A/N I wrote this to cheer myself up after hearing that Gary Numan is playing at the Boosh Festival in Kent...living in Australia is so tragic sometimes! This is my first attempt at a story where stuff actually happens other than just emotions, lol. Not quite sure if this one works, but if you guys like the first chapter then I'll keep it going. It's set to be a bit of an adventure story, with fluff and angst - everyone's favourites - along the way. Flashbacks in italics. Rated T for language at this stage, and possible other things later (without giving anything away!).

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even in my hemisphere. cries


"Be-bop, skibbily be-bop, doo-wap di wap…"

Howard was feeling good. It was Sunday evening, and Naboo was shutting up shop for tomorrow's public holiday. Howard couldn't remember the last time he and Vince had gotten a day off together. Usually their free days were planned on a rotating schedule, something Howard would have normally appreciated for its organizational efficiency, but Naboo usually got Bollo to write up the roster, and somehow Howard ended up with much less time off than Vince did. Tomorrow, however, was wide open for the both of them, and Howard was celebrating by dusting off his LPs and skatting like only a true maverick could.

"Skibbety doo-wap wap…"

Howard needed a break from the shop. More importantly, though he'd never admit it to Vince, he needed some free time with his best friend, time which wasn't rudely interrupted by customers or stocktaking or Naboo's disapproving stares.

Working at the shop had gotten in the way of a lot of things. It forced Howard into a superior role (because as stoned as Naboo could get, he wasn't out of his mind enough to trust Vince with anything other than customer service), and though Howard liked the responsibility, it meant that he had to keep Vince in check and give him orders all the time. Vince wasn't too good at receiving orders, and usually their working days ended in arguments. They'd been arguing a lot, recently, over stupid things; punctuality and sales records and pencil cases. Howard's organizational side would clash with Vince's "anything goes" mentality, and inevitably they would push each other within an inch of walking out the door forever.

Only 'forever' wasn't really a threat, thought Howard. That was the thing about him and Vince. They could attack each other all day long at the Naboutique, slinging insult after insult, threat after threat; so that any passers-by would assume that the two hated each other. And yet each night after they closed up shop, they'd walk upstairs into the flat and enter a new timezone, a new world. The stress from the working day would fade into nothingness with a cheeky grin from Vince, or a witty retort from Howard, and in no time at all they'd be falling easily into routine; caught up in a Satsuma fight, or a crimp session, or simply lying back on the couch and lazily flicking channels, comfortable in each other's silences. Every night, Howard would curse himself for feeling the beckoning drowsiness of sleep, dragging him away from those comfortable silences and closer towards another grumpy day at the shop.

Howard loved the night time.

"Skippety dippety doo-wap…" Howard absent-mindedly checked his watch; eight fifteen. Vince was due back any minute with movies from the video store on the corner. The two had struck up a deal at closing time; Vince was to pick up the videos for their Colobus the Crab marathon that evening, and Howard was to take care of dinner. Howard was pleased with that result, mostly because he knew that all Vince could "cook" was fairy bread and ice cream sandwiches, and they'd already eaten them three times that week. No sir, Howard was cooking a proper meal, a hearty meal, a roast dinner fit for a man of action such as himself. Funny, he thought, cooking for Vince. Almost like preparing for a date. Except not. Obviously.

"Howard? Do you have to go to work tomorrow?"

"Yes, little man. Lots to be done."

"Howaaaaard. Don't go. Let's just both sleep in tomorrow, and then you can drive me to the Topshop sale in town, yeah?"

"Vince, I'm not missing a whole day of work just to drive you to Topshop."

"Aw, c'mon Howard, it'll be genius. We could get ice cream and eat it on that big Ferris wheel by the river, just like in the movies!"

"No can do, Vince. Naboo's depending on me. Just because you've got the day off again doesn't mean I can just abandon all my responsibilities just to follow you around all day."

"But it'd be mental! We'd be able to see everything from up there!"

"Not a chance, little man. Work is work. It's your day off; go by yourself, you'll have fun."

"It's not as much fun if you're not there...it's not really fun at all."

Howard's Mingus LP was skipping – the trumpet solo warping, cutting through his thoughts. He re-set the needle and checked his watch again; eight thirty. He sighed. Just like Vince to get caught up on the most simple of tasks. The electro boy was probably having a conversation with another feral animal. Great. Any minute, he'll come sauntering in with a bat, a rabbit and a family of pigeons in tow, expecting the chef to feed them all too. Picturing the scene, Howard grinned in spite of himself. Somehow even in the most aggravating of situations, he managed to feel a warmth towards his friend. Sure, Vince knew that, and manipulated it to his own liking, but frustratingly that made Howard feel even warmer.

Twenty minutes later, and the warmth in Howard's gut was slowly being replaced by a dull frustration, which was in danger of morphing into anxiety rather than the more comfortable and familiar anger. Feral animals or not, there was no way it could take Vince this long to get back from the video shop.

"Naboo? You heard from Vince?" Howard yelled down the hall.

"Nah" came the shaman's distant reply from behind closed doors.

"He's been gone ages."

"What? What pages? Have you been going through my stuff again?"

"I said, he's been gone ages!"

"Oh. Howard, calm down, you ballbag. He's not a puppy. He'll be back soon."

Howard sat down on his bed, feeling a little foolish. Why was he getting so worried? Naboo was right, he was always right. Vince was just delayed somewhere. He'd be back any minute, pounding that tell-tale knock into the front door, forgetting his keys like he did every single day.

Only, he wasn't. He wasn't back in five minutes, or in fifteen, or in half an hour. Howard began pacing up and down the hall. His anxiety had blossomed into fully-fledged panic now, being held back from hysteria only by Naboo's calming presence in the room. The tiny shaman tried to talk some sense into him.

"Howard, come on. You know Vince. He's an idiot."

"He's not an idiot!" Howard yelled, surprised at himself.

"Yes he is."

"Well yeah, you're right I suppose."

"I know I'm right. Vince is an idiot and I'm sure he'll turn up eventually with some story or other. Maybe he forgot what videos he was looking for and decided to go from A-Z, who knows."

"I wouldn't put it past him, actually" conceded Howard, slowing down his pace for a moment, before picking it up again. "No. He knows Colobus the Crab better than he knows himself. He couldn't possibly – that's it, I'm going out to look for him."

As Howard made a move for the door, Naboo stood in his way, folding his arms determinedly like a parent, a look which was surprisingly convincing for someone who was half Howard's height.

"Howard. Calm down. You're being a tit. Give it a little more time – if he's not back in another twenty minutes, I'll send Bollo out for him. Alright?"

"Alright, fine" Howard conceded, flopping back heavily onto the couch as Naboo trudged downstairs to check on the shop.

To keep his mind off things, Howard began envisioning the verbal assault he would launch on his friend when he finally waltzed into the flat. He could see it now; Vince unperturbed and jaunty as always, protesting his innocence while Howard berated him for all the worry he'd gone through. Have to watch the words, though, he thought; don't want to come across like a nagging wife. Already done the cooking. No, he thought, I'll just come at him like a beam, like a ray, like a northern –

"It's Vince!" came Naboo's lisp from downstairs. Howard jumped up in a flash, relief flooding through him and making him light headed. Already he felt like a complete idiot, worrying over nothing, and yet the impulse to ditch his attack on Vince in favour of a hug was strangely compelling, especially since he hated being touched.

Bounding down the stairs two at a time, Howard swung into the shop.

"Vince!"

But Vince was nowhere to be seen. It was just Naboo, standing by the front door, holding a piece of paper. Howard looked around, confused.

"Naboo? Where's Vince? I thought you said –"

"Howard, you better sit down."

The maverick felt his insides turn to icy water. He tensed his muscles and blinked. His mouth felt dry. "No. What is it? Tell me. Where's Vince?"

Naboo sighed, and held up the piece of paper for Howard to see. "This was slipped through the mailbox."

It was all gibberish to him; a mess of lines and squiggles. He frowned. "Naboo, I don't…"

"…this is Darxeetish, Howard" interrupted the shaman. "It's a language from Darxeeta, a planet in Xooberon's solar system."

"Can you read it? What's it say?" Howard babbled, his voice reaching a girlishly high pitch, though he was too wound up to be embarrassed.

"Yeah I can read it. It's a ransom note."

"A ransom note? What, for who?"

"It's addressed to me. Howard, someone's kidnapped Vince."

"What?" Howard could feel a burning heat behind his ears and down his neck.

"Basically, it's a ransom note demanded money in return for Vince. See, I sold some, er…some certain substances, to a couple of high-ranking Darxeetans a while back, and I accidentally short-changed them a fiver. Turns out they don't forget a debt."

"A fiver? A fiver? Is that all? Jesus, Naboo, I've got a fiver! Here!" Howard rummaged desperately in his pocket and fished out five euros, thrusting it in Naboo's face. Naboo shook his head.

"No, Howard, you see…I owed them that fiver a while back, yeah? And they've obviously been holding it over me for long enough to collect some serious tax."

"How long are we talking, Naboo?"

"Oh, say, about three hundred and sixty years?"

"Three hundred and sixty – Jesus! What the – bloody hell! How much are they asking for?"

Naboo lowered his head slightly. "Five million euros."

Howard felt a rush of blood to the head, and he leant forward and grabbed Naboo forcibly by the collar. "Five million euros? Five million euros or what?"

Just at that moment, Bollo came bounding into the room from upstairs and in an instant, body-tackled Howard face-down to the ground, sitting on his back to keep him in place. Naboo rolled his eyes. "Bollo, let him go."

"Harold no hurt Naboo! Harold huge ballbag!"

"Yeah, I know Bollo, but let him go."

Bollo conceded, backing off, and Howard picked himself up off the ground, gasping for breath and still trembling with uncertainty. "Answer me, Naboo. Five million euros or what?"

Naboo paused before answering slowly. "Or they kill Vince."

The maverick felt his heartrate speed up alarmingly. All the electric lights in the shop seemed to intensify, blurring his vision, disorientating him. "We…we don't have five million euros. So, I mean, why don't you just, you know, ring these people up and explain the situation to them? They wouldn't really kill V…I mean, surely, they wouldn't really…"

"Howard, believe me when I say that Darxeetans are not to be taken lightly."

"They huge ballbags too" added Bollo.

Naboo continued. "They...they left this, too." He held up something small - a tape - and put it into the battered old player that sat on the counter. They three of them listened in silence to the sound of static for a few minutes, and then Howard heard Vince's voice, and it was all he could manage to not burst into tears on the spot.

"Wait, no don't...please...get off me! No...wait, just...fuck...no! Howard! Howard..." the tape went dead.

Howard felt as if everything was running in fast motion. "Well you have to help him then! You have to go to Darxay…Darxoo…whatever the fuck the planet's called, and you can rescue him! Easy! Go on!" He frantically tried to usher Naboo towards the doorway.

"It's not that easy, Howard."

"What do you mean? Of course it is! Just get on the carpet and –"

"You don't understand. There's more to the letter. It says here that they've anticipated any possibility of my intervening, and they've got guards stationed everywhere watching for me. They just want the payment sent back alone. These people know what I look like, Howard. They'll kill me as soon as I set foot there, and then what use am I going to be to Vince?"

Howard resumed pacing up and down the room, wiping his sweaty hands on his corduroys over and over again. "But wait, they know what you look like, sure. But how do these people know to target Vince?"

"The nametag. He was wearing a Naboutique nametag – must've forgotten to take it off when he went down the street. They must've been waiting for a chance to grab someone. They can't get into the shop; there's some pretty powerful magics protecting it. I buffed it up after that green cockney came in and pissed on you. But they must've seen the nametag and known he was one of mine, so they took the opportunity."

"Told you nametags were bad idea" added Bollo unhelpfully.

Howard inwardly reeled, imagining Vince's innocent face as he was approached by these freaks…had he gone quietly? Had they been gentle with him? Oh God, fuck, oh fuck. No...kidnappers usually look after their prisoners, don't they? Don't they?

"What're we going to do? Tell me!" Howard was shouting now.

"Vince precious flower!" moaned Bollo.

Naboo straightened his turban. "Look. We don't have the money, that's for sure. And no amount of explaining is going to work with these guys – they're a race of warlords, basically insane, violent, bloodthirsty…" Naboo trailed off, seeing the agonized expression on Howard's face. "…and me and Bollo can't go after him, we'll get snapped up in a second. What we need is someone else, someone who can carry out a dangerous rescue mission. Someone who they won't be expecting, who can sneak in under the radar, someone anonymous. Someone…"

"Generic-looking?" gasped Howard.

"Yeah, that's the idea. But it'll be such a risky journey, I don't know who –"

Howard held himself upright and cut the shaman off midsentence. "Right, that's sorted. I'm going."

Bollo grunted in agreement. "I gotta bad feeling about this."

"You're telling me" sighed Naboo.


Thanks for reading guys - I'm still not sure about this, so crit is very welcome.