Space Team: Song of the Space Siren

by Barry J. Hutchison

  Tapping the touchscreen to darken the window, Cal emerged into the corridor to find Loren slamming a battery pack into a sizeable handgun. Mech held up two other weapons – a blaster rifle and something resembling a portable rocket launcher.

  “Take your pick,” he said.

  Cal looked the weapons over, but didn’t commit. “Where’s Soonsho?”

  “We told her to stay on the bridge,” said Loren, aiming along her gun’s sights, then tucking it into the belt of her pants. “Thought it was best.”

  Cal gestured for Mech to lower the guns. “The first thing they’re going to do is take any weapons we’ve got on us,” he said. “The next thing they’ll do is search the ship. Miz, go get Soonsho.”

  Miz, who had been leaning against the wall checking her nails, threw back her head, let out an annoyed, “Gah, seriously?” then shouldered past everyone as she stomped in the direction of the bridge.

  “They’ve turned on the lights, so they’ll probably come get us soon,” said Cal. “For now, we’ll keep the landing hatch closed and see how it plays out.”

  “Ah.”

  Cal, Mech and Loren all looked up. “You didn’t,” Cal groaned.

  “We had landed, sir,” said Kevin. “Lowering the landing ramp seemed like an eminently sensible option.”

  “Then close it!” Mech barked.

  “Very good, sir,” said Kevin. “However, I feel I should probably warn you…”

  Two heavy-set figures stepped into the corridor. Each one held an assault rifle bigger than Cal.

  “Kornack’s men are already aboard.”

  Cal gave the gunmen a resigned wave, then raised his eyes to the ceiling again. “Kevin, you’ve got to promise me never to use your initiative again, OK? I want you to swear to that.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The corridor was suddenly filled by the sound of chittering, as dozens of little round critters swarmed along it. They stood between one and three feet high, with most of them towards the bottom end of that scale.

  They wore lengths of tatty green rope over their shoulders, which trailed down past their knees, yet did very little to protect their modesty. Pointed hats made of something resembling wicker – space wicker, Cal guessed – were pulled down over most of their faces, affording only glimpses of their wide yellow eyes beneath.

  The hat-things scurried around, standing atop one another to open doors, then falling inside. A pair of Cal’s dirty shorts were ejected from inside his room, followed by a half-eaten carton of something orange and congealing.

  “Hey, be careful in there!” Cal protested. “It took me all week to get that place just the way I want it.”

  Soonsho stumbled into the corridor from the other direction, with Miz emerging through the doorway behind her. The girl’s eyes were wide and staring and she was biting her bottom lip, digging her teeth in until the skin around them turned white.

  “Ladies. Just in time,” said Cal. “We have guests.”

  The larger of the two gunmen – which was really saying something, because the other guy was fonking enormous – gestured at Cal with his rifle. He looked, Cal thought, like someone had taken DNA from the top ten percent of the food chain, blended it all together, then dressed what came out it in an unflattering beige jumpsuit.

  His partner wore much the same look. Maybe the mix of apex predators wasn’t exactly the same, but he gave the same impression that he might devour you whole at any moment as his partner did.

  “You will follow us. Kornack awaits,” growled the bigger specimen. “Leave your weapons.”

  One of the tiny minions chittered excitedly as it leaped up and yanked Loren’s blaster from her belt. “Hey!” she protested, but the critter was already lost in the sea of hats that bustled along the corridor.

  “Hey, cut that out,” Mech warned, as another of the minions dug its baby-sized hands into the hole on Mech’s leg. Dropping the guns, Mech tore the hat-thing free. It squealed as it went hurtling along the corridor. Soonsho and Miz both ducked and the hat-thing hit the bridge door with a satisfying thwap, before tumbling to the floor.

  Cal adjusted the collar of his jacket. “Right, then,” he said, wading through the minions towards the gun-toting beast-twins. “Let’s go see what our old pal Kornack has to say.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kornack sat on his ornate throne, his slab-like fingers steepled in front of him, his eyes fixed on a cinema-sized screen on the room’s far wall.

  He didn’t turn when Cal and the others were shoved through the door, but gestured to the screen and to the familiar face projected across it.

  Hayel Sinclair, head of the Zertex Corporation and president of much of the galaxy, did not look happy. Of course, he rarely looked genuinely happy, but he was usually smiling, at least. Now, though, his salesman grin was nowhere to be seen. It had been replaced, instead, by an expression of well-calculated solemnness.

  “You believe this?” said Kornack, still not turning.

  Sinclair’s voice rumbled from the speaker system. “…my grave duty to inform you that within the past few hours, Zertex and the Symmorium have officially declared a state of war.”

  “Oh my God,” Loren whispered.

  “We did not want it to come to this,” said Sinclair. “For years now, I have personally been brokering a treaty with the Symmorium. A treaty I believed would lead to lasting peace. However, it appears I was misguided. My judgement was incorrect. For that, I owe you an apology.”

  The screen changed to show a planet. No, not a planet, Cal realized. A moon. “Hey, wait. That’s… what was it called? With the zombie virus?”

  “Pikkish,” said Loren, her voice suddenly flat. “He isn’t. He can’t be.”

  On screen, the camera flew across the moon’s surface, showing hundreds of thousands of pinpricks of light on the land masses below.

  “The moon of Pikkish, located just within Symmorium space,” Sinclair’s voiceover continued. “Home to some thirty billion people.”

  “Thirty-five billion,” Loren mumbled.

  “No longer.”

  On screen, the moon erupted like the galaxy’s biggest firework, spraying debris in all directions as its atmosphere was consumed by towering walls of fire.

  “Hoo-ya!” cheered Kornack, bouncing excitedly on his throne. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

  “The Symmorium destroyed it. Thirty billion innocent civilians wiped out in the blink of an eye,” said Sinclair. “If they will do this to their own people, what might they do to ours?”

  Pikkish was already little more than a memory on the screen. Where it had been was now nothing but debris-filled space.

  “And that was just the beginning,” Sinclair continued. The shot of space lingered for a moment, then the president’s face returned. “When challenged, the Symmorium destroyed several of our ships, killing everyone on board.”

  “OK, well that’s bullshizz,” said Cal.

  “Since then, all attempts at negotiation have broken down. They have no desire to listen, and no interest in peace.” Sinclair took a breath and fired a solemn stare down the lens of the camera. “And so, it is with a heavy heart, that I must take us once more into war.

  “Our way of life – the Zertex way of life – is in peril. We must retaliate, and we must retaliate swiftly. Without mercy. Without regret. For we have done all we can to avoid this… terrible situation, but we cannot – we must not – stand back while murderers run amok. And so, I say to you…”

  Kornack waved a hand and Sinclair’s face froze, mid-sentence. It was an unfortunate look – eyes half open, mouth pulled to the side like a fish caught on a hook – and Cal wished, more than anything, he’d had a camera with him to capture the moment.

  With the screen frozen, Kornack finally stood and turned to the door. He practically groaned with pleasure when his eyes fell on Cal, and he spent a full five seconds looking him up and down.

  “So, war huh?” he said, once he’d fin
ished appraising Cal. “How about that?”

  “He’s lying,” said Loren. “About Pikkish and the Symmorium. That’s not what happened.”

  Kornack shrugged. “Meh. What do I care? Me? I love me a war. Wars are good for my business, and anyone who knows me knows I’m all about two things.”

  He held up a thumb. “One. My business.”

  He held up the index finger of the same hand, then pointed it at Cal like a gun. “And two. You, Eugene Adwin. You.”

  Cal swallowed. “I’m not that interesting, honestly. I’d put me at like, number twelve, tops.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Kornack warned, all hints of amusement draining from his voice. His granite lips parted into a sinister grin. “Until I tell you otherwise, anyhow.”

  He clapped his hands together twice, making a sound like an earth tremor. The two henchmen who’d escorted Cal and the others from the ship were joined by a veritable freakshow of other guards. They spread out behind Cal’s crew, each of them tooled up with guns or sharp things.

  “Everyone but you,” - Kornack pointed to Cal – “and you,” – he pointed to Loren – “on your knees.”

  Miz tutted. “Seriously?” A gun pressed against the base of her neck. She flashed her claws, but Cal caught her arm.

  “Easy,” he said. “It’s OK.”

  Miz glared at him angrily, then her eyes softened. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, then dropped to her knees.

  Mech looked over his shoulder and glowered at the gunman behind him. “That peashooter ain’t gonna do squat against me, son.”

  Three different guns all took aim at the back of Mizette’s head. “Not against you, maybe. But against her? That’s a different story,” said Kornack, grinning. “So what’s it to be, big guy? Hoo-ha! Moment of truth.”

  Mech ground his teeth together, eyeballing the henchman directly behind him. Then, with a series of whirrs, he knelt on the carpet.

  Kornack’s smile faded when he looked along the line to Soonsho. “Hey. Princess. Get on your fonking knees.”

  Soonsho didn’t react, just kept chewing her lips and squeezing her hands down at her sides.

  Kornack’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Do I know you?”

  The warlord lumbered slowly towards her, each thudding footfall shaking the room. “I do. I definitely seen you before somewhere.” He tapped the side of his head. It made a tiny spark. “See, I never forget a face, and your face is awfully familiar.”

  A tear rolled from one of Soonsho’s eyes, and began the process of trying to navigate through the barnacle-like white lumps on her skin.

  “She’s no-one,” said Cal. “She’s just…”

  “She’s my cousin,” said Loren. “You know… distant, but, she’s my cousin. I’m showing her the sights.”

  Kornack clicked his fingers. That, too, made a tiny spark. “No she ain’t. I got it. I knew I knew you, princess. I know exactly who you are.” He leaned in until his grimace was all Soonsho could see. “You’re a fonking dead girl walking if you don’t get down on your knees right now.”

  “If I were you,” said Miz. “I’d totally scream in his face right now. Just really belt it out.”

  “Uh, nooo, let’s not do that,” said Cal. “It might make the nice people behind us upset, and we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

  He placed a hand on Soonsho’s shoulder. She jumped in fright, and Cal’s breath caught in his throat as she snapped her head towards him and opened her mouth.

  “Wait, wait! Easy!”

  She clamped her mouth closed again before any sound could emerge. Cal gestured to the floor and smiled encouragingly. “You’ll be fine. Nothing bad’s going to happen to you. Right, Kornack?”

  Kornack rocked on the heels of his expensive yet poorly fitting shoes. “Her? No. I see no reason why anything bad should happen to her, long as everyone does as they’re told.”

  “See?” said Cal. He upped the encouragement factor on his smile a couple of notches. Soonsho chewed on her lip for a couple more seconds, then fell onto her knees and hung her head.

  “Attagirl,” said Kornack. He raised a hand and pointed two fingers – one at Cal, one at Loren. “You two. With me.”

  “Ladies first,” said Cal, motioning after Kornack.

  “Such a gentleman,” said Loren.

  “I know, right?”

  They followed Kornack over to his throne. He lifted the enormous chair with a grunt of effort, then moved it aside to reveal a small table that had been set for dinner. It had a large round plate, a silver knife and fork, and even a little napkin folded into the shape of a swan. Assuming your definition of ‘swan’ was a very loose one.

  “This is right, right?” asked Kornack, indicating the place setting. He almost looked nervous as he waited for Cal’s response. “I mean, this is how they do it on Earth, ain’t it?”

  “Yeah. Pretty much,” said Cal. “I mean, I’m more of a Styrofoam cup, eating out of a foil tray kind of guy, but yeah. You nailed it. Good job.”

  He gave a thumbs up which seemed to make Kornack very happy. “I wanted it to be just right, you know? I wanted to get it just perfect.”

  “You did great. Although, I must say the axe is an unusual addition,” said Cal.

  Beside the place setting was a short-handled hatchet, the blade rusted and blunt. Kornack ran his fingers down the wooden shaft and grinned. “Ha! But then it’s gonna be an unusual meal, am I right, Eugene? Well, not for you, maybe. You do this shizz all the time, you crazy fonking cannibal!”

  Kornack leaped into a boxing stance and laughed as he pretended to duke it out with Cal. Cal tried to laugh, too, but between one thing and another, his heart wasn’t really in it.

  “So, just so I’m clear,” Cal began. “You still think I’m the Butcher, and you still want me to chop my arm off and eat it while you watch? I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page here.”

  “Yes and no,” said Kornack.

  Hope fluttered in Cal’s stomach. “You don’t want me to cut my arm off and eat it?”

  “No,” said Kornack.

  “Oh, thank God,” Cal panted. “Wow. That is a relief. You have no idea.”

  “I want her to chop your arm off. Then you’re gonna eat it.”

  “What?” Loren spluttered. “No! I’m not doing that.”

  Kornack shrugged. He gestured over to one of his apex-predator-blend henchmen. “Then Marvin there, he’ll shoot your hairy friend through the spine. Make it so she can’t walk. After that… after she can’t move – after she’s helpless, like - who knows what he’ll do to her? See, Marvin – he is one sick son-of-a-bedge. Ain’t that right, Marvin?”

  Marvin flicked a tongue against his raptor-like teeth. “That’s right, boss.”

  “And then he’ll do your little cousin. Maybe even your robot friend. He has… eclectic tastes.”

  Cal cleared his throat and leaned closer to Kornack. “For the record, he’s not a robot. He’s a cyborg. I know. I made that mistake all the time. Often on purpose.”

  “Shut your fonking mouth,” Kornack warned. He pulled a wooden chair from below the table. “And take a seat.”

  Cal looked across to Loren. She shook her head but, annoyingly, offered no alternative course of action. With a resigned sign, Cal lowered himself onto the chair. His eyes fell on the napkin.

  “Nice duck.”

  “Pick up the axe,” growled Kornack, shoving Loren forwards. She stumbled to the table and her hand found the hatchet’s wooden shaft. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped it, and Cal slapped his hand on top of the blade just in time.

  “Don’t,” he warned. “There’s no point.”

  If asked, Cal would generally have described himself as something of an optimist. He was able to see the good in most situations, often spotting the silver lining where none even existed.

  The deaths of pretty much everyone on Earth – and Hollywood actor, Tobey Maguire in particular – had come as a bl
ow, and yet he’d quickly bounced back, throwing himself into his new life in outer space, instead.

  When Splurt had been brainwashed and the others had written him off as a lost cause, it was Cal who persevered, convinced his little blobby pal was still in there somewhere, just waiting to emerge. And he’d been right.

  Without his natural optimism, Cal would have checked himself out of existence several years before - the same day he’d watched his wife and daughter be lowered into the ground. It had saved him then, although arguably just barely, and it had continued to save him on a near-daily basis since.

  Now, though, that optimism was gone. Last time, he’d buried the axe in the head of Kornack’s butler, and they’d all run for their lives back to the ship. There was no soft, easily breakable butler-skull in range, though, and the route back to the ship was blocked by a wall of ugly armed bamstons. One wrong move from Cal, and the others were dead. In the face of all that, even his optimism had slunk off to sit in a corner, and declared he was on his own.

  It felt… strange, not having that urge to look on the bright side. It was oddly liberating, in fact. Accepting there was no way out of the current situation meant he didn’t have to waste energy trying to figure one out.

  This was happening.

  His arm was coming off. And then he was eating it.

  And that was that.

  Despite what the next few minutes held, Cal felt calmer than he’d done in years. Possibly calmer than he’d ever felt. All the uncertainty had been removed. All the options were gone. There was just him, the axe, and most literal finger buffet in history.

  Cal gently pushed Loren’s hand aside. “I’ll do it,” he said.

  “No. No, you will not,” said Kornack. “You had that chance, but you chose to kill Dtgadston, instead. You know how hard it is to get good help? I still haven’t found a replacement for that uptight old fonk.”

  He caught Cal by the wrist and pulled his hand away, then took Loren’s hand and slammed it down on the axe’s handle instead. “She does it. That’s the deal. And you’ll notice the axe, it ain’t as sharp as the last one. That one would’ve taken the arm off clean. This one? This one’s gonna hurt.”