Pew! Pew! - Bite My Shiny Metal Pew!

by M. D. Cooper

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  Swarm of the Zom-Bees

  By Chris J. Pike

  Captain Jim Jones and his crew just want to enjoy a few space hot dogs when blood sucking bees attack.

  Captain Jones and his crew aboard the Barnburner were celebrated heroes after saving the world from giant Space Bees. Now times have changed, and the world has entered into a strange truce.

  Everyone has been fooled by the Space Bees, with their apparent need to cultivate honey everywhere: space honey sticks, space honey pots—it’s for sale in every port and every space station this side of Uranus (no, not that one.)

  But when the first Space Bee shop opens on Earth, Jones suspects something else is afoot as people start dropping like flies—LITERALLY.

  Zom-Bees on Earth. Sucking blood like damn mosquitoes, while selling their wares in honey pots. If anyone is going to do anything about it, it sure as hell isn’t going to be Jim Jones.

  Nah, just kidding. It sure as hell is going to be Jim Jones! After he’s been bribed, said he told you so, and eaten one more space dog…

  Chapter One

  Marty McStinkFly had an uncommon name, and it was one he hated. His father, Marty McStinkFly Sr., hated it too. While growing up, the youngest Marty had been teased by other kids.

  “It’s all in good fun,” his mother, guidance counselor, and social worker all told him. “It’s okay, Marty. No one really means ‘McStinkFly Stinks’.”

  Sure…

  He did his best, keeping to himself, working the entry-level job he’d had for the last twenty-five years on the docks of San Francisco as a vendor. He sold space dogs; that was his calling. His passion.

  Mustard, ketchup, minced onion—even mayo, if that was really your jam. It wasn’t Marty’s place to judge. People loved his space dogs. They came from all over the galaxy to eat them.

  Some would argue that they were just returning to Earth, anyway, but Marty knew the truth. He knew how much people loved a space dog on a buttery, toasted bun. Toss in a space soda and a bag of asteroid chips, and you were golden. Golden!

  He had seen changes on the docks, seen people come and go; sharing workspace was part of the gig. He didn’t mind as long as they could verify they had the proper registration and license from the government.

  This time, Marty wasn’t so sure he’d even ask. A Space Bee! Why did it have to be a Space Bees!

  He hid behind his colored umbrella, the one on which a space dog lay on a lounge chair and wore a pair of sunglasses. It projected a hologram right out front in giant letters—Marty’s Space Dogs!—because he didn’t want to be seen.

  The new vendor wasn’t even human. It buzzed as it went about setting up its cart for the day. Honey sticks, honey cakes, honey suckers.

  It was a damn Space Bee! That giant torso with that extended abdomen that freaked him out so much, with tiny wings that somehow supported its weight. How is that even possible?!

  The Space Bee turned. He wore mirrored shades, and Marty ducked behind his row of condiments, hoping he hadn’t been caught. But he had been caught. The Space Bee held out one of his feet, covered in pollen, and gave Marty the strangest thumbs-up he had ever seen.

  UGH!

  Space Bees; why did it have to be Space Bees? It was that damn peace accord. Marty understood peace—it’s what the galaxy needed in order to heal—but to let Space Bees on Earth, allow them to sell honey and open their own colony?

  It was criminal in the shape of a hexagon square!

  Marty scowled as he watched the Space Bee ring up his first customer, holding out the credit card pad to swipe his first payment, buzzing with excitement the entire time.

  Marty simmered with anger. He would get to the bottom of this, one honey pot at a time, if necessary! Or his name wasn’t Marty McStinkFly.

  Chapter Two

  “Welcome home, Barnburner heroes,” the female flight control officer said over the loud speaker. “We’ve missed you! Well, most of you.”

  Jim Jones sighed from the captain’s chair with his chin in his hand and raised his eyebrows. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

  “Thanks a lot for not mentioning my name,” Morticia, his chronically depressed AI, said. “I know you meant me.”

  “I actually didn’t,” the female flight attendant assured her. “I was talking about Captain Jones.”

  Macy chuckled from her spot in the pilot seat. “Ain’t that the truth? Thanks, Flight Control. We’re starting our descent.”

  Lucky for her, she’s cute in her tight-fitting, spandex, blue suit and her matching blue fuzzy socks, Jim grumbled to himself. Her blond hair gleamed like the sun; she tossed it back to give Jim a smile, and he returned it…begrudgingly.

  As far as girlfriends went, she was top notch; the best of the best. She wasn’t why Jim Jones was in such a bad mood.

  He loved Earth, and coming home a hero. Nothing made him happier than to be showered with praise, flowers, and food—though, not necessarily in that order. He was hungry. Damn hungry.

  “Captain’s log,” Jim Jones spoke into his armrest and rubbed his scruffy chin and cheeks. “Remember to shower…and shave.”

  “You’re disgusting,” Mort agreed, “but that should come as no surprise to you.” She sighed.

  “I know you love me, girl, so don’t pretend otherwise,” Jim said.

  No, the reason he was in such a bad mood was the exact reason why they were back on Earth: Space Bees, and this peace accord.

  Jim didn’t like it, didn’t trust it; it wasn’t normal to be a giant bug living in space. It just wasn’t. He knew better than anyone that Space Bees took no prisoners. When the giant bees had tried to assault Earth, he had been the one to blow up their hive; he had been the one that nearly died, putting it all on the line. Victory was sweet—and sticky. He’d had to clean honey out of his belly button for weeks after.

  Weeks.

  Now all is forgotten and the Space Bees are welcome on Earth? Not only that, they’re allowed to build their own hive complexes, open shops, and assimilate into our culture?

  “I don’t buy it,” Jim said out loud, growing angry. “Bees don’t assimilate to our way of life; they get us to assimilate to theirs. It’s a trick. A sticky, delicious trick!” He slammed his fist down on the console.

  Why the hell is no one saying anything?

  “Your captain addressed the crew! Can I get some sort of response, please?!” He railed.

  “We’re docked and landed.” Macy turned her seat around as she spoke, and Jim caught sight of the short-sleeve blue t-shirt she wore over her spandex suit. ‘Protect the Bees’ it said, and was covered by a fuzzy-haired bee in the center wearing sunglasses and holding its thumb up.

  Stupid bees, trying to hide the fact they have a million more eyes than normal. A million!

  Jim’s eyes widened. “Take that shirt off! This ship doesn’t support bees! Protect the Bees as much as an ant does when it’s squashed on the bottom of my foot!”

  “Oh, c’mon, Captain,” Steven coaxed from his console, where he had been playing Solitaire for the last twelve hours…or so Jim thought. He really wasn’t sure what Steven did. “Bees are harmless, now that we’ve reached an understanding. Besides, if we turn on the giant Star Wars Bug Zapper, they’ll all be taken care of,” Steven snapped his fingers, “like that.”

  Jim didn’t like it. Didn’t like any of it. It was too easy, too pat like butter. Mortal enemies didn’t just start getting along.

  He spun in his chair to tell Steven so and was taken back: the red-shirted navigation-whatever-officer was wearing bee-themed mirrored shades and a bouncy antenna headband.

  “You’re no longer my favorite first-cousin-twice-removed,” Jim growled.

  “You don’t even think of me
enough to tell me I’m no longer your favorite AI,” Morticia interrupted tearfully. “But I agree with you. The bees can’t be trusted.”

  “Thank you, Mort. You are my favorite AI, and my favorite ship.”

  “I mean, they tried to kill me. That can’t be forgiven,” Morticia persisted. “I’m very sensitive and fragile. I’m only a tug ship. Honey inside my blinking lights and pushy buttons could have been the end of me.”

  “ ‘Me, me, me’,” Jim mimicked. “That’s all I hear when you talk. Maybe—”

  Macy hooked her arm in his and pulled him up out of his chair. “Come on, Jim. It’s not that bad. We’re together on Earth for a few days off from tugging and patrolling—”

  “Or whatever it is we do,” Steven muttered as he shut down his game of Solitaire and followed after them toward the exit ramp.

  “We’ll have some fun and go to the peace accord function,” Macy continued. “If anything goes wrong, Captain Spectacular will be there; I’m sure he can keep all of us safe.” She patted Jim’s chest several times in quick succession and gave him a big smile.

  His first thought was to say, ‘Thanks for cutting my balls off, coating them in honey and sprinkles, and shoving them down my throat,’ but that would just cause Macy to cry and storm off.

  So instead, he faked a big smile. “I don’t know how my ego would survive without you, Macy.”

  She shrugged and blushed across her nose in that way he found adorable. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

  “It’s a something, all right,” Jim muttered.

  When they reached the exit ramp, he hit a few blinky buttons, and the door opened.

  “Everyone remember where we parked this time. Mort, we’ll see you in a few days. If there are any problems, make sure to contact someone who isn’t me right away.”

  “Funny. Ha ha,” Mort scowled. “So funny I forgot to laugh, Jim.”

  “But you did laugh.”

  Mort stuttered in her way. “Shut up.”

  “Make me,” Jim retorted, and Macy shoved him with a roll of her eyes.

  “He’s going to miss you as much as you miss him,” she appeased the AI. Now can we get a move on, please?”

  Jim’s nose hairs tingled as they stepped onto the dock. He sniffed and gazed around. I’d know that smell anywhere, and it isn’t Steven’s armpits.

  “Space dogs,” he whispered.

  Steven and Macy groaned in time as they walked toward the docking bay doors.

  “He can’t get off the docks without getting one of those nasty dogs.” Macy commented, exasperated. “Jim, you realize we’re going to dinner in a few hours, don’t you?”

  Jim shook his hand at her. “These aren’t regular space dogs, Macy. The twinge of spice, the hint of sweet, the crisp of skin; no, these dogs aren’t for the unintuitive. These are Marty McStinkFly dogs, and they’re calling my name.”

  Steven and Macy reared back in horror. “I wouldn’t eat anything named a Stink Fly,” Macy said.

  “McStinkFly,” Jim corrected. “It’s the vendor’s name, and he’s a little sensitive about it. How would you like it if people made fun of you for having the last name…” Jim thought it over. “That’s funny. Do you guys have last names?”

  Macy and Steven looked at each other and shrugged. “I’m not sure. I mean, it’s never come up,” Steven said.

  Huh, weird.

  “Anyway…” Jim dug out his wallet and started toward Marty’s vending cart, then stopped dead in his tracks. A damn bee had his cart set up right by his favorite space dog station, and even had a line forming made up of dock personnel and space jockeys.

  “Oh, honey!” Macy said.

  “Not now,” Jim hissed, mistaking her proclamation for a term of endearment. He realized his error when Macy and Steven rushed past him to get in line for some honey wares. Damn honey, so sticky and sweet.

  By the time Jim arrived at Marty’s station, his mood was soured. Though it wasn’t going to keep him from getting a space dog with everything on it except for mayo. Who the hell does that?

  “Usual, Jim?” Marty asked, already pulling a space dog from the sizzling rotation plate.

  “Sure.” Jim grumbled as he pulled some space dollars from his wallet, but his eyes were clearly on the Space Bee vendor. “What’s that all about?” He muttered out of the side of his mouth.

  Marty shook his head as he spooned hot, sizzling onions onto the space dog in his hand. “Place is going to the bees.”

  Isn’t that the truth.

  “Business has been down all morning, thanks to that buzzer. This isn’t a novelty for me, you know, Jim. It’s my buns and butter. My dogs and my potatoes. If I don’t sell these space dogs, me and my android are living on the streets.”

  “Don’t talk like that, Marty; you’ll sell plenty of dogs. This fad will wear off, trust me. You’re a McStinkFly, and McStinkFlys don’t give up!”

  Marty shrank back. “I can’t believe you said it twice in a row like that.”

  “Sorry,” Jim grunted as he took his food from Marty. He didn’t waste any time biting into the juicy dog. It had just the right bite, just the perfect snap, with a spicy and sweet combination that was out of this galaxy.

  He gave Marty a thumbs-up. “You’ll weather this storm, Marty. If you need any help, you just find the captain of the Barnburner.”

  “I will….Who’s that?”

  “Me, Marty! Me.” Jim sneered at him a bit, but couldn’t stay mad at the best vendor in San Francisco. He turned his attention away from Marty and searched for his crew. He found them standing off to the side, licking honey lollipops. Jim threw his arms wide on his approach, sending diced onion flying everywhere.

  “Would you guys jump on any bandwagon, or do you have some standards?” Jim took in the sight of Macy’s t-shirt and Steven’s bobbing antenna with a shake of his head. “Nevermind.”

  “We’re not the only ones.” Steven pointed over Jim’s shoulder.

  “Huh?” He turned around. I don’t believe it!

  The Barnburner was wearing a pair of stylish mirrored shades and boasting a yellow and black foam thumb right over her cockpit. “Mort!” Jim bellowed in anger. “I thought we were on the same side, girl!”

  “Sorry, Captain,” Mort said across their private network. “If you can’t join them, might as well beeeee them.”

  Everyone laughed at her joke except Jim. He didn’t find it funny. Not funny at all.

  Chapter Three

  The banquet hall was decorated in yellow and black, and each table was adorned with a tasteful balloon display and yummy honey treats—honey donuts, honey candies, and honey crullers, with a honey tea to wash everything down. The military personnel looked surprisingly upbeat for being, well, military personnel.

  Jim Jones refused to eat anything made with space honey. With a curmudgeonly facial tic, he crossed his arms and made his way to the center of the floor.

  “Don’t tell me you agree with all of this?” he asked the one and only Captain Spectacular.

  Not only had Captain Spectacular single-handedly fought against the bees and led the suicide missions (all forty-nine of them), but he had lived to tell the tale. He had also lived to be captured by traitors inside the Space Force, only to then be rescued by Jim Jones and the rest of the crew of the Barnburner.

  Spectacular was as…er…spectacular as his name suggested, tall and damn attractive in his formal military dress. Jim Jones even had urges as he stood next to the man.

  Spectacular puffed out his chest as he took a deep breath. “Jones, I’ve learned a thing or two living my life on the razor’s knife edge, staring out into the dark.”

  “Does it have anything to do with the use of adjectives?”

  Jim yelped as Spectacular pulled him in close, and they gazed outside together at the city’s skyline.

  “To survive is to dance with history. We don’t want to be on the wrong side of progress, old friend. If we’re going to thrive and survive, then w
e have to welcome these insects onto our planet. Mano y bug.”

  If that wasn’t the biggest load of bullshit that Jim had ever heard, he wasn’t sure what was. He didn’t say that, though, because Spectacular didn’t give him a chance.

  Jones was left holding a figurative goodie bag as Spectacular headed up to the podium to start his grand introductions.

  Steven and Macy worked their way over to Jim as the crowd started to whip into a frenzy. When Spectacular spoke, people listened; right then, people were anxious to be spoken to.

  “Did he agree with you?” Steven asked.

  “Not in the least!” Jones grumbled. “He thinks I’ll be on the wrong side of history. Imagine that! Me!”

  Steven chuckled, and Macy just clung to Jones’s arm. “You’re a great guy, Jim Jones, but you’re no Spectacular. Maybe he’s right, and this is the wave of the future.”

  “I’d listen to you if you weren’t sucking on a honey lollipop with honey crullers shoved in your pockets.”

  “You’re one to talk. What are you hiding?” Macy playfully pulled open Jones’s leather jacket and saw two red cans of Raid™ hidden inside. Eyes widening, she scolded, “Jim Jones!”

  “Mind the merchandise!” Jones yanked his jacket closed. “What do you think you’re doing? You didn’t even buy me dinner yet, sister.”

  “You’re lucky I don’t turn you in,” Macy admonished. “You know we can’t bring Raid™ in here! You’re not only going to get us in trouble, you’re also going to upset the bees!” Macy gestured to the stage as one giant Space Bee took the podium right beside Captain Spectacular. Its tiny wings flapped to keep it airborne, and it zigged up and down as if doing a little jig.

  Saliva dripped from its mouth; if Jones didn’t miss his guess, he’d say the little guy was hungry.

  “Well, no reason to tip him off about it,” Jones whispered.

  “You need a sensitivity course.” Steven nodded. “That’s what you need. Sensitivity training.”

  “And,” Macy hissed, “a trigger warning.”