by Logan Hunder
“Clubbing,” Kim’s muffled voice groaned from face down in her armchair. She raised her head. “Where the hell do you think we’ve been?”
“What’s up with your husband? Is he miserable too? I’ve always wanted to see what him miserable would look like.”
“Whisper, we just came from a literal warzone. Don’t you dare start in on him.”
“Whoa, jeez, it’s not like I coulda known that.” She huffed, turning back to her computer.
“You watched us all jump and free fall untethered through open space onto a moving ship. We didn’t do that shit for fun!”
“I dunno! You guys might, for all I know! You do weird things. And my job sucked too. I had to sit here the whole time, thinking you guys had died, and freaking out ’cause I’d have to find a new job and I wouldn’t have any references.”
“Will you shut up!?” Donald snapped, trying to slam a fist into the plush surface of his seat for emphasis. “Some of us have actually had a shit day.”
Whisper shrank into her chair.
“I ask one question, and you guys bite my head off. No wonder you guys hate science.”
Then, a faint clatter wrested their attention toward the kitchen. Suspecting Willy, Kim lay her face back down. Inversely, Donald and Whisper craned their necks in a way that wouldn’t amplify the sound at all but did make them feel like they could hear better. Noises emanated from the room to the tune of standard kitchen clamour like clinks, thuds, and sloshes of pouring liquid. However, they continued on in the wake of their security guard’s emergence. Wholly absorbed by the plate in his hand, he passed through the gang and took a seat of his own, eager to refuel after his recent reanimation. “Aw yeah . . . it’s so nice to have outside food again.”
“Willy, those are meal replacement capsules,” Donald informed him in a monotone voice. “They have no taste.”
“And they didn’t even feed us!” Kim’s voice rang loud even through the pillow that was smothering it.
Captain Cox, showing no signs of fatigue himself, and perhaps more motivated than ever, poked his head out from the kitchen.
“‘Scuse me there, Miss Wang. What did you do with that bottle of kids’ alcohol that Mister Nobody brought?”
His sudden appearance struck her with bemusement. Mouth slightly ajar and eyebrows slanting high, she regarded him the way one responds to a sudden inquiry from a neighbouring bathroom stall.
“Uh, it’s . . . I put it behind the wine shelf . . . ?”
“Found it!”
He emerged triumphant, raising the bottle of vile liquid like it was a royal lion cub. Those around were less than impressed, clearly hoping for an expounding on his newfound excitement for Fireball whiskey. Any would do, as current signs forced the pessimist in them all to assume some sort of midlife crisis. Should a man as bold and brash as their commander in chief add the ensuing symptoms to his pre-existing conditions, there would not only be strong reason, but also a potential legal obligation, to have him sectioned. Then again, if his mental acuity remained as sound as ever, then they would be obligated as subordinates to see through whatever and wherever this delighted display was going. At least the former option had handy burly men in white coats to do the dirty work.
Mundane in appearance as it was, the glassware fascinated the captain every bit the same as any relic he had procured. It jingled slightly with every turn of his wrists, hinting to all but the dimmest that its contents were not those that were transcribed on the label. It was too small to be a spaceship in a bottle, yet too large to be something that ended up in there by sheer happenstance. Yet, thrilling as it was, he couldn’t be brought to actually open it for a proper inspection. His usual impetuosity had waned somewhat, and for the first time, the fear of consequences saved his caution from the winds. So, instead, he took his seat and contemplated the situation— audibly, perhaps in hopes for someone to jump in.
“So this is what they all want . . . everybody. Even Nobody.”
Donald was the first to bite.
“What is it?”
The captain turned the bottle over in his hands.
“I don’t really know. That agent told me a bit about it. Just enough that I know it’s some weird alien goo that eats pretty much whatever it touches. I guess I’ll call it . . . Star jelly.”
“Star jelly is already a thing.” Whisper said, stiff as ever. After a beat she added: “I’m actually not surprised you guys don’t know that. It’s just a word idiots made up for squished frogs.”
Cox blinked.
“Alrighty. How about . . . Space jam, then.”
She shrugged. Donald showed a similar disinterest in moniker assignment, preferring instead to reach over and pilfer the last morsel from the now thoroughly contented security guard’s plate. Kim could no longer remain checked out of the conversation. Even in her tired state, she could deduce the implications of this newfound macguffin. With eyes half closed and hair fresh out of a wind tunnel, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and blew a tuft of brown locks out of her face.
“So, wait, we actually do have that thing they want?! Well, goddamn it. Chuck it out the airlock and let’s get out of here.”
At this command, her husband leapt from his chair and clutched the bottle close to his body, outraged by such a suggestion.
“They might find it if we do that!”
“Good! Even better! Maybe they won’t keep trying to find and kill us then!”
Throughout the tail end of the response, Whisper had begun a low mumble, which, by the sentence’s end, had increased to a rather emphatic hum. As soon as the first mate had curtailed her own rebuttal, she forced her way into the conversation.
“Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhh somebody’s hailing us!”
“Who? The prison?”
“Didn’t say! They just kinda skipped straight to throwing those blocks of ice at us.”
Whether they had fallen of their own accord or had received gentle encouragement from those too reluctant to space spelunk, the prison’s petrified water supply had become the only pursuer brave enough to follow them through the forcefield and continue the universe’s ongoing quest to ruin the crew’s day. There was a certain elegance to the way they gyrated in their general direction, as if in slow motion. ’Twas almost hypnotic. Had he the armaments, Cox would have been tempted to return fire and take part in the very first space-snowball fight. Instead, he took the other rare opportunity that presented itself: getting to tell his pilot to engage in evasive manoeuvres and actually mean it.
“Quick, Ensign Wang! Engage in evasive manoeuvres!”
“ . . . Do what?!”
“Evasive manoeuvres! Manoeuvres that will result in evasion!”
“Why—really? Sorry, I left my dogfighting helmet in my room.”
“Can you get us out of the way, please?!”
“Ugh. I already did.”
Ice, by its very nature, could be safely assumed to lack heat-seeking capabilities. Therefore, a simple sidle to the left transformed them from deadly projectiles into the interstellar equivalent of a beer bottle hurled by an insecure stepfather in a fit of inebriated fury. Missing by an inch or missing by a mile, the blocks spun like frozen fastballs on their way toward the mighty Earth. Thereupon, they would promptly burn up in the atmosphere causing at least one simpleton down below to probably look up and make a wish.
“They’re literally just floating in a straight line,” the pilot continued, gesturing forward with an open hand. Then, with an outstretched finger, she pantomimed nudging something slightly to the left.
“Boop.”
“Can we get back on track, here?” Kim, ever responsible, insisted. “Tim, you’re the most straight-laced guy I’ve ever met. I love ya for it. So why are you acting so weird about all this?! You’re purposely not complying with law enforcement. You apparently attacked somebody! What’s going on with you?”
He cocked his head to the side.
“What else have I been doing that’s w
eird?”
“ . . . uh. Okay, fine, just those two things. But don’t act like they’re not weird!”
“Okay! Okay! Fine. I’m being weird. Maybe I’m being weird. I don’t know.” He sighed. All this flustered head shaking had rendered his wavy hair into a tangled mess.
“It’s been a rough space day, guys. It’s safe to say we’ve all been pushed a little beyond our comfort zones. I wish I could say it’s all over now, but there’s something else we have to do.” He eyed his wife knowingly. “I don’t know how we’re going to do it yet, but that’s something her and I are going to decide. Together.”
With a hand on the small of her back to guide her, they departed the bridge and left the subordinates to their literal devices. While the reprieve didn’t have the relief that came with permanence, an extended relaxation period was not a concept likely to be snubbed by any of them. Everyone’s feet swiftly found rest upon elevated surfaces as each commenced to drown the day’s excitement under the humdrum calm of routine pastimes. All the while, Cox’s voice evaporated away into the bowels of the vessel as he chatted up the missus.
“I know it’s weird that I’m being so disobedient towards those secret agent guys. But it’s funny; that big ice cube actually reminded me of a philosopher who would totally agree with the way I’m handling members of law enforcement.”
15.
THE COUNCIL OF COX
THE GRAVITY SWITCH IN the sacred bedroom, chamber for the sawing of captain’s logs, went as untouched as ever this evening. It hadn’t been flicked to the off position since the Jefferson’s inaugural voyage. Although far from newlyweds at the time, Tim and Kim had felt a freedom upon blasting off that was beyond any they had experienced before. As was natural for a couple much in love with a palace all to themselves, drinking fancy wines and making blanket forts would inevitably give way as the night wore on to activities of a more lascivious nature. They flung their clothes in all manner of directions and tied their manes back shortly before their fingers and subsequently bodies entwined.
And it was when their weight hit the bed that the sudden stroke of genius occured. Kim rarely provided the suggestion of rendering a room a place of buoyance, but the one time she did, their minds raced with the possibilities that stemmed from the removal of such a hindrance. With blood rushing away from the brain, nary a thought was spared in consideration as Tim leapt from the bed and flipped the switch. Then, as if forgetting what he had just done, he sprung back towards his beloved, only to careen into the ceiling instead. Kim leapt to his aid. This led to a helpless entanglement of sheets and errant underwear bouncing about in passionate frustration.
After some careful manipulations, the jumble found itself resolved, and blankets, along with airborne nightstands and partially finished glasses of champagne, were tossed aside; messes could be always be cleaned up later. Yet, even when freed from obstacles, they found their own bodies to be difficult to control. The slightest bump or nudge would propel the other in the opposite direction, serving to separate the two well before getting to approach thrusting alignment. With no kinky tether apparatus available, the futility of it all became steadily more apparent. The mood died quickly amid the grunts of exertion with every new awkward positioning, as well as the glistening globules of sweat that inflated and flew off their bodies like bubbles. Any remaining arousal was further murdered by the lack of gravity, causing the requisite blood to rise into their heads and chests instead of collecting in the right place to fuel the machines. After a few quick minutes, the switch was flipped back, and they collapsed into bed spent and unsatisfied.
In short, sex in space sucks.
On this particular evening after their escape, though, the notion was about as far from their minds as it could be. It was never beyond reach, mind you, but was an unlikely course of action in the face of current circumstances. When they shuffled into the room with drooping shoulders, it required all their efforts to avoid collapsing into bed and delaying conversation for another time. It occurred to the captain that at no point did he give the pilot orders to vacate the scene. However, something in Whisper’s words inspired confidence that it would happen nonetheless.
Neither had broached the topic by the time they had settled into their respective seated positions. Kim slumped against the wall, one leg outstretched, while her husband sat at the foot of their bed with his hands situated stiffly on either side like he was meeting the father of his prom date. Their frank discussion had yet to commence and already he appeared prepared to submit.
“All I wanna know is why, Tim,” the other said. Her tone was neither sceptical nor accusatory so as to keep the door for new ideas open. “There’s obviously a reason you’re doing something so unlike you, so c’mon. Let’s hear it.”
At that, his posture softened. While he had already sufficiently mulled over the situation in his head and found the words, they came easier knowing there was no impending cross-examination to be stared down during the delivery.
“This is going to sound kind of crazy,” he breathed in hushed tones. “But we’re involved in something way bigger than I thought.”
“Love, there’s British secret agents involved. This is obviously something a little beyond what we’re used to.”
“See, that’s what I thought too!” He hopped off the bed and kneeled on the floor next to her. “But when they talked to me in my cell, I realized they aren’t the good guys either. They’re as bad as Mister Nobody. Maybe even worse! I figured it all out during my interrogation. I don’t think they really even care about Mister Nobody that much, because they mostly talked about this space jam stuff. The Percy guy didn’t say it directly . . . but do you know what I think he wants to do with it?!”
“Keep it for himself to use as a weapon?” Kim replied with all the surprise of a sarcastic seer.
“I thi—wait, yeah. Exactly. How did you know?!”
The smile painted on her lips was one part endearment and one part condolence. Neither it nor the patronizing pinch she gave his cheek alleviated any confusion.
“Oh, honey . . . I hate to sound like Donald, but they’re a government organization with little to no supervision. What else would you think they’d want it for? To put in a museum? What are they, Indiana Jones?”
“But why! Why does everybody just want to destroy stuff and hurt people?!”
“Everybody doesn’t want to destroy stuff and hurt people! But when you have an object that’s sole purpose is destroying stuff and hurting people, then those are the type of people it’s going to attract.”
“Exactly!” The captain declared, driving the point home with an emphatic point on the second syllable. With his other hand, he tossed the bottle at her, causing a mild arrhythmia as she flailed desperately to catch it. A few moments were required for her hands and heart to settle. During this, Cox continued.
“This is why we gotta find a way to destroy it first. It’s the only way to be safe.”
“Did you really plan for the conversation to go like this?” Kim broke off the main topic. “If so, well played.”
“Thanks! I had to improvise a little when you guessed what they wanted it for, but it did help speed things up.”
With a small squeak of exertion, she hopped to her feet, giving him a quick peck on the cheek on her way up. The look she gave was vaguely reminiscent of the one back on the station when she thought he had maimed somebody. It didn’t have the same level of admiration, but there was certainly evidence of something tickling her.
“You didn’t need to try and sneak your point in like that, though,” she amended. “I did say I had faith in your reasoning. Honestly, I’m just really proud of you for not letting your hopes for the best in everyone get in the way of seeing these guys for what they are. I mean, Christ, if you say they’re bad, then I totally believe it. I figured I’d hear the pope talk shit about someone before you.”
“Oh my god, you’re right,” the captain said, sitting back down on the bed. “I mean, I s
till really want to see the best in them . . . But I just can’t.”
He looked up at his wife.
“You don’t think they’re ruining me, do you?”
His expression of genuine fear was all that kept her from blowing a raspberry right in his face. In all these years, she’d never been able to explain the charm of his toddler-esque purity; even now, as it approached critical mass. The irony of being so pure he underwent an existential crisis at the thought of losing it was completely missing him. To call it silly was an understatement. With so little purity left of her own, maybe it was just nice to have somebody with plenty to spare. She took a seat next to him, grabbed his arm, and draped it over her shoulder. After a brief pause to deliberate, she answered.
“You know, an actual philosopher once said ‘Love your enemy, but never sell your sword.’ I don’t usually remember stuff like that because most of them are just coming up with different ways to say ‘Don’t be a dick.’ But I kinda liked that one, because even though it tells you not to be a dick, it doesn’t pretend that not being a dick will make other people stop being dicks.”
“Wow. You really used the word ‘dick’ a lot there.”
“I don’t have writers, alright? I picked a noun and stuck with it. The point is: trying to see the best in somebody doesn’t mean trusting them. You always give everybody a chance, even when you really shouldn’t. These guys blew it; so what else are you supposed to do? Just give ’em another one?”
Cox chuckled as he pulled her closer with his arm.
“That’s literally what I wish I could do! Second chances are a thing, y’know.”
“Exactly.”
Kim got off the bed and stood before it so she could return the same gesture he gave her minutes before. She even picked the bottle back up and went to chuck it back at him before remembering the contents, deciding better, and setting it back down.
“The thought doesn’t always count for everything, but it’s good enough here. How you can possibly want to try and like those assholes in spite of all this is beyond me. The fact you do, though, should be all the proof you need that they haven’t ruined you in the slightest.”