Space Team

by Barry J. Hutchison

  The body was teardrop shaped, with a little saucer attachment fixed by a short, skinny barrel to the fat end. The handle was just big enough for Cal to hold, but the indents in the grip suggested it was designed for someone with fewer fingers than he had.

  “What is this?” Cal asked. “Is this even a gun?”

  “It’s a blaster pistol,” said Mech. “A DX44.”

  Cal studied the weapon. “You mean there are forty-three other guns worse than this one?”

  “Don’t let its size fool you, that thing packs a punch,” said Mech. “To fire you just--”

  “Pull the trigger?”

  Mech nodded. “Well, yeah. But short squeezes, don’t hold or it’ll overheat, and you do not want to be nearby when it does. Fully charged, you got maybe fifty shots.”

  “And what then?”

  “Then, you’d best hope everything you wanted dead is dead,” said Mech. “Because only way to recharge is by bringing it back here.”

  Cal turned the weapon over in his hand. “Does it come in any color that isn’t baby blue?”

  “No,” said Mech, shoving a leather holster and belt against Cal’s chest. “It don’t.”

  * * *

  Once Cal had his gun, and had promised not to accidentally shoot any of the others with it, the rest of the trip was spent in an increasingly uncomfortable silence. To help ease the tension, Loren had brought up some information on the moon they were about to visit, and Cal had quickly struck it from his list of places to visit before he died.

  The moon, Pikkish, orbited a planet that was too hostile to sustain organic life, but which nevertheless managed to be a far more desirable location than Pikkish itself.

  Pikkish was a third of the size of Earth, with five times the population and a shockingly cavalier attitude towards sewer system design. Tens of billions of people were crammed into continent-sized cities, all stacked up in tower blocks which stretched up towards the artificial atmosphere, only to vanish in the swirling gray smog.

  Video footage had shown a mismatched assortment of dirty, grimy aliens swarming along dirty, grimy streets, dodging dirty, grimy vehicles whose drivers either didn’t notice the millions of pedestrians around them, or didn’t really care if they got crushed under the wheels or not.

  Now, following a far smoother journey through the much thinner atmosphere and a more controlled landing than last time, Cal and the others stood at the bottom of the Shatner’s ramp. Cal had his nose pressed into the crook of his arm, but it wasn’t enough to stop his eyes watering.

  “Wow. The smell really catches you off guard, doesn’t it?” he wheezed.

  “Speak for yourself. I could smell it from space,” said Miz, her voice echoing inside the glass domed helmet she’d grabbed just before they’d left the ship.

  “Ooh, yeah, the enhanced sense of smell thing,” said Cal. “That’s rough.”

  “Whatever,” Miz said, pushing past him. “Let’s go find this thing so I can get back and take a shower.”

  They trudged into the street, picking their way over the pockmarked surface which glistened with an inch-thick layer of unidentifiable scum. Splurt hung back at the edge of the ramp, his bloodshot eyes studying the dark gunk. With a ripple of what may well have been revulsion, he rolled backwards into the ship, just as the ramp raised into position against the hull.

  “How come a ball of green goo has more sense than the rest of us put together?” Cal asked. He glanced into the mouths of nearby alleyways, and up at the skyscrapers that stretched into the clouds overhead. “Something tells me this is not going to end well.”

  “It’ll be fine,” whispered Loren, sweeping a rifle Cal was insanely jealous of around in a slow half-circle. “We just need to get a sample of the virus and get out of here. Zertex will do the rest.”

  “Pretty sure you said that about getting the data from Kornack,” Cal pointed out. “And yet, here we are.”

  “Just us,” said Mech. “I’m getting no life signs anywhere.”

  “No bodies,” Loren pointed out. “Can’t decide if that’s good or bad.”

  “If past experience of working with you three is anything to go by,” said Mech. “Then it’s bad.”

  “Miz? You hear anything?” asked Cal.

  “Yeah. I do,” said Miz. “I hear this, like, annoying quack-quack-quack noise every time you open your mouth.”

  “Not helpful, Mizette,” said Loren. “Mech, you picking up any traces of the virus?”

  “You mean is it just floating around in the air? No. I’m gonna have to get up close to something infected. Preferably tech-based, but maybe I can get something from an organic, I don’t know.”

  “What does this virus thing do, exactly?” asked Cal. “Apart from blow holes in people’s faces, I mean.”

  “We don’t know, exactly,” Loren admitted. “Based on President Bandini’s designs, we think it hijacks both organic and technology-based host organisms and turns them into…”

  “Zombies?”

  “I was going to say drones, but either one works,” said Loren.

  “But why? What’s the point?” asked Cal.

  “Man, you’re stupid,” said Mech. “It’s a weapon. Drop it on your enemy and their soldiers become your soldiers. Their ships, their tanks, their communications systems – they’re all yours, too.”

  “They’d be defenseless,” Cal realized. “The other army could just walk right in.” He turned to Loren. “And why did Zertex want this thing again?”

  “To devise an anti-virus,” Loren said.

  “Right. Right. Not to use it for themselves, then?”

  “No. You saw the footage. It would be inhumane. It would break all the treaty conventions.”

  “Yeah,” said Cal. “Yeah, I saw the footage.” He patted her on the shoulder. “You’re a wonderfully trusting individual. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

  “Wait, getting something,” said Mech, stopping and peering down at a display built into his forearm. Cal, Loren and Miz stood back to back, eyes searching the shadowy buildings and alleyways for any sign of movement.

  “Where?” asked Cal. “I can’t see anything.”

  Along the street, the engine of something that looked like a cross between an armored personnel carrier and a school bus roared noisily into life. Four headlights illuminated, casting the crew in an oval of blinding light.

  “Oh, wait, there it is,” Cal whispered as, with a screeching of tires, the vehicle skidded on the layer of sludge, then hurtled at high speed towards him. “And look,” said Cal, sighing. “Here it comes now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Cal and the others leapt out of the vehicle’s path – Mech and Miz one way, Cal and Loren the other. Cal slipped on the scuzzy surface and slid several feet across the road as the armored bus roared by.

  Loren’s rifle spat four blue energy blasts which slammed into the back of the vehicle. It spun in a shower of sparks and a trail of smoke, then hurtled back towards the group. Loren stood her ground, pumping round after round into the oncoming vehicle.

  Chunks of metal sheared off. Smoke billowed from under the hood, but still the thing kept coming. Frantically, Cal tried to get to his feet, but the ground was too slippy, and his boots couldn’t find a grip.

  Loren ducked and rolled to safety. Cal dug his toes in and kicked against the slime as the lights of the armored child carrier became a dazzling glow of white heat.

  Something slammed into him from the side, knocking him clear in the nick of time. He hit the ground and slid along it again, but this time with Miz sprawled on top of him.

  “Hey,” he said, once his lungs had got over the shock of the impact. “You saved me.”

  “Yeah, so?” Miz scowled. “Don’t get used to it.”

  She stood, and hoisted Cal to his feet. The bus was already bearing down on them. “Oh come on, not again,” he grimaced.

  There was a bang and a rending of
metal, as Mech shoulder-barged into the vehicle’s high side. It tipped into a roll, flipping and slamming its way across the road, before eventually coming to rest on its roof.

  Loren spun on the spot, gun raised, searching for any sign that the noise had drawn anything else out of hiding. Nothing moved in the shadows. If anything had heard the racket, it was keeping its head down.

  “Impressive tackle,” said Cal.

  “Thanks,” Mech grunted.

  “Think that’s got the virus?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Mech approached the smoking vehicle slowly, ducking left and right as he searched for any movement. “Scanners ain’t showing nothing inside,” he said, but when it came to brainwashing weaponized super-viruses, he felt it was better to be safe than sorry.

  “Just get the thing so we can get out of here,” said Miz. “This place is disgusting.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s got a certain rustic charm to it,” said Cal. “I mean, clearly you’ve never been to Detroit.”

  Mech pressed a hand against the side of the vehicle, as if checking for a pulse. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it’s infected,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

  “Can you interface with it?” asked Loren.

  “Ew, and do we have to watch?” asked Cal.

  “It’s… I don’t know. It’s complicated. The virus, I mean,” Mech said. He adjusted the dial on his chest a fraction and his voice took on a slightly higher pitch. “Fascinating infrastructure. Injection-based, but highly adaptive.”

  “Don’t let it inside you,” Loren warned.

  “OK, I am definitely not watching that,” said Cal, turning away.

  “I assure you, I’m quite safe,” said Mech, turning his dial up another notch. “I have partitioned a secure memory bank and will apply sufficient encryption to ensure… there.”

  He lowered his hand and stepped back from the wreckage. With a twist, he centered his dial again, then tapped himself on the side of the head. “Got it. It’s all locked up.”

  “Then let’s get back to the ship and get out of here,” said Miz.

  “Uh, Mech,” said Cal. “Your sensors picking anything up?”

  Mech glanced at his forearm. “No.”

  “Then you might want to get it looked at,” said Cal. “Because I think it should probably be picking up them.”

  Along the street, an army of misshapen figures limped, lurched and shuffled towards them.

  “Getting no life signs,” Mech said.

  “They’re all infected,” said Loren, backing towards the ship. “Come on, we’ve got what we needed.”

  She yelped as something lunged at her from a doorway, its frail, spindly arms grabbing for her face. The thing had a ragged hole where part of its throat should have been. A shimmer of sparkling green dots squirmed across the wound like ants.

  Snapping up a knee, she slammed it into the alien’s stomach, then spun and fired the heel of her foot into his chest, sending him crashing back into the building. Cal hurriedly grabbed the handle and pulled the door closed, then jumped out of the way as something long and tentacle like smashed through a downstairs window and grabbed at him.

  “Aah! Get off, you creepy big bamston!” Cal yelped, convulsing in disgust.

  All along the street, from the buildings and alleyways on both sides, hordes of monstrous shapes were emerging. Cal drew his gun. “Fifty shots, you say? That may not be enough.”

  “We can’t kill them,” said Loren.

  “Yeah, technically they’re already dead,” Cal pointed out.

  “No, I mean… We can cure them. Zertex can, I mean. If we get the virus back to President Sinclair, we can help these people.”

  “These ain’t people no more,” said Mech, but Loren began to move quickly in the direction of the Shatner.

  “I’m in charge, and I just gave an order,” she barked. “Don’t kill them. Just get back to the ship.”

  “You’re totally not the boss of me,” said Miz, but she started running anyway, bounding ahead of the others in a series of springing leaps.

  Cal chanced a glance back at the zombie hordes as he followed the rest of the crew back to the ship. “Think the whole world’s like this?” he wondered.

  “We can fix them,” Loren shouted. “We can fix all of them.”

  “Yeah,” Cal mumbled. “Or die trying.”

  The ramp lowered, and Miz led the way inside. Splurt pulsed happily when he saw the crew returning, and rolled along behind Cal as he made his way through to the flight deck.

  Jumping into his seat, Cal buckled his belt across his chest, just as Loren fired up the thrusters. The ship rose unsteadily, coming dangerously close to bumping into the tall towers on either side.

  “Watch out for that building,” Cal said.

  “Which building?” asked Loren, tersely. “There are lots of buildings.”

  “Any of them. All of them,” said Cal. From outside there came the grinding of metal on stone, and the ship tilted left. “That one in particular.”

  “Sorry, sorry. Got it,” Loren said, blushing as she tried to edge the ship away from the tower.

  “You are a terrible pilot,” Miz said. “Seriously. You’re the worst.”

  “It’s easier in the simulator,” Loren said.

  “You’re doing fine,” Cal said. There was another screech as the Shatner tore the roof off a building. “Ignore that. They can stick that back on. It won’t be a problem.”

  With a final lurch, the ship lifted clear of the towers. Loren exhaled with relief. “OK, we’re in the air.”

  “Great work. All round, I mean. I think we did pretty good down there,” Cal said. “Although I kind of wish I got to fire my tiny gun.”

  “Go ahead and do it now,” Miz suggested. “Just make sure you place one end in your mouth first.”

  “Jesus, look, I’m sorry I didn’t eat my parents alive, OK?” Cal said. “I’m sorry if you feel I lied to you, or betrayed you, or whatever it is you feel like I did.”

  Miz shook her head. “No you aren’t.”

  “I am! I’m sorry.”

  Miz turned away. “Don’t believe you. You’re just saying what we want to hear. I mean, that’s what you’re good at, right?”

  Cal gritted his teeth and grabbed his arm rests as the ship cleared the towers and picked up speed. It rocketed upwards, forcing him down into his chair, then punched through the polluted atmosphere and curved into a tight orbit. Only then did Mizette remove her space helmet.

  Loren tapped some controls on the console in front of her. “This is the Shatner hailing Zertex Command One. Private channel, code four-niner-niner-six. Please respond.”

  She waited.

  She tapped some more controls.

  “Zertex Command One, this is Gunso Loren aboard the Shatner, private channel four-niner-niner-six. Request response.”

  She waited.

  And waited.

  “Huh. That’s weird.”

  The engines hummed as the ship eased upwards into a higher orbit. “Where we going?” Cal asked.

  “I’m not doing that,” said Loren. She nudged the joystick, but the ship continued on its upwards trajectory. “I’m not doing this.”

  Cal jerked his hands away as his arm rests flipped open and the gunner controls snapped themselves into position. “Uh… did you do that?”

  “No,” said Loren. She jabbed several buttons and switches. “Controls aren’t responding. I don’t know what’s happening?”

  “Is it the virus?” asked Miz. “Does the ship have the virus? It has the virus, doesn’t it? It totally has the virus.”

  “No,” said Mech. “I’m not picking up any trace of it anywhere outside my head.”

  “Well something’s controlling the ship,” Loren said. It had banked down again, until the curve of Pikkish’s surface filled the screen.

  Cal looked up just as his targeting v
isor descended over his head, pinning him in place. “Hey, what the Hell?” he demanded, as a pinprick of white light whooshed to become an entire solar system, then tracked in on the moon below them. “What’s happening?”

  “I… I don’t know,” Loren admitted. “Mech, check again for the virus.”

  “Nothing,” said Mech. “It’s not the virus.”

  “What’s the third target thing do?” Cal asked.

  “What third target thing?” asked Loren.

  The two targeting reticles Cal had used in the battle with the pilots had been joined by another, much larger set of sights. This one looked like three triangles arranged in a sort of circle pattern, their points meeting in a glowing red dot in the middle.

  “There’s another target. Sight, or whatever. Right in the center. I haven’t seen it before.”

  Loren hesitated. “I don’t know. I’ve never--”

  There was a high-pitched scream and the Shatner shuddered violently. Cal watch as a column of white light streaked away from him through space, hurtling towards the surface of Pikkish below.

  He watched it go, the beam splitting into several smaller columns as it neared its target, like a hand slowly extending its fingers. “Oh God,” he whispered, then he watched in horror as the surface of the moon collapsed around the beams’ impact points.

  “What the fonk?” Mech said, his voice barely a whisper.

  “No, no, no, no,” croaked Loren.

  “That’s… that’s not me,” said Cal. “I didn’t do that.”

  As the others watched Pikkish collapse on screen, Cal’s gunner visor afforded him the best view in the house. He felt like he was there, floating just above the atmosphere, watching the land masses cave in on themselves, and the oceans race to fill the spaces left behind.

  At the corner of his eye, he became aware of shapes drawing closer. He turned to find five gray and white ships moving to surround them.

  “Uh, guys,” he said.

  “We see them,” said Mech. “Symmorium Threshers. Five of them.”

  “Eight more on long-range scanners,” said Loren. “Closing fast. This is bad. This is very bad.”

  “We’ll just tell them it wasn’t us,” said Miz. “Just tell them the ship did it.”