Galaxy Patrol by Jean Ure

jet pack.
    â€˜This is too gross,’ she said.
    Did she mean gross that the Queen was chucking biscuits about the place? Or gross that we were stuck on a ledge somewhere up near the ceiling?
    â€˜What are we supposed to
do
?’
    At the sound of her voice, one of the corgis looked up and barked.
    â€˜Shut up!’ yelled the Queen, and threw another biscuit.
    I said, ‘You know what we’re supposed to do – we’re supposed to destroy an alien bug.’
    â€˜I don’t want to destroy an alien bug,’ said Rosie. ‘I want to go home!’
    â€˜Well, you can’t,’ I said. ‘We’re on a mission.’
    â€˜I don’t want to be on a mission! I didn’t ask to come on a mission. I didn’t volunteer!’ Her voice rose to a shriek. Even the Queen tipped her head to one side; wondering, no doubt, how bats had got into the palace. The corgis, in a frenzy of excitement, rushed about the room, barking.
    â€˜I thought I told you to shut up!’ the Queen yelled again, snatching her packet of biscuits and hurling it at them.
    For a few seconds, the corgis were quiet, tearing and ripping to get at the biscuits.
    â€˜Funny,’ I said to Rosie, ‘how someone that’s looked death in the face freaks out at the first sign of danger.’
    Rosie’s kneecaps were bouncing. ‘Death didn’t have a mouthful of teeth,’ she said.
    â€˜Just put your jet pack on hover,’ I said, ‘and make sure you stay out of reach.’
    â€˜How do I p-p-put it on h-h-hover?’
    I
knew
she hadn’t taken it in! I reached acrossand did it for her. I was beginning to realise that the success of our mission depended on me. Rosie might have looked death in the face, but you can’t rely on someone who jeers at
Star Trek
and thinks it’s all made up. Face them with a genuine emergency and they just go to pieces.
    â€˜What we have to decide,’ I said, ‘is who does what.’
    Rosie looked at me, hopefully. ‘Did this ever happen in
Star Trek
?’
    I thought back. ‘Something similar.’
    â€˜So you know all about it!’ She sounded relieved. ‘You know what to do.’
    Sternly, I said, ‘We both know what to do. The captain gave us our instructions. One of us gets the bug out, the other one zaps it.’
    â€˜All right,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ll be the one that zaps it. You go and get it out.’
    I hesitated.
    â€˜Well, go on, then!’ She gave me a little shove. ‘Sooner you do it, sooner we can get back.’
    I gazed down, into the depths of the ravine. The corgis were still mopping up biscuit crumbs. The Queen was slurping her coffee, elbows on the table, mug clenched in both hands. I guessed it was the way she liked to doit, when she was alone. In public she would be far more refined.
    As I watched, she put down the mug, settled some glasses on her nose, propped a magazine against the coffee pot and started to read. As she read, she picked biscuit crumbs out of her teeth. I thought it must be quite a relief for her, being able to do that. If she were at some banquet or something, she’d just have to keep sucking with her tongue and hoping nobody noticed. I began to feel a bit uncomfortable, watching the Queen pick her teeth. With her glasses and her crown, she looked just like the real Queen. Of course, she
was
the real Queen. Real Queen with an alien bug. I reminded myself that the bug had to be got out.
The bug had got to go
. Except…
    How did we know there really was a bug? We’d been shown pictures of them, we knew what they looked like; but how did we know that one had actually got into the Queen? We didn’t! All we had was the captain’s word.
    Suppose Rosie was right? Suppose he wasn’t really the captain of a spaceship but a government agent? A
foreign
government agent. It could be a secret plot to kill the Queen!
    â€˜Are you going to do