Like the other Greyx, he was covered from head to toe in thick fur. The hairy coat was shades of charcoal and black, with a shock of white around his chin betraying his age. Had he been wearing a jolly red hat, he could’ve passed for a particularly hirsute Santa Claus, but there was nothing jolly about him at all.
He was dressed in a long skirt, like the one Kannus wore, although his was black, not white. His eyes were a dark, murky amber, and his teeth…
Cal swallowed and tore his eyes away from the rows of pointy canines. If this was Graxan when he was dying, Cal would have hated to see him at full health.
“What is this?” Graxan demanded. His voice was a breath of wind, crackling over dry Fall leaves.
“This is Cal,” said Mizette, more subdued than Cal had ever seen her. “He’s… my friend.”
“Friend?” Graxan spat out the word, as if he didn’t want it anywhere near him. “I had hoped you would have outgrown such childish things, daughter. You disappoint me.”
“Pleased to meet you, too, sir!” said Cal. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Nice skirt, by the way. Is that real leather, or artificial?”
Graxan looked Cal up and down. “It speaks?”
“He, Dad. Not it,” said Miz. “And yes, he speaks. A lot.”
“Too much, if anything,” Cal added.
Graxan shook his head, but turned his attention away from Cal. “It is… pleasing to see you, daughter.”
Miz crossed her arms. “Yeah. Whatever,” she said. “So, I hear you’re dying.”
Graxan nodded. Cal caught Sorshi glancing between her daughter and husband, apprehension in her eyes. “In time,” said Graxan. “Not yet.”
Mizette scowled. “What? Kannus told me you were at, like, death’s door. That’s the only reason I came.”
“And that is the only reason we said it,” Graxan replied. “I knew that you would not return without good cause.”
“So, you lied to me? You pretended to be dying so you could trick me into coming back?”
“Oh no. Rest assured, daughter, I am dying. But I have time. Not much, but time,” Graxan said, his voice tailing off into a throaty whisper. “Time to prepare you and Kannus for the roles and duties you are sworn to.”
Miz let out one of her now-trademark sighs. “Seriously, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m not--”
“You will do as you are told!” Graxan roared. It wasn’t loud, not really, but the anger in it creaked the floorboards and shook the wooden walls. “I have tolerated your infantile tantrums long enough. I have allowed you ‘space,’ as you put it, in the hope that you would realize who you are and where you belong, and return to us…” He regarded her with something close to disgust. “…better. But once again, as so many times before, you disappoint.”
“Hey, now wait just a minute, pal,” said Cal, stepping forward. “You’re way out of line.”
The dark fur on the back of Graxan’s neck bristled as he shifted his amber gaze to Cal. “What did you say?”
“Stop being so down on her. Miz is a great kid. Seriously, she’s awesome. She’s kind…” Cal frowned, just a little. “Well, I mean, maybe not ‘kind,’ exactly, but she’s… you know? She’s big. And funny! Remember that time you told us that joke?”
Miz shook her head.
“Actually, that may have been Loren,” Cal admitted. He rallied quickly. “But my point is, you shouldn’t speak to her like that. Is she perfect? No. Hell, no. But who is? And, with all due respect – which, by the way, is none whatsoever – with a father like you, what chance did the kid have? You’ve done nothing but criticize her since we stepped in the room. Seriously, five minutes in your company, and even my self-esteem’s so low I’m thinking about killing myself. How do you think she feels?”
Graxan blinked slowly. “You are right,” he said.
“Damn right, I am! Thank you,” said Cal. “Um… which part, exactly?”
“You talk too much.”
There was a knock at the door, sharp and urgent. Sorshi opened it to reveal Kannus, already kneeling in the threshold. “Great Graxan,” he said, stooping his head. “Trouble approaches.”
“Here? On Kifo?” Graxan croaked. “Who dares?”
“We do not yet know, Your Majesty,” Kannus said. “It is a single ship, but has yet to identify itself. It is, however, broadcasting a message.”
Graxan’s eyes narrowed. “And what is the message?”
Kannus raised his head. “Three words, repeating on loop, Your Majesty,” he said.
“Yes?” barked Graxan, growing impatient. “And what do they say?”
“They say, ‘surrender,’ Great Graxan,” said Kannus. His eyes went to Cal. “‘Surrender the Earthling.’”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cal stood on an expanse of dark gray slate, a cool wind prickling his skin. The landscape was bleakly black in all directions, with the all-covering cloud layer offering the only real color contrast. In terms of picking the perfect world to go and die on, the Greyx had hit a home run. Kifo was the deadest place Cal had ever been to, and considering he’d once spent a wet Tuesday evening in a Belgian nightclub, that was really saying something.
He was flanked again by Miz and her mom, with Graxan and Kannus standing together a dozen or so feet ahead. Several other Greyx lined the flat patch of slate, their eyes raised to the clouds. The hill that Loren had decapitated loomed a quarter of a mile or so away on the right, the Shatner hidden on the other side of its slope.
“So… what’s happening?” whispered Cal.
“Someone’s coming,” said Miz. “Someone looking for you.”
“Zertex?”
“We have not been able to identify it,” Kannus said, without looking round.
Cal lowered his voice even further. “Wow, that guy has good hearing.”
“Yes. I do.”
“Donchenodssaywhat,” Cal murmured, but – to his disappointment – Kannus didn’t appear to hear that one.
“It approaches,” said Sorshi, taking Cal by surprise. It was the first time he’d heard her speak in Graxan’s presence. Graxan’s ears twitched, and Sorshi ducked her head, as if regretting saying anything.
Just ahead of the group, the clouds swirled into a tornado pattern. A pulsing red light appeared in the center of the twister, then a spinning silver disk the size of a large Merry-Go-Round descended through the fog.
“Hey, it’s a flying saucer!” said Cal. “It’s an actual proper flying saucer. Maybe all those rednecks were right all along.”
At the sight of the ship, Graxan stiffened. He turned, just enough to shoot Mizette an angry glare. “What trouble have you brought to our door this time, daughter?” he hissed, then he turned away before she could offer any reply.
The saucer slowed, coming to a stop twenty or thirty feet in the air. It hung there, spinning lazily, the bulbous red light on its underside throbbing with illuminated menace.
“OK, so what happens now?” asked Cal, then he gawped in wonder as a figure began to materialize beneath the ship in a shimmering aura of sparkles.
“They’re beaming down?” said Cal. “They’re actually beaming down? That’s a thing? How come we never beam down?”
The light show stopped. In its place stood a woman in a flowing black robe. The hood was up, casting her face in shadow, but tucked into the darkness was a single steady spot of red light.
“Graxan,” the woman said, an inflection of surprise in her voice. “I was informed that you were dying.”
“Then I’m very sorry to have to disappoint,” Graxan growled. His voice sounded stronger – a deliberate attempt to disguise his frailty. “What do you want, Vajazzle?”
Behind Graxan, Cal let out a loud snort. “What? No way! Seriously?” he said. “She’s not really called ‘Vajazzle,’ is she?”
“I am. What of it?” demanded the woman in the robe.
Cal looked at the faces around him, trying to f
igure out if they were winding him up. “Well, I mean… Vajazzle. You know what that means.” He did another sweep of everyone’s faces, and saw only confusion. “You guys do know what that means, right?”
“No. What does it mean?” asked Miz.
Cal shuffled from foot to foot. “Come on, you must know! It’s when someone – a lady – jazzes up their… private area.”
Miz frowned. “Their bedroom?”
“No, their…” Cal made a vague gesture towards his crotch. “…foo-foo. You know? Their special lady’s… region. Their personal frontal…”
The Great Graxan, ruler of the Greyx, raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean their vagina?”
“Yes. Jesus,” said Cal, wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth. “It’s when someone decorates their…”
“Vagina,” said Graxan again.
“Thank you, yes, with, like, fake diamonds and, I don’t know, stickers and stuff. Vajazzle.”
A near-silence fell on the clearing. The only sound was the low droning of Vajazzle’s spinning saucer.
“No,” said Graxan, at last. “It’s a new one on me.”
Cal cleared his throat and crossed his hands behind his back. “Anyway. You were saying? Carry on.”
A painfully thin arm extended from within Vajazzle’s midnight robe. A crooked finger pointed Cal’s way. “Him. I want him. The others, too, but mostly him.”
Graxan nodded ponderously. Beside him, Kannus watched the woman intently, trying to anticipate her next move.
“And my daughter?” Graxan asked.
Vajazzle’s arm retreated into the robe. “Like the rest of the Greyx, she is off-limits, of course. I have not forgotten our agreement. I seek only the Earthling and his non-Greyx companions.”
Graxan nodded again. “Your request is fair,” he said. “But I am afraid I must refuse.”
“What?” said Kannus, his eyes widening. He shook off his surprise, and turned his focus back to Vajazzle. She still had her hood up, but the tone of her voice painted a pretty accurate picture of what her expression must be like.
“Refuse? Me?” Vajazzle hissed. “That is not wise, Graxan.”
“Perhaps not,” Graxan conceded. “My daughter has poor taste in companions, but her companions they are. They are under Greyx protection. An attack on them is an attack on us all.” He bared just enough fang to get his point across. “And attacking us all would not be wise.”
“That was not our agreement, Graxan,” said, and for the first time Cal heard what sounded like a second voice, speaking in time with the first. The first voice didn’t sound happy, but the second one even less so. “The Greyx are to be unharmed, but I have the freedom to pursue anyone else I like. We agreed.”
“You are right, we did,” Graxan conceded. “But while I live, my daughter’s companions are honorary Greyx.
“Great Graxan, surely you can’t--?” Kannus began, but a low growl from Graxan stopped him going any further.
“They are honorary Greyx, and as such are permitted here on Kifo. The same cannot be said for you, Vajazzle,” Graxan said. “I would ask you to remove yourself from this place, or we shall be forced to remove you ourselves.”
The hood tilted left and right, as Lady Vajazzle surveyed the scene. The red radiance of her electric eye flared, then faded to a feeble glow. “Very well, Graxan. As you wish,” she said. “But know this - you have made a terrible mistake. I have been tasked with retrieving the Earthling, and retrieve him I shall. Whatever it takes.”
“Good luck with that,” said Cal, firing a toothy smile her way. “You don’t be a stranger, OK?” He shook his head and chuckled. “Vajazzle.”
The woman’s black robe became flecked with hundreds of sparkling white dots, like stars appearing in the night sky. As the others watched, she became semi-transparent, then faded completely in a shower of flickering lights.
“Well,” Cal breathed. “She seemed nice.”
Miz took a step forward. “Thanks,” she said, addressing Graxan’s back. He turned and shot her a look that bristled with irritation, then stumbled sideways. Kannus quickly caught him, taking the old Greyx’s weight.
“I have you, Great Graxan,” Kannus said.
“Take him to his chamber,” Sorshi instructed. She beckoned for Kannus to follow her. He strode past Cal and Miz, supporting the limping, wheezing Graxan on his shoulder.
“You want to go check on him?” asked Cal, as he and Miz watched them go.
Mizette shook her head. “No. Kannus’ll look after him.”
“That was pretty cool what he did,” said Cal. “You know, not handing me over to be Vajazzled. I didn’t expect that.”
Miz shrugged, but said nothing. Over on their right, there was the sound of hands and feet scrabbling over loose rocks. Loren and Mech appeared over the crest of the hill just as Vajazzle’s ship rocketed upwards into the bank of cloud.
“So,” said Loren, panting from the effort of the climb. “What did we miss?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sinclair leaned back in his chair, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for the comm-screen to light up with an incoming transmission.
Through his ceiling-to-floor office windows, he could see a planet. He wasn’t sure which planet it was. He wasn’t even sure which of the many Zertex Command space stations he was on. Zertex Command Four? Seven? He’d always counted on Legate Jjin to bother with such details, and now that Legate Jjin was nothing but dust, he was proving to be far less reliable.
Jjin had a brother, apparently, also employed by Zertex. When Sinclair had found out he’d been thrilled, thinking Jjin’s brother might make the perfect replacement, but he was currently deployed on an exo-galactic expedition and even if he turned the whole ship around, it would take years for him to get back. Besides, he was a scientist, and likely didn’t have the stomach for violence his brother had had. Then again, very few people did.
Sinclair was aware of seventeen different pressing issues he should have been attending to, but right then none of them mattered. All that mattered was getting his hands on the Earthling. In hindsight, abducting him from his prison cell on Earth was a mistake. Even without the case of mistaken identity – the troops he’d sent to carry out the abduction had grabbed the wrong man – it was a misjudgment on his part.
Earthlings were too unpredictable. He’d only met two – Cal Carver and one equally irritating other – but the pattern was clear. You could try to predict how they’d react in a given situation, but their sheer, unwavering stupidity would mean they’d completely confound your expectations every time. It was easy to assume that an intelligent person would always beat an idiot, but if the idiot had no idea of the rules and just made up his own, then it became a somewhat more difficult game to win.
Speaking of idiots, a thought struck him. He spun in his chair and pressed the intercom. “Janet?”
“Yes, Mr President, sir?”
“Did you send a sympathy note to Legate Filson’s family?”
“Yes, sir. You were very sorry to hear the terrible news, and offered particular sympathies to the children. It was quite touching, sir.”
“Excellent. Excellent. Did I enclose a gift?”
“A book token, sir. To help with the boys’ education.”
“Investing in our youth is so very important,” Sinclair said. “Very good Janet. Exceptional work.”
He flicked the switch and went back to reclining in his chair. Ah, Janet. What would he do without her? She was ruthlessly efficient. If only she were ruthless in other ways, too, she’d have made the perfect replacement for Legate Jjin.
The screen illuminated. Sinclair stood and perched himself on the edge of his desk. He straightened his collar. “On.”
Lady Vajazzle’s eight feet high face filled the screen. Sinclair welcomed her with his salesman smile. “Right on time, m’lady,” he said. “Always so reliable.”
“I do not have them,” Vajazzle said.
/>
Sinclair’s smile faltered, just a fraction. “Oh. Perhaps I spoke too soon.”
“They have been made honorary Greyx, under the protection of Graxan himself.”
“Graxan? I thought he was dying?”
Vajazzle shook her head. “It appears not.”
Sinclair shot the dark stain on his carpet an accusing glare. He ruffled his hand through his hair, composing himself. “I see. I see. But – and please don’t take offense here – how is that my concern?”
Lady Vajazzle didn’t reply.
“I mean… this deal you have with the Greyx? How is that my problem?”
“It is your problem because it prevents me from carrying out your request,” Vajazzle said. There was an edge of menace to both her voices which suggested neither of them liked the way this conversation was headed.
“So… what? That’s it?” said Sinclair. “You’re going to give up? Let me ask you… what if Graxan made everyone honorary Greyx? Hmm? You’d be out of business. How is that fair?”
Once again, Lady Vajazzle said nothing.
“Seems to me that Graxan is twisting your agreement to suit himself. You agreed not to go after any Greyx, and in return he allowed you the freedom to go about your business with anyone else, even if they were hiding in Greyx space.”
“I know the terms of my own arrangement,” Vajazzle said.
“Do you? I’m not sure you do, because it sounds to me like he’s gone back on it. He said you were free to pursue any non-Greyx in any way you saw fit, correct? And yet now he’s saying you can’t do that? He’s saying, ‘oh, actually those non-Greyx I said you could go after? Yeah, they’re now off-limits, too.’”
Sinclair held his arms out at his side and snorted incredulously. “That’s fair how, exactly? And yet, you’re not going to do a thing about it.”
“I never said I wasn’t going to do anything about it,” Vajazzle said. “Graxan may not be on his deathbed, but he will not rule the Greyx forever.”
Space Team: The Wrath of Vajazzle Page 6