Cal snorted. “Mizette? Mizette has a job? Jesus. Wonders will never cease. Where does she work?”
Mech tilted his head back, indicating the door to the club. Cal looked past him, blinking several times while he tried to process this. His hands figured it out before the rest of him, and curled into fists, all by themselves. “She’s stripping?” he said, his voice become dangerously monotone. “Miz is a stripper?”
“What? No!” said Mech. “Hell, no! You think I’d…? Come on, man. She’s working the bar. Serving drinks. Not… She’s not… Hell, no.”
Cal exhaled with relief. “Oh! Oh, gotcha. Right. She’s a bartender. I thought… Thank God. Is she any good?”
Mech raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, stupid question,” said Cal.
Mech smirked. “She’s like the sun. She just stands there, not moving, while everyone else orbits around her, doing all the work.”
“Does nobody say anything?”
“One guy tried. She threatened to show him his intestines. No-one’s bothered her since.”
“Ha! Classic Miz,” Cal laughed.
Mech chuckled along, too. Eventually, though, the awkward silence returned.
“These guys are great, too,” said Cal, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder and almost taking Jork’s eye out. “Rich personalities. Very funny, yet capable in a crisis. I think they’re going to do great. We’ve already started on the witty repartee, haven’t we, Higgsy?”
All four of Higgsy’s eyes squinted as he frowned. “What?”
“See?” said Cal, holding his arms out to his sides as if his point had been well and truly proven. “I have a really good feeling about these guys.”
“Well, great. I’m happy for you, man,” said Mech. He nodded to the others. “You three, uh, good luck. You might want to pack some barf bags, and if he starts putting the word ‘space’ in front of everything, please hit him on my behalf.”
With a final nod to Cal, he turned and clanked back up the steps. He was almost through the door when Cal stopped him.
“Mech, wait!”
Mech hesitated, weighing up his options. “Yeah?” he asked, not turning.
“Uh, have you heard anything from Loren?”
Mech shook his head. “No, man. Face it. She’s gone.”
He half-turned, as if about to add something else, but then he pressed on into the darkened doorway, and vanished into the club.
Just like he had stared at the clouds, waiting for Loren to reappear in the Untitled, Cal watched the door in case Mech emerged. He could almost picture him running down the steps in slow motion, arms wide, music swelling in the background as he—
“Do you know that guy?” asked Higgsy.
“Duh! Well, of course he knows him, you freaking idiot,” said Jork. He shot Cal a sideways glance. “I mean, you do, right? You do know him?”
“I did,” said Cal. “A long time ago.”
He turned and shrugged. “Well, I mean, technically it was yesterday, but…” He waved a hand. “Fonk it. Let’s go get drunk. Then, and only then, will I explain how we’re going to get a ship, and get ourselves off this shizzhole of a planet.”
They approached the most promising bar, Cal striding confidently ahead, the other three bunching together behind him, eyes darting at the scary-looking groups gathered in the doorways. As he approached the entrance, a lump of granite in a tuxedo blocked the path. Cal recognized the doorman as an Igneon. Well, technically he recognized him as ‘one of those Kornacky ones,’ since his only experience with the species was via the warlord Kornack, who had repeatedly tried to make Cal eat himself, but he knew what he meant.
“Evening, gentlemen,” said the doorman.
“And a very good evening to you, too!” said Cal, grinning as he attempted to weave around the hulking stone figure. The doorman had been expecting this, though, and executed a perfectly-timed sidestep that put him directly in Cal’s way again.
“I’m going to have to see your IDs.”
Cal’s smile locked in place. “Of course!” he said, reaching for his card and praying there wasn’t a quiz based on the information on it. He could remember the name. The date of birth, or any of the other details? Not a clue.
The doorman took the card and studied it. His rocky lips moved silently as he read, then his eyes widened and he looked up at Cal. “Nob Muntch?”
Cal nodded. “Yep.”
“That’s your name? Nob Muntch?”
“It is,” said Cal. “Let’s not wear it out.”
“Hey, Frank,” the doorman called back over his shoulder. A long thin face with eyes that had been put in sideways leaned out through the bar door.
“Yeah?”
“You know what this guy’s name is?”
Frank looked Cal up and down, then shrugged.
“Nob Muntch!”
Frank snorted. “Get the fonk out of here!”
“I’m serious!”
Cal sighed. “Haha. Yes. That’s me!” He reached for his ID, but the doorman didn’t hand it over.
“Hey, get T’kak. Tell T’kak,” the doorman urged.
“One sec,” said Frank. He ducked back into the door. Cal could hear murmuring from somewhere inside.
“Get the fonk out of here!” squealed a higher-pitched voice in delight.
“I’m serious,” Frank’s voice insisted.
“It’s true!” called the doorman. “Nob Muntch!”
“Get. The fonk. Out!” laughed what was presumably T’kak.
The doorman looked back at Cal, who had battled valiantly to keep his smile in place, but with little success. Reaching into a pocket, the doorman produced a device that looked not unlike an Earth smartphone. He pointed it to the ID card and chuckled. “I have got to get me a picture of this,” he said.
There was a flash. The doorman checked the device’s screen, then laughed. “Got it! Oh, man, I am sending that to everyone I know.”
“Yay!” said Cal. He held out his hand and his ID card was pressed into it.
“Thanks, Nob,” the doorman said, gesturing for the others to hand over their own cards. “Thank you for that. That’s made my night, that has.”
“I’m so pleased,” said Cal. He gestured to the bar. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’d like to go inside.”
“Whoa there, Nob Muntch, not so fast,” said the doorman. He nodded to Higgsy, Jork and Alan. “You can go in, but they can’t.”
“Why?” asked Cal. He pointed to the window, through which he could see some of the bar’s occupants. “There’s all kind of freaky-looking dudes in there, why can’t they come in?” He looked back over his shoulder. “No offence, fellas.”
“It ain’t nothing to do with how they look,” said the doorman. “If I was stopping people getting in based on how weird they look, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“OK, one, I resent that, and it’s probably racist,” said Cal. “Two… If it’s not how they look, why can’t they get in?”
“Because they ain’t old enough,” said the doorman, holding up the IDs. “They’re kids.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The lower bunk squeaked as Cal slumped down onto it. Tempted as he’d been to head into the bar himself and get astonishingly drunk, he couldn’t bring himself to abandon the other three. As the only responsible adult, he felt a certain obligation to get them home safely.
“The doorman guy, what he said, that was an exaggeration,” Jork explained for the third or fourth time. “We’re not kids. We’re teenagers.”
Higgsy raised a hand.
“Well, Higgsy’s almost a teenager. But, like, literally in just a year or two.”
Higgsy raised a hand again.
“Or three.”
Cal threw up his arms in despair. “I mean… Why didn’t you tell me?” He sighed. “I knew you were young, but I thought, you know, maybe early twenties.”
This was a problem. He couldn’t very well take two teenagers and a – what? – ten-yea
r-old into space with him. Yes, Mizette was technically only six, but then he hadn’t been responsible for putting her on the team. Anyway, the Greyx aged differently, and she was pretty much a fully-grown adult where she came from. No, she didn’t act like it most of the time, but… It was different. She was different.
Jork seemed to be reading his mind. “Are we still going to get a ship?”
Cal puffed out his cheeks. “I don’t see how we can. I mean, what about your parents?” He looked around the cell, then at Higgsy. “Actually, come to think about it, what are you even doing here? Why aren’t you at home?”
Higgsy shrugged. “They kicked me out. Not enough room, they said.”
“He’s been here longer than any of us,” said Jork.
“Five years,” Higgsy said. His brow furrowed. “Maybe six.”
Cal buried his face in his hands, then pulled them down to his chin. “It’s dangerous out there. In space, I mean,” he said.
“Ain’t exactly safe Down Here, either,” said Alan. “What, you think the metal doors are for decoration?”
“No, but it’s different out there,” Cal said. “There are pirates. Gangsters. These little octopus things that tear ships apart. And don’t even get me started on the fonking Spider-Dragon. And then there’s Zertex, and—”
CLANG.
A sudden single knock on the door startled them all. Cal jumped to his feet, smashed the top of his head on the edge of the upper bunk, swore loudly, then stumbled to the door.
“Don’t!” Jork whispered, his negative-image eyes darting anxiously from Cal to the door and back again.
“Why, who is it?” Cal whispered back, rubbing the top of his head.
“I don’t know,” said Jork.
Cal stopped rubbing his head and frowned. “Then why shouldn’t I open it? Shouldn’t we find out who it is?”
“No!” Higgsy squeaked. “It might be someone mean!”
“Then we’ll tell them to go away,” said Cal. “Besides, we’ve got Alan. If shizz starts going down, he can Hulk out, or whatever, and sort it out.”
Alan shook his head. “We do not want that. This whole place? This whole place will come down around your ears,” he said, pointing to the ceiling. “I’ll be fine, but you three? Uh-uh. No way.”
“I don’t want that!” Higgsy whimpered. “I don’t want this whole place to come down around my ears!”
CLANG. CLANG.
The addition of the second ‘clang’ seemed to send Higgsy into a full-scale meltdown. Jork was struggling to keep it together, too, and Alan…
Cal looked around the cell. Alan was nowhere to be seen.
“Look, it’s fine,” Cal said. “I’ll just open the door a tiny bit, and if it’s someone who wants to, you know, mutilate us or whatever, I’ll tell them to come back another time.”
Higgsy darted left and right, looking for somewhere to hide. When he realized there was nowhere, he just stood very still and upright, instead, as if this would somehow make him more difficult to spot.
Cal manually turned all the door’s many locks, then opened the door a crack. At first, he saw no-one, but then an old woman’s face leaned into view and smiled at him. She was very familiar, and for a moment he thought it was Nana Joan, probably here to give him another beating. Instinctively, his free hand covered his testicles.
“Hello, Cal,” the woman said. She thrust a small brown paper bag towards the gap. “Spit Nibble?”
Cal’s jaw dropped. “Wait a minute!” he said. “You’re not Nana Joan. I know you! You’re that guy’s mom. The hacker. Nark?”
“Narp.”
“That’s the guy! You’re the mind-reader, right?”
“I see the future,” said the woman.
“Awesome!” said Cal. He pressed a finger against his temple. “Can you tell what I’m thinking now?”
“I see the future,” the woman repeated, in an impressive display of patience.
“Isn’t that—?”
“No, it’s not the same thing,” the woman said. “And it’s Ronda.”
“What is?”
“My name. You were about to ask.”
“Oh. Was I?” said Cal. He shrugged, reached into the bag, and took out a Spit Nibble. He opened the door wider. “Uh, come in.”
“No, thanks. I won’t be long,” said Ronda. “I wanted to give you something.”
Cal raised the Spit Nibble in a sort of toast. “Well… thanks,” he said, then he tossed it in his mouth. “Mmm. Oh! Jesus, I’d forgotten how good these taste.”
“No, not the Spit Nibbles,” Ronda said. “They’re a bonus.” She held a hand out to him, palm down. Cal looked at it for a moment, then held his own hand out, palm up. Something cold and metallic was pressed into it.
It was a button. Or rather, it was a small black box, about the size of a Post-it Note, with a single red button rising from its surface.
“Oh, cool,” said Cal. “It’s a, like a… It’s a doohickey. A thingy.” He met the woman’s eye. “What is it?”
“This belonged to Zertex. Some members of the Xandrie – you know, the gangsters? - made my Narp get it for them, but I decided they shouldn’t have it, either, so I took it off them.”
“You took it? From the Xandrie?”
Ronda nodded. Cal raised his eyebrows, partially to demonstrate his awe and respect, and partly to convey the fact he didn’t believe what Ronda had just told him.
“What does it do?”
“I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” said Ronda. “But you shouldn’t press it until—”
Cal pressed it. Nothing happened.
He pressed it again.
Ronda cleared her throat. “Yes. As I was saying, don’t press it until the time is right.”
Cal turned the box over in his hand. He studied the button for a moment, then pressed it again. This had precisely the same effect as the last two times he’d done so.
“How will I know the time is right?”
“You’ll just know,” said Ronda. She handed him the bag of Spit Nibbles. “Bye, then. I’d best be off.”
“Wait, that’s it?” said Cal. “You’re not going to tell me to protect it with my life, or warn me not to lose it, or whatever?”
Ronda shook her head. “No. I mean, I can if it makes you feel better, but I already know you don’t lose it.”
“Do I break it?”
“No.”
“Does someone else break it?”
“No,” said Ronda, her cheerful demeanor slipping just a fraction. “You press it. When the time is right.”
“And then what happens?” asked Cal.
Ronda’s smile returned. “Something spectacular.”
She gave him a nod, then set off along the corridor. Cal leaned out after her, and glanced in both directions. “Psst. Wait up. It’s not safe down here,” he said. “You, uh, you want me to walk you out?”
Ronda stopped and turned. “Well, that is very kind of you, Mr Carver. But trust me, I’ll be fine.” She raised her voice a little. “The gentleman lurking in the doorway just behind me, getting ready to pounce, on the other hand, is in for a very nasty shock indeed.”
The darkness seemed to hesitate. Ronda raised her voice even further. “That throat of yours is particularly soft and fleshy, isn’t it, Mr Trittz? Get their fingernails into that and someone could rip the windpipe right out, couldn’t they? Then, oh, I don’t know, beat you to death with the wet end.”
There was another moment of silence, then a shuffling in the shadows further along the passageway. It was followed by the sound of a door closing, and a number of locks sliding into place.
Ronda gave a little satisfied nod of her head. “Goodbye, Mr Carver,” she said, bowing slightly. “Goodbye, and good luck.”
“Thanks for dropping by. And for the Spit Nibbles. And whatever this thing is,” Cal called after her. He pressed the button again. Nothing happened. “Love to Narp. Tell him I totally forgive him for almost making me fall off a
roof and… Oh, she’s gone.”
He closed the door, then was almost knocked over when Higgsy and Jork hurried to engage all the locks. “You invited her in!” Higgsy yelped. “I can’t believe you invited her in!”
“So? It’s not like she’s a vampire,” said Cal, through a mouthful of Spit Nibble. “I mean, I don’t think she is.” He glanced into the paper bag, as if suddenly doubting its contents, then shrugged and continued eating. “What’s the big deal?”
“She’s a… you know,” said Higgsy.
“Mind reader?” said Cal.
“No,” said Higgsy.
“I’m pretty sure she was.”
Higgsy cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered the next few words, almost silently. “A girl.”
“She’s not a girl, you freaking idiot,” Jork spat. “She’s a woman.”
“Same thing,” said Higgsy, defensively. “As far as the rules are concerned, anyway.”
Cal swallowed his Spit Nibble, idly clicked the button on the doohickey a few times, then slipped it into his back pocket. Only then did he summon the energy and willpower necessary to ask Higgsy what he was talking about.
“We aren’t allowed girls or women or… or… females in boy’s dorms,” Higgsy explained. He took a break from nervously wringing his hands just long enough to anxiously point at the list of rules fixed to the wall beside the door. It was a very long list, and Cal had only read as far as rule number four (“Impersonating Employers shall be punishable by death”) before deciding he wasn’t all that interested, and that none of them really applied to him, anyway.
“Right, gotcha,” said Cal. “See, the thing is, guys…” He looked around the room. “Where’s Alan, by the way?”
There was a scuffling from under one of the bunk beds, then Alan emerged, crawling on his belly. He stood up, dusted himself down, then fixed his face into an expression that tried to suggest none of the past few seconds had happened.
“Carry on,” Alan said.
Cal frowned, shook his head just a fraction, then continued. “The thing is, guys, who actually enforces these rules? I bet it’s no-one, right? I bet they’re just put up there in the hope that you follow them, but with no actual consequences if you don’t.”
“Well…” began Jork.
Space Team: The Guns of Nana Joan Page 15