Space Team: A Lot of Weird Space Shizz: Collected Short Stories

by Barry J. Hutchison

  THE END

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  THE LAST BOUNTY

  Originally published in the ‘Pew Pew’ Anthology

  1.

  It was three hours before the kids were taken, and Konto Garr was not having the best of mornings.

  “Remind me why you can’t do this again?” he asked, checking his reflection in the mirror for the umpteenth time. It had been years since he’d been off-planet, and he wanted to look … well, not his best, but good enough.

  That annoyed him. He’d never seen himself as that guy – the guy who cared what people thought of him. But then, this was the first time he would be representing the family, as his wife had gone to great lengths to point out, and so he was feeling the pressure to put in the effort.

  “Because I have to work,” said Maris, playfully shouldering him aside so she could claim her share of mirror space. She had to stand on tiptoes to see herself clearly. Konto, on the other hand, had to duck.

  “So did I!” Konto protested.

  “Yes, but I’ve got patients to see,” Maris pointed out, as tactfully as possible. “You’ve got …”

  “Garbage to haul,” said Konto. He exhaled. “Fine. OK. You win.”

  He glanced towards the kitchen door. The blue glow of the buzz-shield radiated into the hallway. The Snorkflies had been bad this season. One of the guys at work had lost the better part of his left arm to a cluster. Fortunately, he never really did anything, anyway, so the workload for the rest of them remained more or less the same.

  “But, I mean, she doesn’t even like me.”

  Maris glanced at him in the mirror, then decided the statement deserved a full stop-and-turn. “Are you crazy?” Maris said. “She adores you.”

  “She told me I have breath like a Shizzfarmer’s breakfast,” Konto said.

  Maris smiled. “She was being playful.”

  “And that she hopes I die in a fire.”

  Maris’s smile vanished. “She said that? Seriously? Deenia!”

  “No, don’t,” whispered Konto. “You’ll make it worse.”

  Maris shook her head. “She isn’t getting away with that. Deenia!”

  The flickering blue of the buzz-shield snapped off. A girl, aged seven, wearing nothing but a scowl and a My Little Parnac onesie shuffled out of the kitchen. “What?”

  “Did you tell your father you hoped he died in a fire?”

  “No,” said Deenia. She tossed a glare in Konto’s direction. “I told him. He’s not my father.”

  Maris’s eyes widened briefly, then narrowed dangerously. “Apologize, young lady. Right now.”

  “Seriously, Maris, it’s fine,” said Konto. “People have said worse.”

  “Not the point,” Maris snapped, sounding almost as angry with Konto as she was with her daughter. “You work hard—”

  “He hauls garbage.”

  “You work hard to help provide for this family.” Maris glared at her daughter. “He has taken the day off today so he can go with you on your school trip.”

  “He’s coming?!” Deenia yelped. “What? Why?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she bunched her hands into fists, stamped her foot, and marched back to the kitchen. “Why don’t you just ruin my life, while you’re at it?”

  The blue glow of the buzz-shield returned. Konto smiled weakly at his wife. “No, you’re right,” he said. “I think I might be growing on her.”

  * * *

  It was two hours before the kids were taken, and things had not improved.

  “You don’t mind if Larry sits next to you, right Konto?”

  Nobosh Tar, property magnate, father of Larry, and all-round rich jerk, smiled insincerely from the seat directly facing Konto, as the shuttlecraft rocked and shuddered its way through the atmosphere.

  “It’s just, he’s a puker, and … well, I don’t do well with puke. It’s the smell. And, you know, the sight and the sound, obviously, but mostly it’s the smell. Can’t stand it. Figured you’d be better equipped to deal.” His insincere smile became even more so. “How is the garbage business, by the way?”

  “Steady,” said Konto, raising his voice a little to be heard over the excited chatter of the twenty-five children all strapped into the threadbare seats of the shuttle. Deenia had taken the furthest seat away from him as possible. Any further, and she’d have been flying the ship.

  Miss Tresno, the class teacher, sat at the back of the shuttle’s passenger bay, where she could keep an eye on everyone at once. Having eight eyes made the job that bit easier, in much the same way her four arms likely helped when it came to rounding the rowdier ones up. She was the first off-worlder to teach at the school and, by all accounts, the kids loved her. At least, they did once they’d stopped screaming.

  The other parent helper – a woman Konto had seen at the school gates a few times, but never spoken to – sat at the front, reading a magazine with a level of concentration more suited to bomb disposal. It was the perfect force-field with which to block out all social interaction, and Konto was annoyed at himself for not thinking of it.

  Nobosh nodded. “Well, there’ll always be garbage, I guess. Although, I’ll be honest, I always thought we had mechs for that sort of thing.”

  Konto felt himself blush, just slightly, but pushed it away through sheer force of will. There was no way he’d left someone like Nobosh Tar embarrass him. “Mechs don’t do organics. We deal with those. Mechs do the recycling.”

  Nobosh’s smile became a full-blown grin. “Well, great. Good for you. Then you should cope with Larry just fine.”

  Konto looked down at the seat beside him, to find a wide-eyed boy gazing up at him. He had copper-colored hair, rosy red cheeks and – wow – was he fat. That probably wasn’t the ‘correct’ terminology, Konto knew, but the kid could definitely stand to lose a few pounds. Maybe a few dozen.

  “Hey,” said Konto. He nodded curtly.

  “Hey,” said Larry, then he opened his mouth and a cascade of colorful vomit splattered across Konto’s boots.

  “Seriously, Larry, already?” sighed Nobosh. He reached into the locker above him and pulled out a half-used roll of paper towels. “Here, Konto,” he said, tossing the roll across the gap. “You might want to clean that up.”

  * * *

  It was one hour before the kids were taken, and Konto’s patience was wearing thin.

  “In pairs. Two by two. Stay in line.”

  Miss Tresno led the line, with the parent helpers spread out along it – Nobosh, magazine woman, then Konto at the back. Larry shuffled along just ahead of him, the only kid walking solo on account of the stench of vomit that hung around him like a toxic cloud. Eight times. He’d blown chunks eight times in forty minutes, each time – somehow – more spectacular than the last.

  By the sixth or seventh time, Konto had expected the kid to start heaving up organs, but nope, the barf just kept coming. He did look dangerously close to popping out an eye during his last bout of violent retching, but his stomach seemed to be a bottomless pit of puke-fodder. The gift that kept on giving.

  Deenia was near the front, somewhere between Miss Tresno and Nobosh. She was walking with … Juto? Juta? One of her friends, anyway.

  He’d glanced at her during one of Larry’s vomit episodes and spotted a fleeting look of something like sympathy on her face, but it twisted into a sneer when she realized he’d spotted her, and she hadn’t looked at him again since.

  Still, it was something.

  The landing deck was strange, but familiar. He couldn’t remember ever visiting this particular station before, but he’d been on hundreds like it. It was an old converted mining station from back in the day. People like Nobosh – or people like the ones Nobosh desperately aspired to be – had bought them all for a handful of credits and turned them into shopping and entertainment centers. He’d never been a fan, but his job – his old job
– had made them a necessary evil.

  Still, that was a lifetime ago. Before Maris. Everything had changed then, and his old life was a relic of the past.

  And yet, the barely noticeable humming of the deck below his feet brought him dangerously close to smiling.

  And old woman stepped into his path, a bag slung across her shoulder. She was small, with wrinkled yellow skin like parchment paper. Unlikely to be dangerous, but that was the problem with old women – you could never tell. There was something troubling about this one, though, that he couldn’t quite place.

  “You know what would be handy?” the woman asked, her eyes shimmering.

  Konto shifted his weight onto his heels. His fists got ready, all by themselves. “For you to get out of my way?” he asked.

  “An animal vac-pack,” said the woman. She waited, just a moment, to make sure he’d heard her, then nodded curtly and was on her way. Konto turned and watched her go.

  “What was that about?” he muttered, then he hurried to close the gap behind Larry.

  * * *

  It was nine minutes before the kids were taken, and Konto was bored.

  They had visited four toy shops in the past twenty minutes – four more than he’d ideally have liked – wasted several more minutes throwing credits in a fountain, and spent what felt like quite a long time waiting outside restrooms for Larry to stop throwing up.

  Fortunately, they had now reached the actual purpose of the trip – the station’s one and only museum. It was the only museum in the entire sector in fact, this part of the galaxy not exactly renowned for its culture.

  The exhibition Konto was keen to see – although he’d never mentioned that fact to Maris, or anyone else - was right at the start of the tour. He’d been disappointed by that. He would have enjoyed the anticipation of the build-up to it and, if he were honest, he felt it deserved to go at the end, like the headline act.

  The tour guide – a reedy, disinterested woman with a long gray face and sunshine yellow hair – gestured to the glass display case behind her. Most of the kids, including Deenia, had wandered off to play with the interactive exhibits, leaving just a handful of children listening to the woman drone on. Konto and Nobosh stood at the back of the group, one of them listening in rapt attention, the other contemplating whether he’d do the guide or not and, if so, in which positions.

  Maybe after a few drinks, Nobosh decided, or if the lights were low enough.

  “This is the original battle armor worn by the bounty hunter-slash-vigilante known throughout the galaxy as the Magister.”

  Nobosh snorted. “The Magister? Ooh, scary. You know, if you’re, like, nine years old.”

  A flash of irritation flicked across Konto’s face, but he ignored his co-helper and concentrated on the presentation. Although ‘presentation’ was a generous description. The guide delivered the information as if she were reading it from a script no-one had bothered to show her until now. There was a soulless sort of roboticness to it, and a couple of the remaining kids wandered off rather than continue listening to it.

  “No, it isn’t,” said Larry.

  The woman blinked. “Huh?”

  “It’s not the original armor,” Larry said. “The belt’s different, and the boots aren’t right. This is … I’d say … Mark Three. He improved the chest plating after his first fight with the Starbeast of Rognor. You can see where it’s been reinforced.”

  Konto squinted and peered through the glass. “Huh,” he said. “He’s right.”

  Larry looked back at Konto and smiled goofily. Nobosh rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he loves all that dorky stuff,” he said. Larry’s smile remained fixed in place, but his eyes betrayed him. He quickly faced front. Almost immediately, he spotted a poster on the wall. It showed the Magister in full armor. Below it, in a bold, dramatic typeface were the words: “Justice Strikes Like a Meteorite!”

  “That’s his motto!” Larry announced. “I have that poster. That was his motto.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” said Konto. “He never said that. That’s a myth.” He glanced around and shrugged. “I mean, that’s what I heard.”

  “The Magister was responsible for the capture or death of over eight thousand known felons,” the guide continued, the tone of her voice somehow managing to make that total sound disappointing. “He is believed to have died in … er… the past. His final resting place has never been found.”

  “Whoa!” Larry yelped. He pushed past the guide and pressed himself against the next display case. “Is that real?!”

  “Please save all questions until the end,” said the guide, sighing audibly. “But yes, that is a genuine Magister arm blaster, retrieved after his battle with the Tholians.”

  “Thalians,” said Konto and Larry, at exactly the same time.

  “At least, I think it was the Thalians,” said Konto. “I might be wrong.”

  Larry bounced up and down, jiggling with excitement. “Can I hold it? Can I hold it? Pleeeease!”

  “Please save all questions until the end,” said the guide. “But no, you can’t.”

  Larry jiggled some more, then stopped abruptly. He about-turned abruptly and his classmates, now painfully aware of what the expression on his face meant, quickly cleared a path.

  “I think I’m gonna be sick,” he said, looking up at Konto.

  Konto shot Nobosh a sideways glance, but Nobosh raised his hands and shook his head. “Really not my scene, dude. You mind? I think we passed a restroom right outside.”

  Larry raced past them. Konto opened his mouth to protest, then decided against it. “Fine. I’ll go make sure he’s OK.”

  Konto plodded out of the museum in time to see Larry disappear through the door of the restroom. Before he could follow, Deenia stepped into his path. “Is Larry OK?” she demanded.

  “Fine,” said Konto. “Just travel sick.”

  “But we’re not moving.”

  “We are,” said Konto. “The station rotates at—”

  “How come you’re taking care of him?” asked Deenia, cutting him short.

  “Been asking myself the same question,” said Konto. He shrugged. “Someone has to.”

  Deenia considered this for a moment. She glanced over to the door of the museum. Miss Tresno was ushering some children out from inside. Nobosh was behind her, laughing and chatting with magazine woman. Konto groaned. So the Magister stuff was the headline exhibit. And, it seemed, the only one.

  “His dad’s a jerk,” said Deenia. Konto looked at her in surprise. Her features hardened as soon as he did. “I mean, and so are you,” she added, then she spun on the spot and joined her friend over by the fountain.

  Konto shook his head and marched towards the restrooms, swallowing back his anger. It wasn’t Deenia’s fault. She’d been four years old when he’d entered her life. Before then, she’d had her mom all to herself, and Konto hadn’t exactly been a natural when it came to bonding with the girl. He’d never really dealt with kids before, and back then, he’d been preoccupied with the worry that his old job might catch up with him. He probably could have handled it better.

  The restroom door slid aside as he approached, and the sound of retching echoed noisily from one of the cubicles.

  Hwaaaaargh.

  Rrroooouumf.

  Bleeeeeurrghmmargh.

  “Hey, Larry? You OK?” Konto asked. It was, given the gut-wrenching chorus of horror, probably a silly question. He stepped into the restrooms and the door slid closed behind him.

  “Not really, Mr Garr,” Larry admitted.

  Yeeeeaaarmmugh.

  Hooffaashkaka.

  Nnngggungkpumf.

  “Well, you know, get it all out, I guess,” said Konto.

  “Way ahead of you, Mr Garr.”

  Hoosshkagurk.

  Mrrraaauurrgubunk.

  Pew! Pew!

  Konto tensed. That last one had come from outside.

  The cubicle hummed noisily as the toilet disintegrated the contents. The echo o
f the restrooms amplified the sound, drowning out any other noise from beyond the door.

  Larry stumbled out of the cubicle, all red-faced and bleary-eyed. “Sorry about that, Mr Garr,” Larry began, but Konto held a hand up to cut him off, then gestured with a finger to his lips for Larry to be quiet.

  Screaming.

  Children screaming.

  “—body does what we say, and no-one gets hurt.”

  Konto reached for the button that would open the door, then thought better of it. Instead, he pressed both palms against the door itself and, with a grunt of effort, eased it open half an inch and peered out through the gap.

  The kids were surrounded. A dozen or more armed figures formed a knot around them, the same number again forming a second perimeter around the first.

  The assailants weren’t from any one race. They were a mish-mash of different species, different outfits, different guns. Pirates, Konto thought. Maybe Xandrie, or one of the local gangs.

  Deenia sat huddled among her classmates, not screaming, but not far off. Miss Tresno had draped herself across as many of the children as she could, shielding them with her four arms. Even magazine woman was doing her bit, pulling two of the smaller kids towards her and cuddling them in close.

  Nobosh stood alone at the fringes, his hands up. “Please, d-don’t hurt us,” he said, choking back a sob. “You want money? I have money.”

  “Shut the fonk up,” hissed one of the … no, not gunmen. This one was weaponless, although his metal arms looked capable of doing as much damage as any blaster. Something about the way he held himself said ‘leader’. “We don’t want money. We’re not going to hurt anyone.”

  Nobosh seemed to deflate in relief. “Oh, thank Kroysh,” he wheezed.

  The metal-armed man grinned. “But we are going to take you all with us.”

  The kids screamed as the assailants caught them by the arms, necks, throats and hair and began ushering them towards the elevator.

  “Mr Garr? What’s happening?” Larry whispered.

  Konto ignored him. He counted the hostage-takers. Twenty-six - thirteen male, nine female, four unknown. Twenty-five of them had blaster weapons, but less than a handful packed visible melee weapons, which ruled out pirates. A gang, then, and some of the rifles suggested big bucks, which made the Xandrie the most likely suspects.