Astro-Nuts

by Logan Hunder

  Mister Nobody quickly found no amount of flailing would get them unlodged. Donald lay on the floor rubbing at what was surely going to turn into a black eye later, while Kim continued to gnaw away like a vengeful beaver. If the old man tried to jerk his arm away any harder, he was liable to have a chunk of flesh come loose. So instead he raised his forearm as high as it would go and gave her a jab to the throat with his free fist. The enamel vice snapped open and she dropped to her hands and knees in a coughing fit.

  Not in great shape himself, the old man stumbled backwards into the counter, panting and clutching at the teeth-shaped impression in his skin. He grimaced in pain but kept his eyes fixated on his challenger. She of course remained on hand and knee, but her coughing began to slow and she seemed to be getting ready for more.

  And so, still keeping his injured arm bent, he staggered over to her and snatched up a fistful of her hair. With no free arm to bludgeon her with, he simply held her down, considering his options.

  The saucepan from earlier flew by his head and clanged into the wall, startling everyone. He whipped his head around to see a terrified Whisper leering at him. Before he could even move, she darted back into the ventilation system and thump thump thumped away.

  “We all done? Everybody got it outta their system now?” He spat out a bit of blood. “Least you guys all decided to play hero at once.”

  Something collided with the door like a padded battering ram. It was followed by some muffled words and then some rhythmic beeping before the door popped open, revealing Cox brandishing a v-shaped black piece of metal. He rubbed it against his shoulder for a moment and then flaunted it in front of him triumphantly.

  “Anybody in this room . . . holding out for a hero?”

  Kim sighed and muttered under her breath.

  “Oh god, Tim, what are you doing . . . ?”

  Whatever he was doing, it was good enough for Donald. The coms officer crawled to his captain as fast as his stubby limbs could take him. Cox welcomed him back under his wing, stepping quickly and lightly to place himself between his crew and the threat. All the while, he kept the peculiar object held in front of him, like a priest holding a cross out to a vampire.

  “Hello again, Mister Nobody,” he greeted in as impassive of a voice as he could muster.

  “Hello, person.” Nobody replied. His gnarled hand tightened its grip on Kim’s hair.

  “I just want you to know, I didn’t want it to go like this.”

  “You and me both.”

  Despite the palpable seriousness of the situation, the captain couldn’t help but grin.

  “I warned you though, didn’t I?” He chuckled, gesturing at Kim. “A real firecracker! Lights up my life. But man, once she gets goin’, I couldn’t tame her, even if I wanted to.”

  His arms began to relax and his eyes drifted down to his beloved as he reminisced. He looked upon her with a dreamy smile. She looked back up at him with a slightly open mouth and a pair of raised eyebrows. Slowly, barely perceptibly, she nodded towards the man currently gripping her scalp.

  “Oh yeah!” He blurted, re-raising a shaky arm. His forefinger slowly traced along the mysterious instrument towards its lever, as if attempting to cop a feel for the first time.

  “So get away from her!” He demanded. “ . . . You bitch.”

  Perhaps he misinterpreted the demands as reverse psychology, but Mister Nobody took that as a queue to clutch her closer.

  “And what if I don’t?”

  “Aw, c’mon, man,” Cox whined, arm relaxing yet again. “You know what I’m getting at here.”

  “I don’t actually know if he does.” Kim commented. “I had the same problem. He seems to really need it to be spelled out.”

  The captain groaned in moral opposition to the very threat he was trying to make. But he stomped his foot and bit the bullet.

  “Well I’ll . . . put a hole in you then!” The corners of his mouth sank as if the words tasted sour.

  “But please don’t make me . . .”

  Mister Nobody seemed genuinely surprised.

  “With that? Is that even a weapon? It’s so small I thought it was some kinda remote.”

  “Yeah well, hasn’t anyone ever told you size doesn’t matter?”

  The old man smirked and pulled a device of his own out of his pocket—a small pen-like gadget with superfluous blinking lights and blue spikes sticking out of the top. Before responding, he pointed it at Cox’s weapon and gave it a small click.

  “They have.” He admitted. “But size also doesn’t matter if it doesn’t work anymore.”

  Now it was Cox’s turn to raise his eyebrows and allow his mouth to fall open. He retracted his arm and studied the metal object in his hand. It didn’t appear to be any different; still black and shiny and heavier than it looked. All the movable pieces still moved. To the best of his knowledge, he could see nothing wrong with it.

  “What did you do?” He finally asked.

  “I fried it.” The old man replied matter-of-factly. “Can’t make laser shots with toasted circuits.”

  It took a few moments for the words to sink in, but when they did, the captain grinned the cockiest of grins. More confident than ever, he pointed the weapon one last time, and this time it wasn’t coming down.

  “Man,” he chided. “There’s no circuits in this thing! It doesn’t rely on lasers. This is an ancient weapon from a simpler time. A time when combat was still noble; it was mano a mano! Nobody had fancy electric stuff in their pockets. All they had was one of these. It was all they knew, and that was all they needed.”

  With his spare hand he reached over and grabbed hold of the top of the relic. With a gentle pull, the top piece began to slide backward until an eerie click resonated through the quiet room. His fingers then let the piece free and it snapped back into place with another click.

  “It’s called a Glock.”

  6.

  HARRUMPH, TEA

  AND CRUMPETS

  EARTH. ‘TWAS A SILLY place. Life just seemed to rampantly grow there, regardless of whether or not it is appreciated, like in the bathtub of a bachelor pad. Even now that humanity had transcended its poorly temperature-regulated confines, many billions still willingly lived upon the big wet ball of dirt and rocks. Perhaps they were merely sticking around to oversee its continued destruction. It was the only place in the entire solar system that humans were slowly making less habitable for themselves instead of more. But it had been that way for about as long as anybody could remember, so who was going to question it now?

  Earth wasn’t all bad, though. If one found themselves forced to live there, they could always achieve comfort by purchasing a small portion of it and obliterating all traces of nature. Modern technology hadn’t entirely abandoned the place, after all. Many of the planet’s largest cities, like Tokyo, New York, Seoul, and Moose Jaw, could proudly boast nearly 100% synthesized everything. All that was missing was people. But trust that they were working on it.

  Despite not being Earth’s mecca for pretty much anything besides tea production and orderly queues, London was still delightfully artificial; one had to be well out of town before they saw anything green that wasn’t made of plastic. Every now and then a particularly uppity piece of grass would try and poke through the concrete, but the strike teams were swift to douse it in weed killer and fire. As such, the view from every office window was a pristine clean sheen, and the office of Sir Rupert Knobbenbottom was no exception.

  As distinguished men often did, he stared down from his high-rise office as he idly sipped his tea, pinky raised so high it would dislocate a normal man’s finger. He had many pressing matters to deal with, given his position within his organization, but multitasking was a peasant’s game. Besides, he needed a thorough observation before he could talk at exhaustive length about the weather later.

  “Pardon me, Sir Knobbenbottom.” The sultry female voice of his AI receptionist interrupted his morning mulling. “Sir Todgerworth is requesting
a morning waffling. Shall I put him through?”

  Rupert took one last longing sip from his cup before returning it to the levitating tea tray. Work could only be put off for so long, it seemed. Sir Todgerworth always claimed to be seeking to waffle on, but it was always just a sneaky way to broach the day’s matters to be attended to. Various progress reports on missions abroad, most likely. Either that or he sought to confer about his latest plan to invade France. Ever since America was reclaimed for the crown, the queen had become rather bumptious about regressing back into Britain’s colonizing heritage.

  “Very well, Miss Farthing.” He replied. “Bring him up on the telly-phone.”

  He smoothed his greying hair and straightened his tie, not that either needed it. Within a few moments the large screen on his wall displayed the visage of a doe-eyed man sporting parted brown hair complete with matching moustache. Certainly younger than Rupert, but he was by no means a spring chicken. He was in the process of baring his chalk-white teeth into the camera whilst thoroughly inspecting them.

  “Top of the morning, Percy.” Rupert greeted him, hands clasped behind him. “I can assure you that your teeth are quite clear of debris of any variety, edible or otherwise.”

  “Ah, very good, sir.” Percy acknowledged, straightening his own tie and patting his own head. “Can never be too careful, after all. Wouldn’t want to embarrass myself.”

  “Certainly not.”

  They stared at each other for a moment, hands clasped in posterior or anterior positions, each staring into the eyes of the other and blinking at a rate that increased along with their impatience.

  “So Penny tells me you wish to waffle,” Rupert finally prompted.

  “Certainly not, I’m afraid. This call is to be business-oriented.”

  “Well, that is most peculiar. I was informed of contradictory circumstances.”

  “Ah, yes, well. I’m afraid the circumstances of which you were informed were in fact a fictitious fib concocted as a ploy to not have my summons disregarded or otherwise dismissed.”

  “Well that was a dastardly effort indeed, Sir Todgerworth! But, by god, it appears to have worked, hasn’t it?”

  “I would say so. But then again I would not say so as here we are not discussing business but instead deliberating the efficacy of my conversational engagement schemes.”

  “So, you mean that one could say we, in fact, did indeed engage in a waffling?”

  “It does appear that way, yes.”

  “So, by extension, it could be agreed that your intentions are to be considered as unsuccessful?”

  “Unfortunately, that statement is becoming more correct by the moment.”

  “Well, in that case, Percy, I’m going to have to cut this short. I haven’t the time to be waffling, I’m afraid. I do have the day’s matters to attend to, after all.”

  “Oh right, well, that is perfectly understandable. Sorry to have bothered you, Sir Knobbenbottom; perhaps we shall try another time!”

  The screen cut to black. Rupert chortled a throaty, toadlike laugh and reached to retrieve his teacup. Before porcelain hand touched porcelain mug, however, Penny’s voice piped up over the room’s speakers once again.

  “Pardon me, Sir Knobbenbottom, but Sir Todgerworth is on the urgent line. He wouldn’t state the nature of his inquiry but, to paraphrase his passionate explanation, he seems mildly agitated.”

  “On screen, Miss Farthing.” The stuffy old Brit said through a chuckle.

  Percy was not baring his teeth this time. He simply sat in a high-backed armchair with a cup of tea and crossed legs. Penny was right; he did appear a bit chuffed. He cleared his throat to speak, but Rupert cut him off.

  “Ah, there you are, Sir Todgerworth. I’m glad you finally called. I’ve a burning bit of business to be discussed.”

  Percy shook his head with incredulity.

  “What are you talking about?! I called you earlier.”

  “Oh. My apologies then, old chap, I must have stepped out.”

  “What? But you were here!”

  “I was there? I do hope you’re speaking in jest. Otherwise, we have a security breach of the identity thief variety!”

  “What?! No. I didn’t mean here as in here; I meant here as in there!”

  “It is neither here nor there, Sir Todgerworth. Are we ever going to discuss today’s matters? Or do you intend to waffle on all morning?”

  “My insincere apologies, sir.”

  “Come again?”

  Percy produced a pile of tablets and began rummaging through them as he spoke.

  “Right, so, to your burning bit of business!” He announced, ignoring the previous question. “I’m to assume you’ve already heard, then?”

  Rupert scoffed and picked his teacup up. He wrinkled his nose at how cold it had gotten and returned it to the tray, motioning for it to levitate itself away.

  “I didn’t have to hear from anyone. I saw it for myself when I arrived this morning.”

  Percy ceased his rummaging.

  “Er . . . saw what, sir?”

  “Why, the sign, Todgerworth! Dreadful eyesore. Cannot possibly be missed.”

  “To what sign are you referring . . . sir . . . ?”

  “The one outside, Percy! Right above the bloody door.” Percy blinked.

  “Do you mean the one that merely states the name of the building, sir?”

  “Don’t you minimize it! It is an outrage. It is unacceptable, is what it is.”

  “It’s pretty standard on all buildings, though, is it not?”

  “That may be so, but we are not a standard organization.”

  “I don’t know about that. I like to think we’re pretty organized.”

  “Of course we are. But we are in secret! You can’t have a secret society when you slap an enormous sign on the door!”

  “The Secret Intelligence Service has a sign on their building, sir.”

  “Exactly! And look how bloody secret they are! Everybody knows about them. They don’t even do anything anymore besides rent it as a location for those insufferable James Bond films.”

  “But isn’t that their job, sir? To be the face to the public as an act of good faith while organizations like ours get the job done behind the scenes?”

  “It is indeed. And it worked brilliantly. That is, until some ponce got it in their head to nail a giant sign up on our door! I want it removed, Percy. I don’t care whom you have to call or whom you have to kill.”

  “I . . . well, alright?”

  “Splendid. Glad we could get that sorted. I think that’s enough work for today.”

  He reached for the “I don’t want to talk to you anymore” button, but Percy cut him off.

  “WAIT, sir! There is another important matter that requires your direction.”

  “Two pieces of business in one day, Percy? What are we, at war?!”

  “Thankfully not, sir. This piece is in regards to . . . the plot.”

  “The wot?”

  “The plot!”

  “The plot of what?!”

  Percy sighed and struggled to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Well no, sir, not the plot of something! You know, the plot! Our plot! Our most recent plot. It’s the only plot we’ve got.”

  “OH. The plot!” Rupert acknowledged. “ . . . To invade France?”

  “What?! No, sir.”

  “Oh god, I hope you’re not planning on invading Poland. Dreadfully hard to do that with any level of sympathy anymore.”

  “I’m talking about the agent we sent to Mars to retrieve, you know, the nonspecific object of importance.”

  For the first time Sir Knobbenbottom’s pompous face began to show traces of understanding.

  “Ah, yes, I remember now. I believe Hugh was tasked with the duty. A fine lad. Astute. And a pleasant conversationalist, if I do recall. How is he faring?”

  Sir Todgerworth shuffled uncomfortably.

  “I fear not well. The HMS Milk and Two Sugars ceased transmis
sions some hours ago. In addition, it also self-destructed. Given similar happenstances to previous excursions of ours, I suspect his prognosis is grim.”

  “Well, at least I don’t have to keep coming up with new disingenuous and perfunctory compliments about that dullard now. I’m pretty sure he only got a spot here in the League because he could prove a distant relation to Margaret Thatcher.”

  “The man is presumed dead, sir. Wouldn’t that necessitate an increase in comments of the aforementioned variety?”

  “Save it for the eulogy, Percy. Now tell me, do we suspect this is the work of that nefarious Banks character I’ve been hearing so much about? He is a rather thorny thorn, isn’t he?”

  “It seems that way.” Percy nodded. “However, there is one inconsistency with his MO in this case. Before it self-destructed, the last readings the HMS Milk and Two Sugars relayed indicated a vessel had docked upon it mere minutes beforehand. Uh, let’s see . . . ah, here we are. A moon-based transporter. Registered as a certain . . . SS Jefferson. Wholly unremarkable, it seems.”

  “Do you believe Banks is on board?”

  “It is possible, sir. Either that or he has a cloaked ship of his own.”

  “Mmm yes, quite. But in all cases beforehand he has taken great care not to leave witnesses, hasn’t he?”

  “Not a one, sir.”

  “Precisely, Percy. So it seems to me that whoever is aboard that ship is either in cahoots with him or is in rather grave danger, would you not agree?”

  They exchanged their own varying grunts of agreement. “But what should we do about it, sir?”

  Rupert smiled with a knowingness coupled with pleasure as his floating tray returned to him, tea hot enough to please even Captain Picard.

  “Why, we intercept, of course,” he replied calmly, sipping his cup with a British daintiness. “We must retrieve the thing, Percy. The thing is very important. It is equally important that no one else be in possession of the thing besides us. Which agents do we have available?”

  “Er, it appears none, sir.” Percy frowned down at the tablet he picked up from his desk. “Can’t imagine what they’re all doing, since we have no other ongoing missions, but they’re all listed as indisposed at the moment.”