The Hunt for Reduk Topa

by Barry J. Hutchison

  “Oh, I know, sir. I know,” said the footman.

  He finished dusting the coffee table, and plumped up the cushion on the Royal Armchair. “Perhaps you should sit down, Your Majesty?”

  “I don’t want to sit down!” the king barked. He jabbed a stubby finger at the screen. “I want to find out what the floom is going on!”

  “As I said, Sire—”

  “You don’t know. Yes, I heard you the first six times,” the old man barked. He motioned angrily to the door. “Then I suggest you go out there and find me someone who does!”

  His eyes were drawn back to the bank of cloud on screen. His voice quietened, the tone losing some of its edge.

  “For all our sakes.”

  Thirty-Six

  The Hovercam twisted and bucked as it rocketed up the side of the mountain, forcing Cal to cling to it for all he was worth, and throwing Floora around inside the backpack.

  The Controller had argued that people might get suspicious if a Hovercam deposited the current most hated man in the solar system safely at his desired destination, and so the flying sphere was now trying to sell the idea that it had been badly damaged and was zipping around out of control.

  Cal was successfully conveying the air of a man who was in fear for his life. This required no acting whatsoever on his part. He howled as the Hovercam shot up, screamed as it zig-zagged, and almost lost his stomach contents when it flipped him upside down, then slammed him onto the rocky ground close to the edge of the cliff.

  Very close, in fact.

  Gravity dragged him over the steep drop, forcing him to grasp frantically for something to hold onto.

  His fingers dug like claws into loose shale, the stuff coming away in handfuls. His feet, which had already slipped over the edge, kicked out in a desperate hunt for purchase, but the cliff wall was wet and slippery, and the grip on the bodysuit’s boots was next to fonking useless.

  It was no good. There was nothing to hold onto, nothing to grab, nothing to stop him plunging all the way back down to the ground far, far below.

  “I’ve got you!” cheeped Floora, flying out of the backpack and catching him by the only available anchor point. Unfortunately, this was his hair. Cal hissed in pain as the Floomfle flapped her wings for all they were worth, her tiny hands dragging him up by the scalp.

  “Ow, ow, ow!” he protested, but the Floomfle’s tugs helped him stretch forward just an inch or two further, until his fingers found the edge of a more solid rock.

  Floora kept pulling as he heaved himself up onto the ledge, and they both tumbled onto solid ground, panting and wheezing, but—miraculously—alive.

  “Holy fonk, that hurt,” Cal said, rubbing his stinging scalp. “But thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it,” gasped Floora, flopping onto her back and drawing in big deep gulps of air. “You saved me. Figured that makes us even.”

  “Well, I think I technically saved you a whole bunch of times,” Cal said. “So, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, we’re not quite there yet.”

  He struggled up into a sitting position and smiled at her. “But it’s a start.”

  A howl rose up from below. Cal crept to the edge on his hands and knees and peered down the side of the cliff. Five Sloorgs were climbing up, their claws easily finding purchase in the rock.

  “Seriously? They can climb?” Cal groaned. He stood up and shot the closest Hovercam a dirty look. “This is total bullshizz. You hear that? Total bull—”

  A blaster bolt struck the ground between his legs from behind. He watched it ricochet off into the stormy sky, and felt the thwack of a chunk of rock smacking him lightly on the scrotum.

  Clutching his stomach with one hand and cupping his groin with the other, Cal turned to find a figure standing silhouetted atop a boulder. He recognized her immediately, and the flash of lightning that illuminated both her and the myriad of weapons she had strapped about her person was an unnecessary, if impressively dramatic, touch.

  Her name appeared as a futuristic neon emblem above her, as the Host’s voice rang out.

  “Blaster-Mama!” he cried, and Loren struck a pose with the blaster pistol she’d fired her warning shot with. “Will our Futuristic Femme Fatale finally be the one to stop Reduk Topa? Stay tuned to find out!”

  Cal held a hand out to her. “Loren. It’s—”

  “Hold up, hold up,” said a voice Cal didn’t recognize. It was gruff and of indeterminate gender. Or species, for that matter. “We’re on an ad break.”

  Cal blinked. “Oh. So… What? We just stand here?”

  “What do you think, genius?” the voice spat. “Can I get some make-up on Topa. He looks like shizz. But not in the right way.”

  A blue door appeared in the air beside Cal. He tried to back away, but discovered he was frozen in place from the neck down. “What the fonk?” he demanded. “I can’t move.”

  “Of course you can’t move, genius. Continuity, ain’t it? Can’t have you moving right before a big Hunter face-off. Sheesh. What an idiot.”

  A tall, elegant-looking woman who was perhaps trying a teensy bit hard with her own hair and make-up, emerged from the doorway, gave Cal an appraising look that evidently found him lacking, then began applying foundation to his cheeks.

  “You’re so shiny,” she said, absent-mindedly.

  “Uh, thanks.”

  The woman finished applying the make-up, stepped back to look him over, then made a face that suggested it was the best she could do with what she had.

  “It wasn’t a compliment,” she said, then she stepped back through the doorway, and it retracted into the ground until there was no evidence it had ever been there in the first place.

  “Where the fonk did she come from?” asked Cal.

  “Make-up department?” Floora guessed. She was still on the spot where Cal had left her, but halfway to her feet. From the impossible position she was stuck in, Cal guessed she must be frozen, too.

  “Loren. Can you hear me? It’s me,” Cal said.

  Loren said nothing.

  “I mean, not Loren. Teela. It’s me. Cal.”

  Still nothing.

  “They’ve done something to you. They’ve done something to everyone. You, Miz, Mech. I’m guessing Splurt. You have to snap out of it, you hear me? You don’t want to kill me.”

  Loren’s brow furrowed, just a fraction.

  “OK, sometimes you might want to kill me. But not really. Not deep down.”

  Loren’s face changed again. It was a subtle softening, so subtle in fact that no one but Cal would ever have been able to spot it.

  “I… I…”

  The gruff voice returned. “Aaaand, we’re back in two, one…”

  All softness left Loren’s face. She raised her gun and opened fire. The shot screamed past Cal’s ear, the heat of it blistering his skin and singeing off some unsightly rogue hairs.

  Cal ducked and ran, grabbing Floora by the arm and yanking her to safety just as a volley of shots peppered the ground behind them.

  There was a rock ahead, flat and wide like an overturned table. Cal tossed Floora over it, then threw himself after her. A staccato of gunshots hammered the stone, punching holes in the thin area at the top, and hammering chunks out of the thicker base.

  Cal and Floora covered their heads, shielding themselves from the flying debris.

  “She’s got a gun!” Floora yelped.

  “I noticed.”

  “She’s trying to shoot us!”

  “Not yet she isn’t,” Cal said. “This is just good TV. If she was trying to shoot us, we’d already be Swiss cheese.”

  Floora had no idea what Swiss cheese was, or how it was in any way relevant, but she felt this wasn’t the time to get into a discussion about it.

  “Can you stop her?” Floora asked.

  “Don’t think so,” Cal admitted. “Why, can you?”

  “Me? No! What am I supposed to do?”

  Cal shrugged. “We could try ‘Fetch’ again, but I�
��m not convinced she’d fall for it.”

  He shook his head. “Besides, I’ve seen her play Duck Hunt. You wouldn’t get six feet.”

  The hail of gunfire stopped. The silence that it left behind felt hot and oppressive, although that may have been the molten rock that glowed red just a few inches from Cal’s face.

  “Teela? Honey? It’s me. OK? I’m going to come out. I know you won’t shoot me. I know it.”

  Raising his hands, Cal stood up. A blaster bolt tore through his side and he immediately dropped again.

  “She shot me! She fonking shot me!” he howled, clutching at the burn wound just above his right hip. It had just grazed him, and the heat had sealed the wound, but still. She’d shot him. She’d fonking shot him!

  “I don’t think you’re getting through to her,” Floora said.

  “Oh, you think?” Cal grimaced. “Jesus, I called her by her first name and everything. What more does she want?”

  “What do you mean?” Floora asked.

  “I mean…” Cal sighed. “So, we’re in a relationship. In the past, I’ve always called her by her last name, but it turns out she’d rather I call her by her first name. Or something. I mean, I think. I’m not really sure. She’s being really cryptic about it.”

  “Does she think you’re scared of commitment?” Floora asked.

  Cal blinked. “Huh?”

  Floora shrugged. “I mean, it just sort of sounds like that could be the issue. I’m no expert, but that sounds likely.”

  Cal clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I mean, she did overhear me saying that I didn’t think we were serious serious…”

  Floora flicked him on the nose.

  “Ow!”

  “You idiot!” the Floomfle said.

  “I didn’t meant it. I am serious serious about her,” Cal said.

  Floora flicked him again.

  “That’s even worse!” she said. “Get up there and tell her!”

  “She’s trying to shoot me,” Cal reminder her.

  “I don’t blame her. Go!”

  “I mean… I guess I probably—”

  Floora flicked his nose for a third time.

  “Jesus! OK, OK, I’ll do it!”

  Cal held his breath for a moment, then tentatively raised his head out of cover. He saw Loren discard her blaster pistol and then swing something not unlike a mini bazooka down from her shoulder.

  “Fonk, change of plan. Run!” he hollered, grabbing Floora again and diving clear just as the rock they were taking cover behind exploded, and the air was filled with fire and noise and flying fragments of stone.

  “I’m being whimsy, miss,” said Kevin. “Do you see? The very concept of whimsy.”

  Tyrra ignored him. She had stopped playing the voice’s stupid game a while ago. She now sat in Loren’s chair, idly jabbing at buttons that made the channels on screen change.

  “Whimsy,” said Kevin, for the third and final time. “Now, then. Technically, I won that round, but would you like to take a turn?”

  “No,” said Tyrra, jabbing at the button that moved her down a station.

  “Very good. In that case, I guess it’s over to me again!” Kevin said. “Hmm. Now, what shall I be this time?”

  “Be yourself,” said Tyrra.

  “It’s an empowering message, miss, but not really conducive to a game of Charades,” Kevin said.

  “I mean be nothing,” said Tyrra. “Stop the game. I can’t see what you’re doing, anyway.”

  “Well, that’s hardly my fault,” said Kevin, a little snootily. “Maybe if you paid more attention.”

  “Maybe if you had physical form…” Tyrra bit back.

  Kevin gasped. “Oh, now that was unnecessary and unkind,” he said. “I’m afraid I simply cannot tolerate such abuse. Go to your room.”

  “No,” said Tyrra.

  “At once!”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  Tyrra ignored him and clicked through another few channels. Game show. Robot soap opera. Game show. Documentary. Unfunny comedy about nuns. Cal being shot at by Loren. Game show.

  Wait.

  Wait.

  She backed up a channel.

  “There. Look,” she said, thrusting herself forward in the chair. “See? I knew it!”

  The screen went dark.

  “I’m sorry to take such drastic action, miss, but no television for you until you’ve learned to do as your told.”

  “Turn it back on!” Tyrra cried, jumping to her feet. “Voice! Turn it back on!”

  “No. I shan’t. Not until you apologize or go to your room,” Kevin said. “It’s time you learned your lesson, young lady, and if I have to administer the metaphorical spanking, then so be it. Your television time is over.”

  “Put it on! Put it on now!”

  “Throwing a tantrum won’t help,” said Kevin. “The television is staying off, and that’s my final word on the matter.”

  “It’s them, you formless cretin! It’s them!”

  “It is they,” Kevin corrected. “Actually, no, wait. That doesn’t sound right.”

  “It’s the idiot captain and the blue woman,” Tyrra barked.

  “Where?” asked Kevin.

  “On the screen! Switch it back on!”

  Kevin let out a little snort. “I hardly think they’re going to be on television.”

  “They were. It was them!”

  Kevin gave a sigh that was quite convincing for someone with no lungs. “Fine. I’ll put it back on, but only for a moment,” he said. “And you aren’t allowed to look.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you’re banned from the television, I thought I’d made that quite clear,” Kevin said. “Now, do you want me to put it on, or not?”

  “Gah!” Tyrra snapped. She spun around to face away from the screen. “There. Now, hurry.”

  There was a faint whine as the screen fired back up.

  “It’s nothing,” said Kevin. “It’s just some sort of… action show, I think. There’s someone shooting, and…”

  His voice faded into silence. On screen, a plasma rocket obliterated a chunk of rock, forcing an all-too-familiar figure to come tearing out of cover.

  “Oh,” said Kevin. He watched a moment longer. “Well, this is something of a pickle.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Cal landed awkwardly. Given what he had just escaped from, though, he was grateful to have landed at all.

  A spray of hot rocks peppered the ground around him. He tried to stand, but the shale was loose beneath his feet, and he crashed down again immediately.

  “Get clear,” he told Floora. Not that he gave her much of an option, throwing her ahead of him before he turned on his knees and raised both hands above his head.

  “Don’t shoot!” he urged, as Loren leveled the bazooka-thing at him. “You don’t want to do this. You don’t. Whatever they’ve done to you, however they’re controlling you, it’s not you. It isn’t you.”

  Loren squinted down the weapon’s scope.

  “We had an argument!” Cal said. “We fell out. It was… I guess it was my fault. Mostly.”

  Loren placed her finger on the trigger. “Wait, no! Wholly my fault. It was all me. I just…”

  The effort of keeping his arms raised proved too much, the blood loss and exhaustion combining to rob him of his strength.

  He flopped down into a sitting position. Words began to flow out of him at the same rate as his blood. “I just… Since the car accident... Since what happened to my…”

  His jaw clenched. “Since what happened, I’ve never… I haven’t really let anyone get close, you know? Not close close. Until you. And I didn’t know how to deal with it. With you. Us. Any of it. I just didn’t know. And I may…” He raised a finger. “May have handled it less perfectly than I could have.”

  There was a beep from the bazooka. Cal partly jumped and partly rolled out of the path of the missile, but the fiery shockwave slammed into his b
ack, knocking what little fight was left out of him and depositing everything that was left over in a heap beside the cliff’s edge.

  “Cal!” Floora cried.

  He managed to raise an arm long enough to warn her to stay back, then heaved himself around to face Loren again. She had slung the bazooka back onto her shoulder, and was now peering down the barrel of a blaster rifle at him.

  He nodded, accepting that this was how it was going to be. He had no more tricks up his sleeve, no last-minute escape plans. If she fired, he was dead, and it was over.

  And he couldn’t let it end like this. Not without telling her. Not with her having any doubt.

  “For the record,” he slurred, clutching his side where Miz had slashed him. Blood ebbed through his fingers and trickled down the back of his gloves. “You were never ‘fun.’ Never.”

  Cal coughed. Something black came up. “That sounds bad. I mean, you were fun, but not just fun. I mean what we have, or had, or… It was real. It was so real. I need you to know that.”

  He settled back on the shale. His blood pooled in the gaps between it, his life seeping down into the earth below.

  “I love you, Teela Loren,” Cal told her. He motioned to one of the Hovercams. “I just wanted to put that on the record. Whatever happens, whatever you do next, I will always love you.”

  Loren’s jaw tightened. Her finger trembled on the trigger as she fought against whatever psychic thrall she was under.

  A tear broke loose and cut a track down her cheek. Her face was a picture of torment, all her pain writ large for the whole damn sector to see.

  God, this was killing her. Cal couldn’t stand it. Wouldn’t stand it. He sipped in a shallow breath, closed his eyes for a moment, then made his peace with the world.

  “And that’s why you have to shoot me,” he told her. “That’s why you have to pull the trigger and end it.”

  Loren’s hands shook.

  “I don’t care about winning this fonking show. I don’t even care about surviving,” Cal said. “I just… I can’t see you torn apart like this. I just can’t.”

  He shivered and pulled his arms around himself. “By the way, is it getting cold up here, or is it just me?” he wondered, his breath coming in thin, rasping gasps.