“Kamikaze it is, then,” said Kevin. “Excellent idea. And, may I say, it’s been lovely knowing you all.”
“What the fonk are you doing?” Mech demanded.
“I mean, some more so than others,” Kevin continued. “And, I suppose, it wasn’t all smooth sailing. We didn’t always see eye to eye.”
“Loren? Honey?” asked Cal. “You’re going to crash into the ship.”
“Some of you were positively annoying, in fact…”
“You’re going to crash our ship into that other ship,” Cal said, as if the addition of a few extra words would help draw her attention to some of the more problematic elements of the situation.
“I wanted to scream, sometimes,” said Kevin. “I swear, one time I almost ejected you all into space. But I’m glad I didn’t, because I subsequently became rather fond of you all.”
“Loren!” Mech shouted.
“Well, not ‘all,’” said Kevin.
“Honey?”
“Or ‘fond,’ exactly.”
Cal threw himself back in his chair and braced himself. Mech leaned over and grabbed both sides of his console, his feet magnetizing themselves to the floor as the monstrosity of a ship grew to fill the screen.
“What’s a word that’s somewhere between ‘fond’ and ‘tolerate’?” Kevin asked.
And then, just when the ship was close enough that Cal could see the pilot through the dirty windshield, the Untitled dived, narrowly avoiding the torpedo that came screaming up behind it.
In the top right corner of the screen, the creature’s eyes widened.
A split-second later, the feed went dark, and a shockwave slammed into the Untitled, shaking it violently and forcing Loren to fight to bring the ship back under control.
Once she had, she half-turned and looked back over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised.
“I, uh, I knew that’s what you were doing,” said Mech, straightening.
“Ugh. That was actually almost cool,” Miz begrudgingly admitted.
“Thank you, Miz,” said Loren.
“I said almost. Don’t milk it.”
“Holy shizz, that was awesome,” said Cal. He laughed with relief. “You did the, like, zoom, and then the torpedo… Holy shizz. That was awesome.”
Loren smiled and tapped a finger to her forehead in salute, then remembered she was still annoyed and turned to face front again.
“Sorry, Kevin,” Cal said, looking up. “Were you saying something?”
“I forget, sir. I’m sure it was nothing important,” Kevin replied. “And, if it was, I’ve accidentally deleted the recording, so I’m afraid we’ll never know.”
Cal nodded, shrugged, then looked around at the others. “Any idea what the fonk that was? Besides the thing that lived under my bed when I was six, I mean.”
“I’ve searched the databases, sir, and it appears to have been a Mfluargh.”
“A what?”
“A Mfluargh, sir.”
“A Mmflarg?”
“No. A Mfluargh.”
“Mumflurg?”
“Mfluargh.”
“That’s what I said. Mumflurg.”
“Mfluargh.”
“You’re saying ‘Mumflurg.’ You’re just saying ‘Mumflurg’ at me, and that’s what I just said.”
Cal turned. “He’s saying ‘Mumflurg,’ right? Everyone else is hearing ‘Mumflurg’? It’s not just me.”
“You’re saying ‘Mumflurg,’ sir,” said Kevin. “I’m saying Mfluargh.”
Cal’s lips moved silently as he tried to sound this out.
“Mumflurg?” he ventured. “Wait, no, that’s the same thing I was saying in the first place.”
“Does it really fonking matter what they’re called?” asked Mech. “What the fonk are they?”
“They’re a rather unpleasant species, sir,” said Kevin.
Cal shrugged. “Well, bang go all those ‘never judge a book by its cover’ arguments.”
“According to reports they are even less amiable than their appearance would suggest, sir,” Kevin explained. “If such a thing can be believed.”
“How do they travel?” asked Mech.
“In a shizzy spaceship made out of toaster ovens,” said Cal. “You saw that thing.”
“I meant do they travel alone or in groups?” said Mech. “Because if it’s in groups, we may have a problem.”
“Fonk. You think there might be more of them out there?” asked Cal, dropping his voice to a whisper.
Loren consulted her screen. “Doesn’t look like it. I’m not picking anything up.”
“You didn’t pick up the first one until it was shooting at us,” Cal pointed out.
“I was kind of busy flying us out of the atmosphere,” Loren snipped back. “Miz is supposed to watch for approaching ships.”
Miz scowled. “What? Since when?” she demanded. “I mean, like, how am I supposed to do that? I don’t have any screens, or whatever.”
“It’s under your leg,” Mech told her.
Miz looked at where her leg was draped over her armrest, tutted with annoyance, then shifted it a fraction of an inch.
“Oh, that screen,” she said, briefly regarding the little square of glass built into the chair. “Yeah, I don’t look at that.”
She readjusted herself again, covering the display.
“Could you maybe look at it in future?” Loren asked.
“You’re not the boss of me,” Miz countered.
“Alone, sir,” said Kevin.
Everyone looked up.
“Huh?” Cal asked.
“They travel alone.”
“The Mumflurgs?”
“Mfluarghs, sir. Yes. They are quite a solitary species.”
“Can you blame them?” asked Cal. “Imagine hanging out with one of those guys all day.”
“However, they are exceptionally loyal to one another, and have a relentless thirst for revenge.”
Cal looked up. “I have a feeling you’re telling me this for a reason.”
“Indeed, sir,” Kevin confirmed. “Just before we blew it up, the Mfluargh sent out a series of long-range signals. It couldn’t possibly have expected help to arrive in time to save it, so I doubt they were distress signals.”
“What, then?” asked Loren.
“Calls for vengeance, I suspect, ma’am. A plea for others of his species to track us down and enact some horrible revenge upon our persons.”
Cal clapped his hands on his thighs. “Great! We made a fun new enemy!” he said. “Yay us!”
He fired a fingergun off into space. “Maybe we should get out of here before they turn up.”
“Oh, I doubt they’ll be turning up anytime soon, sir,” said Kevin.
Cal wiped some imaginary sweat from his brow. “Well, that’s the best bit of news I’ve heard all day.”
“But they’re renowned for holding a grudge, sir. Famous for it, in fact. They’ll find us eventually. One way or another,” Kevin said. “I think we can safely say we haven’t heard the last of the Mfluargh.”
“You had to keep going and ruin the moment there, Kevin. You couldn’t just let it go,” Cal said.
“Apologies, sir,” said Kevin. “I shall be sure to leave you blissfully unaware in future.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that,” said Cal.
He settled himself in his chair. “Now, we have a job to do. People to see, boxes to deliver, all that jazz. Let’s plot a course for the Viaview station.”
He rubbed his forefinger and thumb together. “Daddy’s bringing home the Vajacox.”
He caught the looks from the others. “That sounded dirtier than it was meant to,” he admitted. “Let’s forget I said it.”
He pointed to the screen. “Now, let’s not keep the nice TV folks waiting, Loren. Onward!”
“Yes, Captain,” said Loren, her voice icy cold. “Whatever you say.”
Nineteen
“Welcome to the Viaview Network Station Alpha. Our V
ision, Your View. How may I direct your inquiry?”
The image on screen hadn’t changed to show the person talking, but Cal sat up straighter all the same. Some distance ahead of the Currently Untitled—Cal had no idea how much—a crystalline space station hung like a diamond against the reds, blues, and purples of space.
“This is Captain Cal Carver of the Currently Untitled,” he replied. “We have a delivery for, uh…”
“The Controller, sir,” said Kevin.
“We have a delivery for the Controller. Two crates from the planet Floomfle.”
Loren half-turned in her chair. “They’re not from the planet Floomfle.”
“They’re not?” asked Cal, dropping his voice to a whisper and leaning closer. “What was it called?”
“Tolgor,” Loren hissed. “One of Trogol’s moons.”
Cal sat back. “Sorry, my mistake. It’s from…”
His eyes crept back to Loren.
“Tolgor.”
“Tolgor,” said Cal. “Not the planet Floomfle. Which, uh, doesn’t exist. As far as we know.”
There was a pause, then the female voice returned.
“One moment, please.”
There was a soft buzz for a moment, and then muzak chimed from the speakers. Cal bobbed his head in time with it as they waited.
“Not calling it ‘the planet Floomfle’ seems like a missed opportunity on their part,” he said, after a while.
He tapped his toes and drummed his fingers on the armrests.
“They should rebrand,” he mused. “I bet tourism would skyrocket.”
He knocked his knees together in time with the beat.
“It’s like, ‘Hey, want to go on vacation?’ ‘I don’t know, where to?’ ‘The moon of Tofu, or whatever?’ ‘Fonk, no! That sounds terrible.’ ‘You’re right. How about the planet Floomfle?’ ‘Hell, yes! With all the Floomfles?’ ‘Of course with all the Floomfles! It’s the planet Floomfle.’ ‘Count me in! I am there!’”
He looked around at the others. “You know what I mean?”
A tiny metal hammer flew across the room and cracked him on the back of the head.
“Ow! What the fon—?”
“Thank you for your patience,” said the voice from the speakers. “You may proceed to Gate Seven-Oh-Niner-Niner-Eight-Six.”
“Thank you,” Cal began.
“Four-Four-Echo-Niner-Seven…”
“Fonk. Pen. Someone get a pen,” Cal whispered.
“…Five-Oh-Three-Niner-Two.”
Cal smiled hopefully at the speaker. “Uh, could you possibly repeat—”
“Thank you for visiting Viaview. Our Vision, Your View. Have a great day.”
There was a click. Cal waited a moment.
“Hello?” he asked, but the only reply was the soft hiss of static. “Great,” he said, throwing his arms up. “Did anyone get that number?”
Mech and Loren both shook their heads. Cal hadn’t even bothered to look at Miz, knowing full well that she wouldn’t have been listening in the first place.
“OK, new rule, from now on everyone has to carry a pen,” Cal said.
“Don’t worry, sir,” said Kevin. “I’m able to recall the gate number.”
“You are?” asked Cal, sounding a little dubious.
“Indeed, sir. My databanks are almost limitless. I have the capacity to remember anything. A fifteen-digit number is unlikely to cause me any problems.”
Cal nodded, impressed. “OK. Well, great.
“Or was it sixteen?” Kevin wondered.
Cal’s cheeks deflated, as did his spirits.
“Not to worry, sir,” Kevin said. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”
Three hours later, Cal sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, trying very hard not to cry. Miz and Tyrra had left just forty-five minutes into the ordeal—allegedly to go and kill themselves—and Mech had eventually headed for the engine room sometime after that. Cal wasn’t sure just how much time, because he’d been banging his head against the floor at that moment, and loudly declaring that he wished he’d never been born.
“And you’re sure we can’t call them back?!” Cal asked.
“For the tenth time, no, we can’t call them back,” Loren snapped. “Or, yes, we can, but they’re not answering. I just get a recorded message that says ‘Please follow previous instructions.’”
“We forgot the previous instructions!” Cal cried, clawing at the air in frustration.
“I know!”
“I wasn’t talking to you! I was talking to them!” Cal said, gesturing angrily at the Viaview station.
Splurt turned an eye toward him and rippled.
“You’re damn right I’m getting uptight!” Cal told him. “Because this is torture, Splurt. And I say that as someone who gets tortured at least once a month. This is worse than all those.”
Splurt gave a wobble. Cal checked himself and exhaled some of his anger out in a long, controlled breath through his nostrils.
“No, I know. I know. That’s not getting us anywhere,” he said, sitting upright.
“Found it, sir,” said Kevin.
Cal knew better than to get too excited. He’d been burned too many times before.
“Have you, though?”
“Indeed, sir. Plotting a trajectory now.”
“But… You’ve said that before. Like, ten times now.”
Splurt shimmied on the back of Loren’s chair.
“Twelve times,” Cal corrected. “Jesus, twelve times.”
“This is the one, sir,” Kevin assured him.
Cal shrugged. “Fine. Great. Let’s see.”
Loren took her hands off the controls as Kevin took over again. The Untitled curved around the side of the station and began to climb.
“Think this is really it?” Cal asked.
Up front, Loren didn’t turn. “Don’t know.”
Cal watched the back of her head, hoping she’d turn to face him. She didn’t.
“You OK?”
“Fine.”
“We OK?”
“I don’t know, are we?”
Cal groaned inwardly. “Is this about the name thing? Is it seriously a problem?”
“Not a serious serious problem,” Loren said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cal asked.
“I heard what you said. To Miz. About it—me—being just fun.”
Cal groaned outwardly. “What? How? I mean, that wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t…”
“It’s fine. It’s good that we know where we both stand,” Loren said. “I don’t want serious, either.”
Before Cal could reply, the Untitled came to a halt directly across from a landing bay door.
“Here we are, sir,” said Kevin.
Cal looked at the screen. His eyes, now all-too accustomed to the set-up of the doors, went instinctively to the number stenciled onto the lower right corner.
“This is number six,” Cal said, his voice cracking at the edges.
“Indeed, sir. Found it at last.”
“But we’re not looking for number six. We’re looking for a fifteen or sixteen-digit number.
Silence.
“Not a one-digit number,” Cal said.
“Are you sure, sir?”
“Yes! Jesus Christ! I’m sure,” Cal said, jumping to his feet. “Have I died? Is that what happened? Have I died and gone to Hell?”
And then, right at the edge of the screen, he spotted his salvation. It stuck out from the side of the station like a stick-on soap dish from the side of a bathtub. “Wait. Look. What’s that?” He whispered, as if worried he might startle it and scare it away.
“It’s a landing platform,” Loren said.
“Yes! Right! Great! And it has one of those wibbly forcefield screens around it that we could fly the ship through!”
“Yes, but it looks like a private pad,” Loren pointed out.
“At this point, I don’t care if it’s a private fonking b
athroom, we’re landing on it.” His head tick-tocked between the pad and Loren. “Uh, can you land on it?”
“Of course I can land on it!”
“It’s just, now that I look at it, it seems pretty small.”
For the first time in three hours, Loren turned toward him. The expression on her face made him almost wish that she hadn’t. “Look, do you want to land, or do you want to keep circling around until we die of old age?”
Cal swallowed. “Um, I’d like to land, please.”
“Fine!” Loren turned back to face front. “Then we’ll land.”
She jammed the controls around. The ship’s landing gear made a long, high-pitched grinding sound. Loren glanced back over her shoulder, just briefly.
“But you might want to put on your seatbelt.”
In the end, the landing was mostly uneventful. Sure, a full third of the ship was hanging over the edge of the platform, but Loren assured him it wasn’t going to fall off, and he didn’t think it was wise to argue.
After a quick scan by Kevin to confirm there was a breathable atmosphere around the ship, and a double-check by Mech because Cal felt much safer getting a second opinion, they’d ventured down the ramp and onto the platform itself.
The entire crew stood together, Cal at the front, Loren at the back, and everyone else positioned between them, trying to pretend they hadn’t picked up on any of the all-too-obvious tension.
“So, now what?” asked Mech.
Cal looked across the landing platform to where it met a second glowing forcefield wall. Beyond that lay a room that had gone big on space, but small on furniture. From where he stood, Cal could see one circular desk, several banks of monitors, and what appeared to be three or four museum-style display cases.
A figure sat in a chair at the center of the desk, turning occasionally to check a screen or tap on a console. Thanks to the wobble of the forcefield, it was hard to tell exactly who or what the figure was, but Cal got the impression they were tall, slender, and—unless he was very much mistaken—silver.
“Now, we go talk to this person,” Cal said. He straightened himself up, smoothed down his t-shirt, and flicked away a few of the crumbs left over from the half a Twix he’d found down the side of Loren’s chair when she’d gone to the bathroom. “Happy faces on, everyone. Best manners. Let’s try to make a good impression. Tyrra, try not to kill anyone. In fact, that goes for everyone. No killing. OK?”
The Hunt for Reduk Topa Page 17
