Space Team

by Barry J. Hutchison

“The specimen isn’t part of the crew!” Loren barked.

  “His name’s Splurt, and yes, he is,” Cal replied. “He saved the ship from being blown to bits by that Symmorium guy. If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t even be here. That makes him part of the crew.”

  “What are you even talking about?” said Miz, crossing her arms sulkily. “Crew? What crew? We’re not a crew. We had one job to do, and now we’ve done it – sure, badly, but we did it. Let’s get whatever that Kornack guy gave us sent to wherever it’s supposed to go, and then we are done.”

  “Lady makes a good point,” said Mech. “Sooner we get that data gone, sooner we get paid and can go our separate ways.”

  “Can’t wait,” said Miz.

  “And what happens to me?” asked Cal. “I mean… you guys know all about this space stuff, but what happens to me? Earth, from what they tell me, is dead. Where do I go?”

  “Not our problem,” said Miz.

  Mech folded his arms and creaked his jaw shut.

  “No. I mean, yeah. I mean, right. Not your problem,” said Cal. He turned away, but the streaking star fields flipped his stomach upside-down. He made for the door. “I’m going to go and find that room with the bench again. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you guys later.”

  “No rush,” Miz growled.

  Cal hesitated at the door. “Look, I’m sorry I lied, OK? Guys?” None of the others turned to look his way. He nodded. “Right,” he said, then he ducked into the corridor and left the flight deck behind.

  * * *

  Cal sat on the bench, his back to the window, his elbows resting on his knees. He was finding the pattern on the floor between his feet unusually fascinating. His eyes traced the ridges in the metal, like they were part of a maze he could escape from. No matter which way he turned, though, there appeared to be no way out.

  “Hey.”

  Loren entered, holding a plastic cup. “Thirsty?”

  Cal took the cup and studied the contents. “What is it?”

  “Water,” said Loren, sitting on the bench beside him.

  “Space water?” asked Cal, raising his voice.

  “I heard that!” called Mech from the bridge.

  “He was supposed to,” said Cal, lowering his voice again.

  “Just water,” said Loren. “And why do you do that?”

  Cal sipped the drink. It was water.

  “Do what?”

  “Fool around all the time. Try to get on people’s nerves.”

  “I don’t try, it comes naturally. It’s a gift,” Cal said. He swirled the cup around gently, and watched ripples form on the surface. “It’s kind of my go-to response in times of stress. I’m millions of miles from a home that probably doesn’t exist anymore. I’m on a spaceship with a robot, a werewolf, living Silly Putty and whatever you are – no offense – and I’ve just fought a battle with alien space pirates, after escaping a guy made out of rock.”

  He sipped the water again. “Yesterday, I was in jail. At least, I think it was yesterday. I don’t even know what time it is. What time is it?”

  “Where?”

  “Here.”

  Loren shrugged. “It isn’t. We’re not in any time zone.”

  Cal sighed. “OK, fine. What time is it on Earth?”

  “Where?” asked Loren.

  “Earth! My home planet. The one your people have completely fonked up with your bugs.”

  “No, I mean where on Earth? It’s got different time zones.”

  Cal shook his head. “Jesus. Why does it have to be so complicated?” he muttered. He drained the cup in a couple of big gulps, then set it down on the floor between his feet. “You get in touch with your boss?”

  “I sent the co-ordinates in an encrypted message. President Sinclair is going to call us himself in a few minutes. Probably to thank us.”

  “Something to look forward to, then,” said Cal. “And then we’re done?”

  Loren nodded. “And then we’re done.”

  They sat in silence for a while. Eventually, Loren drew in a breath and put her hands on her knees in a way that suggested she was about to leave. More than anything, Cal didn’t want her to.

  “Hey… what’s your name, anyway?” he asked. “Your first name, I mean. ‘Gunso’ is like a rank, right?”

  Loren hesitated. “Right. Teela. It’s… it’s Teela. What’s yours?”

  Cal turned to look at her properly for the first time since she’d sat down. “Seriously? My first crush was on a girl named Teela.”

  “Oh?” said Loren. “What was she like?”

  “She was… animated,” said Cal, after a moment’s thought. “And I don’t mean she was, like, lively or anything. I mean she was literally animated. She was a cartoon character,” Cal explained. “He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. Ever seen it?”

  Loren shook her head. “No.”

  “By the Power of Grayskull! No?”

  Loren shook her head again.

  “No, didn’t think so,” Cal said. “And my name’s Cal. Not the Californian Butcher, or whatever I said, just Cal. Carver.”

  Loren extended a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Cal Carver.”

  Cal studied the hand for a moment, taken aback, then shook. “Pleased to meet you, too, Teela Loren.”

  He released his grip, then brushed an imaginary fleck of dust off the knee of his pants. “You got any family?” he asked. “Brothers, sisters… husband, or whatever?”

  “Just brothers. Two. Off serving somewhere, haven’t seen them in a while. You?”

  “No,” said Cal. “I mean… Yeah. I mean. Once.”

  “Oh. You think the bugs may have--?”

  “Hmm? Oh, no. This was… this was a long time ago.” He stood up and grinned unconvincingly. “Forget it. Hey, don’t you think it’s weird that Miz likes me less now that she’s found out I didn’t eat forty-six people?”

  “Forty-eight.”

  “Yeah, sorry. Forty-eight,” said Cal. He sighed. “He so should’ve pushed for the fifty.”

  “He really shouldn’t. And yes, it’s weird, but I think it was the eating your parents bit she was attracted to,” Loren said. “Her father is Graxan of the Greyx. I don’t think they’re what you might call ‘close.’”

  “Ah, parents,” said Cal. “Can’t live with them, can’t exist in the first place without them. What was it that British poet guy said? ‘They fonk you up, your mum and dad.’”

  “I have absolutely no idea,” said Loren. “Also… Greyx don’t like to show weakness. She showed you her feelings, and you betrayed her.”

  “Well, ‘betrayed’ is a strong word…”

  Loren shrugged. “It’s how she feels.”

  “How do I make it right?” Cal asked. “I don’t want her to hate me,” he said, then he blinked, as if the sentence had caught him off guard. “Huh. I don’t want her to hate me.”

  “Honestly? I have no idea. Time, maybe? Show her you’re genuinely sorry? It can’t hurt.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “That, I’m afraid I don’t know.” She stood up. “Now, I’d better get back. President Sinclair will be calling soon.”

  “Good luck with that,” said Cal, then he stopped her before she could reach the exit. “Hey, wait. Do you know what a baseball bat is?”

  Loren shook her head. “Is it an Earth thing?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it’s an Earth thing,” said Cal. “Except Splurt changed into one. Back on the planet. He changed into a baseball bat. How would he even know what one was?”

  Loren shrugged. “Psychic, probably. Grabbed an impression out of your mind and altered his shape accordingly. In the studies we carried out, there was evidence of telepathic activity.”

  “He can change shape and read minds?” Cal said. “And you were going to just give him away?”

  “I had my orders,” said Loren, stiffening. “I just hope the fact I failed to follow them doesn’t h
ave too many major consequences.”

  Cal waved dismissively. “Just tell them it’s my fault.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” said Loren. “I fully intend to.”

  * * *

  It was another fifteen minutes before Cal joined the rest of the crew on the flight deck. At least, he guessed it was fifteen minutes, which was his main reason for coming through.

  “Listen, I’ve been thinking,” he said, ducking through the door. “We should have a ship time. Like decide what time it is here on the ship, and then that’s what we work from no matter where we are. We could call it Shatner Time and…”

  He stopped talking when he realized the faces of President Sinclair and Legate Jjin were watching him from a webcam-style box overlaid in the center of the screen. He waved. “Oh. Hey. It’s you guys.”

  “Hello, Mr Carver,” said the president. For once he wasn’t smiling.

  “Ah. So, you told him?” Cal asked Loren.

  “She didn’t. I did,” said Miz.

  “Oh. OK. Yeah, you got the wrong guy,” said Cal. “But hey, it all worked out. We made the trade.”

  “The Remnants have declared all-out war on the Zertex Corporation and our allies,” Jjin barked. “By what definition has it ‘all worked out’?”

  Cal winced. “By an extremely loose definition?”

  “It’s not important, not right now,” said Sinclair. “As I was explaining to Gunso Loren, we’ve decoded the co-ordinates. The footage originates from a moon located on the edge of Symmorium space. It’s a highly disputed territory. There’s no way we can get a team there without sparking a major galactic incident and a confrontation between our government and theirs.”

  “Uh, won’t a crazy old man virus thing killing everyone spark an even bigger incident?” Cal pointed out.

  “It will,” said Sinclair.

  “They want us to go stop the virus,” said Loren.

  “Isn’t that… that sounds like it might be dangerous,” said Cal.

  “We chose Mech for this mission because we feared this may be a possibility,” said Sinclair. “His systems should allow him to imprison the core virus with little risk of it compromising him.”

  “How little a risk we talking?” Mech demanded.

  “Tiny,” said Sinclair. “Barely a risk at all. And, of course, you would be handsomely rewarded.”

  “How handsomely?”

  “Do this – stop the virus – and you can all name your price,” said the president. “Hell, I’ll give you all a planet.”

  Mech raised an eyebrow. “Each?”

  “Each,” said Sinclair, his smile returning. “Perhaps even two.”

  “Wait, wait, but isn’t it out there already?” said Cal. “All those people in the restaurant who came back to life. You said they were infected. How do we stop them?”

  “We’ll figure that out,” said Sinclair. “There is no evidence yet that it has left the planet’s surface. Once we have a sample of the virus, we can devise an anti-virus to stop it. It may well be that those infected are not yet beyond saving, but only if we move now.”

  “Of course, sir. We’ll plot a course right away,” said Loren.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” said Cal. “Shouldn’t we take a vote or something?”

  “That is a Zertex vessel,” said Jjin, glaring down at Cal with a contempt he was making absolutely no effort whatsoever to conceal. “So, as the only Zertex officer on board, Gunso Loren has the only vote.”

  “Well… that doesn’t seem very fair,” said Cal. “Also, side note, I can see right up your nose from here. You may want to invest in a nasal hair trimmer.”

  “I’m afraid Legate Jjin is right,” said Sinclair, interrupting Jjin before he could start shouting. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but Gunso Loren has her orders. If anyone doesn’t like it, they are free to leave at the next stop.”

  “But the next stop is virus central,” said Cal. “Clever. I see what you’ve done there.” He glanced around at the crew, then nodded. “If we do it, then Splurt gets his own planet, too.”

  “Splurt?”

  “The entity,” said Loren. “The shapeshifter. He called him Splurt.”

  Legate Jjin peered down his nose at her. “It, I mean,” she corrected. “He called it Splurt.”

  “Ah yes, so he did, I remember now,” said Sinclair. “Fine. Agreed. We’re sending you the decryption key for the co-ordinates. You should have them shortly.”

  “Got them,” Loren said. She tapped a series of digits onto a screen and the Shatner groaned as it changed direction mid-warp. “We’ll be there within the hour.”

  “The peace process is counting on you, gunso,” said Sinclair. “It’s counting on you all.”

  “Aw, man, don’t say that,” Mech groaned.

  Sinclair’s face split into a beaming grin as he pointed down the camera lens at them. “Don’t let me down now! Zertex Command…”

  “One,” said Jjin.

  “Zertex Command One out,” said Sinclair, and the video box blinked away, leaving an uninterrupted view of the oncoming stars.

  An uneasy silence hung in the air for several seconds after the broadcast finished. It was Cal who eventually broke it.

  “So, our own planets, huh? That’s pretty cool.”

  “Oh yeah, like that’s ever going to happen,” said Miz.

  “If President Sinclair says he’s giving you planets, he’ll give you planets,” said Loren. “He’s a man of his word.”

  “Yeah. I have my doubts about that,” said Cal. “I mean, I know you think he’s great and all, but there’s something about that guy…”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Miz. “We all saw the footage. We all know what’s waiting for us when we get there. No way we’re getting out of there alive.”

  “Maybe,” Mech admitted. “But I ain’t got nothing else planned for my day, and I could sure use a whole planet of my own.” He looked Cal up and down. “Ever used a blaster pistol before?”

  “I’ve used a water pistol,” said Cal. “Does that count? I’d imagine they’re broadly similar.”

  Mech muttered something aggressive. “How long you say until we arrive?” he asked Loren.

  Loren checked her display. “Forty minutes, maybe.”

  “OK,” said Mech. “In that case, I guess we’d better get started.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Cal stood in a room he vaguely remembered from Loren’s initial tour, watching Mech try to open a fiddly locker latch with his huge metal fingers. The cyborg wasn’t having a lot of success, and had now taken to mumbling angrily below his breath.

  “Want me to do it?”

  “For the fourth time, no. I got it,” Mech snapped.

  “You said that three minutes ago,” Cal pointed out. “I could have that thing open in literally five seconds. I have very nimble fingers. It’s one of my best features.”

  “I got it.”

  “Fine. Suit yourself.” Cal shrugged. “But speaking of ‘minutes’ and ‘seconds’ – while we’re waiting, let’s talk about Shatner Time.”

  “Let’s not.”

  “But it makes total sense! We could decide that right now is, say, four o’clock, and just work from there. Also, we’d get to say ‘it’s Shatner Time’ whenever we wanted.”

  “Argh!” grunted Mech, as the locker catch slipped through his fingers. He tried again. “OK, first up, whatever word you hear when I say ‘minutes’ is not the word I’m saying. It’s doesn’t even necessarily means the same thing. The chip in your head isn’t just translating words, it’s translating concepts.”

  “I don’t get it,” admitted Cal.

  “Really? You surprise me,” Mech spat. “Look, let’s say you hear ‘eighty minutes’ through your chip. I may have said, I don’t know, four hundred other units of some other time that you ain’t got no word for, but which add up to the same length as eighty minutes. So that�
�s problem number one.”

  “That’s definitely problem number one, because I still don’t understand it,” Cal said. “But go on.”

  “Problem number two, is that we’re all from very different planets, with very different orbits, and so work on a whole range of time cycles. Back where I come from, the day is sixty-eight hours long. My world takes four years to orbit the sun. I’m guessing yours is different.”

  “Yeah,” said Cal, deflating slightly. “Yeah, it’s different. But what about the space stations? They’ve got to have clocks, right? How do they tell the time?”

  “It’s based on whatever sun they’re in orbit around,” Mech said, grimacing as he twisted the cabinet’s catch. “We don’t have that to— Argh! Fonking thing!”

  Swinging back his fist, Mech punched a hole in the front of the locker, then tore the door off and tossed it across the room. It whummed briefly through the air, then embedded itself into the wall beside the rack where the space suits were kept.

  “Well, that’s one way to do it,” said Cal.

  Mech stepped aside to reveal a cabinet filled with what Cal knew could only be guns. He didn’t recognize any of them individually, but the collection had a definitely arsenal-like quality about it. There were twenty or more of them, all shapes and sizes, attached to custom mounts along the locker’s wide back wall.

  Beyond a brief flirtation with Duck Hunt in the 1980s, Cal had never been big on guns. Despite that, he wanted the gun that hung in the middle of the rack more than he’d wanted pretty much any object in his life.

  It wasn’t too slick, and wasn’t too angry-looking. It looked… confident. That was the only way he could describe it. With its double barrels fixed one atop the other, its twin handles and its matt-silver finish, it was a gun that knew it could kill you at any given moment, but didn’t feel the need to go on about it.

  “I want that one,” Cal said, pointing to the weapon.

  “Yeah, that ain’t gonna happen,” said Mech. He unhooked a much smaller handgun from near the bottom of the cabinet. “Let’s try this.”

  The gun seemed cartoonishly small in Mech’s hand. That, and the fact it resembled a ray gun from a low-budget 1950s sci-fi serial, made it look more like a toy than an actual functioning weapon.