Space Team: Sting of the Mustard Mines

by Barry J. Hutchison

  “Thanks, buddy,” Cal told him. He thought about waggling his fingers and, to his amazement, all five green digits responded. “Well, that’s awesome,” he said. “And kind of freaky.”

  “News from Master Mech and Mistress Loren,” Kevin announced. “Repairs are complete, and we shall be taking off momentarily.”

  “Finally,” Miz said, hooking a leg over the arm of her chair and settling back. “I swear, we’ve been stuck on this shizzhole of a planet for, like, ever.”

  “It’s been nine hours,” Cal said.

  “Nine boring hours,” Miz replied.

  Cal held up both his Splurt hand and his almost non-existent one. “That’s not necessarily the word I’d have chosen. Personally, I’ve had quite an eventful time, but I take your point. The sooner we get off this place, the better.”

  The door swished open and Mech clanked onto the bridge. He briefly regarded Cal, noted the Splurt hand, but chose not to pass comment.

  “All fixed up,” he said, making his way to the front. “We can get out of here soon. Loren said she has to take care of something first.”

  “Take care of what?” Cal asked.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask,” Mech said. “Ain’t none of my business.”

  “It’s nothing to worry about, sir,” Kevin said. “Mistress Loren is merely using the bathroom.”

  “Oh,” said Cal.

  “She shouldn’t be long,” Kevin continued. “She’s just sitting down… now.”

  Cal glanced at the ceiling. “Uh… OK. Gotcha.”

  “Based on previous observations, she shouldn’t be more than forty-seven seconds,” Kevin said. “Assuming, of course, we’re only talking about a Number One…”

  “OK, Kevin, thanks for the update, pal,” Cal said. “I think our imaginations can reluctantly take it from here.”

  “Very good, sir,” said Kevin.

  There was a pause, then: “Ah.”

  “What’s wrong?” Cal asked.

  “I’m rather afraid we may have to delay take-off, sir,” Kevin replied.

  Cal sat forward in his wobbly, half-melted chair. “What? Why?”

  “It isn’t a Number One.”

  Six agonizingly descriptive minutes later, Loren returned to the bridge to find Cal and Miz both sitting stiffly and awkwardly in their chairs. Mech stood facing front, back straight, body rigid. None of them made eye contact as she strode past and took her seat.

  “Everyone ready?” she asked, sliding in behind her controls and pulling the console toward her.

  “Yep,” said Cal. “You?”

  Loren flicked a series of switches and her controls illuminated in front of her. “All set.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder and caught Cal and Miz both trying very hard not to look at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” said Cal.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Cal altered his expression in half a dozen subtle ways over the space of a second. “Like what?”

  “Like that,” Loren said. “Like the way you’re looking at me now.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cal said. He smiled and gestured to the screen. “Stop being paranoid and just fly us out of here. The sooner we get off this planet, the better.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, sir,” Kevin said. “Also, ma’am, just for your information, I took the liberty of running a second flush. That first one didn’t quite shift everything, but it’s all gone now.”

  Loren’s eyes widened a fraction in horror. She looked to Cal and Miz, but they both quickly averted their eyes. Cal gestured to the screen again.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “And let us never speak of any of this again.”

  Nine

  The Currently Untitled rocketed upward, leaving the surface of Destitution to grow smaller and less imposing behind it. Cal gripped his single armrest with a hand made almost entirely of Splurt, and had a horrible moment when he remembered why the chair had got into this state in the first place.

  “Wait, this isn’t going to catch fire on me again, is it?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” Kevin replied.

  “You sure? Because that would absolutely fit in with the day I’ve had,” Cal said. “It’d actually only be, like, the sixth worst thing to have happened.”

  “I got to the root of the problem, sir,” Kevin told him. “It turns out that one of the many, many impacts Mistress Loren failed to avoid caused a problem with the in-ship security protocols. The chair activated a defensive mechanism usually reserved for situations such as hijacking, abduction, or Grand Theft Spacecraft.”

  Cal turned the chair a little. It groaned beneath him. “So, what? If someone steals the ship the chair catches fire?”

  “Not automatically, sir,” Kevin said. “I have to activate it manually.”

  “Right. Right,” said Cal. He considered this. “So… were you activating it manually earlier?”

  “Not deliberately, sir,” Kevin said. “But things were a little chaotic with the ship’s systems, and I may have accidentally pressed the ‘burn alive’ button.”

  “I see,” said Cal.

  “On a number of separate occasions.”

  “Right,” said Cal. He rocked the chair a little. “You’re not going to accidentally press it again, are you?”

  “Heavens, no, sir,” said Kevin. “I’m almost certain.”

  Cal was about to question the ‘almost’ but decided it was probably best not to know. Instead, he tried to get comfortable and braced himself for the inevitable shuddering as Loren gunned the ship through the edges of the planet’s atmosphere, and the sky became a swirl of stars and color across the screen.

  They had left the planet at an angle designed to steer them away from where the space battle had been taking place, even though Kevin’s scans had suggested the action was all over. If there was one thing Cal had learned not to trust, it was Kevin’s scans. If there were two things he had learned not to trust, they were Kevin’s scans, and Kevin in general. Not necessarily in that order.

  As they cleared the atmosphere, one of the larger moons of Destitution crept above the curved edge of the planet way over on the left. Another, much smaller moon, hung in space up and to the right, tumbling through its orbit with a slow, steady sort of grace.

  Destitution itself seemed to shimmer through the atmosphere, giving the unforgiving terrain an almost magical sort of sparkle.

  “From up here, it actually looks pretty nice,” Cal remarked.

  “Not bad,” Loren agreed.

  “Total hellhole down there, of course,” said Cal. “But from up here you could almost convince yourself it was pleasant. You know, provided you didn’t do anything stupid, like set foot on the place. Or get any closer than we currently are.”

  He called over to Mech. “Hey, Mech? Let’s add this to our list.”

  Mech glowered back over his shoulder. “What list.”

  “You know. The list,” said Cal. When Mech showed no signs of understanding what the fonk he was talking about, he continued. “The list of planets never to visit again.”

  “We ain’t got a list of planets never to visit again,” Mech said.

  Cal blinked in surprise. “Wait, what? We don’t? After some of the dives we’ve been to? That feels like an oversight.” He clicked his Splurt-fingers. “Make a list,” he told Mech. “Make a list of planets never to visit again. Number one, Destitution. Number two, that ice planet where those space boy scouts tried to eat me. Joint number two, the one with the clowns. In fact, make that joint number one. Number three…”

  He stopped when he realized Mech was miming writing on an invisible notepad.

  “Are you pretending to write this down?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Mech confirmed. He continued to make notes in the air.

  “Well, don’t!” Cal said. “Actually write it down.”

  “I ain’t got a pen,” Mech said.
/>   “Then find one! Or, I don’t know, make a brain-list.”

  “I’m making a regular list,” Mech said, still pretending to write.

  “Cut that out!” Cal told him. “That’s a direct order! Your captain commands you to stop writing in that imaginary notebook.”

  “It’s an imaginary sketchpad,” Mech said. “I couldn’t find my imaginary notebook.”

  Cal sighed. “God, you’re getting sassy these days,” he said. “I mean, I ask you to do one simple thing.”

  “I ain’t your fonking secretary,” Mech scowled, dropping his hands to his sides. “Make your own damn lists.”

  Kevin gave a wry chuckle. “Oh, I do so love these little exchanges of yours,” he said. “The back and forth is really quite refreshing.”

  Cal looked up. “Hey, Kevin. Can you do me a favor and take a list?”

  “Of course, sir, I’d be more than happy to,” Kevin replied. “Would you like me to do it before or after the warning? I’m happy either way.”

  “Well, I don’t really mind which… Wait,” said Cal. “What warning?”

  “About the ship, sir,” Kevin said.

  “Our ship? Is there a problem?” Cal asked.

  “No, sir. I meant the other ship.”

  Loren peered down at her readouts. “What other ship? I don’t see anything. Mech?”

  “I got nothing,” Mech replied.

  “I see something,” said Miz.

  “Shizz. You do?” Cal groaned. “What is it?”

  Miz tapped the screen that was built into her armrest. “It’s, like, this blue triangle.”

  Loren tutted. “That’s us.”

  “Is it?” Miz asked. She looked more closely at the display. “Then why is it blue? I mean, like, our ship isn’t blue.”

  She narrowed her eyes, then glanced around the bridge, as if she could see through the walls. “Is our ship blue? I haven’t really paid too much attention.”

  “It isn’t blue, ma’am,” Kevin replied. “Similarly, it isn’t a perfect triangle, but I can confirm that the vessel you see on your display is, indeed, our own. I was referring to this ship.”

  The screen changed to show a view from one of the Untitled’s rear cameras. The bottom of the image showed the curved atmosphere of Destitution, with a reddish-orange sun looming in the distance.

  Partly obscuring these was a patch of solid darkness. Had it not been for the wedge shape that it cut out of the atmosphere, the ship would have been almost impossible to see.

  “Who are these guys?” Cal wondered.

  “Can’t really tell,” said Loren. They were both whispering, as if any sudden sound might give them away. “But I think it’s one of the ships that attacked us earlier. Similar size, anyway.”

  “Then what the fonk are we waiting for?” asked Cal. “Go. Fly us out of here. Warp five. Hyperspace. Make the jump to lightspeed, or whatever. I am not crash-landing on that goddam planet again.”

  “On it,” said Loren, her fingers flying across her controls. “But you don’t have a seatbelt.”

  “No, but I’ve got a giant Splurt hand with one hell of a grip,” Cal replied. His Hulk-like green fingers tightened around the end of his remaining armrest, crushing it into a knobbly lump of metal. “Now, punch it!”

  Loren punched it.

  The stars blurred as the Currently Untitled jumped forward.

  Then they stopped blurring when the ship immediately juddered to a stop.

  “Way to go, Loren,” Miz snapped.

  “It isn’t me!” Loren replied. She pushed forward on the thrusters. The engines whined, but the stars remained steadfastly unblurry. “This isn’t my fault!”

  “Oh, sure it isn’t,” said Miz. “Maybe the engines just broke themselves this time.”

  “The engines are fine,” Loren insisted.

  “Great, then let’s get the fonk out of here,” Cal said.

  Loren shook her head and slammed a few levers forward. “No, I mean the engines are fine but we’re not going anywhere.”

  “We appear to be ensnared in some form of tractor beam,” Kevin informed them. “Originating from the ship behind us. I could be wrong, but I fear this may be very bad news for all seven of us.”

  “It’s always bad news, Kevin,” Cal sighed. “It’s always bad news for… wait.”

  He looked around the bridge and counted under his breath. “What do you mean, ‘all seven’ of us?”

  “There are six of us, including you,” Mech said.

  “Or is Mech so fat you counted him twice?” Cal asked.

  “I ain’t fat. I’m almost entirely made out of metal. How the fonk can I be fat?”

  “OK, not fat. Hefty,” Cal said. “Bulky. You know? Chunky.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Mech snapped. “Well, how chunky do you think my foot will feel when it’s up your ass?”

  Cal wasted a few seconds contemplating this. “Uncomfortably chunky?” he guessed.

  “You’re damn right!”

  “Guys! Focus!” Loren urged. “Kevin, what do you mean ‘all seven’ of us?”

  “You, ma’am. Master Cal, Master Mech, Mistress Mizette, Master Splurt, the Slurrit hiding in the kitchen, and myself,” Kevin explained. There was some quiet whispering from the ceiling. “I’m pretty sure that makes seven. And I fear for the safety of all of us, should we be unable to escape the pull of that tractor beam.”

  Nobody was listening to the end of Kevin’s sentence. They had all turned to look at the door leading out into the corridor, and to the kitchen beyond.

  “There’s a Slurrit hiding in the kitchen,” said Cal. He didn’t phrase it as a question, more just a statement of fact. Largely useless as Kevin was, this seemed an oddly specific mistake for him to have made, so Cal was choosing to accept it at face value.

  Miz sniffed the air. “Yeah, there’s a Slurrit in the kitchen,” she confirmed.

  “And you’re only picking this up now?” Loren asked.

  Mizette scowled at her. “Like, since when was it my job to keep track of who’s in the kitchen?” she demanded. “Mech’s got scanners, and Kevin literally has a camera pointing into every room. Even the bathroom, Loren.”

  Loren blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Nothing,” Cal said, quickly. He jumped up and pointed with his giant green Splurt-hand. “I’ll go check it out. Loren, you have the conn.”

  Loren half-turned in her chair. “What does that mean?”

  Cal hesitated. “It means… I don’t know. It’s just, like, a thing captains say. You have the conn. Do you accept the conn?”

  Loren glanced to Mech, who shrugged. “I don’t know. What is it?”

  “Just accept the fonking conn,” Cal said. He mimed throwing her something. “This is the conn. Take it.”

  Loren made no move to catch the offered imaginary item. Cal tutted. “Great. Now the conn’s on the floor. Good job.”

  “Uh, hello?” said Miz. “We’re still, like, totally caught in a tractor beam.”

  “Shizz, yes!” said Cal. He pointed to the screen. “Loren, get us out of it. Mech, do something useful. Push buttons or something. At least try to look busy. Miz…”

  Mizette flicked her gaze to him and exhaled slowly through her nostrils. “Keep doing what you’re doing,” Cal said. He gave her one giant green thumbs up and one tiny pink one. “Great work.”

  That done, he hurried off the bridge, out into the corridor, and pressed himself flat against the wall by the kitchen door. “Kevin, report,” Cal whispered.

  “On what, sir?”

  “The… what do you mean ‘on what’? On the guy in the kitchen,” Cal hissed.

  “Oh. Yes. He’s standing up near the table, sir,” Kevin said. “No, wait. He’s sitting down.”

  “Is he armed?” Cal asked.

  “Well, he is in possession of a spoon, sir,” Kevin replied. “Does that count?”

  “I guess that depends on what he does with it,” Cal said.
>
  He raised his Splurt-fist and whispered to it. “You ready?”

  The squidgy green knuckles became strips of solid brass. A moment later, several spikes sprouted from the metal.

  “OK, let’s do this,” Cal said.

  Caught up in the moment, he spun, roared, raised a foot, and fired a kick at the door. It slid open a split second before he connected, and he performed an impromptu splits in the doorway before toppling sideways and thudding against the doorframe.

  “Ow. Fonk,” he grimaced.

  “Oh, honey, are you OK?” gasped the Slurrit. He was sitting at the table, about to tuck into a steaming bowl of something pink and greasy. Cal recognized his voice at once.

  “Wait, you’re Loren’s friend, aren’t you?” Cal said, struggling himself upright and subtly tugging his pants out from between his butt-cheeks. “Garunk, wasn’t it?”

  Garunk held up his sludgy gray hands. “Guilty as charged!” he said. “And well done you for remembering. Clever and handsome all in one package.”

  Cal’s chest puffed up a little. “Thank you, Garunk,” he said. “It’s nice to be appreciated once in a while. But, uh, here’s a question.”

  “I’m all ears,” said Garunk, dipping the spoon in the bowl and stirring the greasy contents in a way that somehow managed to be incredibly suggestive. “Hit me.”

  “You’re on our ship,” Cal pointed out. While this wasn’t, strictly speaking, a question, Garunk figured it out.

  “Yeah. I know. Double guilty as charged!” he said. He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I stowed away. Was that bad? Are you mad? I hope you’re not mad.”

  Cal gave a shake of his head. “Uh, no. Not mad. Just confused. Didn’t you say you hated space?”

  “Yeah,” Garunk conceded. “I mean, I thought I did. But then I went and lived in a hole in the ground for five years and… I don’t know. It suddenly seemed more appealing. Besides, hanging out with Loren? Ah-may-zing. Did I tell you she was number one at the Academy? And I literally mean she was literally number one!”