“Yeah, I somehow don’t think they’re going to believe that,” said Mech. On screen, the moon was a shapeless lump of floating rock, and still collapsing. “They just saw us turn Pikkish to rubble.”
“And they had no idea about the virus,” Cal reminded everyone. “Meaning, as far as they’re concerned, we just killed thirty billion people.”
The gunner’s visor retracted back into the console above Cal’s chair. With a click, the controls flipped over and tucked themselves back into the arm rests. “Looks like we’re not fighting our way out of this one,” said Cal. “Loren, any ideas?”
Loren stared blankly at the ruined moon. “Thirty-five billion.”
“What?”
“Thirty-five billion,” she said. “Not thirty. We just killed thirty-five billion people.”
“Except we didn’t,” said Mech.
“Then who did, Mech? Hmm?” Loren demanded. “If not us, then who?”
Mech frowned in concentration. He turned his dial to his left. “Perhaps the virus did indeed find a way to breach the ship’s systems,” he said. “Although I can detect no anomalies in the systems beyond normal acceptable performance fluctuations.”
“Keep looking. It’s got to be in there somewhere,” Loren said.
“Why would the virus blow up the moon? All its friends are down there,” Cal pointed out. “Or were down there.”
A red light illuminated beneath the screen. Loren ignored it for several seconds.
“Are we going to answer?” Cal asked.
“And say what?” said Loren. “Sorry we blew up that moon, can you let us go?”
“Well, that’s a little more direct than I was thinking, but we have to say something,” said Cal.
“He’s right. If we don’t answer, they’ll shoot us down,” said Mech. “Mercy ain’t exactly their strong point. Patience, either, so I wouldn’t leave them hanging.”
Loren took a steadying breath. She clicked a switch and the view of the collapsing moon was replaced by what Cal realized was the same shark-like creature he’d spoken to earlier.
“Pirate Captain Carver, what is the meaning of this?” the Symmorium demanded. “You have brought your vile death and destruction to Symmorium space. You have brought about the deaths of billions of innocent civilians.”
“By accident!” Cal protested. “It wasn’t our fault, it was our ship. It did it all by itself!”
“We have no interest in your excuses,” the alien spat. “You are hereby sentenced to death. This is the will of the Symmorium.”
“Weapons locking,” said Mech. “We still got no shields.”
“They’ll tear us apart,” Loren realized.
“Now wait, Sharky, we can explain,” Cal insisted. “Don’t shoot and let’s talk about this, OK? We’re all adults here, am I right?”
The shark-creature’s black eyes narrowed. “Commencing fire in five, four, three…”
“Wait!” said Mizette, standing before the view screen. “Commander, stop. Do you know who I am?”
The Symmorium glared at her for several worryingly silent seconds. “Yes. I know who you are.”
“Then you know who my father is.”
“Yes,” the commander intoned. “I know who your father is.”
“And you know what would happen if you murdered his only daughter.”
“Not murder,” said the shark-thing. “Vengeance.”
“Without a trial, it’s murder, commander. We both know that,” said Miz. “You will take us before the Symmorium Sentience. It will be the one to pass judgement, not you.”
The commander ground his teeth together. He had a lot of them, so it took him quite some time. “As you wish, Your Highness,” he said, tipping his head forward by just the slightest fraction. “But before the day is out, you may wish you had allowed us to end your lives swiftly.”
Miz shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe. You lead the way, we’ll follow.”
The Symmorium made a show of not bowing his head by tilting it slightly backwards instead. “As you wish.”
The shark-alien vanished, and the screen showed a dozen gray and white ships. One by one, they began to turn away. Miz tapped Loren on the shoulder, then pointed vaguely towards one of the Threshers. “Follow, I don’t know, that one,” she said, returning to her seat.
Cal gawped at her in disbelief as she strapped herself in again. She sighed. “What?”
“‘Your majesty?’” he said. “You’re… what? A princess?”
“I told you. Her father is Graxan of the Greyx,” said Loren.
“Yes, but I don’t know what that means, do I?” said Cal. “I don’t know who Graxan of the Greyx is. He could be a plumber or… or… Well, I can’t actually think of any other jobs except plumber right now, but my points is, how was I supposed to know he’s the king of space?”
“He isn’t,” said Loren. “He’s the king of the Greyx.”
“He’s a lame old man with a total superiority complex,” said Miz. “Now, I’d follow the Symmorium, or even I won’t be able to stop them blowing us to bits.”
“You got control again?” Cal asked.
Loren nudged the joystick forward and back, and the ship bobbed in time with it. “Looks like it.”
“Then you heard the princess,” Cal said. “Follow that ship.”
Loren eased forward on the throttle and the Shatner set off after the Thresher ship. Cal leaned over in his chair, bringing him closer to Miz. “Symmorium Sentience? What’s that?”
Mizette flared her nostrils, as if the stench of Pikkish had wafted back into the room. “It’s… too complicated for you to understand.”
“Hey, you’re talking to a guy who made it through all six seasons of Lost,” said Cal. “Well, four and a half, but believe me, that’s still pretty impressive.”
“You got gods where you’re from?” asked Mech.
“Yes. No. Well, I mean, depends who you ask,” said Cal. “Why?”
“The Symmorium Sentience is pretty much their god,” Mech explained. “It’s, I dunno, connected to all of them or something. The way they talk about it, it’s like it’s part of them, or they’re all part of it, or… Shizz, I don’t know. It’s a pretty big deal.”
“Only Symmorium are ever granted an audience,” Loren said. “Well, and members of the royal family of allied regions, apparently.”
“Wait, so none of you have ever seen this thing before?” said Cal. “This is a new thing for all of us? I’m not the only one who’s going to be clueless about what’s going on for once?”
Mech nodded. “Pretty much.”
Cal grinned and leaned back in his chair. “Then bring it on!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
While he still didn’t know what the Symmorium Sentience was, Cal had come to the conclusion that it was obviously something pretty important.
It had a dedicated space station all to itself, surrounded by fifty or sixty of the ugliest, meanest-looking space ships Cal had ever seen. Not, of course, that he’d seen many, but he expected that no matter how many he eventually did see, there would be few that could compete with these on the ‘looking aggressive’ front.
The station itself, on the other hand, looked largely harmless. It was the shape of a vast bass drum, with a dome curving upwards from the middle section.
It was towards this area that the Symmorium ship led the Shatner. As they approached, Cal saw a wide slot in the side of the dome. Where the wall should have been was a shimmering energy field. The Thresher passed effortlessly through it, then alighted inside a vast landing bay.
Loren shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and dropped the Shatner down to a crawl. “That is tight,” she said.
“It totally isn’t,” said Miz. “It’s huge. You could fit a terraformer in there.”
“It’s the angle. It’s not easy.”
Miz tutted. “Their ship flew in from the same angle, and it’s way bigger
than ours.”
“You can do this, Loren,” Cal urged. “We’re all right behind you.”
“Which means we’ll all totally die in flames when you inevitably crash,” Miz added.
“I’m not going to crash,” Loren snapped. “I mean, you know. Probably.”
“That’s the spirit!” said Cal. He pointed to the roof of the landing bay which now loomed ahead. “I think you might be going to hit that bit, though.”
“I’m nowhere near it!” Loren said, but she quickly adjusted the course to steer them downwards.
“Did they have this in the simulator?” asked Mech.
“How to dock aboard the Symmorium Sentience? Funnily enough, no, that wasn’t in any of the exams.” Loren gritted her teeth. “Here goes.”
She adjusted what seemed to be a lot of controls in a relatively short space of time. The Shatner tilted and twisted as it approached the docking bay’s energy wall, trying to match the station’s rotation.
“Bit more left, bit more left…” Cal said.
“I’m going left!”
“Yeah, but go more left.”
“I’m going enough left!”
“I’m just trying to help,” said Cal.
“Well don’t!”
“You know all those others ships are totally watching us right now, right?” Miz pointed out.
“Shut up!”
The Shatner shuddered as it passed through the energy field. There were a few frantic seconds when the station’s artificial gravity tried to drag it to the floor, but Loren quickly fired the landing thrusters and they bumped down with only a mild case of whiplash.
“Smooth,” said Miz, rubbing her neck and tilting her head forward and back. Loren completely missed the sarcasm.
“I did it,” she whispered, staring down at the controls in something close to awe. “I actually did it.”
A few minutes later, Cal, Loren, Mech and Miz trudged down the ramp to be met by seven heavily-armed figures, who looked far from happy to see them.
There were several other ships in the landing bay, and through a long window at the far end, Cal could see dozens of faces watching their arrival.
Six of the seven Symmorium crew were perhaps only an inch or two taller than Cal, yet he was left with no doubt that they could probably snap him in half using just their eyelids, if they chose to.
They were even more shark-like up close, and the scale-pattern detail on their otherwise almost exclusively black uniforms only added to the effect.
The seventh Symmorium was much shorter than the others, and barely came up to Cal’s waist. She – because something about her told Cal she was female – glared up at him with her round black eyes, sneering in a way that showed several dozen teeth and quite a lot of gum, too.
“Uh, hi everyone,” said Cal. “I’m Cal. This is Loren, Mech and you already know Her Royal Highness Princess Mizette, don’t you…? Sorry, didn’t catch your name.”
“Junta,” said the Symmorium, begrudgingly. “Commander Junta.”
“Nice to meet you. Sorry about before. You know, your ship and everything? Did you get it fixed?”
Junta’s expression remained unchanged.
“I guess you must have, or how would you be here, right?” Cal laughed. No-one laughed with him. “Right.”
“Is this one the captain, father?” the girl demanded. “He has the mannerisms and appearance of an imbecile.”
“Careful, Tyrra,” Junta warned. “You must be on your guard around pirates. They may be dangerous.”
“Father?” said Cal. “She’s your daughter?” He glanced back along at the window, where the others still watched. A few faces were right at the bottom of the glass, stretching up so they could see. “Is it bring your kid to work day, or something?”
Tyrra looked him up and down. “He doesn’t look dangerous. His crew, maybe. Not him.”
Cal put his hands on his thighs and leaned down, smiling. “Well, hey there, you! Listen, I don’t know if your daddy has ever told you, but no-one likes mean girls. And what you said right now? That was pretty mean.”
“I could best him,” the girl said.
Junta stepped aside. “Show me.”
“Huh?” said Cal, straightening up just as the flat top of Tyrra’s head slammed into his groin. He dropped to the deck like a sack of potatoes, puffing and wheezing as he gently cradled his aching testicles and wished, more than anything, that he’d never been born.
Around them, the rest of the Symmorium party erupted in cheers and laughter. Tyrra raised a hand in the air in triumph.
“OK. OK,” Cal groaned. “Well done. You got me.”
Shakily, he got to his knees, only for the girl to wrap her arms around his head.
“What the f--?” he managed, before she flipped him over her shoulder and slammed him backwards onto the deck. The Symmorium cheered again, as Tyrra jabbed her fist above her head.
“Ooh, good one,” said Miz. Cal opened one eye and glared at her. “What? It was a good move. Just being honest.”
With some effort, Cal rolled over and made it onto one knee. He paused there for a moment, waiting for the room to stop spinning. From somewhere just ahead of him he felt Tyrra move in to attack.
BANG! Cal exploded upwards with an uppercut, catching the girl on the end of the nose and lifting her off her feet. There was a chorus of gasps from both crews as she hit the floor, tears already springing to her eyes.
Cal covered his mouth with a hand. “Oh, Jesus. I just punched a little girl in the face!”
He turned to Junta, arms raised in surrender. “I am so sorry,” he said, but before he could reach the end of the sentence, the butt of a blaster rifle cracked against his forehead, and he dropped, once again, to the floor.
* * *
Light swam in looping circles. Colors pulsed. Cal opened his eyes and found himself draped over one of Mech’s shoulders. It was deeply uncomfortable, but the throbbing in his skull suggested now might not be the best time to move.
They were in… an aquarium. That was how it looked, at least. A floor-to-ceiling hoop of glass surrounded them, barely twelve feet away on all sides. The water inside was dark, and Cal got the impression that there was a vast amount of space on the other side of the glass – much more than the cramped circle on this side, anyway.
Behind the glass, something moved. Possibly several somethings, it was difficult to tell through the murk. It was completely shapeless, but unmistakably huge. It moved lazily through the water, circling around the loop, its color altering like the seasons, so you didn’t notice anything had changed until everything had.
It pulsed the color of sunrises and sunsets, of summer skies and fall leaves and from somewhere – not in his ear, nor in his head, but somewhere even deeper – Cal heard the sound of distant whale song.
The skull-splitting ache faded to an annoying throb and Cal slid down from Mech’s shoulder. The cyborg barely seemed to notice. Like Loren and Miz, he was transfixed by the light beyond the glass.
Cal looked around them. Commander Junta stood behind the group, his gun lowered but ready. There was no door anywhere to be seen, so how they got in there was anyone’s guess. Teleporation, maybe? They probably had that in space, he guessed.
He turned his attention back to the swimming blob of color. “Is that…?”
“The Symmorium Sentience,” Loren whispered, not taking her eyes off the thing.
“And that’s the thing that’s going to be deciding our fate?”
Miz nodded, slowly.
“Then I hope we get a lenient sentience,” Cal said. He beamed proudly, and waited for a reaction that didn’t come. “No, I know that probably wasn’t the right time, but I thought of it on the ship and didn’t get a chance to use it. Felt a shame to let it go to waste.”
“Cal,” Loren whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
Miz took a deep bre
ath and stepped forward towards the glass. “Symmorium Sentience, the Greyx thank you for this audience.”
A sing-song voice floated from the depths of the water, the light dimming and brightening in time with each word.
“Assertion: Rejected,” it chimed. “You do not speak on behalf of the Greyx.”
Miz hesitated, suddenly uncertain. “No, but I am a member of the royal family. I am the daughter of Graxan.”
“Assertion: Accepted,” said the voice. “Tell me why you are here.”
“She was with these pirates, Sentience,” said Junta. “She is one of them.”
The colors pulsed behind the glass. “Assertion: Rejected.”
“But she was with them,” Junta said. “Not as their prisoner, but as one of their crew.”
“Assertion: Rejected,” the Sentience insisted. “These are not pirates.”
Cal sighed. “See? I told you we should have had eyepatches.”
Junta’s eyes narrowed. He studied Cal and the others, stopping at last on Loren. “Who are you?”
“We are pirates, honest,” said Loren, but Junta snapped up his weapon.
“Deception! Who are you?”
Cal stepped in front of Loren. “Whoa, whoa, easy there, Sharky. President Sinclair sent us to check something out, that’s all. We don’t want any trouble.”
“Sinclair? You mean you are with Zertex?” Junta demanded.
“No,” Loren spluttered.
“Yes,” said Cal. “That’s right, we are. Zertex sent us.”
“Assertion: Accepted,” said the Sentience.
Commander Junta’s already pretty terrifying face turned several shades more so. His lips drew back over his teeth as he pressed the butt off his rifle against his shoulder and prepared to open fire.
“But wait, wait, we’re not the bad guys here,” said Cal. “I know you think we blew up that planet or moon or whatever it was, but it wasn’t us. Not on purpose, anyway.”
There was silence for several seconds.
“Assertion: Accepted.”
“But we saw them do it,” Junta growled.
“He’s telling the truth,” said Miz. “For once. The weapons fired themselves.”
“There’s a virus. It infects things and makes them act all crazy,” Cal explained.
Space Team Page 19
