Space Team: Song of the Space Siren

by Barry J. Hutchison

  Cal stood up. Something wet and squidgy fell from the hole in his chest and landed with a splat on the ground between them. “Shizz. Do you think I needed that?”

  Tobey Maguire peered down at the bloody wad. “Hopefully not.”

  Cal turned on the spot. The world he had landed in was a cold, shadowy place, tinted in shades of yellow and brown. He felt as if he were in an old photograph, but one where the photographer had neglected to point the camera at anything interesting.

  “Am I dead?”

  Tobey Maguire shrugged. “It’s impossible to say. What happened?”

  Cal pointed to the hole in his chest.

  “Oh yeah. God, yes, you’re definitely dead. I mean, that is…” Tobey Maguire grimaced and sucked air in through his teeth. “That is the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I think I can see your spine.”

  “Well stop looking at it!” said Cal, covering his chest self-consciously. He slumped onto the ground, but couldn’t remember if it was deliberate or not. His breath rolled out of him as misty yellow clouds. Was it getting colder, or was it just his imagination?

  “Hey, Tobey Maguire, is it just me or—?” he began, looking up. The hooded figure was nowhere to be seen. Cal’s eyes darted left and right, watching the mist rolling in. His voice came out as a whisper. “Tobey Maguire? Where are you?”

  A sound emerged from the sepia fog. A low scraping, like something being dragged across the ground towards him. Even though his heart wasn’t currently located inside his chest, Cal felt it race. He tried to scramble backwards away from the approaching sound, but his arms and legs had become impossibly heavy, and he collapsed, landing flat on his back, his muscles all frozen with cold and fear.

  His neck wouldn’t move. His head wouldn’t lift. He felt a hand wrap around his ankle, then another press against the shin on his opposite leg.

  Slowly, steadily, something was climbing up him.

  * * *

  The Xandrie stormed through the doors, guns and voices raised. There were nine of them, all uniquely hideous, none of them even vaguely resembling the others. The weapons and the shouting were the only things they had in common, but they moved in orchestrated harmony, carefully choosing their targets.

  Loren stared at Cal’s motionless body, her breath trapped in a bubble at the back of her throat. Her Zertex training didn’t allow her time to grieve. She reached for her gun, only to find her holster empty. Where the Hell was her gun?

  Mech raised his arms, preparing to open fire, but the Xandrie that Cal had come to know as Pig Face squeezed the trigger of his blaster pistol, and a bolt of energy streaked past Soonsho’s head, missing by a fraction of an inch. She opened her mouth to scream, but her mom quickly clamped a hand over it, trapping the sound inside.

  “Don’t!” Pig Face warned Mech. “Or she dies. They all die.”

  Mech clenched his jaw and glared mute hatred in Pig Face’s direction, then tutted and lowered his arms. The Xandrie had them surrounded.

  “Cal,” Loren whispered, urging him to get up. She knew it was pointless, though. The way he had flown, the way he had hit – he was gone. Cal was gone.

  He lay in an awkward heap on the floor, one arm pinned under him, a leg twisted awkwardly, the sombrero beside him on the floor.

  Miz extended her claws and rose onto the balls of her feet. “We have to get to him. We can take these guys,” she said. It was supposed to come out as a whisper, but her ears were still ringing from the sound the Conductress had made back in the landing bay, and it was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. One of the Xandrie stopped aiming at Soonsho and aimed at Miz, instead.

  “Not without getting people killed,” said Loren.

  “But we have to get to Cal!”

  “There ain’t no point,” said Mech.

  Miz tried to argue, but a sudden tightness in her throat stopped her words coming out. Her chest heaved. She flinched when a metal hand rested on her shoulder.

  “You’re OK, kid,” said Mech. “You’re OK.”

  Loren tore her eyes from Cal and raised her hands. “We’re not going to try anything,” she announced. “Let’s all just keep calm here.”

  “What do you people want?” demanded the Conductor, his booming voice dripping outrage.

  “You know what we want,” Pig Face replied. He flicked a fat purple tongue across the underside of his snout. “We want the reward for returning the girl.”

  “Aw, come on,” said Mech. “That’s our reward, man. We brought her back.”

  “You took her from us!” Pig Face hissed.

  Miz scowled. “Wait, so you kidnapped her, and now you’re upset because we rescued her?”

  “We deserve that reward!” Pig Face insisted. “Do you have any idea how much planning went into getting her in the first place? Hmm?”

  Miz gave a disinterested shrug.

  “Yeah, well, it was a lot. A lot. Those guys worked very hard, and what did they get?”

  “Turned into mush?” guessed Mech.

  “Turned into mush. Exactly,” said Pig Face. “How is that fair?”

  “Because they kidnapped her, you fonking…” Mech began, but he backed down when Pig Face made a show of aiming at Soonsho’s head. “Hey, easy man, it’s all cool.”

  Pig Face eyeballed Mech for a while – which was particularly effective thanks to his sheer number of eyes – then turned his attention to the Conductor. “So, you going to hand over that reward?” he asked. “Or do we all start shooting?”

  * * *

  “Tobey Maguire, is that you?”

  Cal was still on the ground, unable to move, as someone – or something, it was too early to tell – clambered slowly up his fallen body.

  “Because this is not cool, Tobey Maguire. Not cool.”

  The thing crept higher. It wasn’t Tobey Maguire. He knew that. One hand pressed on his shin, another on his knee. Cal’s eyes were open, but staring straight up at the billowing clouds of yellow mist. Whatever was on him was still too low down to see.

  One hand on his thigh.

  Its breathing was hoarse and erratic. It whistled on the way in and rasped on the way out. Whatever was climbing up him didn’t sound a picture of health. He could probably have fought it off, were it not for his spontaneous head-to-toe paralysis.

  One hand on his hip. One on his waist.

  Fonk, it was taking its time. The suspense was killing him.

  He tried to think of a game to play to pass the time, but could only really think of ‘I Spy’ and given that he A) had no-one to play with and B) could see nothing but clouds, its entertainment potential was pretty limited.

  One hand was on his stomach now. The other went to his left arm, deftly avoiding the blood-slicked hole where his chest should have been.

  Cal braced himself. Any minute now, the thing would edge into his line of sight. This was it. He was about to come face to face with whatever it was.

  Any second.

  Here it came.

  Any second now.

  Nnnnow.

  …

  Where the fonk was it?

  Then, just as Cal was on the brink of having a go at ‘I Spy’ after all, a skull-like head rose into view. Its olive-colored skin was paper-thin, so Cal could see every one of its thin veins, spread out like a roadmap beneath the skin’s surface.

  Two piercing blue eyes stared into Cal’s. A gummy smile spread across the old man’s withered lips. “Hey, I know you,” Cal managed to eject through his motionless mouth.

  Cal could feel the stumps of the withered figure’s legs digging sharply into his thighs. The old man prodded Cal right in the center of his chest, his finger sinking in all the way to the spine. “Good man. Young man,” he said. He pointed to himself. “Old man. Old enough.”

  And then, still smiling, the man clamped his hands on either side of Cal’s head, and the clouds around them broiled and churned as if alive.

  * * *

  While the Xandrie pointed their guns a
nd made their demands, down on the floor, Cal’s sombrero had come to a conclusion.

  It wasn’t happy.

  It didn’t know the full details of what had happened. It didn’t think in details. In some ways, it didn’t think at all. But it felt things. Deeply. And, right now, it felt unhappy.

  No, more than that.

  It was angry. Very angry. In fact, it was – by quite some distance – the angriest hat that had ever existed.

  Cal was dead. The thoughts that had whooshed from his brain like fireworks – bright and vivid and strange – had stopped. Even this current form had come whizzing out of his subconscious at some point, although he couldn’t remember exactly when.

  Splurt had enjoyed being a sombrero.

  He had enjoyed having a friend.

  It had been fun.

  But now, his friend was gone, and the fun was over, and the time to be a sombrero had passed.

  Slowly, silently, unnoticed by anyone in the room, Splurt began to change.

  Pig Face still had his gun on Soonsho. He pointed with the other hand to one of his many fellow Xandrie. This one was tenuously humanoid, if you ignored the extra set of arms, and whatever the fonk that thing was that was growing from her back.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen. Torsha here is going to go with the Conductress to where you keep your cash,” Pig Face began, then a blur of movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, stopping him mid-sentence. He glanced left to where his bathroom accomplice had been standing, but Guns, as Cal had dubbed him, was no longer there.

  “Drazz?” said Pig Face who, unlike Cal, was familiar enough with the guy to know his real name.

  Drazz rocketed across the room from somewhere behind Pig Face. He slammed into Torsha, and they both exited through a hole they made in the wall with their tumbling bodies.

  A Xandrie yelped very briefly on Pig Face’s right. Pig Face whipped around in time to see the dome-headed gangster go hurtling upwards at eye-watering speed. Everyone watched as the guy hit the ceiling with a sort of damp crunch, then listened to his screams as he plunged back down again, his arms flapping as he tried desperately – and, ultimately, unsuccessfully – to fly.

  He exploded like a sack of warm guts that had recently fallen a long way onto a metal floor, then several other Xandrie began to holler and scream as whipping green tentacles snared them around their legs, waists and necks.

  Guns fired. Heads popped. Mizette hurled herself at Pig Face, but he got off a shot that grazed her ribcage, and managed to dive out of her path.

  Miz spun around, snarling, but Pig Face grabbed for Soonsho and pulled her in front of him, his gun against her head, his hand pressed tightly against her mouth.

  “Everyone stop!” he warned. His voice echoed around the now eerily silent ballroom. The other Xandrie lay on the floor, none of them moving beyond the occasional involuntary twitch. Some of Pig Face’s eyes darted across his fallen comrades, while a few others kept watch over Miz, Mech, Loren and the others.

  The eyes he had left over regarded Splurt with a mixture of wonder and fear. The little blob pulsed furiously on the floor, four vine-like tendrils extending from his lumpy body.

  “What the fonk is that thing?” Pig Face whispered, but then he shook his head like he didn’t really want to know. He pressed the muzzle of his gun harder against Soonsho’s face, making her squirm in pain. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Pig Face snarled. “I’m taking the girl and I’m leaving. Anyone tries to come after me, I kill her. Once I’m clear, I’ll be in touch to arrange the ransom.”

  “But we need her,” said the Conductor.

  “Well then, you should have thought of that before you killed all my guys!” Pig Face barked.

  Miz raised herself onto the balls of her feet. A growl rumbled at the back of her throat.

  “Miz, don’t,” said Loren.

  “Call her off,” Pig Face warned. “I mean it.”

  Miz’s claws extended to their full terrifying length. Her gums drew up, revealing every last one of her teeth.

  “Don’t do this,” Mech said. “You won’t make it.”

  “Call her off!” Pig Face hissed. “Or I swear, this girl’s brains are going to paint the—OW!”

  He cried out as Soonsho sunk her teeth into the palm of his hand. Instinctively, he yanked it away, and Soonsho fell to the floor, covering her head.

  Miz pounced.

  Pig Face brought up his gun.

  And a single shot echoed around the ballroom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Miz stood perfectly still, a vapor of blood misting the air in front of her face.

  “Wh-what?” she said.

  Then, with a thud, Pig Face toppled forwards, revealing Cal standing behind him.

  Cal’s arm flopped down. Loren’s gun slipped from his blood-slicked fingers and clattered noisily on the metal ground. He managed a grin that was eighty-percent grimace, waved briefly, then his legs gave out and he collapsed in an uncomfortable-looking heap.

  Despite a strong showing from Miz, Splurt reached Cal first. He bounced across the floor like a rubber ball, then bounded into Cal’s arms.

  “Ow! Ow! Careful, buddy,” Cal hissed, and Splurt leaped clear in fright.

  “Cal?” cried Loren, skidding up behind Mizette. “But… I mean… I thought you were dead.”

  “You were totally dead,” Miz confirmed.

  Cal nodded. “Yep. Yep, pretty much.” He gestured to the scorched metal plate on his chest and then jabbed a thumb towards his back. “Could someone…?”

  Loren darted around behind him and fiddled with the harness until she figured out the clasp. The chest plate fell away. Mech, who had been marching over, recoiled in horror.

  “Oh, shizz! Your chest!”

  Cal looked upwards. “Is it bad? How bad is it? Is it bad?”

  “Is what bad?” asked Loren, then she spotted his chest and her face became one big oval of surprise. “Oh… fonk. Wow. Just… wow.”

  “Oh Jesus,” said Cal. “Is it as bad as that?”

  Loren swallowed. “What? I mean… No, it’s not… Wow.”

  “I think I’m gonna puke,” said Mech. “And I don’t even have a stomach.”

  “What is that thing?” asked Miz, bending down. “It looks so… squishy.”

  “Christ!” Cal yelped. He flitted his eyes down for a fraction of a second, far too quickly to actually see anything. “Just tell me, and be honest, can you see my spine?”

  “Wait a minute,” said Loren, squatting down to examine Cal more closely. She extended a finger and moved it towards the wound. Cal hissed and drew back. “Don’t be such a baby,” Loren told him. “Hold still.”

  “What the Hell are you doing? Don’t touch it!” yelped Mech. “It’ll fall out!”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Cal sobbed. “Please don’t let anything fall out.”

  “It’s healing,” said Loren. She prodded the edge of the wound with her finger.

  “It is?” said Cal.

  Loren nodded. “I’m literally watching you knit back together. I can barely even see your ribcage now.”

  “My ribcage?” Cal yelped. “You could see my fonking ribcage?”

  “Only the bony parts,” said Loren.

  “It’s all bony parts!” said Cal. “It’s nothing but bony parts.”

  Loren shuffled aside. “Mech, check this out.”

  “Hell no. I don’t want to look,” said Mech, who had turned away.

  “Mech!”

  With a grunt of irritation, Mech turned. He immediately recoiled again. “Oh shizz, that’s even worse. It’s moving!”

  “Whoa,” said Miz. “You’re right. It’s totally healing up.”

  Cal gritted his teeth, then risked a glance down. The wound was still a red and sticky hole in his chest, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself screaming.

  As he watched, though, something happened. From the edges of the wound, a layer of thick white bone bloomed, closing
over his exposed heart like a set of landing bay doors. Even as the bone joined, tendrils of muscle and sinew had begun creeping across it.

  Loren, Miz and Mech watched it in stunned silence, while Splurt rolled up against Cal’s back, supporting him.

  “Thanks, buddy,” Cal whispered, absent-mindedly. He, too, was staring in wonder at his rapidly-healing chest. The bone was completely covered now, and a semi-transparent layer of pink skin coated the muscle like gloss paint.

  “Can all humans do that?” Loren asked.

  Cal swallowed. “Not that I know of,” he said. He looked up and met her gaze. “It was Tullok.”

  Mech frowned. “Tullok? As in the old healer guy on the other side of that wormhole?”

  Cal nodded. “Back on that planet, before I went looking for Splurt, he gave me his life force. All of it. I mean, he literally turned himself to ash in the process. It was, like, one of the top ten most traumatic moments of my life.”

  “And, what, it made you immortal?” asked Loren.

  “Fonked if I know,” said Cal. He pointed to his now almost fully-healed chest. “This might be a one-time thing for all I know. The guy was, like, a hundred years old, I don’t imagine he had a whole lot of life force left to give. Although, now I think about it, it explains my ear healing up before, after that cop shot it off.”

  He raised his arms. Miz and Mech took one each and helped him to his feet, with Splurt pushing from behind. Cal gingerly prodded his chest, slightly worried it might collapse like partially-set meringue at his touch. To his immense relief, it didn’t. It felt… normal. Were it not for the blood currently drying on his stomach, and the circular hole burned through the front of his shirt, no-one would have been able to tell anything had even happened to him.

  Loren stooped and retrieved her blaster. “How did you get my gun?”

  “Hmm? Oh, I took it off you when we were hugging. You should really look after it better.”

  “Why?”

  “So nobody steals it.”