Loren leaned in closer. “Cal.”
“One sec, honey,” Cal said, adjusting his smile to a much warmer one for just a moment, then dialing it back to its former position. “See, I’m not sure if you noticed, but you shot me.”
The figure behind the desk glanced at him as it spun, then did a double-take and regarded him with something like fascination on its smooth, liquid metal features.
“Ah, that got your attention,” Cal said. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. It could be a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“Uh, hey, man,” Mech said.
“Jesus, guys,” Cal whispered. “I’m trying to do business here. Could you give me one minute?”
Loren leaned in on Cal’s other side. “It’s just…” She flicked her eyes to his chest.
Cal looked down.
He looked up.
He looked down again.
He was somewhat surprised to find himself the proud owner of an impressive pair of women’s breasts.
“Uh…” he said, then he pulled his jacket over to hide his nipples. “Is it cold in here, or is just me?” he asked.
“It’s just you,” Loren told him.
“This is probably my fault,” Cal explained. “It’s a misunderstanding. Splurt does the mind-reading thing, and I was still thinking about…”
His eyes went briefly to Loren’s chest, then he gave himself a shake. “Doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.” He zipped his jacket closed over his breasts, and got back down to business.
“Sorry about that,” he began, then two doors flew open at either side of the sparsely-furnished room and a dozen men and women in uniforms rushed in, six from each side.
Cal sighed. “God damn it, what now?”
“Ah, security. Good,” said the figure behind the desk. The voice was male, and as smooth as his liquid metal surface. “Kindly remove these…” He waved one of his many arms. Ever one of the hands held a round device like the one the map man had been carrying. Two thumbs on each hand swiped and tapped at the screens, never hesitating or pausing. “…interlopers.”
“Yes, Controller,” two of the guards answered simultaneously, one on the left, one on the right.
The Controller went back to spinning around inside his nest-like desk, his eyes flicking across all his screens in turn.
The guards arrived in a clatter of rushing feet. They all wielded long metal rods, and as they raised them above their heads, they began to vibrate.
“What the hell are they planning to do with those?” Cal wondered.
The head guard on his left lunged and swung. Loren stopped him with a kick to the throat, then brought her leg back before driving it into his chest, propelling him backward into the rest of his squad.
The head guard on the right was not so lucky.
She roared as she threw herself at Mizette, baton clutched in both hands. Miz’s hand wrapped around the woman’s head, catching her in mid-flight. With a jerk, Miz raised her higher into the air, then introduced her to the floor half a second later with enough force to crack her armor open like an eggshell, and probably a number of bones with it.
The next guard made contact with the vibrating baton, smashing it hard against Miz’s shoulder. Mizette’s jaw tightened and her hair stood on end, both of which only served to make her look larger and more terrifying. She slashed with her claws, severing the man’s arm below the elbow.
“Like, ow!” she scowled at him, before Tyrra rammed the top of her head into the entirety of the man’s groin, and he went down in a mess of blood, tears, and regret.
Back on Cal’s left, Loren, dropped into a sweeping spin-kick, taking the legs out from another of the guards. This one joined the other three she’d already dropped, and the movements of the fifth attacker became hesitant and less certain.
She drove a finger strike into a seam of his armor, an elbow into his nose, and his testicles into his lower abdomen. This left only one guard left on Loren’s side. He was larger than the others, but wiser, too. He’d seen which way the wind was blowing, and it wasn’t in a favorable direction.
He passed the vibrating baton from hand to hand for a moment, sized Loren up, then jammed it against the side of his own head, instantly rendering himself unconscious.
Cal turned to his right to see Miz slouching on one hip, picking bits of guard-flesh from under her fingernails. Tyrra stood beside her, growling down at the fallen security forces.
“Like, what kept you?” Miz asked Loren.
“Decided to go easy on them,” Loren said.
One of the men at her feet groaned. She stomped down with the heel of her boot, silencing him.
Loren shrugged. “Mostly.”
“Nicely done, ladies,” Cal said.
The doors opened again. Several more guards appeared. Cal approached the Controller’s desk and leaned on it. For the first time since they’d arrived, the silver figure seemed to be giving them his full, undivided attention.
“You really want to do this again?” Cal asked. “How many security guys do you have? Because you’ve seen what three of us can do. How do you think your guards are going to fare once me, the robot, and these babies get in on the act?”
He gestured at his cleavage. The Controller regarded it briefly, but said nothing. The guards activated their batons and broke into a run.
“Well, suit yourself,” said Cal, straightening. He reached for the zipper of his jacket. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The footsteps clattered closer. Cal held the Controller’s gaze.
At last, the silver figure relented.
“That will be all,” he said. “Thank you, everyone, that will be all.”
Both security teams clattered to a stop and lowered their weapons.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. You guys do great work,” said the Controller. He pointed to one of the men at the front. “Rorn, looking good there, pal. Have you been working out?”
“Yessir! Always, sir!”
“Well, it shows. Maybe I’ll ditch my trainer and come to you for advice from now on.”
Another arm gestured to a woman over on Cal’s right. “Ma-reese? How are the kids? Little Do-reese got those teeth yet?”
“Almost, sir. They’re coming through now.”
“Well, alright. Send her my love,” the Controller said. He gestured with all his arms at the pile of unconscious bodies on the floor. “Could you maybe…? And there are some parts you’re going to want to reattach before…”
He nodded gratefully as the new security teams picked up the old security teams and carried them in opposite directions toward the doors.
“Thank you. You guys are doing a great job,” the Controller said. “You make this place work!” he called after them, just before they finished filing out and the doors closed behind them. “They’re great. Aren’t they great?” he asked, turning to Cal and the others.
His hands had gone back to work, his multitude of thumbs in constant motion again like they were living entities with their own free will.
The Controller stood up. This was a slow, graceful process that made it look like he was a plant sprouting from inside a pot.
When he had finished the standing process, he was a clear head taller than Mech, with most of his height in his spindly silver legs. He was substantially skinnier than Mech—he was substantially skinnier than Cal, in fact, even pre-boobs or travel weight—with his body really just acting as a sort of anchor point for all his arms.
Raising a leg, he stepped over the desk and stopped when he towered above Cal.
“Now, tell me who you are and what you want,” said the Controller, his voice as smooth and as pleasant as always. “Or I promise I will take tremendous pleasure in killing you all myself.”
Twenty-One
Tyrra charged forward, mouth wide, teeth bared.
“Wait, Tyrra, no!” Miz yelped, grabbing for her, but the girls slipped through her claws and threw herself at the silver fig
ure.
“You dare threaten us?” she hissed, and then she let out a yelp as a whole new arm extended from inside the Controller’s hub of a body, caught her by the throat, and jerked her cleanly into the air.
His other arms continued to move, his thumps tap-tapping on all those little screens.
“What is this?” he asked in his smooth, sing-song tones. He twisted his grip, turning Tyrra so he could look at her back, before rotating her to face him again. “I’ve never seen one of these.”
“Let her go,” Miz growled, spit foaming at the corners of her mouth.
The Controller regarded Miz coolly. “Huh. Or one of whatever you are, in fact.” He studied them all in turn, Tyrra still squirming in his grip. “Well, aren’t you just a big old bag of enigmas?”
“You’d better do what the lady says, man,” Mech warned. “Let the kid go.”
The Controller appeared momentarily confused, then reacted as if only just realizing he still had Tyrra in his grip. “Ah. Yes. Apologies,” he said. His hand opened and Tyrra fell wheezing to the floor. “Kindly remove it from my office.”
“Her,” Cal corrected. “Not it.”
The Controller’s new arm reached into the desk, retrieved one of the palm-sized devices, then joined the others in swiping and tapping.
“Kindly remove her from my office, then,” the Controller said. “Sorry.”
“She’s going nowhere, pal,” Cal said, as Miz helped Tyrra back onto her feet.
The Controller gave a polite nod. “Fair enough. Then, it looks like our conversation is over. You can all leave the same way you came in.”
Cal flicked his tongue across the back of his teeth. “Actually, maybe Tyrra should go back to the ship.”
“What? We’re listening to this silver shizznod?” said Miz.
“She charged right at the guy all…” Cal bared his teeth. “She did kind of bring it on herself. It’s better she goes back to the ship before she gets someone hurt.”
Tyrra coughed and rubbed her throat where the hand had gripped her.
“Any more than they already are, I mean,” Cal added.
He bent down so he was face to face with Tyrra. “Miz’ll take you back to the ship. And, again, we’re going to have words later, young lady.”
“I want to stay,” Tyrra croaked.
“Well, you can’t. I told you what would happen. One strike,” Cal told her. He softened a little when her bottom lip stuck out. “Mech will patch his comm-link into the ship so you won’t miss anything exciting.”
He looked up at Mech. “That’s a thing, right? You can do that?”
“Yeah. But can I mute Kevin?”
Cal pulled a face that suggested that part was a given, then looked back at Tyrra. “There. You’ll be able to hear us.”
“That’s not the same,” Tyrra sulked.
“No, but it’s the best offer you’re going to get,” Cal told her. “And it’ll be a life-lesson. You need to rein in this behavior before—”
Tyrra slapped him across the face, staggering him and forcing a sound he was not proud of to come tumbling from his mouth.
“Ha. Bested,” she croaked.
Then, with a furious glare at the Controller, she turned and went stomping back toward the forcefield, with Miz striding along behind her.
“Thank you,” said the Controller, once they’d left. “It’s one thing maiming my security forces, but I can’t have someone directly challenging me in my own office. Sorry, but I just can’t. You get it, right? Yeah. You guys get it.”
“Uh, yeah,” said Cal. “We get it. Now, you’re probably wondering—”
“Wait! Wait! Hold up,” said the Controller. “Let me run something by you. OK? I’m going to fire some words at you, and you say ‘hot’ or ‘cold.’ Got it?”
Cal frowned, glanced at the others, then opened his mouth to say that no, he didn’t really get it. Unfortunately, the window of opportunity had passed.
“Audience,” said the Controller.
“What?”
“Hot or cold? Audience.”
Cal glanced to Loren and Mech for help, but they looked just as confused as he was.
“I’m not asking them, I’m asking you,” the Controller said. “Hot or cold?”
“Um… hot?” Cal guessed.
“Cleanliness.”
“I guess…” Cal puffed out his cheeks. “I guess cold.”
“Modular thought.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Hot or cold?”
Cal shrugged. “Cold.”
“Cold? Modular thought? Really? You think cold?”
“I don’t… OK, hot.”
The Controller looked wildly excited. “Hot! Yes!”
Cal nodded, pleased with himself despite not knowing why. “Obviously.”
“Textured flooring,” said the Controller. “Cold, right? I don’t even have to ask.”
“Freezing,” Cal agreed.
“All right. That was really useful. Thank you. You’ve been a great help.”
He half-sat, half-leaned on the edge of the desk. Even in this position, he was a full foot taller than Cal. “Now, what was it you wanted? Because, I hate to tell you, guys, but I’m kind of busy here.”
Cal was still trying to work out what all the ‘hot or cold’ stuff was about, and it took him a moment to switch tracks.
“Oh. Yeah. We’ve got a delivery.”
“Deliveries don’t come to my office,” the Controller said. “They never come to my office. We have a specific cargo section of the station just for deliveries. We call it ‘The Delivery Section.’ I came up with that name myself.” He smiled. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding, I didn’t come up with the name. But we do have a delivery section. For deliveries.”
“Yeah, we know,” said Cal. “But we couldn’t it.”
“It covers six hundred floors,” said the Controller.
“Yeah. Still couldn’t find it,” said Cal, waving a hand to suggest that this was a minor and unimportant detail. “So, we thought we’d bring it here. Straight to the top. You are the top, right?”
“Guilty! I am the Controller of the network. You don’t get any higher,” the silver figure replied. “What are you—hold on, one moment.”
He placed one of the devices to the raised area on his head where an ear should be. “What? No. Since when? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh.”
Cal rocked on his heels and took the opportunity to look around the room. This took approximately ten seconds, as there wasn’t a lot to look at. The desk was fancy. The chair was oddly shaped. The various display cases held nothing of any obvious significance—a pair of shoes, a model of some sort of insect, a blue soft toy that might have been an elephant, a hippo, or neither of the two. Nothing particularly exciting.
He gave his breasts a nudge, adjusting them. They each gave a jelly-like wobble, one after the other. In his experience, this was not normal behaviour, but then nothing about the situation was exactly run-of-the-mill.
“No, no, listen. Tell him that’s not an offer, that’s an insult. Has he seen our audience share for that slot? Ninety-four percent. That’s of the system, Forank. Not of a country, not of a planet, of the system.”
He pressed both thumbs firmly against the contraption, then turned his attention back to Cal.
“Sorry, sponsors getting ideas their brains aren’t big enough to process,” the Controller said.
“We know how that is,” said Cal, nodding sagely.
The Controller cocked his head to one side. “You do?”
“Actually, no. I don’t know why I said that,” Cal admitted. “Anyway, as I was saying, we’re here to deliver two crates from the planet Floom—”
“From Tolgor. One of the moons of Trogol,” Loren interjected.
“From there. Yes. That’s it,” said Cal.
The Controller jumped up. “Aha! Yes. We’ve been waiting for those. It’s feed for the Sloorgs. You’d be amazed, but those things ar
e surprisingly picky eaters.”
“I am amazed,” said Cal. Then: “What’s a Sloorg?”
The Controller’s thumbs all stopped moving. “I’m sorry?”
“You said it’s food for the Sloorgs. What’s a Sloorg?”
The Controller perfectly smooth face creased just a little. “What do you mean?”
“I mean—”
“You mean… you don’t know?”
Cal shook his head. “Yes. No. I mean, no, I don’t know what a Sloorg is.”
“You don’t know what a Sloorg is?”
“Do you want me to talk slower?” Cal asked. He exaggerated his mouth movements. “That’s what I’m saying. I don’t know what a Sloorg is.”
He turned to the others. “Do you guys know what a Sloorg is?”
Loren and Mech both indicated that no, they didn’t.
“None of you know what a Sloorg is?” the Controller yelped. There was a slightly hysterical edge to his voice now, and his arms had all dropped to his sides. “So… what are you saying? You’ve never seen The Hunt?”
“No,” Cal confirmed.
“What, never?”
Cal looked to his left and right, meeting Loren and Mech’s gazes again. “Have we ever seen The Hunt?”
“Not unless it’s got puppets in it,” said Mech.
“No, that’s Puppetopia,” said the Controller. “You’ve seen Puppetopia, but you’ve never seen The Hunt? How is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” said Cal.
“How is it possible?” demanded the Controller, leaning in so his liquid metal face hovered just above Cal’s. His eyes were made of the same smoothly-flowing material as the rest of them, but Cal was sure he saw something blazing behind them for a moment. “You must have seen The Hunt. Everyone has seen The Hunt.”
Cal blew out his cheeks. “No, sorry.”
“Juggacrush. Eviscerator. Plasmoid,” the Controller continued, his voice going higher with each word. “Mean anything to you? No?”
“It’s not ringing any bells,” Cal said.
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