The Court of Crusty Killings: A Captain Space Hardcore Adventure

by Michael Ronson

  “And on the other?” Jacques demanded. “Surrender?”

  I turned to face him, no pleading in my eyes this time, just certainty.

  “No. We take down the Queen. Not for glory, or for the monarchy, but because it is right! We can save lives tonight and show these palace-dwelling pomps that the underclass of this world-though lashed and locked away from light-can rise to be the better Aplubians! We can tear down this murderous queen, and in that moment indebt your masters to you forever!”

  I spread my arms imploringly in front of them.

  “So there you have it: stand by and watch a new murderer take the throne-or save these people, show them what manner of people we really are and take a shot at building a new rapport! What do you say?”

  The thrum of the engines, the flap of the rigging and the squawk of the birds flying and pooping overhead were the only sounds for the longest time. The rebels seemed to be communicating through sceptical glances.

  Jacques eased one of the levers of the control panel down and the speed of the craft faltered, in keeping with my heart. He looked at me evenly.

  “We are the better people. Always have been. There’s no need to show it. But... T-Bone’s right, we can show our superiority while still blowing up the Queen-it’s a revolutionary’s dream. Let’s get her!” He fiddled with a few other controls and slammed two brass levers to their fullest extent. The roar of the engines matched the pitch and intensity of the roar of the rebels as they pumped their fists into the air.

  Felipe yelled through the noise at me, “Hell, I just came out tonight to take down some monarchy! A queen’s fine by me.” I grinned at him and ran to the front of the ship, letting the wind whip at me. I narrowed my eyes at the zeppelin in front of us. We would be in reach of her in scant minutes.

  I didn’t much care for the dirty rabble that Funkworthy had apparently endeared himself to, and I didn’t care much for the fact that somehow or other he had mixed up our respective ranks and the structure of our relationship.

  But they could pilot a damned ship.

  Ours was a rough skiff: a craft of engineering excellence built from the poorest materials and staffed by undernourished people with dubious accents and a love of clove cigarettes. But as the prow of the thing speared through the clouds like an arrow fired from some kind of enormous gun, a great confidence seized me. The crew were excited and ready for anything, and I was prepared to do what I assumed most right-thinking people wish to do to those who spurn their romantic overtures: blow them up with cannons and watch their airship plummet to the ground.

  My wish would soon see its fruition, I realized, as our nippy smaller craft nuzzled into her backside moments later. A shadow of dread fell on me. We were quicker and smaller, sure, but she had enormous guns on her, and her bedroom was as shielded and unassailable as her heart. I watched as this Jacques character butted against it with the nose of the craft as we sped through the skies. She corrected her course, took another persistent nudge and then, ominously, let the sails at the side of the craft down. She let her speed fall as our ships came parallel with each other.

  We drifted in the cold air next to each other for a loaded minute. Her cannons were level with us and our cannons were pointed right back at her. Jacques’ hands hovered over the controls of our ship, ready at the first sign of activity.

  For an eternity we swan together in the fog, sizing each other up as the skies above us coloured in anticipation.

  I saw a small hatch open in the side of the hull and a pair of eyes boggle out at myself and Funkworthy with admiration and shock, respectively. The hatch bolted closed a second later and the whine of the speakers took to the air.

  “Captain Hardcore! Perhaps I underestimated you!”

  “Perhaps you did!” I cried.

  “I would listen to the conditions of your surrender, but unfortunately your craft has no speaker system, like mine, so I am left deaf to your pleas!”

  “Perhaps I... oh”, I cried, slightly embarrassed as the winds whipped my words away.

  “For there will be pleas before the night is through. Do you rebels think I would gift you a ship better than mine? Pah! I’ll end your pitiful prole struggling and then end the inbred horror of our monarchy as planned! Then finally I shall be the unopposed leader of this backwater planet and I shall lead it to the stars I dreamed of as a child! Then I can blow them up with my Galactic Dread Fleet!”

  “I think she’s gone quite mad”, commented Ebenezer in my ear.

  “A little daffy”, I agreed.

  “What did I say about your taste in women earlier?” He nudged

  “Alright, point made.”

  Her speaker squealed on, “Unfortunately, this will bring our relationship to an end. Space, before you die I want you to know that you could have served at my side. Rebels, I want you to know that you could have been chiefs of my slave masters. But enough of this. Now I must bid you adieu.”

  “Gesundheit”, I commented pithily.

  “She can’t hear you”, Funkworthy reminded me.

  “But you can!” I accused, noting his lack of laughter.

  But there was no time for that. Cannons swivelled toward our deck and Jacques was already stabbing at levers and buttons like a madman. We all hit the deck as our craft swooped down and the engines kicked in. Above our heads came the evil sound of the whine of cannonballs cutting through air. An explosion of splinters took to the howling wind as a cannonball glanced the side of a beam. With a near audible groan, the deadly bedroom balloon dived after us, its cannons swivelling in the air like hounds sniffing for blood.

  We were in a pitched dive as the next volley raked before the bow, skimming wood from the full like sharp fingernails ripping skin from a cheek.

  “Fire, you swine! Man the cannons!” cried the cyclops Felipe, climbing up the madly-angled deck and gripping onto the base of one of the cannons. I thought a reciprocation of fire was a fine idea, and hurriedly climbed to one of the cannons and shunted a heavy iron ball into the mechanism, primed the medieval technology and fired at the chasing ship. The result was occluded by a violent expulsion of thick sooty smoke from the mouth of the thing. But after it cleared slightly, I saw the ship looming down on us larger than ever, like a really massive flying iceberg.

  “It’s going to ram us!” shouted Funkworthy, who was gripped to the side of the pilot’s chair, making adjustments to the instruments and navigating for the rebel leader. “Pull up!”

  Our ship shifted beneath us and the engines whined in protest as the thrusters on our rear were shoved downward and a glut of fat fire was pushed through them. The gunners-myself included-were, to a man, thrown clear of our weapons as the angle of the ship shifted and our dive turned into a mad climb. I untangled myself from the heap to find that the ramming bedroom was now pulling in behind and below us, its masts and the extremity of its main balloon rubbing at the bottom of our ship. I made my way back to the guns. The balloon was the weak point, I knew. Enough firepower there and the Princess’s balloon would erupt in a terminal explosion, just like her mother had. Poetic, I mused. I primed another ball and sighted down the mechanism. The zeppelin adjusted its course and stayed beneath us, but Jacques pulled ahead so that it lay directly behind and below us. I swung the cannon in its mooring but it could not reach that angle, being planted in the side of the craft. Damn.

  I looked to the enemy zeppelin as it ascended behind us and saw with mounting terror that her majesty did not share this problem. Two discreet portholes opened up in her bow. Two black holes like the eyes of the reaper peeked through, and as a shout of warning built in my throat, they bloomed into fire. I threw myself on the deck as the two balls passed over the ship, tearing through struts and ripping apart the structure of the ship like a plasma bolt through a cabbage head.

  Smoke was all there was to breathe. I hacked a cough from my throat, which was hardened with soot, and looked around the white fog. Above me, another orange flower o
f fire bloomed and pierced through the smog. I was on the deck, sliding on my belly. I got to my knees, but clattered down again as gravity dictated I must.

  The smoke cleared like a sheet being yanked away by the wind, which warned us of the danger. We plummeted in a sudden spiralling nosedive. The ground below us spun around and zoomed closer.

  There was no getting away from it: something had gone wrong.

  I scanned the deck for damage. Some supporting struts had been annihilated but the main balloon still stood, the engines still fired and the deck itself was battered but still in place. Finally I looked at the captain’s seat.

  It was empty.

  Embedded in the wall of the ship was a ball, and around that ball was the crumpled form of the rebel leader Jacques.

  The ship plummeted through the air. I rushed to the controls, and Funkworthy rushed to the crushed man, each of us confronting certain death in two forms.

  And the queen’s bedroom, under a blooming night sky, floated away.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Sky Battles

  In which our heroes meet again as Funkworthy brings the full weight of a commandeered time jail down on the head of a kraken.

  “Jacques! Jacques!”

  His torso was caved in on itself like a collapsed cake. His pinned arms flailed weakly as the trauma and blood loss worked on him.

  “Jacques! Can you hear me?!” I yelled at him over the howling wind.

  He spluttered and his hands went to his chest, exploring the surface of the cannonball that had replaced his ribcage. “Zis should... not be here...” he slurred, his mouth frothing over with beige blood.

  “No, no it shouldn’t”, I mumbled, searching his form for any sign of hope. He was all crumpled up, the ball having smashed into him, pinning him to the side of the ship. I heard Space call my name distantly, but I could not leave Jacques like this. I was dimly aware that our ship was on a fatal vector, but I stuck next to the leader, ready to hear his final words as he fought against the reaper.

  “Mah... sister...” he whispered to me, looking up.

  “Yes?”

  “Take... care... of... her....” He let out the words slowly.

  “I will, I promise.”

  “Ze... Queen....” He looked up at me with swimming eyes, filled with the ghost of rage.

  “Don’t worry, Jacques. We’ll get her, I promise.”

  “And... Felipe...” he continued weakly.

  “He’ll lead the resistance in your wake, I understand.”

  He nodded, peacefully, his head dipping downward.

  He lifted it back up again, just as I feared he might have passed over.

  “Ze... rebels...” he continued.

  “Will be freed! I’ll see to it! You can bet on it.”

  “And... mah... fish....”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll feed them every day!”

  “A... pinch... of the flaky stuff... twice...” he coughed and winced, “...a day....”

  “Don’t try to speak, Jacques”, I sobbed, begging him.

  “Time... running out... things... getting cold... so much left to do....”

  “Of course.” I wiped a tear from my eye and let him have his valediction.

  He sighed rattily and let his head rest down on his chest. I wept bitter tears on my knees next to his form, heedless to the danger of the crashing ship.

  “Sleep well, Jacques”, I said, resting my hand on his head. “We’ll fight in your honour.”

  As I went to stand, my heart torn asunder in my chest, he stirred again. I immediately took a knee by him and his head swivelled to me, eyes muddy and confused.

  “T... Bone....”

  “Yes? I’m still here.”

  “...Mah... cat...” he implored weakly.

  “I’ll look after him!”

  “He... has... a stomach condition....”

  “So what should I feed him?” I begged, tearfully.

  “Well...” he began.

  I ignored the smoke and shouting around me, trying to honour the wishes of a dying man who had called me ‘brother’.

  I pulled at every lever I saw.

  “Funkworthy!” I cried. Ebenezer had aided the splattered captain in flight before, so I assumed he could work the ship, but he was crouched by the dying man still.

  Bracing myself against the captain’s chair, I twiddled knobs, pressed buttons and yanked at pulleys like an octopus engineer. Still we plummeted. The large wheel before me spun wildly, and as I grabbed at it the spokes dashed at my fingers, but I stuck my hands in again and stopped the dizzying rotation.

  Calm yourself man, I thought. Piloting crashing ships is what you do. I had the distinction, in my days of service, of successfully crash landing more ships than any other captain. In fact, I am usually hard pressed to actually recall how to engage the landing gear, so accustomed am I to dramatically splashing down in an ocean or skidding a burning skiff along a runway as people in a control tower look tense and bark orders at me through the radio.

  But this could be no crash landing. The fight was still above us. The sky coloured suddenly, taking on a purple hue. I was puzzled. Was this the heavens preparing themselves to take me?

  No. It was the Hailstrom meteor shower, I realized. The great astral event was unfolding above the Aplubian sky. That meant that the guests would be assembling in the gardens of the southern city and the bedroom zeppelin would be closing in on its target with its flour payload.

  It had to be stopped.

  I gritted my teeth and yanked back hard on the wheel. It gave a little, and as I bunched my muscles it pulled back more and more. The nose of the ship began to quiver in protest and finally lift up. Good enough. I braced myself and put a steady pressure on the wheel, pulling with burning arms as we screamed toward the ground. A few rebels joined me in yanking the wheel, and the nose started to inch up into the air. I let out a yell through gritted teeth.

  “Funkwoooorthy!!” I cried.

  “Ze bins... go out on a... Monday...” Jacques whispered, his eyelids fluttering.

  “Of course! I’ll put them out just like you always did. You were so good like that. Stay with me!”

  “So... many... regrets....” he sighed weakly.

  “Don’t regret anything! You’ve led a great life.”

  “Ah never told.... Felipe how much Ah... respected him.”

  “I’ll tell him, don’t worry, he’ll know.”

  “Ah never told... Flum how... pretty she is.”

  “It would be my honour to carry your messages for you.”

  “Ah never told... Remi that Ah... slept with his sister.”

  “... Okay.”

  “Tell ‘im! Promize me.”

  “Whatever you say, just save your strength.”

  “Ah never... tasted the free air... of Aplubia.”

  “When we free the people, we’ll toast your name.”

  “Ah... never learned… how to juggle....”

  “Then we’ll... um… juggle in your name, I swear it.”

  “Ah never... pissed on the Queen’s throne... Ah... never learned the clarinet... Ah never had a... go on a hovercraft... or... learned how to knit. So much... left... undone. Live... for me... T-Bone.”

  “Oh yes. Will do. Now... is that about everything on your bucket list?”

  “Ah never made… a bucket list. Another regret of a dying man… make one for me….”

  “I will. Now, I hate to press you on this, but is that all of your life regrets kinda done?”

  He nodded and smiled slightly, placing a quivering hand on my chest, and said, “Now... go... T-Bone... Live... fight... and... if you do one thing in your life... in order to live... free of regret... take it from me... you must... always... simply... eaugh!”

  A tiny waterfall of blood welled out of his slack mouth. He closed his eyes. His final breath rattled from his ball-squashed lungs and he was no more. A single
tear splashed from my eyes to the deck. Biting back my emotions, I stood up and ran over to the crew manning the pilot’s chair. Sadness threatened to take me, but as I stood and looked out toward the Queen’s bedroom I knew I could turn that sadness into a tight ball of the blackest hatred. It flowed through me, making my actions swift and sure.

  At my insistence, Space stepped aside and I took the wheel.

  The crew had somehow managed to level the ship out, and the hilly rock crags of the valley below us threatened to rip our hull asunder if only we dipped down just a few metres more. I took the controls in hand, applying what I had learned from Jacques, and started our climb toward the dot in the sky above us-the shape of a bedroom balloon in the air. Anger flowed through me and I let it, narrowing my eyes on the ship that had killed Jacques, and firing the thrusters to their maximum capacity. I took a pleasure in the note of protest in their sound. I was ready to fuel the engines with my own blood to ram that bitch out of the sky, though a part of my mind had to acknowledge the fact that this would be an inefficient fuel source. The heavens above us coloured red in reflection of my anger.

  “The meteor shower!” Felipe shouted in my ear. “It’s starting, there is little time.”

  It was true. As I gunned my engines toward the fleeing craft, I saw that she was maybe a few minutes away from the outer walls of the southern city. We were about that same distance from her.

  “It’ll be close”, I said through gritted teeth, emotion clogging my voice up like a sad drain.

  “We need a plan! She has us outgunned”, said Felipe again, glancing over at the cadaver of Jacques-Jacques who had always seemed so sure, who had always had a plan. I felt the black sadness rise in me again, threatening to overtake me.