“You know what I say?” said Cal, striding over to the wall. “Fonk the rules.”
He dug his fingernails under the edge of the laminated list and pulled. Unfortunately, it was quite firmly fixed in place, and didn’t budge. He spent several more seconds muttering under his breath as he tried to tear the thing off from a variety of different angles, before deciding just to give it the finger, instead.
“Doesn’t matter. The point is, these rules are here to control you. I mean, they’re idiotic. Look at this one: ‘Waste buckets must be disposed of in a hygienic manner.’ Well, OK, that’s actually a pretty good rule. That’s just sensible. But look at some of the other ones.”
He moved his finger down the list, past several equally sensible instructions. “Aha!” he said, stopping a few inches further down. “No tickling! What kind of rule is that? We should be able to tickle each other if we want to! I mean, I don’t, obviously, and if anyone here tries to tickle me I will punch you to the ground, but that’s not the point.” He frowned. “I don’t think. What was my point again?”
“You were saying no-one enforces the rules,” said Alan.
“Right!”
“But they do,” Higgsy said. “The Re-Educators. They’re part of the Tribunal. They make sure everyone obeys.”
“Oh. OK,” said Cal. “And you’re scared of them? You just want to keep your heads down, do as your told, and stay out of trouble?”
Higgsy nodded enthusiastically, jiggling his saggy jowls.
“Pretty much,” said Alan.
“Works for me,” agreed Jork.
Cal smiled sadly at them. “And that, guys, is why I can’t take you into space. There are a million different rules on a million different planets, and the only way you survive is if you break them. Trust me. As a veteran of space travel, I know what I’m talking about.”
“How long were you out there for?” asked Jork.
“A long time,” said Cal. “I wouldn’t like to put a number on it, but, you know, a while.” He sat on the bed. “I can’t take you into space, guys. I’m sorry, but that’s final.”
“Aw, but you got us all excited about it,” said Jork. “We don’t want to stay here.”
“We hate it here!” Higgsy added.
Cal tossed a Spit Nibble into his mouth. “Really? Ah, well fonk it, then,” he said, standing up. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Thirty minutes later, Cal, Higgsy, Jork and Alan crouched behind a dumpster outside Tanso’s Ship Valet Service Stop, keeping to the shadows. The blinking neon sign above the lot boasted: ‘Open 32 hours!’ and Cal could see a couple of his former Parlooq colleagues laboriously scrubbing the outside of a ship. Their spongework was excellent. The ship, not so much.
It was the wrong shape, for starters. Cal didn’t know what shape it was supposed to be, but it definitely wasn’t this one. Surely no-one would built a ship that looked like that on purpose?
It looked a bit like a fat triangle, but tapering backwards, rather than forwards, so the chunky end was at the front. Cal knew it was the front because it had a large windscreen that was tinted green at the top. Two names ran across the top of the windscreen – ‘Gurt’ and ‘Zandra’ – and there was something hanging from a hook on the other side of the glass that could feasibly have been a pair of furry dice.
Most of the ship was a sort of tan brown, aside from one panel on the left, which was blue. The corresponding panel on the right was the same color as the rest, suggesting the left one had been replaced at some point, but never resprayed.
There was no landing ramp that Cal could see, but a narrow ladder descended from beneath the ship, suggesting there was probably a hatchway at the top of it.
“OK, there’s our entry point,” said Cal. “We get over there, I’ll distract the Parlooqs, you all get on board, then I’ll join you.”
Higgsy’s voice was a warbling squeak. “Wait, we’re going to steal it? We can’t steal it! How can we steal it?”
Cal indicated for him to shut the fonk up. “Relax. It’s fine. I’ve basically stolen every ship I’ve ever owned. No-one minds. It’s just what happens in space.”
“Yeah, you freaking idiot, it’s just what happens in space,” agreed Jork, like he was suddenly now an authority on the matter. “Chill out.”
“Everyone ready?” Cal asked. Jork and Alan both nodded. Higgsy rocked from foot to foot. Cal decided that was good enough. “OK, stick with me until I start talking, then make for the ship and don’t stop.”
Cal stepped out from behind the dumpster, and beckoned for the others to follow. He led them, like a mother duck with her ducklings, across the parking lot, headed straight for the cheese wedge of a ship.
“Guys!” he said, grinning at the Parlooqs as soon as he was close enough for them to notice. “Seriously, do you ever stop? Old Tanso’s going to work your fingers to the bone.”
He stopped beside the Parlooqs and gestured for the others to continue. Higgsy hesitated, but Jork caught him by the sleeve and pulled him towards the ladder.
“My friends here – you’re not going to believe this – they’ve never seen the inside of a ship. They’re considering moving into the valeting sector, inspired by guys just like you two, so I promised them I’d give them a quick tour. That’s OK, right?”
The Parlooqs finally turned around. “Oh,” said one. “Hey… Nob.”
“Hey… uh… you!” said Cal.
“What… brings… you… here?”
Cal glanced over to the ladder. Higgsy, Jork and Alan were whisper-arguing about who should go first.
“Uh, all that stuff I just said a moment ago. Remember?” He raised his voice. “About my friends wanting to go in the spaceship?”
“Oh,” said the other Parlooq.
“Yep, so we won’t be long.”
“I’m… not… sure…”
“Thanks, guys!” said Cal, giving them double finger guns. They were probably going to get into trouble for this, so ‘the double’ was the least he could do. He began backing towards the ladder. “We’ll literally just be in and out. You won’t even know we were here.”
“…that’s such… a good…”
Cal tapped his forehead in salute. “I owe you one,” he said, then he turned to Jork and the others and hissed. “Get up the fonking ladder!”
“They want me to go first,” said Higgsy. “Why should I go first?”
“Youngest first,” whispered Jork. “We decided.”
“You mean you two decided,” Higgsy said.
Cal pushed past them and grabbed a handhold. “Jesus, I’ll go first, but follow me up, and be quick. Even these guys are going to get suspicious soon.”
He gave the frowning Parlooqs a friendly wave, then scampered up the ladder. The air inside the ship felt old and stale, like a teenager’s bedroom. Cal waved a hand in front of his face, trying in vain to waft the smell away.
The hatch opened right into the main area of the ship. Cal stopped, halfway through it, to make sure the coast was clear.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
“’Oo the fack are you?”
Cal was taken aback, momentarily, by the use of the word ‘fack’. It didn’t sound much like ‘fonk’, but then it didn’t sound much like the pre-censored version, either, and he decided it probably existed as a curse word all on its own. He made a mental note to try it out later, but doubted he could do it the justice the accent of the man towering over him had just done.
He stopped being taken aback by the man’s word choice, and moved onto being taken aback by the man himself. He was mostly human-looking, with a chest-length red beard and teeth that were nasty-looking in every sense.
He wore an ensemble of metal, scuffed leather, and – Cal looked more closely – yes, severed fingers. They draped around his broad shoulders on a length of wire, only partly visible because of the beard.
Many of these elements were troubling. There were two aspects to this gentleman that
Cal found more troubling, however. The first was the gun he carried. It was shotgun-shaped and shotgun-sized, and currently pointed directly at Cal’s head.
The second troubling aspect was that the man was not alone. Five other, similarly-dressed, similarly-bearded men rose from the beanbags they’d been sitting on. Most of them were missing body parts of some description. One lacked an eye, the other an ear, a third the lower half of a leg. Between the six, you could probably make four complete people, with some bits and bobs left over.
“Answer us, then!” the first man grunted. “’Oo the fack are you?”
“I reckons he’s trying to nick your ship, Gurt,” said another, swishing aside his long leather trench coat to reveal a long, curved blade hanging from his belt.
“What? No!” said Cal, laughing confidently. “I was just checking to see if you gents needed anything while you’re waiting? Coffee? Tea? Uh… prosthetics?”
“Hurry up!” hissed Alan from below. His voice rose up through the hatchway, and the inside of the ship acted as an amplifier. “If the Tribunal catches us stealing this ship, we’re done for.”
Cal smiled weakly as the ship’s other occupants produced an assortment of other weapons. “You know what? I think I’m just going to go,” he said, then he dropped down the ladder just as a shotgun blast sprayed the hatch with buckshot.
“What was that?” Higgsy yelped. “What was that bang?”
“Nothing good,” said Cal. He picked Alan up and threw him over his shoulder.
“Hey, let go of me. Put me down, or I’ll rip your lungs out through—”
“Alan, shut up,” said Cal. “Everyone else – run.”
He shoved Higgsy and Jork out of the way just as Gurt appeared at the top of the hatch and fired his shotgun again. Higgsy shrieked in fright and discovered a reserve of speed he hadn’t previously tapped into before. He took off like a rocket, knocking aside the Parlooqs and quickly pulling ahead of the others.
“Where is he going?” Cal asked. A blaster shot ricocheted off the hull of the ship, and he zig-zagged erratically, trying to stay out of the shooter’s sights.
“How the fonk should I know?” Alan yelped. “I can’t see nothing!”
“Nana Joan’s,” Jork wheezed, his voice a tremble of terror. “It’s closer than the Stagnates.”
Another shotgun blast tore through the night behind them, and Cal felt something hot whistle past his ear. “Look, this was all just a terrible misunderstanding,” he called over his shoulder. A blaster shot punched a fist-sized hole in the sidewalk just ahead of them in reply.
“I don’t think that worked,” said Alan.
“You don’t fonking say,” Cal muttered.
There was a road dead ahead of them. Even this late, traffic criss-crossed it at a pretty alarming rate. Higgsy had already navigated his way across, and was elbowing his way through the thinner night-time crowds.
Jork began to slow as they approached the curb, but Cal caught his arm and pulled him on. “Don’t think about it, just run.”
“But… the cars!”
“I know, but let’s all just assume they’ll stop and let us—”
A vehicle clipped Cal’s leading leg, flipping him into the air. He somersaulted twice, slammed down onto the car’s roof, then rolled to the ground.
Luckily for Alan, the initial impact had knocked him off Cal’s shoulder, and so he hadn’t had to endure the rest of the ordeal. He used Jork’s leg to pull himself up, but Cal was already up on his feet, dancing on the spot and shaking the pain out through his fingertips.
“Totally meant that,” Cal wheezed.
The side window of the now stopped car imploded as another shotgun blast peppered the vehicle. Cal pulled Jork into the traffic again, with Alan now scrambling along behind.
“We’re gonna die,” Alan said. “We’re all gonna die.”
“No, we’re not,” said Cal, darting sideways as an egg-shaped vehicle screeched to a stop right beside him. “Well, not all of us, anyway. I’m kind of immortal.”
“We’re not!” said Jork.
“I know!” Cal replied. “Hence the running.”
They made it to the other side. A spray of blaster fire from the chasing group scattered the crowds a little, and Cal pushed through a gap that opened in the direction Higgsy had gone.
“No, wait, there’s a shortcut,” said Jork, gesturing towards the mouth of an alley that ran between two near-identical branches of the same clothes store chain. “That way!”
Cal ducked into the alleyway, and the others followed. On the plus side, it was much quieter down here, with no-one to get in the way of their escape. On the downside, it was a single long passageway with nowhere to hide and, perhaps more importantly, no witnesses.
Behind them, more tires screeched. Metal collided with metal. Someone screamed.
“Go, go,” said Cal, gesturing for the others to go ahead of him. He gave them a five-second head start, then set off after them, deliberately trying to take up as much of the passageway as he could.
He braced himself for the pain. It didn’t leave him waiting. A shotgun blast bit at his back, punching holes in his jacket and digging into his flesh like wasp-stings. The impact sent him stumbling forwards, but he pushed himself off the wall and raced on, the wounds on his back already expelling the fiery lumps of lead.
“Ow! Ooh! Well, you got me,” he shouted back. “We’re even now, guys!”
Another blaster bolt took a chunk of out of the wall beside him, spraying his face with smoldering shards of stone. He almost took a moment to criticize the blaster owner’s shooting skills, but worried this might provide him with just the incentive he needed to improve, so concentrated on running at the correct speed, instead.
He defined the ‘correct speed’ as one that would allow him to keep Jork and Alan in view, while simultaneously staying far enough back to provide a useful human shield. Obviously, he couldn’t stay too far back, though, because lots of the men chasing them had big pointy implements, and while a shotgun blast to the buttocks was one thing, being shish-kebabed on a rusty metal spike was quite another.
Another spray of buckshot tore at him. He was far enough ahead that he was only getting the tail-end of each shot, but they still stung like a motherfonker, and he almost lost his balance again. He stumbled on, ignoring the pain until it healed up.
Up ahead, Jork and Alan emerged from the alleyway and immediately turned right. Now he was no longer on shield duty, Cal picked up the pace. The walls became a blur of streaking speed lines around him as he powered on, leaving Gurt and his gang trailing behind. Another shotgun blast rang out, but this time the buckshot fell well short of its target.
“Get back here, you facking nonce!” Gurt bellowed. Tempting an offer as that was, Cal raced to the alley’s mouth, skidded right, then hurried after Jork and Alan.
The street was busier than the alleyway, but still nothing like during the day. Cal passed a couple of dozen people as he closed in on the others, then stopped when he turned another corner and realized Jork and Alan were nowhere to be seen.
“Shizz,” Cal spat, turning on the spot. There was a fence beside him, just a little taller than head height. From the other side, he heard a panicky whisper.
“Over here,” Jork hissed.
Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no-one was watching – or no-one who currently wanted to kill him, at least – Cal jumped up, caught the top of the fence, then scrambled over. He dropped down onto the other side just as Gurt and his crew clattered around the corner.
“Where the fack did he go?” Gurt spat.
Jork and Alan were crouching in a nest of trash, their fingers pressed to their lips. They were in a narrow area between two buildings, which might once have been a passageway. The fence blocked access from the road, but the alley continued out to the back of the buildings. Jork and Alan crept towards it, keeping low, their feet swishing softly through the discarded paper, cardboard and plastic.
> Cal held his breath and peered through one of the gaps in the fence. Gurt’s gang stood on the other side, looking around, just as he had done. They didn’t look the smartest bunch of guys Cal had ever seen – he’d seen herds of cows with better reasoning skills – but it was only a matter of time before one of them thought to check the fence.
He had to sneak away before any of them—
KABOOM! Gurt’s shotgun punched a hole in the wood right above Cal’s head. Jork and Alan both screamed, and Cal frantically kicked backwards as another blast of buckshot widened the gap.
“Oh yeah, you’d better run. You’d better facking run!” grimaced Gurt, his face leering through the hole. The fence began to rock violently as the gang got their weight behind it.
Cal kicked to his feet and raced after the others. Jork led them left, then right, then right again as he weaved through a twisting network of narrow back streets until, finally, they emerged into a wide clearing at the back of Nana Joan’s.
Despite never having been there before, Cal immediately knew this was the back of Nana Joan’s. Cal recognized a couple of broken chairs propped up against the back wall that looked remarkably like those he’d broken during his fight with the restaurant’s elderly proprietor.
There was a little sign above the back door. The writing on it made his eyes water, as it tried to say two different things at the same time. One of Cal’s eyes seemed to be interpreting it simply as the words ‘Nana Joan’s’ in stark, black-on-white lettering, while the other saw the white-on-red logo of Five Guys shining out at him.
As if those clues weren’t revealing enough, the third was the real clincher. A spaceship stood in the yard. It was a boxy-looking thing, designed for sturdiness rather than speed, Cal guessed. Emblazoned on the side in letters several feet high were the words: ‘Nana Joan’s Delivery Service.’
“She has a spaceship?” Cal hissed. “Nana Joan has a fonking spaceship?”
“Guys! Psst! Down here!”
Higgsy’s voice came from somewhere under the main body of the ship. Cal and Jork both folded themselves low and darted in to join him. Alan did the same, but without the ducking part.
Space Team: The Guns of Nana Joan Page 16