temper and blow his fuse. It was an event that didn’t happen very often but when it did you knew about it. A bit like an eclipse or a heavy rain of frogs. Steam would literally smoke from his ears and anyone in his way would feel a wrath of thunder similar to someone shaking a bull by its horns and then allowing it to run rampage in a china shop.

    It was something that Charlie was not proud of. His mad rage was something he had tried to control all of his life. He remembered it all stemmed from the numerous times he would have to walk home from school as a child in the pouring rain because his mother had forgotten about his existence. One time he was especially angry after his mother
had
remembered to collect him but actually picked up another child, forgetting what Charlie’s face looked like. That night had been the worst of his rage. So bad was it that when he woke in the morning, surrounded by car wing mirrors, door knockers, several rose bushes and a squirrel, he could not remember the events of the night. Similar to a night of heavy drinking before alcohol had ever touched his young lips.

    Still to this day he would wake in his bed, often next to the hairy face of Abdullah and his hideous butcher wife Manolya, with a serious memory lapse of the previous night’s fury. He had attended several anger management classes and had just begun to control the beast inside him when he had become employed by Geoffrey George, owner of King George’s Electrical Repairs. Admittedly he was accidentally hired when Geoffrey George mixed up Charlie Pinwright with Charles Penwrote, another man interviewed for the same job. An interesting point to add would be that Charles Penwrote would be later hired by Amazing Fixes, a rival electrical repair company. Charles Penwrote would be so successful at his job that he would quadruple Amazing Fixes profits in less than a year. Charles Penwrote would eventually become businessman of the year twelve times running. He would open up his own business that would bring in billions of pounds worth of profits making him the richest man on the planet. Also interestingly, Charles Penwrote would eventually become President of Earth. 

    Charlie Pinwright on the other hand lost King George’s Electrical Repairs over ten thousand pounds in the four months of his employment and would have continued to do so if he was not fired which, unknown to Charlie, was about to happen due to his temper issues, which have tripled since he began his career as a call centre agent.

    “Charlie Penfold… what are we to do with you?” Geoffrey George stood with his hands on his hips, one leg raised up on the large oak wood desk. Charlie, whose face was in line with the large man's crotch, didn’t know where to look. So he considered his bosses plump face, his large red cheeks wobbling as he spoke.

    “It seems there are one or two
issues
we need to iron out.” Geoffrey George slapped Charlie on the back with his plump fingers, covered with chunky gold rings. Geoffrey George glared at Charlie’s creased shirt, worn old trousers and shoes with holes in the soles. He wiped his hand on a handkerchief in his jacket pocket.
His
suit was tailor made and cost more than Charlie’s wages for a whole year. It was dark green velvet and Geoffrey was sure that twelve Asian child workers must have died to create it. A fact he was most proud of.

    “What do you need Charlie my boy?” he asked, “Extra training? For if that is the case then that is what you shall get!”

    Training? The inside of Charlie’s mind was bubbling. ‘It’s not training I need,’ he thought to himself, ‘it’s getting rid of pathetic customers. The type that scream and bawl because he couldn’t get a technician to repair their television for two days. Two flipping days! It’s not a life or death situation… it’s a bloody television not a life support machine! Can’t these people go and read a book?’

    “How about a pay rise?” Charlie eventually mumbled sulkily.

    Geoffrey grinned from ear to ear. “A sense of humour! Always a pleasure in the work place,” he chortled, but quickly adding, “not too much however. We don’t need too much fun.”

    ‘Too much fun?’ thought Charlie, bemused, ‘you could have more fun watching a duck shitting on a plant pot than working in this dump!’

    “Look my boy,” Geoffrey continued, “you should be honoured to work in such a fine establishment! You know I also started off in a company like this. I too was a nobody. Look at me now… I own three cars. Three cars I tell you! How many cars do you own Penfold?”

    Charlie grumbled. “None King,” he replied. Geoffrey George insisted that all of his employees called him King whilst in the work place. In fact Geoffrey George wanted everyone to call him King all of the time. In his eyes he was a King. King of the world of electricals! King of making money! King of the entire universe! As a child he made his fat mother cook him chicken wings and call him King, presenting them on a silver plate. At university he claimed he actually was royalty and believed that everyone saw him as a divine figure when in fact they stuck ‘kick me’ signs on his back. He forced every person in his life to call him King – his brother, his sister, his cousins, his friends – all of who had now moved as far away from him as possible. The only person to actually stay by his side was his skinny little wife who looked like a scrawny rodent with large glasses, giving her the appearance of a ferret/owl crossbreed. She happily called Geoffrey King, especially in bedroom situations, even placing a crown upon his head and a cloak on his back, shouting, “Ride me my King, faster! Faster!”

    “I was once like you Charlie my boy,” Geoffrey George continued, “well… not really. I was never a lay-about, a slob… a loser. But I once had nothing and I worked my way up and now I have everything!” Charlie fidgeted in his seat. He did not appreciate being called a ‘loser’. He could feel his blood boiling.

    “You have the opportunity to be like me Charlie,” the large, rounding man said with a big fake smile plastered between his red cheeks, “all you need is a little discipline. You do want to succeed don’t you Charlie my boy?”

    Charlie shrugged his shoulders.

    Geoffrey persisted. “You
do
want to succeed don’t you?”

    Charlie raised his eyes to his large bosses face, trying to ignore the crotch, which was now strangely thrusting his direction. “Erm… yes King?” he said meekly.

    “And you do want to keep this job don’t you?”

    “Erm…
yes King?
”

    “And do you want to have the chance to be like me one day?”

    “Erm…
yes King?
”

    “Excellent! Well if you work hard, follow the training I am to give and keep your temper in check then there is a very good possibility that you could be like me…” Geoffrey stopped in his tracks. “Well not exactly like me,” he corrected himself. “There is no way that someone like
you
could ever be as successful as me. You will never be Charlie the King. Perhaps a prince… or a duke. How does that sound?”

    Charlie rolled his eyes. ‘I’d rather stick a dirty needle in my eye,’ he thought to himself. “Sounds wonderful,” he said a little too over enthusiastically.

    “Excellent Penfold! Now… back to work little robot! There’s a good man.” He patted Charlie on the rear end as he ushered him out of the door. “And I must warn you… one more mistake and I will not be so forgiving.” He leaned down and whispered into Charlie’s ear. “
I will throw you out of this building so fast that your stomach will hit the roof of your mouth!”
And then he smiled.

    Charlie found himself back in the chicken coop that was the call centre, Geoffrey George’s office door slamming behind him. All three hundred employed eyes turned to stare at him. Echoes of ‘naughty naughty’ and the occasional ‘who’s that guy?’ sounded from the back as Charlie walked sheepishly past the banks of desks to find his own little chair. He sat down and, hiding his head behind his folders, logged back into the computer ready to take the next phone call.

    He was all ready for it. He would be kind and helpful and courteous. He would be happy with his job. He was Charlie Pinwright – hard working and dedicated employee of King George’s Electrical Repairs. Unfortunately the first phone call he would take was about to change all of that. It was a phone call that would change his life forever.

    “King George’s Electrical Repairs, Charlie speaking, how can I help you today?”

   
“Yes! Repairs? Yes?”

    “That is correct sir. How can I help you?”

    “I need a repair! Will you come and repair?”

    “Is it an electrical repair sir?”

    “Yes electrical! Correct! When will you be here?”

    “Where are you calling from sir?”

   
“In the forest. I am most definitely in the forest.”

    Charlie’s mind went blank. Another nutter. Why did he always seem to get the nutters? “In the… forest?” he said slowly.

   
“That is correct! You will be here soon yes? How long will you be? An hour perhaps? What do you look like? It is just I do not trust strangers near my things,”
said
the bizarre voice coming from the earpiece of Charlie’s headset. The voice was stuttering and seemed a little confused. He spoke in erratic quick mumbles with odd variations in tone and pitch, almost like someone reading a different language without ever having any experience of speaking it.

    Charlie was at a loss for words. “I am sorry sir but it will not be
me
that attends. I just work in the call centre.”

   
“Excellent, excellent! So your name was Charlie and I will see you in an hour then?”

    Blood boiled. Steam fired from ears. The proverbial bull was let loose in the china shop. Charlie Pinwright’s fuse finally blew. His temper snapped.

    “Look you strange ignorant nutter!” he screamed down the headset, forcing the entire office to turn and stare at him, the ones at the back doing their best impressions of meerkats. “
I
work in an office! I wear a bloody five pound shirt and trouser set not dirty work overalls! I type on a keyboard and my eyes bleed from staring at a computer screen all day long! I DO NOT FIX ELECTRICALS! I wouldn’t even know where to start! And I am sick and tired of mental weirdos like yourself calling up from bloody forests making my day a living nightmare! Just one day… just the once… I want to go back to my tiny little flat, sit down to a quiet meal and relax
without
the gaggling sound of Turkish babble invading my space…
without
worrying that I am going to find any remnants of my now ex-girlfriends lover wrapped in tissues behind my furniture… and
without
my head throbbing from morons like you really pissing me off!”

    There was an eerie silence that echoed across the call centre. Tumbleweed would have rolled across the floor if the floors of large office spaces happened to have tumbleweed randomly roaming the building. Somewhere in the distance a passing vulture crowed.