Space Team: Sting of the Mustard Mines

by Barry J. Hutchison

  Loren shrugged. “We messed around with time. It was never going to go back exactly as it used to be.”

  “I guess so,” said Cal. “Still, if that’s the only thing that’s changed, I’d say we got off pretty lightly.”

  He glanced after Konto, who hadn’t looked back once since he’d set off, then turned to the others. “Now, all those in favor of staying here?”

  Miz immediately thrust a hand into the air. Mech glanced from Konto’s back to the expanse of siltch. Eventually, he raised his hand, too.

  “OK, that’s two. All in favor of going with him?”

  He and Loren both raised their hands. Splurt grew several dozen baby-sized arms and held them all aloft.

  “That’s, I don’t know, let’s say a conservative fifty,” Cal said. “Looks like we won.”

  “How the fonk is that fair?” Mech grunted.

  “Because it just is,” said Cal. He gestured after Konto. “So, shall we?”

  They followed Konto to a crack in the ground. Then, with varying degrees of difficulty, they navigated along a narrow chasm until they reached an almost perfectly spherical cave with a sleeping bag at one end, and something not unlike a gas camping stove sitting in the center.

  A motorcycle stood near the sleeping bag, propped against the curved stone wall. It was a wide, squat machine with chunky tires that were as tall as the rest of the bike. The frame was an elaborate tangle of matte-black metal that wrapped around the furry seat like a protective nest. A tinted glass windshield curved up from the bike’s front, before almost meeting a steeply sloping rear windshield that sprouted in the opposite direction.

  “Cool bike!” Cal cried. “Can I touch it?”

  “No,” said Konto. “You can’t.”

  Cal waited until Konto had looked away, then touched the bike anyway. An alarm immediately squealed, the sound shrill and piercing in the confined space.

  Cal jumped back, waving his hands and making a shhhing sound.

  “Ow!” Miz protested, folding in her ears. “Like, thanks a lot.”

  “That wasn’t my fault,” Cal said. “It just went off when I was near it.”

  “Stop,” Konto said.

  “I’ve stopped!” Cal said, raising his hands in surrender. “See? I’m not doing—”

  The alarm cut out. Cal lowered his hands and cleared his throat. “Oh. You were talking to the bike. Gotcha.”

  Konto scowled. “Don’t touch it again,” he warned.

  “Gotcha. Message received,” said Cal. He made a show of tiptoeing backward away from the bike. Miz unfolded her ears again while Cal took in the rest of their surroundings.

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” said Cal. “A little cavey, maybe, but nothing a carpet, a lick of paint, four walls, and a roof wouldn’t fix.”

  “It sucks,” said Miz, a little less diplomatically.

  Konto shrugged and sat on the ground near the stove. “It’ll keep you alive for the night. Between the Slurrits and the Growlers, you really don’t want to be out there.”

  Cal snorted the final few drops of rehydrated water out through his nose. “Growlers,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

  The others looked at him. “What about them?” asked Konto.

  “It’s just… where I come from,” Cal began, “it can mean something else.”

  Loren raised an eyebrow in interest. “What can it mean?”

  “It’s like… You know. It’s like… It means…” He pointed surreptitiously to his crotch. All eyes followed his finger.

  “It means ‘penis’?” asked Konto.

  “What? No.”

  “You’re pointing to your penis,” said Konto.

  “You can’t fault the man’s powers of observation,” said Mech.

  “Not penis. Vagina,” Cal said.

  Konto pushed his goggles up onto his head. “You have a vagina?”

  “What? No! That’s not… I don’t have… I’m just saying—and I’m kind of starting to wish I hadn’t opened my mouth—I’m just saying that ‘growler’ is a word some people on Earth use instead of, you know… Lady Garden.”

  He saw how everyone was looking at him, Loren in particular.

  “Bad people, I mean. Nasty, horrible people who really should know better than to disrespect women’s…” He fumbled for an acceptable end to the sentence but failed to find one. “…vaginas.”

  Konto sucked in his bottom lip. “Right. Well, these Growlers are not vaginas,” he said. “They’re these sort of hairy, smelly…”

  Cal opened his mouth, considered all the possible reactions to what he was about to say, then closed it again.

  “…monsters,” Konto concluded. He nodded to Miz. “I thought your friend there was one of them at first.”

  Miz, who had been slouching against the wall picking at her claws for most of the conversation raised her eyes. “Huh?” she said, sensing she was being spoken about. “What did he just say?”

  “Nothing. It’s fine. He was talking about Mech,” Cal said.

  Miz tutted, huffed through her nostrils, then went back to studying her nails.

  “Except Growlers are bigger and meaner,” Konto said.

  “You should try having a conversation with her first thing in the morning,” Mech told him. “Then we’ll talk about mean.”

  Konto shrugged, then tapped the top of his stove. It burst into something that looked like an artist’s impression of a fire. “The point is, we should be safe down here.”

  “Right. OK. Well… thanks for sharing your home with us, I guess,” said Cal, sitting on the opposite side of the fire. Despite its obvious artificial nature, it gave off a direct fiery heat that made Cal shuffle back a little.

  “It’s not my home,” said Konto. “But you’re welcome.”

  Cal motioned for the others to sit down by the fire, but none of them obliged. Loren hung out by the entrance to the cave, occasionally glancing back into the growing gloom. Mech tapped on the sensor controls on his forearm, presumably scannering or sensoring something, Cal thought, or whatever it was he did.

  Only Splurt seemed to be in an amiable mood. He flopped down into Cal’s lap, transformed into a fat ginger cat, then closed both eyes and fell asleep, purring gently.

  “Shapeshifter?” said Konto.

  Cal whistled through his teeth. “Mech was right about your powers of observation, huh? Yeah, this is Splurt. We didn’t really do introductions properly. I’m Cal. I’m the captain.”

  “He ain’t the captain,” said Mech.

  “The big annoying guy who doesn’t know what he’s talking about there? That’s Mech. He’s—”

  “An X8-17 cybernetic legacy framework with biological control matrix,” Konto concluded.

  Cal shrugged. “Well, I was going to say, ‘not a robot,’ but sure, let’s go with yours.” He indicated the others. “Teela Loren, formerly of Zertex, and that’s Mizette of the Greyx. She’s their queen.”

  “She doesn’t look like a queen,” Konto said, looking Miz up and down.

  “She doesn’t act like one, either, so that’s fine,” said Cal.

  Konto raised his voice a little, directing it at Miz. “I was friends with a Greyx once. I owe him my life,” he said.

  Miz scowled. “Like, who cares?”

  Konto reached into a boot and pulled on the top of a particularly hairy sock until several inches of it were visible above the boot top.

  “I wear his pelt to honor him,” Konto said, his voice becoming a hushed whisper of reverence.

  Mizette’s jaw dropped. “You what?”

  “I’m told it is a great honor for the Greyx to be worn in death by those they cared for in life.”

  “Who the fonk told you that?” asked Miz.

  “Is that true, Miz?” asked Cal.

  “No!”

  Cal flinched. “Damn. Because I could really use a new set of gloves. You know, for when we go to ice planets? I thought, you know, when you were gone…”

  Ko
nto pushed his bandage wrap off, revealing his shaved head and a forehead lined like old leather. “Wait, so Greyx don’t consider it an honor to—”

  “No! Are you insane? Like, why would we consider it an honor to be made into socks, or whatever?”

  Konto released his grip on his sock. It twanged back into place. “I have to say, I did think it was kind of weird,” he admitted. He looked into the gap between his boot and his leg. “Shizz. Sorry, Torrax.”

  The fire continued its steady flickering, casting a blinking light around the cave. Cal stared expectantly at Konto through the digital flames. “How about you? What’s your story?”

  “I don’t have a story,” said Konto.

  “You’re living in a cave and thought we’d come here to kill you,” said Loren. “Sounds like a story to me.”

  Konto shook his head. “No. No story. I work. I have a family. Sometimes I like to get away from it all for a couple of nights, so I come out to places like this.”

  “Like a camping trip!” said Cal. “My dad used to take me on camping trips a couple of times a month. Except he was a lazy fonk, so we wouldn’t actually go outside, and would just camp under the kitchen table, instead.”

  He smiled wistfully at the memory. “Well, I mean I say ‘we,’ but it was mostly just me. Still. Good times.”

  “Uh, yeah,” said Konto. “Like a camping trip.”

  “What’s your job?” asked Mech.

  Konto didn’t miss a beat. “I work in garbage.”

  “Ew. That, like, totally explains the smell,” said Miz, without looking up.

  “Garbage, huh?” said Mech. “Then how come you were so worried we were here to kill you?”

  “Garbage is a cutthroat business,” Konto said. He met Mech’s eye. “And believe me, I wasn’t worried for a second.”

  Cal stroked Splurt’s fur, making the little cat wriggle contentedly in his lap. “So, here’s a question,” he began. “I know you said you don’t keep up with the news, which is the only possible reason why you haven’t heard of us, but did you hear anything about the space president recently?”

  “He means the president of Zertex,” Loren translated.

  “Yeah, that guy,” said Cal. He idly twirled a strand of Splurt’s fur around his finger. “You heard anything? Maybe about him, I don’t know, being assassinated by some roguishly handsome time-traveling starship captain? For example.”

  Konto’s already narrow eyes became two suspicious slits. “I did hear something along those lines,” he said.

  “Yes! It worked!” said Cal, with such enthusiasm that Splurt twitched and opened one eye in surprise. The eye swiveled around a couple of times, then closed again.

  “Damn shame, if you ask me,” said Konto.

  Cal put a lid on his celebration. “Oh? You were a fan?”

  “Fonk, no,” said Konto. “Can’t stand the organization, couldn’t bear the man.”

  “Right. Right,” said Cal, nodding. “But…”

  “It’s his replacement. That’s the problem,” said Konto. “Say what you like about Sinclair, he was subtle, you know? An iron fist in a velvet glove. An evil bamston, yeah, but he didn’t try to tip the balance too far. He knew better.”

  “Right,” said Cal, shifting a little uneasily on the hard ground. “I mean… sure. He was subtle in his own way, but still… It’s good that he’s dead, right?”

  “Considering his replacement? No. Give me Sinclair any day. The new one is anything but subtle. Not so much ‘iron fist in a velvet glove’ as ‘babies in a blender.’”

  “Jesus,” said Cal. He could feel at least two sets of eyes boring into the back of his skull. It had been his idea, after all, to take Sinclair out. “But I’m sure he’s not that bad.”

  “No,” Konto admitted.

  “See!”

  “She’s worse. Had some run-ins with her myself in the past. I know better than most what she’s capable of.”

  “She? Oh! Yeah, Sinclair’s replacement. We’ve met her,” said Cal. “What was her name?” He snapped his fingers several times. “President something.”

  He snapped his fingers several more times.

  “This is a cue, by the way,” he pointed out. “This isn’t me thinking. This is a cue for someone to jump in and tell me.”

  “Valtrax,” said Loren. “President Valtrax.”

  “Right. Thank you, Loren. Martha Valtrax.”

  “Haska Valtrax,” Loren corrected.

  “Haska Valtrax. That’s what I said,” Cal lied. “So, she still gets the space president gig in this timeline, huh? Good for her.”

  Konto frowned. “Valtrax? I don’t know who that is.”

  Cal realized he was still snapping his fingers. He stopped. “So, what? Martha isn’t the president?” he asked.

  Konto gave a shake of his head.

  “Oh. I see. That’s a shame. Then who is?”

  “Where have you been for the past few months?” Konto asked.

  Cal took a deep breath. “Well…”

  “Rhetorical question. I don’t care,” said Konto. “After Sinclair was killed aboard his own space station, Zertex decided it needed to appoint someone more capable of defending themselves in the event of an attack. They settled on an old assassin Sinclair had worked with in the past.”

  He took out his tin and knocked back another water capsule. “They call her Vajazzle,” he said, once he’d swallowed the grain-sized lump. “President Vajazzle.”

  Four

  Cal’s jaw fell open. Mech and Loren both stared. Even Mizette stopped picking at her claws.

  For a while, the only sound in the cave was the soft crackling of the digital flames and the contented purring of the feline Splurt.

  “Vajazzle?” said Loren. “As in the Vajazzle who tried to hunt us down and kill us? Who tortured you, orchestrated Miz’s father’s murder, and turned Splurt into a mindless monster? That Vajazzle?”

  “It’s got to be, right?” said Cal. “I mean, I can’t imagine there are a lot of Vajazzles in the phone book.”

  “But isn’t she, like, dead?” asked Miz. “Didn’t she die back on that planet where that guy was?”

  “That guy?” said Loren. “You mean Dronzen? Galto Dronzen? Your boyfriend who sacrificed himself to save you as a final act of unrequited love?”

  “Yeah. That loser,” said Miz with a roll of her eyes. “Didn’t she, like, die there, or whatever?”

  “Originally, yeah,” said Mech, shooting Cal a glare. “I’m guessing we fonked up a lot more than we realized when we screwed around in time.”

  Cal smiled sheepishly. “On the bright side, we can say ‘ass’ now, so it’s not all bad news.”

  Konto leaned forward so the flames danced across his face. “You know Vajazzle?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, assuming it’s the same Vajazzle. Old lady? Big robe? Face kind of…” He pulled down on both cheeks, distorting his features.

  “That’s the same face you did for me!” Loren yelped.

  “What? No, I didn’t,” said Cal. “Yours was only one side. And anyway, it’s like, eighty percent better now.”

  Loren gingerly touched her forehead.

  “Maybe sixty. But the point is, it’s getting there. Relax. Only don’t relax too much, in case it goes all slack again and falls off.”

  He turned back to Konto. “Is it that Vajazzle?”

  “Sounds like it,” Konto said.

  Cal grimaced. “Fonk. Yeah, we met her. To be honest, we didn’t really hit it off.”

  “Meaning what?” asked Konto.

  “Meaning she tried to kill us on multiple occasions,” Cal said. “But I eventually killed her, which I think came as a surprise to all of us, quite frankly.”

  “In the old timeline,” Mech added. “Don’t look like it stuck in this one.”

  Konto’s eyes somehow managed to narrow a few more fractions of an inch. “You keep talking about timelines. Why?”

  Cal puffed out his cheeks. “Whoa.
Didn’t we explain that? OK. Time for a recap. Buckle up. It’s complicated, so try to keep up. Basically, there was a big bad guy, we went back in time, I met my younger self, yadda-yadda-yadda, we beat the bad guy, we came forward in time again – you know, through the Void between realities? Anyway, blah-blah-blah, we got spat out into a big space battle, Loren crashed into the planet, you attacked us for no reason, we had some fun with the word ‘Growler’…”

  He reflected on all this for a few moments then gave a satisfied nod. “Yep. I think that about covers it. I mean, I didn’t really touch on the Time Titan, the council of me, or the space clowns, but you get the idea.”

  “That was the worst fonking recap I’ve ever heard,” said Mech.

  “Uh, no it wasn’t,” Cal protested. He gestured to Konto. “He liked it. I mean, not blowing my own trumpet here, but he was rapt throughout. Right?”

  Konto stared at Cal through the digital flames. “What space battle?”

  Loren, anticipating an explanation that would inevitably involve hand puppetry and sound effects, stepped in before Cal could get started. “When we jumped back from the Void we ended up in this system. There was some sort of fight happening, lots of single-seat fighters against some large ships I’ve never seen before.”

  Konto’s eyes darted upward as if he could watch the battle unfolding through the roof of his cave. “Who was winning?”

  “Don’t know. Hard to say,” said Loren. “But they were both shooting at us, so we weren’t really waving flags for either of them.”

  “You know who they are?” asked Mech.

  “Maybe,” said Konto. “Maybe not.”

  “We couldn’t understand them,” said Cal. He pointed behind his ear. “You know, with the translator doohickey? One of them appeared on the comm-screen and we had no idea what he was saying. I mean, from context, I doubt he was being complimentary, but the point is the chip didn’t work.”

  “What did he look like?” Konto asked.

  “Like, forty percent teeth, forty percent nostrils, twenty percent just, like, sheesh, and everything else was window dressing,” Cal said. “Oh, and he had eyes up his nose that popped out. I have no idea why. I mean, where the fonk do you have to live before evolution thinks that’s a good idea?”