Space Team: Song of the Space Siren

by Barry J. Hutchison

  “No, I mean why did you take it?”

  “Oh.” Cal shrugged. “I thought I might have to shoot someone. I wasn’t actually expecting them to blow me up.”

  Mech looked over to Pig Face’s fallen body. Soonsho, her parents, and the Conductor and Conductress all stood well clear of him, watching Cal in silence. Around them, several servants had already begun the process of clearing away the Xandrie corpses.

  “Looks like your aim’s improved,” Mech said. “Maybe I’ll give you your own gun back.”

  “Yeah,” said Cal, shifting awkwardly. “It was supposed to be a warning shot.”

  “Or maybe I won’t.”

  Cal limped across to Soonsho. His legs didn’t hurt, but given everything he’d just been through, he felt some dramatic limping was only appropriate.

  “Everyone OK?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said the Conductor. “Thank you. Confused, perhaps, but in good health. What happened?”

  Cal shrugged. “Uh, short version, there were some guys in your bathroom, they put a bomb on me, I died, I came back.” He gestured over to where two servants were mopping up a partially exploded Xandrie. “As for this, I have absolutely no idea.”

  “Splurt,” said Mech.

  “Splurt killed all these guys?”

  “Oh yes,” said Loren. “It was…”

  “Awesome,” said Miz.

  “Well, I was going to say ‘harrowing,’ but that, too,” said Loren.

  Cal looked back over his shoulder. Splurt pulsed anxiously, his eyes pointed to the floor. “Splurt! Way to go, buddy!”

  Splurt rippled, his eyes springing up to the top of his head. He formed a semi-circular bowl shape, and rocked happily from side to side.

  “I can only apologize,” said the Conductor. “I shall tighten security at once.”

  “So much for being protected, huh?” said Mech.

  “We are,” the Conductor insisted. “Or… we will be. Soon.”

  Mech opened his mouth to argue, but the Conductor went straight for his weak spot.

  “Now, about your reward…”

  “Finally,” said Mech.

  “You returned Soonsho to us,” the Conductor said. “For which we promised you one million credits, correct?”

  “That’s right,” agreed Mech.

  “Technically, husband, they returned her to us twice,” said the Conductress. “Were it not for them, Soonsho would now be in the stars.”

  Mech’s eyes lit up. “I like your thinking, lady.”

  “I agree,” said the Conductor. “The Conductress is wise in such matters. Two million credits it is.”

  Mech let out a high-pitched squeak, but otherwise said nothing.

  The Conductor indicated one of his servants. “My staff will take your ship’s identification codes and initiate the transfer immediately. The funds will be with you a few seconds later.”

  “Thank you,” said Loren, as Mech hurried over to the servant to sort out the details. “It’s very generous.”

  “It is only money,” said the Conductor. “Having Soonsho back with us is… well, it’s everything to us.”

  Soonsho’s parents hugged her. She buried her face in her dad’s shoulder for a while, then raised her eyes to Cal. She smiled, but there was something about it that didn’t quite look right. It was like she was smiling despite something, rather than because of it.

  “And now, for another reward,” said the Conductor, placing a hand on Cal’s shoulder and turning him around. “Something very few outsiders have ever had the good fortune to witness.”

  Across the ballroom, hundreds of hatches slid open in the floor. Someone rose upwards through each one – men, women, adults and children, all dressed in flowing white robes.

  The Conductor squeezed Cal’s shoulder, and his rich booming voice became a soft, awed whisper. “The Choir of Cantato Minor.”

  “Great!” said Cal, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. It wasn’t that he’d ever had any bad experiences of choirs, exactly, it was just that he’d never really had any particularly good ones. Any time he’d found himself in a situation where listening to one was an inescapable inevitability, they’d been tedious at best.

  He’d found one way of making them more enjoyable was to try to stand within earshot, and hum a completely different tune at alternating registers. It was amazing how quickly that sort of thing could spread through the choir like a virus, completely derailing the whole awful thing.

  Much as he’d like to mess with these guys in the same way, he felt it wouldn’t really be right. He was a guest of the Cantatorians, and the choir was obviously a pretty big deal. Besides, he was too far away for any of them to hear him without everyone else hearing, too. So, there was nothing to do but grin and bear it. Besides, he’d recently been through death. This couldn’t be any worse than that.

  Across the room, one of the men emitted a low, groaning sort of note.

  OK, maybe a bit worse, but not much.

  And then the singing began. Only it wasn’t singing. Not really. There were sounds, certainly, but to call them that didn’t do them justice. The notes danced through the air, finding footholds deep in Cal’s soul. Three seconds into the performance, Cal was holding his breath. Five seconds in, he was crying.

  He felt begun. That was the only way he could describe it. Like everything until this moment had been a warm-up for this, here, now. His skin goosebumped, his hair quivered. He felt love and loss and sadness and joy. And more. Much more. Everything more.

  There were no individual voices, just a concurrence of sound that seemed to be affecting him on the molecular level. He heard the colors of each note, smelled the harmonies, tasted the emotion and the passion behind the performance.

  He was shaking. He was pretty sure that wasn’t normal, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about much, in fact. Just the music. Only the music. Always the music.

  He remembered there were others in the room with him, and was pleased to note he wasn’t the only one reacting this way. Loren and Miz were completely transfixed. Even Splurt swayed hypnotically.

  Only Mech didn’t seem too invested in the choir. He was tapping the controls on his arm, barely paying the singers any attention. Cal almost felt himself getting angry. He wanted to march over there and punch Mech straight in his stupid metal face.

  But then, he might miss a note. And that wouldn’t do at all.

  The Conductor and Conductress stood holding hands, swaying gently in time with the choir song. Behind them, Soonsho stood between her parents, gazing wistfully towards the ballroom ceiling, like she could see the same colors Cal could, dancing and twirling like leaves in a tornado.

  The song built to a big finish. The singers gave it their all, and a chasm of empty hopelessness opened in the pit of Cal’s stomach. He almost doubled over from the sheer grief and heartache of it, but then the tone of the music changed, and Cal was suddenly filled with hope. It spread through his core like the rising sun, pushing away the darkness and shadow, and driving out the cold.

  And then, with a couple of final warbles and a ping from something not unlike a triangle, the music stopped, leaving only its echo to seep into the fabric of the room.

  Cal cleared his throat. He wanted to speak, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet.

  His body tingled. His whole essence, in fact. He watched, wordlessly, as the choir slowly sank back into the floor through the holes at their feet, and found himself almost mourning their loss as the hatches slid closed above them.

  “My apologies,” said the Conductor. “There were a few errors in their performance. They are unaccustomed to singing for off-worlders. I think nerves may have gotten the better of some of them.”

  “Hmm?” said Cal. He felt like the Conductor expected some sort of reply, but that was the best he could come up with at the moment.

  “Can, like, everyone do that?” asked Miz, whose well-cultivated ironic detachment to pretty much everything had allowed her to recover mo
re quickly than the others.

  “To an extent,” said the Conductor. “We all have our own unique vocal ranges. They are our greatest assets – and our greatest weapon. But, yes, one thing we all share is a passion for singing.”

  “But not Soonsho?” said Loren, finding her own voice.

  “No,” said the Conductor. “Soonsho is quite unique in that regard. Her voice…” He bowed to Soonsho and smiled. “…while undoubtedly beautiful, emits at frequencies quite unlike those of any other Cantatorian. It is a powerful instrument but, alas, one far too dangerous to ever use.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Cal, finally regaining the power of speech. “It got us out of a couple of nasty situations.”

  “It’s there!” yelped Mech. “We got it!” He jigged on the spot, and the clanking and whirring of hydraulics reverberated around the room. “We’re rich. We’re fonking rich!”

  “Aha,” said the Conductor. “It appears the reward transfer has been completed. Our thanks to you all, once again.”

  He gestured to one of the doors the Xandrie had kicked open. It was already in the process of being repaired. “And now the time has come for us to bid you farewell. We have some pressing matters which we must attend to.” He looked to Mech. “Regarding the renewal of our defenses, as it happens. I’m sure you’ll approve.”

  “I don’t care,” cheered Mech. “I am all kinds of rich!”

  “He likes money,” Cal explained.

  “Yes,” said the Conductor. “I guessed that. Spend it wisely, my friends. I fear grave times lie ahead for the galaxy. I wish you well.”

  He made a gesture with one hand, like a waveform snaking in the air. “May your song carry long and carry far.”

  “Thanks,” said Cal. “May your helmet always be shiny and your...” He glanced down at the bulge in the Conductor’s jumpsuit and shook his head. “Actually, I’m going to leave it there.”

  He started to turn, then stopped. “Oh, and I’d like to apologize for any inadvertent spillages I may have caused in the bathroom. It was dark, and I had a knife to my throat, so conditions were less than optimal. My aim may have been a little off.”

  The Conductor and Conductress both nodded, but said nothing.

  “By which I mean it was definitely a little off,” Cal said. “By which I mean I peed on the floor.”

  “It shall be dealt with,” the Conductor assured him.

  “Great!” Cal approached Soonsho and her family. “Well, looks like we’re heading off,” he said.

  “Thank you. Thank you,” said Soonsho’s dad. He took Cal’s hand and wrapped his fingers around it. “We can never repay you for what you have given us back.”

  “All part of the service,” said Cal. He shook Soonsho’s mom’s hand, too, then turned to the girl herself. “Hey, you. You OK?”

  Soonsho nodded. Her lips moved, just a fraction. Miz’s ears raised.

  “What’d she say?”

  “She says she’s where she needs to be.”

  “Right,” said Cal. “I guess that’s all any of us can ask for.”

  “May your song carry long and carry far,” said Soonsho’s dad, bowing in gratitude.

  “Oh, it’s gonna carry far,” said Mech, still jiggling gleefully. “It’s gonna carry us far, far away from here!”

  Cal winked at Soonsho. He ruffled the girl’s spiky red hair. “Told you you’d be safe, kid. Cal Carver guarantee.”

  And with that, Cal turned, saluted the room in general, then headed for the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  One short flying-disk ride later, Cal sat in his chair, a plate of banoffee pie balanced on each knee. Loren was busily prepping the controls for take-off, while Miz studied her claws and chipped in with the occasional withering criticism.

  Mech, meanwhile, was still dancing gleefully. He shimmied on the spot, checking and rechecking the credit balance like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

  “Two million credits. Two million credits. Two million credits,” he chirped. “Come on, everyone say it with me. Two milllllllion credits.”

  “It’s a lot of money,” Cal agreed. “You know, I mean, I think. I don’t really know anything about space finance. Is it a lot of money?”

  “It’s a lot of money,” Mech confirmed. “It’s a whole lot of money.”

  “I want to buy a boat,” said Miz.

  “What?” said Mech.

  Miz looked up from her nails. “A boat. I want to buy one.”

  “Hell no,” said Mech. “I ain’t going on no boat.”

  Cal chuckled. “That is so B.A.”

  On the viewscreen, the sea of grateful Cantatorians had become little more than a series of small puddles. They’d been gathered in a ring around the castle when Cal and the others had left, and the initial whoops and cheers when the disk had emerged through the castle doorways had quickly faded when it was obvious Soonsho wasn’t with them. The crew had floated on in a slightly embarrassing silence, and it had been a relief to make it back to the ship.

  “We’ve got clearance to take-off,” Loren announced.

  “Let’s give him a tip,” said Mech.

  “Who?”

  “Whoever just cleared us for take-off,” Mech said. “Give him a tip. We can afford it.”

  “It’s an automated system,” said Loren.

  “Oh, and we can’t give an automated system a tip?”

  Loren frowned. “Not really, no.”

  “Well, too late, I just did!” said Mech, pointing to his arm and grinning. It let out a little bleep. Mech’s eyes flitted down to the display screen above his wrist, but the rest of his expression remained resolutely positive. “Granted, it has immediately been rejected, but I’m so rich, I don’t even care.”

  Cal raised a hand. “Uh, I vote we don’t leave Mech in charge of the money. All in favor?”

  Loren and Miz raised a hand. Splurt turned into a hand, then raised himself.

  “Fine. Fine. No more tips,” said Mech. “But come on, we’re rich!”

  “I thought you said it wasn’t going to get us far,” said Cal. “You know, back when you wanted to rob Dorid.”

  “Which you should’ve let me do,” said Mech.

  “I totally should,” Cal agreed. “But, in my defense, at the time I wasn’t aware he was going to try to kill us with an army of freaks. Had I known that, I might have thought very differently about the whole not-stealing from the guy situation.”

  “I said a million credits wouldn’t get us far. We got two million,” Mech said. “That’ll get us further.”

  “Twice as far,” Cal guessed. “Unless Miz buys a boat, in which case a little less than twice as far, I suppose.”

  “I ain’t going in no boat,” Mech said.

  Cal shrugged. “Well, not unless we drug your milk.” He clapped his hands together. “OK, Loren, take us out of here. There is literally nothing around or above us for you to crash into, so I have a very good feeling about this lift-off.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” said Loren.

  “Don’t mention it.” Cal picked up the plates that were balancing on his knees and held them out to Mech and Miz. “Anyone want any banoffee pie, by the way? I don’t even know why I asked the machine to make these. I think it might be becoming a mental illness.”

  “Fruit,” Miz reminded him.

  Cal looked down at the slices of pie, then lifted each one to his mouth in turn and ate the banana slices off the top. “Better?” he asked, dribbling blobs of cream down his chin.

  Miz stared at him for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  Cal passed her the plates, then sank back into his chair. He spent the next minute and a half masticating through the banana slices, which had combined to form one baseball-sized lump in his mouth.

  By the time he’d managed to swallow, the Untitled had punched up through the atmosphere, leaving Cantato Minor behind. Cal rubbed his aching jaws and scooped the last few blobs of crea
m off his teeth with his tongue.

  “If anyone sees me asking that machine for banoffee pie again, please kill me,” he groaned. “I mean it. It’ll be a kindness.” He opened his mouth wide, then smacked his lips together a few times. “I still taste death,” he announced.

  “And what does that taste like?” Loren asked.

  “Like, kind of stale and ashy. Dusty. You know, deady,” Cal said. “And a bit like bananas, but I suspect that’s the pie.”

  “Probably,” agreed Loren.

  “Yeah. Otherwise it’s a fonking mind-blowing coincidence.”

  Kevin’s voice blasted out of his speaker system, making Cal jump. “Water, sir?”

  A circular hatch slid open in Cal’s arm rest and a glass of iced water rose out of it, like the singers of the Cantatorian choir. “Hey, would you look at that!” said Cal. “My chair makes drinks!”

  He picked up the glass, then eyed the arm rest suspiciously. “Does it make pie, too?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Thank God,” said Cal.

  He took a sip of his drink, then spun his chair around. The seat where Soonsho had been sitting was, of course, now empty. Cal swished the water around in his mouth before swallowing.

  “Well, looks like all’s well that ends well,” he said.

  Miz finished the last piece of pie. “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, you know. Nothing at all,” said Cal. “It’s just a saying. I guess it means… I don’t know. Things that end well are well, maybe? Does that make sense?”

  “Not really,” said Miz.

  “Sounds like bullshizz to me,” Mech agreed.

  “Yeah, well, the point still stands. We did good, guys.” He raised his glass in toast. “To Space Team!”

  “Yeah, we’re not going to say that,” said Miz.

  Cal shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, then he took a long drink to try to wash away the tastes of death and banoffee pie.

  “I was growing rather fond of Ms Sooss,” said Kevin. “Such a pity she’s going to be put to death.”

  Cal choked on his water, spraying almost the entire contents of the glass over the back of Loren’s head.

  “Hey!”

  “What?” Cal wheezed, coughing as the few drops of liquid that hadn’t hit Loren somehow managed to find their way into his lungs. “What are you talking about? Put to death?”