“Thanks so much for coming to save us,” Tripp rehearsed his greeting under his breath, “Ugh, no. That sounds wrong.”
He stood up straight and affected a more diligent aura.
“Welcome to Opera Beta. I’m the captain. Tripp Healy,” he said. “Ugh, whatever.”
Manuel appeared a few feet away and clapped his covers together, “Tripp?”
“Yes, Manuel?”
“You know those old science fiction movies?”
“Yes, what about them?”
“Sometimes the main character discovers something strange and says ‘I have a bad feeling about this’ to the others.”
“Okay,” Tripp shrugged his shoulders, “So what?”
“Well, at the risk of sounding trite, I have a really bad feeling about this.”
“This?” Tripp turned to the droids on the bridge, “They’re just canaries, Manuel. They’re mostly harmless—”
“—I’m not referring to the two weird-looking things on the bridge,” Manuel shifted closer to his captain, “It’s the humans that concern me.”
“What?”
“According to the USARIC database, two of the three are from USARIC’s mercenary division.”
“So?”
“Why would they send mercs on a rescue mission? A skeleton crew of three, plus two droids?”
“Space is a big, bad place. You know that,” Tripp gave some consideration to Manuel’s concern, “We’ve been missing for three years. You can’t blame USARIC for exercising some due diligence and taking precautions. Anything could have happened to us. In fact, thinking about it, anything did happen to us. Who knows what effects Symphonium will have on them. The moment we get back we’ll be quarantined and no doubt farmed out to pharmaceutical companies.”
Manuel wasn’t convinced.
“It would have been remiss of me not to have mentioned it.”
“I know, and thank you,” Tripp finished. “You’re right to have aired your concern.”
The bridge offered a superb view of Saturn. Poz and Neg couldn’t help but take in the glorious wonder of the planet.
“She’s one huge ball of gas,” Poz quipped as he raced forward toward Opera Beta.
“Very intimidating,” Neg attempted to keep up with Poz’s pace, “It’s scary.”
Oxade’s voice rattled through their heads, “Hey, cretins. We don’t pay you to admire the view.”
“You don’t pay us at all.”
“That’s not the point. We’re on a time limit, here. Get moving.”
“Soh-ree,” Poz spat with sarcasm. He rolled forward and changed his shape into a giant metal ball, “How’s about this for speed?”
He whizzed along the bridge at speed, creating sparks against both sides of the railings.
“A Newton’s cradle ball?” Oxade huffed, none-too-impressed. “Poz, you’re not beyond dispensation, you know. I’ll active your little nuclear setting and blast your shiny butt into the next multiverse if you’re not careful.”
“Neg is slowing me down,” Poz shifted back to his regular shape and fanned out his cylindrical magnet. He kept his eyebulbs focused on the bridge floor at it whizzed under his frame.
“I am not slowing you down,” Neg yelped as the magnetic pull made her entire body soar towards Poz.
SWISH-SCHLAMM…
Her curved frame slapped against Poz’s, enabling him to carry her the remainder of the way to Opera Beta.
“Stop doing that,” she complained.
“Stop crawling like a snail, then,” Poz lowered his volume, “We don’t want to anger Oxade,” he upped his volume and spoke up the length of the bridge, “Advising an ETA of thirty seconds.”
“Understood. I’ll have Manny access Beta’s Manuel and activate the airlock.”
“Awaiting Beta’s airlock hatch to allow us in.”
Poz rolled up to the door and extended two sensors from his neck joint. His spindly rope-like arm retracted into his body, “Look, that must be Beta’s captain.”
Poz moved to the left and clanged against the bridge railing as he focused through the window of the outer airlock door. Tripp stared at him from behind the inner airlock hatch window.
“Handsome man,” Neg bounced up and down on the spot which caused the bridge to rattle back and forth.
“Don’t do that, you’ll get us killed,” Poz said.
“Sorry, I’m just super excited.”
“We’re not here to make friends. We’re here to get what we need and get out with the minimum of fuss.”
SWISHHHH.
The outer airlock door opened, allowing Poz and Neg to roll inside. The door scissored down and sealed them in the chamber.
“Opera Charlie, be advised. We have boarded Beta.”
“Good, now find what we need. Remember, keep it friendly.”
A blast of white gas enveloped them, bringing the pressure back to a habitable consistency.
“Shh,” Poz stared at Tripp’s face through the glass shield on the inner door, “He’s looking at us.”
“He’s cute,” Neg beeped.
Tripp grabbed the airlock hatch lever and prepared to open the door, “I’m going manual on this.”
“Fair enough,” Manuel pushed himself back and opened himself out, “When you’re ready.”
“Here we go,” Tripp yanked the lever down forcing the hatch to slide up. He looked at the two futuristic ball-shaped androids in front of him.
“Welcome to Space Opera Beta.”
“Hey. I’m Poz. She’s Neg.”
He rolled past Tripp’s thigh and surveyed the dark surroundings, “Nice place you have here.”
Neg moved over to Tripp and spun her bulbous ‘head’, “You must be Tripp Healy?”
“I am. Very nice to meet you,” Tripp held out his hand. She looked at it and drew a confused look across her surface, “That’s your hand.”
“Yes? I know.”
“Why are you doing that, Tripp Healy?” Neg asked.
He relaxed the muscles in his palm.
“It’s customary to shake hands with friends.”
“Oh, we’re not your friends,” she squealed, softly, “We’re here to make sure everything is as it should be.”
Tripp folded his arms and gave as good as he got, “Did you sue him?”
“Sue who?”
“The moron who installed your charm chip?”
Neg frowned and twisted away from Tripp in defiance, “That’s not funny—”
“—Hey, Neg. Check this out,” Poz bounded down the corridor and twisted his head one-hundred-and-eighty degrees on his neck, “This spacecraft is nasty.”
“What do you mean nasty—”
“—Tripp Healy,” Poz interrupted, “We need to check out the control deck. Our Captain wants a full sit-rep of Opera Beta.”
“Uh, sure?”
Tripp frowned at Poz and Neg’s faux charm and insistence on making themselves at home, “I can fill you in, if you like?”
“No point,” Poz rolled forward and extended his sensors, “Oxade? Do you read me?”
“Yes, Poz. Please advise.”
“Atmosphere levels are fit for human consumption. Which is more than can be said for her decor. Oxygen set at twenty-one percent. Gas readings remain steady.”
“Good. That suits us just fine,” Oxade’s voice chirped into Poz and Neg’s head.
Tripp grew weary of the behavior of his guests. Worse, he had no idea who Poz was talking to.
“Who are you speaking with—”
“—But I’m also picking up a strange, unknown element,” Poz’s eyebulbs glowed as he scanned the walls, “Possibly a carcinogen of some description. It’s off the charts.”
Tripp held out his hand, “I can explain what that is. You see, we’ve just returned from a place called Pink—”
“—Tripp Healy,” Poz rolled to a stop and retracted his sensors, “How have you and the crew been able to sustain yourselves with such a high toxicity le
vel? I’m surprised your lungs haven’t burst.”
“Well, technically, we haven’t. It’s complicated. I don’t know if you were briefed before you left. Every crew member Beta, bar one, is a Series Three Androgyne.”
“Bar one?” Neg asked.
“Jelly Anderson.”
“Oh, yeah. That stupid little ball of fluff. I forgot.”
“Yes, everyone else is a Series Three unit. I’m one, too.”
“You’re one-two?” Poz spat with confusion, “A previous series I don’t know about?”
“No, I didn’t mean—”
“—Oh, I get it. He means he’s a series three unit, as well,” Neg turned to Manuel, who flapped above her head like a drug-addled bird, “Who the hell is this?”
Manuel shuffled forward feeling his temper draw to a close, “Hello. I’m Manuel. The autopilot.”
“Huh,” she snorted with a metallic whiff, “An old model, right?”
“We’ve been away for five years. I figured USARIC might have made a few updates in the meantime.”
“Hah. Well, you’ll get to meet Manny soon enough.”
“Manny?” Manuel asked and tried to suppress his displeasure at the revelation of his inferiority.
“Manuel-2,” Neg squealed. “She doesn’t take any crap from anyone. Not least previous models, like you.”
Manuel folded his pages, indicating his hurt feelings, “I’m sorry. Have I done something to upset you, Neg?”
“You? Upset me?” Neg blew a recording of a raspberry at him, “You’re not capable of arousing any emotion in me, my friend.”
“Oh,” Manuel slumped in the air and huffed.
Neg darted along the walkway and caught up with Poz, “They’re seriously out of date.”
“Yes, and out-of-touch, too. It doesn’t make sense. Opera Beta is spectacularly unfit for human habitation. There’s a virus of some description present. Nothing I’ve ever encountered, anyway.”
Tripp paced along the walkway and turned to Manuel in confidence, “Have you ever met anyone so rude?”
“Which one are you referring to?”
“Either of them,” Tripp huffed. “Acting like they own the place.”
“Hey, Tripp Healy,” Poz reached the staircase and scanned the first step, “Stairs? Really?”
“Ah, yes. Problem?”
Poz butted his circular stomach against the first step, “Look at the state of this. For God’s sake.”
“Oh, great,” Tripp huffed and shook his head, “The two of you have mastered nuance and sarcasm, but not stairs?”
“Stairs are for idiots.”
Tripp ignored the comment, “No problem. We’ll just take the elevator.”
“Thank God for that,” Poz whistled with relief, “I’m surprised you guys know about the invention of fire, considering the antiquated nature of this useless spacecraft.”
Tripp snorted with sarcasm and went to touch Poz,“I see Manning/Synapse haven’t quite mastered applying manners to their new products.”
He felt an unusual stinging sensation in his palm a mere inch away from his surface.
“Don’t touch me or I’ll kill you,” Poz beeped with unease.
“I’m sorry? Are you threatening me?”
“I’m not threatening you. It’s a fact,” Poz said. “If your hand connects with me, you’ll be killed. I am a death droid.”
Neg swiveled around and hopped on the spot, “We seriously advise you not to touch us. Your skin gets absorbed and... well, let’s just say it gets very messy. We don’t care. It doesn’t affect us. We just melt your carcass and collect the data in your memory. Or your brain, if you’re a human. Which you’re not. Are you?”
“No, I’m not,” Tripp held his hands together, thankful that he hadn’t quite made physical contact with Poz, “And thanks for the heads up,”
“You’re welcome, big boy,” Neg tilted her head and flashed her blue eyebulbs, “Although…?”
Tripp stared at her, waiting for the rest of her sentence, “What?”
“Maybe when we return home, I’ll switch my absorption processor off and we can make sweet, sweet love—”
“—Neg,” Poz slammed his body against the bottom step in a fit of rage, “What did we agree? You don’t flirt with the normal people.”
“Hey, don’t appendage-block me!”
“Less of it, you dirty metal testicle,” Poz spat and swiveled around and tilted his ‘head’ up at Tripp, “I’m sorry about that, Tripp Healy. Neg took a bit of a knock to her processor when we were put together,” he finished with a sarcastic whisper, “Forgot to fit her with a decency chip, if I’m being honest.”
“I heard that,” Neg spun around and harrumphed.
Tripp cleared his throat and pointed to the elevator, “So, the elevator is over here, guys.”
The Control Deck
Space Opera Charlie
Oxade paced back and forth around the three-dimensional holograph live feed. He slipped himself between Poz and Neg and pointed at the sharp end of the ship.
“Show me Beta’s control deck,” he said. “I want a live display.”
“Understood,” Poz said.
“And Poz?” Oxade watched a fully kitted-out Alex and Nutrene enter the room and gave them the thumbs up.
“Yes?”
“Confirm the coordinates with their autopilot. Absorb them into your data field, please. I want every black box equivalent of their time away from Earth. Search every nook and cranny. Leave no stone unturned.”
“Do you know how long that will take?”
“No,” he said, suddenly concerned, “How long?”
“About fifteen minutes.”
Oxade breathed a sigh of relief, “Well, that’s good. Gives us enough time to take care of business. Now shut up and get working.”
He stepped out of the holograph and snapped his fingers, “Hughes.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“You and Nutrene will board Opera Beta.”
“Understood.”
“Poz and Neg are reporting high toxicity levels. You’ll have to strap your space skins on and keep a consistent check on your oxygen.”
Nutrene watched Tripp and Manuel walk behind Poz and Neg at Beta’s communications panel.
“Look at the state of Opera Beta,” she pointed at the windshield, “It’s cracked to all hell. Look.”
“The windshield will have sealed itself if it sustained any damage. A failsafe designed to buy the crew some time in the event of a disaster.”
“Captain?” Neg’s voice flew around the room, “Are you seeing what we’re seeing? Look at this.”
“Come in, Neg,” Oxade stepped back into the holograph, “Can you focus on the points of interest, please?”
“Yes.”
Purple light formed around the damaged flight panel.
“The main control unit is devastated,” Neg said. “In addition, the communications panel is barely operational. Beta herself is barely operational.”
“Neg, make sure Poz absorbs every piece of data available.”
“I will.”
Oxade turned to Nutrene and Alex, “Okay, that’s decided, then. We’re using Charlie to get back home. I don’t know what happened to Beta, but she’s battered beyond salvation. I wouldn’t trust her any more than I’d trust you alone with Hughes.”
Alex tried not to giggle at Oxade’s prescience.
“Did you have to say that?” Nutrene blurted. “That wasn’t nice.”
“You want nice?” he stormed up to her, face-to-face and held his palm open, “Maybe a physical reminder of who’s in charge, here?”
“Are you going to hit me?” Nutrene stared him down, “Then be a man and hit me.”
Oxade slapped her across the face. Her chin twisted over her right shoulder as a blotch of red heat formed over her cheek.
“Speak back to me again, Byford. I will leave you on Beta with Poz and Neg so they can detonate with you. Spread your organs a
round the solar system like some kind of worthless, spinster milkshake. Is that quite clear?”
She looked him in the eyes more determined than ever for blood, “Yes. Captain.”
Alex gulped and hoped Oxade wouldn’t deal the same talking-to as he did to Nutrene.
His luck had run out.
“What the hell are you looking at, Hughes?”
“Nothing, Captain.”
“Hey, you. Hughes,” Oxade stood in front of the lad and pushed his chin up with his knuckle, “Prove to me you’re on-point and on our side.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re gonna board Beta, right?”
“Yes,” Alex said with anger.
“And you’re going to kill those bastards, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Alex lied to his face with great vigor, “I’m gonna kill ‘em. I’m gonna kill ‘em all.”
Oxade grinned and thumped him on the shoulder, “That’s my boy.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Medix
Space Opera Beta - Level Three
Jelly sat on the edge of the bed nearest the door. Her original cat-sized trolley was much too small for her by now.
Wool ran the tip of her lit thumb along the wall and recorded Jelly’s latest measurement.
“Before we left Pink Symphony you were just over five feet tall,” Wool pressed her palm onto her thumbnail and stood to her feet in order to reach the new recorded height above her head. “Now, you’re seven feet and two inches.”
“What’s happening to me, mommy?” Jelly whined in her deep and husky adult voice, “Why am I getting bigger?”
Wool shot the cat-woman a wistful look, “I don’t know, honey.”
“Hey, Jelly. Are you decent?”
She was anything but decent if she’d have been one hundred percent human woman. Her fur provided the modesty she needed, given the circumstances.
“Yeah.”
Jaycee walked into Medix carrying a spare exo-suit and laid them on the nearest available bed, “Got you some fresh clothes. It’s okay. I’m not looking.”
“You can look,” Jelly hopped to her feet and swished her tail around.
Jaycee took her advice and took in her enormity, “Jesus Christ on a pogo stick,” he stammered and glanced at Wool, “Has she gotten bigger in the past few minutes, or what?”
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