Space Team: Planet of the Japes

by Barry J. Hutchison

  “Thank you for that,” Cal called.

  “Sorry!” said Loren, then they all listened as the kitchen door swished open, and Cal shuffled inside.

  “He’ll be fine,” said Mech.

  “How do you know?” asked Loren.

  “Because he’s always fine.”

  Loren couldn’t really argue with that. Generally speaking, Cal was the most upbeat person she’d ever known, to the extent that his positivity often became teeth-gratingly annoying. That just made his current behaviour even stranger, though. She’d never seen him so… flat before. It worried her.

  “I hope you’re right,” she said, then she turned her attention to the controls, and the planetary atmosphere that was now looming ahead. “Now everyone hold on. This could get a little bumpy.”

  * * *

  The atmosphere entry and landing were both textbook. Unfortunately, they were from ‘Textbook Loren’, rather than a textbook written by, say, someone who actually knew how to effectively do either of those things.

  The first part, when they’d entered the planet’s atmosphere, had gone smoothly right up until the actual atmosphere entry part, whereupon it had quite quickly started to go wrong. The problem – or one of them, at least – was the dead weight of the scout ship. While it had been following behind them through space without any issues, the effects of the planet’s gravity immediately dragged it down, yanking the Untitled with it and sending both ships into a spin, like two dance partners whirling around one another. Only larger, more cumbersome, and hurtling towards the fast-approaching ground.

  Thanks to interventions from Mech and Kevin – plus some withering commentary from Miz – both ships had been brought under control, and the rest of the descent had gone… not smoothly, exactly, but smoother.

  The landing, on the other hand, was rocky. Literally. Rather than touch down on one of the planet’s many designated landing pads, the Untitled had overshot, shaved a foot and a half off a mountain range, then scraped to a stop in a field of stalagmites on the other side.

  As luck would have it – although Loren insisted it was entirely by design – the Scout ship came to a rest on the same side it had rolled onto back on the ice planet, meaning the doors were once more pinned underneath the hull or pointing to the sky, thereby preventing the flesh-eating little shizznods from getting out.

  After detaching the tow beam, Mech had fired off a warning message on local law enforcement channels, then Loren had taken them back over the ridge and nearer to a landing pad.

  Not onto a landing pad, but nearer to one, which was a start.

  “Well,” she said, releasing the controls and turning to face the others. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

  “Just bad enough, ma’am,” said Kevin.

  A frown darted across Loren’s brow. “Uh. Right. Thanks,” she said, then she tapped her hands on her knees a few times. “So. What do we do now?”

  “Don’t know,” said Mech. “Back into space, I guess.”

  “No way,” said Miz. “Desert shizzhole or not, I need off this ship. You guys might not notice it, but you all totally stink. I don’t care what Cal says, we’re staying here, at least for a couple of hours.”

  Loren shrugged. “Fair enough. I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs.”

  “I wouldn’t mind stretching your legs, either,” said Miz. She replayed the sentence in her head. “In a painful and violent way, I mean. Not, like, you know, in a sex—”

  “Yes! I get it,” said Loren. “Thank you.”

  She stood up. “I’ll go tell Cal we’re staying.”

  “It appears he already knows, ma’am,” said Kevin.

  Loren looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “Master Carver left the ship twenty seconds ago.”

  * * *

  Loren caught up with Cal on a street lined with market stalls and traders, all of which he was pointedly ignoring in favor of studying the fronts of the buildings behind them. It reminded him of Marrakesh, despite the fact he’d never been there or, to the best of his knowledge, seen pictures of it. It just had that Marrakeshy sort of vibe to it, although he doubted the good people of Marrakesh shared the ‘starving slug’ appearance of this place’s dominant species.

  Although, again, he’d never been, so he couldn’t be completely certain about that. He was sure he’d have heard about it on the news or seen a documentary about it if they did, though.

  The surface of the street looked half-finished, like it had either been pristine a long time ago, or was slowly working its way up to it. It was a mix of smooth rock and rough sand, although ‘mix’ wasn’t quite the right word. It was as if both those surfaces were trying to exist in the same place at the same time, and neither side was willing to give any ground to the other.

  The little tents covering the market stalls were similarly past their best. Their colors – swirls of reds and purples, mostly – had been faded by the relentless glare of the planet’s two suns. Judging by the way both suns hung above opposite horizons, Cal guessed the place must be in near-constant daylight, although he’d be the first to highlight the word ‘guessed’ in that sentence.

  Voices drifted out from each tent. He didn’t understand much of what was being said, which either meant his translation chip was on the fritz, or there were no equivalent Earth words for whatever the traders were selling.

  “Unk. Beautiful unk. All the way from the Coorap Mines. Best unk in town.”

  “Oosjuice, friend? You. Yes, you. Sup on my Oosjuice? Zingy. Refreshing. Yes?”

  “I have what you want. Anything you want. You want chintz? I have chintz. Much chintz.”

  Cal ignored them and pressed on. He didn’t hear Loren approaching until she jogged to a stop behind him.

  “Hey,” she said.

  Cal didn’t turn.

  “Hey,” he replied.

  “Uh, you left,” said Loren. “The ship. You left the ship.”

  Cal looked round, as if noticing her for the first time. “Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Sorry, didn’t I say?”

  “No. You didn’t.”

  “I was looking for a…” He stopped and pointed to a building over on the right. Like all the other buildings, this one seemed to have been neatly carved from a single piece of rock. It was bigger than the others, and there were lots of people gathered inside. “Does that look like a bar to you?”

  Loren studied the building. “Kind of. Yeah.”

  “Excellent,” said Cal, leading the way over to it.

  There was no door, just a carefully hewn space for one in the stone. As soon as he stepped inside, Cal knew he was right. This place had ‘Bar’ written all over it. And not just metaphorically. A series of chalk symbols swam before his eyes as they were translated to reveal the word in foot-high letters on three of the four walls.

  The bar itself was carved from the same stone as the building, as were the tables and chairs. It was as if someone had taken a cube of rock and chiseled away until a rough approximation of a drinking establishment was all that was left.

  Several of the tables had the starving slug creatures sitting at them, most of them nursing a drink like they were afraid someone was going to take it from them. A few other species were dotted around – a thing with glowing hair, something that looked like a partially-melted wizard – but they didn’t seem to be interacting much with the slug guys.

  A grinding sound from the door drew the attention of everyone inside. Mech squeezed himself through the doorway, his bulky metal body scraping across both sides of the narrow gap. Miz ducked through behind him.

  “Uh, sorry,” said Mech, catching the accusatory look from the bartender. “You should really get a wider door.”

  “Well, looks like they’ve got one now,” said Loren, eyeing the damage. She turned back to Cal, but he was already at the bar.

  “Uh, we’ll have four… I don’t know. What’s that green stuff?” he asked, pointing to a display behind the bartender.

  The little slu
g-man looked back over his stooped shoulder. “Dish soap,” he said.

  “You mean actual dish soap, or is that just a funny name you guys have for alcohol?”

  “Actual dish soap.”

  Cal thought about it.

  “Nah. What about the blue one?”

  “Floor polish.”

  “Jesus,” said Cal. “Don’t you think having those out there on display is asking for trouble? It feels like a recipe for disaster.”

  He stopped talking and glanced around. “Wait, this is a bar, right? It’s not a cleaning product store? Because if so, discount everything I just said.”

  “Yes. It’s a bar,” the slug guy said, lowering his voice and glancing around.

  “Great. OK, then four of your strongest drinks, please,” Cal said. He jabbed a thumb in Mech’s direction without looking. “He’s paying.”

  “What? How come I’m paying?”

  “Uh, maybe because you’re the only one hooked up to the ship, where the money is?” Miz pointed out.

  Mech opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. “Oh. Yeah. I guess I am.”

  Four short, squat stone cups were set on the bar. A glug of urine-colored liquid was sloshed into each one. Cal picked one up before the liquid had settled, then knocked it back in a single gulp.

  His face contorted. His breathing became labored. A tremble shook his body from his head all the way down to his toes, three of which went completely numb.

  “Holy shizz,” he coughed, stamping his feet a few times, as if trying to drive out the cold. “Are you sure that isn’t the floor polish?”

  He gestured to the bottle. “Just give us the whole thing. And have another on standby.”

  Miz, Mech and Loren all watched as Cal took the bottle and refilled his cup. Without a word, he turned, scanned the bar, then found them a table right in the center of the room. Still saying nothing, he made a bee-line for it, tried to pull one of the carved stone chairs out a little, then realized it was a battle he wasn’t going to win.

  By the time the others joined him, Cal was pouring himself his third drink.

  Everyone took a seat at the table. This was easy for Loren, moderately challenging for Miz, and involved a lot more metal scraping against stone for Mech.

  “It ain’t my fault,” he said to all the faces that turned his way. “OK? It ain’t my fault. These ain’t built for the… larger gentleman.”

  Cal waved the bottle vaguely at the rest of the crew. Miz knocked back her drink, then held her mug out. Cal filled it, although it took some concentration on his part. He closed one eye, but he couldn’t quite work out if this made it more of a challenge or less of one.

  Loren swirled the liquid around and sniffed the cup. She sipped, recoiled, inhaled sharply, then set the container down on the table as far away from her as she could without it looking weird.

  She looked at Mech and raised her eyebrows. Mech shrugged, just slightly, and glanced at Miz. Miz scowled at Loren, but she had been doing that already, and it had little, if anything, to do with the current uncomfortable silence.

  Mech cleared his throat. It was made of metal, and there was no need for him to do so, but he felt it appropriate. “So, uh. How you doing, man?” he asked.

  Cal looked up from his drink. “Who, me? Fine. I’m fine. Totally fine.”

  “Good. That’s good,” said Mech.

  Loren glared at him. Mech sighed.

  “I mean, it’s just… You don’t seem fine.”

  “Don’t I?” said Cal. He raised his eyebrows as if in surprise, but then they fell again. “I mean, I guess…”

  The others waited for him to continue.

  “You guess what?” asked Miz, who was the least patient by quite some distance.

  “It’s just…” Cal twisted his cup between finger and thumb. “Like…”

  “Wow. Spit it out, already,” said Miz.

  Cal leaned back in his chair and sighed. “It’s just, maybe it’s hitting home, you know?”

  Mech and Loren swapped confused looks.

  “What’s hitting home?” asked Mech.

  “That I’m… you know.”

  “An irritating shizznod?” Mech said. He smirked, but then realized no-one else was joining him. “Sorry, probably not the right time,” he admitted. “Bad call on my part.”

  “A week ago I was surrounded by… well, me. You know?” Cal said. “I could talk about, I don’t know, Ghostbusters, or whatever, and at least some of them knew what I was talking about. There was a shared… A mutual… Whatever.”

  He bent forwards again, leaning his elbows on the table. “And there was Lily, of course. That was… I don’t know what that was, but it was something.”

  He leaned back again. Loren was starting to suspect it was some kind of exercise routine. “And then we went to Earth, and I was reminded yet again that everyone I’ve ever known is dead, or infected by evil bugs, or whatever, and… I don’t know. Hell, even Sinclair, you know?”

  “That piece of shizz?” Mech snorted. “What about him?”

  “He’s gone. And I mean, that’s great, I’m all in favor of that, but… I guess, I mean, what now?” said Cal. “He was the Joker to my Batman. The Ric Flair to my Hulk Hogan. That other guy to my Sherlock Holmes, or whatever.”

  He caught the blank expressions on their faces. “Not even Batman? Jesus. See? This is what I’m talking about,” he said. “I say ‘Batman’ and I get that look.”

  “We know stuff,” Mech protested. “Matter of fact, I’ve been picking up a lot about Earth culture.”

  “You thought elephants were two inches tall.”

  “What’s an elephant?” asked Loren.

  “It’s some underwater thing,” Miz said.

  Cal threw up his hands. “See? This is what I’m talking about. I rest my case,” he said, then he downed the contents of his cup, experienced a number of unpleasant side effects all at the same time, and reached for the bottle again.

  “Seriously, forget I said anything. I’m fine. Just… you know.”

  Miz’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “Yeah,” she said, her dark brown eyes meeting his. “We know.”

  She punched him playfully on the arm. It hurt quite a lot, which reminded him of something else. He stood up and worked the buckle of his belt.

  “And then there’s this,” he said, turning and dropping his pants a few inches to reveal a sizeable portion of his butt.

  Mech recoiled. Loren blushed and darted her eyes away. Miz tried to resist the deeply ingrained instinct to sniff, and came admirably close to succeeding.

  “What the fonk are you doing, man?” Mech said. “Cover that thing up.”

  “Look at it,” said Cal, twisting to look back over his shoulder. “Notice anything?”

  “I notice you dropping your motherfonking pants in the middle of a crowded bar,” Mech said.

  “The bruise. See the bruise?”

  “I see it,” said Miz.

  “How could you not see it?” Mech snapped. “Your face is, like, three inches away.”

  Cal pulled his pants up, and realized everyone in the bar was watching him. He smiled and waved. “That was… for medicinal purposes,” he said, then he sat down. Only then did Loren look at him again.

  “So, you’ve got a bruise,” she said. “What’s the big…? Oh.”

  “Oh. Exactly,” said Cal. “I got that when I fell on the ice earlier, after Mech tried throwing me onto the roof of the Scout ship. Several times. Although, I’m not convinced he was really trying. It’s still there.”

  He pushed back his hair, revealing a red blemish high on his forehead. “That’s from when Miz threw the little dog at me two days ago.”

  “You took all my money,” Miz reminded him.

  “It was Monopoly,” said Cal. “That’s the whole point.”

  “You ain’t healing,” Mech realized.

  Cal nodded. “Exactly. I’m not healing. Not like I was.”

  It had b
een just a few short weeks since Cal had been given the remaining lifeforce of Tullok, one of the tribespeople they’d encountered while searching for the missing Splurt. Tullok had literally turned into ash as he’d transferred all that he was into Cal, making Cal stronger, faster and – most usefully – able to heal from any injury including, on at least one occasion, death.

  Now, though, his ass was bruised and his forehead was dented, and that feeling of boundless energy he’d been charged with was fading by the day.

  “So… what?” said Mech. “You used up that guy’s entire lifespan in less than a month?”

  “Well, I did get shot in the chest, taken over by a big weird space thing, and punched in the face and head a lot,” Cal pointed out. “Plus the evil wasp. Was that before or after the life force thing?”

  “Before,” said Loren.

  “Oh. OK, so not that, but all that other stuff. It takes its toll, that’s all I’m saying,” said Cal.

  Loren took a sip of her drink, having forgotten quite how awful it was. She choked, shooting some of the liquid down her nose, exclaimed, “Fonk!” more loudly than she’d intended, and slid the cup toward the center of the table as far as she could, all while hoping nobody noticed.

  “Nice recovery,” said Cal.

  “Thanks,” Loren grimaced.

  Cal shook his head. “I’m sorry, guys. I’m just… Forget it.” He mustered the best smile he could, trying to convince himself with it as much as the others. “This is not the time for long faces. We’ve saved the universe – all universes, in fact. We’ve got a fonkload of money, a cool ship, and a whole galaxy waiting to be explored. So what if you think elephants live underwater? Maybe they should!”

  He shrugged. “I mean, they’d almost certainly die, I guess, and that would kind of suck, but… I have no idea where I’m going with that,” he concluded. He raised his cup. “Fonk it, doesn’t matter. To Space Team.”

  He waited for a moment, then tutted. “You’re all supposed to raise your… Ah, forget it, that doesn’t matter, either.”

  He drained the cup, blew out his lips, which now felt like they belonged to someone else, and reached for one of the three bottles which now stood on the table. His hand passed through two of them before he found the real one.