by Logan Hunder
“We’re not terrorists!” Kim clenched her jaw shut along with her fists. You could almost hear her counting her breaths with each heavy exhale billowing out her little nose. “Look, we got caught up in something bad and the only thing we can do is lay low long enough for them to catch the guy they’re after and stop caring about us.”
“Uhhhh—” Cox began.
“Oh, right, you maimed one of them, so they definitely think we’re involved now, no matter what. What happened, anyway?! You’ve never hurt anybody in your life!”
She seemed to be more impressed than ashamed of him. All the work he had put in trying to wean her into a life of simpler pleasures and civility seemed to be coming unravelled faster than he could gather up the slack. And gathering it all became doubly difficult when, for the first time since all this began, those kind eyes were pressing him for a story instead of an excuse. Any shortcomings and failures he’d had up until this point didn’t seem to exist within this moment. Instead, she was looking at him like a real captain; someone at whom reliance and admiration could be directed unironically.
“It was just an accident,” he lied. “There was a mishap with his coffee and it burned him. Sounds like he pulled through, though. Which is good!”
And, unsurprisingly, that lit-up face dimmed away. It was such a shame to see it go that, for a moment, he was willing to scald the faces off a hundred bad guys just to bring it back. Unfortunately, if seeing it again meant regressing her back to a life where pleasure came from pain, then he’d rather give it up forever.
“That sounds more like you,” Joakim rumbled in agreement. “Alright, well, you guys go talk to him, then. It’s holding up our game.”
With a calm delivery so as to not invoke a flinch reflex, Kim reached over and swatted him upside the head.
“Oh, you kids are trying to play, huh? Don’t mind us; we’re just the only people in this room who are at risk of getting killed for real.”
“Ah—jeez, what do you want me to do about it?! I could shoot him, I guess. But then he’ll just wake up in a little while and come back pissed at me as well.”
“Just . . . just distract them somehow. Maybe we can find a way to slip out and get to the external dock.”
“Oh for the love of—” Sir Head piped up. “You do realize we can hear everything you’re saying in there, right? I’m aware mental retardation runs rampant among career criminals, but do I really need to explain how sound works?”
Even the most perceptive couldn’t have pointed out in a playback what precisely changed in Joakim’s expression following that. His bushy brows still hung low over those beady blues, and that grizzled mouth remained every bit as unimpressed, yet no more so. But there was a change nonetheless. Granted, those paying attention during his last teachable moment might have been able to deduce why a change would occur. However, to the gloriously ignorant, it seemed he was merely straightening up to stretch his back, as spines were known to be bothersome at his age. Just as seemingly innocuous was it when he, a well-established disregarder of safety, picked up the pistol from the table and began twirling it around his finger like a ring of keys. Of course, when he sauntered over to the wall and popped a shiny red cap in the Sir’s sweaty red head, that’s when people started to realize he might have an issue with something that was said.
“That probably didn’t help your situation at all,” he acknowledged to Mister and Missus Screwed. “But if sound travels so well, then he should know how I feel about being called stupid.”
What the rebels lacked in numbers, they also lacked in comparable passion after the spontaneous Ferdinand-ing. On the other hand, while lacking any visible revulsion to the fate of Sir Head, the prudish commander gave the order to attack, regardless. It was an order that was fulfilled with an alarming enthusiasm.
It was unclear whether the policing detachment had a deep-rooted allegiance to the British, more professional responsibility than they were given credit for, or were just happy to have an excuse to unpause the game, but whatever their motivation, they threw themselves at the walls like a roving horde of zombie termites and made remarkable headway reducing them to their baser components. Tensions were not as high on the other side. The good bad guys held the invaders off as best as they could for a group of semi-distracted gamblers who stood to face zero consequences for failure. They fired blindly over their shoulders while keeping eyes fixed on their cards. Misses and hits didn’t matter—unless that hit was in blackjack.
“Siri!” Cox panted into the closest mic, pausing for a wary glance over the shoulder. “Siri, you gotta—private Cox speaking—help us!”
A crinkled chunk of metal clanged off the wall inches above his head.
“Hello, Captain. Unfortunately, automated defences have been disabled in the wake of a recently detected security breach.”
“I’m open to ideas!”
“A cursory analysis of the conflict determines the quickest way to achieve resolution would be to surrender yourself in a calm and orderly manner for our helpful staff to assess your case and decide a proper course of action.”
With the weathered wall worn away, the floodgates opened. The guards spilled en masse into the little camp and for the first time seemed to shun fun in favour of their employer-mandated duties. The egregious illegal gambling taking place fell upon blind eyes. It was also pointedly ignored, since even the blind would have heard Donald yelling “Hey, aren’t you gonna do anything about all this illegal gambling?”
It was a unique feeling to be set upon by masked gunmen in the middle of a titanium superstructure floating around a planet while 1980s music played over loudspeakers and a robot voice came from beside you trying to explain that you’re the bad person here. Not the lame kind of unique either, like when parents are unable to come up with a better compliment for their child; it was an aggressive kind of unique that came bearing down with such force that you could almost hear your brain whirring like a photocopier as it was committed to memory for all eternity. And, like most forces that bore down, it came part and parcel with a pressure that in this case would crush until metaphorical bones were metaphorical dust or until it had produced some fresh-squeezed creative genius.
These guys sure seemed pretty mad, though, so it might have been a bit optimistic not to expect a few literal limb squishes as well.
“Okay, Siri, activate gravity-generator controls then!” Some of that latter stuff dribbled from Cox’s mouth. “Start redirecting gravity from the floor to that far wall over there until I say stop!”
There was an instant ominous rumbling that echoed through the chamber, like the digestive noises of a great metal whale. Anything on wheels was the first to be affected. They calmly drifted away to start, seemingly props in a gentle haunting taking place. Then shelves began to dispense their contents. Round pieces dropped the quickest, soon followed by anything else. The mass migration of metal wares overshadowed the initial rumbling, then drowned it out altogether when the shelves themselves followed to a smashing landing of their own. The encroaching enemies felt the effects moments later—and not just the ones who took spare wheels to the groin. Their intimidation factor went down in exact inverse to their path going up. By the time they were closing in on their prey, only white knuckled grips on the nearest bolted-down objects prevented a re-enactment of the Jack and Jill rhyme.
“Stop!”
The station froze. The people in it also froze. The chunks of the ice block remained frozen. However, only two of those listed articles remained stationary. With no hands to hold themselves, or will to use them if they did, the rounder fragments of ice cube teetered precariously atop the steep incline that overlooked all the mountaineers. All eyes were transfixed upon them in helpless horror, like noticing an unattended baby crawling on the windowsill of an apartment across the street. Hearts would only beat on the “to” before subsequently stopping again on the “fro”.
“Siri, would you relay a message to the impounded ship called the SS Jef
ferson, please?” Cox grunted through the weld-ed-on smile that he habitually donned during trying times. “We’re probably gonna be a bit late.”
Siri responded with her typical calm, authoritative voice, which was terribly ill-fitted to the current situation.
“There is no impounded ship by that name.”
Captain Cox blinked reflexively as ice flakes floated downwards toward his eyes and landed on his visor.
“WHA—ahem—where did it go?!”
“The most recently impounded ship by that name departed thirteen minutes ago, breaking mechanical restraints and injuring staff members who were attempting to board it. Since departure, it has circled the station twenty-nine times and sent fourteen transmissions, all to our Guantanamo information line.”
Somewhere beyond the vertical jungle of twisted metal and immobilized officers, the SS Jefferson could barely be glimpsed through the force field coming around for another pass. After only a few seconds, it disappeared yet again after passing through the cloud of guns, cans, shoes, and any other loose debris that had bounced their way down the hill. Not a moment too soon, either, as one of the tethers holding down a transport shuttle snapped and it too began a grinding descent, knocking several floor grates loose before passing uninhibited through the force field and gently gyrating away toward Earth.
Strange things, the fields were. They could contain the tiniest of air molecules, yet solid objects seemed to pass straight on through. Not even the captain’s illustrious schooling informed him on the science of such wonderment, but he didn’t need to understand it to have an idea.
“Siri?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“If you can, could you relay a message to that Jefferson flying around outside there? Tell her . . . Her crew is comin’. But she’s gotta catch us.”
“You can’t be serious,” Donald said from his spot bear hugging an oversized mooring cleat.
“Actually, that’s probably the best shot we got right now,” Kim said, looking down the chamber as another ship came loose and tumbled its way out. “But I can’t say I’m a fan.”
“It’s true, Donny. I know you can do it, though,” Cox encouraged the coms officer, patting him on the back with a foot. “Also, you’re definitely the big guy in this group, so we’re gonna need you to grab Willy on the way down.”
“Really? You really don’t think you’re asking a little much of me already?”
“Donny, buddy, I give you permission to whine as much as you like when we get back aboard the ship. I will probably join you. But right now, I’d really appreciate it if you could take it easy. If not for yourself, then for me . . .”
He gulped down at the proposition he’d made for himself and whimpered softly.
“I never realized until right now how much I hate heights.”
A soft pitter-patter came from beneath him. Even clad in her cumbersome spacesuit, Kim easily climbed her way up welded tables and floor grates until she stood on equal footing with him. The first mate’s gloved hand clutched the same beam as his while her other hand wrapped an arm around him and pulled his glass visor against hers.
“Just hang onto me, alright?” She soothed. “We got this. Hey, look at me. What would one of your old philosophers say right now?”
“Uhh . . .” There he was, with the love of his life in his arms facing oblivion with him and the world literally at their feet, so there really was never a more appropriate time for a quote. “I guess they’d say . . . I dunno. It’s hard coming up with one on the spot, y’know? How about: We gotta hold on to what we got. It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not. We got each other . . . And that’s a lot . . . For love?”
With a crinkle of her eyes and a bend of her lips, she raised an eyebrow.
“Let’s give it a shot.”
With nothing but faith left to bank on, they leapt for it. Cox’s eyes and glutes were clamped shut as he hurled himself off the metal cliff. Grasping hands snatched at his suit, but the slick material shrugged off any shots at seizure. These failed attempts were followed by swears and grunts that came from behind, as well as a few thuds from those making jumps of their own. But neither departee could look back even if they tried. Stuck with his glass visor facing front, Cox could all but feel the wind in his face when his body hit the floor and their mad slide to freedom began.
Their hold on each other remained as tight as ever. With chests pressed together, they tumbled and banged into protruding obstacles marring their path, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes knocking them loose to join in their escape. Resonating shudders from metal scraping against the floor filled their ears. At one point during one of his many topples, the captain thought he caught a glimpse of the angered armada of guards giving chase like a group of bloodthirsty cheese rollers. However, the flash was brief, and most of his focus was commanded by his co-conspiring coadjutors. Contrary to Cox’s orders, Donald had made no attempt whatsoever in the grasping of the Captain’s beloved Willy. However, the faithful security guard’s simultaneously brave and dim-witted nature appeared to mistake Donald’s mad spring for freedom for that of a clumsy oaf accidentally falling towards certain doom, and as such, with a passionate “I’ll save you,” Willy tried to grab him instead. Unfortunately, the thought did not count as much as the execution. The moment one hand caught Donald, the other was wrenched loose, and they spilled down in a bearhug of their own, albeit certainly lacking the same tenderness as Kim’s and Tim’s.
Irrespective of tenderness of temperament, tenderness of body was all but guaranteed by the end of the jaunt. The group of four slammed into so many miscellaneous metal objects on the way down that a bored security guard would later go on to edit pinball sound effects into the footage of their escape. It didn’t go viral, but it was a definite hit at the year-end staff party.
Every one of their hearts beat in their chests like vibrating cellphones. The constant rolling had rendered them disoriented to the point their brains were driven to disregarding all data taken in by their eyes. Every bump and thud knocked them further into a mind/body disconnect.
And then there was nothing. No more scratching noises assaulting their ears, no more roving shipping containers jumping out in front of them. Even the tumbling was reduced to a gentle rotation after they reached the edge of the hangar and burst through the force field into open space.
The comparative lack of stimuli did not render the experience any less terrifying; with a handhold not even tantalizingly close by, one couldn’t help but swiftly devolve into a neurotic mess of limbs flailing in futile attempts to cease the body’s spiralling. One by one, they spun until each could glimpse the monolithic marble that was Earth filling their view and beckoning them closer. And closer they did come, powerless to resist. To see the planet so close, yet sufficiently far away to perceive its curvature, has for centuries been a solemn reminder of life’s fragility, and here was no exception. However, while others appreciated the poetic notion of a warm orb that provided safety and nourishment from the unforgiving void, that philosophy served as little comfort to a group of four currently on track to get denied entry by the bouncer with a flamethrower that was commonly referred to as an atmosphere.
Cox hollered to his wife, his crew. They may well have returned the favour but, as that one know-it-all present during every sci-fi movie is quick to remind: there was no sound in space. Thankfully, spasmodic hand gestures could provide reliably consistent communication, whether they were produced in the vacuum of space, under water, at a great distance, or in the Horace Mann School for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing. Yet in only one of those locations would an enormous spaceship bearing down upon you be a welcome sight.
From behind the twisted station of twisted people, a friendly nose peeked from the shadows. The mighty whale that was the Jefferson, stronger than tin and faster than most non-rocket powered vehicles, had returned to claim that which rightfully belonged inside of it. Like a snake emerging from a basket, it slid from behind the cove
r of darkness to give chase in a daring space race.
The castaways rejoiced in a display of making imaginary snow angels. This was followed by a display of swimming in imaginary water when they realized their hovering home not only resembled a whale in looks but also in ability to see small creatures directly in front of it. Willy took the brunt of the impact. His splayed-out body, dangling like a marionette, absorbed the snout of the vessel and pinned an arm and leg to either side. Even with no sound to complement the spectacle, Cox couldn’t help but hear a train whistle in his head as he watched the collision play out. Still, home was a welcome sight. When he flicked on his mag boots and sidled up alongside the magnificent vessel, he tossed a cheeky glance to either side before the Jefferson found itself embraced by another, more tender hug.
REGARDLESS OF INDIVIDUAL ATTACHMENT to the Jefferson, it was a welcome change of scenery from the preceding excursion. Such excitement had pushed them all along the road to exhaustion of both the mental and physical variety, and they all shuffled wordlessly onto the bridge, dropping their helmets in a chorus of clunks and peeling space suits off their sweaty selves.
Usually the conductor of the complain train, Donald settled back into his disgusting bean bag without so much as a quip and closed his eyes. Each heavy breath inflated his belly and raised the clasped hands atop it before whistling out his nose as the two were let back down. All the while, Whisper stared at him with an expression of competing puzzlement and repugnance. She had expected the sudden and climactic return of her crew would merit an explanation without relying on her to prompt it. Even Kim, arguably the fittest of the bunch, made her entrance with the same level of enervation, while the last two carried on through and into the kitchen. The way the two remainders draped themselves in unconventional ways over their respective seats, neither seemed keen to reminisce.
Whisper continued to stare even after the groans of relief had subsided.
“Uh . . . Where were you guys . . . ?”