“I was born ready!” said Tobey Maguire.
“Well, no, evidently you weren’t, but you’re ready now, and that’s what matters. I believe in you, Tobey Maguire. You can do this!”
For a moment, there was no sound except the wheezing of whatever loomed out there in the dark. And then – finally – there was a soft click as Tobey Maguire pushed another jigsaw piece into position.
“I can do this,” he whispered. “I can do this!”
“Great! Now that piece, on the right,” Cal urged, nodding towards a small spread of pieces on the tabletop. “No, not that bit. No. No. No. No. No, not that one. Other one. No. No. Other other one. No. Jesus. No. N— Yes!”
The circle of light had almost closed around them now. Cal eyed the wall of darkness warily, and edged closer to the table.
“Now, put it top left,” he said. “No. No. Left. No. No. No, not…”
“My left or your left?” asked Tobey Maguire.
“What are you talking about? It’s the same left. We’re facing the same way. No. No. No. That’s bottom left, top left. Top left. Jesus fonking Christ, Tobey Maguire, there’s literally only one place where it could… OK. Good.” Cal took a deep breath, composing himself. “Right, now that piece over there. By your hand. No, the other hand. No. No. No, that’s the same fonking hand. The other…”
Cal threw up his stumpy arms and shook his head. “Ah, to Hell with this,” he said, then he turned on his heels, and threw himself into the dark.
* * *
Cal opened his eyes. He was upside-down. Or back to front.
Possibly inside-out, although that one was less likely.
He could see… what? Stone. Lots of stone. Flat, well-worn stone.
And pistons. Two metal pistons. They pounded against the stone. Quite quickly, Cal thought, although he was not yet awake enough to be sure. His head throbbed and his body shuddered every time one of the pistons hit another bit of the stone.
He closed his eyes again. The throbbing and the pounding continued unabated.
“Fonking idiot,” said the pistons.
“Hey!” Cal protested, but as he couldn’t be sure the pistons were talking about him, he couldn’t really muster the enthusiasm to argue any further than that. He did manage to raise a fist and shake it in a sort of ‘why, I oughta!’ gesture, so he was quite pleased about that, not least of all because he had fists again, and he was pretty sure that meant he had hands, too.
He opened his eyes. The pistons were still pounding the ground.
The ground! That was it. The stone was the sidewalk. The pistons were… what? Could they be feet?
Cal rummaged through his jumbled memory, making a shortlist of everyone he knew with metal feet. As shortlists went, it couldn’t really get much shorter.
“Mech?” he grunted. He peered at the pistons. “Are you Mech’s feet? What have you done with the rest of him?”
It was somewhere around this point that Cal realized he was being carried over Mech’s shoulder. The cyborg pushed through the crowded streets far easier than Cal had done, and drew far fewer grumbled complaints along the way.
“Woohoo!” Cal cheered, although it probably sounded a bit sarcastic, he decided. It wasn’t meant to be, and it was the thought that counted, so he didn’t bother clarifying.
The way the ground was moving wasn’t very pleasant, now that he looked at it properly. He closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he was lying on the floor of the landing bay, with several faces all leaning over him, looking down. Mech was there, along with Loren, Miz and a deeply concerned-looking Splurt.
A couple of Parlooqs leaned over him, too. Cal smiled and gave everyone a wave. Yep, his hand was definitely back.
“Hey,” he said, propping himself up onto his elbows. “Everything OK?”
“No thanks to you,” said Loren. “What were you thinking? You almost died.”
“I know,” said Cal, rubbing his head. It ached where it had been in contact with the ground, and he got the impression Mech hadn’t put him down gently. “I think the Symmorium might have poisoned me. Maybe all of us.”
“What the fonk you talking about, man?” asked Mech. “The Symmorium didn’t poison us.”
“Air toxins,” said Loren. “The pollution down here is off the scale. You skipped out on your vaccination. You’re lucky Mech found you when he did, or you’d be dead by now.”
One of the Palooqs reached veeeeery slooooowly towards Cal’s chest. It was only then that Cal spotted the hypodermic needle there, its point buried right through his chest bone.
“Jesus! What the Hell is this?” Cal yelped.
“They had to get the vaccination working quickly,” Loren explained.
“So they jammed that sucker right into your heart,” said Mech, his metal jaw curving into a grin. “Bang! Right in there good.”
“Take it out!” Cal said.
The Parlooq wrapped the leathery pads of its furry hands around the syringe and withdrew the needle at what seemed to Cal to be far too leisurely a pace. He felt every inch of it slide out of his chest, then let his head drop as the thin metal strike was finally pulled out all the way.
The first Parlooq passed the needle to the second Parlooq, who deposited it into a bag, which he then sealed. This relatively simple process took almost a full three minutes to play out, and by the time the bag’s zip-lock was fully closed, Cal was on his feet and bouncing on the spot.
“Oh, man. I feel… better,” he said. “I feel good. I was hot. Like, really hot. Was that normal?”
“The planet’s slightly warmer than you’re used to,” said Loren. “But not enough so you’d really notice. It was probably the effects of the toxins.”
Cal nodded. “And no-one warned me about the toxins because…?”
“Because you left before anyone got the chance,” said Miz, crossing her arms across her broad chest. “You, like, totally could have died.”
“But I didn’t,” said Cal. “So, all’s well that ends well.”
He turned to the two Parlooqs. “By the way, do either of you two know if there’s a Five Guys restaurant in the vicinity? I could swear I saw one on my way in.”
The Parlooqs exchanged a glance. It was quite a lingering glance, and forty seconds into it Cal found himself regretting having asked the question.
“Know what? It’s fine. Forget I said anything.”
“No,” said the Parlooq who had pulled out the needle.
“No?” said Cal.
“No. We… don’t… know.”
“Oh. OK.”
“If… there is… one.”
Cal nodded. “Right. That’s—”
“In… the…”
“Vicinity. Got you,” said Cal. “Not to worry.”
“Vicinity.”
“Message received and—”
“Sorry.”
“Seriously, it’s not—”
“About… that.”
Cal waited several seconds until he was sure the Parlooq was finished, then nodded. “No problem. Thanks for your help.”
He quickly about-turned before the fuzzy-faced little alien could embark on a reply. “So, Mech. Get the tracking thingy off?”
Mech nodded. “We did. I disarmed the explosive and stuck it to a freighter. It’ll be halfway to Nush by now.”
“I have no idea how far away that is, but it sounds good,” said Cal. He headed for the Untitled’s ramp. “So, we done here?”
“Uh, no,” said Mech. “No. I… I mean, Miz and me, we thought we might take a look around. Maybe grab something to eat, or whatever.”
Cal stopped.
Cal turned.
Cal grinned.
“Shut up,” said Mech.
“What?” said Cal, feigning complete innocence. “I didn’t say a word!”
He looked from Mech to Miz and back again. “Is it a date?”
“It’s not a date,” Mech snorted.
“It’s totally a date,” said Miz
.
Mech winced, but nodded. “OK, but it’s not a date date.”
“You be careful, Mech,” Cal said, putting his arm around the cyborg’s shoulders. Or partway around them, at least. “Remember, Miz is technically a married woman. Yes, through an arranged marriage, and her husband is an evil murderer who’s now trapped in some sort of Land of the Giants dimension, but still. People talk. That’s all I’m saying. People talk.”
Mech sneered and shook his head, then elbowed Cal away. “Come on, Miz,” the cyborg grunted. “Let’s go.”
“Have fun, you crazy kids!” Cal called after them. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Loren joined him in watching them go. “Is there anything you wouldn’t do?” she asked.
Cal thought about this for a while, then shrugged. “Mizette,” he said. “Which is probably why Mech ended up in his position, in the first place.”
Loren snorted. “You have a high opinion of yourself.”
“Well, come on. I mean, I’m clearly the looker on board, right? Among the guys, I mean.”
Splurt rippled at his feet. “OK, among the guys with legs,” Cal corrected. “Sorry, buddy.”
Loren shrugged. “I don’t know. Mech has that strong, brooding quiet type thing going on,” she said. “And his dial means you can have him smart and sensitive, or dumb and powerful. Best of both worlds.”
“Mech?” Cal spluttered. “Shut up. There’s no way you think Mech’s better looking than me.”
“I didn’t say he was better looking,” said Loren. “But maybe, you know, more attractive.”
“No way! Shut up!” said Cal. “Fine. You know what? If they can go on a date, we can go on a date.”
Loren shook her head. “No.”
“No what?”
“No, I’m not going on a date with you.”
“Well, I mean…” Cal began, but he sort of ran out of words at that point. He tried to make up for it by putting his hands on his hips and looking disapproving, but it didn’t really compensate.
“But I could eat,” Loren said. “And since we’re going to be hanging around here for a while, anyway…”
She pressed a button on a key fob. The Currently Untitled’s ramp raised and sealed shut. A moment later, the landing lights flashed twice, and the ship let out a high-pitched ch-cheep.
“I guess we might as well eat together.”
She gestured to the exit. The two Parlooqs were shuffling towards it, locked in tedious conversation. “Shall we?” Loren asked.
Cal blinked. He wasn’t quite clear on how they’d got to this point, but he was pretty sure it was a positive development. “Can we hold hands?” he asked.
Loren smiled. “Absolutely not,” she said, then she checked her blaster, ran a hand through her hair, and stepped out onto the street.
* * *
It took twenty minutes of wandering the city before they found somewhere they could both agree on. Cal had been trying to find them somewhere upmarket, but Down Here seemed to have a distinct lack of upmarket venues, and so he’d had to lower his sights a little. And then lower them even further, by quite a lot.
Loren, on the other hand, was content with a corner booth in a dark bar. She sat with her back jammed against both walls, so nothing could sneak up on her, and kept one eye on the door. It wasn’t that she was expecting trouble, exactly, but it never did any harm to watch for it coming.
Cal sat across from her, nursing a very small drink in a very large glass. Both the glass and the liquid inside it were a muddy shade of brown. The alcohol burned like cheap whiskey on the way down, then came back up as a series of short, mint-flavored burps. It was not unpleasant. It wasn’t pleasant, either, but he’d tasted worse.
Loren drank something clear and ever so slightly gloopy, like raw, watered-down egg white. She shuddered every time she sipped on it, but half a glass in and her body language had already started to relax.
Splurt perched on a stool at the end of the table, blowing bubbles in a soft drink through a long straw. It wasn’t actually a straw at all – he’d formed the red and white striped plastic tube from his own body – but it worked in much the same way.
The bar was dimly lit, poorly maintained, and sparsely attended. It was the kind of bar the cadets always went to during Loren’s Zertex training, although she’d rarely, if ever, been invited.
A screen was mounted above the seat backs on either side of the booth. The screen above Loren’s head showed a green-skinned woman in an expensive suit. She was standing before a largely blue map. Little cloud and rain icons appeared across the blue, and Cal realized he was watching the local weather forecast.
He glanced up at his own screen. It was showing a music video with a slim, long-legged but decidedly alien-looking woman dancing seductively on the hood of a spaceship. He wondered if it would be rude to ask Loren to swap seats.
“So,” Cal said. He tapped out a drumbeat on the scuffed and sticky tabletop. “Here we are.”
“We are here,” Loren agreed. She took two menus from the wall-mounted holder and passed one across to him. “Pick something. I’m hungry.”
Cal unfolded the menu. It was quite large and complicated, and he had to move his glass twice to make room. Once it was all the way open, he squinted and brought his face closer, trying to read the tiny typeface in the half-light.
For a small, seedy, backstreet bar, the range of food on offer was extensive. It was also, to Cal, at least, nonsensical.
“Twice-cooked Urph,” he read. “Noomnale stew. What the fonk is this stuff?”
Loren shrugged. “No idea. Local produce, probably.”
“Some pictures would be nice,” Cal said. “I mean, look at this one. It just says ‘Fauff’. That’s it. Just ‘Fauff’. What’s Fauff? Is it a soup? Is it a dessert? Will I have to tell them if I want it well done or rare? There’s not enough information!”
He scanned the menu for another few seconds, then began the process of folding it closed. “What the Hell,” he said. “I’ll try the Fauff.”
Cal raised a hand and beckoned for the waiter. To his dismay, he discovered the waiter was another Parlooq. With a leisurely nod of acknowledgement, the Parlooq began his epic journey across the room.
“We could be a while,” Cal said. “Decided what you’re having?”
Loren shook her head. “I’m thinking either the Toposh Surprise – although, I don’t know what Toposh is, so it’ll be a double surprise – or, yeah, maybe the Fauff.”
“It’s a fun word to say, that’s why I went for it,” said Cal. “Fauff. See? I’m just hoping it doesn’t turn out to be a baby on a spike or something.”
“That would be less fun,” Loren agreed.
She folded her menu up. Cal was still in the process of doing the same. It had gone well for the first few folds, but it was becoming less clear now what he needed to do next. He suspected he’d made a terrible mistake somewhere along the way, and so decided just to abandon the whole endeavor and force the partially collapsed menu back into the holder, instead.
Cal clicked his tongue against his teeth. “So.”
“You said that, already,” Loren told him.
“I know. I just don’t want to get started on the real conversation – you know, the good stuff – until the waiter arrives. Otherwise I’m going to be saying something really clever and witty, and he’s going to come in at the wrong time, and… well, it’s going to spoil everything, is basically what I’m saying.”
“Cal,” said Loren. She nodded to Cal’s left. The Parlooq stood there, slowly licking the point of a pencil.
“May I… take… your order?”
“Sure thing!” said Cal. “I’ll have—”
“Please?”
“Sure. I think I’m going to have the Fauff,” Cal said. “Although… it isn’t a baby on a spike, is it?”
An expression of surprise crept very slowly across the Parlooq’s face.
“No…”
�
��OK, great.”
“It isn’t…”
“Gotcha.”
“A baby…”
“On a spike. Good to know.”
“On a spike.”
“Yep. Way ahead of you,” said Cal.
Loren crossed her arms on the table and leaned forwards. “Can you tell me a bit more about the Toposh Surprise?” she asked.
“At-at-at, no!” said Cal, interrupting. He tapped the waiter’s notepad. “She’ll have the Fauff. Two Fauffs. That’s it.”
He physically ushered the Parlooq away. “Thank you now, that’s everything. Thank you.”
Cal sat back in his seat to find Loren grinning at him. “Nice save,” she said.
“You did that on purpose,” said Cal. He dipped a finger into his drink and flicked it at her.
“Of course,” Loren said. “But, uh…?”
She glanced sideways to the end of the table. Splurt was still perched there, blowing bubbles in his drink. Cal’s face fell. “Oh, shizz. Splurt, did you want something?”
Splurt’s blobby body briefly grew a neck, which allowed him to nod the part of himself that currently stood in for a head. Cal groaned. “Shizz. Seriously? Listen, buddy, I don’t think I can face talking to that guy again to change the order. You can have some of my Fauff, OK?”
Splurt sunk slowly back into his usual squidgy ball shape and resumed blowing into his straw.
Loren leaned back. “OK, so coast’s clear. Where’s this sparkling conversation you promised me?”
“It’s coming right up, that’s where!” said Cal.
His mind raced. Talking, under normal circumstances, was not something he had a problem with. Or rather, a lack of talking was not something he had a problem with. ‘Talks too much’ was something that many a school teacher had raised as a concern, and he was, generally speaking, a stranger to awkward silences.
But now, sitting in an alien bar on an alien world, trying to smooth talk an alien while another alien blew bubbles in his drink and watched on, Cal felt his smooth-talking charm dry up. He still had a range of winning smiles he could use, and he employed one now as a sort of distraction technique. It would only buy him a few seconds, though. He had to think of something to say, and fast.
“So, uh, how was your day?”
Loren raised her dark eyebrows. “Um, well, pretty much the same as yours,” she said. “Fighting a giant spider, hit by photon torpedoes, partially chewed by a big fish.”
Space Team: The Guns of Nana Joan Page 6