Space Team: The Holiday Special

by Barry J. Hutchison

  Cal gaped at the puddle, then up at Morana. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  The Oznark was chewing up the ground now, its powerful paws thundering across the dance floor. Mizette extender her claws, her own growls mimicking those of the approaching monster.

  “Loren! I need help here!” said Cal.

  “I can’t leave Miz on her own!” said Loren, squeezing off another round of blaster fire. It hit a pirate in the chest, propelling him backwards across the room and slamming him into a stack of equipment.

  The Oznark launched itself into a final, terrifying leap. Its jaws unhinged, opening to reveal a mouth almost big enough to swallow Mizette whole.

  Then, with a sudden jerk, it stopped in mid-air and let out a sharp screech of pain. With a thud, the Oznark fell to the floor, revealing a tall, silver-haired figure standing behind it, the monster’s tail gripped in one wrinkled hand.

  It was Dorothy.

  Dorothy out of the Golden Girls!

  “She’s not alone,” said Cal, almost sobbing with relief. He punched his fist into the open palm of his other hand. “Now come on. Let’s go deliver this fonking baby!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  As time was something of an issue, Loren kicked open the first door they came to and they all barreled inside, Morana gripping her stomach and groaning like she were battling the early symptoms of demonic possession.

  Judging by the number of coats hanging on racks around the room, they’d found themselves in the club’s coat check. Loren immediately set about pulling down the clothing and piling it on the floor, while Cal occupied himself by staring at Morana’s stomach and wringing his hands in panic.

  “Lie her down,” Loren barked, as Morana let out a groan that rose to the beginnings of a shriek. Cal hooked an arm under one of Morana’s, taking some of her weight. His glass-ridden feet didn’t think much of that, and made their feelings clear with a fresh wave of agony.

  “Shizz, ow, fonking… ow!” he grimaced, helping Morana lower herself down onto the nest-like pile of coats Loren had prepared. He dropped to his knees beside her and took one of her hands in his. With his free hand, he tried to pull a sliver of glass from his heel, discovered it hurt far worse than any pain he’d endured in his entire life to date, and stopped.

  Loren knelt near Morana’s feet – the ‘business end’ as Cal was already coming to think of it – and began working Morana’s pants down.

  “What are you doing?” Cal asked. Both women looked at him and the penny dropped. “Oh, yeah, of course, that makes sense.” He took a few deep breaths. “So, we’re really doing this, huh?”

  “It’s really happening,” said Loren. “Whether we do anything or not.”

  Morana cried out in pain and tightened her grip on Cal’s hand. His arm twisted. He shoved his other fist in his mouth and bit down on his knuckle, praying for the pressure to pass.

  “Ow, that hurt!” he protested, once Morana’s contraction had eased. She shot him a look that wouldn’t have looked out of place on an Oznark, and he smiled uncomfortably. “But, you know, whatever helps, I guess.”

  She threw her head back and screamed. Cal glanced down at his rapidly reddening fingers and decided to join her in a little scream of his own.

  “Make it stop!” Morana howled.

  Loren ducked down and peered between Morana’s legs. Cal wasn’t sure what she saw there, exactly, but from the expression on her face he was glad it wasn’t in his line of sight.

  “You’re doing great!” Loren said. “Seriously, you’re doing amazingly well.”

  “You’ve done this before, right?” Cal asked Loren. Loren shook her head. “What? But… don’t they teach you that stuff in the army?”

  “I’m a pilot!” Loren pointed out. “Why would they teach me how to deliver babies?”

  Cal gestured to Morana with his free hand. “In case this happens!”

  He grimaced as Morana grabbed this hand, too. Another contraction arched her back and she squeezed both hands at once. Cal’s mouth opened in a silent scream this time. Outside, in the main club, they could just hear the sounds of battle raging above the thudding of the dance beat. Despite the pirates, bounty hunters and Godzilla-lion, he was starting to think he’d been given the raw end of the deal.

  “Ooh, that one nearly broke my fingers,” he muttered, as the peak of Morana’s contraction passed. She panted heavily, her pink face slick with sweat. “Breathe. Just breathe. In. Out.”

  “I know how to fonking breathe!” Morana snapped.

  A spasm of pain rocked her. Loren let out a gasp. “I see something!”

  “Please don’t describe it!” Cal pleaded.

  “Push, Morana!”

  Morana tightened her grip on Cal’s hand even further. He bit his shirt at the shoulder, grinding the material between his teeth and trying not to pass out through the pain.

  Loren let out a panicky yelp.

  Morana groaned with relief.

  And then… silence.

  Nothing.

  Nothing but the battle and the music. Distant, and feeling more distant with each second that passed.

  In her hands, Loren held a bloody shape. Inert.

  Silent.

  Not moving.

  Morana made a sound that was part gasp, part sob.

  “Aw… shizz,” said Cal.

  A pudgy pink hand twitched. A toe curled. A cry, sharp and strong and fonking beautiful echoed around the room.

  “It’s a boy,” said Loren, smiling despite her ashen-face and trembling hands as she passed the infant to Morana. “You have a little boy.”

  Cal flexed his fingers and blew on the knuckles. “Word of warning, kid, your mom has one crazy grip.” He looked down into the baby’s wide eyes and his pain melted away. He smiled. It wasn’t one of his normal smiles, the ones carefully honed to elicit a particular response in whoever he was aiming it at. It was just a smile, meant for no-one’s benefit but his own. “Well, look at you,” he said, tickling the baby’s bare belly.

  He tore his eyes away from the squirming infant and met Morana’s gaze. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Hey, it was nothing,” he said. “I mean, I’ll never play piano again, but no big deal.”

  The door swung inwards. Loren spun on her knees, gun raised. Mech appeared in the doorway, caught a full-on view of between Morana’s legs, recoiled in horror, then abruptly about-turned.

  “Uh… everything OK in here?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” said Cal. “Yeah, we’re good. You?”

  “All taken care of.”

  “What about the Hell-beast?” asked Loren.

  “Miz dealt with it.”

  Loren smirked. “I was talking about Miz,” she said.

  “Now, now,” said Cal. “Where are you two going to learn to play nice?”

  Something that was all teeth and eyes appeared around the doorframe. At first, Cal thought it was the Oznark, but then it let out a theatrical gasp and flapped its arms about in a way that bordered on hysteria.

  “Oh my!” yelped Harlosh. “What is going on here?”

  “A child has been born unto us this day,” said Cal, which he reckoned explained everything. It didn’t, obviously, but Harlosh was too polite to push the subject.

  “We should get you to a room, my dear. You can have my suite. We can’t have you stuck in here, it’s not sanitary.” He leaned in closer to Mech, who still hadn’t turned around. “Or safe. I think people might be looking for this child. It’s all over the feeds.”

  “Really?” said Mech, brushing a lump of bounty hunter off his forearm. “You don’t say?”

  #

  Five minutes, and a blissfully uneventful private elevator ride later, Cal stood at the foot of a grand, four-poster bed, rocking gently from side to side, the swaddled infant in his arms. Morana watched him from the bed, sipping on a cup of something hot and sweet.

  Loren, Miz and Mech had gone to stock up on supplies and get the Shatner ready for ta
ke-off. Dorothy out of the Golden Girls sat in a wicker chair next to a mirrored dressing table, looking a little green around the gills.

  “You don’t need to keep that up now, buddy,” Cal said. “We’re all friends here.”

  Dorothy melted, becoming a mound of quivering green goo on the chair. Even in slime-form, Splurt somehow managed to look exhausted. Keeping up the transformation for so long must have taken it out of the little guy.

  “You’re really good with him,” said Morana.

  “Who, Splurt?”

  Morana smiled. “The baby.”

  “Oh! Yeah, right,” said Cal. He looked down at the infant’s sleeping face. His tiny lips formed a miniature pout, and he let out a little murmur as he wrapped his pudgy hand around Cal’s finger. “Thankfully, he doesn’t yet have your grip.”

  “You have kids?” Morana asked.

  Cal opened his mouth, ready for the useful stuff to tumble out. “Blah, blah, blah, too young. Blah, blah, blah, don’t want to get tied down. Blah, blah, blah, something about maybe someday.”

  Instead, though, and to his immense surprise, he said. “Yes.”

  And then he corrected it to, “No.”

  And then he added, “Not anymore.”

  “Oh,” said Morana. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

  Cal shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed on the baby in his arms. “She was… There was an accident. A few years back.” His jaw tightened, stopping him saying any more, and pushing back the tears he could feel amassing behind his eyelids. “Just one of those things.”

  He cleared his throat and the baby jumped awake. “Sorry!” Cal whispered, then he held his breath as the boy’s eyelids slowly closed again.

  “How come this King Anderle guy wanted to eat him, anyway?” Cal asked. “I mean, not that I’m saying he doesn’t look pretty fonking appetizing, but… why go to all this effort to eat him? There are bound to be loads of babies out there he could eat.”

  “Because of who his father is,” said Morana. She set the cup down on Harlosh’s antique bedside table. “There is a… story. A legend. A boy will be born – a boy of great power – who will destroy King Anderle and his entire domain.”

  “This little guy?” said Cal. “He doesn’t look like he’d destroy anyone. I mean, look at that face. And why eat him? That seems a bit… much.”

  “Like I say, he thinks my son has power. By eating him, he thinks he can take it.”

  “Ah, so he’s a total nutjob? Gotcha,” said Cal. “Who is the dad, anyway? If, you know, you don’t mind me asking?”

  “That,” said Morana, puffing out her cheeks, “is a very long story.”

  “OK. So… where is he?”

  “That’s an even longer one,” Morana said. “He’s… around, I guess.”

  “We could take you to him,” Cal suggested. “On the Shatner. We could take you both.”

  Morana smiled. “It’s not that simple. You see, he’s not really in any specific sort of…”

  The door opened. Harlosh ducked his head around the frame. “Knock knock!” he said, remaining outside. “Everything OK?”

  “Hey! Yeah, all good here,” said Cal.

  “I want to thank you, Mr Ko,” said Morana. “You’ve been so kind.”

  Harlosh waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, now, stop!” he trilled. “Stop it at once! I couldn’t very well leave you lying there on a pile of coats, could I? Plus, it’s Kroyshuk, for goodness sake.”

  “Well, thanks anyway, Harlosh,” said Cal. “When I first saw you I thought… well, it wasn’t really a word, more a sort of panicky internal scream, but you’re OK. You’re one of the good guys.”

  “Haha. Yes!” said Harlosh. “And on that note… you have a guest.”

  He withdrew from the doorway and was replaced by a towering figure in a flowing red robe. The man’s long, dark beard entered first. He ducked to avoid scraping his golden crown on the doorway mantle.

  “King Anderle!” Morana gasped.

  “Morana,” boomed the King, in a voice that shook the very walls themselves.

  Cal glanced at Splurt just as he reared up, taking the form of something large and scaly. Without looking, King Anderle took aim with a small handgun and shot Splurt at point blank range in what was becoming his stomach. A crackle of electricity ripped through Splurt, stopping his transformation midway through and reducing him to a quivering pile of gloop.

  “Splurt!” Cal yelped. He spun, thrusting the baby back into Morana’s arms, then launched himself at King Anderle, pain radiating upwards from the recently-bandaged soles of his feet.

  Anderle backhanded him across the face, sending him spinning into an expensive-looking table. A vase, which looked even more valuable, shattered beneath Cal as he landed on top of it.

  “You’re going to pay for those damages!” Harlosh said, aiming the sentence at Cal rather than at King Anderle.

  “You’re going to pay for being a traitorous shizznod,” Cal growled. He stumbled to his feet, only for King Anderle to shoot him in the chest. Cal’s body spasmed fitfully, his muscles tightening until his arms bent back. He fell sideways, almost completely rigid, and slammed against the floor once again.

  He tried to move, but nothing worked. There was a total disconnect between his brain and the rest of him. He could see and hear, and there was a definite burning smell filling his nostrils, but his limbs refused to respond to his commands to move. Right. Fonking. Now.

  Up on the bed, Morana kicked backwards until she was all the way to the headboard, her son clutched protectively to her chest. “No, no, please, don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt my baby,” she pleaded.

  “Come now, Morana,” King Andrele intoned, advancing towards the bed. “You know I have no choice in the matter. To protect my subjects, I must devour the infant. The legend is very clear about that.”

  Cal tried to cry out for help, but barely managed a groan. From where he lay, he could see King Anderle approaching the bed, his hands, both adorned by a dozen or so gold rings, reaching towards Morana and her child.

  “N-nnn,” Cal said, as King Anderle wrapped those thick, sinewy fingers around the baby and tore it free of its mother’s grasp. Immediately, the child began to wail. Harlosh checked the hallway outside, then pulled the door closed and stood with his back against it.

  “Please, no, don’t!” Morana screamed hurling herself at the king. He caught her easily with his right hand, the baby wriggling and squirming in his left. With a single shove, he launched Morana backwards. She hit the headboard hard and folded over, the breath, if not the fight, going out of her.

  “P-please,” she pleaded, struggling back to her knees. “Don’t.”

  “He doesn’t look like him, does he?” Anderle said, peering down at the struggling child. “Then again, how could he? Around the eyes a little, perhaps, but…” He leaned in closer. “How are they glowing like that?” he wondered.

  And then, he exploded.

  Later, Cal would recall two bolts of crackling white light blazing from the baby’s eyes. He’d remember a sound not unlike trumpets. Space trumpets, perhaps. He’d recollect the fleeting moment of surprise on King Anderle’s face, right before he disintegrated in an eruption of flaky white ash.

  The baby fell, bounced once on the bed, then was snatched up by his mother and swaddled in against her chest. He cooed once, wriggled into a more comfortable position, then promptly fell asleep.

  Cal’s fingers twitched. He focused, and with some effort managed to turn his head to look over at Harlosh, who was still pressed against the door, looking… surprised, Cal guessed, although the whole teeth and eyes situation meant that was pretty much just a guess.

  All of Harlosh’s eyes went to King Anderle’s weapon. It had fallen, and was now in the process of being covered by the flakes of white ash floating to the floor.

  Before he could make a move, the door was thrown open, and Harlosh was sent tumbling across the room, where he smashed, teeth-first, into what Cal hoped had
been a priceless antique lamp.

  Mech, Miz and Loren stepped into the room. They looked at Cal and Splurt on the floor, then over at Morana kneeling on the bed with her baby in her arms.

  Finally, they looked at the white flakes drifting through the air. “Uh… did we miss something?” Loren asked.

  “Yy cld say tht,” Cal slurred. His face was tingling and his arms felt like lead, but he managed to prop himself up against the wall. He raised his eyes to the drifting flakes of white and felt a sudden flurry of excitement. “Hey, ’slike snow,” he said. He stuck out his tongue to catch a piece, then remembered what the flakes actually were, and quickly spat it back out again.

  With help from Loren and Miz, he slid himself up the wall. His legs gave way immediately, and Loren quickly ducked under his arm to support him. “Thanks,” Cal said. “But in the interests of full disclosure, I’ve wet myself.”

  Splurt pulsed on the wicker chair, drawing himself upwards into his traditional blob-like shape. His eyes swam around for a few moments, before coming together and settling on Cal. “Good to have you back, buddy,” Cal said. “Let’s agree never to get shot by one of those things again.”

  “So what is this stuff?” asked Miz, sniffing the air. “Smells like dandruff.”

  “That’s King Anderle,” said Cal. “The baby blew him to bits.”

  “The baby?” said Loren.

  “Yep.”

  “Blew him to bits?”

  “Yep. He’s one tough kid,” Cal said. “Takes after his mom.”

  Morana smiled. She looked down at the sleeping infant in her arms. “I guess we can’t keep calling him ‘the baby,’ can we?” she said. “He needs a name. Any suggestions?”

  “Hmm, let me think for a moment,” said Cal, tapping a finger against his chin. “A child, born to a mysteriously powerful absent father, hunted by an evil king on Space Christmas Day?” He smiled. It made his face feel weirdly rubbery. “I think I have the perfect name…”

  #

  Cal sat slouched in his seat as Loren fired up the Shatner’s thrusters. “I can’t believe she didn’t like the name!” he complained. “I mean, seriously, what kid wouldn’t want to be called Santa?”