SPACE TEAM

THE COLLECTED ADVENTURES

VOLUME 2

By

Barry J. Hutchison

Copyright © 2017 by Barry J. Hutchison

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Published worldwide by Zertex Books.

www.barryjhutchison.com

To the ever-growing ranks of Space Team fans. I love you all.

Just, you know, not in that way.

Also by Barry J. Hutchison

The Bug

Space Team

Space Team: The Wrath of Vajazzle

Space Team: The Search for Splurt

Space Team: The Holiday Special

Dial D for Deadman

Contents

SPACE TEAM: SONG OF THE SPACE SIREN

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

SPACE TEAM: THE GUNS OF NANA JOAN

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

SPACE TEAM: RETURN OF THE DEAD GUY

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

SPACE TEAM: SONG OF THE SPACE SIREN

CHAPTER ONE

Dogan Murt was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a brave man.

He wasn’t technically a ‘man’ at all, in fact. He was a Talpan – a race of wide-eyed humanoid, yet somewhat mole-like creatures who traditionally lived deep underground, and smelled ever so faintly of kitty litter.

Not content with spending the entirety of his adult life in a dark cave (or overly keen on the kitty litter thing), Dogan had struck out on his own, determined to make his way in the world. That had been several years ago. Of late, things had not been going well.

Dogan looked down at the scrap of paper he clutched in his shaking hands, then up at the flickering neon sign above the door. His reading ability was low at the best of times, and a full third of the letters in the sign were in darkness, but he was pretty sure this was the place.

He pushed open the door. Sweat and smoke and noise and movement all rushed out through the gap.

He closed the door again, alarmed by the brutality of it all.

“Do it, Dogan! Do it, Dogan!” he whispered. It had become a sort of personal mantra of his over the years, and he called on it whenever fear threatened to thwart his attempts to better himself.

‘Do it Dogan,’ had even been his nickname for a while back in the caves, although it was usually said in mocking tones, and followed swiftly by a sharp punch to the testicles. He had no nicknames now, of course. To have a nickname, first you needed a friend. Or an enemy who knew you well enough.

Siphoning some air in through his sharp front teeth, Dogan pushed the door all the way open, clenched his fists down at his sides, then stepped into the bar.

Even before getting the measure of the place, Dogan knew he didn’t approve. The Talpan were fiercely moral, and public venues where people got into fights, drank excessively and did the sort of things the three-legged gentleman on stage was doing were very much frowned upon.

Despite himself, Dogan looked more closely at the man on the stage, and came to the conclusion that the third appendage wasn’t actually a leg at all.

Horrified, Dogan turned away, blinked several times to try to erase the images he’d just witnessed, then headed for one of the bar’s empty booths.

“Sorry. Pardon me. Can I just squeeze… thanks,” he mumbled, weaving his way through the crowds. He reached the dimly-lit booth, only to find a hulking green figure lurking in the corner, nursing a drink.

“Oh. Sorry,” said Dogan. “I just… I didn’t…” He smiled hopefully at the booth’s occupant. “Would you mind?”

The creature stared impassively at Dogan for several seconds, its eyes glassy and black. At last, it waved a clawed hand at the bench across the table, and Dogan slid gratefully onto the ripped and threadbare padding.

“Thank you,” said Dogan, nestling into the shadows. The lizard-creature nodded once, but said nothing.

Now that he was out of the crowds, Dogan took a moment to scan the place. A horseshoe-shaped bar took up around a quarter of the floor space, with the raised stage over by the far wall taking up a much smaller chunk. Clearly people came for the entertainment, but stayed for the booze.

The lights were low, the volume was high, and while there were a few groups hanging out together, most of the clientele seemed to be in pairs or on their own.

Dogan felt the lizard-creature’s eyes on him, and smiled shakily. “I’m looking for someone,” he explained. “I was told I might find him here.”

He glanced around the bar again, anxiously picking at his black fingernails. “I need his help. I am in trouble,” he explained, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Dogan caught himself just in time. He regarded the green-skinned alien cautiously. “You are not with the Xandrie, are you?”

The creature shook its head slowly.

“Zertex?” asked Dogan, eyeing up the exit. “Are you law enforcement? Because I’m not allowed to talk to them, the Xandrie made that very clear.”

The creature shook its head again.

“And you have to tell me if I ask you. It’s the law,” Dogan insisted.

The creature growled deep down in its throat, then shook its head again.

Dogan nodded, relieved. “Good. Good. I apologize. I had to ask, you understand?”

The creature said nothing.

“You understand,” said Dogan, answering on its behalf. He rubbed the tabletop that stood between them, feeling every scratch with the pink, wrinkled skin of his fingertips.

“The problem is, I do not know what he looks like,” said Dogan, gazing out across the bar again. The genetically blessed young man had been joined on stage by two alarmingly supple women, and many of the bar’s occupants had started to gravitate towards that end of the room.

Dogan clicked his tongue against his teeth in disapproval, then angled himself for a better view so that he could really disapprove if things went the way he thought they were probably going to go.

“But I am in trouble, and I believe he can help me,” Dogan said, tearing his eyes from the stage. “The Xandrie, they want money from my business. In return, they have offered to ‘protect’ it. ‘It’s a nasty part of town,’ they tell me. ‘Wouldn’t want anything happening to you,’ they say.”

The mole-man’s eyes moistened, and he lowered his head for a moment, composing himself. “I paid. For a long time, I paid, but now the cost has gone up, and I can no longer afford to do so. Besides,” he said, getting angry. “It is my business. My money. My hard work. Why should I pay these… these… gangsters?”

He banged a fist on the table. It very clearly hurt, but he tried not to let on. He glanced around nervously, and the anger left his voice in a long outward breath. “I just want someone to make the Xandrie understand that I cannot be pushed around. That they cannot continue to do as they please.”

Dogan’s eyes swept the bar again, searching for someone he didn’t know, but on whom he’d pinned all his hopes. “I am told this man and his crew may help me. I was told he might be here.” He sighed. “It appears my information was incorrect.”

Drumming his hands on the tabletop, Dogan met the gaze of the lizard-creature and had another attempt at a smile. “My apologies. None of this is your concern. Forgive me for bothering you.”

As Dogan spoke, one of the alien’s clawed hands fumbled at a spot halfway up its scaly throat. Dogan watched in amazement as the claws dug into the spongy flesh, then blinked in surprise as a square flap was peeled aside, revealing a sweat-soaked human face inside.

“Holy shizz, it is fonking hot in there,” gasped the man. He grabbed for his glass, shut his eyes, then tossed his drink in his face. “Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff,” he sighed. “Wow. That’s better.”

Dogan’s face crumpled in confusion. “I… I do not understand. Who are you? What are you?”

“Oh. Yeah. Forgot that bit. Sorry. Name’s Cal. Cal Carver,” said the man in the suit. He gave a rubbery thumbs up. “And, mister, you just hired the Space Team.”

Cal swept the clawed hand across his face, wiping away his drink. “I mean, technically it’s just ‘Space Team’ not ‘the Space Team’ but, well, there was this TV show where I came from, and every week the leader, Hannibal, would…” He shook his head. The rubbery lizard head shook, too. “Know what? It doesn’t matter. The main thing is, you’ve got a problem, no-one else can help, and you’ve found us.”

“Uh… ‘us’?” said Dogan.

The back of the bench behind Dogan shook as someone moved in the next booth over. There was a whirr and a series of clanks, then a scuffed and dented metal figure stepped into view.

Cal looked the cyborg up and down. “Mech! I thought I told you to find a disguise?”

“I did,” said Mech. He ducked a little and pointed to the top of his head.

“A tiny hat,” said Cal. “That’s your disguise? A tiny hat.”

“I’m a seven foot tall cyborg. What the fonk should I have disguised myself as?”

“I don’t know, maybe a different seven foot tall cyborg?” Cal suggested. “One who isn’t on a list of the galaxy’s most wanted.”

Dogan looked between Cal and Mech, his mouth hanging open. A sudden movement at the edge of the booth caught his attention, and he almost screamed when a wolf-like creature in a tightly-fitting leather outfit slid onto the seat next to Cal.

“Hey,” she said. “Who’s the wrinkly pink guy?”

“Uh, D-Dogan,” the wrinkly pink guy stammered, silently adding the “Please don’t eat me,” part in his head.

“Miz! Why aren’t you disguised, either?” asked Cal, turning to look the wolf-woman up and down. Because of his costume, this wasn’t easy, and it took several attempts before he could twist his body enough to let him see her properly.

Miz shrugged. “I don’t know. Seemed kind of lame. Besides, look at me. Blending in? Totally not my thing.”

Cal tutted and shook his head. “How hard would it have been to pop on a pair of glasses or something? You know? A fake nose. A mustache! You couldn’t even give me a mustache.”

“Why are you disguised?” Dogan asked.

“Because we’re wanted by the government for a crime we didn’t commit,” said Cal. He caught the looks from Mech and Miz. “OK, OK, we’re wanted by the government for a crime we did commit. A number of crimes, actually. Mainly, abducting the president, ejecting him into space, and stealing an experimental ship, but it’s a pretty big list.”

Cal pointed a clawed finger at Dogan. “But we’re not here to talk about us. We’re here to talk about you.”

He leaned across the table, but it made his costume ride up and forced his cheeks up into his eyes, so he leaned back again. “Tell us more about these Xandrie guys. And, more importantly, just where we might be able to find them.”

* * *

Cal, Mech and Miz stood in a darkened doorway, watching the building directly across the street. Cal had ditched the lizard costume in an alleyway behind the bar, and now wore the black shirt, cargo pants and scuffed brown boots he’d picked up on their recent trip back to the Bug-infested wasteland that was now the planet Earth.

“So, if I had to say who was who,” said Cal, rubbing his hands together to drive away the cold, “I’d be Face, because, you know, I’m the smooth-talking one who always charms his way out of trouble. But – and here’s the thing - I’d also be Hannibal, because I’m the leader.”

Mech raised an eyebrow. “Leader? You ain’t the leader. We ain’t got no leader.”

“Well, we do, obviously, and it’s me, but that’s OK, because you’re B.A., and everyone loves B.A.!” Cal said, patting Mech on the chest. “‘I ain’t goin’ on no plane, sucka!’ You know?”

Miz wrinkled her nose. “What is he talking about?”

“I have no fonking idea,” Mech admitted.

“Loren’s Murdoch, because they’re both pilots, not because she’s got undiagnosed PTSD or whatever Murdoch had, and Miz…” His mind raced. “Miz is the sexy werewolf lady they rarely spoke about.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned his attention back to the doorway across the road. “I mean, we’re not exactly the same, but there are broad similarities is the point I’m trying to make.”

It had been over a month since Cal had been abducted from his prison cell and whisked into outer space, and while lots of it was all still new and exciting, there were a few parts which were already losing their novelty.

Streets like this, for example. He knew he couldn’t have seen this street before – they’d only arrived on the planet a few hours ago – and yet there was something tediously familiar about it. The shadowy nooks. The grimy windows. The flurries of litter tumbling along it on the whims of the breeze.

There were streets just like it back on Earth. Streets you didn’t walk down if you valued your wallet, your kneecaps or your life. Cal had seen more than his fair share back on his home planet, and was amassing quite the collection on other worlds, too.

“Think that’s the place?” he asked.

Mech tapped the screen on his forearm and scanned the doorway opposite. “Door’s heavy. Reinforced. Take a tank to knock that thing down.”

“Can you do it?” Cal asked.

Mech snorted and clanked his way across the street. “Just watch me.”

Cal hurried to keep up, with Miz stalking along behind him.

“OK, so let’s just go in there, throw our weight around a little – well, your weight, mostly,” Cal said, looking from Mech to Miz in turn, “and give them a warning. Let’s try not to kill anyone this time, if we can avoid it. Mizette, I’m looking at you here.”

“Fine,” Miz sighed. “But what if they deserve it?”

“If they genuinely deserve it, it’s totally fine,” said Cal. “But you said that last guy deserved it because he was wearing yellow pants.”

“He totally did deserve it,” said Miz.

“Girl’s got a point,” agreed Mech. “Those were some nasty pants.”

A car blared its horn at them as it hovered past. Miz gave it the finger, and Cal felt a swelling of pride that he’d taught her the gesture. They stepped onto the sidewalk and positioned themselves by the reinforced door.

“We should have brought Loren on this,” Cal whispered, drawing a blaster pistol from the holster on his belt.

“Why, so the two of you could hold hands?” asked Miz, the fur on her neck sticking up ever so slightly.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Cal whispered. “There’s nothing going on between us.”

“Oh, please,” said Miz, then she jabbed a thumb towards the door and glowered at Mech. “Are you going to kick this thing down or not?”

“Get ready,” Mech said. He adjusted the dial on his chest, just a fraction, diverting additional power to his hydraulics. Then he raised a leg and thrust it out in front of him like a battering ram.

The doors flew apart with a screech of tearing metal.

“Oh, man,” Cal whispered. “That was so B.A.”

He took cover behind Mech as the cyborg ducked through the doorway and stomped into the starkly gray hallway beyond. A fluorescent strip light flickered on the ceiling, sending shadows dancing over the gloss-painted walls.

“Attention, uh, the Xandrie,” Cal began, but his voice trailed away when he spotted the blood. It pooled on the vinyl flooring and dribbled down the walls. It dripped from the light fitting and seeped from below the door at the far end of the hall.

And, perhaps most significantly of all, it oozed from the quivering, gelatinous remains of what had presumably once been a living creature, but was now nothing more than gristle and flesh.

Cal’s grip tightened on his blaster. “Uh… hello?” he said, poking the fleshy lump with his shoe. He backed off a little and waited.

“Nope. I think it’s dead,” he announced.

“What do you…? Of course it’s fonking dead!” Mech growled. “Look at it.”

“Well I don’t know, do I?” said Cal, pointing to the bleeding meat. “I saw someone who looked almost exactly like that back on that last planet. The guy giving out the parking tickets. Remember?”

“That was the planet before,” said Mech.

Cal tutted. “Whatever. My point is, how am I supposed to know it’s dead if I don’t gently kick it, say ‘hello,’ and wait to see if it responds?”

Mizette’s nostrils flared. “It’s worse in there,” she said, nodding towards the door.

“Worse?” Cal squeaked. “There’s blood pouring from the ceiling and, I don’t know, a fonking hip lying on the floor. How can it be worse?”

Miz met his gaze and held it. “Trust me,” she said. “It’s worse.”

Cal took a deep breath. It tasted like pennies. “Fine. I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t handle. Let’s go check it out.”

“Why?” asked Mech. “Let’s just turn around and get back to the ship. This shizz right here? This shizz ain’t our problem.”

Cal shook his head in disgust. “And you have the nerve to call yourself B.A. Baracus,” he said.

“I don’t! You called me that,” Mech pointed out. “I don’t even know who that is.” He threw up a hand. “Come on, man. Where are you going?”

Cal had about-turned and now strode purposefully along the hallway, doing his best to look like the man in charge. This was marred slightly by him slipping in the blood puddle and skidding several feet along the corridor, while waving his arms in a panicky flap.

He stumbled the last couple of feet, then steadied himself against the doorframe. “Totally meant that,” he said, then he turned the handle, opened the door a fraction, and poked his head inside.

A moment later, he took it back out again. He turned to Miz, all color draining from his face. “I take it back,” he said. “It’s waaaay worse.”

CHAPTER TWO

If Cal had been asked to describe the scene beyond the door in one word, he would have mumbled something high-pitched and incoherent, before immediately throwing up in his mouth.

Unlike the featureless hallway, this room had been decorated to excess. There were gold drapes over the barred and shuttered windows, a delicately intricate chandelier hanging from the patterned ceiling, and various sideboards cluttered with what Cal would describe as ‘space antiques’ were he not currently wrestling with the vomiting-in-mouth situation.

Because worse than the décor – worse than the hideous wallpaper, the zig-zag patterned carpet and the enormous framed prints of alien dogs playing space pool – was the gore.

There were no body parts in this room, but Cal would almost have preferred it if there had been. You knew where you were with a body part. Admittedly, it was rarely anywhere good, but at least you knew.

Instead, there was a general sort of lumpy red puree covering every surface. It clung to everything like crimson moss, and reeked of things Cal was trying very hard not to think about in too much detail.

“And in case you’re wondering,” said Mech, indicating the mulchy wet redness. “Also dead.”

“Maybe we should get out of here,” said Cal. “This is…” He swallowed. “I don’t know what this is, but I get the feeling it’s not something we want to get caught up in.”

“What did I tell you?” said Mech. “What did I say not twenty fonking seconds ago?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Cal, spinning on the spot. There was a squelch as the pressure of his heels sprayed blood-slush over the sodden carpet. “Let’s all just run back to the ship as fast as we can and agree never to speak of this again.”

Miz’s hand clamped around his forearm. “There’s someone here,” she whispered.

Cal pointed to the red mush on the ceiling. “What, besides…?”

Miz nodded. She raised her ears and flicked them as her eyes took in the room. “Heartbeat,” she said. “In there.”

Cal followed her gaze. Another door stood just to the right of one of the shuttered windows. It was, given the state of the rest of the room, remarkably clean, with only a few red dots marking the otherwise crisp white paintwork.

“What kind of heartbeat?” Cal whispered, adjusting his grip on his gun.

Miz frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know. Is it, like a big boom-boom-boom elephant heartbeat, or a brrrrrr hummingbird heartbeat or… what is it? How big a thing is in there, is what I’m asking, and is it going to come jumping out and bite my head off if I open the door?”

Cal shook his head. “In fact, why am I the one opening the door? Mech. Open the door.”

“Fonk you, man. I ain’t opening the door,” said Mech.

“Well, I’m not opening it,” said Cal.

Mech shrugged. “Fine by me. I’m all for just turning around and getting out of here.”

Mizette crossed the room in six big steps, huffing like the Big Bad Wolf. “Here. Look. I’ll open the door.”

Cal screamed and raised his blaster as Miz tore the door off its hinges. Through the now gaping doorway, they saw several coats, a plastic basket, and what looked from where Cal was standing to be an ironing board.

And tucked in amongst it all was a woman. A girl, maybe. It was hard to tell with the cloth bag over her head. Between that, the ropes around her bare ankles and the way her hands were pulled behind her back, Cal got the impression she hadn’t put herself in there on purpose.

“Is she dead?” Cal whispered.

“No,” said Miz.

Cal looked at her. “How can you tell? Kick her and say ‘hello’.”

Miz pointed to one of her ears. “I can hear her heart beating.”

“Oh. Yeah,” said Cal. “Gotcha.”

He squelched across the carpet and squatted down in front of the hostage. She drew in a ragged and panicky breath, like she was about to scream, and Cal moved quickly to intercept.

“Hey. Hey, miss? Are you OK?” he asked, softly.

The scream snagged at the back of the woman’s throat.

“We’re here to help. We’re not going to hurt you,” Cal assured her. “I’m going to take the bag off your head. Now, you might see an enormous wolf-woman, but she’s harmless.”

Miz growled.

“Mostly harmless,” Cal corrected. “But she won’t hurt you. We’re the good guys.”

The woman didn’t resist when Cal’s fingers brushed against her neck. The bag was tied on pretty tightly, and it took several seconds of fumbling before he could get the knot undone.

“OK, bag coming off now,” Cal said. “Please don’t, you know, bite me or spit acid in my face or anything. Good guys. Remember? Keep that in mind.”

The bag was removed, revealing a shock of bright red hair. It had been cut in a way that suggested the girl had done it herself with a pair of blunt scissors and no available reflective surfaces. If the hairstyle was a statement, that statement was almost certainly: ‘I’ve recently lost a bet.’

She looked maybe twelve or thirteen, based on Earth ages. He’d discovered those didn’t mean much out here in space – Miz, for example, was six years old, but part of a species that matured much faster than humans – but something about the girl told him she was young.

Her skin was a pastel green, with hundreds of raised white bumps dotted like freckles across her nose and around her eyes. The eyes themselves were wide ovals with piercing blue irises and curved lashes the same color as her hair.

A purple bruise flowered on one of her sharply-defined cheekbones, and her dark green lips were swollen on one side. Her gaze flitted anxiously from Cal to Miz to Mech, before returning to Cal again.

She closed her mouth tightly and sobbed at the back of her throat, her body vibrating violently as tears rushed to fill her eyes.

“Hey, shh, it’s OK, it’s OK,” Cal said. He gestured to the restraints around her ankles. “Miz.”

Mizette flashed her claws and the ropes fell away. The girl drew her knees up to her chest, her breath whistling in and out through her nose.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Cal asked, but the girl didn’t answer. She looked so terrified, Cal wasn’t sure she’d even heard him. He backed away a little and gestured for her to shuffle towards him. “Come on, out you come. Just try not to look at the walls or carpet. Or, you know, anything else in the room.”

Miz’s ears flicked. “Sirens,” she said.

“Zertex?” asked Cal.

Miz listened, then shook her head. “Local cops, but four or five squads.”

Mech was hurriedly tapping the screen in his arm. “They’re coming here,” he announced. “Someone heard screaming and shooting. Called it in a few minutes ago.”

“Well they’re annoyingly efficient,” said Cal, straightening. He motioned for the girl to stay where she was. “It’s OK. The police are coming. They’ll sort out this…” He looked around at the blood-slush. “…whatever this is, and get you back home. We’d stick around but, well, they might think we did this, and that would be problematic.”

He gave her one of his best smiles – a lips together, eyebrows raised little number designed to make his face as comforting as possible – then backed towards the door. “You take care of yourself, OK? Stay in school. If, you know, that’s a thing where you come from. Eat your vegetables, respect your parents, try not to dwell too much on the whole being kidnapped and locked in a closet thing…”

“Cal,” Miz urged. “We need to go.”

Cal nodded, but hesitated just inside the door. He met the frightened gaze of the girl among the coats. “You’re safe, kid. You’re going to be just fine.”

Mech shoved him through the door and Cal skidded along the hall. He slid out onto the sidewalk, and his boots immediately found their grip on the slabs, snapping him to a jerking stop.

Outside, Cal could hear the wailing of the approaching cops. They didn’t sound like any cop cars back home, but he’d heard enough of them to know a police siren when he heard one. The sound was different, but the intent it suggested was the same.

“Come on, we should get back to the ship,” said Mech.

Cal nodded. “Just one sec. Look over there.”

“Over where?” Mech asked. “What you talking about?”

“Just fonking look somewhere over there!” Cal yelped, then he opened his mouth and an eruption of vomit splattered across the ground. “Too late,” he groaned.

“Aw, man. That’s nasty,” said Mech.

“Like, ew. That totally stinks,” agreed Miz.

“I tried to warn you!” Cal protested. He spat a few times and rubbed his stomach. “That does feel better, though. I guess it’s true what they say, better out than…”

He stopped talking when he saw the girl peeking out from behind one of the broken doors. “Hey. Uh. You should go back inside.”

The girl glanced back over her shoulder, then shook her head and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Cal put a hand on her upper arm. She flinched, but didn’t quite pull away. “No, listen,” he said. “Hear that? The police are coming. You’ll be safe with them.”

“Shizz. Cal!” Miz barked, just as the street became a red and blue lightshow and several wedge-shaped black vehicles skidded around the corner on cushions of air or magnetism or whatever alien science was keeping them hovering above the ground like that.

The beam of a powerful spotlight hit Cal full in the face and he hissed in shock. “Jesus. That’s bright. What is that, the fonking sun?”

He turned away from the light and realized he was still holding the girl by the arm.

The handcuffed girl.

With the bruises.

“Oh, shizz,” he said, pulling away. “That wasn’t what it looked like,” he shouted towards the oncoming cops. “This is nothing to do with us! Honest. We’re the good guys in this situation.”

“Come on, man, this way,” Mech urged, clanking a few paces in the opposite direction.

A heavy rectangular armored vehicle rumbled around the corner, blocking the road that way, too. A set of double doors opened at the back, then a dozen or more black-clad figures jogged down a ramp and formed a line across the street from one side to the other.

On some hidden signal, they all tapped switches on their left forearm, and a wall of crackling blue energy shields spread out from their wrists. Riot cops, Cal guessed. That wasn’t good. Back on Earth, at least, riot cops weren’t exactly renowned for their willingness to listen to reasoned debate. These guys didn’t look like they’d be any different.

The cars had come to a stop around sixty feet away from Cal and the others. Litter swirled beneath them as the vehicles lowered to the ground, their sirens screaming as if the end of the world was chasing right behind them, and closing fast.

The sides of all four vehicles swung upwards like the doors of an Italian sports car. Mech and Miz both tensed as eight more of the darkly-dressed figures emerged. Where the riot cops had shields, this lot carried blaster rifles. Seven of them took cover behind the cars, while the eighth – the leader, presumably – stood his ground.

“Just leave the talking to me,” Cal said, gesturing in the direction of the cops. “I’ll have this sorted out in—”

A blast of laser-fire scorched the air by his head. Cal yelped and ducked, clamping a hand to his ear. When he took it away, his palm was slicked with blood. “Ah! Jesus! My ear! They shot my ear! Why did you shoot my ear?”

“Maybe because you’re waving a fonking gun at them,” Mech hissed.

Cal looked at the hand he’d pointed to the cops with. Sure enough, his blaster pistol was clutched in it. He quickly lowered the weapon and offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry! Didn’t realize. I can see how that might have looked.”

Miz’s ears twitched. “They’re going to shoot us.”

“What? Why?” asked Cal.

“Guy in front’s got an earpiece. Someone just gave the command.”

“Aw, fonk. Get behind me,” Mech said, but before anyone could move, the girl stepped forwards, putting herself in front of Cal.

“Hey, uh, miss? You might want to get back inside,” said Cal. “This isn’t really the place for…”

The girl opened her mouth. A note rang out. It was piercingly high-pitched, but was over so quickly Cal would almost have believed he’d imagined it, had it not been for the ringing in his ears.

The lone cop in front of the cars flipped violently backwards, his head practically touching his heels as his body looped back on itself.

The cars went next, rolling across the ground in a shower of shattering glass and a tangle of twisting metal. The other cops – the ones who had been taking cover behind the vehicles – became seven explosively colorful stains on the tarmac, before those, too, were swept away as if in the path of a raging tsunami.

The girl turned to Cal, who gawped at her as if she were an unexploded nuclear bomb. “What the fonk was that?” he asked, but she just clamped her lips shut, then angled herself so her bound wrists were pointed towards Mizette.

Miz looked to Cal. He deliberated briefly, then gave a nod.

“Do it. Cut her loose.” He glanced in the other direction along the street, where the assembled members of the riot squad were advancing behind their shields. “Then get ready to run, because we are getting the fonk out of here!”

CHAPTER THREE

Miz bounded ahead, leading the way through the warren of back streets and alleyways. She heard sirens coming from several blocks away, smelled cops before they got too close. Sure, they had to duck behind the odd trash can and sprint across the occasional wide open street, but the going had been pretty easy, considering.

Cal would almost have felt relaxed, were it not for the girl. She jogged along beside Mech, slowing down and speeding up in time with his clanking mechanical steps. She kept her mouth shut the whole way, breathing through her slender nose as they navigated back to the landing pads.

It took Cal a few moments to spot the ship. He was looking for the Shatner, but it had been destroyed after they’d plunged through an anomaly he’d come to think of as ‘a big space hole’. The new ship was better in pretty much every way, but Cal couldn’t help missing the old one.

The Currently Untitled – because Cal hadn’t as yet come up with a name for it – stood dead ahead, sticking out like a sore thumb among the other ships around it. It was completely spotless, that was the problem. The other ships looked like they’d been around the galaxy a few times, and the Untitled looked forecourt-new by comparison.

It was also, Cal was happy to report, the coolest looking of the ships around it. The others looked home-made at worst, boxy at best, but the Untitled was a collection of sleek curves, with a hull that was either black, gray, dark green or a sort of chrome-color, depending on how the light happened to be reflecting off it at the time.

“So what, we’re just leaving?” asked Mech. “What about our money?”

“What money?” asked Cal.

“You know. From the mole-guy. He wanted us to stop them gangsters shaking him down. Well, I reckon they ain’t going to be shaking him down any time soon. We should get paid.”

Cal jabbed a thumb back the way they’d come. “So… you want to take credit for that, do you? You want to take credit for painting the inside of that house with people puree? With the cops looking for us?”

Mech shifted on his big metal feet. “I just think we should get paid, is all.”

Miz raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? It was, like, fifty credits. If you care that much, I’ll pay you myself.”

“Not the point,” said Mech, crossing his arms. “Ain’t the point. It’s the principle of the thing. We did a job, we should get paid.”

“But we didn’t do the job, did we? We were going there to talk to those guys. Did any of us do that? Do you recall walking in there and saying, ‘Hey, please stop taking money from our friend, oh and by the way, did you know you’re currently dripping from the ceiling?’” said Cal.

“Fine. Whatever,” said Mech, begrudgingly. “But next time, we’re getting paid.”

“Good. Well, I’m glad that’s sorted,” said Cal. He turned to the girl. “Which just leaves you. And we are going to leave now, sweetheart. You should stay here. OK?”

The girl didn’t respond. Cal smiled. “OK. She gets it. Come on.”

He strode towards the Untitled. The girl followed. He stopped.

“No, you can’t come with us,” said Cal. He pointed to the girl, then the ground at her feet. “You, stay. Capiche?”

He strode towards the Untitled again. The girl followed. Again.

Cal sighed. “Look, what part don’t you—?”

A laser blast screamed from the shadows at the far end of the street. It left a shimmering heat trail in its wake as it raced towards Cal’s face, and the goofy expression of surprise currently plastered across it.

Mech thrust up an arm in front of Cal’s head, and grimaced as the blast exploded against his wrist. “Ow. That actually hurt.”

A mechanical voice rolled along the street like thunder. “This is the police. Put down your weapons. This unit is authorized to use lethal force.”

The ground trembled beneath Cal’s feet as something enormous emerged from the shadows. It looked like a cheap Chinese knock-off of one of the Transformers. And not one of the friendly ones. Each leg alone had to be eight feet high, and the body that sat atop it looked to be part robot, part tank, and another part tank for good measure.

“Mech?” Cal whispered.

“What?”

“I think your dad’s here.”

“Shut the fonk up.”

A red and blue beacon began to flash way at the top of the towering robo-tank.

“Aw, look, they gave it a little light on its head,” said Cal. “Is it weird I think that’s kinda cute?”

“Repeat. This is the police. Put down your weapons. This unit is authorized to use lethal force,” boomed the mechanoid.

Mech’s fingers went to a button on his wrist.

“Wait, you’re not going to shoot at it, are you?” said Cal. “No offence, Mech, but that thing could pick you up and use you like a toothpick.”

“OK, one, I’d like to see it try,” Mech grunted. “And two, no, I ain’t going to shoot at it. I’m opening the landing ramp.”

Cal glanced over at the Untitled just as a ramp lowered smoothly beneath it. “Ah. Gotcha.”

“OK,” Mech whispered. “On my mark, we…”

But Cal and Miz were already off and running. The walking tank swiveled to track them, and Mech hissed with rage. “They couldn’t have waited three fonking seconds,” he muttered, raising his arm and pumping out a few laser rounds. They ricocheted harmlessly off the police robot’s chest, but they got its attention. Mech beat a retreat towards the Untitled as the tank opened fire.

A blast slammed into his shoulder. Another tore into his thigh, staggering him in a shower of sparks. “Shizz,” Mech spat, as the hydraulics in his left leg twitched and spasmed. He limped on. The ramp was less than fifteen feet away, but a warning on the HUD behind his eyeballs suddenly flashed up in red.

“Missile lock?” he yelped. “Aw… fonk!”

Mech heard the paff of the rocket launching. There was nothing he could do but cover his head with his hands, grit his metal bottom teeth against his organic top ones, and hope there was a Cyborg Heaven.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!

The staccato screech of a blaster turret burst into life right beside him. The missile erupted a hundred feet behind Mech. He raised his head to see Cal standing at the bottom of the ramp, the turret hooked over his shoulder, his face a mask of excited glee as he sprayed thirty blasts of concentrated firepower a second along the street.

“Woo-hoo! This thing is awesome!” Cal announced, but his voice was drowned out by the turret’s din.

Despite the barrage of laser blasts current slamming into its upper body, the tank-cop advanced. “Hurry up, Mech!” Cal bellowed. “Get in.”

Mech struggled forwards, clanking onto the ramp just as the Untitled’s lift-thrusters painted the underside of the ship in shades of brilliant blue.

Miz caught Mech by the arm and helped him aboard. Cal backed towards the ramp, still raining blaster fire on the approaching mechanoid. He hopped on and released the trigger as the ramp raised, and the ship lurched into the air.

Cal unhooked the turret from his shoulder and blew on his hands. Even through the grips on the handles, the metal had become uncomfortably hot. “Remind me to wear gloves next time,” he muttered.

And that was when he spotted the girl. She stood behind Mech, half-hidden by his hulking frame. “Wait. Why’s she here?” asked Cal. “How did…? You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Guys!” called a voice from up front. “Get up here. We’ve got a problem.”

“Well, like, isn’t that a surprise?” Miz muttered. “Surely even she can’t have crashed already?”

Cal pointed to the girl. “You. Follow me. We’ll drop you off somewhere once we’re out of whatever mess we’re currently in. But for now, just don’t touch anything.”

On the bridge, Teela Loren sat at a horseshoe-shaped bank of controls, gazing grimly at the star-filled sky ahead. Miz flopped down and slouched into her chair, while Mech took up his usual standing position to the right of the viewscreen and activated the magnets in his feet. His damaged left leg fizzled and spat angry-looking sparks onto the floor around him. Loren glanced at the leg, just briefly, then turned her attention back to the screen.

Cal noticed the look. “You think that’s bad? Check out my ear,” he said, bending beside Loren and pointing to the side of his head.

“What about it?” asked Loren, irritated.

“I got shot.”

Loren turned back to the screen. “Looks fine.”

Cal felt his ear. It seemed to be intact, and the blood was no longer flowing. “Huh, that’s weird.”

He turned to the girl, then pointed to a row of three chairs fixed to the bridge’s back wall. “You, sit there.”

“And I’d put on your seatbelt, if I were you,” Miz suggested. “We’ve got, like, the worst pilot in the universe.”

“Aww. Don’t listen to her,” said Cal, rubbing Loren’s shoulders. She shrugged him off.

“Quit messing around. We’ve got a big problem,” said Loren. She pointed ahead. “There.”

Cal squinted at the viewscreen. He could see mostly black, with lots of white dots and very little else.

“What am I looking at? The stars? What’s wrong with the stars?”

“Not the stars,” said Loren. “They’ve closed the planetary shielding. Whole planet’s sealed shut.”

Cal narrowed his eyes and stared harder. “Where?”

“Well you can’t see it,” said Loren. “It’s an invisible shield.”

Cal tutted. “Well why did you point then?” he asked. “Why point at something I can’t see?”

Loren opened her mouth, but hesitated. “OK, you’re right, that makes no sense,” she admitted. She glanced back over her shoulder at Cal, and spotted the girl for the first time. “Who’s that?”

“Hmm? Oh. Loren, hostage. Hostage, Loren,” said Cal. He caught Loren’s shocked expression. “No, not our hostage. She was a hostage, but we rescued her, and now she won’t leave us alone.”

“Oh. OK,” said Loren, then she shook her head and turned her attention back to the screen. “Anyway, visible or not, the shielding is up, and we are stuck in here.”

Cal backed up and lowered himself onto his seat. It was much more comfortable than his chair on the Shatner had been, and didn’t make embarrassing farting noises when he turned too quickly, but he missed the old one all the same.

“Can’t we just shoot our way through?” he asked.

Mech answered before Loren could open her mouth. “Look, I told you, man, the weapons systems on this thing are complex. It’s gonna take me a few more days to fix them.”

“It was just a suggestion,” said Cal.

Mech sighed. “No it wasn’t. It was a jibe about me not getting the weapons fixed yet. You know it, I know it, let’s call it what it is.”

“Besides, sir,” chimed a stiff, elderly voice from somewhere overhead. “Even with weapons systems online – advanced as they are – they wouldn’t allow us to penetrate a planetary shield of this magnitude.”

Cal spun in his chair to find the girl gaping upwards in surprise. “That’s Kevin,” he explained. “He’s a living computer.”

“I am an artificially intelligent synthesized construct,” the voice corrected.

“Which is a fancy way of saying ‘a living computer,’” Cal reasoned.

“And my name is K-Seven-Zero Dash Nine-Three-Three-Zero-Seven Dash Zeta.”

“But we call him ‘Kevin’ for short,” said Cal.

“Cal!” Loren barked. “The shield. What do we do?”

“Why are you asking me? I thought you knew about this stuff?” He looked from Loren to Mech. “One of you must know a way through it.” He smiled hopefully. “Right?”

“Can’t be done, man,” said Mech. “When the shields are up, nothing gets in, nothing gets out.”

A series of red dots appeared on a display near the bottom of the viewscreen. “Shizz,” Loren spat. “Incoming pursuit ships. Local law enforcement and a couple of Zertex fighters.”

“But we can outrun them, right?” said Cal. “We’re faster than they are.”

“Yes, but there’s nowhere to go!” Loren reminded him. She realized she was pointing at the invisible barrier again, and stopped. “What do you want me to do, just circle the planet over and over again until they give up and go home?”

Cal chewed his lip. “Think that’d work?”

“No!”

“If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, sir?” said Kevin. “I have analyzed the shielding and it appears to be a now mostly outdated piece of Zertex technology, model number BFS-Zero Dash Y Dash Three Seven Four Six Dash—”

“OK! Great. What about it?” interrupted Cal.

“Nine,” Kevin concluded. “As I’m sure we’re all only too painfully aware, sir, this model was plagued by reliability issues, and replaced almost immediately by the upgraded BFS-Three Dash—”

“Kevin!” Loren barked. “We’re about to be swarmed by fighters. What’s your point?”

The AI paused very deliberately before continuing. “My point is, ma’am, the frequency modulation on this model was an unmitigated disaster. Embarrassing, actually. Hitting the shield at exactly the right velocity and precisely the correct point in its modulation cycle allowed ships to pass through unscathed. Smugglers took advantage of it all the time, I believe. I see no reason why we cannot do the same.”

“Fly straight into it,” said Mech. “That’s your plan?”

“Indeed, sir.”

Cal puffed out his cheeks and looked around at the others. “OK, somebody please tell me they’ve got a better plan. Mech? Miz?” He turned his chair and looked hopefully at the girl. “You?”

“We’re being hailed by the Zertex fighters,” said Loren.

“Ignore them. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message,” said Cal, spinning back to the front. “Kevin, do what you’ve got to do. Get us through that shield.”

“Very good, sir,” said Kevin. “Although it will require Ms Loren’s help.”

“Great,” huffed Miz. “We’re all going to die.”

“It is quite simple, ma’am,” Kevin continued. “On my command, engage warp at zero-point-eight-one thrust. I shall handle the rest.”

Loren’s fingers danced across the controls. It had been a few days since they’d acquired the ship, and while there was still a dazzling number of buttons, switches and holographic displays which she had no idea the purpose of, she had at least got to grip with the basics.

“OK, keyed in,” said Loren.

Mech studied the display at the bottom of the screen. “Those ships are gaining. Whatever we doing, we need to do it fast.”

“An excellent point, well made, sir,” chimed Kevin. “Ms Loren, kindly engage zero-point-eight-one warp… now.”

Loren punched the warp drive. The Untitled lurched towards the stars, forcing everyone back in their seats. For a moment, Cal thought he saw a shimmer stretching all the way across the sky. Dead ahead, and getting rapidly closer.

“Or was it point-nine-one?” Kevin wondered, and everyone with an arm rest gripped it tightly, and opened their mouths to scream.

The stars rippled. The ship shook. But then they were through the shielding and speeding off into the depths of space.

“Sorry,” said Kevin, practically sniggering. “Just my little joke.”

“Good one, Kevin,” said Cal. “I mean, I almost shizzed my pants and died, but… you got us.”

“Yes, I rather did, didn’t I, sir?”

“Going to full warp,” Loren announced. The stars became long strings of light as Loren put distance between them and the planet. By the time the shielding was lowered to let the pursuing ships through, they’d be far beyond the range of even the Zertex fighters.

Which left only one problem.

Cal spun in his seat. “So, what do we do about you?” he wondered. The pale spots around the girl’s eyes darkened slightly, and she shuffled nervously as everyone turned her way. “We can’t bring you back there, for obvious reasons.”

“We could put her in a suit and throw her out,” Miz suggested.

“OK, well that’s one idea,” said Cal. “Anyone else have any that don’t involve her dying alone in space?”

“We wouldn’t just, like, leave here there,” said Miz, scowling. “We’d call someone and tell them where to find her, obviously.”

“Right. Better, but still not great,” said Cal. “Anyone else?”

“There’s a mining station a couple of hours away,” said Loren, bringing up a star chart on the right-hand third of the screen. “We could drop her there.”

“Aha!” cried Cal. “That’s more like it. We take her there, drop her off, then head off into the sunset like champs. What could be better?”

“Alternatively, sir,” began Kevin. “You could return her safely to her parents on her home world and claim the rather substantial reward.”

Cal looked at the girl. She twirled a strand of her bright red hair around a finger, looking anxious, but saying nothing.

“Reward, eh?” said Cal. “Now that, I like the sound of.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Two different three-dimensional images of the girl – one a full-length body shot, the other head only – slowly rotated in the middle of the bridge. The hologram was ever so slightly transparent, giving the girl a ghostly quality. The non-ghostly version gaped at the images in wonder, then touched her face as if checking she was still herself.

“Soonsho Sooss,” announced Kevin. “Went missing from her home world of Cantato Minor some three weeks ago. The authorities believe she ran away. Her parents insist she was abducted.”

“Score one for mom and dad,” said Cal.

“Quite, sir,” agreed Kevin. “However, all parties are united in their desire to see her safely returned home. The reward is one million credits.”

Mech’s metal jaw dropped open with a squeak. “Say what?” he muttered. “You got to be kidding me.”

“Oh no, sir, I never joke,” said Kevin. “It is not in my programming.”

“Uh… what about the speed thing? With the shield?” said Cal. “That was a joke.”

“Was it, sir?”

“That’s what you said,” Loren agreed.

Kevin hesitated. “Oh. I’m afraid the entire exchange appears to have slipped my mind,” said Kevin.

This was not new. As a highly experimental artificial intelligence, Kevin could be unstable at the best of times. When the ship that had been carrying the Untitled plunged through a wormhole and crashed, resulting in Kevin spending several years in forced solitary confinement, his quirks had gone on to develop quirks of their own.

“However, I shall take your word for it, and reassure you that, in this instance, I am being quite serious. There is a one million credit reward on offer to anyone who safely returns Soonsho Sooss to her parents on Cantato Minor. These are the facts.”

Cal looked from the hologram to the girl. He smiled, but she didn’t smile back. “Do we know anything else about her?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” said Kevin. The viewscreen was suddenly flooded by reams and reams of text. It scrolled upwards in a blur of digital print. “Would you like me to read it aloud?”

“Christ, no,” said Cal.

“We’re doing this, right?” said Mech. “We’re going to get the reward?”

“And, more importantly, reunite a kidnapped girl with her parents,” said Loren, shooting Mech an accusatory glare.

“Yeah, I mean, that, too,” said Mech. He looked to Cal. “We are, right?”

“Uh, does a bear shizz in the woods?” Cal asked. The others looked at him blankly. “The answer to that is, ‘yes,’ by the way. We’re going to take her home.”

“Alright!” Mech cheered. “We’re gonna be rich!”

“And do a good thing,” said Loren.

Miz snorted. “I’m with him. We’re totally going to be rich.”

He spun in his chair. Soonsho was still transfixed by her hologram. The hair was different – same color, but longer – and she dragged her fingers across her scalp, as if comparing the two styles.

“Hear that, kid?” said Cal. “We’re taking you home.”

Soonsho eyed him silently.

“Don’t look so happy about it,” said Cal, then he spun and looked around the bridge. “Talking of people who don’t say anything – which I appreciate we weren’t, but I was thinking it – where’s Splurt?”

“He’s hiding,” said Loren.

“This again, huh?” said Cal. He slouched down in his chair and used his feet to slowly turn it. “Is he that control panel?”

“No.”

“Is he on the floor?”

“No.”

“Is he that bit there, with all the wires sticking out of it?”

“I told you, man, I am working on fixing that,” grunted Mech. “It’s a complex system.”

“No.”

Cal shrugged. “Then I give up. Come out, come out wherever you are.”

For a moment, nothing happened, then the chair on Soonsho’s left transformed into a gloopy green jelly. The girl let out a gasp, and the lights on the bridge flickered, just faintly, and barely enough for anyone but Mech to even register.

Splurt collapsed into his usual ball-shape, and rolled towards Cal, his bulbous, oddly human-looking eyes spinning around inside him like balls in a bingo machine.

“There’s my little buddy!” Cal grinned as Splurt circled his chair a few times, then rolled beneath it and wrapped himself around the base. “You got me again, Splurt. But I’ll find you next time.”

He looked across to Soonsho, who was even more shocked by Splurt than by the hologram, which faded away as Cal turned. “That’s Splurt. He’s a shapeshifter,” Cal explained. “If you think his chair was impressive, you should see his Dorothy out of the Golden Girls. You’d swear Bea Arthur was right there in the room.”

He sang the first few lines of the Golden Girls theme, realized that neither Soonsho, nor anyone else, had the faintest idea what he was doing, then stopped and turned his chair to face front again. “OK. Did we do the ‘plot a course’ bit yet?”

“No,” said Loren.

“OK. Loren, plot a course for… whatever that planet was called. We’re taking this girl home!”

Loren keyed the details into the controls. The Untitled hummed gently and the stars shifted sideways as the ship began to change direction.

“Should I notify the authorities on Cantato Minor, sir?” asked Kevin.

“No!” said Loren, before Cal could open his mouth.

Cal frowned. “No? Why not?”

“She’s right,” said Mech. “We got a million credit bounty aboard. You do not transmit that information through the whole of space. Not unless you want all kinds of trouble.”

“Makes sense,” Cal said, nodding. “Good catch, Loren.”

“Ah,” said Kevin.

Cal raised his eyes to the ceiling. “’Ah?’”

“Well, you see, the thing is, sir, I was so confident that you would answer in the affirmative, that I – and you’ll laugh at this, sir – I had already transmitted the information prior to asking the question.”

“You did what?” Mech barked.

“In hindsight, it may have been an error of judgement on my part.”

“Oh, you think?” said Miz.

“Although, in my defense, I believe there are lessons we could all take away from the situation,” Kevin said. “Were we to look hard enough.”

“Loren, how long until we get there?” Cal asked.

“Just under sixteen hours at full warp.”

“Can we go faster?”

“Faster than full warp?” said Loren, heavily emphasizing those last two words. “No. It’s full warp. That’s as fast as we can go.”

“Wait,” said Cal, frowning. “Isn’t there, like, a ‘fuller’ and ‘fullest’ warp?”

Loren looked back over her shoulder. “What?”

“Full, fuller, fullest. That’s how it works,” said Cal. He looked to Mech and Miz for support. “Right?”

Mech glared back at him with an expression that didn’t just border on contempt, but full-scale invaded it. Mizette picked at her fingernails and didn’t even acknowledge the question.

“OK, well what about the bendy space thing?” Cal asked. “Any closer to figuring that out?”

When Cal and the crew had returned through the wormhole aboard the Currently Untitled, they’d found a whole armada of Zertex ships waiting for them. A holographic button had appeared in the air right in front of Cal which, once pressed, had turned the space around them into something resembling a giant blister, and catapulted them fifty or so light years across the galaxy in the blink of an eye.

Unfortunately, Kevin was now denying all knowledge of any such button, and all other attempts to activate the system again had failed.

“Kevin still insists we’re making it up,” said Loren. “So, no.”

Cal sighed and wriggled into a more comfortable position in his chair. “Fine. Full warp it is. But sixteen hours is a long time if we’re going to have bad guys coming after us. Mech, we’re going to need those weapons up and running.”

“I gotta fix my leg,” replied Mech, indicating the damage to his thigh.

“Oh. OK, cool,” said Cal. “Then we’ll be able to use that to fight off any space pirates and bounty hunters who attack us. Good thinking. Yeah, concentrate on your leg. That’s totally the priority.”

Mech muttered below his breath, then made a show of limping to the door at the rear of the bridge. “Fine. I’ll go work on the fonking weapons.”

“Whatever you think is best,” said Cal, smiling innocently.

“Yeah, yeah. Fonk you, man,” Mech grunted, then the door slid open and he stumbled out into the corridor beyond.

Cal waited for the door to swish closed again, then got up from his chair and crossed to the rear of the bridge. Soonsho watched him as he took the seat beside her, her movements twitching and jerky like a frightened rabbit.

“Hey, it’s OK. Good guys, remember?” Cal said. “We’re taking you home.”

The girl didn’t respond, or show any sign she’d even heard.

“Can she understand me? Can you understand what I’m saying?”

Soonsho nodded, just a fraction.

“Oh, OK, great!” said Cal. “And can you talk?”

A pause, then another nod.

Kevin made a sound like he was clearing his throat, despite the fact he didn’t have one. “I’d strongly advise against pursuing this particular line of questioning any further, sir.”

“What? Why?”

“Had you permitted me to read you the information I was able to compile on Ms Sooss,” Kevin began, with just the faintest hint of accusation in his voice, “you would be aware of her abilities.”

Miz lifted her eyes from her nails long enough to glance at the girl. “Abilities?”

“Her voice,” said Cal. “She flipped those cop cars with her voice.”

“Indeed, sir,” said Kevin. “All female Cantatorians are gifted with a remarkable vocal range. Their songs can enthrall and captivate even the hardest of hearts. Their screams have been known to reduce entire buildings to rubble.”

Soonsho lowered her head and wrung her hands in her lap.

“She could kill you all with a single word,” Kevin concluded.

“That must’ve been what happened to those guys in the house,” Miz realized.

Still holding his smile in place, Cal slowly leaned away from the girl. “OK, great,” he croaked. “That’s really good to know, Kevin, thanks. I mean, a little earlier might not have gone amiss…”

“The information was readily available on screen, sir,” Kevin pointed out. “Oh, and on an unrelated note, I have picked up a signal.”

Cal jumped to his feet. “Pirates? It’s pirates, isn’t it?” He ran to his chair. “Mech! Pirates!”

“It isn’t pirates, sir,” said Kevin.

“Oh,” said Cal. He lowered himself into his seat. “Bounty hunters?”

Loren’s fingers tapped a series of keys. “It’s a distress signal.” A star map slid in from the right of the screen. A red light blinked on and off. “There. It’s a Symmorium Thresher. It’s being attacked by Scrivers.”

“Threshers are war ships, right?” said Cal. “Then it can defend itself?”

“Ordinarily, sir,” said Kevin. “However, the distress signal indicates they have taken substantial damage, and are in no condition to fight back.”

“Cal, it’s the Symmorium,” said Loren. “There are kids on that ship.”

“Uh, hello?” said Miz. “No weapons, remember? What good can we do?”

“Scrivers don’t like a fair fight,” Loren reminded her. “They pull passing ships out of warp and scramble their systems so they can’t fight back. If we turn up, we might scare them away just by being there.”

“Or they might tear us to pieces, too,” Miz argued.

Cal drummed his fingers on his arm rests and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth as he watched the red dot blink on and off.

“Or it could be a trap,” Cal pointed out. “We’ve got a million credit bounty aboard, and someone – naming no names, but it was Kevin – announced that to the whole galaxy.”

He watched the blinking red dot a little longer. Finally, he turned his chair. “Miz, go tell Mech we need weapons online now. Even just one fonking gun would be a start.”

Miz scowled and gestured to Loren. “Why can’t she do it?”

“Uh, maybe because I’m the pilot?” said Loren.

“Maybe because I’m the pilot,” Miz mimicked. She sighed huffily and got to her feet. “Fine, whatever. I’ll do it.”

“That’s the spirit!” Cal cheered.

“Should I acknowledge the distress signal, sir?” asked Kevin.

“No. We don’t want the Scrivers to know we’re coming.”

“Ah,” said Kevin. “It’s funny you should say that…”

Cal looked up in despair. “Seriously, Kevin. Again?”

“Lessons shall be learned, sir.”

“If the Scrivers tear you a new one, it’ll be your own fonking fault,” Cal scowled, then he wrapped his fingers around the end of his arm rests and braced his feet on the floor. “Loren, plot a course. Let’s go save that ship.”

“On it,” said Loren, as the Untitled banked steeply and Cal swallowed back the urge to vomit. “Arriving in three… two…”

The ship snapped to a jerking stop, almost throwing Cal out of his chair.

“Oh, shizz,” groaned Loren.

There, on screen, where she had expected to see a damaged Symmorium Thresher, was a fleet of fierce-looking pirate ships. Dozens of warning lights illuminated on screen as a wide variety of weapons systems locked on.

“It’s a trap.”

“Oh,” said Cal. “You think?”

“Incoming transmission, sir,” announced Kevin. “Should I put it on screen?”

“Why bother?” Cal sighed. “I mean, I assume you’ve already replied, anyway.”

“No, sir. Should I have?”

Cal dropped his head into his hands for a moment, then straightened up. “No. On screen. Let’s talk to them.”

A black square appeared in the top right corner of the viewscreen. A little camera icon flashed up, disappeared briefly, then flashed again.

“Is this… Is it on?” asked a voice over the speakers. “I can’t see nuthin’. Hello?”

Cal’s stomach tightened. That voice. He recognized that voice.

“Oh shizz,” Loren whispered. “Is that…?”

The camera icon blinked off and the black square was replaced by an extreme close-up of what looked like a cliff face with eyes. “Hold up. I can see them. It’s him. Hoo-ya! It’s him!”

The craggy gray expanse pulled back, revealing a figure who appeared to have been hewn from solid rock. He wore a black pinstripe suit which looked to be exactly the wrong size for him, and an expression of utter glee.

Kornack, Warlord of the Remnants, Slayer of the Sh-in’tee, Lord of the K’tubboth and destructor of countless planetary systems fixed his gaze on Cal and rasped his sandpaper tongue across his diamond-edged teeth.

“Eugene Adwin, the Butcher of Planet Earth!” cried Kornack, in that voice he had that suggested he was channeling the ghost of the (presumably) dead Al Pacino. “Hoo-ha! You are not an easy man to find.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Cal and Loren both stared at the screen in horror. Their history with the Remnants warlord was brief, but eventful. It had started with a trade deal, rapidly deteriorated into Kornack’s fetish for cannibals, swung wildly into Cal being pressured to cut off his own arm and eat it, before ending when Cal had buried an axe in the skull of Kornack’s butler, and everyone had run like fonk.

“Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you, Eugene?” asked Kornack. “Do you have any idea how much effort I’ve put into tracking you down. And now – BOOM! – there you are. What a day. What a day! Am I right? Ha!”

Kornack threw a couple of punches at thin air. “Pow-pow! Whoo! You and me, we’re gonna have some fun, Butcher.”

“Uh, hi there!” said Cal. “So good to see you again, Kornack. Have you lost weight?”

Cal’s chair creaked as he shifted around in it. “But, you see, well the thing is… I’m not actually Eugene Adwin. It’s a pretty funny story, actually…”

“Excuse me?” said Kornack, his smile falling away. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, I’m not the Butcher of Planet Earth,” said Cal. “See, there was this mix-up during the abduction. I was sharing a cell with Eugene when—”

Kornack held up a piece of torn cloth. On it was part of the portrait he’d painted of Eugene Adwin to celebrate his arrival. It showed the Butcher’s chubby baby-like face and wispy white hair. “Are you seriously trying to tell me this ain’t you?” Kornack demanded.

“Well, I mean… it looks nothing like me,” Cal pointed out.

Kornack’s face darkened. “You ungrateful son-of-a-bedge,” he hissed. “That took me weeks.”

“No, I mean, it’s great. Very accurate – you’re really quite the artist,” said Cal. “It’s just… that’s not my face. It’s not even close to my face. Is it Eugene’s face? Sure! But it’s, like, fifty pounds heavier than my face, and completely bald.”

Kornack examined the painting. He looked back at Cal on his screen. He repeated this several times. “I don’t see any difference,” he said, then a broad grin broke out across his face. “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” he laughed, pointing to Cal. “The Butcher of Planet Earth avoided being caught for years on account of being a master of deception. Hoo-ha! You’re the Butcher, alright, and you and me, we got an appointment.”

“Uh, yeah, no,” said Cal. “Loren, punch it!”

Loren jammed the throttle forwards. The Untitled whined and vibrated, but the stars and the other ships remained fixed in place.

“We’re not moving,” said Cal. “Why aren’t we moving?”

“I think… Tractor beam. We’re caught in a tractor beam!”

Kevin’s voice crackled from his speakers. “It appears we are about to be taken rather roughly from behind,” he announced. “If you’ll pardon the expression.”

The left side of the screen swapped from showing the view ahead to the view behind. The enormous gaping maw of a destroyer-sized ship unfolded like a set of jaws behind the Untitled and moved in to swallow it whole.

“What the fonk is that?” Cal whispered.

“I have no idea,” Loren admitted. A shadow crept across the viewscreen, inching its way from the top to the bottom. “But we’re about to find out.”

Kornack leaned forwards until only his eyes and grin filled the comm-screen. “See you inside, Butcher. I got everything set up and ready. Hoo-ha!”

The camera icon returned, but Kornack’s voice continued. “How do I…? Is it off? I think… hello? Why’s that light still—?”

The sound cut off and the comm-screen square slid upwards off the screen. The view of space ahead was narrowing rapidly as the jaws of the much larger ship closed around the Untitled.

“Was that Kornack?” asked Miz, striding onto the bridge. She stopped when she saw what was happening on screen. “Like, what is going on?”

Cal spun in his chair. “To answer those questions in order, one: yes, that was Kornack. He still thinks I’m the Butcher and has apparently been hunting me for quite some time. Yay! And two: I have no idea. But let’s assume it’s nothing good.”

He stood up and shot Soonsho the most reassuring smile he could muster. “This is nothing for you to worry about, OK? It’s just… a hiccup. This sort of thing happens to us all the time. Seriously, it’s pretty ridiculous. I was inside a giant worm a few weeks back. This is actually one of our better days. Everything is going to be just fine.”

The jaws shut around them with an ominous clang. The Untitled shuddered as a pair of enormous mechanical pincers clamped onto it and lowered it onto the darkened deck of the larger ship.

“Probably,” Cal added. “Miz, get Mech. Tell him what’s going on. The weapons will have to wait.”

Mizette tutted. “Like, I literally just came from back there,” she said, but she left without any further argument, but had the door not been automatic, she’d almost certainly have slammed it behind her.

“Splurt.”

The little green blob poked out from under the chair, his eyes gazing up at Cal.

“Best if you stay here, buddy. As far as Kornack’s concerned, you belong to him.” He glared at Loren. “After someone – again, naming no names, but it was Loren – traded you for… whatever it was. I don’t even remember.”

“OK, OK, I’ve apologized,” said Loren. “How many times do I have to say it? I was following orders.”

“You know who else was just following orders, Loren?” asked Cal. “The Nazis.”

“Who are the Nazis?” Loren asked.

Cal sighed. “Forget it. Splurt, stay out of sight. Hide and Seek, OK?”

Splurt boinged happily from under the chair, rolled around in a circle a few times, then rocketed off into the corridor. He passed Mech marching in the opposite direction.

“Say what now?” Mech barked, stomping onto the bridge. “Kornack’s got us? I turn my back for five fonking minutes and…” He looked at the viewscreen. “Wait. Where are we? Who turned out the lights?”

“Hey, breathe big guy, breathe,” said Cal, soothingly. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. Let’s not freak out here.”

“Me? I ain’t freaking out,” Mech grunted. “I ain’t the one he wants to watch eat his own arm.”

“Ha. Yeah. Good point,” said Cal. He thought about this for a second, then breathed deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth for several increasingly panicked seconds.

“I’m going to get my jacket,” he said, shoving his way past Mech. “Maybe the leather will stop the axe cutting through. Or, you know, at least make me look stylish while I’m tucking in.”

Darting along the corridor, Cal tapped the button on the wall outside his sleeping quarters. The door slid aside, revealing an unmade bed, several different piles of dirty laundry, and a number of half-empty takeaway containers strewn across the floor.

The tan leather jacket he’d picked up during a space station stop lay abandoned in the corner of the room. It wasn’t technically ‘leather’ in that the material almost certainly didn’t come from cows, but it was close enough.

Cal tapped the touchscreen beside his opaque window as he pulled the jacket on. The glass turned wispy, then transparent, but there was only darkness beyond.

Once he’d finished adjusting his collar, he reached for the controls again. Before his fingers found them, the darkness outside was pushed aside by a series of powerful overhead lights. They switched on in rows, marching their glare in stages across the vast deck of the ship that had swallowed the Untitled.

Kornack had been busy. Through the small window alone, Cal could see four other ships, all pinned to the deck by robotic clamps. He could probably have seen more, were it not for the fact that the fourth ship was a bulky freighter, easily twice the size of the Untitled. The wall was some distance beyond, and there could easily have been half a dozen other ships lined up between it and the freight ship.

Tapping the touchscreen to darken the window, Cal emerged into the corridor to find Loren slamming a battery pack into a sizeable handgun. Mech held up two other weapons – a blaster rifle and something resembling a portable rocket launcher.

“Take your pick,” he said.

Cal looked the weapons over, but didn’t commit. “Where’s Soonsho?”

“We told her to stay on the bridge,” said Loren, aiming along her gun’s sights, then tucking it into the belt of her pants. “Thought it was best.”

Cal gestured for Mech to lower the guns. “The first thing they’re going to do is take any weapons we’ve got on us,” he said. “The next thing they’ll do is search the ship. Miz, go get Soonsho.”

Miz, who had been leaning against the wall checking her nails, threw back her head, let out an annoyed, “Gah, seriously?” then shouldered past everyone as she stomped in the direction of the bridge.

“They’ve turned on the lights, so they’ll probably come get us soon,” said Cal. “For now, we’ll keep the landing hatch closed and see how it plays out.”

“Ah.”

Cal, Mech and Loren all looked up. “You didn’t,” Cal groaned.

“We had landed, sir,” said Kevin. “Lowering the landing ramp seemed like an eminently sensible option.”

“Then close it!” Mech barked.

“Very good, sir,” said Kevin. “However, I feel I should probably warn you…”

Two heavy-set figures stepped into the corridor. Each one held an assault rifle bigger than Cal.

“Kornack’s men are already aboard.”

Cal gave the gunmen a resigned wave, then raised his eyes to the ceiling again. “Kevin, you’ve got to promise me never to use your initiative again, OK? I want you to swear to that.”

“Very good, sir.”

The corridor was suddenly filled by the sound of chittering, as dozens of little round critters swarmed along it. They stood between one and three feet high, with most of them towards the bottom end of that scale.

They wore lengths of tatty green rope over their shoulders, which trailed down past their knees, yet did very little to protect their modesty. Pointed hats made of something resembling wicker – space wicker, Cal guessed – were pulled down over most of their faces, affording only glimpses of their wide yellow eyes beneath.

The hat-things scurried around, standing atop one another to open doors, then falling inside. A pair of Cal’s dirty shorts were ejected from inside his room, followed by a half-eaten carton of something orange and congealing.

“Hey, be careful in there!” Cal protested. “It took me all week to get that place just the way I want it.”

Soonsho stumbled into the corridor from the other direction, with Miz emerging through the doorway behind her. The girl’s eyes were wide and staring and she was biting her bottom lip, digging her teeth in until the skin around them turned white.

“Ladies. Just in time,” said Cal. “We have guests.”

The larger of the two gunmen – which was really saying something, because the other guy was fonking enormous – gestured at Cal with his rifle. He looked, Cal thought, like someone had taken DNA from the top ten percent of the food chain, blended it all together, then dressed what came out it in an unflattering beige jumpsuit.

His partner wore much the same look. Maybe the mix of apex predators wasn’t exactly the same, but he gave the same impression that he might devour you whole at any moment as his partner did.

“You will follow us. Kornack awaits,” growled the bigger specimen. “Leave your weapons.”

One of the tiny minions chittered excitedly as it leaped up and yanked Loren’s blaster from her belt. “Hey!” she protested, but the critter was already lost in the sea of hats that bustled along the corridor.

“Hey, cut that out,” Mech warned, as another of the minions dug its baby-sized hands into the hole on Mech’s leg. Dropping the guns, Mech tore the hat-thing free. It squealed as it went hurtling along the corridor. Soonsho and Miz both ducked and the hat-thing hit the bridge door with a satisfying thwap, before tumbling to the floor.

Cal adjusted the collar of his jacket. “Right, then,” he said, wading through the minions towards the gun-toting beast-twins. “Let’s go see what our old pal Kornack has to say.”

CHAPTER SIX

Kornack sat on his ornate throne, his slab-like fingers steepled in front of him, his eyes fixed on a cinema-sized screen on the room’s far wall.

He didn’t turn when Cal and the others were shoved through the door, but gestured to the screen and to the familiar face projected across it.

Hayel Sinclair, head of the Zertex Corporation and president of much of the galaxy, did not look happy. Of course, he rarely looked genuinely happy, but he was usually smiling, at least. Now, though, his salesman grin was nowhere to be seen. It had been replaced, instead, by an expression of well-calculated solemnness.

“You believe this?” said Kornack, still not turning.

Sinclair’s voice rumbled from the speaker system. “…my grave duty to inform you that within the past few hours, Zertex and the Symmorium have officially declared a state of war.”

“Oh my God,” Loren whispered.

“We did not want it to come to this,” said Sinclair. “For years now, I have personally been brokering a treaty with the Symmorium. A treaty I believed would lead to lasting peace. However, it appears I was misguided. My judgement was incorrect. For that, I owe you an apology.”

The screen changed to show a planet. No, not a planet, Cal realized. A moon. “Hey, wait. That’s… what was it called? With the zombie virus?”

“Pikkish,” said Loren, her voice suddenly flat. “He isn’t. He can’t be.”

On screen, the camera flew across the moon’s surface, showing hundreds of thousands of pinpricks of light on the land masses below.

“The moon of Pikkish, located just within Symmorium space,” Sinclair’s voiceover continued. “Home to some thirty billion people.”

“Thirty-five billion,” Loren mumbled.

“No longer.”

On screen, the moon erupted like the galaxy’s biggest firework, spraying debris in all directions as its atmosphere was consumed by towering walls of fire.

“Hoo-ya!” cheered Kornack, bouncing excitedly on his throne. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

“The Symmorium destroyed it. Thirty billion innocent civilians wiped out in the blink of an eye,” said Sinclair. “If they will do this to their own people, what might they do to ours?”

Pikkish was already little more than a memory on the screen. Where it had been was now nothing but debris-filled space.

“And that was just the beginning,” Sinclair continued. The shot of space lingered for a moment, then the president’s face returned. “When challenged, the Symmorium destroyed several of our ships, killing everyone on board.”

“OK, well that’s bullshizz,” said Cal.

“Since then, all attempts at negotiation have broken down. They have no desire to listen, and no interest in peace.” Sinclair took a breath and fired a solemn stare down the lens of the camera. “And so, it is with a heavy heart, that I must take us once more into war.

“Our way of life – the Zertex way of life – is in peril. We must retaliate, and we must retaliate swiftly. Without mercy. Without regret. For we have done all we can to avoid this… terrible situation, but we cannot – we must not – stand back while murderers run amok. And so, I say to you…”

Kornack waved a hand and Sinclair’s face froze, mid-sentence. It was an unfortunate look – eyes half open, mouth pulled to the side like a fish caught on a hook – and Cal wished, more than anything, he’d had a camera with him to capture the moment.

With the screen frozen, Kornack finally stood and turned to the door. He practically groaned with pleasure when his eyes fell on Cal, and he spent a full five seconds looking him up and down.

“So, war huh?” he said, once he’d finished appraising Cal. “How about that?”

“He’s lying,” said Loren. “About Pikkish and the Symmorium. That’s not what happened.”

Kornack shrugged. “Meh. What do I care? Me? I love me a war. Wars are good for my business, and anyone who knows me knows I’m all about two things.”

He held up a thumb. “One. My business.”

He held up the index finger of the same hand, then pointed it at Cal like a gun. “And two. You, Eugene Adwin. You.”

Cal swallowed. “I’m not that interesting, honestly. I’d put me at like, number twelve, tops.”

“Shut your mouth,” Kornack warned, all hints of amusement draining from his voice. His granite lips parted into a sinister grin. “Until I tell you otherwise, anyhow.”

He clapped his hands together twice, making a sound like an earth tremor. The two henchmen who’d escorted Cal and the others from the ship were joined by a veritable freakshow of other guards. They spread out behind Cal’s crew, each of them tooled up with guns or sharp things.

“Everyone but you,” - Kornack pointed to Cal – “and you,” – he pointed to Loren – “on your knees.”

Miz tutted. “Seriously?” A gun pressed against the base of her neck. She flashed her claws, but Cal caught her arm.

“Easy,” he said. “It’s OK.”

Miz glared at him angrily, then her eyes softened. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, then dropped to her knees.

Mech looked over his shoulder and glowered at the gunman behind him. “That peashooter ain’t gonna do squat against me, son.”

Three different guns all took aim at the back of Mizette’s head. “Not against you, maybe. But against her? That’s a different story,” said Kornack, grinning. “So what’s it to be, big guy? Hoo-ha! Moment of truth.”

Mech ground his teeth together, eyeballing the henchman directly behind him. Then, with a series of whirrs, he knelt on the carpet.

Kornack’s smile faded when he looked along the line to Soonsho. “Hey. Princess. Get on your fonking knees.”

Soonsho didn’t react, just kept chewing her lips and squeezing her hands down at her sides.

Kornack’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Do I know you?”

The warlord lumbered slowly towards her, each thudding footfall shaking the room. “I do. I definitely seen you before somewhere.” He tapped the side of his head. It made a tiny spark. “See, I never forget a face, and your face is awfully familiar.”

A tear rolled from one of Soonsho’s eyes, and began the process of trying to navigate through the barnacle-like white lumps on her skin.

“She’s no-one,” said Cal. “She’s just…”

“She’s my cousin,” said Loren. “You know… distant, but, she’s my cousin. I’m showing her the sights.”

Kornack clicked his fingers. That, too, made a tiny spark. “No she ain’t. I got it. I knew I knew you, princess. I know exactly who you are.” He leaned in until his grimace was all Soonsho could see. “You’re a fonking dead girl walking if you don’t get down on your knees right now.”

“If I were you,” said Miz. “I’d totally scream in his face right now. Just really belt it out.”

“Uh, nooo, let’s not do that,” said Cal. “It might make the nice people behind us upset, and we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

He placed a hand on Soonsho’s shoulder. She jumped in fright, and Cal’s breath caught in his throat as she snapped her head towards him and opened her mouth.

“Wait, wait! Easy!”

She clamped her mouth closed again before any sound could emerge. Cal gestured to the floor and smiled encouragingly. “You’ll be fine. Nothing bad’s going to happen to you. Right, Kornack?”

Kornack rocked on the heels of his expensive yet poorly fitting shoes. “Her? No. I see no reason why anything bad should happen to her, long as everyone does as they’re told.”

“See?” said Cal. He upped the encouragement factor on his smile a couple of notches. Soonsho chewed on her lip for a couple more seconds, then fell onto her knees and hung her head.

“Attagirl,” said Kornack. He raised a hand and pointed two fingers – one at Cal, one at Loren. “You two. With me.”

“Ladies first,” said Cal, motioning after Kornack.

“Such a gentleman,” said Loren.

“I know, right?”

They followed Kornack over to his throne. He lifted the enormous chair with a grunt of effort, then moved it aside to reveal a small table that had been set for dinner. It had a large round plate, a silver knife and fork, and even a little napkin folded into the shape of a swan. Assuming your definition of ‘swan’ was a very loose one.

“This is right, right?” asked Kornack, indicating the place setting. He almost looked nervous as he waited for Cal’s response. “I mean, this is how they do it on Earth, ain’t it?”

“Yeah. Pretty much,” said Cal. “I mean, I’m more of a Styrofoam cup, eating out of a foil tray kind of guy, but yeah. You nailed it. Good job.”

He gave a thumbs up which seemed to make Kornack very happy. “I wanted it to be just right, you know? I wanted to get it just perfect.”

“You did great. Although, I must say the axe is an unusual addition,” said Cal.

Beside the place setting was a short-handled hatchet, the blade rusted and blunt. Kornack ran his fingers down the wooden shaft and grinned. “Ha! But then it’s gonna be an unusual meal, am I right, Eugene? Well, not for you, maybe. You do this shizz all the time, you crazy fonking cannibal!”

Kornack leaped into a boxing stance and laughed as he pretended to duke it out with Cal. Cal tried to laugh, too, but between one thing and another, his heart wasn’t really in it.

“So, just so I’m clear,” Cal began. “You still think I’m the Butcher, and you still want me to chop my arm off and eat it while you watch? I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page here.”

“Yes and no,” said Kornack.

Hope fluttered in Cal’s stomach. “You don’t want me to cut my arm off and eat it?”

“No,” said Kornack.

“Oh, thank God,” Cal panted. “Wow. That is a relief. You have no idea.”

“I want her to chop your arm off. Then you’re gonna eat it.”

“What?” Loren spluttered. “No! I’m not doing that.”

Kornack shrugged. He gestured over to one of his apex-predator-blend henchmen. “Then Marvin there, he’ll shoot your hairy friend through the spine. Make it so she can’t walk. After that… after she can’t move – after she’s helpless, like - who knows what he’ll do to her? See, Marvin – he is one sick son-of-a-bedge. Ain’t that right, Marvin?”

Marvin flicked a tongue against his raptor-like teeth. “That’s right, boss.”

“And then he’ll do your little cousin. Maybe even your robot friend. He has… eclectic tastes.”

Cal cleared his throat and leaned closer to Kornack. “For the record, he’s not a robot. He’s a cyborg. I know. I made that mistake all the time. Often on purpose.”

“Shut your fonking mouth,” Kornack warned. He pulled a wooden chair from below the table. “And take a seat.”

Cal looked across to Loren. She shook her head but, annoyingly, offered no alternative course of action. With a resigned sign, Cal lowered himself onto the chair. His eyes fell on the napkin.

“Nice duck.”

“Pick up the axe,” growled Kornack, shoving Loren forwards. She stumbled to the table and her hand found the hatchet’s wooden shaft. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped it, and Cal slapped his hand on top of the blade just in time.

“Don’t,” he warned. “There’s no point.”

If asked, Cal would generally have described himself as something of an optimist. He was able to see the good in most situations, often spotting the silver lining where none even existed.

The deaths of pretty much everyone on Earth – and Hollywood actor, Tobey Maguire in particular – had come as a blow, and yet he’d quickly bounced back, throwing himself into his new life in outer space, instead.

When Splurt had been brainwashed and the others had written him off as a lost cause, it was Cal who persevered, convinced his little blobby pal was still in there somewhere, just waiting to emerge. And he’d been right.

Without his natural optimism, Cal would have checked himself out of existence several years before - the same day he’d watched his wife and daughter be lowered into the ground. It had saved him then, although arguably just barely, and it had continued to save him on a near-daily basis since.

Now, though, that optimism was gone. Last time, he’d buried the axe in the head of Kornack’s butler, and they’d all run for their lives back to the ship. There was no soft, easily breakable butler-skull in range, though, and the route back to the ship was blocked by a wall of ugly armed bamstons. One wrong move from Cal, and the others were dead. In the face of all that, even his optimism had slunk off to sit in a corner, and declared he was on his own.

It felt… strange, not having that urge to look on the bright side. It was oddly liberating, in fact. Accepting there was no way out of the current situation meant he didn’t have to waste energy trying to figure one out.

This was happening.

His arm was coming off. And then he was eating it.

And that was that.

Despite what the next few minutes held, Cal felt calmer than he’d done in years. Possibly calmer than he’d ever felt. All the uncertainty had been removed. All the options were gone. There was just him, the axe, and most literal finger buffet in history.

Cal gently pushed Loren’s hand aside. “I’ll do it,” he said.

“No. No, you will not,” said Kornack. “You had that chance, but you chose to kill Dtgadston, instead. You know how hard it is to get good help? I still haven’t found a replacement for that uptight old fonk.”

He caught Cal by the wrist and pulled his hand away, then took Loren’s hand and slammed it down on the axe’s handle instead. “She does it. That’s the deal. And you’ll notice the axe, it ain’t as sharp as the last one. That one would’ve taken the arm off clean. This one? This one’s gonna hurt.”

“I can’t,” Loren whispered.

Cal smiled up at her. “Hey. Hey, it’s OK. This is how it has to be. You can do this.”

“I can’t,” she said again. “I can’t.”

She pulled her hand away, but Cal lunged across the table and caught it. “Loren, look at me,” he said. “There are two ways out of this, and while neither of them is what you might call ideal, one of them is way better than the other.”

He turned to Kornack. “If I do this – if we do this – everyone gets to leave, right?”

“I’ll even give you a bandage and a fonking lollipop,” said Kornack. “Now, please, hurry up.” He grinned. “Or should I say… chop chop?”

Placing his arm on the table, Cal pulled up the sleeve of his leather jacket. It dragged the sleeve of his shirt up with it, revealing his bare skin.

“Higher,” said Kornack. His tongue rasped across his teeth. “Below the elbow.”

Cal pulled the sleeves up further. “Jesus. There. Happy?”

“Oh yeah,” Kornack said, his voice a scratchy whisper of anticipation. “I’m real happy. Hoo-ya! Let’s get chopping!”

Cal nodded to Loren. Her hand trembled as her fingers wrapped around the axe. “Cal…”

“It’s OK,” Cal said, although he had to admit the feeling of calm from earlier was rapidly being replaced by a rising sense of panic. Any second now he was going to grab the fork and try to ram it in Kornack’s eye, dooming them all. “Just do it. Hurry.”

Loren’s pale blue skin was almost white. Her eyes shimmered and her breathing came in shallow gulps as she lined the axe up with Cal’s arm. The blunt metal was cold against his skin.

“Ooh, this is happening,” Cal grimaced. “This is actually happening. OK. OK. It’s like taking off a Band-Aid. Nice and quick. That’s the way to do it. Nice and quick.” He puffed his cheeks out, taking several rapid breaths. “Loren, go!”

Loren raised the axe. Cal closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

Several seconds passed.

Cal opened one eye. Loren still had the axe raised, but couldn’t bring herself to swing it down.

“I swear, you’d better hurry the fonk up, or my guys turn nasty,” Kornack warned.

“Loren. Do it!” Cal barked.

“You got three seconds, sweetheart,” Kornack growled. “Three.”

“Loren!”

“Two! Marvin, get ready to put a hole in that hairy bedge.”

Marvin pressed his rifle against Miz’s back.

“Loren, now!”

Screaming, Loren brought the axe arcing down towards Cal’s exposed arm. Kornack’s face lit up with glee as the weapon whummed through the air. Instinctively, Cal tried to pull his arm away, but the warlord had caught his wrist the moment the axe had begun to swing, and Cal could only watch, transfixed, as the blunt metal blade raced down to meet his second favorite arm.

CHAPTER SEVEN

As the blade swished down, Cal felt a wriggling sensation by his elbow. A split-second before the axe split him into two unevenly-sized pieces, his jacket moved to intercept.

The leather clamped around the blade, stopping it with an inch to spare. Loren and Kornack both stared at the jacket sleeve in confusion. After a few seconds of relieved sobbing, Cal joined them.

“What the fonk?” Kornak muttered, then Loren yelped as the axe was wrenched from her grip. The sleeve parted along the seam and slid over Cal’s arm. It rose from his shoulder like a snake, curved hypnotically in the air for a moment, then snapped suddenly, filling the room with a sound like a cracking whip.

The axe buried up to the hilt in Marvin’s forehead. The hulking henchman’s eyes crossed as he attempted to survey the damage, then he slowly toppled backwards and hit the floor with a crash.

Cal shot Kornack a sideways glance, then laughed, nervously. He swung with his left hand, smashing a fist against the warlord’s head. Pain exploded through his knuckles and up along his arm.

“Ow, ow, bad idea! What was I thinking?” Cal yelped, tucking the hand under the opposite armpit and hopping around on the spot.

Kornack lunged, his face twisting in fury as his granite hands grabbed for Cal’s throat. Across the room, Miz spun on her knees, claws flashing, teeth bared. The unlucky henchman behind her found his insides becoming his outsides, and dropped his weapon while he frantically tried to keep all his purple knobbly bits in the right place.

One of the other guards opened fire on Miz, but a bulky mechanical hand blocked the blast. The hand clamped down on the gun’s barrel, collapsing the metal with one effortless squeeze.

“I told you. Peashooter,” Mech grunted, then a single punch sent the henchman crashing through the wall.

Kornack’s hands wrapped around Cal’s throat and jerked him into the air. Cal kicked and struggled, but the warlord’s grip was literally rock solid.

“Leave him alone,” Loren roared, jumping onto Kornack’s back. She wrapped her arm around his neck in a sleeper hold, but Kornack barely seemed to notice.

“Be with you in a second, sweetheart,” he growled. “First, I gotta murder this no-good piece of shizz, then you can have my attention.”

Cal felt his jacket wriggle and squirm again. The sleeve oozed down along his arm, changing shape and hardening as it coated his clenched fist.

With some difficulty, Cal raised his hand. It was now encased in a spiked metal mace. Despite the crushing pressure on his windpipe, he managed to grin. That would do nicely.

He swung his arm wide, then slammed the spiky ball of metal hard against Kornack’s shoulder. Once. Twice. The warlord hissed as his rocky skin chipped and cracked.

Roaring, he tossed Cal across the room. Cal flipped through the air, rocketing towards a worryingly solid-looking wall.

Around him, the rest of the leather jacket inflated, becoming something not a million miles away from a car airbag. It took the brunt of the blow as he slammed into the wall, then he dropped, upside-down, to the floor.

Over by the door, Miz pirouetted on the spot, her claws eviscerating the three closest guards, and making a fourth seriously reconsider his choice of career.

Mech rose slowly on his injured leg, his gun-arm turning two more guards into abstract wall art. His top half spun like a tank turret, taking aim at another of the henchmen. He stopped when he saw the terror on Soonsho’s face.

She was on her feet, a skinny copper-colored arm across her throat, a gun to the side of her head. “Stop!” warned the guard. “Everyone stop, or I kill this bedge.”

Miz drew back her gums and growled, then lowered on her haunches. Mech grabbed her tail, catching her before she could lunge. She hissed angrily at him, her brown eyes now so dark they were almost black.

“Don’t,” Mech warned her.

“You heard him,” the gunman warned. He had the look of a goldfish about him, with his rusty-looking scales and boggle-eyed expression. “I swear, I’ll shoot her right now.”

Cal heaved himself to his feet. His jacket was… well, it was a jacket again. Nothing more.

Loren was still gamely trying to throttle Kornack into submission, but the warlord simply reached up over his shoulder, caught her by the arm, then tossed her over his head. She hit the ground awkwardly, but managed to recover into a half-decent forward roll that almost made Cal want to applaud.

Kornack surveyed the room. Aside from the one currently holding Soonsho hostage, his guards were all various shades of dead. There were a couple of holes in the wall, several small piles of intestines on the carpet, and the napkin swan was now barely recognizable.

Things had not, it was safe to say, gone according to plan.

Without a word, Kornack pointed to Cal, then over to the others, indicating he should join them. The warlord grimaced in pain as he bent to retrieve a fallen blaster rifle. The weapon looked cartoonishly small in his oversized hands, but with a bit of effort he managed to squeeze his finger through the trigger guard.

“Look. Kornack. The girl is nothing to do with any of this,” Cal said. “We literally just met her today.”

“Oh?” said Kornack. “That’s interesting. So I can blow her brains out and you won’t mind?”

He raised the gun to Soonsho’s head. She bit her lip so hard a thin line of blood oozed from where her teeth met her skin.

“Wait! Don’t!” Cal protested, holding up his hands. “She’s just a kid!”

“Like I give a fonk,” Kornack growled. Keeping the gun trained on Soonsho, he turned to Cal. “Take off the shapeshifter.”

Cal hesitated, then sighed. “Splurt.”

The jacket squirmed, becoming a gloopy green goo across Cal’s upper torso. Splurt fell to the floor in a long string of slime, then rolled himself into a ball. His eyes went from Kornack to Cal and back again.

“Thank you for bringing back my property,” Kornack said. “It’s much appreciated. Pick one.”

“One what?”

“Pick one of your friends who’s gonna die,” Kornack explained.

Cal looked along the line at his crew. “Jesus, OK, I’ll eat the arm.”

Kornack nodded. “Oh, I know you will. But before that, I got to teach you all a lesson. About respect. So pick one. And be quick about it.”

“And if I don’t?”

Kornack lunged forwards, grabbing Soonsho by her hair and yanking her towards him. He jammed his gun against her stomach and gnashed his diamond teeth. “Then I take this bedge apart piece by piece until—”

Soonsho’s scream lasted less than a second, but that was all it took. Kornack disintegrated in an explosion of flying rubble. It peppered the screen at the far end of the room, punching holes through President Sinclair’s still-frozen face.

The goldfish-guy stood frozen in shock, his bulbous eyes blinking slowly. Loren drove a side kick into his stomach, doubling him over just as her other knee came up. His nose, which had already been pretty flat, became infinitely more so, and he dropped to the floor in a sniveling mess of snot, tears, blood and regret.

Cal stared at Soonsho.

He stared at the stone fragments scattered across the room, and at the rockery of larger chunks on the floor at Soonsho’s feet.

He whistled quietly through his teeth. “OK. That was…”

“Painful,” said Miz, her ears flat against her head.

“Just be glad you weren’t in front of her,” said Mech.

Cal nudged the rubble with the toe of his boot. “I mean, I don’t think anyone can argue that he didn’t totally deserve that.”

He jumped back as one of the boulders wriggled free of the others. It was the size of a large grapefruit, and rose up on two stick-thin stone legs. Kornack’s face was perfectly reproduced in miniature on the front of the rock.

“Hol-eee shizz,” Cal mumbled.

The mini-Kornack raised a tiny pebble fist and shook it angrily up at Cal. “I’ll fonking get you for this, Eugene,” he said, his deep, gravelly voice now a high-pitched squeak.

Kornack darted across the floor, kicked Cal on the toe of his boot, then scurried through a hole in the wall and out into the corridor.

Cal blinked. “Well,” he said. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”

“Want me to go after him?” asked Miz.

“What? No,” said Cal. “That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

Down at his feet, Splurt rippled. Cal winked at him. “OK, second most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

Splurt hopped up onto Cal’s back, transforming into the leather jacket as he wrapped himself around Cal’s back.

“Thanks, buddy. You are awesome at Hide and Seek,” Cal whispered, then he snapped up the collar, took a final look around the room, and gestured to the door. “Now, who wants to get the Hell out of here?”

* * *

It took Mech almost twenty minutes to locate the controls that opened the ship’s jaws, then another ten for him to patch himself into the interface.

Several more minutes of limping later, he was back aboard the Untitled, where everyone else was strapped in and ready to go.

“Well, this was all quite exciting, wasn’t it?” said Cal, flashing his grin from one end of the bridge to the other. “But let’s never do it again.”

“Agreed,” said Loren, her voice clipped and short. “Mech, we good?”

Mech tapped the controls on his arms. The Untitled rocked gently as the docking clamp disengaged. Ahead of them, the ship’s vast doors slowly inched apart.

“Just a reminder,” chimed Kevin’s voice. “A number of vessels loyal to Kornack are currently assembled outside. They will almost certainly seek to engage us.”

“Good point, Kevin, well made. Loren, be ready to get us the fonk out of here as soon as that door’s open.”

“We can’t warp from in here,” Loren said, engaging the forward thrust and lifting the Untitled off the deck. “We have to get outside and clear of the ship first. If we’re lucky, they won’t be on us right away.”

“Yeah. Remind me when we’ve ever been lucky,” said Cal. He turned his chair. “Mech, don’t suppose you’d be able to fix the weapons in the next, oooh, twelve seconds?”

Mech’s only response was a raising of one eyebrow.

“Yeah, thought not,” Cal said, spinning back to the front. “Then I guess we’re back to our default position of crossing our fingers and hoping for the best.”

“Shouldn’t we wait until the mouth thing is all the way open?” asked Miz, gesturing ahead to the eye-lid shaped doorway ahead of them.

“Why?” asked Cal.

“Uh, because she’s flying,” said Miz. “You just know she’s totally going to fly us straight into the wall.”

“Hey, come on! Have a little faith,” said Cal. He leaned forwards and whispered to Loren. “Please don’t fly us into the wall.”

“Totally heard that,” said Miz.

“Here goes. Everyone hold on,” Loren said, guiding the throttle forwards. The Untitled lurched forwards, did a series of kangaroo-hops in the air, then rocketed towards the lower half of the still-opening doors.

“Pull up, pull up!” Cal yelped.

“You’re gonna hit!” cried Mech.

“See? I told you,” Miz snorted.

The ship banked smoothly upwards and passed cleanly through the gap. Loren turned and smirked. “Seriously? I could have fit ten ships through there. Have a little more faith, in future.”

Cal’s eyes widened and he jabbed a finger to the screen. “Uh, Loren…”

Loren turned. Her smirk withered and died. Dozens of fighter ships approached on an attack run, their weapon systems glowing with soon-to-be-unleashed power.

“Oh, shizz!”

“I had a thought, sir,” said Kevin from the speakers.

“Not now, Kevin!”

“Very good, sir.”

The first three ships unleashed searing hot beams of cannon-fire at the Untitled. Cal felt his stomach boing around inside him like a rubber ball as Loren sent the ship into a spin, weaving between two of the blasts. A third struck a glancing blow off the hull, and warning lights illuminated all across the control panels.

“We got no shields,” Mech realized. “Why ain’t we got shields?”

“As I was saying, sir, I had a thought about raising the shields,” intoned Kevin. “But then I remembered Master Carver’s instruction about not using my initiative, so I felt it best if I didn’t—”

“Raise the fonking shields!” Cal cried. He was lifted up until his seat belt went tight, then slammed back down into the chair as Loren threw the Untitled into a dive. Two of the ships turned in time to give chase, but the third overshot the turn, banked too sharply, and exploded against the side of Kornack’s capture-ship.

“One down!” Loren cheered.

“Dozens to go,” added Miz, helpfully.

Two laser blasts streaked past from behind. Loren yanked back on the stick, sending the ship into an agonizingly steep climb. The Untitled was the most responsive ship she’d ever flown, able to turn at near ninety-degree angles without slowing. From a pilot’s point of view this was great. From the point of view of a human skeleton, not so much.

“Ow. Jesus. A bit of warning, next time,” Cal winced. “I think I just shrunk an inch and a half.”

“What? Where?” asked Miz, suddenly concerned.

“Height, I meant, not… not… Forget it.”

“Six more coming in high,” Mech warned, studying the scanners. “Looks like they’re warming up torpedoes.”

A blast of cannon-fire clipped one of the Untitled’s wings. More warning lights illuminated. “What the…?” Mech yelped. “Why ain’t we got any shields yet?”

“No-one specified, sir,” said Kevin. “And I didn’t want to take any liberties.”

“No-one specified what?” asked Cal.

“Precisely which shields to raise, sir. The ship has several.”

“All of them!” bellowed Cal, Mech and Loren at the same time.

“Very good,” said Kevin, sounding ever so slightly taken aback. “Raising all shields.”

The sky ahead shimmered, just for a moment, as the shielding wrapped around them like a bubble. The knot in Cal’s stomach loosened a fraction. “OK. Good. Soonsho, you OK back there?” he asked, then he remembered what happened the last time she opened her mouth. “Wait! On second thoughts, don’t answer.”

He half-spun his chair to check on her. She had her eyes closed and her head back and was gripping her seatbelt so hard her knuckles were white. “I know exactly how you feel,” he said, then he turned back to the front in time to see a torpedo explode against the shielding.

“I think I’d like to get out of here now,” said Cal, gripping his armrest as the aftershock of the torpedo strike trembled through the ship.

“Give me a second,” said Loren. “I need to calculate our heading.”

“Well hurry up and do it!” said Cal.

“I’m trying!” Loren snapped. She threw the ship into a spinning dive, dodging a hail of cannon-fire. “But it’s not easy with everyone shooting at us!”

“Then just hit the fonking button!” Cal yelped. “Take us anywhere that isn’t here.”

“We could end up somewhere worse.”

Another torpedo slammed into the Untitled’s belly. “I doubt it!” said Cal. “Go!”

“Fine!” Loren hollered. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“You know your problem, Loren?” Cal asked, spinning in his chair as the stars streaked past on the viewscreen.

Miz enthusiastically raised a hand, but Cal gestured for her to put it down.

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” Loren said.

“You worry too much.”

Loren sighed and shook her head. “For the fifth time, we could have warped straight into a ship, a space station – maybe even a planet. You can’t just pick a random direction and hope for the best.”

“And yet – and correct me if I’m wrong here – that’s exactly what we just did.” He looked around the bridge. “And we’re all still here to tell the tale.”

He drummed his fingers on his arm rest and puffed out his cheeks. “Now, what were we doing before we were so rudely interrupted? Oh!” Cal spun his chair to face Soonsho. Her terror levels had dropped a little, but she still looked a few stressful moments away from a complete nervous breakdown. “We were taking you home.”

Miz, who was lying sideways across her chair, her legs hooked over the armrest, reached one arm down to the floor and turned the seat so she could see Soonsho. “That was pretty awesome, by the way. You know, the way you took care of Kornack? That totally rocked.”

“Ha!” said Cal. “’Rocked’. Good one.”

Miz shot him a withering glance that suggested she had no idea what he was talking about, then turned her attention back to Soonsho. “She looks like she’s freaking out. Want me to, like, go help her get cleaned up, or whatever? She’s got bits of dead guy all over her.”

“Great idea, Miz, thanks,” said Cal. “Because if being scrubbed clean by a seven foot tall talking wolf-woman doesn’t calm her down, I honestly don’t know what will.”

Miz tutted. “Whatever,” she said, then she got up and slouched towards the door, motioning for Soonsho to follow. The girl shot Cal a look that suggested she had very deep reservations about this, but then unclipped her belt and followed Miz off the bridge.

“And you say Miz is never nice,” said Cal, turning to the front.

“No, I said she’s never nice to me,” Loren clarified. “Not the same thing.”

Cal sat back in his chair, watching her for a while. Once they’d gotten clear of Kornack’s fighters, she’d done all her stuff with headings and co-ordinates, and pointed them towards Cantato Minor, Soonsho’s home planet.

As far as Cal knew, there was very little to do now but wait, and yet Loren’s fingers passed over the same three sets of controls again and again, like she was stuck in some endless loop. As her fingers brushed against the levers and dials, Cal could see them trembling.

He looked over to Mech, who stood with his arms behind his back, gazing blankly into space. He looked a million miles away, and the fact he’d stop complaining about his leg suggested something was weighing on his mind.

Cal nudged Loren’s chair with his foot. This required him to slide down in his own chair until his shoulders were barely touching the seat part, and stretch his leg out as far as it could go.

The moment his foot touched Loren’s chair, he lost his balance and fell to the floor. He quickly rolled onto one side and raised himself onto one elbow, like a young Burt Reynolds on a bear skin rug.

Loren turned, looked briefly confused by Cal’s empty chair, then spotted him on the floor. “What are you doing?”

“Just chilling,” said Cal. “Just, you know, chilling here on the floor.”

Loren blinked. “O-K,” she said, stringing the letters out.

“Care to join me?”

“Not really.”

“No, don’t blame you,” said Cal. “It’s surprisingly uncomfortable.”

He clambered back into his chair. “That’s better.”

“Uh, good,” said Loren, then she started to turn back to the front again.

“Hey, Loren, wait,” Cal said.

Loren stopped, but didn’t turn back.

“You OK?”

“Fine,” said Loren.

“Good,” said Cal. “Good to know. It’s just… that stuff with Kornack. And the axe.”

“What about it?”

“You were just doing what you had to do.” He raised his hand and waggled the fingers. “See? No harm done.”

Loren didn’t say anything for a while, then she turned her chair all the way front. “Yes,” she said, her fingers instantly looping between the controls again. “I know.”

“Loren…”

“I told you, I’m fine,” said Loren, and the tone of her voice suggested the conversation was over.

Cal clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, then turned to Mech. “And how about you, sparky? You’re quiet.”

Mech didn’t move. “I’m just thinking, is all.”

“What about?” asked Cal. He grinned. “Be honest – is it about me?”

Mech sighed. “No. It’s about what Sinclair said.” He turned away from the view of space, his leg fizzing and popping. “We’re at war.”

“No, they’re at war,” Cal corrected. “We’re just bumming around, doing our own thing. Our own space thing,” he added, hoping for a reaction. None came. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. Nothing to do with us.”

“For how long?” Mech asked. “Because I remember when Zertex and the Symmorium were at war last time. Really at war, I mean, not these past ten years of bickering and name-calling. Man, that thing spread through half the galaxy. Whole planets – Hell, whole systems – were wiped out. A lot of good people died. Lot of good people.”

Mech turned back to the screen. “And the rest of us… well, we were changed.” He clanged a metal finger against his chest. It made a hollow, empty sort of sound. “Some of us more than others.”

He sighed loudly and shook his head. “We might not be on the front lines yet, but I know how this plays out. We’ll get drawn in. Sooner or later, we’ll get drawn in.” He looked back over his shoulder at Cal. “And then everything’s gonna change.”

“Hey, come on, guys!” said Cal. “Enough with the long faces. We’re going to reunite a kidnapped girl with her parents, then we’re millionaires! We can go where we want, do what we want. This war stuff, it doesn’t need to affect us.”

Mech nodded slowly. His reflection nodded back at him from the screen. “Funny. That’s what I said last time.” He regarded his mirror image. “Now look at me.”

“You, sir, are gorgeous,” said Cal. “Unconventional? Sure. Mildly terrifying? Certainly. Partially magnetic? You betcha. But gorgeous, all the same.”

Mech grunted. “Point is, sooner or later, we’re gonna have to pick a side.”

Cal made a weighing motion with his hands. “The Symmorium consider us, like, folk heroes and have given us the freedom of Symmorium space,” he said, raising and lowering one hand. He turned his attention to the other. “Zertex are hunting us like dogs, and want us dead. Hmm. Decisions, decisions…”

Loren gently cleared her throat, but didn’t take her eyes off her controls. “I have brothers in Zertex,” she said.

A silence hung there for a while, until Cal couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Jesus, this is the most depressing conversation I’ve ever had,” he said, slapping his hands against his thighs. “And believe me, I’ve had some fonking depressing conversations in my time. We need to lighten up here, come on, guys.”

Loren and Mech said nothing.

“Kevin, how about you? You’re a positive kind of guy. Tell us some funny shizz.”

“The thirds have harvested the Tuesday, sir,” Kevin announced.

“See? There you go!” said Cal. He laughed, before realizing the words made absolutely no sense whatsoever. “Uh, by which I mean, ‘what the fonk are you talking about?’”

“Elbows are in the history. Oh, my.”

Cal, Loren and Mech all looked up. “Say what now?” asked Mech.

“My apple-pies, sir,” said Kevin, his voice slowing and speeding up like a wonky tape recording. “It appears crab shells have infiltrated m’lady’s central pums-pimser.”

Cal blinked. “What the Hell’s a pums-pimser?”

The stars stopped stretching and snapped to a stop. Cal was jerked from his seat, flipped twice in the air, then slammed against the viewscreen, face first. As he slid to the floor, the bridge’s lighting flickered and went out.

“Please tell me it’s dark for everyone,” Cal wheezed. “Otherwise I’ve gone blind.”

A series of panels in the floor illuminated in an ominous shade of emergency red. “Oh, thank God,” Cal whispered, clambering back to his feet. He shot his leather jacket a disappointed look. “Well, thanks for the save, buddy.”

The jacket inflated like a giant marshmallow around him.

“Maybe just a smidgen earlier, next time,” Cal said. The marshmallow turned green and gloopy, then Splurt dropped to the floor and rolled under Cal’s chair.

“What happened?” Cal asked. “Did we hit something?”

“Controls are dead,” said Loren.

Mech gestured to the now black and lifeless wall in front of him. “Screen’s down. We got no visuals.”

“Like, please tell me you didn’t break the ship again,” groaned Miz, striding onto the bridge. Soonsho slunk along behind her, holding onto the wall to steady herself. “I almost took the new girl’s eye out.”

“It wasn’t me!” Loren protested. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, like we haven’t heard that before,” Miz snorted.

“It’s berries uncle that you attain m’lady’s central pums-pimser,” said Kevin. His voice was a full octave higher now, and rising sharply. “Befronk all my dates are corrugated.”

Cal pointed to the ceiling. “Has he had a stroke?”

“Could be a virus, maybe?” said Loren. She tapped some keys and waggled a lever. “Nothing’s responding.”

Cal groaned. “Not another virus. We barely survived the last one.”

“Negativity, ma’am,” Kevin said. His voice was uncomfortably high-pitched now, like Alvin and the Chipmunks covering The Bee-Gees. “No voices infraction de-ta-ta-ta-ta in m’lady’s frong.”

“Well, at least that’s something,” said Cal. “You know, I guess.” A thought struck him. He jumped to his feet. “Hey, wait a minute!” he said. “What happened to all those little hat guys?”

* * *

The door to one of the many rooms aboard the Untitled Cal was explicitly forbidden from setting foot inside slid open, revealing a scene of absolute carnage within.

“Holy shizz, it’s Gremlins 2,” Cal groaned. “Specifically, there’s this scene in a cinema when they’re all going ‘rrraaaa’ and smashing the place up, or whatever,” he explained, for the benefit of those who hadn’t seen it. Which was everyone.

If anything, the scene inside the room was even worse than the one Cal had described. For one thing, the cinema in Gremlins 2 didn’t contain life support systems vital for keeping the cinema’s occupants alive. This room, on the other hand, contained exactly that.

A hat-creature dangled from a recently exposed knot of brightly-colored wiring which hung from the back of the life-support terminal like an upside-down rainbow. It tugged furiously on the wires, trying to wrench them free, for reasons best known to itself.

The reason Cal wasn’t allowed to enter this room under ordinary circumstances was because everything inside it – literally every panel, console, and cylindrical metal thing that went whrum – was important to the running of the ship. Vital, even.

And now most of it was in pieces.

Hat-things pulled on cables, jumped on pipes, hammered buttons and clawed at circuit boards. They chittered excitedly whenever they damaged something, cooing in wonder whenever a spark or a bang was produced.

“Hump me,” Kevin implored, his voice now slow and drawn out. “Hump me, pleebs.”

Mech charged into the room and brought his foot down on the hat-thing that was currently up to no good with the life support. It glanced up just in time to see the foot racing towards it, chattered briefly in panic, then exploded like a paint-filled balloon across the floor.

“Jesus,” said Cal. “Was that strictly necessary?”

Part of a control panel whanged against his forehead. Across the room, one of the critters giggled.

“Ow! You little shizznod,” Cal grimaced. “Mech, forget I said anything. Stomp them all!”

Miz shoved Cal aside and bounded into the room, her claws extending from her finger-tips. One of the creatures charged at her, waving its tiny fists in the air. Miz’s foot pinned it to the floor, and her tongue flicked hungrily across her exposed teeth.

She looked back over her shoulder. “You might not want to watch this part,” she said.

Cal swallowed. “Uh, yeah,” he said, backing out of the room. “Loren, why don’t you and I leave them to it and check the rest of the ship?”

Mech picked one of the hat-critters up in both hands, then pulled it in two with a sharp, sudden tug. The blue tinge drained from Loren’s face. “OK. Yes. Let’s do that.”

They hurried along the corridor and stopped outside another room. Loren glanced back in the direction of the bridge as Cal listened at the door.

“Think Soonsho’s OK?” she asked.

“Splurt’s with her. She’ll be fine,” Cal said. “I mean, you know, the conversation’s unlikely to be sparkling, but she’ll be safe.”

He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to pick up any sounds beyond the door. “Can’t hear anything,” he decided, then he tapped the button and the door slid open.

This room was another of those that had been declared off-limits for Cal. It wasn’t that he would ever deliberately mess with any of the equipment, it was more that – given his history – there was a good chance the equipment might just spontaneously explode with him around.

During the lengthy discussions about which parts of the ship Cal could and couldn’t set foot in, Loren had described him as “a magnet for trouble.” Mech had gone a step further, declared him “a fonking jinx” and made it quite clear that he’d personally shoot Cal himself if he ever found him near the Untitled’s core systems.

That had seemed a bit harsh to Cal, but he had to admit that misfortune seemed to follow him around pretty closely, and that perhaps not venturing into areas that might make the ship implode probably wasn’t such a bad idea.

As a result, he had no idea what the room they entered was for. It had flashy lights, gurgling pipes and more of those cylinders that went whrum. It was also, Cal was happy to note, completely intact.

Although…

Cal nudged Loren and gestured to the floor near the corner of the room. A hat-critter stood at the base of a console, trying to prise open a metal access hatch on the front. It grunted and squeaked as is struggled with the metal, and hadn’t, as of yet, noticed it had company.

Placing his fingers to his lips, Cal crept into the room, his hands out in front of him like he was ready to receive a chest pass. The critter heaved and tugged on the panel, its little hat wobbling around on its head.

Cal closed in. Five feet. Four feet. Three feet.

The critter stopped pulling on the panel, raised its head and let out an inquisitive chirp. Cal dived for it, arms outstretched. It darted sideways and Cal slammed into the console, clonking his knees on the floor.

“Budatie!” squealed another of the hat-critters, as it hurled itself from behind a ceiling-mounted duct and dropped onto Cal’s back. More of the creatures rained down from above, shrieking and squeaking as they threw themselves in Cal’s direction.

“What the fonk?” Cal yelped, then he hissed as two of the creatures tugged his ears in opposite directions. “Ow! Cut that out!”

He grabbed for the ear-pullers, but two more critters caught his sleeves and wrestled with his arms. A flood of warmth trickled down over the back of his neck, and several of the creatures erupted into high-pitched laughter.

“Are you… are you peeing on me?!” Cal cried. The stench of hat-thing urine answered the question for him. “No! Bad little space midgets!” Cal wailed. “Cut that out!”

It took all his strength to roll over onto his back. Most of the creatures scrambled clear, but one gave a satisfying crunch beneath his shoulder as he slammed his weight on top of it. Jeering, the creatures raced to pin him down again. Cal raised a foot to kick out, but before he could, one of the smaller hat-things dived into the bottom of his cargo pants, and began scrambling up Cal’s leg.

Cal howled in panic as the creature headed north. Backhanding one of the larger critters away, he grabbed for the moving lump which was already at his knee and moving fast. It scampered around the underside of his leg, its tiny hands tickling at the back of his thigh.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you fonking dare!” Cal yelped, wrestling desperately with his belt.

Loren, who had been watching the scene unfold with - she had to admit - some amusement, raised her blaster and fired ten shots in rapid succession. The chittering of the other creatures stopped, leaving only the frantic squeals of Cal as he undid his button and kicked his pants down around his ankles.

He caught the little creature just as it dived for his junk, and tossed it towards the ceiling. Loren whipped up her blaster and shot it in mid-air. Cal sighed as a drizzle of smoldering guts fell on his upturned face.

“Thanks, I guess,” he wheezed.

“No problem,” said Loren, sliding her blaster back in its holster. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, and by the way… nice shorts.”

CHAPTER NINE

It was taking almost all of Cal’s concentration not to throw up, but he did his best to pretend he was listening.

Mech had been listing the damage to the ship’s systems for several minutes now, apparently oblivious to the inch-deep puddle of guts and gore that currently sloshed around on the floor. Miz sat on what must once have been a console, but which now more closely resembled a modern art installation, picking chunks of meat from her teeth with a piece of wicker.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” said Cal, trying very hard to ignore the knobbly chunks of bloody innards which currently clung to the wall directly behind Mech’s head. What the Hell even was that purple thing, anyway? A spleen? A liver? Did the hat-things even have those?

“So, what are you saying, Mech?” Loren asked, cutting the cyborg’s list short. “Can we fix it?”

“I was getting to that part,” said Mech. “Short answer? No.”

Loren grimaced. “And the long answer?”

“Also no,” said Mech. He gestured around them to the gut-splattered tangle of wires and broken equipment. “I don’t even know what half of this stuff does, let alone how to fix it. That thing over there? That’s life support. Totally fonking destroyed, and yet we’re still here. So, I don’t know, maybe it isn’t life support.”

He shook his head. “That’s the problem with experimental prototypes. Ain’t no instruction manual on how to fix them when shizz goes wrong.”

“Sugar content creator,” warbled Kevin.

Cal glanced up at the ceiling and sighed. “Whatever you say, pal. Whatever you say.”

A hand touched him on the shoulder and he whipped round, fists raised. “Wah!”

Soonsho drew back in fright, and Cal quickly lowered his hands in case she screamed. “Hey, Soonsho. You probably don’t want to see this,” he said, blocking her view of the room. “God knows, I don’t.”

Soonsho stepped back into the corridor and raised an arm. A finger extended, pointing back towards the bridge. Cal leaned around the doorway and looked in that direction. The corridor was still painted red by the emergency lighting, but there was another light, too. A flickering, dancing blue and white mosaic on the walls near the flight deck’s open door, as if someone had left the TV on in there.

“Uh. OK,” he said. “Guys?”

He stepped out of the room and crept along the corridor. The others followed behind, employing various shades of stealth. Loren moved silently, her feet making no sound on the smooth vinyl floor. Mech’s hydraulics hissed and whirred with every step, but at least he made the effort. Mizette, on the other hand, just plodded along, making no attempt whatsoever to stay quiet.

Soonsho stuck close to Cal. She had a hand clamped over her mouth, as if she was expecting to scream at any moment. Considering she was the only one who knew what was making the lightshow on the bridge, this didn’t exactly fill Cal with confidence.

The leather of Loren’s holster creaked as she drew her blaster. Cal pressed himself against the wall outside the door and gestured for her to go ahead. She nodded once, made a complicated series of hand gestures that not even Mech fully understood, then dived into the room, rolled into a kneeling position and snapped up her weapon.

“Uh, you might all want to come in here,” she said, lowering the gun again.

Cal gasped as he stepped around the doorframe and onto the bridge. There, standing in front of the viewscreen, was an angel.

At least, that was his first thought, thanks to the man’s ethereal white glow and kindly features. Cal soon realized he probably wasn’t an angel, though. He had no wings for one thing. He was short and stockily built, for another, with a chubby face that – even through the white glow – Cal could tell had rosy red cheeks.

He wore a long apron that clung to his portly belly and flapped around loosely near his knees. He looked less like an actual person, Cal thought, and more like the mascot for a family-owned chain of baker’s shops.

“Greetings. I am Dorid Tarkula,” he announced, his voice emerging from the speaker system overhead. “Or a holographic representation of Dorid Tarkula, at least,” he continued with an amused chuckle. “This vessel’s core systems have been damaged.”

“You don’t say,” Mech muttered.

“Who is this guy?” Cal asked, but Loren shushed him.

“This recording is activated only when damage levels have become catastrophic, and the vessel is beyond any possibility of space-based repair,” the hologram continued. “Life support systems are failing, or have already failed.” He chuckled again. “In fact, there’s a very good chance you may already be dead.”

Cal shot Loren a sideways glance. “We aren’t are we?”

Loren nipped his arm through his shirt. “Ow!” he yelped.

“Seems not,” she confirmed.

“Fortunately, because of the vessel’s experimental nature, I took the liberty of adding a ‘recall’ function, for just such an emergency,” Dorid informed them. “This functionality is not connected to any of the other systems, and is encased in a galvanized neutronium alloy for protection. It should, theoretically, enable you to return to me, so that I may assess the damage for myself.”

The hull of the Untitled began to creak and groan. Cal glanced around at the metal walls. “OK, those noises are troubling.”

“I suggest you take a seat,” the hologram continued. “You know, assuming anyone is still alive on there!”

A vibration rose through the Untitled’s floor. Cal and the others hurried to their seats and frantically strapped themselves in. Even Mech, whose magnetic feet usually clamped him in place, grabbed onto a control console for additional support.

“I’ll see you soon!” Dorid said. He winked, then the image vanished, leaving them with just the red emergency lighting to force back the gloom.

“H-h-he s-s-seemed n-n-nice,” Cal stammered, the shuddering of the ship rattling him all the way up to the vocal chords.

“Emulsion rewind in ploffle,” announced Kevin, delivering each word at a slightly different speed and pitch. “Knuckle up.”

The ship dropped. That was what it felt like, at least. Like that first step off a bungee jump, or an elevator cable snapping on the thirteenth floor. The ship plunged through space, spinning like a yo-yo on a down stroke. Or Cal thought that’s what was happening, anyway. The lack of visual input from the screens made it impossible to confirm. All he could rely on was the sloshing in his inner ear and, to a lesser extent, the rising feeling of nausea in his belly.

“H-how long is this going to k-keep up for?” he managed to grimace, despite the G-forces currently attempting to make his eyes meet around the back of his head.

“D-don’t know,” Loren hissed.

And then it happened. It started with a pinprick of light in the center of the room. The light doubled in size, then doubled again, flowering open like petals as it bloomed to become a series of tumbling loops and whorls painted onto the air itself.

Somehow, without apparently changing, the light stopped being a light and became a sound instead. It bypassed Cal’s ears and implanted itself straight into his head. The sound was indescribable. It was beautiful and terrible and every shade in between. It was the sound of angry babies and angels falling. It was the sound of true evil discovering truer love, and of Santa Claus having his heart broken.

It also, Cal decided, sounded a bit like a goose choking on a tiny bell. But you really had to use your imagination for that one, and it seemed less poignant than the others, anyway.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

Cal and the others sat (except Mech, who stood) in the half-dark, gulping down shaky breaths (except Mech, who didn’t breathe) bracing themselves for what might happen next. The ship no longer felt like it was falling or spinning, which was a relief, but it could start again at any second, so no-one dared move.

“You know, now that I think about it,” said Miz. “I totally should have just stayed at home and been queen this whole time. I bet this kind of stuff never happens to queens.”

White and blue light flickered up the walls as the hologram reappeared on the deck. Further back in the ship, there was a clang as the landing hatch dropped open.

“And you’re here,” announced the image of Dorid. “If capable of doing so, please exit via the landing ramp. I assure you, you will not be harmed.”

He smiled, making his red cheeks even rosier. “Welcome,” he said, “to Castle Tarkula!”

Through the open hatch, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. Somewhere, in the distance, something howled.

“You know,” said Cal, unclipping his harness and getting to his feet. “Suddenly, I have a very bad feeling about this.”

CHAPTER TEN

Castle Tarkula itself did little to allay Cal’s fears. It rose from a hilltop of black slate, its dark, twisting spires stabbing upwards at the cloudy night sky.

A wall that went all the way past ‘imposing’ and deep into ‘psychologically troubling’ territory surrounded the collection of towers that made up the castle proper. It was lined along the top with thousands of rusted metal spikes. Gargoyle faces grimaced out from the gray brickwork every ten feet or so, as if watching for trespassers.

A portcullis blocked the only visible route in and out of the castle grounds. From a distance, Cal thought it was your standard wrought iron number, but as they drew closer the surface shimmered and flickered erratically, and made all Miz’s fur stand on end with static electricity.

“Well, this is homely,” Cal whispered. Another flash of lightning flickered inside a bank of black clouds, briefly turning it shades of purple and blue.

It was rare that Mech allowed Cal to bring a gun, but after walking down the ramp and spotting the castle, Cal had insisted. He had the pistol tucked into a holster for now, but his hand was tightly gripping the handle, and his trigger finger itched so badly it was developing a rash.

Mech and Loren stood either side of Soonsho, shielding her from whatever might come leaping out of the darkness. The only light in the area, besides the thin glow of the half-covered yellow moon, flickered in a few of the tower windows, and Cal couldn’t shake the feeling something was watching them from the shadows.

They stood at the portcullis and waited for it to open.

It didn’t.

“Hello?” Cal called. “Anyone home?”

A sudden screech of moving metal made him jump. He half drew his blaster, then lowered it back into the holster when he realized the sound hadn’t been the scream of a vampire, banshee, or anything else along those lines.

It had been the sound of the ground beneath the Untitled twisting as it rotated downwards, lowering the ship into an underground cave.

“Hey!” Cal cried. He tried to rush back to the ship, but a set of doors clanged closed above it. The sound they made was of metal hitting other metal, but the ground once more looked like a patch of flat slate, with nothing to suggest the ship – or doors – had ever been there at all.

“Great. So now we lost the ship,” Mech grunted.

“To be fair, it wasn’t like it was going to get us anywhere,” Loren pointed out.

“Yeah, but Splurt’s still on there!” said Cal.

Mech sighed. “How come you always do that, man?”

“Do what?”

“Splurt.”

Cal held up his hands in protest. “I have never ‘done’ Splurt, and I resent the accusation that—”

“I mean leave him behind. He can handle himself better than any one of us.”

“Speak for yourself,” Miz muttered.

“Because,” said Cal, launching into an explanation despite the fact he didn’t actually have one prepared. “I mean… because he’s a beautiful innocent creature, that’s why. Yeah, that’ll do. Can he handle himself physically? Yes. But emotionally? Is he mentally prepared for…” He gestured up at the foreboding castle. “…whatever fresh Hell this is? I honestly don’t know.”

Cal smiled sadly. “They grow up so fast. Why can’t you just let him be a child for a little longer, Mech? Hmm?” He grabbed Mech by the arms and tried, without success, to shake him. “Why won’t you just let him be a child?”

“When Zertex was studying him they figured out he’s roughly eight thousand years old,” Loren told him.

Cal stopped attempting to shake Mech. “Oh,” he said. “I shall keep that in mind.”

He turned back towards the gate. The portcullis was gone. The archway was clear. A grotesquely misshapen gargoyle with a skull like an exploding pineapple eyed the crew from the top of the arch as Cal drew his gun and slowly approached.

“Looks like we’ve been invited in,” said Cal, as another rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. “Stick close together, no wandering off, and if anyone happens to be carrying any garlic, crosses or holy water, feel free to pass them around.”

The moment they were all inside the castle grounds, the portcullis reappeared, as if by magic. Beyond the outer walls, where they’d just come from, the terrain was bleak and uninviting. Inside, it was even worse.

Several trees stood around the otherwise empty courtyard, their trunks blackened, their branches bare, as if they’d all been the victims of some deranged horticultural arsonist. Bird-like shapes – also black – hopped from branch to branch, their beady eyes glinting in the pale moonlight as they tracked Cal and the others all the way to the castle’s front doors.

The doors were serious-looking metal things, with hinges as thick and as long as Cal’s arm riveted across the front of each. There was no handle that Cal could see, and when he brushed his fingertips across the metal, a shock of electricity jolted through his hand and up his arm.

Cal stepped back and looked across the gray brickwork surrounding the door. “Anyone see a bell?” he asked, then he took a further step back as the doors swung inwards with a predictably sinister creeeeak, revealing a candle-lit room beyond.

“This would be the point in the movie where a creepy villager warns us not to go inside,” Cal whispered. He looked back, almost hopefully, over his shoulder. “Guess not,” he muttered, then he raised his blaster pistol in front of him and quietly stepped into the castle.

“Hello there!” called a cheerful voice.

Cal screamed and spun in the direction of the sound, hurriedly raising his blaster. He closed his eyes and fired twice. Both bolts hit Dorid Tarkula at point blank range in the chest, splattering the wall behind him with blood, flesh-chunks, and sizzling blobs of fat.

With a gasp of horror, Cal lowered the gun. “Ooh shizz. I am so sorry,” he said. “You came at me out of nowhere, and it just went off in my hand.”

Dorid, who had remained standing throughout, looked down at the holes in his upper torso, gargled something bloody and damp, and then toppled backwards onto the polished wooden floor.

Everyone stared at Cal in silence as he shuffled closer to Dorid’s body, nudged it with his foot, and very tentatively said, “Hello?”

When no response came – not even after a slightly louder, “You OK, buddy?” to double-check – Cal made the diagnosis.

“Nope. He’s dead.”

“You think so?” said Mech.

“Argh! I don’t believe you, sometimes,” groaned Loren.

“What? It’s not my fault! Mech gave me the gun.”

“Never again,” said Mech. “That’s the last time. No more guns for you.”

“Although, you have to admit,” said Miz. “It was kinda hilarious.”

“Not really seeing the funny side,” Mech growled. “Now what do we do?”

Cal rolled his tongue around inside his mouth as he thought. “I don’t know. Bury him in the garden?”

“Bury him in the garden?” said Loren, flatly. “Not ‘inform the authorities’? Not ‘notify his next of kin’?”

“Yeah, well obviously we’ll do those, too,” said Cal. “Just, you know, from the safety of outer space.”

“Hello there!”

Cal screamed. Again.

Cal spun. Again.

The shots took out half of another Dorid’s head, ruining an expensive-looking oil painting hanging on the wall behind him.

“Shizz. I did it again!”

The body slumped forwards onto the floor. This time, Cal didn’t feel the need to nudge it with his foot. It was about as dead as it was possible to be.

“Seriously, man, give me that fonking gun,” said Mech, snatching the weapon from Cal’s hand. He passed it to Loren, who tucked it into the back of her belt.

“So… what? There are two of him?” drawled Miz. She flicked her eyes to Cal. “You just murdered twins.”

“I didn’t murder them,” protested Cal. “They just… got in the way of the shots I accidentally fired.”

“Oh, so it’s their fault?” said Loren.

“No! I’m not saying it’s their fault,” Cal insisted. “I’m saying we’re all partly to blame here. It’s everyone’s fault, collectively.”

Throughout all this, Soonsho stood with her back against a wall, trying very hard not to make a sound. While the others argued, she spotted movement in a narrow doorway at the top of a small set of curving stone steps. Clamping a hand over her mouth to be doubly sure she didn’t scream the place down, she tapped Cal on the shoulder and gestured towards the door.

The left side of a podgy, rosy-cheeked face edged around the doorframe. “Uh… hello,” it said. “Please, don’t shoot.”

“We won’t,” said Cal, holding up his hands to show they were empty. “These other two gentlemen surprised me, mistakes were made on both sides, but… Relax. We’re not here to hurt you.”

The man in the doorway sensibly chose to emerge slowly, with no sudden movements. Once in the open, Cal and the others recognized him right away.

“Hey, it’s you!” said Cal.

“So… what?” Loren frowned. “You’re triplets?”

Dorid Tarkula smiled, but there was an anxiousness to it, like he was worried it might get him killed. “Goodness, no. Those are – were – clones. I created them to help with my work, and with the running of the castle. It’s a big endeavor to manage by oneself. Always something needing cleaned up.”

“I’ll bet,” said Cal. He looked down at the two corpses. “Speaking of which, we can help move these somewhere, if you like? It seems… I mean, that seems only fair. You know, considering.”

“Considering you shot them through the chest and face?” said Mech. “I’d say it’s a pretty long way from ‘fair.’”

“Oh no, please, I won’t hear of it,” said Dorid. “The others will tidy those two away.”

“Others?” said Loren. “How many of you – of them – are there?”

Dorid had to give that some thought. “Oh my. Now there’s a question. A hundred, perhaps? It varies. As high as two, maybe?” He smiled, more confidently this time. “I’m afraid I don’t actually know. Less than four hundred, I’d estimate, but possibly a few more working in the lower levels. I lose track.”

“Jesus,” said Cal. “That must be some queue for the bathroom.” He shrugged. “But speaking of lower levels. The ship – your ship, I guess – got swallowed by the ground with a friend of ours on board.”

“Say no more,” said Dorid. “I shall send someone to collect your friend at once, before they begin work on the repairs.” He clenched his fists and waved them excitedly beside his head. “We cannot wait to get working on it again, after all these years. How is K-Seven-Zero Dash Nine-Three-Three-Zero-Seven Dash Zeta, by the way? Was he damaged?”

“Kevin?” said Cal. “He’s… well, I mean, he’s…”

Dorid held up an open palm. “I understand. We’ll assess the damage and discuss the best course of action with you then.”

“Uh, with us?” said Cal. “Why?”

Dorid’s face lit up. “Why, because it’s your ship, of course!” he laughed. He waddled down the stone steps and clapped his calloused hands together. “Now, is anyone hungry?”

“Dorid,” said Cal, putting an arm around the smaller man’s broad shoulders. “I thought you’d never ask.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Twenty minutes later, Cal sat at one end of a long wooden table, eating soup with a sponge. The trick, Dorid explained, was to dip the sponge an inch or two into the liquid, quickly raise it while tipping the head back, position above the open mouth, then squeeze.

The first time Cal had tried it, he’d missed his mouth completely, and almost drowned as half a sponge full of scalding hot gumbo had shot up his nose. His face, clothing and a foot or two in every direction around him looked like the aftermath of a toddler’s dinner-time tantrum, but he was starting to get the hang of it now. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling a spoon would have made life much easier.

Loren had mastered the technique immediately, and was now confidently sponging soup into her mouth around the table on Cal’s left. On his right, Soonsho was bent low over the bowl, the sponge practically a blur as it moved back and forth from the bowl to her lips. Cal realized he had no idea when the girl had last eaten and that, all things considered, he should probably have offered her a sandwich when she’d first come aboard.

Next to Soonsho, Mizette was licking the bowl clean. The chair across from her was empty. Mech didn’t eat, and so Dorid had offered to have one of his clones take him to a repair station, and help patch up his damaged leg.

Dorid sat at the head of the table, directly opposite Cal. He had finished his soup, and was delicately dabbing the edges of his mouth with a napkin.

“This is good,” said Cal, licking the last of his broth from his chin. “What is it?”

Dorid looked blankly down at his empty bowl. “You know, I don’t have the faintest idea,” he admitted. “Some sort of vegetable, I expect. The kitchen – food preparation and whatnot – is handled by one of my others. Possibly more than one, actually.”

“Pretty sweet setup,” said Cal, nodding appreciatively. “Maybe I should get a clone to help with all my jobs.”

“What jobs?” Loren snorted.

Miz raised her eyes from her spotlessly clean bowl and licked her lips. “Oh, please do,” she said. “I can think of a few jobs two identical versions of you could do.”

“Miz, please, children present,” said Cal, glancing deliberately at Soonsho, who he was immensely thankful was sitting between them.

“Cantatorian, correct?” said Dorid, nodding in Soonsho’s direction. She looked across to him, just briefly, then back to her bowl.

“That’s right,” said Loren. “We’re taking her home.”

“Fascinating people. Fascinating,” said Dorid. “Their vocal range – the women, at least – incredible. Just incredible. They can hypnotize with their song, you know?” He smiled warmly along the table. “What’s your name, my dear?”

“She doesn’t talk,” said Cal. “Or make any sound at all, generally.”

“Oh.” Dorid looked taken aback. “A mute Cantatorian? That is a cruel irony.”

“She’s not mute,” said Loren. “I mean, we’ve heard her make sounds before, it’s just they’ve been… destructive.”

“You’ve never heard her speak?”

Cal shook his head. “No. We thought if she said anything, made a sound or whatever, she’d blow shizz up. Isn’t that how it works?”

“Not usually, no,” said Dorid. “Even the more powerful Cantatorian females can speak, although they have to be careful of their tone, obviously.” He tapped a finger on the wooden tabletop. “When you say ‘destructive,’ just how destructive are we talking?”

“Destroyed a rock guy, killed a load of gangsters,” said Cal.

“Flipped those cop cars,” Miz added.

“Yes. Flipped a load of cop cars. Big ones.”

“I see,” said Dorid. He leaned forwards on his elbows. “And how much effort did these incidents require on her part?”

“Well, we only saw the cop cars and the rock guy,” said Cal. “But not much. She just sort of, I don’t know, cheeped and that was that.”

“Oh,” said Dorid, suddenly sounded excited. “Oh, now that is interesting.”

Before he could explain what was so interesting about it, two other Dorids entered through a side door, bowed steeply to the guests, then began clearing the table.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” the seated Dorid said, smiling warmly to the others. “Most appreciated.”

“Yep,” Cal muttered, watching the clones at work. “I have got to get me some of those.”

While they waited for the table to be cleared, Cal took in the dining room. Being in there felt a bit like being inside a storage crate, thanks to the wood-covered floor, walls and ceiling. An enormous window took up most of the room’s narrow end. At least, Cal presumed so, but a heavy pair of crimson curtains had been drawn across it, making it impossible to be sure if there was actually a window there at all.

Along one of the longer walls were dozens of shelves, each one loaded with trinkets and nick-nacks. Cal had no idea what any of them were, although he thought one might be some kind of space clock, and a pretty ghastly-looking ornament could have been three duck-like things, but might equally have been one monster-like thing with three duck-like heads.

The other long wall was far less cluttered, boasting just two stuffed animal heads, a painting of a woman who looked suspiciously like an older version of Dorid, and a suit of armor fit for a king. Assuming he was a king who had recently been in an industrial accident involving a chainsaw, some superglue, and several other much smaller kings.

The mounted heads weren’t from animals Cal was familiar with. One appeared to be made almost exclusively of thin black spikes, while the other roughly broke down as twenty-percent zebra, ten-percent slug, and seventy-percent teeth.

The whole castle, inside and out, would have been more suited to an old black and white horror movie than the lair of a jovial space scientist. Cal was about to say as much, but Dorid caught the thought before he’d had a chance to vocalize it.

“I know,” Dorid said, looking around as if seeing the place for the first time. “My great grandparents built the castle originally, and it was just sort of passed down. I used to hate the place when I was younger. Used to scare the life out of me. Still does, sometimes!”

He leaned back, allowing one of the other Dorids to take his bowl. “Truth is, this is the first time I’ve set foot in this room for… Oh, I don’t know. Years, probably.”

He interlocked his fingers and leaned forwards, as if sharing some big secret. “But, well, the thing is, it keeps the riff-raff away. Half this planet has been scavenged. Picked clean. But this place, particularly once I’d sown the seeds of superstition and planted some rumors about the horrors that go on within its walls, has remained remarkably untampered with.”

He chuckled. “Of course, I also have a one-of-a-kind security system to defend against attack, but I rarely have call to use it.”

“So, these rumors,” said Cal. “Just what do they say?”

Dorid’s chair creaked as he leaned back again. “They tell of beasts and mutants and other monstrous things,” he said. “Nightmares, made flesh.”

“I see,” said Cal. He held Dorid’s gaze, watching for a reaction. “And tell me, doctor, just how much of that is true?”

“Uh, I’m not a doctor,” said Dorid.

“Oh,” said Cal. “Right. Really? That’s a shame, because it sounded really dramatic when I added ‘doctor’ in there.” He turned to Loren. “It did, didn’t it?”

Loren rolled her eyes and shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” said Cal. He looked along the table to Dorid. “The question still stands, though, doctor or not. How much of that ‘nightmares made flesh’ stuff is true?” He gestured around them. “Exactly what goes on here in Castle Tarkula?”

Dorid tapped his finger on the tabletop. His smile widened slowly as another peal of thunder rumbled above the castle. “How about you all come downstairs and see for yourselves?”

* * *

Cal, Loren, Soonsho and Miz clopped down a spiral stone staircase, following the glow of Dorid’s fiery torch. A warm wind wafted up from below, moaning ominously as it rushed past, as if in a hurry to get away. The torch’s flame danced and flickered, scurrying misshapen shadows up the narrow stone walls.

“So, uh, I’m guessing you haven’t heard of elevators,” said Cal. Something about the acoustics of the place made his voice come straight back to him as a scratchy whisper.

“Oh, we have elevators. Several, in fact,” said Dorid. “But – and please forgive me – taking you in one of those would grant you access to the whole facility, and I don’t yet know you well enough to allow that. Please understand.”

He glanced back over his shoulder and the shadows twisted his face into a mockery of a grin. “Besides, Mr Carver, I thought you’d enjoy the scenic route.”

Cal stopped, then was almost knocked down the stairs when Loren, Soonsho and Miz all bumped into the back of him, in that order.

“Hey, wait a minute. Wait a minute. I never told you my name.”

Loren tutted. “Yes you did. You told him all our names almost immediately after he offered us dinner.”

“I think you even gave him your date of birth,” said Miz from the back of the line.

“Oh. Oh, yeah. So I did,” said Cal. He continued walking.

“Almost there,” said Dorid. “Won’t be long now.”

The flickering torchlight, creepy castle and general Hammer House of Horror vibe of the whole experience were combining to give Cal a serious case of the heebie-jeebies. As they arrived at the heavy wooden door at the bottom of the steps, he found himself reaching for his gun, then remembered it had been confiscated, and balled his hands into fists instead.

“Where was the breeze coming from?” asked Loren. Now they were at the bottom of the staircase, they could no longer feel the warm wind. There were no obvious gaps around the door, either, suggesting it hadn’t snuck through there.

“Not sure, actually,” said Dorid, shrugging as he turned the dark metal handle set into the door. “Never been able to trace it. Not for want of trying, I should add. Now…”

He pulled aside the wooden door, revealing a chrome-colored metal door behind it. A light shone from a circular lens in the center of the door, mapping Dorid’s face with a criss-crossing illuminated grid.

Then, with a soft sshunk, the door slid upwards, revealing a long, brightly-lit and refreshingly modern-looking metal walkway beyond. Dorid stepped aside and motioned towards the open door.

“Please,” he insisted. “After you.”

Cal stepped through the door and into one of the top three largest rooms he’d ever been in. It was a vast chamber, easily a couple of square miles in size, and almost as high. The metal walkway was located fifty feet or more above the ground, with an industrial-looking elevator connecting the two levels.

The Currently Untitled sat on the ground level, resting on a large circle of slate. Dozens of Dorids ferried components to and from the ship, carrying away the damaged-looking equipment and replacing it with shiny new parts.

Cal leaned on the railing and gazed down at the ship. He’d never seen it from this angle before. He still missed the Shatner, but fonk, this thing was sexy.

“I’m rather proud of this one,” said Dorid, joining Cal at the railing. “I had a lot of fun building her. Almost considered taking her out for a spin myself, before Zertex came and took her.”

“You make ships for Zertex?” asked Cal.

“Not intentionally, no,” said Dorid, his lips thin. “I make ships for the love of it. Because I can, and because I enjoy pushing the boundaries. Sometimes, Zertex decides to take one. To show that they can.”

“Yeah,” said Cal, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds like them. Bunch of amshoops.”

“How did you get it here so fast?” Loren wondered. “The ship, I mean. After the hologram, it just sort of… fell. And then we were here.”

“Subspace,” said Dorid, as if that answered everything.

“Subspace?” said Loren, using just the right amount of emphasis to ensure he understood it answered nothing.

“Yes,” said Dorid, smiling gently and talking slowly, as if addressing an idiot. “Subspace.”

Cal straightened suddenly and pointed down to a spot near the Untitled. A little green blob was sitting on a chair there, wearing an oversized red hat. “Hey, Splurt. It’s Splurt!”

“Your friend?” said Dorid. He gestured to the elevator. “Come on, I’ll take you down.”

The elevator was an ancient-looking contraption, with mesh flooring, gaps in the walls, and – most likely – a list of Health & Safety violations a mile long. It rattled and shook as a thick cord of metal cable spooled out, lowering it jerkily to the floor below.

As soon as Dorid manually heaved the door aside, Cal bounded out, practically skipping across to where Splurt sat. Up close, the cap on his head – complete with ‘Engineer’ emblazoned on the front in gold – looked ridiculously oversized. Just from his eyes – because there was literally nothing else to go on – Cal could tell the little guy loved it.

“Look at you!” Cal cooed. He made a frame shape with fingers and thumbs from both hands, aimed it at Splurt and made a camera sound. “That’s one for the scrapbook.”

One of the Dorids smiled at Cal and came over to join him. Unlike the other Dorids working on the ship’s repairs, this one didn’t have a hat on.

“Hello there!” said the Dorid. “Friend of yours?”

Cal nodded. “I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

“What? No, no trouble at all,” said the Dorid, rubbing Splurt’s head through the hat. His smile widened as the others approached. “Ladies. Dorid.”

“Dorid,” said Dorid, returning the other Dorid’s nod. “How goes it?”

“Well, there was a lot of damage, and several of the systems were completely clogged with, uh, remains.”

“We had visitors,” Cal explained. “They broke the ship.”

“It’s in hand,” said the other Dorid. “Should have everything back up and running within the hour. Provided I don’t stand around here yakking all day!” He smiled and nodded at everyone again. “I’ll get back to it. Sir. Ladies. Dorid.”

“Dorid,” said Dorid.

They watched him head back into the ship. “So, they’re all called Dorid?” Cal asked.

“Of course,” said Dorid. “Why wouldn’t they be? It’s their name, after all.”

“And everyone’s identical?” asked Loren.

“To a point,” said Dorid. “They have most of my memories, but not all. And, of course, from the moment they were created they began forming their own memories, based on their own experiences.”

“So, like, how do you know you’re the real one?” asked Miz.

The bottom half of Dorid’s face smiled, while the top half frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“If everyone’s identical, and all called, like, Dorid or whatever, how do you know you’re the original?”

“Well, because I remember building my cloning machine. I remember my failed attempts. The endless tinkering until I perfected the technique. I remember it all.”

“Oh, OK,” said Miz. She appeared to be satisfied by this, but that didn’t last long. “Only, won’t those other guys have those memories, too?”

Dorid blinked several times. He looked across to one of the other Dorids who was busily loading a burnt-out ship part onto a floating trolley. “Well… I mean, yes. Partly. However, unlike them, I remember everything.”

“Except the soup,” said Cal.

Dorid turned to him. “Pardon?”

“The soup. I’m just saying, you couldn’t remember what kind of soup it was.”

A flicker of irritation passed over Dorid’s face. “So? It’s soup. I’m one of the foremost inventors in this sector. In the galaxy. I create spacecraft which laugh in the face of conventional physics. You’ll forgive me if I don’t spend my time memorizing flavors of soup.” He moved off at pace towards the landing hatch. “Come. Let’s take a look inside.”

“Man. Touchy, much?” Cal mumbled.

“Well, you basically just accused him of being fake,” said Loren.

“She started it!” said Cal, pointing to Miz. He glanced back at Soonsho. The girl still looked as anxious as ever. “Hey, it’s OK. We’re getting the ship fixed, then we’re going to get you home.”

He scooped Splurt up, and the little blob wrapped around him like a backpack. “Now, let’s go see how things are shaping up.”

The inside of the ship was far less chaotic than any of them had been expecting. The Dorids were methodically tidy, carefully removing each damaged component, then ferrying it away just as the replacement part was brought in.

“Well, this is all looking ship-shape,” said Cal. He grinned. “See what I did there? Because we’re on a—”

“Yes,” sighed Loren. “We get it. Well done.”

Dorid led them through several rooms, pointed to insanely complicated-looking bits of machinery, then explained their purpose in great detail. Cal nodded throughout, occasionally adding a, “yep,” or a, “makes sense,” to suggest he was A) listening and B) had the faintest idea what the guy was talking about.

In the fifth or sixth room – a long, narrow one that Cal had never even seen before, with an entire wall covered by thousands of colorful cables all snaking through one another – they found Mech deep in conversation with another Dorid.

“Hey!” said Cal. “How’s the arm?”

“It was my leg,” Mech grunted. “And it’s fine.”

“Was it? You sure?”

“Of course I’m fonking sure.”

Cal held up his hands in surrender. “OK, OK, easy big guy. It’s your arm, not mine.”

“Leg.”

“Right. Right,” said Cal, very much enjoying the look on Mech’s face. “Leg. Gotcha.”

He turned to the Dorid. “Any chance you guys could have a look at the weapons?”

Mech’s feet whirred as he shifted on the spot. “Already spoke to them about it,” he said.

“It’s just, well, Mech tried to fix them, but… you couldn’t, could you? You couldn’t figure it out.”

The other Dorid opened his mouth, but Mech quickly jumped in. “Like I say, already in hand. They’re going to fix it.”

“Great!” said Cal. “So, what was the problem, exactly?”

Mech sighed. The other Dorid watched him for a moment, unsure whether to speak. When it became clear Mech wasn’t going to talk over him, he explained.

“The safety catch was on.”

Cal struggled to keep his face straight. It wasn’t easy. “Sorry? Say that again. Loren, can you write this down, in case the problem ever comes up again?” He put a finger behind his ear and pushed it forwards a little towards the Dorid. “So, you were saying? The…”

“Safety catch,” Mech growled. “The weapon system has a safety protocol.”

“Well,” breathed Cal, tucking his thumbs into Splurt’s straps and rocking back on his heels. “Well, well, well. That is good to know, isn’t it, Mech? Remind me, how long did you spend trying to get the weapons working?”

“In his defense,” said the Dorid. “It’s not immediately obvious. The button can be quite hard to find.”

“The button?” yelped Cal, loving every minute of this. “There’s a button? Let me guess, does it say ‘safety catch’ on it somewhere?”

The Dorid glanced sideways at the visibly fuming Mech. “Uh, not exactly, but something along those…” He cleared his throat and shot the first Dorid an imploring look.

“Thank you, Dorid, that will be all,” said Dorid. The other Dorid seemed to inflate with sheer relief, then he nodded at Mech and Cal, smiled briefly at Loren, Miz and Soonsho, then darted out into the corridor.

The original Dorid craned his neck back and looked up at the ceiling. “How about K-Seven-Zero Dash Nine-Three-Three-Zero-Seven Dash Zeta?” he said. “How deep does the damage run, I wonder?”

“To be honest, he was pretty damaged already,” Cal said. “Between you and me, he was a little… eccentric.”

“I see,” said Dorid.

“By which I mean he was fonking insane.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure we can fix that and put him back to his original configuration.”

Cal nodded, but then stopped. “You know what? Just fix him back to how he was before the damage. Can you do that?”

“I mean, I’m sure we could, but if he was behaving problematically…”

“It’s fine. It was nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Dorid nodded. “Very well. I’ll go get someone on it, right away.”

He headed for the door. Cal moved to follow, but Mech caught his arm and held him back until the others had filed out.

“Hey, man. I need to talk to you,” Mech whispered.

Cal’s eyes looked the cyborg up and down. “Are you coming on to me right now?” he whispered back.

Mech’s metal jaw tensed. “Shut the fonk up,” he said. He leaned out into the corridor, making sure no-one was within earshot, then turned back to Cal. “There’s something I think you should see.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

After walking confidently off the ship and striding across the underground hangar like he owned the fonking place – a technique he had used time and time again back on Earth to gain entry into any number of off-limits locations – Cal had followed Mech into a far more robust-looking elevator than the one leading down from the walkway.

“Please state destination,” the elevator chimed.

Mech cleared his throat then, in a note-perfect imitation of Dorid’s voice, said: “Lab level four.”

The elevator hummed pleasantly as it glided upwards. “I didn’t know you could do that,” said Cal. “The voice thing.”

Mech shrugged. “Yeah. It’s no big deal.”

“Can you do anyone else?” Cal asked.

“Of course I can,” Mech said. “Why the fonk would I be able to only impersonate some random scientist dude living in the ams-end of nowhere?”

“Do me! Do me!” said Cal, but before Mech could answer, the door slid open, revealing a long, starkly-lit corridor lined with dozens of reinforced doors. Unlike downstairs, which had been positively brimming with them, this corridor was utterly devoid of Dorids.

Mech put a finger to his lips and motioned for Cal to follow.

“What is it? What are you going to show me?” Cal whispered, hurrying to keep up.

“Just wait and see,” said Mech. “One of the clones fixed my leg in a room along here,” he said. “Made a pretty good job of it, too. Told me to go for a walk to try it out, and, well, I poked around.”

He stopped outside one of the doors and glanced both ways along the corridor. “And I found this place.”

Cal studied the door. It looked like all the other doors they’d already passed, and identical to the scores of others lining the walls of the corridor ahead. Despite the door being reinforced, it opened with a single press of a button on the wall beside it.

Darkness filled the room beyond. Cal leaned forwards a little and peered into the gloom. “What is it? What’s in there?” he whispered, then Splurt suddenly tightened his grip around Cal, almost making him jump out of his skin in fright.

“Jesus Christ!” Cal hissed. Splurt rippled happily on his back. “Yeah, yeah, very funny,” Cal said. “But next time you’re captured and brainwashed by an elderly assassin, you’re fonking staying that way.”

He stepped cautiously into the room. A series of lights hummed into life above him, illuminating twenty or more tables lined up along the walls. Objects of various shapes and sizes sat on the tabletops, each of them hidden beneath white sheets.

“Take a look,” said Mech, gesturing to the closest table.

Cal approached it slowly, ducking and tilting his head to try to get a look under the cloth. “What is it?” he asked.

“Just look, man!”

“Mech, I swear, if this is, like, a head on a stick, or a load of babies’ eyes or some shizz…”

“Babies’ eyes? Why the fonk would it be babies’ eyes?”

“I don’t know! I’m just saying, it’d better not be.” He took hold of the sheet, started to pull it off, then stopped. “It isn’t, is it? It isn’t babies’ eyes?”

“Just lift the fonking sheet before someone comes looking for us.”

Cal steadied himself, took a deep breath, then pulled off the sheet. “Oh my God,” he whispered, gazing down at the object on the table. “It’s… It’s…” He puffed out his cheeks. “Nope. Not a clue. What is that?”

It looked like several different household appliances had been broken into their component parts, randomly mixed up, then rebuilt by someone wearing a blindfold. There were shiny chrome parts, white plastic parts, loose wires, several buttons, a couple of short, stubby hoses and a pair of joysticks mounted on spindly metal arms that looked like they might fall off at any second.

“I got no idea,” Mech admitted.

Cal nodded slowly. “Then why did you show me?”

“Because this place is full of this stuff,” Mech said, his metal jaw curving into a grin. He began pointing at sheets. “Some kinda shield focuser. A propulsion system. For underwater, I think. A warp disk generator. It makes fonking warp disks!”

“Great,” said Cal. “But why are you showing me? This is more Loren’s thing. I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s the kind of thing she’d like.” He stared into space for a moment. “Is it? I really need to get to know her better.”

“Focus, man,” Mech told him. “The reason I told you is because… how much do you think all this is worth?”

Cal looked across the tables and shrugged. “A lot?”

“A lot,” Mech confirmed. “And it’s just sitting here. Just lying around, gathering dust. He ain’t going to miss it.”

Cal opened his mouth in an expression of very deliberate shock and outrage. “Mech, you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“I ain’t saying we should take all of it,” Mech said. “But, well, if we want to avoid this war that’s coming – really avoid it – we’re going to need to get all the way to the other end of Nebula 99.”

“What’s Nebula 99? It sounds like a nightclub.”

“What? No. This is. We’re in it. Our galaxy, that’s part of the 99th Nebula,” Mech explained. “There are hundreds of others – well, I mean, there’s an infinite number of others, but there are hundreds of them catalogued. This one’s the 99th.”

Cal blinked. “But, I mean… who catalogued it?”

“Say what?”

“The nebula. It’s the 99th one. Who discovered 98 others before this one?”

Mech opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Well, I mean… it’s just Nebula 99, OK? Everyone knows that. My point is, if we want to avoid this war, we’ll have to get all the way across it, and that is going to cost.”

“We’re taking Soonsho home,” Cal reminded him. “We’re getting a million credits.”

“Yeah, between four of us.”

Splurt raised his eyes above Cal’s shoulder and shot Mech a withering look.

“Fine. Between five of us,” Mech snapped. “That ain’t going to get us far.”

Cal looked down at the machine on the table for a few seconds, then pulled the sheet down over it. “Dorid’s helping us. He’s fixing the ship. He gave us soup. I mean, a spoon wouldn’t have killed him, but… We can’t just steal from him.”

“Uh, yes. We can,” said Mech. “Two or three of these things could set us up for a long time. We can go anywhere we want. Get out of here before all the shooting starts.”

The small area of his face that was still organic took on a faraway look. “I’ve seen what it’s like, man. I’ve seen what happens.”

“We’re not thieves,” said Cal. “I mean, technically you and I are. And Splurt, Miz and Loren, too, to a slightly lesser extent, but… Dorid saved us. Is it weird that he shares a creepy castle with his identical clones? Yes. Yes, it is. But we can’t just take his stuff. It’s not right.”

Mech shook his head, then let out a long, weary sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

He took a final look around the room as Cal headed for the door, then followed behind.

Once back in the corridor, Cal headed back towards the elevator. “So, the way I see it, our plan is we get the ship fixed, get out of here, then just foot down and full speed ahead to Calamari Prime.”

“Cantato Minor,” Mech corrected.

“That’s the one. We drop off Soonsho, collect our loot, then decide our next move from there.”

He stopped outside another door. This one was set further back in an alcove. He hadn’t noticed it on the way in due to the angle of the wall, but now it had caught his eye, and something about it made him take a step closer.

“What’s in there?”

“How should I know?” Mech grunted. “I didn’t look in that one.”

“Come on, are you still grouchy that I wouldn’t let you steal Dorid’s stuff?” said Cal, reproachfully. “I told you, Dorid’s a nice guy. Also, stealing is wrong. Unless it’s from Zertex, then it’s to be encouraged.”

He tapped the button next to the door. It slid upwards, revealing another darkened room. This time, when Cal stepped inside, only one light came on. It flickered and buzzed on the high ceiling, illuminating hundreds of thick glass tubes that stuck up from the floor like stalagmites. Or possibly the other one, Cal could never remember which was which.

Each tube was ten to twelve feet high, and perhaps just a little less around the circumference. Layers of dust and grime covered the glass, but when the light flickered just right, Cal thought he saw unmoving shapes lurking within.

Splurt tensed, almost making Cal scream again. “Stop fonking doing that,” he hissed, shuffling closer to one of the tubes.

Cupping his hands around his eyes, Cal peered into the tube, but the dust was too thick to see through. Using his sleeve, he wiped a patch clean – or cleaner at least – and tried again.

“Oh,” he said. “Ooh boy.”

“What is it?” asked Mech.

Cal turned, opened his mouth to reply, then had to look through the glass again to make sure he hadn’t been seeing things.

“It’s Dorid,” said Cal. “Only he’s… well, he’s not as pretty as the one we’ve come to know and love, let’s put it that way.”

He wiped a larger area of the dust away and stepped aside. The light flickered, briefly picking out the details on the shape in the tank. It was suspended in a clear gel, with hooks cupping it under each arm to stop it flopping to the floor of the tube.

It was Dorid’s face. That part was unmistakable. It was the rest of the figure that was different.

The naked torso was horribly out of proportion. A bulging ribcage sat atop a painfully narrow mid-section and unevenly-matched hips. One shoulder was set higher than the other, while both arms were thin and wiry.

Most troubling of all was the second face – also recognizably Dorid’s – which grew from the left-side of the abdomen, the mouth and eyes wide open in a terrible silent scream.

“So, you know I said he was a nice guy…?” said Cal. “That may yet still be up for debate.”

“It’s alive,” said Mech.

Cal rapped his knuckles on the glass. The thing inside didn’t respond. “No. That’s definitely dead. I mean, I can’t kick it, and I doubt it’s going to hear me if I say, ‘hello,’ but I’m willing to go out on a limb and make the call on this one.”

Mech shook his head and gestured to the scanner display on his arm. “I’m telling you, man, it’s alive.” His eyes went to the other tubes. “They’re all alive.”

“Gluk Disselpoof,” said Cal, using Mech’s real name. “Cut that out. I’ll hear no more of this crazy talk.”

“Actually, he’s quite correct,” said a voice from deeper into the room.

Cal recognized it as Dorid’s voice, but it was different somehow. Exactly how different, and why, he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

A figure shuffled from the darkness, the light flitting across his worn and weather-beaten features. Dorid smiled, wrinkling the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. “Forgive me for not greeting you personally. I tend to keep myself to myself these days.”

“Wait,” said Cal. “So you’re…”

The old man smiled. “The original Dorid Tarkula, yes.”

“But the guy downstairs,” said Mech, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging.

“I allow one to think of themselves as the first,” said Dorid, his voice hoarse and faltering, like his breath couldn’t quite carry it past his lips. “It keeps morale up, and stops them coming to look for me.”

He drew his fingertips across his face, tracing the lines of his wrinkles. “It’s funny, really. I created them to keep me company, yet find myself valuing my solitude more and more.”

“That is… yep. That’s definitely funny,” said Cal. “I mean, not hilarious, but it has, you know, a certain wry…” He stopped talking and pointed to the closest tube. “And, uh…?”

Dorid let out a low nasal whine that was somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “Errors of judgement,” he said. “Miscalculations, from when I was perfecting the required techniques.”

He pressed a hand reverently against the glass. “They were the first. I learned from them all. From the mistakes which had made them… different.”

“And you left them alive?” said Mech.

Dorid nodded. Even this effort seemed to make him breathless, and it was several seconds before he could speak. “I could not bring myself to terminate them,” he explained. “They are me. They are… my children, for better or worse. And so, here they sleep. Endlessly sleep. Never aging. Never dying. Trapped, forever, between life and death.”

Cal clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. “O-K,” he said, turning the letters into two separate words. “Well, this has been nice. Great to meet you. The real you, I mean. Good luck with… all of this, and we’ll just see ourselves out.”

“Before you go, Mr Carver…”

Cal stopped backing towards the exit. “Now, I know I didn’t tell you my name,” he said.

“Ha!” said Dorid. “No, but I’m afraid there is nowhere in this facility I cannot see. I’ve been watching you from the moment you arrived. I’d almost considered coming down and revealing myself to you when I saw you headed to this floor. Much better to be able to talk privately, don’t you think?”

“Uh… maybe,” said Cal. “I mean, not always, but… Well, here we are.”

“The ship. You stole it?”

“Well, that’s one way of putting it,” Cal admitted. “Another way would be that we saved it from an exploding planet. That’s how I like to look at it.”

Dorid chuckled. “Please don’t misunderstand me. The ship is yours now. Zertex took it from me, and if you took it from them, then I applaud you for it. I am not what you might call ‘a fan’ of theirs.”

“Preach, sister,” said Cal.

Dorid frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Dorid hesitated, then continued. “Yes. Quite. The ship should be ready soon, I understand. The other Dorids, they are quite efficient. You will be free to leave at any time.”

“That is awesome. We really appreciate this,” said Cal. “Don’t we, Mech?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we really appreciate it.”

Dorid waved a hand. “Think nothing of it,” he said. “But there is, of course, the matter of payment.”

A moment passed in silence.

“Payment?” said Cal.

“The equipment being replaced on the ship is worth… Well, it’s priceless, in many respects. I’m afraid I can’t just give it to you free of charge.”

Cal nodded. “No, OK, OK, that’s fair. We don’t have much money now, but we’re about to bag a reward worth a mill… worth half a million credits. We’d be happy to pay the bill out of that.”

“No, it isn’t money I’m after. I have plenty of that,” said Dorid. “I want the girl. The Cantatorian.”

Cal and Mech swapped glances. “You want Soonsho?” asked Cal. “Why? So you can claim the reward?”

Dorid laughed. It was a dry, scratchy sort of laugh, almost like a cough. “As I say, I have plenty of money. I’m interested in her gift. Her ability. See, since you arrived, I’ve been researching the young lady, and, well, it seems she is quite unique.”

“In what way?” asked Mech.

“Her vocal range is… limited in some ways, unrivalled in others. Unlike other Cantatorian females, she is unable to use her voice’s hypnotic qualities. The tones she emits are far too destructive,” Dorid explained. “Were she to sing a note, the damage would be off the scale. Those within earshot would not fall under her thrall, largely because their intestines would erupt through their skin and their skeletons would be vibrated into dust.”

“Yeah, we saw something like that,” said Cal. “But I still don’t understand why you’d want her. You know, if she’s that dangerous?”

Dorid ran a hand down the dusty surface of another tank, then flaked the grime from his fingertips. “I have dedicated my life to pushing the frontiers of science and invention,” he said. “With this girl – with Soonsho – there is an opportunity to push them further. Her voice, weaponized, would be a remarkable thing.”

Mech stiffened. “So, what? So Zertex can come along and take it?”

“Precisely the opposite,” said Dorid. “With such a weapon, I could stop them coming. I could create an impenetrable shield and stop my work falling into their hands. I’m sure you’ve heard, we’re now at war. How long do you think it will be before Zertex comes here, looking for new weapons to give them an edge? And they’ll find them. So help me, we’ve built them, and they’ll find them.”

He lunged at Cal, moving surprisingly quickly for someone so old. His hand caught Cal’s arm, his fingers gripping like five tiny vices. “With the Cantatorian, I can stop them. I can stop them coming here. My work will be safe.”

“You make an excellent case,” said Cal. “Seriously, well done.” He gently pulled his arm free of Dorid’s hold. “But I’m going to have to say no. We’re going to take Soonsho home to her parents. We’ve already told them we’re coming.”

“I can give you the reward,” said Dorid, his voice clipped and urgent. “I’ll double it. Whatever they’re offering, I’ll double it right now if you leave her here.”

Cal made a point of not looking at Mech, who he knew would probably be considering the offer. To his surprise, it was the cyborg who answered.

“The girl’s not for sale, man,” Mech said. “We’re taking her home.”

“Oh,” said Dorid. He seemed to shrink slightly as he withdrew. “Oh. Yes, of course.” He nodded solemnly and wrapped his arms around his frail frame. “I wish it were different, I really do.”

“Thanks for being understanding,” said Cal. “We’ll find a way to repay you for the ship, don’t you worry about that. Anything you need – you know, that doesn’t involve leaving a kidnapped teenage girl in your sole custody – just name it.”

“I’m sorry. I truly am,” said Dorid.

Cal frowned. “For what?”

“For this,” said Dorid as, one by one, the glass tubes lowered into the floor, spilling their fluid in wide pools around them.

The monstrous Dorids were revealed like gameshow prizes, their full horror now presented for all to see. Each one resembled Dorid in some way, but it was as if each one had been designed by children in Day Care, then assembled by a panel of psychopaths.

Cal felt Splurt slowly sink down his back, out of sight, as the dozens of deformed Dorid’s all snapped open their eyes and shambled forwards off their hooks.

“Uh, what are they doing?” asked Cal, his eyes flitting from one walking nightmare to the next. “Dorid?”

“I’m sorry,” said Dorid. “But I can’t let you leave with the girl. If you won’t give her to me, you leave me no choice.”

“How’s this for a choice, motherfonker?” growled Mech, raising his arms and taking aim at the two closest Dorid-freaks.

Nothing happened.

Mech clenched his fists and thrust his arms forward, as if trying to throw the laser blasts towards the oncoming monsters, but still nothing happened.

“My guns ain’t working,” said Mech. “What did you do to me?”

“So many apologies,” oozed Dorid. “I feared it might come to this. I couldn’t take the chance that you’d fight back.”

Cal looked across to Mech and sighed. “You had to take my gun, didn’t you? You just had to take my fonking gun.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Cal ran. He skidded out into the corridor, slammed against the opposite wall, then launched himself towards the elevator.

From three of the five doors between him and the exit came several shambling Dorids, all twisted and groaning and bent.

Cal passed Mech in the opposite direction as the cyborg clanked out into the passageway. “Change of plan, this way!” he shouted, powering along the corridor away from the lift.

Mech hurried along behind him. It wasn’t that they couldn’t fight the Dorids, it was more that they really didn’t want to. They were nightmarishly ugly, with extra faces, twisted bodies, and drool. So much drool.

More doors slid open ahead of Cal. He heard the Dorids’ moans before he saw the monsters emerge.

“Shizz! In here!”

Cal slapped the button beside one of the doors and dived inside as it opened. It was the same room Mech had brought him to earlier, and the lights still blazed inside.

Mech reached the door at the same time as one of the faster Dorids. This one had the look of a Play Doh model left too long on a warm radiator. Its face had melted down its neck, and a mouth hissed and spat at Mech from halfway down the creature’s chest.

“Urgh! Fonk off!” Mech yelped, punching the monster in the center of its faceless head, and sending it stumbling across the corridor.

He ducked into the room, and Cal slammed the button to close it behind him. “Lock!” Cal yelped. “Is there a… how do you…?”

Mech slid a switch beneath the button and the door let out a reassuring ka-lunk as it locked. Even through the reinforced metal, they heard the groaning and shuffling of the Dorid-things filling the corridor outside.

“Well this is problematic,” said Cal. He looked the door up and down. “How long do you think it’ll hold?”

“Against those things? Forever,” said Mech. “Except Dorid – the real one, not the dudes with their faces where their tits should be – will have the override code to open it.”

“Tits!” exclaimed Cal. “We can say ‘tits!’ That one’s totally going on the list.”

He caught Mech’s withering look and quietly cleared his throat. “Sorry. Continue.”

“There ain’t nothin’ to continue,” Mech told him. “Dorid will open the door, them ugly-ams motherfonkers will come in, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Can’t we fight them?”

“I mean, I guess we’re gonna have to,” said Mech. “But you saw those things. You seriously want to go touching any of them?”

“We’d be fighting them, not molesting them,” Cal pointed out. He shuddered involuntarily. “Although, I take your point. With the drool and the melty faces and everything. I’m not exactly over the moon about getting close to them, either. I just don’t see that we’ve got a lot of choice. Unless…”

He turned and cast his gaze across the room. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute,” he said, an idea forming. He crossed to the closest table and lifted the heavy white sheet that had been concealing the ultra-futuristic-looking gadget below.

A smile spread slowly across his face. “I love it when a plan comes together.”

* * *

Mech and Cal barreled along the corridor, the sheet draped over their heads. Mech was in front, ducking low, his shoulders knocking the freaks aside like skittles. Cal scurried behind, holding tightly to the fabric to prevent it flapping loose.

“I cannot fonking believe this is the best plan we could come up with,” Mech grunted.

“Shut up and keep running,” Cal said. “And try not to bump into any more walls.”

He could hear some of the freaks racing along behind, squealing and hissing as they thrashed their twisted limbs around. Cal’s buttocks took it upon themselves to clench, as if they’d both come to the conclusion that something might be about to thrust a malformed appendage beneath the sheet, and jointly agreed they weren’t particularly in favor of it.

One of the monsters landed heavily on Mech’s lowered head and shoulders. He grunted, then slammed it against the wall, staining the sheet in blotches of red. The material jerked as something grabbed it from behind. Splurt transformed into a curved metal blade and scythed in an arc beneath the sheet’s trailing edge. The monster squealed, and the tugging on the fabric stopped.

“Why aren’t we at the elevator yet?” Cal yelped. “How fonking long is this corridor?!”

The question was answered immediately, when Mech slammed into the elevator doors. Throwing off the sheet, Mech jabbed at the call button, then he and Cal turned their backs to the door and waited.

The corridor heaved with a Who’s Who of monstrous deformity. Packed between its walls was a shambling horde of bulging skulls, bent backs, gnarled limbs and gawping, lifeless faces.

Cal reached past Mech and jabbed the button again. Several times. “Come on, come on. Hurry up.”

“Elevator override,” wheezed the real Dorid, and Cal just then noticed he was in there with the rest of them, so old and frail that he blended in perfectly with his army of freaks.

“Cancel that,” said Mech, perfectly imitating Dorid’s voice. Then, in his own voice, he added: “Open the shizzing door!”

The door swished open. Cal fell backwards inside, with Mech hot on his heels.

“Get them!” hissed Dorid. “Don’t let them get away!”

The doors began to close. Cal just had time to fire off a deeply sarcastic salute, then the elevator car began its descent.

“That was close,” Cal said.

“A sheet,” Mech muttered. “All that equipment, and we hid beneath a fonking sheet.” An odd sort of staccato hiss emerged from his throat. At first, Cal thought something terrible must be happening to him, but then he realized that – for perhaps the first time since they’d met - Mech was laughing.

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” said Cal, grinning.

“I mean, state of the art weapons. Who knows what else? And we hide beneath a fonking sheet,” Mech chuckled. “Man, that is one for the books.”

“We’ll write it up later,” said Cal, as the elevator slowed. “For now, we need to round up the others, get the ship, and get out of here before Old Man Dorid and the Ugly Gang show up. I’d rather not see those faces again. You know, other than every time I ever close my eyes again, I mean.”

The doors began to open. “Remember,” said Cal. “Stride confidently, look like you’re engaged in something important, and whatever you do, don’t run.”

Dozens of Dorids turned to face the elevator as the doors pinged open. Their faces were twisted with rage, their hands clutching tools and pipes and other makeshift weapons.

“On second thoughts,” said Cal. “Let’s go with running.”

“Oh, man, what I wouldn’t do for my guns,” said Mech, as the Dorids began to quickly close in. He thrust an arm forwards and tried firing again, but the result was the same as before, in that there wasn’t one. “Nothing.”

“Did they fit a safety?” Cal asked.

“What? No!” Mech snorted. He glanced down at his arm, tapped a switch, then raised his arm again. A blast of fizzing red energy punched a hole through a line of Dorids.

Mech shot Cal a sidelong glance. “Don’t,” he said. “Do not say a fonking word.”

“Tell you what,” said Cal. “Get us to the ship, and your secret is safe with me.”

Mech brought his other arm up. Two beams of red scythed through another group of Dorids, carving them into three pieces each. “Deal,” he grunted, then he ran ahead, his metal feet shaking the floor as he blasted a path towards the Untitled.

A swarm of armed Dorids appeared from behind the ship. Rather than the makeshift hitty and stabby things the others had, this lot were equipped with rifles and blasters and, unless Cal was very much mistaken, a bazooka.

As the Dorids rushed past the ship, Loren appeared at the bottom of the hatch, the laser turret strapped across her chest. She squeezed the triggers and the weapon poured hot, fiery death into the backs of the Dorid horde, reducing them to quivering chunks of gristle and meat.

Cal beamed at her as he ran past. “Loren, I could kiss you!” he said. He hesitated briefly on the ramp. “Seriously, I mean, if you want I could—”

“Get on the fonking ship!” Mech said, shoving Cal up the ramp and blasting holes in a few more Dorids. Loren fired in a wide arc, driving a few dozen more clones back, then she darted into the ship and tossed the turret aside.

“Close the hatch,” she cried. “We’re getting out of here.”

Cal dropped into his seat and hurriedly fastened his belt. “Is everything fixed?”

“So they said,” Loren told him, clambering into her own chair. Miz and Soonsho were already strapped in – Soonsho looking terrified, Miz borderline bored. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“Hatch closed!” Mech called, hurrying onto the bridge. “But there are more of those guys coming. We should get going.”

The Untitled’s engines whined and the viewscreen flickered into life. Sure enough, the hangar was now full of Dorids. They emerged from doors like insects from cracks in the soil, tumbling over one another as they rushed to close in.

The elevator Cal and Mech had used opened, and a pack of Dorid’s freaks stumbled into the fray. “What the Hell are those things?” Loren yelped, but then she shook her head and focused her attention on the controls again.

“What happened? When did they start acting crazy?” Cal asked.

“Just, like, a minute ago,” said Miz. “I’m guessing this is all totally your fault.”

“Yes,” said Cal. “No. Kind of. They wanted Soonsho, we said no. There were monsters, we wore a sheet, it was a whole complicated thing. Can we please just get out of here?”

“Here goes!” cried Loren. She pulled back on the controls and the Untitled rose rapidly, lurched backwards, then scraped up the inside of the cavern wall. Cal held tightly to his armrests as the ship vibrated violently around them.

“You’re aw-w-ware this is ha-a-appening, yes?” he said.

“I’m on it,” Loren said. “Do something about the roof.”

Cal glanced up at the ship’s ceiling. “Wha-a-t’s wrong with the roo-oof?”

“Not that roof,” said Loren. The ship tilted and pulled free of the wall, revealing a circle of metal blocking the cavern’s only visible exit. “That roof.”

“Ooh, OK. Kevin!” Cal cried.

There was a brief, high-pitched electronic whine, then a worrying few moments of silence. Finally, a voice emerged from a speaker overhead.

“You rang, sir?”

“Oh, thank God,” Cal muttered. “Kevin, we got us a problem. We need to get out of here, and there’s a door in the way. What do we do?”

“Opening the door would seem like a logical first step, sir,” Kevin suggested.

“Awesome!” said Cal. “Yeah, do that!”

“Oh, no, I can’t do that, sir. I’m not connected to those systems. I was merely offering a hypothetical solution.”

The metal disk almost filled the whole screen now. They were going to hit!

“Were you looking for a more practical solution, sir?” Kevin asked.

“Yes!” Cal shouted.

“Very good, sir.”

A blast of white light zipped from one of the wing-mounted weapons, almost blinding them all as it streaked past the screen. The circle of metal glowed brightly for barely any time at all, then vanished, exposing a sky full of stars waiting beyond.

“Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes, Kevin, that will be all!” Cal cheered, then the Untitled rocketed through the gap, sonic-boomed upwards across the sky, before punching through the atmosphere with the faintest of faint pops.

“Wooohooo!” Cal cried, thrusting a fist into the air. “We are outta here!”

The Untitled banked left. Ahead of it, eight fighter ships trained their weapons. “Oh Jesus, what now?” Cal sighed. “Who are these people? More Dorids? Kornack’s men?”

“We’re being hailed,” said Loren.

Cal tutted. “Well, you’d better answer, I guess. Let’s find out who we’re dealing with. But, I mean, seriously. They couldn’t even let us have one cool uninterrupted getaway sequence.”

Loren tapped a button and a face appeared in the top right corner. It was, Cal reckoned, one of the worst faces he’d ever seen. Not in the same way the faces of the failed Dorid clones had been bad – those were creepy and disturbing, while this face just silently implied a whole list of terrible things the owner of it would be willing to do to you. Keen to do to you, in fact.

The face somehow managed to look like the entire cast of The Lion King at the same time, all teeth and tusks and warts and scars. It even had a dark mane of fur around its neck, and a darker core of hatred in its cold, black eyes.

Cal pointed to the screen and glanced around at the others. “Anyone have any idea who this is now?”

“Unidentified vessel,” barked the face, in a voice that was surprisingly feminine. Or, surprisingly feminine for those features, anyway. “Surrender, or be destroyed.”

“Uh, hi there,” said Cal, with a positively irritating amount of enthusiasm. “I’m Cal. These are the guys. Guys, say hello.”

“Hello.”

“’Sup.”

“Whatever.”

Cal draped an arm across the back of his chair and cranked up his smile. “And you are?”

“You will hand over the Cantatorian,” said the woman. “Or we will blow you out of the sky.”

“Hold up, is this thing on?” asked Cal. He tapped an imaginary microphone and made a ‘doom, doom, doom’ sound with his mouth. “Testing, testing? I asked you what your name is.”

“I am Cassatra,” she growled. “We are the Xandrie. You will surrender the Cantatorian. Now.”

“OK,” said Cal.

“Do not make me ask…” Cassatra began, then she stopped. “What?”

“I said ‘OK.’ We’ll surrender her. You can take her.”

Everyone on the bridge looked at Cal in shock. “Say what?” said Mech.

“Seriously?” asked Miz.

“Yeah. It’s no big deal,” said Cal. “I mean, obviously we’ll have to ask Soonsho what she wants to do first.”

He held up a finger, gesturing for Cassatra to wait, then spun his chair to face Soonsho. “Hey, Soonsh. Can I call you Soonsh? Actually, forget it, it sounds terrible, and it saves, like, zero time. Soonsh-meister? No, that’s worse.”

He started again. “Hey, Soonsho. Quick question. Would you rather go with Lion McHornface over there to be, I don’t know, killed or whatever, or stay here with us, and we’ll take you home? Your call. No pressure. We’ll support you, either way.”

Soonsho hesitated for a moment, as if she were actually considering her options, then she raised a shaking finger and pointed to Cal. He winked at her, then spun his chair back to the front.

“Oops. Turns out I spoke too soon. She wants to stay with us. I know. Teenagers, right?” he said. “So, thank you for your kind offer, but on this occasion, we’re going to have to say ‘no.’” Cal sat upright in his chair and let his smile fall away, just a fraction. “Now, kindly fonk the fonk off, or we’ll shoot you all into little pieces, because this ship has some serious guns, and we’ve recently figured out where the safety catch is.”

“You have made a grave mistake,” warned Cassatra. “No-one crosses the Xandrie and lives.”

Her picture went dark, then vanished.

“They’re readying weapons,” said Mech. Several illuminated reticles appeared on each of the Xandrie ships, highlighting their guns. “Taking aim…”

“Shields up,” said Loren.

“Seatbelts on,” said Cal, clipping his belt around him. “Safety first.”

“Would you like to fire upon the Xandrie vessels, sir?” asked Kevin.

Cal glanced up. “Depends, is that a rhetorical question?”

“No, sir. I’m literally enquiring as to whether you’d literally like to open fire upon the literal Xandrie vessels currently preparing to fire upon us.”

“Then yes, Kevin. Yes, I would like that very much.” Cal banged the armrests with his fists and waited for the weapons controls to unfold like they had on the Shatner.

Instead, a beam of brilliant energy crackled from one of the Untitled’s guns and slammed into a Xandrie shield. The enemy ship rocked violently, shuddered a bit, then began to drift slowly backwards, the lights on its hull flickering for a moment, then going dark.

On screen, the seven other Xandrie ships climbed, fell and banked, separating as they rounded on the Untitled.

“Coming in fast,” Mech warned.

“On it,” said Loren, pulling on a stick and pushing on a lever. The ship barrel-rolled, then climbed steeply upwards towards Dorid’s planet, which was now, to Cal’s surprise, above them.

“Entering atmosphere in six seconds,” Kevin intoned. “Five. Four.”

Loren slammed the controls around again. The screen flared orange for a moment, but then they dropped away from the planet as if they were on a roller-coaster, and suddenly the underside of a Xandrie ship loomed directly ahead of them.

“Oh, lovely flying, ma’am,” Kevin congratulated.

“Thank you, Kevin,” said Loren. “At least someone appreciates me.”

There was another flare of weaponry and the Xandrie ship’s shields popped like a bubble. Another blast punched into its hull, sending it spinning out of the Untitled’s path just as Loren hit the thrusters.

Cal banged his fists on the armrests again. “Hey. I want the guns. The guns are my favorite part.”

“Probably easiest if I handle the weapons for now, sir,” said Kevin. “On account of my infinitely more advanced targeting abilities and reaction speeds. Also, you having no idea how to operate them might prove to be somewhat of a hindrance.”

A spray of laser blasts streaked across the screen as Loren banked into a climb so sharp and sudden Cal found himself flapping around like a rag doll in his chair, his seat belt the only thing stopping him flying out.

From beneath the chair, two long rubbery strands of gooey green wrapped around Cal’s ankles, holding his legs in place. “Thanks, buddy,” he called, then he howled in fright as the screen was filled by an oncoming Xandrie fighter craft.

The Xandrie ship had a glass canopy over the cockpit. Through the window, Cal saw a skeletal blue-gray alien opens its mouth to scream, before Loren sent the Untitled into a plunging dive, avoiding a head-on collision by a matter of feet.

“Ooh, shizz, that was close,” said Cal.

“We got more on our six,” warned Mech.

Miz peered down at the screen beside her chair. “And, like, I think there are some behind us.”

“Incoming torpedo,” said Kevin. “Suggest evasive action.”

Loren spun the ship into a corkscrew, looped backwards, then plunged straight down. “Not that fonking evasive!” Cal wheezed, his chair whirling him around like a spinning top. He grabbed for the underside. “How do you lock this thing in place?”

“Allow me, sir,” said Kevin. The chair snapped to an immediate stop, and Cal felt all his insides compact almost to the point of becoming one single internal organ.

“Christ!” he wheezed. Soonsho stared at him, her face pale and frightened. Cal shot her a reassuring smile, then shouted at the ceiling. “OK, but could you maybe have stopped me when I was facing the front?”

“Very good, sir,” said Kevin. The chair spun one-eighty, then slammed to a stop again.

“Thank you,” Cal grimaced. “Much better.”

Two Xandrie ships closed in from the left and right, the illuminated reticles picking out their weapons. Instinctively, his hands went for where the gun controls should be, but found none. “Come on!” he pleaded. “Let me shoot something.”

“Very well, sir. As you wish,” said Kevin.

There was a faint boing and a single joystick sprang from inside Cal’s chair and scythed towards his testicles. Screaming, Cal forced himself back into the seat, but the stick stopped with a few inches to spare.

Cal grabbed the stick. A blue target icon appeared on screen and wobbled erratically. There was a single red button on top of the joystick. Cal wrestled the targeting reticle over the ship on the left and jabbed his thumb down on the button.

A tiny red dot shot from one of the wing-mounted guns and drifted lazily towards the target. Everyone watched it as it rolled and tumbled through space, before breaking like a snowball against the Xandrie ship’s shield.

“Seriously?” Cal sighed, as a blast of concentrated white energy from another gun punctured the other ship, turning a full third of it into space debris. “That’s all I’m getting? That little peashooter?”

“Think of it as a training weapon, sir,” Kevin said. Loren twisted her stick and pulled back on another lever, banking the Untitled around until it was behind the ship Cal had shot at, closing fast. “We all have to start somewhere.”

“But, I mean, it doesn’t even make a noise. The last guns made a noise.”

“You could always make your own noise, sir,” suggested the AI. Another blast fired. This one carved through the Xandrie ship’s shield like a hot chainsaw through butter, then neatly dissected the fighter in two. “Personally, I’ve always had something of a soft spot for ‘Pew! Pew!’ but the choice, of course, is entirely yours.”

Cal tutted. “OK, fine. I’ll make my own noises. Line me up with another ship.”

“Ah,” said Kevin.

“All fighters destroyed,” said Mech, checking the scanners. “We’re clear.”

Cal threw up his hands. “Great. Well, I mean, that’s just great.”

“My apologies, sir,” said Kevin. “If you give me a moment, I’m sure I’ll be able to find other ships we can engage with. Pirates, perhaps. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“No, it’s fine,” Cal said. “Forget it. Well done, everyone. Loren, great flying. Mech, impressive, you know, standing around. Miz, a few more sarcastic comments next time, it felt like you weren’t really trying back there.”

Miz held up her middle finger, one of the many Earth customs Cal had passed on to the rest of the crew, and arguably the only one that had stuck. “That’s more like it,” he said, then he jumped in fright when the joystick snapped back into his chair like it was spring-loaded. “Jesus! Bit of warning next time, Kevin.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Loren, plot a course for Cantoro Alpha.”

“Cantato Minor,” Loren corrected.

“That’s the one. Go there, and don’t spare the space horses,” Cal instructed. “Let’s get Soonsho home before anyone else tries to get their hands on her.”

“OK, on it,” said Loren.

“Uh, sir?” said Kevin.

Cal looked up. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“May I have a word with you?” The main door of the bridge slid open with a soft shhhk. “In private?”

“Uh, sure. OK,” said Cal. He hopped down from his chair and looked around at the others. Their expressions suggested they were equally as puzzled as he was. “You guys keep an eye on things up here. Kevin and I will be through the back talking guy talk.”

And with that, he stepped out into the corridor, and the door slid swiftly shut behind him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Another door opened a little further along the corridor. It was one of the rooms Cal had been instructed never to set foot in, just in case his mere presence somehow caused the whole thing to spontaneously combust.

He headed towards it, anyway. Following orders had never exactly been his strong point. The others would probably argue that his strong point hadn’t yet been identified, but would all agree that following orders definitely wasn’t it.

The room Cal stepped into was starkly bare. He wasn’t even sure it was a room, in fact. A room had a purpose. This was an empty space that just happened to be surrounded by four walls.

“Shouldn’t there be stuff in here?” Cal asked. The door slid closed behind him and Kevin’s voice crackled from nowhere.

“It has not yet been configured, sir,” said Kevin. “This is a multi-purpose area. Following the ship’s recent repairs and minor improvements, I have successfully been able to tidy such areas away. Would you prefer to sit?”

The floor heaved beneath Cal, rising like putty until it formed a single tower that gently cupped his buttocks. “Wow. That is cool.”

“Indeed, sir. I am pleased you like it.”

Cal squidged into the seat. It adjusted perfectly to fit him, and gripped him gently at the back of the thighs. Once fully comfortable, he looked up at the featureless ceiling and waited.

“So, uh, you wanted to talk to me?” he asked after a lingering few moments of silence.

“Yes, sir.”

More silence.

“Well, now’s your chance. What’s up?”

“It’s… Well, you see, sir, I’m not entirely sure what I’m trying to say.”

“OK,” said Cal. “Well, you know, just say what’s on your mind, and we’ll figure it out between us.”

“Very good, sir,” said Kevin. There was a sound – a gentle sigh as if the disembodied AI voice was taking a breath – and then he continued. “I was listening, sir. When you were talking to one of the Creators about me.”

Cal’s mind raced, thinking back to what he’d said. “Uh, OK. Listen, if I said anything that, you know, hurt your feelings or whatever, then I’m sorry. Sometimes I just open my mouth and don’t think.”

“No, nothing like that, sir,” said Kevin. “It’s just… they offered to reset me. To ‘fix’ me. They said they could make me perfect. Make me whole again. And yet, you declined.”

“Right,” said Cal.

“And, well, I don’t understand, sir,” said Kevin. “Were I functioning perfectly, it would limit the chances of my making errors of judgement. I thought that would be… desirable for you.”

Cal nodded slowly. “I mean, was it tempting? Yes.”

“Then… why, sir?”

“Honestly?”

“I’d appreciate that, sir.”

Cal gestured to the door. “You’ve met us, right? You’ve seen us in action. Do any of us seem perfect to you?”

“Oh my, no, sir. Far from it,” said Kevin. “You in particular.”

“Thanks for that,” said Cal. “But that’s my point. We’re not perfect because, well, maybe because there is no perfect. There’s just making do with what you’ve got. That’s what we’re doing. Hell, that’s all anyone’s doing.”

“But I am merely the ship’s computer system, sir,” Kevin pointed out.

“And I’m merely a guy who didn’t believe in aliens until last month, and whose home planet has been all-but wiped out. But you know what? I’m making the best of it. Everyone’s making the best of it.”

He stood up. The chair released its grip then sank into the floor. “You’re not the computer system, Kevin. Well, I mean, you are, obviously. But you’re more than that, too. Like it or not, you’re part of the crew now. You’re one of us, imperfect as we may be. That’s why I didn’t fix you. You’re not broken, Kevin.” Cal smirked. “You’re just a bit of a useless shizznod sometimes.”

Kevin didn’t respond. Not at first. When he did finally speak there was something different about his voice. A slight softening in tone, perhaps, Cal couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“I see, sir,” he said. “You have certainly given me food for thought.”

“No problem. And, again, don’t call me ‘sir’. Call me Cal.”

“I shall endeavor to do so, sir,” said Kevin.

Cal smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, you do that.”

The door slid open. Cal stepped out into the corridor and collided with Loren coming in the opposite direction. Their heads met with a thonk and they both staggered back.

“Ow,” said Cal. “You OK?”

“Yes. I’m fine,” said Loren, rubbing her forehead. “Were you…?” She peeked into the room and looked shocked to find it empty. “What happened to all the stuff in there? Oh shizz, what did you do?”

“Nothing!” Cal said. “It’s pre-conjiggered or, I don’t know, something. I’m sure Kevin can explain it better.”

“I should hope so, sir,” said Kevin.

Cal glanced up. “Why don’t you go see what’s happening on the bridge?”

“Oh, I am, sir. I’m there now. I’m everywhere, in fact.”

“Right. That’s kind of disturbing,” said Cal. He glanced very deliberately at Loren. “Well… could you not be here?”

“Ah. Yes, sir. Not a problem.”

“Thanks,” said Cal. He listened for a moment, then smiled at Loren. “So! What brings you back here. Looking for someone? By which I mean me?”

“No,” said Loren. “I was going to get a drink. I asked Miz to get me something, but she threw a shoe at me and told me to burn in Hell.”

“Wow,” said Cal. “That’s actually progress.”

“Yeah, I think she’s warming to me,” Loren agreed. “Anyway, I couldn’t ask Mech in case he went off on one of his ‘cyborg racism’ rants, so… here I am.”

“Here you are,” said Cal. “You and me, in the corridor.”

Loren blushed, just a little. “Yeah. So anyway, I’ll go get that drink.”

Cal stepped aside. “I’ll walk you there, if you like?”

Loren hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean, OK. If you like.”

They walked on three paces and stopped outside another door. “Well, here we are,” said Loren.

“In hindsight, you could probably have made it here on your own,” said Cal.

“I’d have found my way eventually.” Loren tapped the button outside the door and it slid open, revealing a completely refitted kitchen area beyond.

“Well, enjoy your drink,” said Cal.

“I’ll do my best.”

He nodded at her, flicked through a selection of smiles, failed to find just the right one, then turned back towards the bridge.

“Cal?”

He stopped. “Yeah?”

Loren thumbed back over her shoulder towards the kitchen. “You thirsty?”

* * *

Cal stood in front of a wall-mounted device, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No. Uh-uh. No way.”

“It can!” Loren insisted.

“I don’t believe you. You’re a filthy liar, Ms Loren.”

Loren laughed – properly laughed – and Cal felt his heart flutter in his chest on thousands of tiny wings. “I’m telling the truth,” she said. “Try it, if you don’t believe me.”

Cal chewed his lip in thought. “Anything?”

“Anything,” Loren confirmed. “Although, if it’s the first time it’s ever been asked for it, it’ll have to do some tests.”

Cal shrugged. “OK. But, just for the record, I’m going along with this to keep you happy, and don’t for a second think it’s actually going to work. I want that noted.”

“Done,” said Loren. She nodded towards the machine. “Now go.”

“Right, then,” said Cal. He rubbed his hands together. “Gimme a steak.”

The machine did nothing. Cal was both overjoyed and disappointed at the same time. “See! I was right. Doesn’t work.”

“You have to be more specific,” Loren told him. “What kind of steak? How do you want it cooked? It needs the info.”

Cal tried again. “Fine. Fillet steak, twenty-one-day aged Aberdeen Angus prime beef, medium-rare. Easy on the steak sauce.” He turned to Loren. “There. That specific enough?”

With a ping the machine exploded into life, dozens of lights illuminating across its surface.

“Looks like it,” said Loren, stepping aside.

A blast of hot air hit Cal in the face, forcing his eyes closed. Two padded metal clamps fastened around his temples and something jolted through his skull, making his hair stand on end.

“What the fon—?” he began, before something small and pointy forced its way inside his mouth and stabbed into his tongue. “Nng! Nyaaah! ‘op ‘at! ‘ut it out!”

Two finger-length prongs probed deep inside his nostrils. He coughed and spluttered as they sprayed something fizzy and unpleasant deep into his nasal canal, and then the prongs, the clamps and the spiky-thing all withdrew.

Cal stumbled back, clutching as much of his face and head as he could possibly clutch. “What the Hell was that?” he yelped.

“Those were the tests I mentioned,” Loren said, her face lit up by a beaming grin.

“I feel violated,” Cal told her. He extended his arms to her. “Hold me.”

PING.

A door in the front of the machine snapped open, accompanied by a little blast of fanfare music. The smell hit Cal right away, even through the popping and fizzing that still clogged both his nostrils.

“No way,” he whispered. He leaned down and peered in through the little hatch, half expecting something to spring out and poke him in the eyes.

There, laid out on a large white plate, was a twenty-one-day aged Aberdeen Angus prime beef fillet steak, cooked medium-rare. Cal’s mouth instinctively began to water. His stomach grumbled in anticipation.

“Tell me this isn’t some kind of sick joke,” he whispered. Loren reached in and took out the plate, then wafted it under his nose.

“Nope,” she said. “Just your bog-standard food replicator. I can’t believe you don’t have them on Earth.”

Cal greedily took the plate from her and slid onto the padded bench running along a narrow table in the center of the room. Loren sat side-on across from him, straddling the bench as if riding a horse.

There was no cutlery – at least, there was no cutlery right there on the table, and Cal’s stomach wasn’t going to let him waste time going to look for any. The soup at Dorid’s had been pleasant enough, but this was a whole other level.

He picked up the slab of meat and chomped down on one end. He groaned in pleasure as the taste and the juices and the tenderness of the steak fell apart in his mouth. “Oh Jesus,” he whispered, swallowing the meat and moving in for another bite. “This is good. This is… this is amazing.”

“Told you,” said Loren.

“No, but this is good,” Cal insisted, in case she’d somehow misunderstood. “I mean, it’s literally the greatest steak that has ever existed. Meaty, tender, just enough steak sauce.”

He swallowed, and glanced across to the replicator. “And you’re saying I can have this anytime I want?!”

Loren nodded. “You can have anything you want.”

Cal looked to the ceiling, as if in prayer. “I fonking love outer space.” He took another bite and spoke while he chewed. “But how does it work? What’s it made of?”

“Same thing it’s usually made of.”

Cal stopped chewing for a moment and frowned. “Cows?”

“Atoms,” said Loren. “It gets the information it needs from your brain, taste buds, whatever, then builds the food from the atomic level up.”

“And it can make anything?”

Loren nodded. “Yes.”

Cal swallowed. “OK. OK, I’m going to try something. If this works…”

He jumped up from the bench and practically skipped across to the machine. “Banoffee Pie. Extra cream,” he said. The hot air blasted him in the face and he ducked to avoid the head clamp. “Wait!” he said, holding up a hand. The machine fell silent and Cal straightened up. “Like my mom used to make.”

The replicator came to life again. Cal endured the head-shock, the tongue-prick and the nose-spray, then bent at the waist and gazed hopefully into the hatch, just as it slid open with a ping.

The smell of cream and caramel and sugar-dusted banana reached out to him, and he was eight years old again, standing in the kitchen, just waiting for his mom to cut him a slice.

“Shizz,” he said, and his voice shook.

Loren looked up from the table. “Cal? You OK?”

“What? Yeah! Yeah. I’ve got pie, how could I not be OK?” he said, reaching into the machine and pulling out the plate. A single piece of pie sat atop it, a blob of thick white cream melting slowly on the gently warmed caramel and banana topping.

He slid back onto the bench and set the plate in front of him. He just looked at it at first, admiring it for the work of art it was. It looked just like the pie his mom used to make. Smelled like it, too.

Cal reached for the pie, hesitated, then drew his arm back. What if it didn’t taste right? After the sight and the smell of it, what if it fell at the final hurdle?

And why did he care? It was a pie. That was all. Just a pie. Just the pie his mom had made him whenever he’d hurt himself, done well at school, or gone above and beyond on the chores front.

She’d even given him a whole one to himself that time he’d intervened to stop some bigger kids beating up the boy next door. The fight had ended with him suffering from a black eye, a bloodied lip and, after he’d eaten the entire pie in one sitting, twenty-seven minutes of explosive diarrhea.

But man, it had been worth it.

“I can’t,” he said, pushing the plate away.

Loren looked down at the plate. “You don’t want it?”

“No, I mean, I do. I do, it’s just… what if it’s not right?”

“It’ll be what you expect it to be,” said Loren. “It took it right out of your head.”

“Yeah, but what if I’m remembering it wrong?” said Cal. “You know? What if, like, I’ve made a mistake? What if… I’ve forgotten?”

Loren picked up the triangle of pie and examined it like a scientist studying some previously undiscovered small mammal. She brought it close to her nose and gave it a tentative sniff. Then, with a shrug, she took a bite.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh. Holy shizz. What is this?”

“Banoffee Pie,” said Cal. “Is it good?”

“Good? Fonk. I mean… I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

“Yeah? Seriously?”

Loren nodded and held the pie towards his mouth. “Here. Try it,” she said.

Cal eyed the pie suspiciously.

“You better hurry up, or I am eating all of this thing,” Loren warned him.

With a resigned sigh, Cal leaned across the table and took a bite.

And suddenly there she was. His mom, her fingers sticky with caramel, her apron dusty with flour, her smile for him and him alone. He chewed the pie, but didn’t taste the sweetness. He tasted home. He tasted safety and warmth and love. He tasted every time his parents had held him, or hugged him, or read him a story and tucked him in.

Cal’s eyes filled with tears and he quickly closed them before Loren could see. “Mmm,” he said, chewing. “Yep. That’s pretty good. That is pretty accurate.”

He chewed until the pie and the tears were gone, then opened his eyes to find Loren licking the plate. She froze when she realized she’d been caught, and quickly placed the spotless plate down on the table. A blob of white cream was stuck to the end of her nose, looking even whiter against her pale blue skin.

“Uh, yeah. Not bad at all,” she said.

Cal pointed to his own nose. “You’ve, uh…”

“What?”

“Here.” He reached across the table and cupped her face with one hand. She tensed, but didn’t pull away, then went cross-eyed when he swept his thumb across her nose, wiping away the cream. “Missed a spot,” he said, and Loren grinned awkwardly.

“Whoops.”

Cal let his hand linger for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly across Loren’s highly-defined cheekbone. “You don’t smile enough,” he told her.

“What? I smile,” she said, her face falling into rigid straightness again. “Whenever the situation demands it.”

“What the Hell does that mean?” Cal snorted. He shook his head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. We’re going to make you smile more often,” he said. Her eyes flitted across his face for a moment, then locked onto his. She swallowed.

Cal leaned slowly across the table. “I’m going to make you smile more often.”

“Pardon me, sir,” said Kevin.

Loren jerked back quickly, then stood up. Cal sighed. “I thought I told you to leave,” he said.

“Ah. Sorry, I thought that only applied to the corridor, sir,” Kevin said.

“Great. So, you’ve been here the whole time?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” said Kevin. “Are you feeling better now, sir? You appeared to be crying for a moment back there.”

“I’m fine! What do you want?”

“Mr Mech would like to see you on the bridge at once,” Kevin said. “Our scanners have detected… well, we’re not entirely sure, sir.”

Cal spun around on the bench and jumped to his feet. “I guess we’ll have to continue this later,” he said, turning to Loren. Or rather, to the spot where Loren had been, which was now empty, the kitchen door standing open just a few feet away.

“Well, that’s just great,” Cal muttered. He made for the door, then stopped at the replicator. “Another banoffee pie, same as last one,” he instructed. “Only this time, make it bigger.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Miz glared at Loren as she hurried back onto the bridge. “What kept you? Where’s Cal?”

Loren swept a strand of hair back over her ear, and pointedly avoided Miz’s gaze. “Uh, he’s just coming, I think,” she said, sliding into her seat. “What’s up?”

Mech gestured to a rectangular overlay down at the bottom of the viewscreen. The main screen was a shimmering lightshow of streaking stars. The smaller screen showed hundreds – thousands, maybe – of red dots, all different sized.

“We’re coming up on something. Ain’t on the maps,” Mech said.

Loren swiped her fingers across some controls, enlarging the scanner window. The dots all doubled in size, but no further information about them became immediately obvious. “Asteroid field, maybe?”

“Not unless it’s recent,” said Mech. “And whatever it is, some of those things are fifty miles across.”

“It’d have to be planetary debris,” Loren reasoned. “Anything nearby?”

“Nothing. Ain’t near any solar systems. Ain’t near anything, far as I can tell.”

“Check out the size of this pie!” cried Cal, darting onto the bridge. He held a plate above his head like a trophy. “I asked for it bigger and thought it would make a whole pie, but it’s just made one slice and scaled it up. Look at it! It’s fonking huge!”

He thrust it towards Soonsho, forcing her to back up flat against the wall behind her in fright. “Look at my giant pie!” He nodded encouragingly. “Want some?”

Soonsho shook her head quite emphatically. “Suit yourself,” Cal shrugged. “Miz? Giant pie?”

Miz raised her head, sniffed, then her face crumpled into a scowl. “Is that fruit?”

“Uh, just barely,” said Cal, but Miz waved him away in disgust.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he said, jumping into his seat and scooping a handful of the pie into his mouth. “Hey,” he mumbled, spraying crumbs all down his front. “What’s with all the red dots?”

“We don’t know,” Loren admitted. “I’m going to change course and go around it.”

“Shouldn’t we check it out? It could be something exciting.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Loren. “I don’t know if I’m in the market for ‘exciting’ right now.”

“Oh?” said Cal. “What are you in the market for, out of interest?”

Loren stammered the first few vowels of several potential sentences, then decide it was best to just close her mouth and say nothing. This did not go unnoticed by Mizette. She looked from Loren to Cal and back again, her clawed fingers tip-tapping on her arm rest.

“We’re gonna pass it,” said Mech. “If we’re stopping, it’s now or never.”

“Let’s check it out,” said Cal, shoveling more of the pie in his mouth. “I like it when you guys don’t know what something is. It’s usually just me. This way, we can all learn something new together. It’ll be a beautiful thing.”

“Well… OK,” said Loren. “Dropping from warp.”

The Untitled went from ‘full warp’ to ‘almost stationary’ in the space between breaths. Cal’s plate was whipped from his hand. It shot across the bridge like a Frisbee, then the enormous slice of pie exploded with a splat across the back of Mech’s head.

Cal braced himself for the cyborg’s wrath, but Mech was too transfixed by what was happening on the viewscreen. Zertex ships filled space as far as the eye could see. There were thousands of them, all shapes and sizes, from one-man fighters to vast battleships, flying close together with no obvious structure or formation.

“Hol-eee shizz,” Cal whispered.

“Should I engage the cloaking system, sir?” Kevin asked.

Loren tore her eyes from the screen long enough to look up. “We have a cloaking system?”

“Well, we have a button with ‘cloaking system’ written below it, so one can only presume so,” said Kevin. “Should I engage it?”

“Yes!” said Loren.

Cal held up a hand. “Wait. It doesn’t have ‘self-destruct’ or anything written above it, does it?”

“No, sir.”

“OK, just checking,” said Cal. “Because that would be unfortunate. Yeah, cloak us, Kev.”

Space shimmered like rising heat, then steadied itself. “Done, sir.”

Even Mizette was leaning forward in her chair, gazing out at the armada. “That is, like, a lot of ships,” she said.

“Observant as ever,” Loren muttered.

“I heard that,” Miz growled.

“What are they doing?” Loren wondered. “Zertex ships usually travel in formation. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Miz leaned back and crossed her arms. “They’re your friends. You tell us.”

“That’s the whole point,” said Mech. His voice was flat and low, and almost devoid of anything that made it his. “Fly in formation, scanners will immediately pick you up, let everyone know what you are.”

He gestured to the viewscreen. “Travel like this, bunched together, all mixed up, flying nice and slow, chances are most folks will think you’re debris or an asteroid field.” He leaned on the railing in front of the screen. It was a quick, jerking movement, like his legs were suddenly unable to hold him up. “This is a sneak attack. Those ships are heading to Symmorium space.”

Loren shook her head. “No. Not that many. They can’t be. It’d be the single largest assault in… well, ever. I mean, look at them.”

“I see them,” said Mech. “But I’m telling you, this is an attack. And the Symmorium won’t know what hit them.”

Silence fell across the bridge. Outside, the ships continued to glide silently past in their hundreds. They stretched for hundreds of miles ahead, and were stacked up from beyond the bottom of the screen to somewhere above the top. They reminded Cal of fish swimming up a river, only with wings and guns, and a To Do list that focused heavily on domination and genocide.

So not exactly like fish.

“What do we do?” asked Cal. “Do we intervene?”

“What the fonk are you talking about?” said Mech, not turning. “Even with this ship, we wouldn’t last five seconds against all that.”

“I don’t mean fight them,” said Cal. “I’m not suicidal. I meant, should we warn the Symmorium or something? That’s the right thing to do, right?”

He looked around the bridge. No-one looked back. “Guys?”

“I thought we weren’t getting involved?” said Mech. “That’s what you said. We get the reward, and we get going. That’s the only way we survive.”

“But it’s not getting involved,” Cal insisted. “It’s just making a phone call.”

“It’s choosing a side,” said Mech. “Worse. It’s declaring a side. Once we do that, they got us. We’re involved, and we don’t get uninvolved until it ends. And it won’t end well.”

Cal scratched his chin. He looked across to Miz, but her eyes were fixed on the screen. She wore an expression he didn’t think he’d ever seen on her before. It took him a few seconds to recognize it.

Fear. Mizette of the Greyx, the most fearsome warrior Cal had ever met, was afraid.

“OK, can we call anonymously?” Cal asked. “Just blast out a ‘look out’ message and hope the Symmorium get it?”

“No,” said Loren. “The transmission would identify the ship. But wait a minute…”

Her fingers tapped her controls. “Mech, when Kornack tricked us, he used a Symmorium distress signal, right?”

Mech nodded, slowly at first, but quickly getting faster. “He did!”

“Kevin, you still got that transmission recorded?” Loren asked.

“Affirmative, ma’am,” Kevin responded. “What would you like me to do with it?”

“We’re going to send it!”

Cal pointed to the screen. “To who? These guys?”

Loren shook her head. “To every Symmorium ship within range of this system. It’ll bring the cavalry running.”

“Uh, great,” said Cal. “But won’t they immediately get blown to pieces?”

Loren’s fingers hesitated. “Not necessarily,” she said.

“Not before they can let the rest of them know what’s happening,” Mech added.

“Right, right,” said Cal. “But… we might be luring some poor Symmorium crew to their deaths?”

Mech sighed. “Better that than this whole fleet all rocks up at the Symmorium Sentience and wipes it out. Least this way, they got a chance.”

Cal rocked in his chair. It really was a ridiculous number of ships. Suddenly, the scale of the Zertex-Symmorium war was painfully clear. Every Earth war rolled into one wouldn’t even touch the sides of the battle about to rage across the galaxy. They were one ship. What could they do?

“Send it,” said Cal. “Transmit the distress signal. Then let’s get the fonk out of here and get Soonsho home. At least that’s something we can do.”

Loren tapped the controls in silence, as the armada continued pushing on past. “Kevin, transmit signal,” she said.

“As you wish, ma’am,” said Kevin. There was a brief pause. “Distress signal transmitted. Symmorium vessels beginning to respond.”

“Ignore them,” said Loren. “They’ll come to check it out.”

“Lucky them,” said Cal. He puffed out his cheeks and pushed himself back in his chair. “Now, can we get out of here, please? These amshoops are spoiling the view.”

“We made the right choice,” said Mech, turning to Cal for the first time since they’d stopped. The cyborg’s features pulled into a scowl, and he gingerly touched the back of his metal skull. “Now, what the fonk did you throw at my head?”

* * *

The next few hours passed. That was all Cal could really say about them. They didn’t pass particularly quickly, nor did they drag. They just happened at the speed they were supposed to happen at, and were all the more boring for it.

When the bridge had become too tedious, and the streaking star field too nauseating, Cal had taken Soonsho through to the kitchen. It had taken a little convincing to get her to follow, but Miz had come, too, which – ironically – seemed to reassure the girl a little.

“I feel like we haven’t really gotten to know each other,” Cal said, drumming his hands on the table and smiling across at the girl. “Dorid said you can’t talk. That true?”

Soonsho wrapped her arms across her chest and squeezed, as if she were giving herself a hug. She shook her head.

“Oh,” said Cal. “You can speak?”

Another squeeze. A nod, this time.

“But you don’t. Why not?” asked Cal.

Soonsho shrugged, then glanced to Miz, who was sitting beside her. After a brief internal struggle, she pointed to her own mouth.

“Lips. Mouth,” said Cal. “Mouth? Is it something about your mouth? You hurt your mouth!”

Soonsho shook her head.

“No, not that. You didn’t hurt your mouth. Is it your teeth? Do you have ugly teeth?”

“She’s scared she’ll kill someone, or whatever,” said Miz. “Right?”

Soonsho nodded, guilt setting up camp in the bumpy nodules of her face.

“How did you work that out?” asked Cal.

Miz tutted. “Uh, maybe because it’s totally obvious?”

“Interesting,” said Cal. “Giant pie?”

He pushed a plate closer to Miz and Soonsho. It required two hands and a reasonable amount of effort. If the last pie slice had been huge, this one was positively ridiculous. It looked like a prop from a stage production of Land of the Giants, and was big enough to feed twenty fully-grown men, or to give ten fully-grown men Type 2 Diabetes.

“My mom made it,” Cal said. “Or, you know, it was assembled from atoms by kitchen equipment, but apparently that’s pretty much the same thing in this day and age.”

Neither Soonsho nor Miz, it transpired, wanted any giant pie. Nor did Cal, if he were completely honest. He was seven handfuls into it, but had barely made a dent, and was beginning to wonder what all the fuss had been about. On the one hand, it was delicious. On the other hand, he never wanted to see another piece of banoffee pie for as long as he lived.

Still, it would be a shame to waste it. He took another scoop and shoveled it into his mouth.

“What else have you figured out about her?” Cal asked.

“I don’t know. Not much,” said Miz. “Besides that she was kidnapped by the Xandrie, that she overheard them saying they were going to kill her if they didn’t get their ransom, and that she couldn’t stop herself screaming, which was when they all got pulped.”

Cal stopped chewing. He swallowed the sugary mush in his mouth. For a moment, he was sure he could actually feel his arteries hardening.

“How did you figure out all that?”

“She whispers,” said Miz. Soonsho gawped at her in surprise, then quickly closed her mouth again.

“She whispers?”

“All the time. It’s kinda annoying, actually. You can’t hear it, but…” Miz flicked her ears up and spun them in opposite directions. “I’m way more qualified than the rest of you in that department.”

Cal saw Soonsho as if for the first time. “So we can talk to her? That’s great! Hi,” he said. “I’m Cal. I mean, we’ve done that bit, but… Hi.”

Soonsho slowly lowered her hand. Her lips moved, just a fraction.

“She says ‘hi,’” said Miz. She waited until Soonsho’s lips had stopped moving again. “She wants to know if we’re going to hurt her.”

“What? Us? No! How can she think that? How can you think that? We’re the good guys. We’re taking you home,” said Cal. He said the word again, slowing it right down for emphasis. “Home.”

“She can’t raise her voice, she’s not brain-damaged,” Miz pointed out.

“What? No. I know,” said Cal. He reached for more pie, thought better of it, then pushed the plate out of reach. “Uh… ask her if she’s happy to be going home.”

Miz’s whole face became the dictionary definition of sarcasm.

“Oh, wait, no, I can ask her myself, can’t I?”

“Well, duh.”

Soonsho’s lips moved again. This time, it seemed to go on for some time. Cal watched her mouth, trying to lip-read, but then realized she wasn’t actually speaking English, so the entire exercise was completely pointless.

Once she stopped, Miz waited a few seconds to make sure there was nothing more, then passed the message on.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” said Cal. “That’s it? All that lip-flapping for ‘yes’?”

Miz sighed. “There was more, but none of it interesting. Can’t wait to see her parents. Misses her friends. Blah, blah, blah. So, basically, she said ‘yes.’”

Cal smiled. “Well, tell her we’ll get her home soon,” he said.

Miz raised a single eyebrow. Cal turned to Soonsho. “We’ll get you home soon,” he said. “And then everything’s going to be OK.”

Soonsho’s lips moved, just once. “What did she say?” Cal asked.

“She said, ‘promise?’”

Cal put a hand on Soonsho’s shoulder. This time, she didn’t draw back in fright. “Trust me,” he said. “From here on in, everything’s going to be just fine. No-one’s going to hurt you. We won’t let them. That’s a Cal Carver guarantee, and I don’t just dish those things out.”

Soonsho stood up. She bit her lip, briefly hugged Cal, then quickly sat back down again. “Thanks, kid,” Cal said. He reached along the table and slowly slid the partially-eaten remains of his giant pie towards her. “Now, tuck in,” he said. “Because this shizz right here? This is going to change your life.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A few more boring hours passed completely normally. Cal spent most of it spinning from side to side in his seat, quietly wishing they’d be attacked by something. Just a little Scriver ship would do it. Or maybe a pirate. He could really go a pirate attack right about now, he thought. It’d give him a chance to shoot his little gun.

“That’s a point,” said Cal, sitting up in his chair. “Kevin, we should be using this time to show me the guns.”

“They’re on the wings, sir,” said Kevin. “I expect you’ve already seen them. They’re rather hard to miss.”

“No, I mean show me how to use them,” said Cal.

“Ah. Yes. That would have been a most productive way of passing the time,” Kevin agreed. “Alas, I fear the opportunity has now passed.”

“How come?”

It was Mech who answered. “We’ve arrived,” he said, studying the data flooding the bottom corner of the screen. He still had a piece of banana stuck to the back of his neck, but Cal had decided not to tell him.

The stars stopped streaking, but this time the deceleration was more ‘gradual slowdown’ than ‘skeleton-snapping’.

“Way to go, you!” said Cal, leaning forwards and gently punching Loren on the shoulder. “Eyeballs still in sockets, testicles not sticking out through my back – you nailed it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Loren. “Don’t make me back up and try again.”

A planet hung like a Christmas bauble in the sky ahead of them, its surface gleaming with shades of metallic red. Most of the planet was in darkness, but a ring of lights surrounded a towering mountain in the far northern hemisphere. There had to be a million glowing pinpricks down there, concentrated closely around the base of the mountain, and becoming thinner and more sparse the further out they went.

“Kamikaze One,” said Cal in an awed whisper.

“Now you’re doing it on purpose,” Mech snapped. “You know full fonking well it’s Cantato Minor.”

“Meh. I like my name better,” said Cal. “So, do we have an address? Or how does this work?”

A flashing camera icon lit-up in the corner of the screen. “We’re being hailed. It’s the parents,” said Mech.

“How did they know we were here?” asked Loren.

“Ah,” said Kevin.

“Sorry I asked,” Loren sighed.

“Well don’t just leave them hanging, pick up,” said Cal, sitting up straight and wiping the pie-debris from the front of his shirt. This only resulted in him smearing cream and caramel down himself. He was in the middle of licking his thumb and trying to wipe the worst of it away when he realized two middle-aged Cantatorians were watching him expectantly from the screen.

“Oh, hey!” said Cal, smoothing down his shirt and waving. “You must be Mr and Mrs Soonsho’s Mom and Dad.”

“Is she there?” asked the man in a rich voice that immediately made Cal think of sunsets the color of fall. “Our daughter, is she with you?”

There was a scuffing from the corridor as Soonsho dashed onto the bridge, her eyes shimmering with tears. On screen, the couple went into full meltdown mode. Tears, snot, the works. They hugged each other, and Soonsho reached for the screen, her fingers flapping as if beckoning them towards her.

“Oh, our baby. Our baby,” sobbed Soonsho’s father. Her mother, meanwhile, bit her lip, presumably to stop herself losing control over her voice. It didn’t matter. Her tears, and the look on her face, said more than any words could.

“You brought back our baby,” she said in a controlled monotone.

“Yes, we did,” said Cal. “You’re welcome.”

“Now, about that reward,” Mech began.

“Mech, not now. Let’s not cheapen it,” said Cal. He looked from Soonsho to her parents, and felt a warm glow spreading out from his belly. It was possibly the pie, but he didn’t think so. It was something even better. “Let’s just enjoy the moment. We did good, guys. We did good.”

Soonsho turned to him, her face a picture of relief and joy and everything in between. Cal winked and raised a thumb. “What did I tell you?” he said. “Cal Carver guarantee.”

* * *

The Untitled descended slowly, its landing thrusters churning the ground into a sandstorm of swirling red dust beneath it.

“Easy,” said Cal. “Watch out for all those people.”

“Shut up,” Loren told him. “I’m nowhere near them.”

“You’re nowhere near them yet,” said Cal. “Past experience would suggest it’s only a matter of time.”

“Funny,” said Loren. “They’re well away from the landing pad. I couldn’t land on them if I tried.”

“Like, don’t put yourself down,” said Miz. “I can pretty much guarantee you’re going to land on at least five of them.”

“Look, can everyone just shut up?” Loren spat. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

“I did offer to land for you, ma’am,” Kevin reminded her. “But you were quite adamant.”

“She needs the practice,” said Miz.

“I do not!”

The ship slammed into the ground, grinding the landing gears against the inside of their housings. Outside, the hundreds of assembled Cantatorians ran for cover. Loren released her grip on the sticks, and let her hands flop into her lap. She cleared her throat.

“Well, maybe just a little,” she admitted.

Miz snorted, drawing an angry look from Loren.

“OK, hands up anyone who died on the way here because of my flying,” Loren demanded. “Anyone? No?”

“I died inside,” said Miz. “Does that count?”

“No,” said Loren. “It doesn’t.”

She stood up sharply and looked to Cal. “We going, then?”

“Alright, alright, hold your horses,” Cal told her. He spun and stood up, then held a hand out to Soonsho. Even she had known to strap herself in when Loren began her descent. She unclipped her belt, and Cal smiled as she took his hand. “Ready kid?”

Soonsho nodded and let herself be helped up. She took one last look around the bridge, then leaned down low until she could see beneath Cal’s chair. She waved, and a little green hand waved back.

“You’re honored,” said Cal. “He doesn’t wave at just anyone. I mean, he barely acknowledges Mech even exists. Although, that’s probably because Mech has been ready and willing to leave him for dead on a number of different occasions.”

“Hey, that ain’t true,” Mech protested.

“It totally is true,” said Miz.

Loren nodded in agreement. “He’s right.”

Mech huffed grumpily. “Well, it’s a blob of goo. I don’t understand why the Hell you’re all so attached to the fonking thing.”

“We’re not,” said Miz. “He is.”

Cal grinned. “Guilty as charged.” He squatted down and looked under his chair. Splurt’s eyes gazed back at him from the darkness. “Wait here for now, buddy. Once we know it’s safe, we’ll come get you.”

“Again, it can change into anything it wants,” Mech pointed out. “It can handle itself.”

“I just want to make sure he’s safe,” Cal said.

“You know what you’re doing? You’re stifling the fonking thing,” said Mech. “You’re being overprotective. You’re like one of those moms who’s all, ‘Ooh, ooh, be careful, it’s dangerous out there,’ and the kid’s like, ‘Shizz, mom, I just want to go out and play. Is that really too much to ask?’ and then she’s like, ‘But, but there are bad men out there, son. Think about what happened to your father. I can’t let that happen to you, it’d break my heart,’ and the kid’s like, ‘Argh! Seriously, everyone else is out playing. You can’t keep me here forever. I hate you! I wish I’d never been born!’”

He stopped talking when he realized everyone, including Splurt, was staring at him. Cal shifted uneasily and shot Loren a sideways glance. He cleared his throat. “Uh… I have to ask. Were you the kid in that scenario, Mech?” he asked.

“What? No!” Mech snorted.

“It’s just, you painted a very vivid picture,” said Cal.

“Very vivid,” Loren agreed.

“I know, right? I mean, it was like…” He held his clenched fist in front of his face, then spread his fingers like an explosion. “Boom! Right there. 3D, coming-atcha.”

“It wasn’t me, man,” said Mech, crossing his arms. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. It was hypothetical, that’s all I’m…”

He jabbed a finger towards the chair and shouldered his way between Cal and Loren. “You should just let the fonking slimeball come. That’s all I was trying to say.”

They listened to him clanking along the corridor, then heard a cheer go up as the hatch opened. “That guy is very complicated,” Cal said, gesturing for Loren, Miz and Soonsho to follow. He walked after them, then stopped just inside the door.

“Ah, what the Hell,” he muttered, then he clicked his tongue against the side of his teeth, as if calling a horse. Splurt sprang happily from under the chair, rolled up Cal’s back, and transformed himself into a large, flamboyant sombrero on the top of his head.

Cal checked his reflection in the polished chrome panel of the wall, nodded his approval, then followed the others along the corridor and out to face the cheering crowds.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Nobody really paid any attention to Cal when he meandered down the ramp, although his hat did draw a couple of double-takes.

Instead, the crowd had surged around Soonsho in their hundreds, reaching and grabbing for any parts of her they could get to. Some of them fell over in their eagerness to reach her, only to be trampled over by others pushing through from the back.

“Jesus. They’re happy to see her,” said Cal.

“Yeah, but I don’t think…” Loren began, then she spotted Cal’s hat. “What are you wearing?”

Cal looked down at his shirt, shoes and pants. “Just the usual. Why?”

Loren tutted and shook her head. “I’m not even going to give you the satisfaction,” she said, turning back to where Soonsho was practically drowning in people. “As I was saying, I don’t think she’s so excited to see them.”

Sure enough, Soonsho was trying to smile, but it was more like a rictus of terror. And no wonder. The men in the crowd whooped and hollered and screamed her name as they squashed in towards her. The women spoke in dull monotones, taking care not to lose control of their voices.

“OK, fonk this,” said Miz. She flashed her claws, bared her teeth and let out a guttural animal roar that caught the attention of the closest Cantatorians. The crowd stumbled aside at the sight of her, making room for Mech to march through, knocking and yanking the stragglers out of his path.

Soonsho grabbed for his arm when he reached her and he lifted her clear of the throngs. Those at the back of the crowd, who couldn’t really see what was going on, continued to push forwards. Those at the front of the crowd, who could see Mech and Miz really very clearly indeed, began pushing backwards.

By the time Mech had deposited Soonsho back on the ramp, the crowd’s whole tone had changed. The people in the middle of the crowd had decided they didn’t particularly enjoy being squashed from both sides, and had elected to voice their concerns by punching the faces of anyone within reach.

“Well, that turned ugly fast,” said Cal.

“I guess they must’ve really missed her,” said Loren.

“Guess so,” said Cal. He looked at Miz as she padded back up the ramp, then gestured to Soonsho. “Is she OK?”

Miz cocked her head and lifted her ears. A scowl of annoyance set up camp on her face. “I can’t hear her. There’s too much other noise going on for me to—”

A sound, like all the forks in human history scraping across all the plates at the same time, rang out. Miz hissed and clamped her hands over her ears. She staggered into Loren, who struggled to hold her upright. To everyone’s surprise, it took Miz a full five seconds before she wrenched herself angrily from Loren’s grip.

“You’re welcome,” Loren said, and her voice carried far across the heads of the suddenly silent crowd.

As one, the mob had craned their necks upwards to watch a circular metal platform sail by above them. On it stood a man and a woman, dressed in what were arguably the most garishly elaborate outfits Cal had ever seen. The man wore a skintight red and black jumpsuit which left very little to the imagination on the crotch front.

Despite his evident lack of shortcomings in the downstairs department, he nevertheless seemed to be overcompensating for something with his choice of accessories. His upper-body was fitted with enormous metal shoulder pads that curved upwards like rhino horns. Fixed to his back were two long curved blades of red metal. At first, Cal thought they were wings, but they were too short and thin for that. They were more like the pincers of a giant insect, rising a clear couple of feet above the man’s head.

His head itself was mostly covered by a tall, hammer-shaped helmet – also red – with a large black gemstone set in the center like the glassy eye of a cycloptic shark. He wore boots and gloves of a shiny black leather-like material.

Despite the flamboyance of his outfit, a number of symbols on his tightly-clad thighs seemed to be deliberately designed to draw the eye straight to his crotch.

Cal whistled softly through his teeth. “Jesus. It’s like a baby’s arm.”

“What?” said Loren.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing.”

The woman standing beside the man, holding his hand, was possibly even more of a fashion-disaster. She wore a long shapeless dress that bunched around her neck like the top of a sack, then sort of slumped all the way down to the floor. It was the same metallic red as some of her partner’s accessories, but had the appearance of fish scales.

She wore no helmet or other accessories, but her eyes were ringed with thick black lines which might well have been drawn on in Sharpie by an enthusiastic toddler. From the eyes down, her face was a mess of odd-looking piercings. Each piercing was a small metal pipe, inserted through the walls of the woman’s nostrils and several places in her cheeks. They were perfectly symmetrical on both sides of her face, and judging by the lack of visible scarring on her skin, had been there for quite some time.

As the disk passed silently above them, the members of the crowd all knelt and bowed their heads. Soonsho tried to do the same, but the angle of the ramp made kneeling tricky, so she sort of half-crouched, instead.

“Rise, child,” the man said, almost as soon as Soonsho began to move. His voice was treacle in Cal’s ear. It made his skeleton vibrate and resonated through his lower intestine. To his surprise, it wasn’t unpleasant. “It is we who should be genuflecting to you. And to those who have returned you to us.”

The disk lowered until the man and woman stood just a little higher than Cal and the others. “I am the Conductor of Cantato Minor,” he rumbled, his one black gem eye fixing on Cal. “The Conductress and I give thanks to you, Captain.”

“He ain’t the captain,” said Mech.

“Well, technically I am, so…” Cal said. He gave the Conductor a relaxed salute. “No problem, chief. Just happy to see her safely home.”

“And to collect the reward,” Mech added.

The Conductor nodded slowly. “Of course. It is a small price to pay to have Soonsho back with us. The reward shall be yours. It is well-earned.”

“But first, shall you join us in celebration?” asked the Conductress. She spoke without moving her lips. Instead, the words whistled and hummed out through the pipes in her face, so the sound seemed to emerge from the air around her, rather than from the Conductress herself. “We would feast in your honor.”

Cal looked to the others. “I’m sure we can do a celebratory feast in our honor, right?” he said. “I mean, it’d be rude not to.”

“Sounds good,” Loren agreed.

“Works for me,” said Mech.

Miz, who had been rubbing her ears, and opening and closing her jaw to try to force the high-pitched ringing out, noticed the others watching her. “What?” she asked, far too loudly. “Why are you all looking at me? Weirdos.”

Cal turned to the Conductress and smiled. “A celebratory feast sounds awesome. Count us in.”

* * *

While Cal might have had his reservations about their fashion sense, the Conductor and Conductress sure knew how to rally a welcome committee.

Soonsho had joined Cantato Minor’s rulers aboard their disk, while a larger, more industrial-looking floating platform had been brought in to ferry Cal and the crew away from the landing bay. They proceeded – the smaller disk in front, the larger one a respectful distance behind – through the ship-sized doors of the landing area, and out onto a long, curved avenue beyond.

Once outside, the full splendor of the planet made itself apparent. The ground was a shimmering sheen of metallic red. It covered the wide streets, the raised sidewalks and the walls of the long, squat bungalows that ran along either side. Each of the buildings were several hundred feet long, with numerous doors and windows dotting the walls at regular intervals.

Side roads ran down the gaps between the buildings on the left, connecting this street to an identical one running parallel alongside it. On the right, the walls of the mountain rose steeply up from behind the houses and disappeared into the purple-tinted clouds far overhead. The base of the mountain had the same red shine as the rest of the place, but near the clouds the surface was blackened and scarred.

Lining the sidewalks on both sides of the street were thousands of Cantatorians. These ones wore far simpler outfits than their leaders. They had a certain ‘properness’ to them – shirts with high collars, skirts with long hems – and it was surprising to see such a conservatively dressed crowd react with such near-hysterical gusto.

The men were cheering and whooping and punching the air. They jumped around, hugging each other and roaring their approval as the procession passed them by.

The women were far more restrained, and most of them simply applauded. Many of them wore red metal clamps across their mouths, presumably to stop them losing control of their voices and accidentally doing anyone any damage.

The men were more than making up for their silence, though, and the streets hummed with a full-blown party atmosphere.

“Wow. This kid is popular,” said Mech.

“They’re partly cheering for us,” Cal pointed out. He waved to one man, pointed to another like he was a long-lost friend, then blew kisses to anyone who wanted them.

“Well, they ain’t looking at us,” said Mech. “They’re all too busy looking at Soonsho like she’s the second coming of Kroysh.”

“They’re just glad to have her back,” said Cal. He pointed to another man, laughed like he’d just been told a joke, said, “You know it, buddy,” for reasons that weren’t really all that clear, then went back to waving.

Loren frowned. “Then what’s with the guards?” She gestured into the crowd. Every fifteen feet or so, a uniformed Cantatorian stood facing the wrong way near the front of the line of spectators.

“It’s a public gathering. Emotions are high,” said Cal, shrugging. “You saw what they were like back there. They couldn’t get enough of her.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” said Loren.

“So, where are we going?” asked Miz, her voice booming right behind Cal’s head. Even Splurt jumped, briefly becoming a green blob again, before resuming sombrero mode.

“And where are her parents?” Loren wondered. “Shouldn’t they be here?”

“We’re going to a party,” Cal said, ignoring Loren and raising his voice so Miz could hear him. He pointed to one of his own ears. “You OK?”

“What?”

“ARE YOU OK?”

“Am I gay?” Miz said. “Not recently. Why? Would you like me to be?”

“No, I wasn’t… Forget it,” said Cal. “Also – interesting.”

Up ahead, the Conductor’s disk skimmed low above the street, then glided elegantly into a smooth right turn. The disk the crew was on followed, and they found themselves headed for a set of towering metal gates. Unlike pretty much everything else in sight, the gates weren’t red. Or not as red, at least. They had a sort of coppery tone which, while possessing a certain orangey-redness, was nothing like the other, more common, shade of red.

Well, to say it was nothing like it was an exaggeration. It was similar. Not exactly the same, but close.

Unless that was just the way the light was shining on the gates which, Cal thought as they swept on through them, was a definite possibility.

There were no crowds beyond the gates, just an expanse of shiny metal ground, a grand and imposing copper-colored palace (not just the light, Cal decided) and two lonely figures waiting anxiously in front of the open doorway.

The Conductor’s disk swooped down and slowed, but Soonsho didn’t wait for it to stop. She hopped off and ran, her feet slapping the cool metal as she sprinted towards her parents and threw herself into their arms.

All three of them collapsed to the floor, a tangle of limbs and tears and long silent sobs. Cal’s disk lowered and touched down onto the ground beside the Conductor and Conductress. They both nodded to the crew, bowing their heads in gratitude. The Conductor smiled. The Conductress might very well have, too, but it was quite hard to tell with all that shizz in her face.

“Once again, you have our thanks,” the Conductor intoned.

Cal doffed his sombrero. “Don’t mention it.”

“Please. We would be grateful if you joined us inside,” said the Conductor, gesturing to the door. “The celebration – and your reward – await.”

He and the Conductress walked ahead, still hand in hand. Cal waited until he reckoned they were out of earshot. “They seem nice,” he said. “Although, tell me I wasn’t the only one looking at his junk.”

“You definitely were,” said Loren.

“He definitely wasn’t,” said Mech. “Holy shizz, that thing was huge.”

“I know, right!”

“What was huge?” bellowed Miz.

“Sshh, shut up!” hissed Cal. The Conductor glanced back over his shoulder. Cal smiled and waved until the Conductor faced front again.

“What was huge?” Miz asked again, in a voice that was only marginally more quiet than last time.

“Nothing,” said Cal. “Just… his helmet. No, not… I mean, you know, his metal hat.”

He puffed out his cheeks and gestured after the Conductor and Conductress. Behind him and the crew, the towering copper gates closed with a barely audible click. “Aaaanyway,” said Cal. “Shall we?”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Although Cal wasn’t entirely sure what sort of celebration he’d been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been the one they got.

Calling it a ‘celebration’ at all, in fact, felt overly generous. It was a small gathering, at best, with Cal and the crew joining Soonsho, her parents, the Conductor and Conductress, and a couple of attentive but bored-looking servants for drinks and nibbles in a vast and otherwise completely empty ballroom. It was all in stark contrast to the cheering mobs outside.

One of the servants waved a tray of nibbles under Cal’s nose. He reached for one that seemed to be some kind of biscuit with a fishy-tasting paste on top, then thought better of it.

“Actually, no, nine’s my limit,” he said. The waiter nodded, but didn’t smile, then continued on around the other guests.

Cal sipped his drink – a clear sweet liquid with a charcoal aftertaste, like soda drunk from an ashtray, and tried not to think too much about that very image.

Soonsho stood with her parents, as was to be expected. She was saying nothing, which was also to be expected, but neither of her parents spoke, either.

Next to them stood the Conductor and Conductress. Neither of them were eating or drinking, which was a pity, because Cal wanted to see how the Conductress managed to drink anything will all those pipes poking out of her mouth and nose.

He was staring at the metal tubes when he realized the Conductress was watching him. He smiled at her, then pointed to his own cheeks. “Nice… face stuff,” he said. “Looks good.”

“Thank you,” said the Conductress, the words humming out through the pipes.

Cal smiled awkwardly, raised his eyebrows a couple of times, then took another sip of his drink.

The others weren’t faring much better at the small talk. Loren and Miz both nursed their own drinks and took in the room in slightly embarrassed silence. Loren had initially turned the drink down, explaining she didn’t like to drink and fly, but the Conductor had assured her the beverage wasn’t alcoholic, which had disappointed Cal no end.

Mech stood with his arms folded, an impatient look on the non-robot part of his face. He’d tried to bring up the reward at least twice since they’d arrived, then had gone in the huff when Cal had told him to stop going on about it. Now he just glared at the Conductor, as if he could siphon the reward money from his pockets by force of will alone.

“So—” Cal began.

“I was—” said Loren, at exactly the same time. They both stopped.

“No, you go,” said Cal.

“It’s fine, what were you going to say?” said Loren.

“No, please, it was nothing, really.”

“Nor was mine,” Loren insisted. “Please.”

Cal nodded. “Right. I was just going to say… this is a nice room.”

“That’s what I was going to say,” said Loren.

“Really? Ha. What are the odds?”

The Conductor and Conductress both looked around the room. Soonsho and her parents did the same.

“I suppose it is,” said the Conductor.

“Right,” said Cal.

Everyone sipped their drink.

“Did you decorate it yourself, or…?”

“Oh, no,” said the Conductor.

“No,” said Cal. “No. That makes sense. I’d imagine you’d have people to do that.”

“Yes.”

“Good,” said Cal. “That’s good.” He gestured to the waiter. “I think maybe I will have one of those fish things, after all.”

The waiter brought the tray over. Cal studied the offerings for a few seconds, then picked one of the smaller ones. His stomach was still around ninety-eight percent filled with banoffee pie, and there wasn’t a lot of margin left over for error.

Mizette drained her drink and set the empty glass on the waiter’s tray, squishing several of the fishy-snacks. “I’ll have another of those,” she said, her voice still a little louder than normal. “In fact, bring me two.”

The waiter bowed and scuttled off. The Conductor and Conductress both eyed Miz a little warily, but didn’t pass any comment.

“How are the Greyx?” asked the Conductor.

Miz shrugged. “I don’t know. OK, I guess.”

“I believe you recently lost Graxan,” said the Conductress. “That must have been a blow. He was a wise ruler.”

Miz rolled her eyes. “Don’t even get me started.”

“He was her dad,” said Cal, before adding, “We don’t talk about it,” in the quietest whisper he could manage. Ironically, it was so quiet only Miz heard him, even over the ringing in her ears.

“I see,” said the Conductor. He bowed to Miz, just briefly. “Our condolences, Your Highness.”

“Ooh, and don’t even go there,” said Cal, before Miz was able to respond. “Just call her ‘Mizette.’”

More silence fell. The waiter returned with Miz’s drinks. She downed one in one gulp, then held onto the other.

Mech cleared his throat very deliberately until he caught Cal’s attention. He gestured with his eyes towards the Conductor and tried to arrange his facial features to convey the phrase, ‘Ask him about the fonking reward.’ Impressively enough, he managed to do just that. Cal shook his head at him, then went back to gazing awkwardly at nothing in particular.

“May I speak, Conductor?” asked Soonsho’s father, bowing a full six times during the question.

“You may,” the Conductor intoned.

“Oh, thank God,” breathed Cal.

Soonsho’s father smiled gratefully. He slipped his arms around his wife and daughter, pulling them both close to him. He looked at Cal, and there were tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “I… There are no words I can use to express my gratitude. You brought my baby back to me. To us. To Cantato Minor. She is the light of our lives, my purpose for getting up in the morning. Without her, I could not go on. None of us could.”

“No problem,” said Cal. “She’s a great girl. It’s a pleasure to bring her home.”

Mech coughed noisily. Cal ignored him.

“She is so important. So important,” said Soonsho’s dad. “Without her…”

“I’m sure our guests understand how pleased we all are to have Soonsho home,” said the Conductor, interrupting. Soonsho’s father looked briefly taken aback, then bowed several more times and fell into silence.

“Well, like I say, totally our pleasure,” said Cal. He winked at Soonsho. The barnacle-like bumps on her face blushed pink, and she risked opening her mouth enough to return his smile.

There was another awkward lull in the conversation. Cal looked to Loren and silently gestured for her to say something. It took her a moment to understand, but then she plunged straight in.

“So.”

The Conductor and Conductress looked at her and raised their eyebrows inquisitively. At least, the Conductress did. The Conductor was still wearing his helmet, but something about the way the bottom of his face moved suggested there was some eyebrow action going on with him, too.

Loren opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She floundered for a few agonizing seconds, then reached for the first thing that came to mind. “War.”

“I’m sorry?” asked the Conductor.

“There’s a war,” said Loren. “Did you hear about that? What do you think about it?” She cocked her head and held her chin, as if listening intently.

“Really?” said the Conductor. “We hadn’t heard. The outside galaxy rarely touches us down here.”

“The war will,” said Mech. “Ain’t nowhere safe.”

The Conductor smiled, grimly. “Yes. Well, we have our own protective measures. I think we’ll be quite all right.”

“Oh, you think so?” snorted Mech.

“I know,” said the Conductor. “The galaxy has been at war before, and we weren’t affected then. This time will be no different.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see,” said Mech. “Now, about this reward…”

“Bathroom,” said Cal, cutting Mech dead. “Uh, I mean, I could really do with going to the bathroom. Would you be able to point me in the right direction?”

The Conductor gestured to a waiter, who immediately glided to Cal’s side. “Please,” the waiter said, gesturing for Cal to walk ahead.

Cal removed his sombrero and placed it on Loren’s head. “Can you look after my hat?”

Loren immediately took the hat off and held it, instead.

“Be right back,” said Cal, heading in the direction the waiter had indicated. “Then I guess we should think about making tracks.”

“Soon,” said the Conductor. “First, there’s something I’d like you all to hear.”

Cal replied with a thumbs up, then the waiter darted ahead of him and held open a door, and Cal continued through into a long corridor with a mirror-like polished floor.

“Second door on the left, sir,” said the servant. “Should I wait?”

“I think I’ll manage,” said Cal. “But what you could do is write down the name of those nibbles, so I can get the kitchen thing to magic them up.”

The servant lowered his head. “Of course. It will be my pleasure.”

Cal headed for the door the servant had indicated and pushed it open. A small bathroom was revealed, with a toilet made of polished copper. While there were lots of little differences between the toilets he’d encountered on his travels, Cal was relieved that the basic design seemed to be pretty universal.

They didn’t all deal with the… contents in the same way. Some flushed, like on Earth, others vaporized, while one, on a planet he had no desire to ever return to, ejected. Basically, though, quirks aside, the essential shape and functionality were similar all across the galaxy.

The door closed behind him, cutting off the light from the corridor and plunging the bathroom into darkness. There were no automatic lights in here, and Cal fumbled along the wall, trying to find a switch.

Nothing.

He clapped a couple of times, in case that worked.

He said, “Lights on.” When that didn’t work, he tried adding, “Please,” but the effect – or lack of one – was the same.

Still, the room wasn’t particularly big, and he’d glimpsed the toilet long enough to figure out roughly where it was. He edged forwards, his hands out in front of him, fumbling his way through the dark.

After a few seconds, his hands found the back wall. He slowly moved them down until he found the toilet. Estimating roughly where the bowl was, he unzipped his fly and let rip.

“Aaah.”

The galaxy was a big place, and held countless pleasures, but he doubted very few of them could compare to the feeling of draining a full bladder. He rocked on his heels, just enjoying the moment. He was so busy enjoying the moment, in fact, that he didn’t notice the knife until the cold steel pressed against his throat.

“Don’t move,” hissed a voice in his ear.

Cal swallowed. It barely made it past the blade. “I can’t stop peeing,” he replied.

“What?” spat the voice.

“Once I’ve started, I can’t stop,” Cal said. “There’s nothing I can do about it. If you have a problem with that, you’ll have to kill me.”

“Just hurry up,” the voice growled.

Cal continued to pee. The knife scraped against his stubble as the person holding it shifted their grip.

“What’s taking so long?” the voice demanded.

“I had quite a lot to drink,” said Cal. “Just give me a minute.”

He continued to pee.

The figure holding him felt larger than he was, the voice coming from slightly above his right ear. The weight on his shoulder whenever the person spoke suggested he was leaning down, too. Even if the attacker hadn’t had the knife, and Cal wasn’t midway through what had, until very recently, been a deeply satisfying urination experience, he didn’t really fancy his chances.

“What’s keeping him?” asked another voice from somewhere in the bathroom.

“Jesus, how many of you are in here?” Cal asked.

“Shut up!” snarled the one with the knife. He pressed the blade harder against Cal’s throat to make the seriousness of the situation clear. “And hurry.”

The torrent became a trickle, and then a drip. “I’m going to shake now,” said Cal. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t slit my throat.”

He shook, then zipped himself up. “There,” he said. “Now, how may I help you gentlemen?”

“Take off your shirt,” the man with the knife hissed.

“Uh… why?”

“Just do it!”

Cal sighed, but carefully so as not to place any unnecessary pressure on the blade. “Well, this is not how I saw the evening turning out,” he said. He slipped the shirt off and let it fall to the floor. “There. Now what.”

“Turn around. Slowly.”

The knife was withdrawn. Cal considered swinging with a punch, but the bathroom was still in darkness, and there was no saying what, if anything, he’d hit. Instead, he shuffled around on the spot and raised his hands.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’re just a really overzealous cleaning crew?” he asked.

“We are the Xandrie,” hissed the voice of the knifeman. “We’ve come for the girl.”

“Jesus, you guys just don’t give up, do you?” said Cal. “Well, I hate to tell you, but you’re too late.”

“No, you are!”

Cal frowned. “What?”

“What?” said the voice, after a pause.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean?”

“Uh… OK.”

“Shut up!”

“We’ve come for the girl,” said the other voice, closer to the door. “We want the reward. We deserve that reward.”

“So… wait? You’re going to kidnap her again, then immediately hand her back over? That’s the worst plan I’ve ever heard. And, believe me, coming from me, that’s saying a lot.”

“You haven’t heard the best part yet,” said the first voice. “You’re going to bring her to us.”

“I am?”

“Yes. You see, we’re going to place an explosive device directly over your heart, and if you don’t bring her here… kaboom!”

Cal felt something cold and metallic press against his belly button. “That’s not my…” he began, before thinking better of it.

“Not your what?”

“Mmm? Oh, nothing.”

“That’s not where your heart is, is it? That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”

“Uh, no,” said Cal.

“Yes you were,” growled the voice. “Where is it, then?”

“It’s there. Seriously. You’re bang on,” said Cal, then the blade of the knife was suddenly at his throat again, the point twisting into his skin. “Ooh, OK, up a bit.”

The metal slid up to Cal’s chest. It wasn’t directly over his heart, but he reckoned it’d be close enough to get the job done. Two metal tendrils snaked up over his shoulders and under his arms, then locked together at the back, pinching his skin.

The guy with the knife prodded the chest plate a few times. A red light blinked on and off, allowing Cal fleeting glimpses of a pig-like snout and a number of eyes which seemed to have been liberally sprinkled on, rather than added to the face in any particular pattern.

The other figure lurking over by the door was smaller than the knifeman, but what he lacked in size he made up for in guns. He had two of them, both ridiculously large and unpleasant-looking, and both pointed at Cal.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” grunted Pig Face. He tossed Cal’s shirt at him. “You’re going to put that on, then you’re going to go back out there. From the moment you leave this room, you’ll have four minutes to get the girl, and bring her to us.”

“Or we blow you up,” sniggered the other guy. Cal had decided to simply name him ‘Guns’. It was that or ‘Overcompensating for a Very Small Penis,’ and that didn’t trip off the tongue nearly as well.

“Don’t make it back, and you die,” Pig Face said. “Tell anyone what’s happening, and you die. Try any funny stuff, and you die.”

Cal pulled on his shirt. “Can you be more specific about what qualifies as ‘funny stuff’?” he asked. “Are we talking physical comedy, you know, like slapstick? Amusing anecdotes? Observational material…? Oh puns! Where do you stand on puns?”

Pig Face clamped a rough hand around Cal’s throat and leaned in until his snout and all those eyes were all Cal could see in the blinking red glow. “You know what we mean,” the alien growled. “We are the Xandrie. You’d better not mess with us.”

“Or… boom,” said Guns, his voice a scratchy giggle. Pig Face released his grip. Cal fastened his shirt, and the bathroom settled back into darkness.

“So, what if I do?” said Cal. “Go boom, I mean.”

This seemed to catch the two Xandrie off guard. “What?” asked Pig Face.

Cal tapped the chest plate through his shirt. “This thing. I could just walk out of here, sit down and wait for it to go off. You wouldn’t get the girl.”

“But you’d be dead,” said Guns.

Cal shrugged. “So? Maybe I don’t care. You ever think about that?”

Pig Face sighed. “Oh. So, you think you’re a hero? Is that it? Well, let me tell you something, hero. In my experience, no-one’s as brave as they like to think they are. That urge to survive, to cling to life, it’s too great. You might think you can walk out of here and just go wait somewhere for the bomb to go off, but once you’re out there – once you’re in the corridor, all alone, just you and the countdown – you’ll do what you’re told.”

“Also,” added Guns, “if you don’t, we’ll go out there and kill all your friends, then take the girl anyway. This way is just better all round, really.”

Cal nodded slowly. “You both make excellent points. Bluff called. Well done.” He clapped his hands together. “Right, then! I guess I’ll see you gents in under four minutes.”

He gestured over his shoulder as he stumbled blindly for the door. “Oh, and could somebody flush that? Thanks.”

Pushing open the door, he stepped out into the corridor. “Four minutes,” Guns whispered. “And no funny stuff.”

The door closed. Cal took a deep breath. The metal of the chest plate squeezed him uncomfortably.

“OK, then,” he whispered. He looked along the corridor to the left. It led… somewhere. He had no idea where, though. Away from Soonsho. Away from his friends. That was all he knew.

He should go that way. He could probably get quite far in four minutes.

Alternatively, he could wait for three minutes and fifty-five seconds, then turn around and go back into the bathroom. That’d fonking teach them.

But he had no idea how big the explosion would be. Would it take Pig Face and Guns out, or would it just lightly glaze them in his innards?

Realistically, it was left or right, then. Rebellion or obedience. Heroism or cowardice. Being blown to bits, or not.

“Fonk it,” Cal muttered.

Then, much to his annoyance, he turned right and darted along the corridor, back in the direction of the ballroom.

The Conductor and Conductress both beckoned to him as he entered the room. Clearly, they hadn’t had enough awkward small talk last time, and were eager for more of the same.

Cal headed towards them, but stopped when he reached his crew.

“You took your time,” Mech grunted.

“Uh, yeah. Constipation,” said Cal, patting his stomach. He took the sombrero back from Loren, and pulled it on. “I’m pretty blocked up down there. Possibly shouldn’t have eaten six increasingly enormous pieces of pie back on the ship.”

“Ugh, too much information,” said Miz.

“For once, we actually agree on something,” said Loren.

“Oh, wait, do we?” said Miz. She shrugged. “Then I take it back. I’d totally love to hear more about your bowel movements.”

Loren rolled her eyes and sighed. Cal pulled a sympathetic face and wrapped his arms around her. “Aw, don’t let her upset you,” he said, squeezing her tightly. “Come on, hug it out.”

“What are you doing? Get off,” Loren told him.

Cal stepped back, but then slid an arm around her waist and turned to face the others. “We should probably tell them.”

“Tell us what?” asked Mech.

“That Loren and I are in a relationship. We’re getting married.”

“What?” Loren and Miz both spluttered at the same time.

“Since when?” Miz demanded. Her lips curled upwards, revealing just a few of her teeth, but it was a few you didn’t really want to be made aware of.

“Uh-oh. We’re in trouble now!” said Cal.

“Since never,” said Loren. She pulled free of his grip. “What are you talking about?”

“Uh-oh,” Cal repeated, more forcibly this time. He waggled his eyebrows. “We’re in trouble now.”

He glanced pointedly at the door he’d just come through. Loren followed his gaze, then looked across to Soonsho. Cal nodded, just once.

“Fine. I mean, I don’t even care,” said Miz. “Does the thought of it make me want to puke myself, like, completely inside out? Yes. But, you know, whatever. So what?”

“Yeah, she’s not happy,” said Loren. “Just how much trouble do you think you’re in, exactly?”

“Ooh. A lot,” said Cal. “In fact—”

The chest plate didn’t explode. Not exactly. It made a sort of muffled paff sound, and Cal felt like he’d been hoofed in the sternum by the nine-time winner of World’s Unfriendliest Horse. The force of it catapulted him backwards. He saw the world rushing past too fast. Tasted blood in his mouth. Smelled his scorching flesh, and felt an aching emptiness where, just a moment ago, his chest had been.

As he skidded backwards across the ballroom floor, he heard the crashing of several doors being kicked in. And shouting. Lots of shouting.

By the time he’d finished skidding, Cal Carver was dead.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Cal sank through the floor. The redness poured down on him, like a cascading waterfall of his own blood, forcing him further and further into the ground.

If he was dead – which he was starting to think he probably was, what with the gaping hole in his chest, and everything – the direction of travel was giving him some cause for concern. He’d never been a religious man, but as he plunged deeper and deeper into what was rapidly becoming a worryingly fiery redness, he was starting to wonder if that might have been a mistake.

Gradually, the redness faded, becoming a sort of washed-out sepia tone. It was round about the same time that he thudded against the ground. It didn’t hurt. One of the benefits of being dead, he supposed.

A hooded figure appeared from the yellow-gray mist and loomed over him. Cal knew it could be one of two people – one being the living embodiment of Death, the other being…

“Tobey Maguire?” said Cal.

Hollywood actor, Tobey Maguire, pushed back his hood and looked around the clearing where Cal had landed. “Where did you come from?” he asked, then he dry-heaved a couple of times. “Ew. What happened to your chest?”

It wasn’t the real Tobey Maguire, of course. Cal knew that. The real Tobey Maguire had almost certainly been killed by alien parasites, like most of the rest of the population of the planet Earth. No, this was a sort of Spirit Tobey Maguire, who would often appear to Cal in times of great need. Cal had no idea why. Nor did Tobey Maguire, for that matter, but it helped to pass the time.

Cal stood up. Something wet and squidgy fell from the hole in his chest and landed with a splat on the ground between them. “Shizz. Do you think I needed that?”

Tobey Maguire peered down at the bloody wad. “Hopefully not.”

Cal turned on the spot. The world he had landed in was a cold, shadowy place, tinted in shades of yellow and brown. He felt as if he were in an old photograph, but one where the photographer had neglected to point the camera at anything interesting.

“Am I dead?”

Tobey Maguire shrugged. “It’s impossible to say. What happened?”

Cal pointed to the hole in his chest.

“Oh yeah. God, yes, you’re definitely dead. I mean, that is…” Tobey Maguire grimaced and sucked air in through his teeth. “That is the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I think I can see your spine.”

“Well stop looking at it!” said Cal, covering his chest self-consciously. He slumped onto the ground, but couldn’t remember if it was deliberate or not. His breath rolled out of him as misty yellow clouds. Was it getting colder, or was it just his imagination?

“Hey, Tobey Maguire, is it just me or—?” he began, looking up. The hooded figure was nowhere to be seen. Cal’s eyes darted left and right, watching the mist rolling in. His voice came out as a whisper. “Tobey Maguire? Where are you?”

A sound emerged from the sepia fog. A low scraping, like something being dragged across the ground towards him. Even though his heart wasn’t currently located inside his chest, Cal felt it race. He tried to scramble backwards away from the approaching sound, but his arms and legs had become impossibly heavy, and he collapsed, landing flat on his back, his muscles all frozen with cold and fear.

His neck wouldn’t move. His head wouldn’t lift. He felt a hand wrap around his ankle, then another press against the shin on his opposite leg.

Slowly, steadily, something was climbing up him.

* * *

The Xandrie stormed through the doors, guns and voices raised. There were nine of them, all uniquely hideous, none of them even vaguely resembling the others. The weapons and the shouting were the only things they had in common, but they moved in orchestrated harmony, carefully choosing their targets.

Loren stared at Cal’s motionless body, her breath trapped in a bubble at the back of her throat. Her Zertex training didn’t allow her time to grieve. She reached for her gun, only to find her holster empty. Where the Hell was her gun?

Mech raised his arms, preparing to open fire, but the Xandrie that Cal had come to know as Pig Face squeezed the trigger of his blaster pistol, and a bolt of energy streaked past Soonsho’s head, missing by a fraction of an inch. She opened her mouth to scream, but her mom quickly clamped a hand over it, trapping the sound inside.

“Don’t!” Pig Face warned Mech. “Or she dies. They all die.”

Mech clenched his jaw and glared mute hatred in Pig Face’s direction, then tutted and lowered his arms. The Xandrie had them surrounded.

“Cal,” Loren whispered, urging him to get up. She knew it was pointless, though. The way he had flown, the way he had hit – he was gone. Cal was gone.

He lay in an awkward heap on the floor, one arm pinned under him, a leg twisted awkwardly, the sombrero beside him on the floor.

Miz extended her claws and rose onto the balls of her feet. “We have to get to him. We can take these guys,” she said. It was supposed to come out as a whisper, but her ears were still ringing from the sound the Conductress had made back in the landing bay, and it was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. One of the Xandrie stopped aiming at Soonsho and aimed at Miz, instead.

“Not without getting people killed,” said Loren.

“But we have to get to Cal!”

“There ain’t no point,” said Mech.

Miz tried to argue, but a sudden tightness in her throat stopped her words coming out. Her chest heaved. She flinched when a metal hand rested on her shoulder.

“You’re OK, kid,” said Mech. “You’re OK.”

Loren tore her eyes from Cal and raised her hands. “We’re not going to try anything,” she announced. “Let’s all just keep calm here.”

“What do you people want?” demanded the Conductor, his booming voice dripping outrage.

“You know what we want,” Pig Face replied. He flicked a fat purple tongue across the underside of his snout. “We want the reward for returning the girl.”

“Aw, come on,” said Mech. “That’s our reward, man. We brought her back.”

“You took her from us!” Pig Face hissed.

Miz scowled. “Wait, so you kidnapped her, and now you’re upset because we rescued her?”

“We deserve that reward!” Pig Face insisted. “Do you have any idea how much planning went into getting her in the first place? Hmm?”

Miz gave a disinterested shrug.

“Yeah, well, it was a lot. A lot. Those guys worked very hard, and what did they get?”

“Turned into mush?” guessed Mech.

“Turned into mush. Exactly,” said Pig Face. “How is that fair?”

“Because they kidnapped her, you fonking…” Mech began, but he backed down when Pig Face made a show of aiming at Soonsho’s head. “Hey, easy man, it’s all cool.”

Pig Face eyeballed Mech for a while – which was particularly effective thanks to his sheer number of eyes – then turned his attention to the Conductor. “So, you going to hand over that reward?” he asked. “Or do we all start shooting?”

* * *

“Tobey Maguire, is that you?”

Cal was still on the ground, unable to move, as someone – or something, it was too early to tell – clambered slowly up his fallen body.

“Because this is not cool, Tobey Maguire. Not cool.”

The thing crept higher. It wasn’t Tobey Maguire. He knew that. One hand pressed on his shin, another on his knee. Cal’s eyes were open, but staring straight up at the billowing clouds of yellow mist. Whatever was on him was still too low down to see.

One hand on his thigh.

Its breathing was hoarse and erratic. It whistled on the way in and rasped on the way out. Whatever was climbing up him didn’t sound a picture of health. He could probably have fought it off, were it not for his spontaneous head-to-toe paralysis.

One hand on his hip. One on his waist.

Fonk, it was taking its time. The suspense was killing him.

He tried to think of a game to play to pass the time, but could only really think of ‘I Spy’ and given that he A) had no-one to play with and B) could see nothing but clouds, its entertainment potential was pretty limited.

One hand was on his stomach now. The other went to his left arm, deftly avoiding the blood-slicked hole where his chest should have been.

Cal braced himself. Any minute now, the thing would edge into his line of sight. This was it. He was about to come face to face with whatever it was.

Any second.

Here it came.

Any second now.

Nnnnow.

…

Where the fonk was it?

Then, just as Cal was on the brink of having a go at ‘I Spy’ after all, a skull-like head rose into view. Its olive-colored skin was paper-thin, so Cal could see every one of its thin veins, spread out like a roadmap beneath the skin’s surface.

Two piercing blue eyes stared into Cal’s. A gummy smile spread across the old man’s withered lips. “Hey, I know you,” Cal managed to eject through his motionless mouth.

Cal could feel the stumps of the withered figure’s legs digging sharply into his thighs. The old man prodded Cal right in the center of his chest, his finger sinking in all the way to the spine. “Good man. Young man,” he said. He pointed to himself. “Old man. Old enough.”

And then, still smiling, the man clamped his hands on either side of Cal’s head, and the clouds around them broiled and churned as if alive.

* * *

While the Xandrie pointed their guns and made their demands, down on the floor, Cal’s sombrero had come to a conclusion.

It wasn’t happy.

It didn’t know the full details of what had happened. It didn’t think in details. In some ways, it didn’t think at all. But it felt things. Deeply. And, right now, it felt unhappy.

No, more than that.

It was angry. Very angry. In fact, it was – by quite some distance – the angriest hat that had ever existed.

Cal was dead. The thoughts that had whooshed from his brain like fireworks – bright and vivid and strange – had stopped. Even this current form had come whizzing out of his subconscious at some point, although he couldn’t remember exactly when.

Splurt had enjoyed being a sombrero.

He had enjoyed having a friend.

It had been fun.

But now, his friend was gone, and the fun was over, and the time to be a sombrero had passed.

Slowly, silently, unnoticed by anyone in the room, Splurt began to change.

Pig Face still had his gun on Soonsho. He pointed with the other hand to one of his many fellow Xandrie. This one was tenuously humanoid, if you ignored the extra set of arms, and whatever the fonk that thing was that was growing from her back.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. Torsha here is going to go with the Conductress to where you keep your cash,” Pig Face began, then a blur of movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, stopping him mid-sentence. He glanced left to where his bathroom accomplice had been standing, but Guns, as Cal had dubbed him, was no longer there.

“Drazz?” said Pig Face who, unlike Cal, was familiar enough with the guy to know his real name.

Drazz rocketed across the room from somewhere behind Pig Face. He slammed into Torsha, and they both exited through a hole they made in the wall with their tumbling bodies.

A Xandrie yelped very briefly on Pig Face’s right. Pig Face whipped around in time to see the dome-headed gangster go hurtling upwards at eye-watering speed. Everyone watched as the guy hit the ceiling with a sort of damp crunch, then listened to his screams as he plunged back down again, his arms flapping as he tried desperately – and, ultimately, unsuccessfully – to fly.

He exploded like a sack of warm guts that had recently fallen a long way onto a metal floor, then several other Xandrie began to holler and scream as whipping green tentacles snared them around their legs, waists and necks.

Guns fired. Heads popped. Mizette hurled herself at Pig Face, but he got off a shot that grazed her ribcage, and managed to dive out of her path.

Miz spun around, snarling, but Pig Face grabbed for Soonsho and pulled her in front of him, his gun against her head, his hand pressed tightly against her mouth.

“Everyone stop!” he warned. His voice echoed around the now eerily silent ballroom. The other Xandrie lay on the floor, none of them moving beyond the occasional involuntary twitch. Some of Pig Face’s eyes darted across his fallen comrades, while a few others kept watch over Miz, Mech, Loren and the others.

The eyes he had left over regarded Splurt with a mixture of wonder and fear. The little blob pulsed furiously on the floor, four vine-like tendrils extending from his lumpy body.

“What the fonk is that thing?” Pig Face whispered, but then he shook his head like he didn’t really want to know. He pressed the muzzle of his gun harder against Soonsho’s face, making her squirm in pain. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Pig Face snarled. “I’m taking the girl and I’m leaving. Anyone tries to come after me, I kill her. Once I’m clear, I’ll be in touch to arrange the ransom.”

“But we need her,” said the Conductor.

“Well then, you should have thought of that before you killed all my guys!” Pig Face barked.

Miz raised herself onto the balls of her feet. A growl rumbled at the back of her throat.

“Miz, don’t,” said Loren.

“Call her off,” Pig Face warned. “I mean it.”

Miz’s claws extended to their full terrifying length. Her gums drew up, revealing every last one of her teeth.

“Don’t do this,” Mech said. “You won’t make it.”

“Call her off!” Pig Face hissed. “Or I swear, this girl’s brains are going to paint the—OW!”

He cried out as Soonsho sunk her teeth into the palm of his hand. Instinctively, he yanked it away, and Soonsho fell to the floor, covering her head.

Miz pounced.

Pig Face brought up his gun.

And a single shot echoed around the ballroom.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Miz stood perfectly still, a vapor of blood misting the air in front of her face.

“Wh-what?” she said.

Then, with a thud, Pig Face toppled forwards, revealing Cal standing behind him.

Cal’s arm flopped down. Loren’s gun slipped from his blood-slicked fingers and clattered noisily on the metal ground. He managed a grin that was eighty-percent grimace, waved briefly, then his legs gave out and he collapsed in an uncomfortable-looking heap.

Despite a strong showing from Miz, Splurt reached Cal first. He bounced across the floor like a rubber ball, then bounded into Cal’s arms.

“Ow! Ow! Careful, buddy,” Cal hissed, and Splurt leaped clear in fright.

“Cal?” cried Loren, skidding up behind Mizette. “But… I mean… I thought you were dead.”

“You were totally dead,” Miz confirmed.

Cal nodded. “Yep. Yep, pretty much.” He gestured to the scorched metal plate on his chest and then jabbed a thumb towards his back. “Could someone…?”

Loren darted around behind him and fiddled with the harness until she figured out the clasp. The chest plate fell away. Mech, who had been marching over, recoiled in horror.

“Oh, shizz! Your chest!”

Cal looked upwards. “Is it bad? How bad is it? Is it bad?”

“Is what bad?” asked Loren, then she spotted his chest and her face became one big oval of surprise. “Oh… fonk. Wow. Just… wow.”

“Oh Jesus,” said Cal. “Is it as bad as that?”

Loren swallowed. “What? I mean… No, it’s not… Wow.”

“I think I’m gonna puke,” said Mech. “And I don’t even have a stomach.”

“What is that thing?” asked Miz, bending down. “It looks so… squishy.”

“Christ!” Cal yelped. He flitted his eyes down for a fraction of a second, far too quickly to actually see anything. “Just tell me, and be honest, can you see my spine?”

“Wait a minute,” said Loren, squatting down to examine Cal more closely. She extended a finger and moved it towards the wound. Cal hissed and drew back. “Don’t be such a baby,” Loren told him. “Hold still.”

“What the Hell are you doing? Don’t touch it!” yelped Mech. “It’ll fall out!”

“Oh, Jesus,” Cal sobbed. “Please don’t let anything fall out.”

“It’s healing,” said Loren. She prodded the edge of the wound with her finger.

“It is?” said Cal.

Loren nodded. “I’m literally watching you knit back together. I can barely even see your ribcage now.”

“My ribcage?” Cal yelped. “You could see my fonking ribcage?”

“Only the bony parts,” said Loren.

“It’s all bony parts!” said Cal. “It’s nothing but bony parts.”

Loren shuffled aside. “Mech, check this out.”

“Hell no. I don’t want to look,” said Mech, who had turned away.

“Mech!”

With a grunt of irritation, Mech turned. He immediately recoiled again. “Oh shizz, that’s even worse. It’s moving!”

“Whoa,” said Miz. “You’re right. It’s totally healing up.”

Cal gritted his teeth, then risked a glance down. The wound was still a red and sticky hole in his chest, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself screaming.

As he watched, though, something happened. From the edges of the wound, a layer of thick white bone bloomed, closing over his exposed heart like a set of landing bay doors. Even as the bone joined, tendrils of muscle and sinew had begun creeping across it.

Loren, Miz and Mech watched it in stunned silence, while Splurt rolled up against Cal’s back, supporting him.

“Thanks, buddy,” Cal whispered, absent-mindedly. He, too, was staring in wonder at his rapidly-healing chest. The bone was completely covered now, and a semi-transparent layer of pink skin coated the muscle like gloss paint.

“Can all humans do that?” Loren asked.

Cal swallowed. “Not that I know of,” he said. He looked up and met her gaze. “It was Tullok.”

Mech frowned. “Tullok? As in the old healer guy on the other side of that wormhole?”

Cal nodded. “Back on that planet, before I went looking for Splurt, he gave me his life force. All of it. I mean, he literally turned himself to ash in the process. It was, like, one of the top ten most traumatic moments of my life.”

“And, what, it made you immortal?” asked Loren.

“Fonked if I know,” said Cal. He pointed to his now almost fully-healed chest. “This might be a one-time thing for all I know. The guy was, like, a hundred years old, I don’t imagine he had a whole lot of life force left to give. Although, now I think about it, it explains my ear healing up before, after that cop shot it off.”

He raised his arms. Miz and Mech took one each and helped him to his feet, with Splurt pushing from behind. Cal gingerly prodded his chest, slightly worried it might collapse like partially-set meringue at his touch. To his immense relief, it didn’t. It felt… normal. Were it not for the blood currently drying on his stomach, and the circular hole burned through the front of his shirt, no-one would have been able to tell anything had even happened to him.

Loren stooped and retrieved her blaster. “How did you get my gun?”

“Hmm? Oh, I took it off you when we were hugging. You should really look after it better.”

“Why?”

“So nobody steals it.”

“No, I mean why did you take it?”

“Oh.” Cal shrugged. “I thought I might have to shoot someone. I wasn’t actually expecting them to blow me up.”

Mech looked over to Pig Face’s fallen body. Soonsho, her parents, and the Conductor and Conductress all stood well clear of him, watching Cal in silence. Around them, several servants had already begun the process of clearing away the Xandrie corpses.

“Looks like your aim’s improved,” Mech said. “Maybe I’ll give you your own gun back.”

“Yeah,” said Cal, shifting awkwardly. “It was supposed to be a warning shot.”

“Or maybe I won’t.”

Cal limped across to Soonsho. His legs didn’t hurt, but given everything he’d just been through, he felt some dramatic limping was only appropriate.

“Everyone OK?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the Conductor. “Thank you. Confused, perhaps, but in good health. What happened?”

Cal shrugged. “Uh, short version, there were some guys in your bathroom, they put a bomb on me, I died, I came back.” He gestured over to where two servants were mopping up a partially exploded Xandrie. “As for this, I have absolutely no idea.”

“Splurt,” said Mech.

“Splurt killed all these guys?”

“Oh yes,” said Loren. “It was…”

“Awesome,” said Miz.

“Well, I was going to say ‘harrowing,’ but that, too,” said Loren.

Cal looked back over his shoulder. Splurt pulsed anxiously, his eyes pointed to the floor. “Splurt! Way to go, buddy!”

Splurt rippled, his eyes springing up to the top of his head. He formed a semi-circular bowl shape, and rocked happily from side to side.

“I can only apologize,” said the Conductor. “I shall tighten security at once.”

“So much for being protected, huh?” said Mech.

“We are,” the Conductor insisted. “Or… we will be. Soon.”

Mech opened his mouth to argue, but the Conductor went straight for his weak spot.

“Now, about your reward…”

“Finally,” said Mech.

“You returned Soonsho to us,” the Conductor said. “For which we promised you one million credits, correct?”

“That’s right,” agreed Mech.

“Technically, husband, they returned her to us twice,” said the Conductress. “Were it not for them, Soonsho would now be in the stars.”

Mech’s eyes lit up. “I like your thinking, lady.”

“I agree,” said the Conductor. “The Conductress is wise in such matters. Two million credits it is.”

Mech let out a high-pitched squeak, but otherwise said nothing.

The Conductor indicated one of his servants. “My staff will take your ship’s identification codes and initiate the transfer immediately. The funds will be with you a few seconds later.”

“Thank you,” said Loren, as Mech hurried over to the servant to sort out the details. “It’s very generous.”

“It is only money,” said the Conductor. “Having Soonsho back with us is… well, it’s everything to us.”

Soonsho’s parents hugged her. She buried her face in her dad’s shoulder for a while, then raised her eyes to Cal. She smiled, but there was something about it that didn’t quite look right. It was like she was smiling despite something, rather than because of it.

“And now, for another reward,” said the Conductor, placing a hand on Cal’s shoulder and turning him around. “Something very few outsiders have ever had the good fortune to witness.”

Across the ballroom, hundreds of hatches slid open in the floor. Someone rose upwards through each one – men, women, adults and children, all dressed in flowing white robes.

The Conductor squeezed Cal’s shoulder, and his rich booming voice became a soft, awed whisper. “The Choir of Cantato Minor.”

“Great!” said Cal, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. It wasn’t that he’d ever had any bad experiences of choirs, exactly, it was just that he’d never really had any particularly good ones. Any time he’d found himself in a situation where listening to one was an inescapable inevitability, they’d been tedious at best.

He’d found one way of making them more enjoyable was to try to stand within earshot, and hum a completely different tune at alternating registers. It was amazing how quickly that sort of thing could spread through the choir like a virus, completely derailing the whole awful thing.

Much as he’d like to mess with these guys in the same way, he felt it wouldn’t really be right. He was a guest of the Cantatorians, and the choir was obviously a pretty big deal. Besides, he was too far away for any of them to hear him without everyone else hearing, too. So, there was nothing to do but grin and bear it. Besides, he’d recently been through death. This couldn’t be any worse than that.

Across the room, one of the men emitted a low, groaning sort of note.

OK, maybe a bit worse, but not much.

And then the singing began. Only it wasn’t singing. Not really. There were sounds, certainly, but to call them that didn’t do them justice. The notes danced through the air, finding footholds deep in Cal’s soul. Three seconds into the performance, Cal was holding his breath. Five seconds in, he was crying.

He felt begun. That was the only way he could describe it. Like everything until this moment had been a warm-up for this, here, now. His skin goosebumped, his hair quivered. He felt love and loss and sadness and joy. And more. Much more. Everything more.

There were no individual voices, just a concurrence of sound that seemed to be affecting him on the molecular level. He heard the colors of each note, smelled the harmonies, tasted the emotion and the passion behind the performance.

He was shaking. He was pretty sure that wasn’t normal, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about much, in fact. Just the music. Only the music. Always the music.

He remembered there were others in the room with him, and was pleased to note he wasn’t the only one reacting this way. Loren and Miz were completely transfixed. Even Splurt swayed hypnotically.

Only Mech didn’t seem too invested in the choir. He was tapping the controls on his arm, barely paying the singers any attention. Cal almost felt himself getting angry. He wanted to march over there and punch Mech straight in his stupid metal face.

But then, he might miss a note. And that wouldn’t do at all.

The Conductor and Conductress stood holding hands, swaying gently in time with the choir song. Behind them, Soonsho stood between her parents, gazing wistfully towards the ballroom ceiling, like she could see the same colors Cal could, dancing and twirling like leaves in a tornado.

The song built to a big finish. The singers gave it their all, and a chasm of empty hopelessness opened in the pit of Cal’s stomach. He almost doubled over from the sheer grief and heartache of it, but then the tone of the music changed, and Cal was suddenly filled with hope. It spread through his core like the rising sun, pushing away the darkness and shadow, and driving out the cold.

And then, with a couple of final warbles and a ping from something not unlike a triangle, the music stopped, leaving only its echo to seep into the fabric of the room.

Cal cleared his throat. He wanted to speak, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet.

His body tingled. His whole essence, in fact. He watched, wordlessly, as the choir slowly sank back into the floor through the holes at their feet, and found himself almost mourning their loss as the hatches slid closed above them.

“My apologies,” said the Conductor. “There were a few errors in their performance. They are unaccustomed to singing for off-worlders. I think nerves may have gotten the better of some of them.”

“Hmm?” said Cal. He felt like the Conductor expected some sort of reply, but that was the best he could come up with at the moment.

“Can, like, everyone do that?” asked Miz, whose well-cultivated ironic detachment to pretty much everything had allowed her to recover more quickly than the others.

“To an extent,” said the Conductor. “We all have our own unique vocal ranges. They are our greatest assets – and our greatest weapon. But, yes, one thing we all share is a passion for singing.”

“But not Soonsho?” said Loren, finding her own voice.

“No,” said the Conductor. “Soonsho is quite unique in that regard. Her voice…” He bowed to Soonsho and smiled. “…while undoubtedly beautiful, emits at frequencies quite unlike those of any other Cantatorian. It is a powerful instrument but, alas, one far too dangerous to ever use.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Cal, finally regaining the power of speech. “It got us out of a couple of nasty situations.”

“It’s there!” yelped Mech. “We got it!” He jigged on the spot, and the clanking and whirring of hydraulics reverberated around the room. “We’re rich. We’re fonking rich!”

“Aha,” said the Conductor. “It appears the reward transfer has been completed. Our thanks to you all, once again.”

He gestured to one of the doors the Xandrie had kicked open. It was already in the process of being repaired. “And now the time has come for us to bid you farewell. We have some pressing matters which we must attend to.” He looked to Mech. “Regarding the renewal of our defenses, as it happens. I’m sure you’ll approve.”

“I don’t care,” cheered Mech. “I am all kinds of rich!”

“He likes money,” Cal explained.

“Yes,” said the Conductor. “I guessed that. Spend it wisely, my friends. I fear grave times lie ahead for the galaxy. I wish you well.”

He made a gesture with one hand, like a waveform snaking in the air. “May your song carry long and carry far.”

“Thanks,” said Cal. “May your helmet always be shiny and your...” He glanced down at the bulge in the Conductor’s jumpsuit and shook his head. “Actually, I’m going to leave it there.”

He started to turn, then stopped. “Oh, and I’d like to apologize for any inadvertent spillages I may have caused in the bathroom. It was dark, and I had a knife to my throat, so conditions were less than optimal. My aim may have been a little off.”

The Conductor and Conductress both nodded, but said nothing.

“By which I mean it was definitely a little off,” Cal said. “By which I mean I peed on the floor.”

“It shall be dealt with,” the Conductor assured him.

“Great!” Cal approached Soonsho and her family. “Well, looks like we’re heading off,” he said.

“Thank you. Thank you,” said Soonsho’s dad. He took Cal’s hand and wrapped his fingers around it. “We can never repay you for what you have given us back.”

“All part of the service,” said Cal. He shook Soonsho’s mom’s hand, too, then turned to the girl herself. “Hey, you. You OK?”

Soonsho nodded. Her lips moved, just a fraction. Miz’s ears raised.

“What’d she say?”

“She says she’s where she needs to be.”

“Right,” said Cal. “I guess that’s all any of us can ask for.”

“May your song carry long and carry far,” said Soonsho’s dad, bowing in gratitude.

“Oh, it’s gonna carry far,” said Mech, still jiggling gleefully. “It’s gonna carry us far, far away from here!”

Cal winked at Soonsho. He ruffled the girl’s spiky red hair. “Told you you’d be safe, kid. Cal Carver guarantee.”

And with that, Cal turned, saluted the room in general, then headed for the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

One short flying-disk ride later, Cal sat in his chair, a plate of banoffee pie balanced on each knee. Loren was busily prepping the controls for take-off, while Miz studied her claws and chipped in with the occasional withering criticism.

Mech, meanwhile, was still dancing gleefully. He shimmied on the spot, checking and rechecking the credit balance like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

“Two million credits. Two million credits. Two million credits,” he chirped. “Come on, everyone say it with me. Two milllllllion credits.”

“It’s a lot of money,” Cal agreed. “You know, I mean, I think. I don’t really know anything about space finance. Is it a lot of money?”

“It’s a lot of money,” Mech confirmed. “It’s a whole lot of money.”

“I want to buy a boat,” said Miz.

“What?” said Mech.

Miz looked up from her nails. “A boat. I want to buy one.”

“Hell no,” said Mech. “I ain’t going on no boat.”

Cal chuckled. “That is so B.A.”

On the viewscreen, the sea of grateful Cantatorians had become little more than a series of small puddles. They’d been gathered in a ring around the castle when Cal and the others had left, and the initial whoops and cheers when the disk had emerged through the castle doorways had quickly faded when it was obvious Soonsho wasn’t with them. The crew had floated on in a slightly embarrassing silence, and it had been a relief to make it back to the ship.

“We’ve got clearance to take-off,” Loren announced.

“Let’s give him a tip,” said Mech.

“Who?”

“Whoever just cleared us for take-off,” Mech said. “Give him a tip. We can afford it.”

“It’s an automated system,” said Loren.

“Oh, and we can’t give an automated system a tip?”

Loren frowned. “Not really, no.”

“Well, too late, I just did!” said Mech, pointing to his arm and grinning. It let out a little bleep. Mech’s eyes flitted down to the display screen above his wrist, but the rest of his expression remained resolutely positive. “Granted, it has immediately been rejected, but I’m so rich, I don’t even care.”

Cal raised a hand. “Uh, I vote we don’t leave Mech in charge of the money. All in favor?”

Loren and Miz raised a hand. Splurt turned into a hand, then raised himself.

“Fine. Fine. No more tips,” said Mech. “But come on, we’re rich!”

“I thought you said it wasn’t going to get us far,” said Cal. “You know, back when you wanted to rob Dorid.”

“Which you should’ve let me do,” said Mech.

“I totally should,” Cal agreed. “But, in my defense, at the time I wasn’t aware he was going to try to kill us with an army of freaks. Had I known that, I might have thought very differently about the whole not-stealing from the guy situation.”

“I said a million credits wouldn’t get us far. We got two million,” Mech said. “That’ll get us further.”

“Twice as far,” Cal guessed. “Unless Miz buys a boat, in which case a little less than twice as far, I suppose.”

“I ain’t going in no boat,” Mech said.

Cal shrugged. “Well, not unless we drug your milk.” He clapped his hands together. “OK, Loren, take us out of here. There is literally nothing around or above us for you to crash into, so I have a very good feeling about this lift-off.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” said Loren.

“Don’t mention it.” Cal picked up the plates that were balancing on his knees and held them out to Mech and Miz. “Anyone want any banoffee pie, by the way? I don’t even know why I asked the machine to make these. I think it might be becoming a mental illness.”

“Fruit,” Miz reminded him.

Cal looked down at the slices of pie, then lifted each one to his mouth in turn and ate the banana slices off the top. “Better?” he asked, dribbling blobs of cream down his chin.

Miz stared at him for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

Cal passed her the plates, then sank back into his chair. He spent the next minute and a half masticating through the banana slices, which had combined to form one baseball-sized lump in his mouth.

By the time he’d managed to swallow, the Untitled had punched up through the atmosphere, leaving Cantato Minor behind. Cal rubbed his aching jaws and scooped the last few blobs of cream off his teeth with his tongue.

“If anyone sees me asking that machine for banoffee pie again, please kill me,” he groaned. “I mean it. It’ll be a kindness.” He opened his mouth wide, then smacked his lips together a few times. “I still taste death,” he announced.

“And what does that taste like?” Loren asked.

“Like, kind of stale and ashy. Dusty. You know, deady,” Cal said. “And a bit like bananas, but I suspect that’s the pie.”

“Probably,” agreed Loren.

“Yeah. Otherwise it’s a fonking mind-blowing coincidence.”

Kevin’s voice blasted out of his speaker system, making Cal jump. “Water, sir?”

A circular hatch slid open in Cal’s arm rest and a glass of iced water rose out of it, like the singers of the Cantatorian choir. “Hey, would you look at that!” said Cal. “My chair makes drinks!”

He picked up the glass, then eyed the arm rest suspiciously. “Does it make pie, too?”

“No, sir.”

“Thank God,” said Cal.

He took a sip of his drink, then spun his chair around. The seat where Soonsho had been sitting was, of course, now empty. Cal swished the water around in his mouth before swallowing.

“Well, looks like all’s well that ends well,” he said.

Miz finished the last piece of pie. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, you know. Nothing at all,” said Cal. “It’s just a saying. I guess it means… I don’t know. Things that end well are well, maybe? Does that make sense?”

“Not really,” said Miz.

“Sounds like bullshizz to me,” Mech agreed.

“Yeah, well, the point still stands. We did good, guys.” He raised his glass in toast. “To Space Team!”

“Yeah, we’re not going to say that,” said Miz.

Cal shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, then he took a long drink to try to wash away the tastes of death and banoffee pie.

“I was growing rather fond of Ms Sooss,” said Kevin. “Such a pity she’s going to be put to death.”

Cal choked on his water, spraying almost the entire contents of the glass over the back of Loren’s head.

“Hey!”

“What?” Cal wheezed, coughing as the few drops of liquid that hadn’t hit Loren somehow managed to find their way into his lungs. “What are you talking about? Put to death?”

“Oh yes, sir,” said Kevin. “I thought you knew.”

“No! I didn’t know!” Cal yelped. He spun in his chair. “Miz, Mech, did you know?”

“No, man.”

“Nu-uh.”

“Loren?”

“Of course I didn’t!”

“See? None of us knew, Kevin!” Cal cried. “None of us knew. Why didn’t you say something?”

“It was all there in the files I brought up. Didn’t you read them, sir?”

“No! I made a point of not reading that stuff! I’m pretty sure we even had a conversation about how I hadn’t read it!”

“Did we, sir? I’m afraid I don’t recall,” said Kevin. “But yes. She is to be put to death. That’s why the Cantatorians were so keen to get her back, you see? So she could be sacrificed. It was rather the point of them offering the reward. Rather rum luck for the girl, really.”

Cal clutched his head. “Oh Jesus, we brought her home to die,” he muttered, then he looked up at the ceiling. “Wait, what do you mean ‘sacrificed’? Sacrificed to who? To god?”

“No, sir.”

“Well who, then?”

“To the Spider-Dragon of Saktar, sir,” said Kevin.

Cal blinked several times.

“OK, you’re going to have to run that one by me again,” he said, after some thought. “What the fonk is the Spider-Dragon of Saktar?”

“It’s an old Cantatorian legend, sir. Old as their civilization, in fact,” Kevin intoned. “Saktar is the prominent mountain around which they have structured the bulk of their society. Perhaps you saw it?”

“It’s a huge mountain. Of course we saw it!”

“Well, maybe not Loren,” said Miz.

“Miz, not now!” said Cal. “What about the mountain?”

“The legend goes that the Spider-Dragon resides within it, and that it shall emerge in times of need to protect Cantato Minor. In return, it asks only one thing.”

“A sacrifice,” Cal guessed.

“Indeed, sir. Once every hundred years, a girl is selected at birth. From that moment onwards, her life belongs to all of Cantato Minor. Her purpose, when the time comes, is to be thrown into the fiery pit at the top of the mountain where, it is believed, the Spider-Dragon of Saktar shall feast upon her flesh, and fashion implements from her bones.”

“Jesus!” said Cal. “So we brought her home to be tossed into a volcano?”

“Precisely that, sir. The idea of a Spider-Dragon is a rather ludicrous one for an otherwise highly-advanced species, so while she has little to worry about on that front, it is the fall into the fiery pits of Saktar which is likely to pose the problem. Survival-wise.”

“And everyone knows about this? The Conductor? Her parents?”

“Oh yes, sir.”

“Soonsho?”

“Indeed. She will have been prepared for it from a young age. It’s an honor, in many ways. Albeit a somewhat double-edged one. You know, what with dying and everything.”

“We have to go back,” said Cal.

“Now, wait a minute, wait a minute. Let’s not rush into this,” said Mech. “Who are we to judge other cultures? You know? This is a tradition. You heard Kevin, it’s an honor to be chosen. I mean, who’s to say she doesn’t want to be thrown into a mountain? Hmm? You ever think of that?”

“She doesn’t,” said Cal. “I saw it on her face earlier. I knew there was something wrong. I should have said something.”

“But, my point is,” Mech continued, “should we really be interfering in what seems – certainly from what I’ve heard in the past few minutes - to be an important cultural event in—?”

“We won’t let them take the money back,” said Cal.

Mech punched his fist into the palm of his other hand. “Then what the Hell are we waiting for? Turn the ship around and let’s go back there before they toss the kid into a fonking volcano!”

Cal sucked air in through his teeth. “They’re not going to be happy.”

“Well, long as we’re agreed they ain’t getting my money,” said Mech. He caught the look from Miz and quickly corrected himself. “Our money. Who really cares? The kid saved us. Least once, maybe twice.”

“Maybe we can talk some sense into them,” said Loren. “You know, persuade them not to go through with it. They seemed pretty reasonable people.”

“They did,” Cal agreed. “Although that was before we found out they were going to toss an innocent teenager head first into a volcano to satisfy a fictional Spider-Dragon. Now that’s come to light, I’ll be honest, they kinda seem less reasonable. I’m not sure we’re going to be able to talk them round.”

“All guns blazing, is it, sir?” asked Kevin. “Good show!”

Cal’s solitary joystick twanged out of his chair.

“Thanks, Kevin, but hopefully it won’t come to that,” said Cal. “We’ll go down, try to reason with them, then, when that inevitably fails, Mech can throw Soonsho over his shoulder, and we’ll all run away as fast as our legs will carry us. Anyone see any obvious flaws in that plan?”

Mizette shrugged. “I guess it isn’t terrible.”

“Miz, that is arguably the single most positive thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Cal said. “Thank you.”

He spun his chair to the front, slapped his hands on his thighs, then stood up. “Loren, set a course for Cantato Minor,” he said. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be through the back, eating pie and crying.”

* * *

The Currently Untitled dropped through the atmosphere of Cantato Minor, several hundred miles away from where it had exited. Cal sat in his chair, feeling anxious and bloated. Mostly bloated. He could feel several pounds of cream and caramel sitting like a rock in his lower intestine, and he was pretty sure his blood had turned to butter.

The empty redness of the Cantato Minor landscape spread out in all directions beneath them. Ahead, rising in the distance, stood Saktar. The top third or so was mostly obscured by cloud, but from back here they could see the very tip of the mountain-top just barely poking through the cloud layer.

“Anything?” Cal asked.

Mech shook his head. “Don’t think they’ve noticed us.”

“Good. Kevin, do we still have that cloaking thing?”

“Well, unless it’s fallen off when I wasn’t looking, sir, then yes. Should I activate it?”

“Do it,” said Cal. “The longer we can keep the element of surprise, the better. Any sign of Soonsho?”

“It appears they have already begun the ritual, sir,” said Kevin.

Cal sat bolt upright in his chair. “They’ve already tossed her in?”

“Not yet, sir. However, I don’t believe we have a lot of time. If we wish to prevent Ms Sooss meeting an untimely end, I suggest we should probably hurry up.”

Loren tapped a few controls and the section of the screen showing the mountain top grew to fill the view. They were still too far away to see clearly, but there was definite activity going on up there. Platforms floated above the pit. Figures moved around on top of them. It was impossible to tell if any of them were Soonsho, but Cal was prepared to bet she was up there somewhere.

“OK, can you take us into the cloud? Ideally without crashing into the mountain?” Cal asked.

“Uh… yes,” said Loren.

“Well way to fill us all with confidence, Loren,” said Miz.

“I can do it,” said Loren. “It’s not a problem.”

“Then do it. Keep us low until we’ve figured out what’s going on, then we’ll show ourselves. Slow and steady.”

The Untitled descended into the thick bank of cloud and edged forwards. The cloud itself probably wouldn’t be enough to hide the ship, but between that and the cloaking device, Cal reckoned, they should go unnoticed.

As they drew closer, the true picture of what was going on above the mountain began to reveal itself. The Conductor and Soonsho stood alone on one of the flying disks. Several other disks surrounded them, hanging in the air at various levels. The Conductress stood on one, alongside Soonsho’s parents. Various men and women in long, ornate robes stood on the other platforms. Dignitaries of some kind, Cal guessed. Priests, maybe.

The cloud became too thick for them to see through. Kevin automatically overlaid a heat map on the screen. The Conductor had Soonsho held by the back of the neck. With his free hand he alternated between gesturing at the sky and the vast mouth of the mountain beneath them.

“I bet he’s chanting,” said Cal. “Guys like this, they love a bit of chanting.”

“He’s getting agitated,” said Loren. “Like he’s building to the finale.”

“He’s gonna push her in,” Mech warned.

“OK, take us up,” said Cal. “Get us over them, then once we’re in place we’ll show ourselves.”

“Uh, sir,” chimed a voice from above.

“Not now, Kevin,” said Cal. Loren was easing back on the stick, tilting the nose of the Untitled out through the cloud bank.

“Try not to, like, fly us into the volcano,” Miz suggested. “It’s that big rock thing with all the fire inside.”

“I’ll try,” said Loren through gritted teeth.

“Easy,” said Cal. “Easy. We don’t want them knowing we’re here yet.”

“Sir…”

“One sec, Kevin.”

Loren guided the ship clear of the cloud, skimmed dangerously close to the lip of the volcano, then banked upwards until they were level with Soonsho and the Conductor.

It was at this point that Cal realized everyone on the platforms was staring at the Untitled in shock.

“I don’t understand. What are they looking at?” he asked.

“Us, sir,” said Kevin. “I tried to tell you, the cloaking device doesn’t turn the ship invisible, it merely hides it from scanner detection.”

“So… they can all see us?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“They can all see the ship?”

“They can, sir.”

“Shizz. So much for that plan.” Cal stood up. “Loren, turn us around and lower the landing ramp. I guess I’d better go talk to them.”

* * *

Cal stood on the edge of the ramp, the vast, gaping mouth of Saktar yawning below him. They were high enough that the heat wasn’t intense, but it was definitely uncomfortable. Sweat slicked his back, and he was beginning to regret putting on a fresh shirt. Although, that was pretty far down his list of problems at the moment.

The Conductor’s disk was somewhere around fifteen feet ahead of him, and slightly lower. With a good run up and the wind at his back, he could potentially land on it, but he was far more likely to fall short and plunge into the bubbling mass of lava far below, so he put that idea on the back burner for the moment.

“Listen, you don’t have to do this,” Cal said.

“Yes,” said the Conductor, his face scrunched up with anger. “We do.”

All around him, the other Cantatorians wore similarly furious expressions. Only Soonsho had seemed pleased to see him, although that wasn’t all that surprising, given the circumstances. Her parents didn’t look averse to the idea of him being there, but they weren’t rolling out the red carpet, either.

“Think about what you’re doing here,” Cal said. “You’re about to throw an innocent girl to her death. And for what? Because some ancient legend about a Dragon-Spider told you to?”

“Spider-Dragon,” the Conductor hissed.

Cal waved a hand. “Same thing. Tell me, Conductor – any of you – have any of you ever actually seen this thing? Has anyone? Hmm? In all these years, with all these sacrifices, has there ever been one scrap of evidence to suggest there’s anything down there but smoke and lava?”

“The legends are very clear,” said the Conductor.

“So what? Where I come from, Scooby Doo is very clear, it doesn’t mean he’s real!” said Cal. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’d be awesome if he was, but he isn’t.” He held out his left hand, palm upwards. “Legends.” He held out his right hand. “Facts. See? Not the same thing.”

He looked around at the other Cantatorians, hoping to see them all deep in thought, carefully contemplating his wise words. But nope. Based on their expressions, they pretty much all just wanted him dead.

“This legend is… what? A few thousand years old?”

“A few hundred thousand,” said the Conductor, quite grandly, as if this added weight to his argument.

“Jesus. OK. So, let me get this straight. Hundreds of thousands of years ago, someone told a story about a Dragon-Spider—”

“Spider-Dragon!”

“Whatever. About a Spider-Dragon who lives – and I’m going to say this part slowly – inside an active fonking volcano, and who, without ever actually showing itself or anything, somehow demands a sacrifice every hundred years.” Cal looked across his audience again. “That’s what you believe? Seriously?”

“You are an outsider,” said the Conductress. “You would not understand.”

“No, I understand perfectly,” said Cal. “I understand that you’re all nuts. All of you. And, usually, I’d have no problem with that. Believe what you like. Knock yourself out. But when your beliefs involve you throwing children into lakes of fire, that’s where I have to draw the line.”

“She wants to do it. She is honored to do it,” said the Conductor.

Cal met Soonsho’s eye. Her expression told him everything he needed to know. “No. No, she doesn’t,” he said. “So she’s coming with us.”

“No,” the Conductor hissed. “She is not.”

He pushed. Soonsho grabbed frantically for him, but she couldn’t turn enough before her foot went over the edge of the disk. She fell in silence through the stinging smoke and the rising heat, her eyes open, her mouth tightly closed, afraid of hurting anyone, even now.

“Shizz. SPLURT!” Cal yelped, then he launched himself off the landing ramp, tucked himself into a dive, and plunged after the girl.

The ash and smoke scraped across his eyes, layering them with a film of soot. The heat, which had already been uncomfortable, quickly became borderline unbearable. It stung his skin and stole his breath away as he fell down, down, down towards the flailing Soonsho, and the lake of lava looming below.

She was falling awkwardly, all flapping arms and thrashing legs. Cal sliced through the air, straight and streamlined, and gaining fast. Twenty feet away. Fifteen. He gritted his teeth against the pain, smelled his nostril-hair charring away into nothing.

Ten feet. Five.

He tried to call to her, to reassure her everything would be OK, but his voice was a shriveled croak and a series of spluttering coughs.

Three feet. One.

Zero.

Cal’s hands wrapped around Soonsho’s waist. A rubbery tendril tightened around his legs. Splurt!

They plunged another half dozen or so feet, then Splurt tightened like a bungee rope, and suddenly the lava was moving away from them as they sprang upwards, leaving the worst of the heat and smoke behind.

“It’s OK. I got you,” Cal wheezed. He coughed up something black and spat a wad of it into the molten red metal below. “I got you.”

Splurt pulled them onto the landing ramp, but kept a hold of Cal’s leg, just in case he tried anything stupid again. “I’m OK, buddy. Thanks,” Cal croaked. “Take Soonsho inside.”

Soonsho looked across the gap at her parents, then at the Conductor.

“What do you think you are doing?” the Conductor boomed. “You are the sacrifice of Saktar! This is your destiny.”

Soonsho bit her lip, her eyes shimmering with tears. Then, she raised a middle finger in the Conductor’s direction, and stumbled up the ramp behind Splurt.

“Ha! She must’ve picked that up from Miz,” Cal said. “Teenagers, huh?”

He nodded to Soonsho’s parents. “We’re going to look after her. Don’t worry, she’ll be safe. Safer than she was here, anyway.”

Cal fired off a salute. “It’s been a pleasure,” he said. “You know, parts of it.” He about-turned and was halfway up the ramp when the mountain shook.

He stopped. He turned back.

“OK. Um. What was that?” he asked. He peered over the edge in time to see the lava lake begin to ripple, as something shifted beneath the surface.

A long, black leg, easily a mile long extended from within the lava and pressed itself against the inside wall of the volcano. Two equally enormous mandibles rose out of the molten metal and snapped hungrily at the air.

“Oh,” said Cal. He swallowed, and shot the Conductor a nervous smile. “Whoops. My bad!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Cal raced back up the ramp, just as a second leg and a substantial amount of head appeared from beneath the lava.

“The ramp! Close the fonking ramp!”

Outside, the flying disks scattered, retreating from the mountaintop at top speed. An eruption of molten metal spewed into the air, and Cal felt a brief blast of searing heat at his back before the hatch slid into place behind him.

“What’s going on? What happened?” demanded Loren, as Cal stumbled through the door behind her. Several warnings were flashing on screen, all of them in varying shades of emergency red. “Is the volcano erupting?”

“Something along those lines,” said Cal, flopping into his seat. Soonsho was already scrabbling for her seat belt, while Splurt pulsed protectively in front of her. “Uh, you might want to put a bit of distance between us and the mountain.”

Loren edged forward on the thruster. “How much distance?”

“Ooh, about the length of a giant spider should be enough. Maybe a little further, just to be on the safe side.”

Loren, Mech and Miz all turned to look at them. Cal smiled sheepishly. “So, yeah, funny story. You know the Spider-Dragon of Saktar we spoke about earlier? Turns out, totally a real thing.”

“Rear cameras,” Mech grunted.

One third of the screen changed to show a view of the mountaintop behind them, just as one of the mile-long legs emerged from within the crater. Lava oozed between the hairs and dribbled down the mountain’s steep curves, blackening the metal.

“Ho-lee shizz,” Mech mumbled. “What is that thing?”

“Spider-Dragon of Saktar,” said Cal. “Thought we’d established that?”

“We should probably, like, get out of here,” said Miz. “I mean, that thing is pretty awesome, and I kinda want to see the whole thing, but it’s totally going to kill us all if we stick around, right?”

“That is certainly a possibility,” said Cal. Another leg emerged. The snapping tips of the beast’s mandibles appeared above the volcano’s rim. “But… does anyone else feel, I don’t know, maybe a little guilty about this? Like – and call me crazy here – like this is somehow partially our fault?”

“Guilty? No way, man,” said Mech. “They were going to kill the girl. They didn’t seem too guilty about that.”

“True, true,” said Cal. “And, I mean, obviously that was wrong, but I guess they kinda had their reasons.”

The Spider-Dragon’s head emerged from the mountain. Even just the corner they could see was several times larger than the Untitled. Where its eyes should have been were several crater-sized hollow scars seared into its slick, glistening black skull.

“Or one big reason, anyway,” Cal said. “Stop up here, we should be far enough away.”

Loren slowed the ship to a stop. They all watched in silence as the enormous creature heaved the rest of itself out of the volcano, sending molten metal slopping over the sides. The body was roughly the same length as the legs, possibly a little longer, but the way it was bunched up made it hard to tell for sure.

It only had six legs, so wasn’t technically a spider at all, based on Cal’s understanding of the word. Then again, the sheer size of each limb probably more than made up for the reduced number of them, so he wasn’t about to argue semantics. Besides, even if he had been in the mood to do so, there was a giant fonking spider climbing out of a volcano right behind him, so now probably wasn’t the best time.

The beast threw back its head and its mandibles parted, revealing a scrunched up sphincter of a mouth. It widened unpleasantly, and a screech tore across the sky. It echoed and rolled across the shimmering red landscape, and vibrated through the Untitled, making Cal’s teeth rattle.

“Doesn’t sound happy,” said Loren.

“Hey, we don’t know that,” Cal argued. “For all we know, that was a positive noise. Sort of, ‘hey, I’m a giant spider, I’m partially covered in lava, but I feel good nonetheless.’ It could absolutely have been that kind of noise.”

“It wasn’t though, was it?” said Loren.

Cal sighed. “No. No, it’s clearly furious and wants everyone dead.”

Under normal circumstances, when confronted by a lava-sodden monster spider, Cal would have been among the first to run away. Anyone who didn’t run away in that situation deserved everything they got, as far as he was concerned, even if what they got was eaten by a lava-sodden monster spider. Especially if that was what they got, in fact.

The Untitled was already out of its reach, unless the thing had some crack-shot web-shooting skills it was waiting to reveal. They could be in orbit around the planet in just a few seconds, far into deep space within a minute and a half. Less, if Loren didn’t crash into anything. They could just go. Leave. The lava-sodden monster spider didn’t have to be their problem.

But, sadly, it was their problem. It could be argued that Cal wasn’t the most honest guy in the galaxy – his rap sheet back on Earth would attest to that – but he had an annoyingly straight-shooting conscience. Also, despite his best efforts, he had an unfortunate habit of usually trying to do The Right Thing. Even if The Right Thing was ludicrously dangerous, unfathomably stupid, and involved lava-sodden monster spiders.

He couldn’t have just let Soonsho die. Even knowing what he now knew – that the Cantatorians weren’t suffering from some shared delusion and did, in fact, have a Spider-Dragon living in their mountain – he’d have saved her. It was The Right Thing.

Annoyingly, though, saving the rest of her species from arachnid-based genocide was also The Right Thing. Like it or not, he’d caused this problem, and his conscience was going to make damn sure he helped clean it up.

“Cal!”

Loren’s voice snapped Cal out of his thought process. “Hmm? Sorry, I was inner-monologuing. What’s up?”

“What’s…? What do you mean ‘what’s up?’” said Mech, pointing to the creature on screen. “That’s what’s up! What’s the plan?”

“Why’s it called a Spider-Dragon?” Cal wondered.

“Who cares?” asked Miz. “Let’s just get out of here before it noticed us.”

“No, but… I mean, I get the spider part.” He gestured to the viewscreen. “Exhibit A. But… dragon? Where did that come from? Has it got wings or something we don’t know about?”

As they watched, the creature snapped its head around and opened is puckered anus of a mouth again. A scorching jet of fire half a mile long flared from within its cavernous throat. As the inferno hit the clouds, they erupted in an explosion of red flame.

“Oh, it breathes fire,” said Cal. “Of course it does. I mean, why wouldn’t it?”

“Hold on!” Loren yelped. The clouds ignited around them, engulfing the Untitled in a fiery cocoon. Alarms wailed. Several new warnings appeared on screen, while the existing ones grew larger and more insistent.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but it appears the ship is on fire,” Kevin announced.

“We noticed!” cried Cal.

“Oh. I see. How did that happen?”

“What do you mean, how did it happen?” Mech boomed. “It was the fonking Spider-Dragon!”

“The Spider-Dragon, sir?” said Kevin, sounding rather skeptical. “Of Saktar, sir?”

“No, a different Spider-Dragon,” snapped Cal. “Yes! Of course of Saktar. It’s right there!”

There was a short pause.

“Oh my. So it is. Apologies, sir, there was a problem with the replicator which required my attention. One of the nozzles was quite badly jammed by a sweet, sticky substance I was unfamiliar with, but which I was able to successfully—”

“Kevin, shut up, we’ll worry about that later,” said Cal.

“No need to worry, sir. It’s all taken care of. Emergency over.”

“Kevin, you and I have very different definitions of the word ‘emergency,’” Cal said.

“Shields holding,” Mech announced. “We’re good.”

The flames fizzled away as the clouds burned themselves out. The screen cleared in time to reveal the Spider-Dragon springing from the mountain side, its legs thrashing as it hurtled directly towards the Untitled.

“I think ‘good’ might have been an exaggeration,” said Miz.

“Loren!” Cal yelped.

“On it!”

She leaned on a lever and the ship shot forwards. The Spider-Dragon screeched furiously, narrowly missing its target. Sparks flew from the barbed tips of its legs as they slammed into the metal surface of Cantato Minor.

“Hit it with the thrusters,” Cal said. Loren obliged and four jets of translucent blue energy blasted the monster right in the empty eye sockets.

The Spider-Dragon didn’t flinch. “No effect,” said Loren.

“The thing lives inside an active fonking volcano,” said Mech. “You really thinking burning it’s the way to go?”

“Good point, well made,” said Cal.

“Incoming!” Kevin announced, with an uncharacteristic amount of panic in his voice.

A spider-leg scythed up and slammed into the side of the Untitled, sending the ship into a spin. Alarms screamed. Warnings flashed. A jet of steam or smoke or possibly even both hissed from a vent in the wall.

“Come on!” said Mech. “We just got this thing fixed.”

Loren raised a foot and pressed it against the console, wrestling with the stick. She roared through gritted teeth as she frantically tried to stop the ship spinning all the way to the ground.

Cal gripped his arm rests, trying to ignore the cream, caramel, and half a plantation’s worth of bananas currently churning around in his stomach.

The ground loomed on the screen, then the sky, then the ground again. It didn’t help that a third of the screen was showing the exact opposite view, and that Cal’s brain was trying to overlap them, forcing him to see in both directions at once. Either that, or he was having an aneurism. It was too early to tell.

With a yelp from Loren, a hiss from Miz and a, “Holy shizz!” from Mech, the Untitled tilted, turned, then levelled off. It was barely a hundred feet from the ground, and the Spider-Dragon towered before it, already moving in for the kill.

The concentric rings of the Cantato Minor buildings were behind the beast. This low, Cal could see people running for their lives. A few of the flying disks zoomed above them, but most of the citizens were fleeing on foot.

“Time to show this thing who he’s dealing with!” said Cal. He grabbed the weapon joystick and took aim at the creature’s sun-eclipsing head. “Eat this, you ugly piece of shizz,” he snarled, before adding, “Pew! Pew!” as he squeezed the trigger.

They all watched two glowing red dots pass the viewscreen, headed straight for the Spider-Dragon. Despite its lack of eyes, it, too, seemed to watch the shots approach. It hesitated, as if waiting for them to arrive. They both hit just above the monster’s left mandible. If it noticed, it did nothing to show it.

“And let that be a lesson to you!” Cal shouted. He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “OK, Kevin, I’ll let you finish him off. Light this fonker up.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Two white beams burned past the viewscreen, targeting the monster’s two front legs. Before they hit, the Spider-Dragon ejected another explosion of fire. It unrolled like a giant tongue towards the Untitled, forcing Loren to slam the ship into reverse.

“Did we hit it?” Cal asked, as the flames crackled and died away.

“Negative, sir,” said Kevin. “The creature’s fire-like ejaculation appears to have countered the attack.”

“The fire-like what?”

“Ejaculation, sir.”

Cal sniggered. “Yeah, I heard the first time. I just wanted you to say it again.” He banged a fist on the armrest. “Hit it with the torpedoes.”

“We don’t have torpedoes, sir.”

“Oh, right. Do we have something like torpedoes?”

“We have photon missiles, sir,” said Kevin. “They’re broadly similar, although the propulsion system varies quite markedly between the—”

“Just fire the fonking things!” said Cal.

“Well, technically we don’t ‘fire’ them so much as ‘launch’—”

“Kevin!”

“Very good, sir.”

Four missile-shaped energy projectiles streaked away from the ship. The Spider-Dragon opened its mouth, but the missiles changed direction – two going wide left, the others swinging to the right. The jet of flame took down the two on the right, but the remaining missiles snaked through and exploded against the monster’s side.

“Boom! Eat that!” Cal yelped.

“Direct hits,” said Mech, checking the scanners. “But minimal damage. They barely made a dent.”

“Shizz. What’s that thing made of?” said Loren.

“Spider-Dragon,” said Cal. “It’s made of Spider-Dragon. Which, unfortunately, turns out is pretty tough.”

“Shall I ready more missiles, sir?”

“Sure, why not?” said Cal. He spun in his chair. “Soonsho? Any advice on dealing with this thing?”

Soonsho stared at the monster on screen for a few lingering moments, then quickly moved her lips.

“She said you should let it take her,” said Miz. “That’s the only way to stop it.”

“Not going to happen,” said Cal. “Any weaknesses you know of? Tender spots?”

Soonsho shook her head. Cal winced, and spun back to the front. “This thing came from a lake of fire, right? What about cold?”

“What about it?” asked Mech.

“Well, if we had a load of ice, couldn’t we, I don’t know, freeze it?”

“That is a possibility, sir,” said Kevin.

“Great! Go me!”

“And, do you have ‘a load of ice,’ sir?”

Cal stopped, mid-cheer. “What? Uh… no.”

“Then I fear the point is rather moot, don’t you?”

The Spider-Dragon swiped at the ship again. Loren scooted them sideways, narrowly avoiding the most ironic bug-swatting in history.

“If it’s going to follow us, we should lure it away,” said Mech. “Get it away from the city.”

“Makes sense,” Cal agreed. “Loren, let’s back away, see if we can get it to stick with us. Once we’ve got it in the open, we’ll hit it with everything we’ve got.”

“Wait. What’s it doing?” asked Miz, leaning forwards and peering at the screen. “Is that…?”

Behind the Dragon-Spider, something was scuttling away. Several somethings.

Several hundred somethings.

“Holy shizz, it’s having babies,” said Cal.

At around twelve feet high, each of the spider-infants was just a fraction of a size of its mother. On their own, they might not be especially dangerous – or no more dangerous than any other twelve feet high fire-breathing arachnid, anyway – but they were already spreading through the streets, and would overwhelm the city through sheer numbers alone.

“Estimated number of Spider-Dragon offspring, two-hundred and forty-nine,” Kevin announced. “Estimated time for total eradication of Cantato Minor’s native population, thirty-seven minutes. In case anyone was wondering.”

“We have to stop them things,” said Mech.

“But we can’t stick around here, or Mommy Spider is going to wipe out the city,” Loren argued. “We have to get it away.”

Cal drummed his fingers on his armrest. Any second now, someone was going to ask him what to do. He wasn’t really sure why.

Sure, he’d always insisted he was the captain. He’d always pretended to be in charge. But the fact was, he had no idea about any of this stuff. A month and a half ago, he’d been pretending to be an eccentric Russian billionaire having a quite remarkable run of luck at a number of casinos across the state of Nevada.

A fortnight before that, he’d been selling top of the range penis-extension sports cars to Wall Street traders. Top of the range penis-extension sports cars which A) he didn’t own, and B) didn’t exist.

He’d had an illustrious career as a conman. He’d met a lot of interesting people, and seen a lot of fascinating places.

Nowhere in there, though, had he gained any kind of experience that qualified him to lead a crew of intergalactic misfits in a fight against a giant spider. A number of giant spiders, in fact. Because, although the babies were far smaller than their mother, at a dozen feet tall they definitely still earned that giant tag, as far as Cal was concerned.

What would Captain Kirk do?

Something clever, that had been cunningly foreshadowed in the first act. Cal thought back over the past few days, hoping there was something there that would reveal itself to be the secret to saving the day. Other than banoffee pie, though, nothing came to mind, and if they were going to take this thing down, obesity-related arterial disease was unlikely to be effective in the short-term.

What would Jesus do?

Cal had no idea. Forgive it, maybe? Wash its feet? He was rusty on his Bible stuff, but he didn’t remember anything which would be particularly relevant to the current situation. The bit about the dude who killed the giant, maybe, but even that was a stretch.

Which left only one question. What would Cal Carver do?

And there was only one answer to that. The same answer as always.

His best.

“Cal?”

That was Loren’s voice. He blinked, and realized everyone was gazing at him expectantly. On screen, mama spider was gearing up for another attack, while her offspring scuttled through the city streets, pouncing on anyone they encountered.

“What do we do?”

Cal took a breath.

“OK, Miz, Mech, you’re going to have to get your hands dirty,” he said, sitting up in his chair. “By which I mean, we’re throwing you down there to fight the baby Spider-Dragons. Take out as many as you can, try to buy the Cantatorians time to escape.”

Mech’s eyes widened. “You’re serious? Just me and her against hundreds of them things?”

“Come on, sounds like fun,” said Miz. She flashed her claws. “Bet I kill more than you do.”

“No, not just the two of you,” said Cal. He took another breath, and forced the words to come out. “Take Splurt.”

Down on the floor, Splurt straightened into an upright oblong, and rippled with excitement.

“Alright! Now you’re talking,” said Mech.

“But, I swear, you’d better not let anything happen to him,” Cal warned. “You bring him back to me in one piece.”

Miz jumped to her feet. She and Mech headed for the door, with Splurt flipping end over end like a Slinky behind them. At the door, Splurt stopped and looked back. Cal nodded. “I’ll see you soon, buddy.”

Splurt formed a head. It was the head of Dorothy out of the Golden Girls and Cal had zero choice in the matter but to laugh. Dorothy out of the Golden Girls returned the nod, stuck her tongue out, then became green goo and rolled out of the door.

“OK, here’s what’s going to happen,” Cal called. “You guys tool up. You’ve got twenty seconds to get what you need. We’ll drop you over the city, then we’ll lead Big Momma’s House out of here and – all being well – shoot the shizz out of her until she dies.”

“Cal!”

The Spider-Dragon’s mouth was opening directly above the Untitled. For a moment, Cal saw the darkness deep in its cave-like jaw hole, then a flicker of fire ignited deep in its throat.

“Go, go, go!” Cal cried, then his eyes were shoved back in his head as Loren launched them straight at the beast. She leaned on the stick, weaving between its teetering legs, just as the fireball erupted at their tail.

Cal craned his neck and looked up to the top of the screen, where the underside of the Spider-Dragon rolled by. He’d hoped to find some conveniently exposed soft tissue there, just crying out for a missile or two, but the thing’s belly was just as armored as the rest of it. More so, possibly.

“Well, so much for that plan,” Cal muttered, and then the bug’s body became clear sky as the Untitled dodged through its back legs and sped towards the city.

“Coming up fast on the drop zone,” said Loren. “We’ll have to be quick. The big one’s starting to turn. She’s going to come after us.”

“Guys, get ready!” Cal called. Beneath them, the streets heaved with the spider-creatures. A few of the bolder Cantatorians – women, mostly – were fighting back by screaming at the things. The sound waves forced the spiders to draw back, their mandibles gnashing the air as their soft insides quivered within their exo-skeletons. “And, uh, just so we’re clear, there are a lot of spiders down there. Like, a lot. I feel I can’t stress that enough.”

“Shizz. Big one’s coming!” Loren warned. “We need to drop and go now.”

She jabbed the hatch control and the landing ramp lowered.

“What the fonk? We ain’t even gonna land first?” hollered Mech from the back.

“No time,” said Cal. “You’ll have to jump.”

“Jump?! And then what?” Mech cried.

“I don’t know. You’re an intelligent guy. Figure something out.” He nodded to Loren and she jerked forwards on the thrusters. There was a brief shout from Mech, but it was quickly lost to the howling of the wind.

Cal raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Kevin, they all clear?”

“Indeed, sir. Master Splurt has transformed into some kind of parachute style device. Estimated touchdown in seven-point-one seconds.”

“Does Mech look angry?”

“Exceedingly, sir.”

Cal grinned. “This day is getting better already.” He cricked his neck, locked his gaze on the monster ahead of them, and raised one eyebrow. “Now, let’s go swat us a Spider-Dragon.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Seven-point-one seconds after being unceremoniously ejected from the back of the Untitled, Mech and Miz glided to the ground. The parachute fluttered down over their heads, before twanging back into a basketball-sized blob of goo.

“Thanks, man,” said Mech. Splurt grew an arm and raised a thumb.

“There they go,” Miz said. Above them, the Untitled sped straight for the Spider-Dragon, banked left, and curved around its mile-long torso.

From inside the ship, the monster had seemed enormous. Out here, it didn’t actually look any bigger. It was more that they felt smaller. The bug could have squashed them in the Untitled. Down here, they felt beneath its notice.

What had noticed them, though, was one of the smaller arachna-beasts. Several of them, actually. They bore down on them from all sides, barbed feet tik-tik-tiking across the metal ground, mandibles opening and snapping in time with each step.

“I make six,” said Mech, standing back to back with Miz. “Half each?”

“Ha! Yeah. Try to keep up, grandpa,” Miz snorted. She glanced back at Mech. He met her eye.

“Be careful, kid.”

“Like… you, too,” said Miz, then she curled up her lips, dropped to her haunches and lunged.

Mech adjusted the dial on his chest, diverting some of his brainpower to his hydraulics. He shuddered noisily as his strength levels increased. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he said, then he raised both his arms, took aim, and fired.

Unnoticed by either of them, Splurt inflated, becoming a colorful beach ball. He rolled off along the street, weaving between the legs of several other spider-things. He bounced around happily in front of them, looping in the air and drawing a figure of eight on the road.

Screeching, the spiders gave chase. Splurt rolled away, zigging and zagging down the road, always keeping just out of reach.

Two legs stabbed down at him as another of the bug-creatures pounced. Splurt stopped just in time, spun quickly, then jumped onto the monster’s head. He bounced a couple of times, rolled down its back, then continued on along the road, a procession of twelve-foot tall insects teetering along behind him.

* * *

The Untitled finished its maneuver around the Spider-Dragon and straightened onto an even keel. “We’re clear,” said Loren.

“Good. Kevin, how are the ground troops doing?”

“Still alive, sir. Master Mech and Mistress Mizette are both in the process of battling the infant Spider-Dragons.”

“And Splurt?”

“It appears he’s running away, sir.”

“He is?” said Cal, unable to hide his surprise. “That’s… good, I guess. Safety first.”

“Uh, we’ve got a problem,” said Loren.

“Is it the god-sized Spider-Dragon chasing us?” Cal asked. “If so, yeah, I noticed.”

“That’s the problem. It isn’t chasing us,” said Loren.

Sure enough, the rear camera view showed the beast still looming over the city, its crane-sized mandibles snapping as it lowered its head towards the outer ring of buildings.

“I think it’s going for Mech and Miz.”

“Fonk!” Cal hissed. “Kevin. Blast that thing up the shizzpipe. That should get its attention.”

“Missiles, sir?”

“Sounds good. Fire!”

“As I believe I previously stated, ‘launch’ would be a more appropriate—”

“Just do it!”

Four missiles launched, two from each side of the ship. This time they didn’t swing wide, and instead hammered one at a time into the Spider-Dragon’s bountiful backside. The creature squealed angrily and stumbled around on all six legs. A jet of flame ignited in its throat, scorching the air between it and the Untitled.

“Yeah, that seemed to do the trick,” said Cal. The monster’s legs twitched, launching it towards them.

“Little too well,” Loren spat, lurching the ship to the left and narrowly avoiding being pinned.

“Now, let’s take this ugly old fonk for a walk,” said Cal. He glanced back at Soonsho. She was sitting with her back pressed against the wall, eyes wide, knuckles white on her chair’s armrests. “Don’t worry, we do this kind of thing all the time,” he assured her. “I mean, you know, not exactly this, but broadly similar.”

The Spider-Dragon screeched. Fire crackled past the viewscreen. Cal tried his best to look reassuringly calm. “Nothing to worry about. Just you try to relax.”

He winked at her, smiled again, then turned back to the front. The shiny red landscape rolled past beneath them. In the rear view, the Spider-Dragon picked its way across the uneven ground, leaving the city behind as it followed the Untitled.

“That’s it, baby. Stick with us,” Cal whispered. “Then we’ll see how tough you really are.”

* * *

“Raaaargh!”

Mech’s hand clamped around a leg that had been on a direct collision-course with his head. He yanked sharply, pulling the spider towards him, just as he drove a wrecking-ball uppercut into its jaw. It howled as the skeletal hinge that connected its mandibles together shattered.

Mech twisted, ripping the monster’s leg off. As he spun, he hurled it at another of the things. The barbed end embedded deep into the second creature’s side. It turned towards him, only to be met head-on by a series of armor-shattering laser blasts from Mech’s arm cannons.

Its skull exploded in quite a pleasing way. The spider wobbled unsteadily on its six legs for a few seconds, then fell. By the time it hit the ground, Mech was already blasting a hole in his next target.

Man, this was fun. It actually worried him a little, how much he was enjoying it. Since the war, he’d always considered himself something of a pacifist. Not a very good one, by any means. He got into a lot of fights for one thing, and he suspected that very few other pacifists had military-grade weapons systems built into their forearms, or a dial on their chest that allowed them to kill more efficiently.

But hypothetically, at least, he considered himself a pacifist. Yes he’d hit, hurt, maimed and murdered multiple times, but he hadn’t enjoyed any of it.

Well, some of it. He’d enjoyed some of it.

But never like this.

A set of mandibles pincered him around the waist from behind. Mech’s top half spun, his elbow, then his fist both hammering against the spider’s exo-skeleton shielded skull. It hissed sharply, then squealed when Mech wrenched the pincers in two.

“Bring it on, motherfonkers!” he cried, then he cranked his dial up another notch, and hurled himself into a seething mass of spider bodies.

A little further along the street, Miz was getting in touch with her animal side. Unlike Mech, she didn’t lie to herself about being a pacifist. She knew exactly what she was, and she reveled in it.

It was rare that she got the opportunity to really cut loose. Her father had never wanted her to fight at all – it wasn’t done for Greyx females to get blood on their claws, and especially not members of the royal family. But she was just so good at it.

For all her bluff and bravado, Miz never really thought of herself as gifted or talented. She wasn’t funny like Cal, or super-intelligent like Mech, or super-strong, also like Mech, depending on which way his dial was turned. She could probably fly a ship as well as Loren, but then that wasn’t exactly saying much. A short length of rope and a brick could probably fly a ship as well as Loren, provided someone pointed it in the right direction.

But this – this, she was good at. This, she could do.

She scythed her claws around, lopping off a leg and sending a spider staggering. Twisting, she pounced, her jaws snapping down on the back of the monster’s neck, where it joined the head. There was a moment of resistance, then the exo-skeleton splintered between her teeth. The spider screamed. Miz howled in triumph.

Yes, this she could do.

Several miles away, Splurt had amassed a small army of spiders. He had stopped being a beach ball a little while back, and now took the form of a man. Specifically, ‘Dan, Dan the Music Man,’ a children’s entertainer who had been the surprise guest at Cal’s sixth birthday party, and who – for reasons Splurt wasn’t clear on - was somehow still near the forefront of Cal’s memory.

Several hundred Cantatorians hid in their houses, peering out the windows at the procession passed. Splurt – or Dan, Dan the Music Man, depending on your perspective – danced and jigged along at the front, skillfully keeping his distance from the spider-creatures, but never getting so far away that they lost interest.

Only he could hear the music – Let’s Hear it for the Boy by Deniece Williams, from the soundtrack to the movie Footloose – as he was currently pulling it directly from Cal’s subconscious. If any of the watching Cantatorians could have heard it, however, they would have no doubt been genuinely impressed by the way he ducked, dodged and darted along in perfect time to the beat.

With an army of baby Spider-Dragons following behind him, and wearing the face of a middle-aged kids party entertainer from the late 1980s, Splurt bopped and jived onwards through the city.

* * *

Cal leaned forward in his chair. The Spider-Dragon stood front and center on the viewscreen, the city of Cantato Minor a dim glow behind it in the distance.

“Fire!”

Nothing happened.

Cal sighed.

“Jesus. OK, fine. Launch.”

“Launching, sir,” said Kevin.

Four… eight… no, twelve photon missiles streaked towards the monster. Its puckered mouth opened, but the missiles all separated, curving wide like planets in a decaying orbit around a parent sun.

The Spider-Dragon spewed its fire in a wide sweep, igniting seven of the missiles before they could connect. The remaining five hammered its ribcage – or roughly where Cal imagined its ribcage to be, at any rate – and this time the monster took notice. It jerked violently and raced forwards, bucking its head like a charging bull.

Loren reacted quickly, firing the lift thrusters and propelling the Untitled upwards out of the creature’s reach.

Cal sprayed it with a few quick blasts from his pew-pew gun, but they thudded harmlessly into the top of the armored skull.

“What was that white laser thing you fired earlier?” Cal asked.

There was silence for a moment. “Me, sir?” Kevin finally said.

“Yes, you. Who the fonk else would…?” Cal took a deep breath. “Yes. The white laser thing.”

“The Phased Disintegration Blast, sir?”

Cal shrugged. “Could be. Let’s see. Give it a taste of that.”

“Very good, sir.”

Two beams of white energy stabbed down at the Spider-Dragon. It hissed and wriggled as the beams carved two trenches in its armor – deep, but not deep enough to do any real damage. It raised its head and spat fire at them, forcing Loren to dodge again.

“Wow, this thing is fast,” she grimaced. “That was close.”

“Have we hurt it at all?” Cal asked. “Beyond its feelings, I mean.”

“Hurt what, sir?” asked Kevin.

“The… what do you mean, ‘hurt what?’ The spider. The fonking Spider-Dragon.”

“Oh, yes. That.”

Cal made an exasperated gesture in the direction of the ceiling, but said nothing.

There was a moment of silent calculation.

“I’m going to be honest with you sir, we haven’t hurt it much,” Kevin announced. “We’ve put a few scratches on its exo-skeleton, and not a whole lot else. We appear to be getting on its nerves, more than anything.”

Cal groaned. “What else have we got?”

“An impending sense of doom, sir?” said Kevin. “Or perhaps that’s just me.”

“Weapon-wise, I mean,” said Cal. “Do we have anything else we can hit this thing with?”

“I’m afraid not, sir, it’s… Oh.”

Cal looked up. “What? What is it?”

“It appears we do have another weapon on board, sir. We have the Omega Cannon.”

“That sounds more like it,” said Cal, sitting up straight and rubbing his hands together. “What does it do?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Kevin admitted.

Loren shunted the Untitled sideways, avoiding a leaping leg-strike from the Spider-Dragon.

“You’ve forgotten?” said Cal.

“No, sir. It appears that details of the Omega Cannon have been kept from me on purpose. Its schematics are not available for me to access. What I can detect of its circuitry is… rather baffling.”

Cal shrugged. “Ah, what the Hell? Let’s try it.”

“Are you nuts?” Loren yelped. “You don’t know what it does.”

“So? It’s a weapon, and we need a weapon if we’re going to stop that thing. Kevin, fire.”

“Kevin, don’t!” Loren barked. She turned in her seat. “You heard what he said, he has no idea what it’ll do. It might blow that thing to bits, or it might wipe out half the planet. Half the galaxy, for all we know.”

“Loren,” said Cal.

“No! Just listen for once!”

“Loren!”

She turned back to the screen, only to find it filled from edge to edge in all directions by the head and mandibles of the Spider-Dragon as it launched itself towards them.

Its pincers snapped around the ship. Its head jerked sharply. Cal and Loren screamed – and Soonsho tried very hard not to – as the Untitled flipped through the air then slammed against the ground with an ear-splitting bang and a screech of grinding metal.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Cal had been in space for less than two months, and had now officially been involved in his second spaceship crash.

Technically, he’d been in more than two, but the others were mostly just bumps, prangs, and the occasional drawn-out grinding scrape as Loren had failed to clear a docking bay properly, landed awkwardly on a platform or – on one memorable occasion – flown at warp speed through a grocery store.

What Cal would consider his first ‘proper’ spaceship crash had been a biggie – so big, in fact, that it had destroyed the ship, churned up a mile-long stretch of forest and, most depressingly, broken his guitar.

Man, he missed that guitar.

This latest crash wasn’t so bad. Sure, it had started out pretty grim, what with being grabbed by an enormous spider and everything, but the Untitled’s shields had deflected the worst of the ground impact, and the hull seemed to have remained intact. That was the good news.

The bad news was that they were now upside-down, and the leg of the aforementioned enormous spider was currently pinning them to the ground.

The Spider-Dragon’s sphincter-like mouth hung above them, dribbling a viscous orange-red liquid along the length of its mandibles. The thing might have no eyes, but it seemed to be gazing right at them.

“Kevin, Loren, someone get us out of here!” Cal instructed. The straps of his chair were holding him in place, stopping him plunging towards the ceiling below.

“Can’t,” said Loren. “Not while it’s got us pinned. If we were the right way up…”

“Wait, what’s it doing?” Cal asked, gawping at the screen. The Spider-Dragon’s vast body was inching down towards the ship. It was so close they could make out the tiny hairs on the underside of its armored belly, each one barely the size of an exceptionally tall man. “Is it… is it going to have sex with us?” He looked anxiously to Loren. “Surely this calls for the Omega Cannon?”

“I suspect it’s trying to crack us open, sir,” said Kevin. “Rather like one might crack open the shell of one of your Earth coconuts, in order to get at the flesh inside.”

“O-K…”

“You would be the flesh in that analogy, sir.”

“I got that, thanks.”

“And, to a lesser extent, the milk.”

They could see almost nothing on the viewscreen now but exo-skeleton and a narrowing sliver of the world beyond. Any second now, the thing would be on top of them.

“How long can we hold up under its weight?” Loren wondered.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, ma’am. Without having more detailed knowledge of the creature’s mass, I could only estimate.”

“Then do that,” said Loren. “Estimate.”

“Very good, ma’am. I estimate hull integrity would remain intact for somewhere between three hours…”

“Oh, thank God,” said Cal.

“And two-point-six seconds.”

Cal groaned. “I rescind that last statement. Can you estimate any more accurately than that? Because – and no offense here, Kevin – that sounds like you’re covering a lot of bases.”

“Wait, look!” said Loren. On screen, the spider was rapidly rising. It began to turn, and the Untitled rocked as the leg was withdrawn from its exposed belly. “It’s leaving. It’s letting us go!”

“Alright!” cheered Cal. “See, Soonsho, I told you everything was going to be…”

He wiggled his chair around, which wasn’t easy in his upside-down position. The chair where the girl had been sitting was empty. Soonsho was gone.

“Cal,” said Loren, her eyes flitting to one of the many warning messages currently lighting up the screen. “The landing hatch.” She looked back over her shoulder. “It’s open.”

* * *

Miz spun, slashed, dodged, snapped, then hurled herself at a spider-creature, ripping at its eyes with her claws. Her fur was thick with blood and gunge. Her limbs ached, but she fought on. She’d been too late to stop this last spider before it stabbed a hooked leg through the chest of a fleeing Cantatorian. All she could offer its victim now was vengeance, and she was serving it up as best she could.

The young Spider-Dragon hissed and opened its round mouth. A jet of blue flame escaped it, forcing Miz to skitter back out of its way.

“OK, I sorta hoped you guys wouldn’t figure that out,” Miz said. Then she shrugged. “Still, guess it just makes the whole thing more exciting.”

She ducked under the fire, twisted beneath it, then raked both sets of claws down the monster’s now-exposed chin. The flesh split, spilling the spider’s black, tar-like blood onto the ground.

Dropping to her knees, Miz swung both arms wide. Her claws found two of the thing’s legs, carving out chunks right below the kneecaps. She rolled clear just as the spider dropped, then wrapped her arms around its head and twisted until its neck went crack.

“You totally deserved that,” she spat, then she looked across to where the broken body of the Cantatorian lay, pushed down a pang of something like guilt, then turned to find her next target.

A leg slammed into her ribcage, catching her off-balance. Miz stumbled, already preparing to pounce on her attacker, but then a weight pressed on her from behind, knocking her to the ground. She spun onto her back, claws and teeth at the ready, only to find four more of the spiders crowding her, crawling over each other, fighting to get to her.

Barbed feet sunk into her shoulders and thighs, pinning her like a butterfly. She gritted her teeth, but refused to scream – yeah, like that was going to happen - as mandibles gnashed at her, spraying her with blobs of hot spider spit.

She struggled against the weight of the monsters, but each movement just dug the legs deeper into her flesh. A head lowered towards her. The puckered mouth expanded and a gust of warm air rolling down over her face.

“Ew,” Miz told it. “Your breath totally reeks. Also,” she added. “I hope you fonking choke on me.”

She spat in its eye. Then quickly spat in the others, for good measure. She braced herself, but refused to look away as the head lowered and the mouth opened and a metal hand clamped down on the monster’s skull.

Miz frowned. Wait. What was that last one?

The head was yanked back. A blast of laser fire exited through the front of its face, turning it into a gooey black paste.

The other spiders surrounding the lead one screeched furiously. Mech spun around, blasting them all at point-blank range in the head and throat. Two dropped instantly. The last remaining one stumbled backwards, no doubt giving some serious thought to this whole ‘invasion’ endeavor. Mech finished it with another few short blasts, then turned in time to catch the headless first spider before it collapsed onto Miz.

“Get it off me,” she told him.

“But its legs. Ain’t they hooked in?” Mech asked.

“Just do it!”

Mech got himself beneath the creature’s lifeless body and pushed upwards, heaving it above his head. The legs tore free with a series of brief but unpleasant ripping sounds, and Miz allowed herself just the tiniest of pained groans.

With a grunt, Mech tossed the spider away. The area around them was clear now – provided you didn’t count the corpses, limbs and gungy black blood – but that wouldn’t last long. They had to move, and soon.

Mech dropped to one knee and extended a hand to the fallen Mizette. At first, she batted it away, but when he held it out a second time, she considered it more carefully.

She looked at the hand.

She looked past it, to the mash-up of metal and scarred flesh that made up Mech’s face. He looked different from this angle. Bolder. More dynamic.

Hot, even.

Miz flicked her tongue across her chops, wiped a blob of spider’s face from her fur, then took Mech’s hand. He hoisted her to her feet with such suddenness, she was forced to throw her arms around his impressively broad shoulders.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a low purr.

Mech’s brow knotted. “Uh… hey yourself,” he said. Her hands caressed the back of his neck and his frown deepened. It almost came as a relief when he heard the sound of approaching Spider-Dragons. The relief, however, did not last long.

There were hundreds of them, approaching along the street like an army. They hurried along, teetering on their ridiculous legs. It took Mech a moment to realize why they were in such a rush. They were chasing someone.

“Who,” began Miz, peering along the street to where a man with a piano tie and a matching belt was jigging and dancing at the head of the spider conga, “is that guy?”

* * *

Cal swung down from his chair, dropped to the ceiling, and launched himself towards the door. “Get the ship the right way up and be ready!” he instructed.

“Ready for what?” asked Loren.

“Fonked if I know,” Cal said, jumping up and catching the door lintel. His boots scrambled on the wall as he clambered for the opening above him. “Just be ready in general.”

He heaved himself into the doorway, teetered on the lintel for a second or two, then toppled forwards and fell into the corridor. “Ow.”

Too many seconds of climbing and scrambling later, he made it to the hatch by way of the armory, lowered himself from the doorway, and dropped several feet to the ground.

Cal sprinted clear just as the Untitled’s thrusters propelled it along the ground in a shower of sparks. The scraping of metal on metal was piercingly loud, and he’d have clamped his hands over his ears, were it not for the fact he was holding two quite cumbersome hand grenades. A blaster rifle was slung across his chest, with a pistol tucked into the back of his pants for good measure. None of it was likely to hurt the Spider-Dragon, he knew, but he sure felt better for having it.

The scraping sound stopped as the ship lurched into the air. Cal raced up the side of a low metal hillock, his head back as he watched the monster above. It had blocked out most of the sky, casting the world around Cal into cold shadow. It was still in the process of turning, and backing itself up a little. From the way it moved, it seemed to be targeting a ridge a hundred feet or so to Cal’s right. He set off towards it at speed, the grenades making a somewhat worrying sloshing sound as he ran.

“Soonsho!” he bellowed. “Soonsho, where are you?”

He skidded over the ridge, discovered quite a steep drop on the other side, and bounced twice on the way to the ground. He landed with a heavy thud on his back. The blaster pistol fired, scorching his buttocks and burning a hole in the seat of his pants.

After he’d recovered from that shock, Cal risked a glance at the hand grenades. Neither one showed any signs of being about to go off, so that was something, at least.

He struggled upright, considered getting rid of the pistol, then decided instead just not to fall from a height onto it again.

“Soonsho!” he hollered, then he almost screamed when he turned to find her standing immediately behind him. “Jesus! Never sneak up on a man with explosives in both hands. That’s, like, rule number one.”

The Spider-Dragon’s head hung over them, the tips of the mandibles just fifty or sixty feet from where they stood. Beyond the mandibles, its cavernous mouth was opening like a camera shutter, revealing a vast, moist blackness beyond.

Soonsho stepped forwards and put her arms out at her side, inviting the monster to come for her. Cal pulled her back, caught the pin of one of the grenades in his teeth, and pulled it free. Tossing it upwards with all his might, he dragged Soonsho away. They stumbled on, slipping and sliding across the smooth, shiny metal.

Taking cover behind a jagged outcrop, Cal watched the grenade soar up, up, up towards its target.

And then fall down, down, down to the ground. It bounced twice.

Several seconds later, it made a disappointing pop and burst in a flash of fluttering colors. “Well, that was fonking useless,” Cal muttered, tossing the other grenade away. He swung the blaster rifle into one hand, and caught Soonsho’s arm with the other. “Come on, let’s get out in the open and hope Loren can see us.”

He tried to drag her on, but Soonsho stood her ground. She pointed angrily to the approaching Spider-Dragon, then her face softened a little as she curved her finger back around to point at herself.

“No,” said Cal. “No, you don’t have to do that. It’s not your job to stop that thing. You don’t have to—”

Soonsho opened her mouth, just a little, and only for a fraction of a second. Cal didn’t hear the sound she made, but he felt it. It hit him like a hurricane, huffing the breath from his lungs and hurtling him backwards through the air.

He crashed hard into a boulder-sized lump of metal and slid down it, his body completely ignoring his brain’s instructions to get up again.

In a minute, it seemed to say. Let’s just lie down for a bit. Doesn’t this rock feel nice?

Cal watched, helplessly, as Soonsho turned away. He tried to call to her, but he had no breath left in him to make the sound. She opened her arms and tilted her head to the sky. An offering, to the monster.

Its head lowered. Its mandibles snapped open. Its mouth unpuckered.

Cal stared at the hideous thing.

He stared at the girl.

He remembered the rifle in his hand.

He pointed it at Soonsho.

His finger found the trigger.

And he squeezed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Miz limped clear of Mech and they both braced themselves for a fight. It was not, judging by the number of spiders approaching, a fight they had any hope of winning, but that had never stopped either of them in the past.

Halfway between them and the spider-creatures, Dan, Dan the Music Man jigged towards them, his short, flabby body gyrating in perfect time to Come on Eileen by Dexy’s Midnight Runners, which only he could hear. Without the benefit of the music, the guy looked positively insane as he sashayed and slide-stepped the last few feet, then stopped just ahead of Mech and Miz.

“Who the fonk are you?” Mech asked.

Dan, Dan the Music Man smiled and winked at them, then he crisply about-turned until he was facing the approaching spiders. They were closing fast now – a few hundred of the things scuttling along on a few thousand legs.

Splurt shifted, changing his form from that of an ex-children’s entertainer to something very tall and very wide, with a large, heavy hammer-shaped head.

“Splurt!” Miz gasped.

“Oh, man,” Mech muttered. Even with his dial turned to the right, he was smart enough to realize what was about to happen. “That thing’s a genius.”

The spiders stopped scuttling and looked up. Splurt, despite having no face and a head made of ultra-dense neutronium, smiled. Much as he’d enjoyed the dancing, this had been the part he’d been most looking forward to.

He swung. His hammer-head smashed down on a bug, shattering its skeleton and spraying its guts across the street. By the time the monsters on either side of it had realized what had happened, it had happened to them, too.

Krik.

Krak.

Ksshk.

Splurt rifled remotely through Cal’s subconscious until he found a suitable track – Phil Collins’ 1981 debut single, In the Air Tonight – and, with the opening drum-beat pounding inside his head, he went to work.

* * *

The blast from the rifle clipped Soonsho on the underside of one outstretched arm, searing a perfectly circular hole in the flesh a few inches above her elbow. Whether it was the shock or the pain, it was impossible to tell, but the effect was instantaneous.

With a mile-long Spider-Dragon preparing to devour her, and her skin still sizzling from where Cal had shot her, Soonsho Sooss opened her mouth and – finally – began to scream.

The sound rose like a shockwave into the air. Even though he was several dozen feet behind her, Cal was forced to cover his head with his hands and grit his teeth as his eardrums collapsed and his skeleton tried to shake itself free of his body.

The Spider-Dragon’s head snapped back, as if hit by an invisible uppercut. A web of cracks appeared on the glazing of the monster’s exo-skeleton, fissuring and widening as Soonsho unleashed a lifetime of fear and worry and betrayal and regret in one long, drawn-out wail.

It rose from within her like an unstoppable force. All those horrors – all those years spent cheerfully preparing for her own agonizing death – were because of this creature. Because of this monster. Because of this thing.

The Spider-Dragon screamed, but Soonsho screamed louder. And as she screamed, the pitch rose and fell, becoming a song - a song of despair and destruction and death. For the first time in her life, Soonsho sang, and the world trembled at the beauty and the horror of it.

The monster’s armor split open. Canyons raced along it, revealing the soft, pulpy flesh beneath. Soonsho sang. Fifteen years of silence – fifteen years of holding back – came to an end in a single flowing aria that ignited the clouds above her, scorching the sky in columns of flickering color.

And then, as suddenly as she had started, she stopped. Her piercing soprano became a croak, then a gasp, then nothing at all as her breath ran out.

The Spider-Dragon stumbled, its legs not quite its own, its armor falling away in truck-sized slivers. One of its mandibles hung limply and uselessly, while the other moved slowly back and forth, as if searching for its missing mate.

But the mouth. The mouth was opening. The head was coming down. And the Spider-Dragon, despite the damage, was hungry for one last meal.

“No!” Cal made it to his feet. He closed the gap between them in a second and a half, then hurled himself at Soonsho.

They connected just as four fiery red photon missiles slammed into the great beast above them. All four of the blasts pierced the thing’s exposed, quivering flesh, then detonated deep inside its skull.

With a final shriek, the Spider-Dragon toppled sideways, and fell to the ground with a thunderous boom.

The Currently Untitled swooped above them, firing its landing thrusters as it came in for a landing.

“YOU OK?” Cal shouted. His eardrums had been completely obliterated - and he still had a hole in the back of his pants – but, all things considered, it could have gone worse. “SORRY I SHOT YOU!”

Soonsho nodded shakily and clutched her wounded arm.

“THAT’LL STITCH RIGHT UP! SERIOUSLY, IT WON’T EVEN LEAVE A…”

Cal’s ears began to itch like crazy. There was a faint pop, a sharp ache, and suddenly the world became much louder. He jabbed a pinkie finger inside one ear and wiggled it around.

“What the…? Testing. Lalalala. Hey? HEY! Hey.”

Yep, all good.

“Oh man.” He grinned. “Forget Hannibal and Face – I am totally Wolverine.”

The Untitled landed beside him in a swirl of dust and spider-armor fragments. “One sec, I have to check something,” said Cal. Soonsho watched him run across the barren metal until he eventually reached one of the spider’s legs.

He kicked it. He mumbled something too quiet for Soonsho to hear. He waited.

Then, he turned around and walked back. “Yep,” he said. “It’s definitely dead.”

Cal gestured towards the back of the ship, just as the ramp lowered.

“Now,” he said. “Shall we?”

* * *

Cal, Soonsho and Loren stepped down from the Untitled into a scene of utter carnage. Even from up in the sky, the scene spread out before them had immediately catapulted itself into Cal’s top ten list of the worst things he’d ever seen, nudging his naked grandmother into eleventh place.

Now that he was actually standing knee deep in the sludgy black gore, though, it was rapidly closing in on the top five.

Mech and Miz sat on the back of a partially crushed spider creature. They waved at Cal as he sloshed through the flood of insect guts, both looking relaxed, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“What the Hell happened?” he said, trying not to gag at the stench that swirled into the air with every step he took through the murk. “Did you guys do this?”

“Uh-uh,” said Mech.

“We did, like five percent,” said Miz.

“Then how did…?” Cal’s eyes widened. “Splurt?”

A little green blob rolled out from behind Mech, squidged into a pancake shape, then boinged into Cal’s arms. At least, that was the intention. Caught off guard, however, Cal missed, and Splurt vanished into the spider-slurry with a wet-sounding shlop.

“Ooh, shizz. Sorry, buddy,” said Cal, then he jumped in fright as a long green tentacle wrapped itself around his neck, and Splurt leapt up onto his shoulder. Cal tickled him where he imagined the little guy’s chin to be. “You did all this?” he asked. Splurt shuddered happily. “Well, way to go, you adorable fonking psycho. Good job!”

A number of floating disks swooped down over the buildings around them, ferrying The Conductor and Conductress, Soonsho’s parents, and a number of official-looking men in uniform.

“Oh. Here we go. Look heroic, guys,” said Cal. “Space Team just saved the day.”

“You idiots!” boomed the Conductor. “What have you done? What have you done?!”

Cal hadn’t been expecting that. “Uh… saved the day?” he said. “Killed the Dragon-Spider—”

“Spider-Dragon!”

“Whatever. And all its little baby Dragon-Spiders so, you know, you can all live happily ever after.” Cal broke out one of his best grins. “You’re welcome.”

“You have doomed us all,” the Conductor seethed. He stabbed a finger at Soonsho, who drew back in fright. “She has doomed us all.”

“What are you talking about?” said Cal, still working on the theory that his smile was bound to prove contagious sooner or later. “She – well, we, but mostly her – totally killed that thing. It’s gone. Kaput. You don’t have to feed it children any more, which I would consider a definite win.”

“The Spider-Dragon of Saktar was our only defense!” The conductor roared, and the spider-slurry rippled in harmony with his tones. “For millennia, it was our protector. Our guardian. Resting, biding its time until it was needed. And now…”

He gesticulated towards the mountain-sized cadaver in the distance. “Now look at it! We are defenseless.”

“You gotta have guns, right?” asked Mech.

“Ooh, great question,” said Miz. “Even without your dial turned, you’re super-smart.”

“Uh… OK.”

“No, we don’t have guns! Why would we need guns?” the Conductor spat. “We had the Spider-Dragon of Saktar!”

“OK, first of all,” said Cal, “monster-spider based planetary defenses are notoriously unreliable. Seriously, it’s a miracle you guys weren’t wiped out centuries ago. We’ve totally done you a favor. And secondly, uh, hello? You’ve got something even better.” He put an arm around Soonsho’s shoulders. “You’ve got Soonsho.”

Cal squeezed and Soonsho let out a sharp hiss as pain shot through her wounded arm. One of the uniformed men, who had been hanging back on his disk, looking vaguely menacing, was flipped backwards off it, and plunged into the gunk.

The Conductor and Conductress backed away slowly. Even Soonsho’s parents watched her with fear in their eyes. Soonsho took a step towards them, but stopped when she saw them tense up in fright.

“She is powerful,” the Conductor agreed, lowering his voice like he was scared he might startle the girl. “Of that, there is no doubt. But she cannot be everywhere at once. She cannot protect Cantato Minor forever. Without the Spider-Dragon of Saktar, we are all victims, just waiting to meet our fates.”

Soonsho looked down at her feet for a moment, then tugged on Cal’s sleeve. She glanced across to her parents. Neither of them could hold her eye.

Her lips moved silently. Miz’s ears pricked up.

“What’s she saying?” Cal asked.

“She’s saying she’s sorry,” said Miz. She cocked her head a little. “And she’s saying she has an idea.”

* * *

“Are you sure about this?” asked Cal.

Soonsho nodded. Behind her, Dorid Tarkula – the real, genuine, accept-no-imitations original – stood in the doorway of his castle. He was alone. His failed clones, he assured them, had been put out of their misery.

“I mean, this is a pretty creepy castle, even with all the freaks gone,” Cal continued. “Look at it, it’s definitely haunted. And I bet even the ghosts are a tiny bit creeped out by the place.”

Soonsho’s lips moved.

“She says she’ll be OK,” said Miz. “She says she wants to do it, so her parents can be safe.”

“Not sure I’d bother with them myself,” Mech muttered. “Didn’t exactly strike me as a loving family.”

“I guarantee the girl’s safety,” said Dorid. “My behaviour earlier… that wasn’t me. I was desperate, but that does not justify my actions. Soonsho and I will develop the sonic shielding together. I will use it here and install it on Cantato Minor, also. Thanks to her – to her voice – her people will be protected. Always.”

“And Zertex won’t be able to steal your stuff,” said Loren.

Dorid nodded. “Perhaps we can all stay out of the coming war, after all.”

Cal looked to Soonsho, then made a clumsy waveform with his hand. “May your song carry long and carry far, kid.”

Soonsho smiled shyly at Cal, then threw her arms around him and hugged him. She pulled away after a few moments, waved to the crew, then scuttled into the castle. “I will protect her. You have my word,” he said.

“We’ll hold you to that,” said Mech.

“Yeah. We’ll totally be watching,” added Miz.

“We mean it,” said Loren. “You don’t want to mess with us.”

“Especially him,” said Cal, jabbing a thumb towards Splurt, who pulsed on the landing ramp, watching on in cheerful silence. “Seriously, he has issues. You don’t even want to know.”

With a final warning glare from each of them, the crew turned and headed up the ramp. Cal stopped at the bottom.

“Oh one question, what’s the Omega Cannon?” he asked, turning. But Dorid was gone, and the door was closed. Cal shrugged. “Ah, what the Hell? It’ll be more fun to figure it out.”

And then, he marched up the ramp, strode along the corridor and onto the flight deck.

“Captain on the bridge!” he announced, but no-one paid him even the slightest bit of attention, much less snapped to salute.

He slid into his chair just as Loren fired up the thrusters. The dark slate landscape lurched as the Untitled lifted into the air and headed for orbit.

“OK, so what’s the plan, troops?” Cal asked. “We’ve got money in our pocket, a ship under our feet, and a whole lot of stars in the sky to choose from. Any suggestions?”

The screen flared a rainbow of colors as they left the atmosphere.

“I got one,” said Mech. He picked an apparently arbitrary direction and pointed. “Head that way, and don’t stop until we’re waaay at the other side of the nebula.”

“One suggestion,” said Cal. “Miz?”

“I want to do whatever Mech wants to do,” she said.

A flicker of a frown passed over Cal’s face. “Uh, OK. What about your boat?”

Miz shook her head. “Mech doesn’t like boats.”

“That is true,” Mech agreed.

Cal looked from Miz to Mech and back again, then shook his head. “Loren? Any suggestions?”

“Picking up a transmission.”

It took Cal a second to realize she wasn’t making a suggestion and was, in fact, picking up a transmission.

“Is it Dorid? Soonsho?”

Loren shook her head. “No. Symmorium.”

“Ha! Yeah, right, like we’re going to fall for that one again,” said Cal. “Nice try, Kornack.”

“Not this time, sir. I have been able to establish a video feed with the Symmorium ship and, well, it isn’t good news,” said Kevin. “Certainly not if you’re on board it, at any rate.”

“On screen,” said Cal.

A box appeared in the top right corner of the screen. It was black, and at first Cal thought the video hadn’t started to play, but then sparks flew in the darkness, illuminating a heavily damaged corridor. One of the ship’s crew – a particularly stocky and shark-like older Symmorium – lay sprawled on the floor, his body folded in such a way that it was immediately apparent he was dead. And not just a bit dead. Top level dead.

A wall had exploded beside him, filling him with shrapnel. When the damaged circuitry sparked, the light showed clouds of white air being siphoned through the hole in the wall, and out into the vacuum beyond.

“This is Commander Junta of the Symmorium,” wheezed a voice.

“Junta?” said Cal. The crew and the commander had a short but eventful history together and one which, miraculously, had seen them part as friends. “Can he hear me?”

Loren shook her head. “This is a pre-record. It’s one way.”

“We are under attack. Half of my crew is dead. My daughter… Tyra… is gone. If you are within the sound of my voice, please… help us. We don’t have—”

The transmission cut off.

“That’s all there is of it, sir,” said Kevin. “I have been able to ascertain the last position of the ship that sent the message. Putting them on screen.”

“Zertex did this,” said Loren. Her words hung heavily in the air.

“Like I said, ain’t nobody getting out of this one,” said Mech. “This war of theirs – of Zertex’s – it’s gonna tear the galaxy apart.”

“So, like, what do we do?” asked Miz.

More silence fell.

Cal looked at the blinking red dot on screen, showing the location of the Symmorium ship.

He looked out at the stars, far off in the direction Mech had pointed, and the universe of possibility that lay that way.

They would all be looking to him, he knew. They would all be waiting for an answer. But he didn’t know the answer to that question. Not the right one, anyway.

What would Cal Carver do?

Now that one, he did know the answer to. Right or wrong.

“Loren,” he said, leaning back in his chair and gripping his armrests. “Plot us a course.”

THE END

SPACE TEAM: THE GUNS OF NANA JOAN

CHAPTER ONE

Commander Junta of the Symmorium stood on the secondary bridge of his Thresher battleship, staring down the approaching Zertex fighter.

In the four years he had spent in command of the ship, this was only the third time he had ever set foot on the secondary bridge. The first had been during his induction tour. The second time, he’d been playing hide and seek with his daughter, Tyrra.

His daughter, Tyrra, who had been sucked into the vacuum of space along with most of his crew, when the primary bridge had exploded.

The shark-like Symmorium, with their tough gray hide and dark, glassy eyes, were a warrior race, first and foremost. Junta was ready for death. He had always been ready for death – both his own, and that of his crew.

But not her. Not his little girl.

Still, he would join her, soon enough.

“What do we have?” Junta grunted, as the first Zertex attack ship was joined by another. The two of them had struck out of nowhere, ignored all attempts to hail them, and rejected Junta’s attempts to surrender.

On the deck behind him, Assistant Communications Officer Glorian – the only remaining crew member - rummaged in a spaghetti of sparking wires, trying to restore power to shields or weapons or comms, or anything useful. There was no urgency to her attempts, though. Why rush a lost cause?

She hadn’t had the heart to tell the commander that she had absolutely no idea what she was supposed to be doing with the wires. On a normal day, her job largely involved her pressing one of three clearly marked buttons, and very occasionally speaking into a microphone. Rerouting power through a damaged secondary systems console didn’t even fall within spitting distance of her skillset, but the commander had asked so nicely that she’d felt compelled to give it a go.

She spliced two wires together, just in case. They let out a brief fzzt and a tiny puff of smoke that somehow managed to make the whole situation feel just a tiny bit more depressing than it already was.

“We have nothing, Commander.”

The commander nodded, as if this had only confirmed what he already knew. He folded his hands neatly behind his back, puffed out his chest, and watched the Zertex ships’ weapons flash.

“Please,” he said, the distant glow of two incoming torpedoes reflecting in his glassy eyes. “Call me Junta.”

Glorian stood. She wanted to salute, but her hands were shaking too badly. She wanted to say something noble and memorable. Something befitting the situation. But her words betrayed her.

“I am afraid.”

The torpedoes streaked across open space, closing fast. Any moment now. Any moment.

“Between you and I, Glorian,” said Junta. “Me, too.”

From nowhere, the dark hull of a ship banked up between the Thresher and the torpedoes. Its shields flared as the energy projectiles hammered into it, and then the ship was gone, streaking upwards into a spinning climb.

Glorian’s jaw dropped, revealing all her many teeth. “Who…? Who was that?” she whispered.

Junta stepped closer to the viewscreen and ducked, peering up at the mystery ship as it looped and launched itself towards the Zertex ships on an intercept course.

“I do not know,” Junta admitted. He smiled, grimly. “But, whoever they are, I hope they know what they are doing.”

* * *

Cal Carver flailed around in his chair, his face buried in a paper bag that was filling at quite an alarming rate with vomit. The short, sudden burst of light speed, followed by some fonking insane maneuvering and the jarring impact of two photon torpedoes had played havoc with his inner ear, and his digestive system was currently paying a pretty hefty price.

“Incoming transmission from Zertex fighters,” announced a dry, upper-class British voice from somewhere up near the ceiling. “How should I respond?”

Cal lifted his eyes to roughly where he guessed the voice of the ship’s artificial intelligence, K-Seven-Zero Dash Nine-Three-Three-Zero-Seven Dash Zeta – or ‘Kevin’, if time wasn’t on your side - was coming from.

“Tell them to…” He buried his face in the bag. Hruuuuueeerk!

“I see. Very good, sir,” said Kevin. “How are you spelling that, in case anyone should ask?”

“Tell them to go fonk themselves,” barked the towering cyborg, Mech. He stood before the ship’s large viewscreen, his metal fingers darting across a touch screen panel below it. “In fact, don’t bother, I’ll tell them myself.”

He stepped back from the screen, made a hand gesture which Cal interpreted as something quite rude, then held the pose until the screen flashed and clicked.

“They’re firing cannons, hold on!” warned Loren, leaning left in the pilot seat and throwing her weight onto the controls. The ship rolled into a tight corkscrew spin as crackling red energy beams scorched the void around them.

“Oh, Jesus! Why do you always do this to me?” Cal spluttered, before his insides noisily tried to become his outsides once again.

“Mizette, any response from the Symmorium?” Loren barked, slamming the stick right and pulling out of the spiral.

Slouched in her chair, Miz picked a piece of lint from her fur, rolled it between two claws, then flicked it away before shrugging her broad shoulders. “How should I know?”

The ship dropped into a plunging dive, and Cal briefly remembered how much he’d always hated rollercoasters, before everything suddenly banked upwards again, compacting his testicles against the seat.

“Because you’re supposed to be trying to hail them,” Loren snapped.

Miz tutted. “Well, no one told me.”

“Yes we did!” Loren yelped. She pushed, pulled and twisted the controls, sending the ship into a sequence of moves Cal couldn’t even begin to describe, and never wanted to experience again. The stars and ships on the viewscreen tilted and lurched. His stomach flipped and jiggled. His testicles, for their part, didn’t do very much. Although, to be honest, after that last maneuver he’d be surprised if they ever did anything noteworthy again.

As Cal heaved the last of his stomach contents into the bag, it occurred to him that it had, all things considered, been a pretty rough day. Or, not day, exactly, because they didn’t have days in space, so Mech kept telling him, anyway. A pretty rough day-length period of time, then.

He had started it dressed as a lizard, and ended it battling a city-sized spider that breathed fire. Many, many things had gone wrong between those two events, the most notable of which being his own violent death.

It hadn’t been all bad, of course. He’d discovered they had a machine on board that made banoffee pie – albeit after it literally tortured the recipe out of him - and the crew had all earned a share in a two-million credit fortune.

He was also no longer dead, which was a bonus.

But then, just as they’d been setting off across the nebula to escape the brewing Zertex vs Symmorium war, they’d picked up Junta’s distress call. Much as they were all against the idea of getting dragged into a galaxy-shaking punch-up, Cal had been even more against the idea of leaving Commander Junta to die. Since then, his empty, quivering stomach and pancaked testicles had both given him pause to reconsider, but he was still reasonably confident they were doing the right thing.

“Fine. I’ve called them on the comm-thing, or whatever,” Miz said. She scowled mostly at Loren, but partly at the universe in general. “Happy now?”

“Have they answered?” Mech asked, not looking back. Miz sat a little more upright in her seat. Her voice lost its surly edge.

“Doesn’t look like it. Want me to try them again?”

“Do it!” said the cyborg.

Miz shuddered. “Man, I love it when you take charge,” she told him, then she rolled a purring sound between her enormous teeth, before turning her attention to the control panel beside her.

“A scan of the Symmorium Thresher suggests a reply is unlikely to be incoming any time soon,” Kevin announced. “All systems are down. Only minimal life support is in place. And, if I may be so bold, their kitchen is a bloody shambles.”

“How many alive?” Loren asked, flipping the ship upside-down as a barrage of cannon-fire ripped past.

“Eighty.”

Cal looked up from his sack of sick. “Eighty?”

There was a moment’s hesitation from Kevin. “No, wait. Two. Sorry, I was thinking of something else. Oh.”

“Oh?” said Cal. “What? What’s ‘oh’?”

“Incoming transmission sir, relayed via one of the Zertex fighters. It’s from the president.”

“Sinclair?” said Cal. “Shizz. I hoped we could just duck in and out of this without anyone noticing.”

He looked to the others for guidance. “Any suggestions? Do we talk to him?”

“No,” said Mech.

Loren considered it for a moment, then shook her head. “No.”

Cal turned his chair to look at Mizette. She shrugged petulantly. “Whatever. How should I know?”

“Yeah, probably best if we don’t answer it, Kevin,” said Cal, turning back to the front. The tanned, square-jawed face of President Hayel Sinclair filled one third of the screen. “Oh, you already did.”

“My apologies, sir,” Kevin chimed. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Mr Carver,” said Sinclair in a voice that was so full of warmth Cal almost forgot all the times Sinclair had tried to imprison or kill him. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hayel Sinclair,” Cal said, in a way that positively cried out for a Nazi salute. “Always a pleasure. Except, you know, when it isn’t. Which is always, because you’re a mass-murdering psychopath.” He smiled. “So. How’ve you been?”

“Better than you, it seems,” said Sinclair, his eyes flitting down to the bag clutched in Cal’s lap. “Space travel still not agreeing with you?”

Cal rolled the top of the bag closed. “What, this?” he said. “This is just… onions.”

On screen, Sinclair blinked. “Sorry?”

Cal had no idea what had possessed him to say the bag contained onions. It very clearly did not contain onions. A thick, lumpy onion puree, perhaps, but not onions in their native, regular form. Still, on the upside, Cal was almost certainly the only person involved in the conversation who had any idea what the fonk an onion actually was, so he reckoned he could bluff it.

“Onions,” he said. He gave the bag a shake, as if that somehow confirmed everything, then set it on the floor beside his chair. “Now, sorry, we’re pretty busy here. What was it you wanted?”

Sinclair smiled, showing off his perfect teeth. “Short term, I want you to withdraw from this encounter and allow my fighters to continue their engagement with the Symmorium Thresher,” he said. “Longer term, I want to have your head on a spike, and use your hands as back scratchers.” He shrugged. “But let’s focus on the immediate issue, for now.”

He leaned closer to the camera, so his face filled the whole right third of the viewscreen. The movement cast most of his features into shadow, but his eyes seemed to blaze in the darkness.

“You have intervened in an officially sanctioned wartime confrontation between Zertex and its enemy. Failure to withdraw immediately will only serve to draw you deeper into the conflict, and result in a redoubling of my efforts to detain you, torture you, then kill you.”

He leaned back, his smile returning. “You don’t want to get involved in this, Mr Carver. Trust me.”

Cal drummed his fingers on his armrest, staring blankly into space. When he realized Sinclair had stopped talking, his eyes widened and he sat up straight. “Sorry, were you talking to me? I was miles away, thinking about how awesome this ship is that we stole off you. You were saying something about back scratchers?”

Sinclair’s smile dropped away, revealing the true expression behind it. He opened his mouth to speak, but Cal reacted before the president could utter another word.

“Mech, mute this shizznod.”

“Done.”

Sinclair ranted for a few seconds, before realizing what had happened. Cal returned the president’s smile from earlier, plus interest.

“See, the thing is, Hayel, we’re already involved in this, since you used footage from our ship to set up the Symmorium and justify going to war with them,” he said. “We know what really happened – you blew up that moon, not them, and you used us to do it – so, unless you want us to tell everyone exactly what you’ve been up to, I’m going to have to ask you to back off.”

On screen, Sinclair laughed in complete silence. It went on for quite a long time. Cal signaled for Mech to cut the mic feed from their ship.

“Guess he doesn’t believe us,” said Cal.

“Oh, he believes us,” said Loren. “He just knows no one will listen. Who’s going to take the word of a group of on-the-run criminals over the galactic government?”

Cal thought for a moment. “Crazy conspiracy theorists?”

“Great,” said Mech. “And that helps us how, exactly?”

“Incoming torpedoes,” announced Kevin.

“Son of a bedge,” Cal spat. He gave Sinclair the finger, then the feed snapped off, clearing the right side of the viewscreen in time for everyone to see an explosive ball of energy hurtling towards them.

“Brace!” Loren warned. Cal gripped his arm rests as the torpedo detonated against the ship’s shields, rattling his skeleton and making his bag of barf jiggle dangerously on the floor beside him.

A second torpedo struck somewhere off-screen, and the lights aboard the Currently Untitled flickered.

“I mean, did you even try to dodge those?” Miz barked.

“They appear to be readying more torpedoes, sir,” Kevin intoned. “Would you like me to retaliate?”

“What’s the alternative?” Cal asked.

“We get blown to bits.”

“Then yes,” said Cal. “Retaliate. Do that one. Jesus, why did you even have to ask? Fire torpedoes.”

“Missiles, sir,” Kevin corrected. “We don’t have torpedoes, we have missiles.”

“Whatever! Just fonking do it!”

“Very good, sir.”

There was a moment of silence, followed by two blinding flashes at either edge of the screen.

“All done, sir.”

Cal frowned. “What? That’s it? You blew them up?”

“Indeed.”

“They ain’t showing on the scanners,” Mech confirmed. “Looks like they’re dust.”

“Oh,” said Cal. He shifted in his chair, making the leather creak. “I mean, where’s the fun in that? When I did the guns, it was far more seat-of-your-pants, high adrenaline, ‘fonk, we’re probably all going to die’ space adventure. Now? Boom. Done.” He sighed. “I miss the old days.”

“I could deliberately miss next time, if you like, sir?” Kevin suggested.

Cal considered this. “No, it’s not the same,” he decided. “Well, I mean, maybe just once.” He slapped his hands on his thighs. “Anyway, Loren, bring us in close to the Symmorium ship.”

“Without crashing into it,” Miz added.

“Ideally, yes, without crashing into it,” Cal agreed. “I can’t wait to see the look on Junta’s big shark face.”

* * *

Cal stood outside the airlock door, waving at the two Symmorium through the little porthole window. The smaller of the two – the one who wasn’t Commander Junta – waved back, until Junta shot her a sideways look and she snapped her arm down to her side.

“There he is!” beamed Cal, as the inner airlock door slid aside and Junta stepped through. He wasn’t much taller than Cal, but his width, mannerisms, and the fact he was essentially a man-shaped walking shark all made it very clear which of them would emerge victorious from a fight.

Fortunately, Cal had no intention of fighting.

“C’mere, you,” he said, stepping in and giving Junta a hug. The Symmorium reacted by not reacting at all. He simply stood, looking impatient, until the ordeal was over.

Cal pulled away and beckoned the other Symmorium over. “Don’t think you’re getting away, either, mister!”

“Miss,” said Glorian, her gray skin blushing ever so slightly.

“Wow, seriously?” said Cal. He recovered quickly. “I mean, get in here, you!”

He hugged her. To everyone’s surprise, but mostly her own, she hugged him back.

“Welcome to the Currently Untitled,” Cal said, once he’d let the woman go. “Our brand new, state-of-the-art experimental prototype ship. Please, don’t touch anything, because we don’t know what ninety-percent of this stuff does, and there’s a good chance you’ll kill us all.”

Junta lowered his head in a bow of respect. “We appreciate your intervention,” he intoned. “Without it, we would surely now both be dead.”

“Hey, any time. We were in the neighborhood… What are friends for, right?” said Cal.

Junta’s shiny black eyes became dull, as if a cloud had passed behind them. “If only you had arrived a few moments earlier. Perhaps you would have been in time to save my crew.” He swallowed. His voice, when it emerged, was as rough as sandpaper. “My daughter.”

“Your daughter?” said Cal, thinking back to his and Junta’s first face-to-face encounter. “You mean Angry Testicles-Headbutt Girl? Oh, yeah...”

Cal tapped a button on the door directly across the corridor. It slid aside, revealing the kitchen area. Nine Symmorium stood by the food replicator machine, sniffing curiously at plates of banoffee pie.

“About that.”

Tyrra looked up from her plate. Her already wide eyes almost doubled in size, then she raced for Junta’s arms as he threw them open. Father and daughter collided, squashing the banana-based dessert between them as they hugged and rubbed their snouts together.

“Well,” Cal muttered. “That was a waste of a perfectly good pie.”

He watched a tear roll down the side of Junta’s face. “But, meh, I guess I can let it go, just this one time.”

CHAPTER TWO

The Currently Untitled hadn’t been able to save Junta’s whole crew, but they’d put a sizeable dent in the death count, at least. Junta had greeted them all with considerably more stoicism than he had his daughter, but his relief at discovering they were alive – and their own relief at being alive – was as palpable as the aroma of toffee and banana that hung in the air.

Cal sat at the long kitchen table, digging into his third slab of pie with a homemade spoon. He was quite proud of the spoon, having fashioned it himself using a piece of scrap metal, a lot of brute force, and several minutes of creative swearing. Admittedly, it had turned out that the piece of metal wasn’t actually scrap, and was, in fact, quite an important part of the life support systems. But, other than a somewhat alarming period of asphyxiation, there had been no real harm done.

“Seriously, I can’t believe you guys don’t like this,” Cal said, masticating the sticky banana mush around in his mouth. He felt like he’d been chewing for quite some time now, and his jaw was feeling the burn. Still, there were four more pies on the table, and he was damned if they were going to go to waste.

Some of the Symmorium crew had gone off to explore the ship, or to use the comm-system to update the folks back home about their run-in with Zertex. Only Junta, Tyrra, and Glorian had remained in the kitchen. They all watched in growing disbelief as Cal pushed aside an empty plate, thumped the heel of his hand against his chest a couple of times, then reached for the next slice of pie.

They had been joined by Splurt, the shapeshifting green blob who, despite lacking the ability to speak or utter a sound, Cal now considered to be one of his best friends ever. Possibly the best, and certainly the most useful. Whether saving Cal from torture, killing a lot of bad guys in quick succession, or just generally looking fonking adorable, Splurt was Cal’s go-to ball of goo, every time.

Splurt sat on the bench beside Cal, only his two bulbous eyeballs visible above the edge of the table as he watched the Symmorium in silence.

“You have the eating habits of a gurslug,” said Tyrra, watching Cal shovel another spoonful of caramel into his mouth. “And a juvenile, at that.”

“Tyrra!” Junta snapped, but Cal held up a hand.

“It’s fine. It’s fine. Seriously. Kids, right?” He shrugged. “I mean, I don’t even know what a gurslug is, so I’m just going to go ahead and assume it’s something nice,” he said. “In my head, I’m picturing a baby panda, but with those, like… What are those things bugs have on their heads? Like fuzzy antennae. You know? Like pom-poms on little jiggly bits of wire. I’m picturing a baby panda rocking a couple of those. Only purple.”

“It is a parasite,” said Tyrra. “Of the anus.”

“Oh,” said Cal. He tried to picture this. “Well, I don’t see how that would fit up there at all.”

“You would not notice a gurslug enter,” Tyrra told him, enjoying his reaction. “It would slip in while you slept. You would not become aware until its first acid emission.”

Cal froze with the next piece of pie halfway to his mouth. He shifted on the bench. “Jesus.”

He continued eating the pie.

“Perhaps you have one inside you, even now.”

Cal put down his spoon. “Look, I’m sorry I punched you in the face and made you cry last time.”

“I didn’t cry,” Tyrra spat.

“Well, OK, then I’m sorry I made droplets of salty water come from your eyes, then. Is that better?” Cal retorted. “To be fair, you had very recently headbutted me in the balls, and then almost broke my neck, so – even though I felt bad about it at the time…” He shot Junta a wary glance. “And, you know, obviously still do – you kind of had it coming.”

“I have trained harder. I would best you now,” Tyrra told him.

Cal shot her a patronizing smile. “Well, I’ve been given a wizard’s magical life force. So, no. You wouldn’t,” he said. “I mean, he wasn’t really a ‘wizard’ exactly, but the point still—”

Tyrra lunged across the table. The next thing Cal knew, the tabletop was coming up fast. He barely managed to push the pie to safety before – WHUMP! – his face slammed into the metal. He grabbed for the wrist of the hand holding him, but her other hand caught three of his fingers and somehow managed to twist them all in opposite directions.

“Yield!” Tyrra hissed.

Cal raised the middle finger of his free hand. The girl’s teeth clamped around it, not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to certainly imply that pain was a looming possibility.

“OK, shizz, tap out. You got me. Uncle.”

“Tyrra, that’s enough,” said Junta. “Let him go.”

Her various grips were released. She smirked across the table at Cal as she lowered herself back onto the bench. Cal flexed his fingers and rubbed his forehead where it had met the tabletop. He shot Splurt an accusatory look.

“So you just sat there and watched that, huh?” he said. “You didn’t think to intervene at all? I’m very disappointed.”

Splurt sunk lower on the bench. Cal sighed. “But I still love ya.”

Splurt straightened again. Cal turned to Tyrra. “Why do you always want to fight me, anyway? What have I ever done to you? Apart from punch you in the face, I mean, which – as we’ve already established – you totally had coming.”

“It is probably just your face,” said Glorian. She wilted a little as everyone turned to look at her. “Or your personality. I just mean… I am sure it is nothing personal.”

Cal raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Well that’s OK, then.” He stood up. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I think I’ll just pop next door and kill myself.”

Junta cleared his throat. “We do appreciate it.”

Cal blinked. “What, me killing myself? Jesus, what is wrong with you people? I mean, you try to help someone…”

“Your intervention. We appreciate you getting involved in the conflict,” Junta clarified. “The Symmorium owe you a second great debt.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, well, you know, not a problem. Just happy to help.”

“Your ship and your crew will be useful additions to our fleet.”

Cal began to nod, then stopped. “Uh, yeah, about that. This was a one-time deal. We saw you in trouble, and decided to pitch in. We’ll take you home, but then we’re out of here. We all had a chat about it, and it turns out – intergalactic war? Not really our thing.”

“So, you are a coward, as well as an imbecile,” Tyrra grunted.

“Jesus, what is with her?” Cal said. He held a hand up to Glorian. “And please don’t say my personality and face. Believe it or not, that doesn’t actually make me feel much better.”

“Your smell, then, perhaps?” Glorian replied. From the way she said it, Cal could tell she was genuinely trying to be helpful. She just wasn’t very good at it.

“What? I don’t…” He sniffed his armpit. “OK, maybe a little, but it has been a long day. Have you ever heard of the Spider-Dragon of Saktar? No. Well, I suggest you look it up. Splurt.”

Splurt twanged quietly as he hopped onto Cal’s shoulder and draped himself around his neck. With a flourish, Cal tossed one of the blob’s dangling ends across the opposite shoulder, like a scarf.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go take a shower.”

He picked up his spoon. “Oh, and Tyrra?”

Cal flicked the spoon. A blob of banana whistled through the air, then splattered across the girl’s face. “You’ve got pie on you.”

With a satisfied grin, Cal twirled the spoon like an old-west gunfighter twirling his six-shooter. He lost control of it almost immediately, and ducked for cover as it flew upwards, clattered against the ceiling, then dropped to the floor.

Mustering the best ‘totally meant that’ air that he could, Cal bent down, retrieved the spoon, then strolled in what he hoped was quite a casual fashion out of the kitchen.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Cal stood in the shower, enjoying the heat blasting from its many nozzles. It was, hands down, the best shower he’d ever set foot in. It had all kinds of built-in bells and whistles, from ultra-violet pulse lighting to a streaming music service. The throbbing blue light, which was supposed to be relaxing, hurt his eyes, though, and the music all seemed to be trippy instrumental shizz played on some kind of space panpipes, which made him want to pull his teeth out.

The joy of the shower wasn’t in its extras, but rather in the basics. Somehow, the shower knew exactly how hot he wanted it to be, what pressure he enjoyed, and precisely which crevices to aim for at any given time. The thing knew him better than he knew himself, and he’d spend his entire time in there alternating between getting clean and just giggling happily as another cascade of perfectly-targeted heat washed over him.

More than even that, though, the shower was his own personal escape pod. It was the one place on the ship that he could be alone and undisturbed. At least, now that he and Miz had had that conversation about privacy and the purpose of door locks. It was a sanctuary. A haven. His Fortress of Solitude.

“You missed a spot, sir.”

Kevin’s voice chimed so close to Cal’s ear that he screamed and jumped, then slipped and fell. His bare ass-cheeks slapped against the wet floor.

“Jesus fonking Christ, Kevin!” Cal yelped. He spluttered as the torrent of water rained down on his face. “What are you doing in here?”

“I’m always in here, sir,” said Kevin.

Cal sprackled himself into a standing position, trying – but not succeeding – to retain some semblance of dignity while doing so. He cupped his hands over his crotch. “What? What do you mean, you’re ‘always in here’? Not always, surely. I mean, you’re not here when I’m…?”

“I am, sir.”

Cal cleared his throat. “And what about when I’m…?”

“Alas, sir, yes.”

“Ooh, boy. From now on, you’re not allowed in here, OK?”

“Oh, thank you, sir,” said Kevin, and the relief in his voice was palpable. “Before I take my leave, however, I have been asked to pass on a message from Ms Loren. We are approaching the Symmorium’s requested destination. We should be arriving any moment…”

The ship lurched, slamming Cal face-first against the shower glass.

“Now.”

“Christ,” Cal hissed, rubbing his tongue across his bottom lip to test for blood. “Kevin, can you please handle landings from now on? And maybe take-offs?”

“She won’t let me, sir,” Kevin replied. “I’ve asked. Believe me.”

Cal sighed. “Fine. But next time, can you at least give me a little warning when we’re going to—”

A jarring impact shook the ship. Cal flew backwards against the opposite wall of the shower, jamming the control knobs into his back.

“Look out, sir,” said Kevin.

“Ow! Fonk. A little late there, Kevin,” Cal grimaced. “What now? Should I brace myself? Is it going to happen again?”

“We have now successfully alighted on the Symmorium landing bay deck, sir,” said Kevin. “I suspect even Ms Loren would have difficulty hitting anything now.” He paused, as his processors considered this. “However, I can’t guarantee it.”

Cal rolled his shoulders, flexing his aching back. The water felt good against it. “OK, tell them I’ll be five minutes,” he said. “And get out of here. I’m going to… You know.”

“Very good, sir,” said Kevin. “Enjoy.”

“Oh, I will,” said Cal. He waited for a reply, but none came. “Kevin?”

Silence. Cal smiled. “Alone at last,” he said.

And then, safe in the knowledge that no one was watching, he began to sing.

* * *

Cal strode down the ramp, his hair still damp, the greatest hits of The Bee Gees still replaying in his head. Loren, Mech, Miz and Splurt all waited for him, alongside Junta and two other Symmorium soldiers Cal didn’t recognize. Or didn’t recognize beyond, ‘hey, you guys all look like walking sharks,’ at least.

All of them, with the exception of Splurt, looked to be varying levels of annoyed at him. He smiled, hoping it would offset their irritation, but fully aware it would likely only make things worse.

“What kept you, man?” Mech demanded. “We been waiting here for forty fonking minutes.”

“Oh now, Mech. I think we both know that’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t we?” said Cal.

Loren shook her head. “It isn’t. I make it forty-two.”

Cal pointed to her and winked. “Meaning of life.”

“Huh?”

“Doesn’t matter. I was in the shower,” he explained. He glanced at Mizette, fully expecting some kind of lewd comment, but was both relieved and a little disappointed when none came. She seemed to be watching Mech, instead, and barely paying him any attention at all. Ever since her and Mech’s spider-slaying team-up, Miz’s lustful fascination with Cal had shifted its focus to the cyborg, instead.

And that suited Cal fine. Honestly. It was a weight off his shoulders, no doubt about it. He could walk past her in the ship without fear of molestation, and could turn round in his chair without knowing he’d find her staring at him, her tongue hanging out like a dog on a hot day.

And yet…

“Nice place you have here, Junta,” said Cal, stopping in front of the Symmorium commander.

The landing bay looked like pretty much any other landing bay Cal had been on. He supposed they all performed the same function, and there was little point in trying to make them all different just for the sake of it, but a little bit of variation would have been nice.

Metal walls? Check.

Metal floor? Check

Metal everything else? Check.

It had the same enormously high ceiling, the same rows of clinically fluorescent lighting, the same shimmering energy wall through which things could fly, while air and gravity and all that stuff were miraculously kept inside.

The Currently Untitled was one of six spacecraft parked in the landing bay. Cal had no idea what the other ships were, but their appearances ranged from ‘sleek and nimble’ to ‘this is the last thing you will ever see.’

The more aggressive-looking ships had a pointy-teeth pattern painted on the side, giving them a shark-like appearance that matched that of their crew. When Cal had first seen the design on Junta’s ship, he’d assumed that meant the Symmorium were the bad guys. It felt like the sort of thing the bad guys would do, he reasoned, like the Nazis with their little skull cap emblems.

But, as Cal discovered, you couldn’t judge a species by the terrifying shark’s head motif on their spaceship. Although he remained confident his views on the Nazis were pretty much bang-on.

Junta nodded. Or maybe bowed. He was kind of lacking in the neck department – or, more accurately, overabundant in the neck department to the point he appeared to move seamlessly from head to shoulders – and it made it difficult to tell.

“Subsent Takta requests your presence,” Junta replied. “He wishes to thank you personally for your intervention.”

Cal smiled and shook his head. “What? No. It’s fine. Seriously. He doesn’t need to thank us.”

“He has ordered the kitchens to prepare a feast,” Junta continued.

“Oh. Well, in that case…”

He looked across to Mech. The cyborg shook his head, just a fraction. Loren looked much more open to the idea, while Miz hadn’t been paying enough attention to have formed an opinion. Splurt was hard to judge. The little guy was keeping his cards close to his chest.

Also, he had no facial features, and his body language largely involved various types of shuddering, so he wasn’t easy to read at the best of times.

Cal shrugged.

“Sure, why not?”

* * *

To many people, a race of space-faring warrior shark-monsters might sound nightmarish, and Cal had been fairly alarmed when he’d seen them for the first time, himself. He’d recovered quickly, though, and discovered that despite outward appearances – and with the occasional child-sized exception – they were a pretty decent bunch.

Cal reckoned, though, that Subsent Takta would give even other warrior shark-monsters nightmares. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the high-ranking military leader was the Symmorium’s cultural equivalent of the Bogeyman. He could imagine generations of terrified Symmorium children desperately trying to get to sleep before Takta came to take them away. If the rest of the species were sharks, this guy was a prehistoric Megalodon.

Junta and his crew were powerfully-built, but just a little taller than Cal. Takta, on the other hand, stood a full head taller than Mech - and what a head it was. He had the same pointed snub-nose as the others, but his was a history lesson of old scar tissue detailing every conflict he’d ever been involved in.

A chunk of flesh had been removed – presumably not on purpose, although Cal wasn’t ruling it out – from the right side of his mouth. The result was that several dozen teeth were always on display, as if he had a sneer permanently etched on his face.

While all Symmorium had dark, glassy eyes, his were somehow darker still, like two tiny black holes on either side of his head that might suck you in at any moment, and never let you go.

His uniform was both splendid and immaculate. It was a carefully tailored fit, and he wore it well, badges and all. Despite that, he still looked utterly ridiculous, like a grizzly bear in a three-piece suit. This was not a creature designed to wear clothing. This was not a creature designed to do anything but fight and kill and… Well, probably just those two, actually.

The underside of his terrifyingly huge bottom jaw was ridged with hundreds of black cone-like spikes. Cal couldn’t imagine what purpose they possibly served, beyond to make him look even more intimidating than he already was. A few of the spikes were missing, their places taken by some tooth-shaped scarring that suggested something had tried unsuccessfully to bite Takta’s throat out. Cal imagined the cost for failing in that particular endeavor would have been a pretty steep one, and if that was the damage Takta was left with, he’d hate to see the other guy. Or, more likely, the bits of him that were left.

The stoic and reserved Junta was a shark-thing of few words, but Takta made him seem positively bubbly by comparison. He sat at the head of… the dining room, Cal assumed, although it felt more like a school classroom. Takta sat behind a table at the front of the room, while everyone else sat behind smaller individual tables, facing him. Cal had to fight the urge to raise his hand whenever he wanted to speak.

The ‘feast’ wasn’t quite what Cal had been expecting. He’d imagined a table groaning with food – probably fish of some kind, although he didn’t say that out loud in case it was racist. Instead, a single plate of something grim and gray was deposited unceremoniously on the tables in front of everyone, along with something that was either some kind of cutlery, or a bricklayer’s trowel.

He suspected it was probably the latter, because the stuff on the plate more closely resembled some sort of grouting than it did actual food.

“Please. Eat,” said Takta, eyeballing them all in turn.

Cal looked around at the others. Miz was giving the plate an inquisitive sniff, while Loren just stared blankly at it, as if waiting for it to do something interesting. Mech had raised a trowel full of the stuff to his mouth and was tentatively tasting it. He briefly recoiled in horror, smacked his fleshy top lip against his metal bottom one, then shrugged and carried on eating.

Splurt’s plate was already empty. Cal could see the entire gray lump just sitting inside the little blob’s semi-transparent body, right below his eyes. It did not make the heaped helping on his own plate look any more appetizing.

Junta and the two other soldiers stood at the back of the room. None of them were eating. They were, Cal couldn’t help but notice, standing in front of the door, but he tried not to read too much into that.

“What do you call this?” Cal asked, scooping up some of the mush. It quivered slightly on the trowel as he raised it to his mouth.

“Plok,” said Takta. There was a rasping quality to his voice, as if someone were rubbing gravel against Cal’s eardrums whenever he spoke. “It is dense in nutrients.”

“Which is what you want from a feast, isn’t it?” said Cal. “All this messing around with, you know, roast pigs and apples in the mouth, or whatever. Forget the decadence, I say. Give me density of nutrients.”

He deposited the slop into his mouth, coughed twice, exclaimed, “Jesus!” quite loudly, then chewed as fast as he could. Technically, it wasn’t really chewing, because that implied some sort of resistance. Instead, it basically involved rolling the stuff around inside his mouth until such times as he could work up the courage to swallow it.

Once he had, he coughed again and forced a smile. “Yum,” he said, his voice coming out as a wheeze. “That is good Plok. You really must give me the recipe.”

“The Symmorium is grateful for your assistance against the Zertex forces,” Takta said, cutting right to the chase. “Many lives would have been lost had you not intervened.”

“No problem,” said Cal. “Right, guys?”

Loren tore her eyes away from the Plok. “Uh, yes. Yes, it was our pleasure.”

Takta’s hollow-eyed gaze shifted across to Loren. “It must have been difficult for you. You are of Zertex stock, yes?”

Loren frowned, but countered the effect with a grim smile. “If you mean did I used to work for Zertex, then yes,” said Loren. “But I saw them for what they are, and there’s no love lost between us now.”

“But you have kin with them,” Takta said.

Loren shifted in her seat. “Brothers. Yes.”

Takta said nothing, but held his gaze on her until she felt compelled to continue talking.

“Two of them. So what? I mean, why? I mean, what’s that got to do with anything?”

Takta’s stare continued to bore into her for several seconds, but Loren resisted the urge to try to fill the conversational void. Eventually, the Symmorium nodded, as if the silence itself had answered some unasked question.

He turned his attention back to Cal. “We would appreciate your assistance in the conflict. I believe your ship would be of use to us.”

Cal shot Mech a sideways glance. There was that shake of the head again.

“Yeah, we get that, we really do,” Cal said. “It’s just, well, we don’t want to get any more involved than we already are. You know?”

He jabbed a thumb back towards Junta. “I mean, if we see some of you guys in trouble? You know, like, being blown up, or whatever? We’ll absolutely try to help out. It’s just the whole getting caught up in a full-scale war thing? It’s not really something we’re into.”

He smiled broadly. “But, you know, thanks for the offer, and everything.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as Takta leaned forwards in his chair. “Zertex is claiming we destroyed Pikkish. It was your vessel that caused the destruction of the moon, and the death of all those on it.”

“But we didn’t pull the trigger,” Mech said. “Zertex did.”

“Then you should help us fight them,” Takta said. “They betrayed you. They used you to strike at us.”

“Oh, we know. And, believe me, those guys are off our Christmas card list forever,” said Cal. “But we won’t get involved in your war. I’m sorry, that’s just the way it is.”

Cal did his best to hold the giant Symmorium’s stare. He found himself gripping the table, as if it was the only way to resist being dragged into that black-hole gaze.

“We could make you help us. Through force,” said Takta.

“You are welcome to try,” Cal said. He smiled with utter sincerity.

For a long time, nobody moved or said a word. Finally, there was a low scraping sound as Takta pushed back his chair and raised himself up to his full towering height. His teeth ground together as he chewed over his next few words.

“The Symmorium thanks you for your assistance today,” he said. “Now kindly leave. Some of us have a war to fight.”

“One, you’re welcome,” said Cal. “Two, good luck with that, we’re all rooting for you guys all the way, and three…” He pointed down to the sloppy gray mush on his plate. “I don’t suppose you have a doggy bag for this? I think I broke a bathroom tile earlier, and this would be perfect for sticking it back together.”

CHAPTER THREE

Cal sat in his chair back aboard the Untitled, watching the Symmorium destroyer grow smaller on the viewscreen. Due to its sheer, mind-bending size, it was taking quite a while. They’d been flying on impulse power for a good twenty minutes, and the thing still filled most of the rear view camera feed.

“That is needlessly large,” Cal said, whistling through his teeth. “I mean, that thing has to be the size of Alaska, right?”

“Depends,” said Loren. “How big are laskas?”

“No, I mean… Doesn’t matter.”

“Anyone else think it was weird?” asked Miz. It was rare she voluntarily made a contribution like this, so everyone gave her their attention.

“What, their ship?” said Cal. He shrugged. “Seemed like pretty standard space workmanship to me, but then I’m not exactly an expert.”

“No, I mean them letting us go like that,” Miz continued. “I totally thought they were going to try to fight us, or whatever.”

“Like everyone else does, you mean?” said Cal. He shrugged again. “I guess even we have to get lucky sometimes. Besides, Takta isn’t a bad guy. Huge and terrifying, yes. But he’s got a heart of gold.”

“You literally met him for six minutes,” Loren pointed out.

“During which time he threatened to force us to fight in a full-scale galactic war,” Mech added.

“Yeah, but I get a feel for people, you know?” said Cal. “I have this, like, sixth sense that lets me see through all the outer stuff and shows me what they’re really like. It’s foolproof.”

“Sorry to interrupt, sir,” said Kevin. “I thought you might like to be aware that the Symmorium appear to have fitted a tracking device to the ship’s outer hull.”

Cal felt himself wilt under the gazes of the rest of the crew. “OK, it’s almost foolproof,” he said. “Can you get rid of it?”

“Sadly not, sir,” Kevin said. “We would have to land somewhere first, and then someone – I suggest Master Mech – would have to remove it manually.”

“Why Mech?” Loren asked.

“In case it should detonate,” Kevin said. “As well as a tracking device, it is also an explosive. Did I not mention that?”

“No,” said Cal.

“Are you sure, sir?”

“Trust me, Kevin, if you’d told us there’s a bomb stuck to the outside of the ship, we’d have remembered,” Cal said. “Well, maybe not me or Miz, but the others, definitely.” He shook his head. “Of all the ungrateful… I mean, why would they do that? That’s just mean.”

“Maybe they wanted to make sure Zertex didn’t get their hands on the ship,” Mech said. “It’s one thing us not helping them, but another if we turned against them.”

“Well, you know what? If you want us to stay on your side, maybe don’t stick bombs to our ship,” Cal said. He gave the slowly receding Symmorium destroyer the finger. “Any suggestions for where to land? Anything close by? You know, relatively speaking, I mean?”

Mech tapped and swiped at the display in front of him, and the rear view feed on the main screen was replaced by a star chart. It zoomed through varying levels, skipped past several large planets, then settled on a small blue dot orbiting a reddish-orange sun. “That’s the closest planet,” Mech announced.

“What about those other ones before it?” Cal asked.

Mech tutted. “OK, that’s the closest planet where we won’t be instantly vaporized or eaten.”

“OK, let’s do that one, then,” said Cal. “Is it inhabited?”

Mech nodded. “Says here it has a population of sixty billion.”

“How is that possible?” Loren asked, studying a smaller version of the map on her own screen. “It’s ninety-six per cent water. How can all those people fit on four per cent of the surface?”

Cal puffed out his cheeks. “Maybe they’re all really tall and skinny?” he guessed.

“They could be tiny, I guess,” said Loren, slightly annoyed at herself for not thinking of that. “Or incorporeal.”

Cal sat up in his seat. “You mean like ghosts? Are we going to the planet of the ghosts?” He drew in a sharp breath. “Space ghosts!”

Mech muttered below his breath, then tapped his screen a few more times. A picture of something with the face of a disillusioned sloth appeared on the main display. It was roughly humanoid in shape, but with curved, downward sloping shoulders and a stooped back that suggested it was carrying the weight of the world. It looked like it spent its life with painfully low expectations, yet was somehow still constantly disappointed. Since this picture was taken, Cal would be prepared to bet the poor bamston had killed itself. Or, more likely, failed to.

“That’s one of the natives,” Mech said. “A Parlooq, apparently. Ain’t seen one before.”

“Me neither,” said Loren. “Space-faring?”

“They got the capability,” said Mech, as reams of data scrolled past the slowly rotating image. “Just not the inclination. Seems they spend their lives in servitude to whatever else decides to set up home on their planet.”

“So they’re what? Like, slaves?” asked Miz. “They’re a slave race?”

“Look, we can’t swoop down there and liberate them all, if that’s what you’re going to ask,” said Cal.

“What?” Miz scowled. “No. I mean, can we get one?”

“Oh,” said Cal. “Right. I thought you were going to be all altruistic and…” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. No, we can’t. Anyway, we don’t need one. We have Mech.”

“Fonk you, man.”

“How long until we get there?” Cal asked.

Loren checked her display. “At full warp, two hours.”

“Right,” said Cal. “And at a level of warp that won’t force both my eyes out through my ears?”

“Six hours,” said Loren. “Assuming no problems.”

Cal stood up. “Problems? Us? I find that very hard to believe.” He jabbed a thumb towards the door. “I’m going to go get some shuteye. Some of us have been awake for… I have no idea. A long time. What day is this? Tuesday?” He looked around. “It feels like a Tuesday.”

He headed for the door. “OK, you all behave yourselves, try not to get us into any shenanigans, and wake me if you need me.”

“We won’t need you,” said Mech.

“Fingers crossed,” said Cal. He reached the door, then stumbled through it as Loren engaged the warp drive. There was a thud from out in the corridor, then Cal’s voice drifted through.

“You totally did that on purpose.”

Loren smirked, but didn’t reply. She eased forwards on the thruster controls and the pinpricks of stars became long, flowing streams of light.

* * *

Cal’s brain woke before his body. He tried to open his eyes, but the signal didn’t reach them, so he just lay there, biding his time as he waited for the message to filter through.

He thought he could maybe feel the faint humming of the ship’s engines, which would suggest they were still moving, but physical sensation was really his body’s department, so it was speculation, at best.

He wondered how long he’d been asleep for. Not long enough was the immediately obvious answer, but then he’d been awake so long prior to coming to bed that anything less than a full day’s sleep would meet that description.

He had an itch at the end of his nose. This was good because it meant his body was starting to send him signals, but bad because his arms were refusing all his suggestions to scratch. There was another sensation, too. It was a pain – or possibly a weight – on his chest, right in the center.

His first thought was, ‘Oh shizz, I’m having a heart attack,’ but he soon dismissed that as paranoia. He wasn’t aware of any tingling in his left arm, or any shortness of breath, so it almost certainly wasn’t a heart attack.

Cancer, then.

Or worse. Space cancer.

“Cal!”

The cancer shook him all the way awake, and when he opened his eyes quickly revealed itself to be Miz’s hand. She sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at him. Cal quickly looked her up and down, then glanced around his untidy bedroom, before coming to the conclusion that nothing was currently about to kill him. It was pretty much how he always woke up these days, although it was rare – but certainly not unheard of – for Miz to be sitting on his bed.

“What’s up? What time is it?” Cal asked, before remembering it was a pointless question, because of space time zones or something. Mech had explained it, but he hadn’t really been listening all that closely. “Everything OK?”

Miz nodded. She looked anxious and uncertain, and not her usual brash self at all. Cal sat up, remembered he was naked, then partially slid back down under the sheets again, in case she got any ideas.

“I just wanted to talk to you about something,” said Miz. She took a deep breath. “You might not have, like, noticed or whatever, but for a while there, I was kinda into you.”

“Oh,” said Cal. He cleared his throat. “You know, I may have picked up on something along those lines.”

“Right. I mean, when I thought you were a cannibal, that was pretty hot, then when you turned out to be all, you know, butt-kicking and in charge and stuff, that was pretty hot, too.”

“I do try,” said Cal.

“And it totally works,” said Miz. Her eyes blazed lustfully for a moment, but then she shook her head, as if pushing the thoughts away. “It’s just, well, I like someone else now. Like, like like, you know what I mean?”

Cal replayed the sentence in his head. “I think so?”

“But I didn’t want you to be, you know, like upset or whatever,” said Miz. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

Cal blinked. “Wait… are you breaking up with me?”

“It’s for the best,” said Miz.

“But… We were never…” Cal caught the confused look on the wolf-woman’s face, and nodded. “Uh, yeah. OK. Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but them’s the breaks, I guess.”

Miz’s expression became one of relief. “We can still be friends, though, right?”

“Absolutely,” said Cal. “Always.”

He held out a hand for her to shake. “Put it there, pal.”

Miz brushed the hand aside. She hugged him, which involved her full weight flopping down on top of him. Cal wheezed beneath her as most of the air in his body was forced out through his nose.

“That’s it,” he said, patting her hairy back. “Two friends sharing a hug. Breaking some ribs. Causing lasting internal injuries…”

Miz straightened. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Cal squeaked.

A loud clang shook the ship. It was followed a moment later by a long, drawn-out screeeeech like a chorus of cutlery scraping across plates. Miz grimaced, her sensitive ears taking the brunt of it. Cal gritted his teeth until the ship shuddered abruptly to a stop.

“Kevin!” he groaned.

“I did try to take over, sir,” Kevin chimed. “But she insisted on landing us herself. She can be really rather stubborn when she wants to be.”

“So, I guess we’ve arrived?”

“Not yet, sir. We’re still making our descent. Ms Loren merely hit an orbiting satellite.”

Clung!

“Make that two,” Kevin continued. “You may want to join the others on the bridge, sir. It really is quite a sight.”

Cal stretched, and looked over at Miz. “I’d better get dressed.”

Miz nodded. “Want me to help?”

“I’m fine,” said Cal.

“Want me to watch?”

“Again, I’m fine, but thanks for the offer,” said Cal. “You head to the bridge. I’ll see you in a couple of minutes.”

He stopped Miz before she reached the door. “Oh, and can you be really sarcastic about Loren’s flying on my behalf until I get there?”

Miz’s snout pulled into a smirk. “That, I can totally do.”

* * *

The sky of Parloo shimmered and danced in the sunshine, and Cal immediately understood how all those billions of people could live on just four per cent of the planet’s surface – by not living on the surface at all.

Thousands of city-sized platforms floated high above the world. Through the gaps, Cal caught glimpses of cloud and snatches of ocean, but they were few and far between, as the hovering metropolises (or possibly metropolii, Cal wasn’t quite sure) stretched all the way around the planet’s curve in every direction.

The cities themselves varied in design. Most of them stood tall and proud, with oblong towers and oddly-shaped domes. Twisting spires stretched elegantly towards space. Small, flying vehicles flitted like fleas above the streets. Holographic billboards flickered and danced in the air.

During other planetary stops, Cal had been disappointed by how… mundane most alien cities were. The ones he’d been to had been mostly drab, often violent, and could have passed as pretty much any decent-sized urban area on Earth.

Oh sure, the people living in there had more arms, or were eleven feet tall, or made of thousands of slugs all piled atop one another, but the buildings and streets all had a dull sort of ‘samey’ feel to them.

This place, though, was different. Each of the floating areas looked like it had come straight out of The Jetsons. There were long clear tubes zig-zagging across one, through which Cal could see people zooming around. On another, pedestrians were ferried around by a series of conveyor belt sidewalks, never having to take a step to get to their destination.

And it was all so clean! The buildings shone and gleamed, like recently polished family silver. Within each city was an expanse of pleasant-looking greenery, with a lake, river or other water feature taking pride of place in most.

And there were thousands of the platforms, all similar, but all different. There were smaller, more suburban-looking areas, platforms that appeared to be made up exclusively of shopping malls, and even some that carried nothing but carefully tended farmland.

“Oh, man, how come you never took me here before?” Cal asked. “This place is awesome!” He pointed to a particularly impressive-looking platform, with a spiraling tower that stretched miles into the air. “Let’s go to that one.”

“We can’t,” said Loren. “We don’t have the landing fee.”

Cal frowned. “What are you talking about? We have two million credits.”

Mech gestured to some text on the screen. It was whizzing past far too quickly for Cal to read it, even if it had been in English. “Docking on any of these is gonna cost us six million,” Mech said. “And that’s if we pick the cheapest one.”

“Jesus,” Cal said. “So, this is like, for the ultra-rich? What if we just land anyway? What can they do?”

“Take all our money,” Mech said. “Except, all these places are shielded, so we’d have to get through them first, which would mean shooting the shizz outta the whole thing.”

“Which is going to bring us some unwanted attention,” Loren added.

“Oh. Yeah. Makes sense,” said Cal. “So… what? This was a total waste of time?”

Loren shook her head. “Not quite. The docking fee on the surface costs less.”

“How much less?”

“About five-point-nine-nine-five million less,” Loren said.

Cal’s lips moved as he tried to figure out what that equated to. It took him several seconds, but then – finally – he decided just to give up.

“Cool. Let’s go there, then,” Cal said.

“That’s the plan,” said Loren. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and Cal noticed the knuckles of the hand on her control stick were white. “We just have to find a way through.”

“Through what?” asked Cal. He pointed to the screen. “Through there? There’s got to be an entrance, surely?”

Loren shook her head. Cal heard himself gasp. “So, what? You just fly through one of the gaps? They’re all, like, six inches wide!”

“Yeah, what you’re looking at ain’t to scale,” Mech said. “It’s called ‘perspective’. Big things, when viewed from far away—”

“I know what perspective is,” said Cal. “You know. More or less. But those gaps still look tiny.”

He gestured to Loren with his eyes, reminding Mech who was piloting the ship.

“I know what you’re doing,” Loren said. “But trust me, I got this.”

“You did hit a number of orbiting satellites on approach, ma’am,” Kevin reminded her. “And those were spread out really quite far indeed.”

“Kevin, shut up,” said Loren. “Mech, patch me through the landing co-ordinates. I’m taking us down.”

The ship, which had already been descending, went into a steeper dive. Despite the artificial gravity, Cal felt himself falling forwards, and grabbed for his chair as he stumbled past. Heaving himself into it, he fastened the straps across his chest, gripped his arm rests, and braced himself for what was probably quite a high likelihood of death.

Loren lined the Untitled up with a gap between two of the platforms. The city on the right was the one with all the transparent tubes linking up its buildings. As they curved downwards past it, Cal saw hundreds of people shooting through the little tunnels at high speed, their arms pinned to their sides. He found himself wondering what happened when they reached the end, or met someone else coming the other way.

The platform on the left looked like some kind of business district, as most of the buildings had names emblazoned on them. The translation chip in his eye set to work deciphering the words as they streaked by, but by the time it had got its act together, the words were no longer available for him to look at.

Despite the Untitled flying within a decent-length stone’s throw of each platform, no one on either one paid the ship the slightest bit of attention. Presumably, ships zooming straight down past the platforms was a regular occurrence. Cal was heartened by that, although none of the other ships had Loren at the controls, so he didn’t relax quite yet.

The gap loomed right ahead of them now. It was wider than Cal had thought, but – again – Loren was flying, so it was far from a sure thing. He could see nothing but gray cloud through the opening, in stark contrast to the sunny blue skies up here.

“OK, here goes,” Loren announced.

“Bye, everyone,” said Miz. “Nice knowing you.”

“It’s fine. I got this,” said Loren, then she hissed as another ship emerged through the clouds and rocketed straight towards them. “Fonk it!” Loren cried, swinging the stick to the right and twisting a big twisty thing as far to the left as it would go.

The Untitled corkscrewed violently. Its wingtips came within spitting distance of the other ship, then just lightly clipped the edge of the city platform as the Untitled plunged through the gap and dropped through the ship-shaped hole in the clouds.

“OK, that totally wasn’t my fault!” Loren protested. “We almost crashed.”

“Technically, we did crash,” Cal pointed out.

“No, we gently scraped against the platform, that’s all,” Loren said. “If it hadn’t been for me, we’d have hit that—”

The Untitled dropped out of the cloud layer and directly into the path of another oncoming ship.

“Aah! Pull up!” Cal yelped, but Loren threw them into an even faster dive, instead, skimming below the other ship with just inches to spare.

“Relax, I got this,” she said, glancing back at Cal as they ploughed through another cloud bank. “Nothing to worry about. It’s all under control.”

They hit the water with a sound like crashing thunder. Immediately, the lights of the Untitled all went out, to be replaced a moment later by the gloomy red glow of the emergency back-ups.

“All under control, huh?” said Cal.

“I did not think the surface was that close,” said Loren. She tapped her console as if it was somehow to blame, then chewed on her bottom lip. “Yes, that did come as a surprise.”

“We’d have been safer just jumping out when we were still up there,” Miz said. “Like, if we’d just fallen out of the ship as soon as we entered the atmosphere, we’d probably be better off right now.”

“Kevin, what’s the situation?” Cal asked.

“We’re underwater, sir.”

Cal sighed. “Yes. Yes, I know that, but I meant, you know, more specifically. Do we have power? Is there a way we can make it that we’re not underwater?”

“What the fonk is that?” asked Mech, taking a clanking step closer to the viewscreen.

“What the fonk is what?” Cal began, and then he saw it, too. A large shape was cutting through the dark ocean towards them. From the way it was moving, Cal could tell it wasn’t a ship or anything mechanical. This thing – whatever it was – was alive, moving quickly, and headed straight for them.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, sir,” Kevin admitted. “Although, if I may be so bold, I suggest we don’t wait around to find out.”

In the darkness of the ocean, a set of vast, powerful jaws opened.

“Oh. Too late,” said Kevin, and then the teeth snapped closed with a crunch.

CHAPTER FOUR

Cal sat in his chair, gently twisting it from side to side, as a row of house-sized teeth tried to gnaw through the Currently Untitled’s viewscreen.

“Seriously,” he said. “At this point, is anyone even surprised by this? We try to land on a planet, almost crash twice, then plunge into the sea, only to be eaten by Godzilla, or whatever the fonk this thing is. How did this become just an average day in my life? If this is what space is like, how have any of you lived this long?”

“No, man, this ain’t normal,” Mech said. “This sort of shizz never happened to me before I met you. This is your fault.”

“How is it my fault? I wasn’t the one flying!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” Loren spat.

“Well, like, duh,” said Miz. “Of course it’s your fault. You literally plunged us into the ocean.”

“I thought the fog was another cloud layer!” Loren protested.

“Oh, well that’s OK, then,” said Mech. “I mean, it’s not like we got a hundred different instruments designed to tell you how far away the ground is or nothin’.”

“I didn’t hit the ground,” Loren pointed out. “I hit the water.”

“That don’t make no difference,” Mech said. “Those instruments tell you where the water is, too.”

“Guys, guys!” Cal said, holding up his hands for calm. “Let’s not go pointing fingers at anyone here, OK? Even if it totally is her fault. We need to figure out what’s got us. Kevin, analysis?”

“It’s a sort of fishy-thing, sir,” the AI reported. “A rather big one.”

“I mean, I was hoping for a little more detail,” said Cal. “But that’s a start. Any suggestions?”

“Well, we could simply warp out of its grasp,” Kevin suggested.

“Great! Let’s do that.”

“Were we not currently underwater.”

“Oh,” said Cal. “OK. Can we shoot our way out?”

“Yes, sir,” said Kevin. “Were we not currently—”

“Underwater. OK, I get it.” Cal sighed. “Is there anything we can do?”

“We could allow it to eat us,” Kevin suggested. “And then wait for nature to take its course. Although we would, unfortunately, be in a number of different pieces by that point.”

“Not fond of that plan,” Cal said. “Mech, how are the shields looking?”

Mech shook his head. “We ain’t got any. I mean, none that’ll stop this thing. They reflect energy weapons, not organics. This ugly bamston’s chewing down right on the motherfonking hull.” He tapped his screen. “And it is exerting a whole heap of pressure. We’re not going to hold up for long before something goes ‘pop’.”

Cal rubbed his forehead. “OK. Jesus. So we’re underwater. We can’t warp or fire weapons. A – and I quote – ‘big fishy thing’ is trying to chew through us and, from what you say, Mech, it’s doing a pretty stand-up job of it. Does that about sum it up?”

“There’s also an explosive attached to the outside of the ship, sir,” Kevin reminded him.

Cal brightened. “So what are you saying? That we can use that to fight this thing?”

“Oh my, no, sir,” said Kevin. “I was simply pointing out that it might explode and kill you all at any moment. Probably shouldn’t have even mentioned it, really.”

“What about impulse thrust?” Mech asked. “Can’t we just reverse out of this thing’s mouth?”

“Been trying,” said Loren. “It’s got us held too tightly. Reverse thrusters don’t have enough power.”

Miz frowned. “So, like, if reverse isn’t strong enough, or whatever, why don’t we go forward?”

Cal pointed to the screen. “Miz, honey, it’s great that you’re getting involved, but there’s a big fishy thing right in front of us. If we go forward we’ll…”

His voice tailed off. “Uh, what would happen, exactly, if we went forward? But, you know, really fast?”

Everyone thought about this, picturing the possible outcomes. Some of the possibilities didn’t end well for them, but none of them did the fish any favors, at all.

Loren shrugged. “Well, since the only other plan we have involves being eaten alive, much as it pains me to do so, I say we give Miz’s plan a try.”

“Full steam ahead?” said Cal. “Everyone OK with this?”

“I’m pretty fonking far from OK with it,” said Mech. “But we ain’t got a whole lot of choice.” He gripped the console in front of him. “So sure, let’s all fly inside a fonking fish and see what happens. Why not?”

“That’s the spirit!” said Cal. “OK, Loren, do it!”

Loren shoved the thrust lever forwards. The Untitled juddered violently, then lurched to a stop. With an embarrassed cough, Loren restarted the engines.

“Did you… did you just stall our state-of-the-art experimental spaceship?” Cal asked.

“Yes, yes, shut up,” said Loren, then she hit the thrusters again. The Untitled whined. The teeth holding it in place bent, then shattered, and suddenly the viewscreen was filled by a gaping black throat.

Then a slimy red stomach.

Then several hundred feet of fish intestines and a knobbly bit.

And then, following a loud, schlopping squelch, by the dark depths of the ocean.

A bloom of blood swooshed around the Currently Untitled as it burst free. Chunks of ruined fish anus bobbed and knocked against the hull. Cal cheered and punched the air as the now rectum-less corpse of the sea creature sank slowly towards its watery grave.

“Alright! Great work, everyone. Miz, excellent plan. Loren, fine flying. Mech, well done on just standing there, and way to go me for moral support.” He raised his voice. “Splurt, I’m not sure where you are, but well done, buddy!”

A green arm stretched down from the ceiling and gave a thumbs up, then retreated again.

Cal dropped his voice to a whisper. “He likes to feel included.”

“We got three bogeys, coming up fast,” said Mech, studying his screen. “Big ones.”

“Let me guess. Fishy things?”

“It would appear so, sir,” said Kevin.

“OK, Loren, get us out of here,” said Cal, but Loren was already propelling the ship through the water, the currents buffeting it around as it powered upwards. A gloomy haze danced on the surface as they drew closer, with just the occasional shaft of sunlight stabbing through the darkness.

The Untitled rose through the waves and banked steeply upwards. Below it, the surface erupted as something very big and very fishy made a desperate lunge for the ship. Cal barely glimpsed it, but got the impression of copious amounts of eyes and teeth, and then the thing crashed back into the ocean again and, with a flick of its mighty tail, was gone.

“I kind of want to make some sort of witty quip at this point,” Cal said. “But I’m busy trying to block out the memory of whatever the fonk that thing was, so if you could just think up a funny line of your own and attribute it to me, that would be awesome.”

Wisps of fog hung over the ocean. It was shades of black and gray, like cotton candy that had been twisted to the Dark Side.

The clouds overhead weren’t much better. They were brooding and ominous, with the occasional break where a thin shaft of sunlight managed to squeeze through. If Cal squinted hard enough, he could make out a faint blue glow from the city-sized platforms far above. Engines, presumably, keeping everything afloat.

Or maybe it was magic. He had absolutely no idea how it was done, and could only speculate at this point. Either way, the cities were way up there, and the Untitled was way down here, and there was nothing else for miles and miles in any…

Wait. What was that?

Something loomed in the distance, beyond the fog. It was another city, either floating on the ocean or – more likely – on one of Parloo’s few land masses. As they drew closer, Cal felt that sinking feeling of familiarity. There were no shiny towers or grand architectural wonders on display here. Instead, there was lots of concrete, lots of grime, and lots of industrial-looking buildings churning smoke into the air.

The clouds weren’t clouds at all, Cal realized. They were pollution from the smoke-spewing stacks of a thousand factory chimneys.

“Oh, but I wanted the nice bit up there,” Cal groaned. “Why do we always end up in space Detroit? Seriously. Every fonking time.”

“Docking request accepted,” Loren said.

“Well, of course it was accepted,” said Cal. “I mean, it’s not like they’re going to be inundated with requests, are they? Who the fonk would want to come here? It’s lucky they remembered how to work the radio.”

“Actually, sir, it appears to be quite a busy port,” said Kevin. “Despite appearances, Parloo – even down here – is a thriving civilization, with lots to offer travelers from all across the galaxy.”

Cal looked up. “What, do you work for the tourist board now?” he said. “Let’s just land, get the tracking thing off – ideally, but not necessarily, without blowing Mech to bits…”

“Fonk you, man.”

“And then get the Hell out of here before we all get poisoned. Sound like a plan?”

Miz shrugged. “Whatever,” she said. “But, I don’t know, maybe we should hang around for a while. Just, you know, to recover from Loren’s flying.”

Cal snorted. “Uh, no. Look at this place. There is nothing that could possibly make me want to stay here,” he said. “Trust me.”

* * *

“Oh my god, they have a Five Guys,” gasped Cal, as the Currently Untitled swooped low over a busy street and twisted awkwardly into its designated landing bay.

The fact that this alien planet had a Five Guys restaurant didn’t make any sense, he knew. It was impossible. While the Five Guys franchise had spread pretty far across the face of the Earth, the chances of finding one on a remote planet in the depths of outer space were slim, to say the least.

So, he reasoned, it couldn’t be a Five Guys. It had to be something that merely looked like a Five Guys.

A lot like a Five Guys. Same color scheme. Same logo. Same everything.

The ship landed heavily, jolting Splurt down from the ceiling. He rebounded like a rubber ball a few times, before splatting against the viewscreen. His bulbous eyes shot Loren an accusing look as he slid, very slowly, to the floor.

“Sorry,” she said, deliberately not meeting anyone else’s gaze.

Cal was the first to get to his feet. “OK, Mech, do the thing with the thing,” he said, heading for the door. “I need to go check on something. I think I just saw a Five Guys.”

“What’s a…?” Miz began, then she waved a clawed hand. “In fact, you know what? I don’t care. I bet it’s some stupid Earth thing.”

“It is,” Cal confirmed, and then he trotted along the corridor, lowered the ramp, and hurried outside, ignoring Loren as she shouted after him. “I’ll be right back. Just wait for me.”

Thanks largely to its floating overhead infrastructure, the planet of Parloo had branded itself, the ‘Planet of Ten Million Cities.’ It was not, it had to be said, very imaginative branding, but then the Parlooqs weren’t a very imaginative bunch, particularly those who had elected to work in the advertising sector.

It didn’t actually have ten million cities, either. In fact, it had slightly more, but even the literal-minded Parlooqs were quick to realize ‘the Planet of Ten Million, One Hundred and Seventeen Thousand, Six Hundred and Four Cities’ wasn’t going to easily fit on the posters, and so had rounded down.

Of all Parloo’s many cities, though, its only land-based one was undoubtedly the worst. It had no official name. Those living in it referred to it simply as ‘Down Here’ while those living above it rarely, if ever, thought of it at all. If they did have to make reference to it, it would usually be in the form of a crinkling of the nostrils and a slightly nauseated shake of the head, and that would be the end of it.

A generous way to describe it would be to say it was a lively place, full of interesting characters and intriguing opportunities for anyone with an open mind, a loaded blaster and, ideally, no sense of smell.

The less generous ways of describing it were far too numerous to mention.

A glum-looking Parlooq in an ill-fitting uniform approached Cal as he trotted down the ramp. The man moved slowly, as if his sloth-like qualities didn’t just dictate his looks, but his very way of life.

“They’ve got everything you need in there,” Cal said, jabbing a thumb towards the ship and skipping past the Parlooq. He was several steps past him before the guy’s expression changed to one of confusion, and pushing out through the swing doors before the Parlooq could utter a sound.

The sights and sounds and smells of the Down Here hit him all at once. Cal’s instincts all screamed at him to duck back through the doors and retreat to the ship, but he had to find out if he’d really seen a Five Guys.

What if he had? How was that possible? The only thing he could think of was that there was someone else from Earth here on Parloo. Someone – most probably – somehow connected to Five Guys. Maybe one of the five guys themselves! Assuming they actually existed, and weren’t just some clever marketing ploy.

The sidewalk heaved with bodies, most of them large, and all of them sweating. Although there was little in the way of direct sunlight, an oppressive heat pushed down on the city, like it was trying to smother it and snuff it out.

Undoing a couple of buttons on his shirt, Cal spent a few seconds trying to get his bearings, realized it was a completely futile exercise, then just pushed through the crowd in a random direction, hoping he eventually found what he was looking for.

As Cal ducked, dodged and forced his way through the tightly-packed procession, voices grumbled at him.

“Watch it.”

“Wait in line.”

“Quit shovin’ back there.”

Most of the people around him looked nothing like the Parlooqs he’d seen, either on screen or in person. They seemed to be all sorts of species, but all of them wore the same sour expression, and carried the same bitter, downbeat demeanor.

The heat had to be playing a part in it, Cal reckoned. He’d only been on the planet for a matter of minutes, but already he could feel himself becoming irritable. If only everyone would get the fonk out of his way, he could look for the restaurant, figure out if he’d imagined the whole thing (almost certainly, he thought), then get back to the ship where they at least had air conditioning.

He could hear traffic thundering past on the road, but a moving wall of oversized pedestrians meant he couldn’t see the cars themselves. From the rumbling he felt through his legs whenever something noisy went past, he could tell they were definitely traveling on the ground, though, and not hovering like the ones they’d passed in the cities above.

So, no flying cars, no moving walkways, no tube-based high-speed transportation. If Up There was the future, Down Here was the luddite present that was probably in danger of becoming a thing of the past.

The sidewalk traffic parted a little on Cal’s right. He made a dash through the gap, knocking aside two thin-limbed little bat-faced creatures, who chirped and cheeped angrily as they struggled to stay upright on their hooved feet.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there,” Cal lied.

He turned down a quieter side street, then crunched into the stomach of a hulking round figure coming the other way.

“Ow, watch where you’re going, man!” said Cal. Although the first part of the sentence had come out sounding quite aggressive, it eased up towards the end. This was because the person standing before him was very big, and while its torso looked like a gelatinous ball of peach-colored fat, that stomach had been as solid as a rock.

“What? What is ‘man’?” the figure demanded. “I is woman!”

“Well, I mean, obviously!” lied Cal, looking the figure up and down. This involved a lot of neck movement on his part, and quickly gave him a sort of reverse vertigo. “Uh, sorry. Listen, I don’t suppose you’ve seen a Five Guys around here anywhere?”

“I seen lots of guys around here,” the woman grunted. “Which ones?”

“No, not…” Cal sighed. “Doesn’t matter.” He looked along the street at the crowds and the traffic and the store signs. None of the signs mentioned any number of guys, let alone the five Cal was specifically searching for.

He’d only been looking for a couple of minutes, but the heat – that fonking heat – was draining the will to continue right out of him. It had been a mistake. He’d got it wrong. That was all there was to it.

“Thanks for your, you know, help, I guess,” Cal said. The hulking woman nodded slowly.

“You want good time?”

“No,” said Cal. “No, I do not.”

“Suit self,” she said, shrugging her planet-like shoulders. She waddled past him onto the main street, and was somehow lost in the passing crowds.

Cal undid another button of his shirt. It was open almost all the way to his stomach now, but the heat was still squashing him beneath its thumb, trying to turn him into a greasy spot on the sidewalk. He wondered, briefly, if it would be easier just to let it, rather than try to fight his way back through the crowds again.

The temperature climbed a few more degrees. Cal felt his head spin all the way around, and then there was an intense burning sensation on his face. And possibly some bruising and blood.

“Oh, shizz,” he slurred through his dry lips. “I’m on the ground.”

And then a hot, sticky darkness poured over him like molasses.

* * *

“Hey, Tobey Maguire,” Cal said.

Hollywood actor-turned-ongoing-psychotic-episode, Tobey Maguire, looked up from the table he was sitting at. A flicker of irritation darted across his deceptively youthful features, then was replaced by a welcoming smile.

“Oh, hey,” said Tobey Maguire. “I was just doing a jigsaw puzzle. What happened to you?”

Cal shrugged and looked around. They were in a bubble of dull light, beyond which lay nothing but darkness. It felt tight and oppressive, like the inside of a cave, but Tobey Maguire didn’t seem to mind too much.

“Not sure. One minute, I’m standing up, the next, boom. Sidewalk. And then here.”

“Oh. OK,” said Tobey. He gestured to the jigsaw. “You can help me find the blue pieces.”

Cal puffed out his cheeks and took another look around. If past experience was anything to go by – and he’d had a lot of experience of being knocked unconscious and/or murdered lately – he was here until he woke up. There didn’t seem to be much else to do while he waited.

“Sure. Why not?”

Cal crossed to the table and realized immediately that he’d made a mistake. Tobey Maguire’s jigsaw strategy was all over the place. He’d started building outwards from a random patch of blue in the middle, and was now ferreting through the box trying to find more pieces to join on.

“Jesus Christ, Tobey Maguire, what is this?” Cal asked. “Start with the corners and build up the edges first! That’s, like, Jigsaw Etiquette 101.”

“Some of these bits were already stuck together in the box,” Tobey Maguire explained. “So I thought I’d just start there.”

“Do you think that’s how the Taj Mahal was built? Hmm? Do you think that’s how they put together the Eiffel Tower, Tobey Maguire? Just found some bits that were already stuck together and built outwards? No! They had a structure. They followed a plan.”

Cal was surprised by how passionate he felt about the jigsaw. The last time he’d built a jigsaw had been with his daughter, back before… Back before. He didn’t remember getting nearly as worked up about that one. Admittedly, that one had only eight pieces, and each of them was numbered in the correct order, but still.

He rooted in the box and found two of the corner pieces. “Jesus. Blue. What is this supposed to be, anyway? Just a blue rectangle?”

Tobey Maguire shook his head and pointed to a couple of white pieces. “No. It’s a message.”

Cal stopped searching. “A message? What kind of message?”

Tobey Maguire nodded to the lid of the box. It was sitting upside-down on the table beside him, the image on front hidden from view.

“What kind of message, Tobey Maguire?” Cal asked, suddenly nervous about what he might find on the front of the box.

“See for yourself.”

Cal hesitated. He placed the two corner pieces down on the table in roughly the right position, wiped his sweating palms on his pants, then turned over the box.

There was, just like Tobey Maguire had promised, a message there. It was written in bold white text on an all-blue background.

You have been poisoned, it read. Wake up, or you are going to die.

“Oh,” said Cal. He dropped the box lid. It vanished before it could hit the floor. “Shizz.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Cal paced back and forth in the narrow space, convinced it was becoming narrower by the second.

“Come on, think, Tobey Maguire,” he said. “How do I wake up?”

“I don’t know,” Tobey Maguire admitted. “Open your eyes, maybe?”

“Yes!” Cal cried, stopping. “Wait. My eyes are open.”

“Oh. Yeah,” said Tobey Maguire. “Then I got nothing.”

There was a soft click as he slotted another piece into place. “Kinda wish you hadn’t lost the box, though. That’s only going to make this harder.” He looked up from the table. “It’s got almost five hundred pieces, you know?” he said, in quite an accusing tone, Cal thought, like this was somehow his fault.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Cal said. He flexed his fingers in and out. There was something burning through his veins. He could feel it churning around in there, boiling his blood.

How had he been poisoned? The Symmorium? It had to be. That gray mush must have been tainted.

“Never trust a big shark-person, Tobey Maguire!” Cal spat. “If I die, I want you to tell everyone those were my last words, OK? Never trust a big shark-person.”

Tobey Maguire nodded, then smiled slightly wistfully. “You know, that reminds me of a joke.”

“Oh?” said Cal, interested, despite the gravity of the situation.

Tobey Maguire waved a hand. “It’s too long. You probably wouldn’t get to hear the end.” He turned his attention back to the jigsaw. “Funny, though.”

A whisper rose from the darkness.

“Cal. Caaaaaaal.”

“Did you hear that?” Cal hissed.

Tobey Maguire continued with his jigsaw.

“This would be much easier with the box,” he muttered.

“Will you shut the fonk up about your jigsaw?” Cal spat. The more his blood boiled, the more explosive his temper threatened to become. “And help me get out of here! There must be something here that’ll help me get out, or wake up or whatever. Some sort of hint, or clue, or…”

“It’s a puzzle, alright.”

“You can say that again.”

“Yep. A real puzzle.”

Cal sighed. “I know! I heard you the first time. Now how do I get out?”

Tobey Maguire tutted and leaned back in his chair. “OK. I thought you’d have worked it out by now, but it looks like I’m going to have to step in.” He lowered his eyes very deliberately to the jigsaw. “Huh?” he said. “Hmm?”

“What? What are you doing? Stop looking at the fonking…” Cal gasped. “The jigsaw? Is that it? Is that how I get out? You have to do the jigsaw?”

“You have to do the jigsaw,” said Tobey Maguire.

“Cal,” wheezed the voice from the darkness. “Caaaaaal.”

Muttering below his breath about ‘stupid jigsaws,’ Cal hurried to the table. “Step aside, Tobey Maguire,” he urged. He flexed his fingers, cracked his knuckles, then he set to work hunting for the two remaining corner pieces. “And find me the flat edges,” he barked.

The shadows grew tighter. The thing that was out there shuffled closer.

“Cal. I am coming for you, Caaaaaal.”

Tobey Maguire began depositing flat edged pieces onto the table. As soon as he put one down, Cal snatched it up and clicked it into place. “You see how much more efficient this is?” Cal asked. “Corners, sides, work inwards. Every time.”

“I have so much to learn,” said Tobey Maguire.

“That’s the first step,” said Cal. “Admitting you have a problem.”

Cal was just reaching for another of the pieces when his hand melted. It dribbled like hot wax onto the table, spattering across the partly-made jigsaw puzzle.

“Ooh,” said Tobey Maguire, wincing. “That is… That is unpleasant. Does it hurt?”

Cal studied the glistening stump of his arm and shook his head. “Surprisingly not,” he said, reaching out for a jigsaw piece with his other hand. It, too, bubbled and blistered, then flopped onto the tabletop.

The thing in the darkness dragged itself closer. “Caaaaaaal.”

“Shizz. OK, Tobey Maguire, you’re going to have to finish the jigsaw for me.”

Tobey Maguire gazed down at the table in horror. “But… But I can’t. I’ve been trying for hours. I’m not ready.”

“Now you listen to me, Tobey Maguire, and you listen good,” Cal snapped, with such ferocity the former Spider-Man actor immediately sat to attention. “You can do this, OK? You can build this fonking jigsaw. You are ready, you hear me?”

“I was born ready!” said Tobey Maguire.

“Well, no, evidently you weren’t, but you’re ready now, and that’s what matters. I believe in you, Tobey Maguire. You can do this!”

For a moment, there was no sound except the wheezing of whatever loomed out there in the dark. And then – finally – there was a soft click as Tobey Maguire pushed another jigsaw piece into position.

“I can do this,” he whispered. “I can do this!”

“Great! Now that piece, on the right,” Cal urged, nodding towards a small spread of pieces on the tabletop. “No, not that bit. No. No. No. No. No, not that one. Other one. No. No. Other other one. No. Jesus. No. N— Yes!”

The circle of light had almost closed around them now. Cal eyed the wall of darkness warily, and edged closer to the table.

“Now, put it top left,” he said. “No. No. Left. No. No. No, not…”

“My left or your left?” asked Tobey Maguire.

“What are you talking about? It’s the same left. We’re facing the same way. No. No. No. That’s bottom left, top left. Top left. Jesus fonking Christ, Tobey Maguire, there’s literally only one place where it could… OK. Good.” Cal took a deep breath, composing himself. “Right, now that piece over there. By your hand. No, the other hand. No. No. No, that’s the same fonking hand. The other…”

Cal threw up his stumpy arms and shook his head. “Ah, to Hell with this,” he said, then he turned on his heels, and threw himself into the dark.

* * *

Cal opened his eyes. He was upside-down. Or back to front.

Possibly inside-out, although that one was less likely.

He could see… what? Stone. Lots of stone. Flat, well-worn stone.

And pistons. Two metal pistons. They pounded against the stone. Quite quickly, Cal thought, although he was not yet awake enough to be sure. His head throbbed and his body shuddered every time one of the pistons hit another bit of the stone.

He closed his eyes again. The throbbing and the pounding continued unabated.

“Fonking idiot,” said the pistons.

“Hey!” Cal protested, but as he couldn’t be sure the pistons were talking about him, he couldn’t really muster the enthusiasm to argue any further than that. He did manage to raise a fist and shake it in a sort of ‘why, I oughta!’ gesture, so he was quite pleased about that, not least of all because he had fists again, and he was pretty sure that meant he had hands, too.

He opened his eyes. The pistons were still pounding the ground.

The ground! That was it. The stone was the sidewalk. The pistons were… what? Could they be feet?

Cal rummaged through his jumbled memory, making a shortlist of everyone he knew with metal feet. As shortlists went, it couldn’t really get much shorter.

“Mech?” he grunted. He peered at the pistons. “Are you Mech’s feet? What have you done with the rest of him?”

It was somewhere around this point that Cal realized he was being carried over Mech’s shoulder. The cyborg pushed through the crowded streets far easier than Cal had done, and drew far fewer grumbled complaints along the way.

“Woohoo!” Cal cheered, although it probably sounded a bit sarcastic, he decided. It wasn’t meant to be, and it was the thought that counted, so he didn’t bother clarifying.

The way the ground was moving wasn’t very pleasant, now that he looked at it properly. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was lying on the floor of the landing bay, with several faces all leaning over him, looking down. Mech was there, along with Loren, Miz and a deeply concerned-looking Splurt.

A couple of Parlooqs leaned over him, too. Cal smiled and gave everyone a wave. Yep, his hand was definitely back.

“Hey,” he said, propping himself up onto his elbows. “Everything OK?”

“No thanks to you,” said Loren. “What were you thinking? You almost died.”

“I know,” said Cal, rubbing his head. It ached where it had been in contact with the ground, and he got the impression Mech hadn’t put him down gently. “I think the Symmorium might have poisoned me. Maybe all of us.”

“What the fonk you talking about, man?” asked Mech. “The Symmorium didn’t poison us.”

“Air toxins,” said Loren. “The pollution down here is off the scale. You skipped out on your vaccination. You’re lucky Mech found you when he did, or you’d be dead by now.”

One of the Palooqs reached veeeeery slooooowly towards Cal’s chest. It was only then that Cal spotted the hypodermic needle there, its point buried right through his chest bone.

“Jesus! What the Hell is this?” Cal yelped.

“They had to get the vaccination working quickly,” Loren explained.

“So they jammed that sucker right into your heart,” said Mech, his metal jaw curving into a grin. “Bang! Right in there good.”

“Take it out!” Cal said.

The Parlooq wrapped the leathery pads of its furry hands around the syringe and withdrew the needle at what seemed to Cal to be far too leisurely a pace. He felt every inch of it slide out of his chest, then let his head drop as the thin metal strike was finally pulled out all the way.

The first Parlooq passed the needle to the second Parlooq, who deposited it into a bag, which he then sealed. This relatively simple process took almost a full three minutes to play out, and by the time the bag’s zip-lock was fully closed, Cal was on his feet and bouncing on the spot.

“Oh, man. I feel… better,” he said. “I feel good. I was hot. Like, really hot. Was that normal?”

“The planet’s slightly warmer than you’re used to,” said Loren. “But not enough so you’d really notice. It was probably the effects of the toxins.”

Cal nodded. “And no one warned me about the toxins because…?”

“Because you left before anyone got the chance,” said Miz, crossing her arms across her broad chest. “You, like, totally could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” said Cal. “So, all’s well that ends well.”

He turned to the two Parlooqs. “By the way, do either of you two know if there’s a Five Guys restaurant in the vicinity? I could swear I saw one on my way in.”

The Parlooqs exchanged a glance. It was quite a lingering glance, and forty seconds into it Cal found himself regretting having asked the question.

“Know what? It’s fine. Forget I said anything.”

“No,” said the Parlooq who had pulled out the needle.

“No?” said Cal.

“No. We… don’t… know.”

“Oh. OK.”

“If… there is… one.”

Cal nodded. “Right. That’s—”

“In… the…”

“Vicinity. Got you,” said Cal. “Not to worry.”

“Vicinity.”

“Message received and—”

“Sorry.”

“Seriously, it’s not—”

“About… that.”

Cal waited several seconds until he was sure the Parlooq was finished, then nodded. “No problem. Thanks for your help.”

He quickly about-turned before the fuzzy-faced little alien could embark on a reply. “So, Mech. Get the tracking thingy off?”

Mech nodded. “We did. I disarmed the explosive and stuck it to a freighter. It’ll be halfway to Nush by now.”

“I have no idea how far away that is, but it sounds good,” said Cal. He headed for the Untitled’s ramp. “So, we done here?”

“Uh, no,” said Mech. “No. I… I mean, Miz and me, we thought we might take a look around. Maybe grab something to eat, or whatever.”

Cal stopped.

Cal turned.

Cal grinned.

“Shut up,” said Mech.

“What?” said Cal, feigning complete innocence. “I didn’t say a word!”

He looked from Mech to Miz and back again. “Is it a date?”

“It’s not a date,” Mech snorted.

“It’s totally a date,” said Miz.

Mech winced, but nodded. “OK, but it’s not a date date.”

“You be careful, Mech,” Cal said, putting his arm around the cyborg’s shoulders. Or partway around them, at least. “Remember, Miz is technically a married woman. Yes, through an arranged marriage, and her husband is an evil murderer who’s now trapped in some sort of Land of the Giants dimension, but still. People talk. That’s all I’m saying. People talk.”

Mech sneered and shook his head, then elbowed Cal away. “Come on, Miz,” the cyborg grunted. “Let’s go.”

“Have fun, you crazy kids!” Cal called after them. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Loren joined him in watching them go. “Is there anything you wouldn’t do?” she asked.

Cal thought about this for a while, then shrugged. “Mizette,” he said. “Which is probably why Mech ended up in his position in the first place.”

Loren snorted. “You have a high opinion of yourself.”

“Well, come on. I mean, I’m clearly the looker on board, right? Among the guys, I mean.”

Splurt rippled at his feet. “OK, among the guys with legs,” Cal corrected. “Sorry, buddy.”

Loren shrugged. “I don’t know. Mech has that strong, brooding quiet type thing going on,” she said. “And his dial means you can have him smart and sensitive, or dumb and powerful. Best of both worlds.”

“Mech?” Cal spluttered. “Shut up. There’s no way you think Mech’s better looking than me.”

“I didn’t say he was better looking,” said Loren. “But maybe, you know, more attractive.”

“No way! Shut up!” said Cal. “Fine. You know what? If they can go on a date, we can go on a date.”

Loren shook her head. “No.”

“No what?”

“No, I’m not going on a date with you.”

“Well, I mean…” Cal began, but he sort of ran out of words at that point. He tried to make up for it by putting his hands on his hips and looking disapproving, but it didn’t really compensate.

“But I could eat,” Loren said. “And since we’re going to be hanging around here for a while, anyway…”

She pressed a button on a key fob. The Currently Untitled’s ramp raised and sealed shut. A moment later, the landing lights flashed twice, and the ship let out a high-pitched ch-cheep.

“I guess we might as well eat together.”

She gestured to the exit. The two Parlooqs were shuffling towards it, locked in tedious conversation. “Shall we?” Loren asked.

Cal blinked. He wasn’t quite clear on how they’d got to this point, but he was pretty sure it was a positive development. “Can we hold hands?” he asked.

Loren smiled. “Absolutely not,” she said, then she checked her blaster, ran a hand through her hair, and stepped out onto the street.

* * *

It took twenty minutes of wandering the city before they found somewhere they could both agree on. Cal had been trying to find them somewhere upmarket, but Down Here seemed to have a distinct lack of upmarket venues, and so he’d had to lower his sights a little. And then lower them even further, by quite a lot.

Loren, on the other hand, was content with a corner booth in a dark bar. She sat with her back jammed against both walls, so nothing could sneak up on her, and kept one eye on the door. It wasn’t that she was expecting trouble, exactly, but it never did any harm to watch for it coming.

Cal sat across from her, nursing a very small drink in a very large glass. Both the glass and the liquid inside it were a muddy shade of brown. The alcohol burned like cheap whiskey on the way down, then came back up as a series of short, mint-flavored burps. It was not unpleasant. It wasn’t pleasant, either, but he’d tasted worse.

Loren drank something clear and ever so slightly gloopy, like raw, watered-down egg white. She shuddered every time she sipped on it, but half a glass in and her body language had already started to relax.

Splurt perched on a stool at the end of the table, blowing bubbles in a soft drink through a long straw. It wasn’t actually a straw at all – he’d formed the red and white striped plastic tube from his own body – but it worked in much the same way.

The bar was dimly lit, poorly maintained, and sparsely attended. It was the kind of bar the cadets always went to during Loren’s Zertex training, although she’d rarely, if ever, been invited.

A screen was mounted above the seat backs on either side of the booth. The screen above Loren’s head showed a green-skinned woman in an expensive suit. She was standing before a largely blue map. Little cloud and rain icons appeared across the blue, and Cal realized he was watching the local weather forecast.

He glanced up at his own screen. It was showing a music video with a slim, long-legged but decidedly alien-looking woman dancing seductively on the hood of a spaceship. He wondered if it would be rude to ask Loren to swap seats.

“So,” Cal said. He tapped out a drumbeat on the scuffed and sticky tabletop. “Here we are.”

“We are here,” Loren agreed. She took two menus from the wall-mounted holder and passed one across to him. “Pick something. I’m hungry.”

Cal unfolded the menu. It was quite large and complicated, and he had to move his glass twice to make room. Once it was all the way open, he squinted and brought his face closer, trying to read the tiny typeface in the half-light.

For a small, seedy, backstreet bar, the range of food on offer was extensive. It was also, to Cal, at least, nonsensical.

“Twice-cooked Urph,” he read. “Noomnale stew. What the fonk is this stuff?”

Loren shrugged. “No idea. Local produce, probably.”

“Some pictures would be nice,” Cal said. “I mean, look at this one. It just says ‘Fauff’. That’s it. Just ‘Fauff’. What’s Fauff? Is it a soup? Is it a dessert? Will I have to tell them if I want it well done or rare? There’s not enough information!”

He scanned the menu for another few seconds, then began the process of folding it closed. “What the Hell,” he said. “I’ll try the Fauff.”

Cal raised a hand and beckoned for the waiter. To his dismay, he discovered the waiter was another Parlooq. With a leisurely nod of acknowledgement, the Parlooq began his epic journey across the room.

“We could be a while,” Cal said. “Decided what you’re having?”

Loren shook her head. “I’m thinking either the Toposh Surprise – although, I don’t know what Toposh is, so it’ll be a double surprise – or, yeah, maybe the Fauff.”

“It’s a fun word to say, that’s why I went for it,” said Cal. “Fauff. See? I’m just hoping it doesn’t turn out to be a baby on a spike or something.”

“That would be less fun,” Loren agreed.

She folded her menu up. Cal was still in the process of doing the same. It had gone well for the first few folds, but it was becoming less clear now what he needed to do next. He suspected he’d made a terrible mistake somewhere along the way, and so decided just to abandon the whole endeavor and force the partially collapsed menu back into the holder, instead.

Cal clicked his tongue against his teeth. “So.”

“You said that, already,” Loren told him.

“I know. I just don’t want to get started on the real conversation – you know, the good stuff – until the waiter arrives. Otherwise I’m going to be saying something really clever and witty, and he’s going to come in at the wrong time, and… well, it’s going to spoil everything, is basically what I’m saying.”

“Cal,” said Loren. She nodded to Cal’s left. The Parlooq stood there, slowly licking the point of a pencil.

“May I… take… your order?”

“Sure thing!” said Cal. “I’ll have—”

“Please?”

“Sure. I think I’m going to have the Fauff,” Cal said. “Although… it isn’t a baby on a spike, is it?”

An expression of surprise crept very slowly across the Parlooq’s face.

“No…”

“OK, great.”

“It isn’t…”

“Gotcha.”

“A baby…”

“On a spike. Good to know.”

“On a spike.”

“Yep. Way ahead of you,” said Cal.

Loren crossed her arms on the table and leaned forwards. “Can you tell me a bit more about the Toposh Surprise?” she asked.

“At-at-at, no!” said Cal, interrupting. He tapped the waiter’s notepad. “She’ll have the Fauff. Two Fauffs. That’s it.”

He physically ushered the Parlooq away. “Thank you now, that’s everything. Thank you.”

Cal sat back in his seat to find Loren grinning at him. “Nice save,” she said.

“You did that on purpose,” said Cal. He dipped a finger into his drink and flicked it at her.

“Of course,” Loren said. “But, uh…?”

She glanced sideways to the end of the table. Splurt was still perched there, blowing bubbles in his drink. Cal’s face fell. “Oh, shizz. Splurt, did you want something?”

Splurt’s blobby body briefly grew a neck, which allowed him to nod the part of himself that currently stood in for a head. Cal groaned. “Shizz. Seriously? Listen, buddy, I don’t think I can face talking to that guy again to change the order. You can have some of my Fauff, OK?”

Splurt sunk slowly back into his usual squidgy ball shape and resumed blowing into his straw.

Loren leaned back. “OK, so coast’s clear. Where’s this sparkling conversation you promised me?”

“It’s coming right up, that’s where!” said Cal.

His mind raced. Talking, under normal circumstances, was not something he had a problem with. Or rather, a lack of talking was not something he had a problem with. ‘Talks too much’ was something that many a school teacher had raised as a concern, and he was, generally speaking, a stranger to awkward silences.

But now, sitting in an alien bar on an alien world, trying to smooth talk an alien while another alien blew bubbles in his drink and watched on, Cal felt his smooth-talking charm dry up. He still had a range of winning smiles he could use, and he employed one now as a sort of distraction technique. It would only buy him a few seconds, though. He had to think of something to say, and fast.

“So, uh, how was your day?”

Loren raised her dark eyebrows. “Um, well, pretty much the same as yours,” she said. “Fighting a giant spider, hit by photon torpedoes, partially chewed by a big fish.”

“At least you didn’t die,” Cal said.

Loren shook her head. “True. You have me beat there.” Her eyes went to Cal’s chest, which not too long ago had been reduced to a scorched and gaping hole. It was back now, as good as new.

“I still don’t understand how that was even possible,” she said.

Cal shrugged. “The life force thing, I think. What’s his name – witch doctor, village elder guy, or whatever – gave me all the life force he had left. I don’t know, but I’m choosing to believe I won’t be able to die until it runs out.”

“And when will it run out?” Loren asked.

Cal shrugged. “No idea. But it’ll be interesting to find out.”

He drained his glass, hissed quietly, let out a series of toothpaste-flavored belches, then indicated Loren’s glass. “Come on, get that down you. I won’t have you holding me back.”

Loren swirled the contents of the glass around, then tipped the whole lot down her throat. She grimaced, shuddered, then placed the glass on the table, upside-down.

“Your round.”

Cal didn’t respond. She picked the glass up and waved it at him. “Cal? Hello? More drinks.”

“Loren.”

Something about the tone of his voice made her take notice. She’d thought he was looking at her, but he was looking above her head, his gaze fixed on the little screen mounted above her chair.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, but Cal just nodded at the screen.

Loren turned in her seat and saw her own face gazing back at her from the display. A moment later, the image changed to show Mech, then Miz, and finally Splurt. Splurt pulsed excitedly when he saw himself on the TV, but Loren knew it was nothing to celebrate.

“What about you? They didn’t show you.”

“I was on first,” Cal told her, glancing around and lowering his voice to a whisper. “Probably because, you know, I’m the most important.”

They sat in silence, watching the news report together.

“They’re upping the reward,” Loren said. “Twenty million credits to anyone who brings you in.”

“I thought this was, like, neutral territory?” said Cal. “Why are they showing this?”

“Because there are bounty hunters all over this sector,” Loren said. “Sinclair doesn’t know where we are, so he’s going to get the whole galaxy looking for us, and make finding us very worth their while.”

“Did I ever tell you how much I hate that guy?” Cal muttered.

“Once or twice,” Loren said. “We should get going before anyone recognizes us.”

“And miss out on the Fauff? Are you kidding me?” Cal said. “It’s fine. We’re tucked away out of sight. Trust me, no one is going to recognize us.”

“Well, well, well,” growled a voice. Cal and Loren both looked past where Splurt was sitting. Something monstrous stood there, a baton in its hands and murder in its eyes. “It appears we’ve got some celebrities among us.”

The thing placed a hand on Cal’s arm. Cal looked down at it, slowly and deliberately, then raised his gaze.

“You’re going to want to take your hand off me, pal,” said Cal. “Or I’m afraid I’ll have to do something we’ll both regret. But mostly you.”

The alien’s bat-like nostrils flared. “Oh? Is that a fact?” it said, revealing dozens of pin-sharp teeth. “Well, then, how about you show me just what you think you’re going to do?”

CHAPTER SIX

The bar’s front window exploded as a flailing shape crashed through it, showering the crowded street in fragments of glass.

Pedestrians screamed and ducked and ran. The flying figure slammed backwards against the pole of a street light, spun around it, then landed heavily in the road.

Tires screeeeeched. Something that looked like a drug-fueled concept design for a new type of Hummer skidded to a halt just inches from the fallen man’s head.

“Fonk me,” Cal wheezed. “That was close.”

Huffing and groaning, he pulled himself back to his feet. Horns blared at him. The passers-by who hadn’t run for their lives scowled and shouted at him. Cal gestured to the broken window.

“What? What are you angry at me for? It’s not like I did it on purpose!” he protested.

There was a large sliver of glass wedged into his forearm. From the variety of stabbing sensations in his face, he guessed there were a few buried there, too.

“Ooh. Ow. This is going to hurt,” he whimpered, taking hold of the piece in his arm. It pulled free with a nauseating plok that made his legs go weak. Cal watched the wound shrink, then vanish, and quickly plucked the sharpest and most painful pieces from his face.

“OK,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders and cricking his neck. “Round two.”

Roaring, Cal launched himself through the broken window and into a full-scale bar fight. Almost immediately, an elbow crunched into his face, stunning him into silence. A fist like a Test Your Strength machine hammer whummed towards him. He ducked and fired half a dozen jabs into the ribs of someone large and bull-like, then yelped as someone else caught him from behind and flipped him onto the bar.

Glasses shattered. Pain flared. Half a packet of dry-roasted space peanuts scattered onto the floor. Cal kicked, hit nothing, then doubled up until his head and knees nearly met when the hammer-sized fist pounded down on his stomach.

He made a noise that he’d never be able to replicate again, no matter how hard he tried. Some of the burny-minty alcohol he’d recently consumed shot out through his nostrils, making his eyes water, then he unfolded again and his head hit the bar with a thonk.

The fight had started well enough. He’d managed to get in a fairly solid right hook before the ugly guy with all the teeth could react.

From there, though, it quickly went downhill, as it became apparent that the ugly guy with all the teeth was not working alone.

Almost the whole bar was in a state of violent upheaval now, with just two notable exceptions. The first of these sat on a tall stool just a few feet along from where Cal currently lay. He was a large guy with the worst skin Cal had ever seen on a living creature before. It was dry and parchment-like in some places, positively gangrenous in others. He wore a hat, not unlike a Fedora, pulled low on his head, and an overcoat with the collar turned up to the ears. He looked like an old gumshoe detective brought back from the dead, Cal thought.

And, as it happened, Cal was right.

The man sat sipping his drink and gazing blankly ahead as the chaos and violence exploded behind him.

“Hey. Little help here?” Cal wheezed.

“Sorry, pal. Ain’t my problem,” the guy replied, in a voice like gargling gravel. He raised his glass in a toast to Cal, then leaned back as powerful hands sent Cal sliding along the bar top, and crunching into the wall at the far end.

The other notable exception to the violence was also perched on a stool with a drink in front of him. Unlike the gumshoe, however, this one was blowing bubbles into his. Splurt gazed into the glass, marveling at how the liquid rolled and popped with each puff. It was, he thought – or not ‘thought’, perhaps, at least not in the conventional sense – the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

A few feet away, Loren blocked a punch, dodged a kick, then shattered an arm before it could reach for a blaster. Something with long metal dreadlocks and shorter-but-still-long-enough metal fingers slashed at her. She spun into a twirling kick, driving the heel of her boot into the thing’s bottom jaw and snapping its head to the right.

“Raaaaargh!” A dome-headed neckless brute charged at her, bent double. Loren leapfrogged him, then fired a kick out behind her, driving the guy head first into – and partially through – the wall.

Something large and crab-like dived at Loren from behind, his pincers preparing to snap shut around her head. A split-second before they could, a slimy green tendril swatted him to the floor, cracking the chest plate of his shell.

Splurt blew into his drink, and watched the bubbles dance and play.

Across the bar, Cal dragged himself upwards in time for a long-haired dwarf to headbutt him in the groin. Pain, nausea, and a vague regret for ever having been born bloomed upwards from Cal’s testicles, but he held himself together enough to grab his tiny attacker by the hair.

“C’mere, you little shizz,” Cal muttered. With a grunt of effort, he swung the guy around. The dwarf roared in a surprisingly deep voice as he flailed around in a wide semi-circle, knocking back an oncoming tide of attackers.

With a rrrip, the hair Cal was holding tore free and the little guy soared over the bar, crashed through a number of expensive-looking bottles, then rolled to the floor.

“Smooth,” said the gumshoe.

“Thanks,” Cal wheezed, and then a fist caught him across the cheek, spinning him around.

An arm wrapped around Cal’s neck from behind. A hand clamped down on his head, the fingers squeezing his skull as if testing it for ripeness. Cal heaved at the arm, but it was like an iron bar across his throat.

An iron bar that began, very deliberately, to squeeze.

“That reward didn’t specify dead or alive,” a voice hissed in Cal’s ear. “So guess what one I’m going for.”

The voice became a hissing giggle. Cal drove an elbow backwards. Once. Twice. The giggling continued. “That the best you got?”

The floor turned to quicksand. Cal ran through his list of options, realized it contained only two, half of which involved dying, and went for the other one. His thumbs found his attacker’s eyes, and he pushed.

The grip on Cal’s neck tightened for a moment, then went loose as the alien holding him pulled away, temporarily blinded. Cal turned and threw a few limp punches. There was very little power behind them, but his attacker was already off-balance, and the blows were enough to put him down.

Something gruff and orc-like in appearance marched purposefully in Cal’s direction. Cal made a letter T shape with his hands.

“Wait. Time out, time out,” he wheezed, then the orc’s foot hit him in the chest like a speeding car, launching Cal backwards across the bar. He hit a table and his momentum flipped him clumsily over it, before bringing it crashing down on top of him.

From his position on the floor, he saw Loren kick someone in the throat, then drop into a sweeping kick that knocked over two other mean-looking alien dudes. She made it look… poetic, almost, and were it not for the throng of violent bamstons closing in around him, Cal could have watched it all day long.

Groaning, he pulled himself out from under the toppled table. Five guys (but not those five guys) advanced menacingly on Cal. Any one of them could have torn him in half with their bare hands, and he suspected they’d very much enjoy doing so, reward or no reward. They just looked like the type.

He quickly calculated the odds of him beating them all in a fair fight – none whatsoever – and switched to Plan B.

“OK, fine,” Cal said. “I’ll order you something off the menu. Happy now?”

Five green tentacles whipped past him. Five hulking aliens were lifted off their feet and repeatedly slammed against the walls, floor and ceiling until they first stopped screaming, and then stopped moving.

Dropping the mostly unconscious, partly dead mob, two of the tentacles hoisted Cal to his feet, while the others fixed his collar, smoothed his hair, and pulled up his pants. The rest of Splurt, meanwhile, continued with the bubble blowing.

All fixed up, Cal turned to see Loren knocking out another of her attackers. The guy slumped to the floor, joining the piles of whimpering flesh already sprawled there. Cal nodded his approval and rubbed his hands together, as if wiping off dust. “And let that be a lesson to you,” he said, pointing to the fallen thugs.

Sirens blared in the distance. Cal groaned. “Looks like we won’t be getting dinner,” he said. Splurt pulsed unhappily, blew one final big bubble, then dropped from the stool and rolled across the floor to Cal’s side. Loren joined them, a little out of breath. Her pale blue skin glistened, just lightly, with sweat.

“So much for our date,” Cal said.

“Wasn’t a date,” Loren told him. “But if it had been…” She gestured to the unconscious figures on the floor. “Then best date ever. That was actually a lot of fun.”

“Ha. Yeah,” said Cal. His shoulder clunked as he relocated it back into its socket. “Fun!”

They made for the door, but were stopped by the gumshoe with the skin complaint. “So, you three got a sizeable bounty on your heads.”

Loren reacted first. She lunged with pointed fingers for the man’s throat. He caught her wrist without blinking, and pushed her hand away.

“I got no interest in collecting,” he said. “Your business ain’t my business.”

“Then why stop us?” asked Cal. “And sweet Jesus, what happened to your face? You do know you’re, like, decaying before our eyes, right?”

The gumshoe flicked out a business card. “You ever need new identities, I might be able to help.”

Cal took the card, looked at it, then snorted. “‘Dan Deadman’?” he said. “Seriously? That’s your name? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s perfect, but… Seriously?”

“Think about it,” said the gumshoe. He touched the brim of his hat, then stepped over a lifeless torso and returned to his stool.

“Uh, OK, then. We’ll keep that in mind,” said Cal. He gestured towards the front door and offered Loren his arm. “Shall we?”

To Cal’s surprise, Loren hooked her own arm through his. “Aye aye, captain,” she said. “Lead the way.” She burped, covered her mouth with her hand, then erupted into giggles.

“Wow,” said Cal, shooting Splurt a sideways glance. “What the fonk was in that drink?”

* * *

By the time Cal, Loren and Splurt made it back to the Untitled, Mech and Miz were already waiting for them.

“You’re back early,” Cal remarked. He looked at them both, expectantly. “Well? How did it go? Should I be in the market for a new hat?”

“Some shizznods totally attacked us for no reason,” said Miz. “Like, twenty of them, all with blasters and stuff.”

Cal winced. “Ooh. Those poor people.”

“Yeah, it was totally awesome,” Miz grinned.

“We got in a fight, too,” said Cal. “I dealt with most of them. But, you know, Loren and Splurt helped. Then we met a weird, very possibly dead guy who offered us new identities. So that was nice.”

“Cool,” said Miz. “We were going to go somewhere else, but then we heard cops, so came back here, and… uh…”

Her voice tailed off. She looked across to Mech, who stood in front of the viewscreen, his back to it. He seemed unusually somber which, for someone who had built an entire persona around being a miserable, glum-faced bamston, said a lot.

“Everything OK?” Cal asked, looking between Miz and Mech. “What’s up?”

“Y’all might want to sit down,” said Mech. He turned his gaze towards Loren. “Especially you.”

“What? Why?” Loren asked, her giggly, light-headed air solidifying into something much more rigid. “What’s happened?”

Mech gestured towards her chair. “I’ll stand,” she said, although she didn’t quite know why. “What is it?”

“When we got back, we got word of an attack against the Symmorium,” Mech said. “They lost eighteen ships.”

“Jesus,” said Cal. He let out a long breath. “Still, I mean, that’s war, I guess. Right? We knew this sort of thing was going to happen.”

“They weren’t military ships,” said Mech.

His words hung there in the air for a while, like no one wanted to take them in.

“Not civilian?” said Loren.

Mech nodded. “Refugee transporters. Women and children, mostly. Clearly marked, couldn’t have been a mistake.”

“So, wait. What?” said Cal. “Zertex deliberately blew up eighteen ships filled with women and kids? How many were on board?”

It was Loren who answered the question. “Must have been thousands,” she said.

“Pretty much,” Mech said. “Fighters intercepted. They took out most of the attacking fleet. Even managed to capture the Legate in charge alive.”

“Well… good,” said Loren. “It’s a war crime. He needs to pay.”

Miz raised a hand. “Wait, can I tell her?” she asked.

“Tell me what?” said Loren.

“The Legate they captured,” said Mech. “The one who ordered all those civilian deaths. It was your brother.”

Loren stared blankly back at him, like she was still waiting for him to speak. She blinked several times, frowned for a while, then raised her eyebrows. “Hmm?”

“Your brother,” said Miz. “And, like, I thought you had to be the worst person in your family. Shows what I know.”

“Miz,” said Cal. He said it so sharply that Mizette didn’t so much as tut or sigh or cross her arms in response. He put a hand on Loren’s shoulder. “Hey, you OK?”

Loren shrugged the arm away. “Get off me,” she said. She took a step towards Mech. “Which one? Which brother? I have two.”

Mech shrugged. “Didn’t say.”

Loren slid into her seat. “Then get them on screen. Hail the Symmorium. I want to know.”

“You think that’s the best idea right now?” asked Cal. “Maybe we should take a break, think this through, then—”

“Get them on the fonking screen!” Loren spat, pointing angrily at Mech. “Now.”

Mech looked to Cal, who shrugged. With a clanking and whirring of robotic parts, the cyborg turned and tapped his controls. Several seconds passed, and then the Megalodon-esque face of Subsent Takta filled the screen.

“I am surprised to hear from you,” the Symmorium growled, before anyone aboard the Untitled could open their mouths. “I thought you had made your position clear.”

“And yet you stuck a tracking device to our ship that could blow us up,” said Cal.

“A precaution, nothing more,” said Takta.

“Who was it?” demanded Loren. “Who attacked you?”

Takta’s black-hole eyes shifted just a fraction from Cal to Loren. “You mean who murdered our women and children?” His lips drew back, revealing a brief flash of teeth and gums before he was able to bring his anger under control. “Legate Dash Loren of Zertex.”

Loren closed her eyes. “Oh, no. No,” she whispered.

“And you’re sure?” said Cal.

“We are.”

Cal glanced at Loren, then back to the Symmorium. “What’s going to happen to him?”

“He will be found guilty of the slaughter of four thousand innocent people, and he will be executed,” said Takta.

Loren opened her eyes. “I want to be at the trial. You can make that happen, right?”

Takta snorted. “Trial?” he said. “There will be no trial. This animal does not deserve one.”

Loren stood up. “So, what? You’re just going to kill him?”

“Yes!” Takta snapped. He swallowed, composing himself again. “However, because of our debt to you, we will make his death quick. There are many of us – myself included – who find the very idea of mercy towards him to be… distasteful. But we are the Symmorium, and we always pay our debts.”

“Look, please, just let me see him,” said Loren. “I can figure this out.”

“He killed thousands of us!” roared Takta. Specks of spittle covered the screen. “Our women. Our children. They all died. Screaming. Burning. Helpless. And you think you can somehow change this? You can somehow ‘figure this out’?”

“No, that’s not what… Please, Takta,” said Loren. “Just let me see him.”

Takta breathed heavily for several seconds before he spoke again. When he did, his voice was much flatter and more controlled. “I will arrange a video feed,” the Subsent said.

“Thank you.”

“It will be visuals only,” said Takta. “You may watch him die.”

“What? No, wait!”

The feed snapped off, returning the screen to darkness. Loren stared at it, willing it to come on, willing Takta to come back, to change his mind.

“Wow, they’re going to broadcast his death?” said Miz, breaking the silence. She shrugged. “Guess I’ll get the popcorn.”

Loren spun in her chair. Her arm stretched out, her blaster pointed directly at Mizette’s head.

“Whoa! Whoa! Easy, tiger,” said Cal, raising his hands and stepping into the line of fire. “Loren, put the gun down. Miz, apologize.”

“What? No way!” said Miz.

Cal spun on his heels, his face darkening. The voice that came out of him was not one the crew had ever heard before. “Apologize now, or get off my ship.”

Miz blinked in surprise. She sneered and looked over at Mech for support. He shook his head.

“You were out of line, Miz,” Mech told her.

Mizette huffed and crossed her arms. “Fine. Whatever. I’m sorry, OK? There.”

Cal nodded. “Thank you.”

He turned back to Loren, hands still raised. She had already lowered the blaster, and was hurriedly keying co-ordinates into her console.

“Uh, whatcha doing there?” Cal asked.

“We need to go. I need to see Dash.”

“Uh-uh, no way,” said Mech. “That ain’t happening. I mean, I’m sorry and everything, but I think I made my position clear. I don’t want no part in no war.”

“This isn’t war. It’s family,” said Loren.

“Ain’t my family,” said Mech. “And anyone who can do what he did, sounds like he ain’t someone you really want to have in yours, either.”

“We’re going,” Loren insisted. The Untitled hummed as the engines ignited.

Mech tapped his controls. The engines died. “No,” he said. “We ain’t.”

“You tell her, Mech,” Miz purred.

“Miz, you’re not helping, shut up,” said Cal. He turned to Loren. “Mech’s right. We can’t go. What would be the point?”

Loren didn’t meet his eye. “Because Dash wouldn’t do this. Lokak – my other brother – maybe. But not Dash. Not Dashy. He wouldn’t.”

“But he did,” said Mech. “They got footage.”

“Like Sinclair had footage of the Symmorium destroying Pikkish, you mean?” Loren snapped. “I’m telling you, he didn’t do this. I know he didn’t.” She finally looked at Cal, her eyes blurred with tears. “I have to go. Even if he did do this, he’s family.”

Cal looked down at his feet for a moment, before raising his head again. “Family ends, Loren. Sometimes, you know? It just ends. One minute, everything's great, then ... gone. And you cry, and you drink excessively, and you make disparaging remarks about the god of your choosing, and then you move on.”

He squatted down beside her chair. “And that’s all you can do. You move on. You put it behind you, hard as that may be.” He reached for her arm, but she moved it away. “If we go, we’re in the war. Their war, not ours. We risk everything, and for what?”

“For my family,” Loren said.

“Sorry, not a good enough reason,” said Cal, more curtly than he’d meant to. “He killed children, Loren. Thousands of women and children.”

A tear rolled down Loren’s cheek. Her voice was barely a squeak. “But he’s my brother.”

Cal nodded, just once. “I know. I know. But he did something terrible, and painful as it may be, you have to let him pay the price.”

Loren wiped her eyes, then looked from Cal to Mech to Miz. She didn’t find the smirk she was expecting on Mizette’s face. Instead, the wolf-woman almost looked sorry for her. That was the final straw.

“Fine. You know what? Fine. Don’t help me,” said Loren, jumping to her feet and heading for the door. “I’ll find a way to get there myself.”

“Wait, Loren. Come back!” Cal called, but the only answer was the clang of the landing ramp dropping. He turned to the others. “Come on, help me get her back,” he said.

“Why?” Miz asked, but she stood up, anyway. She followed Cal and Mech into the corridor. “It’s not like we even need her now we’ve got Kevin.”

“Very kind of you to say so, ma’am,” Kevin chimed.

Cal led the procession down the ramp and into the landing bay. Loren was already gone, so he hurried to the exit and out onto the heaving street.

“Shizz. Can’t see her,” he said, standing on his tiptoes to try to get above the sea of heads. “Either of you two spot her?”

Mech peered above the crowds while Miz sniffed the air.

“Can’t see her,” Mech said. Miz tilted her head back and forth, her nostrils flaring.

“I got her scent, I think,” she said. “Failure and desperation. That’s her, right?”

“Where is she?” Cal asked.

Miz sniffed. “That’s weird. It’s like she’s—”

There was a sudden blast of heat and a high-pitched whine as the Untitled’s engines fired.

“No! Shizz, Loren, don’t!” Cal yelped, running for the ramp as it began to raise. Mech caught him just in time as the ship’s thrusters flared blue. The ship rose jerkily into the air, clanged against the landing bay wall, clipped the docking gate, then climbed vertically towards the clouds.

“Oh,” said Cal, as the Currently Untitled was lost to the layer of gray. “Well isn’t that just fonking marvelous?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Cal stood in the center of the landing bay, looking up. He had been utterly convinced that the ship would reappear shortly after it had disappeared into the cloud cover, but several minutes had passed since then, and he was now considerably less confident than he had been.

“Try calling her again,” he urged. Mech sighed, but tapped one of the buttons on his arm. It let out a slightly irritated bleep.

“No response. She’s turned off the comms,” Mech said.

“Or she’s crashed and blown the ship to pieces,” said Miz. “Which is probably more likely.”

“Miz, will you cut it out?” Cal snapped. “Jesus. Be serious for one minute, OK?”

“Coming from you, that’s kinda rich, man,” Mech grunted.

“And I totally was being serious,” said Miz. “She nearly crashed, like, what? Three times on the way down? And that was before she was all angsty and boo-hoo, or whatever. I mean it, she’s probably crashed and died. We should move out of the way before the debris lands on us.”

“Just… just stop,” Cal said.

Miz sighed. “Fine. Whatever.”

Cal watched the clouds. “Come on, come on,” he whispered, so quietly even Miz’s ears didn’t pick it up. “Where are you?”

Suddenly, the underside of a ship’s hull appeared through the gray haze. “Yes!” Cal cried, but his excitement was short-lived. The ship coming down wasn’t the Untitled. It was older and clunkier, and could very well have been built in someone’s back garden. Probably a very long time ago.

The old rust bucket spluttered and coughed out plumes of black smoke as it dropped unsteadily onto three of its four landing legs. The fourth leg let out a long corroded-sounding screech as it partially unfolded, then it locked up, midway to the ground.

A moment later, the whole ship toppled sideways and fell over.

A square window in the side of the ship rolled down and a head covered in short black fur that was so shiny it looked soaking wet popped out. “Excuse me, is this Down Here?” it asked.

“Yeah,” said Mech.

“Thank you, kindly,” said the furry thing. It nodded, then began winding up its window.

“Wait!” said Cal. “Did you see a ship on the way down? Kind of four little wings, blackish-greeny-gray. Maybe silver depending on how the light’s hitting it?”

“Why, you know, I believe I did,” said the furry thing. “It was going up as I was coming down. Good and fast, too. Flew right on out there into space, like shizz off a shovel. Friend of yours?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Cal. “Yeah. I think so. Thanks.”

“Happy to oblige!” said the furry guy, then the window rolled up and he vanished further into his ship.

“So, what now?” asked Mech.

“We go after her,” said Cal. “We have to.”

“Well, uh, no. No, we don’t,” said Miz.

“Even if we wanted to, what we supposed to do?” asked Mech. “Flap our arms? She took the motherfonking ship!”

“Then we’ll get another one,” Cal said. “We’ve got the money, right? Two million credits. That’ll buy us something. It doesn’t matter what condition it’s in, we’ll just buy the first one we see and get after her.”

Behind him, the furry thing’s ship belched out a spray of sticky black fluid. “OK, we’ll buy the second one we see.”

Mech shook his head. “Our money? It’s tied to the ship. She’s got it all. We ain’t got shizz.”

“Really? Well, that’s… stupid,” said Cal, taken aback. He shook his head. “But we’ve still got some money. I’ve got maybe two hundred credits on me.”

“That ain’t going to buy a ship,” said Mech. “That won’t even buy you a bumper sticker.”

“OK, well we’ll steal a ship then. Anything at all.”

There was a clank as an exhaust pipe fell to the ground. “Again, obviously not that one,” Cal said. “But we’ll find something. We have to do something.”

“Says who?” asked Miz. “Whatever happens to her, she brought it on herself. Good riddance, I say.”

“You don’t mean that,” said Cal.

Miz shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

“Mech, tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“Tell her we have to go after Loren.”

“I already told you,” said Mech. “I ain’t getting dragged back into no fonking war.” He tapped his chest. It gave a hollow metallic ding. “I already got me more than enough battle scars. Don’t need any new ones.”

Cal stared at Mech, then at Miz for a long time. He shook his head. “I don’t believe I’m hearing this. This is Loren, guys. She is one of us.”

Mech’s eyes narrowed as he considered Cal’s words. “You know, maybe I was right the first time we met. Maybe it was right, what I said.”

Cal frowned. “What? When? What did you say?”

“There is no ‘us’.”

“What? What are you talking about?” said Cal. “Of course there’s an ‘us’. We’re a team. We’re Space Team.”

Mech grunted. “Since I met you, I have had pretty much the worst few weeks of my life,” he said. “I been shot at, I been blown up, I’ve been thrown into space, had ugly mutant freaks try to do all kinds of crazy shizz to me, been taken over by a virus, attacked by twelve feet tall spiders and almost eaten by a big motherfonking fish,” Mech said. “And half of that? Half of that was just today.”

“You think you’ve had it bad?” Cal spluttered, squaring up to him. “I was abducted by aliens. Everyone I knew before that? They’re all dead. Since then, I’ve been shot, tortured, and I almost choked to death on a squirrel’s tits. Trust me, Mech, my life hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park lately, either.”

“Well,” Mech said. “That just proves my point. This…” He gestured around at the three of them. “Whatever this is. It’s toxic. It ain’t good for anyone.” He looked down, just for a moment. “And it’s over, man.”

Cal shook his head. “No. No, it isn’t. We’re stuck here together.”

“We might be stuck here,” Mech agreed. “But we sure as shizz don’t have to be together.”

“Come on, Mech,” Cal pleaded. When he got no response, he turned to Mizette. “Miz?”

Miz shrugged. “I’m sticking with Mech.”

Mech shook his head. “I think it’s best if we all go our own ways.”

Miz’s eyes widened, giving a fleeting glimpse behind her usually apathetic mask. It lasted for just a split-second, there one moment, gone the next. She slumped all her weight onto one hip and crossed her arms even more deliberately than usual. “Fine. Whatever. See if I care.”

Cal nodded, utterly defeated. “OK. OK, then. Fine. If that’s what you guys want, then, I guess I can’t stop you.”

He lunged at Mech and grabbed his arm. “Aha! Or can I? Now we’ve got no choice but to stick together.”

Mech caught Cal by the back of the neck and hoisted him into the air. “Sorry, man,” said Mech, setting Cal back down on the ground. “It’s over.”

The cyborg’s neck whirred as he peered out onto the street. Sirens continued to wail in the distance. “Now, what was it you said earlier about ‘new identities’?”

* * *

“You sure this is the place?”

Mech looked down at the card Cal had given him, then up at the grimy, gray building before them. It was a tall, almost Gothic-looking construction with once-detailed cornicing that was now crumbling and decayed. Most of the windows were shuttered, and two grotesquely misshapen gargoyles perched up on the edge of the roof, peering out across the city.

Considering the size and shape of some of the things Cal had encountered recently, the fact he instantly applied the term ‘grotesquely misshapen’ to the statues really spoke volumes about them.

“This is it,” said Mech. He approached the heavy wooden doors. Several buttons were fixed to a metal plate on the wall, faded nameplates taped beside each one. The name next to the top button read: ‘Deadman Investigations.’

Mech peered at it, looked down at the card, then over his shoulder at Cal. “It says he’s some kinda detective. You sure about this?”

“He could get us new identities. That’s what he said.” Cal shrugged.

“How do we know we can trust him?” asked Miz.

“Trust him? I could barely even bring myself to look at him,” said Cal. “But I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

He pressed the button. Nothing appeared to happen.

He pressed it again. They waited.

“Maybe he ain’t home.”

Cal pressed the button again, and held it this time.

After a few seconds, a voice crackled angrily from the panel. “Alright, alright. What?”

“Uh, hi. We’re looking for a, uh, Dan Deadman,” said Cal.

“And?”

Cal’s mouth formed a few different word shapes before settling on one. “Have we found him?”

“Who’s asking?”

“We met in a bar,” said Cal. “While I was sliding along it, head first.”

There was another moment of silence. Cal looked back at the others and shrugged, then a buzzer sounded and the doors clicked open.

“Top floor.”

“Uh, yeah, OK. Thanks,” said Cal, but the intercom remained silent.

Mech leaned back and looked up at the towering Gothic construction. “You know something?” he muttered, as Cal and Miz vanished through the doors. “I have a very bad feeling about this…”

* * *

Six flights of rickety-looking, but surprisingly solid stairs later, Cal, Miz and Mech stood outside a door. It was a fairly old-fashioned door, even to Cal’s mind. It was mostly wood, but with a frosted-glass window taking up a pretty large portion of the top half.

Written large on the glass were a series of symbols. As Cal looked at them, the translation chip in his eyeball shifted the shapes around until they formed the words: ‘Deadman Investigations’. Below that, in smaller letters, was: ‘No case too weird*’ and smaller still at the bottom: ‘*Exclusions apply’.

“Should we go in?” Cal whispered.

“How the Hell should I know?” Mech whispered back.

“Maybe we should knock first.”

“Fine. Then knock.”

“You knock.”

“What? No, I’m not— Just knock on the fonking door,” Mech hissed.

Cal bit his lip. “I mean, he did say we should take a seat, and there aren’t any seats out here, which would suggest he meant for us to just come in and…”

“Guys,” said Miz in her normal volume. “Why are you whispering?”

Cal and Mech exchanged a glance. “I don’t know,” Cal admitted.

Miz rolled her eyes and pushed past him. She opened the door into a small reception area, albeit one distinctly lacking in receptionists. There was a small desk in the corner which looked like it had probably come flat-packed and been put together in a rush, an ancient filing cabinet that would almost certainly require mechanical assistance to open, and a row of worn-looking chairs with the padding poking out through rips in the fabric covers.

There were three hooks fixed to the wall just to the left of the door, with identical overcoats and hats hanging from each.

Directly opposite the door they’d come through was another one. This one had the same frosted glass, but with only one word printed on it this time: ‘Office’.

A shape moved behind the glass. The door opened, just enough for a head to appear. Without his hat and overcoat disguise, Dan Deadman looked even worse. Cal tried to smile, but as he was dry-heaving at the time, it wasn’t a particularly convincing one.

“I’m with a client,” Deadman said, in that voice like crumbling granite. “Take a seat. This won’t take long.”

The door closed. A blind was pulled down. “Now, where were we?” asked Deadman, his voice muffled.

Cal and Miz took a seat. The chair groaned worryingly beneath Mizette’s weight, but somehow found the strength to keep standing.

“You think we’ll get to choose our own names?” Cal asked.

Mech shrugged noisily. “No idea.”

From inside the office came a voice. It sounded like chanting.

Cal looked around the reception area. He drummed his hands on his knees. “I hope Loren’s OK,” he said. “D’you think maybe…?”

“We’re not going after her,” said Miz.

“Yeah, man, I thought I made myself pretty clear?” said Mech. “Besides, she’ll be OK. She’s got Splurt with her.”

Cal stood bolt upright. Inside the office, the chanting rose in volume. The blinds clacked against the door, as if moving on a sudden breeze.

“Splurt’s with her!” Cal yelped. He realized he couldn’t decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

He sat down again.

“Great, now I’ve got something else to worry about,” he muttered. “I hope they’re both OK.”

Miz shrugged. “We’ll probably never know.”

“What? What are you talking about?” said Cal. “They’ll be back. Or we’ll find a new ship and—”

“No, ‘we’ won’t,” said Mech. “I already told you, but I’ll say it one more time. I ain’t getting involved. I can’t, man. I just can’t.”

From inside the office there came a drawn-out roaring sort of sound, not unlike a chainsaw. Cal raised his voice to be heard above it.

“What are you so afraid of? I mean… I get it, I don’t really want to go to war either, but you’re an indestructible robot man. You’ve got a dial on your chest that makes you stronger. You’re practically built for fonking war.”

“I was built for war. What, you think I was always like this?” Mech roared. The chainsaw sound spluttered to a stop halfway through, and he lowered his voice.

“You think I was always like this?” he said. He clenched and unclenched his fists. The whirring they made seemed unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. “I was a kid,” he said, picking a spot on the wall and fixing his gaze on it. “Fourteen. Barely. They… recruited us. Me and the other street kids. Most of them older. A few younger. Officially, they were ‘an independent militia organization,’ but they got their money from Zertex, same as the rest.”

Mech shifted on his feet. From inside the office there came a low howling moan, as if a large baboon was having something unpleasant done to it.

“Get your dirty hands off my stapler,” snapped Dan Deadman’s muffled voice. There was a crash, and silence fell again.

“They put guns in our hands, pointed us towards what they told us was ‘the enemy’,” Mech continued. “I watched kids I’d grown up with cut down. I heard their screams. There was one kid – I forget his name – he was standing right in front of me, holding his insides in his hands.”

“Jesus,” Cal muttered.

“Was he OK?” asked Miz.

Cal shot her a sideways glance. “I’m going to hazard a guess at ‘no’.”

“He died. Right there with me watching,” Mech said. His face twitched, as if resisting the memory. “Staring at me with this look that said, ‘Do something. Help me. Why are you just standing there?’”

Something thudded against the other side of the office wall, rattling the filing cabinet. “Oh, so that’s the way you want to play it?” Deadman growled.

Mech gave himself a shake. “Most of the kids I knew, they died in the first few hours. Sometimes, late at night, I’d wonder if they were the lucky ones. See, I got shot, same as the rest of them, ‘cept I lost a leg, not my life. And legs? Well, legs are replaceable.”

Cal looked Mech’s towering metal frame up and down. “So, what? You got shot in, like, every single part of your body? Man, that’s unfortunate.”

“Not quite,” Mech said. “But once I’d lost an arm and the other leg, I guess they figured they may as well go all the way.” He tapped himself on the chest. “This is how I woke up. I ain’t slept since. Ain’t needed to.”

Cal blew out his cheeks. “Well that was a pretty fonking horrifying story. Thanks for sharing.” He looked at Miz. “So, that’s his excuse for not wanting to go to war. What’s yours?”

Miz shrugged and examined her nails. “Because it’s, like, so boring.”

“Fair enough, then,” said Cal, and then a long, piercing scream from the office cut him off before he could say any more. It lasted almost a full thirty seconds, before fading into silence.

The blind behind the frosted glass rolled up. They heard the man on the other side clearing his throat, and then the door opened. Deadman’s shirt was half untucked, and splattered with oily black spots. He nodded at them, then beckoned them in.

“Next.”

Cal and Miz stood up. All three of them exchanged a glance, then Cal led the way into the office.

“Uh, nice place you have here,” said Cal, gazing around at the room. It looked like the bar fight from earlier had relocated here. A chair lay smashed on the bare floorboards. An ornate, vaguely star-shaped symbol had been scrawled on the floor in something red and sticky. Cal chose not to investigate it further.

A large, dusty desk had been toppled over, and more of the oily black substance that stained Deadman’s shirt was plastered across a wall, and across one of the room’s two small windows.

Whoever the guy had been talking to was nowhere to be seen. There were no power tools lying around either, but there was a door that probably led to a closet. Again, Cal decided not to investigate further.

“Sorry. You caught me at a bad time,” said Deadman, picking up the desk with one hand and nudging it towards the center of the room. Cal noted he only used one hand to pick up the desk, because he only appeared to have one hand. Or one arm, for that matter.

A quick look around the room revealed the other arm lying on the floor over by the window. Cal wasn’t sure Deadman was aware of this, but also wasn’t quite sure how best to let him know.

In the end, he settled for pointing, and saying, “Uh…”

Deadman glanced across to the arm and shrugged. Partially. “Huh? Oh, yeah, it’s fine. I’ve got spares.”

He looked around for his chair, saw it broken into pieces, and leaned against the desk, instead. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Cal glanced back at the others. They were both staring at Deadman in mute horror. Miz’s nostrils had clamped tightly closed in an attempt to block out the guy’s odor which was, even to Cal’s far less sensitive aroma palette, somewhat overpowering.

“So, ‘Deadman Investigations,’ huh?” said Cal. “So… what? You’re a space detective?”

“A what?”

“A space detective,” said Cal.

Mech sighed. “Don’t even ask, man. Just let it go,” he warned Deadman.

“I’m a Down Here detective,” said the gumshoe.

“Yeah, but Down Here is… well, it’s in space, isn’t it?”

Deadman frowned. “Only in the sense that everything is in space.”

“I tried that, man,” Mech said. “I tried to explain that, but he don’t listen.”

“Huh,” said Cal. “I guess you’re right. I never thought of it like that.”

“What?!” Mech spluttered. “I’ve told you that a hundred motherfonking times!”

Cal shrugged. “Maybe he just explains it better.”

“I used those same words. I used those exact same words!” Mech protested. “Man, I swear sometimes I want to…” He bit his fist for a moment, then crossed his arms in a sulk. “Just get what we came for.”

Cal turned back to Deadman. “Sorry about him. He gets over-excited. You said you might be able to get us new identities.”

Deadman shook his head. “I said I could get you and your lady friend identities. I don’t know these two.”

“You didn’t know me, either,” Cal pointed out.

“You can tell a lot about a person from the way they fight. And who they choose to fight against,” Deadman said. “I know you enough.”

“Oh. Right,” said Cal. “Well, these two are friends of mine.”

Deadman nodded slowly. Had it been any faster, Cal reckoned, his head might have fallen off. “And what about your lady friend from the bar?”

“She’s… gone,” said Cal. “For now.”

“Huh,” Deadman grunted. “Shame.”

“Not really,” said Miz. She frowned. “And, like, no offence to you, Mr… Stinky dead guy, or whatever, but what are we even doing here? Why do we need new identities?”

Cal opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. “Well,” he began, chuckling. “I mean… Mech? This was your idea. Remind Miz why we need new identities.”

“Let me guess,” said Deadman. “Because you’re stuck here with no way off planet. Because your metal man here, he’s done some reading up on this place. He knows ID is a must-have if you want to survive, and he knows your current identities are too compromised. That about the size of it?”

Mech nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Oh,” said Cal. “And here I thought you just wanted to change your name.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered theatrically to Deadman. “His name’s Gluk Disselpoof. Gluk fonking Disselpoof!”

“That is unfortunate,” said Deadman. He stood up from the desk. “I’ll take your pictures. I’ll make a few calls. We can get you set up within the hour.”

“Ooh! Ooh! Do we get to choose our own names?” asked Cal. “Because I’ve got a few ideas. Off the top of my head, Burt Reynolds, Buck Rogers or Bonnie Tyler. And before you say it, yes, Bonnie can be a man’s name, too.”

Deadman shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. You don’t get to choose.”

“Oh,” said Cal, deflating. “Right.” He pulled together a smile. “Ah, well. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be perfect!”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The door closed behind Cal as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, staring down at the laminated square identification card in his hand. His picture was on it, in a cool sort of hologram that showed him in 3D when he rotated it. He looked OK. Good, even. The picture was fine. The picture was not the problem.

“Nob Muntch?” he said. “I mean… what kind of name is ‘Nob Muntch’?”

“It’s a fine name,” said Mech. He stressed the next word quite emphatically. “Nob.”

“I’m just glad to be out of there,” said Miz. “That guy totally reeked.”

“To be fair, his arm had fallen off,” Cal pointed out. “That’s probably higher on his list of concerns than body odor. Although, he didn’t seem all that bothered about the arm thing, either, but…” He sighed. “Jesus. Nob Muntch.” He looked at the others. “What did you get?”

Mech glanced at his ID. “Thark Dandar.”

“What?!” Cal spluttered. “How come you’re Thark Dandar and I’m Nob Muntch? I want to be Thark Dandar!”

“Well you can’t. Besides, it’s got my picture on it,” said Mech. “Sorry, Nob.”

“Shizznod,” Cal mumbled. “How about you, Miz?”

Miz glanced down at her ID card, then looked again. “You have got to be kidding me,” she said. She held the card up for the others to see. “Lashanda Loren. I’m the new Loren!”

Cal winced. “That is an awkward coincidence,” he said. “Still, ‘Lashanda’ though. That’s got a certain ring to it, right?”

“Lashanda Loren,” Miz said. She scowled. “I sound like a—”

“Porn star?” Cal guessed. “I know, I didn’t like to say, but it totally does.”

“Like a fonking idiot,” Miz said.

“Oh. Yeah. Right,” said Cal. “That, too.”

“Still, it could be worse,” said Mech. “One of us could be called Nob Muntch.” He let out a little gasp. “Oh. Wait.”

“Very funny, Gluk Disselpoof.”

“You mean Thark Dandar.” Mech smirked.

“Whatever.” Cal slipped the ID into his back pocket. “Right. So… what do we do now?”

They stood for a while, listening to the sounds of traffic and footsteps passing the end of the alleyway. They were tucked down a narrow lane, well off the beaten track, but the ever present din of the city was never far away.

“Like I said, we go our own ways,” Mech told him. “It’s safer that way. Anyone looking for us, they’re looking for a group.”

“No,” Cal corrected. “They’re looking for a team.”

“Either way. They ain’t looking for us on our own. We’ve got more chance of blending in if we split up.”

“Uh, hello?” said Miz. “Blending in? Totally not my thing.”

Mech shrugged. “Place this size? They got everything and everyone. You ain’t the only Greyx. I ain’t the only cyborg. You…” He looked to Cal. “Well, you might be the exception. Don’t suppose they got many folks from Earth out here.”

“I think I saw a Five Guys,” said Cal. “But I don’t know if that means anything.”

“My point is, we stay together, we’ll be found. We split up and, I don’t know. Maybe we won’t be. It’s the best chance we have,” Mech said. “Besides, like I already explained, things have not gone well for me since I met you. I’m hoping that if we ain’t together, my life might improve.”

“Yeah, but, no,” Cal began, searching for the right combination of words that would change the cyborg’s mind.

Mech thrust out a hand. Cal stared at it blankly for a few seconds, then reluctantly shook it. “Good luck, man,” said Mech.

“Uh, OK. Yeah,” said Cal, too shell-shocked to say much more. “You, too.”

With a nod, Mech turned and marched along the alleyway. He glanced back, just once, then vanished into the crowd. Miz’s head tick-tocked between the alley’s mouth and Cal. With a sigh, she shot Cal a look that bordered on apologetic. “Sorry,” she said. “Mech, wait up!”

She hurried after him. Cal just watched as she elbowed several pedestrians out of the way and plunged after the cyborg, leaving him alone.

“See ya, guys,” he mumbled.

He looked up at the gray clouds overhead. Still no Loren.

He took out the ID and looked at it again. He wasn’t really sure why, exactly, but suspected it was because he had no idea what else to do, and this was as good a way of stalling as any.

Finally, once he’d studied every last part of the card, he put it back in his pocket.

He patted the pocket, checking the card was still there.

It was.

He interlocked his fingers and stretched, then yawned. It was quite enjoyable.

He tried the same again, but with less success this time.

He blew out his lips, making a sound a bit like a horse.

“Right, then,” he said, then he made his way towards the end of the lane, stepped out, and was swept away by the crowd.

* * *

Down Here was the biggest city Cal had ever visited in what was, by human standards at least, a relatively well-traveled life. He knew this because he was standing on yet another unfamiliar busy sidewalk, studying a van-sized metal billboard onto which was pasted a map.

At first, he hadn’t recognized it as a map. He’d thought it was some sort of modern art exhibit, with billions of randomly scribbled lines marking the page. There was a circle of wood and glass, about the size of a dinner plate, attached to the frame by a long, thin cord, and when he looked through it, the scribbles and marks became just large enough for him to make out streets, buildings and the occasional green park.

After twenty minutes of searching, he’d found a red arrow marked ‘You Are Probably Here’. When he moved the magnifying glass away, the arrow became a tiny red fleck he had to squint to find.

So, he knew where he (probably) was. That didn’t exactly help him figure out what to do next, though. He’d been alone for less than an hour, and already his problems were mounting up. He was getting hungry. He had no place to stay. His name was still Nob Muntch. This was not shaping up to be one of his better days.

He’d spent his last few credits on the fake IDs, but he wasn’t overly worried about that. Back on Earth, he’d always found ways to make money. Admittedly, it usually involved running a con on some unsuspecting rich mark, and the last time he’d tried it, he’d wound up sharing a jail cell with a semi-naked cannibal, but it wasn’t like he was exactly rolling in alternative options.

First thing first, he had to find someone that looked like they had money to spare. That ‘to spare’ part was important. Other grifters he’d known had been content to take everything from their marks, but that had never been Cal’s thing. He took only what he thought they could afford to lose. That was how he’d been able to justify it to himself, and how he could sleep at night.

The only problem was, based on what he’d learned about Parloo, Down Here was stuffed with poor people. Up There, in the vast, majestic cities in the sky, was where the action was. He leaned back and looked up. The cloud layer still blocked most of the sky, but he could see the occasional glimpse of electric blue from the engines holding the cities aloft.

“Uh, excuse me,” he said, stepping into the path of an anxious-looking woman with a head that instantly made him think of bananas. The woman darted around him, her expression turning to one of absolute terror before she was lost in the crowds.

“Hey. Hi. Sorry, can I…?” he asked another passer-by. The look this one gave him was far more aggressive than frightened, then he, too, was swallowed by the throngs.

Cal tried a few more times to get someone’s attention.

“Hey there!”

“Sorry to bother you…

“Look, don’t run, OK? I’m not going to… Wait, come back!”

He grabbed at thin air in frustration, like he could somehow choke the life right out of it. Then, once he’d realized this was making everyone give him an even wider berth, he stopped.

With a grunt of effort, Cal heaved himself onto the billboard map and clambered all the way to the top. Wobbling unsteadily, he looked out over the heads of the city’s pedestrians, clapped his hands several times, then cupped them around his mouth.

“Attention, please!” he called. Most people pointedly ignored him, but a few looked his way. “Can anyone tell me how I can get Up There? Is there, like, a cab service, or, I don’t know, an elevator or…?”

Something struck him in the center of the chest with a faint whump. It didn’t hit him hard, and it didn’t hurt, but it somehow stuck there, a few inches below his neck. It was the size and shape of a hockey puck, with a blinking green light right in the middle.

“What fresh Hell is this now?” Cal muttered, and then the device began to vibrate.

Something like an electric shock snapped him to attention and made his whole body go rigid. He felt his muscles contract uncomfortably, but it didn’t hurt, exactly. What did hurt, however, was when he toppled backwards like a fallen tree, and cracked his head on the sidewalk.

He tried to say something – “Ow,” probably – but his teeth were clamped together, his throat was tight, and there was a fluttering darkness rapidly creeping in from the corners of the sky. Cal saw the clouds go from gray to black. He saw a figure, all in white, step over him.

And then, he saw nothing at all.

* * *

Cal sat up with a start, a gasp, and a jumble of incomprehensible vowels tumbling from his mouth. He was in a perfectly white, almost featureless room, and had been asleep at a long white table made of some sort of space plastic, to which both his hands were currently chained. His chair was at one end of the table, while a female alien with a long, beak-like nose and beady, cynical eyes, sat at the other end, watching him. Unlike Cal, she appeared to be free to come and go as she pleased.

The fake ID sat almost directly between them on the tabletop. There was a jug of water and an empty glass beside it. Cal smacked his dry lips together. A drink would be good, right about now. It might help with the drum solo currently pounding inside his skull.

“The Jolter has that effect,” said the woman. Her voice was as clipped and officious as her face suggested.

Cal frowned. “Huh?”

“You’re thirsty. Everyone is always thirsty.”

“Oh. Yeah. Can I get a drink?”

“Yes. But not yet,” said the woman. She shuffled a small stack of what looked like index cards. “Tell me, Mr Muntch, have you been Down Here long?”

It took Cal a few seconds to remember that he was the Mr Muntch she was referring to. “Hmm? Oh, uh, no, not really.”

The woman nodded curtly. “Uh-huh,” she said, clicking her tongue against her teeth.

Cal could vaguely recall his skull smashing against the ground. That wasn’t the spot where his headache was stemming from, so he guessed any damage he’d sustained had healed up. He tried to reach back there to feel for any bumps, but the chain restraints were too short to get his hands high enough. It wouldn’t occur to him until several hours later that he could just have lowered his head.

“What is this about…?” Cal spotted a name badge on the woman’s pristinely white suit. “Uh… Cellophane?”

“It’s pronounced ‘Kellofeen,’” the woman corrected in a sort of dull monotone that suggested she had to say that exact phrase a hundred times a day. “And this was originally about you causing a public disturbance, but that was before we uncovered a much more serious matter.”

“Oh,” said Cal. He locked and loaded one of his more charming smiles. “Huh. Really? Did you? Interesting. I can’t imagine what that might be.”

He glanced at the fake ID and ratcheted the smile up another few notches. “I mean, how serious are we talking, exactly?”

“Very serious,” said Cellophane, and her expression definitely backed that up. “The most serious crime of all.”

Cal gulped. “Murder?” he asked. “No, wait. It’s not genocide, is it? Because that wasn’t my fault.”

“Worse!” Cellophane spat.

“Worse than genocide?” Cal thought for a moment, but came up blank. “Double genocide?”

“You are unemployed, Mr Muntch.”

Cal blinked. “Sorry?”

Cellophane leapt to her feet and slammed both hands on the table with a sharp, sudden bang that echoed around the starkly bare room. “Unemployed, sir! You are not in employment!”

She glared at him with such ferocity he was sure he shrunk a full inch and a half. “Uh, yeah. I guess. Is that a problem? I mean, you know, compared to genocide?”

Cellophane continued her glaring for several lingering seconds, then lowered herself back into her chair. “This is a city of full employment, Mr Muntch. Full. Employment. We are proud of that fact, and we do not tolerate shirkers or malingerers Down Here. Everyone in the city works. Everyone contributes. Everyone plays their part.”

“Gotcha,” said Cal. “It’s just, like I say, I haven’t been here long.”

“According to our records, Mr Muntch, you have lived here for several years.”

Cal’s eyes crept to the ID card. “Ha! Really? Has it been that long? Wow. Time flies, doesn’t it?” He shrugged. “Well, you got me. I’ll go out and find myself a job right away. If you could just…” He held up the chains and rattled them encouragingly. Along the table Cellophane stared at him and shuffled her cards.

“I have taken your education and experience into account, and matched you with some available opportunities,” she said. “As you have neither education nor experience, these opportunities are limited. However, I’m sure you’ll agree, any one of them is better than the alternative.”

“What’s the alternative?” Cal asked.

“Death, Mr Muntch. The alternative is death.”

Cal sighed. Yep. This definitely was not turning out to be one of his better days.

“OK, then let’s hear them. What have you got?” Cal asked.

Cellophane’s eyes flicked to the first card. “A position has opened up in the Mines of Poktar.”

Cal leaned back in surprise. “Oh! Huh. OK. That sounds… interesting. What does it involve? Like, walking into the wind, trapped in an invisible box, or whatever?”

Cellophane gazed impassively back at him. “It involves digging holes in the ground.”

“What? Oh, the Mines of Poktar? Sorry, totally misheard. God, no, not that one. What else do you have?”

She flicked to the next card. Her nostrils flared and her lips thinned in distaste. “Late night attendant at Schmargart’s strip club.”

Cal raised his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

“Duties would include serving drinks, taking tickets, and mopping… organic fluids from the protective glass screens surrounding—”

“Nope! Next.”

That card went to the back of the stack. Cellophane read the next one. “Ship valeter.”

“Ship valeter?” said Cal. “As in…?”

“As in someone who valets ships,” Cellophane replied. “Duties include cleaning inside and outside of vehicles, dealing with customers, and the safe disposal of chemical liquids. Must have good attention to detail, and own sponge.” She looked Cal up and down, silently appraising how likely he was to possess either of these qualities. “Do you have your own sponge, Mr Muntch?”

“Are you kidding me? You know what people call me? They call me ‘the Spongeinator’. I don’t have a sponge, no. I have a hundred sponges.”

“Why?”

Cal hadn’t been prepared for that. “Why?” he snorted. He licked his dry lips. “Why what?”

“Why do you have a hundred sponges?” Cellophane asked. “That seems like too many.”

“Well… that may be. To me, it seems like not enough!” Cal said, fully committing to the sponge thing. “More sponges, I say! Sponges for everyone!”

“We could provide you with a sponge, if required,” Cellophane said.

Cal nodded and quietly cleared his throat. “OK. Yes. That would be helpful. Thanks.”

Cellophane set the other cards down on the table, retaining only the top one. She began to tap on the desktop beside her. As she did, symbols illuminated briefly beneath her fingertips. Her eyes darted back and forth between the card and the table, as her fingers continued to drum out the increasingly lengthy series of keystrokes.

“Can I get a drink now?” Cal asked.

“Not yet.”

She continued tapping.

Cal eyed the jug of water. Condensation clung coquettishly to the outside of the curved glass, teasing him. God, it looked good.

“It’s just… I’m really thirsty.”

Cellophane’s typing faltered, then stopped. She looked from the card to her keypad and back again a few times, then fixed Cal with a somber stare as she held down a single button – presumably the backspace – for several seconds.

“Not yet,” she said again, then she very deliberately returned her eyes to the card and went back to tapping.

A number of minutes later – fewer than ten, but more than five, Cal reckoned – Cellophane stopped typing. There was a snarky-sounding bleep from the tabletop, and the woman made a tutting sound with her nose.

“They require an aptitude test,” she announced.

“An aptitude test? For using a sponge?” said Cal.

Cellophane nodded. “I’ve arranged for you to take the test within the hour. If all goes well, that should be the last you ever see of me. If it doesn’t… Well, let’s just hope that isn’t the case.”

“OK, sounds like a plan,” said Cal. “Now, can I get some water?”

Cellophane placed her card on the table with a click and reached for the jug. “I’m afraid this is for me, Mr Muntch,” she said, pouring herself a glass. “But you’re going to work at a ship wash. Soon, you’ll have all the water you could ever need.”

* * *

A little over three hours later, Cal sat back at the same white table in the same white room, held in place by the same metal chains as last time.

“Well, Mr Muntch,” said Cellophane, as she slowly tore one of her cards in two. “That didn’t go well, did it?”

The aptitude test had started well enough. Tanso, the owner, had been impressed at how quickly Cal had grasped the main thrust of the business – ‘make dirty ships clean’ – and, Cal liked to believe, was suitably dazzled by his sponge-wrangling skills.

Cal, for his part, quite liked Tanso and the other guys on the crew. Most of them were native Parlooqs, and their meticulous slowness made the speed of Cal’s sponge-work appear almost supernaturally fast by comparison. They were a pretty fun bunch, though, as long as you weren’t in any kind of rush, and that had been the problem.

It was the third customer that had done it. He was short, but wide, and wore a suit that practically had, ‘Ooh, someone’s doing well for themselves,’ emblazoned across all four tailored sleeves.

He’d flown down in something that looked like a pond-skater, with long thin legs that somehow managed to sparkle in the weak, cloud-filtered light. As far as size went, it was considerably smaller than the Untitled, but could probably have held five or so people at a push, as long as none of them valued their own personal space too highly.

Cal knew absolutely nothing about the ship’s performance, but its insect-like legs and chunky curves immediately won him round. This was the ship he was going to steal, he knew. If it couldn’t get him to Loren, it could at least get him Up There, and from there he could make plans to get off-planet.

The problem started when the customer opened his mouth. The Parlooqs always did an excellent job, but they did it slowly. Tanso had even turned it into a gimmick - ‘Ships cleaned while U wait a long time!’ – and the first couple of customers had known exactly what to expect.

When the guy in the suit started first shouting instructions, then firing insults at the Parlooqs, Cal had tried to ignore it. He’d filled his bucket, soaked his sponge, and set to work.

But they were nice guys. Too nice to have to listen to the things being shouted at them from the waiting area. Cal had felt the shame and embarrassment radiating off them in waves as they’d tried to fight against generations of evolution and hurry up. They just didn’t have it in them, though, and after listening to one too many bellowed slurs, Cal had force-fed the guy his sponge.

Tanso had not been as understanding as Cal had hoped, given the fact the customer had been abusing his staff. Midway through the next clean, another hockey puck sized device had landed on Cal’s back. He’d snapped to attention as electricity had jolted through him, and then found himself back here, as if the whole episode at the car wash had been a dream.

“It could have gone better,” Cal agreed. “I don’t know what came over me. But, to be fair, the guy was a total shizznod, and deserved everything he got.” He shifted uncomfortably. “However, I’m afraid I’m unable to return your sponge at the present time. Sorry about that.”

Cellophane exhaled through her long nose. “Do you wish to die, Mr Muntch? Is that your goal?”

“What? No,” said Cal. “It was just a misunderstanding, that’s all. Can I try again?”

“No. No, you can’t,” said Cellophane. She opened her hands, then clasped them together, signifying the conversation had reached its end, and that Cal’s life wouldn’t be far behind.

“There must be something I can do. There’s got to be another job. What about one of those other ones you mentioned? I can do one of them.”

“Gone,” said Cellophane. “All gone.”

“There has to be something,” Cal said. He smiled the best smile he could manage. “Right?”

Cellophane rolled her tongue around in her mouth, as if trying to wrestle it into submission. Finally, she tapped the hidden keyboard in her table. Cal tried prodding around on his end of the table, in case he had one, too. He didn’t.

“Oh. It seems you might be in luck, Mr Muntch. Following an… unfortunate incident in the workplace, a position has, in fact, become available.”

“Great! I’ll take it, whatever it is. Miner. Jizz-mopper. I’ll do it. Is there an aptitude test?”

“Not for this.”

“Even better! When do I start?”

Tap. Tap-tap.

“Tomorrow morning. I’ll just need to take a few details, like your address.”

Cal hesitated. “My address?”

“Yes,” said Cellophane. She lowered her head and peered at him, as if over a pair of invisible spectacles. “You do have an address, Mr Muntch?”

“Not currently,” said Cal. “I’m kind of between apartments at the moment. You know how it is.”

“No. I don’t.”

Tap-tap. Tap.

“In luck again, Mr Muntch. The position offers optional accommodation. Shared, of course, and in the Stagnates, but better than nothing.” Her head tilted slightly left to right, as she weighed this up. “Although, perhaps only just.”

“It’s a tempting offer,” Cal admitted. “You know, since it’d mean I wouldn’t have to die, or anything.” He thought for a moment, then nodded. “Deal. I’ll take it.”

“Excellent,” said Cellophane. She began tapping again. Cal waited until she was finished, this time, rather than interrupt.

“One question,” he said. “What’s the job?”

The desktop let out its overly-critical ding again. Cellophane steepled her fingers in front of her, and leaned forwards onto her elbows.

“Tell me, Mr Muntch,” she said. “Are you familiar with ‘Nana Joan’s’?”

CHAPTER NINE

Loren checked the controls, watched the stars streaking across the screen for a few seconds, then checked the controls again. She was trying not to think too much about Cal and the others. This was being made more difficult by Splurt, who had taken the form of Cal, and was sitting in his chair, glaring at her accusingly, while drumming his fingers on his arm rests.

“Look, I had to, OK?” Loren said, for the fifth or sixth time since they’d left Parloo. “He’ll understand. They’ll all understand.”

Splurt/Cal continued to drum his fingers.

“And it’s not like I’m abandoning them. Once I speak to Dash – once I sort this out – we’ll go back for them. This time tomorrow, we’ll all be laughing about this. Trust me.”

“I’m not convinced he’s buying it, ma’am,” intoned Kevin.

Loren glanced back over her shoulder. Splurt glared at her through Cal’s eyes.

“Yeah. I think you’re right,” said Loren. She looked up. “You believe me, though. Right, Kevin?”

“Well, that isn’t really my place to say.”

Loren shrugged, then checked the controls. “OK.”

“But I will say if you want me to.”

“It’s fine.”

“Well, I’m going to tell you, anyway,” Kevin informed her. “Here’s what I think, since you asked.”

“I didn’t. Well, I did, but I changed my mind.”

“Well, let’s pretend that you didn’t change your mind. Here’s what I think. I think you most probably intend to go back for them. I think you have every intention of attending to matters with the Symmorium, then returning to Parloo to retrieve the others.”

Loren turned to Splurt and gave a satisfied nod. “Thank you, Kevin. See?”

“I’m not finished,” said Kevin. “I think you intend to go back, but I do not believe that you ultimately will. While I have not known any of you long, it is obvious that the only reason you have survived any of your more recent exploits is because you did so as a group. Together.

“Where would any one of you have been when confronted with Kornack, for example?” Kevin asked. “Would you have been able to return Miss Sooss safely to her parents by yourself? And then deal with the subsequent complications?”

“Well, no, but—”

“By which I mean the giant spider.”

“Yes, I know, but… I’m not doing anything like that. I just want to talk to my brother.”

“The Symmorium made it clear they would not allow it,” Kevin reminded her.

“I have to try,” said Loren. “He’s family.”

“And that, ultimately, is why I don’t believe you will ever make it back to the others, ma’am,” Kevin said. “You have forgotten who your real family are.”

There was a moment of silence while Loren considered this.

“Also, there are eight Xandrie attack ships in pursuit and preparing to fire,” Kevin said.

“What?!” Loren spluttered, eyeing the sensors.

“Sorry, I possibly should have mentioned those earlier.”

Loren gritted her teeth. “Oh, you think?” she snapped, gripping the controls. “Kevin, get ready on weapons. Splurt, hold onto something!” She lowered her voice, addressing the next comment mostly to herself. “This could be about to get messy.”

* * *

Several hundred million miles away, Cal plodded through a narrow, cave-like tunnel, a bundle of thin, grubby towels and face cloths in his arms. Metal doors lined both sides of the rocky passageway, and Cal was reminded of those long walks on his first day in a new prison, passing all the other cells on the way to his own.

Eyes peered out at him through the barred windows in the closed doors. A few others stood partly open, and Cal caught glimpses of metal bunks, or empty slop buckets or, on one occasion that would likely haunt him forever, a particularly full slop bucket. Quite what it was full with, he had no idea, and prayed to any and all available gods that he never had the misfortune of finding out.

A uniformed man strode a few paces ahead of him, a cattle-prod-like shock rod weapon held at the ready. He had introduced himself as a ‘Resettlement Specialist,’ presumably because ‘Concentration Camp Guard’ had already been taken.

The Resettlement Specialist stopped outside a metal door that looked exactly like every other metal door they’d passed – aside from a few that had been smeared with blood and excrement – and performed quite a complicated about-turn that involved lots of high-knee action and swinging of arms.

“Nana Joan’s?” he said, so sharply and suddenly that it took a full three seconds for Cal’s brain to recover from the surprise.

“Huh? What? Yes. I mean… yes. That’s right.” Cal looked the door over. “Is this it?”

“This is your assigned living space,” the official explained. “You will find the rules clearly displayed on the wall within, and at any of the Re-Education Centers through the Stagnates. Follow them to the letter, and your presence here will be permitted.”

“Jesus. Re-Education Centers?” Cal said. He’d clearly meant it as a question, but the Resettlement Specialist was now engaged in another turning procedure, and either didn’t hear him or chose not to bother answering. Perhaps, Cal thought, it was just as well.

“Ha-hip!” the man said, for reasons best known to himself, then off he went, arms and legs swinging as he marched back the way they had come.

“Thanks for all the help,” Cal called after him. “And good luck with everything. Keep reaching for those dreams. I’m sure you’ll make an awesome Nazi someday.”

His voice echoed off along the passageways, and then bounced back at him, as if in reply. Cal looked at the door in front of him. The metal was pock-marked with scratches and dents, but it was mercifully free of body fluids. The little barred window had been covered by something on the other side, making it impossible for him to see through.

“Well, here goes,” he said, tucking his towels under one arm and reaching for the door handle. It was only then that he noticed the door didn’t have one. In fact, it didn’t appear to have any means of opening it at all.

He tried to give it a push, but it didn’t budge. He knocked, but the metal was too dense to do anything but hurt his knuckles.

He leaned forwards so his face was as close to the tightly-spaced window bars as he dared get without risking getting his nose stuck. “Uh, hello? Anyone in there? New recruit out here.” He glanced along the dimly-lit and roughly-hewn corridor. “I’d quite like to get inside now,” he muttered.

“Please state your name.”

The voice emerged from somewhere behind the door. It was female, but completely lacking in anything even remotely resembling warmth.

“Oh, hi there!” said Cal, brightly.

“Name not recognized,” the voice said, and Cal realized he was talking to a computer.

“Cal Carver.”

“Name not recognized.”

“Shizz, no, wait!”

“Name not recognized.”

Cal sighed. “Nob Muntch.”

“Name recognized. Welcome home, Nob Muntch.”

“Jesus,” Cal muttered. “Please tell me you’re not going to say that every time.”

What followed was the sound of a large number of locks disengaging. It went on for a good twenty seconds or more. This was already a solid-looking door, and Cal didn’t want to think too much about why it needed quite so many locks.

With a final buzz, the door clicked off the latch and swung open a few inches. Cal pushed it the rest of the way, and was confronted by three anxious faces, all lined up in a row. Or rather, by two anxious faces lined up in a row, and a third, less-anxious face, three feet lower down.

All three of them were, he guessed, male. He got the impression they were young-ish, but couldn’t quite say why. The condition of their skin, maybe, or that slight awkwardness to them that suggested they hadn’t quite mastered how their faces and limbs all operated yet.

“Uh, hi,” said Cal.

The left-most face trembled violently, like it was about to explode, but was, in fact, just nodding very quickly. “Why, hello dere, Mister!” it said, in a suspiciously booming voice. “How be you be doing dere today?”

The other two turned to look at him. “Why are you talking like that?” asked the little one.

“Yeah, Higgsy, what gives?” asked the other. “You sound like a freaking idiot.”

Higgsy blushed. At least, Cal thought he did. His face was orange, pock-marked with angry red acne, and a full fifty per cent larger than his body size suggested it should be. It gave the impression he was in the midst of a serious allergic reaction to something, and just seconds away from full anaphylactic shock. His eyes – all four of them - were also oversized, although that could have been something to do with the lenses of the goggle-like double-decker glasses he wore.

“I don’t know,” Higgsy admitted in a much higher and more nasal tone. “I just panicked. I’m not good around new people.” He wrung his pudgy hands and shot Cal a look of absolute anguish. “I’m not good around new people.”

“Sorry, he’s a total freaking idiot,” said Higgsy’s slightly taller friend.

This one had one of the most interesting skull-shapes Cal had ever seen. From the front, it looked like a tall rectangle, but when he turned sideways, the top part of his head stretched backward until it formed a point, before curving back down until it met the top of his neck. He looked like a particularly aerodynamic cycling helmet had been implanted beneath his milky-white skin.

There were dark panda-like patches under his eyes, but Cal couldn’t tell if that was normal for his species, or if he’d just had a particularly late night recently. His lips were a matching shade of black, though, so probably the former.

Most striking of all were his eyes themselves. They were almost a negative image of an eye, with the white bit black and the black bit white. Between the two was a faint iris of silver that brightened and faded as he spoke.

“Jork. Jork Doost,” he said, giving Cal a complicated three-finger wave.

“Uh, OK,” said Cal. “Hi.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Higgsy fretted. “I’m just not good around new people.” He patted his chest a few times and breathed deeply.

Jork rolled his eyes. “Total freaking idiot,” he reiterated.

Cal looked down at the smallest of the room’s occupants. He looked almost ‘normal’ – right number of facial features, head the correct shape and in proportion to the rest of his body, eyes not in the least bit freaky or weird. Even his skin was a hearty olive sort of tone that would have gone completely unremarked upon on Earth, albeit with a slightly glittering green sparkle effect on his temples and below his jawline. The most notable feature about him was his height – or lack of it. The top of his head barely reached the middle of Cal’s thighs

“And what’s your name, little fella?” Cal asked, smiling down.

A hush fell over the room. The temperature seemed to drop a full degree, and Higgsy’s hand-wringing increased in both pace and vigor.

The little guy rubbed his tongue against the inside of his teeth, then clicked it against the roof of his mouth. “OK, here’s the thing,” he said. “You’re new. Going by that accent, you’re from out of town. You don’t know me, I don’t know you. Mistakes were made. These things happen.”

His doll-sized face scrunched up angrily. “But if you ever refer to me as ‘little fella’ or words to that effect again, I’m gonna make you eat yourself, feet first. You got me? You’ll be a circle, feet in your mouth, just gnawing on bone, on your own fonking bone, chewing yourself up, like nananan. Choking on your own fonking feet.”

“Jesus,” said Cal.

“And you know what I’ll be doing? I’ll be dancing. I’ll be watching, and I’ll be dancing.”

He began to jig on the spot and clap his hands to a rhythm only he could hear. “Like so. You like this? Huh, you like this?”

He stopped. “Well, let’s hope, for your sake, you never see it again, because if you do…” He drew a circle in the air with one finger. “Feet to mouth, newbie. Feet to motherfonking mouth.”

“OK, OK. Got it!” said Cal. He thought for a moment. “Is ‘Shorty’ acceptable?”

“Fonk you, newbie! That does it! Hold me back, Jork! Hold me back, I swear!”

“Leave it, Alan, it’s not worth it,” Jork said, putting a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder.

“Alan?” said Cal. “That’s your name? Alan?”

“You gonna start on my name now, is that it?” Alan snapped. He raised his toddler-sized fists. “Oh, you got it coming now, newbie. You have got it coming now.”

“Don’t do it, Alan!” Higgsy yelped.

“Yeah, Alan, don’t. It’s not worth it!” agreed Jork.

Cal looked across the three faces, one furious, two concerned. “Do what? What’s he going to do?”

“He’s a Kholo,” Jork explained. “He’ll get super big and super strong, and he’ll tear this whole place down.”

“I will tear this whole place down!”

Cal looked from Alan to Jork and back again. “What, like a midget Hulk? How big are we talking?” He held his hand around shoulder-height. “Like yay high, or…?”

Alan began to breathe deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Oh, man, it’s starting. I can feel it. Oh, you’re in trouble now, newbie. Shizz just got real. You’re in trouble now!”

“We’re all going to die!” squeaked Higgsy.

“Calm, Alan, calm,” soothed Jork. “Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out.”

“I know how to breathe!” Alan snapped. He continued inhaling and exhaling, all the while glaring up at Cal.

“OK, look, sorry,” said Cal. “I was out of line. Alan, I apologize. Higgsy, Jork, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Cal.”

Higgsy’s already terror-stricken expression became even more so. “You mean you aren’t Nob Muntch?” he gasped. “Stranger danger, stranger danger!”

Cal produced his ID. “No, I mean, yes, I am. But most people call me Cal.”

Jork looked down at Alan to make sure he wasn’t about to explode, then took the ID and examined it. As well as looking at it, this also involved sniffing it and licking one of the corners. “Seems legit,” he said. “So how come people call you ‘Cal’?”

“No idea,” Cal said. He shrugged. “Never thought to ask.”

He looked around the room. It was exactly as cell-like as he’d expected from the glimpses he’d viewed of the other rooms. Two sets of bunk beds stood against opposite walls, running almost the full length of the cell. Beyond the barred one in the door, there were no windows anywhere, but then the entire complex was a five minute elevator ride underground, so that didn’t exactly come as a surprise.

There was a large cardboard box which seemed to be full of clothes, two buckets in the corner – one large, the other much smaller – and a plastic shower curtain that was presumably designed to offer some modicum of privacy while using said buckets.

The floor was concrete. The walls were brick. The ceiling was rough, exposed rock that had been more or less untouched, beyond the occasional piece of graffiti etched into it above the topmost bunks.

“It’s not much,” said Jork. “But you get used to it.”

“Right,” said Cal. “But I don’t plan staying long. This is just a temporary thing.”

Jork and Alan both grinned. Even Higgsy stopped fretting for a moment and managed something resembling a smirk.

“Yeah. Sure,” said Jork. “Temporary. Got it.”

“It is,” said Cal. “I’ve got a friend, she’s… away right now, but she’ll be back.”

“Oh, the newbie’s got a friend!” said Alan. “Ain’t that nice? He’s got a friend.”

“Listen, Nob,” Jork began.

“Cal.”

“Listen, Cal. We get it. We do. When I first started at Nana Joan’s, I didn’t intend sticking around, either. I had plans, you know? I was going to get off-world, see the stars, have adventures!” Jork’s smile became a shade or two less convincing. “That was four years ago. Haven’t seen a single star, yet.”

“Yeah, well I have,” said Cal. “Lots, actually.”

“Well, I hope you made the most of it,” said Alan. “Because you ain’t going to be seeing any more of them any time soon.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” said Cal. He took another look around the room, then dumped his towels on the only unmade bed. It was one of the two bottom bunks. He’d have preferred to be up top, but it’d be fine for a night or two. Just until Loren came back, or he found a way to get Up There. “So, you guys all work at Nana Joan’s, right?”

Higgsy shrunk back at the mention of the name, which Cal reckoned probably wasn’t a good sign.

“We do,” said Jork. He glanced at Higgsy. “Some of us longer than others, but… yeah. We do.”

“What is it?” Cal asked.

The others looked confused. “What?” said Alan. “What do you mean? You ain’t never heard of Nana Joan’s?”

“No.”

“You seriously haven’t heard of Nana Joan’s?” Jork asked.

“No.”

“He hasn’t heard of Nana Joan’s?” Higgsy added, his puffy brow creasing in confusion.

“No! Jesus Christ. I haven’t heard of Nana Joan’s! I think we’ve now established that,” said Cal.

Higgsy blinked and backed off in alarm. Cal sighed and raised both hands. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s been a long day.” He smiled as warmly as he could. “What’s Nana Joan’s?”

Jork chewed his black lips for a moment, as if trying to find the right words. “If you’re a customer - I mean, if you’re dining there - it’s whatever you want it to be. You know, within reason.”

“And if you work there?” asked Cal.

It was Alan who answered that one. “Only the worst place in the whole galaxy.”

CHAPTER TEN

Following an uncomfortable and agonizingly short sleep later, that had somehow still seen him get up too late for breakfast, Cal stood on a city street, gazing up at the building before him. It was early – criminally early, Cal would have argued – but already the street was filling up with pedestrians, all rushing to get to wherever it was they were going.

“I don’t get it,” Cal said. The restaurant in front of him didn’t mention Nana Joan. Not unless she was actually a he, and was in business with four other men. “This is a Five Guys. How can it be a Five Guys?”

Jork shrugged. “I don’t know what that is, but like I said, it can be whatever you want it to be.”

“It uses some kind of… mind stuff,” Alan explained, with a level of technical know-how even Cal found a little sketchy on the detail front. “It reaches into your brain and plucks out your favorite food joint, and that’s what you see.”

“It’s a form of psychically-enhanced ultra-targeted personalized advertising,” explained Higgsy, who had calmed down significantly since last night, but still shot Cal the occasional wary glance if he moved too suddenly. “It probes your subconscious and formulates its appearance based on what it finds there.”

“Like I said,” Alan grunted. “Mind stuff.”

“So… what? It’s a mind-reading shop?”

“It’s a mind-reading food joint,” Jork corrected. “It looks the way you want it to look to draw you in, then replicators take your order and serve you up whatever you want to eat.”

“Aha! Right,” said Cal, seizing on a word he understood. “I know about replicators, we’ve got one on my ship.”

“Ha! Yeah. Sure you do, newbie,” said Alan. He began pushing the restaurant’s swing door with both hands. It barely budged. “Someone give me some help here before I freak out and smash this thing to pieces.”

Higgsy reached a puffy-fingered hand over and pushed the door open. “There you go, Alan.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Any time! Always happy to help a friend.”

Alan shrugged. “Yeah, well, I ain’t your friend. We’re colleagues. I thought I’d explained the distinction?”

“Sorry, Alan. Sorry, I forgot,” said Higgsy, lowering his head.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I forgot.”

“It’s done. It’s dusted. Forget about it. I will say this - you’re an exceptional colleague,” Alan told him. “I just don’t like you. You know, on a personal level.”

They stepped inside, with Jork and Cal following.

“So if the replicators take the orders and serve the food,” asked Cal, “then what do we do?”

“We clean,” said Jork, and Cal immediately concluded that this was the understatement of the fonking century.

There were two hundred or more tables in the place, surrounded by benches, chairs and – to a lesser extent – space chairs. This last category, Cal reserved for seating that had been designed with the more eclectically-built alien in mind. They were all different in their own ways. Some had spaces for tails to slot through. Others had twice as many arm rests, or were reinforced with metal girders, or had a place for a second ass to sit.

On top of each table were discarded trays, dirty dishes, crumpled napkins, empty soda cups, greasy food boxes, and a whole variety of food-related debris, from sauce-covered bones to congealing lumps of something that looked like meat, but smelled like cheese. And not good cheese, either.

Sticky soda puddles dotted the trash-strewn floor. Fat, hornet-sized flies buzzed around a little mound of something that might, at best, be vomit. The stench of the place was almost unbearable, and Cal had to cover his nose and mouth with his arm to stop himself giving the flies a second helping.

“Jesus. OK, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Seen enough. I’m out.”

“What? No! You can’t go,” Higgsy said. “It’s not allowed. You’ll get in trouble.”

“I’ll take my chances,” said Cal.

He about-turned towards the exit. A small, cheerful-looking woman with puffy hair that closely resembled pale blue cotton candy stood between him and the door. She was around five feet tall, with a football-shaped face that was far wider than it was high. A liberal application of make-up had been applied to it, possibly with some kind of trowel-like implement. The make-up was presumably designed to hide her wrinkles, but only served to draw attention to them.

She had appeared silently, with nothing to indicate where she’d come from. Cal, however, seemed to be the only one surprised by her presence.

“What the—?” he spluttered, before composing himself. “Um. Sorry. Excuse me, lady. I was just leaving.”

As Cal tried to pass, the old lady’s puckered lips curved into a smile, and she laid a hand against his chest.

“Not so fast, dearie,” she said, in a voice that made Cal think of every grandmother who had ever lived. “You must be Nob.”

“Uh, yeah, something like that,” said Cal. He pointed towards the door. “But, like I say, I was just leaving, so if you don’t mind...”

He tried to push past her, but her hand stopped him going anywhere. It was like pushing against an iron girder. The woman’s smile stayed fixed in place.

“I’m afraid not, dear. You see, you work for me now. You don’t leave until I say you can.” The woman looked past Cal to the other three. “Boys? Aren’t you going to get to work? Wouldn’t want to be late now, would you?”

“Yes, Nana,” said Jork, ducking and bowing as he backed away. “I mean, no, Nana.”

“Thank you, Nana,” added Higgsy.

Alan didn’t bow or scrape like the others, but he did make a hasty retreat alongside them.

“So, yeah, anyway,” Cal began, but the old woman held up a finger and waited until the other three had vanished through a door leading to the back.

“Now, then, dear,” she smiled. “What were you saying?”

“You’re Nana Joan?”

“I am.” She lowered her hand. “I’m sorry I had to stop you leaving like that. I understand, it can be a little overwhelming when you first see it. The morning clean-up is one of the worst aspects of the job, and last night was particularly busy. It does get better, I assure you.”

She ratcheted up her smile and gestured towards the door Jork and the others had gone through. “Now, if you’d be so good as to join your workmates, we can get this place looking ship-shape.”

Cal glanced back at the restaurant. It looked as if the whole place had been trash-bombed from orbit. He shook his head and side-stepped past the proprietor. “Yeah, I’m going to pass,” he said. “Thank you for the opportunity. It was a pleasure to meet you. Good luck with everything.”

He’d barely gone a single step when the heel of Nana Joan’s hand struck his chest. There was a brief but all-consuming moment of pain, then he was suddenly moving at a much higher speed than he had been just a moment ago.

Backwards, too. That was unexpected.

His brain had just begun to warn his body to brace itself when he slammed into one of the tables. To the dismay of Cal’s skeleton, the table was very firmly fixed to the floor. Something that felt important snapped in his lower back region as he flipped awkwardly over the table, kneed himself in the face with both knees, then flopped onto the gooey scattered remains of a deeply unpleasant-smelling meal.

“Ooh, that’s not good,” he grimaced. He tried to stand, but his lower body wasn’t responding. “Shizz. My legs. I can’t feel my legs!”

There was a tingling in Cal’s lower back as his body hastily repaired itself. “No, wait, I tell a lie,” he said. He got to his feet in time for a flying plastic tray to whang him across the bridge of the nose. “Ow! Jesus! What the Hell, lady?”

THUNK. Another tray struck him on the forehead, snapping his head back.

“Fonk! Cut it out! Last warning,” Cal said.

Nana Joan ran at him, moving surprisingly quickly for a woman of her advanced years. Cal dodged around the table, keeping his distance. She still had that smile plastered on her face, but it had become even less convincing than her make-up.

“Back off, you mad old cow!” he cried, shoving a two-assed space chair between them as he continued around the table. “Look, I’m just going to leave, OK?”

He turned and ran for the door, tossing a couple of chairs behind him to slow the old woman’s pursuit. He was halfway to the exit when he saw the shadow growing around him. A quick glance back over his shoulder confirmed his suspicions – Nana Joan had launched herself off a table and was hurtling through the air towards him, her grin almost splitting her face in two.

Operating on instinct, Cal caught her with both hands and used her own momentum against her. “Fonk off!” he cried, sending her sailing towards another of the rigidly-fixed tables. She hit it hard, slid across it, then clattered into a wooden bench on the other side.

A fleeting moment of guilt made Cal hesitate, but then he was hurrying for the door again, determined to get out of there before—

The bench slammed against the side of his head, sending him staggering into an overflowing trash can. Annoyingly, unlike the tables, it wasn’t fixed to the floor, and his attempts to use it to steady himself failed pretty spectacularly. He went down in an avalanche of food waste and cardboard, slid several feet on a tidal wave of soda, then scrambled back to his feet in time for the bench to hit him again.

It slammed into his stomach like a battering ram this time, ejecting ninety per cent of his oxygen, and sixty per cent of his will to live out through his mouth in one sudden gasp. Bent double, he managed to look up just as the bench swung down. It struck a hammer blow on the side of his head, buckling his knees and driving him against the floor.

Nana Joan tossed the bench aside and approached the motionless Cal. His eyes were closed, the whole right side of his face already purple and swelling.

“Now, dear, let that be a lesson to you,” the old woman said, then her eyes went wide as Cal jumped awake, grabbed her ankles, and pulled. She flailed her arms as she toppled backwards. As she hit the ground, Cal was getting up, his fingers still wrapped around the bottom of her stocking-covered legs.

“Right, you asked for this,” Cal growled. He turned on the spot, heaving Nana Joan off the floor. The old lady was heavier than she looked, but by the time Cal had done one full rotation, she was swinging freely by the ankles, her arms flapping along behind her.

Thwack-thwack-thwack. She ploughed through several chairs, sending them bouncing across the floor. Cal spun faster, each turn raising Nana higher in the air until she was spinning at his chest height, completely horizontal.

With a final grunt of effort, he let her go. She flew a full fifteen or sixteen feet before slamming so hard into a table it partially tore free of the floor fixings. She bounced off it like a limp rag doll, did a full flip in the air, then face-planted onto a heavily reinforced space chair.

Nana stopped with her legs in the air, her wrinkled stockings and sensible shoes pointing to the strip-lighting on the ceiling. Cal watched the legs for a few moments until he was sure they weren’t going to start moving, gave a satisfied nod, then headed for the door.

Just two or three paces from freedom, Nana Joan’s shoulder hit him in the lower back. Cal’s face battered against the glass door, temporarily breaking his nose. “Ow, shizz!” he grimaced. He tried to turn, but Nana’s arm was suddenly around his throat, her other fist pulverizing his kidney area with a flurry of jackhammer punches.

“Stop it!” Cal hissed. “Jesus, what is wrong with you?”

Placing his feet on the door, he pushed backwards, driving the old woman against another table. She held on tightly, but she stopped punching him, at least. Instead, she reached over his head, stuck a finger up each nostril and pulled.

“Aaargh! Oh God, that hurts! Cut it out!” he yelped. When it was clear she wasn’t going to, he held up his hands in surrender. “OK, uncle, uncle! I give up.”

Nana held on for a few long, painful seconds, then shoved him away. He stumbled against another trash can, almost knocking over a stack of filthy trays.

Cal rubbed his throat as he turned. “I mean, seriously, was there any need for all that violence?” he asked, then he swung with three stacked-together trays, thumping them across the old woman’s cheek. Her head snapped to the right, but her smile didn’t falter. Cal lunged at her with a kick, but she caught his foot and twisted. Something popped in his knee and he briefly babbled in tongues.

One of Nana’s brogues rose sharply between Cal’s legs, the solid, sensible leather finding a couple of soft, exposed targets just waiting there.

Cal crumpled. His brain tried to figure out which of his many pains to focus on first, but couldn’t decide, so gave its full attention to all of them all at once, instead. Fortunately, most of the damage was healing, and Cal could already feel his knee pulling itself back into place.

The ball-shot still stung, though. And not just physically – mentally and, if he were honest, emotionally, too. Since he’d first been dragged into space, those little guys had suffered so much. It was getting to the stage where he felt he probably owed them a written apology, or at the very least a couple of beers and shoulder to cry on.

He looked up to find Nana Joan standing above him, a chair raised above her smiling head. “Wait, wait, OK,” Cal wheezed. “You win. I’ll stay. I’ll stay.”

Nana nodded. “Good. You can start by tidying up the mess you made.” She tossed the chair aside and pushed her smile to its limit. “And if you try to leave without my permission again, I’ll kill you. Understood?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I got it,” Cal said. Nana held a hand out to him. He eyed it suspiciously for a moment, then accepted her help. She hoisted him to his feet in one clean jerk.

“Welcome aboard, dear,” Nana said. She licked her thumb and wiped a smear of blood off Cal’s cheek. “I’m just certain you’re going to love it here!”

* * *

Commander Junta of the Symmorium knew his career was over the moment he allowed Loren aboard the battle cruiser. Subsent Takta hadn’t specifically told him not to allow her aboard, but Junta could read between the lines enough that no such direct order had been necessary. It was simply understood that this was the way things should be.

And yet, this woman, along with her friends, had saved his life, as well as that of his daughter and several good men and women from his crew.

More than that, even, she’d saved the Sentience, the closest thing the Symmorium had to a god. Without the calming influence of the Sentience reaching inside their heads, the entire species would have torn itself apart already, with no need for Zertex to lift a finger.

She was, as far as he was concerned, a hero. He owed her everything, and that was precisely what he was giving her. For what he was about to do, he would be stripped of rank. He would probably be expelled from the Symmorium forces. Depending on the judgement of the Subsents, even death wasn’t out of the question.

But he had made his peace with death, and the woman who had saved everyone he loved was asking for his help.

He stopped outside a cell door. Loren looked it up and down. “Is this it?”

“The murderer is in here,” Junta confirmed. “I am afraid you will not have long. The security protocols I have overridden will soon reset. Subsent Takta and the others will know of your presence then. You have approximately eleven minutes before this happens. If you wish to leave here alive, I suggest you conclude your business before then.”

Loren nodded. “I will. And thanks, Junta. I know you’re taking a risk.”

“Not a risk. A certainty. But it is my honor.” He pressed his hand against a sensor panel on the wall. The panel illuminated as it began its scan. “However, if you make any attempt to free him,” the Symmorium added, “then I shall kill you myself. Is that clear?”

Loren nodded. “Clear.”

“Then go,” Junta said, as the door slid open. “And may you find the answers you seek.”

The room beyond the door was dark, the only light spilling in from the corridor outside. As the door slid closed, the darkness became absolute, before the ceiling began to emit a dim white glow that gradually increased in brightness until the room’s contents were revealed.

Loren felt a gasp snag at the back of her throat. Her brother, Dash, sat on a mattress on the floor, his back stooped, his head hung low. His hands were behind his back, and Loren could only just make out the edge of a set of thick metal manacles holding his wrists together.

He was stripped to his underwear, his bare chest a dot-to-dot puzzle of purple bruises. His hair was shorter than she’d ever seen it, and well below the length Zertex regulations demanded. Had he done that himself, Loren wondered, or had the Symmorium done it to him?

“Dash?”

Dash mumbled something incomprehensible.

“Dash, it’s me. It’s Teela.”

More mumbling, but this time with a rising inflection that suggested a question. Slowly, ever so slowly, Dash raised his head. He tried to focus, but his eyes were red and bloodshot, and his pupils didn’t seem to want to play ball.

“Oh, Dashy,” Loren whispered. “What did you do?”

“N-no. They did this to m-me,” Dash managed to stutter. “Help me.”

Loren’s instinct was to run to him, hug him, tell him everything was going to be OK. He was a year older than her, but he’d always been the baby, the one everyone took care of. He’d never wanted to join Zertex, not really, but it had been expected of him, just as it had been expected of her.

She resisted her urges, and kept her distance.

“You attacked refugee ships. You killed their people.”

“Didn’t know,” Dash whispered. “Was j-just following orders. Didn’t know they were civilian targets. I swear.”

Loren nodded slowly. “OK. Well… That’s something,” she said.

“Help me, Teela,” he sobbed. His lips drew back as he cried, showing his blood-stained teeth. “They’re going to kill me, you have to help me get out of here.”

“I’m not going to help you escape. I’ll talk to them, OK? The Symmorium. They’ll listen to me.”

Dash’s expression changed to one of confusion. “Why? Why would they listen to you?” His frown deepened. “How are you even here? Is this a trick? Is that what this is?”

“No,” said Loren. Her brother was afraid. Agitated. That instinct to rush to his side and just hold him flared again, and this time she took a half-step closer. “They’ll listen because I helped them before. They’re not the bad guys, Dash. Zertex is. Sinclair has set this whole thing up.”

Tears cut tracks down Dash’s grimy face. “You helped them?” he hissed. “What are…? What are you talking about, Teela? Why would you help them?”

“Because, like I say, they’re not the bad guys.”

“Look what they did to me!” Dash roared, springing to his feet. “Look what they did to me, and tell me they’re not the bad guys!”

“You killed refugees. Thousands of refugees. Children, Dash. There were children on those ships.”

“Oh come on, Teela. There are children on every Symmorium ship. They take their kids into battle! And yet somehow I’m the monster here?”

“That’s different,” said Loren.

“How? How is it different?”

Loren’s eyes flitted across her brother’s face. “How can you not know?” she said, a crack in her voice almost betraying her. “How can you not see the difference?”

She stepped back, pulling herself up to her full height. “Sinclair engineered this whole thing. This war. The footage he’s broadcasting everywhere? The video that shows the Symmorium blowing up that moon? Didn’t happen. He faked it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dash spat.

“I know, because I was there. It was my ship that destroyed Pikkish. The ship President Sinclair gave us. He destroyed Pikkish, he killed all those people, not the Symmorium,” Loren said. “And then he sent an invasion force to attack the Symmorium Sentience. He tried to slaughter them all.”

Dash shook his head. “No. No, you’re lying.”

Loren looked away briefly, then met his eye again. “I’m sorry you think that,” she said. “I’ll talk to the Symmorium. I’ll try to convince them not to… I’ll talk to them. OK?”

Dash shrugged, but then nodded. “OK.” He rocked awkwardly from foot to foot, chewing his lip. His bloodshot eyes were suddenly blurred by tears. “Teela,” he said, his throat tight.

“What?”

“I could… I could kinda use a hug right now.”

He looked down at his feet, tears spotting his mattress like raindrops. The last of Loren’s resolve evaporated at the sight of her older baby brother standing there, his shoulders heaving.

“Oh, Dashy,” she said, crossing to him and putting her arms around his shoulders. He buried his head into her neck and sobbed. She pulled him in closer, and felt his arms slip around her as he returned the hug.

“I’m sorry, Teela,” he whispered.

“It’s OK,” she said, smoothing the barely stubble-length hair on the back of his head. “It’s OK. I’ll talk to them. I’ll sort it out.”

“No, not about that,” Dash said. Loren felt his arms move at the back of her neck.

Wait.

Her eyes went to the mattress. Dash’s shackles lay there, open. Loren tried to pull back, but a sharp pain, like a bee sting, plunged into the soft area at the base of her skull.

Dash pulled away, his tears replaced by a grim smile that was already starting to blur before Loren’s eyes.

“About this,” Dash said. He caught Loren before she dropped, then dragged her towards the door.

He knocked on the door three times and waited. Just a few seconds passed before it slid open, revealing two heavily armed Symmorium guards waiting outside. Loren tried to say something – anything – but her tongue was dead and her lips wouldn’t move, and all she could do was watch as Dash stepped between the guards and out into the corridor.

“Everything ready?”

“As you requested,” the Symmorium said. “We have a ship on standby. It has full authorization to leave. You will not be questioned.”

“Good work,” Dash said. “Then let’s go. And let the president know we have her.”

“As you wish,” said the other guard. He reached across to take Loren, but Dash pulled her closer.

“No! I’ll take her,” he said.

Hoisting the increasingly lifeless Loren onto his shoulder, he gestured along the corridor. “You two lead the way, and if anyone gets in our way… Kill them.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Cal stood at a large sink, elbow deep in what was now some pretty grubby water. He’d been given a pair of rubber gloves, but as they barely covered his wrists, they’d filled up the moment he’d stuck his hands in the near supernova-hot liquid.

As he scrubbed another plate – the hundredth? The two hundredth? – he muttered below his breath. He’d been muttering non-stop for an hour or so now, pretty much just the same phrase repeated over and over again.

“Advanced alien race, and they couldn’t come up with a fonking dishwasher.”

There was an old, square (space) television sitting on top of something Cal assumed was a big freezer. He hadn’t looked inside to check, though, just in case it contained more dirty dishes for him to clean.

The TV had presumably been provided to make the time pass more quickly, but it was having the opposite effect on Cal, who could feel the programming slowly driving him insane.

The morning schedule had been a tedious parade of terrible gameshows that appeared to have been produced with no budget whatsoever, and ranged from the confusingly complicated to the infuriatingly flashy. One involved some kind of slow-moving chess-like game, played between a team of utterly unlovable losers and a ruthlessly efficient brain floating in a glass tank.

Another combined general knowledge and fast reactions with moments of agonizing electrocution, while yet another just seemed to be a variant on ‘tag,’ but with the addition of swans. Or something like swans, at least.

Cal turned away from the screen just as the galley doors opened and Higgsy waddled in. He was much wider now than he had been earlier. Lumpier, too. Cal groaned at the sight of him.

“Seriously, more?”

“Sorry, Cal,” said Higgsy. He jiggled up and down and several dozen dishes, plates, mugs, and stuff Cal was assuming to be cutlery flopped out through his gelatinous orange skin and bounced on the soft, spongy floor.

Cal found himself watching the procedure in a sort of horrified fascination, just like he’d done each of the other five times Higgsy had done it. Higgsy’s internal workings dissolved any organic matter from the plates, from paper napkins to bones, making them much easier to clean. Sure, the thin layer of viscous orange fluid sticking to each dish wasn’t particularly pleasant, but it still saved Cal a whole lot of work.

“Is that the last of it?” Cal asked.

Higgsy nodded, shook his head, then nodded again, as if he couldn’t figure out the correct answer. “Maybe one more load,” he said, then he winked and lowered his voice to a whisper. “But I’ll try to break a few for you.”

Cal looked down at the pile on the floor. Thirty or so more dishes, not counting the cutlery, which he’d just swirl around in the sink for a few seconds, anyway. Another load, even accounting for breakages, would have roughly the same.

“So just sixty more to go.” He said it out loud, as if this made it more true, somehow. “Just sixty more.”

“That’s all,” Higgsy agreed. “Although doors will open in about twenty minutes, so it’ll start mounting up again.”

“What?” Cal spluttered. “No way. How long are we on shift for?”

“Until closing,” Higgsy. “About ten hours from now.”

“Ten fonking hours?! Well… I mean… What about breaks? Do we get breaks?”

Alan’s head emerged from behind a stack of clean plates he was loading back into a dispenser. “Oh, sure. Breaks,” he scoffed. “We also get a foot rub and our own weight in spizzcuits.”

Cal blinked. “What the Hell’s a spizzcuit?”

“Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about,” said Alan. “Because you don’t get any. Ever. Same with the foot rub, in case you were wondering. And the breaks. We do our jobs, we clock off, we go home. That’s it.”

“Jesus,” said Cal. “And when do we get paid?”

Alan and Higgsy exchanged a look. “Paid?” said Higgsy.

“What the fonk you talking about, ‘paid’?” Alan snorted. “We get room and board, what more do you want?”

Cal dropped a plate into the sink. It splashed down hard, spraying him with dirty water. He didn’t notice.

“Well how about money? You know, credits, or whatever? We must get some, surely?”

Higgsy shook his head. “No. We get somewhere to live and three meals a day. That’s it.”

“What? No! Seriously?” said Cal. He looked from Higgsy and Alan, then smiled. “Wait. Wait. Aaah, I get it. I see what’s going on here. Make fun of the new guy. Tell him crazy shizz and try to make him believe it. Good one.”

Cal wagged a reproachful finger at them, then plunged his hands back into the water. “Nice try, but I’m not going to fall for it. And before you even try, no, I won’t go and ask someone for ‘a long stand’ or ‘tartan paint’ or whatever other shizz you’re going to try to pull.” His grin widened. “I’m afraid you’ll have to get up pretty early in the morning to get one over on Cal Carver.” He checked himself. “And by ‘Cal Carver’ I obviously mean ‘Nob Muntch’.”

“We’re serious,” said Alan. “We don’t get paid.”

“OK, then I quit,” said Cal, removing his gloves and tossing them into the sink. Higgsy glanced at the door, then blocked Cal’s path, even though his face suggested it was absolutely the last thing he wanted to do.

“N-no, wait, you can’t,” Higgsy whispered. “Stay. Don’t go.”

“Why would I stay?” Cal asked. “So I can live in a cave and shizz in a bucket? What possible benefit could there be to staying here?”

Alan cleared his throat. “Know why there was an opening here? Why you got that job you’re bedging so vocally about right now?” he asked. “Because the last guy – Cramlin, nice guy, funny, excellent comedy timing – he died.”

“Oh,” said Cal, slightly irritated his dramatic exit had been halted, and that he now had to fake sympathy for someone he’d never heard of. “That’s a shame.”

“Real shame,” Alan agreed. “It was. Real shame.” He raised himself onto his tiptoes and fixed Cal with a cool look. “Ask me how he died.”

“How did he die?”

“Screaming. And slowly,” Alan said. He shrugged. “You see, those people who recruited you here? White outfit, white room, little stack of cards, unless the set-up has changed in recent years.”

Cal confirmed that it hadn’t.

“They’re the Tribunal. One part of it, at least. They exist to ensure everyone is working. ‘Doing their bit.’ Their job is to make sure everyone else has a job,” Alan explained. He picked up a small crate and carried it over to one of the kitchen’s heavy industrial refrigerators.

“Except, see, Cramlin didn’t want to do his bit,” said Alan, placing the box on the floor and stepping onto it so he could reach the refrigerator door handle. “He didn’t want to do anyone’s bit. He wanted to just coast along, doing whatever he wanted, whenever he liked.”

“I like him already,” said Cal.

“Good, then why don’t you say hello to him?” said Alan, pulling open the refrigerator door. It was dark in there, but then a light blinked on. Cal recoiled when he spotted the figure propped up inside.

It was dead. Very dead. It was easily in the top ten deadest things Cal had ever seen, and given that list included an entire gang turned into a meat-smelling mist, that was really saying something.

Compared to Higgsy, Alan and Jork, Cramlin had clearly been the looker of the bunch. He wasn’t exactly an oil painting any more, obviously, but his bone structure – which Cal was currently being afforded a particularly good view of – was exquisite, and his...

Actually, that was pretty much the only good thing Cal could think of to say.

“Holy shizz,” he said, whistling through his teeth. “That has got to be in violation of, like, every hygiene code ever written. Did Nana do this?”

“No. The Tribunal,” whispered Higgsy. “They did it.”

“Right,” said Cal, nodding slowly. “And you’re keeping him in the fridge because…?”

“They ordered us to,” Higgsy said, close to tears now. “As a warning to the rest of us.”

“Jesus. And why? Because he quit?”

“Because he talked about quitting,” said Alan. “When the wrong folks was listening.”

Cal clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times, then reached for another dirty plate. “Oh. I see. Well, then I guess it’s back to work we go!”

Cramlin’s skeleton chose that moment to topple forwards out of the refrigerator. His skull rolled across the floor and stopped between Cal’s feet.

“What did I tell you?” said Alan in a respectful whisper. “Excellent comedy timing.”

* * *

Splurt sat in Cal’s chair, pulsing gently and rolling himself from side to side. Cal was still not there. The other three – the Not-Cals, who Splurt still cared about, albeit to a lesser extent – weren’t there, either. He was alone, aside from a nagging voice that seemed to come from nowhere.

“Rather boring this, isn’t it?” said Kevin. “Ms Loren is taking rather a long time.”

Splurt, as ever, said nothing. His eyes flicked left to right as he tried to determine the source of the voice.

Kevin pom-pom-pommed tunelessly below his breath. Not that he actually had breath, of course, but it was the thought that counted. Splurt looked for that sound, too, but couldn’t find it, either.

“Oh! We could play a game,” Kevin suggested. “Froody Hoops, perhaps. Or… what’s the one with the little hologram monsters fighting? That one looks fun.”

He sighed – which was impressive, given the whole having no breath thing.

“Then again, we don’t have a board, do we? Or little hologram monsters. Or, for that matter, any Froody Hoops.” He went quiet for a moment. “Although, now that I think about it, that last one might actually be a breakfast cereal.”

He clicked his non-existent tongue against his equally imaginary teeth.

“Oh! Oh! Here’s one! We could play a guessing game,” he suggested. “How about you turn into things, and I’ll try to guess what they are?”

Splurt considered this.

He turned into a brick.

“Is it a brick?” asked Kevin.

Splurt changed back.

Some time passed.

“Well, I’ll be honest, that wasn’t quite as much fun as I had hoped,” Kevin admitted. “My turn, I suppose.”

Silence fell. Splurt’s eyes continued to scan the bridge.

It was almost three full minutes later when Kevin spoke again.

“Well, go on, then,” he urged. “Are you going to have a guess or not? I can’t keep this up all day.”

* * *

Cal clattered the last plate onto the drying stack and let out a strangled sob of relief. He’d done it. He’d worked his way through every fonking dish, every fonking cup, and every fonking piece of cutlery in the place.

It was only then that a question occurred to him.

“Wait a minute, since when did Five Guys use plates?” he asked. “I saw the trash, it was all cardboard and paper.”

He gaped at the stack of sparkling dishes. “Wait, is this… Was this the new guy prank? Holy shizzing Christ, I swear I will kill everyone in this room if—”

“What? No, of course it isn’t a prank,” said Jork. He’d spent most of the morning gathering up trash and feeding it into some sort of miniature recycling facility. The trash went in one end, there was a lot of clunking and flashing lights, and then pristine stacks of paper bags and cardboard trays emerged from a little slot on the front.

At the same time, a secondary opening around the back of the machine shizzed out a condensed pellet of foul-smelling food waste, which was promptly swallowed by a hole in the floor.

“Remember, this place can be whatever you want it to be,” added Higgsy. He was tucking his now even more baggy-looking orange skin back inside his regulation Nana Joan’s jumpsuit. Cal had been given one of Cramlin’s old uniforms to wear. It fit perfectly, if you ignored the holes on the back where Cramlin’s spinal plates had apparently once emerged through.

“So, you can get your burgers on plates and drink soda out of…” Cal held up an odd piece of crockery that looked like a cross between a teapot and a sex toy. “…whatever this is?”

“You ain’t getting it,” snapped Alan. “It ain’t just ‘burgers’ – whatever the fonk that is – it’s anything you want. Anything you can think of, you can order it.”

“OK, yeah, got it,” said Cal. It made sense, of course. The replicator on the Untitled could make anything, as long as you fed it the data – or, more accurately, as long as it could extract the data from your head, tongue and nostrils – but he’d been so caught up in the whole ‘Five Guys’ thing, it hadn’t occurred to him that not everyone would be eating fast food.

His stomach rumbled. God, he could really go a banoffee pie about now.

Cal jabbed a thumb towards the door. “I’m going to go get something to eat. Anyone want anything?”

Higgsy, Jork and Alan exchanged worried glances. “Where from?” Jork asked.

“From the thing. From the replicator.” Cal watched their faces. “What?”

“We don’t get to use the replicators,” Higgsy explained. He’d finished tucking his excess skin into his uniform, and now looked several months pregnant. “They’re for customer use only.”

“Oh. So what do we eat?”

Alan opened a hatch in the floor, lay down, and stretched inside. He grunted and grimaced as he tried to get a hand to whatever he was reaching for, then let out a little cheer of triumph. He stood up and held out one of the food waste pellets the recycling machine had produced.

Cal stared at the thing, his nostrils pulling up as if trying to make a quick getaway. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“They’re actually very good,” said Higgsy. His enthusiasm waned a little. “You know, from a nutritional point of view.” His enthusiasm fell away completely. “Not so much from a taste point of view, but nutritionally, you can’t fault them at all.”

Cal took the pellet and tentatively turned it over in his hand, like it might explode at any moment. He wasn’t sure if it had been deliberately designed to look exactly like human excrement, or if it was just an unhappy coincidence.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” said Jork. “Well, no, it is. But it’s not as bad as it smells.”

Cal brought the pellet higher and sniffed it. If his nose could have slapped him across the face, it would have. This thing smelled way worse than he’d been expecting, and he had literally been expecting it to smell like shizz.

Shaking his head, he tossed it back into the open floor hatch. He looked at the pile of drying dishes, then at the few fragments of Cramlin they’d missed while sweeping the poor guy up.

“Fonk this shizz,” Cal said, wiping his hands on his uniform. “We don’t have to put up with this.”

“Uh, yes,” said Jork. “We do.”

“Is this seriously how you want to live your life? Cleaning up after people? Eating…” He gestured vaguely at the trapdoor. “…that stuff. You can’t seriously be happy?”

Higgsy wrung his hands. Jork glanced nervously at the refrigerator which, along with the trash can, the floor, and a gap under the plate rack they couldn’t reach far enough into, represented the final resting place of Cramlin. Even Alan just sort of shrugged and pretended he was very interested in a spot on the ceiling.

“I mean… This is terrible. I used to be the captain of a spaceship,” Cal said. “Sort of. I had a crew. A team.”

“We’re a team,” Higgsy murmured. “I mean, we could be. We work together. That sort of makes us a team, doesn’t it?”

Cal shook his head. “No. I mean, kind off, I guess. I mean…” His voice tailed off. He looked across the faces of his three colleagues, then pulled himself up to his full height. “No. Wait a minute, wait a minute. We’re not a team,” he said.

Higgsy looked down heartened, but then Cal held out a fist. “We’re a space team.”

Jork frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Are you holding something?” asked Alan, eyeing the fist suspiciously.

“Yay! We’re a team!” said Higgsy, punching the air.

“I never agreed to that,” said Alan. “I never agreed to nothing.”

Jork crossed his arms. “I’m not completely against the idea. I’d just… I’d like a little more information, that’s all.”

“Jesus, guys, I can’t believe you’re leaving me hanging here,” said Cal. “Just tap my fist with your fist.”

“But why would…?”

“Just do it. Tap my fist with your fist,” Cal urged. “Come on. Just do it.”

Higgsy was first to bump fists. Jork and Alan both shrugged, then reluctantly bumped fists with Cal, too.

Cal grinned and lowered his hand. “There. Now you just swore absolute loyalty and devotion to everyone else in the team.”

“What?” Alan spluttered. “Wait a minute—”

“Too late, Alan. It’s too late,” said Cal, holding up his hands. “Legally binding. It’s just the way it is. You should have read the small print. My hands are tied.”

He kept talking, saying similar things until he was sure Alan had given up trying to interrupt. “OK, Space Team… Maybe Space Team 2, I haven’t decided yet. Whatever, we’re going to get off this shizzhole of a planet, and we’re going to have ourselves some adventures! Jort, you’re going to see those stars!”

“Jork. Not Jort,” said Jork.

“Ha!” said Cal. “Check us out, already bantering. This is great.”

“Uh, I don’t know…” said Higgsy, suddenly looking more worried than Cal had ever seen him, which was saying something.

Cal put his arm around Higgsy’s ample shoulders. “Hey, relax buddy. We can do this. Relax. So Loren has gone, Mech and Miz are off doing whatever they’re doing, so what? We don’t need them.”

“We have no idea who those people are,” said Jork.

Cal laughed. “That’s the spirit! You know what? I think getting stuck here is going to turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. To any of us.”

He pulled Higgsy closer and kissed him on his lumpy bald head. “All we have to do is get ourselves a ship,” he said. His grin widened. “And I know just where we’re going to find one!”

It was round about then that Cal saw the image on the little TV. It showed a sight that was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time – the destruction of the moon of Pikkish. It was familiar because he’d been there to see it destroyed, first-hand, but unfamiliar because the way it was being shown on screen wasn’t how it had happened.

Jork spat on the floor. “The Symmorium,” he said. “How could they do something like that? To one of their own planets!”

“They didn’t,” said Cal, absent-mindedly. He watched the footage for a few more seconds, then stretched up and clicked the TV off. “That’s not what happened.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Alan. “You saw the footage. It was right there.”

Cal shook his head. “It’s fake. Zertex blew that place to pieces, not the Symmorium. The whole thing is a setup, because they want to go to war.”

Higgsy shook his head, making his saggy face flap around. “No. They wouldn’t. Why would they want war? No one wants war.”

Cal shrugged. “No one involved in the fighting part wants a war, generally-speaking,” he agreed. “But go high enough, and you’ll always find someone itching to start a fight. Sinclair wants this, for whatever reason. He wants to wipe the Symmorium out.”

Alan tutted. “Oh yeah? And how would you possibly know that?”

“He used my ship to blow that moon up,” Cal said. He puffed out his chest. “I’m kind of his arch nemesis.”

The others looked at each other, then burst into fits of laughter.

“Right,” said Jork.

“Sure you are,” added Alan.

“Good one,” Higgsy sniggered.

Cal waited until they’d stopped laughing, before continuing. “Fine. I’ll prove it to you. We’ll get off this planet, then you’ll see for yourself,” he said. “But first, we have to get ourselves that ship.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Loren awoke suddenly. This was partly because the drug she’d been injected with had worn off, but mostly because a high-pressure hose had been turned on, and was currently blasting her in the face with icy-cold water.

She gasped and gagged, choking on the torrent, unable to turn her head away. Her arms were spread horizontally, fastened to the wall behind her by the wrists. Her legs were similarly shackled, her ankles far apart so her limbs and head formed a sort of star shape on the wall.

The spray continued, finding its way into her mouth and down her throat. Panic flooded her even faster than the water, so she wasn’t sure which one would drown her first.

And then, as quickly as it had started, the flow stopped. Loren wheezed and coughed up half a lung’s worth of the ice-cold liquid. The water blurred her eyes, and she had to blink for several seconds before it cleared enough to let her see her surroundings.

She was in a Zertex cell. From the position of the cell’s single air vent, she knew it was a Zertex Command station, rather than a ship. The stations’ holding cells were all identical, so she couldn’t tell which one she was on. Logically, Zertex Command Six had been closest to where she’d been taken from, so if she’d been a betting woman, that’s where she’d have put her money.

A figure moved at the corner of her vision. She tried to turn her head to look, but it was gripped too firmly and she only succeeded in straining her neck.

“Dash?”

“Ah, I’m afraid not,” smarmed an all-too-familiar voice.

President Sinclair stepped into view, smiling warmly. “We felt your brother wasn’t perhaps best suited for this particular part of proceedings,” Sinclair told her, stepping closer. “You know, family loyalty, or whatever. Although, to be fair to him, he hasn’t exactly demonstrated much in the way of loyalty to you so far, has he?”

Loren said nothing. She tensed as the president ran a finger across her face, wiping away some of the water. He studied it on his fingertip for a moment, then rubbed the glistening dampness away with his thumb.

“Oh, Gunso Loren,” he said, smiling sadly. “I had such high hopes for you, you know? You were the best pilot in your graduating class.” He gave a little chuckle. “Once I had your scores altered, at least. Prior to that?” He winced. “Well, let’s just say your career might not have got off the ground. In fact, it would probably have crashed into it!”

He laughed at his own joke, then stepped back. “And yet, I saw potential in you. I saw a spark of something promising.” His smile fell away. “And how did you repay me? By turning against me.”

“You set us up,” Loren began. Sinclair took several quick paces back, and a spray of water hit Loren in the face again, catching her by surprise.

Sinclair watched her gag and splutter for almost a full minute, before waving a hand. “Enough.”

Loren’s lungs screamed at her in protest. She tried to swallow down enough air to satisfy them, but her throat felt like a bubble was blocking it, preventing the oxygen getting through. Sinclair tucked his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, waiting for her to recover.

“It isn’t your time to talk now,” he told her. “It’s my turn.”

He stepped closer again and ran a hand over her soaking-wet hair. She flinched, but the head restraint stopped her going anywhere. “Shh,” he whispered. “Shh, it’s OK. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. Well, not yet, anyway. You think you’re important in all this, but you aren’t. Not really. You’re nothing. I don’t want you.”

He caught her hair and tugged it sharply, making her hiss. “I want Carver. And you’re going to help me get him.”

Loren gathered up all the excess moisture in her mouth – which was a lot, given she’d recently been blasted twice in the face with a power hose – and spat it into the president’s face.

Sinclair froze for what felt like quite a long time. Loren was just starting to wonder if she’d somehow broken him, when his expression darkened. He produced a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped his face.

“Change of plan,” he said. He tapped her on the nose and made a little boop sound. “I am going to hurt you, after all. And, once I’ve done that, then you’ll help me get Carver.”

His smile became a threatening leer. “One way or another. Oh, and you know what I said earlier? About your brother not having what it took to stay here to watch?” He beckoned to the hose bearer. Loren gritted her teeth as Dash stepped smartly into view. “That wasn’t actually true.”

“Dash?” Loren mumbled, but there was barely a flicker of recognition on his face, let alone anything resembling empathy.

The president slipped an arm around Dash’s shoulders. “Loyalty, Teela. It’s important. Your brother has it.” His voice became an ominous whisper. “And now, allow me to show you what we do to those who don’t.”

* * *

Cal, Higgsy, Jork and Alan trudged along the sidewalk, keeping pace with the rest of the packed crowds. Cal’s whole body ached, partly from the full day’s manual labor, but mostly from the beating Nana Joan had given him when he’d tried to leave early. For an old woman, she knew how to deliver a mean full nelson.

And, to Cal’s lingering regret, an even meaner kick to the balls.

When the restaurant had finally closed and they’d been allowed to leave, Cal had taken a lingering look around the place. They were leaving it in exactly the same state they’d found it earlier – trash everywhere, soda waterfalls trickling over table edges, discarded food trodden into the floor. Cal had known, in that moment, that he was never, ever going back.

Night had fallen over the city, and the clouds above were illuminated by the blue glow of the platforms further above still. It cast a pale luster across everything, trapping the entire city in a sort of perma-dusk from which it could never escape.

Cal looked up at the glowing blue puffballs, but it made everything from his neck to the bottom of his spine ache, so he stopped quite quickly.

“I need a drink,” he said. “Are there any bars around here?”

“A few,” said Jork. “But we don’t have any money.”

Cal waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, that doesn’t matter. We’ll find some rich older women and Higgsy can charm drinks out of them.”

“What?!” Higgsy spluttered. “N-no, I don’t think… I’m not sure…”

Cal winked at him. “I’m going to teach you everything I know. Trust me. You’re going to be a natural. I mean, who wouldn’t be charmed by someone who can absorb their own body weight in kitchenware?”

Higgsy still looked terrified, but managed a sheepish smile. “Not just kitchenware. I can absorb most things. And not just my own body weight, either. More like… eight times.”

“There you go!” said Cal. “Who in their right mind could resist that? You’ll have them eating out of your hand.” His eyes flicked down. “Your massive, gelatinous hand.”

“Well, I mean, I guess it might be nice,” said Jork. “Going to a bar, I mean.”

“OK, I’m in,” said Alan. “But if anyone tries to mess with me, I’m just saying, I will fonk their shizz up. Just saying.”

“Why would anyone try to mess with you?” asked Higgsy. He shot Cal a panicked look. “Will someone try to mess with us?”

“No, relax. Don’t worry. No one is going to be messing with anyone. We’re just going to find a bar, have a few drinks, and, you know, plan our escape.”

Higgsy groaned. Cal patted him on the back. It made his neck ripple. “It’s going to be fine. When have I ever let you down before?”

“We’ve known you less than a day,” Higgsy said.

“Exactly! I haven’t let you down for as long as you’ve known me,” Cal said. He grinned. “Everything is going to be just fine. Now, someone please find us a bar!”

* * *

Ten minutes of lane-changing through the crowds later, Cal and his co-workers wandered along a street that was far less frantic, but several times more menacing than the ones they’d left. There were still lots of people here, but they were hanging around in groups, or lurking in doorways, rather than bustling along from A to B. The mobs of people elsewhere in the city hadn’t looked particularly friendly, but they hadn’t looked especially unfriendly, either. This lot, though, had ‘enemies-in-waiting’ written all over them.

Cal strutted past a group of leather-clad biker-types and tipped an imaginary hat to them. “Gentlemen,” he said. Their ears pricked up and they grunted gutturally, but they didn’t make any move to intercept.

“I d-don’t like this,” said Higgsy. “This feels dangerous.”

“Stop being such a coward,” Jork hissed, then his head whipped around and he screamed when a figure stepped from the shadows of a doorway.

“Looking for a freaky time, boys?” asked the woman – if, indeed, it was a woman. The sheer number of scales and legs and teeth and tails made it difficult to come to any definite conclusions.

“Not tonight,” said Cal. “But thank you for the kind offer, and you stay safe now, you hear?”

There was a small group of buildings ahead that Cal instantly recognized as bars. They had that certain quality that screamed ‘drinking establishment’. It didn’t, unfortunately, scream ‘quality drinking establishment’, but then beggars couldn’t be choosers. That said, these didn’t exactly look like the type of places you’d find the wealthy older women looking to give away drinks, upon which his whole getting drunk plan hinged.

They headed for the most promising-looking. It was only the most promising-looking in that it didn’t have bars on the windows or the sound of screaming coming from inside. On the way, they passed a door set back into the wall. An illuminated sign above it read: Schmargart’s.

Cal stopped. The name was familiar. “Where do I know that place from?” he asked.

Higgsy had to try very hard not to giggle. “It’s… It’s a place where ladies… Well. Where they…” He cupped his flapping great hands around his mouth and whispered. “Where they take off their clothes!”

He glanced around, anxiously, as if worried his mom might be listening, then allowed himself that giggle.

Cal clicked his fingers. Of course. The strip club. It had been one of the jobs he’d been offered before the car wash. Satisfied, he turned, and was about to leave when he heard the voice from inside the door.

“Listen, man, I told you, you ain’t got no ticket, you ain’t getting in.”

“Oh yeah? Try and stop me, robot!” barked another voice.

There was a sound of scuffling. Cal and the others ducked as a flailing shape flew over their heads, hit the ground, then skidded several feet on its face.

With a whirring and clanking, a hulking metal figure stepped out from the doorway. “I ain’t a motherfonking robot!”

Cal’s jaw dropped. “Mech?”

Mech blinked, glanced left and right, then settled on Cal. He stiffened slightly, looked back into the doorway, then plodded down the club’s stone steps. “Hey, man,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Just got off work,” said Cal. “You?”

“Uh, just started,” said Mech.

“You work here?” Cal asked, putting a weird sort of emphasis on the last word than he’d intended, turning it into something that sounded like an accusation.

“Turns out we all gotta work somewhere,” Mech grunted. He nodded to the others standing behind Cal. “Who’re your friends?”

Cal frowned, like he had no idea what Mech was talking about, then glanced back over his shoulder. “What? Oh! I mean, yes. Mech, meet Higgsy, Jork and Alan. These three – plus me, obviously – are the all-new Space Team.”

Mech’s eyes narrowed as he looked from Higgsy to Jork and back again. “I make two.”

“Alan’s down there,” said Cal, gesturing to the much smaller man. “Don’t make comment on it, though. He’ll make you eat your own feet, and then he’ll do this dance like… Alan, show him the dance.”

Alan glared menacingly at Mech as he began to jig on the spot. “You like this? Huh, big guy? You like this shizz?”

Mech watched him for several seconds, not quite sure how he was supposed to respond. “OK, then,” he said, tearing his eyes away. “That’s… I don’t know what that is.”

He turned his attention back to Cal. “New team, huh? You didn’t waste time.”

“Why should I have?” asked Cal, sniffing indignantly. “I mean, you made your feeling very clear.”

Mech opened and closed his metal jaw, then nodded. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

They stood on the sidewalk, a handful of feet and several light years apart, neither one saying anything. Alan, Higgsy and Jork watched them both, also in silence.

“Well, this is fonking awkward,” Alan muttered, after a while.

“I’d better get back to work,” Mech said, jabbing a mechanical thumb back towards the door. “Those perverts ain’t gonna police themselves.”

“Right, yeah. Of course. Good. We were just heading off. Plans to make. You know? Adventures to have.”

Mech gave a half chuckle. “Good luck with that,” he said, then he tapped a finger to his brow in salute. “Take care of yourself, man.”

“Always do,” said Cal, grinning. He stopped Mech before he could turn. “Uh, what about Miz? Is she around?”

Mech hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. She had to get a job, too.”

Cal snorted. “Mizette? Mizette has a job? Jesus. Wonders will never cease. Where does she work?”

Mech tilted his head back, indicating the door to the club. Cal looked past him, blinking several times while he tried to process this. His hands figured it out before the rest of him, and curled into fists, all by themselves. “She’s stripping?” he said, his voice become dangerously monotone. “Miz is a stripper?”

“What? No!” said Mech. “Hell, no! You think I’d…? Come on, man. She’s working the bar. Serving drinks. Not… She’s not… Hell, no.”

Cal exhaled with relief. “Oh! Oh, gotcha. Right. She’s a bartender. I thought… Thank God. Is she any good?”

Mech raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, stupid question,” said Cal.

Mech smirked. “She’s like the sun. She just stands there, not moving, while everyone else orbits around her, doing all the work.”

“Does nobody say anything?”

“One guy tried. She threatened to show him his intestines. No one’s bothered her since.”

“Ha! Classic Miz,” Cal laughed.

Mech chuckled along, too. Eventually, though, the awkward silence returned.

“These guys are great, too,” said Cal, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder and almost taking Jork’s eye out. “Rich personalities. Very funny, yet capable in a crisis. I think they’re going to do great. We’ve already started on the witty repartee, haven’t we, Higgsy?”

All four of Higgsy’s eyes squinted as he frowned. “What?”

“See?” said Cal, holding his arms out to his sides as if his point had been well and truly proven. “I have a really good feeling about these guys.”

“Well, great. I’m happy for you, man,” said Mech. He nodded to the others. “You three, uh, good luck. You might want to pack some barf bags, and if he starts putting the word ‘space’ in front of everything, please hit him on my behalf.”

With a final nod to Cal, he turned and clanked back up the steps. He was almost through the door when Cal stopped him.

“Mech, wait!”

Mech hesitated, weighing up his options. “Yeah?” he asked, not turning.

“Uh, have you heard anything from Loren?”

Mech shook his head. “No, man. Face it. She’s gone.”

He half-turned, as if about to add something else, but then he pressed on into the darkened doorway, and vanished into the club.

Just like he had stared at the clouds, waiting for Loren to reappear in the Untitled, Cal watched the door in case Mech emerged. He could almost picture him running down the steps in slow motion, arms wide, music swelling in the background as he—

“Do you know that guy?” asked Higgsy.

“Duh! Well, of course he knows him, you freaking idiot,” said Jork. He shot Cal a sideways glance. “I mean, you do, right? You do know him?”

“I did,” said Cal. “A long time ago.”

He turned and shrugged. “Well, I mean, technically it was yesterday, but…” He waved a hand. “Fonk it. Let’s go get drunk. Then, and only then, will I explain how we’re going to get a ship, and get ourselves off this shizzhole of a planet.”

They approached the most promising bar, Cal striding confidently ahead, the other three bunching together behind him, eyes darting at the scary-looking groups gathered in the doorways. As he approached the entrance, a lump of granite in a tuxedo blocked the path. Cal recognized the doorman as an Igneon. Well, technically he recognized him as ‘one of those Kornacky ones,’ since his only experience with the species was via the warlord Kornack, who had repeatedly tried to make Cal eat himself, but he knew what he meant.

“Evening, gentlemen,” said the doorman.

“And a very good evening to you, too!” said Cal, grinning as he attempted to weave around the hulking stone figure. The doorman had been expecting this, though, and executed a perfectly-timed sidestep that put him directly in Cal’s way again.

“I’m going to have to see your IDs.”

Cal’s smile locked in place. “Of course!” he said, reaching for his card and praying there wasn’t a quiz based on the information on it. He could remember the name. The date of birth, or any of the other details? Not a clue.

The doorman took the card and studied it. His rocky lips moved silently as he read, then his eyes widened and he looked up at Cal. “Nob Muntch?”

Cal nodded. “Yep.”

“That’s your name? Nob Muntch?”

“It is,” said Cal. “Let’s not wear it out.”

“Hey, Frank,” the doorman called back over his shoulder. A long thin face with eyes that had been put in sideways leaned out through the bar door.

“Yeah?”

“You know what this guy’s name is?”

Frank looked Cal up and down, then shrugged.

“Nob Muntch!”

Frank snorted. “Get the fonk out of here!”

“I’m serious!”

Cal sighed. “Haha. Yes. That’s me!” He reached for his ID, but the doorman didn’t hand it over.

“Hey, get T’kak. Tell T’kak,” the doorman urged.

“One sec,” said Frank. He ducked back into the door. Cal could hear murmuring from somewhere inside.

“Get the fonk out of here!” squealed a higher-pitched voice in delight.

“I’m serious,” Frank’s voice insisted.

“It’s true!” called the doorman. “Nob Muntch!”

“Get. The fonk. Out!” laughed what was presumably T’kak.

The doorman looked back at Cal, who had battled valiantly to keep his smile in place, but with little success. Reaching into a pocket, the doorman produced a device that looked not unlike an Earth smartphone. He pointed it to the ID card and chuckled. “I have got to get me a picture of this,” he said.

There was a flash. The doorman checked the device’s screen, then laughed. “Got it! Oh, man, I am sending that to everyone I know.”

“Yay!” said Cal. He held out his hand and his ID card was pressed into it.

“Thanks, Nob,” the doorman said, gesturing for the others to hand over their own cards. “Thank you for that. That’s made my night, that has.”

“I’m so pleased,” said Cal. He gestured to the bar. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’d like to go inside.”

“Whoa there, Nob Muntch, not so fast,” said the doorman. He nodded to Higgsy, Jork and Alan. “You can go in, but they can’t.”

“Why?” asked Cal. He pointed to the window, through which he could see some of the bar’s occupants. “There’s all kind of freaky-looking dudes in there, why can’t they come in?” He looked back over his shoulder. “No offence, fellas.”

“It ain’t nothing to do with how they look,” said the doorman. “If I was stopping people getting in based on how weird they look, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“OK, one, I resent that, and it’s probably racist,” said Cal. “Two… If it’s not how they look, why can’t they get in?”

“Because they ain’t old enough,” said the doorman, holding up the IDs. “They’re kids.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The lower bunk squeaked as Cal slumped down onto it. Tempted as he’d been to head into the bar himself and get astonishingly drunk, he couldn’t bring himself to abandon the other three. As the only responsible adult, he felt a certain obligation to get them home safely.

“The doorman guy, what he said, that was an exaggeration,” Jork explained for the third or fourth time. “We’re not kids. We’re teenagers.”

Higgsy raised a hand.

“Well, Higgsy’s almost a teenager. But, like, literally in just a year or two.”

Higgsy raised a hand again.

“Or three.”

Cal threw up his arms in despair. “I mean… Why didn’t you tell me?” He sighed. “I knew you were young, but I thought, you know, maybe early twenties.”

This was a problem. He couldn’t very well take two teenagers and a – what? – ten-year-old into space with him. Yes, Mizette was technically only six, but then he hadn’t been responsible for putting her on the team. Anyway, the Greyx aged differently, and she was pretty much a fully-grown adult where she came from. No, she didn’t act like it most of the time, but… It was different. She was different.

Jork seemed to be reading his mind. “Are we still going to get a ship?”

Cal puffed out his cheeks. “I don’t see how we can. I mean, what about your parents?” He looked around the cell, then at Higgsy. “Actually, come to think about it, what are you even doing here? Why aren’t you at home?”

Higgsy shrugged. “They kicked me out. Not enough room, they said.”

“He’s been here longer than any of us,” said Jork.

“Five years,” Higgsy said. His brow furrowed. “Maybe six.”

Cal buried his face in his hands, then pulled them down to his chin. “It’s dangerous out there. In space, I mean,” he said.

“Ain’t exactly safe Down Here, either,” said Alan. “What, you think the metal doors are for decoration?”

“No, but it’s different out there,” Cal said. “There are pirates. Gangsters. These little octopus things that tear ships apart. And don’t even get me started on the fonking Spider-Dragon. And then there’s Zertex, and—”

CLANG.

A sudden single knock on the door startled them all. Cal jumped to his feet, smashed the top of his head on the edge of the upper bunk, swore loudly, then stumbled to the door.

“Don’t!” Jork whispered, his negative-image eyes darting anxiously from Cal to the door and back again.

“Why, who is it?” Cal whispered back, rubbing the top of his head.

“I don’t know,” said Jork.

Cal stopped rubbing his head and frowned. “Then why shouldn’t I open it? Shouldn’t we find out who it is?”

“No!” Higgsy squeaked. “It might be someone mean!”

“Then we’ll tell them to go away,” said Cal. “Besides, we’ve got Alan. If shizz starts going down, he can Hulk out, or whatever, and sort it out.”

Alan shook his head. “We do not want that. This whole place? This whole place will come down around your ears,” he said, pointing to the ceiling. “I’ll be fine, but you three? Uh-uh. No way.”

“I don’t want that!” Higgsy whimpered. “I don’t want this whole place to come down around my ears!”

CLANG. CLANG.

The addition of the second ‘clang’ seemed to send Higgsy into a full-scale meltdown. Jork was struggling to keep it together, too, and Alan…

Cal looked around the cell. Alan was nowhere to be seen.

“Look, it’s fine,” Cal said. “I’ll just open the door a tiny bit, and if it’s someone who wants to, you know, mutilate us or whatever, I’ll tell them to come back another time.”

Higgsy darted left and right, looking for somewhere to hide. When he realized there was nowhere, he just stood very still and upright, instead, as if this would somehow make him more difficult to spot.

Cal manually turned all the door’s many locks, then opened the door a crack. At first, he saw no one, but then an old woman’s face leaned into view and smiled at him. She was very familiar, and for a moment he thought it was Nana Joan, probably here to give him another beating. Instinctively, his free hand covered his testicles.

“Hello, Cal,” the woman said. She thrust a small brown paper bag towards the gap. “Spit Nibble?”

Cal’s jaw dropped. “Wait a minute!” he said. “You’re not Nana Joan. I know you! You’re that guy’s mom. The hacker. Nark?”

“Narp.”

“That’s the guy! You’re the mind-reader, right?”

“I see the future,” said the woman.

“Awesome!” said Cal. He pressed a finger against his temple. “Can you tell what I’m thinking now?”

“I see the future,” the woman repeated, in an impressive display of patience.

“Isn’t that—?”

“No, it’s not the same thing,” the woman said. “And it’s Ronda.”

“What is?”

“My name. You were about to ask.”

“Oh. Was I?” said Cal. He shrugged, reached into the bag, and took out a Spit Nibble. He opened the door wider. “Uh, come in.”

“No, thanks. I won’t be long,” said Ronda. “I wanted to give you something.”

Cal raised the Spit Nibble in a sort of toast. “Well… thanks,” he said, then he tossed it in his mouth. “Mmm. Oh! Jesus, I’d forgotten how good these taste.”

“No, not the Spit Nibbles,” Ronda said. “They’re a bonus.” She held a hand out to him, palm down. Cal looked at it for a moment, then held his own hand out, palm up. Something cold and metallic was pressed into it.

It was a button. Or rather, it was a small black box, about the size of a Post-it Note, with a single red button rising from its surface.

“Oh, cool,” said Cal. “It’s a, like a… It’s a doohickey. A thingy.” He met the woman’s eye. “What is it?”

“This belonged to Zertex. Some members of the Xandrie – you know, the gangsters? - made my Narp get it for them, but I decided they shouldn’t have it, either, so I took it off them.”

“You took it? From the Xandrie?”

Ronda nodded. Cal raised his eyebrows, partially to demonstrate his awe and respect, and partly to convey the fact he didn’t believe what Ronda had just told him.

“What does it do?”

“I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” said Ronda. “But you shouldn’t press it until—”

Cal pressed it. Nothing happened.

He pressed it again.

Ronda cleared her throat. “Yes. As I was saying, don’t press it until the time is right.”

Cal turned the box over in his hand. He studied the button for a moment, then pressed it again. This had precisely the same effect as the last two times he’d done so.

“How will I know the time is right?”

“You’ll just know,” said Ronda. She handed him the bag of Spit Nibbles. “Bye, then. I’d best be off.”

“Wait, that’s it?” said Cal. “You’re not going to tell me to protect it with my life, or warn me not to lose it, or whatever?”

Ronda shook her head. “No. I mean, I can if it makes you feel better, but I already know you don’t lose it.”

“Do I break it?”

“No.”

“Does someone else break it?”

“No,” said Ronda, her cheerful demeanor slipping just a fraction. “You press it. When the time is right.”

“And then what happens?” asked Cal.

Ronda’s smile returned. “Something spectacular.”

She gave him a nod, then set off along the corridor. Cal leaned out after her, and glanced in both directions. “Psst. Wait up. It’s not safe down here,” he said. “You, uh, you want me to walk you out?”

Ronda stopped and turned. “Well, that is very kind of you, Mr Carver. But trust me, I’ll be fine.” She raised her voice a little. “The gentleman lurking in the doorway just behind me, getting ready to pounce, on the other hand, is in for a very nasty shock indeed.”

The darkness seemed to hesitate. Ronda raised her voice even further. “That throat of yours is particularly soft and fleshy, isn’t it, Mr Trittz? Get their fingernails into that and someone could rip the windpipe right out, couldn’t they? Then, oh, I don’t know, beat you to death with the wet end.”

There was another moment of silence, then a shuffling in the shadows further along the passageway. It was followed by the sound of a door closing, and a number of locks sliding into place.

Ronda gave a little satisfied nod of her head. “Goodbye, Mr Carver,” she said, bowing slightly. “Goodbye, and good luck.”

“Thanks for dropping by. And for the Spit Nibbles. And whatever this thing is,” Cal called after her. He pressed the button again. Nothing happened. “Love to Narp. Tell him I totally forgive him for almost making me fall off a roof and… Oh, she’s gone.”

He closed the door, then was almost knocked over when Higgsy and Jork hurried to engage all the locks. “You invited her in!” Higgsy yelped. “I can’t believe you invited her in!”

“So? It’s not like she’s a vampire,” said Cal, through a mouthful of Spit Nibble. “I mean, I don’t think she is.” He glanced into the paper bag, as if suddenly doubting its contents, then shrugged and continued eating. “What’s the big deal?”

“She’s a… you know,” said Higgsy.

“Mind reader?” said Cal.

“No,” said Higgsy.

“I’m pretty sure she was.”

Higgsy cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered the next few words, almost silently. “A girl.”

“She’s not a girl, you freaking idiot,” Jork spat. “She’s a woman.”

“Same thing,” said Higgsy, defensively. “As far as the rules are concerned, anyway.”

Cal swallowed his Spit Nibble, idly clicked the button on the doohickey a few times, then slipped it into his back pocket. Only then did he summon the energy and willpower necessary to ask Higgsy what he was talking about.

“We aren’t allowed girls or women or… or… females in boy’s dorms,” Higgsy explained. He took a break from nervously wringing his hands just long enough to anxiously point at the list of rules fixed to the wall beside the door. It was a very long list, and Cal had only read as far as rule number four (“Impersonating Employers shall be punishable by death”) before deciding he wasn’t all that interested, and that none of them really applied to him, anyway.

“Right, gotcha,” said Cal. “See, the thing is, guys…” He looked around the room. “Where’s Alan, by the way?”

There was a scuffling from under one of the bunk beds, then Alan emerged, crawling on his belly. He stood up, dusted himself down, then fixed his face into an expression that tried to suggest none of the past few seconds had happened.

“Carry on,” Alan said.

Cal frowned, shook his head just a fraction, then continued. “The thing is, guys, who actually enforces these rules? I bet it’s no one, right? I bet they’re just put up there in the hope that you follow them, but with no actual consequences if you don’t.”

“Well…” began Jork.

“You know what I say?” said Cal, striding over to the wall. “Fonk the rules.”

He dug his fingernails under the edge of the laminated list and pulled. Unfortunately, it was quite firmly fixed in place, and didn’t budge. He spent several more seconds muttering under his breath as he tried to tear the thing off from a variety of different angles, before deciding just to give it the finger, instead.

“Doesn’t matter. The point is, these rules are here to control you. I mean, they’re idiotic. Look at this one: ‘Waste buckets must be disposed of in a hygienic manner.’ Well, OK, that’s actually a pretty good rule. That’s just sensible. But look at some of the other ones.”

He moved his finger down the list, past several equally sensible instructions. “Aha!” he said, stopping a few inches further down. “No tickling! What kind of rule is that? We should be able to tickle each other if we want to! I mean, I don’t, obviously, and if anyone here tries to tickle me I will punch you to the ground, but that’s not the point.” He frowned. “I don’t think. What was my point again?”

“You were saying no one enforces the rules,” said Alan.

“Right!”

“But they do,” Higgsy said. “The Re-Educators. They’re part of the Tribunal. They make sure everyone obeys.”

“Oh. OK,” said Cal. “And you’re scared of them? You just want to keep your heads down, do as your told, and stay out of trouble?”

Higgsy nodded enthusiastically, jiggling his saggy jowls.

“Pretty much,” said Alan.

“Works for me,” agreed Jork.

Cal smiled sadly at them. “And that, guys, is why I can’t take you into space. There are a million different rules on a million different planets, and the only way you survive is if you break them. Trust me. As a veteran of space travel, I know what I’m talking about.”

“How long were you out there for?” asked Jork.

“A long time,” said Cal. “I wouldn’t like to put a number on it, but, you know, a while.” He sat on the bed. “I can’t take you into space, guys. I’m sorry, but that’s final.”

“Aw, but you got us all excited about it,” said Jork. “We don’t want to stay here.”

“We hate it here!” Higgsy added.

Cal tossed a Spit Nibble into his mouth. “Really? Ah, well fonk it, then,” he said, standing up. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Thirty minutes later, Cal, Higgsy, Jork and Alan crouched behind a dumpster outside Tanso’s Ship Valet Service Stop, keeping to the shadows. The blinking neon sign above the lot boasted: ‘Open 32 hours!’ and Cal could see a couple of his former Parlooq colleagues laboriously scrubbing the outside of a ship. Their spongework was excellent. The ship, not so much.

It was the wrong shape, for starters. Cal didn’t know what shape it was supposed to be, but it definitely wasn’t this one. Surely no one would built a ship that looked like that on purpose?

It looked a bit like a fat triangle, but tapering backwards, rather than forwards, so the chunky end was at the front. Cal knew it was the front because it had a large windscreen that was tinted green at the top. Two names ran across the top of the windscreen – ‘Gurt’ and ‘Zandra’ – and there was something hanging from a hook on the other side of the glass that could feasibly have been a pair of furry dice.

Most of the ship was a sort of tan brown, aside from one panel on the left, which was blue. The corresponding panel on the right was the same color as the rest, suggesting the left one had been replaced at some point, but never resprayed.

There was no landing ramp that Cal could see, but a narrow ladder descended from beneath the ship, suggesting there was probably a hatchway at the top of it.

“OK, there’s our entry point,” said Cal. “We get over there, I’ll distract the Parlooqs, you all get on board, then I’ll join you.”

Higgsy’s voice was a warbling squeak. “Wait, we’re going to steal it? We can’t steal it! How can we steal it?”

Cal indicated for him to shut the fonk up. “Relax. It’s fine. I’ve basically stolen every ship I’ve ever owned. No one minds. It’s just what happens in space.”

“Yeah, you freaking idiot, it’s just what happens in space,” agreed Jork, like he was suddenly now an authority on the matter. “Chill out.”

“Everyone ready?” Cal asked. Jork and Alan both nodded. Higgsy rocked from foot to foot. Cal decided that was good enough. “OK, stick with me until I start talking, then make for the ship and don’t stop.”

Cal stepped out from behind the dumpster, and beckoned for the others to follow. He led them, like a mother duck with her ducklings, across the parking lot, headed straight for the cheese wedge of a ship.

“Guys!” he said, grinning at the Parlooqs as soon as he was close enough for them to notice. “Seriously, do you ever stop? Old Tanso’s going to work your fingers to the bone.”

He stopped beside the Parlooqs and gestured for the others to continue. Higgsy hesitated, but Jork caught him by the sleeve and pulled him towards the ladder.

“My friends here – you’re not going to believe this – they’ve never seen the inside of a ship. They’re considering moving into the valeting sector, inspired by guys just like you two, so I promised them I’d give them a quick tour. That’s OK, right?”

The Parlooqs finally turned around. “Oh,” said one. “Hey… Nob.”

“Hey… uh… you!” said Cal.

“What… brings… you… here?”

Cal glanced over to the ladder. Higgsy, Jork and Alan were whisper-arguing about who should go first.

“Uh, all that stuff I just said a moment ago. Remember?” He raised his voice. “About my friends wanting to go in the spaceship?”

“Oh,” said the other Parlooq.

“Yep, so we won’t be long.”

“I’m… not… sure…”

“Thanks, guys!” said Cal, giving them double finger guns. They were probably going to get into trouble for this, so ‘the double’ was the least he could do. He began backing towards the ladder. “We’ll literally just be in and out. You won’t even know we were here.”

“…that’s such… a good…”

Cal tapped his forehead in salute. “I owe you one,” he said, then he turned to Jork and the others and hissed. “Get up the fonking ladder!”

“They want me to go first,” said Higgsy. “Why should I go first?”

“Youngest first,” whispered Jork. “We decided.”

“You mean you two decided,” Higgsy said.

Cal pushed past them and grabbed a handhold. “Jesus, I’ll go first, but follow me up, and be quick. Even these guys are going to get suspicious soon.”

He gave the frowning Parlooqs a friendly wave, then scampered up the ladder. The air inside the ship felt old and stale, like a teenager’s bedroom. Cal waved a hand in front of his face, trying in vain to waft the smell away.

The hatch opened right into the main area of the ship. Cal stopped, halfway through it, to make sure the coast was clear.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

“’Oo the fack are you?”

Cal was taken aback, momentarily, by the use of the word ‘fack’. It didn’t sound much like ‘fonk’, but then it didn’t sound much like the pre-censored version, either, and he decided it probably existed as a curse word all on its own. He made a mental note to try it out later, but doubted he could do it the justice the accent of the man towering over him had just done.

He stopped being taken aback by the man’s word choice, and moved onto being taken aback by the man himself. He was mostly human-looking, with a chest-length red beard and teeth that were nasty-looking in every sense.

He wore an ensemble of metal, scuffed leather, and – Cal looked more closely – yes, severed fingers. They draped around his broad shoulders on a length of wire, only partly visible because of the beard.

Many of these elements were troubling. There were two aspects to this gentleman that Cal found more troubling, however. The first was the gun he carried. It was shotgun-shaped and shotgun-sized, and currently pointed directly at Cal’s head.

The second troubling aspect was that the man was not alone. Five other, similarly-dressed, similarly-bearded men rose from the beanbags they’d been sitting on. Most of them were missing body parts of some description. One lacked an eye, the other an ear, a third the lower half of a leg. Between the six, you could probably make four complete people, with some bits and bobs left over.

“Answer us, then!” the first man grunted. “’Oo the fack are you?”

“I reckons he’s trying to nick your ship, Gurt,” said another, swishing aside his long leather trench coat to reveal a long, curved blade hanging from his belt.

“What? No!” said Cal, laughing confidently. “I was just checking to see if you gents needed anything while you’re waiting? Coffee? Tea? Uh… prosthetics?”

“Hurry up!” hissed Alan from below. His voice rose up through the hatchway, and the inside of the ship acted as an amplifier. “If the Tribunal catches us stealing this ship, we’re done for.”

Cal smiled weakly as the ship’s other occupants produced an assortment of other weapons. “You know what? I think I’m just going to go,” he said, then he dropped down the ladder just as a shotgun blast sprayed the hatch with buckshot.

“What was that?” Higgsy yelped. “What was that bang?”

“Nothing good,” said Cal. He picked Alan up and threw him over his shoulder.

“Hey, let go of me. Put me down, or I’ll rip your lungs out through—”

“Alan, shut up,” said Cal. “Everyone else – run.”

He shoved Higgsy and Jork out of the way just as Gurt appeared at the top of the hatch and fired his shotgun again. Higgsy shrieked in fright and discovered a reserve of speed he hadn’t previously tapped into before. He took off like a rocket, knocking aside the Parlooqs and quickly pulling ahead of the others.

“Where is he going?” Cal asked. A blaster shot ricocheted off the hull of the ship, and he zig-zagged erratically, trying to stay out of the shooter’s sights.

“How the fonk should I know?” Alan yelped. “I can’t see nothing!”

“Nana Joan’s,” Jork wheezed, his voice a tremble of terror. “It’s closer than the Stagnates.”

Another shotgun blast tore through the night behind them, and Cal felt something hot whistle past his ear. “Look, this was all just a terrible misunderstanding,” he called over his shoulder. A blaster shot punched a fist-sized hole in the sidewalk just ahead of them in reply.

“I don’t think that worked,” said Alan.

“You don’t fonking say,” Cal muttered.

There was a road dead ahead of them. Even this late, traffic criss-crossed it at a pretty alarming rate. Higgsy had already navigated his way across, and was elbowing his way through the thinner night-time crowds.

Jork began to slow as they approached the curb, but Cal caught his arm and pulled him on. “Don’t think about it, just run.”

“But… the cars!”

“I know, but let’s all just assume they’ll stop and let us—”

A vehicle clipped Cal’s leading leg, flipping him into the air. He somersaulted twice, slammed down onto the car’s roof, then rolled to the ground.

Luckily for Alan, the initial impact had knocked him off Cal’s shoulder, and so he hadn’t had to endure the rest of the ordeal. He used Jork’s leg to pull himself up, but Cal was already up on his feet, dancing on the spot and shaking the pain out through his fingertips.

“Totally meant that,” Cal wheezed.

The side window of the now stopped car imploded as another shotgun blast peppered the vehicle. Cal pulled Jork into the traffic again, with Alan now scrambling along behind.

“We’re gonna die,” Alan said. “We’re all gonna die.”

“No, we’re not,” said Cal, darting sideways as an egg-shaped vehicle screeched to a stop right beside him. “Well, not all of us, anyway. I’m kind of immortal.”

“We’re not!” said Jork.

“I know!” Cal replied. “Hence the running.”

They made it to the other side. A spray of blaster fire from the chasing group scattered the crowds a little, and Cal pushed through a gap that opened in the direction Higgsy had gone.

“No, wait, there’s a shortcut,” said Jork, gesturing towards the mouth of an alley that ran between two near-identical branches of the same clothes store chain. “That way!”

Cal ducked into the alleyway, and the others followed. On the plus side, it was much quieter down here, with no one to get in the way of their escape. On the downside, it was a single long passageway with nowhere to hide and, perhaps more importantly, no witnesses.

Behind them, more tires screeched. Metal collided with metal. Someone screamed.

“Go, go,” said Cal, gesturing for the others to go ahead of him. He gave them a five-second head start, then set off after them, deliberately trying to take up as much of the passageway as he could.

He braced himself for the pain. It didn’t leave him waiting. A shotgun blast bit at his back, punching holes in his jacket and digging into his flesh like wasp-stings. The impact sent him stumbling forwards, but he pushed himself off the wall and raced on, the wounds on his back already expelling the fiery lumps of lead.

“Ow! Ooh! Well, you got me,” he shouted back. “We’re even now, guys!”

Another blaster bolt took a chunk of out of the wall beside him, spraying his face with smoldering shards of stone. He almost took a moment to criticize the blaster owner’s shooting skills, but worried this might provide him with just the incentive he needed to improve, so concentrated on running at the correct speed, instead.

He defined the ‘correct speed’ as one that would allow him to keep Jork and Alan in view, while simultaneously staying far enough back to provide a useful human shield. Obviously, he couldn’t stay too far back, though, because lots of the men chasing them had big pointy implements, and while a shotgun blast to the buttocks was one thing, being shish-kebabed on a rusty metal spike was quite another.

Another spray of buckshot tore at him. He was far enough ahead that he was only getting the tail-end of each shot, but they still stung like a motherfonker, and he almost lost his balance again. He stumbled on, ignoring the pain until it healed up.

Up ahead, Jork and Alan emerged from the alleyway and immediately turned right. Now he was no longer on shield duty, Cal picked up the pace. The walls became a blur of streaking speed lines around him as he powered on, leaving Gurt and his gang trailing behind. Another shotgun blast rang out, but this time the buckshot fell well short of its target.

“Get back here, you facking nonce!” Gurt bellowed. Tempting an offer as that was, Cal raced to the alley’s mouth, skidded right, then hurried after Jork and Alan.

The street was busier than the alleyway, but still nothing like during the day. Cal passed a couple of dozen people as he closed in on the others, then stopped when he turned another corner and realized Jork and Alan were nowhere to be seen.

“Shizz,” Cal spat, turning on the spot. There was a fence beside him, just a little taller than head height. From the other side, he heard a panicky whisper.

“Over here,” Jork hissed.

Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching – or no one who currently wanted to kill him, at least – Cal jumped up, caught the top of the fence, then scrambled over. He dropped down onto the other side just as Gurt and his crew clattered around the corner.

“Where the fack did he go?” Gurt spat.

Jork and Alan were crouching in a nest of trash, their fingers pressed to their lips. They were in a narrow area between two buildings, which might once have been a passageway. The fence blocked access from the road, but the alley continued out to the back of the buildings. Jork and Alan crept towards it, keeping low, their feet swishing softly through the discarded paper, cardboard and plastic.

Cal held his breath and peered through one of the gaps in the fence. Gurt’s gang stood on the other side, looking around, just as he had done. They didn’t look the smartest bunch of guys Cal had ever seen – he’d seen herds of cows with better reasoning skills – but it was only a matter of time before one of them thought to check the fence.

He had to sneak away before any of them—

KABOOM! Gurt’s shotgun punched a hole in the wood right above Cal’s head. Jork and Alan both screamed, and Cal frantically kicked backwards as another blast of buckshot widened the gap.

“Oh yeah, you’d better run. You’d better facking run!” grimaced Gurt, his face leering through the hole. The fence began to rock violently as the gang got their weight behind it.

Cal kicked to his feet and raced after the others. Jork led them left, then right, then right again as he weaved through a twisting network of narrow back streets until, finally, they emerged into a wide clearing at the back of Nana Joan’s.

Despite never having been there before, Cal immediately knew this was the back of Nana Joan’s. Cal recognized a couple of broken chairs propped up against the back wall that looked remarkably like those he’d broken during his fight with the restaurant’s elderly proprietor.

There was a little sign above the back door. The writing on it made his eyes water, as it tried to say two different things at the same time. One of Cal’s eyes seemed to be interpreting it simply as the words ‘Nana Joan’s’ in stark, black-on-white lettering, while the other saw the white-on-red logo of Five Guys shining out at him.

As if those clues weren’t revealing enough, the third was the real clincher. A spaceship stood in the yard. It was a boxy-looking thing, designed for sturdiness rather than speed, Cal guessed. Emblazoned on the side in letters several feet high were the words: ‘Nana Joan’s Delivery Service.’

“She has a spaceship?” Cal hissed. “Nana Joan has a fonking spaceship?”

“Guys! Psst! Down here!”

Higgsy’s voice came from somewhere under the main body of the ship. Cal and Jork both folded themselves low and darted in to join him. Alan did the same, but without the ducking part.

They found Higgsy crouching behind one of the ship’s three landing legs, and all squeezed in to join him.

“Why didn’t you tell me she has a spaceship?” Cal whispered. “We could have taken this one.”

“Steal from Nana Joan?” Higgsy squeaked. “She’d get really angry!”

“Hello!” Cal spat, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the alleyway. Gurt and his gang had appeared, and were slowly fanning out into a search pattern. “Do you think those guys just want to hang out with us for a while?”

Higgsy didn’t reply. Cal felt a pang of guilt and bit his tongue before he went any further. The kid was scared. All three of them were scared. Cal wasn’t exactly having the time of his life, either, but this was still better than another day of doing dishes.

“OK, here’s what we’re going to do,” Cal whispered. “Alan, I want you to do your freak out thing. Make these suckers eat their own feet. Then, I’ll come out…” He caught the look on Alan’s face. “What? What’s the problem?”

“I just… I just don’t know if now’s the right time,” said Alan.

“Now is absolutely the right time,” Cal told him. “There will literally never be a better time than this to get big and angry and Hulk-smash the shizz out of people.”

“I don’t know,” Alan said. “I might cause too much damage. You guys could get hurt. Even if I don’t, strictly speaking, like any of you, I still wouldn’t want to see you get— Ulp!”

“Ulp!” was not the intended end of Alan’s sentence, but he was forced to improvise when a hand reached around the ship’s landing leg, grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him away.

“Hey, get off me!” Alan barked. “I mean it, leave me alone, or you’re going to regret it.”

“Shizz!” Cal muttered. “Stay here,” he told the others, then he took a series of fast, deep breaths, and rolled out of cover.

“OK, easy! Leave him alone,” Cal said, raising his hands as two firearms and four pointy things all turned his way. Alan was being held by a long-haired man with either a few hundred very small tattoos on his face, or a face that had evolved to look like a few hundred tattoos had been etched onto it. Cal couldn’t think of an evolutionary advantage this might offer, so guessed they were probably tattoos.

The reason he bothered to think about it at all was because it gave an interesting insight into the guy currently holding a long, slender blade to Alan’s face. Having that number of tattoos on his face suggested a certain ability to withstand pain. It also showed a level of dedication and commitment, which would likely make him a determined fighter.

And, of course, it suggested he was a full-blown fonking lunatic, which didn’t exactly help Cal’s chances, either.

“It’s all my fault,” Cal said. “I wanted to steal the ship, no one else. In fact, the guy you’re holding there, Alan. He wanted to stop me. ‘Don’t do it, Cal,’ he said. ‘This ship probably belongs to some really awesome guys. It would be wrong to—’”

“Shut up!” Gurt hissed. Tattoo-face shook Alan roughly, making the little man yelp.

“I wouldn’t make him angry,” Cal warned. “You wouldn’t like him when he’s angry.”

He glanced at Alan to find him frantically shaking his head, but by then the damage had been done.

“Oh yeah?” sneered Tattoo-face. “And why’s that?”

“Uh, he’s a Kholo,” said Cal. “I think that’s what he said, anyway. And you know what Kholos do, right?”

Gurt’s gang glanced at each other. It appeared none of them knew what a Kholo did.

“Make them mad, and they get bigger. And they get meaner. And then you get squished,” Cal said. He mimed squashing something under his thumb.

There was a commotion from behind him as Jork and Higgsy were both pulled out from under the ship by a couple of other gang members. They crowded behind Cal, and he could feel them shaking in fear.

“A Kholo, huh?” said Gurt. He squatted down in front of Alan and studied him, like that weird kid in class might study a fly before tearing its wings off. “Never heard of one. But man, I’d love to see it in action.”

“Y-you wouldn’t,” said Alan, puffing up his chest. “Trust me.”

“Trust him, like he says,” said Cal. “Let him go. Let them all go. I’m the one who wanted to steal your ship. These guys tried to stop me. I mean, they’re practically heroes.”

Gurt ignored him. He rubbed his tongue against the front of those nasty teeth and patted his beard as if it was a family pet. “No. I think I’d like to see this facking nonce turn big.” He looked up at his companions. “We’d all like to see that, wouldn’t we, boys?”

There was some cheering and whooping and a general chorus of agreement. Alan looked imploringly up at Cal, but a slap across his face snapped him back around to meet Gurt’s gaze.

“Look at me, not him,” Gurt growled. He slapped him again, harder this time. A cheer went up from the others. Alan’s tiny fists clenched, but not in a way that suggested he was on the brink of becoming an unstoppable killing machine, and more like he was trying very hard not to cry.

“Look, guys, I was kidding,” said Cal. “Of course he can’t get bigger. I was trying to scare you away. Just let him go.”

Gurt slapped Alan again. “Is that true, runt?” he said. “Are you just a little facking pile of shizz, what can’t do nothin’?”

Thack. Another slap, harder this time. Alan’s eyes blurred with tears.

“Is that what you is?”

Cal took a step forwards. “Hey. Leave him alone.”

Gurt wheeled around and stood up, his shotgun raised and ready. “You don’t facking tell me what do to, alright? You don’t facking try to tell me.”

“A-a-hum.”

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat. A small woman with blue hair stood behind Gurt’s gang. She was dressed in a robe and slippers, and tiny bug-sized pieces of metal climbed through her hair, removing the tangles and returning its light and fluffy puffiness.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” asked Nana Joan.

“This don’t facking concern you,” said Gurt.

“This is my property,” said Nana Joan. “By which I mean the ground you’re standing on, and the people you are threatening. They work for me, and I do not appreciate you manhandling my things.”

Gurt gestured for one of his men to deal with the old lady. He was the tallest of the six, with a bear-like physique and the only beard in the group bigger than Gurt’s.

“Get out of here, lady,” the brute growled, flashing his sickle-like blade.

His beard came off in a series of short, sharp yanks. His wrist bent and broke, and his blade entered his lower intestines at speed, then shot upwards to chest height which, coincidentally, was as high on him as Nana Joan could reach.

She removed the blade with a stomach-turning schlurp, then hurled it at the guy with the blaster, just as he started to take aim. Both his hands came off at the wrists, and he stared blankly at them for a while, as if trying to decide if this turn of events was good or bad.

He settled on ‘bad’ and was about to scream when Nana jammed his own blaster under his chin and pulled the trigger, turning the top of his head into a spectacular eruption of fire and brains.

“Wait, fack, stop, stop!” yelped Gurt. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an ID card. “We’re with the Tribunal. These four were caught in the act of trying to steal a ship. We’re arresting them under Penal Code Alpha 644-dash-9.”

“Wait… You guys are cops?” Cal spluttered. “You weren’t trying to arrest us, you were trying to kill us.”

“You broke the facking law!” Gurt spat.

“We didn’t!” Cal protested. “We didn’t steal the ship. We – I mean I, just me – looked inside a ship. Is that a crime? Looking inside a ship? Is that against the law?”

“Yes,” said Gurt.

“Oh,” said Cal, deflating slightly. “Seriously? Because that feels… That feels excessive.”

Nana Joan narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “You didn’t identify yourself. I was well within my rights.”

“Of course! Of course you facking were, sweetheart,” said Gurt, oblivious to the way Nana bristled at that last word. “But now I’ve shown you my ID, you’d best back off while we take this lot in.”

“I keep telling you, they had nothing to do with it,” said Cal. “It was me. They tried to stop me.”

“You heard him,” said Nana. “It was just him, not the others. Take him if you must, but not them.”

“No can do,” said Gurt.

Nana’s voice became low and menacing. “Take him if you must. Not the others. You already killed one of my staff. I won’t lose any more. This one is new. He’s not properly trained yet. He can be replaced. The others can’t be. They stay with me.”

One of the other men reached over to take Higgsy’s arm. The gun Nana was holding snapped up and very deliberately took aim between the man’s eyes. “Lay a finger on that boy and see what happens,” she said. “I dare you.”

No one moved. The man with the gun pointed at him didn’t move with a far greater level of intensity than the others.

“I don’t care if you are the Tribunal,” Nana said. “These three are off-limits. Understood?”

Everyone looked at Gurt, who sucked on his horrible teeth for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Seems to me like they weren’t involved. No need to bring them in and give ourselves any unnecessary facking paperwork, is there?”

There was a murmuring of agreement from the others, particularly from the ones standing closest to the two dead bodies.

Nana Joan nodded and lowered her gun. Cal felt arms grab him roughly from behind.

“We’ll go out the front way,” Gurt said, in a voice that suggested it wasn’t open to debate. Nana, to her credit, considered debating it, but then nodded, just once.

“If that’s what you want,” she said. “But one little thing first.”

She drove a right hook across Cal’s jaw. The punch had such force behind it Cal was wrenched from the arms of the men holding him, and sent spiraling to the ground.

Nana grabbed him by the hair and hoisted him onto his knees. At the same time, she lowered her head so she could whisper in his ear.

“I’m sorry. I tried,” she told him. “And thank you.”

“Any time,” Cal grimaced, then the old woman shoved him away from her and stepped back.

“Get him out of my sight,” she said, indicating the back door of the restaurant. She turned to Higgsy, Jork and Alan. “And as for you three,” she said, slipping the blaster into her robe pocket. “We are going to have some serious words.”

Cal was caught under the arms and dragged backwards towards the door. “Catch you later, guys!” he called back to the others, before a flurry of quick rabbit-punches to the head shut him up.

“Keep your facking mouth closed,” Gurt warned him.

One of the men passed his Tribunal badge before the security scanners, and the back door to Nana Joan’s slid obligingly aside. It opened onto the little storage room at the back of the kitchen area. Cal spotted bits of Cramlin’s skeleton scattered across the kitchen floor as he was pulled through it, and wondered if his final resting place would be somewhere more stately.

Probably not, he reckoned. Cramlin, after all, had merely owned up to being unhappy in the workplace, while Cal had… Actually, Cal was a little hazy on what the nature of his actual crime was, but he had a feeling the deaths of two Tribunal officers was likely to be added to the rap sheet.

The TV was still on. The light from it painted the room in cool shades of white and blue. Cal was almost through the door leading into the restaurant proper when he saw the face on screen.

Loren.

She was soaking wet and in her underwear, either one of which he’d normally consider a good thing. But she was also bruised, her lip bleeding, one eye all but swollen shut.

“Wait, no, stop!” Cal cried, kicking with his heels to try to get purchase on the floor. A fist smashed across his face, but he brushed it aside, trying to see past Gurt to the screen behind him.

The sound was off, but the scrolling news ticker at the bottom announced: ‘Known Symmorium terrorist apprehended by Zertex…’

Before he could be dragged out of the kitchen, Cal grabbed the doorframe with both hands. “Wait, just stop, please! I need to see this. I need to see—”

The butt of Gurt’s shotgun cracked Cal in the face. His head snapped back, but he kept his grip on the door. “One second,” he said, spitting a wad of blood onto the floor.

Gurt motioned to his men. “On second thoughts, it’ll be easier to bring this facking nonce in if he’s unconscious. Gentlemen, would you be so kind?”

A boot connected with Cal’s ribs. A knee slammed into his cheek. Cal fell back under a barrage of kicks and punches. He kept his eyes on the screen for as long as he could, until the welcoming arms of unconsciousness – and, to a lesser extent, Tobey Maguire – pulled him down into the dark.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Cal woke up. This meant he wasn’t dead which, if he were honest, meant things were far better than he’d expected them to be.

Less positive was the fact he was in a cell. At least, he was telling himself it was a cell. It wasn’t really a cell at all, though.

Oh, sure, it had certain cell-like qualities in the form of barred doors and a number of restraints, but the restraints were more imaginative than the simple handcuffs or shackles found in most prisons, and were attached to a variety of contraptions which, even though he was trying very hard to come up with an alternative explanation, Cal knew could only be intended for torture.

And not the clean, hygienic sort of torture he’d experienced at the hands of Lady Vajazzle recently. No, this looked like the wet, messy sort of torture which would see him get gradually smaller and smaller over several hours, as more and more bits of him were removed using a variety of unpleasant methods.

Still, ‘cell’ felt nicer than ‘torture chamber’, or ‘butcher’s shop’, so he decided to stick with that, at least for the time being.

There were two guards in the room, one standing on either side of the door. They wore matching white uniforms with red trim, and something that combined a helmet and metal face mask into one sinister and unflattering piece of headwear.

These were not the torturers, Cal reckoned. It wasn’t that they didn’t look capable – the utter disdain with which they were glaring at him suggested they were positively itching for the opportunity to ram something sharp into one of his fleshier areas – but their body language suggested they were waiting for someone else. Someone important, going by how straight they were holding their backs.

They held slim, elegant blaster rifles in a way that said, ‘Yes, we know they’re small, but that only means you’ll take a lot longer to die,’ which made them all the more worrying than larger weapons would have been. The guns were currently pointed at the floor, but ready to be raised to precisely the height of Cal’s face, should either man deem it necessary.

“Hey, guys,” said Cal, as brightly as he could manage. He felt better than he should do after the kicking he’d received, but he wasn’t yet healed up all the way. He was also strapped to a table with an assortment of corkscrews and blades sitting on a tray beside it, and this was going some way to dampen his mood, too. “Could one of you do me a favor?”

Neither guard moved, yet their hatred for him somehow became even more palpable. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to let me go, or anything,” Cal assured them. “Although you can if you want to. Seriously, I won’t object.” He waited for some sort of response. “No? OK, it’s fine, that’s not what I was going to ask, anyway – but, again, it’s always an option, just so you know.’

He tried to sit up, but his arms were fastened to the tabletop somewhere above his head, and the best he could do was to flop himself about like a fish, which didn’t really help his situation in the slightest.

“OK, here’s what I need you guys to do,” Cal said. “Find me a TV. Even just a small one. You know? Or… I don’t know, do you have newspapers? Space newspapers? See a friend of mine has—”

A jolt of electricity passed through him from his wrist cuffs, making his whole body go rigid. His eyes bulged as the voltage increased for several seconds, before cutting off as suddenly as it had started.

“No talking,” grunted one of the guards.

Cal gulped down a series of rapid breaths. “OK. OK. Gotcha,” he wheezed. He raised his head to look at the two men. “So, is one of you going to get me a TV or— Hnnnng!”

The electricity ripped through him again, tightening all his muscles and almost making him chew through his tongue. It lasted longer this time, and when it finally snapped off, colors swam and danced before his eyes.

“—am I going to have to come over there and make you?” Cal concluded.

He braced himself for more pain, but it didn’t come. Instead, from somewhere beyond the door there came the sound of blaster fire. It was a short, sudden burst that was followed almost immediately by several voices shouting, and then another volley of shots.

The guards fired each other matching looks of concern, then both trained their guns on Cal. “Whoa, whoa, what?” Cal protested. “Why are you aiming at me? I haven’t done anything.”

The gunfire continued somewhere outside. It still sounded reasonably far away, but closer than it had been a moment ago. A small explosion went off, the force of the detonation rattling the torture implements all over the room.

The guards turned their guns to the door. They muttered something to one another, then one of them took aim at Cal again.

“Seriously, I’m not going anywhere,” Cal said. “I’d concentrate on whatever’s out there. If you release me, I’ll help you fight it. Then, once we’re done, I’ll hop right back on here, I swear.”

“Shut up!” hissed the guy with the gun on Cal.

More gunfire. This time it was returned.

Something went boom, rattling everything again.

Lots of feet hurried along the corridor outside. Cal heard the sound of power packs being slammed into weapons.

Something monstrous growled, and the guard who had been covering Cal swung his gun back to the door, instead.

“What the fonk is going on out there?” Cal asked, as the footsteps that had hurried past a moment ago sprinted back in the opposite direction, screaming. There were far fewer of them this time.

And then, as quickly as it had all started, the noises stopped. The two guards pressed themselves against the walls on either side of the door, their weapons trained on it.

“Hey. Psst. Hey!” Cal whispered. “I’m in a direct line of fire from the door here. If someone comes in, I’m going to get shot, like, immediately. Can someone push me over to the corner or…”

He stopped talking when both guards turned their guns on him. Cal would have put his hands above his head, if they weren’t already.

“Hey, wait! Easy, guys. Whatever’s going on out there, it is nothing to do with me!”

A fist punched through the wall right by the head of one of the guards. It was a large fist, and made of metal. Cal recognized it immediately.

“Wait, no, I tell a lie,” Cal said, his face lighting up in delight. “Seems like it does have something to do with me.”

The guard screamed as he was torn backwards through the wall. He fired wildly, and Cal tried to make himself as small a target as possible. Thanks to the shackles, the best he could manage was to makes his hands into fists and curl up his toes, but luckily the blaster bolts came nowhere near him.

The second guard was less fortunate. As the first fired blindly, one of the shots ricocheted off the blade of one of the room’s many torture devices. It scorched a hole straight through the exposed part of the guard’s face, and he went down without a sound.

The guard who was now out in the corridor was being less stoic about the hand fate had dealt him. He screamed for quite some time before a heavy, immensely solid-sounding thud silenced him, save for the faint ssssshk of him sliding down the wall.

The door to the cell shook on its hinges a couple of times, then flew open. A hulking cyborg stood in the doorway.

“Finally,” said Cal. “What kept you?”

Mech said nothing for a moment or two, then: “What can I say, man? Traffic was a fonking nightmare.”

He clanked into the room, glancing down at the dead guard. “It’s OK, he got hit by a stray shot,” said Cal.

Mech grunted. “Weren’t no stray shot.”

“Shut up!” said Cal. “There’s no way that was on purpose.”

“Of course it—!”

Something detonated against the back of Mech’s metal skull, staggering him. He opened his mouth, and a little puff of smoke emerged. “See what I mean?” Mech scowled. “I have literally been in the same room as you for three seconds, and already I been shot in the back of the head.”

His scowl curved slowly upwards into a smile. “But man, I’ve missed this shizz,” he said, then he turned the dial on his chest to his right, just a fraction. “Be right back.”

He turned with a surprising burst of speed and launched himself through the wall. “Who did that?” he demanded. “Who fired that? Was that you?”

“W-what? N-no! No, please, don’t!” wailed a man’s voice from a little further away.

“Get back here, shizznod!”

“Hey there, handsome.”

Cal looked to the door to find Miz looming there, her claws fully extended, her fur matted with blood.

“Miz! Are you a sight for sore eyes! Get me out of this thing,” Cal urged.

Miz strolled over and looked him up and down. “Oh, wow. This thing looks totally awesome.”

“Meh. From my point of view, not so much,” Cal said. “Wait, are you eating something?”

Miz stopped chewing for a moment, then started again. “Maybe.”

“Do I want to know what it is?”

Miz swallowed. “I doubt it.” She traced a clawed finger down Cal’s side, from just below his armpit. “So, like, you’re completely helpless in this thing, right?”

“Pretty much,” Cal said, squirming slightly. “Hence why I’m keen to get out of it.” Mizette’s eyes fell to his crotch. “Uh… whatcha doing there, Miz?” he asked.

“Like… completely helpless?”

“Yes,” said Cal. He swallowed. “Well, I mean, I guess I could still scream…”

Miz licked her lips hungrily. “There’s something I’ve wanted to do to you for a long time,” she whispered. She leaned in closer until Cal could see nothing but fur, smell nothing but blood and the unmistakable whiff of wet dog.

“Miz? What are you…? Miz?”

The restraints released. Miz snorted and leaned back, a grin curving below her snout. “Oh man, like, you should totally see your face right now,” she said.

Cal sprang to his feet, laughing a little too hard. “What? Oh! Hahahaha! Good one. You got me!”

“You totally thought I was going to, like, mount you or whatever, right there on the table.”

“Hahaha! Well, no, I mean…”

“I could have, if I’d wanted to,” Miz pointed out.

“Well, hahaha, yes. But you’re with Mech now, so I knew you wouldn’t.”

Miz waved a clawed hand. “What? Oh, no. That’s done. I’m so over that.”

“Oh,” said Cal, disappointed. He wasn’t sure whether he was disappointed for them, or for himself. Probably a bit of both. “That’s a shame.”

Miz shrugged. “We didn’t connect. You know, like, emotionally, or whatever? We both like, like, fighting and stuff, but beyond that, we didn’t really have all that much in common. Not enough to sustain a relationship, anyway.”

“I see,” said Cal.

“And he doesn’t have a penis, so there’s that, too.”

“Gotcha,” said Cal. “I can see why that would be an obstacle. Or, you know, not, as the case may be.”

Screaming and gunfire had been going on throughout Cal and Miz’s exchange. It stopped now, and was replaced by the thudding of mechanical feet drawing steadily closer.

“All clear,” said Mech, ducking through the door. “But reinforcements will be on the way. We should move.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Cal. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, or anything – I’m glad you guys are here – but how did you find me?”

Mech raised his forearm, showing off the display screen built into it. “I been tracking you this whole time,” he said. “You think I’d let you just go off and do your own thing without keeping an eye on you?”

“You were looking out for me?” said Cal, feeling genuinely quite touched.

“No, man. I wanted to make sure you didn’t end up living next door to me.”

“Oh.”

“Or I’d have moved.”

“I get it. Thanks for that.”

“Zertex has got Loren,” said Miz. “We have to go and, like, rescue her.”

“I know,” said Cal. He turned towards the door, then turned back. “Wait, you want to go save Loren?”

“Of course,” said Miz, sniffing as if offended. “She’s one of us. She’s one of the team.”

Cal smirked. “The job was that bad, huh?”

“Ugh, it was terrible,” Miz groaned. “They expected me to talk to people, give them drinks, or whatever. One time, they told me to clean glasses. Me! I mean, can you imagine?”

Cal shook his head. “No. No, I cannot.”

Mech beckoned for them to follow him out. “Come on, there are Tribunal ships out back, we can take one of them.”

“Wait! We can’t. I have to go back to Nana Joan’s,” said Cal. “Where I work. There’s something I need to pick up.”

“If it’s your paycheck, man, just leave it,” said Mech.

“No, it’s… wait. Paycheck? You guys got paid?”

Mech and Miz exchanged a glance. “Well, duh,” said Miz.

“Of course we did,” Mech confirmed.

“What?! Well why didn’t I get paid?” he demanded, then he shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not that, anyway, it’s a doohickey. You know, a thingy.” He mimed pressing a button, as if this would somehow make everything clearer. “That guy’s mom gave it to me. I slipped it into Higgsy’s pocket right before the Tribunal took me.”

“Man, I have no idea what the Hell you’re talking about,” said Mech.

“She told me I take it, so I must take it. I mean… right?” Cal said. “Which means we have to go back and get it, so I can take it with us. She said it was important.”

“That didn’t make it any clearer at all,” Miz pointed out.

“It actually somehow made it less clear,” Mech added. “Take what?”

“The doohickey!” Cal sighed. “Look, I’ll explain later. But we need to get back to Nana Joan’s and then—”

Everything after ‘and then’ was lost in the sound of an explosion, as the wall behind them erupted into dust and bits of gravel. Sunlight streamed in as Cal coughed and wheezed in the rubble-cloud.

“Hey, what time is it? How long was I in here for?” he asked. The cloud settled a little, revealing a large shape looming just beyond it. “And is that… Is that a tank?”

“Shizz. Move!” snapped Mech, pulling Cal aside and firing a salvo of blaster-fire from his arm cannon. Miz raced ahead, mostly upright, but occasionally using her arms as she bounded over rubble, debris and quite a staggering number of corpses.

“Jesus, how many people did you guys kill?” Cal gasped, but before Miz could answer the tank opened fire again. Another wall blew outwards. Part of the roof caved in, blocking their route. “Mech, we need an exit!” Cal cried.

“On it.”

Mech pivoted to one of the building’s more stable-looking walls and charged. His hydraulics hissed as he launched himself through the brickwork, leaving a gaping hole behind him. Cal urged Miz through it, then hurried after her just as the floor detonated behind him.

“You know what I said earlier about missing this shizz?” Mech called back over his shoulder. He charged through another wall and stumbled outside into fresh air. “I take it back. I want that on record.”

Sirens howled from every direction at once. The tank was hidden by the remains of the Tribunal building, but Cal could hear it trundling across the rubble. Voices shouted around it in a way that suggested they definitely weren’t on Cal’s side.

“Nana Joan’s,” Cal said. “Which way?”

Mech hurriedly tapped the panel on his arm. “That way, but it’s a mile or so,” he said, pointing along the street. Despite the gunfire and explosions, the sidewalks were still crammed with people. Most of them were hurrying away, but a good few had stopped to watch the excitement unfolding.

“Fonk it,” Cal spat. “We’ll never make it on foot.”

He threw himself into the road, directly in front of an oncoming… car, he guessed. It was the width of a moderately-sized 4x4, but twice as tall. At the front, it was fat and curved, but tapered to a sort of pointed tail at the back. It reminded Cal of a big silver fish, as it hovered just above the ground on a rippling cushion of air.

The vehicle hummed to a jerky stop just inches from Cal’s outstretched hand. “We are commandeering this vehicle in the name of Space Team,” he announced. The car tried to pull forward again, but Mech caught it by the tail and held it in place. Miz yanked the door open and pounced inside.

A moment later, a man in an expensively-tailored suit tumbled out and landed in the road. “Hey!” he protested. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry,” said Cal, hopping inside. “We’ll take very good care of it.”

Cal looked around at the cramped interior. Miz was already hunched up in the back, her knees almost at her chin. The only other seat was for the driver, and it wasn’t really a seat at all. It looked more like a mechanical bull, with an assortment of levers and control sticks jutting out from the front part.

“Mech, there’s no room for you in here. Can you…?”

The car bounced around as Mech clambered onto its roof. “I’m on. Go!” the cyborg’s voice boomed from somewhere directly above Cal’s head.

Cal swung his leg over the seat and onto the foot rest on the other side. His hands slipped naturally into the grooves of the two largest control sticks and he pushed them forwards in the hope the car moved.

It didn’t.

Cal yanked on another stick. Then engine screamed in protest and the vehicle gave a violent shudder. He quickly unyanked it.

“They’re coming, man! Move!” Mech cried.

“I’m trying!” said Cal. “Miz, have you ever driven one of these things?”

Miz indicated her ridiculously compacted frame. “Do I look like I’ve ever driven one of these things?” she tutted. “This looked way bigger on the outside.”

A blaster bolt ricocheted off something. “Ow!” Mech yelped. He returned fire. “Yeah, see how you like it!”

Cal’s eyes darted across the controls. “Come on, come on,” he muttered, but nothing that said ‘this will make you move’ immediately jumped out at him.

There was a glovebox in the front panel. Hoping to find some sort of manual in there, Cal stretched himself forwards. As his foot pressed on the foot rest, the vehicle screamed forwards, violently kangaroo-hopped a few times, then veered into oncoming traffic.

“What the fonk are you doing?” Mech hollered. “Go left, go left!”

Cal jammed the left stick forwards. This made him go right, and there was a jarring bang as another car clipped them.

“Sorry! My fault!” Cal said. He swapped the position of the sticks and steered himself into the left-hand lane, which was completely clear all the way to the end of the road. “Hang on to something!” he cried, then he pressed his foot down harder on the pedal and the car pulled away, building up speed as it hurtled along the empty lane.

The first corner took Cal by surprise. Technically, it wasn’t the corner that was the problem – he had seen it coming for quite some time – but rather the handling of the flying fish-car. While it was excellent at accelerating, it was less good at turning corners, particularly when travelling at high speeds.

Mech grunted and grumbled as the car slammed sideways into the front of an office-block. Cal gunned the pedal and the engine’s complaints drowned out Mech’s.

“Miz, are they chasing us?” Cal asked, powering back out onto the road. “Can you see?”

“I can see the tops of my knees and, like, a third of your head. That’s it,” said Miz.

An energy blast screamed past them and struck another car coming in the opposite direction. It careened off the road and smashed, nose-first, through a store front.

“They’re still chasing us,” Cal said. “OK, everyone hold on!”

Cal kicked harder on the pedal, but the car’s speed didn’t increase. From the sound the engine was making, they were going at top speed, yet the display on the dashboard suggested the thing had more to give.

“Wait,” said Cal. “Wait… is this thing stick shift?”

He yanked the lever he’d tried earlier. The engine’s whine became a throaty roar and the car shot forwards like a bullet from a rifle, weaving all over the road as Cal struggled to keep it under control.

Panicking, he pressed down his other foot. This turned out to be the brakes. The car stopped immediately, and Cal watched in a sort of stunned silence as Mech was launched off the roof. Despite flailing wildly and hurtling through the air at tremendous speed, the cyborg still found the time to shoot Cal an accusing look, right before he slammed into the back of a delivery truck, crumpling the bodywork like wet cardboard.

Cal pulled forwards again until he was level with Mech, just as he extracted himself from the wreckage. “Sorry! My fault again!” Cal said, then the car dipped again when Mech clambered onto the roof.

“They’re coming. Go, go!”

Cal pulled forwards again, weaving awkwardly around the partially-flattened truck. He flashed the driver an apologetic smile as he passed on the wrong side of the road, then they were off again, gliding along the empty lane, getting faster and faster as they closed on Nana Joan’s.

“How much further?” Cal shouted.

“Two corners, left, then right,” Mech called back, his instructions punctuated by a couple of pew-pews from his arm cannon.

The first corner came up fast. Cal touched the brake, just lightly this time, and swung them around the bend without hitting anything.

“Alright!” he cheered. “I’m a natural.”

The road curved into a swooping bend ahead. Cal powered towards it, but as he began the long turn, he realized he’d caught up with all the traffic that had pulled ahead of the car when he’d flagged it down. Cars chugged along slowly in both lanes, not quite nose to tail, but close enough to be a problem.

“Shizz. We’re blocked!”

“Well get us unfonking blocked!” Mech spat, firing off another volley of blaster bolts.

Cal searched for an exit. He spotted a fence between two buildings, and caught a glimpse of an alleyway behind. The gap was narrow, but just wide enough.

“Brace yourselves!” he warned, jamming the sticks so the car turned sharply in the road. He powered through a gap in the oncoming traffic, and then the fence was suddenly dead ahead, and rapidly getting closer.

The wood became matchsticks as the car smashed through it.

“Alright!” Cal cheered, before the vehicle stopped in a shower of sparks and a screech of metal on stone.

Once again, Cal could only watch as Mech was launched from the roof. This time, the cyborg managed to give Cal the finger before he hit the ground and skidded along the alleyway in a tangle of metal limbs.

“What happened?” Miz asked. “Why have we stopped?”

Cal forced a smile. “Well, it appears this alleyway wasn’t quite as wide as I had anticipated,” he said.

“We’re stuck?!”

“We… I mean… That would be one way of putting it, certainly.”

Voices boomed somewhere not too far behind. Cal tried the door, but it was jammed by the wall beside them. “OK, so we won’t be getting out that way,” he muttered.

Mech got to his feet and limped along the alley towards them. Cal could see him muttering below his breath, and was relieved he couldn’t hear what was being said.

“Keep back,” Mech warned. A single punch shattered the windshield, and the metal squeaked in protest as he tore out the whole frame.

Cal untangled himself from the controls and jumped down. Miz followed a moment later, stretching her legs and cricking her neck. “I am never going in one of those things again.”

“Oh, you think you had it bad?” said Mech. “Try being on the motherfonking roof!”

Cal darted ahead. “Guys, come on! Before anyone gets through. Which way?”

Mech checked his sensors. “Complicated. I’ll lead the way. You two watch our backs.”

‘Complicated’ was putting it mildly. Mech led them through a winding zig-zag of alleyways and back streets that Cal was sure was looping them around in circles.

Eventually, though, they reached the mouth of a passageway and there, standing across the road, was a…

“Dunkin’ Donuts?” said Cal. “What the…? Where did this come from?”

“It’s Nana Joan’s,” Mech insisted.

Cal shook his head. “No, Nana Joan’s is a Five Guys. This is a Dunkin’ Donuts. See, it reads your mind and figures out what you want to…” He stopped and thought for a moment. “Holy shizz, I’d actually kill for a Dunkin’ Donuts right now. My god, this place knows me better than I know myself. This is it, alright.”

He stepped out onto the street, only for a hail of gunfire to force him back in. “Shizz!” he yelped, dancing a retreat. “They must have figured out where we were going, somehow.”

“You literally announced it,” Mech reminded him. “You literally said, out loud, ‘We have to go to Nana Joan’s.’”

“What if we just make a run for it?” Cal said. He gestured across the road. “It’s literally right there.”

Miz took an empty soda can from the alley’s trash and tossed it into the street. Before it finished rolling, it had been obliterated by blaster fire.

“How fast can you run again?” Miz asked.

Cal sucked on his bottom lip. “Fonk. Not fast enough. Anyone have any ideas?”

Mech frowned. “Maybe. Do you still heal fast?”

“Yeah, why?”

“How fast, exactly?”

“I don’t know. Fast. Why?”

“I might have a plan,” Mech said. “But you ain’t gonna like it.”

“Oh. OK,” said Cal. “Are you going to like it?”

“Honestly?” Mech’s metal jaw bent into a grin. “It’ll be up there as one of the greatest moments of my life.” He tapped his arm. “Let me just activate recording mode. I’m gonna want to remember this for a long, long time…”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cal rocketed through the air, laser-fire crisscrossing behind him, the wind turning his vision into little more than a blur. He was almost grateful for that fact, because it meant he couldn’t see the window approaching, or his own reflection that was rapidly growing larger in it.

KARAAASH!

Cal tumbled through the window in a chorus of shattering glass, breaking bones, and high-pitched shrieks. He clattered across a table, scattered a few space chairs, then left a lengthy blood trail across the floor as he slid to a stop.

“Ow.”

He rolled over and sat up. He was blind in one eye, and he was pretty sure he could feel his cheek resting on his chin. There were dozens of shards of glass embedded in his face and neck, and something flopping in front of his one working eye that he at first thought was a big spider, then realized was actually part of his scalp.

“Son of a bedge,” he muttered, flopping the scalp back into place and rearranging his face into what he hoped was roughly the correct position.

It was only then that he noticed Higgsy, Jork and Alan. They were standing eight or nine feet in front of him, staring at him in a mixture of horror, disbelief, and a bit more horror. They appeared to have been in the middle of giving a sponge bath to the fattest, single most revolting creature Cal had ever laid eyes on.

It looked like someone had inflated a sausage, and been having too much fun to know when enough was enough. It was completely naked, aside from a large white sheet wrapped around its waist. Its bare skin was covered in sores and boils, and it was these that Higgsy and the others were sponging down with a thick, gloopy liquid.

“Uh, hey guys,” said Cal, pulling the last of the glass from his face. He looked the fat thing up and down. “How’s it going?”

“Dude,” Jork mumbled. “How did you just do that with your face?”

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” the naked guy said, his blubbery lips spraying spittle on the side of Jork’s head. The boils on his skin puckered up, and Cal realized they weren’t sores at all. They were hundreds of tiny mouths. “I paid for private dining.”

“Uh, s-sorry, Your Eminence,” said Higgsy.

“More soup!” the fat man demanded. There was a wet schlop sound as Higgsy slapped the sponge against him again, and set to work.

“Jesus,” said Cal. He whistled below his breath. “I am glad it’s my day off.”

“Muntch!” barked Nana Joan, storming through from the kitchen area. She no longer wore her robe and slippers, and was dressed in the same sensible outfit she’d worn yesterday, only now with an apron over the top of it. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you dead?”

“Well, nice to see you too, Nana,” said Cal.

“You know what I mean. They took you. They ought to have killed you by now.”

Cal shrugged. “What can I say? I guess they let me go.”

“You. In the building,” barked an amplified voice from outside. “Come out with your hands up.”

“Or, you know, I escaped,” Cal said.

Nana’s face became a mask of fury. “And you brought them here? What were you thinking? You have put everyone in here in danger!”

“What, even me?” asked the fat guy.

“Oh no, not you, dear,” Nana said, smiling warmly at the man. The smile fell away when she turned back to Cal. “But everyone else. They’ll think we’re conspiring with you. They’ll take us all in!”

“Shizz, seriously?” Cal winced. “Sorry, that was an accident. I didn’t know.”

He reached into Higgsy’s pocket, making the boy jump in fright. “Wh-what are you doing?”

Cal pulled out the doohickey and held it up. “I had to come back for this. I slipped it into your pocket before those guys took me away last night.”

“You have thirty seconds to comply,” the voice outside informed them. “Or we will storm the building and eliminate all threats within.”

“They’re going to kill us!” Jork yelped.

“Oh, great!” said Alan. “That’s just great! Thanks a bunch, Muntch.”

Cal backed towards the broken window. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll explain you’re not involved.”

“They’re not going to believe you. Not after last night,” Nana hissed. “Anyway, they’ll shoot you dead the moment you step out there.”

The street was filled by the screaming of gunfire. Higgsy, Jork, and Alan all ducked for cover. “They’re shooting us, they’re shooting us!” Higgsy cried.

“Relax, they’re not shooting us,” said Cal. “They’re shooting at her.”

Miz bounded through the window with far more grace and style than Cal had, rolled across a tabletop, and landed on her feet with teeth and fangs bared.

This was a step too far for the customer, who decided to take his chances elsewhere. He waddled towards the exit, screaming, “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” then was disappointed to be shot the moment he opened the door. Something wet and soupy hit the wall behind him. Probably soup. The impact made his towel fall off, affording everyone else in the room one of the most harrowing sights of their lives. Then, with a thud, he toppled backwards onto the floor, dead.

Mech used the distraction to make his own move. While not as fast as Miz, he had the advantage of being virtually invulnerable to blaster fire. He marched quickly across the street, bolts of energy rebounding off him as he sprayed gunfire of his own at anything that moved.

With a heave, he pulled himself in through the broken window and inside Nana Joan’s. “You get your thing?” he asked.

Cal held up the doohickey. “Got it.”

“It’s a button? What does it do?” Mech asked.

“Nothing yet. She told me it’ll work when the time is right.”

Miz scowled. “That’s stupid. How will you know?”

“She just said I’d know.”

“Well, press it now,” said Mech. “If that thing’s going to help us somehow, the time sure feels pretty fonking right to me.”

Cal pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

“Oh, great!” Mech grunted. “So now we’re stuck in here with half the fonking Tribunal officers in the city closing in on us.”

“I don’t want to die!” Higgsy sobbed. “I don’t want to die!”

“And you won’t,” said Nana, drawing herself up to her full, unimpressive height. She pointed to Miz and Mech. “You two, watch the window.”

“Who’s she?” asked Miz, looking Nana up and down.

“She’s my boss,” Cal explained. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

Nana motioned to Cal and her other employees. “You four, with me.”

Higgsy, Jork and Alan both hurried to the old woman’s side. Cal hesitated. “You’re not going to put me back on dishes, are you?”

“No! Now hurry,” Nana snapped. “We don’t have much time.”

She led them through the kitchens and into the storage area by the back door. “Of course!” said Cal, reaching for the handle. “We can go out the back way and take your ship. Nana, you’re a—”

“No, don’t!” Nana yelped, but it was too late. A spray of blaster fire found its way inside. Cal yelped as it scorched his shoulder, then leaped aside as Nana slammed the door closed. She hurriedly keyed an override command into the panel beside it, activating the deadlock.

“They’re out there, you idiot,” Nana hissed.

Cal watched the wound on his shoulder close. “Then why did you bring us in there?” he asked.

Nana approached a large metal cabinet. It looked much like the other metal cabinets in the storage room and kitchen, but as she got closer, the old woman’s voice became an almost reverend whisper. “For this,” she said, then the cabinet doors parted before her, and a series of racks and shelves unfolded from within.

It was an arsenal. It was already the biggest arsenal Cal had ever seen in fact, and it was still growing as the shelves continued to unfold. Cal and the others stepped back as the racks continued expanding, locking themselves into place as more and more weapons were unveiled.

“What… What is all this?” Higgsy whispered.

“These are my guns, dear,” said the old woman, gesturing around the room, which was now almost completely covered by racks of weaponry. “These are the guns of Nana Joan. I didn’t always run a restaurant, you know?”

She reached for a short, stubby rifle with three vertically-aligned barrels and a frankly ludicrous scope on top. “Everyone take one. Take as many as you can carry. If we’re going down, we’re going down fighting.”

“Alright, Nana Joan!” cried Cal, grabbing himself a couple of blaster pistols and something that looked like a chain gun, minus the chain.

“We don’t want to fight!” said Jork. “Right, Higgsy?”

Higgsy blinked several times, then snatched a shotgun from the rack. “Just get a gun, you freaking idiot,” Higgsy said. “We either fight, or we die. Right, Nana?”

“That’s right, dear,” said Nana. She patted Higgsy on the arm and winked. “You stick with me, you hear?”

She looked down at Alan, who was staggering under the weight of a portable missile-launcher. “Seriously, Alan?” she sighed. She plucked the weapon from his grasp and handed him a pistol instead. “Here, start with this.”

“Huh? This thing is tiny.”

“Yes, well so are you,” Nana pointed out.

Alan opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it.

“We’re about to have company!” roared Mech from out front.

Cal crammed another couple of guns into his belt, slung two more rifles over his shoulder, and gestured to the missile-launcher in Nana’s hands. “May I?”

Nana took a moment to consider the request. “Very well, Muntch. I hope you know how to use it.”

“Oh I do. And please, call me ‘Cal.’”

“No,” said Nana. “And you’re pointing it the wrong way.”

A torrent of blaster fire rattled against the outside of the door behind them. Higgsy snapped up his gun, closed his eyes and fired. The bolt rebounded off the door and spent a terrifying few seconds ricocheting off every available surface, before punching a hole in the kitchen door.

“Jesus Christ!” Cal yelped. “Be careful with that thing!”

“S-sorry!” Higgsy whimpered.

“It’s shielded,” Nana said, gesturing to the back door. “Against both energy and physical assaults. No one’s getting in that way, at least not for a while.”

Cal led the way back through the kitchen and into the main restaurant. Mech was by the window, pumping round after round down the street. Mizette ducked low near the open door, ready to pounce on the first head that poked through.

“Miz!” Cal called, tossing her a rifle. She caught it, gave it an experimental sniff, then nodded her approval. Pivoting on her front foot, she pumped a pulsing blue ball of energy out through the door. A moment later, something made a loud whump sound outside, and a reassuringly large number of people all began screaming at the same time.

“Good choice,” said Miz, eyeing the weapon. “I am totally keeping this thing.”

Another window exploded, and a volley of blaster bolts obliterated a trash can. Cal joined Mech at the first window, while Nana led the others over to the second, gesturing for them to keep low.

“What’s the situation?” Cal asked. “You know, other than ‘we’re probably all about to die,’ I mean.”

“We got around a hundred agents out front,” Mech began, then Miz’s gun fired again, and several more people screamed. “We got around eighty-five agents out front,” Mech corrected. He sprayed blaster fire off to his right, then indicated in the same direction. “And some kind of tank rolling in.”

Cal hoisted the missile launcher onto his shoulder. “Leave the tank to me,” he said, then he pulled the trigger before Mech could spoil his fun. To his immense relief, he was pointing it in the right direction. He was also pointing it down at a much steeper than intended angle, and the road just a few feet ahead of them erupted in a ball of fire, singeing Cal’s eyebrows, and knocking him onto his back.

“OK, my bad! My bad,” Cal wheezed, returning to his spot. “Totally misjudged that.”

A rain of laser fire slammed into the window surround from outside. Cal and Mech both ducked as it screamed over their heads, shattered the remaining shards of glass, and punched holes in the walls.

Across the room, Nana Joan gestured for her staff to stay back, then stood up at the window, and fired several times with two blaster pistols. She ducked back down before the bodies of the Tribunal agents had even hit the ground.

“Whoa. Nice shooting, Nana,” said Jork, peeking up over the window ledge. Nana pulled him down before a volley of return fire tore past them.

“Thank you, dear,” she said, smiling warmly. “Now, try not to get shot in the face, if you can possibly avoid it.”

“I want to shoot something!” said Alan. The little pistol looked enormous in his hands, and he had to jam the butt of it against his shoulder like a rifle stock.

“You’ll get your chance,” said Nana. She stood up, killed several people, then crouched down again. “If anyone gets in here, that’s when you three strike, OK? You three are my secret weapon. Nana Joan’s secret sauce. Got it?”

She squeezed Higgsy’s bloated cheek, then got back to shooting people. As she stood up, a puff of smoke emerged from the turret of the tank.

“Everyone down!” she screamed, hurling herself away from the window, knocking over her three employees on the way.

At the exact same moment, the doohickey in Cal’s pocket let out a loud chime, and Ronda’s voice emerged. “The time is right,” she said.

As Cal fumbled with the device, Mech spun, shoving Cal to the ground. Miz bounded towards the center of the room, and they all hit the deck just as the wall and part of the roof erupted, filling the restaurant with fast-moving rocks, glass, and scrap metal.

There was a ringing in Cal’s ears when he opened his eyes. The floor lurched beneath him as he tried to get up, blinking and coughing in a cloud of dust. “Everyone OK?” he wheezed.

Mech’s arm sparked and popped, but he ignored it. “Fine.”

“We’re OK, dear,” said Nana Joan.

“S-speak for yourself!” Jork sobbed, although he appeared to be more scared than hurt. Alan pulled himself upright, then helped Higgsy up as far as he could.

“They broke my cool gun!” Miz grumbled, holding up the weapon. A sliver of metal was buried in one side, and a glowing blue fluid dripped from the entry point.

There was a series of metallic clattering sounds, as several metal disks sailed in through the damaged wall. Mech raised his damaged arm to blast the closest one, but his cannon refused to fire.

“Oh,” Cal whispered, his eyes going wide. “Shizz.”

The disks exploded. What came out of them was not the fiery death Cal had been prepared for, but a gloopy, gelatinous white fluid that coated them all from head to toe. Cal tried to stumble back, but the gloop became stringy, then solid around his body. The stuff on his face squidged aside, locking his head in place, but leaving his face and airways clear.

“Jesus,” he grimaced, struggling against his bonds. “Well, I guess that was the money shot.”

Mech and Miz were both cocooned, just like he was. Higgsy, Jork and Nana Joan, too. There was a number of Alan-sized lumps on the floor, but from Cal’s angle, he couldn’t see a face on any of them.

“What is this stuff?” Miz asked.

“Restraining fluid,” Nana Joan said. She struggled briefly against the bonds, but stopped quickly. “Virtually inescapable. Don’t try to use your weapons, unless you’re keen to lose a hand or two.”

“Did I hear your thingy going off?” Mech asked.

“The doohickey?” said Cal. “Yeah. I’m pressing it right now.”

Mech’s eyes darted around the room. “And?”

Cal tried to shrug, but failed. “Doesn’t seem to have done anything.”

“Oh, well ain’t that just great?” Mech sighed.

“Well now, what the fack does we have here, then?”

Gurt strolled in through the door, a couple of his henchmen behind him. Although the cocoon muffled the sound, Cal felt the vibrations of the tank rolling along the street in the direction of the restaurant.

Kicking through the rubble, Gurt stopped in front of Cal. “This is becoming a habit. Ain’t it?” he said. “You know what I do with habits?”

“Put them on and pretend you’re a big nun?” Cal guessed.

Gurt looked momentarily confused, but rallied quickly. He leered, showing off his revolting teeth. “I break them.”

“Ha! Good one,” said Cal. “I see what you did there. Clever.”

Gurt rabbit-punched him in the face. It wasn’t particularly hard, but because Cal’s head had nowhere to go, it hurt more than it otherwise might have.

Cal licked the blood from his burst lip. “Well, that felt a little unnecessary.”

Gurt hit him again. Cal grimaced, then wrinkled his nose as a trickle of blood emerged from each nostril. “As did that.”

The Tribunal agent drew back a fist to hit him again. Cal didn’t blink, and Gurt realized he was wasting his time. “Hit one of the other ones,” he said, gesturing to Nana Joan’s group. “Maybe that’ll stop his smart mouth.”

“OK, OK, I’ll stop,” said Cal, but one of Gurt’s men had already picked his target.

Higgsy’s bulbous face looked comically huge in the cocoon, as if it were being squeezed out through the gap. His bottom lip trembled, and Cal could see the boy was holding back tears.

“Hey, come on, he’s just a kid,” Cal said.

“You leave him now,” Nana Joan warned the agent. “You hear me? You don’t touch him.”

Gurt sneered. “Yeah. That one’ll do,” he said, holding Cal’s gaze. “Make it a good ‘un.”

“N-no, please, don’t, don’t!” Higgsy whimpered. The agent raised his fists, bobbed and weaved a couple of times, enjoying the moment, then struck with a jab at Higgsy’s puffed-up cheek.

FLOMP.

His hand sank into Higgsy’s flesh, all the way up to the wrist. “Sommy,” said Higgsy, his mouth squished to one side. “I twied to wan oo.”

The henchman screamed. He leapt back, the skin of his hand sizzling as it dissolved into raw, wet flesh. That, too, was eaten away by the thin veneer of orange slime, becoming bone, then dust, then nothing at all.

Gurt and the other agent snapped up their weapons as Higgsy’s attacker passed out in shock.

“It… it wasn’t my fault,” Higgsy sobbed. “I didn’t do it, it’s not my fault.”

“Don’t hurt him!” Nana protested.

“Yeah, come on, guys, it’s me you want,” said Cal.

“Leave the kid alone,” Mech added.

But Gurt was advancing on Higgsy now, regarding him with a sort of morbid curiosity that suggested he wanted to find out what was inside the boy, and didn’t mind how many holes he had to make to do so.

Handing his shotgun across to his remaining henchman, Gurt slid a knife out from a concealed sheath below his beard. “Well now,” he breathed. “Ain’t you a facking interesting one?”

He brought the knife closer to Higgsy’s bloated face. The boy tried to draw back, but there was no way for him to move.

“P-please,” Higgsy whispered, but the word was lost in a mess of tears and snot, and Gurt just kept coming closer.

“Hey, back off, you big jerk.”

Alan emerged from behind Higgsy’s cocoon, his arms shaking as he pointed the gun up at Gurt. “Leave him alone, or I shoot.”

Gurt took a step back and slowly raised his hands.

“Yeah, that’s it,” said Alan. “Ain’t so tough now, are you?”

With a flick of his foot, Gurt kicked the gun from Alan’s grip. “Yes, I facking am,” he said, then he toe-punted the little man in the stomach with such force it lifted him off his feet.

Alan fell to the floor, doubled over, coughing and wheezing. Gurt turned his attention back to Higgsy. “Now, where was we?”

“I said,” Alan spat, forcing his legs to lift him. “Leave him alone.” There was a shake in his voice that was impossible to miss, but to his credit, he carried on. “Or you know what I’m going to do to you? I’m going to make you eat your own feet.”

The other agent decided it was his turn to kick the little guy this time. Alan flipped in the air and his head hit the ground with a crack.

“Stop it!” Nana Joan said, her face contorting in rage. She struggled against the bonds. “Leave him alone!”

“Alan, stay down,” pleaded Jork, but the little man was already pulling himself up again. Blood ran from a gash in his forehead, partially blinding him.

“And you know what I’ll be d-doing?” he managed. He spat a wad of blood onto the floor. “I’ll be watching, you piece of shizz. And I’ll be dancing.”

“Oh my god, he’s going to do it,” Cal muttered, as Alan began to jig and prance on the spot.

“Like this. You’ll be chewing on your own feet, and I’ll be—”

Gurt’s knife entered Alan’s stomach and emerged through his back, cutting his dancing short. “Oh, facking think so, do you?” the Tribunal man hissed. He leered, showing off those teeth again as he withdrew the knife, then rammed it home a second time.

“No!” Nana roared.

“Alan!” Jork cried. Higgsy just stared, open-mouthed, too numb to say a word.

Gurt let out a little gasp of pleasure as he stabbed Alan a third time. The little man’s eyes were wide and staring. He didn’t scream. He couldn’t scream. He just went limp and lifeless as Gurt placed a hand on his face and shoved him to the floor with the rest of the debris.

“You… You fonking piece of shizz!” Cal growled. He struggled against the cocoon. “You worthless fonking piece of shizz!”

Gurt coolly regarded the blood on his blade, then wiped it on Jork’s cheek. The streak of red looked even more vibrant against Jork’s snow white skin.

“Now, then,” said the agent, turning his attention back to Higgsy again. “Where did we get to, boy?”

A hand wrapped around Gurt’s ankles. It was a big hand. And it was getting bigger.

“What the fack?” the agent managed, before another hand – even bigger than the first – caught him by the head.

There was the sound of several bones all snapping at the same time, and a scream that quickly became a damp, gargling wheeze.

Alan stood up, but it was a version of Alan that had been filtered through a nightmare. He was several times his original size, and still growing. Rather than an Incredible Hulk-like physique of bulging muscles, though, his diminutive frame was mutating into a sort of dark, oily putty that wriggled and writhed as if a living entity all on its own.

“Hol-ee shizz,” Cal whispered. “There’s something you don’t see every day. Thankfully.”

With an inhuman screech, Alan bent Gurt backwards, twisting him into a full circle. If the Tribunal agent wasn’t killed by his first foot being rammed down his gullet, the second one almost certainly finished him off.

Alan hurled the mangled wreckage of the man at the other agent, who stood rooted to the spot in terror. The force of the impact slammed the agent against the partially-collapsed wall, and a rain of rocks and other debris toppled down on him, trapping him below.

“Wahey! We’re saved!” cried Cal. “You did it, giant monster Alan, you…”

Throwing back his head, Alan let out another terrifying screech, then he hurled himself through the wall and galloped away, using his enormous front arms to propel him along the street.

“Uh, he’s going to come back, right?” said Cal. “He hasn’t just left us here?”

“I fonking hope not. He needs to break us out of this stuff,” said Mech.

“I was thinking more about his little dance, which we didn’t get to see,” said Cal. “But, sure, there’s your thing, too.”

Growling, Miz managed to force her claws through her cocoon. She scraped them up and down, her movements becoming bigger and more violent as she made space for her arm to move.

Finally, with a roar of triumph, she tore herself free. “Hold still,” she told Cal – quite unnecessarily, he thought, what with him being completely immobile – then she hacked and slashed at his cocoon until he was free.

While Miz freed Mech, Cal took Gurt’s knife and began cutting through Nana Joan’s restraints.

“The boys. Get the boys out first,” the old woman told him, but Miz and Mech were already working on them, and soon all six of them were free.

Although ‘free’, Cal realized, was something of an exaggeration. The turret of a tank pointed at them through the collapsed wall. Two squads of agents – one dressed all in white, the other wearing the same dirty, worn-out old outfits Gurt and his men were dressed in – flanked the tank, their rifles raised.

“So, what now?” Mech grunted.

“We could take them out,” Cal suggested. “I’ll get the guy over there with the wonky eye, you two take down the tank and everyone else. Deal?”

Mech held up his damaged arm. “I’m down to one cannon,” he said.

Cal sighed. “Fine. You take the guy with the eye, then. You’re such a drama queen.”

“Ready!”

The voice roared from somewhere out in the ranks. The guns, which had already been pointing into the restaurant, pointed even harder.

“Aim!”

“Wait, hold on now!” Cal protested. “Can’t we talk about this?”

“Fi—” boomed the voice, but before the commander could reach the end of the word, the sky exploded.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The doohickey bleeped in Cal’s hand, and Ronda’s voice chimed out once more. “Signal detected,” it announced. “Colossobot has arrived.”

With a sound like all the thunder in human history rumbling at once, a foot landed atop the tank, instantly pancaking it, and anyone unfortunate enough to be inside.

The agents who had been pointing their guns at Cal and the others decided this was a much more pressing target to be focusing their attention on. They swiveled their rifles up above the foot, to where, presumably, there was a full leg, although what was left of the roof made it impossible for Cal to see anything above the thing’s ankle.

“Colossobot defensive measures initiated,” the doohickey announced, this time in soulless computer tones instead of Ronda’s voice.

A number of energy beams sliced down from somewhere well above ankle-height, and carved through the Tribunal guards like a concentrated high-intensity laser weapon through quivering, unprotected flesh.

A near-silence fell over Nana Joan’s, broken only by the distant wail of approaching sirens, the panicky screams of Down Here citizens, and the distant screeching of whatever the fonk Alan now was.

Miz’s ears were also able to pick up the faint hiss of sizzling flesh, but as she didn’t mention it, no one else was any the wiser.

Mech cautiously peeked out at the foot, leaning down so he could see past the knee, and a good way up the thigh. There was another foot, too, much the same as the first, positioned a little further along the street.

“Tell me this thing’s on our side,” he said.

“Well, like, it totally killed everyone who was about to shoot us,” Miz said. “So I’m guessing it doesn’t hate us.”

“Maybe,” said Mech. “But it’s got Zertex written all over it.”

Miz nodded. “It does look like the sort of thing they’d build.”

“No, I mean it literally has Zertex written all over it,” said Mech. “I can see it from here.”

Cal stepped out into the street, glancing around quickly just in case there were more tanks or people with guns lurking around. When he was sure the coast was clear, he leaned back and looked up.

He couldn’t, however, look up enough. The head was hidden behind the bulky chest, and Cal could only really get an impression of the thing.

It was big. But that was a given. It was a giant robot and giant robots were, by their very definition, usually on the large side.

Cal had no idea quite how big it was, but even the tallest buildings around it barely reached its waist, and its broad, stocky frame fit onto the street with just a foot or so to spare between it and the buildings on either side.

“What’s her name? Narp’s mom. She said she stole it from Zertex. Or from the Xandrie, who’d stolen it from Zertex, or something,” Cal said.

“Isn’t she, like, an old lady?” asked Miz.

Cal shrugged. “Yeah, but…” He gestured with a thumb to Nana Joan, who was sweeping the area with her rifle.

Miz nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”

“And Lady Vajazzle,” said Cal. “Actually, what is it with space old ladies? Are they all butt-kicking ninja-types?”

Mech shrugged. “My mom once killed an Ejaculating Thunce with a hair clip.”

Cal turned to him. “What the fonk is an…? In fact, no. I don’t want to know.”

He jumped as a hatch suddenly slid upwards in the robot’s foot, revealing an elevator beyond. It would be a tight squeeze, and barely enough room for three of them.

“OK, Nana, you take Higgsy and Jork up first, then send the elevator back down,” Cal said. “Mech, Miz and I – mostly those two, if I’m honest – will shoot at any bad guys who show their faces.”

“No,” said Nana.

“’No’?” said Cal. “Which part?”

“We’re not going with you, dear,” said Nana. “We’re going to find Alan.”

“Alan?” said Mech. “You mean…?”

“The big scary monster guy,” Cal explained. The expression on Nana’s face told him he probably shouldn’t argue. “You sure?”

Nana nodded. “I have an obligation to keep my employees in check. All my employees. I must, by order of the Tribunal, know where they are at all times.” She adjusted her grip on her gun. “Which, you’ll understand, prevents me from letting you aboard that… thing. However…”

“Hey now, Nana, we don’t—”

“How. Ever,” Nana barked, glaring at him with a boggle-eyed intensity that made his mouth stop talking of its own accord. The old woman’s face softened as she continued. “As of right now, you, Mr Muntch, are fired.”

“Aw, seriously?” said Cal. “And I thought it was going so well!” He smiled at Nana, then glanced over to Higgsy and Jork. “You’re going to take care of those two, right?”

Nana nodded, just once. “Always.”

“Guys, it has been a pleasure from start to finish,” said Cal. “You know, apart from maybe ninety per cent of it. But you three made it all bearable.”

He patted Jork on the shoulder, and Jork responded with his three-fingered salute. “Be safe, Nob Muntch,” he said. Over Cal’s shoulder, Mech and Miz both snorted.

Cal gave Higgsy the same friendly shoulder-pat, but the blob-faced boy threw his arms around him, almost smothering Cal with his bloated head. “I’m going to miss you,” he said.

“Maybe I’ll come back one day,” said Cal. “You know, if I ever fancy a Five Guys.”

Nana glanced at the ruins of her restaurant. “Oh, I don’t think we’ll get the old place fixed up any time soon,” she said.

Mech and Miz stepped into the elevator, and Cal joined them. “Oh? What will you do?”

Nana looked up. “We have a ship,” she said. “Maybe it’s time we had some adventures of our own.”

Cal grinned. “God help the galaxy,” he said, then the door dropped closed, and the elevator launched Cal, Mech and Miz towards the sky.

When the door next opened, they were presented with a bird’s eye view of the city, assuming the bird was sitting inside the head of a giant robot, rather than actually flying. Down Here stretched out for hundreds of miles ahead of them, a jumbled mish-mash of architectural styles that Cal broadly categorized into ‘that one looks like something from the future’ and ‘that one doesn’t.’

Beyond the edge of the city was ocean on all sides. Cal remembered the sea-monster that had attacked the Untitled, and briefly contemplated going down there for some giant robot vs Godzilla type action, but decided it would have to wait.

There were thirteen seats inside the robot’s head, positioned in front of various screens, terminals, and flashy things that went beep. To Cal’s disappointment, there wasn’t an obvious Captain’s chair he could jump onto and claim before anyone else. Every seat seemed to bring with it quite a lot of responsibility, and they were clearly a full ten people short of the recommended staffing levels.

Two screens curved around the wall ahead of them – possibly one screen, with a strip down the middle to create the effect of the robot’s eyes. The gray cloud layer was only a couple of hundred feet above them, and Cal could clearly make out the engine glow of the floating cities beyond it.

“So, hands up if you know how to fly this thing,” Cal said. He looked hopefully at Mech in particular. “Anyone…? Anyone at all?”

“Man, I ain’t even seen one of these things,” Mech said. He studied a terminal, and cautiously poked a switch.

From somewhere over by the screen came a series of pleasant chimes, like a little xylophone ditty composed with the sole purposes of being reassuring and calming.

“Self-destruct sequence initiated,” announced an equally pleasant, yet less reassuring voice. “Detonation in T-Minus Ten Seconds.”

“Mech!” Cal yelped. “What the fonk did you press?”

The voice from the speakers let out a little chuckle. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

Ronda appeared on the right hand screen, smiling. “Oh, your face is going to be a picture,” she said.

“Narp’s mom?” said Cal.

“Ronda. And yes, it’s me. I hope you like your present.”

“It’s awesome!” said Cal. “No, more than that – it’s space awesome.”

“That don’t even make sense,” Mech muttered.

“And the name!” said Cal. “I mean, ‘Colossobot’? That’s totally what I would have called it.”

Ronda smiled. “I know. And you did. I see the future, remember?”

Cal frowned. “I thought you read minds?”

“No,” said Ronda. “No, I don’t.”

“How do we fly this thing?” Mech asked.

“I should point out, this isn’t live,” said Ronda. “This is a pre-recording, and while I have predicted most of what you say, I can’t see all of it.”

“Why not?” said Cal. “Do we die? Is that it? Is that why you can’t see our future? Do we die?”

“No,” said Ronda. “You don’t die. Well, not all of you, anyway.”

Cal, Mech and Miz’s jaws all dropped simultaneously.

“Sorry, kidding again,” said Ronda. “None of you die, as far as I can gather. At least, not in this thing. But… It’s complicated. My point is, I know where you need to go, and I’ve pre-programmed it into the auto-pilot. You will be lifting off momentarily.”

As if on cue, the Colossobot began to vibrate, just faintly. The buildings below them trembled as the ground beneath the robot’s feet rumbled like thunder.

“Good luck,” said Ronda. “I’m afraid you’re going to need it.”

She gave them a nod, then her image disappeared.

It reappeared again a second or two later. “Oh, and no, Cal, I won’t send you the recipe for Spit Nibbles. It’s a family secret. You can try the replicator aboard your ship, of course – and you do - but you ultimately find them a bit disappointing.” She smiled brightly. “Sorry about that.”

Her image disappeared again, just as the floor lurched beneath them. Cal and Miz both hopped into the nearest seat. Unfortunately, it was the same seat, and Cal lost the ensuing fight for it almost immediately.

He slid into the next seat over, instead. It was beside a large panel that positively swarmed with interesting-looking buttons. Twenty or more of them had been covered with some sort of paper-like tape. Warning messages were written on each one in studious, old-lady handwriting.

‘Do not touch this.’

‘Or this.’

‘This will kill you.’

‘You don’t want to know.’

Cal resisted the urge to press them all, and fixed his attention on the screen, instead. The city was just beginning to fall away below them as the Colossobot rose towards the clouds, steadily picking up speed as it went.

The screen became a haze of gray for a few seconds, and then the sunlight returned, brighter than below, even with the shadow of the floating cities above them.

That was a point.

“Uh, how are we going to get past all those platforms?” Cal wondered. “I don’t see a gap big enough.”

The Colossobot continued to pick up speed. The fiery blue glow of one of the cities was directly overhead, quietly minding its own business.

“We’re not… We’re not just going to ram it, are we?” Cal asked. He reached for his seat belt, but found none. “Mech? Are we going to ram it?”

“How the fonk should I know, man?” Mech snapped. Judging by the way he was gripping the frame of the viewscreen, though, Cal reckoned he at least had a few suspicions about what was going to happen next, and there was very probably a certain amount of ramming involved.

Cal tried to grab his arm rests, but the chair had none. He grabbed his knees instead. He wasn’t quite sure why, or how it would help him, but his instincts told him it was better to be holding onto something at times such as these.

“We’re going to ram it!” Cal cried. “We’re definitely going to ram it!”

They didn’t ram it.

Instead, the Colossobot’s arms raised above its head, and two enormous hands pressed against the underside of the floating city. The robot continued upwards, but more slowly than it had been, being careful not to tilt the platform as it hefted it up towards the atmosphere.

“We are… Are we lifting a city?” asked Cal.

“We’re lifting a city,” Mech confirmed.

“Wow. Pretty cool, huh?” said Cal, turning to Miz. She shrugged.

“I guess.”

Once it had cleared enough room for it to squeeze through, the Colossobot extracted itself from beneath the city and let it go. By the time the robot had reached the edge of space, the city had already drifted back down into its starting position.

Beyond the robot’s eye-screens, colors swirled and danced. More and more stars appeared, as if the atmosphere were being gradually wiped away, revealing the reaches of space beyond.

“Well,” said Cal. “I am not going to miss that place. Anyone else?”

Mech shrugged. “It wasn’t all bad.”

“It was mostly bad,” Cal argued. “Like, ninety eight-point-five per cent bad, and the other one-point-five was just average.” A thought struck him. “Wait! I’m not Nob Muntch anymore!”

Miz looked up from her nails. “That means I’m not Loren.”

“And that you are Gluk Disselpoof,” said Cal, turning to Mech. “Unlucky.”

“Fonk you, man,” said Mech. “I liked being Thark Dandar.”

The Colossobot left the atmosphere and pushed onwards into space, turning slightly as it aligned itself to its new course. “Think this thing’s going to take us to Loren?” Cal asked.

“I don’t know,” said Mech. “Narp’s mom seemed to know what she was doing.”

Cal nodded. “You, uh, you know what this means, right? If we’re going to get her back, it means we’re going to war.”

“I know,” said Mech.

“Right. Right,” said Cal. “It’s just, you know, you seemed pretty against that idea. Before, I mean.”

“Still am,” said Mech. “I don’t want to do this, but Loren’s one of us.”

“She’s family,” said Miz, much to Cal’s amazement. Miz shifted uncomfortably when he gaped at her. “But, like, someone in the family you hate. Like a racist uncle, or whatever.”

“Gotcha,” said Cal.

“Or a cousin who’s a sex offender.”

“Right. I’m sure she’ll be delighted with those comparisons,” Cal said, then a shimmering bubble of energy appeared around all the chairs on the deck, sealing both Cal and Miz inside. “Great, what’s this now?” Cal muttered, then the engines in the Colossobot’s feet kicked in, and space became a mind-bending blur of speed around them.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

One short – and, thanks to the bubble things around the chair, surprisingly pleasant space flight later, Cal gazed out through the eyes of his giant robot at an even more giant space ship. The Symmorium Destroyer filled space in all directions, its vast, Alaska-sized hull pockmarked with blaster fire and scorch marks.

“Coo-ee. Anyone home?” Cal asked, leaning down and speaking into what Mech assured him was the intercom. “This is the Colossobot – I know, awesome name, right? – requesting landing clearance from, uh, needlessly huge Symmorium space ship.”

He sat back and waited for a response. Almost a full minute passed, and he was about to try again when the face of Subsent Takta appeared on screen. The high-ranking Symmorium looked like someone had taken a shizz in his cereal. Then again, considering the foul-tasting gray paste he had served up earlier, that would probably come as a welcome change.

“You,” he spat, baring a significant number of teeth. “You dare show your face?”

“Uh, yeah. Hi!” said Cal. “Sorry, are you angry about us taking your tracking device off our ship? Because, I mean, I don’t know. It feels like we should be angry at you for putting it on there, in the first place.”

“We were taking precautions,” Takta said. “And well we should have, given your subsequent betrayal. Your companion – the Zertex woman – gained entry to this vessel in order to free her kin. She betrayed our trust. You betrayed our trust.”

“Actually, we tried to stop her,” said Cal. “She took the ship, and now she’s in trouble.”

“I am aware of her current situation, but I see through the pretense,” Takta said. “Her incarceration is Zertex propaganda. She is in no danger.”

“With all due respect, sharky, that’s bullshizz,” said Cal. “Look, can you just put Commander Junta on? I’ll talk to him, we’ll sort some things out, then be on our way.”

“There is no Commander Junta here,” Takta replied. “You will turn around now, or be destroyed. This is your only warning.”

“What do you mean, there’s no Commander Junta?” Cal asked. “There is. We know there is.”

“He has been demoted. He is fortunate not to be in prison.”

A text box flashed up on screen, filled with a number of alien symbols. As Cal watched, his eye chip translated them until they formed a series of equally cryptic numbers, and an additional line of text at the bottom.

‘Ronda. X’

They were co-ordinates. Even Cal could tell that much. Quite where in space they pointed to, though, he had no idea. Luckily, Mech was already tapping at a console.

“OK, OK, you know what? On second thoughts, you win,” said Cal, as the Colossobot slowly began to orbit around the outside of the Symmorium destroyer. “We’ll just get out of your hair. Not that you have hair, but… You know what I mean. We’ll go, is the point I’m trying to make.”

“Then go,” Takta responded. “You have one minute to clear the area, or you will discover just how dangerous an enemy I can be.”

“Sounds fair,” said Cal. He glanced sideways at Mech, who gestured for him to keep the Symmorium talking. “So, wait. Is that a minute starting now, or once we’ve stopped talking?”

“It has already begun.”

“Right,” said Cal. “It’s just… The Sentience granted us the freedom of Symmorium space.”

Takta’s black eyes somehow found it in themselves to darken further. “Your point?”

“Well, my point is, isn’t this Symmorium space?” Cal gestured around him. “You know, all this?”

Takta ground his teeth together. “It is.”

“Then, I mean, maybe I’m wrong, but doesn’t that mean we can just sort of hang around? Your boss pretty much came right out and said so.”

“I represent the will of the Sentience,” said Takta. “I have the power to alter and amend decrees on its behalf, and I am telling you to leave. Now.”

Cal puffed out the area between his top lip and the bottom of his nose, then let it out in a long farting sound. “Fair enough, then,” he said. “But can we reset the timer? We want to leave, but we’ve chatted so long I’m worried you’ll blow us to bits when we’re turning around. How about you give us another minute, starting now?”

“No!”

Cal glanced across to Mech. He was still giving the stalling motion, but indicating they were close. “Uh… Um…” Cal fumbled for something to say.

“Can you smell trunyuns?” Miz asked. Cal blinked in surprise. On screen, the Symmorium leader looked confused.

“What?”

“Trunyuns. You know, the vegetable?” said Miz. “Can you smell them?”

Subsent Takta shook his head angrily. “No! No, I can’t smell trunyuns.”

“Oh,” said Miz, hooking a leg over her chair. “Like, not even if they’re up really close?”

Takta scowled. “What are you talking about?”

Cal sat upright in his chair as the Colossobot rounded one of the Symmorium ship’s many sticky-outty metal bits.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice becoming a whisper. “We found what we’re looking for.”

There, behind the glowing energy wall of one of the ship’s docking bays, was the Currently Untitled.

* * *

Splurt thought for a moment, then shifted his shape until he resembled a small tree.

“No,” said Kevin.

Splurt became a warp disk.

“No,” said Kevin.

Splurt became a Thundercats pencil case.

“No,” said Kevin. “Getting colder.”

Splurt became a series of things in rapid succession: a rubber duck; a space chair; a shock rod; a small but potent jar of pot pourri; something that was a bit like a gerbil, only with more heads and a tail made of fire.

Kevin dismissed all of them with a simple, “No.”

Splurt was considering his next move – either a towel or a dolphin – when he felt Cal inside his head. He pulsed excitedly and bobbed up and down a few times, before transforming into another new shape.

“Nope,” said Kevin. “I’m not being a big arrow.”

Splurt stretched himself until his arrow-shaped head was practically touching the viewscreen. It took Kevin a moment to catch on.

“Oh, my. It appears there’s a rather large robotic figure out there. I wonder where that came from?”

Splurt squidged around, becoming an identical duplicate of Cal. He pointed to himself, then gestured out to the Colossobot.

“Are you sure?” Kevin asked, sounding skeptical. “I don’t recall Master Carver ever mentioning owning an enormous robot.”

Splurt nodded enthusiastically, and pointed again. Kevin’s artificial intellect considered their next move carefully, then he gave an entirely digital shrug. “Very well, let’s investigate,” he said, firing up the ship’s take-off thrusters.

The Untitled lifted off the deck, dipped its nose, and pulled towards the glowing energy wall ahead of them. Splurt hopped into Cal’s chair, changed himself back into his default green ball form, and wobbled excitedly on the spot.

“Oh, and in case you were wondering, I was also a brick,” said Kevin, as the ship passed through the barrier. “But I’d already planned to do it before you did it. So, if anything, you copied me.”

“—vin? Can you hear me? Helloooo?”

Cal’s voice came over the comm-link as soon as the Untitled was beyond the energy wall. Splurt rippled with joy as Cal’s face appeared on the right of the screen.

“Hey, I see… There’s my little guy!” Cal said, grinning from ear to ear. “Splurt, buddy, you are a sight for sore eyes.”

“I think I speak for both of us when I say it is a pleasure to see you, too, sir,” said Kevin. “But I’m afraid Ms Loren is—”

“Gone, yeah, we know. Any idea where?”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” said Kevin.

“OK, not to worry,” said Cal. “Listen, Kevin, the Symmorium are going to start shooting at us very soon, and it turns out there aren’t enough of us to fly this thing above, like, ten miles per hour.”

“I see,” said Kevin, even though he didn’t really.

“Mech says there’s some kind of, like, umbilical cord we can hook up to you guys, so we can jump aboard.”

“Extending it now,” came Mech’s voice from somewhere off screen.

“Can you see it?” asked Cal.

In the viewscreen of the Untitled, a long, snaking hose extended from the crotch of the giant robot. Splurt’s eyes widened a little, then raised to the ceiling. Although he couldn’t see the owner of the magic floating voice, Splurt was pretty sure he looked back down at him.

“Uh, yes, sir,” said Kevin. “It’s quite… prominent. We shall connect with you in a few moments.”

* * *

Aboard the Colossobot, Cal nodded to Mech, who flicked the controls that brought Subsent Takta back on screen. “You cut me off!” the Symmorium roared. “How dare you! I am dispatching Thresher ships to your location. You will be dealt with swiftly!”

“OK, here’s the thing, Takta,” said Cal. “Shut up. Not only do we have an experimental – if, admittedly, highly unstable – ship at our disposal, we’re also, you might have noticed, currently inside a giant fonking robot which my colleague assures me has a lot of guns.”

Mech leaned over into shot. “A lot,” he confirmed, then he leaned back again.

“Also, and this is what I want you to keep in mind here, Takta,” Cal continued, leaning forwards as if about to impart some great wisdom. “We are not your enemy here. Our friend… A member of our family, is in trouble, and we just want to get her back. To do so, we are going to blow up a lot of Zertex ships.”

Mech leaned in again. “A lot.”

“And, with a bit of luck, kick the president square in the nuts,” Cal continued. “So, you can either try to stop us doing these things which, again, I don’t recommend, or you can stay the Hell out of our way, and let us get our friend back.”

He leaned back and idly traced a finger over something he hoped looked suitably threatening. “So. What’s it to be?”

Takta ground his teeth together, very slowly and very deliberately. Just as he reached the stage when Cal was starting to worry about the guy’s orthodontist bill, the Symmorium spoke.

“Very well. We will not engage,” he said. “But if we discover you have betrayed us, we will consider you an ally of Zertex, and our war will be with you, too. Is that understood?”

“Loud and clear, sharky,” Cal said. He indicated for Mech to turn off the feed, but then stopped. “How’s it going, anyway? The war, I mean?”

Takta’s expression told Cal everything he needed to know. “That bad, huh?”

“They had been planning for some time,” Takta said. “With the footage they fabricated for the destruction of Pikkish, they have been able to rally otherwise neutral systems to their cause. A fight against Zertex alone, we could conceivably win. A battle against the entire galaxy? That is another matter.”

“Oh. Right,” said Cal. He brightened. “Well, good luck with it all!”

Mech shut down the feed as Cal jumped to his feet and strode towards the elevator. “OK, let’s get back to the Untitled, then go get Loren.”

Miz stood up. “Don’t we need to, you know, like find out where she is first?”

“I know where she is,” said Cal.

“You do? Since when?” asked Mech.

“Since I saw her on TV,” Cal said. He hit the elevator control and the door slid open.

“Well, care to enlighten us?” Mech asked.

Cal beckoned for them both to join him in the elevator car. “Air lock,” said Mech, once he and Miz were inside, and the door closed again.

“Where is the most stupidly obvious place she could be?” Cal asked.

“I don’t know,” said Mech. “A Zertex Command station?”

“Bingo,” said Cal. “Whichever one’s closest, that’s where she’ll be.”

Miz frowned. “But why would they do that? They’d know we’d figure that…” She nodded. “Oh. Yeah, I get it.”

“That’s exactly what Sinclair wants. Us,” said Cal.

“Well, mostly you,” said Mech.

“Yes, granted, mostly me,” said Cal. “I don’t know quite why he’s got such a hard-on for me – hey, I can say ‘hard-on’! – but luckily for us, it makes him predictable.”

The elevator stopped and the door slid open again, revealing a long white plastic tunnel ahead of them. Cal gestured towards it. “Now let’s all slide down this giant robot penis, and go get our friend back.”

* * *

As soon as Cal stepped aboard the Untitled, Splurt bounced into his arms. Cal rubbed his knuckles against the little goo-ball’s head (or the top part of his almost spherical body, at least) and grinned.

“Hey, I missed you, too, buddy!”

“It is so good to have you all back aboard,” chimed Kevin. “Although, Master Splurt and I invented rather a fun game.”

Splurt’s eyes rolled slowly upwards to meet Cal’s gaze. It was a look that spoke volumes. Cal made a mental note never to ask Kevin about the game again.

“OK, let’s get to the bridge. Kevin, best detach from the big space penis and get us ready to go. What’s the nearest Zertex Command station?”

“Zertex Command Six, sir.”

“Then that’s where we’re going, all guns blazing if we have to,” Cal instructed. “Mech, Miz, did either of you remember to bring Nana Joan’s guns over from the Colossobot?”

“Shizz,” Mech muttered. “They’re still over there.” He waved a hand. “It’s fine. We got plenty.”

“Cool, then break them out and get them ready. Again, we may need to go in all guns blazing.”

Miz was gazing out through the airlock at the flapping plastic tunnel which still connected the Untitled to the Colossobot. “It’s kind of a waste, not taking that thing,” she said. “I mean, for something built by Zertex, it was pretty awesome.”

“You mean pretty space awesome,” Cal said, much to Mech’s annoyance. “But yeah, it could have come in handy.”

“Pre-programming it to take us here is one thing,” said Mech. “But if we wanted to take it into battle, we’re gonna need a crew of at least ten.”

“Yeah,” said Cal. “Or someone who could operate ten terminals at once.”

He gazed out through the airlock for a while.

He blinked, very slowly.

And then, with the beginning of a smile creeping across his face, he looked down at the pulsating ball of slime in his arms.

“Oh, man. I just came up with a plan,” he said. He grinned at Mech. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Loren allowed her weight to sag forward on her chains. She was mentally drained and physically exhausted, and the pain of the restraints cutting into her wrists was the only thing keeping her awake. Her head had been unclamped, but only because the head restraint had made hitting her more difficult.

She was standing in wet underwear, and was cold and hungry. Not so much thirsty – the hundreds of gallons of water blasted into her face at regular intervals was keeping her pretty hydrated – but her hunger was making her legs weak and her head light, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to concentrate on anything else.

One thing she was keeping a close eye on, though, was the door. It was closed now, and she was alone in the room, but it never stayed that way for long. It would open again soon, she knew, and Sinclair, Dash, or possibly both at once, would come in to talk to her, hose her, or – again – possibly both at once.

When her brother had first come in alone, she’d felt a swelling of hope. He was there to rescue her, surely? The sight of his younger sister tied up and helpless had proved too much for his conscience to deal with.

But no. He’d ignored her pleas for help, reiterated his loyalty to Zertex, and told her how ashamed of her their parents were, before hitting her with the water cannon. Now, whenever the door opened, she hoped it was Sinclair. Her feelings about him were far less mixed.

Her stomach twisted itself into knots. Fonk, she was hungry. Were they going to starve her to death, she wondered? That would seem unlikely. It certainly wasn’t in any of the Zertex manuals she’d studied at the academy. Then again, nor was blasting your own sister in the face with water until her brain screamed at her that she was about to drown, so it was always a possibility.

Loren’s eyes closed.

Some time passed.

When her eyes opened, President Sinclair was standing in front of her. Instinctively, she tried to lash out at him, but the chains stopped her immediately. He skipped back all the same, making a show of it.

“Whoa there, you almost got me, slugger,” he said, laughing in that fond, slightly patronizing sort of way a parent might laugh at their child’s first attempt at a joke. “Do you have any idea how much this shirt costs?”

Loren spat on the shirt and felt a brief moment of satisfaction, before the back of Sinclair’s hand cracked her across the jaw.

“That wasn’t nice,” he said. “That is going to come out of your back pay, young lady.”

He contemplated brushing the phlegmy wad away, but decided against it. “Anyway, here’s something that might put a smile on your face,” Sinclair continued. “A ship has just entered the quadrant and is on a direct course here. And not just any old ship, because why would I come in here to tell you that any old ship was on its way?”

Sinclair pointed at Loren and winked. “Your ship,” he said. “Well, technically it’s my ship that you and your friends stole from me, but… Ah, you get the point.”

Loren blinked several times. The pain in her face was helping her focus, but it wouldn’t last long. “Cal?” she mumbled.

“The very same!” Sinclair crowed. “At least, I assume it’s him. I mean, who else is it going to be, right? Your knight in shining armor, riding to the rescue. I knew he couldn’t resist.”

He looked Loren’s taut but bruised body up and down. “I mean, who could?” Sinclair said, then he winked again in a way that made Loren want to throw up.

It didn’t make sense. She’d taken the ship. She’d left them behind. It couldn’t be them. How could it be them?

And yet, at the same time, she knew it was. Even though she’d left them stranded hundreds of light years away with no money and no means of transport, she knew they’d find a way. That he’d find a way.

Loren found the strength to pull herself into a standing position. She met Sinclair’s eye and matched his smile with one of her own.

“Oh, Hayel,” she said, tilting her head slightly as she gave the president a sympathetic look. “You are so totally fonked.”

* * *

“We are so totally fonked!” cried Mech, steadying himself against his console as a crackling ball of energy exploded against the front shields.

“Kevin! Jesus Christ, can you at least try to avoid the missiles?” Cal yelped.

“Torpedoes, sir.”

“What?”

“Torpedoes, sir. We have missiles, they have torpedoes. Would you like me to explain the distinction?”

“No! Just stop flying into them!”

“Very good, sir.”

The ship rocked as another torpedo slammed into it, making the shields flicker and flash.

“I can’t believe I’m even saying this,” Miz muttered. “But, like, even Loren was better than this.”

“You hear that, Kevin?” Cal called. “Even Loren. Even Loren.”

“Sorry, sir. It’s just, well, there are rather a lot of targets, and I’m having to split myself between piloting the ship and operating the weapons,” Kevin explained. “Not to mention all the other little jobs that must continue as usual, such as remembering to leave the oxygen on, and flushing the automatic toilet.”

“Wait, you flush the toilet?” asked Cal. “Next time, could you maybe not do it when I’m halfway through? It’s kind of off-putting.”

Two Zertex fighters screamed past, their cannon-fire hammering the Untitled’s shields.

“OK, give me the guns,” said Cal.

A single joystick twanged from below his seat. Cal shook his head. “No. I mean all the guns.”

“Are you sure, sir?”

Another torpedo erupted at the front of the ship, close enough to make Mech instinctively duck. “Just give him the fonking guns!” the cyborg snapped.

“Very good,” chimed Kevin.

The joystick retreated into the floor. Meanwhile, the headrest of Cal’s chair unfolded itself until it gripped his skull like a brace. Cal’s eyes widened as two sharp pricks pierced his temples, and a coldness rushed to fill his brain.

“Whaaa duuuu fooooonnn?” he managed to dribble, then he was suddenly alone in outer space, surrounded by hundreds of Zertex fighters, all of which were approaching in a variety of attack formations.

Zertex Command Six, the vast space station where Loren was almost certainly being held, hung in silhouette against a dim red sun. It looked almost close enough to touch, and as Cal reached for it, a ball of fire erupted from his palm.

“Jesus! Did I do that?”

“Indeed, sir,” said Kevin. “The weapons systems are currently merged with both your conscious and unconscious brain. They take their commands from your actions and intentions. To all extents and purposes, you are the weapons.”

“Also,” said Mech’s voice. “I’m pretty sure you just wet yourself. I ain’t judging or nothing, just saying.”

Two Zertex ships came banking towards Cal, their torpedo tubes glowing white hot. Cal raised both hands, palms open, and two long beams of white energy carved through their shields, slicing both ships in half.

“Alright!” Cal cheered.

The universe spun as Kevin climbed and turned sharply. Cal instinctively tried to grab onto something, but he was floating in the endless void, and could only flail around at nothing.

“More fighters, coming in fast,” Mech informed him.

Cal twisted his head, searching the sky. “I see them,” he said. He pumped his right arm forwards, firing torpe… No, launching missiles at the approaching ships. They turned to dodge the projectiles, and flew straight into another of the white energy beams, scything themselves neatly in two.

“I love this!” Cal cried.

“That’s good man, because I think you may have also now shizzed your pants.”

Cal didn’t care. Well, he cared a bit, obviously, but it could wait until he was back in his body. Right now, he felt like a superhero. No, more than that. He felt like a god.

A torpedo tumbled towards him. He detonated it with a sweep of his hand before it could get too close. With the other hand, he punched at the approaching Zertex craft, and five little flares spat from his fingertips. They swarmed the enemy ship, circling around it like wasps, then vanished into its various orifices.

A moment later, the ship went dark and drifted over Cal’s head, rolling slightly as it sailed on into the abyss.

“Zertex fighters pulling back, sir,” Kevin announced, and Cal actually felt a little disappointed.

“Of course they are,” he said. “They know when they’re beat. Also, this whole thing was just for show. They want us on board that station.”

“Uh, look to your left, man,” said Mech.

Cal turned and his virtual jaw fell open. The smaller fighter craft weren’t pulling back, they were moving into formation. A formation that involved three Zertex Battle Cruisers, each one the size of several large cities all bolted together into one.

“OK, that’s not good,” Cal said. He looked down at his hands. “Kevin, do we have anything that could take out those big guys?”

“The beam cannons could,” Kevin said. “Given enough time.”

“How much time?”

Kevin contemplated this. “About eleven months, sir.”

“Eleven months?”

“Give or take.”

Cal eyed the approaching armada, and suddenly felt like a tiny ant. A tiny ant that was about to be shot to pieces by a lot of very big spaceships. “And there’s nothing else?”

“No, sir,” said Kevin. “Although… There is the Omega Cannon.”

Cal winced. “Do you know what it does yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you figure it out in the next forty seconds or so?”

“No, sir.”

Cal almost considered using the weapon, but without knowing what it did, or what the consequences of firing it might be, he knew he couldn’t.

“If we survive this, we really need to figure out what that thing does,” he said.

Across the divide, the Zertex ships were readying their weapons to fire. The Zertex Command station was off to the right, almost midway between the Untitled and the armada.

“Can we reach the station before they blow us to bits?”

“Not without a distraction, sir,” said Kevin. “Should I alert Master Splurt?”

He flexed his fingers in and out, then sighed. “I guess we’re going to have—”

“We got another ship coming in,” Mech interrupted.

“Great,” said Cal. “Someone else to shoot at us.”

The ship that warped to a sudden stop in front of the Zertex fighters was small and boxy-looking, and didn’t really seem to be much of an additional threat. Cal had just made the decision to ignore it, when Kevin spoke again. “They’re sending a broadcast. All frequencies. Should I put it through?”

“Go for it.”

A voice crackled from nowhere. It was a voice Cal recognized, although it took him a second to place it.

“Uh, food delivery,” said Higgsy. “I have an order here f-for a Mr Zertex.”

There was silence for a moment, presumably while someone from the Zertex side replied.

“Oh, no, it definitely says Mr Zertex here. Uh, please hold, while I get my supervisor.”

There was a crackling sound, as if someone was handing a headset to someone else. Nana Joan’s voice spoke with far more authority than Higgsy.

“This is Nana Joan of Nana Joan’s restaurant. To whom am I speaking?”

“What are they doing?” Miz asked.

“Giving us our distraction,” said Cal. “Kevin, can we make it to the station while they’re busy?”

“They got a hundred ships,” said Mech. “You don’t seriously think they’re all so focused on one fonking food truck that they ain’t going to notice us?”

“It’s worth a try,” said Cal. “Kevin, punch it.”

The Untitled banked towards Zertex Command. Almost immediately, thirty or so fighters broke off in pursuit.

“No, they definitely noticed us,” said Cal. “We totally screwed that up.”

“We?” Mech spluttered. “Who’s this we you’re talking about?”

“Perhaps not, sir,” Kevin said. “Perhaps we, too, are part of the distraction.”

“How?” Cal asked. “What are we distracting from?”

“From them, sir.”

Behind the Zertex fleet, several hundred pinpoints of light stretched out and became ships. Even at that distance, Cal spotted the shark-like design painted onto the more aggressive-looking fighters.

“The Symmorium!” said Cal. “The fonking Symmorium are here.”

The Alaska-sized Symmorium Destroyer appeared behind the other ships and immediately opened fire on the nearest Zertex Battle Cruiser. The Zertex fighters pulled back from the Untitled and focused their efforts on the Symmorium fleet, instead.

“Transmission from Subsent Takta,” said Kevin. “Would you like me to patch him through, sir?”

“Please.”

A square appeared in the air in front of Cal, like a window opening in space. Subsent Takta appeared, looking none too pleased.

“On the orders of the Symmorium Sentience itself, we are tasked with offering you whatever support we can,” he grunted. “We will provide cover while you extract your companion, then we will blast this station out of the sky. If Zertex wants a war, then we will give them one.”

“Thanks for the save, sharky,” said Cal. “But don’t worry about the war thing. We’re going to take care of it.”

Takta’s gray hide brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to,” said Cal. “You just have to keep everyone busy out here, and trust us.”

“I do not trust you, Mr Carver,” Takta said. He sighed. “But the Sentience does. We shall do as you request.”

The Symmorium leader’s image vanished, revealing the beginnings of a full-scale space battle. Ships whizzed past, lasers blasted, torpedoes fired, shields flickered and flared. Cal was transfixed for a moment, before another face appeared, blocking his view.

“Hello, dear,” said Nana Joan.

“Nana. How the fonk did you find me?” Cal asked.

Nana smiled, then tapped the side of her nose. “My little secret. Like I said, we employers have to know where our staff are at all times, and you’re still technically on the books.”

“Hi Cal!” said Higgsy, leaning into shot behind the old lady. Jork popped his head in from the other side, followed a moment later by a now normal-sized Alan at the bottom.

“The gang’s all there,” said Cal. “That’s great. Really. But, uh, we’re about to storm an evil lair, so now’s possibly not the best time for reunions.”

Nana tapped a few buttons on her console. “This ship has a standing authorization for food transportation access via the cargo decks. Haven’t used it in a few years, but pretty sure we could just sail right through any defenses back there.”

There was a bleep from her terminal and Nana’s smile broadened. “And now so can you. I’ve cloned our ID and transmitted it to you. Spoof it, and you’re in.”

“Seriously?” said Cal. “Kevin, is that a thing?”

“Applying it now, sir,” said Kevin. “Zertex scanners now see us as a food delivery vessel.”

“Alright!” said Cal. “I mean, that’s good, right?”

“Most useful, sir.”

Behind Nana Joan, Higgsy cheered. “Go Space Team!”

“Thanks, guys!” said Cal.

Jork and Higgsy did a complicated sort of fist-bumping exercise. “Secret Space Team handshake!” Jork cried.

“Space Team is the best!” added Higgsy.

“Yes, we are!” agreed Jork.

Cal blinked. “Uh… wait. What? No, but…” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, we’ll discuss it later.”

There was a sudden pain at his temples and Cal found himself back in his chair. The same image of Nana Joan’s ship was now on the viewscreen. And, to Cal’s relief, he hadn’t actually soiled himself at all, front or back.

Well, maybe a little bit at the front, but not enough so that anyone would notice.

“OK, uh, you guys stay out of trouble,” Cal said. “And thanks again.”

“We will,” said Nana. “Good luck, Nob Muntch.”

The screen snapped off. There was a long, pregnant pause before Kevin spoke.

“Oh, so no one is going to comment on the ‘Nob Muntch’ thing?” he said.

“Later,” said Cal. “Now take us to the loading bay, and let’s go get Loren.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Just as Nana Joan had promised, the Untitled glided onto the cargo deck without so much as a twitch from the defensive turrets. The actual job of ferrying cargo around had long-since been given over to robots and drones, so there was no one to so much as glance their way when Cal and the others scurried down the ramp, laden with weapons.

Mech’s right arm was still occasionally going fzzt, but as his fingers didn’t fit through the trigger guards of any of the rifles in the ship’s armory, he was going to have to rely exclusively on his left arm cannon. If all went to plan, though, that wouldn’t be a problem.

Cal stopped at the bottom of the ramp. “You sure this is going to work, Kevin?” he asked.

“Oh yes, sir,” Kevin replied. “My systems were purposely adapted to interact with Zertex systems. Now that I am inside, I can interface with their cameras and patch the feed through to Master Mech, as and when instructed.”

“OK, great,” Cal said. “Keep them looping while we’re moving. Cover our tracks so we don’t get spotted.”

“Will do, sir.”

Cal turned to Miz. “And you’re sure you’re up for this?”

Miz had a particularly large rifle, even by giant wolf-woman standards, hanging from a strap across her shoulders. “Get to the cells, get Loren, take her back here. It’s not difficult,” she said.

“Uh, yeah, but there might be hundreds of guards between you and her.”

Miz shrugged and extended her claws. “Like I say. Not difficult.”

“OK, good,” said Cal. “Kevin has already found where she’s being kept. He’ll guide you.”

Across the bay, an elevator door opened. “Step this way, ma’am.” Kevin’s voice chimed from inside the elevator car. “I’ll have you there in a jiffy.”

Miz glanced at the elevator, then back at Cal and Mech. “Like… You know,” she said, shuffling awkwardly on the spot.

“Yeah,” said Mech. He put a hand on her shoulder. “We know. You, too.”

“Be careful,” Cal told her.

Miz nodded once, swung her rifle into her hands, then ran for the lift. Cal and Mech waited for the doors to ping closed, before heading for a second elevator.

“And you know where we’re going, right?” Cal asked.

“Yeah, I know,” said Mech. “But you were right.”

“About what?”

“I don’t like this plan.”

Cal smirked. “Relax. I have got this all worked out.”

The doors started to close behind them.

“You know. More or less.”

As Cal and Mech’s elevator went up, Miz’s headed down. She paced in tight circles, the gun in her hand, her eyes fixed on the numbers above the door. “How long until we get down there?” she asked.

“Twenty seconds or so,” Kevin told her from the elevator terminal. “It’s not too late to back out, you know?”

Miz stopped pacing. “Like, why would I do that?”

“Well,” began Kevin, trying to find the most diplomatic way of putting it. “I always got the impression you weren’t Ms Loren’s biggest fan.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Miz sneered. “I totally hate her guts.” She pulled back the mechanism on the rifle, and the weapon hummed with energy. “But she’s one of us. And I’m taking her home.”

“Very good, ma’am,” Kevin said. “I shall loop the camera feed, and endeavor to help where I can, but for the moment, at least…”

The doors opened, revealing a starkly-lit corridor beyond.

“I’m afraid you are on your own.”

* * *

Cal and Mech stood in the elevator, waiting. Mech was tense and ready, his eyes fixed on the numbers above the door. Cal danced lightly from foot to foot, tapping out a rhythm on his gun barrel.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Cal asked.

Mech shrugged. “One of the many other times we’ve done something stupid?”

“Christmas Eve,” said Cal.

Mech looked at him, but said nothing.

“You know how Kroyshuk is, like, space Christmas? Well, Christmas is like that, only not in space.”

Mech continued to look at him, still saying nothing.

“It’s Earth Kroyshuk, is what I’m saying,” said Cal.

“OK, I get it. But how is this like that?”

“It’s the anticipation,” said Cal. “The not knowing. Will we bring down an evil government and stop an intergalactic war? Will I get a bike? It’s the same thing.”

“That don’t sound like the same thing,” said Mech.

“Well, no, OK. But it’s a similar thing.”

“It don’t sound like a similar thing, either.”

Cal considered this. “No, I suppose you’re right. It’s completely different. It’s the day before Hallowe’en, if anything.”

But before he could elaborate any further, the elevator stopped. Cal took cover behind Mech just as the doors opened, revealing a room full of…

Nobody.

Just a few rows of empty desks and chairs where there presumably should have been people, and a door at the far end of the room standing open.

“Man, this is weird,” said Mech. He tapped the controls on his arm. “Scanners say there are people at every desk.”

Cal peeked over the vertical divide in front of a desk. There was a ‘Zertex Corporation’ coffee mug on it, a holographic keyboard, and a soft focus picture of a smiling woman with four eyes. The chair, however, was empty.

Cal stiffened. “He knew we’d come straight here. This is a set up. This whole thing is a set up.”

From beyond the open door came the sound of a slow handclap. “Well figured out, Cal,” said Sinclair. “Please. Come in. Join us.”

Cal and Mech exchanged a look. “Any mileage in running away, you think?” Cal asked.

Mech shook his head. “Don’t think there’s a whole lot of point.”

Cal nodded his agreement, then led the way into the room. For what the place was, it was a relatively small space. Racks of glowing cubes covered the curved walls, connected together by thin, tangled wires and lengths of thick cable.

Sinclair stood in the center of the room, flanked by four of the most ludicrously armored guards Cal had ever seen. Their shoulder-pads alone were wide enough to land a small helicopter on, and their full-face helmets were a health-hazard of spikes and pointy edges.

They carried weapons that looked part blaster, part industrial power tool. Saw blades sat nestled between two long, thick barrels. They weren’t currently moving, but Cal assumed a single quick button press would likely change that.

“The main server room,” Sinclair said, sweeping his arms around him. “Always the first port of call for any would-be terrorist planning an attack. From here, a competent hacker could take over the whole station. They could create chaos.”

He put the back of his hand to the side of his mouth and whispered theatrically. “But, uh-oh, big secret reveal time. That’s not true! See, the main server room, it isn’t actually all that important at all.”

Seeing the expression on Cal’s face, the president laughed. “Wait, wait… You actually thought I’d mark a place that vital on the station maps, and leave it guarded by admin staff?” He looked from Cal to Mech and back again. “You actually bought that? Ha!”

He looked to his guards for affirmation, but none of them seemed to be amused. “So… what was the plan?” Sinclair asked, rubbing his chin. He clicked his fingers. “Wait, I know! You were going to dig through my files to find the original footage of Pikkish being destroyed, and… What? Show it to everyone? Try to convince everyone that I’m the bad guy?”

Cal shifted uneasily on the spot. “Ha! No. What? As if!” he said. “It definitely wasn’t that.”

“Oh, really?” smirked Sinclair, putting his hands on his hips. “Then why don’t you enlighten me?”

Cal fumbled for a few moments. “Uh, how about you keep guessing, and I’ll tell you if you get it right?”

“How about you hand over your weapons and surrender?” Sinclair said. “If you do, I might let your hairy friend make it as far as Loren’s cell before I have her killed. If not, they both die in the next five seconds.”

He held up a phone-sized device and pressed a button. Symbols flashed on it, changing every second or so. Cal didn’t need to wait for the translation chip to tell him it was a countdown.

“Four. Three.”

Cal tossed his rifle onto the floor at his feet.

“Two. And the others.”

Moving quickly, Cal pulled two pistols from the back of his belt and let those clatter to the floor, too.

Sinclair pressed the button and fixed Cal with a devastatingly charming smile, as one of the guards retrieved the weapons.

“Very sensible,” said Sinclair. “Mature, even. I’m impressed. Space seems to be agreeing with you.” He held up the device again. “Or, it’s making you gullible.”

“No!” Cal yelled, as Sinclair pressed the button and the countdown completed. He lunged towards the president, but a whirring saw blade blocked his path, almost chewing his face right off.

“Relax, Carver,” Sinclair laughed. He tossed the device over his shoulder. “It’s a stopwatch. Your friends are fine. I don’t care about them. They can leave, for all I care. It’s you I’ve been longing to get my hands on.”

The president’s face twisted into a grin of dark delight. “Of course, some of my employees may have other ideas.”

* * *

Miz slashed out with her claws, tearing a large enough hole in the armor of the trooper in front of her to wedge the rifle barrel inside. She squeezed the trigger, launching him along the corridor, and scattering the other three soldiers who had, until that moment, been running towards her.

Someone grabbed her from behind. It was a decision he lived to regret for almost a full four seconds, before his innards became his outtards, and he wheezed and burped his way to the floor.

The rifle vomited out three more shots, disintegrating the other soldiers before they could get up. Or bits of them, at least.

Miz bounded over their remains just as a door slid open along the corridor directly ahead of her. More soldiers raised their weapons. They fired, just as the door slammed closed again, and Miz heard their strangled screams as the rebounding shots punched holes in them.

“Thanks, Kevin,” she said. Another door slid open up ahead on the right. Miz sniffed for trouble, then followed her nose into a wide room with three other doors leading off from the other walls. Two guards stood in front of one of the doors. This was not a state of affairs that lasted long. Miz fired at one, slashed at the other, and they both went down in synchronized fountains of blood.

Miz waited until the door slid open, then darted inside. Loren whimpered, just a little, at the sound of the barrier rising, then raised her head and blinked when Miz entered.

Miz made it just a few paces, then stopped. Loren’s pale blue body had been decorated in dark, brooding bruises. A string of bloody spittle hung from her bottom lip, half-hidden by the curtain of wet hair hanging in front of it.

“M-Miz?”

Miz nodded, not quite sure what to say. “Uh, yeah. I mean… Yeah. It’s me.”

She found Loren’s clothes in a heap in the corner of the room, and grabbed them before hurrying to Loren’s side. “It’s, like, I mean… It’s OK. I got you,” she said.

The cuffs around Loren’s wrists were too tough to break, but a series of quick shots from the blaster broke first the leg chains, then the ones on her arms. Loren fell into Miz, and the wolf-woman instinctively caught her.

“It’s OK,” Miz said, her voice wobbling in a way she wasn’t used to. “Like, don’t worry. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Loren rested on her for a few moments, her arms heavy as her blood rushed to be reunited with her numb fingertips. She mumbled something, but the words were lost in Miz’s thick coat of fur.

“What did you say?” Miz asked.

With some effort, Loren raised her head. “I said,” she whispered. “You’re totally hugging me right now.”

Miz scowled. “Ew. As if. I am so not hugging you,” she spat. A smile tugged at Loren’s bloodied mouth and Miz rolled her eyes. “Well, maybe just a little,” Miz admitted. “But if you tell anyone else, I’ll totally kill you.”

Loren gave Miz a pat on the back. “Deal,” she said, then she took her clothes and stumbled towards the cell’s narrow – and as yet unused – bed. “Just let me get dressed. Then we can go help Cal.”

“Why d’you think Cal needs help?” Miz asked.

Loren slumped down onto the bed. “Because he’s Cal. He always needs help,” she said.

Miz shook her head. “Not this time. This time, he’s got everything totally in hand.”

Loren paused with one leg in her pants. “He has?”

“Yep.”

“You’re sure? Cal – Cal Carver - has everything in hand?”

Miz hesitated. “Uh, yeah,” she said. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure.”

* * *

Sinclair rocked on his heels, his hands behind his back. The guards had moved into a flanking position around Cal and Mech now, with just one keeping his position next to the president. This was not going exactly as Cal had intended.

“So, come on, Cal. Put me out of my misery. Explain your plan,” Sinclair said, as if reading his mind. “You break in here, hack the system, find the footage that showed the Symmorium didn’t blow up Pikkish, then what? What did you hope to do with it?”

Cal chewed his lip for a while, then his shoulders sagged as he sighed. “Then we would show it to everyone. Prove you’d faked the whole thing. Get everyone else on the Symmorium’s side. Maybe even some of your own people.”

“That might have worked,” Sinclair conceded. “My own people, I mean. There are all kinds of factions within Zertex, and many of them would love to see me replaced.

“But you forgot one thing,” the president continued. “I faked the Pikkish footage, granted, but what’s to say anyone would believe your version over mine? A known fugitive showing off their ‘alternate footage’ of an event that has now been broadcast thousands of times in every system? Why would anyone believe you over me? I am the president of Zertex space. You are a small-time crook with delusions of grandeur.”

“Yeah, well what about these guys?” Cal said, gesturing to the guards. “Now they know the truth.”

Sinclair rapped his knuckles on the closest guard. It let out a hollow clang. “Robots,” he said. “I don’t think they’re going to be gossiping about this any time soon. I’ve also had almost everyone aboard this station shipped out elsewhere, leaving only a few trusted soldiers.”

“You think you’ve thought of everything, don’t you?” said Cal.

Sinclair nodded. “Pretty much.”

“But there’s one thing you haven’t thought of, Hayel. You’ve made one tiny mistake, and that will be your undoing.”

“Oh, have I?” said Sinclair. “And what might that be?”

Cal shrugged. “Fonked if I know. Mech, now!”

He ducked as Mech raised his right arm. There was a sound like a blaster bolt almost firing – a sort of abortive Ppppp that never quite made it to ew – and then Mech’s eyes went wide in horror.

“Shizz, wrong hand. Look out, it’s gonna—”

Mech’s arm exploded, launching him backwards across the room. He slammed hard into the glowing cubes, vibrated violently as electricity tore through him, then slumped into a heap on the floor.

Still ducking, Cal glanced back at the fallen cyborg. He straightened up slowly, clearing his throat and lowering his hands to his side. “And let that be a lesson to you, Sinclair,” he said, smiling weakly. “Can we try that again?”

Sinclair’s laughter was sharp and sudden. It was nothing like the laughter Cal had heard the president emit before now, and he realized this was the first time he’d ever heard the man genuinely laugh. It was not a particularly enjoyable sound.

“Oh, Cal,” the president said. “Oh, that’s priceless. That’s brilliant. The look on your face right now is truly a sight to behold!”

He gestured to Mech lying on the floor, smoking slightly. “That’s it? That was your great hope of stopping me? Wow, I’m disappointed. I mean, I kind of love it, too, but… wow. I don’t know, I guess I just expected something with a bit more panache.”

“I wasn’t aiming for style points,” Cal told him. “I just wanted you dead.”

Sinclair’s smile broadened. “Yes, I bet you did.” He unbuttoned one of his shirt cuffs and began to roll it up. “Very well, then. I’ll give you a chance.”

Cal’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I’ll fight you. Just you and I. One on one.”

Cal glanced at the robotic guards. “Yeah, right.”

Sinclair finished rolling up his second sleeve. “No, seriously. They won’t intervene. You have my word.”

“You won’t blame me if I don’t think your word is worth shizz,” Cal said.

Sinclair smirked. “Understandable. But it’s either I have them take you away for me to torture and kill at my discretion, or you take your chances.” The president’s smile fell away, replaced by a deranged, boggle-eyed leer. “So, come on, Carver,” he growled. “Take your best shot!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Miz stepped out into the hallway, one arm around Loren, the other holding the blaster rifle. Loren hobbled along at her side, focusing on moving her legs, which were not taking well to being in use again. She was dressed now, at least, but the hunger still gnawed at her insides, making her head light. The thought of the replicator aboard the Untitled gave her the strength to press on.

Something was different about the room outside the cell. It took Miz a moment to realize what it was. The extractor fans were on, cycling the air out and replacing it with a fresh supply.

“We might have a problem,” she said.

“Another one?” Loren mumbled. “Oh, good.”

“They’re changing the air. They’re trying to mess with my sense of smell.”

“Why would they do that?” Loren asked.

Miz started to turn, then howled in pain, her spine bending backwards as all her muscles contracted. Loren felt a jolt push through her, sending her staggering clear as Miz hit the deck, her fur standing on end and smoking lightly.

“Shock rod,” Miz managed to hiss. Loren limped towards her, then was sent staggering when a punch came out of nowhere and cracked her across the jaw.

From down on the floor, Loren saw the air ripple. For a moment, it just looked like a blur in her vision, but then it solidified, becoming a figure she knew only too well.

“Hey, sis,” said Dash. He gestured towards a device on his wrist. “Personal cloaking tech. State of the art. You see the toys you could be getting to play with if you hadn’t betrayed us?”

Miz snarled, showing all her teeth. She rose onto her haunches, but before she could make her move, Loren stopped her.

“Miz, wait!”

With some effort, Loren struggled back to her feet. She cracked her knuckles, arched her back, then cricked her neck. “He’s mine.”

“You can barely stand,” said Miz.

Dash nodded. “You should listen to your… what is she? Pet?”

“Of course she isn’t.” Loren’s eyes met Miz’s. “She’s my friend.”

“Technically, we just sort of work together,” said Miz, but then she sighed huffily. “Fine. I guess we’re, like, friends or whatever. Just hurry up and kick his butt.”

“Ha. I’d like to see her try,” snorted Dash, then he pirouetted on the spot as Loren’s heel whipped round and slammed into his jaw.

“Trust me, Dashy, this is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you,” said Loren, dropping into a fighting stance. She ran the sentence over again in her head. “Wait, no. Flip that around. This is going to hurt you a lot.”

* * *

All Cal’s pain, all Cal’s hatred and, more importantly, all Cal’s power went into the punch. It was a swinging right hook that started fast and rapidly built momentum right up until the point when it twisted Sinclair’s head around by a handful of degrees, and left no obvious mark whatsoever.

Sinclair smirked. “Go on, have another one.”

Cal fired an uppercut into the president’s jaw. Sinclair’s head tipped back, but his feet remained planted on the floor and the smirk on his face didn’t falter.

“Again.”

“Raaaah!” Cal rained blows on the president, hooking and jabbing and crossing Sinclair’s relentlessly smug face, as he tried to wipe the smile right off it.

“That’s it, Carver. Do your worst,” Sinclair said. He still hadn’t moved back a step, but there was some swelling around his chiseled cheekbones now, and a suggestion of blood on his bottom lip.

Cal swung again, putting everything he had into a lunging jab designed to break the president’s perfect nose.

A hand came up and caught Cal’s fist. He tried to pull it free, but the president’s grip was too strong. “Cybernetic enhancements,” Sinclair said, as if that explained everything. “The best that money can buy. I could keep this up all day.”

His other hand came up, the fingers balling into a fist that almost took Cal’s head off. Cal’s cheek split open and the floor turned to marshmallow beneath his feet. Annoyingly, it hardened again right before he fell onto it, clunking his head.

Cal sat up quickly, fought the urge to vomit, and got back to his feet. He enjoyed the look of surprise on the president’s face as the gash on his cheek sealed itself over.

“Yeah. So could I,” Cal said, then he ran at the president, shouldering him in the stomach.

Sinclair took less than half a step backwards, before catching his balance. He caught Cal around the waist and flipped him into the air, before slamming him down again on his back.

“Ow!” Cal wheezed. “Fonking power bombing motherfonker!”

He thrust out a foot, connecting hard with Sinclair’s groin. The president didn’t flinch. Cal groaned.

“Come on, seriously? You bought yourself a robo-winky?” He thought for a moment. “Do you have, like, a number for the store, or…?”

Sinclair caught Cal’s foot and swung him around. The guards shuffled aside as Cal sailed through the air, then smashed against one of the cube racks. He glanced across at Mech, still lying motionless on the floor. The cyborg had come to rest facing the cubes, and Cal could only see his back, and the ruined remains of his right arm.

"Just any time you’re ready, Mech,” Cal wheezed. “Join in whenever you like.”

Sinclair motioned for Cal to get up. Cal thought about staying down, just to be annoying, but decided that possibly wasn’t the wisest course of action.

“Tired, Carver?” the president said, grinning. “Have you realized yet what a mistake you made by coming here? How you played right into my hands?”

“Jesus, why are you such a shizznod?” Cal asked. “With the gloating and everything. What is it with you bad guys and the sound of your own voice?”

“I’m not the ‘bad guy’, Carver,” Sinclair said. “Oh sure, I may have wiped out your planet, destroyed Pikkish and deliberately started a war with the Symmorium, but does that make me the bad guy?”

“It absolutely makes you the bad guy,” said Cal. “Those are all terrible things.”

“Ah! But are terrible things done for the right reasons still terrible things?” Sinclair asked.

“Yes! Absolutely. The answer was in the question. It’s in the name. ‘Terrible things.’ That’s pretty concrete.”

Sinclair shrugged. “Ah well. You may have a point.”

He lunged, driving the flat of his foot into Cal’s chest and hammering him into one of the guards. The robot’s arm wrapped across Cal’s throat, and the president’s eyes blazed. “But being the bad guy is just such fun!”

* * *

Loren ducked, barely avoiding a punch she should have seen coming a mile off. Dash still had the Shock Rod, and getting that off him was priority number one, but only by a nose. Priority number two was not passing out through hunger or exhaustion, but first she had to get rid of that stick.

She waited for him to lunge with it, and sidestepped the attack. Moving in close, she hooked her arm around his, trapping it, then hammered two solid punches into his midsection, bam-bam. Twisting, she forced his wrist back on itself, and prized the Shock Rod from his grip just as he caught her by the hair and pulled her back.

“Teela, fonking quit it!” he told her, throwing her to the floor. “You can’t beat me. I’m stronger, faster and—”

Loren’s leg swept out, taking Dash’s feet out from under him. He hit the ground hard, and Loren moved to pin him down. His boot crunched into the side of her head, making her ear ring and her brain slosh around like a crouton in soup.

She fell awkwardly across his legs, holding her hands up to protect her head as he sat up and rained blows on it. “Just stay down,” he commanded. “Stop making me do this.”

He put a foot on her shoulder and shoved her off him. Loren rolled to the wall, and used it to get herself up.

Miz tensed, ready to lunge, but Loren held up a hand to stop her. “No! He’s mine.”

Under any normal circumstances – meaning circumstances in which she hadn’t spent almost a full day chained to a wall, being tortured, beaten and starved – Loren was confident she’d kick Dash’s ass. Yes, he was bigger and stronger than she was, but not by much, and he didn’t know how to use what little advantage he had. He’d done the same basic fight training as anyone else, of course, but Loren hadn’t just come top of that class, but top of the optional advanced-level module, too.

She’d even enrolled in a home study course or two, but had knocked those on the head after accidentally kicking her TV through a wall while attempting to copy some of the techniques.

It was safe to say, though, that she wasn’t at her best. Her legs were heavy, her head was light, and no part of her body was responding as effectively as it should. She should let Miz get involved. That was the sensible thing. The logical thing.

But he was her brother. And if anyone was beating him to a pulp with their bare hands, it was going to be her.

Dash kept his distance, watching Loren’s movements. “Mom cried, you know?” he said. “When she heard you betrayed Zertex. She cried, Teela. And you know how I know? Because I had to tell her. Me. I was the one who had to break her heart.”

“Shut up,” Loren said. She pounced with a kick, but Dash skipped sideways, avoiding it, and pushed her hard in the back. She stumbled, but managed to stay upright.

“And Dad! Wow. You should have seen him. I honestly thought it was going to kill him. Hell, it still might.”

“I didn’t betray anyone,” Loren seethed. “Sinclair used me. He set me up. He killed millions of people. Billions.”

“You’re a liar, Teela,” said Dash, as they both began circling each other again. “You can’t admit what you’ve done, so you try to blame the president. You’re pathetic. Listen to you. Listen to what you’re saying. I know a traitor when I hear one.”

Miz sighed. “Seriously, can’t I just gut this guy and we can go?”

“No,” Loren said. She dived for her brother, but he stepped aside. Unfortunately for him, Loren had anticipated this, and spun on the spot, driving the tip of her elbow into the much less rigid tip of his nose.

Dash’s hands flew to his face as his eyes filled with tears. He stumbled back, and Loren helped him on his way with a snapping side kick to the abdomen.

“You helped him torture me,” Loren said. “I’m your fonking sister, Dash, and you helped him torture me.”

“You think I wanted to?!” Dash roared, blood and snot bubbling from his nose. “I had to, Loren. You left me with no choice. You didn’t just betray Zertex, you betrayed me. You betrayed your family.”

Loren stopped. She looked Dash up and down, then slowly shook her head. “You’re not my family. Not anymore.”

Covering his nose with his hands again, Dash tapped a device on his wrist. The air around him shivered, and he vanished into thin air. Loren lunged for the spot where he’d been standing, but found it empty.

“Fair enough,” Dash’s voice hissed from somewhere over her shoulder. “In that case, I guess I can finally stop playing fair.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Cal squirmed in the grip of the robot guard, then huffed as Sinclair drove a punch into his stomach, right below his ribs. The president pounded him with a series of blows, like a boxer working the heavy bag, then finished with a left cross to the head that split the skin just below Cal’s temple.

“There’s something so… exciting about moments like this. Or is that just me?” Sinclair asked. “Something so primal. So feral. I look at all our progress, all our advances, and it’s amazing, it truly is. But deep down.” He tapped himself in the center of the chest. “Somewhere in here, we’re all just animals.”

Cal winced as his head wound healed itself up. “I think you’ll find you mean ‘space animals’.”

“You know what I mean, though,” said Sinclair. He hit Cal across the face again. “This. Facing off. Man to man.”

“Man and armored robot to man, you mean,” Cal pointed out.

“Oh, come come now, Cal. The battle was won before this one got involved. He’s making sure you remain upright, that’s all. If anything, he’s helping you.”

“I’ll be sure to add him to my Christmas card list,” said Cal, then he grimaced as Sinclair hit him again, temporarily busting open his top lip. “Look, before you hit me in the face again – which we both know you’re itching to do, and I can kind of understand that – I just want to know one thing. Why?”

“Why am I hitting you in the face?”

“No, like I said, I get that part. Hell, if I were literally anyone else, I’d probably want to punch me in the face, too,” Cal said. “I mean, why everything else? Why start a war?”

“A hundred reasons, really,” said Sinclair. “Profit being the main one, of course. Go high enough and most wars are about profit. But also respect.”

“Respect?”

Sinclair nodded. “The Symmorium, they don’t respect me. Not like they should. It’s the same with you, really. You didn’t respect me, either.” He grinned and indicated the robot holding Cal by the throat, and the unresponsive Mech on the floor. “I bet you do now, though, right?”

“Hmm? God, no. Less, if anything,” said Cal. “I will admit, though, you’ve played everyone pretty well. Launching a full-scale attack on a completely innocent species while making yourself look like the good guy. That’s impressive. I mean, I used to con people for a living, but even I will give you props for that.”

Sinclair nodded. “And well you should.”

“And, I mean, you even managed to get other governments on your side, is that right? Mech told me all about it. The D’uzen and… What was the other one again?”

“The Tallash,” Sinclair said. “A fine race. Both fine races, actually. A little… backwards, perhaps, but dependable.”

“And when you don’t need them anymore?” Cal asked.

Sinclair laughed. “What are you talking about? I don’t need them now! But what’s that saying your people have, about keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer?”

Cal nodded. “Make sense. And how would they react, do you think, if they found all this stuff out?”

“And who’s going to tell them?” Sinclair asked. “You?”

“Well, if you tell this guy to let me go, and give me a ten second head start, I’ll see what I can do,” Cal said.

Sinclair laughed, almost fondly. “Oh, you humans. You really are rather amusing.”

He punched Cal across the face again, hard enough to break his jaw. Cal waited for it to heal up before continuing.

“Speaking of finding things out, I’ve found a few things about Mech recently,” Cal said. “Like the fact he wasn’t always made of metal.”

“Fascinating,” said Sinclair. He powered another punch into Cal’s ribcage.

Cal spent a few seconds wheezing, then carried on. “That – for very good reason – he hates war, and would do anything to not have to get involved in one. Including deliberately blowing himself up and pretending to be unconscious.”

Sinclair brought back his fist again, then hesitated as Cal’s words filtered through.

“And, most interesting of all,” Cal said. “He also has a ‘record’ function.”

Sinclair’s smooth brow furrowed, his eyes darting left and right as he thought back over everything he’d recently said. “No,” he hissed. “No, no, no.”

He darted to Mech’s side and, with some effort, flopped him onto his back. The dial on the cyborg’s chest was turned all the way to his left, diverting all his power to his intellect. A cable from one of the blue boxes was plugged into a little sliding panel on his intact arm.

“No!” Sinclair cried. “No, no, no, no, no!”

He flew at Cal, swinging with a punch that would have shattered bone, had the robot holding Cal not raised its hand to block him. It wrapped its metal fingers around the president’s fist, holding him in place.

The president stared at the robotic guard. All the cocksure confidence was gone from his expression now, as it was rapidly replaced by rising terror. “What? What are you doing? Step down, unit. Release me and step down.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” Cal said. “See, this might not actually be the main server room, but apparently if you know what you’re doing, you can get to it from here. And we know what we’re doing. Well, Mech does. That’s something else I learned about him. He’s smarter than he looks. We’re in the system now. All this?” He gestured at the station. “This is us. Right, Mech?”

The robot’s mouth flashed with red LEDs as Mech’s voice crackled from within it. Well, one of Mech’s voices, at least – the faster, higher-pitched one he spoke in when his dial was turned left. “That is quite correct, Cal. I have integrated myself with all the Zertex systems we need.”

“Need?” Sinclair demanded. “Need for what?”

When the robot next spoke, it was the president’s own voice that emerged.

“Oh sure, I may have wiped out your planet, destroyed Pikkish and deliberately started a war with the Symmorium, but does that make me the bad guy?”

Sinclair’s jaw dropped. “I… I didn’t say that. That isn’t me. No one will believe it.”

Cal shrugged. “Hmm. Let’s find out. Mech, can you show us outside?”

A stack of nine glowing cubes went dark, then changed to show an image of outer space. Zertex and the Symmorium were still locked in battle, but the image zoomed in past them, revealing two more fleets approaching.

“The D’uzen and… Sorry, what was it again?” Cal asked.

“Tallash,” said Sinclair, almost robotically.

“Oh, and hello!” said Cal. “What’s this at the front, leading them here? Why, it’s only a giant fonking Colossobot, being piloted by my good friend, Splurt. Mech, tell Splurt to give us a wave.”

There was a moment of silence. Then, on screen, the Colossobot raised an arm and waved.

“There he is!” said Cal. “I asked him to go fetch your buddies and bring them along.” He frowned. “Although… what was it you said about them again?”

The robot’s mouth lit up. “Both fine races, actually. A little… backwards, perhaps, but dependable.”

“That was it! Thank you, Mech,” said Cal. He cracked his knuckles and shot the president a smile designed to utterly infuriate him. “I’m going to give you a choice, Hayel. You can either call off this war, step down, and live out the rest of your days in peace, or we can show the whole fonking universe everything you’ve said. Oh, along with the original footage of what really happened to Pikkish. Thanks for that, by the way, that idea hadn’t occured to me at all.”

Sinclair ground his teeth together, contemplating this. He opened his mouth to reply, but Cal stopped him.

“Actually, that first one was never going to happen. Mech, send it all!”

“No!” Sinclair roared. He frantically tried to pull his hand free, but the robot guard held it tight. “You can’t do this. You can’t do this!”

“Actually, Hayel,” said Cal. “I’m pretty sure we just have.”

* * *

Loren swung wildly with a punch, found nothing, and almost lost her balance. Miz’s nostrils flared, her ears twitching as she tried to pinpoint Dash’s location. The cycling of the air and the droning of the extractor fans made it difficult, though, and she could only make rough guesses, at best.

She raised her rifle and fired. The bolt exploded against the wall directly across from her. “Shizz,” she muttered.

“What are you doing?” Loren wheezed. “Don’t shoot him.”

“Then find him and kick his butt,” Miz said.

Something hit Loren in the kidneys. She twisted, flailing with a backhand strike, but Dash was nowhere within reach.

A kick struck the side of Loren’s knee. She limped clear, turning in the direction the strike had come from, hoping to see some flicker of movement, or something for her to direct her attack at.

A punch connected with her from the other side, rising upwards, as if Dash had been crouching there, waiting to strike. Loren made a grab for where she hoped he’d be, but found only empty space.

This was getting her nowhere. She stopped moving, closed her eyes, and focused. She knew Dash. They’d fought every day as kids, and again during Loren’s training. She’d beaten him then, not because she was better – although she was – but because he was predictable. He was strong and fast, yes, but he lacked imagination. She had beaten him because no matter how spontaneous he tried to be, she had learned to predict what he’d do next.

Loren turned, blocking Dash’s kick with her left arm, and grabbing for him with her right. She found the fabric of his uniform and knotted her fingers up in it so he couldn’t pull away. Then, with a cry of triumph, she slammed him against the wall, kicked out one of his legs, and dropped him to the floor.

Hissing and spitting with rage, she found his wrist and pulled off the cloaking tech. Dash appeared instantly, his eyes wide with fear, his face still awash with blood, spittle and snot.

“Wait, Teela, don’t!” he pleaded, but her hands went around his throat and she put all her weight behind them, pushing down until his pale blue skin started to turn purple.

“I didn’t betray anyone, Dash. I just saw what was happening and picked the right side,” she snarled. Dash’s eyes bulged, and Loren eased off on the pressure enough for him to catch his breath. “I want to kill you, but I won’t. I won’t.”

“You should have,” Dash coughed, then he raised his hand and sprayed something green and toxic into Loren’s eyes. She fell back, her hands clamped over her face, as her brother got to his feet.

Miz was on him in a heartbeat, her claws fully extended, teeth bared. She was about to introduce him to his own chest cavity when Sinclair’s voice came over the speakers.

“Oh sure, I may have wiped out your planet, destroyed Pikkish and deliberately started a war with the Symmorium, but does that make me the bad guy?”

Miz and Dash both looked up. Loren pulled her hands away from her face, blinking through the pain and the tears.

There was a high-speed zzzzip noise, like a tape rewinding, then Sinclair’s voice came again.

“So, come on, Cal. Put me out of my misery. Explain your plan. You break in here, hack the system, find the footage that showed the Symmorium didn’t blow up Pikkish, then what? What did you hope to do with it?”

ZZZZZIP.

“I faked the Pikkish footage, granted, but what’s to say anyone would believe your version over mine? A known fugitive showing off their ‘alternate footage’ of an event that has now been broadcast thousands of times in every system? Why would anyone believe you over me?”

Dash swallowed. “What is this?”

“Come on, Dashy,” said Loren, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I thought you knew a traitor when you heard one?”

“No, but… But… This isn’t…” Dash shook his head. “But he told me… He showed me…” Swallowing, Loren’s brother tried to pull himself together. “I was just following orders,” he whimpered. “I was just following orders.”

“Tell it to the Symmorium,” Loren said. She lunged forwards and smashed the heel of her hand into his face. His head snapped back, thumped against the wall, then Miz stepped away and he fell like a broken doll to the floor.

“Nicely done,” said Miz. “Want me to, like, eat him now, or whatever? Because I totally will.”

“Tempting,” said Loren. She made a weighing motion with her hands, then shook her head. “But maybe another time. Let’s get back to the ship.”

Miz nodded. “I can get behind that plan.”

“Good,” said Loren. “Oh, and one more thing.” She sunk to the floor as her legs finally gave up the ghost. “You’re going to have to carry me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Cal and Mech stepped from the elevator, just as Miz reached the bottom of the Untitled’s landing ramp. Loren was over her shoulder. She managed a half-hearted wave when she saw Cal, then stared in concern at Mech’s missing hand.

“Talk about timing,” said Cal. “Everyone OK?”

“Been better,” Loren admitted. She gestured down at Mech’s hand. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, he blew himself up,” said Cal, before Mech could open his mouth. “Don’t make a fuss, he’ll only milk it.”

“Hey, fonk you, man!”

“You fit to fly us out of here?” Cal asked.

Loren blinked in surprise. “Uh, maybe I should let Kevin do it.”

“Like, no way,” said Miz, carrying Loren up the ramp and into the ship. “He’s even worse than you are. And that’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear myself say.”

Cal hit the button to raise the ramp, and followed the others through onto the bridge. As soon as he stepped on, there was a loud fanfare and a sound like a party blower. With a puff, a spray of glitter fell from somewhere near the ceiling.

“Surprise!” said Kevin.

Cal hesitated and glanced around the bridge. “What is?”

“You had to sort of imagine me jumping out from behind a chair there,” Kevin explained. “Or possibly out of a big cake.”

Miz lowered Loren into the pilot’s seat.

“What is he even talking about?” she asked.

“It’s a sort of welcome home party,” Kevin said. “Albeit without the party elements. Surprise!”

Mech approached the viewscreen and took up his usual position. Miz slumped into her chair and immediately became disinterested in everything else around her.

Cal lowered himself into his own seat. “Still not getting the surprise part,” he said.

“Well,” said Kevin, but his voice tailed off into a lingering silence. “You’re all still alive. That’s quite surprising.”

Cal nodded. “Yeah. Well, you got us there,” he said. “Loren, if you’d do the honors?”

“OK, but it’s going to cost you,” she said, groaning slightly as she pulled the controls closer to her. “I never did get to try the Fauff.”

Cal blinked in surprise, then nodded. “OK, then. Sounds fair. It’s, uh, it’s a date,” he said, then he clung to his chair as the Untitled lurched off the landing pad, and wobbled out through the shimmering force field into the dark void beyond.

The battle between Zertex and the Symmorium had all but stopped. The transmission Mech had made of Sinclair’s confession – along with the real footage of the destruction of Pikkish showing the Symmorium had nothing to do with it – had likely taken the edge off the fighting. But it was the Colossobot standing between the two fleets, reproachfully wagging a finger at both sides which had probably ended it properly.

It didn’t hurt that the D’uzen and Tallash fleets were gathered around it, forming a blockade between both sides.

“Looks like the message got out,” said Cal.

“What message? What did you do?” Loren asked.

Mech’s metal jaw creaked into a smile. “I think we just stopped a war.”

The Untitled banked towards the amassed armadas, gliding over on impulse power. Loren tapped a few controls on her console and part of the viewscreen changed to show Zertex Command Six behind them.

“We should totally blow it up,” said Miz, lifting her eyes for the tiniest fraction of a second. “We could do that, right?”

“We could,” said Cal. “But Sinclair isn’t going anywhere. We’ll let someone else handle him. I’d like to see him talk his way out of this one. Besides, Loren’s brother is still on there, right?”

Loren shifted in her seat. “He is,” she said. “But don’t let that stop you.”

“Hey, come on now,” said Cal. “Whatever he did, he’s still your family.”

Loren shook her head. “It’s like you said. Family ends. You move on.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong,” Cal said. “Maybe family is what you’re stuck with, for better or worse. Sure, they mess up sometimes.” He stared very deliberately at the back of her head. “But that doesn’t mean you turn your back on them.”

He looked around at the others. “I mean, where would we all be then, right?”

“Right,” Mech agreed.

“Besides, I guess the Symmorium are totally going to kill him,” Miz said.

“There is also that,” Cal said.

There was a loud bleeping from the viewscreen. “Message from the Symmorium,” Mech announced.

“On screen,” said Cal. “Oh, you already have. Subsent Takta! Nice to see you. How are things at your end?”

Takta’s usual expression of borderline hostility was replaced by something marginally softer, although you’d have to look very hard to notice. “Am I correct in my assumption that the broadcasts transmitted from the Zertex Command station were your doing?”

“Well, that seemed like a complicated way to ask that question, but yes. That was us,” said Cal. “Spread the word. Use it however you see fit. Sinclair is currently being manhandled by a robot back there on the station somewhere. I’m guessing there’s a queue of people who’d like to talk to him.”

Takta nodded slowly. “Indeed,” he said. “It appears the Symmorium once more owes you a great debt.”

“Seriously, any time,” said Cal. “To be honest, we kind of enjoy it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mech said, waving his arm stump.

“Wait, actually, can we collect on that debt right now?” Cal asked.

Takta’s dark eyes narrowed. “That depends. What do you require?”

“Make Junta a commander again. He’s a good guy. He didn’t deserve Loren fonking up his life like that.”

“Thanks for that,” Loren muttered. “But he’s right,” she said, raising her voice. “It’s my fault Junta got involved. He doesn’t deserve to be punished.”

“We’ll even throw in a giant flying robot,” said Cal, indicating the Colossobot. “Although we’re taking the pilot back, because he’s adorable and we all love him so much it hurts.”

He looked around at the others. “Well, that last part’s mostly just me.”

The expression on Takta’s face changed, almost imperceptibly, until there was just the faintest hint of a smile about it. “Leave it with me,” he said. “I shall see what I can do.”

The Symmorium bowed, then the image of him blinked off. “OK, then,” said Cal, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s fly over there and get Splurt, then I think that’s another action-packed Space Team adventure all wrapped—”

BLEEP.

“We got another transmission,” said Mech. Before Cal could respond, Nana Joan’s face appeared on screen. Higgsy, Jork and Alan were crammed in behind her. The boys all waved excitedly at the camera.

“Nana,” said Cal. “I thought you’d be long gone.”

“Not yet,” said Nana. “These three wanted to say goodbye first.”

“Did we help?” asked Higgsy.

Cal nodded and smiled. “You helped.”

“Yay! Go Space Team!” Higgsy cheered, as he and Jork exchanged a high-five, then a low-five with Alan.

“Uh, yeah,” said Cal, shifting in his seat. “See, the thing is, I know I said you guys were the new Space Team but, well, that was before the old Space Team got back together.”

Higgsy and the others exchanged glances. “What do you mean?” Alan asked.

“Just that… Well, there’s no easy way of saying this, because it seems like you’ve become pretty invested in the idea in what feels like quite a short space of time, but… You guys can’t be Space Team. We’re Space Team.”

“I have no objections to them being Space Team,” said Mech.

“Don’t listen to him, he’s injured and lost a lot of… wires,” said Cal. “We’re Space Team. Sorry.”

Jork raised a hand. “Could we be Space Team 2?”

Cal pulled a concerned face. “My worry is that then everyone would think the original Space Team – us – were all dead, and you were our replacements.”

“Again, I have no objections to that,” Mech said.

“Oh, I know!” said Higgsy. “We could be ‘The Other Space Team’.”

“No, you freaking idiot,” said Jork. “That’s too long.”

“Space Geeks!” said Cal. He wrinkled his nose. “No, that doesn’t work. Space Friends. Star Buddies. Astro… Pals.”

“Former Restaurant Employees Turned Space Adventurers,” suggested Kevin.

“Bit long-winded,” said Cal.

“Uh, incidentally, who are these people?” Loren asked.

Cal ignored her and rattled off some more suggestions. “Space Guys. Cosmo Dudes. Old Lady and the Star Boys. Three Men and a Little Lady! Wait, no, that’s a film. Steve Guttenberg’s in it.”

“Space Teens,” said Miz, without looking up from her nails.

Cal snorted. “Space Teens?” he said, then he raised his eyebrows. “Actually, that’s not bad.”

“I’m seventy-three years old,” Nana pointed out.

“OK, then, Space Teens plus Nana.”

“Nana and the Space Teens,” the old lady suggested.

“Bingo!” said Cal, pointing to the screen. “I mean, granted, it’s probably a doo-wop band from the fifties, but what the Hell? They’re all dead now, anyway. Nana and the Space Teens it is.”

Cal tapped his fingers to his brow in salute. “You guys be careful out there.”

Nana Joan nodded. “You too, Nob Muntch.”

The screen went dark and she ended the transmission. Loren turned in her chair and fixed Cal with an expectant look. “’Nob Muntch’?” she said.

“Trust me. It’s a long story,” said Cal, leaning back his chair and placing his hands behind his head. “Now, then, Ms Loren,” he said, “about that date…”

“It’s not a date,” said Loren, taking hold of the throttle. The stars stretched out as the Currently Untitled shot off into the far reaches of space.

And then, several minutes later, they came back for Splurt.

THE END

SPACE TEAM: RETURN OF THE DEAD GUY

CHAPTER ONE

Cal Carver ran. He didn’t particularly enjoy running. He didn’t particularly enjoy being chased by things, either, but he enjoyed being caught by them even less. And so, he ran, racing across the uneven terrain of Ursilon IV, his boots churning up clouds of colorful dust.

From somewhere behind him, there came a chorus of low, mournful roars.

“Space bears,” he wheezed, sliding down into a valley of tall, crystalline rocks. The thunder of lumbering footsteps grew louder. "No one said anything about fonking space bears!”

Splurt was wrapped around his shoulders, bouncing around like a backpack as Cal skidded on the shale and began weaving his way through the columns of sparkling stone.

As he ran, he muttered to himself. “We’ll swing by this planet, pick up some metal I need to fix my arm. You can take a look around while I dig it up. It’ll be fun.”

He glanced down at the three long claw-marks through the front of his shirt. “Yeah, so not fun.”

Cal ducked behind a ridge, taking cover for a few seconds so he could get his breath back. He’d covered around two miles in the past ten minutes, and extra life-force or not, he was one frantic hundred yard dash away from heart attack.

“What the fonk are you doing?”

Cal turned to find Mech’s head poking up out of a hole in the ground, his expression frozen midway between ‘What is going on?’ and ‘I’m about to punch you repeatedly in the face and neck’.

“Mech? How did you get here so fast?”

“What? I ain’t moved. I been here this whole time,” Mech said. “You were supposed to be leading them things away.”

Cal bit his lip. “Wait. Have I just gone around in a big circle?” He glanced around. “That would explain why everything looked so familiar these last few minutes. I thought it was like a Scooby Doo planet. You know? Like, where the background just repeats on loop.”

“What the fonk are you talking about?” Mech demanded.

“Doesn’t matter. You ready?”

“No. I need another few minutes,” said Mech. He bent down, and from within the pit came the high-pitched rasp of spinning metal on solid stone.

Cal groaned and tiptoed towards the edge of the ridge. “I guess I’ll just have to go and lead them away again so you can—”

A gust of hot air blasted Cal in the face as he peeked around the rocky outcrop. It was accompanied by a roar so loud it made all his teeth jump around in their sockets.

The mouth generating all that air and noise was a clear two to three times wider than Cal’s head, and filled with three different sets of saw-like teeth, positioned in rows, one behind the other. It didn’t seem to have any eyes. Either that, or they were concealed beneath its matted knots of coarse blue fur. What it lacked in eyeballs, though, it more than made up for on the nostrils front. Two fist-sized holes were positioned side by side on the end of its snout, granting Cal a familiarity with the thing’s respiratory system he had absolutely no desire to have.

It was down on all sixes, and only marginally taller than Cal, but as it raised itself onto its hind legs Cal was instantly dwarfed, and the idea of fighting the thing, which he’d very briefly toyed with, went right out the window.

Cal leaned back into cover. “Uh, Mech? Buddy? You nearly done?”

“Almost. Ninety seconds.”

“Gotcha,” said Cal. He sipped a breath and held it. Maybe if he stayed very still and very quiet, the space bear would—

The rock above his head exploded as a paw the size of a bowling ball smashed through it. Cal yelped and launched himself into a perfectly-executed forwards roll, remembered Splurt was on his back, and managed to turn it into a painful face-plant onto the ground just in the nick of time.

When the rainbow-colored dust cloud cleared, he saw another set of paws padding towards him. There were more to his left, and the sound of something snuffling behind him on the right. Great.

Yesterday, he’d overthrown the president and brought the galaxy back from the brink of full-scale war. Today, he was going to be eaten by space bears. If that didn’t sum up his life of late, he didn’t know what did.

A wall of teeth, fur and nostrils was closing in on almost all sides now, but there was a narrowing gap ahead and to the left. He scrambled through it, and almost made it before he felt the fiery sting of a claw-swipe across one of his calves.

Biting his tongue, he dragged himself on, and by the time he’d staggered to his feet, the leg wound had sealed itself shut. He’d hoped to find himself clear enough to make a run for it, but instead he found himself surrounded by yet more space bears.

There were nine of the monsters in total, six of them standing upright, the other three staying low. Cal didn’t know if this was a deliberate tactic to completely pen him in, but whether on purpose or not, it made escape more or less impossible. He’d need a miracle to get out of this.

Fortunately, he had one.

“Splurt, buddy. Far be it from me to tell you your business, but it’d be good if you could turn into something useful right now,” he said.

The green blob unhooked itself from Cal’s shoulders and slithered down his back. There was a series of schlopping sounds as Splurt shapeshifted, growing larger until his transformation was complete.

The space bears snarled.

Cal sighed.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, that remains the best impersonation of Dorothy out of the Golden Girls I have ever seen,” Cal said. “I’m just not clear on how it helps with our current situation.”

As Cal watched, Dorothy out of the Golden Girls – looking radiant in a nylon purple track suit - began to grow. The air around her seemed to hum as she doubled in size, then doubled again. She was bigger than the space bears now, and still growing. Cal leaned back, craning his neck to try to take her all in, then he dived aside as the first of the space bears lunged, and one of Dorothy’s sneakers toe-punted it into next week.

Cal scrambled back as the rest of the space bears attacked. Dorothy out of the Golden Girls – now thirty, maybe forty feet tall - retaliated swiftly, and without mercy. A backhand strike scattered three of the creatures, sending them tumbling across the shale. Another kick lifted the largest of the space bears off its feet, depositing it atop one of the gemstone columns some distance away.

“Never a camera around when you need one,” Cal muttered, standing and dusting himself down. With a series of clanks, Mech appeared beside him, a large lump of rock tucked under his good arm. He’d sacrificed the other arm to help save the galaxy, and hadn’t stopped milking that fact since.

“Got it,” Mech said, indicating the boulder. Ingots of a silver-like metal gleamed on its surface, angled and sharp where Mech had cut it free.

They both stood in silence for a few moments, watching Giant Dorothy dispatch the rest of the bears.

“Woo! That’s my Golden Girl!” Cal cheered, as Dorothy swept two more of the creatures aside with her car-sized fists.

“I don’t get it,” Mech said.

“Oh, OK,” said Cal. “See, The Golden Girls was a TV comedy about these four women—”

“No, I don’t give a shizz about that,” Mech said. “I mean, I don’t get how he can grow like that.”

“Uh, because he’s a shapeshifter?” said Cal. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one? Or have you turned your dial too far down by mistake?”

“I get that he’s a fonking shapeshifter,” said Mech. They stepped aside as a space bear sailed past them, upside-down. “But the laws of physics still gotta apply. Where does he get the mass to change size? I mean, he was on your back two seconds ago, now he’s…”

“A forty-foot tall no-nonsense spinster?” said Cal.

“Huge,” said Mech. “Now he’s huge.”

Cal shrugged. “Maybe his, you know, molecules or whatever get bigger, too.” He nodded wisely. “That a sciencey-enough explanation for you?”

“Not even close,” said Mech.

“Oh,” said Cal. “Because, I’ll be honest, I pretty much peaked there, science-wise. What if I say the word ‘atoms’ with a rising inflection at the end? Will that help?”

“No.”

“Ah.” He shrugged again. “Then I got nothing.”

Three space bears came racing past, roaring mournfully as they fled the colossal Golden Girl. Cal shook a fist at their backs. “And let that be a lesson to you!”

He clapped his hands once, then rubbed them together. “See, Mech? Nothing to worry about,” he said.

“He let them go,” Mech said.

“Of course he did,” said Cal. “You said it yourself, right before they started chasing me, they were protecting their young. That’s what parents do, right?”

“I guess so.”

“I mean, granted, they would probably have eaten us, but people do some crazy shizz to keep their kids safe. Same goes for space bears. Splurt was just scaring them off.”

“Well, I hope they stay scared, because we’ve got a long walk back to the ship,” Mech pointed out.

There was a faint pop as the enormous Dorothy became the substantially less enormous Splurt. Cal bent down and picked the little green blob up, then draped him over his shoulder. “Thank you for being a friend,” Cal whispered, then he flashed Mech a grin, fired off a salute to the backs of the now-distant space bears, and stumbled up the shale slope in the direction of the ship.

* * *

Cal led the way up the ramp of the Currently Untitled, then waited for Mech to come aboard before closing the hatch.

“We’re home!” he called.

“Yay.” That was Miz’s voice. Cal chose to ignore the sarcasm dripping from it.

“Welcome back, sirs,” said Kevin, the ship’s artificially intelligent computer system. “Did you have a successful trip?”

“Pretty much,” said Cal.

“Good. Oh! I almost forgot. Sensors have detected a number of life forms roaming the surface. Large ones, too.”

“Right,” said Cal. “Sort of bear-sized? No eyes? Lots of teeth?”

“Yes, sir,” said Kevin. “Just thought I’d warn you, in case you should venture outside again.”

“Thanks. We’ll bear that in mind, Kevin.” He turned to Mech and grinned. “See what I did there?”

“I hate you,” said Mech.

Cal’s smile widened. “I know.”

Mech tutted. “I’m gonna go try and extract this Durium, see if I can scrape together enough to fix this arm.”

“Extract the what, sir?” asked Kevin.

“The Durium. The metal?” said Mech. He waited for Kevin to respond, but the AI remained silent. “The whole point of us coming to this fonking planet?”

“Oh,” said Kevin, but it was a pregnant, “Oh,” that suggested more than it let on.

“Kevin?” said Cal. “Something you want to tell us?”

“No, sir,” said Kevin. “It’s just… Well, it’s just, I wish you’d have told me.”

Cal and Mech exchanged a glance. “Told you what?” asked Mech.

“That you were looking for Durium.”

“We did tell you,” said Cal. “We said, ‘OK, Kevin, we’re going outside now to find some Durium,’ which I thought made it pretty clear.”

“We been talking about it since yesterday,” said Mech. “We got you to scan all nearby systems to find us some.”

“Did you, sir?” said Kevin. “I’m afraid I don’t recall.”

“OK then!” said Cal, brightly. He and Mech moved to go their separate ways, then both stopped.

“Wait, why d’you wish we’d told you?” Mech asked.

“Despite the fact we definitely did,” Cal added.

“Oh, no reason,” said Kevin. He paused for several seconds before continuing. “It’s just we have rather a lot of Durium on board. Several crates, in fact, in case we should need to repair the ship’s outer hull.”

The rock Mech was holding hit the floor with a clunk. Cal’s jaw dropped at the same time.

“You mean we did all that when we didn’t have to?” asked Mech.

“I got chased by space bears for nothing?” said Cal.

“No, that was my favorite part,” said Mech. “Hell, I’d have gone out there just to see you be chased by those things.”

“Still, no real harm done,” said Kevin.

“What, except them destroying my favorite shirt and slicing a hole in my third best pair of jeans, you mean?” said Cal. He considered this for a moment. “Actually, you’re right. Jesus, when you look at it like that, we got off pretty lightly. Plus, we got to see a fonking huge Dorothy, so it wasn’t all bad.”

Mech muttered something below his breath, then looked upwards. “Just show me where the Durium is,” he said. A door slid open ahead and on the right. “Thank you,” said Mech, although the way he said it suggested it wasn’t exactly heartfelt. He clanked along the corridor, then stepped into the room. It was one of the self-adapting areas of the ship which transformed itself to serve a variety of purposes. Cal caught a glimpse of various crates rising out of the floor before the door slid closed again.

“OK, I’ll just tidy this up then, shall I?” he called, bending down to pick up the lump of metal and rock. He tucked his fingers under it and pulled. “Fonk. No, that’s not happening,” he said, releasing his grip on the boulder before he herniated his spine. “Guess it can just stay there for now. If anyone asks, we’ll say it’s a feature.”

Cal lifted Splurt off his shoulders and held the little guy at arm’s length. Splurt’s large, bulbous eyes gazed back at him. “OK, buddy, how do I look?” Cal whispered, glancing ahead in the direction of the bridge to make sure no one was watching.

Splurt squidged around as he became an eerily accurate reproduction of Cal’s head. Balancing the head in one hand, Cal licked his thumb and wiped a spot of blood off his own face. As he did, the corresponding spot on the severed head vanished, too.

“Teeth,” said Cal.

Splurt showed Cal’s teeth. Cal turned the head left and right, making sure there was nothing stuck in there, then he nodded. “Thanks, buddy.”

Cal’s detached head folded in on itself, and Cal was briefly reminded of the Nazis at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Then, where his head had been, there was only an unblinking ball of semi-transparent goo.

Splurt oozed down, stretching out until he reached the floor. Then he rolled himself up again and trundled along behind Cal as he marched onto the flight deck.

“Ladies,” said Cal, nodding to Mizette and Loren as he took his seat.

Miz was draped across her chair, her long, hairy legs dangling over the arm rest, her tail tucked up between them. She glanced up from filing her claws, just long enough to meet Cal’s eye, then went right back to work.

Loren turned her pilot’s seat a full one-eighty until she was facing him. The bruises she’d received at the hands of her brother and President Sinclair stained her pale blue skin like ink blots, but her eyes were wide and her mouth was smiling, and there was a distinctly upbeat vibe radiating from her.

“I know, I know, you’re happy to see me,” Cal said.

“That’s not why I’m smiling,” Loren said.

“Aha. But you don’t deny you’re happy to see me,” Cal said.

“We’ve been pardoned.”

Cal blinked. “Pardon?”

“Zertex. They just sent out a broadcast, officially pardoning us for all crimes.”

“We didn’t commit any crimes,” said Cal. “Apart from, you know, all those ones we did commit. But they were against Zertex, so they don’t count.”

“Well, technically you were all wanted criminals even before Sinclair teamed us all up,” said Loren. “And then we stole two ships from him, and blew up a lot of stuff. You know. Just saying.”

“I was happily serving jail time for my crimes,” Cal pointed out. “I mean, not ‘happily’ exactly – I was one good punch to the head away from being killed and eaten by my cellmate – but I was doing it. I was paying my dues. Wasn’t my fault you and your Zertex buddies abducted me.”

“Anyway, the point is,” said Loren, quickly steering the conversation back to more comfortable territory. “We’re all in the clear. Clean slates. We’re not going to be hunted everywhere we go.”

Cal gripped his arm rests and rocked in his chair like a fidgeting child. “I quite liked being hunted, though. It was exciting. And it’s not like they ever actually caught us.”

Miz shifted in her seat. “Which, considering Loren was always flying, is pretty hard to believe.”

“Luck,” Cal agreed. “Mostly luck.”

“Uh, I’m right here, you know?” said Loren.

Miz smirked. “Yeah. We know.”

“My point is, we’ve got money. We’ve got a lot of money,” said Loren. “And now we’re not being chased down by the government, we can enjoy it. We can go anywhere. Do anything.”

“Alright!” said Cal, getting excited by the idea. “Now you’re talking. What should we do?”

Loren raised her eyebrows. “Hmm?”

“We can do anything,” Cal said. “Any suggestions?”

Loren held his gaze for a few long moments. “Well, I mean… There’s lots, isn’t there?”

“Bound to be,” said Cal. He puffed out his cheeks. “We could… We could always… Miz?”

Miz sighed. “What?”

“Any suggestions for what we should do?”

Miz scowled. “Why are you asking me? How should I know?”

“Right,” said Cal. “Right. Sorry. Don’t know what I was thinking.”

Several seconds passed in awkward silence. Cal opened his mouth to make a suggestion, then decided against it.

Several more seconds passed in an even more awkward silence.

“Sorry to interrupt everyone’s fun, sir,” Kevin announced. “But I’ve picked up a distress signal.”

“Oh, thank God,” said Cal. “Who is it, what is it, and all that stuff?”

“The ‘what’ I’ve already explained. It’s a distress signal. As for the ‘who’… Well, I’m afraid I don’t know, sir. The signal wasn’t specific. It is, however, the ‘where’ which I thought might be of interest.”

“OK,” said Cal. “Color me intrigued. Where is it coming from?”

“Earth, sir,” said Kevin. “The distress signal is coming from the planet Earth.”

CHAPTER TWO

Cal sat back in his chair, impatiently drumming his fingers on the arm rest. On screen, the stars raced towards him, doing that stretchy-tail thing that usually made his stomach flip over before, more often than not, ejecting its contents out through his nose and mouth.

He’d recently discovered, though, that if he pretended the screen was just an enormous old computer monitor, and rather than the vast, unending abyss of space, he was actually looking at one of the built-in screensavers from Windows 95, the effects were much less traumatic.

“How far now?” Cal asked.

Loren leaned over and studied her instruments. “About seventy trillion miles.”

Cal nodded. “Right. Is that far? I mean, obviously it’s far, but in terms of… ‘How long until we get there?’ is basically what I’m asking.”

“Assuming nothing gets in our way, just under two hours,” Loren said. “But it’s a rough neighborhood. Lot of Scrivers around here. Probably Xandrie, too.”

“Can we go any faster?”

“Yes,” said Loren. “But with the possible exception of Mech, we’d all die, so I’d strongly advise against it.”

Cal silently debated it for a moment. “Fine. Two hours it is. Don’t slow down unless you have to,” he said. “And if you do have to, let’s go in shooting.”

“Like, I don’t get what the fuss is,” said Miz. “Isn’t everyone on Earth dead, anyway?”

“Not everyone,” said Cal, shifting in his seat. “Just, you know, almost everyone. Besides, someone’s got to be sending the distress signal, right?”

“I don’t get that bit, either,” Miz said. “Isn’t Earth, like, a total hole? I mean, no offense, or whatever, but isn’t it a total backwater shizzheap?”

“Don’t hold back there on my account, Miz,” said Cal.

“She’s right,” said Loren.

“Jesus, OK, so it’s not perfect. I get it. It was a lot better before someone’s boss sent trillions of parasitic mind-controlling bugs to fonk the place over,” Cal protested. “Naming no names, but we all know I’m talking about Loren.”

“They shouldn’t even be able to get a radio signal this far out into space, let alone a distress frequency,” said Loren, ignoring him.

“And from what I can gather, sir, it was sent specifically to us,” Kevin added. “Earth certainly doesn’t have that sort of capability.”

“Right,” said Cal.

“On account of it being—”

“A total shizzhole. Yes, I got it,” Cal grunted.

“Well, I was going to say ‘less technologically advanced than its neighboring systems.’”

“Oh,” said Cal. “Right. I see.”

“But it is a total shizzhole, obviously,” Kevin concluded. “That goes without saying.”

Cal sighed. “And yet everyone keeps saying it, anyway!” He shot them all a series of accusing looks – just in the voice’s general direction, in Kevin’s case – then went back to looking at the screen. “Any idea yet where on Earth the signal’s coming from?”

“Not yet, sir. We’ll have it within the hour.”

Cal unclipped his seat belt and stood up. “OK. I’m going to get something to eat. Shout me when we know more. Anyone want anything?”

“Yeah, you could get me one of those things you showed me earlier,” said Loren.

Cal stared blankly. “The banoffee pie?”

“No, the other thing. You said it was some sort of rare delicacy. Came in two parts.”

“Oh, the Twix?” said Cal. “No problem, I’ll bring one through in a while. Miz?”

Miz looked up. “What?”

“Twix?”

Miz’s snout furrowed in distaste. “Is that the chewy thing?”

“With the biscuit base, yeah,” said Cal.

“I’ll pass,” Miz said.

“Suit yourself,” Cal said. He stole another glance at the viewscreen, hoping to see Earth looming up ahead, but there was nothing ahead but stars. “OK, see you soon,” he said, then he about-turned and headed for the kitchen, almost tripping over Mech’s abandoned basketball-sized sphere of metal and rock on the way.

Once in the kitchen, Cal made straight for the food replicator and toyed with the idea of ordering something off the somewhat limited menu of items he’d previously ordered. The menu largely consisted of a certain banana and caramel pie-based treat, as well as a Twix, three different flavors of Kit-Kat, and some Chili Cheese Fritos.

None of that stuff was floating his boat, though. He had a hankering for one thing, and one thing only. He faced the machine and braced himself. “Spit Nibbles,” he said. “Like Narp’s mom makes.”

The replicator blinked into life. Cal tried to drift off to his happy place as the machine’s probes set to work, pricking his tongue, zapping his brain, and jamming their metal fingers up his nostrils.

Once it had gathered all the required data, the probes retracted into the machine and, a moment later, twelve Spit Nibbles appeared in the delivery hatch. Cal took the plate, tipped an imaginary hat to the replicator, then slid onto the bench at the kitchen’s single long table.

“Well, they smell pretty awesome,” he said, to no one but himself, then he picked up one of the Spit Nibbles, blew on it to cool it down a little, and popped it in his mouth.

He chewed slowly, letting the flavor flood his mouth. It was… good. Not great, but good. He didn’t quite understand why they weren’t great – on both occasions he’d had them before, they had been amazing – but still, they were perfectly edible, if ultimately a little disappointing.

Splurt climbed onto the bench across from him like a Slinky in reverse. Cal nodded in acknowledgement. “Hey, buddy.”

The little green blob pulsed gently in reply, then eyed the plate. “Want one?” Cal asked.

A thin tendril of goo crept across the table, took one of the wrapped pastry parcels, then retreated with it. From out of sight behind the table’s edge, there came a faint glomp of Splurt absorbing the food.

“They’re called Spit Nibbles,” Cal said.

There was another squidgy sort of sound, then the tendril replaced the parcel on the plate.

“Yeah,” Cal agreed. “Someone really needs to do a rebrand.”

Cal took another Spit Nibble, being sure to avoid the slightly green-tinged one at the far edge of the plate. As he chewed, he thought.

He thought about the last few days, but there was quite a lot in there to consider, from giant spiders and being dead, to zombie detectives and space battles. There was also quite a lot of stuff about washing dishes, and – as ever – just a smattering of Tobey Maguire.

He thought about the last few weeks. Between the being abducted stuff, and all that business with viruses, assassins and wormholes, it had been a pretty hectic month or so. Of course, ‘month or so’ was a bit of a stab in the dark. Without clocks, calendars or even night-time to help him, he’d pretty much lost all track of time. It could have been as little as two weeks, but it might equally have been as many as six.

“Twelve?” he said, reaching for another Spit Nibble. He looked at Splurt. “Could it be twelve?”

He considered this as he chewed.

No. Twelve was too much.

All this thinking about the past was, he knew, just a way of stopping himself thinking about the future.

Earth.

His home planet.

In many ways, it was still his favorite of all the planets. Very few things on Earth had ever tried to kill him. Assuming you ignored disease, pollution, government healthcare policy, and Ozzy Osbourne that one time.

It was where he had been born, where he had grown up, where he had loved, and where he had lost. There were a lifetime of memories on that blue-green ball, and now someone was calling him back. Calling him home.

“Well, this is all rather boring, isn’t it?” announced Kevin from yet another concealed speaker.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Kevin,” said Cal, even though he wasn’t entirely sure why he should be sorry. “Just thinking.”

“About everyone on Earth being dead, sir?”

“Yeah,” said Cal, chewing on another Spit Nibble. “Something like that.”

“Would you like to play a game, sir?” Kevin asked.

Cal stopped chewing for a moment, then resumed. “I don’t know. Is this where you reveal you’ve gone space crazy and start shutting down the oxygen or whatever? Because if so, I think I’ll give it a miss.”

“Ha!” said Kevin, with artificial mirth. “Quite. But no. It’s a guessing game that Master Splurt and I came up with. Well, it was mostly me, but he joined in as best he could.”

“OK,” said Cal, reaching for another Spit Nibble. To his dismay, there was only the one Splurt had briefly flirted with left. Splurt watched Cal, impassively, as his hand hovered over the ever so slightly slick pastry shell.

“Will anyone judge me if I eat this?” Cal asked.

“Anyone on the ship, or anyone in this room, sir?” Kevin asked.

“In this room.”

“Then no, sir. Knock yourself out.”

Cal shrugged, then ate the Spit Nibble. He was mid-swallow when he heard Loren’s voice on the bridge.

“He ate what?”

Cal coughed and choked the rest of the snack down, then looked accusingly to the ceiling. “Did you tell them?”

“Yes, sir,” said Kevin, sounding just a little surprised by the question. “Why, shouldn’t I have?”

“No! Of course you shouldn’t have!” said Cal.

Loren’s voice came again. “What? No, of course I can’t ‘unhear it,’” she said, then, louder: “You’re disgusting. Just want you to know that.”

“Oh yeah? Well… I’m not bringing you that Twix,” Cal called back. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Thanks a lot, Kevin,” he said, then he tutted and sighed. “Right. So, what’s this game, then?”

* * *

“Like… What are you doing?”

Cal sprang up from the floor as if it had been electrified. “What? Hi. Hey. Oh,” he said, all in the same breath. He dusted himself down. “How long have you been there?”

Miz looked him up and down, shifted her gaze briefly to Splurt, then went back to sizing up Cal again. “Long enough,” she said. “Why were you on the floor?”

“The floor?” said Cal, in a way that suggested he’d never heard those words before, and had no idea what they meant. “Oh, the floor. Why was I on the floor? No reason.”

“Was it some sort of river, sir?” Kevin asked.

“You were wriggling about on the floor for no reason?” Miz asked.

“You’re right, I was wriggling,” said Cal, shooting Splurt and the general direction of Kevin quite a deliberate look. He turned back to Miz. “I fell.”

“A stick perhaps?” Kevin guessed.

“Since when did sticks wriggle?” Cal snapped, but then he smiled at Miz. “I’m fine, honest. Did you want something?”

Miz frowned and looked around the room. She was aware that something was clearly going on, but hadn’t yet decided if she cared enough to investigate further.

Finally, she shrugged. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” she said, then she turned and slouched off along the corridor.

“Is it a length of rope being flicked by a child?” Kevin asked.

“What the fonk would…? Why would I be pretending to be a length of rope being flicked by a child, Kevin? I’m letting Splurt have his guess. Splurt?”

Splurt immediately shifted shape until a miniature version of a shizz worm squirmed on the tabletop. “Yes! That’s it. Splurt wins again.”

Cal sat down. “Seriously, I don’t know how you do it, buddy, it’s like you can read my… Oh, wait, you can read my mind, can’t you?”

“Can he?” said Kevin. “How is that fair? No wonder I never win.”

“You don’t win because you’re terrible at guessing, Kevin,” Cal said. “I mean, literally your first eight guesses were all ‘brick.’”

“Well, prior to you getting involved, that answer would have been correct in one hundred per cent of all previous games,” Kevin replied, somewhat haughtily, Cal thought.

“Oh, almost forgot,” said Miz, appearing in the doorway again. “Loren wants to see you. Kevin’s figured out where the signal is coming from.”

She wandered away again. Cal raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, yes, didn’t I mention that?” said Kevin. “With all the fun we were having, it must have slipped my mind.”

Cal was already out of the room. He cursed loudly when he tripped over Mech’s boulder then half-ran, half-fell onto the bridge. An image of the Earth was overlaid on the right of the screen, the rest of the screen still filled with nothing but star streaks. A tiny red blip flashed on the image.

“Where is that? Zoom in,” said Cal.

The Earth began to grow, showing first the United States, then the East Coast, and then…

“Philly,” Cal said, lowering himself into his seat.

Home.

“Can we get any closer?”

“Accuracy becomes a problem at this distance, but I can narrow it down a little further, sir,” Kevin chimed.

The image changed again, this time in a series of clicks, rather than a smooth zoom, each step bringing the blip closer.

At first, Cal thought it was centering on the airport, but it was more to the North West. Somewhere around…

Cal stopped breathing.

The image had stopped growing, but even with a margin of error, it was close enough for him to feel… what? Sick? Terrified?

The blip was less than a block away from a cemetery. A cemetery he knew only too well.

“Loren,” he said, but the word came out as a croak, and he had to clear his throat before trying again. “You know you said you could make us go faster?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Make us go faster.”

“You remember I also said it could kill us all?” Loren said.

“Loren. Go faster,” said Cal. “Please.”

Loren shook her head. “You might be immortal or invincible or whatever you are, but no one else is. I’m going as fast as I can.”

She tapped the controls on her console. “I can maybe bring us out of warp a little later than planned. That would buy us an extra few minutes.”

Cal nodded. “OK. Do that,” he said. “Although, what are the chances of you not stopping in time and smashing into the planet?”

Loren tutted. “Seriously? Please,” she said.

“Sorry,” said Cal.

“I should think so. I mean, it’s like, a one per cent chance,” Loren said. “Three, tops.”

“Uh, OK,” said Cal. “I think.”

Loren looked back over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Relax. I’m kidding,” she said, then a flicker of concern passed across her face. “You OK? Is there something down there?”

“Huh?” said Cal. “Oh, no. I mean, yes. I mean…” He forced a smile, but it was fooling nobody. “Just get us there as quick as you can. I’ll explain later.”

He pointed his eyes at the screen, very deliberately avoiding Loren’s gaze. “OK, then,” she said, when it was clear he wasn’t about to look her way again. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks,” Cal said. Or maybe he just thought it. He wasn’t sure.

On screen, that blinking light flashed back, taunting him. “I’m coming,” he whispered. “Whoever you are.”

CHAPTER THREE

Too many minutes later, Cal still sat in his chair, watching space streak by. Mizette was back in her seat, apparently content to pass the time by twirling a length of fur around her finger, and occasionally sighing.

“What do you think?” asked Mech, stepping onto the bridge. He held up what had, until very recently, been a scorched arm stump. Now it was... sort of a hand.

“Didn’t you used to have, like, more fingers?” Miz asked.

“Well, obviously it ain’t finished,” said Mech. He flexed his single finger and thumb, then pinched them together. “This ship has got some pretty amazing tech on board,” he said. “Ask me how I’m making my other fingers. Go on.”

Loren looked back over her shoulder. “How are you making your other fingers?”

“I’m printing them!” said Mech. “Seriously! It’s printing solid fonking objects!”

“We have them,” said Cal, not looking away from the screen.

Mech frowned. “Say what?”

“3D printers. We have them. Or had them. Or whatever,” said Cal. “On Earth.”

“Bullshizz.”

“We do. We’ve had them for years,” Cal insisted. “I mean, not many years, but still years.”

Mech looked genuinely annoyed that his thunder had been stolen. “No way. On Earth? On the planet you came from, they have this kinda tech?”

“Yep. Well, I mean, I don’t know if they can make robot hands with it,” Cal admitted.

“Aha! I knew it.”

“Although I’m pretty sure they’ve done artificial limbs. In fact, they were talking about printing internal organs last I heard.”

“OK, now I know you’re lying,” said Mech.

“Guess it’s not such a backwater after all,” said Cal.

“Entering solar system,” Loren announced. She rested her hands on the controls, but didn’t activate them yet. “Approaching Earth. Stopping in three… two… one.”

The Untitled dropped out of warp, coming to a bowel-churningly abrupt stop just outside Earth’s atmosphere. From out in the corridor there came a short, sudden whum, and then a basketball-sized lump of ore rocketed onto the bridge. Loren pulled her arm away just as the projectile slammed into the side of her console, turning a foot or more of control panels into a crackling tangle of wires and metal.

“What the fonk just happened?” Loren yelped, as an alarm screamed and reams of scary-looking data began flooding the viewscreen.

Mech shifted on his metal feet. “Uh, whoops. That may have been my fault.”

“’May have been’?” Cal cried. “It was definitely your fault!”

An orange glow began to flicker across the screen like dancing flames. Loren jabbed buttons and pulled levers, but her console was deader than most of the Earth’s population.

“We’re breaking atmosphere,” Loren said. “I can’t pull up.”

“Nnnzztk uuuuurk,” buzzed Kevin. “Seeeeelf-desssst-t-truct activvvvvaaaated.”

“What?!” said Cal, leaning forward in his chair. He jabbed a finger at Mech. “You see what happens when you don’t pick up after yourself, Mech? You see what happens?”

“Ship-p-p dessstruction in fiiiiive, three, f-f-our, one.”

“Like, thanks a lot, Mech,” Miz snapped, as she, Cal and Loren all gripped their arm rests and screwed their eyes shut.

Nothing happened.

From ceiling height, there came a snigger.

“Ha!” said Kevin. “Just my little joke.”

Cal opened one eye. “What?”

“Oh, I wish you could have seen your faces,” Kevin said. “Oh, wait, you can.”

The image of the Earth changed to show a still photograph of the bridge. Everyone’s faces were frozen in grimaces of terror, like the occupants of a roller-coaster on a theme park memento photo.

“Oh, yes. That’s a keeper,” said Kevin.

“That was, like, so not funny,” said Miz.

“Kevin, you’re a fonking amshoop sometimes,” said Loren. “Show us the screen!”

The photo disappeared, and was replaced by a view of the Earth. The Untitled had tilted a little, so the planet took up two thirds of the screen, while a strip of space was visible at the top.

“Your console may have been damaged, but I still have full control,” Kevin assured them. “I’m assuming you’d like me to take us to the source of the distress signal?”

“Yes,” said Cal. “Quick as you can.”

“Very good, sir,” said Kevin. “Although, there’s something else I think may be of interest.”

The left third of the screen changed to show another view. “I’ve enlarged the image, so it looks closer than it actually is. It’s currently located just beyond the fourth planet in the system, but appears to be coming this way.”

Mech clanked closer to the screen. “What the fonk is that?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” said Loren.

Something orange loomed against the dark background of space. It was completely shapeless, like some sort of cloud, but rippled rhythmically in a repeating pattern.

“So is this a new thing?” Cal asked. “You guys have never seen one of these?”

Usually, he liked it when the others didn’t know things. So much about outer space was new to him, but they acted like they’d seen it all a hundred times before – largely because, for the most part, they had. He enjoyed seeing them as confused by new stuff as he was.

Something about this thing made him uneasy, though, and the fact they had no idea what it was did nothing to reassure him.

“Kevin, any ideas?” Loren asked.

“Initial indications would suggest it’s a big orange thing, ma’am,” Kevin said.

Cal tutted. “Any ideas which don’t involve just stating the obvious?”

“Not really, sir, I’m afraid,” Kevin said. “Scanners are having difficulty ascertaining anything.”

Cal stared at the thing for a while, then shook his head. “OK, so we know it’s big, orange, and still pretty far away, right?”

“Correct, sir.”

“Then we ignore it for now. Take us down.”

“What?” said Mech. “I think we should check it out.”

“Opinion noted,” said Cal. “And ignored. We’ll look at it later. Kevin, take us down. Park us up half a mile or so from the distress signal. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

“Very good, sir,” said Kevin. “Although I’m picking up a lot of life signs in the area. Bugs, I think, although it’s hard to tell.”

“I guess I’ll go get us some guns,” said Mech. “You know, since we’re clearly walking into some kind of trap.”

“I,” said Cal.

Mech frowned. “What?”

“I’m clearly walking into a trap. You’re not coming.”

Loren turned in her seat. “You heard what Kevin said. There are bugs down there. Not to mention whatever’s sending the signal, which you know can’t be from Earth.”

“All the more reason for you all to stay here,” said Cal. “Fix the console. Stick on Mech’s new fingers. Whatever. I just… I need to do this one on my own, OK?”

Loren and Mech exchanged glances. Even Miz raised her eyebrows in a gesture that was somewhere close to concern. “Well, I guess, if that’s what you want,” Loren said.

Cal shook his head and tried his best to smile. “Trust me, it isn’t. But it’s the way it has to be.”

“You’re taking Splurt, though, right?” said Miz.

“Not this time,” said Cal. “Whatever’s out there, whatever’s sending that signal, I need to face it alone.”

* * *

Cal still hated running, but he did it anyway.

Kevin had touched the Untitled down on a golf course, after a refreshingly graceful descent which had involved sweeping the back end of the ship in a circle a few dozen feet above the ground, and using the thrusters to turn any bugs that happened to be lurking in the grass to dust.

The others had tried to insist Cal seal himself inside a space suit so as to limit the risk of one of the creepy-crawly parasites infecting him, but the suit would have just slowed him down, so he’d refused that, and taken a couple of blaster pistols and a flamethrower, instead.

The fuel sloshed around in the tank on his back as he jogged to the edge of the course and scrambled over the wire link metal fence. His feet thacked loudly onto the tarmac on the other side, and he wasted a second listening for anything that might indicate something had heard him.

There were several large, expensive-looking houses standing along the tree-lined street, all with their windows broken and doors standing wide. It looked like the occupants of one had tried barricading themselves inside with wooden board, but either someone had forced their way in, or they had forced their way out.

Either way, the street was silent, save for the occasional chirping of birds in the trees.

Cal jogged on past a station wagon with a couple of doors open. He paused to feel the hood. Cold. Someone had abandoned it in a hurry, then never come back. Annoyingly, they hadn’t been in enough of a hurry to leave the keys behind.

During the final stages of the descent, Mech had given him the lowdown on what he might come across. The bugs themselves were harmless enough, provided you didn’t let one get on your skin. Mech had advised incinerating them on sight, just to be safe.

The infected were a bigger problem. From what Cal could gather, they were basically very fast, very angry zombie-types – regular people, driven into violent frenzies by their insectoid co-pilots. They couldn’t be talked to, couldn’t be reasoned with. No amount of persuasion would help them break free of their parasite’s thrall. Mech’s recommended strategy? Incinerate on sight.

And then there were the Queens. Mech had started describing the Queens, and had made it as far as ‘horny man-sized insect monsters’ before Cal had stopped him. It was at that point that Mech had given Cal the blaster pistols – not to use on the Queens, but to use on himself if one of them caught him.

Cal was pretty sure Mech had been trying to scare him into taking someone with him as back-up, but he wasn’t falling for it. Kevin had pinpointed the signal to within a few inches, and Cal’s suspicions had been confirmed. Whatever was sending the signal knew there was no possible way he would fail to answer.

He hurried on, keeping low, his eyes scanning the abandoned buildings on either side. The street was eerily quiet. The whole city, in fact. On any normal day, he’d have been able to hear the thunder of traffic from the interstate a quarter of a mile or so ahead, but there wasn’t a whisper. Even the birds had stopped tweeting.

Cal held his breath as he jogged along. Why had the birds stopped tweeting?

He looked up at the trees just as something fat, black and hand-sized dropped from one of the low branches. Its legs flailed as it plunged towards Cal’s face, and he leapt back just in time to avoid the thing.

The bug hit the ground with a solid clack, bounced once, then turned itself around and scurried towards him. Cal took aim with the flamethrower and pulled the trigger. A disappointing squirt of a (presumably flammable) liquid dribbled onto the tarmac between him and the insect.

“Shizz, hold on,” Cal muttered, backing away from the bug and turning the weapon over in his hands. There were instructions printed on the barrel, along with a series of complicated diagrams involving buttons, switches, levers, and some sort of pump.

“Pull Tab A, after priming pump 3c,” he read. “Tab A. Tab A. Where the fonk is Tab A?”

The bug’s legs trip-trapped across the ground, closing in.

“Pull Tab A,” Cal read again. “After priming pump 3c. There isn’t a Tab A. There’s a Tab 1. Is it Tab 1?”

The bug was almost on him now, its glossy black mandibles snapping hungrily at the air.

“Ah, fonk it,” Cal said. He raised his boot and brought it down sharply on the insect’s back. It exploded in a spray of green guts.

He lifted his foot and glanced at what was left of the bug. Yep, definitely dead. Evil alien insect-thing or not, there was no way it was coming back from that.

“Huh. That wasn’t so hard,” Cal said.

And then, from the trees, the bugs fell like rain. Dozens of them – hundreds, maybe – dropped from the branches, wriggling and squirming as they fell. They hit the ground with a machine-gun of clacks, then teetered around on their long, slender legs, until they were all facing the same direction.

Cal’s direction.

“Ooh, that’s not good,” Cal muttered. He stomped on the five closest bugs, while trying to figure out if Tab A and Tab 1 were the same thing. He decided they must be, so pulled Tab 1. Nothing happened.

“Wait, after priming pump 3c,” he muttered, kicking another of the bugs away and sending it sailing several feet through the air. “Pump 3c. Pump 3c. Pump 3c!”

He realized he had no idea what priming a pump involved, so he pumped it a few times and hoped for the best. Each pump was more difficult than the one before, which he took to be a positive sign, although he didn’t really know why.

The bugs scurried closer.

He pulled Tab 1.

“Right, here goes,” he said, then he squeezed the trigger and was almost blinded by the eruption of flame from the nozzle of the weapon. The fire licked across the tarmac, devouring the bugs in its path. They sizzled and popped, screeching as the heat consumed them.

Cal swept around him in a wide circle, clearing the immediate area, then pressed on along the street, scorching a path ahead of him.

“Yeah!” he cheered. “Suck on that, you six-legged fonks.”

He blitzed another wide strip of asphalt, turned back to fire a few warning shots behind him, then carried on along the street, avoiding the trees as best he could.

At the end of the road there was another fence, then a short embankment leading onto the deserted highway. From there, it would just be a short sprint to his destination, assuming nothing tried to infect him, eat him, or furiously mate with him along the way.

The sky was overcast, and a light drizzle began to fall as Cal darted across the highway, giving a wide berth to the burned-out skeleton of a truck. Something made of meat and gristle lay wrapped in rags just a few feet from the vehicle, a trail of blood connecting them like an umbilical cord.

From somewhere in the distance, Cal heard an inhuman screech. Ahead and to the right, he thought, although it was hard to be sure. He was heading left, so hopefully he wouldn’t cross paths with whatever it was.

He also partly hoped he didn’t come across any uninfected survivors, if only because he had a weapon, and his instinct when startled was usually to shut his eyes and start firing. Survivors would already be pretty rare, and he’d hate to thin their numbers even more by accidentally shooting one of them in the face.

A school stood on the most direct route between Cal and his destination. He ducked down a side street and took a slightly longer way round. He didn’t want to see what had happened to the building, or the kids inside.

There was another street, another patch of grass, another fence, and then he was there, standing outside the gates, his heart crashing like a snare drum in his chest.

He took a breath.

He clenched and unclenched his jaw.

“OK, let’s see who you are,” he whispered.

And then, with his flamethrower at the ready, Cal stepped into the cemetery and marched along the path.

Four small masts, each around ten feet tall, had been positioned around a tidy gathering of headstones near the top of a low hill. Between them, near the middle, a man sat on a camping chair, an umbrella held above his head.

A few feet behind the man, but also within the square marked out by the masts, was a bulky shape that had been covered by a large dust sheet. At the top of it, Cal could just make out a red light flashing through the fabric. The distress beacon, he guessed. Covered to keep the rain off, maybe?

The man was hidden in the shadow of the umbrella, but waved cheerfully at Cal when he appeared. It wasn’t until the umbrella was lowered that Cal recognized the man’s tanned face and chiseled jaw.

Of course. Who else?

“Hello, Cal!” said former-president Hayel Sinclair. He fastened the umbrella closed then embedded the metal tip in the grass beside him. “You took your time.”

Cal’s finger tensed on the flamethrower trigger. “I’ll be honest, I thought you’d be locked up by now,” Cal said.

“Ha! No,” said Sinclair. “I mean, not yet. I fear my days of being president are over, though. Shame. I liked that job. Great perks. Still, it’s like they say, the only constant in the Universe is change. Take you, for example.”

“What about me?”

“Not long ago you were a nobody. A nothing. A petty criminal,” said Sinclair. “And before that…” He glanced very deliberately at the headstone beside him, with its two names inscribed in gold. “Before that, you were someone else again. Loving husband. Devoted father.”

“What do you want?” Cal asked.

“That’s why I knew you’d come, see? That’s why I picked here. I should have thought about it from the start, really,” the ex-president said, smiling ruefully. He shook his head. “They make you weak, you know? Kids. They make you predictable. Even, it seems, the dead ones.”

Cal primed pump 3c.

“You want to make someone pay attention – really sit up and take notice, I mean – you go for the children. It’s Tyranny 101,” Sinclair laughed, smacking the heel of his hand against his forehead. “What was I thinking? Right? I send squadrons trailing you across the galaxy, hire assassins to track you down, and all I needed to do was come here, activate one little beacon, and – boom – there you are.”

Cal pulled Tab 1.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Sinclair, holding up his hands. “You think I did something to the bodies. Dug them up, put them on strings like puppets to torment you with, or whatever, but relax. OK? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He laughed. “OK, so I’d dream of it, but I wouldn’t actually do it. Come on! What do you take me for? I just paid my respects, that’s all.” He gestured to a bunch of flowers propped against the stone beside a threadbare old toy rabbit. “The flowers are from me. It’s the least I could do.”

“Get away from my family,” Cal said, his finger on the flamethrower’s trigger.

Sinclair winced. “Normally, I would, but… Well, it’s all these bugs. We’re safe in here, but if I step past those masts there, I’m ripe for the picking. Sonics or something. Keeps them at bay. I’ll be honest, I don’t know the ins and outs, I just know it works, and I know I don’t really want to be outside there.”

He jabbed a thumb towards the sheet-covered mound. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

Cal didn’t.

Sinclair pretended he had.

“I think you’re going to like it. I had it made especially for you. Technically, it’s not quite done, but after you broadcast my plans to the entire galaxy, I kind of had to leave in a hurry, so I just grabbed this and got the fonk out of there.”

“I’m not going to tell you again,” said Cal. “Get away from them. Now.”

Sinclair sighed. “You’re not playing along, Cal. You’re not getting into the spirit of it at all. Where are the wisecracks? Where’s that adventurer’s spirit? This is all very disappointing.”

He plodded across the grass, throwing his arms up in a theatrical shrug. “Fine, if you’re not going to pull the sheet off, I’ll do it myself. This was supposed to be a big moment, and you’ve ruined it, I want you to know that. This was going to be epic. I was going to say, ‘Mr Carver, I think it’s time you said hello to an old friend,’ and then you were going to pull off the sheet. You’d gasp, I’d cackle menacingly, I had it all worked out.”

Sinclair stopped by the shape, and took hold of the sheet. The light continued to blink beneath it, pulsing hypnotically through the fabric.

“Old friend?” said Cal. “What do you mean?”

“Aha! Now you’re getting into the spirit of it,” said Sinclair. “Still a little flat, but I’ll take it. After all, I’ve always been a sucker for a touching reunion.”

He yanked the sheet away, revealing a monstrous mish-mash of metal and flesh. The blinking red light was fixed to a wedge-shaped piece of metal skull that was surrounded by scarred scalp.

One eye had been replaced by an oval-shaped lens, the flesh around it burned and blistered. Despite all this, there was something disturbingly baby-faced about the figure, not helped by the strings of drool dangling from his fat bottom lip.

“Cal, say hello to your old cell mate, Eugene Adwin,” Sinclair crowed. “Although you may remember him better as ‘The Butcher.’”

CHAPTER FOUR

Sinclair smirked. “What’s the matter, Cal? No handshakes? No hugs for your old pal? That’s disappointing. I went to a lot of effort to get you two back together.”

“Why?” said Cal. “I mean, yeah, presumably so he can beat the shizz out of me, or whatever, but why him? If this is supposed to be some big ‘Oh my God, not my old pal the Butcher!’ moment then sorry, but I barely knew the guy. I met him once. For five minutes. During which time he tried to kill me.”

Sinclair’s smile didn’t change, but lost a lot of its impact. “What?” he said, then he quickly shook his head, annoyed at himself for asking. “I mean, yes. He might not mean a lot to you, but I’m sure you mean a lot to him. After all, you murdered him.”

“No, I didn’t.”

This time, Sinclair’s smile did take a hit. “Yes, you did.”

“I didn’t. I thought I had, but then he woke up, right before your guys came and whisked me away. Last time I saw him, he was alive.”

“Well he died!” Sinclair snapped. “OK? A few of the infected, they got into the cell and they killed him and… In fact, why am I even explaining myself to you?” He pointed angrily to Eugene. “This was an excellent idea.”

Cal shrugged. “Well, I mean, if that’s what you want to believe, you go right ahead. Now, if you’d transformed my parents into robo-zombies, or, you know, someone I actually knew on a personal basis? That would’ve had impact. Even Tobey Maguire. You know, the actor? I’ve never met him, and you couldn’t really have known this, so I’m not going to hold this one against you, but if you’d got him. Now that – that would’ve had an impact. And, you know, been kind of awesome. But this…?”

Cal shrugged. “This is just some big dead guy I don’t know.”

Sinclair’s smile had vanished now, replaced by a sort of petulant sneer that made him look like a surly teenager. “Why do you always have to ruin everything, Carver?” he spat. He tapped the face of the expensive-looking watch he wore, and the red light on the Butcher’s head stopped blinking.

Eugene’s eyes, which had been glazed and glassy, swam slowly into focus. Cal’s finger tensed on the trigger of the flamethrower, ready to blast the Butcher should he try any funny stuff. As Eugene’s eyes cleared, an expression of recognition passed slowly across his face like a dawn shadow.

“Hey there, Eugene!” said Cal. “Almost didn’t recognize you there with pants on.”

“Wh-what diiiiiiid you s-s-s-s-say?” Eugene asked, his voice skipping and crackling like a scratched CD. “Diiiiid you c-call my m-m-momma a sloop?”

“No,” said Cal, taking a single step back. “No, I did not.”

Eugene took a lumbering step forwards, closing the gap. Cal kept his finger poised on the trigger, ready to light the big guy up. He was so focused on the Butcher, however, that he failed to notice Sinclair behind him, right up until the point the former-president buried a knife in his shoulder, right up to the hilt.

Cal’s cry of pain rolled across the cemetery, and the grass around the barrier formed by the towers became alive with bugs. They skittered towards the three men, but stopped just beyond the square, as if held back by an invisible wall.

Sinclair twisted the knife, wedging the wound open. Cal’s arm went limp, his finger slipping from the flamethrower’s trigger just as a fist connected with his jaw like a wrecking ball, spinning him around. He stumbled, off-balance, towards the carpet of bugs, his ears ringing from the battering-ram force of the punch.

“Oops, careful Cal,” said Sinclair, grabbing the flamethrower’s fuel tank and pulling Cal back from the edge. “Don’t want you going out there quite yet. I didn’t come all this way just to see you infected. When I kill you, I want it still to be you.”

He swung Cal around, yanking the straps of the fuel tank down as he sent him spinning back towards Eugene. Robbed of the flamethrower, Cal’s brain frantically tried to decide which was more important – reaching for the blaster pistols in his belt, or getting the huge fonking knife out of his back. The vote was tied, and he tried to do both at once. This, he quickly discovered, was a mistake, and he managed neither before the Butcher’s fist hammered him across the bridge of the nose, instantly dropping him to his knees.

Fortunately, it was a position Cal knew just how to take advantage of. Half-blinded by blood, snot and tears, he drove an uppercut directly into the Butcher’s soft and dangly bits. Unfortunately, they were now neither soft, nor particularly dangly, and Cal’s fist thudded against a perfectly smooth, perfectly solid groin area.

“Ow. Jesus,” Cal yelped, then a left cross from Eugene sent him to eat grass. He sprawled awkwardly, and there, before him, was the headstone. Their headstone. Caroline and Lily Carver. His wife and daughter. A jolt of something worse than the pain of a huge fonking knife in his shoulder passed through him as he read those names etched into the marble again, but then a hand was around his ankle and Cal was suddenly hurtling upwards, arcing over the Butcher’s head and…

BANG! The impact of the ground exploded through his skeleton, radiating from the shoulder outwards. Dazed and winded, Cal reached for the opposite shoulder, and just managed to get a finger to the knife handle before Eugene swung him up and over again.

Cal twisted hard. Hitting the ground was one thing, but his full weight crashing down on the hilt of the knife was quite another. His knee popped. He made a noise he wasn’t proud of, and then he met the grass face on.

With a growl of pain and of effort, Cal tore the knife free of his shoulder, just as the Butcher flipped him onto his back. The big man’s weight pressed down on him, his knees digging into Cal’s thighs, his hands around Cal’s throat.

“You caaallled-d-d my mom-m-ma a sssssloop.” The Butcher’s voice was a crackling hiss, his face a blank, emotionless mask of nothing. His breath – if it even was breath – smelled of oil and sour milk, and saliva hung in long, gooey strands from his fat bottom lip.

Cal jammed the knife into Eugene’s side, just below his ribcage. The Butcher didn’t flinch, didn’t slow, didn’t so much as acknowledge the steel as it pierced his flesh.

Eugene’s grip tightened around Cal’s airway. The big man’s mouth opened, showing his teeth. So many teeth. Through the thunder of the heartbeat in his head, Cal heard Sinclair laugh.

“Oh, if only Kornack could see this,” he said, then the Butcher – the most prolific cannibal serial killer the galaxy had ever seen - lunged, teeth chomping, towards Cal’s trapped and helpless face.

Aaaaand stopped.

No, not stopped. Froze.

The Butcher’s face hung right above Cal’s, his mouth wide, but unmoving. None of the rest of him was moving, either, for that matter.

“Oh, thank God,” Cal wheezed. Whatever robotic parts Sinclair had installed to get Eugene up and about again must have malfunctioned. With a not inconsiderable amount of effort, Cal managed to push the cannibal away. Eugene fell sideways, still fixed in the same position, and rolled onto his back.

Cal jumped up, ready to throw himself at Sinclair, but the former president wasn’t moving, either. His eyes were still fixed on the spot where Cal had been pinned, his face set in a leer that – Cal was just going to come right out and say it – had a disturbing kind of ‘sexual gratification’ quality about it.

“Hey,” said Cal. He clicked his fingers in front of Sinclair’s face. “Hey, shizznod. Wakey wakey.”

Nothing.

Cal grimaced, just briefly, as his knee popped itself back into place. His other wounds had mostly healed up, although there was still a dull ache around his shoulder where the knife had been. That would pass, though, and he had more pressing concerns at the moment. Namely:

“What the fonk is going on?”

Putting his hands on his hips, Cal looked around. As he did, he realized it wasn’t just Eugene and Sinclair that had frozen. It was everything. The carpet of bugs were completely motionless, and almost looked like toys tucked between the rigid blades of grass.

The clouds weren’t moving. More than that, though, the tiny droplets of drizzle which had been falling now hung in the air like vapor. There was a Cal-sized trail of clear air through it, where he had walked, and as he waved a hand in front of his face, the droplets were swatted aside like flies. He could even prod them around with his fingertips, moving each little drop around in the air.

“OK, so this is weird,” Cal said, discovering a talent for understatement he hadn’t previously been aware of.

In the distance, he could see a couple of birds. They hung in the sky as if suspended by threads from the clouds above. The trees lining the cemetery fence were equally as motionless. It was as if time itself had stopped, but forgotten about Cal.

He wondered how far it went. Were Loren and the others frozen, too? Was the moon? The big weird space thing they’d seen on the way in?

Or was that responsible, somehow? None of the others had known what it was. Maybe it wasn’t a big weird space thing, after all. Maybe it was a big weird time thing that just happened to be in space.

“Yeah,” said Cal, nodding slowly, despite having precisely zero evidence to back his theory up. “Yeah, I think that might be it. It’s a big weird time thing.”

“Ahem.”

Cal whipped around. Two figures stood before him, both wearing black robes with hoods pulled up so he couldn’t see their faces. One of the figures was roughly the same height as Cal himself, while the other barely reached to waist-height.

“Uh… Hi,” said Cal.

“Cal Carver, you will come with us,” said the larger of the two. It was a man’s voice. Quite young, Cal thought, but trying to sound older. Cal was immediately reminded of Jork, one of his co-workers from his recent spell of employment at Nana Joan’s restaurant. The little guy was around the same height as Alan, another of the guys he’d met there.

“Jork? Is that you?”

“Fit’s he oan aboot?” demanded the smaller figure. His voice was gruff and gravelly, and definitely not Alan’s.

“There is no time to explain,” said the taller man. “You have to come with us. You have to stand before the council.”

Cal reached for his blaster. “I don’t have to do anything.”

“Aye,” said the little guy. He reached into the pockets of his robe and produced both of Cal’s guns. Despite the hood presumably making it very difficult to see, he pointed both guns at Cal’s groin. “Ye do.”

Cal cupped his hands in front of the family jewels. “Well,” he said. “When you put it like that, how can I argue. Where are we going? Do you have a ship? We could take mine. I’m sure my friends would love to meet you.”

“No ship,” said the bigger man. He’d given up trying to sound older, and now he was speaking with his real voice he didn’t sound anything like Jork at all. He did sound… familiar, though. “We don’t need one. Twenty-seven.”

Cal blinked. “Twenty-seven? What’s twenty-seven? Twenty-seven what?”

A third hooded figure tapped Cal on the shoulder. This one was a little shorter than Cal, and Cal got the impression he was frail and skinny beneath the folds of his velvet robe. If Cal had to hoof one of them in the balls and make a run for it, it was going to be this guy, he decided.

He didn’t spend a whole lot of time deciding it, though, because most of his attention was focused on the doorway-sized rectangle of blue light that now stood on the grass just a couple of feet away from the motionless Sinclair.

No, not blue light. The outline – the lines of the rectangle – were a shade he’d describe as ‘lightsaber blue’ but within, that the light was a sort of rotating selection of shades of white, each one brighter and more vibrant than the one before.

“Is that what I think it is?” Cal asked.

“Depends. Fit dae ye think it is?” grunted the little guy.

It took Cal a moment to translate the question. “A big blue and white rectangle thing,” he said. To his surprise, both the other two hooded figures also said it at exactly the same time. The third guy sounded older. Old, even. His voice was a dusty croak, suggesting someone in his eighties or nineties.

Yep, he was definitely getting the ball-shot, if it came to it.

The little guy muttered something below his breath, then gestured with Cal’s guns towards the big blue and white rectangle thing. “Twenty-seven’ll ging furst,” he said, rolling the ‘r’ like he enjoyed the taste of it. “Then you.”

“See you on the other side!” said the old man, then he turned, hitched up the bottom of his robe, and ran with a surprising turn of speed into the light. He did not, as far as Cal could tell, emerge from the back of it.

“So, what, is it a doorway?” Cal asked, but before he could get an answer a blaster jabbed him between his butt cheeks, the sudden invasive coldness of the metal propelling him forwards with an agility that surprised even himself.

He tried to stop before he hit the glowing rectangle, but as he got closer to it, Cal suddenly felt as if thousands of tiny hands were gripping him and pulling him towards the light. His feet rasped against the solid, unyielding grass. He flailed his arms around like windmills, trying to find his balance.

And then, the pull of the light became too great to resist, and Cal felt an electric tingle across his skin as he was dragged inside.

For a moment, there was nothing but white, as if he’d been afflicted by snow blindness. Or was looking very close up at a sheet of paper. As his eyes adjusted to the crisp, clean brightness of it all, though, he began to see darker patches. They were like negative versions of the doorway he’d just come through – tall, narrow rectangles positioned around him at varying angles and intervals. They were light gray or beige, and their edges weren’t easily distinguishable from all the whiteness, but they were definitely there.

Cal felt a sudden rush of acceleration. It was the same sensation he felt when the Currently Untitled went to full warp from a standing start, and he instinctively screwed his eyes closed to prevent them being shoved backwards into his skull.

The world lurched as he was buffeted violently back and forth for a few seconds, then there was another electric tingle that made his hair stand on end, before he landed heavily on a patch of hard, dusty ground.

Cal opened his eyes and stood up. The old man was waiting for him, his robe still hitched up to reveal a pair of boots not unlike the ones Cal wore.

“How’s the stomach?” the man asked. “That first trip can be a gut-churner.”

“Uh…” said Cal.

It wasn’t the most eloquent of responses, but then that was hardly Cal’s fault. His attention wasn’t really focused on conversation right now. Instead, it was focused on the amphitheater-like room around him, where hundreds of other figures sat watching on.

There were tall ones, short ones, fat ones, thin ones. Some had beards, a few were green-skinned, and at least one was part cyborg. Despite their differences, though, there was one thing they all had in common.

They all had Cal’s face. Or variations of it, at least.

Cal jumped in fright as the two other robed men stepped from the doorway behind him.

“I know, pretty freaky, right?” said the young guy. “It completely blew my mind when I was first brought in, too.” He slipped his hood down, and Cal saw his teenage self grinning back. “Welcome Cal,” he said. “Welcome to the Carver Council.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Since first being abducted by Zertex, Cal had seen what he would describe, in layman’s terms, as ‘a lot of weird shizz.’

He’d met rock people. He’d fought a two-faced, multi-tentacled assassin named ‘Vajazzle.’ He’d been in space battles, gone one-on-one with a fire-breathing giant spider, escaped clone-freaks by hiding under a sheet, and strolled down the gullet of a five-mile-long worm. And those were just the headlines. Pretty much every minute of every day had inflicted some new kind of space strangeness on him.

This, though - this, right here – this was the weirdest shizz by far.

Well, maybe neck and neck with Dorothy out of the Golden Girls kicking a space bear, but still pretty fonking out there.

“You probably have questions,” said Young Cal.

“You know, I kinda do,” Cal said, nodding slowly. “I’ll be honest, it’s quite a big list and… Oh, you’re me, too. Of course you are.”

While Cal had been speaking, the old man had pulled down his hood to reveal a face that looked like Cal, but also – somewhat depressingly – like Cal’s father, albeit with flaps of skin either side of his neck that closely resembled gills. The man smiled, showing off his three remaining teeth. Even so, Cal knew that smile. It was one of his genuine ones, which he took to be a reassuring sign.

The little guy was next to push his hood back. The first thing to be revealed was a beard. The second thing to be revealed was more beard. In fact, the guy was mostly beard. Sixty per cent of his face was covered by a reddish-brown explosion of facial hair that grew down, obviously, but also sideways and upwards until it almost reached his eyes.

While the beard was the big attention grabber, special mention had to go to the guy’s eyebrows. They had clearly taken their lead from the beard, and were boldly going where no eyebrows had gone before. Color-wise, they matched the beard. Style-wise, they looked like he’d just smeared a lot of glue across his forehead, then been dragged across a barber’s floor. Or, to put it another way, style-wise, they also matched the beard.

He either wore a very tightly-fitting metal cap, or the top of his head was metal. Cal wasn’t sure which, and felt he probably didn’t know the guy well enough yet to ask.

He asked anyway.

“Is that a hat?”

The eyebrows met in the middle. This was more epic than it sounds. “Is fit a hat?”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Cal. That answered that, then.

Despite the hair, the size and the metal skull piece, there was still something oddly Cal-like about the little guy. Yes, he reminded Cal of a dwarf from The Lord of the Rings, or a garden gnome who’d got lost for a few months in long grass, but there was something about the eyes that struck Cal as impossibly familiar.

“I’m Carver Nine,” said the young man. He jabbed a thumb towards his companions, starting with the old guy. “That’s Carver Twenty-Seven, and Eighty-Three.”

“So…” Cal began, but he had no idea what the next word was going to be, so he stopped there. He turned slowly on the spot, taking in the watching faces. They looked friendly enough, but then they all had variations of his face, so maybe he was projecting that onto them.

“So,” Cal said again, having settled on his next few words in advance this time. “I’m no expert on, you know, anything, but it appears – and correct me if I’m wrong here – they’re all me. You’re all me.”

Carver Nine nodded and grinned. “Or I could say that you’re all me. Or we’re all Carver Eighty-Three.”

“Ma backside,” said the dwarf. “I’m no’ takin’ the blame fur you shower o’ fannies.”

Cal blinked a few times in Eight-Three’s direction, trying to process what he’d said. He got around two-thirds of it, which he reckoned was probably enough.

“Is this a clone thing? Are you all clones?” Cal asked. His eyes widened. “Am I a clone?” He prodded himself in the face a few times. It wasn’t exactly the most scientific of tests, but it seemed to satisfy him, nonetheless. “I don’t feel like a clone.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not a clone,” said the old man. “Nor are Nine, Eighty-Three, or any of the rest of us.”

“What’s with the numbers?” Cal asked. “Don’t you guys have names?”

Nine’s grin broadened. He thrust out a hand. “Cal Carver, at your service.”

The dwarf placed a fist at the side of his head in some sort of salute. “Aye. Cal Carver.”

“And me,” said Twenty-Seven, his eyes twinkling. “You can probably see why the numbers come in handy.”

He slipped his robe from his shoulders, revealing a white polo shirt, cream-colored slacks and, to Cal’s horror, a pair of brown sandals with gray socks below. The old man tapped a skinny finger against a badge on his chest. It was a rectangular plastic thing, and reminded Cal of the name badges he’d worn at his very first after-school job when he was a kid.

Across the top of the badge, the words: ‘Hi! My name is…’ were printed in a jolly red typeface. Below that was a piece of clear vinyl with a rectangle of white card beneath. On the card, the numbers ‘27’ had been scrawled in shaky handwriting.

“And, in answer to your question, yes, you have a number,” said Carver Nine. “And no, you’re not number one.”

Cal frowned. “How did you know I was going to ask that?”

“Because we all ask that,” said Nine.

“Enough of this!”

The voice that had spoken boomed around the circular room, startling a few of the closest Carvers. A broad-shouldered man wearing a robe and a dented armor chest plate stood up. He had a beard, but nothing like the bush sprouting from Eighty-Three’s face. It was neatly trimmed and dark, but peppered with flecks of white and gray. He held a long wooden staff, which he banged on the floor, calling the room to order.

Cal shot Nine a sideways glance. “Is that Number One?”

Carver Nine shook his head. “He’s our big Number Two,” he whispered, then all four Carvers standing together in the center of the room smirked.

“Yes, yes, shut up,” said Carver Two, sighing as if he’d been through this too many times before to find even the faintest glimmer of amusement in any of it. Which, in fairness to him, he probably had. “Carver Prime will not be amused by your time-wasting. Ikumordo approaches.”

“The whosy-whatnow?” asked Cal.

Carver Two gestured to a fairly standard-issue Cal lookalike standing in a little booth. This new Cal tapped a few controls and a shimmering lightshow was projected into the air above the theater stage where Cal stood.

“Hey, I’ve seen that,” said Cal, gesturing up to the shapeless orange mass throbbing and pulsating rhythmically overhead. “That’s the big weird space thing.”

“It is Ikumordo,” explained Carver Two. “The cosmic traveler, scourge of the multi-verse.”

“Like I said, big weird space thing,” said Cal. “What does it do? I’m guessing by your use of the word ‘scourge’ it’s nothing nice?”

Carver Two nodded, just once. “Ikumordo is the devourer of worlds.”

“You mean like Galactus?” said Cal. When no one took him up on it, he clarified. “You know, big guy, purple hat. In the comics?”

Cal looked around him, but saw mostly only confusion. “Come on, you’re all me, and I’m the only one who’s read a comic? The X-Men beat him, I think.”

“Fantastic Four,” corrected Carver Nine. “But not many of us will get the reference. We’re all from very different places.”

Cal glanced down at Carver Eighty-Three, then around at some of the other less Cal-like members of the audience. “Yeah, I’m getting that.”

“Ikumordo is the ‘All Death,’” said Carver Two. “For countless millennia, it has traversed the cosmos, turning planets once teeming with life into cold, dead husks.”

“Like my first wife!” said a voice from the crowd. Two Cal-a-likes exchanged a high-five somewhere near the back of the audience. Carver Two looked briefly irritated, but chose to ignore it.

“And what?” said Cal. “Now it’s coming to Earth?”

“Not just your Earth. All Earths,” said Twenty-Seven who, despite having his number clearly displayed on his badge, Cal was coming to think of as Old Man Carver. It just seemed to suit him. Probably on account of him being an old man. Named Carver.

“Twenty-Seven speaks the truth,” said Two. “It is not just your world which is in danger, it is all our worlds.”

Cal held up a hand like a school student trying to get their teacher’s attention. “Uh, I have a question.”

“You may proceed,” said Two.

“Thanks,” said Cal, lowering his hand again. “OK, so I guess my question is: ‘Huh?’”

Two rolled his eyes, just a little, then gestured to the Cal in the booth again. The weird space thing vanished, and was replaced by an image of the Earth. Or… was it the Earth? The continents looked ever so slightly different, although Cal couldn’t have said exactly how. Bigger, maybe? Or smaller? Or a different shape? He was confident it was one of those.

“Earth,” said Carver Two. “But not your Earth. This is the home of Carver Prime, who was the first to bring us together.”

“And that’s where, exactly?” asked Cal.

“It’s in the same place as yours, orbiting its yellow sun, part of your solar system,” said Two.

“Then why hasn’t anyone noticed it?” Cal asked. He looked around. “Or is that a stupid question?”

“There’s no such thing as a stupid question,” said Old Man Carver.

“But iffin there wis, then aye, at’d be een,” said Eighty-Three through his beard.

Cal tried translating that, but gave up somewhere around the second word. Above him, the hologram of Earth grew smaller as the image zoomed out, whooshing past other planets, then stars, then galaxies, until the whole thing became just a shiny ball floating in a black void. It was a sort of semi-transparent silver, and looked quite a lot like a bubble.

“Carver Prime’s universe,” said Two. Another bubble appeared beside the first one, touching it. “And this is another universe, similar in many ways, but also subtly different.”

“It’s a bit further to the left, for one thing,” said Cal. “So… what? There are two universes?”

For the first time since he’d stood up, Carver Two smiled. It wasn’t much of a smile – barely a twitching of the corners of the mouth – but it was a smile all the same. He clicked his fingers and bubbles began to appear in the air all around the theater. There were dozens of them at first, then hundreds, then too many to count.

They appeared apparently at random, and yet as more popped up and more gaps were filled in, they formed a uniform structure, each bubble touching six others. Soon, the whole top half of the room was a solid block of interconnected little spheres, each the size of a golf ball.

“So you’re telling me… what?” said Cal. “That all those bubbles are different universes?”

Carver Two nodded. “Yes. Although, in reality, it isn’t as neat and tidy as this. Each one intersects with all the others at the same time.”

Cal stared at the spheres, trying to work out what that would look like. Fortunately, the other Carvers had already thought of that. The regimented block of bubbles became a swirling vortex of shapes that weren’t shapes, colors that shouldn’t exist, and a general nebulous weirdness that made Cal’s eyes ache and his brain begin to fold in on itself in protest.

He was midway through throwing up in his mouth when the formless horror of it all snapped back into neat rows again, and he successfully swallowed everything back down.

“Cool,” he said in a soft, scratchy sort of whisper. He cleared his throat. “And that’s where you guys are all from? Parallel universes? Different dimensions, or whatever? You’re all alternate reality versions of me? Of, you know, each other?”

“That is correct,” said Carver Two. “The Carver Council is primarily made up of Cal Carvers from across the multi-verse. Carver Prime brought us together, that we might attempt to halt the progress of Ikumordo before it reaches the Earths.”

“And there’s an Ikumordo, or whatever, in all the different dimensions?”

“Not quite,” said Carver Nine. “This is where it gets complicated.”

“Where it gets complicated?” Cal snorted. “What are you saying? This has been the straightforward bit up until now? Jesus.”

Before anyone could reply, an alarm sounded. It was a scary alarm, Cal thought. It wasn’t an alarm designed to be ignored, but to instill the maximum amount of panic in those hearing it as quickly as possible.

Sure enough, every member of the Carver Council leaped to their feet at the same time. “Oh Shizz,” groaned Old Man Carver. “Breach.”

“Och, naw! This isnae guid,” gibbered Eighty-Three.

“This way!” yelped Carver Nine, grabbing Cal by the arm and pulling him towards the room’s single door as a tidal wave of other Cals swept past. The crowd pushed them on, shouting and bellowing, and almost driving Cal and Nine apart. The younger man tightened his grip, though, and they both tumbled out through the door together.

The place they emerged into had a distinctly unfinished feel to it. The ground was black with green lines laid out in a neat grid, almost like a computer simulation. The sky above was blue, but completely cloudless. It was also lacking anything resembling a sun, yet the whole place was bathed in light.

No, not the whole place. Half a mile or so off on the right, the blue was tearing apart, revealing a jagged wedge of darkness beyond. Black blobs were seeping through, like drops of ink spreading in water. As Cal watched, they stretched out, becoming tendrils that crept across the sky.

Carver Two was somewhere behind, barking commands with a level of authority Cal knew he himself could never achieve without the aid of a megaphone, a number of henchmen, and a big gun. The commands themselves meant nothing to Cal, though – something about ‘Void rigs’ and ‘matter dispersal’ and protecting Carver Prime.

“What the fonk is going on?” Cal asked, shouting to make himself heard over all the panic. Most of the other Cals had spotted the sky hole, and were running in the opposite direction. A few of the bigger and stronger ones hesitated, as if considering standing their ground, then decided against it and fled with the others.

“Is that Ikumordo?” Cal asked.

Carver Nine shoved him in the same direction as the others were running. “No, it’s a void breach. We’re in a blister universe here, and it’s about to go ‘pop!’”

“And that’s bad?” said Cal. He glanced around at his terrified alternates. “I’m guessing that’s bad.”

“Only if we’re still here when it does,” said Nine. He pointed ahead to a low, wide building with several doors. Carvers were flooding into it in their dozens. “There are dimension gates through there. They’ll take us out of here.”

“Where will we go?” Cal asked, sprinting flat-out now as the darkness spread like a cancer across the sky behind them.

“Somewhere that isn’t here,” said Nine.

“Good enough.”

They slowed at the doors as they joined one of the streams of Carvers all pushing their way inside. They were almost through when Cal heard Nine call out.

“Shizz. Twenty-Seven’s down. Go through, we’ll follow.”

“What? Wait,” said Cal, but Nine was already running back the way they had come. Looking past him, Cal could see Old Man Carver on the ground, struggling to get back to his feet. The dwarf-like Eighty-Three was doing his best to help, but his size made getting leverage on the older Cal difficult.

Cal groaned. “Argh! Why do I always have to be so fonking noble?” he muttered, then he raced after Nine and caught up just in time to help heave Twenty-Seven to his feet.

“Take him through,” Nine instructed. Most of the Carvers had passed now, but a few stragglers remained. Like Twenty-Seven, they looked older than the others, and less steady on their feet.

Cal and Eighty-Three half led, half carried Old Man Carver towards the low building. Only a few stragglers were trickling through its open doors now, and Cal could see a crisp white glow emanating from within. It proved a stark contrast to the murky black chasm that had now swallowed half the sky, and was making a start on the ground.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” wheezed the old man.

“Dinnae fash yersel’,” said Eighty-Three. The words meant nothing to Cal, but there was a softness in his voice that suggested they were friendly. “Hup, noo, and wull git ye eenside.”

Cal looked back over this shoulder, and blinked in a blast of ice-cold air. Carver Nine was struggling with a green-skinned alien-looking Carver, whose slow, unsteady movements betrayed his great age.

“Uh, Beardy Cal. Sorry, not great with numbers. Get Old Man Carver inside,” Cal instructed. “I’m going to go help—”

What was left of the sky vanished with a thunderous ker-ack, leaving nothing in its place. It was absolute darkness, and yet, at the same time, more colors than Cal had ever seen. It held nothing, but suggested all things – every shape, ever contour, every shadow, every thing that had ever been, or ever would be. It was every consequence of every action ever taken, and in that moment, Cal understood his place in the universe, and how wholly, utterly, completely inconsequential he was.

A sound like the roaring of a vacuum cleaner rolled towards him. He saw the far side of the theatre stretch out and become something that was both like spaghetti and the exact opposite of spaghetti at the same time. He felt the ground rumble as it, too, was devoured by the rainbow of black.

“Look out!” Cal cried – hopelessly, pointlessly – as he saw Nine and the green-skinned geriatric stumble.

Cal’s eyes met those of Carver Nine, and he saw fear at what was to come, and sorrow for a life not-yet-lived. Cal saw himself reflected in those wide, terrified pools. In more ways than one.

And then the void had both Nine and the other Carver, and Cal could only watch as their bodies became putty, then string, then nothing but memories.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Cal turned to find Carver Two standing there, his face red, his armor heaving as he gasped for breath. “There’s nothing you can do for them now,” said Two. “You must come with me. The fate of the multi-verse depends on it.”

CHAPTER SIX

After passing through another white doorway, Cal stepped into a place very different from the one he’d left. A wide, uneven field stood before him, stretching out until it met sharply-rising mountains a few miles away in every direction.

The ground beneath his feet was a mix of dry mud and a thick gray grass with jagged edges, and gave off a generally inhospitable sort of vibe. The sky was a uniform shade of cream, like no one had taken the time to color it in yet, and as cloudless as the one they’d left behind.

Ahead of him were a hundred or more tents, mostly dirty, ramshackle things, but with three pod-like constructions in there, too, which helped lift the scene from ‘grim campsite’ to ‘grim campsite with the occasional expensive-looking tent.’

Carvers stood around in bunches, knotted together as they discussed whatever it was that had just happened. Some held court, gesticulating angrily while those gathered around them nodded and punched their fists. Others held each other, each lending the other their strength and support. A surprising number laughed and cracked jokes. Although, given who they all were, probably not that surprising a number.

Cal tried to turn to Carver Two, but the bigger man’s grip made turning impossible. He marched Cal on, steering him through the camp and towards one of the plastic and metal pods standing near the edge.

“What the fonk was that?” Cal asked. “What’s going on?”

“A breach,” said Two. “That universe was temporary. More temporary than we realized. The walls gave way. It is no more.”

“And the black thing?” Cal asked. His head still ached at the thought of the endless gulf he’d seen. “Or, you know, the not-black thing? Or whatever. What was that?”

Two guided Cal past a pair of other Carvers. They both had silvery skin, matching orange jumpsuits, and were holding hands. They nodded respectfully to Two when he and Cal passed by.

“That – what you saw – that was the Void,” Carver Two explained. He still had his staff, and used it to gesture for a blue-haired Carver with glossy white eyes to step aside. “You remember we showed you all those universes as bubbles?”

“It was five minutes ago. An eventful five minutes, I’ll give you, but still. Yes. I remember,” said Cal, finding himself slightly annoyed by the question, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. “What about it?”

“If the universes are bubbles, then the Void is the space between them,” said Two. “But by ‘space’ I don’t mean ‘space’. As in, it’s not ‘space’ in the traditional sense.”

“Right. That’s cleared that up, then.”

“I mean it’s ‘space’ as in ‘a gap.’ Not ‘space’ as in stars, planets, and so on,” said Two. He stopped outside the pod, which was quite a bit larger up close than Cal had been expecting. After keying in a lengthy number of digits into a wall-mounted control panel, there was a faint click, and Two pushed open what seemed to Cal to be quite a flimsy door.

“Still not getting it,” Cal admitted. “I feel I’m kind of there, but not quite.”

Carver Two ducked, as if to enter the pod, then stopped. “It’s complicated,” he admitted. “Think of it like this. Space – outer space – is infinite. In terms of conventional physics, at least. Each ‘bubble’ actually goes on forever in every direction, so it’s impossible to reach the walls, or even to know if they exist. From the inside, I mean.”

“Right,” said Cal, despite the fact everything was now making even less sense than it had been prior to that sentence.

“So, you have your universe, which contains – by definition – everything in the universe,” said Two.

Cal thought it was probably too soon to say, “Right,” again, so just nodded in what he hoped was quite a learned way.

“OK, so the Void is like that, only sort of the opposite.”

“Right,” said Cal, although even he wasn’t convinced by the way he said it. “In what way?”

“The Universe – all universes, I mean – each contain everything. The Void itself is empty, yet contains an infinite number of universes. And, in terms of what you saw when you looked at it, it contains infinite possibility. Not only are all universes contained within it, but all potential universes are in there, too. And yet, in a very real sense, it’s completely empty.”

Carver Two raised his gray-flecked eyebrows. “Make sense?”

“Totally,” said Cal. “Yep. Crystal clear now, thanks.”

Two smiled, grimly. “I told you it was complicated. Come.”

He ducked through the short, narrow door, and Cal clambered in after him. The inside of the pod was sparse, but functional. There was a hammock strung between two walls (or, since the pod was circular, between the one wall, Cal decided), a small area that seemed to be for food preparation, and, to Cal’s amazement, three child-sized beanbag chairs, all featuring slight variations of the Ghostbusters logo.

“Hey, I had that beanbag!” he said.

“Many of us did,” said Carver Two.

“Check it out, I used to love doing this,” Cal said.

“Don’t!” said Carver Two, but it was too late. Cal sprung into the air, then slammed down into the beanbag. It exploded immediately, and the floor of the pod was suddenly awash with thousands upon thousands of tiny white pellets.

Cal looked around at the mess, then smiled sheepishly up at Two. “That didn’t used to happen,” he said. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” said Two, although his heavy sigh suggested otherwise. “Many of us did that, too. I used to have six. One for each of the Ghostbusters themselves.”

“There were only four Ghostbusters.”

Carver Two shrugged. “In your universe, perhaps.”

“Right. Fair enough,” said Cal. “Still, great movie.”

“Movie?” said Two, frowning. “Your universe made a Ghostbusters movie?” He smiled, wistfully. “Ha! I bet they loved that.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m sure they did,” said Cal, deciding not to pursue the line of enquiry that was currently presenting itself, and to focus on more pressing matters, instead. “So, Nine and that other guy?” he said.

“Gone,” said Two, his voice taking on an almost reverent tone. “Lost to the Void, along with several others. We are fortunate we had Carver Prime’s early-warning alarm system, or we would all have met the same fate.”

“Right. And where is this Carver Prime?” Cal asked. “When do I get to meet the head honcho?”

“Newbies don’t meet Carver Prime,” Two said.

“But—”

“Newbies don’t meet Carver Prime.”

“OK, see here’s the thing, Number Two – you guys abducted me. You swooped in, froze time or whatever. That was you, right? The time thing?”

Two confirmed it with a nod.

“Right. You froze time, took me away, showed me all… you know, me, and then almost got me killed,” Cal said. “I think the least you can do is let me see the boss.”

“Impossible. And even if it were, Carver Prime is currently engaged elsewhere, and therefore unavailable."

Cal shrugged. “OK. Then I’ll be outside until he gets back.”

Two’s staff caught Cal across the back of the legs, dropping him to his knees. Cal tried to stand, but the wooden pole was suddenly pressed across his throat from behind.

“Now listen to me,” Two growled. “You may have thought you were something special back in your own universe. No doubt you thought you were some unique snowflake. The one and only Cal Carver, no one else quite like you.”

Carver Two’s voice became an angry hiss. “But that’s not true. You’re not special, Cal. Not here. Hell, you’re not even Cal here. You’re Ninety-Nine. A number, nothing more.”

He removed the staff from across Cal’s throat and shoved him forwards with his foot. Cal tried to roll back to his feet in what he thought would be a really impressive way, but the wall was too close and he ended up propped against it, mostly upside-down. He flopped sideways and got to his feet the old-fashioned way.

“Good pep talk,” Cal said, rubbing his throat.

“Always with the jokes!” Two spat. “Jesus, we really are insufferable sometimes.”

“Hey, speak for yourself,” said Cal. “I’m roguishly charming. Or charmingly roguish. One of them.”

Carver Two gripped his staff with both hands, then sighed and propped it against the wall. “Forgive me. I’m taking the loss of the other Carvers hard. Every one we lose, I take as a personal failure. I should have reacted more quickly.” He exhaled slowly through his nose, shook his head, then pulled himself together.

“The fact is, Ninety-Nine, hundreds of billions – hundreds of trillions – of people will die if Ikumordo is allowed to consume the Earths. More than that, even. An infinite number more.”

“I’m assuming we’re going to kick all his many butts back to wherever he came from?” said Cal.

“Actually, he only has one butt. Metaphorically speaking. Ikumordo is not like you or I,” said Two.

Cal nodded. “He’s a big weird space thing.”

“He exists across all dimensions at once,” Carver Two explained. “While each universe has its own Cal Carver – its own Ghostbusters, its own everyone – there is only one Ikumordo, existing across all dimensions at once.”

“Right,” said Cal. “Gotcha.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Not in the slightest,” Cal admitted. “But keep going and I’ll catch up.”

“From what we have been able to piece together, Ikumordo is a transdimensional entity existing in all universes simultaneously. If he moves left here, then he moves left in an infinite number of other realities. If he turns purple somewhere, he turns purple everywhere else, too.”

“So they’re all connected?”

“Not connected. One,” said Carver Two. “One single being, virtually unstoppable.”

“Virtually?”

Carver Two placed his hands behind his back and began to pace. The pod wasn’t big, so he only made it a couple of steps before having to turn around again. “There are rumors of a weapon of some kind in the Void. Something that is said to have the power to stop Ikumodo. Unfortunately, no one has ever been able to find it. No one has been reckless enough to even try.”

Cal clicked his fingers. “Aha. And that’s why you wanted me here? You want me to go into the Void and get your gun, or whatever.”

“Hmm? No. No, nothing like that,” said Carver Two. “Ikumordo, from what we can gather, is a sentient being with the capacity for reason. We would like to make a deal with it, and we need you to make our offer.”

Cal’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Me? Why me?”

“Because Carver Prime thinks it would be unfair to make the offer without consulting you first,” said Two. “You see, in return for leaving the other Earths alone, we wish to offer Ikumordo your universe.”

“My…?”

“Universe.”

“Yes. Yes, I thought that’s what you said.” Cal sucked air in through his teeth. “That’s a bit forward, isn’t it? I mean, we’ve only just met, and you’re asking me to sacrifice the entire universe for you. That’s, like, third date conversation. Second, tops.”

“We do not ask it lightly,” said Carver Two. “And I’m not asking you to do it for me. I’m asking you to do it for everyone.”

“Everyone except the people living in my universe,” said Cal.

“Your Earth, from my understanding, is almost dead.”

“The Earth, maybe, but what about everywhere else?” Cal asked. Two looked taken aback, as if this hadn’t even occurred to him.

“What about them? Their sacrifice may well save alternate versions of their own world at a later date, too. You think Earth is the first planet Ikumordo has consumed? It will feed, but it’ll get hungry again, and then who knows who’s next? If we give it a whole universe, though, maybe that’ll be the end of it.”

Cal tucked his hands into his back pockets and rocked on his heels, thinking this over. “How would I make the deal? Do we just phone him up?”

“Carver Fifty-One can open a door for you that will bring you to the heart of Ikumordo, where you will make your offering in person.”

Cal shrugged. “OK.”

“I understand it is a difficult decision,” began Two, before he realized what Cal had said. “What?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll go speak to the big weird space thing and try to work something out,” said Cal. “But I’m not going alone. I need a team.”

“You shall have one,” said Two. “You may take your pick of the Carvers.”

Cal grinned. “Thanks, but no. I wasn’t talking about that team.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Loren blinked in surprise. “Where did you come from?”

Cal sat on a Ghostbusters beanbag in front of the viewscreen, flashing what was perhaps his broadest ever grin at the others. A moment ago, they had all been frozen in place – or ‘Time Locked’ as Carver Two had referred to it – but now they were all alert and moving, and wondering where the fonk Cal had just appeared from.

“How did you get back on board?” Mech demanded. He had been flexing all five fingers of his now fully-reconstructed hand, but lowered it when he saw Cal.

“And how did you just appear?” asked Loren.

“And, like, what are you sitting on?” Miz added.

“Guys!” said Cal. “You won’t believe the last few hours I’ve had. Seriously.”

“What the fonk you talking about, ‘few hours’?” said Mech. “You been gone less than fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah, no, you’ve been frozen in time. Long story, which I can’t explain. My point is, what I’ve been doing – I’ll be honest, I think you’re going to love it.” He pointed to Mech and his grin, somehow, became even wider. “Especially you. Without overstating things – Mech, this might just be the single greatest day of your life.”

“What the fonk are you talking about?” said Mech, but Cal was already on his feet, brushing past him and beckoning the others to follow him into the corridor. “Come on, come and see. Splurt!”

Splurt swung down from the pipework, flipped in the air, and landed on Cal’s shoulder. He perched there like a parrot made of jello, wobbling unsteadily as Cal practically skipped over to the hatch control button, then turned.

“Kevin, you there?”

“Always, sir.”

“You remember that recording thing you did earlier, when you took a photo of our faces?”

“Where you all thought you were going to die? Yes, sir. I shall never forget it. It is etched forever in my databanks.”

“Right, OK, can you do another one when I put down the ramp? Get everyone’s faces. Especially Mech.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Excellent!” Cal said, cackling behind his hand like a cartoon villain. “Mech, Loren, Miz, Kevin, Splurt, there’s somebody I’d like you to meet.”

He bumped the ramp release button with his fist. The ramp hissed as the hydraulics released, revealing a group of a dozen or so variations of the same familiar face standing in a semi-circle outside.

Cal gestured towards them, like a gameshow host showing off today’s star prize. “Me! A whole lot of me!”

From somewhere on high, there came a brief flash. “Oh, good call, sir,” said Kevin. “Their expressions are even better than last time. This one’s a keeper.”

Mech closed his bottom jaw, which had dropped open. “What the fonk am I looking at?” he muttered.

“I know, right?!” Cal laughed. “Isn’t it just the greatest? Come on.”

He hurried down the ramp, about-turned, and hooked his arms over the shoulders of two other Carvers. One of them looked virtually identical to him, but with tribal neck tattoos and enough facial piercings to form the basis of a successful scrap metal business. The other was dangerously obese, riddled with acne, and blushed the moment he saw Loren come swaying down the ramp, one hand resting on the butt of her blaster pistol.

“Guys, this is some of the Carver Council. Some of the Carver Council, meet Space Team. Loren, Miz, Mech and this little guy’s Splurt.”

“Awfy guid tae mit ye,” said Eighty-Three, doing his fist-on-head salute. The others chimed in with greetings, too. They ranged from theatrical bows to nervous waves, with a lot of winking and finger guns going on in between.

Loren looked along the line and back again. “These are… They all… I mean…”

“Spit it oot, lassie,” said Eighty-Three. “Wiv no’ a’ day tae staun here bletherin’.”

“What did he say?” asked Miz.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Cal confessed.

“They all look like you,” said Loren. “I mean, most of them. I mean…” She looked to Mech for help. “What do I mean?”

“Who the fonk are they?” said Mech. “And where’d they come from?”

“They came from Earth,” said Cal. He jabbed a thumb in Eighty-Three’s direction. “Maybe Middle Earth in his case, but, yeah. They all come from the same place as me. More or less.”

“Are they clones?” Loren asked.

Miz sniffed the air. “Don’t smell like clones.”

“We’re from other dimensions,” said the chunky Cal, his face reddening even further when everyone turned to look at him. Like most of the others, he wore a badge. The number “69” was written on it. Cal wasn’t sure if it was his ID number, or just wishful thinking on the poor guy’s part.

“You have got to be fonking shizzing me,” said Mech. “I mean, I get the whole theory of alternate dimensions, different universes, whatever, but this… This shizz ain’t right.”

“By which you mean ‘This is the greatest thing that ever happened,’ right?” said Cal, savoring every moment. “Turns out, I’m not the only Cal Carver. I’m Carver Ninety-Nine.”

“Ninety-Nine?!” Mech spluttered. “So, there are ninety-eight more of you motherfonkers here? I’m getting back on the ship.”

“Yeah, not exactly ninety-eight,” said Cal. “A few died earlier.”

Mech flinched. “Shizz. You couldn’t have told me that two seconds ago, before I opened my mouth? Now I feel bad.”

“There weren’t ninety-eight others, anyway,” said Chunky Cal. “There were ninety-seven.”

Cal counted on his fingers, just briefly. “How does that work if I’m Ninety-Nine?”

“Wait, where are we?” asked Loren, looking around. “This isn’t Earth. Is it?”

“Splinter universe,” said Cal.

“Blister universe,” corrected the one with the piercings.

“Whatever, same thing,” said Cal.

“It really isn’t.”

Cal ignored him. “Turns out – that weird space thing we saw?”

Loren frowned. “What weird space… Oh, the orange thing?”

“Bingo. Turns out it’s a planet-eating transdimensional god-like entity,” said Cal. He shrugged. “I know, who knew, right? And we all thought it was just a big cloud.”

“None of us thought that,” said Mech.

“Oh. Right. Just me, then,” said Cal. “So, turns out it’s going to eat Earth. Earths. Every Earth. Different dimension Earths, I mean. And these guys want us to stop it.”

Sixty-Nine shifted awkwardly. “I’m not sure that’s quite what Number Two said.”

“Atatat!” said Cal, putting a finger to his alternate’s lips. “Let’s not get bogged down in the details. Broad picture, there’s a big weird space thing about to destroy an infinite number of Earths. Fortunately for all involved – with the exception of said big weird space thing – Space Team is going to do what it does best.”

“Crash our ship into stuff?” Miz guessed.

“Almost get ourselves killed?” said Mech.

“Save the day!” said Cal. “I meant we’re going to save the day. But, yes, probably also both of the above.”

He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Now, then,” he said. “Who’s going to point us in the right direction?”

“Wait, hold up. We need to know more about what we’re dealing with, before we go rushing off to face it,” said Mech.

“Agreed,” said Loren.

“Guys, come on. This is me you’re talking to,” said Cal, holding his arms wide. “I already have it all worked out. You trust me, right?”

“Kind of,” said Miz.

“No,” said Mech.

Loren gave a non-committal sort of shrug. “Meh.”

“Have I ever steered us wrong before?”

Mech scowled. “Pretty sure we’ve already had this conversation, and the answer was ‘yes’ then, and it’s ‘yes’ now.”

“OK, fair point, but you owe me one for the space bears, so how about you trust me this one time, anyway?”

Mech’s metal feet shuffled on the spot. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s go get ourselves killed.”

“That’s the spirit!” said Cal.

“Are they in agreement?”

Carver Two appeared silently behind Cal, almost making him jump out of his skin in fright.

“Jesus, don’t do that!” Cal protested.

“Who is that?” asked Miz, straightening slightly.

“Uh, he’s me,” said Cal.

Miz’s furry brow furrowed. “What? Like, how can he be you?”

Cal glanced along the line of Carvers. “Like I said, alternate dimensions.”

“Oh, did you?” said Miz. “Wasn’t really listening. Nice beard.”

Cal touched his own chin, before realizing she was talking about Carver Two. “Uh, yeah, so moving on…” Cal said, quickly shifting back to the original subject. “Yes, they’re in. We’ll go and talk to the magic space cloud and smooth this whole thing over.”

“You are prepared to make the offer?” asked Carver Two. He and Cal had spent a solid hour or so in the pod, working out all the details. It had involved diagrams, and everything.

“Offer?” said Loren. “What offer?”

“Details,” said Cal, with a wave of his hand. He smiled at Carver Two. “Like I say, we’ll smooth it over.”

“I recognize that smile,” said Two. “And to say it does not fill me with confidence would be an understatement.”

He stared long and hard at Cal, then sighed. “But we have no choice. Sixty-Nine and Fifty will reconfigure the bumpers, and pre-program them for the return trip. The offer must be made from within your universe. We will provide you with a remote control apparatus so that you may initiate your return once the deal has been struck.”

“Jesus. ‘Remote control apparatus’? Since when did we call it that?” asked Cal. “Call it by its proper name.”

“That is its proper name,” said Two.

Cal raised his eyebrows in encouragement. “Come on, you can do it.”

Two tutted. “Fine. We will provide you with a doohickey, so that you may initiate your return.”

“There you go!” said Cal. “Didn’t that feel better?”

“To my great annoyance, yes,” admitted Carver Two. “Yes, it did.”

Chunky Cal and Tattoo Neck Cal hurried to opposite sides of the Untitled, where two semi-circular clamps had been attached beneath the bottom set of wings.

“We’ll put you back in your universe, on an approach vector with the big weird space thing,” said Chunky Cal, who – unlike Two – hadn’t lost his essential Cal-ness. “You won’t be too close, but you’ll be able to see it.”

“Will it be frozen?” Cal asked. “You know, like everything else?”

“No, that’s only affecting Earth,” said Carver Fifty, flipping open a panel in one of the clamps and adjusting a number of tiny intricate levers.

“Ye couldnae hae thunk wid frozen the hale lot, surely?”

Cal blinked. “Sorry, I have no idea what… Something about Shirley?” He looked at Mech and the others. “Any of you guys know a Shirley? No?” He turned back to Carver Eighty-Three. “No, we don’t know a Shirley. Sorry, dude.”

“Done,” said Chunky Cal, closing his panel.

Tattoo Neck pulled a face, fiddled with a few more switches, then closed his panel, too. He fished in his pocket and produced something that looked like it had come from a gun. There was a handle and trigger, but where the barrel should have been was nothing but a slim metal wire with a flashing red ball on top.

“One doohickey.”

Cal took it, testing the weight of it in his hand.

“Whatever you do, don’t pull the trigger yet,” said Carver Fifty.

Cal pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

“Kidding,” said Fifty. “Totally knew you’d do that. It’ll only work from your universe. We’ll launch you from here.”

Cal flashed a grin at Fifty. “You guys know me so well.”

He turned to Carver Two. “And stop looking so worried. We have totally got this under control.”

Cal led the others back up the ramp, then turned at the top. “Oh, and you know I’m keeping the Ghostbusters bean bag, right?”

Carver Two nodded. “Yes, I know. Good luck, Ninety-Nine. The fate of the Earths is on your shoulders.”

Splurt rippled, just slightly.

“As well as that green thing, obviously,” added Carver Two, then he tapped his finger to his forehead in salute, and Cal returned it as the ramp raised into position between them.

“I suggest you all buckle up, and quickly,” said Kevin, his voice tainted with panicky tones. “Something very odd is happening that I’m not sure I wholly approve of.”

“We’re going to make a dimension jump,” said Cal, following the others to the bridge. “If it reassures you, we already jumped the ship to get you all here, and no one died. You’ll barely notice it.”

“Well, if you can cope with it, it can’t be too bad,” said Loren, sliding into her chair.

“Exactly!” Cal agreed. “I didn’t even throw up a little bit, and there was, like, zero in the way of accidental bodily functions.”

“I feel like you’re looking for a ‘Well done,’ there,” said Mech. “Just so you know, I ain’t gonna congratulate you for not shizzing your pants.”

“I will, sir,” said Kevin. “And, on behalf of the washing machine, thank you.”

“Thank you, Kevin. I appreciate that,” said Cal. The ship began to hum with vibration, and fingers of white light crept across the viewscreen. Cal quickly pulled on his seat belt, and set Splurt down in his lap. “OK, looks like we’re ready for blast-off.”

“Readings are all over the place,” said Loren, tapping her controls. The side of the panel, which had been broken off, was now back in place, but held on with tape. “I hope they know what they’re doing.”

“Hey, come on. They’re all me,” said Cal.

An awkward silence descended on the bridge.

“Great,” sighed Miz, after what was quite a long time. “We’re totally all going to die.”

The vibration of the ship rose to a loud buzzing sound as the white glow spread like a fast-growing fungus across the screen.

“Hey, now, not so negative,” said Cal, raising his voice over the din.

“Fine. We’re probably all going to die. That better?” said Miz.

“Much,” replied Cal, and then the screen flashed white, their stomachs all lurched, and the laws of conventional physics unfurled like a loose thread before them.

CHAPTER EIGHT

When the whiteness retreated, the big weird space thing loomed in space ahead of them, still doing its weird ripple thing.

Up close, it looked less like one big cloud, and more like billions of smaller clouds, that all just happened to be heading the same way at the same time. A paler orange glow emanated from the center of the vaporous mass, creating a shimmering glitter effect where it reflected off thousands of metallic particles floating within the thing.

“There it is,” Loren whispered.

“Duh,” said Miz.

“What do the scanners pick up?” Cal asked.

Mech tapped some controls. “I got no idea. The data that’s coming back is… I don’t know. I ain’t seen anything like it before.”

“The Carver Council – because I have my own council now. Don’t know if you noticed?”

“We did,” Mech grunted.

“They had a name for it. Not weird space thing, I mean, something different,” said Cal. “Even though, if you ask me, my name was better.”

They sat staring out at the thing for a while. If it knew they were there, it was doing nothing to show it. It was creeping in the direction of Earth, but with a very deliberate slowness that suggested it was in no great rush.

“So, what now?” Loren asked. “Do we hail it? Try to, you know, strike up a conversation, or whatever?”

“I don’t know,” Cal admitted.

Mech’s head snapped around. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You told us to trust you, which, if you ask me, suggests you had at least some idea of what you were doing.”

“No, I asked you to trust me,” Cal corrected. “If you trusted me, you did so of your own free will, so I can’t be blamed for anything that happens to us. Can we all agree on that now? Nothing is my fault.”

“Oh, it’s all your fault!” Mech said.

“Maybe we, like, fly into it?” Miz guessed.

Cal chewed his lip. “Doesn’t that seem a little, I don’t know, forward? Just, like, ‘Oh, hi, Ikumor-whatever. Excuse us while we violate you with our spaceship.”

Miz sat upright in her seat. This was rare, and worthy of note in itself. The alarm in her voice was what really caught everyone’s attention, though. “Wait, what? Ikumordo? Are you saying that’s Ikumordo?”

“Uh, yeah, pretty sure that’s what they called it,” said Cal. “Why?”

“Loren, get us out of here. Now!” Miz barked.

Loren looked back over her shoulder. “What? Why?”

“Just do it,” said Miz. She snarled, but it only lasted a moment before her expression became uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable. “Please. Just get us out of here.”

“You know this thing?” Cal asked. “I mean, I’m assuming not on a personal level, but… You know what it is?”

Miz nodded, her eyes not shifting from the thing on screen. “My dad used to talk about it when I was little,” she whispered. “He saw it, back when he was a kid. Him and my grandfather. He used to say it swallowed a whole solar system. Just, like, devoured it, or whatever – planets, moons, sun, everything. He used to have nightmares about it. I’d hear him wake up screaming pretty much every night.”

“And we’re sure that was this Ikumordo?” said Cal. “I mean, it does sound like its M.O. I guess, but this thing isn’t big enough to eat a whole solar system, is it?”

“How many Ikumordos can there be?” Loren asked. “Maybe it shrunk.”

“Whatever, we need to get away from it,” said Miz. She looked imploringly from Loren to Cal. “Please.”

“I’m rather afraid we can’t, ma’am,” announced Kevin. “It appears we’re caught in some kind of tractor beam.”

Loren tested the controls. “He’s right, I’m getting nothing.”

“Oh, shizz,” Miz whispered. “Oh, shizz, this is it. We really are going to die.”

“Hey, relax. I got this,” said Cal. “The other Cals thought something like this would happen. This is a good thing. This is just what we wanted. OK?”

Cal turned his chair back to face the front. Mech caught his eye, and Cal gave a worried little shrug in reply. On screen, Ikumordo seemed to expand as they were pulled towards it. Wisps of orange hugged the screen like early-morning fog, while further ahead, deeper inside the cloud, something soft and fluffy became solid and rigid.

“We have officially penetrated the big weird space thing,” Cal whispered. “And we didn’t even have to buy it a drink.”

He looked around at the others, half hoping for some sort of reaction, but everyone was transfixed by all the shimmering orangeness.

The Currently Untitled jolted softly as it touched down inside the cloud. “I don’t get it,” said Mech. “Scanners ain’t showing nothing below us. Kevin, did you drop the landing legs?”

“Not me, sir,” said Kevin. “I think Ikumordo may have done it.”

“Shizz,” Mech grunted. “So it can control our ship. That’s not good.”

“Wait, no, hang on,” said Kevin. “I tell a lie. I don’t think I put them away after we left the bubble universe.”

“You sure?” Mech asked.

“Oh yes, sir. Absolutely,” said Kevin. “Well, fifty-fifty.”

Loren looked back over her shoulder. “Now what?”

“Can we take off again?” asked Miz.

“Theoretically, yes,” said Kevin. “The tractor beam is no longer holding us.”

“Then let’s, like, get out of here,” Miz said.

“Hold on, hold on,” said Cal, unclipping his belt. He stood up. “Let’s go out there and talk to it, see if we can make it see sense. It’s either that, or let an infinite number of Earths all die, and I’m not sure my conscience can handle that, can’t speak for anyone else.”

“I’m not going out there,” said Miz. “I’m staying here.”

“Fair enough,” said Cal. “Loren, Mech?”

Mech nodded. Loren unclipped her own belt and stood up. “No way we’re letting you do this yourself,” she said.

“Yeah, man, you’d totally fonk it up,” said Mech. “Hell, I’m thinking we tie you up and leave you here with Miz, just to be on the safe side.”

“Probably best,” Cal agreed, but then he led the way out into the corridor. Just before he reached the back hatch, he set Splurt down on the floor and squatted beside him. “Keep an eye on Miz, OK, buddy? She looked kinda freaked out, and I don’t want to leave her alone.”

“Don’t worry, sir—” Kevin began.

“Or with Kevin,” Cal continued. He rubbed Splurt’s head. The little blob’s eyes gazed up at him with absolute sincerity. “Thanks, pal,” said Cal. “Knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

He stood up, nodded once to Loren and Mech, then dropped the hatch. Loren jumped back, her arms across her face, her eyes wide in panic.

“What the fonk are you doing?” yelped Mech. “We’re in space! You can’t just drop the motherfonking hatch!”

Cal glanced outside, then back at the cyborg. “Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘Why’? Because there’s no fonking atmosphere, that’s why!”

Cal leaned outside, inhaled deeply through his nose a few times, then leaned back in. “I think it’s OK,” he said, then he trudged down the ramp and stopped just before the bottom.

The ground beneath the ship didn’t look like ground at all. It was wispy and white like dry ice, with a vague sort of transparency to it that showed the heaving mass of orange below. The Untitled stood on it, which suggested it was solid, but all the primal parts of Cal’s brain were making it very clear that they believed otherwise. Cal blew towards it, and the top layer of mist drifted away from him, which did nothing to boost his confidence.

“Mech?” Cal asked.

There was a brief pause as Mech tapped the controls on his forearm. “Sensors got nothing. Lot of other readings from further inside this thing – lot of other readings. Far as I can tell, though, there’s nothing beneath us.”

“Great,” said Loren. “So what do we do?”

“We take it slowly,” said Mech. “Maybe link arms or—”

Cal jumped off the ramp. The ground held him. “It’s totally fine,” he said. He jumped up and down a few times for emphasis. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

He held a hand out, but Loren batted it away. She took half a second to compose herself, then stepped onto the fluffy whiteness. “Huh,” she said. “It’s solid.”

Mech moved less confidently. He shuffled closer to the bottom of the ramp, his eyes darting between his scanners and the thing his scanners were insisting wasn’t there.

“Come on, we haven’t got all day,” said Cal. “It’s fine. Look.”

He jumped up and down again. Loren flinched and shot her feet a look of concern, but the ground held firm.

Mech glared at Cal. “I swear, man, if this is some kinda trick, and I fonking plummet through this shizz, you’re a dead man.”

“What do you mean ‘a trick’?” Cal snorted. “What, are we wearing rocket boots? Come on, it’s fine. It’ll hold you.”

“How d’you know? I’m heavier than you two.”

“Not as heavy as the ship,” Loren pointed out.

“Although,” added Cal. “I didn’t like to say, but… have you put on a few pounds lately?”

“Fonk you, man,” said Mech. He stepped off the ramp in a sort of wide-eyed panicky lunge, briefly shouted, “Yaargh!” then jolted noisily when his weight crashed down onto the cloud.

“There, see?” said Cal. “Nothing to worry about.”

They turned and took in their surroundings. Other than, “Ooh, it’s orange,” there wasn’t a lot to say about the place. It was like being in the middle of a thick fog, albeit one the color of a certain popular citrus fruit. Little shiny flecks danced through the cloud like tiny fish, shooting away whenever anyone got within grabbing distance.

Through the mist, Cal could just make out the glowing center of Ikumordo. The white platform they had landed on seemed to stretch out towards it, so Cal set off in that direction, with Loren and Mech flanking him on either side.

“So, you’ve got a plan, right?” said Loren. “You know what you’re doing?”

Cal nodded. “Yeah. The other Cals, they’ve been planning for this. They just needed me to… deliver the message.”

“I don’t get it,” said Mech.

“Which bit?” asked Cal.

“The whole fonking thing. Why is there a Carver Council? I mean, why are you, of all the people alive, in charge of stopping this thing?”

Cal shrugged. It was a good question, but one that it hadn’t actually occurred to him to ask. “We can ask this Carver Prime dude when we get back. He’s the guy who started it all. I’m just a cog in the wheel. Just one Cal Carver among many. Although, I think we’ll all agree, I’m definitely the best-looking one.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Loren. “That guy with the beard and the staff was kind of easy on the eye.”

“What? No!” said Cal. “What? Him? No. I mean, he’s literally called ‘Number Two.’ Imagine if you got married. You’d be Mrs Number Two. No. Trust me, you don’t even want to go there.”

“But, I mean… Why you?” Mech asked again. From the way he said it, it seemed like the very idea of the Carver Council had personally offended him in some way. Which, to be fair, Cal thought, it probably had.

“Honestly? I have no idea,” said Cal. “I mean, much as I enjoy racing around the galaxy having adventures and all that stuff, I think we can agree that it’s a miracle I haven’t been killed yet.”

“You were,” Loren reminded him. “But you came back.”

“My point exactly,” said Cal. “If I was putting together a list of people to save the universe, I don’t think I’d even make the top ten. So Carver Prime must by pretty cocksure to put together an entire team made up exclusively of himself. I mean, even I think that’s a bad idea, and I have, let’s be honest, a disproportionately high opinion of myself.”

“You don’t say?” said Loren.

They plodded on in silence for a while, the soft paf of their footsteps swallowed by the fog.

“So what the fonk are we doing here?” asked Mech. “You just said yourself, this is a bad idea.”

“Yeah, but it’s the only idea we’ve got,” said Cal. “The council has a plan. They made a pretty compelling case. I’ll talk to it, make the offer, then we’ll play it by ear.”

“What’s the offer?” asked Loren.

Cal squirmed. “Uh, probably best if I don’t say it yet.” He gestured around them. “It could be listening. I want to do it, like, face to face, or whatever. Trust me.”

Loren shot him a quizzical look. “You keep saying that. That we should trust you.”

“Well, you should,” said Cal. “Seriously, this is all going to be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

He stopped as the wall of orange parted before them, revealing a wide clearing in the cloud.

A head floated in the center of the clearing. It was a large head, stretching maybe twenty feet from pointy chin to bulging forehead. It was made of the same orange cloud, but more densely packed together, giving the impression it was almost solid.

The head’s perfectly round, stupidly large eyes glared at Cal and the others with such intensity they were physically pushed back a full step.

“Who dares approach the great Ikumordo?” the head demanded in a voice like a tropical storm. “Speak. Explain. Or be destroyed!”

“OK, maybe worry a little bit about that guy,” said Cal. “But otherwise, this is all going great!”

CHAPTER NINE

The ominous floating head watched impassively as Cal approached, Mech and Loren striding along on either side.

“Hi there! Ikumordo?” Cal said. “I’ll be honest, no one told me you’d be a big head. That is pretty cool. Don’t you think, guys?”

“Yeah,” said Mech, although he sounded unconvinced. “Fonking awesome.”

“And he’s not easily impressed, so that’s saying something,” said Cal. He gestured around at the empty space in the cloud. “Nice place you’ve got here. Homely.”

Ikumordo’s voice boomed from every direction at once. “What manner of creature are you?”

“Which one?” asked Cal. “Me? I’m a human. I’m from Earth. You know, that planet you’re about to eat? Which is why we’re here, actually.”

He looked down at his feet, flexed his fingers a few times, then took a deep breath before looking up again. “See, I’ve been asked to make you an offer. You know, like a deal.”

“Ikumordo does not make deals.”

“Yeah, well, at least listen to it. I mean, it’s not like you’re in a rush. Earth’s not going anywhere, am I right?”

There was a long, lingering silence. Loren sidled closer to Cal.

“This isn’t working,” she whispered.

“Trust me,” said Cal.

“There you go again,” Loren muttered, and then the thunder of Ikumordo’s voice drowned out whatever she said next.

“Then speak.”

“OK, great. You won’t regret this,” said Cal. He glanced at the others, then drew in a breath. “See, the thing is, while I’m sure you’re a nice… big space thing, and don’t mean to do any harm, when you eat a planet, it’s really not good for the people living there. Like really not good. They die, basically. And probably not in very nice ways. Now, I’m not pointing fingers here, you probably didn’t know that was the case, but—”

“I knew. Ikumordo knows all.”

“Oh,” said Cal, running out of steam a little. “Oh. Right. I see.” He shrugged. “Well, anyway, I’ve recently been approached by a group of individuals gathered from different dimensions – parallel universes, or whatever – and they’re concerned that, by eating Earth, you’ll kill an infinite number of innocent people. Which, and I think you’ll feel the same way, seems like a lot.”

Ikumordo didn’t respond. Its wide eyes continued to stare.

Cal swallowed. “So, see, they asked me to make an offer. A trade. My entire universe, in return for the safety of every other Earth.”

“What?” said Loren, turning sharply. “That’s the deal?”

Cal ignored her. “They want me to suggest that you eat this whole universe – every last corner – and leave all the other Earths in the other dimensions alone.”

“Oh, you have got to be fonking kidding me,” growled Mech, his fingers balling into fists.

“Cal, no, you can’t do this,” said Loren. “I mean… You can’t.”

Ikumordo’s voice was as bone-shaking as ever, but there was a hint of something like intrigue in there, too. “This is your offer? This is the deal you wish to make with Ikumordo?”

Cal raised a finger. “Not exactly,” he said. “See, those guys I told you about, that’s the offer they wanted me to make, and they were pretty persuasive, to their credit. But that’s not the offer I’m actually making. The offer I’m making is this.”

He took a step closer to Ikumordo’s floating head. “Turn around. Fly away. Leave my planet alone, and I’ll let you live.”

Ikumordo’s eyes became even wider, before its features tightened into a frown. “You dare threaten me?”

“Hey!” said Cal, grinning. “Threaten? No. I’m not threatening anyone. I’m just offering a deal. A trade. You leave, and in return, I let you live.” His smile fell away. “But I suggest you take it, because I can guarantee that it’s the best offer you’re going to get, you world-killing piece of shizz.”

He clenched his fists, getting agitated. “You think you can come here to my solar system and mess with my home planet? Not going to happen, cloud boy. So you can turn around, fly on out of here, and never look back,” – he straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest – “or you’re going to have us to answer to. We’re Space Team, shizznod, and we don’t stand for—”

Twin blasts of purple lightning exploded from Ikumordo’s eyes. Cal yelped and slapped at his legs as the bottom of his pants went up in flames.

“Ooh, that backfired, didn’t it?” he said, shooting Mech and Loren a worried glance.

“What?” Mech spluttered. “That was the plan? Threaten it?”

“Well, it was my plan, not really the plan,” Cal admitted.

More lightning erupted from Ikumordo’s eyes. It licked across Mech’s metal frame, briefly lighting him up like a Kroyshuk tree. “Ow! Fonking fonking shizz fonk!” Mech hissed.

“Eloquent as ever, Mech,” said Cal. He glanced between the cyborg and Loren, then up at Ikumordo. The head was growing larger, the face now twisted into an impossible scowl.

“What do we think? Run away?” Cal said. Ikumordo’s mouth opened, revealing a swirling vortex of fire within. “Yeah, I think running away.”

“I fonking hate you, man,” Mech said through gritted teeth. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind,” said Cal. He spun on the spot, drawing the two blaster pistols that had been tucked into his belt. He opened fire on Ikumordo, but the energy bolts passed straight through the head as if it wasn’t there. “Yeah, thought that might happen,” Cal admitted, then he turned on his heels and ran.

Shapes emerged from the fog around them as Cal, Mech and Loren raced back towards the Untitled. The shapes were vaguely humanoid, and lurched out of the cloud like clockwork soldiers, their wispy limbs becoming more solid with each step.

“I can’t believe you got us here so you could threaten a god!” Loren cried, ducking as one of the figures made a grab for her.

“I wasn’t threatening. That was, like, mild sass-talk at worst,” said Cal. He swung a punch at another of the soldiers and discovered it was more solid than it looked. Something in his hand went crack, but the cloud figure barely flinched.

He grimaced, then blasted a couple of the cloud men in the chest. They exploded into vapor, then immediately began to reform.

“Besides, would you have preferred me to go with the other plan?” asked Cal, firing wildly ahead to clear a path through the closing throngs of soldiers. “You know, the plan in which the entire universe gets eaten?”

Mech’s fist smashed through the head of another of the clawing figures, disintegrating it. Almost as soon as it had been destroyed, though, it began to grow back. “What the fonk are these things?” he grunted.

“I’m thinking ‘bad guys,’” said Cal. “You know, what with the way they’re all trying to attack us.”

He ducked another grasping pair of arms, blasted the thing’s upper body into water droplets, then pushed on. The Untitled was just ahead, but there was a dozens-deep wall of fog-folk blocking the path.

“Shizz,” said Loren, pulling her own blaster. She picked off a couple, but they were reforming faster than ever now, sprouting new heads and forming new torsos almost instantly.

“Mech!” said Cal. “Arm guns would be nice.”

“They ain’t online yet,” Mech said. “I hadn’t finished hooking everything back together.”

“What?” Cal spluttered. “Why not?”

“Because fonk you, that’s why not! How was I supposed to know you were going to drag us into this shizz?”

“OK, fair point, well made,” said Cal. He and the others were completely encircled by the heaving mass of cloud people now. Their wispy softness had become a crystalline solidity. Their skin – or whatever it was – sparkled like gemstones as they moved in for the kill.

And then the world was filled with fire and noise and bits of flying fog-person as the Currently Untitled opened fire. Half a dozen beams of white light sliced through the crowds, carving a path straight through. Cal, Loren and Mech dashed along it, ducked under the Untitled, and made their way to the ramp.

Once aboard, Mech slammed the button to close the hatch, and clanked through to the bridge, where Cal and Loren were already strapping themselves into their seats.

“I told you!” Miz said, scowling. “I told you this was a totally bad idea, but you didn’t listen.”

“Hmm?” said Cal. “Sorry, wasn’t listening. Nice shooting, Kevin!”

“Thank you, sir,” said Kevin. “I try. Really, it was a simple case of projecting the movements of the individual attackers, then formulating—”

“That’s great, Kev, now shut up,” said Cal. “We need to get out of here, right now.”

“Very good, sir,” said Kevin. The Untitled hummed as the engines fired up, then shuddered as it lurched backwards off the cloud platform.

Lightning flashed in the orange haze all around them, casting sinister shadows across the bridge. Miz looked around anxiously, and Cal felt Splurt roll himself up against the back of his legs, and sit there, shivering.

“I don’t like this,” Miz whispered.

The Untitled rocked as lightning stabbed at its hull. “Not exactly loving every minute of it, either, ma’am,” Kevin intoned. “If that’s any consolation?”

The ship jerked violently, throwing everyone forward in their chairs. Even Mech staggered, before his magnetic feet re-engaged and snapped him to a stop.

“Tractor beam!” Loren announced. “It’s holding us.”

“Kevin, shoot that thing. Blast us free,” Cal ordered.

“Can’t, sir,” said Kevin. “Weapons are non-responsive. Whatever it’s holding us with, it’s blocking access to the ship’s functions.”

“What? No! We have to get away from it,” cried Miz. “We can’t stay here. We can’t die here!”

“The doohickey!” said Cal. “The dimension things. Mech!”

Mech frowned. “What?”

“The doohickey.”

“What about it?”

“Have you got it?”

Mech’s frown became a full-blown scowl. “What? No! Why the fonk would I have it? You had it!”

Cal shook his head. “No, I gave it to you. Or Loren? Loren, did I give it to…?” He held up a hand. “Oh, wait, no, sorry. I have it. I thought it was in the other pocket.”

“Just hurry up and use it!” said Loren, as another fork of lightning stabbed at them from above.

The doohickey had just one trigger. Cal pulled it, and a sheen of rapidly crystalizing white bloomed across the viewscreen like frost.

Everything changed in an instant. The white reached the point of full coverage, then was gone, replaced by a cream-colored sky and, quite a long way down, the ground.

Suddenly free of the tractor beam, the Currently Untitled shot upwards and backwards, weaving erratically as Kevin tried to bring the ship back under control. From somewhere above them came a low, slightly rubbery thoink, like someone slapping a waterbed. The sky around them rippled and wobbled, then the Untitled rebounded and fell into an out-of-control plunge.

As the ship listed sideways, Cal saw several members of the Carver Council scattering for cover. Unfortunately, most of the cover available was in the form of flimsy tents, and was unlikely to offer much in the way of protection from a large spaceship falling out of the sky.

“Kevin, pull us up!” said Cal, gripping his arm rests. “We’re going to kill all the other mes. And probably this me, too.”

“Trying, sir, but we have a power glitch. Attempting to reroute thrusters.”

“Kevin!” Loren cried, as the ground spiraled towards them.

“Now,” chimed Kevin, and the Untitled came to a deeply uncomfortable stop in mid-air. Cal’s spine briefly compacted, taking a couple of inches off his height, before springing back to its normal shape and length again.

The ship’s nose lifted, bringing the Untitled onto an even keel.

“Want me to take us down?” Loren asked.

“Uh, like, no,” said Miz. “Kevin’s got it.”

“Well, he did just almost kill everyone, so…” Loren’s hands went to the controls, but before she could use them, the Untitled touched down on the grass.

“No need, ma’am,” Kevin chimed. “We’re back on solid ground. No need for you to get involved.”

“Great,” said Loren, releasing her grip on the joystick. “Seriously, that’s… That’s great.”

Through the viewscreen, Cal saw Carver Two and a phalanx of other alternates approaching. They stopped thirty or so feet from the ship, and Two stood his staff beside him in a way that suggested he was already growing impatient.

Cal waved, then remembered it was a screen, not a window, and nobody could see him. “Probably best if you leave the talking to me,” he said, unclipping his belt and standing up.

“What are you going to tell them?” asked Loren.

“The truth,” Cal said. “Or, you know, maybe a lie. I haven’t actually decided yet. Let’s just wing it, and see what happens. Kevin, the scanners get anything interesting I can give them?”

“Not really, sir,” Kevin said. “It’s all rather bewildering, if I’m honest. Lots of data, but none of it making any sense.”

“Shizz,” Cal muttered. “I was hoping we’d find something useful.”

“There is one thing, sir,” said Kevin. “Although the data I’ve gathered is all quite nonsensical, it’s nonsensical in a very structured sort of way.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning… I don’t know, sir. Perhaps that Ikumordo is deliberately trying to hide something from us. Perhaps the data I’ve collected isn’t gibberish, but is merely encrypted.”

“Right,” said Cal. “But either way, we know nothing, right?”

“I’m afraid that is the case, sir, yes.”

Cal puffed out his cheeks. “Well, keep trying. Maybe there’ll be something in there.” He turned to the others. “OK, I guess we go do this.”

One descent down the landing ramp and casual stroll across the grass later, Cal stood facing Carver Two. The options he had been considering – ‘Lie,’ and ‘Tell the truth,’ - had now been joined by a third option: ‘None of the above.’

This third possibility was intriguing Cal in ways the others weren’t, largely because he had no idea what it would actually involve, other than neither lying nor being honest about what had happened inside Ikumordo. Maybe he could just pretend he had no idea what Carver Two was talking about. Or feign deafness.

Maybe he could pretend to be an entirely different Cal from a previously undiscovered universe, who’d wound up here by accident.

No. The more he thought about it, the more he realized, ‘None of the above,’ wasn’t really a viable option at all. That narrowed things down to his original two options.

Before he could decide which to go for, the heavy end of Two’s staff cracked him across the jaw, spinning him to the ground. Loren drew her blaster. Miz flashed her claws. Splurt wrapped himself around Cal’s hand, becoming a giant green fist with spikes for knuckles.

Behind Carver Two, the other Cals pulled their own weapons – blasters, swords, something that looked not unlike a fairy wand – and pointed them in the team’s direction.

“Easy, easy,” Cal urged, raising his hands and gesturing for calm. The fact one of his hands now looked capable of punching a hole in the moon didn’t really help, but he persisted anyway. “No need for anyone to get crazy. We’re all friends here.”

“Friends?” spat Carver Two. “You were supposed to make our offer. You were supposed to appease Ikumordo, not challenge it to a fight.”

“You wanted me to sign the death warrant for my whole universe,” said Cal. “Surely you guys know me better than that?”

Two’s face was red with anger. “What I know is that we do what’s right. We do what we must to ensure the survival of the Earths, even if that means making the hard decisions. Every other member of this council would have been prepared to make our offer. Every single one.”

At the edge of the group, a thin, willowy-limbed Cal with black-dyed hair raised a hand.

“Except him,” said Two, flinching just enough for it to be visible. “Every Carver, except him, would have been prepared to make that sacrifice, but instead you betray us. You destroy our only chance of saving our worlds.”

“OK, I’ll admit, I kinda got a bit carried away,” said Cal. “I’ll be honest, I thought Ikumordo was going to back down. I did my serious face, strong voice, back straight, the works. He’s obviously made of pretty stern stuff. Maybe if I can talk to Carver Prime, we can work this out.”

“You are not getting to talk to Carver Prime,” said Two. There was a bleep from his wrist. He glanced down at the device he wore there, read the message, then read it again because he couldn’t possibly have read it correctly the first time.

After reading it for a fourth time, he decided that, yes, it did actually say what he’d thought it had. He rolled his staff around in his hand until his knuckles turned white.

“Carver Prime wants to talk to you,” he announced through gritted teeth. A murmuring of surprise rippled through the other Carvers.

“Jings, ‘at wisnae whit wi wis a’ expectin’,” said Carver Eighty-Three from somewhere in the throng. The murmuring briefly took on an undertone of confusion, before going back to plain old shock again.

“Great!” said Cal. He gestured for Loren to lower her blaster, and for Miz to put her claws away. “I’m sure we’ll have this sorted out in no time.”

They were led to a pod similar to Carver Two’s. This time, though, when the plastic door was pushed open, the pod was revealed to be completely empty.

Carver Two produced another doohickey, different to the one that had transported the ship back to the blister dimension, and tapped a button on the front. A single blue-white doorway rose up from the floor, reached full size, then sat there, quietly fizzing and popping to itself in the otherwise empty space.

“Carver Prime awaits,” said Two, indicating the doorway with his staff.

“You’re not coming?” asked Cal.

“Prime has requested you and your companions. No one else,” said Two.

“Aw, shame,” said Cal. “You must be disappointed.”

“Far from it,” said Two. “Those summoned before Carver Prime are rarely pleased by the outcome.” He gestured to the door again. “Now go. Go and face your fate.”

Cal squeezed past Two and shuffled towards the door. “Jesus, and I thought I was a drama queen,” he said. He waited until the others had fallen into line behind him. Splurt was no longer being a big fist, and had become a rather fetching garland of flowers around Cal’s neck, instead. Cal wasn’t sure it was quite the first impression he had been hoping to make, but he didn’t have the heart to tell that to Splurt.

“Right, off we go, then. Stay in line. Nobody wander off,” said Cal. “Miz, I’m looking at you here.”

He stepped through the doorway before Miz could reply, and squinted in the blinding glow of the blue-white light. It faded quickly into near darkness when he emerged on the other side, forcing him to blink several times to try to clear the rectangular halo currently filling his view.

The others came through behind him, first Loren, then Miz, and Mech clanking along at the rear. “Where are we?” Loren asked.

Miz sniffed the air. “Don’t know, but there’s someone here. Right there.” She nodded ahead. A figure approached, the gloom making it almost impossible to make out any details.

Carver Prime was shorter than Cal had been expecting. Not Eighty-Three short, by any means, but shorter than Cal himself. Skinnier, too.

“Hey there,” said Cal, waving into the darkness. “You must be Carver Prime. I’m Cal. But then, I suppose we’re all Cal. Except these guys, who aren’t.” He pointed to Mech and grinned. “Although some of them would like to be. Am I right?”

Mech sighed, but said nothing. Carver Prime came closer through the gloom, and Cal got the impression of blond hair. This also caught him off guard. He’d been expecting Carver Prime to be big, mean and scary. Possibly bald, but in that shaven-headed military sort of way, rather than a male-pattern sort of way.

What he hadn’t been expecting was someone short, skinny and blond.

Carver Prime stepped into the pool of electric-blue light that was being emitted by the door, and Cal’s surprise levels peaked up to ‘full blown shock’. Carver Prime looked nothing like Cal, but then that, in itself, wasn’t really a surprise, because Carver Prime wasn’t Cal. Not even some weird, alternate version of him.

A Carver, yes, but not that one.

The blond-haired teenage girl in the shadows met his gaze. “Hey, Dad,” she said.

And the bottom dropped out of Cal Carver’s world.

CHAPTER TEN

It had been nine years since the accident. Nine years since he had last seen her face.

She was older now, of course. She should be sixteen, but looked older still. Eighteen or nineteen, maybe.

The last time he’d seen her hair, it had been hanging in ringlets. She’d smiled at him, proudly showing off the gaps where a few baby teeth had recently fallen out.

Now, her hair was tightly scraped back, and all her adult teeth had come in. He could tell, because of the way she was angrily baring them.

Cal fumbled through a couple of attempted sentences. “How can you be…? I mean, I know how you… But how can…?”

He gave up at that point, and went back to staring, slack-jawed, instead.

“Wait, ‘Dad’?” said Loren, looking between Cal and the girl. “What does she mean?”

Cal licked his lips, which were suddenly dusty and dry. “She means… Well, she means I’m her dad. It’s a pretty self-explanatory statement, really.”

“You’re not my dad,” the girl spat.

Mech frowned. “OK, now I’m confused. And I was already confused. You just said he was, now you’re saying he ain’t? What the fonk is going on here?”

Cal clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times. He blinked, hoping it would stop the prickling at the back of his eyes. It didn’t.

“I have a daughter. Had a daughter. Or, I don’t know, maybe have,” said Cal. “Lily. She… Uh, she died.”

There was silence from the others while they processed this. The flower garland around Cal’s neck pressed itself more firmly to his chest, and he gave it a reassuring pat.

“Shizz,” said Mech. “I’m sorry, man.”

Loren placed a hand on his arm and squeezed it, but said nothing.

“Like, why didn’t you tell us?” asked Miz. “I mean, that’s not… I don’t mean…”

“I know,” said Cal, shooting her a half-smile.

The Lily in front of him crossed her arms over her chest with an air of indignation almost worthy of Miz. God, she was beautiful. She’d always looked like her mother, but she’d grown into Caroline’s looks even more as she’d gotten older.

“How did she die?” Lily asked.

Cal wrinkled his nose, pushing the tears back. “Car accident. She and her mom, they…” He looked down, cleared his throat quietly, then looked up again. “Car accident.”

“That’s funny,” said Lily, then a pained expression flitted across her face. “No, I mean, as in ‘ironic’ not ‘ha-ha’. See, where I come from, you died in that accident. You and Mom. Or, no, him and Mom. I survived.”

Cal tried to think of something appropriate to say to that, but for the life of him couldn’t come up with anything. He settled on, “Oh,” because he felt he should probably offer some sort of response.

“Yeah,” said Lily. “Pretty much.”

“Who took care of you?”

Lily shrugged. “Grandparents. Both sets. Yours, mostly. They looked after the money, and the directors ran the company until I was old enough.”

Cal nodded, pleased to hear his parents had stepped up. It took a few seconds for the rest of Lily’s statement to filter through.

“Wait. Company? What company?”

“Your company,” said Lily. “The other you. Pandime Labs.”

“What is that? A dog breeder?” Cal asked.

“Labs as in laboratories,” said Lily. “Not as in Labradors.”

“Ah. Gotcha.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Mech, pointing to Cal. “You saying he was a scientist? Because, despite all the crazy shizz I’ve seen lately – and, girl, you have no idea – I’m finding that very hard to believe.”

“Where I come from, there is no religion, no music, no art. There’s science. Just science. I’ve been to thousands of Earths, and mine was the most advanced, by far.”

She gave a proud little tilt of her head that Cal recognized, and his heart almost exploded.

“My mom and dad ran a company, Pandime, investigating the possibility of inter-dimensional travel. They figured out other universes existed, and were working on a way to reach them.”

Lily shifted her weight onto her boot heels and briefly looked down at the toes, as if she’d find something interesting there. “And then the crash happened. And they were gone.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Cal whispered. He reached for her, but she pulled back, all vulnerability leaving her as her face became hard and cold.

“I worked out Ikumordo was coming. I figured out Earth was next on the menu, but no one would believe me. I didn’t know how to stop it. How to fix it,” Lily said. “So I went to the one man I thought could fix everything.”

“Your dad,” said Loren.

Lily nodded, not taking her eyes off Cal. “I found hundreds, but none of them were him. Not really. Some of them looked like him – not as much as you, though. You’re… You look like him. Very much like him. But none of them knew the things he did, or could do the things he could.”

She began walking around the outside of Cal’s group, forcing them to turn to keep her in view. “See, my dad, he’d have stopped Ikumordo, whatever it took. He’d have saved our Earth. Every Earth. My dad could fix anything. But you?”

She looked him up and down, her face twisting into something like disgust. “You’re nothing like him. You didn’t fix things. You broke them. You made it all worse.”

“They were asking me to sacrifice a whole universe,” said Cal. “Do you really think your dad would have done that?”

“Yes!” Lily said, the word coming out halfway between a snarl and a sob. She stopped in front of the glowing doorway. “He would, if he’d had to!”

Cal ran his tongue across the back of his teeth. “Then I guess you’re right,” he said. “I’m not your dad.”

For a split-second, Lily looked wounded by that, and Cal wanted to run to her, hold her, tell her he was sorry, and that everything was going to be OK. But then she pulled herself together again, and the barrier went back up.

“Good,” she said, then she drew herself up to her full height and adopted an officious tone of voice that really didn’t suit her. “For your betrayal of the Carver Council, I have no choice but to inflict the maximum penalty. You will be banished to the Malwhere, the endless shadow realm, where you shall spend all eternity, haunted and hunted by the monsters contained within its walls.”

“Uh, yeah, we’d rather not,” said Cal. “Besides, you need us. We can help stop Ikumordo. We can save everyone, my – our – universe included.”

“It is the will of the council,” Lily said. She hesitated, then stumbled over the next few words. “It is the will of Carver Prime.”

“OK, fine. Fine,” said Cal. He folded his arms and very deliberately planted his feet on the ground. “Try to make us. We’re not going anywhere. This? This is a temper tantrum. We’ll just stand here and wait it out. You can’t make us go.”

Lily smiled, and for the first time ever, Cal saw her looking like him. He recognized that smirk, and realized, too late, his mistake.

“Oh, Cal,” said Lily, stepping backwards towards the door. “You’re already here.”

She retreated into the light. Miz pounced, but the door dropped down into the ground before she could reach it, plunging the area into darkness.

For a long time, no one said a word. It was Cal who eventually broke the silence.

“Tch,” he said. “Kids, eh?”

* * *

Much of the next twenty minutes passed in a string of aborted conversations and awkward, misspoken platitudes.

“Guys, it’s fine,” Cal finally told them, hoping that would draw a line under it all. It didn’t.

“But, I mean, a daughter, man,” said Mech. “And here I am, ragging on you all the time, or whatever, and… Why didn’t you say something?”

“How would that have worked?” asked Cal. It was still dark, but his eyes were becoming more accustomed to it now, and he could at least figure out roughly where everyone else was in relation to himself. “Like, ’Hey, my wife and kid died almost a decade ago, so don’t retaliate when I deliberately try to drive you crazy’?”

“You were married?” said Loren. She heard the accusatory tone in her voice, even if no one else did. “I mean, you were married. Right. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Jesus, what is this, the fonking Hallmark channel?” said Cal. “Nothing has changed here. I’m still me. You don’t have to act differently because my kid… Because of what happened.”

He looked over at where he thought the door had been. “Besides, she’s back now. You know, kind of.”

“But, like, she abandoned us in some kind of Hell dimension. Maybe you didn’t notice?” said Miz.

Cal conceded that one with a shrug. “Granted, not quite the family reunion I would have chosen, but it is what it is. Besides, there’s no way she’s going to leave us in here. She’ll be back.”

“You sure, man?” said Mech. “Looked to me like she was leaving us here permanently.”

“That’s because you don’t know her like I do,” said Cal. He sat down on the rocky ground, stretched his feet out in front of him, and leaned back on his arms. The stone was cold beneath him, but that was fine. He wouldn’t be sitting there long.

“She’ll be back. Mark my words. She’ll be back. Any minute now.”

* * *

Cal shivered. He had been shivering for some time now, despite Splurt transforming into a thick winter coat with a luxurious fur-lined hood, and a colorful pair of mittens attached to the sleeves. Loren sat shoulder to shoulder with him, also shivering. Splurt had made himself into a coat for her, too, although of the two, Cal’s was definitely nicer.

“F-for a Hell d-dimension, it’s f-f-fonking cold,” Loren stammered, her breath forming wispy gray clouds in the chilly darkness.

“A-a-any m-minute nnnnow,” Cal said, for about the hundredth time. He looked longingly at the spot where he thought the door had been – in actual fact, he was looking in completely the wrong direction – and crossed his fingers for the fifth or sixth time in as many minutes.

“Face it, man, she ain’t coming back,” said Mech. He and Miz both seemed unaffected by the cold, although Miz’s nose was bothering her, judging by the ways she kept sniffing. “We need to find a way to get you two warm.”

“Who u-us?” said Loren, her teeth chattering. “W-we’re f-f-f-f-f—“

“Fine,” Cal finished for her. “We’re f-f-f-f-f- Oh, f-fonk it.”

Mech held out a hand to Cal. “Gimme your guns.”

Cal blinked. This took quite a long time, due to the cold briefly making his eyelids stick together. “W-why?” he asked. “Are you g-going to sh-shoot us?”

“Yay!” said Loren, waving her clenched fists. “J-just kidding. D-don’t shoot us,” she said. “N-not yet.”

“Just gimme the motherfonking guns,” Mech snapped. Hands shaking, Cal passed the cyborg both his blasters.

“Guys,” said Miz. “We might have a problem.”

“One thing at a fonking time,” Mech muttered. Through the darkness, Cal saw him snap one of the blasters in two. Cal wanted to make a joke about Mech roughly manhandling his weapon, but decided it was too cold to bother, and that he should probably concentrate on not dying, instead.

“Move this boulder for me,” Mech said, indicating a large, flattish rock. Miz, who, like Mech, could see perfectly well in the dark, flashed him an indignant look.

“How come I have to…? Know what, forget it,” she said, sighing. She stood up, dusted herself down, then bent and picked up the boulder without any apparent effort. “But listen—”

“They’re about to freeze to death,” said Mech. “Anything else can wait. Put it down there next to them.”

Miz dropped the rock dangerously close to Loren and Cal’s feet. “Don’t see why they couldn’t just have moved closer to it,” she muttered.

“Why?” Mech snapped. “Because…” He hesitated. “Actually, no, that would’ve made sense. My bad.”

There was a bright blue spark from his hands. He bent quickly, and jammed part of the broken blaster pistol against the curved underside of the rock, then set to work taking the second gun apart.

As Mech worked, the lower edge of the rock began to glow a dull orange. A weak heat radiated from it, drawing Loren and Cal to it like moths to a flame.

There was another blue spark, and Mech jammed part of the second gun under the rock on the opposite side. The glow and the heat both increased exponentially, spreading through the boulder until it resembled a solid chunk of densely-packed fire.

“P-power cells?” said Loren, shuffling closer.

“Should buy us a couple of hours,” said Mech. “Maybe more. If this, I don’t know, night or cold snap or whatever lasts much longer… Then you two are going to be in trouble.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Miz.

Mech looked at her and frowned. “Why?”

“Oh, you want to know now?” said Miz. “Now you’re interested in what I’ve been trying to tell you for the past, like, ten minutes.”

“Minute and a half,” Mech corrected. “Tops. And yes. Now I know those two ain’t about to freeze to death, I’m interested. What’s up?”

Miz rolled her tongue around in her mouth, as if considering whether to give him the satisfaction or not. Eventually, she relented, but tutted loudly to make sure everyone knew she wasn’t happy about it. She sniffed the air.

“We’ve got company.”

Mech looked down at the sensor panel on his forearm. There were lights on it. A number of lights.

Quite a large number, at that.

“Oh,” he said.

“Shizz,” he said.

And then, the night came alive around them.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Cal and Loren’s limited night vision had been hampered by the glow of the boulder, so they saw only shapes closing in around them. Big shapes. Big angry shapes, judging by the animalistic hisses and growls they were making.

Mech swung with a punch, and from the darkness came a sound like splintering bone. Something squealed, but then Mech was suddenly lost beneath a flailing mass of limbs and tails and teeth and torsos.

“Get the fonk off of me!” he snarled, lashing out with a series of crunching backhand strikes. He reached for the dial on his chest, but a thick, prehensile tail wrapped around his arm, holding it in place. Something slashed at him, its fingernails sparking across his metal chest.

Miz launched herself into the shapeless throng, her own claws ripping and tearing and slashing at anything that wasn’t a large aggressive cyborg. This, it turned out, was quite a lot of things, and soon her fur was matted with blood and the occasional chunk of glossy black flesh.

A shadow moved behind Cal and Loren, detaching itself from the darkness and lunging for them, teeth bared. The back of Cal’s coat formed itself into a very long, very sharp spike. The last thing to go through the creature’s head before it died was, “Ooh, shizz.”

Or, more accurately, the last thing to go through its head before it died was a huge metal spike, but, “Ooh, shizz,” was almost certainly a close second.

Cal and Loren both scrambled to their feet. As they were currently conjoined at the shoulder by Splurt, this wasn’t easy, and resulted in Cal making the mistake of briefly leaning on the boulder. His mittens hissed in the sudden heat, before an eye sprouted on the back of each one, and fired him quite an accusing look.

“Sorry,” Cal said, then his head was yanked down as Loren ducked a scything arm or leg or tail.

Drawing her blaster, she turned, dragging Cal with her, and fired a series of shots. The strobe effect of the shots revealed more of the monsters circling the camp. They were all teeth and tails and shiny black exoskeletons that glinted in time with each blaster flash.

“Aliens,” Cal whispered.

“Technically, we’re all aliens,” Loren pointed out. “Depending on who you ask.”

“No, I mean the movie,” said Cal. He staggered in a half-circle as Loren turned and opened fire on another of the creatures. “They look like Alien aliens. Or maybe Aliens aliens. You know?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” said Loren, blasting at another of the hulking shadow-creatures.

Mech windmilled through half a dozen more, his dial jacked up to give himself extra power. His fists rained like jackhammer blows, smashing skulls, shattering bones, and driving the creatures into a panicked frenzy.

Miz pounced on another of the monsters, knocking it onto its back. Even as it fell, she tore at it with her claws, ripping apart its protective outer shell and gouging deep into the flesh within.

Cal yelped in surprise as Loren spun again, almost pulling him off his feet. “Jesus, a little warning would be nice!”

One of the creatures’ tails knocked the blaster from Loren’s hands, sending it skidding across the rocky ground. A monstrous face suddenly forced itself into Cal’s field of view, its drool-dripping teeth making a valiant attempt to eat his nose off.

Up close, the thing didn’t look all that much like an Alien alien, or an Aliens alien. It might have looked like the Alien 3 alien, but Cal hadn’t seen it, because he’d heard it was terrible, so he couldn’t really comment either way.

Its exoskeleton was like a web-shaped cage over its head, protecting a shriveled raisin of a skull inside. The teeth and jaw were by far the most prominent features of the face, in that order, with the nostril-holes and sunken eyes apparently added in as an afterthought.

Cal’s coat reacted before he did, one arm scything upwards and neatly cleaving the monster in two, from the groin to the head. Cal could only watch, transfixed in mute horror, as the creature fell apart, one half going left, the other dropping to the right.

Cal reached up and gently patted the coat’s fur-lined hood. “Nice job there, you little psycho.”

“They’re running,” Mech announced.

Cal shook a fist into the darkness. “And don’t come back!” he warned.

“Yeah, they went the other way,” said Mech.

“What? Oh, yeah, I know. I was talking to you,” said Cal, shaking his fist in the direction of Mech’s voice again.

Miz sniffed the air again. “They haven’t gone far. And there’s like, other stuff out there, too.”

“A lot of other stuff,” Mech confirmed, looking at his forearm display.

“So, just to recap,” said Loren. “We’ve got a couple of hours of heat, we’re surrounded by monsters, and – oh, yes – we’re trapped in a Hell-dimension. Does that about sum our current situation up?”

“It could be worse,” said Cal.

“How?” Loren asked.

There was silence.

“Give me a minute,” said Cal. “I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

“I totally should have kept working in that stupid strip joint,” Miz muttered.

“One of us could be an evil doppelganger,” said Cal.

Everyone turned to look at him. “Say what?” said Mech.

“That would be worse. If one of us was some kind of evil impostor, gradually picking the rest of us off, one by one.”

Everyone continued to look at him.

“What? You asked how it could be worse. That’d be way worse,” Cal said. “Or, like, if we were all tied to the back of an angry horse. One each, I mean, not one huge horse between the five of us. Or, no, not an angry horse, a really horny hippo.”

Cal nodded. “Yeah, that’d be far worse. So, you know, silver lining, bright side, glass half full, and all that.”

He’d had no idea where the door that Lily had left through had been, but now even less so. He just picked a random patch of ground and stared longingly at it. “I really thought she’d come back, though. I didn’t think she’d just leave us here.”

“Well, she ain’t, and she did,” Mech snapped, then he caught the glares from Loren and Miz and adjusted his tone accordingly. “I mean, you know, sorry. She ain’t coming back, which means we are stuck here, and our problems are just gonna keep mounting up.”

Cal let out a long sigh of disappointment. “You’re right,” he said. “I have to face facts. She stranded us here, and she isn’t going to come and get us.”

“It does look that way,” said Loren, softly.

“It’s probably a good thing I nabbed this, then,” he said, holding up a rectangular box with a series of buttons on the front. “Took it from Number Two when I brushed past him on the way in.”

“Is he the beard guy?” asked Miz. “He’s pretty hot.”

“See!” said Loren. “I know, right?”

Cal tutted. “Uh, hello? This was supposed to be my big moment here. Can we stop talking about that old shizznod and focus on me for a second?”

Mech took a step closer to Cal. The ground trembled.

“Is that the door control?”

“Yep!”

Mech took another step.

“You mean, you’ve had that this whole time?”

“Yep!” said Cal, grinning. In the half-light, he caught the expression on Mech’s face. It was not unlike the expression on Miz’s face, too. He was too close and too side-on to see Loren properly, but he guessed there’d be a similar look going on there, also.

Cal cleared his throat. “I mean, oh! Look what I found. I completely forgot I had this. What a stroke of luck.”

“You had the door control the whole time?” Loren growled. “We could have frozen to death!”

“I thought she’d come back,” said Cal. “I wanted… I guess I wanted to give her a chance to come back for us. For, you know, for me.”

He smirked. “Yeah, that fonking shut you all up, didn’t it?” he said. “Now, how does this thing work?”

Cal pushed a button. A door opened. Unfortunately, it opened beneath him. And, by extension, beneath Loren and Splurt, too. They hung there in the air for a few moments, with Cal wishing, more than anything, that he had a little wooden sign he could hold up with the word ‘Help!’ written on it.

And then, once the laws of physics realized what they were up to, they fell.

There was a flash of white, a tinge of blue, and then nothing but canvas as Cal and Loren landed on an already ramshackle tent, finishing it off completely. Still conjoined, they got to their feet, Cal examining the doohickey more closely, now that he could see it properly.

“Maybe I was holding it sideways or something,” he said, then he yelped as Loren shoulder-barged him aside. “Ow! Will you please stop doing that? Splurt!”

Splurt transformed back into his normal blobby greenness and took up his perch on Cal’s shoulder.

Mech dropped through the fizzing white rectangle in the air, his immense weight shaking the ground as he landed right on the spot where Loren and Cal had been standing. He stepped aside, making room for Miz to fall through. She landed on all-fours, then immediately growled at the alternate Cal Carvers currently fumbling for their weapons.

“Relax, it’s just me, no need to panic,” said Cal, striding forward with practiced confidence. He pointed and smiled at one of the Carvers, as if recognizing a long-lost friend, waved at a couple of others, then headed for the only one of the three pods in the campsite he hadn’t yet been inside.

He tried the handle. Locked.

“Mech, do the honors,” he muttered, turning and waving again at the other Carvers. They stood frozen by uncertainty, their hands resting on their weapons, but not yet drawing them. “I love that jacket,” Cal called, pointing to one of the Carvers. He deliberately picked one who wasn’t wearing a jacket, knowing the resulting few moments of confusion would buy him more time.

Mech punched a fist through the pod’s plastic door and ripped it off. An energy blast streaked out from within, slammed into Mech’s chest, and staggered him back a few paces.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, kiddo!” said Cal, stepping into the doorway, his hands raised in surrender. “It’s just us.”

“I know it’s you!” Lily growled. She pumped the weapon like a shotgun, and a spent power cell ejected from somewhere near the back. “That’s why I’m shooting!”

She took aim. Cal ducked out of the doorway, pulling Loren aside as Lily opened fire.

“Jesus, that was close,” he whispered, then another blast punched a hole in the plastic wall beside him.

“OK, watch it! Cut it out!” Cal said. “We surrender.”

The gunshots from inside Carver Prime’s pod had helped the other Carvers make their minds up. All their weapons were now drawn - a real mix of high-tech alien stuff, more familiar-looking Earth guns, and a whole range of stabby things.

Other Carvers were rushing out of tents. Cal spotted a few he recognized. Old Man Carver and Chunky Cal were keeping their distance, while Dwarf Cal was hurrying over, dragging an ornate battle-axe behind him.

Cal raised his hands again and shuffled into Lily’s line of fire. “Look, we’re surrendering. You can’t shoot someone who’s surrendering. That’s the law. You know, somewhere. Probably.” He frowned and turned to Mech. “Is it? Or did I make that up?”

Mech nodded. “Basic rules of war,” he said, aiming the words very squarely at Lily.

Lily didn’t lower her shotgun, but didn’t fire, either, so that was a start. “How did you get here?” she demanded. “How did you get back?”

“Well, I kind of hoped you were going to come back for us, and it was all just, you know, a bit of fun designed to teach me a lesson, or something, but… Well, we both know how that worked out.”

He gestured to his pocket. “May I?”

Lily narrowed her eyes, but nodded, just once. Cal reached into his pocket and pulled out the doohickey. “I may have accidentally taken this from Number Two earlier. It looks complicated, all those little buttons, but it’s pretty straightforward, really.”

Lily’s eyes widened when she saw the gadget. The gun lowered a fraction. “You opened a door? You opened a door from the Malwhere?”

“Yep!” said Cal, proudly. “Pretty impressive, huh?”

“And you closed it,” said Lily, her voice becoming a breathless whisper. “Tell me you closed it.”

Cal’s beaming smile dimmed a little. “Hmm?” he said.

“The door to the Malwhere!” Lily barked. “Did you close the door?”

Cal, Loren, Mech and Miz all turned slowly. Behind them, dozens of black, armored shapes dropped through the sky-hatch, tumbling over one another in a heaving frenzy of tails and limbs.

“You know,” Cal croaked. “It is funny you should ask.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

The assembled members of the Carver Council stood rooted to the ground in shock as the monsters of the Malwhere untangled themselves and stumbled upright.

The Carvers outnumbered the creatures, but not by many. The creatures’ movements suggested they were currently blinded by the sudden glare of the invisible sun, but that wouldn’t last. If the Carvers were going to strike, they had to do it now. Cal opened his mouth to start shouting instructions, but never got the chance.

“Don’t just stand there, attack!” Lily barked, barging past Cal and rushing towards the unravelling knot of monsters. She snapped her head back to Cal. “And shut the fonking portal!”

“Right, yes. Good idea,” said Cal. He pushed a button. The portal doubled in size, dropping a dozen more monsters onto the grass. “Shizz. My fault. Sorry.”

He pressed another button. Two more portals opened alongside the first, raining more of the creatures down onto the grass.

“Again, my fault.”

“Gimme that thing,” said Mech, ripping the doohickey from Cal’s hands. He studied it for a moment, then pressed a button. All three of the floating trapdoors fizzled for a moment, then snapped closed.

Lily blasted a hole in one of the creatures, pumped the shotgun, then blasted another. The second monster spun, but didn’t go down until the butt of Lily’s gun smashed into its armored face with a somewhat stomach-churning ka-rack.

“Jesus, she’s going to get herself surrounded,” Cal muttered. He ran after her. “Loren, covering fire, Miz, Mech, do what you do. Splurt, big fist, buddy.”

Lily spun, fired, spun, fired, driving back two of the creatures. Some of the other Carvers had rushed to join the fray, but most were still frozen to the spot in a mixture of terror and bewilderment. They’d never encountered anything like this before. Some of them had never encountered any sort of danger before, let alone a load of armored alien monsters falling from the sky, and they were taking a while to get into the swing of it.

One of the creatures launched itself at Lily. She turned, too late to get her shotgun between her and it. She saw its withered face and over-developed jaws. She caught a glimpse of its teeth and its claws and its raw, burning hatred.

And then, with a boing, an enormous green fist slammed into the beast, sending it hurtling through the air. The fist’s middle finger extended in the direction of the monster, whose mangled limbs meant it now resembled a swatted fly.

“You see that, you ugly fonks?” Cal crowed. “You mess with us, you get fisted!”

He became aware of a number of people all frowning in his direction at once.

“Punched. I mean you get punched,” he said. He shook his head. “Jesus, why did I say it like that?”

He turned to find Lily’s shotgun pointed at him. “Hey, wait!” he said.

“Move!”

Cal dived sideways and the shotgun roared. A monster screeched, then was promptly put out of its misery when Mech crushed its head between his fists.

“Stitch this, ya bam!” roared Eighty-Three, driving the metal top of his skull into the stomach of another creature. As it doubled over, he swung upwards with his axe. Had he been an inch taller, it would have been a textbook decapitation, but since he wasn’t, the swing fell just short enough to leave the monster’s head flapping around by a strip of gristle and flesh.

Somehow, it remained on its feet. It staggered towards Cal and Lily, head flopping around on its back, blood spurting from its neck stump. One of them let out a high-pitched scream, but Cal wasn’t quite sure which of them it was. He hoped it wasn’t him, but had some pretty deep suspicions that it might have been.

Splurt power-punched the mostly-headless monster, turning it into a fully-headless monster, and one that was suddenly quite some distance away. Cal convulsed violently, briefly dry-heaved, then turned and fisted another monster to death.

Punched. He meant ‘punched’.

The movements of the creatures were becoming more purposeful now, more deliberate. They no longer moved like a load of blind monsters, and instead moved like a load of short-sighted monsters, which removed what little advantage the Carvers had.

Cal uppercutted one of the creatures a full fifteen feet into the air, where it was shot to bits by Loren. She was kicking and shooting her way through the heaving masses, doing as much damage with her feet as she was with the gun.

“Go for the legs,” she shouted. “They’re weak.”

“Soonds lik’ a plan tae me!” bellowed Eighty-Three. He began spinning like a top, twirling his battle-axe out in a wide circle. A number of the creatures went down screaming as Eighty-Three’s axe whizzed through their kneecaps like the blade of a blender.

Lily pumped her gun again, pulled the trigger, and cursed when the weapon let out a click. Tossing it aside, she drew a knife from inside each boot and flew at another of the monsters. Cal caught her by the arm and pulled her back.

“Whoa, easy there, princess. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

He stepped to the side as Miz bounded past, teeth and claws both bared. A moment later, several things all screamed at once, none of them Mizette.

“Get your hand off me!” Lily barked, flashing her blades at him. “Don’t make me ask you again.”

“Ninety-nine is right,” intoned a voice from nearby. Cal and Lily both looked round to see Carver Two approaching through the mass of alien bodies. He twirled his staff with expert precision, smashing through exo-skeletons, shattering knees, and generally causing a whole lot of damage with very little apparent effort, and all without taking his eyes off Lily and Cal. “It is not safe for you here.”

“Bullshizz,” said Lily, tearing her arm free of Cal’s grip.

Splurt swung Cal’s arm out, grabbed the head of an approaching monster, and twisted until something went snap.

“Look at them all!” Lily said, gesturing towards the now thinner, but still pretty hefty mass of alien creatures. “You need me.”

“Exactly. We need you. Alive,” said Two. “Forgive me, Carver Prime.”

A gust of faintly yellow air belched from the end of his staff and hit Lily in the face. She immediately began to topple, but Carver Two was prepared and caught her by the waist before she could hit the ground.

“Help me get clear,” Two barked, hoisting the unconscious girl over his shoulder.

Cal stepped past and pushed ahead, his massive Splurt-fist karate-chopping a couple of the creatures into a lumpy paste. Behind them, unnoticed, another of the monsters raced for them, its teeth gnashing the air.

It dropped to its haunches and jumped, throwing itself towards Carver Two, and the sleeping Lily hanging limply down his back.

A metal hand caught the creature’s tail, mid-leap. “Not so fast, motherfonker,” Mech spat, then he swung the beast up and over his head, before smashing it against the ground with such force it exploded like a paint-filled balloon.

Now that the initial shock had passed – and, more importantly, the numbers had thinned – the other Carvers were starting to join the fray. For all their terrifying appearances, the creatures weren’t all that tough. Their looks had likely evolved as a defense mechanism to scare away predators (although probably not the ones from the movie), but they’d made the mistake of believing their own press, and thinking they were all that.

Even just from the way Eighty-Three was currently puréeing them from the thighs down, it was becoming evident that they very much were not all that. Even calling them partly that was being quite generous, and by the time Old Man Carver got stuck in, the monsters were outnumbered ten to one.

Cal hung back, making sure Carver Two reached Lily’s pod, then returned to the fight. Mech, Miz and Loren had all stepped aside now, leaving the rabble of Carvers to lay into the final few monsters with a level of enthusiasm that had been noticeably absent in most of them just a couple of minutes before.

“Nice work, everyone,” said Cal. “Blue Cal, nice sword work. You… I’m going to call you Emo Cal, good shooting. Beardy Cal, you can probably stop spinning now.”

The whumming of Eighty-Three’s axe died away as he stopped rotating on the spot. “Och, an I wis jist startin’ tae hae a richt braw time tae masel’, tae.”

“That’s… great?” said Cal. He shot Loren a sideways glance. “Any ideas?”

“Not a clue.”

Old Man Carver’s arms wobbled as he raised a rock above his head and then clonked it across the back of the last remaining creature. Cal could see the monster was patently already dead, but decided not to spoil the old guy’s moment.

“Nicely done!” Cal said. “In fact, nicely done all of you.” He began to clap his small left hand against his stupidly oversized right one. “You earned this. You hear that? This is for you.”

He nodded to Mech and the others. “Come on, back me up here,” he whispered.

Reluctantly, Mech and Loren began to clap. Miz rolled her eyes, folded her arms, and uttered a single sarcastic: “Yay.”

“Well deserved,” said Cal. The other Carvers looked mildly embarrassed, but smiled, because everyone likes to be told they’ve done a good job, even if the job entails shooting sentient lifeforms in the face, or shoving pointy implements into their soft, pliable innards over and over again.

Especially then, in fact.

There were a few congratulatory pats on the back, a few more fist-bumps and a couple of hugs. The hand that clamped down on Cal’s shoulder, though, didn’t feel friendly in the slightest. Cal turned to find Carver Two glaring at him.

“A word, Ninety-Nine.”

“Pomegranate,” said Cal. He held a hand for a high-five from Mech, but the cyborg just stared at it, then looked away. “Ouch,” said Cal. “I thought that was pretty decent.”

“Forgive me if I’m not amused,” said Two. “Come with me. I wish to speak to you. Alone.”

“Anything you say to him, you can say to us,” said Loren.

“That is true,” Cal agreed. “Unless it’s about that rash we sometimes get, in which case, let’s keep it between ourselves.”

Cal wriggled his fingers and Splurt detached himself from his wrist. He handed the little green blob to Loren, then flashed the team one of his best grins. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be right back. He’s not going to banish me again.” He looked sidelong at Two. “You aren’t, are you?”

“No. Only Carver Prime has that authority. I wish to talk, that is all.”

“There you go, then,” said Cal. He patted Splurt’s head, making the little guy ripple with joy. “I’ll be right back. If you fancy helping these guys with the clear-up, I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”

“Oh, I’m sure they would,” said Miz, quite accusingly.

“Right. Good,” said Cal. He tapped a finger to his forehead, then gestured for his counterpart to lead the way. “After you, Number Two.”

Carver Two rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He set off towards his pod at pace, his staff thonking every few steps against the ground.

At the pod, Two indicated for Cal to go inside first. Once he had, Two stepped in and pulled the door closed behind them.

“I know, I know!” said Cal, holding up his hands. “But honestly, you don’t have to thank me.”

“Thank you?” said Two.

“OK, well, I said you didn’t have to, but I’ll take it. You’re welcome.”

“I wasn’t thanking you.”

“You sure?” said Cal, frowning. “Because it sounded like you were.”

“You brought creatures from the Malwhere here. You literally made them rain on us out of the sky, and you think I’m thanking you?”

“We also stopped them. You know, mostly. Without us, you’d all be dead,” Cal pointed out.

“Without you, we would never have been in danger in the first place.”

Cal considered this for a moment, weighing up a number of possible counterarguments, none of which were exactly watertight. In the end, he opted for a classic.

“Touché.”

Two propped his staff up against the wall and leaned there next to it. He was older than Cal, but he hadn’t really looked it until now. It was like much of the fire that had been burning inside him had now died, leaving this tired older guy behind.

“For the record, I did not agree with your banishment,” said Two.

“Thank you,” said Cal. “And here I thought you were going to be the bad cop in all this.”

“I wanted you executed,” said Two. “Publicly.”

“Aaaand I was right,” said Cal.

“No, I was right,” said Two. “Had we simply killed you, none of this would have happened. We – Carver Prime – would never have been in danger.”

“I don’t know if she was in danger,” said Cal. “She seemed to be handling herself pretty well.”

“And yet, you stopped her,” said Two. “You put her safety before your own. For that, I suppose I should be grateful.”

Cal said nothing, too afraid of the words that might come out. It rankled him to hear Two talking about Lily as if it was his job to protect her, his responsibility to keep her safe. That was Cal’s responsibility, as far as Cal was concerned. He’d failed in it once. Never again.

“No gratitude required,” said Cal. “Just doing my job.”

“Your job was to make the trade with Ikumordo,” said Two, that fire returning again and straightening him from his slouch. “By not doing so, you have put us in danger. You have put Carver Prime in danger.”

Cal shrugged. “You’re worrying too much. I gave Ikumordo an ultimatum. Sure, he talks big, but I’m betting he’s getting pretty fonking scared right now. If he hasn’t already turned back, he’ll be doing it soon.” He pointed at Two and winked. “That’s a Cal Carver gurantee.”

Without a word, Carver Two reached for his staff. Cal didn’t see him pressing a button or activating any other controls, but a moment later a semi-transparent square opened up in the air in front of him, revealing a lot of gray static and not much else.

“What’s this now?” Cal asked. “TV on the fritz? Mech might be able to help with that.”

As he spoke, the snowy static came alive, like one of those Magic Eye pictures Cal could never get the hang of, no matter how many hours he spent trying to ‘look through’ them. There was no mistaking this one, though. On screen, the static had formed the same head that Cal had addressed inside the orange cloud.

“Ikumordo?” Cal said.

“It was transmitted just a few minutes ago,” Two said. He pointed to the screen with the end of his staff. “Observe.”

Ikumordo began to speak. Cal could tell it was speaking because of the way its lips moved and words appeared inside his head. Looking back, he’d never be able to recall if there had been actual sounds transmitted, or if the words had jumped straight from Ikumordo’s simulated lips into Cal’s brain. Either way, the meaning was abundantly clear.

Ikumordo was not happy about Cal challenging it. Decidedly unhappy, in fact. So unhappy that, rather than just consume the Earth, it was going to gobble up the universe. And not just the universe, but all universes everywhere, and all at the same time. Despite having no reason to, Cal thought that this was probably beyond even Ikumordo’s power set, so made a point of coughing and muttering, “Bullshiz,” during that part of the announcement.

The whole message lasted about twenty seconds, but once it was done, Cal felt like he’d always known it. Like the information had always been there in his head, somehow. A fact, that he’d been unknowingly aware of all his life.

Ikumordo was going to destroy the entire universe. Many entire universes, in fact.

And it was all Cal’s fault.

“Uh, wow,” said Cal. “This is… I mean, this is… awesome.”

“Indeed,” intoned Two, then he frowned. “Wait, what?”

Cal clapped his alternate on the shoulder. “Number Two, Ikumordo has just played right into my hands.”

Two’s frown deepened until his forehead was just one big wrinkle. “You mean this was part of some plan?”

“Yes!” said Cal. “Well, no,” he admitted. “I mean, maybe,” he concluded. “Are you asking if I deliberately planned this exact series of events, knowing what was going to happen? No. If you’re asking did I subconsciously plan this exact series of events, suspecting what was going to happen?”

He shook his head. “Also no. But if you’re asking – and I think you are – if we’ve just landed a lucky break that’s going help us defeat our big weird space thing friend… Again, probably not.”

Cal grinned. “But we might have. And sometimes a might have is all we need to win!”

He conceded a shrug. “I mean, not often. Rarely. And the odds are pretty much overwhelmingly stacked against us.”

Two blinked. “Where are you going with this?”

Cal retraced the steps of his thought process, decided the route didn’t make a whole lot of sense, and shrugged again. “Not a clue. I clearly had some kind of outcome in mind, but Christ knows what it was.”

His smile returned. “Doesn’t matter, the point is, are we going to sit around and wait for a big cloud of space shizz to eat the multi-verse, or are we going to go do something about it?”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It took twenty minutes of persuasion before Carver Two agreed to bring Cal to Carver Prime, and a further hour or so for Lily to shake off the effects of the gas and wake up.

Cal, Space Team, and the other Carvers then spent several more minutes hanging around outside Lily’s pod, trying to pretend they couldn’t hear her berating Carver Two for knocking her out, while simultaneously listening to every word coming out through the hole Mech had punched in the door.

Carver Two gave as good as he got at times, and eventually the screaming match became a shouting match, then a raised voices match, then just a murmured conversation match from which no obvious victor emerged.

Eventually, Lily marched out from within her pod, drew Cal a look that should have killed him on the spot, then started walking across the grass towards the Currently Untitled.

“Where’s she going?” Cal asked.

“The fonk should I know?” Mech grunted.

“I wasn’t specifically asking you,” Cal pointed out. “It was just a sort of general thinking out loud.”

“Oh,” said Mech. “Well… I ain’t apologizing. You should’ve made that more clear.”

Halfway to the ship, a doorway opened before Lily. Without missing a step, she walked through it. The door remained open, but it wasn’t until Carver Two emerged from the pod and gestured towards the door with his staff that the others started to follow.

“Where are we going?” asked Loren.

“Like, it better not be back to that Hell-dimension,” said Miz. “That place sucked.”

“Please,” said Two. “All will be revealed.”

Cal and the others hesitated, then headed for the doorway, joining onto the snake of alternate Cals – or, as Cal was thinking of calling them, Calternates – as they filtered single-file through the rectangle of white light.

“Just for the record,” said Mech. “Saying ‘All will be revealed,’ like that, it makes you sound like the bad guy. Just so you know. See, now I’m expecting something majorly terrible through here. Like, some evil genius shizz you been waiting to pull, and which you’ve now got waiting for us right through that door.”

“He’s right,” agreed Cal. “Although, to be fair, that probably reflects on us as much as it does on you. I’d say, what, seventy per cent of the people we meet turn out to be bad guys?” He looked to Loren for affirmation. “You think? About seventy?”

“About that, yeah,” Loren agreed.

“What about that guy with all the clones?” said Miz.

“Shizz, yeah. Eighty per cent,” said Cal. He gestured to the doorway. “The point is, if you’re hoping to surprise us, you’re probably going to be disappointed.”

Carver Two’s head had been tick-tocking between them all as they spoke. It stopped now on Cal. “I can assure you, we’re not the bad guys,” he said. He gave a self-satisfied little smirk somewhere deep inside his beard. “But as to whether you’ll be surprised? Well, only time will tell.”

They reached the door and stopped. Carver Two gestured for them to go ahead. Cal looked around at the others, took Splurt from Loren and plopped him onto his shoulder. Then he faced the doorway, raised a foot high in front of him, and stepped on through. He arrived seamlessly on the other side.

Cal was right. He wasn’t surprised.

‘Surprised’ didn’t really do the emotion justice.

He was standing on nothing, gazing out at… everything. He didn’t realize it was everything. Not at first. He thought it was a big black curtain with lots of little holes in it that showed a light beyond. As he looked, though, the pinholes became stars, and the curtain became all of space itself.

Colors began to emerge from the darkness. Galaxies bloomed like spring flowers. Nebulae swirled across the universe like paint droplets in water. Planets of all shades and hues spun on their orbits, and the whole thing got a bit psychedelic for a while, before Cal’s eyes adjusted to it all.

Even though his eyes had started to get the hang of what he was looking at, his brain was taking a little longer to catch up. No matter which direction he looked, he could see forever. Not in that same way he could looking out through the Untitled’s viewscreen at space – then, he could merely see a ridiculously long way. Now, though, he could see for infinite distances, whichever way he looked, and the sheer mind-boggling enormity of out there made a layer of cold, clammy sweat form on his lower back.

Miz, Mech and Loren were standing behind him. He had no idea how long they’d been there for. Hell, he had no idea how long he’d been there for, staring out at the endless abyss. Seconds? Minutes? Days? It could have been any of the above.

Except days, he decided. That would be ridiculous.

The other Carvers were there, too. Judging by the expressions on most of their faces, very few of them had ever seen anything quite like this, either. Even Carver Two, who had come through last of all, seemed equal parts impressed and disturbed by it.

The only one who didn’t seem in the least bit put out was Lily. And possibly Splurt, although he’d turned, quite inexplicably, into a woman’s shoe, so it was difficult to tell.

Lily stood facing the others, hands on her hips, foot tapping the floor with growing impatience. “Yes, yes, it’s all very impressive,” she said. “But we’re not here for the scenery. Eyes on me, Carvers.”

The assembled members of the Carver Council – all sixty or seventy or so – gradually tore their eyes away from everything in the universe, and shifted their attention to their leader. She pointed to Cal and indicated for him to come forward, then motioned for him to stop when he was still a dozen or so feet away. The Caltarnates (which Cal was starting to feel was actually pretty awkward, now that he’d said it in his head a few times) all shuffled aside, leaving plenty of space around him, presumably in case he tried any funny business.

“For those of you who haven’t yet been properly introduced, this is Carver Ninety-Nine, the newest addition to the council,” said Lily.

Cal smiled and waved at the others. “Hi. Hello. Nice to meet you all.”

Lily continued. “And the man who has doomed all of existence to extinction.”

Cal winced a little, but continued waving. “Sorry for the inconvenience. Although, ‘doomed’ is a strong word.”

“Oh? And what word would you use?” Lily asked.

Cal thought for a moment. “I don’t know. ‘Condemned,’ maybe? Or is that worse?”

A murmuring went through the other Cals. Cal smiled at them, but most of them had used that same smile themselves, so were immune to it. “Hey, relax, I was kidding. Nobody’s doomed or condemned.”

“Are we cursed?” asked one of the Carvers. He was a tall, blond-haired Cal, dressed in chainmail armor, and spoke with an English accent.

“What? No. Lightly jinxed at worse. And I mean lightly,” said Cal. He pointed to his chin. “Look at this face. Would this face lie to you?”

“Yes,” said the Carvers, pretty much unanimously.

“See for yourself,” said Lily, raising her voice as she took back control of the room. Without her apparently doing anything, everyone went zooming towards a distant sector of space.

Many of the Carvers screamed. A few hastily pulled bags from their pockets and vomited noisily into them. Cal looked around him with a growing sense of disappointment.

“Jesus, was I ever this bad?”

“You’re still this bad,” Mech pointed out.

Loren nodded. “Often worse.”

She looked away as Cal heaved up in his own mouth, then swallowed it back down again. “It’s not the movement, it’s the puke smell. Honestly,” he managed to say, before gagging again.

They arrived – if, indeed, they’d even moved – somewhere between Earth and Mars. Ikumordo was there, looking as big and orange and cloud-like as ever.

“Ikumordo is no longer approaching Earth,” Lily announced. The other Carvers swapped puzzled glances and shrugs.

“Well, that’s good, right?” asked Old Man Carver. “Isn’t that what we wanted?”

Carver Two joined Lily at the front. “It is no longer approaching Earth because it intends to devour the entire multiverse, instead.”

“OK, that’s less good,” the old man conceded.

“Hoo hus this come aboot?” asked Eighty-Three, his stubby fingers twirling a strand of his bushy ginger beard.

Lily raised her eyebrows. “Hmm?”

“I wis jist sayin’, hoo hus this come aboot?”

“Right,” said Lily. “Yes. Good… question? It was a question, yes?”

“Twis.”

“Right. Yes.” Carver Prime looked a bit lost for a moment, then she gave a little nod. “We’ll come back to that. The point is, we had a plan. A plan we all agreed with.”

A few hands went up in the crowd. “A plan most of us agreed with,” Lily corrected. “But a plan all the same, sacrificing one universe so that the other Earths – so our homes – could live. There was a consensus. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one.”

Cal had heard enough. “OK, OK, listen, Spock. That kind of thinking might get you places back on Science World. But here in the real world…” He gestured around himself, remembered he was currently floating in what he assumed was a simulated version of the entire universe (or an entire universe, at least), and so quickly stopped. “I mean, out there in the real world, or wherever, that’s not how things work.”

“Even the math doesn’t add up,” said Loren, stepping forward.

“What did she say?” asked one of the Carvers.

“Yeah, I didn’t get that,” added another.

There was a murmuring of consensus among the Carvers. It became clear that most, if not all, were unable to understand a word of what Loren had said.

“They don’t have chips,” Mech realized. “They don’t have translation chips. They can’t understand us.”

“Now he’s at it,” said another Carver. “He’s talking gibberish.”

“Then how can they understand me?” Cal asked. He caught Mech’s withering look. “Oh, yeah, we’re all talking the same language. Gotcha.”

It took a moment for Cal to realize the significance of all this. He turned to Lily. “Wait, so none of these guys have ever been to space?”

Lily sucked on her bottom lip for a moment – a move Cal remembered his Lily doing whenever she was preparing to talk her way out of trouble. “Not until I recruited them, no,” she said.

“But they have now?” said Cal.

Lily’s eyes darted away. “No. Not space. Other dimensions, yes. But not actually outer space, as such.”

“Aha! That’s why they all agreed to let that thing eat my universe!”

The same few hands went up.

“Why most of you agreed, I mean.” Cal turned his back to Lily and addressed the crowd. “I was like you guys once. A long time ago. Well, like, a month or two, you lose track in space. Clocks don’t work. Or, you know, something like that. I mean, they have space clocks, but… Know what? It doesn’t matter.”

He shook his head, just briefly, and started again.

“The point is, I used to think Earth was it, you know? That Earth was the place to be. And, don’t get me wrong, Earth is pretty awesome. It’s got ice cream and rocks and, you know, walls.”

He frowned. “I don’t know why I picked those three things. It’s got other stuff, too, obviously. Better stuff than that. Ghostbusters! It’s got Ghostbusters.”

There was a general murmuring of approval. Cal rocked back on his heels, as if his point had been made, then remembered it hadn’t.

“Anyway, then I discovered the rest of the galaxy. No, I glimpsed it. I met people. Yes, many of them tried to kill me in a number of unpleasant ways, but I made friends, too.”

He looked back at the crew. “A family. We’ve saved planets together. Hell, we’ve saved the galaxy. Even a god. And I’ve barely even scratched the surface of what’s out there. Of who’s out there.”

“How nice for you,” said Lily. “But the point still stands. The needs of the many. We were trying to save an infinite number of Earths.”

“And if space is infinitely big, which, you know, I’m pretty sure has been said by someone at some point,” said Cal, floundering a little. He glanced back at Loren, who nodded her confirmation. Bolstered, Cal pressed on. “Well, then, you were going to sacrifice an infinite number of people to save an infinite number of people. There is no ‘many’ and ‘few’ there, just people dying for no reason.”

Lily’s face darkened. “And now everyone is going to die. Everyone, everywhere, all at once.”

“Then why hasn’t it done it?” Cal asked, pointing to the orange cloud floating in the gulf between them. “Hmm? If this thing is so all-powerful that it can gobble up every universe, why hasn’t it started? What, is it waiting for its appetite to build up? Is it hoping for an appetizer first? Why isn’t it doing anything?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Argh. You’re such an idiot. You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Look, I’ve had just about enough of your attitude, young lady,” said Cal, his temper building. He pointed in an entirely random direction. “Go to your room!”

Lily blinked in surprise. They stared at each other for a few long, awkward moments, and the universe around them seemed to fade into the background. Cal lowered his arm.

“Dad?” Lily croaked, then she cleared her throat. “I mean, you sounded like him. Sound like him. I mean…”

She shook her head and stepped back, gesturing for Carver Two to take over. He stepped in front of her, blocking Cal’s view.

“As Carver Prime has said, we are now facing a graver situation than we had anticipated,” he said. “It seems likely that Ikumordo – the All Death – shall live up to its name. If so, everything we know, everything we have ever known, will be gone. The multi-verse will be no more, leaving only the void.”

Emo Cal raised a black fingernailed hand. “So what do we do? We can stop it, right?”

Anxious muttering rippled through the group. Cal watched the Carvers on both sides as they exchanged worried looks.

“There’s a plan, isn’t there?” asked Old Man Carver. “We do have a plan.”

Carver Two rolled his staff in his hands, took a deep breath, and braced himself for the reaction to the words he was about to speak.

Cal jumped in before Two could give an answer.

“Of course he does. He’s Cal Carver. We’re all Cal Carver,” said Cal. He pulled himself up to his full height and looked as many of the other Cals in the eye as he could. “We take the fight to it. We hit that big orange fonk with everything we’ve got, show it what happens when it messes with the Carver boys.”

No one looked particularly convinced by that. “Listen, I know it’s scary,” said Cal. “But no one else is going to do this. There’s a giant death cloud out there, and do you see anyone else trying to stop it?”

“It’s a suicide mission,” said Emo Cal.

“Probably,” Cal agreed. “But sitting around here doing nothing? That’s a suicide mission, too.” He looked to Carver Two. “If the universes, or multi-verse, or whatever, gets destroyed, what happens to the blister universes? Do they survive?”

“No,” said Lily, stepping out from behind her second-in-command. Her face was drawn tight now, like she’d been secretly sucking on a lemon behind Two’s back. “They’ll be destroyed, too. All that will be left is the Void.”

“There you go,” said Cal, turning back to the Carvers. “Do nothing, and we’re dead. Everyone’s dead.” He pointed to the image of Ikumordo floating around them. “But if we go after that thing, if we try to stop it, then—”

“Wur still a’ deid?” Eighty-Three guessed.

Cal pretended he hadn’t heard him. It was that or ask him to repeat himself several times until it became too embarrassing to continue, and then pretend not to have heard him. This way was just quicker.

“Then we’ve got a chance. Not a big chance, I’ll admit. A tiny chance, but a chance, all the same. Besides, that thing’s no longer just threatening the Earth. If what it’s saying is true, if it really plans obliterating everything in existence, then it’s not just the Earth versus Ikumordo, it’s everyone versus Ikumordo. Every army on every planet in every galaxy in every fonking universe, all focused on one target. That.”

Everyone’s gaze shifted to the big weird space thing. Orange tendrils were starting to sprout from its vaporous bulk.

“I know it sounds impossible,” said Cal. “And, you know, maybe it is. Maybe the sensible thing would be to go home, be with the people we care about, and just wait for the end to come. But we’re Cal fonking Carver, and ‘sensible’ has never been our strong point.”

He rejoined Mech, Miz and Loren, positioning himself so they were assembled behind him. Most of the audience was hanging on his every word now, aside from a couple of members, who were quietly wondering why he had a woman’s shoe on his shoulder.

“So, I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m going to fight that thing. We’re going to fight that thing.” He gestured to the others behind him. “I mean, I haven’t asked them yet, but I’m just going to go ahead and assume they’re nodding their agreement right now, and ignore any evidence to the contrary.”

He gestured angrily to Ikumordo again. “This big orange fonk thinks it can come here and start its shizz on our planet? It thinks it can take a bite out of our multi-verse? Not if I’ve got anything to say about it.” He ramped up his grin and looked out across his now silent audience. “So, who’s with me?”

Not a single voice responded. No one moved, beyond a general lowering of heads and a bit of awkward shuffling.

“Anyone?” said Cal, his smile hitting the down ramp again.

Nothing.

Lily clapped. “Well, nice speech. Seriously. Really powerful stuff.”

Miz leaned over to Cal. “I think that was sarcasm.”

“Yeah, spotted it, but thanks for the heads-up,” said Cal.

Lily addressed the crowd. “Now that we’ve heard Ninety-Nine, let’s get back to the real world for a moment—”

She stopped when she saw Old Man Carver shakily raise a frail arm.

“Yes?”

“I’ll go.” He pointed to Cal. “With him, I mean.”

Cal’s grin hit the rebound and widened again. He tapped his finger to his brow in salute. “Thank you.”

The Carver in knight’s armor thrust a hand skyward. “Aye. I am in agreement.”

“Ach, weel, ah dinnae see the hairm,” said Eighty-Three, raising one of his own stumpy arms. “Wur a’ dun fur, onyways.”

And with that, the floodgates opened. More hands raised. More murmurs of agreement rose from the council, tentative at first, but quickly becoming bolder.

“Let’s give it a go.”

“We can do this.”

“Let’s shove Saturn right up its shizzpipe!”

That last one took everyone by surprise. Cal and the others all looked, as one, at Carver Two, who blushed slightly behind his beard. “I mean, maybe not exactly that,” he said. “But let’s go out there and teach it who it’s messing with.”

Lily started at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. You know we don’t have a chance. Ikumordo is transdimensional. We can’t fight it on all dimensions at once.”

“No,” Two admitted. “But we can try.”

“You said there was a weapon or something. In the Void,” said Cal. “Something that could stop it.”

Two nodded, but Lily interrupted before he could reply. “A rumor. A legend. That’s all. We can’t pin our hopes on a fairy tale.”

Cal shrugged. “I bet a lot of folks think the same thing about Ikumordo, too. It’s real, though, so why can’t its weakness be real, too?”

“Even if it was real – which it isn’t - it’s in the Void. How would we find it? Do you know how big the Void is?”

Cal took a guess. “Very big?”

“Infinitely big. No, bigger,” said Lily. “So big it contains an infinite number of infinities. And we don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

“That may well be,” said Cal. “But ever hear the phrase, ‘a needle in a haystack’?”

He nodded smugly and crossed his arms, as if he’d just delivered the knock-out blow.

“Yes. What about it?” Lily asked.

Cal frowned. “What do you mean?”

Mech leaned forward. “Uh, what do you think that phrase means?”

“That you can find even hard to find things, if you look for them,” said Cal.

Mech shook his head. “Right. It don’t mean that.”

“Doesn’t it? Since when?”

“Since always, man,” said Mech.

Cal looked around and was relieved to see many of the other Carvers looking as surprised as he did. “Well… What does it mean?”

“It means there are some things that are next to impossible to find,” said Lily. “Some things you shouldn’t even bother looking for.”

Cal snorted. “Nah. I think my one’s closer.”

“It isn’t,” said Loren. She caught the look from him and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry. It means what she said.”

“OK, fine,” said Cal. “Then full frontal assault it is. Our ship has weapons. We’ve got the Omega Cannon.”

Carver Two’s eyebrows knotted. “What’s the Omega Cannon?”

“We have no idea,” Cal admitted. “I mean, we think it could also potentially destroy the universe, but that suddenly doesn’t seem like quite such a big issue as it did up until now.”

“So, we have one ship,” said Lily. “One ship with which to fight a reality-spanning being of unfathomable power.”

“Yeah,” Cal admitted. “But it really is an excellent ship. And we can round up others,” he continued. “Like I said, everyone in the multi-verse’ll come together to fight that thing.”

“How?” Lily demanded. “How are you going to arrange that? Phone them up? Send out invitations? How are you possibly going to recruit the whole multi-verse before Ikumordo starts to consume everything? Look at it. Those tendrils? It’s already starting.”

“OK, maybe not the whole multi-verse, then, but there must be somewhere we can get ships?” Cal said.

“No. There isn’t,” said Lily.

“Uh…” began Carver Two. He met Lily’s gaze, looked chastised for a moment, but then planted his feet in defiance. “I might know somewhere we can get some. Pilots, too.”

“Alright,” said Cal. “Now we’re talking. So, what are we waiting for?”

Two gestured towards the doorway. “Council, lead the way,” he said.

“Wait, this is idiotic,” said Lily. “This is suicide.”

“So’s staying here,” Old Man Carver pointed out.

“But he’s the one who doomed us all!” Lily protested. “He’s the one who messed everything up!”

Cal spun on his heels to face her. “Or maybe I’m the guy who’s going to save everyone,” he said, meeting her petulant gaze. He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the door, where the other Carvers had all started to file through. Then, much to her annoyance, he placed a hand on her head and ruffled her hair. “So, kiddo, how about we go find out?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

They heard the screaming the moment they stepped through the doorway. At first, Cal thought it was the wind, which had whipped up from nowhere, and almost knocked him off his feet as soon as he returned to the blister universe.

But then he saw the Carvers flailing wildly, battered by the hurricane, their faces alive with fear as the inky darkness of the Void devoured the sky.

“Uh, like, I’m guessing this is bad?” said Miz.

“Yes. You could say that,” said Cal, then he stumbled as Lily barged past him.

“Shizz, shizz, shizz, shizz, shizz,” she spat. “Void breach.”

“Is this Ikumordo?” Mech asked.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know,” said Lily. She ran ahead and started gesturing to a number of carefully memorized spots across the grass. Every time she pointed, another doorway sprang up from the ground, glowing even more brightly in the growing darkness.

“Carvers, go!” Two boomed. Some of the council members were huddled together in frightened groups, but many more ran around in aimless terror, trying to escape the inescapable.

Two caught the arm of a panic-stricken younger Cal with some kind of robotic eye implant, and shoved him through the closest doorway.

“Calm down!” Two bellowed, making a grab for another Carver, but missing. “The doors! Use the fonking doors!”

“Mech, Miz, help him get everyone out,” Cal barked. He lifted the woman’s shoe from his shoulder and tossed it to Mech. The shoe became a green blob as it flipped through the air. “Splurt, go with them, get everyone safe. Loren, you come with me, we need to get to the ship before—”

A camping stove cracked him across the back of the head. “Ow! Jesus, what was—?”

He turned in time for a flying tent to envelop him. Tangled in the rope and canvas, Cal was dragged several feet across the grass in the direction of the Void, before Miz pounced and slashed him free.

“Thanks.”

“Whatever,” said Miz, but she bared her teeth in something not unlike a smile.

Carver Eighty-Three tumbled past, upside-down, very possibly drowning in his own beard. “Go. Help them,” said Cal. Miz tutted and rolled her eyes, but pounced again, pinning Eighty-Three to the grass. Almost immediately, the little man started to scream.

“Like, shut up,” said Miz. “I’m not going to eat you. I totally just saved your life.”

Eighty-three continued to scream, regardless.

“Loren, let’s go,” Cal ordered.

The Currently Untitled stood between them and the growing Void. Or where Cal guessed the Void breach had first started, at least. Now, the darkness was covering most of the sky, its inky tendrils stretching towards the horizon, and the original breach point was a full-scale howling vortex, dragging the miniature universe inside, inch by agonizing inch.

There was no distance at all – fifteen feet, maybe less – between the Untitled and the point where the grass and the sky fell away into the abyss. This was going to be close.

Cal powered on, the ground a blur beneath his feet. The Untitled tilted towards the Void, before a series of harpoon cables spat from the ship’s underside, anchoring it to the grass. “Yes, Kevin!” Cal cried, forcing his legs to move even faster. “Hold on, buddy!”

Back at the camp, Mech stood by one of the doors, acting as a windbreak as Splurt used the long arms he’d sprouted to shove Carvers through the portal. Many more had already scattered through the other doors, but there were still a dozen or so of the most frightened left, too numb with terror to follow simple instructions. Carver Two was rounding most of them up and shepherding them to safety, but the increasing volume of the wind meant it was becoming harder and harder to shout orders.

Miz was carrying two struggling Carvers over her shoulders, both of whom shared the concern that they were about to be eaten alive, and were currently protesting quite firmly.

“I’m saving you! Quit fonking hitting me!” Miz growled. She tossed them both through one of the doors, then turned and lunged for another of the council members. He jumped back in panic, before Old Man Carver grabbed his arm.

“Calm down, you idiot,” the old man said. “She’s trying to help.”

Nodding his bald head at Miz, he shoved the other Carver through. “Don’t get stuck here,” the old man warned, then he jumped through the doorway, and vanished.

Cal powered on. Since a tribal healer had passed on all his life-force, Cal had been reaping the benefits. As well as healing from any injury – including death, on at least one occasion – he was stronger and more agile than he had been before. And, more importantly, what with everything currently going on, faster.

He was just a few seconds away from the Untitled’s open ramp when a scream cut through the roar of the wind and the crashing of his heartbeat in his head. There had been a lot of screaming, but this one was different. This one he couldn’t ignore – had been genetically programmed never to ignore.

Cal stumbled. “Lily?”

The girl tumbled and rolled across the grass further back on Cal’s right, tangled in a tent just like he had been. She kicked and flailed inside it, flipping and bouncing across the ground, hurtling faster and faster towards the void.

“Loren, get to the ship!” Cal shouted, not looking back to where Loren was racing along behind him. He diverted right, trying to anticipate where to aim himself so he could intercept the canvas cocoon. He picked a spot and ran. Fast. Faster than he’d ever run before, nine years of guilt and pain and sorrow pushing him on.

He wouldn’t fail her. He wouldn’t let her die. Not again.

“I’m coming, baby!” he called, but the words choked him, as his eyes blurred with tears. The wind. He blamed the wind.

Lily screamed again, high and panicked and piercing enough to stab deep into Cal’s already breaking heart. He threw himself to the ground in front of her, bracing himself for the impact.

The tangled tent bounced unexpectedly, then flipped and rolled over him, its ropes cracking in the air like bullwhips as it hurtled the final few feet towards the black.

“No!”

Cal kicked off, throwing himself towards the tent, and the girl wrapped up inside. Their eyes met, just briefly, through a gap in the canvas, then Cal’s fingers found the fabric and he gripped it with every ounce of strength he had.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you!”

Unfortunately, no one had him. The extra weight slowed the tent’s progress, but not by much. Instead, it dragged Cal with it towards the beckoning Void.

Cal saw a billion formless shapes waiting there in the multi-colored blackness, and then a hand caught him around the ankle and he had to scramble to keep a hold of the canvas as he jerked to a stop.

“Hold on!” Loren hissed. She dug her heels into the grass, gritted her teeth, and began pushing backwards, away from the Void. Over on the left, there was a twang as the abyss reached one of the Untitled’s ropes snapping it in two.

Cal shoved an arm inside the tangled tent. A hand, unfamiliar yet unmistakable, slipped into his. He laughed. He couldn’t say why, exactly, but he laughed.

The tent was pulled free in one sharp tug. Cal saw it go tumbling into the Void, leaving just Lily gripping his hand.

“Don’t let go,” she said. It was a whisper – barely a whisper, even - but he heard it, all the same.

“Never. I’ve got you,” he told her, then he winked. “That’s a Cal Carver guarantee.”

Straining with the effort, he heaved Lily towards him and rolled onto his back. “Give me my leg,” he told Loren, then he scrambled to his feet when she released her grip, both of them pulling Lily up beside them.

“The ship! Get to the ship!” Cal bellowed, the wind snatching away every second syllable. He turned to the Untitled, preparing to run, then stopped. The ground beneath the ship was almost gone, the anchor lines now flapping in the hurricane-force gale.

With a final few twangs and a groaning of metal, the Untitled tipped over the receding edge of the grass, rolled sideways, and went tumbling into the Void.

“Shizz, Kevin!” Cal cried. He started to run, but Lily and Loren both held on, jerking him to a stop.

“What are you doing?” Lily demanded.

“Getting my ship back!”

“You can’t just jump into the Void!”

Cal pulled his arms free. “If we’re going to stop Ikumordo, we need the Untitled.”

Lily looked past him to where the ship was now barely a speck in the darkness. She clenched her jaw, muttered something inaudible, then beckoned for Cal and Loren to follow her. “Come with me.”

They fought against the gales, bending low and edging forwards until they reached what Cal had assumed was another of the misshapen tents. On closer inspection, though, it was a sheet of dark green tarp, flapping violently in the strengthening wind.

Lily drew a knife and sliced through the cord ties. The tarp immediately flew off, revealing two… things. Cal had no idea what they were. If a motorbike and a spaceship had got drunk together one night, and had one thing had led to another, these things would be the result. They were curved and sleek like a particularly sexy fighter ship, but with a vague sort of motorcycle shape to them. They had no wheels, and just hovered above the grass, apparently unperturbed by the gaping abyss growing steadily closer.

“Void rigs,” said Lily, as if that explained everything. She swung her leg over one and pointed to the other. “You two get on that one.”

“No way,” said Cal, swinging into the seat behind Lily. “I’ve seen her fly.”

Loren gave him the finger, then hopped onto the other bike. A blue button illuminated between the handlebars. Lily pressed hers first, and a domed energy canopy snapped closed over her and Cal. She waited until Loren had done the same, then demonstrated the controls.

“Faster, slower, turn, boost,” she said, indicating each pedal, lever and grip as she did. “Got it?”

“Got it,” said Loren. She gunned the throttle, shot backwards at high speed, and somehow managed to hit the only remaining tent, flattening it to the ground.

“You see what I’m talking about?” said Cal, then Loren rocketed past them and he felt the Void rig below him purr into life.

Cal looked across at the blue and white doorways. Mech, Miz and Carver Two were still there, shoving the final few Cals through. The darkness was racing towards them now, devouring the sky and the ground and everything in between.

“Guys, go, go!” Cal called to them, but then the Void rig shot forwards, his stomach shot upwards and, like the first drop on a roller-coaster, the bike plunged into the abyss.

Mech watched the bikes streak off into the darkness as he shoved the last stray Carver through the door. “Thank you,” said Carver Two.

Mech nodded in reply. “No problem.”

Two hurried through the door, leaving just Mech and Miz behind. Mech beckoned for Miz to come over to his door, holding a hand out to her and bracing himself against the spiraling storm. Splurt wrapped around his outstretched hand, became a length of rope, and fed himself towards Miz.

“Come on. This way!” Mech urged, but even Miz’s ears couldn’t hear him over the screeching gales.

She figured it out, though, and was about to make her move when Mech realized there was no time. The Void was almost on her, hungrily devouring everything in its path as it closed in on her and her door.

“Wait, go through, go through!” he boomed, gesturing furiously towards the door beside her. Miz frowned.

Miz turned.

Miz’s eyes opened wide.

And then, both Mizette and her doorway were wrenched into the darkness.

“Miz!” Mech bellowed, but there was nothing he could do. As the Void closed in on him he shot it the meanest, dirtiest look he could muster, then hurled himself and Splurt through the portal as the blister universe collapsed into nothingness.

* * *

Mech fell briefly, hit the ground heavily, then stood up. Angrily. The other Carvers and Number Two were all running for cover, but there was no cover to be had. They were in a long trench, with two tall walls penning them in. The ground beneath their feet was made up of hundreds of large black tiles. Two lines of the tiles were illuminated, each line stretching the length of the trench.

High up at the top of the wall, an audience watched on. They were jeering, but the jeers were quietening into a kind of mumbled confusion as everyone got around to noticing the twenty or more people who had appeared in the trench from the now rapidly-shrinking rectangle of light.

It was thanks to the growing silence that Mech heard the rumble, like distant thunder, and felt the ground trembling beneath his feet. He looked to his left and saw a shape hurtling towards him. Had he ever seen one before, he may well have thought, ‘Oh, that looks a bit like a rhino,’ but he hadn’t, so he didn’t think that. If anything, he thought, ‘Oh, fonk,’ as the enormous horned beast bounded towards him, a figure – apparently dressed entirely in neon yellow lights – sitting astride its back. The figure carried a long pointy jousting stick, which lowered slightly to take aim at Mech’s head.

There was more thunder on Mech’s right. He turned to find another of the things he couldn’t identify as rhinos approaching from that direction, too. Like the first, this one also carried someone, although this time covered in an intricate pattern of little red lights. This figure, too, lowered its jousting stick a fraction.

“Oh, well ain’t this just great?” Mech muttered, then he adjusted his dial, planted his feet, and braced himself.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“I feel it’s only fair to warn you,” said Cal, raising his voice above the whine of the Void rig. “There’s a fair to moderate chance I might throw up.”

Up ahead, the darkness folded in on itself like a kaleidoscope of darkness. Visually, very little happened, and yet Cal somehow felt the Void’s movement deep in the animal part of his brain.

“Wait, no… moderate to high.”

“Don’t you dare!” Lily hissed. She gunned the throttle, pulling level with Loren’s rig. Loren glanced over, but it made her swerve dangerously towards Cal and Lily, and so she quickly faced front again.

“Jesus. Guess they didn’t have a simulator for one of these.”

“I heard that,” said Loren’s voice from a speaker somewhere up front.

“Totally meant you to,” he lied, then he quickly changed the subject. “Why isn’t Kevin just flying back to us?”

“Ships can’t operate in the Void,” said Lily. “Its systems will be non-operational.”

“So how do we get back out?” Loren wondered. It was a question that hadn’t occurred to Cal, but which now sent him into a brief-but-spiralling panic.

“Shizz. How do we get back out?”

“The jumpers are still attached from when we brought the ship through,” Lily said, gesturing to the clamps attached to the Untitled. “We can use those.”

Something hot and purple sparked across the Void ahead, briefly casting the tumbling Untitled into silhouette. A second flash caught Cal’s eye from over on his left. It left a little imprint of itself on his retina for a few seconds – a single jagged line stabbing down from above.

“Was that lightning? Is there pink lightning in here?” he asked. “Oh, and by the way, we’re totally calling this bike ‘Pink Lightning’ from now on. Loren, you can be ‘Brown Thunder.’”

“Is he always like this?” Lily asked.

Loren shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Lily sighed. “Great,” she said. “The lightning is Void Energy.”

“Is it dangerous?” asked Cal.

Another line of electric fire tore across the darkness ahead of them, like a split in the Void itself. “Guess,” Lily muttered. “We need to get your ship and jump it out of here before we get much deeper.”

“Why?” asked Cal. “What happens if we go deeper?”

“The longer we stay here, the weirder it’s going to get,” Lily explained, her eyes darting at the vast nothingness looming in front of them.

“Like fun weird?” Cal asked.

“Like head-imploding weird.”

“Like fun head-imploding weird?”

Lily drew him a withering look over her shoulder, then twisted the throttle further, pulling ahead of Loren. “Try to stay close,” she said. “If you get lost in here, we’ll never find you.”

Another bolt of Void lightning cracked the sky.

“Oh good,” Loren muttered. “Now you tell me.”

* * *

Mech planted one hand on the first rhino’s horn, and jammed his other hand against the spiked metal collar it wore around its neck. His hydraulics hissed and he gritted his teeth as the impact and the beast’s momentum forced him backwards, his feet carving deep grooves in the illuminated tiles.

From somewhere above, there came a gasp of shock, and Mech felt a little fluttering of pride. “I should fonking think so,” he muttered, grimacing as he shoved back with all his might against the rhino, gradually bringing it to a stop.

The man sitting on the animal’s back was twenty or thirty feet back, and only just getting to his feet. He had attempted to knock Mech over with his jousting stick, but it hadn’t worked out very well. He limped closer now, his bent and buckled weapon tucked under one arm, his formerly illuminated suit now a dark, dull-looking gray. He was gaping in wonder at what he’d just witnessed, and Mech felt that swell of pride again, before he realized the guy wasn’t looking at him.

Mech turned to find an armored rhinoceros being held aloft in one hand by Animal out of The Muppets. He didn’t know it was Animal out of The Muppets, of course – even Splurt didn’t really know who it was, and had just based his appearance on a fleeting image he’d once seen in Cal’s mind – but this made it no less impressive a sight. In Animal’s other hand, a man in a now-lightless jumpsuit remained perfectly still, and quietly wondered what the Hell was going on.

Animal out of The Muppets set both the man and the surprisingly-docile rhino down on the ground, bowed briefly to the dumbstruck crowd, then flobbed back into a gooey green blob.

Number Two and the other Carvers peeled themselves off the walls, into which they had been attempting to press themselves, and came to stand with Mech and Splurt. They all gathered in a vague circle shape, gazing up at the audience above them with a mix of defiance and fear.

From further along the trench, there came a cheer. It spread like wildfire, roaring along the length of the wall on both sides until the whole world seemed to hum with excitement.

“I guess they like us,” said Mech. He raised a hand and waved to the crowd.

Carver Two cleared his throat. “Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps they like them.”

He gestured along to one end of the trench. The narrow wall had slid aside, and dozens of uniformed men and women were jogging through. They all carried rifles in a way that suggested they both knew how to use them and were entirely comfortable with doing so. The troops were followed along the trench by a couple more of the armored rhinos, each with a rider and gun-turret on its back.

Mech sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it could be them. Although, if you ask me, we’re way more lovable.” A realization hit him. “Wait, you can understand me?”

Carver Two nodded and tapped his head behind the ear, where most translation chips were embedded. “The others don’t. But I can translate for you.”

“Uh, no. No need,” said Mech. “I can just sideload your language from my implant.” His eyelids fluttered for a second. “Done. Everyone now understand me?” he asked, in perfect English.

There was a murmuring from the Carvers he took to mean they could.

“What do we do?” asked one of them. He was thin and wiry-looking, like he could do with a good meal. “Do we fight? I mean… We can’t fight all of them, can we?”

“The other you would,” said Mech. “The one I know, I mean. He’d try taking them all on. He’s an idiot.” Mech couldn’t help but smile, just a little. “Course, he’d somehow win. Fonk knows how, but he’d somehow win.”

“Uh, OK. That’s great,” said the skinny Cal. “But that doesn’t really answer the question. What do we do?”

“Commmmpany… halt!” bellowed a voice from the advancing army.

“Looks like they want to talk,” said Mech.

“Taaaaaake aim.”

“Or maybe not,” the cyborg groaned, as the soldiers raised their weapons. “Splurt!”

Splurt curved in front of the Carvers, growing and hardening until he formed a thick metal barricade. From the other side there came a thunder of gunfire, then a series of dull hammer-strikes as the bullets met Splurt’s back.

Meanwhile, Mech spun on the spot, powering a fist into the trench wall. A basketball-sized chunk of masonry turned to dust, revealing a starkly-lit corridor beyond. Mech punched and kicked until the hole was large enough for him to fit through, then moved to lead the way.

“H-hold it right there!” yelped one of the jousters. He held his fists up, but couldn’t hide how badly they were shaking. “I’m arresting you all in the name of the High Imperial Guard. Take one more step, and you’ll answer to—”

Carver Two swung with his staff. The thick end hit the jouster’s head with a solid, definitive clonk, whereupon the man promptly fell over.

“Nice,” said Mech.

“Thanks,” said Carver Two.

They both looked at the other jouster, who had suddenly become fascinated by the ground some distance away, and seemed to have very little interest in attempting to stop them.

Mech nodded. “Wise move,” he said, then he turned to the Carvers. “Everyone stay together and stay close. We’re getting the fonk out of here.”

An explosive shell screamed along the corridor and exploded against the ceiling above Mech’s head, bringing several tons of rock and rubble down on top of him.

“Oh,” said a voice through the dust cloud. “I don’t think you are.”

* * *

Carver Eighty-Three looked up and saw the door he’d very recently jumped through go spinning off into the woods, before fizzling away into darkness somewhere deep in the trees. The wolf-woman who had forcibly tossed him through the portal by the beard hadn’t come through. This caused him concern and relief in roughly equal measures. Relief because she was a terrifying monster with big claws and bigger teeth, but concern because she was a terrifying monster with big claws and bigger teeth who seemed to be on their side.

“What happened?” asked Old Man Carver. He and a dozen or so other council members stood in a clearing, surrounded by towering oaks on all sides. Birds cheeped and twittered high in the branches, and a warm breeze fluttered through the leaves. It seemed like a peaceful place, made even more so by comparison to the chaos they’d left behind. “Where did the door go?”

“Aff intae thae woods,” said Eighty-Three, smoothing down his beard. “Ahind yon lot ower there, then – boof – awa’ it gings.”

Old Man Carver nodded slowly. “That’s… Yes. Right. Interesting,” he said, as diplomatically as he could. “It’ll be interesting to get another perspective, too, though. Anyone else see what happened to the door?”

Chunky Cal pointed in roughly the same direction Eighty-Three had. “Yeah, it sort of flew off that way, then vanished.”

“At’s wit I telt ye,” the Dwarf Cal said.

“Where are we?” asked Chunky. “I mean, I’m guessing it’s Earth?”

Old Man Carver pointed upwards. There, through a gap in the trees, they could see Ikumordo stretching across the sky. Its tendrils were growing steadily now, stretching out in all directions as if grabbing at distant stars.

“It’s Earth, alright.”

“Right. Yeah. But which Earth?” Chunky Cal asked.

“Could be any,” replied the old man. “I mean almost any. Most have forests like this. We’ll have to go further afield if we’re going to figure out more.”

Eighty-Three stood on his tiptoes and sniffed the air, his bushy eyebrows knotting in concentration.

“What’s he doing?” asked a bald-headed Carver. He wore a flowing robe that had presumably once been white, but which was now a sort of dirt-caked swirl of grays and browns, like the world’s dullest tie-dye.

“Sniffing the air,” said Chunky Cal, somewhat stating the obvious.

Eighty-three stopped sniffing and dropped to his knees. His knees weren’t very far from the ground, so this didn’t take him long. Once down there, he picked up something brown, round and lumpy, smeared it between his fingers, then touched a finger to his tongue.

“Oh, Jesus. Don’t do that,” said Chunky Cal. He gagged noisily, forming a little choir with some of the other Cals, who were already doing the same.

“What is it?” asked Old Man.

“It’s clearly shizz! Look at it!”

Old Cal tutted. “Wasn’t asking you.” He nodded to Eighty-Three. “What is it? Have you found something?”

“Mebbes aye, mebbes naw,” said Eighty-Three. He stood up and extended his shizz-smeared fingers towards the older man. “Huv a try.”

“Nah, you’re alright. Taste buds aren’t what they used to be.”

Eighty-Three gave a sort of ‘suit yourself’ shrug, then wiped his fingers on his leather jerkin. “Ah’m nae a hunner per cent or onything, but ah hink it’s ma Earth.”

“Your Earth?” said Old Man Carver, latching onto two of the four words he understood in the little man’s sentence.

“Aye,” said Eighty-Three, then his beard came to life.

At least, that’s how it appeared to those watching. The mass of hair undulated and wriggled for a moment, then curved outwards at both sides and pointed straight upwards, so the beard formed the shape of a big curvy letter ‘W’ on Eighty-Three’s chin.

“Uh, is it supposed to do that?” asked the old man, then he turned at the sound of feet crashing through the forest towards them.

At first, the Carvers saw nothing, but then the undergrowth moved and several small shapes tumbled through, muttering and cursing as they fell over one another.

“Git aff!”

“Haw! Get it right up ye!”

“Awa’ an’ bile yer heid, ya bam!”

Six little men all got to their feet. This involved lots of bickering, and a surprising amount of violence directed at each other.

Once they were all upright, they started to run again, then spotted Eighty-Three and the other Carvers, so stopped.

“Whit the—?”

“Fas you?”

Eighty-Three looked the strangers up and down. This didn’t take long. “Ne’er mind ‘fas me’, fas you?”

One of the other little men, whose beard was far bushier than the others, pressed a fist against the side of his head. “Donnie Wood, Keeper o’ the Shucht.”

Eighty-Three’s eyes narrowed. “Nae wee Donnie o’ the Woods? Fae Ower Yon?”

“Aye, fae Ower Yon,” said Donnie. His eyebrows moved like dancing caterpillars. “Haud on. Cal the Cairver? Fae Yon Why?”

“Aye!” said Eighty-Three.

“Awa’!”

“Aye!”

“It nuvur is.”

“Aye! Tis!”

“Awa’!”

Old Man Carver, like the rest of the council, had been attempting – with zero luck – to follow the conversation. As it now seemed to be stuck in some sort of loop, he felt it a good time to try to interject.

“Uh, what were you running from?” he asked. All eyes turned to him. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Fit’s he yabberin’ aboot?” asked Donnie, regarding Carver Twenty-Seven as if only just noticing him for the first time.

“He’s askin’ fit why were ye’s a’ fleein’ sae fast, and fit fae?” said Cal.

Donnie and the rest of his group all gasped, almost in perfect unison. “Aw, help m’boab, ah near clear furgot,” Donnie said. He turned to the trees just as a monstrous yellow-skinned creature bounded from the forest, a club swinging above his head, its terrifying genitalia swinging all the way past its knees.

“Ogre!” cried Donnie and the other dwarves, then they scattered as the club swung down and slammed into the ground, spraying soil and rocks in all directions.

The ogre gnashed its jaws and howled with rage, the dirty, ragged fingernails of its free hand grabbing for the closest dwarf. It caught one of the little fellas by the beard and yanked it closer, the beast’s mouth becoming a cavernous maw filled with rotten teeth as its stomach ejected a rumble of hunger.

A rock bounced off the ogre’s forehead. It didn’t seem to hurt, but it got the thing’s attention. The monster dropped its club so it could prod at the spot where the stone had hit it. Meanwhile, the little man still wriggled and kicked in his other hand.

“Leave him alone!” said Old Man Carver, hefting a second rock from hand to hand. He tossed it, but this time the ogre was ready. It snatched the stone from the air, gave it an experimental sniff, then crushed it to powder between a finger and thumb.

“Or, you know, don’t. Up to you, really,” said the old man. He backed away as the ogre’s expression twisted into one of rage. Tossing the dwarf aside, the monster bounded forwards, snatching up its club and hurling itself at Old Man Carver and the rapidly scattering council.

Carver Twenty-Seven knew his old bones and withered muscles weren’t strong enough for him to fight back, or fast enough for him to flee, so he stood his ground and puffed up his chest as best he could.

He saw himself reflected in the ogre’s melon-sized eyes, saw the monster’s teeth and its club and – briefly, because the pendulum-like motion of it caught his eye – its penis.

“Jesus. That thing’s like a baby’s arm,” he muttered.

And then he saw a blur of movement from the trees. He saw hair and claws and teeth and fury.

And then he saw blood.

Lots of blood.

The ogre made a series of noises which, to the Carvers and dwarves, sounded like nothing more than frenzied howls and grunts. Had any of them been in possession of a Zertex-designed translation chip, however, they might have understood the sounds to mean something along the lines of, “Argh! My throat! Stop biting my throat!”

The subsequent wheezing and gargling, on the other hand, was just regular wheezing and gargling, and no translation would have been available.

When the wheezing and gargling – and, to a lesser extent, the spurting – had stopped, a shocked silence fell across the clearing. It didn’t last long.

“Like, seriously,” snarled Mizette, chewing on something thick and gristly. “I turn my back for two fonking minutes…”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cal kept his gaze on the Currently Untitled, which was still drifting onwards through the Void. He very much did not keep his gaze on the eye-wateringly acrobatic Void itself, which was currently in the process of simultaneously exploding and imploding in a way that was firmly, yet politely, telling Physics to go fonk itself.

More lightning appeared. Something about it had changed, though – or maybe it was Cal who had changed – because he couldn’t actually identify it as lightning any more, and instead could only think of it as a sound. Only, instead of his ears hearing it, his eyes were smelling it, and his brain, for its part, was wondering what in the name of God was going on.

If pressed, Cal would describe the sound as a sort of bass-heavy blompfk, but with a wobble in the middle and just the faintest touch of high-hat at the end.

He’d also know, deep down, that this was absolutely nothing like the sound his eyes were currently smelling, and that any words which might feasibly describe it didn’t currently exist.

He made a sound like an old-fashioned telephone. He didn’t know why. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

Loren meanwhile, was filled with the unshakeable belief that she was flying upside-down. This wasn’t particularly unusual – in space there was no ‘upside-down’, as such – and yet her every instinct was screaming at her to right herself before she fell off the bike and plunged into the gyrating darkness.

She looked over at Cal and Lily, but the way the Void was twisting and folding beyond them meant she couldn’t figure out if they were the same way up as her, pointing in the same direction, or even what size they were. She alternated between thinking they were huge, but far away, or tiny, but just inches from her head. Interestingly, at no point in the last few minutes had she considered that they might still be the same size as she was.

“It’s getting weirder,” said Cal, but the words came out backwards. Or was he backwards, and the words were the right way around? Both, probably.

Or neither.

He made a sound like a telephone again.

“Almost there,” said Lily. She was either less affected by the Void, or making a better job of hiding what it was doing to her. While Loren occupied herself wondering which way up she was, and Cal tried with limited success to count his hands, Lily closed the gap on the Untitled, swinging the rig down and around beneath the ship to give them a clear run at the ramp.

Once she was in position, Lily tapped a couple of controls on a panel between the handlebars. “Locking you into my path,” she announced, and Loren felt her bike shift direction, apparently now under Lily’s control.

This actually came as something of a relief to Loren, as she’d started to suspect the bike wasn’t her biggest fan, and was secretly thinking some pretty mean things about her. Also, she was convinced she no longer had feet, so operating the pedal controls had been getting progressively more and more difficult.

“Six!” called Cal, gazing at one of his hands. He needed to hold onto the Void rig, so could only lift one hand off at a time to count it, before replacing it on the bike and counting the next hand. “No, seven,” he said, doing just that. “Wait, eight.”

“No, you’re fat,” said Loren, punching her bike. Tears streamed down her face as she listened to her Void rig silently judging her.

Lilly rolled her eyes. “Everyone just hold on,” she said.

There was a blompfk, wobble and high-hat of lightning, then Lily hit the boost and rocketed forwards, rolling the bike sideways in order to fit through the Untitled’s rear hatch. The Void rig screeched along the corridor, the metal scraping grooves in the walls on either side.

“Wait, fourteen!” said Cal, then the bike jerked to a stop just feet from the bridge door, right before Loren crashed into the back of it.

Lily turned in her seat. “Hatch. Hatch. How do I close the hatch?” She spotted the landing ramp controls. “Doesn’t matter. Brace yourself. I’ll try to be quick.”

She took a series of deep breaths, then tapped the button that lowered the shielding, and jumped off the bike.

Cal shrunk and grew at the same time. His fingers stopped being fingers, and instead became long thin slivers of time, each one moving at a different rate, showing him glimpses of his fingers past, present and future. His thumbs looked tiny, and he felt an overwhelming urge to suck on one. Ideally while rocking back and forth, and crying.

He had no legs now, but that was fine. He’d never used his legs when he had them, as far as he could remember, so this was just tidier.

His hair whispered to him, revealing the secrets of the ages. Or most of it revealed the secrets of the ages, but a small patch on his forearm told a slightly racist joke, which he was a bit disappointed by. He shaved it off using fire from his eyes, then giggled as Loren inflated like a balloon inside her bike’s energy shielding, filling the whole space until her massive face was pressed up against it.

“I want to be a bubble, too!” Cal said, through one of the many tiny mouths that had appeared on the back of both hands. He kissed them all individually – though not with tongues – then screamed as a blond-haired monster stabbed him in the throat.

There was… a sensation. A number of sensations, in fact. Mostly, they concerned everything snapping back into some sort of order. He was no longer an infinite number of different sizes at the same time, for example, and his fingers had all stopped aging/de-aging before his eyes - with the exception of the ring finger on his right hand, which seemed to have stuck at seven-year-old size.

The mouths were gone, too, his hair had all stopped whispering, and Loren was no longer a partially-inflated blancmange.

“Cool,” said Cal, then he noisily and spectacularly threw up all over the empty seat in front of him.

Lily gestured for Loren to lower her shielding. Loren spent a few seconds pretending to be a big spider, got surprised by her nose, then slapped her hand against the button.

Loren pointed at the ceiling, which had turned into a number of little fish, shouted, “Whoopsies!” at the top of her voice because she knew, unshakably, that it was the right thing to do, then let out a little yelp as Lily plunged a needle into her throat and injected her with something purple.

Almost immediately, the ceiling-fish became just plain ceiling. Loren blinked rapidly for a while, shook her head, then swung her leg over the bike and dismounted.

“OK, what the fonk just happened?”

“Funny,” said Cal. “I was about to ask the same—”

The rest of the sentence was lost in an explosion of vomit.

“Void sickness,” said Lily. “The trippy mind stuff, I mean, not the throwing up. Although, that’s a common side effect. I didn’t have time to vaccinate you before, or we’d have lost the ship.”

“The ship?” said Cal, frowning. He looked around, then a smile replaced the vomit-caked scowl on his face. “The ship! We’re on the ship! Kevin, you there?”

Silence.

“Kevin? Kev?” said Cal, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Hello?”

Nothing.

“Shizz, that’s not good,” said Loren.

She led the way through to the bridge. The controls, which were usually illuminated, were in darkness. The viewscreen was black, too, aside from two words flashing off and on in a stark red font.

CRITICAL ERROR!

“Yup,” said Cal. “That is definitely not good.”

* * *

Miz slouched her weight onto one hip and folded her arms. “Alright, alright, just stop, like, bowing or whatever.”

Donnie and the other Dwarves were down on both knees, bent low, their hands stretched out on the ground towards Miz. Carver Eighty-Three hadn’t quite gone into full worship mode, but he had dropped to one knee and was lowering his head in a gesture of respect. The wolf-creature had, after all, saved them from the ogre, so he felt a show of gratitude was deserved. Also, she could bite all their heads off without breaking a sweat, so getting on her good side probably wasn’t a bad idea, in general.

“Seriously, just get up, already,” said Miz. She looked across to Old Man Carver, began to say something, then remembered he couldn’t understand her. “OK, does anyone here have any fonking idea what I’m saying?”

She was met with blank looks from Dwarves and Carvers alike.

“Well that’s awesome,” she muttered.

“Check it out,” said one of the Carvers, pointing to the gap in the trees overhead.

Ikumordo now filled the entire oval of sky Miz and the others could see. Billions of glinting sparkles flashed in the orange cloud, holding everyone’s attention like a hypnotist’s watch.

“Crivvens! Fit’s ‘at a’ aboot?” chittered one of the Dwarves.

“Ah dinnae ken,” replied another. “Bit it’s nae thing guid.”

“We should try to find the others,” said Old Man Carver. He fiddled with a handheld device for a few moments, then held it at arm’s length, trying to read the writing on it.

“Just in your own time,” said another Carver. “It’s not like we’re in a creepy woods filled with monsters, or anything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said the old man.

“Oh wait, I tell a lie, it is like that.”

“I was in a forest like this once,” said another Carver. “Almost choked on a squirrel’s tits.”

“Jesus. What? How? Why?” asked yet another. “In fact, no, I don’t even want to know.”

“I absolutely want to know,” said another, and there was a general chorus of agreement from the rest.

“Aha!” cried the old man. He jabbed a button and a doorway opened a few feet ahead of him. “This should take us…” He peered at the gadget again. “Somewhere.”

“Well, it’s got to be better than here, right?” said Carver Sixty-Nine, wringing his pudgy hands together.

Miz looked around at the once-again tranquil woods, with the twitter of birds chorusing from the trees. “I wouldn’t count on it,” she said, but as nobody understood a word of it, she shrugged, beckoned them to follow, and led the way through the portal.

The world beyond was dark, the sky thick with ash and dust. The ground had been sand at one point, Miz reckoned, but now was scorched and blackened into something like glass. It kricked ominously beneath her weight as she padded away from the door, letting the others file through.

“On second thoughts, I think I liked the last place better,” whispered Chunky Cal.

Despite the ash cloud covering the sky, Miz could make out a faint orange glow beyond it. Ikumordo was here, too, although it was impossible to tell how much, if any, it had grown.

“Och, fit’s a’ this stoor a’where?” asked one of the Dwarves. Miz knew it was a question thanks to the rising inflection at the end, but had no clue what the words actually meant. Or, in fact, if they even were words.

“Wait, why are you here? Go back, you’re not supposed to be with us,” said Miz, ushering the Dwarves back towards the door. They shuffled back in fear, but avoided stepping back through into their own universe.

“A’ wir lives belong tae you, quine,” said Donnie, bowing his head in deference. “Wir honor-bound tae stick wi’ ye.”

A chunk of what he’d said actually made some sort of sense. Miz was about to tell him he didn’t owe her anything when the smoggy air was filled with the sound of roaring. At first, Miz thought it was some sort of animal, but as the sounds became louder and the stench of gasoline flooded her nostrils, she realized they were surrounded not by creatures, but by vehicles.

Several sets of headlights and spotlights illuminated, the high-powered beams burning through the dust and ash. The lights were blinding in every direction, so Miz focused on her ears and nose. The fog masked scents and muffled noises, but she reckoned there were twenty or so people out there beyond the circle of lights. A few of them were injured, and all of them were in need of a good wash. Most had blood on them, very little of it theirs.

A short spear, the handle carved from what looked very much like a human thigh bone, appeared from the fog. Its rusted metal tip embedded in the glass between Miz and the Carvers, shattering it into a spider-web pattern.

“Well, now.” The voice that came from the fog was slow and gravelly, and positively oozing with malice. “What in the name of tarnation do we got here?”

* * *

By the time Mech dragged himself free of the rubble, the Carvers were gone. Two squadrons of soldiers filled the corridor, one on either side of him. The weapons they wielded were large and mostly shoulder-mounted, suggesting explosives. Annoyingly, they were well out of his reach, meaning they’d have plenty of opportunity to rain fire on him before he could make it more than a few feet.

The soldiers were all human, their uniforms and weapons pretty much standard, based on Mech’s admittedly-limited understanding of Earth. Or the version of Earth from his universe, at least. There were no energy weapons on display, just rudimentary projectile launchers packed with explosive charges. Crude, but judging by the way one had brought the roof down on him, effective.

Mech’s hydraulics whirred noisily as he got to his feet. “Where are the others?” he demanded.

“Never mind that. Who - what - are you?” asked an older soldier. He was more decorated than the others, and sat astride one of the horned beasts. The turret on the rhino’s back was aiming squarely between Mech’s eyes.

Mech didn’t like the man. There was something about the way he had arranged his features into a calculated sneer – not to mention the tone of his voice - that instantly put Mech right off him.

“I’m the guy who’s looking for his friends,” said Mech. “And who is going to snap every one of you in half until you tell me where they are.” He narrowed his eyes and flexed his robotic fingers. “So, I’m gonna ask again, then I’m gonna count to five. Where are the others?”

A few of the closest soldiers shifted their weight onto the balls of their feet. Mech shot them a very deliberate look. “One.”

“I ask the questions,” snapped the rhino-mounted officer. “What are you, and where did you come from?”

“Two.”

“Are you connected to that thing in the sky? Is that it?”

“We’re trying to stop it before it kills everyone,” said Mech. “Three.”

“Prepare to fire!” barked the officer.

“I wouldn’t,” said Mech. “Four.”

“Company… f—” the officer began, before the floor beneath both platoons suddenly shot upwards, slamming them against the ceiling, rhino and all.

The floor fell away, letting everyone drop for a moment, before smashing them upwards again at blinding speed, taking the remainder of the fight right out of them.

When it dropped away again, the floor began to shrink. It changed color and texture, going from a flat, dull gray to a vibrant blobby green. Splurt rolled over to Mech, stopped at his feet, then twisted around the cyborg’s body until he was sitting on his shoulder.

“Uh, thanks,” said Mech. He gave Splurt a tentative pat on the head (or, more accurately, ‘the top bit’), then looked around at the groaning, broken, semi-conscious bodies littering the corridor. “Any idea where they took the others?”

Splurt grew a hand and pointed along the corridor behind them. “You sure?” Mech asked. Splurt’s hand gave a thumbs-up, then went back to pointing. “OK, then,” said Mech. “I guess we’re going this way.”

Several twists and turns later, Mech heard the cheering of a large crowd. Splurt pointed to a heavily-barricaded set of double doors, but Mech no longer needed directions.

Raising a foot, he kicked open the doors. Wood splintered and metal groaned as the barricades were torn off their hinges and toppled, slowly, into a bowl-shaped arena beyond. Carvers ran from the thundering feet of more armored rhinos. Riders on the animals’ backs cracked whips, waved tridents, twirled nets above their heads and whooped loudly, as an audience seated in high tiers around the perimeter clapped and roared their approval.

“Yaha!”

Mech turned in time to see a spear come flying through the air towards him, tossed by a rhino-rider who had steered his beast into a charge. The spear plinked harmlessly off Mech’s chest. He watched the rhino barreling towards him, waited for just the right moment, then felled it with a single punch to the side of the head.

The rider tried to throw himself clear, but failed. He screamed as the full weight of the animal landed on his leg, rolled upwards over his groin and stomach, then popped him like a spot.

“Yaha yourself, motherfonker,” Mech spat. He cast his gaze across the arena. Nine rhinos and riders were bearing down on the Carvers. None of the Carvers had fallen yet, but only because the riders were toying with them, making a show for the audience to enjoy.

Well, if it was a show they wanted…

Splurt flopped down to the ground and rolled between Mech’s feet. Mech looked down in surprise as he was lifted into the air by a rapidly growing shape. It was not unlike a rhino, but not exactly like one, either. It was bigger for one thing, and had twice as many horns – although this was largely on account of having twice as many heads.

Its feet ended in colossal bear-like paws. Its hide was dark, but fiery, like cooling molten rock, and as it bared its teeth and roared, a jet of blue flame erupted from one of its throats.

The beast’s tail retrieved the spear from the ground and presented it to Mech. The cyborg’s metal jaw curved into a grin. “Oh man, I am liking this,” he said, then Splurt lowered both heads, twitched his kangaroo-like back legs, and charged.

Beneath the all-seeing gaze of Ikumordo on high, Mech drew back the spear, took aim, and so began what witnesses would later refer to as, ‘The Imperial Stadium Massacre.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Loren was kneeling on the floor, her head buried inside a terminal, her fingers rifling through a ridiculous number of wires. Cal stood behind her, offering the occasional word of encouragement, and trying not to look at her butt.

“Anything?”

Cal tore his eyes from Loren’s butt long enough to look at the screen. “No, still the same.”

“Fonk it!” Loren spat. She emerged from the tangle of wires and stood up, much to Cal’s disappointment. “Then I don’t know.”

Lily entered the bridge, a handheld scanning device in her hand. She had taken it from her Void rig – or possibly built it using bits of her Void rig, Cal wasn’t quite sure – and then vanished into the bowels of the ship with it.

“System shock,” she announced. “The Void can do that if the shielding isn’t properly configured. The systems depend on conventional physics to work, and here we’re shizz out of conventional physics.”

“But the Untitled’s shields are awesome,” Cal protested.

“The back door was literally open the whole time,” Lily pointed out. “The shields might be awesome, but only if they’re switched on.”

“Shizz, yeah, good point,” said Cal. “So you’re saying… What, exactly?”

“That we’re drifting,” said Lily. “That we’re drifting out of control through the Void.”

“But you can use the jumper things, right?” said Loren. “You can still jump us out of here.”

Lily shook her head. “No. Wait. Yes. Maybe.”

“Well, that covered all bases,” said Cal. “Good job.”

“The clamps need power, which they’d normally draw from the ship,” said Lily, pointedly ignoring him. “If we can somehow hook up the Void rigs, maybe we can use their power source to trigger the jump. No saying how far we’d get, or where we’d end up, but as long as we get out of here.”

“Agreed,” said Loren. “What can I do?”

Cal stepped between them. “Wait, wait, hold your horses,” he said. “What about the thing?”

Both women frowned. “What thing?” asked Lily.

“The thing. You know. The thing that’s supposed to be able to stop Ikumordo. It’s in the Void, right?”

Lily looked annoyed. “Again, it’s a legend. Also again, even if it wasn’t, it’d be impossible to find, and – making this point for the first time – we’re stuck aboard a lifeless ship drifting aimlessly, completely out of control. Even if it A, did exist, and B, we knew where it was, we’ve got no means of reaching it.”

Cal raised a finger and opened his mouth to speak, but Lily pre-empted it. “Void rigs are short distance only. They’ll barely have enough charge to jump us out of here, as it is. If we try going anywhere on those, we’re stuck here forever.”

There was a sniggering sound. Cal and Lily both looked at Loren.

“Something funny there, Loren?” Cal asked.

Loren blinked. “What?”

“No, it’s just Lily said we’d be stuck here forever and you, you know, laughed.”

“No, I didn’t,” said Loren.

The sniggering came again. Cal frowned for a moment, then raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Kevin, have I ever told you you’re a complete fonking shizznod?”

“Not in so many words, sir,” said Kevin, his voice positively giddy with the giggles.

Lily looked around for the voice. The warning text on screen vanished, and the blackness was replaced by a view of the Void. As it was also black, no one really noticed that bit.

“Just his little joke,” explained Cal.

“Just my little joke,” confirmed Kevin. “Oh, you should have seen your faces. Wait, you can!”

The darkness was replaced by a still image of the bridge. In it, Loren was on her knees, rummaging around in the circuitry.

“Hey, were you looking at my butt?”

“What? No!” said Cal. “That’s just the angle.”

He gestured for Kevin to remove the picture. After a moment, the darkness returned.

“OK, so this is good,” said Lily. “This is great. We can draw power from the ship to activate the clamps, and jump us out of here.”

“Or…” said Cal, jumping into his chair. “We could go find the thing.”

“For the third time, it’s a legend. There is no thing,” said Lily. “There never was a thing.”

“Kevin, how are your long range scanners doing?”

“Fine, sir, thanks for asking.”

“Good. Fire them up. Full sweep. Tell me if you see anything unusual.”

There was a moment of silence. Reams of data flooded the right side of the screen. “There’s quite a lot of unusual activity, sir,” said Kevin. “As with Ikumordo, my sensors are having difficulty figuring out what’s what.”

“Oh,” said Cal, deflating slightly. Lily’s expression turned from one of irritation to one of slightly smug irritation.

“Although…” began Kevin.

Cal straightened in his chair. “Yes?”

“I am picking up something specifically unusual, sir. Unusual in the sense that it’s unlike all the other unusualness surrounding it.”

“Aha!” said Cal. “What is it?”

“It’s, well, I’m not sure how best to describe it,” said Kevin. “I suppose you might say it’s a thing, sir. My sensors have detected a thing.”

Cal used his feet to whizz his chair around. He turned a full three-sixty, before stopping in front of Lily. “Oh snap!” he said. “Kevin done found us a thing!”

“Why are you talking like that?” asked Loren.

“I have no idea,” Cal admitted. “Kevin, plot us a course. Find us that thing!”

“Very good, sir,” said Kevin.

Lily shook her head. “There’s no point. Conventional physics, remember? He, or it, or whatever this thing is might be able to power on, but there’s no way it can—”

The Untitled eased forwards as the thrusters engaged, sending Lily staggering backwards. Cal caught her arm and held her while she got her balance back. On screen, the darkness shifted as the Untitled pressed onwards into the Void.

“No, that’s… This isn’t a Void ship,” Lily said. “How is this possible? It shouldn’t be moving. It can’t be moving.”

“It is,” said Loren, studying her console. “Impulse power, but moving.”

Lily shook her head again. “No. No, it isn’t.”

Cal licked a finger and held it up, as if testing the wind. “Pretty sure it is.”

“No, but It can’t be. It’s not possible. It’s not even theoretically possible. Well, no, it’s theoretically possible, but you’d need two entirely different drive systems, and unless they were occupying the same point in space and time, then…”

She ran her fingers through her hair and chewed her tongue. Cal remembered both moves from when she used to struggle with her homework all those years ago.

“I find it’s best not to worry about it,” Cal told her.

“Well I do worry about it,” said Lily. “Lives depend on me worrying about it. Maybe everyone’s life.”

Cal shrugged. “Fair enough,” he said. He unclipped his seatbelt, slapped his hands on his thighs, and stood up. “Then I know just the thing that’s going to help.”

* * *

Lily sat on a bench, peering in disbelief at the object on the table. “Is that what I think it is?”

Cal nodded. “In the flesh,” he said. “Well, not ‘flesh’, obviously, that would be disgusting.” He pushed the plate towards her. “Grandma’s banoffee pie.”

Lily brought her face closer to the pie and sniffed. “Oh, God, it smells just like it.”

“It is it,” said Cal. “Well, based on my taste buds, memories, and whatever can be figured out by sticking a probe up by nose. Here.” He passed her his home made fork. She turned it over in her hands, then looked at him, quizzically.

“Yeah, I had to make it myself. Turns out space isn’t big on forks.”

“Oh?” said Lily. She considered this for a few minutes. “What do they use?”

Cal shrugged. “All kinds of stuff. Sponges. I’ve eaten soup with a sponge. I’m not particularly proud of that fact.” He shrugged again. “Well, I’m a little bit proud.”

Lily rested the fork on top of the pie, hesitated as if scared to proceed, then carved off a chunk. She hesitated a second time with the piece of pie held just in front of her mouth, then she popped it in, closed her eyes, and chewed.

“Oh. Mm. Oh, wow.”

“I know, right?” said Cal. He smiled as he watched her dive right in for a second piece. “You always did love grandma’s baking. I mean… she always loved… I mean, you probably did, too, but I meant my…”

He abandoned the sentence, glanced down at the table to compose himself, then raised his eyes again. “Sorry, it’s just… This is hard. Amazing, don’t get me wrong. But hard.”

Lily swallowed the second piece of pie and nodded. “I know what you mean. It’s… weird. Sitting here. Like this. The accident, it took… everything. Well, I mean, I guess you’d know.”

“Ooh, yeah,” said Cal. He began tracing the contours of the table with a fingernail. “I was supposed to have been driving, but I stayed home. No real reason, I just… I stayed home. I’ve always wondered what might have happened, you know? Maybe they’d still be here.” He gestured around at the Untitled. “Well, probably not here.”

Lily set the fork down on the plate and slid the pie across the table. Cal looked at it for a few seconds, as if he had no idea what it was, then picked up the fork and began to eat.

“I’ve been all across the multi-verse looking for a Cal Carver like my dad,” Lily said. “You’re dead in a lot of universes. Like, a lot. You’ve been shot, blown up, drowned, executed by alien overlords, carried away by a giant moth…”

“Jesus,” said Cal, through a mouthful of pie. “Who’d want to shoot me?”

“Turns out, quite a number of people,” said Lily. “Moderate to high, even.”

Cal shoveled more pie into his face. “Still, giant moth sounds awesome.”

Lily nodded. “Yeah, can’t argue with that. But my point is, in at least one of those universes, you and your whole family – I mean, you know, us and our whole family, I guess – were killed in a car accident.”

She reached across the table and took back the pie before Cal could finish it all. “Maybe you would have made a difference. I mean somewhere, you did, because that’s just how the multi-verse works. But maybe your universe would have been one of those without a Cal Carver in it. And, from what I can gather, you’ve helped a lot of people.”

Cal nodded slowly, watching her finish off the rest of the pie. “Jesus. When did you get so wise?”

Lily shrugged. “I get it from my mom’s side.”

Cal grinned. “You can say that again.”

They sat in silence for a while, the table like a gulf between them, neither one knowing quite what to say. There was a question on Cal’s mind – Hell, there were a lot of questions on Cal’s mind. He wanted to know about school, about friends – boyfriends? – about her favorite things to do, the places she hung out, the life she’d gone on to live.

He wasn’t sure, though, if he was ready to hear the answers to all those little questions, so he asked the big question on his mind, instead.

“Why me?”

Lily frowned. “Huh?”

“I mean, you needed someone to volunteer their universe to Ikumordo. Why me?”

“Oh. Uh, well…” She sighed. “It sounds a bit… clinical. You were the one who had the least to lose. You know, wife dead, daughter dead, parents, other relatives, friends, acquaintances. Basically the whole of Earth dead.”

“I think we’ve established that,” said Cal. “Everyone dead. Got it. But that’s just Earth.”

“I didn’t consider the space thing,” said Lily. “I thought you’d gladly sacrifice a dead Earth to save all those people you knew on other Earths. It didn’t occur to me that you’d see the bigger picture, or whatever. The rest of the universe.”

Cal nodded for several seconds, processing this. “But you knew? You saw the bigger picture? You knew what you were asking me to sacrifice?”

Lily paused, just for a moment, but then continued. “Yes. I knew. But it’s like I said, the needs of the many.”

“You’d have killed the whole universe. I would have killed the whole universe.”

“Not us, Ikumordo. And not the whole universe, a whole universe,” Lily said. She pushed the plate aside, and the gulf between them seemed to widen. “Instead, thanks to your pointless bravado, it’s going to kill every universe. It’s going to end all existence everywhere. In what way is that a victory?”

“It isn’t,” said Cal.

“Exactly. It isn’t a victory, it’s—”

“No, I mean it isn’t going to kill every universe,” said Cal. “It’s not going to kill any universe. Because we’re going to stop it.” He raised his voice. “Kevin, how we doing on that thing?”

“I think we’re getting closer, sir, although it’s difficult to tell.”

“How long until we get there?”

“Ooh, tricky to say, sir.”

“Take a wild guess,” said Cal.

Kevin replied immediately. “Fifteen thousand years.”

A micro-expression of panic flashed across Cal’s face, then was gone. “Take a less wild guess.”

There were a few protracted moments of silence while Kevin calculated. “An hour or two, sir. Perhaps less, but possibly more.”

“OK. That’s more like it. Can you get a message to Mech?”

Lily tutted. “Of course he can’t, we’re in the Void.”

“Master Mech on the line now, sir,” said Kevin. The sentence was followed by a series of screams, the sound of gunfire, and the roar of something that might have been a rhinoceros.

“Good to hear from you, man, but now ain’t exactly a good time,” said Mech.

“Argh! My legs!” howled someone in the background.

Lily gaped up at the ceiling, where the sound was coming from. “No. It’s not. This is a trick. How is this…? No.”

“Where are you?” asked Cal. “Sounds like fun.”

“Yaaark! What the fonk is that thing? It’s got two heads!”

“Long story,” said Mech. He grunted, as if he’d just punched something very heavy, very hard. Which, as it just so happened, he had. “You?”

“We’re in the gap between universes,” said Cal. “Also a long story. We might have a lead on something that can stop Ikumordo, though. Can you keep it busy for us until we get back?”

“How the fonk are we supposed to keep it busy?” Mech demanded.

“It’s breathing fire! Jesus Christ!”

“You’ll think of something,” said Cal.

“Fine. I’ll think of something,” said Mech, although he didn’t sound best pleased about it. “How long you gonna be?”

“Probably a couple of hours,” said Cal. “But no more than fifteen thousand years, tops.”

Mech’s reply was drowned out by a brief staccato of gunfire, which was probably just as well.

“I’m with Loren. Is Miz with you?” Cal asked.

“No,” said Mech. “No, she’s… She’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Just gone, man. The darkness. The Void, or whatever, it pulled her in. It got her.”

Cal said nothing for quite a long time. He drummed his fingers on the table, staring up at the speaker, hoping Mech was about to pull one of Kevin’s ‘just my little joke’ tricks.

“Oh,” he said, when he realized Mech wasn’t going to do that. “Shizz. And Splurt?”

“He’s here. Some of the Carvers, too. Number Two, some of the others.”

“OK. OK, good,” said Cal. He closed his eyes and for a moment saw Miz scowling at him from the darkness. “Well, do what you can. We’ll be back soon.”

“Ish,” added Kevin.

“Get it off me! Get it off me! Oh God!”

“Will do,” said Mech. “Oh and, you know, take care of yourself, or whatever.”

Cal nodded. “You, too.”

There was another burst of gunfire, some more screams, and then the connection dropped. Lily looked from Cal to the ceiling and back again a number of times, her mouth trying to form a question, but unable to settle on which one. She decided to go wide.

“How?” she asked.

“How what?”

“We’re in the Void!”

“I know. You keep saying that.”

“But, I mean… How? You can’t just radio out of the Void. It’s impossible.”

Cal snorted. “I thought you were some kind of science whizz genius? Nothing’s impossible. Everyone knows that.”

“No, people who make stupid motivational posters know that,” said Lily. “Lots of things are impossible.” She looked up and raised her voice. “You. Ship. How did you do that?”

There was silence. Quite a deliberate silence, as if someone was making a point of not saying anything.

“Well? How did you do it? It must be a trick.”

“Sorry, is she talking to me?” Kevin asked.

“I think so,” said Cal. He turned to Lily. “His name’s Kevin, not ‘ship’. He’s not the ship. He just works here. He’s one of the crew.”

Lily regarded him as if he’d just claimed all Norwegians could fly. “Right,” she said, dragging the word out. “Well, Kevin, how did you do that?”

“Simple. I routed the transmission through those clamp things attached to the outside of the ship.”

“You jumped the audio feed?” Lily gasped. “That’s… I mean, I don’t know how you… That’s brilliant.”

“Yes, it was rather, isn’t it?” said Kevin. “It was all going so swimmingly for a while, but they seem to be non-responsive now.”

“They’re designed for short-term usage. One quick jump, then they need time to recharge,” Lily said. “Alternatively, you’ve broken them, and we’re going to be stuck here in the Void for the rest of our lives.” She met Cal and Loren’s horrified gazes. “But hopefully the first one,” she said, as reassuringly as she could.

“Being stuck here for the rest of our lives wouldn’t be so bad,” said Kevin.

“In what way wouldn’t that be bad?” Cal asked.

“I simply meant that the rest of your lives is unlikely to be a very long period of time, sir.”

The Untitled rocked as something detonated against the hull. “It appears we’re under attack.”

“What? That’s impossible!” said Lily.

“Nothing’s impossible,” Cal insisted, jumping to his feet.

“Yes, it is!”

“Who from?” asked Cal. “Who’s shooting at us?”

“That’s where it gets really rather intriguing, sir,” said Kevin. “It appears we’re shooting at ourselves.”

He waited for a few moments, before adding: “Bet you didn’t see that one coming, did you?”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“This’n must be our lucky day, boys,” said the voice in the fog. “Two delicious-looking gift baskets in the same hour, delivered unto us by the good Lord Himself.”

“Amen, Cletus,” sniggered another voice. “We gonna cook them all together, or save these ones for later?”

The first man – Cletus – cleared his nasal passages in a long, protracted series of snorts and grunts, then spat the wad onto the scorched Earth. “Them little ‘uns looks like they’d make mighty fine appetizers. Maybe we’n should roast us a few of those up, first, before we have us the main course.”

Old Man Carver raised his hands and gestured for the others to do the same. A couple of the Dwarves joined in, before the dirty looks this drew from the others made them lower their hands again.

Miz remained slouched on one hip, her arms folded indignantly.

“We don’t want any trouble,” said the old man. “Please, put down your guns.”

“Guns?” Cletus sneered. “Come on now, old timer, we don’t need guns.”

Old Man Carver shot Miz a meaningful look. Miz nodded. “Good to know,” she said, then she bounded into the ring of lights, claws and teeth glinting in the artificial glow.

“Sweet Mother of Christ!” squealed Cletus, barely reaching the exclamation point before his insides became his outsides, and his future became a thing of the past.

The Carvers pulled together in the circle as Miz did the rounds. Screams and wails began to come from all directions. A wild-eyed man with a beard to put the Dwarves’ to shame charged into the circle of light, arms flapping. A clawed hand caught him by the top of the head and wrenched him back into the shadows.

“No, oh no, oh no!” he cried, then he screamed, briefly, before something snapped with a loud, slightly damp-sounding pop, shutting him up. Permanently.

“Fit a fine quine ‘at is,” breathed Carver Eighty-Three, gazing into the darkness with something that hovered right on the border between admiration and lust. “Fit a fine, sturdy figure o’ a quine.”

A minute or so of spectacular violence later, Miz flicked the blood from her claws and tore open the back doors of one of the vehicles. It was a beat-up old truck with a variety of symbols painted amateurishly on the side and, more importantly, a variety of Cal Carvers all tied up in the back. They screamed when Miz appeared out of the ash-fog, gore dripping from her terrible jaws.

“Yeah, yeah,” she scowled, slicing through their bonds with her fingernails. “Maybe, like, a ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss.”

The Carvers hurried out of the truck, ran around in panicky circles, then were shepherded into the circle by Miz. They collided with the other Carvers already there, and there was a happy few moments while they enjoyed their reunion, before Old Man Carver opened another door.

“Right then,” he said. “Let’s see where this one goes.”

* * *

Mech leaned out through an energy door, looked around to make sure nothing was going to shoot him, then stepped all the way through. Number Two and the other Carvers followed, emerging into a lush green field fringed by trees.

Some sheep were grazing at the field’s far end. The animals looked in the direction of the newcomers, then one broke into a canter and began the long run towards them.

There was a clear view of the sky here, and the sight of Ikumordo sent little gasps of shock through the group. The orange space cloud had grown like a particularly malignant tumor, its fingers stretching almost all the way to the horizon in every direction, and plunging the world into a slightly ethereal shimmering shade.

“Well, this is nicer,” said one of the Carvers. “You know, apart from the big evil sky thing.”

“That does kind of spoil it,” agreed another. “Although no one’s trying to put spears through our heads, so that’s a bonus.”

The sheep was getting closer now. Another was running after it, wide-eyed with worry. This was not, though, an unusual look for a sheep, so no one took any notice. Besides, Ikumordo was doing a pretty good job of holding everyone’s attention.

“Cal wants us to keep it busy,” Mech said. “My Cal, I mean. No, not… The Cal from my Universe. Not my Cal. He ain’t my Cal.”

Splurt turned into a little hand, gave Mech a vaguely patronizing pat on the head, then went back to sitting on his shoulder.

“Looks like it’s already busy,” said Number Two.

Mech nodded. “I think, ideally, he meant keep it busy doing something else. But to do that, we’re gonna need ships.”

“My uncle runs a boat company,” said one of the Carvers. “Catamarans, mostly.”

Mech and Two both shot him withering looks.

“Oh,” said the Carver. “Not those kind of ships. Gotcha. You know, you should really add ‘space’ in front of things, so everyone’s clear.”

There was a general murmuring of agreement, which Mech immediately put a stop to.

“No! No. Ain’t happening. That is not a road I plan on walking down again any time soon.”

“Oh, OK. Sorry, uh, Mr Robot,” said a Carver.

“I ain’t a fonking robot!”

“Oh. Right. Are you sure? You look like a robot.”

There was more murmured agreement. Mech clenched his fists, but said nothing.

“I might know somewhere we can get ships,” began Number Two, but then the first sheep arrived, and everything kicked off.

“Oi!” it said. “What’s your game?”

Everyone who wasn’t Mech stared at the animal in surprise. Mech, who had no experience with sheep, and so didn’t appreciate how unusual it was to find a talking one, just regarded it blankly.

“Leave it, Duggie,” called the other sheep, who was still some way back.

“I thought I’d told you lot, already,” said Duggie, trotting to a stop in front of the Carvers. He was panting heavily from the effort of running all the way across the field. “Clear off. We don’t want your kind round here. You ain’t welcome.”

“Our kind?” said Number Two, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Two-Legs. Uprighters. You ain’t welcome. This is a closed field,” said Duggie, squinting menacingly. “Understand?”

“Just leave it, Duggie,” wheezed the other sheep. Unlike Duggie, this one sounded female. Her voice seemed to be about one jump-scare away from full-blown hysteria. “They ain’t worth it, babes.”

“Uh, everyone else is seeing this, right?” asked a Carver. “I’m not having a full-on mental breakdown, am I?”

“We see it,” confirmed Number Two.

“And they’re talking? Everyone can hear them talking?”

“Yeah, I herd them,” said a scruffy-haired Cal whose eyes, demeanor and general aroma suggested he was quite seriously stoned. “Get it? Herd, as in a herd of sheep.”

“It’s a flock of sheep. Herd of cows.”

“It can be a herd of sheep, too,” said Stoner Cal.

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Oh,” said the other Cal. “Then, you know, good job, I guess.”

They exchanged a high-five.

“So, what? Is that not normal?” asked Mech.

“No, they don’t usually talk,” said Two.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Duggie demanded. “Of course we talk. See my lips moving? Hear the words coming out? Good, then listen carefully. Get the fonk out of our field, and go back to where you came from.”

“Bit racist,” chipped in another of the Carvers.

“Oh-ho. Here we go. No, it’s not. I’m not racist,” Duggie snapped. “I ain’t racist, am I, sweetheart?”

“No, babes. You’ve got that black sheep friend.”

“Exactly! See? I ain’t racist. I’ve got nothing against your sort, nothing at all. But you don’t belong here. This is our field. You do what you like back in Two-Leg Land, or wherever, and good luck to you, but we don’t want you here, that’s all.”

“I dunno,” said Stoner Cal. “Ewe still sound kind of racist.”

“Nice,” said the Carver next to him. They exchanged another high-five.

Duggie’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. Had he not been a sheep, this would have been more noticeable.

“Right! Who said that?” he demanded. “Come on. Own up.”

“Just leave it, babes.”

Number Two stepped into Duggie’s path. Something about the man seemed to calm the raging sheep, mid-rant. The fact that Two, with his beard and his staff, had a bit of a ‘shepherdy’ sort of air about him probably didn’t hurt.

“Our apologies for the intrusion,” said Two. “We will be on our way momentarily.”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, I should think so.”

“But first,” said Two. “Am I right in thinking we’re not the first ‘Two-Legs’ to have come this way?”

“No! No, you most certainly ain’t. Some of them looked just like you lot, too.” Duggie nodded to Mech. “Well, not so much him, I suppose.”

“Although, to be fair, you all look a bit alike to us,” said the other sheep. “Though I don’t mean that in a racist way or nothing.”

Two bowed gratefully. “Thank you. I understand. If you’d be so kind as to point us in their direction, we’ll take them with us and leave you in peace.”

Duggie looked Two up and down, glanced at the others, then sighed. “I’ve got a baaaad feeling about you lot,” he said. Stoner Cal and the guy next to him exchanged another high-five. If Duggie noticed, he didn’t let on.

“But if it means getting rid of you all, I’ll take my chances. Come on,” he said, turning around. I’ll show you where they’re hiding.”

* * *

Cal jumped into his chair as an explosion rocked the Untitled, making its shields flicker. “What was that? Torpedo?”

“That was lightning,” said Loren. A second impact detonated against the underside of the ship, briefly lifting everyone out of their seats before the artificial gravity slammed them back down again. “That was a torpedo.”

“Technically, a missile,” Kevin corrected.

“OK, and – another question,” said Cal. “What the fonk is happening right now?”

Loren’s fingers swiped across her controls. Part of the screen changed to show a third-person perspective view of the Untitled.

“That’s us,” said Cal.

Loren shook her head. “No.”

Cal squinted at the screen. “I’m pretty sure that’s us.”

“No, it’s another us,” said Loren. More lightning tore across the darkness ahead of them, briefly painting the bridge in a deep purple hue.

Cal blinked a few times. “Which brings me back to what the fonk is happening?”

“Void echoes,” said Lily, leaning closer to the screen. “It’s… My dad had a theory about it, but there was no way of proving it. His work suggested the Void could create duplicates – echoes – of whatever’s inside it. Even my mom thought it was a bit of a stretch, but he was convinced.”

“Guess your old man knew a thing or two,” said Cal, far too proudly for someone who still had absolutely no idea what Lily was talking about.

A beam of cannon-fire slammed into the Untitled. “Shield integrity dropping,” said Kevin. “Also, we’re out of toilet paper in the bathroom, and all our weapons systems are offline.”

“What?!” Loren spluttered.

“Don’t worry, ma’am, we have more in the store cupboard.”

“More weapons?” asked Cal.

“More toilet paper.”

“Forget the fonking toilet paper!” Cal yelped, as another cannon-blast lit up the screen.

“Very well, sir,” said Kevin, sounding just a touch confused. “On your own head be it.”

“Why aren’t the guns working?” Loren demanded.

The ship shuddered as more lightning tore at it.

“And can you please start avoiding things that are trying to kill us?” Cal added.

“It’s the Void. Physics,” Lily explained, although her heart didn’t seem to be in it. “And yes, I know the engines are working, we can somehow radio into another dimension, and there’s another identical ship whose weapons are firing just fine, but literally none of that should be happening.” She sat back and folded her arms, said, “Physics,” again, only more emphatically this time, then shut up.

“One thing that might of be of interest,” Kevin began, before another bolt of the purple lightning licked across the darkness towards them and stabbed through the weakened shielding like a knife made of fire through – coincidentally - a sheet of toilet paper.

Kevin said, “Oof,” in a voice that managed to be both high and low-pitched at the same time. The speaker in the ceiling made a series of popping and clicking noises, then emitted a slow yet persistent hiss, like an air bed deflating.

“Kevin?” said Cal.

“Burrrr,” Kevin replied, then he fell silent.

“Kevin?” Cal waited for a response, then forced a laugh. “Just your little joke. Right?”

Silence.

“Right?”

More silence. If it was a joke, Kevin was really starting to push it.

“Kevin!”

Nothing.

Cal swung his seat towards Loren. “OK, I think we’re going to have to assume Kevin is unavailable right now. Loren, how are the controls looking?”

Loren gestured to the right-hand side of her terminal. It had been partially pieced back together, but still resembled the air-conditioning unit at a low-rent Turkish vacation resort. Bare copper wires dangled from the wound in the metal. Something blue dripped onto the floor.

“OK, so they’re looking fonking terrible. How are they working?” asked Cal.

Loren took hold of her joysticks. “Guess we’ll find out,” she said, as the echo ship banked around in front of them and lined itself up for an attack run.

“Can we call them?” asked Lily. “You know, get them on screen, or whatever? It’d be interesting to see what they look like.”

“Like us, presumably?” said Cal.

“Probably not exactly,” said Lily. “I mean, they’re echoes, but echoes aren’t the same as the original.”

“The ship’s different,” said Loren. “The lines of the hull are rougher. Look.”

Cal peered at the echo ship on screen. There was, as far as he could tell, nothing different about it whatsoever. “Oh yeah,” he said. “The lines of the hull.”

The echo ship’s weapons flared as it launched a photon missile. “Dive, dive!” Cal cried, then was thrown backwards in his seat as Loren heaved back on the stick. “Or go up. Whatever you think.”

The Untitled began what was to have been a complicated spiraling move. Everything went well until Loren discovered the flap control lever she needed to complete the spin was lying on the floor at her feet.

The missile hammered against the underside of the Untitled, flooding the screen with lines of angry red text. “Shield integrity at… is that an eight or a zero?” Cal asked.

Lily leaned forwards in her chair and squinted. Because there was so much text to fit in the display at once, each line was stupidly small.

“Eight. No, zero.”

“Fonk. Thought so,” said Cal. “Shield integrity at zero. Nice job, Loren.”

“It’s not my fault!”

“You know, it actually would have been helpful if you’d crashed into it this time.”

“We should hail them,” said Lily.

Loren slammed her stick to the left, sending the Untitled into a balletic sideways dive. “Then hail them!” she barked. “You’ve got the buttons right there.”

Lily looked down at the controls on her arm rest. There were dozens of tiny square buttons, a number of switches and dials, and a seven-inch touch screen set to portrait mode.

“What do I do?” she asked.

“You see a button marked ‘Hail’?” Cal asked.

Lily scanned the controls. “No.”

“Oh,” said Cal. He shrugged. “Then I’m out of ideas. We should probably get a button like that fitted.”

Cannon fire stabbed towards them. Loren jerked the ship right, tilting the wings just enough for the fiery-death beam to scorch past them.

“You know, assuming we survive,” Cal added.

“They’re hailing us,” said Loren, indicating an incoming transmission icon on screen.

Lily looked from the controls to the icon and back again. “What do I do?”

“You see a button marked, ‘Answer’?”

Lily shook her head. “No.”

“Again. We should look into one of those,” said Cal. “Kevin, add those buttons to the To Do list. Oh, shizz, I forgot,” he muttered, remembering Kevin wasn’t currently responsive. “Never mind,” he said, raising his voice again. “Forget I said anything.”

Lily tapped an icon on her touch screen. The top right of the main screen changed to show three leering figures, all bunched together in front of the camera. They were pale and waxy-looking, their skin glistening and wet.

“Wait, is that supposed to be me?” said Cal. “It looks like someone sculpted Ted Danson out of butter.”

“He means, ‘Hi there,’” said Loren. “We come in peace, don’t shoot.”

“I look nothing like Ted Danson.”

The Echoes sniggered and rocked back and forth with excitement, their eyes bulging, drool oozing down over their chins. The Cal Echo raised a middle finger to the screen, and the sniggering became louder.

“OK, so that’s just immature,” Cal said. He frowned. “Wait, what’s he doing?”

The duplicate – to use the term loosely - had stepped back from the screen, and was hastily fiddling with the clasp of his belt. “Is he…? Are you taking your junk out?” Cal asked. “We don’t want to see this. Lily?”

“No, I definitely don’t want to see it.”

“I mean, can you cut the feed? Quickly.”

Lily tapped at the controls. “How do I…? I don’t know how to cut it off.”

“Well figure it out!” Cal said. “I don’t want to see…” He winced. “Oh. No, there it is. There it is. Jesus.”

He turned away from the screen, but found himself going back for another look. “That’s not right. That is not right. Lily, can we…?”

“I’m trying!”

“Is there a button marked, ‘End Transmission’?”

“No!”

“Holy shizz, what is it with these controls?!” Cal griped. He gestured to the Echoes on screen. The waxy-faced Loren and Lily were both giggling and clapping in delight as Echo Cal twisted his hips quickly from side to side, flapping his junk around.

“God, it’s like it’s waving at me,” said Cal. He looked at his hand and realized he was waving back. He quickly snapped his arm down again. “Get rid of it!”

Lily mashed her hands against the controls. The image zoomed in.

“Jesus Christ, it’s going to have my eye out in a minute,” said Cal.

Lily jabbed at a few more buttons.

“I swear, if that puts it into 3D…”

The screen went dark. Cal breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you. Finally!” he said. “Oh, and by the way, in case anyone’s wondering, mine’s bigger.”

He met Lily’s eye. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed.

“I mean… I’m assuming you weren’t wondering that?”

Lily shook her head. “No.”

“For the record, I’m not wondering that either,” said Loren.

On screen, the echo Untitled began charging weapons. “They’re getting ready to fire. Shields still down. We can’t take another hit.”

“Get us out of here,” Cal urged.

“No time. Missile lock. They’re firing.”

A ball of photon energy spat from the echo ship’s weapons. Cal, Loren and Lily all watched, helplessly, as it streaked across the void towards them.

Stretching out, Cal reached a hand across the gap to Lily. To his surprise, she took it. He looked at their interlocked fingers, then met her eye.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked.

And then the light of the missile filled the screen, and everything in Cal’s world turned red.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Miz plodded ahead through another door. She was, if she were being honest, getting pretty sick and tired of plodding ahead through other doors, and she was having some pretty serious doubts about whether Old Man Carver knew what he was doing.

After fighting – and partly eating - the rednecks on the ash-world, they’d moved on somewhere else, only for some shizznod with a tazer to attack her. Needless to say, it didn’t go very well for the guy, but with armed back-up coming in, Carver Twenty-Seven had quickly opened another doorway for them to escape through.

Since then, Miz had dealt with an angry torch-wielding mob, a handful of ninjas, and some sort of steampunk ‘Robo-Hitler’ that had been determined to pull her tail off.

They’d passed through nine or ten other Earths so far, and had found more of the missing Carvers on around half of them. The group was almost forty Cals strong now, and keeping track of them all was proving increasingly difficult. The fact they had picked up a variety of stragglers from the various Earths wasn’t making things any more manageable either. Between grateful Dwarves, awestruck ninjas and a handful of people fleeing the Third Reich, Miz was amassing quite a following.

There was no one waiting on the next Earth, though. In fact, not just no one, but nothing. The ground was a crudely-fashioned chunk of black rock with nothing growing as far as the eye could see. The air tasted thin and bitter, and left a dryness snagged at the back of Miz’s throat.

She plodded on, making room for the others to come through, and gazed up at Ikumordo. There was something different about the big orange space cloud now, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

He was a little bigger, but then he was growing by the second, so he was a little bigger every time she looked up.

“Well, this looks charming,” said Old Man Carver, hobbling through the energy door with the rest of the mob close behind.

Miz ignored him and continued to study Ikumordo. It was still huge, still orange, still a cloud. The sparkly bits floating around inside it were still sparkling, just as they always had been.

But there was something…

“Hey. What we lookin’ at?” asked Mech, stepping up beside her.

“Is it just me, or is there something weird about…?” Miz began, before her head snapped round and her face lit up. “Mech?!” she exclaimed. She threw her arms around him and they hugged. Splurt joined in, wrapping a long tendril around both of them, and squeezing.

After a moment, Miz pulled away and quickly dialed down her enthusiasm. “I mean, like, where did you come from?”

Mech grinned and jabbed a thumb back towards a second energy door that had just appeared. Carver Two and a variety of other Cals were shuffling through it, and some of the Carvers from Miz’s group were hurrying over to greet them.

“Long story. But let’s just say, I have seen some crazy shizz in the past hour or so,” said Mech. He looked Miz up and down, his grin widening. “I thought you was dead,” said Mech. “I thought you got sucked into the Void. I mean, I saw you.”

“Yeah, well. That, like, door or whatever, was right beside me when I fell. I managed to jump through it, then ended up in some, like, forest somewhere with some of those guys. We’ve been portal jumping or, I don’t know, whatever you call it, ever since.”

“Oh? You see any fonked up shizz?”

“Totally,” said Miz. “So weird. I swear, I have no idea how any of these guys have managed to survive for so long. Between all the stuff that wants to kill them, and most of them being, you know, like completely useless?”

“I hear you,” Mech said. “We had to save a bunch from some sheep.”

“What are sheep?” asked Miz.

Mech shrugged. “Fonk knows, but if you ask me, they seem kinda racist.”

Miz gestured up to the sky. “Does it seem different to you?”

Craning his neck back, Mech looked up at the shimmering orange formlessness of Ikumordo. “Bigger. Definitely bigger.”

“No,” said Miz, shaking her head. “I mean, yeah, but it’s not that. There’s something…”

She clicked her fingers. “Wait. It’s not that thing that’s different, it’s the sky. It’s black. It’s been daytime everywhere else, but it’s night time now, and—”

“And where are the stars?” said Mech. “There ain’t no stars.”

“Exactly,” said Miz. A terrible thought struck her. “You think, like, it’s already eaten them?”

Carver Two joined them. “From what we can gather, they were never there,” he said. “Not all universes developed. There are those where only a handful of stars and planets were formed. We use this one as a sort of… safe space, where there is nothing to attack us, or cause us harm.”

Mech pointed upwards.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Except Ikumordo the All Death, obviously,” Two conceded. “But that isn’t usually there.”

Mech and Miz both stared into the darkness for a while, mind-boggled by the emptiness of it all. Pretty soon, though, Miz had had enough.

“OK, so that got boring,” she said, looking away from the empty universe. “You hear anything from Cal?”

“I did,” said Mech. “He’s safe. I think. He wants us to keep that thing busy.”

Miz’s furry brow furrowed. “How are we supposed to do that? It’s up there and we’re down here.”

“I know someone who may be able to help,” said Number Two. “But, well, there’s a possibility that you’re not going to like it.”

A slightly mischievous smirk tugged at his mouth as he turned to Mech. Even with the beard, it was the most Cal-like he had ever looked. “Especially you, I think.”

* * *

Cal opened one eye. Everything was still red, so he closed it again.

Some time passed.

He was alive. At least, he assumed so. He pinched his leg, a little harder than he’d intended. It hurt. If a lifetime of watching Hollywood movies had taught him anything, it had taught him that this meant he was both alive, and not currently dreaming.

He thought this was probably good news, but didn’t want to commit to that conclusion quite yet.

Some more time passed.

“Why do you have your eyes shut?” asked Loren.

So, Loren was alive, too. Good for her.

Cal opened the other eye this time. He thought it probably best to give the first one a break. Loren was looking back over her shoulder at him. Lily was sitting in her chair, gazing ahead at the screen, also alive.

Yay.

The situation was better than he had feared. Everything seemed to be OK. Everything was going fine.

Everything, to quote the soundtrack of Cal’s third favorite movie of all time, was awesome.

Or almost. The screen was a bit of a worry. It was red. No, not red, reds. A crescendo of cherries and crimsons, berries and blush, sangrias and scarlets danced and spiraled across the viewscreen. It was as if someone had taken Beethoven’s Fifth – or possibly the theme to the Lego Movie, it was difficult to tell – and converted each note into a shade of red, before blasting it out through the universe’s most powerful PA system.

The Untitled sailed soundlessly through the noisy colors, as if flying along an impossibly-long tunnel. It was equally possible, however, that the Untitled wasn’t actually moving at all, and that all the ruby redness was somehow washing over it, instead.

“Ooh, that’s pretty,” said Cal. “What is it?”

Loren shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Well, thanks for that,” said Cal. “Really useful to get your input there, Loren.”

He wished Miz were here to helpfully point out that he was being sarcastic, then realized he hadn’t yet broken the news to Loren. Loren and Mizette’s relationship was both complex and simple at the same time. Simple because they both hated each other, yet complex because they very occasionally, when the circumstances were just right, didn’t.

He turned his chair to his daugh— to Lily. Her face was a flickering series of reds and pinks, her eyes mesmerized by the spiral of color.

As Cal watched her, he remembered Disneyworld. Not the bug-infested zombie town it had been on his last visit, but years before. How old was she then? Four? Five, maybe? The look on her face during those fireworks was exactly the same as the one fixed there now.

“Hey, kiddo,” Cal said. He said it softly, but it snapped her out of her trance as if he’d shaken her by the shoulders. He gestured to the screen. “Any ideas?”

“What? Uh. Oh. No. Not really,” Lily admitted. “It’s… I don’t know. A fold in the Void, maybe.”

“Pity Kevin’s down,” said Loren. “He could have run an analysis.”

“What, and then come up totally blank?” said Cal. “It’s fine, I can do that.”

They watched the swirling patterns for a while.

Cal drummed out a beat on his arm rests with his fingers. He made it through the first couple of verses of Queen’s ‘We Will Rock You,’ before getting bored.

“So, I kind of had my eyes shut for a while back there. Did we get shot?” he asked. “Could we be dead?”

“No,” said Loren.

“You sure? This could be a tunnel to the afterlife,” said Cal. “Although, I’ll be honest, the color is a little worrying, if so.”

“The missile didn’t hit,” said Loren. “This…” - she gestured vaguely at the screen - “appeared right before impact.”

“OK. That’s a relief. I was five seconds away from confessing all my sins and renouncing Satan,” said Cal. He thought about what Loren had said. “So, what are you saying? This thing saved us? We were rescued by the color red?”

“Well, I’m not sure I’d put it exactly like that,” said Loren. “But yes. Basically. We were going to be blown up, then this thing pulled us in. Or wrapped around us. Or… I don’t know what it’s doing. Controls are non-responsive, instruments are all down. I… Oh.”

“Good ‘oh’ or bad ‘oh’?” asked Cal.

“The instruments are back,” said Loren, swiping her fingers across a touch screen as lots of little lights illuminated on her console. “Still no control, but I’m getting readouts.”

“What do they say?” asked Lily, before Cal could ask the same thing.

“Uh, that we’re moving, I think,” said Loren. “Wait, there’s some sort of analysis running. Sensors are gathering data.”

“Did you do that?” asked Cal. Loren shook her head. “Then who did?”

Loren’s touch screen changed. “Scan results coming through,” she said. Then: “Uh… OK.”

“What? What’s ‘OK’?” Cal asked. “What does it say? What does the scan tell us?”

Loren smirked. “See for yourself,” she said, tapping her screen. The left third of the main screen changed to show the scan results. To call the analysis concise would be generous. It was five words. Cal read them aloud.

“It’s a big red thing,” he said.

Cal didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Oh, for f— Kevin? Have you been pretending to be dead this whole time?”

The text on screen vanished, then was replaced by more.

No, sir. Was offline. Rerooting systems to compensate for damage. With you in a sec, the text said, before it backspaced most of the sentence so it could correct the typo in ‘rerouting’.

Cal wasn’t entirely convinced, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Good to have you back, buddy,” he said. “Anything you can tell us about this thing – you know, besides size and color, which we’re already up to speed with – would be awesome.”

Will do, came the onscreen reply, then the Untitled decelerated rapidly and the swirling redness became nothing but Voidy black again.

Oh. It’s gone, said the text. Bugger.

“Um, uh, no,” said Loren. “Not gone. Definitely not gone.”

She flipped a switch on her console. The screen changed to show another view of the Void. The redness they had just emerged from was there. It was a tunnel, but wriggling violently like a worm on a hook.

On any other day, it would definitely be the most interesting thing going on, and by quite a large margin. Right now, though, there was something that made even a thrashing dimensional rift-worm fade into the background.

Something big.

Something orange.

Something that filled the Void in several directions, it’s misty, vaporous bulk undulating in a rhythmic pattern as it grew.

For a few brief, panicky moments, Cal’s brain tried to reason that it might not be what Cal thought it was. It could, for example, be…

But that was where it came up short. There was no denying it. No escaping it. There was only one thing this could be.

Ikumordo.

The All Death was here.

The All Death was waiting.

“Oh, well,” said Cal, forcing a smile. “Out of the frying pan…”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Mech stood in a busy city plaza, looking around in disbelief.

This was Earth. He knew that. And yet, it was more familiar than any Earth they’d been to before. It felt like a bustling spaceport, with people from a broad range of planets and sectors all going about their business.

Considering that a huge cyborg, and an only-marginally-less-huge wolf-woman, had stepped from a glowing white rectangle in the middle of the plaza - accompanied by a horde of other folks Mech would generously describe as ‘not exactly normal’ (and less generously as ‘a fonkload of weirdoes’) - nobody seemed even the least bit surprised. The pedestrians strolling by barely batted an eyelid as more and more Carvers filed out of the doorway, and instead simply adjusted their route to avoid bumping into anyone.

Ikumordo filled the sky here, too, and while a few people shot it the occasional glance, most of them paid it very little heed.

It felt… modern. No, not modern. Mech shuddered as he thought the words: Space modern. His knowledge of Earth architecture was admittedly limited, but he didn’t think all the smooth curves and pod-like buildings were normal for this part of the galaxy.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Earth, naturally,” said Two, shepherding some of the other Carvers and a couple of ninjas away from the door so that others could come through.

“Yeah, I know. I mean… I don’t know what I mean,” Mech admitted. He gazed up at the smooth glass constructions around them. A couple of sleek yellow cars flew between the towers, scrolling LED signs on the underside of their chassis identifying them as taxi cabs.

A ten-story hologram of a scantily-clad woman gyrated across the face of one of the buildings. Mech watched her until she froze in place, smiling benevolently out at the world like some kindly goddess. The words, ‘Celebrity Dance-Off: USA,’ appeared, followed by some details on where and when to watch it.

It was the ‘where’ part that caught Mech’s attention. His blood ran cold, but as he had barely a teaspoon of the stuff in his entire body, he didn’t really notice.

“What the fonk?” he muttered.

“What’s up?” asked Miz. Mech gestured up to the side of the building.

“Tonight, 8pm, CST – whatever the fonk that means,” Mech read. “Only on Zertex Family.”

“Zertex?” Miz spat. The fur on her collar rose all on its own. She glanced around, suddenly on high-alert. “So… what? Like, Zertex runs Earth in this dimension?”

“Something like that,” said Two. His lips moved silently as he finished a head count. “Right, all here. We seem to have picked up a few more, actually. Still, the more the merrier, I suppose.”

Two turned and began to walk across the plaza, but Mech stepped into his path. “Wait, wait, hold up,” he said. “Zertex?”

“Yes?”

“The Zertex Corporation? The fonking Zertex Corporation?”

“What about it?” asked Two.

Miz joined Mech, forming one of the most terrifying blockades in the history of anywhere. “They’re, like, totally the bad guys.”

Two smiled. “Well, now,” he said. “That really depends on your point of view, doesn’t it? We’re all the ‘bad guys’ in someone else’s story.”

“They’re the bad guys in everyone else’s story,” said Mech. “They want to conquer and take control of the whole fonking galaxy.”

He gestured around them, just as two men in Zertex uniforms strolled around a corner, side by side. “Looks like they’ve got their hooks into Earth.”

Number Two nodded. “Yes. Yes, it does look that way, doesn’t it?” he said. “Although, there’s another way to look at it, too.”

He leaned in closer, placed the back of his hand to his mouth and spoke in a stage-whisper. “What if Earth has got its hooks into Zertex?”

Two winked, pushed his mouth all the way through ‘smile’ and into ‘broad grin’ territory, then stepped past Mech and Miz, and made a bee-line for the officers.

“Come on,” he urged. “This way.”

He marched towards the Zertex men, his staff clunking against the ground with every step. Mech and Miz hesitated, but then set off after him, with the flock of Carvers and company following on behind.

The officers first looked puzzled, then looked concerned as the crowd approached. One of them frantically tried to finish chewing the donut he was eating, before forcing it down with, judging by his expression, quite a painful gulp.

“Hello there!” called Two, beaming through his beard at them. “I wonder if you two gentlemen might tell us where to find the president?”

Mech’s fingers balled into fists. “Sinclair,” he growled.

Two and the Zertex officers all shared a look of confusion. “Who?” said Two.

“Sinclair,” Mech repeated. “President Sinclair.”

“Never heard of him,” said one of the officers.

Mech and Miz exchanged a glance. “Then, like, who’s the president?”

Carver Two opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. He gestured with his staff to the building with the holographic billboard. It was advertising another of Zertex Family’s shows – ‘The Pres Report’. The president himself was currently turning to the camera. Everyone watched as he winked and pointed finger guns out at the viewer.

Miz’s jaw dropped. “O. M. G. Like, seriously?”

“You have got to be fonking kidding me,” Mech groaned.

There, standing fifty feet high, with a grin twelve feet wide, was Cal Carver, president of the galaxy.

* * *

President Cal Carver glided across the courtyard on his hoverscooter, weaving and dodging around a number of imaginary obstacles. His personal advisor – the person he trusted more than almost anyone else in the galaxy – trotted along beside him, trying to keep up and, occasionally, leaping sideways to avoid injury.

“So, what, they just demanded to see me?” said the president. “And you said yes? Don’t people demand to see me every day?”

“These were… different. I thought they were worth meeting. You’ll see why,” the advisor replied. “And, no, not every day. Every few weeks, maybe.”

The president wrinkled his nose. “Every few weeks? Jesus. I thought I was more popular than that.”

“Oh, no, you are. Inexplicably,” said the advisor. “People make requests to see you every day. They… well, let’s just say they request you to do a lot of things. Things that the First Lady wouldn’t be very likely to approve of. But the demands – the actual, ‘We demand to see the president!’ stuff, that’s down to about once every few weeks.”

President Carver smiled as he jumped a make-believe river of lava. “God, I love it when you do the voices. You should have been an actor.”

“Ha! In another life, maybe,” the advisor said. “I mean, if I wasn’t here, who’d help get you dressed in the morning?”

“Good point, well made,” said the president. He turned to his right-hand man and his smile broadened. “Oh, Tobey Maguire. What would I do without you?”

* * *

Mech, Miz and Carver Two stood in a cavernous dining hall, staring expectantly at a set of double-doors directly ahead of them. Between them and the door was a leather spinny chair and a bright red desk. Between them and the desk was forty feet of empty space and a dozen armed guards.

The Carver Council stood further back, with the stragglers they’d picked up on their journeys across the multi-verse standing further back, still. There had been some excited whispering for a while, but the acoustics of the hall amplified it, so it had eventually descended into an awkward silence.

That had been fifteen minutes ago, and there was still no sign of the president.

One of the Carvers near the back decided to pipe up. “I spy, with my little eye…”

Carver Two turned and glared back. The Carver’s voice became a nervous croak.

“An angry bearded man,” he whispered.

Silence returned.

Mech tapped a foot, impatiently. Miz slouched on one hip, studying her claws.

“Always fonking late,” Mech muttered. “And what’s he doing living in a fonking castle, anyway? He’s the president of the galaxy, not the king of space.”

“Pretty cool castle, though,” said Miz, shrugging. “You know, with the big face, and the door in the mouth, and everything. I like it.”

“It’s insane,” said Mech.

“The castle?”

“The whole thing! I mean, how come he’s president of the galaxy? How the fonk did that happen? The man can’t go four light years without throwing up into a shoe.”

Miz shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess maybe he’s different.”

“Holy fonking shizz, is that guy a robot?” asked the president, as he threw open the double doors. “Awesome! I love robots.”

Mech shot Miz a sideways look. Miz shrugged again. “Or, you know, maybe he isn’t.”

“I ain’t a robot,” Mech said.

President Carver slid into his chair, spun it fully in a circle, then leaned his elbows on the desk. He looked pretty much exactly like the Cal Mech knew and barely tolerated, but maybe a decade older. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“It’s just—”

“I’m sure.”

The president nodded. “Right. Well, I mean, I guess you’d know, right?” His eyes narrowed. “Quick question. Can you define ‘love’?”

Mech frowned. “What?”

Cal banged his hands on the desk and stood up. “Answer the question! Can you define ‘love’?”

“Uh, no.”

“Aha!” said the president. He sat down, smiling proudly. “That’s exactly what a robot would say.”

“Can you?” asked Mech.

“Can I what?”

“Define ‘love’?”

President Carver opened his mouth, frowned, then closed it again.

“Touché.”

Mech shot Miz a look. “Yeah, it’s him, OK.”

The president hammered a drumbeat on the desk, then leaned back in his chair. “So, anyway, welcome to Castle Grayskull, official residence of yadda-yadda-yadda. Tobey Maguire tells me you wanted to talk to me. I’ll be honest, I’m a busy man, and we’ve got a lot on today, right?”

He turned in his chair to look at Tobey Maguire, who shrugged. “Not particularly. Unless you count the bouncy castle.”

“Always count the bouncy castle, Tobey Maguire. That’s, like, rule number one.” He turned his chair back to the front. “So, as you can see, packed schedule, time’s ticking, all that stuff. Who wants to start?”

Carver Two stepped forwards. “President Carver, what I am about to tell you, you may find hard to believe.”

“You’d be surprised,” said the president. “I have seen some pretty crazy shizz. One time, there was this volcano, and… Know what? Doesn’t matter. Continue.”

“I – we – have traveled here from all across the multi-verse to seek your help. Ikumordo, the All Death, approaches. He intends to consume your universe. All universes, in fact. And we believe he is going to begin with Earth.”

“All Earths,” Mech added. “Across all dimensions.”

“Who’s Ikumordo?” asked the president.

“Uh, the fonking enormous orange cloud filling the sky,” said Mech. “Maybe you noticed it?”

The president frowned. “What, the big weird space thing? Is that what that is?”

Carver Two nodded. “Ikumordo. The All Death.”

“And that’s bad?”

Mech snorted. “It’s called the fonking All Death. What do you think?”

President Carver turned his grin up a notch. “I like you. I like him,” he said, turning to Tobey Maguire. “We should get one. Take a note – buy a robot. We’ll have adventures together. I’ll call him Roboto. No, wait! Roboto Two, just to confuse people.”

Tobey Maguire pretended to take a note. “Done,” he lied.

“Excellent!” said the president. He faced his guests again. “So why come to me? What can I do?”

“You have ships,” Carver Two said. “Fighters. You can engage Ikumordo. We have instructions to keep it occupied until another of our group can return. He believes he can acquire a weapon with which we can destroy the All Death. Permanently. We just need to buy him some time.”

Cal turned slowly from side to side in his chair. “So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you’ve come from, like, parallel universes or something so you could ask me to help fight a big weird space thing that’s going to destroy… what? Everything everywhere?”

“Pretty much,” said Two. “And yes, that’s more or less the size of it.”

“And you expect me to believe that?” the president asked. He held up his hands. “Because I absolutely do, by the way.”

“You do?” asked Miz, taken aback. “Like, just like that?”

“What can I say? I’m a trusting guy.” He pointed to Carver Two, then the group behind. “Also, that guy and, like, eighty per cent of the rest of you all have my face, so it’s either the alternate universe thing, or I’m about to be hit with the biggest paternity suit in history. For the sake of my sanity, my bank balance and my marriage, I’m going with Option A.”

Carver Two could barely contain his relief. He sighed, and for the first time since Mech had met him, he seemed to shrink a little, as if the stress had inflated him, somehow, and by abdicating some of it to someone else, he’d returned to his normal size.

“Then you’ll help us?” Two said.

President Carver made a weighing motion with his hands. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to. But, well, the galaxy has been at peace for...”

He clicked his fingers.

“Eleven years,” said Tobey Maguire.

“For eleven years. We don’t have many fighter ships left. Nothing that could take on a big weird space thing, anyway.”

He leaned back. “Unless… No. No, not that. She’d never go for it.”

“Not what?” asked Mech.

“Nothing. Forget I said anything,” said the president. “There is one ship, but my wife would never allow it. She can be pretty protective. Right, Tobey Maguire?”

“She can,” Tobey Maguire confirmed.

Mech clenched his jaw. “If we don’t stop that thing, there ain’t gonna be nothin’ to be protective of. Everything’s going to be gone. Your ship. Your castle. Your wife. All gone, along with everything else you ever cared about.”

President Carver raised an eyebrow. “Everything?”

“Everything,” confirmed Carver Two.

The president rocked in his chair, nodding in contemplation. He looked to his advisor for guidance. “What do you think, Tobey Maguire? Be honest.”

Tobey Maguire shrugged. “If what they’re saying is true, then I think we have to get involved, don’t we? You’re the president of the galaxy. You wield great power. And with that great power comes great responsibility.”

President Carver cocked his head to the side and blinked several times. “Holy shizz,” he said, after a pause. “That’s, like, the wisest thing you’ve ever said. Well, maybe second after that thing about putting my tongue in the blender.”

“Thank you.”

“Seriously, it’s like you were fonking born to deliver that line. Good job.”

The president slapped his hands on the desk and stood up. “OK, Tobey Maguire, tell the First Lady we need the ship. Send out a distress signal to anyone who’ll listen. Do a stock-check on whatever other resources we have available to fight this thing – fighters, pilots, really big guns, pointy rocks, whatever.”

Tobey Maguire clicked his heels together smartly. “Will do.”

“And don’t do that again, you look like a Nazi.”

“Right you are. Not sure why I did it in the first place, to be honest,” Tobey Maguire admitted. “I’ll just be off.”

President Carver caught his advisor by the arm before he could turn away. “Oh, and one more thing - make sure my Murder, She Wrote box sets get locked in the vault. You know, just in case. Actually, wait.”

He turned back to Mech and the others. “When you say everything will get destroyed, would that include my vault?”

“Yeah, man. Everything.”

The president looked to his assistant again. “Shizz. OK. Forget Murder, She Wrote.” A pained expression flitted across his face. “Jesus, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear myself say. Just go do that other stuff. We’ll head out to the landing pad and meet you there.”

Tobey Maguire glanced deliberately at Mech’s group. “Are you sure you can trust them?”

“Look at those faces,” said President Carver. “If I can’t trust them, who the fonk can I trust? Also,” he added, “I’ve got fifty armed guards, two and a half weeks of karate training, and a blaster tucked into my sock. Pretty sure I’ll be fine.”

Tobey Maguire shot the guests another wary look, but then nodded. “Whatever you say. Just be careful.”

“Hey, aren’t I always?” said the president, grinning from ear to ear. He waited until Tobey Maguire had left, then turned and stage-whispered to everyone else in the room. “I’m totally not,” he said. “Now come on, everyone follow me. Let’s see if we can’t shove this big weird space thing right up its own shizzpipe.”

* * *

Mech felt… something as the president’s ship descended towards the pad, its landing thrusters flaring in bursts of blue. He wasn’t sure what he felt, exactly, but something. Definitely something. Splurt felt it, too, judging by the way he began pulsing excitedly up and down on the cyborg’s shoulder.

The landing pad itself was out back of Castle Grayskull. Quite some distance out back. It had taken a full ten minutes of walking before they’d reached the landing area. The pad itself was, Mech couldn’t help but notice, conspicuously bare, with no control towers, relay antennae, or anything else of note surrounding it.

The ship tilted left a fraction as it descended, and began to swing wide of the pad. President Carver tapped a button on his jacket and spoke calmly, but urgently. “Going a little wide there, honey. Go right. Right. Little more right. Little more right. Tiny bit more right. OK, now a lot more right. No, your right, not… Oh, fonk it, everyone get down!”

Mech, Miz, the Carvers, the Zertex guards, and assorted Dwarves and ninjas all scattered as the ship overshot the landing pad, its fiery blue thrusters scorching the ground around it. It finally crunched down with a crash and a crack and a long, drawn-out screech of metal on metal, then fell ominously silent.

President Carver stepped out from behind a guard. “Phew,” he said, then he ducked again when a hiss of steam billowed from the back of the ship.

The president waited a few seconds to make sure nothing else was going to happen, then stood up for a second time. He dusted himself down, and flashed a grin at the assembled audience. “Roboto, sexy Chewbacca, assorted mes,” he said, nodding to Mech, Miz and the Carvers in turn. “Allow me to introduce you to my ship. Meet the Shatner.”

The landing hatch dropped open, revealing a woman with pale blue skin, serious eyebrows, and a very prominent baby bump.

Miz whistled quietly through her teeth.

“And also, more importantly, my wife,” the president continued. He spun on his heels to face the First Lady. “Loren, honey, you are not going to believe the morning I’ve had.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Aboard the Currently Untitled, Cal was staring blankly at the vast fog on the viewscreen. He was holding his breath. He only noticed because his head was going light, and he forced his lungs back to work just before he passed out and fell off the chair.

Ikumordo spread out before them, bigger than ever before. The nothingness of the Void made it hard to judge size with any degree of accuracy, but Cal was prepared to go out on a limb and say this thing was fonking huge. It didn’t appear to be doing very much of anything at the moment, but it was almost certainly only a matter of time before it violently killed them all – an outcome Cal was keen to avoid, if possible.

“OK, any ideas?” he asked. Cal tick-tocked his head towards both Loren and Lily, but his eyes refused to budge from the big orange cloud on screen. “Anyone? Anything at all? Because I am wide open to suggestions here.”

“La-la-la-laaaa!” sang Kevin, with a suddenness that made all three occupants of the bridge jump and cry out in fright. “There, that all seems to be working now.”

“Jesus Christ, Kevin!” Cal hissed. “I swear to God, you almost killed me.”

“Apologies, sir,” Kevin intoned. “Ooh, I say. Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s Ikumordo,” said Loren. “It’s the thing we’re supposed to be finding a way to destroy.”

“Oh. And did we?” Kevin asked. “Find a way to destroy it, I mean?”

“Not that I noticed,” said Cal. “By the way, that strange signal you were picking up? You know, the mysterious weapon?”

“Yes, sir?”

“It was totally this, wasn’t it?” Cal sighed. “This is what your sensors were picking up this whole time.”

Kevin checked his sensors logs. “No, sir,” he began. “Oh, wait, I tell a lie. Yes, this was it. Ha. How ironic. I mean, what are the chances?”

Lily shot withering looks at the ceiling first, then at Cal. “So, to be clear, the weapon you thought was going to destroy Ikumordo is actually Ikumordo itself?”

Cal shifted awkwardly. “Maybe it’s, like, a metaphor? You know, in the end, we’re all our own worst enemy? Or something.”

“Right,” said Lily, dragging the word out between her teeth. “And how does that help us?”

Cal shrugged. “Fonked if I know.”

A voice exploded inside Cal’s head. It seemed to be screaming and whispering at the same time, and instantly brought on a stabbing headache right between Cal’s eyes. The force of it spun him around in his chair, squeezed a sort of hrowang noise out through his mouth, and inflated a little bubble of snot from his right nostril.

“Cal?” said Loren. “Cal, you OK? What happened?”

Wheezing, Cal raised his head. “Ow. Did everyone else hear that? Or feel that? Or whatever the Hell that was?”

Loren and Lily exchanged glances. “What was? Hear what?”

The voice came again, whispering like thunder. Cal couldn’t understand the words – he didn’t know if there even were words to understand – but the meaning behind them implanted themselves deep inside his mind.

“Oh,” said Cal, as his eyes glazed over orange, and a dribble of saliva trickled down his chin. “Oh, boy.”

* * *

Miz slumped into ‘her’ chair, shook it from side to side a few times, then nodded and hooked both legs over one arm.

“Uh, make yourself at home,” said the first lady, slowly easing herself down into her chair, one hand supporting her bump.

“I am,” Miz pointed out.

“Um,” said Tobey Maguire. He shuffled anxiously from foot to foot. “That’s my chair.”

Miz lazily flicked her eyes up until they met his. “Not any more, you nerdy weirdo. Besides, it was mine first.”

Mech stood up front, gazing around at the exposed pipes and tangled ceiling vents. Maybe it wasn’t exactly like their Shatner, but it was close enough that he couldn’t be sure.

A flurry of movement at the bottom of the screen caught his attention. “We’re being hailed,” he and the first lady both said at the same time.

President Carver jumped into his own chair, shot his wife a look, then hurriedly put on his seat belt. “Oh, you’ve been on a ship like this before?” he asked.

Mech nodded. “A lot like this, actually.”

“On screen,” said Cal.

“Wait,” said Mech. “May I?”

“May you what?” asked Cal. “Push the button?”

Mech nodded, the few patches of skin on his face suddenly flushed with embarrassment.

“Uh, sure. If you like. You know which one it is?”

Without replying, Mech pushed the button. It made a satisfying clunk sound, which he only realized right then that he missed.

The screen was filled with a battle-scarred, shark-like face, although not one Mech recognized. “Ambassador Thok of the Symmorium,” the shark-guy said. “We have received your signal, and have dispatched several Thresher fleets to assist.”

“Thank Thok for that,” said the president, grinning. He tapped his forehead in salute. “Love to Sandra and the kids.”

The Symmorium ambassador vanished, and was replaced by something purple and wide-eyed. “Grantcha Ny, Xandrie colony outposts,” it said in a vaguely feminine voice. “I hear you’re having some problems, Mr President. Our assets will be with you presently, and are at your command.”

“Much obliged,” said the president. “I’ll try to take good care of them.”

“I’m sure you will.”

The face changed again. This time, when the figure on screen spoke, Miz’s head snapped up.

“President Carver.”

The president nodded and smiled. “Graxan of the Greyx. Long time no see.”

Miz stood up. “Dad?”

Graxan’s eyes were pale and milky, his hair mostly gray. He cocked his head at the sound of Miz’s voice, a look of confusion crinkling his fur-covered features. “Mizette? Mizette, is that you?”

The president and first lady both turned in their chair to look at Miz. Thanks to the bump, this was much easier for Cal than it was for Loren.

Miz suddenly became aware of all eyes on her. Behind her, Tobey Maguire quietly slid into her recently-vacated chair and strapped himself in.

“Uh, no. I mean, yeah, I mean…”

“Yeah,” said Mech. “Yeah, it’s her.”

Graxan’s look of confusion became one of delight. “Mizette! My Mizette,” he said, his voice becoming a wheeze. “Where have you been, child? Your mother has missed you, dearly. I have missed you.”

Miz tried to speak, failed, then cleared her throat and tried again. “I, like, you know, missed you, too,” she managed, before her throat tightened again. “I’ve been, uh, like, kind of…”

“Saving the galaxy,” said Mech. “Righting wrongs, helping people, doing good.”

Miz glanced at him in surprise, then shuffled awkwardly. “Uh, well, I mean… I guess. You know, not, like, all the time.”

“But regularly,” said Mech. “Pretty fonking regularly.”

Miz met his eye again and a smile passed between them.

“You should be proud of this girl,” Mech continued. Up on his shoulder, Splurt nodded. Sort of.

“Proud?” said Graxan, his brow furrowing into a deep frown. “Of course. Always.” A tear rolled from one of his milky eyes, and was immediately absorbed by his dry, brittle fur. “Since the day she was born, I could not have been prouder.”

Miz’s nose twitched and her eyes moistened. She rocked back on her heels, and nodded once, but couldn’t find the words to reply.

President Carver leaned forwards and pointed upwards. “Uh, hate to interrupt. But big weird space thing? About to kill everyone? Thought it was worth mentioning.”

On screen, Graxan bowed, just a fraction. “The Greyx are with you, old friend. Keep my daughter safe. Keep us all safe.”

“Ten-four, Graxy. And thanks.”

“Farewell, Mizette,” Graxan said.

Miz managed a hoarse-sounding, “Bye, Dad,” before the feed cut off. Still reeling, she stepped back and sat down, right on top of Tobey Maguire.

“Fonk! Where did you come from?” she snapped, jumping up again.

“I told you, it’s my chair,” said Tobey Maguire. “This is where I always sit.”

Miz was about to tear him out of the seat when her ears pricked up. Mech spotted it immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

“Screaming,” said Miz. “Outside.”

The first lady thumbed a switch and the sounds of panic and terror spat at them from the Shatner’s speakers.

“Fonk,” said the president, jumping to his feet. “Honey, stay here.”

“What? No!” First Lady Loren protested. “I’m coming.”

President Carver shook his head. “No. Stay with the ship. Be ready to go. We still need to go fight the big weird space thing, and no one can fly this baby like you.”

“You mean, like, sideways into a wall?” said Miz.

The president leaned in closer to his advisor. “Keep an eye on her. Keep her safe.”

Tobey Maguire nodded. “Of course.”

“You two,” said the president, pointing to Mech and Miz. “With me. Let’s go find out what the fonk is going on.”

They hurried into the corridor towards the hatch. On the way, Mech stopped to pull open the weapons cabinet. He tossed Miz a blaster rifle, then grabbed the only one big enough for his fingers to operate.

“Hey, how’d you know about that?” asked the president. He gestured for Mech to toss him a gun.

“Lucky guess,” said Mech. Instinctively, he picked up the smallest blaster pistol he could find and passed it to President Cal.

“What’s this? A potato gun?” said the president.

“If you’re gonna accidentally shoot me, I’d rather you shot me with that,” said Mech.

“Fair point, well made,” the president conceded, then he slammed the button that dropped the hatch, and all three of them ran outside.

The sky was falling. At least, that was how it looked. Long fingers of crackling orange energy stretched down from Ikumordo. From where they stood, Mech and the others could see twenty or more columns of light, evenly spread a few miles apart in all directions. One of the beams had struck the city where they’d first arrived in this dimension. Most of the screaming was coming from that direction.

“Oh shizz, that’s not good,” said the president. He pointed at a man in a Zertex uniform who stood, open-mouthed, as he watched on in horror. “You. What’s happening?”

The guard tore his eyes away from the closest column, realized the president had addressed him, and snapped to a sort of clumsy salute. He was slightly-built, with dark orange skin. Mech thought there was something vaguely familiar about him, like he’d met him in another universe somewhere, but couldn’t place where.

“Um, um, um,” said the guard, not very helpfully.

“There’s no burning,” said Miz, sniffing the air. “No explosion. That thing – those beam things – I don’t think they’re doing any damage.”

“Then what the fonk are they?” asked Mech.

The president strode forwards. “Let’s go find out.”

“No,” said Mech, catching him by the arm. “We’ll go. You get up there and engage that thing. That’s the only way we’re gonna stop it.”

President Carver snorted, as if about to immediately dismiss the idea. But then he glanced back at the Shatner, spent a few seconds contemplating everything inside, and nodded.

“Fine. But keep everyone safe. Please.”

Mech nodded. “You have my word.”

Cal patted him on the upper arm. “You’re a good man,” he said. He hurried up the ramp, then looked back when he reached the top. “A good robot man.”

“Fonk you, shizznod,” Mech spat. The president winked, grinned, then vanished behind the rising ramp.

“So, what’s the plan?” asked Miz.

“The Carvers are still in the castle. Go get them. If it’s safe, head for the column thing,” said Mech. He jabbed a metal finger at the terrified guard. “You?”

The guard looked back over his shoulder, hoping to see someone else there. Sadly, he didn’t. “Who, me?”

“Yeah you. You see anyone else here?”

The guard looked around again, just in case. “N-no.”

“Exactly. Come with me.”

Despite looking like he’d quite like to object, the guard nodded. “OK.”

While Miz bounded back towards the castle, Mech and the guard raced around the outside, as quickly as Mech’s massive frame would allow. The screams grew louder, and were joined by a low frequency humming sound which throbbed through the ground and made all Mech’s loose bits rattle.

“What is it?” asked the guard, his eyes darting anxiously between the light column and the cyborg. “Is it…? It’s dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Chances are pretty fonking high,” said Mech, as they rounded the front of Castle Grayskull, and saw a handful of other guards all ducking for cover behind the high gates. “Open these up,” Mech barked. “We’re going out there.”

“Fonk off!” yelped one of the men. “Out there? With that? You’re having a laugh, ain’t ya?”

The first guard’s anxiety seemed to evaporate at that. It was only then that Mech noticed the pips on his shoulder that signified his officer rank. “You heard the man!” he barked. “Get these gates open. There are people out there. Come on, move, move, move.”

A well-drilled guard unit would have responded instantly. This lot responded quite slowly, and with a lot of dubious looks back over their shoulders. They did, however, open the gates.

“Now get out there and start helping people,” the officer instructed. He looked sideways and up at Mech. “Right?”

“Right,” said Mech, ushering the guards out. “Go. Do what you can.”

With a fair amount of muttering and the occasional disparaging look, the guards crept out through the gates, keeping their heads as low as they possibly could while still being able to see where they were going.

“Thanks,” said Mech.

The officer shrugged, and all his anxiety returned. “They’re just scared. We’ve never… This isn’t what we do. We’ve never seen action. Most of us just joined for the benefits. I only got promoted because I had the shiniest shoes.”

Mech glanced down. Despite the whole end of the world thing going on, he couldn’t help but let out a whistle of appreciation. “Holy shizz. Those are some shiny motherfonking shoes.”

The guard’s face became a knot of worry. “I… I have a family. Kids. I don’t want to die.”

“And you won’t,” said Mech. “Stick with me, and you’ll be OK.”

The man nodded. The worry remained, but was joined by a grateful smile. “I will. Thank you.”

Mech began to march on, and beckoned for him to follow. “What’s your name, son?”

The guard shifted on the balls of his feet, a little uncomfortably. “You’ll laugh.”

Mech sighed. “What? Seriously? Just tell me your name, man.”

The guard smiled, a little embarrassed. “My name’s Gluk,” he said. “Gluk Disselpoof.”

Mech stopped.

Mech turned.

And then, with very little in the way of warning, Mech exploded.

* * *

Miz found the Carvers still in the hall, surrounded by worried-looking guards. Carver Two hurried over to her as she crashed through the double doors, panting heavily.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Is it happening? Is Ikumordo attacking?”

“Looks like it,” said Miz. “Round everyone up. We need to get out there.”

Two spun on his heels and banged the bottom of his staff against the wooden floor. “Carver Council! Uh… and friends. The moment has come. Ikumordo attacks. This is the moment we’ve been preparing for.”

The stoned-looking Cal raised a hand. “Uh, when were we preparing?”

“Yeah, I don’t remember any, you know, actual preparing, exactly,” said another Carver.

“OK, so ‘preparing’ was a strong word,” admitted Carver Two. “This is the moment we’ve been…”

“Shizzing ourselves about?” suggested Old Man Carver.

“Spik fur yersel’,” said Eighty-Three. The little man was wielding a double-headed battle axe twice as tall as himself. Where he’d got it from was anyone’s guess. “We cannae wait tae git stuck intae it. Richt, lads?”

“Yer nae wrang,” said another of the Dwarves.

“Intae ‘im, intae ‘im, intae ‘im!” chanted a few of the others.

One of the guards cleared his throat. “Um, we’re supposed to keep you in here,” he said.

Miz rounded on him, her lips drawing up to reveal her teeth. “Try it,” she suggested. She had no idea if the guard had understood her or not, but he backed down immediately, and offered a panicky smile.

“B-but we won’t, obviously,” he said, stepping aside.

“You’re coming, too,” she told the troops, hurrying for the door again.

“Council and company, let’s go! This ends here and now!” Carver Two boomed. He set his jaw in grim determination and added, more quietly: “One way or another.”

* * *

Mech sat up. He didn’t intend to, but Splurt had squeezed himself under the cyborg’s back, and shoved.

He could smell burning. Scorched metal. Melting wires.

That sort of thing.

The pain arrived as reams of data. Damage reports flooded his field of view, too numerous to process all at once. He was hurt. That was about the size of it. And badly.

“Hey. Hey, mister. You OK?” whispered the guard, and Mech remembered the final words he’d heard him say. He forced himself to sit up further.

“Do I look like I’m fonking OK?” he grunted.

There was a hole where Mech’s dial had been. It sparked and fizzed, the jagged metal edges of the wound still glowing red hot. The remains of some sort of missile lay scattered on the ground around him, along with part of the castle gate, which Mech had crashed backwards through at high speed.

“What the fonk happened?”

“Uh, that guy shot you,” said Gluk, pointing to where a hulking figure was approaching. He was silhouetted against the tower of light, but even through a veil of scrolling damage reports, Mech recognized him.

“Hey,” he grunted, forcing himself up onto his knees. “That’s me.”

The other Mech raised a missile launcher and fired again. Mech shoved Gluk Disselpoof aside, but there was no time for him to get clear himself. He crossed his arms across his damaged chest and braced himself.

Splurt caught the missile in a huge, gloopy fist, flipped it over, and tossed it back. The other Mech ducked, but the explosive detonated against the ground behind him, with enough force to lift him off his feet.

As the light of the explosion illuminated him, Mech realized the other him wasn’t another him, at all. It was like him, definitely, but everything about it was a slick, oozing white, as if he was made from some kind of living wax.

“What is it?” asked Gluk.

“I don’t know. Some kind of clone, maybe?”

“It’s an echo.”

Mech turned to see Carver Two running down the castle steps beside Miz. The rest of the council and their recently-acquired companions were filing out through the main doors in groups of three and four (or, in the case of the Dwarves, seven).

“Say what?” said Mech.

“Void echoes. I mean, I think. Carver Prime talked about them,” Two said. “Although, why they’d be here, I don’t know.”

“Shizz. What happened to you?” asked Miz. “Are you, like, OK?”

“Been better,” Mech admitted. “But I’ll be fine.”

The Echo Mech was getting back to its feet. Even over the sound of the screams and the humming sensation throbbing through the ground, Mech could hear the duplicate’s hydraulics hissing.

More figures were marching out of the light column in the distance. Dozens of them, becoming hundreds. Some of them walked, some of them ran. One of them bounded on all fours, its tail flapping along behind it.

“Seriously?” snarled Miz. “Bring it on.”

“It’s an invasion force,” said Two. “A ground invasion, designed to wipe us all out.”

“Oh no,” cheeped Gluk.

“I got your back, man,” Mech assured him.

“No, don’t you see? This is good. This is great!” said Number Two.

“Fit whysit great?” asked Eighty-Three.

“Why would it attack us? Like this, I mean?” asked Two. “Why would it feel the need to stop us? Because it knows we can stop it. By wiping us out, it’s playing it safe, and if it’s playing it safe, it means it isn’t invulnerable.”

“So what do we do?” asked Mech. “And, just so you know, if the next words out of your mouth ain’t, ‘go beat the shizz out of those things,’ I’m gonna be very disappointed.”

Carver Two grinned. He nodded, just once. Behind him, the Shatner rose into the air, clipped the castle roof, then streaked off into space.

“Mech. Mizette. Carvers?” said Number Two. “Let’s go beat the shizz out of these things.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Cal had never been in two places at once before. He hadn’t been in three places at once before, either.

And as for four?

No.

So, being everywhere at once, as he now currently was, was proving to be somewhat disorientating. He could only liken it to that time he had…

No.

He had nothing.

The part of him that could still think rationally was pretty sure his brain was still in one piece, but the rest of his mind had fragmented into a seemingly infinite number of parts, all of which were granting him a different view of the universe. Or universes.

Universii, maybe?

No.

No, that was silly.

He saw not just through space, but through time, as well. He saw the Void, empty and still. He saw a bubble appear in the blackness, then another, then another. He saw worlds rise and fall, galaxies bloom and fade, universes be born, only to die as billions of years passed in the blink of an eye.

Not that he had eyes.

Or eyelids.

Not anymore.

He saw beauty in it. Wonder. Horror. Joy. He saw the beginning of everything and the end of all things, both at the same time. He saw eternity and infinity collide, and felt the shockwave ripple through every atom in the multi-verse.

He said, “Crikey,” quite loudly – a word he had never said before, would never say again, and would later deny all knowledge of ever having said in the first place.

“Cal? Are you OK?”

Loren’s voice was far away, but right in his ear. He tried to reply, but couldn’t figure out where his mouth was, or, for that matter, when he’d last seen it. He checked his pockets.

No.

Not there.

“What’s happening to him?” Loren asked.

“I don’t know,” said Lily, and Cal felt sparks and fireworks flare in his head at the sound of her voice. Lily. His daughter. His little girl, all grown up.

Alive.

Lightning flashed everywhere, everywhen, and the Void returned. The darkness felt different, somehow. Younger. Fresher. Like it had only just begun.

It spiraled around him, twirling every different version of his consciousness in a thousand different directions at once. He hoped he could remember where his mouth was soon, because he was definitely going to throw up if this didn’t stop in the next few seconds.

It stopped in the next few seconds.

And there, smeared across the face of the Void like orange-flavored birthday cake, was Ikumordo.

And there, next to Ikumordo, was another Ikumordo.

Two Ikumordos.

Two.

One big, one small.

Something passed between them. Not words, not even emotions, but something. A sensation.

No.

A bond.

Cal felt the sparks and fireworks flare in his head again. A parental bond. Mother and child, although that wasn’t quite right, either. Two of the same thing. Two pieces of the same whole.

And then, without moving in any way, the smaller of the two was gone. Just… gone. Cal’s fractured mind ached with longing and loss. He wanted to cry, to wail, to scream into the darkness.

“No! Please! Come back!”

“What?” said Loren.

“Who?” Lily asked.

Oh. He’d evidently found his mouth again. That was a bonus.

The one remaining Ikumordo expanded rapidly, rushing towards him like smoke towards an open window. Cal felt the clammy hand of panic slap against his chest as the cloud forced its way up his nostrils, down his throat, and – to his dismay – into every other available orifice.

Cal opened his eyes. Or maybe his eyes had always been open, but were only just working again. He opened his mouth, and a voice that was partly his, but partly something else emerged.

“I understand now,” he said.

Loren and Lily exchanged a glance. Kevin exchanged the same glance, but as he was only a voice, nobody noticed.

“Understand what?” Lily asked.

Infinity and eternity collided inside Cal’s head. He spoke again, and his voice boomed like thunder.

“Everything.”

* * *

The Shatner screamed towards the big weird space thing, its cannons stuttering out a hail of energy blasts. On the bridge, President Carver bounced excitedly in his seat, his face covered by the gunner’s visor.

“Oh, man, I have missed this!” he cried.

“You know you’re shooting at a cloud, yes?” asked the first lady. “You’re literally doing zero damage.”

The president shrugged. “Maybe. Still fun, though,” he said. “Tobey Maguire, report!”

Tobey Maguire looked round in surprise. “About what?”

“I don’t know, I just like saying stuff like that,” said the president. “And you know I find your voice soothing.”

First Lady Loren glanced back over her shoulder, “Seriously starting to think I should be worried about you two,” she said, then she banked the Shatner towards the most densely-concentrated area of the space cloud. If there was anything to shoot on this thing, it would most likely be there.

Tobey Maguire sat more upright in his chair. “OK, so… we’re flying towards the orange thing. You’re shooting stuff. There are three of us.”

“Jesus Christ, Tobey Maguire, that’s the worst report I’ve ever heard,” said President Cal. “And that includes a report I gave on my nine favorite colors in third grade.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Silence fell.

“I didn’t say stop.”

“Right, yes,” said Tobey Maguire, but before he could start again, several dozen shapes emerged from the cloud ahead of them. “Um…”

“I see them,” said the president. “Loren? Honey? Is it just me, or do those ships look like us?”

“It’s not just you.”

“I mean… a lot like us?”

“Yep.”

“I mean… They’re us.”

Thirty or more virtually identical Shatners streaked towards them in a tightly-packed formation. Tobey Maguire tapped the short range scanner controls on his arm rest. “They’re definitely very similar.”

“Could they be us from other universes?” the first lady asked. “I mean, that’s a thing that seems to be happening today, right? Alternate versions of… well, you?”

“Yes!” said the president. “Of course. Makes sense. These guys are on our side. They’ve come to help us fight the… Oh, fonk, no, they’re shooting at us.”

First Lady Loren spun the Shatner into a twisting spiral as the Echo Shatners fired a volley of torpedoes. Most of the energy blasts streaked past, but a few landed glancing blows on the shields, dropping their integrity by a couple of per cent.

“Nice flying,” said the president. “I mean, I think I might cough up one of my own balls, but still, good job.”

“Long as it’s one of your own,” the first lady said, tilting the ship to avoid the last of the torpedo barrage.

“So we have evil doubles,” said the president. “That is both awesome and problematic. Tobey Maguire, how many are out there?”

Tobey Maguire began to count the dots on his display. “One, two, three, four, five. Wait. One, two, three, four… Stop fonking moving!” he shouted at the arm rest. “One, two, three, four, five, six, s— Oh, I don’t know. Loads.”

“Concise, yet detailed. That’s why I pay you the big bucks, Maguire,” the president said. The other Shatners were all still fixed in their formation. Cal adjusted his grip on the cannon control stick. “I wonder…” he said, then he squeezed the trigger and jerked the stick, sending the beam swinging left to right across the approaching enemy ships.

It cut through them with ease, neatly cleaving each ship into two or more parts.

“OK, relax, everyone,” said the president. “Looks like they’ve made that age-old mistake of building their ships out of cotton candy.”

“How about those ones?” asked Tobey Maguire.

“Which ones?” asked the president. “If you’re pointing, I draw your attention to the visor currently covering my…”

His voice tailed off as he turned his chair and saw what Tobey Maguire was talking about. Another fleet of ships was emerging from the cloud. No, not a fleet, an armada. There were hundreds of them, all flying in a tightly-packed formation.

“OK, so that’s a lot,” said the president.

“Keeping formation, though,” the first lady replied. “Looks like they didn’t learn from last time.”

As if they’d been listening in, the other Shatners broke ranks and swooped into a whole range of different attack vectors.

“You had to say it,” said the president, as hundreds of weapons systems flared around them. “OK, baby, show us what you’ve got.”

“I’ll try,” said First Lady Loren, reaching around her bump for the controls, before plunging them into a dive.

“Well, I mean, I was talking to the ship,” said the president. “But much appreciated, all the same.”

Loren shook her head. “Man, I hate you, sometimes.”

Behind his visor, President Cal Carver grinned. “I know.”

The Shatner flipped, curved upwards (or downwards, depending on where you were standing), then twisted into a spiraling loop. It was a perfectly executed move, designed to put them directly behind one of the attacking ships. And it did. Unfortunately, it put them directly in front of three other attacking ships, too.

“Shizz,” the first lady spat. “Full power to rear shields.”

Tobey Maguire was filled with the sinking feeling that she had been talking to him. “Is that my bit?” he asked, looking down at his controls just as a volley of cannon-fire hammered against the shielding.

“Yes, that’s your bit!” Loren said.

“Jesus Christ, Tobey Maguire, you had one job,” said the president.

“I had a number of jobs!” protested Tobey Maguire. “And it’s not my fault! I’ve never done the buttons before, have I?”

“Done the buttons?” said the first lady, twisting a number of controls at once and throwing the ship into a complex series of maneuvers that was, I’m afraid, completely indescribable. Impressive, but indescribable. You really had to be there.

“Well, you know what I mean!” said Tobey Maguire. He did a button. “Is it this one?”

There was an odd humming sound, not unlike the sound of a number of shield generators shutting down, all at the same time.

“What did you do?” the first lady cried. “We’ve lost all shields.”

“I just pushed a button!”

“Well fonking unpush it!” said the president.

An alarm squealed. Loren’s eyes went wide as a number of weapons systems got full lock on the unprotected Shatner. Her first instinct was to bank the ship to the right, deploy any and all defensive countermeasures, and hope to Kroysh they worked. Another, more powerful instinct took over, though.

Taking her hands from the controls, Loren covered her bump.

“Incoming,” she whispered.

And then the screen flared as the three closest Echo Shatners erupted in a hail of energy blasts. A voice crackled over the comm-system’s emergency broadcast channel. It was gruff and angry. It was also, without question, the most beautiful voice anyone on board had ever heard.

“President Carver, Symmorium Threshers at your disposal. We await your command.”

“Ooh, fonk, are we glad to see you guys,” said Cal, as dozens of Symmorium ships dropped out of warp all across the sky. “As for my command?”

He wriggled in his seat, adjusted his grip on his gun controls, then smiled grimly. “Let’s go beat the shizz out of these things.”

* * *

A metal fist clanged against Mech’s jaw, staggering him. Around him, Zertex troops, alternate Cal Carvers and a few plucky citizens were fighting back against the tide of pasty-faced Echoes. Ninjas and Dwarves chopped through a whole regiment – the Dwarves using axes, the ninjas, their hands.

The Echo Mech’s fist swung again. Mech ducked it, but couldn’t avoid the follow-up right hook that exploded against what would have been his ribcage, had his ribs not long since been replaced by a flexible Durium alloy.

Further damage reports and error alerts scrolled across Mech’s eyeline, making it difficult to predict where the next strike was coming from. He’d tried to suppress the information, but it turned out that his ‘suppress visual damage reports’ functionality had, ironically, been one of the first things to go.

Somewhere, far enough away for them to be unaware of Mech’s current predicament, Mizette and Splurt tore and hammered their way across the battlefield. Miz was on a collision course with her duplicate, who was currently at the back of a long line of cannon fodder.

Splurt wasn’t heading in any one particular direction, and was instead just twirling around, squishing Echoes into lumpy piles of paste with ten very long, very heavy tentacles. It was, judging by the way he was pulsating, the most fun he’d had all day.

Another battering-ram blow caught the side of Mech’s head. His vision flickered, like a TV screen with a bad connection. He reached for the dial on his chest, remembered it was gone, then swung wildly with a punch that his Echo easily avoided.

KABAM!

The duplicate’s shoulder hit Mech like a freight train, launching him backwards. Too startled to even flail his arms, Mech sailed several feet through the air until he collided with a wall behind him.

The Echo was already stomping towards him. Mech tried to stand, but his legs were twitchy and unresponsive. His vision flickered, and the duplicate was suddenly closer, a leer twisting its waxy white face.

“H-hey, back off!”

Gluk Disselpoof stepped between Mech and the Echo, a blaster pistol trembling in his hands.

“No! No, don’t,” Mech said, but his voice came out like a series of synthesizer notes from the 1980s.

The Echo didn’t stop. Gluk opened fire, squeezing the trigger over and over again. The first shot punched cleanly through the Echo’s shoulder. The second left a deep dent in its chest.

The third shot ricocheted harmlessly off, and the Echo kept coming.

It was learning, Mech realized. Adapting.

“Go. Run!” Mech warned.

But Gluk Disselpoof did not run, would not run. He stood his ground, eyes wide, hands shaking, firing round after round at the oncoming Echo.

Frantically, Mech reached into the hole in his chest. He knew the schematics. He’d repaired himself a hundred times before, although never with this much damage, and never under this much pressure.

But he knew the schematics. And he knew what had to be done.

There was no dial. Not anymore. But then, that didn’t matter. The dial was only there for his protection – a failsafe, to safely divert power from brain to body without the risk of him burning himself out by using both to their full capacity at once.

But that was possible. Easier, even, than rigging up another failsafe. And quicker. Much quicker.

He wouldn’t have long, but the time he did have would be spectacular.

Sparks flew as Mech twisted a knot of wires together in his chest cavity.

Blaster bolts crackled as Gluk Disselpoof fired again and again and again.

The Echo drew back its fist.

The blaster, its charge depleted, went click.

And the ground rumbled as Mech got to his feet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The vast orange face of Ikumordo was crisscrossed by ships, all engaging in battle. The Symmorium had quickly eliminated the second wave of Echo crafts, but the third wave was proving more difficult, having adapted to the Thresher ships’ attacks.

The Echoes were no longer just of the Shatner, either, and picking the enemy ships from the friendly ones was proving increasingly difficult.

A few battalions of Xandrie fighters had now warped into orbit, and their more unorthodox fighting style – ‘fly around wildly, shoot even more so,’ – seemed to be more effective at taking out the Echoes.

The peace deal between the Xandrie and the Symmorium was pretty flimsy, though, the president knew, and all it would take was some accidental friendly fire to set relations back a decade.

Of course, if that happened, it would mean the universe had survived, so it was a price worth paying, he reckoned.

President Carver spun in his chair, taking down a Thresher Echo that had found their tail. Previous ships had required a single pulse of cannon-fire, but now they needed a direct torpedo hit to take them out, and the Shatner only had a handful left.

“Argh! Look out,” warned Tobey Maguire. The first lady punched the thrusters, banking the ship up and over an approaching enemy fighter, then tilting to bring it directly into the president’s sights. He used up another torpedo and the ship exploded into debris.

“Two missiles left,” warned Tobey Maguire.

“They’re not missiles, they’re torpedoes,” said the president.

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes. ‘Torpedoes,’ sounds cooler.”

“Greyx ships incoming,” said the first lady. She swung the Shatner around, bringing the heart of Ikumordo into view again just as it spat out another armada of Shatners, Threshers and now Xandrie fighters. “But it’s not going to be enough.”

She tightened her grip on the controls, looked down at her bump, then back at her husband. “Cal? What do we do?”

Even through the visor, the president could feel her eyes on him. “We fight,” he said. “In fact, no. We don’t just fight. We space fight. And we keep on space fighting.”

“That makes literally no sense,” his wife replied.

“What good is it doing?” asked Tobey Maguire. “For every one we destroy, that thing spits out five more. And besides, if what those… yous said is true, then this isn’t just happening here, it’s happening to millions of other Earths, too. Billions.”

“Then we’ll make sure this one is the last to fall,” the president said.

“How?! Forgive me if I’m out of line here, but there’s nothing we can do against that thing. We’re not even delaying the inevitable, we’re just spectating the inevitable, very close up.”

The president tapped a button on the visor, retracting it upwards towards the ceiling. “So what am I supposed to do, Tobey Maguire?” he demanded. “Hmm? Any suggestions? Because I’d love to hear one. It’s not like the solution is going to just miraculously appear out of thin air, is it?”

A few hundred miles ahead of the Shatner, something appeared out of thin air. Well, technically not ‘air,’ what with being in space, and everything, but out of nowhere.

It was a ship. A green ship. Or black. Or possibly silver, depending on which way you looked at it.

“Who the fonk is this now?” asked the president. He looked across at Tobey Maguire.

“What? How should I know?” the advisor replied. “It’s another ship.”

“Seriously?” said the president. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Uh, honey…?” said the first lady. The president looked round and saw that a face had appeared on screen, as if someone had taken over the comm-channel and forced their way onto it.

At least, that’s what everyone aboard the Shatner thought, at first, before they realized the face wasn’t on screen, at all. It was being projected into space itself, several thousand feet high from chin to forehead.

The president leaned forward in his chair. “Holy shizz, is that… Is that me?”

Tobey Maguire looked long and hard at the floating head, then at the president, then back to the head.

He repeated this a number of times.

“I think it might be.”

“Of course it is,” said the first lady, with just a note of exasperation in her voice. “It’s identical.”

“But bigger,” Tobey Maguire pointed out.

“Well, yes, obviously it’s bigger.”

The president grinned. “I’m a giant face,” he said, then he gasped. “No! I’m a giant space face! Way to go, me!”

* * *

Miz carved through a couple of white-faced waxy things, snapped the neck of another, then hissed as a club cracked across the back of her skull.

“Witch oot, quine!” hollered Carver Eighty-Three, tossing his axe. It buried in the chest of Miz’s attacker with a satisfying thunk.

Miz nodded briefly to the little man, bounded through the oncoming crowd, then stopped in front of a distorted reflection of herself. “Like, who are you supposed to be?” she snarled.

“Like, who are you supposed to be?”

“I asked you first,” said Miz.

“I asked you first.”

Miz growled deep in her throat. “Wait, are you, like, copying me?”

“Wait, are you, like, copying me?”

“Cut it out!”

“Cut it out!”

Miz extended her claws. Her Echo did the same. “OK, fonk this,” they both said, just seconds apart, then they leaped at each other, teeth and claws and fur flying.

* * *

Mech caught his Echo’s fist, just before it could make a smooth pâté of Gluk Disselpoof’s head. His fingers twitched, crushing the duplicate’s hand.

A powerful blow from the Echo’s other fist caught Mech on the side of the head. He ignored it, punched a hole deep into the duplicate’s stomach, then hoisted its entire frame above his head.

With a faint hissing of his super-charged hydraulics, Mech tore the double in half. He spun on the spot, tossing first one half, then the other, into the oncoming hordes of Ikumordo’s army. Both pieces cut down ten or more of the Echoes, before embedding themselves several inches into the surface of the street.

Gluk Disselpoof gawped up at Mech. Sparks danced like briefly-brilliant fairies in the cyborg’s chest cavity. His voice, when it came out, was higher-pitched than before, and sounded more machine than man. The words were comforting, all the same.

“I am most grateful for your assistance,” Mech said. “However, in the interests of your personal safety, I advise you to leave the remainder of this conflict to me.”

* * *

Cal Carver’s body sat aboard the Currently Untitled. His consciousness, on the other hand, wasn’t home. Instead, it had been dragged out into space, and now floated in the midst of a fonking huge battle between lots of vaguely similar-looking ships, and what appeared to be several identical versions of Cal’s old ship, the Shatner.

It was cold out here, but as he had no physical presence whatsoever, he reckoned that was probably psychological.

He flicked his eyes downwards, then upwards, then left to right. He was, it seemed, a giant head in space. While he had never been a giant head in space before, for some reason it didn’t feel all that unexpected.

He tried to imagine himself a very big hat to help keep out the cold, and was slightly disappointed when one failed to appear.

The battle eased off around him as more and more of the ships spotted his enormous face. Even Ikumordo’s fighters slowed in their attacks. Especially Ikumordo’s fighters, in fact. They began to drift, floating aimlessly off into the emptiness of space, like forgotten toys.

Cal could feel hundreds of pairs of eyes watching him, waiting for him to say something. He tried to think of something suitably profound, but the weight of all that expectation made his mind go blank. He was also still coming to terms with being a giant space head, which wasn’t helping, either.

“Howdy,” he said.

The sound somehow traveled through the vacuum of space. As it did, the Echo ships dissipated into mist, before being absorbed back into the flickering orange cloud of the All Death.

Ikumordo’s rhythmic rippling became faster, and more erratic. Cal fixed the cloud with a cold, hard glare. Or maybe his eyes did it by themselves. Either way, the effect was much the same. Ikumordo, devourer of worlds, swallower of galaxies, drew back, as if in fear.

“You,” said Cal, in a voice born of the Void itself, “have been a very naughty boy.”

He said a name. Not Ikumordo, nor All-Death, but something older, from back before there were words, or people to speak them. It resonated through space, making the stars themselves tremble.

And then, despite an evident lack of chest, lungs, or basically anything from the chin down, Cal began to inhale. He drew the airless vacuum inside himself in a long, slow gulp. Ikumordo thrashed around as its wispy edges were drawn into a point, which was in turn sucked down towards the giant Cal head’s waiting mouth.

A few hundred miles away, President Carver’s mouth was also open, although his was open in surprise, and not so he could inhale a galaxy-devouring space monster.

“Somebody tell me they brought a camera,” he muttered.

There was a flash and a click from his right. “Got it.”

“Thanks, Tobey Maguire,” said the president.

The first lady whistled softly through her teeth. “I always knew you had a big head,” she remarked. “But this is fonking ridiculous.”

* * *

Miz stood over her fallen Echo, threw back her head, and let out a howl of triumph that rolled across the city in all directions.

Once that was out of the way, she launched herself towards an oncoming Echo…

…only for it to become a puff of wispy white smoke.

The columns of light stuttered, then cut off, as all across the plaza, the duplicates deteriorated into vapor.

Splurt stopped spinning. He looked around, sagged slightly as he lowered his tentacles, then plopped back into his usual ball shape, making no attempt whatsoever to hide his disappointment.

Mech swung with a punch that didn’t connect. “Oh, I say,” he said, as his processors set about processing several thousand potential scenarios that could have led to the disappearance of the Echoes. Most of them, happily, were positive.

“Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” he said to Gluk.

And then black smoke began to billow from his chest, his hulking metal frame shuddered violently, and he toppled backwards with a thud.

* * *

Back aboard the Untitled, Cal was turning blue in the face. He wasn’t aware of that fact yet, what with his mind currently being out in space, but as his lungs were on the brink of exploding, he was almost certainly going to find out, soon enough.

Loren tapped her controls, but a flickering orange energy had cocooned them, and nothing she did elicited any kind of response. She sat back and puffed out her cheeks. “This is… This is…” She turned to Lily. “What? What is this?”

Lily tore her eyes away from Cal’s giant space head. “Huh?” she said, which wasn’t very helpful. “Oh. Sorry. What is this? Was that what you asked?”

Loren nodded. “Yes.”

“As in…” Lily gestured from the almost inert, gently inhaling Cal, to his floating head. “This? All this?”

“Yes!”

It was Lily’s turn to puff out her cheeks. “Your guess is as good as mine. Has he done anything like this before?”

Loren watched as the colossal Cal-head sucked down more of Ikumordo. She raised her eyebrows. “Not that I’ve ever noticed, no.”

“No,” said Lily, a little absent-mindedly. “No, thought not.”

Loren chewed her lip. “Will Cal be OK?”

“Well, considering he somehow transported us out of the Void and across dimensions using, from what I can gather, just his mind, and is now, you know, that.” She gestured to the viewscreen. “I’m not even sure that is Cal, anymore.”

Outside, Cal – if, indeed, he was Cal anymore - felt like a hole was being filled. Although not in that way. The aching he had felt since he had witnessed the second orange mass vanishing from the Void was easing, healing, his broken heart knitting itself together as the space cloud found its way deep inside him.

Again, not in that way.

And yet… Ikumordo wasn’t giving up without a fight. It thrashed and clawed at his insides, wrenching and heaving around in his throat and in his guts, despite the fact he currently had neither of those things.

A sharp, scything pain cut through his head from top to bottom, and he felt both of the giant space clouds lock each other in battle inside his mind.

No, not battle. Not quite. But conflict, certainly. The sensations became feelings, the feelings unraveling themselves into words.

“Ugh. Why do you always do this? You never let me do what I want to do!”

“Well, maybe when you start acting like a grown-up, I’ll start treating you like a grown-up!”

“Argh! It’s not fair! I hate you! I wish I’d never been conceptualized!”

The raging continued, and Cal felt an infinity of regret, reproach and revenge begin to play out inside him. The two entities fought bitterly, each thunderous collision deforming his floating face.

The space head exploded. Cal sat forwards in his chair, rediscovered the effects of gravity, and almost headbutted his own knees.

“Wha—?” he uttered. “Nng. Fmk.”

Loren jumped up from her seat and hurried to him. She had almost reached his chair when a wave of heat radiated from Cal’s skin, pushing her backwards and forcing Lily to spin her own chair around for cover.

Cal looked down at his hands. He had some again, so that was good. They appeared to be on fire, though, so that was less promising. Still, at least it didn’t hurt.

Well, maybe a little.

Sweat poured from him, slicking his forehead and trickling into his eyes. Somewhere behind his eyeballs, he could feel both big weird space things thrashing around, throwing things at each other, and generally behaving like a couple of shizznods.

“D-did I get it?” Cal grimaced.

Loren glanced at the screen and nodded. “It’s gone.”

“That one is,” said Lily. “But the other dimensions…”

Cal shook his head. “N-nope. Got it all.” He patted his stomach and pointed to his head. Up close, he realized the orange light flickering across his hands wasn’t fire. Energy and heat, yes, but not fire, exactly.

Still, getting pretty painful now.

Lily frowned. “Got it all? What do you mean, you’ve got it all?”

“Both,” said Cal. He hoped that answered any and all questions, because speaking was proving quite difficult. Judging by Lily’s face, though, it didn’t. “Big weird s-space things. Two of,” he said. He tapped the side of his head. “In h-here.”

Pain tore through him as a battle even older than the multi-verse raged inside him. He hissed as the skin on the back of his hands blistered and split, cracks shooting up his arms, pulling the skin apart. Orange energy seeped from each fresh wound, and Cal felt himself being pulled apart, not just metaphorically, this time, but literally, too.

More than that, though, he felt rage. Fury. Jealousy. Scorn. He felt hatred and anger and fear and wrath. The two entities were wrestling inside him, resuming a battle that had raged from before time itself.

And it fonking hurt.

“He’s burning up,” said Loren. “Cal? Cal?”

It wasn’t that Cal couldn’t hear her, exactly, but a good ninety-nine per cent of his brain was focused on him not exploding into tiny bits.

“Ooh,” said Kevin. “He doesn’t look well, does he? You should probably stand back, ma’am. And possibly fetch a mop.”

A storm raged inside Cal’s head. His eyes rolled back as his chest constricted and his left arm went tight.

Heart attack, he thought. Great.

He opened his mouth to scream, but all that emerged was the heat and the light, as his body burned up from the inside, and his organs began to evaporate one by one.

This was it, then. He was dying, in a literal blaze of glory.

Still, if you’ve got to go… he thought, trying his hardest to force a smile.

But no.

No.

That was bravado talking.

As usual.

The truth was… Well, the truth was…

Cal coughed out a sob and a whisper.

“I don’t want to die.”

He felt a hand slip into his, small, but bigger than he remembered. Her skin was cool against his palm, soothing his burns and easing the pain.

“Ninety-nine?” she said.

Then: “Cal? Cal, can you hear me?”

Then, more quietly: “Dad?”

Time stopped.

Cal was on a beach. At a school concert. Pushing a bike. Changing a diaper.

He was putting a sock on his nose and pretending to be an elephant.

He was sitting on the sofa, a book in his hands, a head snuggled up against his chest.

He was laughing, singing, dancing, clapping, celebrating this gift that had been given to him. This child.

He was, just for that moment, home.

And the ancient cosmic entities raging against one another inside his head?

Well, they could pretty much go fonk themselves.

Cal gripped Lily’s hand and opened his eyes. From the way she pulled back in fear, he knew it wasn’t his eyes she was seeing, but the things behind there.

“Hey, relax,” he said, smiling despite the effort it took. “It’s me. I h-have a plan.”

“Does it involve blowing up, sir?” asked Kevin.

“Ideally not,” said Cal. He met Lily’s gaze. “Need to get back to the V-Void.”

Lily nodded slowly, but then shook her head. “No, but, we can’t just jump into the Void. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Can’t you do it?” asked Loren. “You brought us here.”

Cal shook his head. “N-no. This thing’s kind of busy.” He grimaced. “OK. What about an empty u-universe? I saw s-some of those.”

“Yes, that I can do!” said Lily. She turned away, pulling her hand with her, and Cal roared as a fresh wave of pain arched his back. Lily quickly grasped for his hand again. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!”

“S-should fonking think s-so,” stuttered Cal, but the pain eased and he calmed quickly.

Lily operated her doohickey with one hand, punching in a complex series of equations using a tiny touch screen. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“J-just get us there,” Cal whispered. “Please.”

He squeezed Lily’s hand, much harder than he intended. She held on, despite the pain, and jabbed the button that activated the jump.

“You know what you’re doing, right?” she asked him.

With great difficulty, Cal winked. “Of course. It’s a Cal Carver g-guarantee.”

Outside, the other ships watched as the clamps attached to the Currently Untitled crackled with white and blue lights. The ship shimmered faintly, wobbled gently, then disappeared like a bubble going pop.

Aboard the Shatner, President Carver looked over at first his wife, then his advisor. “So, is this a good thing? Did we… Did we just win?”

Tobey Maguire wrinkled his nose and shrugged. He had no idea if they’d won. He basically had no idea what was going on, in general, and was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up even the vaguest pretense that he did.

“Hard to say,” he said, at last.

The president tutted. “Shizz or get off the pot, Tobey Maguire,” he said. “Did we just win, or didn’t we?”

An incoming transmission icon blinked on screen. Loren tapped the button, and the view of space was replaced by images of Earth. Hundreds of people had gathered outside the president’s castle. They whooped and cheered, hugging each other and dancing together in joy.

“OK, I’m going to go out on a limb,” said Tobey Maguire. “Yes, Mr President. We won.”

“Way to go us!” the president said. He leaned back in his chair and rocked it from side to side, enjoying the squeak it made.

Gradually, his smile faded. He looked around the flight deck. “Well, I guess we should head back home.”

First Lady Loren nodded. “I guess so,” she said, but she made no move towards the controls.

The president nodded, also. “Boy, I am glad these days are behind us. Space battles, surviving by the skin of our teeth, that sort of thing.”

“Yup,” agreed the First Lady. “So glad.”

“So totally glad,” the president confirmed.

There was silence.

President Carver drummed his fingers on his arm rests.

It was Tobey Maguire who broke the silence. “We’re not going back yet, are we?”

Cal and Loren made eye contact. They smiled, and both seemed to come alive. “Maybe once around the galaxy, for old time’s sake,” said the president.

The first lady’s hands went to her controls, over her bump. “Aye aye, Captain,” she said, then the Shatner streaked into warp, and Cal Carver, president of the galaxy, quietly threw up in his mouth.

* * *

A barren, lifeless Earth orbited slowly around its dim parent star, its polar ice caps forever in darkness. Had there been anyone on the planet, they might have looked up and been the only witness to the sudden appearance of the Currently Untitled in the sky.

However, they’d almost certainly have died of asphyxiation and frostbite within milliseconds of their arrival – and then imploded - so it was probably just as well that there wasn’t.

In many ways, it was a shame the event passed unnoticed, though. Had anyone been watching, not only would they have seen the ship appear, but they’d have seen everything that happened next, too.

If they’d had very good ears (and had sound suddenly decided to start traveling in a vacuum), they might have heard the noise of a man retching violently – so violently, in fact, it was almost as if he was exorcising himself of everything that had been inside him. They might then have heard the booming of cosmic thunder.

They’d have seen the dark, starless sky filled with a sudden ejection of orange, and witnessed two similar but separate clouds attempt to kick the living shizz out of each other.

And that still wouldn’t have been as exciting as what happened next.

Inside the Untitled, Cal coughed and wheezed, his eyes wide and bloodshot as he slapped repeatedly at his chest with his free hand. He hadn’t been sure if the old ‘fingers down the throat’ technique would be an effective way to cleanse himself of cosmic-entity-possession, but it worked even better than he’d hoped.

He’d half expected to end up with a few gallons of wispy orange gloop on his legs, and sloshing around on the floor, but the entities had exploded out of him like novelty snakes from a can, briefly filling every square inch of the Untitled, before seeping out into space.

“Ooh, shizz. That was unpleasant,” Cal said, swallowing back a mouthful of something he worried might be leftover Ikumordo, but which was, on reflection, probably just regular sick.

The fiery orange energy that had been crackling over his body was gone now. His head was completely devoid of cosmic entities, his skin was knitting back together, and either his internal organs had come back, or he’d learned to live without them.

Lily’s hand was still in his. He had no intention of letting it go.

“Controls are back,” Loren announced. “What do we do? Jump back out of here and leave them to it?”

Lily shook her head. “That won’t work. There’s no saying they’ll stay here. They could spread everywhere, only now there’d be two of them.”

Cal pointed to the screen. “That one wants that one to go back to the Void. Once it’s got it there, it can keep it locked up. We just need to help it.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Lily asked.

Cal squeezed Lily’s hand for a moment. Then, reluctantly, he released his grip. “You’d better strap yourself in,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, exactly.”

On screen, the cosmic clouds wrestled and fought. Lily was right. They wouldn’t stay here for long. There was no time to lose.

“Kevin,” Cal said.

“Yes, sir?”

“Fire the Omega Cannon.”

Loren spun in her chair. “What? I thought we’d agreed it was too dangerous? It could blow up the entire… Oh. Oh, right.”

“Yep,” said Cal. “That’s what I’m counting on.” He gave her a nod that he hoped was in some way reassuring, then raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Full beam. Or, you know, whatever it is. Is it a beam?”

“No idea, sir,” said Kevin.

“Well, give it all you’ve got, anyway.”

There was a few seconds of silence, then the faint background humming of the Untitled changed, becoming a little higher in pitch.

The lights dimmed.

“Are you quite sure about this, sir?” asked Kevin.

“No. No, I am not,” said Cal. He clenched a fist. “Now, fire!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Mech’s eyelids snapped open. Someone was elbow deep in his chest which was, cyborg or otherwise, never a nice thing to wake up to.

He couldn’t move his head to see, but from the leisureliness of their movements and the sound they were making – a relaxed humming below their breath – whoever was in there was in no great rush.

A face leaned into view, concern written on every furry line of it. “Hey. Is he… Are you awake?” Miz asked.

Another face leaned in, too. It was Dorothy out of the Golden Girls.

Mech tried to answer Miz’s question, but as two wires sparked together he, quite inexplicably, shouted, “Puffle flumps,” in a loud voice, before spasming violently.

“Sorry, that was my fault,” said the owner of the arms that were currently messing around inside him. It was a young voice. A child, he thought.

A child was twisting his wires back together.

Oh, fonk.

There were some more sparks, followed by another puff or two of smoke. The list of error messages and damage reports in Mech’s field of vision halved, then halved again.

Then doubled.

Then dropped right down to three, none of them critical.

“There. All done,” said the kid, jumping up. “It’s not perfect, but it’ll do.”

Mech tried sitting up, knowing that there was no way it was going to work.

It worked.

The movement brought him eye to eye with a skinny bald kid with dark orange skin and some kind of screwdriver tucked behind his ear.

“How…? How did you do that?” Mech asked. And it was Mech, too. Not a super-intelligent or super-strong version, but regular vanilla Mech.

The boy shrugged. “Wasn’t hard,” he said. “Besides, you saved my dad, so I wasn’t going to just let you die.”

“He’s kind of a genius,” said Gluk Disselpoof, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He smiled, proudly. “Only without the ‘kind of’ part.”

Mech stared up at Gluk for a few long seconds, then shifted his gaze to the boy. “Your son? He’s your son.”

“He is. Thirk Disselpoof. My eldest.”

Mech blinked slowly, taking in every detail of the boy’s face. “Thirk Disselpoof,” he said.

Hydraulics whirring, Mech got to his feet. He held a hand out to the boy. “It is a real pleasure to meet you, son.”

Thirk took the hand, turned it over in his, then made a tiny adjustment to one of the fingers. “Sorry, that was bothering me,” he said, then he threw his arms around Mech’s waist, and hugged him.

Two other children appeared from the crowd. Thirk’s brother and sister, by the looks of them. They piled on around their brother, each holding onto one of Mech’s legs. He patted them on the back, uncertainly at first, but his confidence growing.

“You saved our daddy,” the girl said, her cherubic face angled up towards Mech’s. “Thank you, Mr Robot.”

“I ain’t a…” Mech began, but then he sighed, shook his head and smiled. “Any time, kid. Any time.”

* * *

The Omega Cannon began its charge, flickering the lights aboard the Untitled as it drew power from the warp disk. It scrambled systems, recalibrated controls, and completely erased banoffee pie from the replicator memory banks. Fortunately, Cal wasn’t aware of that last one, or it’d have put a real fonking downer on what had already been a less than enjoyable experience.

As the ship shuddered, Cal, Loren and Lily all gripped their arm rests, and gritted their teeth. “Here goes,” said Cal.

“Firing Omega Cannon,” said Kevin. “Now!”

Nothing happened.

“Oh, no wait, that’s the bathroom lights,” said Kevin. “Nnnnn… Hang on. No, that’s not it, either.”

Cal rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Kevin, just shoot the fonking thing!”

“Now!” said Kevin, and the lights flickered as the Omega Cannon activated.

Cal stretched up in his seat, trying to get a better view. “Where is it?” he asked. “Nothing’s happening.”

“Wait, look,” said Loren, pointing ahead. A small white dot, no bigger than a beach ball, glided away from the Untitled at what, at most, could be described as ‘a leisurely pace’. All three occupants of the bridge watched it in silence as it drifted aimlessly, sort of in the direction of the battling cosmic beings, but also a bit to the left.

“That’s it?” said Cal. “Seriously? That’s the Omega Cannon?”

“Well, I mean, I never said it would definitely destroy the universe,” Kevin pointed out. “I just said it might.”

Cal gestured to the now barely egg-sized speck in the middle distance. “The universe? That thing could barely knock down a bowling pin. Why do we even have that gun? It is literally the worst gun I’ve ever—”

The rest of the sentence was muffled by the sound of the universe collapsing. It happened quite quickly, in the end. The little white ball became a smaller ball, then smaller still.

Then it became nothing.

Then a black ball.

Then a howling vortex of absolute destruction.

Reality shattered. Time snapped. Cal blew a little bubble of snot from his nose, but thankfully nobody noticed.

“OK, I take that back,” Cal said. “Loren, get us away from the space hole. Lily, can we jump?”

“One sec,” Lily said, fumbling with her doohickey as Loren hit the thrusters. The Untitled stuttered forwards, alternating between existing, not existing, and existing in several places at the same time.

Miraculously, Cal didn’t throw up. Although, he did come close.

The universe continued to collapse, revealing more and more of the vast, empty Void. Cal saw one of the big weird space things try to pull away, but the other wrapped around it, pinning it in place as it waited for the Void to consume them.

“Any time you’re ready would be good,” said Cal, shooting Lily a nervous glance.

“One second!”

A jagged tear ripped across space, tearing the sun in two. Over on the right, the planet that had never got around to becoming Earth became dust, then atoms, then nothing at all.

“Cutting it kind of fine, here!” Cal warned.

“Got it!” said Lily.

She tapped a button. The clamps on the Untitled’s wings burst into life.

And then everything took a sudden jump sideways.

* * *

Two hours later, Cal and Lily walked up a long hill, their boots scraping on the unmoving grass. In one hand, Lily held flowers. In the other, she held Cal’s. Or let Cal hold hers, at least.

They moved between the gravestones, beneath a motionless sky. They both had things to say, but neither knew quite how to say them, and so they walked on in silence, until they reached the spot they were looking for.

A cybernetically-enhanced cannibal lay on his side on the ground. Beside him, the former president of the galaxy was staring down and leering unpleasantly.

Lily pointed at them both in turn. “Should I ask?” she said.

Cal did a double-take, as if just seeing the men for the first time. “What? Oh, no. No, I’ll take care of that later,” he said, then he stopped at the foot of his wife and daughter’s grave, and nodded at the slab of black granite.

Lily hesitated, but then stepped on past him, holding the flowers out like some kind of peace offering. She set them down, propped up against the stone, then gave a little yelp of surprise.

“Hey, Miss Flopsy,” she said, picking up the threadbare rabbit toy. “God, I remember this.”

Cal’s jaw tightened. “You should take it,” he said. “It’s yours.”

Lily brushed the rabbit’s fur with her fingertips, straightened its ears, then set it back on the ground. “No,” she said. “It’s hers. Your Lily, I mean.”

Cal nodded and smiled, but without the smiling part. “She loved that stupid bunny.”

“I know. So did I.”

They stood in silence for a while, each lost in their thoughts. Down the hill, keeping their distance, Mech, Loren and Miz waited with the Carver Council. None of them spoke. There weren’t a whole lot of words that fit the situation.

“You’re not her, are you?” Cal said, at last. “Not mine, I mean.”

It seemed to take a long time for Lily to shake her head. “No. I’m not her. And you’re not him.”

Cal felt an overwhelming urge to apologize to her for that. More than anything, he wanted to be him. He wanted to be her father.

But he wasn’t. Not really.

And that was that.

“He would’ve been so proud of you,” Cal said. “I mean, obviously I never met the guy, but still. I think I speak from experience.” He met her eye and smiled. “So proud of you.”

Lily shrugged, but smiled. Her eyes glistened, and she quickly swallowed, composing herself. “You know, I think he might?” she said. She turned to him and took both his hands in her own. “And your daughter would have been proud of you, too. I’m proud of you, Cal Carver.”

“Don’t you mean ‘Ninety-Nine’?”

Lily’s grin broadened. Cal recognized his own smile in there. “I think we can let that go, just this once,” she said.

With a wave of her hand, she gestured for the council. After a final lingering look at the headstone, she made her way down the hill, with Cal following. They met the other group halfway down.

“Everything OK?” asked Loren.

Cal nodded. “Fine. It’s, yeah. It’s fine.”

“At musto bin an awfy time fur ye,” said Eighty-Three, nodding up the hill. “Fit’s ae twa loons daein? Fys that ‘een oanna flair?”

Cal’s eyes darted around the rest of the group. Everyone, with the exception of Eighty-Three himself, shrugged.

“Right!” said Cal. “Good point, well made.”

Number Two bowed his head. “You know a position will always be available for you on the council,” he said.

Cal frowned. “Wait, you’re keeping the band together? I thought, with Ikumordo gone…”

“There will be other threats to the multi-verse,” Two said. “Many of us will return home to our own universes now, but when reality is in danger, the Carver Council will reassemble.”

“Holy shizz, that’s awesome,” said Cal. “I’m totally getting that made up as a t-shirt.”

He shook the man’s hand, then fired off a salute to Old Man Carver and some of the others. Two tapped a doohickey and a couple of portal doors opened behind the group.

“Wait!” said Cal. “What about the time thing?” He gestured around. “I mean, when does the world restart?”

“We’ll set it to start running again a few minutes after we leave,” said Lily.

A smirk spread across Cal’s face. “Can you set it for, like, three hours?”

“Why?” asked Mech. His dial was still missing, along with most of his chest, but he’d already started printing a new and improved replacement from the Untitled’s stock of Durium. “What’s the point?”

“You’ll see,” said Cal.

The other Carvers all nodded, saluted and waved their farewells, then vanished through the doorway. Lily hung back until there was no one else left.

“Well, uh, take care,” she said.

“You, too,” said Cal.

They nodded at each other. Miz sighed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, for fonk’s sake, just hug, already,” she muttered.

And they did.

And it was awesome.

Mech ground his teeth together. On his shoulder, Splurt shot him a sideways look. “What?” Mech croaked. “I got something in my eye, that’s all.”

Splurt rippled.

“Yeah, well fonk you,” Mech said, but then he reached up, rubbed the little goo-ball on the head, and sniffed back an oily tear.

Cal stopped Lily again before she could duck through the door. “Will I, you know, will I see you again?” he asked.

Lily looked back at the doorway, then up at the sky, considering this. At last, she winked. “It’s a Lily Carver guarantee,” she said, then she stepped through the doorway, and vanished.

Silence hung over the group for a while, no one quite knowing what to say. In the end, Loren went for the obvious.

“You OK?”

Cal made a weighing motion with his hands. “Ups and downs, I’ll be honest,” he said. He looked across the faces of the crew. “Sorry I never told you. About… you know.”

“Yeah, we know,” said Loren. “And you didn’t have to.”

“I did,” said Cal. “I should have. You guys are family.”

There was a loud honking sort of noise, as Mech burst into tears. The patches of skin that made up his face reddened as everyone turned to look at him. “It’s the new wiring,” he said, pointing to his chest. “That kid must’ve done it wrong.”

Cal patted the cyborg on the shoulder. “Yeah, buddy. I guess that must be it.”

He looked up the hill. Sinclair still stood there, frozen to the spot. “Come on,” Cal said. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” asked Miz. “You’re not, like, just leaving Sinclair there, are you? You’re not letting him get away?”

“No!” said Cal. “Of course not. I just want to visit a t-shirt printing store first.”

Mech grunted. “You ain’t seriously getting that ‘Carver Council Assemble’ shizz printed, are you?”

“Tempting,” said Cal. “But no. That just gave me the idea.”

There was a spring in his step as he shot one final glance back up the hill. “A fonking excellent idea.”

They continued on towards the Untitled, which stood in the street just beyond the cemetery gates. “So,” Loren asked, glancing back at Miz, Mech and Splurt. “What happened to you guys when we were gone? Meet anyone interesting?”

Miz and Mech swapped looks.

“One or two,” said Mech.

They looked down at Loren’s stomach. “Maybe three,” said Miz

And they all headed into the Untitled.

Together.

* * *

The former president, Hayel Sinclair, frowned.

“What? Where…? Where did he go?” he asked. He spun on the spot, head twisting left and right. Carver had been right there a moment ago, pinned beneath the weight of the Butcher. Now, though, he was nowhere to be seen. “Where did he go?”

That wasn’t all that had changed, Sinclair realized. He was wearing a hat. Where had that come from?

He tore it off his head and examined it. It was a cheap and flimsy-looking baseball cap. White, but with writing on the front, printed slightly off center. Without thinking, he read it aloud.

“Eugene’s momma is a sloop.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, the part-mechanical Eugene ‘The Butcher’ Adwin got to his feet. The part of his face that was still human bunched up in anger.

“What did you say?” he drawled, then his eyes went to the slogan on Sinclair’s t-shirt. This, also, expressed the view that Eugene’s mother was a woman of some sexual promiscuity, only not in so many words. “You just called my momma a sloop.”

Sinclair looked down at himself, then at the hat, then up at the now-advancing Butcher. “What? No. I didn’t,” he said, retreating. “This is a trick. This was him, don’t you see?” he babbled, as the monstrous tangle of flesh and metal drew closer. “Stay back, Butcher. I’m warning you!”

The former president retreated a step too far. The grass heaved beneath him, and several fat oily bug skittered up the leg of his pants.

“N-no!” he yelped, thrashing at his shin. “No, don’t, get out!”

And then a hand was over his head, the fingers like sausage-sized vices on his skull. Sinclair gargled as he was hoisted into the air. The Butcher’s breath was like sour milk in his face. “Nobody calls my momma a sloop.”

Then an ex-president became an ex-person, and somewhere, far out in space, Cal Carver and his Space Team streaked off into the wide black yonder.

THE END

Space Team will Return in

SPACE TEAM: PLANET OF THE JAPES

Fall 2017

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