Space Captain Smith

by Toby Frost

‘I don’t know. I told her—’

  His sentence was lost in the roar of engines. The John Pym tore over the farm, its jets blasting downward, turning in to land. They ran to the edge of the barn. Corveau’s men scattered, panicked by the arrival of this huge machine, but as the ship aligned itself Smith saw the pickup dart into its shadow, where the onboard cameras could not pick it out. On the back of the truck a man was loading a long-barrelled artillery-piece.

  Smith recognised it: a railgun, one of the few infantry weapons strong enough to crack open spacecraft armour. If that hit the jets, it could send the John Pym crashing to the ground – or even make it explode.

  ‘Carveth! Car under you with a railgun!’

  ‘I can’t see anyone!’ she yelled.

  ‘Dammit, he’s in the blind spot! I’m coming to help.’

  He ran out, head down, towards the ship.

  ‘Where is he?’ Carveth called.

  The man with the railgun pushed something into place and lined up his shot, sights fixed on the ship’s underbelly. The John Pym dropped out of the sky. It fell straight onto the pickup, and with a deafening crash of metal vehicle, men and railgun disappeared. ‘Where’s the car?’

  Carveth cried.

  Smith stopped running. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ he said. A great cloud of dust was rising around the ship, hiding it like a sheet. As the dust began to clear, the side hatch flew open and Carveth sprang out, the Maxim cannon strapped to her body. It was slightly bigger than she was.

  ‘Come on!’ she yelled, lumbering down the steps. ‘Who wants some? Come and get it, arseholes!’

  She saw Smith standing there and stopped. ‘Well?’ she said, panting under the weight of the gun as she looked around. ‘Where’ve they gone?’

  A thin trickle of red ran from beneath the hull. ‘They’re under the ship,’ Smith said. ‘You landed on them.’

  Carveth took this on board. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Landed on them. Right. I meant to do that, you realise? Works every time. So, have we won?’

  ‘We have indeed,’ said Smith. ‘We’ve done very well. I recovered the missile controller and picked up this rather nifty pistol as well. Good show, everyone.’

  ‘And I got you this!’ Suruk added proudly, holding up a plastic bag.

  ‘Erm, what’s that?’ Carveth asked. ‘It’s kind of dripping.’

  ‘You said you wanted our enemies disarmed.’

  ‘Yes. So what’s that?’ said Smith.

  ‘It’s their arms.’

  7 Is Rhianna a Weirdie in Disguise?

  It fell to Carveth to make the victory speech that night, purely by a process of elimination. Smith was fetching himself another drink, Rhianna already too drunk, and it was generally felt that providing Suruk with a microphone would be like giving Genghis Khan directions to a discount axe emporium. So, in front of the town hall, before the new interim mayor of Paradis and a crowd of wellwishers, Carveth tried to express her thanks.

  ‘Best ship inner world,’ she said. She rocked a little as she spoke, giving her voice a weird stroboscopic effect not often heard outside progressive rock. ‘We are a happy island breed from another Eden. We’re great. Thank you Paradis! We liberate planets from tyranny and oppression and – the other one. Frog-boy over there cuts heads off things and the captain? Captain can kill a man just with his moustache. Best captain ever. Proud to be under him. Not that I’ve been under him at all – but ladies, you could be. You know what they say about men with big moustaches, right? Damn right. Best ship in the world. Hey – what’re you doing?’

  Smith picked her up and placed her at the side of the stage. ‘Thanks, everyone, very sorry. Thanks for having us. And for dinner.’

  ‘I’m not sorry!’ Carveth persisted as he removed her.

  ‘Great big tash! You remember that!’

  Smith deposited her out of the way and climbed off the podium. Rhianna was waiting at the bottom.

  ‘So, is it true, then?’ She grinned.

  ‘Well,’ said Smith, his tongue loosened by alcohol and praise, ‘it has been remarked that I’m doing rather well in that regard. Of course, I don’t want to blow my own trumpet – although I probably could if I tried – but back at the shower room in Woking Cricket Club they did sometimes wonder if a baby elephant was on the loose.’

  ‘I don’t understand. How does having the best crew in the world help you get mistaken for a baby elephant?

  You’ve got the wrong number of knees.’

  Smith fought down the sudden urge to flee. ‘It was…well… near Woking zoo. Anyway, I do indeed have an excellent crew, despite it consisting solely of Carveth, technically speaking. Consider yourself an honorary member.’

  Rhianna smiled. ‘Thanks.’ She saluted. ‘Right-ho, Captain! Is that how it goes?’

  The sight of Rhianna attempting an English accent and saluting him sent a wave of lust through Smith strong enough to leave him nearly nauseous. If she did that again, he might be overwhelmed and puke on her flipflops. Which would be a major faux pas. ‘Something like that,’ he said weakly.

  ‘I normally don’t condone violence,’ Rhianna went on, waving a hand to illustrate her point. ‘But I appreciate you being good at it. I mean, everyone’s got a talent, I believe, and it’s important to nurture that. Yours is just, well, kind of negatively assertive.’ She sighed. ‘You know, if someone had described you to me a week ago, I would have assumed you were just another colonialist bigot spoiling for a fight. But I would have been wrong.’

  ‘You’d have to be foreign to think a thing like that. More drink?’

  But Rhianna had been distracted by some local dancing and had wandered off, leaving Smith feeling that he had missed an opportunity. He looked into his cup and sighed. Andy was waiting for him at the bar. ‘That was one hell of a job y’all did,’ he said for the fourth or fifth time.

  ‘Thanks.’ Smith spun the tap and watched his cup fill with beer. ‘Good of you to lend me that rifle.’

  Andy shrugged. He wore a tuxedo jacket over his red T-shirt to reflect the gravitas of his new role as mayor. ‘It’s no problem. Keep it. Listen: we’ve got a solution to you getting off world.’

  ‘Surely we can just fly away now, can’t we?’

  ‘Sure. But Gilead’ll be sitting in orbit, out of range of our missile grid. Soon as you clear atmosphere, he’ll come for you all guns blazing.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Yes, good point. I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘Well, me and Francois came up with a plan. I’ve got the boys to fix us up a rocket of our own, a decoy. We programme it to break atmo on the other side of the planet, and while Gilead’s chasing it, you guys can make a break.’

  ‘That’s not bad,’ said Smith. ‘Not bad at all. Wait a moment. What if they scan for lifeforms? It’ll just show up as a metal tube.’

  Andy grinned. ‘That’s where we get smart. The nose-cone is hollow. We’re gonna put a bunch of plants inside.’

  ‘Plants? Won’t they be a bit small?’

  ‘Not these. Genetically modified cauliflowers. We got a load spare. Not like we’ll miss ‘em, anyway: nobody eats GM food down here.’

  ‘Taste bad, do they?’

  ‘No idea. Nobody’s caught one yet. But I reckon we can drive a few into the cone, so long as they don’t stampede. Then, all we have to do is fire up.’

  Smith took a sip of his beer and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘But do you really think the Ghasts will mistake us for a bunch of vegetables? No, don’t answer that. How long will this take?’

  Andy started pouring himself a beer. ‘I reckon we can get launched tomorrow morning. We should be able to stick the rocket up at eleven o’clock, say, if we can get it crewed up by then, and then you’d need to give it about an hour to get around the planet and start transmitting…

  You could go at noon.’

  ‘That sounds like a jolly good plan,’ Smith agreed.

  ‘Alright then, twelve it is. Goodness knows we’ll need all the t
ime we can get.’

  In his chamber, 462 ran a digit along the spines of his video collection, deciding which speech to watch today. The morning’s Shouting In Lines had finished, his torture devices were already polished and there was a little while before Listen with Glorious Number One came on the radio. He could spend a human hour or so watching the first fifth of one of One’s speeches. He had the complete set.

  It was not easy to choose between the lively motivational quality of You Too Can Become an Assault Brigade Leader Today or the moving emotional intensity of Crush All Humans Now. Who could forget the touching moment when Number One forgot how to speak and simply shrieked like a broken siren, overcome by dribbling rage? Nobody, because anyone who had dared forget it had been shot.

  The intercom trumpeted. ‘Glorious 462!’

  ‘I hear!’ he barked. ‘Speak!’

  ‘Puny human Republic craft Fist of Righteousness is docked! Human captain approaches!’

  ‘Ahahaha! Prepare for me to address him on the bridge.’ He sprang up and pulled his limbs into his coat two at a time.

  When Gilead strode in, 462 was waiting for him in a high-backed chair. Gilead marched into the centre of the room and stood there straight-backed with his hat under his arm. The Edenite captain looked ill at ease in the control room, with its ribbed, organic walls, slimy control panels and lack of cruise control.

  Ah, humans, thought 462. So foolish, and so weak. They clambered over one another for the chance to make allies of the Ghasts, to curry favour with the beings destined to destroy them. He looked at the newcomer and saw pride, cunning and an ambition that nearly matched his own. This particular human, this Gilead, had his uses.

  ‘You have not captured them,’ said 462.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I am disappointed. Saddened, even. It is regrettable that you were deceived.’

  ‘They used a convincing disguise,’ the human said.

  ‘Convincing. I have my doubts.’ 462 reached down to a box beside his chair and lifted out a very large cauliflower. A crude, smiling face had been drawn on the front of it with a marker pen: two wide, vacantly happy eyes and a broad grin. The face stared at Gilead with banal happiness as 462 held it up. ‘You will forgive me, but I do not believe humans are often green?’

  ‘No,’ Gilead said.

  ‘No? You are a fool!’ 462 sprang from his chair. ‘Were we not allies I would have you shot! Your stupidity is intolerable! If you were under my command I would – I would – ngh!’

  Choked with fury, he pulled off one of his gloves and belted one of his adjutants across the face with it.

  ‘Ow!’ said the adjutant.

  He turned to it. ‘Is there a problem, adjutant?’

  ‘Yes, there is! You just hit me in the face with a glove!’

  462 felt that the world was imploding around him.

  ‘Smith is at large. We have scanned the vicinity and have not been able to locate his ship. No doubt the puny humans have been using the opposite side of this pointless world as cover. Now, watch.’

  His skinny arm reached out and thumbed a knob on one of his chair’s four armrests. An orifice opened in the wall beside Gilead, and with a squelching sound a screen slid out. Images appeared on the screen: planets. It was a map of the system, with Paradis in the centre and the sun at the edge.

  ‘This is the world from which Smith has escaped,’ the Ghast explained. ‘His craft appears to be a Sheffield class ship, with a damaged supralight tacheon shunt drive and, it seems, working thrusters. Assuming that he has travelled at full sublight speed, here is the maximum radius of distance that he could have reached by now.’

  A sphere appeared in the centre of the map, centred around Paradis.

  462 barked, ‘So, we must calculate where he will be. He is somewhere within this sphere, obviously. But where? If you were Isambard Smith, what would you do?’

  ‘Request a refund.’ Gilead rubbed his chin, staring at the map. It glistened.

  ‘You seem unable to provide a location,’ said 462.

  ‘No, I know alright. I just don’t want to touch a computer that’s come out of your spaceship’s anus.’

  462 turned to one of his praetorian guards. ‘ Ak! Ak snak nicnak! ’ The praetorian saluted and strode off. ‘I have ordered light refreshments for us,’ 462 explained.

  ‘So, where will our quarry be?’

  ‘He’ll need to sort out his ship. The light drive will need repairs.’ Gilead smiled. ‘There’s only one place within range that’s got good enough facilities. Deuteronomy.’

  ‘I have not heard of it. What planet is that?’

  ‘It’s not a planet. It’s a city, the capital of one of our production worlds. Callistan 4. Up there.’ Eager, he jabbed the screen, then looked at his fingertip. ‘Ugh, mucus. Do you have a handkerchief?’

  ‘Deuteronomy. I look forward to paying this Callistan 4 a visit. Ready the port officials. Be there in person. You will bring him to us.’

  ‘Now listen.’ The Ghast’s tone galled Captain Gilead. ‘We’re partners,’ he said. ‘I don’t take any orders here.’

  ‘Oh yes you do. There are no equals here, only hierarchy. There is always one who gives the orders and one who takes them. Your sect is wise to side with us, Captain Gilead. Very soon we will be giving the orders to the whole of the galaxy. If we’ve not decided to destroy it instead. We will have our territory, and you will receive the help you need to carve you own little empire, in the shadow of our own.’

  An aide appeared at the side of them, holding a tray. 462 took a transparent, unwholesome-looking device that squirted reddish liquid into his mouth. Gilead’s drink came in a plastic cup. 462 watched him take a sip. Gilead smiled. ‘Your alien food isn’t bad. Kind’ve like a smoothie. Anyhow, it’s you who are lucky to be coming along with us. Soon, my friend, those of us made in the Image will begin our great crusade to wipe impiety and disobedience from every settled planet in the universe. The galaxy will burn from the light of a billion roasting heathens, and we shall cast them asunder like the Moabites, to gnash their seed on stony ground.’

  He had been staring out the window while he delivered this speech, rapt with the notion of barbecuing people. A hissing noise behind him made him turn and he saw that 462 was sniggering.

  As much as his face could, he looked offended. ‘What’s so damned funny?’

  ‘Your naïve religious fanaticism amuses me. You fail to understand that there is no great power behind the universe. There is only force. Force, and the ceaseless struggle for survival between all living things.’

  ‘Cut that out. That sounds like Evie talk.’

  ‘Of course. The survival of the fittest. That is how space should be run. You or I are greater than the servants you see around us and deserve to triumph where they fail. The rulers must prey on the ruled. It is for that reason that you and I are currently drinking the pulped remains of one of my minions and not the other way around.’

  ‘Phflawgh!’

  ‘But it is vital that you capture this man – and his crew. We must have the woman who travels with him.’

  Gilead nodded grimly. ‘I know how important she is – better than you do.’

  ‘Good. Then you understand that you must use every resource you have to succeed. This is serious business, Gilead. There can be no room for error. Remember, it is no mere childish game we play.’

  ‘Miss Carveth? In the boiler room, with a piece of piping,’

  Rhianna said, pointing down the corridor.

  ‘Righto,’ said Smith, and he strolled down, opened the door and put his head inside. ‘Carveth? Coming up for Scrabble?’

  She was staring up at the remains of the plotting computer, a section of tubing in her hand. ‘Up in a minute, Boss. I seem to have some pieces left over from the repairs. What we technicians call a “Lego moment” .’

  The other three were waiting around the table in the living area when Carveth arrived. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘let’s get cracking
, eh?’

  ‘We will,’ Smith said a little gloomily, as if he had something unpleasant to announce. ‘But first, Rhianna has something to say.’

  They were silent. The only noise was Suruk crunching nonchalantly on something.

  ‘That’s right,’ Rhianna said, leaning over the table.

  ‘Firstly, I want to thank everyone for dealing with the problems we’ve experienced so far in a professional way. Now, while I don’t necessarily approve of violence, or consider it a solution to problems rather than a problem in itself, I’d like to thank everyone here for looking after me during my time on this ship. Thanks, everyone.’

  Smith looked flustered. Carveth caught his eye and waggled her eyebrows, conveying some message whose details he could not read but whose main thrust he knew to be crude. Suruk looked unconcerned and rooted in a little bag for something else to eat.

  ‘Well,’ said Smith, ‘that’s very good of you. Thank you, Rhianna. Very decent. I mean… I, and I think I speak for all of us when I say “I”, do try to—’

  ‘We rock out,’ Carveth said. ‘Anyone second me on that?’

  ‘Rock,’ Suruk said.

  Carveth nodded. ‘Motion carried. We’re all pretty super. If anyone’s feeling bashful about that, I’ll tell them they’re great and they can tell me back. Next point?’

  Looking a little surprised, Rhianna pushed her hair behind her ears and said, ‘Oh, well, I thought now might be a good time for us all to talk.’

  The other three studied one another suspiciously, as if a visiting sleuth had just announced that there was a murderer in the room. ‘Talk?’ said Smith, in the manner that one might say ‘Bugger an owl?’

  ‘Yes. I thought that now, while we’re together, would be a good time for us to share whatever feelings we might have, that we might want to air with the rest of the group.’

  ‘Does this involve emotions?’ Smith said warily.

  ‘Yes, if you’d like.’

  ‘Er, no, I’m fine thanks.’

  From the vantage point of his stool Suruk said, ‘I constantly want to kill things. Is that an emotion?’