Galaxy Cruise: The Maiden Voyage

by Hart, Marcus Alexander

  “Move it! One side, dirtsuckers!”

  The assembled passengers yelped and tumbled aside as an enormous creature shoved his way through them like a slow-motion wrecking ball. He was a Nomit—a race of giants, built like hunched-over boulders with two elephantine legs and four arms. A huge, bodybuilder-sized pair bulged from his shoulders and a smaller, actuary-sized pair sprouted from his ribs. All four were loaded with musical instruments. A battered drum kit banged against the other passengers, knocking them out of the way as he lumbered through the crowd.

  Kellybean regarded him with a twitch of her whiskers, taking in his shabby, black-leather biker vest and stained muscle shirt. His thick, grayish-yellow skin looked like a full-body nicotine stain, and had the stench to match.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she hissed. “We’re in the middle of an emergency drill. All guests need to report to their assigned stations.”

  The Nomit’s barrel head turned her way, sizing her up with a pair of perfectly round eyes the size of salad plates. “That’s whut we’re doin’. ’Cept we ain’t guests.”

  “We’re entertainers!” said a synthesized voice.

  A skinny robot rolled around the monstrous punk. His boxy body casing was made of discolored beige plastic with a large datacassette deck in the chest. At the bottom was a fork attached to a single tri-star axle with three knobby tires. At the top was a telescoping neck holding a flat, rectangular head, like a cereal box tipped on its face. Two eyes blinked from a screen at its front. His digital brows raised cheerfully through a haze of scan-line distortion.

  “We’re Murderblossom! The planet Jaynkee’s most notorious garbagepunk band!” The robot squinted proudly. “Voted ‘Most Difficult To Listen To’ three times. In a single week!”

  Horman’s snout wrinkled. “Never heard of you.”

  “Then it’s ’bout time you did.” The Nomit smirked and held up a guitar with two parallel necks—one a stringed bass, the other a keyboard. “Sickie Stobber, master of the double bass keytar and Murderblossom’s lead motherhucker.” He cocked a thumb at the robot. “Hax. Drums and robot crap.”

  “I’m a midi interface!” Hax said proudly.

  Kellybean scowled. “Gentlemen, please. I need you to quiet down and—”

  “Wait, where’s the other one?” Stobber grunted.

  Hax’s head turned in a slow circle on his neck like a submarine periscope. He beeped and pointed a slender plastic hand. “Over there!”

  Irritation ruffed Kellybean’s fur as she looked past her muster group to a lounge on the opposite side of the concourse. The venue was dark, closed for the shipwide emergency drill, but there was a figure behind the bar, silhouetted against the light of the glass-fronted cooler. Its lockpad had been ripped off and someone was crouched over it, fiddling with the wiring inside. With a pop and a bright white spark, the cooler doors unlocked and swung open.

  Kellybean gasped. “Hey! Stop that! Before I call security!”

  The figure in the lounge plucked a blue beer bottle from the cooler, popped it open, and took a long swig before sauntering out of the shadows and into the light of the concourse. Kellybean gasped again.

  The stranger was a Verdaphyte—a lanky assemblage of greenish-brown vines and sticks woven into the shape of a sinewy girl. Long, pink leaves sprouted from her head, shaved down to the bark on one side and arching in a mangled wave across the other. Her root system was bound in a pair of worn leather pants, and a tattered tank top showed off lean wooden arms carved with hearts filled with lovers’ initials. Flecks of glitter glinted from the furrows of her brown, barky face as her eyes rolled up and down Kellybean’s feline body.

  “Me-yow,” the plant girl growled. “What’s new, pussycat?”

  Kellybean’s frustration wavered as her heart skipped a beat. The Verdaphyte just stood there, weight slouched on one hip, guitar slung over her back, radiating bad-girl sex appeal like pollen on the breeze. Kellybean blinked and shook her head, chasing off her impure thoughts.

  “You’re with these two?” she asked, gesturing at the other punks.

  “Reluctantly.” The girl raised her bottle to her brow and gave a salute. “Jassi Kiktrash, guitar goddess and Murderblossom’s lead motherhucker.”

  “I’m Murderblossom’s lead motherhucker,” Stobber spat.

  “You’re delusional,” Jassi snorted.

  “Please don’t argue,” Hax said. “You both display equally deplorable leadership skills.”

  “This is ridiculous!” Clermytha Gwapwaffle huffed. “We came on board to relax, not to listen to squabbling ruffians.” She grabbed her husband. “Come on, Horman, let’s go.”

  She turned to leave, but Kellybean pounced in her way. “Wait! I’m not finished drilling you on the lifeboat.”

  “You can drill me on the lifeboat.” Jassi wagged a brow salaciously. “Or in the lifeboat. Or under it. I’m not picky.”

  “I don’t get it,” Hax said. He cocked his head and his eyes went fuzzy as his datacassette shuttled back and forth. “Oh! Innuendo! How cheeky!”

  The Gellicle’s pointed ears reddened. Horman hitched up his pants and snorted. “Now listen here! I paid a lot of dollabux for this cruise, and I’m not going to have you waste another minute of our time with this tomfoolery!”

  Kellybean’s tail thrashed in irritation. The ship had barely left the dock and she was already losing control. She took a breath and forced a smile onto her face.

  “I do apologize for the rude interruption,” she said, scowling at the scruffy musicians. “As I was saying, in the unlikely event of an emergency, an alarm tone will sound. At that time, all passengers must report—”

  “Wait!” Hax gasped. “Where’s my drum?”

  “Yer drums are right here, ya dope.” Stobber shrugged his shoulders, rattling the snares and ringing the cymbals of the five-piece kit tucked under his massive arms.

  “No, my bass drum,” Hax said. “It’s missing!”

  Stobber rolled his eyes. “I have all the others. How many hucking drums do you need?”

  The eyes on Hax’s screen turned sad. “But you just got me that drum! I haven’t even played it yet! I’m not going to evacuate and leave it here to die!”

  A nervous titter ran through the assembled guests.

  “Nobody is evacuating. Or dying!” Kellybean narrowed her eyes at Stobber’s loaded arms. “Also, there’s no cargo allowed. Each lifeboat only has space for its designated passengers.”

  Stobber snorted. “Well we ain’t leaving without our gear, so I guess we’re gonna have to figure out who gets left behind to make room.”

  Hax scanned the gathered tourists, landing on Horman and Clermytha. “These two are the best candidates. They’ve already exceeded their biological expiration dates.”

  “How dare you?” Clermytha gasped. She fluffed her bloated scalp tentacles. “I’ve barely hit my prime!”

  “By my estimate you’ve hit several primes.” Hax tipped his head. “The most recent likely being eighty-nine or ninety-seven.”

  Horman’s long hands balled into fists. “You take that back you mechanical—”

  “Stop it!” Kellybean mewled. “Do you people want to learn how to use a lifeboat or do you want to die frozen and gasping for air in the vacuum of space? Your choice!”

  The group fell silent. Jassi chuckled. “Cooperation or death?” She swigged her beer. “Dang, kitty is hard core.”

  Kellybean’s eyes widened as she replayed her own words in her head. “No! I meant… gah!” She raised her paws to the alarmed tourists. “Everything will be fine. This ship is perfectly safe. Please remain calm.”

  “Remain calm?” Clermytha squawked. “You just told us we’re all going to die!”

  Horman snuffed. “In all my years of cruising this is, bar none, the worst safety briefing I’ve ever heard!” He wagged a finger at Kellybean. “I’m lodging a complaint with WTF corporate!”

  “No no, that won�
�t be necessary,” Kellybean whimpered. “I’m sorry I raised my voice. Please just—”

  “Come on, Clerm.” Horman grabbed his wife’s hand. “I need to take my medicine.”

  “Wait!” Kellybean squeaked. “Don’t go!”

  The two Geiko stormed off. Kellybean wilted as her muster group followed them, muttering and griping under their breath. Jassi hung back, slouching against the lifeboat hatch.

  “Rough crowd.” She tipped her leafy head toward the lounge. “Wanna get a drink?”

  “I don’t drink on duty,” Kellybean seethed.

  Jassi nodded. “So, straight to bed then?”

  Kellybean roared and stomped away. If she never saw Jassi Kiktrash and Murderblossom again it would be too soon.

  Chapter Six

  Conversation and laughter filled the Rushmore Concourse as guests mingled at the various cafes and booked shore excursions at the hospitality desks. The cruise was well underway, and everyone was pumped up for seven days of fun and excitement.

  Everyone but for one person.

  Leo slumped on a bench near the elevators, bile gnawing his guts as he remembered the hologram floating above Skardon’s wrist. In his mind he could still see Eaglehaven slowly rotating, surrounded by the text of the executive order.

  DEMOLITION CONFIRMED.

  PENDING PRESIDENTIAL APPROVAL.

  He had screwed up. Screwed up epically. More epically than any human had ever screwed up. Skardon had handed him the safety of his home world on a silver platter, and he’d fumbled that platter onto the floor and then taken a dump on it.

  He had regrets.

  “Hey, Captain. Shouldn’t you be on the bridge?”

  Leo looked up to see Kellybean standing in front of his bench.

  “I should be.” He raised his tabloyd band. “But I can’t get the elevators to take me to the command level.”

  “Still didn’t get that worked out, huh?” Kellybean rolled her eyes. “C’mon. I’m heading up there anyway.”

  She stepped into a lift and held her tabloyd to the panel, unlocking the restricted levels. Leo joined her and the doors slid shut behind them. Decks whooshed by in awkward silence. Kellybean fidgeted with her claws. Leo put his hands in his pockets.

  “I owe you an apology,” they said simultaneously.

  Leo blinked. “You? For what? I’m the one who said you weren’t a person. And I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks, but I know you didn’t mean it that way.” Kellybean looked away guiltily. “I can be a little oversensitive about that stuff. A lot of beings out there really don’t consider Gellicles people. The galaxy can be pretty prejudiced against mammals.”

  “You don’t say,” Leo snorted.

  “Preaching to the choir, right?” Kellybean half smiled. “When I saw how the passengers mistreated you at the Bon Voyage Show, I realized you and I are a lot alike. Two warm-blooded fur-bearers out to earn the respect they deserve.”

  Leo scratched his shaggy hair. “I guess you’re kinda right.”

  “I’m totally right. And we’re going to show everyone on this ship that we’re a force to be reckoned with.”

  “Ah. I’m not a ‘force’ as such,” Leo mumbled. “I’m really more of a light-to-moderate pressure.”

  “Enough of that.” Kellybean said sternly. “Nobody’s going to respect you if you don’t respect yourself.” The elevator let out a ping and opened its doors. Kellybean strode confidently onto the command lobby with Leo trailing behind. “You’re the captain. You’re in charge here. Don’t let anyone push you around just because you have nipples.”

  “Uh… okay. Thanks. Good pep talk.” Leo nodded. “Weird, but good.”

  “You’ve got this, sir.” Kellybean put a paw on Leo’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “Now go show ’em who’s boss.”

  She swiped her tabloyd band at the door to the bridge and it whirred open. Leo gazed through it into the command center, taking it all in for the first time.

  The bridge was a broad, shallow space rendered in deep blues and purples with a wall of enormous windows bulging across its front, overlooking the bow of the ship. A field of stars stood motionless outside the glass, stretching to infinity in every direction.

  Three officers were stationed within three pods of controls. A leafy green woman in a circular pod to his left, a feathery purple man in one to his right, and a scaly blue girl at the navigation console to the front. Between them all was a large swivel chair with blinking panels in its armrests.

  Kellybean ushered Leo inside and called out, “Commander on deck!”

  The three aliens looked to her with confusion.

  “We know,” the plant woman said. “He’s been here for an hour.”

  She nodded at the captain’s chair, where Burlock was looking quite at home. He turned to Leo and smirked. “MacGavin. What are you doing here?”

  “Oh. I’m sorry, I thought I was supposed to…” Leo took a half step backwards, but Kellybean put a paw on his back and nudged him forward. “I’m here because I’m the captain.”

  The purple man looked to Burlock in confusion. “I thought you were the captain.”

  “No, it’s me. For real.” Leo tapped the five chevrons on his badge. Everyone continued to look at him blankly. He fidgeted. “But I guess it is weird you’re just meeting me now for the first time, isn’t it?”

  “It’s almost like we don’t even need you here,” Burlock said.

  Kellybean scowled at him. “But now that he is here, I’m sure the first officer will be thrilled to introduce the captain.”

  Leo nodded. “Right! Because I’m the boss of you.”

  A savage growl sounded in Burlock’s throat. “Don’t ever say those words in that order again.”

  Leo cringed. “But… I’m your commanding officer.”

  “Technically,” Burlock seethed. “And precariously.”

  “But accurately,” Kellybean said brightly. “So now that we’ve got that sorted, I’ll leave you boys to it.” She turned her back to Burlock as she headed toward the lobby. On her way out she silently mouthed a message to Leo. “Force to be reckoned with.”

  She patted him on the shoulder and swished out the door, leaving the captain alone with his crew. He smoothed down his uniform and forced confidence into his voice. Nobody would respect him if he didn’t respect himself, right? Mammal power!

  “Okay, Burlock. Let’s have some introductions.”

  The commander bristled as he rose from the captain’s chair and crossed to the woman. She was a Verdaphyte—like a bundle of supple green vines dressed in a sharp white uniform. Her face was soft and dewy as a fresh melon, and shoulder-length sprays of small yellow blooms sprouted from her scalp. Burlock rested a hand on her console. “Over here we have MonCom.”

  Leo smiled and waved. “Hello! Nice to meet you, MonCom!”

  The woman raised a petaled brow to Burlock. “Is he serious?”

  Burlock snuffed. “MonCom is her position. The lieutenant is responsible for monitoring and communications.”

  A blush prickled Leo’s cheeks. “Of course, yes. Duh. And your name is?”

  “Monica Comfit.”

  “I bet your friends call you MonCom for short though, am I right?”

  “You are not,” Comfit said frostily. She went back to her work, poking at the dozens of switches and buttons on the panel that encircled her seat. Leo nodded.

  “Okay, cool. You just keep…” He waved at the console. “Keep that up.”

  He turned to the station on the right side of the bridge. The officer there was vaguely gorilla shaped, with short legs and large, muscular arms. The Screetoro was covered in downy purple feathers, and eight tentacles ending in round, leech-like mouths curled from the top of his broad, squat head. Three eyes with rectangular pupils stared from the center of his face. Leo gave him a nod.

  “And who do we have over here?”

  “Quartermaster,�
� the Screetoro trumpeted.

  “A very important position!” Leo bluffed. “And what is your name?”

  “That is my name, sir. Lieutenant St’ondo Quartermaster, senior EngTech.”

  “Ah. Right,” Leo said awkwardly. “You’re the guy who… teaches English?”

  “He’s an engineering technician,” Burlock said impatiently. “Quartermaster is our liaison to the primary machine room.”

  “What is ‘English’?” Quartermaster asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” Leo said. “Just an old Earth language.”

  Quartermaster blinked. “What is ‘Earth’?”

  Leo smiled. “I’m so glad you asked. Earth is—”

  “And finally, we have the helm.” Burlock turned his back on the EngTech and motioned to the console in front of the windows. “And in case you can’t figure it out, her position is helm and her name is Lieutenant Narleen Swoochatowski.”

  The girl chuckled. “Dude, I’m out of the service. It’s just Swooch now.”

  Leo eyed the young lizard lounging in the seat behind the steering yoke. She was a teenage Geiko, with scaly blue skin tiger-striped with vibrant yellow. Her long body stretched like a paunchy sausage between her stubby legs and tail at one end and her broad face and half-lidded gray eyes at the other. Thick, uneven tentacles sprouted from her scalp and hung down her back like canary-streaked dreadlocks. She wore a wrinkled hoodie over her wrinkled uniform.

  Burlock frowned and straightened up, as if trying to balance out the officer’s slouch. “The lieutenant is a decorated war hero, and the youngest pilot to ever serve in the Geiko Prime Supernova Strikeforce.”

  “Wow, I’ve actually heard of them,” Leo said. “The most elite battle squadron in the Four Prime Systems. You people are legendary.”

  “It’s not as hard as it looks.” Swooch languidly slapped a hand on the steering yoke. “You just push the stick where you want to go and hit the button that goes pew pew.”

  “It’s so much more than that,” Burlock said. “Piloting a Strikeforce Stingjet takes nerves of steel. Only the best of the best can pass the simulation test, let alone fly one in combat.”