Space Team: A Lot of Weird Space Shizz: Collected Short Stories

by Barry J. Hutchison

  Cal reached through the fog of his memory, stretching back towards the note on the door. “They’re in… a place.”

  “That doesn’t help,” Morana said.

  “It’s a word. I can see a word,” he said, squinting as if he could somehow bring the writing into focus. “Mumble? No, wait. Mumfle, maybe?”

  “The bar?”

  Cal slapped himself on the forehead. His hangover didn’t thank him for it. “Of course! The bar. That’s the place me and Splurt went. I even know where that is. Vaguely.”

  There was a ping and one of the elevator doors opened. Cal bundled Morana inside and began studying the circular brass buttons that lined all three of the walls. There were hundreds of the fonkers. When he and Splurt had gone on their bar-hunt, he’d pressed a few at random and hopped off at the floor that looked the most promising.

  “It’s this one,” he said, settling on a button that looked identical in every way to all the others. “Or possibly that one, that one, this one, or one of these two,” he added, pushing all those, too. A light illuminated beneath each button and the door clunked closed.

  The elevator climbed smoothly. This worried Cal a little, because the one he’d been on with Splurt had been a real bone-rattler he’d been convinced was about to drop at any minute. This was a different elevator, and quite possibly didn’t even go to the floor they needed to get to.

  Still, he could worry about that in a minute. Right now, there was something else that required his attention.

  “Are you OK?” he asked. Morana was leaning against the back wall, her breath coming in short, shallow gulps. A sheen of sweat shone across her pink forehead, and she was flexing the fingers of one hand in and out, while rubbing the underside of her bump with the other. “Tell me you’re not having a baby.”

  Morana shot him an irritated look and indicated her bump.

  “Now, I meant,” said Cal. “Tell me you’re not having a baby right now.”

  After a moment that seemed to Cal to stretch on for all eternity, she shook her head. “Not now, no.”

  “But soon?” said Cal.

  Morana nodded. “I think so.”

  Cal shot a glance up at elevator’s metal mesh ceiling. “Hurry the fonk up!” he urged.

  As if on cue, the elevator car glided to a stop. Cal and Morana pressed themselves against the wall on either side and waited for the door to slide open.

  Another warehouse-like cargo bay stood beyond the doors. “Nope,” Cal said. “Not this one.”

  The door closed and they were on their way again. This pattern repeated four times – the elevator stopped, the doors opened to reveal a cargo deck, or an accommodation corridor, and they continued upwards.

  “Are you sure you pushed the right button?” Morana asked.

  “No,” Cal admitted. “They should really have, like, a map or something in here, instead of people having to rely on guesswork. It’s a terrible system.”

  The elevator stopped. They adopted the position. The door opened.

  A flicker of recognition stirred at the back of Cal’s brain. This floor wasn’t loaded with cargo or featureless doors, and was instead filled with people and laughter and the unmistakable chinking of glassware.

  “Bingo,” said Cal. He moved to step out of the elevator, but Morana held him back. She pointed past him, to where a group of mostly human-looking men in matching leather armor stood talking to what appeared to be a person dressed as a big rat. Cal had seen enough in the past few days that he knew it probably wasn’t a person dressed up at all, and was, in fact, just a big rat.

  Whatever it was, it looked frightened, and anything that could frighten a giant space rat was something to be avoided, that was Cal’s motto. Admittedly, it hadn’t been his motto for long, but he was damn sure it would be from this point on.

  The men all wore gun-metal gray helmets which attached to their armor at the back of the neck. From where Cal was standing, he couldn’t see the front of the helmets, but they seemed to be full-faced, designed to protect the wearer’s head, while simultaneously scaring the bejesus out of anyone who met them.

  “Bounty hunters,” Morana mouthed.

  Cal grimaced. “Great,” he muttered. The crowds were pretty thin around the elevator door, but quickly grew more densely packed together just a few dozen feet away. If they could get past the bounty hunters without them turning, they could feasibly use the crowd as cover all the way to Mumfle.

  If they could get past the bounty hunters. That was what it all came down to. And now, with their backs still turned, looked to be as good a time as any.

  “Come on,” Cal said, taking Morana by the wrist. They hurried out, Cal striding, Morana waddling a few steps behind him.

  “Happy Kroyshuk!” bellowed a grey-skinned creature with walrus-like tusks, lunging towards them. Cal nodded briefly in response and ducked past him, hauling Morana along.

  He dodged past a small knot of revelers, sticking close so he and Morana looked to be part of the same group. The main bulk of the crowd was just a few more feet ahead now. Cal spotted a narrow gap in the bodies and headed towards it.

  It was then that he made the mistake of checking on the bounty hunter situation. As he looked over, his eyes met those of the big rat. He whipped his head around to face front again, far too quickly for it to look natural, he realized.

  “Shizz,” he muttered, wanting to look back, but keen not to look even more suspicious. He waited until they’d reached the gap in the crowd, then chanced a quick peek back over his shoulder.

  The rat had one arm raised, a long, thin finger jabbing towards Morana. The bounty hunters had all about-turned, revealing their helmets to be even more intimidating than Cal had imagined them to be.

  “Uh-oh, time to go,” Cal said, shoving his way into the throngs of bodies. They were barely a few steps in when the first shot came. It screamed above their heads, a searing streak of blaster fire that slammed into the wall of a restaurant just ahead of them, shattering the window and scattering glass across the floor.

  Everyone in the crowd began to scream at once. They surged away from the approaching bounty hunters, carrying Cal and Morana along with them. Cal hissed and shrieked as his bare feet trampled through the shards of glass.

  “Ow! Fonk! Shizz! Fonk! Ow!”

  Another blast scorched the air. The crowd tightened around them, all screaming and elbows and trampling feet. Cal made it through the glass, holding onto Morana as tightly as he could. He risked a glance back in time to see the bounty hunters gunning down the back few rows of the rushing crowds. This only served to make the next few rows push forwards with even greater enthusiasm, and Morana screamed in panic as she and Cal were forced apart.

  There was a gap in the wall ahead, a narrow alleyway between two bars that was presumably some sort of staff access. Cal shoved himself backwards, grabbing for Morana’s sleeve. He hissed as a shard of glass wedged itself more deeply into his right foot, but then felt a surge of relief when he locked his hand onto Morana’s arm.

  Cutting right, they worked their way through the fleeing horde, keeping their heads low. Several of the things in the crowd were substantially taller and wider than Cal and Morana put together, so staying out of sight wasn’t too much of a problem.

  They stumbled out of the throngs and into the alleyway. “Come on, down here,” Cal urged, hobbling painfully away from the screaming crowds and the screeching blaster-fire.

  The alleyway turned into a couple of sharp right angles. They hurried down them, the sounds of chaos getting quieter and more distant with each turn. “Keep going,” Cal said. “I don’t think they saw us.”

  “What about that?” Morana asked. She pointed to the trail of bloody footprints that stretched out behind Cal. “They’ll follow those.”

  “Shizz!” Cal spat. He lifted the marginally more painful of his feet, looked at the sole, then wished he hadn’t. “Can you give me a piggy-back?”

  “No!” Morana said.


  “No, right, of course not,” Cal said. He clicked his fingers. “What if I gave you a piggy-back?”

  “How would that help?”

  Cal winced. “Yeah, you’re right, that doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

  “Down here,” crackled a voice from back along the alleyway. “They went this way.”

  Morana scampered ahead as fast as a heavily pregnant woman could possibly scamper. Cal shuffled behind her, his feet curved inwards so all his weight was on the outside edges.

  “Go, go, don’t wait for me,” he said, gesturing for her to run. She chewed her lip fretfully for a moment, then turned and rushed on, zig-zagging around another set of corners.

  Cal was closing on the first corner when he heard her cry out in panic. “No!” she yelped.

  “Shizz, what now?” Cal grimaced, hobbling faster. He made it around the z-bend and immediately spotted the problem.

  The alleyway opened up into a rectangular storage area that ended in a solid wall dead ahead of them. There were no doors. No way in or out, other than the route they’d just taken.

  They were trapped.

  And there was nowhere left to run.

  7.

  Cal turned, placing himself in front of Morana just as six bounty hunters flooded out of the alleyway and into the wider clearing. He held the sword in a way he hoped suggested he knew how to use it beyond a basic ‘stabby end’ and ‘non-stabby end’ level.

  “Hey, guys!” he said, trying to sound breezy and confident. He looked their matching uniforms up and down. “So, are you all dressed the same on purpose, or was it just an awkward coincidence?” he asked. “I bet you were all like, ‘Wait, I said I was wearing the leather armor and sinister helmet.’ Must’ve been pretty embarrassing.”

  The bounty hunters fanned out until they stood like a firing squad before him. Cal hobbled on the spot, gritting his teeth against the pain in his feet, and trying not to show how rapidly his fear levels were rising.

  “Anyway, I’m really sorry to disappoint,” he said. “I can’t let you take the girl.”

  “We don’t want the girl,” crackled one of the masked men, an audio waveform flickering across his helmet’s visor in time with his voice.

  Cal glanced back at Morana, then pointed to himself. “Wait… you’re here for me?”

  “The baby,” voiceboxed another of the men.

  “Right, yes, of course!” said Cal. “Gotcha. Makes sense.”

  He raised the sword. “But, you see, the thing is, I can’t let you take the baby, either,” he told them. “Although that thing you do with your mask and your voice is pretty fonking cool. I can see why you all decided to wear it. Hell, if I had a mask like that I don’t think I’d ever take it off.”

  While Cal spoke, all six of the bounty hunters simultaneously saw three things flash up beside a little target icon which appeared over his head in their in-visor display. The first was his name. The second was a word which, if viewed with a visual translator chip, would have approximated the word ‘Wanted.’ The third thing was the part they were most interested in. It was a number. A number with a lot of zeroes.

  “Cal Carver,” crackled the man in the center. “Looks like we do want you, after all. Or someone does. This is going to be a more productive day that we thought.”

  All six weapons snapped up. Morana covered her eyes and pressed herself behind Cal’s back. “Guys, guys, wait!” Cal urged. He smiled weakly. “I mean, come on. It’s Kroyshuk. Season of peace and goodwill. Or, you know, something like that. It’s not a time to be rounding up completely innocent people in alleyways, it’s a time for friendship. For family.”

  He looked across at all six visors. “I mean, you’re kidnapping an unborn child. I’m pretty sure that’s, like, in the top ten worst things you can possibly do. Top twenty, anyway. A helpless infant being hunted by a wicked king – that’s not what Kroyshuk is all about.”

  None of the men had made any move to shoot him, so he took a breath and prepared to deliver the killer blow. “I mean… what would your moms think?”

  Silence fell. There were no screams from out in the main concourse any longer. The only sound was the distant jingle of piped music. It sounded quite festive, which Cal hoped would do his case no harm at all.

  “Oh good,” said the middle bounty hunter, as new data flashed up on his screen. “Dead or alive.”

  All six of the men’s blaster rifles swung to target Cal. He gritted his teeth, shut his eyes, held the sword up at an angle he hoped would miraculously deflect every one of the men’s shots at the same time, and braced himself.

  “Ugh. Like, who is that fat chick?”

  Cal opened one eye. A powerfully built figure stood behind the bounty hunters, her hairy head and toothy snout towering above them all.

  “Miz!” Cal cried. “Thank fonk for that.”

  Three of the bounty hunters spun on the spot, taking aim at Mizette. The others kept their sights trained on Cal.

  “Halt!” barked one of the masked men.

  “Halt yourself,” scowled Miz, sneering down at him. She eyeballed him for a few moments, then looked him up and down. “That armor is so last year, by the way,” she informed him, then she lifted her eyes to Cal again. “Seriously, who’s that?”

  “Uh, Morana, Miz, Miz, Morana,” said Cal, quickly. He gestured to the bounty hunters. “Possibly not the best time.”

  Miz glared at Morana, her eyes narrowed. “Whatever,” she said, at last. “Mech says you should move to the left.”

  Cal frowned. “Why?”

  “What am I, his secretary? He just said you should move to the left.”

  “My left or your left?”

  “He didn’t say,” said Miz, sounding more and more annoyed. “All he said was, ‘Tell him to move to the--”

  The wall on Cal’s right exploded. He moved left, pulling the screaming Morana with him. Two of the bounty hunters trained their weapons on the smoking hole and the pile of rubble on the ground in front of it.

  Mech’s metal frame whirred as he clanked through the gap in a cloud of masonry dust. The paint job he’d been given by Zertex was gone. It hadn’t been painted over, but removed somehow, as Mech now looked in the same scorched and battered state he’d been when Cal had first met him.

  “Can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can we?” Mech grunted. He stepped in front of Cal and Morana, his back to the gunmen.

  “Stand aside!” crackled one of them. Mech held up a finger.

  “One second. I’m talking to my boy here,” Mech told them. He nodded towards Morana. “Who’s the girl?”

  “Morana, Mech, Mech, Morana,” said Cal. “She’s pregnant.”

  “I can see that,” said Mech.

  “Wait… it’s not yours, is it?” demanded Miz.

  Cal leaned past Mech and shot Miz a reassuring smile. “Hey, come on, I’m fast, but I’m not that fast!”

  A bounty hunter swung his weapon to take aim at Cal’s head, and Cal quickly ducked back in behind Mech.

  There was a flash of movement by the hole in the wall. Loren rolled expertly through the gap and over the rubble, coming to rest on one knee, her blaster pistol drawn and already taking aim at the closest bounty hunter.

  “In position!” she announced.

  Miz rolled her eyes. “Hooray, we’re saved,” she said, then she sneered. “We totally had this before you arrived. You’re literally making no difference right now. You just look stupid.”

  The bounty hunters now didn’t know who to aim for. When there had been three targets and six guns, it had been simple math. Two guns per target. That was assuming you counted Cal and Morana as one target, which was fine as they were close enough together to be touching.

  Now, though, there were four targets and six guns, and from a pure division point of view, that didn’t work. Cal and Morana were both behind Mech, but the gunmen at each end of the line could still see them, which only served to complicate the whole aiming thing further.r />
  On the plus side, the inside of each bounty hunter’s visor was currently a switchboard of names and reward notifications. If they could round up this little lot, they could probably retire on the profits.

  “We’re taking you all in,” barked one of the bolder men. “Surrender, or be destroyed.”

  Mech clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, then tapped his forehead at Morana in a little gesture of salute. “Lady, you might want to avert your eyes,” he said.

  He turned to face the bounty hunters and regarded them in silence for a few long moments. “In fact… Miz, Loren,” he said, at last. “Why don’t you two take Cal and his lady friend somewhere?”

  “Aw!” Miz protested. “How come you get all the fun?”

  “Miz. Please,” said Mech.

  Miz sighed loudly, folded her arms and shoved her way through the line of gunmen, forcibly shouldering one of them aside. She trudged past Loren, over the rubble, and stopped just inside the hole. “So, are you, like, coming or what?” she demanded.

  Cal and Morana shuffled sideways out of Mech’s cover. An alternating number of guns followed them as they joined Miz on the other side of the hole.

  Loren straightened up, her blaster still raised, then retreated for the gap in the wall. “You be OK?” she asked.

  Mech snorted. “Come on. You serious?”

  “Have fun!” Cal called, then he popped his head around the edge of the hole again. “Oh, and once you’re finished, bring me one of their boots, will you?”

  He vanished into the hole, then popped back out again. “And by that I mean bring me the boots of one of them, not one boot. Just to be clear. Two boots.”

  “Gotcha,” said Mech.

  “A left and a right, don’t try to be cute by bringing me two identical boots or anything.”

  “Just go, man,” Mech said. “I’ll get you the fonking boots.”

  Cal gave him a thumbs-up, then waved briefly at the bounty hunters. “Bye, guys. Merry Kroyshuk.”

  He turned away, just as Mech reached for the big round dial fixed to the center of his chest. Turning it one way, Cal knew, cranked up Mech’s brainpower, making him super-intelligent, but at the cost of his physical strength.