“Speak for yourself. I could totally beat all these guys,” Miz said. “But they’re all, like, ew. So, I’m not touching them.”
“It’s fine. I got this,” said Cal. He plastered on his warmest smile and approached the elder, a hand outstretched. “Well, hey there! You must be the Slurrits. We’ve heard so much about you. We’re Space Team. I’d ask if you’d heard of us, but I’m guessing you guys don’t watch the news much, either.”
As Cal drew closer to the elder, two smoother and much burlier Slurrits blocked his path, the mud on their necks burbling and bubbling as if alive.
“None approaches the Slurrata,” they both said in pitch-perfect unison. Cal regarded them both with surprise.
“Whoa! That was cool. Nice harmonies. Are you guys in a band?” he asked. “Because you absolutely should be in a band. I could be your manager. We’ll call my cut twenty percent. And those are friend prices, because I like you guys. OK? Don’t tell anyone else.”
He tried to step around them, but they continued to block the way.
“None approaches the Slurrata,” they said again.
Cal raised his hands and then pointed to both bodyguards. “That’s the name of our first single right there. You guys nailed it. And I’m not just saying that because I desperately want to get on your good side. I smell a hit.”
“That’s not what I smell,” Mizette muttered.
Realizing he wasn’t getting past them, Cal directed his smile between the guards, aiming it squarely at the sun-baked elder. “So, you’re the boss? Do you prefer Mr Slurrata or just Slurrata?”
“The Slurrata,” the elder said in a voice that was rich and deep, yet unmistakably feminine.
“The Slurrata?” Cal said, frowning. “So, like, always with the ‘the’? Like, ‘Hey, the Slurrata, how’s it going?’ ‘Excuse me, the Slurrata, can you pass the ketchup?’ That kind of thing?”
“Like that. Yes,” the Slurrata confirmed.
Cal nodded. “Fair enough. Your call, I guess. The Slurrata it is.”
“Are you the defilers of the siltch?” the Slurrata asked.
“Defilers? Us? No. We haven’t defiled anything,” Cal said. “I mean, I did hold onto a Growler’s balls for a while, but my options were pretty limited at the time. It’s not something I make a habit of and, between you and me, I think he kind of liked it.”
The army of Slurrits hadn’t made a sound yet, other than the occasional parp or blomp as they shifted their slurry-like bodies on the sand. They stood in an ominous sort of silence, like hangmen waiting by the gallows.
Destitution had a myriad of moons which were starting to rise and race each other across the night sky. Their pale white glows reflected off the muddy Slurrits, splitting their features into glowing highlights and deep shadows. Contrasted like that, Cal was able to make out noses and eye sockets, and even the occasional ear. It was all vague, though, like sand sculptures on a beach that had been mostly eroded by the tide.
Cal tore his eyes away from the figures and looked back at the team. “Guys? Did any of you defile the siltch when I wasn’t watching? Mech, I’m looking at you here.”
“No! What the fonk does that even mean ‘defile the siltch?’” Mech asked.
“I don’t know,” said Cal, slightly accusingly. “You tell me.”
“Fonk you, man. I ain’t defiled nothing.”
Cal glanced at the others. “Miz? Loren? Defile the siltch?”
They both shook their heads. Cal looked down at Splurt, who had stopped being armor and now just clung to his chest like a baby in a papoose.
“Splurt, buddy?” he asked.
Splurt quivered.
“I know, but I had to ask,” Cal said. He gave a nod and faced front again.
“Sorry, no. Doesn’t look like we’re the defilers you’re looking for,” he said. “I wish we could be more help. Still, good luck with the hunt.”
He fingergunned both guards. “And good luck with the album. Seriously, if you ever want a manager, look me up.”
With a wink at the Slurrata and a parting smile offered up to everyone else, Cal turned to leave.
“Then it isn’t your craft?” The Slurrata asked.
Cal stopped.
“Huh?” he said, turning.
“The craft in the siltch,” said the Slurrata. “It doesn’t belong to you?”
Behind the Slurrata, dozens of heads rose up from the quicksand and fanned out along the shore.
Cal swallowed. “Craft?”
“The flying machine,” the Slurrit elder continued. “The flying machine that has defiled the siltch. It does not belong to you?”
Cal gently cleared his throat. “Uh… no.”
“How interesting,” said the Slurrata. “Because it says it does.”
“Does it?” asked Cal. He forced a chuckle. “Wow. That’s… I don’t really know how to explain that. Except, you know, to say…”
He spun on his heels. “Run!” he shouted, before realizing that there wasn’t much point. Hundreds of Slurrits had appeared from the sand, blocking their retreat.
“Aw, shizz,” Cal groaned. “They’re behind us.”
“I know,” said Miz. “I heard them. And smelled them. Ew.”
“Then why the fonk didn’t you say something?” Cal asked, sighing.
Miz tutted. “Like, what? I’m supposed to just tell you everything now, am I?”
“Not everything, but if there’s someone sneaking up behind us then, yeah, it’d be useful information to have,” Cal said.
Miz sighed forcibly, then waved her clawed hands at her side in mock-alarm. “Argh. Look out. They’re totally behind us!”
She dropped her arms to her side again. “Happy now?”
“I mean… reasonably,” said Cal.
Miz scowled. “Whatever.”
“Your craft defiled the siltch, so you defiled the siltch,” the Slurrata said.
Cal turned back to her and raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. OK. We defiled the siltch. Guilty as charged.”
“The penalty for defiling the siltch is death,” the Slurrata said.
“Accidentally,” Cal clarified. “We accidentally defiled the siltch. And I’m not sure I’d go so far as to say we actually ‘defiled’ it, exactly. We just… penetrated it. No. Wait, that sounds worse. We… Guys? Help me out here.”
“Silence!” The Slurrata hissed. All around the group, the Slurrits tensed, preparing for the order that was about to be given.
Cal whispered to the others from the side of his mouth. “We may have to get our hands dirty here, guys. Both literally and… the other one.”
“Figuratively, sir,” said Kevin.
“Oh, hey!” said Cal, glaring daggers at Mech’s arm. “Welcome back, Judas. Thanks for ratting us out. Glad you’re alive, because I’m pretty sure we’re about to not be.”
“They gave me no choice, sir,” said Kevin.
“Did they torture you?” Loren asked.
“Well, no. I don’t really have anything to torture, ma’am,” Kevin said. “But they did ask rather firmly, and I thought it’d be impolite not to tell them who I was with. Manners cost nothing, after all.”
“Actually, they’re about to cost us our fonking lives, Kevin,” Cal said. He backed up to join the others as the scattered Slurrits closed the gaps around them, becoming a densely packed circle of brown bodies. “You couldn’t have just said you were on your own. Or, I don’t know, blamed Loren.”
“Hey!” Loren protested.
“Well, you were flying,” Cal pointed out. “So, it was kind of your fault.”
“No, it wasn’t,” said Mizette.
Loren’s eyes widened in surprise, but then she nodded. “Thanks, Miz.”
“It was totally her fault.”
“Enough!” the Slurrata boomed. The word was repeated by several other Slurrits nearby. It went rippling through the crowd like a fading echo. “You have been found guilty. Your fate has been decided. Those who defi
le the siltch defile all those who inhabit it. Defile us.”
“Us. Us. Us,” went the rippling chorus.
Splurt flopped to the ground and went splat at Cal’s feet. When he reformed, he was several times larger and made almost entirely of rock. The only parts of him that weren’t rock were his hands, one of which was a long silver blade with a serrated edge, while the other closely resembled some sort of industrial jackhammer.
“He’ll use them, too,” Cal said, leaning out from behind Cal to address the Slurrata. “He might be fonking adorable, but he’s also—and I mean this in a nice way, buddy—dangerously unhinged. Seriously, there’s something wrong with him. He will kill all of you people. And not in a nice way. So, I suggest you all back off before our friend here—”
The Slurrata jabbed the rock-Splurt with her staff. A jolt of something blue and sparkly buzzed through him, collapsing him back into an inoffensive and harmless looking green gloop.
“—is rendered useless by an old woman with a stick,” Cal concluded. He shot Splurt a reproachful look, but then sighed and shook his head. How could he stay annoyed at the adorable little bamston? It was impossible. “Nice try, buddy. You’ll get ‘em next time.”
“Take them,” the Slurrata commanded. “Drag them down into the siltch!”
The throngs around Cal and the others came alive. Gloopy arms grabbed. Hands hauled. Fingers made of compacted dirt poked and prodded and probed.
Miz slashed out with her claws at one of the larger Slurrits, gouging a series of deep trenches in its muddy torso. It didn’t seem to notice, though, and pressed in on her. It was joined by three more, their weight buckling her knees and bringing her to the ground.
Mech opened fire with his cannons. Blaster bolts flared as they punched holes through the squirming mass of Slurrit shapes. The smell, which had been mulchy and unpleasant, took on a charred edge, but otherwise, the blasts seemed to have no real effect.
“Shizz. We can’t shoot these things!” Mech grunted.
“Don’t stop trying!” Cal barked. He powered a punch at the head of the nearest Slurrit. His fist flobbed inside it all the way up to the wrist, then became completely stuck. “Oh, come on, that’s not fair!” he protested, twisting and dancing in panic as mud flowed along his arm.
Cal shut his mouth tightly as the mud bloomed up over his face, covering his mouth and probing at his nostrils.
Loren raised two blasters and fired repeatedly at the chest of the Slurrit holding Cal. Each blaster bolt scorched a hole straight through it—and several other Slurrits behind it—but as Loren watched, the holes closed themselves over again, until the figure looked as good as new.
“Fonk!” she spat. “It isn’t working!”
A muddy hand caught her by the shoulder. She turned, driving an elbow toward her attacker. The Slurrit ducked, and Loren’s elbow smashed off Mech’s metal frame, sending a jolt of pain through her entire skeleton.
“Wait…” began the Slurrit that held her by the shoulder. It leaned back a little and looked her up and down. “Loren? Is that you? O-M-Fonking-G!”
Loren blinked several times. “Uh. Sorry?”
“Guys! Guys! Stop, hold-up!” cried the Slurrit. “This is a friend of mine. This is Loren.”
The Slurrits stopped attacking and drew back just enough to give Cal and the crew some breathing space. Miz shoved the figures that had been pinning her down away and bared her teeth at them. Mech put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from going after them when they melted into the crowd, much to Miz’s annoyance.
Cal spluttered out a gasp as the mud that had been covering his face was drawn back into the guy whose head he’d punched. He gave a nod of thanks as his fist was released, then turned to see Loren staring blankly at the Slurrit before her.
It was one of the smoother, glossier-looking figures, that looked like living liquid in the light of the many moons. It stood almost as tall as Mech and a little wider across the shoulders. It had both arms out at its side as if presenting itself, and there was an air of expectation about its squidgy, putty-like features that suggested it was waiting for some sort of response.
“Loren?” said Cal. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”
Loren’s expression remained utterly blank. “Um…”
“Don’t say you don’t remember!” said the Slurrit, placing a hand on his chest in what Cal hoped was merely mock outrage and not the real kind.
“Loren,” Cal hissed close in her ear. “I don’t want to pressure you, but you might want to remember this guy before he takes offense and eats us.”
“Uh…”
“It’s me!” the Slurrit said. “It’s Garunk. From the Academy?”
Loren’s eyes widened. A smile broke across her face. “Garunk?!” she said, stepping back a little to fully take in the hulking muddy figure. “Wow! I almost didn’t recognize you!”
“To be fair, she didn’t recognize him at all,” Cal whispered to Mech. “I mean, how is that even possible? How the fonk do you forget that guy? I’ve just met him and I’m pretty sure I’m now going to see him every time I shut my eyes.”
“You’re so… so… big!” Loren said.
“Great,” Cal whispered. “Now she’s criticizing his weight. We’re all going to die.”
“Only in all the right places,” said Garunk. He gave himself a slap on the wrist and snorted a high-pitched laugh. “Ooh. Cheeky. No, but seriously. Look at you! How have you been? Spill! I want to hear everything.”
Before Loren could reply, Garunk turned to the Slurrata. “This is my friend Loren. We were at Zertex Academy together. On Moosh. She’s amazing. Like, ah-may-zing. You’re all going to love her. I swear. I swear. Back at the Academy, she was number one. Like, I mean, literally Number One.”
“Oh,” said the Slurrata. She looked like she was about to say more, but Garunk had already turned back to Loren.
“Go. Shoot. Tell me everything,” he said. “Where’ve you been? You still with Zertex?”
He turned back to the Slurrata before Loren could say anything.
“She was top of her class. Best pilot in the Academy. So good. She’s too perfect. Literally number one. I wanted to kill the bedge!”
Garunk turned back to Loren and laughed. “Not really! You know I love you!” he said, giving her a playful slap on the arm that left a muddy hand-shaped print on her blue skin. “Come on! Tell me what you’ve been up to! How’s life as a Zertex pilot?”
Loren opened her mouth but found herself addressing the back of Garunk’s head.
“Seriously, you should see her on the simulator,” Garunk gushed. He groaned as if experiencing some immense pleasure. “Nng! So good. She was like, all, pew-pew, zoosh, boo-boo, and the rest of us were all just, like… Wow. You know? Like just standing there, like, O-M-Fonking-G. We just couldn’t believe what we were seeing. So good.”
“Right, but—” the Slurrata began, but Garunk didn’t wait around to hear what she had to say and directed his babbling back in Loren’s direction.
“Come on! Don’t keep me waiting! I’m on tenterhooks here. Have you made Legate yet? Because you should. You totally should. Everyone said it. Me, Clorice, Hoof, Feltch. What’s his name? With the eyes.”
“Didn’t the rest of them have eyes?” asked Cal.
“No, I mean his eyes were like… eyes, you know? Like – bam. Eyes. Like eyes. You know what I’m saying?”
Cal nodded slowly. “I think I’m beginning to get a picture. You mean like eyes.”
“Exactly!” said Garunk. He leaned in closer to Loren and stage-whispered. “Who’s the beefcake? Rrawrr.”
Mech snorted. “Beefcake? He’s barely a motherfonkin’ cupcake.”
“Hey, I’m beefy!” Cal said. He flexed beneath his jacket and tightened all the muscles in his neck. It made his voice come out as a strained squeak. “Miz, you think I’m beefy, right?”
Miz tutted and rolled her eyes, and it became clear that this was the only
reply Cal was going to get.
“See? Miz agrees with me,” he said to Mech. He stopped tensing his muscles with a gasp. “God, that hurt.”
“He is too precious,” said Garunk. “If you could see my eyes right now, they’d have hearts in them. I swear. Actual hearts.” He gave Loren another slap on the arm. “But anyway! Spill! You a Legate yet?”
“Uh, no,” said Loren. “I’m not with Zertex anymore.”
“Whoa. No!” Garunk gasped. “You quit Zertex?”
“She was kicked out,” said Miz.
“I chose to be kicked out,” Loren countered. “It was my own decision.”
“Sure,” Miz said. “Whatever.”
“No!” Garunk said. “You? Out of Zertex?”
“Yeah.”
“No!”
Loren smiled a little awkwardly. “Well, it’s true, so—”
“No! Wow. What did Feltch say? Was she heartbroken? I bet she was heartbroken.”
Garunk turned back to the Slurrata, who appeared increasingly nonplussed by this whole turn of events. “I bet she was heartbroken,” Garunk whispered, before immediately turning in Loren’s direction again. “Was she? Was she heartbroken?”
“I don’t know,” Loren said. “We lost touch after the Academy. So, probably not.”
“I bet she was. I bet she was heartbroken,” Garunk said, then he looked from Loren to the others and back again. “So… what are you up to these days, then?”
“Oh, you know. This and that,” Loren replied. “You?”
“I live in a hole,” said Garunk.
Loren wasn’t quite sure how best to respond to that. “Right,” she said, after several awkward seconds had passed. “Well, that’s… I mean, great. Good for you.”
“No, I know. I know. It sounds so ugh! You know? Like yoish! But it’s fine, actually,” Garunk said. He turned to the other Slurrits. “It is, isn’t it? It’s fine.”
There was some general murmuring that suggested it wasn’t completely fine, but no one was saying much more about it.
“It is. It’s fine,” Garunk continued, aiming himself in Loren’s direction again. “Zertex wasn’t for me. All that flying around in space. Following orders. I mean… saluting? Hello? No. Not for me. The uniforms? Yes. I liked those. But all the marching? No. With these feet? Nuh-uh. No.”
Space Team: Sting of the Mustard Mines Page 6
