The Hunt for Reduk Topa

by Barry J. Hutchison

  “I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet,” Cal admitted. “But I’d probably have done something like…” He waved his arms around in a series of chops. “Break out these guys. Karate my way out. And then, when I was free…”

  He raised both arms above his head and brought one knee up to his chest so he was standing on one foot. “Crane kick,” he explained. “If do right, no can defense.”

  Tyrra touched a spot far back on her skull, as if checking her chip was functioning correctly.

  “Don’t worry. It’s how they say it in Okinawa,” Cal told her, although this didn’t make her any less confused. He lowered his arms and put his raised foot back on the floor. “But, you know, your intervention was greatly appreciated all the same. Thank you.”

  Tyrra regarded him for a moment, then side-eyed the window. “Is he always like this?”

  “Yeah. Pretty much,” Miz confirmed. “You get used to it. Eventually. Or, you know, learn to block it out.”

  “She’s kidding. She hangs on every word,” said Cal. He turned back to Miz. “Can you get us out?”

  Miz tugged on the door a few times, trying to slide it aside. “No. It’s stuck.”

  “Damn it! I still haven’t been to the bathroom,” Cal groaned.

  Miz shrugged. “Maybe if I get Mech, we can—”

  “No. We need him fixing the ship,” Cal said. He inhaled through his nose, then out through his mouth. His breath formed wispy white clouds in the air, and he realized for the first time that he was fonking freezing. “Life support still out?”

  Miz nodded but said nothing.

  “Any update on getting it back online?”

  “Ugh, what am I, your personal messenger?” she demanded, but she couldn’t maintain the outrage, and her voice softened immediately. “No,” she said, with significantly less venom. “No news.”

  “Go see if they need help,” Cal suggested. “Do what you can.”

  “It’s engine stuff. What can I do?” Miz asked.

  “Hey, now. You can do whatever you put your mind to, young lady,” Cal scolded. “Just, for the love of God, don’t touch anything. OK?”

  Cal watched as Miz’s eyes darted past him to Tyrra. Wow, she really cared about this kid. So much so, that she was barely even trying to hide it. This, for Miz, was practically unheard of.

  “I’ll look after her,” Cal promised.

  “You mean I’ll look after you,” Tyrra snorted.

  “And that, too. We’ll look after each other,” said Cal. He put a hand against the glass. “She’ll be fine. Go. Help Mech. Get us out of here.”

  A look passed between them, raw and real and packed with emotion. It said a lot of things in a short space of time, then ended with an eye-roll and a “Tch. Whatever.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Cal as, with one final glance at Tyrra, Miz turned on her heels and stomped off in the direction of the engine room.

  Cal spun to face the Symmorium girl, all smiles again. He rubbed his hands together, driving out the cold.

  “Now, then. Everything’s going to be fine, and you and I are going to be out of here before we know it,” he told her. “Until then, let’s do something to pass the time.”

  “We could fight,” Tyrra suggested.

  “Well…”

  “No weapons. Hand to hand combat,” she continued, trying to sweeten the deal. “I’ll close my eyes.”

  “Tempting,” said Cal, even though his face said the opposite. “Or… how about we do something that’s like fighting, but better in every way?”

  Tyrra looked skeptical. At least, that’s how Cal was choosing to read the expression. “Better than fighting?”

  “Much better,” Cal said, sensing her disinterest. “But, it’s still a battle. A battle that, I feel I should warn you, I’m going to win.”

  “Pah!” Tyrra snorted. “I accept your challenge.”

  “Great!” Cal cheered. He glanced around the room, then gave a nod. “OK, ready?”

  “Do your worst,” Tyrra spat. “I am prepared.”

  “OK, here goes,” said Cal. He cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and began. “Let the battle commence!”

  “What blue wire? What are you talking about? There is no blue wire!” Loren protested.

  Beside her, the shrillness of the now mostly-inert Mech’s voice suggested he was losing his patience. “There is. I can see it from here.”

  Loren began listing off the colors of the wires in the open cabinet. “Red, green, yellow, orange, brown… There’s no blue! Show me the blue one! There isn’t a blue wire!”

  “There is a blue wire. I can see it from here,” Mech insisted. His dial was just one notch away from the highest possible position. He was standing rigid and upright, but his mouth didn’t move as he spoke. “It is contained within the loom by your right hand.”

  Loren looked at the loom of wires in her right hand. “Red, green, yellow—” she began again.

  “No, by your right hand. Not in your right hand. I was referring to the other loom.”

  “What other—?"

  A slimy green tendril reached into the cabinet, fumbled around, then produced a blue wire.

  “Oh,” said Loren. “That other loom. I didn’t see it.”

  “Obviously,” said Mech.

  Loren took the wire from Splurt.

  “Thank you,” she said, without looking at Mech. “Now, where should I put it?”

  “Like, I’ve got a few suggestions,” said Miz, appearing in the doorway. She shifted uncomfortably and crossed her arms over her stomach. “Cal said I should come help, or whatever.”

  “Help?” said Loren, her eyebrows raising. “With the engines?”

  Miz’s fur bristled, but her eyes glanced down at the floor. Loren swore at herself inside her head.

  “Well, you can’t do any worse than I’m doing,” she said. Miz’s eyes lifted to meet hers, and Loren smiled thinly. “How are you at finding wires?”

  “Well, I’m mostly color-blind. So, like, not great,” said Miz.

  Loren winced. “OK! Well, I’m sure we can find you something to do!”

  Tyrra of the Symmorium clicked her tongue against the ridged roof of her mouth and regarded the room. She was sitting beside Cal on the floor, their backs against the door. The metal was freezing to the touch, so Cal had folded a spacesuit behind them and draped another couple over them like blankets to help keep out the chill.

  The air was as stale as it was cold. He could taste it twice, once with his mouth, then again with his lungs. It conjured up images of boiled cabbage, even though—as far as he could recall—he’d never actually tasted boiled cabbage. Or, if he had, he’d buried the memory deep.

  “Bolts,” said Tyrra, after some more consideration.

  “No.”

  Tyrra tutted and looked around again. Her eyes fell on a rack of oxygen cylinders.

  “Bottle.”

  “Which bottle?” asked Cal.

  “Any of them.”

  “No.”

  Tyrra tutted again. Her dark eyes regarded the room.

  “T-told you I was going to win,” Cal said, trembling in the cold.

  “Shut up,” Tyrra told him, her breath clouding through her nostrils. “Barrier.”

  Cal raised an eyebrow.

  “The door,” said Tyrra.

  “Oh! Thinking outside the box. I l-like it,” Cal said. “But no. G-give up?”

  “Will that make it stop?” Tyrra asked.

  Cal nodded, although it was possibly just a prolonged bout of trembling.

  “Then, yes,” said Tyrra. “What was it?”

  Cal removed a hand from under the blanket of space suits and pointed to a control panel on the wall. “Button.”

  Tyrra squinted through the dim red glow of the emergency lighting. “That’s a switch.”

  “Hmm?”

  “It’s not a button. It’s a switch.”

  “No, the other one,” said Cal. “T-to the righ
t.”

  “That’s a dial.”

  “Oh,” said Cal. He tucked his arm back in, hugged the suit closer, and shivered. “I s-still win, though.”

  “What? No, you don’t!” Tyrra protested.

  “F-fine,” Cal sighed, exhaling a cloud of vapor. “We’ll c-call it a draw.”

  The ship gave a long series of worrying creaks, groans, and one particularly concerning crack. Cal felt Tyrra bristle beside him.

  “It’s fine. It d-does that all the t-time,” he assured her. “Your turn. What d-do you spy?”

  The emergency lights went off with a clunk.

  “OK, that was b-bad timing,” Cal wheezed.

  The main lights returned, bright and blinding.

  “Boggle humps!” exclaimed Kevin, then there was a bang and the darkness rushed back in.

  Cal and Tyrra shivered in silence, waiting to see if anything else would happen.

  Nothing did.

  “I mean, I g-guess that’s progress,” Cal said.

  He heard Tyrra sip in a breath. “I am ready,” she whispered.

  “Oh, OK. C-cool,” said Cal. “What’s the letter?”

  “Not for your ridiculous game,” said Tyrra. “For death. I am ready.”

  Cal turned to look at her but saw nothing through the darkness. “You are, huh?”

  He heard her nod. “I am Symmorium. Death holds no fear,” she said, even though the quaver in her voice said otherwise. Or, maybe she was just as cold as he was.

  “G-good to know,” said Cal. “But w-we’re n-not dying today, k-kid.”

  “I am the last,” Tyrra said. “There will be no more Symmorium after me.”

  “Yeah. Yeah that s-sucks,” said Cal. “Still, you’ve got us. Especially M-Miz.”

  “Mizette is… nice,” Tyrra admitted. “She is kind and considerate.”

  “Well…” said Cal.

  “Thoughtful.”

  “I mean…”

  “Very caring and attentive.”

  “We are t-talking about Miz here?” Cal asked. “B-big hairy girl? Lots of claws?”

  Cal practically heard Tyrra’s forehead furrow in confusion.

  “I’m k-kidding,” he told her. “Miz is the b-bravest, most loyal person I know. She’ll l-look after you.”

  “Yes,” said Tyrra. She nodded slowly, her head dipping lower each time until she was staring down at the space suit blanket. “But she is not Symmorium.”

  “N-n-o, but sh-sh-sh-sh-sh—Fonk, it’s f-f-f-freezing,” Cal wheezed. “O-OK f-f-fonk this.”

  Throwing back the space suit, he got to his feet. The cold bit at him, forcing him to bounce and slap at his arms to try to drive it away.

  Shivering, Cal turned to the door, gritted his teeth, and dug his fingertips into the seam where both halves met. They were getting out of here. They were getting back into the main ship. If they were going to die, they’d all die together.

  Except Mech and Splurt, who’d both be fine. Those bamstons.

  But those of them who were going to die would die together. That was the point. And no damn door was going to stand in his way.

  “Hng,” said Cal, heaving with all his might.

  Something in his shoulder gave an audible twang. He yelped in pain and tried to pull his hands away, only to find his fingertips had become frozen to the metal.

  Fonk.

  He jerked his hands, but his skin remained steadfastly fixed in place.

  Shizz.

  The lights blinked on again. A cloud of heat cascaded from a vent above the door.

  “Belltop!” barked Kevin. “Flungle!”

  Cal found himself face to face with Mech, who peered back at him through the glass. His dial was centered again, a thin layer of frost covering all his metal parts.

  “You guys OK?” Mech asked.

  “F-fine,” Cal said. “Did you f-fix the ship?”

  “Not quite, but we got life support. Weapons should be coming online any minute.”

  “Barbershop!” announced Kevin.

  “And is that normal?” Cal asked, flicking his eyes to the ceiling.

  “We’re working on it,” Mech said. He reached for the button that opened the door, but a frantic yelp from Cal stopped him.

  “Wait, wait, wait! Don’t open the d-door,” Cal said.

  Mech frowned. “Why not?”

  “My fingers are stuck,” Cal told him. “They’re frozen to the metal. If you open the door then—”

  Mech opened the door. Both halves parted in opposite directions, yanking Cal’s arms out to the sides so he looked like he was being crucified.

  “You fonking—” Cal managed to eject, before his arms reached their full stretch and all ten of his fingertips came off in one sudden yank. Tucking both hands under his armpits, he hopped on the spot, muttering and cursing below his breath. “You did that on purpose!”

  “Yeah, I did. And you’re welcome,” Mech said, making no attempt whatsoever to hide his grin. He gestured in the direction of the bridge. “Now, go get on guns. Take that ship out before this nasty green fonk kills us all.”

  He heard a squelchy ripple from back near the engine room and turned to find Splurt shooting him an accusatory look.

  “Not you. The other green fonk,” Mech said.

  Splurt kept eyeing him, but slowly disappeared around the doorframe.

  Voices rang out from inside the engine room.

  “Ugh. Like, how long am I supposed to keep holding this?”

  “One more minute.”

  “You said that two hours ago.”

  “You’ve only been here for six minutes.”

  “You’ve only been here for six minutes.”

  There was a pause.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Tch. Whatever.”

  Mech whirred as he turned. “I’d better get back before they kill each other.”

  The ship creaked. Cal and Mech shot matching looks at the walls and ceiling. “Go shoot the shizz out of this thing before it crushes the ship.”

  “On it,” said Cal. The air was already tasting fresher, and the frostbite that had been threatening to devour some of his favorite parts had started to lose its edge. He reached a hand down to Tyrra, his fingertips tingling as they grew back. “Hey, kid. Want to go help me kill a big plant?”

  Tyrra regarded his hand for a moment, then nodded.

  “Yes,” she said. “I would like that very much.”

  Above them, Kevin chuckled. “Timstrel!” he said.

  Cal helped Tyrra to her feet and shot the ceiling a look. “Whatever you say, Kevin. Whatever you say.”

  Ten

  Tyrra, it turned out, was something of a natural when it came to blowing things to pieces. While the gunner controls were unlike anything she had ever used before, she took to them quickly. Annoyingly quickly, in fact.

  Cal had been primed to share his wisdom with her, but she’d almost immediately surpassed his own understanding of how the ship’s weapon systems worked. What’s more, unlike Cal she didn’t make ptchow or pew pew noises when she fired, and her legs didn’t do a celebratory dance whenever she hit something.

  Instead, she muttered a single, “Got it,” and the vines that had been surrounding the ship immediately went slack. There was another chorus of creaks and groans as the hull expanded back to its natural size, then the only sound was the whine of the weapons system detaching from Tyrra’s head and folding back into the ceiling.

  “Excellent shot, ma’am,” said Kevin. “I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

  “Hey, Kevin!” said Cal, looking up in the direction of the voice. “Good to have you back with us.”

  “Did I go somewhere, sir?” Kevin asked. “I don’t recall.”

  “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Cal told him. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder and whistled to Tyrra through his teeth. “OK, gimme my seat back.”

  Tyrra held his gaze for a moment as if going to argue, but then
she hopped down.

  “Nice shooting, you little scamp,” he told her. He reached for her head in a hair-ruffling sort of motion, before it occurred to him that she didn’t have hair and that this was about to get very weird and awkward.

  Luckily for all involved, she caught his hand and bent his wrist until his thumb was touching his forearm. With a jerk, she yanked the arm up his back, doubling him over and slamming his face onto the soft cushion of his chair.

  “Ha,” she growled in his ear. “Bested.”

  Thirty minutes, two games of I Spy, and one incredibly frustrating conversation with Kevin about what qualified as ‘an object’ later, Cal couldn’t have been more pleased to see Loren and Miz. Loren stepped onto the bridge first, with Splurt sliding along the floor at her feet, still watching her. Mizette arrived a moment later, doing her best to look disinterested in pretty much everything, but unable to control the wagging of her tail.

  “Hey! There you are. Thank God,” said Cal. “We were just about to reformat Kevin with a sledgehammer.” He shot the ceiling a dirty look. “Which, so we’re clear is an object. Unlike ‘regret,’ which is a concept, and therefore invisible.”

  He let that sink in for a moment, then lowered his eyes again. He watched, but tried not to show it, as Tyrra sidled up to Mizette and the wolf-woman self-consciously rested a paw on the girl’s shoulder.

  Leaving them to it, Cal turned to Loren. “So, we all fixed?”

  “Partly,” said Loren, taking her seat.

  “What does that mean? What’s ‘partly’?” Cal asked. “Tell me it’s the good parts.”

  “The warp disk doesn’t fit,” Loren said, turning to face him. “We can power some systems, but not all. We’ve got life support and gravity, but if we want to move, we’ll have to turn off weapons, and shields aren’t even an option at this point.”

  Cal leaned forward in his chair, preparing himself for the worst. “I don’t even want to ask this, but…” He took a deep breath. “What about the replicator?”

  Loren gave a sad little shake of her head, like a doctor breaking the news to the loved ones of the recently deceased.

  Cal choked down a sob and leaned back in his chair. “Oh, dear God, no.”