“He seems an OK guy,” said Cal, following behind. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”
“Oh, he is an OK guy. Nice, even,” said the officer. “You know… mostly.”
“Mostly?” said Miz, falling into step beside Cal and encroaching deep into his personal space.
“Put it this way, ninety-nine percent of the time, he’s great. Charming, funny, handsome…” Loren began.
“Hey, are we still talking about the pres here, or have we moved on to me?” Cal asked. Miz giggled and nudged him with her elbow. It hurt quite a lot, but he tried not to let on.
Loren ignored them both. “But if he gets angry – really angry, I mean… Well, you know that massacre on Keplack a few years back? All those smugglers? That was him.”
Mech whistled through his metal lips. “He ordered that?”
“No, I mean that was him,” said Loren. “He killed them. On his own.”
“Whoa. That’s pretty badams,” said Mech.
Miz shrugged. “Meh. It’s not so great. Did he eat any of them?”
“What? No!” said Loren.
“Oh, well Eugene...”
“Cal,” Cal corrected.
“He’s eaten lots of people.”
“Yes, I have. That’s right. At least some of whom were still very much alive at the time,” Cal said. “Apparently.”
Loren stopped outside an elevator door and waited.
“Uh, thanks for getting involved with those guys last night,” Cal said. “I mean, I had it in hand, obviously, but… thanks.”
“It’s fine,” said Loren.
“What was it they called you?” he asked. “Kojack?”
Loren shifted awkwardly. “Botak,” she said. “It means… one who has been promoted to a higher rank without earning it.”
“Oh,” said Cal. He shrugged. “Well, you know, burn, I guess.”
The elevator opened and Loren led the group inside. It was far roomier than the elevator Cal had been shoved in the day before, with space for a dozen people, or five carefully-stacked Mechs.
“Senior officer dining deck,” Loren said, and the lift hummed as it glided gently upwards.
“Dining deck?” said Cal. His stomach rumbled in anticipation. “Does that mean… breakfast?”
Mech glared at him. “It’s lunchtime, man. Lunchtime.”
“For you, maybe,” said Cal. “But for me, it’s breakfast. Or, should I say, it’s my first ever sp--”
“Don’t,” Mech growled. A mechanical finger unfolded and jabbed towards Cal’s open mouth. “Don’t say it, man. I’m warning you. Don’t you say ‘space breakfast.’ That will not end well for you.”
“‘It’s my first ever special breakfast with my new friends,’ is what I was going to say,” said Cal. The elevator door swished open. “My new space friends,” he quickly added, then he darted out before Mech could make a grab for him.
Four rifle-type weapons trained on Cal immediately. He stopped and raised his hands. “Hey, easy, easy!” He gestured past the guards to the long table in the center of the room, where President Sinclair and Legate Jjin were already seated. “We’re just here for breakfast. No need to get all… gun-pointy.”
Cal placed the back of his hand next to his mouth and stepped in closer to one of the guards. “Sorry we’re late,” he whispered. “Robocop needed an oil change.”
“I heard that, man,” Mech barked. “I did not make us late, you did! And who the fonk is Robocop?”
“He’s part man, part machine, yet all cop,” Cal explained. “You’d like him. Assuming you have emotions. Well, an emotion other than ‘anger’ at least. You should really work on that, by the way.”
“Let them through,” called the president. He half-stood, beckoning the group over. Cal pushed the guns aside and approached the table.
The room was long and narrow, with a number of doors leading through to other rooms. A table made of gray wood took up almost half the floor space, the glow of the starlight through the windows reflecting off its mirror-like polished surface.
Clearly, they liked their windows in this place. The whole length of the back wall behind President Sinclair was transparent, affording a view of space which, while still spectacular, seemed ever so slightly less spectacular than it had yesterday.
Sinclair nodded a greeting at Cal as he approached, and gestured to a seat on his immediate left. Cal took the one next to it, instead, and enjoyed the flicker of annoyance that briefly crossed Sinclair’s face.
“Good afternoon. Sleep well?” the president asked.
“Great, thanks,” Cal replied. “You?”
Sinclair’s brow furrowed lightly, as if it wasn’t a question he’d ever considered before. “I don’t.” He laughed, but it was an affectation rather than anything genuinely mirthful. “Just too much to do. You know how it is.”
“No,” said Cal, yawning. “No, not really.”
The others took their seats at the table – Loren directly across from him, next to her scowling superior officer, Miz on Cal’s right, Mech on a reinforced chair a couple of feet away on his left.
Sinclair nodded and smiled at them all in turn. “I’ve taken the liberty of having the kitchen prepare delicacies from each of your home worlds. They’ll be with us presently.”
“Good, because I don’t know about the rest of you guys, but I am famished. Last thing I had was a lemon candy, and I was forced to spit that out just as it was starting to get good,” said Cal.
He looked around the table. “Where’s the blobby green guy?” he asked.
“The organism is back in its containment,” said Jjin.
“It doesn’t get breakfast?”
“Lunch,” said Mech.
“Whatever,” said Cal. “It doesn’t get any?”
“It doesn’t eat,” Jjin said. “It has no mouth.”
“You said he was part of…” He gestured around the table. “Whatever this is, right? That he was coming with us?”
Sinclair nodded. “Yes. That’s the plan. The organism will be joining you. I believe its abilities may be of use.”
“Then he should be having breakfast with us.”
“It doesn’t eat,” Jjin said, slowly this time, as if talking to an idiot.
Cal shrugged. “Well, then that’s his choice. Either way, I’d like the pleasure of his company.”
“Yes, me too,” agreed Mizette.
“Thank you, Miz,” said Cal.
President Sinclair held Cal’s gaze for what felt like a very long time. Neither of them spoke.
“For the record,” said Mech. “I ain’t got no opinion, either way. The blob’s not here, I ain’t going to lose no sleep over it. All I’m saying.”
“Eugene… sorry, Cal, is right. It should be here,” said Sinclair, at last. He beckoned over one of the guards and whispered in his ear. The soldier nodded and returned to his spot by the elevator. “It will be with us shortly,” Sinclair said. He leaned forwards, placing his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. “I must say, Cal, you’re taking this all very well.”
“All what?” asked Cal.
“All everything. Being plucked from your home world, taken up here, introduced to all this. I expected more… disbelief, perhaps. More of a reaction, at least.”
Cal shrugged. “I’ve found myself in a lot of situations that could be considered… unusual over the years. This is only, like, the third weirdest.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling in thought for a moment. “Possibly fourth.”
“Perhaps it just hasn’t sunk in yet,” said Sinclair. “You’ve been taken from Earth and shown a glimpse of the heavens. You’ve travelled farther than any other human being alive.”
“Yeah, but that’s not exactly saying much, is it? Like you said, you’ve killed most of them.”
The President tried to hide his irritation, but couldn’t help but sigh. “Still sore about that, then?”
“Sore about it?” said Cal, leaning forwards sharply. “Yes, Mr Space President, I’m still ‘sore about that.’ Everyone I’ve ever known is probably now dead. My friends. My neighbors. My parents. I mean, yeah, I hadn’t spoken to them in years…”
Cal caught the confused expressions around the table. “…on account of me having eaten them and everything.” He pointed to Legate Jjin. “Have you ever heard of Tobey Maguire?”
Jjin shook his head. “No.”
“Exactly!” said Cal. “None of you people have.”
He deflated a little, like he’d just forgotten the point he was trying to make. He shrugged. “So, sorry I’m not all wide-eyed with wonder, Mr Space President. Kinda dealing with some heavy duty emotional turmoil right now. Let me get back to you on the whole ‘being excited’ thing later, OK?”
Sinclair glanced around at the others, then nodded his understanding. “Of course. I appreciate it must be difficult for you. And please, call me Hayel.”
“Hayel?” said Cal. He raised his hand in a half-hearted version of a Nazi salute. “As in Heil Hitler?”
Sinclair looked bemused. “Uh, yes. Yes, like that.”
One of the room’s many doors swished open. A line of waiters bustled in. Cal recognized the skinny little pink guy in front and gave him an enthusiastic wave.
“Hey, it’s Grxx… Gryyxx… Gyryr… Hey, it’s that guy!” he said.
The waiter’s rubbery-face assembled itself into an expression that suggested it was happy to see Cal, then continued leading the serving line around the table. None of the waiting staff were human, or even within spitting distance of it. If you squinted, one of them looked a bit like a child’s drawing of a human being, but even that was a bit of a stretch.
There were six of them in total, and as the last server filed through the door, Cal’s stomach twisted in shock. Those four arms. The bulbous eyes. The portly frame. He recognized her at once.
“Get down!” he yelped, leaping up from his chair and ramming his shoulder into the alien. Her bulging eyes bulged even wider. Her tray flew into the air then hit the floor, spilling its contents with a sploot.
Cal and the alien landed beside the tray in a tangle of flailing arms and legs. “Help!” she yelped. “H-help!”
“Eugene! What are you doing?” Loren hissed, grabbing his arm before he could deliver a knock-out punch.
“It’s her! From the video,” Cal said. “The one who shot all those people.”
“I didn’t shoot nuffin’!” the alien protested.
“Of course it’s not her,” Loren said, locking Cal’s arm behind his back. “She’s just the same species. They look nothing alike.”
“What do you mean, they look nothing alike?” said Cal, gesturing to the alien woman who was still trapped beneath him. “Same number of arms. Same number of eyes.”
“So do we,” Loren pointed out.
Cal’s mouth dropped open in a way that suggested words were supposed to emerge, but none did. He gently cleared his throat and straightened the waitress’s uniform. “Madame, it appears I’ve made a mistake,” he said, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off her lapel. “I hope you can forgive me. I’m very new to all this, and may have accidentally acted in a racist manner. My apologies.”
He got to his feet and offer the waitress a hand. She took it and struggled to her feet. She glanced at the shocked faces around the table, then down at the tray on the floor. Something spindly and fish-like was mushed into the vinyl beside it.
Cal knelt down. “I’m just going to go ahead and clean that up.”
“Wait,” said Mech. “Is that orvark?”
“Fresh from the Paloosh Sea,” said President Sinclair, drily. “We thought you’d appreciate it.”
“Ain’t never had no orvak before,” Mech said. “Always wanted to try it.”
Cal deposited the plate on the table in front of Mech. The fish-thing was now largely a mush, with flecks of dust and other grime stuck to it. Mech stared down at it impassively.
“Just, you know, eat round the hairs, they’re probably Miz’s,” Cal suggested, patting the cyborg on the back as he returned to his seat. “Sorry. False alarm,” he told the others. “Thought she was someone else. She probably gets it all the time.”
“What, tackled to the ground?” said Loren, sitting down opposite him again.
Mizette’s clawed hand settled on Cal’s leg. “Well, I thought it was brave.”
“Thanks,” he said, his voice wobbling as Miz’s fingernails scraped gently up the inside of his thigh. He spasmed with relief as a covered tray was set down before him, twisting his leg until her hand fell away. “Oh good, food’s here.”
In perfect unison, all the waiters – aside from the woman Cal had knocked over, who just stood around looking awkward – lifted the silver lids off the trays, revealing the food beneath. Mizette gasped in wonder at the carefully stacked tower of shimmering blue balls stacked up in something that looked suspiciously like a large dog bowl. Her nostrils flared as she leaned over and drew in the scent. Her eyes closed and her tongue flopped out, basking in that smell for a few lingering moments.
Cal, meanwhile, was staring at his plate. Sitting on it, wobbling ever so gently, was a pair of human buttocks.
The skin had been removed, making it hard to tell if they were male or female. There was more meat than on a Thanksgiving turkey, so the sheer size of them made him guess they had belonged to a large man. Or possibly some sort of previously undiscovered yeti-type creature.
Cal’s eyes met those of President Sinclair, who smiled and gave him an encouraging nod. “No need to thank me,” he said. “I know how long it’s been.”
“Too long,” Cal croaked, gazing down at the roasted ass cheeks again. They had been carefully placed on a bed of salad, and lightly dusted with some kind of herbs, neither of which made it look any more appealing. “Way too long.”
On Cal’s right, Miz was already getting stuck into her food. On the left, Mech was trying to pick little black flecks off his fish-thing with his enormous metal fingers. It was a frustrating process, judging by the way he kept muttering to himself.
Sinclair, Jjin and Loren all watched Cal expectantly. He smiled at them, while doing his best not to throw up all over the table.
“This looks delicious,” he said, which seemed to come as a great relief to the president.
“Excellent! I hoped you’d like it. It’s your former cellmate.”
“Is it? Is it, really?” said Cal, staring in renewed horror at the carefully prepared buttocks. “I didn’t recognize him from this angle.”
His stomach tightened and he pushed the plate away. “I really appreciate the gesture, but well, the thing is, Hayel, I only eat human flesh in the evenings.”
The president frowned. “What? Why?”
“I… don’t know,” Cal admitted. He shrugged. “It’s just one of my many little endearing quirks. Probably something to do with my upbringing. Your guess is as good as mine. The point is… if you guys maybe had a Danish, or some sort of pastry, or something…?”
Legate Jjin’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Cal quickly pointed to the plate of wobbling ass cheeks. “But absolutely put that in a bag in the fridge, and I’ll have it later today. Tomorrow at the latest.”
President Sinclair nodded sharply to one of the waiting staff. He bowed in return then scuttled off on too many legs. The rest of the waiters followed behind, filing out through the door they’d entered by, just as another slid open.
A guard entered, wheeling a trolley before him. On the trolley, squashed inside a glass canister, the green blob gazed out.
“Splurt!” Cal said. He turned to the others. “Are we OK with calling him ‘Splurt,’ by the way? I just thought it suited him.”
“It’s a shapeshifting biological entity,” said Jjin. “It doesn’t have a name.”
“Everyone’s got to have a name,” said Cal. “That’s
the rules. What do you think, Splurt?”
The newly-christened Splurt offered no response whatsoever.
“I think he likes it,” said Cal.
Two guards lifted the container and placed it on the chair next to Loren. Splurt’s eyes were hidden beneath the tabletop, but slowly floated upwards until they were just visible above it.
“There. The gang’s all here,” said Cal, then he let out a little groan of excitement as a plate laden with pastries was placed before him by the worm-like waiter from the bar. “Grrurkrykkx, I could kiss you,” he said, having a valiant stab at the waiter’s name.
Miz let out a low, barely audible growl.
“But for your own safety, I’m not going to,” Cal said.
The waiter backed away from the table as Cal picked up a pastry and bit into it. An explosion of sweetness filled his mouth, making his eyes roll back in his head. “Oh, man. That is a good Danish. That is a surprisingly good Danish.”
“Good. Now, time is against us,” said the president. “Before we get into the details, I must ask if you’ve all had a chance to consider my proposal? Will you make the handover on our behalf?”
Mech looked up from his fishy mush. “If you’re gonna do that stuff you said, the pardon and whatnot, Hell yeah. I’m in.”
“I’ll do it if Cal’s doing it,” said Miz.
Sinclair shifted his gaze along the table. “Cal?”
Cal pointed to his mouth, chewing frantically. “Hmm-mm.”
Everyone waited.
Cal pointed to his mouth again, rocking his head from side to side in the hope it somehow sped up the chewing process. It didn’t.
Everyone waited.
Cal used his tongue to scrape the pastry debris off his teeth. Finally, he swallowed. He turned to the president.
“Sorry, what?”
Jjin’s chair scraped on the floor as he stood up, his pale blue face flushed with anger. Not taking his eyes off Cal, Sinclair raised a hand to stop the officer moving any further. With a flick of a finger, he motioned for Jjin to sit back down.
“I asked if you were prepared to go to the Remnants and make the deal with the Kornack on our behalf,” Sinclair said. The president’s mouth was smiling, but the rest of his face was refusing to get involved. “Time is against us, I’m afraid I must press you for an answer.”
Space Team Page 8