Space Team: The Wrath of Vajazzle Page 15

  And yet, that eye and the finger had both looked human. Or mostly human, anyway. Just bigger. Much, much bigger.

  Cal ran his hands along the case, being careful to avoid the three buttons that had made it spring open last time. The last thing he needed right now was for the giant on the other side to come looking for his missing fingertip.

  He turned the briefcase-sized box over, searching for any markings that might reveal where it led to, or who made it, but there was nothing but a few scuffs and scratches on the thin metal plating.

  Hearing movement out in the corridor, Cal quickly slid the case under his bed, just as Loren entered. She hesitated when she saw him down on his knees, a frown crumping her brow.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m… kneeling down,” said Cal.

  Loren raised an arm to the level of her head and leaned against the door frame. “I can see that. Why?”

  “I’m praying,” said Cal, after just a moment’s pause. He clasped his hands in front of him, and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “So, as I was saying, if you could help us get the ship fixed, that’d be great. Love to everyone. Amen.”

  He made a series of sweeping motions in front of him which very roughly approximated a cross shape, then stood up. “There. That’s a weight off,” he said. “Both knees and, you know, soul or whatever.” He smiled. “Now, what was it you wanted?”

  Loren regarded him quizzically for a moment, then shrugged. “We’re patched up. Or as patched up as we can get out here. We really need to spend a couple of days in dock somewhere to fix everything properly.”

  “And can we do that now? I thought landing was going to make us blow-up or something?”

  “Not anymore,” said Loren. “Mech’s been out and managed to reseat the heat shielding. The shields are holding stable, warp and impulse engines are good – not great, but good. We even fixed the torpedo tubes.”

  Cal let out a little cheer. “I have torpedoes back! We should go blow some shizz up,” he said. “What about the video comm thing? Is that back?”

  “Guys!” shouted Miz, before Loren could answer. “You might want to get up here. We’re getting a message.”

  “Well, I guess that answers that,” said Cal, following Loren out of the room and onto the flight deck. The screen was filled with rolling static, and a stuttering hiss spluttered from the speakers.

  “Oh, great job, guys,” said Cal, giving Loren and Mech a double thumbs-up. “Really stellar work. Is this HD? That picture quality is incredible.”

  “It ain’t our side, it’s their side,” snapped Mech. “Whoever the fonk they are.”

  “Try to boost the signal,” Cal suggested.

  “Already on it,” said Mech, fiddling with some controls to the right of the screen.

  Cal smiled, his eyes widening in surprise. “What, that’s actually a thing we can do?” he asked. “That was, like, a total guess! Go me.”

  A few snatches of audio crackled over the speaker. “… under attack. Assist…”

  Miz sat forward in her chair, her ears twitching. “That’s Kannus.”

  Cal looked from her to the speaker and back again. “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  The voice came again. Miz was right. It was Kannus’s voice, but he sounded panicked. Scared, even. “… jazzle…”

  A burst of static.

  “… all dead…”

  Another static squeal.

  “… help. Someone …”

  And then, with a final crackle, silence.

  The rolling static blinked into darkness. A moment later, the screen changed to show a view of outer space. The Scriver ship had drifted off, and was now just a grey speck against a black background.

  “What do we do?” asked Loren, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.

  Miz was still staring up at the screen, her mouth hanging open a little. Realizing this, she closed it and gave herself a shake. “Cal?” she asked, although she wasn’t really sure why.

  Cal spun in his seat. “We go help. We got the guy into this, we’ll get him out. Mech, lock onto the source of that signal!” he announced.

  Mech frowned. “What? I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?” asked Cal.

  “Well, ‘cause it’s impossible, for one thing.”

  Cal deflated a little. “Oh. Is it? But I thought… You were able to boost the signal.”

  “So? It’s two completely different things,” said Mech.

  Cal shrugged. “Radio?” he said, his inflection raising at the end as if to suggest the word was some sort of question.

  “What’s that mean?” asked Mech. “Why you just saying ‘radio’ like that? ‘Radio’ what?”

  “I have no idea,” Cal admitted. “It’s just… it feels like we should be able to lock onto his signal. It feels like someone should have invented a way to do that by now.”

  “Well they ain’t,” said Mech, pinching the bridge of his nose between a metal finger and thumb and trying not to lose his temper.

  Cal turned his chair back to face the others. “So, slight problem, we have no idea where Kannus actually is right now.”

  “No,” agreed Mizette. She took a deep breath, then let it out as a shaky sigh. “But I know a Greyx who does.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “I forbid it,” growled Graxan, his scowling face filling the Shatner’s screen. “You are not to interfere.”

  “Interfere? It’s not interfering. He called us for help,” said Miz, crossing her arms across her powerful chest. “Tell us where you sent him and we can go help.”

  “You would do well to listen more carefully, daughter,” Graxan snapped. “I forbade you getting involved. You have made quite enough of a mess of things as it is. I and a squadron of guards shall attend Kannus.”

  “He called us. We should help. I should help. He’s my Lifebound,” Miz protested.

  “A fact you were all too quick to forget when it suited you,” said Graxan, his eyes flicking just momentarily in Cal’s direction. “You will journey to Greyx Prime and await further instruction. I will bring Kannus back to you unharmed.”

  “No!” said Miz, the ferocity of her voice taking everyone – even Graxan – by surprise. “Kannus called us. He needs help now. Our ship is faster than any of yours. By the time you get to him, it’ll be too late. Tell us where he is, or I swear you’ll never see or hear from me again.”

  Cal raised a hand. “Uh, excuse me? Graxan?”

  The old Greyx’s gaze lingered on Miz for a few seconds, then slowly shifted across the bridge. “What do you want?”

  “It’s just…” Cal began, then he stood up and cleared his throat. “It’s just, I feel like I’m sort of partly responsible for this whole mess.”

  “Partly?”

  “Or, you know, mostly,” said Cal. “Vajazzle just wants this staff thing of yours so she can get at me. It’s not fair that anyone should get hurt. Even Kannus, who – and no offence to the guy – is a total shizznod.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Miz.

  Cal sighed. “I’m saying – and I don’t quite believe that I am - that if Vajazzle’s attacking Kannus, I’ll hand myself over to her. She can take me to Sinclair. I mean, what’s the worst he can do?”

  Mech and Loren both opened their mouths to speak. Cal quickly dismissed them with a wave. “Rhetorical question. Don’t want to know.”

  Miz shook her head. “No. You can’t. I won’t let you.”

  “Come on,” said Cal. He tried to smile, but it was a shadow of his usual grin. “It’s the right thing to do, and you know it. How many people has she killed to get at me?”

  “Just one that we know of,” said Loren.

  “Wait, seriously? That’s all?” said Cal, sounding genuinely surprised. He counted on his fingers. “The guy she hung upside-down… I guess Kash accidentally fed himself to that worm, so we ca
n’t really pin that one on her… Shizz, yeah, you’re right. Just that one guy whose name I don’t even remember.”

  He looked up and realized Graxan was glaring down at him. “But, I mean, obviously that’s still one too many,” he quickly added. “So it’s time I ended this. Tell us where Kannus is. I’ll go hand myself over to Vajazzle and put a stop to this whole thing right now. No-one else needs to get hurt.”

  Graxan rolled his tongue around inside his mouth. This went on for several seconds, and Cal had just begun to suspect the Greyx leader was secretly eating a toffee when he spoke again.

  “Very well,” Graxan intoned. “We have been unable to contact Kannus to verify the situation, so I will have the co-ordinates transmitted to you, on the understanding that you turn yourself over to Lady Vajazzle.”

  “No, you can’t!” said Miz. “You’re under Greyx protection!” She spun to face the screen. “You said he was under Greyx protection!”

  “He is. That still stands,” agreed Graxan. “But if he willingly chooses to turn himself over into Vajazzle’s custody, no harm has been done.”

  “No harm has been done?” Miz spat, but Cal laid a hand on her shoulder before she could continue.

  “Hey, hey, easy, OK? I know this isn’t what any of us wanted, but… well, it’s just the way it has to be. I have to do this, Miz. I have to.”

  On screen, Graxan’s face darkened, horrified by this demonstration of affection. “The co-ordinates have been sent. Do not mess this up,” he said, then the image changed to a panorama of stars.

  “Got the co-ordinates and punched them in,” said Loren. She glanced back over her shoulder. “You’re not really going to turn yourself over to her, are you?”

  Cal snorted. “Christ, no. You think I’m an idiot? That’d be suicide.”

  “So, what’s the plan?” asked Mech.

  “The plan is that we’re going to go find that ugly two-faced space witch and test out the torpedoes,” Cal replied. He jumped into his seat and winked at Miz. “Buckle up, darlin’,” he instructed. “We’ve got us an unwanted husband to save!”

  * * *

  Cal leaned forward in his seat. On screen, a planet hung against the shimmering background of space. It was a nice planet, he thought. There was lots of green and blue, and it reminded him quite a bit of Earth.

  Two thirds of the world were bathed in varying degrees of sunshine, before it all gave way to a slice of darkness. Thousands – millions, probably – of lights pinpricked the gloom as towns and cities began embracing the oncoming night.

  “Finally, a nice-looking world to visit,” said Cal, nodding appreciatively. “This is way better than the usual dumps we end up at. Bet no-one’s farming the shizz out of giant worms down there.” He glanced over at Loren. “They’re not, are they?”

  “No,” said Loren.

  “I knew it!”

  “But we’re not going there,” she continued. “We’re going there.”

  To call the thing she pointed at ‘spherical’ would be generous. It was a misshapen chunk of dark rock, barely visible against the segment of night-time that was spreading across the planet’s western hemisphere. It was a moon, but it didn’t really look much like one. Instead, it looked more like a growth – a cancerous tumor on the face of the world that was probably infecting everything around it.

  Cal exhaled slowly through his nose. “Yeah,” he said. “That figures.” He turned to Mech. “Scanners picking up any sign of trouble?”

  Mech shook his head. “No.”

  Cal tapped a fingernail against a front tooth. “What about the sensors?” he asked. “Or did we decide they were the same thing?” Mech’s expression told him all he needed to know. He nodded. “We decided those were the same thing.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Loren.

  “I know, right? We need to settle on one name or another, we can’t keep using both,” said Cal. “I vote for ‘scanners.’” He raised a hand. “All in favor?”

  “Not that,” said Loren. She gestured at the malignant-looking moon. “We’re picking up life signs, but nothing that suggests anyone’s under attack.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?” said Miz.

  “Unless we’re too late,” said Mech.

  “Or in the wrong place,” said Loren.

  “Jesus, ever the optimists, eh, guys?” said Cal, dropping his hand. “If we were too late, we wouldn’t be picking up life signs. And why would Graxan send us to the wrong place?”

  “Because he didn’t want us coming here and screwing everything up?” said Mech. “His words, not mine.”

  “Son-of-a-bedge, he’d totally send us to the wrong place!” said Cal.

  “Hold on, I can probably get us an image,” said Mech, busying around the controls. On screen, an illuminated rectangle appeared around the cancerous moon-growth, then the highlighted section zoomed until it filled the entire display.

  “I don’t see anything but a nasty-looking rock,” said Cal.

  Another rectangle appeared. This one highlighted a chunk of the moon just south of its equator. Again, the image zoomed in until it was just possible to make out a pixelated shape on the rocky surface.

  Cal squinted and tilted his head. “I see something, but I have no idea what. What are we looking at?”

  “One sec,” said Mech. He tapped a few more buttons and the heavily pixelated image became a marginally less pixelated image. The change was just enough to reveal the outline of an asymmetrical craft with one wing bigger than the other.

  “That’s Kannus’s ship,” said Mizette.

  “Seriously, how does that thing not just fly around in circles?” Cal wondered. He shook his head. “Any sign of our two-faced elderly friend?”

  “Nothing,” said Mech.

  “I’m not seeing her, either,” said Loren. “That’s the only ship down there.”

  “Can we Skype him now that we’re closer?” asked Cal, quickly adding: “And please don’t say ‘Skype?’ and do that face again, you know what I mean.”

  “Been trying since we came out of warp,” said Loren. “Nothing.”

  Cal studied the screen for a few moments, then slapped both hands on his thighs. “OK, then. In that case, I guess we go down and ask him what all the panic’s about.” He flashed Miz a smile. “You ready?”

  Miz nodded. “Ready.”

  “OK, taking us down,” said Loren. She inched forwards just a fraction on the thrusters. Over the next several seconds, the image of Kannus’s ship grew ever so slightly larger.

  “You know that thing’s still zoomed in, right?” said Cal.

  Although he could only see the back of her head, Cal saw the surprise flit across her face. “What? Yeah. Of course! I absolutely did know that,” she said. The screen flicked back to showing the moon in its actual position, several hundred miles away. “I just thought we might want to… take our time?” Loren continued. The question mark at the end of the sentence was unmistakable.

  “Well, given that we were called here as a matter of urgency, that makes absolutely no sense,” Cal pointed out. “It’s literally the opposite of what we should be doing.”

  “Alright, alright, fine,” Loren grumbled. “I forgot we were zoomed in.” She eased down her foot, and the Shatner hummed as it picked up speed.

  “Holy shizz,” Miz muttered. “Literally, worst. Pilot. Ever.”

  As if to prove Miz wrong, Loren steered the ship on a surprisingly graceful descent through the atmosphere in which very little in the way of shaking, shuddering or panicky, wild-eyed screaming from Cal took place.

  Just seven or eight minutes after dropping out of warp speed, the Shatner’s landing thrusters fired up and it lowered more or less steadily to a landing beside Kannus’s ship.

  Up close, the moon looked even less hospitable than it had done from space. If Kifo looked dead, this place looked like it had died, come back as a zombie, then been killed all over again. Th
e ground was a dark rainbow of blacks, grays and pungent greens. Bush-sized clumps of fungi sprouted in patches all around the ships, presumably continuing beyond the ridges of a volcanic-looking crater ring that fenced them in on all sides.

  A dozen or so feet beyond Kannus’s ship was… no, not a house. To call it a house would be ludicrously kind. To call it anything would be generous, Cal thought. It was really just a pile of rocks with a hole for a door and something that looked like a piece of tarp weighted down as a roof. It had presumably been put there on purpose, but it was so roughly built that it might just have landed that way by accident.

  Cal shuddered and glanced at the blue-green planet up there in the sky. It seemed to be taunting them with its good looks and sunny demeanor. From here, Cal could see a stretch of beach along one coast that had to be five or six thousand miles long. That was a complete guess, of course – for all he knew, it was anywhere between a quarter and fifty times that size – but it was beautiful, either way.

  He turned his attention back to the shizzhole of a moon they were parked on. “Can we breathe out there? We’ve still only got one space suit.”

  “Atmosphere’s tolerable,” said Mech, checking his readings.

  “Tolerable, eh? You’re really selling this place, you know that?” Cal clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth a few times. “We should all gun-up before we go out there,” he said. “Just in case.”

  “You promise not to shoot any of us or pretend to be a… what did you call it? Cowboy this time?” said Mech.

  “I promise to try,” said Cal. He looked up into the shadowy vents and pipes of the ceiling and whistled. “Here, Splurty, Splurty.”

  A goo-covered eyeball extended from inside a pipe on a long strand of slime. It lowered from the ceiling like a legless spider on its thread, turned slowly as it gazed around the flight deck, then it and the rest of Splurt’s quivering body plopped into Cal’s lap.

  Cal scooped the shapeshifter up and placed him on his shoulder. Splurt balanced there effortlessly, pulsing happily as Cal stood up. “Just in case we get into trouble, he can do that battle armor thing again,” he explained. Splurt began to shift around, but Cal stopped him. “Not yet. Just if I give the signal. So we’re clear, the signal will be me getting badly beaten or shot at. That’s when you do your thing, OK?”