Space Team: The Search for Splurt

by Barry J. Hutchison

  It was Lady Vajazzle’s turn to look surprised, but it only crossed her face for a second. “Interesting,” she said. “Very interesting. Because you see, Mr Carver, we’ve been here for almost nine years.”

  Cal stood up. The dino-Splurt’s eyes narrowed, but he made no move to attack. “Nine years? What do you mean you’ve been here for nine years? How could you have been here for nine years?”

  “Simple. We came through the wormhole. We crashed. Nine years passed,” explained Vajazzle. “Slowly,” she added. “Very slowly. There really isn’t much to do on this planet. Or there wasn’t, at least. Nowadays, we make our own entertainment.”

  “You know what?” said Cal, glancing past Vajazzle to where the image of Miz had frozen on screen. “Informative as this is, I don’t really care. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to let Splurt go, I’m going to take him with me, and we’re going to go get the rest of our friends. Then – and only then – I’m going to come back and kill you with my bare hands.” He smiled at her, picking one of the more annoying grins from his extensive back-catalogue. “How does that sound?”

  Vajazzle made a weighing motion with her hands. “Meh. There’s one slight problem with it,” she said.

  “Oh?” said Cal, a little surprised that she’d only found one part to take issue with. “And what’s that?”

  “The entity – your Splurt – doesn’t want to go with you. He wants to stay with me.”

  Cal spat out a, “Pah!” which he quickly followed up with an, “As if!”

  Turning to the dino-thing, he placed a hand on its broad, armor-plated shoulder. “Come on, buddy, it’s time to go home.”

  Splurt didn’t move. Slowly – ever so slowly – his eyes crept to Cal’s hand.

  “He was with you for what? A week? A fortnight at most?” said Vajazzle. “You barely know him. I, on the other hand, tortured him every day for three years. I know him. Intimately.” She raised her voice. “Hurt him.”

  Cal shook his head. “Never. I’m not going to hurt him. He’s my friend.”

  On stage, the assassin hissed out another dry laugh. “Oh, Mr Carver, you really are as idiotic as you look. I wasn’t talking to you,” she said, then all the air left Cal’s body in one big puff as a rough, scaly fist slammed into his chest and sent him tumbling into the second row.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Cal sprackled out of the second row and into the aisle. That upbeat, zesty, lust-for-life feeling had been driven out of him with one battering-ram punch, and now he backed away, palms open in front of him in surrender.

  “Splurt. It’s me,” he said to the advancing dino-thing. Steam snorted from its flared nostrils, as its every footstep shook the floor. “Whatever she’s done to you, you can fight it, buddy. You can fight her.”

  One of Splurt’s arms arced upwards over his head. Cal dived sideways, narrowly avoiding being pummeled on the top of his skull. He ducked under a scything backhand, planning to jump onto Splurt’s back, but the armored plates sticking out of his spine made it impossible.

  For the first time, Cal noticed Splurt had a tail, too. He noticed this right before it swung upwards, the tip slamming into his chin like a hammer-blow.

  Cal staggered, stars swooshing before his eyes. He clutched his jaw with one hand, the other held out in front of him, roughly where he guessed Splurt to be.

  “Wait!” he said, his voice coming out a slur of vowels and consonants. “You don’t have to do this.”

  His back thudded against something solid. Turning, he looked up, blinking away the stars until Lady Vajazzle’s face was revealed, looming over him. He had backed right up to the stage, and now the assassin was standing above him, gazing down. Something squirmed and wriggled beneath her long, midnight robe.

  “He’d kill you, you know? If I told him to. He is fiercely loyal. Fiercely loyal. I see now why you liked him,” Vajazzle intoned. Cal heard a damp squelching from under Vajazzle’s robe, and the tip of a tentacle tentatively slithered out. “But like I said, we have to make our own entertainment around here.”

  The tentacle crept around Cal’s throat and jerked him into the air. Cal’s feet kicked, searching for the floor. He tried to grab hold of the tentacle and take the weight off his neck, but his hands slipped on the slimy skin, and he could only gasp and choke as his lungs, once again, complained about the lack of air.

  Lady Vajazzle tilted her head and watched his struggle. A thin smile parted her puckered lips. “And I believe that you, Mr Carver, are going to be very entertaining indeed.”

  * * *

  Tobey Maguire looked up from the picnic hamper in surprise, and hurriedly stuffed something white and half-moon shaped into his Death cloak. Cal’s wife and daughter were gone now, and the bright summer sky was swollen with dark, ominous clouds.

  “Hey. I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” said Tobey Maguire.

  Cal looked the imaginary Pleasantville actor up and down. “Were you… were you just eating a whole Brie?”

  Tobey Maguire laughed. “What? No. Haha. What? Definitely not.”

  Cal leaned over and peered into the hamper. “It’s just that there was a whole Brie in there, about this big,” he said, making a circle shape with his thumbs and forefingers that didn’t quite touch. “Were you just eating it?”

  Tobey Maguire hung his head. “Dnt fnk cmg bck,” he mumbled.

  “Sorry?” said Cal.

  Tobey Maguire raised his voice. “I said, I didn’t think you were coming back. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  Cal sat on a chair-sized rock. “I don’t mind. But have it with bread or something, for God’s sake, don’t just take bites out of it. We’re not animals.”

  “I threw all the bread to the ducks,” Tobey explained, his head still bowed.

  Cal looked around them. The once-grassy hillside was now scorched and blackened. “What ducks?”

  Tobey Maguire shrugged, but said nothing. He reached into his robe and took out a half-eaten round of Brie.

  “Jesus, did you eat the waxy outside bit, too?” asked Cal. “In fact, you know what, forget it, I don’t want to know.”

  He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. “So, I’m unconscious again, amn’t I?”

  Tobey Maguire looked up and nodded. “Yes.”

  “Am I going to see you every time I get knocked out from now on?”

  Tobey Maguire shrugged again. “Dunno.”

  “I hope not, because I seem to get knocked out a lot,” Cal said. “Are you, like, my spirit guide or something?”

  “Uh…” Tobey Maguire began, then he fell silent for several seconds. “Maybe,” he eventually continued. “I mean, no-one’s said anything, but… I guess.”

  Cal puffed out his cheeks and stared at Tobey Maguire for a while. Finally, he clapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. “Well, good talk,” he said. “Very insightful. Thanks.”

  “Want some cheese?” asked Tobey Maguire, offering up the Brie.

  “No. No, I do not,” said Cal, then he tucked his hands behind his back, clicked his heels together and – to his immense surprise – woke up.

  He found himself lying on rough, rocky ground with a circle of purple-blue sky looking down on him from above. Sitting up, Cal realized he was in a hole. It was quite a big hole, as holes went – thirty feet from end to end, and pretty much circular – with one continuous steep, smooth wall that was polished like glass. A rusted metal hatch, maybe the size of shoebox, was embedded in the wall just above Cal’s head height.

  The top of the hole was twice his height at full stretch, maybe a little more. Dozens of faces – some human-looking, others not - leaned over the edge, watching him with morbid curiosity. Cal recognized their faded, dirty outfits as Zertex uniforms, and realized none of them were likely to pull him out.

  Still, it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

  “Good evening!” he chimed, getting to his feet and dusting himself down. He still had no top on, but the cool night air was mad
e bearable by the dozen or so flaming torches positioned just over halfway up the wall, spread out at regular intervals around the circle. “Don’t suppose any of you happen to have a ladder? I appear to be stuck down a hole.”

  Unsurprisingly, no-one answered. Cal glanced over at the metal hatch. If he could get it open, he could feasibly squeeze through it, he reckoned. Provided, of course, he didn’t mind leaving his arms behind. And possibly both feet.

  “Or a rope, even?” Cal asked, turning his attention back to the figures crowding around the top of the hole. “Pogo stick? Trampoline? No?”

  A voice reverberated through the night air, echoing around inside the pit. “Release the creature!”

  A chatter of excitement passed among the faces above.

  “What creature?” Cal asked. “Vajazzle, is that you? Release what creature?”

  There came a series of metallic thuds and clangs from behind the metal hatch. Cal turned to it, a terrible sinking feeling sucking at his gut. “Oh Jesus, what now?”

  There was another sound beyond the hatch, too. A low droning noise, like a circular saw chewing through stone.

  “What is that?” asked Cal, bouncing anxiously from foot to foot. He brought his fists up, ready to punch the shizz out of whatever stuck its head through that hatch. “What’s in there?”

  At the top of the pit, the crowds shuffled apart so a number of Zertex troops could lower Lady Vajazzle and her wooden throne into position. The people on either side didn’t close the gap again once she’d been set down, leaving a few feet of space on either side.

  “What the Hell is in there, Vajazzle?” Cal demanded.

  Vajazzle’s eyes flared beneath her lowered hood. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Something went plink against the other side of the metal door and the droning dipped, just for a moment, before picking up again. The hatch dropped open, becoming a rigid metal shelf sticking out from the wall, and revealing a shadowy passageway. From the darkness emerged… nothing at all.

  Cal glanced up at the faces above. Other than Vajazzle, who was still staring at him, they were all chewing their lips, their eyes trained on the open hatchway. They were waiting. Definitely waiting. But waiting for what?

  “Hello?” said Cal, squinting into the gap. Nothing moved in the silent dark.

  Cal’s feet inched forwards, ignoring a number of quite forceful protests from his brain. He kept his hands raised, ready to strike.

  The flickering torchlight sent an orange glow creeping along the tunnel, revealing nothing but empty space. The tunnel walls were metal and reminded Cal of a ventilation duct that a malnourished action hero might find themselves crawling through in a particularly derivative action movie.

  Cal lowered his hands. “You bamstons. You totally had me going there. There’s nothing actually in there is--?”

  Something small and fast-moving shot out of the hole and streaked past Cal’s head. It was roughly the size of a ping pong ball, only less round and more wasp-shaped. Its body was a lump of oily black fur, with four pointed wings blurring in the air above it.

  It did not, as far as Cal could tell as it curved around the circle, have a head. Instead, it had an ass at both ends, each one the proud owner of a long, elegant stinger.

  The wasp buzzed up towards the top of the hole, making a bid for freedom, but as it drew closer to the flames of the torches, it abruptly about-turned and swooped close to Cal’s head.

  Instinctively, Cal ducked and let out a far from dignified, “Waargh!” sound. The wasp banked past him, droned all the way around the outside of the circle as if searching for the way out, then alighted on the ground.

  Cal eyed it with suspicion for a moment, before raising his head and meeting Vajazzle’s gaze. “Is that it?” he asked.

  From beneath the assassin’s hood came a light, melodic whistle. Instantly, the wasp took to the air. It buzzed around in tight circles for a few seconds, then launched itself in Cal’s direction. Cal backed away, flapping at the insect with both hands. “Argh. Fonk off,” he hissed. “I mean it, don’t make me squash you.”

  His hand slapped down towards the wasp, in what would almost certainly have been an epic finishing move, had the wasp not moved. It rolled in the air like a fighter jet, then plunged a stinger into the back of Cal’s hand.

  Pain tore through him like a bullet through butter. He thrashed his arm out to his left, sending the wasp careening through the air.

  “Oh Jesus!” Cal hissed, staring in horror at his throbbing hand. The area around the sting was rapidly puffing up, like a balloon was inflating beneath the skin.

  There was no time to dwell on it, though. The wasp made a bee-line for him again, and the crowd watching above laughed as Cal broke into a run. He sprinted around the circumference of the hole, the wasp in hot pursuit. He couldn’t see it, but he could hear its rasping drone at his back.

  The pain in his hand now burned like ice through his veins, stopping halfway up his arm. He risked a glance at the spot where the bug had stung him, and saw his fingers were now thick and sausage-like. He could still move them, but it took a lot of effort, and the only thanks he got was more pain.

  “Stand and fight!” cried a voice from above.

  “Stop running!”

  “Yeah, yeah. Bite me!” Cal responded, extending a chunky middle-finger in their direction. It was then that he realized he could no longer hear the wasp behind him. Still running, he risked a glance over his shoulder and saw the insect wasn’t there.

  He turned back to the front in time for it to hit him in the face. A bomb of agony went off on his forehead. Another exploded against his ear. He staggered, howling, swatting at the bug with his fat hand.

  One of the stings plunged into his palm. Again. Again. Cal yowled and pulled away, bringing up a leg and frantically kicking at the bug with his heavy boots.

  A stinger stabbed through his sock and sunk into the skin around his ankle. Spitting out a series of heavily-censored curses, Cal hopped across to the other side of the pit, colors swimming before his eyes.

  He realized, to his horror, that he could see his own face. Or bits of it, at least. Specifically, the bits that were doubling in size before his eyes. He’d never seen his forehead from this angle before, and hoped he never would again.

  His right foot felt heavy and useless. His left hand was a glove full of jelly.

  And the wasp was coming again, much to the amusement of all those watching above.

  “Shizz, look at his eye. That’s disgusting.”

  “That hand’s going to pop.”

  “Get him in the throat!”

  “No, in the balls!”

  A laugh raced around the edge of the pit. Vajazzle herself may have joined in, but her hood made it impossible to tell.

  Bending, Cal snatched up a rock. “Fonk off!” he said, the words coming out slurred as he tossed the stone at the approaching insect, missing it by a mile. “Well, that didn’t work,” he mumbled.

  A weapon. He needed a weapon. Something he could…

  His eyes fell on one of the torches on the other side of the pit. Turning, he found the closest torch and made a jump for it. He fell short by almost a whole foot.

  Gritting his teeth against the pain in his foot, Cal squatted low and fired himself upwards. The fingers of his non-fat hand brushed against the bottom of the torch, but then pain drilled into his shoulder as the wasp burrowed its sting in his flesh.

  Screaming, Cal spun around, frantically clawing at his back, trying to reach the bug. The wasp withdrew its sting and immediately plunged it in again and again, machine-gunning Cal’s back with its venom.

  Roaring, Cal drove his back against the wall, trying to squash the thing. The wasp buzzed to safety just in the nick of time, and Cal felt his lungs contract as the impact with the wall drove the air out of him.

  Head swimming, body failing, Cal sank to his knees. An expectant hush fell over the onlookers, as the wasp buzzed all the way to the other sid
e of the pit, then turned the other ass-cheek and lined itself up for its final assault.

  “Well, this is all a bit disappointing,” tutted Lady Vajazzle.

  Cal looked up at her through his now freakishly swollen eye. He flexed his fat fingers and wiggled his tingling toes. His shoulder had inflated, giving him a hunchback. It would not, by any stretch of the imagination, be a dignified death.

  “Yeah? Well Disappointing’s my middle name,” he retorted, which sounded much better in his head. As the wasp closed in, he summoned what was left of his strength and propelled himself into a limping sprint straight towards the oncoming bug.

  An ooh of surprise went through the watching crowd. Cal closed in on the wasp then, at the last possible moment, spun like a clumsy ballerina to avoid it. He limped on, his gaze fixed on the open hatchway that stuck out at a right angle to the wall.

  The wasp buzzed furiously behind him. It was closing in. There was no time to lose.

  Slapping his fat hand against the hatch, Cal jumped and pushed, launching himself higher than before. His good hand wrapped around the handle of the fiery torch, and as his weight jerked on it, the torch tore free of its mounting.

  Cal spun in an arc of fire, just as the wasp made another lunge. There was a hiss as its furry body ignited, then a series of panicky yelps from Cal as it dropped into the turned-up bottom of one pant leg, and almost set his foot on fire.

  He swung his leg and the burning wasp was launched all the way out of the pit. The crowd around it scattered in panic, which gave Cal a brief moment of pleasure before he collapsed to his knees.

  Silence fell, but was quickly broken by someone clapping, slow and steady. Cal tried to look in the direction of the sound, but his back was too bent, and his forehead too large for him to be able to. Still, he could probably guess who it was, he reckoned.

  “How very entertaining. Just as I predicted,” said Vajazzle. Her voice took on a more commanding tone. “Go down and retrieve him. Take him to the pens.”

  A series of ropes lowered into the pit around him, followed by a burst of activity from above.